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HAPS AND MISHAPS

A .TOUR IN EUROPE.

GRACE GREENWOOD.

BOSTON :
TICKNOR, REED, AND FIELDS.
M DOCC LIV.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, J)y
LEANDER K. LIPPINCOTT,
In the Clerk's Offlce of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.

STEREOTYPED AT THE
BOSTON STE 11 EO TYPE FOUNDRY.

DEDICATION.
To my publishers and my dear friends, William D.
Ticknor and James T. Fields, of Boston, and to their
friend and mine, Francis Bennooh, of London, I
gratefully and heartily dedicate this volume.
GRACE GREENWOOD.

(iii)

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I. PAOB
The Voyage out. — Jenny Liud. — Captain West. — Custom House.
— Landing. — The. Country. — Liverpool. — Mr. Martincau. — Bir
mingham. — Joseph Sturge. — Warwick Castle. — Stratford on Avon.
— Coventry  1

CHAPTER II.
Nottingham. — Lincoln. — Ncwstead. — HucknaJl. — Kenilworth. —
London. — Barry Cornwall. — Westminster Abbey. — The City. — Mr.
Cobdeii. — Hyde Park. — Houses of Paxliament. — Lord Carlisle. —
Mary Howitt. — Prorogation of Parliament. — The Queen. — Martin
Tupper. — Miss Mitford, .  21

CHAPTER III.
Newgate. — Model Prisons. — Mr. Dickens. — Walter Savage Landor.
— Charles Kemble. — English Hospitality. — Mr. and Mrs. Hall. —
a* (v)

n CONTENTS.
Joseph Mazzini. — Albert Smith. — Zoological Gardens. — British
Museum. — Windsor Castle. — Stafford House. — Bridgewater Gal
lery. — Mr. Kingsley. — A Literary Party. — Astley's. — The Docks.
— The Tower. — Greenwich. — The Opera. — Grisi. — Mario. — The
Tomb of Milton,  45

CHAPTER IV.
Wales. — Irish Channel. — Dublin. — Cork. — Blarney Castle. — The
Blarney Stone. — The Country. — The People. — Monkstown. — En
Koute for KUlamey. — Glengariff. — A Character. — KiUamey. —
Excursions. — Ascent of Mangerton. — The dark-bearded Tourist. —
Eoss Castle. — " Paddy Blake." — The Shaimon. — Limerick. — Dub
lin. — Sir Philip Crampton. — Model Prison. — Lunatic Asylum. —
Donnybrook Fair. — Dublin Society,  75

CHAPTER V.
Wicklow. — Vale of Avoca. — Devil's Glen. — Valley of the Seven
Churches. — St. Kevin. — Lough Bray. — Sir Philip Crampton. —
Giant's Causeway. — Castle of Dunluce. — North of Ireland. — Bel
fast. — Lough Neagh. — Religious and Political Questions. — i^eo-
dote   101

CHAPTER VI.
Ayr. — Alloway. — The Birthplace of Bums. — The Monument.  Mra.
Begg. — Glasgow. — Loch Long. — Loch Goil. — Inverary  Tarbet.
— Ascent of Ben Lomond. — Loch Lomond. — Loch Katrine. — Stir
ling. — Edinburgh. — Holyrood. — Melrose. — Abbotsford. — Dry-

CONTENTS. TU
burgh. —Newcastle upon Tyne.— York. — The Minster.— London.
— Hampton Court  116

CHAPTER VII.
Paris. — The Louvre. — The Madeleine. — Place de la Concorde. —
Chapel of St. Ferdinand. — NeuiUy . — Hotel des Invalides. — Tomb
of Napoleon. — Notre Dame. — Pere La Chaise. — Versailles. —
Avignon. — Papal Palace. — Inquisition. — Pont de Gard. — Vau-
^use. — Marseilles, — Voyage to Genoa. — Genoa. — Comice Road.
— Pisa. — Voyage from Leghorn to Civita Vecchia. — Rome. — The
Coliseum. — The Catacombs. — Tomb of CecUia MeteUa. — Appian *
Way. — Baths of CaracaHa. — Columbaria. — Capitol. — Via Sacra, . Ul

CHAPTER VIII.
St. Peter's. — Statues. — Sistine Chapel. — High Mass. — The Pope. —
Aspect of the City. — Of the People. — Peasants. — Beggars. —
Soldiers. — Priests. — Works of Art. — The Apollo. — The Dying
Gladiator.— The Cenci. — ViUa Borghese. — Tivoli. —Ascent of St.
Peter's. — The Coliseum by MoonUght. — The English Burying
Ground. — Graves of Keats and SheUey. — A Religious Procession.
—Albano. — A Ride on the Campagna,  169

CHAPTER IX.
Christmas and New Tear's Ceremonies. — The Holy Cradle. — High
Mass at St. Peter's.— The Pope. — Cardinal AntineUi.— Te Deum
at tho Gesu. — Jewish Synagogue. — The Campagna. — Doria and

'Ill CONTENTS.
Corsini Palaces. — Portrait of Lucrezia Borgia. — Monastery of St.
Onofrio. — Tomb of Tasso. — Propagandist College. — Art. — Modem
Artists. — Overbook. — Tenerani. — Steinhauser. — Gibson. — Miss
Hosmer,  195

CHAPTER X.
American Artists. — Crawford. — His Washington Monument. — Mr.
Story  Mr. Greenough. — Mr. Mozier. — Mr. Page. — Blessing of
the Beasts. — The Carnival. — Races. — The Mocoli. — BaU..— Ro
man Nobility. — King of Bavaria. — Meeting the Pope. — Veii. —
•islands,  ; 219

CHAPTER XI.
Washington's Birthday. — The Emeute at MUan. — Italian Freedom.
— The Papal Supremacy. — Beggars. — Models. — Tableaux Vivants.
— Guide's Aurora. —The Colonna. — The Quirinal. — Drive on the
Appian Way. — Peasant Boys. — Cardinals' Receptions. — The Spring
Time in Italy. — Character of the Italians, political and religious. —
Ceremony at St. Peter's. — High Mass at the Sistine,  243

CHAPTER XII.
A Gallop on the Campagna. — The Church of the Cappuccini. — The
under-ground Cemetery. — Visit to the GaUeries of the Vatican by
Torchlight. — Holy Week. — Palm Sunday. — The Miserere in the
Sistine Chapel. — Scene at the Entrance. — The Ceremonies Of Holy
Thursday. — TheCrowd and Crush. — The Pope waits upon the Apos-

CONTENTS. IX
ties at the Table. — Miserere in St. Peter's. — Washing the Al
tar, and Exhibition of the Relics. — Scene at the Trinita dei Pelle
grini, • • . ,j  264

CHAPTER XIII.
Holy Friday. — The Scala Santa, at St. John Lateran. — The Three
Hours' Agony. — Miserere in the Choral Chapel. — Ceremony of Bap
tism at St. John Lateran. — The Benediction of the Pope. — The
Illumination of St. Peter's. — Fireworks on the Pincio. — Fair at
Grotta Ferrata. — Peasants. — Costumes. — Frascati. — The Tomb of
Charles Edward. — A Donkey Ride to ancient Tusculum. — Spada
Palace. — Statue of Pompey,  290

CHAPTER XIV.
Last Days in Rome. ^ Set out for Naples. — The Pontine Marshes. —
Terracina. — Mola di Gaeta. — St. Agata. — Capua. — Vesuvius. —
Neapolitan Beggars. — Naples. — A Row on the Bay. — The Museum.
— Herculaneum. — Pompeu. — Salerno. — Poestiim. — Amalfi. — La
Luna. — The " Tarantella." — Sorrento. — Unfortunate Trip to Capri.
^Return to Naples,  :  i

CHAPTER XV.
Ascent of Vesuvius. — Museum. — Group of the Farnese Bull. —
Bronzes from Herculaneum. — Pompeian Curiosities. — Virgfl's
Tomb. — Grotto of Posilippo. — Pozzuoii. — Lake Avernus. — Cuma.
— Baia. — Temple of Mercury. — Lake Fusaro, the ancient Styx.—

i. CONTENTS.
The Elysian Fields. — Baths of Nero. — Grotto of the Sibyl. —Beg
gars; — Festa of San Gennaro. — The Miracle. — The Lazzaroni. —
The Churches of Naples. — Grotta del Cane.— AspecUif Naples. -r-
The Solfatara. — Last Visit to the Museum. — The Balbus FamUy. —
Pompeian Works of Art.— The Catacombs. — The New Cemetery.
— The Pits. — A Drive tlirough the Haunts of the Lazzaroni. — The
Prisons,  ... . . . . .... 332

CHAPTER XVI.
Voyage to Leghorn. — Leghorn. — Florence. — The TJifizi. — The Trib
une. — The Venus de Medici. — The Fornarina. — The Pitti Palace.
— Fiesole. — House of Michael Angelo. — Dante's Stone. — The
Cascini. — Charles Lever. — Mr. and Mrs. Browning. — Hiram Pow
ers, his Studio. — Group of the Niobe. — The Grand Duke. — The
Santa Croce. — The Medicean Chapel. — Michael Angelo's monu
mental Groups. — Last Drive in the Cascini. — Adieu to Florence. —
Journey through Tuscany. — Bologna GaUery. — Ferrara. — Cathe
dral. — The Castle. — CeUs of TJgo and Parisina. — Prison of Tasso.
— House of Ariosto. — An Adventure at the Custom House. —
Padua, its Clocks and Sights,  .... . 352

CHAPTER XVII.
Arrival at Venice. — The grand Canal. — The Square of St. Mark,
the Church. — Palace of the Doges. — The Dungeons. — Bridge of
Sighs. — r Academy of Fine Arts. — Titian's great Works. — The
Churches of Venice. — Evening in the Piazza. — The Manfrini Pal
ace. — Byron's Palace. — Venice by Moonlight. — The Rialto. — The
Arsenal. — The Armenian Convent. — The Gondola. — Festa of Cor-

CONTENTS. XI
pus Domine. — Hospital of San Servolo. — The Civil Hospital and
Madhouse. — Sequel of the Adventure of Santa Maria Maddalena.
— Verona. — House of JuUet. — MUan. — Cathedral. — Chapel of
San Carlo. — The Breta.^The Biblioteca Ambrosiana. — Lock of
Lucrezia Borgia's Hair. — Theatre. — Condition of MUan. — Air of
the People. — Austrian and Hungarian Troops. — Public Drives and
Promenades  372

CHAPTER XVIII.
Lake Maggiore. — Isola Bella. — Sanctuario of the Virgin. — Lake
Como. — ViUa D'Este. — The Pliniana. — Prince Belgioso. — Pasta's
Cottage. — Taglioni's. — Churches, — Bormeo. — Ascent of the Alps.
— Pass cf the Stelvio. — The Ortler Spitz. — Glaciers. — Mais. —
The Tyrol. — Pass of the Finstermunz. — A Shooting Match. — Cos
tumes and Manners of the Tyrolese Peasants. — Innsbruck and its
Sights. — Tagernsee. — Floods. — Women working in the Fields. —
Munich. — The Royal Palace. — Pictures. — Lola Montes. — Galleries
and Churches. — Colossal Statue of Bavaria. — The Opera. — The
King and Queen  ... 401

CHAPTER XIX.
Strasbourg, the Cathedral. — Paris. — Annual Exhibition of Paint
ing and Sculpture. — The Emperor and Empress. — Abdel Ka-
der. — London. — A Tale of a Hat. — Frederic FreiUgrath. — Sir
Henry Bishop. — Mr. and Mrs. S. C. HaU. — Runnymead. —
The Camp at Chobham. — Pontooning at Virginia Water. —
Conversazione at the Lord Mayor's. — Distinguished Guests. —

Xll CONTENTS.
The Duchess of Sutherland. — Crystal Palace at Sydenham. —
Ascent of St. Paul's. — Consumption Hospital. — German Flay.
— Emil Devrient. — A FareweU Visit to Kossuth. — Mazzini. —
Adieux,  ¦  - . 423

CHAPTER'I.
The Voyaoe out. — Jenny Lind. — Captain West. — Custom House.
— Landino. — The Countkt. — Liveepool. — Mb. Maetineau. —
BiEMiNOHAM. — Joseph Sturge. — Warwick Castle. — Stratpoed
ON Avon. — Coventry. LivEitPOOL, June 10, 1853.
The gallant steamer Atlantic, on which I came out pas
senger, sailed from New York on Saturday, the 29th of May,
a sunny and quiet day. As Jenny Goldschmidt and her hus
band were on board, an immense concourse of people were
assembled at the landing, on the docks and vessels near by, to
see them off. They stood on the wheel hopse with Captain
West, bowing, smiling, and waving their grateful farewell.
As with a parting gun we bounded from the shore, the heart
gave one last, wild, agonized throb for friends and home, then
sunk into depths of dread unknown before. Yet that thronged
and beautiful city, that magnificent harbor, wliite with count
less sails, ploughed and overswept with busy life, was a glo
rious sight, seen even through tears.
As we approached Sandy Hook, the atmosphere grew hazy,
and before we were out at sea we were enveloped in a dense
fog, and obliged to come to anchor, where we reraained gome
fifteen hours. We passed this time very pleasantly, in ex
ploring the ship, chatting, writing letter^ to send back by the
pilot, eating and sleeping. I awoke late the next morning,
and found we were at sea in earnest. I remember very little
more of that morning, except it be the incident of my finding
out, as by instinct, the use of a queer little utensil of painted
tin, a sort of elongated spittoon, which stood by my washstand.
1 " ('^

2 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
I performed my toilet as speedily as circumstances would
allow, and hurried on deck, where I soon found myself quite
well. The day was delicious beyond what words may tell.
The air was fresh, yet the sea tranquil, and the sunshine rich
and warm. There seefned a sort of strife of beauty, a rival-
ship of brightness, between the heaven above and the waters
below, and the soul of the gazer now went floating off on the
green undulations of the waves, to where they seemed to break
against the sky, or dreamed itself away into the fathomless
blue, in a sort of quiet, worldless ecstasy — " the still luxury
of delight." Then came on the night — our first night at sea.
The wind had freshened, the sails were set, the ship shot
through the gleaming waves, scattering the diamond spray
from her prow, and the moon was over all. As it went up the
sky, its course was marked by a long reach of tremulous radi
ance on the deep. It seemed to me like the love of the dear
ones I had left, stretching out towards me. But there came
a yet higher thought — that such a path of brightness must
have shone under the feet of Jesus when he " walked on the
water" toward the perilled ship.
Two pleasant days and nights followed, during which many
agreeable acquaintances were formed among the passengers.
My seat at table was on the left of Captain West, and oppo
site the Goldschmidts. Otto Goldschmidt, husband of Jenny
Lind, impressed me, not only as a man of genius, but of rare
refinement and- nobility of character. He is small, and deli
cately formed, but his head is a remarkably fine one, his face
beautiful in the best sense of the term. He is fair, with hair
of a dark, goldeg hue, soft, brown eyes, thoughtful even to
sadness. I have never seen a brow more pure and spiritual
than his. Yet, for all its softness and youthfulness, Mr. Gold-
schmidt's face is by no means wanting in dignity and manli
ness of expression. There is a maturity of thought, a calm
strength of character, a self-poise about him, which impress
you more and more.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 3
The pure and graceful Greek column make.? no solid or de
fiant show of strength, like the unchiselled stone or the jagged
rock, yet it may be as strong in its beauty and perfect propor
tions, and were decidedly pleasanter to lean against. I believe
that Jenny Lind in her marriage followed not alone the im
pulses of her woman's heart, but obeyed the higher instincts
of her poetic and artistic nature.
For the first few days of our voyage, she seemed singularly
shy and reserved. I have seen her sit hour after hour by her
self, in some unfrequented part of the vessel, looking out over
the sea. I often wondered if her thoughts were then busy
with the memories of her gloi-ious career — - if she were living
over her past triumphs, the couutle.^.-^ times when the cold
quiet of the highest heaven of fashion broke into thunders of
acclamation above her, and came down in a rain of flowers at
her feet. Was it of those perishable wreaths, placed on her
brow amid the glare and tumult of the great world, she mused
— or of that later crowning of her womanhood, when softly
and silentl}' her brow received from God's own hand the
chrism of a holy and enduring love .'' Was it the happy,
loving wife, or the great, \vorld-renowned artiste, who dreamed
there alone, looking out over the sea ?
On Wednesday, our last really bright day, I espied a spent
butterfly fluttering its brilliant wings on one of the ship's
» spars. It had been blown all that distance, the captain said.
I could hardly have been lum-e surprised if the spar on which
it had lit had blossomed before ray eyes. This day and the
one following, many of the gentlemen and some of the ladies
amused themselves with the game of " shufJieboard." We had
among the passengers three riglit leverend bishops, one of
whom joined heartily in this play. I was amused by the style
of address used toward him occasionally. " Now, bishop, it's
your turn ! " " Go ahead, bishop ! "
I think it were scarcely jiossible for a ship to take out a

•1 HAPS AND JIISHAPS OF
finer set of passengers than we had. Intelligent, agreeable,
kindly, all seemed striving for the general enjoyment; and
had the elements continued propitious, the entire voyage would
have seemed like a pleasant social party, " long drawn out."
On Thursday, woe's the day ! we were off the banks of
Newfoundland — the fogs became chill and heavy, and towards
night the sea grew rough. The next morning I found it quite
impossible for me to remain on deck, even with overshoes,
blankets, and shawls. The wind from the region of snows cut
to one's very bones. It brought to mind strange pictures of
seals crawling from iceberg to iceberg, and of young polar bears
diverting themselves by sliding down ice precipices three hun
dred feet high. I sought the saloon in despair, where, as wind
and sea rose, and the ship lurched and rolled, I all too soon
grew ready to admit our friend Horace Greeley to be the truest
of sea prophets, the honestest of voyagers.
A strange thing is this physical sympathy with elemental
disturbance — the tumult without answered by " that which is
most within us " — the surge and heave oceanic — the surge
and heave stomachic and responsive — " deep calling unto
deep." But we will not dwell on it.
For three days and nights I was really a great sufferer, but
I had plenty of companionship in my misery. Very few of
the passengers escaped seasickness entirely, and many were
very ill. Mr. Goldschmidt suffered severely ; his wife was
not affected in the ordinary way, but underwent much from
nervousness, restlessness, and fear. Yet I saw the true love
liness of her nature more than ever before. She went from
one to another of the sick with a kind word and a sweet sad
smile ; and for my part, I felt that such words and such smiles
were not too dearly bought, even by a fit of seasickness.
What lover could say more ?
My state room was too far aft for comfort ; I could not en
dure it after the rough weather came on, but, day and night

A TOUR IN EUROPE. .0
occupied a sofa in the saloon, where, with blankets, cushions,
ahd pillows, I was made as comfortable as circumstances would
allow. I could not have had in my own father's house kinder
or more constant attention, and a father could not have cared
for me better than did Captain West. He more than answered
my expectations — more than fulfilled the pledges and justified
the praises of his friends. A plain, honest, generous-hearted
sailor, yet every inch a gentleman. I trust he will pardon, as
I am sure that many, very many, will echo, my simple, invol
untary expression of gratitude and esteem.
On Tuesday morning, about ten o'clock, I was helped on
deck to catch the first sight of land. The sea had " smoothed
his wrinkled front," the wind had gone down somewhat, and
the sun shone out fitfully. Every body was on deck — all,
even the invalids, in high and eager spirits. At last the
welcome cry was heard, and dimly through the mist was seen
the high and rocky shore of Ireland — blessed old Ireland !
swate Ireland ! the gem of the sea ! No name seeraed too
fond or poetic to apply to it at that moraent.
Cape Clear for a long time belied its name ; but finally the
fog lifted, and we saw coast, rocks, and lighthouses very
distinctly. The last dinner on board ship was very pleasant, though
there were no speeches ; and Captain West, with character
istic modesty, slipped out before his health could be proposed ;
so we had no response from him.
The approach to Liverpool has been often enough described.
I will only say, that the shores, seen through a drizzling rain,
and even the city, seen under a black cloud of coal smoke,
were sights welcome and beautiful to my sea-wearied eyes.
About twelve o'clock the custom-house officers came on
board, and the examination of baggage commenced. Lady
passengers, who had suffered throughout the voyage from a
nervous dread of a stern ofiicial ransacking of carpet bags,
1*

6 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
and from the belief that it is through much tribulation in the
way of tumbled trunks and exposed nightcaps that we enter
into the kingdom of Great Britain, were then most agreeably
disappointed. Trunks were opened indeed, but by no means
a minute examination made of their .contents. A sealed
package lay on the top of my trunk. The ofiicer politely-
asked me what this contained. " An American book," I an
swered. " Will you tell me its title ? " " Uncle Tom's Gab-
in," I replied. " O, we will pass ' Uncle Tom's Log Cabin,' "
he answered, laughing.
The tide not allowing the Atlantic to go into the dock,
we were landed by a small steamboat. We left our beautiful
ship and noble captain with a feeling of' regret, and all hands
and voices joined in three hearty cheers for both.
The expected arrival of Madame Goldschmidt — the peo
ple's Jenny Lind forever — had assembled a large crowd, but
the presence of a strong police force kept down all enthusiastic
demonstration. On landing, Liverpool first struck me as differing from our
seaport towns, in having a vastly greater number of docks,
vessels, police officers, ragged boys, red-faced men, barefooted
women, and donkey carts.
The Adelphi, the best house in Liverpool, does not compare
with our first-class hotels, either for comfort or elegance. The
attendants are respectful and kindly enough, but provokingly
slow. They are eternally " coming.'' WOOZTOJV, JVNE 14.
From Liverpool I came here, where I have spent some
days, quietly, but most delightfully. " Rose Hill," the resi
dence of Dr. M  , in whose family I am visiting, is quite
apart from the village of Woolton, and is certainly one of the
loveliest places I have ever seen. The house is approached
by a winding road, through a dense little forest of beautiful

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 7
trees, is surrounded by highly-cultivated grounds, and over
looks a wide and varied extent of country. O, the glorious
old trees, the beautiful green hedges, the gorgeous flowers
of England ! What words of mine would have power to set
them whispering, and waving, and gleaming before you ? I
never shall forget the effect wrought upon me by the sight of
the first flowers I saw, bom of the soil and blossomed by the
airs of Old England. You will think it strange, but the first
tears 1 shed after my last parting with my friends at New
York fell fast on the fragrant leaves, and glistened in the
rich, red heart of an English rose. In some mysterious
depths of association, beyond the soundings of thought, lay
the source of those tears.
I have had a wet welcome to the land of mists and show
ers. It has rained every day since my arrival, yet every
day we have had some hours of beautiful sunshine, and the
sweet freshness of the air compensates for the unseasonable
coolness. Strange and delightful to me are the long English twilights.
Think of the sun hanging on till nearly nine o'clock, like a
pleasantly-entertained visitor, reluctant to retire. The nights
here are deliciously cool and quiet. Then, no one, without
the actual experience, can imagine the luxurious rest and
" sweet release " of one, who, after having been cribbed up
in the narrow berth of a steamship for a dozen or more
nights, may " spread
The loosened limbs o'er a wide Enfflish bed."
As for me, after four days and nights' toilsome occupancy
of a narrow sofa, without the advantage of previous " prac
tice on a clothes' line," recommended by my friend B  ,
I really could not sleep at first, for the pleasure of the change.
I tried one soft pillow, then another, in the very daintiness
of repose. I made sundry eccentric excursions, explorations

8 H.4.PS AND MISHAPS OF
of the vast extent of unoccupied territory around me. I
measured the magnificent length and breadth of the elastic
mattress beneath me, and wrapped myself regally in the
lavender-scented linen.
Owing to my continued indisposition, and the rainy weath
er, I have as yet seen little of Liverpool and its environs.
The docks are the great pride of the city. Fancy more than
seven miles of continuous docks filled with shipping. St.
George's Hall, a new building, is said to be one of the finest
in the world ; I certainly have never seen any thing hand
somer. Many of the churches here are elegant and impos
ing structures, but none more tasteful, quaintly, and quietly
beautiful than the Hope Street Unitarian Chapel, where Mr.
Martineau preaches. I brought letters to this gentleman,
and on Saturday was at his house. I found him, in personal
appearance, all I looked for. The pure, fervid, poetic spirit,
and the earnest eloquence which adapt his writings alike to
the religious wants, the devotional sense, the imagination and
the taste of his readers, all live in his look, and speak in
his familiar tones. He is somewhat slender in person, vpith
a head not large, but compact and perfectly balanced. His
perceptive organs are remarkably large, his brow is low and
purely Greek, and his eyes are of a deep, changefid blue.
There is much quietude in his face — native, rather than
acquired, I should say — the repose of unconscious, rather
than of conscious power. About his head, altogether, there
is a classical, chiselled look. — the hair grows in a way to
enchant an artist, and every feature of his face is finely and
clearly cut. But the glow of the soul is all over.
On Sunday morning I enjoyed a pleasure long hoped for
and never to be forgotten, in hearing him preach one of those
wonderful discourses in which his free but reverent spirit
seems to sound the profoundest depths of the human soul
to unveil the most solemn mysteries of being, and to reach

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 9
those divine heights to which few have attained since Paul
and John were caught up and rapt away from earth, in holy
visions and heavenly trances.
We dined and spent the night yesterday at Seaforth Hall,
an elegant seaside residence, belonging to a wealthy manufac
turer of Liverpool. Here I saw a pleasant water view, lofty
rooms, beautiful conservatories and hothouses, pictures, and
statuary ; and, what was better, very agreeable people, and
genuine English hospitality. As far as the style of living
and manners are concerned, I as yet have remarked little
difference between Liverpool and Boston.
Edgsaston, Birmingham, June 17.
I left Liverpool on an afternoon of unusual brightness,
but plunged immediately into a young night, in the shape of
the longest tunnel I ever passed through. They tell me it
is scarcely noticeable, compared with one between this place
and London ; but it will do to begin with. The English first-
class railway carriages are more luxurious than ours. Sub
stantially made, softly-cushioned and curtained, nothing can
surpass them for comfort ; while they have a John Bull ex
cluslveness about them, each carriage being calculated for six
passengers, and no more. So rapid is the rate at which they
run, and so smooth the rail below, such an absence is there
of noise and dust, that it is even difficult to believe we are
going at all. Wlien I closed my eyes on the scene, I was
really bewildered; but when I looked out on the whirling
landscape, I was forced to the conclusion that either the trees
and hedges were having a grand gallopade, a furious coun
try dance together, and, what was more unlikely, venerable
churches were recreating themselves with a wild steeple
chase, or that we. were under glorious headway.
Tte country between Liverpool and Birmingham, as far as
my dizzied sight would allow me to judge, seemed flat and

10 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
uninteresting. But the glory of a most luxuriant summer
greenness and bloom is over it all.
A peculiar and constant joy to me is in remarking how
every where the simplest cottages of the common people are
built and adorned with taste, and kept with the utmost neat
ness and care. Many of them are exquisite miniatures of
the residences of the rich — with sweet little lawns, and
flower plots, like children's playgrounds, diminutive hedges,
tiny trellises, and! gravel walks scarcely a foot wide.
My friend Mr. Sturge met me at the Birmingham station,
and drove me out to his place at Edgbaston. It rained hard,
and the twilight was deepening, when I arrived : but I was
received into the warmth and light of a pleasant little draw
ing room, opening into a conservatory of beautiful bright
flowers. I was met with sweet words, and sweeter smiles of
welcome, by the lovely young wife of Joseph Sturge, and by
his fair children — quaint, Quaker specimens of child beauty,
which is found in its rosy perfection in " merrie England." I
felt thoroughly at home and at rest from the first ; and then,
that very night, after I had retired to my room, there was
sent to me, all unexpectedly, a package of letters from
America ! It were impossible for one to conceive, as for me
to describe, my emotion on beholding these. I actually grew
faint with excess of joy ; and after having come safely over
the salt seas, there was danger of their being rendered illegi
ble by a briny greeting on shore. And yet, I had been
parted from the writers but seventeen days. Ah ! the poet
is entirely correct — " Tirae is not of years."
Mr. Sturge's place is retired, modest, and unpretending in
every way, but very lovely. The smooth, clos'ely-cut lawns
are a perpetual pleasure to my eye'; next come the hedo-es
the ivies, the honeysuckles, the hollies, and glossy-leaved.
laurels. Roses and rhododendrons are now in full bloom ;
peonies are a-flame ; the May tree is a little passe, but the

A TOUR IN KT;R0PE. 1 1
laburnum is yet in its golden glory, and with its long
pendent branches, all in flower, seems pouring itself down,
in a bounteous royal shower, reminding one of Jove's aurifer
ous courtship of Danae.
The most beautiful tree I have yet seen in England is
the copper beech ; at least, it has the finest effect amid other
foliage. There is one in the line of trees skirting the lawn
before me, which, with its dark, rich tint, looks, amid the
surrounding bloom and verdure, like a Rembrandt in a
gallery of bright, modern paintings.
Delicious and countless bird notes are quivering through
the moist air all day long. I have already heard the cuckoo,
the blackbird, and the thrush ; and English poetry and
English life will henceforth be the sweeter to me for their
remembered strains.
I have seen some fine bloodhorses since my arrival, but
I actually admire most the powerful dray horses of Liver
pool. They are magnificent great animals. I shall never
have done wondering at the little donkey carts, or, ratlier, at
the immense strength, and no Ijody, of the donkeys them
selves. I had no idea that this really estimable, though much
contemned animal, any whore existeil in such small varieties.
While driving, the other day, our carri.ige was run into by
one of these same donkey establishments, the awkward
driver of which was, by several sizes, the greater ass of the
two. Cattle, pigs, and poultry are, as far as I have seen, finer
here than with us ; because, I suppose, so much more care
fully kept. There is, of late, a rage for rare poultry here,
as in the United States. Cochin China fowls, in especial,
sell at a preposterously high price.
The English horae style of living does not differ widely
from our own, except that it is often simpler, and always
quieter. I notice that the table at meals is usually decked

12 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
with flowers — a beautiful custom we should do well to
adopt. The manner of an English gentleman toward the American
visitor is polite and considerate, but sometimes a little too
marked. At a dinner party, the other day, during a little
playful discussion of Yankee character, a bland and benevo
lent-looking old gentleman at my side informed me that he
had come to the conclusion that the wooden-nutmeg story
was neither more nor less than a mischievous satire. " For,"
said he, " there would be such an amount of minute carving
required to make a successful imitation of the nutmeg, that
the deception would hardly pay the workman. For myself,
I do not believe the cheat was ever practised." I thanked
him in the name of my country for the justice done her, and
assured him that the story of the Yankee having whittled a
large lot of unsalable shoe pegs into melon seeds, and sold
them to the Canadians, was also a base fabrication of our
enemies. We have curious weather — chill, driving showers, alter
nating with bursts of warm, effulgent sunlight — and often
sunlight and shower together. According to a popular tradi
tion of our country, a certain gentleman in black is, at this
season, administering marital discipline with unusual fre
quency and severity.
JEkening. — We have just returned from a pleasant drive
into the country, some four or five miles, to see the old
Handsworth Church, and Chantrey's monument to James
Watt. This is within the church, but curtained off by itself ;
is a plain, large, white marble pedestal, supporting a sitting,
life-size figure of the great inventor. It is a beautiful work
of art, and a form and face of noble character.
The church itself is a curiosity for its great age. It con
tains some effigies in stone, said to be more than five hundred
years old. There is a knight in complete armor, with a very

A TOUR IN EUROPE. ]3
dandified waist and efiormous thighs, and a slim lady, with a
tight-fitting shroud, crowded against the wall behind him.
The good dame's frill has suffered some dilapidation, and the
gallant knight is minus a nose.
The high, quaint old pews impressed me most. I at once
imagined little David Copperfield sitting in one of them,
with his mother and Peggotty. By the way, you can have no
idea of the luxury of reading Dickens in England.
On our way back, we stopped for a half hour at a fine
cemetery, from some heights of which I caught my first real
view of the town in all its industrial grandeur aud smoky
magnificence. Within these grounds we encountered the
beadle, in all the pomp of his parish livery. He was a
stout man, and of course dignified to solemnity. Seeing him
unoccupied, I ventured to make some conversation with him,
and must acknowledge that he met my advances in a most
gracious and un-Bumble-like manner. I asked him if they
buried the poor in layers, and in a common grave. " Yes,
mem" he replied, " but it often 'appens, quite agreeably, that
members of the same family go into the same grave. Wlien-
ever we can, we lay them together, or not many bodies apart
— we try to make them comfortable, mem,''
A distant sight, beheld on our drive this afternoon, was a
new monastery; occupied solely by renegade clergymen from
the church of England — a haunt of priestly owls, scared by
the light and freedom of the time back into the cloistered
gloom of the dark ages. What a precious set of cowled
conservatives !
To-morrow I visit Warwick Castle, Kenilworth, and, it may
be, Stratford upon Avon. Splendid stuff for dreams, such
a prospect. JUNE 18.
My first full view of Warwick Castle is hung in my
memory a picture of beauty and grandeur, which must be
2

14 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
" a joy forever." As we rode into the old town, we paused
on a noble stone bridge over the Avon, where the finest
view is obtained. It had been raining, but the shower was
now past, and the sun out in dazzling radiance. The air was
freshened with a pleasant wind, and sweetened with roses,
and, from the tower of an old church near by, mellow-toned
bells were ringing the morning chime. At our left stood the
castle, with its dark, battleraented walls, its hoary turrets,
and gigantic towers.
As the ,Earl of Warwick was at home, we were obliged to
stop at the porter's lodge, while our cards were sent up to
him, and leave accorded to us to see the castle. But we were
well amused by the portress, who showed up^the famous
porridge pot of the redoubtable Earl Guy, with his armor,
sword, shield, helmet, breastplate, walking staff, flesh fork,
and stirrup. These are a giant's accoutrements — the sword
weighs twenty pounds, and the armor of the knight and that
of his steed are in proportion.
The faith of the old retainer in the marvellous legends she
rehearsed was quite edifying. She assured us that Earl Guy
was nearly ten feet in height, and that he was accustomed to
take his food from that identical porridge pot, which holds
one hundred and two gallons, and which, on the occasion of
the present earl's eldest son (Lord Brooke) coming of age,
was filled with punch three times a day for three days, for
the people. After receiving his lordship's graciously-ac
corded permission, we passed up a noble passage, cut in
solid rock, some eight or ten feet deep, and prettily over
grown with moss and ivy, leading to the outer court. As I
walked slowly on, my thoughts went back three hundred
years, when knights and ladies gay went dashing up this pass,
followed by fair pages and fairer maids, dainty minstrels and
jolly friars, faithful esquires and stout men-at-arms. I could
almost hear the tramp of mail-clad steeds, the light curvetting

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 15
of palfreys, the clang of armor, the jingle of gilded bridles,
the laughter of young gallajits, and the sweet voices of
merry dames. I could almost see the waving of banners and
pluraes, the flash of shields and arms, and gorgeous vesture,
as the glory of feudal power and the flush of courtly beauty
swept by. Alas for wasted sentiment ! 1 all too soon
ascertained that this rocky pass was constructed by the late
earl, the castle having formerly had a different approach.
We passed over the drawbridge, under the portcullis, into
the court yard, which contains nearly an acre. The moat is
not filled with water, but overgrown with shrubs and grass of
the brightest green. We were first shown into the great hall,
a magnificent apartment, hung with old armor, antlers, &c.
Its deep, wide chimney, with large blocks of wood piled in
the corner, reminded one of the hospitable hall of Cedrit the
Saxon ; but the floor of tessellated raarble, and the beautiful
but evidently modern roof, effectually marred the antique
effect of the whole. From the hall we were shown through
the suite of state apartments — the anteroom, the cedar
drawing room, the gilt room, the state bed room, the state
dressing room, and the great banqueting hall. These were
all rich beyond description in pictures, marbles, busts, vases,
cabinets and tables exquisitely inlaid, curiosities and an
tiques of all sorts. Among the pictures are many which
my heart stood still to behold. There was Shakspeare,
Leicester, Queen Elizabeth, Sir Philip Sidney, Cromwell,
Prince Rupert, (a glorious creature !) Henrietta Maria and
her children, and a choice number of England's immortal
decapitated — Anne Boleyn, Earl of Essex, Strafford, Mont
rose, Mary, Queen of Scots, and " Charles the Martyr," who,
according to Catholic tradition, presented himself to St. Peter
with his head, not his heart, in his hand.
The finest pictures in the collection are, I think, by Van
dyke. Nothing, surely, can be grander, in the way of a per-

K) HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
trait, than his equestrian picture of Charies I., which hangs
at the end of a corridor by, itself. The state bed room,
where stands the famous bed of Queen Anne, a splendid,
comfortless-looking affair, is hung with quaint, faded tapestry,
made at Brussels in 1604. The_ state dressing room is an
exquisite little apartment, hung with small but valuable paint
ings ; its windows command some lovely views, and Lady War
wick has shown good taste in appropriating it as a boudoir.
The armory is a curious, heterogeneous collection, com
prising, it seemed to me, every weapon of personal offence
and defence, of every age, over the whole world. There
hung the crossbow of au ancient Briton by the tomahawk of
an American Indian ; a light, richly-mounted modern rifle
beside the heavy battle axe of a Crusader ; and next to the
vel/et-sheathed dagger of Queen Elizabeth lay one of Colt's
murderous revolvers. In short, the long, high armory seems
one chaotic mass of all the instruments of war and assassina
tion which the genius of man, aided by infernal inspiration,
has yet been able to devise.
On our way up to the billiard roora, we were .shown the
splendid trappings of Queen Elizabeth's horse, perchance
those he wore at Kenilworth ; and on the billiard table lay
her maiden majesty's fiddle, a curiously-carved instrument,
in an old wormeaten case.
As our time was limited, we did not ascend either of the
towers, or pass along the walls ; but we visited the green
house, where we saw the famous Warwick vase, brought
from Adrian's villa, Tivoli, by Sir Wilham Hamilton ; and
.ifterwards strolled through the grounds for a time  alas !
too short a time. Trees more beautiful and stately never
caught the sunlight on their glistening leaves, never answered
the winds with continuous murmurs, or cast a gracious shade
on the earth. The cedars of Lebanon gave me a sort of
religious joy and awestruck admiration — flung their beautV
on my soul like solemn shadows.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 17
St. Mary's Church, Warwick, is principally celebrated for
its beautiful chapel, and as containing fhe Beauchamp tombs.
In the chancel are the marble effigies of Thomas Beauchamp,
Earl of Warwick, and his co,untess, Catharine Mortimer ; of
their son Thomas, and his countess — " they four, and no
more.'' The sarcophagus of the poet. Sir Fulke Grevil, is
in the chapter house. It contains this pithy inscription :
" Fulke Grevil, servant to Queen Elizabeth, councillor to
King James, and friend to Sir Philip Sidney. Trophceum
peccati." The Beauchamp Chapel, famous for its exquisite Gothic
architecture and splendid windows, contains monuments and
effigies <)f two Earls of Warwick, of Robert Dudley, Earl of
Leicester, and of Lettice, his third countess. The flgures of
the last two are dressed and colored as in life. They seem to
have stretched themselves out for a sort of stiff'ened siesta.
Strangely enough, I felt an involuntary indignation against
them both, on poor Amy Robsart's account. Opposite is the
tomb of Leicester's infant son, who was heir to eight titles when
he died. This " noble impe," as the inscription calls him, was
impiously poisoned by his nurse ; but he may have escaped
the scaffold in this way — who knows ? He is a pretty child
as he lies there, like a stately little petrifaction.
From Warwick we drove to Stratford on Avon, about eight
miles, by a pleasant and quiet road.
I cannot hope to give in their fulness the feelings with
which I approached this shrine of my highest intellectual
worship ; to tell how every hill and green-shadowed vale, and
old tree, and the banks of that almost sacred river, spoke
to my hushed heart of him who once trod that earth, and
breathed that air, and watched the silver flowing of that
stream ; of him whose mind was a fount of wisdom and
thought, at which generation after generation has drunk, and
yet it fails not; of him whose wondrous creative genius
2»

18 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
passed not alone into grand and terrible forms of human and
superhuman power, nor personations of manly wit, royal
courtesy, and warlike courage ; but who made himself master
of all the mysteries of the feminine soul of Nature, called into
being a world of love and poetry, and peopled it with beau
tiful immortals ; of him whose bold yet delicate hand swept
every chord in man's variable nature, to whom the soul of
childhood gave up its tender little secrets, from whose eye
nothing was hid even in the deepest heart of womanhood.
I knew the house — I should have known it any where,
from plates and descriptions. We passed through the shop
into what seemed to have been a sort of family room. Here
I felt disposed to linger, for in that deep chimney corner he
must have sat often, in winter nights, dreaming the dreams
that have since filled the world. Perhaps he there saw, in
the glowing embers, the grotesque and horrible faces of Cal
iban and the weird sisters, or the delicate forms of Ariel and
Titania, floating in the wreathed smoke, and heard in the
rain without the pitiless storm which beat upon the head
of Lear.
We ascended a short, narrow flight of stairs, and stood in
the birth chamber of Shakspeare ! the humble little room
where his infant heart took up that throb which had in it so
much of the intellectual life of the ages to come. As I stood
silently there, I was almost pained with a vain wonderment
as to the mother of Shakspeare. Was she great hearted and
large minded — fully worthy of the glory which rays back
upon her ? Did no instinctive pride stir grandly in her
bosom, as she laid against it first her new-born child ? Did
no prophetic glorying mingle with her sweet maternal joy ?
The entire house is small and simple even to meanness ;
and yet it has ever been, and must be while it stands, the
" pilgrim shrine " of genius, and wealth, and rank, and royal
ty, where the humble and great of all nations do homage to a

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 19
monarch of the human mind, absolute and undeposable. As
I emerged from this low, dark house, which I hold should be
dearer to England than any palace of her kings, and walked
towards the Church of the Holy Trinity, I was disagreeably
struck by the smart, insolent newness of some of the build
ings on my way, and by the modern dress and air of the
people. How I hated the flaring shop windows, with their
display of cheap ribbons, and prints, and flashy silks. But I
was comforted by the sight of a goodly number of quaint
and moss-grown houses, and I could have blessed a company
of strolling players and ballad singers, who had collected a
gaping crowd in an open square, for being in harmony some
what with the place. I could have willed Stratford and all
its inhabitants to have been wrapped forever in a charmed
sleep, like that of the fairy tale, when Shakspeare was laid to
his rest in that picturesque old church on the banks of the
Avon. Nature seems nowhere unharmonious with one's
poetic memories of him — you could almost believe that the
trees, and the grass, and even the flowers, were of his day. I
remember a rich June rose, hanging over a hedge, its warm
leaves glowing through glistening raindrops, and that it
seemed to rae he might have looked into the heart of this
rose, and dreamed of the passion-freighted heart of Juliet.
We entered the church, passed up into the chancel, and stood
before the bust and above the ashes of Shakspeare.
On our return to Warwick, we found that we had not time
sufficient for a visit to Kenilworth Castle. I am intending to
"do" that, on ray way to London, next week, together with
the famous old tawn of Coventry, where the benevolent
Lady Godiva once took an airing on horseback, not for. her
health, but for the common weal.
Sunday afternoon. — I attended worship this morning in
the old parish church of Edgbaston. I chose this because I

20 HAPS AND MISHAPS.
was told it was a beautiful, antique, ivy-clad, foliage-embow
ered little building. I found it all this — the very ideal of a
country church, half hid among the trees, and calling sweet
ly to worship with most melodious bells ; but the service was
more than two hours long! The beadle in his red livery
and baton, striding pompously up and down the aisle, a terror
to all sniffling httle boys and coughing old paupers, struck me
most ludicrously ¦ the sermon was weak, and the delivery
weaker ; and, on the whole, I came to the conclusion that
when next I wished to see a country church for its picturesque
situation and ivy-mantled tower, I would choose a week day
for my visit. ,
To-morrow I am to have my first sight of an English
cathedraL I wonder if, in its consecrated precincts, I shall
feel any awe-struck remorse for my present irreverence ; or if,
like most tourists, I shall forget all such things as personal
religious sentiments in admiration of its architectural propor
tions, sculpture, and stained glass. Nous verrons.

CHAPTE R II.
Nottingham. — Lincoln. — Nbwstead. — Hucknall  Kenilworth.
— LoNnON. — Baeet Coknwall. — Westminster Abbey. — The
Cut. — Mr. Cobden  Hyde Paek. — Houses op Pakliame.vt.
— LoED Caelisle. — Maey Howitt. — Peokogatiox of Parlia
ment. — The Queen. — Martin Tupper. ^ Miss Mitpoed. June 23,
The old castle of Nottingham, which figures so largely in
history, occupied a grand site, and, judging from the outlines
as they can now be traced, and by a gateway and lodge still
standing, must have been a strong and noble feudal edifice.
It was destroyed in Cromwell's time. The building, standing,
though in ruins, was built in 1679, in the dull, ugly style of
that period ; it has no pretension to the name of castle, and
not even its lofty site, one hundred and thirty-three feet above
the meadows, nor ruin, nor ivy, can make it picturesque or
venerable. The only interest attached to it is, that it was the
residence of Queen Anne in her shadowed days, and was
finally burned and demolished in the mobs of 1831, in a
popular outbreak against the Duke of Newcastle, for voting
against the Reform Bill. But the old castle was a famous
place. It was built by William the Conqueror, on an iramense
rock, perforated with druidical vaults, caverns, and long, wind
ing passages. It was a favorite place of residence, or visita
tion, and a stronghold of power with all the old English kings,
and swarms with historical associations, and strange, dismal le
gends. Here Richard Coeur de Lion held his first council after
his return from the Holy Land ; here the cowardly King John
often shut himself up, out of the way of his stern barons ;
(21)

22 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
here the voluptuous Queen Isabella held her court, and through
those dark, secret passages, leading from the Meadows below,
came her adventurous lover, Roger de Mortimer, to keep his
perilous appointments; here he was taken by Edward the
Third ; here Henry the Fourth often came in state, and here
Owen Glendower was imprisoned. Richard the Third fre
quently held his court here, and here he first heard of the
landing of Richmond in England ; through that same old gate
way he set forth for the march which closed on Bosworth
Field. The first Charles here planted his standard in 1642
— an ominous storm blew it down that night ; here he was
brought, a prisoner, in 1646.
The view from the castle terrace is exceedingly fine, com
prising a vast extent of waving grain fields, and meadows, and
wooded hills, beautified by silvery streams, sweet rural vil
lages, picturesque old churches, and elegant residences.
We were greatly pleased with a drive about the town, which
has some fine churches, and a goodly number of literary, sci
entific, and charitable institutions. We saw " Gallows Hill,"
where Robin Hood and Little John released Will Stukely, and
hung " the proud sheriff" in his stead, and the house in which
Henry Kirke White was born. Nottingham is peculiarly fa
vored in being the natal dating-place of poets. Thomas Bailey,
and his son, Philip " Festus " Bailey, William and Mary
Howitt, Thomas Miller, the " basket maker,'' and a score of
others more or less distinguished, were born in the shadow
of " the great rock.''
On our way to Lincoln, we passed the residence of Sir
Robert Peel, and the ruins of Newark Castle, which show oddly
in the midst of the busy town, hard by the railway station.
Lincoln is built on the rocky site of an old Roman city; and
here, for the first time, I saw Roman arches, roads, and pave
ments. The ruins of Lincoln Castle and of the Episcopal Palace

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 23
are the finest I have yet seen ; but every thing sinks into in
significance beside the magnificent cathedral. We ascended
to the top of the great tower. O, such a fearful " getting up
stairs!" But the grand prospect from the summit well re
paid us for our toil and loss of breath.
On descending, we found one or two vicars, and a little
crowd of white-gowned boys, performing service in the chapel.
We heard the organ rolling its melodious thunder through the
solemn arches, and the choristers singing a beautiful anthem.
But, beyond the solemnity of sound, the grandeur of noble
music, the English worship struck me as utterly unsuited to
the splendor of old Catholic cathedrals. It has form without
poetry, ceremony without mystery. It is wanting in the ideal
and picturesque ; and so, to the outward eye at least, compara
tively cold and tasteless. There is a dreary bareness, an in
completeness, about a vast cathedral like this, without the
warmth and glory spread abroad by pictures of saints and
"the Virgin of virgins,'' without the grace of sculpture, the
pomp of gorgeous priestly robes, the silvery wreaths of in
cense, the radiance of illuminated altars, and, above all, the
presence of a kneeling crowd of fervent and humble worship
pers. If we aro to have a religion of form, let it be the per
fection of form, say many in these days ; if we are to worship
through the outward and visible, let at least our types and
symbols be beautiful and harmonious. In a country of con
fiscated cathedrals, and churches denuded and despoiled of
their fitting and legendary accessories, I can easily understand
this Puseyite reaction. Though it is undoubtedly in many
directions a strike for power, it is in some a mere rebellion of
taste. This sentimental passion for all things mediceval, from
the illuminated prayer book of the noble lady to the Gothic
red-brick country house of the retired grocer — this rage for
mouldy tapestry, ingeniously-uncomfoi-table chairs, and hideous
old saints in stained glass, is a part of the same religious
buck set.

2i HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
We returned to Nottingham in the evening. Mr. Sturge
here left me with some kind friends, with whom I spent the
night, and who in the morning accompanied me to Newstead.
I never can forget that morning. The air was soft and
warm, though a fresh, invigorating breeze was blowing, and
clouds were drifting occasionally across the sun. We were in
an open carriage, and, for once, our simple faith was rewarded,
and we had no rain to dampen our enthusiasm. Our road led
through a country which my friends pronounced bleak and
dreary, butto my eyes it was beautiful for its neatness and
greenness, its peculiarly English character, and for its wild,
legendary associations — for it was the ground once haunted
by Robin Hood and his " merrie men " — the old forest of
Sherwood. In front of the gate, at the entrance of New-
stead Park, stands a grand old guardian oak. Passing this,
you enter a long, noble avenue of firs ; then you come upon
an open piece of ground, covered with wild fern — then upon
some fine trees — then the lake — then the abbey ! This
was to me both more imposing and beautiful than I expected
to find it. The larger part of the building has been wonder
fully and completely restored by the present owner. Colonel
Wildman ; and the remaining ruins are of so light and grace
ful a character, and so richly clad with ivy, that they give a
decorative, rather than a desolate, look to the whole.
An intelligent housekeeper showed us through the abbey.
First we entered the drawing room, — a fine apartment, hung
with elegant pictures, — among which I only saw, with the
eyes of my heart, Philhps's fine portrait of Byron, the real
master of Newstead forever. In this room the housekeeper
took from a costly cabinet the famous and fearful skull wine
cup. I will not pause to describe all the beautiful show apart
ments of the abbey ; those which interested me most were
the breakfast room, once used by Byron as a dining room, and
his o^vn chamber, which is kept precisely as he left it. This

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 25
last is small and simply furnished, hung with some views of
Cambridge and an engraved likeness of Fox. From the
window is one of the loveliest views imaginable, and one rec
ognizes at once the taste of the poet in the choice of his
chamber. N<5 guest ever occupies this room, except a younger
brother of Colonel Wildman, who was Lord Byron's fag at
Harrow, and holds that he has a right to the honor of sleeping
in the muse-haunted chamber of his illustrious tyrant.
StrSingely sorrowful, almost agonizingly regretful, were the
thoughts which swept over my mind, wave after wave, and
shook my heart like a tempest, as I stood in the place where
the young poet passed raany of his hours of silent thought, it
may be of lonely wretchedness. Here he must often have
contemplated his ruined fortunes and the desolated home
of his fathers. Here surely his passionate heart often turned
with a fond, vain yearning toward the " hills of Annesley " —
toward her " who was his life,
Tho ocean to the river of his thoughts."
I never before so deeply felt how passing mournful was the
story of Byron's first and only love. That Mary Chaworth
returned the passion of her young poet lover, I ha^e not a
doubt ; but, like the Montagues nnd Capulets, the houses of
Chaworth and Byron were at feud. Mary had not the
strength and truth of Juliet, and so they were parted — a sep
aration by far more piteous for her, and more fatal to him,
than death amid the full summer brightness of happy love.
I'his, not Shakspeare's, was the true soul tragedy. Might she
not have taken the helm of his passion-tossed spirit, and guided
it into deeper and calmer waters ? Might she not have re
deemed even his wayward and erring nature by the divinity
of a pure love and a steadfast faith ? But it was not to be.
Mary bestowed her hand upon a man of whom little better

26' HAPS A.ND .MISHAPS OF
can be said than that he ranked " among the most eminent
sportsmen of the day " — lived, it is said, to weep wild tears
over the words which have linked her name in sorrowful im
mortality with her lover's, and died in broken heartedness, at
last — while he, grown reckless, restless, and defiant, the very
core of his heart turned to bitter ashes, forgetting his God,
and distrusting and despising his brother, swept on his glori
ous, shameful, sorrowful, and stormy career, till the shadows
deepened, and the long night closed in.
The village of Ilucknall is the most wretched little hamlet
I have yet seen in England ; and the small, mean, dilapidated
old church above the vault of the Byron family has not one
venerable or picturesque feature.
The tablet raised to the memory of Byron, by his sister
Augusta, is plain, and sor in excellent taste. As I stood on
that rude slab, in that dismal and mouldy old church, I was
struck most painfully with the miserable unfitness of all the
surroundings of his tomb, who loved all beauty with a poet's
intense passion. I could not believe that that grand head,
with its clustering dark curls, those eyes of strange bright
ness, and lips of proud beauty, those fair, patrician hands,
and that fiery aud princely heart, were dust and darkness at
my feet. Better would it have been to have laid him, where
he willed to he, by his faithful "Boatswain," in the vault at
Newstead. I have not spoken as fully of the abbey and grounds of
Newstead as I should have done had I not believed every one
familiar. with Washington Irving's charming account and the
notes of many other tourists. I must allow myself to say,
however, that the restoration of the abbey seems to me a
miracle of good taste and artistic adaptation ; that the build
ing now is a rare combination of antique picturesqueness, with
modern elegance, of cheerful home comfort, with an almost

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 27
monastic quiet and seclusion. Colonel Wildman was a
schoolmate and friend of Byron, and lovingly, almost re
ligiously, preserves every relic and remembrancer of the
poet. At Nottingham, I reluctantly took leave of my kind new
friends, (whom God love !) and came home to Edgbaston.
London, June 2S.
I left Birmingham yesterday, amid the brightness and fresh
ness of one of the loveliest mornings I ever beheld, for an
excursion to Kenilworth, with a party of pleasant friends, con
sisting of two charming Quakeresses, with a world of unwrit
ten poetry in their deep, quiet natures, and a sweet little girl,
who flitted about among the ruins like a bird or a butterfly,
enjoying their beauty, and unconscious of their desolation.
The old castle of Kenilworth far surpassed my imaginings in
the grandeur of its yet unlevelled walls and towers, the loveli
ness of its surroundings, and the strong spell of its associations.
It was enough to make one in love with ruin, and more than
forgiving towards the spoiler. The air seemed now throbbing
with the proud glory of Elizabeth, now heavy with the sighs of
poor Amy Robsart. As I lingered on the sjiot where stood
the ancient gateway through which passed that memorable
procession, the gorgeous Queen Bess, escorted by her hand
some favorite, the magnificent Earl Leicester, and followed
by her brilliant court and the bravest and proudest men of her
realm, I could defy deatli and decay, long wasting years,
desolating wars, and ivy-mantled ruins, to shut from ray sight
the life and splendor of that princely pageant. So with " that
inward eye " could I gaze pityingly on sweet Aray, as she sat
alone in Mervyn's toyver, feeling her heart bleeding and faint
ing within her with wounded pride and the agonized forebod
ing of her fond and fatal love. O, time, and death, and ruin
are remorseless levellers. The ivy whispers as mournfully of

28 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
the crowned sovereign in the gateway as of the deserted wife
in the tower ; for both had weak woman hearts, and both were
deceived. After returning from Kenilworth, we spent some hours with
kind friends at Coventry, where we visited St. Andrew's
Church, St. Mary's Hall, and an old hospital, of which' I for
get the name — all fine antique and picturesque structures,
charmingly blackened by time, and in a delightful state of
dilapidation. I am now about to take my plunge into the surging tide of
London life. I can scarcely be expected to give a very clear
transcript of my impressions till the first shock and bewilder
ment are past. Thus far, my head seems dizzied and my
heart drunken with the very atmosphere of London, sur
charged, as it seems, with the grandest, fearfuUest, proudest,
and mournfuUest meraories of our common race ; for I tell my
English friends that the great far past is ours as well as
theirs. June 30.
On Friday morning I had the pleasure of breakfasting with
the poet Barry Cornwall, — born Procter, — at the rooms of
my friend Mr. F  . I found this prince of song writers a
most agreeable person, a little shy and reserved at first, but
truly genial and kindly at heart, and with a vein of quaint
humor running through his quiet, low-toned talk. It gave
me quite a new sensation to hear personal recollections of such
men as Byron, Moore, Wordsworth, Keats, Coleridge, and
Charles Lamb. Of the latter, Mr. Procter related some new
anecdotes, giving his peculiar delicious drolleries in a manner
surely not unworthy of Elia himself. Since I have been in
England, I have read some of the prose of Barry Cornwall.
Like the prose of most poets, it is singularly picturesque and
imaginative. The articles I have read, though not poetry
press so close on to poetry that they have much of its rarest

A TOUR I.V KUROPE. 29
essence. Like the -leaves that grow next full-blossomed flow
ers and luscious fruit, they have about them, the true divine
fragrance and flavor.
After breakfast I walked out with Mr. F  , and, almost
ere I was aware, was standing in front of Westminster Abbey.
For emotions like those which shook my heart, for thoughts
which poured over my spirit, there are no words in any hu
raan language. It was not the sombre grandeur of the min
ster which fell upon me with most power, but the shadows of
dead ages that haunted it.
The architecture without is so vast and noble, yet so grace
ful and aerial, it seems like grand, religious aspirations and
fine poetic dreams petrified and fixed there for all time. With
in, so exquisite and elaborate is the sculpture and carving that
they hardly seem of human workmanship ; and you are half
tempted to believe that, by sorae olden rairacle, the senseless
stone silently put forth those cherub tiices, and that the dark
wood budded and blossomed and wreathed itself into all those
countless combinations and convolutions of beauty and grace.
The painted glass of the noble windows pours all the glory
of life into the solemn interior of this palace of tombs. One
great circular window seemed to me hke a whirlpool of gor
geous blooms, or a coiled rainbow.
We entered at the south transept, — " Poets' Corner," —
and found ourselves standing before the simple monuments of
Jonson, ("rare Ben,") Butler, Milton, Spenser, and Gray.
From these we silently and reverently passed to those of Dry
den, Chaucer, Shakspeare, Thomson, Gay, Goldsmith, Handel,
Addison, Garrick, Johnson, and Sheridan. O, how the im
mortal genius of poet, and wit, and orator, and rare player
seemed to hover exultant on that solemn air ! How the dead
lords of mind seemed to rule us from their graves, to sway the
wild pulses of our living hearts, and to bow our heads, borne
3*

30 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
high in the pride of life, low and sad before the mouldering,
formless dust of theirs !
In the south aisle of Plenry VIL's chapel we were shown
the stately monument of Mary, Queen of Scots. This is a
fine recumbent statue, in which the face is very beautiful,
though worn and weary looking. In the north aisle is the
tomb of Elizabeth, and Mary of the sanguinary sobriquet.
The maiden queen is here sculptured in her royal robes and
preposterous ruff.
The old. royal tombs have much barbaric grandeur about
them, are a stately acceptation of mortality, but there are few
of them at all in accordance with our ideas of artistic beauty.
The figure of Queen Eleanor, however, I remember as very
beautiful. Of the modern sculpture, I was most impressed with the
statues of tho Duke de Montpensier, by Westmacott; of
Sir John Malcolm and George Canning, by Chantrey ; of Mrs.
Warren, by Westmacott ; and by the splendid monuments to
Chatham and Mansfield, by Bacon and Flaxmah.
One is struck throughout the abbey by the prominent places
awarded to, and the monumental honors heaped upon, military
and naval heroes. The great writers are crowded into a nar
row corner ; while the great fighters have every where plenty
of sea room and field room to set up .their immortal battle
show, and plant their guns and unfurl their flags over yards
on yards of -sculptured wall.
The sitting statue of Wilberforce, in position and expres
sion, is ludicrously characteristic and unclassical. It "ives
you an odd feeling to turn, from the cross-legged carelessness
of its attitude to the cross-legged stateliness of some knight
Templar. It affects one strangely to go from the white array
of these modern works of art into the shadowy chapel of Ed
ward the Confessor — to look upward to the mediteval dark-

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 31
ness of the far, vast roof, and around upon the quaint and
blackened tombs of ancient kings.
I think I was most painfully impressed in the chapel where
the knights of the Bath were installed. Above the seats of
the knights hang their swords and shields, and droop their
faded banners. As I stood and dreamed, I heard the peal of
trurapets, the cry of heralds, the stately tramp of mail-clad
men — I saw those high-set banners sway and flutter, as each
stalwart knight clanged down into his seat. The place seemed
haunted with mailed, visored, and dark-plumed ghosts. The
coronation chairs are ugly, uncomfortable articles of royal fur
niture ; and the famous stone on which all the old kings of
Scotland were crowned is but a rough, plebeian piece of red
dish-gray sandstone.
On leaving the abbey, we visited grand old Westminster
Hall, — the scene of innumerable kingly banquets, — whose
gorgeous Gothic roof has echoed loyal shouts, and rung with
royal revelry, through reign after reign, and century after cen
tury. After a lengthened outside survey of the new Houses of
Parliament, that " latter-day glory " of Gothic architecture,
we drove into the city, passing through the old gateway. Tem
ple Bar, and by the streets where Milton taught school and
Johnson toiled ; Christ's Hospital, where Charles Lamb was a
" Blue-coat boy ; " and down Paternoster Row, the narrow,
dark birthplace of countless iramortal books. I was amused
by the. aristocratic disdain of signs evidenced by the distin
guished masters of the trade. Byron's publisher has simply
" Mr. Murray " in small letters on his door. We then drove
round St. Paul's, a sombre, mountainous building, which to my
eye has more the look of a vast heathen temple than an edi
fice for Christian worship ; and passed that awfullest of pris
ons, Newgate, the sight of which flung a sudden dai-kijess on
the day.

32 HAPS AND anSHAPS OF
In the evening I took tea quietly with Mr. and Mrs. Cob
den, to whom I had brought letters. Richard Cobden I found
to be, personally, all that his noble political course and high-
toned eloquence had led me to expect. He is most kindly
and affable in manner, converses earnestly and thought
fully, though with occasional flashes of humor and nice touch
es of satire. He seems full of life and energy, and will, I
trust, yet answer all the great hopes the people have reposed
in him.
Last night I had a charming ride a cheval, in Hyde Park.
Much of the rank and fashion of West End was out, either in
carriages or on horseback ; and a more magnificent display of
high blood and breeding, both human and equestrian, surely
the wide world cannot furnish. We rode for about an hour
up and down " Rotten Row," an avenue especially devoted to
the riders, admiring the beauty and grace of England's fair
daughters and the glory of its horse flesh. The riding of the
English ladies is marked with great elegance, but extremely
quiet, utterly free from display, and in many cases, I thought,'
wanting in spirit. They seemed to ride as in some grand
state procession, to make up a noble show, rather than for the
joy and exultation of that most glorious exercise.
I felt curiously when I found myself galloping by that
Crystal Palace which had so often shone on my dreams, stored
and gorgeous with the treasures of all lands, and crowded
with many-nationed life. It is beautiful still in its bright des
olation, and in the strange silence succeeding the sea-like mur
mur of innumerable voices, the continuous sound of passing
feet, and the rich rustle of brocades.
Yesterday Mr. Cobden did me the kindness to show me
the Houses of Parliament. He first introduced me into the
gallery of the House of Commons, behind that Turkish bar
barism, the lattice- work screen, where I beheld, " as through a
glass darkly," a few scattered M. P.'s, some sitting bolt°up-

A TOUR IN EUROPE. S3
right, some lounging on long, green benches, leisurely legislat
ing, with their hats on. The speaking was brief, conversa
tional, and commonplace. Mr. D'Israeli spoke, for about
a quarter of an hour, on the affair of the expulsion of the
missionaries from Austria. The chancellor of the exchequer
has a look decidedly and darkly Hebraic. When I say this,
I must confess that I have in my eye the modern Abraham,
who lends money to fast young men with handsome expecta
tions, or the modern Moses, who presides at the pawnbro
ker's counter, rather than the faithful patriarch of old, or the
wise la^Vgiver, leader, and feeder of Israel. The face wears
to me no high character, but is cold, politic, and subtle in
expression. I could only see the sentimental exquisite who
penned Henrietta Temple in the dainty waistcoat and spiral
black curls of the chancellor. In the House of Lords some
cause was being tried — a black-gowned, big-wigged advocate
was speaking before a black-gowned and bigger-wigged judge.
I knew Lord Brougham at once, from the admirable though
not over-complimentary sketches of Punch. He looks some
what broken, but hardly so old as I expected to see him.
The new parliamentary palace is beautiful and magnificent
in the extreme. We have nothing even faintly comparable
to it in our country ; and long may it he ere we have for such
a purpose. The splendid unsuitableness of this edifice for the
theatre of grave legislation, it seems to me, can be scarcely
quci'iioiied. Infinitely more suitable, surely, would have
been the pure and severely simple Greek architecture, strong,
and calm, and cold, like Government and Law, rather than
the elaborate, fantastic, and poetic forms of the Gothic — a
style whose effect is always graceful rather than stately, and
whose associations are romantic and religious.
This morning, the Earl of Carlisle, to whom I brought a
letter, with his well-known kindliness and courtesy called, and
brought, in addition to the great pleasure of his acquaintance,

34 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
one of Her Majesty's tickets to the gallery of the House of
. Lords for the prorogation, which is to take place to-morrow.
His Lordship also favored me with tickets to the London
University, where, this afternoon, the prizes were distributed
— the Eari of Cariisle presiding. From witnessing this very
interesting ceremony I have just returned.
After distributing the prizes in his own pecuharly graceful
and affable manner, speaking some words of praise and en
couragement to every proud and blushing winner of academi
cal honors. Lord Carhsle spoke at some length, eloquently
and nobly. He was followed by the lord mayor, and by
Joseph Hume, a fine specimen of a true-souled old man. The
latter complimented Lord Carlisle as " a noble who ennobles
nobihty." In the conversation during his morning call, his lordship
spoke of our country with apparently most pleasant recollec
tions of his visit. He expressed a deep interest in the great
problem, that solemn question of our age and land — sla
very. He was reading, he said, a book which bore upon this
subject, and which impressed him most powerfully, both as an
unanswerable argument against slavery, and as a work of
genius. He added, that the style and the story were so fasci
nating that it was with*the utmost difficulty that he could lay
it down before finishing it. Of course, it was Uncle Tom's
Cabin, which is creating an immense sensation in England.
I have spent a delightful evening with Mary Howitt — a
charming, true-hearted woman, as she has unconsciously writ
ten herself down in her books. The poet Alaric Watts was
present, and the painter Margaret Gillies. Mary Howitt the
younger, a beautiful, natural girl, is an artist of rare talent
and poetic spirit. I have also met the authoress Mrs. Crowe,
a very interesting and genial person, who, if she has a " night
side " to her " nature," never turns it on her friends.

A TOUK liN EUROPE. 35
.r!7zr 7.
At eleven o'clock on the morning of the 1st we set forth
to witness the prorogation, which was to take place at two
o'clock. Yet, though so early, we found others before us, and
were obliged to wait in our carriage for more than half an
hour before we could enter the House of Lords. I found that
my seal \vas one most desirable, both for seeing the bril
liant assembly and the august ceremony : it was near the
throne, yet commanded a view of every part of the splendid
chamber. The gallery was soon filled with ladies, all in full dress,
jewels, flowers, and plumes. Many of the seats of the peers
were also filled by their noble wives and fair daughters, most
superbly and sweetly arrayed. O, the glory of those gor
geous brocades, rivalUng the blue of Italian skies, the green of
English fields, the bloom of Cashmere's roses, the purple and
gold of American sunsets ! 0, the exquisite beauty of flow
ers, fit to raake Flora die of envy, and outdoing Nature in a
thousand unimaginable forms ! O, the soft, drooping down
iness of costly plumes ! O, the proud flashing, the inestima
ble 'Splendor, of old hereditary jewels — the sapphire, which
seems to enshrine some serene, celestial soul — the emerald,
restless with some imprisoned spirit of the " vasty deep " —
pearls of such liquid purity as the white-beaded foam shaken
from the locks of Venus — rubies of a joyous, luscious rich
ness, like wine drippings from the goblet of Bacchus — gar
nets of a deep, dark, less festive than sorrowful hue, as they
were hardened blooddrops from the heart of Niobe — and
diamonds, giving out a haughty, regal gleam, as they were
frozen tears from angered Juno's eyes.
As a matter of course, I saw many of the fairest specimens
of English aristocracy — women of strong and healthful yet
delicate and elegant organization — women of refined ex
pression and high-bred air, whose noble blood showed itself

36 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
not alone in their proudly-borne heads and delicate hands,
but was eloquent in every motion. But, as a faithful chroni
cler, I must add, that there were some, whom, were it not for
their wearing the titles and coronets of ladies, an " outside
barbarian," like myself, would be in danger of confounding
with the vulgar herd — some who neither wore their lady
hood regnant on their brows, nor revealed its softness and
grace in manner and movement ; so it is well that the " Red
Book " is explicit on the point of their claims. Araong those
conspicuous for elegance and loveliness were the young
Duchess of Northumberland, and Lady Clementina Villiers,
the fiimous court beauty. That most magnificent of matrons,
the Duchess of Sutherland, was not present. Towards one
o'clock the peers began to come in fast, clad in their crimson
robes of state. They are a noble and refined-looking set of men,
taken as a whole ; but some there are so decidedly plebeian
in the outward, one, on beholding them, recalls old stories of
cradle exchanges, or feels amazed at the measureless assur
ance of Nature, in fashioning of common clay vessels of such
honor — in making the patrician flesh and blood so marvel
lously like the beef-fed physique of the people. The Duke
of  has a rotundity of figure, and a full bloodedness and
full mooniness of face, more aldermanic than majestic. But
few eyes dwelt on His Grace, when there slowly entered, at
the left of the throne, a white-haired old man, pale and spare,
bowed with years and honors, the hero of many battles in
many lands, the conqueror of conquerors, the Duke ! Lean
ing on the arm of the fair Marchioness of Douro, he stood or
rather tottered, before us — the grandest ruin in England.
He presently retired to don his ducal robes and join the
royal party at the entrance by the Victoria tower. The
pious bishops, in their sumptuous sacerdotal robes made a
goodly show before an ungodly world. The judges came in
their black gowns, and in all the venerable absurdity of their

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 37
enormous wigs. Mr. Justice Talfourd, the poet, a small,
rnodest-looking man, was quite extinguished by his. The
foreign ministers assembled, nation after nation, making, when
standing or seated together, a most peculiar and picturesque
group. More gorgeous richness and variousness of costume
I never beheld. They shone in all colors, and dazzled with
stars, and orders, and jewel-hiked swords. The red Greek
cap, richly wrought with gold, sat jauntingly on olive brows
and raven locks ; while high above all towered tlie ugly black
hats of the Persian envoys. Our minister, Mr. Lawrence,
was dressed with a quiet, simple elegance, becoming the
representative of a republic.
In the gallery, near me, sat the little Indian princess lately
admitted into the English church, with the Queen for a spon
sor. She is a pretty, bright-looking child, and was then
literally loaded with jewels. Opposite her sat the handsorae
and ponderous prince, her father. Said Pacha. He was mag
nificently dressed — girded about with a superb India shawl ;
and diamonds, for the least of which many a hard-run Chris
tian would sell his soul, gleamed above his swart brow, like
stars amid dusky evening clouds.
Lord Redesdale took his seat on the woolsack, and some
business was despatched in a hurried and indistinct way.
Soon after two o'clock, the guns announced the arrival of the
royal procession, and in a few moments the entire house
rose silently to receive Her Majesty. The Queen was con
ducted by Prince Albert, and accompanied by all the greal^
officers of state. The long train, borne by ladies, gentlemen,
and pages, gave a certain stateliness to the short, plump little
person of the fair sovereign, and she bore herself with much
dignity and grace. Prince Albert, it is evident, has been
eminently handsome, but is now getting stout,', and is a little
bald. Yet he is a man of right noble presence. Her Majes
ty is in fine preservation, and really a pretty and lovable-
4

38 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
looking woman. I think I never saw any thing sweeter than
her smile of recognition, given to some of her friends in the
gallery — to the little Indian princess in especial. There is
much in her face of pure womanliness and simple goodness ;
yet it is by no means wanting in animated intelligence. In
short, after seeing her, I can well understand the loving
loyalty of her people, and can heartily join in their prayer
of " God save the Queen ! "
Her Majesty wore a splendid tiara of Brilliants, matched
by bracelets, necklace, and stomacher. Her soft, brown hair
was dressed quite plainly — rolled in the neck as for riding.
Her under dress was of white satin, striped with gold ; her
over dress was, of course, of crimson velvet, trimmed with
gold and ermine.
After desiring the lords to be seated, the queen commanded
that her "faithful Commons" should be summoned. The
members of the lower house are only allowed a narrow,
ignoble space, railed off from the chamlaer, under the gallery,
opposite the throne. Into this they soon came, hurrying, and
tumbling, with a sad want of aristocratic dignity and par
liamentary decorum. While the speaker was reading his
formal speech, I looked round upon the scene, striving to
stamp it indelibly upon my memory. The vast chamber it
self, gorgeous in crimson and gold, frescoes rich and historic,
carving exquisite beyond description, the pride and loveli
ness of England's aristocracy, with the emblems of its ex-
'haustless wealth, splendidly attired and decorated officers of
state, of the army, and of the royal household, grouped about
the throne, and her upon the throne.
Throughout the reading of the speech. Her Majesty listened
with a cold, quiet manner, sitting perfectly motionless even
to her fingers and eyelids. The Iron Duke, standino- at her
left, bent and trembled slightly, supporting, with evident
difficulty, the ponderous sword of state. Prince Albert sit-

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 39
ting, tall and soldier-like, in his handsome field marshal's
uniform, looked nonchalant and serene, and only needed his
meerschaum to make up a perfect picture of German placid
ity. The Earl of Derby held tho crown on its crimson
cushion, gracefully, like an accomplished waiter presenting
an ice. That crown smote on tho eye with its intolerable
brightness. The wondrous costly je^vels seemed to throb
with life, the undying life of light. 0 immortal stones, on
how many scenes like this have ye looked, with your cold,
gleaming eyes, mocking alike the proud flash in the bold eyes
of mighty kings, and the srailing light in the gentle eyes of
fair queens — mocking, indeed, all the passing power and the
perishing glory ye are meant lo adorn and emblazon, and
the mournful mortality, the d(.'atlnvard throbbing, of the brows
ye encircle !
After the reading of this speech, certain bills were read to
Her Majesty for her assent ; which she gave each tirae with a
gracious bow, shaking sparkles from her diamond tiara in
dewdrops of light. At every token of royal acquiescence, a
certain personage, whom I took for a herald, bowed low
towards the Queen, then performed a similar obeisance towards
the Commons, crying, in a harsh, an utterly indescribable
voice, " La Reine le vent" This ceremony gone through
with, the lord chancellor, kneeling at the foot of the throne,
presented a copy of the royal speech to the Queen, which she
proceeded to read in a manner perfectly siraple, yet dignified,
and in a voice singularly melodious and distinct. Finer read
ing I never heard any where ; e^¦er3¦ syllable was clearly
enunciated, and the emphasis fell with unerring precision
upon the right word.
The lord chancellor having formally announced that par
liament stood prorogued until the 20th of August, Her Ma
jesty rose as majestically as could be expected of one more
remarkable for rosy plumptitude than regal altitude. Prince

40 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
Albert took his place at her side — the crown bearer took his
in front — the train bearers took theirs in the rear; the royal
procession formed, swept slowly, forth, the brilliant house
broke up and followed ; and so the splendid pageant passed
away — faded hke a vision of poetry, or a fairy enchant
ment. Most of us were obliged to wait a long time in the ante
room before we could gain the staircase where our carriages
were announced, because of the mighty inward rush of the
people from the corridors, eager to get a sight even of the
empty chamber, so lately glorified by the presence of nobility,
and sanctified by the breathings of royalty. It was in vain
that gentlemanly ushers waved the official rod, and strove to
preserve order — in vain that awful policemen, pale with
shocked loyalty, shouted, " Make way for the peers and peer
esses." The curious crowd came surging in, and the bon
neted wives of citizens elbowed the coroneted wives of dukes,
and tradesmen got entangled in the ermined robes of peers.
One poor old man was rudely jostled against me. I looked
up commiseratively into his face, and it was the Duke of Wel
lington ! It was four o'clock ere we reached home, and yet
we were by no means the last to get away.
After dinner we went to Her Majesty's Theatre to see
performed The Barber of Seville, with Madame de La
Grange, a fine French singer, as Bosina ; Signor de Bassini,
as Figaro ; and the great Lablache, as Doctor Bartolo. The
first bass singer of the world is an enormous man — a mon
ster of melody, who spouts up columns of sound from the
" vasty deep " of his immense lungs, and whelms you in the
flood. Early on the second, one of the loveliest mornings that
ever dawned, I set out, with Mr. F  and a few choice
English friends, for a day at Albury, the residence of Mr.
Tupper — a poet whose manners are as popular as his works

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 41
and whose hospitality is as " proverbial " as his " philosophy.''
Our part)' consisted of Mr. F  , F  B  , a London
merchant, yet a poet, and a friend of poets, a lover and a
generous patron of art, a politician of high-toned liberality, a
warm-hearted man, and, what was the crown of all virtues
on an occasion like ours, an admirable humorist ; Mrs. B  ,
his charming wife, and " little Frank," a blue-eyed, fair-
haired beauty of a boy ; Mr. Durham, the young sculptor, to
whom we owe the noblest bust of Jenny Lind ; Camilla Cros-
land, the delightful authoress, whom we know well under her
maiden name of Toulmin ; and Mr. Jerdan, or " old Jordan,''
as he is familarly called, a man of nearly seventy years, yet
retaining the joyous spirit of seventeen, one of the finest wits
and most remarkable personages of his time.
From the station at Guildford we drove to Albury, about a
mile, through the most delicious lanes, past streams, and little
lakes — altogether one of the pleasantest drives I ever en
joyed. Mr. Tupper's place is the very ideal home of a poet —
sheltered in a lovely valley, embowered in noble trees, clam
bered over by vines, and illuminated with roses. The house
itself is quaintly beautiful outwardly and inwardly, finished
and furnished with simple elegance and much artistic taste.
0, what a golden day they made for us — our genial host,
his lovely wife, and their children that are children ! What
pleasant talks we had in the library ; what walks in the gar
den ; what frolics with the httle ones in the hay field ; what
a merry, noisy, nonsensical time over our dinner ; and what
a glorious ramble through green woodland paths afterwards !
0 for a Joshua to have laid an injunction on the sun, which,
even in England, will set at last ! On our return drive we
threw mournful glances on the beautiful country which had
so charmed us in the morning, and grieving that we should
see its face no more. We took leave of our host and his
4"'

42 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
handsome little son at the station most regretfully ; though
I am sorry to say that some of our party were guilty of
several bad puns up to the last sad moment.
On our way back to town, Mrs. Crosland — with whora, by
the by, I had become deeply interested during the day —
pointed out to me Ryegate, the place where Eugene Aram
was usher in a school.
The day following, 1 again went into the country with my
good friend F  , on a visit to Miss Mitford. Another morn
ing of soft airs and surpassing beauty, as though sent to favor
our homage to one of the truest poets of nature. We passed
in sight of Windsor Castle, which shows gloriously even from
afar. I wish I could give an idea of the pecuhar gor
geous effect produced by the wild poppies in bloom along our
way. The embankment of the railroad was crimson with
them for miles, and seemed rushing by us like a river of
blood. We left the rail, and took an open carriage at Reading, a
quaint old place, containing some venerable abbey ruins.
" Three Mile Cross,'' the immortal " Our Village " of the
sketches, is some miles from this town, but the poetess does not
how reside there, having removed to a simple little cottage at
Swallowfield, a mile or two away. We drove through " Our
Village," however, and passed her old home ; and every field,
and lane, and house, and shop was familar to jny eye. The
birds in the trees seemed singing her name over and over,
and the wild roses in the hedges were breathing of her. I
gazed down her favorite walks, half cheating myself with the
hope that I should see her strolhng under the green shadows
with her lovely little friend Lucy, and her beautiful grej'hound
Mayflower. I looked longingly over towards Aberleigh, and
sighed, that she who had made those lovely rural scenes the
haunts of charmed fancy, and places of quiet delight, and
refreshment, for thousands, cdiild herself roam over them a. d
rejoice in them no more.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 4.3
I knew when we were near Miss Mitford's home, by
our encountering a group of her picturesciue proteges the
gypsies, who were lounging on the turf at the entrance of a
lane, sunning themselves — a careless, lazy-looking set of
vagabonds, who scarcely deigned to turn their faces towards
us as we passed ; though one dusky damsel fired up at us with
her gleaming eyes, from the ambush of her black, straggling
locks. We were pained to find Miss Mitford,"who lias been in a
feeble state of health for some years past, suffering from an
attack of illness more than usually severe. Yet she did not
look ill : her fine expressive face was lit with pleasant smiles,
and she retained her kind, sympathetic manner, and cheerful,
charming spirits to the full. Miss Mitford talks delightfully,
with graphic descriptions of places and persons, free dashes
at character, and a rich, delicious humor, which you relish like
a dainty flavor. She has the joyous, outgushing laugh of a
child, and her kindly eyes flash from under her noble brow
and snowy, soft hair with all the vivacity of girlhood.
No complaining could have been half so touching as her
cheerful resignation when she was told that she must not go
with us to drive, a pleasure to which she had been looking for
ward. Feeling that she had over-exerted herself in conver
sation, we left her for an hour or two, while we visited
Strathfield-Saye, the noble country seat of the Duke of
WeUington, and drove through the extensive and beautiful
grounds. The park is one of the finest in England, but the
house is neither grand nor picturesque.
It was with real sorrow at my heart that. I parted with
Miss Mitford that evening. The excitement of the morning
had worn off, and she looked pale and sad. I grieved to
leave her with only her maid and man servant,jievoted
though they be — feeling that she, whose heart was so rich
in tenderest affections, should have the near love and anxious

44 HAPS AND MISHAPS.
care of at least a sister or brother ever about her steps. My
lips quivered painfully under her parting kiss, though receiv
ing it as the benediction of one of God's angels. I never
Shall forget the deep melodious fervor of her " God bless you ! "
bestowed on her well-beloved friend Mr. F  ; nor her last
smile cast on us both, as she stood in her door, looking after
us as we drove away. Yet I was much comforted in my sad
ness by the thought, that ever, while England boasts a pure
literature and a Virtuous people, while her quiet country
lanes stretch out their lovely vistas of greenery, while her
hawthorn hedges blossom through the pleasant land, will the
name of Mary Russell Mitford be cherished and revered.
I would not have it thought that Miss Mitford leads a
solitary or dull life. I am happy to say that many of the
nobility, as well as her countless literary friends, honor them
selves by showing her every possible attention and kindness.

CHAPTER III.
Newgate. — Model Prisons. — Me. Dickens. — Waltee Savage
Landoe. — Charles Kemble. — English Hospitality. — Me. and
Mrs. Hall. — Joseph Mazzini. — Albert Smith. — Zoological
Gardens. — BEiTiait Museum. — Windsor Castle. — Stafpord
House. — Bridgewater Gallery. — Mai Kingsley. — A Literary
Party. — Astley's. — The Docks. — The Tower. — Greenwich. —
The 0:?eea. — Geisi. — Maeio. — The Tomu op Milton. July 13.
Oti Tuesday I dined with Sir Thomas, or Mr. Justice
Talfourd, as I believe this .is the higher title. The poet is a
most kindly, quiet, unpretending man, and converses agreeably,
though with occasional wanderings of thought, and lapses into
a sort of ejaculatory dreaminess.
On Wednesday, with my good friend Mr. B  for a cice
rone, I visited Newgate and St. Bartholomew's Hospital. There
were comparatively few criminals in the prison, but they were
hard. Heaven-forgotten looking creatures. I think I never
saw human eyes which had so lost eycrj ray of the primal
soul light, seeraing to give out only a deathly, pestilential
gleam from moral vileness and corruption — faces into which
all evil passions were so stamped as by the iron hoof of Satan
himself. My very soul shuddered and sickened at the sight
of beings seemingly so helpless, hopeless, and redemptionless ;
yet I dared not despair, remembering that I stood on ground
hallowed by the labors of Elizabeth Fry, remembering what
wonders of repentance and redemption she had all singly and
silently wrought, with her holy faith, her patient endurance,
- and that " perfect love which casteth out fear." (45)

46 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
Newgate is a black, gloomy place, darkened as by the thick
shadows of innumerable miseries and crimes, and terrible in
the array of chains, and bolts, and ponderous iron doors —
where narrow stone stairways, and noisome cells, and long,
low, chill passages, fill one with shivering horror. Yet this
was built under the direction of Howard. Surely in nothing
is the progress, the enlightenment, and the leniency of the age
more marked than in prison construction and discipline. Thank
Heaven for the token !
Our guide showed us into a sort of gallery, high walled and
paved with dark stone -#-a damp, dismal, lonesome place, from
which I shrank back instinctively with a chill horror, which
seemed to come up from the black pavement, and creep through
my very bones. It was the place where the criminals hanged
at Newgate are buried. On the wall their initials are rudely
cut, so that friends, if they leave any, may know on which of
those ponderous flagstones to shed the bitter tears of their
shame, the desolate tears of their sorrow. From visions of
hurried burial scenes — where bodies, bornij purple-faced from
the near scaffold, were thrust into this prison charnel house,
shut down into the blackness of darkness, with the shades of
shame and crime keeping an eternal watch above, and not a
word of pious pity, nor a sculptiired prayer, not even a chubby
cherub face, to exorcise demons, — my mind went back a few"
centuries to the gorgeous funeral obsequies of sceptred rob
bers and crowned murderers, who, with slow religious state and
regal porap, were laid to rest in Westminster Abbey, under
grand canopies, costly monumental effigies, heraldic signs, holy
texts, and royal lavishment of praise.
The guide told us that criminals on trial for murder were
conducted to and from the court through this awful passage.
" What were the trial by fire to this ! " remarked my friend.
" What were treading on burning ploughshares to walking
over the bones of murderers ! "

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 47
The courts were in session. In one which we visited, a
China man was brought up in evidence, and he took the oath
by solemnly breaking a saucer. If typical, in many cases an
honester than the Christian form.
From Newgate we went to the noble old hospital I have
mentioned, where I was comforted by seeing the poor and suf
fering, the homeless and friendless, skilfully treated and ten
derly cared for.
We afterwards visited the new Holloway Prison, and the
Pentonville Model Prison, both of which strike me as raost
admirably constructed ; and the latter, which alone is occu
pied, very wisely and mercifully managed. After Newgate,
these buildings have a lofty, airy, an elegant, and almost
cheerful look. The health and comfort of the convicts are
here studied to a degree quite alarming to certain adherents
of the old system, who cry out that all such prison reforms are
setting a premium on vice ; as though even baths, warm
blankets, wholesome soup and bread, were compensations for
the forfeited freedom. While remarking every where in these
institutions the perfection of order and discipline, I was yet
more deeply impressed by the kindly feeling, the huraane sen
timents, expressed by the officers ; and I left the prison walls
more hopeful for the criminal and for sociel}' than I entered.
On Thursday evening I dined with Mr. and Mrs. Dickens
and a small party, at the pleasant house of the novelist, in
Tavistock Square. Mr. Dickens is all I looked to see, in per
son, manner, and conversation. He is rather slight, with a
fine symmetrical head, spiritedly borne, and eyes beaming
alike with genius and humor. Yet, for all the power and
beauty of those eyes, their changes seemed to me to be from
light to light. I saw in them no profound, pathetic depths, and
there was around them no tragic shadowing. But I was fool
ish to look for these on such an occasion, when they were very
properly left in the author's study, with pens, ink, and blotting

48 ^ HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
paper, and the last written pages of Bleak House. Mrs.
Dickens is a very charming person — in character and man
ner truly a gentlewoman ; and such of the children as I saw
seemed worthy to hand down to coraing years the beauty of
the mother and the name of the father. Mr. Dickens looks in
admirable health and spirits, and good for at least twenty more
charming serials. That, should he furnish lo the world yet
more than that number of his inimitable romances, they would
be as fresh and attractive as those which had gone before, I
have no doubt, from the confirmed impression I have of the
exhaustlessness of his genius, and ofthe infiniteness of variety
in English character, of phases in English life.
Mr. Dickens's style of living is elegant and tasteful, but in
no respect ostentatious, or out of character with his profession
or principles. I was glad to see that his servants wore no
livery. Next me, at table, sat Walter Savage Landor — a glorious
old man, full of fine poetic thought and generous enthusiasm
for liberty. Opposite sat Charles Kemble, and his daughter
Adelaide, Madame Sartoris. At the other end of the table
were Herr Devrient, the great German actor, Barry Corn
wall and his wife, a daughter of Mrs. Basil Montague.
Charles Kemble is a grand-looking old man, animated and
agreeable in conversation, and preserving to a wonderful de
gree his enthusiasm for a profession around which he and his
have thrown so much of glory. In Adelaide Sartoris you rec
ognize at a glance one of that royal family of Kemble, born
to rule, with a power and splendor unsurpassable, the realm of
tragic art.
Herr Devrient is a handsome, Hamlet-ish man, with a mel
ancholy refinement of voice, face, and manner, touching and
poetic to a degree, though not quite the thing for a pleasant
evening party. Yet I must confess I caught myself more
than once turning from the lively pleasantries of agreeable

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 49
acquaintances to regard the thoughtful beauty of his face, and
speculate upon its dreamy sadness.
During the evening, Madame Sartoris sang several ballads
in a magnificent manner, with a dramatic expression, and a
sweetness, strength, and wealth of voice I never knew surpassed.
She did not astonish us with curious vocal feats ; she did not
frolic with her voice like a child, nor warble idly and capri
ciously like a bird. She sung like the woman she is, out of
the depths of a strong, impassioned nature, giving full, melo
dious utterance to great human affections. She sung with a
power and a purpose, a heart-searching passion, only less in
describable than the wondrous changes of expression, the
lights chasing shadows, the shadows deepening into night, then
flashing into morning over her face.
During this evening, Mr. Dickens spoke to me with much
interest and admiration of Mrs. Stowe and Mr. Hawthorne.
Wherever I go, my national pride is gratified by hearing elo
quent tributes to these authors, and to the poet Long
fellow. The memorials of Margaret Fuller have also cre
ated a sensation here. Carlyle says, " Margaret was a great
creature ; but you have no full biography of her yet. We
want to know what time she got up in the morning, and
what sort of shoes and stockings she wore."
Thus far my experience of English life, and character has
been pleasant, altogether pleasant. Hospitality more generous
and cordial, kindness more constant, warm, and considerate,
it were quite impossible to conceive. O, tenderly do they deal
with the stranger's heart. Most sweetly do they strive to console
it for the lost home joys, the deep, dear affections left behind.
Before I left home, I talked bravely of the great plunge into
the cold bath of the world which I was about to take — of
the new life of entire independence and self-reliance before
me. My lip sometimes quivered, and I laughed hysterically
as I pictured myself as " the strong-minded woman " abroad,
5

50 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
but none could know the cowardly sinking and sickness
of my heart through all. Yet thus far have I taken not
one lonely and unsupported step. No sooner had I reached
the far foreign land which had so appalled me than
I found myself so hemmed in with kindness, so guard
ed and guided by friendly care, that there was, and is,
.imminent danger of my becoming more babyishly depend
ent than ever.' People on whose good offices I had not the
least legitimate claim — mere friends of my friends —
rival in assiduous kindness parents, brothers, and sisters,
and quite outdo and put to shame all more distant blood
relationship whatever.
I am at present visiting in the family of Dr. J. Laurie, a
distinguished physician of the homoeopathic school — a man
of fine scientific attainments and literary tastes, and politically
of liberal principles. He is a true Scot, and his bonnie wife
was a Scotch lassie. She, in her quiet unselfishness, in sim
plicity and earnest truthfulness of character, as well as in
shrewd judgment and sterling sense, reminds me of Jeannie
Deans. These, with their sweet young children, have made
much of my happiness in London — have softened this new,
strange life of hurry and excitement, with home pleasures and
loving sympathy.
English servants are in their way a most admirable class —
going quietly about their duties with a perfection of system
and a thorough respectfulness, a dignified humility of manner,
quite new and wonderful to an American. I allude, of course,
to those in private families ; domestics, waiters in hotels and
coffee houses, are a different class altogether. Yet I have
heard an amusing story of more than Yankee coolness and
independence displayed by one of the pampered retainers of
a high dignitary of the church. The faithful, old-fashioned
man servant of a country clergyman, on a visit to the Arch
bishop of York, told his master that, while sitting one morning

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 51
in the servants' hall, a bell was rung violently. Near him a
richly-liveried footman was lounging in an easy chair, with his
heels as high as his head, — for all the world like an American
Congressman legislating at his ease, — and from this comforta
ble position he budged not an inch at the importunate summons
above raentioned. " What ! " cried the primitive and provin
cial serving man, " don't you answer the drawing-room bell ? "
" Not unless they persewere" was the cool response of his
footmanship. Thus far, I have dealt more with the people than the
sights of London. The town itself is such a stupendous
subject, that I really know not where to grapple on to it.
A few days since. Dr. Laurie drove me round all the fashion
able squares, and through Hyde Park to Kensington Gar
dens, where we had a charming stroll. During this drive, I
saw all the finest town residences of the nobility and gentry.
They are noble, massive buildings, but by no means all of great
elegance or architectural beauty. The fashionable squares
enclose small parks, in each of which may be found a towering
statue — some royal rigidity, or ducal petrifaction, stretching
a mouldy sceptre over the gravel walks, or rearing eternally
on a furious steed. Regent Street is most magnificent. I
think I have never seen any thing finer than the grand circu
lar sweep it takes. Oxford Street is also very handsome.
Town and city, as well as country, have been full of scenes
of excitement during the late elections. These, as far as I
was able to see, were not a great way behind our own in ani
mated interest and noisy demonstration.
The liberal party are quite hopeful, I believe, and confi
dently state that the premier is soon to rest from his labors,
and the chancellor of the exchequer to hang his jewsharp
, on the willows.
We are having terribly hot weather here, and showery
England is belying its reputation. The united voice of the

I
52 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
people is for rain. A'propos : they tell a story here of the
late Duke of Cambridge, who had a habit of responding with
peculiar heartiness to any congenial sentiment uttered in pub
lic meetings, and even in church service. During a very dry
season, as a prayer for rain was being solemnly read by the
minister, his royal highness called out, in the emphatic and
reiterative style of his illustrious house, " By all means, by
all means, by all means ! " then added, ui a lower, but still
distinct tone, '¦ We shall not have rain, however, till the wind
changes." JULY 21.
At an evening party I lately met the authoress of the
charraing novels, OUve and The Head of the Family. Miss
Mulock is an Irishwoman, about twenty -five, petite and pretty.
In manner she is quiet and gentle, while her smile and her
voice have a sort of dreamy sweetness about them very pecu
liar, and in a lionized authoress surely most agreeable for its
unexpectedness. A memorable day last week was spent with the Halls, at
their lovely country residence. With a soft and cloudlessly
beautiful heaven above, and all the leafy and flowery glories
of an English suramer beneath and around — with a charming,
rambling, picturesque house, which was like a fairy palace of
poetry and art — and above all, with such a host arrd hostess,
I should have been utterly, childishly happy, but for the one
shadow which ever falls on the path of the wanderer — the
one sadness which haunts the heart of the stranger, — the
yearning want of some loved presence — the weary pain of a
lost companionship.
Mr. and Mrs. S. C. Hall have revealed the tone of their
minds and the tenor of their hves through their books with a
beautiful, unconscious truthfulness. The fine wit and humor
and wide knowledge of life, which give so much of richness
and spirit to their inimitable sketches of Irish character, flow

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 53
into and impart a peculiar charm to conversation and manner ;
while the refined tastes of artist and poet are manifest in
all their home surroundings, blending in countless forms of
beauty, and taking strange freaks and quaintnesses of fancy.
Of our party that day was the authoress of Margaret
Maitland, of Sunnyside — a fair Scotchwoman, not over
twenty-two, a modest, quiet, lovable person, who seems far
from having made up her mind to admit the fact of her own
genius. Having wakened one morning to find herself famous,
she believes the world to be laboring under some strange de
lusion, and accounts herself an immensely overrated little
woman, after all.
On the day succeeding this visit I flrst saw Joseph Mazzini,
— I had brought a letter to him from his friend Kossuth, —
and he spent a generous part of the morning with us. Maz
zini is not a large man, though taller, I should say, than
Kossuth ; he is .slight in person, and extremely pale. His head
is one of the grandest I have ever seen ; his eyes have the true
southern depth of darkness and gleara of passionate fire, yet
are softened with poetic feeling, and are pathetic. with all their
power. They are darkly shadowed as by great sorrows and
weary watchings. To give an idea of the high, generous
thought, the noble aspirations, the enthusiasra and eloquence,
to which we were charmed listeners that morning, I have only
to say that Mazzini talks as he writes.
On Saturday evening we attended Albert Smith's new en
tertainment, "The Ascent of Mont Blanc." So delighted was
I with the wit, the fine graphic spirit, the charming humor
of the bold tourist, and the rare beauty of his panoranjic
illustrations, that I fear I almost made myself ridiculous
by my uncontrollable expressions of enthusiasm and pleasure.
Yet I think those around me held me excused, and that our
entertainer himself would have pronounced no harsh judgment
upon me. I know not whether I had most delight in the.
5*

54 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
tourist's wondrous power of description, which bears you with
him from Chamouni's quiet vale, up, up, into the awful Alpine
solitudes — the solemn eternity of snows — up, till you hear
the avalanches thunder from the far peaks, and look into the
yawning fissures, the icy sepulchres of some who have gone
before — up, up, till you stand with him on that stupendous
dome of ice, and behold mountains, and seas, and kingdoms
below, and nothing of all the earth between you and God —
or in that daring, delicious wit, which must have way even
amid the sternest Alpine grandeurs, as the gay sunshine plays
over the glaciers, and slides down their fearfullest abysses.
On Sunday morning we attended service in old Temple
Church, a rarely beautiful building, but chiefly interesting for
its late wonderful restoration. At the time of CromweU, the
curiously painted walls and roof, the fine tessellated pavement,
and the elegant marble pillars were thickly covered with
cement, for concealment and preservation. Thus they re
mained until a few years since, when they were discovered by
accident, and restored at an immense cost.
After service, we strolled through the Zoological Gar
dens, where we saw, I suppose, about the finest collection
of animals in the world. I wish 'I could dash off a sketch
of her stupendous majesty the great elephantess, with the
clumsy little prince royal, the calf elephant, as they appeared
when enjoying themselves in their bath ; and of his royal
highness the great camelopard, as he stood stretching his
interminable neck over the railing, impertinently watching
them in their recreation. The rhinoceros revelhng in his
mud, and the hippopotamus rolling lazily in the water, are
also a pair of "beautiful pictures to hang on memory's
wall." As the apes stretched out their paws to us through
the bars of their cages, begging for nuts and crackers, I
shuddered with a new disgust — they were so fearfully like

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 55
the squalid little human beggars along London streets.
How I loathed thera for their horrible raockery of hu
manity !
I saw the lions, tigers, leopards, bears, wolves, and hyenas,
at their feeding tirae. Each dined off an undressed hare ; a
mere tidbit, one would say, to their savage capacities. They
did not devour their delicate morsels at once, in hungry haste,
but, though trembling through all their mighty fibres with a
fierce relish, they prolonged the palpitating pleasure by licking
every drop of blood frora the little creatures, and daintily
playing with them. As the keeper repassed, and struck with
his pole on the bars of their cages, they opened upon him
with the true Hon and tiger spirit, as fierce and untamed as it
ever roared through Numidian forests, or howled out of an
Indian jungle ; while live flames shot from their eyes, reveal
ing the unquenchable and ineradicable hell of ferocity in their
blood-nurtured natures. Yet there is a terrible grandeur
about the creatures, even at feeding tirae, which fascinates me.
The old lion looked royal, even when sucking out the still
beating heart of the poor rabbit, glaring at his keeper the
while, as Napoleon might have glared on his hated governor
at St. Helena. There was beauty and wild grace in the atti
tude of the velvety pard, for all the stealthy murder crouch
ing there. I gazed on them so long that lions were roaring
through my sleep, leopards stealing softly on my dreams,
and tigers glaring at me through the bed curtains, all night
long. Monday we spent some hours at the British Museum. This
sight is one of my despairs. It is a world of wonders — an
eternity of curiosities. The Elgin marbles and other ancient
statuary were not to me all I expected thera to be — or rather,
the woful unsuitableness of the place for such grand fragments
of art, the want of all their natural surroundings, made the
sight almost as painful as pleasurable. And yet I had hardly

56 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
reaUzed that the olden, immortal grace could so triumph
over mutilation and decay, and compel the homage of even
the inartistic gazer, as it does through these defaced and dilapi
dated divinities, these armless graces and legless heroes, these
tailless horses and headless riders. So noble are those forms
in the great power yet perfect symmetry of their full physical
developraent, so free in action, so grand in repose, so beautiful
in half-barbaric grace, that one sighs at the thought of a hu
manity so glorious having passed away, and sees a sort of
sublime pathos in the long struggle of Art with Ruin and Time,
to preserve for it even this broken immortality.
Among the old manuscripts and autographs are sights to
hurry one's heartbeats, and make the eager soul look through
one's eyes with a childlike earnestness and reverence, rare
enough in our every-day life. I had not believed it possible
that I could be agitated at merely looking on words traced by
the hands of Shakspeare, Milton, Spenser, Luther, John
Knox, Charles " the martyr," Hampden, Cromwell, Mary,
Queen of Scots, Lady Jane Grey, and others of England's,
of the world's, immortals. I never could account for the effect
which the autographs of genius produce upon our minds, ex
cept by belief that something of the soul, of the spiritual
presence, lingers about them — an influence which we feel by
some inner sense, yet but dimly comprehend.
After leaving the museum, we visited the exhibition at the
Royal Academy and the National GaUery. At the first,
there were one or two noble modern pictures, which
charmed my heart and chained my feet before them ; and
at the latter, I revelled in my first joy in the glorious concep
tions and almost miraculous art of the great masters. Mu-
rillo's Saint John seemed to me the divinest of all ; but there
was one of his Madonnas so saintly beautiful in the tranced
joy of her divine maternity, that I felt my knees giving way
beneath me, obedient to the instinct </ adoration.

A TOUR IMt EUROPE. 57
Yesterday I went with some Araerican friends to Windsor
Castle and Virginia Water. It was a day to be marked with
a white stone, as having left on my heart only sunbright
recollections. Windsor Castle is nobler and finer every way
than I expected to find it; truly a most regal residence —
the nursery, the stronghold, the temple of kingliness. While
these high places of royalty, gorgeous with the wealth and
venerable with the memories of ages, stand forth as the pride
and glory of England, and the shrines of romance and poetry
for all nations, it seems to me that the institution of monarchy
is safe and steadfast — pillared by the sacredness of the past,
the admiration and imagination of the present, the involuntary
loyalty of the world. The question of " What would they do
with their palaces ? " never presented itself seriously to my
mind at home, in connection with the thought of the possible
republicanization of England ; yet here it coraes with stagger
ing force against any such political air castle.
We had an order which took us through both the state and
private apartraents, all of which are beautiful and gorgeous
beyond my poor powers of description. The private rooms
have the most of a horae look, if that dear, familiar word can
be applied to any thing so magnificent. The long corridor is
decorated with some fine portraits, among which I was glad to
see that of Scott. Of the rest, the raost interesting were a
series of paintings commemorative of the principal events in
the life of Victoria. Thus far, she has been pretty thoroughly
painted. Her Majesty's breakfast parlor is hung with Win-
terhalter's famous portraits of herself and Prince Albert, and
with pictures of the royal children — taken altogether, a very
handsome family. From this room, which looks out upon the
terrace, there is a lovely view of the park. In short, what
ever way the eye glanced, it met only beauty, and luxury, and
splendor ; and I could but wonder how tholte favored ones,
born to the grandeurs and pleasures of such high estate, could

68 HAPS AND4MISHAPS OP
bring themselves to submit to the inevitable decrees of nature,
and die with decent resignation — come meekly down from the
throne to the coffin, go humbly forth from the gay palace halls
to the dark and narrow house of the dead. Yet we must
beheve that the kingly crown often presses too tightly around
throbbing brows, tiU every gem seems to shoot a separate tor
ture into the brain — that the woman's heart often aches
sharply under the queenly ermine — that the heirs to thrones
are also heirs to all the ills of humanity — that the burden of
mortality weighs more and more heavily upon them, till they,
like the poor wayfarers of life, stretch their tired arms yearn
ingly towards God's rest. In the solemn old chapel of Wind
sor there is a beautifully-sculptured cenotaph to the memory
of the Princess Charlotte, representing her in the attitude in
which she died — the death struggle just arrested, and all its
fearful agony stiffening into her limbs. The light sheet which
wraps her body covers her face, but only to reveal it with
more terrible distinctness to the eye of imagination. I shud
dered and recoiled with horror, as though frora the brink of
an abyss, when I found myself standing over the dust of
Charles the First.
The drive through the Great Park to Virginia Water, and
the long, delicious ramble through those enchanting grounds,
are they not written in the pleasantest chronicles of memory ?
This sweet summer place was the darling work of that princely
pleasurist, George the Fourth. He was a spendthrift, a vo
luptuary, an unfilial son, a bad husband, an indifferent father
— a sad fellow in many respects ; but he had exquisite taste ;
there's no denying it.
I must not forget to record, with due gratitude and just ap
preciation, that the retainers, both at Windsor Castle and
Virginia Water, are forbidden by Her Majesty to receive any
fee from visitoi% O, long may she reign !

A TOUR I^ EUROPE. 59
JUZY 30.
The afternoon following my last writing I visited Stafford
House and the Bridgewater Gallery with Lord Cariisle, who
kindly proffered his pleasant guidance — an illustrious cicerone.
Stafford House, the town residence of the Duke of Sutherland,
is, externally, a building of no remarkable aspect, though of
noble dimensions ; but internally it is beautiful and gorgeous 4n
the extreme — decorated and furnished with a perfection of art
and a refinement of taste which soften the glare of splendor,
and give a poetic grandeur, an ideal grace, to the lavishment
of untold riches. There is every where a meaning in tho
magnificence, a purpose in the princely display, which justify
them, at least to the artistic sense, and to the love of luxury
inherent in human nature. Every where you recognize the
beautiful inspirations of feminine genius for order, adaptatiou,
and arrangement. Were I au fait in matters of architect-
. ure and upholstery, which I surely am not, I might give some
idea of tlie exquisite finishing and furnishment of sorae of the
rooms I saw. One I shall never forget; it is sraall, and
siraply beautiful, peculiarly fresh and summer-like, from its
decorations of water lilies. The carjiet under your feet is
flowered with this sweet wonder of aquatic loveliness, this
floral Venus Aphrodite, this censer of purest fragrance, swung
by the water nymphs under the waves. It hangs above us in
lamps, and through the large window we see it shining near,
in the form of a fountain.
Stafford House is not so rich in painting and statuary as
some London mansions ; yet it has many charming pictures,
and the walls of one noble apartment are enriched by several
Murillos. I must confess to an absorbing admiration of Mu-
rillo's Virgins. They have not the meek-eyed fairness, the
innocent, ignorant, lamb-like saintliness of the Madonnas of
the Italian masters ; but they have a rich, dark-blooded Ufe, a
luscious ripeness of beauty, joined to the deep fervor and

60 HAPS AND '.MISHAPS OP
high rapture of devotion, infinitely more impressive to me.
With beings whose pulses throb with the spring fulness of
healthful and beautiful life, — whose senses are aU open to the
flood tide of huraan passions, — with natures formed for love
and luxury, pleasure and power, holiness is of some worth,
because bought with a price, and the saintly glory tenfold
more glorious for the heroic renunciation which went before.
Therefore do I love the Madonnas of Murillo, for their glow
ing and gorgeous womanhood — not sinless born, not saintly
because of a passionless organization, but sanctified by election
to the divine maternity — with all the languid fires of loving ^
eyes turned heavenward, kindled in holy aspirations, and the
sighs of passion changed to prayers. So rich and splendid is
the character of their beauty, that sometimes, on looking at
one, you might fancy her heathen Cytherea turned Christian,
with all her roguish Loves changed into smiling Cherubs —
except that they have all profounder depth and nobler breadth
of life than any Venus. Other pictures may touch my heart
or exalt my spirit more ; but Murillo's throng my pulses with
a peculiar passionate emotion.
There are many adrairable modern paintings at Stafford
House, chiefly portraits ; among which are the most cele
brated pictures of the magnificent Duchess of Sutherland.
Hers is a beauty so peerless and perfect, that Time himself
has reverenced it, and ever left some new majestic grace where
he stole away a youthful bloom. She is a woman worthy to
have sat to the Spanish prince of painters, to have had her
loveliness wedded in immortality with Murillo's art. The
youngest daughter of the house, the Lady Constance Gros-
venor, (name of Marquis Westminster,) is exceedingly lovely ;
but her beauty is delicate and tender, not of the rich and regal
type of her noble mother.
From Stafford House we went to Bridgewater House,
which is near by, to see the fine collection of pictures belong-

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 61
ing to the Earl of EUesmere, and known as the Bridgewater
Gallery. The first thing which met the eye, on entering the
grand hall, was Foley's beautiful marble group of Ino and
the infant Bacchus. The glass roof above the great hall is
set with prisms, so that, as the effulgent sunlight bathed the
fair Ino in all the gorgeous primal colors, she seemed like a
descended Iris, couchante upon the flowery earth. I know
not what is before me, but I do not believe I shall see any
thing in ancient sculpture more graceful than the uplifted
right arm of Ino, holding the grapes above the eager-mouthed
Bacchus. Lord Carlisle, perhaps a little unwisely, led me first to the
Raphaels, of which there are four — three Holy Families, and
one Virgin with the infant Savior in her arms. That moment
swung wide before me the gates of a new, a higher world of
art — but I as yet stand on the threshold, half dazzled by the
interior brightness. To Raphael it seems no poetic extrava
gance, no sacrilegious enthusiasra, to apply the term divi/ie.
I cannot conceive how one can look on his pictures long enough
to get at their soul without believing him to have been often
visited with celestial inspirations ; that, by close and holy
communion with Heaven, he obtained the secrets of creative
power — and that thus visions of transcendent purity, of
seraphic loveliness and divine beatitude, were vouchsafed to
him. So pecuharly pure and peaceful is the atmosphere of
his works, that one half believes them canopied by angel
wings. The hohness of the pictures of which I have spoken
is the more impressive from its contrast with the splendid sen-
suousness and sumptuousness of Titian's Diana and her
Nymphs interrupted at the Bath by Actseon ; Diana and Ca-
Usto ; Venus rising from the Sea. Titian, it seems to me,
was essentiaUy a heathen painter, revelling in all the refine
ments of natural and physical beauty, his highest raptures
Bsldom rising above the half-sensual, half-poetic joys of
6

62 H.4.PS AND MISHAPS OF
Olympus, and his noblest visions taking in but the" nude graces
and entrancing beauties of goddesses and nymphs. His col
oring is so wondrously soft, yet rich and radiant, his figures
are of such surpassing grace and voluptuous loveliness, that I
should suppose the young, passionate, and impressible, must,
in gazing on them long, feel the moral sense grow bewildered,
and reel with the intoxication of their subtle sensuality. How
different is it with the works of Raphael, over which the re
ligious master's reverent genius threw a calm and heavenly
purity ! Of the Holy Families of Raphael in the EUesmere
collection, I like best the one known as La Belle Vierge, in
which the young St. John is paying horaage to the Savior.
The Virgin here is worthy of the high office to which she was
called — a tenderly majestic figure, and beautiful beyond com
pare. She is standing with the youthful Jesus before her.
The young St. John is a most glorious figure. As he stands,
slightly bent, before his Master, the rich, brown hue of his
complexion contrasted with the golden-haired fairness of the
Redeemer, with his dark face kindled with the rapt joy of
loving adoration, no humble kneeling, no prone prostration, no
meek kissing of the feet could express such fealty, such rev
erence, such acceptation and worship. Not the eyes and
the smile alone, but every line and curve of the beauteous
form, utters '^ My Lord and 'my God!" Then the tender,
unconscious sovereignty, the gentle, almost shy, acceptance of
homage, the budding divinity of the young Christ, are won
drous to behold. I cannot like the St. Joseph in this picture ;
he seeras to me an ungracious old man, devoid of true vener-
ableness. There is a Palraa Vecchio in this collection which
I like, especially for the St. Joseph, who is younger and
handsomer than any other I have seen. Why the husband
of Mary should be made such a grizzly-bearded old patriarch
of, I never could conceive. , It certainly strikes the unartistic
as a most unsuitable alliance. I lingered long before Domen^

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 63
ichino's Christ bearing his Cross, and Vision of St. Francis ;
a Landscape by Claude Lorraine, and one by Salvator Rosa ;
a Virgin and ChUd, by Correggio ; Christ on the Cross, by
Annibal Caracci ; and Guido Reni's Assumption of the Virgin.
Albert Cuyp's Landing of Prince Maurice at Dort would of
itself fill a room with sunlight anef splendor ; and the great
Marine View of Turner you cannot gaze on without feeling
the roll of heavy seas, the rush of sprayey winds — without
hearing the rattling of cordage, the surge of sails, and tho wild
tumult of the surrounding storm. Paul De la Roche's superb
and most pathetic picture of Charles the First in the Guard
Room almost made me a loyalist, and an execrator of my
roughhewn hero, Cromwell. The majestic yet mournful
serenity, the martyr-Uke patience, with which the poor King
receives the brutal insults of the soldiers of the Parliaraent,
and the bitter grief and powerless indignation of his two faith
ful followers, are alike heartbreaking. There are raany fine
pictures in this collection by the Dutch and Flemish masters ;
but they do not impress rae very deeply, or exalt me above
a wondering admiration at their richness of coloring and per
fection of detail. I looked at them all curiously, with frequent
exclamations of delight, but turned from thera at last unsatis
fied, and with a yearning at ray heart which led rae back to
stand silent and subdued before ray Raphael, ray St. John.
While lingering there, I observed Lord Carlisle greet, with
much cordiality, a sUght, pale, refined, clerical-looking raan,
who stood near us. After a few moments' conversation, his
Lordship introduced this gentleman to me as the Rev. Charles
Kingsley, author of Alton Locke. I did not meet hira with
out eraotion ; for I had been most deeply irapressed by the
power and purpose, the terrible earnestness, of his writings,
the heart-crushing pathos, the fearful vividness of his pictures
of misery, of the mortal desperation of the struggle of the poor
with want and wretchedness, and all the horrible shapes of sin

64 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
and despair. You see few indications of the impassioned
strength of Mr. Kingsley's genius in his countenance or con
versation. He is quiet in the extreme, even while talking of
art like an artist and a poet. I should think his mental life
inwardly intense, rather than outwardly demonstrative, except
through the pen. He spTbke of America with much interest,
and with fine appreciation of the spirit of her institutions.
By the way, I meet with very few instances of that igno
rance of and indifference towards our country which I was told
to expect in England. The only things which cause me to
bite my lip occasionally, with merriment, not vexation, are a
certain display of geographical knowledge, which puts me to
my trumps, and an overplus of patronizing praise. Yet a
gentleraan did say to me lately, in the coolest manner possible,
" Has not civilization advanced farther in the New England
than in the other states of your Union ? " It was quite a new
sensation to find myself classed as " an outside barbarian ; "
for I was obliged to acknowledge that I was no New Eng
lander. I must say that I am not altogether pleased by the
manner in which American slavery is spoken of here. Peo
ple either darkly allude to it, as though fearfully touching on
some family disgrace, in your presence, or come down upon it,
and all concerned in it, with merciless execration, and seem to
think it might be done away with easily, speedily, with all its
evils and enormities ; that it is but an ugly excrescence on the
social life, which may be quietly lopped off at pleasure, and
not what we know it to be, a deep-seated cancer, near the
vitals of the Union itself — difficult and perilous to eradicate.
though more, perilous far if left alone. Such as at home con
sider me a -fanatic would smile to hear me in England, not
defending slavery or slaveholders, — Heaven forbid! — but
demanding that simple justice should be done, and patience
exercised, towards us as a nation ; and reminding our judges
that a like evil and sin is not a half century's remove from

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 65
their own doors. Yet I would not have you think that this
subject is always or often treated in a way to give me pain.
There are raany who have brought great powers of thought
to bear upon it, as one of the deepest probleras of the age —
who give us their most generous sympathy and magnanimous
judgment; and comparatively few are they who err in this
matter, through want of refiection, or from " zeal without
knowledge." One day last week I joined some friends in a pleasure
excursion on the Thames, got up by some of the city author
ities — Mr. Francis Bennoch presiding. We went up the
river on a beautiful barge, moving to fine music, as far as
Twickenham, where we were for some hours moored opposite
Pope's villa. We had dancing, a sumptuous dinner, toasts,
sentiments, and speeches — altpgether a charming time.
The shores of the Thames are beautiful, not for any
remarkable picturesqueness of natural scenery, but for their
admirable cultivation, and a succession of noble country seats.
Richmond Hill is the finest point I saw, aud that commands
one of the finest views in England. But every spot in sight
had been rendered classic ground by the genius of Pope,
Thomson, and indeed of nearly all the elegant English writers
of the last century and a half. It stirred up old memories to
glance info the shadowy grotto of Pope. I almost looked to
see the crooked and gallant poet come forth, handing out the
lovely and mocking Lady Mary. I would hardly have been
!:tartled to have seen the brilliant trifler, Walpole, walking
daintily across the lawn, or Thomson lounging lazily under a
tree at Richmond, or the charraing Kitty Clive driving past.
I have been visiting in Chelsea for the week past, for the
sake of quiet and repose. Here it is alraost as quiet as the
country, at night, and would be during the day but for the
usual suburban superabundance of noisy infancy next door,
and an hourly liability to the visitations of pertinacious
6*

66 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
" Punch and Judy " men and hopeful hurdy-gurdy women be
low the front windows. Near us is a large warehouse of
second-hand furniture, where I yesterday observed a downy-
bearded David and his blushing Dora making their prudent
purchases. There one can buy everything — from frying-
pans to mirrors, from kitchen chairs to family portraits. Ay,
they will most irreverently knock you down venerable gentle
men in perukes and powder, and stately dames in ruffs and
farthingales. There are plenty of these worthy old people to
be had at various depots of this kind in London ; so when you
go to housekeeping you can easily furnish yourself with a
few ancestors at a very moderate price, and warranted re
spectable. Tuesday afternoon and evening were spent with a delightful
party at Mr. B  's pleasant place, Blackheath. Among
the guests were the Croslands, the Mackays, — the hearty,
generous-spirited poet and his beautiful wife, — Miss Pardee,
a very charming person. Sir Henry Bishop, the composer.
Dr. Kinkel, the German patriot, and his wife, who played a
heroic part in his escape from Germany — an interesting and
accomplished lady, who touches the piano with rare skill, and
sings with peculiar sweetness, though with tones of mournful
meaning, and all the vain homesickness of the exile sighing
through her voice.
This morning I went again to the Bridgewater Gallery,
chiefly to see my blessed St. John and the beautiful child
Jesus. This afternoon I have been listening to the grand,
inspiring talk of Mazzini ; and with a prayer that the glorious
land of the divine painter and the patriot hero may yet be
free, I go to my sleep. JlvavsT 6.
On Monday evening last, my passion for horse flesh and
some mirthful recollections of Bon Gaultier's ballads of the

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 67
ring led me to suggest Astley's to the kind friends who were
inquiring what we should have next in the way of amusement.
The building is very fine for the purpose, but the audience on
this night was neither large nor select; indeed, it was the
lowest and noisiest house I ever looked down upon and up at,
for the pit and gallery held nearly all. It was an odd sight to
me to see baskets of cakes and oranges, and cans of beer, car
ried about between the acts ; to see old men and women,
such as with us are never seen out, except it be at church or
prayer meeting, young men in their working dress, and their
wives and babies in arms, aU eating and drinking, and having
a jolly laugh or a cosy gossip with their cronies.
The spectacle — " Peter the Great " — was very beautiful,
and much of the acting fine, though nature was every where
sacrificed to stage effect. We saw sorae magnificent riding
under the direction of that illustrious personage of a mysteri
ously uncertain age, Mr. Widdicombe.
On Wednesday I visited, with Mr. B  and our
charming friend Miss D  , the iramense»'wine vaults .and
tobacco warehouses at the Docks. These vaults extend over
acres, and are richly stored with the genuine juice of the
grape, piled, pipe on pipe, on either side of innumerable and
seemingly interminable passages — the delightsome paths of
Bacchus, the pleasant longas vias of old Silenus and his crew.
Without a guide, one might easily be lost in this subterranean
labyrinth, and wander fo'r hours in this wilderness of wines,
find himself quite at sea, though not far from Port, and just
off Madeira. What a horrible place of torment in which to
confine some ancient inebriate, without the means of helping
himself to that which his soul loveth — wine, wine on every
side, " and not a drop to drink."
From the Docks we went to the Tower. This I found far
from being the gloomy and venerable building I had expected
to see. The larger portion is of light-gray stone, showing

68 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
much white mortar. This, and some repairs lately made, give
the whole structure a modern and cheerful appearance, which
it requires aU the dark splendors and tragic terrors of old
memories and historical legends to overshadow and render
venerable. Escorted by a warden in the costume of the yeomen of the
guard of the time of Henry VIIL, you enter the horse armory
at the south-west corner of the Wltite Tower. Here you see
the effigies of the kings, from Edward I. to James IL, with
many of their distinguished knights and nobles, all mounted
and clad in the very armor they sported, or rather supported,
at tourney and fight. Francis Hastings bears up gallantly
under a suit weighing upwards of a hundred pounds. The
beautiful suits of Elizabeth's lovers, Leicester and Essex, are
quite in character with the courtlj^ splendor of those ill-fated
favorites. Perhaps the most magnificent, though one of the least an
cient suits, is that of Charles I. It is gorgeously gilt and
ornamented in arabesque. This gallery also contains count
less curiosities of war, all varieties of arms, and glorious tro
phies' of battle and conquest. It is a place for English hearts
to beat high and swell with national pride. Queen Ehzabeth's
armory is the gallery of greatest interest. It contains an
equestrian figure of Her Virgin Majesty in the costume in which
she went to St. Paul's to return thanks for the destruction of
the Spanish Armada. Here are many curious weapons, very
ancient and awful ; such as the " Military Flail," the " Catch- "
pole," the « Glaive," the " Poleaxe," the " Lochaber Axe,"
and most horrible of all, for the infernal mockery of its name,
the " Morning Star," or " Holy Water Sprinkler." The first
name comes from its forra, a ball of wood set with spikes, and
fixed on the end of a pole ; the " holy water " was the blood
and brains it scattered around when it was swung by a strong
arm in the thick of the battle. I stood with a sick heart by.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 69
the instruments of torture, laid my hand upon them, studied
the atrocious ingenuity of their contrivance, yet could not be
lieve the revolting truth, that in the reign of a queen, a very
woman, one- would say, regarding her weaknesses, human
forms had writhed within them, human bones and sinews
cracked under them, human hearts burst with excess of pain,
true human souls grown wild and shrieked out false con
fessions. O, as I longer gazed on these dread implements,
with what unspeakable reverence I thought of them who had
" endured unto the end," till with lips stiffened and eyes im-
purpled with suppressed anguish, till bathed with the blood
and sweat of extremest torture, and old with ages of agony
compressed into one mortal hour, the panting life crushed out,
the senseless body grew deathly still, and the faithful spirit
rose serene above its merciless tormentors, above its gloomy
prison house to its rest on the bosom of the Crucified !
Opening out of Queen Elizabeth's armory is the dungeon
wherein Sir Walter Raleigh was confined for raore than
twelve years, and where he wrote his History of the World.
You feel, while standing in that dark and most gloomy cell, a
singular mingling of admiration, indignation, wonder, and
pity. O the unimaginable humiliation, pain, and weariness
of such a life to him, the princely courtier, the brave adven
turer, the statesman, philost^pher, and poet !
Just before Raleigh's cell stands the beheading block ; not
the one used at his execution, but the one on which Lords
Balmerino, Kilmarnock, and Lovat suffered the penalty of
treason. The marks of the axe are deep upon it. Their
Lordships' ¦ headsman must have been a sturdy fellow, who
struck steadily, heavily, and but once. The beheading axe,
which stands near this block, is rusty and blunt, by no
means a formidable-looking implement; yet it once went
gleaming down on to the neck of the princely Essex, and sent

70 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
the rich young blood of Anna Boleyn spurtmg into the face
of the headsman.
Within the Church of St. Peter, under the pavement, lie
the ashes of Sir Thomas More, Anna Boleyn, Rochfcjrd,
Catharine Howard, Essex, Northumberland, Lady Jane Grey
and her husband, and of many others whose names are crim
son illuminations through page after page of English history.
The Council Chamber of the White Tower is a place of
great interest, as having been the scene of the impeachment
of Lord Hastings by Richard of Gloucester.
The building in which the young princes were suffocated is
called the " Bloody Tower ; " that in which Clarence was
drowned the " Bowyer Tower." We were shown the re
mains of a tree planted by Nell Gwynn over thp young princes.
The " Traitor's Gate " is a gloomy arch ; and the church and
the " Brick Towers," the prison of Lady Jane Grey, are
melancholy-looking buildings. But aside from these, the old
palace prison of England is outwardly neither stern nor sad
of aspect.
The regalia is a magnificent sight, almost blinding one with
the blaze of its costly splendor. The great diamonds seem to
throb with living radiance, like stars ; the rubies seem melting
in an effulgent glow, and the emeralds dissolving in liquid
Ught. From the Tower we went to Greenwich by water, — a
charming little trip, — and visited the gallery and chapel of
the noble Marine Hospital. There are in the gallery many
fine portraits, busts, and pictures of sea combats ; and of the
latter, sorae which are siraply terrific and revolting:
Nelson is glorified, alraost deified, in a series of pictures by
different and widely-differing hands. But no most vivid and
heroic representation so realized to me the splendid fighter and
the great-souled man as the sight of the clothes he wore when
he fell, StiU dark with the stains of his deep death wound.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 71
It is a pathetic and yet a pleasant sight to see the gallant
old sailors who fought under him walking about this palace
like hospital, or sitting in the shade together, smoking, and
telling old yarns of the sea. Most of them have lost an arm,
or a leg, or perhaps both ; many are very old and feeble, yet
all seem contented and happy.
It strikes me that the public charities of England are
grandly conceived and nobly carried out. What is to be done
in that way, if not done quickly, is well done, here, where
alone you find the perfection of system and thoroughness.
We dined at Greenwich with a small but merry party of
friends, when I was flrst regaled with white bate, a delicate
and delicious little fish, evidently intended for the royal ban
quets of Oberon and Titania. After dinner we drove over
to Blackheath, where we spent a delightful evening. On our
return to town, late at night, we crossed the Suspension Bridge
on foot, and had a grand moonlight view of the Thames,
crowded with boats and barges, and of the vast city, with its
innumerable lights gleaming out from the heavy night shad
ows. Even at that hour the sound of its restless Ufe beat on
the ear like the roar of the sea.
Ou Thursday night I saw Grisi and Mario, in Le Prophete.
They were both glorious, though this opera is better calculated
to display the acting and person of Mario than those of Grisi.
Her singing is beyond conception delicious in some passages
— the very soul of maternity, the tenderest motherhood, with
all its exquisite pain, and more than queenly pride, spoke, and
sighed, and quivered, through her voice — so I was content to
miss her grand displays of power and passion. Her beauty
was somewhat in eclipse from the plain, matronly, unbecom
ing costume of her part ; but I could nevertheless see that she
was a most superb woman. Her wondrous Italian eyes, out
of their intense dai'kness, sending beautiful lambent gleams,

72 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
would remind you of that exquisite verse in Tennyson's
Dream of Fair Women : —
" When she made pause I knew not for delight ;
Tor sudden frora the ground
She raised her piercing orbB, and filled with light
The intervals of sound."
Mario is a singularly handsome person, with face aU aglow
with manly passion. His voice seems to pour in upon and
flow over one's soul a flood of clearest music — eveiy wave,
every sUghtest ripple of sound, making a separate melody,
rounded and pure, yet aU flowing on in noble harmony.
The Covent Garden Opera House is a grand sight of itself,
and the getting up of this opera surpassed all I had ever be
held in scenic splendor. The audience was large — brilUant
in spite of the season — apparently appreciative, and certain
ly enthusiastic. But it is my unpleasant duty to record that
on this night I saw a most striking evidence of the want of
gallantry in English gentlemen. In the pit, more tickets had
been sold than there were seats to answer ; and I saw fair,
delicate young ladies, and feeble-looking elderly ladies, stand
during the entire performance, more than four hours, while
around them on every side .sat vigorous-looking young men,
and burly, middle-aged gentlemen, apparently without once
thinking of offering to the half-fainting women, even for a
little time, the seats wiiich in many cases they had secured by
superior force and astounding rudeness in rushing before and
crowding back the " weaker vessels," wliose maiden modesty
and feminine dependence they sentimentalize about and take
advantage of. I could not paj- too high a tribute to the Eng
Ush gentleraen I have raet in society for their kindly courtesy
and dignified politeness ; but I must say that no roughest
boors, I had almost said bears, can surpass in rude selfishness
and cool incivility the promiscuous Britons in omnibuses and

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 73
Steamers, the general John Bull of public assemblies. My
own countryraen, how inexpressibly proud I feel of them for
the generous kindness, the chivalric gallantry, which every
where mark their manner towards woman, in whatever guise
or character she appeals to them. How gratefully and
mournfully I think of them when I am elbowed and thrust
hither and thither in crowded passages to places of amuse
ment, or when I am sent pitching headlong to the farthest end
of an omnibus — for here the gentlemen move towards, not
from, the door, when a lady gets into that commodious vehicle.
0 young and gallant republican, let it still be your pride to sus
tain this honorable distinction of the American gentleman — a
chivalric consideration for woman ; yet be grateful, not boast
ful ; for, as the old Turk said to his son, while pointing to the
Franks, " But for the special grace of God, you might have
been as one of these." AUGUST 7.
To-day I have made a devout pilgrimage to the grave of
Milton, in the parish church of Cripplegate. The spot where
the divine poet sleeps the sleep of the blessed, is marked alone
by a fine bust and a small tablet. Pews are built over the
vault, which I do not like ; for Milton's grave is too sacred
even to be knelt upon by strangers and the inconsiderate, it
may be, in mechanical obedience to a mere religious form.
This is a quaint, shadowed old church, where at night one
would step softly, in breathless awe, and listen, half hoping to
hear angels chanting soleran anthems over the dust of him
who so grandly told the wondrous story of creation, of the
fall and redemption of man, and who sung God's praise in
such high, seraphic strains.
In this church Oliver Cromwell was married. Who ever
thinks of tlie stern Puritan leader as a lover ? And yet such
grand, craggy natures as his have often the peacefuUest, most
7

74

HAPS AND MISHAPS.

sheltered nesting-places for the gentlest human affections. I
doubt not he felt for his young bride a deep and manly de
votion ; and that he dearly loved at least one of his daugh
ters, we have pathetic evidence in the history of his last
sad days.

CHAPTER IV-
Wales. — Irish Channel. — Dublin. — Cork. — Blarney Castle.
— The Blarney Stone. — The Country. — The People. —
Monkstown. — En Route for Killarney. — Glengariff. — A
Character. — Killarney. — Excursions. — Ascent of Mangee-
To.v. — The daek-beaeded Tourist. — Ross Castle. — "Paddy
Blake." — The Shannon. — Limerick. — Dublin. — Sm Philip
Crampton. — Model Prison  Lunatic Asylum. — Donnybrook
1''aie. — Dublin Society. Dublin, August 25.
I LEFT London on the morning of the 10th, with my
friends Mr. and Mrs. B  , for a tour in Ireland. There
was little on our way of particular interest till we reached
Chester, that famous old town, which figures so largely in the
annals of border warfare. The Roman walls are still very
perfect and imposing, and the entire place seems hushed and
slumberous with grand ancient memories and the sombre spirit
of antiquity. We passed the town of Flint, in whose castle
Richard II. was imprisoned ; Cole's Hill, the scene of a bloody
battle between Henry II. and the Welsh ; and Holywell,
which contains " St. Winifred's Well," an exhaustless fount
of romance and poetry. The wide " Sands of Dee " re
minded us of that exquisite song in Alton Locke. We
caught at Rhyl a distant view of the lovely vale of Clwyd —
we halved our admiration between Rhuddlan Castle in ruins
and Penrhyn Castle in its glory — between the wondrous
tubular bridge and the old Castle of Conway, into which we
emerged ; for this grand turreted stronghold forms part of the
railway station ; and we rush with irreverent noise and haste
(75)

76 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
into the scenes of ancient princely splendor and rude warlike
state. The mountams of Wales, as far as I made their ac
quaintance, are not of mviting or pecuharly picturesque as
pect. Those on our way struck me as miserably bare and
bleak, without sublimity of height or beauty of outline.
Wales has better mountains, if they would ever come to one
— but they require- to be done in a separate tour, lying off
from railway routes, or at least turning their best faces away.
The soil of Wales seems extremely unproductive, except in
some of the valleys — the people poor, but every where in
dustrious. The women seem to have a strange fancy for
donning the hats, and in some instances the coats, of the men.
One sturdy damsel I saw milking by the wayside, who, with
one unmentionable exception, might have passed for a Welsh
Bloomer. What articles of feminine gear the men take pos
session of, by way of reprisal, I did not discover.
The passage from Holyhead to Kingstown was accom
plished in four hours ; but throughout the trip I felt that I
would sooner cross the Styx to the Plutonian shores than at
tempt it again. I thought that I had sdftnded the lowest
depths of mortal suffering in the way of seasickness; but I
found that my Atlantic experiences were but a faint prelude
to a mild suggestion of this. A gentleman at Cork told me
an anecdote of a company of emigrants who were observed
passing back and forth on one of the ferry boats during an
entire day, and when questioned in regard to their strange
movements, answered, they were bound to America in the next
ship, and were "practising at the saysickness, just." So the
tourist in the utmost he may endure on an Atlantic voyage,
before crossing the Irish Channel, may have the consolation
of knowing that he is but " practising at saysickness."
At Kingstown we were treated to a taste of nationality in
tho shape of a bit of a row between two carmen. At the

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 77
DubUn station we took that peculiar and distinctive Irish
vehicle, an outside jaunting car, which has the merit of giving
you a variety in the way of exercise — joltings, backwards,
forwards, and side wise — a vigilant and vigorous endeavor to
keep yourself and your luggage on, and an alert watchfulness
to keep other vehicles off. There are two kinds of jaunting
cars, which are thus distinguished by the Irish carman : " The
outside car, yer honor, has the wheels inside, and the inside
car has the wheels outside."
We put up at the Gresham Hotel, an admirable house, on
noble Sackville Street. In the morning we took a car, and
saw as much of the town as the weather, which came on chill
and showery, would permit. Dublin is indeed a beautiful city
— many of its public buildings are remarkably fine, its pri
vate residences handsome and tasteful, and its extensive park
a treasure of fiowery loveliness, leafy luxuriance, and pure,
delicious airs. As we drove along the Liffey, our driver
pointed out the bridges by name. "This," said he, at last,
« is ' Bloody Bridge,' the oldest of aU." " Why is it caUed
' Bloody Bridge ? '" I asked. The man bent back towards me,
and sunk his voice to a hoarse whisper, as he replied, " Be-
case, miss, it was off this they hung the poor rebels in '98,
and left them hanging till they dropped pacemale into the
wather." The raUway station from which we left for Cork, on the
following morning, might almost be mistaken for a palace at a
little distance — a truly elegant structure. I am irapressed
by the excellence of the system adopted, both here and in
England, of putting all the officials attached to the railways
in a sort of uniform. It prevents all confusion and possibUity
of Inistake — it is neat and orderly in itself, and is suggestive
of a thorough system and a responsible authority. I hope,
most heartUy, to see a similar regulation prevaUing on the
great railway routes at home, where the most important
7*

78 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
officials seldom wear any distinguishing badge. But we have
the advantage in the system of checking baggage — a protec
tive poUcy so sunple, convenient, and effective, that I wonder
it has not been universally adopted. As it is here, porters
often walk off with the wrong box to the right cab, or the
right box to the wrong cab. All sorts of absurd mistakes are
made in the hurry of departures and confusion of great ar
rivals — quiet old gentlemen grow fussy and fumy in standing
guard over their trunks and portmanteaus, against the incur
sions of marauding cabmen ; and female tourists only gain
and retain possession of their various and multifarious parcels
by the watchful anxiety shown by the old lady of " big box,
Uttle box, bandbox and bundle " memory.
The route from DubUn to Cork leads mostly through a bar
ren, boggy, miserable country, with here and there an oasis
of waving green and gold, telling of careful cultivation and
wise husbandry. There are some fine old ruins along the
way, among which I best remember those of Kilmallock,
Kildare, where the pious nuns once kept the holy fires burn
ing " through long ages of darkness and storm," Loughman
Castle, and the Rocks of Dunamore and Cashel. But all
along the line the ruins are almost countless. You grow mor
tally weary of crumbling turrets, tumble-down gateways, bat
tered arches, and staggering towers, all standing out boldly in
the sun and storm ; for the absence of trees and shrubbery
is a marked feature in the agricultural districts of Ireland.
Indeed, the larger part of this ill-fated isle seems, in contrast
with fruitful, prosperous, beautiful England, a wild, weary,
shadowless waste — scathed, peeled, desolated, and aban
doned. At Cork, we put up at the Imperial, another excellent ho
tel, and after dinner had a delightful drive about the town,
which, handsome in itself, is admirably situated. We visited
the Queen's College, a new and beautiful edifice, aud took a

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 7?
look at the Lunatic Asylum, also a very fine buUding. By
the way, I am pained while gratified to find, in each large
town I have visited in Ireland, large establishments of this
kind. Insanity and idiocy are said to prevail to a heart-
sickening extent in this unhappy country.
On the following morning, amid golden sunshine and silvery
showers, we drove to Blarney Castle, and wandered through
those umbrageous grounds immortalized by the poet in the
famous song of the " Groves of Blarney.'' The castle itself is a
noble old ruin, and its situation and surroundings are remark
ably picturesque and curious. There are natural subterranean
passages leading down to the lake, and a black dungeon,
where, according to our guide, " CromweU, the bloody nagur,"
confined his prisoners. The lake is smaU, but, according to
the above-mentioned authority, quite bottomless. He told us,
with a grave face, that the late " Lady Jeffers," having taken
a whim into her head to draw it off, had a drain dug full three
feet below the surface, but not a drop would run out — a
sturdy, conservative old lake. We ascended the great tower,
at the top of which we all kissed the new Blai-ney stone — it
being morally and physically impossible for ladies to salute
the real Simon Pure, which is outside the wall, some feet from
the summit. The gentlemen who accomplish this feat must
be held by the feet over the wall, one hundred and twenty
feet from the ground, by a stout guide, who is liable to bo
seized with a sudden weakness, and to call out that he must
stop " to spit on his hands " — that he can howld on no longer,
unless his fee is double ; and the unhappy dog in suspense
pledges himself to a treat. Our guide assured me that the
new Blarney stone was quite as good as the " rale " — that a
certain " widdy lady " made a pilgrimage all the way from the
North of England, kissed the spurious stone most rapturously,
and made a great match soon after. The question arises, Lay
the virtue in the stone, or in the pilgrim's faith ?

80 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
Our return drive was very charming — the rain was past,
and sunlight and fresh breezes poured beauty and gladness on
our way. I cannot remember to have seen any where, within
so short a distance, so many wild flowers. The shrubbery
was more luxuriant, the trees flner and more abundant, than
we had before seen — every thing on our path was beautiful
and gracious save the humanity, which was wretched and
poverty-stricken in the extreme. From the miserable little
mud huts along the road ran scores of children, of all sizes,
bareheaded, barefooted, and barelegged, with rags of all
imaginable hues and textures fluttering in the wind, and
attached to their bodies by some unknown and mysterious
law of attraction — certainly by no visible bond or support.
With faces begrimed by smoke, and wild eyes overhung with
wilder locks, they stretched out their dirty, beseeching palms,
and assailed us on aU sides of our outside car — most assailable
of vehicles — fit contrivance for a beggared land.
Irish carmen are a race of Jehus — driving with eccentric
flourishes of the whip, and, when more than usually excited,
with strange barbaric whoops and heUos, making their odd
little vehicles jump along at an astonishing rate. They are
commonly communicative and amusing, though by no means
the quaint, cunning, delightful, inimitable wags and wits your
Lovers and Levers, your Edgeworths and HaUs, have pic
tured. It is a singular thing, that, though they are from the
first free and easy in word and manner, they are never offen
sively so. Native tact, good humor, and warmth of heart
take from their advances all appearance of boldness or imper
tinence. Our driver on this occasion was disposed to be par
ticularly sociable, though not in the jocular way. He was a
man of rauch intelligence for his station, of a serious, even
sad, expression of face ; and he talked powerfully and with-
intense bitterness of the wrongs and sorrows of the Irish
peasantry. I was struck by hearing him ascribe most -of

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 81
their sufferings, not to the English government, but to the na
tive Irish proprietors, who, he averred, had revelled in heart
less, wasteful extravagance, while the people starved, until
since the failure of the potato, when many of them have been
reduced to absolute want. It was almost fearful to mark the
wild gleam in the man's eye as he spoke his fierce joy in this
retributive justice.
We were truly fortunate in having letters to Mr. Shaw, of
Monkstown, on the beautiful Bay of Cork, and received frora
him and his family every possible kindness, and enjoyed in
his charming house most gracious hospitality. Mr. Shaw has
on his property the ruins of two castles — the one at Monks-
town, an exceedingly picturesque structure, dating onl}^ from
the time of Elizabeth ^ but the other, Belvelly Castle, upon
Cove Island, at least eight hundred years old. We spent
rauch of our time, while with these friends, on the water, row
ing from shore to shore, and point to point, of this noble bay,
feasting our sight and storing our memory with glorious pic
tures. We one day rowed to Cove Island, and dined in a hall
of the old castle, which had rung to the clang of rude armor
and the wassail songs of Erin's princes and knights, and to
the wild war notes of Irish harpers, eight hundred years ago.
I had much pleasure in visiting, with Mr. Shaw, two or
three of the cottages of his tenants ; for I found them all
neat, orderly, and comfortable. I have since seen nothing to
compare with them.
During our stay at Cork we were twice at the Exhibition,
and were interested and gratified far beyond our expectation.
One can no longer despair for Ireland, surrounded by such
proofs of the taste, talent, and industry of her people. On
our last visit we were accompanied by Sir Thomas Dean,
who may count among his honors that of having been the
chief projector and most able and faithful supporter of this
noble work. Grod speed' him, and such as he, in aU worthy

82 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
efforts to develop and encourage art and uplift honest indus
trial pride in Ireland.
Belfast, September 5,
On the raorning of August 16 we left Cork for KUlarney,
by way of Bantry and Glengariff. After a short run on the
raU we took a stage coach, choosing outside seats, like en
thusiastic tourists as we are, though the day was dark and
showery. There was little in the scenery, and less in the
condition of the country and people, to repay us for our expo
sure to wind and weather, until we reached Bantry. I can never
forget the forlorn, unmitigated wretchedness of the people
who thronged round us at the little town of Dunmanway.
Among the crowd appealing to us, in all possible variations of
the whine mendicious and mendacious, we saw not one man
or woman in the national costume and cover aU — the double-
caped greatcoat and the hooded cloak ; all was squalor and
tatters, soulsickening and disgusting. Here was infancy,
nude and needy, reaching out its dirty little hands ; and
second childhood, bent and tottering, with palsied palm ex
tended, eyeing yoii with all the mute wistfulness of a starved
spaniel. There was a full assortment of the halt, the hump
backed, and the crippled — all degrees of sightlessness and
unsightliness. I turned away from the miserable creatures
with a heart heavy with hopeless sympathy and vain pity,
and with a conscience stricken for all my own sins of un-
thankfulness and discontent. And here I may as well pause
to remark briefly on the condition and appearance of the
peasants in the south of Ireland. Knowing that I could not
fairly judge of this class by the idle amd ragged crowd who
gather round the coach or car in the towns and hamlets, I
took occasion, during my stay at Cork, to visit several of the
country cottages of the working peasants in company with
one of the landed proprietors. In but one out of six did I
find a regular fireplace and chimney ; in but one was there a

A TOUR IN EUROPE. ' 83
window of glass, and that consisted of a single pane. The
others had — with the exception of the door, and a hole in the
roof, from which the smoke, afler wandering at its own sweet
wiU through the cabin, found its way out — no opening what
ever for Ught or ventilation. But I forget — we did remark
a sort of improvised window in one other. In a low, miser
able hovel, belonging to a carman, we found a horse occupy
ing full a third of the scanty room ; and above his manger
a smaU opening had been made through the mud waU, the
good man having found that the health of the animal required
what himself and his family Uved without — air. To the
mistress of this unique habitation, whose one apartment served
for kitchen, sleeping room, stable, and hall, I said, in horrified
amazement, " How is it possible you can live with that
horse ? " " Sure, miss, he's no throuble," she replied ; " and
it's Uttle room he takes, after all ; for the childer can sleep on
the straw, under him, just, and creep between his legs, and
he niver harming them at all, the sinsible cratur." It is a
common thing to see hens drying their feathers by the genial
peat glow, and pigs enjoying the pleasures of the domestic
hearth. In another cabin we found two curious old crones,
Uving together on apparently nothing, who loaded us with
blessings in the original tongue, and actually went on their
knees to offer up thanksgiving for a few halfpence, which
we gave as a consideration for intruding on their retire
ment. Yet, though living in low, smoky, iU-ventilated cabins, —
often with mouldering thatches, and always with damp earth
floors, with a pool of stagnant water or a dunghUl before the
door — though themselves ill fed and but half clad, it is a
singular fact, that the peasants of southern Ireland are ap
parently a healthful and hardy race. You occasionaUy see
fine specimens of manly and childish beauty among them ;
but a pretty Irish peasant girl we found the rarest of rara

84 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
avises. There are some families of Spanish origin about
Bantry, and of these we encountered one or two dark-eyed,
olive-cheeked beggar boys, who seemed to have leaped out of
one of MuriUo's pictures. The policemen every where are a
particularly fine-looking set of fellows ; indeed, none but weU-
made, tall, and powerful men have any chance of enrolment
in this honorable, terror-inspiring, omnipresent corps. The
professional beggars of Ireland seem a peculiarly hopeless and
irredeemable class — not because of the poverty of the country
alone, but from their own inherent and inherited idleness
and viciousness. They are persistent, pertinacious, sometimes
impudent, and often quick witted and amusing. A friend of
ours was waylaid by a certain " widdy " woman, with an un
limited amount of ragged responsibilities at her heels. On
hearing her doleful story, our friend advised the fair men
dicant to take refuge in the poorhouse. " The poorhouse ! "
she exclaimed ; " sure it's meself that keeps the poorest house
in all Cork, yer honor." I was amused by an appeal made
by an elderly dame to one of our fellow-passengers : " Here's
a fine fat gentleman ; sure he'll give a sixpence to a poor
bony, body that hasn't broken her fast at all the day."
If you wish to take a meditative walk among the hills, the
chances are that you will return with a considerable ragged
retinue ; but the larger detachments of this ignoble army of
almsseekers are stationed along the public roads. They
make their startling sorties from the most lonely, wUd, and
inaccessible places ; like Roderick Dhu's men, they leap up
from " copse and heath." Every rock hides a waiting men
dicant, and every tuft of broom stirs as we approach with a
lurking tatterdemalion. They leap on your way from behind
walls, and drop down upon you from overhanging trees 
small footpads, or rather paddies, who present palms instead
of pistols, and blarney and worry you alike out of pence and
patience.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 85
After a day of wet and weary travel through a melancholy
country, we enjoyed to the utmost the beautiful approach to
Bantry, under a clear and sunny sky, and welcomed with en
thusiasm the sight of its lovely and famous bay. But even
this bright vision was soon eclipsed by Glengariff, ivhere we
spent the night. Thus far on my tour I have seen nothing
to compare with the {j^orious beauty of that place. In all
the solemn slladow^ of its wild loneliness, the dark deeps and
frowning heights of its grandeur, in all the sweet lights of its
loveliness, it lives, and must ever live, in my charmed mem
ory ; but I will not attempt to picture it in words.
After dinner, though a light rain was falling, we took a
row around the bay, and reraained on the water until the
night set in. I think wc shall none of us soon forget that
row over the smooth and silent bay, in the rain and deepen
ing twilight, under the shadows of mountain and rock. The
scene would have been tuo ^vild, solemn, and awfully lonely,
but for the peculiar wit and story-telling talent of "Jerry,"
our guide and helmsiiian. He entertained us with sorae
wonderful legends of a certain I*ather Shannon, a priest, and
a famous character in this region about half a century ago.
One anecdote illustrative of the holy man's quiekwittedness
impressed me as an instance of " cuteness " passing the cutc-
ness of Yankees. " The good fiither," says Jerry, '• was one
day fishing, in his boat, on the bay, when he heard a swarm
of bees buzzing about him. Then he begins to rattle with a
knife, or spoon, in an iron kettle he had with hira in the boat,
tiU he feels that all the bees have settled on his shoulders.
Then ho slyly reaches back, and takes hold of the tail of his
shirt, (begging your pardon, ladies !) and he suddenly turns it
over his head, bees and all, and puts it into the kettle, which
he covers over in a second just; and so he takes the whole
swarm to Lord Bantry, and sells them for three pounds, and
gets his shirt back, too, yer honor."
8

86 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
I am tempted to relate several of Jerry's stories, so pe
cuharly and richly Irish were they — odd, wild, extravagant,
and ludicrous, yet now and then sparkling with a fine fancy,
or a rare poetic thought, and in their drollery quaint and quiet,
never coarse or common. But I should get on slowly indeed
with the story of my tour if I paused to do justice, either by
description or quotation, to the originality of character, the
spirit and humor, the warmth and generousness of feeling of
many of the Irish peasantry with whom I came in contact.
The mountain road from Glengariff to Killarney is a
splendid specimen of engineering, and leads through scenery
wild and beautiful in the extreme. On the sunny morning of
our leaving Glengariff, landscape and air were fresh and de
licious after the night's abundant rain, and with thrills and
palpitations of inexpressible joy my heart responded to the
gladness of nature. I shall never forget the childish ecstasy
of delight with which I gazed around me, and drank in the
fragrant air of the morning.
The three lakes of Killarney descended upon by this road
are likely to disappoint th^ tourist, especially if he be an
American, more especially if he be a reader of, and a devout
believer in, Mrs. Hall's beautiful and most poetical book, A
Week in KiUarney. In truth, such fairy sheets of water seem
little to deserve the name of lakes at fii-st, but they grow on
your respect rapidly as you approach ; their beauty is, near
or afar, quite exquisite and undeniable, and the mountains
which surround them are really very respectable elevations.
Our first visit was to the Tore Waterfall, by far the most
beautiful cascade I have seen since coming abroad. The fall
is between sixty and seventy feet ; the glen into which the
water comes leaping, and foaming, and flashing is wild and
rocky, and overhung with richest foliage.
We passed Lord Kenmare's noble demesne, and drove
through the vUlage of KUlarney to our hotel, the Victoria,

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 87
which is charmingly situated on the shore of the lower and
larger lake. We found the house crowded with visitors of all
characters and degrees — the elegant and the vulgar, the
coarse and the refined, with the usual number of undefinable
and unclassable betweenities. While taking tea in the coffee
room, we were struck by the raien and manner of a traveller
near us. He was evidently a person oppressed with a con
sciousness of his own consequence, and bent on having the
world do its part towards bearing his burden. He gave out
his orders to the wondering waiter with a military sternness
and a startling rapidity ; but, strange enough, ended each sen
tence with a sort of drawl. He was clad in a monotonous suit
of checked tweed, with an extravagant cravat — a John BuU,
without doubt, yet black browed and full bearded — a curious
cross between a Cockney and a Cossack. Afler tea, this unique
individual swaggered up to one of our party, a very gentle-
manlj'-looking person, and accosted him as he was passing
down the haU with a " Pray, are you one of the waiters of
this hotel ? " " No ; are you ? " coolly responded our friend.
In the morning we were so fortunate as to be able to en
gage for our guide, during our stay, the Stephen SpiUane so
honorably mentioned by Mr. and Mrs. HaU. We found him
a young man of good education, much general intelhgence,
gentleness, and even , refinement of manner.
Our first expedition was to the Gap of Dunloe, a wild and
gloomy mountain pass, especially interesting to the reader of
Gerald Griffin's fine novel of The Collegians, as the scene of
poor Eily Connor's happy honeymoon and tragic taking oft".
Our guide furnished myself and a pleasant Enghsh friend
with ponies — the remainder of the party took a car.
Though tolerably weU mounted, and able to abruptly cut
the company of the old, crippled, and bUnd of the begging
fraternity, we found that we had smaU advantage over the boys.
The fleet-footed Uttle rascals kept up with us for miles — one

88 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
juvenUe Celt, literally sans culotte, but in a shirt of elder-
brotherly dimensions, giving us a sort of Tam O'Shanter
chase. A pretty, dark-eyed boy, running by my side, held up
a bunch of purjile heather and wild honeysuckle, saying, with
an uisinuating smile, " Plase, my lady, buy these ilegant bright
flowers, so like yer honor's self, this beautiful summer morn
ing." What woman could resist such an appeal ?
At the entrance of the Gap we were met by a detachment
of volunteer guides, and a company of " mountain dew " girls
— maidens with cans of goats' milk and flasks of " potheen,"
with which they are happy to treat the traveller, for a consid
eration. After listening to some grand echoes, called forth by
the rich bugle notes of our guide, we proceeded through the
pass. This, by itself, did not equal our expectation ; its finest
feature is the "Purple Mountain," which in the glorious sun
light of that morning was beautiful beyond conception.
From Lord Brandon's demesne we embarked upon the
upper lake, rowed among its fairy islands, and ran down " the
long range " to the middle lake — pausing for a little gossip
with the echoes of " Eagle Nest," and shooting " Old Wier
Bridge '' on our way. The bay and mountain, of Glen^ are
the gems of Killarney. Even now, looking back upon the
scene through the sobered light of recollection, it is all en
chantment — the shore gorgeous with magnificent foliage, the
waters flashing with silver gleams, the sky golden with sunset
light ; and it is difficult for me to believe that there is under
the broad heaven a lovelier spot. Even the echoes from this
beautiful green mountain seemed clearer, yet softer and more
melodious, than any we had heard before.
We took dinner on shore, in a delicious little nook, shad
owed by arbutus trees, dining off a large rock, some seated
d la Ture, some reclining in the ancient Oriental style. O,
we had merry times ! And what with toasts and songs, and
legends, and joyous laughter ringing out, peal on peal, over

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 89
the still water, the wonder is we faUed to rouse the great
O'Donaghue, who, according to popular tradition, dwells in a
princely palace under the lake, and only comes to the surface
to take an airing on horseback every May morning. Our
row homeward, through the soft Ungering sunset light, with
the plash and murmur of the blue waves, rising with the
rising wind, heard in the intervals between the sweet songs of
our guide, was a fitting close to a day of shadowless pleasure.
In the coffee room we encountered our black-bearded tour
ist, quite " knocked up,'' he averred, by the duties of the day.
He had actually " done " the ascent of old Carran Tual,
twice — once on his own account, and once (most amiable of
his sex !) for a friend.
That evening we listened to the fine music of Gandsey, the
celebrated Irish piper, a truly venerable man, very old, and
quite blind, who plays his native melodies with touching
expression, waking the old sorrows of Ireland and making
them wail again, and giving proud voice to her ancient glories,
tUl you believe that her lost nationality " is not dead, but
sleepeth,'' and micst yet rise to free and powerful life.
On the following morning, with our pleasant friend Sir
Thomas Deane, we visited Muckross Abbey, a fine, pic
turesque old ruin. The cloisters, the refectory, and the
chapel are in comparatively good preservation. In the latter
lie the bones of the great MacCarthy Mor, and, it is thought,
of the O'Donaghues, with the exception, of course, of him who
preferred the lake to holy ground, waved his privilege of
Christian burial, and his chance of canonization, it may be, for
his aguish palace, aquatic court, aSd questionable submarme
existence. After taking leave of the solemn old abbey, we
commenced the ascent of Mangerton, a mountain two thousand
seven hundred and fifty-four feet in height — a merry party
of six, aU pony-mounted. Here we were joined by a very
8*

90 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
large company of volunteer guides, and attacked, front, flank,
and rear, by an Amazonian troop of " mountain dew " girls.
Barren and rugged as was that drear ascent, we found it a
land flowing with goats' raUk and whiskey; and at every
pause which we made to breathe our ponies, or to treat our
selves to a fine view, twenty cups were held to our lips,
twenty voices prayed us to drink, for present refreshment and
future good fortune — that "the Lord" might "carry us safe"
up that perilous steep, and grant to us and our farailies, to
the remotest generation, health, wealth, honor, and " pace."
Near the summit of the mountain we came upon a deep, dark,
little lake — one of the devil's punch bowls ; for his satanic
majesty, who seems jovially inclined, has several in Ireland.
The prospect from the summit of Mangerton is very exten
sive, and truly magnificent. We rested and revelled in it, for
a bright half hour, on the breezy mountiiin top. Here we
again encountered the dark-bearded tourist. Disdaining all
pony aid, he had done Mangerton, as he did Carran Tual, on
foot. But the trimness of his toilet, and the morning freshness
of his mien, had suffered somewhat from the heat and toil of
the day. His raven whiskers were whitened with dust, his
hat had a backward inclination, his jpantaloons w-ere tucked
into his boots, his coat of tweed was borne by the guide, his
shoulders were free from the bondage of braces, which were
twined carelessly about his waist, his cravat was untied, and
he was at loose ends generally. Here he was first gracious
enough to raake some conversation with me : —
" Madam, raay I ask if you are an American ?"
" I have that honor, sir'.''
"Aw — I thought so; something in the manner a little
peculiar — aw. Have you spent much time in London?"
" About two months."
" Aw — a great place is London — quite a world, I may

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 91
say. You would like the literary society of London, exces
sively, if you could once get the entree ; but it is difficult to do
that, very difficult — aw."
" Indeed ! I have not found it so.''
After a Uttle more talk of this sort, our friend called to his
guide, and was off. In a few minutes we saw him on an
opposite peak, and very soon dashing down the mountain, to
wards Killarney. He seemed to give no pause for resting or
" prospecting.'' " March ! march ! " seemed to be his word,
as he were the Wandering Jew on an Irish tour.
On our descent, my English friend abandoned his hard-
gaited pony and the beaten track, and plunged down the
mountain side in a more direct course, on foot. Piqued by
this ungallant desertion, I raade a rash vow to follow in the
very footsteps of ray faithless cavalier. Such a chase as he
led me, through boggy hollows, down rocky ledges, over small
chasms and natural ditches, while the above-mentioned volun
teer guides and mountain dew damsels followed close upon
our track, uttering exclamations of delight and astonishment,
sometimes raore eraphatic than pious — perhaps recognizing
in this reckless love of fun and adventure a spirit kindred to
their own.
Afler a charming drive through Lord Kenmare's demesne,
we dined in a picturesque cottage, on the lake shore, from
which place we rowed to " sweet Innisfallen," and wander^
at twUight among its deep, shadowy groves, and the solemn
ruins of what, ages and ages ago, was the noble temple of
learning and letters. From Innisfallen we went to Ross
Castle, a grand old ruin, once the stronghold of the O'Don
aghue, besieged and destroyed by Cromwell, the great spoliator
of Ireland. Here the fine-frenzied tourist turned up for the
last time — he rushed past us as we were entering, and was
quickly lost in the ruins, but appeared afterwards at various
points and parapets. He did the old castle, as he had done the

92 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
other sights, in an incredibly short time — dashed down to his
boat, flung himself in, ordered the men to push off — " away
flew the light bark," far into the deepening twilight, and the
black-whiskered tourist passed from our sight forever. As
for us, we lingered tUl long after nightfall in the- beautiful
grounds of Ross Island, or on the lake before the castle, hold
ing pleasant converse with fhe famous " Paddy Blake," the
prince of echoes. " Paddy ! " cried our helmsman, with a
stentorian voice, " do ye know who's been paying a visit to
yer ould castle ? Listen, then, till I tell ye : the rose, the
thistle, the shamrock, and the wild flying aigle ! " Paddy
seemed duly to appreciate the honor, for he repeated the
words of the boatman as though in joyous surprise. It was
odd to hear those dark, grand, ivy-mantled palace halls ring
ing with blithe bugle notes and jolly laughter — talking in
such a free and easy way — vocal with so rich a brogue.
That last night we enjoyed a merry tea-drinking together,
in a private parlor, and early in the morning set forth, by
stage coach, for Limerick. As to the Victoria Hotel, the
least said by me the better for its reputation. I constrain my
self to silence in regard to the broken bell wires and other
dilapidations in my apartments, trusting in the truth of the
proverb, " The least said, the soonest mended." In our out
door Ufe at Killarney, our only serious annoyances were
Meggers and midges. Between the two, you bleed at every
pore. With the heavy mist of a dull, wet morning. Nature let
down the drop curtain on the scene of all our enjoyment at
KUlarney. I think we all felt and looked a little blue as we
took our places on the outside seats of the stage coach, and
set forth for Tarbert, on the Shannon. Nor were the views
and objects on our way such as were calculated to raise our
spirits or kindle our enthusiasm. The country was a weary
boggy waste, with few-and-far-between patches of cultivation

A TOUR IN EUROPE^ 93
and homes of comfort. The cabins of the peasants were the
most miserable of imaginable and inhabitable places — the
peasants themselves were yet one depth of wretchedness be
low any we had seen before. Now and then we passed an
ivy-wreathed castle tower, which had once frowned in em
battled strength on hosts of assaulting foes ; or the unroofed
walls and raouldering cloisters of an ancient abbey, with the
black rooks circling amid the arches through which the white
incense of worship once stole, and screaming harshly above
the aisles down which once rolled tlie pious priestly chant in
full-volumed melody. Every where wc .saw repeated the
same sad picture — old Ireland in ruins, young Ireland in
rags. Near Tarbert our driver pointed out to us what had been a
good estate; on a rising ground stood a large, ini|iosiug man
sion, but the plantations surrounding it had an appearance of
utter desolation and abandonment. This was the property of
a jovial Irish squire, wiio for many years kept open house,
and Uved in a rioting, rollicking way, entertaining his sporting
friends with horses, and hounds, and oceans of good whiskey
punch. But during the late general distress there was a scattering
among the jolly guests, and the host himself, hunted by bai
liffs, stripped of out-door luxuries and in-door comforts — car
riages, horses, hounds, plate, furniture, library, wines, whiskey,
and all — was obliged to abandon his mansion for a little
thatched cottage, and actually to allow his ancestral hall to be
converted into a workhouse. There is something very like re
tributive justice in the fact that, in the walls which once rung
and rocked to the revelries of the improvident raaster, the
poor tenants, whom his heartless extravagance tended to re
duce to beggary, find in sickness and old age a quiet and com
fortable home.
The passage up the Shannon from Tarbert to Limerick was

94 H^PS AND MISHAPS OF
an absolute deUght — the river, a broad, clear, shining flood,
sweeping between softly undulating, emerald shores, here and
there made more beautiful by noble wooded estates and fine
lordly towers. We drew near to Limerick through a long
and gorgeous sunset, which overspread the heavens, wrapped
the shore, and floated on the water, in a fine glory of golden
light. It was a scene for the sense of beauty to revel in, not
alone for the hour, but which vanished from the outward
vision but to become one of the soul's fair, unfading pictures
— an illuminated memory.
We were greatly pleased with Limerick, which we found a
well-built, pleasant, and apparently prosperous town.
In the morning we took a car and drove to the rapids, above
the city some five or six miles. These are exceedingly beau
tiful — grand, indeed, and very nearly equal to those of
Niagara. We went dovvn several of the least dangerous in
a long, narrow skiff, much like an Indian canoe, and I shall
not soon forget the wild, almost mad excitement, the peculiar,
peril-zested pleasure of the swift descent, when our little fairy
bark seemed to leap fearlessly from ledge to ledge, yet quickly
and cunningly to avoid all fatal enticing currents, sharp rocks
lying in wait under cover of white foam, and angry waters
whirling in delirious eddies.
On our return to the city we visited the old cathedral, of
whose melodious bells a beautiful and well-known legend is -
told. After an outside survey of the old castle, which is in a
fine state of preservation, considering its great age, we visited
one of the largest lace manufactories, in which I was pleased
to see many poor girls employed, but pained to find them
crowded into two small and ill-ventilated rooms. While
breathing the close air of those workshops, and looking on the
pale, worn faces of some ofthe toUing young creatures around
me, the delicate beauty of the richest lace they wrought had
small charm for even my feminine fancy.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 95
In one of our drives in Limerick we passed through a sort
of rag fair, which showed us where the beggars obtained that
marvellous variety of color and texture so remarkable in their
costume. Here we saw some strange specimens of the last
dire extremity of tattered civilization — only to be distin
guished from savage scantness of apparel and imbruted stu
pidity by greater squalor and a sullen consciousness, which
has not the grace of shame. We saw one lad whose whole
attire did not boast of one ordinary garment, but who was
literally hung with rags, by means of a cord wound about his
body, sustaining fragments of every conceivable shape and
color — so his entire costume was a curious piece of festoon
ing. Ah, there is little need for tho tourist to pass through
this part of Ireland, " spying out the nakedness of the land ; "
it is thrust upon him at every turn. Yet you must not believe
that all this outward wretchedness is real, necessary, and help
less. By far the larger number of those who apply to the travel
ler for charity are vagabondish in Iheir instincts and indolent
in their habits, and prefer to beg rather than to labor, either
in or out of the workhouse. The professional beggar dresses,
for his part, with as much care and skill as any other actor ;
and the whine, the limp, the melan,choly tale, blindness, palsy,
widow's tears, and orphan's wails are often the results of
laborious practice and splendid triumphs of art. You must
bear this in mind, and " set your face as a flint," if you would
enjoy Ireland. I have heard here an anecdote of a wealthy
American gentleman, of large-hearted and tender-hearted
benevolence, who, after making a tour through some of the
poorer parts of the island, and scattering pennies among
crowds of ragged urchins wherever he went, dropping a tear
and a sixpence into every blind beggar's extended hat, or to
every " poor widdy's " hand, returned to his hotel, in Dub
lin, a saddened man, and shut himself in his room to muse on
the sorrows and sufferings of the innumerable host of per-

96 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
egrinating paupers, infantile, -maternal, juvenile, and ancient,
which had thronged his way through many days. Suddenly
he heard, somewhere without his door, a sweet voice, and the
plaintive notes of a harp. " Ah ! " exclaimed the good man,
" some poor creature, having heard of my benevolence, has
followed me here, and is appealing to ray sympathies through
one of the mournful olden melodies of her native land. What
a melting, heart-breaking voice ! Heavens ! what a touching
strain was that ! I can endure it no longer ; " and, with tear
ful agitation, he rings violently.
" Waiter, I can't stand this — give that woman half a crown
for me, and send her away."
The waiter stood aghast, for the harpist and singer was a
noble lady in the next room.
But I raust not loiter by the way in this manner. From
Limerick to Dublin by rail. At the latter place I was taken
quite seriously ill. Fortunately, perhaps I should say prov
identially, I had brought a letter of introduction to Sir Philip
Crampton, the distinguished surgeon general of Ireland, and
the father of the present British minister at Washington, who
in this hour of need gave me the benefit of his world-renowned
skill, taking from the good office all air professional, and giving
to it the grace of a kind, friendly profi'er, and the charm of a
gentle, high-bred courtesy, as indescribable as it is inimitable.
Thus circumstanced, my sick bed and I soon parted company.
What I saw at Dublin after I got about, and during a brief
subsequent visit, I will strive to recall and relate in few words.
Our first visit was to the Mount Joy Model Prison — con
structed and conducted very much on the plan of the Phila
delphia Penitentiary. We were most favorably irapressed by
the order and neatness evident throughout the building, and
by the intelligence and humane feeling shown by the officers
with whom we conversed. From the prison we went to the
workhouse, in the admirable management and orderly regula-

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 97
tion of which we were greatly interested. It is an immense
establishment, yet every where a system of cleanliness and
thorough ventilation seems to prevail. The poor inmates are
well fed and comfortably clothed ; their wants, physical, men
tal, and spiritual, are consulted, and, as far as possible, satis
fied. On the whole, I was gratified and cheered by the visit.
In the Lunatic Asylum, a truly noble institution, I saw
greater varieties of insanity than I had ever remarked in any
similar institution in my own country. Some were melan
choly in the extreme, some terrible, some grotesque, some
merry and mischievous, and some, by far the saddest of all,
dull, imbecile, and idiotic. It is strange, perhajis, but I never
felt a more deep and solemn conviction of the immortality of
the soul than when contemplating" those various forms of in
sanity. To mo the great light shone with an intenscr gldw, a
more sacred and indestructible life, thus glaring from the wild
orbs of frenzy, or faintly and fitfully gleaming from the lioav)-
raisted eyes of idiocy — like torchlight in a dungeon, or a star
seen through drifting clouds, all tho more vividly and star-
tlihgly real. I there felt that to despair of one of those poor
creatures, capable but of one thrill of kindly sympathy, of
love, or hope, or remorse — of smiling on a child, or at the
sight of flowers, or of greeting gratefully the jtitying face of
the stranger — were sin almost beyond tbrgiveness. I felt,
that to say of the mind wandering for years in the dark waste
of hopeless melancholy, and of the soul islanded away from all
human companionship in the stagnant sea of unconscious idi
ocy, moaning up to God its inarticulate anguish, — to say of
these, "they shaU utterly perish," were blasphemy. It is
strange that we do not learn more meekly from Nature, who
o-oes on ever reproducing her works in beautified and glorified
forms. The rough, dull seed arismg to a glorious resurrec
tion in the gorgeous flower, holding in her sweet chalice the
purest dews of the skies, and the butterfly, freed from his
9

98 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
unsightly chrysalis, fluttering up at our feet, bearing the glory
of heaven pn his wings, should rebuke the unbeliever. Shall
such as these live again and again, and that fullest emanation
of the Divine — the soul of man — be flung aside, as of no
worth in God's economy, after one brief trial of existence ?
We visited the grave of O'Connell, in the beautiful ceme
tery of Glasneven, where Curran is also buried. The coffin
of the great " agitator," covered with crimson velvet, gor
geously wrought in gold, is exposed in the vault of a tempo
rary tomb. So we stood very near the dust of him whose
overmastering eloquence had once stirred and swayed the
minds of his countrymen, as a strong tempest rouses the sea
and drives the wild waves before it. He did much for Ire
land, and she will keep his memory green.
We visited the Royal Irish Academy, where we saw many
curious antiquities ; the exhibition of painting and sculpture,
where we saw a few good pictures ; and the beautiful Bank
of Ireland, formerly the House of Lords and Commons.
Hearing that the famous Donnybrook Fair was under full
headway, a few miles from the city, we drove out one pleasant
afternoon, hoping to see Irish character in some new varieties.
But, on reaching the ground, we soon despaired of seeing
much in this way, remarking every where the presence of
those patent suppressors of popular spirit and joUity, individ
ual originality and fun — soldiers and policemen. It was a
novel, a bustling, and crowded, but by no means an animating
scene. There was every thing to be sold, and nothing seemed
to be selling. There was plenty of eating and drinking, and
nobody seemed the heartier or happier. There was every
where evident an awkward effort at enjoyment and amuse
ment, un-Irish and lamentable in the extreme. You heard
Uttle laughter or singing, and both the fiddling and dancing
were mechanical and spiritless. There were half a dozen
theatres, and every variety of " show ; " and for an hour

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 09
before the performance commenced, managers, actors, clowns,
and " Ethiopian minstrels " paraded in front of their booths,
shouting and bidding for customers with furious ringing of
beUs and mad beating of drums. "Ladies and gintlemin,
walk in and see the Roosian Lambert, the fattest man in the
civUized world." " Ladies and gintlemin, let me warn you
agin a chate, in a frindly way, just — sure it's no Roosian at
all, but a poor divU from Skibbereen, fatted on turnips. Walk
in here, and see an ilegant collection of monkeys, and a b^aii-
tiful famale kangaroo, aU for a penny." " Ladies and gentli--
men, come and patronize the legitimate drama, and witness
the thriUing and bloody tragedy of Jack She|ipard at tup
pence an 'cad ! "
As a matter of course, there was on the ground a laifje
representation of beggars. I was struck by one poor old
"cratur's" peculiar and touching blessing: "May the Lord
bless yer honor, and yer honor's husband, prisint or to be, and
grant you both health and pace, and many happy Doini)-
brooks ! "
As we were returning to our car, through a little crowded
lane, I remarked to my friends, "It is quite true what we were
told in Dublin — the glory of Donnybrook has departed since
the advent of Father Mathew with his dispensation of teeto-
talism, and the more peifeel and powcriul organization of
police, both throwing cold water 6n its aneient spirit ot' light
and frolic. One now hears no singing of wild ballads, and
sees no swinging of shiUalahs ; there is an unnatural propriety,
a dreary orderliness, a flat sobriety, prevailing here." Ju.-t
then I was somewhat rudely pressed on by a sturdy young
woman, who seemed, with elbows and knuckles, to be making
a rough medical examination of my spinal vertebra?, testing
the elastic properties of my ribs, and the temper of my
shoulder blades. Shrinking from this severe mfliction, I com
plained to the gentleman on whose arm I leaned of the too

¦ li'llJri'llti-tW-
J' '"¦-'"""""

100 HAPS AND MISHAPS.
pressing attentions of the person behind me ; whereupon the
damsel exclaimed, " I'm not behind you at all ! " foUowing this
astounding declaration with certain spirited expressions, and
finally indulged herself in some remarks which I could but
consider irrelevant, consisting of comparisons between my
personal appearance and her own, decidedly unfavorable to
the former. This was the first inhospitable treatment I had
received in Ireland.-*- To have my slight feminine attractions,
my humble claims to good looks, not alone questioned, but
flatly denied, at that joyous ancient gathering-place, that high
festival of the kindly Irish peasantry — Donnybrook Fair^ —
by a Donnybrook fair, was an unexpected discourtesy.
The society which we were so fortunate as to see in Dublin
impressed us most agreeably. AU you have heard of the
beauty, intelUgence, tact, and charming vivacity of Irish
ladies, you may believe — you cannot believe too much. The
Irish gentlemen, for gifts of conversation and entertainment,
and for a warm, familiar, yet poUshed courtesy, are absolutely
unsurpassable. Yet I have somewhat against them. I have
frequently found them wanting in the spirit of nationality —
completely Anglicized in thought and feeUng. They, many of
them, speak of Ireland and the Irish as though not of it or
them. An Irish aristocrat speaks of the poor peasantry very
much as the southern American speaks of the blacks.
My illness in Dublin cost me the relinquishment of a visit
to Galway and Connemara, and the pilgrimage which I would
gladly have made to the birthplace and " the Deserted Vil
lage " of Goldsmith. My friend Mr. B  , who made this
tour, was greatly charmed with the wild picturesqueness of the
scenery, and reported very favorably as to the character, con
dition, industrial prospects, and educational privileges of the
people.

CHAPTER V.
Wicklow. — Vale op Avoca. — Devil's Glen. — Valley op the
Seven Churches. — St. Kevin. — Lough Beay. — Sir Philip
Crampton — Giant's Causeway. — Castle of Dunluce  North
of Ireland. — .Belfast. — Lough Neagh. — Religious and Po
litical Questions. — Anecdote. September 18.
On the 27th of August we lefl Dublin for a short tour in
the beautiful county of Wicklow. We discarded the car, and
travelled quite luxuriously in an easy carriage, open, but shut-
able at wUl, with a pair of fine horses, and a driver of staid
and respectable demeanor, and personal appearance slightly
suggestive of the elder Weller.
We set forth on a lovely raorning, and soon found ourselves
in a country of great natural beauty, and, as corapared with
southern Ireland, in a fine state of cultivation. Our first
visit was to the " Dargle," a dark, romantic glen, containing
a swift, silvery mountain stream, and a beautiful waterfall.
It is not wild enough for grandeur, — a part of Lord Powers-
court's demesne, it has too well-kept an air, — but it is a
pretty, picturesque, and picnickish place. We spent an hour
or two very delightfully, wandering through its cool quietudes
and " sun-dropped shades."
Our next visit was to the Vale of Avoca, immortalized by
Moore in his song of " The Meeting of the Waters.'' I
looked in vain in the little streams Avonmore and Avonbeg,
in their wedding at Castle Howard, and in their subsequent
two-in-oneness, their slow, sedate, raatriraonial onflow, as the
Avoca, for that "purest of crystal" which gleams in the
9 * ( 101 )

102 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
song. The poet's words have a more silvery flowing than
these waters, and thi? vaUey's " brightest of green " is sur
passed by the verdancy of the romantic tourist who comes
hither hoping to behold a picture of entrancing loveliness,
which was " all in the eye " of the melodist. The current of
the Avoca is evidently discolored by the copper mines worked
on its banks — most unpoetic and unlooked-for adjuncts to that
" scene of enchantment." Yet, believe me, I felt a deeper
pleasure in seeing the poor countrymen of the poet earning
an honest livelihood by mining in those beautiful hills — rude
avocation for the " sweet Vale of Avoca " — than I could have
known in the perfect realization of his most exquisite dream.
We next explored the " Devil's Glen " up to its beautiful
cascade. His satanic majesty seems to have been a sort of
surveyor general of Ireland at some remote period, and to
have indulged his vanity by giving his name to all such places
as particularly struck his fancy. The desire to send his fame
down to posterity with this waterfall certainly does honor to his
taste ; for surely I never saw, in any cascade, a more enchant
ing combination of grandeur and grace. The glen itself,
lying deep and dark between two mountain ridges, is a wild
and lonely place, which art has not yet profaned, nor " cus
tom staled."
On the second day of our tour we visited perhaps the most
wonderful place in Ireland — the " Valley of the Seven
Churches," or the ancient city of Glendalough. Sir Walter
Scott speaks of it as "the inexpressibly singular scene of
Irish antiquities ; " and it surely is the haunt of shadows and
the abode of mysteries. Between black, rocky, barren moun
tains, in a narrow, gloomy valley, containing two dark and
almost fathomless lakes, are the ruins of a city founded early
in the sixth century by St. Kevin, a holy and potent person
age, second only to St. Patrick in the pious and popular
legends of this country. In addition to the ruins of the

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 103
Seven Churches, built on a singular diminutive scale, and in
a rude style of architecture, there are the sepulchres of the
ancient kings and church dignitaries, and, most curious o/ all,
one of those mysterious round towers, the origin and purpose
of which has so long constituted one of the knottiest of anti
quarian problems.
The almost deathly quiet, the oppressive loneliness, the
strange, deep, unearthly gloom of this raouldering city of the
dead are things to be felt in all their melancholy and weird-
like power, but which could scarce be pictured by the sternest
and most vivid word painting.
We selected a guide from a clamorous crowd of eager
applicants, in the person of George Wynder, a wild, pictu
resque, long-bearded fellow, who proved to be vety much of a
character, and entertained us mightily by many wonderful
" lagends " of St. Kevin, the famous Irish giant. Fin Mac-
Cool, and the royal O'Tooles. We first embarked with him on
the upper lake for the purpose of visiting " St. Kevin's bed."
This is a low, narrow cell, hewn in the solid rock, some thirty
feet above the water, and only reached by a difficult and some
what perilous piece of climbing. This dreary mountain eyry
of the eccentric saint is said to possess peculiar blessedness
for the faithful; to hold certain potent charms for, and to
bestow certain inestimable privileges upon, such devout dames
as make to it pious pilgrimages, which, from its almost inac
cessible position, can only be accomplished in fear and trem
bling. It may be that the saint displayed, at the last, this
especial graciousness toweirds our sex, in reparation for the
sUght he put upon it in the most ungaUant yet most renowned
act of his life. Legends teU that St. Kevin, then a young and
handsome man, fashioned this rocky retreat as a liiding-place
• from a very singular persecution, in the form of loving and
pressing attentions from a beautiful young lady by the name of
Kathleen  . The last name is not known — St. Kevin de-

104 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
cUning to divulge it, from motives of delicacy, probably ; but she
is acknowledged to have belonged to one of the first families.
Yet her conduct was scarcely in accordance with the rules of
strict feminine decorum, for she regularly offered herself to
his saintship ; though, as our guide charitably remarked,
" May be 'twas in lape year she did that same, poor cray-
thur I " At aU events, she made " young Kevin " the tempt
ing proffer of her hand and heart — the first as a priest he
could not, the last as a saint he dared not, accept ; so he took
safety in flight, and scooped out that hollow in the steep rock,
by the lonely lake, where, according to Moore, in his song,
beginning, — " By that lake whose gloomy shore
Skylark never warbles o'er, —
he congratulated himself that he was at last quite out of the
reach of his fair follower and tender tormentor. But Miss
Kathleen, who seems to have been an enterprising young
woman, with a courage and spirit worthy of a better cause
and a better reward, followed him even here ; and one fine
morning when he awoke he found her bending over him,
weeping, and fixing on his face " eyes of most unholy blue."
Moore says, — " Ah, your saints have cruel hearts ;
Sternly from his bed he starts.
And with rude, repulsive shock,
Hurls her from the beetling rock ! "'
But, according to our guide, " the saint, as he lay there on
his back, coolly put his two feet agin Kathleen's breast, and,
without as much as a 'by your lave, my lady,' kicked her
into the lake." On visiting the scene of the tragedy, the
latter strikes one as decidedly the most probable version of
the story. The saint could hardly have had room to " start "
from " his bed " — he must have crawled into his narrow
quarters, and Kathleen must have stood at the entrance, from

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 105
whence he could scarcely have thrust her into the lake, with
out taking at least a ducking himseff, in any but the very
ungentlemanly manner referred to.
Our guide told us that an adventurous Scotch earl lately took
a fancy to spend the night in this holy bed with his young
son. Though wrapped in the ample folds of a soft, warm
plaid, his lordship got no sleep — being kept awake, not by
the drear soleranity, the awful loneliness, of the surrounding
scene, not by the sonorous roaring of the waves below, but
by the more sonorous snoring of the laddie by his side.
Iu the rock of " the bed " I found carved the names of Mr.
and Mrs. S. C. HaU, Tom Moore, Maria Edgeworth, and
Walter Scott.
Gerald Griffin, the author of The Collegians, has told
the story of Kathleen and St. Kevin in a poem of much
power and beauty. It leaves Moore's ballad far behind, and
is curious and admirable as giving to the character of Kathleen
true maiden purity, and a sweet, childlike innocence, and yet
winning your full absolution for that most uncivil sin of her
drowning, — the " deep damnation of her kicking off," — by
showing that the cruel act was one of momentary frenzy,
brought on by a long and fearful struggle between human love
and priestly vows and saintly aspirations.
Afler visiting the beautiful waterfaU of Powlanos, we took
a reluctant and lingering leave of that valley of the shadow of
ancient power — that desolated burial-place of monai'chs —
that old, old city of a forgotten and recordless past — Glenda
lough. On the morning of the third day of our tour we early left
the charming country inn where we had spent the night, and
drove over a magnificent mountain road to Lough Bray, and
the country seat of Sir PhUip Crampton, on its shores, where
we were engaged to spend the remainder of the day.
I would that I could give even a faint idea of the glorious

106 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
scenery we beheld along our way on that beautiful morning.
Mountain, vaUey, lakes, rivers, and waterfalls around and
beneath us — above us a delicious summer heaven, intensely
blue in the zenith, but darkened with drifting clouds about the
mountain tops, every now and then melting down upon us in a
brief, bright shower, every drop chased by a sunbeam as it
fell. But the climax and crowning of the wild scenery on our
way, and the keen enjoyment of the morning, was the sight of
Lough Bray, a lonely lake, small, but fearfully deep and
dark, shut in by high heathery hills, rocky and pi-ecipitous
— the entire scene, with the exception of the beautiful' cottage
and grounds of Sir Philip Crampton, retaining its primeval
wildness, grandeur, and desolateness. The tasteful owner of
this haunt of sounding mountain airs and solemn shadows has
rescued, or rather created, from the boggy hillside, the ground
for his gardens, lawns, and fir plantations — causing those
dreary desert-places to rejoice in leafy luxuriance, and " blos
som as the rose." The loneliness of the lake is relieved by
flocks of tame waterfowl, especially petted and protected by
Sir Philip, and by a number of those beautiful and stately
creatures, the swans. A row upon this dark water was a rare
delight to me, from a peculiar, deep, low, melodious surge of
its waves — caused, it is said, by its great depth, and the
rocky steepness of its shores.
To describe all the out-door picturesqueness of this beauti
ful mountain retreat were indeed difficult ; but to do justice in
words to its in-door attractions, to the generous warmth of our
welcome, to the courteous and varied entertainment, which
charmed and winged alike the hours of sunshine and shower,
were quite impossible. Irish hospitaUty is the heartiest and
most graceful in the world, and Sir Philip Crampton's is the
soul of Irish hospitality.
We drove into Dublin that night, and on the foUowing day
set out for the Giant's Causeway. The places and objects of

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 107
most interest along our route were the ancient towns of Drog-
heda and Dundalk — fortuntte, flourishing Belfast, with its
bright beautiful bay — Carrickfergus and Glenarm, with their
fine old castles — and the town of Larne, memorable as the
place where Edward Bruce landed, in 1315 — and, above all.
Fair Head. Much of the scenery of the coast road from
Carrickfergus to the Causeway is grand and beautiful beyond
description ; but all fades fast from your raemory, for the time,
when you reach the crowning beauty of all — the wonder of
wonders — the Causeway. I pray my reader's pardon, if
here, feeling that discretion is the better part of valor, I in-
gloriously shrink from an effort which I fear would inevitably
result in failure. I shall not attempt to describe the Cause
way. I was most impressed by the caves, and by the various
fine points of the Causeway itself, as seen at some Uttle dis
tance from the sea. A nearer inspection increased my won
derment, but did not so powerfully affect me through my
sense of tho strange and awful.
An object of much romantic interest, and of most fearful
grandeur of site and surroundings, in this neighborhood, is the
ruined Castle of Dunluce, built on an insulated rock a hun
dred feet above the sea, and separated from the main land
by a chasm twenty foot broad and nearly a hundred feet deep,
which is crossed by a bridge only eighteen inches wide. One
should have a steady brain to venture upon this narrow bridge,
the passage of which is peculiarly perilous if the wind be high.
I came very near going over before a strong blast from Bo
reas, who sprang up from the chasm, like an ambushed foe, to
dispute the pass with me. The guide told us that a young
lady was lately taken off in this w.ay by a sudden gust of
wind, but was so buoyed up by an umbrella she held in her
hand, and by her long, full skirts, that she reached the ground
lightly and safely. A Bloomer costume would have fearfully
lessened her chances.

JOS HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
V "^e returned to Belfast in time to attend the meetings of
the British Association. The Ljrd Lieutenant, a fine-looking,
elegant man, was present, on the first day, with Lady Eglin-
ton, a handsome, stately woman. Lucien Bonaparte, Prince
of Canino, attended regularly. He is strikingly like Napo
leon, but stouter and darker, I should say. I was truly 'im
pressed by the manner and presence of Dr. Robinson, of
Armagh, Archbishop Whately, Rear Admiral Sir John Ross,
Sir David Brewster, and Lord Ross, of philosophic and tele
scopic renown. Septembek 23.
After three weeks of delightful travel, and three weeks of
more deUghtful visiting, I am about to take leave of Ireland ;
and it is with real sorrow at my heart that I go, quite probably
forever, from a country where I have received nothing but
noble kindness — a country in whose sorrows and successes I
have now a deepened and loving sympathy — from a people
for whose character I must ever feel a glowing and grateful
admiration. It were scarcely possible to express the feeling of reUef, con-
SQlation, and cheering pleasure which I experienced on visit
ing the north of Ireland, after my tour in the south. The
difference is wondrous to behold. I could scarcely believe
such utterly different sights and scenes to exist in one and
the same country ; but, as if by some potent enchantment I
had been transported, in a single night, to another, a fairer and
a happier realm, I gazed about me in a sort of pleasant
bewilderment. The north-east portion of Ireland, in the culti
vation of the country, the prosperous and business-Uke appear
ance of the towns, and the condition of the working people, to
a casual observer, at least, falls but Uttle behind England.
The higher degree of prosperity which this section of the
country has for many years enjoyed over the west and south,
may doubtless be ascribed in great part to Scotch emigration

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 109
and thrift ; but much is also owing to its having more resident
• and efficient landlords, and to certain privileges which tenants
have enjoyed under a pecuhar custom, which has almost the
authority of a law, giving to them an interest in the land they
cultivate and iraprove. This is the famous " tenant right,"
for the extension and legalization of which noble efforts have
been made by Sharman Crawford, and a few other liberal
landholders and true friends of the people. It was a question
at the late election, but was defeated, its friends say, by the
disnonorable means of intimidation, if not of bribery.
The linen trade is the great feature of this portion of Ire
land. At one season you see field on field, blue with the
beautiful flowers of the flax ; at another, acres of meadow
and hillside white with the bleaching web. It is a sight to
gladden one's heart, and, in beholding it, you wonder not that
you are no longer pained by wayside scenes of squalid wretch
edness, or followed by crowds of ragged mendicants.
Belfast is a handsomely-situated and well-built town, with
many noble and admirably conducted institutions. The new
Queen's College and tho Deaf and Dumb Asylum are beautiful
buildings ; there are also a Lunatic Asylum and a Model
Prison, one of the finest in the kingdom. But perhaps the
place of most interest for one whose sympathies are especially
with fhe young and poor is the Industrial School, a most
excellent institution, under the National Educational Board,
but established and can-ied on by several noble-hearted and
devoted women, and supported by the voluntary subscription
of the citizens of Belfast, assisted by the National Board.
The school numbers about one hundred children, mostly under
twelve years of age, and invariably taken from the poorest of
the poor. They come to the institiition at half past seven in
the nfbrning ; take, first, a thorough washing ; then are dressed
in the uniform school dress, a dark gingham frock and a
white pinafore ; they then take a plain, wholesome breakfast,
10

110 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
and, after a half hour's reading of such portions of the Bible
as are allowed by the National Board, and not objected to by •
Roman Catholics, are instructed in knitting and sewing, and
the common branches of a good EngUsh education. These
children make and mend their own clothes, and do very
creditably a considerable amount of work furnished by
friends and patrons. There is also a class engaged in weav
ing Valenciennes lace, of a beautiful quality, under a French
teacher. The pupils all dine at the establishment, and take
there a certain portion of bread at night. Before leaving,
they are required to take off the school costume and to rein
vest themselves in their rags, as, in most cases, it would not
be safe to allow them to return to their miserable homes and
wretched families in a dress which could be pawned or sold
for meal, potatoes, or whiskey.
A very thorough and yet attractive system of instruction
has been adopted in this school, and is carried out with the
utmost faithfulness by its self-sacrificing and earnest-hearted
teachers. I know not which interested me most pleasantly —
the cheerful energy and enthusiasm of the intelligent and lady
like principal ; or the quiet industry, the aptitude, and the
bright, happy, grateful look of her pupils. I must not forget
to mention that in this excellent work Catholics and Protes
tants, the benevolent and liberal of all parties and sects, are
united, and that the entire cost of its sustainment does not
exceed four hundred pounds a year.
The country around Belfast is finely cultivated and exceed
ingly picturesque. I have rare pleasure in driving about,
with my friends, on an easy outside car, — a vehicle, by the
way, to which I have become especially partial, — and visiting
places of remarkable beauty or interest. One of our drives
was to "The Giant's Ring," an immense druidical amphi
theatre, enclosed by a. high, regular mound, with the mystic
number of seven openings, and containing a rude cairn, sup-

A TOUR IN EUROPE. Ill
posed to have been used as an altar for human sacrifices by
" the priests of the bloody faith." It is also supposed that
the mound was once high enough to shut out all views save
that of the heaven above. The place is utterly without trees
or shrubbery ; yet no deepest valley, dark and cold with
forest and mountain shadows, ever wore to me a raore lone
some, desolate, and soleran aspect. I shivered and shr^ik
with a vague sense of mystery and fear as I strove to send
my soul back through the Christian ages, into the far, dim,
barbaric centuries ; to bid it stand araong that vast surging
concourse of savage worshippers, and to witness those awful
rites, where, for pious chanting, were the groans and cries
of the victims ; for baptismal and holy waters, the sprinkle
and gush of their blood ; and where, for wreaths of sweet
incense, went up the thick smoke of their burning.
We made a pleasant excursion one day, lately, to the ruins
of Shane's Castle, the ancient palace and stronghold of the
princely O'NeUls, and to Antrim Castle, the residence of Lord
Masserene. Shane's Castle is a ruin surrounded by fine old
trees and extensive grounds, and grandly situated on Lough
Neagh, the largest lake in the United Kingdom. Tradition
tells us that this great body of water covers what was once a
fair and fruitful valley, with snug cottages and lordly castles,
and grand ecclesiastical towers ; that this valley contained a
well, which was never to be left uncovered for an hour, under
peril of a general inundation ; but that a certain damsel, (there
is always a woman at hand, with your historians, sacred and
profane, when any mischief is to be done,) being at the well,
drawing water, spied her lover at the other end of the valley,
dropped her brimraing pitcher, forgot to cover the well, and
ran to meet him, followed by a foaming flood, which rose and
rose, till maiden and lover, cornfield and cottage, turret and
tower, all slept beneath tho shining wave. But an old chron
icler states that this piece nf carelessness is to be ascribed to

112 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
the extreme maternal anxiety of a young mother, who " wente
to ye well for to fetche water, and hyed her faste to her childe,
who wepte in ye cradele, and left ye well uncovered." I
think I like this version best. But that there are in this lake
submarine church establishments, and that the fish swim about
at their pleasure in castle keep and court yard, and, scaly fel
lows though they are, have the entree of ancient aristocratic
halls, we have the word of Moore : —
" On Lough Neagh's bank as the fisherman strays.
When clear, cold eve's declining.
He sees the round towers of other days
In the wave beneath him shining."
The princely proprietors of those submerged possessions,
who so suddenly sunk with their sinking fortunes, were afler
all but a degree more unfortunate than the modern lords of
neighboring estates, who find it extremely difficult to keep
their heads above water.
Antrim Castle is a fine, rather modem-looking building,
with grounds and gardens laid out in the French style, very
prettily and effectively.
In the meeting and proceedings of the British Association,
at this place, great interest was manifested by all classes.
This would be nothing remarkable in America, where every
man, and almost every woman, feels an enlightened in
terest in all mslttors and movements of literature, science,
morality, and politics ; but here it is a fact significant and
inspiring. In my light and hurried sketches of travel and society in
Ireland, I have avoided entering upon those vexed and intri
cate questions of government and religion which have caused,
and are yet causing, such a wearisome and melancholy amount
of discussion and dissension. England is now, it is evident,
honestly and earnestly endeavoring to repair some portion of
the innumerable wrongs and the immeasurable evil of cen-

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 113
turies of misgovernment, by a milder and juster rule, by a
noble and impartial system of education among the poor, by
the Ughtening of taxation, and by annulling the law of entail,
and permitting the sale of encumbered estates. It is a
singular fact, that by far the greater number of the lands thus
thrown into the market have been purchased by Irishmen. It
is to be hoped that large portions of the south and west of
Ireland, left for so many years to waste and desolation by
titled spendthrifts and ruined absentees, may be redeemed,
cultivated, and made profitable by Ireland's worthier indus
trial sons. Yet it must be long, very long, ere green Erin
smiles in the face of the stranger with any thing Uke universal
prosperity, plenty, and comfort. The character of her com
mon people has been lowered in times past by civil and
religious oppression, by examples of " spiritual wickedness in
high places," and of careless improvidence and selfish indul
gence in their superiors by rank and fortune. There aro
raany who say that the regeneration of this country is to be
brought about alone by emigration and immigration — the
first of the Irish to America and Australia, the last of the
Scotch and English into the depopulated and uncultivated
territory here ; but I am strong in the faith that the best work
for Ireland is yet to be wrought by such of her sons as are
truly devoted to her good and her honor, and slay by her in
her hour of need.
The strifes and dissensions between the Catholics and
Protestants, wliieh ran so fearfully high during the lale
elections, are still carried on with much spirit, creating and
keeping alive unchristian alienations and enmities among the
people. The English High church, whose grasping after
wealth and power, whose manifold corruptions and abuses,
smack strongly of "tho world and the flesh," to say notMng
of the third person in the unholy trinity, certainly displays in
these contests a. bitterness of denunciation and a sTiarpness of
10*

114 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
sarcasm more partisan than apostolic; while the Catholic
church has conducted its cause with a high hand, and with
more zeal and deferminatioh than modesty or judiciousness.
The Catholic party take especial pains to parade, in an
exulting half-theatrical and thoroughly offensive manner, the
triumphs of their faith, as manifest in the numerous conver
sions from Protestantism. The converts themselves are
advertised and feted as you would fete a distinguished vocalist
or brilliant performer. As an example, I give you an adver
tisement, cut from their organ. The Freeman's Journal : —
" Saint James's New., Church. — On Tuesday, the 24th
instant, the Feast of St. Bartholomew, his Grace the Most
Rev. Dr. CuUen, Lord Archbishop of Dublin, assisted by
other prelates, will solemnly dedicate this magnificent church.
" The dedication sermon will be preached by the Rev.
Henry E. Manning, (late archdeacon in tlie Protestant
church.) " On this occasion, this distinguished convert and gifted
orator will deliver his first discourse in Ireland.
"The ceremony will conclude with a grand pontifical
high mass.
" A grand orchestra, under the direcfion of Mr. J. Keane.
"Reserved seats, £1; family tickets, £1 10s.; nave, 10s.;
aisles, 5s.
"To be had at Richardson's, 9 Chapel Street; Duffy's, 7
WeUington Quay ; Bellow's, 79 Grafton Street ; and from the
clergymen of St. James's Chapel."
This reminds me of an anecdote related to me by a pleas
ant London friend, a clever bit of satire airaed at the Eno-Ush
church. On the Sunday preceding the great musical festival
at Manchester, in 1836, the Rev. J. Gadsby, a Baptist minis
ter, of great talent and singularity, preached a sermon, of which
he had previously given notice, on the subject of the festival.
At that time the musical festivals were of a very mixed char-

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 115
actor — oratorios in the churches in the morning, with baUs
and concerts in the theatres in the evening — all being for the
benefit of public charities. Mr. Gadsby commenced his ser
mon by saying, " My friends, there is to be a grand wadding
this week ; and as I think it improper and illegal, I intend to
protest against it, and I hope that none of my congregation
will sanction it with their presence. The church and the
playhouse have been courting these many years, and this
week they are to bo married. The first objection which I
make to the union is, the parties are too near of kin."
To-morrow I leave, with some kind Irish friends, for a
short tour in Scotland. I doubt not that my pulses will throb
with unwonted fulness, and my heart swell with unutterable
emotion, when I tread the beautiful land of Scott and Burns ;
but my love I leave with Ireland, the land of warm, quick
blood, and of faithful though careless hearts — the land of
hospitality and quaint humor, of passion and poetry, of wit
and melancholy, of laughter and of tears.

CHAPTE R VI.
Ayr. — Alloway. — The Birthplace op Burns. — The Monument.
— Mrs. Begg. - — Glasgow. — Loch Long. — Lock Goil. — In
verary. — Tarbet. — Ascent op Ben Lomond. — Loch Lomond.
— Loch Katrine. — Stirling. — Edinburgh. — Holyeood. —
Melrose. — Abbotsford. — Dryburgh. — Newcastle upon
Tyne. — York  The Minster. — London. — Hampton Court.
Edinburgh, October 1.
I LEFT Belfast on the evening of the 23d of September,
with my friends Mr. and Miss N  , for a short tour in
Scotland. We landed at Ardrossan, a port of no particular
note, and from thence took the railway to Ayr. This last is a
fine, flourishing town, but, aside from the " twa brigs," contain
ing no objects of peculiar interest as associated with Burns.
Here we took a drosky, and drove over to the old parish of
AUoway. It was with the true spirit of a pilgrim that I ap
proached tho birthplace of that noble poet of Love and Na
ture, whose sweetest songs I had learned from my mother's
lips almost with my cradle hymns. As I gazed ar»und on
the scenes once dear and familiar to his eyes, my heart, if not
all aglow with its earliest poetic enthusiasm, acknowledged a
deep sympathy for, and did honor to, him who, while his soul
was lifted into the divine air of poesy, withdrew not his heart
from his fellows, — who shared humbly in their humble for
tunes, and felt intensely their simple joys and bitter sorrows,, —
who, with all his faults, was honest and manly, with all his
wants and poverty, proud and free, and nobly independent, — .
who, amid all his follies and errors, acknowledged God and
reverenced purity. (116)

• A TOUR IN EUROPE. 117
The cottage in which Burns was bom, and which his father
built, was originally what is here called a " clay bigging," con
sisting only of two small apartments on the ground floor — a
kitchen and sitting room. The kitchen has a recess for a bed,
and here the poet first opened his bewildered baby eyes on an
ungenial world. This room, it is supposed, was tho scene of
The Cotter's Saturday Night. I was somewhat disappointed
to fincT this cottage standing on the road, and that it had been
built on to, and whitewashed out of all character and venera-
bleness. It is now occupied as an alehouse, which beseemeth
it Uttle as the scene of the beautiful religious poem above
named. A few rods from the door stands the " auld haunted
kirk," through one of whose windows luckless Tam O'Shanter
took his daring observation of Old Nick and the witches, "as
they appeared when enjoying themselves." This is a pictu
resque, roofless, rafterloss edifice, 'in a good state of preserva
tion. In the pleasant old churchyard rests the father of the
poet, beneath the tombstone erected and inscribed by one
whose days should have been " long in the land " according to
the promise, for Burns truly honored his father and his mother.
From tho kirk wo wont to the monument, which stands on
the summit of the eastern bank of the Doon, and near to the
"auld brig" on the "keystone" of which poor Tam O'Shan
ter was delivered from his weird pursuers, and his gray mare
" Meggio" met with a loss irreparable. This monument, of
which tho prints give a very good idea, is of graceful propor
tions and a tasteful style of architecture. The grounds about it,
though small in extent, are admirably kept, shaded with fine
shrubbery, and made more beautiful by hosts of rare and
lovely flowers. There seemed to me something pecuharly and
touchingly fitting in thus surrounding an edifice, sacred to the
genius of Burns, with the leafy haunts of the birds he loved,
in whose songs alone would his tuneful memory live, and with
the sweetness and brightness of flowers, from whose glowing

118 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
hearts he would have drawn deep meanings of love and pure
breathings of passion, or on whose fraU, fragrant leaves he
would have read holy Sabbath truths, lessons of modesty and
meekness, and teachings of the wondrous wisdom of Him who
planted the daisy on the lonely hillside, and the poet in a
weary world — the one to delight the eyes, the other to charm
and cheer the souls, of his creatures.
Within the monument we saw that most touching reUc of
Burns, the Bible which he gave to " Highland Mary" at their
solemn betrothal. It is in two volumes. On the flyleaf of
the first, in the handwriting of the poet, is the text, " And ye
shall not swear by my name falsely : I am the Lord." In the
second, " Thou shalt not forswear thyself, but shalt perform
unto the Lord thine oaths," In both volumes is the name of
Burns, with his mason's mark, and in one is a lock of Mary's
own beautiful, golden hair — a soft, glossy curl, which in that
last tender parting may have been smoothed down by the
caressing hand, may have waved in the breath, or lain against
the breast, of the poet lover.
The view from the summit of the monument is one of rare
interest, embracing as it does many of tho scenes of the life
and song of Burns. The scenery of Ayr is not grand, surely,
nor strikingly picturesque ; but this view is lovely, quiet, and
pleasant beyond description — truly a smiling landscape. Per
haps something was owing to the rich sunshine and soft air of
the day, and more to the wondrous charm of association ; but
I never remember to have felt a more exquisite sense of beau
ty, a delight more deep and delicious, though shadowed with
sad and regretful memories, than while sitting or strolUng on
the lovely banks of the Doon, half cheated by excited fancy
with the hope that I might see the rustic poet leaning over the
picturesque " auld brig," following, with his great, dark, dreamy
eyes, the windings of the stream below ; or, with glowing face
upraised, revelling in the clear blue sky and fair floating

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 119
clouds above ; or, perchance, walking slowly on the shore,
coming down from the pleasant " Ijraes o' Ballochrayle," musing,
with folded arms and drooping head, on " the bonnie lass "
who had there unconsciously strayed across the path of a poet,
and chanced upon immortality. The Doon seemed to roll by
with the melodious flow of his song — now with the impetuous
i weep of passion ; now with the flne sparkle of pleasant wit ;
now under the solemn shadows of sorrow ; now out into the
clear sunlight of exultant joy ; now with the soft gurgle and
silver trickling of love's light measures ; now with the low,
deep murmur of devotion. As I lingered there, countless
snatches of the poet's songs, and stanza after stanza of long-
forgotten poems, sprang to my lips ; rare thoughts, the sweet,
fresh flowers of his genius, seemed suddenly to blossom out from
all the hidden nooks and stiU, shaded places of meraory, and the
fair children of his fancy, who had sung themselves to sleep in
my heart long ago, stirred, awoke, and smiled into my face again.
Happily for me, my companions fully understood and sym
pathized with my mood — so little was said, that much might
be felt. One sung
¦' Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon ; "
and whether it was that his voice, in its soft, pathetic tones,
was peculiarly suited to the mournful words and air, or that
the scene itself mingled its melodious memory with the sing
ing, I know not ; but never before had I been so affected by
the song.
On our way back to Ayr, we called to soe the sister and
nieces of Burns, — Mrs. Begg and her daughters, — who we
had been assured were kindly accessible to visitors. This
visit was altogether the most interelting and gratifying event
of the day. Mrs. Begg lives in a simple little rose-embowered
cottage, about a mile from her birthplace, where all who seek
1 er with a respectful interest receive a courteous and cordial

120 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
welcome. Mrs. Begg is now about eighty years of age, but
looks scarcely above sixty, and shows more than the remains
of remarkable beauty. Her smile could hardly have been
sweeter, or her eyes finer, at twenty. Her sight, hearing, and
memory seem unimpaired ; her manners are graceful, modest,
and ladylike, and she converses with rare intelUgence and
animation, speaking with a shght, sweet Scottish accent. Her
likeness to Naysmith's portrait of her brother is very marked
— her eyes are peculiarly like the idea we have of his, both
by pictures and description — large, dark, lustrous, and chan
ging. Those eyes shone with new brightness as I told her of
our love for the memory of her beloved brother, our sympathy
in his sorrows, and our honor for his free and manly spirit —
when I told her that the new world, as the old, bowed to the
mastery of his genius, and were swayed to smiles or tears by
the wondrous witchery of his song. But when I spoke my
admiration of the monument, and said, " What a joy it would
have been to him, could he have foreseen such noble recog
nitions of his greatness ! " she smiled mournfully, and shook
her head, saying, " Ah, madam, in his proudest moments, my
poor brother nover dreamed of such a thing ; " then added
that his death chamber was darkened and his death agony
deepened by want and care, and torturing fears for the dear
ones he was to leave. I was reminded by her words of the
expression of an old Scotch dame in our country, on hearing
of the completion of this monument : " Puir Rob ; he asked
for broad, and now they gie him a stane."
Mrs. Begg says that Naysmith's portrait of her brother is
tho best, but that no picture could have done full justice to
the kindUng and varying expression of his face. In her
daughters, who are pleasant and interesting women, you can
trace a strong family resemblance to the poet. The three
sons of Burns are yet Uving — two are in tho army, and one
has a situation under government, at Dumfries. All three

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 121
are widowers. When I saw her, Mrs. Begg was expecting
daily the two youngest, the soldiers, who as often as possible
visit Ayr, and cherish as tenderly as proudly the memory of
their father.
It was with deep emotion that I parted from this gentle and
large-hearted woman, in whose kindred and 'likeness to the
glorious peasant I almost felt that I had seon him, hoard his
voice with all its searching sweetness, and had my soul sound
ed by the deep divinings of his eyes. It seems, indeed) a
blessed thing, that, after the sorrow which darkened her youth,
the beholding the pride of her house sink into the grave in his
prinre, broken hearted by the neglect of friends, the contempt
and cruelty of foes, by care and poverty, and, bitterest of all,
by a weary weight of self-reproach, that she has lived to see
his children happy and prosperous — his birthplace and his
grave counted among the world's pilgrim shrines — to be her
self honored and beloved for his sake, and to sun her chiUed
age in tho noontide of his glory.
From Ayr we took the railway to Glasgow, which place
we did not reach till after dark. In the morning we rose
early, took a carriage, and drove to the cathedral, to which
we were so fortunate as to gain admittance, even at that un
usual hour. This is a couiraandingly situated, vast, and
gloomy edifice, chiefly remarkable as the only cathedral in
Scotland spared by Kno.x and his compeers at tho time of the
reformation. It is raore massive than beautiful, but has a
certain heavy grandeur about it, that, seen as we saw it, in
the chiU and grayness of the early morning, oppresses one to
a painful degree. In the extensive, dark, and melancholy
crypts beneath this cathedral is laid the scene of a meeting
between Francis Osbaldistone and the Macgregor in Scott's
Rob Roy.
On a hei^t back of the cathedral is the Glasgow Necrop-
11

122 . HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
oils, containing some fine monumental sculptures, particularly
conspicuous among which is a statue of John Knox.
Glasgow, for a manufacturing town, makes a very hand
some appearance. Many of the public buUdings are of a fine
stylo of architecture ; and the planted squares, those fresh
breathing-places off the crowded business streets, are truly-
beautiful. In Waverley Square stands a noble column,
crowned With a statue of Scott.
About eight o'clock we took the steamer to go up the
Clyde, Loch Long, and Loch Goil. The air was fresh, and
somewhat too keen ; but the sunUght was briUiant, and we
greatly enjoyed the trip. The first object of particular in
terest which we passed was the grand old rock-seated Castle
of Dumbarton, famous from the earliest periods of Scottish
history, and most sadly memorable as the scene of the betray
al of Wallace by the " fause Monteith."
It was not until we had passed up Loch Long into Loch
Goil that tho true Highland scenery began to open upon us in
its surpassing loveliness and rugged grandeur. The shores of
Loch Goil aro rough, barren, and precipitous, but now and
then we passed green-sheltered nooks and dark glens of in
describable beauty. I grew more and more silent and uncon
scious of my imraediate surroundings, for my very soul seemed
to have gone from me, to revel abroad in the wide, varied,
enchanting scene. At Loch Goil Head we took outside seats
on the stage coach, to drive through (I beg pardon, but I give
the name as it was given to me) " Big Hell Glen " to Inve
rary, on Loch Fyne.
Our driver on this occasion proved to be a decided charac
ter, having a rich, comic humor of his own, a good memory,
a fine voice, and admirable powers of mimicry. Ho told a
story well, and recited poetry like a tragedian. After inform
ing us that Loch Goil Head was the scone of Cafnpbell's fine

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 123
ballad of " Lord UUin's Daughter," he recited the poem very
effectively, though when he came to the passage, —
" One lovely hand was stretched for aid,
And one was round her lover," —
he took the liberty of making a sUght change in the text, his
version being, —
" One lovely hand was stretched for aid.
And ye may a' guess where was th' ither.''
This glen, of name unholy, is one of the most beautiful
passes I ever beheld — a wild, winding, shadowy, magnificent
place. Verily, indeed, 0 Juliet, " what's in a name ? " To
me it certainly seemed, on that lovely day, that " Nickie Ben,"
in annexing this mountain pass, had imprudently laid claira to
a choice bit of Heaven's own territory.
Inverary is a very small village, but we found there a nice,
weU-ordered hotel, where we were exceedingly comfortable —
a far better inn, surely, than the one at this place, on which
Burns perpetrated this witty and wicked epigram : —
"Whoe'er he be who sojourns here,
I pity much his case,
Unless he como to wait upon
The lord, their god, His Grace."
The Duke of Argylo's castle and grounds afe now, as then,
the chief features of the place after the scenery, which is
certainly very beautiful. It is truly a princely residence in
site and surroundings, though the castle itself is built neither
in a style of feudal grandeur nor modem elegance. After
dinner we took a stroll through the noble park, and ascended
a hill nearly ei^ht hundred feet high — in aU, a walk of over
five miles. The next morning proved stormy, and we were
obliged to post in a close carriage round the head of Loch
Fyne, through Glen Croe, past the head of Loch Long to
Tarbet, on Loch Lomond. The weather cleared up, so that

124 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
we were able to have a little stroll by the lake in the evening;
and the next morning, which was clear and bright, we walked
before breakfast over to Loch Long, where we took a drive
along tho shore in a peculiar, indescribable vehicle, called a
" dog cart." The morning air was a trifle too frosty, and we
wore on the shady side of the loch, or this drive along a most
picturesque road,, with some new beauty of scenery present
ing itself at every turn, would have been delightful beyond
compare. As it was, we soon found ourselves obliged to nurse
our rapture to keep it warm, and only by heroic efforts could
we restrain the zeroic tendency of our enthusiasm. So per
fectly benumbed did we become, that we were only too happy
to resign our state, descend from our " dog cart," and do the
last two miles on foot, cheerily inspired by thoughts of the
glowing fire and the hot breakfast which awaited us at the
pleasant inn at Tarbet.
The ascent of Ben Lomond from Rowardennan is not per
ilous or very difficult, but is exceedingly tedious. The distance
is about six miles': we rode the whole way on ponies trained
to tho business — strong, quiet, and surefooted animals, for
tunately for us, as, after the heavy rain of the preceding day,
the path was in an usually bad condition, with loose stones,
slippery rocks, deep mire, and shaky bogs.
We started, ^ell wrapped in cloaks, shawls, and furs, fearing
the breezes of the air on the mountain summits ; but we soon
found ourselves obliged to lay aside one after another of these
articles, for as we reached the heights we found the upper
day there not only as resplendently bright, but as soft, and sliU,
and summer-like, as the sweet, unseasonable morning we had
left in the valley.
About half way up, we paused to revel in a glorious view
of Loch Lomond, smiUng up to heaven in all its entrancing
beauty of sUvery waters, verdant clustering islands, and moun
tain-shadowed shores.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 125
I cannot beUeve that any most sweet and wondrous vision
of earthly loveliness or grandeur wiU have power to banish
that fair picture from my memory. But from the summit
what a mighty, measureless panorama — what a world of light
and shadow — what a glory of nature — what a wonder of
Govl lay beneath and around us ! Words can only give you
an idea of the extent, of the vast circumference, of that view.
To the east are the hills and valleys of Stirlingshire and the
Lothians, Stirling Castle and the windings of the Forth, the
Pentland Hills, Arthur's Seat, and Edinburgh Castle. In the
south, tho peak of Tinto, the city of Glasgow, Lanarkshire,
Ailsa Craig, the Isle of Man, and tho Isles of Bute and Arran
— and, gazing down beyond the outlet of Loch Lomond, you
see Dumbarton. But on the north I beheld the grandest sight
that ever met my gaze — mountains on mountains, stretching
away into the distance, and seeming like the mighty waves of
a dark sea stayed in their stormy swell, petrified and fixed
forever by the word of Omnipotence. Vexed indeed, and tu
multuous, must have been that awful chaotic ocean, ere its
vast billows and black hollows were resolved into the over-
lasting rock — for among these mountain forms there is a
wondrous and endless variety. Our guide, a bright young
laddie, seemed nowise awed by the imposing presence of the
mountains, but pointed out the chief of them, Ben Lodi, Bon
Voirlick, Ben More, Ben Lawers, Cairngorum, Ben Cruachan,
and Ben Nevis, as familiarly as he would speak of other and
lesser Bens of his acquaintance. Beneath us shone Loch
Lomond, Loch Katrine, Loch Ard — the wild country of Rob
Roy — the scene of the enchanting romance and song of
Scott. Yet here, for the first time, all the associations of
history and poetry lost their charm — I was above and beyond
them. On that subUme and lonely height, on whose still, pure
air floated no sound of human life, the thoughts and emotions
of my heart were reverential and religious. The stupendous
11*

126 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
meuntain peaks, the eternal hills around, seemed altars for
Nature's perpetual worship — towering types of the might and
majesty of God ; while the lakes with their silver shining, and
the green vaUoys with their still shadows and golden gleams
of autumnal sunUght, in all their wondrous beauty, spoke
sweetly to the awed spirit of divine love and protecting care.
Even while tremblingly acknowledging God from those awful
mountain summits, the soul strove in vain to ascend into " the
place of the Most High ; " it seemed to grow blind and dizzy,
and to flutter like a spent bird down into the abysses of .doubt
and despair. But from the valleys, the quiet, sheltered, lux
uriant valleys, the happy heart could look up confidingly, and
say, '¦ Abba, Father."
On the morning of the day following this memorable ascent,
we took the steamer for the head of Loch Lomond, passing
Rob Roy's Cave, and beholding much beautiful scenery. Re
turning to Inversnaid, we took a drosky and drove across a
rough, wild country, to Loch Katrine. On our way we were
shown the ruins of a Highland hut, the birthplace and early
home of Helen Mac Gregor.
At the head of Loch Katrine we embarked on a funny
Uttle steamer, which certainly did not hurry us past scenes on
which our imagination delighted to Unger. The head of this
lake is not particularly beautiful, but I found that my most
glowing conceptions had not surpassed the exquisite loveliness
of that portion which forms the opening scene of The Lady
of the Lake, Ellen's Isle, the Mountains Ben An and Ben
Venue, and the defile of the Trosaoks. Here island, and shore,
and hill are richly clad in magnificent foliage ; and the grark-
dour of rocky heights and dark ravines is so pleasantly re
lieved, so softly toned down, that you feel neither wonder nor
awe, but drink in beauty as your breatli — lose yourself in
delicious droamings, and revel in all the unspeakable rapture
of a pure and perfect deUght A remembrance which is an

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 127
especial joy to me now, " and ever shall be," is of a walk taken
with my friends that night along the shore of the lake, to the
pebbly strand opposite EUen's Isle, which seemed sleeping in
the moonlight, afloat on the still waters, even as its fair vision
had floated before my soul on the silver waves of the poet's
song. A stage-coach drive to Stirling, the next day, was over the
ground of the chase followed by Fitz-James. We passed the
once " bannered towers of Doune,'' now ruined and ivy-grown
— a fine, picturesque old castle. Crossing tho bridge over the
Forth, on entering the ancient town of Stirling, reminded me
of a characteristic anecdote I had lately heard of a sturdy
Scotch dame, who once, during a stormy season, had occasion
to cross the river at a ferry some twenty miles below. The
ferryman told her that the waters ran high, and the wind
proraised a hard blow, but that, as her business was pressing,
he would do his best to get her safely across. "Is there
muckle danger, mon ? " she asked, " Ay, woman, the passage
wad be perilous, but ye maun put your trust in Providence.''
" Na, na," says the prudent dame,, drawing back, " I'll no
trust in Providence so lang as there's a brig at Stirling," and
actually set forth to walk the whole distance round. There is
a volume of national character in this little story. An Irish
woman would have trusted in Providence, or rather in Saint
Patrick and the " holy Virgin," and told her beads across the
perUous passage, rather than wearied her bones by taking the
safe roundabout way.
The Castle of Stirling is one of the most grandly situated
of Scotland's old royal strongholds, and is a dark, frownipg
pile, thronged with sombre and bloody memories. The view
from the waU is one of the most charming in its beauty, and
soul-stirring in its associations, possible to take in any where,
with one slow, wondering sweep of the eye. Far away in the
distance towtr the majestic mountain shapes of the grand

128 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
Highlands ; beneath and around us lie the sUver courses of the
Forth, the Teith, the Allan, and all the richly-cultivated
country through which they wind, slowly and quite circui-
tously, as though reluctant to flow away from banks so lovely ;
while green and beautiful as any richest meadows smUe to-
wards.the smiUng skies the once bloody and trampled battle
fields of Falkirk, Cambuskenneth, and glorious Bannock-
burn. Our guide pointed out to us the remains of the terraced
garden, the round table, and the royal canal constructed under
the direction of Mary of Guise, the sallyport whence issued
"the Gudeman of Ballengeich," the "King of the Commons,''
on his incog, expeditions among the people, the window out of
which James II. hurled the Earl of Douglas after having slain
him with his own royal hand, and the tower in which Roder
ick Dhu is said to have died. Mary Stuart was crowned at
Stirling, and James VI. was here educated under Buchanan.
We reached Edinburgh in a rain, which proved to be the
beginning of the equinoctial storm, so that, though we have
spent three days in the grand old town, we have had but one
day of tolerable weather for sightseeing. On that, a friend,
who kindly undertook the office of cicerone, conducted us first
to tho castle, through pleasant planted grounds, where not
many years ago was a small loch. We found the view from
tho ramparts truly magnificent, though obscured somewhat by
an envious mist. Looking down, the contrast between the
dark, quaint, mouldering " old town," and the elegant, cheer
ful, prosperous new town, is the most curious and striking of
conceivable sights.
Of aU foreign places which I had ever seen, Edinburgh
wears to me the most familiar aspect. I joyfully recognize
object after object, street after street, as though " to the manor
born," and only returned after a few years of wandering or
weary exUe. I needed no guide to point out Arthur's Seat,

A TOUP. IN EUROPE. 129
Salisbury Crags, St. Leonard's, the Grass Market, and the
Canongate. In the most ancient part of the castle we wore shown some
rude, sombre apartments, once appropriated to Mary Stuart —
the one of most historical interest being a small dressing room,
in which James VI. was born.
On descending from the castle, we visited some interesting
old places, among tliem the house in which Boswell lived when
Johnson visited Edinburgh, the house of John Knox, and the
Canongate churchyard, in which reposes tho poet Ferguson,
beneath a tombstone erected by Burns, and where are also the
graves of Adam Smith, Dugald Stewart, and Dr. Gregory.
We went through the Parliament House, a building of no
great outward elegance, but containing some magnificent halls.
We unfortunately had not time to enter tho fine old Cathedral
of St. Giles, venerable as tho scone of a tumultuous struggle
for the establishment of Prelacy in the time of the first
Charles, and within whose walls the Regent Murray aud the
Marquis of Montrose were buried. By the way, no sight
which I beheld that day more startled my heart than that of
the stone balcony of an old house in tho Canongate, from
which the brutal Argyle and the shameless Gordon bent, ex
ulting over and mocking at the great Montrose, on his way to
receive his sentence.
The Tolbooth seemed no siranger to my eyes, and Holy-
rood Palace was as near as possible what I looked to see — a
building neither grand nor beautiful in itself, and interesting
alone for its tragic and romantic memories. After visiting
the picture gallery, which we soon " did," few or none of the
portraits being accounted genuine, we were shown through the
apartments of Mary and the ruins of the ancient abbey.
The presence chamber of the unfortunate queen, though far
from being of royal dimensions, richness, and splendor, accord
ing to modern ideas, must have been a handsome apartment

130 II APS AND MISHAPS OF
in Mary's time. The roof is of oak, beautifully carved, and
the walls are hung with quaint pictures and rare old prints.
It is a silent, bare, and desolate room now ; yet, as I stood
there, vision after vision of royal magnificence, and courtly
beauty, and splendid festivity passed before me — the shadows
of ages fled before the gleam of jewels, and the festal lights
of gay masks and nuptial rejoicings ; while the drear silence
of long sadness and fear was broken by rich music, the regal
rustle of brocade, the soft voices and pleasant laughter of fair
ladies, and the gallant words and light sword clang of noble
knights, as they wont down the dance. Standing in Mary's
own private apartment, looking at the bed on which her lovely
limbs had once reposed, and on the mirror which had so often
given back the fair reflection of her face, affected most power
fully my imagination and my sympathies. The miniature
which is here shown was nothing to me — I scarcely gave it a
glance, but stood gazing at that faithless glass, as though
hoping, by the mere force of my passionate desire, to evoke
again to its cold surface one warm vision of that rare royal
beauty and stately grace it had so often imaged forth in
times of gladness and grief. The little room in which the
queen sat at supper with David Rizzio, on the night of his
murder, and the private staircase up which the assassins came
from the chapel below, were next shown us. Here I felt little
wonder at Mary's oath of vengeance, or at her relentless re
demption of that oath. If she were innocent in the favor
shown the Italian, the woman was vilely insulted by the black
suspicion of the chief murderer, her husband ; if guilty, the
sovereign was outraged and defied by the ferocious deed ; and,
proud and passionate as she was, it is surely no marvel that
she swore to avenge the murder of her favorite, by the wild
death shrieks which rang through a heart which his sweet
music had so often soothed, and by his fifty-six wounds, whose
bloq^i stained forever the floor of her chamber. Standing on

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 131
the very spot, brought the scene of this frightful tragedy and
brutal outrage awfully near to the mind, and the passions of
the time more awfully home to the heart.
The old Abbey Church is accounted a fine Gothic ruin, but
is of a very lonely and dreary aspect ; the atmosphere seemed
to me heavy and noisome, and all the shadowy places haunted.
Our friend next conducted us to Carlton HiU, from which
we had a wide and beautiful view of the entire town and the
surrounding country. The clouds having obligingly dispersed
for a Uttle while, the sight was truly imposing and enchanting.
On this hill there are several fine monuments — the first, and
by far the finest, is that to Dugald Stewart. There is one to
Burns, not very tasteful or well proportioned, and another to
Professor Playfair ; then there is the Nelson Tower, and the
beautiful beginning of the National Monument, on the model
ofthe Parthenon.
I had inexpressible pleasure in contemplating the Scott
Monument, in Prince Street, which we next visited. This is
a fair, complete, noble, and fitting erection. The style is a
gorgeous Gothic, and all the elaborate detail is exquisitely
wrought out. It seems to me admirably in keeping with the
character and genius of Scott — ¦ a pure poetic creation, in the
grace of its form and the delicate beauty of its adornments,
yet magnificent and stately in its proportions — a proud and
princely structure. This monument enshrines Chantrey's noble
statue of the poet — sitting gracefully draped in a plaid, and
with his faithful dog at his feet. On our walk home we were
shown the house in which Scott lived for several years before
he built Abbotsford.
Our stay in Edinburgh being so limited, and the weather
so wretchedly unpleasant, I have not attempted to see much
of society, have not even delivered the letters I brought, but
contented myself with a dinner and an evening at the house

132 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
of Mr. George Combe, with whom I had a sUght personal
acquaintance. I here met some people whora I felt it a rare
good fortune to know. First among these I trust I may men
tion my kind hostess herself, the only surviving daughter of
Mrs. Siddons, and strikingly like her noble and beautiful
mother. It was absolutely startling to glance fitom the splen
did portraits, by Lawrence, of the immortal tragedienne, which
adorned tho walls, to her living, speaking, smUing picture in
our midst. *
Mr. Combe seems to retain vivid and pleasant recollections
of his visit to the United States, and to faithfully cherish his
transatlantic friendships ; and, what is more, he keeps his
early enthusiasm for, and generous interest in, all questions of
true reform and noble progress. Among other agreeable
guests whom I met at Mr. Combe's table was Mrs. Stirling, a
Scotch authoress of coKbrity, and a very charming woman,
and Mr. Robert Chambers, who astonished mo at first, by
being a younger man, by some twenty years, than I had ex
pected to see, and charmed me afterwards by the kindly affa
bility, fine humor, and generous feeling which marked his
manner and conversation.
I leave Edinburgh with painful reluctance, a feeling of
rebellious disappointment, at having missed so many of its
noble sights. Of all the cities of the world, it has long been
the one which I have regarded with the most intense interest,
and most eagerly desired to visit. The dark struggles of early
Scottish history — the long, fierce battle storms, lit by brief
splendors of heroism — the pomp of feudal power and old royal
pageants — holy martyrdoms for freedom and for God — Mary
Stuart's proud, sad, and tempestuous career — - the romance of
Scott, the poetry of Burns — all have conspired to give to this
place a charm for my heart and a power over my imagination
peculiar and preeminent. Thus it is only by a desperate

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 133
effort that I tore myself away, pledging myself solemnly to my
own heart to return at some " more convenient season," some
golden, future day.
Blackheath Park, London, October 15.
The morning of our leaving Edinburgh, though far from
brilliant, was not stormy, or chill, and we were sincerely
thankful for a cessation in the pelting rain which had made
"auld Reekie," with all her modern beauties, so thoroughly
dismal for the days of our visitation. We stopped at the
Melrose station, and, taking a carriage, drove over to Abbots
ford, sorae three miles. The country, though exceedingly
pleasant, did not strike us as remarkably picturesque ; and be
fore we dreamed of such a thing, we were at Abbotsford,
which lies low, on the banks of the Tweed, hidden from the
road by a thick plantation. The grounds are very beautiful,
and have, need 1 say, a peculiar mournful charm in all their
lovely lights and shades of greenery, from the recolle.ction that
he, the immortal master, planned and planted, and found his
purest, richest pleasure in adorning them.
The house itself is a superb, baronial-looking residence,
strikingly picturesque in effect, and wonderfully in keeping
with the mind and taste of the noble builder. It is one ofthe
most natural productions of his genius. You could almost
fancy it in all its varied forms of antique beauty, quaint and
strange, yet ever graceful and imposing — his light, enchanting
poetry and his glorious romance resolved into stone. It is a
curious pile — an odd yet not inharmonious assemblage of
architectural ideas, half religious, half feudal, siraple yet state
ly — the charming conceits and bold fancies of poetry and the
spirit of olden romance, revealed in towers and turrets, arches
and windows, gables and chiraney tops.
The entrance hall at Abbotsford is not* very large, but is
beautiful, and tastefully hung with armor, antlers, weapons,
and interesting relics from many lands. But after the guide
12

134 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
pointed to a glass case, which contained the suit of clothes last
worn by Sir Walter, I saw nothing beside in this apartment.
These brought the picture of the grand old man, worn down
and broken before his time, with wondrous vividness before
me. I could see him as he tottered about his grounds, or sat
in tho shade of some favorite tree, with his faithful WiUie
Laidlaw — tho great soul light in his eye dimmed with deep
ening mists, and his gigantic genius shrunken into a babe's
bounded and bewildered capacity. I could see on his worn
brow the troubled struggle of memory and thought, in his
eyes the faint momentary gleaming of the old inspiration ;
but by the sweet, mournful smile of his wan Ups, I could see
— ah ! nothing more, for the real tears which rained from my
eyes seemed to hide tho unreal picture of my fancy. .
In the beautiful little study in which the great novelist
wrote many of his works, I felt the air surcharged with the
living magnetism of his genius. So near he seemed, so
strangely recent his presence, so inevitable his speedy return,
my raind grew bewildered, and my heart beat hurriedly and
half expectantly. My very senses obeyed the strong iUusion
of my excited iraagination. I looked towards the door by
which he used to enter. I listened, and spoke low. I dared
not approach his writing table and sit in his chair, for fear he
might surprise me when he should come in. But O, how soon
passed over my heart the chUl returning wave of recollection,
of reason ! Gone, gone forever — dust, dust these twenty
years !
The library, drawing and dining rooms, are very elegant
apartments, commanding some charming views. There are
several fine pictures, by foreign artists, coUectod by Sir Wal
ter ; but of more interest to me were the family portraits.
Of these there are two of the poet, taken in his early boyhood,
wonderfully like those painted in hi^ manhood and old age.
There is a handsome full-length likeness of the last Sir Walter

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 135
and several portraits of his sister Mrs. Lockhart, whose son
is the present master of Abbotsford. Of all the weapons cu
rious and memorable in the armory, of all the valuable relics,
I was most moved by the sight of the pistols of Napoleon,
Rob Roy's gun, and the sword of Montrose.
The wet state of tho grass preventing our wandering about
the grounds, we were obliged to retum much sooner than we
would have chosen to Melrose.
Melrose Abbey we were disappointed to find in the midst
of the Uttle town, not far from the railway station ; but we
soon forgot this unromantic circumstance when we found our
selves wandering under its grand pillared arches. It is a lofty,
extensive ruin, retaining rauch of the architectur.al splendor
and sculptural beauty of its time of pride. Glorious as it was
to us, seen under a dull sky, I could not conceive of any thing
moi'e majestic, more religiously beautiful, than " fajr Melrose,"
viewed " by the palo moonlight."
Frora Melrose we drove to Dryburgh, where the sun made
ample amends for all shortcomings, by beaming upon us in
mellow, golden brightness. Dryburgh Abbey lies off the pub
lic road, within a nobleman's park, deeply imbosomed in noble
trees, among which are some of the grandest old yews I have
ever seen. It must have been an imposing structure once, of
great size, and rare architectural beauty ; but it is now a com
plete ruin — broken every where, desolated, and ivy-grown —
the most mournful, lonely, and solemn place I ever beheld.
Yet is the spot lovely with a calm, still, religious loveliness.
The deep silence here is not drear and awful, but reverential,
prayerful ; the loneliness is not sad or oppressive ; you feel
that the present famiUar world is only shut out ; that the far,
strange past may be brought near ; and that the presence of
Him who is " from everlasting to everlasting " may be more
deeply felt.
O, of all places in the wide world, this surely is the one

136 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
most meet for the last long rest of a poet, wjio, in the midst
of his glory, had suffered and sorrowed deeply. As I stood
hy the tomb of Scott, I felt that it was well that he should
slumber there, where the moss and ivy creep over the moul
dering wall, and the winds sigh through the broken arches and
sweep down the desolate aisles. Had he died in his happy
and glorious days, in all the vigor and splendor of his powers,
I would have said. Let him Uo in a gorgeous mausoleum in
some stately minster, in the heart of a great tpwn. But he
shrank M'earily away from the w^orld in his last days ; so should
his grave be lonely. With his noble intellect in ruins, and the
shadow of deep sorrow on his spirit, he fell asleep. So should
he rest among the ruins whore the ancient shadows lie.
At Melrose my friend Mr. N  was obliged to leave us,
and from thence Miss N^  and myself pursued our way
towards London in tho interesting character of " unprotected
females.'' We spent the first night at Newcastle upon Tyne.
On entering the town, in the evening, I had boon much struck
by a brief view of a sombre old castle, which towered over
the railway, — built, the guard told ys, in the time of William
the Conqueror, — and immediately after supper, as the night
I was clear, I proposed to my friend a visit to an object of so
much interest. The distance was trifling, and our kind land
lady gave us very careful directions ; yet as the streets were
crooked, and not very brilliantly lighted, we were obliged to
arrest several errand girls in mid career, and press them into
our service, as guides, before we attained to the lonely dark
square, surrounding on three sides the massive and venerable
old stronghold. Under a pale, uncertain moonlight, in that
shadowy spot, the effect was awfully grand. The hein-ht of
the great tower seemed stupendous — certainly not less than
five hundred feet.
After this bit of romance and grandeur hunting, we took a
fancy to see something of the better and business part of the

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 137
town. For this purpose we captured a small boy, and were
by him safely piloted down swift Saturday-night tides, and
amid cross currents of hurrying people, through several hand
some streets, and past innumerable tempting shops. Our os
tensible object was to obtain a print of the old castle whose
black shadows yet haunted us.
On the following day, as we were leaving at a very early
hour for York, we were astonished, and a little taken aback,
to flnd that the morning Ught had battered down that mighty
tower to about a third of the altitude which had so imposed
upon us under the wan, weird light of a misty moon.
Immediately on breakfasting at York, we went up to the min
ster to attend merning service. At flrst I was awed and bewil
dered by the vast height and extent, the unimagined grandeur,
of this edifice, this " mountain of architecture," and felt glad to
solace my oppressed senses within the beautiful choir, listening
to the divine music of the organ and the chant. The other
ceremonials of the service were trifling to me, the discourse
which followed nothing. I had no patience with the man for
his weak sermonizing. It seemed to me an impertinence, a
piepe of unpardonable presumption, for any man to preach in
this solemn, majestic temple, fit alone for music and prayer.
After service, wo long wandered through and around the
minster, striving to familiarize ourselves to its exceeding gran
deur. O for a mastery of vivid thought, for a wealth of pic
turing words, that I might give a clear idea of the greatness
and magnificence of this wondrous structure I But a stray
bird, fluttering bewildered among its gigantic columns and
richly-wrought arches, were scarcely less capable of repeat
ing the organ notes swelling there, than I of worthily painting
the inner or outer glories of its architecture.
As the day was beautiful, my friend and I took a long walk
on the old wall of the city, and an outside survey of the castle,
12*

188 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
the most ancient portion of which is so fearfuUy memorable
as the scene of the self-destruction of thousands of be
sieged and persecuted Jews in the dark days of old. After
visiting the ruins of St. Mary's Abbey, we returned to the
minster for afternoon service. This time we did not enter the
choir, but remained in the nave, wandering slowly through the
aisles, under the glory of the stained windows, leaning against
the pillars, and letting the full flood of organ music and swell
ing anthem sweep over our souls, as it surged along the vaulted
roof and rolled down the columned distances. Music, archi
tecture, and coloring seemed to me a beautiful one-souled
trinity there, so that the sound of the first would give one
blind a true ideal vision of the unseen splendors around him ;
and the sight of the two last triumph over the sealed sense
of the deaf, and translate melody by beauty. It seemed, that,
could that grand organ harmony and that glorious singing take
silent shape, and pass into visible beauty, — such majestic, lofty
forms, and such radiant, religious coloring they would wear, —
or could those soft splendors and rich glooms fade suddenly
from sight into such mellow seraphic strains, they would melt ;
or if those solemn arches and towering columns could dis
solve into sound, in billows of such sublime music as rolled
from that grand organ, they would pour themselves away.
Nowhere is the sense of antiquity so impressive as in an old
minster Uke this. As I gazed around me, I thought of the
royal splendor, the magnificent array, of the beautiful Phil-
lippa's marriage procession, which once swept over where I
now stood, and of the warUke pomp of the third Richard's
coronation, when there was a silken surge of banners under
these arches, and the clang of armor and tramp of mailed feet
resounded through those aisles. I thought how generation
after generation had wondered and worshipped here — how
many centuries of suns had been glorified in those gorgeous

A TOUE IN EUROPE. 139
windows — through what countless days had the fuU-volumed
swell of holy sound boon liore succeeded by awestruck silence
— the ebb and flow of melodious adoration — and how, while
generation after generation of men had been swept from the
earth, kingdoms wasted, dynasties destroyed, religions over
turned — this grand type of human aspiration towards the vast
ness and majesty of the divine life has endured, in almost its
first sacredness and solemnity — a monuinent of ancient faith,
a towered worship, God's praise in pillared stone.
I have been living very quietly, for the two weeks past, in
one of the most pleasant suburbs of London. Yet I fear the
beautiful home life which has made my deepest happiness in
health, and my sweetest consolation in Ulness, while here, is a
poor preparation for the strange, excitable, restless life of the
continent. One day lately we spent at Hampton Court — that famous
old palace of Wolsey. It was considered a structure of more
than royal magnificence in tho time of the haughty prelate,
but to modern taste is neither truly grand nor highly pictu
resque. It is a dingy, red brick, rambling edifice, or rather a
congregation of quaint edifices. Tlie grand hall is gorgeously
beautiful, and among the multitudes of pictures are many which
it is a raro delight to behold. The cartoons of Raphael are
here, and Vandyke's equestrian picture of the first Charles —
the grandest portrait in the world. Here are the famous court
beauties of Charles IL, by Lely and Verelst ; pictures too
well known through prints, and the charming descriptions of
Mrs. Jameson, for me to und#i-take to reproduce by my very
imperfect sketching. Through all those royally appointed
apartments and lofty galleries there are countless heart-stir
ring pictures of those whose lives have been woven in threads
of silver brightness, or guilty blackness, or tragical blood red
ness, into the splendid woof of English higtory. The grounds

140 HAPS AND MISHAPS.
about Hampton Court and the park are the most glorious
enclosures I have seen in England. A view or a walk down
the great chestnut avenue would repay one for a pilgrimage ;
and all the old trees of the immense demesne are more regal
ly beautiful than one can conceive. They seem conscious of
their royal estate — crowned with the glory and majesty of
ages.

CHAPTER VII.
Paris  The Louvre. — The Madeleine. — Place de la Concorde.
— Chapel of St. Ferdinand. — Neuilly. — Hotel des Inva-
LroES  Tomb of Napoleon. — Notre Dame. — Pere La Chaise. —
Versailles. — Avignon. — Papal Palace. — Inquisition. — Pont
de Gard. — Vaucluse  Marseilles. — Voyage to Genoa. —
Genoa. — Cornice Road. — Pisa. — Voyage from Leghoe.v to
CrviTA Vecouia. — Rome. ¦ — Tile Coliseum  The Catacombs. —
Tomb of Cecilia Metella. — Appian Way  Baths of Caracal
la  Columbaria. — Capitol. — Via Sacra. Paris, October SS.
We left London on the morning of the 20th for Paris, via
Folkstone and Boulogne. The day was remarkably fine, and
the long-dreaded channel proved as smooth and tranquil as a
sheltered inland lake. Boulogne is an unpicturesque town,
backed by a flat, uninteresting country. The only distinctive
ly national sights at the landing were the numbers of lierce-
looking little soldiers, in ugly blue coats, and uglier pointed
hats ; and of peasant women performing the work of porters
— bravely shouldering heavy luggage, and carrjing it on shore
in triumph, to the evident admiration of their lazier halves.
Tho examination of our passports at Boulogne was a light
affair, as was the examination of our luggage at Paris, where
we arrived by rail, at about 1 1 o'clock, P. M.
Early on the ^juorning of the 21st we all walked to the
Louvre, where we spent nearly tho whole of the day. After
all I had heard of this magnificent palac^p, I was astonished
by its vastness and splendor. Its architecture, while elaborate
and royally gorgeous, is by no means wanting in imposing
(141)

142 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
grandeur. Some of our party enjoyed most the gaUeries of
sculpture ; but I reveUed among the pictures. Think what it
was to wander through miles of glorious paintings and immor
tal statuary ! Raphael and Murillo received here, as else
where, my highest homage — but I was much impressed by
the works of David. Their style is distinctively French,
but sublimated French. In his pictures. Napoleon always ap
pears the triumphant genius of glory, or the imperial soul of
majestic power — in action, a hero — in repose, a god.
After leaving the Louvre, we drove to the Church of La
Madeleine, a wondrously beautiful edifice, in the pure Greek
style. It has little of religious solemnity in its outward gran
deur or inward magnificence ; but, as a triuraphal temple of
art, it is the glory of modern France. It contains some fine
paintings and noble sculpture.
As I stood on the steps of this church, and looked down to
the Place de la Concorde, marked by its towering Egyptian
obelisk, my soul staggered under the awful thought that these
peaceful streets and that quiet square were once one vast sur
ging, raging sea of human ferocity — that near where the two
ornamented fountains are playing in the pleasant sunshine,
stood the guiUotine, spouting blood ! — that there had mad
yells, and brutal howls, and low murmurs of infernal satisfac
tion hailed alike the murder of Louis, Marie. Antoinette, the
Princess Elizabeth, Charlotte Corday, and the just punish
ment of Danton, Robespierre, and their fiendish crew.
After leaving the Madeleine, we took a delightful survey of
the noble palace and gardens of the Tuileries, and a drive
through the Boulevards, which surpass in gay and animated
beauty all I had imagined.
We were content with an outside survey of the gloomy
prison of Ihe Concif rgerie, which frowns with dark memories
and the guilt of countless, unexpiated crimes.
Yesterday we began a golden day, by driving, in the glory

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 143
of a lovely morning, through the Champs Elysees, past Napo
leon's magnificent Arc de Triomphe de I'Etoile, to the beau
tiful Chapel of St. Ferdinand, erected upon the scene of the
death of the late Duke of Orleans. This contains an altar
to the Virgin, over which is a fine group of Mary and the
child Jesus, and beyond which is a Descent from the Cross, by
Triquetti. On the left is an altar dedicated to St. Ferdinand,
and opposite is a noble and touching statue of the dying
Prince, with a lovely angel figure, sculptured by the Princess
Marie, at his head, supporting him, and commanding his soul
to Heaven. Behind the central altar is a picture represent
ing the scene of his death, with his family and friends about
him. The grief in the bowed figure of the poor mother, hid
ing her face in the cushions by his side, is alone deeply
affecting. In front ot^^the chapel is a buUding, containing
several apartments draped in black, for the accommodation of
the royal family on their visits to tho mournful spot which was
the scene of an event fatal to their fortunes, if not to those of
France. The room we entered contained two motionless clocks, cased
in black marble, one marking the hour and the moment at
which the Duke was thrown from his carriage — the other,
those at which he died. A touching idea, though peculiarly
French. From the scene of the Duke's death, we passed naturally,
as though foUowing up tho disasters of his doomed family, to
the ruins of the Palace of Neuilly, one of the most melan
choly of sights. This favorite summer residence qf Louis
Philippe had evidently little of tlie royal and imposing about
it, but was a quiet, lovely, home-like place, sanctified by much
of domestic happiness, purity, and simplicity of Ufe — so is
its destruction, its desolation, the more touching to behold.
The objects of most interest in the grounds are a monument
erected on the spot where a cannon ball, fired from the Bois

144 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
de Boulogne, feU at the feet of Louis PhUippe in 1 830, and
where a few days after the crown of France was offered him ;
the tomb of Diana of Poitiers ; and the garden of the young
Comte de Paris.
From NeuiUy we drove through the Bois de Boulogne to
the Champs de Mars, on which grand parade ground we were
so fortunate as to witness a fine display of cavalry and flying
artillery. From- the sight of all the animated pomp of mimic
war we went to the Hotel des Invalides, to behold what real
war makes o^men, in the maimed, crippled, and scarred
soldiers of the empire. But these brave old flghters have a
noble retreat for their declining years, and seem hale, hearty,
and happy, as they sit and talk together on the terrace in the
genial sunshine, stroll through the fine arcades, or reverently
kneel in the chapel. «,
In tho council chamber of the hotel we saw a noble bust
of Napoleon le Grand, by Bosio, and one doubly ignoble by
comparison of Napoleon le Petit, by Emile Thomas. Oppo
site these hangs the magnificent portrait of Napoleon, in his
coronation robes. Our guide, who was an old soldier, and a
devout worshipper of the immortal Corsican, spoke of Louis
Napoleon, as his " future Emperor, '' with apparent pleasure,
ahnost enthusiasm. By the way, the Prince President dis
plays most strikingly his keen and worldly wisdom, in repair
ing and adding to the palaces and churches of Paris, and vig
orously carrying on all popular public works — thus, while
improving and bea-atifying the city, employing thousands of
workmen and artists, who are, of course, kept out of aU mis-
chi-ef. There is nothing so good as broad to stop the mouths
of the politically disaffected; and the true secret of this
Napoleon's popularity, next to that sublimity of impudence
which takes the French like an astounding coup de theatre,
lies in the encouragement of labor, and the security to trade,
given by his government — that is, himself. But to return.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 145
In the large and handsome library founded by Napoleon, we
saw the famous picture of the Emperor crossing Mount St.
Bernard, by David, I believe, in which he is very sublimely
represented as dashing up an awful steep on a fiery, rearing
steed, in a magnificent costume, and a most dramatic attitude
— a painting full of eclat, but in true grandeur falling far be
hind the real picture of the real Napoleon, in his gray surtout,
quietly ascending the mountain pass on a mule, led by an
Alpine guide.
We were allowed to enter the dome, where the nation is
paying almost divine honors to the ashes of the Emperor, by
giving him one of the grandest burial-places and raonuraents
which glory and poetry could devise, and art, power, and
wealth could execute. It is not alone a gorgeous temple for the
munificent offerings of the nation to the manes of her dead
glory, but a vast chapelle expiatoire for the world who im
piously rebelled against, and finally rejected, his Majesty of
majesties. When this tomb, with all its grand surroundings,
shall be finished, in raost imperial splendor and triumphal
pomp will ho rest who died in hopeless exile, and reposed for
so many years " on a lone, barren rock," in the far seas.
Here, for the resounding beat of waves on that drear shore,
will be the billowy swell and majestic roll of grand organ
music ; and for the wild wailing of the ocean winds, the
mighty sorrow and soleran supplication of countless masses
said for the repose of his soul.
From the Hotel des Invalides we went to the Luxembourg,
a noble and beautiful palace, though far smaller than the
Louvre. I wUl not attempt to describe it. Imagine an edifice
very magnificent and princely outwardly — very grand, lofty,
and uncomfortable, inwardly. I thought the SaUe des Stances
far surpassing in beauty and dignity the English Chamber of
Peers ; and some of the modern French pictures in the
gaUery are, to ray apprehension, finer than many by the old
13

146 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
masters in the Louvre. I was especiaUy delighted with one
or two by Paul Delaroche.
From the Luxembourg to Notre Dame, wWch interiorly
scarcely answered my expectations. Its whiteness' and light
ness, on that brUUant day, took much from its vastness and
grandeur. Yet it is a noble old cathedral, and little needs the
added grace of countless glorious associations — chief among
which must live forever the coronation of Napoleon and
Josephine. From Notre Dame to the Hotel de Cluny, a picturesque old
mansion, built on the spot, or near the spot, where once stood
the palace of the Emperor JuUan, and of some of the earliest
kings of Gaul. There are yet to be seen some curious Roman
aqueducts, dungeons, and subterranean passages. The house
itself now contains an immense and choice collection of an
tiquities, curious manuscripts, mirrors, pictures, statuary, carv
ing, cabinets, miniatures, china furniture — all imaginable
interesting and beautiful relics. There is one magnificent in
laid cabinet, once belonging to Louis XIV., which, opening,
displays some exquisite paintings on ivory, which modern art
could not excel; and there are innumerable objects of historic
or romantic interest, making tho shadowy old chateau altogether
one of the most charming sights of Paris. October 24.
Yesterday being very stormy, I could only spend a short
time at the Louvre, and visit the manufactory of the Gobelin
Tapestry, where I was astonished and delighted by rarely beau
tiful specimens of this splendid fabric, and by observing the
wondrous art, care, and patience by which they are produced.
To-day "we have visited Pere la Chaise, taken a stroll in the
gardens of the Tuileries, and attended service at the Made
leine. It was a lovely morning for the cemetery ; the air had the
soft, golden sunniness of Indian summer, and a sweet south

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 147
wind was wooing, rather than tearing, the withered leaves from
tho trees along our paths. Beautiful emblems of death, they
fluttered down in showers of crimson, and gold, and bronze,
upon chapel and tomb, and draped the humblest grave with a
gorgeous pall. Pere la Chaise, though more crowded, and
with less natural beauty, than some of our cemeteries, is a
cheerful and lovely city of the dead, and has a glory and a
sacredness which none of ours yet possess, from enshrining
tho ashes, the all that could die, of many whose memories Uve
in immortalities of love, and power, and sorrow, beating on
forever in the life currents of the heart of the world.
I thought, " 0 Death, where is thy sting ? " where are
thy terrors, thy gloom, and thy loneliness ? when marking
over countless tombs, beautiful Uttle chapels, and ornamented
shrines, lovely, secluded, holy places, where grieving friends
may come for meditation, prayer, and sweet remembering —
or gaze down long pleasant flowery vistas of graves, hallowed
with gleaming crosses, and hung with votive wreaths.
-The French certainly do not, like too many among us,
thrust their dead away into the earth, and thenceforth avoid
the spot, as though pestilences were exhaling from the grave
turf. At alraost every tomb you see flowery evidences of fre
quent and recent visitation. It is true that this sometimes
looks more like the expression of a sentimental than a deep
sorrow ; and doubtless the rich often drop in at these elegant
little chapels, and leave votive wreaths, very much as they
would make a round of fashionable calls, and leave cards at
the doors of their acquaintances.
The first tomb to which we were conducted was that of
Abelard and Heloise. This is a largo, imposing monument —
a small chapel, in the Saxon style, beautifully sculptured,
buUt over the original sarcophagus of the immortal lovers,
surmounted by their recumbent statues. Their figures have
a dignified, sorrowful grace, and their faces a mournful beauty.

148 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
which would touch and trouble one to whom their history
were unknown. It is little consolation, to one remembering
the long agony of their severed livesi to read on this tonjb
that here, in death, they are reunited — to -know that the
eyes forbidden to look devotion and tenderness, and con
demned to watching and tears, are here quenched in the same
darkness — that the love-warm lips, once torn asunder, now
meet, " dust to dust " — that the ardent and faithful hearts,
which bled apart with one anguish, now mingle " ashes to
ashes." It was with a shock of strange eraotion that I found myself
standing by the unmarked grave of Marshal Ney. A shiver
ran through my frame, and my heart seemed for the moment
motionless with sorrowful awe. There is here no monument,
no chapel, no cross — only a railing and a few flowers about
the grave. There was one crimson rose beside it, which I
could but dream had drawn its deep coloring from his rich
heroic blood.
At almost every stop we came upon the resting-place of a
great novelist or poet, a warrior, a philosopher, an orator, or
a grand tragedian : Balzac, Moliere, La Fontaine, Madame
Cottin, De Genlis, Bernardin St. Pierre, Delavin ; St. Cyr,
Macdonald, Suchet, Junot, Gobert ; Laplace, Sicard, Constant ;
De Seze, Manuel, Foy ; Mars, Duchesnois, Talma. The
tomb of Bellini is also here, and those of several other cele
brated composers.
As though strongly to contrast the shadowy solemnity and
religious quiet of death with all the brightness, flush, and
glory of life, we drove' from Pere la Chaise to the» gardens of
the Tuileries, where we strolled for nearly an hour. I never
beheld, nor do I believe the world could furnish, a raore
charming and splendid sight. The sunshine, though brilliant,
was deliciously mellow — it was molten beauty, and glory, and
joy. It did not seem to pour down upon you, but to float

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 149
around you, and flow over you, on the softly-undulating waves
of air. Then there were fountains in play, innumerable flovv-
ers in bloom, and trees in all the gorgeousness of their autum
nal foilage. The promenaders were many, fortning gay,
varied, picturesque, and -peculiarly Parisian groups. There
were ladies, surpassingly tasteful in dress and graceful in car
riage ; elegant gentlemen, with the blackest of mustaches ;
beautiful children, with their bonnes ; students, with a charac
teristic jauntiness in the pose of their hats, with a dash of
recklessness in the tie of their cravats, and a general disregard
of conventionalisms in the color of their waistcoats and the
plaid of their pantaloons; grisettes, with nicely-fitting polka
jackets, snow-white collars, and the most coquettish little caps
imaginable. There can be few finer views in the world than the one
from^ the front of the palace, down the central avenue, to the
Place de la Concorde and L'Arc de Triomphe.
As I stood . there, gazing, I thought what a sharp pang of
anguish must have shot through the heart of poor Marie An
toinette, as from the ignominious cart of the condemned, or
the scaffold of execution, she looked over the vile crowd of
her murdei-ers, to the scene of her former pleasures and
splendors. October 97.
Yesterday we spent in the palace and gardens of Versailles.
I feel it as a relief that I am near the last hour of my last day
in Parjs, and thus may be excused from any attempt at de
scribing the matchless beauties of architecture, glories of art,
and unapproachable splendors of that voyal wonder of the
world. I found that history, romance, and poetry had given
me but a faint and partial idea of the vast extent, the dazzUng
gorgeousness and magnificence, of this place. The picture
galleries are storehouses of the treasures of centuries, where
every glorious scene in the history of France or the Uves of
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150 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
her monarchs and heroes is before you, and every face famous
or infamous in her annals looks down upon you. I had in
tense pleasure in thus reading the splendid military and ira
perial career of Napoleon. But by far the grandest historical
pictures are those of a later era, by Horace Vernet, who with
his wondrous genius has thrown a splendor around even the
war in Algiers and tho taking of Rome.
A relief and a rest, after the bewildering richness of the
palace and tho gardens, was a visit to La Petit Trianon, the
favorite retreat of Marie Antoinette. There is a mournful
loveliness, a touching quietude, about this Uttle palace and its
grounds, especially at this season of the year, strangely in con
sonance with memories of its beautiful and fated mistress.
There is, near the borders of a beautiful lake, a weeping wil
low, planted by her own hand, — most fitting and faithful me
morial, — and in a retired and lovely spot, you come upon the
exquisite Uttle hamlet, a charming fancy of the young queen,
where the royal family often amused themselves by playing
villagers. Marie Antoinette was a milkmaid, and nothing
could be more beautiful than her laiterie. OENOA, J\roVEMBER 6.
Thus far towards the seven-hilled city of pilgrimages —
thus far in safety and ever-improving health. I seem to drink
in healing with every breath of this balmy southern air — to
receive strength from the beautiful earth I tread, and hope
from the delicious skies above rae. I begin to feel a glad con
fidence that the first great object of my tour is to be fully
attained, and that, under the beneficent influences of this gonial
climate, I shall gain vigor of body and elasticity of spirit —
shall renew my life, and my joy in life.
The journey from Paris to Avignon was not one of much
interest. The scenery during the latter part was very fine,
but the rainy weather prevented our seeing it to advantage.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 151
Our first stopping-place was Chalons, on the Saone, a pleas
antly situated, queer and quaint town, as old as Julius Csesar.
Frora Chalons we took a narrow, dirty little steamer for
Lyons, which we reached at night and left in the morning,
so had no time to see the famous cathedral and its more
famous clock. At Lyons we took the Rhone, on a yet nar
rower and dirtier steamer, for Avignon, stopping a night at
Valence, a picturesque old town, where Napoleon once studied.
The scenery along the Rhone, as you approach Avignon, is
exceedingly beautiful, and the foliage at this tirae was both
soft and gorgeous in coloring. All along, the gold, crimson,
and bronze tints of autumn wore mingled with the brightest
and loveliest living green.
Avignon, though a densely populated, busy town, with some
handsorae raodern buildings and bridges, has a quaint, glooray,
and peculiar aspect. The noisome shadows of Popish tyr
anny, superstition, and persecution seem thrown upon it yet
from the old Papal palace and the prisons of the Inquisition.
Remembering well the vivid and powerful description given
by Dickens, in his charming Pictures from Italy, we
visited these places, but found them corapletely transformed
into barracks and store rooms, scarcely a trace of their origi
nal state and purpose remaining. Yet there was, in the very
atmosphere of the dim, cavernous hall where the 'Inquisition
sat to examine, deliberate, and condemn, and in that of the
chamber of torture, something that sent a cold horror chilling
along my veins and creeping through ray very bones. The
tower in which Rienzi was imprisoned is yet standing, but in
ruins — in truth, the whole palace has an air of dreary decay
and abhorrent abandonment. Thank God for tho token I I could
but commiserate the soldiers who swarmed in these gloomy
barracks. However- stupid and uniraaginative they look, it
seeras that in storray nights they raust fancy they hear the in
numerable victims " of the bloody faith " shrieking under those

152 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
blackened arches — the prayer, the sob, the vain appeal for
mercy, the crack of bones upon tho wheel, the " sharp, short
cry down oubliettes."
After the chill, fOggy afternoon in which we beheld this
gloomiest of all sights, we had at Avignon two of the most
glorious days imaginable. On the first of these wo took a
carriage and drove to the Pont de Gard, a bridge built along
the side of an old Roman aqueduct — a work stupendous in
height and strength, but marvellously Ught, graceful, and airy
in its effect. The scenery about this noble work has apeculiar'
character of quiet, lonely beauty, and bears the look of having
been ever deserted since its grand conquerors and warlike
masters departed. On this excursion we first saw olives, figs,
and the rich pomegranate, bursting with its crimson ripeness.
The second day we visited- the fountain and romantic haunts
of Vaucluse, the picturesque home of Petrarch. This is the
most peculiar, lonely, lovely, wild, melancholy place you could
dream of in a stormy midsummer night. Nothing can sur
pass the beauty of the fountain itself, which gushes brightly
and bountifully from the base of a bare and rugged mountain,
and pours over black rocks in innumerable fairy cascades.
The waters, which are of a living, luminous green, seemed
just out for a special holiday. I could not realize that they
always gleamed so brightly and sung so merrily in that soli
tary place. The waves seemed deliriously glad to escape from
their prison, beneath the cold, dark hills, and leaped, and
laughed, and shouted, and danced in the pleasant sunshine,
and ran in and out of the green shadows of the shore, like
frolicsome children just broken away from the dull tasks and
stern dominion of school. The house and garden, which
tradition assigns to the divine sonneteer, are yet in existence,
but in a dismal state of dUapidation -and dirt. The poet
pilgrim to this shrine of genius must pass through perils in
describable, and encounter smells unimaginable, ere he can

A TOUR IN EUROPE.

153

hope to pluck a sprig from the old laurel tree said to have
been planted by the great poet lover.
In the evening we ran down to Marseilles by the railway.
Our party filling a carriage, with the exception of one seat,
we amused ourselves, as we approached Marseilles, by manu
facturing another passenger out of our extra wraps. Stuffing
an overcoat with shawls and umbrellas, we fashioned a portly
little gentleman, whom we made to recline in a corner, grasp
ing a walking stick, and with his face shaded by a broad-
briraraed hat. When the ticket master came, we had the
satisfaction of seeing our foolish Uttle joke succeed beyond
our proudest hopes. After receiving and counting our tickets,
he looked hard at the quiet little gentleman, and said, rather
impatiently, " Monsieur, votre billet." " II dort, Monsieur,"
said one of us. So, without further ceremony, he seized the
oblivious traveller by the arm, and shook him into shawls,
overcoats, and umbrellas, amid uncontrollable bursts of laugh
ter on our part. The official looked a little dark and suspi
cious at first, and made a long and careful post mortem exam
ination of the departed ; but, finding that he was composed of
no contraband articles, graciously joined in the laugh, only
protesting that somebody must pay for " le petit Monsieur.-"
Marseilles I saw very little of, as I was busily engaged, for
the few hours I spent there, in writing private letters, and
only walked out as far as the post office. But I believe I
missed not rauch, as there aro few sights in that city more
interesting than those a stranger can have in driving or walk
ing through its busy and noisy streets. I left France, after
all, with regret ; for I like the people — the common people,
I raean, for I had relations with no other. Careless, unreli
able, cunning, extortionous, unscrupulous, ignorant, and dirty,
as most of them are, yet I like them ; first, for their inimit
able, unweariable poUteness ; and, next, for their gayety, their
sparkling vivacity, their quick wit, their nonsense, their very

154 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
ridiculousness. Truth with them is a myth, a jest, an obso
lete idea ; but the lies they tell you are generally of the most
flattering kind — agreeable delusions, for which you feel
rather obliged than otherwise ; and they will impose upon you
with such an air that you really are ashamed to show proper
resentment. We were obliged to take passage to Genoa on a crowded
and disagreeable English stearaer ; but as the sea was quite
calm, and the night strikingly beautiful, we were happily able
to remain on deck till very late. I was at length driven by
the heavy dews into that den of gregarious discomfort, " the
ladies' cabin,'' where my fervent adjurations to the god of
slumber were for a long time baffled by the closeness of the
air, and the garrulousness of two worthy English dames, who
were entertaining each other with marvellous tales of success
ful and unsuccessful smuggling. One had.had an Irish poplin
torn from the sanctuary of the " bustle " itself, by order of " a
nasty French officer of the custoras ; " while the other had
once borne off in triumph to England twelve yards of " the
loveliest Brussels lace " in the hem of her petticoat. From
this they passed to subjects more purely domestic, — gover
nesses, footmen, cooks, ¦ — and the last words which fell on my
drowsy ear were " gooseberry tart " and " raspberry jam."
The joyfully-welcomed morning came at last, and we had a
charming day, often passing very near the bold and beautiful
shore of the Mediterranean, and saw the sun set at sea in a
glory unapproachable by art, inexpressible by language. It
was night ere we reached Genoa ; so wo lost tho sea view of
its noble bay. Yet tho " superb " city was a glorious sight,
seen even in the obscurity of the deepening twilight, as it rose,
pile on pile of marble palaces, tier on tier of gleaming lights.
We were soon able to go on shore, where wo were little de
layed at the custom house, on account of our passports or
luggage. We are stopping at the Locanda d'ltalia, a fine

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 155
hotel, which once was a palace, they say, where we have a suit
of pleasant rooms in somewhere about tlie twelfth story, and
are very well attended, and served bountifully with excellent
food. Rome, jitovember 13.
Genoa is to me, in recollection, like a gorgeous dream of
grand palaces, old churches, splendid and strange — narrow
streets, leading up steep acclivities, and down into dark hol
lows, lined with towering houses, whose outside walls are
painted more brilliantly and variously than interiors elsewhere
— with animated and striking groups of picturesque people —
pale women, with shining black hair, and long white scarfs
gracefuUy disposed about their heads, and falling in light folds
over neck, arms, and bosom, walking every where about the
crowded, dirty streets, as though through carpeted drawing
rooms, with a regal yet unconscious elegance — men, with
rich olive complexions and glossy black beards, wearing caps
of brilliant red, or brown, or purple, and talking and gesticu
lating on the most trifling topic, with marvoUous waste of
passionate energy and dramatic efl'ect — children, limbed like
sculptured Loves, with luxuriant hair, brown or raven, and
cheeks round, and red, and goldenod, like ripe peaches  and
all these speaking in a' language wonderfully melodious and
impressive, and looking ont of large, deep, lustrous, yet mel
ancholy eyes. There is to me a peculiarly sad and touching
expression in these grand Itahan orbs — it is half expectant,
half despairing ; the look of souls who have lost some great
good, some priceless glory, for which they are wishing, and
waiting, and searching eternaUy. You are struck by the
native inteUigence of these people. You know that many of
them must be fi-ightfuUy ignorant, but very few of them look
so ; and with the (Ssception of tho guides and priests, — " blind
leaders of the bUnd," — none are positively stupid. Their
great eyes sometimes reveal the dulness of intellectual torpor.

156 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
but never incapacity. The cloud is not dark and heavy
enough wholly to hide the throbbing of the soul stars behind.
We spent two days in wandering through the Genoese
palaces, churches, gardens, and streets — two days of rich,
novel, unmingled pleasure. The palaces themselves are
vast and noble, rather than beautiful ; but they are rich in
fine paintings;- especially in many glorious Vandykes. The
churches are the most magnificent and varied in their dec
oration I have yet seen — that of the Annunciation almost
blinds one with its unveiled splendor and elaborate gorgeous
ness. In the gloomy old Duomo are kept the famous relics
of John the Baptist — tho ashes of his head, and one finger
entire. In the chapel dedicated to these, no woman is allowed
to enter — a regulation doubtless made in holy condemnation
of one of our sex who excelled in a frivolous ^ocomplishment,
and turned it to an unholy account. In these churches, you
see at all hours a few humble worshippers telling their beads
and crossing themselves before the various shrines. But they
are seldom so soundly wrapped in devotion as to be unmindful
of the presence of strangers, whom they curiously follow with
their eyes, while their lips move mechanically in soulless
prayer. From Genoa to Pisa we took carriages and vetturini, and
travelled by the Cornice. The weather was delicious, and
this journey of three days proved a long succession of glorious
pictures. I had not only never seen, I had never conceived,
any thing so lovely and grand. Our road now lay along the
shore of the blue Mediterranean ; now off in quiet, delicious
valleys, smiling with picturesque cottages, lemon and oj-ange
groves ; now up and down mountains, clothed with olives and
pines ; now over torrents and along dark precipices ; now
under long avenues of poplar, and aspon^ ahd sycamores, fes
tooned with vines, and past gardens and hedges of roses in full
bloom, sweetening the air with the very sweetness of paradise.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 157
And then the sunsets — when the splendid lights on cloud and
sea seemed God's own transcendent glory made visible to man
— when the very sky seemed to have descended and wrapped
itself around the purple and golden hills — when heaven and
earth seemed embracing in light and blending in a bridal of
beauty. It were the extremest folly in me to attempt to re
produce here the vast and glowing pictures of that journey —
to pour its rich sunlight or fling its grand shadows along my
page — to blend its solemn sea voices, and sad pine murmurs,
and gay peasant singing with the sound of my words, and to
distil into ray thought the rare sweetness of its roses. Yet I
beheve that the vision of those mountains and valleys will
never fade from my soul — that that sunlight will stream
through all my future life — that that music of wave and tree
wiU never wholly die on my ear — that those roses will he a
fragrant memory in my death chamber.
The disagremens of tho journey — the impositions of the
vetturini, the discomfort of inns, and the persecutions from
beggars — I have not dwelt upon, because, having been en
dured, they are so thoroughly past, so nearly forgotten.
At Lucca we visited a noble old cathedral, and took a
pleasant stroll on the city walls, and at Pisa we spent half a
day. The Leaning Tower, the Cathedral, the Baptistry, and
the Campo Santo form the most splendid and interesting
group of buildings I have ever seen. We ascended the tower,
which certainly leans fearfully, and enjoyed a charming view
from the summit. We lingered long in the cathedral before
some delicious pictures by Andrea del Sarto, and wandered
through the Campo Santo, where there is some fine monu
mental sculpture.
From Pisa we went by railway to Leghorn, which wo found
a very bustling and uninteresting place. Here, on the even
ing of the 11th, we took the French mail steamer for Civita
Vecchia. This is a small, uncomfortable boat, and on this
14

158 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
voyage we found it, to our dismay, crowded beyond prece
dent. Though not a state room or berth could be had, we
were obliged to take passage by her, as a friend of Miss C 
would be awaiting us at Civita Vecchia, to accompany us to
Rome. The first hours of the voyage flew Ughtly enough —
the night was mild and beautiful. We met some American
fellow-passengers, among whom was Colonel MarshaU, of
Kentucky, United States Minister to China, and had a pleas
ant chatty time on deck — where, indeed, I was disposed to
spend the entire night, but was overruled by my friends, who
thought me imprudent to the last degree in wishing to brave
such exposure. So, about midnight, we descended into the
dining cabin, where mattresses had boon spread for us upon
the floor. Alas ! not for us alone. The place was already
crowded with forlorn travellers — English, Americans, Ger
mans, French, Italians — priests, soldiers, artists, ladies, chil
dren, couriers, and ladies' maids. After an immense amount
of talk and laughter, we aU got settled in our places, which
were as comfortable as circumstances would allow. My com
panions soon fell asleep, overcome by the weariness of the day
— but I was kept wide and wild awake by the closeness of the
air, incipient seasickness, and the novelty and ludicrousness
of the scene. As the atmosphere grew heavier and hotter,
such a choi-us of snoring was set up as was never before heard.
It was absolutely maddening. Near me lay a stout gentleman,
who astounded even more than he enraged me by the power
and compass of his nasal organ. By his side lay his wife,
looking pale and haggard as from innumerable sleepless nights.
I raised myself on my elbow; and contemplated her weary
face, her sad, sleepless, wandering eyes, marvelling at her
long endurance, and -feeling an insane temptation to whisper
to her, that, should sho at any time strangle the unfeeling
monster as he lay, " making night hideous " with his unearthly
snore, no intelligent jury would bring in a worse verdict than-

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 159
"justifiable homicide." On my other side lay a lad, in that
unregenerate state which Mrs. Pipchin refers to when she
solemnly declares that " boys that sniffle never get to heaven.''
At length I grew almost frantic, and, seizing all I could carry,
— my carpetbag, cloak, blanket, and pillows, — I rushed upon
deck. At the foot of the stairs I stumbled over a man — for
what fell purpose he was lurking there, I did not then divine.
As soon as I could muster sufficient strength and courage,
after depositing ray wraps on deck, I returned for my mat
tress — returned to find tho stranger of the stairway stretched
out upon it, and sleeping, or feigning to sleep, profoundly.
There was no help for it, and in a sullen rage I staggered
again to the deck ; when, behold I my blanket and pillows had
been seized upon by some villanous marauder — even my sac
de nuit had gone to some bourn whence no travelling bag
returns. My case was now desperate, and, going up to a brig-
andish-looking Frenchman, who was stretched upon a bench
near by, luxuriating in a suspicious superabundance of blankets
and pillows, and laying ray hand on the outerraost covering, I
said, in as stern and relentless a tone as I could command,
"Monsieur c'est a moi!" The guilty man relinquished it at
once, with a " Pardon, mgdame." I then made a requisition
for the pillows, but could only recover one — which, by the way,
was not mine, but a hard little thing, wet with night dew,
about as pleasant to rest one's head upon as would be a brick
folded in a cabbage leaf: yet I made the best of it — wrapped
myself stoicaUy in my blanket, stretched myself on the deck,
and feU a-stargazing. The sky above me was of a deep, de
licious, soul-bewildering blue, thick sown with radiant orbs —
heaven's canopy of state over the queenliest loveliness of
earth. The clouds were Ught and silvery, and assumed a
thousand fair and fantastic shapes. One, I remember, took
distinctly the form of a graceful woman, in the flowing Greek
costume ; in one hand she held a star, and seemed bending

160 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
forward as though trying to blow it out. But the star was too
much for her, and she finally blew herself away in vain at
terapts at extinguishing it.
But this heavenly contemplation becoraes a' decided bore
when compulsory and protracted. I was getting very chill
and weary, w^hen a French lad, with whom I had a. slight ac
quaintance, having been driven by cold from the longboat, where
he had gone to sleep, happening to pass near, recognized me,
and, horrified at my bedless condition, courageously plunged
into the depths of the cabin, on a marauding expedition for my
benefit. In about five minutes he returned, laden with spoil,
in the shape of a mattress and a large pillow. He laughed
very merrily, while arranging these for me, in telling how
adroitly he had obtained them. He had found a stout gentle
man, for whom two mattresses had been spread, sleeping on
the cabin floor, and had actually succeeded in rolling him off
one, which he took possession of, with a pillow, ere the poor
man was sufficiently roused to resist or remonstrate.
It is singular, that, though I had felt a righteous indignation
at the heinous robberies before committed on me, I did not
protest against this little confiscation, but enjoyed the joke im
mensely, and my bed as well, sleeping soundly on it for sever
al hours. I was awakened by the rain ; but as the sea had
roughened, and I was decidedly sick, I did not go below, but
wrapped myself more closely in my blanket, and " endured
unto the end." Fortunately, the shower soon passed, and I
took not the slightest cold.
About sunrise Colonel Marshall came on deck, and natural
ly expecting sympathy from a countrywoman, he had no
sooner cast his eyes on me than he began to pour into my
ears the story of his own peculiar hardships and wrongs.
Some audacious brigand, he said, had actually stolen half of
his bed and his best pillow from under him, as he lay in the
deep unconsciousness of innocent slumber. I declare, that, in

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 161
the dull gray of the early morning, the chilliness of the late
shower, the torpor of subsiding seasickness, amid all the
unspeakable forlornities of my state, I laughed till the tears
rained down my face.
After going through the mere form of breakfasting in a
dirty inn at Civita Vecchia, we set forth for Rome in impos-
-ing state, in an enormous dihgence, with six horses and three
postilions. This road runs through a bare, uninteresting, and
desolate country. More than ten miles from the Eternal City
we caught a view of St. Peter's, looming up like a sraall
mountain, and every heart stood still at the sight. It was
dark ore we entered Rome, yet wo recognized several grand
landmarks ere we reached our pleasant house in the Corso.
J^otember 17
Ancient Rome, as yet, affects rae with a singular gloomy
wonder. I gaze about me sadly rather than eagerly. I am
too awestruck to be curious. We spent one day among the
ruins ; and though the sunshine was brilliant as thaf of June,
and the breath of wild roses was afloat on the soft air, that day
was to mo one of shadows and sadness. Could all the sun
shine that ever streamed out of heaven make festal brightness
in tho mighty circle of the Coliseum, thronged, as it is, to the
eye of the spirit, with dark visions of fear and horror, of fierce
fight and deadly encounter, brutal ferocity and diabolical cru
elty? The blood of innumerable martyrs seems yet risinn-
from the once trampled and gory arena, a cloud between us
and the beautiful skies. What a terrible power has a place
like this over the imagination ! I there beheld not alone the
half-sickening, half-intoxicating scenes of ancient -gladiatorial
combat ; but, as I stood near one of the ruined passages, by
which the wild beasts, ages on ages ago, were driven, raad
with rage and hunger, from their black, subterranean dons,
into the noontide blaze of the am"^hitheatre, I involuntarily
14*

162 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
listened to hear them roaring and bounding beneath me. I
involuntarily looked to see them leaping into the arena, with
eyes aflame and jaws agape. I listened to hear the first
shriek of the Christian victims, and the mad yells, the applaud
ing uproar, of the heathen spectators. I seemed to see the
tiger burying his claws deep in the white bosom of the maiden,
and tho fierce leopard playing with the mangled child ere
devouring it. I seeraed to see the gray-haired old raan and
the dark-haired youth, after a vain, brief struggle with their
terrible foes, rent in pieces ; and, more fearful and pitiable
still, fair patrician dames looking on through all, with calm,
unblenched faces, and young peasant maidens clapping their
brown hands, while the long thunders of acclamation roUed
round the vast amphitheatre.
Here, as at the prisons of the Inquisition at Avignon, I ex
ulted over the ruin about me with joy unspeakable. Yet what
a raelancholy lesson does this chance coupling of these two
places present ! The one is tho scene of the open, cruel, yet
speedy iiRirtyrdora of the earliest Christians under a bloody
pagan power — the other the scene of the secret, slow, infer
nally ingenious torture of Christians by fellow- Christians.
Could the martyrs who suffered here have foreseen these
things — have seen priests, in the place of beasts, rending, and
racking, and disembowelling to the sound of pious chants m-
stead of fierce shouts, and in the name of the merciful Jesus
instead of that of relentless Jove — could they have foreseen
those bitterer than heathen mockeries, those bold blasphemies
of the most high God, written by priestly hands in the blood
of his children, — would they have met the maddened beasts of
the arena with such superhuman serenity, such sublime faith,
suffered with such divine endurance, " triumphed o'er death,
and ascended to God " ?
We descended into the catacombs by the usual entrance
at the Church of San Sebastiano. These subterranean refuges

A TOUR IN EUROPE.

163

of the early Christians are indeed very melancholy, dismal,
awful places. We were conducted by a dirty and miserable
Franciscan friar, looking, in the coarse brown dress of his or
der, as though he had burrowed for a lifetime in those low,
dark passages. Each of us bore a torch, yet never ventured
to diverge from the way taken by our guide, or to faU more
than a yard or two behind him. He led us through a gloomy
and bewildering labyrinth, vault after vault, passage opening
on passage, chill charabers of death, intorrainable halls of
night, where our torches seeraed to struggle with the heavy
air, and to cast faint and fearful glearas into the profound
depths of that ancient darkness. He showed us chapels and
rude shrines, and every where sepulchres, hollowed from the
soft rock. Since the Christianization of Rome, raost of the
bones of the martyrs who perished here have been removed
to less humble tombs in the churches. Many are kept in costly
cabinets and shrines as precious and holy relics. I shall never
forget a group of graves pointed out to me in one of the chap
els — they were those of a father, mother, and two children.
I involuntarily exclaimed, " Merciful Heaven ! what a place
for children ! " Poor lambs ! what wonder that they would
not stay in this chill and sunless abode, but soon sought the
" green pastures " and the " still waters " of the good Shep
herd. Perhaps, when they were first brought here, they won
dered and questioned why the morning was so long in coming ;
perhaps, when they were dying, they cried piteously for the
sunshine, the flowers, and the pleasant grass. Perhaps they
died in utter darkness, and the raother only knew when the
cherub soul had escaped from its double prison house, and as
cended to the upper brightness, by feeling the little body grow
stiff and cold against her desolate bosom.
As I said, these graves have been rifled, and the bones of
the faithful Christians and the sacred vessels which held the
blood of martyrdom, and stood in Uttle niches near these graves,

164 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
have. been borne away to cathedrals and monasteries, whUe
the names rudely carved on these stones have been enrolled
among the holiest saints of the church. But who shall collect
and enshrine the bones lying in the secret dungeons and
towers of tho Inquisition ? What bold and pious hand could
there have caught and treasured the blood which dripped from
tho wheel, or splashed against the walls of the oubliettes ?
When shall the saints, who there suffered in secret and died
in extremest anguish, receive their canonization ?
We drove past that proud tomb which has lifted the single
name of a woman, amid the storms of centuries, above the
destruction of empires and the convulsions of a thoMsand
wars. Little could Cecilia MeteUa have dreamed that the in
scription on the torab, raised by "love, or pride," above her
dust, would stand out clear w-hen the language in which it was
written had boon silenced over tho whole face of the earth —
that the tomb itself would remain unlevelled, almost unbroken,
when Rome had been long bowed in ruin — when the smUing
country about her had become a wild waste — when her race
had sunken away out of all remembrance of the glory and power
which once dazzled and ruled the world.
We also drove along the tomb-bordered Appian Way, where
some recent excavations let us down several feet, on to the
very stones over which the chariots of Roman conquerors once
rolled, and the troops of the empire and the consulate often
swept, in all the splendid pomp and insolent pride of victory.
Thick, on either side, stood broken and mouldering torabs, and
the black, tottering walls of houses — every where dead deso
lation and decay. Looking off to the left, the eye grew weary
in following miles on miles of ruined aqueducts. Amid the
destruction around, you wonder to see so much of these grand
works yet standing, and you alnjost expect to see them go
down before your sight, arch after arch.
The grotto oyer the fountain of Egeria is an interesting bit

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 105
of ruin, though stripped of its rich marbles, and every way
dilapidated. Of the Temple of Bacchus there remains enough
to suggest a faint vision of pillared and sculptured beauty.
But what a wilderness of ruin are tho Baths of Caracalla!
The longer you wander among these stupendous remains, the
more you are amazed by the conceptions they give one of the
beauty and grandeur of those vast temples of pleasure, in
which the Romans revelled like gods, and in whose voluptuous
atmosphere Rome's destruction ripened.
The lofty dome of the Pantheon opens towards heaven in
almost its first grandeur, defying the devastations of time.
Its beautiful pavement seems yet little worn by the tread of
unnumbered generations, and the majestic pillars of its portico
bear up grandly under the weight of more than eighteen
centuries. The attempt to Christianize the Pantheon and Uke
places in Rome, by the introduction of altars and shrines,
glaring pictures and bedizened statues of saints, has, in my
opinion, signally failed. Their character reraains sternly and
obstinately pagan. The ghosts of the dead deities fiit around
them StiU. They are forever haunted by the sensuous, volup
tuous, imperious, magnificent old Roman spirit. Amid the
stern simplicity of these sublime ruins, the taste involuntarily
resents the accessories and parades of the theatrical Catholic
worship, as it might some monstrous anachronism in poetry or
art. Even the crosses and shrines in the Coliseum seem but
pious impertinences and the arrogant triumphing of a new
faith; and I own that I find it impossible to see the diminutive
soldiers and effeminate priests of to-day in the Forum, or the
ruined temples of the old heroes and divinities, without a desire
to have them swept away, and their places filled by stalwai-t
followers of Mars and manly worshippers of Jove.
Araong the most interesting antiquities of Rorae are the
Colurabaria, on the Appian Way. These subterranean tombs
are so called from their consisting of tier on tier of niches,

166 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
like pigeon holes, where the ashes of the dead are stored —
some in classic urns, but most in round earthen receptacles,
with covers, very like preserve pots or pickle jars. You can
thrust -your hand into almost any one of these, and bring it up
full of the ashes and bony fragments of somebody, or some
thing. In these economical, gregarious sopulchi-es were de
posited all that stood fire of the slaves and inferior officers of
the imperial and princely houses.- Over every niche is an
inscription, and beside many of the urns and jars a lamp and
a small vessel for containing wine. •
The grandest view I have yet had-of the city and surround
ing country was from the tower of tho Capitol. There it lay
beneath me, in one vast, magnificent circle. Rome ! Rorae !
the fact that I am indeed in its midst, which seeras to come to
and pass from my mind in a sort of ebb and flow of realiza
tion, broke upon mo then almost overpoweringly.
No more the dream, the longing —
The pilgrim strays at last
Amid thy haunted temples,
Thou city of the past,
¦Whose eagles once made darkness
'Where'er their wings unfurled —
"Whose seven hills propped a glory
That domed the ancient world.
I wrote these lines some time last year for another, little
dreaming what a few months would bring forth for me. Al
most prophetic they seemed when I stood on that high tower,
and looked down on those seven hills, on the yellow Tiber,
on the Tarpeian Rock, on the Pantheon, the CoUseum, the
noble arches of Constantine, Titus, and Septiraius Severus —
on the beautiful ruins of tho temples about the Forum, and the
dark mass of crumbling masonry, of undistinguishable frag
ments of columns, arches, and vaults, called, as though in
bitter mockery of greatness, the Palace of the Caesars. With

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 167
these mingled, yet forever distinct, was modem Rome, headed
by that consecrated wonder and splendor of the .world, St.
Peter's. Out beyond the city walls our eager gaze was
directed to plains, and mountains, and ancient places, whose
names were familiar as school-house words — Latium, Etruria,
the Camp of Hannibal, the Sabine HUls, the Alban Mount,
Frascati, Tusculum, and, far away over the desolate, campagna,
Tivoli. But I soon turned from the distant to the near, and
looked long and thoughtfully down upon the Forum and the
Coliseum, once the point of the highest architectural splendor
the world could boast. Soon from those glorious fragments
and colossal intimations my mind grasped large conceptions of
Rome's proudest times. The broken arches of the Coliseum
seemed to fill out again, and the vast amphitheatre to enclose
its shouting thousands. Tho fallen and buried colurans about
the Forum arose from the dust, and ranged themselves in
their old accustomed places. Priests and vestals ministered at
sculptured altars, to which the long-banished deities had de
scended. Tho warlike brothers sat curbing their fierce steeds
— Vesta in her white purity, and Minerva in the calm majesty
of wisdora, stood again before their worshippers, and Jupiter
sat sublime in his ancient temple.
And tho host of tho llistorical recollections of Rome, — tho
memories of battles, and triumphs, and sieges, and revolutions,
— how they stormed upon the heart ! Scenes in the victori
ous, disastrous, splendid, and guilty reigns of her eraperors,
the countless tumults and insurrections of her republics, seem
ed to pass before me. I saw the Forum now surging with an
assembled populace, excited to fiienzy by tho words of some
powerful orator, now briUiant with some sacred festival, now
gorgeous with the triumphal course of an army returned from
foreign conquests, the victorious leader standing, laurel
crowned, in his chariot, followed by captives in chains, and
slaves bearing spoU ; and now I beheld it overrun with

168 HAPS AND MISHAPS.
barbarian hordes, slaying, pillaging, and destroying, tiU tho
night closed in blood and flame.
Over that Via Sacra, how- many of those whom the world
counts among her immortals have walked ! — Horace, and
Virgil, and Cicero, and Catullus, and Brutus, and Cajsar, and
Mark Antony, and Cato, and Coriolanus, and, it may be,
Peter and Paul.
The " chaste Lucretia " must have trod those stones, and
Brutus's heroic Portia, the " noble Volumnia," the high-souled
Cornelia, and the hapless Virginia. The stern Virginius
passed here daily, and near by he struck down a base tyrant
through the tender heart of his child — surely the grandest
sacrifice to freedom and virtue in the annals of time.

CHAPTER VIII.
St. Peter's. — Statues. — Sistine Chapel. — High Mass. — The
Pope. — Aspect of the City. — Op the People  Pi-;asants 
Begg.uis. — ^ Soldiers. — Priests. — 'Works of Art. — The Apol
lo. — The Dyi.sg Gladiator. — The Cenci. — Villa Borghese.
— Tivoli-. — Ascent op St. Peter's. — The Coliseum by Moon
light. — The E.-^olish Burying Guound — Gilvves of Keats and
Shelley. — A Religious Procession. — Albano. — A Ride on the
Campagna. jvo vember 29.
The outside view of St. Peter's disappointed rae, as it does
almost every one ; the groat number and enormous size of the
columns which compose the grand colonnade in front, and the
admirable proportions of the building itself, having to the eye
a strangely diminishing effect. But the first full view of the
interior struck a glorious picture upon my mind, which all the
waves of time can never wash away — which, it seeras to me,
even the light of the unsetting sun of eternity cannot fade.
That moment is stamped into my soul with those in which I
first beheld Niagara and the Coliseum.
St. Peter's is not alone grand, beautiful, and vast — it is
absolutely sublime ; you feel awestruck, utterly overwhelmed,
by its immensit}', its incomparable stupendousness. Were it
not for the general harmony of style and just proportion, it
w-ould seem not a single gigantic structure, but a mass of con
gregated and consecrated buildings, all constituting a vast ac
cumulation of the splendors of art and the wonders of arclii-
tecture — the piled offerings of the pride and piety of many
ages and nations, the mighty type and temple of a world's
worship, towering towards God.
15 (109)

170 HAPS AND' MISHAPS' OF"
It were far from impossible for good Protestants to feel de
votional at St. Teter's ; for though Ughtor and less gorgeous
than most CathoUc catliedrals, its stillness and vastness are
profoundly impressive, and among its countless shrines, statues,
and pictures, there are comparatively few objects offensive to
our taste, understanding, and common sense. My eye was.
m9st revolted by the stiff bronze figure of St. Peter, sitting
bolt upright, key in hand and foot extended, to receive the
pious homage of the people. This miserable production has
long been the particular object of popular worship — the Up
service of millions of the devout has repeatedly worn away
the solid metal, and the holy saint has been at least thrice re-
tood. The best of the joke to a heretic is, that it is not St.
Peter at all, but an old and very ugly statue of Jove, en-
haloed, and siraply grasping a key instead of a bolt.
The works of Bernini and his disciples, marked as they
nearly all are by the wild extravagance and boisterous strength
with which this master seemed to boil over — bushy-headed
saints, who look as though they had just alighted from riding
on a whirlwind and directing a storm — angels in such a state
of dishevelled discomposure, with their drapery in such a
crazy flutter of breezy folds, and their very -ning feathers
so on end, you could almost believe them just escaped
from some celestial insane asylum — these are simply de
testable. There are here a few monumental works by Thorwaldsen
and Canova, which go far to make you forget these sculptured
abominations. Many figures, originaUy fine, are utterly spoiled
by an atrocious additipn of drapery, consisting of sheets of tin,
painted in vile imitation of marble. The modesty of Holy
Mother Church has evidently had an alarming outbreak of
late years, in the direction of art. Scarce a gleam of a saintly
leg or an angelic bosom is now permitted to shock the pure
eyes of the devout ; but figures poetic and allegorical — muses,

A TOUH IN EUROPE. 171
seraphs, and the larger-sized cherubs — are henceforth to
be muffled up and wound about in this ungraceful and uncom-
foi-table manner. " Honi soit qui mal y pense." O saintly
nuns and holy fathers !
It is reaUy a great and memorable thing to stand under the
grand domo and look up, up, to tho far shining of the pictured
glory and mystery of the Godhead. The splendor of those
wondrous mosaics, and all the elaborate beauty of the sur
rounding ornaments, seem to strike down upon you, and daz
zle you like tho sun at noonday.
Just as we were leaving, after that first visit, the sound of
an organ carae from one of the chapels nearest the altar, and
rolled down the magnificent nave, rounded, solemn, and sweet.
The melodious flood seemed to swell about us, sensibly, almost
visibly — to lift us off our feet and bear us forth.
Since seeing St. Peter's, all other churches seem to have
sunken away out of sight. I nover go to any other, except
to hear fino music, see some particular work of art, or witness
some imposing ceremony. Yesterday wo saw the Pope per
form high mass at the Sistine chapel in the Vatican. Here
the music was grand, and the ceremonies very magnificent,
though somewhat meaningless to a heretic. Into that portion
of tho chapel where we sat no spectators are admitted, un
less dressed entirely in black. The ladies must wear black
veils thrown over their heads, without bonnets ; and for gen
tlemen, a dress coat is as indispensable as at tho opera. A
gUded open-work screen separates this part from that in which
are the altar and papal throne. When we entered, the Pope
was seated on the latter, under the canopy of purple and gold,
in his resplendent sacerdotal robes, with his towering mitre on
his head, and with his rod-robed cardinals about him. The
blaze of silver and gold at the illuminated altar, breaking
through wreathing clouds of incense — the frescoed roof and
walls, where the gigantic genius of Michael Angelo stands

172 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
forth supernal in majesty and power — the magnificent cos
tume of tho cardinals, bishops, and other high-church dignita
ries — fhe striking antique costume ofthe Swiss guards, the
gleam of their helmets and halberds — all constituted a scene
peculiar and splendid, if not to us religiously impressive.
In Rome, the " sacred elements '' are removed from church
to church, and chapel to chapel, every forty-eight hours.
This was the occasion of their being removed from the Sis
tine to the Pauline chapel, which is also in tho Vatican.
The Pope did not officiate constantly at the altar, but sat
most of the time on his throne ; and whenever he rose to take
part personally in tho ceremonies, whenever his soft-toned
voice was heard in prayer, or his paternal hands extended in
benediction, all the faithful dropped on their knees, the Swiss
guard going down w-ith a resounding clang of arms.
.^t length the procession formed. A small canopy of white
silk and silver, very like the state umbrella of a Chinese man
darin, was held over the head of His Holiness, and with car
dinals, bishops, and guards, before, around, and behind hira,
he walked from the altar to the first door of the chapel, where
a larger canopy of white silk and silver received him, and was
borno over him the remainder of the way to the Pauline
chapel. I had a very near view of the sovereign Pontiff, as
he passed slowly forth, praj'ing audibly and apparently ear-
nestlj', and also as he returned, in less state and at a much less
solemn pace. I like the papal countenance ; it may be want
ing in strength, but it is beautiful in shape and feature, and
remarkably gentle and meek in expression.
The Pope is rather stout, yet by no raeans gross — he looks
healthful, but a little indolent.
In strong contrast to him was Cardinal AntinelU, the real
force and brain of the present government, who walked a lit
tle in advance of His Holiness, and showed for what he is — •
a proud, subtle, ambitious, unscrupulous spirit. His lips

A TOUR IN EUROPE.

173

moved mechanically, but little prayed his dark, restless, sinis
ter eyes.
We afterwards visited the chapel in which the sacrament
had been deposited with such porap and circumstance, and
found it as brilliant as rich marbles, gold, and silver, and wax
lights innuraerable could make it.
From thence we drove to the Catacombs, the dark subter
ranean source of that mighty spiritual despotism which has
subverted empires and exterminated rehgions, but whose
power and glory have declined, and are declining fast, and
whose sanctity has become an idle fable, at which, openly or
secretly, the world laughs.
Modern Rome is the most singular melange of the grand
and poor, of splendor and squalor, imaginable. The streets
aro narrow and dirty, but many of them lined by towering
old palaces, and leading into noble piazzas. There aro open
squares, containing, almost invariably, fountains beautiful or
grotesque, and those most sombre yet picturesque and impos
ing of monuments, Egyptian obelisks. The general aspect of
tht city, as seen from a height, is of a dark gray — a strong
contrast, indeed, to Iris-hued Genoa. I have as yet remarked
no fantastic-looking buildings, painted in light, brilliant colors,
or with frescoed outer walls. All respectable dwelling houses
are built on a large and lofty scale, with the best suites of
apartments astonishingly high up, and the entrance halls chill,
dreary, and prison-like.
The Romans of rank and fortune are singularly handsome.
You see little in their dress to distinguish them from the
English or French resident here, but unerringly recognize
thera by their pale, olive complexion, their shining black hair,
and large, magnificent eyes — not the quick, fiery, sparkling
ej-es that flash lightning-like upon you in southern France,
but those of full-orbed yet chaotic thought, of slumberous pas
sion, dreamy and soft ; eyes which do not strike your gaze off
15*

174 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
from their bright surface, yet are utterly unfathomable, and
into which you can look down to depth on depth of mystery
and darkness.
The common people are gayer in manner, and you some
tiraes reraark among them forms and faces of striking beauty.
I regret to say that the picturesque national costume of this
class seems rapidly going out, at least in the largo towns. I
have seen comparatively few women in the distinctive Roman
dress, and most of those are old and ugly, holding on with the
deadly tenacity of age to things of the past — alas! I fear a
Partington-like resistance to the onward sweep of French
fashions and Manchester prints. I sometimes see in the
streets a contadina frora Albano, in a brilliant dress of red
aud white ; or out on the Campagna a shepherd boy, clad in a
regular John the Baptist kilt of sheepskin, who really look as
though they had just stepped out. of a picture.
They are far finer and more intelligent looking than the
Irish peasants — their dwellings are better, and with pleas
anter and more poetic surroundings. But the oft-told trutli
must be repeated — - th^o is not in the civilized world a peo
ple of more careless and uncleanly habits. In all the towns
we have yet visited, in the best streets, along the public walks,
about the palaces and churches, wo meet disgusting filth and
vile stenches enough to breed a pestilence which might scourge
the world. After a Uttle observation of what manner of lives
the common people lead, you -little wonder that, for all their
delicious climate, they are seldom hoaltliful in appearance.
You see very few with tho rich, kindling, sun-kissed complex
ion which painters and poets give them — nearly all their
faces are colorless, and some are sallow to tho last degree.
The children are usually miserably pale and thin. I have
seen poor babes tightly swaddled, as all infants are here,
lying on the ground or carried stiffly in tiieir raothers' arms,
Uke Slocks of wood, whose great patient eyes looked out of

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 175
black shadows, and whose complexions w-ere of a faint pea
green. Yet among this class there are, of course, some chil
dren, treasures and godsends to painters and sculptors, whose
beauty seems to spring rich and perfect from the very filth
and misery which surround them, like those gorgeous flowers
which feed and flourish on corruption. These dirty little
vagabonds are liable fo be waylaid and kidnapped by needy
artists, stripped of their rags, washed and posed, then to re
appear in profane full length, pinioned and quivered as Cupids,
or in sacred quarter length, a cherubic head and wings, with
indefinite cloudy continuations.
In passing through the suburbs or inferior streets of any
Italian town on Sunday, or any other day of more than usual
leisure, you will witness an odd and purely Italian sight —
mothers seated in, or in front of, their doors, with the heads
of their children in their laps, absorbed in an indescribable
and liardly hint-at-able maternal duty. At first I took them
for practical phrenologists, making careful and conscientious
examinations of the organs of tiieir responsibilities, that they
might "train them up in tin; way they should go."
The beggars constitute a proniinent and a most repulsive
feature of Italy. They appear in e\ery imaginable variety
and degree of wretchedness, disease, and deformity. They
beset you every where, and at all times — in walks, drives,
churches, ou the steps of palaces, in shops, cafes, among the
ruins — at early raorning, at noon, at raidnight. It is not safe
for you fo pause to admire a handsome peasant woman, or
child, however well dressed, for begging seems the earliest in
stinct, the universal, ruling passion of the people.
Driving in the country lately-, we passed a streara, on whose
banks some women were washing linen ; and, on seeing us, an
old dame, of at least seventy, dropped the ragged sheet she
was cleansing on the rock, dashed through the water up to her
venerable knees, cleared the bank with a bound, aud pre-

176 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
sented her withered and dripping palm at the coach door,
keeping up with the full speed of our horses — a hideous,
horrible creature, chattering and howling like a very she devil,
till we exorcised her with a few hajocchi. As for those ever
legitimate objects of charity, the blind, "diseased, deformed,.
maimed, and crippled, they seem as innumerable as the waves
of the sea. You see men with sturdy, broad chests, and big,
bushy heads, on legs which have shrunken into a second child
hood, and Ue coiled under them like cables. Among the
regular lyers in wait about one of the churches is an old
woman with an immense wen, projecting from her forehead
like the horn of a unicorn, and a boy whose withered right
arra hangs bare at his side, stiff, straight, and slender, like a
pump handle. Men, legless and armless, mere torsi, roll down
upon you from declivities ; men with paralyzed spines wriggle
across your path like reptiles ; and, in short, there is no end
to these deformed forms of humanity, these dismembered
members of society. I am always most touched with the
appeals of the bhnd and the maimed. To be sightless and
crippled in Italy !
O " god of life, of poesy, and light " !
With soldiers and priests Rome actually swarms. You go
nowhere that you do not see the French' and Papal troops,
though far more of the former than of the latter. Indeed,
from the number of barracks, sentinelled points, parades,
marchings hither and thither, bugle calls, and noisy drum
beatings, one might suppose Rome entirely under foreign rule
and military law. As for the holy priesthood,- as was said of
another institution, its " name is legion." You meet, every
where, dark, sinister-looking Jesuits, in their sombre robes,
moving about by twos, at a peculiar, stealthy, prowling gait —
walking presentments of the very blackness of spiritual dark
ness ; stupid, vulgar-looking Franciscans, in coarse gowns of

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 177
brown cloth, rope-girded ; barefooted, shaven, begging friars,
sometimes leading asses laden with the pious offerings of the
faithful — the more asses they; handsome young abbes, who
contrive in some inexplicable way to give a dandical touch to
their ugly, unmanly costume, and who are seldom too much
rapt in heavenly contemplation to cast searching and insinuating
glances at the young and comely women they chance to meet.
On the Pincian, which is the principal Roman drive and
promenade, we often encounter troops of boys and youths, in
training for the church, dressed in flowing gowns, and sorae
thing very like petticoats of black or white flannel, and wear
ing immense broad-brimmed hats. Nearly all these have faces
either cunning, or to fhe last degree stolid in expression. We
there often raeet fhe higher church dignitaries — cardinals,
whom we know by their red legs ; and monsignori, who are
proclaimed by their purple legs. In short, one might suppose
it had rained priests for forty days and forty nights on this
devoted land.
Religious processions are very common in the streets —
but it is remarkable that you seldora see them followed, or
observed with apparent reverence, by any but old men and
women and mere children. A loug procession of monks,
chanting a dirge and bearing tapers, passed our house one
afternoon, lately, preceding a body, borne coffinless, but richly
palled upon a bier. Seeing that they entered a church in the
Corso, near by, and thinking that after so much street parade
the cereraonies there would be very imposing, I hurried on a
bonnet and shawl, and hastened to witness them. But when
I reached the church, lo ! the great multitude of holy fathers
had vanished, with the exception of two or three, who lounged
near fhe door, chatting and laughing. In the centre of the
dim church stood the bier, and a couple of workmen in their
shirt sleeves were putting the body into a rough deal coffin,
talking loudly and unconcernedly meanwhile. A group of

178 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
little children were witnesses with me to the ghastly sight.
Their large eyes grew a trifle larger with instinctive fear and
wonder ; but they were not too much horrified to beg of me, in
a low, whimpering, spaniel-like whine.
This morning I saw a less painful sight — a procession of
boys, dressed in white, parading and following the body of a
child. The bier was draped in white, and decked with wreaths
of roses, and the dirge chanted by all those fresh, young voices,
was touchingly sweet and mournful.
I am sorry to feel compelled to speak slightly or harshly of
a religion which is yet dear and venerable to a few sincere
souls. But the more I see of the pomps, superstitions, mum
meries, frauds, avarice, and arrogant domination of the Roman
church, the more am I convinced that it is the source,
strength, and subtle essence of European tyranny — that it
narrows, blinds, grinds down, and crushes out the very soul of
the age. It is a fungous growth of error and falsehood, mock
ing the fair and fruitful forms of truth — a dark and gigantic
unreality, for the time fearfully real — the nightmare which
oppresses the world. As it seems to me, so must I speak of
it. I cannot do otherwise, and keep my own truth towards
God and my fellows.
December G.
In the few brief comments which I feel inclined to make on
some of the great works of sculpture and painting here at
Rome, I speak by no means " as one having authority," by
virtue of any ripe critical knowledge of art. I should be
silent altogether on these subjects, did I not observe that one's
true, fresh, and vivid impressions of such things are worthy
of some respect, and that a sincere and reverential love of
beauty gives one an instinctive appreciation of the spirit of the
higher forms of art, however deficient the judgment may be in
matters of execution and detail. One may raost profoundly
feel effects in art with a very limited understanding of causes.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 179
It is rare to find an honest opinion, honestly expressed, by
one not an artist or a connoisseur. Among modern English
authors writing from Rome, I remember Mrs. Kemble and
Mr. Dickens as raost independent and individual in this re
spect. They boldly uttered their true thought, their whole
thought, and were evidently not to be thundered down by the
canons of criticism. I do not mean this as an exordium to a
criticisra-contemning, critic-defying dissertation ; in the little I
have to say on art, I may not utter any treasons — and I
may. Nous verrons.
Of all the antique statues I have yet seen, I have been by
far tho most impressed by the Apollo Belvidore and the Dying
Gladiator — the one the striking imbodiment ofthe pride, and
fire, and power, ahd joy of life ; the other of the mournful
majesty, the proud resignation, the "conquered agony" of
death. In all his triumphant beauty, exultant vitality, and
rejoicing strength, the Apollo stands forth as a pure type of
immortality — every^ inch a god. There is an Olympian
spring in the foot which seems to spurn the earth — a secure
disdain of death in the very curve of his nostrils — a sunborn
light on his brow ; while the absolute perfection of grace, the
supernal majesty of the figure, now, as in the old time, seem
to lift it above tho human and the perishing, into the region of
the divine and the eternal. Scarcely can it be said that the
worship of this god has ceased. Tho indestructible glory of
the lost divinity lingers about him still; and fhe deep, almost
solemn emotion, the sigh of unutterable admiration, with
which the pilgrims of art first behold him now, differ little,
perhaps, frora tho hushed adoration of his early worshippers.
I have never seen any work of art which I had such difficulty
to realize as a mere human creation, born in an artist's strug
gling brain, moulded in dull clay, and from thence transferred,
by the usual slow and laborious process, to marble. Nor can
I even think of it as having, according to the old poetic fancy.

180 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
preexisted in the stone, tiU the divinely-directed chisel of the
sculptor cut down to it. Ah, so, methinks, the very marble
must have groaned, in prescience of the god it held. To me
it rather seeras a glowing, divine conception, struck instantly
into stone. It surely erabodies the very soul and glory of the
ancient mythology, and, w-ith kindred works, forms, if not a
fair justification of, at least a noble apology for, a religion
which revelled in ideas of beauty and grace,' which had ever
something lofty and pure even in its' refined sensuality — ahd
for the splendid arrogance of that genius which boldlj' chiselled
out its own grand conceptions, and named them gods.
The Apollo I should like to see every day of my life. I
would have it near mo ; and every morning, as the darkness is
lifted before the sun, and the miracle of creation is renewed, I
would wish fo lift a curtain, and gaze on that transcendent im
age of life and light — to receive into ray own being somewhat
of the energy and joy of existence with which it so abounds —
to catch some gleams of the glory of the fresh and golden
morning of poetry and art yet raying from his brow. One
could drink in strength, as from a fountain, from gazing on that
attitude of pride and grace, so light, yet firm, and renew one's
wasted vigor by the raore sight of that exulting and effortless
action. But who would live in daily contemplation of the im
mortal agony of the Laocoon, or the mighty death pang which
wrings the brow of the Gladiator ? I must confess that the
sight of the former gives me nothing but pain — admiration
and wonder seem absolutely crushed in the folds of those
enormous serpents. The vain struggling of the old man, the
fear and suffering of the youths, and the endless coUing of the
serpents, constitute a mass of horrors which not all the wonders
of fhe sculpture can redeem, and from w-hich I shrink almost
with disgust.
The Gladiator, grand in his perfect huraanity, a prouder
flgure, fallen and overcome as he is, than many an erect and

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 181
victorious hero, with the rich blood of his prime trickling
slowly and sickeningly from his one deep wound, is a pro
foundly touching, I had almost said a heart-breaking, sight.
And yet you scarcely dare to grieve — he is too royal for pity.
The marble, age-imbrowned, seems shadowed by Death's
awful wing. There seems a strange stillness about it, and you
hush your own breath iu involuntary reverence. Here is no
struggle, no contortion — the soul seems making a truly kingly
abdication — the " manly brow consents to death ; " and yet you
can see, by its deepened lines, by the sunken eyes, the relaxed
lips, and by the swoUen veins of the extended limbs, that the
very citadel of life is stormed by mortal anguish. It is im
possible to gaze on the Dying Gladiator without further sad
dening yourself by gifting him, as does Byron, with a heart
whose sweet, sad meraories blind him to the dizzying sight of
the crowded araphitheatre, and whose last wild throbs of
love and yearning deafen hira to the shouts which greet his
conqueror. In the hall of the Gladiator are several other noble antiques
— a very grand Amazon, a fine Ai-iadne, the Faun of Praxit
eles, a charming figure, and the Antinous, considered a fault
less ideal of youthful manhood. It is exceedingly beautiful,
but w-anting in that something superhuman which, in the
Apollo, almost compels a paganish adoration. The Venus of
the Capitol is but a beautiful, soulless, voluptuous creature —
an exquisite animal, unworthy to lace the sandals of tho pure,
simple, and august Venus of Milo, which, broken as it is, stiU
stands forth grandly unapproachable araong all antique forms
_ of lovely womanhood. Near the Venus stands a deUcious
group of Cupid and Psyche, whose sentiment seems to me a
wonderful union of passion and purity. The expression and
attitude of each figure are full of intense loviuguess, chUdlike
sweetness, and innocent unconsciousness. The soft Ught and
warmth, the divine atmosphere, of young love, seems floating
16

182 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
about the group, the one pure sentiment pervades and per
meates the two fair embracing forms. It flows in the drapery,
it nestles in the hair, it is expressed in the sUghtest curve of
each "deUcate limb, as unmistakably as in that fond kiss of lips
which cUng and cling forever.
I have seen many wonderful paintings of the great masters
since I carae to Rome ; and from this world of pictorial beauty
and power, I know not how to select the few objects on which
I may presume to comment. The fairest and grandest of
Raphael's exquisite creations, the sublime monuments of the
stern and Titanic genius of Michael Angelo, the graceful and
glowing forms of Andrea del Sarto, Correggio, Guido, Domeni
chino, — I gaze upon them daUy ; they are becoming revered,
almost beloved, objects to me. And so I cannot speak of them
en masse, or deliberately, but may refer to some of them sepa
rately and incidentally, from time to time. But I must con
fess en passant, that I am disappointed in the Transflguration.
Its grandeur I do not question ; but it has not, to my eye, all the
divine, transcendent beauty I looked to see in the most per
fect creation, the crowning achievement, of Raphael's genius.
Some of his minor and simpler compositions impress me more.
Nor can I find aU that poets have found in Guide's famous
portrait of Beatrice Cenci, in the Barberini Palace. The
upper part of the face is truly beautiful, the brow is noble,
and the eyes, in the full, living look they cast on you, have a
sweet, appealing sadness and raournful hopelessness, which
haunt you through days and weeks ; but the mouth I think
childish and characterless. I cannot imagine those lips, falling
sp listlessly, apart, ever set with heroic energy and deadly de
termination. I cannot believe that this expression of weakness
could have resulted altogether fpom the past torture or the
coming death agony ; and I hold to the' opinion, that if Bea
trice Cenci was guilty of the terrible yet noble crime for which
she suffered, and bore herself so grandly through all as we

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 183
have been told she did, then this is not a perfectly trae
portrait. One lovely afternoon, lately," I drove, with my friends Mr.
and Mrs. S  , to the viUa Borghese, where, araong many
other fine works of art, I saw Canova's Venus Victorieuse.
This is an exceedingly graceful and elegant statue, altogether
my favorite among Canova's female figures. For this Pau
line Bonaparte sat, or rather reclined ; and it was referring to
this that sho afterwards made tho famous reply to a somewhat
more scrupulous lady, who wondered how she could bear the
exposure — " O, I assure you it was not uncomfortable ; the
room was well warmed " — siraply treating it as a question of
Fahrenheit. This villa is one of the loveliest places in the neighborhood
of Rome. I shall never forget our coming out into the grounds
at sunset, and the long draughts of pure delight which I drank
in as I gazed around and above rae. Stately trees cast their
soft shadows across my path ; fallen leaves, golden, and bronze,
and crimson, stirred into little eddies by the rising wind,
rippled about my feet ; fountains murmured dreamily in the
distance, and intermingled lights and shades played over fhe
pleasant lawn. The sky was gorgeous with purple and gold,
shading off into the softest lilac and the serenest blue. Wher
ever I looked, on earth, or heaven, there was beauty — beauty
indescribable, unimaginable; and I exclaimed, "O, God must
have brooded longer over this land than over any other on the ,
broad face of the world ! "
We have spent one day at Tivoli, where we saw the yet
beautiful teraple of the Sibyl, the famous grotto, the faUs, the
ruins — had a long donkey ride over the hills, and picnicked
under olive and fig trees, in sight of half a dozen silvery cas
cades. Tivoli is a very picturesque and charming old place,
where one could Unger for months, lapped in long, luxurious
dreams of its past glories and splendors, when the princely

184 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
villas of Hadrian, Msecenas, Propertius, Sallust, Brutus, and
Cassius gleamed white and beautiful among its woods and
waterfaUs ; or in quiet, ever fresh enjoyment of the indestruc
tible loveUness of Nature.
Yesterday we attended high mass in the Sistine chapel, the
Pope officiating. The cardinals were present in strong force
and grand array ; and on this occasion I first witnessed the
ceremony of kissing the cross on the Pope's robe, and on the
toe of His Holiness's shoe. After service we drove to the Ba-
sUica of San Paolo, a large and splendid church, now being
erected on the site of one destroyed by fire. WUen finished,
this wiU even rival St. Peter's in beauty and grandeur. I
have never beheld any thing in architecture more magnificent
than the double rows of pillars down the immense nave. Yet
my adrairation was mingled with bitterness and grief. I felt
that they weighed on the crushed souls of the people, on Ub-
erty, and true Christianity. When I thought of this once
noble race, oppressed, debased, beggared, and beheld this
waste of wealth wrung frora them by the soul-rack of super
stition, aU seemed to me but a gigantic mockery reared in the
face of a just God, " who dwelleth not in temples made with
hands." To-day we have ascended St. Peter's to the very lantern.
We found the ascent much less tedious and fatiguing than we
expected, and that we had had but faint and narrow conceptions
, of the height and grandeur of this stupendous building. It was
strange to wander about on the vast roof, among the cupolas
and workshops, which seemed to constitute a small village of
themselves ; and after having accomplished the ascent, the
down look from the top of the great dome was awfully grand.
The head swam, as from the height of that pictured heaven
the eye fell from circle to circle of those wondrous mosaics —
seraphs, cherubs, prophets, apostles — to the illuminated altar
below. Yet here also I was saddened — remembering how

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 185
thousands on thousands of God's poor children had groped
in the profoundest night of ignorance and error, from the
cradle to the grave, that this vast pile of marble, and gUding,
and gorgeous colors might dazzle the world. I remembered
with how much " spiritual wickedness in high places," with
how much fraud and crime, the wealth here lavished had been
wrested from the hands of the poor and the deluded ; and me
thought over such sights as these would Jesus weep tears more
bitter than those he shed over Jerasalem.
We have visited the Coliseum by moonlight, and bathed our
very souls in the dreamy and desolate beauty of the scene.
The Forum Roraanum and the Forum of Trajan are scarcely
loss impressive at night ; but I always feel and realize most in
gazing on the ancient Arches of Titus, of Septiraius Severus,
Constantine, Drusus, and Janus. What floods of glorious
life poured through these in tho proud old warlike days — in
the slow sweep of victorious armies, or the wild surge of bat
tle and flight, or the quiet, continuous flow of prosperous peace,
or the full sparkling gush of pleasure ! What countless rehgious
and festal pageants, marriage and funeral processions, have
passed under thera ! What stormy crowds have gathered
round them ! What murderous faces have lurked behind
them ! What stars of womanly loveliness have gleamed out
the brighter from their momentary shade ! What sweet,
childish laughters have rung through them! — tumult and
crime layed and avenged, lights of beauty and childish laugh
ters quenched and hushed these many, many centuries. And
the stately columns of Antoninus and Trajan, nearly as old a,s
Christianity, yet still wreathed with rare sculptures, alive with
the matchless forms of antique art, what triumphs and cap
tivities, splendors and desolations, have yo beheld, O won
drous dumb witnesses of a mighty past !
From amid the grand shadows and tender sunUght which
faU about me here, I look out on the world, if not gayly,
16*-

186 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
surely not sadly — in melancholy, perhaps, but never in
despair.
December 15.
One sunny Sabbath afternoon, lately, we -visited the pleas
ant Protestant cemetery, where Keats sleeps, and where the
heart and the ashes of Shelley are buried. I was pained to
find the grave of Keats in a bare and shadowless place. He
whose heart was so full of music, who loved beauty so pas
sionately, has not a tree to Shelter a bird over his lonely rest
— not a flower to breathe a perflimod sigh over his lowly pil
low. Surely, from the dust once instinct with his delicate
spirit, sweet-breathed violets should have sprung, and his rich
young blood should have nourished deep-hearted roses. And
yet, violets planted on this sad grave might have been paled
by receiving too many tears for dew ; and here, whence even
wild flowers and weeds are stripped away, few rosebuds would
ever have become roses, but all have disappeared by the
pious theft of countless pilgrims, and gone to sweeten cabinets,
and drawers, and. precious volumes, with the memory of that
rich poet Ufe, plucked, like them, with half its touching
beauty unfolded — with half Its divine sweetness untasted by
the world.
Saddened as I was at the grave of Keats, I was yet unpre
pared for the flood of emotion which swept over me beside
that of Shelley. He had ever been one of the " gods of my
idolatry," not alone for his sublime yet most exquisite poetic
genius, but for his passionate love and fervid apostleship of
Freedom — for the burning rebukes, the stern warnings, for
even the awful anathemas, which he shrieked out against
tyranny and tyrants ; but I looked not to feel the real pang
of grief, which changed the deep, low breathing with which
I approached into quick sobs, and dissolved in tears the ad
miration and reverence of a life. " The spirit of the spot "
bowed me over the stone which covered his ashes, tiU my brow,

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 187
my lips, touched it, and my heart throbbed against it aU its
sorrow and regret. I thought of the loves, and griefs, and
wrongs, the sweet hopes and bitter disappointments of his
brief and troubled life, of the grand aspirations and imagina
tions which stormed heaven, and, Proraotheus-like, laid hold on
the divine element ; and of the hard judgment, the relentless
hate, chaining him, and eating into his great heart here. I
thought more mournfully of the lost possibilities of his unful
filled destiny, of his unperfected genius, of the grander strains
of " heavenly poesio '' with which he might have filled the
world ; of the yet more potent words he might have spoken
for freedom, and hurled against oppression ; of his own
redemption from all error ; of his final recognition of that
matchless ideal of the divine and the true, which the crime
and hypocrisy of men had for a while hidden from his sight.
I thought of the peace, beauty, and love-rest of those last daj-s
by the sea, till the hour of sudden tempest and whelming
flood — of the brief, wild struggle in the deep, till the freed
soul cleft its swift way through the waves, up above storm and
cloud, " the massy earth and sphered skies," to " the abode
where the eternal aro." Then I looked up comforted, feel
ing that all must be well with hira — that a spirit by nature
so pure, and so true, so like a beautiful fragraent, a stray splen
dor struck off from the divino life, could not lose itself long in
the dim, unanswering void which lies without the presence of
God. This grave is in a lovely spot — trees and ruins are about
it, and near it towers the solemn pyramidal tomb of Caius
Cestius. Near also to this grave is that ofthe beloved eldest
child of the poet, and Mary Godwin. It is sweet to think of
the fair young spirit, as running a little way on before, to open
for him the iramortal gates — as looking lovingly and smiling
ly back — as passing slowly in, shading his eyes from " the

188 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
white radiance " streaming about him, and as lingermg by the
portals tiU he, the tired one, came.
I fear I am succeeding but iU in descriptions of the scenes
of my Ufe in Rome. The pictures in my own mind are
strongly drawn and vividly colored ; but the copies I make are
very feeble and pale. Even of the thought they inspire, I
find I can give only the dull, empty chrysalis — the delicate,
ethereal, poetic spirit escapes rae, flutters above me, and mocks
me with its inexpressible beauty. But, if I find it difficult to
describe what I see, to utter ray full thought, yet infinitely
more difficult will it be to give true conceptions of what Ifeel
in this life. I actually seem in a sort of prolonged poetic
ecstasy. Every morning, when I awake, I say to my heart,
" Throb away as strongly, as exulfingly, as passionately as
you will ; another day you are to revel in the rich sun and
delicious air which nourished the heroes and poets of the
grand old time — heroes who stamped their conquering foot-
stops on all lands — poets who traced their highest thought
with the chisel, and irabodied their divinest dreams in imraor-
tal stone." I seem to be saturated by that air whose every
wave flows to me with some proud or mournful memory ; and
that sun seems to distil its softness and richness into my blood,
and to stream along my veins. By day I live and revel in that
heroic and poetic past, as I ride over the ancient roads, or out
on the lonely and lovely Carapagna, or stroll among the ruins.
And at night — 0, at night ! — the beauty, and pomp, and tri
umph of my dreams ! In them I seldom go back less than
seventeen or eighteen centuries. I see Rome in her golden
prime. I see her eagle-led armies, filing through her raassive
gates. I see her imperial palaces and the grand teraples of
her gods, gleaming white and perfect in their pillared and
sculptured splendor. I see the altars, and tho sacred groves,
and the white-robed vestals. I see togaed nobles in the

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 189
forums and on the Capitoline Hill. I see games and chariot
races in the Circus of Romulus, and gladiatorial shows in the
Coliseum ; and I seem to hear around me that old, terse, majes
tic tongue, from which comes tho sweet, degenerate ItaUan, Uke
the honey from the carcass of the dead lion. Orators thunder
it from the senate, actors rant in it at the theatres, vestals
hymn it to the fair divinities, peasants shout it in pseans to
Bacchus and Pan, " greasy citizens " talk bloody treason and
stiff rebellion in it under tha arch of Septiraius Severus, or
lounging on the steps of the Templo of Concord — little chil
dren, running hand in hand down tho Via Sacra, prattle in it,
lovers raurraur it in moonlit gardens, poets recite odes in it in
the portico of the Pantheon, ladies " of a certain age " (for,
alas ! such there are in all times) gossip in it beside the foun
tains, and talk scandal in it between the bloody acts at the
CoUseum, and housekeepers bargain in it for beef at the
shambles in the Forum, — the samo whence Virginius took
the knife, — or in buying patent powders, lotions, and elixirs
from Dr. Galen, at his drug shop, near the Temple of Peace.
December 20.
The proclamation of the empire here at Rorae happened,
unfortunately for tho loyal French soldiers, on a festal day of
the Blessed Virgin ; so, as it was considered already appro
priated by " Our Lady," there was no grand military proces
sion, as had been anticip.ated. In the evening there were a
few illurainations, tlie principal of which, the house of the
French minister, was very fine. We went on that afternoon
to the Capitol, to see the Franciscan procession in honor of the
Virgin. In the sight for which I went I was ill paid for my
long walk — the procession being by no means the imposing
affair I thought to see. The Franciscans are the ugliest,
coarsest, and the most animal-looking set of men I have
ever encountered, in or out of the church. I declare, that in

190 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
all that long procession, I saw not one whose countenance
revealed that he had one high thought in his brain, one pure
aspiration or gentle huraan affection in his heart. You could
not alone " trace
A dead soul's epitaph in every face,"
but the evidences of that state of corruption and decay which
as surely follows moral as physical death, and the breath of
which seemed to taint the sweet air as they walked along. I
remember visiting, sorae years since, a certain state institution
in Boston, the raembers of which are truly, as this holy fra
ternity proclaim themselves to be, retired from the world for
the world's good. As this procession of ill-conditioned friars
passed me, I was reminded suddenly and vividly of those suf
ferers from an unfortunate falling out with the laws, as I saw
thera " training in " to a dinner somewhat more frugal than
even monkish fare.
The pictures and images borne in the procession were un
mitigated atrocities. A Virgin, of course, — and a very coarse
Virgin, — a cadaverous St. Francis, and a pictured blasphemy
in the shape of a crucifixion. Then there were. crosses and
other symbols, and incense, and dolorous chanting, and priests
and friars, friars and priests, swarming on and on, like the
locusts of Egypt.
As I beheld all this tinselled and tasteless parade, all these
ungracious, unmanly figures descending the long flight of steps,
I bethought me that this was the Capitoline Hill, where the
grand Teraple of Jupiter once stood, and that, could his old
warrior worshippers arise from the dust, in what a whirlwind
of conteraptuous indignation would they sweep away mumme
ries and mummers together ! And I almost felt that his wor
ship, hard and sensual, yet manly and poetical, was better
than this.
I suppose I shall be set down as " little better than one of

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 191
the wicked," when I avow that I never see the figure of a
saint, or a Madonna, disfiguring one of the grand antique col
urans, without an intense desire to see it turabled headlong
from its place. There is really no question about idolatry
here, for the images of the Virgin, the Christ, and the saints
are by no means equally and universally worshipped, but par
ticular shrines and figures are devoutly frequented and adored.
For instance, there is, in the Church of San Augostino, a large
yellow Virgin, supposed to have once been a .Tuno, who enjoys
an unprecedented popularity. She blazes from head to foot
with real gems of great value, — tiara, earrings, necklace,
stomacher, bracelets, rings, — while her shrine is the richest in
Rome. It glitters with every variety of ornament, in gold,
silver, and precious stones, and looks for all the world like a
jeweller's shop. The right foot of this holy Mary, nee Juno,
has lately been incased in bronze, having been worn down by
the kisses of her grateful or supplicating v, orshippers. But
to return.
I was much interested in observing the various groups of
peasants who thronged the steps of the Capitol, in their gay,
festive dresses, infinitely varied, and many of them picturesque
in the extreme. M6st striking of aU were the piffarari —
wild-looking musicians from the raountains, who carae down
to Rome for tho Christmas season.
O, the eyes of this people ! great, deep, raelancholy, be
wildering. You behold them with an ever-unsatisfied interest,
you lose yourself in the xtdn efforts to read a soul Ufe within
them, finding yourself groping in void darkness — or you
shrink with something of fear frora the quick, sudden flashing
of their passionate fire. Wherever you go, you meet these
orbs of light and night, eyes in which good and evil passions
slumber together in dreamy indolence, or contend in a strife
of terrible beauty — eyes into which an angel might look, and
lose heaveU; believing he saw it there — eyes into which a

192 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
little chUd might look, and dream of a hell of which he had
never heard.
They are never cold, or indifferent, or unsympathetic. "They
seem almost always to mirror the sentiraent of the place in
which you behold thera. Among the old fallen temples and
palaces, the solemn and desolate spirit of ruin seems to look
forth from them ; and beside the sparkUng fountains, and out
on the pleasant Campagna, they laugh back the sunshine with
an added splendor.
We lately spent a day at Albano, driving out in the morn
ing, and returning at night. This excursion was one of the
things to be remembered till death chills the heart against aU
the joy of life, and tho grave shuts out all the light of beauty.
We passed the lovely Fountain of Trevi, the Forum of Tra
jan, the Coliseum, which looked less desolate and more grandly
beautiful than ever, with the glory of a matchless morning
pouring through its mighty arches — past the splendid Church
of St. John Lateran, and that lofty Egyptian obelisk that stands
near it, which dates back to the Pharaohs, and may have cast
its slender shadow upon the royal pomp of Cleopatra — out of
the noble Porta Maggiore, on to tho Albano road which leads
past the ancient aqueducts, in sight of the old Appian Way,
the torab of Cecilia Metella, and many a lonely hill of undis
tinguishable ruin, and through a picturesque part of the Cam
pagna. There was nothing to vary the utter loneliness of
that vast, regal domain of desolation, save an occasional group
of peasants, or a drove of the magnificent Italian cattle, milk
white or silver gray, the only form of physical Ufe, it seems
to mo, which has not degenerated, since tho old heathen ages,
when the gods did not disdain to merge for a while their
divinity in beef, ^nd don hoofs and horns, for the better carry
ing out of their pleasant little adventures — when the very
head of all the gods became a head of cattle, and grazed
among the herds of Agenor — when the immortal Thunderer

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 193
descended from the heights of Olympus to the Phoenician
plains, and laid aside his bolts, to bolt with Europa.
The day was throughout deUghtful beyond compare, and we
were charmed with the site and scenery of Albano. Ah, if I
could have had at my side the friends my heart holds most
dear, what soul out of paradise had been happier than I?
But as it was, one cloud, visible to my eyes alone, saddened
that heaven of transcendent beauty, and the murmurs of»a
heart unsatisfied would make themselves heard above the
sweet sighing of the pines and tho silver rustling of the pop
lars and olives under whoso shade I strolled. We walked for
miles over the hiUs, through the quietest and loveliest ways
imaginable ; we found flowers and butterflies, and dined on the
green turf of a sunny slope, overlooking the. beautiful Lake of
Albano. Yet, in the height of this out-door enjoyment, I
thought, with a shiver, of my dear home friends, in the midst
of their dreary, leafless winter, surrounded by frost and snow,
besieged by tempests, and howled at by fierce winds.
Yesterday we went out the Porta Maggiore, and rode for
some hours along the lino of the ruins of the Claudian aque
duct. The day was superb, our horses were fleet ; we were
confined to no road or beaten track, but jiassed in and out of fhe
arches, and coursed over the green flowery turf for miles. Ha,
it was glorious ! We remained without the waUs till the sunset
hour ; and then, 0 then, the ^•el•y glory of God seemed break
ing through the floor of liea\en, and flooding tho earth. The
dark, gigantic arches of the aqueducts, and the ruins of old
towers and villas, stood out grandly in that gorgeous light ;
the purple Alban hills, and the lovely undulations, and wide
sweeps of green and brown, of that wondrous Campagna, and,
above all, that sky* f skies, witli its exquisite tints, and infinite
shades, and inconceivable brightness, raade me thriU, as I gazed,
fromhead to foot with shocks of intense pleasure, and almost
to reel in my saddle with the intoxication of sight.
17

194 HAPS AND MISHAPS.
We go almost always, before breakfast, to meet the morning
on the noble Monte Pincio. " We have found out some pleasant
walks beyond the Porta del Popolo, which is nearest us ; one
along the Tiber is an especial favorite with us for its fine
views. We sometimes attend vespers at the Trinita de Monte,
a church on the Pincio, when the sweet singing of the nuns is
enough to break one's heart by an indefinable something which
is«nore than sadness, and only less than despair. It seems to
me but the melodious wail of renunciation, of loneliness, of
love in crucifixion.

CHAPTER IX.
Christmas and New Year's Ceremonies. — The Holy Cradle. —
High Mass at St. Peter's. — The Pope. — Cardinal Antinelli.
— Te Deum at the Gesu. — Jewish Synagooue. — The Cam
pagna. — Doria and Corsini Palaces. — Portrait of Lucrezia
Borgia. — Monastery op St. Onofrio. — Tomb of Tasso. — Propa
gandist College. — Art. — Modern Artists. — Oveubeok. —
Tenerani. — Steinhauser. — Gibson. — JIiss Hosmer.
» Jancary 3, IS53.
The Christmas and new year's holidays in Rome have
been something to bo long and pleasantly remembered by
me ; not alone for their novel and splendid cereraonies, but for
the delicious weather we have had through all — sunlight as
brilliant as that of suraraer, moonlight absolutely entrancing,
loveliness and soft airs every where. Every day, as it dawned,
crowned with celestial glory, and garnished with beauty inex
pressible, seemed fit for the birthday of a God.
On Christmas eve we witnessed sorae grand ceremonies at
the Church of Santa Maria Maggiore. This is one of the
most magnificent of the basilicas, and the first view of its U-
luminated interior almost struck one back with the blaze of its
inconceivable splendor. We could see nothing for a moraent
but the innumerable Ughts, the sUver, and gold, and crimson,
the floating clouds of incense, and a vast crowd of people, sol
diers, and priests. But presently we perceived that a proces
sion was slowly raoving round the church. It was the Pope,
borne aloft in his chair of state, arrayed in his pontifical robes
of white and gold, with two immense fans of white pluraes
nodding stateUly, one on either sido of his head. He sat a
(195)

196 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
little unsteadily, and looked, I thought, rather nervous at his
elevation ; but he never ceased to scatter, devoutly and be-
nignantly, his blessing, right and left, upon the crowd, most of
whom knelt to receive the invisible baptism.
Nothing can be finer than the sudden kneeling of the S'wiss
guard and the Guardia NobUe ; they always go down with
such a gaUant tossing of plumes, and such a ringing clang of
swords and halberds, as though challenging the world for their
magnificent, old, warlike faith. There is more in that sound
than the clang of steel against marble ; something heroic,
chivalrous, crusader-like — soraething quite indescribable, but
which makes the heart beat bravely, and thrills one from head
to foot.
After listening'to the music and witnessing some incompre
hensible rites for about half an hour, we went to a side chapel
to see the faraous and most holy relic of the true cradle.
At the entrance, before we were aware, we found ourselves
in an absolutely ferocious crowd. Such fierce pushing and
elbowing, such desperate assaults and ignominious repulses, I
never before witnessed. Torn away from my companions, I
at one time gave myself up for lost, believing that I must ren
der my last sigh in a melee of devout Catholics and sightseeing
heretics, the victim alike of fanatic superstition and frantic curi
osity. A soldier of the Swiss guard was stationed at the door,
and allowed but one or two to pass at a time. I must admit that
this stern and dreadful man at arms was no servile respecter of
persons, but treated all hapless cradle seekers with the same in
flexible brutality. He even seized upon an enterprizing young
priest, in full robes, thrust his reverence back, shook him tiU his
scull-cap fell off and the holy man was purple with unsanctified
ire. I would give something to know what penance wa| imposed
for this sacrilegious attack, this rude laying on of unconse-
crated hands. At last, when quite in despair, we were
admitted, by order of an officer who happened to know one

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 197
of our party, passed the Swiss dragon in safety, and soon
found ourselves standing before what we were told were the
miraculously preserved reranants of the cradle in which Mary
once rocked the infant Christ. In an immense case, a sort of
casket of gold and glass, are kept these wonderful relics — two
or three pieces of old wood, wormeaten, and partly decayed.
There is nothing in their form to indicate that they were ever
parts of any thing like a cradle ; and so altogether roqgh and
clumsy are they, that I found raore natural than irreverent the
remark of a jocose Englishman who stood "near us, " Well,
all I have to say is, St. Joseph seems to have been but a bad
carpenter." Yet I saw women clasp their hands, and burst into tears, at
the sight of these formless pieces of wood, and brutal soldiers
fall on their knees, with their hard faces softened with some
thing like reverence and devotion, and with their stupid eyes
glistening with a ray of something like soul.
We afterwards saw the procession of the cradle — these
relics,,, borne in their golden case, under a gorgeous canopy, to
the high altar, followed by the Pope and cardinals, with much
chanting of monks and flaring of tapers. We went from this
scene of porap and puerility, of priestly parade and theatrical
show, to the Coliseum, which seemed, by contrast, more un
approachably grand, more awful in its imraensity, more solemn
in age and ruin, than ever before.
As we wandered about its vast arena, we thought the night
far lighter and lovelier here than elsewhere ; the brightest
stars seemed clustered above it — we almost felt that all was
darkness without, such wondrous starry radiance was im
prisoned there, so brimming was it with moonUght.
After leaving the CoUseum, we attended midnight mass in
one of the churches on the Corso, where, at one tirae, we
heard music so worldly and waltz-Uke in character, that for
a moment I half beUeved it to be one of the ceremonies to
17 •

198 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
dance the old dispensation out and the new one in — almost
expected to see some of the devout choosing partners, and
whirling about among the pillarS. I assure you, the effect of
such music in such a place was strange and unsolemnizing
beyond description. Some of our party were enterprising
enough to " make a night of it," by attending three o'clock
mass at St. Peter's. But as for me, though the spirit was
willing, the flesh, after all the fatigues of the day and night,
was so decidedly weak, that I was glad to creep into my
bed, and forget, in earthly slumber and most human dreams,
churches and chanting, cowled friars and lace-robed priests,
red-gowned cardinals, and even the good old-womanly Pope
himself. By the way, speaking of His Holiness, I never see
him without feeling the utter absurdity of his standing in the
place of St. Peter — the pious good nature, the easy, indolent
benevolence, the sort of lax benignity of his face are so little
in character with the boldness, the fire, the hastiness, and em-
portement of that noble yet somewhat too impulsive disciple.
But when I think of the generous promises made to Freedom
a few years ago, and see how they have been kept, I am re
minded of that one unfortunate period in the life of the great
Papal prototype, when courage, and truth, and honor failed
him, and he denied his divine Master in the hour of his
extremity. This one abandoned, if he did not deny, the great truth of
human freedom, in which Christ now Uves, in its hour of
utmost need ; and if all could be known, I believe we should
find that, like the other, he has not ceased to weep and repent
since the Gallic cock crowed over his weakness and dishonor.
On Christmas morning we attended high mass at St. Peter's
— a scene and a ceremony which seems yet to blaze on my
memory, and crowd my mind with forms and colors of inde
scribable splendor. The sight commenced at the entrance of
the grand colonnades in front of the church, vfhere the beautiful

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 199
fountains playing in the rich sunshine of a perfect day, the
magnificent equipages of the cardinals, officers of state, and
foreign ministers, soldiers and guards in brilliant uniforms,
and the mighty old church itself, constituted a scene on which
one could be content to gaze for hours. The interior was
gorT;eou8 and wonderful to behold. The immense nave, usually
looking almost dreary and deserted, was now fiUed with a
Tast crowd, infinitely varied by rich or picturesque costumes,
draped, decorated, illuminated ; while grand organ melodies
were swelling through the arches, and strong, clear voices
went circling up into the majestic dome.
We were seated on a platform near the altar, in full view
of the Pope and all the august ceremonials. Of the latter I
understood but few, and perhaps, for this reason, most of them
appeared to rae puerile, absurd, or, at the best, highly theatrical.
There was rauch going back and forth between the altar and
the Papal throne, much kissing of tho Papal toe, much bless
ing of tapers and swinging of censers, and countless other
parades, pomps, forms, and imposing mysteries. There was
one -portion of the cereraonies which struck rae as a beautiful
piece of art, producing a highly-wrought draraatic effect. This
was at the elevation of the Host by the Pope, when nearly all
of that vast concourse having dropped on their knees, the sole
music heard was a peal of silver trumpets, which seemed sent
forth by invisible players, and stole through the church, and
swelled up into the dome in strains of ineffable joy and tri
umph — grand, mysterious, and only not awful because ?o
inexpressibly sweet and melodious. I could think of nothing
but the music ofthe spheres with which to compare it; and fo
the Divinity in whose praise the stars broke forth in singing,
and whose spirit breathes ever in grand melodious sound, to
the God of the celestial harmonies, I instinctively bent the
knee. I then felt to a wonderful degree tho magnetism of
worship, emanating from the kneeling crowd around me, and

200 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
for a few moments no devoutest Catholic could have responded'
more unresistingly and reverently to all those solemn appeals
to the senses. To my eyes, the beauty and gorgeousness of
the scene grew most fitting and holy ; with the incense floating
to me from the altar, I seemed to breathe in a subtUe, subduing
spirit ; and to that music my heart hushed itself in my breast,
my very pulses grew stiU, and my brain swam in a new, half-
sensuous, half-spiritual emotion. For a moment I believe I
understood the faith of the Roman Catholic — for a moment I
seemed to taste the ecstasy of the mystic, to bui-n with the
fervor of the devotee, and felt, in. wonder and in fear, all the
poetry, mystery, and power of the church. Suddenly rose
before my mind vivid wayside and seaside scenes — pictures
of humblest Judean life, when the " meek and lowly " Author
of our faith walked, rainistering, and teaching, and comforting,
among the people — humblest among- the humble, poorest
among the poor, most sorrowful among the sorrowful, preach
ing peace, good will, purity, humility, and freedora — and then,
all this magnificent mockery of the divine truths he taught,
this armed and arrogant spiritual despotism, in the place of the
peace and liberty of his gospel, faded from before my disen
chanted eyes, and even my ear grew dull to that pomp of
sound, swelling up as though to charra his ear against the sighs
of the poor and the groanings of the captive.
O Cleopatra of religions ! throned in power, glowing and
gorgeous in all imaginable splendors and luxuries — proud
victor of victors — in the " infinite variety " of thy resources
and enchantments more attractive than glory, resistless as fate
— now terrible in the dusk splendor of thy imperious beauty
— now softening and subtile as moonlight, and music, and
poet-dreams — insolent and humble, stormy and tender ! O
alluring tyranny, O beautiful falsehood, O fair and fatal
enchantness, O sovereign sorceress of the world ! the end is
not yet, and the day may not be far distant, when thou shalt
lay the asp to thine own bosom, and die. •

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 201
I ever watched with keen interest the movements of Anti
nelU throughout those ceremonies. Ah, it is a right kingly
spirit, in the sense of pride, arrogance, and absolutism. There
is an air of domination in his bearing, an almost intolerable
haughtiness in his eye, which remind me of Queen Katha
rine's character of Wolsey. I have never seen so grand a
walk as his. It is proud and firm, yet light, and full of
stately grace. He treads like a conqueror to majestic music,
and yet with an indescribable softness, almost stealthinoss, of
moveraent. You could fancy the step as noiseless as that of
Mephistophiles. Finally, amid light, and music, and magnificence absolutely
dazzling, the Pope was borno forth in his chair, followed by
the most gorgeous procession I ever beheld. High officers of
the church and state, in crimson, scarlet, purple, and gold —
symbols of authority celestial and terrestrial, crosses, crosiers,
tiara, — sword the foreign legation, the Guardia Nobile in their
rich uniforms, the picturesque Swiss guard — in all, it seemed
to me as briUiant and gallant a sight as the world could show.
As they swept slowly down the nave, the midday sun poured
in upon them from one of the great windows with resplendent
effect. The Pope stayed his blessings for an instant, to shade
his eyes with his hand, while the gold and jewels on his robes
seemed to leap out in flarae, and the arras and helmets of his
guards blazed bstck the hot challenge of the sun.
On this morning we had seen the royal pomp, the most
patrician and recherche, splendor, of the Papal religion — in
the afternoon we went among the people, to behold its plebeian
aspect. At tho Church of the Ara CoeU we saw what among
the peasants is the great Uon of the season — a chapel arranged
as a manger, with wax flgures of Joseph and Mary, and of an
infant Christ lying in a cradle, swaddled in the Italian style,
crowned and decorated with very suspicious-looking jewelry.
In the background, among some admirably-painted scenery.

202 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
were sheep and shepherds — in the foreground other shep
herds, grouped about the cradle in fitting postures of adoration.
Above the manger, on a sort of cloudy loft, were clustered a
company of angels and cherubs, looking benignly animated and
celestially curious. At intervals you heard singing, which was
supposed to come from this winged choir, but which, besides
being in Latin, which one can scarcely accept as the tongue
angelic, had about it a monkish harshness and nasal twang
which rather interfered with the solemn illusion. But the
effect of the scene was, on the whole, decidedly striking. It
is true, the entire holj- family and the shepherds were fig
ures to have driven a Toussaud frantic — which even a Jar-
ley would have disowned with virtuous indignation. It is true,
the cherubs and angels were rather too plump and able bod
ied, but the sheep were chefs d'oeuvre.
At this church we also -witnessed the Christmas preaching
by children, probably in commemoration of Christ's teaching
in the temple. The preachers on this occasion were two
smaU girls, who were hoisted upon an improvised pulpit, and
held forth, one after another, in a hurried, parrot-like dis
course. I regret to say that these reverend little misses
seemed to have a very inadequate reaUzation of the solemnity
of the occasion, or of the responsibilities of their " high pro
fession spiritual," and were evidently too much occupied with
the curious crowd about them to deliver their discourse with
fitting power and unction.
On new year's eve, I heard the Te Deum at the magnifi
cent Church of the Jesuits. The Pope was present, and per
formed some imposing ceremonies. But this time I felt them
little — felt nothing but the glorious music, which was sur
passingly sweet, solemn, and grand — alternately casting
down the soul into depths of hurailiation and sorrow, and up
lifting it to subUrae heights of hope and thanksgiving.
As I was returning from this church, I encountered a masked

A TOUR m EUROPE. 203
•
penitent, begging for the church or the poor. He wore a robe
of coarse white linen, girded with a heavy rope — the cowl
covered his fjRe, merely having small holes for the mouth and
eyes. He was of a tall, soldierly figure ; his eyes were dark
and flashing; the hand he extended for charity, and his
roughly-sandaUed feet, wore, white and delicate. He was prob
ably a noble, as none but the highest-bred sinners, the most
patrician transgressors, are perraitted thus to take the edge off
their penance, which, losing all hurailiation, can but at the worst
be regarded as'a solemn bore, and may possibly be relieved
at times by adventures more or less piquant and amusing.
In our walks along the Tiber we occasionally meet the Pope,
driving, preceded and followed by a small detachraent of the
Guardia Nobile. It is expected that all in His Holiness's way
shall reverently kneel — those in carriages and on horseback
descending and disraounting for the purpose. But, though we
only bow with the respect due to his age and state as a sover
eign, he always blesses us as benignly as he blesses those who
kneel^raost devoutly in the most unfavorable places, laying
their souls and their silks in ^the dust before him ; perhaps
more benignly, in saintly comraiseration for our unregenerate
condition. On a Saturday morning, lately, I visited several of the
Jewish synagogues in the Ghetto with a Hebrew gentleman
of our acquaintance. I found the synagogues to differ from
one another only in size and decoration — the ceremonies were
the same. All were filled with serious if not devout worship
pers. Among these I saw many a sharp, repulsive face,
marked by the hardest and worst Jewish characteristics —
cunning, avaricious, pitiless ; but I also saw some of the most
magnificent and noble-looking men and beautiful lads I ever
beheld. No woraen were present. On entering, every man
sirrayed himself in a scarf of white silk or barege, striped

204 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
with blue, first kissing the fringe, and pressing-it against his
eyes. The priests wore high black caps, and read prayers
and psalms from an immense pulpit or altar. Cff the ceremo
nies, which were exceedingly simple, I remember two as deeply
impressive — the bringing forth of the Bible from its rich
sanctuary, and the bearing it about the synagogue, when all
kissed it with evident emotion — and the solemn, simultaneous
blessing which at one period of the service the fathers who
had sons present bestowed ; turning towards the east, lifting
the eyes to heaven, and laying the right hand on the head of
tho young man, the youth, or the Uttle boy. On the whole,
the ceremonies, though mostly coldly conducted, were touch
ing and mournfully suggestive. January 8.
Gypsy-like as I have ever been in my propensities, I never
had such an uncontrollable passion for out-door life and its
pleasures as I have in Rorae. Our house, hemmed in and
towered over by other houses, is rather dark and chill at this
season; and I cannot resist the inviting sunshine of more
open places — the sunshine which here is softer and more
vivifying than elsewhere — which kindles and keeps a June
bloom in the hearts of January roses — which transmutes the
leaden Tiber into a flowing sheet of gold — which kisses a
flush of life and beauty into the dead face of ruin and decay.
I have a pleasure indescribable and inexhaustible in my morn
ing walks on the Pincio, tasting the early air, a little keen and
frosty nowadays, and looking down upon the noble old city,
almost every interesting point of which is in view; St. Pe
ter's shows grandly from here, with its vast dome blazing with
light. I witness all the sunsets from some one of the seven
hills — from the banks of the Tiber, from the ruins, or put on
the Campagna. We rode, a day or two since, out the Porta
Maggiore, and across the plain, to the tomb of Cecilia MeteUa,

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 205
and the Circus of Romulus, and on to the old Appian Way,
every stone of which is eloquent of the heroic past ; returning
just after sunset, absolutely oppressed and bewildered with the
matchless, dreamy, desolate beauty of that wondrous Carapagna,
and of the raore wondrous heaven above it. O, the glory
of the sunlight on tho gorgeous Alban hills ! How that mel
low warmth seemed to clasp thera in love ! I felt, as I gazed,
that it raust streara through their chill watery veins, and pene
trate their rocky hearts, and wake the sleeping light in the
gems embedded there.
In no other country, I ara sure, do earth and heaven seem
so in love with each other as here. The sky never seems to
shut down sharply upon the earth at the horizon, but, witli
infinite and exquisite shades of coloring, fo draw near with all
the soft approaches of love ; while the ground, gently undulat
ing, seems to lift itself to blend with the sky. The hills do not
tower upward abruptly and sternly, but rise in gradual slopes,
as though wooing the light dallying mists and lovely indolent
clouds to repose on their brown breasts.
On our last ride we went out the Porta del Popolo, and
took a pleasant by-road, which brought us, after many charm
ing windings, to a broad tract of the Carapagna, on the Tiber,
— a plain as le%el and dry as a western prairie — where we
took a wild galloping race, and several trotting matches, enjoy
ing to the utmost the pure, free air, the rich, uuobstruited
sunlight, and the utter loneliness of the scene. There was in
view scarce a trace of human life ; all was silent and solitary
as a desert. At a distance, across the Tiber, wo could discern
a herd of ugly, black buffaloes, and a group of stately-white
cattle ; and docile and domesticated as these doubtless were,
there was to our eyes something strange, and wild, and sav
age in their aspect. Once, as we were riding there, a cloud
of white birds passed over our heads, flying seaward, and
looking, as they sailed slowly through the deep heaven, like
18

206 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
a fleet of fairy barks, their wings gleaming Uke sUver oars
in the blue waves of air.
Twelfth Night was very gayly kept in Rome. It is a season
of great rejoicing for the children, as they then receive all
sorts of gifts from the gracious Baffana, a kind of female
Santa Claus. She is a personage very generally and joyfully
honored here — the Corso is illuminated for her, and various
ceremonies and festivities mark her annual advent.
The day following, the Bambino was shown to the people,
with much pomp and circumstance, from the steps of the Ara
Cceli. This Bambino is lieither more nor less than a sacred
doll, blazing with jewels, the offerings of the devout, and
having an unrivalled reputation in the rairacle line. A vast
asserablage of tho people fell on their knees at the sight of it,
as readUy and reverently as they could have prostrated them
selves if a shining angel of God had descended into their
midst. '
Yesterday we visited the Doria and Corsina palaces. The
former is a beautiful and princely residence, but is not re
markably rich in works of art. Though there are in its
gaUeries several pictures by Guido, Claude, Rubens, Murillo,
Raphael, Titian, and other great masters, they are not among
those masters' greatest works. In one of tho galleries I was
suddenly arrested by the portrait of a woman, young and
beautiful, yet which seemed to fling down upon me from the
wall a powerful and baleful spell. Wishing to feel to the
utmost, to analyze, and, if possible, to understand, this strange
and startling influence, I stood long before tho picture, without
looking at the catalogue to ascertain its name. It is the
portrait of a woman in the full bloom and ripeness of beauty,
with a rich, glowing complexion, auburn hair, and dark -brown
eyes. Her form is perfectly rounded, her throat and hands
of great beauty, and her dress royally luxurious. But in the
face I read, as clearly as though they had been set down in a

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 207
book, all the most dark, and strange, and contradictory qual
ities ahd passions ever congregated in one m a-tal nature, and
an-ogantly and fatally manifest in one human imbodiment.
Intellect, keen and subtle ; sensuality, and cruelty, imperious-
ness, revengofuluess, voluptuousness, and utter falsehood.
It is the portrait of Lucrezia Borgia, by Giulio Romano.
At the Corsini palace I saw a Madonna and child, by
Carlo Dolci, which to ray eye, or rather to my soul, is the
finest picture of this subject I ever beheld. The Madonna is
most lovely, full of purity, with a serene and noble yet
tender and womanly beauty ; while the child is, indeed, an
object for holy love, wonder, and adoration. He lies asleep,
with a soft, dewy flush upon his cheeks and lips, and with his
small hands clasped on his breast, and you feel that he is
visited by sweet dreams of the celestial home he has just loft.
You feel that he is a pure ray of the eternal brightness, sent
to light the death darkness of earth — a bud of the' divine
life, sent to fill our sad mortal being with the breath of its
immortal sweetness. You seem to see tho great God-soul
throbbing and glowing through all tho little baby form ; and
slight, beautiful, and tender as he is, you read in both face
and forra, as in " a sure word of prophecy,'' all the sorrow
and grandeur of his raission of redeinption — the sublime
abnegation and long suffering of his beneficent life.
In this palace, after her abdication and conversion to Roman
Catholicism, Queen Christina, of Sweden, lived and died.
The room in which the royal madwoman breathed her last
now forms part of the picture gallery. Standing within it, I
could not feel quite cheerful and at peace, but was troubled as
by the presence of her stormy and reckless spirit.
From the Corsini we went to fhe Monastery of St. Onofrio,
where Tasso died. His tomb is shown in tho chapel, marked
by a small slab of white marble, bearing this simple inscrip
tion — " Torqvati Tassi Ossa."

208 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
Into the ceU he occupied, in which a mask of his face, taken
after death, is kept, no woman is allowed to enter, unless
by special order of a cardinah But we saw the remains of
the groat poet's favorite oak, and pilfered from it certain relics,
as pious pUgrims to the shrines of genius and greatness are
bound to do ; my portion of which poetic plunder, I am sorry
to say, I lost before reaching home. I must confess that I
have usually Uttle taste for relics ; I cannot feel that I shall
ever need them to recall scenes of beauty or pleasure to my
raind, or to touch my heart with the memory of the noble
dead. We beheld the sunset from Mount Janiculura, which com
mands one of the grandest and loveliest prospects in all Rome.
O, what a scene was that on which we gazed ! Those glori
ous Alban hills were overflowed with such floods of radiant
coloring, that it seemed the heavenly fountains of light and
beauty must be exhausted — that never again could such
tides of gold and molten amethyst pour upon them frora the
muniflcent skies, and enwrap thera thus from summit to base.
Beneath us gleamed countless spires and domes, with the
silvery flash of fountains, and golden glimpses of the Tiber ;
while the vesper ringing of many bells came floating up to us
on the still and balmy air. At such times, the religion of the
soul and of the heart chime most harmoniously together ;
then I dream alike of friends and of heaven — of the home I
have left, and of that to which we all hope to go. If the
thought of the hungry sea, now rolUng between us, sweeps
coldly over my heart, I ara then consoled, O, inexpressibly,
by gazing upward into the infinite brightness, and remember
ing that land of eternal reunion, " where there shaU be no
more sea." January 9.
I have just returned from the Accademia di Lingue, or
Propagandist College, where I have witnessed a very curious

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 209
sight, and been deeply interested in listening, without com
prehending. I saw there students from aU the nations of the
earth, and heard speaking and chanting in forty different lan
guages. It was a strange. Babel-like scene, I assure you, and
impressed mo more with the energy, vigilance, power, and
fostering care of the church than any thing I have yet seen.
For some time before the performance coraraenced, I-was
occupied in regarding the faces of the students, which furnished
a fine study of physiognomy and national characteristics.
There were aU shades of complexion — from the Ethiopian
to the Norwegian, from the American to the Burmese. But
when they began speaking, I became quite absorbed in the
study of sound. I saw the visage of the speaker in his voice,
and the strange, uncomprehended words had power to conjure
up for me scenes of far and unknown lands, beautiful or bar
baric. In the sweet, sonorous Persian I had most delight.
There is a sentiment in its sound, luxurious and droamil}- pas
sionate, vague, and raysterious. The Turkish and Arabic par
take of these indescribable qualities, and the voices of the
speakers in all these Oriental languages gave out something
wild and grand in the high tones, while their low tones were
like whisperings of hate or fear, or like Passion murmuring
in sleep. The African tongues are rude, warlike, and bar
baric in sound ; those of Northern Europe are cold, strong,
and rugged ; while nothing can bo more mellow and tender,
and deUciously dreamy, than those of the south.
I am writing to-night by the light of a lamp taken not long
since frora the ruins of a tomb on the Appian Way, whore it
had been, 'tis said, for two thousand years. How touching is
the thought of its tender light struggling for a while against
the cold, sepulchral darkness, and shedding soft warmth and
brightness about the urn of the beloved dead ! What tears
may have fallen on it, as the mourner bore it slowly down the
steps of the tomb, to place it on its watch of Ught ! I never
18*

210 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
use it without losing rayself in dreamy conjectures concerning
the dead whoso tomb it once feebly illuminated. Perhaps that
urn held the ashes of a youthful poet, whose fine, aspiring
spirit would have flamed purely upward towards the great
Source of Ught and poesy, but that it was ever fated to strug
gle vainly against the chill and heavy atmosphere of an un
congenial world ; perhaps those of a young ^irl, whose heart ,
burned itself away in the weary night of hopeless love;
perhaps those of a gentle raother, whose life, loving and
serene, filled with cheerful Ught some happy home ; perhaps
those of a brave young brother, whoso smile was warmth and
brightness, battUng away the chill of want and the shadows
of care ; perhaps those of a child, whose sweet love lit the
darkness of a widow's heart for a little space, and then was
extinguished forever. And so, without end, dream gives birth
to dream, and, more wonderful than Aladdin's, this lamp con
jures up, by its pale, flickering light, visions of ancient home
life, sad and sweet, and I seem to hear death hymns which
were sung, and the gushing of tears which fell, two thousand
year§ ago.
This little relic, so mournfully and poetically suggestive, is
the gift of Mr. Crawford, whom we have the honor to count
among Araerican sculptors. I trust I may be pardoned for
saying that I have found some of my greatest pleasures, of
late, in the acquaintance I have formed with him and his
lovely wife, and in the society I meet at his house. I recog
nized, as soon as I passed his threshold, the genial atmosphere
of a true home, — breathing happiness, refinement, and gra
cious hospitality, — and I have ever met there a cordial
and raanly. courtesy, and gentle womanly kindness. January \b.
I am just beginning to understand the source of the strange
disappointment I felt in first beholding the Transfiguration

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 211
and certain other renowned works of Raphael. Many of the
latest and noblest pictures of this great master were painted
in part by his pupils, whose heavy, glaring coloring is sadly
at variance with their exquisite composition and outlining, and
their high and beautiful sentiment. There are masses of ob
trusive color in the foreground of the Transfiguration, which
have power to distract the sight from the wondrous central
glory itself. I speak but simple truth when I say that I have
had more rich and reverential delight in studying fine outlines
of the works of Raphael in America than I have felt in look
ing at the originals here. Yet I except wholly the frescoes
and cartoons, whose imposing grandeur is but dimly hinted at
in any engravings I have yet seen. Of the former, the
School of Athens is the object of my most wondering and
boundless admiration. Of Guido I have not yet seen the
grandest work, — the Aurora, — but in his minor pictures I
take comparatively Uttle delight, his coloring is so repulsive to
my eye. The flesh of many of his female figures seems to
me cold, livid, and of a sort of puffy texture, the sight of
which gives me a str.angely un])leasant sensation. ^His
Lucretia, for instance, I could fancy had been fed on poisons,
or reared in the Catacombs. The Cenci has somewhat of this
peculiar and disagreeable coloring ; but you accept it, in her
case, as the effect of torture, imprisonment, and the leaden
horror of death. I am aware that I am laying myself open
tO'the charge of presumption in speaking thus freely of one
of the gods of art; but I give what I can scarcely call evci
my opinions, but merely intuitions — confessions, rather than
criticisms. In truest truth, nothing can be farther from my
heart than conceit or irreverence, in regard to Art, in this her
high place, and on this her holy ground. I never so pro
foundly felt my own ignorance of her marvellous mysteries
and beautiful subtleties — but with reverence, and faith, and
conscientious study, I hope yet to attain to the art of deep and

212 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
just appreciation. In the mean time, I must chronicle my first
steps, uncertain and often false though they be — I must tell
truly what is truth and beauty for rae to-day, though to-mor
row's bettor light and larger want may prove its falsehood or
insufficiency. I sometimes see a work of art which intoxi
cates mo with the mere grace of form, or seems to drown
thought and judgment in the delight springing frora mere beau
ty of coloring ; in which case I am sure to find, on a second
visit, that I have drank the fountain dry at the first eager
draught — and so henceforth that statue or that picture has
nothing for me of inspiration or reality. Behold my simple
and sole test — one which cannot save me from mistakes and
extravagances, but which, I trust, will insure me against a
long and content acceptance of that which is not nobly true,
high, and pure in art.
I lately visited the studio of Overbeck, and was impressed
by the peculiar spirit of his works, which are in the style
of the old masters, nearly all treating of religious subjects.
The sentiment of the exquisite drawings is ever tender,
touchjng, and deeply devout, evincing the presence of a
sincerely religious and reverential soul. His representa
tions of our Lord are among the finest in modern art. Meek,
yet majestic — sorrowful, yet serene — divinely gracious, piti
ful, and patient. I know of none so noble, except it be the
Christus Consolator of Schoeffer. His Madonnas aro heavenly
beautiful, pure, and tender, and his angel faces have an ineffable
sweetness which touches and exalts the heart of the gazer.
But in the powerful heads of sorae of his apostles, pharisees,
high priests, and Roman soldiers, is his genius best displayed.
Overbeck himself has about him an air of alraost solemn
earnestness, and looks as though he, had watched and prayed
over his works ; and in this reality and depth of feeling lies the
justification of his stylo. There can be no affectation in his
painting in the manner of the old religious masters, inspired

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 213
as he is by the same devotional spirit. But I sincerely hope
he may be the last of those who have narrowed a great artist
life to the old worn-out ground — dedicated a glowing pencil
to the thousand-times repeated traditions of the church —
monk-cowled and cloister-sliadowed a genius which should
have had a broad lookout and a free range over the world.
In the life of art, saints. Madonnas, holy popes, raonks, an
gels, prophets^ and apostles have had their day, and a lont;
and glorious day it has been. It is now tirae that the artist
should recognize that art should commemorate what is high
and noble, pure and heroic, in the world of to-day, in tho sim
ple humanity about us. Grand and inspiring, ay, and holy,
are the subjects for the true artist in the every-day course of
life, on the common field of the worid. Love, devotion to any
great truth, high endeavor, sacrifice, and death, for freedom and
mankind, — are they not as sublime as the ecstasies, miracles,
and martyrdoms of saints ? And which is the grander sight —
a lean ascetic telling his beads over a grinning skull in a gloomy
ceU, or some strong, fearless, and faithful spirit, fighting un
daunted the good fight for man, and so for God — making
every step and every blow a prayer, and, in place of regarding
any- cold and void image of death, keeping his eye fixed on
the burning and guiding soul of an undying purpose ? Aiid
vvhich is the more divinely beautiful — a St. Cecilia, harping
to the angels, with rapt face uplifted, or such fair ministers of
consolation and redemption as in our own day have borne
Heaven's Ught and peace into the gloom and despair of the
prison and the madhouse, and raade the very abysses of crirae
vocal with God's praise ?
If these opinions can be sustained, and I am sure they can,
what I have said of the religious subjects of art is doubly true
of the mythological — as regards painting, at least, which
should become enfranchised with the growth of free thought,
and widen with the circles of tirae. The exigencies and

214 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
necessities of sculpture are more imperative and absolute. Yet,
who cannot see, even in this, a breadth of spirit and a univer
sality of thought which did not belong to it of old ? Some of
our great modern artists aro throwing a soft flush of rose upon
the pedestals and around the feet of their ideal statues. This
seems to me typical of a new warmth of human feeling creep
ing upward into the once coldly-isolated and superhuman forms
of sculpture.
I have seen in an Italian garden a stately figure of Juno
wreathed about by flowering vines, and a head of Jove crowned
like a Bacchus by purple-ripened grapes. And so it seems
to mo that the poetry and the needs of our day, in laying hold
on this seyere and supernal art, have added a living grace to
its cold beauty, and beneflcence to its stern majesty. I rejoice
to see whatever there is of the heroic and poetic peculiar to
our age and race passing into stone ; and better than flgures
of Olympian grandeur, stamped with godhood, are forms on
which I may gaze till I tliink I see the very marble heaved
with the beatings of a great human heart.
Yet one of the most sublime statues of modern times is
that of neither God nor man — The Angel of the Last Judg
ment, by Tenerani, the first Italian living sculptor. It is a
colossal, sitting figure, the poiyer, beauty, and divine majesty
of which I find beyond description. The archangel holds
his trump, not raised, but resting across his knees, and seems
awaiting the moment and the signal to sound. There is a sol
emn waiting repose in the figure, and in the face an intent, ab
sorbed look of listening for the word of doom, grand to awfulness.
You hush your voice, your breath, as you gaze, and you gaze
till it seems that aU God's universe is listening with him.
Nothing can be grander than the wings of this angel — broad
and high, though but half unfolded, they shine behind him all
stately and silvery white, every smallest plume seeming to
make a part of that charmed stillness, and looking as though

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 215
Iheir upbearing power and swift vitality had been suddenly
frozen in that dread expectancy.
I look upon this figure, so majestic and mighty, yet waiting,
subordinate, and obedient, as marvellously suggestive of
the greater majesty and might of the infinite and invisible
God. For this reason it is more to me than the Christ of the
same artist, which is less forcible, and not raore divine. Next
to representations, in art, of the Sovereign Father, which are
simply blasphemous, I place nearly all attempts to portray, or
imbody, the inexpressible sweetness, sadness, and meekness of
Him who walked earth sorrowful, poor, and lowly, yet whose
death agony darkened and convulsed the world — with whose
last groan Nature, dismayed, cried out to God.
In strong contrast with this igrand figure is the fainting
Psyche, which stands near it, in the studio of tho artist. Tliis
seems to me the loveliest representation I have yet seen of
that exquisite ideal of olden poetry. She has just opened the
fatal vase sent by the envious goddess, and inhaled its deadly
vapor. She has dropped it at her side, and is sinking towards
the earth. Her beautiful life is visibly passing away ; you
see it dying out of her very wings, which droop with an almost
leaden heaviness in their airj- tissues — in the languid failing
of the limbs, tho weary falling of the eyelids, the death-kissed
sweetness of the lips. So tender, and touching, and softly
beautiful is this figure, that, gazing on if, as I did, through
tears, I could scarcely believe it a work of art — it seemed
rather a magic crystallization of some gentle poet's dream of
love and death.
Mr. Spence, the young English sculptor, has in his studio,
among many other admirable things, his charming figure of
Highland Mary, which, by the way, has been commissioned
by the Queen. Ah, what an omnipotent leveUor and exalter
is Genius ! Think of the poor ploughman's barefooted peas
ant love in Buckingham Palace !

216 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
Steinhauser has just finished a colossal sitting statue of
Goethe, attended by the Genius of Poetry bearing a harp.
The figure of Goethe is full of the grand repose, and the hgad
and face marked by the beauty, cold and proud, the almost
supernal dignity, of that poet univefsal and irresponsible —
the great I AM of German literature. The slight, youth
ful figure of the attending genius is a graceful accessory,
whose presence, if not absolutely necessary, is yet justified
by beauty.
An object of unceasing delight to me is the young vioUn
player, but just executed in marble, which will, I am sure,
take rank among the finest works of the artist. It was created
in deep and sweet poetic thought — the very soul of music
seems breathing over the face, and flowing through all the
lines of the exquisite form, in the visible harmonies of
grace. In strong contrast alike with the powerful, subtle, Italian
genius of Tenerani, as shown in his Angel of the Last Judg
ment, his Psyche, and his Venus, and with the poetic, dreamy,
and essentiaUy Gerraan genius of Steinhauser, is tho cold, yet
spirited, classic, yet emphatically English genius of Gibson.
This last is by no means wanting in poetry, but he is not a
poet — his love of beauty is a principle, or a religion, rather
than a sentiment or a passion — he waits on the oracles of art,
before delivering himself up to the inspirations of nature.
In a word, he is" an artist, fundaraentally and finaUy, above
all, and through all. Aiming at excellence rather than effect,
his style, if not marked by the highest power, displays great
force and vitality, joined with delicacy and grace. A reverent
worshipper of the spirit and forras of antique art, it follows
that his works, if not startUngly and powerfully original, are
pure in conception and faultless in execution. They do not
always captivate the imagination, or appeal strongly to the
passions of the heart ; but they delight the taste with noble

A. TOUE IN EUROPE. 217
forms of beauty which are aUke the triumphs of genius and
the slow results of art.
Of the works of this sculptor, now in Rome, I admire most
the Narcissus, an exquisite figure ; the Wounded Amazon ;
the Cupid and Butterfly ; Psyche home by Zephyrs, and the
Phaeton, a composition in basso rilievo, fuU of fire and strength.
In the lovely story of Psyche he seems to revel, and many of
his representations are worthy of the immortality of which
she is the type.
Into the studio of Mr. Gibson, Miss Hosmer (the young
American sculptor) has been admitted as a pupil, and receives
from that artist, a most admirable master, all the advice she
needs, all the encouragement a generous heart can bestow.
She has ah-eady modeUed the head of the Venus of Milo, a beau
tiful antique torso, and is now engaged on the Cupid of Praxit
eles. It may gratify her many American friends to hear that
great interest is felt in her, and warm admiration expressed for
her genius, not alone by Mr. Gibson, but by many of the first
artists in Rome. She is a marvel to them for her industry, her
modest confidence, her quiet enthusiasm ; for her fine feeling
for, and knowledge of, her art. They all say that the copies
she has made — which, by the way, have been chosen as diffi
cult studios — have been executed, not alone with ease, and
taste, and faithfulness, but in the truest and highest style of
art. With the fuU consent of Mr. Gibson, she is soon to
model sorae of her own ideal compositions.
I have spoken of the artist truly, but even less admiringly,
than I could have spoken. How shall I speak of the friend,
of the woman, of the child-woman, as I call her ? After three
months' daUy intercourse, I cannot say less than that I have
never known a more charming and lovable person. Her
character is a pleasmg and piquant combination of qualities
rarely combined — enthusiasm with steady perseverance, re
fined tastes with playful and exuberant spirits, poetry with
19

218 HAPS AND MISHAPS.
sound good sense. She is thoroughly original and independ
ent, without extravagance or pretension of any kind — a sim
ple, earnest, truthful girl, whose strong and cheerful heart is
the peer and ally of her active and comprehensive inteUect.
She makes her kindly and generous spirit felt by those around
her more sensibly than even her genius ; and in the brilUant
and peculiar career before her, she wiU ever be foUowed as
well by lo'ving pride as by admiring interest.

CHAPTER X.
American Artists. — Crawford. — His "Washington Monument. —
Mb. Story. — Mr. Greenough. — Mr. Mozier. — Mr. Page. —
Blessing of the Beasts. — The Carnival. — Races. — The Mo
coli — Ball. — Roman Nobility. — Kino op Bavaria  Meet
ing THE Pope  "Veil — Islands. January 29.
Undoubtedly the most interesting and important work of
art now being executed in Rome (to Americans, at least) is
the Washington Monument, by Mr. Crawford, ordered, to her
honor, by Virginia, and destined to be the chief ornament and
pride of her handsome capital. Before speaking of the ar
tistic merits of this work, let me give some idea of its plan
and proportions. The entire height of the monument is to be
sixty feet. This includes the equestrian statue of Washington
— sixteen feet in height. Below this, which is to stand on a
square pedestal, sculptured with some admirable bassi rilievi, are
ranged the colossal statues of six of Virginia's noblest sons —
Marshall, Mason, Allen, Lee, Jefferson, and Patrick Henry.
The only figures now finished are those of Patrick Henry
and Jefferson. Henry is represented in the lofty passion of
his fervid and magnetic eloquence — in the height of that
grand outburst of freedom and patriotism which electiifled the
land, and will yet thrill, like a trumpet caU, through the hearts
of his countrymen, while they prize their dear-bought liber
ties, or reverence the heroic past. You see not alone in this
face the fii-e and the force of the impassioned orator, but the
sustaining strength of the hero, and the prescience of the
prophet. (919)

220 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
In striking contrast with this animated and powerful figure
is that of Jefferson. He stands in an attitude of calm, deep
thought, girt about with all the native majesty of greatness —
with aU the dignity of the statesman and patriot. He looks
here what he was — the utterer of the profoundest political
and moral truth ever proclaimed to the world. You recog
nize in him the moulding power and the controlling will of
government, and you seem to read in his face, not alone the
deep speculations of the philosopher and the large projects of
the statesmjin, but the destinies of nations.
Tho drapery in both these noble figures is wonderfuUy well
managed. The costume of the time of the revolution, though
far enough from the classic, was yet loss stiff and meagre than
that of our day ; and the artist has here relieved, or concealed,
much of the more ungraceful detail, by a skilful introduction
of the cloak.
Separately and together, these statues strike me as among
the finest productions of modem sculpture — as marked by
most impressive dignity, by originality, force, and grandeur of
sentiraent. They are about being cast in bronze, at Munich.
Mr. Crawford is to make use of Houdon's bust of Washington,
as the most reliable likeness. The horse, though yet in a very
rough state, promises to be a magnificent work. It is repre
sented as just curbed up from a trot, not rearing — fiill of
strength and fire, but not rebellious — a steed fully worthy of
his rider, and one which wUl inevitably suggest comparisons de
cidedly unfavorable to a certain weak-taUed charger, who holds
his thin nose in the air from the top of Hyde Park gate.
The small studies for the remaining figures of this monu
ment strike me as happy and truthful presentments of charac
ter — are important parts of a noble whole, and form a grand
circle of supports and accessories to that peerless principal.
Nothing ever so impressed me with the greatness of Washington

. A TOUE 'in EUROPE. 221
as seeing such figures as these placed subordinate to his, and
feeling the entire fitness of such an arrangeinent.
The last finished work of Mr. Crawford is a Flora — an
exceedingly graceful and beautiful figure. He is now putting
into marble a charming group of the Babes in the Wood.
This simple and touching subject is treated with much deUcacy
and feeUng ; and the sight of those tender and lovely little
creatures, who in each other's arms have sunk in the deep
slumber of grief and exhaustion, and frora that have slid
silently and unconsciously into the deeper sleep of death,
moves one's heart, as it was moved in childhood, by that earli
est fireside tale.
An exquisite group, in its sweet poetic expression, is the Hebe
and Ganymede. Hebe is represented at that rather morttfying
period of her life when she finds herself obUged to resign her
.office at court. She stands with her head drooped, and wears
an expression half of grief, half of vexation ; while Ganymede,
the new incumbent, with his hand on her shoulder, peers into
her face deprocatingly and tenderly — a look which s^s,
" Ah, I am so sorry to take the cup from you ! Indeed, I
don't want the situation at all. You fill it a great deal better
than I can ; besides, it's a woman's business. So don't think
hard of me. You know one can't do just as one pleases up
here, araong these gods and goddesses.''
Mr. Crawford has not yet exhibited as fine an imagination
as Tenerani, or as much art as Gibson, but he is younger than
either of these. He does not lack imagination, fancy, or feel
ing — he has strength, originality, and boldness, and every
new work shows an advance in artistic skill ; so we may well
congratulate ourselves upon a genius which to its highest de
velopment will but reflect growing honor upon our country.
Mr. -Story is engaged upon a labor of love, in modelling the
statue of his father, the late Justice Story. He seems to me
to be making a noble work of it. The head is exceedingly
19*

222 HAPS AND MiSHAPS OE
fine — the face wearing a mingled expression of benignity and
strength, of cahn thought and genial kindness, pecuUariy beau
tiful. The figure is sitting — the attitude has the dignity of
the judge, without rigidity or sternness — the judicial robe is
managed most judiciously, and forms drapery as graceful as
imposing. Mr. Story has in his studio a little study for an ideal statue,
the subject taken, I believe, from Spenser — an Arcadian
Shepherd Boy, piping. I am delighted with the youthful'
grace of this figure, and with the sentiment of pure, prime
val music, if I may so express it, which speaks not alone in
face, but in form and attitude even.
Mr. Richard Greenough is now modelling a striking and
original group — a Shepherd Boy attacked whUe robbing an
eagle's nest, and defending himself against the enraged eagle.
The youth is crouched upon one knee, and is just about to
pliftige his knife into the body of the bird, who has alighted on
his shoulder. His attitude is fuU of spirit, and his face has a
fine expression of strength and courage.
Mr. Mozier has m progress several ideal works. The one
farthest advanced is a figure of Silence, which, as yet, is
chiefly remarkable for the lightness and gracefulness of its
drapery. And here is a point where Mr. Mozier usually
excels — he manages drapery with rare skiU and taste, and
however much he may give to his statues, it never looks heavy,
or too massive. When finished, I think the SUence will be a
figure of much dignity and beauty.
Among Mr. Mozier's ideal busts I ara most pleased with a
Daphne, several copies of which are now in America. It is
an exquisite head — not alone rarely beautiful in form, but
expressive of much poetic thought. The face and bearing of
the head convey a sentiment of resignation, with a tenderness
and purity peculiarly sweet and touching.
With some of the works of Mr. Ives I have been much

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 223
pleased. If not an enthusiast, he seems a conscientious student
in his art. K he does not produce works startUngly powerftil
and original, whatever he does he does well. He models with
taste, feeling, and careful finish. His portrait busts seem to
me remarkably good, and some of his ideal busts are exceed
ingly fine. Of the latter, I like, especially, a head of Ariadne
— full of beauty of a noble character.
Mr. Rodgers has lately executed in marble a figure of
Ruth, whith is very lovely ; and one of a charming, and I
think entirely original, subject — a little skater, making one
of his first essays on the ice. This last, which is called the
Truant, delights me greatly, by a certain freshness of feeling
there is about it, and by its grace, novelty, and naturalness.
Mr. Bartholomew has two ideal figures lately commenced,
which cannot yet be judged of, except by their studies, which
are very pleasing. This artist seems to excel in basso rilievo.
He has in his studio a beautiful monuraental group, and a
Homer, with his young guide, which is marked by force, grace,
and delicate feeling.
Mr. Bartholomew has poetic sentiment, with taste, strength,
and patience — he has a genuine reverence for his art, and a
raodest estimate of himself — is beyond doubt an artist whom
America will do well to encourage.
Mr. Page is here, painting some admirable pictures, and
talking grandly on art to his sitters and friends. He has some
peculiar, but I think profoundly just, ideas concerning por
trait painting. He desires to know well his sitters, and re
quires to grasp soraewhat more flian the surface life for his
picture, which he raakes a study of character, a revelation of
soul, as compared with other portraits ; a reality, instead of a
likeness ; a living presence, in place of a haunting, unsatisfying
shadow. You look to see the rich lights astir in the hair, the
lips breaking into smiles, the breast softly heaved, the very
blood beating along the veins.

224 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
Mr. Page has in his studio several copies from Titian, so
marvellously true to that great master that it is difficult to
believe them by any other hand than his. I am convinced
that we have no painter possessed of a more clear and pro
found knowledge of art than Mr. Page. He Uves in it, and
through it ; wanting the passionate energy of personal ambi
tion, ho does not pursue it ardently, but studies it with all the
powers of a subtile intellect, and contemplates it with the calm
devotion of a reverential spirit. By bringing so much thought
and power to bear upon portrait painting, Mr. Page has
done much to ennoble that branch of his art ; but we yet look
to see manifestations of his genius more original in character
and universal in interest — Something which shall be a fidl
and worthy expression of himself, in which the artist wUl
live as sole creator and first cause.
We went, last Sunday, to see the blessing of beasts — an
annual ceremony, which takes place at the Church of San
Antonio. There was an immense crowd of all descriptions
and classes ""of people ; among the rest, a vast convocation of
beggars, the crippled and maimed in endless varieties, wrecks
and remnants, divisions and subdivisions of men.
A priest stood on the steps of the church, with a holy-water
sprinkler in his hand, and a little boy at his side, bearing the
benitier. The animals were trotted up before him ; he read
a form of benediction in Latin, shook the sprinkler at them,
and they were good for a twelvemonth. Of course, this is
done for a consideration — as what is not, in the way of
church parades, privileges, and iraraunities ? The first appli
cants for a benediction, after our arrival, wore two miserable
old carthorses, who looked as though the blessings of all the
fathers of the church could not keep them on their legs for
twenty-four hours. I fear the rite was extreme unction to
them ; and yet the owner doubtless led them away, rejoicing

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 225
in the faith that the crows were cheated of the poor skele
tons for a year to come.
Next came a drove of donkeys, with their heads and tails
decorated with gay ribbons. One of these committed thd ever-
to-be-apprehended asinine impropriety of braying in the midst
of the ceremony. So absurd, ludicrous, and pompously
farcical was this scene, — so stupid, yet consciously ridiculous,
seemed the chief actors, — that it struck me the benediction
might have commenced without great inappropriateness with
an apostolic " dearly -beloved brethren " !
I trust I shall not be thought irreverent from this or any
thing of the kind I may say. I feel a daily-increasing indig
nation and contempt towards tho monstrous absurdities of this
system of religion and the actors .therein. To reverence such
things and such men, wore an insult to the God in whom I
. believe. There came up a sudden and violent shower, and we were
driven for shelter into the church, where we were brought
into more intimate relations with the lower classes than was
altogether safe or savory. I am a democrat, even in Italy,
tiU it comes to gailic and pulci, when, I must confess, my
democracy assumes a purely abstract character. After the
storm was passed, the Pope's stud came, mostly driven in
carriages, magnificent turnouts. Then followed those of the
cardinals, scarcely less stately and gorgeous. Next came
twenty-foUr superb horses, belonging to Prince Piombino,
attached to one carriage, all decorated with plumes and
ribbons — reaUy a beautiful sight.
The horses wliich are to run in the Corso, during the
Carnival, were blessed amid unusual demonstrations of popu
lar feeling; and so it ended — the oddest, absurdest, most
utterly ridiculous rehgious ceremonial I ever beheld.
To-morrow, Carnival begins. It is late at night ; aU is
quiet in the streets, except the noise of hammers next door.

226 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
where they are putting up a balcony. 'The sound at this hour
has something strange and sinister in it — something so
scaffold-suggestive, that it almost gives one a to-be-hung-next-
morning sort of a feeUng. February 6.
The flrst day of the Carnival was beautiful, warm, and
sunny, but with an invigorating spring freshness in the atmos
phere — such a day as we sometimes have at home, in early
April, tempting one out into the budding woods after the first
flowers. As the windows of our lodgings are too high for Carnival
convenience, we have taken a balcony somewhat farther up
the Corso, near the Via della Croce — an admirable situation.
To*this we proceeded at hatf past two ; but not tiU about
three did the grand play really commence. Then indeed was
the Corso a most beautifiil and animating sight. On either
side the windows and balconies were decorated with brilliant
hangings, and fUlod with gay figures aiid smiling faces. The
dark, gray old palaces seemed to put forth the most gorgeous
colors and the most alluring beauty — like the sudden magnif
icent blossoming of rude and gigantic tropical plants. The
street was thronged with revellers and spectators, in carriages
and on foot, many in costumes grotesque or picturesque ; and
thickly and incessantly from windows and balconies stormed
bouquets and bonbons, and rattled the harmless hail of confetti.
This last is composed of a sort of seed, covered with plaster
or flour ; and though it whitens one completely, and stings a
little occasionally, it does no serious injury to person or dress.
Those in the carriages gallantly retumed the fire of the balco
nies and windows, giving bouquet for bouquet, bonbon for
bonbon, confetti for confetti ; with whatsoever missile ye pelt,
it shaU be pelted to you again.
It is strange how contagious is this general joyousness and
joUity. No sooner had I stepped on to the balcony than I felt

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 227
myself possessed with the true Carnival spirit; my heart
danced, and the blood tingled along my veins, with a novel,
wUd, and childish excitement — and in a moment I was
mingling in that strange, foreign sporty as ardently, ener
getically, and recklessly as any daring Roman woman to the
Corso and Carnival born. I not only tossed and caught such
sweet and fragrant missiles as bags of bonbons and bouquets,
but shot and received large sugared balls, hard and sometiraes
not a little formidable, and showered torrents of confetti.
There were twelve in our balcony, and when we singled out a
carriage, and fired in concert, the effect was tremendous. It
was most amusing to watch certain passers by, who drove up
and down in a serious and sedate manner, taking no smallest
part in the sport, and putting on a surprised, indignant, or iU-
used look, whenever they were saluted with a heavy bouquet
or a dash of confetti. Heaven only knows what else they ex
pected at Carnival.
It was at first difficult to distinguish our acquaintances in
fancy drosses, dominoes, and wire masks i hut after we had
once recognized them, they received no quarter.
After a couple of hours' unceasing exercise, my arm became
almost useless with much throwing, and_I then contented
myself with covert attacks upon the pedestrians passmg or
lingering underneath the balcony. I had aU the advantage of
an ambush — taking the enemy by surprise, and leaving him
little or no defence — an unequal, ignoble, aboriginal style of
warfare, I grant, but fuU of excitement, and a rich, wicked
zest. A deadly foe to respectabiUty of appearance, as inhar
monious and incongruous with the scene and the season, I par
ticularly lay in wait for shiny black beavers and superfine
cloths. I am happy to be able to say that these attacks, dis
courteous and cowardly as they may seem, were received with
the most charmmg good nature and engaging placidity, and
returned, whenever it was possible, with hearty good wiU. But

228 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
confetti thrown upward to the height where we stood did
comparatively little execution. /
At half past four the first gun was fitred, and the poUce
began to clear the Corso of carriages, for the race. At five
boomed off another gun, and a company of cavalry galloped
at a gaUant rate from the Ripresa di Barberi to the Piazza
del Popolo, from whence the horses were to start ; and a few
moments after the racers were loosened, and amid a wird, inde
scribable uproar of shouts and yeUs, and sharp, shriU whistles,
and waving of hats and clapping of hands, dashed up the
brilliant street. Riderless, but with spiked balls dangling at
their sides, goading them the more the faster they ran,
d!eGorated with gay ribbons and covered with bright sheets of
tin, they went flying and flashing, and ringing past, and the
crowning exciteraent of the day was over in a moment.
There were nine of these horses, each bearing his number
painted in white upon his shoulders. The winner was known
by the number of guns fired after all had reached the goal,
where they were caught by sheets of canvas stretched across
the street. The prizes awarded to the owners of the winning
horses are given, in part, by the Jews, in. compensation for
not running themselves, as in the good old times. By the
way, we hear that the Pope has decreed that even this fine
shaU be no longer imposed — an act which speaks weU for his
innate sense of justice,
I went home excessively tired, but decidedly of the opinion
that one of the few commendable institutions of this unhappy
country is this same custom-sanctioned absurdity, this ancient
and annual irruption of folly, this gigantic froUc, the Carnival.
Monday was a horribly rainy day, but, to our boundless
astonishment, the frolic went on. This was an unexpected
experience. It somehow had never entered into my head
that there could be such an anomaly as a wet Carnival. We
remained at home, and watched, with infinite amusement, the

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 229
mad attempt at enjoyment without. It was a scene which
would have deUghted Mark Tapley, as a complete triumph of
his principle of " being joUy under creditable circumstances."
If the weather had been fine, the display on this day would
have been very brilliant, as, in defiance of cloud and wet,
there was early a gallant turnout, and many striking, quaint,
and curious costumes.
Soon, from drizzling showers, the heavy rain came pelting
down like shot ; the Corso ran a sheet of yellow mud, Uke
another Tiber ; the gay hangings of tho balconies and win
dows were taken in ; and yet the furious fun wont on. Young
men and girls, in all imaginable costumes, drove up and down,
throwing bouquets, bonbons, and confi^tti as merrily as though
the brightest of skies was above, and the driest of grounds
beneath them — their ardor seemingly not damped, their spirits
not dashed — with cocked hats pouring rivers of water from
their wide brims, with ruffs and feathers flattened and flapping,
with ribbons and veils, and white muslins dripping and cling
ing, whitened with confetti, blackened with mud, flooded with
rain — a strange, peculiar, unprecedented, richly-ridiculous
sight. Our window being too high for very satisfactory interchange
of compliments with the passers by, we wore reduced to the
monotonous extremity of bandying bouquets with our neigh
bors over the way. We were highl)' amused by a certain
red-haired lace merchant, opposite us, — a countess, we hear, —
and I think very likel}-, for countesses ai-e almost as plenty as
priests in Rome. We hire our balcony of one — a sharp-
eyed old dame, very dowdyish, dwarfish, curt, and curious.
But to return : this particuloT countess, who, abandoned by
her husband, the faithless count, has taken to the lace business,
looks, in her pretty Uttle shop, quite rosy, jolly, and coquettish,
under the circumstances. Indeed, I am not sure that this
lovelorn Ariadne is not completely consoled for the desertion
20

230 haps and mishaps of
of her Theseus, in a handsome young Roman, who lounges in
her shop, and smokes cigars at her window — -quite a passable
Bacchus. Again to return : this fair dame, for fair she is, not
being very powerful or expert in the use of her arms, yet
anxious to manifest her friendly feeling towards us, stood at
her window, bowing and smiling, and showered handfuls of
choice bonbons and baskets of flowers into the midst of .the
street, with a mad prodigality and a desperate energy really
alarming. At length the aforesaid Bacchus came to her aid,
and from his hand we received some very beautiful offerings,
they having flrst been kissed, and held against the heart of
Ariadne — a little ceremony so charmingly and graceftiUy
gone through as quite to make us forget her equivocal position
in regard to the absent Theseus and the present Bacchus, with
her vending of point lace in a sraall way, and to remember
only that she was a pretty woman and a countess.
I was also much occupied by observing the grave IfoUy of a
sedate, spectacled, white-cravated elderly gentleman, next
door, who for hour after hour did nothing but throw confetti,
not upon the bold bravadoes in the open carriages, but upon
the pedestrians passing beneath his balcony,- nearly all of
whom were well protected by umbrellas.
I did not believe it possible that, in the slimy state of the
street that afternoon, the race would be allowed to come off;
but at the usual hour the Corso was cleared, the cavalry came
dashing down from the Ripresa di Barberi to the'Piazza del
Popolo, and in a few minutes more the horses leaped from
their barrier, and tore madly up the Corso. Three poor
creatures went down before they had run half way, rolling
and sliding in a most frightful manner. AU were more or less
hurt, yet gallantly struggled up and ran on ; but, of course,
their chance was lost. And so this day closed.
Tuesday and Wednesday were festas, which suspended the
Carnival. The saints in whose honor they were sent charm-

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 231
Ing weather, which we enjoyed in walks and excursions into
the country — of which, more anon.
Thursday it rained again throughout the morning, but
cleared up in the afternoon, though not brightly or warmly —
one of those chilling, threatening, disheartening, aggravating
days, a thousand times more disagreeable than a regular, hon
est, pelting storm.
We noticed on this day an elegant carriage, containing two
ladies and two gentlemen, who, amid the mad uproar and stormy
pelting, sat each with a copy of Galignani in hand, coolly
feigning to read. All wore without masks, and the gentlemen
were smoking cigars. Nothing I have seen in the whole
course of the Carnival has dehglited me so much as this ; it
was deUciously droll, the very refinement and soul of humor.
Friday was another festa, and, of course, set apart from all
Carnival and carnal purposes.
Saturday was a nondescript sort of a day — neither warm
nor cold, sunny nor stormy. The Corso was raore than ever
thronged, though with very few of the bettor class of people.
There were exhibited raany new and astounding varieties of
costume. Scores of w-omen, of questionable, or rather unques
tionable, character, tramping through the muddy streets in
draggled finery and hideous disguises ; hosts of comical
PolcinuUi, maliing "confusion worse confounded," with fi-uni-
pets, bells, and tambourines, and striking right and left among
the crowd with a sort of flail composed of a blown bladder
fastened to a stick. There were raen dressed as women, and
women as men ; indeed, this^ancy of a fair e-\change of cos
tume seemed greatly to prevail, and was more ludicrous in
effect on so large a scale than you can imagine. There were
children in quaint and antiquated attire ; sraall harlequins and
jesters without number ; there were Chinamen and blacka
moors. There was a gigantic man in a woman's dress, arm
in arm with a dwarfish woman in the uniform of an officer.

232 haps and mishaps of
the coat tails touching the ground. There was a Falstaff, who
Uterally carried all before him. There were men and boys
divided down the middle, into black and white, red and yel
low, blue and green, and so on, ad infinitum.
The lower classes evidently had it ; it was the great day
for the rabble. We took a turn or two in the carriage, but
were driven off the course in disgust, on finding that the ras
cally young Romans in the street flung nothing cleaner than
bouquets picked from the mud.
It was nearly dark when the race began, and it was a sin
gular and beautiful sight to watch the swift course of the
•horses, by the gleaming of the mUUons of sparks struck out
from the. pavement. Just by our balcony two slipped and
fell. One was too badly hurt to proceed ; and the other, a
handsome gray, ran feebly on, with the blood streaming from
his shoulder — a piteous and revolting sight. Altogether, and
at all times, this race is painful to me. I can but believe it a
brutal and demoraUzing exhibition, as the animals invariably
run from pain and terror, not from emulation.
It is urged that the annual religious ceremony here ob
served, of the solemn blessing of beasts, must inculcate a feel
ing of tenderness and consideration towards them, as creatures
under the protection, and sanctified by the benediction, of
Heaven and the church. Yet true it is, that I have never
witnessed such extreme and universal cruelty to animals as I
have been shocked with here.
I am told by ItaUans, that, even had the weather been favor
able, this Carnival would have ^Jeen a poor affair, compared
with those of old. Few of the Romans of the better class
will join in it, from indignation at the restrictions put upon
some of its innocent freedoms, and the curtailment of its im
memorial amusements — the forbidding of close masks in the
streets, and the suppression of masked balls at the theatres.
The festivities are now principaUy conducted by foreigners

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 233
and the comraon people, and much more roughly and furious
ly, it is said, than formerly.
Monday, yesterday, was not rainy, but damp and lowering,
yet a tolerable Carnival day notwithstanding. At about three
o'clock I had just returned from a walk, by a back street, and,
on passing through our drawing room, was almost stunned by
the roar of the revel which came up from the street below.
As I looked out, half wonderingly, I saw that the Corso ran a
river of wild laughter, a surging tide of gorgeous colors and
gladsome faces, and brave, defiant, triumphant merriment.
The costumes on this day were more varied in brilUance and
grotesquenoss than ever before. Every imaginable odd fancy,
absurdity, and extravagance thus found its perfect and piquant
expression. The contadine of Rome, Albano, Frascati, and
Tivoli, with a class of Roman girls answering to the Parisian
grisettes, were out in all their glory ; and I assure you 1 never
saw on any one occasion so many handsorae, graceful, and
charmingly-coquettish women. The costumes of some of them
were perfect studies of fitness and effect, and a marvel to be
hold were the utter freedom and careless abandon of their
merriment ; never rude, and never in tho slightest degree im
modest — the bold grace of their attitudes, the ease, and
lightness, and gay fearlessness of their action. It made the
brain reel with a fine, poetic intoxication to watch that bright,
interminable vision of blooming young flgures, plump or dainty,
in all conceivable, bewitching fancies of attire — of merry
mantUng cheeks, and red laughing lips, and hearty white
teeth, and glossy black braids, and far-flashing eyes — dark
and tender, and piercing and passionate, even through the
sunny holiday light in which they floated and danced for the
merry hour.
To-day, to our keen disappointment, it rained incessantly,
from the early morning to the time of the race, — which, how
ever, came off without any accident, — and the Mocoli, the
20*

234 haps and mishaps of
crowning frolic, came on. Then all 'the world came out in
carriages, on foot, at windows and balconies, with lighted tapers
and torches, and every body strove to put out his neighbor's
Ught and protect his own. Every possible contrivance in the
way of extinguishers was in use; but the most successful
seemed a handkerchief, tied at the end of a long reed, which
could be suddenly let down from balconies, and slyly thrust up
into carriages, flapping out the flame in an instant. I, noticed
one young raan standing up in a carriage, holding his taper
perfectly protected by a basket — literally " hiding his light
under a bushel."
The Corso itself was a brilliant sight. Mrs. Kerable,
I think, says of it, on a similar occasion, " It looked as
though the milky way had dropped into it." And so it did ;
but imagine, in addition, the starry hosts, which stretch their
long files along that same via lacte, having imbibed something
stronger than mUk, and abandoning themselves to a wild,
bacchanalian revel, and leaping, and dancing, and reeling about
in a most extraordinary manner.
Nothing could be more exciting, even to one not an actor
in the freuided fun, than the singular sounds in the streets — .
the peals of laughter — the friendly cries of warning of at
tempts on your light from those who the next minute flap it
out themselves — the triumphant shouts of " Senza mocolo !
Senza mocolo ! " (without a Ught) — the rush forward, the
retreat, the attempt, the defeat, the surprise, the victory. O,
it was a glorious froUc, and a mad, merry, gay, and compen
sating conclusion to a somewhat sorry Carnival.
February 13.
On one of the Carnival nights we attended, at the old
Braschi palace, a large charity ball, under the patronage of
the Princess Doria.
We arrived about 10 o'clock, and found the rooms well

A TOUR IN EUROPE. ^ 235
filled. Strolling through them, one after another, I came to
the conclusion that this ball was conducted on a far more
pleasant and sensible plan than any I have attended in
America. In one apartment a large table was set out, where
refreshments of all kinds were served throughout the evening,
instead of one grand supper, as with us, with its uncomfort
able crowding and ferocious pushing and snatching. In other
salons, removed as far as possible from the stirring music and
,the musical footfalls of the ball room, gathered those who,
from disinclination or disability, eschewed the dance — dow
agers and staid-looking elderly gentlemen, consoling them
selves -over whist and ecarte, or chatting in corners, or stroll
ing up and down, with a free, careless, enjoyable, at-home
manner, most pleasantly peculiar. There were there and in
the ball room not alone scores of young ladies with their
mararaas and papas, but mere children, and venerable people
who might years ago have arrived at the dignified estate of
grandpapas and grandmammas. I like this pleasant, social
mingling of youth and age — it gives a solidity to society, and a
noble dignity to pleasure ; and 1 hope that a custom so just and
beautiful may become more generally adopted in our own coun
try, whore the young are too much disposed to thrust not alone
the old, liut the iniddle-agod, to the wall ; where dashing youths
hardly out of college, and beautiful girls who have just broken
boarding school, too often lord it and queen it over society with
an absolute and insolent power. I also noticed several whora
I took to be clergynjen ; and this I liked. With ns, where
never a raeraber of any religious organization may move to
music without a feai-ful looking for of church discipline <ind
clerical indignation, — where clergymen are hedged round
with an awful respect which must becorae in time excessively
uncomfortable, — the sight of one at even a sraall dancing
party would be a startling appai-ition. Indeed, with us, the
members of that venerable body are felt to be more or les^.

236 haps and mishaps of
de trop at all large gatherings, except it be baptisms or burials,
weddings or hangings. Would it not be infinitely better if
they mingled more socially and familiarly with the pfeople, in
their every-day feelings and occupations, interest and pleasures.?
The ball room presented a most brilliant appearance, and
contained many people of high rank', of various nations,
though principally Roman. The Princess Doria, being in
mourning for her father, the late Earl of Shrewsbury, was not
present ; but there were pointed out to me the Princess Spada,
a handsome, stout, and stylish dame of thirty and upwards ;
a daughter of the present Prince of Canino, a plump, pretty
girl, of a striking Bonapartean face ; the youthful Princess
Piombino, beautiful but pallid, and shght to fragility, in whom
I was interested by being told that this romantic and un-Ro-
man thinness resulted from an unhappy and hopeless attach
ment. So these noble ladies have hearts, after all — hearts
that sometimes break, I should say, after watching the forced
smile and languid movements of this Princess, passion-pale.
The King of Bavaria was present, in the character of a pri
vate gentleman. He is a man of about thirty-five, I should
say — tall, 'Slender, rather good looking, but stiff and formal in
his manner. He danced the quadrille, hat in hand, coldly and
mechanically. The Prince Musignano, eldest son of Canino,
was also present. He has a face slightly Napoleonic, but
rather on the gross order, and, though not yet thirty, is as stout
as was his granduncle when in his last estate he grew in cor
poral as ho decreased in imperial greatness.
This Prince has particularly small feet, which I suspect are
a weakness and a dandyism with him, and he rolls a little in
his gait. His Highness seems especially fond of dancing, and
carries into it nearly as rauch spirit as body. To encounter
him and the Princess Spada in the waltz is really no trifling
matter. With a mediura-sized partner, you are like an incon
siderable fishing smack under the bows of a merchantman —

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 237
run down in a moment ; while the gigantic craft drives majes
tically on, with scarce a dipping of the spars, scarce a flutter
among the rigging.
Nearly all the foreign ministers were there, araong whom
the Austrian struck me as carrying the ablest and ugliest face.
There were some young scions of English aristocracy present
— gay, fast fellows, with long, light curls and carelessly-tied cra
vats, and handsorae, healthful, laughing, audacious faces ; and
sedate, reserved young men, with a proper and patrician sense
of their position, individually and nationally, with their hair
parted sleekly down behind, and their heads pivoting painfully
in stiff white neckcloths. There was Sir Walter What-do-you-
call-him, and the Hon. Mr. — I've forgotten, and the Marquis
— I-nevor-knew, and Baron Blank, and Lord Nozoo. And
there were several English ladyships, very fair and very cold,
with very highly-dressed hair and low-dressed shoulders, with
prononces noses and retreating chins — a proud, stately, and
high-bred loveliness, far as .the north polo from the glowing,
passionate, and darkly-splendid beauty of the Roman ladies
of high rank.
As for the Italians, Germans, and French, there wore none
without their titles. The countesses were countless — a mar
quis was a personage of little mark, and a count of compara
tively no account. I should have hesitated, I believe, about
accepting one as a partner, had one offered his hand for
waltz or cotUlon, thinking that for the honor of my country I
• should reserve myself for a crowned head, or, at least, for a
Priticipe. Of the Americans present, there were some whose mien,
manner, conversation, .and principles would do honor to our
country, or any country, any where ; but there were also others
of another stamp. Merchants, retired from business with
handsome fortunes, but having left their hearts in their count
ing houses, and with souls yet undivorced frora their ledgers — -

238 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
now making the grand tour, with their portly wives and pretty
daughters and promising sons. They are men who have come
abroad from a sense of fashionable duty, and with a vague
expectation of enjoyment, who go about sightseeing with com
mendable industry, making meritorious efforts at admiring and
comprehending, and even attaining to something like enthu
siasm at times, but really enduring it all with the resignation
of martyrs. These are usuaUy what the Methodists call " anx
ious inquirers " in regard to art, arid are too often the victims
of dealers in old paintings and third-rate statuary ; they are
generally better judges of canvas-back ducks than of canvas
darkly daubed — of old wines than of the old masters — and,
turning from stocks to stones, find their Wall Street shrewd
ness at fault. Highly-dressed matrons, who cluster together
and grow dolorously eloquent on tho discomforts and disgusts
of travel, the filth of Italian inns, tho extortions of vetturini,
and the perils and perplexities of the Dogana. Young ladies
who grow warm on sunsets, expand on the Campagna, and are
at homo among the ruins — who are subject to unconscious
little lapses into the Italian, in the midst of a conversation in
English — who confess to an indulgence in the dolci far niente,
and a leaning towards Romanism, with a growing attachment
for that " darling old Pope." Young men scarcely out of long
hair and into mustaches, who yet consider themselves booked
up on all questions of European politics — incline to the con
servative side, confess to aristocratic syrapathies, and pronounce
their titled acquaintances " deused fine fellows."
In the early part of tho night, dancing, and especially
waltzing, was but an example of " the pursuit of pleasure un
der difficulties ; " but at the latter part, when the great crowd
was thinned off, it became far more agreeable. At last, at
about half past two, after the cotillon, a long, somewhat intri
cate, and very beautiful dance, tho ball closed.
I met on this night a son of Mrs. Hemans. He resembles

A TOUR IN F-UROPE. 239
somewhat the portraits of the poetess — has, I should say, her
eyes and hair. He is a peculiarly mild and pensive young
man, whom you raight almost believe had been reared on his
mother's melancholy melodies. Mr. Hemans is a devout
Roman Catholic. Think of the son of the author of The
Forest Sanctuary as a Papist !
By the way, as my friends Miss C  and Miss H 
carae in from riding, a short time ago, they spoke of having
met the Pope on the Porta Angelica road, and of having dis
mounted before he passed.
" What, you pay such homage to the Pope ? " I exclaimed.
" Why not ? " said Miss II  . " The worthy old gentleman
was on foot, and all the Catholics in his way were on their
knees ; th'e guard would have commanded us to dismount, if
we had not done so of our own accord."
" I would have turned and galloped back, or leaped the
hedge and taken across the fields, or sat upright in ray saddle
till the guardsmen pulled me off ! — any thing to save my pride
and principios as a republican and a Protestant."
This I said walking the roora, setting my foot down each
time emphatically and anti-Papally.
A few days after this, as I was riding with Miss C  on
this same road, we saw the Pope approaching. lie was walking
in front of his carriage, dressed in white, with a red hat and
red shoos, preceded by mounted guai-ds, accompanied by sev
eral cardinals, and followed by officers of his household and
carriages. We were near an open space, and drew a little off
from the road, but still in full sight of the procession. One of
the Guardia Nobile rode slowly by, giviftg us as he passed a
look of pious anger and rebuke, as much as to say, " Frail
vessels of heresy, will ye then brave the Holy See itself?"
Now, if a bluff Swiss guardsman had rudely ordered me to
dismount, I should have sat firm in my saddle and my senti
ments, and looked at ray persecutor with much the feeling

240 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
expressed by the spirited Mrs. Squeers, " I pities your ignorance,
and dispises you." But to be looked at with such silent se
verity, to be thought wanting in manners and reUgion, by a
noble young Roman, was, I raust confess, quite another thing.
I iramediately remarked that I thought a change of position
would do me good after so long a ride, and that I really wished
to get a nearer view of the Pope. So we dismounted, and,
giving our horses to the groom, approached to the edge of the
bank, over the road, where we should have had a very near
look at His Holiness, and received the full force of the Papal
benediction. But, when only within some twenty yards of us,
the provoking Papa paused, turned, remounted into his car
riage, and drove back towards tho Vatican.* The quizzical
look of the noble guardsman as he repassed us, and" the laugh
raised against me at dinner, are two things which I shall not
soon forgot.
On one of the festas during the jDarnival, we, forming a
large party in the carriage and on horseback, went to Veii,
about twelve miles from Rome, where we spent the day.
There are but the merest ruins of that ancient Etruscan strong
hold, which — it makes one's brain reel to think of it — was a
large and powerful city when Rome was founded. Nqw there
is not a tower or a wall standing entire, and it is with difficulty
that you trace boundaries ofthe town, and find the few remains
of its gateways and bridges. The site is romantic and irapos
ing, and the surrounding scenery wild and picturesque in the
highest degree. The only tolerably-preserved ruins are the
tombs, curiously and crudely painted on the inside, and con
taining raany interesting Etruscan remains — vases, plates,
shields, helmets, rusty old swords, and spear points.
The day was bright and balmy, and we took a picnic din
ner on the soft, green turf, with the wild shrubs budding around
us, and the early crocuses blossoming at our -feet. We were
within the sound of an old fountain, and the flowing of the

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 241
Cremera, and the dashing of its waterfalls. Picturesque, skin-
clad shepherds were watching their flocks on the hills behind
us, looking down curiously and syrapafhetically on our merry
circle. One of their huge, wolfish dogs, doubtless considering
us rude barbarian invaders of those classic Arcadian scenes,
showed fight ; but I insidiously seduced his ferocious fidelity
by a cru.st of bread, and concluded an amnesty with a chicken
log. After dinner, ho\^¦ever, as I was boasting of my peace
ful conquest, I ventured to approach my lean and hungry
friend empty handed, when he turned, and would have rent
me had I not beat a hasty retreat. Among tho most cruel,
suspicious, and formidable-looking animals I have even seen,
aro these same Carapagna dogs. Heaven save rae from an
encounter with one, alone and undefended ! ^
We have -had, for the three weeks past, strange and
terrible weather — violent and frequent storms of wind, rain,
and hail, between which the sun shines out with dazzling and
tantaUzing brilliance. In these brief intervals of light and
warmth we venture on our walks, rides, or drives, but are al
most sure to have a heavy storm burst upon ns, out of fhe
gorgeous and treacherous heavens, with frightful suddenness.
Yesterday we wont to the Pincio to see the sunset, which
promised to be very fine ; but while we were admiring the
purple and gold, and deep, delicious blue of one half of the
sky, fhe other, with scarce a moment's warning, seemed to hill
mjon us in alternate sheets of rain and hail. The Tiber is in
the state described by Cassius, when Cresar and he leaped into
it, " troubled," and " chafing with her banks " — swollen, and
swift, and dark. The Campagna is overflowed all along its
course, and the poor peasants in great distress, from being de
prived of work, and in some instances of homes. Some coun
trymen attacked our baker this morning, and took from him
all the bread he was cai-rying to his customers. The robbery
21

242 HAPS AND MISHAPS.
was committed in the open street ; but as it was a case of star
vation, the thieves were not apprehended. The floor of the
Pantheon is overflowed, and it is a curious sight to see the
bases of its ancient pillars buried in the yellow flood.

CHAPTER XI.
Washington's Birthday. — The Emeute at Milan. — Italian Free
dom. — The Papal Supbf.macy. — Beggars. — Models. — Tableaux
¦Vivants. — Guido's Aurora  The Colonna. — The Quirinal.
— Drive on the Appian 'Way. — Peasant Boys. — Cardinals'
Receptions. — The Spring Time in Italy. — Character op the
Italians, political and religious. — Ceremony at St. Peter's.
— High Mass at the Sistine. february zl
Never, in my own country, do I remember to have felt
such emotion as I feel to-day, in a strange, foreign land, on the
anniversary of the birth of our beloved and venerated Wash
ington. In this lovely but degenerate clime, — the glory of
whose past is but a gorgeous pall, enveloping, but not hiding,
the death and decay of its present, surrounded by a people
powerless, hopeless, indolent, and oppressed, but with the de
spairing soul of great possibilities looking from their eyes, like
some forgotten prisoner gazing mournfully through strong
dungeon bars, — here, breathing the close and heavy air of civil
and religious despotism, do I feel what he was, and all he did
for us, for freedom, and for God ; and my he.art glows with
fervid gratitude to Heaven for the imraeasurable riches of that
great gift, not to us alone, but to the world, to the ages, of a
pure, heroic life, irabodying, defending, and enthroning, araong
men, the eternal principles of justice and freedom.
When I find the character and career of Washington studied
here by the few yet faithful to the forlorn hope of Italian free
dom — when I soe his name bring the unaccustomed Ught to
eyes heavy with watching and mournful with disappointment
— when I hear that name spoken with deep reverence by lips
(243)

244 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
* that have sworn devotion, to the death, to la Ubertd del popolo,
then I realize, as never before, the universality of his great
ness and the quickening immortality of his memory. I be
lieve that, though God has sent, and yet may send, leaders
as pure and true as our Washington, — gifted with more of
the electric element of genius, shining with more splendid
qualities of heroism, — that he has been, and will be, the secret
soul of every popular- uprising against oppression, every
noble political revolution ; for his grand endeavor was sanc
tioned and sanctified by a complete and preeminent success ;
ho attained to the very height and crown of his heroic under
taking ; and there he stands, for all time, boldly relieved against
heaven, the terror of tyranny, the strength, and inspiration, and
example of the oppressed, the bold rebuker of kingly wrong,
the stern vindicator of the people's right, the rebel triumph
ant, the soldjer olive-crowned, the patriot with clean and
empty hands. Such is tho far-reaching depth, the eternal
vitality, of one great, heroic life, sending its roots abroad into
all lands, and lacing together continents and nations in bonds
of unseen but indestructible sympathy — such the far-sound
ing weight of one mighty purpose gloriously accomplished,
which, amid treacherous straits of defeat and despair, off per
ilous shores of rook-seated power, anchors safe against leagued
tempests, the great hope of the world.
You have doubtless hoard, ere this, of the emeute at MUan,
and its disastrous termination. We see very Uttle about it,
except in Galignani, and its version is that of the government,
or at least sanctioned by tho authorities, and so can hardly be
impartial. But from an Italian friend I hear that the plan of
revolt was most ably and systematically formed, and might
have been successful but for treachery. StUl I can but regard
it as a premature, aif ill-advised, movement. The hour is not
yet come — the cup of this people's degradation is brimmed
with bitterness — : I would have it overflow. They sigh, and

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 245
look weary and dejected, under the weight of oppression. I
would have them cry out till the heavens heard — would have
their agony tumed to rage, and their shame to a righteous
vengeance. Then, and then only, will they work out for
themselves, resolutely and effectively, their political and re
ligious redemption.
I see every where among the Italians faces restless, dis-
satisfled, and mortally sad ; but few expressive of the unflinch
ing firmness, joined to fiery valor, the strength and grandeur
of purpose, and pure, honest devotion, imperatively necessary
for such a mighty work. The iron pricks sharply, but has not
yet entered their souls. In most modern Italians, the primi
tive Roman character, raanly, and rugged, and stern, is but like
an old kingly oak in decay, decorated and inthralled by para
site graces of poetry and romance, and a moss-like indolence
and softness. The broad arms which once wrestled with tem
pests are fallen, and storms go by unchaUenged, while in the
melancholy vines which cumber the sapless trunk sweet-sing
ing birds are nurtured. Yet the roots run deep and wide, and
there are hopeful souls who believe that there is life in them
still, which will yet spring up in strength and vigor greater
and more beneficent than those of old. God grant it may
be so !
The more I see of Italy, the more am I convinced that there
is no hope for the liberty of the people hero, or in any Catho
lic country, save through the total downfall of the Papal su
premacy — that ancient bulwark of tyranny, that hoary con-
secrator of injustice and high-handed political crime. It is
true, the church has not the visible power and glory she once
had ; but I am convinced that she has lost little of her real
strength and weight in the affairs of the world. She may not
number as many sworn knights and devout soldiers as in the
old time ; but she has her hosts of unsuspected and unscrupu
lous agents, her armies of Jesuitical priests — she is omnipo-
21 *

246 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
tent in her diplomacy, and omnipresent in her spies. In old
tiraes, she made arrests and executions in the open day ; she
now arrests in the night, and the dark sequel may never be
known. Some of the terrible prisons of the Inquisition may
be emptied and thrown open, but only, it would seem, to let
forth upon society their poisoned atmosphere, sending suspicion,
and insecurity, and cruelty abroad. The satanic spirit of the
Inquisition, which once sat in haughty supremacy, dispensing
flames and tortures, has been driven frora his throne by the
spirit of the age, but not destroyed. He may have taken to
dark and Inystorious ways — may act secretly and insidiously,
may deal more with the soul, and less with tho body — but his
ancient power is but Uttle broken, his purpose all unchanged ;
he sets hiraself, as of old, against all true freedom of con
science, against all true enlightenment and progress of the
masses. Therefore do I believe that the only great and suc
cessful European revolution must also be a reformation more
complete and comprehensive than that of Luther — that with
the glorious watchward and battle cry of Mazzini, " Deo ed il
popolo ! " must be thundered down the despotisms of church
and state together.
One thing seems to me certain — the present state of things
cannot long endure. The hatred of this people towards their
French and Austrian masters, and their impatience under
priestly rule, grow hotter and more intolerable daily, and the
long-suppressed indignation of their proud and passionate
spirits must at last get the better of their despairing indolence.
The soil of Italy is even now shaken with volcanic tremblings,
and, disregard these warnings as they may, the great convul
sion, the rain of fire, shall come. Silence the voice of Free
dom as they may, her indestructible spirit will throb in the air,
and her glorious impulses burn in the secret heart. And so
shaU it be till the hour of her full and triumphant revelation
ill this her ancient realm — an angel of deliverance to the

A TOUR IN EUR0r(5. 547
captive, a Nemesis to the oppressor, the divine genius of
enfranchisement, justice, and equality to the people.
Februarys.
This morning I returned from a long walk on the Pincio,
full of hope that the dark and rainy weather we have had for
the month past — the thunder and hghtning, and hail and
snow — were at last giving place to sunlight and warmth, and
bird songs and flowers. The air on thaf delightful promenade
was clear and still — the sky soft and blue, without one threat
ening cloud, and the sunlight such as seems to melt through
your very flesh, till you fancy it flows with a golden and winey
richness through your veins. Whether it played in the gar
dens of the slopes, glistening over the laurel leaves, adding a
richer tinge to the ripened orange, nestling passionately in the
hearts of roses, or kissing pityingly the rain tears from the
faces of the chilled violets, — or, flashing on the dome of St.
Peter's, and against the snow crowns of the Sabine hiUs, — it
was the same peculiar, delicious, Italian spring sunshine, ten
der and loving in its utmost splendor — not darted down in
trenchant rays, but falling softly and slowly — a dew of light.
Scarcely an hour has gone by, and Nature has returned to
her frowning and stormy mood — the whole heavens are over
cast, and the rain is falling in torrents.
These are hard times for the beggars, as they, like Italians
of better estate, are extremely susceptible to wet and cold.
During a rain, you will scarcely raeet one in a long walk ; but
in the sunny interludes they come out upon you, from unsus
pected places, thick and fast, hungry and clamorous, the lame
and the lazy, boundless in impudence and inexhaustible in im
positions. Sorae two weeks ago, as I was coming down from
the Trinita di Monti, I found a poor man lying by the way,
apparently dying of hunger and disease. Having no money
witli me, I ran into a studio near by, and begged a few ba-

248 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
jocchi of an artist friend, whUe a woraan who had come up to
the man while I stood by him appUed at a neighboring house
for a piece of bread. She brought a whole loaf, which he
grasped, and began to eat ravenously, pocketing the bajocchi I
gave him without a word. He seemed suffering from low
fever, and was so frightfully pale, week, and emaciated, that I
did not believe he could Uve ; but yesterday, in nearly the
same spot, I found him again, in quite as critical a state, ap
parently. Again I gave him money, which he took with a
feeble groan, not even Ufting his face from tho pavement.
His hearing was dulled, or his voice too weak to answer my
questions ; and, seeing some Italians approaching, I hurried
away, fearing he might give up the ghost at my fieet, and not
choosing to witness the melancholy scene. About two hours
later I. came across the same man, carrying on his dying
agonies in the Via della Croce, on the other side of the Piazza
di Spagna. Ho was lying prostrate, and with his face hid, as
usual ; but as I approached hira, I observed for an instant a
keen eye peering up through straggling black locks. Then, as
though he had mustered his expiring energies for one last
appeal to my humanity and womanhood, he sent forth a fear
ful groan. But I was up to him this time.
There is one little beggar boy I frequently meet, who is an
actual deUght to me for his witty persuasion and graceful im
pudence. He is a child of about nine — not handsorae, but
remarkably clever looking, with lively, saucy, laughing eyes,
a musical voice, and the most easy, dashing, insouciant man
ner imaginable. He begs for a blind father ; but whenever
he sees any of us whom he knows, he will leave the old man
to grope forlornly, and run at our side, hat in hand, talking
smiUngly and coaxingly in this wise : " Good morning, kind
ladies ! You have several bajocchi for me to-day ! " " No."
" Then perhaps you have a paolo — that's all the better. Re
member my poor father ; he is bUnd ; he cannot see the sky,

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 249
the flowers, and the beautiful ladies. O, yes, yes, you will
give me something for him." And we are sure to give, if we
have a bajoccho in our purses ; if not, he still smiles cheerily,
saying, " Un altro giorno," (another day ;) and on the next
occasion of our meeting he never fails to remind us of our
promise, though always in the most gallant and agreeable
terms possible.
I ara a good deal interested and amused by the professional
models who "most do congregate" on the great flight of steps
leading up to the Trinita di 'Monti from the Piazza di Spagna.
There are often to be seen picturesque and varied groups, and
single figures of striking character. Handsome peasant wo
men, with charming brown babies — wild, long-haired bOys
from the mountains — raven-bearded young raen ahd snowy-
headed old men — and coquettish young girls, with flashing
eyes and dashing costumes. There is one grand-lookirtg old
man, with a bounteous white beard, who is said to do a great
business in the saintly and patriarchal Uno. He is a multi
tudinous Moses, an inexhaustible St. Joseph, and the pictorial
stock Peter of many seasons. There is also a powerful,
handsome, dark, and terrible-looking fellow, who docs tho
brigand and bravo.
These various candidates for artistic favor seem to ha\-e the
most social and agreeable relations with each other — indeed, I
have remarked the patriarch chatting and laughihg with the
brigand in a famiUar manner, scarcely in keejiing with his own
venerable character. But, let an artist or two ascend the
steps, and, presto ! the dark-eyed young girls cease their idle
gossip and spring into position — look archly or mournfully
over the left shoulder, or with clasped hands modestly con
template the pavement — the pretty peasant woman snatches
up the baby she had left to creep about at its own sweet will,
and bends over it tender and Madonna-Uke, while, at a word
from her, a skin-clad Uttle shepherd boy drops his game of

250 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
pitch penny, and takes up his r6le of St. John. Perhaps a
dark, dignified, but somewhat rheumatic old woman, with her
head wrapped up in a brown cloth, makes a modest venture of
herself as St. Anna, while the fine old man I have described
makes the most of the comparatively unimportant character
of St Joseph, or, separating himself entirely from the group,
looks authoritative as Moses, or inspired as Isaiah, or resolute
as Peter. The handsome bravo or brigand gives a fiercer
twist to his mustache, slouches his pointed black hat, appears
to be concealing a dagger under his brown -cloak, or on the
point of drawing an imaginary pistol from his belt, sets his
teeth, scowls, and cultivates tho diabolical generaUy in attitude
and expression. It is altogether a very amusing and skilful
piece of canvassing.
Though nine years have roUed by, and brought revolutions
and a few other little changes in Rome, since Dickens spent a
winter here, yet these steps are to-day precisely what he
pictures them. Indeed, I believe that'our friends, the patriarch
and the brigand, are the identical personages whose portraits
stand out so livingly in his grotesque but exquisite description.
We lately attended an entertainment, at the Braschi palace,
of tableaux vivants, after the old masters. Here some of the
noblest and most beautiful flgures of Raphael and Guido were
very creditably represented by Roman models. The old
patriarch of the Scali Nate played many parts with immense
applause. There was also a fine female model, named
Carucci, who showed very grandly in some characters ; and
there were several handsome children, who did their difficult
and wearisome devoirs in a most admirable manner. Some
of the effects produced were striking and beautiful in the ex
treme ; but the selection of pictures did not seem to mo very
happy. There were too many Holy FamiUes — it is not in
human, at least heretical, nature to enjoy such a monoto
nous succession of Madonnas. The long intervals between

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 251
the pictures, only reUeved by some dismal harp playing, were
liresome enough, and the hall uncomfortably cold ; so the entire
affair was rather slow, and I w-as heartily glad when it was
over. Against one of the walls of the Braschi palace stands
the antique torso, to which the witty satires of the taUor
Pasquin and his friends were aflixed in the time of the
Borgias. This, though supposed to be a figure of Menelaus,
is called the Statue of Pasquin ; and the bold breeches-
maker's fame is also perpetuated and spread over the world,
in the term Pasquinade. March 7.
On Saturday last, as the morning was bright and beautiful,
we went to the Rospigliosi to see Guido's Aurora. I had
been long waiting for a clear day, to see to advantage this
wonderful picture, which cannot be viewed aright, except in
the full-tided splendors of such a morning as it typifies. The
Aurora is a fresco, on the roof of the central room of the
Casino, a beautiful little building, 'originaUy intendec^ for a
sort of summer house, and which you approach through a
garden, freshened with fountains in continual play, and fra
grant to intoxication with delicious flowers. I think I have
never seon a great picture so fittingly enshrined and sur
rounded as this. At first view, it seemed that the flowers
which the Aurora was so prodigally scattering had been
freshly gathered from the gardens without, and that the airs
on which she floated, which swelled the soft folds of her dra
pery^ were the same that a moment before I had seen stirring
the pines, swaying the vines, and rippling in wave-like shadows
through the grass.
After all I had heard from others, and seen in prints, this
chef d'oeuvre of Guido surpassed my expectation. The col
oring struck me as both softer and brighter than any thing I
had before seen by this master ; and the composition, spirit,
life, and soul of the picture are beautiful beyond description.

252 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
To me it is a wondrous ideal of the first dawn of the crea
tion,- rather than of the many thousand times repeated daily
miracle of nature — so full it seems of primal light and
strength, freshness and glory. The face of the Apollo, radi
ant and triumphant, is that of a young charioteer just entering
on his first course. The Aurora has for the flrst time unlocked
the gates of day, and let forth the golden tides of light and
life on a blind and breathless world ; while the eager steps and
smihng faces of the attendant Hours seem to witness that tliey
have never looked upon mortal suffering, or flown over battles
or gra,Yes. Even the steeds have an untaxed vitaUty, an
affluence of exultant power and energy, about tliem, which
shows that they have drunk at tho just-opened fountains of
day — their eager eyes gleam with the fire of the first sun,
their spread nostrils snuff the untainted air of the new crea
tion ; their hoof falls are on clouds which are the first morning
exhalations of the world.
I think, of all the parts of this grand composition, I Uke the
steeds best ; they have such exquisite grace in powerful action,
such force and fire in complete subjugation, such emulation in
unity. All piebald and perfectly matched, surely guided by
a silken rein, they plunge forward on their airy course, strik
ing out their eight hoofs together, but with infuute small vari
eties in the large harraony of their character and movement.
They are certainly the most magnificent pieces of mythologi
cal horse flesh I have ever beheld.
Among the group of Hours in this picture, I noticed a head
which is a good deal like that of the Cenci ; and this goes to
confirm my heretical opinion that Guido's lovely portrait of
that horoi,c unfortunate is more or less unreal. It seems to
me that this master would scarcely have dared to introduce
into his great fresco even a faint likeness of one who at that
time was an object of horror and ignominy ; whose name it
was unla^vful to speak. According to th? history of the strict

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 253
manner in which Beatrice Cenci was guarded, from the time
of her arrest to that of her execution, a portrait could scarcely
have been taken of her, even by stealth. Yet Guido's picture
may have boon painted from memory, — from tho true and
noble character ofthe upper partof the head, I am incUned to
believe so, — though it in nothing corresponds with the portrait
by Paul Veronese, in the Spada palace. This latter, though
accounted by many authentic, is by no means beautiful ; and
a devoted adherence to its lovelier rival is one of the poetic
faiths of the world which it were scarcely wise to disturb.
From the Rospigliosi we went to the Colonna, one of the
grandest old palaces in Rorae. The picture gallery is very
magnificent in itself, but adorned with few fine pictures. I
never shall forget one old painting I saw there — decidedly
the most horrible and grotesque picture I have seen in Rome;
and that is saying an immense deal. It represents a severe
contest between the devil and a mother, as.sisted by the
Madonna, for a child. The mother, a frightfully-ugly creature,
has hold of one leg of tho baby, and appears to be screaming
"Help ! " and " Murder ! " most lustily; while tho devU, a disgust
ing, nondescript animal, made up of many hideous forms, a man
ufactured monstrosity, a patchwork of deformities, with infernal
fire breaking through the chinks, has grasped au arm, and
buried his claws in tho flesh. Just over, this group is the
Madonna, sealed on a Uttle pile of pillowy clouds, looking
very fierce and determined, and armed with a no less fiimiliar
weapon than a huge poker. She has already drawn diabolical
blood, and has her arm raised for another onslaught ; her
grim antagonist shrinks back aghast, and you feel that on
another exhibition of divine wrath, in th*o Tall of the poker,
his flame-darting countenance wiU •' pale its ineffectual flres,"
and that he wiU take speedy flight, leaving but a sulphureous
aroma and a few scratches on the infant's arm to tell where he
has been. Thus far, he certainly has the worst of it ; and the
22

254 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
child is evidently safe, for this time at least. I wonder much
that true Roman Catholics of education allow such disgusting
exhibitions of superstition and bad taste a place in their col
lections. They are not only ridiculous in themselves, but they
make the form of religion which tolerates, calls for, and
creates thera ridiculous. Yet there is scarcely a gaUery in
Rome which is not disgraced by things of this kind.
From the Colonna we went to the Palazzo Pontificio, the
Quirinal. Here we saw Guido's beautiful Annunciation, and
a few, a very few, other pictures of merit. This Papal palace
is by no means rich in works of art, but is a magnificent resi
dence. It is spacious, and furnished with a rich plainness and
a sirapUcity raost fitting and imposing. But though there is a
good deal of light and warmth from windows and hangings,
there is a peculiarly cold and lonely grandeur about this vast
abode of high and holy ceUbacy. It is all splendid architect
ure and upholstery ; there is no faintest trace of tho taste and
fancy of woman, or of the comforts and delights of hoihe. "
Yesterday afternoon we drove out on the Appian Way,
some five miles beyond the walls of this city. Never has a
drive over that old -Roman pavement, through that street of
ruined tombs, affected rae so profoundly. I was absorbed with
the grand memories which thronged along that storied way,
and awed by the solemn sermons which those stones were
preaching of the passing awaj of the glory of man and the
beauty of art I cannot think there is in the world such a
melancholy panorama of ruin as this road. It affects me
more than thfe sight of^ the ruins of any one building, however
majestic — this demolition and confusion of sepulchres — this
devastating war upon the sacred domains of death. It seems
to me, that they whose tombs are thus battered or crumbled
down, whose urns broken, whose ashes scattered, are doubly
dead. From the summit of a large circular tomb we looked out

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 255
on the Campagna, a broad, sealike expanse, islanded with
lonely ruins. The warm, spring sunshine was upon it, flush
ing into verdure, alraost visibly and raomently, the frost-im-
browned turf. Yes, the delicious, delectable, Italian Spring
has come at last. Her avant courriers, the birds, raade raelo-
dious proclaraation of her coming weeks ago ; and her scouts,
the crocuses, peeped slyly up in pleasant places to see that all
was ready. We had before known she was come — we had
felt her soft breath on our eyelids — we had seen thousands
of violets springing in her steps — but to-day we had a new
and indubitable proof of her advent. On the suramit of this
tomb, in the warm sunshine, sat two Uttle peasant boys in
jackets and shirts, quietly, and apparently comfortably, en
gaged in repairing certain dilapidations in their nether gar
ments. Those young amateur tailors were handsome, grave,
proud-looking boys, who scarcely lifted their eyes to us, and,
mirabile dictu ! never once condescended to beg. They may
be the descendants of the very old Romans who built this vast
tomb — their noble and warlike ancestors may have invaded
Gaul and Britain — may have headed legions and stormed
fortresses. What a fall, frora making breaches to mending
breeches !
March 8.
There is a little stir in the fashionable and ecclesiastical
world just now, which rather pleasantly breaks in upon the
sacred monotony of Lent.- There have been half a dozen new
cardinals created, and on the auspicious event the people are
called upon fo rejoice and render thanks, and tho nobility fo
throw open their palaces and show off their diamonds. I am
inclined to think that the last-mentioned perform their duties
on the occasion with the most exemplary alacrity. Each car
dinal receives at a palace — his own, or that of some princely
family with which he is connected — for " they are all honorable
men," none of your plebeians. The primitive practice of

256 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
selecting the pillars of the church from the ranks of the peo
ple went out with the apostles and early saints. Did not
Christ, when he " had not where to lay his head," propheti
cally behold the raore than kingly establishments of his Papal
viceroys ? Did not the disciples, as they toiled over Judea on
foot, preaching the perilous word as they " fled from city to
city," behold in blest visions their successors, the cardinals,
rolling in chariots of crimson and gold, and dwelling in princely
palaces ? Doubtless the foreknowledge of all this consoled
and supported them under their privations and persecutions.
But to return. We drove flrst to the Church of San Luigi
di Francese, which was brilliantly illuminated in honor of one
of the cardinals, who is a Frenchman. This was a beautiful
sight, but I suppose the mildest possible sort of a suggestion
of the grand lighting up of St. Peter's on Easter Sunday.
From this church we drove to the Colonna palace, where
the French minister and his lady received for the French
cardinal, who is now in France. There was a most magnifi
cent show. A splendid suite of apartments were thrown open,
radiantly lighted anij filled with a brilliant assem'uly. There
were Roman, Neapolitan, Austrian, Russian, Prussian, French,
English, and American officers, with rich uniforms — there
were Gardinali and Monsignori, priests and princes. Then
there were beautiful princesses, wearing grand old Roman
names and rich old family jewels. I never before beheld such
a blinding blaze of diamonds. The fair creatures were dart
ing off living gleams and scattering showers of "light, with
every slightest moveraent, from head, and breast, and arms,
and throat, and waist — regularly illuminated women. I de
clare, I almost felt the necessity of lunettes of smoked glass
to protect my dazed, unaccustomed sight.
From the Colonna we went to the Quirinal, where a vener
able and noble-looking old cardinal received us most graciously.
Here the assembly was less brilliant and far smaUer than at

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 257
the Colonna; but we met Cardinal AntineUi face to face,
which was an event. You cannot see this man, even for an
instant, without involuntarily bowing before the pride and
power of his presence.
After leaving the Quirinal, we went to the Farnese and the
Massima, where we were received by two good-natured but
rather vulgar-looking cardinals. By the way, each holy man
was assisted in doing the honors of his palace by some gra
cious and be-diamonded princess.
March 13.
I can hardly yet speak of Spring as having openly declared
herself in Rome. She is but timidly peering through the dis
guise of her gray domino, and a fe^ loving flowers have
answered her smile, a few loyal trees put on her livery ; but
she will scarcely make her grand entree while defiant old
Winter sits ice-enthroned 6n the Sabine hills. But never in
all my life has the first, faint dawn of the spring time seemed
to me so beautiful, so balmy, and bounteous in promise. There
seems in all the air a strange, charmed hush of expectation —
the full-budded young trees seem quivering with impatience to
array themselves in the glossy green apparel which Mother
Nature, having drawn up frora their trunks, stands ready to
unfold — the early flowers seera bending to call up their
belated sisters ; while the birds, in their sweetest warblings,
seem actually choking back their choicest melodies for a more
convenient season.
The gardens and grounds of the Borghese, Pamfili Doria,
and other Roman villas are becoming more ravishingly beau
tiful day by day with sprouting grass, and budding shrubs, and
gorgeous flowers ; while in the Coliseum, the Baths of Cara
calla, the Vale and Temple of Egeria, fragrant violets and
wallflowers and wild anemonies are raaking their lonely deso
lation more lovely than all the smiling, unworn beauty of the
others. There is something so touching in the tenderly mater-
22*

258 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
nal manner in wnich Nature makes haste to beautify decay —
sowing flowers and planting mosses over mouldering walls and
broken arches, and bridging with luxuriant ivy the rents and
chasms of ruin. Flowers grow very profusely in the Baths
of Caracalla, but very sparsely about the Coliseum ; and it
would almost seem that something of the atmosphere of olden
luxury lingers in the first, to nourish their growth ; and some
thing of the air of fear and the chill of horror, belonging to
the last, checks and represses their spread and bloom. But
this is a foolish little untenable fancy, for the Baths are aban
doned to the beautiful ministrations of Nature, while the Coli
seum is under the special protection of the church, which has
banished shrubs and flowers from the once blood-dewed arena,
to raake way for execrable shrines, pictures, and images.
Nothing can now surpass, in clearness, sweetness, and invig
orating freshness, the air on the Monte Pincio, as w-e taste it
in our early morning walks. There we go to bid the sun buon
giorno, and to watch his hostile operations against the icy
strongholds of Winter on the distant mountains. On this
spot, favored with the earliest sunshine, bird songs, and flowers,
I stroU daily, my senses flooded with an enjoyment too intense
and deep for speech, and only to be breathed in the silent
orisons of the heart.
I have now been about four months in Rome, and I am
feeling marvellously at home among its grandeurs and glooms,
its modern palaces and ancient temples, its towers and
tombs, its obelisks and colurans, arches and multitudinous
churches. I gaze on its treasures of art with ever-increasing
wonder and interest, and wander among its ruins with an ever-
deepening, solemn deUght, which I despair of conveying in
words — which I never comprehended through imagination, or
the experience of others. It soraetimes possesses me like a
silent madness — rapts rae away from the present, and mer
ges thought, consciousness, my very being, in the great life of

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 259
the past. After such times, when it has seemed that the centu
ries have rolled back and borne me into the midst of the beauti
ful and mighty world that has been, — when I have triumphed
in its glories and splendors, and revelled in all the refined
luxuries of its poetry and art, — I awake with a heavy sigh to
the degeneracy and degradation, the poor theatrical pomps,
the false taste, and cold, prosaic sentiments which surround
me to-day.
As to modern Rome, I have become so used to its pe
culiar aspects, that on my return it will seem excessively
odd to take a walk in town without passing half a dozen
palaces and barracks, twenty churches, several obelisks and
ancient teraples — without having splendid great eyes starring
upon me out of dark alleys and entrances — without hearing
bugle calls, and troops of horse galloping clangingly by — with
out meeting tall, armed policemen in handsome uniforms, and
dwarfish French soldiers in Uttle hats, immense coats, and red-
flannel trousers — cardinals in flaming turnouts, and peram
bulating priests in hats of queer fashion, and gowns of all col
ors, cuts, and qualities — without hearing the dolorous chanting
of raonks in funeral processions, and the piteous whine of a
hundred beggars — without encountering a mendicant friar at
every gateway, and passing a shrined virgin at every corner.
From all I have seen of the Italians, I am inclined to think
them a m«i>e amiable and less dangerous people than they
have been usually represented. True, they rise info sublime
rages on sraall occasions, but in their fiercest bursti»of passion
seldora proceed to extremities. Their anger is of the loqua
cious and imprecatory sort — their disputes are stormy, and
accompanied by furious gestures, but generally end in nothing
more serious than sharp coups de langue. I have several
times remarked two men in the street, engaged in such an ani
mated colloquial contest, cursing and gesticulating at such a
rate, that in England or America a ring would be instantly

260 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
formed about them, or the police summoned to arrest them.
But here they are left to wreak' their rage in words ; and
they desist, at last, from loss of breath, not blood, and part
quietly, after having blackened each other's characters, not
eyes. One day, when we were riding, we observed a company of
Italian dragoons, fine, gallant men, passing one of the barracks
of the French soldiers, when these last, sraall, brutish-looking
fellows, set up a laugh and shouts of derision. I started with
apprehension, expecting nothing less than a charge and a hot
street fight. But, from contempt or conscious helplessness, the
Roraans contented themselves with looking their fire, and,
while my blood was boiling at the insult they had received,
rode on with the utmost imaginable sang froid.
There seems to be no class in Rome answering to the sw-ell
mob of England and Araerica. That is evidently one of the
institutions of a free country. All meetings and associations
of the people are so discountenanced and forbidden that the
people themselves seem annihilated. The day has long gone
by for popular orations in the Forum, and deraocratic discus
sions on the steps of the Capitoline — the " greasy citizens "
who drove Coriolanus from Rome are powerless and unheard
of now. In the streets, where two or three are gathered to
gether, there is presently a soldier in their midst, or a police
man coraes up with a polite admonition to move on ; and at
night, after ten or eleven o'clock, this seems but a half-inhabited
city. EveiS the Corso has a desolate and melancholy look,
badly lighted 'as it is, and deserted by all but the police and a
few straggling carriages. There are hundreds of young Ro
mans who were engaged in the last revolution, and are stUl
suspected of republicanism, who are not allowed to be out of
their houses after Ave Maria.
Italy, for all its artistic and rausical celebrity, is perhaps
the country of the whole world where your eye is most often

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 261
offended, and your ear agonized, by bad pictures and bad mu
sic. In alraost every church and gallery you meet paint
ings and statuary so monstrous, grotesque, and hideous, that
they haunt you for days in before-unimagined shapes of
horror, and oppress you in your dreams — a new breed of
nightmares. As for the inusic, you hoar it of the finest, or at
least raost briUiant, quality in good Italian society ; but the
voices of some of the professional singers are piercing, rasp
ing, wiry, and unsympathetic to the last degree. Italy, I be
lieve, almost beggars itself of great musical artists, to answei'
the demands of France, Russia, England, and America.
I half expected, in coraing to Italy, to find untutored Marios
among vetturini, Lablaches among innkeepers. Crisis and
Pastas among contadine — but I was wofuUy mistaken. Yet,
if I was disappointed in the music of the common people, I have
been beyond expectation pleased in their manners. They are
alraost universally good humored, gentle, kind, and obliging —
in native elegance and real politeness, leaving their Gallic
neighbors far behind.
It is ray opinion, from all the observations I have been able
to make, that the religious devotion of the Italians is a largely
overrated virtue. In my visits to the churches, from Sf. Pe
ter's down, during all times of service, I have noticed very
few devout worshippers, except old men and women, ^^'hen
the young Romans go through fhe forms of prayer, it is com-
inonly in a cold, careless, preoccupied manner. I am .assured,
by those who have lived here long enough to be certain of
what they say, that there is an iramense amount of atheism
among nominal Roman Catholics. Even the children are pre
cocious truants from the school of the holy faith. The priests
on Sundays send out young boys, bearing crosses and ringing
bells, to call other children to catechism ; but I have noticed
they enlist few recruits, especiaUy since this fine, sunny weather.

262 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
though they scream forth, at the top of their small voices, all
sorts of blessed promises and fearful warnings. Sometimes a
troop of ragged urchins, who have followed them about for the
show of the thing, disgrace themselves by deserting at the
church steps. As for the priests, some of the younger ones
have a look of fasting, watching, and penance, devout to ghast-
liness. They creep along the streets in their black or coarse
brown robes,-with their duU, downcast eyes, expressing a de
gree of humility and abnegation which is next to annihilation
itself. But the elder priests have evidently grown in worldly
wisdom, flesh, rosiness, and general jollity of appearance.
There are few among these who look the saint or the an
chorite ; indeed, I am inclined to suspect that the Hibernian
shrewdness of the pilgrim who boiled the peas he had vowed
to wear in his shoes is a quality which prevails to a considera
ble extent among the fathers of the church.
On last Thursday we went to St. Peter's to see the new
cardinals offer their devotions at three or four of the princi
pal shrines. They came in state, and one of the finest sights
I have yet seen was their arrival at the church in their
spl«yidid equipages, with all the officers and servants of their
establishments, preceded and foUowed by mounted guards.
But to mo there was soraething essentiaUy absurd in all this
pomp and parade, on the occasion of four or five old men
going to church to say their prayers.
This morning there was high mass performed in the Sfs-
tine chapel, in presence of the Pope and a full conclave
of cardinals — those I have mentioned wearing their new
honors, and airing their new robes of high spiritual state for
the first time. It was evident that their little blunders and
gaucheries, during the ceremonies, were neither unobserved
nor unenjoyed by their elder and more au fait brethren.
I am becoming excessively fond of the ItaUan language, as

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 263
spoken by the Romans. It is peculiarly the language of pas
sion and sorrow — it sounds of the great past, as shells sound
of the sea. It is like a rich-flowering shrub grafted on the
decayed trunk of the majestic Latin — or rather it is the
softened and melancholy echo of that trumpet-Uke tongue
which once pealed over the world.

CHAPTER XII.
A Gallop on the Campagna  The Church op the Cappuccini. —
The under-ground Cemetery. — "Visit to the Galleries op the
"Vatican by Torchlight. — Holy 'Week  Palm Sunday-. — The
MisererB in the Sistine Chapel. — Scene at the Entrance. —
The Ceremonies op Holy Thursday. — The Crowd and Crush.
— The Pope w-aits upon the Apostles at the Table. — Mise
rere IN St. Peter's. — '^^ashing the Altar, and Exhibition op
THE Relics. — Scene at the Trinita dei Pellegrini. March 17.
On the 14th we rode out the Porta del Popolo and around
the city walls to the Porta San Lorenzo, from whence we fol
lowed the road to a grand old bridge, the Ponte Mammolo,
across the Anio.
From this spot we explored the by-roads and lanes in vari
ous directions, in search of a good open piece of Carapagna.
This we found, at last, a glorious stretch of flrra, grassy,
flowery, undulating ground, where we gave free rein to our
horses, who, the moment their hoofs struck on the turf, seemed
possessed with all the fresh, glad impulses and elastic vigor of
the spring, tossed their heads, leaped at once into a mad gal
lop, and ran till the very winds were outwinded. Yet not so
swiftly did they fly but that we caught the smell of Ihe violets
crushed beneath their feet, and marked all the lovely shadows
flung about us from purple clouds floating above. There were
larks overhead, singing as they soared — some ascending to
wards heaven in a spiral column of sweet sound — some cir
cling slowly in a level orbit of song — some dropping towards
earth in lessening circles, as though whirling in a vortex of

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 265
melody. The Campagna was dotted with flocks of snowy
sheep, which looked like the shadows of the fleecy, wandering
clouds which flecked tho fields of heaven — the sky was soft,
the sunlight mild and variable, the very soul of spring was
abroad on the air.
The entire ride was one succession of delicious pictures and
more delicious sensations — one of those perfect pleasures,
half physical, half spiritual, the sentiment and enjoyment of
which I long intensely, but, alas ! I know how vainly, to con
vey to others.
To return from such a ride, with the soul filled with images
of beauty, and tho frame invigorated by pure air and noble
exercise, with the heart expanded by the love of nature, and
the pulses all in bounding play — then to pass through one of
the old historic gates, and by the Coliseum, and through the
Roman Forum — to have the grand shadows of the past flung
about you with the shadows of the twilight — this completes
and crowns an ordinary pleasure with a sentiment poetic
almost to sublimity.
This morning we witnessed a beautiful sight from the sura
mit of the Pincio. There was a heavy, silvery fog covering
the whole city — a sea of mist rolling over it in beautiful, bil
lowy masses. At one time, the tower of the Capitol and the
dome of St. Peter's were the only distant objects distinctly
above it; while tho vUlas on the hills beyond the Vatican
looked like castles in the air. There was one which was so
beautiful it reminded me of some of the glimpses which the
" Pilgrim " caught of the heavenly city from the " Delectable
Mountains.'' Yesterday I visited the Church of the Cappuccini — St.
Maria della Concezione — where I saw the Archangel Michael
of Guido. Tho face is surely wonderful for its combination
of beauty and power, of sweetness and sternness, and triumph
and sorrow. As he stands, wielding his slender sword, with
23

266 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
his foot on the prostrate .Lucifer, you are struck at once with
the youthful lightness, grace, and tenderness of his figure, but
you do not doubt that he is hurling his enormous adversary
heUward with immense force and velocity. The head of the
Lucifer is infinitely more horrible and disgusting to me, for its
humanity, than any homed and fiery-tongued representation
of the prince of the infemals I have ever beheld. It is said
that this is a likeness of Cardinal Pamfili, afterwards Innocent
X., on whom Guido took revenge for some criticism, by send
ing his head and shoulders down to posterity, by the raere
addition of a dragon's taU. "To what base ends may we
come at last " !
From the church we descended to the cemetery underneath,
where one of the most curious, and certainly the most horrible,
sights I ever beheld met my eyes. Within four low vaulted
chambers are kept the bones of ten thousand monks !
"WTien a member of this fraternity dies, he is buried in his
coarse brown robe, in the cemetery, the earth of which was
brought from Jerusalem ; but, after some months, his bones are
taken up and arranged in a variety of ways about the waUs of
the ceraetery. The skeletons of the most eminent or holy
fathers are preserved entire, and recline on couches of skuUs,
or stand in bone-built niches — wearing the coarse brown robes
and cowls they lived, and died, and wore buried in, and holding
rosaries and crucifixes. All about them are bones — columns
and altars of skulls, festooned with vertebrte, finger and toe
joints — ribs made into crosses — arm bones and collar bones
made into lamps — leg bones supporting shelves of shoulder
blades and kneepans — bones of all sorts, arranged in aU sorts
of emblematical forms — such as scythes, scales, hourglasses.
On the ceiling overhead, in horrible mockery of frescoes of
smiling Cupids and Ganymedes, small, shining skeletons grin
down upon you, and seem about to strike you dead. To the
robed skeletons in the niches some dried flesh and portions of

A TOUR m EUROPE. 267
skin adhere, and from the chins of two or three yet depends a
long, grizzly beard.
It was evidently expected, frora the position in which these
defunct fathers aro placed, that they would wear a look of de
votion or pious raeditation ; but the attempt has pot been alto
gether successful. Expression varies in these death's heads
quite as much as in living faces. For instance, there is one
who seems chuckling wifti sly merriment under his wormeaten
cowl — »one who has a foxy look of cruelty and cunning — one
who seems to have died cursing — and one who seems to have
never died at all, but, as he lies stretched out, with his cowl
shading his face, his beard on his breast, and his raouth open,
looks simply like lan emaciated, macerated old monk, sound
asleep, and snoring.
This under-ground cemetery is so small and iU ventUated,
the earth above the buried monks seems so light, that one feels
that the air must be surcharged with pestilence and death.
Yet the monks pertbrm masses there, wander and meditate
there — breathe in the musty atmosphere of the bones of the
long-departed ten thousand, and the exhalations from the un-
coffined bodies of the lately-departed ten. How strange it
must be for them to contemplate the certain disposition of
their own poor remains — their skulls labelled and packed
in- arches, and their bones built and wreathed into ghastly
ornaments ! Perhaps old friends talk to one another in this
wise : " You will see, Brother Anselmo, that they do not scat
ter my bones too much — you yourself will place my skuU
where you can come and see it soraetimes."
On one night in the year this cemetery is illuminated. Can
you imagine a scene more grandly horrible ? From yeUow
lamps and swinging chandeliers of bones, the ghastly light
gloaming on graves and skeletons, flashing on poUshed skuUs,
and searching into thousands on thousands of eyeless sockets I
Think of the awful shadows lurking in the arches and about

268 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
the niches where lie or stand the dead monks, robed and
cowled ! Think of masses being said hero, and penitential
psalms sent wailing through these crowded courts of Death !
Think of processions of dark-go-wnod, long-bearded monks,
passing slowly through, while the cowled heads of the skeletons
nod, and the lamps swing, and all the small bones rattle at
their tread !
I must confess, that, fearful and disgusting as it was, the
sight of those old monks, half skeletons, half mummies, had for
me a sort of horrible fascination. Loathsome paraders, rather
than soleran preachers of decay and mortality, they yet are fuU
of the peculiar humanity, half dead when most aUve, of their
order. Without their robes, you would know them for monks.
They look dark, and secret,- and humble, with an indestructible
air of fraternity. I had a strange feeling that they not only
regarded me, but one another ; and I half believed that at
night, when they should have the place all to themselves, they
would talk to each other, in husky and sepulchral voices, of
the past glory and present decay of the church — of matters
that concern their order — of the sanctity and severity of its
founders, and of the laxity and imbecility which have crept
into it in these degenerate days — and, perchance, lament sol
emnly and piteously together the good old times when popes
planted their feet on the necks of emperors, and the flames,
and racks, and pubUettes of the Inquisition wore in fuU play.
But perhaps I do the cowled mummies wrong — one and aU
may have been mild, inoffensive, and charitable — given to
fasting, prayer, and ministrations of mercy among the poor — •
men who shut the glory of the world and the light of human
joy from their cloistered lives, that the pure lamp of divine
truth might shine more clearly there — shut out the sounds of
human struggle and pleasure, that the heavenly voices might
steal on the solemn stillness — men in whom the love of God
abounded, and who were not wanting in loving kindness for
all his creatures.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 269
Among the thousands of priests, monks, and friars whom I
meet in Italy, I sometimesjtreraark a form of a gracious and
manly character, and a noble and saintly head, borne with that
true humUity which is the highest dignity — a face thoughtful
without severity, gentle without weakness, wakeful and earnest
without cunning or fanaticism. There are some whom you thus
recognize at once as Christ's ministers — poor and self-deny
ing, meek and gentle, and sorrowful — going about doing good
among the sick, the imprisoned, and the afflicted. Such are
the true holy fathers — for the blessing of such I would kneel
as readily as the devoutest Catholic in the land. But, as far
as I can judge by observation, there are few of this class —
the greater part are unintelloctual, inferior, repulsive-looking
men. Many are gross, many gloomy, hopeless, and utterly
abject in expression. The monastic orders especially seem
soulless and decayed — the life of letters, which of old was their
peculiar strength and glory, having departed from them.
We are told that the church should be preserved and
revered for what she has been in the far past — for having
served as the solo asylum of learning during the dark ages,
when floods of barbarism were sweeping over the earth. But
we do not road that the patriarch Noah was comraanded to
preserve the old hulk ofthe ark which bore the elect of hu
manity, above a drowned world, on a sea which circled the
globe — whose waves ran before the sun through all his
march. We do not read that he was directed to make of its
storm-battered and water-rotted timbers an eternal habitation
for his race. No ; the good old craft, having done its work,
was doubtless left to go to pieces, according to the decrees of
Nature. The church was surely Heaven-appointed for a
grand and beneficent purpose ; that purpose is accomplished
— her great work for huraanity is done. As well, a thousand
years after the flood, could aU tho life sprung frora the Ufe
which once it bore have been crowded within the compass of
23*

270 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
the ark, as. to-day could the life of art, and learning, and the
fro? spirits of the world be brought within the bounds and
under the control of the church. March 18.
Last night we enjoyed a rare pleasure, a visit to the galleries
of the Vatican, and a long contemplation of the great- statues
by torchlight. It was a wondrously beautiful, an impressive,
even a solemn sight. I was one of a party of thirteen,
mostly familiar friends ; yet, in the three hours we spent
together there, scarcely a word was spoken above a whisper.
There was something strange, startUng, almost awful in the
scene, when, falling a little way behind the one great torch, we
walked between long lines of antique figures, forms of a past
and buried world, which seemed suddenly to spring up around us
and live out before us from the dissolving darkness. Our friend
Mr. H  , who was with me, said, in his quick, earnest, char
acteristic manner, " Don't you wish the torch could be extin
guished for a moment?" "Why?" I asked. " 0, I think it
would look so like the resurrection ! " But I am sure the scene
had enough of that look as it was.
After all I had heard, I was astonished by the effect pro
duced by the torchlight on most of the great statues. It were
impossible to iraagine any thing more lifelike or godlike than
the ApoUo Belvidere, the Minerva Medica, and the head of
Jove. Among many others, I noticed, as showing to great ad
vantage, the Venus coming from the bath, the Antinous, the
Ariadne, the exquisitely draped figure of Modestia, the statue
of Demosthenes, the head of the young Augustus, the Faun
and Cupid of Praxiteles, that most glorious fragment, the
Torso Belvidere, and the colossal figure of Father Nile, alive
with wee children, like Lemuel Gulliver swarming with
Liliputians. But upon the group of the Laocoon the effect
was absoltitely terrible. To my eye, it lifted it at once from
the merely painful and horrible to awfulness and sublimity.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 271
All the injuries which that marvellous masterpiece of art has
sustained, aU the modern restorations, were lost ; whUe, by
the new and deep shadows flung about it, the action, the
agony, the terror, all the tremendous tragedy of the group
were infinitely heightened and intensified.
I almost looked to see the drapery heave on the breast of
the sleeping Ariadne, to soe her heavy eyeUds lift under the
glare of the torch.
The vulgar and brutally powerful figures of Canova's
Boxers took neither beauty nor dignity from the light by
which the ancients viewed their pure and majestic works ;
while his Perseus, that presumptuous plagiarism in stone,
shone all the poorer in its fair emptiness of face, and in the
theatrical strut and stretch of its extravagant pose. But the
Apollo, peerless in beautiful majesty, instinct with unconscious
divinity, seemed bursting from the darkness, radiating now light
from his triumphant brow, breatliing new life from his delicate,
disdainful lips. I bowed before him as the most worthily
immortal shape of power, and beauty, and grace, the fairest and
highest heathen imagining of a God, that the world contains.
March ai.
Yesterday began Holy Week with the iraposing but tedious
ceremonies of Palm Sunday at St. Peter's.
At nine o'clock in the morning we were in our places —
seats erected for the occasion near the liigh altar, dressed in
the costume prescribed by church etiquette — black through
out, with black veils on our heads. At about ten the Pope
entered, and the rites, ordinary and extraordinary, the masses
and processions, continued until one.
The entrance of the Pope into this his grandest basiUca
was, as usual, a beautiful and brilliant sight. He came
splendidly vested, wearing his mitre, and home in his chair of
state under a gorgeous canopy, between the flabelli — two

272 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
enormous fans of white peacock feathers. He was preceded
and followed by cardinals, bishops, archbishops, monsignori,
abbots, the apostolic prothonotaries, generals of the reUgious
orders, officers of the state, of the army, of his household, and
the Guardia Nobile.
¦ He took his seat on the throne, and received the homage of
the cardinals, who, kneeling, kissed his right hand, covered
with the red cope. This is a ceremony which is always gone
through with in the most forraal, mechanical, business-like
manner possible. Some palms, not in natural branches, but
cut and wreathed in various strange, fantastic forms, lay on
the altar. The Pope's chief sacristan took one of these, a
deacon another, a sub-deacon a third, and knelt at the foot of
the throne.' His Holiness read prayers over them, sprinkled
them with holy water, and incensed them three times. One
of these is held beside the throne by the prince assistant during
the service ; another is borne by the Pope when in pro
cession. After this, multitudes of palms were brought up for the Papal
benediction. First came the cardinals, each, as he received
his palm from tho Pope, kissing it, the right hand and knee of
His Holiness ; then the bishops, who only kissed the palm and
his right knee ; then the abbots, who were only entitled to
kiss the palm and his foot ; then the governor of Rome, the
prince assistant, the auditor, the treasurer, the maggiordomo,
the secretaries, the chamberlains, the mace bearers, the
deacons and sub-deacons, generals of the religious orders and
priests in general, masters of the ceremonies, singers, clerks
of the Papal chapel, students of Roman colleges, foreign minis
ters and their attaches, ItaUan, French, Spanish, Austrian,
Russian, Prussian officers, noblemen and gentlemen, all came
up in turn, knelt, received blessed palms, and kissed the foot
of the Sovereign Pontiff. Among those who voluntarily de
based the dignity of their freedom and their manhood, to

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 273
Protestant eyes, at least, I noticed two young officers in the
uniform of the English army.
During the distribution of the palms, antheifis were sung by
the choir, who were caged up in a sort of trelUce workbox
at the right of the altar. This long but brilliantly picturesque
ceremony through, the Pope, after washing his hands, again
mounted into his sedia gestatoria, and bearing his palm, pre
ceded and followed by all those to whom he had given palms,
passed slowly down the nave of the church, blessing tho kneel
ing and bending multitude right and left. This procession of
palms was very striking and gorgeous from the beauty and
variety of railitary arms and uniforms, the more than royal
richness of the priestly vestments, the gleara of mitres and
maces, and of innumerable sacred symbols and insignia ; but
to me it was neither solemii nor truly grand. The Pope, it is
said, is always made sick by being borne aloft in his chair ;
and he certainly looks miserable enough. He raoves his head
doubtingly and dizzily, his eyes are half closed, and the ges
ture of his hand, stretched forth in benediction, is feeble to a
painful degree. It is the situation in which the irresolution
and weakness of his character show the most undisguisedly
and piteously. •
In contrast with the strong and venerable figures of some
of his cardinals, especially in contrast with the powerful and
designing face of AntineUi, he looks like a mere pontifical
puppet, tricked out in tho solemn splendors and girt about by
all the pomp of spiritual and political supremacy, but in
reality subject utterly and hopelessly to the will and word of
those deeper, shrewder, and more unscrupulous intellects. His
smooth and quiet face is ever beaming, and his very presence
balmy, with a soft and aimless benevolence. A sort of languid
goodness seems to fall faintly upon the people from his mild
eyes, and to trickle from his deUcate fingers, in benedictions ;
but never may be seen in him that subdued force in action, that

274 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
severe earnestness, which should mark tne men Heaven-
appointed to answer the growing needs and hopes of the race,
and as wisely as bravely to help on the inevitable progress of
the age. Yet he looks sincere, and under all his" placid meek
ness you can scarcely doubt that he believes himself the
highest and purest earthly receptacle of heavenly power,
wisdom, and grace, instead of that which he has been proved
to be — a poor, untempered vessel, through which the divine
element weekly oozes, and which is found most empty when
for God's great purposes it should most abound.
After the procession had passed info the portico, two singers
reentered, and shut the door ; then, turning towards it, sung
the hymn, " Gloria, laus, et honor," alternately with the choir
without. This, the effect of which was very fine, being
finished, the sub-deacon knocked on the door with the cross ;
it was opened, and the procession returned in the same order
in which it went out. After this, high mass was performed,
the only part of which that impressed me particularly was a
passage in the chanting of the gospel, when, at the words,
" JesuS, crying with a loud voice, yielded up the ghost," the
Pope, cardinals, and all that immense Catholic assembly knelt
with one accord, raany utterly prostpating themselves, and
kissing the ground.
But I feel how hopeless is the endeavor to give, by this
most bare description, a clear and just conception of these
magnificent church ceremonies. After aU, the place, the sur
roundings, were more than they. The overpowering grandeur
and immensity of St. Peter's, under whose wondrous dome we
were ; the multitude of its chapels and altars, whose Ughts
gleamed among tho distant shadows like far-away stars ; the
warm splendors of the mosaics in the dome, rising circle on
circle towards heaven ; the cold and awful repose of monu
mental statuary, the height and beauty of the altar, the richness
of the Papal throne, the glory of color, the swell of music,

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 275
and, above all, the presence of that vast and varied multitude,
bound me in a spell of wonder and admiration, voiceless and
profound, but far enough from reverence and devotion. My
eye was deUghted, my ear charmed, but ray deep soul was
untouched. With reflection carae over a mournful indignation
at what seemed to me but a solemn travestying of the humble
triumph of Christ's entrance into Jerusalem mounted on an
ass, over garments and palm branches cast on his way by his
friends and brothers, the poorest and lowliest of the earth.
I own that I can never look upon pompous ceremonies and
gorgpous displays of any form of religion, caUing itself Chris
tian, without amazeraent, instead of reverence, and protestation,
in place of prostration of soul ; remeraberiHg the sublirae
simplicity, the bare majestic truth, the grand poverty which
marked the life on eartli of the divine Founder of Christianity.
In waters so mired by the vice and crime of the world, so
covered by the argosies of its riches and the armadas of its
power, who can taste the flrst sweetness, who can behold the
fresh purity, of the river of life which burst from the Rock
of Ages for the salvation of nations ?
Who, in listening to the Latin ritual of this church of Rome,
can believe that he hears tliat gentle voice which taught the
poor by the Lakes of Galilee and Gennesaret, on the raountain,
and by tho wayside ? Who, on beholding the Pope in all his
magnificent state, seated on a throne, propped up by the great
despotisms of the earth, girt about by foreign bayonets and
hireling spears, can for one benighted moment believe him the
true representative and high priest of the meek and lowly
Jesus, Martyr divine, Preacher of freedom, Prophet of de
mocracy, and Prince of Peace ?
But difficult as it is for me to coraprehond tho raoral and
raental state of tho devout and all-believing CathoUc, I yet
have daily proof that these ceremonies, rites, and relics, vain,
unsubstantial, and unreal to me, are to him " the substance of

276 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen" — and
when in the temples of his worship, I endeavor, by a quiet seri
ousness, to show respect for that which, of aU the attributes of
the human soul, is most to be reverenced — faith. Indeed, it is
only when removed from the spell of its magnificence, and the
magnetism of' its mystery, that I am able to smile at the
incongruities, absurdities, and childish superstitions of this
form of religion ; whenever in the imraediate presence of its
glory and state, I am deeply, sadly, impressed by its power,
antiquity, and universality. As to the indignation to which I
am perhaps too often moved, it springs from my intense love
of freedom, and from my conviction that the church is the
great enemy of. a true, and a large liberty ; that her atmosphere
has for ages stifled the highest and freest aspirations of
humanity ; that monstrous forms of bigotry and superstition,
spiritual tyranny and political aggrandizement, nurtured at
her bosom, have, vampire-like, sucked the lifeblood of the
world. March 23.
I have just returned from witnessing the services called
Tenebrce, in the Sistine chapel, and from hearing the
Miserere. Though these functions do not commence until
four o'clock in the afternoon, we were obliged to go at two, so
' small is the chapel, and so great the rush for seats. Even at
that early hour we found a large crowd on the stairs awaiting
the opening "of the doors; but through the influence of the
American minister, a small party, among whom I was, were
admitted by a private passage, thus being mercifuUy saved
the ordinary crush and scramble. When, at length, the doors
were thrown open to the impatient outsiders, the scene, but
for certain ludicrous points, would have been fearful. They
came rushing, and rolling, and tumbling in like great waves of
a boiling black sea, beating on either side against the Swiss
guards, who stood like rocks to oppose all unlawful inroads.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 277
Among the men there were great trampling and raising of
dust and voices, and losing of hats and tempers, and sharp
but vain contentions with halberded harlequins in authority ;
terrible fellows, who, in their uniform of striped red, yellow,
and black, look Uke huge spiders, and pounce upon hapless
heretics as though they were flies. Among the women there
were fierce elbowing, and passionate pushing, and crying, and
mon-Dieuing, and tearing of veils, and dishevelUng of tresses.
Most entered with a tremendously accumulated velocity, as
though shot in ; some were tossed in ; some borne triumphantly
above the crowd ; some, with laces and fringes entangled in the
buttons of energetic strangers, were dragged in, struggUng and
expostulating. This rush, and tumult, and confusion of tongues lasted about
five minutes, then subsided into comparative quiet ; every
available place, every unsanctified niche and corner of the
chapel, being filled by the eager toilers and fighters after the most
recherche of religious pleasures — the elect few comfortably
seated, the unfortunate raany standing amid the crush and
heat of the crowd. I sat near the railing, and must confess to
the heartlessness of smiUng at the pathetic expression and
raelancholy condition of sorae of my raale acquaintances. A
young German amused me much by his comical complaints.
At one time he exclaimed, " I shall be twice as long to-morrow
as I am dis evening, Aey squeeze me so." At another tjme,
as a tall, stout woman was leaning on his shoulder, he looked
up piteously, saying, "Ah, I am very fast becoming a
pancake." But, fortunately as we were situated, we were not
entirely without annoyances ; our peculiar tribulation consist
ing in being seated near a party of restless and senseless young
ladies, who could not or would not be quiet, but chattered
Uke magpies far into the service.
One of the peculiar cereraonies of the Tenebrce is connected
with certain tapers, which stand on a triangular candlestick.
24

278 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
These lights, fifteen in number, are extinguished one by one,
after the psalms, to the last and highest, which is hid behind
the altar just before the singing of the Miserere, and brought
forth at the close. In this process of extinguishment, the party
of which I have spoken seemed most profoundly interested ;
you would have thought that they were there simply and
solely to see the putting out of those candles. Through all
the solemn chants and pathetic lamentations they seemed in
tent on nothing else ; and if by any chance they missed seeing
one extinguished, they lamented it as a serious loss.
The Pope officiated, or rather presided, at this ceremony,
as there was very little done beside chanting. The royal box
was occupied by the King of Bavaria and his suite.
The Miserere was to rae a new revelation of music. Never
had I heard any thing at the same time so solemn and so ten
der, so grand and so sad. It was the sigh, the waU, the
supplication of mortality unto God, yet breathed the profound
sweetness of his eternal harmonies. It did not come ia bursts,
and gushes, and sudden floods of melody, but in grand, wave
like volumes, calm and deep ; now swelUng softly towards you,
now slow receding ; overflowing the soul, and floating it out
into the inflnite. Never had immortality, holiness, and heaven
been more eloquently proclaimed to me than through that ery
of the human for mercy and redemption ; never had I bowed
before God with more lowly prostrations of the heart and the
spirit than in obedience to that divine evangel of music. I
felt, as all must have felt who heard, that- that mournful and
pleading voice of confession and supplication, caUing from the
deepest depth of man's nature, must rise above all tho sounds
of earth, above the rolling of the worlds, and steal into the
ear, and search into the bosom, of the Father.
The darkness of the chapel and the mourning vestments of
the priests added much to the solemnity of this service ; but
the strange, rumbling, rattUng noise with which it closed only

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 279
disturbed and shocked me. This concluding uproar is made
in iraitation of the confusion of Nature at the death of Christ ;
but to me it sounded like very poor theatrical thunder.
During the actual singing of the Miserere, there was per
fect stUlness in all the chapel — even the talkative young
ladies were silenced and solemnized. Not alone the voices,
but the very breath, of those around me seemed hushed under
tho spell of those heavenly strains ; and if every knee was not
visibly bowed, I believe that every spirit bent in secret ado
ration. I have had ray soul shaken with more varied and
powerful emotions on listening to music, but never so borne
down, so uplifted and expanded — winged to such joyful
heights, lowered to such sorrowful depths — sent voyaging
over such solemn seas of thought.
So I believe that, heretic as I ara, I was able to gi-asp what
was best and highest in this service. Its deepest spiritual
raeaning, breathed in the language of rausio, answers to a uni
versal want, and is comprehended by every soul which truly
yearns towards its iramortal home. March as.
The ceremonies of Thursday are, perhaps, the most attractive
of all in Holy Week. On that day the Pope washes the feet
of the apostles, and waits upon them at table. As there is
little interval between these ceremonies, the first of which takes
place in St. Peter's, and the last in the hall above the portico.
we thought it not advisable to try to witness both ; but, having
heard that the latter was the raost of a sight, took a stand in the
Sala Regia, through which the apartment where the dinner is
served is entered. As we were accorapanied by one of the
monsignori, we were early passed by the line of guards, and
given a favorable position near the door. But here we were
obUged to wait a full hour, during the last half of which we
were in danger of being crushed to death by the well-dressed
mob behind. It was a new and an awful experience.

280 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
From the elevation where we stood, looking backward and
downward into the black vcfrtex of the crowd, the scene was
absolutely appalUng. Even as I was situated, on the outer
edge of the boiling gulf, I felt myself surged against by the
tempestuous human torrent, and, but for the strong arm and
resolute wiU of my friend Mr. H  , should have been over
whelmed. As it was, my shoulders and sides were battered
and bruised by a complete assortment of foreign elbows, and
my feet trodden on by feet of every nation in Europe. Even
in this unenviable position I had Ufe enough in me' to laugh,
occasionally, in a wild, hysterical way, to be sure, and to mark
certain- curious features, incidents, and accidents of the scene.
It was next to an exhibition at tho Propagandist College to
hear the expostulations, threats, entreaties, and desperate wit
ticisms in all languages — it was a fine study of national
characteristics to watch the rush and struggle, the attacks and
repulses, of the crowd. The French charged with the greatest
impetuosity, but the EngUsh stood their ground the most
sturdily ; the Russians were the most imperious, the Germans
the most brutal, the Yankees tho most coolly impudent and
resolutely go-ahead-ative ; while the Italians gave way on all
sides, whether from poUteness, disgust, or cowardice, it were
difficult to say. During the height of the crush, one of the
Pope's chamberlains came forcing his way through the crowd,
ordering us to let pass his party. Borne down by his grand
costume and ferocious mustache, we allowed him to drag by us
no less than six ladies ; but when the seventh appeared, on the
arm of a stout German with a nasty imperial, we closed our
ranks, and boldly opposed their passage. O, then to behold
the rage of the stout German, who wore a star on his breast,
and was evidently somebody, somewhere. He abused Mr.
H  in half a dozen languages, aU more or less gutturally
intone4, and received in reply a smile of placid contempt. He
then caUed upon the Swiss guard to come to his aid — impe-

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 281
riously, frantically, but, of course, vainly ; whereupon I had
the temerity to turn and laugh in- his face ; for which act of
insolence I received what I took to be some sort of a damning
in Dutch, and a succession of prodigious digs of the elbow in
the right side. Though I raade no outcry, I suppose I must
have paled under the infliction, for the lady on my enemy's
arm actually hold her vinaigrette to my nose, exclaiming,
" Etes vous veritablement malade, madame ? " " Qui" I re
plied, " mortellement malade — Monsieur votre mari me tue."
While we stood there, the Pope passed, going in solemn
procession from the Sistine to the PauUne chapel, beaiing the
Holy Sacrament ; then came th(^ crush of crushes, as the outer
circles of the crowd, borne back by the guard, were forced, in
a heavy, dense, stifling raass, upon us. Such strangely inti
mate relations as were suddenly entered upon then — such
involuntary erabracings — such moraentary mesalliances for
mutual protection — such fraternizing among natural enemies.
And when, soon after, the doors were thrown open, and the
awful, final rush was made, what a trampling on and rending
of drosses — what a crushing of hats — what a wrenching
apart of locked arms — what a falling up stairs, and running,
and calling, and scrambling, and contending ! Young gentle
raen bore off fragments of lace veils, like love tokens fiuttering
at their buttons ; and I have an indistinct recollection of hear
ing a feminine shriek, and of seeing, an instant after, a gallant
young English guardsman dash forward, with a torn lock of
fair hair entangled in his epaulet.
Tho apostolic salle d manger is a handsorae oblong roora,
and on this occasion was richly decorated — altogether about
as different as possible, I should say, from that " upper cham
ber " in which Christ waited upon his disciples. The table
stood on a raised platforra — it was covered with gay dishes,
monstrous gilt vases, and mamraoth bouquets, making it look
for all the world like a stage banqueting board. Before every
24*

282 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
seat was a gilt statuette of an apostle, bearing some distin
guishing insignia ; opposite the table was a large platform,
appropriated to ladies ; above that the royal box, where sat
the King of Bavaria and a batch of princes and princesses.
Between the two platforms was a sort of pit — the general
standing-place of the gentlemen. Only the tallest of thos.e be
hind the first rank could see any thing ; consequently, the rush
and struggle for the outermost positions were tremendous.
Securely and pleasantly situated as I was, I watched, with
more amusement than apprehension, this exhibition of rampant
curiosity in the lordly sex, and was not a little startled to see
a young lady near me bursting into tears at the sight. On
my questioning her as to her affliction, she exclaimed, "Ah,
mon Dieu ! mon mari est la bas, on le tuera ! " I assured her
that there was not the sUghtest danger of such a calamity ;
but she replied, "-Pardon — il y a un Monsieur qui a deja
perdu la connaissance ; " and, looking in the direction in which
she pointed, I caught a glimpse of a very white face, with parted
lips and closed eyes, tossed up by the .surging crowd Uke the
face of a drowned man by the waves of a boiling sea. We had
a comfortable amount of room, and plenty of fresh air from a
large open window behind us, — there was no provocation, not
even a decent excuse, for fainting, — yet a couple of suscepti
ble young ladies managed to get up a sensation in that way,
perhaps out of sympathy for the poor, interesting young man
— perhaps because belonging to that class of delicate females
with whom the syncope is a chronic affliction, almost a nor
mal condition — but who do not, for that reason, avoid crowds
— by no means. About one of these gathered several elderly
ladies, offering contradictory suggestions, keeping off the air,
and looking any thing but unhappy at the little supplementary
excitement ; to the succor of the other, " un militaire 'j was
summoned, who, in order to remove her, was obliged to lift her
over the railing. I- was amused to see her revive in time

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 283
to adjust her dress very properly about her feet as she went
over. At length, with considerable rather unapostoUc parade, the
thirteen banqueters were marshalled into the chamber, and
ranged on the platform before the table. They were dressed
in loose white robes, with high white caps on their heads ; and,
had it not been that they carried huge bouquets, presented by
the Pope at the lavanda, it would have struck any one, I
think, that they looked, each and all, as though just about to
be hanged. For several minutes, while waiting for the Pope,
they were exposed to the concentrated, scrutinizing, criticiz
ing, merciless stare of the crowd. In their queer, unaccus
tomed dress, they looked conscious and foolish, and smelled
away vigorously at their bouquets, which they held with
various degress of awkwardness, and looked down on their
newly-washed feet in uneasy contemplation.
Immediately on entering, the Pope had his train tucked up,
and a napltin pinned about hira, in place of a waiter's apron.
He then washed the hands of the apostles, who, one after the
other, took their seats at the table, each behind his particular
statuette. Then it was first clearly manifest which was which.
As usual, there had been proper attention paid to character.
Back of the flgure of Peter sat an energetic, determined-
looking priest ; John's place was filled by the youngest and
mildest of the party ; while, I ara sure, every body was grati
fied to see a sufficiently ugly, hard-looking personage go skulk
ing into the place of Judas. With but two or three excep
tions, they were a raost ill-favored set of men, and — the truth
must be told — any thing but venerable, saintly, and apostolic
in their air. As the Pope began his duties by serving the
soup, there was a fresh and violent outburst of excitement
and curiosity in the pit. I was at first scandalized by what
appeared to be a garae of leapfrog, carried on in the midst of
the solemn rites and in presence of His Holiness ; but I soon

284 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
perceived that it was an ingenious contrivance of some young
gentlemen of limited stature, who, by hoisting themselves up
by the shoulders of those in front, were able to catch a mo
mentary view of tho stage.
The Pope ' — who, in his tucked-up gown and apron, and
with his short, waddling gait, looked, in honest truth, Uke a
fat, ruddy-faced landlady — was attended by richly-dressed
prelates, who handed him tho dishes, kneeling reverently ; and
whenever he approached the foot of the table, the Guardia
Nobile stationed there lowered their swords, lifted their
casques, and bent nearly to the ground — making the scene
queer and incongruous to the last degree. I raust confess that
I was obliged, repeatedly, to hide my face and laugh. I should
have laughed had I died for it.
A priest read something aloud from some religious book, to
which nobody appeared to pay the slightest attention; the
Pope seemed rather to hurry through his duties, serving course
after course with a rapidity little favorable to healthful diges
tion, and pouring wine very generously,
Soon after the serving of the dessert, he bestowed his bless
ing, and retired with his prelates and guards.
Though the thirteen had not manifested any painful degree
of restraint in his presence, they yet seemed to enjoy their
meal none the less for his absence. Tho perpetual taking off
of their tall paper caps, as he served them with meats and
wine, must have interfered somewhat with the principal busi
ness in hand. They certainly did very good justice to a very
good dinner — indeed, it was the general impression that they
had previously fasted, in order the better to reUsh this feast
sacred and extraordinary.
When the dinner was at length concluded, thirteen large
baskets were brought in, and each apostle stowed away, for
himself, all that pertained to his seat at table, — remains of
food, wine, bouquets, knives, forks, napkins, and spoons, —

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 285
with the gold and silver medals presented by the Pope at the
lavanda — no inconsiderable perquisites, and showing that it is
worth a poor priest's while to play an apostle's part for the
nonce. I should not wonder if, for even Judas's role, there
were at least fifty applicants ; and for those of the more pop
ular disciples, such as Peter and John, doubtless the competi
tion was tremendous.
I am sorry to have to record that St. Andrew and St. Mark
had some little difficulty about a napkin. It seemed that St.
Mark had accidentally dropped his napkin, and had afterwards
laid hands on that of St. Andrew, which he was caught in the
act of packing away in his basket. But I am happy to add,
that, on the lost napkin being found, the matter was amicably
settled. Half an hour after, as we came out of the Pauline chapel,
which was brilliantly iUurainated, we observed St. John, with
an amiability in keeping with his character, dividing his bou
quets among a group of friends.
In the evening of this day we heard the Miserere in St.
Peter's, standing outside the Choral chapel, through whose
open doors the solemn, full-tided flood came pouring and sur
ging — sweeping abroad over the vast basilica, and swelling up
into its shadowy arches and mighty dome. After the Miserere
a very curious cereraony took place — the washing of the
high altar with wine. Tho cardinal-priest and canons of the
church, various orders of priests, acolytes, and young chor
isters pour wine upon it, and wash it with aspergiUi, or
brushes. They do this, and the succeeding drying with sponges
and napkins, chanting, and going in rapid succession up and
down the steps and before the altar, each giving it a dash and
a wipe as he passes. There was small amount of solemnity
in the ceremony — indeed, some of the boys seemed to con
sider it rather in the light of a bit of fun ; but the darkness
and mourning of the church — whose pictures were covered.

286 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
whose crosses veiled in black, and a peculiar, monotonous wail
in the chant — gave a strange wildness, an almost awful 'mys
tery, to the scene.
At the conclusion of this altar washing, the most holy reUcs
were exhibited for the adoration of the faithful, frora a high
gallery, above the statue of St. Veronica. These are solemnly
declared to be, a fragment of the true cross — a part of the
lance which pierced our Savior's side — and a true likeness
of Christ, imprinted in bloody sweat on a handkerchief, with
which St. Veronica wiped his face, when he was on his way to
Calvary. This last is called the Volto Santo, or Sacred Face.
These famous relics are set in glass cases, framed in costly
jewels, and kept with the most jealous care — never shown to
the people but from a great height, for other reasons, very
possibly, than their great sacredness. I was rejoiced to see
that few beside priests and the poorest peasants knelt in idola
try, real or feigned, before the glittering deceptions — the im
pious impositions.
This evening we also visited the Trinita dei Pellegrini — a
hospital where pilgrims are entertained during Holy Week,
and where feet washing and waiting at table are carried on
extensively, and in real earnest, by noblemen and ladies —
princes and princesses. There are separate departments for
male and female pilgrims, and our party was obUged to divide
— the gentlemen going one way, the ladies another. No pil
grim is here received who does not bring a certificate of hav
ing come frora a distance of not less than sixty miles ; and
from tho wayworn, weatherbeaten, and filthy appearance of
those I saw, I should suppose they had walked at least five
hundred. The sights I witnessed that night were death to aU
my romantic idea&of saintly pilgrims in flowing brown robes,
¦with, rosary and staff. Somehow, I had always associated
good looks and a decent degree of cleanliness with this class
of devotees ; but such a pitiably poor, wretched, and repulsive

A TOUR IN EUROPE. • 287
set of women I never before beheld collected together. Wild,
coarse, uncouth, unwashed, uncombed, covered with the merest
rags, at loose ends altogether, some were old and decrepit,
none very young, all hideously ugly. Throe or four had chil
dren with thera — poor, forlorn Uttle creatures, who looked Ul,
and tired, and frightened, and whose dirt-begrimed faces
were marked by the courses of many tears — deep cuts in the
soil. There was one, a raere babe in arms, who was half
dead, or idiotic — kept its great glassy eyes wide open, but
nover moved ; yet whose tattered swaddling clothes were
visibly so independently animated, that I half wondered they
didn't move off and set up on their own account.
For each pilgrim there were at least six ladies eagerly
proffering their services — eloquently canvassing for the office
of feet washer ancl waiter. These fair devotees — princi-
pessas, duchessas, marchessas, and Roman ladies untitled, but
of wealth and fashion — wer" dressed in black, but many
very richly, and wore large aprons of some bright-red stuff,
with waists of the same, and a badge of the Virgin on the
loft breast — altogether a very becoming and a slightly -coquet
tish costume, especially to the young Italians, whose dark,
rich beauty showed to unusual advantage. The dress did not
suit quite so well tho pale-haired and high-colored English
ladies — for there were several of thes(% and the most eager,
and bustling, and solemnly fussy of all.
The entire company certainly went through with their duties
to admiration — washing the feet with their bare hands, in tubs
of warm water, with plenty of soap — scrubbing away lustily
at successive deposits of weeks on weeks of pilgrimage.
The feet thoroughly washed and carofulh' dried, — perhaps
for the first time within the memory of the fSlgrims, — there
followed some religious services ; and then they ascended to
the upper room, each conducted and supported by her lady.
I noticed a Roman princess — whom I had seen one night at

288 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
the Colonna palace so blazing with diamonds that I almost
shrank back frora her as from .'a gleam of lightning — come
up, arm in arm with tho most squalid and bedraggled beggar
of them all. To see the velvet of her robe and the rich lace
of her sleeve in close contact with the not merely suspicious,
but too evidently offensive and migratory, filth of those rags,
was to me simply disgusting. The pilgrim, who looked a
hearty woman enough, seemed afflicted with a sudden debUity,
and leaned rather heavily against the princess. Perhaps she
liked the feeling of velvet.
I pitied, while I condemned, this pharisaical parade of a
souUess and worthless humility in a set of women of a limited
mental enlightenment, and, it is to be hoped, also, of moral re
sponsibility ; but my heart burned with indignation against a
church encouraging these tramping devotees, and sanctioning
such fanatical vagabondism. Did the hospital receive pil
grims privately, give them a*ood, thorough bath, a suit of
clean clothes, entertain them comfortably, and finally dismiss
them with exhortations to tho Christian virtues of industry
and cleanliness, — to a speedy retum home, and a faithful dis
charge of the duties of husbands and wives, fathers and moth-
ers,_ — then it were quite another thing. But this would spoil
the sight, deprive tho noble Roman ladies of a favorite pen
ance, and compel fair English convert's to content themselves
with more commonplace acts of charity among their own
poor. We did not wait to see the supper concluded, but left in the
midst of a ravenous discussion of soup. I had endured calmly
the sight of all the wretchedness I have described. I had
borne in my nostrils that heavy, pervading, noisome scent
which so surely'''betrays the presence of extreme poverty and
uncleanliness — so sadly different from that " odor of sanc
tity " which, in poetry, hangs about the holy pilgrim ; but the
garlic in that soup was too much for me.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 289
On the night of Holy Saturday they had the last and great
est exhibition ; the excitement was at its height, the attraction
unprecedented. The King of Bavaria was present and tho
Princess Spada, the Princess Corsini, the Princess Doria, and
the Princess Piombino, in the suds. Doubtless he w-as greatly
edified at the sight ; but whether ho would like to have a hand
in the pious work is a question. Judging from his cold,
worldly, impassive face, and haughty, fastidious air, I should
decidedly ^ay. No. He looks like a man who sees through
these things completely, and is only politically a son of the
church. 25

CHAPTER XIII.
Holy Friday — The Scala Santa-, at St. John Lateran  The
Three Hours' Agony. — Miserere in the Choral Chapel. —
Ceremony op Baptism at St. John Lateran. — The Benedic
tion op the Pope. — T'he Illumination op St. Peter's. — Fire
works ON THE Pincio. — Fair at Grotta Feerata. — Peasants.
— Costumes. — Frascati. — The Tomb op Charles Edward 
A Donkey Ride to ancient Tusculum. — Spada Palace. —
Statue op Pompey. « March 31.
We commenced the sights of Holy Friday by visiting the
Scala Santa, at St. John Lateran. This is declared to be a
flight of steps from the house of Pilate, and the very stairs
down which our Savior passed in going from the judgment
seat. On almost any day you can see many miserable crea
tures doing penance by ascending these on their knees ; but
to-day the throng was unusuaUy great. I should suppose,
from the number we saw while there, that two or three thou
sand may have gone up between matins and vespers. A
priest afterwards told us twenty thousand ; but, with the
allowance one must make for priestly estimates in such mat
ters, it amounts to about the same thing. The real stairs,
which are of marble, are, after all, not touched by the profane
knees of the penitents, but are covered with boards, which it
has been necessary several times to renew. I beUeve that
some very plausible proofs are given of the genuineness of
this great relic ; but, to know it aU that good Cathohcs be
lieve, it would not in the slightest degree affect my feeling as
to the wrong and degradation connected with the use to which
it is put by the church. If Christ walked down these steps
(390)

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 291
as a martyr and a malefactor, it was not that his followers, to
remote generations, should crouch before them, and crawl up
thera painfully, with tears, and prayers, and groans ; it was
not that they should be made a holy show of, by means of
which the miserable pittance of the peasant and the toiling
widow's mite should be wrung forth.
A fat priest sat in a sort of box, near the door of the
chapel, to take the money ; and not until we had answered
the hungry rattle of his canister by a contribution w-ere we
allowed to ascend the side staircase, to watch the penitents as
they came up.. I should say there were about fifty who did
the ascent during the fifteen minutes in which we stood there.
Among these there was a wonderful variety — richly-dressed
ladies and gentlemen beside the poorest peasants and the most
squalid beggars — the old and miserable, Ihe young and beau
tiful — the soldier and the student, the belle and the religieuse
— all crawling slowly up, in the samo wretched abjectness of
superstition and false humUity. There was one old dame who
told several beads on every stair, and regularly prostrated her
self to kiss it — an operation which considerably interfered with
the speedy and comfortable progress of the other penitents.
At the top of the stairs lay a large crucifix of porcelain —
a rude, ghastly figure, with the wounds in the ieet, hands, and
sido, gaping and highly colored, and the dead face dripping
with bloody sweat. Behind this stood a second trap for trib
ute, a huge metal platter, which rung out alarmingly loud
when a coin was dropped into it. As the penitents came up,
they prostrated themselves, and kissed the crucifix on the
wounds of the feet, the side, and the haflfls — then rose, in\a-
riably deposited a pious offering in the platter, and proceeded
to adore, at a grated window which looks into the Sancta
Sanctorum, a private chapel of the early popes, which is held
so sacred that women are not allowed to enter it on any ac
count whatever ; and for that reason you may always see

292 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
them lingering longingly before that grated window, like Peris
at the gate of paradise. Among many wonderful relics pre
served here is a portrait of Christ, taken at the age of twelve,
by a very old master, — no other than St. Luke, — and said to
be a perfect likeness.
Among the penitents was a fine-looking young man of
twenty, fashionably dressed, carrying in his hand an elegant
beaver, and wearing white kid gloves. He went through his
penance with a wonderful expedition, — avoiding with a good
deal of ingenuity the vulgar herd of his fellow-sinners, — and
was brushing tho dust frora his knees with his perfumed hand
kerchief before the prostrating and patemostering old lady, who
had started before him, was halfway up. In passing the cru
cifix, this devout exquisite seemed to look only for a clean
place, and selected a retired spot on the right side. The reluc
tance and involuntary disgust expressed in the face of the
young man, throughout his penance, convinced me that he
must thus be expiating no inconsiderable peccadillo. Behind
him toiled up a poor, tattered, fever-stricken peasant, one of
the most wretched and woful objects I-have ever beheld. His
long, black hair hung wildly about his emaciated face-; his thin,
blue lips muttered prayers ; and from his hollow eyes dropped
tears of grief and penitence. He prostrated himself at the
crucifix, and, with a touching humility, kissed alone the feet.
Of aU the kisses imprinted there that day, this seemed to me
the only one which Jesus must have felt. Before, I had
looked on with simple curiosity, or with a wonder approach
ing to contempt ; but, at this sight, I felt such sorrow and pity
that I could not restRiin my tears. My only consolation was
in thinking of that blessed moment, evidently not far distant^
when this poor man, here wickedly defrauded of his birthright
of manhood and happiness, — despised, oppressed, a pariah of
poverty and disease, — shall come into the presence of his
loving Master, Friend, and Brother, and " see him as he is."

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 293
Altogether, this holy staircase, crowded with penitents, is
one of the most melancholy sights I have ever belield.
From St. John Lateran we went to witness what is caUed
the Three Hours' Agony. These are services of music,
prayer, and preaching, performed in churches darkened, with
the exception of the altar, behind or before which is some
effective representation of the crucifixion. In the Church of
Jesii it was a large white statue of Christ on tho cross, stand
ing out fearfully against a black background. At the Church
of San Roch there was a regular stage scenery — the Mount
of Calvary at night, with the dead Christ and the two thieves,
in awful solitude. The music at both those churches was very
fine, but the effect we had expected to see produced by the
preaching was not forthcoming. Formerly, priests selected
for their eloquence, taking for the subjects of discourse the
sufferings and death of Christ, wrought themselves up to a
high pitch of excitc^mont, and carried their susceptible audi
ences with them, till the scone ol'len resembled those at a
Methodist camp meeting, with groanings, and prostrations, and
passionate weepings. But to-day, though the priests exerted.
all their eloquence, pathos, and dramatic power, — clasped their
hands, prayed extemporaneously,flung their arms towards heav
en, pointed again and again to the crucifixion, burst into loud
sobs, — al\yays weeping into immense red silk handkerchiefs, —
there came but cold and partial responses from the crowd.
There was some decorous crying among the women, and occa
sionally a young man confessed to being touched in his sensi
bilities, by blow-ing his nose till all rang again ; but, considering
the extraordinary outlay of eloquence and gesticulation, the
returns were discouragingly small.
On this day we had seats in the Choral chapel at St.
Peter's, to hear the Miserere. This chapel is considered, I
believe, very fine ; but I cannot say I admire it greatly. It is
chiefly remarkable for a display of legs in its architectural
26-

294 HAPS AMD MISHAPS OP
decorations. Gigantic angels, in stucco, occupy, apparently,
the most untenable positions on the edges of cornices and
arches, and above windows, with their legs, very strongly
modelled and boldly posed, hanging over. But, as though to
restore the balance of things, on the wall are curiously
painted figures, wholly wanting in the usual means of peram
bulation, but terminating in flourishing grape vines — so ad
mirably drawn that it is really difficult to tell where the angel
leaves off and the grape vine begins.
The Miserere in this sraall chapel was more powerful and
brilliant, but far less sweet and solemn, than that of the Sis
tine ; indeed, I have heard nothing which approaches, in mean
ing and beauty, in tenderness, pathos, and melancholy gran
deur, that first Miserere of the Pope's chapel.
This evening His Holiness came to St. Peter's to adore the
cross and the relics, and the Cardinal Vicar gave absolution
then to all who, after having confessed, knelt before him in
humiUty and supplication. He sat in a high chair, and touched
each penitent with a shining rod, " and straightway he was
made clean " — spiritually, alas ! not physically.
We concluded the day by going to the Church of San Luigi
di Francese, where we were told the Stabat Mater was to be
performed, but where we found ourselves — to use an expres
sive vulgarism — completely " sold," hearing no Stabat Mater,
but being blocked in by a crowd, and forced to Usten to a
sentimental French sermon, an hour long.
Early on Saturday morning we witnessed, at the baptistery
of St. John Lateran, the baptism of a young Jewess by the
Cardinal Vicar. This ceremony was beautiful and interest
ing, but, with those which followed, of too mysterious and
complicated a nature, to a Protestant, for clear comprehension
or vivid description. The convert looked deeply serious, as
weU she might, for the step was a momentous one to her. She
was dressed very richly in white brocade, with a white fiUet

A TOtJR IN ETTROPE. 295
on her head, and a veil which hung to her feet. Her god
mother was the Princess Orsini. After the confirraation,
which took place in the church, we saw several curious rites
performed — orders conferred on young priests by the laying
on of hands, anointing, and the first tonsure. In this latter,
the Cardinal Vicar cuts small locks of hair from the heads of
the young men in the form of the cross.
At one period of these ceremonies, when the Cardinal Vicar
knelt before the altar, one order of priests knelt on the steps
behind him, and a lower order behind them prostrated them
selves on the floor of the chapel, stretched out at full length,
their faces in their prayer books. They lay thus for at least
a quarter of an hour, chanting, or responding, in strange,
smothered voices. There was something odd and Oriental
about this scene, which I shall not soon forget.
High mass in St. Peter's, on Easter Sunday, was a brilliant,
gorgeous, and joyous religious show. The entire church was
hung in crimson and gold, the pictures were uncovered, and
extra lights and fresh flowers on every altar. The Papal
throne and the canopy above it dazzled the sight with mag-
niflcent decorations. Tho Pope, cardinals, bishops, abbots,
guards, all were in high, holyday splendor, in honor and joyful
commeraoration of the resurrection of Christ. By the by,
speaking of Easter Sunday, vve noticed in a little Catholic
prayer book, the other day, a sentence, so oddly worded and
abbreviated that it startled one by its apparent profanity. It
states, " This day J. C. out of Umbo."
There was the usual araount of iucensing, and chanting,
paying of horaage, " toting " about of the old Pope in his
sedea gestatoria, with the elevation of the Host, and the blow
ing of silver trumpets, as at Christmas. But the finest sight
of aU was the benediction.
A Uttle before twelve we left the church, and went out into

296 " HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
the great piazza, where a vast concourse of people were wait
ing to be blessed. The centre of the place was occupied by the
troops ; surrounding them were various crowds of citizens,
peasants, and strangers, on foot ; and outside of all were ranged
the carriages.
The sun was shining resplendently, tho fountains leaping
towards the bluest of heavens — all was peace and brightness
— the mercurial Italians seemed to forgot their slavery in the
very presence of their masters — even the poor peasant, rousing
for a time from the slavish stupor of his degradation and want,
appeared to claim his share in the hope and happiness of the
occasion. The Pope came out upon tho balcony with much
state and splendor, borne in his great chair, which is like a
portable throne. He read the benediction, which was rather
an elaborate form, I believe. Wo were not near enough to
hear more than a sort of solemn murmur, which came to us
by snatches ; but we could observe His Holiness, at the close,
cross himself three times, lift his hands towards heaven, fold
them on his breast, and stretch them out over the people, a
proportion of whom were kneeUng. Then the guns from St.
Angelo boomed forth, the beU of St. Peter's rang out joyously,
the drums beat, the trumpets pealed, and that immense assem
blage, so sUent and raotionless a moment before, stirred hke
the waves of a sea from which a calm had just been lifted,
heaved sluggishly at first, then mingled, and poured itself
away. Altogether, it was a scene which must Uve long and
brightly in my memory — not for the imposing appearance of
the Pope and cardinals, for at that height and distance they
looked like a set of Marionetti performing high comedy on a
lofty little stage ; not for the benediction, or indulgence — for
I had small faith in the one, and I trust no especial occasion
for the other ; but for the really grand sight of that varied
and picturesque crowd — so densely packed in the great piazza.

A TOUK IN EUROPE. 297
that, on looking down upon it, it seemed one vast mosaic of
human heads ; and for the brilliant confusion of the close —
the tumultuous and jubUant break-up.
In the afternoon there came on a terrific rain storm ; but
it slackened up towards evening, so that we drove over to St.
Peter's iii some slight expectation of seeing the illumination.
The piazza was very dark and dismal, but there was evidently
some preparation for lighting up. The rain ceased, and for
nearly an hour the heavens were clear, and the stars carae
out, as though curious to see what sort of a glare and spurt
of light would be brought out in rivalry of their serene
and eternal brightness. But. gradually there came up, just
behind St. Peter's, a heavy blacdi cloud, which for a time only
threatened to give grander eft'ect to the illumination, but which
rose and rose, and spread and spread, till it covered the whole
heavens, and curtained off the stars for the night. Suddenly,
with one common consent, that great expin-tant crowd broke
up in disappointment, and scattered in haste, but not in time
to escape the storm borne heavily in the bosom of that cloud,
which came down in thick sheets, in actual strata of rain.
Monday was also unpropitious ; but on Tuesday night the no
ble display came off, under the most iiivorable circumstances.
We were on the .ground at an early hour, and watched, almost
from the beginning, the curious process of lighting up. At
first, we could distinctly see the workmen swarming over the
vast edifice, let down by ropes from lofty cornices, swinging
and running like spiders about the most perilous places. But
as the twilight deepened we lost sight of the agents, and all
seemed to go on by magic. The lights, which were tapers, in
small paper lanterns, climbed tho pillars, stole in and out of the
sculptures of the capitals, arched over the windows, ran along
the cornices, scaled the dome, mounted to tlie summit, and
sprang out on to the arms of the cross. At last it seemed to
stand complete — every Une, and angle, and curve of that

298 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
wonder of architecture seemed to Uve out in Ught. But the
sight, though beautiful, was not grand or dazzlingly briUiant.
The building actually looked smaller than usual ; the innu
merable tapers shone softly, and twinkled like Stars. It was
as though the church had been rained upon by a meteoric
shower, or as though the milky way had wound itself about it
from summit to base.
But at the second illumination, instantaneously, universally,
the vast building and the long colonnades leaped from that
soft-shaded light into Uving flame. It seemed that the sacred
fire had descended upon the cross, which first blazed forth, or
that it had been Ut by lightning. Great, glorious lights burst
out of the darkness in a thousand unsuspected places, some
pointing steadily towards heaven, some streaming like red
banners on the winds of night. They swung between the
pillars of the colonnades, they throbbed among distant shadows,
they flashed on near columns and cornices, they made the
dome look like a globe on fire ! There was something so
marvellously beautiful, so almost incredible, in the sight, that I
was quite overwhelmed and bewildered, half questioning if it
was not some splendid illusion of the senses, some gigantic
fairy phantom, some wondrous unreality. My friend Mrs.
S  has since told me of a remark -made by her little son,
in the height of his childish excitement, which admirably ex
pressed this feeUng: "How beautiful! how beautiful! 0
mamma, I don't believe it! "
It was a singular thing, that the farther we went from St.
Peter's, after this, tho larger it appeared, tiU it seemed to have
grown into a great mountain of Ught. Seen from the Pincio,
it was grand and beautiful beyond all imagination. We
remained on this height tiU very late, and left reluctantly at
lastj thinking, with real sadness, that those glorious Ughts
would burn away into the morning, and we never see them
more.

A. TOUR IN EUROPE. 299
April 4.
The fireworks which were due on Easter Monday, but were
postponed on account of the weather, came off last night from
the Pincio. Frora the windows of Mr. Cass's house, which com
mand an admirable view, we witnessed this most magnificent
display. I had never beheld, I had not even conceived, any
thing in the way of fireworks half so grand. Though they
only lasted about an hour, there was a wonderful variety in
forms and colors. It opened with an illuminated cathedral,
which almost rivalled St. Peter's. Then there were thousands
of rockets, atid serpents, and wheels, and Roman candles, and
fiery fish sent swiraming through the air ; and at last came the
Girandola, a mighty irruption of rockets, a sort of mimic
Vesuvius, but a sight of surpassing splendor. Throughout
these displays there was an incessant discharge of bombs from
the Pincio, where they aro fired in hollows some six feet
below the surface of the ground. Perhaps for this reason the
reports were tremendously heavy, and to me by far the grand
est part of the entertainment. The ghostly statues on the hUl,
and the iramense concourse on the piazza, were every now
and then lit up by the many-colored illuminations with an
absolutely awful effect. As far as I could judge, only the
foreigners wore greatly excited by the scene ; tho people
seemed to take it very coolly, as they had the illumination of
St. Peter's.
After aU, I beUeve that it is but suUenly that they submit
to being amused, instead of being hberated ; and with this
conviction is ray heart most cheered. I rejoice in their sul
lenness, in their sadness even ; and if I could soe in them
raore manly pride and stern determination, I would hope for
them against the world. April 8.
Early on the morning of the 5th I set out with a charming
party of friends for Grotta Ferrata, to attend the famous fair,

300 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
which yearly attracts immense crowds of country people and
strangers, and is one of the things which must be seen. Grotta
Ferrata is a small viUage, about twelve or fourteen miles from
Rome, very picturesque in its position and surroundings. It con
tains an old castellated monastery of St. BasiUo, and a church,
in a chapel of which are some of the most celebrated frescoes of
Domenichino. Among those which are very powerful and
beautiful compositions, even to an unartistic eye, there is in a
large group, the meeting of the Emperor Otho IH. and St.
Nilus, a true portrait of Domenichino himself, one of Guido,
one of Guercino, and a lovely little figure, which, in the
character of a page, iUustrated a very romantic page in the
Ufe of the artist. It is the portrait of a young girl of Frascati
whom Domenichino loved, but could not win, because of the
opposition of her parents ; and so wedded her to his genius
in immortal nuptials, no doubt greatly to the scandal of her
respectable family. I was struck by observing crowd after
crowd of the humblest order of peasants pouring into this
chapel, and gazing in unmistakable interest and admiration
upon these noble ft-escoes. These people are born artists
and appreciators of art.
The fair was principally outside the walls; but there was
a great crowd every where. The finest view of the whole
field of operations was from the walls. Here you looked
over the Uttle square of the town, gay, noisy, and tumultuous
with laughing and music, eating and drinking, buying and
selling ; or you looked down a long, wide avenue of elm and
plane trees, and saw it absolutely packed with a slow, moving
mass of people ; or you looked over a wide plain to the right,
covered with booths, with busy groups of buyers and sellers,
with idle groups of lookers on, with cattle, and pigs, and
horses, with vehicles of all imaginable varieties and degrees,
from the prince's superb turnout, with footmen and postUions,
to the donkey cart of the peasant.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 301
It was truly a country fair of the most primitive and unpre
tending character. The manufactures were of the rudest sort ;
the little music we heard so wild and simple as to border on
the savage ; the horses wore of the roughest and toughest
breed ; the swine stunted and scrubby ; the agriculture and
household implements were queer, clumsy, antediluvian affairs ;
there was nothing to excite my admiration in going all the
rounds but the cattle, especially the white and fawn-colored
oxen of the Campagna. I know not whether they are a fine
breed for strength and endurance, but they are certainly most
magnificent animals. The peasants were out in all the holiday
smartness of the various costumes of the several'districts and
towns. It takes a practised eye to discover much difference
between some of them, but they are all more or loss brilliant
and striking. A beautiful hue of red predominates in those
of the woraen, a lively blue in those of the men. But these
Italian costumes are by no moans the gay, graceful, flimsy
things they are represented in pictures and fancy balls. They
are of substantial, coarse material, rudely cut, and roughly
made ; and those portions w liieh by complaisance pass for
white Unen, or muslin, are usually far from immaculate.
You seldom see the true costumes of the country or towns in
rich and tasteful material, and worn with an air, except on
professional models, the bonnrs of noble famiUes, or the mas-
queraders at carnival. Nor does the beauty of the peasants
at all come up to one's romantic expectations, or justify the
immense amount of poetizing on the subject. There is
enough in Rome, which is the great artistic market for the
article ; but in the country, you may often travel for a day
without meeting a really handsome man or woraan. Beautiful
children you find every where ; but exposure, ignorance, poor
food, and scant clothing hardens, stupefies, and preraaturely
ages them.
I set forth on a regular exploring expedition with a poetip
26

302 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
young gentleman through the grounds of this great fair, to find
a beautiful contadina; but after being dashed hither and
thither by the surging crowd, in the gateway, and completely
saturated by the all-pervading odors of garlic and cabbage in
the dinner-serving booths, — after being nearly upset by an
unexpected charge of small pigs, on the plain, and running a
perfect gantlet of kicking mules, — we were obliged to abandon
the virtuous enterprise in despair. At one moment I believed
I had discovered the lovely ideal, the "inexpressive she," in
a gay Albanese, the centre of a jolly group of peasants, who
sat, or rather lounged, on the grass, in genuine gypsy style.
Just as I pointed her out to my friend, she was lifting by main
strength a smaU wine cask, and drinking from it in regular
hearty puUs — an act sUghtly dashed with vulgarity, but per-
fprmed with a singular daring grace, that quite captivated me.
But, alas ! as we drew nearer to the fair Bacchante, we found
that she squinted, in the drollest possible way. In other things
than pretty peasant girls we found this exhibition, agreeable
and curious as it was, lacking the fine salient properties which
make up the popular idea of a country fair : there was neither
fighting nor drunkenness ; and those who counted on the Uttle
diversion of such sights probably voted the entire affair a
humbug. There was only a pleasant, pervading animation, of
bargaining and lovemaking, only the most peaceable and
harmless, the mildest and milkiest, form of tipsiness. By far
the greatest excitement appeared to prevail among the don
keys, who seemed to consider that all this parade, bustle, and
crowd were solely on their account, and brayed accordingly.
The effect of this grand asinine concert was at times tre
mendous. We actually found our long-sought beauty on our drive from
Grotta Ferrata to Frascati. We overtook her, " riding on an
ass," rather suspiciously, not alone, but sitting in front of a
handsome young man, and — it must be told — astride. Yet

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 303
she was a smiling, mischievous, darling little damsel, as inno
cent of all great sins as she was ignorant of small proprieties,
very likely. How her brown eyes were dancing, her red lips
wreathing, and her white teeth flashing in the joyous spring
sunlight! She was an imbodiment of merriment and careless
good humor, as she rode thus astride, with her lover's arms
about her dainty waist ; while he looked happy and proud,
bearing away the fairest of the fair, in his holiday suit, pressing
his suit with his love. To both, the ride may have been an
event as momentous as to us it was ludicrous : that for the
tirae they were enjoying it, with a simple, primitive zest,
there was eloquent, evidence in arch, smiling eyes and man
tling cheeks. The animal they bestrode, which was but a small
donkey to bear so great a weight of human felicity, may have
had his own private opinion on the subject.
Frascati is most picturesquely situated on one of the lower
Alban hills, about three miles below the site of ancient Tuscu-
lurn. It is a favorite summer retreat of the Romans, as the
air is pure, and the views it commands over the Campagna to
Rome, the Sabine hills, off to the sea shore, and even on to the
Mediterranean, are absolutely enchanting. Within and about
the town there are several princely villas, the grounds and
terraces of which are extreraely beautiful.
The cathedral here, though nothing very grand in itself, is
an object of interest, as containing the torab of a prince for
whora more was dared, more endured aud lost, more noble
blood was shed, more happy homes were desolated, more
heroic hearts broken, than history, or romance, or poetry can
tell — Charles Edward, the young Pretender. He died here
in 1788, a strange, humble, and melancholy closing to a life of
' such struggles and adventures, such grand hopes and impe
rial pretensions. . It seems but a terrible satire on kingly pomp
and pride, and on loyal heroism and romance, to see in that
dusky old foreign church those rampant royal arms, and to

304 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
read on the tablet beneath the haughty claims of the dead
prince to the kingship of England, Scotland, France, and
Ireland. For HP excursion to the ruins of Tusculum, we took don
keys at Frascati ; and sad creatures they were, for crowds of
people having corae from the fair before us, and started on
the ascent, we were Umited to the melancholy choice of poor
Hobson. Some of these animals were lame, one nearly blind,
and all had large and long-established " raws," not over-pleas
ant to conteraplate. Our party was accompanied by a guide,
or driver — a huge, diabolical fellow, with a swelled nose and
a black eye, the only positive evidence I have ever seen of an
Italian quarrel having come to blows. He ran along behind
us, with a large, sharp stick, with which he dug into the sides
of the donkeys, whenever they lagged or stumbled in the
ascent, and often, indeed, without the slightest provocation of
any kind ; keeping up a perpetual succession of wild, discord
ant yells, interspersed with an occasional " Gospetto!" and
'''Accedente ! " This last curse is something quite awful when
addressed to a human being, but loses somewhat of its terrible
force, perhaps, when appUed to a donkey. It means, " May
you be struck down by a stroke of apoplexy ! "
I had been obliged to content myself with a man's saddle,
on which I could only keep my seat by skifful balancing. I
rode with an appearance of ease bordering on recklessness,
yet with inward quakings whenever the diaboUcal driver sud
denly darted towards my donkey with his sharp admonisher.
There was an elderly lady, of a party just ahead of us, who
seemed to be making her first essay on the aniraal with the
ears, or indeed on any animal at all ; for she was evidently in
mortal fear of being dismounted in some way, or overrun or
charged on — so she held fast to the pommel, and defended
herself and her donkey at the point of the parasol. About half
way up I heard a short, httle scream, foUowed by a merry

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 305

laugh, and, looking round, saw my pretty cousin, Mrs. W-

rolling on the ground. She had been thrown quite over the
head of her donkey, who had stumbled and fallen. Ah, then
wasn't the diabolical driver after him with his Sharpened
stick ? and didn't the elderly lady hold on tighter to the pom
mel, and flourish her parasol more menacingly than ever?
The roads, or rather the lanes, which led us to Tusculum,
though rough and steep, are exceedingly beautiful. We passed
through little avenues of laurel, and cypress, and olive trees,
festooned with luxuriant ivy vines : on every side were hosts
of anemonies of all colors, wUd hyacinths and periwinkles,
crimson-tipped daisies, and millions of violets, loading the air
with delicious fragrance ; while at every moment glanced in
and out of the foilage the quick, lithe lizard — most beautiful
of reptiles, bright green, flecked with gold, as though born of
the grass and the sunshine. Above us, circling and soaring in
the soft blue sky, were larks, sending down upon us frora mid-
heaven their marvellous trills and jubilant carols in a perfect
rain of melody — while, from the trees along our way, the
blackbirds sent forth generous gushes of song, and merry rills
of music rippling through the air.
Tho ruins of Tusculum are inconsiderable, but all the more
deeply interesting. There are pavements like those of the Via
Sacra and Via Appia, several gateways, baths, and reser
voirs, a fountain, some few remains of Cicero's villa, an
amphitheatre, and a theatre. The views from the highest ridge
of the hill behind the theatre are beautiful bej-ond description
or conception. T^hat wonderful Campagna unrolled before us
like a vast sea — raost lovely in its loneliness and desolation.
For all it is so generally level, and so devoid of foliage, it
neither looks monotonously flat nor bare. It is wondrously
beautiful, and varied by all the shades of green, brown, and
purple, and by the shadows flung upon it by the clouds above.
Then we had all the Alban hills in near view, with Albano,
26*

306 HATS A-ND MISHAPS OP
Tivoli, Grotta Ferrata, Frascati, and, in the blue distance, the
spectral ruins abot(t Rome, and Rome itself. I thought, as I
reclined on the soft turf of that breezy height, how often
Cicero aild Cato raust have feasted their souls on the surpass
ing beauty of this view.
In driving home, we saw the sun set over Rome — a sight
ever glorious, ever new. Perhaps these daily miracles of
gorgeous coloring are less briUiant here than we sometimes
see them in America ; but the brightness is more deep and
tender ; it does not strike off your eyes, but it seems that your
gaze sinks and searches into the very innerraost heart of the
glory. When we passed the Coliseum, the solemn twilight shadows
were deepening fast about it, and the rising winds of night
were tossing the tufts of wallflowers which grotv' far up
among the ancient arches.
A few days ago we visited the Spada palace, and saw there
that statue of Pompey " at whose base great Ctesar fell."
There is something truly awful in the sternness of the figure,
colossal in its proportions, darkened by age, and marred by the
ruin which once rained around it, overthrew and buried it.
A most fit witness it looks for a deed so stern and dark. The
heavy frown on the brows you fancy dates only fi-om that
murderous moment ; and a faint red stain on the left knee,
probably from some metal in the marble, but traditionally
Caesar's blood, adds a vague horribleness to the figure. Look
ing at it long, you are brought completely under the speU of
its dread memories. You see Cassar standing beneath it, his
proud eyes a-light, and his bold brow radiant with th© full-
orbed splendor of his greatness and power. You see the con
spirators draw near, scowl, glare upon him, strike — Brutin,
Cassius, Casca — all. You see the daggers gleam as they
descend, and reek as they are withdrawn. You see the
upward spurt of the blood which- stained that statue ; you see

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 307
the fall, hear the reproachful " Et tu, Brute" and the low
death groan of CiEsar.
From the Palazzo Spada we went to the Palazzo Cancel-
leria, where Rossi was stabbed, and where we saw the real
undoubted bloodstains on the stairs. We afterwards saw in
a neighboring church his tomb, surmounted by a bust — a
head indicating a good deal of power, but a cold and rather a
hard face. The custode told us that many people came daily
to view tho scene of the assassination, and it is evident that
the Roman conservatives aro doing all in their power to raake
a hero and a martyr out of the ; unfortunate count. His
treacherous taking off was of course an execrable deed, but
it is as yet wrapped in mystery ; and surely that was a noble
revolution tho history of whose brief, heroic struggle was
stained by but one such crirae.
On the 14th we left for Naples. The spring has opened
gloriously, and I have rare prospects of enjoyment before me ;
but I must confess that my heart really aches at the thought
of leaving dear, dismal, delightful, dirty old Rome. I have
been happier here than I could ever have believed it possible
for rae to be so fiir from country, home, all that ray soul holds
most sacred and dear. I have been wondrously consoled by
its beauty and art, by its soft air even, in all my loneUuess
and sadness of heart.

CHAPTER XIV.
Last Days in Rome. — Set out por Naples. — The Pontine Marsh-
es. — Terracina — Mola di Gaeta. — St. Agata. — Capua. — Ve
suvius. — Neapolitan Beggars. — Naples. — A, Row ow the Bay.
— The Museum. — Herculaneum. — Pompeii. — Salerno. — P<es-
tum. — Amalpi. — La Luna. — The " Tarantella."— Sorrento.
— Unfortunate Trip to Caprl — Rteurn to Naples.
JVafles, April 19.
I DEVOTED my last morning in Rome to making a round of
farewell visits to several places and objects of especial interest
and veneration to me — the Baths of Caracalla, the palace of
the Caesars, the Coliseum. I was accompanied by my friends
Miss S-;— , Mrs. N — — , and Mrs. P  , aU fuU of enjoy
ment and responsive sympathy ; thriUing to the beauty of the .
morning, feeling the poetry and grandeur of those majestic
ruins, without raving or sentimentalizing about them. On
our way to .the baths, we stopped at the beautiful Fountain of
Treva ; I fo drank of its waters in observance of a popular
superstition, that I might surely come back to Rome some
day ; they to drink to my speedy return. I seemed to catch
strange hope and courage from the sparkling, laughing tide that
flowed down to me ; the drops I held in' my palm seemed to
smile and dance'with a joyous promise ; and since they passed
my lips, I have religiously believed that I shall return to
Rome. We found that mightiest, loneliest waste of ruin, the
Baths of Caracalla, looking more beautiful than desolate in
its spring apparelling of freshened ivies, and budding shrubs,
and flowers innumerable. Our feet were buried in anemonies,
daisies, and sweet violets ; while from the towering walls, and
(308)

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 309
arches, and fragments of roof above, hosts of splendid wall
flowers actually rained down fragrance upon us. We ascended
the stairs to the top of the walls, and the portions of the roof
yet secure, and wandered about over those lovely places where
Shelley strayed or lounged while writing his Prometheus
Unbound. We found the views over the city and Cara
pagna, and off to the Sabine and Alban hills, and to the sea,
grand in extent, and charming in infinite variety ; we reveUed
• in them and in tRe invigorating freshness and spring sweet
ness of the air. Wo climbed about the ruined w-alls and
crumbling arches like kids, and vied with each other in the
foolhardihood with which we perilled our nooks in gathering
the wallflowers, which smiled and nodded to us defiantly
from apparently inaccessible places.
At length, quite wearied out, we sat down under an old
arch, to take a little lunch of bread and figs. Miss S 
did the honors, and with a graceful drollery, peculiar to her
self, assumed the character of a Roman dame " all of the
olden time." " I fear you may find our rooms somewhat too
airy,'' she said. " We always throw open this upper suite of
apartments in the summer; but don't sit in the draught, I
pray. Do you go to tho Coliseum tu-night ? There is to be
an extraordinary entertainment, the Emperor tells me. Two
handsorae young barbarian gladiators from the Danube coun
try are to contend together ; tho Emperor has a bet on one, I
on the other ; and an old man, of that vile sect called Christian,
is to combat singlj- a lion of Africa, for preaching against these
same noble garaes, the Eleusinian Mysteries, and other of our
sacred and venerable institutions, thus blaspheming against
the gods. By the way, dear ladies, I have not seen you of
late sacrificing at the Temple of Venus, nor did I meet you at
the last Matronalia, or Vestalia. I fear you are faUing off in
your reUgious duties."
In leaving, we had sorae little trouble with the old custode.

310 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
who, seeing that we were three unprotected females, attempted
to extort from us a double fee. Finding that we were among
the unterrified and not-to-be-buUied class of feminine tourists,
he put on the injured air, and reproached us with having
enjoyed the beauties of his palace, and borne off its decorative
wallflowers, without giving sufficient return. " I can't say
much for your hospitality, though you do keep open house,
my friend," said I : while Miss S — — exclaimed, "E il vostro
palazzo. 0, siete il Signor Caracalla," (" It is your palace. •
O, you are then Mr. Caracalla; ") and we drove away, aU laugh
ing, and saying, " Buon giorno, Signor Caracalla ! " while the
enraged custode was shaking his fist at us, and sending after
us a volley of cospeftos and accidentes.
The Palatine Hill is now mostly covered by a vineyard and
an immense vegetable garden ; but there are yet noble ruins
enough above ground to give one great conceptions of the
vastness and splendor of the palace of the Csesars. There
are some portions yet very picturesque ; some few chambers,
towers, and baths, partially preserved, by which one can make
out, with much help from the imagination, an idea of the
wondrous beauty, and of the large and lofty proportions, of
these imperial buildings ; but the most that the eye falls upon
is a black, meaningless, undistinguishable mass of crumbling
masonry. On the very site of the house of Augustus stands
a gaudy, cockneyish edifice, belonging to one Mr. MUls, an
EngUshman, and called the Villa Mills !
My last stroll about the arena and under the solemn arches
of the CoUseum was more melancholy than I had thought it
would be. Of aU places in Rome, of aU the places I have
yet seen on earth, this is infinitely the most interesting, im
pressive, enchanting, the grandest and dearest. I beUeve I
could visit it every day in the year with the same wonder and
delight, with the same profound emotions, with the sarae
quickening of poetic thought, the sarae illusions and memories.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 311
with the same thronging through the soul of visions of beauty,
and splendor, and terror, and triumph, and destruction. As
my eye circled for the last time about the mighty sweep of its
broken walls, the wild shrubs and the wallflowers seemed
waving me a mournful farewell ; and I answered the mute
adieu with an irrepressible gush of tears.
I saw it once again from without — as I was leaving Rorae,
early on the raorning of the 16th. We had passed the Forum
of Trajan, the Temples of Minerva, Antoninus, and Faustina,
through a portion of the Roman Forum, going under the Arch
of Titus, and came upon the Coliseum at last — the Coliseum,
filled to overflowing with floods of morning light — glorifled,
transflgured before us, with the golden and purple splendors
of Italian sun and sky. The wild flowers were dancing joy
ously on the walls, the wild birds singing jubilantly among
the old arches ; and so it passed from our sight, not seeming
to be hid fr^pi us by distance, and black, obstructing masses,
but to have faded in brightness away like some gigantic vision
of the night suddenly dissolving into day.
We passed out the Porta San Giovanni on to the new
Appian Way, and from the heights of Albano took our last, sad
lingering look at that old soleran, immortal cit)-, at the ruins
which surround it, and over the vast and lonely wastes ut' the
Campagna. We tra\elled by vettura, a nice, comfortable car
riage, with three fine horses, very shiny with sleek coats and
brass trappings, ahd very musical with nuraerous bells. We
spent the first night at a raiserable Uttle hotel, in the village
of Listerna, and on the raorning of the second day crossed the
Ponthie mai-shes to Terracina, where we spent the afternoon
and night. The Pontine raarshes are a wide, weary, dismal
waste, the very air of which seemed surcharged with pesti
lence and death, even on that cool and breezy morning. The
few peasants we met looked miserably pale and cadaverous
with starvation and disease ; and no other Uving things did we

312 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
see except buffaloes and wild birds. Among the latter were
several eagles from the mountains, savage, smister-looking
creatures, evidently meditating murder on the water fowl who
screamed and fluttered beneath them. Terracina is a wild,
picturesque place, with great craggy rocks piled behind it,
and the blue, bright sea before it. It has been the scene
of countless robber romances. I suddenly awoke in the night
with the recollection that often in my childhood my blood had
run cold, and my eyes stood out of my head, at fearful stories
of robberies and murders committed at the very inn in which
I lodged. But though I listened, I must confess, with hushed
breath, I heard no sound more alarraing than the murmur of
the sea ; and I w-as only molested by those small banditti, who
bleed you inflnitesimally, but who are not to be bought off,
even by the total surrender of your purse.
The first Neapolitan town we entered was Fondi, a forlorn
and wretched place, black with filth, noisome«ifvith squalor,
and swarming with beggars. We rested and lunched at
Mola di Gaeta, a really beautiful place, where we spent an
hour or two most pleasantly in a charming garden of orange
and lemon trees, near the sea. Gaeta, where the Pope took
refuge, looks quite impregnable, both from sea and shore.
Near the inn are the ruins of Cicero's ViUa, and a mile or two
off, on the way towards Rome, is the spot where he was assas
sinated. It is marked by a stone tower. We set out before
our carriage, and walked through the long town and about a
mUe beyond. In this stroU we were infinitely amused and
interested by the people, in whom we saw a wonderful contrast
to those of Rome. We found them dirtier and idler, bot fuU
of careless gayety, laughter, and song. Even the priests
looked good natured, jolly, and frank ; in not one did I remark
the mortal seriousness, the sombre stupidity, or the profound
Jesuitical darkness of the Roman priesthood. Many of the
women, of the young girls especially, were decidedly beautiful,

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 313
and some of the children bewitching little creatures ; but the
men seemed to me less handsome than those of Rome. Of
course, we fell among beggars of the most noisy and pertina
cious kind, principally young boys, who brought us weeds
and pebbles, and oyster shells and dead crabs, and such
like agreeable remembrancers and curiosities, and performed
strange antics before us, throwing somersets at tho imminent
peril of shedding their last fluttering fragments of drapery.
We found ourselves at last followed and preceded by such a
formidable crowd that we were heartily thankful when our
vetturino came to the rescue.
We spent our last night on the road at St. Agata, at a very
poor inn, but quite pleasantly, as we raet there a party of
acquaintances, and had a merry time t<3^ether. During
the evening we had a good deal of amusement, comparing
notes of our experiences of furnished apartments in Rome.
We had all been expressly prohibited from dancing, for fear
that the floors should give way beneath and the w-alls topple
down upon us. We had all found the furniture, though of
the most ponderous and imposing style, of so unstable and
brittle a nature that it broke, crashed, splintered, and gave
way in all directions with the slightest possible provocation.
Marble mantel pieces had fallen under elbows, chair rounds
snapped under the lightest pressure of the foot, while legs of
tables and pianos and arms of sofas had been particularly sub
ject to fractures and dislocations. For all these unforeseeable
and inevitable accidents we had been raade to pay at a tre
mendous rate ; the frailer the furniture, the heavier the charges ;
and knowing this, we had ever been about as corafortable as
though living in glass houses, furnished with nothing more
substantial than porcelain and alabaster. Mr. H  declared
tliat, on coming away, he was afraid to shake hands with the
padrone, lest his arm should drop off.
At Capua we stopped a few hours, but saw nothing of much
27

314

HAPS AND MISHAPS OF

interest. The road between that town and Naples is through
a fine country, cultivated like a garden. As far as I have
seen, the Neapolitan dominions are in striking contrast with
the Papal, in the extent and beauty ofthe cultivation. Every
rod of ground is made use of — vineyards, olive and orange
groves, wheat, and flax, and clover fields smUe before. -J^ou
every where. But the people, though strangely cheerful and
healthful, are shockingly poor and degraded. They are a]l
beggars, aU ragged and dirty — at least those you see along
the highway. The women work in the fields with the men,
apparently keeping up with them in the severest labor. A
short time after leaving Capua, we caught our first sight of
Vesuvius, and had him in view during the remainder of the
journey. At fir*, he looked Uke any other mountain, for the
smoke on his summit was like an ordinary cloud resting there
— but after a while I pould see that it had not floated or
descended there, but was rising slowly and perpetually from
the mountain itself ; and the thought that it rose thus forever,
save when it gave way to jets of flame, and floods of lava, and
black showers of ashes, came over me with terrible force.
As we approached the city, we met hosts of gay Neapoli
tans, sunning and dusting themselves in a galloping, rattling,
ringing drive — the merriest, maddest people, in the oddest,
craziest vehicles imaginable, crowded literally to overflowing ;
for there were often .one or two behind, on a swing seat, with
their feet in a network bag. But I must not forget the beg
gars, for they never forget us. No sooner had we stopped at
the Custom House than the Philistines were upon us ! I
thought, at flrst, that wo were beset by a corapany of castinet
players ; but presently perceived that the peculiar sound I
heard was an energetic rapping on the chin, causing the teeth
to chatter in tune — in Neapolitan pantomime, expressing a
most desperate state of starvation. The group about us pre
sented a variety truly wonderfuL There was an old man,

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 315
lame, blind, and perhaps paralytic, for the occasion. There
was a hideous old hag, who shrieked out, "Fame!" (hunger,)
as though it were a malediction, and seemed to be invoking aU
the Furies for our destruction, while piously offering us a life
interest in her prayers. There was a brown and hairy
bandit of a fellow, who played on a queer sort of an instru
ment, like a small churn, which he held horizontally, and drew
forth the music with the dasher, jumping a kind of Neapolitan
Jim Crow at the same time — the crowning of the perform
ance being the flingijig off of his three-cornered felt hat, and
the tossing of it upon his head with his foot. There nas a
boy, who was most unconscionably fat and rosy for a beggar,
yet, for all that, threw astounding somersets, and was a perfect
master of the dental castinots ; a young girl, with twisted legs
and no palate, who danced and sung, the better to display those
little personal peculiarities ; and a baby in arms, who ex
tended its little palm, and rapped its Uttle chin, in a most
piteous and precocious manner ; a handsome young mother,
who sported a dashing costume, and wore gold earrings, and
carried her flrst little black-eyed bambino in a basket on her
head, as though it were potatoes ; and so on ad infinitum.
At last we wore really in' Naples, and found it all we had
expected, and more — a bright, busy, bustling, cheerful place.
The streets are wider and cleaner, the houses lighter and
fresher, than those of Rome : Ufe and death are not more op
posite than this sunny, stirring, smiling cit}-, and that morne
and melancholy place, over which broods forever the solemn
shadow of a dead greatness. Our hotel is delightfully situ
ated on the Chiaja, separated alone by the beautiful Royal
Garden from the bay — the glorious bay. To-night, the rich
moonlight is making sea and shore more lovely than imagi
nation can picture. I have leaned from my balcony, and gazed
and gazed till my very soul was pained with a sense of beauty
infinitely outreaching my power of expression. I almost

316 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
wept to think that I must die, and leave it all untold. At last
I came in, reluctantly, closed my blinds to shut out the entran
cing view, and sat down dutifully to my work. April SI.
Yesterday, in the afternoon, we had a charming little
excursion on the bay in a sailboat. The day was delicious
— there was just wind enough to fill our sails, and waft
us, not drive us on, over the small and sparkling waves.
The sky was intensely blue, but hung with varied and shifting
clouds, whose shadows lay on the water in shades and hues
more marvellously beautiful than can be conceived. The
town showed grandly from the bay, with its handsome palaces,
bright-colored houses and shops — pleasant green terraces
and flowering gardens. Then the beach and the landings were
alive \\4ith fishermen and fish venders — sailors and lazzaroni;
while fishing boats and pleasure boats, with graceful brigs and
stately ships, were rocking in the light wind blowing off the
shore. Then there were Capri, and Portici, and the Castle
of St. Elmo, and, above all, Vesuvius, to make up the scene
— ^terrible old Vesuvius ! silently cradling his slumbering de
struction, — sullenly " nursing his wrath to keep it warm," —
covering his head with a thick cloud, as though to hide his
awful secrets from the world. There is something mysterious
and sinister in this veiling of his dread front, which makes
him a more imposing and fearful object to me than when the
wind lifts his cloud crown, and shows a small dark column
of smoke steadily rising from the black crater. Salerno, April SS.
I have, to-night, a most memorable day to look back upon
and strive to chronicle, while yet under the spell of its op
pressive and bewildering eraotions. I have seen Herculaneum
and Pompeii since the morning. At the former place, we only
visited the object of greatest interest at present — the theatre.

A TOUR IN ETIROPE. 317
This is wholly under ground : visitors descend into it with ta
pers, by a winding staircase, cut much of the way in the solid
lava. Porapeii and Herculaneum were not filled with the
same volcanic matter : the first was choked by a scorching
rain of ashes ; while the latter was whelmed by a perfect sea
of fused lava and rock, which came surging in upon it, and
swelled high in the streets, and ran into the houses as though
they were moulds, and hardened there into an iron-like solidity.
Even in the theatro there are yet great blocks, and columns, and
walls of this petrified fiery flood, bringing home to one, with
fearful force, the reality of the tremendous tragedy of a city's
destruction and intonibmont. Yet those black, granite-like
masses, and the gloomy darkness of the theatre itself, lit alone
by the feeble gleaming of our tapers, made it raost ditficult for
tho mind to picture the scene as it once was — gay with lights
and music, crowded with fair dames and gaUant men, the
orchestra filled with musicians, the stage alive with actors, and
every now and then, rising from those wide-circling seats, the
stir and murmur of quiet applause, or the loud burst of accla
mation. It w'as a strange, strange thing to walk across tbe
stage, and into the greenroom and dressing rooms of the
actors. I ne^-or had feelings so solemn in any religious edifice,
ruined or entire, as in this ancient temple of pleasure. In one
of the passages loading off the stage there is shown, overhead,
the perfect impression, in lava, of a comic mask, which had
been floated up there on the swelUng flood. This is one of
the most suggestive objects to be seen here. One cannot look
at it without thinking of the many times when its appearance
raust have been hailed with bursts of laughter, ringing through
these now dark and tomb-like vaults.
The iraraense difficulty of excavating here, the limited num
ber of excavations, and the impossibility of carrying them much
farther without perU to the town above, give to the thought of
Herculaneum an awful vagueness, a profound, overwhelming
27 »

318 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
mystery. The theatre is very large, and must have beea a
magnificent edifice. Its best sculptures and frescoes have been
removed to the Museura at Naples, but enough remains to
show that it was built and ornamented with much richness and
taste. But the few beautiful details seemed to take nothing
from the general effect of gloom and terror ; and never did the
fresh upper air and the warm sunshine seem so delicious and
radiant to me as when I emerged from this chUI, sepulchral
place. For a mile or two before we reached Pompeii, we saw large
fields of lava, black, barren, desolate, looking like the entrance
to the infernal regions ; and yet nothing could be brighter or
pleasanter than Pompeii itself, amid all its lonely desolation.
A thrill of inexpressible emotion shot through ipy heart the
moment ray foot struck on the old paveraent worn by the feet
and the chariot wheels of the ancient Pompeians ; and my eye
followed the long street, the Via Appia, lined on either side
with the tombs, the houses, the inns, and the shops of nearly
two thousand years ago.
We first visited the house of the rich citizen Diomed, which,
after all that has been taken from it, I was surprised to find so
beautiful and complete. The upper and third Story is gone,
but by those which reraain you can see that it was a handsome
and luxurious establishment. We entered a portico by a flight
of white marble steps, then passed into the court, where was
the impluvium — a large stone basin, which received the water
from the roofs. Afterwards wo were shown the larium, a sort
of private chapel, where a statue of Minerva was found; a
bathing room, and dressing room, with all the appurtenances ;
a dining room, a bed roora ; the apartments of the slaves ; the
garden, containing a cistern for fish ; a terrace, from which
there is a fine view ; and, lastly, the cellar where the wine was
stored, and where the jars which held it still remain, some
broken and some entire — aU crowded with-asfaesi, Here were

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 3l9
found the skeletons of eighteen adults and two children —
probably the household of Diomed — who took refuge here.
Our guide told us that one, that of a woman, was found
standing upright against the wall, and showed what he said
was the irapression of her form. Two other skeletons, sup
posed to be those of Diomed and a servant, were found near
the gate of the villa, and beside them a bag of coin.
Opposite their house, on the other side of the Via Appia,
is the family tomb of Diomed. We afterwards were shown
several tombs and colurabaria, the place where the bodies of
the dead wore burned ; the great inn of the city, which seems
more like a palace than an inn ; a beautiful house, called
" the house of Sallust," and tho one which Bulwer describes
as that of Glaucus, the same that from some sculptures and
frescoes was called " the house of the dramatic poet." The
handsomest private edifici^ yot discovered is th^ house, or
rather palace, of a magistrate, or some high officer of state.
It is larger in its proportions than the other dwellings, and,
though despoiled of its chief treasures, yet rich in marbles,
mosaics, and frescoes. It has, beside the usual elegant inner
court, a large outer one, or garden, surrounded by white
marble columns.
In all the buildings which we visited, I was agreeabh' sur
prised by the style of the paintings decorating the walls,-
which I had been told was such as to shock the commonest
sense of decency. I know not what have been removed or
purposely defaced ; but I certainly saw nothing which merited
such severe condemnation. They are mostly of subjects taken
from the ancient raythology, handled very much as mode in
painters would handle them, only with more grace and natural
ness. They are, 'tis true, rather voluptuous, but not-, I tliink,
grossly so. Yet every thing indicates that the Pompeians
were eminently a gay, epicurean, sensual people. Their
dwellings have every where a light, festive, luxurious air —

320 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
you cannot think of any great • sorrov/ having wailed and
sobbed through them, or of fierce and, deadly passions storming
within them ; all has the aspect of quiet, high-bred, almost
passionless pleasure. There seem comparatively few m^rks
of business or toil along their narrow streets, and among their
illuminated houses and elegant little shops; and their noble
temples show that religion was with them a classic refinement,
a poetic luxury.
A place of great interest for its original purposes and admi
rable preservation is the Pantheon, or Temple of Augustus.
Then there are the Public Baths, still wonderfully complete
and curious ; the smaU Temple of Isis, still haunted as by
the dark mysteries of that inscrutable goddess ; the PubUc
School, the Theatres, the Amphitheatre, the Barracks, and
the Forum. Of course', we saw many minor objects, and en
tered numerous private houses, differing Uttle from each other,
but all more or less beautiful in style and decoration. The
Forum and Tragic Theatre were larger and richer than I had
expected to see them, giving me a higher idea of the wealth
and magnificence of the city than aught else. The Comic
Theatre is small, and almost wholly without marbles — it was
evidently a cosy, substantial affair for the citizens.
While we were walking before the orchestra, or seated on
the stone steps, which served both for pit and boxes, a peasant
leaped on to the stage and sung us a comic song, accompany
ing himself with dancing and castanets, concluding with a
soraerset, which Italian performers of his class seem to believe
the ne plus ultra of novelty to a foreigner.
If it be asked what I felt and thought on finding myself,
in very truth, -at Pompeii, and beholding the resurrection
of this long dead and buried city, if it be expected that I
answer eloquently and vividly, Heaven help me ! for I am yet
so bewildered, so absolutely drunken with the intense excite
ment of the scene, as to be' equally without clearness of

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 321
perception or force of expression. At length the wild, longing
hope of years was realized. I stood upon the spot haunted
by the most romantic dreams and the finest imaginations of
my early girlhood. One of the " Meccas of the mind " was
reached. I could almost have flung myself prone upon that
rude pavement, and kissed the stones on which I scarcely
dared to tread. I fed my soul on that golden opportunity as
on an unlooked-for luxurious repast. I drank in, Uke dark,
luscious draughts, the raelancholy yet intoxicating poetry of
the scene. As I wandered through tho private dwellings, the
homes of a race whose very typo has been swept from the
earth these many, raany centuries, — as I looked on the
unworn mosaic floors, on the briUiant walls, blooming with
fresh arabesques, on the snowy sculptures, on the living fres
coes, — I -said, half wildly, to myself, "It was but yesterday
that the rain of ruin came down ; to-day it has cleared away,
and all will go on as before." Then, appalled by the desolate
bareness and stillness, I went vaguely wandering thiough
corridors and chambers, feeling strange promptings to shriek
aloud, aud call the dwellers from some secret hiding-place.
It was only when looking up to the roolless tops of the houses
that I could realize how the mountain had stormed his black
destruction upon them, aud crushed them iu, and packed them
close to the last vault and niche ; and how, since, the long, dark
centuries had rolled over them, till their very burial-place had
been forgotten, till the unsuspecting peasant built his cottasrc
and planted his vineyard above the palaces and tombs of
princes and the temples of the gods.
The Forum, once surging with the busy Pompeian throng;
the theatres, once roaring with the storm of popular excite-
menf ; the temples, once imposing with heathen rites and
mysteries, — were to me far less interesting than those pleasant
little courts, in which children must have played ; those quiet
household rooms, where woman raust have enjoyed and suf-

322 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
fered ; those sunny chambers, where gay girls must have sung
and chatted, or where young mothers may have rejoiced over
their first born, or sorrow-ed over their first dead. Then there
are the public wells and fountains, around which gossips
must have gathered, and merry boys frolicked in the cool of
summer evenings ; and the sheltei-ed pubUc seats, where the
men must have sat and talked over political matters, the plays
at the theatre, and the garaes and gladiatorial combats of the
amphitheatre. Then there is an eating house, with rude
pictures on the wall of people eating and drinking at a sur
prising rate ; and an apothecary's shop, a gallipot taken from
which I have seen in the museum at Naples. It contains some
sort of balsam, retaining its color and strong aromati* smell.
Think of a perfume coming down to us through eighteen
centuries ! We stood for some time watching an excavation
which was going on. They were opening a private house,
which proraised to disclose something fine in the way of deco
rations. I saw the ashes first scraped away from a small
fresco in the vestibule, and it came out seemingly as bright
as it was left by the painter's hand. It was sorae graceful
mythological figure, with flying drapery, azure and golden ;
but to rae it seemed a lovely image of the soul, arising from
the dust and darkness of raortality, as the leaden ashes were
cleft away and the light struck upon it, the flrst light which
had kindled its bloom since it was blinded and buried away
from sun and air, eighteen hundred years ago. It is estimated
that not more than a fifth part of Pompeii has been laid
open ; but evidently the principal public buildings, the most
important temples and forums, the first-class theatres, the most
elegant private houses — the West End — have been discov
ered. The excavations are still going on, but very slowly ; as
this not being a political or religious enterprise, little money
is appropriated for it. Still there is a hopeful sign of life and
progress in a fine railway running from Naples, swarming,

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 323
overflowing, with noisy vitality, to that silent city of the dead,
linking, as it were, with short iron bands, the nineteenth century
to the first, whirling you with a whiz, and a flash, and a wUd,
brief rush, back, back almost into the time of Christ. A rail
way station at Pompeu — does it not seem a stupendous anach
ronism ? During the entire drive from Pompeii to Salerno,
we all sat utterly silent, lost in the wonderful memories, ima
ginings, and speculations conjured up by the scene we had
beheld. I remember little of the scenery on our way during
that long, long drive. There was reason enough for my not
seeing it, in my inward preoccupation, and tho gross outward
obstructions to vision in the blinding, chalky dust, which
whirled about us and rained upon us almost as the ashes
rained upon Pompeii. When wo reached the pleasant sea
side inn at Salerno, and descended fi-om the carriage, a host
of beggars came up against us ; but when we shook ourselves,
I verily believe that we utterly disappeared for an instant in
a thick white cloud — were caught away out of their sight,
like ascending angels.
Salerno is charmingly situated, and commands some lovely
views ; but the population seem excessi\ely poor, idle, dirty,
and beggarly, for a seaside town. Of course, it has its hand
sorae cathedral — a Gothic edifice of the ninth century, veiy
rich in marbles and mosaics plundered from the ancient tem
ples of Poestum. It holds, also, the tomb of St. Matthew.
Amalpi, April 24.
We left Salerno yesterday morning, at six o'clock, to visit
fhe site and ruins of ancient Poestum, distant about twenty-
eight railes. Our route lay through a country pleasant and
highly cultivated in portions, but dreai-y and unproductive in
its general aspect.
For some miles before we reached Poestum, the scene
seemed to darken, and grow^wUd, and strange, and weird.

324 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
Yet had it a beauty of its own, a stern, savage beauty, as of
the complete desolation and desertion, the irredeemable barba
rism, of nature, unrelieved by the faintest smile of culture,
uncomforted by any sign of human life. We passed through
a wild, weary, malaria-breathing plain, with the purple moun
tains on one side, and the violet sea on the other. The stiU-
ness was deadly oppressive ; the very winds seemed stilled ;
and it was with a strange sort of ominous expectation, an
alraost superstitous dread, that I approached that place whose
beauty and greatness have become marveUous traditions, al
most myths, of the remote past, and from whose few grand
remains pestilence, leagued with ruin, has scourged away the
last, miserable, clinging forms of humanity, that they might
• stand in the bare and awful majesty of utter desolation.
The origin of Poestum is wrapped in obscurity, its early
history buried in antiquity ; but it was an ancient city when
Rome, was founded. The three great temples which now re
main look hoary and immemorial as the everlasting hiUs.
You may pile up the centuries to reach the time of their
foundation, and you are lost in a cloud of mystery and vain
conjecture. The swallows which twitter from the cornices,
and the rooks which caw from the broken capitals, are scarcely
less ignorant than we.
The principal ruins of Poestum are three temples, buUt of
dark-gray stone, apparently of a maruie formation ; the style
of building is bold, severe, and ponderous ; the broad, massive
foundations of each edifice, and the great number of immense
columns, seeming to bid defiance to time, ruin, almost to the
convulsions of nature.
There is something awful in their aspect, as they stand
ranged there alone on that bUghted plain, facing the melan
choly sea, spoiled by wars and the robberies of ages, black
ened and broken by tempests and tinae, yet stUl grand, stern,
supernal.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 325
These temples stand near together, and we passed easily
from one to the other, but lingered longest in that of Neptune,
the best preserved, and by far the most iraposing. Here we
lounged in the soft sunlight, and listened to the swallows, and
watched the glancing of the lizards among the stones, and idly
plucked strange little parasite plants, and dreamed and talked
of the old, old times, when this was the scene of the pomps
and mysteries of heathen rites, when perchance, where we
sat, stood an altar, reeking with the blood of human sacrifices.
Yet neither meagre history nor affluent imagination was suf
fered to awe us out of an appetite for our lunch, which we
took very merrily, and relished heartily, within this soleran
old teraple.
In place of the marvellous roses of Poestum, which blos
somed twice a year, there are now hosts of the loveliest wild
flowers ; and the air, which is so feared as freighted with mala
ria, is as deliciously balmy as though blowing frora the Elysian
Fields. It was only when I looked on the colorless and cadav
erous faces of the few peasants who still haunt the spot, for
tho sake of the travellers who have the temerity to visit it,
that I suspected a Judas kiss in the soft caressing of the wind.
This morning we set out at an early hour for this place, in
an open boat, with six rowers. At first all went bravely —
we were in faraous good spirits, had a bright sun, a blue sky,
and not too rough a sea. But scarcely had we been out half
an hour when the sky before us clouded and blackened, the
wind came up dead against our course, formidable waves began
to swell and break about us, and ominous white caps to flash
in the distance. We had an awful shore on our right — one
black, unbroken succession of high, precipitous rocks, without
the shadow of a landing, or the smallest foothold, for miles on
miles. For several hours we did nothing but double small
capes and round stormy points, hoping, as wo approached each
one, that just behind it lay our haven, yeamed-for Anialfi,
28

326 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
which seemed to fly before us. Ever blackened the sky,
ever rose the waves, and at last came down the rain ! Oar
men cheered each other with invocations to the Virgin and
shouts of " .Goraggio ! " and " Maccaroni ! " whUe as for us
passengers, though our spirits were a little damped by the
drenching shower, and a trifle awed by the danger, no one
showed the white feather to any disgraceful degree. Yet I
raust confess that we all united decidedly, and a Uttle peremp
torily, in a command to be put on shore at tSe flrst landing.
I was slightly seasick, which was the happy excuse I offered
for not continuing the voyage. We were landed in a little
cove, some two or three mUes from Amalfi.
After a scrambling clirab we reached the high road, where
fortunately we encountered, and were able to press into our
service, a calesso, an indescriljable, two-wheeled vehicle, which
with difficulty accommodates three, but with no more diffi
culty thirteen, passengers. We were but seven, for the " brave
courier " walked; having an eye to the sailor who carried our
luggage ; so we had what the driver doubtless considered
abundance of room. Yet, dear reader, could you have seen
us, how we were piled up, and packed down, and hung and
swung about ; had you seen the peculiar, involuntary action
of our dangUng feet and our helpless arras, under the abomi
nable jolting of this whimsical chariot when in full career ;
had you seen the motley crowd of beggars swelUng at every
turn, pressing close upon us, and whining and yelUng Uke a
pack of hungry wolves, — you would not have lacked stuff for
laughter for a twelvemonth.
About a mUe out of Amalfl we all descended from our
calesso, and walked into the town, with a train which, in num
bers, would rival many a royal procession. On a high, breezy
point, commanding a noble view of the sea, we were arrested
by the autocratical courier, and conducted up, up, and yet up,
to our rooms in the famous inn of La Luna, once a most holy

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 327
monastery. The cloisters yet remain, and right pleasant they
are, opening on to a fragrant flower garden. The cells which
surround them have been thro'wn together into airy chambers,
which, though most simply fumislied, are comfortable and
cleanly. After a dejeuner d la fourchette, we sallied forth on a short
exploring expedition — first visiting tho church, which con
tains nothing remarkable, except it be the tomb of St. Mark.
As the Cathedral of Salerno holds that of St. Matthew, we
ex[)ect, by natural sequence, to find those of Saints Luke and
John at Sorrento aud Caslell-a-Mare. We then walked up
a long, rocky ravine, where we were cheered by the sound
of tho rushing water and the whirling wheels of mills :'w\
factories. Amalfi is a manufacturing town, and for that rea
son its inhabitants are quiet, industrious, and comparatively
prosperous. It has a histor}- more glorious lliaii one would
suppose possible, not alone from it.s present appearance, but
from its natural position. It was once a flourishing aud pow
erful republic, and it has immortal interest as the birthplace
of Giovanni Flavio, the inventor of the compass, and of Mas-
saniello. After our dinner, — which, by the way, was a capital one, —
our courier entered to announce that " some of the people '' re
quested the privilege of singing, playing, and dancing the
"Tarantella" before us. We had hoped to get on to Soironto
to-night ; but, though the rain w as quite over, and the full moon
out in her pure ItaUan radiance, the winds were stUl high, and
the waves, though wearing wlute caps very like nightcaps,
showed no signs of rest, but danced and tumbled about like
wide-awake and turbulent children, who won't be put to bed.
So, in our forlorn, shipwrecked, and weather-bound condition,
we were ready for any thing that promised innocent divertise-
ment — ordered the table removed, and the performances to
commence as soon as possible. If, my dear reader, you have

328 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
any enchanting recollections of the " Tarantella" as danced by
the divine EUsler, or any romantic imaginings of it as per
formed by peasant youths and maidens, in gay and graceful
costumes^ dismiss all such visions, I beseech you. Our " Ta
rantella " was performed by half a dozen sailors and fishermen
— rough, sunbrownod, briny, scaly fellows, coatless and bare
footed, with the exception of one, who was dressed in a flashy
suit of cast-off Uvery — blue long coat and red plush breeches,
with an enormous wig of flax. The dance was a queer, farci
cal .affair, barbarian and bearish — a succession of childish
pantomimes, and odd, incomprehensible antics. There was a
good deal of somersaulting of an ambitious character — mostly
by a certain lank and lengthy young man, who startled us
every time with the apprehension that he was about to land
in some of our laps, or would fling himself clean through the
ivindow into the sea. But the music was another affair. We
had tolerable players on the guitar and mandolin, and several
really fine singers ; among them was a boy of thirteen, with a
inarvellously rich and powerful barytone voice, who sung mag
nificently. But I must take a little moonUght stroll around
the cloisters, a long lookout over the starlit sea, and then
to bed. jfAPLEs, April 26.
We left Amalfi early in the morning of a most brilliant day,
and though the winds were not quite laid, nor the sea tranquil,
we had a glorious row along that wild, magnificent shore —
ploughing through the deep purple shadows it cast upon the
sea, dashing into the foam and the spray, and the azure and
golden lights surrounding its rocky points. Our embarkation
at Amalfi was something noteworthy, as we were all borne to
the boat, through .several yards of surf, in the arms of the
sailors. The ladies were taken first, of coui-se, and so bad a
fine opportunity to watch the shipment of the gentlemen. I
shall never forget the transportation of Mr. H  . The

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 329
dear old gentleman, who is of goodly dimensions, rosy and
pleasant to look upon, with the freshness of kindly feeUngs and
an ever-youthful heart, came in, borne by two stout saUors —
smiUng blandly in answer to our peals of laughter, and looking
so free from aU anxiety or raoral responsibUity — so innocent,
so helpless, yet withal so arch and jolly, that we declared he
was like an infant Bacchus carried by Tritons. Mr. S 
carae in as quietly, smoking a cigar, and, with his tranquU face
and fine full beard, looked more like a lordly, luxurious Turk,
than like an energetic Yankee tourist.
Our tall captain, who was the marvellous somersaulter of
the " Tarantella" entertainment, prov(.-d himself the possessor of
more talents than one. He sung admirably, and with the crew,
whose voices were in perfect accord, gave us a rare musical
treat. They sung many of the popular Neapolitan songs, and
air after air frora tho great Italian operas.
Because of our not having our passports, we were not .able
to go by sea all the way to Sorrento, but were obliged to land
at the foot of a small mountain, ascend it by a precipitous,
rocky pathway, which %\ould almusl make a goat's knees
tremble, and wliich is quite irapraeticable for donkoj-s. It was
a horrible pull up tho steep and heated rocks in a bhizing sun,
for all ; but for me, who will always climb unassisted, and who
was weak from recent seasickness, it was dreadful beyond
expression — an absolute agony of toil and fatigue ; and there
were tiraes when I should have sunk down in deathUke ex
haustion, but for the fear that I should roU from the narrow
pathway, and tumble from point to point, and crag to crag,
into the sea. At length, about a quart(.'r of a mile from the
summit, appeared the donkey man, with six strong and sure
footed aniraals, all saddled and bridled. O, never was raortal
more welcome to ray sight than that burly and barefooted
peasant. Lifted on to my donkey, I somehow coUapsed into
the saddle, where for some minutes I hung rather than sat,
28*

330 HAPS AND Mishaps of
blind, panting, helpless in my raortal- exhaustion. I let the
reins go loose — I took no heed of the shouts of the donkey
man, leaving it to him who had ears to hear. But under the
shade of the olives on the breezy summit, and at the inn wherfe
we took a short rest, we soon recovered breath and strength,
and sot forth raerrily for Sorrento. The remainder of the
ride was really very delightful. We descended through pleas
ant, shady ways, catching every now and then beautiful views
of Naples, of Vesuvius, of the bay, and of all its wondroUs
shore, fringed with gay towns, rising above burled cities, and
mingled with mournfijl ruins.
Through a fragrant garden of oranges, lemons, myrtles, and
r'bses, we entered the Sirene — the very ideal of a seaside
public house — the neatest, sweetest, breeziest, balmiest,
brightest place one can imagine — a fairy palace of a hotel —
an enchanted inn. But scarcely had we lounged and luxu^
riated for an hour in saloons, balconies, and gardens, and taken
bur dftiner, which was beyond praise, when the demon of
sightseeing cried, " March ! " It was proposed and seconded
that we should go to Capri, and " do " the Azure Grotto that
very afternoon. Mine host assured us that we could make the
passage there, twelve miles, in two hours, and back in half the
time, as the wind would be favorable. I raade some feeble
opposition to the plan, but was a little ashamed to avow my
real objection. The sea was not yet quite smooth. We were
to go in an open boat, and I had eaten fish for dinner. Now,
I have a superstition against eating any thirig of the finny
kind before going on the water. I imagine that the fish be
low sceht the departed, and follow the boat as the aquatic
kindred bf Undiiie pressed about the bark of the knight ; and I
inevitably feel something within me mysteriously moved, as in
answer to a call I cannot hear.
We went off gaUantly, in a fine, large boat, with six oars-
liaen — the sails furled, as the Wind #as against us. Well, I

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 331
am sorry to say that the breeze stiiiened, and I sickened ; the
sea rose, and I fell, being completely laid out on one of the
benches ; and moreover, that the two hours stretched them
selves into four, so that when we reached Capri, where we
didn't even land, it was nearly sunset, and so high a sea was
rolling that it was impossible to enter the Azure Grotto. The
probability is that our host of the Siren, who owns the boat,
knowing pei-fijptly well the state of the wind and tide, had
" done " us — taken us in as the patron saint of his establish
ment was wont to take in the hapless mariners of old. By
the way, I have always had a belief that the ancient Sirens
were a species of gulls.
The -sail back to Sorrento was beautiful, said they who were
able to sit up and look about them. Even I had a faint, des
perate sort of enjoyment in it ; for the sails steadied the boat,
and the demon of seasickness loosened somewhat his clutch
upon me. We flew through the deepening twilight, over the
dark-blue waves, at the rate of eight knots an hour.
This morning we drove to Naples, over a road which, for its
varied scenery and picturesque views, seems to me only com
parable with the Cornice leading to Genoa. It was with
heartfelt reluctance that we left Sorrento, which must ever
seem to me one ofthe loveliest places on earth. O pride and
darling of this delicious shore, — like a young festive queen,
rose-crowned, sitting in the shade of oranges and myrtles,
watched over with visible tenderness by the oUve-clad hills,
gently caressed and sung to b^ the capricious sea, — bright,
balmy, bewitching Sorrento, adieu !

CHAPTER XV-
AscENT OP Vesuvius. — Museum. — Group of the Farnese Bull. —
Bronzes prom Herculaneum. — Pompeian CuRiosities. — Vir
gil's Tome. — Grotto op Posilippo. — Pozzuoli. — - Lake Aver
nus. — Cuma. — Baia. — Temple op Mercury. — Laxe Pusaro,
THE ANCIENT StYX.  ThE ElYSIAN FiELDS.  BatHS OP NeRO. —
GRorro op the Sibyl. — Beggars. — Festa op San Gennaro. —
The Miracle. — The Lazzaroni. — The Churches op Naples. —
Grotta del Cane. — Aspect of Naples. — The Solpataba. —
Last Visit to the Museum. — The Balbus Family. — Pompeian
'Works op Art. — 'The Catacombs. — The New Cemetery. — The
Pits. — A Drive through the Haunts op the Lazzaroni. — The
Prisons. April 28.
Yesterday we -made the ascent of Vesuvius as far as the
Hermitage. This we were able to do in a carriage with three
horses, in about four hours. The Hermitage is the point
where the rode terminates, and where, if you wish to ascend
to the crater, you take ponies for the remainder of the way to
the foot of the cone, and guides for the great climb, which
alone occupies an hour and a half.
For this, which is a horribly fatiguing expedition, and only
worth undertaking during th6 time of an irruption, my late
illness had utterly incapacitated me, and no other member of
the party felt strong or adventurous enough for it ; so we aU
contented ourselves vrith this drive to the Hermitage, which,
though certainly neither an adventure nor an a,stounding ex
ploit, was something memorable and impressive.
For a long distance up the mountain the land is cultivated,
and wonderfuUy fertile in portions. Nothing is so richly
(332)

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 333
productive as , the old lava — oUves, vines, grasses, and great
varieties of beautiful wild flowers grow upon it in the utmost
luxuriance. It is a strange sight to see orchards, and vine
yards, and rich, flowering clover growing on the edge of vast
streams of newer lava — black, swollen torrents petrified in
the very billows in which they rolled from the seething crater
— deep, dark ravines, where burning rocks ploughed and
plunged down their tremendous course. But as we higher
ascended, still more dreary and awful grew the scene, fewer
and smaller became those strips and spots of verdure and
bloom, and there opened upon us wide, black, billowy wastes
of lava, without one green or Uving thing — a sea of ashes,
and cinders, and sulph-urous, half-molten rocks ; terrific, hoi-ri-
ble, unearthly — an extinguished hell.
On our way, as we sometimes walked, we had a good
opportunity to observe the different varieties of lava. Most of
it is crumbly and porous, looking like cinders from a furnace,
thoroughly burned out. Then there is the rock lava, which I
believe is very old, nearly as hard as granite. Pompeii is
paved with this kind ; so that the doomed city was floored and
roofed by Vesuvius.
Sea shells are often found embedded in lava, and the reced
ing of the sea, in time of eruptions, is said to be caused by
the mountain sucking up the water, as one of the elements
with which he works in his infernal laboratory. At the Her
mitage we remained about an hour, tasting, as in duty bound,
some of the hermit's locryma Christ i, a sort of Vesuviaa
"mountain dew," if not the real "crater," at least very
near it.
The view from this point, though perhaps inferior to that
from the foot of the cone, is wide, varied, and wonderfully
beautiful. But from all the beauty of that glorious sea, those
purple islands and rocky points, and the sunny and storied
shore, I ever turned to gaze on that fell demon of a mountain.

334 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
looking so sullenly unrepentant for the destruction he has
wrought in the ages gone by — Ufting his black, scathed head
defiantly towards heaven, and panting upward the hot breath
of his secret agony. There were times when, thinking ofthe
burning sea imprisoned beneath me, I scarcely dared to tread
heavily, feeling that the firm earth under my feet was but a
frail crust, a sort of floating bridge over a surging, fiery flood.
A little way above the Hermitage is an observatory, belong
ing to the king — quite a handsome building, with a pretty
little flower garden; yet a most unenviable office were
that of custode, I should say. Think of Vesuvius in wild,
winter nights, when the tempests are battling it, pouring floods
into its hissing crater, whirling ashes around its desolate cone,
thundering against it, and rolling rocks, and rattling the loose
lava, down its scarred old sides ! An awfully fitting place it
seeras to me for fiends to riot, jousting with lightning lances,
and careering on sulphurous gales.
To-day we have spent several hours in the Museum. It
w ill be impossible for me to particularize a fifth part of those
works of art and curious antiquities which impressed and
interested me ; but of a few I will briefly speak.
Of the sculptures, there is, first, the magnificent group of
the Farnese Tore, representing the story of Dirce ; a work of
Greek art, whose spirit and power actuaUy chain you before
it. Then there is the grand old Hercules Farnese, also pure
Greek ; a figure whose rugged strength in proud repose, whose
splendid colossal manhood, charm me more than the beauty
and grace of an Antinous. In it you see wLat is called
" brute force'' made divine. I believe that the loveliest frag
ment in the world is the NeapoUtau Psyche ; but you are
almost as much pained at its great losses as charmed by
what remains. The Venus Anadyomine from Pompeu, a
Greek statue, with some restorations, struck me as rarely
beautiful ; and the statue of Aristides, found in the theatre of

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 335
Herculaneum, is full of majestic strength, nobility, and pro
found thought.
Among the bronzes discovered at Pompeii and Hercula
neum are many statues of surpassing grace, force, and nat
ural action. But it is not these great works of art, which
stood in temples, theatres, and other public places, which most
vividly bring before you the time, tho people, and the every
day life of these long-buried cities, but those familiar house
hold and personal objects which are kept apart from these,
and very closely guarded. In a case by itself, we saw a com
plete set of gold ornaments belonging to the wife of Diomed,
or, at least, found on a body supposed to be hers. Afterwards
we were shown the purse of money and the key found in the
skeleton hand of Diomed, near the gate of his villa. Among
tho ornaments there are many of a strangely modern appear
ance, especially the hoop, and serpent bracelets, and the
circular broaches, or fibulce. The earrings are generally
heavier than any modern dame could well support, and the
finger 'rings are enormous. Tho wedding ring of Madame
Diomed has graven upon it a representation of the marriage
ceremony. Then there are necklaces, and hairpins, and
various head ornaments, and armlets, aud anklets, and beauti
ful little jewelled boxes for the toilette. On the inside of a
chased gold bracelet, very like the one I wear to-day, you
can distinctly read tho name of tho fair owner — " Cornelia."
0, who was Cornelia ?
In the same room we were shown graceful Uttle bronze
vases, and silver plate, and jars of figs, and corn, and nuts,
and eggs, which looked almost fresh, and bread unbroken,
bearing the baker's mark — pots of paints, the colors appar
ently as brilliant as ever — fishing nets, fragments of clothing,
lamp wicks, wine cups, leaven, cakes, and a piece of beef in a
saucepan. Most of these things were, of course, hardened

336 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
and discolored, yot not so much so but that you could readily
distinguish them.
In another room we saw the suit of armor of the sentinel
found at' his post — the skuU, half filled with ashes, yet grins
from the rusty helmet. Here we saw many cooking and farm
ing UtensUs, and articles of household furniture — the first
often neat and ingenious, the last exceedingly graceful and
elegant. Then there are surgical and musical instruments,
tickets for the theatre, dice, articles for the toUet and the
bath, inkstands, tablets, stylets, and seals. The -httle me-
taUic mirrors are aU dira and blank, as though blackened by
the breath of that awful destruction, and blinded by the night
of ages which followed, or as though faithful to the patrician
beauty they once reflected, and suUenly refusing to give back
our strange barbarian faces.
This afternoon we have taken a drive to Virgil's tomb, at
the entrance of the Grotto of Posilippo. That great poet en
tailed, perhaps unconsciously, a great inconvenience upon posr
terity, by building his columbarium, or faraily tomb, in a spot
so difficult of access. If you would make a pilgrimage to the
place, prepare yourself for a long, dusty, disagreeable chmb
through a small vineyard and an immense vegetable garden.
The tomb itself, which is an ivy-grown vault, with two openings,
would look venerable and VirgiUan enough, except for a very
modern tombstone, erected by some classical German. The
niches have been robbed of all their urns, asTies, and bones,
if they ever held any.
The Grotto of PosiUppo is an ancient tunnel, more than a
quarter of a mile in length, narrow, badly lighted, dirty, and
dismal. In passing through it you are almost sure to encoun
ter a drove of donkeys, a flock of sheep, or, what is infinitely
worse, a herd of goats. Ugh ! the horrid hole ! Yet it sounds
poetical — the Grotto of PosiUppo.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 337
APRIL 99.
To-day we have made the Cumean excursion, and have had
a heavenly time, passing first through purgatory, in the shape
of the Grotto of Posilippo. We first stopped at Pozzuoii, an
old, old town, where St. Paul landed, and where he founded a
church. Here we saw the reraains of the Temple of Jupiter
Serapis, which, it is still evident, was a structure of great mag
nificence. After leaving PozzuoU, we saw, at the left, Monte
Barbaro, an extinct volcano, and, at the right, Monte Nuovo,
which was thrown up in a single night by an eruption in
1538. Then, after passing the dark and sad-looking Lake of
Avernus, we came to the Arco FeUce, the once beautiful, and
still majestic, entrance to ancient Cuma. Of the city itself,
nothing remains but a few ruined and rifled tombs, and here
and there a mound, heaped up of ruins, and overgrown with
luxuriant vegetation. On a hill which overlooks the whole
valley, so lonely and silent now, but once so thronged with the
gay and noisy life of a city supreme in splendor and pleasure,
there are yet a few broken pillars, half buried in the earth,
marking the spot where stood the great Temple of Apollo.
A curious place is the Palace of the Sibyl — some charabers
hewn out of the rock, on a pleasant, breezy hill. Here she
had also a t(^m[de, but the whole establishraent is now turned
into a stable ; so that, should the shade of some ancient king
or hero return here to consult the oracles, he might receive a
response raore suited to the folly of his quest than those of
old — the bleat of a calf, or the bray of an ass.
At Baia, once so renowned for its opulence and luxury,
the favorite haunt of princely roues and iraperial voluptuaries,
we saw some majestic masses of ruin. The principal and
finest of these is the Temple of Venus, on the shore of the
sea ; the next in importance is the Temple of Mercury, a cir
cular building, with a dome much like that of the Pantheon at
Rome. In this we had great amusement with a singular echo.
29

338 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
It was unlike all the echoes I had ever heard, being neither
goblin-like nor demon-Uke, but seemed a weU-bred, agreeable,
sociable sound-spirit, answering only to quiet, conversational
tones. It would chat along after you, repeating instantly, and
with the utmost . distinctness, your lowest words, even whis
pers ; but if you spoke in too high a key, or screamed, it was
quite dumb. It seemed to take a particular fancy to Mrs.
H  's voice, and gave it back, to the slightest intonation, with
a precision really wonderful. So instantaneous was the echo
that it was difficult to foU which spoke flrst, she or the wall.
When two or three were talking, the reiteration became a
little bewildering. " O," thought I, " what a glorious place were
this for a tea party of ancient gossips, who, talk as fast as
they may, and all together, can never have confusion enough ! "
At Lake Fusaro we rested, and treated ourselves to a few
of the fine oysters for which it is faraous. This piece of
water, which, though lying rather low and lonely, is a quiet,
pleasant little lake enough, is the ancient Acheron, or Styx. I
thought, as I sat discussing the oysters, and looking out along
tfie green, sunny shore, that those poor bankrupt shades who,
presenting themselves to old Charon without the obolus to pay
their ferriage, were doomed to wander here forever, were not
so badly off, after all. Far more agreeable is the whole vicin
ity of Acheron than the Elysian Fields, which, whatever they
were in the tirae of Virgil, are any thing hut paradisiacal now.
On a beautiful hill are the remains of the villa of Julius Cse
sar, afterwards of Augustus. Here Virgil read the sixth book
of the .ZEneid to Octavia ; here Nero planned, and caused to
be executed, the murder of his mother Agrippina. The next
place we visited was called, with what authority I know not,
the Baths of Nero. It is a place much resorted to by the
peasants when afflicted with rheumatism. It consists of smaU
chambers and passages, cut in the rock by the side of a hill,
and filled with hot air and vapor from boiling mineral waters,

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 339
Immediately on our arrival, the man in charge of the estab
lishment prepared to do the honors by Ughting a torch, strip
ping himself to the waist, and taking a small bucket, containing
half a dozen eggs, which he was to boil, for our edification, in
Nature's own pot. We followed him for some distance into
those close, narrow passages ; but, flnding the heat something
quite awful, beat a retreat. The man came out in two or
three^inutes, panting and puffing,'with the perspiration actu
aUy pouring from him, and triumphantly presented the eggs,
which he declared were done hard. But I am sorry to say
that I had afterwards rather disagreeable evidence to the con
trary. I rashly intrusted mine to ray pocket, and a pretty
mess it made of every thing there.
But the most amusing incident of the day was our visit to
the Grotto of the Sibyl, on Lake Avernus. This is the place
to which, according to Virgil, JEncas came to consult the ora
cles. It is a little, subterranean palace, apparently cut from
the solid rock, and only to be seen by torchlight. We entered
by a long, vaulted passage, partly filled by volcanic ashes —
a black, stifling, dismal place. This ends in a small chamber,
from which descends a flight of steps to the private apartment
or Grotto of the Sibyl. Here a difficulty presents itself in
that portion of the distinguished ancient lady's residence, being
overflowed with water, to the depth of, at least, two feet. The
only way of entering is on the backs of your guides — an e.\-
tremely ridiculous proceeding, but one adopted by all resolute
and thorough-going tourists. I, knowing "little Latin, and
less Greek," am so little of a classical antiquarian, that I must
confess the matter only presented itself to me in the light of
a comical adventure, which I was unwilling to lose ; so,
when my friends, who had all- solemnly agreed to enter with
rae, ingloriously drew back at the last moment, I selected the
tallest and broadest of the barelegged guides, and alone fol
lowed him down to the water. As he plunged in, I was a little

340 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
Startled to see that it rose a good way above his knees ; but I
was in for it, and mounted without hesitation, crossing my
arms on my guide's breast, tightly, as for dear life, and pulUng
up my feet, according to his directions, in an indescribable
manner. .Holding a great torch in one hand, and steadying
me with the other, my sturdy sea horse plunged gaUantly
through the waters, bearing me quite safely from point to
point ; though I sometimes endangered my seat, and loqseiied
my hold, by the convulsions of laughter in which I indulged.
The actual comedy was not enough. I laughed yet more mer-
rily at thinking that, should my animal stumble and fall, tum
bling rae into the water, and extinguishing the torch as he
went down, what a floundering, choking, and groping time we
should have of it ! Then I grew poetical, and compared my
self to a mermaid taking an airing on a dolphin, and even
flattered myself that the group bore some resemblance to the
triumph of Galataea.
Throughout this little aquatic and equestrian tour, my burly
bearer complimented me on my riding and my courage, and
cheered me by shouting, " Brava ! " " Coraggio ! " "Maccaro
ni ! " and a phrase slightly inappropriate it may be, but prob
ably the only English he was master of — "Pull away, boys! "
'Well, what did I see? Two small chambers, two bath
ing tubs, a flight of stone steps leading up to a closed door, a
few broken stucco figures very much begrimed with the smoke
of torches, black walls, blacker water, et viola tout! But this
was not the account I gave to the eager questioning of my
friends, after the guide had, against my comraands and en
treaties, run up the stairs with me yet on his back, and trotted
round the chamber for their divertisement. No, indeed. I
looked mysterious, and, in the usual manner of sightseers
who have been taken in, assured them, seriously and com-
miseratingly, that they did not know what they had lost.
Every where on this excursion we were beset and besieged

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 341
with beggars. The entire population seems to consist of ras
cally, extortionous guides, and the most miserable mendicants.
ReaUy, the old banditti race were better than this. Who
would not rather have an honest robber or two present a pis
tol at his breast once on a journey, than be eternally dogged
by whining beggars, or to have insolent ciceroni forever
grumbling and cursing about their fees ? Iii coming to Italy,
you must learn, sooner or later, to harden your heart, and " set
your face as a flint," for " tho poor you have always with you ; "
and if you give to one, you aro charged upon by scores. In
view of these disagreeable consequences, we have all learned
to restrain our benevolence towards the most miserable objects
— all but Mr. H  , whose feelings aro often too much for
him. He is particularly weak in resisting the appeals of suf
fering old people, pretty young girls, and roguish children.
For some time after coming to Naples, he actually showered
small money about him; but lately the stern courier has
stoppi>d the supply ; so, not speaking the language, he has
groat difficulty in getting change, as wo all refuse to negotiate
with him, though offered an enormous profit in the way of inter
est and premiums. When his pockets are well charged with
coppei's, I really believe ho enjoys being beset with beggars.
He thoroughly understands one Italian phrase — " Date mi
qualchc cosa ! " (" Give rae something.") It is amusing to see
him surrounded by teaSing boys and merry girls, all stretching
out their palms, rapping their chins, and crying, "Qualche cosa
eccellenza ! " — laughing at his English-Italian, and, raost of all,
at his attempts to frown and scold. They sometimes pick his
pockets of gloves and handkerchief; and he takes his losses so
kindly that I am tempted to believe him privy to the theft —
indeed, I should not wonder if he yet went about with his coat
pocket stuffed with bright-colored handkerchiefs especially
suited to the taste of the gay Neapolitan damsels.
I once escaped from a crowd in which he was engaged to a
29*

342 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF I
place I believed secure and solitary, where I sat down for a
moment's rest, when suddenly, from a waU behind me, a little
old woman leaped directly on to ray back, shrieking, " Qualche
cosa, Signora, per V amore di DioJ " I fear I gave but an un
amiable and irreverent response to so solemn an appeal ; for I
passed from my fright into such a rage that she was fain to
take herself off with the best speed she was mistress of, in
voking all the saints as she went. MAYh
Yesterday was a festa in honor of San Genjiaro, perhaps
the most popular saint in the calendar at Naples. The streets
were brUUantly iUuminated, the churches decorated ; and there
was a grand procession, followed by an imposing ceremony at
the cathedral. This is the saint whose blood, kept in a bottle,
miraculously Uquefles and flows upon certain occasions, to the
boundless edification of the faithful, especiaUy of the lazzaroni.
Of course, on this, his own festa, the saint performed the mira
cle, a sight which we raight have witnessed had we chosen to
encounter the press of the crowd and endure the usual neces
sary waiting. The people attach great importance to this
miracle, which, though oft repeated, is never stale to them.
Whenever the blood is long in liquefying, they take it as an
omen of evil ; and should it at any tirae fail to flow altogether,
they would believe Naples on the eve of being destroyed by
Vesuvius or swaUowed by an earthquake. It is told, that, at
the first exhibition of the sacred bottle which took place
before Murat, the blood remained obstinately coagulated for
an unprecedented length of tune. The people were alarmed,
and grew turbulent ; while the officiating priest, who wished
the new king and government to be unpopular, chuckled
triumphantly, tiU Murat sent hira word that, unless the saint's
blood flowed in five minutes, his own should — and speedUy
the miracle came off.
The Neapolitans are devout in their way ; and an odd, child-

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 343
Uke, merry way it is. I noticed the other day, in one of the
churches, an old woman standing by the image of a saint,
talking to it in an easy, conversational way, quite deUghtful —
and when she left, she said, " Addio ! " smiled and nodded, and
even kissed her hand, as to some familiar crony. I heard in
Roiie a little anecdote, told by an English tourist, which
amused me greatly. He overheard a poor Neapolitan woman
praying before a shrine of the Virgin, as well as I can re
member, in this wise : " Santa Maria, my poor boy is ill with
the fever — have mercy on him, and cure him, for the sake of
your own beautiful boy. 0 holy mother, come at once, if you
can, to my house, — via San Lorenzo, number eight, last
floor, — and, for the love of God, don't mistake the door ! " It
sounds yet more odd and childlike in the Italian.
The churches of Naples aro not comparable to those of
Rome, being equally without grandeur or simplicity, gaudUy
gorgeous, and, as a general thing, poor in fine works of art.
The Basilica of San Francisco di Paolo, built on the plan of the
Pantheon, is the finest I have yet seen.
This afternoon we took a drive to the Grotta del Cane, on
the Lake of Agano. This grotto is a small cave in the side of
a hill, where there is a powerful emission of carbonic acid gas.
The least whiff of it is enough to make your head whirl, and
a torch is extinguished by it in a moment. But the chief ex
periments" are made upon dogs, which are kept for the pur
pose, and which, instead of looking poor aud miserable, are in
very good condition, actually seeming to have fattened on gas
and asphyxia. Yet the puppy selected to-day came up very
reluctantly to the trial. Young as he was, he had had his
hard experiences of life, and evidently was in mortal fear of
the stern master who gave him fits for no fault of his, and
lived upon his spasms. Laid upon his back in the cave, he
set up a low, piteous howl, which was answered by a sympa
thetic whine from several dogs without. According to the

344 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
book, if held there another half rainute, he should nave gone
off in strong convulsions ; but the tender heartedness of some
of our party interfered with the coraplete success of the
experiment. Yet there was quite a satisfactory araount of
spasmodic action, and the poor little brute tumbled about very
clumsily, and walked drunk, up to the time of our leaving. I
know it i« a cruel, senseless exhibition ; but it is one of the
sights which every body does, and, had we omitted it, certain
it is that some kind friend would afterwards have condoled
with us on having missed " the very best thing to be seen at
Naples." Besides, I really suppose the dogs are used to
asphyxia, as eels are to being skinned.
After our return to the city, which we reached in the early
part of the beautiful sunset time, we took a turn on the Capo
de Monte, the finest carriage drive in Naples, coramanding
wide and glorious views of sea and shore. On this drive we
met the King's brother, the Due di Syracuse, sporting a dash
ing turnout. He is a gross, coarse-looking man, bearing a
strong resemblance to that monster of perjury and cruelty,
Ferdinand II. Here, and on the yet raore fashionable and
accessible Via Chiaja, we met many hundreds of carriages, of
all grades and varieties, filled with smiUng and gayly-dressed
people. The Ughtest, brightest turnouts in the world are the
Neapolitan, especially those of the middle classes. Carriage
makers seem to indulge themselves in all sorts of queer
conceits in fashion, painting, and decoration, and the harness
makers to revel and run mad in brazen devices.. Horses go
gleaming, and clashing, and tinkUng under a preposterous
amount of poUshed brass, and such an innumerable quantity
of tiny beUs as you would never believe it possible to string
and wreathe about their thin necks and heads.
Naples seems to us more and more cheerful and charming ;
there is every where such a rush and rattle, and animating
tumult of business and pleasure. I like it because it is so

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 345
noisy, so varied, so all astir, so absolutely surcharged with Ufe.
A drive through one of the streets gives you a wonderful,
ever-changing panorama of humanity. Now comes a troop
of soldiers, fine, gaUant-looking men; now a gang of galley
slaves, escorted by a guard ; now a band of street musicians.
Now you pass a portable little dramatic establishment, from
which certain shrill, unmistakable sounds proclaim to a grin
ning crowd the domestic infelicities of Mr. and Mrs. Punch.
Now goes by tho carriage of a prince, followed, it may be, by
a peasant's cart, drawn by a cow and a donkey. Now a
funeral procession, a few priests with torches, the dead man
borne upon a bier, coffinless, and dressed as in Ufe, preceded
and followed by professional mourners in white dominoes,
masked, and looking more ghastly aud awful than you can
conceive. It is curious to go down into the haunts of the lazzaroni
along the shore ; to see them, up to their hips in water, lazily
dragging in a small fish net — twenty doing, with much pant
ing and parade, the work of five ; or to watch them as they
lie asleep on the sand, with their brown faces turned up to
wards the sun — a peculiar, half-savage, amphibious, som
niferous, dirty, and degraded class, for which I fear there is
little hope for many generations to come.
Mays.
This morning we had an obscure view of the interior of the
Theatre of San Carlo. It is closed at present, but we were
let in during a ballet rehearsal. It is a magnificent house,
certainly, but not so large as I expected to find it. This after
noon we drove out to Pozzuoii, to see some objects of interest
which we were unable to see in our hurried visit of last Friday.
We first went to the Solfatara, the crater of a volcano not
yet wholly extinguished — the spot called by the ancients the
Furnace of Vulcan. Here the volcanic smoke stiU ascends in
several places, and fire is seen at night. The ground resounds

346 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
beneath you when a stone is thrown upon it ; and before a small
cave, from which smoke issues, the heat is unbearable, and
you hoar a dull roar as of a tremendous fiirnace in full blast.
Altogether, it is a place to fill one with involuntary fear and
dread, and, though intensely interested, I was not sorry to flnd
myself beyond its sulphurous confines. A strange, strange
country this is — so surpassingly lovely, yet so fuU of fiery
forces and destructive elements — like some strong, beautiful,
and passionate soul for whom heaven and heU are con
tending. From the Solfatara we went to the ruins of the Amphi
theatre. Older than the Coliseum, it was next to it in size,
and I should say, from the noble marble columns which yet
remain, but little behind it in magnificence. Even now,
though very ill preserved, it is a most imposing monument of
ancient grandeur.
To-morrow, wind and weather favorable, we make another
attempt upon Capri. If tho Fates are against us, an'd wo can
not got into the Azure Grotto, we shall declare it a myth, as
we -do every sight which we make a virtuous effort to see, and
fail, and let it go; for on the fourth we are expecting to
take the steamer for Leghorn. May^ 3.
This morning aU seemed favorable for our excursion to
Capri. We drove down to the Mola, took a boat, rowed
out to the stearaer, and rowed back again — having been
informed that the Euxine, with a most unjtistifiable caprice
and instabiUty pecuhar to Neapohtan vessels, had changed its
days, and this trip was bound for Ischia. To console our
selves, we went to the Museum, " to take a last, fond look."
In the gaUeries of sculpture I remained long before an An
tinous, of the Farnese collection, the Venus Victorieuse, a
Bacchus from Herculaneum, and a Ganymede, aU " beautiftil
exceedingly." The statues of the Balbus family, father and

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 347
son, mother and four daughters, the first two equestrian,
found in the basilica of Herculaneum, are very fine works, fuU
of force and character. They present a strong fanuly Ukeness,
and yet have decided individuality. The head of the mother
is full of pride and matronly dignity, stern even to severity.
In looking upon her strongly-set raouth, and broad, imperious
brow, you feel assured that she exacted the most ceremonious
respect from that bold and handsome youth on horseback,
^ that she stood in no great awe of M. Nonius Balbus the elder,
and that the Misses Balbus were kept in wholesome subjec
tion. The works of art from Herculaneum greatly differ in
character from those of Pompeii. In the first you see the tme
Roman spirit, earnest, forcible, and often severe ; in the latter
is Greek art, but Greek art at play, revelling in all sorts of
graceful fancies, quaint conceits, jioetic whims, and delicious
absurdities. In looking, to-day, through the Pompeian fres
coes, I was more than ever impressed by their grace, light
ness, and infinite variety, by the rich fancy and boundless
imagination they display, and by the reflection that these
were but the ordinary decorations of the simplest private
houses, scattered here and there, over waUs and ceilings, with
a profuse, a sort of frolicsome, prodigality.
In the collection of ancient glasses we saw a vase, found
at Pompeii, which seemed to rae nearly as beautifiil as the
famous Portland vase which I saw in London. It is of blue
glass and white enamel, e.vquisitely wrought. Here we also
saw fragments of window glass from Herculaneum and Pom
peii — some from the house of Diomed, through which the fair
Julia raay have looked many a time. It is wonderful what an
added spell of power have all those names, houses, and tem
ples which figure in the beautiful romance of Bulwer. His
genius has given life to this skeleton city — has kindled a soul
under the ribs of death. You do not walk through those
silent streets repeating the names found upon statues and

348 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
tombs — vague sounds ; you are surrounded every where by
the pleasure-seeking people he pictured, you move in the at
mosphere of their gay, luxurious life. Truth may be stranger
than fiction ; but fiction is often stronger than truth. Reason
may fight stoutly against it ; but it holds yon fast, and wiE not
let you go.
In one of the rooms of Pompeian curiosities there are
several cinerary urns yet containing the ashes of the dead.
These are so Uke pickle jars, or preserve pots, that I burst i
into a laugh when Miss W  , puUing one out from a niche
of a cabinet, and taking off the lid, said, very graciously,
" Help yourself." I must confess to having helped myself to
the smallest bit of a calcined bone, once belonging to a Pom
peian of consideration — one whom perhaps the "gods loved,"
and so spared the sight of the destruction of his beloved city.
From the Museum we drove to the Catacombs. These
were the asylums and burial-places of the early Christians,
like those of Rome, but far more extensive than they. We
entered through the church of the hospital of San Gennaro
de Poveri, and were conducted by two old guides, tearing lan
terns. First we were shown the ancient chapels and tombs
of early saints and bishops, yet decorated with the old mosaics,
and rude paintings and sculptures. These minor sights dis
posed of, and the guides silenced for the time, we could observe
in peace the vast, solemn, mysterious Catacombs, in all their
gloomy, almost awful, grandeur. This immense subterranean
hiding-place and cemetery was prepared for the Christians by
the founders of Naples and the neighboring cities, who quar
ried in the rocky hills for materials for building. They are
on a much grander scale than those of Rome — the passages
wider and higher, 'with large columns hewn from the rock.
There are here and there openings' to the day, through which
the sunlight faintly struggles, deepening wonderfully the effect
of the opaque masses of darkness, the thick, primeval night.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 349
lurking in the long passages which penetrate far into the
bosom of the mountain. But what gave to the scone its raost
drear and terrible character, were the countless burial niches
in the walls, all emptied of the reraains of the dead. There
is nothing in all the world so fearfully desolate as rifled tombs,
and especially dreadful is it -to think of the bones of these
poor Christians, torn from their sad sanctuary, scattered
abroad, and trampled under foot. It 'seems as if the infer
nal spirit of persecution, here baffled of his prey, clutched
after it in the grave. The Catacombs have three stories, and
their extent in every direction is not now known, as some pas
sages are walled up, as being unsafe, and some filled by the
earth faUing in. On the second stage there is shown an im
mense pit, filled with bones of the victims of the last plague
— a horrible sight to look down upon. Like passing from
Hades into Elysium was the change we made in going from
those dark, haunted, under-ground courts of death, to the
sunny brightness, and flowery sweetness, and broad, beautiful
prospects of the Campi Santi Nuovi, the new cemetery be
yond the city. Of those modern burial-places, dedicated not
alone to death and sorrow, not preaching alone the sadness
and nothingness of human life, but sanctified by a divine
faith, cheered by a joyful hope of immortality, and beautified
by nature's types of resurrection, few have ever seemed to
me so fair, so sweet, so tranquil as this, and surely no other
in the world commands views so extensive, so varied, so grand,
and yet so lovely. A sea that rivals the delicious heaven
above it in delicate coloring and all the fine marvels of light
and shade — a shore of enchantment — hills on which the
sunlight sleeps enamoured — distant islands, blue and beautiful
as the waves, darling children of the embracing deep ; and
that near mountain, dark, ominous, solemn, sending slowly
up the smoke of the hidden fire consuming his guilty heart, to
mingle with the morning exhalations of the vaUeys, the pure
30

350 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
ft
breath of the unvexed earth. In one of the buildings at
tached to this cemetery we were shown the chamber in
which the dead, of whose total lifelessness there can be the
slightest doubt, are deposited for twenty-four hours. There
is a range of open, metallic coffins, in which they are placed,
with a beUrope attached to the arm. I supposed that, of
course, a mere touch would ring one of these bells, but found
that a very energetic pull was necessary. Really, with the
doleful apartment, the uncomfortable tin coffins, and those ex
tremely unpropitious bellropes, it seems admirably weU con
trived that none but the most vigorous and desperately deter
mined victims- of autopsy shall be resuscitated. We Saw, also,
those horrible burial-places of the poor, — those pits, of which
there are three hundred and sixty-five, — one being opened
each day, and then closed for a year. Into these vaults the
bodies are thrown, at midnight, indiscriminately, and utterly
nude. There was something fearful in the contrast between
the black paved yard which held these pits, of which you saw
only the iron doors, cemented down, and the flowery graves
and costly tombs of the cemetery below. Not wider is the
gulf set between Lazarus and Dives in life than when " rot
ting in cold pbstraction.'' May 5.
The steamer due on the 4th failed us, and our embarkation
is postponed tiU the 6th. The morning being rather unpleas
ant, we spent at home, but this afternoon we have taken a
long drive through the poorest quarters of the city, and along
the Strada Mola, where the lazzaroni " most do congregate."
In one of their market-places, we saw hosts of that unwashed
fraternity. It was a festa day, and some were walking in re
ligious processions, howling most atrociously, headed by young
priests, who looked ashamed of their company. I noticed one
of these pious processions passmg a little alehouse, before
which a party of Swiss soldiers were drinking, playing, and

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 351
singing rollicking songs; and I must say that the band of
ragged and hymn-chanting saints regarded th^m rather too
long and eagerly, as by no means unenvious of their carnal
pleasures. On every side, even in this busy and crowded
place, you saw people yielding to their somnolent propensities.
Old clothes vendors were stretched at full length upon their
stock in trade, sleeping soundly amid the tumult. Young
bootblacks sat bowing their brown faces in their begrimed
hands, oblivious of lost custom. Orange girls slumbered,
leaning against their stalls, supported by the invisible arms
of Morpheus. Fishworaen slept among their tubs and above
their scaly boards, and one old woman I noticed indulging in
" Nature's sweet restorer " above a table of tripe half cleaned.
We passed an improvisatore speaking very fast and loud,
gestiQulating at a tremendous rate, with his shirt collar thrown
open, his hair in poetic disorder, his black eye on flre, and his
face bathed in the sweat of inspiration. He had his circle of
admirers, and, when he closed, a young tatterdemalion went
about with a greasy cap to collect coppers. There wore op
position crowds about a comic singer and a reader of romances.
We passed the prison for the worst criminals — a gloomy,
fearful place. Along the front are yet hanging the heads of a
band of brigands, executed raany years ago. From the dust
lodged in these skuUs, grass and mosses have gro\\;n ; from
the eyesockets of some, wallflowers have sprung ; so, after
all, they were not so terrible to look upon as the living heads
at the gratings of the prison, which grinned, and yelled, and
howled at us. We passed another large prison, which, like
this, seeraed crowded with crirainals. In no city of Europe
which I have visited have I been so irapressed with the utter
demoralization and brutalization of the lowest classes as at
Naples. For this reason do I believe it the most dangerous.
I would as soon live upon the most perilous slope o'f Vesuvius
as among this people.

CHAPTER XVI.
Voyage to Leghorn. — Leghorn. — Florence. — The Uppizl — The
Tribune. — The Venus de Medicl — The Fornarina. — The Pim
Palace. — Fiesole. — House op Michael Angelo. — Dante's Stone,
— The Cascini. — Charles Levee. — Mr. and Mrs. Browning. —
Hiram Powers, his Studio. — Group op the Niobe. — The Grand
Duke. — The Santa Croce. — The Medicean Chapel. — Michael
Angelo's monumental Groups. — Last Drive in the Cascinl —
Adieu to Florence. — Journey through Tuscany. — Bologna
Gallery. — Ferrara. — Cathedral. — The Castle. — Cells of
'Ugo and Parisina. — Prison of Tasso. — House op Ariosto. —
An Adventure at the Custom House. — Padua, its Clocks and
Sights. •
FLORENCE, MAY-iH.
We left Naples on the 7th, and reached Leghorn on the
9th, having had a most disagreeable and uncomfortable Uttle
voyage. There is no traveUing by water so utterly miserable
to me as that on the Mediterranean ; as I have always found
a rough sea, in which the clumsily-buUt Italian steamers rpU
£\,nd flounder about in a porpoise-Uke way, pecuUarly horrible.
I was scarcely able to keep on my feet five minutes while our
boat was under way. During the whole of the second day,
however, we lay by at Civita Vecchia, a dull, dkty, unendura
ble place. At Leghorn we spent several hours very agreeably,
driving about and looking about. Not that there are any
regular sights in the city ; but we had great pleasure in its
general air of industry and prosperity.
Leghorn is substantially and neatly built, and has a njpre
uniform and modern appearance than any continental city I
(352)

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 353
know. Its streets are wide and admirably paved, and it has
several handsome squares and fine public buildings.
We went from Leghorn to Florence, by the raUway, through
Pisa. At the station we were not a little amused to witness a
parting between an elderly Austrian officer — a hard, scarred,
ferocious-looking soldier,- with a fierce, gray mustache —
and half a dozen young subalterns. The group smoked and
chatted till the moraent of parting, when the old officer
tenderly erabraced each in his turn, kissing and being kissed
on both cheeks — a ludicrous scene to Anglo-SUxon eyes.
The railway, which is a very good one, runs through a
pleasant country cultivated like a garden, which grows more
and more lovely till you reach Florence. The station is near
the Cascini, the fashionable drive and promenade lying just
beyond the city walls, along the Arno ; so that our first look
out was upon a gay and beautiful scene — those noble grouuds
thronged with equestrians, and prodestrians, and elegant
equipages. From that moment, 1 have been charmed with
Florence beyond all expectation and precedent. Every pic
turing of fancy, every dream of romance, has been met and
surpassed. It is a city of enchantment, rich in incomparable
pleasures for the lover of poetry and art. In merely driving
from tho station to our hotel, on the Arno, near the Ponte
Vecchio, I was struck by tho noble stylo of architecture ;
uniform in solidity, and in a sort of antique solemnity, yet not
monotonous, glooray, or curiously quaint. But when we drove
about in the brightness of a lovely morning, and saw the grand
and ponderous old palaces, the noble churches, the beautiful
towers, the graceful bridges, — when we caught, at almost
every turn, natural pictures which art could never approach, —
I could only express by broken sentences and exclamations,
childishly repeated, the raro and glowing pleasure I enjoyed.
O pictures of beauty, 0 visions of brightness, how raust
ye fade under my leaden pencil ! It is strange, but I never
30 •»

354^ HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
f§el so poor ins expression as when my very soul is stagg^ing
under the weight of new treasures of thought and feeling.
One of our first visits was to the Royal Gallery, in the
Uffizi. Through several rooms and corridors, making little
pause in any, we passed to the Tribune — for its size, doubtless
the richest room in the world in great works of art. In
the centre stands the Venus de Mediei, " the wondrous statue
that enchants the world," says the poet ; but as for me, I bow
not before it with any heartiness of adoration. Exquisite,
tender, and delicate bpyond my fairest fancy, I found the form ;
graceful to the last point of perfection seemed to me the atti
tude and action ; but the smallness and the insignificant char
acter of the head, and the simpering senselessness of the face,
place it without my Olympus. I deny its divinity in toto, and
bear my offerings to other shrines. Yet the Venus de Medici
does not strike me as a voluptuous figure ; it certainly is not
powerfully and perilously so, wanting, as it does, all strength
of passion and noble fulness of development, all sovl; for,
paradoxical as it may seem, a soul of wild depths and pas
sionate intensity must Ue beneath the alluring warmth and
brightness of a refined and perfect sensuality. Of another,
and a far more dangerous character, I should say, is the Venus
of Titian, which hangs near it. Here is voluptuousness, gor
geous, undisguised, yet subtle, and in a certain sense poetic
and refined. She is neither innocent nor unconscious, yet not
bold, nor coarse, nor meretricious. She proudly and quietly
revels in her own marvellous beauties, if not Uke a goddess
who knows herself every inch divine, at least as a woman by
character and position quite as free from the obligations of
moraUty and purity. For all the wonderful beauty of this
great picture, I cannot like it, cannot even tolerate it ; but,
with an inexpressible feeUng of reUef, turn from it to the
Bella Donna and the Flora of the same artist. The latter is
to me the most fascinating sind deUcious picture I ¥ve ever

A XOUB IN EUROPE- 355
beheld ; the richness, the fulness, the golden splendor of its beau
ty flood my soul with a strange and passionate deUght. There
is no high pecuUar sentiment about it, though it is grand in its
pure simpUcity ; yet its soft, sunny, luxurious loveliness alone
bring stears to my eyes — tears which I dash away jealously,
lest they hide for one instant the transcendent vision.
In the Tribune are several of the finest paintings of
Raphael — the Fornarina, a rich, glowing picture, but a face I
cannot Uke ; the young St. John, a glorious figiye ; and th&
Madonna del CardeUino, one of the loveliest of his holy
families. There are also a great picture by Andrea del Sarto,
which impressed me much ; the Adoration of the Magi,
by Albert Durer, the heads full of a simple grandeur peculiar
to that noble artist ; and an exquisite little Virgin and Child,
by Correggio. In another roora, after looking at a bewilder
ing number of pictures, most of which have already passed
from my mind, I came upon a head of Medusa, by Leonardo
da Vinci, which I fear wiU haunt me to my dying day. It is
surely the most terrible painting I ever beheld.
In the magnificent Pitti palace, among many glorious
pictures, I saw two before which my heart bowed in most
loving adoration — the Madonna della Scggiola of Raphael,
and a 'Virgin and Child of Murillo. The former is surely the
sweetest group by the divino painter ; and the last, if not of a
very elevated character, pure and tiinder, and surpassingly
lovely. In this gaUery are Titian's BeUa Donna, Magdalene,
and Marriage of St. Catharine. The first of these, which ;j
a portrait, seems to me fiir the finest. The more I see of
thera, the more am I impressed with tho conviction that there
is nothing in all his grand and varied works displaying such
profound and preeminent genius, such subtle, masterly, mirac
ulous power, as tho portraits of Titian.
In this palace we saw Canova's Venus, which I Uked no
better than I expected. There is about the head, attitude, and

356 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
figure, an affected, fine-ladyish air, dainty, and conscious, and
passionless, which is worse than the absolute voluptuousness
which would be in character at least with the earthly Venus.
I am more and more convinced that there is in sculpture but
one divine mother of pure Love — the grand and majestic
Venus of Milo.
To-day we have driven out to Fiesole, and seen the massive
waUs of the ancient Etruscan city. These ramparts, which
"are caUed "Cyclopean constructions," are said to be at least
three thousand years old, and yet look as though they might
endure to the end of time. From a hill above the town, we
had a large and lovely viev/ of the beautiful valley of the
Arno, and looked down upon Florence, lapped in its midst,
small, compact, yet beautiful and stately. I never beheld a
more enchanting picture than the broad and bright one there
spread before me : the blue mountains, the gleaming river, the
green and smiUng vaUey; hiUs covered with olives and
myrtles ; roads winding between hedges of roses to innumera
ble villas, nestled in flowery nooks, or crownmg breezy heights.
0, this was no enchantment of fairyland, no dream of poetry ;
it was, in very truth, a paradise on earth.
On our return, we visited the house of Michael Angelo,
which is reverently kept by his descendants, as nearly as pos
sible, in the sarae state in which he left it. It is a handsome,
quaint old house, quiet, shadowy, and somewhat sombre, still
pervaded with the awe-inspiring atmosphere of the colossal
genius of that Titanic artist.
As I stood in his studio, or in the little cabinet where he
used to write, Md saw before me the many objects once familiar
to his eye and hand, I felt that it was but yesterday that he
was borne forth from his beloved home, and that it was therfirst
funereal stUlness and sadness which pervaded it now.
We afterwards drove to " Dante's stone," a slab of marble
by the side^of the way, on which he used to sit in the long

A TOUR ^N EUROPE. 357
summer evenings, rapt in mournful meditations, and dreaming
his immortal dreams. It is now as sacred to his memory as
the stone above his grave.
For the two past afternoons we have driven in the Cascini
_ — by far the most dehghtful drive and place of reunion I have
ever seen. It is much smaller, and of course less magniflcent,
than Hyde Park, but pleasanter, I think, in having portions
more sheltered, wild, and quiet for riders and promenaders.
In tho centre ofthe grounds, opposite the Grand Duke's farm
house, is an open space where the band is stationed, and the
carriages corae together to exchange corapliraents and to hear
the music. Here are always to be seen many splended turn
outs, open carriages filled with elegantly-dressed ladies —
gallant officers and gay daraes on horseback — flower girls,
bearing about the most delicious liUes and roses, pinks and
lilacs, mignonette and heliotrope, freighting the golden even
ing air \vitli their intoxicating fragrance, and amazing you
with their paradisean profusion — altogether a cheering and
charming scene, colored aud animated by the very soul pf
innocent pleasure.
This afternoon we met Charles Lever, riding with his wife
and two daughters. They are all fine riders, were well
mounted, and looked a very happy family party. Mr. Lever
is much such a man as you would look to see in the author of
Charles O'^Ialley — hale and hearty, careless, raerry, and a
Uttle dashing in his air.
This evening I have spent with the Brownings, to whom I
brought letters. They live in that Casa Guidi which Mi-s.
Browning has already immortalized by the grandest poem ever
penned by woman. And now, how can I fittingly speak of the
two/ioble poet-souls, whose union is a poem, profounder and
diviner than words can compass, and of their home, doubly
sanctified by genius and love ? Admitted for a few happy
hours into this heaven of high thought and pure affections, I

_ 358 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
am sorely tempted to leave the door ajar, and so let out upon
others some of the light and mu.sic. Robert and Elizabeth
Browning are, as the truly great and good ever are, sunple,
earnest, frank, and kindly in word and manner. An hour's
conversation with them gives you the feeling' of years of pleas- .
ant acquaintance. With all ray reverence for their genius,
a reverence in which I yield to none, I was speedily at home
and at rest with them. I felt that they did not regard me
coldly from the heights of that genius, but met me cordially on
the level of the heart ; and I was content. Nothing can be
more touching and heavenly beautiful than the serene pres
ence of quiet happiness which pervades this household. The
very soul of contentment glows in the fine face of Browning,
and- rests on the calm brow of his wife, and smUes up from the
profound depths of her eyes. But I should pause here ; I
feel guilty of a sort of sacrilege in having said so much. Mr.
and Mrs. Browning have taken up their residence in Florence,
a place in every way congenial to thein. I know that thou
sands of her unknown friends across the great water will
rejoice to hear that the health of Mrs. Browning improves
with every~year spent in Italy. Yet she is still very deUcate
— but a frail flfower, ceaselessly requiring all the sheltering
and fostering care, all the wealth and watchfulness of love,
which is round about her.
I have visited the studio of Powers, and been much inter
ested by some of his late works and by those on which he is
at present engaged. The finest seems to me his statue of
-America — a flgure of much beauty, force, and grandeur,
which, with its companion, California, I hope yet to see
adorning the Capitol at Washington. Mr. Powers has also
several ideal busts, which are new to me — all exceedingly
beautiful. Of these, a Psyche will, I think, shine apart and
fairest in my memory, as most poetically conceived and ex
quisitely wrought. The statue of Washington, for the State

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 359
of Louisiana, is a work of much beauty and dignity. The
pater patriae is represented in his citizen's dress, standing in
an attitude of calmest thought, leaning lightly on the emblem
of Union, and holding in his left hand the FareweU Address.
It is a statue remarkable for quiet strength and a noble sim
plicity — a just and honest rendering of the character of our
Washington. I count it as among the happiest incidents of my year of
foreign travel to have met and known Mr. Powers. It has
given me peculiar pleasure to find him retaining all the fresh
ness and naturalness, all tho chivalrous, liberty-loving spirit,
of a true son of the free, broad west. May 15.
Yesterday I saw, for the first time, the grand, antique group
of Niobe and her children. Of these wonderful figures, by far
the most noble and pathetic are those of the mother and the
young daughter she is seeking to shield. 0, the proud anguish,
tho wild, hopeless, maternal agony, of that face haunts me, and
will haunt me forever.
I afterwards saw the Mercury of John of Bologna — a
marvel of beauty, grace, and lightness. We visited the treas
ure room of the Pitti palsice, and saw aU the Grand Duke's
plate, among which are several magnificent articles by Ben
venuto CeUini. ' In the evening we drove in the Cascini, and
to the Hill of BeUosguardo, from whence we had an enchant
ing view of Florence and the Val d'Arno — and so the day
ended. To-day we have made the tour of the churches. In
the solemn old cathedral, whose wonderful dome was the
admiration and study of Michael Angelo, there were extraor
dinary reUgious ceremonies, on the occasion of some great
festa. Some archbishop or other officiated in very gorgeous
robos, of course — in capital condition, and looking indolent,
proud, and stupid, as another matter of course. The coyrt
came in great state and pomp, with ranch trumpeting and

360 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
beating of the drum. The Grand Duke was accompanied by
the Grand Duchess and his household, by the Guardia Nobile,
and by numerous ladies and gentlemen of high rank, all in fuU
dress. Those ball costumes of the courtly dames — gay silks
and lace, diamonds, flowers, and plumes — looked strange
enough after the uniform and decent sombreness of the dress
prescribed for the " functions " at St. Peter's.
The Grand Duke is a man of ordinary size, and appears not
far from seventy years of age, though it is said he is hai-dly
sixty. His hair and mustaches are nearly white, and he wears
the white coat of the Austrian uniform, and so looks more
miller-like than majestic. There was a sort of sullen sadness
in his air, which I confess I was rather gratified to remark —
remembering aU the treachery of the past, and beholding all
the degradation of the present. The Grand Duchess is a dig
nified-looking woman enough, but the ladies in attendance on
her t6-day dazzled alone with theit diamonds.
After hearing some fine music, we went to the Santa Croce,
the Westminster Abbey of Florence, where are the tombs of
its most illustrious dead. Of these the noblest is that of
Michael Angelo, and the poorest, yet more pretentious, that
of Dante. Canova has here a monument to Alfieri, which is
affected. and sentimental, Uke nearly all his works; and the
tombs of Galileo and MachiavelU are any thing but pleasing
and imposing. Infinitely better were the most simple slabs
than such pompous piles.
At the San Lorenzo we saw that marvellous mausoleum,
the Medicean Chapel — the richest yet plainest structure of
the kind in the world. There is here a pecuUar assumption
and ostentation of simplicity — your eye, accustomed to the
crowded ornament and vivid gorgeousness of ordinary princely
chapels, is shocked and cheated at the first glance by the som
bre magnificence, the sumptuous bareness, of this singular
structure ; but right soon is disappointment changed to admi-

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 361
ration and amazement, as you see that aU those lofty walls,
from floor to roof, are composed of the most rare and beautiful
marbles and precious stones, wrought into exquisite mosaics.
Then you see the stupendous yet beautiful cenotaphs, and the
solemn, dark statues of the Medici, and, at length, fully reaUze
all their royal waste of wealth over this mausoleum, aU their
princely pomp of death.
In the Sagrestia Nuova, buUt by Michael Angelo, are the
statues of Lorenzo and Julian de Medici, with their attendant
groups, the Morn and Night, Evening and Day, and tho Virgin
and Child — surely the noblest works of that mighty artist. I
instinctively bowed in awe before the gloomy grandeur of Lo
renzo ; and there was something in his still frown which shook
my soul more than the warUke air and almost startUng action
of Julian. The unflnished group of the Virgin and Child has
much tenderness and sweetness with all its force and grandeur ;
but, as a general thing, I must think that Michael Angelo's
female figures are far more remarkable for gigantic proportions
and rauscular developraent tban for grace, beauty, or any fine
spiritual character. This Virgin is majestic almost to subUm-
ity, yet truly gentle, lovable, divinely maternal.
In what was the refectory of an old monastery, but which
was afterwards used as a carriage house, has been found,
within a few years past, a noble fresco by Raphael — a Last
Supper. This we went to see, aud I felt it to be one of the
purest and most touching creations of that angeUc painter.
In this picture, the " beloved disciple " seeras to have fallen
asleep on the breast of the Master, and to have bowed his
head lower and lower, till it Ues upon the table, while the
hand of Jesus is laid caressingly on his shoulder. There is
Bomething so exquisitely sweet and sad, so divinely pitiful, yet
humanely tender, in the action, that the very memory of it
blinds my eyes with tears.
After dinner we drove in the Cascmi, where we met all the
31

362 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
world. As it was an exceedingly beautiful sunset, and the
evening of a festa, the band continued to play, and the bril
liant crowd remained long. I revelled in the delicious air and
the cheerful scene as fully as was possible, with the intrusive
consciousness that I was breathing the one, and beholdin" the
other, for the last time — probably for ever — certainly for
many years. Mrs. H  and I here took leave of a brace of
charming young nobles, in whom, I fear, we had become too
deeply interested. These were two beautiful Russian boys,
brothers, of the ages of nine and seven, with whom we voyaged
on the Mediterranean, and formed an acquaintance which has
been continued in Florence. In all ray life I never saw such
enchanting little fellows — siraple, natural, frank, and free, yet
perfect gentlemen in air" and expression, displaying, with
the utmost ease, grace and polish of manner, tact, wit, and sa-
voir faire truly astonishing. They always came fo our car
riage at the Cascini, and, lounging on the steps, chatted to us
in French between the pieces of music. To-night, as the
youngest was describing to rae, very graphicaUy, the different
countries through which he had travelled and the cities which
he had visited, I advised hira to go next to England, and as
sured him that he would be greatly interested and amused by
the sights and pleasures of London. With the slightest pos
sible shrug, he replied, " Qui, madame, c'est une grande
ville, sans doute ; mais pour tous les amusements il n' y a qu'une
ville dans le monde — c'est Paris."
The very last look I had of these infant elegants, we were
driving by them on leaving the grounds, and, as we passed,
one of them kissed a rosebud and flung it to me, with a
hiughing" Addio." Of course, I pressed it to my heart, and
treasured it up. Addio, 0 beautiful boys ! Will ye suffer a
world change into something hard and strange? — I wonder.
WiU your charraing faces grow oold and harsh ? wiU your
soft, brown curls stiffen and blacken ? wiU you clang in swords

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 363
and jingle in spurs? will you swear rough oaths, and trail
long mustaches, and smoke viUanous pipes in northern
camps? or wiU you flutter about courts, and set your affec
tions on ballet dancers, and play at rouge et noir, and grow
heartless and blase ? I hope not, with aU my soul ; and yet
that speech about Paris was that of a precocious pleasure
lover. WeU, Heaven bless the lads ! I shall never see them
again, and more's the pity. BOLOGNA, May 17.
AVe left Florence yesterday morning, araid sorae clouds and
a heavy atmosphere ; but soon drove into sunshine and sweet
airs, which were waiting us on the pleasant hills.
As I looked back upon Florence for the last time, when I
could distinguish only the battlemented Palazzo Vecchio,
with its fine old tower, and that incomparable group, the
Duorao, the Campanile, and the Baptistery, and a slender,
shining line, which I knew for the Arno, 1 suddenly felt ray
sight struggling through tears — real hearty tears. Ah, Bella
Firenze, I went from you reluctantly, almost rebelUously. I
grieved to leave thpse glorious gaUeries, through which I
seemed to have merely run ; I grieved to leave the Cascini,
with its delicious drives and walks, its music and gayety ; but I
"sorrowed most of all" at parting, so soon, with my friends
the Brownings. My J'riends, how rich I feel in being able to
write these words !
I think I must venture to say a little more of them, as, after
writing of my first evening at Casa Guidi, I was so happy as
to enjoy much of their society. Robert Browning is a bril
liant talker, and more — a pleasant, suggestive conversationist,
and a sympathetic listener. He has a fine humor, a keen
sense of the ridiculous, which he indulges, at times, with the
hearty abandon of a boy. In the gentle stream of Elizabeth
Browning's familiar talk shine deep and soft the high thoughts
and star-bright imagmations of her rare pbetic nature. Tho

364 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
two have oneness of spirit, vrith distinct individuality ; they
are mated, not merged together.
In the atmosphere of so much learning and genius, you nat--
urally expect to perceive some mustiness of old folios, some
uncomfortable brooding of solemn thought ; to feel about you
somewhat of the stretch and struggle of grand aspiration and
noble effort, or the exhausted stillness of a brief suspension
of the " toil divine." But in this household all is simple,
cheerful, and reposeful ; here is neither lore nor logic to appall
one ; here is not enough din of mental machinery to drown
the faintest heart throb ; here one breathes freely, acts nat
urally, and speaks honestly.
Mr. and Mrs. Browning give rae some hope that they may
yet visit America, in whose republican institutions they have
a deep and sympathetic interest. Their child, a boy of four
years,,is a beautiful little fellow — healthful and childlike, but
of a delicate and fine poetical organization. He already
shows remarkable talent for drawing and poetry, But I must
leave them aU ; and now, indeed, good by to Florence.
Our journey through smiUng Tuscany, and over the moun
tains, treated us to much charming scenery, and was peculiarly
pleasant, for the fine cultivation of tho country along the
route, the apparent industry and comfortable condition of the
inhabitants. Last night we spent at some inconsiderable town
whose name I have forgotten, and this afternoon we reached Bo
logna. This is a quaint, picturesque old city, peculiar for hav
ing alt its principal streets built with uninterrupted hues of ar
cades — - agreeably suggestive of shade in hot, and shelter in
rainy weather ; and for its two tall leaning towers, and for a col
onnade, three miles long, leading to a stately church, on a little
hill, outside the walls.
There is a flne picture gaUery here, particularly rich in
Guides and Domenichinos, to which we have paid a brief,
tantaUzing visit. Here is the femous St. CeciUa of Raphael,

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 365
a lovely picture, breathing more of the holy ecstasy of music
than any thing I have ever beheld. But the grandest picture
in this collection, and, I ara sure, one of the grandest in the
world, is the Madonna della Pieta of Guido. It represents
the mother of Christ, with two angels, mourning over the
body of the Savior.
The angels are, indeed, heavenly beautiful. The dead Christ
is painted with great feeling and power, and the group of
saints below is an asserablage of noble heads. But all fade
before the majestic flgure of the Madonna and the lonely sub
limity of her sorrow. ^
In looking on this, and remembering the Niobe, I felt the
vast distance between the heathen and the Christian grief.
Here was no half-despairing, half-deflant throwing up of a
wild face to the ireful heavens, but the slow and solemn uplift
of a head but just bowed by the mightiest human sorrow, and
now about to receive the crown of a divine resignation.
Ferrara, May 18.
We reached this desolate city early this afternoon, and have
seen all the principal sights. We first visited the Cathedral,
which has a quaint and venerable outsjde, and contains some
tolerable pictures and figures in bronze. From thence we
went to the damp and gloomy Church of San Francisco,
where we found one delicious picture by Benvenuto, and where
we were shown the tomb of Parisina ; and then we went to the
grim old castle, the scene of the dark crime and fearful
tragedy with which her name is forever connected. A gloomy,
ghostly, wicked-looking castle it is, in which glaring, modern
frescoes strive iu vain to lay the murderous old memories, and
new windows and hangings to banish the death darap and
, darkness, and the smell of decay and blood. It is occupied as
a palace by the Pope's legate, and there are soldiers scat
tered here and there through its di-eary courts and vast cham-
81*

366 H^PS AND MISHAPS OF
bers ; but it has every where an abandoned, a haunted, an
accursed air. The still and slimy water in the great moat
seems to have died and gone to corruption years ago; and its
noisome exhalations come stealing- into the dungeons, far back
under the castle, and poison the already deadly atmosphere.
An awful place is the dungeon of Ugo — low, damp, stifling,
and lit only by a small aperture, separated from the outer
light by five massive gratings. The cell of Parisina is not
quite so dreadful ; but dismal enough. Heaven knows. We saw
also the prison of Tasso, where, according to the inscription,
he was confined more than seven years. The cell is fearfully
dark and dreary, and you shudder with horror at the thought
that he whose divine genius had the range of the universe
should here have been caged Uke a ¦wild beast, tUl that great
heart moped in melancholy madness, and that grand spirit
rent itself in fierce frenzy.
From this prison we went to the house in which Ariosto
lived in his last years and where he diBd. The pleasant
room in which he used to write remains nearly as he
left it, and the whole house has an antique and venerable ap
pearance. There is a pubUc gallery of paintings in one of the palaces,
where there are several fine pictures, but the Ught this after
noon was not favorable for seeing them weU. While at this
gaUery, we heard the funeral chant in the street, and, looking
out, saw the fraternity fo^ burying the dead bearing past a
body on a bier. It was that of a man, young and handsome,
who must have died suddenly, for the face was unwasted, and
the color of Ufe was not quite stricken from the cheeks and
Ups. As he lay there, wrapped in a gray robe, and with
his sandalled feet exposed, he had such a look of life, that
when the wind lifted his dark hair, and blew it over his face,,
I half expected to see him raise his hand and toss it back
from his eyes.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 367
Ferrara is a silent, melancholy-looking place, which I fancy
I shall turn ray back upon with a feeling of relief, and never
care to return to. Padua, May 19.
Learned, sombre old Padua we reached to-night, after a
rather fatiguing and dusty day, showery towards the close,
and rounded at the last by a splendid sunset.
Our route for the last two days has lain through a country
somewhat monotonous, but with the beautiful monotony of the
richest cultivation, the utmost flowery and leafy luxuriance.
Much of the way has run through long, long avenues of poplar,
past vast level tracks of meadow land, planted with olives, and
willows, and oaks, festooned, garlanded, and linked together with
vines — past broad flelds of grain, with rivers of scarlet poppies
flowing through them, and sometiraes a little blue lake of flow
ering flax imbosomed in their midst — while every where the
roses and acacias are blooming in prodigious profusion. Now
and then we come upon a pond white with water lUies, over
which the birds seera to hover on slow, unsteady wings, as
though drunk with the thick ascending perfume.
It is the height of the season for bird music. When, in the
morning, I see tho lark winnowing the air with his wild pin
ions, and seeming to raount upward on the swell of his own
song, I hear the jubilant voice of Nature in his strains, and
my heart beats quicker vVith every note. He has the day to
himself; but the nightingale, hidden in shade, can afford to
bide her time. With the coming of evening, she sets all the
young leaves about her a-tremble with her passionate plaint,
and burdens the dewy air with her sweet, vague, and melo
dious trouble. Her song touches the most exquisite human
susceptibilities, and the soul responds to it with sighs of rap
turous pain.
This is the poetry of the journey thus far ; now for the
prose, which came, unhappily for me, in the form of an un-

368 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
looked-for and disagreeable adventure. I have fallen "int
the hands of the Philistines " — and this is how it happene'c
On crossing the Po into the Austrian dominions, our baggag
was at onc^ subjected to a most rigorous examination.
stood by while my trunk was being rummaged, quite uncon
corned, knowing that I had no articles subject to duty, and n
papers that might not be looked into. I was oven amused a
the thorough and severe manner in which the officer performei
his duty. He inspected my bonnet as though he were a mai
milliner, on the lookout for the last raode ; he pounced upon i
workbox as though it were a mare's nest, tossing about th(
balls of cotton as though they wore the eggs ; he smelt treasoi
in a little packet of perfumery, and sought for political secreti
in a bag of stockings. But when he came to my papers, —
letters of introduction and home letters, — what a work thf
man went through with ! He read all the French and Italian
even to the grammatical exercises, and glanced, with a baffled
suspiciousness, over the English. He unfolded one long letter
spelled out a word or tv/o at random, from right to left, as
though it were Chinese, and regarded it severely, upside down,
At last, right among the papers, he carae upon something,
the only thing that has wrought the mischief — ¦ a Uttle poniard.
which I have used for some years past, as a paper cutter and
folder, which I brought abroad by mistake, but which has lain
for the last twelve months in the tray of my trunk, and which
has been seen and passed by divers custom-house officers.
But the look of exultation and severity on the face of this
man I shall never forget. The absurdity of the thing struck
me at first, and I laughed, which I suppose did not mend the
matter. However, saying only that it was not permitted to
travellers to carry arms, he took the knife, and I supposed
that was the end of it. But no ! I was presently summoned
to his office, when he questioned me politely, but very closely,
respecting the weapon. Of course, I told him the simple truth

A TOUR IN EUROPE.

369

of its history and use, which, I am sorry to say, he did not
appear to credit. He evidently believed that I was going to
Venice for no other purpose than to bear this blunt, broken-
handled paper cutter to some insurgent leader, who only
waited for it to head a rising. It was in vain that I reminded
him that it had lain exposed in my trunk, one of the first
things to be seen, and that, had I cherished any unlawful pur
pose, I should have concealed it, or carried it on my person :
he was quite set in the idea that I was some dangerous per
sonage. Yet a more suave and agreeable official I have sel
dom met, certainly never one who showed such a flattering in
terest in mo and my affairs. His extreme benevolence stretched
backward into the past, aud forward a considerable distance
into the future. He questioned me about my travels and my
plans — and though his interrogations were cleverly varied
and repeated, I, of course, found always the simple, truthful
answer best and readiest. He spoke in Italian, I in French,
which aroused his suspicion. He remarked that I had the
face of an ItaUan, not of an American, and, adding that
he was but an indifferent French scholar, requested that I
would favor him by speaking in tho ItaUan. I repUed that,
though I could understand him, I spoke his language even
more indifferently than French, and so begged to be excused.
He insisted, however, till, in sheer vexation, I broke into the
Italian ; and I think I convinced him there. At last, conclud
ing that this was an affair for a higher tribunal, he sent the
poniard and my passport on to the chief of the police at
Rovigo by a gendarme who accompanied us.
Arrived at Rovigo, he went at once to the bureau of police.
In the antechamber I passed an interesting young man, with
a dark, melancholy face, standing between two gendarmes,
with his arms pinioned — a sight little calculated ta raise my
spirits ; but no further examination took place. My passport
was given me, with the intimation that the poniard would be

370 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
sent to the chief bureau of police at Venice, where I might ci
for it — which I suppose is a polite invitation to me to " go i
higher.'' So I shall probably be handed on, from bureau
bureau, till I reach Milan, where I expect to be shot.
Mem. — When next I come abroad, to leave all poniar
at home. May 20,
I found that I had been more annoyed by the contre tem^
of yesterday than I had confessed even to myself — for, as hi
been the case under any unusual excitement ever since I can
to Italy, I failed to get one wink of sleep last night, and th
morning I am in a curious state of bewilderment as to whethi
it is yesterday or tomorrow. Padua is a famous place f(
striking clocks, and last night I heard them to remarkab!
advantage. They are curious for their utter want of unanin
ity! — not sounding together, but politely waiting upon or
another, and striking at respectful distances. There was on
broken-spirited old clock that hung back some ten minute
and then " took up her doleful tale " — suggesting rather tha
proclaiming the hour in the most timid and deprecating ton
imaginable. And there was one regular Ajax of a tim(
piece, which struck sharp, quick, resounding blows, as thoug
knocking down the hours.
We first visited the Chapel of Santa Maria dell' Annunziati
full of frescoes by Giotto, an old, old painter. Though in
very quaint style, and much injured by time, these work
are exceedingly fine, containing some figures of marvellou
strength and beauty, and divine purity of expression. The
we saw the Cathedral,- which is rich in rare bronzes, and out
wardly of a curious, mosque-like character ; then a queei
vast old palace, II Palazzo della Ragione ; and then that mos
renowned University, and the statue, on the top of the princi
pal staircase, of the celebrated Elena Lucrezia Carnaro Pis

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 371
copia, who received a professor's degree from the University
— was an astronomer, a mathematician, a Greek, Hebrew,
Latin, Arabic, Spanish, and French scholar — a musician, a
poetess, and, if this statue is true, a very beautiful woman.
She died unmarried, in 1684, at fortj'-eight years of age.
There is a fine public square here, surrounded by statues of
the great men of Padua and its University — but to the gen
eral traveller it is a place of little beauty or interest.

CHAPTER XVII.
Arrival at Venice. — The srand Canal. — The Square op St.
Mark, the Church. — Palace of the Doges. — The Dun
geons. — BRroGE OP Sighs. — Academy op Fine Arts. — Trrus's
GREAT 'Works. — The Churches op 'Venice. — Evening in the
Piazza. — The Manfrini Palace. ¦ — Byron's Palace. — Venice
BY Moonlight. — The Rialto. — The Arsenal. — The Armeni
an Convent. — The Gondola. -— Festa op Corpus Domine. — Hos
pital op San Servolo. — The Civil Hospttal and Madhouse.
— Sequel op the Adventure op Santa Maria Maddalena. —
Verona. — House op Juliet. — Milan. — Cathedral. — Chapel
OP San Carlo  The Brera. — The Biblioteca Ambrosiana. —
Look op Lucrezia Borgia's Hair. — Theatre. — Condition of
Milan. — Am op the People  Austrian and Hungarian
Troops. — Public Drives and Promenades. Venice, May 22.
We came from Padua, by railway, on tho afternoon of the
20th. Venice, approached by this route, reminds one of mar
vellous stories of mirage — as it seems like a city afloat.
There is something peculiarly sad and lonely in the sight, for
aU its beauty — something dream-like and mysterious. -Aj--
rived at the station, and having passed the Custom House, it
wa-s curious to hear the ery of " Gondola, signor ? " " Barca,
signor ? " instead of "Cab, sir?" "Omnibus, sir ?"
But to find yourself in one of those dark, strange-looking
boats, and then to go floating down the grand canal, past mag
nificent old palaces, the like of which you never any where
beheld before; to be every moment meeting and passing
those graceful gondolas, steaUng sUently along, all in black, as
though in mourning for the dead glory of Venice; to float
(372)

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 373
under the Rialto, and to go down yet farther into the broad
expanse of water near the palace of St. Mark's, — aU this is a
rare realization of one's lifelong ^dreams, yet seeming more
wild and unreal and marvellously beautiful than any dream.
Our hotel is an old palace, not far from St. Mark's, and
having a broad and deUghtful lookout over the lagunes. On
our flrst evening, we walked round to the Piazza San Marco
— of all I have ever seen, the one supreme in architectural
beauty an(i magnificence.
The noble Square itself, encompassed with old palaces ;
an arcade surrounding it on three sides, full of gay shops and
cafes ; the tall Campanile, the clock tower ; the Church of San
Marco ; the palace of the Doges ; the two columns near the
sea, one bearing the winged lion, the other the armed saint and
the crocodile, — all form a picture, grand, majestic, peculiar,
and surpassingly beautiful. There was moonUght and music ;
there were gay throngs of people filUng aU the Square ; ai.d
yet it seemed as lone and melancholy as the darkened and
deserted old palaces on the grand canal.
, There were dark memories lurking about that palace of the
Doges, which no moonUght could banish ; and solemn whispers
of dread secrets seemed stealing through its rich, open galle
ries, which no gay music could silence.
The style of these buildings is more fanciful and orientally
luxuriant than I had expected to find it. About the palace
there are such fairy-like galleries, in the cathedral such
strange, fantastic, almost grotesque mingling and -massing of
varied forms, — "domes, and points, and minarete, and arches,
and statues, and carvings, and mosaics, and aU so light, so
graceful, so upspringing, — that it seems Uke a very frolic of
architecture ; and yet the whole effect is by no meaas want
ing in a splendid stateliness approaching to grandeur.
Yesterday we visited the palace of the Doges, and went all
through it. In one go^eous, great chamber, with its waUs
32

374 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
and ceiling covered with rich pictures by Tintoretto and Pa
Veronese, there were all around, beneath the cornice, portrai
of all the doges except thai of Marino Falerio, whose pla(
is filled by a black veil and an epitaph. We afterwards sa
the staircase down which he passed to execution, and tl
hall of the Council of Ten, where he was condemned, wit
the lion's mouth, into which deadly accusations were secreti
dropped. We saw many pictures Ulustrating scenes of battl
and triumph in the glorious and prosperous times of th
Venetian republic. These are immense in size, ambitiou
aud rather confused in character.
Then we went down the golden staircase — then to an offic
below the palace, where we took torches and descended int
the dungeons. Dark, dismal, miserable beyond all my cor
ceptions, I found them. They are smaU and low, and it i
evident were only lit by the Ught which could penetrate t
thera through a small aperture in the wall from a lamp hun
in the corridor.
They never could have been visited by a gleam of sur
shine, or a breath of fresh, upper air. In one'of these th
young Foscari, driven home, at all hazards, by the wild yearr
ings of a heart broken by exile, spent his last agonized hour
In several of these cells the prisoners had scratched name
and inscriptions with the points of nails — the fearful recor
of long despairing years.
We also saw the spot where the condemned were strangle
in the dead of night ; and the low, black door down whioh ti
bodies were borne into a boat, which carried them away 1
an accursed spot in the sea, where it was death for the fishei
man to cast a net. Then we went up the stairs, and turne
off into.a narrow gallery, and suddenly stood upon the Bridj
of Sighs. I believe that no one can ever stand here withoi
an involuntary shudder, a creeping horror ; without a fearfu
oppressed breathing ; without sighi* from the bottom of tl

A TOUR IN EUROPE.

375

heart. It is very short, this bridge — over a narrow canal,
a brief transit from the prison to the judgment chamber. It
was with a blessed feeling of relief that I found myself out
of these hiiunted old places, and on the shining water, feeling
my shuddering pulses rocked into peace by the dreamy, luxu
rious gliding of the gondola — forgetting the prison gloom and
closeness in the soft sunlight, the broad, beautiful views, and
the delicious air about ine.
We went to the Academy of Fine Arts, where I saw
many admirable pictures by Tintoretto, Paul Veronese, Bas
sano, and others. But all seem to have faded from my mem
ory, as though shriveUed up, before the transcendent glories of
Titian's great masterpieces — the Presentation at the Tem
ple, and the Assumption of the Virgin. The first fills me
with araazement approaching to awe, yet with a deUght in
tense and exquisite. Of this picture, and that of the Assump
tion, I dare not attempt the slightest description. They are
large and full, but not crowded with figures ; marvellously
displaying the power, the beauty, the depth, and the univer
sality of Titian's genius. Among the. large assemblage of
heads in the Presentation, there is not one wanting in force and
nobility. Titian sometimes painted hard faces, wicked faces,
but never a mean one. All his heads have a certain grandeur,
even though it be of evil. He did not debase his pencU by
drawing loathsome and revolting forms, to represent the spirit
of darkness. In this picture there is an old egg woman, the
very queen of hags, — a powerful figure, a stern, storm-beaten,
passion-harrowed face, — one who makes you shudder, and yet
inspires you with respect. In wondrous contrast with this
hard, dark figure, is that of the young virgin — the sweetest,
purest, dearest, most delicious little creature ever beheld. She
is a simple, innocent child, wearing a frock of deUcate blue,
and with her golden hair braided on her shoulders. She holds
up her frock with one hand, while mounting the steps, and

376 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
Stretches the other before her towards the high priests, who
are waiting to receive her. Simply a child, yet she radiates
divinity from every line of her tender face, from e^ery curve
of her figure, from every fold of her celestial robe. The
light nimbus that trembles about her, from head to foot, seems
so your own spiritual recognition of her purity, you are half
in doubt whether it is really in the painting or not. The
whole face and attitude of the mother, at the foot of the steps,
express a more than maternal dignity and joy, a sublime pre
science of her child's election to the divine maternity and the
worship of the world.
In the Assumption you contemplate the highest rapture and
the profoundest devotion of the saint; in it the gates of
heaven seem unclosed, and you look into the far radiant
depths of angelic life and joy. The very glory of God seems
descended upon it ; and, gazing on it long, you feel yourself
drawn upward by the celestial attraction.
I cannot attempt to look deeply into one of Titian's works
without being baffled, abashed, waved back by a feeling of al
most superstitious awe. I cannot get rid of the strange im
pression that he, painted, somehow, with the very elements of
creation ; that he got at secrets of nature utterly unknown to
any other artist. I believe he was the Shakspeare of painters.
We also saw two of his most famous pictures in the Church
of St. Maria delle Salute — St. Mark, with four other Saints,
and the Descent of the Holy Ghost. I shall never forget
the face of the young St. Sebastian, in the first of these
— so heart-breakingly full of the martyr's agony and the
saint's resignation.
The churches of Venice are among the finest in the world,
as is well known. I have rare pleasure in visiting them, for
they are beautifully clean, and, though outwardly somewhat
overloaded with sculptures and ornaments, inwardly chaste and
elegant. The interior of St. Mark's is rich in precious mar-

A TOUB IN EUROPE.

37*

bles, and completely Uned with old mosaics. It is a cnrions,
gorgeous, quaint, and peculiar place — a strange but admirable
blending together of varied styles, with the Byzantine and the
bizarre predominating — a meeting ground of maDy artistic
epochs — altogether, a unique assemblage of architecniral
incongruities. Christian and classic Greek. Arabic, ai^d na
tional, yet the whole producing a wonderful effect of fitness
and harmony. In a chapel, closed, except at certain hours,
are kept the treasures of St. Mark — a coUection formerly
exceedingly rare and rich, and now containing many arrirfes
very valuable for their antiquity and beautiful workmanship
— and religious reUcs, precious beyond price to the true be
liever. Among these last is a scrap of the robe of Jesus, 5<.me
of the earth once wet with his blood, and a fragment of the
true cross. In the vestibule, before the great doc>r. yon sec in
the pavement some pieces of red marble, marking the spot
where Pope .AJexander III. placed his foot on the neck oi
Emperor Frederic Barbarossa.
This evening we ascended the Campanile, and had, from the
summit, a grand view of Venice, the islands, the far-away
country, and the sea. This wondrous sea-bom city has a mag
nificent but somewhat too compact and crowded an appear
ance, looked down upon from this point. You see so few
open spaces, and only brief gleams of the canals.
We saw the sun set in incomparable splendor, gilding the
snowy Alps till thou- icy points seemed aU aflame. We saw
the moon rise over the lagunes. It was immensely large, and
at flrst seemed like a great globe of fire, reddenmg aU the
clouds around'; then it changed to a deep golden hue, and
seeme^ like the gorgeous bucintore of an ancient doge,
coming home from wedding the Adriatic or from some glori
ous conquest.
After descending, we Ungered in the piazza tiU the old
Moors, poor slaves of time, struck the hour of nine on the
32*

378 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
' great bell of the clock tower ; then I walked hotelward, for I
was not well, and the air here is rather damp and chiUy —
otherwise I should have chosen to remain till midnight in that
enchanted square. Here you see most varieties of national
costumes and characters : hosts of voluble French, heavy-
bearded Americans, and clean-shaven English — white-coated
Austrian officers, solemn Turks, and stately Greeks — and
almost every step you encounter fine types of Venetian beauty
— proud and sumptuous, yet somewhat too indolent and cold.
Among the handsomest of the women are some of the
flower girls and water carriers, each class wearing a strik
ing and picturesque costume. May 23.
To-day we have visited the Manfrini palace, whose gallery
of pictures is so much praised by Byron. It is certainly very
fine, though not quite what I expected. For the flrst tirae, I
was disappointed in a work of Titian's. The Descent from the
Cross, though very powerful, falls far behind, it seems to me,
in beauty of coloring and grandeur of character, his great
pictures at the Academy. But his portrait of Ariosto is some
thing marvellous in both strength and beauty, in breadth, and
depth, and individuality of character. • The very soul of the
poet strikes upon you from the canvas, and you feel mastered
by his genius, not that of the painter. «
There is also in this collection Titian's celebrated portrait
of Queen Cornaro — a handsome woman, gorgeously dressed,
but, on the whole, not pleasant to contemplate. From this
gallery we went to that one of the three palaces of the famUy
Macenigo which Byron inhabited for the greater part of h^
stay in Venice. His apartments are preserved very much as
he left them, except that the bed has been removed from his
chamber. The table at which he wrote, and the chair in which
he sat at it, stand where they stood in his day. This palace is
not very handsome, but it is charSiingly .situated near the

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 379
Palazzo Foscari, and with noble palaces on every side. We
visited several of these afterwards, but saw nothing particularly
worth recording. They are mostly vast, grim old edifices, with
a dilapidated, haunted air, and seem as much abandoned to
silence and forgetfulness as though the canals that circle them
were the sluggish waters of Lethe.
We wont to the Square of St. Mark to see the pigeons fed
at two o'clock. By some ancient custopi they are fed here
daily at this hour. When we arrived, though it wanted but about
a minute of two, there were but three or four hovering about
the piazza ; but the moment the clock sounded, they came
darting from every direction over the neighboring roofs, from
church and tower, and campanile and palace, with such a rush,
and flutter, and darkening of wings as was quite startling.
There is another little daily exhibition in this square, in honor
of the Blessed Virgin, who sits on a balcony of the clock
tower. Just at twelve o'clock a door opens at her right, and
then enter certain queer figures denominated magi, who
solemnly bow before her, and then pass out at another door on
the left.
All this evening we have spent in the gondola on the lagunes
and canals, with full moonlight and deUcious music. Taking
my favorite, unsocial seat on the prow, I watched the moon
rise from the Adriatic. There were a few envious clouds just
above the horizon ; but it was glorious to see how grandly she
came up, triumphantly treading down the darkness, tiU she
mounted into the clear, deep sky, where the stars signalled her
coming. I had been sad and anxious during the day, as the
happiest of us will be at times, and feared that the peace and
loveliness of this moonlight row would only mock a troubled
and shadowed spirit. But, watching that regal mistress of the
night on her steady, upward course, my soul seemed to receive
somewhat of ber loftiness and grandeur, and, thrusting back

380 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
every encumbering cloud of its human conditions, ascended
into the freer and serener region of the beautiful and ideal.
When, leaving the lagune, we went stealing up the grand
canal, past innumerable old palaces and majestic churches, glo
rified by the moonUght, O Heaven ! the wonderful, inexpres
sible, unearthly beauty of the scene! Words cannot picture
it, imagination itself cannot compass it. There she lay, mar
vellous Venice, in her stately silence, now solemn and shadowy,
now light aud luminous — so like a creation of poetry, and
magic, and moonlight, that I had a vague feeUng that she must
vanish with the vanishing moon and the incoming day, and
disappear in the deeps from which she had been conjured.
At the Rialto, most peculiar and picturesque of bridges, I
landed, and walked slowly across, companioned by viewless
beings of the mind, more real than any flesh and blood —
Shylock and Antonio, Bassanio, Lorenzo and Jessica, Desde-
mona and the Moor. Perhaps I ought to be ashamed to con
fess the romantic weakness ; but, as thus accompanied, I paused
on the summit of the arch, in the still, radiant night, and richly
realized where I stood. I trembled from head to foot with
strange, inexpressible emotion, a vague', half-foai-ful, half-'
deUcious sense of the supernatural.
There were several gondolas, filled with fine singers, float
ing slowly up and down the grand canal, and out into the
lagune, giving, by their rich and admirably harmonized voices,
the last perfection to the enchantments of the night.
Last of all, I took a stroU with a friend round the Square
of St. Mark, deserted by all its gay throngs, but filled with
moonlight, and solemn with sUence and grand shadows. It is,
of aU places in this strange city, the one seen to most advantage
under the moon. Then all that is beautiful and stately in its
architecture stands out in fine relief; while the marring marks
of time, and the dai-k'ening advances of decay, the total ex-

A TOUR IN EUROPE.

381

tinetion of its old princely and powerful life, are confounded
in the natural shadowing and repose of the hour. Seen thus,
there is no melancholy look of age and abandonment about
those palaces, but an air of majestic and magical splendor,
ever imposing and enchanting. The winged Uon and the
crocodUe, surmounting the colurans of Oriental granite in the
Piazzetta, are but uncouth monsters in the day ; but, aloft in
the moonlight, they are shapes of mystery and awfulness, and
you feel that they mark and rule the scene more than aught else.
I retired to rest at midnight, thanking God for the beauty
on which I had gazed, and feeUng stronger and calmer in soul
for its beneficent ministrations. Ma V 25.
Yesterday morning we rowed out to the Arsenal, which is
finely situated, and contains many objects of interest and
curious antiquities, though in the last respect it fell below my
expectations; not being comparable, for instance, with the
Tower of London. The entrance is quite imposing, being
guarded by four lions of the marble of Mount Hymettus, brought
from Athens in the seventeenth century. The finest of these
bears a Runic inscription on his nock, and is supposed to have
formed part of a monument of the battle of Marathon. In
the armory we saw every variety of ancient armor and
weapons, generally of a most ponderous and ferocious charac
ter. There were also many trophies of battle and conquest,
melancholy memorials of the perished power and glory of
Venice — banners fading and rotting on tho wall, brought
home by Henry Dandolo, the grand old doge, who, at tho age
of ninety-four, and when nearly blind, took Constantinople.
There was the model of the bucintore, or state gondola of the
doges, a gorgeous vessel, dazzUng in crirason and gold, which
must have " burned on the water," like the barge of Cleo
patra ; and ' there were, in a case by themselves, horrible
instruments of torture and assassination — curious, infernal

382 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
inventions, the object and management of which I could wit
difficulty be made to comprehend. Among these were seven
which once belonged to Francesco di Carrara, the tyrant o
Padua, showing the utmost refinement of diaboUcal cruelty ; i
particular, an unsuspicious little instrument by which he dea
sudden death upon the objects of his hate or distrust — an ord
nary-looking key, which could be carried carelessly in the han(
but which, by touching a secret spring, shot forth poisone
needles. But the most terrible of aU were the torturing he]
mots. These are rough, heavy iron cases, which enclosed th
head and chest of the victim — the upper portion being piercei
with small holes, through which the torturer thrust into th
head sharp instruments of steel resembUng spindles. Ther
was no opening, except a sort of knob or tube, where th
inquisitor listened for confessions. We did not visit th
modern armory, and but hastily looked through the ship-build
ing department, where there seems little in progress. It i
strangely unlike a scene in a dock yard at home. The sailor
go about in sullen silence. .Among the workmen there is littl
of the noise and bustle of cheerful laboi; — even the fall ol
their hammers seems slow and spiritless.
From the Arsenal we went to the Academy, where I spen
an hour or two of intense enjoyment before the masterpiecei
of Titian. It was with real sorrow that I turned from then
at last ; and my farewell look on the divine Uttle virgin, in th(
Presentation, was as mournful as though cast on some belovec
being. 0, most real and Uving will she ever be to me in al
the beauty of her tender years, her modest confidence, her un
conscious holiness.
Aoain we spent the evening on the water, seeing Venici
by moonlight for the last time — for to-night the moon wUl no
rise till after eleven o'clock.
This morning, resolving to have a new experience, I took i
gondola by myself, and set forth on a round of sightseeing

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 383
My gondolier, a very kindly old man, knows Venice thoroughly,
speaks French,, and talks very intelligently on art and ar
chitecture — so quite does away with the necessity of a valet
de place. I have, to-day, been able to see things at leisure,
quietly, and far more coraprehendingly than I should have done
with a chattering, professional guide, and a party of acquaint
ances. I went fa-st to the noble Church of Santa Maria
Gloriosa di Frari, which contains the tomb of Titian, and a
magnificent monument, erected to his memory by the Em
peror Ferdinand I. Here is also a monument to Canova,
after a design of his own, very beautiful and imposing. The
tomb of the Doge Foscari, a»d a noble picture by Titian, are
the objects next in interest here. At the Church of San Roch,
I saw Titian's Christ dragged by the Hangman, a terrible pic
ture ; and in tho Scuola his Annnunciation, a painting fuU of
beauty, and breathing the purest and sweetest reUgious spirit.
The walls and ceiling of several rooms in this Scuola are
covered with Tintorettos. One of these represents St.
Roch contemplating the Father eternal ; but so face to face
are the two figures, and on such apparently familiar terms,
that it is really a little difficult to decide which is the saint
and which the Deity. Such things are absolutely revolting
to me.
At the Church of San Sebastiano I saw tho St. Nicholas
of Titian, and several of the noblest works of Paul Veronese,
whose tomb is also l»ere.
I went to the San Giovanni e Paolo for the sole sake of
seeing Titian's St. Peter, martyr; but found, to my disap
pointment, that it was being copied for the Emperor of Rus
sia, and could not be seen. The church itseff is a most im
pressive and beautiful edifice, containing many fine pictures
and majestic monuments. But it is scarcely worth while to
mention any more of these " temples vasts et magnifiques," as
my guide book caUs them, and to more than mention them is

384 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP
out of the question. The churchg s of Venice are pecuUa
indescribable. From St. Mark's down to th& least of thos
have seen, they are imposing in design and gorgeous in de
ration, crowded and overflowing with riches. Genius in eve
branch of art, and wealth incalculable, have been lavisli
upon them ; fortunes have been scattered over altars and pil
up in monuments, tiU en masse they stand (Jie unrivalled w(
der of the world.
.In the afternoon I went out to the Island of San Laz£
to visit the Armenian convent, vvhere Byron, when at Veni
spent much of his tune in study. I was very kindly receiv
by the brothers, one of whom shewed rae over aU that part
the establishment which may be seen by women — the chap
the cloisters, the two *Ubraries, and the printing office. T
cloisters are very pleasant and airy, surrounding a beauti;
flower garden. In the chapel, a neat, unambitious ediflce
found a. number of the brothers in prayer, and I certair
never saw finer-looking men. There was one old priest, w,
was blind, and whose snow-white beard flowed to his waist ¦
a beautiful and saintly head. The young monk who escort
me was a remarkably handsome and inteUigent man, a:
seemed a genuine enthusiast for Lord Byron — showed i
the place in the large library where he studied, and his aul
graph, in English and Armenian, looking as fresh as thoui
written yesterday, in the register of visitors' names. Byroi
old teacher, with whose assistance he wrote an English-Arm
nian grammar, is still living, and likes well to talk of his iUt
trious pupil, whom he pronounces " a very good student, /or
lord." The principal curiosities at this convent are the ancie
Oriental manuscripts, and an admirably preserved and rich
appai-oUed Egyptian mummy, some three thousand years o
The whole convent has such an air of religious, scholastic i
pose, of such assured and cheerful peace, that it seemed to i

A TOUH IN EUROPE. 385
a most enviable island of rest in the vexed sea of human life ;
and I was most sincere when I said to the monk accompany
ing me, " You must be very happy here ! " He gave a half
sigh, as he answered, '- It is best for me to be here — and I
am content."
On my way home, seeing the face of my gondoUer kindUng
to the glories of tho sunset, I asked if he could sing. He
owned to " the soft impeachment," and asked if the signora
would like to hear some of the verses of Tasso. Of course,
the signora said yes ; but she soon repented of her romantic
rashness, for, though the spirit was willing, the voice was
weak, and hoarse, and (S-acked, so that the performance was
more lamentable than can be imagined. But after he had
ceased, I had an hour's delicious though somewhat melancholy
enjoyment in lying on the luxurious cushions, listening to the
silvery ripple of the waves against the prow, and the sound
of the vesper bells coming raellowed over the water. Nowhere
is the sound of bells so sweet, and deep, and solemn as at
Venice ; even the clocks ring out melodiously, and the gun-fire
at sunset is something truly grand. Yet Venice is a most
melancholy and saddening place to me. There is something
deathlike in its sti'ange silence ; and, much as I enjoy the lazy
and dreamy luxury of the gondola, the necessity of always
employing one gives me a sense of imprisonment and painful
constraint. There is to me no sight more mournful than one of the an
cient, unoccupied palaces on the grand canal, with its closed
doors and boarded windows, shutting in a thousand glorious
memories — like old Belisarius standing by the way, with his
blind, blank eyes, and his imperial front — doomed, deserted,
desolate, yet royal still. All about-you is of the past and of
the dead ; the city seems one vast assemblage of stately
monuments and magnificent mausoleums ; it has no present
power or glory, or real existence. Lovely but lifeless Venice
33

386 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
— dead Aphrodite, saddening the waves .which once smiled
they upbore her, and blushed in the raorning glow of 1
beauty !
Mays
This morning came off the grand church fete of Corj
Domine, with ceremonies at St. Mark's, and an immense p:
cession around the Square. All the priests of all the churcl
of Venice were there, in brilliant festa dresses, bearing imag
and crosses, and banners, and great tapers, wreathed w
flowers and many other varieties of splendid symbols. The
was also a fine military display, in which the Austrian a
Hungarian uniforms shone resplendent. There were crow
of the people, in their gayest costumes ; frora the windo
and balconies of all flie buildings surrounding the Squa
floated bright-colored hangings; altogether a beautiful a
striking sight, though the procession itself, after those I h
seen at St. Peter's, was a slow affair. The martial music, a:
the guns with which it concluded, were decidedly the best pa
of the entertainment. On this occasion, where once wav(
the gorgeous gonfalons of Venice, Cyprus, and the Morea, i
the bronze pedestals in front of the Basilica, were hoisted t
Austrian colors. The imperial banner in the centre, with i
deep border of black and yellow, drooping heavily, and win
ing stealthUy round and round the standard in the light win
reminded me of an enormous serpent, and so seemed quite
fitting symbol of that despotism which crushes out the Ufe (
nations in its deadly folds.
In the afternoon I again took my gondola, and went out
the Island of San Servolo to visit the hospital for the sick ai
insane. In the department for the former there are about oi
hundred patients ; in that for the latter nearly two hundre
all males. This establishment is entirely under the charge <
the Hospitaliars.
I was first conducted to a pleasant Uttle salle looking oufi:

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 387
a garden, where a noble-looking old monk received me, con
versed with me, and offered rae refreshment. On my remarking
that perhaps it was an unprecedented thing for a lady to visit
their hospital alone, he assented, but added, very graciously,
that he was gratified to see me so much interested in God's most
unhappy children. The monk to whose charge he confided me
was young, and with a countenance so beautiful and gentle
that he might serve as a model for a St. John. He first con
ducted me through the general hospital, where I saw several
of the brothers in attendance upon the sick. There was one
saint-like old man, supporting on his breast a poor, paralytic
boy, nursing him with all a woman's tenderness, before whom
I could have knelt, entreating his blessing. Nowhere are the
religious orders of Italy seen in such an admirable and lova
ble light as in institutions of this kind. Next I wa,s shown
into the grounds where the mad patients take exercise and
recreation in the afternoon, and whore they wore to come in a
few moments. There was but one there when we entered —
a young man of eighteen or nineteen, who, with his arms
folded, and his head upon his breast, was walking slowly up
and down a little grove, melancholy mad. We ascended a
belvedere built by the patients, and were talking of tho various
points of tho view, when the poor young madman joined ns.
His was a handsome but an almost heart-breaking face, so
premijturely sorrow-struck and despairing. Yot he smiled in
answer to our greeting, and once laughed outright when the
wind, which was high upon that mound, caught up the long
breadth of black stuff pendent from the shoulders of the monk,
and flung it over my head.
At length the hour for the promenade having sounded, the
gates were thrown open, -and a perfect flood of madness came
pouring in. There were aU varieties except those of violent
frenzy — the monomaniac and tho utterly distraught, the
merry and the moping, the fantastic and the imbecile. There

3^8 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
was one, and a superb-looking fellow he was, who came proudly
striding in, with a straw crown upon his head, and a gro
tesquely embroidered mantle wrapped about him — the Empe
ror bf Russia. There was one who stole in fearfully, crept
to a comer, and crouched down, gibbering; there was one
who burst in, shouting, and leaping, and throwing somersets ;
there were those who came in gently, and sat down together
on the benches, conversing, and enjoying the pleasant air and
sunUght. The raelancholy and abstracted walked away 'by
themselves, and I observed that the wildest and merriest
respected their sorrow and deep meditations. All greeted the
young padre with the utmost apparent affection save one — a
fierce, formidable sailor, with a red cap on his head, who strode
up before us, and began a violent tirade against the fraternity
for imprisoning him and taking possession of his estates. He
pronounced the priests villains, robbers, devils, and lashed
himself up to a terrific pitch of passion. It was curious to see
how the other maniacs all sided with the Hospitaliars, and
cried shame on their accuser. At length one of them, a fat,
merry-looking old man, in black smaUclothes, who looked Uk^
Lablache, as Doctor Bartolo, in the Barber of Seville, doubt
less thinking that the scene was a little scandalous, giving a
sly wink to tke padre, and stealing behind the denunciator,
suddenly pulled his red cap down over his eyes. I expected ^
scene of violence to ensue, but, to my surprise, the sailor joined
in the laugh raised against him, ahd only revenged himself by
stooping down and drawing in the sand a clever caricature of
his assailant.
I afterwards visited the various departments of the establish
ment — the dormitories, the dining rooms, the work rooms, the
laundry, the kitchen, the pharmacy, and the chapel; and
every where I was impressed by a prevaihng system of com
fort, order, and cleanUness, and of judicious and kindly man
agement. In the pension, the department fbr the' better claSs

A TOUB IN EUROPE. 389
of patients, we met a really elegant young gentleman, who,
though he looked ill, had no mark of insanity in face or man
ner. He addressed me very courteously in Italian ; but being
requested by the padre to speak French, exclaimed, " Pardon
me — I flattered myself I was meeting a countrywoman.
Ah, madam, how Italian is your face ! I, who am Italian, a
Venetian, make ray compliments to you.''
This patient, like most of the others, having shown a sort
of boyish fondness for the young Hospitaliar, I ronrd'rked upon
it to him, saying, that it must make his happiness here. He
sighed Ughtly as he answered, " It smooths the ruggedness of
duty ; but happiness, in the midst of madness, we may not
look for. Listen, signora I "
We wore near the department for the incurables — a wild,
piercing, prolonged cry broke from one of the cells, and was
answered by howl after howl, and shriek after shriek, and peals
of frenzied laughter down the long hall, now darkening in the
twilight 1 A thrill of involuntary horror shivered through my
veins, and it was not till I found myself rocked on the silvery
lagune, under the softest and loveliest of evening skies, that
my heart began to beat calmly, and those maniacal sounds
ceased to ring through my brain. May 27.
ThiS|morning, wishing to see how ray poor crazed sisters
fared in Venice, I have visited the great civil hospital attached
to the Convent of St. John and St. Paul. Here there are
nearly a thousand patients, the greater part insane. It is an
immense and apparently an admirably planned and conducted
establishment, principaUy under the care of the Cappuccini
and the Sisters of Mercy.
It was with an intense and even fearful interest that I went ^
through the department for the insane women. I had sup
posed that madness, with -these passionate children of the
south, would be something awful to behold — disclosing heights
33*

390 HA?^ ANi) MiteAPS OF
of frenzy and depths' of despair strange and appalUng to' my
sight. But, on the contrary, as far as I am able to judged these
insane are quieter ahd happier than the same class with ns.
I saw several large work rooms filled with mad women, very
busily and tranquilly employed, with only one or two of the
sisters present. All were affable and cheerful in their manner,
and I saw but one instance of actual violence ; of course, I
mean of those who are aUowed to come together for work,
amusement,' or devotion. There are numbers so utterly crazed,
so furiously mad, as to be kept in solitary confinement.
In the pension, I was presented to a French lady — a striking
and handsome woman, who has been ten yeai-s insane for the
death of her only son. She was dressed tastefully, in black,
and bore an air of much dignitj' Hiirl refinement. She con
versed with me for som« time calmly, even cheerfully; then,
suddenly giving a sigh that seemed to pull at the very roots
of life, she turned away her head with a touching look of self-
reproach for having forgotten her soitow so long. There was
one young girl whom it was, indeed, a piteous sight to behold.
She believed herself Mary Magdalene, and, with her long
brown hair faUing over her shoulders, she was prostrated be
fore a crucifix, moaning, weeping, and praying, blind and deaf
to our presence. There was in one of the wards for the sick
another young girl, over whose bed watched, with ijnusual
tenderness, a mild-eyed Sister of Mercy, and whose face so
struck upon my heart that I could not lose sight of it even
when I left the hospital ; it foUowed me into my gondola — it
is with me in my chamber now — I can almost fancy I see it
lying on my own piUow. It was a face from which you caught
fearful hints at some unspeakable sorrow. In the sunken and
shadowy eyes, the wild fire of insanity was half quenched in
tears — the brow wtis knit, not sternly, but with anguish, and
the lips quivei-ed as with the writhing of some serpent-like
recollection. She had been very lovely once — she we»

A •rdtni ts ev-Rd-s^. 391
terribly beautiful stUl, with her waiideriiig eyes and her con
vulsed brow, her dark, abundant hair tossed back upon her
pillow, and her slender hands clasped, or rather clinched, upon
her breast. Yet I was not so sad for her as for the others, for
I saw by the hectic flush on either cheek that Death's gentlest
angel. Consumption, was kissing her soul away ; that God was
caUing home his poor distraught and broken-hearted child.
I afterwards passed through all the wards of the general
hospital, which I found orderly, airy, quiet, and corafortable
to a remarkable and cheering degree. Of course, among
hundreds of the mendicant sick, I saw some very painful
sights ; one, in especial, I shall never forget. In a large hall,
filled with the beds of patients, I was pausing to look at a
richly-carved plafond, when I heard, just behind me, a strange,
startling sound, and, turning, saw a ghastly flgure spring half
up in bed, and then fall back upon the pillows. " II va
mourir ! " cried my guide, hurrying me away. The sound I
had heard was the death rattle. It may be thought strange
that I should go to these hospitals alone ; but I had in Venice
no friends whose sightseeing tastes lay in that direction, and
I believed that I ought to visit and report upon some institu
tions of the kind in Italy. Bloreover, I must confess that
madness has ever had a terrible fascination for me, and that,
at times, I like to test my own strength to look down into the
profoundest depths of human suffering.
On my way back to my hotel, I consoled myself by stopping
at the Santa Maria Formosa, and contemplating the beautiful
St. Barbara of Palma Vecchio. This church is roraanticaUy
famous as the scene of the bearing off of the brides of Venice.
I passed under the Bridge of. Sighs, landed in front of the
Doge's palace, walked into the Piazza San Marco and around
it for the last time. In an hour I set out for Milan. By the
way, I suppose I should give the sequel of the affair of the
poniard. Finding, on reaching Venice, that a rainute had

392 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
been made of it on my passport, which would subject me to
suspicion and rigorous searches during all my travel in the
Austrian dominions, I applied to my friend Mr. Jerome, our
consul at Trieste, for advice. It happened that he was about
to visit Venice ; and, though I had been summoned to ap
pear at the Bureau, I rather coolly waited till his arrival,
when, with him and the American consul at this place, I pre
sented myself at the dread tribunal. The chief of the po
lice, an Austrian colonel of gendarmes, proved to be a man
of gentlemanly feeling and address, and, what is better, of
good common sense. He accepted at once my explanation,
expressed regret for the annoyance I had suffer£d from sus
picious officials, promised to do all in his power to annul the
minute on my passport, and assured me he had much pleasure
in restoring to me my dagger. Saying this, he, with a
gracious bow, presented to me, in place of my little plaything
of a poniard, a large claspknife, which, with a startling spring
and a deadly click, lanced a blade some six inches long I Of
course, I disowned it, with a shudder and a laugh, giving as my
opinion to the gallant officer, that, had I carried a weapon of so
decidedly murderous a character, he would have been justified
in arresting and lodging me in the Piombi.
This dirk had been sent on from Rovigo as mine ; but he
said the right one should be found and given to me ere I left
Venice. I assured him that I did not care for the dagger. He
replied that he chose to restore it, and wrote underneath the
vise he gave me for Verona, " Bestituito lo stilo." Milan, June I.
I left Venice on the 27th of May, and came through fo
MUan in about twenty-four hours, by railway and diligence.
The examination of our luggage at the station in Venice, we
were told, would be very severe ; but it proved to be a mere
farce. My trunks were simply glanced into, not an article

A TOUB IN EUROPE.

§93

disturbed. No sooner had I presented my passport than I
was poUtely requested to walk iijto the office of the superior
officer, where, with an imposing amount of form, my poniard
was presented to me, enclosed in tw-o envelopes, and sealed
with four great seals. Thus ended, I trust, the last scene of
the last act of the comedy of The Dagger. The steel has
some value to me now as the memento of an absurd adventure,
and, as the safest course, I shall wear it about me tUl I am out
of the Austrian dominions. From Venice to Verona we went
by railway. It seemed strange enough to go rushing and
puffing into the scene of so much romance and poetry — the
place of all the world you would have sleep forever in the
melancholy quiet of its own tender and tragic memories.
But Verona, by itself, contents one well. It is a quaint,
shadowy, peculiar, 4eCayed, yet beautiful old town. It was-
nearly dark when we reached the inn, and, as the diligence
left at nine o'clock the sarae evening, we had barely time, be
fore our dinner, to take a circumscribed stroll through the cen
tre of the city. Wc visited first the Piazza delle Erbe, the
old Blarket Place, where the servitors of the rival houses of
Montague and Capulet used to meet and quarrel ; then the
Piazza dei Signori, a small but fine square, surrounded by
palaces ; then the beautiful, elaborate tombs of the Scaliger^,
winch, however, we could not see to advantage for the deepen
ing darkness. Last of all, we went to the house of -the Capu
lets, of which we were satisfied to take only an exterior sur
vey. It is a grim, dilapidated old building, now used as an
inn for vetturini. It is neither lordly in size nor style ; but it
is, without doubt, all it pretends to be, as the arms of the
Capulets may yet be seen, carved in stone, over the large
gateway. The orchard no longer remains attached to the
house ; and the balcony of Juliet, which overlooked it, is, I
trust, among the things that were. At aU events, we saw noth
ing of it We saw no one object which we dared distinctlj

394 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
associate with that loveliest ideal of poetry and passion save
the rpof that had sheltered her fair head, and the rude walls
which, like a rough casket, had once shut round her rich and
beautiful life ; and yet the thought of her, a very moonlight
of fancy, brightened and sweetened all the scene. Her love
gave a beauty, her sorrow a sacredness, to that old house,
which its present degenerate and commonplace aspect and
¦ vulgar use could not destroy. 0, the immortaUzing, divinizing
element of genius, transniuting and transfiguring the com
monest object round which it plays ! 0, the godUke mastery
of the poet, compelling the hearts of the world, for age after
age, to throb in sympathy with the passion and the despair of
a romantic youth, and to bleed with the breaking heart of a
girl! In the Market Place and that lordly old Square, Romeo, and
Mercutio, and Benvolio, and the County Paris were more liv
ing and present to my mind than the real flesh-and-blood
figures moving there. I almost looked to see the Nurse come
hobbling along, preceded by Peter, bearing her fan ; so com
pletely was I under the spell of the place. Yet I did not
regret the want of tirae to visit the so called torab of JuUet,
there not being sufficient proof of the genuineness of this reUo
to satisfy the most romantic and wilfully cradulous pilgrim.
After spending a long, wearisome, sleepless night in the
diligence, we stopped for breakfast at Brescia. This is a
pleasantly situated, but melancholy looking town, having a sin
gularly decayed, discouraged, unprosperous air. It suffered
terribly from being besieged, captured, and sacked by the
French, under Gaston de Foix and the Chevalier Bayard, in
1512, and seems to have never Ufted its head since. In the
late unsuccessful struggle for freedom, it was the scene of some
of Haynau's most atrocious butcheries. I had barely time
after breakfast to run up on to the ramparts, from which I had
a wide view over a lovely country.

A TOUR !N EUROPE. 395
At about two o'clock in the afternoon we took the railway,
which brought us in a mere flash to Milan. On the way to
our hotel, wo passed the Cathedral, which, after all I had seen
elsewhere, after all I had anticipated and imagined, filled me
with wonder and delight. I have visited it often, spent many
hours within and about it since, with an ever-deepening pleas
ure in the contemplation. So elaborately beautiful is it, so
exquisite in detail, that every portion forms a separate study ;
yet so admirably matched and blended are the various parts
that the whole efl'ect is noble and harmonious — a temple grand
without being oppressively vast, and solemn without gloomi
ness — a truly sublime edifice. In size, and in a sort of pon
derous grandeur, St. Peter's is, of course, far before it; but
in elegance, in all the bold fancies and beautiful wonders of ar-
.jliitecturo, this infinitely surpasses that imposing basilica.
This seems to imbody the poetry, as that the power, of the
church. This, with its shining assemblage of towers and pin
nacles, seems the " outward and visible sign " of human wor
ship, pure praise upspringing in enduring stone — sculptured
aspiration ; while that is the piled pomp of religion, its vast
dimensions bewUdering the soul, and the rairaic heaven above
shutting it out from the real upper glories to which it aspires.
There is to me something in the Gothic style of architect
ure pecuUarly calculated to lift and trance the heart in adora
tion. Thus, in this beautiful cathedral, though I am conscious
of no brooding presence of sanctity, no oppressive reUgious
solemnity, I always feel the instinct of faith, the pure, natural
sentiment of reverence and devotion. In St. Peter's, my soul
never responded to the call to prayer ; it was a strange world,
in which I seemed lost, and wandered wondering, rather than
worshipping. The Duomo of Milan is built entirely of white marble, on
which time and exposure seem only to have wrought to mel
low its tint and to soften the effect of its sculpture, even by

396 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
the heavy darkening of some of the parts increasing fhe
beauty of the whole. It is, from base to summit, absolutely
aUve with statues and bas reUefs. There are no less than
three thousand figures on the pinnacles and in the niches of
the exterior ; and there are yet one thousand five hundred to
be executed. The effect of all this external statuary, with
the ornamental accessories of sculpture in endless variety, is
striking and peculiar, yet elegant and magnificent. It is in
itself such a triumph of architecture, such a gorgeous yet
graceful structure, that, aside from any religious sentiment,
you are forced to approve of the incalculable outlay of wealth
and genius by which it exists. It stands its own beautiful
justification. We have, torday, ascended to the roof, a truly wonderful
place in itself, and from which we were told we should have
an unrivalled view of the plain of Lombardy, of the Alps and
the Apennines. But unluckily, though the near landscape
was distinctly visible, the horizon was veiled off by mists ;
only the dira outlines of the Alps were discemable — mere
ghosts of mountains.
We have descended into the chapel of San Carlo Borromeo,
in the crypt of the cathedral. This, for its size, is the richest
chapel I have yet seen, being completely lined with bas reUefs
of solid silver, and hung about with massive silver lamps.
Among other costly offerings, there is a tablet given by the
money changers, surmounted by cornucopise, fiUed with real
coins of silver and gold. But the great show is the saint
hiraself, who is kept in a splendid shrine, behind the altar, and
ex;liibited to the pious or the curious for an extra fee of five
francs. Tl"** secured, the holy man who attended on us
lit four additional tapers, let down the front of the shrine
by turning a windlass, and showed a coffin of crystal, set in
gold, containing a black and mouldering mummy, dressed in
gorgeous pontifical robes, and covered with flashing gems.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 397
Above the breast was suspended a large cross of diamonds
and emeralds, the gift of Maria Theresa ; and all about hung
like royal offerings, deepening fearfuUy, by contrast, the hor
ribleness of human decay. It was terrible to see how the live
light of those briUiants, the glow of those golden embroi
deries, the pomp of the jewelled mitre seemed to mock the eye
less sockets, the shrivelled skin, the bare and blackened skull.
June 3.
We have, to-day, visited several churches, which we found,
though remarkably rich in treasures and decorations, neither
very beautiful nor imposing. Elsewhere they might show
better; here they are dwarfed by the Cathedral.
In the refectory of an old convent, now converted into a
barrack, we saw the Last Supper of Leonardo da Vinci.
This wonderful fresco has been terribly injured by time, neg
lect, accidents, and yet more terribly by the retouchings of
presumptuous daubers. Yoii can now distinguish little beside
the composition and the general sentiraent of the picture. The
head of Christ, though injured and grown faint, seems to
have escaped, as by miracle, tho sacrilegious ruin visited upon
the others, as though the boldest restorers had been awed back-
by its transcendent majesty and sweetness. It seems to have
slowly and softly faded away ; dim and distant, yet still divine,
it looks as we fancy his receding face may have looked to his
bereaved disciples, when ho was caught up in a cloud out of
their sight.
The, Brera, the public gallery of paintings, contains some
fine pictures, and many, to my apprehension, great only in the
matter of square feet. I have dim and jumbled recollections
of them — vast stretches of canvas — Martyrdoms, Massa
cres, Nativities, Presentations, Adorations, Madonnas, Man
gers, Holy FamiUes, Saints, Cherubs, Assumptions, Last
Judgments, Temptations, FlageUations, and Crucifixions, But
84

398 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
I have a most distinct recollection of the Spdsalizio of Raphael,
a portrait by Titian, and a very delicious picture, a Virgin and
Child, by Sassoferrato.
There is a private coUection here, in the palace of the Count
Castelbara, where we saw several exquisite pictures by tbe
great mastei-s.
At the Biblioteca Ambrosiana there is a sraall but valuable
collection of paintings, among which is a Christ on the Cross,
by Guido — - a picture which transfixed me before it, awestruck
ahd tearful. I have nowhere seen this most pathetic and
solemn subject so grandly treated. There is but the one
figure, without the usual accessories. The dread consumma
tion is accomplished ; " it is finisfied ;" and tho crucified Naza-
rene is left alone on darkening Calvary. The whole picture
is overpoweringly expressive of the utter desertion of earth,
of that abandonment of Heaven against which he cried out to
the Father.
Among tho curiosities in this library we saw Petrarch's
Virgil, copied by him, and containing many of his annotations ;
the original correspondence between Lucrezia Borgia and
Cardinal Bembo, and a lock of Lucrezia's hair. This is a
bright golden tress, which having soon with no name attached,
I might have fancied had been clipped from tho head of a
young novice, renouncing with a pure heart and fervent lips
the pomps, pleasures, and sins of the world. But knowing of
whose fatal charms it once formed a part, and w-hose subtle,
scheming, inexorable brain once wrought beneath it, there
seemed soraething treacherous in its silken softness, something
deadly in its shining coil.
The great opera house. La Scala, is at present closed, much
to our disappointment.
We wore at one of tho theatres last night, and saw a
comedy and a very stupid ballet. Italian acting, in general, is
little to my taste ; it is too feverishly violent, too much on the

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 399
ranting and explosive order, in the tragedy ; and in comedy
grotesque and absurd, without fine wit or genuine drollery. I
am convinced that the Frencli are the only perfect actors in
the world, simply because acting is not acting with them —
seeming is their only being, and tho artificial their only true.
Milan is yet under strict military governraent, and swarms.
with Au^trian troops. No citizen is allowed to be out after
eight o'clock in the evening without a permit; and the carry
ing of any species of arms is prohibited under penalty of
death. A complete system of terror and tyranny jirevails ;
espionage is every where employed ; the Intercepting of letters,
and packages, and domiciliary visits are of daily occurrence;
while the outgoings and incomings of persons falling under
the slightest suspicion are closely watched and dogged. The
sraaUest group of citizens is never to be seon for more than a
moment in the street ; all raeetings without the sanction ofthe
military are forbidden under severe penalties ; and, according
to the words of the proclamation, " two men constitute a meet
ing." There is among the people a sad and ominous appear
ance of constraint and sullen discontent. To my eye, they
show nothing of that" alacrity of abjectness of whicji they have
been accused. I see little conciliating show of submission.
Though many seera to sink in the apathy of despair, more
seem to be nursing their hate and their hope together, and
grinding their teeth with secret rage while biding the time.
It is evident that such aro only subdued the while that the
conqueror's foot is on their breasts, liii steel at their throats.
It seems peculiarly melancholy that such a state of things
should exist in Milan, which is admirably fitted for all the en
joyments of libert}', peace, and prosperity ; for a life of ra
tional pleasure, security, and content. It is nobly planned,
elegantly built, and neatly kept ; altogether the handsomest
town I have seen in Italy. It is particularly rich in fine pub
lic gardens and grounds ; and the promenade and drive upon

400 HAPS AND MISHAPS'.
the ramparts is unrivalled for beauty and extent. We have
found our evening drives there almost as delightful as those
at Florence. But the gayety of the Cascine is sadly wanting
here, where there are fewer carriages, riders, and pedestrians,
and much less freedom and animation. The Austrian and
•Hungarian officers have the scene pretty much to themselves ;
and a fine show they raake, especially on horseback, for they
are matchless riders. Their uniforms are strikingly elegant
in style, fit, and decoration — the Hungarian being peculiarly
remarkable for a sort of Oriental gorgeousness and grace.
Nowhere have I seen such symmetrical yet pow-erful figures,
such handsome and high-borne heads, such a pride of splendid
manhood. .Ah, " the pity of it," to look on these magnificent
young men, and remember that they are but the tools, the
mere machinery, of despotism.
While enjoying the beautiful pubUc walks and drives of for
eign towns, I am made to blush for the shameful penurious-
ness, carelessness, and lack of taste which prevents our hav
ing in our own cities such preservers of health and promoters
of pleasure. Fancy the dismay of a foreign gentleman, igno
rant of our miserable deficiencies in this respect, who, on vis
iting New York in the hot months, and inquiring for the fash
ionable drive and promenade, should be told that that rich
young city could boast of nothing of the kind. I sometimes
fear that a despotic government is necessary to plan and exe
cute such works for the people, to compel them to benefit
bon-gre mal-gre, by useful and beautifying improveraents.
Certain it is that the smaUest foreign towns have the advan
tage of our largest in healthful and cheerful places of reunion
and exercise in the open air ; and I am assured that, on my
return home, I must fly to the country ; that I nevermore
shaU be able to endure the Stifling closeness of our cities —
the noise, the hurry, the hot, unbroken deserts of brick and
inortar.

CHAPTEE XVIII.
X/AXi! JIaogioke. — Isola Bei^a. — S.^nctuario op the TmorN. —
Lake Como. — 'Villa D'Este. — The Pllxiana. — Pkince -Bel
gioso. — Pasta's Cottage — Tagliosi's. — Chueches. — Bobsieo.
— Ascent of the Alps- — Pass of the Stelvio. — The Obt-
leh Spitz. — Glacieks. — Mals. — The TmoL. — Pass of the
FixSTEiiMcxz- — A SnooTixG Match. — Costumes axd Maxsebs
OP the Tyuoi.ese Pe.vsaxts. — Ixxsr.EUCK AXD its Sighio. 
Taoeiixsee. — Floods. — 'Womex workIxg rx the Fields. — Mc-
KICH. — The Royal Palace. — Pictceeb. — Lol-a Moxtes. — Gal-
LKHIE3 and CiiuucHES. — Colossal Statde op Bavasia. — TnB
Opeea. — Tue King axd Queex. Varese, Jvse 5.
We reached this place, about thirty miles north-west of
Milan, yesterday evening, travelling by vettura, throogh a
rich, well-cultivated, but rather uninteresting country. Varece
is a city of little importance and less beauty ; but its environs
are pleasant, and adorned with many fine villas belonging to
wealthy Milanese. This morning we drove over to Laveno,
on Lake Maggiore, where we took a row boat, and visited the
celebrated Isola BeUa.
On our drive, we passed the sraall Lake of Varese, an ex
quisite sheet of water ; and from that point the scenery, which
had all along been charming and varied, became grandly
beautifuh In the distance loomed up the Alps, the higher
range lifting their mighty heads above the clondj;, and chal
lenging the sun with their flashing .snow crowns; while the
lower range, clad in the softe.-t sumraer verdure, comforti-d
the eye, struck back by tbe white radiance above. At Ihc-if
feet slept tbe lake, mirraring a eky of deepest azure, aod
.34 • <«w)

402 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
clouds of silver, rose, and gold — in all a scene equally en
chanting and imposing, and heightening in beauty and sub
limity as we approached, till we passed from that surprised
delight, which utters itself in glowing exclamations, to the
silence of a deep, almost reverential, emotion.
I did not look to find the shores of Lake Maggiore so wild as
they are ; so like those of one of our own small western lakes, but
thickly dotted with villas and hamlets, and bearing marks of the
highest state of cultivation. Aside from the small town of
Baveno and the Borromean islands, the view from Laveno
struck me as almost desolate, as far as human life is concerned.
Only here and there is to be seen a villa, a cottage, or a lonely
chapel in a mountain gorge ; while every where foliage, flow
ers, grasses, and even grain, seem growing in spontaneous
luxuriance — Nature working her own sweet will, and having
her own wild way, untrammelled by the prudent cares and
staid proprieties of art.
In the midst of this primitive loneliness and loveliness lies
the Isola Bella, a quaint, elaborate, and wonderful creation of
art, for which Nature only furnished the bare foundations.
For this fairy island, this enchanted garden, luxuriant with all
the fruits and smiUng with all the flowers of the tropics, now
rising terrace above terrace, crowded with statues, grottoes,
temples, and crowned by a noble palace, was once a black,
barren rock, standing but a few feet out of the water, an un
sightly blot on its blue expanse. A Count Borromeo, of the
seventeenth century, was the creator of this somewhat prim
paradise, which, for the peculiar taste displayed in it, and the
immense sums expended upon it, has been pronounced but a
magnificent conceit and a gigantic extravagance. Every foot
of earth was brought from a distance, and piled up to make
these terraces and gardens ; while the trees, plants, and flow
ers were gathered from almost every country and clirae of the
world. Tbfs descendants of the founder have added greatly to

A TOUK IN EUROPE. 403
the beauty of the place by careful cultivation and new varie
ties of trees and plants ; and, as you now see it, flourishing,
and flowering, and fruit-ripening, under the very ice glare of
the Alps, it is soraething marvellous and magical — a beauti
ful bewilderment.
It is so strange, when wandering among cypresses, palms,
pomegranates, myrtles, oranges, and lemons, to catch throngh
the opening branches a glimpse of the eternal snow ; to feel
yourself grow languid and half intoxicated in the oppressive
sun and aromatic atmosphere of some sheltered spot ; and the
next moment, in turning some exposed comer, to be smitten
on the cheek by a sharp wind from the glaciers.
During the winter, aU these gardens and terraces are
boarded over and heated by stoves.
We were shown through the palace, which, for the sit ja-
tion, is of vast dimensions, but boUt in a cnrioa;. clomsv.
grotesque style. It contains many bad and a few good pic
tures, all rapidly becoming equaUzed and confounded by
ruinous damp and mould.
We were shown the room in which Napoleon slept whQe
here, and in the garden a large bay tree, in the bark of which
he carved the word "battaglia." I must confess I conld not
clearly make out a letter, but I had faith to believe they were
all there. It was a short time before the battle of ^larengo
that the great king-maker and un-maker, in a moment of
brooding idleness, cut that word there — a word as significant
of his future as was his dying " tete d!armee ! " of his past.
The drive from the lake back to Varese, in the pleasant
afternoon, hung some sunset pictures in my memory which
must illuminate it forever. In that gallery hang many of the
most glorious works of human genius ; yet these can never be
confounded with those bearing in every faintest outUne, in
every lightest shade, the unmistakable Deus feeit of the great
master.

404 HAPS AND MISHAPS OP COMO, June 7.
This morning we sat out early from Varese, to make the
ascent to the Sanctuario of the Virgin, from which we were
assured, by our universally-read friend Murray, we should
have unrivalled views of the plain of Lombardy and of the
Alps, and could look down upon no less than six lakes. This
holy mountain was consecrated to the Madonna by St. Am
brose, in 397, to commemorate a victory gained by him over
the Arians. It is ascended by a steep, winding road, well
paved, but suitable only for pedestrians and ponies. At differ
ent points along this way stand fourteen chapels, representing
the fourteen mysteries of the rosary. Those are very pictu
resque objects, and so placed as to command charming Aiews
of valleys, mountains, and lakes. At the summit is a church,
a bell tower, and a convent of Augustinian nuns. We
mounted our ponies at Robarello with glowing anticipations
of the feast of beauty to be spread before us when we should
have scaled the holy heights ; wo would scarcely indulge our
selves in a glimpse from the various points of the ascent, for
fear of taking the edge off our appetites. But unluckily, on
reaching the summit, we found a heavy mist settling there,
rolling in great billows down the sides of the neighboring
mountains, floating ov-er the plain, and dimly veiling the dis
tant Alps. Hoping that it would 'soon pass off, we went into
the church, w-here -we saw the statue of the Virgin, dating from
the tirae of St. Ambrose, and the mummies of two female
saints, who lie in glass coffins, dressed in rich robes, with their
blackened skuUs and their fleshless throats glittering with
ornaments, and their skeleton flngers loaded with gaudy rings.
Of course, a considerable fee is asked for this hideous show ;
so doubtless these holy women have done better service to
their church and convent as mummies than as lady abbesses
— a sort of post mortem patronage, loo monstrous and revolt
ing for any but this system of religion to exact. On coming

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 405
out of the church, we found that it was all up with us, as far
as the prospect was concerned. The mist had thickened into
heavy clouds ; there was a real storm below us at our right,
the thunders of which seemed breaking and booming against
the mountain.
Here was a prospect of something now and grand for us ;
but I must confess that we all ingloriously fled before the
prospect of the sublime drenching, and were happy in reaching
the inn and our carriage in a tolerably dry condition. The
rain was soon past, and we had a charming time for driving
over to Como.
We caught not even a glimpse of the lake till we were just
upon it, at our hotel, frora which we have a beautiful though
rather circurascribed view. But since dinner we have taken
an hour's row upon it in the sunset, and I have found that all
the most glowing picturings of poets, all ray own raost delicious
suramer dreams, have fallen far behind the varied and won
drous loveUness of the scene. The beauty of Lake Como and
its shores is something so pecuUar, so complete, so heavenly, it
is almost as unimaginable as indescribable. It seems that
Nature has prodigally exhausted here the treasury of her
richest charms, and revelled in lavishing her utmost wealth of
adornment; while Art, in fond emulation, has wrought out all
her most exquisite fancies, her daintiest devices — tried all her
golden secrets of effect, and come down with all her choicest
points. Certain it is, that, with their united enchantments,
they overflow the soul with the very floodtide of delight, and
leave nothing more to be asked or imagined by the most deU
cate and luxurious sense of beauty. June 9.
We spent the whole of the morning yesterday on the lake,
and in visiting sorae of the most celebrated villas along the
shores. Our first landing was at the Villa D'Este, owned and
occupied for several years by Queen Caroline, of Brunswick.

406 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
It is a charming place, and the gardens and grounds do much
honor to the taste of the unhappy princess who planned them.
We passed the ViUa Lenno, supposed to stand on the sight of
Pliny's Villa, and stopped at the Pliniana, so naraed for a
curious natural fountain which the Elder Pliny described iu a
letter. This villa, which is gloriously situated for views up
and down the lake, and whose grounds are most picturesque
and wildly beautiful, is the property of Prince Belgioso, a
gentleman distinguished throughout all the European courts
for his many elegant accomplisluiients, for beauty, talent, and
especially for a fine musical genius. He has led, for many-
years, the gay and purposeless life of a more man of pleasure ;
yet it may be he is not wholly without excuse, fbr the Austri
an government jealously shuts out fhe ItaUan nobiUty from
every career of honor and power.
" The Priiice was j-ounger once than he is now;
And handsomer, of course."
Yet he is a very fine-looking man still, and wears his first
snows Ughtly. He has rauch the air of an English gentleraan,
and speaks our language very purely, with the sUghtest pos
sible accent.
Pasta's cottage is -sraall and simple, but very pretty, and
surrounded by the loveliest garden, and flanked by the most
luxuriant grounds along the lake. She plans and super
intends all the buUding, planting, and imp'rovements ; finding,
after the splendid triumphs and ceaseless excitements of her
dramatic career, rest and happiness in such quiet and primi
tive pleasures. The most exquisite taste is shown in laying
out her grounds and gardens, wliich extend for more than
a mile along the shore. Here we saw the grandest trees, the
richest vines, tho most wonderful profusion of flowers. There
were gorgeous rose trees growing from apparently inaccessible
rocks, or twining about dark cypresses, forming the loveliest

A TOUPv IN EUROPE. 407
contrast conceivable, or hanging over the wall, showering (heir
leaves upon the water — there were graceful wUlows, that.
Undine-like, bent lovingly to dip their lirabs in the lake, and
timid silver-leaved aspens, that stood back shivering — there
were copper beaches and golden jasmine — 0, there w-as every
thing to forra a paradise of beauty and repose, before whose
gat*- my spirit sighed like the poor hopeless peri she is. As
we floated slowly past the raost wooded part of those grounds,
the favorite walk of Pasta, we heard the nightingales singing
in the deepest shajjo under the hill, and far sweeter we fancied
than elsewhere, as though thoy had been taught by her.
The cotta;;e of Taglioni is also smaU, but ornate and fanci
ful ; and the grounds, though very beautiful, display some
pretty conceits and dainty caprices, which strike you as in
character with a sylph of the stage and a ballet queen.
Madame Taglioni has two other cottages in these grounds —
one, a charming little box, perched up against a rock, like a
swallow's nest; the other, a Swiss chalet, yet unfinished, and
it is said capriciously abandoned. By these, and her three
fine palaces at Venice, it would seem that she has pirouetted to
sorae purpose. Ah, happy is the woraan w-hose genius lodges
in her throat or settles in her heels ! She may coraraand
success, w-ealth, power ; she may attain to cottages ornees and
palaces by the sea ; along her path sighs the horaage of the
world ; and at her feet, all unregarded, lies more of man's love,
such as it is, than ever rewarded the pure and faithful affec
tion, the devotion unto death, of all the women of mere intel
lect and soul that ever existed.
Como itself is a pleasant Uttle cit}^, very clean and airy for
an ItaUan town. It has fallen off somewhat in its manufac
tures and general prosperity of late years, but there is still a
pleasing appearance of industry and comfort araong its people.
It has no buildings of any importance except the Cathedral,

408 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
which is very fine, but contains few objects of interest. In tbe
gloomy old Church of San Fidele, which I have just visited,
my guide pointed out to me a dark chapel, into which I looked
through a black lattice. It "M'as only Ut by one low, flickering
lamp, and I was some moments ere I could distinguish the ob
jects it held ; then I saw a ghastly figure of Christ on the
Cross, surmounting a Calvary of skulls — a horrible sight; yet
how immeasurably was the horror increased when I was told
that these were all the skulls of murderers !
BoRMEo, In the Alps, June U.
We left Corao yesterday morning, by steamer, for Colico,
on the upper end of the lake ; from whence we posted to Son-
drio, and from Sondrio to this place. The sumraer seems
really to have come at last ; and the weather, for this region,
is deUcious. The water excursion of yesterday was incom
parably delightful, with soft sunlight and balmy airs, the ut
most richness of verdure and bloom, mountain and rock, and
cascade ; and the lake itself, with its picturesque windings, and
infinite varieties, and surprises of beauty ; in its serene repose
as blue, profound, and waveloss as the heaven it imaged.
We had yesterday a flat drive of little interest ; but to-day
we have ascended somewhat, and have just entered upon the
Stelvio, the grandest of all the Alpine passes. Bormeo is a
quiet, quaint little village, very gray, and somewhat gloomy,
almost completely shut in by mountains piny and ice-capped.
The people seem poor, but not by any means miserably so;
they have, towards strangers, a peculiarly cordial yet respect
ful air ; and they are usually flne looking, though the throats
of many of them are disflgured by the goitre. We find that
the pass of the Stelvio, which is the highest on the continent,
is but just opened, and that we shall be absolutely the pioneers.
To-morrow we are to m^ke the ascent, and, if we are not

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 409
blocked up by the snow or borne away by an avalanche ere
we reach the summit, may have all our wildest imaginings of
the grand and the terrific in scenery abundantly realized.
Landece, in the Tyrol, June 13.
We left Bormeo yesterday morning at half past six, in con
siderable state for so small a party, travelling with two car
riages and a baggage wagon. Even at that early hour, all the
villagers were out to see us off and wish us a good journey.
Some looked a little doubtful and apprehensive; but the
greater part cheered us on. The ascent for the first two posts
was gradual, but continuous ; and, almost ere we were aware,
we found ourselves in a new, strange world, bleak, and bare,
and stem, and grand to absolute awfulness. Higher and
higher we crept up the pass, above a black, winding gorge,
"whose bed was piled with the slides and avalanches of the
winter and spring, and down whose sides leaped milky cas
cades, from immense masses of snow melting in a fervid sun,
till we reached the region where all vegetation ceases, where,
amid the rooks and ice, not even the pine can clinch in his
hardy roots, and found ourselves breathing painfully in the
rarefied air of perpetual snow.
The road of the Stelvio is the most stupendous work I ever
beheld ; and, all along, my wonder and admiration were di
vided between it and the sublime scenery through which it
winds. It rounds perilous points, pierces great rocks, passes
under and over torrents, leaps yawning chasms, and skirts the
most appalling precipices. Over the portions most exposed to
slides and avalanches are constructed galleries of solid ma
sonry, with slanting roofs ; and it has sometimes happened
that great masses of snow and earth have here passed over
the traveUer's head, and gone plunging and crashing into the
gulf below. Miss W  and myself, who travelled together
in a little open carriage, expressed to one another, on setting
35

410 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
out, a desire to be thundered over by a small avalanche
in this manner; but no sooner did we find ourselves in one of
the dark and ominous galleries than we mutually confessed
that such an experienoe would be a superfluity of the sublime ;
and our disinclination towards it deepened into soraething very
like horror as w-e carae upon a gaUery recently broken in by
an avalanche, and on the outside of which we were obUged to
pass by a newly-constructed bridge.
We dined at Santa Maria, the frontier posthouse, before a
roaring flre, in a snug little chamber which looked out over a
vast sea of snowy mountain tops. From this to the last post-
house, Franzenhoho, the highest habitation on the continent,
nearly ten thousand feet above the level of the sea, the road
was cut through fields of solid snow, which walled it on both
sides, except when it ran along the edge of precipices, to the
depth of eight, ten, and sometimes fifteen and twenty feet.
This was rather terrific, surely; but not until we had passed
the summit, and began the descent, did we perceive the ut
most sublimity* and the peril of the pass.
Before us towered the Ortler Spitz, in height the third
mountain of the Alpine range, with his rough sides clad in a
mail of glaciers, and avalanches impending on his awful front ;
while on every side, as far as the eye could reach, rose Alps
on Alps, snow-capped and ice-sheathed, strange, dread, tre
mendous shapes,- which seem sternly battling up through the
clouds to besiege heaven ; or rather, are like the vast broken
billows of a frozen hell. For the first mile or two of the de
scent we faced real dangers, to which not even the grandeur
of the scene could render us whoUy indifferent. There were
many places where the railing had been torn away between
the road and the precipice, and where a slip or a swerve of
our horses w-ould have been our destruction ; while, at any
moment, we were liable to be overwhelmed by a slide of the
melting masses of snow piled along our way, and to be swept

A TOUR IN EUROPE.. 411
down a thousand feet into the gorge below. At one tirae we
were obliged to wait while the workmen, of which there were
a large number near the summit of the pass, cleared away a
slide which had corae dovvn within the hour. But, thank God,
Vi'e accompUshed the descent without the .sUghtest accident, and
about four o'clock in the afternoon stopped to take rest and
refreshment at the first posthouse on this side the Alps, in one
of the wildest yet loveliest valleys of the Tyrol. It was com
pletely walled round by snowy mountains, and coursed through
by a swift and swoUon stream ; yet it was most luxuriant and
peaceful, carpeted by the richest turf, enamelled with flowers
in wonderful varieties and profusion. At the inn we mot a
young gentleman and lady who were to cross the Alps on foot,
intending to make Santa Maria that night ; if they reached
the suramit house, they did wonders. They were a newly-
married pair, treating themselves to a little pedestrian wedding
tour from . Berlin to Milan, accompanied by a single servant,
in handsome livery, bearing a portmanteau. They seemed
strong and fearless, and were certainly very merry ; but I can
not believe they had a "realizing sense" of what was before
them on that pass of the Stelvio. Mark Tapley himself
could never have desired finer opportunities of being "jolly
under creditable circurastances " than were enjoyed by these
enamoured adventurers during that ascent.
At Mals I spent my first night in a Tyrolese inn. I do not
say slept, for I found that the novel excitements and over
whelming emotions of the day had " murdered sleep ; " and I
tossed in subUme recollections, and toiled up mountainous
imaginations, and hung over chasms and torrents all night long.
Perhaps ray first experience of a German bed*may have had
something to do with my sleeplessness. I found myself very
unsteadily posed on what seemed to be an overstuffed bolster,
laid lengthwise, between two mere strips of linen, which
wound about me Uke bandages, upon a pillow of most dispro-

412 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
portionate size, a sort of supplementary bed, indeed, and under
a down coverlet, which wouldn't keep down in its place, but
was constantly on the wing. Such a remarkable tendency had
all the coverings to fall and fly off, so rounded and rolling was
the couch itself, that I had a curious feeling that the whole
affair revolved, and could never tell, positively, whether I was
on the bed or under. But the compactness, the cheerful
brightness, and perfeot cleanliness of a German inn, after the
forlorn vastness, the darkness and fllth, of the ordinary Italian
albergo, is more comforting and refreshing than I can tell.
The people in attendance, though slower in wit and movement
than Italian landlords and waiters, are raore sure and satisfac
tory ; and, though they do not welcome the traveller with such
a gracious show of hospitality, or take leave of him with such
an affluent expression of good feeUng, yet manifest as much
cordiality as is reasonable and will pay ; and at parting, take
their pipes out of their mouths long enough to address him a
farewell sentence, which sounds somewhat too grum and gut
tural to ears pampered by the delicious Tuscan, yet which, if
he does not understand, he takes for granted is something very
civil, and withal sincere.
To-day we have been posting from hamlet to hamlet,
through some of the wildest and most beautiful valleys of the
Tyrol. During the morning we suddenly plunged into the pass of
the Finstermunz, the darkest, dreariest, most appalUng gorge
I ever beheld. I walked through it some two miles, apart
from my friends, that I might feel to the utmost the grandeur,
the loneliness, the desolate horror of the scene. It did not
seem like a natural pass, but a fearful chasm, where the rocks
had been violently cleft asunder — a narrow gulf, black and
profound, overhung by barren and icy raountains, and with an
angry torrent roaring and raging hundreds of feet below the
road, which wound along rocky ledges, close upon frightful

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 413
precipices. The day was storray, and the winds came shriek
ing ' and howling down tho pass Uke an invisible army of
fiends, rattling down small slate stones upon us, and whirling
us along in a tremendous cloud of dust. Yet whenever I
reached a sheltered spot whore I could pause and look back,
below, above, ray very soul revelled in that stern, defiant deso
lation, in that black, embattled array of craggy steeps, in the
hoarse roar of the torrent, even in the rush and surge of the
winds and the boding moan of the rising storm.
I cannot tell with what a sense of exultation I hoard away
the experiences of the last two days. I have been with Na
ture in her most secret and soleran haunts. I have been with
God upon the " everlasting hills ; " and the grand scenes there
graved upon my soul, and the conceptions of the infinite it
there boldly grasped, are its eternal possession. I know that
no wildest flood of sorrow, no utmost shock of misfortune, can
sweep away or destroy thera now, and that they will help to
lift me to that purer region, where the passionate human heart
is stilled, where the spirit only lives, where the " mortal puts
on immortality." INNSBRUCK, June 15.
We reached this city last evening, after a very pleasant
day's journey through picturesque Tyrolese valleys. At Imst,
a village shut in by mountains, we found a large gathering of
the peasants at an annual shooting match. We spent a half
hour on the ground, when we saw some admirable shots, and
had a flne opportunity of seeing the costumes of this part of
the Tyrol. Some of these raountaineers are splendid-looking
men, compactly and powerfully built, and displaying their
strength to flne advantage in the management of their rifles,
which are immensely heavy, but which they lift and level as
though they were roods.
We noticed several gentlemen mingling in the sport, and
35*

414 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
trying their skill with the peasants, and one priest, who seemed
full of the spirit of the occasion, and was an excellent shot.
I really venerate that reverend father, for he is almost the
only one of his class I have seen, since I came abroad, whose
manhood does not seem utterly smothered by his gown.
The costumes of tho Tyrolese mon are not very handsome,
but are suitable and manly. The greater part of the dress of
the women is also adrairable ; but sorae of thera wear a high,
heavy hat, of black fur, like a grenadier's cap, which is quite
hideous and senseless. Tho children, in dress and air, are
reduced raen and women — the quaintest, quietest, absurdest
Uttle creatures imaginable.
All the men and boys smoke ; all the women and girls work
in the fields. I saw a young woman, a day or two since, cut
ting hay in a broiling sun, while her husband lounged under a
tree and tended the baby ; and yesterday we overtook two
women, toiling up a hiU, .actually harnessed to a heavy cart
with a donkey. Yet they seem happy enough, and show no
signs of extreme degradation or poverty.
With almost every step now, I feel myself in a completely
different world from the one I left on the sunnier side of the
Alps. I miss the splendor of tho skies, the soft, luxuriant
beauty of the landscapes of Italy. I miss the large, dark,
languid eyes, the wealth of raven hair, the glow of the oUve
skins, and the sweet, melodious tongue of her people. But I
miss also the decay, the degeneracy, the want, and the wrong
of that land, and the hopeless indolence, the dumb despair,
of that people. The Tyrolese are content — it -may be from
ignorance and stupidity, but stiU content ; while the Italians,
secretly burning for vengeance and for freedom, find their
hands pinioned, and feel their hot hearts ground under the iron
heel of oppression.
This is the most loyal and devotional part of the Tyrol.

A TO'UR IN EUKOFB. 415
You see in every house a portrait of the young Emperor, and
any number of sacred prints, crucifixes, and receptacles for
holy water. The wayside shrines and figures of Christ, of
which there are groat numbers, are of the rudest character —
many of them utterly revolting. I saw to-day a full-length
Christ on the Cross, which had been ingeniously put to use as
a fountain, a water pipe coming out of the wound in the side.
You often see this flgure wreathed with flowers, and hung
about with a strange variety of toy-like offerings.
Innsbruck is a well-built, cheerful town, on the River Inn,
in a charming valley, encompassed by mountains, which,
though not high, are yet crowned with snow.
There are very few regular sights at Innsbruck, yet we find
it a very agreeable resting-place. In the Cathedral is the
famous monuraent of the Eraperor Maxirailian, a handsome
and curious work ; some bronze statues, which are very won
derful for tho time frora which they date ; and the tomb of
Hofer, tho eloquent Tyrolese peasant leader, who was shot at
Mantua, by the order of Napoleon. There is a fine monument,
surraounted by a statue of Hofer, erected over his grave by
the late eraperor. »
We have visited several other churches, which we found
rich and Ught, but rather too gaudy in their decorations — and
a portion of tho Capuchin convent, a grim suite of apart
ments, elaborately rough and rude, where the Emperor Max-
imiUan yearly retired to spend the forty days of Lent in
prayer and mortification. 'R would be odd enough to see the
present youthful Kaiser take up this saintly role. The palace, a
singularly plain, republican-looking edifice, contains nothing of-
interest except a large nuraber of portraits of the royal faraily
of Austria. It is curious that among them all there is but one
really beautiful face — that of poor Marie Antoinette. There
is also an interesting museum here, with a small gallery of
modern pictures, mostly by Tyrolese artists ^- which sights

416 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
we have duly done. In addition, we have driven out into the
country, and saw the town from the heights, where it shows
small, but looks what it is — a snug, quiet, unpretending,
respectable old place.
' Tagernsee, Bataria, June 18.
We left Innsbruck on the morning of the 16th, for Munich,
by the way of the Achenthalsee and the Tagernsee, two
lovely mountain lakes. But we have had Uttle enjoyment of
picturesque scenery along the route, as we have come thus
far in a heav}- and incessant rain. The mountains have been
wrapped in mist, the streams black and angry, the road in places
overflowed, and the valleys having every where a drenched,
half-drowned look, doleful to the last degree. Here we are de
tained for a day or two by the flood and the destruction- of a
bridge. We are fortunately in very comfortable quarters at
a well-kept inn, on tho lake. The only objection to the house
is in its peculi-ar water privileges. The lake rose rapidly last
night. I heard tho waves surging against the foundations of
the building, and bringing pieces of floating timber to bear
upon thera like battering rams ; and I went to sleep at last with
the not oveif-comfortable consciousness that I might find my
self off on a little aquatic excursion before morning. To
day wo are nearly surrounded by water, and the first part of
the road towards Munich has quite disappeared. Yet, though
it still rains steadily, the flood is not now rising very fast.
This morning we have been to the village church to witness
the rite of confirmation by the* Archbishop. There was a
great gathering of the peasants, and an unusual show of cos
tumes on the occasion. The confirmees came out very gayly,
the heads of all the girls, being elaborately dressed with flow
ers, ribbons, and gold lace, and curled and plaited into all man
ner of absurdities. The women wore full, stiff skirts, falling
but a Uttle below the knee, jackets of a different color, with a
peculiar tip up behind, and immense mutton-leg sleeves, which

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 417
nearly met on the shoulders, and made themselves doubly
hideous by great round caps of black fur or plush, crowded
down to the eyebrows.
The costume of the Tyrolese men consists of smallclothes,
with black or white stockings, a jacket somewhat elaborately
braided, cravat and waistcoat of some bright color, and the
pointed hat, usually dark green. Many of the woraen adopt
the dress of the men for laboring in the field, and look all the
better for it. We have seen hundreds of these "femmes
emancipe.es" as our courier calls them, digging and spading
lustily ; and a healthy, hearty, and withal merry set they seem.
From the window of the inn, the other evening, I watched a
group of ten or twelve at work, weeding a field of wheat.
The rain was falling fast, as it had been aU day ; yet, when
the vesper bell rung, they dropped upon their knees, and re
mained at their devotions for nearly ten minutes. After
changing their wet, masculine habiliments for comfortable
female gear in a barn near by, they came into the inn for
their supper. I saw them at that primitive repast. They sat
about a round table, and ate a sort of porridge out of one large
dish, seasoning the sorry meal with jest and laughter.
" O young and jolhj creatures,"
ye raay be ignorant, and stupid, and lamentably superstitious ;
may fall considerably behind ideal womanhood ; but for my
Ufe I cannot find it in my heart to pity you. Full chested,
vigorously limbed, strong backed, firm footed, ye defy storm
and hardship, and rejoice in sternest labor ; ye are never
troubled by fine stomachic sensibilities ; ye know nothing of
the toU of the brain, of the conflicts of the spirit, of the tragic
sorrows of the heart, of the exquisite agonies of the nerves.
You are robust, and plump, and bounteously blooded, bearing
yourselves, in your brown bloom, with the unconscious inso
lence of rustic health. You have simple habits, few wants,

418 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
and believing hearts ; so plant and reap, hoe and spade, carry
burdens, yoke yourselves with donkeys, if you will, reverence
the priest, servo your beer-drinking and meerschaum-smoking
masters. It is your raission, frora which I should think twice
ere I would call you to a condition in which every beautiful
taste is an insatiable longing, every exquisite refinement but
a subtilized pain, every high-wrought passion tho exhaustless
source of suffering. Munich, June 22.
We reached this city on the evening of the 19th, after an
uninteresting day's journey through a flat and flooded country.
Munich lies low, upon the Iser, and is tho reverse of pic
turesque or imposing in its natural site, plan, and style of
buUding. It is a pleasant, handsome town, with a most un-
continental newness of look, and rivalUng Washington in
" magnificent distances." Its chief beauty is a fine park,- in
the English style, containing charming drives and walks, arti
ficial lakes and magnificent trees. Its finest edifices are those
erected by tho ex-king, who, if he did not always display the
purest taste in art or original ideas in architecture, showed a
commendable zeal and a disinterested devotion in improving
his capital. All the principal public buildings here are imi
tations of w-ell-known structures in older cities, forming a
soraewhat odd conjunction. The new palace is a weak re
production of tho Pitti at Florence, with which it raust in
every point be unfavorably cqmparod. Internally it is not at
all to my taste, being gaudy, with much gilding and high col
oring, stucco imitations of rich marbles, and great, glaring
frescoes, in the most melodramatic style. The throne room
is a very tasteless, if not an absolutely vulgar, apartment. It
is lined on both sides with immense gilt statues, in hue of a
greenish yellow ; it has no hangings except about the throne,
no ornaments except sickly gildings ; altogether, it has a
frightfully new, bare, and shiny appearance.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 419
There are in this palace two rooras containing a collection,
painted for the ex-king, of portraits of modern beauties. In
the first of these saloons,' in the central place, tho place of
honor indeed, hangs tho portrait of Lola Montez. It is an
admirable likenes-s, representing her in a Spanish costume, ex
quisitely adapted to her style. There are in this collection
far nobler and lovelier faces than hers, but none of a beauty so
powerful, yet subtle, so magnetic and inthralling.
Tho house in which she lived when created Countess of
Landsfeldt was shown us by our vcdet de place. It is a cottage,
plain and simple, very little in character with the dashing and
passionate adventuress.
In the gallery of sculpture we saw three very noble antique
figures — tho Barberini Faun, and two sons of Niobe, one
prostrate, dead ; the other kneeling, shrinking from the impend
ing bolt. The Faun is a powerful figure, half reclining, as
though surprised by a deep noonday slumber. The whole
forra is wonderfully expressive of tho utmost luxury of deep-
breathed repose without weariness, of the momentary relaxa
tion of great strength ; through all the limbs, to the least
muscle, it is full of lusty sleep.
Of the sons of Niobe, the kneeling figure lacks the head
and part of the arms ; yet it is one of the most touching and
powerful works of sculpture I have ever beheld. It is an
almost girlishly tender and delicate form, the very ideal of
that blooming youth to whom life is beautiful, entreating for
life, and shrinking away from death with instinctive horror.
It is not the wild terror of the boy, but the mournful, pas
sionate remonstrance of the undeveloped man, inexpressibly
more piteous. The very marble seems to cry out. The pros
trate figure is of one struck down in the prime and pride of
manly beauty and strength. The face wears an expression
half submissive, half defiant. You feel that he died giving
no sign of dread or entreaty.

420 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
There is also a head of Medusa, dead — so dead that it al
most strikes a death chill into you as you look at it. The
marble seems doubly stony and cold, and even seems to have
a peculiar, ghastly, greenish hue.
Among the modern sculptures we saw the Paris of Canova,
the finest figure I have yet seen from his hand ; and the Adonis
of Thorwaldsen, in grace and delicate finish not surpassing
the Paris, but bathed in that beautiful ideal life, the highest
poetic element, the subtle essence of the olden divinity, which,
to my eye, the classic works of Canova always lack.
The Pinacoteck is a large gallery for paintings, built by the
ex-king — a handsome building, containing a valuable and
interesting collection. Here I saw many of the greatest pic
tures of Rubens ; and I must confess that I was pleasantly im
pressed by very few, and absolutely revolted by the coarse
ness of most. I know of nothing in painting more disgusting
than his rude figures in the Last Judgment and kindred pic
tures. This gallery is especially rich in Vanderwerfs and
Vandykes, and has several of the most admirable works of
Wouvorman and Teniers.
Of the Italian school, there is a Holy Family, by Titian, a
very lovely picture, and, among several portraits by this mas
ter of masters, one which delighted me beyond expression.
It is the figure of a man, richly dressed in dark velvets and
furs, if I remember rightly. The head is noble, the face
sternly beautiful, with a strong resemblance to the artist him
self. This picture, which would otherwise be too dark, is
splendidly lit up in the background by the figure of a wo
man — one of those rich, ripe beauties, with golden, effulgent
hair, in which Titian so revelled in painting.
The churches of Munich, after all we have seen, do not
impress us much ; even the just completed Basilica failed to
move us to wonder or adrairation, much to the astonishment
of our valet de place. But I believe it quite impossible for- a

A TOUE IN EUROPE. 421
new cathedral to produce the effect of grandeur or so
lemnity. In the Church of St. Michael we saw the tomb of Eugene
Beauharnois, with Thorwaldsen's monument. This, though
beautiful, is not a high expression of the genius of that no
ble artist. With the exception of the figure of Beauhai-nois,
which is very fine, tho work is comparatively commonplace.
We yesterday visited the great bronze foundery, where sev
eral of the figures of Crawford's Washington Monument are
now being cast, and afterwards drove out to the race course
to soe the colossal statue of Bavaria, the largest bronze figure
in the world. It is sixty-one and a half foot in height, and
stands on a pedestal twenty-eight and 'a half feet high. This
tremendous figure is so adrairably proportioned, and so beau
tiful withal, that it appears far less colossal than it is, and
not till you ascend it do you fully reaUze its enormous size.
We wont up into the head, where there is a nice little apart
ment, well lit and aired, with comfortable seats, and capable
of holding tvyelve persons.
The King of Bavaria, who, for several months past, has
been travelling in the south of Europe for the benefit of his
health, returned to his capital on the evening of the 20th.
The entree was quite a brilliant affair. The streets through
which he passed were beautifully decorated : there was a fine
military display, find the people, who were out in great num
bers, received the royal cortege with loyal shouts.
Last night we saw their Majesties at the opera. They sat
in a side box, dressed very simply — the King with not even
a star or ribbon to distinguish hira from a private gentleman.
When they entered, the house rose and gave the usual ex
pression of enthusiastic loyalty ; the King smiled, and bowed
some dozen times ; the Queen, who is a very pretty woman, by
the way, looked duly delighted ; the curtain rose, and thence
forward the operatic king and queen ruled the scene. The
36

422 HAPS AND MISHAPS.
opera was Richard Coeur de Lion — well brought out, and
tolerably well sung. In the spoken parts, the German, which
I do not know at all. produced an odd effect upon my ear. It
seemed strangely like my own language, in a state of fusion
and confusion. I felt that, if I vi-ere a little nearer, I could
understand it — or if the actors would -ijot swaUow some of
their words, and gulp up others in such an extraordinary
manner. It seemed, throughout, a sort of broken, or rather
drunken, English.
Tho opera commenced at seven, and closed at half past
nine — such are the primitive hours of this capital. There
is about the house itself an almost republican simplicity —
there being not more than ten private boxes, and they but
little decorated. There were neither brilliant lights nor
elaborate toUets — all was quiet and unostentatious. We
were even told that the King and Queen walked from the
palace to the opera house without any retinue — which cer-
tainlj' proves that they are not particularly proud, or "stuck
up," as a Yankee would say. This King has never been
crowned, having wisely concluded to spare the state an enor
mous and unnecessary expense.

CHAPTER XIX.
Steasboueg, the Cathedral. — Paris. — Annual Exhibition ov
Painting and Scupltuee. — Tub Empeuoe and Empeess. — Ab
del Kadeu. — London. — A Tale of a Hat. — Feederio Feeili-
ORATH. — Sie Henry Bishop. -—Me. and Mes. S. C. Hall. — RcN-
kymead. — The Camp at Choeham. — Pontooxing at Viegixia
Water. — Conversazione at the Lord Mayoe's. — Distixguisited
Goests. — The Duchess of Sutherland. — Crystal Palace at
Sydenham. — Ascent of St. Paul's. — Consumption Hospital. —
Geeman Play. — Emil Devrient. — A farewell Visit to Kos
suth. — Mazzini. — Adieux. Pa ris, June 27.
I LEFT Munich on tho evening of the 22d, and arrived
here on that of the 24th. Our journey to Strasbourg, via
Ulm, Stutgard, and Carlsruhe, was. very fatiguing, and espe
cially disagreeable, frora the floods of rain which fell w-ithout
cessation. This can nover be called a picturesque route, I
think ; though, when viewed under a pleasant sun, it may
present a smiling, well-cultivated aspect. But seen as I saw
it, through a thick, watery veil, and half whelmed, it seemed
, but a dreary, weary, raelancholy country.
At Strasbourg, by rising earl}-, I was able to spend a half
hour in and about the Cathedral. It is a glorious old edifice
— not so wondrously wrought, so aerially beautiful, as that of
Milan, but raore grand and solemn — not so inspiring, but
more impressive. The clock in this cathedral is accounted
one of the wonders of the world as a piece of mechanism. It
is certainly a curious and beautiful work, though we did not
see it at the rao.st desirable time, twelve o'clock, when the
twelve apostles, life size, corae out and bow before the figure
(423)

424 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
of the Savior, and a large cock claps his wings and crows
three times.
On the journey from Strasbourg to Paris, I unfortunately
took a severe cold, which, for two days after my arrival, con
fined me almost entirely to my roora. Yet, had I been well,
I could have done very little in the way of sightseeing, as it
rained incessantly.
To-day, finding myself better and the weather quite charm
ing, I have been able, through my kind friends Mr. and Mrs.
Goodrich and their family, to get a little taste of Paris, as
any thing like heavy business in the sightseeing line was quite
out of the question. We first spent a couple of hours at the
gallery for the Annual Exhibition of Painting'and Sculpture.
Among a great multitude of pictures, there were few which
impressed me as evidencing genius of a high order ; but many
display great cleverness, with originality bordering on the
bizarre, and startling with melodramatic effects peculiarly
French. The greatest Parisian artists, such as De la Hoche
and Schoeffer, consider it infra dig. to send pictures to the
exhibition ; yet there were some here well worthy to bear the
name of any living genius. Among the portraits, those of ^the
Emperor and Empress attracted the most attention. Louis
Napoleon has a mean, ill-propojtionod figure, and an irredeem
ably ugly face ; but the Empress is certainly a most beautiful
woman. In this picture, a full length, said to be the best
yet taken,, she looks more lovely than stately, and far more
pensive than prou^. She here quite lacks the dashing, dis
dainful air I looked to ^eo ; there is a weary, s'ad drooping of
the corners of the mouth, and a quiet but an intense trouble
about the eyes and brow very touching to see. You fool that
the poor creature has sold herself, and found the bargain a
hard one. My friends in Paris tell me she is remarkably sirg-
ple in dress and manner, and that she is much liked at court,
but that nothing like the enthusiastic public demonstrations we

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 425
see reported ever fakes place. The people are curious to see
her, but at no time hearty or lavish in their " vives." Even
on the occasion of the Emperor presenting her to them, on
the evening after her marriage, on the balcony of tho palace
of the Tuileries, they received her in sullen or stupid silence.
A young American assured mo that he felt tho blood boil in
his veins at seeing a woman thus treated, and sent up with all
the power of his lungs a soUtary, desperate " vive Vlmpera-
trice ! "
With all their flattering and somewhat fussy gallantry, the
French have no chivalrous regard, no real respect, for woman.
As for a"ny sentiraent of loyalty, that's quite out of the que.s-
tion, being one of the obsolete ideas. The young Empress is
said to have a raost unitnperial dislike of court etiquette, and,
by setting it at defiance, sometimes to bring upon her head
tho displeasure of his august Majesty. At a late court ball,
in great joy at raeeting an old friend, instead of presenting one
hand to be kissed, she gave both, to the horror of the Era
peror, who hissed out, "Madame, vous oubliez que vous etes
V Imperatrice ! "
While in this gallery I noticed a little incident which could
hardly have occurred in any other place than Paris. As we
were sitting before a large battle piece representing some en
gagement of the late war in Algiers, a French dragoon came
up, and began examining it with a keen, professional interest.
Scarcely had ho stood there two minutes when ho was joined
by a black-bearded, big-trousered Algerine ; and together they
quietly contemplated a scene in which it is possible they had
both been actors. This reminds me of a Uttle anecdote I
heard to-day of Abdel Kader. At the visit which he paid to
Versailles, soon after his release, the attendants refrained, from
feeUngs of delicacy, from showing him those pictures com
memorating the war in Algiers. But he had heard of them,
and insisted on seeing thera now. He stood for a long time
36 •

426 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
before Horace Vernet's magnificent picture. La Prise de I3
Smala d' Abdel Kader, and at last turned away with the quiet
but significant remark, "If I had artists, Z" would have some
pictures painted."
In the sculpture gallery I saw nothing which called forth
much admiration ; but I was not a little struck by seeing, in a
conspicuous place, a bust of Louis Napoleon, crowned with the
imperial laurel, side by side with the head of Christ crowned
with thorns. This most unnatural juxtaposition seemed to me,
at the moment, little short of blasphemy.
A drive in the Champs Elysees, and a stroU in the gardens of
the Tuileries, and a pleasant evening with my pleasant friends,
completed my second visit to Paris ; to-morrow I shall be
over the channel. My present state of health renders quiet
necessary, and makes me long inexpressibly for rest in a
comfortable English home, among my dear English friends. I
am, I fancy, a tolerably contented icosmopolitan, save in times
of sadness and sickness, when my heart cries out for its kin
dred, and strange scenes and strange faces oppress and appall
mo. I feel, in going to England, if not precisely like going
to my own mother's house, at least fo my grandmother's,
where I shall be welcomed, cared for, counselled, indulged,
and made to feel myself deUciously at home. God bless the
dear, stately, aristocratic old lady !
,»»- Blackheath Park, near London, July 12.
I reached ttiy haven of rest two weeks ago to-day ; but I
have been nearly all the time since in a strange state of phys
ical and mental languor — the exhaustion and reaction after
many months of exertion and excitement. It has not seemed
so much like indisposition as like convalescence after a great
illness. There have been- days when, had my Ufe depended
on it, I could not have written a line ; when I could not read

i. TOUR. IN EUROPE. 4^7
or talk ; could only sit hour after hour in the garden, in poor
Clifford's dreamy, languid way, watching the birds, the leaves,
and the flowers, or the shadows of the clouds flowing over the
lawn. I have felt, as never before, the blessed relief of being
tended, cared for, planned for, after having long been obliged
to act and look out for myself. The wondrous beauty of Eng
land at this season seems to have rendered back to me much
of the strength and joy of life. I think I am better ; and I
hope I am gaining some control over my undisciplined mental
forces. They all seemed to havedeserted at one time, and now
seem to come slowly straggling back.
Once, during my first week here, I ventured out of my
quiet retreat into town to see some friends. The day wa?
pleasant, and aU the world was abroad. But the rush and
roar of London life, the endless succession, the torrent-Uke
sweep, of busy crowds, which once inspired me, stunned and
overwhelmed me now. There was something fearful, almost
maddening, about it, against which I felt impelled to shut my
eyes and stop my ears. And then I had a private little griev
ance, which not a little disturbed me. When at Paris, I iiad
purchased one of the bonnets of tho season, which, as every
one knows, are small beyond precedeht, without reflecting that
I was bound for a country where the ladies display in nothing
their characteristic modesty and reserve raore than in bonnets,
at least those for the ordinary promenade, retiring into pro
found depths of leghorn and lace, and sometimes cloistering
themselves in the shades of huge " uglies."
The Parisian milliner of whom I purchased the above-
mentioned bonnet, who was a reduced comtesse, and had her
arms blazoned on the plafond of the show room, was so com
plaisant as to go into ecstasies over the effect when I tried it
on, crying, "Cestjoli! charmant! parfait!" I saw that it
was becoming, peculiarly so ; and she assured me it was not
dear; so I took it, with -no fearful looking for of Cockney

428 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
indignation, surely. Well, as I descended from my chamber,
equipped for my expedition into town, I noticed that the friend
who was to accompany mo looked a little struck up ; but I con
cluded it was with admiration at the ton of the thing — and
perhaps it was. At the station, while waiting for the train,
I had a strong suspicion that a remark I overheard, of
"My eyes! them is poppies,'' referred to a trifle, in the deco- •
rative way, belonging to my bonnet. In the railway carriage
I found myself an object of rather curious regard — but this
I attributed to a certain foreign air I may have picked up on
the continent ; and it was not till I was walking down Regent
Street that I was convinced as to tho cause of tho sensation I
produced. " The head and front of my offending " was my
unfortunate bonnet. It was stared at and comraontod upon
without raercy ; shop boys pronounced it " the last Paris stun
ner ; " shop girls lifted their eyebrows, and said, " O, my ! " and
an impudent young footman, as he passed me,' looked up into
my face with a shrill, significant whistle. At last, in very
desperation, I rushed into a shop and purchased a black lace
veil, with which I quite extinguished my " stunner,'' poppies
and all.
After what I have said of the imperative need I have felt
for rest, I need hardly add that I have avoided society as
much as possible, seeing only the friends with whom I was
most intimate during my former visit. We have had one
pleasant dinner party at Mr. B-  's, in honor of the char;n-
ing Mrs. Le Vert, of Mobile, who, with her father and
daughter, has lately come abroad. Among the guests were
Mr. and Mrs. Crosland, Sir Henry Bishop, and Frederic
FreiUgrath. Mrs. Crosland has long been known in America
as CamiUa Toulmin, a delightful authoress ; but we know her
also as a noble woman. Sir Homy Bishop is a quiet, cold,
gentlemanly person, who bears no outward sign of that shock
of domestic misfortune which must have shaken his souL

A TOUB IN EUROPE. 429
FreiUgrath looks the poet, inthe real, not the romantic, sense.
His is a handsome, powerful head, borne with unconscious
dignity — a flne, glowing, honest face. He is still earnest and
hopeful in his devption to European freedom ; not alone his,
words, but the tones of his voice, are heroic and inspiring.
We have just returned from Firfleld, Addlestone, the beau
tiful and fairy-like home of Mr. and Mrs. S. C. Hall, where,
we spent three delightful ancl memorable days. I have never
seen a place Uke Firfleld; such an exquisite blending of
lu2;ury and comfort, such a joint creation of poetry and art,
displaying evevy where an affluence and reflnement of fancy,
yet breathing the true home atmosphere. Like poets and
lo.vers of all beauty as they are, Mr. and Mrs. HaU havQ
chosen their residence iu a lovely and storied neighborhood.
It is near the pleasa,ftt little town of Cliertsey, and withiin
easy drives of Virgiiiia, Water, Windsor, Claremont, Runny-
mead, Cooper's Hill, immortalized by the poet Denham ; Ann's
I^ill, as the residence of Fox ; the house of- Cowley, and the^
tomb of Louis PhiUppe.
Runnymead is a rich piece of meadow land, lying on the
Thames, and flttingly and impressively left in almost its an
cient wildness and beauty. It is supposed that King John
signed t^e Charter on a small island, formerly separated from
the mead where the barons were encamped, by a narrow
current, though now by the larger part of the Thames. This
has, for centuries, borne the name of Magna Charta Island;
and there are upon it six immemorial walnuts, planted in a.
circle, in commeraoration, it is supposed, of the glorious event,,
and to mayk the exact spot hy an endurable record. It
was not without emotion that I stood within the circle of these
majestic living monuments of that grand though bloodless vic
tory of freedom over despotism, and proudly claimed my
shai-e in the benefits and the glories dating from that day —
the source an4 the spul of the greatness and power qf ti^ie.

430 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
Anglo-Saxon race. In looking from the island, so still and
lonelj', and alraost primitively wild, showed mead, and wood,
and hiU, that the iraagination wrought without hinderance,
charraed you back into the olden time, and pictured vividly
the cruel and cowardly king, pale with fear, and lowering
w-ith ineffectual rage ; and, on the opposite shore, the bold
barons, in their beautiful, appalling array. , So completely
¦was I able to lose myself, for a time, in such scenes of the
warlike, half-barbarous past, that it seemed like a great leap
down the centuries to visit next day the camp at Chobham.
This was a strangely interesting, a peculiar and beautiful, but,
I fear, an utterly indescribable sight. Imagine a brown, tree
less heath — a wide, wild, uneven plain, white with tents, and
alive with horse and foot — guards, lancers, Highlanders,
grays, blues, greens, grenadiers, artillerymen, sappers and
miners, &c., &c. There was no review at the camp on the
day of our visit, but at Virginia Water we witnessed a gallant
display. There ^Vas a review in the Park of five thousand
troops ; and we saw the artillery cross the water upon pon
toons, which were afterwards formed into rafts, for the pas
sage of the infantry, whose embarkation and debarkation
formed a series of magnificent pictures.
I think I never saw such splendid fighting mon as the High
landers. With brawny, towering flgures, with sinews of steel,
and hard, cold, unflinching faces, they yet look neither cruel,
nor stupid, nor suUen. They have none of the Austrian
brutality and bloodthirstiness about them ; they have all the
humanities — they are yet men.
On the night of the 14th there came off a grand conversa
zione at the Mansion House, which we attended. There had
boon nearly two thousand invitations issued. There w-ere
present, I suppose, at least fifteen hundred people ; yet none
of the rooms — except it be the supper room — were uncom
fortably crowded. The Lord Mayor and the Lady Mayoress

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 431
received their guests with a simple cordiality, which reminded
me of the manner in which our President and his family re
ceive. Indeed, the whole affair, but for the gorgeous, quaint,
old-time livei-y of tho servants, would have seemed very Uke
a levee at the White House. But ne^er yet have so many
distinguished pdople como together at any one gathering in
America. We early took a position near the Lord Mayor and the
Lady Mayoress, where we could have a good view of the
notabiUties as thoy were announced and presented.
Sir Charles Eastlake and'Sir Edward Laiidseor entered
nearly at the same time. Tliey arc both short and stout, the
latter especially so, yet apparently quick to nervousness in
his movement, as ho entered tho drawing room \vith a sort
of plunge, as though violently propelled. A striking contrast
w-as presented by Miss Strickland and Miss Pardoe ; the for
mer, in her towering figure, formal raanner, and solemn tones,
reproducing much of tho antique stateliness of tho early
" Queens ; " the latter, though past the first bloom of youth,
still plump and pretty, cheerful, chatty, and charming.
There w-as Mary Howitt, with her pleasant, sympathetic
face, aglow with kindly animation, and her lovely daughter,
who, beside being an artist of rare poetic genius, has lately
taken to authorship, and produced a very successful book.
There was George Cruikshank, a rather eccentric individual,
vvith long, straggling locks ; and Martin Tupper, as ruddy and
smiUng, frank and warmhearted, as ever ; and Dr. Bowring,
who has just retumed from China, a taU, thin raan in specta
cles, who was soon surrounded by a crowd of friends, to whom
ho talked in a merry, animated manner, not at all in the sa-
vanisli stylo. Then there -was Risk Allah, the secretary of
the Turkish embassy, a handsome young Oriental, who is a
good deal lionized just now, on account of a very clever book
he has lately written in English. There, was Albert Smith,

'432 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
who flung his jokes right and left as he passed through the
crowd, and left a wake of laughter behind him; Charles
¦Mackay, the poet of the people, the whole-souled and true-
hearted man ; and Mary Cowden Clarke, of Shakspearian
fame. Most of the foreign ministers were present, and a number
of the highest nobility. The Duchess of Sutherland came
with her son-in-law, the young Duke of Argyle. She was
dressed simply, in white, with a few flowers at the baCk of her
hair, and a single diamond ornament, throbbing like a star upon
her forehead. Her Grace is a younger but a less beautiful
woman than I expected to see. Her beauty of face is by no
means regular and perfect, and she is very Stout ; but the tout
ensemble is striking and imposing in the highest degree. She
has a gracious but a most regal expression, and in her manner
and bearing there is a wonderful union of pride and softness,
of stateliness and grace.
Altogether she is a grand-looking woman, for whom some
high title would have been invented had she been born in a
republic — so royal, so absolutely imperial, is her presence.
The Duke of Argyle is a small, delicate, red-haired young
man, redeemed from plainness and insignificance, even by the
side of his majestic raother-in-law, by an expression of great
cleverness and refinement.
We had fine music throughout the evening, and dancing
during the latter part; but the chief pleasure was, of course,
in conversation. Altogether, it was a brilliant and delightful
entertainment — a golden occasion, to bo long and pleasantly
remembered. This afternoon we have visited and gone over the Crystal
Palace at Sydenham. It is admirably situated on an erai
nence coramanding rich and beautiful views in every direction.
It is an immense ediflce, and wiU be, when finished, one ofthe
wonders of the world.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 433
The sculpture gaUeries promise to be very complete. They
already contain fine plaster copies of the most celebrated an
cient and modern works, an immense assemblage. But all is
as yet unarranged. There is to be a Pompeian department,
wherein several of the finest houses of Pompeii are to be
accurately reproduced. Five or six years hence, the Crystal
Palace will be a glorious place. May I then be there to see !
Now it is a strangely noisy and confused scene — resounding
with aU the tumult of toil, an absolute storm of hammers and
chisels. Many of the workmen are foreigners. I asked one in the
sculpture gallery some questions respecting a statue he was
finishing up, and he replied in ItaUan — the sweet, silvery
Tuscan. How my heart leaped to hear it, and warmed to
wards that poor, sad-eyed Florentine, as towards a brother !
It is strange with what a mournful, tender, yearning love I
remember Italy, and how more and more keenly I feel the
wrongs and oppressions under which her people groan ; and
stronger and deeper grows my faith that the day of her Uber-
ation is at hand — that I shall live to see it.
LONDON, July 20.
Yesterday I ascended St. Paul's, not to the ball, but to the
highest outer gallery below. The day was unluckily misty,
so we did not have a very extensive ¦view, but stiU saw enough
of the wonderful world of London to overwhelm rae with
amazement and awe.
The interior of St. Paul's, bare and cold as it is, struck me
as in the last degree dismal, after seeing the cathedrals of the
continent, with their warmth, and splendor, and gorgeous
accessories. St. Paul's, with aU its cold, gray, resounding spaces, with
its begrimed frescoes and dingy monumental statuary, has,
for all its grandeur, a dreary, unattractive, comfortless aspect ;
37

434 HAPS AND MISHAPS OF
convincing evidence, I should say, of the woful unfitness of
great cathedrals for the simplicity of Protestant worship. I
trust in Heaven the tirae is not far distant when Christian
people will no longer pile their wealth in vast structures to
God's honor, but, by sharing their abundance with his poor,
make darkened huraan lives beautiful, fill sad human souls'
with the voice of praise and prayer, make erring human hearts
the temples of his Spirit.
A day or two since I visited an adrairable charitable insti
tution — a hospital for consumption and diseases of the chest
-^ at Brompton. This is a handsome Gothic edifice, in a
peculiarly healthful and open situation, surrounded by pleas
ant grounds. I was happy to find that the physicians here
depend more upon kind nursing, a carefully-regulated tem
perature and diet, than upon medicine, though they speak of
wonderful cures wrought by cod-liver oil. Most of the pa
tients seeraed very cheerful, and many were engaged in rea'd-
ing or light needlework. Every where prevailed the utmost
order, cleanliness, and comfort.
Among the incurables there was one young girl, a mere child
of thirteen or fourteen years, whose face and manner I shaU
never forget. She was an angel of beauty and sweetness; sad,
but quiet, she lay with a most pathetic patience, awaiting the
call to her unknown home. In the shattered bark of her
young life, she was already afloat on that soleran sea that beats
against the eternal shore ; and the half-tiraid, half-eager out-
looking of her tender eyes towards that better land was some
thing inexpressibly touching to behold.
This hospital is supported by voluntary subscription. None
but the very poor are admitted ; though so great is its reputa
tion, that many applications are made by people of fortune.
A year or two since, a lady gained admission under the char
acter of a pauper — remained several months, and was dis
charged cured. She then revealed herself, accompanying her
confession with a liberal donation.

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 435
Last night we attended the St. James Theatre, where the
celebrated German company, headed by Emil Devrient, are
now playing. The piece was SchiUor's tragedy of the Bride of
Messina — a splendid reading play, but rather slow in repre
sentation, from its being in the Greek form, with choruses, and
from the preposterously long speeches put into the mouths of
the principal actors. Yet the performance was, throughout,
pleasing for its truth and simpUcity, and for its being so
equally and thoroughly sustained. Devrient is an admirable
artist, who does not depend upon strengtli of lungs, on fierce
frowns or hoarse whispers, points or poses, to throw over his
audience the mastery of his genius. His power is subtile
rather than startling ; it pervades his entire performance, ahd
permeates it with nature and passion. He is a man of forty,
slight and pale, not handsome in the ordinary acceptation of
the term — but there are times, in passages of love or heroism,
when his face shows marvellously youthful and beautiful, and
his fineSclassic head reminds you of that of a young Greek
god. His manner is marked by a high-bred propriety, a
princely dignity, strongly enough in contrast with the strut and
rant of many of our actors, who literally " fret their brief hour
on the stage." His voice is strong and clear, and has a sweet,
thrilling, searching quality far rarer. It is always in harmony
with the sentiment and in abeyance to nature.
Since I came into town I have seen — I cannot but fear for
the last time — Kossuth and Mazzini. I saw the former at
his house in St. John'^s Wood, a cottage buried in deep foliage,
a quiet, lonely, shadowy retreat, most poetically fitted for the
tarrying-place of the exile waiting and working fbr a better
day. He looks in firmer health than when with us, and bears
up gaUantly under disappointment, detraction, the calumny of
foes, the desertion of summer friends, and the heai'tsickness of
hope deferred.
Again I felt my whole nature bend before the simple, un-

436 HAPS AND Mishaps of
conscious, yet almost superhuman power of his presence. As
I saw in his deep eyes the unwasted fire of his long-baffled
purpose ; as I heard again his wonderful voice, with all its pro
found and melancholy sweetness, and its strange, prophet-Uke
tones, which seem to be calling down to us from a better and
a nobler age to come ; when I saw in aU his presence the
transfiguring splendor of his heroic enthusiasm, — I felt the
early hero worship beating full and fast at rhy heart, flushing and
paling my cheek, shaking my voice, and dimming my eyes.
I can truly say that never, when I have seen him in my own
country, surrounded by eager crowds, foUowed and feted,
stormed upon by adulation and besieged by flatterers, borne
in a triumphal car through shouting thousands, or swaying the
multitude by the magnetic power of his eloquence, have I felt
for him a heartier sympathy, a more wondering admiration, a
more profound reverence, than when, on this last visit, I saw
him thus in his humble cottage home.
The children of Kossuth are of remarkable beauty^nd in
telligence, but rather delicate in appearance.
Mazzini does not seem dismayed by the unhappy termina
tion of the emeute at Milan, though he is, of course, deeply
grieved at the fate of the unsuccessful revolutionists. How
ever indifferent or hopeless you might be on the question of
Italian freedom, I would defy you to resist long the kindUng
and convincing influence of Mazzini's eloquent talk-. You
would, ere you were aware, find yourself roused, strengthened,
borne on, by the devotion, the energy, the passionate earnest
ness, the grandly-uttered aspiration of his great, courageous
heart. Mazzini is a man who would seem to stand apart and alone,
though surged about by a vast crowd. His is a face to strike
upon you out of a sea of heads. There is a wonderful out-
looking of power and destiny from his great dark eyes. You
do not see in them the- despairing indolence, the slumberous

A TOUR IN EUROPE. 437
passion, of most ItaUan eyes — neither fierce, nor wUd, nor
dreamy, they reveal, as words could never speak, that terrible
and glorious purpose on which the Ufe is staked, to which the
soul is stretched, which has to do with the fate of races and
kingdoms, and is heaving at the foundations of the oldest des
potisms of Europe. It is a strange and grand thought, that
from two simple homes in the suburbs of London is going
forth a subtile, resistless element, which sends thrills of hope
through the else despairing hearts of thousands of Freedom's
sons, and shiverings of dread and suspicion through tho hearts
of all kingly and priestly oppressors, the world over. Thank
God for the token ! When two men, without birth, or fortune,
or armies, can make their names an omnipresent fear and
horror to tyrants, then Tyranny's day of doom is not far
distant. Next week I leave England ; and though my face wiU then
be tumed homeward, I shall go with yet more sorrowful emo
tion than that which weighed down my heart when I left my
native land. Then I hoped soon to return — now all is dark
and uncertain, except that I part frora many of my English
friends for a long time, .^s the tirae for my going draws
nearer, more and more -earnest grows my prayer to Heaven
for blessings on our beautiful motherland, and on them whose
noble hospitaUty and gentle ministrations have made my con
stant happiness in health and my comfort in sickness.
Dear, new-found friends, latest elect of my heart, adieu !
Beloved of my country and my home, I come I
37 *

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