.1 
 
 
SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
SUMMER, PICTURES: 
 
 FROM 
 
 COPENHAGEN TO VENICE 
 
 HENRY M. FIELD, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 “THE IRISH CONFEDERATES AND THE REBELLION OF 1798.’ 
 
 Ntbo nbtstlr anil jenlargslL 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 SHELDON & COMPANY:, 115 NASSAU STREET 
 
 BOSTON : GOULD & LINCOLN. 
 
 I860. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, toy 
 SHELDON & COMPANY, 
 
 in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of 
 New York. 
 
 W. B. Timson, Stereotyper. 
 
 Podmey & Russell, Printers. 
 
TO THE COMPANION OF THIS TOUR, 
 
 WHOSE FAMILIAR KNOWLEDGE OF EUROPE, 
 
 AND QUICK OBSERVATION OF LIFE AND MANNERS, 
 MADE EVERY DAY ONE OF INSTRUCTION; 
 
 AND WHOSE E VER-BIJO YANT SPIRIT 
 
 GAVE TO THESE MONTHS OF TRAVEL 
 
 ALL THEIR BRIGHTNESS AND SUNSHINE, 
 
 IT IS MOST FIT TO DEDICATE 
 
 Wjs 5>oitatr of so mucf) ^Pappuuss. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PACK 
 
 Crossing the Ocean in a Packet Ship — A Night on a Pilot Boat — 
 Landing at Falmouth — Ride on an English Mail Coach — The 
 Atlantic Telegraph Expedition 13 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Dickens Reading his Christmas Carol 28 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A Near View of Mr. Spurgeon. 47 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 English Manners — Reserve — Pride — Snobbery — Worship of Rank 
 — Better Qualities — English Hearts and English Homes 66 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 England and the Continent — Normandy — Dieppe — The Cliff, the 
 Castle and the Beach — Rouen — Paris 81 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Changes of Ten Years in the French Capital — The Republic De- 
 stroyed— Louis Napoleon — Improvements in the City — New 
 
 vii 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 viii 
 
 paq a 
 
 Buildings, New Squares and New Streets — Enlargement of the 
 City Walls — Military Regime — The Imperial Guard — Zouaves 
 and Chasseurs — Chances of Revolution — Feeling of the Nation 
 
 toward the Emperor — Will the Empire last? 91 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The American Chapel in Paris 103 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Holland — Face of the Country — Dikes and Canals — Energy of 
 the People — Wealth and Commerce — Historical Interest of 
 Holland — Her Scholars and Painters — Wars for Liberty — Em- 
 barkation of the Pilgrims — Friendly Manners of the People — 
 
 How the Dutch enjoy themselves 110 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Leaving Holland — Hanover and the Georges — Hamburg — Beauty 
 of the City — Its Commerce 132 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Denmark — Excursion in Holstein and Schleswig — Life in a Da- 
 nish Parsonage 141 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The Island of Fione — Copenhagen — Beauty of the City and its 
 Environs — Decline of Denmark as a European Power — Attack 
 of Nelson in 1801 — Bombardment in 1807 — Loss of Norway — 
 
 The Country still Rich in. the Elements of Prosperity — Points 
 of Sympathy with America — Settlement of the Sound Dues 
 Question — The King — Hopes of Scandinavian Unity — Thor- 
 waldsen 150 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 IX 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Crossing the Baltic — Germany — Berlin, a Dull City except for 
 Scholars — Manners of the People — Frederick the Great — The 
 Prussian Army — Political Discontent — Signs of Revolution . . . 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Dresden — Position on the Elbe — Beauty of the City and its En- 
 virons — Attractions to Strangers — Picture Gallery — The King 
 — The Battle of Dresden 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Sail on the Elbe — Prague — Situation and Architecture — The Old 
 Bridge — The Jews’ Quarter — Synagogue and Cemetery — The 
 Cathedral — Palace of the Bohemian Kings 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Protestantism in Bohemia— Early Reformation — John Huss- 
 The University of Prague — Huss Burnt at Constance — The 
 Wars which followed — Blind Ziska — The Thirty Years’ War — 
 Wallenstein — Present State of Protestantism in Bohemia 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Vienna — Contrast with Berlin — The Imperial City — Historical 
 Associations — Tombs of the Emperors — Maria Theresa — The 
 Son of Napoleon — The Present Royal Family — The Govern- 
 ment — Failure of the Revolution of 1848 — Result of the War 
 in Hungary — A Slow Progress 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 From the Baltic to the Adriatic — The Semmeiing Pass over the 
 Julian Alps — The Grotto of Adelsberg — Venice — Approach 
 from the Sea — Canals and Gondolas — The Square of St. Mark 
 
 1 * 
 
 PACK 
 
 174 
 
 182 
 
 192 
 
 203 
 
 212 
 
X 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PADS 
 
 — Palace of the Doges, and the Bridge of Sighs — Visit to the 
 Islands in the Harbor — Moonlight and Music 226 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII.- 
 
 Another View of Venice — The Austrian Rule — Celebration of 
 the Emperor’s Birthday — Illumination for the Young Prince — 
 Hatred of the People to the Officers — The Bombardment and 
 Political Executions 239 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Verona — Its Amphitheatre — Congress of Verona — The City 
 Strongly Fortified — Campaign of 1848 — Probable Tactics in 
 case of another War — Milan and its Cathedral 245 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Lakes Como and Maggiore — The Battle-field of Novara — Abdica- 
 tion of Charles Albert — His Voluntary Exile and Death — Turin 
 — The King and the People — Hatred of the Austrians — Part in 
 the Russian War — Crossing Mont Cenis 263 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Domestic Life in France 281 
 
 • CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 ADDED TO THE THIRD EDITION. 
 
 A Bird’s-eye View of the late War in Italy — Causes which led to 
 it — France Joins Sardinia — Troops hurried over the Alps — 
 First Engagement at Montebello — The Allies pass the Ticino — 
 Battle of Magenta — The Austrians Evacuate Milan — Battle of 
 Solferino — The Armistice and Peace — Lombardy Annexed to 
 Sardinia — Is followed by Tuscany, Parma, Modena, and the 
 Romagna — Present Condition of Venice and Naples — What 
 Italy has Gained by the War 292 
 
ONE WO ED. 
 
 Pictures — nothing more! No “grand tour” here drags its 
 slow length along. This is not a Iland-Book of Foreign Travel, 
 ponderous with statistics of strange lands and cities, but a 
 mere Portfolio of Sketches by the Wayside. Most of these 
 were taken on the spot, and sent home, in letters, to America, 
 which may explain their familiar style. The writer calls them 
 “Pictures,” to indicate their fragmentary and unpretending 
 character; and “Summer Pictures,” partly because they were 
 taken at that season of the year when the earth puts on her 
 beauty — but still more as a token of that cheerful light in which 
 he has looked upon countries and men. In the same genial 
 temper may the reader cast his eye over this succession of 
 pleasant landscapes, warm and glowing with the summer’s sun. 
 
 New York, May 20, 1S59. 
 
 1 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Crossing the Ocean in a Packet Ship — A Night on a Pilot Boat 
 — Landing at Falmouth — Ride on an English Mail Coach — 
 The Atlantic Telegraph Expedition. 
 
 Plymouth, England, June 7, 1858. 
 Oun passage across the Atlantic has proved one of the 
 most rapid ever made by a packet-ship. Only fourteen 
 days from land to land ! At first the fates seemed to be 
 against us. A storm with thunder and lightning broke 
 over us as we were going down the bay. But from the 
 hour we passed Sandy Hook, the winds which for weeks 
 had been blowing from the east, turned to the west, and 
 continued favorable through the whole voyage. In the 
 Gulf Stream and off the Western Islands, we encountered 
 heavy gales, but as they blew from the right quarter, 
 they only speeded us on our way. The scene was excit- 
 ing, and sometimes fearful. The waves went booming past 
 with a noise like thunder, the spray rained upon our deck, 
 
 18 
 
14 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 and the winds shrieked in the rigging, but still the gal- 
 lant ship swelled her canvas proudly to the gale, and flew 
 before it like a bird of the storm, and in just two weeks 
 brought us in sight of England. 
 
 Our friends who are going to Europe, if they do not 
 fear to be delayed by contrary winds, and can spare a 
 few days more of time, will do well to take one of the 
 London packets. I commend to them especially the fa- 
 mous line of Capt. Morgan, who has been himself so long 
 and so favorably known to all travellers between England 
 and America. Rev. Dr. Bushnell once told me that half 
 the pleasure of a voyage to Europe was to cross the sea 
 with Capt. Morgan. Since he retired from active com- 
 mand, he has resided in Kew York, and had charge of 
 the whole line. The ships are all good, but one may 
 think himself peculiarly fortunate who embarks on board 
 the Amazon, with Capt. Hovey. This is a ship of 2,000 
 tons, very stoutly built, and of such fine model, that she 
 carries herself through the water with a steady and gen- 
 tle motion. Her captain is an excellent seaman, very 
 quiet in his manner, but with a quick eye to observe 
 every spar and sail and rope, and prompt and energetic in 
 the whole discipline and management of his crew. The 
 ship was always in perfect order, and under such excel- 
 lent control as gave us a very pleasant feeling of con- 
 fidence and security. Besides, Capt. Ilovey is not only 
 a brave and skillful seaman, but a thoroughly good man, 
 always kind and considerate of the comfort of his pas- 
 
CROSSING THE OCEAN IN A PACKET SHIP. 
 
 15 
 
 sengers. I liad crossed the ocean with him once before, 
 on the voyage home from England in 1848, and was glad 
 of the opportunity to be with him again. 
 
 To many persons it will be a further recommendation 
 of these ships, that they can carry but a limited number 
 of passengers. A few years ago, when all travel between 
 Europe and America was by sailing vessels, the London 
 and Liverpool packets were fitted up with long cabins, 
 which could accommodate a large number. But since 
 the majority of travellers now go by steamers, the cabin 
 is reduced in size, though perhaps increased in conveni- 
 ence. That of the Amazon is built on the upper deck, 
 so high as to furnish the best light and air. It held now 
 but little over a dozen passengers, yet the state-rooms 
 were all occupied. As our companions chanced to be all 
 countrymen, and agreeable persons, there sprang up be- 
 tween us a very friendly feeling. There were just enough 
 for a good family party. At their special request, joined 
 to that of the captain, we had daily prayers, and as 
 we met thus morning and evening, or gathered around 
 our table, we seemed indeed like one household, and 
 sure I am, that all will recur to these two weeks on ship- 
 board as a most agreeable chapter in their lives. 
 
 As soon as we saw the coast of England, we were im- 
 patient to be on shore. The captain knew our wish, and 
 offered to aid us in its execution. We had hardly en- 
 tered the British Channel before we descried making 
 towards us a pilot boat from Falmouth, which hailed us. 
 
16 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 and asked for orders. As we were bound for London^ 
 the captain had no use for a pilot to Falmouth, but asked 
 if he would return into port with several of our passen- 
 gers. Four of us wished to go, and the pilot said he 
 would take us in for a pound apiece, an offer which we 
 eagerly accepted. He sent a small boat to take us off to 
 his little vessel, and we clambered down the sides of the 
 Amazon, Mrs. F. being swung over in a chair. The sun 
 was sinking in the west as we moved away from the 
 noble ship, and our friends waved their adieus from the 
 upper deck. 
 
 We were in full view of the coast, yet we had some 
 miles to work up to Falmouth. With a cracking breeze, 
 our light boat would easily have taken us in in an hour ; 
 but hardly had we left the ship, before the wind left us. 
 The gale which had borne us on so swiftly, had spent its 
 strength, and was dying away. The long swell which 
 came rolling in from the Atlantic, subsided into gentle 
 undulations, as if the waters knew that they touched the 
 shores of England, and sank down submissive at her feet. 
 
 If I were an artist, I would try to paint that sunset, 
 though the richest colors ever thrown upon canvas could 
 not approach the reality. All gloriously sank the sum- 
 mer sun, resting on the horizon like a globe of fire, and 
 casting up his rays into the clouds which hung over the 
 place of his going down. We stood up in the stem of 
 the boat in silent awe, and seemed transfigured in the 
 glory which covered the sea and sky. 
 
A NIGHT ON A PILOT BOAT. 
 
 17 
 
 As the sun went down, the breeze went with it. 
 Fainter and fainter came the pulses of the air, till at last 
 there was a dead calm, and our little boat, though light 
 as a feather, ceased to move ; her canvas drooped, and 
 like a white duck folding her wings at shut of day, she 
 lay sleeping on the ocean’s breast. 
 
 But we had still several hours of light. To the golden 
 sunset succeeded the softer twilight, which in the month 
 of June, and in this high northern latitude, lingers long. 
 At ten o’clock, its pale reflection was still in the heavens. 
 As it faded out in the west, calm and beautiful shone 
 forth the evening star. 
 
 For a time we had kept up a brisk conversation, but 
 as the twilight deepened, we spoke in lower tones, and 
 at last all sat silent and thoughtful, watching the revolv- 
 ing lights in the lighthouses along the coast, or turning 
 away to where the great phantom of the ship glided on 
 in the darkness. We saw distinctly the houses on the 
 shore. But all were hushed in quiet. Not even a curl 
 of smoke could be seen rising from the chimney-top, and 
 not a watch-dog’s howl came across the waters. The 
 people, like honest Christian folk, had gone to bed, 
 where we ought to be. 
 
 When we left the ship, we did not dream of passing 
 the night in this cockle shell. A pilot boat has but 
 limited sleeping arrangements. One may indeed creep 
 down a ladder into a narrow space under the deck, which 
 is dignified as “ the cabin.” But a full grown man, who 
 
18 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 should stretch his limbs in it, would feel almost as if he 
 were laid out in a coffin. I tried it for a few minutes, 
 but was glad to escape into the night air. So we were 
 fain to make a sofa out of a pile of trunks ; and wrapping 
 our cloaks and shawls about us, there we sat all night 
 long, muffled and still. But the hours did not seem 
 weary. De Quincey says, that often, when under the in- 
 fluence of opium, he fell into long reveries, from which he 
 did not wish to awake. “ More than once it has happened 
 to me, on a summer night, when I have been at an open 
 window, in a room from which I could overlook the sea, 
 that I have sat from sunset to sunrise, motionless and 
 without wishing to move.” We too were under a spell. 
 The heavens above, and the waters beneath, were full 
 of solemn mystery, suggesting thoughts too deep for 
 slumber. 
 
 But look ! the day begins to break. By three in the 
 morning, the first faint bars of light streaked the east, 
 and in an hour it was clear day. We found that we were 
 inclosed by the arms of a small and tranquil haven. On 
 either side the hills rose up from the water as fresh and 
 green as if they had just risen out of the crystal sea. In 
 front, a projecting headland was crowned by an old fort, 
 on whose walls the sentinel ever keeps watch and ward, 
 and from which the morning drum-beat rolls over the 
 peaceful waters. We looked up with all the surprise and 
 delight of Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner : 
 
LANDING AT FALMOUTH. 
 
 19 
 
 “ 0 dream of joy ! Is this indeed 
 The lighthouse-top I see ? 
 
 Is this the hill ? Is this the kirk ? 
 
 Is this mine own countree ? ” 
 
 There was a keen delight of the senses in the first smell 
 of the land, as we inhaled the odor of violets in the fresh- 
 ness of the morning air. And hark, we hear the carol 
 of a bird. It is the song of the cuckoo ! 
 
 The pilot now got out his small boat, ami two strong 
 oarsmen soon pulled us in to the shore. But it seemed as 
 if we were landing, like Columbus, to take possession of 
 an uninhabited country. There on the beach lay a town, 
 but we saw no sign of life. It looked as if the inhabit- 
 ants had all disappeared, and there remained nothing 
 but silent streets and empty houses. The people in this 
 quiet nook of England are guilty of no such revolution- 
 ary practices as that of getting up early in the morning. 
 They u sleep o’ nights.” Indeed the English generally are 
 famous sleepers. To lie abed late is recognized as a part 
 of a sound, staid, conservative character. Such men are 
 not dangerous. A friend who has travelled much in 
 England, tells me that the greatest drawback to his hap- 
 piness, is that he cannot get anybody up in the morning ! 
 Such was our experience. We stepped on the stone 
 quay, and made our way through the deserted streets to 
 an inn. But here not a living creature was visible, not 
 even a dog to bark at a wayworn traveller. Wo shouted 
 lustily as Young America is apt to do, but could get no 
 
20 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 reply. Soon a policeman appeared to check any signs of 
 riot and revolution. But seeing we were but houseless 
 travellers, he came to our help — he beat upon the door, 
 he rang his club upon the pavement. At length a win- 
 dow opened above, and a head in a nightcap peered out 
 into the court, and a shrill voice demanded wherefore was 
 all this clatter ? Our man-at-arms set forth that we were 
 voyagers who had just come from off the stormy main, 
 and had need of shelter and rest. Whereupon a light 
 foot tripped down the stairs, the door was unbarred, and 
 we were admitted to the warmth and comfort of an 
 English- inn. 
 
 In course of time we got a breakfast. But you don’t 
 expect me to enlarge upon that. You do not think me 
 quite so “ material.” I wish I wasn’t. But I must con- 
 fess, after being two weeks on shipboard, sleeping on 
 shelves, and dining on an inclined plane, it was no small 
 comfort to be able to sit upright, and partake in peace of 
 a quiet, civilized breakfast. This morning we were in 
 the highest state of enjoyment. Indeed, we were like 
 Adam and Eve in Paradise, in a state in which every- 
 thing was pleasant to the eye, and good for food. We 
 declared that the bread was the best that ever was baked, 
 the butter the sweetest that ever was churned, and the 
 cream the richest that ever came from good motherly 
 cows. And then the hissing teapot, and the fine English 
 breakfast tea ! Ah me, I fear I am growing “ material.” 
 We were waited on by a trim little maid, with whom we 
 
RIDE ON AN ENGLISH MAIL COACH. 
 
 21 
 
 fell in love on the spot, and made offers to take her to 
 America. So we talked and laughed, and shouted and 
 sang. Indeed we didn’t behave with any sort of pro- 
 priety. But all the while we kept on eating (of course 
 from mere absence of mind). I thought we never should 
 stop, and felt quite ashamed of our appetites. The only 
 relief to our consciences was the satisfaction of paying a 
 good round bill. 
 
 But all good things must come to an end, even the 
 best of breakfasts, and that source of happiness being at 
 length exhausted, we sallied forth to find the coach for 
 Plymouth. 
 
 Falmouth, where we landed, is a little, quaint old town 
 in the southwest corner of England, near the extremity 
 of Cornwall. It is one of the few points in the island 
 not yet touched by a railroad. One is now building, but 
 it is not yet complete, so that we had before us the unex- 
 pected pleasure of a day’s ride on an old-fashioned Eng- 
 lish coach. Coaches have almost disappeared in England. 
 Even ten years ago, when I was here, I found them only 
 in Wales, Scotland, and Ireland, and I little thought ever 
 to see one again. It was therefore with a sense of keen 
 delight that we mounted to the topmost seat, and saw the 
 burly coachman rein in his mettled horses, that were pranc- 
 ing at the bit, and heard the guard wind his mellow horn. 
 
 To ride on the top of an English coach is an experi- 
 ence never to be forgotten. Dr. Johnson once said to 
 Boswell, when they were thus perched in air and whirl-. 
 
22 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 ing over the country, “ Life has few things finer than 
 this.” So we thought to-day. The distance from Fal- 
 mouth to Plymouth is 70 miles, which we made in seven 
 hours. The coach, carrying the mail, is required by law 
 to make ten miles an hour including stoppages. More 
 often we were going at a speed of twelve. Up hill and 
 down, the gait was never checked. It was generally the 
 most rapid trot, but often it broke into a furious run. 
 The only notice given of mounting a hill was an extra 
 touch of the whip, which spurred the horses into a gallop, 
 with which they dashed up the ascent, and as soon as 
 they reached the summit, they plunged dow T n in such 
 mad career, that I griped the iron railing of the seat,, 
 trembling at the fearful speed. This swiftness of course 
 could be kept up only over the finest roads in the world, 
 and by frequent relays of horses. But the Queen’s high- 
 way w r as like a floor newly swept. Not a pebble jarred 
 the even poise of the coach. The horses were changed 
 every seven miles, and wfliere the road w r as hilly they 
 w T ere changed even in four. Thus we went whirling over 
 hill and dale, now rushing through towns and villages, 
 the guard startling the inhabitants with his ringing blast, 
 and then sallying out into the open country, winch w r as 
 smiling in all the beauty of early summer. To heighten 
 the enjoyment, the day was one of a thousand. The 
 skies were clear, only a few soft clouds shading us from 
 the face of the sun. The hills and valleys glistened with 
 fresh verdure; the trim hedge-rows, the smooth lawms 
 
THE ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH EXPEDITION. 23 
 
 and noble parks were in their richest green. On such 
 a day and amid such landscapes we rode for seventy 
 miles. This was our introduction to England. 
 
 In landing at Falmouth, I had another motive besides 
 the* mere eagerness to be on shore. I knew that the 
 Telegraph Squadron was to rendezvous at Plymouth, 
 and I thought it possible that I might meet there my 
 brother Cyrus,* before the departure of the expedition. 
 At Falmouth the Custom-house officer brought me the 
 London Times, which announced that the ships had 
 sailed a week before on a trial trip, but were to return to 
 Plymouth. It was therefore a great satisfaction, as we 
 drew to the end of our journey, and were just crossing 
 the river which divides Cornwall from Devonshire, 
 to learn that the ships had returned, and were then 
 lying in the harbor. As we entered the town, I sprang 
 from the coach and hastened to th^, Royal Hotel, to 
 seek for tidings. Imagine my joy to be told that my 
 brother was then in the house ! The Directors had 
 come down from London to complete the preparations 
 for the expedition, and were now in session here. 
 The servant had not the words out of his mouth, before 
 he exclaimed, “ There is Mr. Field now, coming through 
 the hall !” The surprise and happiness of such a meet- 
 ing can be understood only by those who have been 
 alone and far from home, and who in a foreign land have 
 suddenly rushed into a brother’s arms. We had hardly 
 
 * Cyrus W. Field, widely known from his connection with the Atlantic Telegraph. 
 

 24 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 reached our room before we received an invitation 
 to dine with the Directors, and in half an hour after 
 our long ride, we were dressed and sitting at our first 
 English dinner. Eight or ten gentlemen were present, 
 among them Mr. George Peabody, the well-known 
 American banker; Mr. Brett, the father of submarine 
 telegraphs in Europe ; Mr. Brooking, the vice-president 
 of the company, and Mr. Saward, the secretary; Prd- 
 fessor Thompson, of Glasgow, and Mr. Lampson, of 
 London. 
 
 Such a party of capitalists, with immense business on 
 their hands, you might think, would be very grave and 
 anxious. But on the contrary, it was one of the merriest 
 dinners at which I was ever present. An Englishman, 
 however hard he may work, lays off all care at dinner, 
 and these men, wdio had been at work all day, and 
 might w^ork all nig^it, were now the most cheerful com- 
 panions in the world. I sat next to Mr. Peabody, who 
 was full of pleasant and friendly chat about England and 
 America. When the dinner was ended, we left the 
 directors to resume their deliberations, while we walked 
 out to see the beauties of Plymouth, w'hich, viewed 
 from “ the Iloe,” a promenade on high ground overlook- 
 ing the bay, with its ships and forts, appears a very 
 picturesque city. 
 
 It was now Saturday evening, and Capt. Hudson 
 called to invite us on board the Niagara the next 
 morning, with the special request that I should preach 
 
THE ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH EXPEDITION. 
 
 25 
 
 lo the officers and crew on the last Sabbath before they 
 sailed to commence their great undertaking. The occa- 
 sion was one of such interest, that tired as I was, I could 
 not refuse. The captain sent his boat, with a lieutenant 
 and a dozen stalwart seamen to row us to the ship. 
 Again the day was beautiful, and the water was like 
 glass as we glided across the bay. Before us lay the 
 whole telegraphic fleet, four noble ships destined in a 
 few days to undertake one of the most stupendous 
 enterprises ever attempted or conceived by man. A 
 solemn religious service amid such surroundings could 
 not but be deeply impressive. It seemed like the 
 prayers of Columbus and his companions before they 
 sailed from Spain. On the after-deck an awning was 
 spread to shade us from the sun. A table, covered with 
 the American flag, served for desk and pulpit. Before 
 me sat the officers of the ship, with several of the 
 directors and other scientific men; and behind, sitting 
 upon cannon, and crowding every spot where a man 
 could sit or stand, four or five hundred seamen. My 
 heart was full. They were my countrymen. And yet 
 we were in a foreign port. Around us were the hills 
 and waters and fleets of England. At that moment I 
 felt how strong were the ties which bind us to the Old 
 World as well as to the New, and most devoutly did I 
 pray that the connection which these ships were sent 
 to establish between two hemispheres, might be a tie 
 to bind them in dose and peaceful union. Standing 
 
 2 
 
26 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 thus in the presence of two nations, it seemed appro- 
 priate, by humble and united worship, to acknowledge 
 our obligations to Him, who has made both England and 
 America w r hat they are. It was an act most fitting to 
 the hour, that we should bow together on those decks, 
 and stretch out our hands to God, and implore His 
 blessing on the work which we were about to undertake. 
 I opened to the 107th Psalm and read, “They that go 
 down to the sea in ships, these see the w T orks of the 
 Lord, and his wonders in the deep.” Then I spoke to 
 the officers and sailors as men especially honored of God 
 and of their country, by being chosen for this work of 
 civilization. They were going on a missionary enter- 
 prise, to plant in the depths of the ocean a chord of iron, 
 which should be vital as a chord of flesh, quivering with 
 human life and language, telling the thoughts of men and 
 speaking the glory of God at the bottom of the sea, and 
 I adjured them evermore to bear themselves as members 
 of “a sacred band.” Never had I a more attentive 
 audience. The hardy tars bent forward and listened 
 eagerly to catch every word, and the tear that fell on 
 many a bronzed cheek, told that beneath that rugged 
 breast there trembled a gentle and manly heart. I may 
 travel over many lands, but such a scene surely I can 
 never hope to see again. 
 
 After service, the captain took us back to the city. 
 In crossing the harbor, we visited the Agamemnon. As 
 we approached the ship, we found it surrounded by a 
 
THE ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH EXPEDITION. 
 
 27 
 
 fleet of boats, which were filled with women ! The sea 
 was alive with them. We asked what it meant, and 
 were told that these were the wives and sweethearts of 
 the sailors, who had come off to take leave of them, 
 as this was the last Sunday that the ship was to be in 
 port. Jack seemed to be plentifully supplied with 
 friends of the other sex. They swarmed over the ship, 
 clambering up the sides, crowding the decks, and look- 
 ing out of the portholes. 
 
 Captain Preedy was standing at the side of the ship to 
 receive us. As we touched the deck, he reached out his 
 arm to Mrs. F., and led us off straight to his cabin, and 
 gave us a hearty English welcome. It was pleasant to 
 see the cordial relations which exist between the officers 
 of the two nations, and to mark the interest and ambi- 
 tion with which all enter upon their great work. 
 
 Before we left, Captain Preedy took us down into the 
 hold of the ship to see the monstrous coils. He showed 
 us one pile forty-six feet in diameter, and fifteen feet 
 deep, in which there were 1,300 miles of cable ! Can 
 such a chain ever be stretched across the wild ocean ? 
 The undertaking seems almost above the power of man. 
 Yet the preparations are on a corresponding scale of 
 magnitude. All that human skill can do, is done, and 
 the great result, on which so much depends, must now 
 be left with that Being who spreadeth out the heavens, 
 and ruleth the raging of the sea. 
 
V. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Dickens reading his Christmas Carol. 
 
 “ Was there ever a better Charity sermon preached in the world 
 than Dickens’ Christmas Carol ?” — Thackeray. 
 
 London, June 17, 1858. 
 
 As we were riding up to London, we saw in the Times 
 that Dickens was the next day to give a public reading 
 of his Christmas Carol. So many happy hours had this 
 writer afforded us by our own cheerful fireside, in the 
 far off Western World — as we sat alone on winter nights, 
 just as he wishes his readers to be when they take in 
 hand his stories — the fire blazing brightly on the hearth, 
 and the ample curtains flowing to the floor, shutting out 
 every sight without, and muffling the sound of city streets 
 — that we were curious to see him giving form and voice 
 to one of his own delightful creations. Early in the 
 morning I hastened to secure “ stalls,” as the best seats 
 are called. The house was already full, but fortunately 
 a party had just returned a couple of tickets, and so we 
 succeeded in obtaining excellent places right in front of 
 the platform. The reading was to begin at three, but it 
 was an hour before that we took a “ Hansom,” and drove 
 to St. Martin’s Hall in Longacre. Already the rear of 
 
 38 
 
DICKENS BEADING HIS CHEISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 29 
 
 the hall was crowded, but the seats in front, being num- 
 bered and secured, filled more slowly. While waiting, 
 we amused ourselves in observing the audience, which 
 included many persons of distinction. It was evident 
 that we were surrounded by representatives of the fash- 
 ionable society of London. Here were lords and ladies 
 of high degree ; with members of parliament, and 
 officers in the army, who had served in Crimean and In- 
 dian wars ; and who had turned out of the clubs at this 
 morning hour, to sit under the spell of a man of genius. 
 Yonder grey-headed old man, w T ho totters across the 
 room, is a noble duke. That lady, with a long, red nose, 
 who sits near the stage, at Mr. Dickens’ feet, is Miss 
 Burdett Coutts, the richest heiress in England — a lady 
 who is very plain, but who makes up for the want of 
 beauty by being very good. She is full of charitable 
 deeds, having built I do not know how many churches, 
 and endowed English bishoprics at the ends of the earth. 
 The last of these was in British America, to the north of 
 the Columbia Biver. 
 
 But none of these grand personages had more than a 
 moment’s interest for us, since in turning we espied across 
 the hall, one familiar face — that of an artist, who, though 
 from- England, had long resided in America, and from 
 whom we had parted in New York but a few months 
 before. It was a pleasant countenance to see so far from 
 home. No man is more of an artist in his soul, more full 
 of fine poetic feeling, than Paul Duggan ; and to recog- 
 
30 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 nize his friendly face amid a crowd of strangers, was a 
 pleasure equal to that of the reading itself. To his 
 society, and that of Cropsey, another American artist 
 now settled in London, we owed, afterwards, many of 
 our happiest hours in England. 
 
 And now the fingers of the clock are pointing to the 
 hour. Exact at the minute, a quick step is heard, and a 
 man of light frame, dressed in a frock coat and grey 
 pantaloons, issues from behind a screen, skips up the 
 steps with the agility of a boy, and advances rapidly to 
 the front of the stage, and turns and makes his bow to 
 the audience. Le voila ! That is Charles Dickens. 
 
 Mark the figure. It is slight and slender, but all quiv- 
 ering with life. That agile form seems to be set on 
 springs. The man has the same elasticity of body as of 
 mind. In age he looks to be just what he is, forty-seven ; 
 but time has touched him lightly. Notwithstanding his 
 long literary career, and immense activity, he still seems 
 as fresh as ever. There is plenty of fire in his eye, and a 
 jaunty toss in the curly locks, which, though a little 
 frosted, still hang richly on bis temples. 
 
 Pausing a moment, he glanced a quick eye around the 
 hall, to see that all was hushed and still, and then, in a 
 voice, not loud and sonorous, nor yet low and subdued, 
 like that of a great orator, who first lets out the softest 
 notes of an organ, which he can swell till the very walls 
 tremble with the sound, but sharp and clear, he began 
 the Christmas Carol. 
 
DICKENS HEADING IIIS CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 31 
 
 I take it for granted that you have read this charming 
 story — if not, you ought to — and so I need only allude 
 to a few of its points to illustrate the varieties of style 
 and the dramatic power of the reader. At the first slap, 
 came the hard matter of fact : 
 
 “ Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt 
 whatever about that. The register of his burial was 
 signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and 
 the chief mourner. . . . Old Marley was as dead as 
 
 a door nail.” 
 
 Marley was a hard man in his day, and one like him is 
 now standing in his shoes. Here is the portrait of his 
 surviving partner, Scrooge. The pencil of Hogarth 
 never sketched an old miser better than Dickens by these 
 few strokes : 
 
 “ Oh ! but he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, 
 Scrooge. A squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, 
 clutching, covetous old sinner! The cold within him 
 froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shrivelled 
 his cheek, stiffened his gait ; made his eyes red, his thin 
 lips blue ; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. 
 Heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No 
 warmth could warm, nor wintry weather chill him. No 
 wind that blew was bitterer than he, no pelting rain less 
 open to entreaty. Nobody ever stopped him in the 
 street to say, with gladsome looks, ‘ My dear Scrooge, 
 how are you ? When will you come to see me ?’ ” 
 
 In personating this selfish old wretch, Dickens threw 
 
32 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 himself into the character, as heartily as Kean entered 
 into the part of Shylock in the Merchant of Venice. He 
 drew down his face into his collar, like a great turtle 
 drawing in his head, put on a surly look and spoke in a 
 gruff voice. You recall the scene. It is the afternoon 
 before Christmas, and the old miser sits in his counting- 
 house. We see him there, crouching like a wolf in his 
 den, snarling at any intruder, and keeping a sharp eye 
 on a poor clerk, who sits in a little hole, which is a kind 
 of tank, and who trembles under that evil eye. 
 
 But heigho ! the door opens. A young face looks in, 
 and a cheerful voice — which it requires no effort on the 
 part of Dickens to imitate — cries out, “ A merry Christ- 
 mas, uncle !” It is a nephew of Scrooge, who is as poor 
 as a rat, but who in spite of that, has fallen in love, and 
 (greatest of absurdities !) has actually got married, and 
 who, finding himself very happy, makes bold to ask his 
 crusty old uncle to come to a family dinner, the next day. 
 Scrooge sends him away with anything but a blessing. 
 “ Merry Christmas,” he mutters scornfully. “ What right 
 have you to be merry ? You’re poor enough.” But the 
 young fellow is in such a happy mood that he is not of- 
 fended, and away he goes, light of heart. Just then two 
 gentlemen enter who are collecting money for the poor 
 to afford them relief. Here Dickens drew himself up 
 with a dignified air, such as would become a portly and 
 benevolent gentleman, and spoke in his blandest tones. 
 But the solicitors have a tough subject, and make no 
 
DICKENS READING HIS CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 33 
 
 impression. Scrooge looks at the papers, and hands them 
 back without a word. The kind hearted men attempt to 
 plead for the poor. But the wolf growls : 
 
 “ Are there no prisons ? Are there no workhouses ?” 
 Ah yes, indeed, there are enough of those sorrowful 
 abodes. But, they interpose, “many can’t go there, 
 and many would rather die.” 
 
 This is a pleasant thought to Scrooge : “ If they would 
 rather die, they had better do it, and decrease the surplus 
 population.” 
 
 Disgusted with all this nonsense of benevolence, this 
 keeping merry Christmas, and this trying to be happy, 
 even of people who have got no money, Scrooge rises 
 slowly from his seat, and buttons his great coat to the 
 chin — in which Dickens follows him — and walks surly 
 home. He shuts the great house door with a bang, 
 which fills the desolate place with dreary echoes, and 
 goes to his room and locks himself in. It is a fearful 
 night. The wintry wind howls around the building, 
 shakes the door, rattles the windows, and rustles the cur- 
 tains of the bed. In such a gloomy hour a man of the 
 firmest nerves might feel his spirit shake with ghostly 
 dread. (Dickens’ voice grows husky with terror, as 
 if he w'ere sitting in Scrooge’s place, and felt his heart 
 die within him.) Strange sounds are in the air. A 
 heavy tramp is heard upon the stair, and lo ! an appari- 
 tion ! Scrooge knows the face as soon as it appears. 
 ’Tis old Jacob Marley, who died seven years ago this 
 
 2 * 
 
34 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 very night, and who has come back from the grave to 
 warn his old companion of his own sad doom. Talking 
 solemnly as spirits talk, he gives his warning and then 
 slowly disappears. As he stepped backward towards the 
 window, Scrooge “ became sensible of confused noises in 
 the air; incoherent sounds of lamentation and regret, 
 wailings inexpressibly sorrowful and self-accusatory. The 
 spectre, after listening for a moment, joined in the mourn- 
 ful dirge ; and floated out upon the bleak, dark night.” 
 
 Nothing in the whole realm of fictitious or poetical 
 creations, is more difficult to manage than this introduc- 
 tion of spirits from the invisible world. Dickens succeeds 
 admirably in his rendering of the character. The spirit 
 speaks always in a serious, solemn tone, as one who has 
 passed beyond the bounds of this world, and now looks 
 upon it with other eyes and a higher wisdom. True to 
 the warning, Scrooge is visited on successive nights, by 
 three spirits, the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and 
 Future, who take him by the hand, and give him such 
 tramps as make his old bones shake with terror. What 
 follows is chiefly taken up with these ghostly visits and 
 nightly wanderings. 
 
 As the Christmas Carol is not a play, but a story, of 
 course it is but partly occupied with dialogue. Animated 
 conversations are followed by passages of description, 
 which must be given in an altered manner. Here Dickens 
 changes from the actor to the reader. This rapid suc- 
 cession of different styles, so far from checking the in- 
 
DICIvEXS READING II IS CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 35 
 
 terest, adds greatly to the variety. These quiet passages 
 furnish relief to those which are more exciting. Dickens’ 
 voice, which all through the conversations had been 
 running up and down the scale like a ventriloquist’s, now 
 fell into a more even and quiet tone, as softer scenes 
 passed before his eye. Led by his airy visitants, the old 
 miser returns to the scenes of his childhood, when heart 
 and hope were young, and even tender love was not 
 altogether stifled in his breast. Nothing could be more 
 delicate than Dickens’ rendering of those childish scenes, 
 which he so much loves to depict. Scrooge revisits the 
 place where he went to school. He enters the very room, 
 full of forms and desks. “ At one of these, a lonely boy 
 was reading near a feeble fire, and Scrooge sat down 
 upon a form, and wept to see his poor forgotten self as he 
 used to be.” Again a door opens, “and a little girl, 
 much younger than the boy, came darting in, and putting 
 her arms about his neck, and often kissing him, addressed 
 him as her dear, dear brother.” 
 
 One of the beautiful things in the Christmas Carol is 
 its frequent contrasts, as in the setting of harsh and 
 hardened age beside gentle and trusting childhood. 
 Thus from the repulsive look of avarice, so hard and 
 grim, a friendly ghost transports us along with the miser, 
 to a different scene — to a poor family who in their hum- 
 ble home, and in their poor way, try to keep this holy, 
 happy Christmas time. Nothing in Goldsmith exceeds 
 the description of the Cratchit family. Poor Bob 
 
36 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 Cratchit had but fifteen shillings a week, and yet the 
 ghost of Christinas “ stopped upon his threshold and 
 blessed his four-roomed house !” 
 
 Here Dickens was in his element, and never did he 
 portray more exquisitely the joys and sorrows of the 
 poor. So animated was the picture, and so w^cll did his 
 voice keep time to every change and incident of the 
 scene, that we could see it all. There was the family 
 coming together to keep Christmas — the eldest daughter, 
 Martha, returning home from service ; the mother in her 
 twice turned gown, decked out with ribbons, and Miss 
 Belinda Cratchit, and Master Peter Cratchit, and all the 
 little Crat chits, tearing like mad, so wild with mirth and 
 glee. 
 
 But the jewel of the family is yet to appear. His 
 father has taken him on his shoulder, and trotted off 
 with him to church. Soon poor Bob comes in with the 
 little creature perched upon his shoulder. lie is the 
 smallest bit of a thing, and his name is Tiny Tim. 
 Dickens’ voice took a softer tone as he said, “ Alas for 
 Tiny Tim, he bore a little crutch, and had his limbs sup- 
 ported by an iron frame !” 
 
 “ ‘And how did little Tim behave?’ asked Mrs. Crat- 
 chit, when Bob had hugged his daughter to his heart’s 
 content. 
 
 “ ‘ As good as gold,’ said Bob, 4 and better. Some- 
 how he gets thoughtful sitting by himself so much, and 
 thinks the strangest things you ever heard. [Gentler, 
 
DICKERS KEaDIXG IIIS CHRISTMAS CAROL. 37 
 
 gentler, was the speaker’s voice.] He told me, coming 
 home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, 
 because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to 
 them to remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame 
 beggars walk and blind men see.’ 
 
 “ Bob’s voice was tremulous when he told them this, 
 and trembled more ’when he said that Tiny Tim was 
 growing strong and hearty.” 
 
 Dickens’ voice w r avered too, but in an instant rallied 
 to describe the great event of the Christmas dinner. 
 Here his fancy found full sport, and ran riot amid the 
 scene. How well did he describe the bustle of delightful 
 preparation, the world of pains by each one of the 
 family, to give due pomp to the expected feast. He 
 fairly rollicked in the description of the goose and the 
 pudding. “ There never was such a goose. Bob said 
 he didn’t believe there ever was such a goose cooked.” 
 But even this great achievement w T as eclipsed when 
 Mrs. Cratchit, having retired for the purpose, reap- 
 peared upon the scene, bearing the pudding ! “ Oh that 
 
 was a ^wonderful pudding ! Bob Cratchit said, and 
 calmly too, that he regarded it as the greatest success 
 achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since their marriage.” 
 
 These touches were given by Dickens with such mock 
 seriousness, such exquisite drollery, that the audience 
 were convulsed. We laughed till we cried. But come 
 back to the happy group around Bob Cratchit’s table. 
 
 “ At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, 
 
38 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 the hearth swept and the fire made up.” Then came the 
 apples, and oranges and chestnuts. “ All sat round the 
 fire. Then Boh proposed, ‘A merry Christmas to us 
 all, my dears — God bless us !’ which all the family 
 reechoed. 
 
 “ ‘God bless us every one !’ said Tiny Tim, the last of 
 all.” Again Dickens’ voice fell into the minor key, as he 
 added, “ He sat very close to his father’s side, upon his 
 little stool. Bob held his withered little hand in his, as 
 if he loved the child, and wished to keep him by his side, 
 and dreaded that he might be taken from him.” 
 
 I have referred to the frequent contrasts in the pro- 
 gress of the story, which give to its pictures such 
 variety, and keep alive throughout a tender and pathetic 
 interest. There were scenes which almost lifted one ofif 
 from his feet by their exuberant gaiety. Thus the 
 story-teller enters into a game of blind man’s buff*, like a 
 romping boy. He enters into the very soul of Topper, 
 and into his body too, when that young man, though his 
 eyes are bandaged, and he has to grope in the dark, is 
 always sure to catch “the plump sister,” and nobody 
 else ! And when old F ezziwig improvises in his shop a 
 party for his apprentices and shop girls, you would 
 have thought Dickens was about to give a performance 
 himself, or that he was at least the fiddler, shouting to 
 the whirling couples. His voice skipped lightly along 
 sentences which fairly danced to the sound of their own 
 
 music. 
 
DICKERS READING HIS CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 39 
 
 Yet a few minutes and his voice is checked again, and 
 droops like a mourner over some sad scene. These 
 were the passages which pleased us most — so touching 
 •were they, and so fitly spoken, with a power beyond 
 the reach of art, the power of deep, genuine feeling. 
 N o one could doubt the heart of the man that heard him 
 then. Full as he is to overflowing of the comic element, 
 there is also within him a string that vibrates to the 
 sweet, sad music of humanity. His voice knows well the 
 low tones that speak of human grief and tears. Perhaps 
 the gem in all the Christmas Carol is the death of Tiny 
 Tim, and I would give much to have you hear Dickens 
 read and act this touching domestic scene. How he 
 shared the household grief! You would have thought 
 there had been a death in his family, that one of his own 
 children had been laid upon the bier. 
 
 The ghost has taken Scrooge out again upon his 
 nightly walk. “ They enter poor Bob Cratchit’s house, 
 the dwelling he had visited before, and find the mother 
 and the children seated round the fire. 
 
 “ Quiet, very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits were as 
 still as statues in one corner, and sat looking up at 
 Peter, who had a book before him. The mother and her 
 daughters were engaged in sewing. But surely they 
 were very quiet ! 
 
 “ ‘ And he took a child and set him in the midst of 
 them.’ 
 
 “ Where had Scrooge heard those words ? 
 
40 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 “The mother laid her work upon the table, and put her 
 hand up to her face. 
 
 44 4 The color hurts my eyes,’ she said. 
 
 “ The color ? Ah, poor Tiny Tim !” 
 
 “ 4 They’re better now again,’ said Cratchit’s wife. 
 4 It makes them weak by candle-light; and I wouldn’t 
 show weak eyes to your father when he comes home, for 
 the world. It must be near his time.’ 
 
 44 4 Past it, rather,’ Peter answered, shutting up his 
 book. 4 But I think he’s walked a little slower than he 
 used, these few last evenings, mother.’ 
 
 44 They were very quiet again. At last she said, and in 
 a steady, cheerful voice, that only faltered once : 
 
 44 4 1 have known him walk with — I have known him 
 walk with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder very fast indeed.’ 
 44 4 But he was very light to carry,’ she resumed, intent 
 upon her work, 4 and his father loved him so, that it was 
 no trouble — no trouble. And there is your father at the 
 door !’ 
 
 44 She hurried out to meet him ; and little Bob, in his 
 comforter — he had need of it, poor fellow — came in. 
 His tea was ready for him on the hob, and they all tried 
 who should help him to it most. Then the two young 
 Cratchits got upon his knees, and laid, each child, a little 
 cheek against his face, as* if they said, ‘Don’t mind it, 
 father. Don’t be grieved !’ 
 
 44 Bob was very cheerful with them, and spoke pleasantly 
 to all the family. He looked at the work upon the table, 
 
DICKENS READING HIS CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 41 
 
 and praised the industry and speed of Mrs. Cratchit, and 
 the girls. They would he done long before Sunday, he 
 said. 
 
 44 4 Sunday ! you went to-day, then, Robert ?’ said his 
 wife. 
 
 44 4 Yes, my dear,’ returned Bob. 4 1 wish you could 
 have gone. It would have done you good to see how 
 green a place it is. But you’ll see it often. I promised 
 him that I would walk there on a Sunday. My little, 
 little child !’ cried Bob, 4 my little child!’ 
 
 44 He broke down all at once. He couldn’t help it. It 
 he could have helped it, he and his child would have been 
 further apart perhaps than they were. 
 
 44 He left the room, and went up-stairs, into the room 
 above, which was lighted cheerfully and hung with 
 Christmas. There was a chair set close beside the child, 
 and there were signs of some one having been there 
 lately. Poor Bob sat down in it, and when he had 
 thought a little and composed himself, he kissed the little 
 face. He was reconciled to what had happened, and 
 went down again quite happy. 
 
 44 They drew about the fire and talked ; the girls and 
 mother working still Bob said: ‘How- 
 
 ever and whenever we part from one another, I am sure 
 none of us will forget poor Tiny Tim, shall we ? or this 
 first parting that was among us ?’ 
 
 44 4 Never, father !’ cried they all. 
 
 44 4 And I know,’ said Bob, 4 1 know, my dears, that 
 
42 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 when we recollect how patient and how mild he was, 
 although he was a little, little child, we shall not quarrel 
 easily among ourselves, and forget poor Tiny Tim in do- 
 ing it . 5 
 
 “‘No, never, father ! 5 they all cried again. 
 
 “ ‘ I am very happy , 5 said little Bob, ‘ I am very 
 happy !’ 
 
 “Mrs. Cratchit kissed him, his daughters kissed him, the 
 two young Cratchits kissed him, and Peter and himself 
 shook hands. Spirit of Tiny Tim, thy childish essence 
 was from God !” 
 
 How these words thrilled the audience ! A few mo- 
 ments before we had been convulsed with laughter. Now 
 many eyes silently filled with tears. Lords and ladies, 
 and commoners alike wept for poor Bob Cratchit and his 
 Tiny Tim. 
 
 The close was in a lighter vein. Old Scrooge at last 
 awakes, and finds it all a dream. But the ghost has done 
 its work. He is thoroughly frightened from his former 
 way of fife. He is shaken in his constant mind by the sight 
 of those, who, with not a hundredth part of his means of 
 enjoyment, are yet a thousand times happier than he. 
 Appalled at the dreariness and desolateness of his miser- 
 able and selfish life, he stands aghast at the prospect of a 
 lonely and wintry old age, and in his despair, lie starts 
 from his sleep, and cries for mercy. 
 
 From that day Scrooge is another man. He goes to 
 his office the next morning, and meets his little clerk, who 
 
DICKENS READING HIS CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 43 
 
 is none other than poor Bob Cratchit, whom he frightens 
 half out of his wits by cutting unheard of capers, telling 
 him that he is going on the spot, to raise his salary ! He 
 goes out into the street, and pats children on the head, 
 and hails the beggars, and gives them means to keep the 
 blessed holiday. lie finds too — joy of his heart! that 
 poor little Tiny Tim is not dead. It was only a dream. 
 And forthwith he takes the little Dot under his shelter- 
 ing wing to love and keep him evermore. And suddenly 
 he finds that he has a heart beneath his toughened ribs, 
 and a thrill of life runs through his old bones. 
 
 So ends the tale, with joy and happiness restored, the 
 speaker saying, “ And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God 
 bless us every one,” and with that last word Mr. Dickens 
 bowed to the audience, and as they broke out into a 
 furious clapping, he walked rapidly off the stage and dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 W e afterwards heard Dickens twice. Once he read 
 the first part of Dombey and Son, that which describes 
 little Paul ; and the other, he read several detached 
 stories, The Poor Traveller, Boots at the Holly Tree 
 Inn, and Mrs. Gamp. Each time we admired still more 
 his rare dramatic skill and mastery of the human heart. 
 He is almost as great an actor as he is an author. He is 
 a perfect master of the art of mimicry, being able at will 
 to assume almost any look, and to imitate almost any 
 voice. He can put on a grave or a merry face. His 
 countenance takes easily the queerest and drollest ex- 
 
44 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 pression. Then he draws himself up, and puts on a 
 solemn grimace, looking like a great wise owl. At times, 
 when playing a quizzing character, there is an archness 
 in his look, a playful drollery about the mouth, and a 
 twinkle in his eye that are irresistible. And then how 
 well his voice corresponds. He can speak in a low bass, 
 or in a piping treble, taking almost at will the voice of 
 childhood or of age, of man or woman. How well did 
 he personate poor Toots, in Dombey, and Mrs. Gamp, 
 the whining old nurse, in Martin Chuzzlewit ! 
 
 But perhaps his happiest reading, as well as his most 
 beautiful writing, is that which delineates children. 
 Little Paul Dombey was the counterpart, though in 
 another sphere, of Tiny Tim. The picture was drawn 
 with the same delicate and inimitable grace. Who can 
 ever forget the little fellow on the sea-beach, gathering 
 shells, and asking his sister that question, which tells so 
 much of premature development, and decay and early 
 death, “Am I an old-fashioned child ?” 
 
 Sometimes Dickens rises still higher, as in the scene of 
 the death of Paul’s mother, when poor little Florence, 
 who has never known what it w'as to be loved but by 
 her, comes into the room and throws herself upon her 
 dying mother’s breast. Dickens’ voice had a tone of 
 solemnity that still rings in my ears, as he said : “ Thus 
 clinging fast to that slight spar within her arms, she 
 floated out upon the dark and unknown sea that rolls 
 round all the world.” 
 
DICKENS READING HIS CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 45 
 
 This is not the place to enter into a critical estimate 
 of Dickens as a writer. Faults enough there may be for 
 those who wish, to pick at. His style may be disfigured 
 by frequent instances of broad caricature and gross 
 exaggeration. But at present I am too much under the 
 spell of what I have just heard, to be in a mood to 
 criticise. Whatever faults may be found elsewhere, in 
 those portions selected for these public readings, all 
 must concede not only the overflowing genius, but the 
 healthful moral influence. W ell might Thackeray ask : 
 “ Was there ever a better Charity Sermon preached in 
 the world than Dickens’ Christmas Carol ?” I can well 
 believe him, when he says : “ It occasioned immense 
 hospitality throughout England ; was the means of 
 lighting up hundreds of kind fires at Christmas time ; 
 caused a wonderful outpouring of Christmas good feel- 
 ing — of Christmas punch-brewing — and awful slaughter 
 of Christmas turkeys, and roasting and baking of 
 Christmas beef.” “ As for this man’s love of children,” 
 he adds, “ that amiable organ at the back of his honest 
 head must be perfectly monstrous. All children ought 
 to love him.” 
 
 It is no small proof of goodness thus to be loved by 
 children, who are the truest, the most unconscious and 
 most unaffected of friends ; nor is it less to be able to 
 draw from the fancy or the heart, and to depict airy 
 children of the brain, so that they shall become to us 
 real beings, and shall live in our faith and our affection. 
 
46 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 Whatever else of Dickens may perish, let his children 
 live. They at least are innocent objects to love. What- 
 ever be said of his portraitures of men and women, still 
 let us keep the memory of these household saints as of 
 our own children that we have loved and lost. Always 
 must I bless the hand that drew the pale face of little 
 N ell, that put such love in her faithful heart, and gave 
 strength to her wandering feet, and still as I hear the 
 Christmas Carol, will I say — Spirit of Tiny Tim, thy 
 
 CHILDISH ESSENCE WAS FROM GOD ! 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 A Near View op Mr. Spurgeon. 
 
 London, June 23, 1858. 
 
 No preacher in England, since Edward Irving, has had 
 such popularity as Mr. Spurgeon. He is one of the lions 
 of London — a rather young lion, to be sure ; but one 
 who, since his appearance in the field, has roared so loud- 
 ly as to make all the nation hear — and every stranger 
 -who wishes to “ do” the sights of this Babylon, must for 
 once, at least, see and hear him. Accordingly we set 
 apart our first Sabbath to this purpose. We took a car- 
 riage early, as Surrey Hall is on the other side of the 
 Thames, full three miles from the West End, where we 
 had our quarters. We arrived before the gates were 
 opened, but found the crowd already beginning to col- 
 lect. I had a letter to Mr. Spurgeon which I gave to 
 one of the officers of the church, w T ho immediately ad- 
 mitted us and invited us to sit on the platform, but we 
 preferred a seat in the front of the side gallery, from 
 which we could overlook the audience, which was almost 
 as much a matter of curiosity as the preacher. Soon 
 we knew that the gates were opened by the hurry- 
 ing of those who had tickets to secure good places. 
 
 47 
 
48 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 It was interesting to observe the audience assembling 
 — to mark the hurried step and eager look of the 
 multitude. Music Hall, as it is named, is situated 
 in the centre of Surrey Gardens, a place of resort and 
 amusement during the week. The hall was designed, 
 as its name indicates, for monster concerts, such as those 
 given by Julien. It is built with three or four galleries, 
 like the Academy of Music in New York, though from 
 its greater length, it can hold a much larger audience. 
 It is said that it will contain eight thousand people. 
 But, vast as was this amphitheatre, it was soon filled. 
 Tier above tier rose the dense array of heads. The ad- 
 mission is by tickets, though the price is so small that it 
 is but a trifle to those who wish to attend. Thus, a 
 shilling buys a ticket which is good for a month ; and 
 five shillings for the same time secures reserved seats. 
 At half-past ten the doors were opened to those without 
 tickets. Then came a second rush, which choked up 
 every aisle and passage with persons standing. But at 
 length the trampling ceased, for the building could 
 hold no more, the audience hushed to quietness, and the 
 preacher ascended the pulpit. 
 
 Never had a public speaker a more unpromising exte- 
 rior than Mr. Spurgeon. He is very short and very fat, 
 and altogether what we should call chubby , and as he 
 goes waddling up the stairs he looks more like an over- 
 grown boy than a fully developed man. Nor does his 
 countenance betoken superior intellect. His forehead is 
 
A NEAR VIEW OF MR. SPURGEON. 
 
 49 
 
 low, and his upper lij) is so short that it shows his teeth, 
 which gives his mouth the appearance of a simper or a 
 grin. Surely, I thought, eloquence cannot come out of 
 such a mouth as that. 
 
 But the impression which a physiognomist might form 
 from these dull and heavy features, is dispelled as soon 
 as he begins to speak. Then his countenance lights up 
 with animation. His voice is full and clear, and rings 
 through the hall like a clarion, filling every ear with the 
 melodious sound. 
 
 The introductory services were not of any special in- 
 terest, beyond the ordinary services in every church. As 
 is common in England, the reading of the Scriptures oc- 
 cupied a longer time than with us, being accompanied 
 with an exposition. The prayer which followed was ap- 
 propriate and fervent, but not remarkable for thought or 
 expression, as were the prayers of Edward Irving. The 
 singing, though of the plainest kind, was grand from the 
 multitude of voices which swelled the mighty chorus. 
 Mr. Spurgeon read the words, verse by verse, and a 
 precentor, standing up in front of the pulpit, gave out the 
 tune, and led the singing. It was a noble sight to see this 
 whole audience rising, and joining in that old majestic 
 hymn of which each verse ends with the line, 
 
 “Rejoice aloud, ye saints, rejoice.” 
 
 Before commencing his discourse, Mr. Spurgeon an- 
 nounced that a telegraphic dispatch had just been re- 
 
 3 
 
50 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 ceived, calling for a person who was supposed to be pr* 
 sent, and who was summoned away by a severe domestic 
 calamity. The man whose name had been called came 
 forward, much agitated, to the pulpit to receive the mes 
 sage, and, as he retired, the sermon began. 
 
 The text was Ecclesiastes viii. 10: “And so I saw the 
 wicked buried, which had come and gone from the place 
 of the holy, and they -were forgotten in the city where 
 they had so done : this is also vanity.” The subject was 
 The Wicked Man’s Lire, Funeral, and Epitaph. The 
 introduction struck me as beautifully simple and apposite, 
 as neither farfetched nor commonplace. See how natural 
 ly he introduces his solemn reflections upon death : 
 
 “ It is quite certain that there are immense benefits 
 attending our present mode of burial in extra-mural 
 cemeteries. It was high time that the dead should be 
 removed from the midst of the living — that we should 
 not worship in the midst of corpses, and sit in the Lord’s 
 house on the Sabbath, breathing the noxious effluvia of 
 decaying bodies. But w r hen we have said this, we must 
 remember that there are some advantages which w r e have 
 lost by the removal of the dead, and more especially by 
 the wholesale mode of burial which now seems very like- 
 ly to become general. We are not so often met by the 
 array of death. In the midst of our crowded cities we 
 sometimes see the sable hearse bearing the relics of men 
 to their last homes, but the funeral ceremonies are now 
 
A NEAR VIEW OF MR. SPURGEON. 
 
 51 
 
 mostly confined to those sweet sleeping-places beyond 
 our walks, where rest the bodies of those who are very 
 dear to us. ISTow, I believe the sight of a funeral is a 
 very healthful thing for the soul. Whatever harm may 
 come to the body by walking through the vault and the 
 catacomb, the soul can there find much food for contem- 
 plation, and much excitement for thought. In the quiet 
 villages, where some of us were wont to dwell, we re- 
 member how, when the funeral came now and then, the 
 tolling of the bell preached to all the villagers a better 
 sermon than they had heard in the church for many a 
 day ; and we recollect, how as children, we used to clus- 
 ter around the grave, and look at that which was not so 
 frequent an occurrence in the midst of a rare and sparse 
 population ; and we remember the solemn thoughts 
 which used to arise even in our young hearts when we 
 heard the words uttered, ‘Earth to earth, ashes to 
 ashes, dust to dust.’ The solemn falling of the few grains 
 of ashes upon the coffin-lid was the sowing of good seed 
 in our hearts. And afterwards, when in our childish 
 play we have climbed over those nettle-bound graves, 
 and seated ourselves upon those moss-grown tombstones, 
 we have had many a lesson preached to us by the dull, 
 cold tongue of death, more eloquent than aught we have 
 heard from the lips of living man, and more likely to abide 
 with us in after years. But now we see little of death. 
 We have fulfilled Abraham’s wish beyond what he de- 
 sired — we ‘ bury the dead out of our sight it is rarely 
 
52 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 ^ 1 
 
 that we see them, and a stranger passing through our 
 streets might say, ‘ Do these men live always? for I see 
 no funerals amongst the millions of this city , I see no 
 signs of death.’ ” 
 
 Having thus conducted us to the borders of the grave, 
 the preacher made a simple division of his subject into 
 three parts, and asked us first, to mark the living man, 
 
 “ as he came and went from the place of the holy next, 
 to attend his funeral ; and finally, to write his epitaph. 
 
 “ The place of the holy,” he said, in the original proba- 
 bly referred to the seat of judgment, held by the civil 
 magistrate, but the term might also be applied to the 
 house of God, and with a still stronger emphasis to the 
 sacred pulpit ; and he therefore proceeded to consider all 
 of these positions as sometimes occupied and profaned by 
 the presence of wicked men. How sternly did he rebuke 
 those magistrates who sit to judge the poor drunkard, or 
 the wretched woman of the streets, and who yet in their 
 hearts know themselves to be guilty of the very vices 
 which they condemn l 
 
 The same rigid inquisition he applied to the worship- 
 pers in the sanctuary. After drawing a picture of the 
 multitudes coming up to the house of God, he proceeded 
 to separate the congregation, and to mark those who 
 attend from form, or fashion, or curiosity, and who go 
 away as vile as they came. After speaking of the goodly 
 sight presented by the vast audience, he said : 
 
A NEAR VIEW OF MR. SPURGEON. 
 
 53 
 
 “ Your pleasure must have a great deal of alloy if you 
 stop for a moment and dissect the congregation. Pull 
 the goodly mass in sunder : in a heap it sparkles like gold ; 
 pull aside the threads, and alas ! you will see that there 
 are some not made of the precious metal, for ‘ we have 
 seen the wicked come and go from the place of the holy.’ 
 Little do we know when we look here from this pulpit — 
 it looks like one great field of flowers, fair to look upon 
 — how many a root of deadly henbane and noxious night- 
 shade groweth here ; and though you all look fair and 
 goodly, yet 4 1 have seen the wicked come and go from 
 the place of the holy.’ ” 
 
 But the sternest rebuke of the preacher was reserved 
 for those who profane the sacred desk : 
 
 u If there be a place under high Heaven more holy 
 than another, it is the pulpit whence the Gospel is 
 preached. This is the Thermopylae of Christendom ; here 
 must the great battle be fought between Christ’s Church 
 and the invading hosts of a wicked world. This is the 
 last vestige of anything sacred that is left to us. . . . 
 
 Yet I have seen the wicked come and go from it. Alas ! 
 if there be a sinner that is hardened, it is the man that 
 sins and occupies his pulpit. . . . We have known cases 
 where men, when convicted to their own foreheads, have 
 unblushingly persevered in proclaiming a Gospel which 
 their lives denied. And perhaps these are the hardest of 
 
64 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 all sinners to deal with. But if the garment be once de- 
 filed, away with all thoughts of the pulpit then ! He must 
 be clean who ministers at the altar. Every saint must 
 be holy, but he, holiest of all, who seeks to serve his God. 
 Yet, we must mourn to say it, the Church of God every 
 now and then has had a sun that was black instead of white, 
 and a moon that was as a clot of blood, instead of being 
 full of fairness and beauty. Happy the Church when 
 God gives her holy ministers ; but unhappy the Church 
 where wicked men preside.” • 
 
 After these descriptions of a guilty life, we were 
 brought to see its fearful end. W e had seen the wicked 
 in his power — we were yet to see him laid low in the 
 grave. “Now,” said the preacher, “ we ake going to 
 his funeral. I shall want you to attend it.” He added 
 with a sarcasm that often flashes out in his discourse : 
 
 “ You need not be particular about having on a hat 
 band, or being arrayed in garments of mourning. It does 
 not signify for the wretch we are going to bury. There 
 is no need for any very great outward signs of mourning, 
 for he will be forgotten even in the city where he hath 
 done this : therefore we need not particularly mourn for 
 him.” 
 
 He then drew the picture of a pompous funeral cere- 
 mony made over the body of a wicked man : 
 
 u There is a man who has been a county magistrate. 
 
A NEAR VIEW OF MR. SPURGEON. 
 
 55 
 
 Do you see what a stir is made about his poor bones ! 
 There is the hearse covered with plumes, and there fol- 
 lows a long string of carriages. The country people stare 
 to see such a long train of carriages coming to follow one 
 poor worm to its resting-place. What pomp ! what 
 grandeur ! See how the place of worship is hung with 
 black. There seems to be intense mourning made over 
 this man. Will you just think of it for a minute, and 
 whom are they mourning for ? A hypocrite ! Whom is 
 all this pomp for ? For one who was a wicked man; a 
 man who made a pretension of religion ; a man who 
 judged others, and who ought, to have been condemned 
 himself. All this pomp for putrid clay ; and what is it more 
 or better than that ? When such a man dies, ought he 
 not to be buried with the burial of an ass ? Let him be 
 drawn and dragged from the gates of the city. What has 
 he to do with pomp ? At the head of the mournful caval- 
 cade is Beelzebub, leading the procession, and, looking 
 back vr ith twinkling eye, and leer of malicious joy, he says, 
 4 Here is fine pomp to conduct a soul to hell Tvith !’ Ah ! 
 plumes and hearse for the man tvIio is being conducted to 
 his last abode in Tophet ! A string of carriages to do honor 
 to the man Tvhom God hath cursed in life and cursed in 
 death ; for the hope of the hypocrite is evermore an ac- 
 ' cursed one. And a bell is ringing, and the clergyman 
 is reading the funeral service, and is burying the man 4 in 
 sure and certain hope.’ Oh ! Tvhat a laugh rings up from 
 somewhere a little lower down than the grave! 4 In 
 
56 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 sure and certain hope,’ says Satan; ‘ha! ha I your sure 
 and certain hope is folly indeed. Trust to a bubble, and 
 hope to fly to the stars ; trust to the wild winds, that 
 they shall conduct you safely to heaven ; but trust to 
 such a hope as that, and thou art a madman indeed.’ 
 Oh ! if we judged rightly when a hypocrite died, we 
 should do him no honor. If men could but see a little 
 deeper than the skin, and read the thoughts of the heart, 
 they would not patronize this great, black lie, and lead a 
 long string of carriages through the streets; they would 
 say, ‘ No, the man was good for nothing, he was the out- 
 ward skin without the life ; he professed to be what he 
 was not ; he lived the scornful life of a deceiver ; let him 
 have the burial of Jeconiah ; let him not have a funeral 
 at all ; let him be cast away as loathsome carrion, for 
 that is all he is.’ When a godly man dies, ye may make 
 lamentation over him, ye may well carry him with solemn 
 pomp unto his grave, for there is an odor in his bones, 
 there is a sweet savor about him that even God delighteth 
 in, for ‘ precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of 
 His saints.’ But the gilded hypocrite, the varnished 
 deceiver, the w T ell accoutred wolf in sheep’s clothing — 
 away with pomp for him ! Why should men bewail 
 him ? They do not do it ; why should they pretend to 
 do so, and give the outward semblance of a grief, where 
 they feel none ?” 
 
 Or the wicked might be buried in a more quiet way ; 
 
A NEAR VIEW OF MR. SPURGEON. 
 
 57 
 
 silently laid in the grave with none to mourn for him — 
 men standing around whom delicacy to the living con- 
 strained to silence, but whom truth would not permit to 
 utter hypocritic praise. Thus contemplating the end to 
 which all must come, the preacher said with solemn truth, 
 M Brethren , after all , we ought to judge ourselves very 
 much in the light of our funerals .” And I could see 
 that he was thinking of what might be said of him when 
 he was gone, as he added, 
 
 “ Oh ! I would desire so to live that wdien I leave this 
 mortal state, men may say, ‘There is one gone wdio 
 sought to make the world better. However rough his 
 efforts may have been, he w T as an honest man; he 
 sought to serve God, and there lies he that feared not 
 the face of man.’ ” 
 
 And then, as if to heighten by contrast the effect of the 
 dark picture he had drawn, he thus portrayed the burial 
 of the righteous : 
 
 “ I remember the funeral of one pastor — I attended it. 
 Many ministers of the Gospel walked behind the coffin to 
 attend their brother, and pay honor to him ; and then 
 came a long string of members of the Church, every one 
 of whom wept as if they had lost a father. And I re- 
 member the solemn sermon that was preached in the 
 chapel, all hung with black, when all of us wept because 
 a great man had fallen that day in Israel. We felt that 
 
 3 * 
 
58 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 a prince had been taken from us, and we all said, like 
 Elijah’s servant, c My father, my father, the horses of 
 Israel and the chariots thereof!’ 
 
 “ But I have seen the wicked buried, and I saw nothing 
 of this sort. I saw a flickering kind of sorrow, like the 
 dying of a wick that is almost consumed. I saw that 
 those who paid a decent respect to the corpse did it for 
 the widow’s sake, and for the sake of them that were left 
 behind ; but if they could have dealt with the corpse as 
 their nature seemed to dictate they ought to have dealt 
 with the man when living, they would have said, ‘ Let 
 him be buried at the dead of night ; let him have some 
 unhallowed corner in the churchyard w T here the nettle 
 long has grown ; let the frog croak over his tomb ; let 
 the owl make her resting-place o’er his sepulchre, and 
 let her hoot all night long, for hooted he well deserves to 
 be ; let no laurel and no cypress grow upon his grave, 
 and let no rose twine itself as a sweet bower around the 
 place where he sleeps ; let no cowslip and no lily of the 
 valley deck the grass that cover eth him ; there let him 
 lie ; let not the greensward grow, but let the place be 
 accursed where sleeps the hypocrite.” 
 
 But he went still further : 
 
 “There is a sad thing yet to come. We must look a 
 little deeper than the mere ceremonial of the burial, and 
 we shall see that there is a great deal more in some 
 people’s coffins besides their corpses. When old Robert 
 
A NEAR VIEW OF MR. SPURGEON. 
 
 59 
 
 Flockart was buried a few weeks ago in Edinburgh, he 
 was buried as I think a Christian minister should be, for 
 his old Bible and hymn-book were placed upon the top 
 of the coffin. Had he been a soldier, I suppose he would 
 have had his sword put there ; but he had been a 
 Christian soldier, and so they buried him with his Bible 
 and hymn-book as his trophies. It was well that such a 
 trophy should be on that coffin ; but there is a great deal, 
 as I have said, inside some people’s coffins. If w~e had 
 eyes to see invisible things, and we could break the lid 
 of the hypocrite’s coffin, we should see a great deal there. 
 There lie all his hopes, and they are to be buried with 
 him. Of all the frightful things that a man can look 
 upon, the face of a dead hope is the most horrible. A 
 dead child is a pang indeed to a mother’s heart ; a dead 
 wife or a dead husband, to the heart of the bereaved, 
 must be sorrowful indeed ; but a coffin full of dead 
 hopes — did you ever see such a load of misery carried to 
 the grave as that ? 
 
 “ Wrapt in the same shroud, there lie all his dead pre- 
 tensions. When he was here he made a pretension of 
 being respectable ; there lies his respect, he shall be a 
 hissing and a reproach forever. He made a pretension 
 of . being sanctified, but the mask is off now, and he 
 stands in all his native blackness. And so he sleeps. The 
 tongue that prattled once so pleasantly concerning god- 
 liness is now silent. That hypocritical eye that once 
 flashed with the pretended fire of joy — it is all now dark, 
 
60 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 dark. That brain that thought of inventions to deceive 
 — the worm shall feed on it. And that heart of his, 
 that once throbbed beneath ribs that were scarcely 
 thick enough to hide the transparency of his hypo- 
 crisy shall now be devoured by demons. There are dead 
 pretensions inside that rotten skeleton, and dead hopes 
 too. 
 
 44 But there is one thing that sleeps with him in his 
 coffin that he had set his heart upon. He had set his 
 heart upon being known after he was gone. He thought 
 surely after he had departed this life, he w T ould be hand- 
 ed down to posterity and be remembered. Now read 
 the text — 4 And they were forgotten in the city where 
 they had so done.’ There is his hope of fame. Every 
 man likes to live a little longer than his life — Englishmen 
 especially — for there is scarcely to be found a rock in all 
 England up which even a goat can hardly climb, 
 where there may not be discovered the initials of the 
 names of men, who never had any other mode of attain- 
 ing to fame, and therefore thought they would inscribe 
 their names there. Go where you will, you find men at- 
 tempting to be known ; and this is the reason why many 
 people write in newspapers, else they never would be 
 known. A hundred little inventions we all of us have 
 for keeping our names going after we are dead. 
 
 44 But with the wicked man it is all in vain ; he shall be 
 forgotten. He lias done nothing to make anybody re- 
 member him. Ask the poor, 4 Do you remember So-and 
 
A NEAR VIEW OF MR. SPURGEON. 
 
 61 
 
 so ?’ 4 Hard master, sir, very. He always cut us down 
 
 to the last sixpence ; and we do not wish to recollect 
 him.’ Their children won’t hear his name ; they will for- 
 get him entirely. Ask the Church, 1 Do you remember 
 So-and-so ? he was a member.’ 4 Well,’ says one, 4 1 re- 
 member him Certainly, his name was on the books, but we 
 never had his heart. He used to come and go, but I 
 never could talk with him. There was nothing spiritual 
 in him. There was a great deal of sounding bell-metal 
 and brass, but no gold. I never could discover that he 
 had the root of the matter in him.’ Ho one thinks of 
 him, and he will soon be forgotten. The chapel grows 
 old, there comes up another congregation, and somehow 
 or other they talk about the old deacons that used to be 
 there, who were good and holy men, and about the old 
 lady, that used to be so eminently useful in visiting the 
 sick ; about the young man who rose out of that church, 
 who was so useful in the cause of God ; but you never hear 
 mention made of his name ; he is quite forgotten. WTien 
 he died his name was struck out of the books ; he was 
 reported as being dead, and all remembrance of him died 
 with him. I have often noticed how soon wicked things die 
 w T hen the man dies who originated them. Look at V ol- 
 taire’s philosophy ; with all the noise it made in his time 
 — where is it now ? There is just a little of it lingering, 
 but it seems to have gone. And there was Tom Paine, 
 who did his best to w^rite his name in letters of damna- 
 tion, and one would think he might have been remem- 
 
62 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 bered. But who cares for him now ? What is a wicked 
 man’s body but a rotten piece of noisomeness ? Put it 
 away, and thank God there are worms to eat such a thing 
 up, and thank him still more, that there is a worm called 
 Time, to eat up the evil influence and the accursed mem- 
 ory, which such a man leaves behind him.” 
 
 And then in a few solemn words the preacher wrote 
 the epitaph of the wicked, This also is vanity, showing 
 the folly and madness of the course which led to this 
 miserable end. 
 
 As soon as the sermon was closed, there w T ere signs of 
 a movement near the door, when Mr. Spurgeon cried 
 out, u All w T ho do not w^ant a blessing, can go,” and im- 
 mediately pronounced the benediction, and the vast 
 audience slowly dispersed. 
 
 I have given you this full description of the sermon as 
 the best means of conveying an idea of Mr. Spurgeon’s 
 preaching. Every one is surprised by his readiness and 
 fluency, a gift so rare especially among Englishmen. 
 During the whole of this long discourse, he had not a 
 note or a line before him. It w^as purely extemporaneous. 
 It was taken dowm in short-hand, as are all his Sunday 
 morning sermons, and printed in a tract form, from which 
 I have quoted those passages wdiich most impressed me 
 in the delivery. 
 
 But what I admired yet more than the fluency of 
 speech, w r as the simplicity of the language. There w r as 
 
A NEAR VIEW OF MR. SPURGEON. 
 
 63 
 
 not a word which could not be understood by every- 
 body. He used plain, homely phrases, and thus the truth 
 was brought directly into contact with the minds of his 
 audience. In many points Mr. Spurgeon reminded us 
 strongly of Henry Ward Beecher — in his hearty earnest- 
 ness, in his blunt, pithy way of saying a thing, in his 
 touches of tenderness and occasional gleams of humor, 
 and in his varied imagination, which though sometimes 
 stooping to coarse figures, often rises to the use of imag- 
 ery the most delicate and beautiful. 
 
 From all this you will readily infer that we came away 
 from Surrey Hall with a very pleasant impression. I 
 confess we had gone with some misgiving, for I had so 
 often seen a great reputation dwindle as it was ap- 
 proached, that I dreaded to have another illusion dis- 
 pelled. But this sermon relieved my fears. I had seen 
 Mr. Spurgeon criticised and ridiculed in the English 
 journals as a clerical mountebank, and I did not know 
 but he might appear as a theatrical performer in the pul- 
 pit. But the critic who can deride Mr. Spurgeon as a 
 charlatan, must be insensible to any demonstrations of 
 oratorical power. Ho candid listener can deny to him 
 the possession of great talent, and when the amount of 
 his labors is considered, it appears still more remark- 
 able. 
 
 The same evening we heard him again in his own 
 chapel in Hew Park street, and after the service, we saw 
 him in his vestry and had a very pleasant interview. I 
 
64 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 had a natural apprehension that he must be breaking 
 down from excessive labor. But he assured me that he 
 was in robust health. He said that his constant "speak- 
 ing was the best exercise for him, and that he should die 
 if he did not preach twelve times a week. I asked him 
 when he found time to study, to which he replied that he 
 could give but little preparation to his sermons, often 
 entering the pulpit with not more than fifteen minutes 
 previous thought of his subject. 
 
 But he has lately contrived to secure some degree of 
 leisure. He has taken a house by Clapham Common, at 
 several miles’ distance from his church, to avoid inter- 
 ruptions. His deacons do all his visiting, and hence, in 
 the interval of his public duties, he is able to snatch a 
 few hours for study and books. I suspect, too, that he 
 has read largely in former years. He appears to be very 
 familiar with the old divines, especially with Bunyan, 
 whom he calls “ the greatest of Englishmen.” In this 
 very sermon, when speaking of the holy dead, he paid an 
 eloquent tribute to the memory of the marvellous dreamer. 
 Traces of his familiarity with the writings of Bunyan are 
 seen everywhere in his style. 
 
 Such are my impressions of Mr. Spurgeon. I rank him 
 very highly among the living men of his country. Some- 
 times I hear a fling at him, that he is a coarse, vulgar 
 man, and that he is puffed up with conceit. Perhaps he 
 is vain of his popularity. I can only say that I did not 
 discover it in his public preaching, nor in his private con- 
 
A NEAR VIEW OF MR. SPURGEON. 
 
 65 
 
 versation. As to liis low breeding, certainly he has not 
 an aristocratic air. As he has sprung out of the ground, 
 he shows plain marks of his origin. He is of the earth, 
 earthy. But that very fact may give him half his power. 
 His thoughts and language are racy of the soil, and thus 
 he is fitted to be what he is — not a fashionable preacher, 
 but a real tribune of the people, swaying the hearts of 
 thousands of men. I think he would have been injured 
 rather than benefited if he had been educated at one of 
 the universities, and spent the years in studying Latin 
 and Greek, which he has turned to much better account 
 in studying Bunyan and the people of England. Let 
 critics carp at him if they will. I shall still love, and 
 honor, and admire Mr. Spurgeon — as a man of rare elo- 
 quence, and what is better still, of a great and noble 
 Christian heart — a heart that loves his fellow-men, and 
 seeks their good, and I believe that God has raised him 
 up to be a great blessing to England. 
 
 'M 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 English Manners — Reserve — Pride — Snobbery — Worship of Rank 
 — Better Qualities — English Hearts and English Homes. 
 
 London, June , 1858. 
 
 When two Americans meet in England, the first ques- 
 tion they ask each other, after bowing and shaking 
 hands, is, What do you think of these English ? Each 
 answers according to his own experience. As he has 
 chanced to fall in with favorable specimens or otherwise, 
 so is his judgment of the whole people, which he is not 
 slow to express in that peculiarly energetic and forcible 
 language in which Brother Jonathan is apt to set forth 
 his ideas of men and nations. One who should keep 
 silence and listen to these off-hand verdicts, would be 
 amused by their variety. I hear so many contradictory 
 opinions that I feel much hesitation in expressing my 
 own. Xor is this diffidence diminished by seeing the 
 srreater carefulness of those who know more. 
 
 W e have in Liverpool a very excellent representative 
 of our countrymen in the person of Rev. William H. 
 Channing, of Boston, who has spent five years in that 
 city, preaching to a Unitarian congregation. He is a 
 man of fine culture and of large and liberal heart ; full 
 
 6G 
 
ENGLISII MANNERS. 
 
 67 
 
 of enthusiasm for all that is true, noble, and beautiful, 
 wherever he finds it ; and whose reverence for the Old 
 World is only equalled by his hope for the New. The 
 other day a friend of mine, who had just landed from 
 America, asked him the usual question, What he thought 
 of the English ? His answer was very significant. lie 
 said he did not think he understood them so well as he 
 did when he came to England five years before ! I com- 
 mend this answer to those who are so prompt and even 
 flippant in their judgment of a great people. If a man 
 of so much intelligence, and with such excellent oppor- 
 tunities of seeing the better class of English society, has 
 to confess himself perplexed in trying to comprehend 
 the English character, a stranger who has been but a 
 few weeks in the country had better be modest in ex- 
 pressing his opinion. At least it will be safer to confine 
 himself to marked and salient points. 
 
 It does not surprise me at all to hear opinions so 
 diverse, for it is clear to the least penetrating observer, 
 that the English character combines some most contra- 
 dictory elements, so that a man can hardly mingle with 
 them for a few days without finding himself in different 
 moods, alternately attracted and repelled. 
 
 Equally clear is it that the outside of the English 
 character is not the best side. Yet, unfortunately, it is 
 all which most travellers see. A young American comes 
 to England, full of interest and admiration for the coun- 
 try of his fathers. Yet he hardly gets on shore before 
 
C8 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 his enthusiasm suffers a rude shock. His first experi- 
 ence falls upon him like a shower bath. At his landing, 
 he is thrown, like Jonah into the whale’s mouth, into the 
 jaws of the Custom-house, where he is apt to be roughly 
 handled. This is his introduction to John Bull, and he 
 comes out of his embraces, thinking he is but a surly 
 fellow. 
 
 This is experience No. 1. Now for experience No 2. 
 lie gets into a railway carriage, and begins to ride over 
 the country. He is full of eager curiosity, and has a 
 thousand questions to ask of what he sees. But his 
 travelling companions are not at all communicative. 
 For the interchange of thought that passes between 
 them, they might as well be deaf and dumb. This 
 reserve wounds the pride of a stranger. An American 
 especially likes to talk and to exercise his national lib- 
 erty of asking questions. And this distant manner, 
 which repels intercourse, he resents as a silent insult, as 
 a disdain of his society. One must be disposed to judge 
 very kindly of his fellow-creatures, who can ride all day 
 in the same carriage with a man who deigns him never 
 a word, without thinking in his heart that he is a dis- 
 agreeable churl. If this be a prejudice, it is certainly a 
 very natural one, and one which it takes a long time to 
 cure. 
 
 And yet nothing can be more unjust than to impute 
 this reserve always to pride or disdain, or to suppose 
 that it is manifested only towards foreigners. I find, in 
 
RESERVE. 
 
 GO 
 
 conversing with Englishmen, that they are as fully con- 
 scious of it as we can be, and often are quite as much 
 embarrassed by it. A gentleman of London, who is a 
 man of large fortune, told me that on one occasion he 
 left for the north, I think for Edinburgh. In the rail- 
 way carriage were three gentlemen besides himself. 
 Yet not a word was spoken. Each sat in his corner 
 silent. Thus they rode on for two hundred miles with- 
 out saying a word. At York the train stopped fora 
 few minutes, and they got out. As they returned to 
 their seats, one ventured the presumptuous remark that 
 “ it was a miserable day” (it had been raining ever since 
 they started), to which another had the audacity to 
 reply, that “ they had been as miserable as the day.” 
 That broke the ice, and the waters began to flow. From 
 that moment they kept up a constant stream of conver- 
 sation all the way to Scotland. 
 
 This incident, which is only one of ten thousand, 
 shows that English reserve, in many cases, is not the 
 effect of pride, but of shyness. These four travelling 
 companions were silent, not because each disdained the 
 others, but because each feare'd th v e others, and hesitated 
 to make advances lest he*should be repulsed. Every 
 one of these travellers may have been a most amiable 
 gentleman, full of intelligence, and “ ready to communi- 
 cate,” but a mutual awe sealed their lips. The true 
 explanation, therefore, of English taciturnity, is not to 
 be found in a sour or sullen temper, but in the extent to 
 
70 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 which class distinctions are carried, from w r hich every 
 man is afraid to make advances to a stranger, lest he 
 intrude on the greatness of some one above him, or 
 stoop to a person of lower grade, whom he will find it 
 convenient to drop. These odious distinctions are the 
 great bar to social intercourse, the chief barrier to gen- 
 eral friendliness and courtesy. 
 
 But the great vice of the English character, as it ap- 
 pears to foreigners, that which most affronts the self- 
 respect of every man who sets foot upon this island, and 
 which begets all which is most offensive in English man- 
 ners, is — not reserve, for that disappears on acquaintance 
 — but another quality wrhich never disappears — Pride. 
 Every Englishman seems to carry about with him a con- 
 sciousness of the greatness of his country, a sense of the 
 majesty of Britain, which will not depart from him. 
 Wherever he goes, he never forgets that England is the 
 greatest empire on earth, and he thinks privately that 
 no small part of its greatness is incarnated in himself. 
 And this makes him alternately haughty and patronizing 
 in his treatment of men of other nations. 
 
 Probably no foreigners are so sensitive to this as our 
 countrymen, precisely because it jars rudely on their 
 own sense of importance. An American puts himself 
 in the way of offence, for surely as he begins to talk, he 
 will talk about his country, which, of course, he thinks 
 bhe greatest country on earth — not yet having seen any 
 other — and this touches the pride of John Bull, who is 
 
PRIDE SNOBBERY. 
 
 11 
 
 
 
 apt to reply by a stout assertion of the unapproachable 
 greatness of England, or more likely by a quiet disdain. 
 He shuts his mouth firmly, as if he had the lockjaw, 
 scorning to reply to Yankee ignorance and imperti- 
 nence. 
 
 Or if he be of a mild temper, he will perhaps be 
 benignant, and even deign some mark of his approba- 
 tion. If you tell him of the greatness of the world be- 
 yond the sea, he breathes upon you an ineffable smile — 
 like that of the Reverend Mr. Cliadband — which seems 
 to say, You are a very nice young gentleman, and 
 America is a promising country for a young one. Go 
 on, my children, for a few hundred years, and you may 
 approach the stature of your father ! 
 
 Of these two phases of English manners, the lofty or 
 the condescending, it is difficult to say which is the more 
 offensive. An American cannot bear to be snubbed, nor 
 to be patronized. Either mode of address implies a 
 superiority, that wounds him in • his tenderest point,- 
 which is a sensitive national vanity. 
 
 But pride, standing alone, though cold, distant, and 
 repulsive — still has in it a certain dignity, were it not 
 belittled by its union with another quality, which seems 
 the very opposite, yet which often dwells in the same 
 breast. It is obsequiousness and servility. It is the 
 union of these two repellent traits which makes the gen- 
 uine snob — a character which, if we are to credit their 
 own writers, abounds in England. Nowhere on earth, 
 
72 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 unless it be in the most despotic Asiatic empires, is there 
 a more servile worship of rank. An American can 
 hardly believe his senses when he sees the abasement of 
 soul which seizes the middle classes in the presence of a 
 lord. They look up to him as a superior being, with a 
 reverence approaching to awe. The very men who 
 carry their heads so high to foreigners, he sees now 
 sinking into the dust of humility, and his previous re- 
 sentment turns into disgust and contempt. “Ah ha!” 
 he exclaims, scornfully, “This is the great English na- 
 tion ! It is a nation of snobs — insolent to all whom they 
 think they can insult with impunity, yet cowed and 
 cringing to the lowest degree before their own mas- 
 ters.” 
 
 This servility gives the American a brave chance to 
 retort the taunts which he hears in regard to slavery : 
 “ Slavery ! where is there more slavery than in England 
 — slavery, not indeed of the body, but of the soul ? 
 The worshippers of the Grand Lama are not more abject 
 and servile adorers of power than these boasting Brit- 
 ons, that never, never will be slaves !” 
 
 “ Hear them prate about freedom and humanity ! It 
 is all disgusting cant. Humanity ! What do they care 
 for humanity ? A true respect for man is not known in 
 the British Islands. It is rank and power that are wor- 
 shipped. But for simple manhood there is not even 
 common respect. If a stranger crosses their path, the 
 first question is not, What is he? but who is he ? What 
 
WORSHIP OF EA^K. 
 
 73 
 
 is his name and family? It is not enough that upon 
 every feature God hath set his seal to give the world 
 assurance of a man. Even transcendent genius, the in- 
 spiration of the Almighty, is nothing compared with 
 noble blood, though it be blood that has been defiled 
 and corrupted by flowing through generations of profli- 
 gate ancestors !” 
 
 This degrading class worship does not exist merely 
 in the imagination of a stranger. It is the lament of 
 every man of high spirit in England, and the butt of 
 constant sarcasm and ridicule. What are the novels of 
 Thackeray but stinging satires upon that snobbery of 
 which England is full ? Who has written in more bit- 
 ter scorn of this flunkeyism — as he calls it — than Kings- 
 ley ? Perhaps the eyes of literary men are sharpened by 
 a keen sensibility to their own position. The position 
 of a literary man in England, it has been said, is “ a hell 
 of humiliations.” Conscious of great powers, they feel 
 that they are entitled to the first social position in their 
 country as they are at the head of its intellect. And 
 yet they find themselves set back in the second or third 
 rank, far behind men who are not worthy to untie the 
 latchet of their shoes. Yet such is the overshadowing 
 power of rank, that even those who protest against it, 
 who try to scorn it and satirize it, still bow to its influ- 
 ence. Even Thackeray is accused of stooping to play 
 the courtier in noble houses. It is said tauntingly — I 
 know not if truly — that he seeks more the smile of lords 
 
 4 
 
74 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 and ladies than to touch the great heart of England, and 
 would rather be admitted to their society than be the 
 first literary man in the realm. 
 
 Can anything be more degrading than a class spirit 
 which thus eats out the manliness of the noblest minds, 
 and which humbles the great middle class, which is a 
 nation’s glory and strength ? It is humiliating to see a 
 spirit so abject in a nation that has so many titles to our 
 reverence ; that has acted so grand a part in history, 
 and that still stretches out her imperial arm to rule a 
 large part of the four quarters of the globe. 
 
 I have put in the foreground these harsher traits of 
 English manners, because they are those which first 
 strike the eye of a foreigner, and which create such a 
 violent antipathy to the whole people, amounting in 
 some of my countrymen to a perfect Anglophobia. I 
 know that manners are not character. But they are its 
 most natural index and expression. And these diversi- 
 ties of address — now brusque and rude, and now gra- 
 cious and condescending — are interpreted by foreigners 
 as signs of that imperious temper, which they believe is 
 natural to every Englishman; that lofty consciousness 
 of his own greatness, and disdain of the rest of mankind, 
 which is the presiding sentiment of his thoughts, the 
 very centre and core of his soul, the spinal column of his 
 character. This may be a rash and hasty judgment, but 
 Brother Jonathan decides quickly, and speaks his mind 
 
 * 
 
BETTER QUALITIES. 
 
 75 
 
 in no ambiguous manner, and I’ll venture, if you were 
 to ask one of these plain-spoken Yankees — after he has 
 travelled a week or two in England — what he thinks of 
 great John Bull, he would answer in terms more forcb 
 ble than elegant, Cold as ice, and proud as Satan ! 
 
 Nothing is more useless than to combat an inveterate 
 national prejudice, especially when it has a partial basis 
 of truth, as this has, in the reserved and distant English 
 manners. The only hope is, that a better acquaintance 
 may correct the first unfavorable impression. But the 
 misfortune of most Americans who come to England is, 
 that they do not remain long enough in the country to 
 see anything of the interior of its social life. They spend 
 but a few w r eeks travelling through all parts of Great 
 Britain. They are mere birds of passage, on their way 
 to the sunnier clime of the south of Europe. Of course, 
 their acquaintance with the people — if such it deserves to 
 be called — is of the slightest. Meeting them only on 
 the great lines of travel, on railways, and at hotels, they 
 see only the outside, and the rough side, of the English 
 character. And so their first impressions remain with 
 them to the last. 
 
 The partial knowledge thus acquired, serves rather to 
 mislead than to enlighten. To judge the English justly, 
 one should know them well, or not at all. Half know- 
 ledge is worse than no knowledge, since it serves only 
 to create prejudice. And to know the English well, one 
 should know the homes of England, for it is there that 
 
V6 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 the national character comes out truest and best. Could 
 our testy countryman, who rides over the fair face of 
 this island in a railway carriage, discussing the while 
 Slavery and Repudiation, come down from his flying 
 car and visit yonder cottages by the hedge rows, and 
 those princely villas under the ancestral oaks, and see 
 the interior life of English families, he would soon 
 change his opinion, for he would find there much to 
 admire and to love. He would find this people, so cold 
 in appearance, full of domestic virtues. Ho man on 
 earth has stronger household affections than an English- 
 man. Ho man has a better governed family — children 
 more respectful and obedient, and in no human habi- 
 tation is there more mutual affection, more true love 
 and happiness. 
 
 One glimpse at such a domestic scene opens the eyes 
 of a stranger to a new phase of English character. He 
 finds, too, that when he is once admitted within that 
 sacred pale, no reception could be more cordial. In fact, 
 the very reserve which isolates an Englishman from 
 those “with whom he is not acquainted,” leads to a 
 warmer and fuller outgushing of the heart in the chan- 
 nels where it is permitted to flow. This people are, in- 
 deed, shy of strangers. To have any claim on then* 
 good offices, you must come duly authenticated as in all 
 respects a proper person. But when you are thus tick- 
 eted and labelled, all doors fly open, and there is no end 
 to English kindness and hospitality. 
 
ENGLISH HEARTS AND ENGLISH HOMES. 
 
 77 
 
 Then comes out “ the better soul” of an Englishman. 
 The crusty manner is all gone, and the stranger finds 
 that underneath this rough exterior lies concealed a 
 nature soft and gentle as a woman’s. Though his breast 
 is bound round with thick ribs, they cover a great 
 heart which beats with a strong and healthy motion. 
 There is no man who does himself such injustice as an 
 Englishman. In appearance he is a rough and impassi- 
 ble being, hard and cold as a rock. Yet deep within that 
 living stone, there is a perennial spring of pure and 
 noble feeling, and whoever can strike the rock, may 
 make the waters flow. 
 
 In the reaction of feeling produced by these new 
 aspects of English character, one is apt to lean the other 
 way, and no sooner is he well used to them, than he be- 
 gins to like some of John Bull’s rough points, which, 
 like the knobs on the British oak, are the signs of sturdy 
 strength. I cannot go to the extreme of those, who, 
 after stoutly abusing John Bull, suddenly turn round and 
 offer incense to him, and who now find something to ad- 
 mire even in his red nose and his gouty toe ! But I can 
 put up with blunt manners, when coupled with a true 
 and manly heart. John Bull is an honest fellow, the 
 world over. He will not lie, and pretend to be your 
 friend, when he means to betray you. And though he 
 treats you rather suspiciously at first, as if you had come 
 about “him to pick the old gentleman’s pockets, when 
 once he finds that you also are a true man, he gives you 
 
SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 78 
 
 his hand, and is a friend for life, ready to stand by you in 
 all your quarrels, and to fight your battles for you. 
 
 As for the English pride, it must be confessed that it 
 is rather an unamiable trait. Yet even this has its good 
 effect upon the general character. Pride is not always 
 a bad quality, either in a nation or an individual. It 
 produces self-respect and a scorn of baseness, and where 
 not carried to inordinate excess, it sits well on the char- 
 acter. In a nation it produces a dignity of public ac- 
 tion. For one thing I admire the pride of England. It 
 makes her nobly indifferent to the opinion of the world. 
 There is something grand in the repose of the British 
 lion. A hundred petty creatures may seek to worry 
 him, may pull his mane, and almost tweak his royal 
 nose, yet the king of beasts does not move a muscle. 
 Would that our country had a little of this calm self- 
 respect, which is inspired by conscious power — a proud 
 disdain of that foreign criticism, to which she now ap- 
 pears so absurdly sensitive ! 
 
 And this suggests a prudent reflection on ourselves, 
 which may check a harsh judgment of our neighbors. 
 It may be said of nations, as of individuals, Let him that 
 is without sin cast the first stone ! When tempted to 
 reproach the English for their disagreeable traits, my 
 tongue is checked by remembrance of our own deficien- 
 cies. If English pride wounds our dignity, it is not 
 more offensive to good taste than American vanity. In- 
 deed, it is the nobler quality of the two. Willingly 
 
ENGLISH HEARTS AND ENGLISH HOMES. 79 
 
 would I exchange our national trait for that of the En- 
 glish, or at least, “ go half and half.” 
 
 As for the snobbery which we charge upon English- 
 men, I think I have heard of such a thing even in the 
 model republic. Are all men modest in America? Are 
 all delicately considerate and respectful of the rights of 
 others? Have we no upstarts among us, vulgar and 
 insolent, taking airs to themselves, and oblivious of their 
 equals or their betters ? Perhaps it is safer not to invite 
 comparisons. 
 
 As for distinction of classes, we have none recognized 
 by law, but have we no social distinctions? Just as 
 truly as they have in England, only that the lines are 
 not as broad, and the walls are not as high, and so the 
 distinctions are not as permanent. They are founded 
 also on other titles, whether higher or nobler it is for 
 the world to judge. If it be unworthy of a great nation 
 to give such distinction to the accident of birth, is it 
 much more honorable in us to make a god of money ? 
 There is something to be proud of in a long line of noble 
 ancestors, which may inspire a dignity in the character. 
 But have we gained much by throwing down the idol 
 of aristocracy, if we at once set up in its place a golden 
 calf, to which we bid all men bow down and worship ? 
 It is much easier to abolish the name of distinctions in 
 society than to get rid of the thing. And we need to 
 look well to it, that in banishing a hereditary nobility, 
 we do not supply its place by a more vulgar aristocracy. 
 
80 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 4 
 
 Of the greater claims of England, to the respect of 
 the world — to the honor, the love, and the gratitude of 
 mankind, I need not speak. Her history, is it not writ- 
 ten on the face of the whole earth? Nay, wherein we 
 boast of our own greatness, do we not reflect glory upon 
 her ? F or, after all, is not England our mother ? Has 
 not America, with all her youthful strength, and un- 
 bounded hope, come out of her loins ? Let us, then, 
 think kindly, nay, lovingly, and proudly, of that great 
 people, in whose history our ancestors have borne a 
 part, and to which w y e are still bound by the ties of one 
 blood, one language, and one religion. 
 
 When I think of all that England is — of her intelli- 
 gence, learning, and virtue ; of her universities, founded 
 centuries ago, and illustrated by great discoveries, and 
 immortal names ; of her men of science, and of letters ; 
 of her writers, w 7 ho are the instructors, the delight, and 
 the solace of all who speak the English tongue ; of her 
 w T idely diffused intelligence ; of the general culture of 
 mind, and refinement of manners ; of the valor of her 
 sons, and the loveliness of her daughters ; of her ten 
 thousands of happy, Christian homes — I think that this 
 island is the very ark of the world, in which all that is 
 most precious is enshrined. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 England and the Continent — Normandy — Dieppe — The Cliff, the 
 Castle and the Beach — Rouen — Paris. 
 
 An American is not fairly in Europe until he reaches the 
 Continent. -England carries him back hundreds of years, 
 far beyond the time of Columbus. Yet it has not quite 
 the aspect of hoary antiquity with which it has been 
 clothed in his imagination. It is not ancient and moss- 
 grown. It has too many “ modern improvements,” and 
 in this is too much like his own country. And it is, not 
 until he has left the Island, and sets foot upon the solid 
 Continent, that he finds himself in contact with the old, 
 old world — “the world before the flood.” But once here, 
 the illusion is perfect. Here are old walls and towers, 
 old castles and cathedrals, which no rude hand of im- 
 provement has been suffered to touch. Here they stand 
 from century to century, grand and noble in their very 
 decay, the mighty monuments of former generations. 
 
 This difference is acknowledged by intelligent En- 
 glishmen. Says Ruskin : 
 
 “ I cannot find words to express the intense pleasure I 
 have always in first finding myself, after some prolonged 
 
 4* s; 
 
82 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 stay in England, at the foot of the old tower of Calais 
 church. The large neglect, the noble unsightliness of it ; 
 the record of its years written so visibly, yet without 
 sign of weakness or decay ; its stern wasteness and gloom, 
 eaten away by the Channel winds, and overgrown with 
 the bitter sea grasses ; its slates and tiles all shaken and 
 rent, and yet not falling ; its desert of brickwork full of 
 bolts, and holes, and ugly fissures, and yet strong like a 
 bare, brown rock ; its carelessness of what any one thinks 
 or feels about it, putting forth no claim, having no beau- 
 ty, nor desirableness, pride nor grace ; yet neither ask- 
 ing for pity ; not, as ruins are, useless and piteous, feebly 
 or fondly garrulous of better days; but useful still, going 
 through its own daily work — as some old fisherman 
 beaten grey by storm, yet drawing his daily nets; so 
 it stands, with no complaint about its past youth, in 
 blanched and meagre massiveness and serviceableness, 
 gathering human souls together underneath it ; the 
 sound of its bells for prayer still rolling through its 
 rents ; and the grey peak of it seen far across the sea, 
 principal of the three that rise above the waste of surfy 
 sand and hillocked shore, the lighthouse for life, and 
 the belfry for labor, and this for patience and praise. 
 
 “ I cannot tell the half of the strange pleasures and 
 thoughts that come about me at the sight of that old 
 sower ; for, in some sort, it is the epitome of all that 
 makes the Continent of Europe interesting, as opposed 
 to new countries ; and above all, it completely expresses 
 
ENGLAND AND THE CONTINENT. 83 
 
 that agodness in the midst of active life, which binds 
 the old and the new into harmony. We in England 
 have our new streets, our new inn, our green shaven 
 lawn, and our piece of ruin emergent from it — a mere 
 specimen of the middle ages put on a bit of velvet car- 
 pet to be shown, which, but for its size, might as w r ell 
 be on the museum shelf at once, under cover. But on 
 the Continent, the links are unbroken between the past 
 and the present, and in such use as they can serve for, 
 the grey headed wrecks are suffered to stay with men ; 
 while, in unbroken line, the generations of spared build- 
 ings are seen succeeding each in its place. And thus in 
 its largeness, in its permitted evidence of slow decline, 
 in its poverty, in its absence of all pretence, of all show 
 and care for outside aspect, that Calais tower has an infi- 
 nite of symbolism in it, all the more striking because 
 usually seen in contrast with English scenes expressive 
 of feelings the exact reverse of these.” 
 
 In coming into France we had a wish to pass through 
 the ancient province of Normandy. No part of the 
 kingdom has been so closely connected with England 
 from the time of the Conquest. The very coasts corres- 
 pond, — the white chalk cliffs standing face to face on 
 either side of the Channel. So instead of the more 
 direct route from London to Paris, by Boulogne, we 
 came down on the Brighton railway to Newhaven, and 
 crossed to Dieppe. We were not up to the quay before 
 
84 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 we felt the foreign atmosphere. There was a crowd 
 upon the shore, but not a man among them could be 
 mistaken for a bluff and burly Briton, stout with beef 
 and beer, with face red and round as the harvest 
 moon. Those lank limbs were never made in Eng- 
 land. Even the officers of the law, that generally 
 grow flit with dignity, had a lean and hungry look. 
 The gens d’armes, that stood to receive us on the quay, 
 with their long swords and cocked hats, presented the 
 same stiff appearance as in Hogarth’s caricatures of the 
 French a hundred years ago. The women, too, clattered 
 about with their wooden shoes and with the high caps 
 of Hormandy ; and both men and women kept up a 
 ceaseless jabber in a foreign tongue. 
 
 Dieppe, like Dover on the English coast, has its white 
 chalk cliff, 
 
 “ Whose high and bending head 
 Looks fearfully in the confined deep,” 
 
 and from its summit an old castle looks out far and wide 
 upon the waters. It has, too, like Calais, its old church, 
 that of St. Jacques, at the foot of whose tower a foreign 
 pilgrim can muse and meditate. 
 
 Though now but a small fishing town, and visited by 
 the fashionable world only for its sea bathing, Dieppe has 
 been in its day a place of renown. Three hundred years 
 ago it was the chief seaport in France. It had its ships 
 that made voyages to the ends of the earth, and came 
 
DIEPPE — THE CLIFF AND CASTLE. 
 
 85 
 
 back laden with the furs of Canada and the spices of 
 Senegal. It had its merchant prince, who, like the lords 
 of Venice, sent whole fleets to sea, in the person of 
 Ango, the friend of Francis I., whose chateau is still 
 seen near the town. But the rise of Havre, at the 
 mouth of the Seine, led to the decline of Dieppe ; till 
 now it has not more than twenty thousand inhabitants. 
 Still it is an important fishing port, and every year sends 
 out a hundred or more of vessels for the cod and her- 
 ring fisheries. Many are the hardy Norman sailors, 
 who drop the line on the banks of Newfoundland. But 
 its more imposing commerce has departed. The only 
 trace it has left is seen in the small manufacture of ob- 
 jects of ivory — a relic of its former trade with Africa — 
 which are still offered to the visitor in the little shops 
 along the beach. 
 
 But Dieppe has more stirring associations. Look up 
 to the castle on the cliff. Two centuries and a half ago 
 there was a stir on yonder heights, a hurrying of feet 
 and tramp of armed men. Thither came the great 
 Henry, when, forced to retreat before the army of the 
 League, and almost driven out of the kingdom, he 
 threw himself upon the fidelity of his “ bons Dieppois.” 
 Left with only a little band of Huguenots to defend 
 his person and his crown, he yet rode at their head 
 w T ith an unruffled brow, as serene and undaunted in 
 defeat as in victory. Here he made his stand, and at 
 the old castle of Arques, in a narrow valley four miles 
 
86 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 from the town, with but four thousand trusty Protestants, 
 he defeated the whole army that had marched against 
 him, thirty thousand strong — a decisive battle, which 
 made Henry of Navarre, King Henry IY. of France. 
 
 Still later, in the war of the Fronde, fled to this 
 castle the Duchess de Longueville, so famous for her 
 beauty and her ambition. Fearing that she could not 
 find safety in France, she took refuge in this old tower on 
 the coast, from whose jutting precipice, if need were, 
 she could, like a dauntless Roman matron, throw herself 
 into the sea. To this eyrie she was pursued, and she 
 clambered down the rocks by night, trusting herself to 
 the darkness and the stormy coast, rather than fall into 
 the power of her enemies. After a succession of perils 
 and marvellous escapes, she at length found safety in 
 Holland. 
 
 These are brave memories which float around yonder 
 towers. But now gentler forms come stepping over 
 the sands as we walk here at sunset. At the foot of 
 the giant cliff a soft and shelly beach reaches out into 
 the sea, which is one of the most famous resorts for 
 bathers on all the coasts of France. As we look off 
 pensively at the deep, gentle forms come stealing out of 
 the twilight, forms tenderly beloved in other years. 
 Those who then disported in the surf are gone now, and 
 the waters have washed away their footsteps. But 
 others follow, as gay and gladsome as they. To us this 
 whole scene presents a contrast which illustrates the 
 
NORMANDY. 
 
 87 
 
 two extremes of the French spirit — emblems of glory and 
 war, frowning over the spot where children and maid- 
 ens trip with merry feet. It is a true picture of France 
 — that grand old castle standing, dark and solemn, 
 against the evening sky, while a group of bathers go 
 leaping and laughing on the sands below. 
 
 The next day we came on front Dieppe to Rouen, 
 through the heart of this ancient province, one of the 
 most picturesque portions of old France. The scenery 
 along the route is not grand, but it is exquisitely beau- 
 tiful. The road winds through valleys of the softest 
 green, along the banks of streams that murmur gently 
 beneath their overhanging willows. The hill-sides are 
 covered not with vines, but w r ith orchards, for Nor- 
 mandy is a part of France, in which the national 
 beverage of wine gives place to homely cider. These 
 orchards give the country an appearance not unlike that 
 of New England. I can hardly picture to your eye the 
 softness of these landscapes as they glided past. To us 
 they had a charm beyond their natural beauty, in tender 
 memories that sprung like grass from the green turf 
 beneath our feet. Mrs. F. spent a part of her childhood 
 in Normandy, and now associations of early years rose 
 up from these valleys, like morning dews exhaled upon 
 the balmy air. But I cannot convey to another all the 
 brightness of that day. Its sunshine is lingering in my 
 memory yet. 
 
88 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 Rouen detained us five or six hours. It is a quaint 
 and curious old city, with its narrow, winding streets, 
 and high, gabled houses; but a place of unusual historical 
 interest. It was the ancient capital of Normandy. In 
 the Palace of Justice is still shown the chamber in which 
 the Parliament met. Here lived William the Con- 
 queror, and after he had planted his Normans on the 
 coast of England, Here he came back to die. In the 
 Museum of Antiquities is still preserved a letter signed 
 by his royal hand, or rather marked by his cross, for the 
 Conqueror of England could not write his name ! Here, 
 too, was the home of Richard Cceur de Lion, who at ^iis 
 death bequeathed to Rouen his lion heart, which is still 
 kept as a sacred relic in the cathedral. 
 
 But it is not of William nor of Richard that we think 
 most as we drive over these pavements, but of the maid 
 of Orleans, Joan of Arc, who, after leading the armies ot 
 her country, here came to the end of her career. More 
 than four centuries have passed since the victorious Eng- 
 lish kindled the fires for the captured girl in one of the 
 squares of Rouen ; and still the city derives its chief his- 
 torical interest from the tragic fate of the heroic maid, and 
 still every stranger comes as a pilgrim to her monument. 
 
 Rouen is rich in churches. The cathedral is one of 
 the grandest piles of the middle ages. Especially is 
 every beholder struck with admiration of its fa§ade, so 
 broad and high, and carved with the richest tracery. 
 But still more beautiful to me was the church of St. 
 
KOUE^ — PARIS. 
 
 89 
 
 Ouen, so named from the patron saint of the city. 
 Though not so large as many of the continental cathe- 
 drals, it is one of the most perfect specimens of Gothic 
 architecture in Europe. Notwithstanding its great size, 
 the impression on the beholder is one of airy lightness 
 and grace. The long nave is lined by slender columns 
 which rise to a great height, and from Tvhich the arches 
 spring upward, like elm branches, so that it seems as if the 
 vaulted roof would soar to the skies. We spent a long 
 time in wandering about this beautiful edifice, not only 
 straying through the long-drawn aisles, and musing over 
 old tombs and monuments, but ascending to the galleries 
 and the roof. A hundred feet above the pavement, the 
 thick w^alls are pierced by a narrow corridor, through 
 w r hich one may pass around the whole edifice. Here 
 came the monks from a neighboring convent, and stood 
 in their black robes, looking down upon the worshippers 
 below, and listening to the solemn chanting as it floated 
 upward. Here we now stood and looked down to the 
 stone pavement, on which men showed like pigmies as 
 they "walked about. From the galleries we passed out 
 upon the roof, and ascended the tower, from which we 
 overlooked the squares and gardens of the city, and the 
 hills, and the Seine which far below "was winding its w r ay 
 to the sea. 
 
 The same evening we came on to Paris, keeping the 
 course of the river. The valley of the Seine presents 
 many beautiful points, several of which I recognized as 
 those from which Turner had taken the most charming 
 
90 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 landscapes in his Rivers of France. Every step was 
 over historic ground. Ruined castles, here and there 
 crowning a distant hill-top, were hoary with legends of 
 the past. Yonder lofty rock, to which the river bends 
 as if to pay it tribute, was the stronghold of Richard 
 Cceur de Lion. There he built the Chateau Gaillard, 
 and from that eminence he surveyed with the eye of a 
 conqueror the broad valley of the Seine. After his 
 death this impregnable fortress was taken. But while 
 he lived none dared to disturb the lion in his lair. 
 
 Farther on we see a mansion standing modestly in the 
 valley, whose plain brick walls now reflect the setting 
 sun. That is the Chateau of Rosny, where the great 
 minister Sully was born, and where he was often visited 
 by his royal master Henry IY. You have read the 
 stirring poem of Macaulay on the battle of Ivry. It 
 may therefore interest you to know that King Henry of 
 Navarre slept under that roof on the night after that 
 glorious day. Thus recalling the scenes and characters 
 of history, we rode on past other chateaus and villages, 
 and through the forest of St. Germain, till at a late 
 hour we entered the walls of Paris. It was near mid- 
 night when we left the station. But the streets were 
 brilliantly lighted, crowds were walking on the Boule- 
 vards, and everything marked the gay French capital. 
 Our carriage soon whirled us into the magnificent Rue 
 de Rivoli, and under the arched way into the courtyard 
 of the great Hotel du Louvre. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Changes of Ten Years in the French Capital — The Republic 
 % 
 
 DESTROYED LOUIS NAPOLEON IMPROVEMENTS IN THE ClTY NEW 
 
 Buildings, New Squares and New Streets — Enlargement of 
 the City Walls — Military Regime — The Imperial Guard — 
 Zouaves and Chasseurs — Chances of Revolution — Feeling of 
 the Nation towards the Emperor — Will the Empire Last? 
 
 Paris, July 8, 1858. 
 
 W e have now been two weeks in Paris, but every 
 day has been so occupied with seeing sights and seeing 
 friends, that we have not found an hour to write to 
 America. It was not with the feeling of strangers, but 
 rather of exiles returning to their country, that we 
 entered Paris again, after an absence of ten years. You 
 know that it was Mrs. F.’s native city, and that here she 
 spent all her early life. You know, too, that I also 
 passed here the winter of 1847-8, and was a witness of 
 the Revolution in which Louis Philippe was overthrown. 
 So to both of us these streets were full of the associa- 
 tions of other days. But we find the French capital 
 much changed both politically and externally. When I 
 left, the republic had been established on the ruins of the 
 monarchy; Cavaignac was at the head of affairs, and 
 
 91 
 
92 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 the National Assembly was engaged in consolidating 
 democratic institutions. Now every trace of the repub- 
 lic has disappeared ; the old statesmen and generals are 
 dead or in exile. A few, like Guizot and Thiers, are 
 permitted to remain in Paris, but they are wholly desti- 
 tute of power and political influence. They live very 
 retired and devote themselves to literary pursuits. And 
 one man who was then known only as a Quixotic adven- 
 turer, is now the sole and absolute master of France. 
 
 Whatever might be the previous opinions of Louis 
 Napoleon, all must now concede his great ability. He 
 has grasped the reins of power with a strong hand, and 
 has infused energy and vigor into every department of 
 the government. Immense labor and expense have 
 been devoted to the embellishment of the capital. The 
 whole city seems to be in a process of reconstruction. 
 I see here more opening of new streets, more tearing 
 down of old houses, and more building of new ones, 
 than in New York. The old parts of Paris, where the 
 streets were the narrowest, and the houses the highest, 
 and the population the densest and the poorest, have 
 been pierced by long and broad avenues. The new 
 Boulevard of Sebastopol has been cut right through the 
 heart of Paris, connecting the opposite banks of the 
 Seine, and the northern and southern divisions of the 
 city. Whole blocks of decayed rookeries, which had 
 been the refuge of squalid misery for generations, have 
 been swept away, and given place to open squares, with 
 
IMPROVEMENTS IN THE CITY. 
 
 93 
 
 gardens, and trees, and fountains. The great work 
 of connecting the Palace of the Tuileries with the 
 Louvre, which several sovereigns have attempted, 
 has at last been completed, and the Rue de Rivoli, the 
 magnificent street of arcades, which before skirted the 
 garden of the Tuileries, has now been extended through 
 the whole length of Paris. One of the blocks which 
 was removed in these changes is now occupied by our 
 hotel, the Grand Hotel du Louvre, which almost merits 
 a description by itself, as one of the public edifices of 
 Paris. It is probably the finest hotel in Europe. It 
 occupies a whole square, facing the New Louvre on one 
 side, and the Palais Royal on the other. Our room looks 
 out upon the Rue de Rivoli ; the Louvre is just across 
 the street, and the Tuileries but a few rods distant. 
 We step out of our windows on the balcony, and our 
 view reaches eastward to the Hotel de Ville, and beyond 
 to the column which marks the place of the Bastille, and 
 westward over the trees of the Champs Elysees, to 
 where the setting sun lights up the Arch of Triumph. 
 Still beyond lies the Bois de Boulogne, the favorite 
 drive of the Parisians, which has been laid out anew and 
 greatly embellished, to which thousands are pouring out 
 at this hour to enjoy a walk or ride amid lawns, and 
 lakes, and woods. 
 
 Another improvement is projected, which will give 
 the city still grander proportions. It is the enlargement 
 of the walls to nearly double their present circumfer- 
 
94 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 ence. Like most continental cities, Paris levies an 
 octroi , or city duty, on all provisions brought in from 
 the country. This tariff yields a revenue of many mil- 
 lions, out of which are paid, in large part, the new 
 improvements. To prevent any contraband traffic, the 
 city is surrounded with an octroi wall, and officers keep 
 watch on every vehicle, whether cart or carriage, that 
 enters in at the gates. This duty is of course a heavy 
 tax upon living in Paris, to escape which many of the 
 poorer classes have moved without the walls, where pro- 
 visions are cheaper. The reconstructions now going on, 
 in which their old quarters have been torn down, have 
 driven thousands of poor families into these suburbs, 
 and thus has grown up outside of the city proper a 
 population numbering, it is said, nearly four hundred « 
 thousand. 
 
 • Beyond this octroi wall, at a distance of from half 
 a mile to a mile and even two miles, is the line of the 
 city fortifications, constructed by Louis Philippe, at 
 enormous expense, with broad walls and a deep moat. 
 
 It is in the girdle between these walls that is collected 
 this vast surbrtrban population. It is now proposed to 
 throw down the octroi wall, and extend the city to the 
 line of the fortifications. Of course the project raises a 
 great outcry among the poor, who would find themselves 
 at once subjected to pay city prices for their food. But 
 it is said that this will be compensated in part by a 
 diminution of other taxes. The main argument for the 
 
MILITARY REGIME. 
 
 05 
 
 change is, that this region without the w T alls, the ban- 
 lieue, as it is called, has become the resort of all the 
 most desperate characters of Paris, and that to keep them 
 in check, it is necessary to bring them under municipal 
 regulations, and the strict watch of the city police. 
 
 But whatever the motive, the effect will be to give to 
 Paris majestic proportions. At one stroke it will nearly 
 double the area within the walls, giving the city a dia- 
 meter of from seven to nine miles, and increasing the 
 population frum twelve to sixteen hundred thousand 
 souls ! Those who have projected this vast expansion 
 of the capital, have laid out the new plan of Paris on a 
 scale of magnificence well fitted to dazzle the Imperial 
 imagination. Thus the city is to have one hundred 
 gates, the number of portals to ancient Thebes, and the 
 design would seem to be to recall the grandeur of ancient 
 Babylon or of imperial Rome. 
 
 These changes are fast making Paris the most splen- 
 did capital in Europe. And yet it is easy to see that 
 they have been made with an eye to something more 
 than beauty. They are designed also for a military pur* 
 pose. Almost every new square has a huge barrack 
 frowning over it. Every public edifice has a wide space 
 cleared around it, so that it could be occupied by troops, 
 and the people could have no means of approach, and no 
 shelter in case of attack. Thus the Hotel de Yille, the 
 seat of the municipal government of Paris, which in 
 every revolution is the great centre to be gained, has 
 
96 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 been completely isolated from other buildings, while in 
 front, the opposite side of the Place de Greve is occu- 
 pied by edifices devoted to offices of State, and in the 
 rear has just been erected a line of barracks, and both 
 these ranges of buildings communicate with the Hotel 
 de Ville by subterranean passages, so that the whole 
 could be turned into a vast fortress in the very heart of 
 the city. The thick and populous quarters, which have 
 been the hotbeds of conspiracy and insurrection, are 
 now intersected by great avenues which could easily be 
 swept by artillery ; and they are so separated from each 
 other, that, in case of an emeute, any faubourg or 
 infected district could be surrounded with troops and 
 girdled with fire. The main streets, too, have been 
 Macadamized, and the large paving stones which made 
 such formidable barricades, have been taken away from 
 the reach of future insurgents. 
 
 All this is admirably planned and shows the emperor 
 to be a thorough master of strategy. It would seem to 
 render another revolution impossible. To guard against 
 any attempt, troops are always at hand. The streets of 
 Paris wear a military aspect almost as much as if the 
 city were in a state of siege. Every morning we hear 
 the roll of drums and the blast of the trumpet coming 
 up to our windows, and from the balcony we look down 
 on a forest of bayonets, as some regiment is marched 
 from one end of Paris to the other. Drills and parades 
 are of daily occurrence. If you choose to ride out to 
 
THE IMPERIAL GUARD, ZOUAVES AND CHASSEURS. 97 
 
 Vincennes, you may witness twice a week the artillery 
 practice. And every few weeks there is a grand 
 review in the Champ de Mars. This military array 
 shows on what the ruler of France relies for the main- 
 tenance of his power. Certainly, with a garrison of 
 80,000 men, which could easily be concentrated in Paris, 
 any unorganized, tumultuous insurrection would stand 
 but a small chance of success. 
 
 But there is always another possibility — if not of a 
 popular revolution, of a military one. As the Roman 
 legions crowned and uncrowned emperors, so Napo- 
 leon III. could not maintain himself for a day, if the 
 army were to become disaffected. Such a revolt is not 
 very probable. For he takes the greatest pains to win 
 the attachment of his soldiers. And yet military men 
 think he has made one grand mistake, in reviving the 
 Imperial Guard, formed by his uncle. This is composed 
 of twenty-five thousand picked men, the elite of the 
 cavalry, infantry, and artillery. These are the favorite 
 regiments.' They receive higher pay than the main 
 body of the army, and are assigned to the most favored 
 duty, being kept in Paris, and about the Palace. The 
 pet corps are the Zouaves and the Chasseurs. I never 
 go to the Palais Royal without remarking the fine- 
 looking Chasseurs who are on guard about the present 
 residence of the Prince Jerome. And every morning, I 
 see the Zouaves drawn up in the court of the Louvre, 
 looking, in their red turbans and broad Turkish trowsers, 
 
 5 
 
98 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 like so many wild Arabs that have just come out of the 
 desert. These are among the finest soldiers in the 
 world. Their bravery has been attested in many a hard- 
 fought conflict among the mountains of Algeria, or 
 under the walls of Sebastopol. I never pass them with- 
 out stopping to look with admiration on the gallant fel- 
 lows who dashed with such fury on the batteries of the 
 Malakolf. 
 
 Of course these faithful dogs of war become attached 
 to the hand that caresses them. But this marked favor 
 to them offends other divisions of the army, which deem 
 themselves neglected. I am told that this Imperial 
 Guard has given very great offence to the regular troops 
 of the line, and this becomes a serious matter when the 
 affront is offered to half a million of armed men ! So 
 violent was the jealousy which it occasioned in the late 
 war, that the different corps could hardly be restrained 
 from attacking each other. To calm the rising storm, 
 Pelissier had to push forward the Zouaves and the 
 Chasseurs in every perilous attack during the siege of 
 Sebastopol, thus showing that if they enjoyed special 
 honors, they must pay for them by special dangers. So 
 frequent and so great were their exposures that one third 
 of their whole number was killed. By this murderous 
 sacrifice, he allayed the general irritation. Thus the 
 excitement was quelled for the time, but where such a 
 magazine exists, the slightest spark may produce an 
 explosion. 
 
CHANCES OF REVOLUTION. 
 
 09 
 
 A gentleman who had lately been in Algeria, com- 
 municated to me another fact, which seemed to me very 
 menacing — that there existed throughout that colony 
 a very general disaffection towards the government. 
 He was surprised at the freedom with which not only 
 civilians, but officers in the army, expressed their convic- 
 tion that the present state of things in Paris could not 
 last long. The old African soldiers are warmly attached 
 to the family of Orleans, and would gladly exchange the 
 present emperor for a son or grandson of Louis Philippe. 
 These facts show that a defection in the army is by no 
 means impossible. 
 
 A popular insurrection in Paris, as I have said, would 
 stand no chance at all against the troops, if they stood 
 firm, and were resolute to put it down. But in the case 
 of a people so impulsive as the French, it is impossible to 
 calculate the effect of a sudden frenzy of the public mind, 
 such as might be provoked by an extreme act of 
 tyranny, the imprisonment of a popular favorite, or in 
 case of foreign war, by the loss of a battle which should 
 be ascribed to the incapacity or mismanagement of the 
 government. Any one of these might cause such an 
 explosion of popular indignation as nothing could with- 
 stand. 
 
 A manifestation of the national will, so imposing, 
 might paralyze the best troops in the world, even if they 
 were not demoralized before. The people might rush to 
 arms, and the soldiers — not cowed, but awe-struck, might 
 
100 
 
 SUMMER TICTURES. 
 
 hesitate to fire upon their own countrymen, and finally, 
 as in 1848, end by going over to their side. In that 
 case this whole magnificent array of defences might be 
 turned against the hand that erected them. I mention 
 these contingencies, not as being very likely to happen, 
 but as by no means impossible. I have seen one revolu- 
 tion in Paris, which came so suddenly and with so little 
 apparent cause, that it has greatly shaken my con- 
 fidence in the stability .of any government in France. 
 
 But you will ask, how do the people like this iron 
 rule ? Most foreigners can give you no intelligent 
 answer to this question, for the press is muzzled, and 
 Frenchmen do not open their minds to strangers. They 
 do not speak on politics except in private and behind 
 closed doors. But we are not foreigners in Paris. A 
 large acquaintance makes us at home in many French 
 families, and to us they express their opinions more 
 freely. And yet, after hearing all, we are not in a much 
 better position to form a judgment than those who hear 
 none ; for the opinions expressed are totally contradic- 
 tory. We find that every man approves or condemns 
 the imperial rule, just as it happens to affect his private 
 interest, or to cross his old prejudices. The Legitimists 
 of course think there will be no settled order in France 
 until the Bourbons are again seated on the throne ; and 
 the Republicans think that there can be no liberty 
 until kings and emperors alike are sent about their busi- 
 ness. But interest is even stronger than prejudice. 
 
WILL THE EMPIRE LAST? 
 
 101 
 
 If an artist finds his profession does not flourish, he 
 thinks it is owing to a want of patronage by the court, 
 and this of course dictated by jealousy of his genius. 
 If a tradesman finds his branch of business suffering, he 
 curses the government. On the other hand, those who 
 are prosperous bless the strong hand, which has at last 
 given to France that order which is the first condition 
 of successful industry. A prosperous merchant tells us : 
 “ Napoleon is my man. We have made more progress 
 under him in ten years than in fifty years before.” 
 Another who is an employe in a public administration, 
 and who feels that his bread depends on the stability of 
 the government, says, “ I would descend into the street 
 to-morrow to fight for him.” Another, w r ho is an artist, 
 and a man of letters, cannot bear to hear the name of 
 the Emperor mentioned, and speaks cf him wdth the 
 utmost contempt, always calling him “this parvenu — 
 this fellow whom we have got at the head of affairs!” 
 An American gentleman here, the other day went to his 
 banker, who was probably a legitimist and regretted the 
 old regime, and while there, playfully asked him how he 
 liked the master of France ? The old Frenchman’s eyes 
 flashed fire, and he fairly trembled -with rage as he 
 hissed through his teeth, “ They will kill him !” 
 
 From these contrary opinions you may judge how 
 difficult it is to form anything like a fair estimate of the 
 public opinion of France. In fact there is no publio 
 opinion in France. There are millions of private 
 
102 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 opinions, but where there is not free speech and a free 
 press, as in England and America, public opinion cannot 
 exist. The only verdict which, the nation has ever 
 given is recorded in its vote. And here the fact stands 
 before the world, that three times has the nation by an 
 immense majority elevated this man to the supreme 
 power. 
 
 From all this you may conclude that nothing is cer- 
 tain in France but uncertainty. And such is the general 
 feeling of the*most intelligent and thoughtful observers 
 of affairs. Ask a Frenchman what he thinks of the 
 political prospects of his country, and the answer is gen- 
 erally a significant shrug, and a confession that nothing 
 is certain for a month to come. And yet there is a gen- 
 eral impression that there will be no change during the 
 life of the present ruler of France. Such is the prestige 
 which he has obtained for talent and energy, such is the 
 popularity of his name, such the attachment of the army, 
 and such the dread among all classes of the terrible pos- 
 sibilities of another revolution , that I think the vast 
 majority of the nation would prefer to rest secure under 
 his strong hand, rather than plunge into any unknown 
 future. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The American Chapel in Paris. 
 
 Paris, July 10 , 1858 . 
 
 One of the most pleasant things which has come under 
 our observation in Paris, is the new American chapel, re- 
 cently erected here, by the generous contributions of a 
 few residents in this city, aided by the liberality of friends 
 at home, chiefly, I believe, in New York, and Boston, 
 and Philadelphia. The want of such a place of worship 
 in the French capital, had long been felt. There were 
 several English churches and chapels, besides that attached 
 to the Embassy. Yet there has not been a single place 
 of worship w T hich could serve as a place of Christian 
 reunion for our countrymen, though thousands of Ameri- 
 cans visit Paris every year. But there were many diffi- 
 culties in the way of its establishment. Of the swarms of 
 our countrymen who annually flock to Paris, the vast ma- 
 jority are merely travellers, who only take this city in their 
 way to Switzerland or Italy. They stay but a few days, 
 lodging in hotels, not long enough to form any acquaint- 
 ance, or to seek out a Protestant place of worship. Occa- 
 sionally families come to spend a winter. But of these a 
 large part are in search merely of pleasure and amuse- 
 
 102 
 
104 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 ment, and are much more disposed to fall into the ways 
 of the gay people among whom they are, than to remem- 
 ber the God of their fathers, and to meet devoutly for 
 His worship. The only nucleus of a congregation must 
 be found in the Americans who have been brought to 
 Paris by business, w r hich keeps them here for a few years, 
 and who may thus be considered as more permanent 
 residents. But of these probably one half feel no in- 
 terest in any such service. Still, there is a little remnant 
 who are religiously disposed, and who would be glad on 
 the Sabbath to join in worship in their own tongue in 
 which they were born. But here again is a difficulty. 
 These few religious families belong to different commu- 
 nions, and each prefers its own order and mode of 
 worship. 
 
 All these causes together rendered the prospect most 
 discouraging, and for a time it seemed that the project, 
 however desirable in itself, was hopeless of accomplish- 
 ment. Thus it would have remained in suspense or un 
 attempted, but for the wise sagacity of the American 
 and Foreign Christian Union, which had long looked 
 upon Paris as its most important field in all Europe. 
 By its earnest solicitation, Rev. Dr. Kirk, of Boston, 
 was prevailed upon to leave his church for a few months, 
 to come out to Paris, to organize a congregation and 
 commence the erection of a church. Thus supported at 
 home, a few American residents here took courage to 
 begin the work. 
 
THE AMERICAN CHAPEL IN PARIS. 
 
 105 
 
 This little band was composed of members of several 
 different communions, but their earnest spirit led them to 
 yield in some degree their individual preferences for the 
 sake of the important result to be secured. These united 
 with the understanding, that the service should be 
 partly Episcopal, and partly of that more simple form 
 which is common in other Protestant churches. They 
 designed to lay down a platform broad enough for all 
 evangelical Christians to stand upon ; and to establish a 
 church in which not only Episcopalians and Presby- 
 terians, but Congregationalists, and Methodists, and 
 Baptists, and Lutherans, and the Reformed Dutch, 
 should feel equally at home. The ministers of all were 
 to be admitted to the pulpit, and the members of all wel- 
 comed to the communion. On this broad and truly Catho- 
 lic basis, subscriptions were raised to erect a chapel. The 
 Americans in Paris gave most liberally, and their efforts 
 were nobly responded to by friends in New York. The 
 Foreign Christian Union advanced twenty thousand dol- 
 lars towards the enterprise, and so the work was begun. 
 The labors of Dr. Kirk were most useful ; but after a few 
 months he was obliged to return to his very important 
 charge in Boston, and the Society remained without a 
 pastor, until in February, Rev. Mr. Seeley, late of Spring- 
 field, Mass., who had been appointed his successor, ar- 
 rived to recommence the work. The chapel was still 
 unfinished. But it was now pushed forward rapidly, and 
 in May the congregation had the great happiness of dedi- 
 
 5 * 
 
106 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 eating it to the worship of God, in the presence of the 
 American Minister, and a large assembly of his country- 
 men. On this occasion the pastor preached an appro- 
 priate discourse on the subject of Christian Unity, and 
 thus auspiciously was inaugurated this most important 
 enterprise. 
 
 The chapel is situated in the Rue de Berri, near the 
 Champs Elysees. The position is a good one, being near 
 to the American embassy, and in the quarter of Paris 
 preferred by our countrymen. The building is of stone, 
 as by law it could not be erected of different materials. 
 It is plain in its exterior, though very substantially built. 
 The interior would, perhaps, seem a little too naked 
 were it not for the ladies, who have united to cushion the 
 pews, and who have thus given a little more comfort to 
 the seats, as well as taste to the general appearance. One 
 individual, also, has given an organ, and another a com- 
 munion service. This is apart from their subscriptions 
 to erect the edifice. 
 
 But that which pleased me most was the aspect of the 
 congregation, which was reverent and devout. Since the 
 chapel was finished the attendance has been quite full, 
 and the congregation is composed of the very best class 
 of American residents in Paris. It was my privilege to 
 be with them two Sabbaths, and I felt it a great happi- 
 ness, thus far from home, to join in the same prayers and 
 hymns, and to listen to the same sacred words, which I 
 had so often heard in my own happy, Christian land. 
 
THE AMERICAN CHAPEL IN PARIS. 
 
 107 
 
 The service was partly Episcopal in its form. To this, 
 some of our sturdy Presbyterian and Congregational 
 brethren in America might object. But such should re- 
 member that the majority of the congregation are Epis- 
 copalians ; that a very large part of the money to build 
 the chapel was given by them ; and that the officers of 
 the church are all of the same communion, ex necessitate , 
 since in the whole congregation there is not a single 
 Presbyterian elder nor a Congregational deacon ! Surely 
 it is but just that a proper respect should be paid to the 
 preferences of these excellent brethren. Indeed, I am 
 disposed to consider it a proof of very unusual liberality 
 on their part, that they were willing to meet with those of 
 another communion on equal ground, and so far to yield 
 to the wishes of others as to accept a Congregational 
 pastor, and to consent that the services for half the time 
 should be according to the most strict Puritan simplicity. 
 
 But what will conduce to harmony, is the selection of 
 a pastor, in which the church has been fortunate. Per- 
 haps I speak not without partiality, for Mr. Seeley is a 
 very dear personal friend. For four years we were set- 
 tled side by side on the banks of the Connecticut, and 
 there I learned to love him. But friendship apart, it 
 does seem to me that a better choice could not have 
 been made for a post which, it must be confessed, is in 
 some respects a delicate and difficult one. He has great 
 tact and good judgment to harmonize differences, and 
 that earnestness in his work, which unites all hearts in 
 
108 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 the one great object of doing good. He is an excellent 
 preacher, and a faithful and laborious pastor. From the 
 great extent of Paris, his pastoral visits have to range 
 over a distance of several miles. But he is unwearied in 
 seeking out the scattered members of his flock, and in 
 liis kindness to strangers that come here, often without 
 an acquaintance or a friend. Hundreds of young men 
 come to Paris from the United States to study medicine, 
 and the influence of such a Christian pastor, in giving 
 them good counsel, and guarding them against the snares 
 to ivhich they are exposed ; in showing kindness to those 
 wdio are lonely and friendless ; in imparting consolation 
 to those who are sick, or who may have come here to 
 die, far from their country and home, cannot but be 
 most happy. The congregation may not become a very 
 large one, for the American population here is always 
 floating, and it is difficult to give a fixed character to 
 such an organization. But the amount of good done will 
 be very great. 
 
 I speak of its influence upon the Americans, for it is 
 designed for them, and its influence must be chiefly 
 among them. Some have imagined that this chapel was 
 to be an engine of attack upon the Homan Catholic 
 Church. But that is entirely apart from its proper 
 design. To begin such a crusade would be the height of 
 folly, and in the present state of things, would amount to 
 suicide. Probably the chapel would be shut up by the 
 police in a week. Or if allowed to remain open, it would 
 
THE AMERICAN CHAPEL IN PARIS. 
 
 109 
 
 only provoke opposition and bitterness. It may indeed 
 exert,an influence upon Roman Catholics. But it can only 
 be the silent influence of example. And that will not be 
 small, if its present constitution is continued, and it thus 
 presents a spectacle of a union which brings together 
 Christians of different nations, and of different commu- 
 nions, to worship at the same altar. 
 
 This peculiarity already excites observation and remark. 
 It is the best answer to the constant reproach of Roman- 
 ists about the divisions of Protestants. Let it stand 
 therefore as a silent witness of the real, vital unity of all 
 who truly hold the same Head, though not bound by one 
 organization, and it will produce its effect. It will be a 
 symbol of the true Catholic spirit of American Christianity. 
 
 Nowhere is such a testimony to religion more needed 
 than in Paris. The influences here which tend to dissi- 
 pate all serious thought, are so many and so strong, that 
 it is cheering to see a few who have remained faithful, 
 assembling in the midst of this population of a million of 
 people, to keep holy the Sabbath day, to hear the Word 
 of God, to sing the songs of Zion, and to strengthen each 
 other in their vows of fidelity. Such a church, under the 
 ministry of such a pastor, will be the means of rescuing 
 many who have gone far astray amid the temptations of 
 this gay capital, and of saving many more who shall 
 come to it hereafter, and in all true American hearts, it 
 will strengthen every sacred tie which binds them to 
 Home, and Country, and Religion. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Holland — Face of the Country — Dikes and Canals — Energy of 
 the People — Wealth and Commerce — Historical interest op 
 Holland — Her Scholars and Painters — Wars for Liberty — 
 Embarkation of the Pilgrims — Friendly Manners of the Peo- 
 ple — How the Dutch enjoy themselves. 
 
 Amsterdam, July 1 1858. 
 
 When we were in England, it was our good fortune to 
 meet — at one of those famous dinners which Mr. Pea- 
 body occasionally gives to his countrymen at the Star 
 and Garter, Richmond — Mr. Motley, the historian of 
 the Dutch Republic, and a conversation with him on 
 the subject w T hich he has so eloquently treated, strength- 
 ened a desire which we had long felt, to visit Holland. 
 This is not a country which is generally sought by tour- 
 ists. Romantic travellers rush by it in their eagerness 
 to reach the Rhine and Switzerland, scarcely casting a 
 look across its dikes and canals. They think that a 
 region so flat and monotonous, must be dreadfully com- 
 mon place. They forget that a country does not derive 
 its interest from scenery alone, but from its people and 
 its history, and that this small territory, which once was 
 little better than a quagmire or a marsh, and that even 
 now can hardly keep its head above water, has been occu. 
 pied by one of the most powerful nations on the globe — 
 
 no 
 
HOLLAND. 
 
 Ill 
 
 a nation that long disputed with England the mastery 
 of the seas, and that stood side by side with England in 
 defence of civil and religious liberty. If Holland can- 
 not boast of the lakes and mountains of Switzerland, it 
 is equally rich in that far higher interest which comes 
 from proud historic associations, from memories of valor, 
 patriotism, and religion. 
 
 With these recollections fresh in mind, to impart in- 
 terest to the new scenes we were to visit, we left Paris 
 for the north, and passing through Catholic Belgium, 
 entered Protestant Holland. From Antwerp to Rotter- 
 dam the route is partly by railway, and partly by steam- 
 boat along the river Maas (French Meuse), whose broad 
 current flows through the south of Holland. Our first 
 view of the country was from the elevation of the river / 
 for, strange as it may seem, the river does afford a very 
 convenient elevation, as its banks are willed in by high 
 dikes on either side, so that the stream flows along the 
 top of a ridge, quite above the level of the country; 
 and here, standing on the deck of a steamboat, one gets 
 a pretty extensive view. The appearance of the coun- 
 try itself has been made so familiar by Dutch paintings 
 and by the letters of travellers, that it is needless to de- 
 scribe it again. One picture will answer for the whole 
 kingdom, for every landscape is the same. Certain uni- 
 form features enter into every view, and you can easily 
 combine them in your eye and make a picture for your- 
 self. Imagine a country so very flat that it actually 
 
112 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 sinks tlie other way and becomes a little hollow ; or 
 think of the most level prairie which you ever saw, and 
 one of such extent that, as our Western friends would 
 say, you are “ out of sight of land,” with not a hill or 
 tree or shrub to break the boundless monotony. All 
 round this huge pancake is a low crust, where the 
 ground is turned up at the edges into dikes, and the 
 whole space between is crossed and recrossed by canals, 
 which always run in straight lines, somewhat as in the 
 garden of Eden in the old family Bible, where the four 
 rivers cross each other at right angles. To put life in 
 the scene, these plains are covered with millions of black 
 and white cattle, while the most conspicuous objects 
 which rise above the line of the horizon are the wind- 
 mills, which seem, like grim sentinels, to keep watch and 
 ward over the country. They stand bolt upright, like 
 so many doughty Dutchmen, with their long arms beat- 
 ing the air and bidding defiance to every foe. 
 
 That will answer for a description of the country. The 
 cities are a little different, though not much, except that 
 they have more houses, and that they wade deeper in 
 the water ; a large part of Amsterdam and Rotterdam 
 being built on piles driven in the mud. 
 
 Thus stranded at low tide, the honest Dutch have to 
 lead a kind of amphibious existence. Thousands of the 
 poorer classes live in boats on the canals, like the Chi’ 
 uese in their junks. And those on shore are never out 
 of sight of dikes and canals. A Yankee would think a 
 
DUTCH IDEAS OF BEAUTY. 
 
 113 
 
 house thus perched on poles, with its under timbers 
 soaking in the water, “ slightly damp.” But there is 
 nothing like being used to it. A Dutchman deems the 
 prospect of still water an element of beauty in a land- 
 scape, and if by possibility he is deprived of that pleasing 
 vision, his first care is to make an artificial pond or canal 
 Avithin his own grounds. Give him the dryest piece of 
 land in all the Netherlands to build a house upon, 
 and he will immediately dig a ditch before his door, that 
 he may have a stagnant puddle to gladden his eyes and 
 regale his nostrils. 
 
 It is curious to observe what ideas of beauty people 
 get who live in a country where nature is on such a 
 scale. The day avc came to Amsterdam A\ T as one of the 
 hottest of summer, and we were glad to get to the end 
 of our journey, for we rejoiced in the thought of a quiet 
 inn, cool rooms and bountiful ablutions. 
 
 “ To AA T hat hotel do you go ?” said a felloAV-traveller in 
 the railway carriage. 
 
 V To the Hotel des Pays Bas,” I replied, as that stood 
 first in the guide book. 
 
 The gentleman recommended rather the Hotel Doelen. 
 Turning again to Murray, I found the two set doAvn as 
 of equal excellence. But our courteous informant set 
 forth the special advantage of the latter as commanding 
 a fine “ water view.” That decided the question. Dus- 
 ty and w^eary, we started at that glimpse of coolness like 
 horses on the burning desert. The sight of a beautiful 
 
114 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 sheet of water under our windows would soothe our 
 fevered pulses. We of course pictured to ourselves a 
 broad and placid lake, or at least a river — something 
 like the lake of Geneva, or the blue and arrowy Rhone. 
 There we would sit at evening, and see the sun setting 
 in the waves, or the moonlight covering them with sil- 
 ver. With all speed we drove through the long streets 
 of Amsterdam to this garden of delights, and instantly 
 demanded a room with a balcony to overlook the en- 
 chanting prospect. The landlord looked a little blank 
 at our excited manner, but straight led the way to a 
 spacious apartment. We rushed to the windows, when 
 (may all the saints preserve us !) there was nothing to 
 be seen but a dirty canal, covered with cabbage leaves 
 and geese (not swans), and anything but pleasant to sight 
 or smell. W e turned and looked at each other in blank 
 dismay, but the next moment the joke of the thing put 
 us in a gale of laughter. Happily the other promises 
 of this hotel did not mock our hopes. If w~e found no 
 lake or river, we did find excellent baths, which soon 
 washed off all the dust of the Low Countries. Of other 
 “creature comforts ” it supplied all that one could 
 desire.* The servant brought us in a delicious tea, and 
 letting the curtain fall to shut out the “water prospect,” 
 we sat down in the merriest mood. To add to our 
 sense of dignity, we found that the Count de Chambord, 
 the Bourbon heir to the throne of France, had just been 
 spending three days here, and of course the odor of 
 
DIKES AND CANALS. 
 
 115 
 
 royalty still lingered in the house, and imparted a slight 
 flavor of gentility to all who patronized this aristocratic 
 establishment. 
 
 As might be expected, these watery foundations some- 
 times give way, or sink a little too low, so that the 
 houses suddenly become weak in the knees, and lean over 
 like tottering old men, and to us it seemed at first as if 
 they were going to pitch into the street, but still they 
 held up their heads, and the people said they were quite 
 secure, and they live in them without the slightest fear. 
 But while the water is thus kept out of the houses, it is 
 allowed to flow freely in the streets. In fact, the prin- 
 cipal streets are merely quays, with a canal running 
 through the middle, and a carriage road on either side. 
 This good city of Amsterdam is thus divided into ninety- 
 five islands, which are connected by no less than two 
 hundred and ninety bridges ! N o wonder that it seems 
 like the first appearance of dry land, “ standing out of 
 the water and in the w T ater,” and that Erasmus should 
 say that “ he had reached a city, whose inhabitants, like 
 crows, lived on the tops of trees.” But the vigor 
 and spirit of the people appear all the greater from the 
 obstacles which nature puts in their way. The country 
 has to fight for existence against the sea. Nor is it a 
 danger which, once conquered, is forever subdued. It 
 is always rising and threatening ruin. The necessity of 
 guarding against the elements exists now as much as 
 ever. Amsterdam is not secure for a day except as it 
 
116 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 keeps up its defences against the inxushing of the sea. 
 All round the city are reared colossal embankments to 
 keep out the water. Last evening we drove along the 
 dikes, which protect the city on the side of the Zuyder 
 Zee, and were amazed at the height and solidity of these 
 works, which reminded us of the walls and moat of the 
 citadel of Antwerp. As we rode along in a carriage on 
 the top of the dikes, we looked down at the people who 
 were walking in the streets, not only far below us, but 
 below the level of the water in the harbor. These great 
 works of course require constant labor to keep them in 
 repair. Watchfulness can never be relaxed, for the city 
 is never free from danger. There is an enemy always at 
 their gates, knocking and thundering for admission. 
 When a great storm, or a long northwest wind raises 
 the ocean above its usual level, and the tides dash and 
 break against the walls of rock and earth, the danger 
 becomes imminent, and the defences are watched night 
 and day. Nothing but unceasing vigilance insures 
 safety. This necessity of keeping up an armed force to 
 watch the enemy, and a corps of sappers and miners, to 
 drive him back, entails a vast expense on the city and 
 the country. One-third of the whole revenue of Hol- 
 land has to be applied to keeping up the dikes along the 
 coast and the banks of the rivers — a sum amounting 
 annually to three millions of dollars. 
 
 With such natural disadvantages, it is a wonder that 
 Holland ever attained any importance. It could not 
 
ENERGY OF THE PEOPLE. 
 
 117 
 
 have been anything more than a desolate coast, furnish- 
 ing a scanty living to a few poor fishermen, if it had not 
 been peopled by an indomitable race. But great obsta- 
 cles, which crush the weak and indolent, call out all the 
 force of the strong and the brave. And I am sure that 
 it is partly this very fact of having to wage a constant 
 war with the elements, that has developed in the Dutch 
 such a stubborn strength of will, such heroic industry 
 and perseverance. This has made their country, so in- 
 significant in territory, one of the most powerful king- 
 doms in Europe, both upon land and sea. It is not so 
 long ago, that England has forgotten how stoutly Hol- 
 land disputed her naval supremacy ; how the Dutch 
 sailed up the Medway, and burnt the fleet at Chatham, 
 and how the thunder of their cannon in the Thames sent 
 terror into the hearts of the people of London. But two 
 hundred years have passed away since brave old Yan 
 Tromp defeated Admiral Blake, and sailed through the 
 Channel in triumph, with a broom nailed to his masthead, 
 to signify that he had swept the English from the seas. 
 It was with no small interest that I saw in the museum 
 at the Hague, the very armor that he wore in his battles, 
 with more than one huge dent in its iron plate, where 
 grapeshot had struck that manly breast. 
 
 The rival of England in war, Holland was her superior 
 in commercial importance. Amsterdam succeeded to 
 Antwerp, as Antwerp had succeeded to Venice. Its 
 commerce extended to all parts of the world. Its mer- 
 
118 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 chants were princes. A monument of the wealth and 
 power of those days may be seen in the old Stadhuis, 
 erected by the burghers of this city for their munici- 
 pal government two hundred years ago, and which 
 Louis Bonaparte, when king of Holland, occupied as his 
 palace. To make a foundation, nearly 14,000 piles were 
 driven 70 feet into the ground, and on this was reared 
 a marble structure which cost, I do not dare to say, how 
 many millions. 
 
 That former ascendency of Holland has departed. 
 She is no longer the commercial centre of Europe. But 
 she is still a country of vast wealth. The bankers of 
 Amsterdam are among the richest on the continent. 
 The foreign commerce is still imposing. In the Museum 
 at the Hague, is a collection of articles from Japan, 
 which shows the extent of the trade with that distant 
 empire, which the Dutch alone of all European nations, 
 have carried on for two hundred years. Rotterdam alone 
 sends out near a hundred large ships a year, to the Dutch 
 colony of Batavia. Our hotel in Rotterdam was on the 
 great quay, called the Boompjes, and from our windows, 
 we looked down on the decks of stout merchantmen, 
 fitting out for the East Indies, which, notwithstanding 
 their peaceful purpose, were armed with formidable guns 
 to keep off the Malay pirates. These crowded ports, 
 and this forest of shipping, are signs of that vast foreign 
 trade which still pours a stream of wealth into these 
 broad lowlands. 
 
SCHOLARS AND PAINTERS. 
 
 119 
 
 Nor was Holland, while thus rich and prosperous, un- 
 distinguished in art and literature. The name of Eras- 
 mus, whose monument stands on a public square of Rot- 
 terdam his native city, is as eminent in Holland, as that 
 of Luther in Germany. The University of Leyden was 
 one of the first in Europe, and has been distinguished by 
 the studies and teachings of Grotius and Descartes, and 
 by a long line of illustrious names. Her painters were 
 equal to her scholars. Rembrandt is the glory of Am- 
 sterdam, as Rubens was of Antwerp ; and he is but one 
 of a whole school of Dutch painters, whose "works not 
 only fill the galleries of the Hague and of Amsterdam, 
 but adorn every great collection of pictures in Europe. 
 
 But nobler than literary fame, or than mere deeds of 
 arms, is the heroic part borne by Holland in defence of 
 liberty and of the Protestant Religion. As I ride over 
 the country, I cannot recall without a thrill of admira- 
 tion the scenes at once terrible and glorious, which have 
 transpired on these peaceful plains, and around the walls 
 of these cities. This small kingdom has been the battle- 
 field of one of the most memorable struggles in history, 
 when the Netherlands rose against the yoke of Spain. 
 These plains, now so fresh and smiling in their summer’s 
 green, have often been red with blood. These cities, 
 whose church spires gleam so peacefully among the trees, 
 have been beleaguered by foreign armies. They have 
 heard the cannon thundering at their gates, and have 
 withstood long and dreadful sieges with heroic endur- 
 
120 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 ance — resisting, not only the enemy without, but famine 
 and pestilence within — a courage sometimes rewarded, 
 as at Haarlem, by a perfidious massacre, or, as at Leyden, 
 by a deliverance obtained only by the voluntary destruc- 
 tion of their country. For more than once, these low, 
 sunken fields, where the cattle now graze so quietly, 
 have been flooded by the inhabitants themselves, who 
 thus devoted their country to ruin, that it might be freed 
 from its invaders. 
 
 But the prize obtained was worth all this sacrifice 
 of treasure and of blood. In fighting for independ- 
 ence of Spain, Holland was fighting the battle of all 
 Protestant Europe. And wdien that contest was ended, 
 she had again to stand in the breach against the armies 
 of Louis XIV. The Prince of Orange, was the centre 
 and soul of the coalition against that overwhelming 
 power of France, wdiich threatened every free state 
 in Europe. Thus it was that in the great struggles of 
 past centuries, Holland, as well as England, was fight- 
 ing the battle of our liberties. Indeed, Holland was in 
 advance of England in the principles of liberty. It 
 afforded an asylum to the persecuted Puritans, who 
 sought here that freedom to w'orship God which was 
 denied them at home, and from Holland the Pilgrim 
 Fathers sailed to found a glorious commonwealth on the 
 shores of the new world. 
 
 While at Rotterdam we sought to find the place from 
 which the Pilgrims embarked. The spot is not very dis- 
 
EMBARKATION OF THE TILGRIMS. 
 
 121 
 
 tinctly defined. Delft lies between Rotterdam and the 
 Hague, but on the other side of Rotterdam is a small 
 village, which still bears the name of Delft’s Havre, and 
 this, it seemed probable, was the Delft Haven from which 
 they sailed. Here we found a small inlet, which leads 
 out into the broad river that rolls on to the sea, and 
 though no column marks the hallowed strand, we thought 
 we had found the very spot from which, two hundred 
 years ago, took place that embarkation, an event that 
 seemed so little then, but which appears so mighty now. 
 Our thoughts went back to that hour. We saw the 
 Mayflower lying at the quay, her company all gathered 
 on the deck, w T hile their pastor, Robinson, knelt down 
 and prayed that God might bear them safely on their 
 way. Precious was the freight of that little bark. 
 Slowly it moved from the shore, and as it dropped down 
 the stream, and its sails began to flutter in the wind, it 
 turned its prow to the setting sun, bearing over the sea 
 the seeds of a mighty empire. 
 
 We are glad to find that Holland, which went with 
 Germany and England in the Reformation, still remains 
 firmly attached to the Protestant faith, and that religion 
 has strong hold of the national heart. As we came up 
 the Maas, we passed the old city of Dort, where the 
 famous Synod was held, which framed the Confession of 
 Faith. And, curiously enough, I learned that a Dutch 
 Synod was at that moment in session in the town. The 
 Dutch give proof of their practical Christianity, both by 
 
 6 
 
122 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 their religious institutions and their manifold charities. 
 This city has long been distinguished for the number of 
 its benevolent institutions, so much so that when Louis 
 XIV. was about to bring a great army against it, and some 
 one predicted to Charles II. its inevitable fall, that mon- 
 arch, who had spent here part of his exile, replied in a 
 more serious strain than was usual with him : “ I am of 
 opinion that Providence will preserve Amsterdam, if it 
 were only for the great charity they have for their poor.” 
 This character it retains to the present day. The clergy 
 of Holland, too, I believe, will compare well with those of 
 the other Protestant States of Europe.* At Rotterdam, 
 we had hoped to see Dr. Osterzee,' who is celebrated for 
 his eloquence in the pulpit. We called at his house, and 
 were most kindly received by his amiable and intelligent 
 lady, but unfortunately he was himself absent from the 
 city. 
 
 Where Protestantism is the national religion, one is 
 pretty sure to find popular liberty. This is eminently 
 true of Holland. We see at once that we are among a 
 free people. We mark many tokens of the indomitable 
 Dutch spirit, which will not brook tyranny in any form. 
 It was quite a relief in coming from France, where the 
 strong arm of power is ever displayed in the streets and 
 before the eyes of the people, and the police watch every 
 step, and overhear every word, to emerge into a country 
 where a man can think and speak his honest thoughts 
 without restraint or fear. The government is one of the 
 
THE KING AND GOVERNMENT. 
 
 123 
 
 freest in Europe. To be sure, the king as a man is not 
 much to boast of. He is a mauvais snjet , more fond of 
 pretty French actresses, than of his own true-hearted 
 wife. At the Hague we rode out to the queen’s palace 
 in “ the wood,” a stately beechen grove, two miles long 
 — a retreat in which it would seem that royalty might 
 find rest. As we rode under these arched forest aisles, I 
 could not but think w T ith pity and admiration of the noble 
 woman who is here made unhappy by a profligate hus- 
 band. But we w'on’t speak of this man, for he is of small 
 account. In a constitutional monarchy, a king is rather 
 the figure-head of the ship of state, than a vital part of 
 the machinery. True, a handsome figure-head is a very 
 pretty ornament, bu\ it is the mighty wind, or the steam, 
 that makes the ship go. Some think the sturdy vessel 
 would buffet the seas quite as well without this rather 
 expensive decoration — in fact, when kings are like the 
 king of Holland, perhaps a little better. But it is the 
 glory of a free government, that it is not dependent on 
 the personal character of the ruler. In an absolute mon- 
 archy such a sovereign might debauch a whole court, and 
 tyrannize over a whole country. But the Dutch are not 
 the people to play such tricks upon. They are free born, 
 and call no man master. In visiting the Hall of the 
 States General at the Hague, I reflected with pride that 
 this was the seat of the deliberations of an assembly 
 which was a true representative of the national will. 
 
 Thus Holland is as free a country as England. And it 
 
124 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 has what England has not, not only liberty, but equality . 
 The wide distinction of ranks, which in England forces 
 itself upon the notice of a stranger, is here unknown. 
 There is, indeed, a Dutch nobility, at least in name. But 
 it has no exclusive privileges, and is not surrounded with 
 that 
 
 “ Divinity which doth hedge a king.” 
 
 We were amused by a stout burgher of Amsterdam, 
 whom we met in the cars, and who gave us much infor- 
 mation about his country. “ Nobles !” said he, with an 
 air of disdain, “ What are they ? The only difference 
 between them and us, is that our blood is red, while theirs 
 is black /” And, indeed, it is true in many countries 
 besides Spain, that the race has so degenerated, that often 
 those who are highest in rank are lowest in intellect and 
 character. They may be very great lords, but they are 
 very small men. 
 
 But I am getting into a sober and almost sombre vein 
 with all this talk of politics and besieged cities, and bat- 
 tles upon land and sea. There is a more familiar and 
 more pleasant side to these stout-hearted Dutchmen. 
 They have their stern face which they show in resolute 
 labor, and in the front of battle, but they have also a 
 smile of humor and good nature. You are quite mis- 
 taken if you think the Dutch a dull, phlegmatic race that 
 never relax from a grim solemnity. They are as hearty 
 in their pleasures as in their industry. They are hard 
 
MANNERS OF THE PEOPLE. 
 
 125 
 
 workers and terrible fighters, but they know equally how 
 to enjoy repose after labor. It is a cure for the blues to 
 see a Dutchman’s round and sober face relax into a smile. 
 When he laughs, it is enough to wake the Seven Sleepers. 
 
 Before we bid these hearty people good bye, it is but 
 just to note these lighter features of manner and of char- 
 acter. Having seen the Hollander upon his dikes and on 
 the stormy main, let us see him under his own roof-tree 
 and smoking his peaceful pipe. 
 
 Nothing at once amuses and instructs me more than 
 these homely views of common life. I like to see a peo- 
 ple, not only as they appear on the grand theatre of his- 
 tory, but as they move about in their daily walks. I find 
 endless matter of observation in strolling through some 
 great thoroughfare like the Hoogstraat, or High street 
 of Rotterdam, or the Kalverstraat of Amsterdam, and 
 noting the people in the streets, in their shops and 
 houses ; to see how they look and how they live. 
 
 The first thing which strikes you in a genuine Hol- 
 lander is his somewhat remarkable person, which is as 
 worthy of observation as that of John Bull himself. 
 Here I find a great resemblance between the country 
 and the people. The land is flat, and the Dutch are 
 squat — that is, broad, large, and round, rather than per- 
 pendicular. The original idea of a Dutchman is fatness. 
 Dutch babies are born fat. Dutch belles are plump and 
 solid. Indeed fatness seems to be the type of beauty, 
 and the end of all good living is to develop this corpo- 
 
126 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 real tendency. A lean, lank Dutchman would he a mon- 
 ster in nature. If such a creature were to show his head 
 anywhere, he would deserve to be scouted as an impostor. 
 Whenever a Dutch artist would place on canvas the im- 
 posing figure of a magistrate, or other high personage, 
 he is sure to give a substantial basis to his dignity. 
 Rembrandt never paints a Dutch burgher but in broad 
 and ample proportions. This national type goes with the 
 Dutch the world over. The same portly figure is drawn 
 with inimitable grace by our Washington Irving in his 
 sketches of the early Dutch settlers on the banks of the 
 Hudson. This outward resemblance remains through 
 generations. The same rotund figures which you see in 
 all the pictures of the old Dutch masters, you may 
 recognize to-day on the Exchange at Amsterdam. 
 
 Yet think not that these heavy Hollanders are there- 
 fore gross in their persons or habits. Indeed, we are 
 more inclined to pronounce them at once the cleanest 
 and politest of men. Cleanliness is a national mania. In 
 proof of this one has but to venture into the streets of 
 Amsterdam, on a Saturday, which is a field day among 
 the Dutch housewives. It is the day of universal scouring 
 and scrubbing — the triumph of women, and the terror of 
 the other sex — when valiant maids flourish with mop and 
 broom, and men fly before them — nay, when even those 
 who are stout of heart, grow faint and cowardly, and sneak 
 along the middle of the streets for fear of a ducking. 
 
 And then as to politeness, even the French must yield 
 
HOW THE DUTCH ENJOY THEMSELVES. 
 
 127 - 
 
 to the Dutch in studied courtesy and formal deference to 
 the fairer sex. A Dutchman never meets a lady of his 
 acquaintance without taking off his hat. He does not 
 merely touch it with his finger in the curt English way, 
 but takes it clear off, even though it exposes a poor bald 
 head to the winter’s cold. So incessant is this motion 
 that in walking through a crowded street, or in a public 
 garden, the hat is off about half the time. 
 
 If you would see how the Dutch enjoy themselves, 
 visit one of the public gardens which are found in the 
 suburbs of every city, and see the crowds that gather in 
 the evening for society and amusement. As we have 
 been here in the full bloom of summer, w^e have seen 
 these favorite resorts in all their glory. 
 
 At Rotterdam, after a day spent in seeing the sights 
 of the city, towards evening we fell into a crowd which 
 was streaming out of the town, all wending their way 
 to the same point of attraction. We found a large open 
 ground, like an English park, which had been moulded 
 with great care, gentle slopes sinking away into softly 
 wooded dells, with shady nooks and winding walks and 
 glistening basins of water. Here on a broad lawn, in- 
 closed from the crowd, was a space set apart for the fash- 
 ionable public. We came, expecting to pay for admis- 
 sion, as is the custom in most of the public gardens in 
 France and Germany. But we were stopped at the gate, 
 and informed that this part of the grounds was private, 
 being reserved for the gentility of Rotterdam. It was 
 
128 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 especially exclusive on this occasion, when a fete was 
 given by the officers of the garrison to the more distin- 
 guished families of the ])lace. We bowed, and were 
 about to retire, wdien the officer in command, seeing our 
 perplexity, came to the rescue, explaining, in very good 
 French, the nature of this fete champetre, but then with 
 great politeness welcoming us as strangers to their hospi- 
 tality. We accordingly entered the enchanted ground 
 as honored guests. We took our seats under the trees, 
 and were pleased in observing the different parties as 
 they entered the grounds ; to note their cordial greetings 
 as they passed along, the hat bobbing up at every group 
 in which they recognized friends. Soon hundreds of 
 these groups were gathered under the trees — sometimes 
 a family forming a party by itself, and sometimes a circle 
 of friends joining together. There was no attempt at 
 fashionable display. The dresses were simple, and the 
 ladies brought their work and sat sewing or knitting in 
 the most quiet domestic manner at little round tables, 
 from which they sipped their ice cream, or the men drank 
 their beer, or contented themselves with a cheerful * 
 cup of tea. W e were amused in watching the different 
 groups, scattered about under the trees. Here an honest 
 matron was busily engaged in making the tea, her eyes 
 of course intently fixed upon her task (Heaven bless her 
 motherly heart), while a little innocent flirtation was go- 
 ing on between a young cavalier and a pair of black eyes, 
 at the other end of the table. But all, old and young 
 
HOW TIIE HUTCH ENJOY THEMSELVES. 
 
 129 
 
 alike, seemed happy. Not a frown marred the gaiety 
 and gladness of the hour. Thus they chatted and 
 laughed merrily, while the sunset gilded the heavens, 
 and the fine military band poured forth stirring strains 
 upon the evening air. Seldom have I looked upon a 
 scene of more simple, honest, heartfelt happiness. 
 
 These Dutch girls are true daughters of Eve, as full 
 of archness and coquetry as their sisters of sunnier climes. 
 Indeed they have one cunning contrivance which I have 
 not yet seen elsewhere, and which seems to be designed 
 as an aid to all distressed lovers — an art of flirtation made 
 easy. It is a little double faced mirror hung out of the 
 window at such an angle as to reflect every figure passing 
 in the street. Here the little w T itch may sit hidden, and 
 while appearing very industrious in sewing, or absorbed 
 in a book, can keep watch of every handsome face that 
 passes by her enchanted castle. And if — if you know — 
 a gay gallant, walking on the pavement, in a fit of ab- 
 straction, should stop a moment and kiss his hand, no- 
 body can box the little minx’s ears, because she looks up 
 from her book just in time to see it. 
 
 Womanly vanity and fashion exist all over the world. 
 But they sometimes show themselves in strange ways. W e 
 for example should not think a pretty face improved by 
 two gold spoons branching out from behind the ears, and 
 covering the temples like blinders. Yet such is the fash- 
 ion wdth Dutch country lasses, w T ho wish to set olF their 
 charms. No doubt a rosy Dutch face, round as a dump- 
 
 6 * 
 
130 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 ling, and thus embossed with gold, does look all the 
 prettier in the fond lover’s eyes. 
 
 Take all these things together — the friendly manners, 
 the solid comfort, the freedom and independence — and it 
 must be confessed that Holland combines, in a high 
 degree, all the elements of prosperity and happiness. 
 Relatively, its power is not so great as it was two 
 hundred years ago, for England has advanced with 
 such gigantic strides as to have far outstripped her 
 ancient rival. But the country is still rich in the 
 natural elements of wealth, and the people are industri- 
 ous and happy. And what charms a stranger is the air 
 of universal contentment and the kind and friendly 
 feeling which seems to pervade all classes. The very 
 houses seem to be on good terms with each other, and as 
 they lean their heads together across the street, they 
 seem to be talking in a friendly manner with their neigh- 
 bors over the way. Even the storks seem to be on the 
 best terms with the people, as they walk about on the 
 roofs of the houses, with none to molest them, and occa- 
 sionally put their long necks down the chimneys, as if 
 to whisper confidentially to the family below. Thus the 
 Dutch have learned the good rule to “ live and let live.” 
 They know how to enjoy life without envying or trou- 
 bling their neighbors. For all these things I like the 
 Dutch. I like their queer, quaint old towns. I like their 
 simple manners, and their honest, friendly ways. They 
 are not as proud as the English, nor as ambitious of glory 
 
TIIEIR CHARACTER. 
 
 131 
 
 as the French, but they are a people less corrupted than 
 either — simple, virtuous, and brave, that dwell contented 
 in their own land, that love their homes, their wives and 
 children, their country, and their God. And perhaps 
 this small kingdom contains as little poverty and ignor- 
 ance, and comprises as much material comfort, as much 
 intelligence, as much virtue, and as much real happiness, 
 as can be found in any equal space on the surface of the 
 globe. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Leaving Holland — Hanover and the Georges — Hamburg— Beauty 
 of the City — its Commerce. 
 
 Hamburg, July 20 th , 1858. 
 
 It was a long stretch from Amsterdam to Hamburg, but 
 as we were bound for the north of Europe, we must 
 needs pass this way. The most direct route is by sea, 
 and steamers make the voyage every week. But there 
 is also a way of getting here by railroad, which indeed 
 compels a detour through Germany, but in this case, as 
 in many others, “ the longest way round is the shortest 
 way home.” So we decided to keep to the land. Mine 
 host of the inn at Amsterdam, who was a round and 
 rosy cheeked man, the very image of good cheer and of 
 Dutch hospitality, shook us warmly by the hand, and 
 wished us all manner of blessings on our journey ; and 
 the carriage soon took us beyond the city gates, and the 
 cars whirled us away from the land of dikes and canals. 
 
 When Voltaire bade good bye to Holland, he left as 
 usual a stinging sarcasm behind him : “ Adieu, canaux, 
 canards, canaille !” The old sinner ! I hate him, thus 
 to speak of his betters. But we were quite sad to part 
 
 132 
 
LEAVING HOLLAND. 
 
 133 
 
 from Holland so soon, for though we had been in it but a 
 few days, yet we had come to feel at home among these 
 good natured and honest Dutchmen. Byron says that 
 
 “ Even in leaving the most unpleasant places and people, 
 
 One cannot help turning back and looking at the steeple.” 
 
 Might we not then linger in a country where we had ex- 
 perienced only kindness, and look up to every windmill 
 as a friend, and imagine as we flew past them on the 
 road, that their long arms were waving us a benevolent 
 adieu ? Thus, pleased with what we had seen and expe- 
 rienced, and bearing away happy memories of the coun- 
 try and its people, we went skimming over the plains of 
 Holland, past Utrecht, where, in 1713, after the war of 
 the Spanish Succession, the great powers of Europe at 
 last solemnly agreed to be at peace ; and past Arnheim, 
 till we entered the valley of the Rhine, and at length 
 crossed the frontier of Prussia. At Oberhausen we 
 struck upon the great central line of railway which runs 
 through the heart of Germany from Cologne to Berlin, 
 and which brought us at midnight to the old town of 
 Hanover. It was Saturday night, and we welcomed the 
 quiet of this inland town as promising us a calm and 
 tranquil day of resti But even here we could not find 
 an American Sabbath. Our hotel was on a public square 
 near the railway station* and the next day we were com- 
 pelled to hear the noise of trains which went thundering 
 
134 
 
 RUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 past at almost every hour. Germany has yet to learn 
 the sacred beauty, and the priceless blessing of a day of 
 perfect rest and solemn worship. 
 
 Hanover is a place of some historical interest from its 
 connection with England, which it so long furnished 
 with sovereigns. From this little German capital came 
 the hopeful race of the Georges. The house of Hanover 
 is still represented in the person of Victoria. We vis- 
 ited the old palace of Herrenhausen, which Mr. Thack- 
 eray has made so familiar in his Lectures on the Four 
 Georges, in which he describes very minutely the private 
 life of those who lived here, before they migrated to 
 London — a life not at all brilliant, and sometimes not 
 over respectable. The palace is a long, low building, 
 with no pretensions to magnificence or even to taste in 
 its architecture, surrounded by gardens laid out in the 
 stiff French style. Yet George I., when seated on the 
 throne of England, often pined for its shaded walks and 
 its more quiet and simple life, and perhaps he would 
 have been happier if left in the position for which na- 
 ture designed him — that of a petty German prince — 
 instead of being raised out of his place, to fill a greater 
 throne. 
 
 The present king of Hanover is also a George, being 
 the fifth of the name. He is the cousin of the Queen of 
 England, and is entitled to sit in the House of Lords as 
 the Duke of Cumberland and Teviotdale, although Han- 
 over has now no political connection with Great Britain, 
 
HAXOVER. 
 
 135 
 
 but is an independent kingdom, ranking among the sec- 
 ond class of German States, along with Saxony and Ba- 
 varia. Though it is not a very mighty dominion, the 
 king tries to make the most of it. He keeps up all the 
 emblems of sovereignty. He has half a dozen palaces, 
 and as if that were not enough, the queen is having 
 another built for her especial gratification. But little 
 joy can all this afford to the king, who though still a 
 young man, is blind ! having lost his sight by an acci- 
 dent, some years ago. Thus does that Providence, 
 which holds with an equal hand the scales of human 
 life, often turn to barrenness all the splendor of human 
 glory by one single privation. 
 
 When we were at Herrenhausen, we were told that 
 the king had left a day or two before for a pleasure ex- 
 cursion. We find it pretty often the case when we visit 
 the residences of royal personages, that the masters are 
 not at home, and we begin to think that they are not so 
 contented and happy in their own houses as more hum- 
 ble individuals. Perhaps they may find their royal life 
 after all pretty dull, since they seem glad of any excuse 
 to escape from the routine of a court, and to lead a less 
 constrained, a more free, natural, and happy existence. 
 These German princes, especially, must have a pretty 
 dull time of it. They have great titles, and the taste 
 •for a royal style of living, and yet they are shut up in a 
 little capital, with a petty court and a very small reve- 
 nue. Ho wonder they try to escape the ennui of their 
 
136 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 existence by spending a part of the year in some greater 
 capital. In London there is always a swarm of them, 
 who are sixth or tenth cousins to Prince Albert, hang- 
 ing round the court, so that the queen must be very 
 good natured not to get sometimes a little tired of her 
 German relations. 
 
 How pleasant was it to turn from the race of royal 
 nonentities to one who was a monarch in the realms of 
 thought, and who needs no title but his own great name. 
 Hanover was the home of Leibnitz. Here lived the 
 great philosopher, the Isaac Newton of Germany, and 
 his plain dwelling, which is still pointed out in one of 
 the streets of the town, is far more interesting than all 
 the palaces of the Georges. 
 
 At Hanover we diverged from the great high road to 
 Berlin, and took the railway to Hamburg, thus travers- 
 ing almost the whole kingdom of Hanover. The coun- 
 try is everywhere the same, a vast plain, flat as Flanders 
 itself, though less highly cultivated. But thanks to rail- 
 roads, a dull region is quickly passed, and five hours 
 brought us to the banks of the Elbe, which here flows 
 out in a broad, full stream to the North Sea, and a 
 steamboat soon took us across and landed us on the 
 quays of Hamburg. 
 
 Why has no traveller celebrated the beauty of this 
 city ? I have read books of travel almost by the bushel,, 
 but do not remember ever to have seen Hamburg named 
 except as one of the free towns of Germany, and as a 
 
HAMBURG. 
 
 13 1 
 
 very important commercial city. Yet we find it one of 
 the most beautiful cities we have seen in Europe. The 
 first impression of a stranger is directly the opposite of 
 this. We landed in the lower town, which is built along 
 'the river, and directly found ourselves in a maze of nar- 
 row streets, overhung by old, dilapidated houses, that 
 looked as if they had been standing since the flood, and 
 as if now their last hour had come. Surely, we thought, 
 this is a city of desolation. Ruined, rotten, rickety, 
 worm-eaten, plague-smitten — such were the complimen- 
 tary epithets which Ave were prepared to bestow upon 
 the miserable place, when, after riding half an hour, 
 we began to ascend to the upper town, and presently 
 emerged, upon what seemed to us glorious as a mount 
 of vision, shining bright and resplendent over the dark- 
 ness of the lower regions. Here we found all that can 
 make a city beautiful — broad streets and squares lined 
 with splendid buildings, and, in the centre of all, as the 
 gem in the crown, the clear and sparkling eye of the 
 picture — a crystal lake of water. 
 
 Hamburg, indeed, owes its great prosperity to com- 
 merce, and is to be considered, first of all, as a commer- 
 cial city. It is a free town, having an independent 
 political existence, and managing its own affairs. It has 
 no king, and gets along quite as well without one as its 
 neighbor Hanover with its royal race — to judge from 
 the appearance of the two cities, I should say, much bet- 
 ter. Hamburg is a free city in another sense. It en- 
 
138 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 joys almost entire free trade. The duties levied upon 
 imports are very light, compared with tHose of most 
 States. Thus, few restrictions are placed upon com- 
 merce, andjt is left free to expand according to the nat- 
 ural laws of trade. The city is admirably situated for 
 commerce with all parts of the world. Standing near 
 the mouth of the Elbe, it is easily accessible from the 
 sea, while its position makes it the natural place of im- 
 port and export for the north of Germany. Its prosper- 
 ity will be greatly advanced by the railroads which 
 radiate from it into the interior, and steamships which 
 connect it with foreign countries. A line has recently 
 been established between Hamburg and New York, 
 'which I hear spoken of in high terms. We saw one of 
 the ships, the Saxonia, lying at her wharf, as we crossed 
 the Elbe, and a magnificent vessel she is, built of iron. 
 I hope the line will be well sustained, and will thus be- 
 come a permanent one. It ought to be, at least, as suc- 
 cessful as that to Bremen, since Hamburg is a much 
 more important city. Such a line would be a benefit to 
 us, as it would furnish another direct communication 
 with the north of Europe. It will also be a very desira- 
 ble route for travellers, who may wish to come direct to 
 the continent without stopping in England. I commend 
 it to students who are coming to the German universi- 
 ties, and to clergymen who wish to study economy in a 
 European tour. After seeing Hamburg, I feel doubly 
 desirous that New York should have a direct and fre- 
 
BEAUTY OF THE CITY. 
 
 139 
 
 quent communication with a city so large, prosperous, 
 and beautiful. 
 
 The peculiar beauty of Hamburg it owes to the small 
 river Alster, which flows through the towm to empty 
 itself into the Elbe. By placing a dam across this 
 stream, the waters have been inclosed in a large basin, 
 which is walled in by quays of stone, and is overlooked 
 by a long range of stately edifices, so that the Alster- 
 damm designates the most beautiful part of Hamburg. 
 Beyond the basin thus inclosed, the waters flow back 
 into a broad sheet or lake extending several miles, and 
 on its borders are the country seats of the merchant 
 princes of Hamburg. We have just returned from a 
 ride along the shore. It was the hour when men of 
 business were returned from the city, and at every house 
 we passed, the family were sitting on the green lawn 
 before their door taking their tea in the open air, enjoy- 
 ing the long twilight and the delicious coolness which 
 came from the water, and which tempered the heat of 
 the warm summer’s day. After ascending the lake for 
 several miles, we crossed it in a boat, to come back to 
 the city on the other bank. The sun w r as setting, and 
 the golden clouds were reflected in the polished mirror 
 beneath. As we approached the shore, we heard the 
 sound of music from a garden where happy groups were 
 sitting under the trees. We have come back to the 
 Crown Prince hotel, which is situated on the Alster- 
 damm, and from our windows we look down on a 
 
140 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 scene of enchantment. Below us the water reflects a 
 thousand stars, and boats filled with gay parties are 
 shooting across it in every direction. I hear the dip of 
 their oars mingling with shouts of laughter and music. 
 At such an hour as this all the world seems happy. 
 Care and grief are banished far away. Sad is it that 
 upon such fair visions the morn must break ; the cold, 
 grey light of reality must rest on scenes of sorrow and 
 of death ; and human passions will wake again to mar 
 the face of the earth which the Creator has made so 
 divine. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 Denmark — Excursion in Holstein and Schleswig — Life in a 
 Danish Parsonage. 
 
 Copenhagen, May 27, 1858. 
 
 It was a bright summer’s morning on which we left the 
 fair city of Hamburg, and drove across the line to the old 
 Danish town of Altona. This is the gateway to the 
 duchies of Holstein and Schleswig, which have figured so 
 much in European politics for the last few years. As we 
 entered these provinces, so lately the scene of bitter 
 strife, our first impression was that they were hardly 
 worth fighting for. The railroad runs along a high and 
 sterile ridge which extends through the whole Peninsula. 
 As seen from the route the country is a vast plain, and 
 that not rich and cultivated, like Holland, but a bleak 
 and barren moor, such as in Scotland would be thought 
 fit only for the grazing of sheep. At present its chief 
 value seems to be, like the bogs in Ireland, to furnish the 
 inhabitants with fuel. All along the road, the turf is 
 cut up, like clay for the limekiln, generally in square 
 pieces, like brick, and piled up in rows, to dry in the 
 sun ; and this is the protection of the people against the 
 
 141 
 
142 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 rigors of their northern winters. But how desolate was 
 the scene presented to the eye ! Coming out of a busy 
 city, it seemed as if we had entered at once into the 
 solitude and silence of the desert. One could not feel 
 more lonely even in the Campagna around Rome, where 
 the only living object that meets the eye is the shepherd 
 and his flock, and the only sound the barking of the 
 watch-dog. 
 
 Yet, like the Campagna, these desolate moors have 
 once been populous with men. Over these silent plains 
 have passed savage hordes, which shook the earth with 
 their tread. In the north of the Peninsula lies the Pro- 
 vince of Jutland, which was the home of the terrible 
 Cimbri, who, with other Baltic tribes, once ravaged 
 France and Spain, and carried terror to the gates of 
 Rome. In the Museum of Northern Antiquities at 
 Copenhagen, may be seen the imjflements of war of this 
 savage race. Here, too, were celebrated the rites of 
 Odin, centuries before Christ was born in Bethlehem of 
 Judea. And here, at a later day, came another con- 
 queror from the south. Yonder town on the right was 
 founded by Charlemagne. 
 
 N or is this country now so uninhabited as it seems. 
 Off from the line of the railroad, if you turn to either 
 side, the country is of surpassing fertility and richness. 
 Nearer to the coast, are many towns of ancient date, and 
 some of a present commercial importance. Kiel is one 
 of the principal ports in the Baltic. It was the render 
 
DENMARK. 
 
 143 
 
 vous of the English fleet in the late war, before it pro- 
 ceeded to Cronstadt. 
 
 The population throughout Holstein and the southern 
 part of Schleswig is largely German, and it was the con- 
 flict of the German and Danish elements, which, after 
 the revolutions of 1848, broke out into such fierce hostil- 
 ity, that this peaceful country was plunged into all the 
 horrors of civil war. The German party was supported 
 by the sympathy and secret aid of Prussia, and this pro- 
 longed the contest for three years ; nor was it terminated 
 until several pitched battles had been fought, in the last 
 of which were brought into the field, counting both 
 armies, fifty thousand men, and nearly five thousand were 
 killed and wounded ! This ended the war, and reestab- 
 lished the authority of Denmark over its rebellious pro- 
 vinces. The fortified town of Rendsburg, through 
 which we passed, was the chief point of the Holsteiners. 
 It changed hands several times, and was not finally 
 secured to Denmark until the last decisive battle. As 
 we traversed the country, we heard many tales of the 
 war. Though the fighting is ended, the difficulty seems 
 not yet settled. Prussia still supports the cause of Hol- 
 stein, and the question remains a subject of controversy 
 between Denmark and Germany. It is evident that the 
 fires of discontent, though subdued, are still smouldering, 
 and in the event of another general revolution in Europe, 
 would at once break out anew. 
 
 From Altona a railroad runs direct to Kiel, and a 
 
144 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 t ' . ^ 
 
 steamer crosses in a few hours to Korsoer, from which 
 another train takes you on to Copenhagen. But we had a 
 friend to visit in the interior of Schleswig, so that, in- 
 stead of turning off to the coast, we kept on directly up 
 the Peninsula. At length the country began to change, 
 the plains rising at first into gentle slopes, and then into 
 wooded hills. We came to the end of the railroad, and 
 then pursued our way by diligence over hills and val- 
 leys, skirting along the shores of rocky fiords, till we 
 brought up in the little town of Haderslev. This is a 
 
 place of some importance in the province, but so shut 
 
 # 
 
 out from the world, lying in a little valley, surrounded 
 by hills, and having a look so quain^ and quiet that we 
 could not have felt more like strangers if we had been 
 landed in Iceland. Yet this remote and secluded spot 
 was the birthplace of the Danish monarchy. Here four 
 hundred years ago (in 1448 ), Count Christian of Olden- 
 burg, the first of the now reigning dynasty, was elected 
 king. For more than two hundred years (till 1660 ), the 
 crown continued to be elective. Yet his descendants 
 were always chosen as his successors, and the same 
 family has continued to this day in uninterrupted pos- 
 session of the throne. 
 
 Here we slept in a little country inn. The people, 
 like good honest folk, went to bed at an early hour, and 
 all was still in the street, save the tramp of a solitary 
 watchman, whose clogs were heard at regular intervals 
 under our windows, and who in a deep and measured 
 
A DANISH PARSONAGE. 
 
 145 
 
 tone, repeated, “ Eleven o’clock has struck,” or “ Twelve 
 o’clock has struck.” How strangely sounded that voice, 
 calling the midnight hour! We had not heard that 
 watchman’s cry since three years before in Halifax, 
 Nova Scotia ; and now it seemed as if the voice that 
 had died away on the shore of another continent, 
 had found an echo in the heart of ancient Scan- 
 dinavia. 
 
 We had come into this retired region to pay a visit to 
 a Danish pastor, with whom we became acquainted 
 through his brother, whom we had known in New York. 
 Four miles from Haderslev, nestled among the hills, is 
 descried the white tower of the church of Vonsbeck, 
 and close by it is the parsonage of the pastor Moller. 
 W e took one of the carriages of the country, a kind of 
 huge basket of wicker work, and drove to his manse. It 
 is inclosed by a range of low buildings, which looked 
 like the surroundings of a farmyard. We drove under 
 an arched way into the large court, and thought at first 
 that we had mistaken the place, and had invaded the 
 premises of one of the rich farmers of the country. But 
 a cottage at the further end of the buildings seemed to 
 mark the residence of a man of taste and cultivation, 
 and as we approached inquiringly, the pastor himself and 
 his wife, who were walking in their garden, advanced to 
 meet us, and gave us the most cordial welcome. 
 
 We entered the parsonage, and here it was evident by 
 many signs, that we were in the home of a scholar. The 
 
 1 
 
146 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 books on the table and the pictures on the walls, showed 
 the fondness for reading and study, and the presence of 
 taste; while a large telescope, standing in the middle 
 of the room, indicated the man of science. In the 
 number of his wife’s books we found carefully treasured 
 several works of American writers, among them the 
 “Wide, Wide World,” of our excellent friend Miss 
 Warner. The pastor, knowing by instinct the point of 
 attraction for a brother minister, took me first to his 
 library. After a long and wistful look at its treasures 
 we returned to the ladies, and all strolled away into the 
 garden, where a summer-house on the brow of a hill 
 overlooks the country for miles around. The view ex- 
 tends along the coast, and across the waters of the Little 
 Belt to the island of Fione. The coast region here re- 
 sembles that of Norway (though on a scale less grand), 
 being indented with numerous inlets, or fiords, so that 
 almost every deep valley stoops down to the water’s 
 edge. One of these inlets flowed at the bottom of the 
 hill on which we stood, and stretching along the bank 
 for half a mile is a noble wood, which is a part of the 
 property of the manse. One does not find in Denmark 
 the dark forests of pine which stand on Norwegian hills. 
 The beech is the tree of the country. This grove was 
 composed chiefly of beeches, with here and there an 
 ancient oak, or a white birch showing its shilling bark. 
 Nothing could exceed the charm of this wood, which 
 seemed to unite all the elements of beauty — tall and 
 
A DANISH PARSONAGE. 
 
 147 
 
 stately trees, with here and there an open glade to let a 
 stream of light into the darker depths of the forest, and 
 long shady avenues, which seemed made for the retired 
 walks of the scholar. Long did we linger here, walking 
 under the trees, or sitting on the mossy hank of the 
 stream, and talk of the Old World and the New, of 
 Denmark and of America. 
 
 On the edge of the wood, near the Parsonage, stands 
 the church. The pastor took us to see it. It is a small 
 edifice, of stone, but with walls as thick as if built for a 
 fortress. There it has stood for six hundred years! 
 Generation after generation has come over these hills 
 here to worship God, and their bodies now rest under its 
 shadow. The churchyard is thickly strewn with graves, 
 which are not marked by slabs of stone, but covered with 
 beds of flowers, emblems of hope and of the resurrection. 
 
 The pastor gave us much information in regard to the 
 religious condition of Denmark, its churches and its 
 schools. The religion of the State is Lutheran, and the 
 people are generally attached to the Protestant worship. 
 Education also is provided for by the State. The whole 
 country is dotted with village schools. Every parish 
 has one or more of them, to which the parents are required 
 by law to send their children. And it is rare to find a 
 peasant who does not know how to read and write. The 
 State also takes care to provide a competent body of 
 teachers. There are five seminaries expressly for the 
 education of country school-masters. Thus is formed a 
 
148 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 large and highly respectable body of men. The State 
 also adds to their dignity and independence by setting 
 apart for them glebe lands and granting them certain 
 privileges. Besides these common schools, all the larger 
 towns have burgher schools, and Latin schools, besides 
 their charity schools. At the same time the universities 
 of Copenhagen and Kiel provide for the higher educa- 
 tion. 
 
 Thus the stream of talk flowed on till the day was 
 spent, and the sun setting over the hills and the fad- 
 ing twilight, warned us to return to Haderslev to pre- 
 pare to resume our journey the next morning. But the 
 kind pastor would hardly let us go. “We ought to 
 stay at least a week !” And w r hen at last we were 
 forced to part, it was more like friends who had known 
 each other from childhood, than as those who never saw 
 each other’s faces till that morning. The ladies em- 
 braced like sisters, and after we were seated in the car- 
 riage, the little ones were brought out to be handed up 
 to receive their kiss, and we rode away with delightful 
 remembrances of a day in a Danish parsonage. 
 
 This glimpse of the interior of a manse in Denmark, 
 has given me the most favorable impression of the pas- 
 tors and churches of this country. Here is a man 
 of education and refinement, who lives afar from the 
 great world, yet who is perfectly contented and happy, 
 free from envy and pride, and with no ambition but to 
 do good to the simple people who live among these hills, 
 
A DANISH PARSONAGE. 
 
 149 
 
 and who look up to him as a father. Such is the moral 
 beauty and dignity of a true Christian pastor. Long 
 shall we remember this day’s visit, and the names of Pas- 
 tor Moller and his wife will be warmly cherished by their 
 friends in America. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 The Island of Fione — Copenhagen — Beauty of the City and its 
 Environs — Decline of Denmark as an European Power — At- 
 tack of Nelson in 1801 — Bombardment in 1807 — Loss of Nor- 
 way — The Country still rich in the Elements of Prosperity — 
 Points of Sympathy with America — Settlement of the Sound 
 Dues Question — The King — Hopes of Scandinavian Unity — 
 Thorwaldsen. 
 
 Copenhagen, July 28, 1858. 
 
 The next morning after our visit to the Danish pastor, 
 we left the quiet town of Haderslev, sleeping in its val- 
 ley, and rode over the hills to the shore of the Little Belt, 
 where a steamer was waiting to convey passengers across 
 to the island of Fione. This island is forty miles broad, 
 and is one of the richest parts of the kingdom. As we 
 rode over it on a warm summer’s day, the whole land 
 seemed smiling with plenty. On every side were seen 
 rich farms and peaceful villages. “ The valleys are cov- 
 ered over with corn, they shout for joy, they also sing.” 
 W e saw no princely estates, nothing like the palaces and 
 parks of England, but there was an appearance of gen- 
 eral comfort, of an abundance of the necessaries of life. 
 We saw no great wealth on the one hand, and no squalid 
 poverty on the other. Everywhere was industry, com- 
 
 150 
 
THE ISLAND OF FIONE. 
 
 151 
 
 fort, and content. It seemed a stout, hale, and happy 
 country, tenanted hy a manly and self-respecting race. 
 We passed through several towns, the largest of which 
 was Odensee, whose ancient date is signified in the very 
 name it bears — which is derived from Odin, the old 
 Scandinavian deity. Indeed, this mythological personage 
 is said to have lived in this place, and his tumulus is still 
 shown outsido the town. No doubt he did live here as 
 much as anywhere. A fact somewhat more authentic, 
 and quite as interesting to us, w^as that here was born 
 Hans Christian Andersen, the celebrated Danish writer, 
 and from these streets he sallied forth, a poor boy, and 
 made his way to Copenhagen, where, after years of labor 
 and discouragement, he at length rose to fame. 
 
 The island of Fione is belted on both sides — having 
 the Little Belt on one side and the Great Belt on the 
 other. These waters are famous as the only entrance to 
 the Baltic, except by the Sound, past the guns of Cro- 
 nenburg, near Elsinore. The English fleet designed to 
 attack Cronstadt in the last w T ar, came down the Great 
 Belt. These Belts have generally been a protection to 
 Denmark, like the Channel to England. But not always. 
 Just two hundred years ago, in 1657 - 8 , the winter was 
 so severe that the Little Belt and the Great Belt were 
 frozen over, and Charles X., of Sweden, crossed them 
 both upon the ice, w T ith his whole army, infantry, cav- 
 alry, and artillery, on his way to attack Copenhagen. 
 The steamer which took us over, crossed in two hours, 
 
152 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 from Nyborg to Korsoer, from which -there is a railway 
 across Zealand to Copenhagen. We reached the capital 
 the same evening. 
 
 We had looked forward with much interest to our 
 visit to Copenhagen. Nor is that interest diminished 
 now that we walk its streets. We find indeed a city not 
 very imposing in its external appearance. It has suf- 
 fered too much by siege and bombardment to retain 
 many marks of grandeur. The houses, being built only 
 of brick, stuccoed, have a plain and comfortable look, 
 but are by no means magnificent. Yet Copenhagen is, 
 next to St. Petersburg, the greatest of the northern 
 capitals. It has a hundred and fifty thousand inhabit- 
 ants, and is surrounded by fortifications five miles in ex- 
 tent. It has a few stately public edifices. From our 
 room in the Hotel Royal we look across to the king’s 
 palace, which is one of the most extensive royal resi- 
 dences in Europe. Here is a large gallery of paintings. 
 By the side of the .palace are the principal public build- 
 ings of the capital — those occupied by the Departments 
 of Government, the Exchange, and what is of more inte- 
 rest than all, the Museum of Thorwaldsen. 
 
 But the chief beauty of Copenhagen, it owes to its 
 situation and its charming environs. Standing on the 
 shores of the Baltic, its tall spires may be seen from a 
 ship’s deck twenty miles distant. Hardly any city that 
 we have visited commands more beautiful views. The 
 palace of Fredericksberg, on a hill two miles from the 
 
ENVIRONS OF COPENHAGEN. 
 
 153 
 
 town, overlooks a wide and beautiful prospect of land and 
 w r ater. I know not where to point out a more enchant- 
 ing drive than along the Sound from Copenhagen to El- 
 sinore. For the whole distance the shores of Sweden 
 are in sight. Midway between the two kingdoms is a 
 little island on which Tycho Brahe erected his observa- 
 tory, and from which he w r atched the constellations in 
 the cold northern heavens. One afternoon we devoted 
 to an excursion along the Danish shore. A great num- 
 ber of ships were passing up and down the Sound. We 
 whiled away an hour at a watering-place which is a sum- 
 mer resort of the fashionable public, and next drove under 
 the windows of a country box of the king, just as a mili- 
 tary band were playing to soothe the royal ear, and 
 returned through the Deer Park, a magnificent forest of 
 beech, 'which is a hunting-ground for the Court, and where 
 every year, in June or July, the people of city and coun- 
 try pitch their tents for a grand national fair. 
 
 Just at present, Copenhagen itself is dull. As it is 
 midsummer, the Court is absent, and the hotels of the 
 foreign ministers, and the town-houses of the Danish 
 nobility are closed, and all are spending the hot months 
 at their seats in the country, so that we see nothing of 
 the fashion of Denmark. The only gaiety manifest is 
 that of the people at the suburban gardens of Tivoli and 
 the Alhambra. But in winter, when the court is in town 
 and the National Diet in session, and the nobility flock 
 to the capital, the streets present a more animated spec- 
 
 1 * 
 
154 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 tacle, and the saloons are more brilliant. The Danes aro 
 generally intelligent, and the educated classes remarka- 
 bly well informed. The university, with its twelve hun- 
 dred students, of course draws around it a number of 
 learned professors and literary men, and these, with the 
 wealthier citizens, and the noble families, and officers of 
 the government, and artists and authors, form altogether 
 a very charming society. 
 
 During the week we have spent in Copenhagen we 
 have been accustomed to take our evening walk along 
 the bastions, which girdle the city on the side of land 
 and sea. Here we have strolled at sunset, musing like 
 Hamlet the Dane upon the walls of Elsinore. As we 
 looked off upon the Baltic, of which this city was queen, 
 as Venice was queen of the Adriatic, and surveyed the 
 heavy ramparts, and marked the long lines of cannon, 
 now grim and silent, and watched the sentinel pacing 
 his round, we could not but fall into reflections on the 
 former greatness and present decline of this once mighty 
 northern power. 
 
 Denmark is no longer the giant that she once was, 
 when northern vikings were the terror of the sea, and 
 Danes were the conquerors of England. For centuries 
 she continued one of the great kingdoms of the North. 
 But within the last hundred years she has been cast into 
 the shade by monarchies of a later date, but of far 
 greater power. Since the time of Frederick the Great, 
 Prussia has risen to the first rank of European States ; 
 
DECLINE OF DENMARK. 
 
 155 
 
 and since the reign of Peter the Great, Russia has 
 loomed up in vast proportions, and these two empires 
 have overshadowed all other powers in the north of 
 Europe. Still Denmark would have remained a very 
 respectable kingdom, but for two disasters, which 
 resulted from the wars of Napoleon — the loss of her 
 navy, and the loss of Norway. 
 
 It is sad to think that the heaviest blows at the pros- 
 perity of this Protestant nation should have been struck 
 by Protestant England. Twice in this century have 
 hostile armaments appeared in these -waters. In 1801 , 
 the object was to break the famous league of the powers 
 of the Baltic, known as “the Armed Neutrality,” in 
 which Russia, Prussia, Denmark, and Sweden combined 
 to protect their commerce against the pretensions and 
 vexations of British ships, and to maintain their own 
 rights as neutrals in the great war then raging in Europe. 
 This was regarded by England as an attack upon her 
 maritime supremacy, and to sustain her prestige and 
 power on the seas, she felt it necessary to strike a 
 sudden blow at this northern confederacy, and Nelson, 
 whose fame had begun to fill the world since he won 
 the battle of the Nile, led an expedition against 
 Copenhagen. The shores of Sweden and Denmark 
 never saw such a sight as on the day when that 
 mighty armament came down the waters of the Sound. 
 The action which followed was one of the most fearful 
 engagements on record, and the hardly-earned victory is 
 
156 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 counted among the greatest naval achievements of Great 
 Britain. You remember the stirring ode of Campbell 
 on the battle of the Baltic : 
 
 “Of Nelson and the North, 
 
 Sing the glorious day’s renown. 
 
 When to battle fierce came forth, 
 
 All the might of Denmark’s crown.” 
 
 Well may they boast of their victory, for never were 
 they matched against a braver enemy, or met with valor 
 more equal to their own. For four hours the battle 
 raged. So terrible was the Danish fire that Sir Hyde 
 Parker, the chief in command, signalled to the English 
 fleet to withdraw, and nothing but the obstinacy of Nel- 
 son, who refused to be beaten, and fought on against 
 orders, finally carried the day. Nelson himself felt the 
 highest admiration for the valor of his enemy. lie de- 
 clared that he had never seen anything like it before. 
 He afterwards told the Crown Prince that he had been 
 in over a hundred engagements, but in none to be com- 
 pared to this. Even the battle of the Nile was less 
 awful. lie said, “ The French fought bravely, but they 
 could not have stood for one hour the fight which the 
 Danes had supported for four.” 
 
 I find that the Danes themselves do not regard this by 
 any means as an unworthy defeat, but as a battle in which 
 the glory was equally divided. Certainly, if Denmark 
 lost her ships and men, she lost no honor on that day. 
 
ATTACK OF NELSON. 
 
 157 
 
 It was with no feeling of English pride that here on 
 the spot, we recalled that dreadful scene, but with equal 
 admiration for the brave men of both nations, and with 
 sorrow for the unnatural strife which arrayed them 
 against each other. From the island of Amah, we 
 looked along the line of the Danish batteries, and out 
 upon the roadstead where lay the English fleet, and then 
 turned away sadly to the Naval Cemetery, where a plain 
 obelisk, hewn out of a single block of Norwegian mar- 
 ble, marks the place of the dead. It bears this simple 
 inscription : 
 
 “ They fell for their country, April 2, 1801.” 
 
 Beneath which is written : 
 
 “ The gratitude of their fellow-citizens erected this monument.” 
 
 It is surrounded by oaks and pines, which wave mourn- 
 fully in the northern wind. 
 
 Campbell bade us remember the fallen heroes : 
 
 “Let us think of them that sleep 
 Full many a fathom deep.” 
 
 And we did think with honor of the brave men whose 
 forms decay, side by side, beneath the waters of the 
 Baltic — brothers in death, who should have been bro- 
 thers in life. 
 
 But the victory of Nelson was not the greatest blow 
 dealt by England to the power of Denmark. Six years 
 later it w T as repeated, with still more tremendous effect. 
 
158 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 Again the British cabinet was haunted with the fear of a 
 northern confederacy. Napoleon had become more for- 
 midable than ever. Master of southern and central Eu- 
 rope, he was now ruler of the north by the victorious 
 termination of the war with Russia. A treaty had been 
 concluded at Tilsit, upon which there sprang up a sud- 
 den intimacy, and almost romantic attachment between 
 Napoleon and Alexander. This foreboded new dangers 
 for England. If she had not been secure when she had 
 Russia for an ally, what was her position now that Rus- 
 sia had gone over to the side of her enemy ? The gen- 
 eral terms of the treaty of Tilsit soon became known 
 throughout Europe, but it was supposed that there were 
 other secret articles, by which the two emperors bound 
 themselves to support each other, both in the east and 
 the west — Alexander in his designs upon Finland and 
 Turkey, and Napoleon in his war in Spain, and against 
 England. Thus they would virtually divide the empire 
 of the continent. With all Europe at their feet, it was 
 designed to unite the naval forces of the continent in a 
 combined attack upon England. France could furnish 
 sixty ships of the line, Spain forty, Portugal ten, Russia 
 twenty-five, and Sweden, Holland and Denmark each 
 fifteen, thus making, in all, one hundred and eighty line- 
 of-battle ships — a force against which the whole English 
 navy could not stand. Had this gigantic scheme been 
 carried out, the appearance of such an Armada off the 
 English coast would have threatened Britain with a 
 
SECOND ENGLISH EXPEDITION. 
 
 159 
 
 danger greater than any since that of Spam was seen 
 bearing down the Channel. 
 
 Such was the famous northern confederacy which rose 
 as a thunder-cloud from the waters of the Baltic, and 
 threatened to burst on the English shores. Not a mo- 
 ment was to be lost in breaking this formidable alliance. 
 Again another armament, greater than before — includ- 
 ing twenty-seven ships of the line, with twenty thousand 
 land troops on board — set sail for the Baltic. As yet 
 war had not been declared, and the expedition came 
 with a demand which was designed to avoid conflict. It 
 was that the whole Danish fleet should be surrendered 
 to England ! not as the prize of war, but as a pledge of 
 peace — a security that it should not be employed against 
 her — in which case England engaged, that at the conclu- 
 sion of a general peace, it should be returned safely and 
 with all its appointments complete. A proposal so hu- 
 miliating to the pride of Denmark, called forth an uni- 
 versal burst of indignation, and all classes, from the 
 Crown Prince to the humblest subject, prepared for 
 resistance. They had no allies to look to for support. 
 A French army had advanced into Holstein, but the 
 British cruisers in the Great Belt effectually prevented 
 any troops crossing to Zealand, and the Danes were left 
 to fight their battles alone. But the spirit of the nation 
 rose with the danger. They acted as a brave and high- 
 spirited people, scorning to yield when the enemy was 
 at their gates. 
 
ICO 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 Immediately the British army landed and began to 
 invest the city. The chief command was in Lord Cath* 
 cart, but he had an efficient aid in that military genius 
 which was soon to become the idol of the British army. 
 As in the former attack upon Copenhagen, Nelson, the 
 pride of the English navy, added to his fame, so in this, 
 Wellington, who had already fought in India, was first 
 to gain an European reputation. The batteries were 
 mounted with the most formidable cannon, and then fol- 
 lowed all the horrors of a bombardment. For three 
 days and nights a storm of fire poured upon the devoted 
 city. The historian Alison thus portrays the fearful 
 scene : 
 
 “ The inhabitants sustained with heroic resolution the 
 flaming tempest, and all classes were indefatigable in 
 their endeavors to carry water to the quarters where the 
 city had taken fire ; but in spite of all their efforts, the 
 conflagration spread with frightful rapidity, and at 
 length, a great magazine of wood, and the lofty steeple 
 of the Church of Our Lady took fire, and the flames, 
 curling to a prodigious height up its wooden pinnacles, 
 illuminated the whole heavens, and threw a lurid light 
 over all the fleet and army of the besiegers. With 
 speechless anxiety the trembling citizens w r atched the 
 path of the burning projectiles through the air, while 
 the British soldiers and sailors from afar beheld the hea- 
 vens tracked by innumerable stars, which seemed to 
 realize more than the fabled splendors of Oriental 
 
LOSS OF THE DANISH NAVY. 
 
 161 , 
 
 fireworks. At length the obvious clanger of the total 
 destruction of the city, by the progress of the flames, 
 overcame the firmness of General Peymann, to whom 
 the prince-royal had delegated the command, and a flag 
 of truce appeared at the British outposts to treat for a 
 capitulation.” 
 
 The battle was over, and the British troops entered 
 the city as victors, but it was over a scene of desolation. 
 One-eighth part of Copenhagen was laid in ashes. In a 
 few weeks the army evacuated the city, and the fleet 
 returned to England, taking with it the splendid prize 
 of the whole Danish navy — eighteen ships of the line, 
 and fifteen frigates, besides other vessels of war. That 
 was a dark day for Copenhagen. It was with bitter, 
 manly tears, that the high-spirited Danes lined the quays 
 and saw that magnificent fleet sail out of the harbor, and 
 bear away through the Sound never to return. 
 
 This expedition produced a great sensation all over 
 Europe. It was denounced as a flagrant violation of the 
 rights of nations. Certainly it was an extreme measure, 
 which nothing could justify but an absolute necessity — 
 a necessity of self-preservation, which could only be ob- 
 tained by this terrible sacrifice. But whatever the rea- 
 sons of state which excused this daring step, it was a 
 great disaster to the power of Denmark, and one from 
 which she has never recovered. 
 
 A few years later, and yet another blow was struck at 
 the power and rank of this ancient kingdom. But now 
 
. 162 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 it was not dealt by the arm of Britain, but by the com- 
 bined force of all the allied powers. To punish Den- 
 mark for her fidelity to Napoleon, she was forced in 
 1814 to cede the whole of Norway to her rival, Sweden. 
 It might, indeed, seem more natural that N orway should 
 be united to a country which lies by her side through- 
 out the whole length of the Scandinavian Peninsula. 
 But the Norwegians are more closely related to the 
 Danes than to the Swedes, by race and language, and 
 historical traditions. The Danish and modern Norwe- 
 gian language are the same. Thus the people are one 
 people, and the countries ought to be parts of one king- 
 dom. With the loss of Norway, the humiliation of Den- 
 mark was complete. Her colonial possessions are now 
 reduced to the frozen shores of Iceland and Greenland, 
 to the Faroe Islands, and to the small islands of St. 
 Thomas, Santa Cruz and St. John, in the West Indies. 
 Her population numbers altogether but two millions and 
 a half. Of course she can no longer aspire to rank with 
 the first class of European powers, but must take her 
 place in the second grade of States, along with Hano- 
 ver, Saxony, and Bavaria. 
 
 Still, though so greatly crippled, the power of Den- 
 mark is not wholly broken. Whoever goes through the 
 arsenal at Copenhagen, and surveys the large park of 
 artillery, and the glittering array of swords and bayo- 
 nets, enough for one of the great standing armies of Eu- 
 rope, will see that with such means of defence in the 
 
THE COUNTRY STILL RICH AND HAPPY. 
 
 1G3 
 
 hands of a brave people, Denmark can still present a 
 formidable front. In the late war in Holstein — even 
 though divided against herself, with a populous province 
 in open rebellion, backed by the secret aid of Germany, 
 she kept a large army in the field, and at last came off 
 victorious. Her navy, too, though greatly reduced, is 
 still by no means despicable. The Danes are natural 
 seamen. With a country surrounded by the waves, 
 they early learn to venture on the deep. Their fisheries 
 still nurture a hardy race. A large number of the sailors 
 in the English navy, and in our own, are Danes. These 
 bold mariners, though now scattered over all the oceans 
 of the world, form a maritime force in reserve, that in case 
 of need might rally for the defence of their island home. 
 
 But if this be not a great nation, it may still be a very 
 happy one. And such I believe it is. We have been 
 equally gratified with the appearance of the country and 
 of the people, and that after a very good opportunity of 
 seeing all parts of the kingdom. The country itself 
 is rich. The land is highly cultivated. The opening 
 of railroads gives a new spring to industry in all parts 
 of the kingdom, and ships still fill the ports, and Danish 
 sails whiten the Baltic and the neighboring seas. The 
 elements of public happiness are very widely diffused, 
 and we reflect wdth satisfaction that, if the period of 
 glory is past, it has been succeeded by an age of peace 
 and by general prosperity, and by a glory of a different 
 kind, by distinction in arts and in literature. 
 
164 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 Denmark attracts tlie sympathy of an American by 
 many points of resemblance to his own country. Its 
 schools and its country churches remind him of New 
 England. lie finds himself among people of the same 
 Protestant faith, w T ho are kindred with him by many ties, 
 and in fact who claim — not without reason — to be the 
 original discoverers of his country. We are still related 
 to the Danes by blood. The light hair and fair blue 
 eyes, which many daughters of America have derived 
 from Saxon parentage, may be traced back to the shores 
 of the Baltic. 
 
 I am happy to find the relations between Denmark 
 and my own country now harmonious and pleasant, espe- 
 cially as at one time they threatened to be broken. The 
 vexed Sound Dues question, which has been a subject of 
 so much discussion between the two governments, is at 
 last settled amicably, and to the satisfaction of both 
 parties — settled in the only just and equitable way, by a 
 compromise, the United States having paid down four 
 hundred thousand dollars as an equivalent for all dues on 
 American vessels hereafter trading to the Baltic. This 
 sum sounds large in the gross, but it "was a very excellent 
 bargain for us. For the same release from future tolls 
 on British vessels, England paid six millions of dollars, 
 and the other European States in proportion to their 
 commercial interest in it. No doubt our country was 
 right in wishing an end to be put to a system of dues, 
 which looked like a tribute to a foreign power. But as 
 
RELATIONS TO AMERICA. 
 
 165 
 
 an American, I can but wish that the demand had been 
 made a little more graciously, and in a way not to offend 
 the pride of an old ally — one which had settled a former 
 claim of ours in the most generous and honorable spirit. 
 It is a curious fact, not generally known in our country, 
 that a few years ago, a claim was brought against Den- 
 mark for losses incurred during the wars in Europe — a 
 claim w T hich by many was considered a very doubtful 
 one according to the law of nations — yet, through the 
 good offices of our minister, Mr. Wheaton, who resided 
 many years at Copenhagen, and did much to secure for 
 us the respect of both the government and the nation — 
 it was allowed by Denmark, which thereon actually paid 
 to the United States over seven hundred thousand dollars ! 
 This was an instance of honorable dealing, which cer- 
 tainly merited a like return. But courtesy is spoiled by 
 politicians, who hope to make capital out of their patri- 
 otic bluster, and who thus make our country appear 
 abroad in a very unamiable light. But let that pass. 
 The question, at last, is settled, owing, I think, very 
 much to the excellent tact and good sense both of the 
 late and the present Danish ministers. And now that 
 this only bone of contention is out of the way, let us 
 hope that the old friendly feelings between the two 
 nations will be restored, and become stronger than ever. 
 
 Another point of sympathy between Denmark and 
 America, is common liberal institutions. Denmark is one 
 of the few free countries of Europe, standing in this be- 
 
166 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 side Holland and England. Like them, it has a king, but 
 in no way is the liberty of the subject restricted. Men 
 think, write, and speak, as freely as in England or in our 
 own Republic. 
 
 The king, Frederic VII., is rather an eccentric mon- 
 arch. He has had two wives, and divorced them both. 
 He is now married for the third time, and certainly this 
 was not a marriage for reasons of state, but for love, 
 since he chose, not a princess, but a milliner. The mar- 
 riage however was duly solemnized by the bishop. 
 He gave her a title, that of Countess of Danner, and 
 they now live together. She is said to be a very clever 
 woman, and to exert a good influence in steadying the 
 somewhat fickle mind of the king. 
 
 This is not a very safe example for a king to set to 
 his people. But we must give every one his due. This 
 rather free and easy monarch, though he cannot be con- 
 sidered a good family man, and is not a pattern of the 
 domestic virtues, - 'politically has some noble qualities. 
 His principles are rather liberal for a king. When 
 he was but a prince, he declared his intention, if he 
 succeeded to the crown, to give his people a con- 
 stitution. He ascended the throne in January, 1848 , 
 just before the revolutions broke out in Europe, 
 and his first act was to carry his noble purpose 
 into execution. This fidelity to his engagement appears 
 the more honorable, when contrasted with the conduct 
 of many of the sovereigns of Europe, who have made 
 
THE KING. 
 
 167 
 
 great professions m a moment of peril, and as soon as 
 they felt themselves secure, have broken every promise, 
 and even violated their sacred oaths. It was perhaps 
 owing to this wise and timely concession that the storm 
 of revolution, which burst over Europe in 1848, and 
 which swept Paris, Berlin, and Vienna, did not reach to 
 Copenhagen. Since the failure of those revolutions there 
 has been a reaction throughout Europe towards more 
 rigid absolutism, and kings have broken their solemn 
 pledges made to their people in the hour of calamity, 
 without hesitation or scruple/ But the king of Denmark, 
 to his honor be it said, has never broken his oath. I am 
 told that the troubles in Holstein, which w'ere secretly 
 fomented by Prussia, and whose cause was baptized with 
 the high-sounding name of German nationality, would 
 have been allayed at once if Frederic VII. had yielded 
 to the reaction, and followed the perfidious example of 
 the German courts. Such fidelity, against all the temp- 
 tations of royal power, is a noble trait in the Danish 
 monarch, and may cover a multitude of sins. It quite 
 explains the strong attachment, which, in spite of all 
 his faults, this people feel for their true-hearted sove- 
 reign. 
 
 The king is now fifty years old — or will be on the Gth 
 of October — and he has no children. Hence, of course, 
 much interest is felt in the succession to the throne. 
 There is a party among the Danes, which hopes for a 
 union of Denmark with Norway and Sweden, in which 
 
168 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 case it is probable that Carl, the Crown Prince of Sweden, 
 would succeed to the throne of the united realms. 
 
 Since 1848, all Europe has been stirred with questions 
 about unity and nationality. Everywhere there is a 
 longing for all of the same race, and who speak the same 
 language, to be united under the same government. 
 Thus we hear of German unity and Italian unity. So the 
 political dreamers of the North form great hopes of a 
 Scandinavian unity. Denmark, Norway, and Sweden, 
 united, would make a powerful monarchy, which could 
 once more take a place among the great sovereignties of 
 Europe. 
 
 Meanwhile, awaiting this political confederacy, the 
 writers of the North have sought to revive the spirit and 
 life of the people by creating a worthy Scandinavian lite- 
 rature. Danish scholars have explored the antiquities 
 of the North, and brought to light traces of a race so 
 remote, as would almost prove that Scandinavia was the 
 cradle of Europe. I hardly know a more interesting 
 collection than that in the Museum of Northern Antiqui- 
 ties. We were shown through it by Professor Thomsen 
 himself, who explained to us the character of the remains, 
 which are arranged in the order of periods. First, is a 
 whole cabinet filled with knives, and axes, and hammers, 
 and arrow-heads, all of stone, which point to a period 
 when even the use of iron was unknown. Then we trace 
 century by century, the introduction of the successive 
 metals, iron, copper, gold and silver, till we approach the 
 
THORWALDSEN. 
 
 169 
 
 confines of modern civilization. How full of interest are 
 these traces of the arts of peace, or weapons of war, 
 mingled with the sepulchral urns which contained the 
 ashes of mighty chiefs, dead thousands of years ago, 
 buried with the simple domestic utensils which they were 
 to bear with them to the Halls of Valhalla. 
 
 Besides these antiquarian researches, Danish and 
 Swedish writers have sought to make known to Europe, 
 the present life of the people. In this they have been 
 successful, and many whose names are well known in 
 England and America, have given a new interest to their 
 pine forests and their rocky shores. 
 
 Here in Copenhagen, especially, one feels the power of 
 a single name, great in letters or in art, to give glory to 
 a country. To-day, when the foreigner turns to Den- 
 mark, of what does he first think ? Not of its army or 
 navy — but of one man, Thoewaldseu. Here the great 
 sculptor Avas born, and here, though he spent a large 
 part of his life in Rome, he came back to die. Here are 
 gathered all the trophies of his genius, a vast monument 
 to his memory. 
 
 The Museum of Thorwaldsen is one of the shrines of 
 art in Europe, not as extensive, but in the department 
 of sculpture, as well worth seeing as the galleries of the 
 Louvre, or the Vatican. No sculptor that ever lived has 
 comprised a greater range and variety of subjects, from 
 the humblest to the highest. Even in the molding of 
 beasts and birds, he shows a marvellous vigor as well as 
 
 8 
 
170 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 truth to nature. What spirit in his eagle fed by Gany- 
 mede ; what majesty in his sleeping lions ! At the same 
 time, no one ever conceived more grandly of the human 
 form divine. His types of manly beauty are almost equal 
 * to the Apollo. He has even bodied forth a nobler man- 
 hood in his group of the Twelve Apostles, in the midst 
 of whom walks a majestic form like unto the Son of 
 God. 
 
 No one ever caught better the old Greek spirit, or ren- 
 dered with more force and feeling the fables of the classic 
 mythology. I do not think he is so happy in his grand 
 historical compositions, like the triumph of Alexander. 
 Not that he ever fails, but here he seems less at home. 
 He succeeds best in rendering simple nature. No one 
 ever felt more intensely the poetry of life, or has pre- 
 sented more beautiful ideals of man and woman — of 
 childhood and youth, and old age. So of his emblems 
 of the seasons of the year, of spring and summer, and 
 autumn and winter, and of the successions of day and 
 night. His Night and Morning are known all over the 
 world. You cannot imagine the number and variety of 
 the bas reliefs which cover these walls. As I walk 
 through these long corridors filled with his creations, I 
 am amazed at the richness and fertility of his genius. 
 What troops of airy fancies have flown out of that capa- 
 cious brain, like doves from their windows — aerial forms 
 of grace and beauty, that henceforth live in the world’s 
 love and admiration like the eternal types of nature. 
 
THORWALDSEN. 
 
 m 
 
 In one department alone he seems less at home, in de- 
 picting the passions of fear and hate. No writhing 
 Laocoons, or wailing Niobes, or dying gladiators, here 
 bend in mortal agony. His heart, strong and gentle, 
 delights rather in emblems of innocence and love, and 
 youth and hope. Nay, even when depicting death, as in 
 his designs for sepulchral monuments, his fancy seizes at 
 once some emblem of the resurrection — of life beyond 
 the grave. 
 
 What holy beauty does he give to life’s daily wonder 
 of Sleep, and to the last solemn mystery of Death. The 
 marble has hardly ceased to breathe, and the spectator, 
 awe-struck before the mute countenance, almost bows 
 w T eeping on the cold and stony lips. Wandering among 
 these silent forms, we murmur our thoughts in the open- 
 ing lines of “ Queen Mab,” which might have been written 
 after seeing these sculptures : 
 
 “ How wonderful is Death — 
 
 Death and his brother Sleep ! 
 
 One pale as yonder waning moon, 
 
 With lips of lurid blue ; 
 
 The other, rosy as the morn, 
 
 When throned on ocean’s wave, 
 
 It blushes o’er the world ; 
 
 Yet both so passing wonderful!” 
 
 Such was Thorwaldsen — the son of a poor ship-car- 
 penter from Iceland — a man, who, even when courted 
 by princes, never lost the grand simplicity of his charac- 
 ter, and — as one told me, who knew him well — who 
 
172 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 “ always wondered that people made so much of him, 
 and thought they were very kind.” 
 
 It was fitting that he who made death thus beautiful 
 should be laid to rest amid his own ever fresh images of 
 life. The museum erected by the nation to receive the 
 works of Thorwaldsen is the noblest monument to his 
 fame, and there, in the central court, is the old man’s 
 grave. No one who has seen the Danes gather round 
 that sacred spot, or marked how aflectionately they speak 
 of him, so lately gone, can but feel that that great name 
 is itself a centre of unity, and supplies to them in some 
 degree the place of political power or military glory. Here 
 then, if we have not great armies and navies to restore 
 the ancient power of this state of Denmark, we have a 
 far purer glory to gild its decline. If the sun does not 
 rise over the Baltic, and cast its full blaze upon the 
 towers and spires of Copenhagen, still this northern 
 capital has a splendor of its own, in the Auroras wdiich 
 stream up so brilliantly in these cold heavens, and shed 
 a starry light upon her pinnacles. 
 
 Here ends our journey to the North. We had intended 
 to visit Norway, Sweden, and Russia, before our return. 
 But time fails. The summer is flying, and in Norway 
 the facilities for travelling are so meagre, that one’s pro- 
 gress must be very slow. Six weeks at least would be 
 necessary to see Norway and Sweden, and a month more 
 for Russia. This time we have not to spare, as we have 
 
LEAVING THE NORTH. 
 
 173 
 
 yet to traverse the whole of Germany. It is tantalizing 
 to sail along the shores of Sweden, and not set foot upon 
 it, or to be within three days of St. Petersburg, and not 
 visit it. But as we must make a choice of countries, for 
 the present we prefer to see Germany, and therefore 
 shall leave to-morrow to cross the Baltic, on our way to 
 Berlin. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Crossing the Baltic — Germany — Berlin, a dull City except for 
 Scholars — Manners of the People — Frederick the Great — The 
 Prussian Army — Political Discontent — Signs of Revolution. 
 
 Berlin, August 2, 1858. 
 
 It was a pleasant summer afternoon on wTucli we bade 
 adieu to Denmark. For several days tlie Baltic had 
 been lashed by a storm. But at length the gale had 
 spent its force, and the troubled waves sunk to rest. 
 For hours after we left the quay, we sat on deck watch- 
 ing the spires of Copenhagen till they disappeared 
 below the horizon. On the other side of the Sound 
 the shores of Sweden were full in sight, overshadowed 
 by warlike memories of Charles XH., and the great 
 Gustavus Adolphus, and the still greater Gustavus Vasa, 
 and attracting a fonder regard from thoughts of the 
 brave, simple people that dwell by their lakes and their 
 rocky fiords, and in their pine forests. 
 
 It was with a feeling of reverence, almost of awe, that 
 we approached the shores of Germany — that vast terri- 
 tory occupied by the mighty race that speak the Ger- 
 man tongue — spreading over the whole of central 
 Europe, from the Baltic to the Adriatic, and from 
 
 174 
 
 ♦ 
 
 
APPROACH TO GERMANY. 
 
 175 
 
 Poland to the Rhine. As we drew near the coast, we 
 passed the isle of Rugen, whose white chalk cliffs, like 
 those of Albion, reflected the morning sun ; and which, 
 from its beautiful and somewhat English scenery, 
 and from being a favorite summer resort of the fashion- 
 able world, is sometimes called the German Isle of 
 Wight. This island, with the neighboring coast of 
 Pomerania, was the cradle of those terrible barbarians, 
 who, issuing out of their forests, swept over Europe and 
 finally planted their victorious ensigns on the seven hills 
 of Rome. 
 
 Early in the morning we found ourselves in a broad 
 river, with low marshy banks on either side. This was 
 the Oder, one of the great outlets for the commerce of 
 Germany. Here, on an island, more than two hundred 
 - years ago, landed Gustavus Adolphus with the vanguard 
 of that Swedish army that was to carry the banner of 
 Protestantism through so many hard-fought battles in 
 the Thirty Years’ War. Like a Christian warrior, no 
 sooner had he touched the soil than he knelt upon the 
 ground, and implored the protection and favor of the 
 Almighty. A few hours more brought us to Stettin — a 
 town of little interest except as a port for the Baltic 
 trade — though honored (if it be an honor) as the birth- 
 place of the Russian empress Catherine. The same 
 afternoon we reached the Prussian capital. 
 
 Berlin offers fewer objects to interest a stranger than 
 almost any of the capitals of Europe. It is the newest 
 
17C 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 of them all, only dating as a royal city, from the time 
 of Frederick the Great. It has not a single advantage 
 of position to render it imposing. It stands in the cen- 
 tre of a vast sandy plain, looking from a distance as soli- 
 tary and desolate as Tadmor in the wilderness. It is 
 said that the city took its present proportions from an 
 arbitrary command of Frederick, w T ho, wishing to have 
 a great capital, inclosed an immense space with a wall 
 and commanded it to be filled with houses. Of course 
 the only way to obey the royal decree was to scatter 
 the houses as widely as possible, and as they were but 
 few, leaving them also far between. Hence the streets are 
 the widest, and longest, and flattest that we have seen in 
 any city in Europe. The houses, too, are generally not 
 more than two stories high, and being built of brick and 
 stuccoed, present a very dull and monotonous appearance. 
 
 There are not more than about a dozen stately edi- 
 fices in all Berlin, and these are within a stone’s throw 
 of each other. From our windows in the Hotel de Rus- 
 sie, w r e can see almost every one of them. But a step 
 across the bridge is the Royal Palace — a vast pile, but 
 grand only from its size, built, not of eternal granite or 
 polished marble, but of brick, stuccoed, wdiich, ow ing to 
 the damp climate, is constantly peeling off, thus leaving 
 the palace, as royalty itself sometimes is left, in a state 
 of sorry nakedness. On the other side of the square is 
 the New Museum — perhaps the finest edifice in Berlin, 
 and near at hand, on the Unter den Linden, are the 
 
MANNERS OF THE PEOPLE. 
 
 m 
 
 Arsenal, the Opera, the Academy of Fine Arts, the Royal 
 Library and the University. 
 
 But if Berlin is not a very splendid capital, it has 
 other attractions, especially for scholars and literary men. 
 It is the intellectual centre of Germany. Here reside 
 Humboldt and Ritter, and hundreds of men of science. 
 Of course the assemblage of such a number of learned 
 savans gives to the city a scholarly character, which 
 offers great advantages to students from all parts of Eu- 
 rope and from America. 
 
 Socially, I am much pleased with the Germans as I 
 was with their cousins, the Dutch. There is a heartiness 
 in their broad “ Yah, yah,” and “ Nein, nein,” which does 
 me good to hear. There is only one thing in German 
 manners which I cannot get along with, and that is the 
 universal habit of smoking. The whole German race seems 
 to live in an atmosphere of smoke and beer. Germany is 
 the land of pipes and mugs. All classes of people, from 
 the highest to the lowest, smoke and drink, and drink and 
 smoke. They smoke at all times and in all places, in the 
 house and by the way, in public gardens, and in railway 
 carriages, when they lie down and when they rise up. 
 They smoke before breakfast, and smoke after dinner. 
 Morning, noon and night, smoke, smoke, smoke. In- 
 deed I believe a German’s idea of heaven is as a place 
 where every man is provided with a huge meerschaum, 
 with which extended before him, he sits in repose, his 
 spirit absorbed in dreams, while perpetual wreaths float 
 
 8 * 
 
178 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 around his head, the symbol of eternal beatitude. If it 
 be so that this is the German’s heaven, I desire to enter 
 some other apartment in the celestial mansions, marked 
 like the ladies’ railway carriages, Fur Nichtraucher. 
 
 The great number of soldiers in Berlin gives a military 
 air to the streets. Prussia maintains a standing army 
 of nearly half a million of men, and perhaps no army in 
 Europe is more highly disciplined. Every soldier is 
 practised in all manly exercises. The aim of his mili- 
 tary education is to develop first of all his bodily activ- 
 ity, and then to combine the personal strength of these 
 hundreds and thousand's of athletic and stalwart men in 
 one irresistible armed force. The thoroughness with 
 which this military drill is carried out, produces the 
 highest degree of effectiveness in the whole body. Sev- 
 eral times a year a grand review of the troops takes 
 place in the Thiergarten outside of the city walls, and 
 no one who has seen these solid battalions marching 
 across the plain, shaking the earth with their tread, or 
 watched their swift evolutions, the rapid movement of 
 the ponderous artillery, the wheeling and charging of 
 the squadrons of cavalry, can doubt that the military 
 force of Prussia will be a tremendous weight to be 
 thrown into the scale, in the case of a general European 
 war. 
 
 As Prussia is one of the later European monarchies, 
 the historical interest of its capital is less than that of 
 most others. Yet here the stranger is awed by the con- 
 
FREDERICK THE GREAT. 
 
 179 
 
 stant presence of one imperial name. I am not one of 
 Carlyle’s hero worshippers, yet I cannot but share in large 
 degree in his admiration for the great Frederick. Here, 
 in the heart of the kingdom which he created, in the 
 capital which he founded, one cannot refuse homage to 
 his vast civil as well as military genius. It is not with 
 blind admiration for a successful warrior, but with 
 the far higher respect due to the founder of an empire, 
 that I look up to the colossal equestrian statue, which 
 stands under the trees of the Unter den Linden ; or 
 that I visited at Potsdam the room in which he died, 
 and saw the very chair on which he bowed his kingly 
 head, and the clock on the mantel which stood still at 
 the very hour when that lion heart ceased to beat. 
 
 You will wish to learn something of the political 
 state of Germany. I am not going to plunge into the 
 troubled sea of German politics. A traveller passing 
 rapidly through a country, spending but a few days in 
 its principal cities, of course cannot see much below the 
 surface of things. I shall speak, therefore, only of what is 
 very obvious. On the outside the appearance of things is 
 more favorable than we looked for. We came into Ger- 
 many expecting to find the people greatly oppressed, and 
 looking soured and gloomy, and we find, on the contrary, 
 that they are very gay and cheerful, and seem to enjoy 
 a high degree of prosperity. To be sure, they have on 
 now their best look. The whole continent is at peace, 
 and while the earth is not ravaged by war, the industry 
 
180 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 of man cannot fail to secure general comfort. In Prus- 
 sia there is also a greater degree of liberty than in Aus- 
 tria, and to the eye of the stranger, the nation seems to 
 be powerful and prosperous. 
 
 Yet even here there are signs, no bigger than a man’s 
 hand, that a future day may bring clouds and storms. 
 The revolutions of 1848, though apparently checked and 
 put down, have yet done their work in the hearts of the 
 people. Throughout Germany, and especially here in 
 Prussia, there is a strong desire for liberal institutions. 
 We are told that the king does not reside much at 
 his palace in the capital, but prefers the retirement of 
 Potsdam; that he does not like the people of Berlin, 
 probably from remembrance of the rough lesson they 
 gave him in 1848. He cannot forget the humiliations 
 of that day when he was called out on the balcony of 
 his palace and made to take olf his hat to the mob. 
 As he had to abase himself before the pojmlace then, 
 since he recovered his grasp of power, he has felt the 
 bitterest animosity towards all who may have contri- 
 buted to his humiliation. The reaction here has taken a 
 character of personal rancor which pursues its enemies 
 even in the grave. The insurgents who fell in the street 
 conflicts of ’48, are buried without the walls in a deso- 
 late spot, which is surrounded by a thick hedge, on pur- 
 pose to hide their dishonored graves from popular notice 
 and the tribute of public sympathy. Such is the temper 
 of the king Frederick William towards his people. N or 
 
SIGNS OF REVOLUTION. 
 
 181 
 
 is there much love lost on their side. I am assured by- 
 persons who have the best means of information, that 
 affairs, though calm on the surface, are far from being 
 settled, and that a revolution in Paris would instantly be 
 followed by one in Berlin. The change may not come 
 this year or next, but France will not always submit to 
 an absolute despotism, and when the explosion comes 
 there, then must we look for a universal conflagration. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Dresden — Position on the Elbe — Beauty of the City and its 
 Environs — Attractions to Strangers— Picture Gallery — The 
 King — TnE Battle of Dresden. 
 
 Of all the German capitals, none unites so many charms 
 to invite the traveller, and especially to attract and de- 
 tain foreign residents, as Dresden, the capital of Saxony. 
 It is not the centre of an empire like Prussia or Aus- 
 tria, where the heart of a great monarchy beats, but it 
 is a more beautiful city than Berlin, and breathes a freer 
 air than Vienna. On a smaller scale it is a capital. It 
 has its own kingdom and court, its palaces and royal 
 gardens, while its picture gallery, the best in all the 
 north of Europe, has obtained for it the name of the 
 German Florence. It is celebrated also for its music, 
 which is displayed for public admiration alike in churches 
 and operas. It is not a great commercial city, crowded 
 with bustle and trade. It has rather a quiet, dignified 
 air, as if it were the home only of gentlemen and schol- 
 ars. Its citizens do not rush through the streets, like 
 bilious-looking Yankees, in chase of money. They walk 
 
 along with a sedate and reverend air. The garden-like 
 182 
 
DRESDEN. 
 
 183 
 
 squares of the city, surrounded by elegant private resi- 
 dences, seem to mark the abodes, not of ambitious 
 tradesmen, but of men of wealth and taste, w r ho have 
 retired from active life, to devote themselves to pursuits 
 of learning and of art. On these accounts Dresden is a 
 favorite resort for artists and literary men, both of Ger- 
 many and other countries. Many of the English come 
 here to reside. They find a milder climate, and liv- 
 ing less expensive than in their own coimtry, while they 
 have all advantages of education for their children, with 
 the enjoyment of a refined and cultivated society for 
 themselves. If besides they seek for bold scenery, for 
 rocks and mountains, these they can find within a day’s 
 reach by making excursions into the Saxon Switzerland. 
 For a man of elegant tastes, what more could be desired 
 than this quiet enjoyment of learning and leisure, sur- 
 rounded at once by the beauties of nature and immortal 
 works of art? 
 
 Dresden derives its chief beauty from its position, on 
 the banks of a broad and noble river, the Elbe. Rising in 
 the mountains of Bohemia, this lordly river flows darkly 
 between the frowning fortresses of Konigstein and Lilli- 
 enstein, and then bursts joyously away through the sunny 
 plains of Saxony, flowing on a hundred leagues till it passes 
 beneath the heights of Hamburg, and its warm life is 
 chilled in the cold waters of the northern sea. At Dres- 
 den it is spanned by a bridge of many arches, which 
 leads across to the foot of the Royal Palace, and as the 
 
184 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 traveller approaches from the opposite bank, he sees a 
 line of terraces and lofty piles reflected in the waters. 
 
 The chief attraction of Dresden is its picture gallery, 
 which is, beyond comparison, the finest in Germany, and 
 is surpassed only by the great collections of Paris and 
 of Italy. The Dresden gallery has long been the pride 
 of the Saxon court, and successive sovereigns have 
 added to its treasures. For a wonder it has escaped in 
 all the sieges and bombardments to which Dresden has 
 been exposed. Russell, in his Tour in Germany, mentions 
 the somewhat curious and honorable fact that “ it has 
 had the rare fortune to be treated with reverence by 
 every hostile hand. Frederick the Great bombarded 
 Dresden, battered down its churches, laid its streets in 
 ruins, but ordered his cannon and mortars to keep clear 
 of the picture gallery. He entered as a conqueror, lev- 
 ied the taxes, administered the government, and with an 
 affectation of humility, asked permission of the captive 
 Electress to visit the gallery as a stranger!” Napoleon, 
 too, who plundered all the galleries of Italy to enrich 
 the Louvre, respected that of Dresden, since the King 
 of Saxony was his best friend among the German 
 princes, and indeed the only one who proved his devo- 
 tion by being faithful to the last. 
 
 Of course, I am not going to attempt to describe this 
 Wilderness of Art, for I have found, in reading books 
 of travel, nothing so wearisome and unsatisfactory as 
 descriptions of paintings. It is enough to say that the 
 
THE PICTURE GALLERY. 
 
 185 
 
 collection is one of the largest in Europe, and embraces 
 contributions from all the most distinguished schools — 
 not only Italian, but German and Flemish, French and 
 Spanish. These are arranged in such order that the 
 stranger, in passing from hall to hall, passes from coun- 
 try to country and age to age. Now he finds himself in 
 a room with Guido and Correggio, and now with Titian 
 and the Venetian masters ; and now he is transferred to 
 the Low Coimtries, studying the minute Dutch pictures 
 of Teniers, or the brawny figures of Rubens, and the 
 dark backgrounds and sombre foreheads of Rembrandt. 
 But the glory of the Dresden gallery is the Madonna 
 di San Sisto of Rafiaelle. This is certainly one of the 
 most majestic figures ever painted on canvas. I am no 
 connoisseur, nor do I think it any mark of sense for tra- 
 vellers to go into raptures before paintings which they 
 cannot comprehend. Many of the paintings by the Old 
 Masters, which are very celebrated, I confess I see no 
 beauty in. No doubt the beauty is there, but I can’t 
 see it. But a man must be a stock who can stand un- 
 moved before this divine form, soaring to heaven with 
 the infant Saviour in her arms. We recognize here at 
 once the same genius which glows in the Transfiguration 
 at Rome. 
 
 Dresden has other treasures for those curious in such 
 things, in a collection of crown jewels and of ancient 
 armor far superior to that in the Tower of London. The 
 kings of Saxony are among the richest sovereigns of 
 
186 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 Europe, and the display of rare gems in the Green Vault 
 of the palace, is dazzling to the eye, and reminds one of 
 the fabulous riches of the East. 
 
 The environs of Dresden are even more beautiful than 
 the city itself. The hills along the Elbe are sprinkled 
 with princely villas, which look down on the valley and 
 the river. Wide fields and gentle slopes invite to ex- 
 cursions in every direction. Each afternoon we took a 
 long drive. One of these was to the Grosse Garten, an 
 extensive park beyond the walls, in which the king has 
 a summer palace. We had been riding, it seemed to us, 
 for miles through the avenues, when we stopped at a 
 cottage, under the trees, to take ice cream. While 
 the waiter was bringing it out to the carriage, our coach- 
 man cried “The king! the king!” We looked up and 
 saw a coach and four, with outriders, wheeling rapidly 
 toward us. We stood up to get a full view of the face 
 of majesty. As the train swept by, I lifted my chapeau 
 with all due reverence, to which the old king, baring his 
 white locks, bowed his head, and the queen, who sat be- 
 side him, bent very low her royal face. After such a 
 mark of distinction, we resumed our seats and sipped 
 our ice cream with a new sense of dignity. 
 
 Leaving the Park, we bade our driver take us out into 
 the open country, that we might make the whole circuit 
 of the city. Look ! on the top of yonder hill stands a 
 clump of trees, shading a granite monument. That is 
 the spot where fell the brave Moreau, the hero of Hohen- 
 
THE BATTLE OF DRESDEN. 
 
 187 
 
 linden. “ Drive us there!” Our coachman was a good, 
 honest fellow, full of zeal to show us all the sights of 
 Dresden, and with a natural Saxon pride in the great 
 battle which had been fought around the walls of his 
 city, he started off at a rapid rate, and though the dis- 
 tance was pretty long, and the ascent steep, he soon 
 brought us to the place. We got out and walked to the 
 trees, and there stood for a long time, leaning on the 
 monument and looking down upon the field of battle. 
 This was the very spot. All along these heights stretched 
 the Russian and Austrian armies, two hundred thousand 
 strong, while below fluttered the ensigns of France. 
 Where we stood, the Emperor Alexander, with Moreau 
 at his side, had taken his post of observation, to watch 
 the events of that dreadful day. The quick eye of Napo- 
 leon, from the walls of the city, spied this party recon- 
 noitering the field. He called an officer, and bade him 
 throw a cannon-shot into the group. The fatal ball struck 
 Moreau, and carried off both his legs. Yet even at this 
 moment he did not lose his courage. Carried to the rear, 
 he stretched out his bleeding limbs, and coolly smoked a 
 cigar, while the surgeon performed the dreadful task of 
 amputation. He died a few days after, in the same un- 
 shaken temper, an irreparable loss to the allied army. 
 
 Looking down from these heights, how distinctly did 
 I recall the descriptions of the battle of Dresden which 
 I had read years ago. Hardly any scene in the career 
 of the Great Captain was more vividly imprinted ou my 
 
188 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 memory, for none seemed more dramatic in its incidents. 
 It was Napoleon’s last campaign in Germany. The ex- 
 pedition to Russia the year before had ended in utter 
 ruin. Hoping by superhuman exertions to retrieve these 
 disasters, and still to remain master of Germany, he had 
 at length succeeded, by draining France almost of its last 
 man, in bringing into the heart of Germany another army 
 of more than a quarter of a million. This was arrayed 
 along the line of the Elbe, from Dresden to Hamburg, 
 and backed by six strong fortresses. Dresden was the 
 centre and pivot of the whole. Such a host, under such a 
 chief, would seem invincible. But half a million of sol- 
 diers had perished the year before in Russia, and the 
 host of the invader might perish again. All Europe was 
 in arms. His enemies were countless as the leaves of the 
 forest. They came from the North and the South, and 
 from, the farthest East — for with the Russian army were 
 wild horsemen from the interior of Asia, almost from the 
 borders of China. Napoleon had anticipated victory by 
 repeating the tactics of his Italian campaigns — attacking 
 his enemies separately and beating them in detail. But 
 his enemies had at last learned wisdom from bitter expe- 
 rience. Besides, they had now with them two of N apo- 
 leon’s oldest and best officers, Bernadotte, the king of 
 Sweden, and Moreau, who had been living in retirement 
 in America, but had now returned by invitation of the 
 Emperor of Russia to take part in the great events of this 
 decisive year. By their advice, the allies agreed upon a 
 
THE BATTLE OF DRESDEN. 
 
 189 
 
 plan of operations which was eminently prudent and was 
 destined to be successful. It was on no account to hazard a 
 battle. Whatever division was attacked was to retreat, 
 and thus, if possible, draw Napoleon into the interior of 
 the country. The Emperor, it seems, did not give his ene- 
 mies credit for so much good judgment and such unity of 
 operations, and in pursuance of his own plan, marched 
 against Blucher. The old Prussian field marshal, who 
 was a perfect bull-dog and loved nothing so much as a 
 battle, still obeyed his orders, and began to retreat, but 
 slowly, and turning often to renew an engagement, thus 
 provoking Napoleon into a long pursuit and a series of 
 attacks, which resulted in nothing, since he could never 
 get close enough to the enemy to make the blow decisive. 
 Thus Blucher drew him on a hundred miles into the heart 
 of Silesia, when the object of the enemy became appa- 
 rent. To his surprise and consternation, Napoleon 
 learned that the allies, taking advantage of his absence, 
 had suddenly poured through all the passes of the Bohe- 
 mian mountains, and rushed down upon Dresden, resolved 
 to take it at a blow. Instantly he turned upon his track, 
 ordering the Imperial Guard to return by forced marches. 
 The allies had surrounded the city on the 25th of August, 
 and if they had attacked at once, as Moreau advised, 
 Dresden must have fallen. But they waited for another 
 corps to come up, and that delay proved fatal. The next 
 day they began one of the most terrible assaults ever 
 heard of in war. Six divisions, each preceded by fifty 
 
190 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 cannon, advanced to the walls of the city and com- 
 menced the most murderous cannonade. St. Cyr had 
 but twenty thousand men with which to hold the city 
 against ten times that number. Courier after courier 
 was dispatched to Napoleon to tell of his desperate ex- 
 tremity. It seemed, indeed, that all was lost, when sud- 
 denly from the other side of the Elbe came a tumultuous 
 roar as of advancing legions, and swiftly rushed into view 
 the columns of the Imperial Guard, with Napoleon at 
 their head. A German writer, who was a witness of the 
 scene, says : “ It was then that for the first time I beheld 
 his face. He came on with the eye of a tyrant and the 
 voice of a lion, urging his breathless and eager soldiers.” 
 Sweeping over the magnificent bridges, they poured into 
 the streets and squares of the city. W eary with their 
 long and rapid march, they still demanded with loud 
 cries to be led into immediate battle. Their wish was 
 soon gratified. The gates were thrown open, and two 
 columns advanced to the charge and soon changed the 
 face of the battle. Surprised and dismayed at this sud- 
 den resistance, the allied commanders could only explain 
 it by saying that “ the Emperor must be in the city.” 
 Night closed the battle, but not the suffering. It had 
 been a hot summer’s day, and now the clouds gathered 
 thick, and the rain poured down in torrents. All night 
 the floods swept the streets and the fields where the two 
 great armies were encamped. The morning broke in the 
 midst of the storm. The rain still fell in torrents, and 
 
THIS BATTLE OF DRESDEN. 
 
 191 
 
 the wind moaned over the field of death. But not even 
 this war of the elements could check the fury of human 
 passions. All day long the battle raged. The incessant 
 explosions of a thousand cannon shook the air, and charg- 
 ing squadrons rode down the bloody plain. The contest 
 was long and obstinate. But the genius of Napoleon at 
 length triumphed at every point, and the allied army 
 were in full retreat. 
 
 It was but forty-five years ago that Dresden saw that 
 fearful carnage. And now I was standing upon that hill- 
 top, and looking down upon that battle plain. All was 
 calm and still. The sun was sinking peacefully in the 
 west, and the trees above us waved gently in the even- 
 ing wind, as if murmuring a soft requiem for the brave. 
 W e returned into the city, and again walked to the cen- 
 tral arch of the bridge, and looked down into the stream. 
 How peacefully the waters ran, washing away from but- 
 tress and battlement the stains of human blood. W elcome, 
 all-healing Nature, that doth cleanse from the fair face 
 of the earth the marks of human guilt. Let the winds 
 blow and the waters flow, and sweep away every trace 
 of violence and crime ! 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Sail on the Elbe — Prague — Situation and Architecture — The 
 Old Bridge — The Jews’ Quarter — Synagogue and Cemetery — 
 The Cathedral — Palace of the Bohemian Kings. 
 
 Could there be a grander pass from one kingdom to 
 another, than the broad bosom of a river flowing 
 through a gateway of mountains ? It was thus that we 
 entered from Saxony into Bohemia. W e left Dresden 
 for Prague by a steamer on the Elbe, and in a few hours 
 were in the heart of the Saxon Switzerland. How brac- 
 ing was this air of the mountains after the long and dreary 
 wastes which we had traversed. Northern Germany has 
 little to boast in the way of natural scenery. What Hol- 
 land is, that is the whole of the North of Europe — a 
 boundless plain, sometimes rising into gently undulating 
 hills and valleys, but unbroken by mountain ridges till 
 you get as far as Silesia or Saxony. 
 
 But if we found little to admire in the North and 
 West, we were abundantly compensated as we ap- 
 proached the East and South. For the traveller in 
 search of fine scenery, the Elbe is quite as well worthy 
 of a visit as the Rhine. In most respects it equals, in 
 
 192 
 
SAIL ON THE ELBE. 
 
 193 
 
 some it surpasses, tlie glories of u tlie exulting and 
 abounding river.” Like that, its course is among the 
 hills, but as it winds more frequently, the landscapes 
 change more rapidly. From its very brink rise the 
 steep ascents which sometimes tower to a tremendous 
 height above the stream — now presenting a bold head 
 of rock, and now covered with dark, funereal pines. 
 Nor is it nature alone which lends such a charm to these 
 solitudes. These summits are crowned with many a 
 rock and ruin, with old castles, out of whose gates issued 
 armed knights centuries ago, but which are now deserted 
 and silent. As Coleridge says in his melancholy chime : 
 
 “ The knights are dust, 
 
 Their armor rust, 
 
 Their souls are with the saints, we trust.” 
 
 Here and there a cliff is capped with a fortress, still held 
 by armed men, and huge batteries frown over the nar- 
 row pass. Thus Konigstein is to the Elbe what Ehren- 
 breitstein is to the Rhine. It is one of the strongest 
 fortresses in Europe, and indeed almost the only one that 
 has never been taken. But look ! the mountains are 
 passed and the river is left behind, and we are now rolling 
 on to another valley, and a capital famed and hoary. 
 
 No city in Germany combines so much to interest a 
 traveller as the ancient capital of Bohemia. Its situation 
 is bold and striking. Like Edinburgh, it hangs on two 
 
 9 
 
194 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 hillsides, facing each other, while “ the rushing Moldau n 
 flows between. Its architecture is half Oriental, blos- 
 soming in a hundred domes and spires, brought from 
 the gorgeous East. And its history is marked for cen- 
 turies by the struggle of the Christian with the Turk, 
 and of the Catholic with the Protestant. No country 
 in Europe acted a more conspicuous part in all the reli- 
 gious wars than Bohemia. The story of its greatness, 
 is it not written in the chronicles of those troublous 
 times ? Had I not read of Bohemian patriots and Bo- 
 hemian martyrs? Of John Huss, and Jerome of 
 Prague? And of the lion-hearted Ziska, who, even 
 when struck with blindness, still marshalled his army 
 and led it to victorious battle — nay, whose unconquered 
 spirit fought even when he was dead, since he bade his 
 soldiers take his skin for a drum-head, and told them 
 that its beat should carry terror into the hearts of his 
 enemies ! 
 
 All this was running in my brain as we came up the 
 valley of the Elbe, and through the passes of the Bohe- 
 mian mountains. The sun was setting, as we approached 
 the capital from the west, and its fiery glow was re- 
 flected back from the tower of the Cathedral and the 
 ancient palace of the Bohemian kings. You remember 
 Longfellow’s beautiful poem of the “ Beleaguered City,” 
 founded on an old tradition of an army of the dead, 
 that once encamped around the walls of Prague. The 
 vision seemed to be realized to us as we entered the city. 
 
THE OLD BRIDGE OF PRAGUE. 
 
 195 
 
 A thousand shadowy forms rose up from the valley of 
 the Moldau, and the hillsides were covered with snowy 
 tents and gleaming banners. And when I stood upon 
 the old bridge which has played such a part in the many 
 sieges and stormings of Prague, I found myself repeating 
 the lines of Campbell, which picture one of these mur- 
 derous scenes : 
 
 “ On Prague’s proud arch the fires of ruin glow, 
 
 Its blood-dyed waters murmuring far below.” 
 
 This bridge is perhaps the best point from which to 
 take a view of the city, as it joins the two sides of the 
 town, and one standing on its central arch, surveys the 
 whole. The bridge itself is worthy of notice, as one of 
 the oldest and grandest monuments of Prague. It is 
 the longest bridge in Germany, longer even than that 
 which spans the Elbe at Dresden. Five hundred years 
 ago — in 1358 — were its solid abutments laid in their 
 watery bed. Since that time it has witnessed many 
 scenes which have given it at once a historical and reli- 
 gious interest. Here old John of Hepomuk, the patron 
 saint of Prague, obtained the honors of martyrdom. 
 For in times long ago it was his misfortune to be father 
 confessor to a queen who confided to him some secrets 
 of her life, which the king, in great wrath, demanded to 
 know. But the good man held his peace. Wherefore 
 the king brought him to this bridge, and pitched him 
 over the parapet into the river. His body sunk, but for 
 
196 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 three days miraculous flames burned over the spot. This 
 of course was enough to make him a saint, and he is now 
 regarded by the people with religious veneration. His 
 shrine in the cathedral is one of the richest in the world, 
 and every year, on the anniversary of his death, pilgrims 
 flock to the sacred spot, sometimes to the number of 
 eighty thousand, and for several days the bridge is so 
 blocked up ' h the kneeling crowds that it is impossi- 
 ble to pass. 
 
 The morning after we reached the city, we took a 
 carriage and a guide for the day, and began our explora- 
 tions. Our first visit was to the ancient Jewish synagogue 
 and cemetery. Prague contains the oldest colony of 
 Jews in Europe. Indeed, they claim that it was founded 
 here before the destruction of Jerusalem. For centu- 
 ries they were subjected to the greatest oppression and 
 cruelty. But here they have remained, clinging to the 
 spot with a tenacity which no persecutions could destroy, 
 and here they have preserved more strictly than in other 
 cities the peculiar customs of their people. It was 
 therefore with strange curiosity that w^e drove first to 
 the Jewish quarter of the town, to visit the old syna- 
 gogue and cemetery. 
 
 But whatever of romantic or sacred interest may be 
 connected with this people, is apt to receive a pretty 
 rude shock in entering the Jews’ Quarter of one of the 
 continental cities. The sons of Israel are not a clean 
 people. They are born to dirt as the sparks fly upward. 
 
THE JEWS’ QUARTER. 
 
 197 
 
 The Jews’ Quarter always looks like a rag-fair. Old 
 clothes flout in the faces of the passer-by, as if they 
 were the very flags and ensigns of the chosen people. 
 The children of the prophets delight in narrow streets, 
 which are choked up with braying donkeys, bawling 
 men, and screeching women. 
 
 We drew up at the door of the synagogue, which is 
 said to be eight or nine hundred years old. It looks as 
 if it might date from the time of Abraham. It stands 
 in the centre of the Jews’ Quarter, surrounded by a maze 
 of narrow streets, so choked up with the dust of centu- 
 ries that they are raised several feet above the level of 
 the synagogue, so that to enter it is like going down 
 into a vault. The interior is dark and dingy. In some 
 of their festivals the Jews burn lamps and torches with- 
 out ceasing, day and night, so that the walls become 
 blackened with smoke. Yet their idea of sacredness 
 will not allow the place to be cleaned. Whoso should 
 lift up his hand upon it would pollute it. So it remains 
 from generation to generation, venerable with age and 
 dirt, faintly illumined with that u dim, religious light ” 
 which sentimental tvorshippers so much delight in. To 
 worship here is indeed to sit down in sackcloth and 
 ashes. After this description our lady readers will per- 
 haps not count it a great privation that they are not per- 
 mitted to enter this sacred place, but are obliged to hear 
 the reading of the law through low arches, which open 
 into a corridor outside. 
 
198 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 Yet this dilapidated old crypt has its treasures — in its 
 sacred vessels and its tapestry of cloth of gold to cover 
 the holy shrine. These are the gifts of wealthy Israel- 
 ites of other lands. 
 
 Here in Prague, for a long time, the J ews were not 
 permitted to live outside of a certain quarter. But now 
 that rule has been relaxed in favor of the wealthy Jews, 
 who have their fine town houses and country seats. 
 Yet though the laws against them are repealed or are a 
 dead letter, and though they may attain a high commer- 
 cial position, strange to say, the antipathy of race and 
 religion which exists towards them, is almost as strong 
 as ever. They are still a proscribed caste. Surely, was 
 there ever a people so smitten of God as this wandering 
 and outcast race ? 
 
 There is something inexpressibly mournful in this mix- 
 ture of glory and degradation. Who can behold with- 
 out pity and grief a people once so great and now so 
 abject ? To me there is something sad in their very look. 
 They have a wildness in their gaze which they seem 
 to have brought with them out of the desert, a startled 
 and inquiring look, as if for ages their eyes had been 
 peering into the future, looking for the Messiah which 
 was to come. And how they cling to the memories of 
 the glory of ancient Israel ! W e passed by a hospital pro- 
 vided for their aged and infirm, and saw through the 
 window a group of poor, old creatures, sitting on 
 benches, swaying their bodies to and fro like so many 
 
TUE CATHEDRAL. 
 
 l'J9 
 
 howling Dervishes, muttering their Hebrew prayers, 
 and singing in a vdld chant the same victorious psalms 
 which their fathers sung on the shores of the Red Sea 
 when the Lord brought them out of the house of bond- 
 age. 
 
 Hard by the synagogue is the Jewish burying-ground 
 — another place of pilgrimage for the people of the Lord. 
 Here, under humble stones, covered with moss, lies the 
 dust of men famed in all the world for learning and for 
 saintly virtues, old Rabbis and Masters in Israel, who, 
 after waiting in vain for the coming of the Messiah, fell 
 asleep in darkness. Many of the tombs are marked by 
 the symbols of their tribes. Hither come pilgrims from, 
 all parts of Europe, treading their way with weary feet, 
 that they may kneel, and weep, and pray at the tomb 
 of the fathers of their people. They leave behind little 
 pebbles, placed upon the tombs by respectful hands, the 
 poor tokens of their love and veneration. 
 
 From these memorials of ruin and decay we turn at 
 once to princely halls and imperial grandeur. Across 
 the Moldau, on the brow of a hill which rears its head 
 erect and lofty as the castled crag of Edinburgh, stands 
 the vast pile of the Hradschin, the palace of the ancient 
 Bohemian kings. Our horses had a hard pull up the 
 steep ascent. At length w r e wdieeled around upon the 
 summit, which commands a view of the w r hole city be- 
 neath, and of the valley for miles. Here stands the 
 cathedral — a structure that w r as intended to be very 
 
200 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 magnificent, but that never reached its full proportions, 
 and whose actual grandeur has been shattered by the 
 storm of war. Over its head flew the bombs of Frederic 
 the Great, and its sacred roof did not escape. In fact, 
 the great captain found the high tower an excellent tar- 
 get for his guns, and told his artillerists to point their 
 cannon against it. The very first shot struck it, and dur- 
 ing the siege two hundred and fifteen balls passed 
 through the roof, and in the end the church received 
 more than fifteen hundred! One of these balls still 
 hangs in the church, as a memorial of the fiery ordeal 
 through which it passed. 
 
 But the cathedral is especially interesting for its treas- 
 ures. Here is the rich shrine of St. John Nepomuk, the 
 tomb and its ornaments containing nearly two tons of 
 silver ! But even this is less precious than the bones of 
 Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, which are here kept for the 
 wonder of the faithful, and the pocket handkerchief of 
 the Virgin Mary ! 
 
 The palace is interesting rather from its historical 
 associations than from its architectural grandeur. It is 
 a vast range of buildings — being larger than the palace 
 at Vienna. It was the residence of the Bohemian kings, 
 and when their country passed under the power of Aus- 
 tria, here were devised plots against Bohemian liberty. 
 In the front of the palace is a hall of council where met 
 the advisers of Ferdinand II., and where they were 
 startled one day by the appearance of a body of depu- 
 
PALACE OF THE BOHEMIAN KINGS. 
 
 201 
 
 ties, who burst into the room, demanding that they 
 should cease from their plots against the nation; and 
 who, finding no redress, seized two of the boldest and 
 pitched them out of the window, a distance of eighty 
 feet. Their, lives were saved, somewhat in gloriously, by 
 falling on a dunghill. This act of popular violence was 
 the beginning of the Thirty Years’ War. In the same 
 room we were shown the table on wdiich, at the close of 
 that war, was signed the Treaty of Westphalia. 
 
 Of late this old palace seems to be devoted to de- 
 funct royalties. Here, Charles X., after being driven 
 from France, passed the poor remnant of his days, and 
 here now resides that old granny, the late Emperor Fer- 
 dinand. I would not speak evil of dignities, but every- 
 body knows that the late sovereign of Austria is half an 
 idiot, who hardly knows enough to go in the house when 
 it rains, and as in 1848, the year of revolutions, it 
 rained very hard, there was nothing for him to do but 
 to make a rapid retreat. Here he spends his days 
 chiefly in mumbling prayers to the Virgin. His queen 
 finds it pretty dull business, and so she goes off to 
 Vienna or to Italy, to enjoy herself as well as she can. 
 
 At present the ancient Bohemian liberties are pretty 
 effectually extinguished. The young Emperor of Aus- 
 tria, I believe, has not taken the trouble to be crowned 
 King of Bohemia, nor King of Hungary. Both king- 
 doms are absorbed in the one great Empire. Yet here 
 are elements which do not readily coalesce. The Bohe- 
 
 9* 
 
202 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 mians are not Germans. Of the hundred and fifty thou- 
 sand inhabitants of Prague, more than half are native 
 Bohemians, who cherish a lively remembrance of their 
 grand national history. Nor can they easily submit to 
 the ‘rule of the foreigner. As I wander about these 
 streets, and listen to the music of the military bands, 
 which is celebrated^ throughout Europe for its plaintive 
 character, it seems as if the voice of the nation found 
 utterance in these wild airs ; as if they were mourning 
 for the glorious days of Huss and of Ziska. 
 
CHAPTER XY. 
 
 Protestantism in Bohemia — Early Reformation — John IIuss — 
 The University of Prague — Huss burnt at Constance — The 
 Wars wmcn followed — Blind Ziska — The Thirty Years’ War 
 — Wallenstein — Present State of Protestantism in Bohemia. 
 
 The saddest tiling which I behold in the streets of 
 Prague, is — not the Austrian soldiers, nor the downcast 
 Jews — but the decline and almost utter extinction of 
 Protestantism. No country in Europe acted a more con- 
 spicuous part in the early Reformation than Bohemia. 
 Nearly five hundred years ago, the first dawn of that 
 day which was to spread over half of Europe, touched 
 almost at the same time the mountains of Bohemia and 
 the white cliffs of England. These two countries were 
 then closely connected by marriage of royal houses, and 
 by the ties of learning and a common faith. In England, 
 Wickliffe had begun to teach the pure faith of the Gos- 
 pel, and among those who read his writings, and caught 
 his spirit, was the future apostle and martyr of Bohemia, 
 John Huss. A hundred years before Luther stirred the 
 heart of Germany, a voice like that of John the Baptist 
 — the voice ^of one crying in the wilderness — was heard 
 on the banks of the Moldau, preaching repentance for 
 
 203 
 
204 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 the remission of sins. Before the monk of Wittenberg 
 gave to the millions who speak the German tongue, his 
 translation of the Bible, the Bohemians had seven trans- 
 lations of their own ! Here then, in the far East of 
 Europe, the Reformation had its first dawn, and alas ! its 
 earliest night. 
 
 The Reformed doctrines, taking root in Bohemia, found 
 their stronghold in the University of Prague. This was 
 the first institution of the kind established in Germany. 
 It was founded five hundred years ago, after the model 
 of the University of Paris, and attained a rapid growth, 
 attracting students not only from the East and N orth of 
 Europe, but from the farthest West. Young men came 
 here from England to obtain those advantages of learn- 
 ing which they could not find in their own country. 
 When Oxford was yet an obscure college, Prague was in 
 its glory. At one time it is said to have contained 
 40,000 students! When it was in its zenith, Huss was 
 Rector of the University, and at the head of such an 
 army, he wielded immense power. 
 
 But the great Reformer was sometimes a little violent. 
 He endeavored to give certain exclusive rights to the 
 Bohemians, to the prejudice of other nations. And this 
 measure, it is said, caused 25,000 students to secede in a 
 single week ! This great secession, however, was not a 
 total loss to the cause of learning, for as they scattered 
 themselves in other countries, they carried with them the 
 germ of other institutions, and from the seed thus sown 
 
IIUSS BUKNT AT CONSTANCE. 
 
 205 
 
 sprang the Universities of Leipsic, Heidelberg, and 
 Cracow. 
 
 While IIuss lived, though the spirit of controversy 
 ran high, it did not break out into open war. But his 
 life was terminated by treachery. By a promise of a 
 safe conduct from the Emperor Sigismund, he was lured 
 to the Council of Constance, and there, on that fatal 
 summer’s day, July 6, 1415, this Bohemian Apostle and 
 Reformer was burnt at the stake. The news soon flew 
 to Prague, and excited the wildest grief and indignation. 
 From that moment it was impossible to restrain the rage 
 of his followers. They met in frequent conclave, brood- 
 ing over the foul act of treachery and murder, and vowing 
 vengeance against their persecutors. They mustered 
 their strength, and appeared in the streets in armed array. 
 They had a leader, who made them doubly formidable, 
 in their blind Samson, Ziska. And as they assembled in 
 the square in front of the Town Hall, their ranks glitter- 
 ing with pikes, they presented a fierce and threatening 
 aspect. In truth they had been goaded into a savage 
 temper, which waited only an opportunity to break out 
 into acts of violence. The occasion was not long want- 
 ing. In 1419, they were marching through the city, and 
 passed under the windows of the Town Hall, when some 
 rash hand threw a stone at them. This was the spark 
 that produced the explosion. Enraged at the insult, they 
 burst into the council chamber, and seizing thirteen Ger- 
 man councillors, they hurled them out of the window. 
 
206 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 They fell upon the pikes of the crowd beneath, and wero 
 instantly put to death. Thus the murder of Huss was 
 answered by blood for blood, and this sudden massacre 
 was but the prelude to a more terrible retribution. 
 
 The next year the war broke out in earnest. The 
 storm-bell on the Town Hall tolled its alarm, and the 
 Hussites, gathering by thousands, filled the square with 
 a black, surging, excited multitude. The time had come 
 for action. Involved in rebellion, the whole force of the 
 empire would soon be upon them. But it would not do 
 to await the attack in the city. Half a mile outside the 
 walls rises a hill which overlooks the town. Here was 
 the position for defence. To this eminence Ziska led out 
 his pikemen, and here he was followed by crowds, not 
 only of men, but of women and children, who all worked 
 together upon the intrenchments. Soon the Hussite 
 chief had a fortified camp, and an organized army, with 
 which he bade defiance to the emperor, who came 
 against him "with one hundred and fifty thousand men ; 
 and at length, descending from his heights, he defeated 
 him in a pitched battle. 
 
 How freshly did these memories of Prague revive, as 
 I stood at the window of the palace of the Hradschin, 
 and looked across the valley of the Moldau to the hill 
 which still bears the name of the blind hero — the Ziska- 
 berg ! Though the cause which he fought for was at 
 last borne down in the tide of war, still they keep his 
 memory here, as one of the giants of their race. In tho 
 
HISTORY OF THE REFORMATION IN BOHEMIA. 207 
 
 museum they keep with religious care a letter traced by 
 that iron hand — which is the most precious relic they 
 have, next to an autograph of Huss himself — and an old 
 portrait preserves the stern features which glowed so 
 fiercely in the front of battle. 
 
 After w r e had explored Prague pretty thoroughly, 
 and had enough of churches and palaces, I asked our 
 guide to take me to the place where John Huss lived. 
 The house is no longer standing, but tradition preserves 
 the spot in the Bethlehem Platz — a humble place which 
 no pilgrims seek except those from foreign countries, yet 
 which was more sacred to me than the silver shrine of 
 John of Nepomuk. 
 
 Since coming to Prague, I have felt more than ever 
 the want of a good history of the Bohemian Reforma- 
 tion. I have inquired for such a work, but cannot find 
 that there is one in existence, at least in the English 
 language. Nor do I learn of any in French or German, 
 that is quite what is wanted. Yet, after all, if one were 
 produced, I am half in doubt if there is sufficient histo- 
 rical interest, at least in our country, to sustain its pub- 
 lication. A friend in America, who is a thorough scholar 
 and an unwearied student of history, spent five years in 
 going over this very period, and prepared a work which 
 would have done honor to him and to our country, but 
 w r hen he applied to a ptiblisher, he w~as told that it w T as 
 too long (it made tw'O duodecimo volumes), and that if 
 he w r ould cut out half of it, it perhaps might do ! A 
 
208 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 glorious reward and encouragement to historical investi- 
 gation ! And yet it would be difficult to find a period 
 of history of deeper interest, more crowded with great 
 characters and stirring events. 
 
 The struggle of the Reformed faith with the old 
 Church in Bohemia lasted for two stormy centuries. A 
 hundred years after Luther, the battle was not yet 
 ended. Then begins another great drama, with all Eu- 
 rope for its stage, and many nations for actors — the 
 Thirty Years’ War — a period full of exciting events, of 
 battles and sieges ; in which at times the whole sky of 
 Germany seems to redden with the blaze of desolated 
 fields and burning cities. The interest of this period 
 gathers chiefly around the two great characters of the 
 age — Gustavus Adolphus, the Christian hero of the 
 north, and the haughty and implacable Wallenstein, 
 whom Schiller has chosen as a subject most fit both for 
 history and for tragedy, and whose stern figure he has 
 made to stand out conspicuous on the dark background 
 of that bloody time. Wallenstein lived in Prague, and 
 his palace is one of the sights shown to all travellers. 
 That sombre figure seemed to rise again as we trod 
 those halls where he held his court with more than impe- 
 rial splendor, and thought of his greatness and his fall, 
 of his . deep-laid conspiracies, masked by outward calm- 
 ness, of his high-soaring ambition, and of his bloody 
 end. 
 
 But the fate of Protestantism was decided long before 
 
PROTESTANTISM EXTERMINATED. 
 
 209 
 
 the death of Wallenstein. In fact, its downfall dates 
 almost from the beginning of the war. That broke out in 
 1618. Two years after, the hostile armies were brought 
 face to face three miles from the walls of Prague. 
 That day was fought the battle of the White Hill, 
 and when the sun went down, Protestantism in Bohemia 
 was overthrown. The Elector Frederick, who had been 
 chosen king, w'as driven from his throne, and the ancient 
 kingdom of Bohemia passed forever under the dominion 
 of the emperors of Austria. That fatal victory was fol- 
 lowed by terrible scenes. A year after, when confidence 
 w^as in some degree restored, and many had returned to 
 their homes, suddenly the Protestant leaders w T ere seized 
 and brought before a military tribunal. Twenty-seven 
 of the noblest and best, eight great officers and nobles, 
 fourteen councillors, and a host of inferior persons, were 
 brought to the scaffold. The heads and hands of those 
 of noble birth were cut off and stuck up on the gate 
 tower of the bridge. Thus the Reformation in Bohemia 
 was drowned in blood. 
 
 But there was yet a vial of judgments to be poured 
 out upon the kingdom of the oppressor. “ In the hand 
 of the Lord there is a cup, and the wfine is red ; the 
 dregs thereof, the wficked shall wring them out and 
 drink them.” Though Protestantism never recovered 
 from this fatal blow, yet the cup which the tyrant gave 
 to others to drink, was again and again pressed to his 
 own lips. The war was not ended wfith the success of a 
 
210 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 f 
 
 * 
 
 single battle. For more than a quarter of a century it 
 raged in every part of Europe, and desolated liis own 
 dominions. Once Prague was captured by the Elector 
 of Saxony. And again, at the very close of the war, in 
 1648, it was besieged and bombarded by the Swedes for 
 fourteen weeks. 
 
 Nor was it merely Protestant blood which flowed on 
 that public square in front of the City Hall. Here Wal- 
 lenstein returned like a hunted lion, after the battle of 
 Lutzen ; in which, though his great rival and enemy, 
 Gustavus Adolphus, was stretched upon a bloody bier, 
 yet even in dying he had struck terror into the hearts 
 of his foes, and the Imperial battalions had shrunk in 
 dismay before his last charge. Enraged at his defeat, 
 the iron-hearted Wallenstein caused the strictest inquiry 
 to be made into the conduct of his officers, and eleven 
 of noble birth, besides many of inferior rank, who had 
 shown cowardice, were executed without mercy. Does 
 it not seem like a retribution of God that this inexorable 
 leader at last perished by the hand of the assassin ! 
 
 At present, Protestantism in Bohemia may be almost 
 said to be exterminated. In the city of John Huss 
 there are now but two Protestant churches, while there 
 are 55 Catholic churches and chapels, 11 monasteries, 4 
 nunneries, and 10 synagogues! 
 
 Yet behold the compensations of Providence ! God 
 holds the scales with an even hand, and the loss or the 
 disaster incurred in one part of his great kingdom, is 
 
THE WHITE HILL AND PLYMOUTH KOCK. 211 
 
 sometimes repaired by a gain at the ends of the earth. 
 Do not think me a vain American because my thoughts, 
 even at this distance, return so frequently to my own 
 country. But there I find compensation for all our 
 losses in Europe. The battle of the White Hill was 
 fought in 1620 — the very year in which the Pilgrims 
 sailed for New England! It was fought on the 8th of 
 November. The Pilgrims landed at Plymouth, Decem- 
 ber 22d. Thus, at the very time that the pure faith was 
 driven from its ancient seats in the Old World, God was 
 preparing for it a broader empire on the shores of the 
 New. 
 
CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 Vienna — Contrast with Berlin — The Imperial City — Historical 
 Associations — Tombs of the Emperors — Maria Theresa — The 
 Son of Napoleon — The Present Royal Family — The Govern- 
 ment — Failure of the Revolution of 1848 — Result of the 
 War in Hungary — Signs of Progress. 
 
 There could not be a greater contrast between two 
 cities, than that between the two chief capitals of Ger- 
 many. The one is broad and flat and rectangular, with 
 streets as interminable and dreary as German meta- 
 physics; the other stands thick with tall houses inter- 
 locked like lovers’ arms, and narrow streets that go wind- 
 ing round and round like a troupe of Viennese waltzers, 
 whirling in the mazes of the dance. Beyond the walls 
 of Vienna, instead of the barren plain, which surrounds 
 Berlin, the eye rests with delight on a rich valley sloping 
 upwards to wooded hills, and in the midst of the land- 
 scape, in place of the small and stagnant Spree, trailing 
 its slow course through the sand, is seen the dark-rolling 
 Danube, pouring its majestic flood of waters to the Black 
 Sea. 
 
 The associations, too, are all different. Berlin is raw 
 212 
 
VIENNA CONTRAST WITII BERLIN. 
 
 213 
 
 and new, Vienna old and venerable. With a lofty dis- 
 dain, the tower of St. Stephen’s looks down on the low, 
 plastered houses of the Prussian capital. Vienna is the 
 Imperial city, the royal house of Austria claiming to be 
 the successors of the Roman Emperors, while the Prus- 
 sian monarchy itself is but an upstart among the dynas- 
 ties of Europe — only possessing a royal title from the 
 beginning of the last century, when a vain elector of 
 Brandenburg at last obtained what had been the great 
 object of his ambition all his life — the empty title of 
 a king, and was rewarded for his pains, like other up- 
 starts, who step out of their place, by being obliged to 
 endure innumerable mortifications, and by being snubbed 
 by all his royal brethren. Indeed, it was not until the 
 great Frederick became at once the wonder and terror of 
 Europe, that the nations acknowledged that there was a 
 king in the Prussian Israel, and monarchs grew civil to 
 one who asked no consent of theirs to confirm his title to 
 a regal crown. 
 
 I£rom that time, Prussia became a great military mon- 
 archy, yet Berlin has no stirring memories of battles and 
 sieges, which make it historic ground. Several times, 
 indeed, it has been in possession of an enemy, in the 
 Seven Years’ War, and after the battle of Jena, when the 
 Imperial guards of Napoleon poured through the broad 
 streets of the conquered capital. But no great battle by 
 which the fate of nations is decided, has ever been fought 
 around its walls. But Vienna for hundreds of years has 
 
214 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 been one of the great military centres of Europe. 
 Standing on the confines of the great Moslem power, it 
 has been a bulwark of Christendom against the Turk. 
 More than once the sentinels keeping watch in the tower 
 of St. Stephen’s have descried the white tents of the 
 Turkish hosts gleaming miles away along the plains of 
 the Danube. Here the wave of Moslem fanaticism roll- 
 ing upward from the Bosphorus, was checked by this 
 strong barrier. Against these walls the torrent broke, 
 and thus was Europe delivered forever from fear of being 
 overrun by the Tartar hordes who had conquered By- 
 zantium. 
 
 From the same watch-tower, Austrian sentinels have 
 beheld other invaders. There, but fifty years ago, brave 
 but trembling hearts watched with unutterable anguish 
 the carnage of Essling, of Aspern, and of Wagram, and 
 saw the bombs of Napoleon flying like a shower of stars 
 over the Imperial capital. 
 
 Vienna is a city within a city — the inner portion being 
 girdled by a circle of bastions which were blown up by 
 Napoleon, and have since been laid out in a succession 
 of terraces, which are the favorite promenade of the gay 
 population. We have our lodgings in the Hotel Munsch, 
 which is in the heart of the old town, and close to all 
 the most interesting monuments. But a few rods distant 
 is the palace of the emperor. From our windows we 
 look down upon a plain old church, which would hardly 
 arrest the eye were it not that it is the burial-place of 
 
TOMBS OF THE EMPERORS. 
 
 215 
 
 the royal house of Austria. Let us cross the square, and 
 enter that crypt, filled with the tombs of a long line of 
 emperors. It is the Church of the Capuchins, and a 
 brother of the Order leads the way with a lighted torch, 
 down into that Royal House of Death. In all Europe, 
 there is hardly a spot more suggestive of solemn thought, 
 unless it be the burial-place *of the Popes, under Saint 
 Peter’s, at Rome. Hush ! let us walk softly from monu- 
 ment to monument. We steal along the vault, startled 
 at our own muffled footfall in that dim and gloomy place, 
 and as the torch of the old monk throws its glare on one 
 and another sarcophagus of bronze or silver, he whispers 
 the names of monarchs whose deeds have filled the 
 world. 
 
 Before one proud mausoleum we pause, for it contains 
 the ashes of Maria Theresa, that lion-hearted queen, 
 whose title to the throne, secured by the famous Prag- 
 matic Sanction, and acknowledged by all Europe, was 
 rudely disputed by Frederick the Great, but who in that 
 hour of trial showed herself a true daughter of the Caesars 
 — the bravest of her race. Who could stand beside 
 this silent tomb, without recalling that thrilling moment 
 when the young empress-queen fled to Hungary, and 
 appeared in the Diet, clad in deep mourning for her 
 father, and implored that brave people to support her 
 cause ; and when the whole assembly sprang to their 
 feet, and grasped their swords, and vowed to stand by 
 her with their lives ? “ Till then,” says Macaulay, “ her 
 
216 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 firmness had never once forsaken her before the public 
 eye, but at that shout she sank down upon her throne and 
 wept aloud. Still more touching was the sight, when, a 
 few days later, she came before the estates of her realm, 
 and held up before them the little Archduke in her arms. 
 Then it "was that the enthusiasm of Hungary broke forth 
 in that war-cry which soon resounded throughout Eu- 
 rope : 4 Let us die for our king, Maria Theresa !’ ” 
 
 It is much to add, that this heroic queen was also a 
 pure and noble woman — a faithful wife and mother. 
 Here on this mausoleum lies, in bronze, another form. It 
 is Francis of Lorraine, her beloved husband. He pre- 
 ceded her to the grave, and for thirteen long years, on 
 every Friday, this pious queen descended into this vault, 
 here to weep and pray at his tomb. At last her 
 hour came, and they laid her beside the one she so much 
 loved. They were faithful to each other in life, and in 
 death they were not divided. 
 
 Still look around. There sleeps the Emperor Francis, 
 who reigned over Austria in those troubled days when 
 the whole of Europe was shaken by the French Revolu- 
 tion, and the Imperial armies were so often defeated and 
 destroyed. This is the man w ho stood beside Alexander 
 of Russia, upon a hill-top of Moravia, and saw 7 the awTul 
 carnage of Austerlitz ; and who afterwards gave his own 
 daughter to the conqueror that had humbled his proud 
 monarchy to the dust. And where is she, the Iphigenia 
 sacrificed to propitiate the destroyer? Joined to her 
 
THE SON OF NAPOLEON. 
 
 217 
 
 father in death, lies the body of Maria Louisa, and near 
 to that mother’s side is a slender coffin which contains a 
 youthful form. This is the son of Napoleon — that son 
 who was the hope of his father, and the object of so many 
 ambitious schemes. What strange extremes does it sug- 
 gest ! I thought of the day when an anxious group of 
 ministers of state and foreign ambassadors, met at the 
 Tuileries, in expectation of the birth of an heir to the throne 
 of France; when for a time the life of the Empress trem- 
 bled in the balance, but at last a child was born, that 
 was supposed to be dead, but soon awoke to utter a 
 feeble cry — a sound at which the Great Napoleon, the 
 conqueror of the world, w T ent up and down the apart- 
 ment weeping for joy, and saying, “ It is a King of Rome !” 
 and the cannon of the Invalides thundered forth the tid- 
 ings to Paris, that hailed it with acclamations. Then I 
 thought of another day, when in the palace at Schon- 
 brunn, in the very apartment occupied by his father, that 
 mother was kneeling by a bed of death, and that son, the 
 object of so much hope, was breathing out his soul to 
 God. Does it not seem like a just retribution of Heaven 
 on the man who sacrificed one true-hearted wife for a 
 royal alliance, that in his last years, when lonely and 
 captive, he should be robbed of both wife and child, 
 and now that a foreign land should keep their dust? 
 
 The present Imperial Family is popular, at least here 
 in the capital ; and, if one can trust the common reports 
 of their private life, deservedly so. I had heard Kossuth 
 
 10 
 

 * 
 
 218 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 speak of Francis Joseph as a “young Nero,” and, of 
 course, had formed but a low opinion of one who had so 
 early stained his hands with the blood of Italian and 
 Hungarian patriots. Nor do I refer now to his political 
 course. No doubt he preserves all the traditions of his 
 race, the proud house of Hapsburg, and clings to power, 
 and would combat revolution as fiercely as any despot. 
 But personally, so far as I can learn, though of a temper 
 somewhat quick and violent, his character is worthy of 
 respect. He is married to a princess of Bavaria, and in 
 his devotion to his wife is a pattern to his people. It was 
 not a cold-blooded state alliance, bub a pure love match ; 
 and the royal couple seem to be as fond of each other as 
 any less exalted lovers. They are both domestic in their 
 tastes, and prefer each other’s society to all the gaieties 
 of the court. Though compelled to assume some degree 
 of state, yet, for royal personages, nothing could be more 
 unostentatious than their style of life. In visiting the 
 palace, we w T ere surprised at the simplicity of the Im- 
 perial apartments, in such marked contrast to the mag- 
 nificence of V ersailles, or even to the show which sur- 
 rounds the parvenu monarchy of Prussia. The court is 
 now spending the summer at Laxeuburg, a few miles 
 from Vienna. It is a pretty country place, with pleasant 
 walks, and trees, and fountains, but not to be compared 
 to the princely seats of many English noblemen. So, in 
 their way of living they are very simple. Though com- 
 pelled by their position to take the lead of the court, to 
 
THE PRESENT IMPERIAL FAMILY. 
 
 219 
 
 receive the foreign ambassadors and ministers of the 
 government, and distinguished foreigners, yet, strange 
 as it may seem, the Emperor and Empress are not fond 
 of society, but prefer a quiet, domestic life. No one can 
 hear the stories which are told of their family circle, with- 
 out feeling a deep interest in this young couple, so ex- 
 alted in their station, yet so simple in their tastes and so 
 happy in their love. 
 
 The first fruit of this marriage died. When visiting 
 the burial-place of the Emperors, under the Church of 
 the Capuchins, we observed among the stately tombs a 
 little coffin, wreathed with flowers, which incloses the last 
 scion of the House of Austria, and the monk told us that 
 the Empress comes often to look upon the resting-place 
 of her first-born child. When we were at Laxenburg, the 
 court were in hourly expectation of the birth of another 
 royal child, and preparations were made for an illumina- 
 tion ; and though nothing could well be more indifferent 
 to us, yet after hearing so much of this youthful queen, 
 we could not but feel a wish that the yearnings of her 
 mother’s heart might be gratified, and while we cared 
 nothing for its political consequences, it was with a degree 
 of pleasure that, a week later, we heard the cannon at 
 Venice announce the birth of a little prince and heir to 
 the Imperial throne. 
 
 This simplicity of manners is a feature of the Austrian 
 court, and does much to soften the rigor of the Imperial 
 rule. Though the government is an absolute monarchy, 
 
220 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 the distance between the sovereign and the subject is not 
 so great as in England. The Kaiser mingles more freely 
 and familiarly with his people. The old Archduke John, 
 the uncle of the Emperor, walks about the Prater, talk- 
 ing to the people, and patting children on their heads. 
 This familiarity does not diminish respect, but awakens 
 attachment. All love the simple, good old man. Royal 
 condescension gives to the sovereign of the country 
 something of a paternal character in the eyes of his peo- 
 ple, and leads them to look up to him with an awe 
 mingled with affection. 
 
 But you will probably be less curious about these do- 
 mestic details than about the general political state of the 
 counjfcry. Are there any signs of progress in the proud 
 Austrian empire ? I think there has been some advance 
 toward better institutions, yet progress in that direction 
 is slow, and far behind what was anticipated in the jubilee 
 of 1848 . As I go from one European capital to another, 
 everywhere I am met with the same evidence of the 
 total failure of that year of revolutions, and I am forced 
 to ascribe it, not alone to the perfidy of courts, but chiefly 
 to the utter incapacity of those who were suddenly in- 
 trusted with power. Ten years ago, the Revolution was 
 absolute master of Vienna. The government was pros- 
 trate ; the Emperor had fled. In that hour of triumph, 
 had the people been wise and moderate in their demands, 
 they might have gained everything. But they were 
 intoxicated with sudden power. The students of the 
 
FAILURE OF THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 221 
 
 University and the workmen of the capital assumed the 
 mastery of affairs, not only without being called to that 
 high post by the voice of the nation, but to the offence 
 of the provinces, and the disgust of the better class of 
 citizens of the capital. Hurried from one rash act to 
 another, they murdered the Minister of War, and in- 
 augurated a reign of terror in the streets ; and finally 
 brought around the walls of Vienna an army of a hun- 
 dred thousand men, and subjected their capital to the 
 horrors of a siege and bombardment. So fell the hope 
 of a constitutional monarchy in Austria — not mourned 
 and lamented, but loathed and execrated, by those who 
 had come to regard liberty as synonymous with anarchy, 
 and who welcomed anything which could restore order. 
 To this day, the burghers of Vienna recall with fear 
 those scenes of blood, and shudder at the very thought 
 of revolution. So fell the hopes of a nation — by popular 
 ignorance, and violence, and incapacity. God grant that 
 this bitter lesson may not be forgotten when next the 
 people have to combat for liberty ! 
 
 The revolution in Hungary I regard with a different 
 feeling, for that fell not by internal weakness, but by 
 foreign arms. That heroic struggle will always command 
 the respect of the world, for the splendid manifestations 
 which it gave of the valor of the people, and of the great 
 civil and military talents of their leaders. Yet even here, 
 I have a half conviction that the chief ends sought by 
 war might have been obtained, if the Hungarians had 
 
222 
 
 SUMMER riCTURES. 
 
 trusted more to wisdom in council than to valor in the 
 field. I question much whether they would not have 
 done better to content themselves with such reforms as 
 they might have wrung from the terror-stricken court of 
 Vienna, than to declare at once for independence, and 
 thus plunge the empire into a bloody civil war. Kossuth 
 says there was a time when “ he held the fate of the 
 house of Ilapsburg in the hollow of his hand and his 
 language is hardly too strong. At that moment he 
 might have obtained for his country — a separate ad- 
 ministration, separate ministers, a legislature of their 
 own elected by the people, and even a separate army 
 — in a word, everything except total independence. 
 Only a single tie would have remained between the two 
 kingdoms, in the union of the two crowns. The Emperor 
 of Austria would still be the King of Hungary. But his 
 relation could not be much different from that of the old 
 German Emperors to the separate kingdoms united in 
 one great confederation. Hungary would have been as 
 much a power as Saxony or Bavaria. All this was thrown 
 away to pursue the phantom of independence. Probably 
 Kossuth would say that he could put no faith in the 
 promises of the treacherous House of Ilapsburg. Per- 
 hajis the Hungarians might have found themselves be- 
 trayed. Though if once they could have organized a 
 separate government peacefully, and consolidated their 
 m ional institutions, it is difficult to believe that they 
 c lid have been reconquered. 
 
SIGNS OF mOGHESS. 
 
 223 
 
 But vain now are these speculations and regrets. Use- 
 less is the wisdom that comes after the event. God alone 
 sees the end from the beginning. The patriots of Hun- 
 gary, doubtless, acted as they thought for the good of 
 their country, and now w r e can but look back with ad- 
 miration at their heroic struggle, and with pity for its 
 end. 
 
 Incidentally, the revolutions of 1848 have been a bene- 
 fit to the empire. They have broken the sleep of ages, 
 and forced upon this most conservative of governments 
 the necessity of some reform. There is now a relaxation 
 of the old#rigor of despotism ; some changes have been 
 introduced for the better, and more will follow. So far 
 as we can judge from the external look of things, we 
 have been pleasantly disappointed. Austria we expected 
 to find the worst-governed state on the continent. We 
 had been warned that we should be annoyed by the 
 regulations of the police, and by a perpetual espionage 
 kept on the movements of travellers. But we have seen 
 nothing of the kind. The custom-house officers have 
 proved much more civil than their fellows in most coun- 
 tries. Our passport has not been called for since we 
 entered the Austrian dominions, except at the frontier, 
 and we are told that it will not need another visa till we 
 are prepared to leave Milan to enter Sardinia. A gen- 
 tleman with whom we have become very well acquainted 
 here, and who has lived in Vienna for eight years, laughs 
 at our apprehensions that every public place is infested 
 
224 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 with spies. lie tells us also that Austria is the only 
 government in Europe w T here the people themselves can 
 travel without any passports at all ! 
 
 All this is very well. And I can readily believe, what 
 he assures us is the case, that the government is making 
 honest and earnest efforts to better the condition of the 
 people. In this respect he admits that the revolutions 
 of 1848 have been of great service ; that they have given 
 the old Austrian conservatism a terrible shaking, and 
 forced the government, in spite of itself, to enter upon 
 the road of progress. Every effort is now made to con- 
 ciliate its diverse populations. But I fear the evil is 
 beyond all cure. There is an inherent weakness in the 
 Austrian empire. It is composed of different races that 
 cannot coalesce into one nation. At Prague we were 
 told that great jealousy existed between the Germans 
 and the Bohemians. The government tries to maintain 
 itself by playing off the jealousies of one people against 
 another. Thus we found in the streets of Prague a regi- 
 ment of Hungarians, while the cities of Hungary are 
 occupied by Croats or Tyrolese. 
 
 We are glad to hear all that is good, and to believe as 
 much as is possible of the improved state of things in 
 Austria. Yet we cannot shut our eyes to certain obvi- 
 ous facts. An immense standing army holds the sword 
 over the country. In every city we find palaces and 
 barracks guarded by troops, with cannon pointed at the 
 open squares, as if to sweep down any advance of the 
 
HOPE OF THE FUTURE. 
 
 225 
 
 people. This looks like a military occupation of the 
 country. It is a standing menace to liberty. 
 
 Nor can we forget other parts of the empire, which 
 may suffer more and enjoy less from Imperial rule than 
 the favored capital. Vienna is, next to Paris, the gayest 
 city on the Continent. But while the people around us 
 laugh and dance, we cannot but think of Hungary and 
 of Italy, and of the martyrs of liberty whom this paternal 
 government has sent to prison or the scaffold. As we 
 came from Prague, we passed by Brunn, and saw on 
 a hill at our right the Castle of Spielberg, where Silvio 
 Pellico was confined. Soon after, we caught a view of 
 the Carpathians. We had just passed within a few miles 
 of the field of Austerlitz, and were approaching the field 
 of Wagram, w T hen, as if nature were in unison with the 
 scene, a thunder-storm passed over the heavens. It swept 
 by, and the setting sun broke out from the clouds and 
 lighted up the mountains of Hungary. We hailed it as 
 an omen of a bright future for that unhappy country. 
 May it prove indeed an emblem of its coming freedom 
 and glory ! 
 
 10* 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 From the Baltic to the Adriatic — The Semmering Pass over the 
 Julian Alps — The Grotto op Adelsberg — Venice — Approach 
 from TnE Sea — Canals and Gondolas — The Square of St. Mark 
 — Palace of the Doges, and the Bridge of SiGns — Visit to the 
 Islands in the Harbor — Moonlight and Music. 
 
 Venice, August 23 , 1858 . 
 
 The whole mode of travelling on the Continent of 
 Europe has "been changed within the last few years, by 
 the introduction of railroads, so that distances which 
 once seemed almost immeasurable, are now accomplished 
 with the greatest rapidity and ease. It is hardly three 
 weeks since I wrote you from Copenhagen, and now I 
 am writing from V enice. W e were then listening to a 
 wild storm which was raging on the Baltic, and shudder- 
 ing at the thought of crossing it the next day ; the wind 
 shook our windows, and the rain fell in torrents in the 
 streets. We are now melting under an Italian sun ; our 
 windows look down upon the Grand Canal, and the 
 bridge of the Rialto ; and the gondolier glides along the 
 watery streets. In that time we have passed over a 
 continent ; we have traversed three kingdoms, Prussia, 
 Saxony, and Austria; and have crossed two seas, the 
 
THE SEMMERING PASS OYER THE ALPS. 
 
 227 
 
 Baltic and the Adriatic. And yet we have not rushed 
 ahead in the American style, seeing nothing, but eager 
 only to reach the journey’s end. Had it been our object 
 to accomplish the distance in the least possible time, we 
 might have made it, not in three weeks, but in three 
 days — thus, one day from Copenhagen to Berlin, another 
 to Vienna, and a third to Venice. But we have saun- 
 tered along in the most leisurely way — spending four 
 days in Berlin, one in Leipsic, three in Dresden, one in 
 Prague, five in Vienna, one in Gratz, and one in Trieste. 
 
 In coming from Vienna to the Adriatic, we crossed 
 the range of the Julian Alps, by the Semmering Pass, 
 and this afforded us the grandest mountain scenery that 
 we have yet gazed upon. Of all the heights scaled by 
 fire-drawn cars, this is the loftiest and the dizziest which 
 I have seen, either in Europe or America. What would 
 Hannibal, what would Napoleon say, to a railroad over 
 the Alps ? It was one of the greatest achievements of 
 the Emperor to have built a macadamized highway over 
 the Simplon. But a modern engineer has shown that the 
 same dizzy heights are not inaccessible by the iron road, 
 and the steam car goes flying along the edge of preci- 
 pices, over yawning abysses, through tunnels bored 
 under mountains, at a height of three thousand feet 
 above the level of the sea. This is the highest railway 
 in the world. The grandeur of the ride surpasses all 
 description. When once the road becomes involved in 
 the mountains, it turns and twists in all directions, as if 
 
228 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 seeking some means of escape ; now creeping along tlie 
 bed of a mountain torrent, now winding far around the 
 sides of a mountain to seek a higher level, then leaping 
 over frightful chasms, and rushing on to the summit 
 where the clouds sit — to the very home of the thunder. 
 In these perpetual windings, a new landscape is presented 
 at every moment. A thousand scenes pass before the 
 eye, at once impossible to describe or to forget. It should 
 be added, that the road itself is built in a manner to last 
 for ages. It is the proudest monument which a powerful 
 government could erect. No doubt it was built with a 
 military as well as commercial object. It not only con- 
 nects Vienna with Trieste, the only port in the empire, 
 but is a grand highway by which the Austrian troops can 
 be poured into Italy. Yet so was the Simplon con- 
 structed by Napoleon for a military purpose. Yet that 
 does not prevent posterity from admiring the work or 
 receiving the benefit. 
 
 The distance from Vienna to Trieste is three hundred 
 and fifty miles. The journey may be made in seventeen 
 hours — leaving Vienna at six in the morning, and arriving 
 at Trieste at eleven at night ; and by taking the steamer 
 which leaves at midnight, one is in Venice the next 
 morning. But this makes the journey a very fatiguing 
 business. We chose a slower, but more pleasant mode 
 of travel. We left Vienna on Saturday, and came that 
 afternoon as far as Gratz, the capital of Styria, where we 
 passed the Sabbath, a quiet day of rest, ever welcome to 
 
THE GROTTO OF ADELSBERG. 
 
 229 
 
 the weary and jaded traveller. On Monday we came on 
 to Trieste. 
 
 By thus travelling slowly, we found time to explore 
 another wonder of this Alpine region, which travellers 
 rarely stop to see, but which, as a natural curiosity, is 
 certainly one of the most remarkable which Europe con- 
 tains. This is the Grotto of Adelsberg, fifty miles from 
 Trieste. It is, beyond comparison, the grandest cavern 
 in Europe. I have not yet seen the Mammoth Cave of 
 Kentucky, and cannot compare the two. Perhaps the 
 New World exceeds the Old in subterranean wonders as 
 much as in its rivers, lakes, and cataracts. But hitherto 
 my eyes have beheld no such scene. It is a temple, not 
 made with hands, but formed by the Creator himself in 
 the eternal rock, in the very heart of the mountain. 
 Three guides accompanied us ; and by the aid of many 
 hundreds of lighted candles, displayed the arches and 
 spires and domes of this wondrous temple of nature. 
 Millions of stalactites hung from the vaulted roof. We 
 penetrated for about two miles, but the guides had been 
 as far again, and beyond where mortal foot has trod, the 
 cavern may stretch unknown leagues into the heart of 
 the earth. In all this region of darkness and silence was 
 no sight or sound of living thing. Often we stopped to 
 listen — but naught, save the dropping of water, Jbroko 
 the awful stillness of the place. The impression of such 
 deep silence, of a solitude so profound, was almost pain- 
 ful, and it was with a feeling of relief that we at last 
 
230 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 emerged from these subterranean regions to the light of 
 day. 
 
 We had planned our summer’s tour so as to end with 
 a fortnight in the north of Italy. Other parts of Italy 
 we had seen before. Rome, Florence, and Naples were 
 familiar ground. But one city, full of historical and 
 poetical associations, w^as yet to be seen. Ten years ago, 
 when I passed through Bologna and Milan, war was 
 raging in Lombardy between Charles Albert and the 
 Austrians, and Venice was difficult of approach. It had, 
 therefore, remained unvisited. This had been a lasting 
 regret. So we resolved to see it this time, though we 
 should have to travel hundreds of miles to reach it, and 
 we reserved it to the last, as the culminating point of our 
 journey. 
 
 We thought it an advantage to enter it from the sea. 
 Travellers who come from the west commonly take the 
 railway from Milan, and cross the Lagune on a long 
 bridge of arches. But it seems very prosaic to enter 
 Venice by a railroad ! Our approach was more befitting 
 the Queen of the Adriatic, as it was across the waters of 
 the Adriatic itself. The hour also added to the effect 
 upon the imagination. It was midnight when we em- 
 barked on board the steamer at Trieste. The city lay 
 sleeping in the shadow of the mountains wdiich surround 
 it. The clock struck twelve, as we glided out of the 
 port, past the guns of the Austrian frigate which keeps 
 watch and ward over the city. The sea was calm as an 
 
APPROACH TO VENICE. 
 
 231 
 
 inland lake ; the sky was brilliant with stars. As the boat 
 was crowded, we "were glad to escape the confined air of 
 the cabin, and to seek the purer atmosphere above. It 
 had been a fiery summer’s day, and w^e felt refreshed by 
 drinking from “ the cool cisterns of the midnight air.” 
 So heavenly was the scene in the sky and the waters, 
 that we actually remained on deck all night long. We 
 watched the constellations come and go.' At length we 
 saw the sun rise out of the waves, and there before us 
 was a city in the sea — there were the towers, and domes, 
 and minarets of Y enice. 
 
 W e entered the Lagune and sailed up the Grand Canal, 
 and anchored off the Square of St. Mark. We needed no 
 guide to tell us the spot. There w r as the lion of St. Mark 
 — there was the Palace of the Doges, and the Bridge of 
 Sighs, leading into the frowming prison behind. The 
 lines of Byron at once came into mind : 
 
 “I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, 
 
 A palace and a prison on each hand.” 
 
 The steamer was soon surrounded by a fleet of gon- 
 dolas. These famous boats are not very inviting in their 
 appearance. They are long and slender, and are always 
 painted black, and covered with a kind of funeral pall, so 
 that they look like floating hearses, bearing all the beauty 
 and glory of Y enice to the grave. Into one of these novel 
 boats we were dropped with our baggage, and floated 
 away to another quarter of the city, near the bridge of 
 
232 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 the Rialto. Our hotel was an old palace, whose halls 
 still retained traces of princely splendor. We asked for 
 a room overlooking the Grand Canal, and thus we are 
 able from our windows to watch the light barks which 
 are always gliding to and fro, softly as the shadows of 
 clouds flitting over a motionless and moonlit sea. 
 
 We have now been here nearly a week, and all this 
 time we have b^en walking in a dream, or rather floating 
 in one, for no man in Venice puts his feet to the ground. 
 We live and move upon the water. Every morning, as 
 we come down to the steps of our hotel, we find a dozen 
 gondolas waiting. We step lightly into one and glide 
 away. These boats, which look so dark and solemn, yet 
 for a pleasant sail are the most delightful in the world. 
 W e recline upon a cushioned seat, with a canopy over us 
 if the day be warm, or removed if it be shaded and cool. 
 The gondolier stands behind us, and guides his bark with 
 a single oar, and yet with marvellous swiftness and skill. 
 We commonly take a gondola for the day, making all 
 our excursions in it, to see galleries, and palaces, and 
 churches, and even to the islands in the harbor. When 
 tired of seeing sights, we let the gondolier guide us as he 
 may. We tell him only to keep the boat in motion, and 
 let it float at its own sweet will. So he takes us round 
 and round the watery streets, under the arches of a hun- 
 dred bridges, and by the steps of old palaces. 
 
 To see in order the monuments of this city, one must 
 begin, of course, with the Square of St. Mark, the centre 
 
PALACE OF THE DOGES. 
 
 233 
 
 and heart of Y enice. Here in one group are the princi- 
 pal objects of interest. Let us first ascend the Campanile, 
 to a height of three hundred feet, from which we can take 
 a survey of the whole of Yenice, including the windings 
 of the Grand Canal, the broader Lagune, and the islands 
 in the harbor. But a few steps from the Campanile is 
 the Duomo, or Church of St. Mark — a structure of very 
 ancient date, and of most curious architecture. Its domes 
 and pointed spires mark a style brought from the gorge- 
 ous East. It looks more^ like a Mohammedan mosque 
 than a Christian place of worship. It is not grand and 
 imposing, like the Cathedral of Milan. Yet it is rich in 
 its marbles and mosaics, and derives a singular interest 
 from the many centuries which it has stood, and the 
 strange vicissitudes which it has witnessed. Here came 
 the Yenetian conquerors, bearing the banners of many a 
 nation, and chanted Te Deums in honor of their victories 
 by land and sea. Here in this vestibule a fugitive Pope, 
 driven from Rome, at last put his foot upon the neck of 
 his enemy and persecutor, Frederick Barbarossa, saying 
 in bitter and scornful triumph, “ Thou shalt tread upon 
 the lion and adder.” The very pavement over which we 
 walk bears marks of time. It is sunken and uneven, like 
 the pavement of a street, having been worn away by the 
 footsteps of many generations. 
 
 From the Cathedral a side-door opens into the court 
 of the Palace of the Doges. For its historical associa- 
 tions, there is scarcely a more marked or memorable spot 
 
234 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 in Europe. This was the centre of Venetian power in 
 those glorious days, 
 
 “When many a subject land 
 Looked to the winged lion’s marble piles, 
 
 Where Venice sat in state, throned on her hundred isles.” 
 
 We ascend the Staircase of the Giants, and enter the 
 majestic halls. This lofty apartment was the place of 
 meeting of the Senate ; and near by, in a chamber, smaller 
 and darker, as became the mysterious tribunal, sat the 
 terrible Council of Ten. A fissure in the wall is still 
 shown, as the famous Lion’s Mouth, which opened to 
 receive many a secret accusation, and here, with closed 
 doors and veiled faces, the dread conclave sat to judge 
 and to condemn. From their sentence there was no 
 appeal, and instant execution awaited the doomed victim 
 in the dungeons below. 
 
 In the same building is the Grand Hall, where all the 
 nobles of Venice met to discuss the affairs of the Repub- 
 lic. The walls are richly covered with paintings of the 
 old Venetian masters. Around the ceiling are portraits 
 of all the Doges. One panel alone is vacant, the face 
 being covered with black, to mark the terrible fate of its 
 possessor, Marino Faliero. We were next shown the 
 private apartments of the Doge — which, like the great 
 halls of the palace, are in a style of imperial magnificence. 
 
 From these memories of glory and splendor we turned 
 to another side of the picture — to the Bridge of Sighs and 
 
THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS — CHURCHES. 
 
 235 
 
 the prison beneath. The old cicerone who led us down 
 the steps into the dungeons, lamp in hand, seemed to take 
 it to heart that strangers thought it such a dreadful place. 
 He showed us that the cells were not below the level of 
 the water, and that a feeble ray of light might glimmer 
 in these dark abodes. He assured us the horrors had 
 been exaggerated, and seemed to think that one might 
 find these quarters quite comfortable ! 
 
 Next in interest to these historical places are the pri- 
 vate palaces, which rise by hundreds along the Grand 
 Canal, presenting the most imposing evidence of the 
 wealth of Venice in the days of her commercial great- 
 ness ; and the churches, rich in marble and gold, with 
 many costly shrines, and more precious w T orks of art ; 
 with monuments of her Doges, and of all her great 
 painters and sculptors, from Titian to Canova. I cannot 
 pretend to tell how many of these we have visited, or to 
 describe the dazzling pictures which they presented. 
 
 Thus we spend our days, wandering from one object of 
 interest to another. But when the evening draws on, we 
 find nothing so beautiful as the waters which flow be- 
 tween these palaces. We have chanced to be in Venice 
 at the time of the full moon, and the beauty of the days 
 has been exceeded by the splendor of the nights. Then 
 we take to our gondola, and push off from the shore, that 
 we may drink in the full glory of the scene — the pale 
 moonlight streaming on tower, and dome, and palace, 
 and covering with silver the silent sea. 
 
236 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 One afternoon, we made an excursion to the island of 
 San Lazzaro, on which is an Armenian convent. A priest 
 received us at the gate, and conducted us over the build- 
 ing, and explained the design of the Seminary, which is 
 to educate Armenian youth. It has now about fifty 
 students, chiefly from Constantinople. Here Lord Byron 
 came, when he lived in V enice, to study Armenian with 
 the monks. The good fathers seem very proud of their 
 illustrious pupil, and they show his table, and many 
 souvenirs of his residence with them. This visit was one 
 of much interest to us ; and long after we had left the 
 island, we sat in our gondola, listening to the sound of 
 their convent bells. 
 
 From San Lazzaro we were rowed to the Lido, 
 another island, which is a favorite resort of the Vene- 
 tians. Here Lord Byron was accustomed to take his 
 rides along the shore. We went down to the beach, and 
 strayed about a long time, gathering shells, and gazing 
 off upon the Adriatic, until the approach of evening 
 warned us to return to the city. 
 
 “ N ow, gondolier, for V enice ! But not there,” I said, 
 pointing to the Square of St. Mark, “ but away round, 
 round by the Lagune, that we may encompass the whole 
 of the city.” True to the word, our boatman took his 
 oar and steered away, though by the watch it kept him 
 rowing two hours. But the beauty of that evening sail 
 defies all description. A sea of glass, a heaven of blue, 
 the setting sun, and the rising moon, furnished the lights 
 
MOONLIGHT AND MUSIC. 
 
 237 
 
 and shadows of the scene, and there, suspended between 
 the firmament above and that below, sat two voyagers 
 from the W est, silent and thoughtful, floating on and on 
 into the distance. 
 
 At last we entered the Grand Canal, and in due time 
 were gliding under the arches of the Rialto, and to the 
 steps of our hotel. 
 
 “ Are you not exhausted with fatigue ?” we asked our 
 brave gondolier. 
 
 “Ron, non, Signore !” 
 
 “ Then we will rest a few minutes, and after that go on 
 to the Square of St. Mark.” We stopped to give him 
 breath, and to get our cloaks, and then he took his oar 
 again, and soon swept us through the smaller canals, to 
 the steps of the garden of the Imperial Palace. We came 
 just in time. The whole square was in a blaze of light, 
 the Austrian bands were playing, and crowds of people 
 were sitting under the arcades, or walking up and down 
 the paved court. True, some sad thoughts were stirred 
 within me by the presence of these foreign troops. But 
 I will not speak of that now. I am giving you the poetry 
 of Venice. Hereafter I may speak of its rugged and 
 bitter prose. But at present I will not mar with painful 
 reflections the transcendent loveliness of this scene. 
 
 It was late before we could tear ourselves away. 
 When we entered our boat the bands had ceased. But 
 hark ! what sound now comes over the water ? A party 
 of Italians are singing under the windows of yonder 
 
238 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 palace. W e bid the gondolier rest his oar, and he stands 
 still, like a statue in the moonlight, fixed and listening. 
 Who could resist the spell of such an hour, when the 
 earth seemed overflowed with moonlight and music. 
 
 “My soul was an enchanted boat, 
 
 Which like a sleeping s.wan did float 
 Upon the waves of that sweet singing.” 
 
 In such “ a deep dream of peace ” we closed the day. 
 
 But the purest pleasures must come to an end. The 
 day of our departure has arrived. I hear the landlord 
 calling : “ Signore ! the trunks are descended, and the gon- 
 dola is waiting at the door.” We step on board, and as 
 we glide along the Grand Canal to the railway station, 
 we breathe a silent, sad farewell to the City in the Sea. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 
 Another View of Venice — The Austrian Rule — Celebration of 
 the Emperor’s Birthday — Illumination for the Young Prince 
 — Hatred of the People to the Officers — The Bombardment 
 and Political Executions. 
 
 Venice, August 23, 1858. 
 
 A pleasant dream has often a sad awaking. The eye 
 opens from visions of beauty and happiness to stern and 
 harsh realities. The last week, we have been enjoying 
 Venice as seen by the light of poetry and history. We 
 have felt a mournful admiration for a city once so power- 
 ful, and still beautiful in its decay. We have admired its 
 architecture and its paintings, and looked back with awe 
 to its mighty dead, as we lingered in the Palace of the 
 Doges, and beneath the winged lion of St. Mark. But 
 even amid these reveries a harsh discord has occasionally 
 jarred upon the ear, and startled us from our dream. 
 Amid all the recollections of former glory, we have been 
 forced to look upon some painful sights, which we could 
 not regard without deep emotion. I refer, of course, to 
 the political subjection of Venice, marked by so many 
 signs of humiliation and slavery. Venice is in the dust, 
 and the foot of the tyrant is on her neck. 
 
 We have chanced to be here on the occasion of two 
 
 289 
 
240 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 political fetes, which brought out in strong contrast the 
 feeling of the Venetians and of their foreign masters — 
 the conscious power and triumph of the one, the sullen 
 silence and deep bitterness and hatred of the other. The 
 very day that we arrived, we perceived the signs of an un- 
 usual stir. The troops were under arms, and were march- 
 ing over the bridges and out of the city. Soon after, we 
 heard the firing of cannon, which announced some un- 
 usual event. It was the birthday of the emperor, and 
 his loyal army thus testified their rejoicing. At noon 
 we went to the cathedral, and found it crowded with 
 Austrian officers, listening to a solemn Te Deum, per- 
 formed in honor of the day. The scene was highly 
 imposing as they stood along the nave, their ranks glit- 
 tering with gold. But sad memories clouded the scene. 
 W e could not think, without bitterness, of the old Church 
 of St. Mark, where the ancient Venetians rendered 
 public thanks to the Almighty for their wide dominion, 
 now resounding with anthems in honor of a ruler of 
 another race and language. We remembered the despair 
 of the last of the Doges who, when forced to do homage 
 to the Austrian emperor, fell senseless on the pavement. 
 And we thought how often the same bitter feeling must 
 have wrung the hearts of the true and brave. At this 
 celebration we were struck with the absence of the people. 
 The Italians are fond of public fetes, and throng eagerly 
 to such displays. Yet, except a few curious idlers, the 
 church was filled only with foreigners. 
 
MILITARY FETES. 
 
 241 
 
 We waited till the close of the ceremony, and saw the 
 brilliant cortege issue from the church, with Prince 
 Lichtenstein at its head. The crowd in the square of 
 St. Mark looked on in silence. Not a voice was heard 
 from the multitude. In vain the drums beat, and the 
 banners waved. Not a shout, not a cheer could be wrung 
 from the soul of a crushed and indignant people. The 
 conquerors were left to enjoy their triumph alone. 
 
 Yesterday, the city burst out again into a new display, 
 more brilliant than before. The emperor had born to 
 him a son, who would be the heir to the throne of 
 Austria. The city was illuminated. Thousands of lights 
 shone in the windows of palaces, and were reflected on 
 the waters. Yet, as we sailed along the Grand Canal, 
 we marked long ranges of palaces where not a taper 
 shone. The bands of all the regiments, numbering 
 several hundred performers, were mustered on the square 
 of St. Mark, and tried to charm the sad and silent 
 Italians. But all in vain. The square was thronged. 
 All Yenice was there. But the people kept walking up 
 and down the pavement, but said not a word. Not a 
 response was given to those wild Tyrolean airs which 
 seemed enough to send a thrill through everywein. 
 
 This mutual dislike and hatred are so manifest to every 
 observer as to be most painful. Of course it cannot 
 break out into open collision. There are no plots nor 
 insurrections. But the feeling of the people shows itself 
 in a hundred little ways. If the Austrian oflicers frequent 
 
 11 
 
242 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 a particular cafe, the Venetians keep aloof. A secret 
 disdain is marked in their silence and reserve, and in 
 their quiet, dignified repulse of all advances. A trifling 
 incident will show how this feeling betrays itself. The 
 other evening we were sitting on the Piazza of St. Mark, 
 listening to the music. As it was in the open square, the 
 crowd was a mixed one. At our side were a couple 
 of officers sipping their coffee. In moving his chair, 
 one of them overturned the little stand and precipi- 
 tated his cup upon the dress of a lady who sat behind 
 him. Instantly he sprang to his feet, with a humble 
 apology for the unfortunate accident. The lady mode 
 no reply. She answered not a word. She did not even 
 deign him a glance of her eye, nor bend her haughty 
 neck. The officer blushed to his eyes. He was embar- 
 rassed and confused. But what could he do ? It was 
 impossible to pick a quarrel with a lady, or to resent her 
 quiet scorn. There was nothing for him but to bear it 
 as he might, and try to hide his mortification and shame. 
 
 Some of my readers may say, It was good enough for 
 him, and rejoice to hear of his mortified pride. I should 
 feel so, had I not seen lately so much of the Austrian 
 officers, and marked how painful is their position, and 
 how keenly they feel it. My observation for the last 
 month has led me to form a very high opinion of the 
 personnel of the Austrian army. Its order and discipline 
 are admirable. In all the Austrian dominions I do not 
 remember to have seen a single drunken soldier, nor one 
 
BOMBARDMENT' AND POLITICAL EXECUTIONS. 243 
 
 who was rude in his behavior. The officers whom we 
 have met in Prague, Vienna, Trieste, and Venice, have 
 been without exception polite and gentlemanly. In Italy 
 it is evident that they feel the awkwardness of their 
 position, as being quartered over a subject nation, and 
 they seem to try to do everything to conciliate the good 
 will of the people. But the wound cannot be healed by 
 mere politeness and amiability. The trouble lies deeper. 
 It is not in the want of kind dispositions on their part, 
 but they are the instruments of an iron political system, 
 which they can neither check nor control. It is the old 
 plea of political necessity, the love of power and domi- 
 nion, which forces Austria to keep her gripe upon Italy, 
 and which sooner or later will lead to a deadly conflict. 
 Painful as it is to see this mutual hatred of two peoples, 
 both brave and worthy, of respect, yet it cannot be 
 otherwise. How can a native of V enice forget what his 
 city has suffered from Austria ? The conflict is too 
 recent to be forgotten. It is only nine years since Venice 
 was bombarded. Often in visiting palaces we see round 
 places in the pavement, where the balls fell crashing 
 through the marble floor. These things are too fresh 
 to be forgotten. This people cannot blot from their 
 memories the horrors of war, nor the severities which 
 followed. 
 
 In visiting the Champ de Mars — an open square a 
 little without the city — our guide informed us that this 
 was long a favorite resort of the Venetians, until after it 
 
244 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES.^ r 
 
 was made the scene of political executions. One of the 
 last victims was a lawyer of Venice, who had been 
 discovered in some treasonable correspondence with 
 Mazzini. After his condemnation, he was, according to 
 an old barbarous rule, exposed for two days in a cell 
 which was open to the public, where the people could 
 crowd to see him, and stare at him behind his grate like 
 a lion in a cage. After this diabolical torture, he was 
 taken out and executed on the Champ de Mars. Since that 
 day the Venetians have shunned the place with horror. 
 
 The time must come when all this long-smothered 
 hatred will burst forth. Some will anticipate such a 
 struggle, not only without regret, but with eager expecta- 
 tion and a fierce joy. I confess I feel far otherwise. For 
 the woes of war do not fall on those who have been 
 guilty of the great political crime. These officers are 
 not to blame for the oppression of Italy. Much less are 
 these poor soldiers — brave mountaineers from the Tyrol, 
 or simple peasants from Hungary and Bohemia. Yet, 
 in the event of another revolution, these soldiers and the 
 people of V enice would be found butchering each other. 
 Such a struggle I cannot contemplate without a shudder. 
 I turn away my eyes from it. And yet looking calmly 
 at the present condition of this unhappy state, I see not 
 how it is to be averted, except by the interposition of 
 Him with whom all things are possible, and who may 
 yet restore Venice and Italy to freedom without this 
 terrible baptism of blood. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Verona — Its Amphitheatre— Congress of Verona — The City 
 
 STRONGLY FORTIFIED— CAMPAIGN OF 1848 — PROBABLE TACTICS IN 
 Case of another War — Milan and its Cathedral. 
 
 Lake Como, August 26, 1858. 
 
 We entered Venice by water and left it by land. A 
 long, low bridge of arches spans the broad Lagune, 
 over which the train rolls out into the plains of Lom- 
 bardy. Seated by the window, we kept looking back at 
 the receding domes and towers of the city. At length, 
 we touched the solid ground, and sped away over the 
 boundless plain. It was early morning. The sun had 
 just waked the dew from the grass, and filled the air 
 with the perfume of flowers and the song of birds. 
 Again the heavens smiled upon us. W e looked up into a 
 soft, blue sky. On our right were the glorious moun- 
 tains, which stand like a mighty wall along the north of 
 Italy, to guard the enchanted ground. Thus, with every 
 sense intoxicated, we swept on over plains which had 
 been trodden by Roman armies, and past cities famed in 
 Roman and V enetian story. 
 
 As our time was limited, we could only give a distant 
 and regretful look to Padua and Vicenza. But we could 
 not thus pass by the Amphitheatre of V erona. Here we 
 
 245 
 
246 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 were set down at eleven o’clock, and at once shouted for 
 a carriage to take us around the town. Of course you 
 think you see us straightway riding under the arches of 
 the mighty arena, and there musing like two romantic 
 travellers. Not a bit of it. The first sight we wished 
 to see was a good hotel, for, as we had left Venice early 
 in the morning, we were like famished wolves. Hunger 
 is a dreadful killer of romance, and just then we 
 were in no mood for enjoying either poetry or his- 
 tory. “ Coachman, quick ! gallop straight to the inn.” 
 We were soon there, and a bountiful table restored us to 
 a better frame of mind, and prepared us for the proper 
 business of a tourist. As dear old Christopher N orth 
 used to say, “ With a day’s work before one, there is 
 nothing like the deep, broad basis of breakfast.” This 
 first duty of man was very heartily and satisfactorily 
 performed, and then we felt sufficiently revived for his- 
 torical researches and sentimental emotions. Now we 
 began, with fond and tender interest, to haunt old 
 *tombs, and churches, and palaces. Verona has a double 
 charm, from its great natural beauty, and its rich histori- 
 cal associations. It is very picturesquely situated, being 
 surrounded by hills, and in full view of the snowy Alps. 
 It is divided into two cities, cleft in twain by the foam- 
 ing Adige, which comes down from the mountains and 
 rushes through it, swift as the 41 arrowy Rhone.” It is 
 an old Roman city, and still retains many traces of the 
 imperial people. Several of the streets are spanned by 
 
AMPHITHEATRE OF VERONA. 
 
 24 1 
 
 arches of ponderous stone, the work of their giant 
 hands. But the greatest monument which they have 
 left is the Amphitheatre, which, though not so large, is 
 much more perfectly preserved than the Coliseum at 
 Rome. Here the gladiators fought. We entered the 
 dens in which the wild beasts were kept, gloomy vaults 
 which once shook with the roar of African lions, and out 
 of which tigers bounded into the arena. Here, where 
 we stand, was the tribune of the emperor, from which he 
 could look down on the horrid sight. Around him were 
 thirty thousand spectators; and murmurs of applause, 
 and shouts of triumph ran along these stony seats at the 
 spectacle of some dying gladiator 
 
 “ Butchered to make a Roman holiday.” 
 
 The middle ages, too, have left their traces here. The 
 Piazza dei Signori is surrounded with old palaces that 
 belonged to ancient families that were once powerful 
 in the north of Italy. Here are buried the Scaligers — 
 once the princes of Verona. Bold knights were they, 
 
 “ Braver ne’er to battle rode.” 
 
 But now their glory and their pride are gone. Their 
 bones are dust, and all that remains of them is but a 
 melancholy tomb ! 
 
 But Verona has more cheerful sights, ana more plea- 
 sant memories. I have not seen a gayer spectacle than 
 the Piazza del Erbe, or flower market, when filled with 
 
248 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 pretty maids from all the country round, selling fruits 
 and flowers, so that the whole square blossoms like a 
 huge bouquet of roses. 
 
 In these streets, too, Shakspeare has made to walk 
 his “Two Gentlemen of Verona.” Our coachman, 
 faithful to the duty of hunting up every spot named in 
 tradition, drove us past the palace of the Capulets — the 
 very one in which lived the gentle Juliet! So he 
 assured us. And who would doubt the word of an 
 Italian cicerone ? I for one would not be guilty of such 
 unbelief. So I looked up to the old walls with all due 
 reverence, and fancied I almost saw the form of Juliet 
 stealing out upon the balcony, in the moonlight, and 
 heard her musical voice whispering to her faithful 
 Romeo. 
 
 Verona has several quaint old churches, which are 
 worthy to be sought out by the curious traveller. The 
 most remarkable of these is dedicated to a black man, St. 
 Zeno ! His statue still adorns the edifice, and its flat 
 nose and thick lips show him to have been a full-blooded 
 African. It is a good proof that the primitive church 
 paid no respect to race, when the honors of saintship 
 were thus conferred on “ a gentleman of color.” 
 
 These churches are remarkable, also, for a style of 
 architecture which is peculiar, and some would think 
 grotesque. The walls are built of alternate layers of 
 white stone and red brick, which gives them a striped 
 appearance. To complete the strange effect, the columns 
 
SINGULAR ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 249 
 
 in front rest their solid feet upon the backs of lions ! so 
 that it requires but little imagination to animate the 
 whole structure ; to imagine it a huge zebra or a 
 cameleopard, couchant, but, if startled, ready to spring 
 up and run away. Yet, strange to say, the effect of such 
 a building Aere, with all its Italian surroundings, is not 
 unpleasing. It is a style which I have met nowhere but 
 in Italy, and here in but a few towns. Ten years ago, I 
 saw several such churches in Parma. There is one 
 example of this in America — the church of Dr. Bellows, 
 in New York. But whether such an architecture will 
 bear to cross the sea, is a question. There are edifices 
 which harmonize only with a peculiar climate and people, 
 and with their historical or religious associations. Thus, 
 pyramids belong to Egypt, and pagodas to China 
 and Japan; and it would be as difficult to transport 
 either to the New World, as to make palm trees 
 flourish in the Central Park, as well as in their native 
 deserts. 
 
 The political condition of Yerona, as of all Lombardy, 
 is sad enough. The city has been honored by the pre- 
 sence of many powerful princes, but all together seem to 
 have done little for its liberties. Here was held the fa- 
 mous Congress of Yerona. We saw the palace in which 
 the allied sovereigns assembled in 1822 to carry out the po- 
 litical interference in the affairs of other nations, which had 
 been adopted as the settled policy of the Holy Alliance. 
 The subjects here discussed were principally the affairs 
 
 11 * 
 
250 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 of Greece, and Spain, and Portugal. The result of 
 these deliberations was the invasion of Spain by a French 
 army the following year, to put down the constitution. 
 
 Seldom has there been an assembly on whose fiat 
 more depended. Yet this Council of Kings was com- 
 posed, in great part, at least, of very common and 
 very dull men. The most remarkable personages were 
 not the sovereigns, but the ministers who attended them, 
 or who represented absent monarchs, as the Duke of 
 Wellington appeared for the majesty of England. One 
 who was a looker on in Y erona at the time, says : 
 
 “ Whilst looking at the cluster of crowned heads, it 
 was impossible not to remark that the absolute lords of 
 so many millions of men had not only nothing to distin- 
 guish them from the common race of mankind, but were, 
 in appearance, inferior to what might be expected from 
 the same number of gentlemen taken at hazard from any 
 society in Europe. Nor was there to be seen a trait 
 expressive of any great or attractive quality in all those 
 who were to be the sources of so much happiness or 
 misery to so large a portion of the civilized world. Yet 
 some of these were notoriously good men in their private 
 capacity, and scarcely one of them has been distinguished 
 for vices eminently pernicious to society, or any other 
 than the venial failings of humanity ; or, as a writer of 
 no democratic tendency says of them, c all excellent per- 
 sons in private life, all scourges of the countries sub- 
 mitted to their sway !’ 
 
I HE CONGRESS OF VERONA. 
 
 ‘251 
 
 “ Of the Sovereigns at Verona, the Emperor Alexan- 
 der took the most pains to ingratiate himself with the 
 Veronese, by rambling about in pretended incognito, 
 and seizing the hands of the ladies whom he happened 
 to encounter in the streets, or giving sequins to the 
 boys at play. He one day amused himself with carrying 
 up the coffee to his brother of Austria, and it was some 
 time before Francis discovered that he was waited upon 
 by an emperor in disguise. 
 
 “ To prepare for the Congress two hundred policemen 
 were dispatched from Venice to Verona, and two hun- 
 dred from Milan. The number of troops in the city and 
 round it amounted to 10,000. The principal employment 
 of the police was to watch the proceedings of those to 
 whom it was not desirable the Italians should have pro- 
 miscuous access. The Emperor Alexander and the 
 Duke of Wellington, were the especial objects of their 
 care. The latter peculiarly so ; for he had been much 
 cheered in St. Mark’s Square at Venice, and had become, 
 unwittingly no doubt, very popular by appearing in the 
 pit at the opera-house there in plain clothes.” * 
 
 Verona is strongly fortified, and is one of the central 
 positions of the Austrian army. J list outside the walls, 
 the sanguinary battle of St. Lucia, was fought with the 
 Sardinians, in May, 1848. But those great days of revo- 
 lution and of hope are over, and the black eagle now 
 floats over fortress and field. 
 
 * Lord Broughton’s Italy. 
 
252 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 These political reflections cast a shadow over the whole 
 of Lombardy. They rest like a cloud on the brow of 
 the Alps, and sink drooping to the plains below. The 
 more beautiful grows the landscape, the darker seems 
 the shadow which rests over the land. Soon after we 
 left Verona, we came in sight of the Lago di Garda, 
 which lies so calmly at the foot of the Alps, seeming to 
 rest its head upon their breast, and reflecting in its broad 
 mirror, at once, the mountain and the sky. Yet even 
 this tranquil scene is darkened by the frowning fortress 
 of Peschiera, where the drum-beat summons to arms, 
 not Italians, but the conquerors of Italy. It was sad to 
 mark these signs of Austrian power reestablished here 
 on these shores, which have witnessed so many of their 
 signal defeats, which have echoed the thunder of Rivoli 
 and of Castiglione. 
 
 In our railway carriage was a young Italian, whose 
 blood boiled at these signs of the oppression of his 
 country, He spoke bitterly, as he pomted out the fort- 
 ress of Brescia, where the butcher Ilaynau perpetrated a 
 cowardly massacre of the people, in 1849. The Italians, 
 he said, could never be reconciled tr the Austrian yoke. 
 For the present they were silent, for they had no power 
 to help themselves. But the hatred of the people to 
 their foreign masters remained the same. “The Aus- 
 trians know it well,” he said. *' They know that be- 
 tween them and us there is eternal war ; and that the 
 day that we get the power, they wiU be driven from the 
 
THE CAMPAIGN OF 1848. 
 
 253 
 
 land. It may be long to wait ; but the day will come, 
 and then will be witnessed a terrible retribution 1” 
 
 W e had been riding over the theatre of the campaign 
 of 1848, and had talked much of the triumphs and 
 reverses of that eventful summer. With sad thoughts 
 we recalled those days w r hen the prize of Italian liberty, 
 the dream of poets and patriots, was in the hands of the 
 victorious people, and was lost through the incapacity 
 of their leaders, and their own unhappy divisions. 
 
 Ten years ago it seemed as if the set time of God to 
 favor the nations had come. The spring of that memor- 
 able year was hailed as the dawn of universal liberty. 
 The revolution in Paris was the morning gun that startled 
 Europe, but even that hardly caused such astonishment 
 as when an echo came back from Vienna. Then the 
 people of Milan rose upon the Austrian troops. They 
 fought from house to house, and from street to street, 
 and even on the roof of the Cathedral, till the popular 
 fury prevailed over a disciplined soldiery, and Radetzky, 
 with his whole army, defiled out of the city gates by 
 night, and retreated across the plains of Lombardy. 
 Then, indeed, it seemed that the great battle was Avon. 
 Italy was free, and the joy of the people knew no 
 bounds. With exultant hearts they thronged to the 
 Cathedral to give solemn thanks to God for their 
 victory. 
 
 To SAvell the general triumph, hardly had Radetzky 
 fled from Milan, before Charles Albert crossed the 
 
254 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 frontier with a Sardinian army in hot pursuit. At every 
 step numbers were added to the invading host. The 
 revolutionary enthusiasm had spread throughout the 
 Peninsula. The watch-fires were blazing along the 
 Apennines, and Tuscans, and Romans, and Neapolitans 
 marched to join the glorious army of liberty. At the 
 same time the Italian regiments in the Austrian army 
 deserted their flag. Thus weakened in numbers and 
 dispirited by defeat, Radetzky withdrew his shattered 
 troops within the walls of Mantua, while the King 
 of Sardinia mustered an array of nearly a hundred 
 thousand men, in all the confidence of victory. Little 
 did he think that, in a few weeks, that magnificent army 
 would be scattered like the autumn leaves ! 
 
 At that moment it seemed to human eye as if the 
 power of Austria in Italy was broken forever. Indeed, the 
 Cabinet of Vienna itself felt that the battle was lost, and 
 sought, in terms .almost abject and humiliating, to make 
 peace with the victorious people. A commissioner from 
 the emperor appeared with a formal proposition to 
 Charles Albert to give up the whole of Lombardy, if 
 she would but assume her portion of the public debt. 
 Austria offered to divide the territory of Northern Italy 
 by the line of the Adige, surrendering Lombardy to 
 Sardinia, while she retained only the Venetian territory. 
 The king, who knew the hazards of battle, was strongly 
 inclined to accept these terms, but the fiery Italians 
 denounced the proposal as a betrayal of Venice. They 
 
THE CAMPAIGN OF 1848 . 
 
 255 
 
 would have all of Italy or none. And so, finally, they 
 had none. 
 
 All this while the veteran Radetzky kept behind the 
 walls of Mantua and Verona, biding his time. Charles 
 Albert, distracted by these negotiations, and not knowing 
 very well how to conduct a vigorous campaign, sat 
 down before the walls of Mantua. Now a siege of 
 Mantua is about as hopeless an undertaking as would be 
 a siege of Gibraltar. It is surrounded by a network 
 of streams, and can only be approached over bridges. 
 Here the Austrian chief, secure behind his bastions, 
 calmly awaited the arrival of reinforcements. In a few 
 weeks the Austrian bugles were heard in the passes of the 
 Tyrol, and their long columns came winding down into 
 the plains of Italy. The arrival of these fresh battalions 
 put the Austrians in condition to take the field, and 
 Radetzky, though an old man, well stricken in years, 
 did not lose a moment. Issuing from his stronghold, he 
 completely outgeneralled Charles Albert, turned his 
 flank, and attacked him in the rear. In a fortnight he 
 fought half-a-dozen battles, and was victorious in every 
 one, driving the Piedmontese army before him from 
 Mantua to Milan, and across the frontier into Sardinia. 
 Thus in a few short days, the glorious prize of Italian 
 liberty was lost, and that beautiful territory again 
 consigned to years of foreign dominion. 
 
 These are bitter memories. Never had a people such 
 an opportunity to be free. The juncture was one which 
 
256 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 might not recur again in a century. Yet all was lost 
 through the divisions of the people and the weakness and 
 irresolution of their leader. Charles Albert was neither 
 a traitor nor a coward. He was personally brave, as he 
 showed in every battle, and afterward on the fatal field 
 of Novara, but he lacked the promptness and energy, 
 the quickness of perception and rapidity of execution, 
 which are decisive in war. Had he possessed the skill — 
 not of Napoleon, but of a good French general, like 
 Changarnier or Lamoriciere, probably the Austrians 
 would have lost Italy forever. 
 
 Reflecting on these great disasters, and surveying the 
 field of battle, where the fate of Italy has been decided 
 once, and may be decided again, it has seemed to me that 
 what Italy needs to fight successfully a war of liberty, is 
 a great military genius to organize and direct her wild 
 enthusiasm and her wasted strength. 
 
 But the blame of that disastrous campaign does not 
 belong to Charles Albert alone, but to the people by 
 whom he was feebly supported. In the first flush of 
 revolution the people fought with astonishing bravery, 
 but that first success spoiled them. They felt that the 
 battle was gained, and began to dispute about the spoils 
 of war before they had made sure of the victory. I was 
 in Milan ten years ago, when the revolution was 
 triumphant. Not an Austrian was to be seen. The 
 shop windows were filled with caricatures of Radetzky. 
 But what were the people about ? Oh, they were sitting 
 
T A ClIC’S IN CASE OF ANOTHER WAR. 
 
 257 
 
 in the cafes, or walking in the public gardens, discussing 
 whether they should unite Lombardy to Sardinia, or 
 should have a Republic ! “ But,” I said to the eager 
 
 patriots, “ you are not yet sure to have a country to 
 dispose of. While you are disputing, the Austrians may 
 be upon you.” Ha, ha, ha ! They laughed at the very 
 idea. Here was the ruin of the Italian cause. They 
 were talking when they ought to have been lighting. It 
 was time enough to decide upon the form of government 
 when the battle of liberty was gained. But the mercu- 
 rial Italians gabbled politics till the Austrian cannon 
 were thundering at their gates. Heaven grant that they 
 may learn wisdom from this bitter experience ! 
 
 The issue of the campaign of 1848 shows that it will 
 never be an easy matter to drive the Austrians out of 
 Italy. Even if the people were to rise again in every 
 city, and were again victorious ; if the Sardinians again 
 should march to the Holy War ; nay, if the French were 
 to cross the Alps and pour down in countless numbers 
 on the plains of Lombardy, still victory would be by no 
 means certain. At first these combined forces might 
 carry all before them. But then it is probable the 
 Austrians would repeat the tactics of Radetzky in 1848. 
 If forced to abandon Milan, they would fall back upon 
 Mantua and Verona. And then would come the tug of 
 war. If you look on the map, you will see that there 
 the Austrians occupy one of the strongest military 
 positions in all Europe, resting on four strong fortresses, 
 
258 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 which are so situated as to support each other. V erona 
 and Mantua, with Legnago and Peschiera, stand at the 
 angles of a square, or rhomboid. Their ramparts, brist- 
 ling with cannon, appear like a vast battalion thrown into 
 a hollow square to repel a charge of cavalry. This 
 strong position cannot be attacked with much prospect 
 of success — or at least of immediate success. It cost 
 the great Napoleon nine months to take Mantua, and 
 so well did he know its importance, that when once he 
 got it, he never gave it up until he lost his throne. 
 
 This almost impregnable military position is in direct 
 communication with Austria by the passes of the Tyrol. 
 Here, then, an Austrian army would wait in all security, 
 as Radetzky waited, endeavoring only to maintain itself 
 until it wearied out the enemy, or until some unguarded 
 movement enabled it to strike a decisive blow. 
 
 But not only is this a very strong position for defence, 
 it is one of great danger to an enemy. An invading 
 army, attempting to drive the Austrians out of Lom- 
 bardy, must advance into this network of fortresses, 
 where any false step exposes it to destruction. Napoleon 
 once got caught here and extricated himself only by a 
 succession of battles and victories. All obstacles were 
 overcome by his extraordinary military genius. But 
 Napoleon is dead, and he has left no successor. 
 
 In default of such marvellous skill, there is no resource 
 but in an overwhelming strength. The invading army 
 must be so superior in numbers that it can afford to 
 
MILA3J. 
 
 259 
 
 divide, and leave one great division to beleaguer Mantua 
 and Verona, while another, aided by a fleet in the Adriatic, 
 marches upon V enice, or even upon Vienna. Otherwise, 
 if the forces are but equal, as the advantages of position 
 are all on the side of Austria, nothing but the most 
 extraordinary military combinations, or some unaccount- 
 able fortune of war, can make the balance incline to the 
 other side. 
 
 It was night when we reached Milan, and were whirled 
 along the Corso to the Hotel de la Ville. I will not 
 linger long to describe the Lombard capital. It is a large 
 and prosperous city, but as it lies on a plain, its general 
 appearance is in no wise grand or imposing. Of its 
 sights, what need that I speak — of the Arch of Napoleon, 
 built to commemorate the completion of the Simplon 
 road over the Alps — of the Last Supper of Leonardo da 
 Vinci — and the ancient church of St. Ambrose, where 
 }hat heroic father debarred the Emperor Theodosius 
 from entering the house of God till he had repented of 
 his crimes; and where, among other holy relics, they 
 keep the brazen serpent which Moses set up in the 
 wilderness, and which will open its fiery lips and hiss at 
 the judgment day ! 
 
 These are objects of interest, and yet for me Milan 
 contains but one great sight, beside which all else sinks 
 into insignificance. It is the Cathedral, 
 
 “ The vast and wondrous dome, 
 
 Compared to which Diana’s temple was a cell.” 
 
260 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES 
 
 The Basilica of Milan is one of the few great temples 
 which it is worth crossing the Atlantic to see. It covers 
 nearly three acres in extent, and has been hundreds of 
 years in building. Go where you will, within many 
 miles, you cannot lose sight of it. Riding around the 
 ramparts, from every point this mighty form is seen 
 rising up in the heart of the city, almost as abrupt and 
 lofty as the castle of Edinburgh. Approach it, and it 
 loses none of its majesty. Enter the open door, and you 
 are awed at the sight. The long-drawn aisle, the rows 
 of massive columns on either hand, the lofty ceiling, the 
 whole interior so vast and dim, give an impression of 
 majesty such as I have received from no other temple 
 reared by human hands, or have found in St. Peter’s alone. 
 
 But to get the full impression of this vast pile, one 
 should see it at night, and by the light of the full moon. 
 It is built of white marble, and covered with thousands 
 of pointed spires, on which are clustered statues of all 
 the saints of Christendom. And at night, when the pale 
 moonlight falls quivering on every shaft and pinnacle, the 
 whole glorious form seems transfigured. As I walked 
 beneath it at such an hour, it seemed a fair vision of 
 some brighter world than ours, such a one as John saw, 
 when he described the New Jerusalem, let down from 
 God out of heaven ! 
 
 But even this temple is invaded by soldiers, and flashes 
 with arms and waving banners. Yesterday we were 
 present at a brilliant spectacle in the Cathedral, when a 
 
THE ARCHDUKE MAXIMILIAN. 
 
 261 
 
 sacred Te Deum was performed for the birth of a son to 
 the Emperor of Austria. Of course the army was out in 
 full array. Hundreds of officers stood along the nave in 
 scarlet and gold. The Viceroy came in state, and was 
 received by the Archbishop. The organ blew its blast, 
 and the cannon roared, but from the people not a voice 
 was heard — not a shout, nor a viva ! There was no 
 cheering, no enthusiasm. We thought it, on the whole, 
 a very spiritless affair, and were quite willing to leave 
 Milan without waiting to see the illumination in the 
 evening. 
 
 The Austrian government is fully aware of the hatred 
 of the people. After having once narrowly escaped the 
 loss of Italy, it now endeavors to conciliate its subject 
 population. The new Viceroy is the Archduke Maximi- 
 lian, a brother to the Emperor, a young man of marked 
 ability, and of principles exceedingly liberal for one of a 
 royal family. He has entered upon his office with a reso- 
 lute determination to introduce many needed reforms, 
 and to give to Lombardy a government of which its 
 people cannot complain. 
 
 -All this is well meant, and no doubt will make him 
 personally popular. But that does not remove the diffi- 
 culty. Amiable qualities, and kind dispositions, are of 
 little avail when thwarted by the stern necessities of an 
 inflexible political system. Already the young Viceroy 
 finds himself hampered by restrictions at Vienna. 
 He finds too, that it is not so easy to make Italians 
 
262 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 contented with a foreign yoke, and he sometimes feels 
 like abandoning the attempt in despair. “Whatever 
 I may do for this people,” he says, “to the Italians 
 I am still a German.” Here he touches the vital point. 
 The question is not whether Austria governs well or ill, 
 but what right she has to govern at all. “ Italy for the 
 Italians,” is the cry of every patriot from Venice to 
 Naples, and this appeal for liberty and independence will 
 not be satisfied while Austrians guard the square of St. 
 Mark and the citadel of Milan. 
 
 My soul is sick of all this array of force to oppress a 
 brave and noble people. We have left the city to seek 
 more peaceful thoughts in the presence of Nature. 
 Here, on Lake Como, we are on the borders of Switzer- 
 land, and w T e feel a new life as w T e breathe the free air of 
 the hills. Lake Como is surrounded with mountains, 
 whose sides are sprinkled over with cottages, while 
 many a princely villa dots its rocky shores. This, 
 indeed, is a place of rest. Here many have sought a 
 retreat from the world, to pass the rest of their days in 
 tranquillity and peace. Gliding over its waters, many a 
 restless spirit has felt, like Byron, 
 
 “ This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
 To bear me from destruction.” 
 
 And here, for a few hours among these hills, we will cease 
 to think of all the oppressions that are done under the 
 sun, and try to forget the long tale of misery and crime. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Lakes Como and Maggiore — The Battle-Field of Novara — Abdica- 
 tion of Charles Albert — His Voluntary Exile and Death — 
 Turin — The King and the People — Hatred of the Austrians — 
 Part in the Russian War — Crossing Mont Cenis. 
 
 Chambery, Sept. 1, 1858. 
 
 The lakes Como and Maggiore derive their peculiar 
 charm from the union, of Swiss and Italian scenery. 
 Their heads lie bosomed in the snowy Alps, wdiile, as 
 they stretch away to the south, Nature seems to relent 
 from her sternness, the mountains sink down into hills, 
 and thence decline into those soft, sunny slopes which 
 mark the land of the olive and the vine. We sailed up 
 the whole length of Lake Como, to the very entrance of 
 the Splugen pass, and returned down the lake the next 
 morning. Thus we saw it twice, at different hours, and 
 by different lights, at sunrise and at sunset, and by the 
 round, full moon. Perhaps the most impressive moment 
 was just “ twixt light and dark,” when the gathering 
 gloom of evening began to lift, as the mountains, like 
 clouds, 
 
 “ Turned their silver linings to the night.” 
 
 We had been sitting for hours upon deck, watching the 
 
 263 
 
264 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 giant forms, as they appeared by the light of the dying 
 day. We marked the sunset as it climbed their rugged 
 sides, and lingered on their cold peaks. At length the 
 last ray disappeared. “ It was gone, and all was grey.” 
 Then the mountains grew large and black, and the 
 shadows fell heavy on the waters. But soon a faint 
 silver ray shot upward from behind, and gleamed along 
 the tall feathery pines, that fringed the summits. Higher 
 and higher rose the queen of night, till she touched the 
 mountain’s head, and soared into the sky, casting down 
 her full-orbed radiance upon the lake below, which quiv- 
 ered beneath such a flood of glory, as if she felt a thrill 
 of hwe within her chilly breast. * 
 
 When the sun arose, we were again upon the lake, 
 returning to the town of Como, which lies at its foot, 
 from which a diligence brought us over the hills to Lake 
 Maggiore. It is an upland region, from which we caught 
 many a view of the far-off mountains, and the waters 
 that lie between. Lake Maggiore, as its name imports, 
 is larger than her sister Como, yet not more beautiful, 
 except for those two green islets, Isola Madre, and Isola 
 Bella, which, with their terraced gardens, form an 
 object so striking and picturesque in the midst of the 
 waters. 
 
 Lake Maggiore belongs to three countries. Switzer- 
 land looks down upon it from her Alpine home. Austria, 
 as master of Lombardy, guards it on the east, and Sar- 
 dinia on the west. We were glad to get out of that 
 
THE WAR RENEWED. 
 
 2C5 
 
 wide empire, whose name is synonymous with despotism, 
 and to find ourselves once more in a free country. From 
 Arona, at the foot of Lake Maggiore, a railway brought 
 us on to Novara — the scene of the last battle between 
 the Austrians and Sardinians in 1849. As we traversed 
 the field, now silent and peaceful, we could not but recall 
 the scenes of that fatal day, on which the King of Sardi- 
 nia lost his throne, and the last hope of Italy perished. 
 
 When, after the disastrous campaign of 1848, Charles 
 Albert was driven out of Lombardy, he entered into an 
 armistice with Marshal Radetzky, which, of course, 
 both expected would be the prelude to a definite and 
 permanent peace. But when the king got back to Turin, 
 he found that he had raised a storm which he could not 
 quell. Stung by their defeat, and conscious that it was 
 not owing to any want of valor on their part, the brave 
 Piedmontese burned for another chance to wipe out the 
 national disgrace. This ardor was kept up by the 
 excitement in other parts of Italy. The whole peninsula 
 was still agitated, and young patriots were burning to 
 renew the war of liberty. The popular enthusiasm was 
 too strong to be resisted. If violently repressed, it 
 threatened to break out into Republicanism. The Sar- 
 dinian parliament came together on the first of F ebruary, 
 and the king addressed the chambers in a speech full of 
 Italian fire, in which he pointed distinctly to the neces- 
 sity of again resorting to arms. 
 
 By the terms of the armistice it had been agreed that 
 
 12 
 
266 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 if either party^should decide to resume hostilities, it 
 should give the other eight days’ notice. Charles Albert 
 determined to open the campaign on the 20th of March, 
 and accordingly on the 1 2th a courier was sent off with all 
 speed from Turin to Milan to bear the formal declaration. 
 
 Marshal Radetzky had been expecting this issue, and 
 it did not take him by surprise. The old-war horse 
 snuffed the battle from afar. Never was tidings more 
 eagerly welcomed than this by the garrison of Milan, 
 who hailed it as a new call to victory and glory. 
 Though Radetzky had grown grey in arms (he was now 
 eighty-three years old), and might claim exemption from 
 the fatigues of a new campaign, he acted with a promp- 
 titude and energy which his enemies might admire, but 
 certainly did not imitate. Orders were at once sent off 
 to the Austrian detachments to leave small garrisons in 
 the towns, and march with their whole force to join him. 
 This course, indeed, involved the danger of insurrections 
 in his rear. He well knew that if he experienced any 
 check, the whole country would break out in another 
 revolution. In fact, the people did rise in Brescia, and 
 overpowered the garrison, and were for several days 
 masters of the place, until Haynau marched upon them 
 from Venice, and put down the revolt by a horrid mas- 
 sacre. But Radetzky chose to run the risk for the sake 
 of the main chance. He knew that if he could defeat 
 the Sardinians in one pitched battle, all these isolated 
 insurrections could be easily suppressed, and with that 
 
THE AUSTRIANS INVADE PIEDMONT. 
 
 2G7 
 
 * 
 
 decision, which shows him to have been a thorough mas- 
 ter of war, he determined to concentrate his whole force 
 and march straight against the enemy. Of the troops 
 in Milan, he left but a small garrison in the citadel, and 
 marched out with all the rest of his army. Yet he did not 
 take the direct road to Turin, but left by the Roman 
 gate, which led some who had seen him thus depart a 
 year before, to jump to the conclusion that he was going 
 to retreat. But they little understood him. lie kept 
 his counsel, and allowed none to penetrate his designs. 
 He marched south, as he had ordered the several divi- 
 sions of his army to concentrate at Pavia, a city close to 
 the Piedmontese frontier. His orders had been promptly 
 obeyed. Exact at the hour, every division entered the 
 appointed place of rendezvous. On the night of the 
 19th, the whole army was concentrated around Pavia, 
 nearly 70,000 men, with over 200 cannon. At twelve 
 o’clock the next day the armistice expired, and instantly 
 the order was given to march, and before night the 
 whole Austrian army was on the soil of Sardinia. 
 
 This easy entrance into the enemy’s country was a 
 great advantage gained. As they had to cross a river, 
 their passage might have been disputed, and a division of 
 the Piedmontese army had been appointed to hold them 
 in check. But it was not at its post. This unaccount- 
 able negligence, it was supposed, was owing to treachery, 
 and General Ramorino, who commanded this division, 
 was afterward tried by a court martial and shot. But 
 
2G8 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 to leave such a post in treacherous or incapable hands, 
 showed the wretched management which seemed to 
 preside over this whole campaign. 
 
 While the Austrians were thus moving in admirable 
 concert, every battalion in line, in the Sardinian camp 
 all was confusion. If the government had shown half 
 the energy and wisdom in preparing for war, that it had 
 shown of rashness in rushing into it, the result might 
 have been different. But its councils seemed infatuated. 
 Carried away by a popular tumult, it had declared 
 war when totally unprepared. It had, indeed, a 
 large army, and braver soldiers never followed their 
 chiefs to battle, but all the fruit of courage was lost 
 by want of organization. They had not even a leader in 
 whom they had confidence. They had applied for the 
 services of Marshal Bugeaud, the French general who 
 had been so distinguished in Africa, but he would not 
 accept, unless he could have supreme and absolute com- 
 mand, and this was thought to derogate from the Royal 
 dignity ; and finally they took up with a Polish general, 
 who had gained somcf distinction in the Revolution of 
 1831, and who undoubtedly possessed considerable 
 knowledge of the art of war, but who was wholly 
 ignorant of the country in which he was to fight, and 
 the materials which he was to command. He could not 
 even speak the language, and had to give his orders 
 through interpreters. Of a small, unimposing figure, 
 there was nothing about him to inspire confidence in an 
 
THE BATTLE OF NOVARA. 
 
 269 
 
 army to which he was a stranger. The consequence 
 was, that, while every Austrian soldier had unbounded 
 confidence in his chief, which was itself a pledge of vic- 
 tory, the brave Piedmontese marched blindly into battle, 
 with nothing to rely upon but their own unfailing 
 courage. So unskillful were the combinations, that the 
 several divisions were left far apart, unsupported by each 
 other, by which they were surprised in detail ; and even 
 on the field of Novara, it is said that a large part of the 
 troops were not brought into battle at all, but stood, 
 waiting for orders, while the rest of the army was being 
 destroyed ! I find that the people here do not like to 
 speak of these events. They can not recall them without 
 shame and bitterness. The only redeeming thing on 
 that fatal day was the gallantry of the soldiers, and of 
 their unhappy king. To this no one bore higher testi- 
 mony than Radetzky himself. In his official report he 
 says: “The Piedmontese and Savoyards fought like 
 lions ; and the unfortunate Charles Albert threw himself 
 into the thickest of the danger upon every possible 
 opportunity. His two sons also fought with brilliant 
 courage.” 
 
 History presents few sadder spectacles than that of 
 Charles Albert on this day, when he lost his kingdom 
 and crown. When he saw that the battle was going 
 against him, he sought to die upon the field. All day long 
 he remained within musket-shot of the most exposed 
 position, one which was three times taken and retaken, 
 
270 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 and when General Durando took him by the arm, and 
 tried to draw him away, he replied : “ It is useless ; it is 
 my last day ; let me die !” But in vain he sought this 
 release, though he galloped madly here and there, turn- 
 ing wherever the battle raged. In Turin they still keep, 
 in the hall of armor, the body of the war-horse which he 
 rode, and it was with no common respect that I looked 
 upon the faithful steed which bore his master through 
 the carnage of that dreadful day. But death, which 
 seeks the happy, flies from the unfortunate. Though 
 four thousand of his brave soldiers lay dead and dying 
 around him, the unhappy king could not die. To his 
 sorrow and despair, he left the scene of battle alive, but 
 only to experience a slow, lingering death. That night, 
 when all was lost, the king sent for his two sons and his 
 generals, and when all were gathered around him, he 
 arose with mournful dignity, and said, “ Gentlemen, 
 fortune has betrayed your courage and my hopes ; our 
 army is dissolved ; it would be impossible to prolong 
 the struggle ; my task is accomplished, and I think I 
 shall render an important service by giving a last proof 
 of devotedness in abdicating in favor of my son, Victor 
 Emmanuel, Duke of Savoy. He will obtain from Austria 
 conditions of peace which she would refuse if treating 
 with me.” At these words all burst into tears. The 
 king alone was calm. His son, who found royalty thrust 
 upon him, implored his father to reconsider his decision ; 
 but he was inflexible. He embraced his sons, and 
 
THE KING ABDICATES THE WAR ENDED. 271 
 
 thanked all around him for their devotion and fidelity, 
 saying to them, “ I am no longer your king. Be faithful 
 and devoted to my son as you have been to me.” lie 
 then withdrew to write a letter of farewell to the queen, 
 which he charged his son to deliver into her own hand. 
 A little after midnight he left the palace, wrapped in a 
 cloak, with only a single attendant, and entered a car- 
 riage which was in waiting for him, and in a few hours 
 this man, so late at the head of an army and a kingdom, 
 had bid a final adieu to Italy ! 
 
 The next morning the young king had an interview 
 with Marshal Radetzky, and an armistice was agreed 
 upon, to be followed by immediate negotiations for a 
 permanent peace, the basis of which was a return to the 
 state of things before the war, renunciation by Sardinia 
 of all pretensions to Lombardy or Venice, and reim- 
 bursement to Austria of all the expenses of the war ! 
 Such was the issue of this memorable campaign, begun 
 and ended in five days ! The armistice was signed 
 March 24th, just one year from the time that Charles 
 Albert invaded Lombardy. Such, then, was the final 
 result of all the dreams and hopes of Italian patriots — 
 of the expenditure of so much treasure and so much 
 blood ! 
 
 Charles Albert retired to Portugal, where a few 
 months after he died of a broken heart. The last scene 
 was inexpressibly affecting. Far from his country and 
 his home, with not a member of his family beside him, 
 
272 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 attended only by one or two of his old officers, who w r ere 
 faithful to the last, he breathed out his heroic soul to 
 God. But wdien he was gone, they brought his body 
 back to bury it with solemn pomp. As we came on to 
 Turin that afternoon, we saw at a distance, on a lofty 
 height overlooking the valley, the church of Superga, 
 the burial-place of the Sardinian kings, where his body 
 now rests in peace after his stormy and troubled life. 
 
 History will do justice to this unhappy prince. Since 
 the disasters of 1848 and ’ 49 , there have not been want- 
 ing many to reproach him as having betrayed the cause 
 of Italian liberty. But it is well known that from early 
 years, from the time that he had been a member of the 
 society of the Carbonari, the regeneration of Italy had 
 been the dream of his life. But it was not till 1848 that 
 he saw a hope of its being realized. In endeavoring to 
 create the kingdom of Upper Italy, no doubt he was led 
 partly by ambition for the aggrandizement of the House 
 of Savoy, which he expected to see placed upon the 
 throne. Still it is but just to believe that with this per- 
 sonal ambition there "was mingled a patriotic devotion 
 to his country. 
 
 Ilis great error was to have attempted a work beyond 
 his powers. The crisis was one which called for the 
 very highest civil and military talents combined, and 
 those extraordinary endowments he did not possess. 
 Honest, true and brave, he had not those qualities which 
 awe and dazzle, and control an excitable people. Sad 
 
CHARACTER OF CHARLES ALBERT. 
 
 273 
 
 destiny of a king, thus in the very crisis of a nation’s 
 fate, to be intrusted with power which he knows not 
 how to use ; to reach forth to seize the sceptre of Italy, 
 and to grasp it with an incapable hand! Well might 
 this sovereign mourn the destiny which placed him in a 
 position so exalted and difficult, saying with Hamlet : 
 
 “The time is out of joint; 0 cursed spite, 
 
 That ever I was born to set it right !” 
 
 But if it were his misfortune not to be endowed with 
 those transcendent gifts which are always so rare among 
 mankind, let us at least do justice to his pure and patri- 
 otic character. Afterward, in his exile, he said with a 
 proud confidence in the purity of his motives, “ My country 
 may have had better princes than I, but none that loved her 
 more. To render her free, independent and great, I 
 have joyfully made every sacrifice, except those which 
 could not be made with honor. When I saw that mo- 
 ment arrive, I envied the lot of .Perrone and Passalac- 
 qua, [generals killed at Novara]. I sought death, but 
 I could not find it. Providence has not permitted the 
 regeneration of Italy to be accomplished to-day; I hope 
 that it is only deferred, and that a passing adversity will 
 but warn the Italian people another time to be more 
 united, in order to be invincible.” * 
 
 Turin is a very regular city, “ lying four square,” with 
 
 * See the character of Charles Albert, very fully vindicated in 
 the Revue des Deux Mondes , June and July, 1854. 
 
 12 * 
 
274 
 
 SUMMER FICTURES. 
 
 its streets crossing each other at right angles, and has 
 almost as much of a Quaker look as Philadelphia. It 
 has not the architectural magnificence of the old cities 
 of Italy, of Genoa, and Florence, and Venice, and Rome. 
 Still it boasts many imposing edifices. From our win- 
 dow in the Hotel de l’Europe, we looked down upon the 
 court of the Royal Palace, which is a vast pile, flanked 
 by a gallery of paintings and a hall of ancient armor. 
 
 But that which is better than great palaces or 
 churches, is the general appearance of prosperity, and 
 that erect and manly look which belongs only to a free 
 people. It is refreshing to find ourselves once more in 
 a free country. Here we begin to breathe again. The 
 capital stands in the valley of the Po, and in full view 
 of the Alps, and its people seem to drink in freedom 
 with the air of the mountains, and from the wild tor- 
 rents of their rapid rushing rivers. Here is no jealous 
 restriction of the press — no exclusion of foreign journals, 
 nor muzzling of those at home. Men read, and write, 
 and speak, as they please. There is no restraint upon 
 thought, or upon honest, manly tongues. 
 
 Sardinia is the foremost State of Italy, not only in its 
 civil constitution, but in its religious liberty. Though 
 nominally and perhaps sincerely Roman Catholic in its 
 faith, the government has shown great jealousy of Papal 
 dictation, and will not submit to edicts from Rome. 
 The relation of the two courts, if not one of open war, 
 is at best but an armed neutrality. The king, though 
 
VICTOR EMMANUEL 
 
 275 
 
 of course he calls himself a Catholic (and is ready, like 
 the young candidate at Oxford, to subscribe, not only 
 the Thirty-nine Articles, but forty if they wished ), does 
 not trouble himself much about any religion. His prin- 
 cipal articles of faith are, to hate the Austrians, the Je- 
 suits, and the Pope ; to love liberty and to dream of 
 Italian independence. From all I hear, he is a true lib- 
 eral, not merely from policy, but in his heart. lie is 
 more democratic in his manners than his predecessors, 
 and has abolished much of the foolish etiquette of the 
 Court. lie is a thorough soldier, inheriting the military 
 spirit which has always distinguished the House of Sa- 
 voy. In the campaign of 1848 he fought gallantly at 
 his father’s side, and gained great honor at the siege of 
 Peschiera, and the battle of Goito. Such is the man 
 who is now the hope of Italy. Even in Lombardy, the 
 ardent republicans of 1848 admit that the only hope 
 of Italian independence is Victor Emmanuel. It would 
 be madness for the patriots to attempt a revolution 
 against Austria, unless led on by some well-organized 
 power, like that of Sardinia. Though this is not a great 
 nation, the lack of a wider dominion is partly compensated 
 by the vigor and spirit of the people. Sardinia has a 
 population of but four and a half millions, yet she can 
 bring into the field an army of a hundred thousand men, 
 and as her small and compact territory requires but few 
 garrisons, the greater part of this whole force could be 
 moved forward to the place of battle. 
 
 
276 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 The spirit of the king is strongly backed by his Court 
 and people. Count Cavour, who is at the head of the 
 Cabinet, is a man of remarkable liberality in his political 
 opinions. He appreciates clearly the present condition 
 of Europe, and the part which his country may be called 
 to act, and he has at once the capacity and the courage 
 to hold her firmly in her place as the vanguard of the 
 free nations of the continent. The people themselves 
 feel that they are predestined to drive the Austrians out 
 of Italy, and they are impatient for the day to come. 
 
 The Piedmontese are fine soldiers. Like the Swiss, 
 they are at home among the mountains, where they 
 acquire great agility and strength. Their very step is 
 light and springing, as if they had learned it in chasing 
 the chamois of the rocks. Dr. Schaufller, of Constanti- 
 nople, told me that he never saw such fellows as the Sardi- 
 nian contingent that came out in the Crimean war. They 
 went through the streets with a bound — not with the 
 stately tread of the English grenadiers. In this they 
 are more like the Zouaves, who go into battle like so 
 many wild catamounts. Many of those whom we saw in 
 Turin had served in the Crimea, and wore the [Napoleon 
 or Victoria medal on their breasts. 
 
 Many times while in Sardinia, I have asked intelligent 
 gentlemen, “Why did your country meddle in the 
 Russian war ?” They answer, “ She was invited to take 
 part in it by France and England.” “Yes, but is the 
 fact that she is invited to do a foolish thing a reason 
 
TAUT IX THE RUSSIAN WAR. 
 
 277 
 
 why she should do it ? So was Austria invited to join 
 the Allies. So was Prussia. But did either of those 
 powers choose to sacrifice its own interests, best secured 
 by peace, for the doubtful glory of war? This over- 
 generous zeal has cost your country three or four thou- 
 sand of her brave sons, and fifty millions of francs !” 
 However, this alliance may have borne some political 
 fruit. It undoubtedly raised the prestige of the Sar- 
 dinian army, which behaved with great gallantry, and 
 gave the country a new prominence among the powers 
 of Europe. It was in consequence of the part that she 
 bore in this war, that Sardinia was admitted to the Con- 
 gress of Paris in 1856, and that she has been brought into 
 such close alliance with France, a power on which she 
 relies to support her in her next war in Italy. That it 
 has not broken her relations with Russia, is evident from 
 the fact that she has just granted that power the port 
 of Villafranca, near Nice, which enables Russia to keep 
 a fleet in the Mediterranean. Thus fortifying herself 
 with allies, she awaits the next great struggle. These 
 soldiers have probably a great destiny before them. 
 They bide their time. But when there comes in Europe 
 the War for Liberty, their bayonets will gleam in the 
 thickest of the battle. 
 
 We stayed three days in Turin, and left early on 
 Monday morning to cross the Alps on our way to France. 
 A couple of hours brought us to Susa, the present ter- 
 minus of the railroad, which cannot be extended farthei 
 
278 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 until the great gallery under Mont Cenis is completed. 
 This is one of the most gigantic works yet undertaken 
 by the engineering skill of Europe. It is necessary to 
 bore right through the heart of the mountain — a distance 
 of eight miles ! This will be the longest tunnel in the world. 
 'But it must be many ye^rs before any traveller can 
 shorten his journey by passing through it. What might 
 be done in half an hour by railroad, took us a whole day 
 by diligence. The pass of Mont Cenis, like that of the 
 Simplon, is traversed by a macadamized road. Both 
 were built by the same imperial hand, and were designed 
 for the same object — to open a free passage for Napo- 
 leon’s troops from France into Italy. This is one of 
 the grandest highways in Europe, built in the face of 
 tremendous obstacles, yet smooth as a floor, climbing 
 along the mountain’s breast, yet keeping its even grade 
 among rocks and precipices. But with all this smooth- 
 ing of difficulties it is a pretty formidable operation to 
 scale the Mont Cenis. To our diligence were harnessed 
 two horses and ten mules, yet with all this cavalcade it 
 took five hours of steady pulling to bring us to the top. 
 
 But for this delay of time we were amply compensated 
 by the views of mountain scenery which we enjoyed. 
 Resolved to lose nothing, we had climbed by the help 
 of a ladder to the top of the diligence, and thus perched 
 aloft, we began the ascent. Up, up we went — above 
 the villages, above the church spires, above the tops of 
 the trees, till we came at last to a region of barren rock, 
 
CROSSING MONT CENIS. 
 
 279 
 
 where not even a stunted pine could live, where only- 
 moss and lichens clung quiyering in the wind. As wo 
 mounted higher and higher, the views down the valley 
 behind us became more extended and magnificent. 
 They pass all description. They remain imprinted on 
 our memory among those eternal things of nature which, 
 once seen, can never be forgotten. 
 
 Nor were other associations wanting which harmo- 
 nized with these awful forms, and added to their effect 
 upon the imagination. As we reached the summit, and 
 turned to take a last view of Italy, we thought of the 
 armies that had passed over these cold heights. Here 
 once stood the elephants of Hannibal, while the haughty 
 African cast his eye down the pass that was to lead him 
 to the gates of Rome. Here came the soldiers of Napo- 
 leon. I-could almost see their columns filing along the 
 pass, and hear the echoes of their bugle horns. These 
 warriors have passed and left not a trace behind. Yet 
 still the mountain solitudes stand silently armed for 
 war. 
 
 As the pass of Mont Cenis is the gateway of Italy, it 
 is strongly fortified by the Sardinian government. We 
 found a garrison on the very summit. Thus excited at 
 once by nature and history, we came to the mountain’s 
 verge, where we let go our t£n donkeys, and with 
 horses at full gallop, we came rushing down into the 
 valleys of Savoy. 
 
280 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 Here at the foot of the Alps, I end my traveller’s 
 tale. We reached Paris on the second of September, 
 and left on the twentieth for America. I add a single 
 chapter, not of travel, but of vindication of the much- 
 abused French people. 
 

 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Domestic Life in France. 
 
 “Dreadful people, these French! They have no 
 domestic life. The very word Home is not to be found 
 in their language. They live in the street, in the public 
 gardens, in the cafes, in the theatres, anywhere but 
 under their own roof.” Such is the opinion which you 
 will hear expressed by nine out of ten of all the Ameri- 
 cans who go to Paris. Even those who are old residents 
 confess with a sigh that this harsh judgment is but too 
 true. To be sure, the fluent censor is a little embar- 
 rassed, if you ask abruptly, “ Pray, sir, how many French 
 families do you happen to know?” But he quickly 
 recovers assurance, and answers glibly, “ Know ? why 
 have I been so many years in Paris, and do I not know 
 people ?” He knows everybody — that is, everybody 
 that is to be seen in public. Perhaps he has received 
 his education in Paris. He has been a student in the 
 Latin quarter. He is an habitue of all the cafes on the 
 Boulevards. He frequents all the theatres, and can tell 
 (at least through his opera-glass) the box of every dis- 
 tinguished family. Xay, more, has he not been ad- 
 mitted into society? Can he not report the talk of 
 
 291 
 
282 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 French salons? Has he not had the entree at Alexan- 
 der Dumas’ ? Possibly at Lamartine’s and Guizot’s ? 
 Nay, more, swelling with Republican pride, has he not 
 been invited to the balls at the Hotel de Ville, and even 
 at the Tuileiaes ? 
 
 After such a string of triumphant inquiries, a modest 
 stranger is pretty well “ shut up,” and remains silent, as 
 his informant follows up the victory; “No, no. I tell 
 you, there is no domestic life in France. A Frenchman 
 lives only in public. The fireside, the foyer is hateful to 
 him.” It hardly occurs to this confident talker that a 
 man may visit a country, and even live in it, and yet, 
 after all, not know much about it; that he may see 
 thousands in the streets, in the gardens, or the shops, 
 in business, or at court, and yet see none in the interior 
 of their own dwellings ; that, in fine, it is one thing to 
 see people, and another to see and know family life. 
 
 A stranger coming into Paris, sees only the outside of 
 the French. The life he sees is the life of hotels. In 
 the shops he meets only tradespeople and grisettes. 
 At court he meets a- class higher in position, but often 
 no better in morals. But neither of these classes is the 
 best representative of the finer qualities of the French 
 character. The class most worthy of respect is the 
 upper middle class — the haute bourgeoisie — composed of 
 the wealthier merchants and bankers, distinguished 
 advocates, learned professors, and literary men. This is 
 the class which it is most important to know to judge 
 
DOMESTIC LIFE IN FRANCE. 
 
 283 ' 
 
 the French fairly, and yet into which it is most difficult 
 to penetrate. 
 
 To what, then, amounts this boasted knowledge of 
 French society? Travellers see the outside of Paris — the 
 tinsel and gilded exterior of the French capital. But of 
 its interior life they are almost wholly ignorant. Hence 
 the opinions which they give, are about as intelligent as 
 those of a Southerner who comes North in the summer 
 to spend his money, and goes to Saratoga, and Newport, 
 and Niagara. In New York, he stops at the St. Nicholas 
 Hotel, or the Metropolitan, and perhaps finds himself 
 surrounded by flash men and fast women. He goes 
 back, swearing that New York is the most dissolute, 
 depraved, corrupt city on earth, when the poor fool has 
 not been admitted to the intimacy of a single respect- 
 able family. 
 
 The exclusion of such men from society is far more 
 rigid in France than in America, for here the interior of 
 a family is guarded with more sacred care than with us. 
 French parents are quite shocked at the freedom with 
 which American papas and mammas allow strangers to 
 visit in their families. They are wary of those whom 
 they admit to their households. They are suspicious of 
 foreigners more than of their own countrymen. And 
 with reason. For of the one or two hundred thousand 
 strangers always in Paris, a large part have come for 
 nothing but to enjoy a life of pleasure. And, I am 
 sorry to add, that of all the mauvais snjets who infest 
 
284 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 the French capital, young Americans are about the 
 worst. Hence it is not strange that our countrymen 
 find it not so easy to circulate where they will, and even 
 old residents complain that it is very hard to get into 
 French society ! 
 
 Ten years ago I spent six months in Paris. I saw the 
 monuments of the city, I saw also a revolution, and 
 many thrilling events. But of the domestic life of the 
 French I saw nothing. Nor were others better off. 
 At that time I had a friend there, a former member of 
 Congress, who had spent a large part of his life abroad, 
 who was in Paris when it was occupied by the Allies, 
 and remembered distinctly the morning that Marshal 
 Key was shot. We lodged in the same house, and every 
 day walked and dined together. This summer, when we 
 went to Paris, I turned into the old street to see if, 
 perchance, any trace of him lingered about the place. 
 Lo, there he was still — in the same hotel, in the same 
 room, dining every day at the same restaurant in the 
 Palais Royal, and spending the evening at Galignani’s. 
 Here he has been off and on for forty years, and yet, 
 from what I know of his habits, I will venture to say 
 that he does not know, with any intimacy, a single 
 French family. And yet, if you were to ask him, he 
 would deliver a lecture an hour long on the immorality 
 of the French capital, and would be astounded if you 
 were to intimate that there were portions of French 
 society which he had not seen. 
 
DOMESTIC LIFE IN FRANCE. 
 
 285 
 
 But the second time that I visited Paris, it was with 
 one who had been born in that city, and there passed all 
 her early life. To come back to Paris now was like 
 coming home. And so, no sooner were we within the 
 walls, than we began to haunt the old familiar streets. 
 What endless walks we took along the Boulevards, 
 looking up to the fronts of the houses, half expecting to 
 see the windows open, and some dear, familiar form step 
 out upon the balcony. So strong was the impression of 
 these scenes revisited, that it was several days before we 
 could muster courage to ask if those we knew were 
 living or dead! Many a time we drove to a street of 
 which we knew every stone in the pavement, and rang 
 with a trembling hand, and asked if the loved ones were 
 there still. Generally, if they had not died, they were 
 living in the same house. The French do not change 
 their abodes — and many, many we found in the same 
 spot where we had parted years ago — merchants in the 
 same counting-houses, lawyers giving counsel in the same 
 chambers, artists in the same studios. How strange were 
 the memories which came back, as we turned into the 
 old courts and passages, and heard our own footfall on 
 the accustomed stair. Our friends included some of all 
 professions — lawyers and physicians and pastors, artists 
 and architects and professors. Time had made changes 
 in their positions, if not in their habitations. One 
 was a prosperous merchant, another a distinguished 
 painter ; one had served as an officer in the Crimean 
 
286 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 war, another had become a member of the French 
 Academy. 
 
 But in all we found the same cordial manner, the same 
 warm, true heart. It was worth crossing the sea to wit- 
 ness the first look of surprise, then the joyful recognition, 
 and the cordial greeting. Of course we cannot lift the 
 veil from scenes so sacred. I will give you but a glimpse 
 of one or two home-circles, which may show you how 
 strong are the affections which bind together a French 
 family. Among others whom we visited, was an old 
 teacher of drawing. We found him and his wife still 
 living in the same spot. I allude to them, not to repeat 
 how affectionate they were to us, but to note the love 
 which existed among themselves. They had one son, 
 who was a competitor for the National prize of engraving. 
 These prizes are offered by the Government, and the suc- 
 cessful candidate is sent to Rome, for five years, at the 
 public expense. But the tests to which they are sub- 
 jected are the most rigid and severe. The competitors 
 are shut up in the Louvre for three months, unable to go 
 out or to see their friends. This young man was not 
 permitted even to see his mother. When we were first 
 in Paris, in June, he was undergoing this honorable 
 imprisonment. And when we returned in September, 
 he had not yet been released. While this trial was 
 going on, it was even painful to see the anxiety of the 
 parents. This boy was their darling and their pride. 
 His mother could hardly speak of him without tears — a 
 
DOMESTIC LIFE IN FRANCE. 
 
 287 
 
 touching rebuke, it seemed to us, to those mockers who 
 say that there is no family affection in France. It w r as 
 a relief to us when we saw, a few days after, that the 
 concours was at last concluded. Partly owing to his 
 age, for he was the youngest of all the competitors, the 
 first prize had been awarded to another, but his name 
 received honorable mention. He will enter the lists 
 another year, and no doubt will be successful. 
 
 But a few days before we left Pans, we went to seek 
 a very old friend of Mrs. F., even from her school-days, 
 a wealthy merchant in whose kind home she had passed 
 many a happy day in her girlhood, when she had a vaca- 
 tion from her boarding-school. We could not leave 
 without seeing him. But was he still living ? We had 
 not heard from him for years. It was, therefore, with a 
 mixture of hope and fear that we drove to the street, 
 and stopped before the gate of the court. True enough, 
 the name was still there. But this is often retained, 
 even when the head of the house is gone. I ascended 
 to the counting-room, and asked for Mr. T . In- 
 
 stantly a gentleman, with a kind, open countenance, 
 came forward to meet me. I asked if he knew Madamt 
 F., of Hew York. His face brightened at the name, a? 
 if he were about to hear tidings of his own daughter, 
 and when I added that she was in Paris, and in the car- 
 riage at his door, he rushed down to meet her, with 
 arms wide open, as if to embrace a long absent child. 
 “How come right into my office, and tell me all about 
 
288 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 you.” Swiftly we went over the years that had passed. 
 At length w r e rose to go. “ Now,” said he, “ Tuesday 
 you come to dine with us. We are spending the sum- 
 mer in the country, near St. Cloud. I shall write at 
 
 once to your old friend, Mademoiselle , telling her 
 
 that a very dear friend of hers has just arrived from 
 America, and wishes to meet her.” The appointment 
 was at once concluded, and the day found us at the 
 place. It was a charming country box — just like an 
 English cottage, surrounded with trees, with a lawn in 
 front. The family were sitting on the piazza, and our 
 entrance was a signal for a general salutation. An hour 
 later, the father, with his son, his partner in business, 
 returned from the city, and the circle wtis complete. 
 The mother of the family was absent, having gone to 
 the Pyrenees for the health of a daughter. But beside 
 the father was a maiden sister — the kind aunt w r ho, in so 
 many French families, performs the part of a second 
 mother, and the former teacher and beloved friend, and 
 the son with his newdy-married bride, so simply and 
 modestly dressed that it quite made me ashamed -when I 
 thought how r American brides are flounced and feathered. 
 We sat down to dinner in the merriest mood. What 
 charming gaiety w r as there, what cordial manners, what 
 hearty kindness, what true domestic affection and happi- 
 ness! Those w r ere golden hours. Here, then, I ex- 
 claimed, is the proof that there is no domestic life in 
 France ! All I can ask for my countrymen is, that their 
 
DOMESTIC LIFE IN FRANCE. 
 
 289 
 
 hills and valleys may be dotted all over with spots as 
 bright and green. 
 
 This is not an isolated case. It is but a fair specimen 
 of what may be found everywhere in France, in this 
 upper middle class. The same tender affection, the same 
 devotedness to each other, the same constancy and truth, 
 are the light of ten thousand happy homes. 
 
 It is rather hard that the French should be accused of 
 want of heart, for the very reason that they have so 
 much politeness of manner. Because they show more than 
 others, they are thought to feel less. As if a churlish 
 exterior were the only proof of sturdy integrity. Or as 
 if a man could not be gentle in word and true in heart. 
 
 I observed here — wdiat I have remarked in many other 
 cases — that in a French family there is a much closer 
 sympathy of parents with children than with us. They 
 give up more of their time to amuse and instruct them. 
 In America a man of business works so hard, and comes 
 home so jaded, that he has no spirit for anything but to 
 read his paper, smoke his cigar, and roll into bed. A 
 French father makes a better economy of life. He 
 works hard, too, during the day, but not to the point of 
 utter exhaustion. He keeps a little strength for his 
 home. And wdien he enters that enchanted circle, and 
 shuts the door, he shuts the world behind him. Then, 
 begone, dull care ! Then the children have full liberty 
 to romp and climb upon the father’s knee, and gaiety 
 
 and cheerful enjoyment rule the hour. 
 
 13 
 
290 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 Our last night in France was spent in Havre. We 
 had come down from Paris, to embark on the Arago, 
 the next morning. Mr. Henri Monod, a wealthy mer- 
 chant of Havre, one of the family so well known among 
 the Protestants of France — a brother of Frederic and 
 Adolphe Monod — had written to Paris to insure bur 
 company on that last evening. His residence is on the 
 heights of Ingouville, which overlook the harbor. As 
 we climbed the steep ascent, the sun was setting in the 
 Atlantic, and at our feet lay the city, and the port 
 crowded with shipping, from which floated the flags of 
 all nations. Here again we met the same warm greet- 
 ing which had welcomed us everywhere. We found 
 ourselves in the home of wealth and refinement, of affec- 
 tion and piety, and we saw how lovely is the type of 
 character, when to the charm and natural grace of 
 French manners is added the solid strength of Christian 
 principle. The same friends were on board the steamer 
 at an early hour the next morning, and followed her 
 along the quay, past the old tower of Francis the First, 
 which guards the entrance to the port, to the end of the 
 Mole, from which they waved their last farewell. It 
 was pleasant thus to bid adieu for the second time to a 
 land dearer to us than any other, except our own 
 America. Those faint, fluttering signals, which we 
 watched till they disappeared in the distance, seemed 
 like white flags of peace waved by gentle hands from 
 the Old World to the Hew. To us they were emblems 
 
DOMESTIC LIFE IX FRANCE. 
 
 291 
 
 of that sincerity and true affection which we had expe- 
 rienced for the past few months — tokens of a love which 
 had not changed by distance of space or lapse of time — 
 and which we are sure will greet us again, if we are ever 
 permitted to return to those beloved and happy shores. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 gttiiittj to t^c WrlJ 33&ttfon. 
 
 A Bird’s-eye View of the late War in Italy— Causes which led 
 to it — France joins Sardinia — Troops hurried oyer the Alps — 
 First Engagement at Montebello — The Allies pass the Ticino — 
 Battle of Magenta — The Austrians evacuate Milan — Battle of 
 Solferino — The Armistice and Peace — Lombardy Annexed to 
 Sardinia — Is followed by Tuscany, Parma, Modena and the 
 Romagna — Present condition of Venice and Naples — What 
 Italy has gained by the War. 
 
 When the preceding pages were written, no one could 
 have believed that the hopes there expressed v r ere so 
 near fulfilment. But the year that followed proved one 
 of the most eventful in Italian history. A few short 
 months after we w r ere riding across the plains of Lom- 
 bardy, then smiling in all the beauty of summer, those 
 plains were trodden by hostile armies, and the fate of 
 Italy w T as decided in one brief and glorious campaign. 
 It will not take long to tell the short and eventful story 
 The position of Austria in Italy had long been meddle- 
 some and overbearing — not only in Venice and Lom- 
 bardy, where her flag waved, but in Parma and Modena, 
 and in Tuscany ; at Florence, at Rome and Naples, her 
 
 292 
 
POSITION OF AUSTRIA IN ITALY. 
 
 293 
 
 power was supreme. The Grand Dukes were merely 
 satraps of Austria, for they had bound themselves by 
 secret treaties not to give constitutions to their states 
 without her consent. This had been a constant source 
 of irritation, not only to the people, who were thus 
 bound hand and foot, and delivered to a foreign master, 
 but to Sardinia, w T hich saw with alarm a powerful enemy 
 on her frontiers, in command of a position from which at 
 any time it might attack her territory, and even menace 
 her independence. Nor was it much less offensive to 
 the pride of France, which saw a great German empire 
 advanced close to her own frontiers, with only Piedmont 
 and the Alps between ; and which beheld with ill-con- 
 cealed dissatisfaction the complete ascendency of Austria 
 in a country where France had long disputed her power. 
 Northern Italy had been the theatre of the first Napo- 
 leon’s campaigns, and it was not a pleasant spectacle to 
 the heir of his name and throne, to see France now ex- 
 cluded from every inch of the Peninsula, except that she 
 was permitted the poor satisfaction of keeping guard over 
 the feeble old Pope ! For a long time she tried diplo- 
 macy as a counterpoise to the power of her rival, and 
 used all gentle arguments to persuade Austria to press 
 more lightly on unhappy Italy. But in vain. Strong in 
 her military position, with a large army in the country, 
 the latter received these suggestions with coolness, and 
 while she answered with soft words, took good care to 
 do nothing. 
 
294 
 
 SUMMER riCTURES. 
 
 In the autumn of 1858 the alliance of France with 
 Sardinia was closely cemented by a marriage of one of 
 the Imperial family with one of the house of Savoy — that 
 of Jerome Napoleon, the cousin of the Emperor, with 
 Clothilde, the daughter of Victor Emanuel. The royal 
 bride was a young girl of sixteen, and her marriage to a 
 man old enough to be her father seemed like a cruel 
 sacrifice, except to those ardent patriots who saw in it 
 only the type of a political alliance, which was to have 
 the most important results for Italy. 
 
 Thus having a family right to interfere in Italian 
 affairs, the French Emperor renewed his protests against 
 the systematic absolutism of Austria. But this signified 
 little, while protestation was confined to notes and 
 dispatches. Differences may arise in the best of families, 
 without breaking out into open quarrel, and irritations 
 may exist between cabinets, which no one imagines to 
 portend a serious collision. 
 
 The first signal to Europe of what was coming, was 
 given on the first of January, 1859. It is the custom in 
 Paris on New Year’s Day, for the representatives of 
 foreign powers to pay their respects to the head of the 
 nation. It is one of the sights of strangers to witness the 
 liveried equipages rolling into the courtyard of the 
 Tuilcries. On this day the foreign ministers came as 
 usual, and presented their salutations, to each of whom 
 the Emperor returned a gracious reply. But when he 
 came to the Austrian ambassador, Baron Hubner, he 
 
OMEXS OF THE WAR. 
 
 295 
 
 added with a slight emphasis : u Although I regret that 
 the relations of our governments are not as cordial as 
 usual, tell the Emperor that my personal feelings toward 
 him are not changed.” It was a simple remark. Yet 
 the effect was electric — as when at sea the barometer 
 begins to fell rapidly, portending a sudden storm, though 
 there is not yet a cloud on the horizon. The funds fell 
 on every exchange, in Europe, occasioning to the holders 
 a loss of hundreds of millions. Such was the power of a 
 word. 
 
 A few weeks passed, and the panic began to abate. 
 The Emperor, in his official journal, the u Moniteur,” as- 
 sured the public that there was no occasion for alarm, and 
 soon many were led to feel that they had been frightened 
 without reason, and to laugh at their fears. But others 
 saw clearly that the causes of difficulty were not re- 
 moved. In Italy the people were in a ferment. Volun- 
 teers from all the Italian States flocked to Piedmont, 
 eager to join in the Holy War of Liberty. They were 
 enrolled in a free corps under Garibaldi, with a name 
 which they soon made illustrious, of the Hunters of 
 the Alps. 
 
 At this moment all Italy was ripe for revolt. In Tus- 
 cany, as soon as war became imminent, the officers of the 
 army presented themselves to the Grand Duke, declaring 
 that the only way to prevent a revolution, was to unite 
 with Piedmont. The Duke refused, and finding the 
 sceptre falling from his hands, fled from Florence to find 
 
296 
 
 SUMMER. PICTURES. 
 
 shelter in the Austrian camp, not doubting that Austrian 
 troops would soon bring him back again, stronger and 
 more absolute than ever. Parma and Modena followed 
 the example of Tuscany. In all there was a revolution 
 without violence or the shedding of a drop of blood. 
 
 Across the frontier of Piedmont, at Milan and at 
 Vienna, this mustering of forces was interpreted as a 
 threat, and imperious demands were addressed to the 
 court of Turin to desist from these suspicious movements. 
 But still, despite remonstrance, the sons of Italy rallied 
 around their leader. And now Francis Joseph took a 
 haughtier tone. For weeks his troops had been pouring 
 over the passes of the Tyrol, till he had in Lombardy an 
 army of 200,000 men within a few hours’ march of the 
 Sardinian frontier. With such an array he felt strong 
 enough to dare anything. Believing that it would over- 
 awe resistance, he sent to the King of Sardinia a last 
 summons, instantly to disband the volunteers from other 
 states, and to place his army on a peace footing, under 
 penalty of war. But three days’ grace was given to com- 
 ply with this peremptory demand. 
 
 Victor Emanuel heard the summons, but it stirred 
 another feeling than that of fear. A soldier by profes- 
 sion, bold and warlike, he had fought by his father’s side 
 in 1849, and received from him the crown on the fatal 
 field of Novara, and he had old wrongs to avenge. He 
 heard with stern delight the call to arms. It was the 
 hour for which he had waited for ten long years. The 
 
SLOW MOVEMENTS OF THE AUSTRIANS. 
 
 297 
 
 insolent demand was liurled back with defiance ; the 
 drum-beat was heard throughout the kingdom, mustering 
 to arms, while the king signalled to his powerful ally in 
 Paris that the hour had come ! 
 
 The moment was critical, and the position perilous in 
 the extreme, and had the Austrians acted with prompt- 
 ness and energy, the result of the campaign might have 
 been very different. They had every advantage, an 
 immense army in the field, and a position near the thea- 
 tre of war, and by rapid movements they might have 
 overrun Piedmont, before the French troops could reach 
 the scene of action. The summons was sent on the 23d 
 of April, and the time of grace expired on the 26th. 
 Had the Austrians, who were already massed along the 
 frontier, now invaded Piedmont with the same prompt- 
 ness as did Radetsky in 1849, they might have marched 
 to Turin, made themselves masters of the capital and 
 then have pressed on to the foot of Mont Cenis, and 
 there held in check the French advancing over the Alps. 
 
 But in this memorable campaign it seemed as if the 
 stars in their courses fought against the Austrians. A 
 fatal blindness seized their leaders ; though they had 
 admirable troops, they were so badly commanded that 
 every advantage was lost. Radetzky was dead, and he 
 had left no successor. The best officer in the army was 
 probably Baron Hess. He had been the main reliance 
 of Radetzky ten years before. He knew every inch of 
 the ground, having fought it over in 1849. A brave, yet 
 
 13* 
 
298 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 cautious commander, he offered a plan of campaign, 
 which was eminently a prudent one, and which might 
 have been successful. But it was not dashing enough 
 for the young Austrian Emperor, who, it is said, snubbed 
 the old field-marshal in the most unceremonious manner, 
 telling him that he was behind the age! Ruled by 
 court favorites, Francis Joseph preferred Count Gyulai. 
 Bitterly was he to repent his rash and misplaced con- 
 fidence. 
 
 This new martinet, placed at the head of a great army, 
 issued boastful proclamations, but did nothing. When 
 hours were all-important he wasted days, so that it was 
 the 29th of April instead of the 26th — full three days too 
 late — before he began to cross the Ticino, and then it 
 took him three days to get over a hundred and twenty 
 thousand men. Thus a whole week was lost. Radetzky, 
 in 1849, by his rapid and decisive movements, began and 
 ended the campaign in five days. But Gyulai, even after 
 he had entered Piedmont, moved hesitatingly as if he 
 had no fixed plan. Instead of marching straight on the 
 capital, he advanced but a few miles into the country, 
 and then spread out his army over a fertile province, as 
 if more anxious to find supplies for his troops, than to 
 strike a blow which might end the war. 
 
 This breathing-time given to the allies was well im- 
 proved. No sooner had the final summons been sent to 
 Turin, and telegraphed to Paris, than the French troops, 
 which had been concentrated near the Alps, received 
 
THE WAR POPULAR IN FRANCE. 
 
 290 
 
 orders to march. The Mont Cenis was not yet bare of 
 the winter’s snow, but an army of laborers was sent 
 forward to clear away the drifts, and swiftly on their steps 
 the plumes of the Imperial Guards came waving up the 
 pass. F urther to the south the long red lines of infantry 
 swept round the spurs of the Maritime Alps, along the 
 shore of the Mediterranean, between the mountains and 
 the sea ; while off in the distance the waters were black 
 with steamers from Marseilles and Toulon, laden with 
 troops, horses and guns, and all the munitions of war. 
 
 If there had been a doubt as to the popularity of the 
 war in France, it was dispelled by the manifestations in 
 Paris on the departure of the troops. As the Zouaves 
 and Chasseurs, both favorite corps, filed along the 
 streets, an excited population thronged their path, 
 and burst forth into a spontaneous shout of enthusiasm. 
 The heart of the nation beat in sympathy with the 
 attempt to give freedom to Italy. The popular feeling 
 rose still higher when a few days later the Emperor left 
 to join the army. It was the 10th of May. He was to 
 leave at 5 o’clock in the afternoon. At that hour the 
 Rue Rivoli from the Palace to the Embarcad&re w^as 
 blocked with a dense mass of people, cheering for Italy. 
 Probably in no act of his reign had Napoleon so clearly 
 divined the national will. Never was he so enthroned 
 in the hearts of his people as at that moment. But he 
 had no time for mere demonstrations. Travelling all 
 night he reached Marseilles the next day, and im- 
 
300 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 mediately embarked for Genoa, where he landed on the 
 12th. Here the popular excitement was unbounded. 
 Genoa the Proud never saw such a sight, at least in 
 modern times. The broad-armed bay was crowded with 
 ships, all streaming with banners, and at night the city 
 rising upward to the hills was one blaze of illumination, 
 as a grateful people welcomed their deliverer. 
 
 But now the period of acclamations was over, and it 
 was time to attend to the business of the campaign. 
 The allies had a hard work before them. The Aus- 
 trians were in possession, and it would require skilful 
 manoeuvering and hard fighting to drive them out. 
 Napoleon moved forward to the fortress of Allessandria, 
 where he could hold counsel with Victor Emanuel, and 
 mature a plan of operations. That plan at first seemed 
 masked, but it was soon developed by events. 
 
 The first point where the two armies came in collision 
 was on the famous field of Montebello, where, in 1800, 
 the Austrians were defeated by Marshal Lannes, after 
 one of the most desperate conflicts in the wars of the first 
 Napoleon. Here, on the 20th of May, these hereditary 
 enemies met again. This battle is memorable as having 
 been decided by the rapidity with which the railroad 
 enabled the French to bring fresh troops into action. 
 The Austrians, 20,000 strong, began the attack on an 
 advanced post of the allies, which in the first onset they 
 overpowered by their superior numbers. But quickly 
 the telegraph flashed the news to the head-quarters, 
 
BATTLE OF MAGENTA. 
 
 301 
 
 twenty miles in the rear, and in an hour or two railway 
 trains came thundering forward, laden with troops, 
 which were launched upon the field, and soon changed 
 the fortune of the day. The Austrians were driven 
 back with great slaughter. Thus the battle may be said 
 to have been decided by steam. A new element was 
 introduced into the art of war. In this engagement 
 Victor Emanuel fought in person with great bravery. 
 
 The plan of the campaign now developed on a larger . 
 scale. To enter Lombardy it was necessary for the allies 
 to cross the Ticino. It was a maxim of the first 
 Napoleon, that to pass a great river in the presence of an 
 enemy is one of the most difficult operations in the art 
 of war. Gyulai appears to have expected the French to 
 attempt the passage near Pavia, and had strengthened 
 himself in that direction. This impression was kept up 
 by the allies throwing out advance parties and making 
 feints of attack. Thus the Austrian commander was 
 deceived. Meanwhile Napoleon, who really aimed at 
 another mark higher up the river, began to move with 
 great rapidity up the right bank. As soon as this move- 
 ment was discovered the Austrians followed to prevent 
 the passage, and thus was presented the spectacle of two 
 great armies rushing up the opposite banks of a river to 
 reach the same point. The French, as usual, were 
 quicker in movement, and first at the point of pas- 
 sage. 
 
 Here appeared another blunder of the Austrians. At 
 
302 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 Bufialora the Ticino is spanned by a magnificent bridge, 
 fit for the passage of a great army. When the Austrians 
 withdrew from Piedmont they tried to blow it up, but 
 found themselves short of blasting powder, and so left the 
 work half done. A few explosions destroyed one or two 
 arches, but the gaps tv ere easily covered by planks, and 
 here, on the 4th day of June, the Zouaves and Grena- 
 diers crossed under the eye of Napoleon in ]5erson. 
 
 But it was not without a terrible baptism of blood 
 that the allies made their entrance into Lombardy. 
 Seeing the danger of allowing them to pass this river, 
 the Austrians mustered in force to repel the advance, and 
 the French columns, as they debouched at Magenta, 
 were received with the deadly fire of Tyrolese marksmen, 
 which swept away rank after rank. Napoleon, from a 
 tower which overlooked the field, watched with anguish 
 the murderous sacrifice. The forces were very unequal. 
 His reserves w r ere far behind, and were delayed in 
 coming up. McMahon, who had been sent still higher 
 up the river, had crossed at Turbigo, but he had twelve 
 miles to march to reach the field, and in that time all 
 might be lost. He pressed on with energy, but difficult 
 roads and an enemy in front delayed his progress, and it 
 was not until the afternoon that his cannon were heard 
 on the field. At that sound the gloom lifted from the 
 Emperor’s countenance. This fresh division rushing 
 into battle with irresistible ardor turned the fortune of 
 the day, and it was but tlie just reward of a service at 
 
CAREER OF GARIBALDI. 
 
 303 
 
 'Buch a critical hour that McMahon was named on the 
 spot Marshal of the Empire and Duke of Magenta. 
 
 While these great events were passing between the 
 two main armies, further to the north Garibaldi was 
 pursuing a marvellous career. Finding it difficult to 
 restrain his impatience to follow the operations of a reg- 
 ular army, and feeling that he was fitted for a different 
 kind of Tvarfare, he asked leave of the King of Sardinia 
 to pursue an independent line of action. Victor Emanuel 
 had faith in his military genius, and left him free to 
 make war according to his own inspiration. Thus let 
 loose, this daring chieftain led his Hunters of the Alps by 
 rapid marches to the north, into that hill country lying 
 between Lake Maggiore and Lake Como, over which 
 we had passed a few months before, and by a succession 
 of impetuous attacks swept the enemy from post to post, 
 till they were driven out of the lake district, and he had 
 seized the passes of the Alps. This series of exploits, 
 beside being the most brilliant episode of the war, was 
 important to the success of the whole campaign, as it 
 prevented Austrian reinforcements from descending the 
 passes of the Tyrol, and thus guarded the flank of the 
 main army advancing into Lombardy. 
 
 The battle of Magenta decided the fate of Milan. 
 When Gyulai saw that the field was lost, he knew that 
 it was vain to attempt to hold the capital against a vic- 
 torious army without, and an insurgent population 
 within, and the very next day he ordered a retreat. 
 
304 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 Scarcely had the Austrians filed out of the city gates oil 
 one side, before the allies marched in on the other. On 
 the 8th of June the two sovereigns entered in triumph, 
 amid a scene of rejoicing seldom witnessed. As they rode 
 through the streets, the w r hole population hailed with 
 acclamations the presence of their deliverers. Napoleon 
 might be pardoned if his bosom swelled with pride at 
 that moment. It was not yet one month since he had left 
 Paris, and already he was in the capital of Lombardy, 
 receiving the homage and gratitude of a liberated people. 
 
 But the war was not yet over. True, the Austrians 
 had abandoned Milan, but so did Radetzky in 1848. 
 And yet in a few months he marched back again. So it 
 might be again. Indeed it seemed as if now, learning 
 wisdom by defeat, the Austrians had fallen back on the 
 old tactics of Radetzky, to retreat through Lombardy, 
 until they could make a stand under the walls of the 
 F our F ortresses, described in a preceding chapter. I make 
 no pretence to a knowledge of military affairs, because 
 in those pages, written long before these events trans- 
 pired, I predicted this movement ii* case of another war 
 in Italy.* It is what would occur to any one, after study- 
 ing this strong military position. To this refuge of safety 
 the Austrians now turned, blowing up behind them Pavia 
 and Piacenza, both of which they had strongly fortified, 
 and withdrawing their whole army, though slowly and 
 in good order, within the famous Quadrilateral. 
 
 * See pages 257-8. 
 
THE AUSTRIANS TURN TO BAY. 
 
 305 
 
 Had this cautious policy been rigidly followed, it might 
 have proved as successful as in the case of Radetzky. 
 Had the Austrians shut themselves up within the walls 
 of Mantua and Verona, and resisting all temptations to 
 make a brilliant attack, only stood on the defence, they 
 might haw* conquered simply by a dogged resistance. 
 No people have more tenacity in holding out, and thus 
 in a few weeks or months they might have wearied out 
 the foe, or at least held him at bay until the hot summer 
 brought sickness into his camp, or until the other Ger- 
 man states, impatient of being longer silent spectators 
 of the conflict, came to their help. Cut this was too 
 slow and cautious a policy to suit the fiery temper of 
 Francis Joseph, who had now entered the camp, and 
 assumed the command. His pride was touched at seeing 
 a retreat ; he felt that his army had retired far enough 
 and that it was time to assume a bolder attitude. A 
 fatal star lured him on to battle. Again all was cast on 
 the hazard, and again all was lost. 
 
 The Austrian army had retired behind the Mincio, 
 and was safely inclosed within the lines of the Quadri- 
 lateral, when suddenly the order was issued to turn 
 on its steps, to abandon its defences, and confront the foe. 
 It was the 23d of June that this great movement be- 
 gan. The allies were two days in the rear. By a sud- 
 den countermarch the Austrians expected to surprise 
 them the next day in a plain which would furnish an 
 admirable field for the action both of artillery and 
 
306 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 cavalry, the two strong arms of the Austrian ser- 
 vice. 
 
 But here again they made a slight, but fatal miscalcu- 
 lation. They were wont, like honest folk, to keep 
 regular hours, to sleep all night as if at home, and to get 
 up at a proper time in the morning. But the French 
 soldiers, lively little fellows (they are all small men ex- 
 cept the grenadiers and a few picked corps) started to 
 march at two o’clock, and therefore came face to face 
 with the enemy half a day sooner than they were ex- 
 pected — in fact, before the honest Germans had taken 
 their breakfasts, so that they were obliged to fight all 
 day on empty stomachs ! 
 
 It was hardly daybreak when the advanced guard 
 came upon the Austrian outposts, and a heavy firing 
 announced to Napoleon that an engagement had begun. 
 Galloping forward to a hill which commanded an ex- 
 tended view, he saw spread before him a sight magni- 
 ficent and yet awful beyond description — the whole 
 Austrian army, 200,000 men, stretching for miles away 
 in every directipn, over hill and valley and plain — all in 
 battle array. Instantly orders were dispatched to every 
 corps to advance and the great conflict began. 
 
 The field of battle covered a space of twelve miles, 
 from Peschiera on the left to the plains on the right 
 toward Mantua. In the plain the attack was led by 
 Marshals Niel and McMahon. The Austrians fought 
 bravely. But the French had an immense advantage iu 
 
BATTLE OF SOLFERINO. 
 
 307 
 
 their new rifled cannon, which were now for the first 
 time introduced in war. The Austrian artillery had 
 been deemed the best in Europe. And if the two armies 
 had stood at point blank, as on the field of Marengo, its 
 fire might have decided the fate of the day. But the 
 French guns told at three times the distance, so that the 
 Austrian artillery could hardly come within range. In 
 one instance a large mass of cavalry were descried on 
 the slope of a hill nearly two miles distant, preparing for 
 a charge. But a few of these long shots tore through 
 their ranks and they were obliged to disperse. Thus the 
 battle raged from morning till noon. Every inch of 
 ground was sternly contested, but as the smoke lifted 
 from the field, the French line was seen steadily ad- 
 vancing. 
 
 At length the plain was cleared, and the wave of bat- 
 tle rolled upward to the hills. And now all eyes were 
 turned to that central rock of Solferino, which was the 
 key and pivot of the whole position, where the Austrian 
 flag still waved, and where dark masses of troops covered 
 every rock and ruin, and crouched under every old wall 
 and tree. This was now to be carried, for on this the 
 fate of the battle hung. Already it had been assaulted 
 more than once, but as the French rushed up the ascent, 
 a flame of fire smote the head of the column, like the 
 breath of the Lord, and it melted away. The Austrian 
 Jagers fired with unerring aim. This was the critical 
 moment of the battle, when the Voltigeurs of the Guard 
 
308 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 were ordered to carry the position. They advanced in 
 the face of a murderous fire, men falling at every step ; 
 but forcing their way from point to point, with a rush 
 they swept over the hill. 
 
 While all this was going on, Francis Joseph, with his 
 staff around him, stood on the hill of Cavriana, two 
 miles in the rear, from which he had watched the progress 
 of the battle with the most painful intensity of hope and 
 fear. And it is said that when he saw Solferino taken, 
 his manliness forsook him, and he burst into tears, and 
 immediately gave orders for retreat. 
 
 Still all was not lost, if the different corps had been 
 disposed so as to support each other. The Austrians 
 still had immense reserves. At Volta, but five miles 
 distant, stood under arms fifty thousand men with a 
 hundred cannon, which were not brought into action at 
 all. Had these been massed behind Solferino, they 
 would have buttressed that strong tower of defence, and 
 the successive attacks might have dashed themselves in 
 pieces against a position that was impregnable. But 
 strange to say, this centre of the whole army was sup- 
 ported by no unusual strength, so that when the line 
 was broken there was nothing to fall back upon. 
 
 Elsewhere the battle still raged with different success. 
 Hear Peschiera, along the Lake Garda, the left wing of 
 the allied army, which was held by the Sardinians, was 
 confronted by General Benedek, one of the most deter- 
 mined officers in the whole Austrian army, who not only 
 
BATTLE OF SOLFEEINO. 
 
 309 
 
 held his position, but drove back the enemy, and it is 
 said, was furious when he received the order to retreat, 
 and broke out into expressions of rage against the Em- 
 peror. But there was no alternative, and he obeyed 
 u with tears.” 
 
 Solferinu was carried at three o’clock. But though a 
 retreat was ordered, it was some hours before such an 
 army could be drawn off from the field. Two whole 
 corps were ordered forward to renew the attack, to 
 protect the retreat. Boldly they advanced to the shock, 
 and much of the hardest fighting of the day was after 
 the day was given up as lost. 
 
 To add to the stern magnificence of the scene, in the 
 afternoon thick clouds gathered over the field of battle, 
 and a thunderstorm burst upon the contending armies, 
 drowning the roar of cannon by the crash of a louder 
 artillery. But the storm passed, and the sky shone clear, 
 and the batteries of the Sardinians along the Lake Garda 
 played incessantly on the retreating Austrians, till at last 
 night closed in the long, tremendous day. 
 
 •The battle was over, but not all its horrors. From 
 early in the morning the wounded began to be brought 
 in. Hour after hour a mournful procession filed into the 
 street of Castiglione. A column, miles in extent, of 
 mangled and bleeding men emerged from the cloudy 
 canopy which hovered over the field, and dragged its 
 slow length along to the village in the rear, here to lie 
 down in hospitals, in churches, in inns and courtyards, to 
 
310 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 suffer or to die. No exact return of the killed and 
 wounded has been given, but the official account, doubt- 
 less under the mark, places it at over 40,000 ! 
 
 After this great battle there was a pause of a few days. 
 Both armies needed rest to gather up the wounded, to 
 bury the dead, and to prepare for the fresh labors of the 
 campaign. 
 
 But there was to be no end of surprises. At this 
 moment, when all Europe w r as fixed in attention -waiting 
 for the next great conflict, suddenly was announced — an 
 Armistice — followed in three days by the new r s of Peace ! 
 It was added that the two Emperors had met, and -what 
 was stranger still, that this interview" and this sudden 
 termination of the war, had been sought, not by the 
 defeated, but by the victor in the campaign. 
 
 It was on the 6th of July that Napoleon sent his aid, 
 General Fleury, to Verona with a letter to the Emperor 
 of Austria, requesting an interview". The proposal natu- 
 rally excited much surprise. Yet the position of affairs 
 was too critical for it to be repulsed, and after taking a 
 night to think of it, Francis Joseph consented to meet 
 Louis Napoleon. This led to the famous meeting of the 
 Emperors at the village of Villafranca, w r here an hour’s 
 conversation led to an armistice, and an agreement upon 
 the general terms of peace. 
 
 These were briefly : That Austria ceded Lombardy to 
 France, w r hich transferred it to Sardinia ; that Venice 
 w T as to remain to Austria, but to become a part of an 
 
DISAPPOINTMENT OF THE ITALIANS. 
 
 311 
 
 Italian confederation — a project which the two Emperors 
 engaged to favor, placing it under the presidency of the 
 Pope ; and that both should use their influence, so far as 
 they might without force of arms, to restore the exiled 
 Grand Dukes to their states, who in return should grant 
 a general amnesty to their rebellious people. Such were 
 the main points. The details of a definite treaty of peace 
 were to be settled by representatives of the three powers, 
 who should meet at Zurich, in Switzerland. 
 
 This sudden conclusion of peace was received w r ith as 
 much astonishment as the sudden outbreak of war. 
 Following so soon after a great battle, it confounded all 
 the calculations both of friends and foes. From all Italy 
 burst forth a cry of indignation. It was a bitter disap- 
 pointment of the hopes with which the war was begun. 
 Napoleon had entered on the campaign with the promise 
 that “ Italy should be free from the Alps to the Adri- 
 atic,” and now Venice was to be left under the hated 
 rule of Austria ! The Italians, who before were at the 
 highest pitch of exultation, were now plunged into the 
 abyss of despair. In the revulsion from wild hopes they 
 felt that they had been lured into the war only to be 
 cheated, and their rage turned against the ally by whom 
 they had been betrayed. Napoleon, who had entered 
 Milan after the battle of Magenta, amid transports of 
 enthusiasm, returned on his way to Paris, and passed 
 through it in mournful silence. So changed was the feel- 
 ing of the nation, and so great the disappointment both of 
 
312 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 Italy and of France, that he hastened to explain the 
 causes of the sudden suspension of arras. Briefly, they 
 were three: That the great object of the war had been 
 gained in breaking the power of Austria in Italy ; that it 
 could not go further without changing from a rapid cam- 
 paign in the field to a slow war of sieges ; and that it 
 would involve all Europe. 
 
 Thus far fortune had favored the allies. They had 
 been victorious in every battle; in eight short weeks 
 they had driven the Austrians out of Piedmont and out 
 of Lombardy. Now, however, they were no longer sure 
 of the same success. The enemy was at length inclosed 
 within his league of fortresses. The war, if it continued, 
 must be changed from one of pitched battles to one of 
 sieges, which might be as prolonged as the siege of 
 Sebastopol. 
 
 Meanwhile the aspect of Europe was threatening. 
 Germany was restless, and with great difficulty had been 
 kept from rushing to arms. Prussia had held back, but 
 so strong was the national feeling in favor of making 
 common cause with another German power, that she 
 had been forced to place her army on a war footing, and 
 prepare it to take the field. All this threatened to give 
 the war colossal proportions. Napoleon had entered 
 upon it with the determination to confine it to Italy ; but 
 if it went on, it must inevitably involve Germany. France 
 must prepare to face an enemy, not only on the Adige, but 
 on the Rhine. She would raise up new enemies, and 
 
REASONS FOR THE PEACE. 
 
 313 
 
 encounter vastly greater odds. And not only in the 
 West, but in the East of Europe. Already Kossuth was 
 in the allied camp, and Hungary was on the edge of 
 revolt. Should the flame of rebellion be lighted there, 
 then must begin a general war of nationalities, the end 
 whereof no man could foresee. Looking forward to such 
 alternatives, the Emperor thought it better to rest con- 
 tent with what was already gained, than by grasping 
 at more to run the risk of losing all. 
 
 Who could say that he did not judge wisely ? Li 
 1849, Austria offered Lombardy to Sardinia as the price 
 of peace, but it was refused, and what was the issue ? 
 Lombardy paid for the refusal by ten years more of 
 Austrian tyranny. Was it prudent again to assume such 
 a fearful risk ? 
 
 Happily a few months’ experience sufficed to show that 
 Napoleon never acted with greater political sagacity 
 than in putting an end to the war at that point. The 
 result has been such as to allay the gloomy fears of the 
 Italians, and to realize their highest hopes. 
 
 On the 7th of August the representatives of the three 
 powers met at Zurich, and arranged the terms of a defi- 
 nite Treaty of Peace. Austria formally relinquished 
 Lombardy to France, which by a separate treaty with 
 her ally, made it over to Sardinia, and the project of 
 an Italian Confederation was again considered and 
 approved. 
 
 But the difficult point of negotiation was the return 
 
 14 
 
314 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 of the Grand Dukes, who having suddenly left their 
 capitals at the beginning of the w T ar, were now anxious 
 to get back again. In accordance with the stipulation 
 of Villafranca their rights were “reserved,” and both 
 governments agreed to use their influence to secure their 
 restoration — but not by force of arms. On this point 
 Napoleon had spoken in positive terms. To the Mayor 
 of Parma, who came to Paris to learn the fate of his 
 country, he said : “ Tell the populations that have sent 
 you that my army shall never do violence to their wishes, 
 and that I will not permit any other foreign force to 
 commit violence against you.” This was all that was 
 necessary for Italian liberty, as it left the people masters 
 of their own destiny. Accordingly, votes were taken as 
 to their future political condition. With scarcely a dis- 
 senting voice, Tuscany declared that under no circum- 
 stances whatever would she consent to the restoration of 
 the Grand Duke. She had learned to distrust the 
 treacherous race, and would have none of them — neither 
 father nor son. In vain they implored and protested, and 
 promised all sorts of reforms and free constitutions, with 
 a full amnesty for past rebellion. The people would 
 none of them. Thanks to God and their own good 
 swords, they had no need to ask pardon of anybody, 
 and they had won a better title to liberty than any Aus- 
 trian duke could grant. So they stood firm against 
 entreaties, menaces, and temptations. 
 
 The conduct of the Italians in this crisis was worthy 
 
TUSCANY, PARMA AND MODENA. 
 
 315 
 
 of all admiration. The partisans of the old government 
 had represented that, as Soon as the people were left to 
 themselves, they would fall into anarchy. Yet there was 
 no violence, no disorder. The laws were perfectly main- 
 tained. Though they were kept for months in a state of 
 suspense, fitted to provoke agitations, yet order was 
 everywhere preserved — an instance of self-control, which 
 showed a people worthy to be free. The Italians thus 
 vindicated their character in the eyes of all Europe. 
 They proved themselves worthy of liberty by the noble 
 use they made of their new-found freedom. 
 
 Again the partisans of the old authorities industriously 
 represented that the votes given were not an expression 
 of the will of the people, but of a faction — that there was 
 a reign of terror which stifled the utterance of the 
 popular will. So after waiting many months, giving the 
 agents of the fallen dukes time to ply their arts of 
 intrigue, the thing was tried again. A second time the 
 people were summoned to choose their rulers, and the 
 result was overwhelming. Never was there a more 
 august or solemn expression of a nation’s will. By a 
 majority so immense as to be almost unanimous, Tus- 
 cany, Parma and Modena, voted to unite their fortunes 
 with their brethren of Lombardy, and henceforth to 
 form a part of the kingdom of Sardinia, under the rule 
 of Victor Emanuel. 
 
 And not these states alone, but a part of the Pope’s 
 dominions, for in the excitement of the year one third of 
 
316 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 the Papal states — the provinces lying east of the Apen- 
 nines, called the Romagna, including Bologna and F errara, 
 had revolted and set up an independent government. 
 Nor was the feeling allayed by an attack of the Swiss 
 mercenaries on the town of Perugia, and a barbarous 
 massacre. Thenceforth reconciliation was impossible. 
 The poor old Pope adjured and threatened, and coaxed 
 and flattered, and excommunicated, but still his refractory 
 subjects would not again be brought under his domi- 
 nion. 
 
 With the last vote the separation was complete. The 
 Romagna decided to share the fate of her sister 
 states, and to become a part of Sardinia, or rather of the 
 new Kingdom of Northern Italy. The offer thus coming 
 from a whole nation could not be refused. Victor 
 Emanuel accepted the united crown, which can now be 
 wrested from him only by force of arms. 
 
 So far then as these states are concerned, the gain to 
 Italy from the war is immense. In one year she has 
 made more progress toward constitutional liberty than 
 in centuries before. 
 
 There remain still two dark shadows, one at the north- 
 east, and the other at the south of this beautiful Penin- 
 sula — V enice and N aples. V enice is still under the yoke. 
 We mourn the fate of the Queen of the Adriatic. Yet 
 not in despair. The hold of Austria is not at all secure. 
 Where the people are in a chronic state of discontent, 
 there can be no lasting security. Sooner or later, Venice 
 
VENICE AND NAPLES. 
 
 317 
 
 must follow the destiny of Lombardy. Heaven grant 
 her time of trial and of waiting may not be long ! 
 
 Naples has had the sad preeminence of being the 
 worst governed state in Italy. The late king Bomba 
 was a monster of cruelty. Italy is full of the stories of 
 his oppressions. The best men in his kingdom were shut 
 up for yedrs in dungeons, underground, too happy if 
 they could exchange their lot for one of exile. But 
 when the wretched brute, loathsome with disease, at last 
 went to his grave, the patriots of Naples and Sicily 
 thanked God and breathed again. But he left a son in 
 his likeness. The young king of Naples is half a fool in 
 intellect, but with the stupidity, he joins also the narrow 
 bigotry and mulish obstinacy of his race. No reforms 
 are granted, no conciliation even attempted. Nothing 
 but a tighter restraint, which grows more galling day 
 by day. These things must work their own cure. 
 Already Naples begins to shake with the throes of revo- 
 lution. The red flames which nightly cast their glare 
 over that beautiful bay, tell of an ever burning volcano 
 at hand, which may whelm villages and cities in ruin. A 
 just God marks the hour, but many signs tell us that we 
 shall not have long to wait for an explosion. 
 
 Thus has the sky of Italy cleared and brightened since 
 that warm summer’s day when we strolled along the 
 ramparts of Verona, and rode past the walls of Pes- 
 chiera, and over the plains of then oppressed, but now 
 liberated Lombardy. When we were in Milan we wit- 
 
318 
 
 SUMMER PICTURES. 
 
 nessed an imposing service in the cathedral in honor of 
 the birth of a son to the Emperor Francis Joseph. The 
 old Duomo was hung with Austrian flags. Less than one 
 year passed from that day, when those columns were 
 hung with other banners, as Victor Emanuel entered 
 under the lofty arches, and listened to a solemn service 
 performed in memory of his father, Charles Albert, who 
 had sacrificed his throne in attempting what was now 
 achieved. It seemed as if the dead king might feel a 
 joy even in his royal tomb at this final accomplishment 
 of what had been the object of his life. 
 
 Now we behold the hour for which Italy has so long 
 waited. At last it has come. Heaven grant to the 
 people still the same •spirit of union, moderation, and 
 firmness ! If so, they cannot be robbed of Liberty, and 
 with Liberty the national life will begin. Commerce, 
 Art, and Literature will revive. This marvellous achieve- 
 ment, the new creation of a whole people, is due to the 
 courage of the Italians themselves, rallying under their 
 leader, Victor Emanuel, and greatly too, to their allies, 
 the French, nor let it be forgotten, to the Emperor, 
 Louis Napoleon, who, whatever be his crimes, has thus 
 earned at least one title to the gratitude of mankind — 
 that of Liberator of Italy. 
 
 THE END. 
 
Sfjct&ott <m& dom^cra^. 
 
 A Select List 
 
 OF 
 
 PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 Messrs. Sheldon & Company beg leave to say that their 
 publications can generally be found at all Book Stores, News 
 Depots, and Religious Depositories. When not obtainable at 
 these places, any book on the list will be forwarded, prepaid 
 by mail, on receipt of the retail prices annexed to each book. 
 
 Special attention is called to the list of School and College 
 Text Books. Samples of these are sent to Teachers and 
 Educators by mail prepaid, on receipt of one half the prices 
 annexed. 
 
 New York : 
 
 SHELDON Sc COMPANY, 115 NASSAU ST., 
 
 Publishers and Booksellers . 
 
 i860. 
 
SEjcJC&oit aitd da/g Sitst 
 
 Rev. Jacob Abbott. 
 
 The Rollo Books. 
 
 14 vols., illustrated. i6mo., each. 
 
 • • • 
 
 5 ° 
 
 14 “ “ Cheap ed. i8mo., each, . 
 
 38 
 
 The Rollo Story Books . 
 
 
 
 12 vols., illustrated. i8mo., each. 
 
 • • • 
 
 25 
 
 The Florence Stories. 
 
 
 
 Florence and John, 7 illustrations, i 
 
 [ 6mo., . • 
 
 60 
 
 Grimkie, 7 “ 
 
 The Orkney Islands [in press). 
 
 tt 
 
 60 
 
 Abbott's American History. 
 Aboriginal America, 18 illustrations. 
 Discovery of America (in press). 
 
 1 6mo., ' . 
 
 75 
 
 iev. George B. Taylor. 
 
 
 
 The Oakland Stories. 
 
 
 
 Kenny, 5 illustrations. i6mo., . 
 
 • • • 
 
 5 o 
 
 Cousin Guy, 5 illustrations. i6mo., 
 Gustave (in press). 
 
 • • • 
 
 5 o 
 
 , T. Trowbridge. 
 
 The Old Battle Ground. i8mo.. 
 
 
 5 ° 
 
 Father Brighthopes. i8mo.. 
 
 . 
 
 5 ° 
 
 Hearts and Faces. i8mo.. 
 
 . 
 
 50 
 
 Iron Thorpe. i8mo.. 
 
 . 
 
 5 ° 
 
 Burr Cliff*. i8mo., . 
 
 . 
 
 50 
 

 Mrs. Thomas Geldart. 
 
 Daily Thoughts for a Child. i6mo., . 
 
 50 
 
 Truth is Everything. i6mo.. 
 
 50 
 
 Emilie the Peacemaker. i6mo.. 
 
 50 
 
 Sunday Morning Thoughts. i6mo., . 
 
 50 
 
 Sunday Evening Thoughts. i6mo., . 
 
 50 
 
 Popular History of England. i6mo.. 
 
 75 
 
 S. G. Goodrich (Peter Parley). 
 
 The Cottage Library. 10 vols., i8mo.. 
 
 • 3 75 
 
 Picture Play Books. 4to., . 
 
 75 
 
 Francis L. Hawks, D.D., LL.D. 
 
 Richard the Lion Hearted. i6mo., . 
 
 
 
 75 
 
 Oliver Cromwell. i6mo.. 
 
 
 
 75 
 
 Aunt Mary’s Stories. 12 vols., . 
 
 
 
 3 00 
 
 The Little Commodore. i6mo.. 
 
 
 
 75 
 
 A Treasury of Pleasure Books. Gilt, . 
 
 
 
 1 50 
 
 Indestructible Pleasure Books, each. 
 
 
 
 2 ° 
 
 The Illuminated Linen Primer, . 
 
 
 
 20 
 
 The Farmer Boy’s Alphabet, 
 
 
 
 20 
 
 The Scripture Alphabet, 
 
 
 
 20 
 
 Little Annie’s Ladder to Learning., 
 
 
 
 40 
 
 Child’s Pleasure Book, 
 
 
 
 75 
 
 The Pretty A. B. C., ... 
 
 
 
 20 
 
 Pleasure Books in Colors, each, . 
 
 
 
 13 
 
SfjeL&istt (£©<.’$ S-tetL 
 
 HOUSEHOLD LIBRARY. 
 
 Life and Martyrdom of Joan of Arc. By Michelet, 
 
 Life of Robert Burns. By Thomas Carlyle, 
 
 Life and Teachings of Socrates. By George Grote, 
 
 Life of Columbus. By Alphonse de Lamartine, . 
 
 Life of Frederick the Great. By Lord Macaulay, 
 
 Life of William Pitt. By Lord Macaulay, . 
 
 Life of Mahomet. By Gibbon, 
 
 Life of Luther. By Chev. Bunsen, 
 
 Life of Oliver Cromwell. By A. de Lamartine, . 
 
 Life of Torquato Tasso. By G. H. Wiffen, 
 
 Life of Peter the G reat. Compiled by the Editor, 2 vols., 1 
 Lire of Milton. By Prof. Masson, 
 
 Life of Thomas A’Becket. By H. H. Milman, D.D., 
 
 Lite of Hannibal. By Dr. Arnold, 
 
 Lire of Vittoria Colonna. By T. A. Trollope, 
 
 Lire of Julius Caesar. By Henry G. Liddell, D.D., 
 
 Lire of Mary Stuart. By A. de Lamartine, 
 
 SUNNY-SIDE SERIES. 
 
 Peep at No. 5. By Mrs. E. S. Phelps, 
 
 Tell Tale. “ " " . 
 
 Last Leaf from Sunny-Side. By Mrs. E. S. Phelps. 
 
 City Side. By Cara Belmont, .... 
 
 50 
 
 5 ° 
 
 50 
 
 5 ° 
 
 5 ° 
 
 5 ° 
 
 5 ° 
 
 5 ° 
 
 5 ° 
 
 5 ° 
 
 00 
 
 5 ° 
 
 5 ° 
 
 5 ° 
 
 50 
 
 So 
 
 5 ° 
 
 50 
 
 50 
 
 50 
 
 5 ° 
 
StjcE&otc <®tc§> (SoVeS Steth 
 
 John F. Stoddard, A.M. 
 
 Juvenile Mental Arithmetic, 
 
 . • 
 
 12 
 
 American Intellectual Arithmetic, 
 
 . 
 
 20 
 
 Practical Arithmetic, .... 
 
 . . 
 
 40 
 
 Philosophical Arithmetic, . 
 
 . 
 
 60 
 
 Key to Intel, and Prac. Arithmetic, 
 
 • 
 
 5 ° 
 
 Stoddard & Henkle (Prof. W. D.) 
 
 Elementary Algebra, .... 
 
 . 
 
 75 
 
 University Algebra, .... 
 
 • 
 
 1 50 
 
 J. Russell Webb, A.M. 
 
 Normal Primer, .... 
 
 • • 
 
 5 
 
 Primary Lessons, a Series of three Cards, 
 
 • 
 
 1 00 
 
 The Word Method Primer, 
 
 • 
 
 15 
 
 Normal Reader, No. l, . . 
 
 • « 
 
 12 
 
 Normal Reader, No. 2, . . 
 
 • * 
 
 25 
 
 Normal Reader, No. 3, 
 
 • • 
 
 38 
 
 Normal Reader, No. 4, . • • 
 
 • e 
 
 50 
 
 Normal Reader, No. 5, . . . 
 
 • • 
 
 75 
 
 Edward Hazen, A.M. 
 
 The Speller and Definer, . 
 
 . 
 
 20 
 
 Symbolical Spelling Book. Complete, 
 
 • 
 
 20 
 
 “ “ “ Part 1st, 288 Cuts, . 
 
 10 
 
 u “ “ Part 2d, 265 Cuts, . 
 
 * 
 
Stymm <m§> (S&’fl 
 
 J. L. Dagg, D.D. 
 
 Elements of Moral Science. 1 2mo. . . .100 
 
 Prof. Jean Gustave Keetels. 
 
 A New Method of Learning the French Language, 1 00 
 
 A Collegiate Course in the French Language, . 1 00 
 
 Key to the New Method, ..... 40 
 
 Key to the Collegiate Course (in press). 
 
 J. R. Loomis, D.D. 
 
 Elements of Anatomy, Physiology, and Hygiene, . 75 
 
 Elements of Geology, ..... 75 
 
 Oliver B. Goldsmith. 
 
 Copy Books in Five Numbers, each, . . . 12 
 
 Gems of Penmanship, boards, . . . . 2 00 
 
 Double-Entry Book-keeping. 8vo., ... 75 
 
 Exhibition Speaker, Fitzgerald, .... 75 
 
 Normal School Song Book, . . . . 38 
 
 History of the United States, Peabody, . . 75 
 
 Nelson’s Copy Books, 5 numbers, each, . . 10 
 
 United States Speller, Miles, . . , . 12 
 
 Fitch’s Mapping Plates, ..... 30 
 
 Parley’s Geography, . . . . . . 30 
 
 The University Drawing Book, . . . . 3 50 
 

 % 
 
 
 
 
 - 
 
 
 •0 
 
 
 
GETTY RESEARCH INSTITUTE 
 
 3 3125 01499 4723