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FOREIGI ETCHINGS; 
 
 OR 
 
 ntlm S>Mt\ts 
 
 OF THE 
 
 OLD ¥ORLD'S PLEASANT PLACES. 
 
 BY 
 
 ^^^ OP" TH5? 
 
 'TJNI7EESIT7; 
 
 J.A.I.IES -^7T. -VO^-A.: 
 
 ^im^ 
 
 BURLINGTON, N. J. 
 
 1866. 
 
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 fentercd according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand 
 eight hundred and £fty*8ix, by 
 
 JAMES W. WALL, 
 in the Cleric's Office of the District Court of the District of New Jersey. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Nothing but the oft repeated requests of friends, could 
 have induced me to publish these fragments. Sir Henry 
 Wotton is said to have given this advice to Milton when 
 a young man, and about *to travel in Italy: *'i7 viso sciolto 
 ed i pensieri stretti'^ — "an open countenance, but close 
 thoughts," or, in other words, "keep your thoughts to 
 yourself, but let your eyes wander abroad." This advice 
 of the old statesman^ might be very well given to those 
 tourists, who after skimming over the surface of things 
 in Europe, return home full of the conceit, that they are 
 qualified to enlighten their countrymen upon the social^ 
 civil and political history of the countries they have visited. 
 A tour of six months, or a year, flitting from city to city, 
 as a general thing, confers no qualification upon a tourist, 
 for so grave an undertaking. In these pages no such 
 attempt has been made. They are mere outline sketches, 
 thrown together at the solicitation of a few friends, upon 
 whose indulgence I know I can throw myself for even the 
 presumption of hearkening to their too partial requests. 
 
IT PREFACE. 
 
 Like old Lylyin his Euphues, "I was in/orced to preferre 
 
 their friendshippef before mine own fame — being more 
 
 earefid to satisfy theire requestes, than fear full of other^s 
 
 reportes." 
 
 This volume pretends not to be a connected account of 
 
 an European tour; only a series of etchings, or outline 
 
 sketches from memory, of pleasant places in the old world, 
 
 whose historic associations clothed them with a pleasant 
 
 charm, and surrounded them with a never failing interest. 
 
 They are at best but random sketches, and lay claim to no 
 
 great literary merit. 
 
 J. W. W. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 Edinburgh — Holyrood and its Associations^ The Castle,. . 9 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Melrose Abbey — Abbotsford — Dryburg, .... 34 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A view of London from "Waterloo Bridge — Excursion on the 
 Thames — St. Mary Overies — The Tabard Inn — Temple 
 Church, . . • 45 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The Parks — The Mansion House— The Exchange — The Bank 
 of England, 66 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 Richmond — Twickenham — Strawberry Hill, • , . • &l 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 Warwick — Kenilworth — Stratford — Charlicote, . . .94 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 Hampton Court — Bushy Park, . . . . . . .110 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 Crossing the Channel — Paris — The Tuileries and its associa- 
 tions — The Louvre — Place de la Concorde — The Churches 
 of the Madeleine, St. Roch, and St. Denis, . . . .125 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Departure from Paris — Macon — Geneva — Ride to Chamonix 
 — Mer de Glace — The Source of the Arveiron — Mont Blanc, 142 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Departure from Chamonix — Lake Leman and its shores — 
 Vevay — Visit to Castle Chillon, 155 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Ride to Berne — Berne — Basle — Strasburg — Baden-Baden — 
 Heidelburg — Mayence, 162 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 The general appearance of Berlin — The Thier Garten — The 
 Brandenburg Gate — The Unter den Linden — Statue of 
 Frederick the Great, 1S2 
 
 a2 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER Xin. 
 The Royal Library — The old and new Museum — The Cham- 
 ber of Art— Christmas in Berlin, 192 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Charlottenburg — Mausoleum to the Queen of Prussia — Her 
 History — Potsdam — Tomb of Frederick the Great — The 
 New Palace — Sans Souci — Death of Frederick the Great, 206 
 
 I>-AwI^T II- 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ANTIQUITIES OF ITALY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Porto D'Anzio — Appearance of Naples — Confusion of its 
 Streets — Pompeii — Its Destruction — Present appearance 
 qt the streets and buildings, 219 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The Grotto of Posolipo — Pozzuoli — The Temple of Serapis — 
 The Amphitheatre — Solfatara — Cicero's Villa — Lake Aver- 
 nus — Misenum — The Tomb of Virgil, . . . . 24& 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Approach to Rome — View from the Capitol — The Seven Hills 
 
 — The Roman Forum and its Ruins, 259 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The Arch of Titus — The Colosseum — The Meta Sudans — 
 Arch of Constantine — Ruins of Nero's Golden Palace — Baths 
 of Caracalla — Baths of Titus — Temple of Minerva Medica 
 
 — Baths of Diocletian — Forum Boarium — Arch of Janus — 
 Forum of Nerva — Trajan's Forum — Column of Trajan — 
 Temple of Vesta, 274 
 
 CHAPTER V, 
 
 St. Peter's and the Vatican — Dimensions of Ihe Vatican — 
 Christian Epitaphs — Museo Chiarimonte — II Braccio Nuovo 
 
 — Museo Pio Clementino — Ancient Sarcophagus — The 
 Apollo — The Laocoon — Hall of Animals — Hall of Busts — 
 Hall of the Greek Cross — Collection of Antiquities in Rome, 292 
 
 CHAPTER VI.' 
 
 Origin of the Catacombs — Catacombs of St. Calixtus — Epi- 
 taphs — Little Chapels — Fresooes — Portrait of Christ — The 
 3urial Place of St. Paul 314 
 
TO 
 
 THE COMPANIONS OF MY TOUR; 
 
 IRRADIATING HOME 
 
 BY THEIR presence: 
 
 AND 
 
 GIVING AN ADDED CHARM 
 
 TO EVERT EXCURSION 
 FROM IT. 
 
FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HISTORIC MEMORIES OF EDINBURGH. 
 
 Edinburgh — Holyrood, and its associations — The Castle. 
 
 Edinburgh has well been styled " a double city" — first, 
 an ancient and picturesque built one, set Mpon a hill — and 
 second, an elegant modern city, extremely classic in the 
 architecture of its public buildings. 
 
 The Capital of Scotland is situate in the northern part 
 of the county of Mid Lothian, and about two miles distant 
 from the Firth of Forth. Nothing can exceed the beauty, 
 of its site; while in the panoramic splendor, presented 
 from the elevated points of the city and neighborhood, no 
 city in Europe surpasses it. Taking our stand on the 
 edge of the deep ravine which divides the Old from the 
 New Town, we have on one side the lofty and picturesque 
 buildings of the ancient city ; on the other the elegant 
 and classic structures of the modern Athens ; while before 
 you, surmounting its almost inaccessible crag is the Castle 
 of Edinburgh ; its formidable ramparts, still echoing with 
 the tread of the military sentinel, as in those stirring 
 
10 
 
 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 days, "when thronged with watchers waiting for the 
 coming of the foe/' and 
 
 " From each mountain top, a flame 
 Stream'd into the torpid air, 
 Bearing token from the Border 
 That the English host was there." 
 
 No city in Europe is more interesting to the American 
 traveller, than Edinburgh. Its associations are familiar; 
 they are interwoven with the pleasant memories of his 
 childhood. The early tales and legends of Scotland, that 
 startled his young spirit in the hours of childhood's ecstacy 
 here come thronging back with a vividness and distinct- 
 ness truly overwhelming. In the picturesqueness of its 
 location, and the natural beauties of its surroundings, no 
 city in Europe can compare with it, except Naples; and I 
 know of no view Jn the world, that so closely resemhles 
 that of the Bay of Naples, as the one which bursts upon 
 the spectator, who ascends Calton Hill^ and looks out upon 
 the magnificent panorama of stream, hill and woodland, ■ 
 which there unfolds in all its ravishing beauty before him. 
 Below him, spreads the magnificent bay of the Firth of 
 Forth, with its rocky islands — towards the south, are the 
 pastoral acclivities of the Pentlands, and the more shadowy 
 splendors of the Lammennoors, and the Grampians ; while 
 behind him^ rise the summits of Arthur's Seat, and Salis- 
 bury Crags, the haunted places of tradition; 
 
 ** Traced like a map, the landscape lies, 
 In caltured beauty, stretching wide, 
 There, Pentland's green acclivities, 
 There, Ocean with its azure tide 
 There SaPsbury Crag, and gleaming through 
 Thy ftouihera wing, Duneddin blue : 
 
EDINBURGH 
 
 While in Ihe Orient, Lammer's daughters, 
 A distant giant range are seen, 
 North Berwick Law, with cone of green, 
 And blue its dimpled waters." 
 
 Go where you will in Scotland, you meet with some 
 traces of the great and beautiful, the gifted, or the fasci- 
 nating, of former days : not only the ancient walls, and 
 castellated rocks of Edinburgh, teem with historic associa- 
 tions of the highest interest : but in the short space of 
 twenty miles, between Falkland and Stirling, are no less 
 than four battle fields, on which England's fate was deter- 
 mined by armies, almost as numerous, as those that met 
 in conflict dire at Waterloo. Lochleven, exhibits the 
 ruins of the mournful prison of beauty; Niddry Castle, 
 the scene of her evanescent joys; the hills of Langside, 
 witnessed her final overthrow; Cartlan Crags still show 
 the Cave of Wallace ; Turnbury Castle, the scene of 
 Bruce's first victory; and Culloden, the last battle field of 
 generous fidelity. Every step in Scotland is alive with 
 historic incident ; the shades of the dead arise on every 
 Bide — The very rocks breathe, for 
 
 " Each rock has there its storied tale ; 
 Pouring a lay for every dale, 
 Knitting as with a moral band, 
 The native legends, with the land. 
 
 And as it is with the rural localities of Scotland, so is 
 it with the principal towns. There is hardly a street io 
 the old town of Edinburgh, that has not its traditions ; 
 and the entire locality swarms with spectral beings of the 
 past, that seem to start out from every nook, and corner. 
 Yet there is no student either of romance, or of history, 
 who does not give to the time-honored precincts of Holy- 
 
12 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 rood, and its ruined Abbey Church, the preference over 
 all others. How many wanderers from every region of 
 the earth, have traversed the old thoroughfare of the 
 Canongate, to visit these venerable piles ! 
 
 Holyrood, like all the religious houses of Europe, has 
 the authority of a legend, for its foundation. David I. 
 of Scotland, not having much reverence for holy-days, 
 would a hunting go on the festival of the exaltation of 
 the cross, or Rood day, as it is styled in llomish missals. 
 When in the ardor of the chase he had ridden to the foot 
 of the crag, (now known as Arthur's Seat,) there suddenly 
 rushed upon him from the wood, the fairest hart that was 
 ever seen, dashing the royal hunter and his horse to the 
 grouud with great violence. But, as the affrighted 
 monarch threw back his hands, to avoid the sharp antlers 
 of the enraged stag, a holy cross, fell as it were from 
 Heaven into his trembling fingers, and the radiance of the 
 sacred emblem, so dazzled the eyes of the wild animal, 
 that he fled affrighted from the sight. The gratefu^ 
 King, thereupon resolved to erect upon the spot a House 
 to be dedicated to the Holy Rood, the Virgin and all 
 saints. Like all legends this no doubt was an after thought 
 of some pious brother of the Abbey, for the purpose of 
 throwing a supernatural lustre around the foundation of 
 his House. Be this as it may, it is very certain that a 
 Religious House, called the Abbey of Holyrood, existed 
 on this spot, from the year 1128, to the days of the ill-fated 
 James IV., who perished bravely, and like a King, on that 
 fiktal field of Flodden, where before the English focman, 
 rose "that mortal rampart," 
 
 "Which the Iwldest, dare not scale; 
 Every stone, a Scottish body, 
 
HOLYROOD. 13 
 
 Every step, a corpse in mail ; 
 While behind it, lay the monarch 
 Clenching still, his shivered sword! 
 By his side, Montrose, and Athol, 
 At his feet, a southron Lord." 
 
 About the year 1502, this ill-fated monarch, built a 
 palace adjacent to the Abbey; and no sooner was the royal 
 dwelling fit for habitation, than the bride of its founder, 
 stepped across its threshold — that beautiful Margaret 
 Tudor, the capricious daughter of Henry VII., from whom 
 has descended the long line of sovereigns of the British 
 Empire. 
 
 In the year 1538, in the Abbey Church, whose graceful 
 ruin, lingers like a thing of beauty, haunting the memory, 
 was crowned the graceful and talented Mary of Lorraine, 
 the second Queen of James V., and the mother of Mary, 
 Queen of Scots — that Princess, whose blood courses now 
 in more than two thirds of the reigning houses of Europe; 
 whose personal charms, and tragic death have drawn elo- 
 quence from the pens of so maqy historians ; filling the 
 day-dreams of poets with glimpses of the serene loveliness 
 of a face angelic in its beauty. In this palace erected 
 by her ancestor, occurred those events, which inseparably, 
 connect Holyrood with her life ; and its gloomy apartments, 
 with memories of the most thrilling interest. Here, she 
 first reposed upon her arrival from the sunny land of France, 
 and, in an evil hour was married to Lord Darnley — 
 here, llizzio was murdered almost at her feet — here, she 
 enchained all that loved her, by the extreme beauty of 
 her person, and the ravishing . graces of her manner — 
 Here too, born in " o'ertrying times," she was forced to 
 endure those memorable, and distressing interviews, with 
 
14 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 the stern and iron hearted leaders of the Scottish Refor- 
 mation; when Knox, "smote so hastily upon her heart, that 
 it made her weep full sore." 
 
 This Palace witnessed the scene of her mysterious, and 
 unnatural nuptials with Bothwell, and beneath its roof, 
 she reposed the captive of her subjects, on that eventful 
 night, before she was committed to the Castle of Lochle- 
 ven, which she only left to be defeated on the Hills of Lang- 
 side : and afterwards in a moment of mistaken confidence, 
 to place herself in the power of Elizabeth, to be from that 
 hour, the victim of one long train of dissimulation and 
 vindictive ness; then in the end to perish, by the cruel and 
 unjustifiable mandate of that 
 
 " False woman, 
 Her kinswoman, yet her foe." 
 
 The Palace^ and ruined Abbey Church of Holyrood, 
 are situate at the end of the ancient street in Edinburgh, ' 
 known as the Canongate. The first is a gloomy looking 
 structure^ with pinnacled turrets, and a dark exterior, that 
 send a chill to the heart. The existing palace consists 
 of the northwestern towers, (the only remnant of the royal 
 dwelling of Queen Mary,) and the more modern structure 
 erected by Charles II. The palace built by Charles is a 
 quadrangular building, having a square court in the 
 centre. At either extremity is a massive square tower, 
 four stories 'high, having three circular towers or turrets 
 at its exterior angles, which rise from the ground to the 
 battlements of the main tower, terminating in conical 
 roofs. Ascending a stone stair case from the piazza of 
 the court yard, you enter the Picture Gallery at the first 
 landings by a door on the right. An hundred portraits of 
 
HOLYROOD. 15 
 
 Kings of Scotland, from the misty times of Fergus I. 
 down to the end of the Stuart dynasty look down upon 
 you from its walls. This chamber is historically interest- 
 ing from the fact, that it was the ball room, used by the 
 Pretender, during his brief occupation of Holyrood. It 
 was here he gave that celebrated entertainment, which 
 has derived immortality from the pen of the great modern 
 master of Romance, and the first perhaps that had en- 
 livened its deserted precincts for many a long year. 
 
 The Young Pretender had that morning made his 
 entrance into the royal palace of his ancestors. He had 
 played the game most royally, in which the stakes were a 
 coffin, or a crown. His daring foot had first pressed the 
 desolate rocks of the Western Islands — and by the attrac- 
 tions of. a handsome and youthful person, associated 
 with the winning powers of a most earnest eloquence, he 
 had overcome the scruples of a naturally cautious race : 
 gathering round his standard, as gallant and devoted a 
 band as ever fought in the cause of his family^ beneath 
 the banners of Montrose and Dundee — in the words of th© 
 old border song, 
 
 "Leaving their mountains, to follow Prince Charlie, 
 Follow thee ! follow thee ! who wad'na follow thee ! 
 Lang hast thou lo'ed, and trusted us fairly, 
 Charlie ! Charlie ! who wad na follow thee, 
 King of the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince Charlie." 
 
 In the very square directly in front of the Palace, Lochiel 
 gathered his gallant Camerons, who had made themselves 
 masters of Edinburgh, at early dawn; and there on 
 horseback, with a drawn sword in her hand, [was that 
 brave and enthusiastic woman, Murray of Broughton, dis- 
 tributing with her own fair hands to the crowd, the white 
 
16 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 ribbon, or cockade, that emblem of devotion, to the cause 
 of Stuart, and which originated the following spirited 
 Scottish song, 
 
 " My love was born in Aberdeen, 
 The bonniest lad that e'er was seen ; 
 But now he makes our hearts fu' sad, 
 He's ta'en the field, wi his white cockade. 
 
 O! he's a ranting, roving blade ; 
 O! he's a brisk, and bonnie lad; 
 Betide what may, my heart isglai! 
 To see my lad wi' his white cockade. 
 
 I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel, 
 
 My rippling kame, and spinning wheel, 
 
 To buy ray lad, a tartan plaid, 
 
 A braidsword and a white cockade. 
 
 I'll sell my rokeby, and my tow, 
 
 My gude grey mare, and brindled cow, 
 
 That every loyal Buchan lad. 
 
 May tak' the field, wi' his white cockade." 
 
 Very nearly at the same hour, with this gathering in 
 the square, high up upon the mountain slope beyond the 
 walls, and nearthc classic pool of St. Anthony's Well, stood 
 the young Prince himself looking down for the first time 
 upon the ancient palace of his forefathers, with all its glo- 
 rious natural surroundings, every foot of which was intimate- 
 ly connected with the pastimes, the sorrows, and the brief 
 triumphs of his strangely unfortunate race. At noon he 
 entered the ancient city, tho mob in their mad enthusiasm, 
 pressing forward to kiss his hands, then actually "dimming 
 his very boots with their tears;" and at night, plume and 
 tartan were mingling in the dance, to the merry music of 
 pibroch, and harp on the polished floor of this old HalK 
 There in that gay and gallant company, might bo 
 
HOLYROOD. 17 
 
 discerned the bold devoted Fergus Mclvor, the high- 
 minded Flora McDonald, and the gentle woman like 
 Rose Bradwardine. A few short days, and on Culloden's 
 fatal field; 
 
 " There the brokea clans were scattered, 
 
 Gaunt as wolves, and famine-eyed, 
 
 Hunger gnawing at their vitals, 
 
 Hope abandoned, all but pride. 
 
 Pride, and that supreme devotion 
 
 Which the Southron, never knew, 
 
 And the hatred, deeply rankling, 
 
 'Gainst the Hanoverian crew. 
 
 Chief and vassal, Lord, and yeoman, 
 
 There they lay in heaps together. 
 
 Smitten by the deadly volley, 
 
 Rolled in blood upon the heather." 
 
 You pass on by the door of the chamber, that has 
 awakened such reflections to the suite of gloomy apart- 
 ments, known as Darnley's. There is nothing very 
 remarkable in these chambers, save some hideous-look- 
 ing portraits of the Hamilton family so celebrated in 
 Scottish history. There is in one of the apartments, a 
 portrait of Charles II., an ill-looking dog, on whose 
 features lust has stamped its impress. Returning through 
 Darnley's apartments, and leaving them by the left hand 
 door of the Audience Chamber, you ascend a narrow, and 
 dark stairway, to enter what historians, poets, and nove- 
 lists have combined to render the most interesting suite of 
 apartments in Europe — the chambers once occupied by 
 the ill-fated Mary, Queen of Scots. The first is the Pre- 
 sence Chamber, where on all state occasions, Mary had her 
 receptions. The roof is divided into pannelled compart- 
 ments, adorned with the initials and armorial bearings of 
 
 royal personages, and the walls are hung with ancient 
 b2 
 
18 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 tapestry, the color of whicli has been almost obliterated 
 by the uncourtly hand of Time ; a few of the embroidered 
 chairs that once graced this chamber still stand against 
 the walls ; a large double one is shown, with the initials 
 of Mary, and Darnley worked in, by the Queen's own 
 hands, which once stood upon the raised platform of the 
 throne of Scotland. There is a portrait suspended near the 
 ancient fire-place, said to be of Mary, though it is clearly 
 not her's; but looks in the shai-pness of its lines, and with 
 the crisp red hair curled so primly at the temples, more 
 like the portrait of her hateful rival and persecutor Queen 
 Elizabeth. An old high-post bedstead, with its velvet 
 curtains mouldering and moth-eaten, stands in one corner 
 of the room. It was upon this, Charles I., reposed the 
 night after his coronation in Scotland, and the young Pre- 
 tender, here slept for the last time in the Palace of his 
 ancestors. It was in this chamber, that the stern Refor- 
 mer Knoz^ had his insulting interview with Mary, when 
 in her rage, she exclaimed, " never was Prince handled 
 as I am. I have borne with you in all your rigorous man- 
 ner of speaking, both against myself, and my uncles ; yea 
 I have sought your favor by all possible means. I offered 
 unto you presence and audience, and yet it seems I can- 
 not be quit of your unbridled insolence. I vow to Grod, 
 I shall be revenged.*' To all this, with unblcnching brow, 
 and unshaken front, Knox replied ; *' most true it is, 
 madame; your Grace and I, have been at divers contro- 
 versies together. Without the preaching place, madame, I 
 am not master of myself; for I must obey Him, who com- 
 mands me to speak plain, and to flatter no flesh upon 
 earth :'' and then turning to the gaily dressed ladies, who 
 iurroanded her, and fixing bis keen grey eyes upon them^ 
 
nOLYROOD. m 
 
 he said in a bantering tone ; '* fair ladies, how pleasing 
 is this life of yours, if it would ever 2ft)ide, or if in the 
 end ye might pass to Heaven, with all this fine gear. But 
 fie upon the Knave Death, who will come, whether we 
 will or not; and then when he has laid on his arrest, the 
 foul ugly worms will be busy with this flesh, be it ever so 
 fair, and tender ; and as for the silly soul, I fear it will be 
 so feeble, that it will not be able to carry with it, gold 
 garnishing, targetting, and precious stones. '' 
 
 Visions of the many thrilling scenes, enacted in this 
 old Audience Chamber, come thronging upon the mind, as 
 you stand within its now desolate precincts. Here Mary 
 received the homage from many a noble Scottish heart, 
 but oftener from hearts that, even in her presence^ were 
 hatching treason against her realm, and person. Arras, 
 and cloth of gold, once covered these old walls — cabinets 
 from Ind, and Venice, of filagree gold and silver, or- 
 namented the interior of this chamber — lamps of silver 
 were hanging from the pendant pinnacles of the fret- 
 ted ceiling, emblazoned with the royal arms of Scotland, 
 and the escutcheon of the Queen,, impaling the royal 
 lilies of France. It was over this old polished floor of oak, 
 the ruthless murderers dragged the screaming Eizzio, to 
 pour out his life-blood, from sixty-two gaping wounds, that 
 had been opened by Scottish daggers. 
 
 From this Audience Chamber, you pass by a low door 
 into the bed room of Mary. The ceiling, like that of 
 the Audience Chamber, is divided into compartments of 
 diamond form, adorned with the emblems and initials of 
 Scottish sovereigns — while its walls are rustling with the 
 fluttering of decaying tapestry. The historic and romantic 
 incidents connected with this chamber, render it unques- 
 
20 FOREIGN ETCHING?. 
 
 tionably the most interesting apartment in the Palace ; 
 while its melancholy and faded aspect, are in perfect keep- 
 ing with iU tale of sorrow, and of crime. It is indeed 
 a melancholy looking apartment now, with its wretched 
 paintings o*er the mantle, its shreds of silken tapestry 
 fluttering from the walls, and the high-backed and grotesque- 
 ly looking carved chairs, alone attesting its former magni- 
 ficence. Here stands the bed, where care so often visited 
 her unquiet pillow — its once beautiful canopy in rags, its 
 richly carved oaken posts mouldering, and worm-eaten ; 
 while the embroidered coverlid that adorned it, is in 
 shreds and tatters. Close by it, stands a large round basket 
 of wicker-work, once used by the unfortunate Queen to 
 hold the baby-linen of her son. Upon a stand near the 
 window is her work-box, once no doubt very elegant, as it 
 was a present from the young Dauphin of France before 
 her marriage; but it bears now very few traces of its 
 former magnificence. As you lift the lid and look into 
 its tarnished French mirror, with the lustre almost gone, 
 you think how often it must have reflected the sad sweet 
 face of its fair owner. How often she must have gazed 
 mournfully at this memento of early affection, recalling 
 as it did, those halcyon hours of youth and happiness, gone 
 never to return, and appearing all the stronger, by the 
 contrast with the gloomy hours, which so often struck a 
 chill to the heart, in the dark and sombre chambers of 
 Holyrood. 
 
 From this bed-room, doors lead into two small turret- 
 like chambers. That chamber on your left hand as you 
 enter the bed-room, was used by Mary as a dressing-room 
 and oratory. Her private altar was erected here, and they 
 Still show, the exquisitely carved candelabra that adorned 
 
nOLYROOD. 21 
 
 it. A few articles that once graced her toilet, may also be 
 seen upon the table, together with the fragments of an old 
 French mirror, its silvering gone, and frame decayed. 
 Directly opposite the door of this oratory, is the memora- 
 ble little turret chamber, where Mary was seated at supper, 
 with Rizzio, the Countess of Argyle, and one or two other 
 friends; when the poor Italian was torn screaming from her 
 presence, and dispatched by sixty-two wounds, in one corner 
 of that Audience Chamber, we have just left. The true 
 story of that murder most foul, I believe to be as follows : 
 Mary was setited in this little turret chamber, that 
 opened into her bed room, at one of those small parties, 
 in the easy cheerfulness of which she took great pleasure. 
 Beside her sat the Countess Argyle, her sister, and one or 
 two others; while Rizzio occupied a seat at the other end of 
 the small table. No noise is heard, no suspicion entertained. 
 The Palace is quietly surrounded by several adherents of 
 the conspirators under Morton. A private staircase, led 
 from Darnley's apartment below, to Mary's bed room; and 
 by this the young Prince ascends, seats himself at the side 
 of the Queen, and with the easy familiarity of the hus- 
 band, puts his arm around her waist. Shortly after, 
 upon a given signal from Darnley, the curtain of the door, 
 leading into the bed chamber is lifted, and in stalks the 
 fierce Ruthven, in complete armor, his face ghastly alike 
 with sickness and ferocity. Mary quickly disengages her- 
 self from the clasp of Darnley, confronts the miscreant, 
 and with that courage for which she was so remarkable ; 
 and the early manifestation of which once induced her 
 uncle of Guise to say to her ; " had you lived in the days 
 when women went into battle, you would have taught your 
 troops how to die well" — she sternly demanded th^ 
 
22 
 
 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 cause of the intrusion, and ordered him instantly to leave 
 her apartment. But ere he could reply, the door opening 
 into the bed room, was crowded with men bearing torches, 
 and brandishing daggers. The next instant, Kerr of 
 Falconside, and George Douglass, a kinsman of Morton's, 
 rush in, dash down the table almost upon the Queen, then 
 dart upon Rizzio, who in an instant shelters himself 
 behind Mary, seizing upon her gown and screaming fran- 
 tically, justice! justice! madame, save my life! For a 
 moment, his appeal and entreaties keep them back: but 
 Darnley seizing the Queen, tries to tear Rizzio's grasp 
 from her gown^ and Douglass snatching Darnley's dagger 
 from its sheath, stabs the crouching Italian, over Mary's 
 shoulder, and left the weapon sticking in his body. The 
 rest of the conspirators, now at this first sight of blood, 
 rush like furious hounds upon their prey, tear him from 
 the grasp of the agonized Queen, and drag him shrieking 
 and struggling on, through the bed and Audience Chamber, 
 stabbing him as they went, until in one corner he fell, 
 and died pierced -with sixty-two wounds. 
 
 Nothing can show more strongly the ferocious manners 
 of the times, than an incident which now occurred* 
 Ruthven faint from weakness, and reeking from this 
 scene of bloody staggered back again into the Queen's 
 cabinet, where Mary still stood, overwhelmed with appre- 
 hension. Here he insolently threw himself upon a seat, 
 called for a cup of wine, and being reproached for the 
 cruelty of his conduct, by the outraged Queen, not only 
 ▼indicated himself and his associates, but plunged a new 
 dagger into the fluttering heart of his young and beautiful 
 sovereign, by declaring that Darnley her husband, had 
 advised the whole. Mary was then ignorant of the com- 
 
^j^^ Olf THK. XT 
 
 HOLYROOD. ' 23 
 
 pletion of the murder : But suddenly one. of her ladies 
 rushed into the room exclaiming, " poor Ptizzio is slain." 
 "And is it so?" said the indignant Queen^ fixing her flash- 
 ing eyes upon Ruthven — "then farewell tears^ it shall be 
 dear hlude to some of you. I will now study revenge." 
 The other assassins escaped from a window on the North 
 side of Darnley'5 apartments, leaping over the garden wall 
 near a small lodge, which is still standing, and where but 
 a few years since, a rusty dagger was found deeply cor- 
 roded with blood, and bearing the stamp of the family 
 crest of Douglass, one of the conspirators. 
 
 It would be hard now,, in looking at the little turret 
 chamber, where this dreadful scene was enacted, to imagine 
 that it could ever have been the favorite retreat of royalty, 
 although traces of its former splendor are still discernible 
 in the fragments of silk-hangings still fluttering from its 
 dreary walls. It is a gloomy looking spot now, and really 
 seems as if blasted by the terrible tragedy once enacted 
 within its precincts. A portrait of Rizzio hangs over the 
 the door, a sweet melancholy face, with large lustrous Ita- 
 lian eyes: in gazing at it, one knows not how to reconcile 
 its genuineness, with the contemporary tales of his fright- 
 ful ugliness. One chronicler gives us this portrait of the 
 Italian secretary — " He is quite ill-favored, having a de- 
 formed body, and a most ungracious visage." How far 
 this portraiture was colored by personal hatred to the sub- 
 ject, we cannot say, . In one corner of this chamber, is a 
 helmet and breast-plate very much rust-eaten and corroded, 
 said to have been the very one worn by the fierce Ruthven, 
 when the foul deed of Rizzio's murder was done. As you 
 pass out again through the Audience Chamber, just by the 
 head of the ricketty stairway^ your attention is called to a 
 
24 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 large dark stain upon the floor, said to have been caused 
 by the blood of the murdered Italian. It is a large stain, 
 but not larger than would be produced by the crimson fluid, 
 pouring from sixty-two gaping wounds: and when it is 
 remembered that the bleeding body lay here all night, one 
 is readily inclined to believe the story. 
 
 You pass down from Mary's apartments, through the 
 Quadrangle, and so into the ruin of what was once the 
 Royal Chapel of Holyrood. It is certainly a graceful frag- 
 ment of the fine old Gothic pile,' with its long rows of 
 clustered columns, still supporting many of their carved 
 capitals entire. The aisles are literally floored with sculp- 
 tured grave-stones, some of which belong to the period 
 when ^'ihe Chapel Royal'' was the Canongate Parish Kirk : 
 but on most of them, may still be noticed the elaborate 
 carved cross, indicating that beneath repose the abbots of 
 the ancient monastery. Many and varied are the associa- 
 tions connected with this Chapel. Within it, until the 
 royal sanctuary of the dead was sacrilegiously invaded, 
 slept the buried majesty of Scotland, 
 
 " Life's fever o'er." 
 
 At the eastern extremity, just beneath this graceful Gothic 
 window, which once through its gorgeous panes dyed with 
 prismatic hues the high altar, did Mary in an evil hour 
 give her hand to the unprincipled and dissipated Darnley. 
 On that eventful occasion, she was attired in mourning, as 
 if foreshadowing the gloom, which was so soon to lower 
 about her house. She bad worn that dress, as she stood 
 a widowed Queen, by the remains of her husband, the 
 young King of France : and it was proper, as she then 
 atood upon the brink of that grave wherQ her happiness 
 
HOLYROOD. 25 
 
 was to be forever entombed, that she should once moro 
 assume the habiliments of woe. 
 
 The ancient doorway of this chapel, is a noble, high 
 arched, and deeply recessed one; in its architecture be- 
 longing to the best years of the early English style in 
 Scotland. Above this doorway, on a tablet inserted by 
 Charles I., is the curious inscription : " He shall build 
 ane house, for my name, and I will stablish his Throne 
 forever;" a text most strangely chosen, if intended in its 
 prophetic spirit, to apply to that sceptre, which was 
 already trembling in his grasp. The grave of the unfor* 
 tunate Rizzio, is pointed out in that part of the chapel 
 floor, which by the intrusionof the palace buildings, has 
 been formed into ja. passage leading to the quadrangle. 
 The marks of the old doorway, that opened into the private 
 passage, leading through Darnley's, up to Mary's apart- 
 ments^ and by which the conspirators found ready en- 
 trance^ may still be seen: Mary had it walled up, but 
 the outlines of the old door^ are still plainly visible in the 
 plaster. 
 
 As the conspirators passed through that holy place, "on 
 their fell deed intent," one might suppose, they would 
 have hesitated, before they sent the poor Secretary to his 
 last account.- 
 
 " In the blossom of his sins, 
 
 With all his imperfections on his head, 
 
 Uuhouselled, ttttanoiflted, unannealed." 
 
 It would not be proper to dismiss Holyrood, without a 
 brief allusion to the tragic end of " Mary Stuart, the spell 
 of whose presence haunts it," from turret to foundation 
 
 Btone." 
 c 
 
26 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 On the 7th of February 1586, at Fotheringay Castle, 
 where for eighteen long years, she had dragged on a 
 weary imprisonment — two Noblemen of England were 
 ushered into the presence of the captive Queen, bearing 
 the dread warrant of her execution. Years of sorrow, had 
 silvered o'er those locks, once so beautiful, that an ena- 
 mored French poet, had declared them 
 
 " Streaming curls, steeped in golden sunshine." 
 
 The agonies and privations of a long confinement, had 
 robbed her figure of its elasticity and lithe ness; but failed 
 to touch the majesty of her mien. 
 
 She was seated at the foot of her humble bed, busy with 
 embroidery work, while near by stood her physician, and 
 her women. "When the dreadful mandate was read, to 
 which she listened with earnest attention ; she made the 
 sign of the cross, and raising her melancholy eyes, lit 
 with a tearful power towards Heaven ; thanked her gra- 
 cious God, that the welcome news had at last come; de- 
 claring "how happy she could be, to leave a world, where 
 she had suffered so cruelly.*' Then after a most eloquent 
 and touching defence of the tenets of that Church, she 
 loved so well — burst forth in that noble protest, which 
 must have sunk into the heart of Elizabeth, (unless* it 
 ^as harder than the nether millstone,) as the iron at a 
 white heat, sinks into the quivering, tortured flesh : " I 
 have been treated with ignominy, and injustice — impri- 
 soned, contrary to faith and treaties, kept a captive for 
 nineteen years, and at last condemned to die by a tribunal, 
 whose jurisdiction I deny, and for a crime, of which, I call 
 High Heaven to witness, I am as innocent as a babe ; and 
 now my Lords, all I have to ask is, when is the time fixed 
 for my execution?" " To morrow morning, madamc, at 
 
MARY, QtTEEN OF SCOTS. 2T 
 
 eight of the clock, in the large Hall of this Castle/' was th& 
 q.uick and heartless reply : But her bold spirit blenched 
 not — the blood of Charlemagne was beating full in that 
 brave heart — The soul was hers of the gallant hearted 
 King, her grandfather, who " had kept royal state and sem- 
 blance on Flodden's bloody field, with the banner of Scot- 
 land round him for a shroud. 
 
 Upon the departure of the noblemen, Mary called in & 
 calm voice to her women, and bid them prepare supper, 
 that she might have time to arrange her affairs. ^'Cease 
 weeping, Jane Kennedy, said she, to one of her faithful at- 
 tendants and be busy 1 Did I not warn you, my child, that it 
 would come to this, and now blessed be God, it has come, 
 and fear and sorrow are at an end. Weep not, but rejoice, 
 that you now see your poor mistress so near the end of 
 all her troubles. Dry your ^es and let us pray together. 
 
 After supper, she called for her ladies, and asking for 
 a cup of wine, she drank to them all, begging them to 
 pledge her, which they did. upon their knees, mingling 
 their tears in the cup, and then asking her forgiveness, if 
 in anything they had ofi'ended. At two in the morning 
 she lay down, having made all her arrangements, while 
 her women watched and read at her bedside. Read to me, 
 said she, from the lives of the saints, the life of the repentant 
 thief which treats of dying faith, and divine compassion : 
 and after it was read to her, she remained silent, com- 
 muning with her own heart for some time, and then said 
 — alag, he was a great sinner, but not so great as I am ! 
 may my Saviour in memory of his passion, have mercy upon ' 
 me, as he had on him ! At this moment, remembering 
 that a handkerchief would be required to bind her eyes at 
 her execution, she bid them bring several, and selecting 
 one of the finest, embroidered in gold, laid it carefully 
 
28 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 iside, then ordered them to resume their reading : and so 
 passed away the honrs of early dawn, until it was within 
 a short space of the fatal time. Then rising, she made her 
 toilet, passed into her oratory, and after remaining some time 
 in earnest prayer, came out, and awaited in silence and 
 perfect composure the dread summons. 
 
 On the arrival of the Sheriff, she ordered him imme- 
 diately to turn, and lead on. Her servants throwing 
 themselves at her feet, clasped their mistress in convulsive 
 grief around the knees, endeavoring to stay her advance ; 
 but gently disengaging herself she reached the door : 
 and at this point, the brutal official, sternly commanded 
 them to proceed no farther. Mary remonstrated earnestly, 
 but in vain. She then bade them adieu, while they in 
 frantic earnestness, clung to her robes, covering her hand 
 with kisses, and bathing ft with their tears. They' 
 were only taken from her by force, and locked up iu 
 the apartment. And there alone, that undaunted soul, 
 with a majesty of port that awed the High Sheriff, passed 
 down the lofty staircase, to the entrance door of that 
 Hall, where she was to die. A dress of black ratin, 
 matronly in its fashion, but passing rich in its material, 
 waa worn that day, with more than ordinary grace. A 
 long white veil of crape hung over her face, an Agnus 
 Dei was suspended by a pomander chain from her neck, 
 while her beads of gold hung at her girdle. Like Montrose, 
 
 "As a gay bride, from her room 
 Came the Stuart from her prison, 
 To the scaflTold, and the doom. 
 There was glory on her forehead, 
 There was lustre in her eye, 
 And she never moved to battle 
 * Mor« proudly, than to die !" 
 
MARY, QUEEN OP SCOTS. 29 
 
 At the door of the great Hall, she was received by the 
 Earls of Shrewsbury and Kent, who to use their own 
 words, "marvelled at the perfect tranquility^ and unaffected 
 grace witk which she met them." As she was about to 
 enter the Hall, one more touching appeal was made 
 by her, that " the poor servants might be permitted 
 id see her die.'' At last even the flinty hearts of 
 Shrewsbury and Kent, were moved, and faithful Jane 
 Kennedy, and Elizabeth Curl, together with her much 
 attached physician, were sent for. She then entered the 
 great Hall, with the dignity of a Queen ; Melville, who 
 had joined her at the entrance bearing her train, the 
 weeping servants following in the rear, and accompanying 
 her up to the very scaffold, which had been erected at the 
 upper part of the room. It was a raised platform about 
 two feet in height, and twelve broad surrounded by a rail, 
 and covered with black cloth. Upon it were placed a low 
 chair, two other seats, and the dreadful block : By its 
 side, stood the two executioners masked, while the gleam- 
 ing axe flashed from between them. Mary gazed on all 
 this dread array, without the least change of countenance, 
 and smilingly mounted the steps, with the grace and 
 dignity she ever manifested in ascending the steps of her 
 throne. Just before she knelt down to receive the fatal 
 blow, Kent in the excess of his bigotted zeal, and with 
 that malicious cruelty, only to be found in the hearts of 
 religious persecutors, observing her intently regarding the 
 crucifix, said in a harsh tone: "Woman! renounce such 
 antiquated superstitions, that image of Christ serves to 
 little purpose, if you have him not engraved upon your 
 heart." And oh ! what a scathing rebuke, was that meek 
 and christian-like reply of the gentle spirit who stood 
 there face to face with death — "Ah! my Lord, there is 
 c2 
 
30 i'OREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 nothing more becoming a dying christian, than to carry 
 in her hands the remembrance of her redemption : How 
 impossible my Lord is it, to have such an object in the 
 hands, and keep the heart unmoved." Then bowing her 
 head «he remained some time in prayer : and there upon 
 her knees, with hands clasped together, and raised towards 
 heaven, while divine serenity lighted up her beautiful 
 features, did Mary Stuart invoke forgiveness upon her 
 persecutors. Then kissing the crucifix, and making the 
 sign of the cross, she exclaimed, " as thine arms, O my 
 (rod, were spread out upon the cross, so receive me 
 within the arms of thy mercy." She then repeated that 
 beautiful Latin prayer composed by herself. 
 
 " O Domine Deus ! speravi in te; 
 
 O care mi Jesu ! nunc libera me, 
 
 Id dura catena, in misera paena desidero te, 
 
 Languendo gemendo, et genu flectendo, 
 
 Adoro! imploro ! ut liberesmej 
 
 Which might be paraphrased thus ; 
 
 "In this last solemn and tremendous hour, 
 My Lord and Saviour, I invoke thy power; 
 Id this sad pang of anguish and of death. 
 Receive, O, Lord ! thy suppliant's parting breath, 
 Before thy hallowed cross, she prostrate lies, 
 O, hear her prayers, commiserate her sighs. 
 Extend the arms of mercy, and of love. 
 And bear her to thy peaceful realm above." 
 
 Scarcely had the last sad tones of this beautiful prayer, 
 died upon her lips, when the signal was given, that all 
 was ready. Quickly blindfolding her eyes, she knelt down, 
 and groping with both hands, seemed to feel eagerly for 
 the block; which when reached, she laid her slender 
 neck upon it^ without a sign of trembling, or hesitation — 
 Her lasi words, just before the dread moment, when 
 
THE CASTLE. 31 
 
 "The gleaming axe did part 
 
 The. burning brain, from that true heart," 
 
 were, ^' Into thy hands, I commend my spirit, for thou 
 hast redeemed me, O Lord God of Truth." Surely, such a 
 death, even in the estimation of her bitterest enemies, 
 mu«t have atoned for all the errors of her life— Surely, 
 these Stuarts, if they knew not how to live, had strangely 
 learned^ what knowing how to live, always teaches, namely, 
 how to die. 
 
 In going to the Castle, from Holyrood, you pass through 
 the Canongate Street, so full of interesting localities. 
 Near the head of the Canongate stands the old house, 
 once occupied by John Knox. A small effigy in stone of 
 the reformer rests upon the projecting angle of the building. 
 Over the door is the following admonitory inscription; 
 " Lufe God, above al, and your nichbour as, your .'■elf." 
 
 An admonition little heeded by the stern reformer, if 
 his biography is not a fable. This old thoroughfare, was 
 once the court end of the Town, and occupied by persons 
 of distinction. It is now abandoned to the vilest of the 
 vile ; many of the' houses are dilapidated, and the street 
 flutters in rags and wretchedness. 
 
 From the lofty ramparts of the Castle of Edinburgh, 
 you look down upon the most beautiful city in the world, 
 surrounded by scenery that cannot be surpassed. The 
 rock on which this fortress Castle is built, rises 383 feet 
 above the level of the sea, and its battlements towering 
 ov^er the city, may be seen forty or fifty miles. The 
 principal buildings now used as barracks are at the South 
 East corner, and among these is an old Palace, built 
 by Queen Mary in 15G8. Most of the interest, 
 always excepting the glorious view from its summit, 
 
32 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 attaches to this part of the edifice. Entering by a door- 
 way in a projecting staircase, fronting a quadrangle, you 
 are conducted into a small vaulted apartment containing 
 the Regalia — these objects being placed on an oval table, 
 securely enclosed within a cage of upright bars. There 
 with the light of eight gas burners flashing upon them, 
 repose in silent majesty, the ancient Regalia of Scotland 
 — a crown— a sceptre— a sword of state, and the Order of 
 the Garter given to James YL, by Queen Elizabeth, The 
 crown is very elegantly formed, the under part being a 
 gold diadem, consisting of two circles, chased and adorned 
 with precious stones, and pearls. This was the old crown, 
 and once encircled the brows of Robert Bruce. James 
 v., added two concentric arches of gold, crossing and 
 intersecting each other above the circles. Upon a ball of 
 gold on the summit, he placed a cross adorned with large 
 diamonds. The cap or tiara of the crown is of crimson 
 velvet, turned up with ermine, and adorned with pearls. 
 The sceptre is a slender rod of silver, chased and varied in 
 its form. The sword of state is magnificent, both in form 
 and proportion. It was a present from Pope Julius the 
 II., to James IV., who was slain at Flodden. Being 
 wrought in Italy, shortly after the revival of art there, it 
 is an exquisite specimen of skill. The handle is of silver . 
 gilt, and the cross or guard, wreathed in imitation of 
 two dolphins, the scabbard being adorned with filagree 
 work of silver, representing boughs and leaves of oak, 
 interspersed with acorns. You cannot fail to look with 
 deep interest, upon those emblems, of what is now, 
 " The buried meu'esty of Scotland." 
 That crown had once pressed the fair brow of Mary — 
 that sceptre had often felt the grasp of her beautiful hand. 
 It was only a few years since, these regalia, were discovered 
 
THE CASTLE. • S3 
 
 walled up in this very room. Saved by frieiids of royalty 
 during the civil war^ they were afterwards deposited in a 
 chest in this chamber^ and on their discovery, some thirty 
 years ago, Sir "Walter Scott made a very interesting re- 
 port of the circumstances, accompanied by a minute 
 description of them. From the Regalia chamber, you 
 descend to a small room below, where Mary gave birth 
 to James VI., afterwards James I,, of England, a most 
 gloomy looking apartment, about eight feet square. You 
 are at once attracted by a portrait of Mary on the wall, 
 taken when in France, " in her sweet prime," just before 
 her marriage with the Dauphin. The face is perfectly 
 bewitching in its beauty — shaded by the richest nut 
 brown hair, and lighted by a pair of the softest hazel eyes, 
 that sorrow and suffering had not dimmed. A face, which 
 once seen, like Mariana's, 
 
 " Encircles all ihe heart, and feedeth 
 All the senses, with a still delight." 
 
 An original portrait of her son, hangs near it, a long 
 thin faced man, with a brow, upon which time and sor- 
 row, seem to have driven their plcughthares deeply. 
 
 On the Bomb Battery of the Castle, stands the national 
 palladium of Scotland, " Mens Meg." This gun is com- 
 posed of long bars of beaten iron, hooped together by a 
 series of rings, measuring twenty inches in the bore. It 
 was first used in 1498, by James IV., in the siege of 
 Norham Castle on the borders, and was rent in 1(382, while 
 firing a salute j since which period it has been useless. Edin- 
 burgh Castle is one of the Forts, enjoined by the Treaty 
 of Union, to be kept up in Scotland, 
 
CHAPTER n. 
 
 Melrose Abbey — Abbotsford — Dryburgh, 
 
 Melrose Abbey is now reached by Railwaj, from Edm* 
 btirgh, a distance of some thirty-seven miles. Melrose 
 itself is a charming village, nestling in the loveliest of 
 valleys. A ten minutes walk from the Railway station, 
 down a little narrow street; bjings you face to face with 
 the celebrated Abbey ruin, like 
 
 " Some tall rock, with lichen gray," 
 it rises before you. Aside from its situation, it is the 
 loveliest pile of monastic ruins the eye can contemplate, 
 or the imagination conceive of. The windows, and 
 .especially the glorious East window, with all its elaborate 
 tracery, are certainly unsurpassed, as specimens of gothic 
 architecture. In the old cloisters are seven niches, orna- 
 mented with sculptured foliage, and reminding one of 
 those lines of Scott, so life-like in their description : 
 
 " Spreading herbs, and flowerets bright, 
 Glistened with the dews of night; 
 No herb, nor floweret, glistened there. 
 But was carved in cloistered arch as fair." 
 
 Each glance at the glorious East window, recalls in 
 like manner, the stanzas from the same poem ; 
 
 "The moon on the East oriel shone, 
 
 Through slender shafts of shapely stone, 
 
 By foliaged tracery combined ; 
 
 Thou would'st have thought some fairy's hand 
 
 'Twixt poplars straight the o^ier wand. 
 
 In many a freakish knot, had twip^d ; 
 
 Then framed a spell, when the work was done. 
 
 And changed the willow wreaths, to btoiie," 
 
MELROSE ABBEY. 35 
 
 Melrose Abbey was founded by David I., of Scotland, 
 somewhere in the year 1136. The English on their 
 retreat under Edward II., devastated it, and left hardly 
 one stone upon another. Eour years after this act of 
 vandalism, the celebrated Robert Bruce, by a tax on the 
 Baronies of the Realm, rebuilt it in a style of magnificence, 
 far surpassing its former state. The present ruin which 
 is a mere fragment of the perfect edifice in Bruce's timej 
 clearly manifests by tbe rich tracery of its windows, and 
 the elaborate carvings of the pilasters of its capitals, that 
 it must have been among the most perfect works, of the 
 best age of that description of ecclesiastical architecture to 
 which it belongs. The entire edifice suffered very much 
 during the Scottish reformation, from the insane zeal of 
 the religious fanatics of that period j and after several 
 devastations, the entire property of the Abbey passed into 
 the hands of the family of Buccleuch, near the middle of 
 the seventeenth century — where it has ever since remained. 
 The ruins of the church alone, with remnants of the clois- 
 ters, are now all that exist of the extensive buildings 
 of the once magnificent Abbey. The portions remaining of 
 the church, which is in the cruciform shape, are the choir, 
 and transept — the west side, and fragments of the north 
 and south walls of the great tower, part of the nave, nearly 
 the whole of the southern aisle, and part of the north 
 aisle. Within its moss grown area, broken slabs tell 
 where repose many a warrior, and venerable priest. 
 Under the East window a slab of marble, greenish in its 
 hue, with petrified shells imbedded in it, marks the last 
 resting place of Alexander II., of Scotland. Here too, 
 beneath where once the high altar, glittered with its rich 
 gifts, was placed '^ the low and lonely tim" of the brave 
 
36 FOREIGN ETCHINGS- 
 
 Douglass, who encountered Harry Percy in the bloody 
 fight of Otterburne : That grey slab, marks the spot 
 where they laid *' the dark Knight of Liddcsdale," down to 
 sleep among the bones of the long line of his noble ances- 
 tors of the House of Douglass, so famed in Scottish song, 
 and story. And they still show the spot where the grave's 
 huge portal expanded before the iron bar of "William of 
 Delorainc, when he looked into the vault, and saw before 
 
 him 
 
 " The wizard lay, 
 As if he had not been dead a day." 
 
 and from which, the light of that mystic lamp beside his 
 
 knee, 
 
 "Broke forth so gloriously, 
 Streamed upwards to the chancel roof, 
 And through the galleries far aloof! 
 No earthly flame blazed e'er so bright; 
 It shone like heaven's own blessed light." 
 
 It is while lingering in spots like these, the favorite haunts 
 of Scott, and which he has made memorable by his 
 genius; that one learns to appreciate his wonderful 
 powers of description. As you stand in the ruined aisles 
 of Melrose, and look round; there are the corbels, "carved 
 Bo grotesque and grim" — the shafts of the columns look- 
 ing as the poet so aptly describes them, like 
 
 "Bundles of lances, which garlands had botind;" 
 
 Arid there, the cloistered arches with the foliage upon 
 their capitals, so nicely chiselled, that fairy's hand might 
 well h?ive traced thom, and magic spell changed them 
 when the work was done, to stone. 
 
 But Time the great dcvourer has been too surely doing 
 his work on this old pile — gnawing at the edges of the 
 ancient fret-work, crumbling the top from some buttress 
 
MELROSE ABBEY. 3Y 
 
 pinnacle; or stripping the leaves of stone, off some ancient 
 capital. Sunlight and moonlight^ ailike no doubt, suit 
 this graceful ruin : by day its colors are richer, but to 
 visit it aright, one must no doubt go there by the pale 
 moonlight — for on every ruin that I noticed^ the moon's 
 rays appear to have a harmonizing power; edges of masonry 
 soften, harsh tints are mellowed down, arches transmit a 
 silvery light, and buttresses throw a deeper shadow. 
 That which in the full glare of noon, had a matter of fact 
 appearance, under the wierd influence of moonlight, puts 
 on the garb of romance, and becomes at the same time 
 dream-like and real — a dumb min, yet a speaking portent. 
 Standing within the shadow of such a pile as Melrose, 
 thoughts come upon you, that will not down at a bidding. 
 Those skeleton windows, once through their gorgeous 
 medium of glass, stained with prismatic hues, the marble 
 floor of this ruined nave. These aisles, once resounded 
 with the pealing anthem of white robed choirs : Here, 
 was the solemn and hurley Abbot, and the dark files of 
 cowled monks, and a vassal peasantry crowded at an 
 awful distance from their holy superiors. On some high 
 festival, how have these lofty arches shone with the glare 
 of torches — and this grass grown nave exhibited its long 
 perspective of brilliant and solemn colors, venerable forms, 
 and awful symbols. Then came the age, (as it is now,) when 
 children loitered, and clambered among the ruins, and the 
 sheep fed quietly round broken 'images, and the defaced 
 carved work of the sanctuary : And again with what an 
 exultant joy, must the decay of this noble fabric, have 
 been surveyed by the stern soldiery of the Covenant — while 
 perhaps some highly gifted, and many scarred trooper, 
 placing himself upon a mass of the ruin, may have dis- 
 
38 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 coursed with his Bible in one hand, and his dented sword 
 in the other, upon the mansions of the heavenly Jerusalem, 
 which the elect were to inherit ; then warming with his 
 subject, amid the shattered buttresses, and roofless aisles, 
 might have led the grim enthusiasts beneath him, in a 
 hymn of thanksgiving and triumph, for the fall of Babylon, 
 and the destruction of the high places of idolatry in the 
 land. As a ruin, Melrose is now softened, made beautiful, 
 and inspired with one consistent character and soul by the 
 overgrowth of luxuriant ivy. The green foliage of trees, 
 wave dappled shadows over the walls, and weed matted 
 area within ; and Melrose Abbey, with its broken columns, 
 shattered arches, and crumbled ornaments, seems to have 
 become a portion of universal nature, an original member 
 of the landscape, in which it stands, born of the same 
 mother, and in the same generation as the ivy which 
 crowns, the trees which overshadow, and the blue sky, 
 and bright sun which illumine, and smile upon it. The 
 gray mossy stones, now look as if they had grown up like 
 the hills and woods around, by some internal energy from 
 the centre, and expanded themselves amid co-operating 
 elements into a pile of silent loveliness — a place for solemn 
 and lonely meditation, fit for the quiet reveries of the 
 idly active, or the high and varied fancies of the poet. 
 Those green and stately plants, and the rich leaved 
 creepers, which enwreath and robe every pointed arch, 
 and slender column, and wrap the harsh grey fragments 
 of walls, have taken away all the roughness and soreness 
 of desolation from the pile; and kindly nature, which 
 manifests itself with so much glory in the heavens above, 
 and so much sublimity in the rich landscape around, 
 seems to press with her soft embrace, and hallows with 
 
ABBOTSFORD. 39 
 
 the serenity of her fresh beauty, the mouldering remains 
 of the Abbey of Melrose. 
 
 Abbotsford, is but five miles from Melrose. The 
 scenery around the Poet's retreat, is exceedingly impres- 
 sive. Every mountain and streamlet, seem to tell of the 
 departed bard. There, are the "Eildon Hills," — there, the 
 Gala water, 
 
 "Chafing, as it joins the Tweed;" 
 
 Yonder are "the bonny Braes of Yarrow,' ' and the "Vale 
 of Ettrick.'' The home of the Poet, occupies a crest of the 
 last of a broken series of hills, descending from Eildon to the 
 Tweed, whose silvery stream it overhangs. The grounds 
 are richly wooded, and diversified with an endless variety 
 of bushy dells, and alleys green : while through all, the 
 beautiful bright river wanders, giving an exquisite finish 
 to the picture — needing no association "whatever, only its 
 own intrinsic loveliness, to leave its image indelibly im- 
 pressed upon the mind. Entering the grounds through a 
 Norman archway, in an embattled wall, you approach the 
 mansion by a broad and trellised walk, o'ershadowed with 
 roses and honeysuckles. The externals of the mansion, 
 defy description. At each -end rises a tall tower, the one 
 totally diff"erent from the other, while the entire front is 
 nothing more than an assemblage of gables, parapets, eaves, 
 indentations, and water-spouts, with droll corbel heads, 
 painted windows, and Elizabethan chimneys, flung toge- 
 ther in the perfect wantonness of architectural irregula- 
 rity. A noble porchway admits visitors to the Hall of 
 Entrance, which is lighted by two large windows, each 
 pane deeply dyed with glorious armorial bearings. The 
 
40 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 apartment is about forty feet in length, twenty in breadth, 
 and the same in height. Round the cornice there is a 
 line of coats-armorial, richly blazoned, belonging to the 
 families who kept the borders — as the Douglasses, Kers, 
 Scotts, Turnbulls, Maxwells, Elliotts, and Armstrongs. 
 The walls are of dark, richly carved oak, from Dun- 
 fermline, and the roof is formed by a series of pointed 
 arches; from the centre of each of which, hang richly 
 emblazoned armorial shields. The floor is paved with 
 black and white marble, brought from the Hebrides. Mag- 
 nificent suits of armor — a helmet and cuirass of one of 
 the Imperial Guard, with a hole in the breast-plate, where 
 the death-dealing bullet entered at Waterloo — a profusion 
 of swords and spears of every shape and pattern, are sus- 
 pended around the walls, or occupy the niches; From this 
 Hall, you pass into the private study of the Poet; a snug 
 little room, with cases full of books of reference. Here, 
 stands the high table, upon which so many of his charming 
 works were written; while from the old fashioned ink- 
 stand, towers the pen, made from an eagle's quill — the last 
 he ever used. A small gallery runs round this apartment, 
 leading to the door of his bed-chamber. A side door in 
 this study admits you to the library, a most magnificent 
 apartment at least fifty feet in length, and thirty in height; 
 •with an immense bay window in the centre, from which a 
 most charming view is had of the surrounding country. 
 The roof is of richly carved oak, as are also the bookcases, 
 which reach high up the Tfall. The collection of books in 
 this chamber amounts to some twenty thousand ; many of 
 them extremely rare and valuable. At the head of the 
 Library, upon a column of choice marble, stands a bust of 
 the Poet, from Chantry's chisel, a most life-like and 
 
ABBOTSrORD. 41 
 
 powerful head, with a brow that looks the very throne of 
 Genius. Connected with the Library is the Armory : Here 
 may be seen, a variety of curious weapons — Rob Roy's 
 gun, Hofer's blunderbuss, the pistols of Napoleon, cap- 
 tured at Waterloo ; and divers Indian spears and toma- 
 hawks. From the Armory you pass into the Breakfast 
 Boom, the favorite chamber of Sir Walter; and well it 
 might be the favorite haunt of such a lover of natural 
 scenery — for, from its magnificent window, the eye is en- 
 tranced by the view of that landscape, whose marvellous 
 beauty enkindled the fires of his imagination. It was in 
 this room the Poet died. Here was the scene, so touch- 
 ingly described by Lockhart, when the Poet, like the deer, 
 "had returned to die," in the place "where he was 
 roused.'^ 
 
 "I was dressing," says Lockhart, "when on Monday, 
 early in the morning, Nicholson came into my room, and 
 told me that his master had awoke in a state of composure, 
 and wished to see me; I found him entirely himself, but 
 in the last stage of feebleness. His eye was clear and 
 calm. ^ Lockhart,' said he, ' I may have but a minute to 
 speak to you — -my dear, be a good man — be virtuous, be 
 religious — nothing else will give you comfort, when you 
 come to lie here — God bless you all;' with this he sank 
 into a quiet sleep, and scarcely afterwards gave any sign of 
 consciousness. About half-past one o'clock of the same 
 day, he quietly breathed his last, in the presence of his 
 children. It was a beautiful day; so warm, that every 
 window was wide open, and so perfectly still, that the 
 sound of all others, the most delicious to his ear, the gentle 
 ripple of the Tweed over its pebbles, waa distinctly audible 
 
 d2 
 
42 
 
 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 as we knelt around the bed; and his eldest son kissed and 
 closed his ejes. No sculptor ever modelled a more majes- 
 tic image of repose." 
 
 The Dining Room, adjoining the Breakfast Chamber, is 
 a very handsome apartment. It contains a fine collection of 
 pictures, one of which at once rivets the attention. It is a 
 painting of the head of Mary, Queen of Scots, on a char- 
 ger; sketched the morning of her execution, shortly after 
 her beautiful head had fallen beneath the executioner's 
 stroke, The head is laid upon the centre of the dish, and 
 placed in an oblique position, with the ghastly neck nearest 
 the spectator, so that the nose is fore shortened, and the 
 nostrils front you. Such a position must have been a very 
 difficult one for artistic effect. Yet with all the disadvan- 
 tages, the artist has achieved wonders. In spite of the 
 fore-shortening, in spite of the livid hue of death, the face 
 is superlatively beautiful ; and in gazing at it, one can be- 
 lieve any tale of the witchery of her loveliness. The dark 
 hair parted on the noble brow, rolls downward in luxuriant 
 waves, as if to hide the ghastly evidences of decapitation. 
 The nose, of the finest Grecian form, descends from the 
 broad brow, which bears that ^'width of ridge," Lavater said, 
 "was worth a kingdom." The eyebrows are exquisitely 
 arched above the closed eyelids, from bcnea'.h which, you 
 can almost fancy you discern the gleam of dark melancholy 
 eyes. The mouth is slightly open, and though somewhat 
 swollen by suffering, is of exquisite formation. The whole 
 picture is terrible, yet lovely — a perfect image of death 
 by violence— of beauty, unsubdued by pain. An adjoin- 
 ing apartment contains portraits of the Scott family, and 
 two most interesting ones of Sir Walter, when a babe, and 
 
DRYBURGH. 48 
 
 in early boyhood. In the open, genial, and bright face of 
 the boy, one may read, that 
 
 "The child is Father of the man." • 
 
 From Abbotsford, you retrace your steps to Melrose, 
 and so on to Dryburgh, the last resting place of him, whose 
 spell is on you, as you tread each spot haunted by the 
 memorials of his genius. 
 
 Dry burgh is a venerable ruin, now much defaced by the 
 band of Time. The Poet sleeps beneath a low table mon- 
 ument, in St. Mary's aisle, (the most beautiful part of the 
 ruin) by the side of his faithful wife : while many an added 
 stone, now show, where cut off in life's prime, sleep the 
 sons and daughters of his House — that House, he hoped to 
 establish, so that it should transmit his name and fame to 
 generations. When one remembers how Scott hungered 
 and thirsted after a title, and longed to be the founder of 
 a great name, that should be handed down through a long 
 line ; and then looks upon the tablets in this ruined tran- 
 sept, the line of the Christian poet springs instinctively to 
 his lips; 
 
 •' He builds too low, who builds beneath the skies." 
 
 As you stand by the grave, and memory calls up in rapid 
 succession, the trials and triumphs of a life so full of inte- 
 rest, one can almost imagine the Muse of Scotland, her 
 head crowned with Cypress, and her Harp at her feet, 
 repeating the following invocation : 
 
 Ye splendid visions of the shadowy night! 
 Ye spectral forms, that float in fields of light ! 
 Spirits of beauty, that in mid air dwell, 
 Come to the shrine of Him, who loved you wellj 
 
44 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 Shades of departed heroes, from the tomb, 
 
 Covered with dust of ages, hither come: 
 
 In your bright panoply, and crested might, 
 
 Such as he called you forth to life and light. 
 
 And ye. too, brethren of the cloistered vow! 
 
 And ye, pale sisterhood, that loved to bow 
 
 Your virgin beauties to the holy thrall; 
 
 Come to this festival of death — come all! 
 
 Ye mighty ones of earth, uncrown your brows, 
 
 A mightier head lies here, and sweeter vows 
 
 Than ever king received, embalm this spot. 
 
 Where sleeps th« Wizard of the North, immortal Scott. 
 
 Come! sportive lovers of the moonlight hour, 
 
 Ye fairies, that obedient to his power, 
 
 Played off your merry pranks in hall and bower." 
 
 * ^ * * * 
 
 But chief of all, come Nature's holy wells, 
 
 Yielding your silver tribute, freshest bells 
 
 Plucked from the blooming heather, echoes fair, 
 
 Chaunting his golden lays, till earth and air, 
 
 Are full or melody. Come all! — come all! 
 
 Ye nations too, come at the solemn call! 
 
 And first his own dear land, bring offerings meet, 
 
 Such as his spirit loved, bright flowers and sweet. 
 
 For he has sung your beauties; he has thrown 
 
 A magic round them, greater than their own ; 
 
 'Till not a mountain, reared its head unsung. 
 
 Come then! awake the harp, and let earth ring. 
 
 With one deep dirge of woe, from voice and string. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 IN LONDON. 
 
 A View oi the City, from" "Waterloo Bridge — Excursion on the 
 Thames — St. Mary's Overies — The Tabard Inn— Temple 
 Church. 
 
 The great Babylon, is seen to advantage, from many 
 of the noble bridges spanning the Thames. Among 
 them may be mentioned Blackfriars; observed from which 
 St. Paul's has by far the most imposing effect, while some 
 of the more ancient parts of the City lie in close proxi- 
 mity. But by far the finest point of observation, is from 
 Waterloo Bridge, from which the view on a clear, bright 
 morning, is certaioly very fine. Beneath you, in Words- 
 worth's charming words, 
 
 " The river wanders at its own sweet will." 
 
 ' The thickly clustered houses on every side, proclaim the 
 vast population of the City ; and the numerous towers and 
 steeples, more than fifty of which, together with five 
 bridges, are visible from this spot, testify to its architectu- 
 ral wealth. The features of the south shore, on the right 
 hand are comparatively flat and uninteresting, there being 
 on this side of the river, few other buildings besides tim- 
 ber wharfs, tall chimneys, and erections belonging to the 
 worst part of London. The ancient Church of St. Mary 
 Overies, with its four pointed spires, and square tower, is 
 
46 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 the only object of interest. There the good old Poet Gower, 
 Chaucer's honored master, sleeps awaiting the resurrection 
 mom. There too, reposes Cardinal Beaufort, that wealthy 
 and ambitious prelate, whose death-bed has been painted 
 by Shakspeare in such awful colors : 
 
 *' Lord Cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, 
 Hold up thy hand! make signal of thy hope: 
 He dies — and makes no sign." 
 
 Beneath its venerable roof assembled the Papist com- 
 mission to try heretics — and on its sacred floor, Smithfield's 
 noblest martyr, Eodgers, received sentence of death, by fire. 
 "Within its hallowed cemetery, close by its ancient wall, 
 sleeps Beaumont's *Hwin worthy," Fletcher, while in close 
 communion with such honored dust lies Massinger. 
 
 On the north shore of the river, the features of the 
 view are impressive in the extreme. In the foreground, 
 with its noble terrace overlooking the water, Somerset 
 House stretches magnificently along the river. Farther on, 
 *' Temple Gardens," with their trees and verdure down to 
 the water's edge, contrast refreshingly with the masses of 
 brick and stone around. Glancing over the graceful stee- 
 ple of St. Bride's Church, St. Paul's towers above every 
 object, as it were with paternal dignity; its huge cupola 
 forming the most imposing feature in the scene. Behind 
 these, among a cluster of spires and towers, rises the tall 
 shaft of that Monument which " lifted its head to lie," 
 when it ascribed the great fire of London to the Papists. 
 And there, close along the water's edge, in gloomy mag- 
 nificence, you may behold the pointed towers of the once 
 great State Prison of England, so pregnant with associa- 
 tions of the romantic and fearful; while the extreme dis- 
 tance presents a bristling forest of masts, belonging to 
 
LONDON. 47 
 
 every nation. Turning westward and looking up the river, 
 several objects of interest meet the eye. The Lambeth 
 shore is marked by little, except a lion-surmounted brew- 
 ery, which somewhat relieves its monotony. The sombre 
 dome of Bethlehem Hospital, is seen behind, fraught with 
 the most gloomy associations, while Lambeth Palace rears 
 its towers in the distance, interesting as the scene of so 
 many Church Councils, and within whose walls, Wyckliffe 
 the first Reformer, read his startling doctrines, after he had 
 been previously cited at St. Paul's. On the opposite side 
 is the interesting locality of the Savoy, reminding us of 
 good old Geoffrey Chancer ; for here he resided so long, 
 under the protection of the Duke of Gaunt, and his amia- 
 ble Blanche. Here he composed some of the sweetest of 
 his poems. 
 
 Still farther on, stands Hungerford Market, while behind 
 rise the Column of Nelson and the towers of Westminster, 
 the great national Walhalla, And there too, stretching 
 their vast length along the waterside, with a dignity and 
 grandeur befitting their high vocation, are the new Houses 
 of Parliament. 
 
 As the busy eye glances around from spot to spot, and 
 from spire to spire, how the recollections of the past crowd 
 upon the mind. The Tower, which forms so prominent 
 a feature in the distance, how much of history and ro- 
 mance does it suggest. Kings, Queens, Statesmen, form 
 the almost unbroken line of its captives for five or 
 six centuries. There is hardly a single great event in 
 English history, where this gloomy edifice does not loom 
 forth in terrible distinctness — and scarce an ancient family 
 in England, to which it has not bequeathed some fearful 
 and ghastly memories. 
 
48 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 How many associations are awakened at the siglit of 
 Temple Gardens ! There, in former times, proudly lived 
 in splendor, the Knights Templar; and the admirers of 
 *^ the Essays of Elia," will not forget, that close by was 
 the residence of good Charles Lamb. Farther on, and 
 near the water side stands the little Chapel, whei-e Milton 
 was baptized ; and nearly opposite, on the other side of the 
 river, is the site of the celebrated " Globe Theatre," so 
 intimately -connected with the lives and early fortunes of 
 Shakspeare, and "rare Ben Johnson." 
 
 The sight of the venerable Towers of Westminster, evoke 
 feelings of deep interest. Who can stand within the 
 shadow of its ancient pile, without being overwhelmed by 
 the solemnity of its associations ? How are you impressed 
 with solemn and religious veneration, at the thought of 
 the uses to which it has been applied ; the great events of 
 which it has been the witness? Here are crowned the 
 monarchs of England ; and here all their pomp and vanity 
 fled away, they moulder like their subjects. Amid such 
 en assemblage of architectural grandeur, as the Abbey 
 presents, the mind is filled with a rich confusion of im- 
 agery, as if incapable of grappling with the whole. To 
 use the words of quaint Thomas Miller, " it seems like 
 the sunlight, that flames through the deep dyed win- 
 dows — you stand amid the dazzle of blaze and brightness, 
 that appears to have neither beginning or end, Here flash- 
 ing like gold J there stealing into the dim purple 
 twilight, and gilding as it passes a shrine, or a stony 
 shroud, then settling down amid the vaulted shadows 
 of the tomb ; or just lighting faintly in its passage upon 
 the uplifted hands of the recumbent image that have been 
 clasped for centuries, in the attitude of silent prayer. And 
 
THE THAMES. 40 
 
 there too is the Poet's Corner, a spot haunted by sad and 
 sweet associations. In it stands the massy and solemn 
 looking tomb of Chaucer, that morning star of English 
 poetry. He, the earliest child of English song, was the 
 first bard interred within this great national mausoleum. 
 The monument was erected shortly after his death, and 
 there is a look about it, which would seem to indicate an 
 antiquity almost as great as that of the Abbey itself 
 
 Gentle Spencer is the next heir to undying fame, in- 
 terred within this great national Walhalla; and Shaks- 
 peare and "rare Ben Johnson" bedewed the flag stones 
 around that tomb with tears, as they stood mourners 
 about his bier. Beaumont and Drayton were the next 
 who sank into this city of the illustrious dead. The last 
 great poet the vault opened to receive, was Campbell, 
 whose head almost touches the feet of Chaucer. 
 
 But leaving the Bridge, where such an interesting view 
 unfolds, and such pleasant memories are awakened, let us 
 direct our steps toward Hungerford Stairs, for a short 
 excursion on the Thames, to pay our tribute to the last 
 resting place of (xower, who sleeps beneath the stone pave- 
 ment of St. Saviour's. The barges moored side by side, 
 here at the stairs, have little safety, and still less conve- 
 nience : but a glance around us, when we have reached 
 them, affords abundant amusement. A small knot of 
 people in one corner, have been momentarily increasing, 
 evidently waiting for a special boat. A portly matron 
 with a collection of well-stored baskets — a group of city 
 reared children, cared for by a very small Cinderella-like 
 serving maid — a thin nervous gentleman, and ourselves 
 make up the party, that set foot upon the dark, dingy 
 little steamer, bound for different points along the river. 
 
 E 
 
50 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 We start off with great rapidity. Let us note as rapidly 
 as we are going, each point of interest as we pass. Look I 
 but a stone's throw from the pier, is a Water Gate, 
 now out of use, and when the tide is low, beyond the 
 reach of the stream — banks of mud surround it, on which 
 here and there are thick, dank beds of reedy grass. That 
 Water Gate is clearly a by-gone, having outlived its origi- 
 nal purpose. It is the only remnant of a once princely 
 mansion, and in its day, was vaunted as the most perfect 
 specimen of architecture, fashioned by the hand of the 
 celebrated Inigo Jones. It was the river gate of the 
 Palace of the Duke of Buckingham. The rustic basement, 
 and graceful columns, still attest the taste and skill of 
 the architect: but cankered lock and rusty hinges, tell 
 that its day of usefulness is gone, with the old palatial 
 mansion, to which it was an appendage. Its aspect of 
 neglect, if not of ruin, revives the memory of by-gone 
 times and manners, throwing the mind back to the days 
 when the bank of the river was lined with the mansions 
 of the nobility; when the Strand from Temple Bar to 
 Westminster, was an open road, and the Thames the 
 King's Highway between the Teipple and Westminster 
 Palace ; when each house fronting the stream boasted of 
 its " Water Gate," and gilded barges floated on the tide, 
 upon " the silent highway," while liveried menials waited 
 their Lords' pleasure at the stairs. 
 
 There are some exceedingly interesting associations 
 connected with this portion of the Thames. York House 
 which once fronted the River, almost at the very point 
 from which we started, offers its share of stirring memo- 
 ries. The first breath of Francis Bacon was drawn within 
 its walls; and through its terraced walks he disported in 
 
THE THAMES. 51 
 
 childhood. In York House he passed his boyhood's happy 
 days, and ere the sorrows of manhood had shaded his 
 brow, he left it to engage in a vain strife for intellectual 
 supremacy and empty worldly renown. Both were ac- 
 quired and built up by the splendor of his achievements, 
 and he returned to sacrifice to false ambition, all his 
 vaunted nobleness of purpose, after forty years of struggle 
 against poverty, rivalry, envy; and last, though not least, 
 the baseness of his own moral nature. After nearly half 
 a century spent in enduring duns and arrests for debt, 
 suffering insult from Coke, his rival in the law, and in 
 love — libelled by rumor, and frowned upon by his sove- 
 reign, he came back to this home of his boyhood. When 
 he again left it, guards were around him, and he departed 
 thence to the Tower. His domestics rose as he passed 
 down stairs. "Sit down, my masters," he exclaimed, 
 ''your rise has been my fall." How bitterly must his 
 wrung soul, at that moment have felt the degradation. 
 
 Next adown the stream, stood Durham House, the lux- 
 urious abode of Dudley of Northumberland, a spot most 
 closely linked with the touching story of Lady Jane Grey. 
 Here she lived — here she married, and from it she was 
 tempted to take barge to the Tower, there to assume a 
 crown, she was destined so short a time to wear. From 
 Durham House, accompanied by her young and handsome 
 husband, surrounded by all the pomp and circumstance of 
 new born royalty, " did she take water in a gilded barge," 
 decked with banners, and moving to the strains of merry 
 music. Where Durham House stood, and where an eight 
 month's drama of real life was played, terminated by the axe 
 of the executioner, we now see the Adelphi, a noble pile 
 raised upon foundations of immense depth and thickness. 
 
52 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 And soon we are approaching Waterloo Bridge, the finest 
 in its proportions of any bridge in Europe. Where those 
 coal-barges, and coal-heavers ply their dingy trade, the an- 
 cient palace of the Savoy once stood, rearing its dark towers 
 in all the pride of feudal magnificence. There the unfor- 
 tunate John of France, taken prisoner at Poictiers by the 
 Black Prince, was held in gentle, but safe durance. About 
 the same period, John of Gaunt, ^' time honored Lancas- 
 ter," made the Palace of the Savoy a residence, numbering 
 the poet Chaucer in his retinue. 
 
 Clearing Westminster Bridge^ Somerset House displays 
 its imposing facade to the passenger on the river. Founded 
 by the Protector Somerset, its princely magnificence aided 
 the outcry against him ; and before he had completed the 
 Palace, he died upon the block at Tower Hill. Elizabeth, 
 and Catharine the Queen of the merry monarch, succes- 
 sively occupied this Palace. It was in the old palace that 
 stood upon the very site now covered by the modern struc- 
 ture, the remains of Oliver Cromwell laid in state — and 
 from it, he was buried with great pomp and pageantry. 
 
 Quickly we pass the opening of Strand Lane — a dirty 
 court of no repute — and are soon opposite to the site of 
 the Palace, where once lived the handsome and brave, but 
 headstrong Essex. Here audience was sought of him by 
 nobles, princes^ and ambassadors, when the sunlight of 
 Elizabeth's favor was turned full upon him. Here the 
 gallant and indiscreet court favorite wore the love tokens 
 of his royal mistress; and from it he madly issued with an 
 armed force to attack the city. That wild enterprizc 
 changed his abode from Essex House to the Tower — end- 
 ing in Essex with a headless trunk upon Tower Hill ; for 
 his enamored Queen^ in a broken heart. In Devereuz 
 
THE TEMPLE. 63 
 
 Court, fixed high in the wall of a Tavern, may yet be 
 observed a bust of the Earl in stone; the only token be- 
 yond the name of court and street, of Essex House. 
 
 Next we may note the Temple Gardens and Temple 
 Church, with the memories of the martial gatherings of 
 Europe's early chivalry, to bear the banner of the Cross 
 to shelter beneath its folds the Holy Sepulchre. Its cir- 
 cular Church, built in imitation of the fane, which in 
 Jerusalem covered the tomb of Christ, was consecrated 
 more than six centuries ago. Upon the floor still rest the 
 sepulchral effigies of the Knights Templar, whose bones 
 are mouldering beneath. Temple Gardens is now an oasis 
 in the desert of coal barges, and dingy looking wherries; 
 a spot still pleasant and cheerful, as a promenade. It was 
 here Shakspeare located the scene, when those rose- 
 emblems were plucked by the rival houses of York and 
 Lancaster, afterwards developing in that civil strife, which 
 deluged English soil with English btood. In later days 
 tlicse gardens were places of resort and solace to Johnson, 
 Cowper^ Goldsmith and Lamb— the gentle Elia says, "I 
 was born and passed the first seven years of my life near, 
 and in the Temple Gardens. Its church, its halls, its 
 gardens^ and fountains are of my oldest recollections. I 
 repeat to this day no verses to myself with greater emotion 
 than those of Spencer, where he speaks of this spot." 
 
 Passing the Temple with its associations, we bestow a 
 hurried glance upon some sooty-looking buildings, with 
 circular iron receivers. These form part of the numerous 
 Gas works^ which make London the best lighted city in 
 the world. They stand upon the very spot, once occupied 
 by the ancient sanctuary of the White Friars, peopled by 
 Sir Walter Scott so graphically in his Fortunes of Nigel, 
 e2 
 
.54 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 There his hero, like other fugitives from the pursuit of 
 bailiffs, obtained protection upon taking the rhyming oath, 
 
 " By spigot and barrel, 
 
 By bilbo, and buff, 
 
 Thou art sworn to the quarrel 
 
 For the blades of the huff. 
 
 For White Friars,- and its claims. 
 
 To be champion, or martyr. 
 
 And to fight for its dames 
 
 Like a knight of the Garter." 
 
 Slash bucklers and bullies, have now given place to coal- 
 heavers, gas-men, and glass-blowers. 
 
 Soon we are under the shadow of Blackfriars' Bridge. 
 Clearing this, St. Paul's becomes the most prominent 
 object. The huge dome of the Metropolitan Cathedral is 
 crowded round about by the spires and pinnacles of thirty 
 other Churches, many of them the products of the same 
 genius that reared this rival of St. Peter's. 
 
 Soon we are approaching London Bridge; and here we 
 have in all its perfection, the scene and stir of busy com- 
 merce — crowded wharfs with huge cranes still drawing 
 richer cargoes into their deep recesses, and barges floating 
 by laden almost to sinking with country produce. Close to 
 this is the central spot, where 
 
 " Lofty Trade 
 Gives audience to the world ; the Strand around 
 Close swarms with busy crowds of many a realm f 
 What bales! what wealth! what industry! what fleets r" 
 
 Now we shoot under the magnificent Bridge of South- 
 wark, the first structure of iron, in the shape of a bridge, 
 ever built. How light and yet how strong, its noble arches 
 look ! Almost in a line with the present roadway to this 
 bridge, on the Surry side, stood the Globe Theatre, the 
 
ST. MARY OVERIES. 65 
 
 scene of Shakspeare's first acquaintance with the sock and 
 buskin — the place where he is said to have carried a wick 
 to light the actors on the stage — that stage, he was after- 
 wards to purify, enlighten and illumine, by the brighter 
 rays of his genius. 
 
 Leaving Southwark's iron bridge behind us, the turreted 
 steeple of St. Mary Overies, or, the modern St. Saviour's, 
 towers up beyond. Our little boat is soon alongside the 
 floating barge built pier, where a dense crowd of passengers, 
 hustle each other, in trying to get first on board. Elbow- 
 ing our way up the steep ascent, we are soon standing in 
 front of the modernized Church of St. Saviour's. In the 
 olden time, long before the Conquest, a House of Sisters 
 was founded here, by a maiden of the name of Mary, the 
 daughter of the old ferryman; and then called by the 
 name of St. Mary Overies, or St. Mary, over the ferry. 
 Towards the close of the fourteenth century, the old fabric 
 was restored through the munificence of the Poet Gower, 
 Chaucer's master, and but recently has been again restored 
 and modernized. The plan of this Church is a simple 
 one, being in the cruciform shape. An old Church is 
 always a solemn place — the silence, the repose, almost un- 
 earthly, which broods there, dispose [the mind to serious 
 meditation, and in the presence of the many memorials of 
 the dead scattered around, no one can forget his mortality. 
 In the south transept may be found the monument to old 
 Gower. The Poet, "left his soul to God, and his body 
 to be buried in the Church of the Canons of the blessed 
 Mary de Overies, in a place expressly provided for it." 
 Upon it you may read "Here lyes John Gower, a benefac- 
 tor to this sacred edifice in the time of Edward III. and 
 Richard II." An eflSgy of the Poet lies in a recess; on 
 the purple and gold band, adorned with fillets of roses 
 
56 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 encircling the head of the eflBgy, are the words " Merci 
 Ihu," or Mercy Jesus. Three gilded Tolumes, labelled 
 with the names of his principal works, support the head. 
 On the wall at his feet, are his arms, and a hat with a red 
 hood, bordered with ermine, arid surmounted by his crest, 
 a dog's head. Near this monument, on a pillar at the side, 
 may be seen a cardinal's hat, with certain arms beneath. 
 To that slight memorial is attached a long train of recol- 
 lections, many of them highly interesting. The arras are 
 of the Beaufort f imily : the hat is that of Cardinal Beau- 
 fort, whose death-bed Shakspeare has painted with such 
 power. Immediately opposite Gower's monument, we have 
 another, with a life-like bust of John Bingham, saddler to 
 Queen Elizabeth, and King James. The complexion and 
 features, the white ruff, dark jerkin, and red waistcoat of 
 this saddler to royalty, are in most excellent preseryation. 
 Crossing to the north transept, may be seen the monument 
 to Dr. Lockyer, a famous empiric during the reign of 
 Charles II. His effigy represents a very respectable look- 
 ing personage, attired in a thick curled wig, and furred 
 gown, pensively reclining upon some pillows, and looking 
 as if he half-doubted the truth of his own epitapb : 
 
 His virtuejs, and his pills are so well known, 
 That envy can't confine them under stone." 
 
 In the beautiful Lady Chapel, with its slender, tree- 
 like pillars, sending off their branches along the roof, 
 until they form a perfect continuity of shade, sleeps the 
 good Bishop Andrews^ awaiting in sure and steadfast hope, 
 a glorious awakening. Upon the tomb of one of the an- 
 cient Aldermen of London, whose whole family are 
 grouped in effigies there, not forgetting his two wivee. 
 
TABARD INN 
 
 may be noticed the following beautiful inscription^ wbicb 
 is a slightly varied extract from Quarle's poem. 
 
 Like to the damask rose you see, 
 Or like the blossom on the tree, 
 Or like the dainty flower of May, 
 Or like the morping of the day, 
 Or like the sun, or like the shade, 
 Or like the gourd which Jonas had. 
 Even so is man, whose thread is spun, 
 Drawn out, and cut, and so is done. 
 
 The rose withers, the blossohi blasteth, 
 The flower fades, the morning hasteth ; 
 The sun sets, the shadow flies. 
 The gourd consumes, and man, he dies. 
 
 Upon the floor of this old Church, assembled the Coun- 
 cil, that sent Rodgers to the stake. He was the first victim; 
 but for three long years, the spirit of persecution kept the 
 fires alive. Plain John Bradford, here received his sen- 
 tence; and shortly after leaving the precincts, wrote that 
 touching letter to Cranmer, Ridley, and Latimer, when he 
 said — " This day I think, or to-morrow at the uttermost, 
 hearty Hooper, sincere Saunders, and trusty Taylor end 
 their course, and receive their crown : the next am I, 
 which hourly look for the porter to open me the gates 
 after them, to enter the desired rest.'' Massinger is 
 buried here ; but not as we supposed in a gloomy corner, 
 amid a mass of mis-shapen and mutilated graves; but 
 within the sanctified area of the Church. 
 
 Leaving St. Saviour's, I instinctively turned toward that 
 spot, to which every lover of poetry is glad to direct his 
 steps — the old Tabard Inn — the scene of the feasting of 
 Chaucer's Pilgrims: those Pilgrims, who, to use the lan- 
 guage of Shaw, " have traversed four hundred and fifty 
 
58 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 years — ^like the Israelites wandering in the wilderness — 
 amid arid periods of neglect and ignorance, sandy flats of 
 formal mannerism, unfertilized by any spring of beauty, 
 and yet their garments have not decayed, nor their shoes 
 waxed old/' I soon found it, standing nearly opposite 
 the modern Town Hall of Southwark. The exterior pre- 
 sents simply a square dilapidated gate way, its posts 
 strapped with rusty iron bands, and its gates half covered 
 with sheets of the same metal. As I entered, the land- 
 lord greeted me, and I thought of those lines of Chaucer, 
 
 "A seemly man, ye hoste is withal." 
 Merry doings were there in the old inn yard, five hun- 
 dred years ago, when Harry Baily, ^' the hoste" was 
 
 "the early cock 
 That gathered them together in a flock." 
 
 The Inn is now known, as "The Talbot,'' evidently a 
 corruption from "Tabard." 
 
 There is something extremely venerable in the old wea- 
 ther-beaten, and iron-bound posts, which prop up its com- 
 paratively modern gateway. They tell of the grazing and 
 grinding of thousands of old wheels, while the stones are 
 worn away by the trampings of many a steed. I was soon 
 in "the Pilgrim's Room." With due reverence, I looked 
 upon its venerable walls, its square chimney pieces, and 
 its quaint old panels, reaching to the ceiling. It is now 
 cut up into smjjl rooms ; but upon looking closely at the 
 chambers at either end, it was vefy clear to be seen, that 
 they had all once formed one chamber. The whole ap- 
 pearance of the building is curious, and quaint beyond 
 description. "The Wife of Bath,"— "The Knight and 
 his Son,"— "The Gentle Parish Priest,"— the conceited 
 " Fryar," with all that Pilgrim train, came thronging in — 
 
TABARD INN. 59 
 
 and as I stood upon the ancient balcony, and looked down 
 into the old court-yard, the scene so graphically described 
 by Chaucer, was before me. Returning, I stopped ia at 
 the tap room, and drained to the memory of old Geoffrey 
 
 a mug of 
 
 "Nappy strong ale of Southwark." 
 
 What a forlorn looking district, is this of Southwark. 
 Many of the houses, besides being old, are large and lofty. 
 Many of the courts stand just as they did, when Cromwell 
 sent out his spies, to hunt up and slay the Cavaliers; and 
 just as when they again were hunted here by the Cavaliers, 
 after the Restoration. There is a smell of past ages about 
 these ancient courts, like that which arises from decay, a 
 murky closeness, as if the old winds which whistled 
 through them, in the times of the civil wars, had become 
 stagnant, and all the old things had fallen and decayed, 
 as they were blown together. The timber of the houses 
 looks bleached and worm-eaten, and the very brick-work, 
 seems never to have been new. In these old struc- 
 tures you find wide, hollow-sounding, decayed staircases, 
 that lead into great ruinous rooms^ whose echoes are only 
 awakened by the shrieking and scampering of large black- 
 eyed rats, who eat through the solid floors, through the 
 wainscot, and live and die without being startled by a hu- 
 man voice. Leaving this desolate district, I was soon 
 standing on London Bridge. What a crowd are coming 
 and going over this vast thoroughfare ! There hardly ap- 
 pears standing room ; and yet each one of the vast throng, 
 seems to have space enough. Just below the dark capped 
 turrets of the Tower loom forth with all their ghastly 
 memories. 
 
 Once on the other side, I passed rapidly by Fishmonger's 
 
60 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 Hall, the site of the old Boar's Head Tavern, and turning 
 by Craven Into Ludgate Street, reached my destination, 
 the Temple Church, which stands a little back from Fleet 
 Street, near where Temple Bar spans the way with its 
 gloomy looking arch. Temple Church now belongs to the 
 Law Societies of the Inner and Middle "Temple. The his- 
 tory is a curious one, by which the Lawyers succeeded to 
 the inheritance of that powerful fraternity, the Knights 
 Templars, whose guiding principle enforced by the solem- 
 nities of an oath, was, "never to permit a christian 
 to be unlawfully and unjustly despoiled of his heritage." 
 The Temple Church, or at least that part called "The 
 Round," was built originally by the Knights Templar of 
 Jerusalem, an order, who pitying the sufferings of Christian 
 pilgrims to the Holy City, entered into a solemn compact 
 to devote their lives and fortunes, to the defence of the 
 highway leading to Jerusalem, from the inroads of Mus- 
 selmen, and the ravages of the powerful robbers, who in- 
 fested it. Their rise was rapid ; but not more so than the 
 growth of their ambition. From guarding the highway, 
 they took to guarding the Holy City itself: and in pro- 
 cess of time, influential men joined the order, and threw 
 into its coffers their entire fortunes. It gr6w in power, 
 influence, and wealth, and in the palmiest days of its 
 strength, numbered some of the most influential names in 
 England as members. The Master of the Temple, took 
 his place amongst the Peers in Parliament. The dress of 
 the Templar, corresponded with that of the Red Cross 
 Knight, in " the Fairy Queen" of Spencer. 
 
 " And on his breast a bloudie cross he bore 
 
 The deare remembrance of his dying Lord, 
 
 For whose sweet sake that glorious badge he wore, 
 
 And dead as living, ever him adored." 
 
THE TEMPLS. 61 
 
 About tlie reign of Edward HI. the estates belonging 
 to the Templars, came into the hands of the Knight Hos- 
 pitallers of St. John of Jerusalem ; and by them were 
 demised to certain students of the Common Law. From 
 that time, the body of Lawyers increased in influence and 
 importance. Soon they became so powerful, that it was 
 found necessary to divide the Inn into two separate frater- 
 nities, to be called the Honorable Society of the Inner, 
 and the Honorable Society of the Middle Temple; both 
 having separate Halls, but worshipping in one Church. 
 These honorable societies appeared to have suffered con- 
 siderably during the rebellion under Wat Tyler. Jack 
 Cade had no great respect for the gentlemen of the Law. 
 He could not understand, *^how the skin of an innocent 
 lamb, should be made parchment, and that parchment 
 being scribbled on, should undo a man." Jack had heard 
 some people say, "that the bee stings;" but sensible fel- 
 low, he had reason to know ^' it was the bee's wax," " for 
 he did but put a seal once to a thing, and was never his 
 own man after." Believing, as honest Jack did, how 
 could he help putting his blazing torch, amid the parch- 
 ment treasures of the Inns of Court. But the Order soon 
 recovered from the devastating effects of the fire, and 
 waxed more potent than ever ; and about the first year of 
 James I. we find the whole of this property was granted 
 by letters patent, to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, 
 the Recorder of London, and others, the Benchers and 
 Treasurers of the Inner and Middle Temple, to have and 
 to hold to them and their assigns forever. Thus secured 
 by royal grant, it has remained in their possession to 
 this day. The place where now 
 
 " The studious lawyers have their bowers/' 
 
02 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 for Temple Gardens still display their verdure on the 
 river side ; is certainly not what the gentle Elia declares 
 it to be in his time, " the most elegant spot in the metro- 
 polis." The approach to it, from Fleet Street, is now 
 forlorn enough, and in the smoky atmosphere of Lon- 
 don, everything outside has a dingy, dismal appearance. 
 Who can ever forget the gloom and " the ancient smell," 
 there is about the old Brick Court. But the memories of 
 the great and good, cluster around its venerable precincts. 
 Gower, Chaucer and Spencer, all lived here. Oliver 
 Goldsmith, poor Noll! resided here, and in that dingy 
 room on the first floor of House No. 2, they show you the 
 very spot in which he died. 
 
 The Inns of Court are remarkable for the elegance, 
 and beauty of their interiors. The old times, when these 
 Halls were the scenes of good cheer, and sumptuous en- 
 tertainment : when majesty, and those who reflected its 
 splendors, honored these precincts with their right royal 
 presence; have indeed passed away. But though 'Hhe 
 ferial days and glorious merry-makings," of the lawyers of 
 Evelyn's time have gone, and old Benchers no longer 
 lead the dance with measured step, following their ''Master 
 of the Bevels :" nor young limbs of the law, '' make the 
 welkin dance indeed, and rouse the night owl in a catch 
 that would draw three souls from out one weaver;" still 
 the honorable profession keep alive the spirit and sociality 
 of their order in these old Halls. In the Halls of the 
 Inner and Middle Temple, dinner is prepared for the mem- 
 bers every day, during Term time. The Masters of the 
 Bench, dining on the elevated platform, at the farther 
 end of the Halls, while the barristers, and studente line 
 the long tables, extending down the sides of the room. 
 
THE TEMPLE. Od 
 
 Students keep twenty terms, — that is five years at these 
 lans, — before they are entitled to be called to the Bar. 
 Graduates of either University, however, are privileged in 
 an earlier call. On " Grand Days," the Halls are graced, 
 hot only by the attendance of a large number of members, 
 and occasionally by the presence of the Judges, who dine 
 in succession with each of the four Inns, extending their 
 visits then both to Gray's and Lincoln's. The Hall of 
 the Inner Temple, is I believe, the largest, as it most 
 certainly is the most magnificent in its interior decora- 
 tions. The fine windows are adorned with the arms 
 of the distinguished members of the Inn ; and there amid 
 the blaze of heraldric devices in stained glass, you may 
 read the names, so world-wide in their fame, of Cowper, 
 Thurlow, Dunning, Eldon, Blackstone, Stowell, Hard- 
 wicke, and Somers. Nothing can exceed the rich and 
 glowing effect of the emblazonry on these windows, the 
 elaborateness of the rich carving of the wood-work on the 
 walls, or the fine effect produced by the portraits — some of 
 them veritable Vandykes, that look down upon you from 
 the venerable walls. The strong oaken tables that extend 
 from end to end of the Hall — are the same at which 
 those noble spirits of the sixteenth century dined ; and all 
 the venerated forms of Benchers, that Lamb styles "the 
 mythology of the Temple." 
 
 The Temple Church, "where barristers resort," has 
 been lately restored in a style of magnificence and cor- 
 respondency worthy of its best days, when it was adorned 
 with more than oriental splendor. The only ancient part 
 of the Church is now the Round, into which you first enter 
 by a deeply recessed, and sumptuously enriched Norman 
 gateway. In thfi restorations under the auspices of the 
 
64 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 two Societies, everything has been restored, as near as 
 could be ascertained, to its original beauty. The clus- 
 tered columns, supporting the roof of the nave, present a 
 fine appearance. These are the original pillars, once 
 used in the old Church, of polished marble, variegated 
 and beautiful. In the ancient part of the Church is 
 presented the most interesting example in England, of 
 the transition of the plain massive Norman, to the light 
 and elegant early English style. In the Round, one may 
 notice the semicircular windows of the Norman period; 
 but Norman in the last stage of a change to something 
 else, already grown slender and elongated. There too we 
 have the pointed windows — the very perfection of what is 
 called the lancet style. The stained window over the altar, 
 appears like one of the richest works of the olden time, 
 although it is very modern, while the richly gilded roof is 
 scarce less splendid than it was, when the clang of knightly 
 heel rang upon the stone pavement below. The stained 
 window first mentioned, with its deep rubies, rich purple, 
 and gold, represents Christ enthroned. The pavement of 
 the Church remodeled in strict correspondency, with the 
 the ancient one, is yellow and amber upon a deep ground 
 of red. There is a great grouping of heraldric and 
 pictorial subjects, such as animals with their tails linked 
 together; cocks and foxes, and figures playing upon 
 musical instruments. But the chief ornaments are the 
 symbols of the two societies of the Temple; the Lamb, 
 and the Pegasus, or winged horse, founded on the celerity 
 of Heraclius. The Lamb being the device of St. John, 
 belonged to the Hospitallers of St. John, who succeeded 
 the Templars. One of the members of the Inns, in glori- 
 fying this symbolic emblem, now adopted by the Order, 
 wrote the following eulogistic verses : 
 
THE TEMPLE. 
 
 .65 
 
 " As by the Templars hold you go, 
 
 The Horse and Lamb displayed, 
 In emblematic figures show, 
 
 The merits of their trade. 
 That clients may infer from thence, 
 
 How just is their profession, 
 The Lamb sets forth their innocence, 
 
 The Horse their expedition. 
 O happy Britons J happy isle! 
 
 Let foreign nations say; 
 When you get justice without guile, 
 
 And law without delay." 
 To this, some wag made the following reply : 
 " Deluded men ! these holds forego 
 
 Nor trust such cunning elves, 
 These artful emblems tend to show 
 
 Their clients, not tliemselves ! 
 
 'Tis all a trick ; these all are shams 
 
 By which they mean to cheat you ; 
 So have a care ; for you're the Lambs, 
 
 And they the Wolves that eat you. 
 Nor let the thoughts of no delay, 
 
 To these, their courts misguide you ; 
 For you're the shoioy horse, and they, 
 
 The jockies that will ride you." 
 
 Among the greatest objects of interest in this Church, 
 are the recumbent figures of the cross-legged Crusaders on 
 the floor. They are nine in number, and lie four on each side 
 of the central walk, in a double line. These are an- 
 cient monuments of Knights Templars. Selden and Plow- 
 den are buried in the vaults of this Church, and the gentle 
 author of the " Ecclesiastical Polity/' has very appropri- 
 ately a monument, commemorative of his many virtues, 
 and rare abilities. Beneath a worn and moss-covered slab 
 of gray stone, just outside the walls of the Church, are 
 supposed to rest the remains of Littleton. And with thia 
 old Church, ended a day's wandering in London. 
 r2 
 
CHAPTER ly. 
 
 A FEW OF THE 
 
 CEILEBI^ITIES OF XiOlSriDOlSr- 
 
 The Parks — The Mansion House — The Exchange — The Bank of 
 England. 
 
 How appropriately did Wyndham style the Parks, 'Uhe 
 lungs of London." Great breathing places, indeed they 
 are, with their shaded walks, running streams, and Ter- 
 dant sod all open to the sky. Here leaves are waving, 
 waters rippling, and flowers blowing, as if the huge city, 
 with its million of murmuring voices, had been removed 
 miles away. These Parks are where that great Leviathan, 
 the London populace, comes up to breathe, darting back 
 again into the deep waters of the crowded stream; then 
 rising here each day to catch a breath of the pure and 
 vital air of heaven. 
 
 Nothing is more surprising to an American, accustomed 
 to the narrow and contracted squares of his own cities, 
 than these great spaces open to the sky in such a metro- 
 polis as London, Some idea may be formed of the extent 
 of these Parks, when it is known that they embrace a 
 space of more than fourteen hundred acres, taken out as it 
 were of the very heart of the city. To the early taste of 
 English Sovereigns for the chase, London is unquestiona- 
 bly indebted for her Parks : so that what in one age 
 savored of oppression and encroachment upon the liberty 
 of the subject, has in another, been the means of produc- 
 ing the greatest amount of public good ; and added mate- 
 
THE PARKS. 67 
 
 rially to the sum total of public happiness. Thus true it 
 is, there is a soul of goodness in things ill, when time, and 
 advanced civilization furnish the alembic, to distil it out. 
 
 St. James's^ Green, and Hyde Park, with Kensington 
 Garden's, stretch in an unbroken line, from White Hall 
 to Kensington Palace ; so that one may really walk from 
 Downing Street to Bayswater, a distance of three miles, 
 without taking his feet off the sod. These three Parks 
 enclose London on its west side : Regent's and Bat- 
 tcrsea Parks lying to the north and southwest. Besides 
 these immense open spaces, which are beautifully laid out; 
 the ventilation of this great city is cared for in numerous 
 spares, some of them of large extent, planted with trees, 
 and embracing in the whole, several hundred acres. 
 
 St. James's Park is shaped not unlike a boy's kite, en- 
 closing some eighty-three acres. And who that has ever 
 pored over the quaint and gossipping diary of Evelyn, or 
 read the stately lines of th-e courtly Waller, but feels at 
 home within its charming precincts ? Evelyn in his Sylva, 
 talks about "the branchy walks of elms in St. James's, 
 intermingling their reverend tresses." The branchy walks 
 are still here ; and the long avenue of elms, (whether 
 of Evelyn's time we know not,) with interlacing 
 branches, yet cover the sod with their dark shade. It was 
 in this park occurred that touching incident related of 
 Charles I. on his way to the scaffold at Whitehall ; when 
 the poor King pointed with tears in his eyes to the oak, 
 which had been planted by the hands of his brother 
 Henry, and said, " his fate was happier than mine, for he 
 died young.'' And here too, along this very walk, in gloomy 
 mood with Whitlock, strode that bold bad man, Cromwell, 
 asking with significant look, "what if a man should 
 
68 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 take upon himself to be king?'' and receiving that chilling 
 response — " the remedy would be worse than the disease/' 
 The glimpses of grand architectural objects from this 
 Park are indeed striking, and include the Towers of West- 
 minster, those of the new Houses of Parliament — the long 
 and rather monotonous facade of Buckingham Palace, 
 with York Column soaring high in air, and the Horse 
 Guards terminating the rather picturesque vista of the 
 Lake. Upon the Island, in the eastern part of the Lake, 
 is the Swiss Cottage of th« Ornithological Society, con- 
 taming a Council Room, keeper's apartments, and steam 
 hatching apparatus, while contiguous are feeding places. 
 On this Island, aquatic fowls brought from all countries, 
 make their own nests among the shrubbery; and in the 
 morning the whole surface of the Lake is alive with. them, 
 in all their varied plumage. The fashionable days of the 
 Park, have long since gone. It was once the favorite 
 lounge of royalty, and all the fashion of the metropolis, 
 gathered here in the afternoon. One familiar with the 
 comedies of Otway, Congreve, and Farquhar, will recog- 
 nize St. James's as thp favorite locale of the numerous 
 assignations mentioned in those plays. Down to the days 
 of Goldsmith, this Park appears to have been a fashionable 
 resort. In his " Essays," he says — " If a man be splenetic, 
 he may every day meet companions on the seats in St. 
 James, with whose groans he may mix his own, and 
 pathetically talk of the weather.'' Hyde Park has now 
 become the fashionable afternoon lounge of the metropolis; 
 and St. James's is left to nursery-maids, and their inte- 
 resting charges. A pleasant sight it is, which may be 
 witnessed at all hours of the day, in clear weather, to see 
 the numerous rosy-cheeked children^ and little misses in 
 
THE PARKS. 0» 
 
 all the gracefulness of early girlhood, engaged in feeding 
 the numerous wild fowl that crowd the shores of the beau- 
 tiful Lake in the Park. 
 
 You enter Green Park, after passing the open area in 
 front of Buckingham Palace, the favorite residence of the 
 Sovereign ; a building by no means remarkable for the 
 elegance of its architecture ; although the magnificence of 
 its interior is said to atone for the defect in its external 
 appearance. The poet Rogers, occupied a house fronting 
 on this Park, near St. James's Place ; and here he gave 
 those delightful entertainments so much sought after, and 
 appreciated by the admirers of the poet. Here he collected 
 those glorious productions of the ancient and modern 
 chisel; and that fine gallery of works of the first masters, 
 not surpassed by any private collecti^ in England. Byron 
 said of this home of the poet — ^^ If you enter Rogers' 
 House, you find it not the dwelling of a common mind. 
 There is not a gem, a coin, a book thrown aside on his 
 chimney piece, his sofa, his table, that does not bespeak 
 an almost fastidious elegance in the possessor." By the 
 high ground of Constitution Hill, crossing this Park, 
 you pass to Hyde Park Corner. It was on this hill, the 
 three attempts on the life of" the Queen, were made at 
 several times, by Oxford, Francis, and Hamilton; and it 
 was at the upper end of the road. Sir Robert Peel on 
 his way for his usual ride in Hyde Park, was thrown 
 or fell from his horse, of which fall he died And here 
 your attention is attracted by a rather gloomy looking 
 structure, faced with Bath stone, standing near the arched 
 entrance. This is the celebrated Apsley House, so long 
 the residence of the greatest captain of his age, the Duke 
 of Wellington. It was sold to him by the Crown ; and 
 
70 FOREIGN ETCHXf^GS. 
 
 those iroD blinds, said to be bullet proof, which give such 
 a singular aspect to the house, were placed there in a 
 defiant spirit by the "Iron Duke,'' during the ferment oc- 
 casioned by the Reform Bill, when his windows were 
 broken by the mob. Time, which must make it venerable, 
 will confer more and more lustre upon it ; and a century 
 hence, what is now looked upon with curiosity, will be 
 regarded with reverence. The remains of the Duke rest 
 in the crypt, beneath the pavement of St. Paul's, in 
 close proximity to the greatest of England's naval heroes, 
 Nelson and Collingwood; and the sculptor's skill is at 
 work upon a monument, whose grand proportions and 
 allegorical allusions shall tell to after ages, the grateful 
 admiration of the country^ he served so well. 
 
 Hyde Park, through which entrance is had at Hyde 
 Park Corner, by the triple arched and colonnaded Gate- 
 way, extends from this point westward to Kensington 
 Gardens, embracing nearly four hundred acres. The Ser- 
 pentine River, which is one of its greatest ornaments, 
 covers nearly fifty acres. It has upon its margin nume- 
 rous lofty elms. The whole Park is intersected with well 
 kept foot-paths, and the carriage-walks are wide, and in 
 most admirable order. During the London season, in the 
 afternoons, between half-past five and six, may be seen all 
 the fashion and splendid equipages of the nobility and 
 gentry of Great Britain. Rotten Row, the equestrian 
 drive, is crowded with male and female equestrians, mount- 
 ed upon spirited steeds, whose pedigrees go back perhaps 
 farther than their owners'. Here are fair equestrians, in 
 whose cheeks mantle "all the blood of all the Howards" — 
 with figures to which out-door exercise has given ample 
 development, and with roses in their cheeks, telling of that 
 
THE PARKS. 71 
 
 full and robust health, which is the result of their superior 
 physical training. What splendid forms these young Eng- 
 lish women have; what expressive features ! Free, bold, 
 and natural. And then too, what a gay scene does that 
 carriage drive present, on a bright afternoon in the season- 
 — flashing with the most brilliant equipages, and all the 
 gilded folly that wealth and fashion can create. There 
 rolls the coronetted carriage of a dowager countess, and 
 here, whirls rapidly along the light cabriolet of some sprig 
 of nobility, who with his spruce tiger behind in livery, 
 has seized the reins of his mettlesome steed, and is driving 
 with a skill that Sanderson might envy. A rush of pedes- 
 trians to the edge of the carriage drive, and the general 
 turning of the faces of the crowd towards the gate at Hyde 
 Park Corner, indicate the approach of some distinguished 
 personages; and presently preceded by two or three dash- 
 ing ofl&cers of the Horse Guards in their splendid uniform, 
 and accompanied by outriders, the open landau of the 
 Sovereign, whirls into the Park. The crowd of vehicles 
 along the Drive open at its approach, and then close in 
 upon its wake. Hats go off — dandies in stunning ties put 
 up their eye-glasses — nursery maids and children gaze with 
 admiration undisguised : but all along the line no cheer Is 
 heard, though everywhere the Sovereign and her consort 
 are received with that deep feeling of respect, far better 
 than noisy clamor, because more sincere. The appearance 
 of the Queen is by no means prepossessing, and one can 
 discover no traces of the beauty that her numerous 'por- 
 traits induce you to expect. Her face is full, bearing traces 
 of its Hanoverian origin, in .the contour, while the expres- 
 sion is any thing but agreeable. Of late years she has 
 grown so stout, that with one of her inches, it has entirely 
 
72 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 destroyed the little symmetry of figure she may have once 
 possessed. Besides she dresses badly, and in this respect 
 is in striking contrast with her fair cousin over the chan- 
 nel^ whose exquisite taste is the admiration of Paris. 
 This contrast was mortifying to English pride, in the recent 
 visit to London of the fair Empress of the French, whose 
 personal charms and graceful exterior struck the liege sub- 
 jects of her majesty rather forcibly. The appearance of 
 Prince Albert is that of a refined quiet gentleman, which 
 he most unquestionably is. He looks much older than I 
 supposed, and there is an expression about the corners of 
 his mouth, indicating a soul ill at ease, although public 
 report gives him the credit of possessing a most amiable 
 temper. The Prince of Wales has a sickly look, with a 
 countenance vacant in the extreme ; and Rumor, unless 
 ker tale be false does say, that the penalty is his, which 
 often falls upon the offspring of blood relations. 
 
 Close to the entrance on the Drive in the Park, stands 
 the colossal monument erected by the women of England 
 to Arthur, Duke of Wellington. This cast from cannon 
 taken in the victories of Salamanca, Vittoria, Toulouse, 
 and Waterloo, is at a cost of ten thousand pounds sterling; 
 why it is called the statue of Achilles, I am at a loss to 
 divine. It is evidently copied from one of the famous 
 antiques on the Monte Cavallo at Rome ; and what a repre- 
 sentation of Castor's twin brother has to do with the me- 
 mory of the Iron Duke, or his exploits, would puzzle the 
 brains of an antiquary. The Serpentine River runs through 
 the Park, between Rotten Row and the Carriage Drive, pass- 
 ing under the handsome bridge, which crosses it at the 
 boundary line of Kensington Gardens, where Hyde Park 
 ends, and Kensington begins. It is certainly a very pic- 
 
THE PARKS. 73 
 
 turesque stream, and adds greatly to the beauty of thip most 
 charming of Parks. Pleasure boats have been introduced 
 upon it, while the neat and ornamental little boat-houses 
 along its borders have a very pretty effect. The number 
 of lives lost in this stream induced the Royal Humane Soci- 
 ety as early as the latter part of the last century, to erect 
 a Receiving house. It was rebuilt some twenty years ago, 
 in quite an elegant style, and has an Ionic entrance, over 
 which is sculptured the obverse of the Society^s medal, a 
 boy striving to rekindle an almost extinct torch, with the 
 beautiful and appropriate legend beneath in Latin, which 
 translated would be: "Perchance a spark may be con- 
 cealed." In the rear are kept boats, ladders^ ropes^ and 
 poles, wicker boats, life-preserving apparatus, &c. The 
 celebrated Crystal Palace stood on the south side of this 
 Park, opposite Prince's Gate, and the large elm trees 
 covered in by the transepts, are still alive^ thdtigh far 
 from flourishing. 
 
 But Hyde Park has its historic associations ; and brings 
 to mind the early and healthful recreations, when May-day 
 was a great national festival, so often alluded to by the 
 earlier dramatists — and those grand Reviews mentioned 
 by the gossiping Pepys, who was the Horace Walpole of 
 his day. The stern Protector Cromwell, used to drive in 
 this Park ; and on one occasion, taking his usual airing 
 with a pair of ponies, presented to him by some of the 
 potentates of the Continent, was thrown off the box, and 
 his feet became entangled in the harness. Out of this 
 accident that old rhyming cavalier Cleveland wrote the 
 following spirited lines: 
 
 "The whip again! away! 'tis too absurd 
 That thou should^st lash with whip-cord now, 
 
 a 
 
74 POREIQN ETCHINGS. 
 
 I'm pleased to fancy how the glad compact 
 
 Of hackney coachmen sneer at the last act. 
 
 Hark how the scoffing concourse hence derives, 
 
 The proverb ' needs must go when the devil drives,' 
 
 YondCT a whipster cries, 'Tis a plain case, 
 
 He turiied us out to put himself in place; 
 
 But God-a-mercy ! horses, then, once ye 
 
 Stood to it, and turned him out as well as we. 
 
 Another not behind him, with his mocks. 
 
 Cries out, sir, faith you're in the wrong box; 
 
 He did presume to rule, because forsooth. 
 
 He's been a horse-commander from his youth; 
 
 But he must know there's difference in the reins. 
 
 Of horses fed with oats, and fed with grains, 
 
 I wonder at his frolic, for be sure 
 
 Four hampered coach horses can fling a Brewer; 
 
 But * Pride will have a fall,' such the world's course is, 
 
 He who can rule three realms, can't guide four horses; 
 
 See him that trampled thousands in their gore, 
 
 Dismounted by a party but of four. 
 
 But we have done with't, and we may call 
 
 This driving Jehu, PhcEton in his fall; 
 
 I would to God, for these three kingdoms' sake, 
 
 His neck, and not the whip, had given tb« crack." 
 
 In this Park too, wounded honor, up to a late day, was 
 wont to resort for the healing of those maladies of the 
 soul, which it thought only lead or steel could cure. The 
 names of two Americans are to be found in the lists, who 
 resorted here in the latter part of the last century, to wipe 
 out insult according to the rules of the stern code. One 
 of them, a Mr. Carpenter, was I believe killed. 
 
 Between the Cumberland arched marble gateway, and the 
 Albany street foot-gate, just outside the Park, and where 
 the Edgeware road runs into Oxford street once stood the 
 memorable gallows-tree of Tyburn. Its cruel memories 
 are familiar to those who take a pleasure in criminal 
 
THE PARKS. 75 
 
 annals. But it has an interest, from the fact, that beneath 
 the ground on which it stood, lie the bones of Cromwell, 
 Bradshaw, Ireton, and other Regicides, torn from their 
 graves at the Restoration, hung here in all their hideous 
 corruption, for a space, then buried at the foot of the gal- 
 lows tree. A mean revenge this, that could thus wreak 
 its petty malice upon the remains of men; who, however 
 much they may have vexed royalty while alive, could give 
 it but little trouble or apprehension in the quiet of their 
 graves. 
 
 Kensington Gardens, bordering on Hyde Park, include : 
 an area of some three hundred and fifty-six acres. The 
 most picturesque portion of these gardens is undoubtedly 
 the entrance from near the Bridge over the Serpentine, 
 where there is a charming walk under some old Spanish 
 chesnuts. But one can hardly go amiss, in finding spots 
 of rare beauty in this fashionable haunt. Long avenues 
 under the interlacing branches of noble old elms — walks 
 bordered by rare shrubbery — quaintly designed flower- 
 gardens — and a sward rivalling in its rich velvety softness, 
 the most ingenious works of "Persia's looms," are among 
 some of the attractions of these delightful gardens. 
 
 Regent's Park, encloses some four hundred acres. The 
 hunting grounds of Marylebone Park, in the days of Queen 
 Bess, were taken to form this noble area, which is nearly 
 circular in its plan. It derives its name from the Prince 
 Regent, afterwards George IV. In the southwest portion 
 of this Park, is a sheet of water, with picturesque islets. 
 On the eastern slope are the far-famed gardens of the 
 Zoological Society. The great object of the institution of 
 this Society, as appears by their prospectus, was " the 
 introduction of new varieties, breeds, aijd races of animals }" 
 
76 roREiaw etchings. 
 
 and they have most thoroughly carried out their plan, in 
 the magnificent variety of animal life, here presented to 
 the delighted visitor in these spacious grounds. Emeua 
 from New Holland, Arctic and Russian bears, Cuban 
 mastiflfs, Thibet watch -dogs, Zebras, and Indian cows, 
 Alligators, and Ant Eaters; and almost "every thing 
 that hath life,'* in the wide animal kiogdom, may be seen 
 here, in spacious iron cages ; or where domesticated suffi- 
 ciently, sunning themselves on the open lawns. One 
 of the most interesting parts of the collection, is the 
 aquatic vivarium, built of iron and glass, and consisting 
 of a series of glass tanks, in which fish spawn, zoophytes 
 produce young, algae luxuriate, Crustacea and mollusca 
 live successfully; polypi are illustrated, together with sea 
 anemones, jelly-fish, star, and shell-fish. A new world 
 of animal life is here seen, as in the depths of ocean, 
 with masses of rock, sand, gravel, coral, sea-weed, and 
 sea water. The Reptile House, abounds in snakes of 
 every form and color, from the poisonous Cobra, down 
 to the harmless garter snake. Here too a large Boa 
 Constrictor, a few years since, swallowed a blanket, and 
 in a month after disgorged it. That these Gardens are 
 a favored resort, may be judged from the fact, that in the 
 last year, the number of visitors exceeded half a million. 
 
 But we cannot linger longer within the delightful limifs 
 of this popular place of resort. A short walk along the 
 new road leading past these Gardens, brings you by Tot- 
 tenham Court Road to Oxford street, and so into the noisy 
 and thronged thoroughfare of Holborn. Soon you are 
 approaching Holborn Hill, up which went that noble 
 soul, William Lord Russel, on his way to the scaffold in 
 Lincoln's Inn Fields. That large open area, is the cele- 
 
SMITHFIELD. 77 
 
 brated Smithfield Market. Oa market days it is crowded 
 with some of the best specimens of man and beast that 
 English soil produces. But the New Market Act, will 
 soon do away with the beastly glories of Smithfield, by 
 which no markets hereafter, are to be nearer to Lon- 
 don than seven miles, measured in a straight line from 
 Saint Paul's. But Smithfield has its historic memories — 
 here perished the patriot Wallace; and here its noblest 
 martyr, John Kodgers, the first of the Marian persecution ; 
 and Legatt, the last who suflPered at the stake in England, 
 were burned to ashes. A few years since, opposite the 
 gateway of St. Bartholomew's Church, some blackened 
 stones, ashes, and charred human bones were discovered, 
 indicating where the stake was driven. A short distance 
 farther on, in Newgate Street, that gbomy looking struc- 
 ture, with its area in front enclosed by handsome metal 
 gates, is the celebrated Christ's Hospital. This is the home 
 of the Blue Coated Boys', who with their clerical neck- 
 bands, you meet so often in London^ Leigh Hunt, Cole- 
 ridge and Lamb, gambolled once in that area. They are 
 among the most eminent of those, this great educational 
 charity has sent fbrth to the world in modern times. And 
 now we are in Cheapside — the Corinthian Portico, in the 
 Tympanum of which, you may observe a group of allego- 
 rical sculpture, belongs to the Mansion House of that 
 short lived civic divinity, the Lord Mayor of London. It 
 is of Portland stone, and resembles somewhat the Italian 
 palaces, in its appearance, and would be handsome, if it 
 was not so begrimed and blackened by the smoke of Lon- 
 don. In the kingly state of its Lord Mayors, London has 
 a security of eflficiency and greatness, to which England 
 q2 
 
78 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 herself can lay no claim. Tlie civic monarch can never be 
 a mewling infant, or a doating old man, at the mercy of 
 designing courtiers. He comes into office, in the beam 
 and breadth of his manhood, when no swaddling bands 
 could girdle even a limb of him — and he retires before 
 age has made him feeble or tyrannical. Nebuchadnezzar 
 himself, who first conquered all people, kindreds, and 
 tongues, and then set up the golden image in the plains of 
 Dura, commanding them to worship it, could not be more 
 every inch a King, than my Lord Mayor of London. 
 Some wag has said, that ''he is annually driven from his 
 kingdom;" not indeed, like Nebuchadnezzar, "to eat 
 grass like oxen," " but to eat oxen like grass." 
 
 A little beyond the Mansion House, an immense 
 structure of florid architecture, with a portico evidently 
 copied from the graceful one, of the Pantheon at Rome, is 
 
 " That great hive where markets rise and fall," 
 
 fhe Exchange. Here are the celebrated coffee rooms 
 of Lloyd^s ; the rendezvous of the most eminent mer- 
 chants, ship owners, underwriters, stock and exchange 
 brokers. The Subscribers' Room at Lloyd's, is opened at 
 ten, and closed at five. At the entrance of the room, arfe 
 exhibited the shipping lists, received from Lloyd's agents 
 at home and abroad, and affording particulars of the 
 departure or arrival of vessels, wrecks, salvage, or sales of 
 property saved. To the right and left are Lloyd's Books, 
 two enormous ledgers — right hand, ships spoken with, or 
 arrived at their destined posts; left band, records of 
 wrecks, fires, or severe collisions; written in a fine Roman 
 hand, in double lines. On the roof of the Exchange is a 
 sort of mast ; at the top a fan, like that of a windmill : 
 
THE EXCHANGE. 79 
 
 the object of which is to keep a plate of metal with its 
 face presented to the wind. Attached to this plate are 
 springs, which joined to a rod, descend into the Under- 
 writers' Room, upon a large sheet of paper placed against 
 the wall. To this end of the rod, a lead pencil is attached, 
 which slowly traverses the paper horizontally, by means of 
 clock work. When the wind blows very hard against the 
 plate outside, the spring being pressed, pushes down the 
 rod, and the pencil makes a long line vertically down the 
 paper, which denotes a high wind. At the bottom of the 
 sheet another pencil moves, guided by a vane on the out- 
 side, which so directs its course horizontally, that the 
 direction of the wind is shown. The sheet of paper is 
 divided into squares, numbered with the hours of night 
 and day ; and the clock work so moves the pencils, that 
 they take exactly an hour to traverse each square ; hence 
 the strength and direction of the wind, at any hour of the 
 twenty-four are easily seen. 
 
 In the neighborhood of the Exchange, are some of the 
 finest architectural objects in London. Northward is the 
 Bank of England, an elaborately enriched pile, very pic- 
 turesque in its parts ; and beyond it the palatial edifices of 
 the Alliance and Sun Insurance Offices. Westward is the 
 Mansion House, before alluded to. The square in front 
 of the Exchange is adorned with an equestrian statue of 
 the Duke of Wellington ; the last work of the celebrated 
 Chantrey. Amid a mass of buildings and courts, occupy- 
 ing three acres, on the north side of the Royal Exchange, 
 stands the greatest monetary establishment of the world, 
 the Bank of England. Its exterior measurements are 
 three hundred and sixty-five feet on Threadneedle Street, 
 four hundred and ten feet on Lothbury, two hundred and 
 
80 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 forty-five on Bartholomew lane, and four hundred and 
 forty feet on Prince's Street. Within this area are nine 
 open courts, a spacious rotunda, numerous public offices, 
 court, and committee rooms, an armory, engraving and 
 printing offices, a library, apartments for officers, &c. The 
 Bank is the Treasury of fhe Government, for here are 
 received the taxes ; the interest of the national debt paid ; 
 the Exchequer business transacted, &c., for all which the 
 Bank is paid a per centage, or commission annually, of 
 about one hundred and twenty thousand pounds, with the 
 profits derived from a floating balance due the public, never 
 less than four millions sterling, which employed in dis- 
 counting mercantile bills^ yields one hundred and sixty 
 thousand pounds yearly. The amount of bullion in the 
 possession of the Bank, constitutes, along with their secu- 
 rities, the assets which they place against their liabilities, 
 on account of circulation and deposits; and the difference 
 (about three millions sterling) between the several amounts 
 is called the " Rest," or guarantee fund to provide for the 
 contingency of possible losses. The value of bank notes 
 in circulation in one quarter of a year, is upwards of 
 £18,000,000, and the number of persons receiving divi- 
 dends is nearly three hundred thousand. The Stock of 
 Annuities upon which the Public Dividends are payable, 
 amount to £774,000,000, and the yearly dividends paya- 
 ble thereon, to £25,000,000. The issue of paper on secu- 
 rities is not permitted to exceed fourteen millions sterling. 
 The last dividend to the proprietors was 4 per cent., and 
 and the bullion in the vaults, at the last report, was some 
 twenty millions sterling. But let us enter, and. view the 
 workings of this huge monetary machine, the vibration of 
 whose mechanism reaches the extremities of eartli. You 
 
TdE BANK OF ENGLAND. 81 
 
 cross a small court-yard, and mounting a few steps find 
 yourself in a large saloon. Along the sides of the room, 
 you may notice lines of Bank Clerks, casting up ac- 
 counts, weighing gold, and paying it off over the counter. 
 In front of each, is a bar of dark mahogany, a little table, 
 a pair of scales, and a few persons waiting for the transac- 
 tion of their business. You pass from this Chamber into 
 a more extensive apartment, and a more crowded one, for 
 it is the room where the interest on the Three Per Cents, is 
 paid, and it is the middle of the year. What a crowd ! 
 and what a hubbub ! What a ringing of gold pieces as 
 those little shovels empty themselves of their shining con- 
 tents ! How accurately those busy clerks shovel ! they 
 never have a sovereign too many or too little. 
 
 Leaving this chamber, office follows after office, all on 
 the ground floor, receiving their light through the ceiling.. 
 In them money is exchanged for notes, and notes for 
 money ; the interest of the public debt paid ; the names 
 of creditors booked and transferred. In a word, the chief 
 banking business with the outside public, is done here. 
 
 The huge, yet perfect steam engine of the Bank, by 
 which the machinery is driven, that makes the steel plates 
 for engraving the notes, grinds the powder, out of which 
 the ink is made, prints the notes, and performs a 
 variety of other feats too numerous to mention, is a great 
 triumph of human skill and ingenuity. The room where 
 the notes are printed is certainly among the most interest- 
 ing in the Bank. The wonders of the machinery, here 
 develop themselves to their utmost. No inspector keeps 
 watch and ward over the printer. The machine which he 
 uses in printing, compels him to be honest. Each note 
 has its own number, and a double set at that. This 
 
82 
 
 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 machine registers the exact numbers that are being printed, 
 and that too in a distant part of the establishment. 
 
 In the weighing ofl&ce, you are delighted in witnessing 
 the ingenious workings of the machines invented for de- 
 tecting light gold — nothing can be more simple, and yet 
 more eflficacious in its operation. Some eighty or one hun- 
 dred light and heavy sovereigns are placed indiscriminately 
 in a round tube; as they descend on the machinery beneath, 
 those that are light receive a slight touch which removes 
 them into a proper receptacle; and those which are of legi- 
 timate weight^ pass to their appointed place. The light 
 coins are then defaced by a machine, two hundred a 
 minute. There are six of these machines which weigh 
 several millions of sovereigns a year. The average amount 
 of gold tendered is nine millions sterling, of which more 
 than a quarter is light. In a long low narrow vaulted 
 passage, heaps upon heaps are stowed away, each in their 
 proper receptacle, the returned notes of the Institution. 
 Each note, on being paid in at the Bank, receives the name 
 of the person presenting it, and the name and time is accu- 
 rately noted in the proper ledger, when it is filed away in 
 this gloomy looking receptacle, for a period of ten years ; 
 when the whole accumulation of the decade is burnt. 
 Such is the perfect regularity which business in this regard 
 is transacted, that any person who has within ten years, 
 presented a bank note at its counter, can in five minutes 
 be shown the identical note. In the court-yard, in th« 
 midst of an immense furnace, we noticed the smouldering 
 ashes of notes that had once represented some fifty millions 
 of pounds sterling. 
 
 The Bank of England has passed through many trials, 
 but has outlived them all; and is now established upon 
 
THE BANK OF ENGLAND. 83 
 
 a very firm basis. It has been attacked by rioters, its notes 
 have been at a heavy discount; it has been threatened 
 with impeachment, and its credit has been assailed by 
 treachery. But it possesses the power of great accumu- 
 lated wealth — and aided by unrivalled skill, sober and mas- 
 culine intellect, it must ever be, what one of our own 
 Presidents declared it, " the centre of the credit system of 
 the world.'' 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 Richmond — Twickenham — Strawberry Hill. 
 
 We were glad to tak£ refuge from the suffocating smoke, 
 and incessant clatter of the streets of London, among the 
 quiet shades of beautiful Richmond- There are many 
 points here and in the immediate vicinity, interesting from 
 their literary associations. The place itself was the home 
 of the Poet Thompson, and he sleeps under a grey stone 
 slab in its ancient church. At Rosedale House, where he 
 resided, they show you the chair on which he sat, the 
 table on which he "wrote, and the peg on which he hung his 
 hat. In the garden is still preserved with pious reverence, 
 the poet's favorite seat, and there too is the table on 
 which he 
 
 "Sung the Seasons and their change." 
 At Richmond, Collins too resided a considerable time, and 
 here composed many of his most charming poems. Poor 
 Collins ! his fate was a hard one. In his latter years 
 mental depression obscured the brightness of his intellect, 
 enchaining his faculties, without destroying them, and 
 leaving reason the knowledge of right, without the power 
 of pursuing it. He was for sometime confined in a lunatic 
 asylum. Collins left Richmond after the death of his 
 friend Thompson, whose loss he so pathetically bewails in 
 those lines commencing, 
 
 "In yonder grave a Druid lies. 
 
 Where slowly steals the winding wave: 
 
 The year's best sweets shall duteous rise 
 To deck its poet's sylvan grave.". 
 
RICHMOND. 85 
 
 It was from Riclimond Hill that Thompson looked out 
 with a poet's eye, and all a poet's appreciation upon that 
 glorious landscape which there, in the bright summer time 
 fills the heart to the full with its ravishing beauty. But 
 the Poet of the Seasons has painted it, and the picture is 
 complete : 
 
 " Say, shall we ascend 
 Thy hill, delightful Sheen? Here let us sweep 
 .^ The boundless landscape ; npw the raptured eye, 
 Exulting, swift to huge Agusta send. 
 Now to the sister hills that skirt her plain j 
 To lofty Harrow now, and now to where 
 Imperial Windsor lifts her princely brow. 
 In lively contrast to this glorious view. 
 Calmly magnificent, then will we turn 
 To where the silver Thames first rural grows, 
 There let the feasted eye unwearied stray 
 Luxurious, there, rove through the pendant woods 
 That nodding hang o'er Harrington's retreat; 
 And sloping thence to Ham's embowering glades; 
 Here let us trace the matchless vale of Thames, 
 Far winding up to where the Muses haunt, 
 To Twickenham's bowers ; to royal Hampton's pile, 
 To Claremont's terraced heights, and Esher's groves. 
 Enchanting vale! beyond whate'er the Muse 
 Has of Achaia, or Hesperia sung." 
 
 . Richmond too, has historic memories reaching back to ' 
 olden time. It was a royal residence from the days of the 
 First Edward. The celebrated Edward III. closed a long 
 and victorious reign at his palace here. In the latter part 
 of the fifteenth century, this palace was consumed by fire; 
 and Henry VII. caused it to be rebuilt, and called it after 
 himself, Richmond. And, " the butcher's dogge did lie 
 in the manor of Richmonde," when the celebrated Cardinal 
 Wolsey retired here, after his compulsory donation of 
 
86 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 Hampton to the blufif Harry. Here too, Queen Elizabeth 
 spent a portion of the captivity she suffered by order of 
 her sister Mary ; and after she ascended the throne, it 
 became one of her favorite residences. Within its walls 
 occurred that terrible death-scene, when agony and remorse 
 embittered her last moments, and eshibited the once 
 proud and powerful Queen in a most humiliating condition. 
 
 Among the most interesting places of resort in Rich- 
 mond is its Great Park, eight miles in circuipfer- 
 ence. The Park is of a gently undulating character, 
 adorned by artificial lakes, and noble trees. The vast 
 expanse of its plains, its venerable trees, and the solitude 
 and seclusion so near a great city, are its chief attractions. 
 It was the enclosure of this Park, that so excited the indig- 
 nation of the people against King Charles, and was one 
 among the many charges of usurpation and tyranny, that 
 conspired to bring him to the scaffold. Lord John Russel 
 has a country seat here, a quiet unpretending mansion, 
 embowered in roses and honeysuckles, and shaded by 
 noble oaks, that are almost as old as the ancestral roll of 
 the Bedfords. Richmond is the great resort of the weal- 
 thy and pleasure seeking portion of London during the 
 summer ; and well it may be, with its lofty site, and its 
 delightful natural surroundings. 
 
 Twickenham, nestling upon the verdant banks of Thames, 
 among embowered shades is but a very short distance from 
 Richmond. Here Pope's villa once stood; but now the 
 site of that familiar home of the Muses, is desecrated 
 by some Goth of a tea merchant, who has dared to erect 
 thereon an architectural monstrosity, half pagoda, half tea- 
 chest : and, as if to add insult to injury, the fellow has 
 raised a sign-board on the lot adjacent, where one may 
 
TWICKENHAM. 87 
 
 tead in large staring characters, ^^Popeh Grove, in lots to 
 suit purchasers — terms easy." The Spirit of Speculation 
 has no soul for poetry, neither has " Thomas Young, Tea 
 Merchant." One surely might suppose that the haunt of 
 such an ornament of their literature, such a master of their 
 language, would have been thought worthy by English- 
 men, of a national tutelage, and a public consecration. 
 This at least, should have been sacred ground — so hallowed 
 by classic association, and so feelingly and beautifully 
 alluded to, by the Poet himself in those admirable lines : 
 
 " To virtue only, and her friends a friend, 
 The world beside, may murmur and commend, 
 Know all the distant din the world can keep, 
 Rolls o'er my grotto, and but soothes my sleep j 
 There my retreat the best companions grace. 
 Chiefs out of war, and Statesmen out of place , 
 There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl, 
 The feast of reason, and the flow of soul." 
 
 In his private relations, there never existed a better man 
 than Pope. The tender care and affection of parents, who 
 had preserved him to the world, through a helpless infancy, 
 and a valetudinarian childhood, he repaid through life, 
 with the most filial respect, and untiring affection. The 
 man who was admired and loved by Swift, Bolingbroke, 
 Gray, Young, Arbuthnot — caressed by Bathurst, Oxford 
 and Murray, whose friendships were as fervent as his 
 thoughts, and lasting as his life, must have had no ordinary 
 art, in enchaining the affections and preserving the fond 
 regard of such as he honored with his intimacy. Here in 
 his beautiful retreat, to use the heart language of one of his 
 letters : " He grew fit for a better world, of which the light 
 of the sun is but a shadow. God's works here, come nearest 
 God's works there ; and to my mind a true relish of the 
 
88 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 beauties of nature, is the most easy preparation, and 
 quietest transition to those of Heaven." Of all that the 
 Poet loved or delighted to cherish at Twickenham — the 
 Grrotto now alone remains, not as he left it, it is true ; hut 
 as the speculator will have it. The House of the Poet 
 has long since been pulled down, by Lady Howe, who was 
 the first purchaser, to show, as some one expressed it^ 
 "how little of communion, sympathy, or feeling may sub- 
 sist in the breast of some of the aristocracy of rank^ for 
 the abiding place of the aristocracy of Genius." 
 
 "Strawberry Hill," once the favorite retreat of Horace 
 Walpole, is but a very short distance from Twickenham. 
 The queer old Gothic fabric, is now, fast falling into ruin. 
 The plaster is peeling off, and the bare lath exposed in 
 many places. The rooms are now all dismantled. The 
 Picture Gallery gives little evidence of its former magnifi- 
 cence. Nothing remains of that curious collection, he 
 spent years in gathering : and which it required a twenty- 
 five days' sale to dispose of — save only some antiquated 
 stained glass in its little low windows, and some curious 
 old hangings upon the walls of the round chamber, where 
 Selwyn so often set the table in a roar. The old Library 
 Chamber still exhibits richly painted figures on its low 
 ceiling, while the shelves with their literary treasures 
 gone, and the worm eaten library table, where his " Castle 
 of Otranto" was written, give evidence of the desolation 
 that now reigns in all the chambers where the old literary 
 gossip once delighted to wander and to muse. It was of 
 this house, writing to his friend Conway, and dating from 
 the place, Walpole says, "you perceive I have got into a 
 Bew camp, and have left my tub at Windsor. It is a little 
 plaything house that I have got, and is the prettiest bauble 
 
STRAWBERRY HILL. 89 
 
 you ever saw. It is set in enamelled meadows, with 
 filagree hedges : 
 
 " A small Euphrates, tbrough the piece is 'rolled 
 And little fishes wave their wings of gold." 
 
 It was here that he collected that splendid gallery of 
 paintings, teeming with the finest works of the greatest 
 masters; matchless enamels of immortal bloom by Bordier 
 and Zincke, — chasings, the workmanship of Cellini, and 
 Jean de Bologna — noble specimens of Faenza-ware, adorned 
 by the pencils of Bobbia and Bernard Pallizzi— ^glass of the 
 rarest hues and tints executed by Cousin, and other mas- 
 ters of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries — Boman and 
 Grecian antiquities in bronze and sculpture — exquisite 
 and matchless missals, painted by Baphael and Julio 
 Clovio — magnificent specimens of cinque-cento armor — 
 miniatures illustrative of the most interesting periods of 
 history — engravings in countless numbers, and of infinite 
 value, together with a costly library, embracing fifteen 
 thousand volumes, and abounding in splendid editions of 
 the classics. But Strawberry Hill, with all its treasures, 
 like many a place of older renown, was destined to illus- 
 trate the sad truth, that ^^ nothing on earth continueth in 
 one stay." The antique mirror that once reflected the fair 
 features of Mary Stuart, and the jewelled goblet that was 
 brimmed with ruby wine, at the chivalrous feasts of the 
 founder of "The Order of the Garter,'' — the Damascened 
 blade that hung by the side of a Du Guesclin ; all once 
 the pride of the owner of Strawberry Hill, have passed 
 with the rest of the curiosity shop, into the various cabi- 
 nets of Europe, to be again in their turn dispersed, or lost 
 sight of forever. In a few months after our visit, the very 
 h2 
 
90 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 gtructure, once adorned by all these wonders was pulled 
 down, to make room for a larger and more improved 
 edifice, for the residence of Earl Waldegrave, a descen- 
 dant of Walpole. 
 
 Leaving Richmond we tarried only long enough at 
 Windsor to explore a few of its interesting localities, and 
 to find that the authority of Swift still holds good, " that 
 the town is scoundrel/' Windsor, and its surroundings, 
 have been described so often by tourists, that it would be 
 more wearisome than " a twice told tale," to repeat. The 
 range of State apartments in its ancient Castle is indeed 
 splendid^ hung with rare paintings, and most interesting 
 portraits of some of the earlier sovereigns. The Vandyke 
 room devoted to portraits of Charles I. and family, by the 
 artist who has given his name to the chamber, is alone 
 worth the visit. There is a strange interest awakened in 
 gazing at the melancholy, yet beautiful face of this most 
 unfortunate of monarchs, who only proved his royalty 
 when it was too late, by dying nobly on the scaffold. The 
 Chapel of St. George in the Castle, next to that of Henry 
 A'^II.'s in Westminster, presents the finest specimen of 
 the florid Gothic, in England. Upon entering, your 
 attention is attracted at once to the roof. It certainly is 
 a most triumphant display of art. The arches seem to 
 spring from the summits of the graceful columns, like the 
 branches of the palm tree at Kew. The beautiful inter- 
 weaving of these arches in the roof, like the fibres of a leaf, 
 yet all arranged in perfect form — the lightness and elasti- 
 city of the whole, which appears as if supported by magic, 
 mark the highest excellence in construction and decoration. 
 The whole reminds one of Milton's description of the 
 Indian tree : 
 
WINDSOR CASTLE. 91 
 
 «*Such as to this day, to Indians known 
 In Malabar, or Deccan spreads her arms 
 Branching so broad and long, that on the ground 
 The bending twigs take root, and daughters grow- 
 About the mother tree, a pillared shade." 
 
 For Cathedrals and religious Temples, the Gothic is 
 beyond a question, the only true style. For public Halls 
 of State, give me the plain and simple majesty of the 
 Doric, or the polished elegance of the Corinthian. Cole- 
 ridge somewhere remarks, that music, sculpture, and paint- 
 ing, are poetry under different forms — and surely there is 
 poetry in a Gothic Cathedral. One of the most celebrated 
 monuments erected in the Chapel, is that to the Princess 
 Charlotte, whose memory is so cherished by the nation. 
 I cannot see how it is possible to admire th6 recumbent 
 figure, intending to represent the Princess, as she lay in 
 death. Artistically it may be very fine; but it is too shock- 
 ingly natural, if not indelicate — but the springing figure, 
 representing her as rising from the bed of death towards 
 the regions of celestial light, attended by angels, is incom- 
 parably fine. One of the angels bears the babe of the 
 Princess in her arms ; the divine rapture of the face 
 ef the principal figure, upon which celestial light seems 
 breaking, cannot soon be forgotten. The array of banners 
 of Knights of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, sus- 
 pended over the stalls, presents a very curious appearance. 
 Nearly in the centre of the floor, a large grey marble slab 
 indicates where repose the remains of Henry VIIL, Jane 
 Seymour, and an infant child of Queen Anne. What 
 emotions such a spot is calculated to awaken. Here the 
 bloated tyrant sleeps by the side of his wife, who only 
 escaped the executioner's axe, by dying too" soon — and close 
 to him lies the gentle monarch, Charles I. finding rest only 
 
92 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 in the grave, from his bloody persecutors. In 1813, 
 under the auspices of the Prince Regent, search was made 
 for the bodies of Henry VIII. and Charles I. The coffin 
 of Henry contained nothing but the bones of that Prince, 
 with the exception of a small portion of beard under the 
 chin. The body of Charles was, however, in a most 
 remarkable state of preservation. The complexion of the 
 face was dark and discolored. The forehead and temples 
 had lost nothing of their muscular substance; the carti- 
 lage of the nose was gone, but the left eye in the moment 
 of its first exposure was open and full, though it vanished 
 almost immediately, and the pointed beard was perfect. 
 The shape of the face was a long oval; many of the teeth 
 remained, and the left ear, in consequence of the interpo- 
 sition of some unctuous matter between it and the cere- 
 cloth, was found entire. The hair was thick on the back 
 part of the head, and nearly black. On holding up the 
 head, to discover the place of separation from the body, 
 the muscles of the neck had evidently contracted them- 
 selves considerably, and the fourth cervical vertebra was 
 found to be cut through, in substance transversely, leaving 
 the divided portions perfectly smooth and even ; an ap- 
 pearance that could only have been produced by a 
 heavy blow, inflicted with a sharp instrument, and which 
 famished the last proof wanting to identify Charles I.* 
 I was afterwards shown a crayon sketch taken of the head, 
 answering perfectly to this description, and strikingly like 
 the portraits of the monarch, by Vandyke. 
 
 I cannot now linger over the historic assoeiatioBS 
 awakened by the Castle itself; nor will I attempt to 
 
 * Sir Henry Halford's Report of the Exhumation. 
 
WINDSOR. 93 
 
 describe the charming' scenery that renders Windsor 
 Great Park^ and Virginia Water celebrated all over the 
 civilized world ; but must hasten on to describe Warwick, 
 Kenilworth, and Stratford. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Warwick — Kenil worth — Stratford — Charlecottc. 
 
 It was a bright and beautiful morning when we set out 
 from the Regent's Hotel, Leamington, for \Yarwick Castle : 
 one of those mornings that "Little John,'' in Robin 
 Hood, thought "the most joyful in all the year;" a clear 
 still morning in June. 
 
 "From groves and meadows all impearl'd with dew, 
 Rose silvery mists; no eddying wind swept by; 
 The cottage chimneys half concealed from view 
 By their embowering foliage, sent on high 
 Their pallid wreaths of smoke, unruffled to the sky." 
 
 Nothing could exceed the delightful coolness and fragrance 
 of the atmosphere, laden with the scent of the new mown 
 hay ; while those only who have looked out on a morning 
 landscape in England, glittering in the rays of the newly 
 risen sun, reflected from every dew drop, and luxuriant 
 with that living green, which alone belongs to an English 
 clime, can attain a full comprehension of its surpassing 
 loveliness. It was not long before we found ourselves 
 knocking at the door of the outer gateway of the Castle, 
 then treading the narrow approach, cut through the solid 
 rock, and leading up to the old home of many afeudal 
 baron. Nothing can be finer than the graceful sweep of 
 this curious pathway, which being covered with ivy, and 
 its summit mantled with noble trees, hides the fine propor- 
 tions of the Castle, until they burst upon you all at once, 
 as the pathway terminates, The effect is certainly very 
 
WARWICK. 96 
 
 grand. But it is not until the Great Gateway is passed, 
 that you learn to comprehend the vast extent of the build- 
 ing. That part which serves as a residence, is then seen 
 on the left hand. Its principal front, however, is turned 
 from you toward the river Avon ; along which it stretches 
 for four hundred feet. Uninjured hy time — unaltered in 
 appearance by modern improvements, this home of the 
 once mighty chiefs of Warwick, still retains that bold, 
 irregular pleasing outline, so peculiar to the ancient Gothic 
 castellated style. Connected as this Castle is, with the 
 earliest periods of British history, its massive towers, and 
 ivy clad battlements cannot be viewed by the lovers of 
 antiquity, nor indeed by any contemplative mind, without 
 feelings of the deepest interest : peopled as its walls have 
 been for centuries, by heroes, warriors, and statesmen, 
 who once proudly figured on the theatre of life, and whose 
 names are now honorably recorded in the annals of fame. 
 This^venerable pile, some portions of which have resisted 
 the storms of war, and the fury of tempests, for nearly a 
 thousand years, has been truly described by Scott, "as the 
 fairest monument of ancient and chivalrous splendor, 
 which yet remains uninjured by Time." A strong outer 
 wall, with all needful defences, incloses the great base 
 court, and was in ancient times, surrounded by a wide 
 and deep moat, which is now drained and green with 
 vegetation ; and over which you pass by a small bridge, 
 to stand beneath the noble arch of the gateway, still 
 defended by its ancient portcullis. This Castle has been 
 well called the most splendid relic of feudal times in 
 England. Its history, is a history of a long line of the 
 Earls of Warwick, reaching down to our times from the 
 days of William the Conqueror. The most remarkable 
 
96 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 point of that history however, was, when the culmination 
 of its glory was attained in the person of "the King 
 Maker," whose name Shakspeare has made, as ho prophe- 
 sied it would be 
 
 " Familiar in our mouths as household words." 
 
 But we have no inclination to dwell upon the historic 
 associations clustering round this noble old feudal strong 
 hold. • They are in the memory of every lover of English 
 history, and therefore without farther pause, let us visit 
 its interior. Entering the inner court, and passing up a 
 grand stone stairway, under a fine old arch that had a 
 look of Norman stateliness and strength about it ; a large 
 carved oaken door opened at our summons, and we found 
 ourselves standing in the baronial Hall of the Castle. 
 It has recently been restored, as near as possible, conform- 
 ing to the ancient model. Parti-colored marbles of a 
 diamond pattern form its floor, while the roof is of the 
 ornamental Gothic, in the spandrils of the arches of 
 which are carved, " the Bear and Bagged Staff",'' the 
 armorial device of the House of Warwick. The walls are 
 wainscotted with oak, deeply embrowned by age, and hung 
 with ancient armor worn by many a bold Baron of the 
 House, in those fierce struggles on English soil, and upon 
 the scorching plains of Palestine where " the Cross out- 
 blazed the Crescent." Here and there may be seen the 
 good old cross-bows, that had twanged in many a stern 
 border struggle, with their arrows 
 
 " Of a cloth yard long, or more." 
 The antlers of several monarchs of the herd, who had 
 fiillen in the chase, graced the upper part of the magnifi- 
 cent windows, while the antiquated looking old fire place, 
 
fuBIVEE.SITTl 
 
 WARWIORr=saSS^*^ 97 
 
 with its huge logs piled before it, reminded one strongly of 
 the olden time, when the mailed retainers of the ancient 
 Barons, gathered in cheerful groups, round the wide 
 hearth. of the blazing fire place, in this old baronial halt 
 Three large Gothic windows, placed in deep recesses, shed 
 a pleasing light throughout the room, while busy fancy 
 led back to deeds and days of other years, conjured up the 
 mail-clad knight — the bold but lordly baron, and the 
 " ladie faire,"— peopling with ideal beings, a spot sq truly 
 appropriate for indulging in romantic ideas. Near the 
 middle window is a doublet in which Lord Brooke was 
 killed at Lichfield, in 1643. Opposite to the noble old 
 fire-place, hangs a rich and complete suit of steel armor, 
 over which is suspended the helmet, studded with brass, 
 usually worn by CromWell. The prospect irom the win- 
 dows of this Hall, is indeed charming. The soft and 
 classic Avon, here "flows gently'' one hundred feet be- 
 neath you, laves the foundation of the Castle, and continues 
 its meandering way through the extensive and highly 
 cultivated Park. That landscape is still indelibly im- 
 pressed upon the memory. On the right, the undulating 
 foliage of forest trees of every hue, intermingled with the 
 stately cedar spreading its curiously feathered branches^ — 
 and the verdant lawns where nature and art appear to 
 have expended their treasures, combined to form a land- 
 scape of surpassing beauty. On the left are seen the pictur- 
 esque and- ornamental ruins of the old bridge, with shrubs 
 and plants flinging their tendrils round its ruined, arches. 
 I should have loved to linger in that old Hall, conjuring up 
 the associations that in such a place ctowd upon the most 
 ordinary imagination. But with th« large party that 
 accompanied us, we had to play the game of ^"^ follow your 
 I 
 
98 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 leader/' and so were conducted throngh state room after 
 state room filled with paintings, mosaic tables, richly 
 carved buffets^ gorgeous furniture, rare and splendid china, 
 with articles of vcrtu innumerable. One room worthy 
 of all praise, was that known as ^'The Cedar Drawing 
 Room," lined with the most fragrant cedar from floor to 
 ceiling, and crowded with the richest furniture. This 
 furniture is antique; the mirrors, screens, and shields 
 splendid, while the marble chimney piece is beautiful 
 exceedingly. A table stands opposite to the fire place 
 inlaid with lava of Vesuvius, upon which is a marble bust 
 from the Giustiniani Minerva at Rome, flanked with noble 
 Etruscan vases : upon a buhl table, near the west window 
 was a Venus, beautifully modelled in wax, by John of 
 Bologna. Etruscan vases of great value, are placed on 
 fine old inlaid cabinets and pedestals in various parts of 
 the room ; while pictures from the strong pencil of Van- 
 dyke, in contrast with the rich and glowing hues of Guido 
 Reni, arrest your attention at every step. Lady Warwick's 
 boudoir is a lovely little room, hung with pea-green satin 
 and velvet. The ceiling and walls were richly panelled, 
 and had been recently painted and gilt, while the ceiling 
 itself was enriched with the family crest and coronet. In 
 this cabinet, I noticed two portraits painted from life, by 
 the celebrated Holbein, of Anna Boleyn, and her sister 
 Mary. They are both radiant with beauty ; but all seemed 
 to prefer the .mild sweet face of the sister, who was fortu- 
 nate enough not to attract the amorous glances of the 
 royal Blue Beard. A modern picture by Eckhardt, also 
 commands attention and admiration; it represents "St. 
 Paul lighting a fire," after landing on the isle of Melita, 
 and is remarkable for the management of light and shade^ 
 
WARWICK. 99 
 
 y 
 
 and the serene and beautiful expression, which is revealed 
 upon the face of the Apostle, by the flash of the fire he is 
 kindling. A noble head of Luther, by Holbein, and the 
 Head of an old man, in Ruben's best style; together with 
 a Boar Hunt, by the last named artist, are all fin€ speci- 
 mens of these celebrated masters. 
 
 Take the whole range of apartments in this Castle, and 
 nothing can exceed' their magnificence. The beautiful 
 eff"ect of these apartments is considerably heightened by 
 by the harmony observed in the matchless collection of 
 pure antique furniture throughout the whole suite. Su- 
 perb cabinets, and tables of buhl and marquetrie of the 
 most costly finish, splendid crystal and china cups, flasks, 
 and vases of the highest style of Etruscan skill, bronzes 
 and busts displaying the utmost efi"ort of art — costly 
 and rare antiques are scattered through all the rooms 
 in rich profusion, yet with most exquisite taste; no inno- 
 vation of the modern is allowed to injure the efi"ect of the 
 ancient; all is costly, all is rare, yet all harmonious. 
 The private apartments of this Castle, not open to visitors, 
 are said to be as ample and justly proportioned as the 
 range of state apartments, and as richly adorned. 
 
 In the magnificent grounds attached to the Castle may 
 be seen the far-famed Warwick vase. It is of white mar- 
 \)le, designed and executed in the purest taste of Greece, 
 and one of the finest specimens of ancient sculpture at 
 present known; compared with the age of which, even 
 Warwick Castle is but the thing of a day. It was found 
 at the bottom of a lake at Adrian's villa^ near Tivoli, by 
 Sir William Hamilton, then Ambassador at Naples, from 
 whom it was obtained by the late Earl of Warwick, (his 
 maternal nephew) and at his expense conveyed to England, 
 
loo FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 and placed in its present situation. Th^ rase is of circular 
 shape, and capable of holding one hundred and thirty-six 
 gallons. It has two large handles exquisitely formed of 
 interwoven branches, from which the tendrils, leaves, and 
 clustering grapes^ spread round the upper margin. The 
 middle of the body is. enfolded by the skin of the panther, 
 with the head and claws beautifully finished : above are 
 the heads of Satyrs, bound with wreaths of ivy, accompa- 
 nied by the vine-clad spear of Bacchus and the crooked 
 staff of the augurs; and it rests upon vine leaves, that 
 climb high up the sides, and are almost equal to nature. 
 
 The day after our visit to Warwick, we left Leamington 
 for Kenil worth, only some five miles away. Long before 
 reaching the ruins of the ancient pile, we could dis- 
 cern them looming up in majestic grandeur. Halting 
 at the little inn near the ruin, for a moment, to survey 
 it, we crossed the road to the great gateway, built 
 by that bold, bad Earl of Leicester, where wc encoun- 
 tered a rough-looking specimen of humanity,.who informed 
 us, "7^c was the man who took care of the rvin." Enter- 
 ing the small gate, we passed the noble Gate House, 
 with its majestic portico, still sculptured by the arms 
 of Leicester, and by its elaborate architectural adorn- 
 ments attesting the magnificence of its former proprietor.* 
 In a few moments we were standing upon the green sward, 
 once the outer court of tlie Castle, and there right before 
 118, in all the magnificence of ruin, stood the hoary pile. 
 Proudly seated on an elevated spot, it exhibits in grand 
 display, mouldering walls, dismantled towers, broken bat- 
 tlements, shattered staircases, and fragments more or less 
 perfect, of arches and windows, some highly ornamented 
 
KENILWORTH. 101 
 
 aad beautiful. Nor are the more usual picturesque deco- 
 rations wanting. The grey moss creeps over the surface 
 of the mouldering stone, and the long spiry grass waves 
 o'er the top of the ramparts. To the corners and cavities 
 of the roofless chambers cling the nestling shrubs, while 
 with its deepening shades the aged ivy expands in cluster- 
 ing masses o'er the side walls and buttresses ; or hangs in 
 graceful festoons from the tops of the arches, and the 
 tracery of the windows. The grand square structure, 
 which we passed on entering the court yard, was formerly 
 the principal entrance to the Castle. From the point 
 where we first halted, to gaze upon the majestic ruin, 
 appear what is styled Caesar's Tower, and Leicester's 
 Buildings, with a space now open between, but once occu- 
 pied by the buildings named after the bluff Harry, who 
 once dishonored them with his presence. The vast square 
 building on the right, known as Caesar's Tower, is the 
 strongest, most ancient, and perfect part of the ruin.. 
 Next to this Tower, stood once the buildings occupied by 
 retainers ; but scarcely anything remains, except the crum- 
 bling ruins, piled up, upon their site. Beyond these ruins, 
 a fragment of what was once "The Strong Tower," lifts 
 itself in air, to whose summit we ascended, over the crum- 
 bling turrets of which the rich ivy hung in clustering 
 masses. It was to one of the chambers in this very Tower 
 the Countess of Leicester, " poor Amy," was conveyed, as 
 recorded by Scott in his " Kenilworth," after she had 
 escaped from the seclusion of Cumner Hall. It was by 
 the narrow winding stair, now very much dilapidated, 
 by which the poor Countess ascended to her prison cham- 
 ber, that we reached the ruined summit of the Tower. 
 From its top a most charming landscape, spread out before 
 i2 
 
102 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 the eye. Ilaving with me an engraving, taken from a 
 painting of Kenilworth, before the spoiler came, it was 
 very easy to trace the outer wall, the inclosure, and the 
 site of the ancient Lake, which once spread itself over the 
 country beyond the outer wall for more than two miles. 
 How different now the prospect, from what it was in the 
 time of Dudley, Then the clear waters of the Lake re- 
 flected the magnificent proportions of Kenilworth, 
 
 " Where mfghty towers 
 Upraised their heads in conscious pride of strength," 
 
 while as far as the eye could reach, lay the wooded pride 
 of its noble park, embracing some twenty miles within its 
 range. Now meadows green with the luxuriance of 
 English verdure stretch away from the foot of the ruin, 
 and fields are seen, gently undulating with their ripened 
 grain, where once lay outstretched the grassy slopes of that 
 most " delightsome parke,'' which then abounded in 
 
 *' Careless red deer 
 Full of the pasture." 
 
 Descending from the highest point of this Tower, we 
 soon reached the old Banquetting Hall, immortalized in 
 the glowing tale of the Wizard of the North ; still a grand 
 apartment some eighty-five feet long, and forty wide. 
 The rich tracery which adorned its noble windows^ is 
 plainly discernible, while their lofty ruined arches are now 
 most exquisitely festooned with ivy. The two bayed 
 recesses — the three light Gothic windows, and fine arched 
 doorway sculptured with vine leaves, are now covered with 
 the richest draperies of ivy, and have a very picturesque 
 appearance. The trunks of this ivy, are of great thick- 
 ness, and so old, that in some pLices the branches are 
 
KENILWORTH. 103 
 
 sapless and leafless, Trhile the grey stalks seem to crawl 
 about the ruins in sympathy. Nature has been the uphol- 
 sterer here, and hung these ancient walls, that once re- 
 echoed to the merry song, the banquet mirth, and the light 
 step of the sounding dance, with tapestry more cunning 
 and exquisite than that of the far-famed Gobelins. The 
 old carved fire-place, is still traceable, and tbe original 
 outline of the chamber almost perfect. As I stood in the 
 deep recess of one of ifes noble windows, and looked out 
 upon the scene, on a branch of ivy above my head, a 
 beautiful bird was pouring forth all the melody of his 
 soiH through his golden hued throat. Never had I listened 
 to anything half so exquisite. The sound seemed to fill 
 those deserted chambers with melody. " The princely 
 home of mighty .chiefs^ ^^ had become 
 
 "A shelter for the bird who stays 
 His weary wing to restj" 
 
 and from the ivy that mantled the chamber, where often 
 human revelry had awakened its echoes into song, was 
 caroling forth the sweetest lays. Nothing can describe 
 the sense of perfect desolation, as you stand within this 
 ruined Hall, it falls with crushing weight upon the spirits, 
 and brings before you in all its startling power, the stern 
 conviction of the complete emptiness of all worldly state 
 and grandeur. 
 
 A few days after our visit to Kenilworth, we drove over 
 to Stratford, passing again through the old town of War- 
 wick, with its curious antiquated little houses, and lis 
 ancient hospital, founded by Leicester during the reign of 
 Elizabeth. Cold indeed, must be the heart, that would 
 pass by as devoid of a reverential interest, the spot 
 
 " Where Nature list'ning stood, whilst Shakspeare played, 
 And wonder'd at the work, herself had made. 
 
104 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 The little town of Stratford, is like most country towns 
 in England, with a street directly through it, and others 
 deviating to the right and left. Some of the shops have 
 quite a modern appearance, ornamented with modern plate 
 glass, and stored with quite an extensive assortment of 
 goods. The Shaksperian part of Stratford, has quite an 
 antiquated appearance, and looks as if few changes had 
 passed over it since the hoy Shakspeare disported himself 
 in its quiet streets. The house where the great dramatist 
 first saw the light, is situated in Henley street; a small 
 insignificant abode, and at once arrests attention, from the 
 singularity of its structure. The front has no glazed case- 
 ment^ but is protected from the rain and sun by a droop- 
 ing shed, like a flap of a table. Above the shed is a kind 
 of sign board jutting out into the street, on which is 
 inscribed, ^<The immortal Shakspeare was born in this 
 House." Above is a window in four compartments, with 
 small cottage-like panes of glass. This window lights the 
 scene of the Poet's nativity. You enter the little shop 
 below, guarded by a rustic half door, and soon find your- 
 self on sacred ground : the shop is very small, at the 
 back of which is a kitchen smaller still, where the boy 
 Shakspeare is supposed to ha;ve passed many happy hours. 
 The walls, windows, and even the ceiling abound with 
 snatches of poetry, names of visitors, &c. You ascend- 
 eagerly the tottering staircase, and find yourself in the 
 chamber where the idol of your adoration, is believed 
 to have been ushered into the vewesk. On arriving there 
 you instinctively advance with head uncovered, f<)r you 
 feci that you are treading a spot hallowed by the birth of 
 the greatest genius the world has ever known. The room 
 is 80 small that a man of medium height, can touch the 
 
STRATFORD. 105 
 
 ceiling with his hand. The chamber else, is rather largfe 
 for the building. You go to the front windows, and 
 there upon the panes written in diamond, may read the 
 names of Scott, Byron, Irving, Willis, and of a host of 
 other celebrities; and in large characters, the name of one 
 of the innumerable family of Smiths, the veritable John. 
 There is now in fact, no space on any one of the panes 
 for the minutest letter. The ceiling and walls are so filled 
 with inscriptions, lines of poetry, &c., that the appearance 
 presented from the middle of the room, is that of a large 
 spider's web. These inscriptions, objectionable as they 
 may be, in other public places, here betotcn a feeling of 
 rather a praiseworthy character. They tell of the univer- 
 sality of the poet's fame, inasmuch as there is scarcely a 
 Spot on the civilized globe, that has not its representative 
 here. The witty Matthews, in his journal, relates some 
 amusing anecdotes respecting the visits of actors to this 
 birthplace of Shakspeare. Speaking of Coates, he says^ 
 '^he wrote his name on the walls of the house, complained 
 of the house, said it was not good enough for the divine 
 bard to have been born in, and propo'sed to pull it down 
 at his own expense, and build it up again, so as to appear 
 more worthy of such a being.'^ "Dowton too kicked up 
 a great dust in the house where Shakspeare was born.'' 
 The old woman who shows it, remembered him well. He 
 must have been delirious with drink. ^' There go ; I 
 cannot have witnesses, I shall cry; and so eh ? What 
 the divine Billy born here ; he, the pride of all nature has 
 been in this room. I must kneel ! leave me. I don't like 
 people to see me* cry !" Bannister, too, went there after 
 dinner, for the ihird time in one day ; threw himself upon 
 the bed, in which the dear lying woman swears that 
 
106 rOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 Shakspeare was born, nay shows the chair he was nursed 
 in. But Jack threw himself in his drunken raptures on 
 the bed, and nearly smothered two children who were 
 asleep, till his raptures awoke them.'' 
 
 For a century and a half after the death of the world'^s 
 poet, this house remained the property of private indi- 
 viduals. A committee of gentlemen purchased it in 1847, 
 for the sum of three thousand pounds, and it is now 
 secured forever, as the pride and honor of the British 
 Nation. 
 
 The Church, where the remains of the Great Dramatist 
 rest, is situated on the Avon, whose branches entangle 
 with the stems of the water-lilies that grow along its banks. 
 The tower, transepts and some other portions, are in the 
 early English style, and are very perfect — the remainder 
 belongs to a later period, but is not less graceful. The 
 approach to the Church from the town, is by a curious 
 avenue of old lime trees, forming a perfect arbor overhead, 
 by the interlacing of their branches. As you enter the 
 first glance reveals to you the sacredness of the place. 
 The anxious eye is not long in discovering the poet's grave. 
 On the left hand side near the great window, may be dis- 
 cerned set in the wall, his monument, and almost beneath 
 it but a short distance removed, a small grey. slab covers 
 all of the Poet, that could die, with the well-known and 
 oft-repeated inscription, which they tell you, has served 
 more than anything else to preserve sacred his bones: but 
 I doubt very much if the Poet himself ever composed such 
 vile doggerel. The bust in his monument looks placidly 
 down upon you, and whether the resemWance be true or 
 DOt, you get reconciled to the hope that it is an exact like- 
 ness. They all say at Stratford that it was taken from a 
 
STRATFOFD. 107 
 
 cast made of his face after death, and I believe that was 
 always the opinion of the celebrated sculptor Chantrey. 
 The rest of the Shakspeare family lie side by side on the 
 elevated step close to the rails of the altar. 
 
 On returning from Stratford, I could not help reflecting 
 upon the potency of such a fame as Shakspeare's. Pilgrims 
 of all ages and lands go to Stratford, to see what? A 
 little low dingy room, inclosed by four mean white washed 
 walls, and a plain grey slab in a country Church, with an 
 inscription thereon. But Shakspeare was born in the 
 one, and his honored remains repose under the other. la 
 that humble looking chamber, did one of the greatest 
 minds the Divine Being, ever sent into the world, first see 
 the light, fii'st look through an infant's eyes upon a fond 
 mother's smiles and tears. There beneath that humble 
 shed, lay the winged genius in *^its callow down," nest- 
 ling close to the parent bosom : but destined, in time, to 
 sweep through the regions of thought with the undaz- 
 zled eye, and upon the strong pinion of the eagle. There 
 he was born — and that fact sheds a splendor over the walls, 
 more dazzling far than tapestries, mirrors, pictures, and 
 all the pomp that king's palaces can bestow. Genius has 
 a kingship of its own ; it needs no mantle, orb, or sceptre. 
 It is its own regalia — and before its inherent majesty, 
 crowned heads, heroes, statesmen, philosophers, and poets 
 have done, and will continue to do the most reverent 
 homage. This spell of beauty, which genius, casts over 
 objects but little interesting in themselves, such as blasted 
 oaks, and time worn battered cottages, manifests the su- 
 periority of time over matter, and proves how the associa- 
 tions of the intellect, can ennoble the meanest forms of 
 of materialism, and create the most interesting memorials 
 out of the lowest things. 
 
108 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 On our drive homeward, we passed the se§t of the 
 Luceys, whose ancestor, arraigned the youthful Shakspoare 
 for deer stealing. This fine old country mansion, is one 
 of a class which we regret to say, is fast disappearing 
 both from the inroads of decay, and their own weight of 
 years. It was erected by Sir Thoms Lucey, whose hated 
 memory Shakspeare embalmed in ridicule for ever, under 
 the character of Justice Shallow, Having been erected in 
 the first year of Queen Elizabeth, it retains all the quaint 
 old features, which were a peculiarity in the architecture 
 of that period. So little changed is the place, that fancy 
 may almost unbidden, call up the aspect of the scene, 
 when that youth, " who was for all time,'' wandered along 
 its thick hedged lanes. You can almost think you hear 
 the voice of Sir Thomas Lucey, chiding his game. keeper, 
 for " the loss of the fallow-deer;" and the half suppresse-d 
 chuckle of a youthful by-stander, then unknown: but who 
 was afterwards to fill the world with his fame. The man- 
 sion from the road, appears quite unaltered, the humbler 
 dwellings of red brick, only a little older; park palings 
 merely made more picturesque by the overgrown lichen ; 
 and the park as well as " the sweet Avon," exactly as they 
 were many years ago, the one "flowing gently," and the 
 other supplying as of yore 
 
 "Many an oak, whose bows are mossed with age, 
 And high lop bald with dry'antfquity." 
 
 While the same deer, *^poor dappled fools," only look 
 more conscious than they did, of more perfect safety in their 
 assigned and native dwelling place. Art and nature here 
 seemed to have stopped short of all improvement. There 
 has been no need of the one to disturb the renown which 
 the locality receives from the other. Even the stocks that 
 
STRATFORD. J09* 
 
 stand under a group of patrician trees, are suffered to die 
 of natural decay. Charlecotte, has a renown given to it 
 by Shakspeare, which the present owner and direct descen- 
 dant of Sir Thomas Lucey would willingly let die. The 
 present young Lord of the Manor, feels to this day, the 
 sting of the Poet's sarcasm upon his ancestor. 
 
 The whole neighborhood around is full of beauty. The 
 ground is passing rich, while at every moment through 
 some leafy avenue, glimpses are caught of the "gently 
 flowing Avon." Amid these dells, and by these verdant 
 hill-sides, was the youth of Shakspeare nourished, and 
 taught of nature : 
 
 " Here, as with honey gathered from the rock, 
 
 She fed the little prattler, and with songs 
 
 Oft sooth«d his wondering ears with deep delight." 
 
 Every stop you tread is hallowed ground. Here in all 
 this neighborhood h^ passed many a happy hour when a 
 boy; or when he retreated back to his birth-place, from 
 the turmoil of a busy life, to die like the deer "where he 
 was roused." 
 
CHAPTEK YII. 
 
 Hampton Court and Bushy Park. 
 
 ••Close by those meads, forever crowned with flowers, 
 "Where Thames with pride, surveys his rising towers, 
 There stands a structure of majestic frame, 
 "Which from the neighboring Hampton takes its name." 
 
 The Poet's pencil has not, with all the richness of its 
 coloring, given full expression to the natural beauties of 
 Hampton. Just as the most finished artist fails to catch 
 the rich tinge of Aurora^s fingers along the glowing East, 
 so the Poet has failed from want of power to give expression 
 in his poem, to all the luxuriance and loveliness of the 
 natural beauties of Hampton. Well might an enthusiastic 
 tourist exclaim as he grew enraptured o'er the remembrance 
 of the unrivalled beauty of its landscape: "That nature 
 at Hampton builds up aisles and transepts, courts and halls 
 of her own — mighty pillars, far excelling in sublimity the 
 memorials of the magnificent Wolsey : and she here dis- 
 plays brilliant landscapes, before which the drawings of 
 Raphael, the composition of Poussin, the coloring of Claude, 
 must sink into insignificance." 
 
 No city in the world can boast of more charming envi- 
 rons than London. What delightful rural retreats are 
 furnished in the opening lawns and verdant glades of Bushy 
 Park, or in the shaded terraced walks of lofty Richmond, 
 o'erlooking all the vale, with its noble Park, where the 
 red deer love to haunt! What place more serene in its 
 quiet beauty than Esher, in whose lonely vale, 
 
 "The Mole glides lingering j" 
 
HAMPTON COURT. Ill 
 
 or Claremont in its close vicinity. And there is noble Wind- 
 sor, with all the rich memories that haunt its feudal pile 
 "from turret to foundation stone*^ — and the aged oaks of its 
 grand old Forest chronicling centuries, with the verdant 
 sward overshadowed by those stately elms, " in the long 
 drawn aisles" of its magnificent Parks. 
 
 Hampton occupies a peninsula almost encircled by the 
 Thames. The Palace, however, to the generality of tour- 
 ists, affords the greatest attraction of Hampton. Like all 
 the structures in England, full of historic memories, it is 
 the more interesting, because its incidents are so familiar. 
 We gaze upon the Castles, and ruined fortresses of the 
 middle ages on the continent ; but the associations they 
 awaken are unsatisfactory : we see everything as through 
 a mist, unsubstantial, shadowy, and vague. But in 
 England, they start out in bold reality — and once 
 familiar with the scene, — the figures of the past, that 
 busy memory conjures up, pass over the stage with the 
 show of an almost living presence. Thus is it at Hamp- 
 ton. As you gaze upon that grand old pile, the mind 
 is carried instinctively back to the stirring and familiar 
 times, when Wolsey lived here in more than royal state ; 
 when Elizabeth summoned Shakspeare to entertain her 
 upon the stage, when the unhappy Stuart here found him- 
 self the prisoner of his subjects : and his oppressor led a 
 a life of suspicion, and never ending fear, finding that 
 even the outside show and semblance of sovereignty, 
 brought with it all the cares that wait upon a crown. But 
 the changing fortunes of the founder of this ancient 
 palace, awaken as you gaze upon it, the most interesting 
 memories. Romance has no tale so full of interest — life 
 no real story of vicissitude half so strange; and death no 
 
112 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 scene of more thrilling horror — than may be read in those 
 historic pages, which record the strange history of that son 
 of the obscure butcher of Ipswich, who, from his nest upon 
 the ground, soared so high; who from the shambles, 
 reached that point of exaltation, when 
 
 " Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand, 
 
 To him, the Church, the realm, their power resign." 
 
 And then that startling, sudden fall, where having touched 
 the highest point of all his greatness, he fell, 
 
 " Like Lucifer, 
 Never to rise again." 
 
 At .the Restoration, this Palace reared by the munifi- 
 cence of "Wolsey passed into the hands of that shrewd 
 soldier, Monk, Duke of Albemarle, offered to him by a 
 grateful monarch, as a reward for the conspicuous part he 
 played in the great event. But he was too politic to hold 
 a place, that he had not the revenues to support, and 
 accepting a large sum of money in lieu thereof, it reverted 
 back to the crown, in whose possession it has ever since 
 remained. From the reign of the second George, I believe 
 it has not been honored as the residence of the sovereign, 
 and at the present day many of the apartments are occu- 
 pied by the widows of soldiers, and men who have done 
 the state some service ; but whose limited means compel 
 them to accept this asylum offered to them, by a grateful 
 sovereign. 
 
 Pope has rendered Hampton Court classic ground, by 
 locating within its calm and beautiful retreats, the scene 
 of his celebrated "Rape of the Lock." Here, side by 
 side, with the beautiful Miss Lcpel, afterwards Lady Her- 
 vey, he was in the habit of wandering ; and here he drew 
 
HAMPTON COURT. 113 
 
 from nature, the illustrations that make that poem so 
 charming. How exquisitely does he depict the mode of 
 killing time by inches, in vogue with the courtiers of that 
 day : 
 
 " Hither the heroes, and the nymphs resort 
 
 To taste awhile, the pleasures of a court; 
 
 Iq various talk th' instructive hours they passed — 
 
 Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last! 
 
 One speaks the glory of the British Queen, 
 
 And one describes a charming Indian screen ; 
 
 A third, interprets motions, looks, and eyes. 
 
 At every word, a reputation dies. 
 
 Snuff and the fan, supply each pause of chat, 
 
 With singing, ogling, and all thazP 
 
 But let US hasten to enter the Palace, rendered so inte- 
 resting by the historic and literary associations that clus- 
 ter about it. Of the five courts, composing the original 
 palace of Wolsey, only two now remain in the condition 
 they were during the time of the Cardinal. The first, or 
 outer court, is said to be precisely in the condition it was ' 
 left by him ; but it is by no means improved by a long 
 line of stables and barracks, always unsightly, but never 
 more so,"than when they disfigure walls, hallowed by the 
 traditions and remembrances of the past. Standing beneath 
 the colonnade at one end of the middle quadrangle, you 
 have a good view of the south side of Wolsey's Hall, with 
 the great windows. The octagonal turrets on either side 
 of the gateway are highly characteristic of the architectu- 
 ral taste of the time. The medallions of Roman Empe- 
 rors in terra cotta^ placed in the brickwork of these towers, 
 and on those of the adjoining court, are said to have been 
 the gifts of the celebrated Leo X. to the Cardinal. 
 The oriel windows on both the gateways of this court, 
 adorned with the escutcheons of Henry VIII. have ffreat 
 k2 
 
114 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 richness, and elegance. Yon enter the building, through 
 the before mentioned colonnade, and pass np " The 
 King's Staircase," into what is known as the Guard 
 Chamber. The ceiling of this staircase was painted by the 
 ubiquitous Verrio, the allegorical creatures of whose genius 
 look down upon you from the ceilings of' half the struc-, 
 tures in the kingdom. The pictorial nonsense here dis- 
 played, is said to shadow forth in allegory a courtier's com- 
 pliment to royalty ; but as the study involved a severe 
 straining of the vertebrae of the neck, it would hardly re- 
 pay the sacrifice, and so we passed into the Guard Room. 
 Here the same ingenuity, that at the Tower, has thrown 
 together in so many fantastic forms, the arms of difi'erent 
 centuries, has been at work ; and muskets, halberds, pis- 
 tols and swords, drums, bandaliers and frontlets are min- 
 gled together in devices most strange, and yet most beau- 
 tiful in their general effect. A thousand men might from 
 this singularly grouped armory along the walls, put them- 
 selves in order of battle. Nor are pictures wanting to 
 embellish this grim looking armory. The pencils of 
 Giulio Romano, Canaletto, and Zucchero, all have contri- 
 buted to adorn its panels. There is the kingly mass of 
 the Coliseum, by Canaletto, as faithful in its representation, 
 as his wondrous pictures of Venice. And there, filled with 
 the spirit of his master, both in conception and execution, 
 Romano has told the story of that fierce, unequal fight, 
 between Constantine and Maxentius. Turning from the 
 wonders of art, you may look out upon the wonders of 
 nature from these noble old windows. From them, what a 
 t'lch prospect spreads out before you — there are the rivers 
 Thames, Mole, and Ember; the Surrey hills in the distance; 
 the gras'sy slopes, yew trees, and Queen Mary's bower in the 
 foreground, Letivitfg this GuUrd Room, you pass through 
 
HAMPTON COURT. 116 
 
 room after room filled from ceiling to floor "with a great 
 collection of paintings, from the works of the first masters, 
 down to some of the most wretched daubs of modern times. 
 In the large Hall, known by the name of Her Majesty's 
 Gallery, may be seen portraits of Queen Elizabeth, taken 
 from life, in infancy, girlhood, and old age. There is the 
 faintest blush of beauty on the haby cheek of the future 
 Queen — gone, entirely gone in the face of the young girl 
 of sixteen, who stands before you at full length, with 
 attenuated features, and neck disgustingly thin. But 
 what shall I say of that concentration of ugliness, if not of 
 deformity, that looks down upon you, from the portrait of 
 this Queen, in her maturer years; — hair of the brightest 
 red, a face over which the ploughshare of Time^ has passed 
 in many a furrow, and ''that pale Roman nose,^' as Wal- 
 pole calls it — all combine to give you the idea of the ugliest 
 of mortals. And yet this hideous old hag had the vanity 
 to have herself painted in an allegorical picture, in which 
 Venus is represented as hiding her eyes from the dazzle of 
 her beauty, and Juno retiring from the useless competition. 
 There are also several portraits of that royal Blue Beard 
 Henry VIII. in this chamber, taken at different periods of 
 his life ; but all revealing in the sensual face, the base soul 
 that lurked within. A portrait of the Earl of Surrey, by 
 Holbein, excites considerable interest. It furnishes a 
 curious illustration of the costume of the '"'gay and gal- 
 lant,'' at the Court of the bluff Harry. It is a full length, 
 dressed entirely in scarlet. The character of this young 
 nobleman, reflects splendor even upon the name of How- 
 ard. With the true spirit and dignity of an English 
 nobleman, and a personal courage almost romantic, he 
 united a politeness and urbanity at the time almost peculiar 
 
116 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 to himself. With the story of the great love entertained 
 by this agreeable poet and accomplished gentleman, for 
 the beautiful Geraldine, the whole literary world is 
 familiar. Near this portrait of Surrey, may be noticed that 
 of Will Somers, the celebrated jester, who is reported to 
 have been the only person that dare say truthful, and neces- 
 sarily severe things to his brutal, lustful master. This ex- 
 traordinary court fool, ig portrayed behind a glazed lattice, 
 tapping with his knuckles, seemingly to arrest the passer- 
 by, that he may play off upon him, some sallies of his wit. 
 The countenance is replete with that expression of peculiar 
 humor, which speaks volumes, upon the character of such 
 whimsical retainers of the Court. A most interesting 
 picture by Holbein, is in the "Queen's Audience Cham- 
 ber," being a portrait group, representing Henry VIII. and 
 family. The King is seated on a chair of state, under a 
 rich canopy, with Queen Jane Seymour, Princesses Mary 
 and Elizabeth standing by : the scene is an open colonnade. 
 A very interesting portrait of Margaret, "Countess of Len- 
 nox, mother of Darnley, may be noticed near this last pic- 
 ture, also by Holbein. This illustrious lady was united 
 to the royal families of England and Scotland by the 
 ties of a multiplied relationship. I remembered the 
 inscription on her tomb in Westminster Abbey, setting 
 forth that she had, to her great grand-father, King 
 Edward IV. — to her grand-father Henry VII., to her 
 brother James V. of Scotland, to her son King Henry I. 
 of Scotland, to her grand-child King James VI. of 
 Scotland, afterward James I. of England. There is a 
 right royal mein about the portrait of this illustrious lady, 
 worthy of the race whose blood coursed so richly through 
 her veins : but the picture awakened more interest from 
 
HAMPTON COURT. * 117 
 
 the fiict, that I was gazing upon the actual portrait of the 
 mother of Darnley, and thought I could discern in the 
 sweet expression of the jcountenance, the original of that 
 effeminate beauty, which in Darnley so captivated the 
 gentle heart of Mary. In the Prince of Wales' Bed 
 Room, there is a full length portrait of Mary, Queen of 
 Scotts, by Zucchero — a sweet melancholy face, such as 
 would haunt one in his dreams. She is dressed in full 
 mourning, her left hand resting on a table, upon which is 
 placed a breviary, the right holding a rosary. The date of 
 1580, inscribed on this picture, would make her age about 
 thirty-eight years, and it must have been taken while she 
 was a prisoner of Elizabeth. Miss Strickland mentions this 
 picture, as among the few extant, that give any idea of 
 tlie features of the unfortunate Stuart. A close examina- 
 tion of the portrait will satisfy the observer, that in early 
 life Mary must have been eminently 'handsome. "When 
 this was taken, suffering and persecution, such as few 
 women ever endured, had evidently dimmed the brightness 
 of her eye, and robbed her form of its elasticity and grace. 
 There is a sweetness of expression in the large melancholy 
 eyes, that rivets your attention at once. The features are 
 faultlessly regular, and there is in the small and exquisitely 
 formed mouth, an expression almost too lovely to be human. 
 In King William Ill's, bed-room are to be found the 
 celebrated portraits of the Beauties of the Court of Charles 
 II., by Lely. With one or two exceptions these portraits 
 are not remarkable for any great beauty. The Duchesses 
 of Cleaveland and of Portsmouth look down upon you from 
 canvass, just as you might imagine them in life -^ sensual, 
 lustful — devilish. The face of poor Nell Gwynne has more 
 redeeming points; there is something in the expression of 
 ter rather sweet countenance, indicating, that under a more 
 
118 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 moral training, and different auspices, she might Lave 
 become an ornament to her sex — her heart was in the 
 right place, and who can read her sad story without feeling 
 that 
 
 « Her life 
 Was a very rebel to her will." 
 
 The Queen's Drawing Room is interesting to an Ame- 
 rican from the fact, that its walls are lined with some of 
 the best paintings by his countryman, West. With the 
 exception of six historical pieces, they are mostly portraits 
 of the family of his patron, George III., but those six 
 are sufficient to perpetuate his fame. His two celebrated 
 pictures, the Departure of Regulus, and the Death of 
 Wolfe, rendered go familiar by engravings, are here. But 
 the finest picture, and conceived too in the grandest style of 
 historic art, is the one representing {' Hamilcar swearing 
 the infant Hanibal, never to make peace with Rome." The 
 composition of this piece is superb, and the grouping won- 
 derful. The stern and determined expression of Hamilcar, 
 as he looks upon the boy whose defiant spirit flashes from 
 his eyes, is most grandly concei^d. 
 
 As a climax to. picture-viewing at Hampton Court, it 
 is well to enter last the Picture Gallery erected by Sir 
 Christopher Wren, to contain the celebrated Cartoons of 
 Raphael, which by themselves would form sufficient attrac- 
 tion to draw the sight-seeing tourist to Hampton Court. 
 These drawings were designed by Raphael about the year 
 1520, by order of that most munificent of Popes, Leo X. 
 They were sent afterwards to the famous manufactory at 
 Arras in Flanders, to be copied in tapestry, two sets of 
 which were ordered: one set I had the pleasure afterwards 
 of seeing at the Vatican in Rome, but so faded that the 
 
HAMPTON COURT. 119 
 
 general effect of the coloring js destroyed. The other set, 
 after several mutations of fortune, fell into the hands of 
 some princely German, who took them with him to his 
 native town, where they now decorate his dining hall. 
 These Cartoons, so called from being painted on sheets of 
 paper, were bought in Flanders by the celebrated Rubens, 
 for Charles I. When this King's fine collection was sold 
 and dispersed, they were purchased by Cromwell for £300. 
 In the reign of Charles II. they were for a long time con- 
 signed to neglect in the lumber rooms of Windsor. King 
 William III. found them there, had them carefully cleaned 
 and restored, and finally George III. ordered the present 
 gallery to be erected, where they have ever since remained 
 the admiration of artists, and of all who claim any great 
 love for art. These Cartoons display not only great dig- 
 nity and grandeur of form, and an intelligent and harmo- 
 nious arrangement of groups, but great depth and power. 
 of thought, and a most surprising dramatic development of 
 each event they represent. Hazlitt has well said of them : 
 " Compared with the Cartoons, all other pictures look like 
 oil and varnish; we are stopped and attracted by the color- 
 ing, the pencilling, the finishing, the instrumentalities of 
 art : but here the artist seems to have flung his mind upon 
 the canvass. His thoughts, his great ideas alone prevail : 
 there is nothing between us, and the subject: we look 
 through a frame, and see scripture histories, and are made 
 actual spectators in historical events." 
 
 The fine and accurate engravings we have of these Car- 
 toons, have rendered their merits known tcJ the civilized 
 world. Never was a greater eulogy passed upon a painter's 
 skill, and unwittingly too, than that by Garrick, when he 
 attempted by a personation to improve upon the figure and 
 
120 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 position of Raphael' s Ely mas the Sorcerer, in the Cartoon 
 of that name. A select party, among whom was our 
 American painter West, and the renowned actor Crarrick, 
 visited by invitation, the Earl of Exeter at Burleigh House. 
 After dinner the conversation turned on Garrick's beauti- 
 ful villa at Hampton, and then naturally upon the neigh- 
 boring palace. As an obvious subject the Cartoons were 
 noticed, when Garrick turning to West, said : " These 
 Cartoons are spoken of as the first works of art in the 
 world, yet I have often passed through the gallery in a 
 hurried manner, without being very forcibly struck with 
 them. West expressed his surprise, and replied : "That 
 the superior excellencies of these pictures could only be 
 discovered and appreciated by study ; but that such a man 
 as Garrick should not be struck with them, was to him 
 quite extraordinary." Mr. Garrick asked what figure Mr. 
 West thought most calculated to arrest his attention — 
 " Several," was the answer, " but Elymas, the Sorcerer," 
 was more particularly noticed. " Ah," replied Garrick, 
 " I was struck with that figure, but did not think it quite 
 in character — this man was an attendant at the Court of a 
 Roman governor, and could have been no vulgar fellow, 
 yet he stands with his feet there in the picture like a clown 
 — why did not Raphael make him in his distress, extend 
 his arms like a gentleman seeking assistance ? The com- 
 pany highly interested in the conversation, united in 
 requesting the favor of Mr. Garrick to personate the sor- 
 cerer, aB he would on the stage, adding the compliment, 
 that he wa9 always led by the strong feelings of his mind 
 into such a perfect expression of look, and propriety of 
 attitude, suitable to the character he represented, that the 
 theatre and the actor were forgotten in the impression of 
 
HAMPTON COURT. 121 
 
 reality with which he governed his audience. Garrick 
 consented, closed his eyes to be in the position of the sor- 
 cerer, and by the time he was in the middle of the room 
 appeared the exact counterpart of Ihe figure in Raphael's 
 Cartoon. Mr. West softly approached him, and desired 
 him not to alter his position, but suddenly to open his 
 eyes. The actor did so, and suddenly exclaimed at once, 
 <'Iam Raphael's Elymas! lam Raphael's Elymas !'* to 
 the great delight of Lord Exeter and his guests. I per- 
 ceive, he added, in reply to a banter of Mr. West's, about 
 the elegance of attitude, ^' that a man deprived of sight 
 will not present the foot incautiously to obstacles, or think 
 of a graceful extension of the arms : fingera and toes, will 
 like feelers of an insect be advanced for discovery and 
 protection." This was certainly a high and remarkable 
 tribute to the accuracy with which the noblest painter the 
 world has ever known, delineated nature, and that too 
 from' the world's greatest actor. 
 
 One of the most beautiful chambers at Hampton Court, 
 is undoubtedly the large Gothic Hall, designed by Cardinal 
 Wolsey, and completed after the great Churchman's dis- 
 grace by his royal master, when Anne Boleyn was in the 
 height of her short-lived favor. The proportions of this 
 noble apartment, are strikingly grand, being one hundred 
 and six feet in length, and forty in breadth. The roof is 
 elaborately carved and richly decorated with the arms 
 and cognizances of the royal Blue Beard. Entering be- 
 neath the musician's gallery, a blaze of light, gold and 
 glitter attract the eye; and yet according to the promptings 
 of strict taste, it might be suggested that the decorations 
 are somewhat too showy, and the colors of the banners 
 suspended from the ceiling rather tawdry than otherwise. 
 
 L 
 
122 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 This Hall is lighted by seven lofty and well proportioned 
 windows, placed at a considerable distance from the floor : 
 but the noble old window at the end, rich with devices in 
 stained glass, is the finest of all. In the centre is a whole 
 length portrait of Henry VIII. and the compartments on 
 each side represent the arms and mottoes of his six Queens. 
 It was upon one of the panes, that the Earl of Surrey is 
 said to have inscribed with a diamond, some lines upon 
 his mistress Geraldine, which so excited the jealousy of 
 the royal brute, his master, that it finally brought him to 
 the scafi'old. But Surrey, like all the poets of his time, 
 modelled his verse after Petrarch, and it was necessary, 
 like him, whose style he so devoutly and enthusiastically 
 studied, that he should have a lady-love upon whose ima- 
 ginary coldness or slights he might pour out the whole 
 flow of his amorous versification. Surrey owed his death 
 to something more than the crime of writing amorous 
 verses to the young wife of Sir Anthony Brown. The 
 walls between the windows are hung with ancient faded 
 tapestry, representing the stories of Abraham and Tobit. 
 This Hall has some historic interest; as it is said to have 
 been the place where Shakspeare performed on the first 
 acting of his plays before Elizabeth. Around the walls 
 are stag's heads carved in wood, with very fine antlers of 
 the red deer, and the elk, above which are banners dis- 
 playing the arms and badges of Wolsey, and the different 
 offices he held under the crown. Near the Great Hall is 
 the Withdrawing Room, with a ceiling of surpassing beauty, 
 decorated with pendant ornaments. The ceiling of the 
 Library at Abbotsford is an exact imitation of this. The 
 walls arc rustling with faded tapestry, whereon may be 
 faintly traced some spectral looking allegorical figures. 
 
HAMPTON COURT. 123 
 
 Above the tapestry are seven fine Cartoons painted by 
 Carlo Cignani, being designs for the frescoes painted in 
 the Ducal Palace of Parma, about the latter end of the 
 fifteenth century. But one of the most interesting things 
 in this fine chamber, is a profile of Wolsey in panel over 
 the fire place, placed there by the Cardinal himself, and 
 no doubt an excellent likeness. It corresponds to the 
 engravings of Wolsey of our times; with which every one 
 is so familiar. 
 
 It is delightful after wandering through the long galle- 
 ries of Hampton Palace, to pass out from your exhausting 
 work, to refresh yourself beneath the shady yew trees of 
 that most charming Park, or inhale the air pregnant with 
 a thousand odors, which blows cool over the beautiful 
 gardens. Bushy Park is not surpassed in its attractions 
 by any in England. Here is the magnificent avenue, or 
 rather rows of avenues of the horse chesnut tree, extend- 
 ing in length one mile and forty yards. On either side 
 the great avenue are four others, the united breadth of the 
 whole being five hundred and sixty-three feet, and the 
 quantity of ground covered sixty-seven acres. In the pri- 
 vate garden they show the curious visitor the Great Vine, 
 said to be the largest in the world. In fruitful seasons it 
 is cumbered with from two to three thousand bunches of 
 grapes, of the Black Hamburg sort, weighing on the ave. 
 Irage a pound each. The stem of this giant vine, in itself 
 a vineyard, is thirty inches in circumference at the great- 
 est girth, one hundred and ten feet long, and encloses a 
 space of two thousand two hundred feet square. The 
 largest oak tree in England is to be seen near the old 
 stables in Hampton Court Park — it is thirty-three feet 
 round, and consequently with a diameter of eleven feet. 
 
124 FOREIGN ETCHINOS. 
 
 From the terrace parallel to the Thames, there is a 
 most delightful prospect of the river; and the yerdant 
 meads on the opposite side. One could almost fancy, look- 
 ing out upon the water views, that the Belinda of Pope, 
 was again seated beneath the rich awning of her gilded 
 barge in conscious beauty : 
 
 " The sumbeams trembling on the floating tides ; 
 
 While melting music steals upon the sky, 
 And softened sounds along the waters die; 
 Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently play 
 Belinda smiled, and all the world was gay." 
 
 An entire day, was profitably employed in wandering 
 about Hampton Court, and its beautiful grounds; for 
 although we had taken an early start, the myriad gas-lights 
 were flashing along Regent Street, as we drove rapidly 
 from the railway station, to our lodgings in Hanover 
 Sq^uare. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PARIS.— AN ENTRANCE AND AN EXIT. 
 
 Crossing the Channel — Paris — The Tuileries and its associa- 
 tions—The Louvre — Place de la Concorde — The Churches 
 of the Madeleine, St. Roch, and St. Denis. 
 
 Those wlio have been unfortunate enough to cross the 
 Channel from Folkestone to Boulogne, in a storm, will 
 know how to appreciate the intense disgust which clings 
 to the mere retrospect of that transit. In those small 
 steamers, during the drivings of such a pitiless storm as 
 we .encountered, passengers wore speedily driven from the 
 upper deck, to the small cabins below : and there with an 
 economy of space worthy of a Slaver, things and persons 
 speedily underwent "a sea change/^ I cannot conceive 
 that Dante in all his fourteen embassies from the Floren- 
 tine States, ever went on a sea voyage, or ever crossed the 
 English Channel ; or he would most certainly have embodied 
 in his Purgatotio, or Inferno, a most horrifying episode on 
 sea-sickness, which the lapse of centuries since he wrote, 
 involving the noblest discoveries in chemical and medical 
 science, has not availed to banish from the list of those 
 ills, "that flesh is heir to," on the sea. Landing at 
 Boulogne after nightfall, in a drenching rain, with but the 
 sickly gleam of a few gas lamps, making "darkness visible" 
 on the Quay — was certainly not calculated to put one in 
 the best of humors. But after passing the rather rigid 
 scrutiny of French Custom House officials, we found 
 in the neatness and comfort of a French Hotel some 
 solace for all our vexations. A most unexceptionable 
 
126 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 supper, and a night's repose upon couches, whose luxuri- 
 ousness would have satisfied the most discontented Syba- 
 rite — restored our tempers to their natural equilibrium ; 
 and our first morning on the soil of France, found us in 
 the best of humors. There is nothing in Boulogne that 
 would induce the traveler to linger, and we left it at noon 
 of the next day for Paris. After a somewhat tedious and 
 monotonous ride, through a flat and uninteresting country, 
 just as the shades of evening were settling down upon the 
 landscape, we caught sight of the heights around Paris; 
 surmounted by those curious looking wind mills. Here 
 was the position on those eventful last days of March, 
 when in the absence of Napoleon, Joseph Bonaparte, 
 and Marshals Marmont and Martre, vainly endeavored to 
 repel the allies and save Paris. Those heights have their 
 stirring tales to tell, bow fields were lost and won. How 
 the black huzzars of Brandenburg annihilated whole squad- 
 rons of Imperial Cuirassiers — the finest cavalry of Europe : 
 and how^ the bearded Cossacks of the Don, charged batte- 
 ries, entrenchments, redoubts and regiments, until one 
 hundred pieces of cannon were silenced, and four thousand 
 French, as gallant fellows as ever drew trigger, lay dead 
 along the lines — leaving Marmont to make the best terms 
 he could for the astonished Eagle of the Empire. 
 
 Lights were flashing along the Boulevards, and gay 
 throngs were rapidly filling both sides of that magnificent 
 thoroughfare as we drove rapidly through it. Turning 
 down the Rue de la Paix, we rattled over the Place Ven- 
 ddme, catching a passing view of that dark shaft which 
 still commemorates after the manner of Trajan's Column 
 at Rome, the glorious deeds of the " Man of Destiny," 
 whose statue still looks down, upon the city he loved so 
 
PARIS, 127 
 
 well. The next morning from the baleony of the Hotel 
 Meurice^ we took a first view of Paris by dayh"ght. From 
 this elevation the eye commanded the finest portion of the 
 Rue de Eivoli;. now fast becoming, under the sagacious 
 policy of the present Emperor, one of the finest streets in 
 this beautiful capital. It was Sunday ; but the gay city 
 knows no rest. The street is alive with all the stir and 
 excitement of Parisian life. Yonder rattles an omnibus 
 with its merry crowd upon the top; right behind it a 
 heavily laden sand cart drags slowly along — on the oppo- 
 site side, arm in arm, singing merrily, go some workmen 
 in blue shirts — these are blouse-men, those terrible fellows, 
 whenever the tocsin of Revolution is sounded. And listen, 
 the stirring roll of the diiim is heard, and here comes a 
 detachment of the recently created Imperial Guard, with 
 their high and ungainly looking caps. These are all 
 picked men of regiments, chosen by their Imperial Master 
 on account of long service, proficiency, or marked bravery. 
 The Garden of the Tuileries is directly over the way, with 
 its pleasant walks and graceful fountains. In orderly rows 
 under the trees stand the long line of chairs and stools, to 
 "be brought forth in the course of the day, for the thou- 
 sand loungers, young and old, who through the long sum- 
 ■ mer afternoons crowd this favorite place of resort. And 
 there is the dark and sombre mass of the Palace of the 
 Tuileries. It dates back for its origin to that bold bad 
 woman, Catharine de Medicis, and only failed of comple- 
 tion under her auspices, by the superstitious fears awakened 
 by an astrological prediction. It slowly advanced towards 
 completion under the munificence of Henry IV. and Louis 
 XIII., and first became a royal residence, when the gay 
 and gallant Court of Louis XIV. filled its spacious Halls, 
 
128 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 and magnificent saloons with all the fashion and folly of 
 France. This old pile could tell many a fearful tale. It 
 witnessed the scenes of the dreadful 20th of June, 1792,, 
 when that terrible crowd of thirty thousand, composed of 
 all the vile cut throats and abandoned women of the metro- 
 polis, defiled before Louis XVI. as-he reclined in one of 
 the embrasures of those windows, surrounded by a few 
 faithful National Guards. They carried a bleeding heart, 
 torn from some aristocrat's breast, upon a pike. The 
 Amazons shook above their heads olive branches ajid spears, 
 dancing wildly, and singing that dreadful revolutionary 
 song, " Ca IraJ^ In those very gardens, right before us,. 
 an eye witness of the outrage stood the youthful Napoleon, 
 "all unknown to fame," and expressing his furious indig- 
 nation, at the license permitted to the mob. But when 
 the poor frightened King put on the "Cap of Liberty,'* 
 he could not restrain his indignation, and uttered that 
 memorable expression; "they should cut down five huu- 
 dregl of these wretches with grape shot, and 'the rest would 
 speedily take to flight." If the poor King had only known 
 the will and energy of that strange Corsican youth, then 
 standing in the gardens of his Palace, he might have saved 
 his throne and life. But it was not so to be. France 
 must be scourged for her cryiog sins, and the hour of 
 vengeance had struck. It was here too, in this very 
 Palace, that one of the noblest instances of heroic devotion, 
 was exhibited by the unshaken fortitude, with which the 
 Swiss Guard, amid the defection that was around them, 
 stood by the throne they had sworn to defend. They were 
 mowed down by the storm of grape shot, and fell in the 
 place where they stood, unconquered even in death. Well 
 has the historian Alison said of their devotion^ " that in. 
 
PARIS. 129 
 
 this last extremity it was neither in its titled nobility, nor 
 its native armies that the French throne found fidelity, but 
 in the free-born mountaineers of Lucerne, unstained by the 
 vices of a corrupt age, and firm in the simplicity of a rural 
 life." Outside the walls of Lucerne, hewn out of the 
 solid rock by the chisel of Thorwalsden, the representation 
 of a dying Lion, wounded by an arrow, and seeming in the 
 agonies of death to protect the Bourbon fleur-de-lis, com- 
 memorates the valor and faithfulness of those noble Swiss. 
 A very few hours' association with the gay and frivo- 
 lous crowds of the French capital, make you feel and 
 appreciate the wide difi'erence there is, between it and 
 London, Coming from London direct to Paris, is like 
 passing into a new state of existence — or, as if an inhabi- 
 tant of our dull earth, should be transported suddenly to 
 some far off planet, where all is continued sunshine, and 
 life, with an endless pursuit after pleasure. Edouard Gour- 
 don, in his ^' Bois de Boulogne,^' sums up the principal 
 characteristics of the gay Capital of the Franks, thus : 
 ^Hhe physiognomy of Paris, is as changeable, as that of a 
 beautiful female. To live in Paris is a perpetual travel, 
 because the entii-e world is in Paris. It is as if one had 
 his eyes fixed perpetually upon a kaleidoscope, ever in 
 motion — a panorama every hour. Not only do the days 
 here not resemble one another ; but each moment differs 
 from that which has preceded it." This, making allow- 
 ance for the inflated style which belongs to modern 
 French literature, is a very fair picture of Parisian life 
 and its mutations. The Frenchman is your true epicurean, 
 who lives for the present, and knows no future ; or if he 
 does^ cares not for it. But while a passion for enjoyment, 
 a contempt for life without pleasure, a want of religion 
 
130 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 and morality, fill the gaming houses, La Morgue, and the 
 Hospice des Enfants Trouves — far be it from me to say, 
 that there does not exist with it all, a refined taste for lite- 
 rature, and the fine arts ; or else how are we to account for 
 the Public Galleries, Libraries, and the Halls of their 
 numerous Literary Societies ? But it is only in the front 
 rank of society, you find those who rejoice in these more 
 refined and exalted pleasures — the great mass certainly 
 seem to be loungers in search of pleasure, — time-killers 
 whose theatre of glory is the Boulevards, the Champs 
 Elysees, the Jardin Mabille, the Chateau des Fleurs, or 
 the Theatres. In the streets, the walks, the theatres, the 
 public gardens, this class may everywhere be seen — saun- 
 tering on the Boulevards — laughing loud at the Varietes, 
 and spreading everywhere its own easy and unceremonious 
 air. 
 
 But dropping the didactic style, let me attempt to give 
 a description of this remarkable city^ whose enchantments 
 would serve to set the spirit of Haroun al Raschid on fire. 
 Come with me to the Louvre this fine morning. Passing 
 out from the H6tel Meurice, you find yourself in the Rue 
 de Rivoli. What a noble street it is, with the magnificent 
 Place de I'PIotel de Ville, at one extremity, and the spacious 
 Place de la Concorde at the other. Under the judicious 
 management of Louis Napoleon, this street has been very 
 much enlarged and beautified, and when completed, will 
 hardly have its superior in any city of the world. A short 
 walk, along the lofty iron railing of the Gardens of the 
 Tuilcries, and by one extremity of the Palace brings you 
 to the entrance to the Place du Carrousel. Passing into 
 the Place du Carrousel, your attention is arrested by the 
 fine proportions of the triumphal Arch erected by Napo- 
 
PARIS. 131 
 
 leon I. in front of the Palace of the Tuileries. It is in 
 imitation of the Arch of Septimus Severus, near the head 
 of the Forum at Rome; and with its bronze eagles, horses, 
 and magnificent car of victory on its summit, is in every 
 way worthy of the great Captain/ whose victories it com- 
 memorates. A few steps farther on^ and we are at the 
 entrance of the Louvre, next to the Vatican, the noblest 
 depository of art in the world. Entering the Musee des 
 Antiques, the rich associations awakened by the statues 
 in this Hall, derive augmented charms from the surround- 
 ing architectural grandeur. Full range and scope are 
 afforded in the Louvre, for a survey of the glorit)us con- 
 ceptions of the sculptures genius deposited here. There 
 is no stowing away of deities on shelves, nor are demigods 
 and heroes, whose immortality has been secured to them 
 in the marble of Paros, thrust into corners and dark pas- 
 sages, like impounded objects of foreign manufactare in 
 the Custom House. It is certainly a great privilege to 
 behold these superb impersonations of fabled divinity, in 
 such a theatre as the Saloons of the Louvre, where arch 
 and column, frieze and cornice, wrought after the patterns 
 of the purest originals of antiquity, or the very originals 
 themselves, combine so happily to sustain the dignity and 
 majesty of sculpture. The French painters too, have great 
 advantages as cultivators of art, in the spaciousness of 
 the Galleries of the Louvre — the ante-room of which 
 admits of several pictures of the dimensions of thirty feet 
 by twenty. One can onl/get a general idea by description 
 of the vast collection of pictures, ancient and modern, in 
 these galleries. There was one room in the Louvre, where 
 I often loved to linger, containing two large paintings by 
 Baron Gros, representing events in the life of Napoleon. 
 
132 FOREIGN' ETCHINGS. 
 
 One of these pictures is a spirited representation of the 
 Battle of Eyhiu, or rather Napoleon visiting the field 
 after the battle, and conferring the decorations upon 
 the wounded and dying. This painting has been made 
 familiar to us in America by numerous engravings, which 
 are strikingly accurate. Nothing can be finer, than a 
 painting, representing Napoleon in the midst of those 
 stricken with the plague, in the Hospital in Egypt. Look 
 at those horrid wretches crouching in the foreground 
 of the picture ; how terrible their countenances ! where, 
 upon every feature the frightful disease has set its dread 
 seal — how emaciated their forms^ and what despair in 
 their looks ! as they gaze with stupid expression, upon 
 their fearless young commander, who has braved all the 
 dangers of contagion, and now stands in the very midst of 
 the plague stricken. *' The Man of Destiny," is putting 
 his naked hand, from which he has just removed his 
 military glove, upon the bare flesh of one of the victims 
 to the loathsome disease. An aid, just behind the General, 
 is applying his handkerchief to his nose, evidently dread- 
 ing the influence of the contagion; while another is 
 attempting to arrest the arm of his commander, startled 
 at the presumption, which not satisfied with being in the 
 midst of contagion, seems to court the disease by actual 
 contact with it, in its most terrible form. The countenance 
 of Bonaparte is remarkably fine, clouded by an expression 
 of sadness, evoked by the dreadful scene of suffering around 
 him, and yet calm and assured, without a trace of fear or 
 apprehension. There is one remarkably fine face in the 
 group : that of a young officer in a corner of the room, upon 
 whose handsome features the shadows of death are rapidly 
 advancing. His dimmed eyes are turned towards his com- 
 
mander, as if seeking recognition, and tne excitement of tlio 
 occasion, seems to light up for the instant his pale and wasted 
 features. There is another fine painting in this room which 
 the narrative of Savigny has made memorable. It is a repre- 
 sentation of the wreck of the Medusa Frigate, in the year 
 1816. Of nearly two hundred persons who attempted to 
 reach Senegal on a raft, only nine survived. The sufferings 
 on the raft must indeed have been dreadful; and here in 
 this picture, those horrors are attempted to be represented. 
 The living are eating the dead ; and every atrocity aggra- 
 vated by despair rages in hideous tumult, in the midst of 
 the wretched group, afloat on that frail raft. There are 
 several of Darvid's historical pictures here in the Louvre ; 
 but they never excited my admiration. As Ileade well 
 remarks in his Italy and Naples — "In David's pictures 
 there is such a meeting of long arms, and longer legs, as 
 if they had flown together from all quarters of the heavens, 
 and met together by accident. Leonidas is preparing for 
 a pirouette ; the Horatii are measuring the length of 
 their arms and legs." 
 
 In the Salon Carre, which immediately precedes the 
 Long Gallery, may be noticed the celebrated Conception 
 by Murillo, bought three or four years ago by Louis ^ 
 Napoleon, from Marshal Soult's gallery, for over a hun- 
 dred thousand dollars. It is a glorious conception of this 
 great painter— a perfect miracle of female loveliness, with 
 an expression truly divine. In the Long Gallery are col- 
 lected, an immense number of paintings of the Italian, 
 Flemish, and French Schools ; and when it is mentioned 
 that this gallery is over thirteen hundred feet long, and 
 nearly fifty feet in breadth, with both sides covered with 
 paintings, some idea may be formed of the extent aad 
 M 
 
134 FOREIGN ETCHINGS.' 
 
 variety of the collection. But perhaps among all the 
 numerous Halls of Statuary, Paintings, and memorials of 
 distinguished Sovereigns — none possess more interest than 
 the "Salle de TEmpereur," displaying on its frescoed ceil- 
 ing, the name of Napoleon, and numerous emblems 
 expressive of glory, the progress of the arts and sciences 
 under his reign. Here are preserved the memorials of 
 the great Captain ; his uniform coat worn at the battle of 
 Marengo, the sword he carried when First Consul — the 
 dresses worn on state occasions, and the pocket handker- 
 chief used by him on his death bed. 
 
 The Egyptian Saloon is one of the most interesting in 
 the world; and next to the collection at Berlin, the largest. 
 Here may be seen articles, that were in all probability, in 
 use in the days of Deborah, and Barak, of Necho, and Ne- 
 buchadnezzar. I noticed particularly a funeral crown 
 made with rushes, as perfect as the first day it was first 
 constructed by the mourner, who some three thousand years 
 ago attended the burial of an Egyptian brother. In another 
 compartment, may be noticed a letter from Appolonius to 
 Ptolemy. Not far from this, near a window, the perfect 
 plaster cast, taken either from the face of a dead or living 
 Egyptian, who trod the streets of Thebes, when Moses was 
 on earth. But this hurried description must suffice for 
 the Louvre. Preposterous as it may appear, it is a positive 
 relief to the stimulated senses, to quit exhibitions, of such 
 an overwhelming extent. It is what Thompson in allu- 
 sion to living beauty, calls ^^ a soul-distracting view '," or 
 the influence is perhaps more powerfully described by 
 Byron in Childc Harold, when he speaks of the heart, 
 being dazzled and drunk with beauty, until it reels with its 
 own fulness. 
 
PARIS. 135 
 
 Leaving the Louvre, let us pass out of the Place du 
 Carrousel again into the Rue de Rivoli, and retracing our 
 steps by the ^uileries Gardens, with the spacious Hotel 
 des Finances, and de la Marine, on the opposite side, we 
 soon find ourselves standing in the Place de la Concorde — 
 an immense open space between the gardens of the Tuile- 
 ries, and the Champs ifelysees. This Square is surrounded 
 by allegorical figures of the chief provincial cities of 
 France ; and in its centre rises the Obelisk, that the great 
 Sesostris erected in front of the magnificent Temple of 
 Thebes. On each side, throwing their sparkling spray 
 high in the air, are those magnificent fountains, that are 
 not surpassed in beauty, and the appropriateness of their 
 allegorical sculpture by any fountains in the world. The 
 taste that designed, laid out, and ornamented this noble 
 Place,^ was certainly faultless. No other city in Europe 
 can boast of any square, that will compare with it in point 
 of beauty. Looking along through the wide vista between 
 the trees in the Tuileries Gardens, you see the dark line 
 of the Palace : behind you the magnificent Avenue of the 
 Champs l^lysees, stretches in an unbroken line to the 
 noble Arc de Triomphe. On your right hand facing the 
 Tuileries, over the Bridge across the Seine, you have those 
 graceful structures the Palace of the Legislative Body, and 
 that of its President : on your left, looking down the Rue 
 Royale, is presented a fine view of that graceful edifice La 
 Madeleine. Thus, no matter how you turn in this beau- 
 tiful Square, the eye is gratified, and rests with compla- 
 cency everywhere. And then too, it is an interesting spot 
 on account of the historic memories that cling to it, all 
 gloomy though tjiey be. Who, as he stands by that Obe- 
 lisk in the centre, has not in imagination rolled back the 
 
136 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 tide of time, and filled the square around him with the 
 blood-thirsty, noisy and clamorous crowds, that here so 
 often witnessed with exultation, the rapid descent of the 
 guillotine axe, during the reign of Terror? And who 
 does not conjure up that saddest scene of all, as he looks 
 upon the spot, where Louis XVI. and his amiable consort 
 met the same fate, that had swept off so many of their sub- 
 jects? Who can help thinking of that desperate struggle 
 at the foot of the scaffold, when the poor King fought so 
 fiercely with the executioner's fiend-like assistants, as 
 they strove rudely to cut off the hair from his head, to 
 prepare him the better for his fate. And then, that 
 ghastly head, waving in the air, amid the shouts of the 
 brutal wretches, sprinkling the royal blood over his 
 faithful confessor, who was still on his knees, beside the 
 lifeless body of his sovereign. 
 
 The Church of the Madeleine, which is located in the 
 Place dc la Madeleine, is but a short distance from the 
 .Place de la Concorde, and you reach it by the Rue Royale, 
 one of the streets leading out of the Place. This Church, 
 architecturally speaking, is one of the finest buildings in 
 Paris. Its interior has a brilliancy, which is certainly 
 foreign to the object to which it is devoted. All that 
 gilding and painting could accomplish, have been lavished 
 on the interior adornments of this Temple. In a cupola 
 over the Grand Altar, is a vast fresco painting by Zeiglcr, 
 intended to represent the light of Christianity, dispelling 
 the darkness of ages. It is allegorical enough for the 
 most imaginative German fancy, and introduces Napoleon 
 in the foreground in his Imperial robes, close to old Pius 
 VII. among a throng of cmblematicals of the other sex. 
 "Misery," says Trinculo, "acquaints a man with strange 
 
PARIS. 137 
 
 bed-fellows" — and allegory it appears may deposit at will a 
 sinful son of Adam among the serenities of Heaven — not- 
 withstanding he deposed the best of Popes, and divorced 
 the best of wives. This Church is one of the fashionable 
 religious lounges of Paris. On the spot now covered by 
 this edifice, was buried Louis XVI. immediately after his 
 execution. Napoleon commenced here the Temple of Glory 
 after the battle of Jena, professedly as a memorial of the 
 Grand Army, but with a secret design of converting it into 
 a monument to the victims of the Revolution. 
 
 The Church of San Roch, in the Rue St. Honore, is 
 one of the most interesting Churches in Paris. It has been 
 finished about a century, and is one of the fashionable 
 churches. The pulpit is very imposing, being quite appro- 
 priately supported by colossal figures representing the four 
 Evangelists. The paintings behind and beside the choir, 
 are well worthy the inspection of any lover of the fine arts.' 
 They are perhaps, among the finest in the world : but the 
 entombment, representing the devout assistants carrying 
 the body of our Lord into the new tomb, is the chief 
 attraction of the interior. It is a complete piece of drama- 
 tic scenery. The rock, the cave or inner chamber, the 
 human forms so finely brought out by the gloom beyond, 
 produce an effect which borders on the sublime. Rut St. 
 Roch has associations of an historic interest. Here was 
 achieved a conquest which affected the destinies of Europe, 
 when the Convention came into collision with the people 
 and the National Guards, upon the subject of popular 
 representation. The Convention had under their control five 
 thousand regular troops — the artillerymen of Paris — and a 
 body of volunteers composed of blackguards and cut-throats, 
 the remnant of Robespierre's myrmidons. The Convention 
 M.2. 
 
138" FOREIGN ETGHINGS. 
 
 appointed Menou to the command of this- force, ordering 
 him to enter the several sections, and disarm the National 
 Guard. Menou had not the nerve; he failed, and the 
 Convention deposed him. Barras was ordered to assume 
 the command ; but Barras was no soldier, and.he turned to 
 his colleagues, and said, " I can name the individual who 
 will serve this turn — a dapper young officer from Corsica, 
 who knows his duty as a military man too well to compro- 
 mise the government by any squeamish scruples." It 
 was the young Bonaparte he alluded to — who was invited 
 to take command. He accepted, and at. once perceived 
 that his responsibility lay in defending the whole circuit 
 of the Tuileries, and retaining possession of all the bridges, 
 to prevent any junction between the armed bands of the 
 sections on one side of the Seine, with those on the other. 
 To bring about this junction, thirty thousand of the Na- 
 tional Guard marched upon the Tuileries from all quarters, 
 part from one side of the Seine, part from the other. But 
 they were baffled at every point by the regular troops 
 placed by Bonaparte, for the protection of the Avenues 
 leading to the Palace. The first shot was fired at the top 
 of the street. Rue Dauphin, facing the Church of St. Roch. 
 About two hundred of the National Guard were drawn up 
 on the steps, leading from the pavement to the door of this 
 Church. One single discharge brought on a general con- 
 flict. The National Guard -had not a single piece of 
 artillery. Bonaparte nearly two hundred pieces. The 
 sequel is well known. In less than an hour the assailants 
 were overwhelmed in all directions. This led to the ap- 
 pointment of the hitherto obscure and poverty stricken 
 young Corsican to the chief command, and was his first step 
 towards greatness. The marks of the grape and cannister, 
 
PARIS. 139 
 
 discharged on tliat eventful morning, may still be seen on 
 tbo front of this Church. While speaking of the churches 
 of Paris,, let no one forget to visit that mcraorablfe old' 
 Church outside the walls, the world-renowned Church of 
 St. Denis. It was in the vaults of this Church, the royalty 
 of France found a resting place, until their bones were 
 disturbed by the Vandals of the Revolution. Paris has 
 nothing to display in comparison with the adornments of 
 this small, but marvellous temple. It is some six miles 
 outside the walls of Paris, and was founded by Pepin, 
 but finished and consecrated by his more illustrious son, 
 Charlemagne. There are as it were two Churches- here, 
 one level with the ground, and one beneath it,, the latter 
 being as ancient as Dagobert and Charlemagne — the for- 
 mer having been raised over the first structure by Louis 
 IX. The stained glass of the windows of this old Church, 
 is among the finest in Europe. • Its effulgence tinges the 
 sunbeam with every imaginable variety of color, and 
 fills the holy place with radiance. As the bright luminary 
 that rules the day, runs his course, the groined roof and 
 clustered columns of the ancient pile glow in amber, 
 violet, emerald and ruby hues— followed by a rich combi- 
 nation of silver, crimson, and azure tints, the beaming 
 lustre of which darts from aisle to nave, from nave to tran- 
 sept, glows around the altar, and like a mystic halo from 
 on. high, resting within the choir, 
 
 " Fills the air around with beauty." 
 
 The fact of this stained glass being the work of modern 
 times, hardly thirty years old, refutes the common asser- 
 tion, that this beautiful art is comparatively lost. The 
 skill whose cunning fingers wrought these splendid adorn- 
 
140 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 ments, rniglit compass designs of any magnitude, either in 
 the illumination of tracery, or the complicated groupings 
 of History, without receding from the point of excellence 
 attained by the most renowned masters. Indeed it may 
 well be questioned, whether the annealing of glass in the 
 age of Albert Durer, was comparable to those processes in 
 modern chemistry, of which the latest glass-stainers have 
 been enabled to avail themselves. 
 
 The Oriflamme, or sacred banner of Clovis, is suspended 
 from an eminence at the eastern extremity of this venerg- 
 ble edifice, behind the High Altar. It is of a deep scarlet 
 color, and tradition assigns the ago of fhirteen hundred 
 and seventy years to this old silken remnant of monastic 
 superstition and imposition. The monks of the old Abbey 
 Church were in the habit of assuring the people that this 
 banner was brought to the Abbey by an angel, about the 
 period of the conversion to Christianity of old King Clovis. 
 It was called Oriflamme from the'representation of flames 
 worked in golden threads upon the silk. The chapels 
 above are shrines profusely adorned with embellishments 
 of art, and glittering with wealth and magnificence. But 
 beneath their stone pavements are the tombs of three 
 dynasties of kings. . 
 
 " A thousand years of silenced factions sleep." 
 
 These chapels underneath have well been called the Chro- 
 nicles of France and Europe — stone and marble editions 
 of the Book of French Kings and Queens, Counsellors, 
 Warriors, Heroes, and Philosophers. It is hardly possible 
 to make the circuit of these subterranean recesses, without 
 stumbling on prostrate royalty, or on some marble form, 
 whose prototype in the days of Chivalry and the Crusades,, 
 waged battle with the mailed knight, encountered the 
 
PARIS. 141 
 
 scimetar of the Saracen, or charged the English bowmen 
 at Cressy, Poictiers, or Agincourt. The sculpture of some 
 of the cenotaphs is exquisite, and the recumbent statues 
 beautiful. In one of the recesses is a statue of Marie 
 Antoinette in a kneeling posture, considered a perfect like- 
 ness of that unfortunate princess. Brazen-doors open into 
 the royal vault, now containing eight coffins, in which 
 are t^e remains of Louis XVI. and his Queen, Louis XVIII. 
 and other members of this branch of the royal family. 
 The retaains of the greatest monarch of them all. Napoleon, 
 rest near the banks of the Seine, under the dome of the 
 Hotel des Invalides, "in the midst of the people that he 
 loved so well." There is ample daylight in the crypts be- 
 neath St. Denis, and every thing is seen to the best advan- 
 tage. It is just the spot where Richard II. might have told 
 
 " Sad stories of the death of Kings : — 
 How some have been depos'd, some slain in war, 
 Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd, 
 Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping killed." 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 JOURNEY FROM PARIS TO CHAMONIX. 
 
 Departure from Paris — Macon — Geneva — Ride to Chamonix — 
 Mar de Glace — The Source ol the Arveiron — Mont Blanc. 
 
 It was at early dawn on a summer morning that we left 
 Paris, by the Lyons railway for Macon. There is nothing 
 peculiarly striking about the scenery between Paris and 
 Macon. The country is generally level, and with a few 
 exceptions, the towns through which you pass have no 
 particular interest. "We caught a passing glimpse of the 
 picturesque towers of the old Cathedral of Sens, where 
 Thomas Becket found a sanctuary, when he fled from 
 the wrath of Henry, of England : and we saw for a mo- 
 ment, at Dijon, the gloomy looking front of what was once 
 the Palace of the celebrated Dukes of Burgundy. The 
 low lying hills to the north and south of Dijon, were 
 pointed out to us as the famous range, whose vineyards 
 produce the delicious wine, that bears the name of this 
 once proud Duchy. Now and then, we passed through 
 quaint old towns, with their fantastic gables, grim looking 
 steeples and towers, and furnishing at intervals, a rapid 
 glance along the vista of some ancient street, with its red 
 tiled bouses, and narrow time-worn footways. Along 
 through the open country, might be seen the 'picturesque 
 looking windmills, swinging their huge arms lazily around : 
 or some venerable chateau peeping out from the leafy 
 shelter of ancestral trees. We arrived at Macon, spme 
 
DEPARTURE FROM PARIS. 143 
 
 three hundred miles from Paris, late in the afternoon. It 
 is a forlorn old town, located on the banks of the Saone, 
 which is spanned here by a bridge of twelve arches. Nor 
 did the discomforts of the filthiest Inn to be met with in 
 Europe, assist in changing for the better our first impres- 
 sions of its misery and wretchedness. Macon is the seat 
 of a considerable trade in wine, and gives name to a pecu- 
 liar kind, both red and whit.e, much admired by French- 
 men; but to an uncultivated taste, smacking very much 
 of the sharpness of the best vinegar. At five the next 
 morning, we were off in the diligence for Geneva. We 
 started at a dashing pace over the Bridge, stopping to 
 breakfast at a miserable village, some twenty miles from 
 Macon, where sour wine, omelettes reeking with oil, and 
 chickens that appeared to have died of a slow decline, were 
 rather revolting, even to a traveler's appetite, made still 
 more keen by the fresh morning air. The scenery along 
 the first part of the road was monotonous and tame in the 
 extreme; but towards noon we had the magnificent range of 
 the Jura towering above us, and were soon in the midst of 
 the glorious scenery of its mountain passes. The road over 
 the Jura is constructed in the most substantial manner, and 
 all along protected at the sides. As we passed over some 
 of the loftier eminences, troops of mountain girls, be- 
 sieged the sides of the diligence with offerings of Alpine 
 flowers^ for which of course, they expected and received 
 a few sous in return. About three o'clock, we caught 
 sight of the long range of the snow-covered summits of the 
 Oberland Alps, and a short time afterwards the magnifi- 
 cent dome of Mont Blano appeared, rising cold and white 
 against the sky. At fiijst the appearance was that of a 
 huge white cloud; but remaining stationary, with no 
 
144 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 alteration of its shape, we soon discovered that it was the 
 snowy top of the monarch of mountains. There was 
 nothing very striking in the appearance it first presented ; 
 but when the descending sun emerged from a heavy bank 
 of clouds, and threw his parting rays full upon the sum- 
 mit, the mountain stood forth in all its beauty. Nothing 
 could have been more magnificent ; for a while it appeared 
 like a huge dome of solid silver,^ and we felt the truth of 
 those lines of the poet : 
 
 " Mighty Mont Blanc, thou wert to me 
 That moment, with thy brow in heaven, 
 
 As sure a sign of Deity 
 As e'er to mortal gaze was given." 
 
 It was late in the evening when we rattled into Geneva^ 
 but late as it was, we could hardly pass on over the long 
 bridge, for the crowds of people that were thronging it. It 
 had been a fete day, and the streets were still thronged 
 with gay crowds. The next morning from one of the 
 balconies of ''The Hotel des Bergues," we had a full 
 view of Mont Blanc, some fifty miles away. An agreeable 
 impression is produced by the cleanliness and comfort 
 everywhere visible. The beauty of the Quays which 
 border the Lake and the Rhone, and the elegance of the 
 private edifices cannot be surpassed in any city on the 
 continent. We spent Sunday in Geneva ; but I am sure 
 that John Calvin would not know his favorite city. The 
 observance of the Sabbath is no more attended to in 
 here, than in Paris. Workmen were busily engaged on 
 some of the new buildings going up along the Quay, while 
 the bustle and stir of the streets, where open shops dis- 
 played their stores, jndicated that Sunday was as much of 
 a festive day, as at Paris. 
 
GENEVA. 145 
 
 The modern portion of Geneva displays considerable 
 architectural taste; but the old town has very little to 
 boast of. The history of the Canton does not present many 
 points of interest. It had an early origin, as it is supposed 
 to have been mentioned by Caesar in his Commentaries. 
 There can be no question that the Romans made conside- 
 rable sojourn here, from the fact, that constantly medals 
 are being found of Roman origin, and other memorials of 
 that once powerful nation. It was in the fifth century that 
 Christianity was introduced. It then formed part of the 
 great Burgundian kingdom, and was a portion of the 
 Germanic empire. After various efforts to seize the sove- 
 reignty by different powerful Lords, the Counts of Savoy 
 at last acquired an ascendancy, and for a long time kept it. 
 At the Reformation, the influence of that House declined, 
 and was finally entirely destroyed under Calvin. Calvin 
 settled in Geneva about the middle of the sixteenth cen- 
 tury, and during a twenty-eight years' residence, consoli- 
 dated, not without some tyranny and persecution, and a ^ 
 proportionate amount of resistance, the new social edifice. 
 In the latter part of the same century, the town concluded 
 an alliance with Zurich and Berne, and for a long time 
 was the great Protestant asylum for refugees from France, 
 Italy, and England. The House of Savoy raised a great 
 army in the early part of the next century^ and advanced 
 npon Geneva. France encouraged Geneva, and with Berne 
 carried on a war, which covered the little confederacy 
 with glory and desolation. During the political upheavings 
 caused by the French Revolution, the Canton fell under 
 French rule. But when the result of the battle of Waterloo 
 had shattered forever the power of Napoleon, she declared 
 herself a Republic, and her independence was recognized 
 
146 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 in the Congress of Vienna. At the present time, the 
 government of the Canton is administered by a Council 
 of State, composed of seven members elected by the suf- 
 frages of the citizens. The legislative power is in the 
 hands of ninety-three deputies, also elected by the people. 
 The birth place of Rousseau, possesses great attractions 
 from its natural surroundings, and we should have loved 
 to explore all the interesting localities within the limits 
 of the city itself: but it was in the latter part of August, 
 and we were anxious to visit the Alpine Region before the 
 advance of the season should make such a visit disagree- 
 able. We spent, therefore, but one day in Geneva, and 
 the morning after, found us on our way to Chamonix, 
 which is some fifty miles distant. The scenery along 
 this road is exceedingly fine, and might be enjoyed, 
 were it not for the disgusting cases of goitre, and the 
 numerous cretins, who lay basking at the doors of the 
 houses in the villages you pass. Halting at the old town 
 of Bonneville, a small place on the banks of the Arve, I 
 took occasion to visit the Court House, where a trial for 
 larceny was on. The Court occupied the third story room 
 of a most wretched looking brick structure. A bey of 
 about fourteen was in the prisoner's box, who seemed to 
 be well guarded by armed officials, answering to our con- 
 stables, there being no less than four in his immediate vici- 
 nity. The array of Judges on the Bench, did not present 
 a very powerful intellectual display. The officer answer- 
 ing to our Prosecuting Attorney, arrayed in a small black 
 cap, and sadly dirty gown of the same color, occupied a 
 seat near the Tribunal facing the prisoner. "When the 
 cause .was called, he rose and addressed the President 
 Judge, and proceeded to read the accusation in a very hur- 
 
RIDE TO CHAMONIX. 147 
 
 ried manner. This accusation set forth a series of trifling 
 depredations committed by the prisoner at the bar — ending 
 with the larceny of a watch. A half dozen witnesses were 
 examined, and after some very sharp interrogatories put 
 the prisoner by the Court, he was found guilty and sen- 
 tenced to the chain-gang in the streets of Bonneville for 
 three years. There was no counsel for the prisoner, and 
 the prosecutor seemed to have it all his own way. As we 
 passed through the streets of Bonneville, I noticed the 
 poor boy in the midst of the chain gang, with an iron ball 
 to his leg. I had only seen him condemned but half an 
 hour before. We passed through Cluses, a modem look- 
 ing town, celebrated as the manufactory of those exquisite 
 musical boxes and watch wheels^ for which Geneva is so 
 famous. Shortly after leaving Cluses, we had a fine sight 
 of the Mole, a Snowdon-like hill, three thousand feet high, 
 which we had* seen before from Geneva. Now we were 
 close to the river Arve — now traversing a cultivated level, 
 round which the stream curves to the other side of the 
 valley — now mounting the shoulder of a hill, or skirting 
 the base of some frowning cliff. At Sallanches, the road 
 from thence to Chamonix becomes narrow and difficult, 
 and we were forced to leave our comfortable convey- 
 ance behind us, and take to the uncomfortable little 
 two-horse cars that are built specially to traverse the 
 roughness of the remainder of the road. At the Bridge 
 crossing the Arve at Sallanches, we obtained glorious views 
 of the snow-covered summit of Mont Blanc. It looked as 
 if an half hour's walk would have enabled us to reach it ; 
 and yet it was sixteen miles away — so deceptive is distance 
 in these Alpine regions. Shortly after leaving Servoz, 
 you come to the most difficult part of the ascent, rugged 
 
148 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 and rocky, commanding some grand views of deep gorges, 
 dark with pine woods, and of precipitous mountain ridges 
 bristling with their rocky battlements in the distance. On 
 leaving this narrow and savage pass, we entered the valley 
 of Chamonix, just as evening was drawing a curtain over 
 the earth. The road takes a northeasterly direction under 
 the base of Mont Blanc, and in the distance we caught 
 sight of the five glaciers which descend into the very plain. 
 The vallef^ of Chamonix is about fifteen miles in length, 
 traversed by the rapid and turbid stream of the Arve. We 
 found most excellent quarters at the Royal Union Hotel, 
 and those comforts which are so agreeable to the traveler, 
 who has endured the fiitigues of such a rough journey as 
 that from Geneva to Chamonix. The next morning, look- 
 ing directly up to the summit of Mont Blanc, from my 
 chamber window, I could scarcely believe that it would re- 
 quire eighteen hours steady climbing to roach fhe top. From 
 the valley it looks as if half an hour might accomplish it. 
 At noon, while looking at some adventurers, who had 
 started the day before to make the ascent, I began to 
 get a more perfect realization of the immense height of 
 the mountain. They had just reached the summit, and 
 had turned to descend, but with a telescope of considerable 
 power, you could just discern three dark spots about the 
 size of moles, moving down the snow-covered side of the 
 mountain. The second morning after our arrival, we 
 started at an early hour for an excursion to the Mer de 
 Glace. It is attained by an ascent of some three thousand 
 feet above the level of the valley, and which some three 
 hours' climbing on the part of your trusty mules enables 
 you to reach. It is exceedingly steep in some parts, but 
 not the least difficult. A gradual ascent, bordered on each 
 
THE MER DE GLACE. 149 
 
 hand by masses of rock detached from the mountain sides, 
 leads to the fountain of Claudine of Chamonix; where, in 
 the Opera of "Linda," she is supposed to have first seen 
 her lover. During the ascent, we had through the open 
 spaces in the forest, an almost uninterrupted view of 
 Chamonix, with its diflferent villages surrounded by trees 
 and cornfields on the banks of the Arve; but on arriving 
 at Montanvert the scene changes entirely. Instead of a 
 fertile plain, you find yourself on the brink of a preci- 
 pice, hanging over a scene worthy of the Arctic regions, 
 a large valley of eternal ice and anow. The Mer de Glace, 
 is full fifty-four miles long, and in some places .nearly 
 three wide. The thickness or depth of the glacier varies 
 according to the surface : the average is from eighty 
 to one hundred feet; but in some places owing to the 
 hollows of the rocks beneath, it may be as much as 
 four or five hunded. This great ice river, if it may 
 be so called, is formed from two streams that pour 
 forth from difierent sources in the higher Alps. The 
 origin of glaciers is from the accumulation of snow in the 
 upper valleys. In the spring and summer these masses 
 become saturated during the day with rain water, or 
 imbibe the moisture of their exterior, which has been 
 liquified by the rays of the sun. During night, or on 
 the approach of winter, the remnant is frozen into a mass 
 of porous ice, which is again covered by a coating of snow 
 in the next winter, and thus by degrees in the progress 
 of ages, these immense glaciers have been formed. We 
 descended to the level of the glacier, after having rested at 
 the Montanvert for a short space. When you arrive upon 
 it, the appearance is for all the world, as if by some magic 
 spell^ a raging, roaring torrent rushing headlong in its- 
 n2 
 
150 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 course, had been arrested in mid-career by the breath of 
 " The Ice King." And yet still as the Glacier appears to 
 human vision, that vast icy bed is in continual motion, 
 moving downward towards the valley, into which it intrudes 
 some considerable distance. It moves on with a steady 
 flow, although no eye sees its motion ; but from day to 
 day, and year to year, the secret silent cause, whatever it 
 may be, produces the certain slow effect. The avalanche 
 feeds it, aiid swells its flowing tide, and at night when the 
 mountain life stands almost still — when its countless little 
 veins are frozen up, and the murmur .of its thousand 
 rills is hushed to rest — the glacier's giant pulse alone beats 
 heavily and slow. Nothing is more curious than the 
 transportation of immense masses of rock into the valley, 
 by this constant movement of the glacier : and at the foot 
 of the Mer de Glace, known as the Glacier des Bois, may be 
 seen huge masses of rock, that have been thus strangely 
 «)rought into the valley by the unseen, but never ceasing 
 motion. Professor Forbes, who was lost to science all too 
 soon, speaking of this motion, and the calculations that have 
 made upon the time which it takes to bring these huge 
 masses from the higher Alps, most beautifully says : 
 
 "A glacier is an endless scroll, a stream of time, upon 
 whose stainless ground is engraven the succession of events, 
 whose dates far transcend the memory of living mat. At 
 the usual rate of descent, a rock which fell upon a high 
 glacier two hundred years ago, may only just now have 
 reached its final resting-place in the lower country : and 
 a block larger than the largest of Egyptian obelisks, 
 may occupy the time of six generations of men in its 
 descent, before it is laid low in the common grave of its 
 predecessors.'' When the glacier presses its terrific plough- 
 
THE ARYEIRON. 151 
 
 eliare far into the valley, it turns up the soil, and wrinkles 
 in advance the green sward of the meadows — brings 
 among the fields the blasts of winter, overthrowing trees 
 and houses in its tremendous progress. It would be impos- 
 sible fully to describe the grand wildness of the scenery 
 surrounding this glacier. Beneath your feet — far up amid 
 the eternal snows — below you, where the heat of the valley 
 has at last checked the onward progress of the glacier, 
 rise the frozen waves of the Mer de Glace, some as high 
 as twenty and thirty feet. Around, on all sides, ten and 
 twelve thousand feet above the level of the sea, the needle 
 shaped rocks, that give such grand effect to the scenery of 
 the valley, are piercing the skies. On the left you have 
 the Aiguille du Dru, behind it is the Aiguille Verte, on 
 the right the Aiguille du Moine^ and the Aiguille du 
 Bochard — around extends a rampart of colossal rocks, 
 whose crumbling summits attest the influence of many 
 thousand seasons, and whose sterile grandeur has an impos- 
 ing effect upon the mind. Our descent from the Mont- 
 anvert was more rapid than our ascent, for in two hours 
 we had reached without much fatigue our hotel. That same 
 evening we visited the source of the Arveiron, a rapid 
 torrent, which issues from a vault of ice under the extre- 
 mity of the Glacier des Bois, the lower part of the Mer 
 de Glace. This remarkable source is one of the finest 
 sights in Chamonix. We soon reached the moraines of 
 rock and stone brought down from the mountain in the 
 course of ages^ by the action of the glacier. Then we 
 clambered over these immense deposits to the edge of the 
 ice which rises like a huge wall, and listened in the 
 stillness of the evening to the straining and crushing that 
 came from the mighty mass above. The Arveiron here 
 
152 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 rushes from three low arches at the foot of a dark blue 
 cliflF of ice, turbid and foaming : and as the eye peers into 
 those darksome vaults, the imagination begins to picture 
 the terrible aspect of the interior. We crept as near as 
 the stream would permit, and leaned over the rocky ram- 
 part to gaze and listen. The whole scene around was of 
 the most impressive character. The water here rushes 
 swiftly and with great noise from its source deep in the 
 heart of the glacier. At times the volume is largely 
 increased, and often the sudden checking of this stream 
 has been the cause of terrible devastation. Some years 
 ago, the arches at the foot of the glacier being worn 
 by the water fell in, and the fragments becoming frozen, 
 dammed up the glacier river. The waters thus impeded, 
 accumulated rapidly, until at a point many hundred feet 
 above the former vent, they burst through in a tremendous 
 cataract, and with a deafening roar, tumbling headlong 
 upon the glacier, swept dwellings, trees, and fences 
 away before it, for many miles along the valley. If the 
 action of one glacier could produce such consequences, 
 what might not be the devastation if the whole four hun- 
 dred, large and small, should be placed in a like position. 
 Taking the glaciers as from three to twelve miles long upon 
 an average, one to four miles wide, and from one to nine 
 hundred thick; the calculation has been made, that about 
 thirty millions of cubic fathoms of ice, are slowly trans- 
 ported down the mountain ravines every year. Looking 
 up at the huge arches, lumps of stone large and small, 
 were continually falling — now plunging into the stream, 
 now clattering into the hollows of the moraines, showing 
 the ceaseless movement of the glacier. It was rather a 
 warm evening, but the vicinity of this huge mass of ice, 
 produced a cool descending current of air, and it became 
 
ASCENTS OP MONT BLANC. 153 
 
 quite chilly. ITow striking too, was the contrast in view 
 — a cataract of ice barred apparently by a dam of rocks — 
 a torrent rushing from beneath — a waterfall tumbling in 
 clouds of spray from above. Within a few feet of the 
 frozen mass, grass was growing, with fir trees bordering it, 
 until lost behind the bend towards Montanvert. It was in 
 truth, winter frowning in the face of summer to resent the 
 intrusion into his territory — yet held in check by her warm 
 and glowing breath. Far in the distance looking upward 
 along the glacier, rose the tall Aiguilles, with their lofty 
 pinnacles, tipped with the roseate rays of the sunlight 
 which had long left the valley. It was one of those sights, 
 once seen, never to be forgotten. 
 
 The season being favorable, very little snow having fallen, 
 made the ascent to Mont Blanc, comparatively an easy 
 matter. In consequence some twenty or thirty ascents 
 were made during the months of July and August. Dur- 
 ing our short stay at Chamonix, some four were made, 
 and the week before our arrival, a young and ambitious 
 Englishwoman dared the enterprise; but much to the 
 trouble and disgust of the guides, who were compelled to 
 carry her up the most difficult passes. One of them told 
 me, **My lady had more spirit than strength, and more ef- 
 frontery than either." Most of those who effected the ascent 
 while we were at Chamonix, suffered severely afterwards 
 from inflammation of the eyes, produced by the snow 
 dazzle: and our curiosity could not be gratified at the 
 expense of so severe a penalty. Neither is the prospect 
 from its summit any finer than that afforded by numerous 
 other and more accessible elevations in Switzerland. The 
 height is so great that objects in the plain appear envel- 
 loped in a haze — its chief merit is said to be, in the 
 perfect insight afforded into the structure of all the highest 
 
154 FOREIGN ETCHINaS. 
 
 Alps, whose pinnacles it places under the view of tte 
 observer. 
 
 The summit of Mont Blanc, which is nearly fifteen 
 thousand feet above the level of the sea, is, I was informed 
 by one of those who had accomplished the ascent, but a 
 very narrow ridge, hardly wide enongh for two persons to 
 walk abreast, with a gentle slope on each side. The diflO.- 
 culty in the ascent commences after leaving the ridge of 
 rocks known as the Grand Mulcts, where the adventurers 
 rest for the night. About five hours from this spot, which 
 is left very early in the morning, they encounter the Mur 
 de la Cote. This is an almost perpendicular wall of ice, 
 nearly three hundred feet high, and bordered on the left 
 by an awful precipice. Here the guides are compelled to 
 cut a footing for every step in the ice. Much depends 
 now upon the firmness of nerve displayed, and the fact that 
 80 very few fatal accidents have happened among the 
 numerous ascents, speaks well both for the nerves of the 
 adventurer, and the skill of the Guides. Chamonix, 
 .though certainly one of the most interesting spots in Swit- 
 zerland, is not a place where the tourist loves to linger 
 long. Hemmed in by its huge barriers of rock, it seems 
 as if shut out fropi the world, and once having made all 
 the excursions in the vicinity, life in the valley becomes 
 tiresome and monotonous in the extreme. In consequence 
 tourists linger but a few days and are off" for more varied 
 and interesting scenes^ in localities not so isolated. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 JOURNEY FROM CHAMONIX TO VEVAY. 
 
 Departure from Chamonix — Lake Leman and its shores — Vevay — 
 Visit to Castle Chillon. 
 
 We returned to Geneva from Chamonix, by the same 
 road we had travelled a few days before, and early the 
 next morning were on the Steamer Helvetia, on our way 
 to Vevay at the upper part of Lake Leman. Our boat 
 first slackened speed, opposite the quaint looking town of 
 Coppet. Upon the heights above the town, stands a vene- 
 rable Chateau. It once sheltered beneath its roof, the 
 Minister Neckar, whose financial ability, great as it was, 
 could not save France from the dreadful retribution that 
 awaited her. In the little Church — whose picturesque 
 steeple may be seen just beyond the Chateau — he is 
 buried, and by his side reposes all that was mortal of his 
 more celebrated daughter, Madame de Stael, whose genius 
 still throws a charm over French literature. Upon leav- 
 ing Coppet, the scenery of the Lake begins to open more 
 beautifully. Far on the right, rise the summits of the 
 mountains of Savoy, with a girdle of clouds encompassing 
 their peaks — on the left, the less lofty, but quite pictur- 
 esque chain of the Jura, with here and there vineyards 
 stretching' down the slopes, and country seats, with gar- 
 dens gorgeous with many-hued flowers, reaching down to 
 the very borders of the Lake. And there, built partly 
 along the bank of the Lake, and partly on a terraced hill, 
 
156 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 is tlie ancient town of Nyon. It was once a Roman 
 Colony, and still shows traces of the old military wall, 
 built by the colony sent by the first Caesar to lay 
 the foundations of a town. In the remote and vapory 
 distance is seen across the Lake, the old town of Thonon, 
 the ancient capital of Chablais, whose whitened walls con- 
 trast with the sombre verdure of the surrounding hills. 
 Passing Nyon, we are at the extremity of the Little L^ko 
 as it is called, and you can see the steeples and turrets of 
 Geneva, shining like a luminous point in the extreme dis- 
 tance. We pass between a small island and a town. li 
 is the little town of Rolle, and the small white monument 
 you see in the centre of the island, is erected to the me- 
 mory of (Greneral Harpe, a native of Rolle, and it thus 
 signalizes its gratitude for the glory he has reflected by 
 his deeds upon his native place. What magnificent 
 scenery now opens before us ! The high mountains, whose 
 base is washed by the blue waters of the Lake, now take 
 sharper outlines in the landscape. They form round the 
 Gulf of Thonon a verdant belt, deepened here and there 
 by dense forests. Now you may observe the group of the 
 Dents d'Oche, with brows white with eternal snow, rising 
 above the left bank like an abrupt wall, and projecting 
 their peaks obliquely into the azure sky. Presently Lau- 
 sanne perched half way up the hill, comes into view ; the 
 spires of its ancient Cathedral forming a prominent point in 
 the picture. The amphitheatre formed by the slopes that 
 descend from the town to the borders of the Lake, are 
 covered with the rich green of vineyards, giving a very 
 beautiful eflfect, as seen from the water. It was in this 
 place Gibbon wrote his *' Decline and Fall of the Roman 
 Empire," and the site of the grotto, in which most of this 
 
LAKE LEMAN. 
 
 15Y 
 
 cliarming work was written, is now covered by tlie build- 
 ings belonging to the Hotel Gibbon. A few miles far- 
 ther on, and we find ourselves opposite Vevay. Embarking 
 in the wide boat that plays the part of a water omnibus 
 to convey passengers to the landing, we were soon at the 
 stone stairs, leading directly up to the picturesque garden 
 of the Hotel of the Three Crowns— decidedly the best 
 arranged and most comfortable Hotel in Europe. That 
 evening the scene presented in the garden on the Lake, 
 was romantic in the extreme. The placid Leman looked 
 as smooth and bright as a mirror ; and the full moon was 
 reflected far down in its quiet depths. The sound of 
 sweet music, keeping time to the measured dash of the 
 oar, was ever and anon delighting the ear, as it was borne 
 to us over the waters, sounding marvellously sweet. 
 Shaded in misty outlines silvered in the moonlight, rose 
 the snow-capped mountains, seeming like giant sentinels 
 to guard the entrance to the Lake. Vevay is one of the 
 principal towns in the Canton of Yaud, and is a place of 
 considerable importance. It has a very fair trade; its 
 position rendering it the natural entrepot of the various 
 indigenous commodities, and the centre of the commerce 
 between the Cantons of Vaud, Freibourg, Berne, Geneva 
 and Chablais. Beneath the pavement of its old Church of 
 St. Martin, are buried the regicides Ludlow and Brough- 
 ton, who in this little town, after many hair-breadth 
 escapes, at last found refuge from the perils to which they 
 were exposed at the Eestoration. Ludlow was one of the 
 Judges of Charles I. and Broughton was the person who 
 read to him his death warrant. 
 
 The next morning after our arrival, we hired a boat at 
 the stairs, for a row to the far-famed Castle of Chillon. 
 
 
158 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 The morning was indeed beautiful; a gentle breeze just 
 rippling the surface of the Lake. On one side of us were 
 the rich green slopes that rise so gracefully behind the 
 little town of Vevay; while on the other, the bold and 
 lofty crags of the mountains were reflected far down in 
 the clear blue waters of the Lake. Before us, towards 
 Castle Chillon, and at the entrance of the Lake into 
 the valley, the peaks of the mountains, white with eter- 
 nal snows, gave quite a picturesque appearance to the 
 scene. As Qur boat sped on, we passed the Tour de Peilz, 
 half a mile to the east of Vevay, presenting a bold front 
 to the Lake, with its ancient walls, and queer looking 
 chateau. And there too, high up on the slope of the 
 mountain, that rears its indented crags high above, and 
 surrounded by vineyards rich with verdure, nestles the 
 pretty Village of Clarens, whose name will live as long as 
 the French language, in association with the impassioned 
 scenes of the Nouvelle Heldue, and those lines of Byron's. 
 
 " Clarens ! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod — 
 Undying Loves, who here ascends a throne 
 To which the steps are mountains." 
 
 And now we are nearing the world-renowned Castle of 
 Chillon. 'This Castle is situated in the centre of a semi- 
 circle formed at the base of richly wooded slopes — having 
 the Tower of Villeneuve at one extremity, and a small but 
 picturesque Swiss Chalet at the other. The Castle itself 
 is seated on the right of a defile, upon an isolated rock in 
 the midst of the waters. On the front of the structure, 
 towards the Lake, may be seen in huge letters, Libert^ 
 Pa trie; ^' a noble device," as some traveller remarks, 
 "when properly understood, but which had better be trea- 
 sured in the heart's core, than scrawled on walls," "We 
 
CASTLE OF CHILLON. 159 
 
 landed at a narrow stairway of stone, which led to a small 
 covered passage conducting to the interior of the court-yatd 
 of the Castle. Here we encountered a huge figure, round 
 as a tun, who certainly would have been taken by the an- 
 cients, as an embodiment of Bacchus. He desired us to 
 wait a moment, when his wife would conduct us through 
 the Castle. Presently a smart, tidy-looking female, with 
 a pair of sharp, quick grey eyes^ shaded by the broad rim 
 of a tasteful Swiss hat, offered to conduct us. Passing on 
 with our guide^ who talked incessantly, we descended 
 some stone steps which led down into a vaulted space, sup- 
 ported by several stone pillars, connected together by 
 admirably turned arches, and lighted by small narrow 
 windows on the side next th« Lake, This was once the 
 old Guard Chamber of the Castle. Then came a dark 
 Hall^ where the light was so scant, we were forced to 
 grope our way over the uneven floor, which like the 
 landward wall, is composed of massive rock. Into this 
 place had once beep crowded hundreds of Jews, and we 
 felt, for we could hardly be said to see, the ledge of rock, 
 ©n which a thousand or more had been strangled in one 
 day for the good of the Church. Above we could just 
 discern the outline of the beam, from whose strong sup- 
 port had dangled many a poor wretch, who, after being 
 condemned in the Judgment Hall above, was brought down 
 that dark stairway, to expiate his doom here. That half 
 walled-up space on the side next the Lake, indicates 
 where once was the opening through which their mutilated 
 bodies wera launched into the water, that rolls, 
 
 •'A thousand feet in depth below." 
 But soon we were standing within 
 
 "^Chillon's dungeon deep and oldJ' 
 
160 FOREIGN ETCfllNGS, 
 
 the dungeon of Bonnivard. Here the heroic defender of 
 Genevan liberty languished six years chained to a pillar. 
 It looked not unlike a chapel, with its groined roof and 
 central row of columns, "massy and grey.'' Its light was 
 that of a pleasant twilight. Two or three narrow slits, 
 high up the wall, admitted the rays which had a greenish 
 hue from the reflection of the waters of the Lake. The 
 eflfect was rather heightened by the light breeze, which 
 kept flapping the huge leaf of some aquatic plant directly 
 opposite "the Martyr's Pillar." How sweet the rays of 
 sunlight must have been to the Prior of St. Victor ! and 
 how often during the long hours of his six years' eoufine- 
 ment, must his eyes have turned towards these narrow 
 windpws as. the bright rays streamed in upon his dungeon 
 floor. The iron ring still remains in the pillar to which 
 he was chained, and we saw in the stone floor, where 
 
 " His very footsteps had left a trace, 
 Worn, as if the cold pavement were a sod." 
 
 Upon this Pillar, one may read the names of Byron, 
 Leigh Hunt, and other celebrities. This dungeon, though 
 many others suff"ered there, had its one great captive 
 — the illustrious Bonnivard, and his image stands out 
 boldly from amongst them all. The rooms above had 
 their thousand suflferers,. and were suggestive of cruel 
 scenes. Of their names few remain, although the instru- 
 ments on which they were racked and torn to pieces, still 
 are there. Emerging from this prison, we entered the 
 spacious apartment just above them, which evyiently had 
 once been the Hall of Torture, for here with the rust and 
 stain of centuries upon it, still stands the gaunt and grim 
 apparatus of the Inquisition. In the middle of the room 
 
CASTtE OF CHILLON. 161 
 
 was a massive beam, reaching from the floor to the ceiling 
 with a strong pulley at the top. This was the " Corda," 
 the queen of torment, as it has been called. The person 
 who endured this torture was suspended by his hands from 
 the pulley, heavy weights were fastened to his feet, and 
 when all was ready, he was slowly hoisted to some dis- 
 tance, and then suddenly dropped. This always dislocated 
 the arms, and sometimes the weight was so great, that the 
 arms were torn from the body. Hot irons were often 
 affixed to the soles of the feet, while, they hung sus- 
 pended, and the scorching marks of the fire are still 
 plainly visible on the pillar, where the poor sufi"erers had 
 hung. In one of the apartments, we were shown a recess 
 in the wall, with a trap door at the bottom. The person 
 accused of heresy was made to kneel on a trap door before 
 an image of the Virgin placed in this very recess. To 
 prevent the possibility of apostacy — the moment the con- 
 fession was made, the bolt was drawn, and the poor wretch 
 lay a mangled corpse on the rocks below. This Castle 
 was built as early as the year 1238, and it was at once the 
 Boulevard and defence of the state. In 1733 it was con- 
 verted into a state prison, and retained this character 
 the conclusion of the century. It is now a depot of arms 
 and munitions, and occasionally serves for a military 
 guard-house. 
 
 &2 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 JOURNEY FROM VEV^AY TO MAYENCE. 
 
 Ride to Berne — Berne — Basle — Strasburg — Baden-Baden — 
 Heidelburg — Mayence. 
 
 We left Vevay in a- private conveyariice for Berne, and 
 having taken an early start, were fortunate enough to 
 reach the summit of the steep and long hill, a few miles 
 from Vevay, just as the sun had risen. From it, we 
 had a most extensive view of the entire expanse of the 
 Lake of Geneva, with the grand Alpine chain, of which 
 Mont Blanc forms the eentre, in the distance. The dis- 
 tinctness of the view in the bright morning light, added 
 much to the indescribable beauty of the scene : and I do 
 not remember a prospect in Switzerland, that combines so 
 much picturesqueness and sublimity, as this from the sum- 
 mit of the Jorat. At Bulle, where we halted to dine, 
 there was a large fair being held, and the streets were alive 
 with people. The array of booths, and the display of all 
 kinds of merchandize, with the thronging crowds in the 
 long avenues between the stall«, presented quite a lively 
 and stirring scene. The general appearance of the fair, 
 was strikingly like some of those wonderful representations 
 by the magic pencil of Teniers, that one sees in the Galle- 
 ries — a country fair with singular groupings of peasantry 
 in varied costumes, long rows of decorated booths, and 
 scenes of joyousness everywhere. Late in the afternoon 
 wc arrived at our halting plaee for the night; the town of 
 
BERNE. 163 
 
 Freibourg, and found delightful quarters at the Ziih ringer 
 Hof. The situation of this old town is curious indeed. 
 It is built partly on the edge of the precipitous ravine of the 
 Saone, and partly in the ravine itself^ so that the people 
 in the upper town look over the chimney-tops of their 
 neighbors below. The view from the terrace in the rear 
 of our Hotel, was wild and picturesque in the extreme. It 
 looked down into the depths of the ravine, through which 
 the yellow Saone lazily wandered — and along the banks of 
 the stream were the dark narrow streets, and venerable 
 looking Convents of the old town. High up on the rugged 
 cliffs upon the opposite side, was perched, the ruin of one 
 pf the old watch towers of the middle ages. Freibourg is 
 one of the strong holds of the Jesuits, and abounds in 
 Churches and Monasteries. It was a great source of re- 
 gret that we had not an opportunity of hearing the famous 
 organ, in the old Cathedral. The iron suspension bridge 
 spanning the ravine, is a perfect miracle of architectural 
 skill. Its length is aearly a thousand feet, and its eleva- 
 tion from the bottom of the ravine nearly two hundred. 
 It is supported on four cables of iron wire, each containing 
 more than one thousand wires, and is said to be capable of 
 supporting three times the weight the bridge will ever be • 
 likely to bear. The whole cost of the structure, was a 
 little over one hundred thousand dollars. 
 
 At noon the next day, having taken an early start, we 
 reached Berne. This old capital, of the largest of the 
 Swiss Cantons, is a quaint looking town, with its long low 
 arcades on both sides of its principal thoroughfares. The 
 appearance of the long narrow streets, with their venera- 
 ble looking houses shaded by the wide overhanging roofs, 
 is curious and picturesque. The Bear, of whose name the 
 
164 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 word Berne is the middle old German equivalent, seems in 
 special favor in the city. It emblazons the effigy of the 
 animal on its arms — and it is constantly presented to the 
 eye on the public buildings, among the figures of its foun- 
 tains, and on its coins. In the Bilren graben, a ditch 
 outside the city walls, it maintains several of these animals 
 at the public expense.- Berne is remarkable for its curious 
 fountains. There is one in the Corn House Square called 
 the Ogre, of very singular design. It represents a huge 
 giant devouring a child, while a number ready to be de- 
 voured, are to be seen peeping from his pockets. On a 
 fountain in the street of Justice, the Canton is repre- 
 sented in a military attitude by a bear in knightly armor, 
 with sword and belt, holding the banner of the Canton in 
 his paw. Another fountain has a bear attending a cross 
 bowman in the capacity of squire. The Minster is a fine 
 old building of Gothic architecture, and was built in the 
 early part of the fifteenth century. But let no one visit 
 Berne without hearing the tones of its wondrous organ, in 
 this same Cathedral. Its imitations of a storm, the patter- 
 ing of hail, the howling of the blast, and the deep roar of 
 thunder, are perfectly wonderful. Its mimicry of the 
 human voice is most surprisingly natural. The evening 
 we visited the Cathedral, some devotional music was im- 
 pressively performed. Listening to the rich tones now 
 subdued, and now so powerful that it seemed to fill the 
 huge pillared aisles of the old Cathedral with sound ; one 
 could not help recalling these lines : 
 
 "When beneath the nave 
 High arching, the Cathedral organ 'gin» 
 Its prelude, lingeringly exquisite, 
 Within retired the bashful sweetness dwells,' 
 Anon like sunlight, or the floodgates rush 
 
BASLE. 165 
 
 Of waters bursts it forth, clear, solemn, full. 
 It bueaks upon the massive fretted roof, 
 It coils up round the clustering pillars tall, 
 It leaps into the cell-like chapels, strikes 
 Beneath the pavement sepulchres; at once 
 The living temple is instinct, ablaze 
 With the uncontrolled exuberance of sound." 
 
 The great charm, however, of Berne, as Murray well 
 remarks, is the grand view of the Bernese Alps, which is 
 afforded from almost any part of the town, and every emi- 
 nence around it. On the Platform, which is quite a lofty 
 terrace near the Cathedral, and a favorite afternoon lounge 
 of the inhabitants, six of the snowy peaks may be counted 
 along the horizon, on a clear day. 
 
 We left Berne for Basle the next morning by the diligence. 
 The road between these two cities, abounds in charming 
 scenery. We passed several ruined Castles perched high 
 upon the crags of the range of mountains skirting the road. 
 One of them, the ruined Castle of Falkenstein, excited in- 
 terest, from its once having been the residence of Rudolph, 
 Von Wart. His story is worth chronicling, as it is a story 
 of woman's devotion. Wart had been unfortunate enough 
 to have been one of the conspirators against Albert, of 
 Hungary, and assisted at his assassination. He was cap- 
 tured by the infuriated daughter of the murdered Prince. 
 She had already manifested her cruel disposition by the 
 wholesale slaughter of some sixty, who were supposed to 
 have been concerned in the conspiracy^ — exclaiming as 
 their blood flowed round her in torrents, "now do my 
 spirits bathe in May-dew." Wart she condemned to be 
 broken alive upon the wheel, and by particular request of 
 the infuriated woman, without the death blow, which after 
 ft few hours, was always given to pui an end to the toriuje. 
 
166 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 For three days and nights, with all his limbs broken, the 
 poor victim lay stretched upon the cruel wheel — and when 
 night came, his devoted wife eluding the vigilance of the 
 guards, would find her way to his side, to cool the fevered 
 and agonized brow of the sufferer, and administer reli- 
 gious consolation. In the day time she hid herself in[the 
 thickets near by, where she prayed that the next night she 
 might find him dead ; but for three long nights she was 
 destined to witness his agony, as it was not until the 
 fourth morning that he died. 
 
 It was late in the evening when we reached Basle, and 
 found most excellent quarters at the Inn of the Three 
 Kings. It is an Inn of old renown, for in an ancient book 
 in the Library at Basle, printed in 1680, the writer says — 
 " at Basle lodge at the Three Kings, where you will be 
 most sumptuously entertained." 
 
 The town of Basle contains some thirty thousand inhabi- 
 tants, and is divided by the Rhine, which flows through 
 it, into Great Basle, and Little Basle. There are many 
 quaint old streets, and strange Burgundian looking houses, 
 with their curious staircases, and overhanging gables. The 
 Rathaus in the market place, answering to our Town Hall^ 
 is an ancient structure, built in the early part of the six- 
 teenth century, and on its frieze displays the arms of the 
 three primitive Swiss Cantons. There is nothing in the 
 Museum worthy of interest, except a few paintings of the 
 elder Holbein, and a portrait of Erasmus by this artist. 
 They also show here a curious memorial of the local feuds 
 of the place, in the Lalenkcinig, a Saracenic looking head 
 with the tongue lolling from the mouth. The story of its 
 origin is a singular one. When that part of the city, which 
 is known as Great Basle, was besieged by the Suabians, 
 
BASLE4 167 
 
 the people of Little Basle, agreed to assist the besiegers — 
 and the signal of the joint attack was to be the striking of 
 twelve by the Cathedral clock in Great Basle. The wary 
 burghers of Great Basle having been informed of the plot, 
 advanced tlie clock one hour, and made it strike one in- 
 stead of twelve. The plotters of Little Basle, disconcerted 
 by this stratagem supposed they had dozed away an hour. 
 In commemoration of this, and in derision of the people of 
 Little Basle — this head, now to be seen in the Museum, 
 was carved and placed facing their town, and whenever 
 the clock struck the hour of twelve, the tongue lolled out 
 of the mouth derisively at the citizens over the river. But 
 the people of Little Basle were not willing to stand such 
 an insult without retaliation, so they erected a figure on 
 their side, which at the hour of twelve,, turned its back to 
 the Lalenkonig, with an insulting Indian gesture. 
 
 The Minster, or Cathedral, occupies a prominent place 
 among the architectural lions of Basle. It is of red sand- 
 stone, and with its two antique looking towers presents a 
 very venerable appearance. It dates back to the eleventh 
 century. It was in this building the celebrated Eccle- 
 siastical Council of the fifteenth century held its delib- 
 erations. The structure was undergoing repairs at the 
 time of our visit, so we had not an opportunity of examin- 
 ing its interior. 
 
 Basle is the capital of the Canton of Basle-town. Swit- 
 zerland contains twenty-two Cantons, forming some twenty- 
 four States, independent of each other, resembling in their 
 legislative powers and duties, in some respects, our own 
 government, joined in a federal compact for the common 
 support. These Cantons have, for the most part, a mixed 
 democratic and aristocratic government — Freibourg and 
 
168 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 Berne I believe, admitting privileged classes. The people 
 of Switzerland have been very much extolled for courage, 
 probity, great simplicity of manners, and wonderful attach- 
 ment for home. But as they have deviated more and 
 more from their agricultural and pastoral state, these 
 qualities appear to have become obliterated. Great revo- 
 lutions have rounded off the salient parts of the Swiss cha- 
 racter, and we might of them repeat GoldsmitVs lines, 
 
 " Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's brea8t, 
 
 May sit like falcons cowering on the nest: 
 
 But all the gentler morals, such as play 
 
 Through life's uncultured walk, and charm the way, 
 
 These — far dispersed on timorous pinions fly 
 
 To sport and flutter in a kinder sky." 
 
 Switzerland hemmed in by despotisms, only preserves a 
 kind of resemblance to liberal and free institutions. She 
 often trembles for her own safety, and is compelled to 
 acquiesce in any line of policy, whether antagonistic to 
 liberty or not, that secures her own permanency. 
 
 At noon of the next day after our arrival at Basle, we 
 left by railway for Strasburg, where we arrived about 
 sunset. 
 
 Strasburg is a powerful frontier fortress of France, 
 situated on the He, which intersects the town in all direc- 
 tions. The streets are mostly narrow, and the houses 
 high, while on every side you see the traces of an Imperial 
 German town, which Strasburg yet preserves, although it 
 has been united to France for more than two centuries. 
 The first morning of our arrival we visited the far-famed 
 Minster. When viewed at a distance, the light and 
 elegant spire thrust like a spear into the clouds, has a very 
 singular appearance, and from some points of view, where 
 
STRASBURa. 169 
 
 the open work is distinctly seen, it looks like a filmy 
 painting against the sky, more than like a solid edifice. 
 On approaching nearer you find it carved and fretted in 
 the richest manner, but although aware that its elevation 
 must be immense, it is not until you compare it with the 
 surrounding buildings that you can believe it to be higher 
 than the dome of St. Peter's at Rome. The exterior 
 being of red sand stone has not a very pleasing appearance, 
 but the rich and quaint carvings over the grand portal 
 are of great beauty. The interior is indeed magnificent. 
 The long avenue of clustered columns, the curious and ela- 
 borate tracery of the high and vaulted roof, the gorgeous 
 coloring of the painted glass of the noble windows, the 
 grand sculptures of the magnificent pulpit in the centre of 
 the nave, all combine to form a most perfect picture, and 
 give one the fullest conception of what a Cathedral ought 
 to be. The Protestant Church of St. Thomas is also worth 
 a visit, if only to see a beautiful monument, erected to 
 the memory of Marshal Sase. Of the monuments I have 
 yet seen, this surpasses all in its singular appropriateness 
 and beauty. Every point is excellent, and you would not 
 add to, or take away a single portion of it. A most ad- 
 mirably executed full len^h figure of the Marshal is 
 represented about descending a flight of marble steps; at 
 the foot rests a sarcophagus with the lid partially removed; 
 a draped figure of Death, terrible in its conception, is re- 
 moving the lid with the skeleton fingers of one hand, 
 while the -other extends towards the hero a spent hour- 
 glass. A beautiful female figure, (emblematic of France), 
 with the most intense agony depicted on her exquisite 
 features, is endeavoring with one hand to stay the descent 
 of the Marshal, towards the open tomb, while with the 
 P 
 
170 FOJKEIQN<:ETCHINGS. 
 
 other sbe appears pleading with the grim spectre beneatli 
 for a longer forbearance. The three principal figures of 
 the group, are a perfect study. The cool, heroic, and 
 determined countenance of the Marshal, -with a slight 
 shade of sadness on the noble brow — the intense and shud- 
 dering agony of France, who feels that she is about to 
 lose her greatest hero — the horrid grin of the spectre 
 Death, who seems to exult in the prospect of so distin- 
 guished a victim, arc faultless. There are other figures in 
 the group, such as a lion striking down a leopard, and 
 a most superbly sculptured Hercules, with his lion skin 
 about his shoulders, leaning in deep grief upon his club ; 
 but the three principal figures absorb all your attention, 
 and the others are lost sight of. On leaving the Church, 
 in a small chamber near the entrance door, we were 
 shown in cases covered with glass, the bodies of a Count of 
 Nassau, and his daughter, who had been dead for four 
 hundred years. The body of the Count is in a most re- 
 markable state of .preservation; the face quite full, and the 
 features perfect. The body of the daughter is not so well 
 preserved; the skull and face of the last are almost reduced 
 to fine powder, but the hands quite perfect, while the long 
 tapering fingers are covered with the rings she wore at her 
 burial ; a singular head dress of flowers, still croWns the 
 crumbling skull. In the neighborhood of such objects a 
 strange mysterious feeling lays you under a spell. By a 
 sort of process of transfusion, the vital principle that de- 
 parted from the silent forms before you, seems to have 
 passed into an abstract figure. Life is deaths but death is 
 alive, and you breathe, look, tread and whisper, as if you 
 were in the actual, though invisible presenoe. 
 
 Lingering two or three days in Strasburg, we left it for 
 
BAF 
 
 the far-famed watering-place, BaderSSSftSBr^^lae town of 
 Baden is not a place one would travel far to see. It has, 
 however, a thousand circumjacent attractions, not to speak 
 of its subterranean one — the hot water, boiled in nature's 
 own tea kettle, for the restoration of the halt, maimed and 
 blind, and for the delectation of those who like it; but it 
 has a marvellous resemblance to very weak chicken broth. 
 The town of Baden is situated partly on the side of a hill, 
 and partly in a valley, watered by the little narrow stream of 
 the Oosbach, which wanders through it in a sluggish current. 
 The nearer hills are covered with beeches and vineyards, - 
 while the more distant summits are fringed with dark firs, 
 forming a. striking frame- work to the natural picture. The 
 principal hot spring rises in a hollow Tock, near the Trinh- 
 Tialle — a little door opens into a place like a cellar, and 
 looking in, your curiosity may be gratified by seeing a 
 cloud of vapor, and hearing the bubbling of the water 
 produced at this spot, at the rate of seven millions of cubic 
 inches in a day. Besides the Trinkliallej which is a magni- 
 ficent building, with some very ill-executed frescoes illus- 
 trating the traditions of Baden and vicinity, and a portico 
 supported by twelve very fine Corinthian pillars: there is 
 the Conversationshaus, a vast edifice, with a handsome 
 facade of Corinthian columns — comprising, in addition 
 to the principal saloon, which is a magnificent chamber, 
 the Hall of Flowers, so called from its being tastefully 
 ornamented with artificial flowers from ceiling to floor, and 
 two very spacious drawing rooms most superbly furnished. 
 The Hall of Flowers on a ball-night, when its magnifi- 
 cent mirrors reflect back the blaze of gas light from its 
 four immense chandeliers, looks like the chamber of some 
 fairy palace. It is in the large Hall for promenading, and 
 
172 rORElQN ETCHINGS. 
 
 the one adjoining it, that the gambling tables attract their 
 victims. From an early hour in the morning, until a late 
 hour in the night, you will find these tables crowded with 
 both sexes and all ages. Sunday is a great day for the 
 gamblers. Then, these tables are thronged in rows two or 
 three deep, with an excited crowd; and there you may' ob- 
 serve fair faces of women lit up with the excitement of suc- 
 cess, or saddened by disappointment : fair hands clutching 
 the golden pile as it is scored, or fingering restlessly that 
 which is fast diminishing. It is bad enough when the 
 gentler sex are represented at these tables, by those whose 
 blanched locks and wrinkled features are no earnests that 
 advancing age has dulled the fever of this wretched excite- 
 ment in their veins, but when youth and beauty takes its 
 place in the list, to stand " the hazard of the die," you 
 long to whisper the note of warning in the ear of the 
 giddy creature, begging her to shun a temptation which 
 only leads to misery, and whose pursuit most certainly 
 tends to dry up all the nobler, finer feelings of the soul. 
 
 The next morning after our arrival, we started to visit 
 the old Castle of Baden, located on one of the loftiest hills 
 overlooking the town. Thanks to the liberality of the 
 young Grand Duke, a fine carriage way has been con- 
 structed, winding gradually up to the ruin, with pleasant 
 seats and bowers along the entire road. We passed some 
 most delightful shady recesses in the fine woods that cover 
 the hill-side. One charming retreat looked as if it might 
 have been the tiny theatre 
 
 "Where elves had acted plays, such as they took 
 From the fond legends of old fairy book. 
 Their 'tiring room, beneath these hollows green, 
 While clustering glow worms lighted up the scene, 
 Their orchestra, these happy bows which shook 
 With music, such as lulls the gentle brook." 
 
BADEN. 173 
 
 The old ruin is about two miles from the town, upon a 
 very lofty elevation, in the midst of a forest of pines, oaks, 
 elms, and beeches. This truly magnificent pile reposes in 
 death-like tranquility. From the vast extent of the en- 
 closure and loftiness of the remaining towers, you are 
 impressed with the- same mixture of awe and curiosity, you 
 would feel on meeting with the bones of a giant upon some 
 lofty mountain top. The view from the summit of the 
 keep of the old Castle is superb. Looking in the direction 
 of Baden, you have the town with its quaint roofs, 
 some two thousand feet below, while the lofty hills beyond 
 covered with the dense masses of the Black Forest form a 
 most enchanting back-ground to the picture. On your 
 right, the rich smooth plains of the Rhine, covered with 
 villages fade away in the extreme distance to a haze, in 
 the midst of which^ the shadowy outline of the spire of 
 the Strasburg Cathedral, thirty miles away, may be seen. 
 The mountains behind, the forests around, the enchanting 
 valleys, the wild ravines, and fertile plains, form a picture 
 which lingers in the memory long after you have turned 
 from it with unwilling feet. This old Castle has never 
 been repaired since it was set on fire by Marshal Turenne, 
 during his memorable ravage of the Palatinate. 
 
 On descending from our pleasant visit to the old ruin, 
 we stopped at the new Castle, at present occupied by the 
 reigning Grand Duke. It is not remarkable for its archi- 
 tecture, but commands very noble views of the surrounding 
 country. Near it is a Convent, the walls of which are 
 built against a rock. As we passed in, the sweet voices 
 of the nuns singing sacred hymns, were borne to us on the 
 breeze. But the most remarkable thing about this Castle, 
 is the number of subterranean vaults it contains; the 
 p2.. 
 
174 BOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 object and origin of which have been the subject of much 
 speculation. You enter them by a fine winding staircase. 
 This staircase conducts to a large vaulted chamber, which 
 receives light through windows pierced in the upper part 
 of the wall. From thence you enter an apartment con- 
 taining the remains of Roman Baths. That this part 
 of the Castle was the work of the Romans, there is no 
 doubt J but the destination of the horrid dungeons to which 
 the Bath Room leads, has been the object of much conjec- 
 ture. It is generally supposed, that these dungeons were 
 not constructed by the Romans, but by the Germans ; and 
 that they are several centuries older that the Castle erected 
 over them. The most probable hypothesis seems to be, 
 that they are the* dungeons used by the awful Secret Tri- 
 bunal. From the ante-chamber, containing stone reservoirs 
 adjoining the Roman Baths, you enter a place where you 
 must bid farewell to the light of day. The guide conducts 
 you with a candle, and indeed this precaution is necessary, 
 as the passage is any thing but commodious, and presents 
 dangers even to those who are sure footed. There you 
 behold cells in which the victims of cruelty and injustice 
 languished in eternal darkness and solitude. Six of these 
 dungeons excavated in the rock, succeed each other in a 
 long dreary passage, closed by a door made of a single stone 
 two feet thick. The noise made by this awful door turning 
 on its hinges, is enough to make your hair stand erect with 
 horror. After passing through several galleries of equal 
 dimensions, you enter the Chamber of Torture. The rings 
 in the solid rock, and the partial remains of the dreaded 
 rack, leave no doubt as to the object and purpose to which 
 this room was appropriated. Near this is a large vaulted 
 chamber, surrounded by the stone seats once occupied by 
 
HEIDELBERG. 175 
 
 the awful Judges of the Secret Tribunal; while upon the 
 right of the entrance is the deep vault, over which was 
 the trap, where the poor victim was ordered to kneel 
 to pray to the Virgin, (whose figure occupied the niche, 
 still to be seen above), when he was precipitated two 
 hundred feet below, upon the sharp knives at the bottom. 
 A few years ago this vault was examined, and many bones 
 were found, with shreds of clothing still sticking to the 
 knives. What fiendish contrivances for exercising their 
 vengeance the men of the olden time resorted to, and how 
 much diabolical ingenuity did they manifest. 
 
 From Baden we rode to Heidelberg. One cannot but be 
 charmed with the truly romantic and delightful situation 
 of this celebrated town. It is surrounded by an amphi- 
 theatre of mountains, and lies partly along the narrow 
 valley through which flows the Neckar, and partly up the 
 acclivity of a lofty hill, which rises behind the town, clothed 
 to the summit with the richest green, and finely wooded, 
 bearing on its side about half way up, the impressive ruins 
 of the magnificent and far-famed Castle. Few cities have 
 suffered more from the horrors of civil war, than Heidel- 
 berg. During the seventeenth century, it was again, and 
 again sacked, burnt and partly destroyed. War has indeed 
 passed heavily over all Germany, and its blood-stained 
 footsteps are traceable every where. The French, of all 
 other nations, seem to have carried (as they ever do) atro- 
 city to the highest pitch, and to be known in this country, 
 only through the smoke of battle fields and burning towns. 
 
 Early the next morning after our arrival, we rode up to 
 the celebrated ruins of the Castle by the winding way that 
 leads by Wolfsbrunnen, catching very glorious views of 
 the charming scenes of the valley beneath as we ascended. 
 In the wars with Louis XIV., which laid waste the Palati- 
 
176 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 natc with fire and sword, and caused it to blaze with the 
 flames of twenty-one villages in a single day, the destruc- 
 tion of this noble Castle took place, which left it the ruin 
 we now see it. Its situation is very commanding in a recess 
 formed by mountains. From the front terrace there is a 
 very extensive view, which comprises the town itself, the 
 tasteful gardens, arbors, and vineyards on the opposite 
 hills, while the Neckar winds in its course below to join 
 the Rhine at Manheim, which city is just visible in the 
 dim and shadowy distance. The outworks of this fortress 
 Castle with its towers^ ditches, and entrance gates, bear 
 various emblems of chivalry and war belonging to by-gone 
 times. In one spot is a huge round tower, whose ponderous 
 mass lies torn from its foundation, reclining its immense 
 burden on the earth, having been blown up by the French, 
 and testifying by its vast ruin how much more destructive 
 is the rude shock of war^ than the silently mouldering hand 
 of time. The grand destroyer is indeed universal in his 
 operations, but he takes ages to do his work, while war 
 leaves in its train ruins resembling the desolations of the 
 earthquake. 
 
 The central part of this Palace Castle, where the Elec- 
 tors of the Palatinate resided, and held their Court, is a 
 remnant of most exquisite ornamental workmanship; and 
 in the days of its glory, must have been a superb monu- 
 ment of the magnificence of the German potentates. In 
 the Hall of the Knights, which still remains, we saw many 
 interesting relics of the days of chivalry ; and in the 
 gloomy chapel, which has also escaped, in some degree, 
 the general wreck, was the figure of a monk in wood, 
 sitting in his confessional, clothed in the dress of his order, 
 and 80 well executed as at first sight to startle the beholder 
 
HEIDELBERG. 177 
 
 with all the effect of real life. These ruins are considered 
 the finest in this land of feudal remains. But I do not 
 think the interest they excite is at all comparable with 
 that produced by the ruins of Kenilworth — they do not 
 come home to you with that startling force of association, 
 awakened by the sight of the ruined and dismantled halls 
 of the English Castle. 
 
 The Castle of Heidelberg has not suffqired merely by 
 war, still less by time, but the elements have conspired 
 to scathe itinto the mere skeleton of what it formerly was. 
 It has been repeatedly struck by lightning. The deso- 
 late grass-grown area, the noble facades which are now 
 bare walls adorned with sculptured and heraldric arms, 
 form an impressive contrast with what fancy pictures of 
 the mirth and minstrelsy that once held high revel here. 
 
 "We lingered long upon the stone terrace that overlooks 
 the city, with its long straggling street, filled with market 
 girls in their white kerchiefs, and baskets piled up with 
 fruit. Kight in front was the far-reaching valley, with the 
 vineyards looking so near you could almost distinguish the 
 purple grapes, clustering on the hill side vines — and listen ! 
 in the stillness of the morning you can catch the rippling 
 murmur, that steals up through the overhanging beech 
 woods — it is the song of the Neckar, its sweet glad song ; 
 for the Neckar is on its way to meet the Rhine, and the 
 Rhine is near at hand. Behind us rises a huge pile of 
 sculptured and embattled walls, a very chaos of ruin, 
 scathed by lightning, blackened by fire, sapped by leaguer 
 and storm — Fate^s pitiless "In memoriam'* over great 
 destinies and mad ambitions. Tread reverently these courts ; 
 as you would tread the vaults of a sepulchre, with the 
 dead around. Hark ! how the gaunt trees looking through 
 
178 
 
 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 the rifted oriels^ mutter their grand memories to each other. 
 See ! along the east front, lialf-hidden by the ivy, are lat- 
 tices of the old banqueting hall, 
 
 "In the empty window panes 
 Horror reigns." 
 
 If you were to enter that Hall at the witching hour of 
 night, 3^ou might chance to hear strange sounds; the 
 uproar of wassail, laughter, and stormy shouting; the 
 gurgling of the amber wine, and the blended harmony of 
 harp and lute : you might even see shapes, if you were 
 strong of heart — the shapes of Palatines, Princes and 
 Bishops, and a woman's shape above all, pale but heroic — 
 the daughter of a Stuart ; the grand daughter of the un* 
 fortunate Queen of Scots. 
 
 " 'Tis a face with queenly eyes. 
 And a front of constancies," 
 
 There is a little hand outstretched reaching forward,' 
 forever forward towards the fatal phantasm of a crown. 
 You would see that phantasm lure her on : you would see 
 her follow it with all her retinue; "a goodly array and 
 strong," follow it over wild tracks and hostile provinces, 
 over mountains and through forests to the foretold scene 
 of empire ; and then after a pause, your ear would catch 
 faint and far, the clash and tumult of stricken fields, of 
 cities taken and re-taken, sounds of hope, triumph and 
 despair; and last of all, loud, awful, shrill, cleaving its 
 way through space and time, and echoing and re-echoing 
 through the chambers of that deserted house, a solitary 
 trumpet blast, a very agony of sound, like the wail of 
 some lost soul in final ruin and discomfiture. 
 
 So entirely has nature resumed her sway in the precincts 
 of this ruined Castle, that it is difficult to conceive its ever 
 
MAYENCE. 179 
 
 Having been tlie scene of savage and sanguinary warfare. 
 With the song of the bird in your ear, and the blue flowers 
 purpling the turf at your feet, you strive in vain to realize 
 the thunder of Tilly's batteries, or the rush of French 
 batallions through the imminent deadly breach; and yet 
 ten times has this paradise been made a pandemonium by 
 the deviltry of war — ten times have the breaches been 
 opened, the mines sprung, the woods mowed down, the 
 summer gardens marred, and lo! the forgiveness of Nature. 
 The ruinous strife once ended^ her gentle work of healing 
 begins — over the shattered wall she trains her ivy — 
 along the trampled sod her mosses creep — with her earth 
 she covers the slain, and with her holy silence she hushes 
 the discord both of victory and defeat. Not a wound, 
 but she sears over ; not a wreck, but her art makes grace- 
 ful : silently, but ceaselessly her work goes on, until at 
 length she triumphs in a Paradise regained. But a truce 
 to sentiment, — let us descend from the airy regions of the 
 poetic to the prosaic. Upon our returning to the town, we 
 found that in lingering so long among the ruins, we should 
 not have time to see the famous University, and we were 
 forced reluctantly to hurry to the railway station, to take 
 the cars for Mayence, where we arrived at an early hour 
 in the evening. 
 
 The town of Mayence occupies an elevated site in a rich 
 fertile country, opposite the confluence of the Rhine and 
 Mein. The surrounding hills, which form a vast amphi- 
 theatre, produce a Rhine wine that is in great demand. 
 The town was once a Roman station, as almost every town 
 on the Rhine has been. Its Cathedral is worth a visit — 
 filled with some very exquisite monuments of Bishops and 
 Archbishops, and containing many splendid chapels — but 
 
180 POREIGIJ ETCHINGS. 
 
 the monument 1;liat in tere^d me most of all, was the monu- 
 ment to the last of the Troubadours, Heinrich Von Meis- 
 sen, with whose history I was familiar, and who was borne 
 to his grave upon the fair shoulders of the noblest ladies 
 of Mayence, and over whose coffin they poured libations of 
 wine: 
 
 "Sad o'er the flower-strown coffin 
 
 They cast their garlands fair ; 
 
 The plume-crowned bier, which Slowly 
 
 Eight noble ladies bear. 
 
 They bear it on with music 
 
 And weeping to the shrine ; 
 
 And from the golden censors 
 
 They pour the sacred wine." 
 
 Von Meissen was one of those warrior poets wbose 
 names are connected with all that is lovely and amiable 
 in song — one who wreathed the graces of melody round 
 proud and warlike spirits, and gradually softened down 
 and refined them into all that was gentle, kind, and social 
 in human nature. Let others dwell on the high doings 
 of statesmen and warriors; I love to contemplate the 
 quiet peaceful walk of those great benefactors of their i-ace, 
 who scattered abroad in the path of every-day life, some 
 of the sweetest flowers of poetry and song. Centuries 
 have rolled away since libations of wine were poured by 
 fair hands, over the minstrel's tomb — empires have been 
 lost and won ; kingdoms blotted out from the map of na- 
 tions, and the proud spirits of earth laid low, and their 
 very names forgotten ; but time has spared this gentler 
 record, and the memory of the humble Troubadour-poet is 
 still a treasured thing with the good people of his native 
 city, and consecrates the tomb beneath which his ashes 
 repose. Long may that memory exist, and deeply may it 
 
MAYENCE. 181 
 
 be cherished by- all who can appreciate, with true poetic 
 devotion, the touching pathos, delicacy, and grace with 
 which chivalrous attributes were clothed by those who 
 sang together in the early dawn of refinement and poetry. 
 Peace to the ashes of the la^t of the Troubadours. 
 
 Mayence has an interest from its having been the cradle 
 of the art of Printing. It was the birth-place and resi- 
 dence of John Gensfleisch, called Guttenberg, the inventof 
 of moveable types.. His native city treasures his memory, 
 and about twenty years ago, a bronze statue by Thorwald- 
 sen, was erected in one of the squares. Mayence belongs 
 to the Grand Duke of Hesse-l5armstadt. It is the chief 
 and strongest fortress tower of the German Confederation, 
 and is garrisoned by Prussian and Austrian troops in nearly 
 equal proportions. 
 
CHAPTER Xn. 
 
 PRUSSIA AND ITS CAPITAL. 
 
 The General appearance of Berlin — The Thier Garten — The Bran- 
 denburg Gate — The Unter den Linden — Statue of Frederick 
 the Great. 
 
 Prussia as a nation, compared witli those that surround 
 her, has but a modern origin* The name that now attaches 
 to this powerful and prosperous people, originally belonged 
 to a desolate district in the north-eastern angle of the ter- 
 ritory now embraced by the present kingdom. In this 
 wild spot, a body of Teutonic adventurers, who had waged 
 fierce fight with the Saracen for the possession of the Holy 
 Sepulchre, having driven out the Pagans who infested it, 
 settled themselves ; and in due time waxed so powerful, that 
 they managed to play an influential part for two centuries 
 in the affairs of Europe. At the Reformation this military 
 Brotherhood, renounced the Romish faith and embraced 
 the doctrines of Luther. Soon after they effected a treaty 
 with their feudal superior, the King of Poland, by which 
 their possessions were consolidated into an hereditary 
 Duchy of Prussia, and settled on the Grand Master then 
 ruling. That functionary was at the time, Albert of 
 Brandenburg, a junior branch of the House, whose memory 
 and great deeds are still cherished in the modern kingdom. 
 About the year 1618, the Duchy was conveyed to the 
 eldest branch of the House of Brandenburg. But it was 
 not until Frederick William the Great succeeded to the 
 
PRUSSIA AND ITS CAPITAL. 183 
 
 l)ucal Crown, sometime in the middle of the seventeenth 
 century, that the Duchy ceased to be a feudality of Poland. 
 The Revolutions produced in the Empire, by what is 
 known in history, as " the thirty years' war,'' enabled him 
 to -emancipate his Duchy from the pretensions of Poland, 
 and to obtain its recognition as a sovereign state, about 
 the year 1657. 
 
 On the 18tji of January, 1701, Frederick I. placed a 
 royal crown on his own head at Koningsberg — and a King 
 of Prussia then for the first time made his appearance on the 
 field of Europe. Since that period constant accretions have 
 expanded the Kingdom into its .present bulk. Signories — 
 counties — principalities — duchies -^bishoprics and pro- 
 vinces have been gathered in from time to time, proving 
 that annexation is by no means a vice of more modern 
 times. By these successive additions, and by a policy in 
 some respects admirably adapted to the condition of things 
 — a petty Dukedom in an obscure corner of Europe, has 
 been raised in the short space of a century and a half to a 
 foremost rank among the powers of the world. 
 
 The Kingdom is thus, comparatively speaking, a thing 
 of yesterday, and so is its metropolis Berlin. As a modern 
 traveler remarks, " Berlin has no Gothic Churches — no 
 narrow streets, no fantastic gables — no historic stone and 
 lime — no remnants of the picturesque ages recalling the 
 olden time." It is this modern air about the city that 
 first strikes the observer. Fishermen's huts constituted, 
 the nucleus of the future city not many years ago. 
 In 1590, its population was but twelve thousand. Under 
 the Fredericks it made rapid strides — and by the time 
 of Napoleon's conquest, it had reached nearly two hun- 
 dred thousand. By the last census, it is put down at 
 
184 FOREIGN ETCHINQS, 
 
 nearly half a million, giving it the fifth place among 
 European Capitals. And yet a stranger can scarcely realize 
 that it is a city with so great a population. There is 
 nothing of the bustle and stir of- a great metropolis about 
 it. The current of human life seems to run as sluggishly 
 along its streets, as the lazy waters of its slothful river 
 Spree. Foj an hour or so during the day, there is a sort 
 of spasmodic effort at activity and gaiety along the magnifi- 
 cent avenue of the Unter den Linden : biit that passed, 
 Berlin relapses into the quiet and genteel air of some 
 small provincial town. And yet with all the general air 
 of quiet pervading the city, there is .an activity and 
 energy in the business quarter, which if it fails to make 
 itself heard and seen to the extent of other cities, has, 
 nevertholess produced its certain sure effect. The energy 
 and skill of the workshops have made Berlin prosperous 
 and wealthy. The huge chimneys of her factories which 
 produce her "locomotives, her engines, her cloths, her 
 porcelain, and the numerous articles of necessity ^ and 
 luxury with which she abounds, manifest the business 
 energy and appliances that have been steadily at work, in 
 effecting her rapid rise and development. These factories, 
 which crowd the sides of the serpentine River Spree, and 
 discolor its waters, extend from gate to gate. Berlin is 
 the maker and moulder of her own porcelain. She bores 
 and fashions her own artillery — she exhibits her skill and 
 taste in the casting of those bronze statuettes that are the 
 admiration of the world; and possesses to the full all the 
 elements of a busy, thriving manufacturing town. 
 
 iPcrlin occupies a large sandy plain, and is divided by 
 its river Spree into two parts, whereof the part to the north 
 and east is the most ancient a\id irregular, and that to the 
 
THIER GARTEN. 185 
 
 south and west regularly built, and the seat of much opu- 
 lence %nd taste. From the south side of the town you 
 enter by the Halliche Gate. From the circular area just 
 inside this gate, called La belle Alliance Platz, branch off 
 three of the largest and finest streets in the more modern 
 part of the city. The street to the left is the Wilhelms 
 Strasse. All along it, the houses, are large and stately, 
 most of them distinguished by arched entrances. This 
 street runs into and t<}rminates in the Unter den Linden, 
 near the famous Brandenburg Gate. The central street 
 with its long vista immediately before you, is the Friederichs 
 Strasse, named after the great Frederick. It is more than 
 two English miles long, in a perfectly straight line, and 
 extends from side to side, uniting the Halliche with the 
 Oranienburg Gate. The Linden Strasse, which must not 
 be confounded with the Unter den Linden, is the third 
 street that branches off from the Platz, but is not to be 
 compared with either of the others, although still a hand- 
 some street. Unite the termination of the three streets 
 here described, and you enclose almost all the fashionable 
 part of Berlin. Nearly all the streets embraced in such 
 enclosure are straight and rectangular to each other, 
 reminding one in their general appearance, of those of 
 Philadelphia. 
 
 The Thier Garten, which lies just outside the walls at 
 the western extremity of Berlin, and into which you enter 
 through the magnificent Brandenburg Gate, ornamenting 
 that extremity of the Unter den Linden, may be described 
 as an immense forest three miles in length, and two in 
 width, laid out into numerous fine avenues for carriages 
 and horsemen — while shady walks ornamented with floWer 
 beds, and at intervals with artifiifrial" lakes, invite the pedes- 
 
)8G FOREIGN ETCHrNGS. 
 
 trian and lounger. Fine statues ornament some of tlie 
 avenues, and in the spring, summer and fall, it is the 
 favorite resort of the entire population. The muchlauded 
 Tuileries, or the Bois do Boulogne, recently enlarged and 
 beautified by the present Emperor of the French, is not to 
 be compared with it. One might as well institute a 
 comparison between Washington Square, Philadelphia, 
 and Hyde Park, London. Entering Berlin by the Char- 
 lottenburg road, which runs directly through the Thier 
 Garten, you pass under the magnificent Brandenburg 
 Gate^ to stand in the Pariser Platz, which is at the 
 bead of the Unter den Linden. This Gate certainly is 
 one of the finest architectural specimens of its kind in 
 Europe. It is said to be an imitation of the Propylasum 
 at Athens, but on a somewhat larger scale : and certain it 
 is, that there is nothing beautiful in modern architecture 
 which does not owe either directly or indirectly, its beauty 
 to the models that Grecian genius and taste erected for the 
 admiration and imitation of ages. The six pillars support 
 an entablature without any pediment ; a gateway not 
 arched passing between each row of pillars. On the en- 
 tablature is a colossal figure of Victory in a chariot drawn 
 by four horses, the whole being constructed of copper. 
 This group is not only pure and classical, but is so placed 
 as to give an exceedingly graceful appearance to the entire 
 Btmcture below. The horses are most superbly executed, 
 and really appear as if they would spring out of their har- 
 ness : nowhere have I seen more admirable sculptured rep- 
 resentations. The ancients, however much they excelled us 
 in imitations of the human form in marble, failed most 
 singularly in their attempts to represent these animals, 
 whether in single, figures or groups. The bronze horse 
 
BRANDENBURG GATE. 187 
 
 which the Emperor Antoninus Pius bestrides in front of the 
 Capitoline Museum at Rome — and the four horses over 
 the Church of St. Marks, in the Piazza San Marco at 
 Venice, show in their clumsy limbs and ungraceful out- 
 lines, how lamentably the ancient sculptors faile'd in this 
 regard. The poetical spirit of Ovid could not have given 
 more spirit to the chargers of the Sun, than the modern 
 artist has done to these superb creations of his genius. 
 No wonder the taste of Napoleon observed at a glance, the 
 artistic beauties of this ornament of the Brandenburg 
 Gate, and carried it off to Paris. But when the tide of 
 battle turned at Waterloo, turned too by those very Prus- 
 sians he had despoiled, it made this car not an unmeaning 
 bauble, but a real car of Victory. It is said that the 
 eagle and the iron cross were then added as emblems to 
 the principal figure, to commemorate this final triumph at 
 Waterloo. 
 
 Passing jinder this magnificent gate, you find yourself ia 
 the small square of the Pariser Platz. Directly before you 
 stretches one of the finest streets of any city in Europe, the 
 Unter den Linden. Directly through the centre is a broad 
 and noble walk shaded by linden trees, giving the name 
 •to the street. On both sides this shaded central avenue, 
 run roads laid off for equestrians, and as carriage tho- 
 roughfares. The street is full two hundred and fifty feet 
 wide from curb to curb, with fine broad flag-stoned pave- 
 ments on both sides. About a quarter of a mile from the 
 Brandenburg Gate the central line of lindens termi- 
 nates, and the street expands into one wide avenue. Taking 
 your position at this termination of the avenue of lindens, 
 you have before you one of the most magnificent 
 equestrian monuments in the world ; that erected to the 
 
188 * FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 the Great Frederick, whose memory is cherished by all 
 classes of the people. It is the work of Rauch their favo- 
 rite sculptor, and while it fitly commemorates the exploits 
 of one of the greatest captains, is an enduring monument 
 of the genius and skill of the greatest of modern sculptors. 
 It stands upon a huge block of polished granite. On the 
 four sides of the bronze base, which rests upon this block, 
 are sculptured figures in grand relief, representing on foot 
 and on horseback the celebrated generals, philosophers and 
 statesmen who shed such lustre upon the brilliant reign 
 of the King. Just above this block, and immediately 
 beneath the equestrian figure, sculptured tablets most beau- 
 tifully record the remarkable incidents in the life of the 
 philosophic monarch. But the one figure that soon en- 
 gages all your attention, as it ought to do, is that of the 
 King himself, mounted on a spirited charger. This eques- 
 trian statue is more than seventeen feet high, and repre- 
 sents the old warrior in the habit that was so familiar to 
 the people of his day. The old cane, carried by a band 
 fastened at the wrist, the pistol holsters, the three cornered 
 cocked hat, and the entire harness of the horse are accurate 
 copies of the relics preserved of the King in the Kunts- 
 hammer, or Chamber of Art, at the Palace. 
 
 Standing close to the foot of the monument you have 
 directly before you a most comprehensive view of the 
 principal public buildings of Berlin. On your left is the 
 Academy of Fine Arts, and the immense buildings of the 
 far-famed University, the magnificent and stately Arsenal, 
 with its groups of emblematic statuary and unique sculp- 
 tured devices, and the Guard House. On your right may 
 be noticed, the Prince of Prussia's tasteful palace, the 
 Royal Library and the Opera House. On each side of the 
 
THE UNTER DEN LINDEN. 189 
 
 Guard House are placed marble statues, by Rauch, of 
 Generals Bulow Von Dennewitz, and Scharnhorst, the 
 reformer of the Prussian army, after the battle of Jena. 
 Directly opposite, on the other side of the avenue, is 
 the bronze statue of old Blucher, looking fierce and 
 stern, as if he was still in hot pursuit " of those ex- 
 ecrable French, and their rascal leader." In front of 
 our position at the base of the statue, but a little to the 
 right, over the bridge spanning the Spree, is the Old Palace 
 called the Schloss, which considering the immense space 
 it covers, and the gorgeous elegance of its state apartments 
 is not excelled by any similar structure in Europe. This 
 Palace is connected with the Unter den Linden by a broad 
 and elegant bridge spanning the Spree. This bridge is 
 adorned on both sides with groups of. marble statuary 
 representing the training of a warrior, from the moment 
 when his Guardian Genius points to the three great names 
 of Alexander, Caesar, and Frederick, upon a, shield, down 
 to the last scene of all, when dying upon the battle-field^ 
 he sinks into the arms of Fame, who places a wreath of 
 victory upon his brow. 
 
 Directly in front of the Schloss is the tasteful structure 
 of the Museum, with the pretty Lust-Garten in front. Be- 
 tween the Schloss and the Palace facing the Lust-Garten^ 
 is the Cathedral a sombre-looking structure, but possessing 
 an interest from the fact that it is the burial place of 
 the Royal family, and contains the remains of the great 
 Elector and of Frederick I., in gilded coffins. In front of 
 the Palace Gate on the Lust-Garten side stand bronze horses 
 and grooms, rather a poor imitation of the group on the 
 Monte Cavallo at Rome. The wits of Berlin in allusion to 
 the policy of the reigning monarch, give them the nick- 
 
190 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 names of "Progress checked," and "Retrogression encou- 
 raged." 
 
 Between two churches in the Gens d'Armes Platz, 
 which you reach fr9m the Unter den Linden, by the Char- 
 lotten Strasse, stands the Theatre, or Schauspielhaus, a 
 very tasteful structure ornamented with sculptured devices 
 representing mythological subjects, by Ranch and Tieck, 
 Whether this location was intended to illustrate the old 
 adage of "the nearer the church, the farther from God," 
 we know not, but it is a very curious sight to see a play 
 house flanked thus by two churches. 
 
 The general appearance of the more modern part of 
 Berlin, is very pleasing. The streets are straight, clean 
 and well paved. Nowhere in Europe do you see so many 
 buildings constructed in such correct architectural taste. 
 The position of the city stretched out upon a sandy plain, 
 with no means of drainage is somewhat unfavorable to clean- 
 liness, and many complaints are made in the summer season 
 of the vile odors that offend the nostrils from the filth of 
 the gutter-ways. A very short time will remedy this evil, 
 as Berlin is soon to be supplied with abundance of water 
 by means of the new water-works, in course of erection 
 and nearly completed. As it is now, with all its present 
 disadvantages, the streets in their cleanliness will contrast 
 very favorably with those of any capital in Europe. 
 
 Berlin owes much to the energy, zeal and munificence 
 of Frederick the Great. He lavished immense sums in 
 embellishing this his favorite city, and added greatly to 
 its resources by his judicious fostering and encouragement 
 of its manufacturing advantages. After his exhausting 
 seven years' war, he appears to have gone to work in ear- 
 nest to efface the marks of the scourge. Every year he 
 
BERLIN. 191 
 
 ordered a certain number of houses to be erected in Berlin , 
 and on a certain day, the Director annually waited on the 
 Monarch, who gave him drawings of the handsomest build- 
 ings in Italy, of which he had a great collection, made 
 him lay out the ground-plan, which he enlarged or dimin- 
 ished at his pleasure. When the houses were built, he 
 gave them to the proprietors of the old houses that had 
 been demolished. The French refugees too, greatly con- 
 tributed to the embellishment and prosperity of the city, 
 inasmuch as they introduced all kinds of manufactures and 
 various arts. The present monarch has accomplished much 
 for the advancement and embelli-shment of the capital of 
 his dominions, and although he clings to the doctrines of 
 absolutism, and seems to have as lofty ideas of kingly 
 prerogative as some other monarchs in history, whose fate 
 should be to him a warning ; still it cannot be denied that 
 he has in all things proved himself a liberal encourager of 
 pursuits tending to the increase of the greatness of his 
 kingdom, and a warm patron of the fine arts — employing 
 the first talent of Europe in embellishing and adorning 
 the public places of his Capital. 
 
CHAPTER Xin. 
 
 A FEW OF THE CELEBRITIES OF BERLIN. 
 
 The Royal Library — The Old and New Museum — The Chamber 
 of Art — Christmas in Berlin. 
 
 If the genius of architecture in its more classical devel- 
 opment has done much to adorn the exterior of the public 
 buildings and structures of Berlin, Science has not forgot- 
 ten to spread a feast of good things for her votaries. The 
 treasures of the noble Library — the Museum — the long 
 and well-filled Halls of the Picture Gallery, arranged in 
 the order of the Schools — the University, the lectures of 
 ^hose Professors, as those of Padua once did, attract stu- 
 dents from all parts of the world — attest that mental 
 cultivation and artistic taste are largely encouraged. 
 The Royal Library is located in the Opera Platz, very 
 near the Linden. It is said to owe its peculiar shape to a 
 whim of Frederick the Great, who commanded the archi- 
 tect to take a chest of drawers for his model : and most 
 certainly it has no claim to any great architectural beauty. 
 But its outside defects may be forgiven, when you take 
 into consideration the literary treasures enclosed here. 
 It contains nearly six hundred thousand books in all lan- 
 guages. Its works on American History alone, amount 
 to several thousand volumes, and I was much surprised 
 find here a very complete collection of the United States 
 statistics, and many of the Law Reports of our difierent 
 States. The literary curiosities of this Library arc exceed- 
 ingly rare. Here in glass cases you are shown Luther's 
 
THE ROYAL LIBRARY. 193 
 
 Hebrew Bible, tbe very copy from wbich he made bis 
 translation, with marginal notes in his own hand writing ; 
 also his manuscript of the Psalms, with corrections in red 
 ink. Here also may be seen the Bible, which Charles 
 I. carried to the scaffold, and just before he knelt down to 
 receive the fatal blow, handed to Bishop Juxon. The 
 mother of the good Bishop's wife, resided in Berlin. After 
 his death, it came into the possession of her son^ who pre- 
 sented it to the Library. You gaze at this memorial of 
 the unfortunate monarch, with the deepest interest. Either 
 by design or accident, it was open at the nineteenth chap- 
 ter of Job, and we could read these lines so strikingly ap- 
 plicable to the monarch's fate. '^ Behold I I cry out of 
 wrong, but am not heard. I cry aloud, but there is no 
 judgment. He hath fenced up my way, that I cannot 
 pass. He hath stripped me of my glory, and taken the 
 crown from off my head.'' In the same Hall may be 
 noticed the Guttenburg Bible on parchment, bearing the 
 date of 1450, said to be the first book printed with movea- 
 ble type. Near it, is a manuscript of the four gospels, 
 written upon parchment, and given by Charlemagne to 
 Wittekind. It is most beautifully bound in a cover of 
 ivory, elaborately carved. The lover of science will be de- 
 lighted in finding here the two hemispheres of metal, with 
 which Otto Guericke made the experiment, which led him 
 to discover the air pump. When he had exhausted the 
 air between them, he found that the force of thirty horses 
 was unable to separate them. This immense collection of 
 Books, has never been printed in catalogue form : but the 
 bound catalogues in manuscript^ are so numerous that 
 they form quite a Library in themselves. These nume- 
 rous catalogues are so methodized, that there is very little, 
 if any delay, in turning to whatever department of litera- 
 & 
 
19i FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 ture, you are in search of. Everything is conducted with 
 that order, regularity and exactitude, which marks and 
 distinguishes the German mind in everything down to the 
 minutest details. 
 
 The Museum is a classical structure, facing the Lust- 
 Garten, and directly opposite the old Palace. The wonder- 
 ful pencil of Cornelius, and the wild and erratic genius of 
 Schinkel have assisted in adorning with frescoes of an al- 
 legorical character, the walls of the rather handsome colon- 
 nade in front. German genius revels in allegory, and it 
 is only German patience that can stand, study out, and 
 comprehend the combinations and mystic emblems which 
 such allegories embody. These frescoes are said to illus- 
 trate the formation of the universe, and the intellectual 
 development of mankind. But as the pen guided by the 
 greatest human wisdom has failed to convey very clear 
 ideas upon these abstruse topics — so the pencil of the 
 German artist on the walls of the Museum, has succeeded 
 no better. Night — Uranus leading the dance of the 
 starry host — Hope with her anchor — Pegasus with his 
 spurning hoofs — Morning and Evening — Spring, Sum- 
 mer, and Autumn — all mingle here in such glowing 
 colors, and with such an allegorical confusion, that the 
 brain swims and the head aches, in endeavoring to give 
 the whole reality and consistency. On the right side as 
 you ascend the staircase leading up to this colonnade, is 
 the magnificent group, of the combat of the Amazon with 
 a tiger, by Kiss. A very inferi(jr copy of this glorious 
 work of art, was to be seen at the exhibition of the World's 
 Fair, at New York. To my taste there are few productions 
 of the ancient chisel, that surpass this fine conception of 
 German genius. There is something truly wonderful in 
 the delineation of the terror of the agonized horse, in 
 
PICTURE GALLERY. 195 
 
 whose noble chest the tiger is fleshing his claws. It far 
 surpasses the same conception in the celebrated group of 
 a lion seizing a horse, in the Palazzo de Conservatore at 
 Eome. The headlong savage fierceness of the tiger too, 
 is in most admirable contrast with the heroic and cool de- 
 termination, that looks boldly forth from the piercing eyes 
 of the Amazonian huntress. 
 
 The Picture Gallery, in what is now known as the old 
 Museum, abounds in some very fine specimens of the 
 Flemish and Dutch Schools. It is divided into small com- 
 partments, and arranged according to the date of the 
 Schools. This is a great convenience, and enables the 
 spectator to study the advance and progress of art, from 
 almost its first rude beginnings. There is a singular pic- 
 ture by Teniers in the gallery, which shows how the 
 painter took revenge for the many cruelties and neglects 
 practiced upon him by his mother-in-law, and wife. He 
 has, in the painting representing the temptation of St. 
 Anthony, embalmed this portion of his household in ridi- 
 cule, for every generation to gaze at. The poor saint, 
 (and under this figure the painter represents himself,) is 
 seated in his cave, surrounded by all sorts of demoniacal 
 comicalities. A young woman of exceeding beauty of 
 feature, stands near gazing upon him with great earnest- 
 ness, as if to fascinate him with her look, and from beneath 
 her long gown peeps forth the tip of a devil's tail. A little 
 to the one side, stands an old woman of a more decidedly 
 devilish character, having her head ornamented with horns, 
 and the cloven hoofs peep forth from beneath the gown. 
 Thus did the painter revenge himself upon the authors of 
 his domestic infelicities. There are some very fine pic- 
 tures by Rubens and Snyders ; and one or two by the ar- 
 tists conjointly. There is a cock-fight by Snyders — a 
 
196 
 
 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 small picture; but in its wonderful truthfulness and 
 spirit, not surpassed by any of bis larger and more elabo- 
 rate works. 
 
 The new Museum, soon to be connected with the old, 
 contains some of the finest treasures of art in Europe. It is 
 on immense structure, and in the extensiyeness of its Egyp- 
 tian and medifeval collection of antifjuities, not equalled 
 in the world. Tn the hirge Hall devoted to the exhibition 
 of northern antiquities, may be found arms, ornaments 
 and vessels, once belonging to those original tribes of 
 Scandinavia and Germany, the ancestors of the very 
 barbarians, who eleven hundred years after its foundation 
 burst through the Salarian Gate of Rome, and gave up the 
 Eternal City to ruin and devastation. Here may be seen 
 an idol of the Sun, found at Eolin, evidently of Teutonic 
 origin. The walls of this Hall are adorned with frescoes, 
 very appropriately representing the gloomy and fantastic 
 mythology of the northern nations. Here may be seen 
 the representations of the fabulous Odin, and his wife 
 Hertha. Here in all its gorgeousness is a representation 
 of the Walhalla, or Northern Paradise, the residence of 
 those heroes who ftll in battle ; 
 
 " Where from the ffowinjf bowl 
 Deep drinks the warrior's soul." 
 
 And in contrast with this, startling in its horrors, is a 
 representation of the Helheim, or infernal regions, the 
 final abode of cowards. In another portion of this Hall 
 are unfolded the wonders of fairy-land — Titania dancing 
 with her elves by moonlight, or sporting by sylvan lakes, 
 embosomed in valleys rich with all tlie verdure, and glow- 
 ing in the amber atmosphere of Paradise. 
 
 rescendiug a grand marble staircase leading from this 
 
MUSEUMS. 197 
 
 Hall, you come to a splendid enclosure, supported by rich 
 columns of Italian marble, with a floor most beautifully 
 tesselated. On every side mythological frescoes, classical in 
 design, exquisite in coloring, and admirable in execution, 
 painted by the pupils of Kaulbach, after his designs, look 
 down upon you from the walls. Descending still another 
 marble staircase, you come to what is known as the Egyp- 
 tian Court-yard, lighted from above. The pillars sup- 
 porting the roof are copies from those in the Temple 
 of Karnac, while the shafts represent Egyptian deities. 
 The centre of this court yard is also occupied by buge 
 figures of Egyptian deities. The walls are adorned with 
 frescoes, representing the wonderful architecture of this 
 most singular people. No one who has paid any attention 
 to architectural study, can doubt, when he looks upon the 
 capitals of Egyptian columns^ whether the Greeks origi- 
 nated the Corinthian or the Doric. Here we have the 
 Temple of Dendara — the Menmon Statues at Thebes — 
 the Temple at Karnac — the Temple at Ipsambul, and the 
 Pyramids of Meroe. 
 
 Passing from this Egyptian Court, you enter an apart- 
 ment with the ceiling supported by a double row of columns 
 r.^presenting the buds of the Lotus, while the walls are 
 covered with scenes illustrative of the domestic life of the 
 Egyptians. 
 
 The Historical Saloon contains numerous statues of 
 Egyptian Kings and Princes, and other historical perso- 
 nages ; whilst the walls are covered with copies from the 
 various sculptures of palaces and temples. All around 
 this chamber are immense cases, containing necklaces, ear 
 rings, and rings of gold, coins, scaribei, and other curiosi- 
 ties, worn as ornaments, and circulated in Egypt more tha'n 
 three thousand years ago. 
 
 ^ r2 
 
198 rOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 But the most interesting Cliamber is tlie Hall of Egyp- 
 tian tombs. These tombs were brought from the banks 
 of the Nile, at an enormous cost. Here is the tomb of a 
 dignitary, who figured at the Court of King Cheops — and 
 there one of a Priestess, who from the date must have 
 been contemporary with Moses^ when in Egypt. In this 
 large Hall and the one adjoining, are collected the mortal 
 remains of many an Egyptian, from the baby of a week 
 old, to those of the aged Priest of Isis. In no collection 
 are there to be seen so many mummies in such wonderful 
 preservation. In many instances they are unrolled^ and 
 lay in their glass covered cases — regular dried specimens 
 of the humanity of Egypt. On the arm of the mummy 
 of one of the Priestesses of Apis, I noticed, a broad heavy 
 bracelet of gold, while two rings of emerald still glittered 
 on her fingers. Here also may be seen immense stone 
 Sarcophagi, covered with most elaborate sculpture, where 
 for centuries, distinguished Egyptians had slept in quiet, 
 until Teutonic curiosity summarily ejected them, and 
 brought their last earthly covering to adorn this northern 
 Museum. In an another chapaber may be seen a great 
 number of mummied cats, so sacred in the eyes of Egyp- 
 tians. They form a curious array to be sure, with their 
 blackened heads thrust out from the bandages by which 
 they are encompassed. By their side, heaps upon heaps, 
 are mummies of the Ibis, the sacred bird of Egypt. 
 
 In another part of the new Museum are magnificent 
 Halls, devoted to exhibitions of originals and copies 
 from the finest specimens of Grecian and Roman art^ 
 with walls adorned by appropriate frescoes, that carry you 
 blick in imagination^ to stand upon the classic soil of 
 ancient Attica, in the midst of her monuments of art, or 
 
CHAMBER OF ART. 190 
 
 where the Land of the Caesars still manifests the impress 
 of imperial power and munificence. 
 
 In the old Schloss, in the very topmost room, is the 
 Kuntskaramer or Chamber of Art, to which entrance is 
 had by special permission. This contains a great number 
 of curious things, and is soon to be removed to the new 
 Museum. The Historical Collection is more particularly 
 interesting, as illustrating the character and lives of re- 
 markable men. It contains the model of a wind-mill made 
 by Peter the Great, with his own hands, while working as 
 a ship carpenter in Holland. The hussar dress and cap, 
 surmounted with a black eagle's wing, w^orn by the cele- 
 brated Prussian General, Ziethen. Two cannon balls, 
 each witb one side flattened, said to have met in mid-air 
 at the siege of Madgebourg. Some of the relics preserved 
 here are peculiarly national, such as a cast taken from the 
 face of Frederick the Great after death — truly a most re- 
 pulsive sight; the bullet which wounded him at the 
 battle of Rosbach, in 1760; a wax figure of the same 
 King clothed in the very uniform he last wore. The coat 
 is rusty-looking, and threadbare, the scabbard of the 
 sword is mended with sealing wax, by his own hands. 
 His books and walking cane ; his favorite flute all tied 
 up with pack-thread, are carefully preserved here, along 
 with his pocket handkerchief, the filthiest, tattered, 
 patched rag that ever bore the name, and which would 
 have been discarded by Carew, '' King of the Beggars.'' 
 Opposite this figure of Frederick, in a glass case, are the 
 stars, orders and decorations, presented by the difi'erent 
 Sovereigns of Europe to Bonaparte; one of the most con- 
 spicuous being the Prussian Black Eagle. These were 
 taken by the Prussians, when they captured his carriage 
 
200 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 at "Waterloo, from which he escaped so hurriedly that he 
 left his hat behind, which also is preserved here. Not far 
 off are Blucher's orders. Then may be noticed a cast in 
 wax from the face of Moreau, taken shortly after his death 
 at Dresden. There was an interest attached to this. 
 The ruins of his country seat at Morrisville, opposite Tren- 
 ton, I had often seen. Here he resided for a number of 
 years until his return, Coriolanus like, to fight against his 
 country. He was a brave man, an able officer, and one 
 whose military ability Napoleon held in high esteem. The 
 story of his death is a curious one. Moreau was in the 
 midst of a group of officers, and by the side of the Empe- 
 ror Alexander, when a ball shattered both his legs, pass- 
 ing entirely through the body of his horse. That ball 
 came from one of the batteries of the Young Guard. 
 Napoleon had observed that their battery slackened- fire, 
 and sent to enquire the cause. The answer returned was, 
 that the guns were placed too low, and so the effect of the 
 fire was lost. Fire on nevertheless, said the Emperor, we 
 must occupy the enemy's attention at that point. The 
 fire was immediately resumed, and a very extraordinary 
 movement of the group of officers and commanders on the 
 hill, told the practiced eye of Napoleon, that a person of high 
 rank had been struck. The next morning a peasant brouglit 
 the account that a distinguished officer had been wounded, 
 having both his legs shattered "by a ball, but could not 
 tell his name. But he had with him the favorite dog of 
 the officer, and Napoleon looking for the name of the 
 owner on the collar, found that of Moreau. **See !" said he, 
 to several officers, "the finger of Providence is here." 
 Moreau submitted to the amputation of both his limbs, 
 oooUy smoking a segar during to the operation : but he 
 
CHAMBER OF ART. 
 
 201 
 
 died shortly after from exhaustion, and at his own request 
 his legs were buried on the field, and his body was laid in 
 a vault, in one of the Churches of St. Petersburg. There 
 is also in the collection, a cast in wax from the face of the 
 Prussian Queen Louisa, serenely beautiful even in death. 
 Among the most curious things in this Museum, are the 
 enormous number of well-used tobacco pipes, once belong- 
 ing to the brutal old father of Frederick the Great. But 
 the list would be endless, were we to mention in detail all 
 the curious things preserved here. Art has left her trea- 
 sures, which indicate to the observer the magic skill 
 and ingenuity of Purer, Vicher and Angelo. Figures 
 exquisitely carved in wood, ivory and bronze, cups and 
 vases enriched with bas-reliefs, and glittering with precious 
 stones — hunting horns rare with carved devices, and 
 reliquaries rich in enamelling, are gathered here in rich 
 profusion. When this collection is removed to the new 
 Museum, it is to be hoped that there will be more method 
 pursued in its arrangement. It contains some memorabilia 
 worthy x)f preservation ; and properly methodized, it will 
 be a valuable addition to that treasure-house of Art. 
 
 The Arsenal, is a huge building, dating back for its 
 origin, to the latter part of the seventeenth century. It is 
 covered with sculptured devices, and emblematic figures 
 look down upon you from its roof. It is a perfect Military 
 Museum, containing some of the leather guns used by 
 Gustavus in fhe thirty years' war — Turkish pieces, and a 
 complete assortment of fire arms, from those used at the 
 first invention of gunpowder, down to the improvements 
 of the present day. Against the walls and pillars of 
 one of the chambers containing a hundred thousand stand 
 of arms, are suspended myriads of French flags, some taken 
 
202 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 during the wars of the Revolution, and some captured by 
 the Prussians at Paris, in 1815 ; besides an immense num- 
 ber of muskets, and several pieces of artillery taken at the 
 same period. 
 
 We were fortunate enough to spend Christmas in Berlin. 
 It is the great festival of Germany. For weeks the note 
 of preparation had been sounding. The stores were dressed 
 in their gayest attire, and radiant with glitter and show. 
 The pipe shops, in a place where everything smokes hut 
 the chimney Sy form as a matter of course, a gay feature of 
 the scene. They are filled with perfect pyramids of 
 porcelain pipe-heads, ornamented most exquisitely with 
 paintings, and some of them bringing almost fabulous 
 prices. Here too you may observe pipes of beautiful amber, 
 amber mouth-pieces, smoking caps tastefully embroidered, 
 tobacco pouches braided in gold and silver, and all the 
 paraphernalia belonging to a habit which has made smok- 
 ing a national necessity. The confectioners' shops, are also 
 at this season full of sweet things, made with strange de- 
 vices, for next to tobacco, does the German love cakes and 
 sweet-meats. Every day on the Linden at the hour of 
 noon, you will find these confectioneries filled with well- 
 dressed people, sipping the luscious chocolate, or partaking 
 of the rich cake, or still richer pastry, which the German 
 baker delights in preparing. For weeks before Christmas 
 these confectioneries are filled with cakes of every form 
 and device, done in sugar and chocolate — figures in the 
 costumes of all nations, and animals of every kind and 
 description. But the most curious and interesting sight 
 of all were the booths or fair stalls. For several days before 
 Christmas — the large squares both in front and behind 
 
■ CHRISTMAS. 203 
 
 the old Palace, and every street radiating from these 
 squares were filled with thousands of fair stalls. They 
 are wooden booths, roofed over and floored. Nothing 
 can exceed the extensive assortment of children's toys they 
 display. It really seems as if the renowned Santa Claus,. 
 exhibited the rich and varied stores of his treasure-house 
 ^to the wondering eyes of happy children. Here too are 
 immense numbers of Christmas trees, and as they come 
 into town from' the country, the long trains of wagons that 
 carry them, seem to rehearse the story of 
 
 *' Birnara forest, come to Dunsinane." 
 
 Some of these Christmas trees are merely the rough tops 
 of the fir-tree just as they are brought from the forest — 
 others again are planted in large boxes of earth, and sur- 
 rounded at the foot with little gardens — others are glit- 
 tering in gold and silver leaf, having the body and 
 branches wound round with silver and gold wire. On 
 Christmas eve, no house in Germany is without its Christ- 
 mas tree. It is the hour of rejoicing, and round every 
 hearthstone frotn the palace to the cottage gather happy 
 and bright faces. It is with them the evening when the 
 Christ child enters every portal, bearing in his hands gifts 
 for good children. What a beautiful superstition is that 
 of the Christ Kindchen, or Christ child? There is a 
 radiance about the brow of the holy infant most beautiful 
 in its associations, to the simple and loving heart of the 
 little child. There is an electric chain of sympathy that 
 binds that heart to the Christ child, who a child once 
 more, is full of appreciating love for little children. The 
 following translation of a German poem embodies beauti- 
 fully the character of the Christ Kindchen : " See there 
 
204 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 runs a stranger child, oh how swiftly through the city, 
 on Christmas eve to see the beautiful lights that are flash- 
 ing from many a Christmas tree. He stops before every 
 house, and sees the bright rooms, in which boldly stand 
 out the lampful trees. Woe is to the poor child every- 
 where. He weeps and says, 'to-night every child has its 
 little tree, its light and joy — I alone have none. In this 
 strange land I am forgotten. Will no one let me come in, 
 and just afford me room for my cold feet? In all these bright 
 houses, is there no corner for the stranger childr He 
 knocks at a door, but there is no voice to answer; no 
 kindly hand to welcome. Every father thinks of his 
 own children, and every m6ther is busy about the gifts. 
 Then said the little stranger, '0 dear and holy Christ, I 
 have no father, no mother, if thou art not these to me I 
 Be thou my counseller, for here am I forgotten.' He rubs 
 his cold hands, he lingers in the long desolate streets, 
 with his eyes cast up to heaven. But look ! there comes 
 up yonder street, waving a light before him, another child 
 in smooth white raiment, and hair that clusters in golden 
 ringlets round his fair young brow. How musical is his 
 voice when he says,* ' I am the Holy Christ — again I am 
 once more a child, always on this happy evening. Though 
 all forget thee, I will never forget thee. I oflfer my pro- 
 tection as well in the streets, as in the lighted houses. 
 Thy light little stranger, I will cause to shine in the open 
 space so fair, that none in the rooms shall be brighter,' 
 Then waved the Christ child his hand towards heaven, 
 and forth stood glittering overhead with many branches, a 
 shining tree glorious with a host of stars. Bright little 
 angels bent down from the branches, and drew up the 
 poor child into the starry space, and so was he ever with 
 the Christ child." 
 
CHRISTMAS. 205 
 
 Now how much more beautiful and significant is this 
 lovely creation of "the Christ Child," than our rude and 
 tasteless Santa Claus, who is nothing more than a kind of 
 annual chimney sweep, or rather half chimney sweep, 
 half Jew pedlar. The Christmas legends of Germany, 
 have all an appropriateness to the great festival to be 
 celebrated. It is the eve of the Saviour's birth, whose 
 advent Gabriel himself came down too to tell, whose 
 natal morn was greeted by the angel hosts^ in strains 
 of more than mortal melody. As he grew in years> 
 love for little children was a distinguishing trait in 
 his serenely beautiful character. He never allowed an 
 opportunity to pass, that he did not bless them, or improve 
 their presence to his disciples by some beautiful allusion. 
 If he set a little child in their midst, it was only to exclaim, 
 ^^ unless ye be converted and become as little children, ye 
 shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven." And when 
 he rebuked his disciples who would have kept them away, 
 it was only to utter those sublime words, which have so 
 often refreshed the heart of the stricken mother — " Suffer 
 little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not, for 
 of such is the Kingdom of Heaven." Therefore, how 
 strikingly beautiful, and how appropriate to the festive 
 season is this German legend, that the gentle Saviour once 
 more becoming a little child, comes on the eve of Christ- 
 mas to every hearthstone, and places on the shining 
 Christmas tree those gifts, which make the heart of the 
 German child so happy, and add fresh lustre to his won- 
 dering eyes. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE ENVIRONS OF BERLIN. 
 
 Charlottenburg — Mausoleum to the Queen of Prussia — Her His- 
 tory — Potsdam — Tomb of Frederick the Great — The New Pa- 
 lace — Sans Souci — Death of Frederick the Great. 
 
 The pretty little village of Charlottenburg, with its 
 country-seats and picturesque looking avenues, is about 
 three miles from Berlin. Passing through the Branden- 
 burg Gate, you arrive at the village after a pleasant ride 
 for the most part of the way through the spaciou^ avenue 
 dividing the Thier Garten, which stretches almost to Char- 
 lottenburg. There is an air of elegance and a character 
 of aristocracy about this village. In the summer season 
 it is a favorite resort of the citizens of Berlin. The palace 
 built here was erected by Frederick I., who married an 
 English princess, Sophia Charlotte, daughter of George I., 
 and gave the name to the place in compliment to his wife ; 
 although this, I believe, was the only compliment he ever 
 paid her. The gardens behind the Palace are very exten- 
 sive, and laid out with great taste and beauty. The en- 
 trance to them is through the orangery, at the extremity 
 of which may be seen the graceful front of a small theatre, 
 where plays are performed for the summer diversion of 
 their majesties. These beautiful gardens are open to the 
 public, and as they abound in shady walks, varied by arti- 
 ficial lakes, aflford a delightful shelter and place of amuse- 
 ment to the citizens of Berlin during the heat of the 
 summer months. Some of these lakes abound in carp of 
 
OHARLOTTENBURG. 207 
 
 immense size and great age, many of them having passed 
 their hundredth year. On the occasion of my visit, one 
 of these venerable denizens was pointed out to me, wearing 
 a bell round his neck, said to have been placed there by 
 the father of Frederick the Great. He had received one 
 of the three warnings, being stone blind ; but his hearing 
 was evidently acute, as he was guided to thfe bread thrown 
 in the water by the noise made when it fell ; and as for 
 his appetite, it appeared equally voracious with that of his 
 younger brethren. The greatest object of interest however 
 to be found in the grounds belonging to this Palace is the 
 Mausoleum, where repose the remains of Louisa, Queen of 
 Prussia, and those of her weak but unfortunate husband. 
 You come suddenly upon a white Doric temple, that might 
 be deemed a mere adornment of the grounds — a spot sacred 
 to seclusion : but the presence of the mournful cypress, 
 and the weeping willow, declare it to be the habitation of 
 the dead. In this temple, so solemn by the subdued light 
 of its interior, on a marble sarcophagus, reclines a sculp- 
 tured figure of the Queen. It i^.a portrait statue, and is 
 said to be a perfect resemblance, not as she was in death, 
 but when she lived to bless, and to be blessed. Nothing 
 can be more calm and kind than the expression of the 
 features. The hands are folded on the bosom, the limbs 
 are sufficiently crossed to show the repose of life. She 
 does but sleep ; indeed, she scarce can be said to sleep, for 
 her mind and heart are on her sweet lips. One could 
 sit soothed for hours by the side of this marble form — it 
 breathes such purity and peace. A simple drapery, perfect 
 in every fold, shrouds the figure. Louisa is said to have 
 been the the most beautiful woman of her day — and one 
 can readily believe it, looking down upon this noble effort 
 of the sculptor's skill, which radiant with beauty as it is, 
 
208 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. ' 
 
 scarcely does full justice to the lovely features of Queen 
 Louisa. The history of this unfortunate Princess is a 
 most interesting and affecting one. She said of herself, 
 shortly before her death : ^< Posterity will not set down my 
 name among celebrated women, but whoever knows the 
 calamities of these times will say of me, she suffered much, 
 and suffered with constancy. And may aftertimes be able 
 to add, she gave birth to children who deserved better 
 days, who struggled to bring them round, and at last suc- 
 ceeded." What a life of startling vicissitude was hers ! 
 How full of heart-stirring incident ! What sufferings she 
 endured ! What resolution she displayed in the midst of 
 her misfortunes ! What recuperative energy she brought 
 to bear after every defeat ! All these have been written 
 of her, and to her honor in the pages of*!Prussian history. 
 It was the influence of this noble-minded woman, every 
 inch a Queen, that brought Prussia into the field in 1806; 
 and it was the ignominy and scorn heaped upon her by 
 an insolent conqueror, that made every corner of Prussia 
 burn with unextinguishable hate against the French. 
 Trusting in the courage and energy of the nation, she 
 accompanied the King to the army, but retired to a place 
 of safety immediately after the battle of Jena, so disas- 
 trous to the Prussians. Before that battle she parted with 
 her husband in tears, and they never met again in happi- 
 ness. Suffering in mind and body she went down to Tilsit 
 during the negociations that followed, much it is said, 
 against her own inclinations; bu,t she hoped by the charm 
 of her presence that the heart of the conqueror might be 
 softened, that conqueror who had insolently declared 
 in ten years his dynasty would be the oldest in Europe. 
 That interview resulted however ih nothiug except to extort 
 from. Napoleon a* tribute to the Queen, which, ooming 
 
QUEEN OF PRUSSIA. 209 
 
 from so keen an observer of character, has great weight. 
 Speaking of that interview, Napoleon once said, "The 
 Queen of Prussia unquestionably possessed talents, great 
 information, and singular acquaintance with affairs ; she 
 was the real sovereign for fifteen years. In truth, in spite 
 of my address and utmost efforts, she constantly led the 
 conversation, returned with pleasure to her subject, and 
 directed it as she chose, but still with so much tact and 
 judgment, it was impossible to take offence." Contempo- 
 rary reports would indicate that Napoleon at this interview 
 treated the poor Queen with unfeeling insolence. " The 
 object of my journey. Sire," said she, "is to prevail on 
 you to grant Prussia an honorable peace." "How" 
 replied the conqueror, " could you think of going to war 
 with me?" and the answer of the Queen was modest and 
 humble — "It was allowable that the fame of the Great 
 Frederick; should lead us to overrate our strength, if we 
 have overrated it." After this interview her health failed 
 her, but she lived long enough to witness the degradation 
 of the monarchy. Her last dying words to her husband 
 and children, were, " when I am gone, you will weep for me, 
 as I myself have wept for poor Prussia : but you must act 
 — free your people from the degradation in which they 
 lie, and prove yourselves worthy of the blood of the Great 
 Frederick." And they listened to that dying request. 
 They did act so as to save the country. After the retreat 
 of the French from Kussia, the King gave the signal. 
 He told his subjects he wanted men; he wanted money; 
 and like the fruit from the dragon's teeth, armed men 
 sprang as it were from the ground. The enthusiasm was 
 universal, and animated all classes. No age, no sex seemed 
 to be exempt from this influence. The ladies sent their 
 jewels- and their ornaments to the treasury to be sold iot 
 2s 
 
210 rOREIQN ETCHINGS. 
 
 the public service. They received in return, rings, crosses, 
 and ornaments of iron, with the" inscription in German, 
 ''Ich gab Gold urn Eisen;'' (I gave gold for iron,) and to 
 this day many a Prussian family points to them as their 
 most precious heir-looms. When the bristling lines of the 
 Prussians were first revealed to the startled gaze of Napo- 
 leon at Waterloo, when he thought he had his enemy in 
 his grasp; we wonder if he did not see the shade of Louisa, 
 like another Nemesis, leading them on to his overthrow. 
 
 But to return from this digression. The Palace at 
 Charlottenburg contains nothing very remarkable to those 
 familiar with the interior of English palaces. Long suites 
 of rooms ornamented with paintings and sculpture; an 
 immense ball-room with an inlaid floor of polii^hed oak, 
 lighted by four huge chandeliers of rock crystal ; a large 
 apartment filled from ceiling to floor with rare specimens 
 of china, most exquisitely painted ; are the most remark- 
 able localities in this favorite retreat of Prussian royalty. 
 
 Potsdam is about an half hour's ride by railway from 
 Berlin. It is a forlorn looking spot, fast going to decay, 
 but still retaining traces of its former magnificence, when 
 Frederick the Great endeavored to make it one of the finest 
 towns in Europe. It exhibits fine wide streets, but the 
 grass grows in the footways, and hardly a human being is 
 to be seen, except a few of the lounging military. Its 
 location is a very picturesque one ; the river Havel upon 
 which it is located here expanding into a Lake. After 
 witnessing the morning parade of a few Prussian soldiers, 
 we passed over the Square, to visit the Garrison Kircbe, 
 or Church of the Garrison, where repose the remains of 
 the Great Frederick. The vault is on a level with the 
 floor of the Church, and is directly behind the pulpit. 
 This vault contains also the sarcophagus holding the 
 
POTSDAM. 211 
 
 remains of the father of the King, that stern, eccentric 
 old monarch, no less a devotee than a soldier; but whose 
 devotion was limited to external practices, and who thought 
 it not the smallest harm, to treat his children, his servants^ 
 and his subjects, as a groom treats his horses, or a corsair 
 his slaves. The vault is arched at the ceiling, and very- 
 plain; the sarcophagi of the monarchs rest upon the floor 
 on the right and left as you enter. One cannot help 
 recalling as he stands in this chamber of the mighty dead, 
 that interesting midnight scene ; when in this very vault, 
 and over that bronze sarcophagus, the Emperor Alexander, 
 and the King of Prussia joined hands, and swore eternal 
 friendship and alliance — an alliance which ultimately 
 wrought such wonders for Europe. And here but a 
 twelvemonth after, their conqueror Napoleon stood where 
 they had thus plighted their faith, and bowing his knee, 
 exclaimed, as he gazed upon the coffin of the Great 
 Frederick, "hadst thou been alive, I never should have 
 been here ;" and then rising, basely stole the sword and 
 scarf of the hero, and the standards of his Guards, beneath 
 whose shadow he reposed. It was a base deed, 
 
 " It was a grievoush fault, 
 And grievously hath Caesar answered it." 
 
 How much more honorable and magnanimous the conduct 
 of that Russian officer, who seeing the monument erected 
 at Cologne, to commemorate the battle of Austerlitz, 
 simply engraved below the inscription, ''Seen and ap- 
 proved by the Russian Governor of Cologne, 1814.^' Tin* 
 fortunately all traces of this sword have been lost. It is 
 said that just before the entry of the Allies into Paris, 
 Joseph Bonaparte commanded these flags to be burnt, 
 
212 F^ftliroN ETCHINGS. 
 
 and the sword of Frederick broken. On each side of the 
 vault, DOW hang the eagles and standards taken by the 
 Prussians from Napoleon at Waterloo — a fitting retribu- 
 tion, and an atonement to the shade of their great hero, for 
 so grievous an insult. When these captured standards 
 surmounted by their eagles, are pointed out, care is always 
 taken to make the stranger understand that they are here 
 suspended as trophies of the vengeance Prussia took upon 
 the violator of her mighty monarch's grave. 
 
 The New Palace, which is about two miles from Pots- 
 dam, is a huge ungainly brick edifice, built by the Great 
 King after his seven years' war, and was erected in a spirit 
 of bravado. His adversaries fully supposed, that after so 
 long and expensive a war, his financial resources must be 
 completely exhausted. "I will show them," said the 
 brave monarch, '^that an exhibition of true patriotism 
 never exhausts a national treasury." And so in this 
 defiant spirit, he built this huge structure to exhibit the 
 recuperative energies of Prussia. It contains in all seventy- 
 two apartments. One large saloon, with a total disregard 
 of good taste, is decorated from floor to ceiling, with shells 
 of every hue, wrought into the most elegant devices, 
 intermingled here and there with rich specimens of amber, 
 rubies, cornelians, emeralds, and other precious stones. 
 In this Saloon hang four immense chandeliers of rock 
 crystal, which when lighted must produce a magnifi- 
 cent effect with the blaze of the numerous lights reflected 
 from polished shells and shining minerals. In this Palace 
 you are 'shown the range of apartments occupied by 
 Frederick during his life time, and they are preserved in 
 the same order they were left at his death. Passing 
 through a long gallery, you enter the chambers once occu- 
 
SANS SOUO 
 
 piod by the King. There may be seen his writing tables, 
 smeared with ink — his music stand, and book-cases filled 
 with books, many of them works in the French language. 
 There are the chairs and sofas, on which he was wont to 
 sit, with their faded covers torn by the claws of his favo- 
 rite dogs, who were always his companions. Napoleon 
 visited all these rooms, and paid the most scrupulous 
 regard to the arrangements, not permitting anything to 
 be disturbed, with the exception of one or two pictures, 
 which he sent to Paris. 
 
 To the west of Potsdam, are the Palace and gardens of 
 Sans Souci. The Gardens are laid out in the stiff, formal 
 French style, with alleys and cut hedges. The Palace 
 stands at the extremity of the broad avenue. It occupies 
 the summit of a series of terraces rising one above the 
 other, like a grand stair-case. This Palace was a favorite 
 resort of the King — and it was here Voltaire had his apart- 
 ments during his literary intimacy with the Prussian 
 monarch. His apartments are still pointed out, and are 
 directly under those occupied by the King. Here he 
 associated with him in the most agreeable manner, reading 
 with him the best works of either ancient or modern 
 authors, and assisting the King in those literary pursuits 
 by which he relieved the cares of government. But this 
 intimacy appears to have been short lived, and the 
 French philosopher found to his mortification, when it was 
 too late, that, where a man is suf&ciently rich to be master 
 of himself, neither his liberty, his family, or his country, 
 should be sacrificed for a pension. Voltaire in speaking 
 of his brief residence at Sans Souci, says : " Astofa did 
 not meet a kinder reception in the Palace of Alcina. To 
 be lodged in the same apartments that Marshal Saxe had 
 
214 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 occupied, to have the royal cooks at my command, when I 
 chose to dine alone, and the royal coachman when I had 
 an inclination to ride, were trifling favors. Our sappers 
 were very agreeable. If I am not deceived, I think we 
 had mnch wit. The King was witty, and gave occasion 
 of wit to others." This state of things was too pleasant 
 to last long. The poet and philosopher gives himself the 
 best account of the cause of the sudden estrangement. He 
 ascribes it to this incident. *' One La Metric, a physician, 
 an atheist, and the King's reader, told his majesty one 
 day, that there were persons exceedingly jealous of my 
 favor and fortune. *Be quiet awhile,'' said the King, 'we 
 squeeze the orange, and throw it away when we have swal- 
 lowed the juice.' La Metric did not forget to repeat to 
 me this fine apothegm, worthy Dionysius, of Syracuse. 
 From that time I determined to take all care of the 
 orange peel." And the poet was as good as his word. 
 A sarcasm of Voltaire's in reference to the King's bad 
 poetry, reached the royal ears, a quarrel was the result, 
 and the opportunity was seized by the disgusted French, 
 man to leave. Then it was he took refuge at Forney, 
 near Geneva, which he only left to have a brief triumph 
 at Paris, then td sink into the tomb. 
 
 In the rear of the Palace is a semi-circular colonnade, 
 within which, when the infirmities of his last sickness 
 bowed him down, the greatest monarch of his day was 
 accustomed to take exercise. His decline was gradual and 
 easy. He never lost the vigor of his mind, but continued 
 every inch a King. At last to the semi-circular colonnade 
 the old warrior was brought out in his arm chair, sur- 
 rounded by his favorite dogs, to bask in the sun. "I 
 shall be nearer him by-and-bye," said he, as he gazed 
 
SANS SOUOI 215 
 
 towards the luminary, and these were nearly his last 
 words. At the extremity of the terrace may be seen the 
 graves of his favorite war-horse and dogs, by whose side 
 he desired in his will that he should be buried : but for once 
 they disregarded his wishes — and his remains were carried 
 to the GUrrison Church, to rest by the side of those of his 
 brutal old Father. As they were borne through the iron 
 gate of this colonnade, it was locked, and has never been 
 opened since. The wind-mill erected by Frederick for the 
 miller, is still here, and in the possession of his direct de- 
 scendants. It stands very close to the Palace, and throws its 
 long arms around, as if in a defiant spirit. In enlarging 
 his grounds at Sans Souci, the King came in conflict with 
 a poor miller, whose wind-mill covered the land the 
 monarch desired to include in his gardens. The peasant 
 with great spirit resisted the encroachment, and appealing 
 to the Courts of Justice, was sustained. Such was the 
 King's admiration for the energy and boldness with which 
 the poor peasant had entered the lists against him, in defence 
 of his rights of property, that he erected the present mill 
 for him; and some few years since, one of the family being 
 in adverse circumstances, offered to sell it to the late King, 
 but he refused, and most nobly sent him the sum requisite 
 to relieve him from embarrassment, telling him that his 
 mill was part and parcel of the national history of Prussia. 
 The Prince of Prussia has a most charming country 
 palace near Potsdam, which strongly reminds one of the 
 elegant country mansions of the English nobility. The 
 interior is fitted up with that consummate taste, and sim- 
 ple elegance, to be found in all the Palaces of this Prince. 
 A leisurely survey of the beauties to be seen within this 
 elegant abode, finished a day of sight-seeing at Potsdam. 
 
PART 11. 
 
 HECOLLEOTIONTS 
 
 OP THK 
 
 -A.l^TXI<SiXJIXIBS OF IT-A^I^^ST. 
 
PART II. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF THE 
 -AJ^TTICiTJITIES OF X'TJ^Tu'Sr. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 NAPLES AND POMPEII. 
 
 Porto D'Anzio — Voyage to Naples — Appearance of Naples — Con- 
 fusion of its Streets — Pompeii — Its Destruction — Present ap- 
 pearance of the Streets and Buildings. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon wlien we arrived at Porto 
 d'Anzio after a tedious ride over the Campagna from Rome. 
 This port on the Mediterranean is interesting from the 
 fact, that it occupies the site once covered by the world- 
 renowned Antium, the great naval station of the Romans. 
 Here Coriolanus stood in the palace of bis enemy, and 
 vowed vengeance against his ungrateful countrymen. 
 
 "A goodly city is this Antium: City! 
 
 Tis I that made thy widows; many an heir 
 
 Of these fair edifices 'fore my wars 
 
 Have I heard groan and drop; then know me not 
 
 Lest that thy wives with spits, and boys with stones 
 
 In puny battle slay me." 
 
 It was also the birth-place of the monster Nero, and the 
 remains of the moles he constructed^ are still to be seen 
 here. It is now a desolate-looking spot, where, 
 " In many a heap the ground 
 • Heaves, as though Ruin in a frantic mood 
 Had done its utmost." 
 
220 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 Sand-heaps now cover the fragments of ruined palaces and 
 temples ; for Antium in the days of its glory boasted of 
 much architectural magnificence. 
 
 It was late in the evening when we left the little port, 
 'to dare in a frail-looking steamer, the perils of darkness, 
 and perhaps encounter the capriciousness of the treache- 
 rous Mediterranean. 
 
 The next morning, with ths bright sun of Italy dancing 
 on the wave, and the soft vernal air of that delicious clime 
 fanning the brow, we found ourselves entering the far-famed 
 Bay of Naples — passing close to the bold headland of 
 Misenum, rendered so memorable by the muse of Virgil. 
 In the distance could be seen the graceful curve of the 
 Baian shore. Time and volcanic action have left their 
 traces upon it, but in all the natural surroundings, the 
 shores of Baia remain as enchanting and lovely as ever. 
 Horace, who was no mean judge of natural beauty, thought 
 no place in the world so perfectly enchanting as the 
 Baian shore. Here the greatest and wealthiest of 
 the Romans erected their charming villas"; and when 
 the narrow shores could no longer supply sites for their 
 luxurious retreats, built moles and foundations into the 
 sea ; exhausting regal fortunes that they might possess a 
 dwelling in this earthly Paradise. Here rose the villas 
 of Pompey, Marius and Csesar — here the young Marcellus 
 died, to whose untimely fate, Virgil so touchingly alludes. 
 This was Martial's "golden shore of Baia, and blessed 
 Venus :" and still does the graceful ruin of the beautiful 
 temple of the goddess adorn it, and arrest the stranger's 
 attention. And there too, just in the centre of the grand 
 sweep of the magnificent Bay as it bends towards ^ain, is 
 the modern town of Pozzuoli, still crowned with the 
 
NAPLES. 221 
 
 ruins of the little Greek town from which it sprung. It 
 was famous in the annals of Imperial Rome ; and is cele- 
 brated as the spot, where the brave Apostle of the Gentiles, 
 who combined a woman^s softness, with the energy of a 
 lion, a prisoner and in bonds, "tarried for seven days aa 
 he went towards Rome.'* And there too is the far-famed 
 grotto of Posilipo, and near it on the side of that shady 
 ravine, the quiet spot, where rest the ashes of the great 
 Mantuan Bard. 
 
 * * * "A fabric lone and gray, 
 That boasts no pillars rich, nor friezes gay ; 
 An ilex bends above its moss clad walls; 
 In long festoons the dark green ivy falls, 
 And pale-eyed flowers in many a crevice bloom, 
 'Tis there he sleeps — that cell is Virgil's tomb." 
 
 The entire coast from Pozzuoli to Misenum is covered 
 with the ruins of baths, temples, theatres, moles and villas, 
 of ancient date. Here it was in the country round as the 
 ancients used to relate, '• Bacchus and Ceres contended for 
 the mastery." Not a cliff but flings upon the wave some 
 image of delight to muse on as your bark is gliding by. 
 
 For some time we coasted along those enchanting shores, 
 lined with villages and country houses gleaming from 
 amidst orange groves and vineyards, until at length round- 
 ing the beautiful cape of Posilipo, the city of Naples in 
 all its brightness, burst upon our view, with its churches 
 and palaces reflecting the rays of the morning sun, softened 
 by the deep azure of the . skies of the blessed Campania. 
 Not a cloud was to be seen, save that which rested like a 
 white wreath upon the summit of Vesuvius; and turning 
 for a moment from the gay and lovely city, the mind 
 became fixed on the black mountain, so deeply and so fear- 
 t2 
 
222 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 ftilly associated with the history of this land and its inha- 
 bitants — the only dark and threatening feature in the 
 smiling and lovely scene before us. 
 
 Par to the right, following the sweep of the Bay towards 
 the lofty mountains, was Castella Mare, with Sorrento 
 and Capo di Minerva, which in that direction mark the 
 extreme limit of the graceful curve of the enchanting 
 shore ; while midway, as if to guard the entranpe of this 
 favored region, stands the beautiful Isle of Capri. It 
 was indeed with justice the ancients fixed here the resi- 
 dence of the S^ren Parthenope, and called the place after 
 her name. As you look out upon the charming scene 
 on every side^ you cease to wonder that it became the 
 favorite retreat of the great and wealthy of the Romans ; 
 and that here, subdued by the delicious a»d enervating 
 climate, these Lords of the World forgot their greatness, 
 and abandoned themselves to luxury and indolence. Here 
 Gaasar forgot his ambition, and Virgil sang, not " arms and 
 the man," but allowing his muse to recreate in the soft 
 and peaceful scenes around him, tuned his rustic reeds to 
 pastoral songs, and the ease and happiness of ths life of 
 the husbandman. 
 
 The Greek, the Roman, and the Goth, the Norman, and 
 the Spaniard, charmed with its surprising, miraculous 
 beauty, have each, in turn, possessed this favored land — 
 until captivated by its pleasures, and losing by degrees 
 the virtue and hardihood of their native character, the 
 conquerors have been at length subdued, and confounded 
 with the conquered, in the same general effeminacy and 
 indolence, which in all ages have distinguished the inha- 
 bitants of this terrestrial Paradise, 
 
 " In floral beauty fields and groves appear ; 
 
 Man seems the only growth that dwiodles here.-' 
 
NAPLES. 223 
 
 The City of Naples lies upon the margin of this beauti- 
 ful Bay, in the form of a semicircle, and gradually spreads 
 itself upon the acclivity behind, crowned by the Castle of 
 St. Elmo, which overlooks the whole. The houses and 
 streets rise one above the other, interspersed with gardens 
 and trees. The palace on one of the heights, and the 
 Nuovo Castello, with various other buildings in a castel- 
 lated form, are exceedingly striking and picturesque as 
 seen from the Bay. 
 
 Such does Naples appear when taken as a whole — but 
 when you have landed, and proceed to take the city in 
 detail, its architecture will not bear comparison with that 
 of the other capitals of Europe. Some of the churches, 
 indeed, are striking to the eye, but only from their defor- 
 mity. Within they are loaded with ornament to such a 
 degree, that the very excess of decoration injures the 
 building it was intended to beautify. The altars, more 
 especially, display an exuberance of riches. There jasper, 
 lapis lazuli, porphyry, and all sorts of rare marbles, are 
 jumbled together, without the smallest regard to simplicity 
 or taste. Show and glitter are the great objects of admi- 
 ration — in fact, in Naples justly has it been observed^ 
 that every thing is gilded, from the cupolas of the churches 
 to the pills of the apothecary. 
 
 London is noisy ; but compared with Naples, it is tran- 
 quility itself. In London, the people pour along the great 
 thoroughfares, in a steady and continuous stream, and at 
 regular periods ; Eastward^ or City ways, in the morning, 
 and Westward, or homeward in the afternoon. But the 
 vast and motley crowds of Naples whirl about in* groups 
 like eddies, or collect in crowds by the mere exigencies of 
 their animal existence. Here, we come upon a mob, col- 
 
224 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 lected round a showman, screaming and gesticulating with 
 delight — yonder is a crowd listening to some crack- 
 hrained, half-starved poet, who is reading from a dirty 
 manuscript his verses. The principal street running 
 through the heart of the city is the Toledo, and a very 
 splendid and showy street it is. The shops are gay and 
 gaudy, and the tide of human existence flows here in a 
 noisy current, and stirs up the blood of its people with 
 almost the same emotions as the upheavings of the moving 
 fires of Vesuvius, or the swells of its beautiful sea, when 
 the earthquake shakes the earth with its fearful vibrations. 
 It would be difficult to imagine the eternal bustle and 
 worry of this street. There is no pavement; and it is 
 filled with all sorts of vehicles, driven at a mad and furious 
 rate ; and if you do not keep a sharp look out, you may 
 find yourself thrown from your perpendicular. Here you 
 are swept on by the current — there you are wheeled 
 round by the vortex — a diversity of trades dispute with 
 3'ou, the streets — you are stopped by a carpenter's bench; 
 you are lost among shoemaker's shops; you dash among 
 the pots of a macaroni stall — what a hubbub — what a 
 variety of costumes ! It seems as if all sorts of people had 
 come out to show themselves, and hold a rag fair. Those 
 genteel people in that flaunting carriage, open at the top 
 belong to the nobility; yonder comes a bevy of young 
 priests, dressed in their long woollen robes, with three- 
 cornered hats, and behind them walk a couple of fat 
 and lazy friars. 
 
 Any description of Naples would be incomplete, that did 
 not introduce the countless fiacres, cabriolets, and carriages 
 of all sorts, with the miserable animals that draw them. 
 Neither could one give a complete idea of the noise and 
 confusion of this singular City, without introducing the 
 
NAPLES. 
 
 225 
 
 cries, and cracking of whips of their wild and excited 
 drivers. All classes take to carriages here of some sort, 
 and whirl about from one end of the City to another, with 
 a mad rapidity which fairly astonishes and bewilders the 
 stranger. The nobleman in his gaudy carriage, with 
 lackeys in tawdry livery — officers in bright uniforms — 
 priests in couples, and busy friars, to whom cleanliness, 
 certainly was never great godliness — soldiers and buffoons, 
 washer-women and lazzaroni ; all seem equally to regard 
 carriage exercise as a thing essential to their very exist- 
 ence. In the excitement, speed seems to be the main ob- 
 ject, and the old Scotch proverb of ^' Dc'il take the hind- 
 most,'' the universal apprehension ; and for this the mer- 
 ciless driver forgetful of the value of his horse (if such a 
 looking scare-crow can have value,) belabors his lean and 
 panting sides with a merciless perseverance that can only 
 be witnessed at Naples. If there is a place on the earth's 
 surface, where a society for the prevention of cruelty to 
 animals should be forthwith organized^ it is most certainly 
 Naples. I have heard of the wit, who rebuked the cruelty 
 of a London cab-driver by an humorous allusion to the 
 transmigration of souls — "That's right, my fine fellow, 
 (quoth he) hit your animal harder, he was a cab-driver 
 once himself, and deserves it ^11." This rebuke might 
 be uttered every hour of the day, with more reason in 
 Naples. 
 
 Naples literally swarms with priests. It is said that 
 there are at least six thousand; while wkh nuns and 
 novitiates, the religious force amounts to more than ten 
 thousand. Indeed priests and soldiers seem to be the 
 controlling powers of the place. The lawyers number four 
 thousand, and are a wealthy and highly influential class, 
 having peculiar privileges — enjoying the oysters, and 
 
226 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 throwing the people the shells, and in consequence of the 
 extreme length of the lawsuits, holding in their hands a 
 large portion of the real estate. The nobles are opulent, 
 and fond of display ; and the King is as complete a despot, 
 and as great a fool as ever sat upon a throne. But it is 
 the priests and friars especially, which attract the atten- 
 tion of the traveler, for you cannot take a walk of half an 
 hour in any of the principal streets, without meeting forty 
 or fifty of them in their peculiar costume. Multitudes of 
 friars, in their brown gowns, and black cowls with girdled 
 waists and sandalled feet, may be seen gliding along the 
 streets particularly in the morning, collecting from shops 
 and stalls their daily revenue of charity. Some of the 
 priests are exceedingly handsome men, very few look 
 ascetic. Some are evidently good-natured, jolly, easy 
 souls, who belong rather to the race of King Cole, than of 
 Saint Anthony, fulfilling Thompson's idea of " the round 
 fat oily man of God" — while the great mass of the lower 
 clergy are good-for-nothing fellows^ as much lazzaroni and 
 beggars as any of the lowest of the rabble. In witnessing 
 the noise and confusion of the streets of Naples, one is 
 astonished to find so much life and activity in a people, 
 so proverbial for their indolence and laziness. But what 
 are they all about, whither arc they rushing ? Have they no 
 definite object — no particular motive for all this activity? 
 As a general thing, no ! And thus day after day, they 
 rush backward and forward from one extremity of the city 
 to another, heedless of everything, and in their wild 
 enjoyment of the present hour, the most reckless, trifling, 
 and abandoned people under the sun. 
 
 But one soon tires of the constant noise and excitement 
 of this strange, restless city, and longs to fly from the stir 
 
POMPEH. 227 
 
 and turmoil to tlie numerous and cbarming localities to be 
 found in its immediate vicinity. 
 
 But, chief above all, do you long to visit that memora- 
 ble spot, Pompeii. This partially exhumed city is located 
 about twelve miles from Naples, on the railway to Castella 
 Mare, just where it branches off to Nocera. A hillock, 
 partly formed by the shower of ashes which buried, and 
 now heaped still higher by the dirt thrown out from the 
 excavations ; at the southern declivity of Vesuvius, and 
 five miles from its base; marks the interesting locality, 
 where ' antiquity was, as it were, caught alive/ For there, 
 the progress of time and decay has been arrested, and we 
 are admitted to the temples and theatres, and the domestic 
 privacy of a people, who lived nearly two thousand 
 years ago. 
 
 "At a step. 
 Two thousand years roll backward, and we stand 
 Like those so long within that awful place, 
 Immovable." 
 
 If even the most doubtful ruin of antiquity appears clad 
 with venerable grandeur^ what rank shall we assign in the 
 scale of interest to the site, where objects like that en- 
 chanted city, in the Arabian Nights, were in one moment 
 transfixed in their accidental situations : 
 
 " Mark where within, as though the embers lived, 
 The ample chimney vault, is dun with smoke j 
 There dwelt a miller — silent and at rest 
 His mill stones now, in old companionship, 
 Still do they stand, as on the day he went, 
 Each ready for its office. But he comes not. 
 And there, hard by (whereon in idleness 
 Hath stopped to scrawl a ship, an armed ma 
 And in the tablet on the wall, we read of 
 
228 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 Shows ere long to be ;) a sculptor wrought 
 
 Not meanly, blocks, half chiseled into life, 
 
 Await his call. Here long, as still attests 
 
 The trodden floor, an olive merchant drew 
 
 From many an earthen jar, no more supplied. 
 
 And here, from his, a vinter served his guests 
 
 Largely, the stain of his o'erflowing cups 
 
 Still fresh upon the marble ; on that bench beneath, 
 
 They sat, and quaffed, and looked on them that passed, 
 
 Gravely discussing the last news from Rome." 
 
 Pompeii was a little Greek town, of toleratle commerce 
 in its early day. The Mediterranean sea, which once 
 washed its walls — subsequently, from the effects of an 
 earthquake, or some local convulsion, left it a mile and 
 more away, in the midst of one of those delicious plains, 
 made by nature for the complete extinguishment of all 
 industry in the Italian dweller, and for the common places 
 of poetry and prose, in all the northern abusers of the pen. 
 It was ravaged by every barbarian, who in turn was called 
 a conqueror — and was successively the pillage of Cartha- 
 genian and Roman, until at last the Augustan age, which 
 cast such radiance over Rome — saw it quieted into an 
 effeminate, and luxurious Roman colony — and man, fearing 
 to rob^ ceased to rob any more. 
 
 When man had ceased his molestations, nature com- 
 menced hers ; and this unfortunate little city was, by a 
 curious fate to be extinguished, yet preserved — to perish 
 suddenly from the face of the astonished Roman Empire, 
 and live again when Rome was but a nest of sandalled 
 monks, and superstitious mummers; and her Empire 
 torn into fragments, by Turk. Russian, Austrian, Prussian, 
 and a whole host of barbaric names, that once were as 
 dust beneath her feet. 
 
POMPEII. 229 
 
 In tlie year 63 of the Christian era, an earthquake 
 manifested to the afiFrighted Pompeians, upon what a frail 
 tenure they held their leases — whole streets were thrown 
 down, columns started from their bases, statues fell from 
 their pedestals; and to this day the traveler is shown the 
 evidences of hasty repair, marking the first calamity. 
 
 It was the first warning to that depraved and dissolute 
 city, of the "bolt, red with uncommon wrath," soon to be 
 launched with all its force, amid a fiery whirlwind of stones, 
 lava, and ashes. On the 23d of August, in the year 
 79, Vesuvius poured out his accumulation of terrors at 
 once — and in the clearing away of the storm of fiery dust 
 which covered Campania for four days — Pompeii, with all 
 its living multitude — its magnificent temples, theatres, 
 palaces and baths, its walls of arabesque, and columns, 
 clustering in patrician splendor, had disappeared from the 
 earth's surface ; and a smoking heap, was the grave of that 
 buried city. 
 
 The ancient Romans seem to have been as fond of villas 
 as if every soul of them had made fortunes in Wall street : 
 and the whole southern coast of Italy, like Staten Island, 
 although far surpassing it in architectural magnificence, 
 was studded with the summer palaces and iris-hued gar- 
 dens of these masters of the world. The site of Vesuvius 
 would now be rather a formidable foundation for a villa, 
 whose owner might any morning, be found with his villa 
 done to a turn, in a bed of hot ashes. But before the 
 eruption that covered Pompeii with ashes, and Hercula- 
 neum with lava, the mountain was asleep, and had never 
 within the memory of the oldest inhabitant, rumbled, or 
 flung up spark or stone. Its verdant slopes were then 
 covered with elegant villas and gardens. Martial has a 
 U 
 
230 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 pretty epigram, in which he gives us a view of Vesuvius, 
 as he appeared before this terrible eruption : 
 
 "Here ver^.ant vines o'erspread Vesuvius sides. 
 The generous grape, here poured her purple tides. 
 This Bacchus loved, beyond his native scene. 
 Here dancing satyrs joyed to trip the green." 
 
 To those who look upon Vesuvius now, grim, blasted, 
 and lifting up his sooty forehead among clouds of perpe- 
 tual smoke, the very throne of Pluto and Vulcan toge- 
 ther; no force of fancy can picture what it must have 
 been, when the Romans built their summer palaces and 
 pavilions on its verdant slopes — a pyramid of more than 
 three thousand feet — painted over with forest, garden, 
 vineyard and orchard — zoned with colonnades, turrets, 
 golden roofs, and marble porticoes, with the deep azure of 
 the Campanian sky for its canopy, the classic Mediterranean 
 washing its base ; and the whole glittering in the colors of 
 sunrise, noon and evening, like the " rich and high piled 
 woof of Persia's looms,'' let down from the steps of some 
 heaven-lifted and resplendant throne. 
 
 All this magnificence was turned into cinders, lava, and 
 hot water, in the year of the Christian era, 79. The hiss- 
 ing streams of lava, like fiery snakes, ran hither and thither 
 down the slopes of the mountain; scorching and consuming 
 every thing in their glowing pathway — while the mountain 
 hurled high in air the red hot lava, and the sulphurous 
 ashes, with a noise that shook the very firmament. The 
 entire continent throughout its northern and southern 
 range, felt the vigorous awakening of the volcano. Imperial 
 Rome, hundreds of miles away, was covered with the ashes ; 
 of which Northern Africa, Egypt and Asia Minor received 
 their full share — the sun was turned into blood, and the 
 
POMPEII. 231 
 
 people very naturally thought that the end of the world 
 had come. Well might Pliny the Younger say in his letter 
 to the historian Tacitus, — "Nothing then was to be heard 
 but the shrieks of women, the screams of children, and the 
 cries of men. Some calling for their children, others for 
 their parents; others for their husbands; and only distin- 
 guishing each other by their voices : one lamenting his 
 own fate, another that of his family — some lifting their 
 hands to the gods; but the greater part imagining that 
 the last and eternal night was come, which was to destroy 
 the gods and the world together." 
 
 At the close of this first fearful eruption, Vesuvius 
 loomed forth, the grim-looking giant he is at this hour. The 
 sky was stained with that white cloud, which still reposes 
 like a halo on the mountain's scarred and shattered brow. 
 The plain at his foot, where Herculaneum and Pompeii 
 shone forth in all their beauty, was covered many feet deep, 
 with a debris of ashes and lava, while the smoke of the 
 country " went up as the smoke of a furnace." 
 
 All was at an end with the once busy, bustling cities 
 below, the people were destroyed or scattered — their houses 
 and homes buried. Bobbers and malaria remained the 
 sole tenants of the desolate spot, and in this way rolled 
 many centuries over the bones and houses of the vinters, 
 sailors, and snug citizens of these Vesuvian cities. But 
 their time was to come, and the coveriDg under which 
 they had reposed so long was to be perforated by Neapoli- 
 tan and French picks — their private haunts, and public 
 places, visited by curiosity-mongers, and sketched, lectured, 
 and written about^ until two-thirds of the world wished 
 they had never been disturbed. 
 
 The first discovery of the buried cities was purely acci- 
 
232 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 dental, for no Neapolitan ever stuck spade into the ground 
 on purpose, or in real earnest, or eyer harbored a voluntary 
 idea about any thing save of macaroni, intrigue, monkeys^ 
 hand-organs, and the gaming-table. The Neapolitan spade, 
 thus accidentally feeling its way into the earth, struck 
 upon a key — the key belonged to a door-— the door bore 
 an inscription — and the names of the buried cities were 
 brought to light to the boundless perplexity of the learned, 
 the merciless curiosity of "females, darkly, deeply, beau- 
 tifully blue," and to the exorbitant profit, of that whole 
 rascal rout of guides, ciceroni, abbes, and antiquarians. 
 
 But notwithstanding this discovery, the cities slumbered 
 for twenty years more, until about the year 1711, a Duke 
 digging for marbles, to burn in a mortar, with which to 
 make lime, found a statue of an Hercules, a perfect heap 
 of fractured beauties, a row of Greek columns, and a small 
 temple. Again, the cities slumbered, when in 1738, a 
 King of Naples, upon whom 'Might may the earth rest," 
 commenced digging in earnest at Pompeii, when streets, 
 temples, and theatres, once more lay open to the sun. 
 
 So few details of the original catastrophe are to be found 
 in history, that we can scarcely estimate the actual amount 
 of suffering, which is, after all, the only thing in this case, 
 to be considered a misfortune. The population of Pompeii 
 at least, and perhaps of Herculaneum, with some few 
 exceptions, had time to make their escape with their 
 property j at least the most costly. A pedlar's pack, would 
 r am certain, contain all the valuables in the way of gold, 
 money and jewelry, found in Pompeii ; and the people who 
 had thus time to clear their premises, must have been 
 most singularly fond of hazard, if they stood lingering 
 long, beneath that fiery shower. 
 
 Some melancholy evidences were, it is true, 'found, to 
 
POMPEII. 288 
 
 show that all were not so successful, or at least so prudent. 
 And yet sixty skeletons are all that have been discovered, 
 and certainly more than one third of the city has been 
 excavated. 
 
 In the excavations, made by the French, four female 
 skeletons were found, lying together, with the ornaments, 
 still upon their arms and fingers, and grasping in their 
 fleshless gripe a few coins of gold and silver. 
 
 In a wine vault, known by the jars ranged round its 
 walls, close against the door, as if in the attitude of trying 
 to force it open, stood a male skeleton, who had thus 
 perished, in a vain effort to save himself from a death by 
 suffocation, or the more lingering one of starvation. In 
 a prison, or guard house, with their skeleton limbs still 
 fast in the stocks, and their eyeless skulls peering out from 
 their brazen helmets, sat six Pompeian soldiers, who had 
 thus perished in a cruel companionship of misery. 
 
 Beside the garden gate of the Villa of Diomed just be- 
 yond the walls, two skeletons were discovered, one pre- 
 sumed to be the master, from having in his hand the key 
 of the gate, the other stretched beside him, with some 
 silver vases, probably a poor slave, charged with the trans- 
 port of them. In the cellar, the skeletons of seventeen 
 persons were found huddled together, who had here in vain 
 sought an asylum from the fiery shower. From the cir- 
 cumstance of one of those skeletons, that of a woman, being 
 adorned with a necklace, and bracelets of gold, it has with 
 good reason been supposed, that this was the mistress of 
 the elegant mansion, and the print of her bosom as it 
 pressed against the wall, may be seen, as if taken in plas- 
 ter, in the halls of the Museo Borbonico at this day. 
 
 Close to the gate of Herculaneum, in a niche, was found 
 ij2 
 
28i FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 the skeleton of a man, standing erect, with his armor and 
 helmet on, and spear in hand. It was the Roman sentinel 
 at the city gate, faithful in death, as in life, a melancholy 
 memento of the stern discipline of martial Rome : 
 
 On — on, the human tides, rush through the gates. 
 While the red mountain, blazing full in view, 
 That Roman sentinel, doth contemplate: 
 Motionless as a statue, thus he grew. 
 Composed his face, though livid in its hue. 
 Sternness with awe, in his undaunted eyej 
 Vainly the fiery tempest round him flew. 
 He, like the herd, had not been taught to fly j 
 Scathed, blasted at his post, the warrior stood to die." 
 
 He stands now, just as he was found, in the Museum 
 at Naples; and I never passed that skeleton in. armor, 
 but I felt the majesty of discipline, and a respect for the 
 courage and integrity of the Roman soldier, who had thus 
 nobly sacrificed himself to duty, sealing his devotion, by 
 dying at his post, with all his armor on. 
 
 Several years ago, there trod the lonely streets of 
 Pompeii, with feeble step and slow, a grey- haired man. 
 Physical suffering, and mental toil, had passed their 
 ploughshares over that noble brow, with a subsoil pressure. 
 The mind within, which like a lamp in a vase of alabaster 
 had once "illumed'* that fine old face, was burning dimly 
 now, or only flickered up with a sort of supernatural light, 
 as dying lamps will, just before they are extinguished. 
 The powers that had so long delighted the world, recalling 
 past ages and manners with such vividness, that men 
 believed he had found the enchanter's wand of the great 
 wizard of his house, were now all gone. But as that old 
 man paced mournfully through the deserted streets, and 
 
POMPEII. 235 
 
 by the hearth-stones, cold and cheerless, of the exhumed 
 city, his head drooped upon his noble chest, and he mur- 
 mured, " Take me away from this ; take me away from 
 this; His the City of the Dead; the City of the Dead" — 
 then wept like a child. 
 
 Volumes might be written on Pompeii, and yet they 
 would only be to realize, and carry out this brief, but 
 comprehensive summary, this profound impression which 
 Pompeii left upon the mind of the great " Wizard of the 
 North." 
 
 But there is nothing dark or noisome in this City of 
 the Dead. It is only sad, because without inhabitant — 
 and from the recollection of the temble fate that so sud- 
 denly overwhelmed it. It still all looks bright and fresh, 
 and beautiful — the gay paintings on the walls — the 
 marble fountains, which seem about to play, with their 
 inlaid basins of the rich and varied sea shell — its atriums, 
 with their beautiful mosaic pavements — its classic peri- 
 styles, its cubiculas, or alcoves for sleeping, its vestibules 
 with their hospitable welcomes, inlaid in mosaic upon the 
 threshold, inviting you to enter — and the deep blue sky 
 of Italy smiling over all. There is so little of ruin or 
 desolation, in the ordinary sense of the term. Even the 
 very tombs, along the famous street that leads out of the 
 Herculaneum gate, would hardly look mournful, did we 
 not feel that the pious crowds, who once daily issued from 
 that gate, would never more come, to scatter chaplets and 
 flowers on the last resting place of those they loved on 
 earth; and yet, in spite of all this, a deep feeling of 
 melancholy will steal over you, and you can partially com- 
 prehend the emotions of the great poet, and novelist, as 
 you proceed through lonely and noiseless streets; and 
 
236 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 enter mansion after mansion alike tenantless and deserted. 
 Where are the crowds that once thronged, or the owners 
 that once possessed them ? At first you almost hesitate to 
 enter uninvited — and every moment expect some member 
 of the family to come forth, and rebuke the intrusion; 
 but vain is the thought. You pass from house to house. 
 
 " Vacant each chamber, 
 
 Deserted each hall 
 
 Quiet oblivion, reigns o'er all." 
 
 You search the empty chambers, but no footfall is heard 
 on the echoing pavement, but your own and companions; 
 no voice responds to yours but that of those who have 
 accompanied you. You pause and meditate, and Sir Walter 
 Scott's commentary is upon your lips, "'tis the City of 
 the Dead — the City of the Dead." 
 
 Immediately above the buildings that have been exca- 
 vated^ the ground rises like a gentle swell, as if to shelter 
 the houses below; while vines in their more luxuriant 
 graces, wave from tree to tree, springing from the soil, 
 that still covers the greater part of the city with vegetation, 
 and forming with the dark brown masses below, a singular 
 and most affecting contrast. 
 
 Let us enter for a hasty stroll on the side facing the 
 Mediterranean. It is the street of the silver-smiths; and 
 those large irregular blocks of lava, in which thfi chariot 
 wheels have worn ruts, still plainly discernible, look almost 
 as fresh as the day they were fixed there by the Pompeian 
 paviors. It is a narrow street, and you can cross it at a 
 stride; but on each side is a well dressed curb bounding 
 the edge of a pavement, that would do credit to any city 
 of modern times. Mark how the footpath, between the 
 curb and the line of houses is filled up with earth, upon 
 
POMPEII. ' 287 
 
 which a hard casing of stucco is all unnoticed by the wear 
 of feet and time, and looks as if it might still stand, the 
 restless tread of countless generations. Where is the 
 modern skill that can lay such a pavement as that? 
 Asphaltum has been tried, and in a few years it had more 
 holes than wholeness. The deposit of stucco is by no 
 means thick, and yet it bears no traces, of the wear of the 
 thoiisand feet that must so oft have pressed it. 
 
 A few steps from where we have entered, brings us to 
 the southwest corner of the Pompeian Forum, where 
 cluster as round a common centre, the relics of most of 
 the public edifices of Pompeii. 
 
 The remains of that building on our right, was onc§*the 
 Basilica of Pompeii, answering. to our more modern Court 
 House. You approach it through a vestibule, and from 
 the vestibule, there is an ascent, by a broad flight of steps 
 to the Hall of Justice itself. There appears to have been 
 two rows of noble fluted columns at its sides, and one row 
 on each end, supporting its vaulted roof. This Hall must 
 have been quite grand in its proportions, being of a single 
 story, with an arched ceiling. Along the upper space of 
 the shafts of those side rows of fluted columns, is still dis- 
 cernible, the traces of a gallery, from which spectators 
 could have a full view of the proceedings below. At the 
 south end of this noble Hall, is still standing "the 
 Tribune," elevated several feet from the floor, and once 
 ascended by a flight of steps. This was the lofty position of 
 the Judge or Praetor, from which he heard and decided 
 causes. It must have been a court of criminal jurisdiction, 
 as below the floor of this Tribune, which has evidently 
 been of mosaic, are small dungeons, no doubt used for the 
 temporary confinement of prisoners ; and the holes are still 
 
238 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 discernible, through which orders were communicated by 
 the Judge to the keeper below. Those side rooms, on 
 the right and left of the Tribune, served, no doubt, as 
 robing rooms for the the minister of justice and for the 
 officers of the Court. The external walls of this edifice 
 are quite plain; but in the interior, courses of masonry 
 are represented in stucco, painted with various colors, in 
 imitation of marble. The large fluted sides and front 
 columns, which once supported the roof, and portico, are 
 of singular construction; being formed of pieces of brick 
 and tufa, radiating from a common centre. These, as well 
 as the walls, are covered with a stucco, that has the ap- 
 pearance of marble, with all its hardness, and certainly 
 with more of its polish. The art of constructing so durable 
 a cement, has certainly passed away from the world. This 
 building, two hundred and twenty feet in length, and 
 ninety in breadth, must have been a splendid edifice when 
 perfect. Boast as we may of our wealth, enterprise and 
 architectural skill — such a plan of a Court House in our 
 day, laid before a Board of County Freeholders, would be 
 received, with about as much ceremony, as a bombshell 
 with a lighted fusee, should it fall in the centre of the 
 table, round which the astute guardians of the county hold 
 such profound deliberations. The solitary columns of this 
 ancient temple of justice, still stand, mute witnesses of the 
 architectural proportion and beauty of the perfect edifice. 
 The marble slabs of the ancient pavement, worn by the 
 hurrying feet of patron and client are still there. On the 
 walls the loafing idlers about the court room, have scratched 
 the initials of their names, and 'some rude caricatures, 
 showing that this habit of defacing public places, is not 
 original with us ; and was a Pompeian, as well as a Yankee 
 
POMPEII. 289 
 
 weakness, and vice. The Tribune, from which so oft the 
 stern decrees went forth, looks almost as it did, when the 
 affrighted judge saw for the first time, the fiery shower 
 hurled forth by the volcano, and gathering up his robes 
 about him, fled from the judgment seat. In the dungeon 
 beneath, a solitary skeleton was found — that of some poor 
 prisoner awaiting in terror, perhaps, an earthly sentence ; 
 only to be still more astounded by finding himself before 
 that dread tribunal, from whose decrees there is, and can 
 be no appeal. 
 
 Passing on north of this Basilica, and on the same side 
 of the open space of the Forum, we come to what is known 
 as the Temple of Venus. The remains of the Temple, are 
 considerably elevated from the street, upon a huge base of 
 masonry. The large altar still stands with a black stone 
 upon it, containing three depressions for fire, in which 
 were found the ashes of the victims, that had last Bmoked 
 before the fane. There is an inscription, still very legible 
 on the sides of this altar, recording that it was erected at 
 the expense of M. Fortius, Lucius Sextelius and Caius and 
 Augustus Cornelius ; within its penetralia, directly behind 
 the altar, was found the beautiful and graceful statue of 
 Venus, now adorning the Hall of the Museo Borbonico at 
 Naples. On its walls, were fine frescoes painted in rich 
 colors, on a dark ground — all of which have been removed 
 to the Museum aforesaid. With one of these frescoes I 
 was particularly struck on a visit to this grand receptacle 
 of the wonders of art taken from the buried city. It 
 pictured Bacchus, as a handsome youth, leaning on the 
 shoulder of old Silenus, who is represented by a stout, 
 dwarf-like figure, bald-headed and bearded ; the lower 
 limbs draped, holding a lyre in his left hand, and having 
 a basket of fruit at his feet. Bacchus has a fine juvenile 
 
240 POREIdN ETCHINGS. 
 
 head covered with flowing curls, and a body and counte- 
 nance, perfectly radiant with youthful beauty. He holds 
 the emblematic thyrsus in his left hand, and in his right 
 a double handled vase, out of which he is pouring a liba- 
 tion. This picture was not only interesting to me from 
 the wonderful power of its execution, but because I could 
 discern a beautiful allegory shadowed forth in the design. 
 Bacchus, as a child, was entrusted to the care of the aged 
 Silenus. The advent of the young god was ushered in, as 
 the bringer of healing, and the long expected founder of a 
 better state of things. The ancients seemed to take great 
 delight in bringing together the aged Silenus, and the 
 youthful god, both in pictorial representations, and in 
 statuary. And as we read that Moses was only permitted 
 to gaze upon the promised land, from Pisgah's summit, 
 where he was to die — so, in all these representations of 
 the ancients, one sees the aged man under the character 
 of Silenus, his face radiant with serene joy, absorbed in 
 the better fate awaiting the coming generation. It is the 
 serene joy observed in those alone, who amid the tumults 
 of earth, have learned to purify all selfish feeling, and to 
 find satisfaction in the contemplation of the coming welfare 
 and happiness of the race. 
 
 Directly opposite this Temple of Venus, you enter 
 through what was once an arched gateway of the colonnade 
 surrounding the open area of the Pompeian Forum. How 
 silent in ita desolation is this space; once crowded by 
 the busy groups, drawn hither by business, pleasure, or 
 recreation. From that fragment of a rostrum the orator 
 declaimed to the excited populace. Through that trium- 
 phal arch, the stately procession has often swept, as it bore 
 onward the laurelled conqueror to the Temple of Jove, 
 
POMPEII. 241 
 
 Yonder is the spot, where Augustus Caesar stood, when 
 thousands bowed the knee and hailed him as a god, and 
 consecrated that Temple whose fragments are around you, 
 to his worship. 
 
 At the head of the Forum, you notice the remains of 
 the temple erected to Jove — the ascent to it has once been 
 by a broad flight of marble steps, and the sides present a 
 solid sur-basement, on which still stand the vacant pedes- 
 tals, once ornamented with splendid statues. 
 
 From the lofty steps of this temple, the view, before the 
 fiery shower fell upon the devoted city, must have been 
 superb. Along ^ach side^ amongst the fragments of the 
 pillared colonnades, may still be seen rows of pedestals, 
 from which marble statues once looked down upon the 
 hurrying crowd below. On the right hand, the spectator 
 would have had the beautiful temple of Venus, with its 
 brazen roof and elegant portico; and the grand Basilica, 
 with an arched roof supported by its double rows of clus- 
 tered columns. On the left the temple of Augustus, with 
 the Pantheon of the great gods of Rome, each upon his 
 magnificent pedestal, and all uniting in the guardianship 
 of the city. There too, was the temple of Mercury, and 
 the place of the Decurions-^-whilc equestrian statues crown^ 
 ed the summits of the sculptured gateways, that faced the 
 temple. 
 
 The temple of Augustus seems to have been built round 
 an open square — in its centre, in majestic silence stood th<! 
 twelve divinities of Rome. Those small chambers, looking 
 like cloistered cells, were the residences of the numerous 
 priests who ministered at the many altars. 
 
 At one end you may notice three divisions, in which were 
 found the statues of Nero and Messaiina, now at the Museum 
 Y 
 
242 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 in Naples. In another, still stands the sacrificial altar, 
 highly decorated with paintings ; one of which represents 
 in an excellent state of preservation^ a female artist with 
 pallet and brushes, such exactly as are used at the present 
 day. Here we have a fresco, representing a Roman war- 
 galley, filled with men, armed with long spears and shields 
 and rowed by more than forty oars — and there a still 
 more curious fresco attracts attention, representing a 
 number of little cupids making bre^d^ with a mill for 
 grinding flour standing by them ; and in that chamber, 
 once used as a dining hall for the priests, you may notice 
 various culinary utensils, and materials *of a banquet, in- 
 cluding fish, lobsters, birds, eggs, «&c., painted on the walls, 
 with great truthfulness to nature. 
 
 Adjoining this temple to Augustus within an area, 
 stand the remains of a small temple ; it was once a temple 
 to Mercury — in front of it is an altar of white marble, 
 bearing an unfinished bas-relief, supposed to be, in the 
 principal figure, a representation of Cicero sacrificing, from 
 the resemblance to that orator. The workmen, were 
 engaged in repairing this temple, when they were com- 
 pelled to desist, and fly for their lives; the rude dash of 
 the mortar, and the traces where the trowel has left off to 
 smooth, are still discernible on one of the columns. 
 
 The Temple of Isis is magnified in description : and by 
 no means remarkable. The staircase, passage, and the 
 situation of the statue, are pointed out as very mysterious : 
 and it is said that the priests ascended the secret stairs, 
 and by means of the concealed passage were able to give 
 out oracles to the people. The present priests of the 
 country speak ill of their predecessors; but why should 
 they speak ill of them ? the best part of their splendid 
 
POMPEII. 249 
 
 ritual they have borrowed from the 'pagans. There is 
 " only a slight distinction without a difference/' between 
 the idolatry of the Pompeian priesthood and that which still 
 burns incense before the altar in the modern cathedral. 
 At all events these poor priests of Isis were good disciples 
 of Epicurus; they were at dinner in the refectory when the 
 eruption came, and would not leave their meal : their 
 skeletons were found, amongst egg-shells, and the bones of 
 chickens and fish. Our Italian guide opened his large 
 eyes when he showed us the altars ; and said, " Here the 
 priests burned the bones and eat the flesh, and deceived 
 the people ; the poor world has always been deceived, and 
 priests have always been the same." I thought if the 
 liberal and sensible opinion of our poor guide could only 
 become a little more general in Italy, the lazy priests and 
 monks might be made useful, and in spite of themselves, 
 respectable. Then they might be employed in scraping 
 the roads and cracking stones, instead of scraping up the 
 worldly substance of the people, and trampling under foot 
 all liberal and enlightened sentiment. 
 
 Passing through that Triumphal Arch, close on the 
 right of the Temple of Jupiter, a few steps bring you to 
 the remains of the principal group of Public Baths of the 
 City. The ancients certainly seemed to understand the 
 virtues of cleanliness. Much time was lavished in the 
 frequenting of the public baths. No expense was spared 
 to make them not only architecturally an ornament to the 
 city ; but every convenience that -could be conceived of 
 in connection with the object to which they were dedicated, 
 might be found there. 
 
 The private houses of the Pompeians were small. The 
 house of Pansa perhaps was the largest in the city. They 
 
244 FOREigN ETCHtNGS. 
 
 usually consist of but one story, and rarely contain more 
 than three or four rooms. The houses in that division of 
 the City whicli terminates at the Street of Tombs, are of a 
 much more splendid description. The wealthiest of the 
 citizens seem to have resided here. Each mansion 
 encloses an open square court, with a marble bath or 
 fountain in the centre : the pavement either marble or 
 mosaic, surrounded by a colonnade, into which the doors 
 open.! The outer walls of the houses are generally painted 
 red : but those of the interior are much more varied in 
 their decoration. Small pictures representing all manner 
 of subjects, ornament the centre of the apartments; sur- 
 rounded by little borders, imitative sculpture, tiny columns, 
 and other devices oi the same description, all in fresco. 
 In the immediate vicinity of the mansion of Sallust, the 
 ghops and taverns are situated. They bear a striking 
 resemblance to Italian shops of the present day, being 
 entirely open in front, with the exception of a low wall 
 which forms a window-sill. Upon the white marble of 
 some of these shop-counters, circular stains may be die* 
 tinctly perceived, as if a cup or glass had here been care- 
 lessly set down; and in others large broken jars of terra 
 cotta were found, filled with oil in a jellied state. The 
 serpents painted on the walls of many of these houses 
 and shops, have been sometimes said to designate the 
 medical profession of the occupiers ; but better authorities 
 assure us they denote the protection these reptiles were 
 superstitiously supposed to afford to their health. 
 
 As you leave the excavations and stand upon the 
 elevated soil, heaped above the buried part of the City of 
 Pompeii, the view is perfectly enchanting. Before you in 
 Uie distaucc sweeps the spacious Bay, rocking gently iu 
 
POMPEII. 246 
 
 the light of an Italian sky, as it were azure and gold, 
 woven together and spread like a thin luminous gauze 
 over the trembling waves, which bathe the green margin 
 of the wooded hill. Yonder is the City of Naples, with 
 its castles and palaces ; and far out, at the entrance of the 
 Bay, the lofty promontories Sorrento and Misenum — 
 beyond which we can descry Ischia and Procida. There, 
 for several miles runs the fine range of wooded heights, 
 terminating in the rocky bluiF of Pozzuoli, and the low 
 winding shores of Baia, intermingled with green fields, 
 olive groves and vineyards. Here and there on the flash- 
 ing waters, white sails are glancing in the sunlight, or 
 diminishing to specks in the hazy distance — forming 
 altogether a scene of unrivalled interest and magnificence, 
 justifying those lines of Byron : 
 
 " Here Nature loved to trace 
 As if for god«, a dwelling place." 
 
 YZ 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 EXCURSION TO POZZUOLI AND BAIA. 
 
 The Grolto of Posilipo — Pozzuoli — The Temple of Serapis — The 
 Amphitheatre — The Solfatara — Cicero's Villa — Lake Avernus — 
 Misenum — The Tomb of Virgil. 
 
 Naples had not fairly roused itself into its wonted 
 restlessness and activity, when on a bright spring morning 
 we started for an excursion to the classic shores of Baia. 
 We rattled over the Chiaja, and by th6 Villa Reale, until 
 we came to where the mountain of Posilipo once shut 
 up the way between Naples and Pozzuoli, but which the 
 ancients with an engineering skilly th^t makes the modern 
 stare, have tunneled and bored through, forming the cele- 
 brated Grotto of Posilipo. Divers are the opinions of the 
 learned, touching the time and beginning of this great 
 work. It was attributed by the vulgar in ancient times, 
 to magical arts, and the credit of the enterprise they be- 
 stowed on no less a necromancer than Virgil, whose bones 
 are reported to rest on the hill above. But the enterprize 
 and wealth of that ancient Sybarite, Lucullus, no doubt 
 excavated Posilipo for the convenience of his villa. For 
 that magnificent Roman, who carved statues out of moun- 
 tains, opened gulfs of the sea to give water to his fish- 
 ponds, and ransacked continents to supply a single dish 
 for his table, would not have hesitated long about such a 
 work as this. The singular and wonderful passage is cut 
 through the mountain, a little over half a mile in length. 
 It is everywhere broad enough to permit two carriages to 
 
PozzuoLi. 247 
 
 pass. The road througli it is paved with flat flags of lava, 
 and lies on a considerable ascent from east to west. A 
 small apartment is cut into the rock about the centre of 
 the passage ; and a little chapel, also hewn in the rock, 
 stands near the entrance from Naples. Immediately over 
 this is located the tomb of Virgil : and above the grotto 
 is a vineyard. The height of this grotto is very unequal, 
 being low in the centre, and lofty at the extremities. 
 Daylight is always perceptible at each end, and two open- 
 ings are pierced in a slanting direction towards the sides 
 of the hill, and three lamps hang about the middle of the 
 roof, to assist in clearing up the darkness and obscurity 
 that even at mid-day envelop the grotto. But with all 
 these contrivances it is still a gloomy and disagreeable, 
 though extraordinary passage. On emerging from its 
 gloomy shades, we gratefully acknowledged the exhilarat- 
 ing influences of the sun, sky and air, and more ardently 
 admired the rich green of the vineyards on the shore, 
 and the sparkling waves af the Mediterranean flashing 
 back the sunlight. After leaving the grotto, and passing 
 thr<Migh the groves which. border it at this outlet, the road 
 descends to the beach, and continues to traverse its wind- 
 ings, until it reaches Pozzuoli, commanding a view of the 
 distant Cape of Sorrento, and the craggy summit of Caprea 
 to the left; with the bold promontory of Posilipo in the fore- 
 ground. Within a short distance of the shore is to be seen 
 the fortress of the Lazaretto, built on a small insulated 
 ro'ck : a little beyond is the small island of Nicida — the 
 favorite retreat of Brutus, rising steep and verdant from 
 the waves. And there stretching away to the right, is the 
 irregular shore of the Bay skirted by its fertile headlands 
 crowned with aloes and prickly pear, backed by the bright 
 
248 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 yellow and white hillocks that encompass the sulphurous 
 Solfatara; while ravishing glimpses are now and then 
 caught of the more distant romantic promontory of Baia, 
 proudly elevating its castellated cliff, with the lofty rugged 
 peak of Ischia rising behind : and the bright deep blue 
 expanse of waters in front, sparkling in the sunshine. 
 
 Pozzuoli, perched on a hill in the midst of the shore, is 
 now a mean and contemptible village enough : but it once 
 boasted of magnificence and splendor, which the sea, 
 wars, and earthquakes have continued to mar, until it 
 has become the miserable spot one now sees it. And there 
 extending far into the sea, may yet be discerned the moles 
 of the old Port — thirteen immense piles, which spring 
 out of the water, like square towers. When the ancient 
 bridge existed here, it extended itself into the sea, until 
 it reached the shore on the opposite side. Pozzuoli was 
 an ancient Grecian Colony. It passed into the power of the 
 Romans in the war with Hannibal; when its government 
 and liberty were taken from it, and a Prefect annually 
 sent from the Roman people to govern it. It then became 
 a favorite summer resort of the, more wealthy of the* Ro- 
 mans, who frequented it on account of its salubrity and 
 location. Murray says, " on entering Pozzuoli, the traveler 
 will be beset with ciceroni, and by pretended dealers in 
 antiquities'' — and certainly on our entrance we were 
 surrounded by a cloud of witnesses, in attestation of the 
 truth of this remark. Ancient lamps from Cumae — coins 
 with Caligula's image and superscription upon them — 
 lachrymal vessels from some ancient tomb, and any quan- 
 tity of smaller memorials of a race long since gone, were 
 thrust at us with fierce gesticulations, and earnest com- 
 mentaries upon their genuineness. J^ozzuoli has become a 
 
POzzuoLi. 249 
 
 great manufactory of antiquities f and every day, modem 
 skill with a little damp earth, transforms the things of 
 to-day into ^^ veritable antiques/* The streets of the 
 modern town are now forlorn enough, being narrow and 
 exceedingly filthy. What a difference it must haye pre- 
 sented, when the brave- Apostle of the Gentiles guarded 
 by the Centurian, stept forth upon that mole, whose ruins 
 may still be^seen just rising above the edge of the shore. 
 Then Puteoli was a city of palaces, adorned with all the 
 luxury and taste, which indicated its Grecian origin, and 
 thronged with a most wealthy and polished population. 
 
 It is at Pozzuoli one begins to find himself in what 
 Strabo calls, " the Piazza, and shop of Vulcan, where the 
 mountains seem continually to burn at the roots, so that 
 on all sides they emit smoke by many mouths, and the smell 
 of sulphur is blown all over the country." Here you find 
 still the hot and the mineral springs, which made in 
 ancient times, and still make this a favorite resort for 
 invalids. These springs are in great repute for internal 
 and external maladies, abounding in sulphur, magnesia, 
 and soda. Virgil calls these spots *'the breathing places 
 of Pluto," and Pliny designates then as "vents of the 
 infernal regions." 
 
 Among the ruins of this ancient city none are more in- 
 teresting and important than those of the Temple of Jupi- 
 ter Serapis. These ruins illustrate in a remarkable degree 
 the mysterious changes that are constantly going on in the 
 shifting soil of this volcanic region. Indeed, I doubt 
 whether any of it properly could be embraced within 
 Blackstone^s definition of real estate. This it must be 
 remembered, is the region where mountains spring up in a 
 single night like mushrooms — where the sea sometimes 
 shrinks afirighted from the shore^ and sometimes fearing 
 
250 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 nothing, boldly encroaches upon it, sweeping whole cities 
 to destruction. In. the fourth century of our era, this 
 old Temple, erected before the advent of our Saviour, 
 was abandoned by its worshippers, and in some sudden 
 convulsion of nature^ sank into the earth until the bases of 
 its columns were all beneath the surface. Eruption after 
 eruption poured down layer after layer of scoria, which 
 enveloped the sunken columns still more, until at last only 
 a small portion of the summits were above ground. 
 In process of time, even this part became covered 
 with trees and brush-wood. About the middle of the last 
 century, a portion of one of the columns was observed 
 peering above the brush-wood, and the reigning Sovereign 
 gave orders to have them disinterred, which revealed to 
 the astonished gaze, the magnificent ruins that now 
 excite the wonder of the traveler, and stimulate the curi- 
 osity of the naturalist. The columns are of Cipolino mar- 
 ble, of the Corinthian order, each formed of one solid 
 block for the shaft. The pavement of the Temple and its 
 surrounding Court is almost entire, though now nearly 
 covered with the waters of the sea, that reach up here 
 over its level platform. Around lie scattered blocks of 
 the purest and whitest marble, and fragments of Sculp- 
 ture, all of great elegance, which once adorned this 
 magnificent Temple. On the bases of these columns 
 may be observed myriads of perforations, that make them 
 look like a honey comb. These are holes eaten in the 
 solid marble by the teeth of sea-worms — and showing 
 that at one period in their history, they must have been 
 submerged beneath the wave. But another convulsion 
 sent them to the surface, for the bases of the pillars thus 
 eaten, are now above the soil. 
 
 The amphitheatre which rises behind and above the 
 
SOLFATARA. 251 
 
 town, is a vast enclosed oval area very similar to the Co- 
 losseum at Kome, and remarkable, as having been the 
 favorite spot where Nero exhibited his prowess as a com- 
 batant of wild beasts, not half as cruel as himself. 
 Within this grass-grown circle, he turned buflFoon and 
 appeared both as singer and actor. 
 
 "The hired actor's fame alone he prized; 
 
 For this he bow'd a slave, by slaves themselves despised." 
 
 Here too it is said, that worthy saint, St. Januarius, whose 
 blood annually liquifies at Naples, suffered martyrdom. 
 This amphitheatre, like that of Kome, has the floor of its 
 arena, filled with subterranean chambers, doubtless the 
 cells where the wild beasts were kept, and from which 
 they sprang into the arena. It presents some very fine 
 specimens of the Roman arch, and is in a most admirable 
 state of preservation — the masonry being as firm at this 
 day, as when first constructed. 
 
 From Pozzuoli, we proceeded to Solfatara, which lies 
 about a mile northeast of the town. We reached it after 
 a somewhat tedious ascent, and found it a vast oval plain, 
 extending on an eminence, but surrounded on all sides by 
 an elevated border, resembling a rampart. Nothing can 
 exceed the sterile desolation of this spot. It is the flooring 
 that now covers the crater of a volcano, which once poured 
 out its desolating stream of fire upon all the plain beneath. 
 Its surface is covered with the pale yellow sulphur, and 
 the noise of your footsteps sounds hollow and dismal 
 from beneath. 
 
 " No herbage decks the soil ; nor in the spring 
 Do the soft shrubs, with discord musical. 
 Hold murmuring converse with the gentle breeze, 
 But chaos there, and hopeless barrenness, 
 
252 rOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 Dark rocks, and funeral cypresses are found, 
 In this drear spot, grim Pluto from the ground, 
 Rear'd his dire form, while played around his head 
 With smouldering ashes strew'd, sepulchral fires." 
 
 Standing upon the sulphurous floor of Solfatara, and look- 
 ing round upon the desolation that encircles you, and 
 forward to where an open chasm still roars with internal 
 fires that send forth alternately flames and smoke, you 
 may well realize the features of Milton's infernal regions. 
 " The dreary plain, the land that hurned fiercely as the 
 Lake with liquid fire — the fiery 'deluge fed with ever 
 burning sulphur j' are all here. Solfatara^ is the place which 
 of old, was celebrated in those inventions of the ancient 
 poets, that in my school-boy days, I had read with such 
 wonder and delight. It was under this mountain the 
 Giants were buried, who from Hell, cast forth out of their 
 throats flames, when earthquake's shook the soil, 
 
 «Et monies, scopulos terrasque inverter© dorso." 
 
 When we visited this spot, the small opening of the vol- 
 cano was in active operation^ and while this continues, 
 Vesuvius remains quiet. But when the volcanic action 
 ceases here, then Vesuvius bursts forth. Hence it is called 
 the pulse of Vesuvius, and through its fierce beatings many 
 miles away, they learn When the fever heat begins to course 
 through the veins of the giant mountain, indicating that 
 soon the melting lava will overflow its crater, to carry 
 devastation and terror along its scorching pathway. The 
 ancient poets very naturally seized upon this wonderful 
 region as the appropriate scene for their lofty imaginations 
 and fancies; and it is not surprising that near here they 
 should have placed their entrance to the infernal realms. 
 We drove dowA from those desolate regions and conti- 
 
BAIA. 
 
 nued our journey towards Baia, passing the ruins of Cicero's 
 villa, perched high upon a rock. This is the Puteolian 
 villa, of which the orator speaks so rapturously in some of 
 his letters ; and fromi its location must have commanded 
 the most magnificent views of sea and shore. Hither 
 Cicero retired in the calamitous times of the republic, to 
 pass the time away and forget his misfortunes in his favo- 
 rite studies. And here the principal llomans repaired to 
 visit him and take counsel. Here he had those halls and 
 groves, which induced him to call his villa an Academy, 
 in imitation of that of Athens, wherein they ordinarily 
 disputed walking. He gave his " Questiones Academicae" 
 their name from this villa. It is to this place he alludes, 
 when writing to Atticus at Athens, he recommends his 
 Academy, and begs him " to send to him from Greece what- 
 ever could be had for ennobling it with fair ornaments." 
 
 About three miles distant from Pozzuoli, you reach 
 Baia, with the remains of villas, temples and palaces lining 
 the shores, and in some places with ruins visible far down 
 in the clear waters that lave them. The bay of Baia is 
 a semicircular recess just opposite the harbor of Pozzuoli. 
 The taste for building in the waters and encroaching on 
 the sea, to which Horace alludes, is exemplified in a very 
 striking manner all along this coast. Here might be 
 traced the remains of the villa of Hortensius, where 
 that luxurious Roman had his fair fish-pools, for which 
 Cicero taunting him, calls him '^Neptune, god of the sea." 
 It was in this villa the monster Nero put to death his own 
 mother, Agrippina. Within the space hemmed in by these 
 shores, C. Marius, Pompey and Caesar had their houses of 
 pleasure; and near the Temple of Venus, we traced the vast 
 foundations of the last named Roman's retreat. In the sea 
 w 
 
264 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 may be clearly seen the great old piles of the port of Baia^ 
 like those of Pozzuoli, built of brick at enormous expense. 
 They were constructed by Julius Caesar during his first 
 consulship, by commission of the Senate. Here in this 
 neighborhood, is the Lake Avernus, consecrated to Pluto, 
 god of hell. This was the scene of Virgil's famous en- 
 trance into hell, and here was the gate through which the 
 infernal spirits rose when a human creature was sacrificed to 
 them. On the opposite side of the Lake are the ruins of 
 the Temple of Apollo. But one would not certainly have 
 suspected that either Apollo or his priestess, would have 
 frequented this region surrounded by overshadowing hills. 
 The waters of the Lake look dark and stagnant, and at this 
 point, the scene is far more like the dismal dominions of 
 Pluto, than of the fabled deity of light and harmony. The 
 Lucrine Lake so celebrated in classic history, may still be 
 seen, though somewhat shorn of its proportions. Agrippa 
 when he formed a harbor of the Lucrine Lake, opened a 
 communication between it and the fabled Acheron. It 
 was in the year 1538, that near to the former Lake, much 
 to the astonishment of the inhabitants, in a single night, 
 rose that conical looking .mountain, called Monte Nuovo, 
 over a mile in elevation. At the sudden birth of this 
 mountain, the shore and the waters of the sea retired many 
 hundred feet — overwhelming an entire town, and filling 
 these old classic lakes with stones, earth and ashes. By 
 some of the ancient chroniclers the small mountain near it 
 was called Monte di Christo, they asserting that Christ, re- 
 turning from Hell with the souls of the Holy Fathers, arose 
 out of the earth, near this mountain; thus reviving the 
 old classic tradition of the entrance to Hell, being in 
 the vicinity of Lake Avernus. The Grotto of the Sybil 
 
ELY8IAN FIELDS. 255 
 
 is in close vicinity, but this we Lad no time to visit. 
 It was the residence of that famous Cumscn Sybil, that 
 gave Eneas the free passage into Hell : and she was one of 
 the twelve who uttered the prophecy concerning the 
 the Saviour, all of which no doubt was an after invention 
 of the Fathers. The prophecy is said to have been at 
 follows : — 
 
 "Great Rome shall then look high. 
 
 "Whose proud towers from seven hills shall brave the skjr, 
 
 And overlook the world. In those blest days 
 
 Shall come a King of Kings; and he shall raise 
 
 A new Plantation: and though greater far 
 
 Than all the monarchs that before him are 
 
 In majesty and power; yet in that day 
 
 So meek and humble, he shall deign to pay 
 
 Tribute to Csesar; yet thrice happy he 
 
 That shall his subject or his servant be.*' 
 
 From Baia to Misenum, the entire curve of the beau- 
 tiful shore is covered with the ruins of edifices, private and 
 public, temples, theatres, and villas — while the ground 
 you tread has been celebrated by poets, the chosen resi- 
 dence of patriots and tyrants, and the scene of the most 
 atrocious crimes. 
 
 But let no one who does not desire to have all his clas- 
 sical ideas subverted, visit the site of the Elysian fields. 
 It is a forlorn looking spot, affording no trace of the 
 reason of the ancients in locating those blessed fields in 
 this vicinity. Well does a classical writer remark in re- 
 ference to these grounds : " In the splendor of a Neapo- 
 litan firmament, the tourist will seek in vain for that pui-ple 
 light so delightful to his boyish fancy — he will look to no 
 purpose for meadows ever green, rills always full, and 
 banks and hillocks of downy moss." The morning we 
 
256 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 were there had no resemblance to some of the days of our 
 uncongenial spring : the sun shone brightly in the heaven?, 
 the waters of the bay sparkled under its beams, and the air 
 was soft, though towards mid-day somewhat warm. And 
 near this, is the Promontory of Misenum, so celebrated in 
 Roman naval history. It was here Eneas gave sepulture 
 to his dead trumpeter Misenus, and called the place after 
 his name. The Piscina Mirabilis, still enclosed by walls, 
 is some five hundred feet long, and two hundred broad. 
 The arched ceiling was once supported upon forty -eight 
 columns, many of which remain. The whole fabric is 
 composed of brick, and the walls being of great thickness 
 render it very durable. It is covered on the inside with 
 cement to make it water tight : and this huge structure, 
 the magnificent Augustus built to hold fresh water for the 
 use of his fleet. It was at Misenum the elder Pliny was 
 stationed in command of the fleet, and from it he started in 
 his ship, to afibrd assistance to the Pompeians, at the time 
 of the eruption that laid their city under ashes, when he 
 perished himself by suS'ocation, as his nephew relates in 
 his interesting letter to Tacitus the historian. Many of 
 the sepulchral stones about Misenum bear the names of 
 the ofiicers and soldiers that once belonged to the Roman 
 fleets that so often rode at anchor here, together with the 
 names of the ships to which they were attached. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon, when retracing our steps 
 by the curved shore, washed by the serenely beautiful 
 waters of the Mediterranean, wo passed once more through 
 the far-famed grotto of Posilipo, and prepared to perform 
 the pious duty of visiting the Tomb of Virgil. The Hill 
 was almost as hard to climb, as the Poet thought the ascent 
 from Avernus. After the fatiguing part of the ascent was 
 
virqil's tomb. 257 
 
 passed, we wound through vineyards until we reached in & 
 wild and romantic spot, the place where the tomb ia located. 
 Outside, the structure is circular; inside, it is a square 
 empty chamber, with a vaulted top, and numerous small 
 receptacles on the sides for cinerary urns. Its centre is 
 said to have contained nine marble pillars, supporting an 
 urn with the following inscription, 
 
 "Mantua me genuit, Calabri rapuere, tenet nunc 
 Parlhenopej cecini pascua, rura, duces." 
 
 The urn is gone, not a name appears : but from the 
 hand of ever bounteous nature, an evergreen stretches 
 its verdant arms above it, and a profusion of vegetation, 
 gives somewhat of the freshness of spring, to this symbol 
 of decay. 
 
 We are told that Virgil traveling in Greece, met Augus- 
 tus at Athens, who proposed his journeying with him. 
 But at Megara, the poet was seized with a complaint 
 which forced him to return to Brundusium, where he died. 
 His remains were at his own request brought to Naples, 
 and buried on this hill. It is certainly a spot, which a 
 poet would have chosen — and perhaps the richness of the 
 clustering grapes and the carols of the vintage, conjoined 
 to the enrapturing prospect that everywhere bursts upon 
 the eye, may have often led his living footsteps to this 
 magnificent hill. The spot where the tomb stands is soli- 
 tary : but surrounded by all that poets love — the wild 
 roar of the ocean, or its magic murmur — the lofty Appe- 
 nines in the distance — Vesuvius, towering in lonely 
 majesty, its black and burning summit, contrasting with 
 the vineyards, palaces and villages, that crowd around itj 
 foot. In the same vineyard, and not far from this monii- 
 W2 
 
25S FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 ment; are two or three simple tomb stones, the last homes 
 of the English and German Protestants who have died 
 at Naples. 
 
 As we returned to Naples, the broad way that passed 
 the Villa Reale, and the shady walks of this pleasant gar- 
 den by the sea, were alive with all the fashion and gaiety 
 of the city. Dashing equipages with rich liveries whirled 
 by us, mingled here and there with the more humble 
 calessiy — the drivers standing behind, and urging their 
 lean and panting horses at a breakneck pace. There too 
 were the temporary stages on which the wit of that illus- 
 trious native of Naples, Punch, is displayed^ surrounded 
 with characteristic groups. In many respects Neapolitan 
 life, both out doors and in, resembles Parisian. The Nea- 
 politans have the same thoughtless vivacity, the same 
 jocund disposition. Fond to excess of trifling amusements, 
 the gay creatures pass through life, with the hilarity and 
 carelessness of children. They flourish in youth and 
 wither in age, without a thought beyond the hour. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 TKCE CIX^Z' ODP THE C-S3S^A.I^S- 
 
 Approach to Rome — View from the Capitol — The Seven IlilU — 
 The Roman Forum, and its Ruins. 
 
 From the first moment of entering Italy, our thongbtjiy 
 
 our wishes, and our hopes all centered in Rome, Ihere 
 
 is something indeseribably gukmn in the wildness and 
 
 neglected condition of the approach towards that city 
 
 at any point ; something which strikes the traveler with 
 
 double awe as he comes near this oasis of the deserts 
 
 Enter it on the road from Naples, and the desolation 
 
 is still more profound. Then, the fragments of the 
 
 costly tombs of the once rulers of the world, fling their 
 
 shadows across your pathway, and you pass in to the 
 
 Eternal City with the ruined fragments of the palace of 
 
 the Csesars around you — the stern and kingly mass of the 
 
 Colosseum, rising like a spectre of the past before you : 
 
 and close to it, the Forum, strewed with the memorials of 
 
 architectural grandeur; 
 
 " Those shattered fanes 
 Still matchless monuments of other years." 
 
 Our first approach to the city was by the Civita Vecchia 
 road, and we entered it near the grand Basilica of St. Peters. 
 Its huge dome had been visible for the last twelve miles, 
 towering up in solitary grandeur : and as we drove by the 
 semicircular colonnade, enclosing its oval piazza, the first 
 view of the entire structure was by no means commensurate 
 with our preconceived ideas of its extent. Nor was our first 
 
260 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 impression of the Eternal City very favorable^ as our dili- 
 gence dashed along through narrow and filthy streets, af" 
 fording us glimpses every now and then of bridges, orna- 
 mented with statues, sombre looking cupolas, or strange 
 barrack-like buildiDgs. I had not made a pilgrimage to the 
 Eternal City, to view the churches with their resplendent 
 altars, their gorgeous ceremonies and magnificent rituals ; 
 to witness how far the present generation with all the 
 light of Christianity^ has deviated from the greatness and 
 glory of the olden time : but I went there to gratify the 
 cravings of a more laudable curiosity, to see the memo- 
 rials of the world's masters : to stand in the midst, and 
 trace out the ruins of ancient Rome, 
 
 " The land of heroes, and the nurse of arms." 
 
 Modern Eome does not occupy either the extent or the 
 site of the ancient city. The Campus Marti us, which, in 
 the days of the greatness of ancient Rome, was an open 
 field for military exercises and games^ is now the only part 
 within the walls that can be called populous. Of the 
 Seven Hills, the Capitoline and Quirinal only are covered 
 with habitations. Deserted villas, olive grounds, vineyards, 
 cottages of the peasantry, and above all, convents, occupy 
 the wide extent of the Palatine, Aventine, Celian, Esqui- 
 line and Viminal hills. 
 
 Standing upon the Tower of the modern Capitol, which 
 now occupies the site of the Tabularium, or Record office 
 of ancient Rome, and stands like "a Pharos/' between 
 two ages of the world ; a most interesting view spreads 
 out before you. From this point you can readily discover 
 the ancient grandeur of Rome, and its modern strength. 
 In the view is united in a remarkable degree the charm 
 
VIEW FROM THE CAPITOL. 261 
 
 • 
 of a magnificent landscape with that which springs from 
 
 historic association. Through the cloudless and transpa- 
 rent atmosphere, a large part of the Latian plain is visible. 
 Its luxuriant pasturages and thickets fade away on ono 
 side into the faint line of the distant sea, and rise on the 
 other into the stately amphitheatre of the mountains, steep 
 and lofty — studded on their verdant slopes with towns and 
 villages; and towards their more southern extremify clothed 
 with beautiful woods. The Tiber, stained to a deep yellow 
 by the fertilizing soil, which it has washed away from its 
 banks, after entering the Umbrian and Etruscan vales, 
 glitters like a belt of gold along the plain, in the sunshine 
 which irradiates with Italian clearness, the sward, the 
 scattered trees, and the shadowy hills. In the distance 
 are spots hallowed by their classic memories. There may 
 be seen Tivoli, the favorite haunt of the poet Horace — 
 there, too, is the Alban Mount, bearing upon one of its 
 ridges, the ruins of ancient Tusculum, consecrated in the 
 thoughts of the classic scholar, as having been the favorite 
 retreat of Rome's greatest orator, and the sceine of his 
 Tusculan disputations. Towards the south-east stretches 
 the long line of the Appian way, and its ruined tombs, — 
 that highway, whose worn stones are the same as those 
 pressed by the great Apostle, when he approached the city, 
 where he was to die, accompanied by the brethren "who 
 had gone out to meet him as far as the Apii Forum, and 
 the Three Taverns." To the south-west stretches in elo- 
 qaent desolation the Campagna, as far as Ostia and the sea. 
 History has consecrated this mighty waste by the memory 
 of noble deeds — Imagination has hallowed it by the spell 
 of poetry, and Superstition with her most graceful fanta- 
 sies. Rome, in her infant greatness, filled that vast plain 
 
262 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 with her shadow; making it the bloody stage on which 
 to practice for the subjugation of a world. 
 
 Bringing from our position, the eye back again to range 
 within the walls, we can easily trace out the seven hills on 
 which the Imperial City once stood, when it gave laws to 
 a subject world. On the north and west of our position, 
 immediately beyond the Tiber, the view within the city is 
 bounded by the Janiculum Mount, and Monte Mario, 
 crested with villas, and embosomed amongst pines and 
 other evergreens. The former of these elevations on the 
 opposite side of the river, and the Pincian Mount on the 
 nearer bank, form a semicircle, of which our position on 
 the Capitoline Tower is the centre : and this area includes 
 almost the whole of the modern city, the greater part of 
 which lies between us and the water's edge, covering the 
 flat surface of what in the days of ancient Eome was the 
 Campus Martius. 
 
 The ancient city of the seven hills, beginning with the 
 Capitoline Mount, in the midst of whose modern buildings 
 we are standing, is nearly all* contained in the remaining 
 semicircle enclosed by the city walls. Now, every spot 
 once covered by the ancient city is a waste, almost without 
 inhabitant. Piles of shattered architecture rise amidst 
 vineyards and rural lanes, exhibiting no tokens of habita- 
 tion, except some decayed and decaying villas and a convent. 
 Facing the Campagna, on our right is the Palatine Mount. 
 It is the spot connected with every period of Roman story. 
 It was the birth-place of the infant republic of Eomulus ; 
 and at last became too small to hold the palace of a single 
 emperor. Still farther to the right, and almost behind 
 you is the rocky Aventine, rising from the Tiber,* bare 
 and almost solitary, and displaying the shattered fragmenti 
 
THE SEVEN HILLS. 263 
 
 of the stupendous baths of Caracalla. A little beyond the 
 Palatine is the Celian, with the remains of Roman aque- 
 ducts, crossing in broken masses from the Porta Waggiore, 
 towards the site of the ancient city. Directly before us, 
 in the distance, is the Esquiline, commencing at the point 
 where the Celian ends, near the gate of St. John Lateran, 
 and running down with it to the Colisseum ; and there a 
 little to the left of the Esquiline, are the Quirinal and 
 Pincian hills — the immense palace and gardens of the 
 Pontiff crowning the one, and the modern gardens of Rome 
 the other. 
 
 Descending from our position on the Tower of the Capitol, 
 let us visit the open space below, where fragments of co- 
 lumns, triumphal arches, and broken pavements, tell that 
 here once stood the pride of Rome, the Roman Forum. 
 This space, so celebrated in the world's history, in its 
 palmiest days appears to have been an oblong area, consi- 
 derably wider at the end nearest the Capitol; than at the 
 other, narrowing from one hundred and eighty to one hun- 
 dred and ten feet. The Capitoline Hill is at its head, the 
 Palatine hemming it in on one side, the extremities of the 
 Quirinal and Viminal on the other; while the Esquiline, 
 rears itself directly opposite to the Capitoline — so that, 
 in reality, the Forum was hemmed in by five of the seven 
 hills on which Rome stood. If we look now to the boun- 
 daries of this celebrated space, the prospect is mournful 
 enough. At one end we have the Capitoline Hill, on tho 
 summit of which, instead of the Temple of Jupiter, the 
 wonder of the world, is the gloomy looking palace of the 
 modern Capitol, erected in the heavy style of Michael 
 Angelo. Turning to the right is the Palatine Hill, once 
 glittering with the brazen tiles and gilded pinnacles of 
 Nero's Golden House: now covered with the vast niins of 
 
264 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 of this immense structure, together with the ungainly 
 buildings of a convent, and the weeds of its neglected 
 garden. On your left is a range of churches, formed out 
 of ancient temples ; while in front you discern the pictur- 
 esque Arch of Titus, still spanning "the Sacred Way,'' 
 while the kingly mass of the Colisseum lifts itself in air 
 with its broken summit, in the distance beyond. 
 
 The high ground on the Capitoline Hill, at the head of 
 the Forum, is now almost encased on the side next the 
 Forum, with ancient and massive masonry, that cnce 
 formed part of the Tabularium or Record office during the 
 time of the Roman republic, and is the strong founda- 
 tion upon 'which the modern Capitol now rests. A few 
 feet from these ancient foundations, reared in part by Etrus- 
 can skill, and within the enclosure at the foot of the mo- 
 dern Capitol — a mound of earth, strewn with fragments of 
 parti-colored marbles, with a ftw fcot-worn steps clinging 
 to its side, marks the site of the Temple of Concord. 
 This terraced substruction is now all that remains of that 
 temple erected by Camillus, on the spot where the Romans 
 and Quirites were wont to assemble in fulfilment of a vow 
 made when the victorious Dictator had succeeded in restor- 
 ing unanimity between the patricians and plebeians. But 
 what renders this ruin of such deep interest, is, that it 
 it has recently been ascertained through the researches of 
 Canina, that directly behind it, was the great Senate Hall, 
 where ''the Conscript Fathers" held their sittings, and took 
 counsel for the good of the State. And that pavement of 
 parti-colored marbles once formed the mosaic floor of 
 Rome's great Senate Hall. It was in this Hall, Cicero 
 opened his. first great oration against Catalinc with that 
 stirring, heart-searching exordium, " How far wilt thou, 
 CataliuC; abuse our patience ! Huw long shult thy madness 
 
THE FORUM. 265 
 
 out-brave our justice ! To what extremities art thou 
 resolved to push thy unbridled insolence- of guilt V And 
 it was to where the church of Ara Cacli now stands upon 
 the hill above, that he turned his hands and eyes, when 
 he closed with that sublime peroration : ^^ Then, thou, O 
 Jove, whose name Romulus consecrated by the same 
 rites, with which he founded this city ! Thou, whom 
 we rightly call the stay of the Empire ! Thou shalt 
 repel Cataline and his accomplices from thy altars ; from 
 the temples of the other gods; from the walls of Rome; 
 from the lives and properties of our citizens. Then shall 
 thy eternal vengeance, in life, as in death, overtake all the 
 foes of the virtuous; all the enemies of the country; all 
 the robbers of Italy; and all who are linked in the mutual 
 bands of treason, and execrable conspiracy/' In close 
 proximity to this terraced substruction, which is all that 
 remains of the Temple of Concord, and Rome's famed 
 Senate Hall ; stand three time-worn pillars, beautiful in 
 their decay, supporting the fragment of an entablature. 
 It is the graceful ruin of the Portico, that once belonged 
 to the small but beautiful Temple erected by a grateful 
 Senate, to the deified Emperor Vespasian. This for a long 
 time passed as the Temple of Jupiter Tonans, but the 
 researches of Canina and other antiquarians have proved 
 them beyond a doubt to belong to the temple erected to 
 Vespasian, This temple was restored by S. Severus, and 
 Caracalla; and you may still read upon the frieze, the letters 
 Estitver, The lateral frieze of the portico, bears sculp- 
 tured emblematical figures, most of them representations 
 of ornaments connected with pagan sacrifices, such as the 
 cap which the Flamen Dialis wore; the secespita or iron 
 knife with the ivory handle used by the same priest; the 
 
266 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 capedunculuSf or dish for catching the blood of the sacri- 
 fice; and the aspersorium, or instrument for sprinkling 
 the lustral water. Each column consists of one block of 
 Greek marble, fluted, with capitals richly ornamented in 
 the most beautiful style of the Corinthian order. 
 
 Those eight columns of oriental granite, a little to the 
 right of the fragment of the portico of Vespasian's temple, 
 supporting an entablature of rare architectural beauty, and 
 on which parts of a Roman inscription may still be read, 
 are the columns that once supported the brazen roof of 
 the Ionic portico of the Temple of Saturn. When Publi- 
 cola, the colleague of Brutus, doubted where he should 
 deposite the treasures of the state, he at last selected for 
 the purpose this very temple. It was upon its marble steps, 
 the victorious generals on a return from a campaign, were 
 obliged to take a solemn oath that they had given a true 
 account of their captives, and the value of their spoils. 
 It was past these very columns, that the far-famed "Sacra 
 Via" led up to the Capitol — and they have witnessed many 
 a triumphal procession, bearing amid^the plaudits of throng- 
 ing crowds, the laureled conqueror to the temple of Jupiter, 
 on one of the eminences of the Capitoline Hill above. On 
 the architrave may be distinctly read, 
 
 "Senatvs Populusque Romanvs. 
 Incendio comsumptum. Restivit." 
 
 Scarcely anything remains above the architrave. All that 
 exists is of the Roman flat brick : and there are arches 
 over the intercolumniations. When this temple was res- 
 tored, after its damage by fire, it was evidently done in 
 great haste, and with the materials of other structures. 
 The columns themselves bear plain marks of it. One of 
 them has evidently been made up of the fragments of two 
 
THE FORUM. 267 
 
 different pillars, so that the diameter is greater near the sum- 
 mit than it is in the middle, and the bases of the two co- 
 lumns are composed of Doric and Ionic mixed. Between 
 these eight columns of the Temple of Saturn, and the Etrus- 
 can foundations, on which the modern Capitol now rests, 
 may be noticed a platform elaborately built of the wide 
 and flat Roman brick, and resting on a series of small 
 chambers. Around are scattered fragments of carved capi- 
 tals, broken friezes, and mutilated entablatures. That 
 platform was once pressed by the busy feet of the mer- 
 chants of Rome, and here in front of the great Record- 
 office or Tabularium of the Republic, was the Roman ex- 
 change, the Schola Xantha. Here was that famous brazen 
 statue of Victory; here the brazen seats, and the seven 
 silver statues of the gods. Those small cell-like chambers 
 were the offices of the notaries. 
 
 Passing down from the Schola Xantha, by the remains of 
 the Temple of Saturn, then, turning to the left and pursuing 
 your way until you are in a direct line with the remains of 
 the Temple of Concord, the Arch of Septimius Severus is 
 seen spanning the way. It looks as if it had been thrust 
 in where it stands, because no other place for it could be 
 found; and no doubt this is so. It certainly at one time 
 stood spanning the way in some other part of the Forum. 
 The sculptures decorating it, are rude and tasteless. They 
 are intended to show forth the victories of the valiant 
 Emperor, whose name the arch bears, over the Parthians, 
 Arabians, and Adiabenes. On its level summit, now wav- 
 ing with grass and weeds originally stood a group in bronze, 
 representing Severus with his sons Caracalla and Geta, in 
 a triumphal chariot drawn by six horses. This massive 
 structure, at the commencement of the century was choked 
 
268 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 up to the top of the middle arch. A potter had established 
 his workshop in it, and that accounts for the smoke-stains 
 to be seen covering the summit. 
 
 Near to this arch, is to be seen a sort of semi-circular 
 substruction; this once belonged to the celebrated plat- 
 forms called from their being adorned with the beaks of 
 captured ships, Kostra, a name afterwards applied to all 
 platforms from which public addresses were made. The 
 outer walls of these platforms may still be traced, and 
 those blocks of white marble crowned by elaborate cor- 
 nices, once no doubt supported the splendid bronze balus- 
 trade, mentioned by Cicero, which with the pillars and 
 statues placed round, must have given a brilliant finish 
 to the whole. Standing upon this ruin, and looking 
 up to the elevation just above^ where rest the frag- 
 ments of the Temple of Concord — the old pavement with 
 its broad stones is still plainly visible descending to 
 the Rostrum, along which Cicero, rushing from the 
 Senate House, to this very platform where we are now 
 standing, made his eloquent appeal to the people in the 
 Forum, against Cataline. At each extremity of this 
 terraced substruction a close examination, reveals the base- 
 ment of a column faced still with portions of white marble; 
 it is the remains of the Umbilicus Romae, which at this 
 point marked the centre of the city, and of that portion 
 of the world over which she ruled. 
 
 These are all the relics of ancient Rome that remain in 
 the space walled in, at the foot of the modern Capitol. 
 But passing out of this enclosed space, descending across 
 the Bridge that spans the hollow near the Arch of 
 Severus, and facing where the Arch of Titus spans the 
 way in the distance, we have before us the remaining por- 
 
THE FORUM. 269 
 
 tion of the now desolate district, where once was the 
 celebrated Roman Forum. Drawing a line in this direc- 
 tion, from the point where we are standing, the Arch of 
 of Severus, to the Church della Consolazione, and from the 
 same Arch to the Temple of Antoninus and Faustina; we 
 shall have some notion of the length and breadth of the 
 Roman Forum. The Greek Forums were squares — but 
 the Roman were all oblong, the breadth being about 
 two-thirds of the entire length. Taking the boundaries 
 given above, and it makes the. length of the Roman Forum 
 seven hundred and 'five feet, and its breadth about four 
 hundred and seventy. This being the space occupied by the 
 Forum, it never could possibly have held at any one time 
 half the structures that antiquarians have assigned to it. 
 But still it must once have presented a most imposing 
 spectacle with Curiae, Rostra, and magnificent Basilicse. 
 The Via Sacra, entered the Forum near the Temple of 
 Antoninus and Faustina, passing as it is supposed under 
 the old Arch of Fabius, of which Cicero makes mention, 
 and that must have spanned the way on a line with 
 the' north eastern angle of this temple. It is melan- 
 choly to reflect, how few fragments now remain of all the 
 magnificence that must have been embraced within the 
 limits of this the chief of the Forums in Rome, and of 
 which the statues, portions of entablatures, and richly 
 ornamented friezes, now stored in the Capitoline and 
 Vatican Museums, give ample evidence. 
 
 Standing by the Arch of Severus, before you a little 
 to the right, you see the isolated Corinthian Pillar de- 
 scribed by Byron, as 
 
 ** The nameless column with the buried base/' 
 
 x2 
 
270 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 but now the base is all exposed. The Duchess of Devon- 
 shire has the merit of having had an excavation made 
 round it^ some forty years ago, at which time an inscrip- 
 tion was discovered on it, setting forth that it was erected 
 in 608 to the Emperor Phocas, by Smaragdus, Ex-arch of 
 Italy, and that a gilt statue of Phocas once ornamented 
 the summit. This Pillar is Corinthian of Greek marble, 
 and fluted. It stands upon a pyramid of eleven steps, 
 and is clearly much older than the time of Phocas, having 
 been taken from some ancient temple which it once 
 adorned. A little beyond this column, towards the Pala- 
 tine Hill, a deep excavation reveals the scattered fragments 
 of a marble pavement, while mutilated capitals, and crum- 
 bling* architraves disclose an architectural splendor, long 
 since passed away. Here once stood the celebrated Basilica 
 erected by Julius Caesar, enlarged and completed by Augus- 
 tus. This was once and long, the far-famed seat of the Cen- 
 tumviral Courts, that from four different tribunals dispensed 
 justice at one and the same time to the thronging suitors. 
 Cicero delivered here that eloquent appeal in behalf of 
 Sextius Roscius, accused of the murder of his father. 
 But the locality possesses a greater interest from the fact, 
 that it has lately been ascertained, it covers the very 
 spot once occupied as the Comitium, the place for the 
 public assembly of the Patricians. It was here that 
 the old Senators who had been Consuls and Censors, had 
 won triumphs, and grown grey in the country's service, 
 when the Gauls approached, devoted themselves to destruc- 
 tion. It was here they ordered their ivory curule chairs 
 to be set — and here when the invading barbarians reached 
 the Forum, they turned and beheld these venerable men, 
 sitting like so many gods descended from heaven to protect 
 
THE FORUM. 271 
 
 and defend the city. Upon this venerable array they 
 gazed with silent awe, until a barbarian more daring than 
 the rest^ ventured to stroke the long silvery beard of M. 
 Papirius, and received a blow from the ivory staff of 
 the old hero; whereupon the barbarian in wrath slew him, 
 and this first sword stroke, gave the signal for a general 
 slaughter. 
 
 A little beyond the site of the Basilica Julia, are three 
 solitary columns, close to the Palatine, and marking the 
 limit of the south-east boundary of the Forum. These 
 pillars, as well as the fragment of the architrave and 
 cornice supported by them, are among the most beautiful 
 architectural remains of ancient Rome. These pillars 
 have in truth been a perfect stumbling block to anti- 
 quaries, no less than twenty names having already been 
 bestowed on them. It is now established beyond a 
 question, that they belong to the portico of the Temple of 
 Castor and Pollux, erected by Tiberius. Among all, 
 Time has spared of Imperial. Rome, nothing gives one so 
 exalted an idea of the perfection and beauty of ancient 
 architecture as these three pillars. The ornaments of 
 the capitals and entablature are as rich and elegant, as 
 they are pure and graceful. They are of white marble, 
 of the purest Corinthian, and the largest fluted columns 
 in Rome. Considerable force appears to have been used 
 in order to destroy this temple, as it is clear to be seen, 
 that some of the blocks composing the shafts, have re- 
 ceived a violent wrench, so as to force them out of their 
 places, and thus destroy the continuity of their fluting. It 
 must have been somewhere near the spot where this temple 
 stood, were collected the waters of Lake Juturna in whose 
 depths the twin brethren disappeared after bringing the 
 
272 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 news of the defeat of the Latins, with such supernatural 
 speed. Not far from it, must have been the Yelabrian 
 Marsh, into which Quintius Curtius leaped, devoting him- 
 self a sacrifice to his country. Of the Lake and the 
 Marsh there are now no traces in the Forum : but a spring 
 bursts forth near the Cloaca Maxima, considerably beyond 
 the Roman and even of the Boarian Forum, which still 
 goes by the classic name of Juturna. 
 
 On the opposite side of the Forum, almost in a direct 
 line, are the fragments of the Portico, belonging to the 
 Temple of Antoninus and Faustina his wife. The line 
 thus drawn, forms the extreme southern limit of the 
 Forum, extending from the base of the Capitoline Hill. 
 This temple was converted into the Church of S. Lorenzo 
 in Miranda. The inscription upon the frieze still remains : 
 
 " Divo Antonino. Et. 
 Divae Faustinaae. Ex. S. C." 
 
 A considerable portion of the ancient building is preserved; 
 but the principal part is the Portico of ten columns, six 
 in front and two on each side. They are Corinthian, and 
 of the marble which is called Cippolino by the Italians, 
 from its laminar composition resembling onions. All the 
 cornice of the front has disappeared, as have the shafts of 
 the pilasters at the sides; but some ornaments in the 
 frieze, consisting of griffins and candelabra are still tole- 
 rably perfect. 
 
 A little removed from the central line of the Forum, 
 and directly under the Palatine Hill, stands the little 
 Church of Saint Theodore. It occupies the substructions 
 of the Temple of Romulus, which stood nearly at the end 
 of the Forum, on the very spot where the twin brothers 
 were nursed by the wolf. When paganism threw open 
 the brazen doors of this temple, the weak and sickly 
 
THE FORUM. 
 
 273 
 
 children of the Romans were brought here to bo cured — 
 and the same practice still prevails in the Christian Church 
 of Saint Theodore. It was probably along the middle of 
 this Forum, the shops of artizans and inerchants were 
 erected in the days of its glory — or perhaps might have 
 been constructed along the sides, after the manner of 
 of the Palais Royal, or St. Mark's Place at Venice. It 
 was somewhere near the centre pf the open space of the 
 Forum, that tradition assigns as the spot, where Virginius 
 saved his daughter from *' the nameless evil that passeth 
 taunt and blow,'^ when 
 
 " Lifting high the steel, he smote her in the side, 
 And in her blood, she sank to earth and with one sob she died. 
 ******* 
 Then, for a little moment, all people held their breath, 
 And through the crowded Forum was stillness as of death ; 
 And in another moment brake forth from one and all 
 A cry, as if the Volscians were coming o'er the wall. 
 Some with averted /aces shrieking fled home amain, 
 Some ran to call a leech; and some to lift the slain ; 
 Some felt her lips and little wrist ; if life might there be found : 
 And some tore up their garments fast and strove to staunch the 
 
 wound. 
 In vain they ran, and fiflt and staunched : for never truer blow 
 That good right arm had dealt in tight against the Volscian foe." 
 
 We have now examined all the ruins that remain to 
 tell of the magnificence of this once celebrated spot. These 
 are all the relics of a past age now to be seen in the space 
 once occupied as the Roman Forum. And when one 
 gazes on its circumscribed limits, and remembers what in 
 the long course of ages has passed within its confines, he 
 feels that he stands upon one of the most interestiug spots 
 in the world. If one could wish to meditate and moralize 
 upon the vicissitudes of human greatness, it certainly 
 would be here. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WANDERINGS AMONG ROMAN RUINS. 
 
 The Arch of Titus — The Colosseum — The Meta Sudans — Arch of 
 Conslantine — Ruins of Nero's Golden House — Baths of Cara- 
 calla — Bdths of Titus — Temple of Minerva Medica — Baths of 
 Diocletian — Forum Boarium — Arch of Janus — Forum of Nerva 
 — Trajan's Forum — Column of Trajan — Temple of Vesta. 
 
 Passing beyond the limits of the Roman Forum, a few 
 steps from its southern line, and on your left as you ap- 
 proach the Arch of Titus — massive fragments of walls — 
 broken columns, and sculptured cornices, lie scattered about 
 in all directions. Above these shattered relics, three 
 huge arches seventy -five feet in the span each, darken the 
 earth with their shadow. These colossal arches have long 
 served as a model to architects for all the larger Churches 
 in Rome. They passed for a long period, and by some 
 are -Still called the Ruins of the Temple of Peace; but 
 they are the last remains of the Basilica erected by Max- 
 entius, completed and partially rebuilt by Constaniine, 
 and now called the Basilica of Constantino. A small por- 
 tion of the original building only remains; but these 
 parts of it are on a prodigious scale. If one would form 
 a perfect conception of the original splendor of this struc- 
 ture, let him go and view the vast and elegant proportions of 
 the column that stands in front of the Church of St. Maria 
 Maggiore. It once formed one of the eight pillars which' 
 supported the central arches of this ancient Basilica. 
 Canina calculates the entire length of this Temple or Ba- 
 silica, to have been over three hundred feet, while its 
 width exceeded two hundred. It once no doubt was the 
 
THE ARCH OF TITUS. 275 
 
 most magnificent structure of the age in which it was 
 reared. But now, with its bosom thrown open to the 
 winds, it gathers in its deep coflfers the driving dust and 
 chaflf — while the sparrow and the linnet nestle in the 
 spring of its tremendous arches. 
 
 Continuing on, along the Sacra Via, that passes by 
 this Basilica, . in a few moments you find yourself be- 
 neath the Arch of Titus. It stands at the foot of the 
 Palatine Hill, on the road leading from the Forum to the 
 Colosseum. It was just falling to ruin, when in the 
 beginning of this century an outside casing of white mar- 
 ble restored it to its original proportions, and has been the 
 means of preserving the interior of the Arch, and the in- 
 teresting sculptures that adorn it. This Arch was erected 
 by the Senate and People of Rome, to commemorate the 
 triumph which followed the taking of Jerusalem by Titus. 
 You read the old Koman inscription, 
 
 "Senatus Popvlusqve Rom-anvs 
 
 Divo Tito. Divi Vespasiani F. 
 
 ^Vespasiano Augusto." 
 
 as distinctly as if it had been only carved yesterday. 
 From the expression Divo Tito, it appears that it was not 
 erected until after his death, which the apotheosis of the 
 Emperor, still represented on the roof of the arch would 
 also seem to indicate. The inside of the arch is elabo- 
 rately decorated with sunk square pannelings. On one of 
 the interior walls is a bas-relief, representing this Emperor 
 celebrating his triumph over the Jews. He is in a chariot 
 drawn by four horses abreast, attended by a group of Se- 
 nators, and accompanied by a figure of Victory, who holds 
 a wreath over his head. On the opposite side of the Arch, 
 are the famous reliefs, representing the sacred vessels 
 
276 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 taken from the Temple of Jerusalem, and carried in the 
 triumphal procession by the victorious Romans. First is 
 a standard bearer leading the way under a triumphal arch. 
 Eight Romans follow, with wreaths around their brows, 
 bearing the table of the shew bread — the golden candle- 
 stick, the vessel of incense, and the two trumpets, used to 
 proclaim the year of jubilee. The seven-branched candle- 
 stick, is represented as very richly embossed. Judging 
 from the size of the men, this candlestick must have been 
 some six feet in height. The lower parts of the human 
 figures are very much mutilated and defaced, but the 
 upper parts are in a wonderful state of preservation. The 
 sacred vessels themselves, from which the ancient artist 
 copied these interesting reliefs, have long since disappeared. 
 Their history can be traced down to a late period ; but 
 what finally became of them, perhaps can never be satis- 
 factorily ascertained. Josephus says, that the Books of 
 the Law, were placed in the Palace at Rome, and the can- 
 dlestick and other spoils were kept in the Temple of 
 Peace, which stood originally very near, and almost in a 
 line with the present Arch. When the Temple of Peace 
 was burnt in the reign of Commodus, these treasures it is 
 said, were not destroyed, but carried off by Genseric the 
 Goth, into Africa, after which no traces of them can be 
 had. It is true that the Romish Church professes to pre- 
 serve the Ark of the Covenant in the Church of St. John 
 Lateran; but as Josephus says it was never brought to 
 Rome, it may be that they sent a special messenger after 
 it in the time of Constantine, when the Scala Santa, the 
 portions of the true Cross, and other equally veritable 
 relics found their way, through the zeal of Helena, to the 
 Eternal City. 
 
THE COLOSSEUM. 157 < 
 
 The Sacred Temple of the Jews, from which these 
 vessels were torn, and of which the bas-reliefs are no doubt 
 accurate representations, has been overthrown and is trod- 
 den under foot of the Gentiles. Looking at that repre- 
 sentation of the triumphal procession, bearing along in sad 
 array God's chosen people, the mind instinctively recalls 
 the sound and utterance of that dread voice from Mount 
 Necho : . " when ye do evil in the sight of the Lord, he shall 
 scatter you among the nations, and ye shall be left few in 
 number among the heathen, whither the Lord shall send 
 you." The Roman general was blind to the great results he 
 was accomplishing, when he left not one stone upon another 
 of 'the magnificent Jewish Temple. Nor did he discern 
 the hand leading his captives, as the triumphal procession 
 swept up the very path, now spanned by the graceful Arch. 
 The descendants of these very captive Jews may still be 
 seen in Rome, a despised, and a degraded race. But who 
 doubts, that the promise is still theirs, and their habita- 
 tion an appointed one. 
 
 Having emerged from the shade of the Arch of Titus, 
 and passing down the pathway leading along the base of 
 the Palatine Mount, through which, above the earth, like 
 the bones of an emaciated figure peeping through the flesh, 
 are to be seen the fragments of the Palace of the Caesars ; 
 the immense mass of the Colosseum startles you by its 
 magnitude. It was first bathed with the tears of captive 
 Jews, who assisted in laying its massive foundations, while 
 its arena has been stained with the blood of martyrs, gladi- 
 ators, and wild beasts. It covers an area whose circum- 
 ference is nearly two thousand feet. The wall encom- 
 passing its ellipse towers to the astonishing elevation of 
 one hundred and sixty-five feet. It is constructed of 
 
 Y 
 
278 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 huge blocks of travertine, some of whicli are fully six 
 feet long, five and a half broad, and nearly three feet thick. 
 Upon the marble seats that once adorned its sides, eighty- 
 seven thousand people could be comfortably seated, while 
 twenty thousand more could find room above. Comparing 
 the present appearance of this structure with what it must 
 have been formerly, it will be found, that immense as it is, 
 two thirds of the stone that composed it, is actually gone. 
 It is said to have suffered by earthquakes, and for a long 
 while was a vast stone quarry for some of the builders of 
 modern Rome. The Palazzo Farnese, that of Venice, and 
 the Cancellaria, as well as the Porto di Ripetta, and the 
 Churches of S. Lorenzo, and S. Agostino, are known, to 
 have been built from it. In the fury of the civil conten- 
 tions that deluged Rome with blood during the middle 
 ages^ the leaders of the different factions, found in this 
 colossal structure a number of strong fortresses. Soon 
 after the civil wars its materials were used to make lime, 
 and so in one way or the other, the Vandals of modern 
 times have endeavored by pillage, by leaguer and storm 
 to mutilate and destroy; and earthquakes too have spent 
 their fruitless rage upon it — and yet it stands, and seems 
 likely to confer upon the famous saying of the venerable 
 Bede, the dignity of a prophecy. The pillage is now at 
 an end, and the whole consecrated by the ungainly looking 
 cross, which erected in the centre of the arena, holds 
 out for every kiss, an indulgence of two hundred days. 
 The innermost circle of the arena, is very much marred 
 by the sacred stations, in which the different events in the 
 passion of our Saviour, are painted most vilely. 
 
 Never did human art present to the eye a fabric so well 
 calculated by its form and size, to surprise and delight. 
 Viewed as an abstract mass^ it tells of the masters of the 
 
ARCH OF CONSTANTINE. 279 
 
 world, and lowers the present generation of architects to 
 the grade of pigmies. The vast loftiness of its perpen- 
 dicular — the tremendous sweep of the curve of its arches, 
 rising tier after tier, one hundred and sixty feet in the air 
 •^•the bold ring lines of the ellipse, which clip the arena 
 within, all are perfectly wonderful. What a tale this old 
 pile could tell, if those moss-covered stones could "cry out 
 of the wall" — stories of the desperate struggles of the 
 Gaulish captive — the supplicating look — the agonizing 
 cry of the gladiator as he fell upon the bloody sand to die 
 — the last faint moan of the good old Christian Bishop 
 Ignatius, as the teeth and claws of the starved lions, wero 
 ■fleshed in his aged side. 
 
 Northwest of the Colosseum, may be noticed the remains 
 of a brick pillar commonly called the Meta Sudans, and 
 supposed to be the fountain built by Titus, between the 
 Colosseum and the Palatine Hill. It was within its spa- 
 cious basin, the outline of which is plainly visible, that 
 the gladiators are supposed to have refreshed themselves, 
 and washed away the bloody stains of the struggle in the 
 arena. 
 
 At the southeast corner of the Palatine Hill, and very 
 near the Colosseum, spanning the old Triumphal Way, is 
 the celebrated Arch of Constantino. This structure is 
 formed upon the purest models. It consists of three 
 arches, of which the centre is the largest ; and has two 
 fronts, each adorned with four columns of giallo antico, 
 marble of the Corinthian order, and fluted, supporting a 
 cornice, on which stand four Dacian captive Kings, sculp- 
 tured in violet colored marble, and surmounted by a cor- 
 responding entablature. The inscriptions, excepting the 
 spaces above the principal arch, and the side divisions, are 
 
180 
 
 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 ornamented with the admirable relievo medallions brought 
 hither from the Arch of Trajan, which once stood in the 
 Forum, where now is to be seen the column erected to that 
 Emperor. This arch is interesting aside from its beauty 
 of proportion, as having been the last monument of the 
 Homan Senate and people. It is the last memento of the 
 conquering race of Caesars. As a concluding scene of 
 JRoman triumph, it is not unworthy the brightest days of 
 the Empire ; — but, like the fading glories it commemo- 
 rates, it is only the reflected splendor of the sun, which 
 continues to gild the horizon after- the blazing orb itself 
 has disappeared. 
 
 As you pass under this Arch and along the old Trium- 
 phal Way, the rather steep hill on your right is the Pala- 
 tini, connected most intimately with every period of Ro- 
 man story. It was the birth-place of the infant republic 
 of Komulus, and upon it, he laid the foundations of the 
 mighty nation, which afterwards gave laws to a subject 
 world. That hill once contained the whole of Rome itself: 
 but when she had extended her conquests, and the world's 
 tribute was poured into her lap — it was too small to hold 
 the palace of one Emperor. Those huge and shapeless 
 masses of brick work, that may be seen rising on the 
 western side, are but a mere fragment of the double ar- 
 cades, that supported a part of the Golden House of Nero, 
 which once shone resplendent upon this Hill. The floor- 
 ing of the vanished apartments, covered with stucco, now 
 serves to form a noble terrace, surrounded by a profusion 
 of shrubs, which have been long sufi'ered to run into wild 
 luxuriance, and clamber over every loose stone, and broken 
 arch. At one end of this terrace may be noticed a small 
 circular apartment, and a narrow deep cavity almost 
 
BATHS OF CAKACALLA. 281 
 
 filled up with the spreading branches of trees, that flourish 
 with peculiar luxuriance round this part of the ruins. 
 This apartment is known as the Cabinet of Nero. The 
 celebrated Circus Maximus, was located directly in the 
 valley below, lying between the Palatine and Aventino. 
 And it is supposed that it was from this Cabinet, the 
 Emperor overlooked the games in the arena below, and 
 gave the signal for their commencement. The adjoining 
 cavity is also circular, but much smaller. It is popularly 
 termed the Bath of Seneca, on the supposition of that 
 philoj^opher having been put to death there, by order 
 of the tyrant : but it most probably enclosed a private 
 staircase, by which the suspicious Emperor might ascend 
 ta his favorite retreat. 
 
 Next to the Colosseum, I know of no memorials of the 
 past in Rome, which astonish you more than the ruins of 
 the Baths of Caracalla. They occupy part of the declivity 
 of the Aventine, and a considerable portion of the plain 
 between it and Mons Celius. The length of these baths, 
 was nearly tWo thousand feet, while their breadth was 
 nearly five hundred. The outward wall may be traced in 
 almost its whole circuit, though it has lost something of 
 its height. The number of rooms in the interior, and the 
 dimensions of somo of them, startle us at the present day. 
 One chamber in particular, supposed to be the Cella Sole- 
 aris, is over two hundred feet long, and nearly one hundred 
 and fifty in width. This hall received its name from the 
 roof, which was formed by Egyptian artists of bars of gilt 
 metal, crossed in the manner of the fastenings used in the 
 sandals worn in those days. At the end of the structure 
 were two temples, one to Apollo, and one to Esculapius. 
 In the principal building was in the first place, a grand 
 y2 
 
282" FOREIGN ErCHINGS, 
 
 circular vestibule, with four balls on each side, for cold, 
 tepid^ warm and steam batbs. In the centre, was an im- 
 mense square for exercise, when tbe weather was unfavor- 
 able; beyond it a great hall, where sixteen hundred marble 
 seats were placed for tbe convenience of batbers. At each 
 end of the hall were libraries. The building terminated 
 ©n both sides in a court surrounded with porticoes. Round 
 Ihc edifice were walks shaded by trees, and in its front 
 extended a gymnasium, for running, wrestling, and other 
 athletic sports in fine weather. The whole was bounded 
 by a magnificent portico, opening into spacious halls, where 
 poets declaimed and philosophers lectured. Now all this 
 magnificence is shadowed forth in immense vaulted halls, 
 with half the roof fallen in; massive heaps of masoni^', 
 lying in every direction; mosaic flooring still preserving 
 its form and color; blocks of marble and enormous arches, 
 exhibiting the rich warm tints that distinguish the Roman 
 ruinis, variegated by every variety of beautiful verdure. 
 As we entered the mighty precincts, the warm sun of an 
 Italian spring was lighting up the varied masses of this 
 architectural Anak. The ruins of these baths enchant you 
 by their simple, absolute magnitude. You can easily com- 
 prehend, as you study their vast proportions, how those 
 monster creations of the ancient chisel — the Farnese Bull, 
 the Hercules and Flora should have been found within 
 their magnificent penetralia. Extensive as these ruins arc, 
 still the Baths of Caracalla were not the largest Thermaj 
 in Rome; which fact gives one an exalted idea of the 
 architectural genius and grandeur of this wonderful people. 
 On the Escjuiline Hill, over against the Colosseiim, may 
 be seen the remains of what are known as the Baths of Titus. 
 When Titus rested from his labors after the completion of 
 
BATHS OF CARACALLA. 283 
 
 tliG Colosseum, he conceived the idea of crectinf]^ mag- 
 niliccnt Baths upon the adjoining heights of the Esquiline, 
 and he carried his plan into speedy execution, by convert- 
 ing the buildings at the foot of the hill, which belonged 
 to the Golden Palace of Nero, into sub-structions, whereon 
 he could rest his immense edifice. The house of Ma3- 
 cenas, alluded to by Horace, stood here, and this also 
 the Emperor brought into use in the construction of the 
 ]5aths that bear his name. There is nothing very interest- 
 ing about the huge and shapeless mass of these ruins; 
 much soil has accumulated on their top, and now serves 
 for gardens. In the vaults beneath, which one is only 
 able to explore by torch-light, may be seen portions of 
 painted ceilings; and the arabesques, now fast fading away 
 in the dampness, from which RafFael is said to have taken 
 some oi his hints in his ornaments of the Vatican. It was 
 in one of these vaulted chambers that the group of the 
 Laocoon was found. And here this magnificent work could 
 only have been seen by torch-light, which I was afterwards 
 satisfied, is the true light, to bring out and develop all its 
 beauties. On visiting the Vatican by torch-light during 
 my stay in Rome, there was a general expression of admi- 
 ration when the blaze fell upon this wonderful creation. 
 The rising of the muscles, and all those delicate touches of 
 the chisel, which are scarcely observed by day on the smooth 
 surface of the white marble, were thrown into a much 
 stronger light and shade, and stood powerfully forth on 
 that occasion, giving us a stronger conception of the excel- 
 lencies of the work, than we had before entertained. The 
 original entrance to these Baths, has not yet been disco- 
 vered, and the present mode of getting to them is by a 
 temporary wooden staircase penetrating the roof. In a 
 
284 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 vineyard higher up the Esquiline.and sloping towards the 
 Colosseum, may be seen the Sette Sale, a row of chambers 
 believed to have been reservoirs of water, for the use of 
 the .baths. They are low, long, dark, uarrow, vaulted 
 apartments, covered with a very hard, white stucco, each 
 one exactly like its neighbor. Their broken walls and 
 roof are now luxuriantly covered with ivy and other creep- 
 ing plants. It was in the vaults of the Baths of Titus 
 was found that celebrated painting, called the Nozze Aldo- 
 brandi ; which though seventeen hundred years old, still re- 
 tains all the freshness and spirit of a painting of yesterday. 
 The Esquiline i^ the most extensive of the seven hills, 
 and the desolate district now forming its greatest portion, 
 is occupied only by vineyards, neglected villas, and desert- 
 ed churches. There is another ruin upon it, near the 
 Porta Maggiore, in the midst of an extensive vineyard, 
 which in some respects, is by far the most picturesque of 
 any in Rome. I allude to the lonely ruin of the Temple 
 of Minerva Medica. Though the brick walls only of this 
 building aie standing, its ruins are particularly beautiful. 
 The vaulted roof, broken into long narrow strips, appears 
 to hang in air, admitting partial rays of sunshine, which 
 streaming over the tall reeds that spring up in wild luxu- 
 riance, and on the masses of ruin that have fallen in 
 above, -and now partly fill up the interior, produce a strik- 
 ingly picturesque effect. Its singular form and lonely 
 situation render it one of the most remarkable ruins of 
 Rome, and the melancholy air it assumes is assisted by 
 the gigantic fragments of the neighboring aqueducts, 
 which stretching across hill and dale in majestic desolation, 
 present an image of yet more total destruction. This tem- 
 ple was decagonal, with a spacious dome. It was in one 
 
BATHS OP DIOCLETIAN. 285 
 
 of it^ recesses, the beautiful statue of the Minerva Medica 
 was found, whict now adorns the Chiaramonte Gallery, 
 in the Vatican. 
 
 On the Quirinal Hill, separated from the Esquiline, by 
 the narrow and flattish surface of the Viminal, are to be 
 seen the stupendous remains of the Baths of Diocletian. 
 These baths were the largest in Rome. About the latter 
 part of the second century, the Emperor Diocletian return- 
 ed from Africa, breathing fierce threatcnings against the 
 Christians who were in Rome. All those who could 
 be found, daring to avow themselves of the new religion, 
 were immediately condemned to work in the building of 
 these baths. The numbers thus employed are variously 
 estimated at from fifty to one hundred thousand, and these 
 were murdered in cold blood, immediately after the work 
 was finished. Part of the stupendous brick ruins which 
 remain of this structure, 
 
 *' Pefaced by jtime, and tottering in decay," 
 
 has been used as a corn-granary by the government. The 
 Church of Santa Maria d'Angeli, belonging to a convent, 
 the convent itself, the neighboring Church of San Ber- 
 nardo, the walls of its gardens, and those of several villas, 
 are all now formed out of the ruins of the upper story of 
 this structure, the lower one being buried under the super- 
 incumbent buildings. The Church of Santa Maria d'An- 
 geli is a circular structure, which was once one of the prin- 
 cipal halls of these baths. Here still are to be seen the eight 
 immense columns of oriental granite, that formerly stood 
 in this apartment, now forming the chief beauty of the 
 modern church. Here, too may be noticed the ancient 
 cofnice and the knobs of brass on the vaulted ceiling. 
 
286 
 
 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 from which were suspended the twenty-eight lamps, that 
 in the days of Diocletian lit up this spacious hall. The 
 short space that intervenes between these ruins and the 
 walls of the city claims considerable notice from the fact, 
 that it was there the Pretorian Bands, the support, but the 
 terror also, of the later Emperors used to encamp ; and 
 there in earlier periods the city was defended by the ram- 
 parts of Sei*vius Tullius. It is in vain now that you search 
 for any remains of this ancient defence of the city .from 
 the incursions of the neighboring Sabines and warlike na- 
 tions, who at that period swarmed around the walls. We 
 have thus endeavored to comprehend in our ramble over 
 the seven hills, all the principal ruins that are scattered 
 upon them; but this by no means comprehends all the 
 remains that tell of the majesty and greatness of Imperial 
 Rome. 
 
 Between four of the seven hills, the Capitoline, Palatine, 
 Caelian and Esquiline, is an open space of considerable 
 extent. It is west of the Boman Forum, -and nearest to the 
 Tiber. This is the space once occupied as the cattle market 
 of old Rome, the Forum Boarium. It occupied part of the 
 Velabrian Marsh, after it was filled up. The Church of 
 San Greorgio in Velabro, whose portico is decorated with 
 several ancient pillars, is supposed to stand on the founda- 
 tion of the Basilica, or place of Judgment, for the causes 
 of this Forum, built in the reign of Septimius Severus. 
 Adjoining this Church may be noticed the fragment of a 
 structure, known as the Arch of the goldsmiths and cattle 
 dealers, which is said to have been erected by these trades- 
 men of the Forum in honor of the Emperor Severus. The 
 sculptures that once adorned this arch, are very much de- 
 faced. Those in the interior represent sacrifices offered 
 
THE FORUM BOARIUM. lib/ 
 
 by the Emperor and his sons. On the last the figure of 
 Gcta has been destroyed, and his name effaced from the 
 inscription after his murder, by the orders of his brother 
 Caracalla. Its square form, more resembles a gateway 
 than an arch. But the ruin by far the most imposing in 
 its appearance in this Forum, is that of the Arch of Janus, 
 called Quadrifrons. • It has a somewhat quaint appearance, 
 and was no doubt, originally used as a market place. 
 Being erected over the spot, where two roads intersecting 
 the cattle market met, its seems to have marked the cen- 
 tral point of the traffic carried on in this space. It may 
 have been used by the bankers and money changers, and 
 Horace perhaps. alludes to this very spot, or a similar 
 building when he says, 
 
 "Postquam omnis res mea Janum 
 Ad medium fracta est. Sat. ii. 3, 18." 
 and 
 
 " Virtus post nummos. Haec Janus summus ab imo 
 Perdocet. Epist. i. 1, 54." 
 
 It is built of Greek marble, which brings the date down to 
 the end of the Republic, as this material was not used 
 until that time. The spot on which the arch stands, is 
 surrounded by desolation and decay. The irregularity of 
 the ground, shows that underneath it, are scattered ruins, 
 of buildings that once adorned the surface. The Cloaca 
 Maxima may be seen close by, passing under the stupen- 
 dous arch that covers it. During the residence of the 
 Popes at Avignon in the fourteenth century, the principal 
 pa+rician families intrenched themselves within this arch 
 of Janus as a fortress. Thus were the monuments of Ro- 
 man splendor which even Goths ahd Vandals revered, 
 sacrificed by the remorseless fury of civic discord. The 
 greater part of the ruin is now covered with ivy, whose 
 
288 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 deep verdure and heavy luxuriance, harmonize well with 
 the darkness and gloom of its low situation, and contribute 
 to shed over its venerable remains, that air of desolation 
 with which the imagination loves to clothe the scenes con- 
 secrated by the remembrances of long past ages. 
 
 A little removed from the eastern end^ of the Forum 
 Romanum, is the space once occupied by the Forum of 
 Nerva. The Forum of Domitian which was never, I believe, 
 finished, was afterwards included in that of Nerva, that 
 extended from thence to the north. The only trace 
 of the architectural grandeur of this Forum is to be seen 
 in the small portion of the Temple of Pallas that now re- 
 mains, with its pillars sunk, nearly half their depth in the 
 heaped up soil of modern Rome. It is sufficient, however, 
 to give one an idea of the splendor of the design. The 
 two pillars which remain support an architrave adorned 
 with a frieze. On the attic is the colossal figure of Mi- 
 nerva, represented in relief, as the patroness of labor : on 
 the architrave the goddess appears, engaged in instructing 
 young girls in various female occupations, and punish- 
 ing the insolence of Arachne, wha had ventured to com- 
 pete with her in the labcJrs of the loom. Here too you 
 may notice, beautifully symbolized, the aqueducts which 
 supplied Rome with such copious streams of water. This 
 Forum was sometimes called the Forum Transitorium, 
 from the fact that the main thoroughfares to the city 
 passed through it. It is now one of^ the filthiest parts of 
 modern Rome, and it is very difficult to realize, amid the 
 piles of dirt, and forlorn looking buildings which cover it, 
 that it ever was magpificently adorned. Even the space 
 between the pillars of the Temple of Pallas is built up, 
 and forms the front walls of a miserable structure, where 
 a cobbler plies his trade. This temple ia clearly alluded 
 
THE BASILICA. 289 
 
 to by Pliny, when ho says — " Then the Forum was dedi- 
 cated, which is called Pervium, in which a loftier and 
 more magnificent Temple is erected to Minerva." 
 
 Originally there is said to have been a ridge between the 
 Capitoline and Quirinal Hills. In the time of the Emperor 
 Trajan this ridge was all cleared away, to the depth of 
 many feet, and the valley widened on both sides. And 
 here this magnificent Emperor, under the direction of his 
 architect Apollodorus, laid out the Basilica, which was to 
 form the central point of the Forum, to be called after his 
 name. Those fragments of granite pillars that the modern 
 traveler sees in that walled in space called the Forum of 
 Trajan, is but the middle portion of this Grand Basilica. 
 These fragments are all that remain of the double row of 
 massive columns that once supported the bronze roof of 
 the magnificent edifice. That stump of a pillar of yellow 
 marble ornamented its side front — those yellow marble 
 steps, to be seen in a niche in the enclosure, once led 
 up to its Portico. And just in the rear of the space 
 occupied by this splendid Basilica Ulpia, so called from 
 the family name of Trajan, rises the magnificent marble 
 pillar which bears the name of the column of Trajan. This 
 pillar was erected about the year 115, in commemoration 
 of Trajan's two Dacian campaigns, and from the inscrip- 
 tion, was the work of the People and Senate of Rome. 
 The shaft itself is covered with bas-reliefs, which go round 
 the whole from the bottom to the top in twenty-three 
 spirals, representing the exploits of the Emperor in both 
 his Dacian expeditions. There are said to be about two 
 thousand five hundred figures in all, and the figure of Tra- 
 jan is repeated more than fifty times. These figures are 
 abotit two feet high in the lower part of the column, but 
 z 
 
290 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 towards the top they increase in size, that they may appear 
 the same from below. Thirty-three separate pieces of 
 marble are used in the work. There is a spiral staircase 
 within, which winds twelve times round, and contains, 
 one hundred and eighty-four steps: and it is a most 
 remarkable circumstance that this staircase is .not a 
 separate work, but is cut out of the same stones of 
 which the shaft itself is composed. A statue of the Empe- 
 ror formerly surmounted the whole, twenty-one feet high. 
 A Pope of the sixteenth century, finding the Emperor's 
 place vacant, elevated there a statue of St. Peter in gilt 
 bronze, who seems out of place, surmounting a column 
 erected to commemorate the warlike exploits of a Pagan 
 Emperor. The space which passes as the Forum Tra- 
 janum, is nothing more than a portion of that once occu- 
 pied by the magnificent circuit, now covered by the build- 
 ings of modern Rome^ and where palaces, gymnasiums and 
 libraries, of old attested the stupendous designs of its 
 architect. 
 
 It is not my intention to introduce the reader to all the 
 ruins that remain of ancient Rome, the mere catalogue of 
 which, would almost of itself, make a volume; but I can- 
 not conclude this chapter without a brief allusion to the 
 little Temple of Vesta, which stands by the banks of the 
 Tiber, in the Piazza di Bocca della Verita. I hardly 
 think that it is older than the age of Augustus. It is cir- 
 cular, with a portico all round it, and had originally twenty 
 Corinthian columns, fluted; one of which is now wanting. 
 The cornice also, and the ancient roof, have disappeared. 
 In Ovid's time it was covered with a dome of brass. In other 
 respects it is tolerably perfect, and forms a very interest- 
 ing and elegant object. The walls within the portico, are 
 
TEMPLE OP VESTA. 291 
 
 all of white marble, much of which still remains. Is it 
 not this Temple to which Horace alludes, in the following 
 verse of one of his finest odes? 
 
 " Vidimus flavum Tiberim, retortis 
 Littore Etrusco violenter undis, 
 Ire dejectum monumenta Regis, 
 Templaque Vesta." 
 
 Near this elegant little fane rolls the Tiber — the muddy 
 and still the " Yellow Tiber" of classic days. It passes 
 on with the game solemn and majestic flow, silently bath- 
 ing the ruins of those edifices which were the scenes of so 
 many great actions. 
 
 In these wanderings through Roman ruins, we are fully 
 aware that many have been necessarily passed by without 
 notice. To describe fully and accurately all the memorials 
 that are left in Rome, of these ancient rulers of the world, 
 would alone fill volumes. Nor are those that have been 
 disinterred, which one stumbles upon in every direction in 
 the streets of modern Rome, and upon the elevations, 
 where the proud city once reared herself, all that remain 
 to tell of former greatness. In many places 
 
 " Pregnant with form, the turf unheeded lies." 
 
 And beneath the soil are architectural and artistic trea- 
 sures that will yet challenge the admiration of future 
 generations* 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE MARBLE TREASURES OF THE VATICAN. 
 
 St. Peter's and the Vatican — Dimensions of the Vatican — Chris- 
 tian Epitaphs — Museo Chiarimonte — II Braccio Nuovo — Museo 
 Pio Clementino — Ancient Sarcophagus — The ApoDo — The 
 Laocoon — Hall of Animals — Hall of Busts — Hall of the Muses 
 — Hall of the Greek Cross — Collection of Antiquities in Rome. 
 
 No tourist can visit St. Peter's or the Vatican, and be 
 surprised at the revelations made by history of that "vault- 
 ing ambition," that aspiring desire for empire; which 
 nothing but universal power could satisfy, and which more 
 or less forms the principal characteristic of the Roman 
 Pontiffs. Walk along that vast aisle of St. Peter's — 
 stand within the shadow of its heaven-scaling dome — tra- 
 verse the vast corridors of the Vatican, and look out upon 
 the living and dead majesty of Rome, from the lofty win- 
 dows : and then wonder if you can, that its possessors 
 within sight of the locality of the palace of the Caesars, 
 should suppose they might also wield their power. But 
 now even the pontifical glory hath departed. 
 
 " 'Tis Rome, but living Rome no more." 
 
 How fallen is that ecclesiastical sovereignty, which 
 in the days of Hildebrand kept shivering royalty for four 
 days a suppliant at its gate, and placed its proud foot, glit- 
 tering with the jewelled cross, upon the necks of prostrate 
 Emperors and Kings. That throne once so powerful, is 
 now upheld by foreign bayonets, and trembles at the nod 
 of the descendant of an obscure Corsican advocate, who 
 has usurped the throne of Clovis and Charlemagne. But 
 fallen as is the Papal power, it still has its strong-holds, 
 
THE VATICAN. 293 
 
 in St. Peter's and the Vatican : and there was force and 
 pertinency in the remark of our republican servant Baptiste, 
 when he said, ^^ if we are ever to have liberty in Italy, wo 
 must bury the Pope beneath the ruins of the Vatican and 
 St. Peter's." There is a magic in their very names, a 
 power in their majesty, which still give strength and 
 endurance to the Papacy. 
 
 It has been truly and finely said, " that Saint Peter's is 
 the grandest temple that man ever raised to his God — 
 while the Vatican is the noblest he ever raised to himself j" 
 and it is so. Whatever judgments we may be disposed 
 to pass upon the Popes in their spiritual capacity, no 
 tourist, who saunters through the countless chambers of 
 the Vatican, where buried art is restored to life and light 
 again -, but will freely admit their claim as temporal sove- 
 reigns to the gratitude of the scholar and the artist. 
 
 The Museum of the Vatican, is next to the Ruins, the 
 most irresistible attraction of modern Rome — a grand and 
 glorious Treasure House of Art, where one might range 
 for years, and find attractions, ever varying, ever new. 
 You can visit these' magnificent Halls day after day, and 
 still find fresh subjects for contemplation ; new objects to 
 gaze at and admire. 
 
 The first visit is bewildering. Divinities — Emperors 
 — Philosophers — Orators and Statesmen of Imperial 
 Rome, seem rushing past in most tantalizing confusion ; 
 and it is not until after repeated visits, and much study 
 that you are enabled to classify and arrange them, so as 
 to derive that pleasure in their contemplation, which always 
 accompanies familiarity with the higher works of art. The 
 dimensions of this Palace, and the number of rooms 
 assigned to it, border on the marvellous. The whole 
 z2 
 
294 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 pile of buildings, together with the gardens, comprise 
 a circumference of some six miles. . There is nothing 
 architecturally grand about its externals. On the contrary 
 it is a clumsy mass, and interferes greatly by its provoking 
 proximity, with the appearance of St. Peter's. It is in 
 reality a collection of apartments built by several Popes. 
 The date of its first commencement is not known, but it 
 was somewhere in the ninth century. The number of 
 apartments it contains is over four thousand^ and when 
 you take into consideration their immense size, the mag- 
 nificence they display, and the noble works of art by which 
 they are adorned, surely no building in the world can 
 compare with it. 
 
 The galleries of the Vatican consist of several apart- 
 ments, halls and temples, some ^ned with marble, 
 others paved with ancient mosaics, and all filled with 
 statues, vases, candelabra, tombs and altars. 
 
 The size and proportion of these noble apartments — 
 their rich materials and furniture, the well-managed light 
 pouring down upon them, and the multiplicity of admira- 
 ble articles collected and deposited in them, fill the mind 
 with astonishment and delight ; forming the most magnifi- 
 cent and grand combination one can conceive of. Never 
 were the divinities of Greece and Rome, honored with 
 nobler temples— r never did they stand on richer pedestals 
 never were more glorious domes spread above their heads, 
 or brighter and more costly pavements extended at their 
 feet. Seated in such shrines, tbey seem to look down 
 upon the crowd of votaries, and once more to challenge 
 the admiration of mankind — while kings and emperors," 
 heroes and philosophers, drawn up in ranks before and 
 around them, increase their state, and form a magnificent 
 and becoming retinue. 
 
THE VATICAN. 295 
 
 Among the first and most touching objects that present 
 themselves to the visitor's regard, are the interesting series 
 of Christian monuments, or rather funereal inscriptions 
 taken from the Catacombs, and lining an entire side 
 of the great corridor, that he first enters. They com- 
 mence with the age of the apostles, and are generally in 
 Greek — most of them are simple tributes of afi'ection and 
 sorrow, frequently reminding one by some expression, or 
 by some holy and endearing symbol of our faith, that they 
 were the ofierings of those who mourned; but at the same 
 time, felt that their affliction was "light,'' and but for a 
 moment — who sorrowed, but with a sorrow full of the 
 hope of immortality. Pa!>sing through this great corridor, 
 lined on the one side with Pagan, and on the other with 
 these Christian inscriptions — amounting in all to nearly 
 four thousand — you arrive at a Gallery, known by the 
 name of the Museo Chiarimonte. On entering the gate- 
 way, your attention is at once attracted by two recumbent 
 statues on your left, which pass in the printed catalogues, 
 under the names of ^''Autumn and Winter" — but the repre- 
 sentation of Autumn, is by far the finest. These are sup- 
 posed to be of no later origin than the time of Hadrian. 
 The countenance of the recumbent figure, representing 
 Autumn, is beautifully benignant. The figures of sportive 
 children — the one the Genius of the Vintage, presenting 
 grapes to Autumn, are remarkable for their truthfulness to 
 nature, and their serene beauty of expression. One cannot 
 help being struck with the tendency of the Pagan religion, 
 to connect the gayest images of life with the idea of death, 
 in their Elysium, their funeral games and tombs, (so con- 
 trasted in this respect with the faith that ever looks to 
 brighter worlds beyond). And as this is evidently a sar- 
 
296 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 cophagus, tLe recumbent figure with the sportive children 
 around, is certainly a fair exemplification of it. On the 
 front of this sarcophagus, may be observed relievi, very 
 boldly sculptured of father and mother, with their son, 
 who wears suspended round his neck, the *' holla," an 
 ornament deemed talismanic, of which Horace, Virgil, 
 and Martial speak — this ornament, all the Roman chil- 
 dren wore, until they had attained the age for assuming 
 the toga. A short distance from these allegorical figures, 
 may be noticed the statue of Sleep or the Genius of Death. 
 This is the figure mentioned by Byron, as among those 
 in the Vatican that made the greatest impression upon 
 him. It looks too refined fof the genius of Paganism — 
 and seems more akin to that of Christianity. If by it is 
 intended the Angel of Death, it is so refined and affect-' 
 ingly graceful, that it recommends itself to the hopeful 
 feelings of Christianity. We might justly say of its artist, 
 
 " He feared not death, whose calm and gracious thought, 
 Of the last hour, has settled thus in thee." 
 
 As one has well said, whose soul was alive to every image 
 of the beautiful, " It seems like the fading away of an ex- 
 istence, in a calm, painless transit, so etherializing to the 
 palpable form, that as we gaze, we might fancy it about 
 to vanish, or like the Narcissus of fable, to undergo some 
 metamorphose still more beautiful.'' The headless and 
 mutilated figure, which stands near the Genius of Sleep, 
 has been by many supposed to be a figure of Diana, 
 descending from her chariot to visit the sleeping Endy- 
 mion. Mutilated as it is, there is a grandeur about its 
 form exceedingly striking, while the appearance of the 
 drapery as if agitated by rapid motion, and evidently be- 
 
THE VATICAN. 297 
 
 longing to a figure intended to be represented in quick 
 flight, is in an artistic point of view, a most surprising 
 effort of the chisel. This valuable fragment was found in 
 the Quirinal Gardens — whither it had been brought from 
 Tivoli, and is supposed once to have adorned that great 
 centre of elegance and art, the Villa of Hadrian. I am 
 inclined to believe, that the opinion of Braun, is correct 
 in reference to this fragment — and that it once represented 
 a daughter of Niobe, in rapid flight from the arrows of the 
 avenging and angry God. There is certainly a striking 
 similarity in this torso, with the attitude and position of 
 one of Niobe's children in the celebrated group at Flo- 
 rence. The German critic very truthfully remarks — 
 " that the fearful catastrophe impending over this daughter 
 of Niobe, is most touchingly and beautifully mirrored in 
 this her rapid flight — the stormy wind betokened by her 
 fluttering robe] seems to combine with the fate about to 
 overtake her. The spell arresting the steps of persons 
 doomed to death, at the moment when escape seems still 
 possible, is here embodied before our eyes.'^ Among the 
 rare treasures collected in this gallery, we must not omit 
 to notice the bust of the young Augustus — so exquisitely 
 beautiful in the dazzling whiteness and polish of the mar- 
 ble, and so full of expression and power in the contour of 
 the brow. But aside from its beauty as a work of art, it 
 possesses an interest from the fact, that we have here pre- 
 served the youthful features of the favorite nephew of 
 Julius Caesar. This world-renowned bust was discovered 
 during the excavations made at Ostia in the beginning of 
 the present century, and no doubt once graced the Temple 
 erected to the dignified Augustus, at that place in his life- 
 time. Every one is struck at first sight, with the resem- 
 
298 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 blance which this bust bears to that of Napoleon in his 
 more advanced years. There is a maturity of expression in 
 the broad calm brow, which scarcely harmonizes with the 
 youthful appearance of the future Emperor, But Augus- 
 tus, it must be remembered, ripened prematurely into 
 manhood, beneath the cares and responsibilities of state, 
 that were thrust upon him, by his celebrated uncle, who 
 early initiated him into his views of life and universal 
 dominion. 
 
 The colossal statue of Tiberius, is among the most strik- 
 ing figures in this hall. It is in a sitting posture, and 
 was discovered at Veil in 1811. The figure is majestic, 
 and conveys to the mind a very forcible conception of the 
 dignity and awe-inspiring presence of Home's world sub- 
 duing Emperors. A civic crown adorns his head — and 
 one hand is laid upon "the sword at his side, while the 
 other holds the sceptre of universal dominion. There is 
 a sternness about the lowering brow, and an expression 
 around the compressed lips, that shadow forth all the evil 
 inclinations, which made their home in the heart of this 
 monster. The citizens of Rome, suffering and smarting 
 from the effects of the cruel exactions of the imperial 
 tyrant, immediately after tleath had removed his dreaded 
 presence from their sight, commenced hurling his statues 
 from their pedestals in the city, and appear to have de- 
 stroyed them utterly. I do not remember in all Italy, to 
 have seen a single statue of this Emperor, found amid the 
 ruins of ancient Rome : all of them appear to have come 
 from the provincial towns, where they had not suffered so 
 directly from his cruel mandates. Near this statue is a 
 colossal head of the .imperial monster, found at the 
 same place — and perhaps in its expression, seems to want 
 
THE VATICAN. 299 
 
 the truthfulness of the other — in conferring a character 
 of intellect and clemency upon the face, which the original 
 never possessed. 
 
 There are very few statues in this hall surpassing that 
 of Clio, the Muse of History, in their perfect adaptation 
 to their subject. She stands there in mute majesty, 
 crowned with laurel, while beside her rests a casket for 
 books and a scroll. Nothing could be more calmly gracious 
 than her expression : more majestic, and yet delicate than 
 the form. A lofty idea of the attributes of History, is con- 
 veyed by this serenely beautiful work of the ancient chisel. 
 History is here represented as a benignant, dispassionate 
 guardian of Truth, and a rewarder of Virtue. 
 
 In the statue of the Venus Gabina, so called, because 
 found at the ancient city of Gabii, we have an idea of this 
 goddess, far more elevated than is displayed in most of her 
 statues. In this graceful figure the feeKng seems to rise 
 infinitely above the mythology of antiquity. It is not 
 merely the type of physical beauty which is presented, but 
 the personification of a principle, asserting its sway over 
 the soul by a mysterious, yet benificent spell. She seems 
 here, 
 
 " In all her sovereignty of charms arrayed," 
 to unite the benign genius, with the attributes of an enchan- 
 tress queen — and Horace's 
 
 " O Venus Regina Cnidi Paphique," 
 
 would be a fit apostrophe to such a goddess. 
 
 Near this statue, may be noticed a head of Neptune of 
 colossal proportions. This head of the gloomy ruler of 
 the waves, was discovered at Ostia. Representations of 
 Neptune in the collections, are as rare as those of the King 
 
300 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 of gods and men are abundant. The hair falls somewhat 
 wildly on each side of the forehead, intending to exhibit 
 the effect of the winds that play over the surface of old 
 ocean. The beard is full and strong, and the lips partly 
 open, giving a peculiar appearance to the face, which is 
 not without an expression of that serenity and dignity so 
 noticeable in all the busts of Jupiter. 
 
 The figure of Venus rising from the sea, nearly opposite 
 the head of Neptune, is- certainly a most lovely figure; the 
 character that of innocence, and girlhood. Venus is here 
 represented leaving the bath, with the vase of perfumes in 
 one hand for anointing the hair, and perhaps the limbs 
 also, as was the custom after bathing. This statue appears 
 to be formed of three separate antique fragments, the 
 arms and feet being restored by a modern hand : it is sup- 
 posed to-be a copy frCm a Greek original, by a Roman 
 sculptor. 
 
 It would be in vain to attempt a description of the seven 
 hundred and fifty distinct subjects which adorn the sides 
 of this magnificent hall. We*have only selected from the 
 collection such as commended themselves forcibly to our 
 mind, although there are numerous others, no doubt as 
 much deserving of notice. A hasty glance over the frag- 
 ments of single statues and groups, scattered along this 
 hall, will serve to show how great a loss archaeology has 
 sustained — although, had the monuments to which these 
 belong come down to us, as has been well observed " the 
 Vatican, would have scarce sufficed to afford them suitable 
 accommodation. 
 
 Immediately after passing the screen work, to enter the 
 gallery we have just been exploring, a portal to the 
 left is reached, which is the entrance to the gallery styled 
 
THE VATI0A5f. 301 
 
 '' II Braccio Nuovo," formed likewise under the munifi- 
 cence of Pius VII. This hall is very magnificent in its 
 proportions, and in shape is somewhat in the form of a 
 Greek cross. The first thing that attracts attention on 
 entering the hall is the Caryatid on the right, believed 
 to be one of the six that sustained the portico of the tem- 
 ple of Pandrosia, at Athens. The story of the city of 
 Caria, whose male inhabitants (for their alliance with the 
 Persians) were put to the sword, and the females made 
 slaves, and condemned to carry burdens, by the Athenians, 
 is well known, as being perpetuated in these peculiar sta- 
 tues, which served for architectural purposes. There is 
 nothing strikingly graceful in this architectural idiosyncrasy 
 of the Grecian artist; neither in form nor expression, and 
 it is only curious as a perpetuation of an historical fact. 
 
 Near it is the beautiful group representing Siienus, with 
 the infant Bacchus in his arms. This group arrests your 
 attention at once upon your entrance. The artist does not 
 here represent Siienus as the grotesque and jovial demi- 
 god; but as the philosopher, who accompanied Bacchus on 
 his expedition to India, to assist him with the counsels of 
 wisdom. Apart from all mythical relations, and simply 
 keeping in view the manner in which infancy and age are 
 here brought into contact, this group certainly exhibits a 
 touching scene. The slender figure of the aged Siienus 
 rests with firmly planted feet, against the trunk of a tree, 
 and gazes with an expression of deep but satisfied serious- 
 ness on the beautiful infant cradled in his arms. As a 
 classical tourist has very well remarked, "It is not the vain 
 recollections of his own never returning youth, which are 
 portrayed in the figure of this Siienus ; but that pure joy, 
 observed in those who, amid the tumults of earth, have 
 learned to purify all selfish feelings^ and to find true 
 
 AA 
 
302 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 satisfaction in the welfare of others." The ancients nnder 
 the mythological allusion to Silenus, couched a far deeper 
 meaning than is generally attached to this inferior divinity. 
 Who that is familiar with the classics, can forget that 
 beautiful record in the sixth Eclogue of Virgil, when he 
 is surprised by the Shepherds, who he had often flattered 
 with the hope of hearing his song; and being bound by 
 them," playfully yields, uttering a song, or rather a Tatici- 
 nation, in which the profound mysteries of the origin of 
 things, and a complete system of cosmogony are revealed, 
 whilst brutes, and even inanimate nature listen fascinated 
 to the sound. This prophetic power belonged to Silenus, 
 and it is in his character of prophet and seer, that he is so 
 often represented by the ancients as the tutor of Bacchus. 
 In his prophetic character his eye penetrates the future, 
 and recognizes in the youth before him, "the coming man" 
 who is to bring light and knowledge, scattering blessings 
 over the earth. It has always appeared to me that in this 
 mythological conception, there was a repetition of the 
 prophetic allusions of the Old Testament, to the arrival 
 of the new dispensation, which was to bring life and im- 
 mortality to light through the gospel, coming with "healing 
 on its wings" for the nations. Did not the Pagan borrow 
 from the Jew ? 
 
 Close to Silenus and Bacchus is the graceful statue 
 of Antinous with the attributes of Vertumnus. It is the 
 figure of a man, made god-like by the divine skill of the 
 sculptor. Antinous was the friend and favorite of the 
 princely Emperor Hadrian. This Emperor, while in Egypt, 
 in a moment of despondency, conceived that his own life 
 must be forfeited, unless some other life was sacrificed for 
 bis own : and the faithful Antinous drowned himself in 
 the Nile, to save his friend and master. The grateful 
 
THE VATICAN. 303 
 
 Emperor placed him among the gods, erected temples to 
 his worship, and employed all the sculptor's skill to deli- 
 neate him in the perfection of beauty and of youth. 
 There are many of these statues still to be found in Rome, 
 but this, and the colossal one in the Lateran Museum are 
 the finest. There is a sweet serenity about the expression 
 of both, that at once attracts and fascinates the spectator, 
 while the graceful and fine proportions of the figure em- 
 body all the elements of manly beauty. 
 
 Near the Antinous, is according to my idea one of the 
 finest works of ancient Art in all the vast collections in 
 Rome. Visconti regards this statue as essentially Greek, 
 though belonging to an epoch which preceded the decline. 
 The head, though exceedingly beautiful, is a restoration. 
 This statue passes in the catalogues as that of Pudicitia, 
 or Modesty. By some, it has been conceived to be a rep- 
 resentation of the Tragic Muse ; by others, an abstract of 
 all the virtuous characteristics of a Roman matron : but 
 call it by what name they will, it must ever remain as one 
 of the finest specimens of the skill of the Grecian chisel 
 that has come down to us. It embodies the perfection of 
 beauty and grace, more than any other statue in the Halls 
 of ancient Art at Rome. And with all that beauty and 
 grace so captivating, is combined a sublime dignity which 
 impresses you from the first with a sort of awe. And then 
 too the wonderful artistic execution of the minor details— 
 the delicate and transparent folds of the gracefully ma- 
 naged drapery — the outline of the beautifully rounded 
 arm beneath — the perfect poise of the figure : — all 
 unite to prove that it was the creation of the sculptor's 
 chisel, when art wae achieving its loftiest triumphs in 
 Greece. This statue is of great age, and numbers its 
 
304 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 years by thousands : but still it is in a wondrous state of 
 preservation — discolored it is true by the stains of Time, 
 but nothing injured in its outline. Although the head is 
 comparatively modern — yet deprived of this and standing 
 there as a headless trunk, like the Torso of Hercules, or 
 the flying Niobe^ to which allusion has above been made, 
 it would still be one of the noblest figures in the collec- 
 tion. I can never forget the wonderful impression made 
 by this statue upon the entire party who visited the halls 
 of the Vatican with me, by torch light. No sooner had 
 the full blaze of the torches flashed upon the face, than it 
 was lit up by an expression so perfectly life-like, that it 
 extorted an exclamation of delighted surprise from more 
 than one of our party. The dark tints, which in the garish 
 light of day discolored the drapery, vanished, and the 
 marble shone forth again with all that pure whiteness 
 which belonged to it, when the last stroke of the sculptor's 
 chisel, left it 
 
 " A thing of beauty, and a joy forever." 
 
 Wonderful too, was the eff'ect of this magical light, as it 
 fell flickeringly upon the graceful folds of the drapery. It 
 seemed as if the wind had stirred it, or as though it rose 
 and fell beneath the soft breathings of the life-like figure 
 before us. To use the language of an artist, applied to 
 another statue, *Mooking at the regal aspect, the proudly 
 beautiful lip, the self-possession and graceful majesty of 
 this figure, we can hardly suppose that the Art capable of 
 producing this, could have flourished in a state of society* 
 where the position of woman, was other than surrounded 
 with dignity and respect : or where high moral influences 
 were not apprehended and recognized iu her.'' 
 
THE VATICAN. 305 
 
 Passing over to the other side, and nearly at the foot of 
 the recumbent and majestic figure of the colossal River 
 God, we have another original from the Greek chisel. It 
 is the statue of Diana, the chaste goddess of the night, 
 represented at the moment when on the heights of Latmos, 
 she descries the sleeping Endymion. It is certainly one 
 of the most beautiful representations of this divinity. A 
 perfect story in marble of aiFection watching over the 
 sleep of the loved object, "all unconscious of the joy 'tis 
 giving." In the fillet confining the hair, is discernible 
 the holes in which the crescent once rested, indicating 
 that she is represented here as the goddess of the moon, 
 and not in her character the divine huntress. This statue 
 was discovered a few miles from the Porta Cavalleggiera, 
 among some ruins, either those of a villa or a temple to 
 the goddess. 
 
 In the majestic statue of the Minerva Medica, found 
 in the penetralia of the ruin I have described in the last 
 chapter, we have a personation of this goddess, who com- 
 bines so many virtues in her mythological character. Here 
 we have the gracious aspect of the goddess in '' the Odys- 
 sey," and the ''Furies" of Eschylus. The breastplate 
 formed of scales, is thrown with graceful negligence over 
 the bosom, and she holds the ample mantle drawn over her 
 left shoulder, lightly grasped in the left hand. At her 
 feet is a serpent, the emblem of Esculapius, and which 
 has given the name to the figure. This, like some of the 
 statues of Jove, Hercules and Apollo, to be found in the 
 Vatican, embodies to the full all the mythological charac- 
 teristics. It is a figure which men might almost be 
 excused, for falling down before it to worship; and 
 
 when standing in majestic silence in its ancient fane, 
 Aa2 
 
306' FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 might well fill devout worshippers with awe. It would be 
 wholly out of my power, even if I wished it, to name, far 
 less to describe, the many objects of interest contained in 
 this^ or the other immense Statuary Halls of the Vatican. 
 You may wander from one long gallery to another, make 
 the round of the circular and octagonal apartments — visit 
 the small chambers that surround the court of the Foun- 
 tain — ascend the staircase terminated by the columns of 
 African marble — stand among the pillars of alabaster in 
 the court of the Faun — wander through the Etruscan 
 collection, and days will not suffice to accomplish even 
 this physical labor, nor weeks to catalogue the extent of 
 the noble collection : and yet this contains but a very 
 amall fragmentary portion of the Treasures of Art that 
 belonged to the Imperial City. The object of this chap- 
 ter, is simply to notice as we pass, some of the most re- 
 markable of the marble treasures of this wonderful Muse- 
 um. Nearly in the centre of the hall, and opposite to 
 one of the recesses, reclines a colossal statue of the Nile 
 as a River God, leaning on a sphinx. In different posi- 
 tions upon the figure, are represented sixteen children, 
 denoting the sixteen cubits increase of the river, and every 
 one of these children is in such manner figured, that it ad- 
 mirably describes the effect, which at that rise and increase 
 it wrought on the land of Egypt, As for example, the 
 sixteenth child is placed upon a shoulder of the river, 
 with a basket of flowers and fruits upon its head, signify- 
 ing that the increase of the river to the sixteenth cubit, 
 enriches the earth with fruit, and brings gladness to it : 
 but all of the children have a like symbolical meaning. 
 There is an appearance of repose about this figure truly 
 marvellous, and a majesty in the features, that should 
 alone belong to divinity. 
 
THE VATICAN. 807 
 
 We must not leave this superb hall without noticing 
 the exquisite pavement of ancient mosaics, by which 
 it is adorned. They were brought from the ruins of a 
 villa near Tormarancio, and are remarkable specimens of 
 the skill of the ancients in this exquisite work. The 
 figures too, are so arranged, that, from whatever point of 
 view, the eye falls upon this carpet in stone, part of the 
 figures appear in an upright position. The whole story of 
 the shipwreck of Ulysses, is here told with all the faith- 
 fulness of a painting, and in colors which will never fade. 
 
 In the Museo Pio Clementine is to be found the cele- 
 brated Belvidere Torso, a mutilated trunk without arms^ 
 and but the mere fragment of thighs, and yet so won- 
 derful in its delineations that Michael Angelo and Raphael 
 educated and developed their genius by its study. Mengs 
 considered this Torso to unite the beauties of all the other 
 antique statues, to possess a variety so perfect, that it was 
 truly divine. It dates back beyond the age of Alexander 
 the Great, and is supposed to have been the work of Apol- 
 lonius, an Athenian. It requires an artistic taste educated 
 up to a very high point, to appreciate and understand the 
 encomiums lavished upon this huge lump of marble, by 
 enraptured artists. But near to it may be noticed a sar- 
 cophagus, whose history awakens an interest in the breast, 
 which has been steeled to all impressions from the won- 
 drous Torso. I allude to that stone cofl&n which once held 
 the body, not the ashes, (for this family never burned their 
 dead), of Lucius Cornelius Scipio Barbatus, the ancestor 
 of the great Scipio Africanus. Upon its sides you can 
 read, still distinct, the old Latin inscription, proclaiming the 
 merits of this great forefather of the Scipios, in genuine 
 patriarchal fashion, 
 
308 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 " Cornelius Lucius Scipio the 
 Bearded, the lawful son of his 
 Father Gneius, a valiant man 
 And wise, whose person nearly 
 Resembled his virtue. 
 Consul, Censor, iEdile so he was among you. 
 Taurasia, Cisauna in Samnium has he taken 
 All Lucania has he subjected. 
 And hostages has he carried away." 
 
 This sarcophagus was found in the latter part of the 
 last century in the Vigna Sassi, in the tomb of the Scipios. 
 It dates back to the fifth century after the foundation of 
 the city. The carvings on the lid and base are certainly 
 remarkably fine, and indicate considerable advance in art. 
 
 In the Hall of the Meleagcr we have the statue of the 
 hero that confers upon it the name. He is represented as 
 reposing on a lance, after having slain the Caledonian boar. 
 The left hand which the lance sustained has perished, and 
 it is said that even Michael Angelo shrunk from restoring 
 it. Succeeding generations it appears have manifested the 
 same timidity, as it remains still mutilated. The sculp- 
 tor has indulged in a peculiarity in this statue for the 
 purpose of representing the fairness of complexion, which 
 belonged to Meleager — Homer calling him XanthoSj yel- 
 low or fair. In the eyebrows, there is an absence of the 
 indenture commonly used to supply the effect of the dark 
 color^ which together with the softness of the contour, 
 indicates this fairness of complexion. The statue was 
 found on the Janiculum, outside the Porta Portese. Just 
 behind the Meleager is a bust of Plato, with a profile 
 remarkably beautiful, reminding one of the type adopted 
 by the ancient painters for that of the Redeemer. 
 
 In a hall in close vicinity to that of the Meleager, is 
 
THE VATICAN. 309 
 
 the Antinous, now changed in the catalogue to a Mercury. 
 But it possesses not one of the characteristics of the god. 
 The wings, the caducous, and every other emblem of Mer- 
 cury are wanting. The countenance also resembles that 
 which is usually given to Antinous. It may be that the 
 sculptor did not intend to represent the character of the 
 cajoling and thoroughly undigni^ed Mercury, as he is 
 presented at least by one aspect of his fabulous adventures : 
 but only as the gracious messenger of the gods, the Genius 
 of Eloquence, the inventor of the seven chorded lyre, the 
 conductor of disembodied spirits. You next enter an octa- 
 gonal court, surrounded by a portico decorated with superb 
 marble columns, and enriched with some of the most 
 splendid monuments of ancient magnificence: — statues and 
 relievos, baths formed of marble and granite, as bright as 
 though they had just left the carver's hands; sarcophagi 
 embellished with exquisite sculpture; vases and votive 
 altars. But it is in the recesses of this grand court, that 
 the greatest treasures of the Vatican are contained, the 
 Laocoon and the Apollo Belvidere. The first impressions 
 produced by gazing on the wonderful group of the Laocoon 
 are certainly those of. disappointment. There seems to be 
 a want of harmony in the figures ; and that defect pre- 
 sents itself at all times. The bodies of the father and his 
 sons are relatively out of proportion : for if the sons are 
 viewed separately, they by no means present the appear- 
 ance of boys, but of men ; whereas, the father is so much 
 larger, that either he must be a giant, or his sons dwarfs. 
 But aside from this defect, it is certainly the most expres- 
 sive group of statuary in the Vatican. Virgil describes 
 Laocoon as seized by the serpent whilst attempting to save 
 his children, the first victims. The lines of the Eneid, 
 " Ille simul manibus tendit divellere nodos 
 Clamores simul horrendos ad sidera toUitj" 
 
310 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 are in accordance with the plastic treatment of the story ; 
 otherwise, the sculptor has not borrowed much from the 
 poet. Far more than physical pain is conveyed in this 
 wonderful group — a lofty defiance of the suffering, which 
 if it has overpowered the body, has not subdued the soul. 
 The wrath of Minerva, to which Laocoon fell a victim, 
 was excited, by an act in itself patriotic and heroic, the 
 hurling of the lance to discover the deception of the 
 wooden horse for the preservation of Troy. He becomes 
 thus dying, a martyr to his country,- and the anticipation of 
 her ruin is the most intense of sorrows. This is certainly 
 expressed in the countenance, and with the distorted face, 
 the starting sinews and distended limbs, entwined in the 
 inextricable folds of the serpents, offer a most appalling 
 picture of human suffering. 
 
 Not far from the cabinet of the Laocoon, in admirable 
 preservation stands the Apollo Belvidere. Here in truth^ 
 W3 have the noblest and the loftiest of the sons of Zeus. 
 Apollo, in the higher conception of the religion of the 
 ancients, was the deification of the beautiful, the heroic, 
 the poetic and the benign. The fable of the girl who pined 
 for love toward Apollo, and was metamorphosed into the 
 sun-flower, which ever turns to the God of Day, seems 
 intelligible when you look at this incomparable statue : 
 
 "—the delicate form, a dream of love 
 Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast 
 Longed for a deathless lover from above. 
 And maddened in that vision." 
 
 ' A variety of opinions have been expressed as to the cha- 
 racter in which the sculptor intended to represent Apollo. 
 Spence conceived him to be a hunter : other opinions are, 
 that he has just defeated the giant Tityvsj that ho has 
 expended all his arrows against the Achians; that he ha« 
 
THE VATICAN. 311 
 
 been slaying the fair Niobo and her children, or the 
 faithless Coronis. The prevailing opinion however is, that 
 he has just slain the serpent Python. He certainly appears 
 from the attitude, and from the fragment of a bow in his 
 left hand, to have just discharged an arrow. A quiver is 
 on his back, and his feet are exactly in the attitude of a 
 person who has drawn his bow, and is watching the pro- 
 gress of his arrow. This unique statue was discovered 
 near Porto D'Anzio, where it no doubt constituted one of 
 the ornaments of the imperial villas of ancient Antium. 
 Out of this court where the Apollo stands, you pass into a 
 larger apartment filled with various animals of Greek and 
 Roman sculpture. The floor is composed of curious and 
 handsome mosaics, mostly found at Palestrina, the ancient 
 Preneste. 
 
 In the Hall of the Busts, which is the most historically, 
 if not the most artistically interesting section of the Mu- 
 seum, we have a collection of original busts of statesmen, 
 heroes and philosophers of antiquity, mingled with the 
 busts of the principal gods of the heathen mythology. 
 This hall is ornamented with columns inlaid with giallo 
 anticOj with corresponding pilasters of variegated marble : 
 while the floor is ornamented with rare mosaics. It would 
 be in vain to attempt the mention of each particular object 
 of interest in this unique collection. The mention of one 
 or two will suffice. A most remarkable bust in the series 
 is that representing Augustus, in advanced age. A wreath 
 of artificial laurel, worked round a diadem, encircles the 
 brow, with an orbicular gem in the centre, containing the 
 profile of Julius Caesar. This circlet is supposed to be 
 emblematic of the sacerdotal character of the Emperor, 
 the effigy on these gems being always of that of a god or 
 a deified mortal. Caesar having been deified, it may be 
 
312 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 that Augustus is here represented as one of the priesthood 
 of the divine Julius. There is a full length sitting statue 
 of Jupiter, terminating the vista. Great dignity and ma- 
 jesty are here expressed. It calls to your mind the Jupiter 
 invoked by Horace as 
 
 " Gentis humanae Pater atque Gustos," 
 
 more calm and raised above the shocks of passion than the 
 Jupiter of Homer, though the sire of deities who shakes 
 his ambrosial curls, till all Olympus trembles at the nod, 
 in the Iliad, might be pictured to the mind in a form like 
 this. Grave, austere and majestic, this statue of Jupiter 
 looks down upon the thronging crowds of the Vatican^ as 
 he once looked down from his shrine, upon the worship- 
 pers in his temple. 
 
 The Hall of the Muses, is one of the most richly 
 decorated, and tastefully ornamented of any in the Vati- 
 can. The pavements are inlaid with antique mosaics, the 
 subjects of which are mostly theatrical — the figures of 
 actors in their peculiar costumes and masks ; in the centre 
 a head of Medusa surrounded with arabesques of beautiful 
 design. Here we have in marble, exquisitely sculptured, 
 the nine daughters of Mnemosyne, preceded by Apollo 
 with the lute. All of these statues are ancient, and were 
 discovered in the villa of Cassius, near Rome. Here too 
 are original busts of Demosthenes, ^^schines, Zeno the 
 Stoic, of Pericles and Periander. In the Hall of the 
 Greek Cross is the celebrated statue of Venus called of 
 Gnidos, supposed to be from the chisel of Praxiteles, 
 which is mentioned by Pliny, "as illustrious throughout 
 the world." It may be but a copy, but it is certainly the 
 finest statue of the goddess in Italy. "The Cytherian 
 Zone/' binding all things with beauty, might be proudly 
 
THE VATICAN. 
 
 claimed as the due attribute of such an enchantress. We 
 are too apt to associate coarseness and vulgarity with the 
 attributes of Venus : but does not the mythological con- 
 ception of this divinity personify the principle that ani- 
 mated nature with life, infusing the soul of joy and beauty 
 into every thing ? And does not the magnificent exordium 
 of Lucretius to " alma Venus/' before whom the tempests 
 are laid, the clouds disperse, the heaven and ocean become 
 radiant with smiles, and the earth strews its surface with 
 flowers — r comprise her more lofty and benificent aspects? 
 At all events in this .statue the sculptor seems to have been 
 inspired with the same ideas as the poet. 
 
 It would be vain to attempt a description of the nume- 
 rous choice things of art that crowd hall after hall of 
 this stupendous Museum. The visitor is overwhelmed 
 with the multiplicity of objects. The few that we have 
 named must suflBce. The multiplicity and variety of an- 
 cient artistic treasures that crowd the immense halls of the 
 Vatican, Capitoline, and Lateran Museums bewilder and 
 stupefy the senses : and yet these immense depositories 
 contain a small part only of the former splendor of Rome. 
 •Every church is adorned with ancient columns, every 
 palace has a gallery of ancient art : even foreign countries 
 owe their boasts of statuary to Rome ; — and the treasure 
 is still not exhausted ; 
 
 ". Though every realm and state, 
 
 With Rome's august remains — heroes and gods- 
 Deck their long galleries and winding groves;— 
 Yet miss we not the innnmerable thefts — 
 For still profuse of glories teems the waste." 
 
 B B 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 WANDERINGS AMONG THE CATACOMBS. 
 
 Origin of the Catacombs — Catacombs of St.Calixtus — Epitaphs — 
 Little Chapels — Frescoes — Portrait of Christ — The Burial 
 Place of St Paul. 
 
 If your inspection of Rome has confined itself only to 
 her monumental and artistic treasures, you have still left 
 a most interesting portion unexamined. There is a silent 
 city which extends its ramifications under busy life above; 
 having its history^ its monuments and associations fraught 
 with interest the most profound. I allude to the Catacombs. 
 
 The origin of these sepulchral chambers has been keenly 
 disputed. The excavations in which they began, were 
 most certainly made for the purpose of digging out the 
 volcanic earth used by the ancient, as well as the modern 
 builders. There can be little question that these quarries 
 and caves were ancient, long before the cradle of the Twins 
 floated among the reeds of the Tiber, or the udders of the 
 she-wolf gave down the strengthening milk that nourished 
 the Founder of the Seven Hilled City. The cities that 
 once crowded the Campagna were built no-doubt out of tlie 
 materials taken from these quarries. When the Romans 
 obtained a foot-hold on the banks of the Tiber, and began 
 to erect Temples, Forums and Thermae, then the demand 
 for this material for building constantly increased, and so 
 it continued under the magnificent reigns of the Twelve 
 Cajsars, down to the time when the Romans left off" quarry- 
 ing and turned to destroying old buildings to find mate- 
 rials for new. 
 
THE CATACOMBS. 315 
 
 These caves or excavations seem to have been used as 
 early as the first century of our era, as hiding places, 
 caves of refuge by the Christians. Pagan superstition had 
 pointed out these desolate places, these dark and deep ex- 
 cavations as the spots haunted by Canidia and her weird 
 sister old Sagana; of course they were shunned by the 
 superstitious Romans — and this therefore made them a 
 most secure place of concealment for the Christians. The 
 Christians at first interred in them, no other bodies but 
 those of their martyrs, which they were often forced to 
 conceal from their persecutors. It has been very plausibly 
 conjectured that many of the workmen employed in the 
 excavations being Christians, first suggested to their fellow 
 worshippers in Rome, the use of these retreats for the ob- 
 servance of their religious rites, thus guarding them into 
 those recesses which very early thus became places of con- 
 cealment and devotion. No doubt the laborers in these 
 subterranean galleries formed a class by themselves. They 
 were for the most part slaves, the degraded and the out- 
 casts of the Imperial City. It was natural that the religion 
 which proclaimed the great truth of the equality of man- 
 kind before God — which taught the hereditary bondsmen, 
 to look to the future as a reward for all the sufferings 
 and irregularities of this life — that had selected fisher- 
 men and publicans for apostles, should be received with 
 joy and embraced with gladness, by the neglected and 
 despised laborers in these sand caves. 
 
 One morning we obtained a special permit to visit the 
 Catacombs of St. Calixtus, which contain memorials of 
 Christianity, as early as the first century, before the last of 
 the Apostles had left the earth. 
 
 About two miles from the Saint Sebastian gate, after 
 
316 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 traversing a portion of the Appian Way, we entered a 
 large field occupying the right of the road, jommand' 
 ing a most glorious view over the Cainpagna, and of the 
 •distant ranges of the Appenines. In the centre of thia 
 field we came to a large opening, which revealed a long 
 and steep staircase of stone, going down as it were into the 
 very bowels of the earth. As we descended, the transition 
 from the outer world where all was sunshine and warmth, 
 into the regions of darkness and dampness below, reminded 
 me of Dante's entrance into the Inferno. The first im- 
 pression on entering these catacombs, when the light of 
 day is almost instantly lost, and by the dim light of the 
 torches one sees nothing in advance but the narrow gallery, 
 lined with tiers of sepulchres, filled with the decaying 
 relics of humanity — and feels the path beneath his feet 
 descending deeper and deeper — is one of horror that chills 
 and astonishes the mind. The imagination then calls up 
 what the reason rejects, and plays, as if fascinated, with 
 ideal terrors. One remembers then the story of the band 
 of students who, with their tutor, several years ago, were 
 lost in these very sepulchral chambers, and whose remains 
 have never even been found. But soberly speaking, there is 
 not the least occasion for fear — the localities are perfectly 
 familiar to the guides, and many of the more dangerous 
 galleries have been walled up, so as not to tempt the wan- 
 dering foot of imprudent curiosity. Soon we were traversing 
 numberless corridors, intersecting each other, some at acute, 
 some at obtuse angles, and many of them terminating in a 
 rudely formed niche, something in shape like the tribune of 
 a church, so, that you are obliged to strike off in a direction 
 quite different. As we advanced along the narrow galleries, 
 on each side we observed with scarcely any interruption, 
 
THE CATACOMBS. 317 
 
 two, and sometimes three tiers of grave-like shelves, such 
 as only could have been used by Christians, whose custom 
 it was, not to burn their dead. These graves were mostly 
 open, and in many of them were crumbling fragments of 
 bones, and in two or three almost entire skeletons; at their 
 sides earthen flasks, and sometimes flasks of glass, contain- 
 ing a red sediment, these last marking the resting place 
 of the martyrs; this sediment being the remains of their 
 blood, which these vases always contained in small quan- 
 tities. Some of the tombs are still closed with slabs of 
 marble, bearing the name and age of the deceased, with 
 short comments^ all testifying their faith "in brighter 
 worlds beyond'' — one "sleeps in Christ" — another is 
 buried " that she may live in the Lord Jesus" — while on 
 another we noticed almost the words of St. Paul himself. 
 This inscription records the name of Cornelia, beloved 
 daughter of Leopardus, and below the words, "dying ! yet 
 behold she lives." These inscriptions are chiefly in Latin, 
 often mis-spelt or ungrammatical, occasionally written in 
 Greek characters, and are generally simple, but in some 
 cases extremely affecting. A parent briefly names the age 
 of his beloved child, or a husband that of his wife, and the 
 years of their wedded life : or the epitaph adds a prayer 
 that the dead "may rest in peace," annexing some rudely 
 carved emblem of the believer's hope and immortality. 
 But most of all, I noticed the Cross in its simplest form, 
 employed to testify the faith of the deceased. Whatever 
 ignorance and blind credulity may have sprung up in later 
 times, here in these catacombs^ upon these marble slabs, 
 that shut their beloved dead from their sight, the early 
 Christians have shown that with them there was no doubt 
 of the full appreciation of that glorious sacrifice, " whereby 
 
 £B2 
 
318 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 alone we obtain the remission of sins^ and are made par- 
 takers of the Kingdom of Heaven/' One inscription in- 
 terested me very much, so sad and solemn in its details — 
 a translation of which would be — '* Oh unhappy times, 
 when we cannot worship in safety, hardly in caverns — 
 when we are hunted like wild beasts from the surface of 
 the earth/' It is in one of the chapels, and just over a 
 fresco representing the three children in the fiery furnace, 
 evidently emblematizing martyrdom. Most of the inscrip- 
 tions are concise, and to the purpose, as the following : — 
 " Here lies Godianus, deputy of Gaul, who was executed 
 for the faith, with all his family;" and then the touching 
 conclusion : " Theophilas a handmaid placed this stone in 
 fear, but full of hope ;" as if none were left to pay this 
 last tribute, but the faithful handmaid of the deputy of 
 Gaul ; or if for his faith his family had deserted him — 
 then among the faithless, faithful only this poor menial, 
 who in fear erected the memorial, which handed down to 
 our times the master's faith, and the handmaiden's faith- 
 fulness. 
 
 The intelligent gentleman who accompanied us, seemed 
 to think, that in the peculiar form of these tombs, the 
 early Christians desired to imitate that of the Saviour's, 
 fashioning them like caves, and closing the aperture with 
 a slab of marble or granite — a very likely hypothesis, and 
 certainly a most beautiful impulse of love, treating as 
 sacred, and to be imitated, even the accidental and out- 
 ward details connected with the history on earth of ** the 
 Incarnate God." 
 
 In passing along these narrow galleries of tombs, at 
 intervals, you come to small vaulted chambers many of 
 them Btill ornamented with the rude frescoes by which the 
 
THE CATACOMBS. 819 
 
 early Christiana symbolized their faith. These small 
 apartments are the little chapels, where several hundred 
 feet below the surface of the earth they met by the dim 
 light of torches for prayer and praise. The frescoes are 
 in every case symbolical of facts in the Gospel History. 
 Amonir them we noticed the figure of the " Good Shep- 
 herd," represented by a rustic youth in tunic and buskins 
 carrying a lamb upon his shoulders. Moses striking the 
 rock, supposed to be illustrative of baptism. Daniel in 
 the lion's den, emblematic of our Saviour passing through 
 the valley of the shadow of death, and it may be of the 
 Christian's conflict amid the trials of life, and particularly 
 applicable and affecting to those, for whom it was thus 
 depicted — Christians, whose faith was tried by the fires 
 of persecution. Here too were frescoes representing Christ 
 in the midst of the Apostles — his entry into Jerusalem — 
 and several of the Redeemer's miracles, but principally 
 the miracle at Cana, and that of the " loaves and fishes." 
 In one chapel I particularly noticed the Holy Spirit as 
 the descending dove at the baptism of Jesus — and in one 
 of the galleries, close by the tomb of the martyr Cecelia, 
 a portrait of our Saviour in his humanity, representing 
 him with one hand extended, as if in the act of blessing, 
 clasping with the other a book close to his breast. This 
 is interesting, as it is unquestionably the earliest painting 
 we have of Christ, being of the third or fourth century of 
 our era, and although exceedingly rude in its design and 
 finish, clearly furnishing the face from which Cimabue, 
 Giotto, and most of the very early painters have copied. 
 Our Saviour in his exaltation is not represented until 
 many centuries later, as in the earliest ages of the Church, 
 when its zeal was pure and devotional, the scene of the 
 
320 rOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 crucifixion was reverently avoided. It was not until tlie 
 eixth century, when corruptions had crept in, that frescoes 
 representing the solemn scene on Calvary are seen. 
 
 This portrait of Christ in the Catacombs, is said to 
 have been painted as early as the latter part of the second 
 century. It represents a person with an oval face, straight 
 nose, arched eyebrows, and a smooth but rather high fore- 
 head — the hair parted and flowing in curls upon the 
 shoulders, the beard not thick, but short and divided. 
 Over the left shoulder is thrown some drapery. How far 
 this is authentic I am not prepared to say. It certainly 
 is not a painting of the early date claimed for it ; and 
 looks as if it might have been painted in the third or 
 fourth century of the Christian era. The earliest description 
 we have of Christ, is in a letter from Lentulus to the 
 Roman Senate. This Lentulus is said to have been the 
 successor to Pontius Pilate. Whether genuine or not, its 
 description harmonizes with that, which every Christian 
 would desire to form of his Saviour. In this letter, he is 
 described as "a man of lofty stature, of serious and im- 
 posing countenance, inspiring love as well as fear. His 
 hair is the color of wine, or of golden lustre, flowing in curls 
 upon his shoulders, and divided down the centre of the head 
 after the manner of the Nazarenes. The forehead is 
 smooth and serene. The face without blemish, of a plea- 
 sant slightly ruddy color. The expression noble and en- 
 gaging — the nose and mouth of perfect form — the beard 
 abundant and of the same color with the hair — the eyes 
 blue and brilliant, and the most beautiful among the chil- 
 dren of men." 
 
 We were some three hours under ground wandering 
 amid these sepulchral chambers, deeply interested with the 
 
THE CATACOMBS. 321 
 
 revelations, "which at every step opened updn us, bearing 
 the strongest testimony to the truth of our religion. The 
 Catacombs are certainly a gigantic monument to the truth 
 of Christianity, no less aft'ccting to the heart than con- 
 vincing to the mind, proving with what rapidity its 
 doctrines had spread — the persecutions and sufferings to 
 which its professors had cheerfully submitted by reason of 
 " the hope that was in them," and more than all, the 
 identity of the primitive Church in all its belief and prac- 
 tice, with the scriptural record. The Romish Church, it 
 is true, points to these Catacombs to prove that the com- 
 plications of its splendid worship, were derived from the 
 practices of the early Church ; but there is nothing in any 
 of the pictorial representations of the earliest of the Cata- 
 combs, or in the innumerable inscriptions upon its tombs, 
 that furnish the least authority for the bold assumption. 
 In other Catacombs, opened and used at a later date, and 
 after corruptions had crept into the Church, it is very true 
 that the paintings of the Virgin and Child, and of some 
 of the earliest Popes arrayed in their Pontificals, may be 
 seen. But none of these paintings can claim an earlier 
 date than the fifth or sixth century. 
 
 These Catacombs of Calixtus are the earliest, and it is 
 well ascertained from the dates on several of the tombs, 
 that they were used as a burial place by the Christians, 
 during the persecutions under Nero. It was in this per- 
 secution St. Paul perished, and it may be that the tradi- 
 tion which points to these Catacombs, as the first resting 
 place of the body of the Apostle is correct. There seems 
 no reason for distrust in the main features of the legend, 
 certainly as to the scene of St. Paul's martyrdom and 
 grave — the localities of which are in themselves likely 
 
322 
 
 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 enough, and derive some additional probability from tbe 
 fact, that it was an event which would cling most tena- 
 ciously to the memory of the early Church, even in ita 
 minutest details. The bones of the Apostle are said to 
 have been removed from these Catacombs in the year 375, 
 at a time when it is to be fairly presumed, that the Chris- 
 tian Church could not have forgotten "where they laid 
 him.'' The patriotism of New England still cherishes 
 authentic memorials of " the Pilgrim Fathers," and the 
 places of the sepulture of many of them are known to 
 this day — and there certainly is more abundant reason 
 why the Christians should remember the burial place of 
 the most zealous of the Apostles, at as early a day in the 
 Christian era as 375, A. C. 
 
 Great efforts are now being made by the Papal Govern- 
 ment to secure the Catacombs from destruction. Many of 
 the galleries have been strengthened by arches — and 
 shafts are being sunk, to let the light of day into their 
 gloomy recesses. Several new ones have lately been dis- 
 covered, and are being excavated — but of all of them the 
 most interesting, because the most ancient, are the Cata- 
 combs of Calixtus. 
 
 No sovereign has interested himself more in these re- 
 searches, and been at more expense in this work, than the 
 present incumbent of the Papal Chair, who is so remarka- 
 ble for the zeal he has manifested in sustaining and am- 
 plifying the peculiar tenets of that Church, over which he 
 presides with so much urbanity and dignity. Whatever 
 may be said of the zealous ardor of the present Pontiflf in 
 advancing and sustaining peculiar doctrines — the rebuke 
 of Michael Angelo can have no application to him. That 
 celebrated painter, but still more celebrated sculptor, 
 
THE CATACOMBS. 
 
 323 
 
 having been told that in one of his paintings he had given 
 too florid a complexion to the Apostle Peter, replied " that 
 he had not intended to portray him as he was upon earth, 
 but as he was likely to look in heaven^ where he must be 
 continually blushing on account of the sad immoral lives 
 of his successors." 
 
 As we emerged from the gloomy recesses of the Cata- 
 combs, and stood once more in the bright sunshine — 
 breathing heaven's pure air — the scene before us was 
 one of melancholy interest. . Directly below, stretched 
 the long line of the Appian Way, marked at intervals 
 by the crumbling ruins of the once sumptuous tombs, 
 that their owners vainly built to make their names 
 immortal; before and around us the desolate waste 
 of the Campagna lay in all its desolation. There cities 
 had been born, and there they perished from the world 
 forever — there fields had been lost and won, when Rome 
 was struggling for the mastery with the fierce nations that 
 surrounded her. It was over this vast plain swept that 
 red whirlwind, descried by "the wan burghers" from the 
 " rock Tarpeian," when was heard, 
 
 "The trumpet's war note proud, 
 The trampling and the hum, 
 And plainly and more plainly 
 Now through the gloom appears, 
 Far to left, and far to right, 
 In broken gleams of dark blue light, 
 The long array of helmets bright, 
 The long array of spears." 
 
 Looking towards the Eternal City, the huge dome of St. 
 Peter's lifted itself in air, which with the Tower of St. 
 Angelo, and the high roof of the Palace of the Corsini 
 were glowing in the light of departing day. There too, 
 
324 FOREIGN ETCHINGS. 
 
 just darkened by the advancing shadows of evening, might 
 be discerned the grey and lofty pile of the Colosseum, 
 and the desolate line of the Forum, with its solitary arches 
 and ruined fragments. Words are insufl&cient to describe 
 the melancholy emotions which crowd the mind on look- 
 ing out upon such a scene as this. It is the huge grave 
 which covers the remains of the loftiest human greatness 
 that ever had existence. And gazing upon such a scene, 
 
 "The heart runs o'er 
 With silent homage of the great of old, 
 The dead but sceptered sovereigns, who still rule 
 Our spirits from their urns." 
 
 THE END 
 
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