YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

THE

REMINISCENCES

OF

AN IDLER

HENRY WIKOFF

AUTHOR OF "MY COURTSHIP AND ITS CONSEQUENCES," "ADVENTURES OF A
ROVING DIPLOMATIST," ETC., ETC.

ip

New York
FORDS, HOWARD & HULBERT
1880

Copyright, 1880, by Henrv Wikoff.

A PRELIMINARY WORD.

I HAVE often been urged to write a book of Reminiscences
by friends who knew that, during my career, I had come in
contact with many persons of various kinds of celebrity. At
times I was tempted to undertake it, but the difficulties of the
task filled me with distrust and invariably forced me to aban
don it. The dread of giving offence to persons living, or of
wounding the susceptibilities of the descendants of those dead,
were obstacles that appeared insuperable. It seemed to me,
also, well-nigh impossible to make a mere series of personal
sketches interesting to the general reader.
At length it occurred to me that I might manage to blend
an outline of the public events of the past forty years and up
wards with random portraits of prominent individuals on both
sides of the Atlantic in such a manner as to interest the pub
lic and thus secure an appreciation for my volume that purely
personal recollections would fail to command.
With this double aim I have written the present work, and
I bespeak for it the indulgent consideration of my readers, as
it was composed amid the interruptions of a busy social life,
and often at considerable intervals of time. Without longer
preface I commit my book, with " all its imperfections on its
head," to its uncertain fate , and we have ancient authority
that books, like men, have their special destinies :
" Habent sua fata libelli."
After due reflection I determined to throw my souvenirs
into an autobiographical form, as affording greater freedom
both as regards subject and style.
The Author.
New York, April, 1880.

CONTENTS OF VOL. I.

CHAPTER I.
THE ACADEMY.
rAG»
Philadelphia fifty years ago — First love — A complex character . . I
CHAPTER II.
THE UNIVERSITY.
College pranks — A misfortune — New scene of action . . . 13
CHAPTER III.
A PROFESSION.
A reform — Political manoeuvring — Scene at the White House — Visit
to ' Nellie Custis,' &c  23
CHAPTER IV.
PHILADELPHIA
A novelty — A grim spectre — Fanny Kemble — A desperate politi
cian, &c. .......... 34
CHAPTER V.
A TRIP TO THE SOUTH.
A pleasant party — A murder — Lost in the woods — Defying cho
lera, &c. .......... 41
CHAPTER VI.
SARATOGA.
Roberts Vaux — Lord Powerscourt — Mrs. Coster — A ' Magician' . 55

vi Contents.

CHAPTER VTT.
JACKSON'S LAST VICTORY.
A perfect tornado— Fearful results— A luckless victim— Strange retri
bution ...... ....

PAGB 62

CHAPTER VIII.
ADMISSION TO THE BAR.
Tyrone Power — A ghost story — Edwin Forrest — A trip West . . 69
CHAPTER IX.
PARIS.
A fast voyage — First impressions — A strange people, with strange
ways — Astonished and often perplexed . . . . -79
CHAPTER X.
PARIS {continued).
The Palais Royal — A happy man — Gambling — The American
Colony, &c. .......... 93
CHAPTER XI.
PARIS {continued).
The U.S. Minister — Presentation at Court — Effect on the American
mind ........... 100
CHAPTER XII.
PARIS {continued).
The Grand Opera — Theatres — Great artistes — Masked balls . . 108
CHAPTER XIII.
PARIS {continued).
Ball at the Tuileries — Talleyrand — Marshals Soult and Lobau—
Mrs. Wadsworth — Sir Sydney Smith — Thiers — Guizot, &c. . 120
CHAPTER XIV.
PARIS {continued).
Visit to Forrest — Attempt at assassination — Thiers and Guizot in the
tribune — Political machinery .... x$\

Contents. vii
CHAPTER XV.
PARIS {concluded). PIGS
The streets — Shops — Servants — Cheapness — Churches — Bonnes .
d'enfans — A concierge — Coiffures, &c. . . . .138
CHAPTER XVI.
ITALY.
Turin — Genoa — Pisa — Rome . . . . . . . 152
CHAPTER XVII.
ITALY {continued).
Naples — Pompeii — Vesuvius — Florence — Venice— Milan . . 165
CHAPTER XVIII.
PARIS REVISITED.
The Boulevards in May — Versailles and its history . . .178
CHAPTER XIX.
LONDON.
Journey to the metropolis — First impressions — The Italian Opera —
The Derby-day — A rebuff, &c. . . . . .181
CHAPTER XX.
HAMBURG.
The opera on post-nights — Imprisoned sirens — Dancing-houses — A
country/^*  199
CHAPTER XXI.
ST. PETERSBURG.
The Baltic — The U.S. Minister — Palaces — Churches — The Ro
manoffs  203
CHAPTER XXII.
MOSCOW.
The Kremlin — A flte — The foundling hospital — A grumbler — The
Monastery Simon ofskoi, &c. . . . . . . .214

viii • Contents.

CHAPTER XXIII.
ODESSA AND THE CRIMEA.

PAGE

An unexpected visit — Bad news — Prince Woronzow — A flirtation —
Sebastopol — Political chat . . . . • . .231
CHAPTER XXIV.
ODESSA {continued).
A dinner with the Prince Woronzow — The Russian army — A morn
ing visit — Banquet to the British Ambassador — Forrest himself
again ........... 253
CHAPTER XXV.
CONSTANTINOPLE.
A midnight reverie — The plague — Harem beauties at the Bazaar —
Visit to Commodore Porter — Dialogue with a missionary , . 264
CHAPTER XXVI.
CONSTANTINOPLE {continued).
The Padishah — An American ship-builder — A diamond show — The
Seraglio and St. Sophia ....... 283
CHAPTER XXVII.
SMYRNA.
The Hellespont — A philosophic Turk — A comical incident — An
earthly paradise — A sad disappointment  293
CHAPTER XXVIII.
ATHENS.
Classical reminiscences — Bright anticipations — Mournful realities 
An American regenerator — An unforeseen obstacle . »0i
CHAPTER XXIX.
GERMANY.
Trieste and Vienna . . . . . . . , ,I(-

Contents. ix

CHAPTER XXX.
GERMANY {continued). PAGE
Prague — Dresden — Berlin — Frankfort . . . . .323
CHAPTER XXXI.
PARIS REVISITED.
Striking improvements — An 'infernal machine' — Its authors arraigned
— A thrilling execution . . . . . . . -33°
CHAPTER XXXII.
PARIS REVISITED (continued).
Arrival of Mr. Wilkins — A dinner miscarried — Colonel Thorn and
a man from Tennessee — A conversation with the King . .337
CHAPTER XXXIII.
PARIS REVISITED {continued).
A fatal duel — A sorceress — Dr. Mott — Another attempt on the King 348
CHAPTER XXXIV.
LONDON REVISITED.
Appointed attachi — William IV. — St. James's Palace . . . 355
CHAPTER XXXV.
LONDON REVISITED {continued).
Political structure — Social organisation — Orders of chivalry . . 360
CHAPTER XXXVI.
LONDON REVISITED {continued).
Almack's — Mr. Joshua Bates — Baring Brothers — Marchioness of
Wellesley — The poet Rogers, &c  364
CHAPTER XXXVII.
LONDON REVISITED {continued).
Forrest at Drury Lane — The London press  376
b

Contents.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
LONDON revisited {continued).
PAGH
Ex-King Joseph Bonaparte — Conversation with Mr. Mansfield —
England and the United States discussed . . . .382
CHAPTER XXXIX.
AN EXCURSION TO PARIS.
The new American Minister — A succession of startling events— A.
responsible undertaking , . . . . . .392
CHAPTER XL.
LONDON REVISITED.
The Belgian Ambassador — Advent of 'Jim Crow' — Andrew Jackson
Allen^Holland House — A ball at Court — A wedding . . 398
CHAPTER XLI.
LONDON REVISITED {continued).
Disraeli's 'maiden speech' — Gladstone's Toryism — Prince Ester-
hazy's ball — Lady Powerscourt . . . . . .412
CHAPTER XLII.
HOLLAND AND BELGIUM.
Amsterdam — The Hague — Antwerp — Brussels . . . .419
CHAPTER XLIII.
LONDON REVISITED.
A rencontre with celebrities — Visit to Gore House — Count D'Orsay 425
CHAPTER XLIV.
LONDON REVISITED {continued).
Lawn Villa — An ancient corporation — A memorable dinner . . \\n
CHAPTER XLV.
RETURN TO PHILADELPHIA.
J S. Buckingham — Contrasts and comparisons — Forrest's reception
at home • 444

Contents. xi

CHAPTER XLVI.
RETURN TO PHILADELPHIA {continued).
M. B. Sampson — Under lock and key — Phrenology explored , .455

PA IE

CHAPTER XLVII.
RETURN TO PHILADELPHIA {continued).
Fashionable society — The New York Herald — James Gordon Bennett 462
CHAPTER XLVIII.
A TRIP TO WASHINGTON.
A tragic duel — A chat with President Van Buren — A conflict in the
Senate — Steam on the Atlantic — An unexpected introduction . 467
CHAPTER XLIX.
PARIS REVISITED.
Death of Talleyrand — Railway excitement — A conversation with the
Countess Guiccioli ........ 476
CHAPTER L.
PARIS REVISITED {continued).
Mr. J. G. Bennett's arrival — Dinner at Suresnes — The American
belles — A theatrical sensation — An insurrection . , . 486
CHAPTER LI.
PARIS REVISITED {continued).
A visit from Mr. Price — The Marquis de Lavalette — A renowned
artist — A strange infatuation — Taglioni and Fanny Elssler . 496
CHAPTER LII.
ST. LEONARDS-ON-SEA.
The Dunlop family — A historic battle-ground — Lady Blessington's
opinions of Bulwer and Disraeli — A rare beauty — Count D'Orsay 509
CHAPTER LIII.
PARIS REVISITED.
The contract signed — An unforeseen responsibility — Mrs. General
Scott — The daguerreotype invented . . . .514

xii Contents.

PACE

CHAPTER LIV.
PARIS REVISITED {continued).

A dinner-party — Lady Lytton Bulwer — Caught in a trap — Strange
disclosures — French lawyers — A cause ce"lebre . . . . 5r9
CHAPTER LV.
PARIS REVISITED {continued).
A strong appeal — Mrs. Grote — Letter from Mr. Price — A shoal of
introductions — 'A first-rater' — An extraordinary freak . . 536
CHAPTER LVI.
PARIS REVISITED {continued).
Sad news — A dinner in the Place St. George — Piquant letters —
Overthrow of Marshal Soult . . . . . -55°
CHAPTER LVI I.
PARIS REVISITED {continued).
Mrs. Grote's vaticinations — Self-communing — A stroke of destiny —
A. ludicrous situation — Lady Lytton Bulwer . . . .561
CHAPTER THE LAST.
LONDON REVISITED.
Dinner at Mrs. Grote's — Charles' Sumner — A grande dame — A soirie
at Lord Brougham's — Simpson's ambassador — Prince Louis
Napoleon — A thunder- clap — The departure . . . .57'

REMINISCENCES.

CHAPTER I.
THE ACADEMY.
PHJL.*I>ELPHIA. FIFTY YEARS AGO— FIRST LOVE — A COMPLEX CHARACTER.
I r will give me ampler scope, as I. have intimated in the Preface,
to adopt the autobiographical style, and I am bound, therefore,
by usage to say a word or two of my early years. I will not
attempt to beguile my reader with any delusive story of my
youthful vicissitudes, though I had some, but will hasten over
this prelude as briefly and modestly as the occasion admits.
At the outset, however, a formidable difficulty confronts me.
How am I to avoid giving the date of my birth, that I have
always allowed to repose in mystery ? I was never proud as a
boy of appearing older than I was ; and now that years have
accumulated, I am not indisposed to seem younger than I am.
I have an invincible repugnance to lapse into the category of old
men; and it is no wonder, as I am still a bachelor, and am assured
on all sides that time has dealt leniently with me. No one guesses
within ten years of my age ; and why should I treat myself more
harshly than the judge does the criminal in the dock, when he
warns him not to incriminate himself? Suffice it that circum
stantial evidence will prove enough.
After wading through the mysteries of reading, writing, and
arithmetic at the grammar-schools of my native town of Phila
delphia, it was decided that I should be despatched to Prince
ton, New Jersey, to begin my studies for college. At that time a
famous academy, under the direction of the Rev. Robert Baird,
was adding to the classical prestige of Princeton, which had long
boasted of its Nassau Hall, the venerated Alma Mater of many
of the first men in the country.
It was a lovely morning in July 1823 (a rash confession), that
I leaped joyously into my father's carriage, to accompany him to
B

77/i? Academy.

my destination. We set out at 7 A.M., with Levin, the black
groom, mounted on York, a splendid sorrel, bringing up the
rear. We dined at Bristol, and, to avoid the heat, lingered there
till late in the afternoon, when we drove on to Trenton, where
we passed the night. The next morning, before ten o'clock, we
entered Princeton, then a lovely hamlet of some few hundred
inhabitants, and consisting of one main street, lined with pretty
houses, mostly in wood painted white with green shutters.
I was still in bounding spirits at the novelty in store for me,
and devoured greedily every object my eyes lit upon. I had a
momentary chill when, after breakfast, I was reminded that the
business of the day was my presentation to my new preceptor ;
and it was with no great alacrity I started out to undergo this
ordeal. Young as I was, I had even then an innate dislike of
anything in the shape of work — formal regular work. I have
done some in my time, but it was always spasmodical and with
out premeditation. My mind at that day, and I fear ever since,
was bent on amusement, and anything that interfered with it
was a task and a bore. This is not a creditable avowal, but I was
so constituted. I have struggled often in late years to overcome
my frivolity of disposition, but have not succeeded brilliantly.
If phrenology had existed at that time, it would have been pre
dicted that I would never accomplish much, either good or bad ;
but happily Mr. Baird augured more favourably.
This gentleman was the founder of the academy where I was
destined shortly to make the acquaintance of sundry Greek and
Latin authors, who have been no more advantage to me than
many others I made afterwards. He was an A.M. of Nassau
Hall, where he officiated for some time as tutor. In later years
he became very conspicuous for his books of travels, and con
nection with all sorts of Evangelical societies. In July 1823 he
did not foresee his future renown, and was content to play the
pedagogue over some forty lads of all sizes and complexions.
He was rather a tall man, with a stoop, gentle manners, and a
sleek well-shaven face, in which I discerned no indications of
severity. Our first interview was short. Preliminaries were soon
settled, and my father desired I should be kept close to my
studies. Mr. Baird patted my head, and predicted I should
turn out a good scholar. I had my misgivings on that point.
The next morning the carriage was ordered early, for my
father was on his way to Long Branch, then the resort of some

1 he Jicaaemy.

half a dozen Philadelphia families, and as many from New York,
which constituted the bulk of its summer visitors of that day.
When the moment of parting came, a sense of isolation sud
denly seized me. Here I was to be left alone for the first time
in my life, surrounded by utter strangers. With tears in my
eyes I kissed the horses all round on their dear noses. We were
intimate friends. I shook hands with Caleb the coachman, and,
black as he was, I wanted to hug him. The last pang came.
My father embraced me, entered his carriage — how well I
remember it, painted in cream-colour, and lined with blue ! — and
the whole party rapidly disappeared behind a huge cloud of
summer dust. I stood for several minutes rooted to the spot, a
prey to the agony that Robinson Crusoe doubtless felt the day
he landed on his desert island.
At length I turned, with my heart in my throat, and wended
my solitary way to my new home that Mr. Baird had selected
for my abode, the house of Captain Moore, an old revolutionary
soldier, who had figured in the battles of Trenton and Princeton
under Washington. A comfortable dwelling it was, standing on
the main road, with spacious gardens and glorious barnyard,
filled with all manner of live things, biped and quadruped. In
fact, it was a first-class farmhouse, surrounded with fields, and near
by a delicious country lane, that led to endless orchards of those
famous apples that carried the fame of New Jersey over the
whole Union, then of more limited dimensions. Captain Moore,
bending under the weight of seventy winters, was always busy
prowling about the farm. His wife, a buxom dame of over
fifty, dominated within doors. Her niece, a charming girl of
near twenty, assisted in household duties. I looked up to her
with awe, for at that time women inspired me with singular
dread. Instinct seemed to tell me there was danger in them. I
have discovered it since to my cost.
My fellow-lodgers were two students of the theological semi
nary of Princeton, then so renowned under the direction of the
distinguished divine Dr. Alexander. One of these, of whom I
became a favourite, was George Bethune, afterwards the most
eloquent preacher of his day, as many in Philadelphia and New
York must remember. It was in this pleasant residence, with
these surroundings, I laid me down to rest the first night of my
exile, worn out with conflicting emotions.
The next day I took my desk at the academy, and began my

The Academy.

Latin grammar. I will spare the reader the dry details of my
apprenticeship to the Classics. I am forced to avow that I never
turned out a prodigy — a great blessing, as my career would not
have been half so pleasant.
People of genius are always tormented by a devil beyond their
control. They work tremendously, achieve fame they rarely
appreciate, and die for the most part unconscious of their great
ness. Such was the case, I am sure, with Bacon, Shakespeare,
and many before and since. This conviction ought to reconcile
common mortals to their lot.
For my part, I never strained to excel any one at school. I
dallied playfully with Latin and Greek, took a mild interest in
the poetry of Virgil and Horace, and was not wholly indifferent
to the ' retreat' of Xenophon and the travels of Herodotus. The
one thing that confounded me quite was the Chinese wall of
mathematics. I never could get through it or over it. There
was evidently something wholly irreconcilable between my brain
and the equations of algebra, the proportions of Euclid and
the profounder mysteries of conic sections. I could no more have
extracted the ' cube-root' than one of my own teeth, and it
would have been no easier to discover the ' unknown quantity'
in algebra than the interior of the unknown world. I supposed
there must be some meaning in them, and I tried hard to pene
trate it, but without result. From that day to this mathematics
have been to me a stupendous enigma, and I have always felt a
singular reverence for those who could understand them. I was
compelled for eight weary years at school and college to live in
daily contact with them, and struggled heroically to conceal my
ignorance. I used to rattle off my propositions in Euclid to the
admiration of my class, and wind up with an emphatic quod erat
demonstrandum, without the faintest conception of what I had
demonstrated. I simply committed the problems ' to memory,
which, fortunately, was a retentive one. Strange to say, I was
never found out.
Though not conspicuous within the walls of the academy,
I must do myself the justice to say there was little in the way of
frolic without that I did not actively share with the best or
rather the worst. I never refused a part in any prank, and
though rarely caught — a thing I had a dislike of— I was never
beyond the pale of suspicion.
Thus merrily passed life at Princeton. Twice a year, spring

The Academy.

and autumn vacation, I returned to Philadelphia. What halycon
days were those ! No irksome Latin and Greek to vex my
brain : no nauseous mathematics to sicken it. I gave myself up
to endless enjoyment.
What a different place was Philadelphia then, some fifty
years ago ! Its population was less than 100,000, and its pro
minent feature was a grave decorum, to be ascribed partly to
the staid manners of the disciples of Penn, who were numerous
and wealthy, and partly to the influence of the mother country,
which survived the Revolution. Many of the leading families
were English by birth or extraction, and their social supremacy
was cheerfully recognised. A marriage, a birth, or a death in
the houses of the Camacs, the Willings, the Kuhns, the Hamil-
tons, awakened general interest, and supplied gossip for days-
The best class lived in considerable state, occupied fine houses
in town and country, drove handsome equipages, and enter
tained brilliantly.
During my vacations I used to dine every week at the
Camacs', who had a spacious mansion in South Third-street.
The hour was 4 P.M., then considered ultra-fashionable. The
servants were white men, then a rare thing, and were imported
from England, and all in livery. The conversation ran upon
English topics as much as upon American. The son-in-law of
Mr. Camac was a retired British officer, Major Rickets. His
only son, William, returned in 1824 from a tour in Europe, and
he was regarded as a curiosity, for a trip over the Atlantic was
then uncommon. He brought home a section of the Giant's
Causeway from Ireland, which was deposited in one of the
drawing-rooms, and was quite reverentially inspected by the
fashionable world. This handsome scion of the house afterwards
married the lovely Miss Markoe.
The placid city of Penn was then lighted with oil, and at the
corners of the streets stood a round box of some seven feet in
height, surmounted by a lamp, and with a stove-pipe peering
out of the roof. It was just large enough to contain a man, a
small stove in winter, and two or three torches. It was from these
dark receptacles sallied forth the guardians of the night, armed
with a blazing flambeau and wooden rattle, to cry the hour and
announce the state of the weather. Constables, few and far
between, had charge of the day. Wood was used for heating
houses high and low, and in the autumn, negroes with their

The Academy.

, horse and saw' on their back drove a brisk business in all the
streets when the winter's supply was laid in.
Mysterious rumours were beginning to prevail that a new
substance, called coal, emitted more heat than wood, and made a
more durable fire. .One bold gentleman, in 1824, had a grate
put up in his house which was the talk of the town, and visitors
thronged to see the novelty. The thoroughfares then, as now,
were paved with cobble-stones, and jolting work it was. On
Sunday the traffic was stopped in the neighbourhood of
churches by a chain drawn across the street ; and such was the
sanctity of the town, that driving on the Sabbath was not con
sidered respectable. Oil and wax lit up the houses of the rich,
and tallow-candles were consumed by the rest. How extraordi
nary that through numberless centuries no progress had been
made in artificial light ! It was wax and oil that threw their
pale lustre over the feasts of Sardanapalus, and illuminated the
streets and houses of my boyhood. It was not till 18 16 that gas
was much used in London for lighting the thoroughfares. In
the best families negroes were the only servants. They were
free, but retained the civility and deference of their former con
dition. They did not dream they were the equals of the whites,
either socially or politically.
A steamboat, nicknamed ' Old Sal,' ran daily in summer
from Philadelphia to Bristol, some twenty miles, which was
usually accomplished in three hours. Bristoh was then much
resorted to by the beau monde of Philadelphia, many of whom
built pretty villas on the banks of the Delaware. A small hotel,
presided over by Joe Head, a ci-devant man of fortune, but who
had wasted his means, was always filled by his old friends.
Cooper, the tragedian, occupied one of the finest mansions on
the river, the scene of many festive gatherings. He was on
familiar terms with the best society, and married a Miss Fairlie,
a fashionable belle of New York. He was a tall man, of her
culean frame, with a strikingly handsome face, and rather
pompous manner. I remember as a boy contemplating him
with awe. I lived to see him bent with age, poor, and forgotten
' lagging superfluous on the stage' of life. It was about this time
he performed a wonderful feat, requiring immense strength. He
played in New York and Philadelphia on alternate nights for a
week, and gained a heavy bet. He travelled one hundred miles
between each performance, and the state of the road then must

The Academy.

have made it fearfully fatiguing. His chance for sleep was
limited. A sensation was created in Philadelphia when a steamboat
appeared called the 'Trenton,' that ran to Bordentown, some
twenty-six miles, in two hours and a half. Passengers then
took stage-coaches for New Brunswick, when another steamboat
carried them to New York. With luck the journey was per
formed in twelve hours, but terrible work it was in the heat of
summer. In winter the only route to New York was by land,
the rivers being closed by ice. The stage-coach of that day was
drawn by four horses, and carried nine passengers on three
parallel benches more or less cushioned. A boot behind con
tained the luggage. The mails were conveyed in this fashion,
and, leaving Philadelphia at 3 P.M., reached New York some
time next afternoon, and letters were delivered the following
day. This was the ordinary speed then. On grand occasions,
such as delivering the President's Message, relays of horses were
employed, and the precious document was whirled along at the
magical rate of ten miles the hour.
The chief places of amusement in Philadelphia at this time
consisted of a theatre and circus — the first in Chestnut-street, near
Sixth-street ; and the latter, corner of Walnut and Ninth streets.
The ' New Theatre,' which succeeded the old one burnt in 1 820;
was built by subscription amongst the leading gentlemen of the
town. The exterior was of marble, and the architecture hand
some. The interior consisted of three tiers of boxes, a pit, and
gallery. Private boxes were then unknown. The admission to
boxes was one dollar, to pit 75 cents, to gallery 25 cents. The
benches of the boxes were badly cushioned, with no backs. _ The
pit benches had neither cushions or backs.* Our forefathers
must have been a stiff-backed generation to accept amusement
on such terms. Worse than all, the cold in winter was intense
both in the house and on the stage, as no heating apparatus
was known. Between the acts crowds of men collected around
two huge stoves in the corridors ; • but women were compelled
to sit out 'the performance shivering and benumbed. When
snow filled the streets, locomotion was next to impossible. No
wonder theatrical enterprise was limited, and often ended in
* Tames M 'Henry, the railway magnate, was the first to introduce cushions and
backs in the pit of the Chestnut-street Theatre in 1836, on the occasion of a compli
mentary benefit, when he was at the head of the committee.

8 The Academy.
bankruptcy. Performances were given three times a week. The
managers were Wood and Warren, both admirable actors. No
one who ever witnessed the lago or Joseph Surface of the former,
or the Falstaff of the latter, ever forgot it. Wood was a favourite
in the best society, and was remarkable for his conversational
power. Another prominent actor -of that day was Joseph
Jefferson, grandfather of the popular impersonator of Rip Van
Winkle. In comic roles he was unrivalled ; never descending to
buffoonery, or running into caricature. His Paul Pry was a
masterpiece. It was in this theatre my theatrical novitiate
began, and I love its memory.
My passion for the theatre was absorbing, and it is the only
pastime of my youth that survives unshorn of its attraction.
I hasten to the theatre now with the same zest as in my unfledged
boyhood, and I derive as much delight from a performance,
whether dramatic or lyric, serious or light, as I ever did. To
this day I am constantly affected to tears by any moving
situation on the stage ; whereas in real life, strange to say, no
suffering I may experience, or the sight of any, ever produces
this effect. I have witnessed many piteous scenes, and have
even stood on a battle-field covered with carnage ; and though
transfixed with horror my eyes refused their natural tribute,
whilst the pathos of the stage appeals irresistibly to my emotions,
and invariably subdues me. To my love of the theatre I owe a
wide acquaintance and many lasting friendships with most of
the leading artists, male and female, not only of my own
country, but of England and France, for the last forty years.
I shall speak of them in their place. -
A word or two on the Philadelphia newspapers of the epoch
in question. There were three or four published in the morning,
and two — if I recollect — in the afternoon. Of the former, the
leading one was the United States Gazette, J. R. Chandler
editor ; and of the latter, the National Gazette was the most
conspicuous, its editor being Robert Walsh, LL.D. Chandler
always wrote sensibly, but was given to punning, a propensity of
the town. I remember a sample. ' No one,' he declared, ' who
expectorates can expect-to-rate as a gentleman.' Walsh was
known as a scholar, and wrote in the Johnsonian vein, too
pedantic for a newspaper. His social position was prominent
and his house much frequented. The papers were all conducted
aw a very economical scale, and were chiefly got up by the editor

The Academy.

and a ¦scissors-man. Their contents consisted of a short editorial
or two, some paragraphs of news a few days old, and advertise
ments by the year. When Congress was in session, everything
but advertisements was occasionally excluded for a ' great
speech' by some party idol. For the press of Philadelphia, like
that of the whole country at that day, was the mere handmaid
of party. They all blew the same strain, and trumpeted daily
the virtues and the crimes of their own side and the opposition.
This was the whilom condition of the press, and no one dreamt
of change or improvement. This sketch of Philadelphia of half
a century since makes the transformation that has since occurred
almost magical.
But I have wandered from my story. Let us return to Princeton.
It was the third year of my classical training. I remember
it well from an incident, the first of its kind. I fell in love, and
for some time knew not what ailed me. I suppose this is the
case with the initial attack of every disease. The object that
awoke this strange tumult within me was adorable for her beauty.
Happily I never knew what other attractions she possessed.
She was seventeen, blue eyes, dark-brown hair, radiant com
plexion, sweet smile, and beautiful teeth.' I was a mere urchin,
but doted on her with the intensity of a man. Luckily the
paroxysm was so strong that it made succeeding ones milder.
The charmer in question was unconscious that she had made a
fricassee of my young heart, for I never told my love. I used to
meet her in the same pew every Sunday at the village church,
and gazed at her intently when her head was bent over her
prayer-book. If her eyes by chance fell upon me, I tingled all
over, and wanted to creep under the bench. If I met her in the
street, I bounded round the first corner or into a shop. I was
full of poetry, but could not write it. I contented myself
when alone with scribbling her name, Hannah, for hours, and
happily it spelt the same both ways. When her marriage
occurred, two or three years later, it was a dire shock.
At this age, and long after, the fair sex wielded a kind of
mesmeric influence over me, to be attributed in part, perhaps, to
an extreme nervous sensibility, and in part to an inscrutable
sympathy founded on something feminine in my own nature.
As boy and man, the companionship of women has always been
more palatable to me than men. The truest and most lasting
friendships of my life have been with women that had no other

10 The Academy.
basis than simple affection. Those I have loved I have always
lost — generally the case, I believe. Yet, notwithstanding the
sympathy aforesaid, and the deep delight I found in female
association, I have never, by a singular perversity, till very re
cent years, felt entire self-possession in the society of women.
My case so closely resembles that of an anonymous writer, that
I cannot refrain from quoting his language. He says : ' I must
with shame and sorrow own that in one important respect —
moral, it is true, rather than physical — I have been, and am
afraid always shall be, something of a poltroon. I mean in "my
relations to the gentler sex. Whether it is that my admiration
for these beings, partaking as it does of the nature of worship,
begets something in my mind of the dread of the devotee, I do
not know. The fact remains that I have never been introduced
to a lady without at the same instant becoming aware of a sud
den failure of strength in my knees, and a corresponding falter
ing in my voice. I am told that I blush ; I know that I feel
very hot. Simultaneously I have a general sensation that I
should rather like to be a blot upon a tablecloth instead of a
human being.' Whether the diffidence that, always disturbed
my intercourse with women arose from constitutional weakness,
as above, or from a consciousness of their subtle power over me,
and an undefinable dread of dangers unknown, I cannot say ; but
most certainly, in one way or another, women have been any
thing but my guardian angels, for nearly all the serious troubles
of my variegated career have been in connection with them, as
will appear hereafter.
In January 1826, I was startled by the following letter from
my father : Philadelphia, January 21, 1826.
Dear Henry, — My horses were at the door yesterday, and I
was in the act of mounting York, when I was taken suddenly
very ill, and obliged to postpone the pleasure of paying you a visit
to some other time. I send by the mail-stage a box containing
two vols. Graca Majora ; Lempriere's Classical Dictionary, and
Goldsmith's Greece, which I beg you will take care to study
carefully without abusing them, as your books are to be of use to
you hereafter as well as now. Upon the receipt of this inquire
at the post-office for a small box, addressed to you, containing
the books. — Affectionately yours,
H. Wikoff.

/ he A cademy. 1 1

I had no presentiment that this would be his last letter, but
so, unhappily, it turned out ; for just one month from the above
date, to my great affliction, he died, leaving me heir to the
greater part of his fortune. Though very young at the time, I
was not insensible to the advantages of an independent position,
and if I could have had my own way, I should have abandoned
school and books forthwith, and started out on my travels ; for I
was already animated with an eager desire to see the world, and
the inhabitants thereof. But I passed thenceforward under the
guardianship of S. P. Wetherill of Philadelphia, and, until I
reached my majority, was subject to his absolute control. It
was decided I should pass another year at Princeton, as I was
considered too young to confront the temptations of university
life. I was nothing loth, as this lovely village had infinite charms
for me. I was blessed with numerous school-friendships, and
was cordially received in many of the pleasantest houses of the
place. Commodore Renshaw was a resident there, and many a
cheerful hour I passed under his roof. The Stockton family was
also very kind to me. Richard, the signer of the ' Declaration,'
was still living, and his son Robert was already looming into pro
minence. The allotted year soon glided away, and the hour of
parting came. I bade farewell to the academic groves of Prince
ton, and returned to Philadelphia*, to kiss my native soil, Antaeus
like, and gather strength for my new career.
In looking back to the composition of my undeveloped mind
at this period, I find it was • made up of such ill-assorted mate
rials, and was swayed by such wayward contradictory impulses,
that it is no wonder I never pursued any straight line through
life, never aimed at any distinct object, and never accomplished
any positive result. It was an incongruous mixture of antago
nistic ingredients ; a bit of variegated mosaic, consisting of
colours the most dissimilar. In short, no quality was strong
enough, no trait 'sufficiently dominant, to preponderate, and give
definite shape to my character or purpose to my career. I had
nothing in common with that practical class whose motto is
Fac et Spera — do and hope — and who are ever steadily pushing
•on to their goal. On the contrary, I belonged rather to that
erratic category who may be likened to the proverbial schoolboy
out for a ramble. He moves along for a few yards on the
straight road with surprising perseverance, and then sets out
after a butterfly, looks for a bird's-nest, or jumps backwards

1 2 The Academy.

and forwards over a ditch. In this nimble and digressive
manner I have been frisking and capering — carried away by
animal spirits — along the path of life. My ardent temperament
was always the disturbing element ; and sentimentality con
stantly misled me as a boy, and has done so since. I was ever
passionate in my likes, lively in my prejudices, but relenting in
my hates. I have often speculated if I should have turned out a
more useful member of society if poverty had stared me in the
face, and forced me to struggle sternly for the prizes of fortune.
I believe many a successful man would never have been heard
of if the bread-and-butter problem had not driven him to solve it.
At the time I refer to I had three decided fancies, which have
never deserted me : a newspaper, the theatre, and female
society. I took to the first for the events of the day, as indis
pensable to me as my food ; to the second, for an amusement
preferable to all others ; and to the third from irresistible bent.
What is a newspaper but history teaching by example ? whilst
the drama, in the words of Pope, was meant
' To touch the soul by tender strokes of art,
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart.'
As for the fair sex, it is unnecessary to quote poetry or dilate
in prose on its multitudinous charms. At the age in question
I felt all these penchants strong within me, and yielded to their
fascination, without knowing whence they came or whither they
would lead me. On the whole, I think it was fortunate I was
not possessed by more devils, in the scriptural sense, and of a
more malignant description.

. CHAPTER II
THE UNIVERSITY.
COLLEGE PRANKS— A MISFORTUNE— NEW SCENE OF ACTIOS.
MY guardian, after due consultation with several friends of
'young Hopeful,' decided on sending me to the University of
Yale, as the most likely to supply me with the fullest amount of
instruction, and to give most prestige to my future career.
Alas, I'komme propose et Dieu dispose, as the French say. It
was originally intended I should take my AB. at Nassau Hall.
I doubt if I could have learned less if I had been allowed to
linger four years longer in Princeton, and to bask in idleness
under the lofty shade of the fine old campus, the pride of the
college. In June 1827 I set off, in company with my guardian, his
eldest daughter, a lovely girl, and my cousin Anna Matilda, for
New Haven. We entered New York at six in the evening,
having left Philadelphia at the same hour in the morning, and
drove to the City Hotel, then the leading hostelry of the town.
Our parlour,- 1 remember, was quite palatial ; of great height and
extent, not surpassed by anything of the present day.
This was my first visit to New York, and the first town of any
importance after my own I had ever seen, and was impressed
accordingly. It was not laborious to investigate it, for it was all
concentrated in the neighbourhood of the Battery. I was charmed
with this fine promenade looking on the magnificent bay, which
is not surpassed by any seen since. This was the fashionable
quarter, though predictions were flying about that it would not
be so always. We all went to the Park Theatre, the leading one
of the place. There was only one other, of inferior standing, and
a long distance up the Bowery. I was enchanted with the
drollery of an admirable actor, Henry Placide, whom I knew well
in later years.
Our stay was only of two or three days' duration. New
York struck rrie like some foreign city, so dissimilar was it*
social and material aspect to quiet Philadelphia. Its two great

?4 The University.

rivers and glorious bay made me blush for the unpretending
streams of my native town ; whilst the bustle and movement
everywhere prevalent, even at that day, gave me a notion of
trade and commerce on a scale I had never before witnessed.
We left at 7 A.M. in the steamer for New Haven through
Long Island Sound, which seemed like going to sea, for I had
never beheld such an expanse of water before. After a delight
ful passage of nine hours, we reached our destination ; but ere
we got to the Tontine Hotel, then just opened, I had quite lost
my heart with the rustic beauty of the ' City of Elms.' The
prospect of spending four years amid the pretty unpaved streets,
and gorgeous foliage that abounded on every side, quite capti
vated me, and I thought only of the pleasant days in store.
Latin and Greek, that brought me there, never crossed my
mind. We took a stroll next day about the college buildings, all of
brick, in a straight line, and some six in number. They had a
cheerful appearance, and the imprisonment that awaited me did
not repel. I was too late for the third term of the freshman
class I meant to enter, and my admission was postponed to
September. My guardian suggested I should pass the summer
in New Haven, furbishing up my classical armour, to be ready
for the ordeal of the autumn ; which I approved, though secretly
meaning to make a more agreeable use of my time. • The ladies
were desirous to continue their trip to Boston ; and so an ' extra,'
as a stage-coach and four for private use was then called, was
ordered for that purpose. The party drove off after breakfast
of a sweet summer's morning, and I stood for several minutes
waving my handkerchief after them. Here was I left a second
time alone amid strangers, but I experienced none of the deso
lation suffered on the previous occasion. I was a few years older,
and the situation was less trying. The summer rolled away
rapidly, and I remember it for much experience that was quite
new. I also remember two men who graduated in the class of
1827, that were frequently pointed out to me as its most conspi
cuous members. One was the son of a very prominent states
man, which, in fact, explained the notice he attracted ; but there
was enough of individuality about John Van Bure'n to command
attention. He had already revealed the traits which distinguished
him in after life — easy and careless in manner, bold in character

1 tie university. 15
and of an aggressive turn of mind. His rival in notoriety had
no hereditary claims to support him ; but he was gifted with a
rare poetical talent, that had already secured him distinction both
in and out of college. His tone and bearing were aristocratic, not
unmixed with hauteur, and though admired for his abilities, he
never commanded the sympathies of his comrades. Such was
N. P. Willis then, and such he remained to the end of his life.
Neither of these graduates, if I remember, bore off ' honours ;'
but Willis was requested by his class, with the approval of the
Faculty, to deliver a poem at the commencement of 1827. I was
too young to approach these Titans, as I regarded them, and
was content to gaze on them with deference as they swept
by me in the street. In after years I became intimate with them
both. I passed the autumn examination without difficulty, and
was admitted to the freshman class of the university. I
went to Philadelphia for the vacation, and then returned to New
Haven to begin business. Dreading the practical jokes that
were visited on all neophytes, I took lodgings out of the college
for the first year, and my room-mate was a fellow-freshman
and townsman, Edward Wain. He was a hard student, and I
used to wonder at his poring over dry books when he might
pass his time more pleasantly. I dedicated to light literature
the hours he used to devote to musty studies, though I always
managed to make a good show at recitation. I skimmed over
what others probed to the bottom. Wain seemed to dread a
bad example ; for after a few months he moved into college,
and continued his martyrdom to the Classics until the second
term of his junior year, when he obtained an 'oration,' a high
honour ; and then, strange to say, his habits changed. He flung
his books aside, became a dandy, and gave himself up to the
seductions of society. I was guilty of no such inconsistency.
In the last term of my freshman year a singular event
occurred. A revolt broke out in the university, confined at first
to a few daring spirits, founded on an outcry against the rations
of the college-hall, which gave it the name of the ' Bread-and-
Butter Rebellion.' After two or three days, the Faculty, wkh a
view to extinguish it, expelled several of ±he ringleaders who
were popular men. This spread the flame, and nearly the whole
university mutinied. They marched in procession to a m&ns sacer
improvised for the occasion, and made solemn vows they would

16 The University.
not return to duty till the expelled ones were reinstated. As
this was sternly refused, the crisis came, and there was nothing
left but to yield, or abandon the university. Some gave in, and
were duly hissed and hooted. The rest packed up and went
home, leaving a committee to report on the future action of the
Faculty. After three weeks a circular from our committee was
despatched, calling us back ; and we returned to discover that
the victims for whom we threw down our books were not restored,
but that solemn pledges were given that the butter should be of
better quality in future. Under these circumstances we resumed
work. It is needless to say I was among the rebels from the
start. Exemption from study was sufficient inducement, and I
gave myself up heartily to the cause. Fortunately my guardian
thought my honour was involved not to desert my comrades in
arms, and of course I shared his point of view.
My second year I moved into college, and participated con
amore in all the mad pranks practised on the new-comers.
Doors were tied on the outside, and tobacco, soaked in asafcetida,
was lighted in the keyholes, half suffocating the luckless wights
within. Sacking bottoms were cut, landing the weary student
on the floor when jumping into bed. Window-panes were
broken on bitter winter nights, and the shivering victims were
cut off from all retreat. These rude, gambols were denounced
by the Faculty under heavy pains and penalties, and woe to the
culprit if caught ! Many a lively chase had I with a' tutor in my
wake, and was never overtaken but once, which, like Mercutio's
wound, might have done for me. The panting avenger of college-
law seized me by the collar, and escape was hopeless.
' Your name ?' he demanded, in a stern tone.
It was an awful moment. Expulsion hung over me.
1 Your name ?' he repeated, with emphasis.
' Thomson,' I ejaculated.
' Your college ?' he continued.
' South,' I replied.
' You will appear before the Faculty at ten to-morrow morn
ing,' he thundered out, and let go his hold.
I, vanished in the darkness, having given the name of one of
the steadiest men in the university — a monstrum eruditionis 
who was electrified at being summoned next day to be made an
exampfc of. He had to prove no end of alibis to evade his im
pending doom. It is a pity I made light of the old proverb

The University. 1 7
that ' a pitcher that goes too often to the well is broken at last.'
I had many narrow escapes, and should have been warned.
My third year began gaily. As a ' Junior' I was allowed
better rooms, and obtained permission to furnish them hand
somely. I introduced paper-hangings, carpets, and mirrors — all
unusual innovations. One day, the renowned Professor Silliman
came to make a survey, fearing the example a bad one.
' All this love of externals, young man,' said the great
savant, ' argues indifference to the more necessary furniture of
the brain, which is your special business here.'
' The more comfortable my rooms,' I answered, in a deferen
tial tone, ' the more pleasure I find in occupying them.'
' Humph !' he retorted mildly. ' But you are little credited
with any such reputation ; however, I wish you well ;' and he
went away seemingly mollified.
It is true that lights were seen oftener in my windows at
night than of yore. Not that I was wasting midnight oil, or
damaging my constitution by laborious study ; but after the
rounds of the tutor, I used to assemble a chosen few for a game
of whist. Innocent amusement, but against rules.
One of my chosen comrades at this time was Lorenzo Kip of
New York. His habits were good, and manners refined. He
took to theology on leaving college, and wound up as a bishop.
He once saved me from a trouncing, I remember. In a dispute
in his room I knocked my adversary over, a stouter fellow than
myself. He rose from the floor furious at the outrage, and I was
in danger of expiating it. Kip seized him in his arms and held
him till his rage abated, when an apology ensued, and we quietly
resumed our argument. Another classmate I held in great
reverence was Albert Smith of South Carolina. His name was
afterwards changed to Rhett. He stood at the head of the class,
and the first honours were universally conceded to him. He
¦ excelled in everything, conduct included. I regarded him as a
phenomenon. Strange to say, he got involved in a quarrel with
a fellow-student ; a fight ensued, in which a dirk was used, and
both were expelled. He afterwards entered the Legislature of
his State, but died prematurely. A strange mysterious fellow
was Worthington of Maryland. He enjoyed a frolic, but never
gave any sign of exhilaration. He was silent, calm, and well-
bred under all circumstances. He puzzled me ; but I liked him.
Long years afterwards, I met a beautiful daughter of his at St.
Petersburg, at the house of Madame Bodisco. My name was
C

s8 The University.
familiar to her from hearing her father talk of his ci-devant
college-chum. I frequented, during my junior year, many of the attractive
houses of New Haven. The one I recall the most vividly is that
of Mrs. De Forest, a lovely widow of large fortune. Her two
beautiful daughters Pastora and Julia, the first a perfect blonde,
and the latter a matchless brunette, were the belles of the town,
and happy was the swain who secured them the oftenest for a
quadrille. Waltzing was then unknown. Another gem, ' born
to blush unseen' — for she went but little into society — was Miss
Goodrich, who was afterv/ards carried off a bride by James Phalen
of New York.
Nothing in my whole college career used to arouse my ire
like turning out in the morning to prayers. Five A.M. in the
summer was bad enough ; but to trot to the chapel at six A.M. in
the winter, in the darkness, cold, and snow, awoke anything but
a pious spirit. I evaded this ordeal once for six months by a
happy expedient. I ensconced myself behind a tutor's box, and
when called up for absence from prayers declared I was present,
but out of sight. The monitor was informed of this, and ceased
reporting me, which emboldened me to set the ' last bell' at defi
ance for some time, without discovery. This compulsory early
-rising made a late man of me ever after. I can appreciate the
feelings of the old officer obliged for years to attend parade at
sunrise, and who, after retiring from the army, ordered his ser
vant to awake him as usual.
' Parade, sir,' cried the valet.
Opening his eyes, the veteran used to exclaim, ' D— n the
parade !' and turned over to sleep with double relish.
As the close of my second-term junior year approached, I
began to experience an anxious dread of the formidable ordeal
that awaited me. The class was then examined on the entire
range of its studies— Latin, Greek, mathematics, philosophy;
logic, chemistry, and the Lord knows what besides— for the two
and a half preceding years. It was enough to make the best
student tremble, but to a laggard like myself it was full of
.errors. Failure to pass involved going down for a year, to say
nothing of the disgrace. The experimentum cruets came', and I
endured the strain successfully. The future now was without a
cloud. The rest of the work was easy. To crown all, Professor
Goodrich, who was charged with my exchequer and general
supervision, reported favourably to my guardian. He wrote •

The University. 19

' I cannot positively censure your ward for his expenditure, though
the sum is certainly greater than would be proper for any young-
man except one of good property. For the rest, his conduct has.
been perfectly correct, his bearing amiable, and his standing as
a scholar quite good.' The worthy professor evidently harboured
no disparaging suspicions. Sad that his illusions were so sud
denly dispelled !
One of my favourite pastimes was driving, and I was allowed
this indulgence on the half-holidays. I knew a young lady who
equally enjoyed it, and we often drove out together. No great
harm, surely, in *his. It happened, however, one Sunday, instead
of going to church, as in duty bound, I escorted my fair friend to
see her parents, some miles away in the country. A storm came
on at night, and prevented our return. I struggled hard to reach
college in time for prayers next morning, and failed. Soon
after breakfast I was summoned to the President's apartment,
which startled me, but I suspected no danger. As I entered I
scanned the countenance of the venerable President, Jeremiah
Day, and the expression was one ' more in sorrow than in anger/
' You were not at prayers this mof ning,' he began.
' I overslept myself,' was my reply.
' You were not in college last night'
I was about improvising an explanation, when he added :
.'You were seen driving into town this morning early with a
lady' I was utterly disconcerted, and hung my head in silence.
' The Faculty will deliberate on your case,' he said gravely,
' at their next meeting. Meanwhile, you had better retire to.
Stamford, and await the result.'
All was said, and I withdrew.
Here I was stranded at last. After a thousand escapes, to
be finally shipwrecked ! and to think that it was a woman who
brought this upon me ! Turned out of Eden like my first
ancestor, and a descendant of Eve the primary cause ! Verily
history repeats itself ! I made sundry solemn resolutions on the
spot. Silly, I did not adhere to them. I put my rooms in the
care of the janitor, and slipped off without explanation to my
coterie to the place designated. In a few days my doom came
— ' private dismissal' It was some consolation to have escaped
'expulsion' — that was publicly announced in the chapel. This
was the first serious scrape of my life, and I was. perplexed in
the extreme. How to face my guardian ? what new career to

20 The University.
begin ? I felt like flying to the uttermost parts of the earth, but
lacked funds for so long a trip.
After profound cogitation, I plucked up courage to meet the
emergency. I found comfort in a line of Virgil — Tu ne cede
malis, sed contra audentior ito (' Yield not to misfortunes, but, on
the contrary, meet them boldly'). I set off for Philadelphia, and
arrived at 8 AM. I sought an interview with my guardian, who
received me in sullen silence. At length, raising his head from
his newspaper, he remarked :
' You have got yourself into a pretty scrape.'
' Yes,' was my curt reply. «
After a long pause, he inquired :
' What do you propose to do now ?'
' Enter another college,' I replied, with resolution.
He quietly wrote a cheque, and handed it to me with the
laconic remark :
' The sooner you do it, the better.'
Bidding him ' Good-morning,' I hastened gladly from his
sombre presence. I left town at twelve, without seeing a single
person I knew, and made my way for Boston, meaning to try
my luck at Harvard University, in the neighbourhood. Under
other circumstances I should have enjoyed my first visit to this
handsome city, but a shadow seemed to rest on every object.
The only thing that attracted my attention was the Tremont
House, where I put up. It had just opened, and its size and
splendour impressed me. Hotels on such a scale were then a
novelty. On tapping at the door of Harvard, I was informed
that my banishment from Yale had reached them, and admission
was, of course, impossible. It was the cruel etiquette at that time,
and probably now, between all the colleges, not to accept a
student who had been ejected from another. I daresay this
has blighted the career of many a young man, who saw no chance
of reinstating himself.
Upon this repulse I hurried across the country to Schenec
tady, N.Y., to see if I could find an opening at Union College.
This institution was under the special direction of the celebrated
Dr. Nott, and I had read numerous anecdotes of his eccentric
character and benevolent disposition. I knew he had the
authority to admit me if I found favour in his eyes. Accord
ingly I waited upon him, gave my name, and expressed a desire
to enter the. senior class. He was a tall man, of robust frame
and advanced age. His head was large, with keen gray eyes

The University. 21

not without a certain expression of benignity. He regarded me
attentively for a minute or two.
' I know all about you, young man,' he said. ' You have
recently been dismissed from Yale.'
Though taken aback, I ventured to say, ' It was hard to lose
my diploma for a single offence,' and I looked up appealingly.
' Your character is none of the best,' he returned. ' I fear
you will be anything but a good example ; and I have bad
fellows enough to deal with.'
' Depend on it, Mr. President,' I expostulated, ' if you'll give
me another chance, I will never cause you to regret it.'
' I have my doubts,' he said, in his blunt way ; ' but if you
can pass, I will admit you.'
For two or three days I was tossed about from one pro
fessor to another, and a torturing process it was ; but I floun
dered through, and took my place in the senior class. My
guardian was reconciled, and neither his family nor my friends
ever knew of my mishap.
On the beginning of the term the good-hearted President
summoned me to say he had assigned me quarters in his
immediate neighbourhood, and meant to keep his eye on me.
I knew of his infinite delight in detecting a delinquent, and
he was said even to disguise himself at times for that purpose.
It was not unlikely I should put his^dexterity to the test, for
I discovered, to my horror, that no sooner were my troubles
over than my love of frolic returned. My room-mate was a
bright jolly fellow ; but he was in love, if not actually en
gaged to be married, and took no interest in vulgar revels. I
am speaking of De Witt Clinton Clark, so long an official of the
Lower House of Congress. I found a congenial spirit in George
Brisbane, brother of Albert the Fourierite ; and many a brisk
drive had we of a bitter winter's night, when Dr. Nott was
in bed, all the way to Albany, sixteen miles, before a railway
was thought of, and only for the sake of a good supper. But it
was forbidden fruit, and that, to thoughtless youth, is irresistible.
I remember an incident of this winter of a very simple
character, but which has oft and again recurred to me. I was
in the habit of dropping into the leading hotel in the town once
or twice a week, to solace myself with a comfortable breakfast,
as college-rations were not altogether up to my standard of good
fare. One morning I took my place at the long table of the
dining-room, and remarked there was only one person seated

22 The University.
there. He was an old man quite bent with age, and his hand
trembled as he raised his cup to his lips. His thin gray hair
sparsely covered a well-shaped head ; but the uncommon bril
liancy of his eye, undimmed by years, and its furtive restless
glances, attracted my attention. There was something, too, in
his manner that impressed me — a quiet dignity, a certain air
of authority, that indicated he was no common man. I felt
induced to engage him in conversation, but there was a frigid
reserve about him that discouraged me. I observed him stealthily
until he rose and went away. I called the waiter, and asked if
he knew the gentleman who had just left the room.
' I know his name,' he replied. ' He arrived an hour since,
and goes off immediately'
' What is his name ?' I demanded.
' Aaron Burr.'
I was thunderstruck. ' Aaron Burr !' I repeated mechanically.
I had been sitting, wholly unconscious of the fact, face to face
with the man who had been an aide-de-camp of Washington ;
who had come within one vote of the Presidency of the United
States against his illustrious rival Jefferson ; the man who had
killed Alexander Hamilton in a duel ; and finally was mixed
up with a mysterious organisation supposed to be of a treason
able character. Shunned, hated, and despised, he sought,
late in life, to escape destitution by marrying the widow of a
French jeweller of New *York, who soon abandoned him, but
was induced to grant him a stipend, on which he subsisted. He
was, indeed, a rare instance of the mutability of fortune. His
extraordinary talents had raised him almost to the sovereignty
of the country, when he fell headlong into the lowest abyss of
scorn, ' a proverb and a by-word among all people.' Without
knowing him, I had been curiously scanning the features and person
of this remarkable man, who was on the last stage of his journey
to the tomb, unaccompanied by that ' honour, love, obedience,
and troops of friends' that Macbeth regarded as the reward of a
well-spent life. For days I was haunted by this strange rencontre.
My senior year at Union College rolled by without especial
incident. With all his dexterity and vigilance, the good old
President had utterly failed to get me in his grip, and I am sure
thought none the worse of me for eluding him. We parted the
best of friends in July 1831, when he handed me my diploma
with a bene exeat. I shall always revere his memory.

CHAPTER III.
A PROFESSION.
A REFORM — POLITICAL MANOEUVRING — SCENE AT THE WHITE HOUSE —
VISIT TO ' NELLY CUSTIS,' ETC.
No sooner had I shaken off the trammels of collegiate life than
I began my travels. I dashed off in August 1831 for Niagara
Falls. Never shall I forget the weariness of the three days and
nights I was couped up in the stage-coach, in melting weather
and dusty roads. The grandeur of this famous cataract recon
ciled me for this loss of time and temper. After a leisurely
survey of this great wonder of Nature, I made my way over Lake
Ontario to Montreal. This was the first foreign city I ever
beheld, and was deeply impressed. It was delightful to hear the
people speaking French, though I could not then understand a
word. Descending the St. Lawrence, I reached Quebec. Its massive
fortifications, an utter novelty, brought the Middle Ages vividly
before me. At the theatre my attention was diverted from the
stage by the entrance of the Governor-General of Canada, the
Earl of Aylmer. He was a comely-looking man, of dignified
mien, in evening dress, with a star on his left breast. I had
never contemplated a British nobleman before, and I regarded
him with the liveliest interest. My mind soon wandered from
the individual before me, and I thought of the class he repre
sented, who were identified with the history and glory of England
for so many centuries.
Bending my way homewards, I crossed the. New England
States, and was enchanted with the fine mountain scenery, the
trim villages fronting on broad avenues lined with lofty trees,
and the industrious keen-visaged people who inhabited them.
On my return to Philadelphia, I held a consultation with my
guardian on my future movements. I was eager to make my
way to Europe, long an ardent wish, and swelling into a passion
as the time approached. He counselled delay.
' Wait till you are of age,' he remarked.
' And meanwhile ?' I queried.

24 A Profession.

' Meanwhile,' he said, ' I would suggest your reading a course
of law. If you never practise, it will be useful knowledge ; be
sides, you can employ your vacations profitably in travelling over
your own country before you visit foreign lands.'
I felt the advice was sound, and adopted it. In October of
that year I entered the office of Joseph R. Ingersoll, one of the
leading members of the Philadelphia bar, whom I had known
from my boyhood, and I shared in the universal respect enter
tained for him by the profession and the community. He was
not only a conspicuous lawyer, but a man absolutely faultless in
all the relations of life.*
Among my fellow-students in the. office of Mr. Ingersoll I
encountered two of my classmates at Yale — Edward Wain,
already mentioned, and W. Hemphill Jones, one of my intimes..
His talents were of a superior order, but he showed little relish
for legal lore.
Whether it was to merit the approbation of Mr. Ingersoll, or
from a conviction that I had made but a sorry use of my oppor
tunities hitherto, I know not ; but I resolved henceforth on a
steady and studious life. My first step was to abandon the
society of all my gay companions, and then I set to work to
contract habits of application. I divided my time equally
between law, history, and general literature, some three hours
daily to each. The novelty of continuous labour stimulated.
me at first, but I found it required no small resolution to
keep it up. I began my legal course with Montesquieu's
celebrated book on the 'Spirit of Laws' {L Esprit des Lois),
which charmed me greatly. I soon discovered that it was not
law when I began to read Blackstone's Commentaries; but
this was downright poetry to the next book put into my
hands, — Coke on Littletan. It was the toughest job I ever
undertook, and, unaccustomed to such a strain, it was enough
to disjoint my mind altogether. It had one advantage, however,
over mathematics ; for after poring a dozen times over a page of
its musty Latin and Norman French, I could extract some idea
of its meaning, which never happened in the other case.
It was a relief to turn from arid law to the more attractive
details of history. The actions of men, individually or in the
aggregate» always had great fascination for me. The vicissitudes
* After leaving the bar he accepted a seat in Congress, and wound up his public
career as Minister to England.

A Profession. 25

of the untutored masses in the past history of the world, led
hither and thither by the subtle craft of superior men aiming
at their own aggrandisement, are always interesting, though
sad to contemplate. The selfish ambition of great men is
almost invariable ; but at intervals the eye is caught by some
striking figures, which spring up to ennoble their country and
their epoch by disinterested devotion to the general good. Such
was our Washington ; and the United States are fortunate in
their short career to have furnished the world with one of the
most perfect types of hero and patriot.
In the way of general reading at this time, I used to devour
Bulwer's novels. His Pelkam enchanted me. I felt a new
master of fiction had appeared, and with a special merit of his
own. It was the vein of philosophy that pervaded his writings
which attracted me, and aroused a habit of reflection vastly
beneficial. I believe I derived more instruction in this way from
Bulwer than any author I ever read. He was then little known,
but in later years he developed genius of the highest order.
In history, poetry, oratory, as well as fiction, he gave indubi
table proofs of a master mind.
After three months' fagging I thought myself entitled to a
holiday, and I resolved on a visit to Washington. I was filled
with a burning desire to see the great actors on the politi
cal stage, whose names were familiar as household words. I
had not the ambition exactly of Norval on the Grampian
Hills to ' follow some warlike lord,' or anybody else, still less
any desire to take a hand in the world's game, but really eager
to find out, if I could, what was going on, and, above all, to see
and know the chief figures on the scene.
Towards the end of December 1831,1 left Philadelphia in
the stage-coach for Baltimore, the only route in winter ; and was
twenty-four hours on the road, and half frozen at that. I rested
a day on reaching it, partly to have a glimpse of the renowned
metropolis of canvas-back ducks and pretty women, and partly
to make the acquaintance of the leading man of the place. I
did the first in the morning, and was favourably impressed. In
the afternoon I delivered my introductions to General Samuel
Smith, then the Nestor of the United States Senate. First a
merchant, then a soldier in the war of 1 8 1 2, and finally a politician,
he was successful in each career. He lived in a fine mansion,
with servants in livery, and drove a carriage-and-four. The

26 A Profession.
house, with its quaint furniture, and the manners and dress of its
owner, all bore the stamp of the colonial period, which had not
then utterly disappeared. Intelligent, energetic, and upright,
General Smith was a perfect model, and one of the last, of that
resolute band of colonial gentlemen who built up the Union.*
After a pleasant interview with the veteran, whose courtly address
quite charmed me, I took my leave, regretting I was obliged to
decline his courteous hospitalities. General - Smith had two
daughters. One married Mr. Mansfield, Secretary of the British
Legation at Washington. They afterwards lived in great style
in London.t The second married Christopher Hughes, for many
years United States Charge d' Affaires at Sweden, and widely
known in fashionable circles on both sides of the Atlantic.
I was tossed about for nearly the entire day in the stage-coach
from Baltimore to Washington, but tried to divert my mind by
pondering over the wonderful men I was so soon to see at the
Federal capital. None of them stirred my curiosity to such a
degree astheoccupant of the Presidential mansion, General Andrew
Jackson. His character and career were both extraordinary.
He was a native of North Carolina, but of Irish descent, which
perhaps explained the pugnacity of his disposition, that never lost
an occasion to assert itself. An orphan at three years old, he
was apprenticed to a, sa-dler. Then he became a schoolmaster,
and next a lawyer. He removed to Nashville, Tennessee, and
soon entered the Legislature. Later he was sent to the United
States House of Representatives sitting in Philadelphia, 1798,
and afterwards to the United States Senate. Resigning his seat,
he then took to mercantile life, and acquired fortune enough to
buy a plantation. He became a general of militia, and com
manded in various forays with the Indians. But this was not
enough to satisfy his combative propensities, and he was fre-
* A proof of his practical character was displayed during a riot that once occurred
in Baltimore from the failure of a bank. The mob obtained possession of the town,
and a public meeting was convened, and a string of resolutions was read. Suddenly
a voice exclaimed, 'D — n your resolutions !' An uproar ensued, when it was dis
covered that it was no other than the revered General Smith who had given way to
this contemptuous expression. He was at once entreated to come on the platform
and suggest some plan of action. ' Give me that ila,'.' he cried out, ' and follow me
to Howard Park, and I will find you a plan of action.' Arriving there, and sur
rounded by an enthusiastic crowd, he proclaimed on his own responsibility the city
under martial law, organised and armed the citizens, divided the town into military
districts, and patrolled every street. This soon disposed of the riot.
t Their youngest son achieved great distinction in the British army, and was
raised to die House of Peers as Lord Sandhurst.

A Profession. 27

quently engaged in duels and 'free fights.' His duel with
Dickinson of Nashville was striking. The latter was a notorious
" dead shot,' .and never known to miss his man. Jackson was
warned that Dickinson always fired on the word, and he did so
on this occasion ; but Jackson did not fall. ' Good God,' cried
his antagonist, ' have I missed him ?' Jackson then took steady
aim, and killed his opponent. It was only when walking away
it was discovered that he had a rib broken and was badly
wounded. His fight with, the brothers Benton was remarkable. There
were five in the affray, and pistols and poniards were freely used ;
yet nobody was killed. Jackson received a ball in the shoulder
that was never extracted. The physicians wished to amputate
his arm, but he set them at defiance. Another event of his life
at Nashville was romantic. A friend of his ill-treated his wife.
Jackson took her part, and fought the husband. A divorce
ensued, and Jackson married the lady. In January 1815 he
commanded at New Orleans less than 3000 militiamen, in
trenched behind cotton bales, in a battle with over 14,000 picked
troops of the British army. The fight began at 8 A.M., and the
British general at 2 P.M. demanded a truce, and abandoned the field.
A little later, Jackson commanded in a campaign against the Semi
nole Indians in Florida, then belonging to Spain, which he seized
and occupied. By this time his popularity was so great that some
shrewd politicians singled him out as a candidate for the Presi
dency ; and in 1824 he ran against John Quincey Adams, W. H.
Crawford, and Henry Clay. He got the highest vote, but not a
majority, and the election went into the House of Representatives.
Clay gave his votes to Adams, who was consequently elected. In
1828, Jackson ran again, and utterly distanced his competitor.
These were only some of the incidents of his marvellous career
that occurred to me at the time, but they revealed his prominent
traits — a fearless courage, an unbending will, and singular up
rightness. He had now been nearly three years in office, and I recalled
some of the stirring events of his tenure. The General was no
politician by nature or education. He was a man of action ;
above all, a man of combat. ' It has been the rule of my life,' he
once said, ' never to tamper with an enemy.' He was straight
forward, well-intentioned, but explosive — just the man to fall
under the influence of a dextrous intriguer. Such was his fate.

28 A Profession.

His first Secretary of State was Martin Van Buren, wonderfully
versed in all the arts of political legerdemain. He aimed at the
Presidency, and he meant to use Jackson to effect it A formid
able rival, however, stood in his way — no less than John C. Cal
houn, elected Vice-President with Jackson. The first act of the
new Administration in 1829 raised an immense outcry. A vast
number of office-holders were removed, including five hundred
postmasters, together with collectors and surveyors, &c, in propor
tion. This was a new policy, and much condemned. Jefferson
had only removed thirty-nine incumbents, and other Presidents
still fewer. Jackson had once declared in previous years that
no one should be proscribed for opinions' sake, but he was soon
convinced of the expediency of wholesale removals. Of course,
Van Buren's friends filled the vacancies. The next step was ' oh
King Henry's head.' It was not difficult to persuade the unsus
pecting Jackson that his favourite Calhoun had aspersed him
when commanding in Florida, and the choleric President at once
decided on his 'political destruction.' Three of Calhoun's
friends, Branch, Ingham, and Berrien, were in the Cabinet, and
to get rid of them it was arranged that the Secretaries of State
and War, Van Buren and Eaton, should resign, which would afford
the President the opportunity to make a new Cabinet. This was
done, and a great sensation ensued. The newspapers assigned
a thousand and one reasons. The one currently believed was
this : It was alleged that the families of the Secretaries of the
Treasury and theNavy,and the Attorney-General, Calhoun's allies,
refused to receive the wife of General Eaton, Secretary of War,
because of rumours damaging to the character of that lady. Her
former name was Mrs. Timberlake, and she had kept a boarding-
house in Washington, where General Eaton lodged. He finally
married her, and it was asserted he should have done it before.
This was the pretext accepted for the break up of the Cabinet ;
but the real object was to banish Calhoun's friends from power.
In the midst of the hubbub Van Buren slipped off to England,
where he was appointed Minister. Eaton was made Governor
of Florida. Such was the state of things when I arrived in Washington.
Calhoun was foaming with rage, and vowed vengeance against the
Administration. It was my fortune to witness the first blow of the Vice-
President's battle-axe, as I shall relate. I put up at Gadsby's.

si s-rojesswn. 29

Hotel, then the fashionable resort. The next day I went to the
Capitol, so imposing for its magnificent site. I hurried to the
senate chamber, to contemplate the great political gladiators of
the day : Clay, with his tall stately form, his urbane demeanour,
and courageous eye, indulging ever and anon in a pinch of
snuff whilst listening to a member of the Opposition ; Webster,
with his broad expanse of brow, which looked like the very
dome of thought, his tranquil mien, and solid figure ; Calhoun,
erect, slim, stern in expression, and resolute in manner. These
were the athletes of the Senate, whose utterances filled the
newspapers and vibrated through the Union.
All of these able men aspired to the government of the
country, and in their eagerness to clutch it they had all abjured
the opinions of their early years. Clay opposed the first United
States Bank which he subsequently supported. Webster resisted
the first protective tariff he later advocated. Calhoun zealously
defended the protective policy in 18 16, and to overthrow it after
wards he made ready for a revolution. Politicians of the highest
stamp blunder, like other men, through ignorance or ambition,
and their mistakes are fatal.
I gazed with hardly less interest on the minor celebrities
before me : the polished Hayne ; the graceful Preston, the most
Ciceronian orator of the Union ; the stalwart Benton, the hard
money-man of his day ; and a host of others. I would have given
worlds to witness one of those grand tournaments, in which these
doughty knights of the Senate, armed cap-a-pie with wit and
argument, struggled desperately to unhorse each other amid the
ringing cheers of the country, I will not dwell on the House of
Representatives of the period, scarcely inferior to the Senate in
talent and character.
The day after my arrival I called on an intimate friend of the
President, to whom I brought letters, and desired a presentation.
The next evening, at eight o'clock, was named for the ceremony.
My first visit to the White House filled me with emotion. It had
been the residence of all our Presidents save Washington, who
lived in Philadelphia, then the Federal capital. We were shown
into the Red Room, and were informed the President was still at
dinner with a small party. This gave me time to recover my
aplomb, and look about me. It was a lofty well-proportioned
apartment, richly furnished in damask of the colour which desig
nated it

30 A Profession.

It was not long before the doors were thrown open, and
General Jackson entered at the head of his company, talking and
laughing with much animation. He seemed in high glee.
Seating himself near the fire, his friends formed a group about
him. I was absorbed for some minutes in scanning the face and
mien of this remarkable man. In person he was tall, slim, and
straight as an arrow. His head was long, but narrow, and
covered with thick gray hair that stood erect, as though impreg
nated with his defiant spirit ; his brow was deeply furrowed,
and his eye, even in his present mood, was one ' to threaten and
command.' His nose was prominent, and indicated force. His
mouth displayed firmness. The whole conveyed an impression
of energy and daring. My gaze was fixed upon him, and I for
got all else. My friend intimated he would present me on the
first opportunity, and the announcement threw me into a flutter.
Presently a gentleman hurriedly entered the room, went up
to the President, and whispered in his ear. In a moment he
sprang from his chair, his eyes flashing, and his arms flying
wildly about him.
' By the Eternal,' I heard him exclaim, ' I'll smash them !'*
Every one near him jumped to his feet, astounded at this
sudden explosion. He was surrounded, and all were demanding
what had occurred. I was electrified at the spectacle. Like a
lion goaded to fury, he kept on gesticulating, and denouncing
some outrage he would not brook. At length I was told that
information was brought him that the Senate had rejected Van
Buren's nomination to England, and he regarded this as a per
sonal insult. The Opposition, in alliance with Calhoun's friends,
had thus smitten the schemer, whom they accused of breaking up
the Cabinet for his occult purposes. Open war was now declared
between Calhoun and Jackson. The grand battle came off a
little later. It was suggested by my friend that under the cir
cumstances my introduction had better be postponed. I readily
agreed, having no fancy to approach the volcano in eruption. I
considered myself fortunate, however, in having seen the fiery
hero in one of his towering passions. What a contrast to his
first phase !
I may here mention that in January 1832, scarcely a month
after the above occurrence, Mr. Van Buren was dining in London
with the English Foreign Secretary, when a messenger brought
His habitual exclamation when in anger.

/L Profession. 3 1

him a despatch marked ' Urgent.' Begging permission of the
company, he read it, and smiling pleasantly he said to his
host, 'As most of the Cabinet are here, and we are over our
dessert, if you will allow me, I will read you the latest news.'
The surprise of the company was only equalled by their
hilarity when he read them the official announcement of his
rejection by the Senate. One of the guests remarked, ' Happy
is the public man who is the victim of an outrage.'
Doubtless the astute envoy bowed low at this prophetic
compliment, foreseeing that 'the stone which the builders
rejected would become the head of the corner.'
The society of Washington at this period was elegant and
hospitable. I visited some of the fashionable resorts, but the
one that perhaps impressed me the most was 'Van Ness House,'
as it was familiarly called. Its owner was General Van Ness,
who was sent to Congress from New York towards the close of
Jefferson's Presidency. Not long after, he married Miss Burns,
whose father was one of the three persons who presented to the
Government the land known as the district of Columbia. The
General, on retiring from Congress, settled down in Washington.
Latrobe, the architect of the Capitol, built him a noble mansion,
which was furnished with great sumptuousness. The marble
mantels were all imported from Italy, a rare thing in those days.
Van Ness House was frequented by the Diplomatic Corps, the
leading members of Congress, and strangers of condition. The
host was genial and courtly, with a pleasant word for every one.
The prestige of this favourite haunt was well conveyed by a
phrase of Miss Jessie Benton, then just dawning on the social
horizon of Washington. She remarked that ' No young lady.
was considered in society till she had taken her degree at Van
Ness House.' One of the brightest ornaments of this attractive
circle was a niece of the General, afterwards Mrs. Judge Roose
velt. In beauty, grace, and vivacity she had few rivals.
I must confess that the appearance of Washington.contrasted
ludicrously with what my fancy had painted it. Consisting
chiefly of the long, broad, unpaved street known as Pennsyl
vania Avenue, occupied by straggling houses of mean aspect,
some of wood and some of brick, with cross-streets of immense
width, dotted here and there with houses of various sizes and
styles, it literally fulfilled the description of Randolph, ' A city
of magnificent distances.' The public buildings, constructed of

32 A Profession.

brick, with no pretensions to architecture, and of insignificant
proportions, fell far short of my inflated expectations. The
White House was much the most imposing edifice of the soi-
disant city, with the exception of the Capitol. That, indeed, owed
more to its site than its own merits.
I left Washington for Alexandria, on my way td Woodlawn,
the country residence of the venerable Mrs. Lewis, formerly known
as ' Nelly Custis,' the adopted daughter of the first President,
who, it is remembered, married the widow of John Parke Custis.
Her son by the first marriage left two children, George Washing
ton Parke Custis, and Eleanor (Nelly) Parke Custis, who were
adopted by General Washington, and inherited the greater part
of his property.* Woodlawn adjoined the Mount Vernon
estate, and was the gift of Washington. It was a wet and
dismal afternoon when I drove from Alexandria to my destina
tion, some nine miles away, and the roads were in a pitiable
condition. It was near dark when I arrived, but I could descry
that the house was large and of comparatively modern structure.
I was cordially welcomed by my gracious hostess, who was a
tall stately woman of mature age, with the imposing manners of
a grande dame of the olden time. Her son, who resided with
her, was absent on business, but happily his young wife remained
behind. Mrs. Lewis junior was a daughter of Dr. John Redman
Coxe of Philadelphia, and sister of my friend and classmate
Alfred Coxe. She was an exceedingly lovely woman : above
medium height, magnificent black eyes and hair, a pale com
plexion, and an exquisite figure. Her beauty was set off by her
grace, affability, and intelligence. After dinner Mrs. Lewis
showed me various relics of her illustrious grandsire — his watch,
silver knee and shoe buckles, and numerous pieces of plate — all
preserved with religious care. It is needless to say I contem
plated them with the deepest interest. The next morning,
accompanied by some of the 'family, I walked over to Mount
Vernon to. inspect the residence of Washington. It was then
unoccupied, and pretty much in the condition he had left it
The furniture was of an old English pattern long disappeared,
* The fine estate so well known as-Arlington was thus bestowed in Washing
ton's will : ' I give and bequeath to George Washington Parke Custis, the grandson
of my wife, and my ward, and to his heirs, the tract I hold on Four-mile Run in the
vicinity of Alexandria, containing one thousand two hundred acres more or less '
¦^his extensive domain descended to his only daughter, Mrs. General Robert E. Lea
and was sequestrated by the Government during the late Rebellion.

A Profession. 33

and singularly quaint and unpretending. As I wandered from
room to room, listening to anecdotes of the great man wh° once
occupied them, I experienced emotions it would be difficult to
express. From the house we repaired in silence to the tomb,
a plain brick vault of the most ordinary character ; its very
simplicity was impressive. No majestic column, no monu
mental urn, adorned the sepulchre where reposed the honoured
remains of the ' father of his country.' Neither railing or wall
enclosed it. As I stood uncovered before this consecrated
shrine, my mind was filled with a pious reverence never
afterwards evoked by all the ' pomp, pride, and circumstance'
that surrounded the cenotaphs of kings and conquerors.
' We all confess no man so great, so wise,
Hath ever risen, or shall ever rise.'
I returned that afternoon to Alexandria, and began my
journey homewards.

.CHAPTER IV.
PHILADELPHIA.
A NOVELTY — A GRIM SPECTRE — FANNY KEMBLE — A DESPERATE POLITICIAN, EVC.
It was no easy matter, I found, after my exciting trip to
Washington, to settle down again to the dry perusal of law ; but
after an effort I resumed my studious habits, and plunged
boldly into the mysteries of ' Contingent Remainders.' The only
diversion I allowed myself was the theatre, which was always a
solace and a delight. The sensation of the winter of 1832, I
remember, was the advent of Italian opera. What it exactly
meant none but travelled Americans — and their numbers were
limited — had any correct idea. It was a bold venture to transfer
to our uncongenial soil of that day a musical exotic of such an
artificial growth, and whose fragrance could only be enjoyed by
those who had acquired a fondness for it. It was long .years
before this Italian product took root in France and England,
where music was, of course, more widely cultivated. Some
enthusiast beyond the Alps — I think it was Antonio Bajioli, the
maestro — having discovered there was a world over the sea where
Italian opera was unknown, believed his fortune certain if
he could manage to introduce it there. After laborious efforts
he collected a troupe, and started for his El Dorado. They
appeared in New York, where there was a large foreign element
to greet them, and thence in due course pitched their camp in
sober unsophisticated Philadelphia. As a measure of precaution,
it was deemed judicious to open a subscription for a limited
number of performances. The fashionable dilettanti led the way,
and many of the curious followed. The first night came, and
the house was crowded. Everybody was on the qui -vive for
something wholly novel, exciting, delightful. The opera was
Elisa e Claudia. The artists were really admirable. Signora
Pedrotti was the prima donna ; Montresor and Fornasari were
the tenore and basso. I forget the baritone. The music was

Philadelphia. 35

expressive and full of melody, and the situations afforded scope
for effective acting. Pedrotti impressed me as a great lyric
actress. The only thing that struck me as a disagreeable
novelty was the recitative, which was neither singing or talking.
It was amusing to note the effect on the audience. At the end
of the first act people glanced at each Other, afraid to divulge
their impressions. Some looked grave, others perplexed, and not
a few struggled to conceal symptoms of weariness. ' Is this
Italian opera?' said one. 'Why, I have heard these airs before.'
' What is it all about, I wonder ?' ventured to inquire another -T
for the libretto was not published in English, as nowadays. A few
of the more audacious set fashion at defiance, boldly declaring
' It was a bore,' and would gladly have sold their subscriptions
at half-price. The majority, more forbearing, remarked mildly,
' It might be pleasant after you get used to it,' and displayed v a
patient resolve to ' worry it' out. After the first performance the
pit and gallery vanished, frankly admitting the fun was beyond
their comprehension. They echoed the sentiments of the
unassuming man of Horace :
' Thank Heaven, that formed me of an humble kind ;
No wit, nor yet to music much inclined.'
The subscribers were finally abandoned to their operatic
immolation, and, without meaning to libel them, I often suspected
that a- hornpipe occasionally danced between the acts would
have been found quite refreshing.*
The summer of 1832 was memorable for the appearance of
cholera on the American continent. When, in the previous yearr
it entered Europe from Asia, the Transatlantic pulse quickened a
little, but the improbability of its ever crossing the broad
Atlantic calmed any momentary alarm. The startling an
nouncement, early in the spring, that it had really broken out in
Canada, threw everybody into a cold sweat. It was still hoped
that it might not spread, but soon the ghastly phantom began
its funeral march. With slow but steady step it advanced from
town to town, and when it seized upon New York, our usually
placid city fell into paroxysms of apprehension. If the last
* Since 1831 the taste for this refined amusement has developed rapidly, and the
money spent on it probably exceeds that on any other entertainment ; whilst the
audiences have swelled far beyond the mere votaries of fashion. Only twenty-three
years after its introduction, in the spring of 1855, on the first night of the opera ot
William Tell, at l^e New York Academy of Music, an audience of three thousand
mbled. and it was necessary to close the doors to exclude the concourse without.

36 Philadelphia.

trump had suddenly vibrated over our heads, the terror could
hardly have been greater. Sanitary precautions of every
imaginable kind were suggested ; hospitals were improvised in
every, direction. Doctors assembled in conference, utterly
bewildered by the mysterious nature of the disease. Agitation
was universal. Some began making their wills ; others packed
up and fled to the mountains. In short, everything was thought
of but the wisdom of meeting the hideous spectre with intrepid
composure. For my part, I clung to the comforting theory
that panic made more victims than the disease itself, and I was
disposed to stand my ground. My guardian, however, was
absent, and his family took fright, and resolved to retreat to
their country seat, some twenty miles distant. I was obliged to
act as their escort, and so escaped a personal encounter with
the fell destroyer, which soon came, gleaned its harvest of
death, and stalked onwards, till the whole country was embraced
in its ravages.
The autumn brought the fugitives back from their hiding-
places, ready to exclaim with Macbeth, ' Why, being gone, I am
a man again.'
The town resumed its ordinary tranquil aspect until a new
emotion began to stir it, but this time of a far more pleasing
character. Two members of the renowned Kemble family —
Charles and his daughter Fanny — arrived in New York in
August 1832, and a strong theatrical commotion at once brok^
out. Charles Kemble was no longer in his zenith, but he still
enjoyed the reputation of the most finished comedian of his day.F
Public attention, however, was chiefly concentrated on his1'
daughter. She was only twenty-one, and during her brief stage
career of three years she had eclipsed every actress on the
London boards. She proved herself worthy of the great fame
she had inherited from her illustrious aunt Mrs. Siddons, and
her uncle John Kemble. Besides, she had already distinguished
herself in literature, having, at the precocious age of seventeen,
written a tragedy, Francis I., universally extolled. The en
gagement in New York was an immense success, and the
constant reports in our papers raised the excitement to boiling-
point. At length they came. On the first night Charles Kemble
appeared alone in Hamlet. He was still a fine-looking man of
mature age. His carriage was easy and graceful, and his per-

Philadelphia. 37

formance revealed a consummate artist. There was nothing,
however, original in his conception, and his physique was some
what too portly for the philosophic Dane, as fancy painted
him. The following night the theatre was crowded to suffocation
to witness the de"but of Fanny as Bianca in Milman's tragedy
of Fazio. Her first appearance impressed and delighted the
house : above medium height, a symmetrical figure, an expres
sive countenance, flashing dark eyes, with luxurious hair to
match. All these were taken in at a glance. When she spoke,
her rich resonant voice captivated every ear. Her bearing
and attitudes were so natural and striking, and withal distingue",
that the audience was half won before she had essayed to act.
' Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye,
In every gesture dignity and love.'
But when she rose with the action of the play, and began to
display her power — when she gave to the fierce passions of the
rdle the agonised utterances of the half-maddened wife — the spec
tators were transported with enthusiasm, and wept and applauded
wildly by turns. That single performance stamped Fanny
Kemble in my mind as the greatest of living actresses, and it
has never been effaced from my recollection.
Perhaps her greatest triumph was achieved in Julia in the
Hunchback of Sheridan Knowles. This exquisite comedy I
regarded as one of the rarest contributions to the dramatic
literature of our times. Its merits are transcendent. The plot
is ingenious and touching ; the characters natural ; the situations
effective ; and above all, the language felicitous and high wrought.
The wonder is that any but Shakespeare could have written it.
Fanny Kemble's personation of the leading role was the very
acme of histrionic art. The proud love-tossed maiden, frenzied
by anger, and rushing on self-immolation ; then recoiling in
terror from the abyss, and confessing in sheer despair her un
controllable passion for the man who had slighted her, — all this
was so vividly portrayed in action, look, and accent, as to move
every heart, and elicit the profoundest admiration.
The town went Kemble mad, and the affecting phrases of
the idolised Julia were repeated at every corner. As for my
self, it would be hard to depict the wild intoxication that over
took me. I forgot everything else, law included. I did nothing

3 8 Philadelph ia.
but frequent the theatre, and abandon myself to the fascination
of this bewitching actress. I went about like one possessed,
muttering the favourite passages of her principal roles, till
people thought me a fit companion for lunatics. I was not,
however, her only victim. The infection seized on a friend of
mine, which took the practical shape of a tender of marriage,
that after a time was accepted. Pierce Butler, a man of good
family and fortune, became desperately enamoured of the mar
vellous creature, who, to her sorcery on the stage, added rare
charms of person, brilliant accomplishments, and high culture.
He carried off the splendid prize ; and in spite of the warning of
the poet, that ' The man who envies must behold with pain
Another's joys, and sicken at his gain,'
yet Pierce Butler was envied, and almost detested, by a swarm
of rivals for his victory over the last of the Kembles.
The autumn of 1832 witnessed the reelection of General
Jackson. The political manoeuvring of Van Buren was successful, and
the luckless Calhoun was thrown aside for his more adroit adver
sary. To bring this about, a new machine was devised called
a ' National Convention,' that assembled in Baltimore, May
1832, composed of delegates from all the States, and it named
Martin Van Buren as the choice of the Democratic party for the
Vice- Presidency. Previous to this, the candidates for Presi
dent and Vice-President had been selected in Congressional
caucus. It was hardly to be expected that the ostracised Calhoun,
the victim, as he declared himself, of an ' odious political con
spiracy,' would calmly submit to machinations that cut him off
from the Presidential chair almost within his reach. He did not,
but forthwith set to work to involve the second Administration
of General Jackson in confusion. In his blind rage he dis
dained to calculate consequences, and was ready, like Samson of
old, to pull down the pillars of the temple in which he could
no longer hope to be enthroned. Wielding absolute influence
over South Carolina, which he represented in the U.S. Senate,
he stirred up a bitter hostility to the tariff-laws of 1828. He
declared them to be oppressive and unconstitutional, and that
the Southern States, which were especially aggrieved, had a
right to ' nullify' them. He denounced the iniquity of collecting

Philadelphia. 3 9

a revenue so far beyond the public expenditure as to glut the
Treasury. He had formerly entertained different views when aiming at
the Presidency, but now he was bent on becoming the head of
a Southern Confederacy, on the maxim, no doubt, that ' half a
loaf is better than none.'
His revolutionary principles were adopted in South Carolina,
and ' nullification' became the order of the day. The Governor
called a Convention. The Federal Government was defied,
and the people of the State were enrolled and armed. The
1st February 1833 was named as the day when South Caro
lina would proclaim her independence of the Union, and set up
for herself. The country was thrown into violent agitation, and
all were perplexed with fears of the result. The only one who
seemed to enjoy the situation was the seasoned warrior who-
occupied the White House. If Andrew Jackson loved anything
more than another, it was a combat, and whether it was at the
head of an army or at the head of a street, was all the
same to him. The threatened collision exhilarated him to the
utmost, especially as he had the law on his side, which had
not always been the case. He addressed a stirring proclamation
to the country, called on Congress for additional powers, and
made his military preparations for the emergency.
' Things will yet go right, Mr. President,' said one of his
friends. ' By the Eternal,' he replied, with vehemence, ' they shall go
right !'
The resolute Jackson made no concealment of his intentions.
He declared that on the first overt act of rebellion he would arrest
all the members of South Carolina in Congress, try them by
court-martial, and hang them in twenty-four hours. It would
not have been the first time he had disposed of his foes in that
summary fashion. The Southern States did not espouse the
quarrel of South Carolina, but held aloof. Calhoun did not an
ticipate such apathy, and was embarrassed. The critical day
was approaching, when Henry Clay stepped forward as media
tor, and proposed a modification of the tariff, to take effect at
the end of 1833, with further reductions in succeeding years.
South Carolina gladly accepted the compromise, and a Bill to
that end passed Congress. The only disappointed man in the
country was the rampant Jackson, who was cheated out of his

40 Philadelphia.

fight. He was more lucky on a later occasion. As for poor
Calhoun, he lost not only his revenge, but his political future.
' Nullification' was his winding-sheet. To avenge his private
wrongs, he essayed to plunge the country into civil war. Sad to
see a man of his eminence, the first logician in the land, of rare
training and irreproachable character — sad, I say, to see such a
man 'narrow his mind,
And to Party give up what was meant for mankind.'

CHAPTER V.
A TRIP TO THE SOUTH.
A PLEASANT PARTY — A MURDER — LOST IN THE WOODS  DEFYING CHOLERA, ETC.
IN the spring of 1833 I decided on a run through the Southern
States. I was curious to see something of life at the Southend
to judge for myself of its distinctive features, which were repre
sented to be wholly unlike anything to be found at the North.
I had no prejudice against the ' peculiar institution,' as slavery
was then nicknamed ; still less a dislike for the Southern people,
whose somewhat haughty bearing when they came among us
aroused no little ill feeling. The planters of the South were
undoubtedly a caste that had no counterpart at the North. The
owners of large estates, tilled by negro slaves, who looked up to
them with the awe felt by the villeins of the Middle Ages for
their feudal masters, and regarded likewise with profound
deference by the middle-class whites, who were impressed by
their wealth and political power, it is no wonder they were some
what inflated, and looked down rather disdainfully on the pro
fessional and mercantile classes of the North. This social
antagonism existed before the Revolution, when both sections
met and fought shoulder to shoulder against the mother
country ; but it revived at its close, and continued as strong
in 1833 as at any previous date. For my part, I had a bias
for the South, based likely on my college friendships, and I
always found my fellow-students from that section high-toned
and genial.
In early April I set out for New York, where I proposed
embarking for Charleston.
It was on this occasion I made acquaintance with the first
railroad, I believe, in the United States, running from Borden
town to Amboy. Locomotives were not yet introduced, and
the train was drawn by horses at the rate of ten miles the hour.
The transition from rough roads and the jolting stage-coach to
this smooth and rapid travelling was indescribably pleasant, and
I fervently blessed the man who invented it.

42 A Trip to the South.
I was especially tempted to New York by the advertisement
of a steamer bound on its first trip to Charleston ; but on inspect
ing the ' David Brown,' I was struck by her fragile appearance,
and concluded she was not at all likely to escape unscathed from
the rough embrace of an Atlantic wave. I was looking about
me for a safer conveyance, when I heard to my delight that
quite a distinguished party, some of whom I knew, were just
starting on an excursion to Charleston, and meant to convert
one of the fine packets of the Havre line into a yacht for that
purpose. I was kindly invited to join the party ; and on a
bright April morning I embarked in high spirits on board the
good ship ' Francis I.' Before I reached the ' Narrows' I was
quite at home with my fellow-passengers, consisting of Mr. and
Mrs. Mortimer Livingston, Mr. and Mrs. Washington Coster,
and Mr. and Mrs. William Laight. Mr. Maturin Livingston,
father of Mortimer, was the doyen of the company, and a most
amiable person he proved. Mrs. Livingston and Mrs. Coster
were the daughters of Mr. Depau, who married the daughter of
Count de Grasse, the gallant commander of the French squad
ron during the revolutionary war. Our cruise began auspici-
pusly. The weather was lovely and the wind favourable, and I
hastily concluded that a sea- voyage was the poetry of travel. The
gentlemen played cards daily for some hours, and I was induced
reluctantly to take a hand. The game was, ' brag,' and betting
ran high. I had never gambled before, and underwent intense
excitement with the ebb and flow of luck. I took an aversion
to it, as I did not like wasting so much emotion on a card.
I appreciated far more the tranquil delight of chatting with
the ladies. They had all made the tour of Europe, and I
hung spellbound on their descriptions of balls at Court, visits to
famous picture-galleries, and conversations with remarkable
people. Quite unawares, my head was nearly turned with Mrs.
Coster, and no wonder. She was the most magnificent creature
possible to imagine : just twenty-two, tall, with a splendid bust
and figure, a profusion of brown hair, and dark-blue eyes with
a magnetic power difficult to withstand. Her sister was no less
handsome, but of a different type : black hair and sparkling eyes,
with great vivacity of mind and manner, blended with elegance
and refinement. The husband of the former inherited a large
fortune, and cared little how he spent it. He was amiable, but
nonchalant to a degree. His brother-in-law, on the contrary,

Si l rtp to the South. 43

was energetic and intelligent, and, as part-owner of the New
York line of packet-ships to Havre, he was already immersed in
the cares of a mercantile career. I found my life on board so
agreeable, that I only regretted we were not bound to China.
It was our third day out, and I was sitting after breakfast,
listening to the charming prattle of the ladies, who were busy
with their embroidery, when I was suddenly startled by the
hoarse tones of the captain's trumpet, who ordered every man
aloft, and all sail down. A squall had struck us off Cape
Hatteras. The blue sky was covered in an instant with threat
ening clouds. The lightning flashed and the thunder roared.
The sea rose as if possessed by fiends, and lashed the sides of
our gallant craft, which tossed and pitched as though struggling
for life. Everything movable flew wildly about the deck. The
sails flapped fiercely, the cordage shrieked under the blast, the
masts strained and creaked, the sailors bellowed, and the horrid
din of the captain's trumpet only added to the confusion. Hold
ing by a rope, I gazed with wonder and alarm on this por
tentous scene, and supposed we were in imminent danger of
going to the bottom. This was my first venture at sea, and I
knew nothing of its startling caprices. This magical transition
from the serenity that had prevailed to the fearful uproar that
surrounded me was enough to make a landsman's hair stand on
end, and that I was not utterly 'frightened from my propriety' was
due to the quiet behaviour of the ladies, who had become accus
tomed to the mad pranks of the Atlantic. After a time the
hubbub subsided, and left us scudding before a rattling breeze,
happily in the right direction. We spent three days more on
shipboard, but I was never the same man again. I had aban
doned myself to the intoxication of 'life on the ocean wave,'
never dreaming of the treachery that lurked in its depths. I
do not know what impression the first squall may have made on
others, but I confess it impaired my confidence in the stability
of Neptune's dominion.
It was hot as a morning in summer when we sailed into
Charleston harbour, and to my delight our charming party
remained intact, as we all found accommodation in the same
hotel. The sudden advent of a bevy of fashionables from New
York made quite a stir in the aristocratic world of Charleston,
and a round of festivities was inaugurated in their honour. I
was quite enchanted with the town, which had something of a

44 A Trip to the South.
tropical aspect in my eyes. The sandy and unpaved streets ;
the houses with verandahs ; the luxurious foliage and gorgeous
flowers ; the hot sun in early spring ; and above all, the crowds
of indolent negroes lounging about the corners, had a novel
effect, and made me fancy I had strayed into one of the islands
of the West Indies. I took a liking to the blacks, who
were good-natured and cheerful, and much attached to their
masters. I was not a little shocked at the familiar association
of white and black, as no such thing then existed at the
North. Nothing could be more captivating than the genial kind
ness of the best families. Their hospitalities were lavish but
unostentatious, and their manners were affable and unpretend
ing. I was especially struck by the quiet toilettes of the ladies,
who seemed utterly indifferent to garish display.
I could hardly believe at times that I was inhabiting the
head-quarters of ' nullification,' and living on pleasant terms
with people who only a few months previously were decorated
With Palmetto cockades, and brandished their swords in proud
defiance of the Federal Government. Whether from shame, or
more likely from fear of wounding Northern susceptibilities, the
subject was never alluded to. The fever had quite disappeared.
The warm sun of Charleston reminded me what I might
expect still further South if I prolonged my stay, and my com-
pagnon de voyage was similarly impressed. I was travelling with
my former classmate at Yale, Alpheus S. Williams.* We were
friends at the university, had adopted the same profession (which
neither of us ever followed), and had an equal desire to see the
world. He was amiable, intelligent, and free from all vice. I
felt the liveliest regret at bidding adieu to my New Yoik friends,
but was consoled at the prospect of meeting them again the
ensuing summer.
I left Charleston by the inland route for Savannah. Our
little steamer wound its devious way through narrow streams
that could hardly be dignified by the name of rivers. There
was nothing to break the monotony of the route, save here and
there the novel sight of an alligator basking in the sun on the
muddy banks, wholly indifferent to our presence. Governor
Hamilton was on board, on his way to his plantation, where we
* Some years later he took to journalism in Michigan ; then accepted a command
in the Mexican war ; and afterwards headed a division in the recent Rebellion. He was
ultimately sent as Minister to San Salvador, and elected to Congress on his return.

A J rip to the South. 45
dropped him. He was a fine-looking man, with rather lofty man
ners, and not disposed to conversation. I fancied that the spirit
of nullification had not utterly deserted him. I found Savannah
a very pretty place, but feared to loiter longer than a day, and
pushed on by steamer to Augusta. Here the serious part of the
journey began, for our route lay across the State by stage-coach
to the border town of Columbus. I dreaded the job, and not
without reason. This tedious trip of three days was relieved but
by a single incident. At breakfast one morning I encountered
the brilliant Senator from Georgia, Mr. Forsyth, unfortunately
bound in the opposite direction. I fain would have lingered
for a conversation with him, but our impatient Jehu gave but
short shrift to hungry travellers. This distinguished man, then
in the zenith of his reputation, was the leading champion of
Jackson's Administration in the Senate. Against the daily
assaults of the most powerful Opposition ever assembled there, he
exhibited such courage, courtesy, and rare capacity as to extort
the admiration of his adversaries. He was remarkable for his
equanimity of temper, and often related an anecdote in proof
of its efficacy in politics. On one occasion, he said, he was
violently assailed in some opposition journal, and the accusations
were so utterly groundless that his friends insisted on his prose
cuting for libel.
'And what do you suppose was the result?' he asked,
smiling. ' Why, my calumniator actually proved his charges !'
I arrived at Columbus, the border town of Georgia, quite
fagged out with three days and nights of rough travel, and
gladly rested for a day. This place had an evil repute, and
stories of its lawlessness were widespread. It was only sepa
rated by a river from the ' Creek' country — a portion of Alabama
then occupied by the Indians of that name ; and criminals had
merely to escape over it to set justice at defiance. I was stroll
ing about on Sunday, the day after my arrival, when I heard a
pistol-shot, and, running in the direction of the sound, found a
man lying on the ground writhing in pain. Others soon came
up, and he was removed into an adjoining house. A ball had
pierced his abdomen, and he had also received several stabs from
a dirk. I assisted in plastering up his wounds ; but the poor
fellow succumbed in a few hours. Jealousy was the alleged
cause of the murder, and the suspected lady was standing in
the street when I passed out, assuring her neighbours that

46 A Trip to the South.
'Jemmy Dick was as innocent as the child unborn.' The
enraged husband, quite satisfied with his exploit, walked un
molested to the river, and rowed himself over to ' Sodom, as
the village opposite was ominously named. This shocking event
attracted very little notice in Columbus, as brawls and assassin
ations were of frequent occurrence.
Our journey was to recommence at midnight, as the United
States mail was expected about that hour, and this was the
only means of reaching our next terminus — Montgomery,
Alabama. The road to it ran through a dense forest of bound
less extent, occupied solely by Indians, who had not yet been
removed from the State.
A heated discussion on this topic had been going on for
some time in Congress. Alabama threatened to extend her
jurisdiction over the Creek tribe, if the Federal Government
delayed any longer to remove them beyond the Mississippi.
The prospect of contemplating the ' untutored savage' in his
primeval haunts quite elated me, but I little anticipated the
drawbacks that would attend it. The United States mail
arrived during the night, and when I was summoned to take my
place, what was my dismay to discover that our conveyance was
simply a common wagon of the country on four wheels, and
without springs or covering ! It was nearly filled with mail-
bags, and it was no easy matter to find room for our luggage.
' But where are we to sit ?' I asked, in wonder.
' Well, I reckon,' replied the driver, ' you had better sit on
your baggage, unless you prefer a mail-bag.'
As there was no alternative, Williams and I adopted the
suggestion. There was a third passenger, a thin hungry-looking
Dutchman bound South. We crossed the river in a flat boat,
drove through the sleeping den of ' Sodom,' and then plunged
into the forest, hoping to reach Fort Mitchel, some ten miles
away, in two or three hours. We were each of us armed with a
blazing pine torch, to enable the driver to see his way, and as a
protection against any hungry wolf or stray bear in search of a
supper. Our horses, four in number, seemed excited by the
strange noises of beasts and night-birds, that kept up a startling
chorus, and the driver evidently had his hands full.
The road was well supplied with ditches and stumps of trees
and it was only by main force we managed to keep our seats.
We remonstrated loudly at the tremendous strain on our muscles

si j. rip to tne South. 47
but to little purpose. It seemed inevitable that we should be
pitched out ; and the mail-bags were as restless as ourselves. An
unexpected mishap occurred. The pole of the wagon suddenly
snapped, and the United States mail came to a dead' stop against
a tree. ' Now what's to be done ?' I demanded ruefully ; but
the driver seemed buried in his own reflections, and vouch
safed no reply. After a solemn pause he got down, detached
one of the horses, mounted him, and, borrowing a torch, said he
would ride to the nearest hut to borrow a hatchet. In the course
of an hour he returned, followed by three Indians, with the ne
cessary implement. As the cavalcade approached through the
forest, bearing pine torches, the effect was quite picturesque. The
Dutchman lent a hand to the driver, whilst Williams and I looked
after the horses, still very restless. The Indians gazed stolidly on,
without moving a muscle, secretly longing, no doubt, for our
scalps, that we were sufficiently armed, however, to protect. In
due time a rude reparation was effected, and we proceeded on
wards in anything but a lively mood.
The road, soaked with the spring rains, grew worse, and after
jerking on for another mile, away went one of the hind-wheels,
and we all rolled out in the mud. This disaster was not so seri
ous as the last, for, with the aid of a linch-pin found on the pre
mises, we managed to restore our crazy vehicle to its pristine
equilibrium. We started again ; and after numberless plunges to
the right and left we reached Fort Mitchel, having done our ten
miles in little over seven hours.
We set to work greedily at the corn-bread and bacon served
for our breakfast, and then began to think of prosecuting our
journey. To our consternation, we heard that the conveyance to
carry us on had gone some hours previously, with the mails of
the precedingday ; but that we could proceed the ensuing morning,
if the next wagon brought no passengers, who would have the prior
claim. The prospect of detention in this lively spot for twenty-
four hours was bad enough ; but an indefinite imprisonment
filled me with horror. So I sought out our new driver, and in
quired if he had never been induced to start before his time.
' Why, these here mails,' he declared conscientiously, ' ought
to be forwarded as soon as possible.'
Upon this hint I spoke, and found arguments in my pocket
strong enough to overcome all scruples. It was soon settled we
should decamp at 4 A.M. next morning. My mind thus relieved,

48 A Trip to the South.
I took to an outhouse to rest my jaded limbs, and slept soundly
on a wretched pallet, quite unconscious that the rain was drop
ping on me through the chinks in the roof.
We set off even before the appointed time next morning,
lest we might be anticipated, and soon found that wagon No. 2
was no improvement on the last, and the road, if possible, worse.
After ploughing our way a few miles, we brought up before a
quagmire of formidable dimensions.
' Well, see here,' said our imperturbable charioteer, ' I reckon
you'd better jump out, and take a short cut through the woods to
the right, and meet me at t'other end of this bed of lavender.'
Nothing loth to stretch our legs, we dashed into the forest
right merrily, under the inspiring influence of the bright morning
sun. We walked on for some time, and began to wonder where
the road in question was, and then renewed our search, but in
vain. After trudging on for over an hour, I concluded we had
missed the ' short cut' suggested, and proposed a parley. Williams
was bent on one direction, and the Dutchman on another. I was
perplexed and undecided. The end was that the obstinate Hol
lander broke off from us, exclaiming, ' Do vat you likes, I goo tis
vay ;' whilst I followed my friend ' amid doubts confusing.' Every
now and then a broad stream of light was visible in the distance,
and believing our escape at hand we strode on rapidly, only to
discover that some hurricane Jiad strewn the ground for acres
with prostrate trees. By degrees the startling conviction forced
itself upon us that we were lost, and how to obtain deliverance
from the trackless wilderness around confounded all speculation.
Fatigue was gradually overcoming us, and, worse than all, the
pangs of hunger began to torture us ; for we had eaten nothing
before starting, expecting to breakfast at the first relay, only two
miles distant when we entered the forest. Our situation seemed
desperate, as we could count on no prospect of succour. In down
right despair we seated ourselves upon a fallen tree, and brooded
gloomily over our unhappy plight.
' I would rather shoot myself,' I said moodily, ' than suffer the
agonies of starvation.'
' It is not unlikely that we shall have to choose before long,'
replied my companion calmly.
Relapsing into silence, my eyes wandered round in vacancy,
when, springing to my feet, I exclaimed, ' What's that ?' pointin°-
in the direction.

A Trip to the South. 49
' Why, it is smoke !' returned Williams ; and, half delirious
with hope, we ran towards it.
We found it proceeded from a hut, and, as we approached,
began shouting to attract attention. In a moment an Indian
with no covering save a strip of cloth around his loins, appeared
at the entrance, and calmly regarded us. Wearied as I was, I
could not repress my admiration at his singular beauty. Tall,
and perfect in form and limb, he was a model of manly symmetry.
We began explaining hurriedly our luckless position, and
eager desire to get out of it. He stood unmoved as a statue.
Suddenly remembering that our tongue was unknown to him, we
resorted to pantomime, and with a redundancy of gesture and
grimace endeavoured to make him comprehend we wanted to
find the stage-house. Nodding his head, without change of
feature, he retired into his hut. Not knowing what that might
mean, we followed, and found him adding a blanket to his sparse
raiment, and talking to his squaw, who looked uneasy, as if she
suspected some act of White treachery. She was the only hand
some Indian woman I ever saw. Her features were regular, and
cheek-bones less prominent than usual. She was attired in a
short skirt adorned with beads. Two small boys were sitting on
the ground, entirely naked. The Indian beckoned us to follow.
I picked up a pair of pretty moccasins I wished to carry off as a
souvenir, and tendered the squaw a couple of Mexican dollars.
She took the moccasins from my hand, looked displeased, and
walked away. I saw lots of game hanging up, and made signs
of hunger, but no notice was taken of my demonstrations.
Our savage guide led off with rapid strides ; but we halloaed
after him, and made him comprehend we could not keep up at
such a pace, and he moderated his gait. It was natural, under
the circumstances, to speculate on our fate — whether our stalwart
cicerone meant to deliver us from bondage, or merely intended to
hand us over to the tender mercies of his brother savages. Only
once the Indian turned round, and, pointing to the ground, gave a
significant grunt. We looked down, and to our alarm saw a large
snake, disturbed by our approach, gathering himself up for battle.
We sprang out of his way with wonderful alacrity. In less than
an hour we emerged on the road, and our tawny friend pointed
to the relay-house. In the profusion of my gratitude I stretched
out my hand full of silver. He turned sharp round, without a
look or a sign, and disappeared in the depths of his wild domain.
E

50 A Trip to the South.
The American Indian is the grandest savage of them all. His
history is a record of noble traits and heroic actions. Civilisation
has despoiled and well-nigh exterminated him. Unfortunate race !
1 Who mourns for Logan ? Not one,' was the touching wail of that
great chieftain.
I felt some anxiety, as we neared our goal, lest the driver,
alarmed at our non-appearance, had mounted a horse and gone
in quest of us, and perhaps been lost in his turn. Instead of that,
we found him sprawling on his back fast asleep under the porch
of the house. We woke him with our denunciations. He sat up
and yawned.
' Well, strangers,' he asked, ' whar have you been ? The mail's
a-waitin'. Eat your breakfast quick.'
His sang-froid disarmed us, and we were too famished to talk.
After eating, we insisted on a rest ; and, nothing loth, Jehu re
sumed his slumber. Hard by, Mynheer was snoring serenely on
a bench, having effected his escape some hours before.
We moved on again late in the afternoon, and reached the next
relay about 9 o'clock, where we passed the night. We hoped the
following day to make our exit from the forest ; but no such luck.
By way of variety, however, we were more than once compelled to
abandon land travel, and resort to a new method of navigation.
Owing to the heavy spring freshets, the road was frequently in
undated for considerable distances, and strewn with floating
timber. To make the wagon more buoyant, we were obliged to
get out, mount a log, and paddle ourselves over, at the risk'of
immersion, and we found it a performance far more novel than
agreeable. At the close of the fourth day, after innumerable
vicissitudes, we drove into Montgomery, then a small village on
the banks of the Alabama river, and I made up my mind that, in
the way of travelling, I had seen the worst phase that could ever
befall me.
We were forced to dawdle about for a couple of days till a
steamer arrived bound to Mobile, our next destination, a distance
of 450 miles. Descending the river in a comfortable steamer was
a pleasant exchange from the United States mail-wagon, and we
were diverted by frequent stoppages at various plantations on
either bank, to take in cotton bales, until our barque was loaded
almost to the height of her smoke-stack. I was charmed with
the appearance of Mobile as it hove in sight. Long rows of ware
houses lined the quay, and mountains of cotton reared their

A Trip to the South.

fleecy heads on every side. The houses were substantial, and
many of them quite imposing. The streets were macadamised
with a white shell from the beach ; and, to crown all, the hotel
where we lodged was the most commodious and best provided
of any since leaving the North.
The heat was daily increasing, and I deemed it necessary to
push on ; but the news from New Orleans, now so near, was
startling in the extreme. The cholera was raging there with
great virulence, and every day the papers were filled with long
lists of its victims. Williams and I hesitated before plunging
into this charnel-house. The risk of being ' put to bed with a
shovel* was anything but seductive. The alternative of renewing
our acquaintance with the Creek country and the United States
mail inspired us with courage, and we concluded that, by avoid
ing the heat and observing a prudent regimen, we might venture
into New Orleans, where we could take the first steamer up the
Mississippi. We. set out, accordingly, in no very cheerful mood, and drove
thirty miles to the steamer that was to convey us over Lake Pon-
chartrain. On landing, we had still a railroad trip of four miles
to reach the city, and our route was across a swamp filled with
stagnant pools, that emitted under the burning sun such nause
ous vapours that I was forced to bury my nose in a handker
chief. I wondered no longer at the annual visitations of yellow
fever in this region. On entering New Orleans, instead of find
ing the streets deserted, shops shut, and bells tolling, everything
seemed to wear its ordinary aspect. Business was going on as
usual, and people seemed thinking of everything but cholera. I
supposed that the pestilence had either disappeared or been ex
aggerated. Not a whit. I soon discovered that the inhabitants
were so hardened by the prevalence of yellow fever every year,
an equally fatal malady, that they looked cholera in the face with
out the least dismay. The only effect of it that I could perceive
during my stay was the suspension of the daily duels that consti
tuted one of the amusements of the place. Every afternoon, in
ordinary times, people drove out on a fashionable road to a cer
tain locality, where these bloody pastimes were enacted in the
presence of numerous interested spectators. The cholera evidently
served to calm the pugnacity of these hot-blooded Southerners,
for not a duel occurred during my visit.
I met here several of my old classmates, already married

52 A Trip to the South.
men, and of course I bad frequently to dine out. Under the in
fluence of the pest-defying spirit about I forgot my prudent
resolutions, and indulged more freely than was wise. Above all,
I was tempted by the luscious fruits of this sunny clime. The
consequence was that on the fourth day I was pounced upon by
the lurking foe, but, happily, not very seriously damaged. On
summoning the doctor, I was not a little startled by his asking
me, with a smile, 'if I had made my will.' I replied, surprised,
in the affirmative. ' Then you are safe,' he remarked ; ' for no
body ever dies who has made a will, I find.' I exercised more
caution on my recovery.
New Orleans was wholly unlike any place I had ever seen
or imagined in many respects. One feature that amused me
was the complete demarcation which existed between the
French and American population. A street divided the two
quarters they inhabited, and if it had been a wide ocean the
dissimilarity could not have been more positive. In language,
manners, amusements, and usages one was all French, the other
all American. You had only to cross a street to find yourself in
a foreign land. Another peculiarity was the bewildering variety
of tongues spoken on every side, attesting the vicissitudes that
section of the United States had undergone. Spanish, French,
and English predominated ; but German was by no means un
common. The market-place was the nearest approach to Babel
I could conceive of, for all were vociferating in their native
lingo, to the utter confusion of the stranger.
I had often heard of the beauty of the Quadroons, and found
it was not in the least exaggerated. Generally they were above
medium height, with a creamy-white complexion, and lustrous
dark eyes of a soft voluptuous expression. Their figures were
matchless. A peculiar charm was the pliant flexible grace of
every movement. Poor creatures, their social condition was
deeply touching. Prejudice against their streak of negro blood,
though so far removed, shut them out from white society, and
they recoiled in disgust from association with the blacks. They
lived in an isolated state, mingling only with their own caste,
and falling a prey, for the most part, to men of fortune. I won
dered if the abolition of slavery would change their status.
The only public building that attracted my attention was the
old cathedral, a relic of the Spanish epoch. It struck me as
very gloomy and dirty ; but I was then fresh from the new

A Trip to the South. 53

structures and white marble of my native town, and not accus
tomed to ancient edifices of a sombre aspect. It was in this
church that a Te Deum was sung for the battle of New Orleans.
The same night, it is recorded, a ball was given to the hero of
the fight, and one of the mottoes used on the occasion was
' Victory and Jackson ; they are one.'
When the General's glance fell on it, he remarked, ' It ought
to have been " Hickory and victory ;" that would have been more
poetical.'* This sly bit of satire proved that the grim warrior was
not very accessible to flattery.
Before leaving I felt bound to visit Baton Rouge, one hundred
and fifty miles up the Mississippi, to see some relations of mine
who had a plantation in that neighbourhood. I passed the
night at an hotel there, and met a fine-looking man whose name
I forget, but not an incident connected with him. He was
much given to duelling, and in his last affair was run clean
through the body with the sword of his antagonist. When the
doctor examined him he bade him make his preparations, for
he had but a short time to live.
' You are mistaken, doctor,' he gasped out ; ' for you will
see how hard it is to kill a man that won't die.'
To the surprise of all he recovered, and was ordered to
' Baton Rouge for his convalescence.
I remained only a day or two with my cousins, as I thought
lit inconsiderate to detain my friend Williams at New Orleans,
where nobody's life was safe.
The cholera was committing sad havoc among the negroes
of the plantations, who were carried off in great numbers. On
the plantation of a Colonel Proctor, I heard that out of two
hundred slaves eighty were swept off in twenty-four hours.
.Finding the rest panic-stricken, he bade them fly for their lives ;
and they all ran away. As far as I could judge, the poor negroes
were most anxiously looked after by their masters, who were
among them day and night, to see they were not neglected by
the overseers, and that proper medicines and nourishment were
supplied. Here, as all through the South, I found that the
household slaves lived on the most familiar terms with the
families of their owners. The white and black children played
together ; the young ladies and their sable maids were in con-
* Even at this date the nickname of ' Old Hickory' was applied to General
Jackson.

54 A Trip to the South.
stant companionship, as if they were all of one race and colour.
No repugnance was manifested like that existing at the North
against the free black. I remarked that the negroes, both of the
house and the field, were indolent and careless, which I attri
buted chiefly to an enervating climate. Query, would they be
stimulated to more active exertion should emancipation, so often
discussed, ever overtake them ?
In honour of my visit, my relatives invited some friends
from adjoining plantations to meet me at dinner, and amongst
them was a young lady of seventeen, whose ravishing beauty I
have never forgotten. Unfortunately she could not speak a
word of English, and my French was then so halting that
I could only look unutterable things, without being able to
translate them. Occasionally I manufactured a sentence meant
to convey my inflammatory condition, but before I got it half
expressed her gorgeous eyes would strike me dumb. I have
often thought of what might have happened if she had spoken
English, or I French.
To my delight I found Williams well on my return, but
impatient to get away. As the most alarming reports reached us
of the numerous deaths on the steamers bound up the river to
St Louis, we resolved to abandon our original plan of returning
home by that route, and decided on embarking direct for New
York. We secured berths in the good ship ' Cincinnati,' and
hurried away from the plague-ridden city. The refreshing
effect of the invigorating sea-breeze, after the hot and foul at-
mosphere we had left behind us, was exhilarating in the extreme,.
and I recovered rapidly from the debility I could never quite
shake off after my brief attack of cholera. I almost regretted
the termination of our voyage of seventeen days' duration.

CHAPTER VL
SARATOGA.
ROBERTS VAUX — LORD POWERSCOURT — MRS. COSTER — A ' MAGICIAN.'
It was the middle of June before I got back to Philadelphia, and
I set to work at my neglected law-books with assiduity. My
mind, however, was constantly diverted by ' thick-coming' sou
venirs of my Southern journey, and the heat of our inland town
further indisposed me for hard study. Towards the end of July
I determined to shut up shop till the autumn, and betake myself
to Saratoga. These famous springs were the favourite resort of
all the fashion of the country. The best families of North and
South congregated there in great force in the months of July and
August. All the loveliest belles of the Southern and Northern
cities, all the renowned politicians, all the distinguished pro
fessional men and prominent merchants, assembled annually in
this pretty village, and paraded gaily up and down the piazzas
of Congress Hall, the United States and Union Hotels, that
presented a most gala-like appearance.
Before I say anything of the people I met there in the
summer of 1833, I will devote a few lines to the charming
family I accompanied there — Roberts Vaux, his wife, and two
sons. The name of Roberts Vaux was familiar to every inha
bitant of his native town of Philadelphia, and widely known
through the country. A man of fortune and culture, he dedi
cated his time, influence, and means to works of usefulness and
charity. Most of the local institutions, literary and philanthropic,
owed their origin to his energy ; but his fame chiefly rested
on his laborious efforts to ameliorate the prison system of that
epoch. For centuries the object of imprisonment had simply been
the punishment of the criminal. Roberts Vaux thought it a
wiser and more humane policy to attempt his reform. To this
end he suggested solitary confinement, which would not only
save the prisoner from contaminating association, and prevent
his recognition when he left the jail, but, above all, leave him in

5 6 Saratoga.
undisturbed communion with his own conscience. To modify
the rigour of the discipline, he proposed to give the prisoner
work if desired, and the Bible to read. After years of effort, the
sanction of the State was obtained, and the Cherry Hill Peni
tentiary was built on an entirely new model, where each culprit
occupied a cell alone. The results soon proved so satisfactory that
the system was applied throughout the State. This movement
of Roberts Vaux to remodel the prisons of Pennsylvania led to
a similar movement in the State of New York, where preference,
however, was given to what was called the ' silent system.' The
prisoners were allowed to work together by day under condition
of absolute silence, but were confined separately at night. This
experiment was inaugurated at Auburn. The novel attempt
to improve the condition of malefactors made a sensation in
Europe, and France sent over Messrs. De Tocqueville and De
Beaumont ; England, Mr. Crawford ; and Prussia, Dr. Julius ; to
examine and report on the two systems in question. All these
eminent persons pronounced in favour of the cellular system of
Roberts Vaux, which was forthwith introduced into their respec
tive countries.*
The house of Mr. Vaux in Philadelphia was the rendezvous
not only of the best company of his own country, but of all dis
tinguished travellers from abroad. The roll of foreign visitors
who shared the hospitality of the Vaux mansion included the
names of all the prominent men who visited the United States
at that day. In proof of the manner in which he was regarded
and esteemed by foreigners of position, I append an interesting
letter addressed to him by the Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar, the
patron and friend of Goethe : On board the packet-ship ' Pacific, ' near
Sandy Hook Lighthouse,
June 20, 1826.
Roberts Vaux, Esq.
Sir, — Your acquaintance being one of the agreeable recol
lections incident to my travels in the United States, and bearing in
mind as I do all the marks of friendship which you unremittingly
bestowed on me, I should deem it an unpardonable act of ingra
titude if I quitted this country without previously expressing to
you my sense of acknowledgment for all that you were so kind
* Whether solitary confinement was found too severe for the temperament of the
vivacious French, or from other causes, France has of late years greatly modified its
ellular system.

Saratoga. 57
as to do for me. I shall never forget the pleasant and instruc
tive hours which I passed with you in Philadelphia. An
acquaintance with such a man cannot but be of the greatest
utility to any one to whom the prosperity of his kind is not
indifferent, and who loves to meditate on the improvement of
particular classes of human society, without resorting, however,
to vague theories scarcely resting on experience or fixed prin
ciples, and often at variance with the best of our consolations —
religion. If those systems leave a void in the heart, the senti
ments evoked by the philanthropic principles which you profess
are very different, and evince that one of the sublimest vocations
of man is that of labouring for his own improvement and that of
his race. I hope that your numerous occupations will not pre
vent you from recalling yourself to me occasionally. When
you shall do so, you will remember one who is most sincerely
attached to you, and who admires you from his heart, and with
an entire conviction of your merits. I was disappointed in not
meeting your friend Thomas Eddy at New York, who with his
wife was on a visit to Rhode Island. Have the goodness to
present my compliments to Mrs. Vaux, and likewise to your
friend Wood, whom I was sorry not to find in Philadelphia, as
well as to your neighbour Mr. Neiderstetter (the Prussian
Minister). — Accept, sir, the assurances of my perfect consi
deration.
Bernard, Duke of Saxe-Weimar.*
Mr. Vaux, at the time I travelled with him to Saratoga, was
not yet fifty, and seemingly in robust health. His face wore an
expression of extreme benevolence, characteristic of his nature,
and his manners were unassuming and most winning. His estim
able wife was the very incarnation of goodness. She always had
a kind word for every one, and the unfortunate never appealed
to her in vain. Her benignant disposition was ever on the alert,
and she steadily sustained and encouraged her husband to new
efforts on behalf of the poor and suffering. The elder son,
Richard, was near my own age, and a hearty friendship had
sprung up between us, which promised to ' ne'er know retir
ing ebb.'
On arriving at Saratoga, the Vaux family took rooms at the
* The writer of the above, soon after his return to his Duchy of Saxe-Weimar,
published an interesting book of travels in North America, which was widely read in
Germany, England, and the United States.

58 Saratoga.

Union Hotel, then frequented by the more sedate class, whilst
I repaired to Congress Hall, bubbling over with fashionable
celebrities. The ' observed of all observers' there was an Irish nobleman
of large fortune, Viscount Powerscourt. Men of title at that day
were great novelties, as few of them ever crossed the ocean. A
trip over Europe was far more inviting than a long voyage in a
sailing-ship. Lord Powerscourt was a quiet unpretending man,
with that impassibility of demeanour, bordering on frigidity,
characteristic of his class, and veiy odious to our free-and-easy
countrymen. He afterwards married the most beautiful woman
of her day, a daughter of the Earl of Roden.
I had the pleasure of meeting again my former compagn-j de
voyage, the imposing Mrs. Coster. She was always surrounded
by throngs of admirers, and moved up and down the crowded
promenade like a queen, as she looked, with a brilliant retinue
struggling for her notice. We had some pleasant chats on our
voyage to Charleston ; but sustained conversation with her was
well-nigh impossible amid the bustling competition for her hand
in a dance, or her arm for a stroll.
I was vastly attracted by the quiet beauty, engaging manners,
and modest mien of Miss Fulton, granddaughter of Robert Fulton,
the father of steam navigation.* Rather tall, with a lovely figure,
a pale but clear complexion, blue eyes of exceeding softness, she
was one of the most admired belles of the season. Among various
proffers for her hand, she accepted that of a wealthy Philadel-
phian, Charles Blight, and lived for many years in great
splendour. It was in the saloons of the United States Hotel I was first
presented to the foremost statesman of the North, Martin Van
Buren, then Vice-President of the Union. He was yet in the
prime of life, of medium height and a pleasing countenance,
always enlivened by a bland smile, in which, however, the ob
server could detect that matchless craft which was his leading'
trait, and obtained him the familiar appellation of the ' Little
Magician.' In manner he was eminently seductive. Courtly and
distingue, he impressed all who approached him. His rise in the
politics of his native State was gradual but steady. Beginning
* In August 1807, R. Fulton ran his steamer, the ' Clermont,' up to Albany at the
speed of five miles an hour. This was the origin of steam navigation in the United
States.

Saratoga. 59

at the lowest round of the ladder, he advanced, step by step, till
he reached the gubernatorial chair. He then suddenly became a
shining light at Washington, and was, as I have recorded, even
tually seated in the office of Secretary of State in the first Ad
ministration of General Jackson. The remarkable feature of
his political career was its crescendo development, without noise,
effort, or even the vehement opposition that successful politicians
usually encounter in all free countries. This arose from his won
derful skill in organisation. By astute combinations and admir
able ' engineering' he secretly prepared the way, and before people
dreamt ofwhat he was aiming at he serenely perched himself in the
position he had deliberately selected. These constant surprises,
and these constant successes, effected by machinery no one saw or
suspected, led to his being dubbed the ' Magician,' for this modus
operandi was a new thing in American politics. A leading feature
of his tactics was to avoid writing letters or making speeches ; and
when he was forced to do either, you might have subjected them
to the test of a hydraulic press without extracting a word that
would compromise himself or serve his enemies. His master
stroke was, doubtless, springing the mine which sent General
Jackson's first Cabinet into the air. Yet, after the smoke cleared
away, no one could discover the artful hand which had applied
the match.
At Saratoga, the Vice-President was treated with the de
ference due to the coming man ; for no one doubted his suc
ceeding to the Presidential chair, whilst his influence over its
actual occupant was believed to be absolute. He underwent
presentations daily by the score ; and whilst all were charmed with
his urbanity and encouraged by his smiles, no one could entice
him into conversation, much less secure his company for a turn
on the piazza. He was generally surrounded by ladies, and never
walked without one on his arm, to ward off intruders. The ac
complished widow, Mrs. De Forest of New Haven, whom I have
¦mentioned, was his constant protector on these occasions, and
the rumour became prevalent that the Vice-President, who was
a widower, was contemplating a match. The best proof to the
contrary, I thought, was his seeming devotion to her. Had he
meant business, the world would have known nothing till the
marriage had occurred. If Henry Clay had been the same adroit
master offence, what heartburnings he would have escaped ! But
the fearless Kentuckian scorned stratagem, and would speak his

60 Saratoga.

mind. Consequentamente, as the Italians say, he never reached
the Presidency. I was kindly noticed by the Vice-President,
from being presented by his intimate friend Roberts Vaux. Hear
ing I intended soon to visit Europe, he offered me letters of in
troduction, which I was proud to accept.
There was a staid gentleman with a pleasant face, and
attired in the Quaker garb, who drove a handsome equipage
about Saratoga that summer, and gave numerous dinners to all
the best people at the Lake. This was Nathan Dunn of Phila
delphia, who made a large fortune in China, and who had lately
returned to his native place, where he took a fine house in Portico
Row, and gave splendid entertainments. He established at
great expense a Chinese museum at Philadelphia, consisting of
wax figures of Chinese artisans working at their respective
trades, and dressed in their native costumes ; together with a
great variety of curiosities from the Flowery Land, then very
novel. It was much frequented, and he gave the proceeds to
charitable institutions. Some three or four years later, the town
was startled at hearing he was accused of an unmentionable
offence. The charge was investigated, and the belief was
general that it was merely an attempt to extort money.
Shocked, doubtless, at the odious notoriety thus brought on
him, he abandoned Philadelphia. Nobody ever heard of him
again. It was supposed he had returned to China.
A prominent member of the Philadelphia bar, and a Govern
ment Director of the U.S. Bank, Henry D. Gilpin, was a good
deal remarked at the Springs : a slight-looking man, in gold
spectacles, very erect, and displaying in his conversation rare
intelligence and force of character. He was an ardent ally of
the Vice-President, and doubtless passed hours with him in
secret council, when people supposed them in bed, over the next
move on the political chessboard, though they were seldom
seen together in the daytime.
No one piqued the curiosity of the idlers at Saratoga more
than the notorious Davy Crocket, a Western member of Con
gress. The journals were always full of his adventures, and his
eccentric speeches in Congress greatly amused the country. He
was a fine-looking man, with an easy good-natured air, and a
face that denoted courage and resolution. Not long after this he
quarrelled with his constituents, who found fault with some of
his votes. He replied in a spirited address, explaining his views

Saratoga. 6 1
and maintaining his position. He wound up by saying, if they did
not like his explanation, ' they might go to h  , and he would
go to Texas,' then quite a wilderness. At the next election his
former partisans gave him a chance to go to Texas, where he
died, if I recollect, fighting the Mexicans. He published a book
of his life, with his escapes by flood and field ; and on the title-
page was a motto of his own composition, and very characteristic :
' Remember this when I am dead :
Be sure you're right, then go ahead.'
A broad-shouldered man, with a grave air of authority, might
be seen every morning with his back against one of the pillars
of the hotel piazza, laying down the law with much emphasis on
the topics of the day. This was General Tallmadge of New
York, a person of some importance. The General was a good
talker, but a little prosaic, and very dogmatic. He was a hearty
champion of American manufactures ; and woe to his listeners
when he took up that topic, for a long oration was sure to
follow. His superb daughter was just budding into woman
hood ; and when she accompanied her father to Europe some
three years later, her extraordinary beauty made a great sensa
tion at the Courts of London and St. Petersburg.
I returned to Philadelphia at the end of August, greatly
delighted with my first visit to Saratoga.

CHAPTER VII.
JACKSON'S LAST VICTORY.
A PERFECT TORNADO— FEARFUL RESULTS— A LUCKLESS VICTIM — STRANGE
RETRIBUTION.
I HAD but a year left to prepare for my admission to the bar,
and it was necessary to labour diligently that I might pass my
examination with success ; yet I could not wholly close my ears
to the uproar raging around me. Philadelphia was then a prey
to intense excitement on the subject of 'the removal of the
deposits' from the United States Bank. The story of the dire
conflict between the Bank and the Administration is an inter
esting one, and not without some romantic episodes. It was
one of the great events of the Administration of General Jackson,
and involved the fate of an institution of undoubted usefulness.
The United States Bank was in 1833 a corporation of great
power and prestige. It wielded a capital of thirty-five millions,
and its branches were scattered like so many forts all over the
country. It was the sole fiscal agent of the Government and
custodian of its funds. Nicholas Biddle was its president, and
the Board of Directors consisted of the leading men of Phila
delphia. Five of the directors were appointed by the Govern
ment. Nicholas Biddle, who belonged to one of the prominent
families of Pennsylvania, was a man of high character, superior
intellect, and great financial ability. The Bank was at the
height of its prosperity and influence, when suddenly a cloud
loomed in the east. Isaac Hill, an auditor in the Treasury
Department at Washington, desired the removal of Mr. Mason,
president of the branch Bank at Portsmouth, New Hampshire.
His motive, as it turned out, was the refusal of Mr. Mason to
favour an arrangement which would have benefited a small
bank at Concord, in which Hill was interested. The parent
Bank declined to remove Mason, and the indignant auditor
resolved on vengeance. He was an ardent Jackson man, and
determined to make his personal grievance a political question.
He forthwith declared that ' the friends of General Jackson had

Jacksons Last Victory.

but too much reason to complain of the management of the
branch at Portsmouth.' The moment the pugnacious President
found that one of his friends had been slighted by the Bank, he
buckled on his armour, and determined on a conflict with the
contumacious foe.
In his first Message, December 29, he gave a startling blow
at the Bank. His party, not then suspecting his warlike pur
pose, sustained the Bank, both in the Senate and House, in
eulogistic reports. But Jackson had made up his mind for a
fight. He cared nothing about the Bank, its constitutionality, or
its good management. He was simply enraged, like King Lear
in the play, that one of his men had been ' put in the stocks,'
and meant to avenge the affront. He was impatient for another
opportunity to open a cannonade on the enemy. In the autumn
of 1832, as stated, he was reelected, and this only gave stimulus
to his bellicose designs. On the ^meeting of Congress, Mr.
Dallas in the Senate, and Mr. McDuffie in the House, both
Jackson men, brought in a Bill for the recharter of the Bank in
1836. It passed both Houses. To the astonishment of Congress
and the country, the irate Jackson vetoed the Bill. There was
no mistaking now the resolution of Jackson to break down the
Bank, which courageously took up the gauntlet hurled in its face.
A tremendous struggle ensued, which convulsed the country.
The partisans of Jackson in great numbers forsook him, and
denounced his conduct as illegal, and ruinous to the interests of
all classes. The grim veteran seemed only to revel in the dust
and din of the combat. No sooner had Congress adjourned
than he planned a new assault, which he expected would enforce
a complete surrender.
He ordered his Secretary of the Treasury, W. J. Duane, to
remove the Government deposits from the vaults of the Bank ;
but Duane was a citizen of Philadelphia, and, trembling at the
ostracism that would overtake him there if he carried out the
orders of his chief, refused to obey. Furious at the defection of
his subordinate, he promptly ordered his official decapitation, and
seated Roger B. Taney in his place. The deposits were then at
once removed, and transferred to various State banks selected
for that purpose, which soon got the nickname of the ' pet banks.'
The fiercest denunciations followed this bold manoeuvre of the
implacable President ; but, only intent on crippling his antagonist,
he snapped his fingers at outcries.

64 yacksons Last Victory.
Things had got to this pass, when the fury of the contest
forced me to raise my head from my books, and turn my atten
tion to its possible results. I held shares in the Bank, and
cautious people were selling out. My confidence in its strength
was unbounded, and I determined to abide the issue.
After the deposits were removed, the Bank, in its own interest,
felt it necessary to curtail its business ; and this brought on a
severe financial pressure, that dislocated the business of the
country, and irritated men's minds more than ever. Thousands
execrated the mad policy of Jackson ; but he showed no signs of
relenting in his resolution to destroy the ' Monster,' as the Bank
was christened by his enthusiastic followers. Agitation and
alarm continued to increase. Paralysis seized on every branch
of trade. The notes of State banks depreciated, and discounts
were increased. Public stocks fell from ten to thirty per cent ;
domestic produce still lower ; twelve to twenty per cent was
demanded on the best mercantile paper ; real estate declined ;
manufactures were suspended, and labourers in great numbers
discharged. Jackson asserted that all this distress was the work
of the Bank, and his hostility grew more violent. Amos Kendall,
his favourite lieutenant in the Bank campaign, wrote to a New
York editor :
' Yes, sir ; this boasting giant is but a reptile beneath the
feet of the Secretary of the Treasury, which he can crush at will.
It exists by his forbearance, and will for the next forty days ;
and great forbearance will it require to save it from destruction.'
This vehement threat was soon carried into effect. A run
was made on the Bank to the extent of several millions, by the
sudden presentation of Government drafts, which, however, were
promptly paid. The hubbub rose louder and louder. In the
newspapers, at public meetings, in the State Legislatures, nothing
was heard but discordant cries and fierce invectives. The Jack
son party retorted that the Bank had violated its charter and
stooped to corruption ; that it had dabbled in coin and stocks ;
that it had made donations to roads and canals ; that it had
built houses to rent and sell ; above all, that it had 'suborned the
press. It was alleged that loans had been made to Webb and
Noah, proprietors of the New York Courier and Inquirer, who
had then abandoned opposition to the Bank, and become its
champions. The loans were admitted, but stated to be ' a fair
business transaction.'

facfcsoris Last Victory. 65
When Congress assembled, December 1833, Henry Clay in
the Senate moved that the President in his conduct to the Bank
had exceeded his authority, and violated the Constitution and
laws. The resolution passed. The irascible Jackson was stung
by this keen reproach, and replied in a Message entering his
' solemn protest' against the accusation. The Senate refused to
receive his Message, as unconstitutional. When the President
nominated the usual five Government directors, the Senate
rejected them.
In the midst of this tremendous warfare an incident occurred
in Philadelphia which I will mention, as descriptive of the pas
sionate state of the public mind. It may naturally be supposed
that our town, the seat of the parent Bank, was the scene of wild
commotion. There was little diversity of opinion, however,
as all classes clung tenaciously to the Bank. The president and
directors were the first men of the place, and no one ventured,
whatever their secret views, to confront their great social influ
ence. Yet there was one man, ranking with the foremost, who
had hitherto held aloof, and amid the heat of the strife pursued
the ' even tenor of his way,' devoting all his time to his usual
laudable pursuits. Roberts Vaux was no politician, and shrank
timidly from the fiery discussions of the hour. He was a man,
however, of too much weight not to make his adhesion an
object to the Bank party, whose leaders were his intimate
personal friends.* He was called upon vociferously to declare
himself ; and, forced at last to avow his opinions, he meekly
stated his apprehension that ' a Government Bank was perhaps
a dangerous institution, as it rnight, in the hands of unscru
pulous men, be used as a lever against popular liberty.'
* In proof of the former cordial relations between the head of the Bank and Mr.
Vaux, I append the following letter :
Roberts Vaux, Esq.
Dear Sir, — I will come to your house this evening with pleasure, if I can escape
in time from an engagement of business in the early part of the evening.
The Count de Lillers, whom you know, arrived here last night, and in the course
of a morning visit at my house to-day remarked that among his friends here was
Mr. Vaux, whom he meant to go and see this evening. Mrs. Biddle advised him to
go, as he would see the English strangers, &c. ; but on finding you had company
expressly invited, he said he was unwilling to go. This was reported to me on my
return to dinner. Now, I mean to seek him at the Mansion House this afternoon,
and intend to urge him to go to your house. So that, you see, in answer to your
invitation, I not only propose to go myself, but to invite another guest. If this be
wrong, you have only to ascribe it to your own amiable temper, and to the great
regard of yours truly,
December 5, 1827. N. Biddle. F

66 Jgckson's Last Victory.
Shouts of astonishment and indignation, evoked by this simple
utterance of an honest conviction, rang through the streets of
Philadelphia. From mouth to mouth flew the exclamation,
'Roberts Vaux is a Jackson man.' An edict of social exter
mination was forthwith registered against him, and his house
was forsaken by the influential throng that had hitherto so eagerly
frequented it. To the right and left he was shunned and aban
doned. A crusade was organised to eject him from all the
societies, literary, scientific, and philanthropic, he had for the
most part founded, and it was done. This robbed him of his
daily and cherished avocations.
I remember acting at this period as one of the tellers for the
election of the annual board of the Athenaeum, which he con
stantly visited. He came up to me, and inquired how the
canvas was proceeding.
I told him with reluctance that 'his was the only name
blotted from the list' r
A shadow passed over his kind face, and with a sigh he
exclaimed, ' This proscription is cruel in the extreme.'
But he was not a man to yield up his belief even under the
pangs of martyrdom. To him at that sad moment might have
been applied the lines of the Latin poet :
' Sighs, groans, and tears proclaim his inward pains ;
But the firm purpose of his mind remains.'
When General Jackson heard of this ruthless persecution he
appointed Roberts Vaux one of the Associate Judges of the
United States District Court in Philadelphia ; and, though foreign
to his tastes and habits, he accepted the post, and set to work
conscientiously to fulfil his new duties. But his sensitive nature
had received a mortal blow. The virulent animosity of his oldest
and dearest friends, his humiliating expulsion from positions of
honour congenial to his disposition, secretly gnawed at his heart,
and undermined his health. In a short year or two, forgiving and
forgetting, he sank into the tomb.
This was the first prominent victim of the tumultuous passions
then raging, but not the last, as I shall presently relate.
In spite of all the efforts of friends, in spite of the objurgations
of his envenomed foes, ' Old Hickory' kept his grip firmly on
the throat of the * Monster,' till, by the expiration of its charter
in 1836, it ceased to be the United States Government Bank.
Previously to this, however, its stockholders obtained from the

Jackson's Last Victory. 6y
¦Legislature of Pennsylvania a new charter ; and the Bank, with
undiminished resources, continued its business as a State insti
tution. During the severe stress of 1836 the mercantile community
received sorely needed assistance from this still potent corpora
tion. In the autumn of 1837, Mr. Biddle, leaving his legitimate
sphere of banking, launched, with the consent of his directors,
into a colossal speculation, which promised immense gains, but
involved fearful risks. He made vast purchases of cotton, and
consigned them to his agents at Liverpool and Havre. His hope
was to regulate prices in the European market by the heavy ship
ments he controlled.
The first experiment yielded large profits, which encouraged
him to go on. He renewed his cotton-buying on a still larger
scale in the autumn of 1838, and, as the crop turned out smaller
than expected, prodigious results were anticipated. These ex
pectations were thwarted by a single unforeseen event. The
harvest of 1838 in England failed, and large sums were required
for the purchase of foreign grain. This, coupled with monetary
difficulties in France and Belgium, led to great pressure in
England, which told severely on the cotton market. The con
sumption in the previous year had amounted to 25,000 bales per
week ; but it now gradually fell, till it reached barely 5000 bales.
Of course this was ruinous to the calculations of Mr. Biddle,
and his enormous losses inspired distrust to such an extent that
his drafts on his agents in Paris, Hottinguer & Co., were protested
in the summer of 1839. This was a deathblow to the late United
States Bank, for in October following it was forced to suspend
payment. When its affairs were wound up, its whole capital of
thirty-five millions was found to be lost. This plunged thousands
into bankruptcy who had clung to Biddle to the last. Credulous
like the rest, I lost all my shares ; but fortunately, unlike many,
it was a matter of a few thousand dollars only.
The reaction that followed was sweeping. The unfortunate
Bank president was denounced in the language of frenzy, and
the foresight of ' Old Hickory* was lauded to the skies. Biddle
strove hard to withstand the storm of obloquy that assailed him
on every side. He still continued, with head erect, to walk the
streets, where formerly every hat was raised to do him honour ;
but now he met only averted eyes, scornful looks, and ' curses not
loud but deep.' Cowed and disconcerted, he disappeared at last,

68 Jackson s Last Victory.
and hid himself in the recesses of his country house on the
banks of the Delaware.
A little later on, the ill-fated Biddle was indicted for malfeas
ance, and cited to appear before one of the city courts. I formed
one of the throng that curiosity had attracted to witness the
spectacle. There stood the prisoner, the once potential Biddle,
the autocrat of the financial world, the chief of the great Bank
party, that disputed the control of the country with the most
resolute and popular occupant of the Presidency since Washing
ton. There he stood, to answer for alleged misdeeds, and ' none
so poor to do him reverence.' His fine countenance was still
serene, and his mien calm and dignified as in his proudest days.
But it was easy to imagine the tumult within, and the crushing
sense of his humiliation. Before him on the bench sat the pre
siding judge, a young man of some twenty-seven years. He wore
an expression ' more in sorrow than in anger.' His manner dis
played respect and sympathy. He seemed only to remember
that his prisoner was once the favourite guest of his father's
house, and he struggled to forget that it was the fiat of this
fallen giant that had consigned that father, first to isolation, and
finally to a premature grave. It was, indeed, a strange freak of
destiny that assigned to Richard Vaux, the Recorder of Phila
delphia, and son of Roberts Vaux, the solemn duty of pronouncing
judgment on the fate of Nicholas Biddle.
' Thus the whirligig of Time brings in his revenges. '
The charge was dismissed, and the accused left the court, to
be seen no more of men. Not long after, his head drooped, and
soon he followed his old friend Roberts Vaux to the common
bourne. This was the end of the strange eventful history of
' Jackson's last victory,' and it really reads like romance ; but
many yet live in Philadelphia who remember it all.
In following out this bitter contest between the President of
the United States and the- President of the United States Bank,
which would have lost much of its interest if broken up into frag
mentary passages, I have straggled far away from the period
when I began the tale. I must, therefore, beg my reader to
return with me to the law-office of which I was still a tenant in
December 1833, and try to recover his interest in the events of
that day.

CHAPTER VIII.
ADMISSION TO THE BAR.
TYRONE POWER — A GHOST STORY — EDWIN FORREST — A TRIP WEST.
THE Chestnut-street Theatre was crowded the winter of 1834 by
•enthusiastic audiences to witness the admirable acting of Tyrone
Power, the Irish comedian. It was a new revelation of art. Up
to this time the Irishman of the stage had been a noisy turbulent
fellow, armed with a shillelagh, and whose chief delight was
trailing his coat on the ground as a challenge to all rivals. In
Power's delineation the traditional bully was superseded by a
new and more amusing type. The Irishman of his creation was
a buoyant, rollicking, witty creature, always ready to lend a
hand for any honest service, and whose innate pugnacity was
under due restraint until virtue cried for succour, or crime
demanded punishment. The graceful ease and vivacity of his
acting, whether in broadly humorous roles like Paudeen
O'Rafferty, or in more refined impersonations as Sir Pa
trick O'Plenipo, were wholly irresistible. In England and the
United States his name on the bills was a sure guarantee of
an overflowing house, and he counted his followers by the
legion. In private life Power was a well-bred and polished
man of the world, and his good manners and sparkling con
versation made him an especial favourite in the best society on
both sides of the Atlantic. After making a tour of the States,
he published a racy book of travels which displayed acute
observation and great literary skill.
In April of this year I had the misfortune to lose a cousin of
the same name as myself by a sad accident. He was thrown from
a favourite horse when out for his daily ride, and brought home
insensible. I happened to pass his house when a carriage
slowly drew up to the door, and on inquiry found to my
great distress what had occurred. Physicians were immediately
summoned, but, with the exception of a broken rib, no external
damage could be detected. All efforts to restore him to con-

"jo Admission to the Bar.
sciousness proved unavailing, and, after lying for some hours in
a comatose state, he expired. He was but twenty-five, an only
son, and adored by his family. I was walking up and down the
room with his father scarcely an hour before the funeral, when I
discovered that no portrait ' of him existed, which was an addi
tional grief to his afflicted relatives. I hastened instantly to a
well-known artist, who on hearing the circumstances accom
panied me back to the house, took a sketch in pencil, and then
made a cast of the face, from which he executed an admirable
likeness. I mention these painful incidents as they lead me to speak of
a singular occurrence that has never faded from my recollection.
I should mention that, though I lived on the most amicable
footing with my lamented cousin, we were never associates in the
familiar sense. He was of a somewhat reserved and unsympa
thetic disposition, as I thought, and, whilst we always met with
pleasure, we never courted each other's society. I state this to
explain that, though I was greatly shocked at his affecting death,
I was not plunged in the deep affliction a more intimate com
panionship would have entailed. With this prelude I will go on
to relate that, on the night of the funeral, I sat down after mid
night in my bedroom to write his obituary, as was then the custom.
I had been at work for some half an hour, when on looking
up I observed to my amazement my buried cousin standing
within three or four feet, of the table where I was sitting. I was
convinced on the instant that it was a mere delusion ; but what
perplexed me was that it did not proceed from the 'heat-
oppressed brain,' for I was perfectly calm, my brow cool, and my
pulse regular. The figure was clothed in white drapery, so that
I could discern nothing of the person save the height, which was
exact The face was distinctly visible, but differing from his
habitual cold and almost cynical expression, for the countenance
was benignant and sad. After rubbing my eyes, and smiling at
the absurdity of such a phenomenon, I began to write again
anticipating that the vision would gradually disappear. When
I looked up after a time, I found it still standing in the same
spot. I then rose and went to the window, which I raised,
and gazed up and down the deserted streets for some ten
minutes, thinking the cool temperature would subdue my
evidently disordered fancy. On turning round, my eyes again
encountered the pallid apparition, which I contemplated steadily,

Admission to the Bar. 7 1
wondering, meanwhile, at the singular condition of my mind
that could conjure up a phantom when in my normal state, my
body in perfect health, and my reason undisturbed by any
emotion of a poignant character.
Thoroughly satisfied that I was the victim of my imagina
tion, and, recalling the familiar adage of Qui vult decipi, decipiatur,
I repaired a second time to the window, where I remained for
some time, till quite chilled by the night air. The experiment
was useless, for the spectre stood its ground ; and now, feeling
too disturbed to continue writing, I took up my lamp, crossed
the room, and placed it on a table adjoining my bed. Before
'lying down, and believing, and indeed hoping, that by this time my
unwelcome guest had departed, I looked again, and discovered that
the ghost, as I almost began to fancy it was, had turned round,
and was regarding me with just the same expression it had from
the first. ' Well,' I exclaimed aloud, ' this is too droll ; but I won't
give it up ;' and I grasped my book when in bed, as was my habit,
and went on reading for some time without raising my eyes.
Whenever I did, however, they invariably encountered the calm
gaze of the shadow. At last I extinguished the light, expecting
that might dispel the illusion ; but no, it was visible as before.
Finally, I pulled the counterpane over my head, when, to my
relief, I saw it no more, and so went to sleep.
In the morning, I reflected on the strange incident of the
previous night, and marvelled whether ' my eyes were the fools
of the other senses, or worth all the rest.' I hesitated to speak
of it then, from dread of ridicule ; but I do not know why I
should not speak of it now, to show that an hallucination is pos
sible even under conditions apparently unfavourable — with the
mind well poised, and the nerves under complete control. I did
not then, nor ever after, believe that I had really beheld a spirit
from the other world ; but it was certainly unaccountable that,
self-possessed as I was, I should be compelled to struggle
firmly for some two hours to overpower a fantasy, and then fail.
It was singular, too, that when my back was turned I saw
nothing of the figure, nor yet when my eyes were closed. Me-
thinks a mere figment of the brain ought to have been visible in
either case. Since that period I have lost relatives and friends
nearer than the one in question, and causing me deeper affliction,
but no such result followed. In proof that I am not the only
person that has been favoured with a ghostly visitor, I subjoin the

J2 Admission to the Bar.
copy of a letter that appeared in the London Observer at a later
date :
' Sir, — In a clever leading article m your last impression, I think you are rather
sweeping in your remarks on no one ever writing to the Times declaring that he has
seen a ghost. The ridicule certain to be thrown upon any individual publishing such
a letter in his own name is quite a sufficient deterrent. But the subject is too grave
to be dismissed with mere ridicule, and indeed forms a great part of our whole con
nection with the spiritual world, and of our belief in the immortality of the soul.
The writer of this never had any mental illness ; his family never had in it any
eccentricity or other departure from sound mental health. He has never had any fit,
delusion, or hallucination — unless, indeed, sceptics will denounce what he is about to
relate as being the last. Yet he, at the age of twenty, sitting reading in his father's
dining-room, became conscious of some object standing at the side of his chair, and
on simply turning round to learn what that object might be, in no expectation what
ever of finding a supernatural visitor, was astounded to perceive a tall man, wrapped
in a Spanish cloak, and wearing a broad-brimmed slouched hat, standing looking
down upon him with a most benignant expression. It is impossible to convey a
sense of the awe inspired. Changing my narrative from the third to the first person,
I may, however, state that I grasped each arm of my chair in terror. I felt my hair
rise upon my head. My tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of my mouth, and my
limbs were deprived of all motion. The word "terror," however, does not convey
my meaning ; perhaps fascination is a better term. What we call " terror" only
supervened upon the gradual disappearance of the object, melting away slowly and
with a retreating motion. When it had finally disappeared, then, and not until then,
common fear or terror, and the natural instinct to flee, seized nie, and I fled into an
adjacent apartment. I may mention that both of the doors in the dining-room were
closely shut, and that through one of these the figure seemed to pass, never removing
the gaze of its eyes from mine.
I am quite prepared for the common objections, such as to the dress worn by this
ghost or spectre. It is by some considered quite unanswerable to ask : Admitting
that the souls of the departed have the power of revisiting the earth, have clothes a
soul also to appear in? On the other hand, it maybe asked : If the spirits of de
parted men have any such power, is it illogical to suppose that they will so appear
in garments as mortals wear, and not in a form of which we can have no knowledge
or conception ? Whatever may be said, I merely narrate a fact with all the solemnity
of conscientious truth. I should desire to draw the special attention of your readers
to the circumstances that, at the first, I had no spectral form possibly deceiving my'
eye, through some excitement of the retina or other causes. On the contrary, I had
the consciousness of something being at my side for some few seconds while I was
engaged in reading, and only saw what that something was on naturally turning round
to learn what it was.
I enclose my card (by which you will see that I am a man well known to the
public, not as a spiritualist or similar speculatist, but as an exact mechanician) as a
guarantee for good faith, but not for publication."
Before the summer set in I thought it would be a sensible
thing to take a run out West, which would complete my know
ledge of the United States of that day. Accordingly, in early
* In these days of mediums,' spirits have become such familiar personages that
many people may be found to put credence in the two stories above related. For my
part, without affecting utter sceplicism, and yet proof against all superstitious ten
dencies, I have since really witnessed phenomena so far beyond solution or com
prehension that I have been forced to adopt the tolerant view of Hamlet that
* There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in our philosophy.'

Admission to the Bar. "]X
May 1834, accompanied by my friend Williams, I took the rail
way for Columbia, some sixty miles from Philadelphia, which
was then the only one in Pennsylvania. At its termination I had
no alternative but the stage-coach, more hideous than ever after
tasting the sweets of railway travelling. At the close of a journey
of near three days and nights, we reached Pittsburg, a small but
thriving town, begrimed with smoke, and emitting an odour very
repugnant to a nose unaccustomed to the fumes of bituminous
coal. I was charmed, like all travellers, with its lovely situa
tion, nestling at the foot of lofty mountains, then decked in
the brilliant foliage of spring, and encircled by two noble rivers.
After a visit to three or four of the foundries, constituting the
whole attraction of the place, I took a steamboat for St. Louis,
descending the Ohio river, which I found worthy of all the
encomiums lavished upon it.
At the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi rivers I was
struck by the singular contrast in the two streams : the one of
crystal purity ; and the other turbid with the sediment of the
many soils, swept away by its rapid current making for the sea.
St. Louis was rather an insignificant town of barely ten thousand
people, and its principal hotel was a wooden building of scant
accommodation. Half a day sufficed for its inspection. I brought
letters for Mr. Chouteau, the nabob of the place, and I spent
an hour with him pleasantly in talking over the prospects of
St. Louis. He was sanguine of its future. Its situation was
certainly fortunate, occupying a central position between the
Atlantic and Pacific Oceans east and west, and the great lakes
and the Mexican Gulf north and south.
Its situation on one of the great rivers of the world afforded
unrivalled facilities for trade ; and sooner or later an iron band
was sure to connect it with the Atlantic cities. Just at this
time people were beginning to discuss the destinies of the ' Far
West,' almost hesitating to include Missouri in that designation,
as it stood on the very confines of civilisation. Shrewd specu-
ators were buying land in Indiana and Illinois, in the neigh
bourhood of towns likely to grow ; and some bolder than the
rest thought that even lots in St. Louis might turn out a good
investment. Excited by the eloquent vaticinations of Mr. Chouteau, I
was half tempted to purchase a few acres surrounding the small
town I was then visiting ; but the chances of its expansion

74 Admission to the Bar.
seemed so distant, if- not dubious, that I concluded it better to
content myself with six per cent in Philadelphia. During my short
stay I drove out to the Mamelles Prairie, and my fancy was busy
with the mysteries of the unpenetrated region beyond, almost
as little known as the interior of Africa, whose sole denizens were
the Indian and the buffalo.
On my return eastwards I visited Louisville and Cincinnati,
bustling and robust infants, as yet unconscious of future great
ness ; but finding nothing in either to detain me beyond a day
or two, I took the steamer up the Ohio, and landed at Wyan
dotte, with a view to inspecting the marvels of West Virginia,
already famous. I ' supped full' of the gorgeous beauty of this
wonderful region ; but after straining my eyes and exhausting
my enthusiasm for a couple of days, I began to grow somewhat
insensible to the charms of natural scenery unrivalled in the
world. I was sleeping soundly on the third morning, when I
was awoke by my excited fellow-passengers in the stage-coach,
and bade to get out to contemplate the ' Hawk's Nest.' I was
quite indignant at being disturbed ; but when I raised my half-
closed eyes to the soaring pinnacle thus denominated, just then
glittering in the bright rays of the rising sun, my vexation dis
solved in wonder and delight. I have never beheld a spectacle
in Nature to surpass that in grandeur.
I got back to Philadelphia in the first days of June, and with
out losing a moment began looking carefully over my law-books,
to prepare for my examination for admission to the bar, now
rapidly approaching. I felt no great trepidation, however, for I
had really worked diligently ; and though I was liable to be
catechised on any one of the numerous and knotty books I had
been reading for the last three years, I felt pretty sure of giving
intelligible answers.
The. day came, and I appeared before the legal Board, with
several of my colleagues" in Mr. Ingersoll's office, and, after being
severely and cruelly probed for some hours at two different
sittings, was informed in due course that I was at liberty to dub
myself an Attorney-at-law, privileged to practise in the courts of
Pennsylvania, and was gazetted accordingly.
There was now no obstacle to my departure for Europe, and
my heart bounded at the prospect. All my life I had felt an
indescribable longing to see the Old World, fraught with the
memories of so many illustrious men, and the .scene of such soul-

Admission to the Bar. 75
stirring events. The near fruition of my wishes filled me with
joy. I panted for the hour of embarkation.
In the middle of August I went on to New York, to attend
a farewell dinner tendered to our celebrated tragedian, Edwin
Forrest, by his friends and admirers, on his departure for
Europe. He declared he was going abroad merely as a tra
veller, and meant to decline all professional engagements, as
he was content with his reputation at home. I accompanied
him on board the ' Sully,' bound for Havre, and promised to
join him in Paris before the end of October.
I was not fifteen when I first met Forrest, who was a fre
quent guest at my guardian's house — one of his warmest friends
and patrons. His geniality, warm heart, and bounding spirits
quite captivated my youthful fancy ; but my love of the stage
inspired me with the deepest reverence for one of its greatest
heroes. His career had been marvellously rapid. He was but
fourteen when he appeared in Philadelphia, his native town, as
Young Norval ; only twenty when he played second to the
elder Kean in Albany, New York. His acting made so favour
able; an impression on the illustrious English tragedian that, at
the close of the engagement, he made a parting speech to the
dawning aspirant to this effect : ' Young man,' said Kean, ' you
have great talent. If you attend to your business, and are not
spoiled by flattery, you will rise to the top of your profession.'
Forrest often declared these words from the great master of
his art sank deep in his mind, and filled him with hope.
He made his first great 'hit' in New York in 1827, and from
that time his rise to eminence was steady and onward. Some
three years later he appeared in an original play, entitled Meta-
mora, written by Augustus Stone. Though not remarkable
for literary merit, it was full of dramatic vigour. It gave a
striking delineation of the intrepidity and craft of our Puritan
forefathers in their efforts to secure a footing on the land they
had invaded. The hero Metamora, a chieftain of an Indian
tribe, was an admirable portrait of the noble savage of that
¦epoch — frank, fearless, and statuesque. Forrest's imitation of
Indian peculiarities in walk, attitude, and utterance was singu
larly accurate ; and he threw such power into the impersonation
as to electrify the thousands who thronged to witness it. All
over the country this remarkable performance filled the theatres
to overflowing.

76 Admission to the Bar.
His success was even greater in another original play, the
Gladiator, written by Dr. R. M. Bird of Philadelphia, and
founded on the history of Spartacus, the leader in a servile
war against Rome, 73 B.C. A French tragedy on the same
subject was composed by Saurin in 1746. Dr. Bird's play was
written with great elegance, and possessed the more essential
merit of strong dramatic situations. Forrest's acting in the
chief role was the most conclusive proof yet given of his his
trionic genius. His conception was full of originality ; and in
every detail he was imposing, picturesque, and often rose to
sublimity. The same enthusiasm was roused in the country by
his acting in the Gladiator as in his previous creation.
He was vastly admired in the tragedies of Shakespeare ; but
the two plays in which I thought him quite unapproachable
were Banim's Damon and Pythias, and the truly exquisite
tragedy of Virginius, by Sheridan Knowles. He seemed in;
tended by nature as the representative of classic heroes : tall,,
massive, and admirably proportioned ; a noble countenance ; a
magnificent organ ; exceeding grace and dignity of movement.
This was an ensemble that few great tragedians, if any, ever
possessed. The dominant trait of his acting was its thorough
irresistible earnestness. His bursts of passion were so natural,.
and often appalling, that the audience quailed before them, quite
forgetting that it was only simulated fury. This was the secret
of his absolute sway over the masses that lasted through his
whole career. Edmund Kean once boasted that 'The pit rose
at me.' This happened to Forrest not once, but a hundred
times. In a few short years he accumulated a considerable' fortune,.
and, wearied by incessant labour, he decided on a trip to
Europe, chiefly for rest, but in the hope likewise that he might
derive profit from studying examples of foreign excellence in
his art.On my return to Philadelphia I set joyously to' work to
prepare for my foreign peregrinations. I made a round of
parting calls, and was cheered by a thousand kind wishes.
Letters of introduction flowed in upon me apace. Vice-
President Van Buren fulfilled his courteous offer, and sent
me numerous missives to our Ministers abroad. The British
Consul in Philadelphia, Gilbert Robertson, whom I had known
from boyhood, recommended me cordially to many -of his En°--

Admission to the Bar. JJ
lish friends, and, amongst the rest, to James Dunlop, Russell-
square, London.
Amid these pleasant occupations September flitted quickly by,
and I took my passage in the packet of the 16th of October from
New York to Havre. My friend Williams, who had accompanied
me in my journeys over the United States, agreed to join me in
my European tour. This was a great satisfaction, for he was
an agreeable companion and an indefatigable traveller.
In the height of my exhilaration I was not without emotion as
. the hour of my departure approached. I was fervently attached
to my native land, and naturally proud of the prominence it had
already acquired. It was a young country, but even then the
eyes of the world were directed towards it, for a new political
experiment had been inaugurated here. Hitherto the intellec
tual few had governed the ignorant many, but solely to their
own advantage, and regardless of the interests of the mass. A
bold attempt to reverse the history of the world was undertaken
by the United States. The people proposed to control their
delegates in office, and prevent them from sacrificing the interests
of the many to the aggrandisement of the more limited number.
The problem depended on the sagacity of the American people.
Would they be a match for the political class? In the past the
multitude had never proved so, either in ancient or modern times.
To be sure, the Americans were endowed with a political acumen
no other people ever possessed. Their forefathers came from
England convinced that it was possible to create a government
in the interest of the masses. In their own country the obstacles
at the" time were too formidable to attempt it, and they selected
a new hemisphere to launch it. Their children have been
faithful guardians of the dogma, which thus far had worked well.
No class or individual had yet contrived to blind or mislead them.
No army had sprung up which, in the hands of an ambitious
general, might compel obedience. Happily we were masters of
our territory, and required no army for protection. No laws had
been enacted that favoured one section at the expense of the rest,
though the South now alleged that New England had stolen
a march upon it, and had built up a tariff which was dam
aging to its welfare. If this became apparent, the impartial
majority would modify legislation proved to be unjust.
Thus far enlightened opinion dominated the land, and neither
individuals, nor classes, nor Government, State or Federal,dreamed

y8 Admission to cue jzar.
of defying it. ' While the Coliseum stands, Rome shall stand.'
While public opinion was omnipotent, the United States would'
be indestructible. For public opinion means the sane judgment
of the many against the ignorance or folly of the erring few. Yet
we were but young as a nation. Men were still honest, and
women virtuous. What would be our fate should we become
populous and rich? Should we stand proof against vice and
corruption ? Would morals decline ? would principle yield to
temptation ? would the lines of the Roman poet ever become
current here ? ' Get wealth and power — if possible, with grace ;
If not, by any means get wealth and place."
Would the selfish passions of our nature be kept in check ? If
not, then the theory of free and equal government would turn
out a fallacy, and our Puritan ancestors might just as well have
stayed at home.
I passed two or three days in New York before embark
ing, and attended a party at the mansion in Leonard-street
of General Morgan Lewis, formerly Governor of the State, and
a perfect model of the ' fine old American gentleman.' I met
my quondam fellow-travellers, the gorgeous Mrs. Coster and her
sprightly sister Mrs. Livingston, and they congratulated me
heartily on all the enjoyment in store for me. A beautiful girl
of most engaging manners, a daughter of Mr. Maturin Living
ston, was the belle of the evening.
* Horace, versified by Pope.

CHAPTER IX.
PARIS.
A FAST VOYAGE  FIRST IMPRESSIONS — A STRANGE PEOPLE, WITH STRANGE WAYS
— ASTONISHED AND OFTEN PERPLEXED.
EARLY on the morning of the 16th October I left the Washing
ton Hotel, then a fashionable resort, and embarked in the good
ship 'Silvie de Grasse,' 1200 tons burden, one of the finest
packets of the Havre line. With a fair wind we soon got to sea,
and then I began to turn my attention to my fellow-passengers.
They numbered about twenty ; but one after another they began
rapidly to disappear, and for two or three days the greater part
were occupied in rendering to Neptune the tribute exacted of
untried sailors, though, happily, I was one of the, fortunate
exempt, and blessed my stars at my escape. By degrees the
dinner-table began to fill up, and buoyant spirits returned with
good appetites and tranquil stomachs. The Havre packets were
famous for their French cooks, and the cuisine was not only a
novelty, but a temptation that frequently overcame my discretion.
In all my life I had never made such hearty meals ; and whether
it was breakfast, lunch, dinner, or supper, the bell no sooner
sounded than I was ready for action.
In those days the travel to Europe was very limited. Some
went on business, but the greater number were people of fortune
in quest of amusement, and bent on an inspection of the Old
World and its wonders. Consequently a long voyage with such
surroundings was pleasant, and often delightful. Friendships
were contracted, and frequently were sown seeds of matrimony
that a shorter transit would have precluded. In the evening our
pretty saloon had all the appearance of a family drawing-room,
so sociable and familiar was the tone. Everybody knew where
all had come from and whither they were bound. The greater
number engaged in conversation, telling anecdotes, relating ex
periences, and pronouncing opinions. Some were occupied with
cards, and the ladies grouped around the piano. Day and night
one topic took precedence of all others, the state of the weather

80 Paris.
This was an endless source of comment and conjecture. The first
inquiry in the morning, and the last on ' turning in,' was the
direction of the wind, as our fate depended on its caprices.
Boreas was benignant, and we had a splendid run of twenty
days. On the 5th November we dashed into our haven and
furled our sails. Havre had an ancient and original aspect that
scattered at once all my previous imaginings. My gaze fell
immediately on an old fort at the mouth of the harbour, built in
the reign of Francis I., over three centuries ago, and it reminded
me of the extreme youth of the country I had just left. On
landing, my eyes were attracted by a mass of novelties that were
quite bewildering. The Custom-house officers were all in uni
form, and with a decided military air. In rear of these were
drawn up a motley crowd, all eager for a job, the men clothed in
blue smock-frocks, and the women, quite as numerous, attired in
short worsted skirts of all colours, their heads surmounted by caps
of startling altitude, and their feet incased in wooden shoes.
The whole pack were jabbering with frantic vehemence, and
in a dialect beyond all comprehension. The vehicles about were
of a nondescript pattern, and the very horses seemed unlike any
of their kind I had ever seen before.
On repairing to the hotel, I ascended a stone staircase very
much worn, and found the floors without carpets, and polished
With wax, making the footing of a novice very insecure. The
food was excellent, but christened with mysterious names, which
I swallowed on trust, quite ignorant, for the most part, of what
I was consuming. The beds were delicious, but topped with a
canopy and enveloped in curtains. In short, in whatever way I
turned, all was new, odd, and confusing. My first day in Havre
yielded sensation enough to live on for a year.
I was too impatient to see Paris to linger at an outpost, and
secured places in the diligence for the morning of the 7th. This
was the stage-coach of France, and the only mode of travelling
except in a private carriage with post-horses, renewed every ten
miles at the post-houses. But this was an expensive luxury. I
considered la diligence the greatest curiosity I had yet seen, and
wondered the name of its inventor had ever died. It was
divided into three compartments at different prices. The coupe
in front, with three places, was the dearest ; the inte'rieur in the
middle, with six places, was next in price ; and the rotonde be
hind, holding as many, was the cheapest. On the top, besides

j^aris. o I
the luggage, were conveyed endless parcels of merchandise, the
whole covered over with a leather cape securely fastened down.
Nothing could be more uncouth-looking, and it had a top-heavy
appearance anything but reassuring. The most skilful driving,
I heard, did not prevent it occasionally tumbling over, and great
was the fall thereof. It was drawn by five horses, two wheelers
and three leaders abreast, all of Norman breed, stout, strong, and
very noisy, like everything else in France. They wore bells
about their necks, and their tails were neatly plaited. The har
ness was grotesque beyond description. I contemplated all
these details on the morning of our departure with lively inter
est ; and when the word was given Williams and I jumped into
the coupe", and away we went with a shouting, clattering, jingling,
and rumbling that brought every head in the street to the
windows to see la diligence pass, evidently one of the events of
the day in Havre.
I should not omit to mention the conducteur, who rose to the
rank of generalissimo the moment the diligence started. His
authority was supreme over everybody in it and everything on
it. He paid the postillions at every relay ; answered all ques
tions ; gave the signal en route — Anglic^> ' Go ahead ;' never
omitting to kiss all the pretty girls before starting, nor refusing
the liberal gratuities of the passengers on arriving. One might
be worse off in the world than a conducteur, was my inward con
clusion. We were twenty-four hours on the road, stopping half an
hour for dinner and breakfast. I scarcely slept a wink the
whole way for excitement ; and when we entered Paris about
10 AM. my emotions were overpowering; I wonder I did not
ruin my eyes by straining them unnaturally. Of all the cities of
the world, I was most eager to see this renowned metropolis,
whose history was so full of startling and terrible episodes. We
took rooms at Meurice's Hotel, Rue de Rivoli, facing the gar
dens of the Tuileries, with the palace in full view.
I planted myself in the window, and gazed at these thrilling
relics with an intensity I had never before experienced, regard
less of the frantic exclamations of Williams that our breakfast
was getting cold. If there is a trait of my composition that
transcends all the rest, it is a veneration for the past. The
men and events of other epochs are invested with a halo, in my
eyes, that partakes of the sacred. It often seemed to me I lived
G

8 a Pans.
more in the past than the present. I could linger and contem
plate an edifice, or a tomb associated with a great name, for
hours together. I would conjure up all the moving incidents of
their history, until I could almost fancy myself an eye-witness.
Of all enjoyments, this to me was the quintessence. In my
own country I gave way to this weakness whenever I could
find a pretext or an object to gratify it. Over and over again
I have visited the room in the State House of Philadelphia
where the Congress of 1776 assembled. Sitting down, I would
abandon myself to my heated imagination, till methought the
great men of that day stood before me. I could almost hear the
ringing voice of John Adams when he cried, ' Sink or swim, live
or die, survive or perish, I am for the Declaration.' Yet this was
only in the last century" ; whereas yonder palace was built by
Catherine de' Medicis in the sixteenth century, and those beau
tiful gardens were laid out by Louis XIV. in the seventeenth
century. Since then what tremendous scenes have been con
nected with both ! Why, it was only a few years ago — 1830
— that an infuriated mob invaded the Tuileries for the second
time, and drove forth to exile the elder branch of the Bourbon
dynasty. It was only —
' What in Heaven's name are you about ?' shouted the irre
pressible Williams, rushing in. ' Have you gone daft ? The
omelette is ruined, and the coffee is not fit to drink.'
I bade an abrupt adieu to my musings, and followed my
indignant friend, full of contrition for the outrage I had com
mitted. The next day I gave way to my feverish impulses, and for
a month I attacked in every direction the wonders, curiosities,
and marvels of this intoxicating capital. Galleries, museums,
and palaces ; pictures, statues, and tapestries ; the window of
the Louvre whence Charles IX. fired on the victims of the St.
Bartholomew massacre ; the site of the Bastille ; the cell in the
Conciergerie where the unhappy Marie Antoinette passed her last
miserable hours ; the room in the same prison where the
Girondists sang and danced the night before their execution ;
the spot where Louis XVI. was beheaded, and where Madame
Roland uttered her dying exclamation, ' O Liberty, what crimes
are committed in thy name !' the street where the infernal ma
chine was levelled against the great Napoleon ; the door of the
opera-house where the Duke de Berri was assassinated •  all

Paris. 83
these and more I contemplated and gloated on during my first
weeks in Paris, and underwent emotions the strongest, strangest,
deepest of my life. At length I began by degrees to cool down,
and struggled to divert my mind from the teeming past, and to
direct it to the living realities about me.
If I had been suddenly shot out of a mortar into another
sphere of existence, I could not have been more bewildered than
I was at the amazing contrast before me to all I had hitherto
seen and known. It was impossible to conceive anything more
unlike the sober town of Philadelphia, its sedate inhabitants
and decorous ways, in the year 1834, than this gay, frivolous,
thoughtless city, with its picturesque costumes, its curious habits,
startling usages, and whirl of amusements. I was entertained,
astonished, and frequently shocked. Up to this time I had but
one standard of right and wrong, which was that of the country
of my nativity. I had American, nay, more stringent still,
Philadelphian, notions of what was proper, decent, and moral,
and these were daily put to flight by all that was passing around
me. At first I was inclined to regard the French as the most in
delicate and licentious people the sun ever shone upon ; but
further reflection convinced me of the truth of the French pro
verb, CJiaque pays chaque mode — that ' Every country has its
customs/ founded on its history, antecedents, and character. It
would have been absurd to expect the streets of all other towns
to run at right angles as in Philadelphia, and it would have been
equally preposterous to censure the French because their ways
and notions were the antipodes of what I was habituated to. By
degrees I began to discover they had merits and charms entitled
to admiration. The politeness of the French was wonderful. I expected it of
the higher classes ; but the manners and courtesy of the common
people astonished me. Their universal intelligence, too, was no
less striking, and equally so were the facility and elegance with
which all, upper and lower, expressed themselves. Their aplomb,
easy graceful bearing, and never-failing vivacity were additional
attractions so irresistible, as to make me feel more and more
that the French had not achieved their position in the world
without deserving it
It was plain they were a vain people — that revealed itself a
thousand times in a thousand ways ; but after a time I came Lo

84 Paris.
the conclusion that perhaps they did not sin in that respect
much more than other countries, only they took less pains to
conceal it. It was this vanity, doubtless, that impelled them to
dress, walk, talk, and attitudinise so well ; that stimulated them
to eclipse, if possible, all other nations, from cookery to glory.
It has often struck me that vanity, like the mainspring of a
watch, gives impetus to the whole organism, and that they
who have most always accomplish more than those who have
least. For a long time I used to regard the French as silly and
frivolous to seek amusement in the merest trifles. I was dis
posed to ridicule their trite phrase of Vive la bagatelle ! but on
closer observation I concluded there was wisdom in this appa
rent childishness, since, if diversion is to be found in simple
things, why refuse to be amused ? If we abide always till
something very humorous comes to pass, we lose many a smile
and many a pleasant moment. This the French never do. To
envelop ourselves in a stately dignity, and stalk contemptuously
by what the French look and laugh at, is to throw away chances
of harmless mirth never recovered, and which tend to lubricate
the inevitable friction of life.*
Another dreadful blow to my untutored mind was the sacri
legious manner, as I deemed it, that the Parisians treated the
Sabbath. Instead of regarding it as a day of rest and prayer, as
I had been taught, they looked upon it as one of recreation after
the labours of the week. Sunday was a day in Paris of uni
versal jollity. The gardens were crowded, the restaurants
crammed, and the theatres overflowing. I observed later that
these usages prevailed in all Catholic countries, where the rigid
notions of our Puritan fathers would have been regarded, not
merely as fanaticism, but downright insanity. People, in great
numbers, went to morning mass in Paris ; but that recognition of
* It was a long while indeed before I could reconcile myself to the matter-of-
fact way the French regard our daily needs. To see men and women resorting to
the cabinets d'aisances scattered about the streets, without scruple or any sense of im
propriety, was to me odious in the extreme. In this respect the French, without
ever having read Shakespeare, have adopted his lines as their motto :
' If these things be necessities,
Then let us meet them like necessities.'
The shamefacedness of other nations in this particular is incomprehensible to the
Gallic mind, and they christen it mauvaise honie — false modesty  a phrase of
deep significance, covering a multitude of things.

Paris. 85
the day over, all the world sought diversion after its various
tastes and'means.*
Finally, nothing perplexed and confounded me more in Paris
than the relations of the sexes. They lived on terms of equality
I had never conceived of ; and the women wielded an influence,
not to say a preponderance, that was not only novel, but to me
astounding. In every kind of shop, and in every variety of occu
pation, women were, I found, not merely sharing in the work,
but, for the most part, directing it, and frequently in places
which I thought wholly incongruous.
An English author,! struck with the same anomaly, makes
the following comment : ' But it is not only in high society and
in good society, in the salon and in the boudoir, that you find the
female in France take an important position. It is the same in
the comptoir, in the cafe", and at the shop. She is there also the
chief personage : keeps the accounts, holds the money, regulates
and superintends the business. Go even into a swordmaker's
* In connection with this topic, I append a curious letter of the first Napoleon,
when an effort was made to induce him to enforce a more rigid observance of the
Sabbath. In the year 1807 an attempt was made to get the Imperial Government
to insist upon an observance of Sunday, and this called forth the follpwing reply
from Napoleon I. He said :
' It is contrary to divine law to hinder a man, who has wants on Sunday as well
as on other days, to work on Sunday in order to gain his bread. The Government
cannot impose such a law without giving bread gratis to those who have none. Be
sides, it is not the failing of people in France to work too much  We have
seen the public force employed in constraining persons to celebrate the tenth day and
to work on Sunday [during the Revolution, when weeks were abolished] ; and we
. should guard against the necessity of employing gendarmes to hinder men who stand
in need of what they earn from working on Sunday. In both cases there is either
political or religious superstition. God has made work a necessity, and He wishes
men to work every day, because He has given them wants which are renewed every
day. We must distinguish in what is prescribed by the clergy between the really
religious laws and those obligations which have been invented .with the view of ex
tending the authority of the ministers of religion  The observance of fasting
upon Friday and of repose on Sunday are secondary and very insignificant rules.
What touches essentially the commands of the Church is not to interfere with social
order, not to do ill to one's neighbour, not to make an abuse of liberty. You must
not reason with, but laugh at, priests who demand such regulations. I do not oblige
them to give absolution against their will, and I shall not permit them to force me to
throw the peasant who works on no matter what day into prison. Since my autho
rity is invoked in this matter, I give to my people, and for ever, the right of not
interrupting their work. The more they work, the less vice will there be. If I
must take part in this affair, I should prefer to order that on Sunday, directly after
mass, all the shops be opened and the people return to their work  Since
people eat every day, let them work every day  The compulsory powers of
the Church lie in exhortations from the pulpit, and the police and prisons should
never be used as means to enforce the practices of religion. '
t The late Lord Dalling.

86 Paris.
or a gunmaker's, it is as likely as not that you will be attended
to by a female, who will handle the sword and recommend the
gun ; and there is a mixture of womanly gentleness and mascu
line decision in the little creature — so easy, so unembarrassed, so
prettily dressed, and so delicately shaped — that you are at a loss
to reconcile with your preconceived notions of effrontery on the
one hand and effeminacy on the other.'
Indeed, nothing so strange as this is seen in any other country,
but it has always existed in the history of France. In the
Middle Ages the chatelaine was constantly left in charge of the
castle, and commanded if a siege took place in the absence of
her lord. In 1429, Jeanne d'Arc was the leader of the French
army; and in 1455, Marguerite d'Anjou, the French wife of
Henry VI. of England, took the field in the Wars of the Roses.
In the Revolution of 1789, women not only died, like Madame
Roland, on the scaffold, or assassinated their enemies, as Char
lotte Corday did Marat, but fought with the people in the street..
Les Frangaises of 1834, I remarked, had in no wise degene
rated. Everywhere, indoors and out, they were recognised by the
men as their equals, and exercised a similar, if not a superior,
authority. Whilst I admired their ambition, intelligence, taste,
and elegance, I considered them wanting in that softness, re
serve, not to say diffidence, which in other lands constituted one
of the greatest charms of the female sex. It was not, however,
merely the somewhat masculine traits of the French women that
surprised me, but far more so the boldness and familiarity with
which they consorted with men, without stopping to think of the
formality of marriage. In the upper classes I was prepared to
encounter more or less immorality, as Americans would deem it,
for the history of France is full of the amorous intrigues of kings
and great men. At balls and soirees in high life I was not, there
fore, astounded to be told that the gentleman moving at the elbow
of a lady was Famant de madame, or that French husbands for
the most part were so much occupied with their own liaisons that
they rarely took heed of those of their wives.
In a society where toleration like this is so general it is hardly
necessary to say that jealousy and its fierce rancours are seldom
heard of. In connection with this topic I must again quote from
the writer just cited.
' In France,' remarks my author, ' there is not even a shocking
or humiliating idea attached to these sexual improprieties. The

Paris. 87
woman, says La Bruyere, who has only one lover declares she is
not a coquette. The woman who has more than one lover says
she is only a coquette. To have a lover is the natural and simple
thing. Nor is it necessary that you should have a violent pas
sion to excuse the frailty. Mademoiselle de Lenclos, whose
opinions have descended in all their force and simplicity to the
present generation, writes, " What attaches you to your lover is
not always love, but more frequently a conformity of ideas, of
tastes, the habit of seeing him, the desire to escape from your
self, la necessite" d avoir quelque galanterie." " Gallantry" — that is
the word which, in spite of all our social refinement, we have
hardly yet a right understanding of. Gallantry is a kind of light,,
affectionate, and unplatonic friendship, which just suits the
amiable and frivolous nature of the French. There is nothing of
passion in it. Never expect a folly. Not one lady in a hundred
would quit the husband she deceives for the lover whom, soi-
disant, she adores. As to the gentlemen, I remember a case the
other day. Madame de  , hating her husband rather more
than it is usual, or liking her lover rather better than it is usual,
proposed an elopement. The lover, when able to recover from
his astonishment at so startling a proposition, and having satis
fied himself that his mistress was really in earnest, put on a more
serious aspect than usual. " Your husband," said he, " is, as you
know, ma chere, my best friend. I will live with you and love you
as long as you like, under his roof — that is no breach of friend
ship ; but I cannot do M. de  so cruel and unfriendly a thing
as to run away with you." '
The author vouches for the accuracy of his anecdote, and;
continues :
' When the Italian woman takes a lover, she indulges a des
perate passion ; when the Englishwoman takes a lover, it is
frequently to gratify a restless longing after rank ; but when a
Frenchwoman takes a lover, it is most commonly to get an
agreeable and interesting companion, and an assiduous court
ship is very often a series of bons mots. It is very possibly the
kind of gentle elegance which pervades these relations that
makes the French so peculiarly indulgent to them.'
All this has reference to the higher classes ; but I will add,
from the same authority, sufficient proofs that the middle and
lower strata are not a whit more prudish than their betters. My
own observations so fully confirmed the exactitude of Lord

88 Paris.
Dalling's statements on this curious state of society, which exists
nowhere else to the same degree, that I shall follow up my
quotations, that are expressed with an elegance and point far
beyond my reach.
' In a country like France,' observes my author, ' where for
tunes are small, marriages, though far more frequent than with
us, have still their limits, and only take place between persons
who can together make up a sufficient income. A vast variety
of single ladies, therefore, without fortune, still remain, who are
usually guilty of the indiscretion of a lover, even though they
have no husband to deceive. Many of these cannot be called
harlots in our sense of things, and are honest women in their own.
They take unto themselves an affection, to which they remain
tolerably faithful, as long as it is understood that the liaison con
tinues. The quiet young banker, the quiet young stockbroker,
the quiet young lawyer, live until they are rich enough to marry
in some connection of this description. Sanctioned by custom,
these left-handed marriages are to be found, with a certain re
spectability appertaining to them, in all walks of life.'
This sketch, referring to the middle class, would hardly be
complete without appending another phase, to be found in the
Latin Quarter of Paris, inhabited in great numbers by the students
who flock to the capital to follow the lectures on medicine and
law. After commenting on the slender means and severe priva
tions of many of these young men from the country, my author
goes on to say :
' The only comfort and consolation which their misery receives
is at the hands of the " grisette." This friend, an honest, though
perhaps too indulgent, personage, who has no parallel in our
society, is the student's beneficent genius. Between the grisette
and the student there exists a species of fraternity : they lodge
frequently in the same house. If the student be ill, the grisette
attends him ; if the student's linen be out of repair, which hap
pens frequently, the grisette mends it for him. The student, in
his turn, protects the grisette, gives her his arm on a Sunday in
the Luxembourg gardens, or pays the necessary penny and con
ducts her across the bridge. Equally poor, equally in need of
kindness and protection, brought together by their mutual wants,
they form naturally and immediately a new link in society. In
the same quarter as the students, and living in a similar fashion
are found a great number ol the young literary men of France

Paris. 89
of the journalists, the novelists, the dramatists, writers of tales,
reviewers, &c. Less seriously occupied than the poor students,
not so idle as the wealthier ones, they form an intermediate link,
and tend to inspire both with that love of polite learning, that
passion for light literature, with which all the young part of France
is imbued.' Descending from the middle class to the lower stratum, the
observant author quoted describes a considerable portion of the
working people cohabiting in the same free-and-easy fashion as
shown in the above extracts.
' The working classes,' he says, ' have their somewhat famous
" manages de St. Jacques" which, among themselves, are highly
respectable. The working man, and the lady who takes in wash
ing, or who makes linen, find it cheaper and more comfortable
(for the French have their idea of comfort) to take a room to
gether. They take a room, put in their joint furniture — one bed
answers for both ; the lady cooks ; a common mhiage and a
common purse are established ; and the couple's affection usually
endures at least as long as their lease. People so living, though
one calls himself M. Thomas and the other Mademoiselle Clare,
are married a la St. Jacques, and their union is considered in
every way reputable by their friends and neighbours during the
time of its continuance.'
The above descriptions wind up with the following striking
conclusion :
' There is, then, far more libertinage in France than in any
other civilised country in Europe ; but it leads less than in other
countries to further depravity. Not being considered a crime,
incontinence does not bringdown the mind to the level of crime.
It is looked upon, in fact, as merely a matter of taste ; and very
few people, in forming their opinion oi the character or a woman,
would even take her virtue into consideration. Great, indeed, are
the evils of this : but it also has its advantages. In England, where
honour, probity, and charity are nothing to the woman in whom
chastity is not found, to her who has committed one error there
is no hope, and six months frequently separate the honest girl
of respectable parents and good prospects irom the abandoned
prostitute, associated with thieves, and whipped in Bridewell for
her disorders.'
It was just this palpable fact, that in Paris ' incontinence was
not considered a crime,' that puzzled and confounded me utterly.

qo Paris.
In my own country, where English opinions and English usages
prevailed, the want of chastity in women was ruinous, and all such
unhappy creatures were regarded as pariahs and outcasts. But
here in France I saw, distributed through all ranks of society,
women whose relations were equivocal and notorious, deporting
themselves as though wholly unconscious of degradation, and
treated by all with the same courtesy extended to those free
from any such ' entangling alliances.' The very street-walkers
bore themselves with the same easy self-possession and graceful
air as other Frenchwomen, and no one thought of looking down
on them with contempt, of treating them with rudeness, or casting
reproach on their mode of life.
I cannot withhold a further extract from the writer so fully
quoted, who discourses in the following strain on the nymphs of
the pavement :
' In France, the woman who begins her disgusting occupation
on the Boulevards usually continues, year after year, to ascend
one step after another into a more creditable position. The hope
and the desire to rise never forsake her. Notwithstanding her
vanity, her love of dress, and her passion for pleasure, she hus
bands her unhappy earnings. There is a kind of virtue and order
mingling with the extravagance and vice which form part of her
profession. The aged mother, or the little sister, is never for
gotten. She has not that first horror of depravity which is found
among our chaster females ; but she falls not at once, nor does
she ever fall lower than necessity obliges her. Without edu
cation, she contrives to pick up a certain train of thought, a
finesse, and a justness of ideas — a thorough knowledge of life
and character — and, what perhaps is most surprising of all, a
tact, a delicacy, and elegance of manners which it is perfectly
marvellous that she should have preserved, much more that she
should have collected from the wretchedness and filth which her
life has been dragged through. Even in the lowest state of in
famy and misery she cherishes and displays feelings you would
have thought incompatible with such a state.'
Such a state of things, in such flagrant opposition to the
moral code I had studied, was enough to embarrass and con
fuse a clearer judgment than mine. The solution was only to be
found in the history of France, already alluded to, where at every
epoch is seen a freedom of intercourse between the sexes that
no other country presents. In past times this was characteristic

fans. g i
•chiefly of the upper classes ; but their example and manners
gradually permeated the whole framework of society.
What can be more conclusive, as asserted above, that incon
tinence was never considered a crime in France, when we find the
brilliant Madame de Sevigne" writing, in the reign of Louis XIV.,
in this wise to her daughter ? —
' The Chevalier de Lorraine called the other day upon the
F  . She wished to play la desespe"re"e. The Chevalier, with
that beautiful air which you recollect, endeavoured to do away
at once with her embarrassment. " What is the matter, made
moiselle ?" said he ; " why are you out of spirits ? What is there
extraordinary in the accident that has happened to us ? We
loved one another — we love one another no longer. Constancy
is not the virtue of our age. We had much better forget the past,
and assume the ordinary manners of the world. What a pretty
little dog you have got/" And thus,' says Madame de Sevigne,
' ended this belle passion.'
Endless anecdotes might be cited to show that, in 1834, the
same levity, the same tolerance towards lascivious intrigues,
was displayed as in the reputed voluptuous days of le Grand
Monarque, two hundred years ago. Without moralising on the
practical philosophy of the French, which concedes to the frailty
of human nature a leniency quite exceptional, I will drop the
topic with a repetition of the phrase, so common in France and
so indisputable, Chaque pays chaque mode.
I should fail as an honest chronicler if I neglected to state
that, whatever the freedom allowed in France to married women,
the most jealous restrictions are employed to protect young
girls from all contaminating influence. In the higher and middle
classes the daughters are never allowed to go out unaccom
panied, nor are they permitted to associate familiarly with the
opposite sex. They are taught the propriety of maidenly
reserve, and never mingle freely either in the society or in the
¦conversation of their elders. Above all, they are never seen in
places of amusement except of the most inoffensive description.
It would be regarded as an affront to ask any young lady of
respectability if she ever visited a theatre whose performances
were known to be of a doubtful character.
On the subject of marriage in France much misapprehension
prevails. It is generally supposed that parents alone decide on
the matches of their children, without consulting their inclina-

9 2 Paris.
tions. This is a mistake. On this point I cannot do better than
support my own observations by still another quotation from the
impartial author previously cited. ' A marriage,' he remarks,
' takes place in France under the following circumstances : The
parents of the two parties agree that, if the young people like
one another, a very suitable connection might be formed. The
young people then meet, and, if they are to each other's taste,
the match ta"kes place. Surely this is as sentimental and as.
delicate as teaching a young lady everything that can elicit a
declaration of marriage, so common in the higher classes of
England, and which, you may depend on it, she does not forget
afterwards, when every declaration she receives must be a
declaration of love. Matrimonial morality is not high in France,
I grant it. But this proceeds from a variety of causes, with
which the system of marriage (a system which prevails all over
the Continent, and in countries where the ladies are quite as-
faithful as in our own) has nothing in the world to do.'
After my arrival in France I became aware for the first
time of the extraordinary latitude conceded to young unmar
ried women in the United States. They were allowed to go out
when they pleased ; to walk and ride with their male friends ; to
accompany them to theatres and balls ; whilst in society they
enjoyed an independence, if not a predominance, which was not
thought irregular or unbecoming. The contrast of such freedom
of manners to what prevailed in France was broad indeed, but
might be traced to logical causes. First, our usages descended
from the mother country, where no such strict surveillance was
ever exercised over young women as in France. Next, the
toleration extended to them in our country originated in the
innocence and decorum of our village life, when ' George the
Third was king,' and when Mrs. Grundy was never out of sight,
or her reproving voice too distant to be heard. But when our
hamlets shall have become converted into populous towns, and
foreign manners shall have crept in, impregnating the whilom.
purity ol our social atmosphere, it will then be a serious ques
tion whether our primitive customs should not be modified, and
the European system of checks and restraints be adopted.

CHAPTER X.
PARIS {continued).
THE PALAIS ROYAL  A HAPPY MAN — GAMBLING  THE AMERICAN COLONY, ETC.
I DINED constantly at the Palais Royal, then in all its glory.
The best restaurants, and some of the finest shops, especially
jewellers, were to be found here. Nothing in Paris enchanted
me more than this brilliant mart. The palace at one end was
first erected by Cardinal Richelieu, and afterwards given by
Louis XIV. to his brother, the Duke of Orleans, where it
has ever since remained. It was the father of the reigning
King who thought it would add to his already vast revenues
if he surrounded the garden of his palace with a splendid
structure, and let it out for shops. He accomplished his
plan, and it yielded an immense income. At first there was a
great outcry against the speculation, and the Duke wittily
observed ' he should . be in no want of materials, as everybody
was throwing stones at him.'
The restaurant I frequented most was that of VeTour. The
rooms on the ground floor were lined with mirrors and resplend
ent with light. The cabinets above were reserved for private
parties. At six o'clock in winter all the tables were occupied,
and it was a scene of great animation. At the end of each
room stood a kind of altar, behind which sat the presiding
divinity, a lady daintily dressed, and courteous, but reserved in
manner — la dame du comptoir. It was her function to make out
the bills and supervise the waiters. All doffed their hats to
her on entering or leaving the room, and received in return a
polite but cold salutation. A smile was never seen on her face,
and no one ever dreamt of approaching or addressing her.
This would have been an act pf Ihe-majeste", a breach of usage
that would have been resented. It was inconceivable to me
how a woman, often young and pretty, could sit for some hours
in a state of almost suspended animation ; not a feature or a.

94 Paris.
word betraying that she was other than an automaton, and yet
closely observant all the while. If a waiter was missing, she
rang the bell ; if the bill was demanded, she handed it already
made out, as each dish was reported to her when ordered. It was
puzzling to an American to find a woman in such an exposed
position ; but I was not long discovering that Frenchwomen
have no such thing as timidity in their composition, and that a
man had no more effect on their nerves than the hat he wore
The waiters, in their blue jackets and long white aprons, their
polite manners, free from all subserviency, attracted my attention
as models in their way. They would take orders from half a
dozen people for double that number of dishes, and never com
mit an error. I concluded the science of mnemonics had made
great progress in France.
One of my frequent companions at dinner was S. B. Denison,
then a commission merchant and agent for the New York packet
line to Havre. He was a native of Connecticut, and had resided
in Paris since 1815. He was somewhat eccentric, but amiable
and intelligent. He knew Paris like a book, and was armed with
curious statistics at all points. In the matter of restaurants
there was not one of them famous for a particular dish or a spe
cial wine, or a cafe that excelled in liqueurs or coffee, but he
could direct you to it blindfold. No small merit, when Paris
boasted of its eight hundred cafes and one thousand restaurants.
Poor Sam, steam navigation was the ruin of him ; for the suspen
sion of the Havre packets cost him his livelihood, and he never
managed to get on his commercial legs again. He continued to
subsist on what small jobs fell in his way, and the bounty of his
friends. His good spirits never deserted him, and he was as
gay and chatty in his attic as in the days of his prosperity.
' If people only knew,' he used to say, ' how little they would
be disturbed by the commotions of the world below, they would
all live like me in a garret.'
He dined as joyously on twenty sous, when he had it, as
when he lived on the fat of the land, and his appetite never
failed him. He used to tell racy stories of the ups and downs
he had seen in Paris, of the revolutions and e"meutes, of the fall
of Governments and great men.
' I have survived them all,' he would boast, « and have no
bitter regrets of lost greatness to torment me.'
Any allusion to his former prosperity, instead of a growl or a

fans. 95
whine, only elicited some pleasant rejoinder in the spirit of the
old rhyme : * The loss of wealth is loss of dirt,
As sages in all times assert ;
The happy man's without a shirt.'*
The Palais Royal at night was a gorgeous spectacle. The
shops below blazed with light, and the stories above were hardly
less effulgent. Many of the rooms on the third and fourth floors
were used for gambling, which was then licensed. The Govern
ment sold this license to a contractor for a term of years, who
was obliged to pay annually into the public treasury, in monthly
instalments, five millions and a half of francs. He was allowed
to retain for his expenses two millions and a quarter.
I used occasionally to visit these haunts in the Palais Royal,
and gazed with pity on the victims of this detestable vice. The
bank, of course, amassed large profits ; but now and then a run
of luck would enable some bold player to secure heavy stakes.
There was a man who used to frequent, at this time, one of these
gambling-dens who had made a profound study of the chances
of the game, and, though often a loser, his abstruse calculations
not unfrequently succeeded in filling his pockets. He was any
thing but a welcome guest to the proprietors, who could not,
however, prevent his playing. One night his luck combined with
his skill, and he was fortunate enough to break the bank, a most
unusual occurrence. He rose from the table with his porte-feuille
crammed with notes, to the extent of many thousands. As it
was near four o'clock in the morning, the police, always present,
suggested he should take a coach, or allow one of them to con
duct him home. He declined both, and set out in high spirits.
Next morning his dead body was found in one of the narrow
streets adjacent, and every penny gone. It is clear that some
one cognisant of his great gains had committed the crime, but
no discovery was ever made.
I heard a story related of an English officer, who used to
frequent one of these lairs in the Palais Royal. Having lost
every penny he possessed, he resolved in despair to destroy him
self, and all those instrumental in his ruin. He managed to place
a canister of fulminating powder under the table, and ignited it.
* He went through the late siege of Paris, and more than once would have
starved outright, but for a stray cat or two, that, with no small culinary skill, he
converted, into a savoury fricassee. ,

96 Paris.
An explosion was the consequence, but, strange to say, no one
was seriously hurt. The unfortunate culprit was arrested and
imprisoned ; but after some time he was, through the intervention
of the British Ambassador, sent out of France as a lunatic. A
similar incident is related as having occurred at a previous period
in one of the gambling-houses of Paris. A couple of men who
were playing contrived, under pretext of having dropped some
money, to get under the table, where they placed a small jar of
powder, which soon exploded. Amid the confusion and dismay,
they seized all the gold and notes of the bank, and made off with
the plunder without detection.
A more fashionable gambling-house, of the name of Frascati,
in the Rue Richelieu, was then much patronised. Women were
admitted here, and no one knew who they were, as names were
not demanded. It was a curious but painful sight to contem
plate a row of men and women sitting round the long green table
where the gaming went on, silent, motionless, absorbed. Not a
word was spoken ; but the emotions depicted on the countenance
of each told plainly enough of the agitation within. Every face
was flushed, every eye sparkled with excitement, and sometimes,
when the luck was very adverse, the expression of many was
really diabolical. It was to me a loathsome sight
A much more exclusive resort of this kind was the Salon des
Etrangers, always crowded with men of rank and wealth, and
many of the foreign ambassadors. The cuisine and wines were
renowned, and a supper of regal magnificence was nightly served
for the guests. Englishmen of fortune were constant habitue's of
the place, and lost heavily. Lord Thanet, who had an income of
50,000/. a year, played here day and night, till he was penniless.
One night he sat down to play cards with some of the guests he
met at the Salon, and lost 120,000/. A friend of his remarked
that he thought his lordship had been cheated. ' Then,' he re
plied, with perfect composure, ' I am fortunate in not having lost
double that sum.'
This was one of the anecdotes current in Paris that winter,
but many others were flying about.
A story was told of the Hon. George Talbot, a nephew of
the Earl of Shrewsbury, who was a steady visitor of the Salon.
On one occasion, having exhausted all his funds, he sprang up,
and with great energy exclaimed,
' If I had all the statues oi Canova at my uncle's country seat

Paris. 97
I would stake them on the " red," for the " black" has won four
teen times running.'
I heard some curious details of the Hungarian Count Hun-
yady, who was all the rage in Paris at this epoch for his hand
some person, his charming manners, and his splendid mode of
life. He passed many hours daily at the Salon des Etrangers,
and his luck for a long while was marvellous. At one time he
was a winner of upwards of two millions of francs. His manner
at play was always calm and gentlemanly ; he sat, apparently
unmoved, with his right hand in the breast of his coat, whilst
thousands depended upon the turning of a card. His valet, how
ever, related that his nerves were not of such an iron temper as
seemed to be the case ; for his breast often bore in the morning
the bloody marks of his nails, which he had lacerated in the
agony of an unsuccessful turn of fortune. The Count was not
wise enough to leave Paris with his large winnings, but continued
to play till he lost not only all he had gained, but the greater
part of his fortune. He was finally compelled to borrow money
to get back to Hungary*
The sums annually lost in the gambling-houses were esti
mated as ranging from six to nine millions. By a law of the
Chamber of Deputies, in December 1837, public gambling was
abolished in France, and has never been revived.
The American colony in Paris at this period was very
limited, hardly exceeding thirty persons, and only a few of these
domiciled there. Among those established for the winter were
Mr. and Mrs. R. K. Haight of New York, who occupied luxuri
ous apartments in the Place Vendome, and gave frequent enter
tainments. Mr. Haight was a man of intelligence, but his brusque
manners made an unfavourable impression. His shortcomings
in this respect, however, were amply redeemed by the pleasing
address, tact, and esprit of his wife, who charmed and attracted
a large circle of friends. Somewhat later, she travelled exten
sively in Egypt, a rare feat in those days, and published an in
teresting book of her impressions de voyage that was greatly
admired. The only American banking-house existing in Paris was
that of Welles & Co., which enjoyed high repute, and com
manded the confidence of the American and French business
* Some of these anecdotes, then circulating in society, are related by Captain
Gronow in his lively book. H

98 Paris.
world. The head of the firm was Mr. Samuel Welles. He was
of New England origin, and possessed all the shrewdness and
energy of his native region. He conducted the operations of his
bank with boldness, but no less circumspection. He was an
odd-looking man — short of stature, a slender frame, with a
head of unusual size, quite disproportioned to his person. His
face was hard and cold ; his eyes penetrating and suspicious ;
his manner abrupt and austere. He was singularly fidgety,
besides, always darting to and fro, never occupying the same spot
for two minutes together, even when talking, which he did with
great rapidity ; and frequently, before a reply could be made, he
would be in an adjoining room. It must have been a trying ordeal
for him to keep his seat during a dinner-party. He was a man
of precision and fixed rules in everything. On the 1st of May
he put on his summer apparel, and would not take it off before
the 1st of November, even if half congealed with cold. In spite
of all this he was a good-hearted man, and did many kind and
generous things in his day.
He married late in life, but made a ¦ fortunate selection.
Whilst on a visit to his friend and correspondent, T. Wiggins,
an American banker in London, he met Miss Fowle of Rhode
Island, a sister of Mrs. Wiggins, and her beauty and intelli
gence soon overpowered the nimble man of finance, and brought
him to a standstill for once. How he managed to remain
stationary long enough to pop the question is a marvel ; but
he did so successfully, and brought his young and blooming
bride, not half his age, back to Paris. He reared a splendid
mansion in the Place St. George, which for years was not sur
passed in the number and liberality of its entertainments by any
house in the French capital.
It is not surprising that Mrs. Welles rapidly ascended to
the highest level of the society of the Chaussee d'Antin, which
of late years had superseded the social preponderance once
wielded by the old nobility of the Faubourg St. Germain. She
possessed in a marked degree those essential qualifications re
quired of a candidate for Parisian favour. Without affectation
or pretension, she added to elegance and vivacity that dis
tinction of manner which is one of the striking traits of the
French e"lite. Her conversation was animated and sparkling,
whilst an acute understanding, enlarged by extensive reading,
enabled her to discuss with facility the current topics of the

Paris. 99
day, whether in literature, art, or politics. No one could be
long in the society of Mrs. Welles without detecting in her
quick eye and expressive countenance indications of a force of cha
racter that never failed to reveal itself when occasion demanded.
She gave a memorable proof of this at a later period, when bank
ruptcy hovered over her husband's house.
Though not foreseen in the winter of 1834, the causes were
at work which brought on the revulsion of 1836. Under the
severe financial strain of that year two American houses of
note, Wilde & Co. and Wiggins & Co., failed in London. The
downfall of the latter involved Welles & Co. in difficulty,
and, though the head of the house struggled energetically to
weather the storm, the peril daily increased, and a catastrophe
was imminent. At this critical moment Mrs. Welles displayed
a vigour worthy of her mother-land. Without the least tre
pidation she drove one morning to the Bank of France ;
obtained an interview with Count d'Argout, the governor ;
exhibited to him the ample though depressed securities in
her husband's porte-feuille ; and by her forcible statements
succeeded in securing a loan of several millions of francs,
which not only removed all danger of insolvency, but added
greatly to the strength and prestige of the bank of Welles &
Co. This extraordinary negotiation naturally surprised all
those who had hitherto regarded Mrs. Welles as a mere woman
of fashion, and, as the incident became known, it brought down
from every side showers of compliments and hearty expressions
of admiration. I shall have occasion hereafter to speak of this
accomplished woman, whose friendship it was my good fortune
to enjoy

CHAPTER XL
PARIS {continued).
THE U.S. MINISTER — PRESENTATION AT COURT — EFFECT ON THE AMERICAN MIND.
IN the month of December rumours began circulating among
my countrymen in Paris that a presentation at Court was shortly
to take place, and a steady tide of solicitation at once set in
upon the American Minister to secure the coveted honour.
Ardent as the rest to participate in the ceremony, I armed my
self with the letters of introduction I had brought, and made my
way to the residence of Mr. Edward Livingston, then our Envoy
to France. I felt a lively curiosity to see this distinguished
man, who was regarded as one of our foremost statesmen. He
began his career in New York as a member of the Bar. After
holding the office of Recorder of the city, he was sent to Con
gress. Later on he removed to New Orleans, where he soon
acquired a lucrative practice. In 1815 he figured as the adju
tant of General Jackson at the battle of New Orleans. He was
always remarkable for his ready wit, and gave a proof of it on
this occasion. A merchant of the town, who had volunteered as
a combatant, discovered to his annoyance some of his finest
cotton employed for the redoubts. Running to Livingston, he
protested against this wanton sacrifice, when an inferior quality
would answer just as well.
' The better the quality,' said Livingston gravely, ' the more
eager you will be to defend it ;' and rode away.
Not long after the victory it was Livingston who suggested
to the successful commander the feasibility of his reaching the
Presidency, and nine years later General Jackson appeared
as a candidate. In 1821 Mr. Livingston was appointed by the
Legislature to draw up a criminal code for Louisiana, which is
regarded as one of his greatest achievements in jurisprudence.
In 1 83 1, on the resignation of Mr. Van Buren, he succeeded him
as Secretary of State, and was the author of the eloquent Pro
clamation against the nullification doctrines of South Carolina.

Paris. 101
In 1833 he was sent as Minister to France to claim five millions
of dollars, as indemnity for spoliations on our commerce during
the wars of Napoleon, and which was finally obtained.
It is worthy of notice that Robert L. Livingston, an elder
brother of Edward, was Minister to France under the Administra
tion of Mr. Jefferson, and in 1803 boldly negotiated the purchase
of Louisiana from the French Government for fifteen millions of
dollars, without the authority of the President, and in contra
vention of the Constitution. The acquisition was of such incal
culable value that the President and Congress readily indorsed
the treaty, and provided for the payment agreed on. It now fell
to the lot of another member of the same family to act as the
American Plenipotentiary at Paris, and to secure a second finan
cial triumph. If the two brothers had done no other work,
these diplomatic feats would have perpetuated their memories ;
but as jurists, writers, and orators they have left such indelible
marks of genius that the name of Livingston is still honoured as
one of the brightest in our annals.
I was cordially received on the morning of my visit just re
ferred to, and, whilst the Minister was looking over the letters I
delivered, I had a brief opportunity to scrutinise him. He was
a tall slim man, his head small and features ordinary, save
the eye, which was uncommonly bright and searching. His man
ner was somewhat formal, but courteous. He chatted pleasantly
about the friends who had recommended me to his notice, and
as I was preparing to leave he said,
' Would you like to go to Court ? I am making out a list for
the next presentation, and it would give me pleasure to add
your name.'
I assured him nothing would give me greater pleasure, as I
was full of eagerness to see one of the most remarkable men in
Europe, the King of the French.
' Very well,' he added, smiling ; ' make your preparations.
You have still ten days to get up your Court costume.'
I went away in high spirits, and hurried to my tailor, who
took my measure forthwith for the usual Court dress, — blue coat
with gold-embroidered collar and lapels, and white cassimere
trousers with gold band.
I was not a little jubilant at the prospect of going to Court.
The sight of a real king and queen would be a novelty of the
rarest kind. Hitherto I had seen none but those who ' strutted

102 Paris.
and fretted their hour upon the stage, and then were heard no-
more.' It would be exciting enough to see royalty in proprid
persond ; but when the king I was to behold was no other than
Louis Philippe, one of the most conspicuous sovereigns of his
time, the effect was doubly stirring.
He was born in 1773, and was the eldest son of the Duke of
Orleans, who was nicknamed Egalite" during the first Revolution,
He began his career in the army under General Dumouriez, and
gained distinction at the battles of Valmy and Jemappes. To
escape arrest by the revolutionists, he fled into Switzerland,,
where, to obtain subsistence, he became a professor, on a salary
of 300 dollars a year. His father was beheaded in 1793, and,
though heir to such vast possessions, the son was well-nigh pen
niless. After this he found his way to the United States, and, it
is said, kept a school there. It is also stated that in Philadel
phia he fell in love with Miss Willing, a belle of the town, and.
proposed marriage, which her father refused, saying,
' If you are the Duke of Orleans, then my daughter is no
match for you ; and if you are not, then you are none for her.'
The shrewd merchant feared the possible repudiation of his-
daughter should the Duke recover his position and estates.
In 1 800 he embarked for England ; and in 1 809 married Marie
Amelie, daughter of the King of Naples, a most estimable woman.
In 1 8 14, after the fall of Napoleon, he returned to France, and was
restored to his immense property. He then began manoeuvring
to supersede his cousin Charles X. on the throne, just as his
father had done in the case of the ill-fated Louis XVI. Louis
Philippe was more fortunate, and by adroit management got
himself proclaimed king after the Revolution of 1830. He soon
discovered it was no bed of roses he was reposing on. He was
a man of rare capacity, and wished to govern in his own way,
whereas the politicians who assisted him wanted to manage
things to suit themselves. He made Lafitte, the banker, his first
prime minister; but after four months of squabbling the irate
Lafitte threw up his post, and begged ' God to forgive him for
having made Louis Philippe king.' Very like the language of
Buckingham when Richard gave him the cold shoulder :
' And is it thus ! repays he my deep service
With such contempt 1 Made I him king for this ?'
The only two men the King had reason to fear were Thiers
and Guizot, who were likely to be the torment of his reign.

Paris. 1 03
Whether he would be able to control them, or whether they
would prove more than a match for him, was the problem of the
future. There were also two parties — the Legitimists, who clung
to the old dynasty, and the Republicans, who wanted no king at
all — who were on the qui vive, and would try to upset Louis
Philippe on the first opportunity. The country seemed con
tented, and an era of great prosperity was dawning, if the poli
ticians did not mar it. All these reflections made me doubly
ardent to contemplate the monarch whose course Europe was
watching closely.
On the 26th I received a note from the American Minister, in
forming me that the presentation was to take place the following
evening, and desiring me to come to the Legation at eight o'clock,
to accompany him to the Tuileries. On the night in question I
managed, with the aid of my tailor, and after laborious effort, to-
get into my uniform, and, when duly buttoned and hooked, was
told by the complacent artiste to contemplate myself in the
mirror. It was the first time I had ever exchanged simple broad
cloth for a uniform of any kind, and to see my person adorned
in gold lace, with a sword at my side and a chapeau under my
arm, was a sensation intensely novel. I thought myself quite
gorgeous enough to ' set before a king ;' but there was a draw
back, however, to my felicity. The stand-up collar of my coat
was hooked under my chin, which threw my head into the air,
and cut me off from all view of my locus standi. I protested
loudly against the discomfort of my position, but the tailor posi
tively refused to release me ; and so, bidding a temporary farewell
to my nether limbs, I drove off to the Legation. I found several
carriages already there, containing the happy few selected for the
occasion. Following the equipage of Mr. Livingston, we all set off for
the palace. As I ascended the broad marble staircase, brilliantly
lit up, of this venerable edifice my mind teemed with a thousand
recollections of its romantic history. Above all, the thrilling
events of which it was the scene during the sanguinary days of
the first Revolution came crowding back upon me. I recalled the
frantic yelling mob of Paris, which rushed up these very stairs
to force the unfortunate Louis XVI. to garnish his head with the
red cap of liberty.
On reaching the top, we crossed a vestibule, and entered a
iong and lofty apartment, richly gilded, and embellished with

1 04 Paris.
paintings. The floor was in polished oak, and I had so much
difficulty in keeping my perpendicular on its slippery surface
that, in defiance of the tailor's injunctions, I let go hook and eye,
and recovered the consciousness of my whereabouts. We were
then admitted to the ' Presence Chamber,' a large square hall,
with vaulted ceiling, and a balcony running completely round it.
The panels were decorated with highly-finished portraits of the
marshals of France, which gave it the name of the Salle des
Marechaux. Here we came to a halt, and were drawn up in line,
with our Minister at the head, standing forward. We found
nearly a hundred persons assembled, representing the various
nationalities of Europe, each accompanied by its respective am
bassador, and all standing in line. It was easy to recognise the
English delegation from the number of scarlet uniforms.
The effect was very imposing, from the variety of splendid
costumes. I had never seen such a pageant before. Each
nationality occupied a position according to the seniority of its
ambassador. The English stood first, and we last, as Mr. Living
ston was the most newly accredited.
After all had arrived and taken their places, a short interval
ensued, when a large double-door was thrown open, and the
master of ceremonies entered, announcing in a loud voice, ' Le
Roil' — the King — who immediately afterwards appeared, fol
lowed by the Queen, the Princes and Princesses, with a numerous
suite of chamberlains and aides-de-camp. All made a loyal obeis
ance as the royal family filed in. The King advanced to the
English Ambassador, first in order, spoke to him pleasantly, and
then began going down the line, the master of ceremonies pre
ceding his majesty, and pronouncing the name of each person as
he approached. To some the King simply bowed ; to others he
addressed a few words.
The same ceremony was repeated with the Queen and the
Duke of Orleans, heir to the throne ; but the other members of
the family merely saluted as they passed. This performance was
slow, and gave me ample time to direct my attention to all in
turn. The King was then sixty-one. He was above medium
height and very robust. His face was genial, but had an expres
sion of profound subtlety, his chief characteristic. His manner
was easy,' gracious, and free from all hauteur. He was clad in
the uniform of a general of the National Guard : blue coat with
silver epaulettes and embroidery, and the star and red ribbon of

Paris. 1 05
the Legion of Honour. He particularly affected this costume, out
of compliment to the middle class, who composed the National
Guard, and had been ardent for his elevation to the throne.
The Queen greatly interested me. She was a tall, slender,
graceful woman, with a countenance full of benignity, tinged
with a certain sadness, as if she already foresaw the calamities of
the future. The Duke of Orleans, the eldest son, and just twenty-
four, was a remarkably handsome youth. His face beamed with
intelligence and amiability. He was a universal favourite with
all classes, who were charmed with his frank and generous dis
position.* At last the King reached the American contingent. He
spoke to Mr. Livingston with unusual warmth, and his manner
grew more cordial as he began addressing the members of our
little band. It may be that he was elated at getting through his
tedious work, though he always manifested partiality for Ameri
cans, and liked to refer to his residence among them. When my
turn came, and name and town were mentioned, his Majesty said :
' Ah, Philadelphia ; I remember it well. I received much
kindness there, from the Willings, the Binghams, and many
more. I hope it will always prosper.'
I bent low to these gracious compliments, and fortunate it
was my head was no longer in durance vile. I made no reply,
save a deferential bow, as etiquette forbids addressing royalty,
unless a question is put. The King spoke in English to the
Americans, and admirably too, whilst he addressed the others in
French. I glanced at the Princesses as they passed, and both
were very pretty. The elder, Marie, was already distinguished
in art. Her statue of Jeanne d'Arc was considered a master
piece. The King and royal family retired in the order they had
entered, and we were then free to depart.
For my part, I fain would have lingered and wandered for
hours about this old palace, so closely identified with the names
and history of the great monarchs of France. The scene I had
witnessed was so new, the spectacle so glittering, and the per
sonages with whom I had momentarily come in contact so ex
alted, that it was really trying to be obliged to turn round and
descend to common life. It was curious to note the effect pro
duced on the Americans on their first encounter with royalty.
* This popular Prince was killed in the summer of 1842, by jumping out of his
cairiage whilst the horses were running away.

106 Paris.
Some were amused, others interested, hardly any deeply im
pressed. They discussed the King's appearance, manners, and
remarks ; made no reference to his station, or allusion to his
history ; and were indifferent to the fact that he represented the
family which had reigned over France for centuries.
The American mind is rarely sentimental ; it views things
for the most part in a matter-of-fact practical light. A king or
a queen, whatever his or her power or history, and however sur
rounded by pomp and splendour, is looked upon simply as a
man or a woman. It fails to discern the ' divinity that doth hedge
a king.' This is the natural result of education and training.
With us all grow up with the conviction that they are equals ;
that one is as good as, and no better than, the other; and are
never taught to bend the knee or doff the cap to any, whatever
their superiority in intellect or fortune. Respect there may be,
but homage there is none. Our highest functionaries are regarded
as merely the servants of the people, paid to perform their
allotted political work, and entitled to no especial deference on
account of their position. This is Republicanism, which appeals
to the reason of men, and ignores their imagination. How dif
ferent the case with Europeans, who from childhood are im
bued with a feeling of almost superstitious awe for their kings,
bound up as they have been for ages with the national history ;
their separate reigns constituting epochs associated with the
prosperity or misfortunes of their country. Indeed, it is hardly
strange the masses should consider a monarch as almost a hal
lowed being, occupying as he does a sphere so much exalted
above the ordinary level of humanity, and invested with so
much power, state, and ceremony. It is really phenomenal that
from the dawn of history there have existed, and still exist, over
the greater part of the world, a select class of beings who seem
to have been chosen by Providence for the government of the
rest. However repugnant to democratic doctrine, however
futile in the eye of philosophy, they still survive, and have been
through all time a tribe apart, revolving like planets in a lofty
orbit of their own, disposing of the fate of men and nations,
and accustomed to the obedience, deference, and fealty of man
kind. Truly, as Shelley writes,
' Kings are like stars — they rise and set ; they have
The worship of the world.'
Surely monarchy must have a solid base and a secure foot-

Faris. 107
hold in human nature that it endures and prospers in spite of
what Choate calls ' the glittering and sounding generalities of
natural right ;' in spite of Burke's assertion that ' the age of
chivalry is gone ;' in spite of rebellion, revolutions, and wars.
In France it was once torn up by the roots amid whirlwind and
tempest ; and yet it reappeared, and flourished anew. It might
be a thing of ' shreds and patches,' but still it seemed to bear a
' charmed life.'

CHAPTER XIL
PARIS {continued).
THE GRAND OPERA — THEATRES  GREAT ARTISTES — MASKED BALLS.
WITH my decided taste for the stage it can easily be imagined
that I was overwhelmed by the bewildering variety and excel
lence of theatrical amusement that Paris afforded. Every form
of dramatic composition had its special temple, and consummate
artistes for the interpretation of each. Till now I had no con
ception of all the skill and talent that could be displayed in
depicting sentiment and passion on the stage. I had already
seen some remarkable specimens of good acting, as described ;
but I recognised that English acting had something about it
artificial and conventional in contrast to the French, which was
so natural and apparently unstudied. The enjoyment I derived
from opera, tragedy, comedy, and farce during my first winter in
Paris was as complete as varied. No wonder I was wafted to such
an altitude of delight, for I discovered later that a galaxy of
genius of every kind flourished at this period that has never been
equalled since. I will not attempt any delineation of the won
derful artistes grouped together in Paris at this epoch, but merely
select a few of the places of entertainment, with their dazzling
pleiades, that charmed and impressed me the strongest.
The most renowned of the theatrical establishments of Paris
was the Grand Opera, as the French Academy of Music was
usually called. It was chiefly devoted to the French school, but
foreign composers were not excluded. It received a large sub
vention from the Government, and its outlay was prodigious-
Opera and ballet were produced here on a scale nowhere ap
proached in Europe. The opera then "most in vogue was
Robert le Diable, the popular work of Meyerbeer, and first pro
duced here. The music was fascinating, and in style partly
German and partly French ; the gravity and power of the one
blending with the vivacity and melody of the other. Sung and
played as it was by Nourrit the tenor, Levasseur the baritone,

fans. 109
and those peerless queens of song, Falcon and Damoreau; sus
tained, too, by an orchestra of near a hundred, and all masters of
their instruments, — it was really a feast for the gods. The scenic
effects of this opera were really incomparable ; and to heighten
the ensemble the ballet was introduced in a manner as startling
as original. It was sad that two of the most brilliant of this vocal group
closed their careers not long after in the most melancholy man
ner. Mdlle. Falcon, in the height of her youth and beauty,
and with one of the most enchanting organs ever heard, was
abruptly obliged to abandon the stage by the extinction of her
voice. It disappeared in a moment like a flash, and never
returned. Nourrit, the finest tenor in Europe, and an actor
of surpassing grace, left the French Opera to play an engage
ment in Italy. He had hardly abandoned his lyric throne
before a new singer appeared, Duprez, and achieved an immense
success. Poor Nourrit, stung beyond endurance by his rival's
triumphs, lost his reason and committed suicide.
At the very moment that opera culminated in the produc
tion of Meyerbeer's chef-d'oeuvre, the ballet rose to a pinnacle of
splendour never seen before. Taglioni in the Sylphide, and
Fanny Elssler in Le Diable Boiteux, contested earnestly for the
palm, and Paris was divided into enthusiastic camps. The grace
and bounding pirouettes of Taglioni were fervently applauded ;
but the pantomimic power, the marvellous tours de force, and
the expressive beauty of Elssler's face and figure, enraptured all.
Her cachuca was pronounced the beau ide"al of picturesque atti
tude and voluptuous posture. Taglioni had no gift for pas de
caractere, — character dances, — to which class the cachuca belongs.
Consequently Fanny Elssler obtained an ascendency over her
brilliant rival, and was acclaimed la deesse de la danse. The
cachuca was Fanny Elssler's own composition, for, though of the
Spanish type, no such dance was known till she invented it
Singular to say, it made another woman's fortune. Mdlle.
Duvernay, a secondary dancer of the Opera, but a very hand
some person, studied night after night Fanny Elssler's execu
tion of this bewitching dance, and, when she thought herself
equal to undertake it, went over to London, and produced it at
Drury Lane Theatre. It made a great sensation, and so com
pletely entranced an Englishman of fortune, Lyne Stephens, that
he offered his hand to Duvernay. Nothing loth to resign her

i 10 Paris.
temporary triumph, she accepted it, retired from the stage, and
lived afterwards in great luxury.
Though not insensible to the fascinations of the ballet,
my chief delight was in music, and the inimitable voices and
acting of Nourriot and Falcon, cum multis aliis, enchanted me
far more than all the aerial flights of Taglioni and Elssler. By
what strange concatenation of events it was my destiny, only
four years later, to be mixed up with the fortunes of the peerless
Fanny Elssler, will be truthfully related in due course, and will
go far, I hope, to explain a feat of knight-errantry that I little
dreamt was in reserve for me.
I often frequented the Theatre Francais, which was the
classical home of French tragedy and comedy. It also received
a liberal subvention from the State. It was on this stage that
the renowned Talma achieved his great reputation ; and his suc
cessor at this period was Ligier, whose acting in an adaptation
of Richard III., called the Children of Edward, was certainly
most effective. In sombre energy and startling effects of facial
¦expression he was not surpassed even by the elder Booth in this
striking rSle.
But the most remarkable artiste of this theatre was the cele
brated Mdlle. Mars, one of the great celebrities of her epoch.
She was fifty-five when I first saw her, but so wonderfully pre
served, that she still looked young on the stage. Her hair was
dark and abundant, her skin fresh, her eyes brilliant, and her
figure perfect. These are easily described ; but her grace, ele
gance, and above all, the musical sweetness of her voice, are
beyond any pen. Janin, the critic, said of her : ' She was an
actress in her lightest gesture, her smile, even in the plait of her
robe, in the form and colour of her costumes, and in the infinite
resources of a skill that was never exhausted. Who could resist
that seduction, always restrained within the most correct limits,
that unaffected earnestness, that natural passion, that fascination
which obeyed all the rules of taste, good sense, of grace and
sentiment ?'
An English critic wrote thus : ' Her diction was perfect, and
she possessed above all other actresses that knowledge of
the stage and that delicacy of touch which gave just the right
inflexion to each point, and no more. In her acting there
was never the slightest straining after effect, and she spoke her
part just as a ladv might make a witty, or racy, or pathetic

Paris. in
remark in her drawing-room. Every movement, every intona
tion, was intensely studied, but seemed perfectly natural. There
was a certain chaste reserve even in the scenes of passionate
love, and a propriety observed even in the most risque passages.
One was charmed, melted, touched rather, perhaps, than power
fully moved.'
It was her singular fortune, only two years before she left the
stage, and at the ripe age of sixty, to play the heroine in a
piece written for her by Alexandre Dumas, called Mdlle. de Belle-
Isle, which was pronounced one of her most beautiful creations
by the delighted crowds that flocked to the theatre. Knowing it
was her last role, she threw into it all the charms of her immense
talent, and it was never eclipsed by any acting I have seen since.
In private life Mdlle. Mars was much esteemed, and her salon
always crowded. Gronow says of her, ' Though not altogether
immaculate, she never ran into the excesses so common to many
persons of her profession in those days, and managed to preserve
a tolerably fair reputation.'
Among the smaller theatres where vaudeville reigned supreme
there was none more popular than the Palais Royal, and great
numbers were attracted thither this winter to see a piece entitled
Frdtillon, which portrayed the piquant vicissitudes of a courte
san's career. In the first scene she was found in the garret where
she was born, and by successive stages on her path of folly she
arrived at the possession of a fine house, a rich equipage, and all
the luxuries that money could command. At the close she re
turned to the attic whence she set out, and renewed the life of pri
vation familiar to her earlier years. Throughout all her adven
tures she retained her merry disposition and good heart, and was as
vivacious and rollicsome over her washtub and bread-and-cheese
as in the ephemeral days of her opulence. There was no actress
in Paris who could depict such a character with the same ease
and grace as Mdlle. Depzet,for long years the idol of the public.
She was not handsome, but short and thin, yet from the moment
she made her entre"e her audience was captivated and enthralled.
Her voice was shrill and unmusical ; but she threw such expres
sion into the couplets it is the French fashion to introduce in
their light pieces that she rarely escaped an encore. I was not
a little shocked at the immorality of this play. I considered it
a gross violation of bonos mores to delineate on the stage the in
decent fluctuations of a frail woman's life ; but these were Ame-

1 1 2 Paris.
rican views that it would have been hard to make French people
comprehend. They saw nothing in it but the inevitable phases
of a precarious mode of life, and applauded the imperturbable
good-humour of the philosophic Fretillon in her reverses of for
tune as much as they admired her bountiful disposition in the
midst of plenty.
An affecting story was just at that time going the rounds of
the papers, which showed that all the Fretillons of Paris were not
endowed with the elastic temper of the heroine of the Palais
Royal Theatre. A young modiste of Paris, only twenty, said to
be very pretty, and surrounded by adorers, not content with the
usual dissipation of such a life, had contracted the habit of gam
bling. In the course of three years she had thrown away a large
sum of money, and at last she found herself stripped of every
sou and abandoned by her admirers. Under these circumstances,
too idle to work, and too poor to live without it, she calmly re
solved on suicide. Before lighting the charcoal she sat down
and indited the following letter to her mother :
My dear Mamma, — The year just passed has been to me a very
unhappy one. I hope that the one now commencing will bring
you those consolations you stand in need of. You know, my dear
mamma, that for some time past my resources have been daily
diminishing. It is painful to live in privation after one has been
accustomed to luxury. It is disagreeable to work after one has
been free, and habituated from early youth to follow one's pur
suits and one's pleasures. Then forgive me, my dear mamma, if,
having lost all those advantages that I ought to have been more
careful of, I do not want now to sigh over my misfortunes. Alas,
my pen refuses to obey my will, or I would paint to you all my
past tribulations. But death is waiting for me, and I shall be
gone before midday. So I kiss you, my dear mamma, as I love
you — that is to say, with all my soul. — Your affectionate daughter,
Josephine.
Paris, Jan. j, 1835.
From what I had seen of the French, I should say that the
Fretillon of the theatre was a truer representative of the national
character than the forlorn creature who preferred the oblivious
fumes of charcoal to the loss of those vapid pleasures which con
stituted the sole charm of her existence. The French are blessed
with a mixture of philosophy and levity that enables them to

Paris. 1 1 3
accept the harshest decrees of Fate with a resignation which a
stoic might envy. The only nation at all like them in this re
spect are the Americans, who are equally remarkable for buoy
ancy of character ; but then they are still a young people, and
their country offers resources for the renewal of a broken career
not to be found in an overcrowded community like that of
France. The only other theatre I shall mention that was much in
fashion this winter was the Porte St. Martin, the favourite abode
of melodrama. The play that crammed the house every night
was the production of Victor Hugo, the well-known Lucrece
Borgia. The piece had unquestionable dramatic merit. The
incidents were vivid and the action rapid ; the language power
ful ; and some of the situations, especially that in the last act,
were thrilling. But the prominent feature, the incestuous love of a
sister for her brother, was to me profoundly disgusting ; and even
in Paris at that epoch it would have been condemned, but for
the skilful construction of the play, and the grand and sombre
colouring thrown over it by the lurid genius of its author. It
was afterwards converted into an opera ; and, with the plot dis
guised in Italian, and embellished with the exquisite melody of
Donizetti, it has become one of the most popular of lyric dramas.
What contributed to the success of this repulsive play was
the wonderful acting of all the artistes ; but the one who most
riveted my attention, and made me almost forget the odious
heroine she represented, was Mdlle. George, the great tragic
actress of her day. Her person, bearing, and voice imparted a
fascination to her acting that was irresistible. She was still re
markable for that majestic beauty which tended so much to
heighten the effect of her histrionic genius, and which contri
buted not only to the Mat of her triumphs on the stage, but
achieved victories in private life which gave to her career a very
romantic interest.
In the zenith of her beauty she inspired the great Napoleon
with an ardent passion, and numerous anecdotes are related in
proof of her empire over him, some of which it may be amusing
to repeat. On one occasion, it is stated, when better pleased
with her than usual, pulling her by the ear, which was his favourite
endearment, he told her, in the way that emperors make love, to
ask for anything she wanted. The actress asked very sentiment
ally for his Majesty's portrait. I

1 1 4 Pans.
' O, if that is all you want,' said Napoleon, who suspected she
only meant to cajole him, — ' if that is all you want, here is my
portrait, and a very good likeness it is.'
He then handed her a five-franc piece with his effigy stamped
upon it.
Nolte in his ' Memoirs,' whilst descanting on the extraor
dinary career of Ouvrard, the French army contractor, mentions
that he also was one of the ardent votaries at the shrine of the
brilliant actress. He goes on to state that ' among the causes
already given of Napoleon's secret dislike to Ouvrard were others
which, in so excitable a temperament as that of Bonaparte, were
looked upon as crimes. All Paris had known for a long time
that not only was Napoleon by no means insensible to the almost
fabulous beautyof the celebrated actress, Mdlle. George, but that he
also had openly become the first and most favoured of her admirers,
and figured as a victor where other aspirants had met with signa'
defeat. This liaison was no secret to any one, not even to Jose
phine the Empress. Napoleon, who up to that time, as a mere
general, had found no special occasion to plume himself upon
any great success with the fairer half of creation, was more for
tunate as emperor, and was readily listened to by the rival
beauties of the day. In Mdlle. George, the loveliest woman of
her time, he flattered himself that he really had made a com
plete conquest, looked upon her as his exclusive property, and
had become enamoured and jealous. Among the intelligence
which he received from Paris, on the day after the battle of Aus-
terlitz, was a message from his Minister of Police, informing him
Mdlle. George had passed several days at Ouvrard's pleasure
palace at Raincy, and had there performed one of her best parts.
General Berthier, who had hastened onward four-and-twenty
hours in advance of the Emperor, instantly sent for Ouvrard,
and intimated to him that this circumstance had in no light
degree exasperated the Emperor, and accelerated his return to
Paris.' The same writer adds another racy narrative, setting forth
the piquant rivalry that existed between Napoleon and Ouvrard
touching Mdlle. George.
' It was rumoured in Paris,' he says, ' that Fossin, the Court
jeweller, had mounted a very splendid set of diamonds that the
Empress greatly admired and desired to possess, but that Napo
leon objected to buy them, as too costly. Not long after this it

Paris. 115
was announced that the Emperor and Empress would attend
the Theatre Francais to see a new play, in which Talma and
Mdlle. George were to appear. I saw them enter their box on
the left of the house and take their seats, Napoleon foremost,
and Josephine close beside him. In the beginning of the second
act, the mimic king and queen of the play came upon the stage.
Mdlle. George, in the full splendour of her incomparable charms,
heightened the imposing scene by a dazzling diadem, ear-drops,
and necklace, all glittering with the most superb gems. As she
approached the imperial box, Josephine, who was leaning for
ward on the front rail, betrayed a hasty movement of surprise,
and then suddenly, as if struck by lightning, sank back into her
seat ; for in the magnificent adornment of the actress she had
recognised the very jewels she had been so anxious to obtain.
During this little episode Napoleon remained, as might have
been expected, entirely unmoved.'
It was generally understood that the current gossip of Napo
leon's refusal to purchase these expensive jewels, valued at five
hundred thousand francs, stimulated Ouvrard, the most pro
digal of men, to acquire them in order to present them to Mdlle.
George, who was nothing loth, of course, to accept such a mag
nificent token of the great financier's admiration.
This is not the only instance recorded where the aspiring
Ouvrard ventured to struggle with the potentate of Europe for
the good graces of Mdlle. George. Gronow recounts another
case where the hero of a hundred battles suffered an unexpected
reverse at the hands of the capricious actress. He writes that
* no man was more reckless in his expenditure, or more magni
ficent in his mode of living, than Ouvrard. At the time of the
Directory the fetes given by him at Raincy were the theme of
the whole of Parisian society of that day. At his splendid villa,
during the Empire, he was in the habit of giving suppers to his
favourites of the ballet twice a week, and he used to send his
carriages for his fair guests after the performance was over.
Then an enormous white-marble bath, as large as an ordinary-
sized saloon, was prepared for such of the ladies as, in the sum
mer, chose to bathe on their arrival. Then a splendid supper
was laid out, of which the lovely naiads and many of the plea
sure-seekers of the day partook ; and, besides every luxury of
the culinary art prepared by the best cooks of Paris, each lady
received a donation of fifty louis, and the one fortunate enough

1 1 6 Paris.
to attract the especial notice of the wealthy host a large sum of
money. ' Mdlle. George, the celebrated tragedian of that epoch, cost
him, as he was fond of relating, two millions and one hundred
thousand francs for a single visit. He had invited her to sup
with him at his villa ; but the very day she was to come a note
informed him that she was compelled to give up the pleasure of
supping with him, as the Emperor Napoleon had given her a
rendezvous for the same hour which she dared not refuse.
Ouvrard was furious at this contretemps, and, as he said, when I
heard him tell the story, he could not bear to yield the pas to
le petit Bonaparte, whom he had known as a young captain of
artillery, too happy to be invited to his house in the days of the
Directory. This feeling, and his pride of wealth, got the better
of his prudence, and he sent to Mdlle. George to insist upon her
coming to his house, adding, as a postscript, that she would find
a hundred thousand francs under her napkin at supper. This
last argument was conclusive ; so the lady sent an excuse to
the Emperor, pleading a sudden indisposition, and was borne
rapidly in one of Ouvrard's carriages to his country residence.
' The following day the great capitalist received a summons
to appear forthwith at the Tuileries, and was ushered into the
Emperor's presence. After walking once or twice up and down
the room, the great man turned sharply round on his unwilling
guest, and with his eagle glance riveted on Ouvrard's face, sternly
demanded, " Monsieur, how much did you make by your contract
for the army at the beginning of the year ?"
' The financier knew it was in vain to equivocate, and replied,
" Four millions of francs, sire."
" Then, sir, you made too much ; so pay immediately two
millions into the Treasury. Go !" '
Of course, the clandestine visit of Mdlle. George to Ouvrard
was communicated to the Tuileries by the Minister of Police,
and the Emperor, indignant at the presumption of the French
Midas, resolved to punish him by a fine of two millions.
It was computed that there were in 1834 some two hundred
places of public amusement in Paris, and that at least twenty
thousand people attended the theatres nightly.
Before dismissing the subject of the gaieties which attracted
me on every side, I must not overlook a form of entertainment
then immensely popular!

Paris. 1 1 7
I refer to the masked balls which, during the Carnival sea
son, took place at most of the theatres every Saturday at mid
night. At the Grand Opera-house a reunion rather than a Sail —
for there was no dancing — was given, which was fully attended
by the fashionable world. The ladies were all in black dominoes,
and wore masks. Gentlemen were not allowed to assume any
disguise. The amusement consisted in the ladies accosting the
men they either knew, or whose histories or secrets they were
acquainted with, and badgering them to their hearts' content.
The victims of this playful inquisition, which often touched on
the most sensitive points, struggled hard, of course, to discover
their fair tormentors ; but as their faces and persons were con
cealed, and their voices dissembled, it was generally found a
hopeless task.
The price of admission to the Opera on these occasions was
so high as to make the company very select, and the best
people of both sexes constantly attended. The renowned
Deputy Berryer was always there. He was a great favourite
of the women, and was never without some mysterious
nymph on his arm, and his fine face often indicated that he
was floundering helplessly in her artful meshes. It was said
that ladies with exacting husbands, or jealous lovers, not unfre-
quently came to these masked festivities to meet some forbidden
favourite, and indulge in a quiet supper in a neighbouring
restaurant Though attracted occasionally to these masquerades of the
haut ton, I found the masked balls at the theatres infinitely
more novel and diverting. These were attended by a very
mixed company, and both men and women were arrayed in
costumes of the most fantastic description. The women gener
ally wore masks, which was forbidden to the men. It was not
until I had attended one of these favourite Parisian romps that
I could form any accurate estimate of the boundless gaiety of the
French character. At first I was disposed to criticise sharply
the extreme levity, not to say the utter buffoonery, of these
mad revels ; but by degrees I began to admire the universal
good-humour, the jocular wit, and the intense love of fun that
were equally conspicuous features. Nor should I ignore that
general politeness which the French never forget, whether gay
or grave. .The dancing of itself was a sight, and truly indescribable.

1 1 8 Paris.
Many of the men and not a few of the women had evidently
made it a study, and their performance was often rewarded
with a burst of applause by admiring spectators. It was not
always decorous, but never absolutely indecent, and if any over
excited son of Momus trespassed beyond the line sanctioned by
usage, there was a chorus of protests as emphatic as the applause.
Besides, the police were always present, and a simple nod or a
word from one of those custos morum was sufficient to check the
undue exuberance of the most rampant. It was strictly for
bidden that female costume should be worn by men, and was
punished when detected. It was, however, occasionally assumed
by some daring adept who was confident of his skill in imitating
feminine airs and graces.
I remember an incident that appeared in the papers that
winter, proving that even the most adroit were sometimes out
witted. The following narrative relates the case alluded to :
' A young man, who ventured to Musard's last masked ball in
the disguise of a female, was accosted in the course of the evening
almost simultaneously by two cavaliers, one in the costume of the
renowned Robert Macaire, and the other in that of a clown. The
gallants, strange to say, manifested not the slightest jealousy of
each other, and the pretended lady fair, finding it pleasant to
mystify both, accepted their invitation, towards five o'clock in
the morning, to a supper at the Trois Freres Provencaux. She
kept on her mask during the whole time of supper — 'a proceeding
to which, however unusual, her male companions made not the
slightest objection. After the repast was over, the bill was
called for, and paid by the two cavaliers ; and at, this moment
the pretended belle dropped the mask literally and figuratively,
and, addressing her admirers, said,
" You are egregious ninnies, for I am not a woman."
" You are another," retorted the immortal Robert Macaire,
" for I have the honour to be a sheriff's officer, and have accom
panied you hither, along with my colleague, to arrest you for
debt at the suit of A. G."
'Having thus revealed himself, Robert and his coadjutor
handed the stupefied ex-lady into a coach which was waiting at
the door, and the trio were immediately driven to the well-
known prison for the accommodation of debtors in the Rue de
Clichy.' The masked balls come to an end on Mardi Gras, when

Paris. 119
Lent begins ; but the number of balls given on the last two
nights of the Carnival in those jovial days, when Vive la baga
telle ! was the familiar password, were almost incredible. A para
graph from one of the papers, which I copy, is pretty conclusive
proof that, in the first years of Louis Philippe's reign, the male
portion of the population of Paris thought of little else than
' quips and cranks and wanton wiles,' and abandoned themselves
to the gambols of the season with a laissez alter scarcely ever
seen since. 'The Municipal Guards and Corps of Firemen,'
says the Journal des D/bats, ' are worn out with fatigue, having
been obliged, as is usual at this season, besides performing their
ordinary service at the public establishments, theatres, &c, to be
on duty at the public balls in different quarters of the capital,
and which on Monday and Tuesday night are calculated to have
amounted to between three and four hundred in Paris, as well
as at the barriers. Last year, the tax in favour of the hospitals,
of one-tenth on the receipts of the balls at the various theatres
and at the barriers, exceeded the sum of 750,000 francs, and
this year it is estimated the result will be considerably greater.'

CHAPTER XIIL
PARIS {continued).
BALL AT THE TUILERIES — TALLEYRAND — MARSHALS SOULT AND LOBAU—
MRS. WADSWORTH — SIR SYDNEY SMITH— THIERS— GUIZOT, ETC.
It was in January 1835 that the first ball of the season was
given at the Tuileries. The male guests were required to
appear in uniform or Court costume, and I took care this
time to have the collar of my embroidered coat curtailed of
its undue proportions, so that my attention might not be
for a moment distracted by any discomfort from the bril
liant scene I was eager to witness. My expectation was
greatly excited by all I had read and heard of these palatial
festivities. It was nearly ten o'clock when I drove through
the palace-gates, and descended at the main entrance. Hand
ing my card of invitation to one of the many officials in
attendance, I mounted the marble staircase, dotted with sentries
in gala dress, who stood on each landing like so many statues.
On entering the first gallery, lighted by a triple row of chande
liers, I found it already exceedingly crowded, though of immense
length. This arose, I was informed, from the doors at the other
end, leading into the Salle des Marechaux, not being opened till
the royal family had entered and taken their seats. This
occurred precisely at ten, when free access was given to all parts
of the palace, save the private apartments.
I strolled leisurely through the various magnificent salons and
corridors, whose gorgeous draperies and gilded furniture glittered
in the resplendent light of countless chandeliers and candelabra.
I stopped a moment in the throne-room, to recall the scene of
which it had been the theatre on the last day of the Revolution
of 1830, when it was invaded by the fierce multitude, who
carried off the throne amid discordant yells, and marched with
their trophy to the Place de la Bastille, where it was burnt amid
shouts of triumph. What a contrast to the company that filled
it to-night ! — lovely women and illustrious men, who were pacing

Paris. 1 2 1
gaily up and down, all unmindful of these still recent acts of
popular fury.
When I returned to the Salle des Marechaux the dancing had
begun. The King and Queen were seated on a dais covered
with scarlet velvet. His Majesty, wearing as usual the uniform
of the National Guard, seemed enlivened by the animated scene,
and was chatting vivaciously with the foreign ambassadors who
approached him in turn. Just in front of their Majesties the
royal quadrille was going on. The admired Duke of Orleans,
heir to the throne, and his sisters, the Princesses Marie and
Clementine, were taking part in it. What a handsome young
man was the Duke, and how engaging his manners ! And the
Princess Clementine, flushed with the dance, and her luxurious
flaxen hair so gracefully arranged, would have been considered
lovely had she been a simple village maiden. Her sister, the
Princess Marie, was hardly less attractive, though her countenance
was more serious, and her manner more subdued. When the
quadrille broke up, I turned to contemplate more closely the
dazzling throng about me.
What a splendid scene it was, far transcending my wildest
dreams ! The women, though not surpassing in beauty, were so
exquisitely dressed, with all that taste and elegance which have
made French toilettes the marvel and the model of the world.
Their manners, too, so easy and natural, so sprightly and grace
ful, and their conversation so bright and intelligent, yet always
aimable. Really, Frenchwomen, if not the handsomest, possess
fascinations that none other in Europe approach. The men
on this occasion rivalled the women in the splendour of their
appearance. All were arrayed in costumes of bewildering variety
and richness. Military men of every arm abounded, and their
uniforms were endlessly diversified and glittering. The official
world was gathered in great force. Members of l'Academie
Francaise, the ' immortal Forty,' whom the grim Richelieu called
into existence two hundred years ago to protect literature and
the French language. Members of the Chambers of Peers and
Deputies, comprising the prominent men of the nation and
functionaries of every grade. Last, not least, the Diplomatic
Corps, who were ablaze with embroidery, ribbons, and decora
tions. There were some two thousand guests present ; and all
that was fair and renowned in France's capital, with many illus
trious persons of foreign climes, were assembled to do homage

122 Paris.
to the head of the House of Orleans, the 'monarch of the middle
class,' as he was styled at that day.
I wandered about like one bewitched, gazing to the right and
to the left ; for so novel and exciting was the pageant, so unlike
what I had ever seen or even imagined, that I almost fancied I
had been translated to some other sphere, where men were all
demi-gods, and women hardly less than angels. As I was
passing through the Salle des Marechaux about midnight my
glance fell on the King, as he was standing somewhat apart talk
ing with an old man, whose white hair was even eclipsed by the
ghastly pallor of his face. He stood in an attitude of deference
before his sovereign, and leant upon a cane which seemed needful
to his support. There was something in his countenance, person,
and manner — a repose and dignity — that indicated he was no
ordinary courtier, whilst the King's bearing to him was kind and
courteous to a degree. My curiosity was greatly excited, and
fortunately, just at that moment, our Minister, Mr. Livingston,
passed by. Accosting him, I asked,
' Pray who is that imposing old man talking with the King ?'
' That is,' said the Minister, turning round, — ' that is Prince
Talleyrand.' ' Talleyrand !' I exclaimed, not a little moved.
' Even so,' returned Mr. Livingston, as he walked away.
With my eyes riveted on this extraordinary man, my mind
ran back to the singular vicissitudes of his career. The eldest
son of a noble family, dating from the tenth century, he was
born lame, and for that reason destined for the Church. At
twenty-five he became Bishop of Autun. Ten years later the
Revolution of 1789 broke out, when he promptly adopted its
principles, and was excommunicated by the Pope. Terrified
at the carnage of the Revolution, he sought refuge in the
United States. In 1796 he returned to Paris, and, with the
aid of Madame de Stael, became Minister of Foreign Affairs
under the Government of the Directory. He formed an in
timacy with Bonaparte on his return from Egypt, and assisted
him in the coup d'etat of 1799. When Napoleon became
Emperor he was made Grand Chamberlain ; and in 1806
received the principality of Benevento. He strongly urged the
Emperor to cultivate the English alliance, and as strongly
opposed the invasion of Spain. Both these propositions were
rejected, and Talleyrand retired from office. On the fall of Na-

Paris. 123
poleon he became the Minister of Louis XVIII. He stood aloof
from Charles X. ; but on the advent of Louis Philippe, whose
elevation to the throne he had promoted, he was named ambas
sador to England, and laid the foundation of that alliance which
had been the dominant idea of his life.
On the plea of his advanced age, just eighty, and his growing
infirmities, he had recently begged to tender his resignation,
which was reluctantly accepted. There he stood, the greatest
diplomatist of his age ; the Minister in succession of Louis XVI.,
the Directory, Napoleon, Louis XVIII. , and Louis Philippe; the
man whose wisdom and subtle intellect had contributed to shape
the great events of near half a century ; nearly the last surviving
link that connected the eruption of 1789 with that of 1830. Who
would think, whilst gazing on that pallid marble-like visage, that
it was only a mask, which concealed not merely the keenest
sagacity but the most unrivalled wit? Who has not heard
of the numberless bons mots of Talleyrand ? The one that
occurred to me the oftenest, as I regarded him, was his famous
dictum that ' La parole a etc" donnee a I'homme pour V aider a
cacher sa pense"e' — language was given to man to conceal his
thoughts. At last, shaking hands with the King, he turned to retire, and
the crowd respectfully fell back to give him a passage. I never
saw him again. Three years later, he died.
With occasional intervals of rest, I continued perambulating
from room to room, every instant encountering some new object
of interest. Remarking, as I passed along, that quite a group
was collected near two distinguished-looking military men who
were chatting together, I stopped also to observe them. They
were evidently men of mark, which their rich uniforms and
numerous decorations indicated. Their martial air, and the
stern determination imprinted on the faces of both, that were
bronzed by long exposure, were really striking. Their tone was
full of decision, and their abrupt emphatic gestures showed they
were accustomed to authority. Who could they be ? Curious to
ascertain, I inquired of one near me.
'That one,' said he, indicating with his head, 'is Marshal Soult'
' And the other ?' I asked.
' That is Marshal Lobau.'
It was rare luck indeed to encounter two of Napoleon's most
famous marshals in familiar converse. As I turned my glance

1 24 Paris.
from one to the other, I thought of the marvellous exploits of
both. Soult, at the age of sixteen, entered the ranks, and, passing
by the lower grades, was made a captain in 1793, for a signal act
of daring. In 1794 his desperate valour raised him to the rank
of brigadier-general. In 1799 he was created general of division,
for repulsing 30,000 Austrians with 5000 men. His reputation
rose still higher at the siege of Genoa, where his leg was broken
by a bomb, and he was taken prisoner. In 1 804 he was one of
the first made a Marshal of France by Napoleon ; and at the
battle of Austerlitz, 1805, his manoeuvres decided the victory.
Napoleon then pronounced him the first tactician of Europe.
For his share in all the great victories of Germany he was created
Duke of Dalmatia. In 1808 the Emperor sent him to take pos
session of Spain, which he accomplished after numerous sangui
nary battles. In 1 81 3, on the retreat of Napoleon from Russia,
he won the battle of Bautzen in Germany, and was then sent to
contest the advance of Wellington from Spain. With inferior
forces he disputed every foot of ground ; and at Toulouse, in
1 8 14, he gained a momentary advantage, with his 22,000 men
against 80,000 of the enemy. The same year he was made
Minister of War, under Louis XVIIL, but abandoned him on
the return of Napoleon, and accompanied his old commander to
Waterloo. For this he was exiled for a time. In 1830 he gave
his hearty cooperation to Louis Philippe, and the same year
resumed his former functions of War Minister.
It was difficult to believe that the man before me, so erect
and full of vigour, in spite of his sixty-six years, could have gone
through such an incredible amount of service, fatigue, and
danger, even from his earliest youth. This great soldier chatted
on with his brother in arms, as though unconscious of the battery
of glowing eyes directed at him from every side. He had been
long accustomed to far more formidable artillery.
His comrade, Marshal Lobau, with his commanding figure
and well-knit frame, was hardly less illustrious. Entering the
ranks in 1792, he fought his way through all the great battles of
Italy, Germany, Spain, and Russia. In 1809 he saved by his
heroism a portion of the French army shut up in the island of
Lobau, and for this was created Count of Lobau. In 1813 he
was made a prisoner at Dresden. He accompanied Napoleon as
aide-de-camp to Waterloo. In 1830 he took an active part in

Jr'aris. 125
the Revolution, and was made a Marshal of France by Louis
Philippe. He was frequently employed in putting down the
insurrections that broke out in Paris, and on one of these occa
sions found the Place Venddme filled with armed insurgents.
It was necessary to disperse them, but he shrank from opening
fire on the harebrained desperadoes. Suddenly a happy device
occurred to him, and he sent for a number of fire-engines ; and
just when the rioters were expecting a murderous discharge of
cannon they were deluged by well-directed streams of water,
which so astounded' them that they took to their heels, amid the
hearty laughter of the Marshal and his troops. He was prouder
of this bloodless victory, it is said, than many he had gained
against greater odds.
Whilst contemplating him another anecdote occurred to me.
He was a great favourite of Napoleon, and one day, when visiting
him at the Tuileries, the Emperor observed a hackney-coach in
the courtyard of the palace, and, finding it belonged to General
Mouton (his name at that time), he exclaimed, with a frown,
' What's this ? One of my most distinguished generals
driving about in a fiacre ?'
' Sire, I am not a rich man,' replied the general, ' and try to
live within my means.'
The truth was, the general could have afforded a better con
veyance, but he was noted for his strict economy. A few days
later, he received a present from the Emperor of 300,000 francs.
Not long after, he was again at the Tuileries, and the Emperor
at once looked out to inspect the new equipage of the general.
To his astonishment he discovered the same vehicle as before.
'What does this mean ?' said his Majesty indignantly. ' Did
you not receive the money I sent you ?'
' I did, sire,' was the answer ; ' and I am truly grateful for
the gift ; but if your Majesty exacts that I shall spend it at once,
I would prefer to return it'
The two Marshals, after an animated conversation of half an
hour or more, parted, shaking hands right cordially.
I then sauntered back to the Salle des Marechaux, always
the focus of attraction, as the royal family remained there, and
I found the graceful Duke of Orleans chatting quite earnestly
with by far the most lovely woman at the ball. Her perfect
beauty, both of face and figure, was something marvellous. Her
features were classical, her eyes large and expressive, her shou!-

i 2 6 Paris.
ders and bust exquisitely moulded, and her demeanour full of
dignity and grace. She was the object of general admiration,
and all eyes followed her wherever she moved. I was proud to
know she was an American, and even a townswoman of my
own. Her maiden name was Mary Wharton, and she was a
scion of one of the oldest families of Philadelphia. She had
but recently married James Wadsworth of Geneseo, New York,
and was now on her bridal trip to Europe. He was a law-
student at Yale University when I was an undergraduate, and
was more than once our trusted leader in the fights of ' town and
gown' that used occasionally to occur. He was a most estimable
man, and greatly beloved by his numerous friends.
It was considerably past midnight when the royal family
rose to go to supper. A posse of chamberlains cleared the way,
and the King and Queen, followed by the Princes and Princesses,
passed along between two lines of their loyal guests, bowing and
smiling as they went. The supper was served in the theatre
of the palace, a lofty spacious hall, at the upper end of
which a table was laid for the royal family, the Diplomatic
Corps, and some distinguished convives. After they were seated
the general company was admitted. The repast was truly regal.
and a constant supply of the rarest viands and most recherche
wines was kept up to the very end of the ball. After supper
dancing was resumed.
On my way back I recognised M. Thiers, who was in dis
course with a tall stately man in a dark uniform, with a broad
blue ribbon across his breast, that was covered with numerous
orders. The contrast between the two men was very striking,
Thiers was scarce half the height of his companion, and was as
restless as the other was composed. He talked incessantly
with great animation, whilst his vis-a-vis responded with a grave
nod or an occasional remark. I discovered that the latter
personage was no other than the Russian Ambassador, Count
Pozzo di Borgo. He was a fellow-countryman of Napoleon, and
a truly Corsican hatred existed between the two. When Pqzzo
di Borgo entered the diplomatic service of Russia, he used his
utmost efforts to counteract the schemes of the ambitious soldier.
He was the chief adviser of the Allied Powers, and wielded
great influence. At the Treaty of Tilsit, 1807, when Russia and
France entered into a compact to divide Europe between them
Napoleon exacted that Pozzo di Borgo should be dismissed

Paris. 1 2 7
from the Russian service, which was done. After the defeat of
Napoleon at Waterloo, Pozzo di Borgo struggled hard to induce
the Allies to put the vanquished Emperor to death. It was easy
to discern in his hard austere face that he was not a man likely
to spare an antagonist once in his power. But my eyes were
soon diverted from the ambassador to the little man in specs
rattling on at his side like a spinning-jenny. Everybody re
garded M. Thiers as scarcely less than a prodigy. He was the
son of a workman in the docks at Marseilles. He entered the
college of that town as a charity scholar, and then studied
law. He found his way to Paris in 1826, and lived in a miserable
garret quite penniless. In a few months he obtained employ
ment on a newspaper, and soon displayed extraordinary talent.
His facility in writing on all subjects — politics, literature, art,
the drama — the novelty and boldness of his views, and the lucidity
of his style, soon attracted general attention, and Talleyrand
became one of his patrons.
Wherever he went his singular appearance and manners
piqued curiosity. His short stature — four feet and a half
—the vivacious countenance half hidden by a huge pair of
spectacles, his shrill voice, his fidgety odd behaviour — all
made him an object of interest. His brilliant conversation
astonished every one, and all topics seemed equally familiar.
In 1823 he began his History of the French Revolution, which he
finished in 1827, in ten volumes. The profound knowledge dis
played, the rapid and dramatic march of the narrative, and the
wonderful perspicacity of the style gave the book an immense
success, which sold to the extent of 200,000 copies. In six short
years the charity-boy had exchanged his garret for a luxurious
mansion, and had become a very prominent personage.
In January 1830 he founded a new journal, Le National, and
began attacking the Government of Charles X. with impetuosity.
The Government ordered a prosecution, but he set it at defiance.
The night before the Revolution, July 26, the police suppressed
Le National, and endeavoured to arrest Thiers ; but he escaped.
On the 29th, when the dynasty had fallen, he reappeared, and
wrote the proclamation urging the Duke of Orleans as the suc
cessor of Charles X. He was one of the chief founders of the
new monarchy. The King was afraid of his ardent character,
but was obliged to raise him to the Ministry in October 1832,
and since then he had absorbed public attention. A jealous

1 2 8 Paris.
rivalry existed between him and Guizot, and already the King
had begun to exclaim :
' How happy could I be with either,
Were t'other dear charmer away P
All the time this retrospect was filtering through my mind,
Thiers continued talking at Pozzo di Borgo. It could not be
called a conversation, for the little one never stopped for a reply.
Suddenly he turned on his heel, and disappeared in the crowd.
Shortly after, in strolling about, I met Sir Sydney Smith,
who achieved distinction when commanding the English fleet in
the Mediterranean in 1799, by protecting the port of Acre in
Syria against the assaults of General Bonaparte, who laid siege
to it for sixty days. The old Admiral was a short stout man,
with a pleasant physiognomy and genial manner. He was fond
of gossip, and gave his opinions of men and things with a bluff
frankness thoroughly characteristic of his profession. He lived
most of his time in France, and was a shrewd observer of passing
events. I was curious to have, his views of the situation, that could
hardly fail to be instructive, and I had little difficulty in eliciting
them. I was a good deal amused at his nautical phraseology.
' Yes, you may depend on it,' said the Admiral, ' the King,
with all his sagacity and experience, will have great trouble
before he brings his ship into smooth water. He will run con
stant risk from treacherous currents and sudden gales, and it will
be rare good fortune if he finally escapes a wreck. He was lucky
in getting rid of the insurrection in La Vendee by the mishap
that befell the poor Duchesse de Berri, and he has shown energy
in putting down the mob of Paris, who are constantly inflamed
by conspirators wanting a share of the loaves and fishes. Yet
he has worse dangers than these to contend with.'
' You allude, Admiral,' I said, ' most probably to the intrigues
of the politicians.'
' Exactly. The bitter rivalries of these competitors for power
will make it very difficult for his Majesty to steer straight. It
is well he got rid of Lafitte, who, with all sails set, would have
surely brought up on a lee-shore. It is a pity he lost Casimir
Perier, who understood the true interests of the countiy, and would
have been a most useful pilot. As for Thiers, he has ability
enough for anything ; but he is too fond of rough water to make
a safe hand at the helm. Either to show his skill, or because he
really loves a tempest, he will always be running the country

Paris. 129
into jeopardy, and frightening trade and commerce out of their
wits. Depend on it, no Government will ever lead a quiet life
with Thiers at the head of affairs.'
'You really surprise me, Sir Sydney,' remarked I ; 'for I thought
Thiers, of all the men of the day, the ablest and most adroit, the
most competent to cope with all possible emergencies.'
' Yes, able enough and adroit enough, but still not the best
man for the epoch. You see, France wants to go into port for
refitting. She has been tumbled about for so many years on the
furious waves of civil and foreign wars, that she is shaken from
stem to stern. She wants a thorough overhauling before ventur
ing out to sea again. Now Thiers is not the man to superin
tend repairs. The King knows perfectly what is needed. If he
is allowed to have his own way, he will manage safely the vessel
intrusted to his care, and France will come out all right. But,
poor man, he has a most unruly crew to deal with, and I don't
see how he is to maintain discipline among them. I shouldn't
be astonished if some day he threw up his command in despair,
if he don't go to Davy Jones's locker before then.'
' I must confess,' I averred, ' that much of what you say is
new and startling to me. I share your great confidence in the
good sense of the King. He saw the folly of Charles X. in
seeking to restore absolute government after the incredible efforts
of the French to get rid of it. He understands the France of
to-day, and knows she needs repose and the development of her
vast resources. He has entered into alliance with England, and
is trying to gain the good-will of all the European Powers.
He will augment his popularity at home by fostering trade and
commerce, befriending the arts, and encouraging literature. He
has given proofs already he will pursue this enlightened course.
Now how can the politicians oppose him without becoming odious
to the nation ?'
' I grant you,' returned the ancient mariner, 'that in your
nation, or in mine, the King might with safety snap his fingers at
them; but here the case is different. The French, with a thou
sand good qualities, are fickle and thoughtless. Worse still, they
have little political knowledge or experience. It is only a few
years ago they were serfs — for under the old monarchy they were
no better. How could they, intelligent as I admit they are, in
so brief a period learn the arts of the politicians, and see through
their tricks ? All the papers in Paris belong to the politicians, K

130 Paris.
and they display great ingenuity in misrepresenting the acts
and words of each other. There is not one of them that tells
the truth, or is ever impartial or just All are intent on the
aggrandisement of their own coterie. Now the people who read
them, not understanding their game, are misled and easily in
flamed. Is it a wonder, with the winds blowing from every
quarter, they get bewildered andsuspect their best friends ? The
King, with all his wisdom and good intentions, is at the mercy
of the politicians, who, besides their pens, have ready tongues. I
don't see how he is to please them all. If he gives power to
Thiers and his allies — and I repeat Thiers is a bad look-out — then
he will have Guizot and his followers assailing him. Of course
he must expect the > Legitimists and the Republicans and their
organs to be all the time barking at Iiis heels. I don't envy him
his voyage. As I said before, I don't see how, with such a crew
to navigate with, he can keep clear of breakers.'
' A very sorry prospect indeed, Admiral,' I replied, ' as you
describe it. But if you think that Thiers will expose the King
to the jealousy of his rivals, and perhaps involve him in trouble
abroad, what do you say to Guizot ?'
' Why, there goes the very man !' interrupted the Admiral.
I looked up, and had a glimpse for the first time of the
famous ' doctrinaire,' as Guizot was then styled.
' Thanks, Admiral,' I said, ' for pointing him out to me. Don't
you think he would be a useful ally for the King ? He is, from all I
hear, a man of grave character, solid learning, and much eloquence.'
' Humph,' exclaimed the sceptical Sir Sydney ; ' Guizot, after
all, is only a man of letters, and they always lack practical
acquaintance with men and affairs. They don't know how to
trim their sails to the wind, and are prone to insist on keeping
the course they think the best. The King, I hear, is very partial
to Guizot for the purity of his morals and the austerity of his
habits. Puritans are not good politicians. They turn their
backs on expedients, and set compromise at defiance. I hope
his Majesty will not give himself up entirely to Guizot, or he
will run the risk of foundering.'
So saying he bade me good-night. As I looked after him I
thought of his act of civility to General Bonaparte, whom he was
blockading in Egypt in 1799. He sent the General one day a
packet of newspapers from Europe, when Bonaparte discovered
that the Directory was tottering to its fall. 'It is time' he

Paris. 131
exclaimed, ' I should return to France. No use wasting my time
here.' He turned over the command to General Kleber, and secretly
embarked for France, running the risk of being picked up by the
numerous English cruisers then patrolling the Mediterranean.
Bonaparte was lucky enough to reach Frejus ; pushed on to
Paris ; overturned the Directory, and became First Consul.
Thus the politeness of the English Admiral changed the desti
nies of Europe. Poor Kleber was assassinated not long after by
a Turk, who mistook him for Bonaparte. So, it may be said, the
future conqueror owed his life to the unwitting courtesy of his
arch-enemy, Sir Sydney Smith.
I wandered about, hoping to obtain another glimpse of Guizot,
one of the first men of his day. I eventually found him talking
with the King, with whom he was, no doubt, a favourite. I
scrutinised him closely. His face was severe in expression, and
his air imperious, acquired, likely, from his former career of pro
fessor at the Sorbonne. He impressed me as a man of resolute
character and great firmness. Hitherto he had been chiefly
famous for his learning and literary skill. As a historian he had
acquired great renown. But his reputation as an orator was
rising daily, and he was evidently destined to figure conspicuously
in the future. He was then a member of the Cabinet, and
aspired to be Prime Minister sooner or later.
The royal family retired from the ball just before two in the
morning, but the dancing went on till after four o'clock. As for
myself, I was so fascinated I loitered till well-nigh the last. The
only feature that I missed at this brilliant festivity was the pre
sence of the historic names of France, the great nobles, tb.& grandes
dames of the Faubourg St. Germain, who constituted the ornament
of the Court of Charles X. They were so indignant at what they
called the treachery of Louis Philippe in usurping the throne of
his cousin that they refused to have anything to do with him.
They not only avoided all contact with his Court, but even united
with the Republicans in plotting against him.
The Queen was not a little mortified that all the great fami
lies of the country faithfully adhered to the fortunes of the elder
branch of the Bourbons ; but now and then she succeeded in
tempting some member of the old noblesse to come to the
palace. One of these, who honoured a ball at the Tuileries with
her haughty presence, turned up her patrician nose at the mix
ture of classes that she found there.

1 3 2 Paris.
' One might fancy oneself in heaven,' she is reported to have
said, ' for there also there is no distinction of persons.'
On one occasion the Queen proposed to organise a somewhat
more exclusive description of entertainment, where only those of
noble birth and high social rank should be admitted, and where
the nouveau riche, as well as those of plebeian extraction, should
be excluded. The King, however, set his face resolutely against
the suggestion.
' I am too much a man of my epoch,' he said, ' not to receive
all who have made for themselves an honoured name. They, and
their wives who bear it, are always welcome guests at the palace.'
This blending of all who were prominent in politics, science,
literature, and art made the balls and receptions at the Tuileries
always interesting, especially to strangers. It was often my good
fortune in after years to mingle with the brilliant throng who
were invited to the Chateau during the reign of Louis Philippe ;
but the novelty of the scene, as well as the great personages I
had never beheld before, imparted a charm to my first ball at the
Tuileries I hardly ever derived from any succeeding one. It was
days before I recovered from the spell. The great men, the lovely
women, the glittering uniforms, the dazzling toilettes, the grace
and elegance, the pomp and splendour of the spectacle, haunted
my mind, and I lingered over it with regret that it was so short
lived. I thought that to a ball at the Tuileries might be applied
the lines wherein the poet depicts our reluctance at leaving the
world : ' From hence how few, like sated guests, depart
From life's full banquet with a cheerful heart 1*

CHAPTER XIV.
PARIS {continued).
VISIT TO FORREST  ATTEMPT AT ASSASSINATION — THIERS AND GUIZOT IN THE
TRIBUNE — POLITICAL MACHINERY.
NEAR three months had glided by since I arrived in Paris, and
my passion for it grew daily ; but I felt it would be inglorious to
yield to its blandishments when there was still so much work to
be done. All Europe was before me, and my original plan was
to make a general survey of its features before settling down in
any special locality. My companion Williams, who was as much
a victim as myself to the enchantments of Paris, agreed with me
that a determined effort must be made to resist the siren, and
that we should be warned in time by the fate of Hannibal, who
failed in his mission by his prolonged sojourn amid the delights
of Capua. We decided, then, to take to flight in the early days of Febru
ary, and direct our steps to that fabled land of Italy, whose won
ders, ancient and modern, awaited us, and which our classic studies
had made so familiar. We found on inquiry that the only mode
then of travelling in Italy was in a wretched conveyance called
a vettura which was both slow and uncomfortable ; so we
agreed to buy a travelling carriage in Paris, and use post-horses.
Though more expensive, it was far more luxurious, with the ad
ditional advantage of enabling us to stop when, where, and as
long as we pleased.
As our post-chaise was commodious, I proposed to Williams
that we should select some person to accompany us, and sug
gested Forrest, who was in Paris, and disposed to travel. Williams
accepted my proposition, and thought Forrest was just the man,
as he was full of spirits, good jokes, and spicy quotations.
I found Forrest in Paris on my arrival, where he was leading
a very regular life, studying French, and initiating himself into
French usages. He was living in a pension, a sort of boarding-
house, if such a term might be applied to a suite of some
twenty rooms. I suppose that quite half of the Parisians lived on
floors or flats, which were as commodious as houses in the United
States. I was chatting with him in his room just before dinner

1 3 2 Paris.
' One might fancy oneself in heaven,' she is reported to have
said, ' for there also there is no distinction of persons.'
On one occasion the Queen proposed to organise a somewhat
more exclusive description of entertainment, where only those of
noble birth and high social rank should be admitted, and where
the nouveau ricJie, as well as those of plebeian extraction, should
be excluded. The King, however, set his face resolutely against
the suggestion.
' I am too much a man of my epoch,' he said, ' not to receive
all who have made for themselves an honoured name. They, and
their wives who bear it, are always welcome guests at the palace.'
This blending of all who were prominent in politics, science,
literature, and art made the balls and receptions at the Tuileries
always interesting, especially to strangers. It was often my good
fortune in after years to mingle with the brilliant throng who
were invited to the Chateau during the reign of Louis Philippe ;
but the novelty of the scene, as well as the great personages I
had never beheld before, imparted a charm to my first ball at the
Tuileries I hardly ever derived from any succeeding one. It was
days before I recovered from the spell. The great men, the lovely
women, the glittering uniforms, the dazzling toilettes, the grace
and elegance, the pomp and splendour of the spectacle, haunted
my mind, and I lingered over it with regret that it was so short
lived. I thought that to a ball at the Tuileries might be applied
the lines wherein the poet depicts our reluctance at leaving the
world : 1 From hence how few, like sated guests, depart
From life's full banquet with a cheerful heart 1'

CHAPTER XIV.
PARIS {continued).
VISIT TO FORREST — ATTEMPT AT ASSASSINATION  THIERS AND GUIZOT IN THE
TRIBUNE — POLITICAL MACHINERY.
NEAR three months had glided by since I arrived in Paris, and
my passion for it grew daily ; but I felt it would be inglorious to
yield to its blandishments when there was still so much work to
be done. All Europe was before me, and my original plan was
to make a general survey of its features before settling down in
any special locality. My companion Williams, who was as much
a victim as myself to the enchantments of Paris, agreed with me
that a determined effort must be made to resist the siren, and
that we should be warned in time by the fate of Hannibal, who
failed in his mission by his prolonged sojourn amid the delights
of Capua. We decided, then, to take to flight in the early days of Febru
ary, and direct our steps to that fabled land of Italy, whose won
ders, ancient and modern, awaited us, and which our classic studies
had made so familiar. We found on inquiry that the only mode
then of travelling in Italy was in a wretched conveyance called
a vettura which was both slow and uncomfortable ; so we
agreed to buy a travelling carriage in Paris, and use post-horses.
Though more expensive, it was far more luxurious, with the ad
ditional advantage of enabling us to stop when, where, and as
long as we pleased.
As our post-chaise was commodious, I proposed to Williams
that we should select some person to accompany us, and sug
gested Forrest, who was in Paris, and disposed to travel. Williams
accepted my proposition, and thought Forrest was just the man,
as he was full of spirits, good jokes, and spicy quotations.
I found Forrest in Paris on my arrival, where he was leading
a very regular life, studying French, and initiating himself into
French usages. He was living in a pension, a sort of boarding-
house, if such a term might be applied to a suite of some
twenty rooms. I suppose that quite half of the Parisians lived on
floors or flats, which were as commodious as houses in the United
States. I was chatting with him in his room just before dinner

134 Paris.
on the occasion of my first visit, when suddenly the door was
thrown open by a lady filled with terror, who cried out, ' Murder 1
help !' and fell fainting on the floor. I assisted in laying her on
a sofa, and rushed out with Forrest to see what was the matter.
We made our way to the salon, and found there a French officer
in uniform, with a drawn sword in his hand, pacing up and down
the room in extreme agitation. Two or three other persons
were in different corners, looking very much moved and alarmed.
We found no one killed, however, as far as we could see, and
after a time discovered the cause of the commotion. It seems
that a few minutes previously the officer in question had sud
denly dashed into the room, and accused the master of the house
he found there of an unprovoked act of treachery, when, without
more ado, he ripped out his sword and made a furious lunge at
him, which happily passed between his arm and his body. The
intended victim took to his heels, whilst his wife threw herself on
his assailant and prevented any pursuit. It was at this moment
the lady alluded to flew to Forrest's room shrieking for succour.
After a time the enraged officer, finding his enemy gone, sheathed
his sword and went away.
It turned out that, from some unknown motive, the old man
who kept the house had written to the Commandant at the
Tuileries, where the officer was on duty, alleging he was con
nected with a conspiracy against the King. The letter was laid
before the accused man, who denied the charge ; and, boiling over
with rage, he rushed to the residence of his accuser to take venge
ance for the outrage. I concluded from this incident, which
occurred soon after I reached Paris, that the French were exceed
ingly impulsive, and that it was dangerous to trifle with men
who carried swords. The lady who startled me by her outcries
was an American, a niece of Stephen Girard, the millionaire of
Philadelphia, and wife of Dr. Clarke.
Forrest cheerfully accepted our invitation to accompany us to
Italy, and our departure was fixed for February nth. I had
still a week to perambulate Paris, and, as I had as yet seen
nothing of the legislative machinery now in full action, I deter
mined to make an inspection of the Chamber of Deputies.
I was the more attracted thither as a field-day was to come
off on the ensuing Wednesday, when many of the great orators
were expected to appear on parade. I obtained a ticket for a
reserved place, and went to the Chamber full of expectation.
The Deputies occupied a splendid edifice facing the Place

Fans. 135
de la Concorde. The hall where they sat was large and lofty,
and the desks1 were arranged in circular rows as in Washington.
The President sat upon a lofty estrade, and before him was the
' tribune,' which the members ascended when they addressed the
Chamber. It consisted simply of a platform lower than that of
the President, and enclosed in front — a sort of pulpit, in fact.
The Deputies numbered four hundred and fifty-nine, and were
required to be thirty-five years old, with an income of 3000
francs. They were elected by less than one hundred and seventy-
five thousand voters in a population of thirty-two millions and
a half. No one could vote under twenty-five years of age, or
less income than 1250 francs. The suffrage was, therefore,
based on property, and so limited that the opinion of the country
could hardly be represented.
The Chamber was crowded the day of my visit. The mem
bers were all in their places, and the spectators overflowed.
Business began at two P.M., and several speakers succeeded each,
other at the tribune. Their delivery was fluent and forcible
but in tone and manner more serious than I expected. French
men in conversation are so animated, and often impassioned,
that I anticipated more fervour in oratory.
They were listened to with attention ; but one peculiarity
attracted my attention. The speakers were often interrupted
by remarks addressed to them by members from their places,
and which were often of so piquant a character as to affect
both the orator and the assembly. It required much self-pos
session and readiness on the part of the Deputy speaking to.
take advantage of these interruptions, and not be confused by
them. When these interpolations were too frequent, the Presi
dent intervened, and ordered silence, pretty much in the voice of
authority of a pedagogue at the head of a school ; and if too
much noise prevailed, he rang a bell at his side till he brought
the refractory assembly to order.
Suddenly there was a general movement and buzzing of
both the members and spectators. M. Thiers ascended the
tribune. He was so short that only his head — a very fine one
— and his shoulders were visible above the desk. Like a skilful
actor he performed a series of little tricks, as they may be
called, before he uttered a word. He carefully arranged some
documents before him ; he placed his handkerchief on one
side, and his glass of water on the other. He then adjusted
his spectacles, and calmly regarded the assembly till all the

136 Paris.
rustling ceased, and perfect silence was established. He then
began his address. His voice was shrill, but clear ; his enuncia
tion very distinct ; his manner was familiar, easy, natural, as
though he was talking to a circle of friends. This was the
peculiar style of his oratory, and totally different from all the
others. Notwithstanding his colloquial tone, there was not want
ing either a certain dignity or authority — the dignity of great
intellect, and the authority of a leading Minister. If he was
interrupted by a remark he took no notice, but waited till its
effect had passed, and then resumed. He was noted for great
fluency, and above all for the extremest lucidity. The French
are always logical and clear, but Thiers in his speeches, as in his
writings, transcended all others. He especially excelled in occa
sionally employing some epigrammatic phrase which, with sin
gular felicity, described the point or situation he wished to
illustrate. He never used a note of any kind, trusting to his
memory and his inspirations. He rarely used gesture, which
was always graceful as emphatic. He spoke for an hour, and
when he descended from the tribune there was a general explo
sion of voices, that reminded me of the shouting of children when
school had broke up. The presence and eloquence of the bril
liant Thiers had subdued his audience into an unnatural state of
quiet ; but the moment the restraint was over, the pent-up mem
bers burst into a chorus of comment that stopped all business
until their minds were duly relieved, and then the sitting was
renewed. Two or three speakers of the Opposition followed each other,
when M. Guizot advanced to the tribune. Immediate silence
ensued. There was something so imposing in his manner that
the Chamber settled down at once when he appeared before
them. Nothing could be more striking than the contrast pre
sented in all respects to that of his great rival Thiers. The
latter was bland and affable in manner and tone, whilst Guizot
was austere in demeanour and despotic in air. He spoke with
out the least effort ; his voice was sonorous and distinct ; his
language elevated and choice. He laid down his opinions as
though they were infallible. There was no attempt to convince
or persuade. He expected them to accept his views or prepare
for perdition. There was little interruption, for all parties
seemed somewhat in awe of this parliamentary dictator.
The attraction was over when once these leviathans of
the debate had disoorted themselves, and I retired. Whilst my

Paris. 1 3 7
hand was in I thought I would walk over to the palace of the
Luxembourg, appropriated to the sittings of the Chamber of
Peers. I found this body far more orderly, but less interesting,
than the rival Chamber. They were very distingue" in appear
ance, and included many of the celebrities of France. They held
their places for life, and were nominated by the King. There
was therefore no opposition to the Government, as in the other
Chamber, and this rendered the proceedings more dull, if more
dignified. As I strolled homewards I reflected on the character of the
Government the last Revolution had brought forth, and it seemed
to me hardly less absolute than the one overthrown. The King
was invested by the new charter with immense power. Of the
two Chambers, the upper one really belonged to him, as he
named all the members ; and in the lower one he could always
command a majority by occult influences ; videlicet, buying up
the members with patronage rather than money. The immense
number of offices at the disposal of the Government in France
exceeded all belief. In the Treasury department alone, whose
ramifications extended over the whole country, there were S 7,000
places. In the other departments, especially that of War, the
posts were hardly less numerous.
In the way of statistics on this subject, I may mention others
which were all in the gift of the Executive. For instance, 38,000
mayors of communes ; 35,000 communal rural guards, who watched
over the security of the harvests and the conduct of the villagers.
These were supplemented by 1 3,000 gendarmes ; 30,000 special
watchmen to protect private property ; 30,000 custom-house
agents to guard the frontiers and collect the duties. The forests
and water-courses were supervised by 10,000 wood-keepers and
fishing inspectors ; 6000 commissaires superintended the police
throughout the kingdom. Besides these there were in Paris 7000
commissaires at the head of the police, which numbered some
40,000 men. All the crimes and offences reported by these agents
of the public security were tried by 3000 Juges de paix and 3450
judges of the higher courts. The salaries of this vast official hier
archy — and it was only a part — were generally low, but the burden
on the taxpayers must have been great. These figures are pretty
conclusive proof that the French people demand a deal of vigilant
control ; and it must be regarded as necessary, since no revolution,
monarchical or republican, effects any change in this respect.

CHAPTER XV.
PARIS {concluded).
THE SrREETS — SHOPS — SERVANTS  CHEAPNESS  CHURCHES  BONNES D'ENFANS
 A CONCIERGE — COIFFURES, ETC.
Before leaving Paris I am tempted to say something in a ram
bling way of certain features and usages hitherto unnoticed. I
may have dwelt on it somewhat tediously ; but, apart from its
manifold attractions, it was my first love in Europe, and I
thought it worthy my lavish admiration.
/ In the beginning of 1835, Paris was pretty much in the condi
tion, that Napoleon had left it. The streets were paved with
large square stones, with a gutter running through the middle.
Footpaths were few, and walking was therefore difficult, and
often dangerous, as the various vehicles generally monopolised
the roadway, and pedestrians, to save themselves, were often
obliged to take refuge in the shops or gateways. At night the
streets were lighted by oil-lamps suspended in the middle by
cords. They did little more than render darkness visible. Whilst
the cafes and shops remained open in the principal thoroughfares
it was easier to find your way. These resorts were always brilliantly
illuminated, as the French seemed fond of light, and the intro
duction of gas would make Paris at night as bright as noonday.
As for sewers, they were few and far between, and it often
perplexed me to know where all the dirty water ran. There
were symptoms of improvement in this respect, and the King
seemed determined to leave Paris in a better state than he found
it. He was rapidly completing the public edifices begun by
Napoleon. Not less striking would be the proposed transformation
of the open space between the Tuileries Gardens and the Champs
Elysees, called the Place de la Concorde, and which was to be
decorated with fountains and statues. This winter I found it
little better than a quagmire, and in summer it must be little else
than another Desert of Sahara.
Nothing astonished me more than the houses in Paris, all
built of a porous white stone found in quarries in the environs, and

Paris. 139
generally six stories in height, and sometimes more. In the cen
tre of most was the courtyard, which varied in size, but always
large enough for a carriage to drive in and discharge its occu
pants. The upper end of the courtyard was frequently used for
a coachhouse and stable. The house was generally let out in
floors or flats, each comprising sitting- and bed-rooms and kitchen.
These, of course, differed in number, size, and price. Thus a
dozen families might live in the same house, and the only things
common to all were the entrance, and the staircase, which ran
to the top of the house. La premiere, or first floor, was always
the dearest, and the top floor the cheapest. On the first might
live a millionaire, and on the last his tailor, all under the same
roof, but otherwise isolated. I found mounting three and four
staircases a fatiguing process. The French seemed very fond
of looking-glasses. Every room was ornamented usually with
four opposite to each other, that by reflection added apparently to
its size. Whether this multiplication of mirrors was simply meant
for adornment, or to gratify the vanity of which the French are
accused, I know not ; but their effect on the dress and appear
ance of ladies must have been advantageous, as they could not
fail to see themselves at every turn.
The only entrance, called the porte-cochere, consisted of a
large double-door, open by day and shut at night. This was in
especial charge of a porter, the concierge, whose business was to
allow no one to pass without inquiry. He received all letters
and cards, and sent them to the various apartments. It was
wise to be on good terms with this important personage, as he
might be very useful or the contrary, as you treated him. He
lived in a room adjoining the gate. In this room he often had
a wife, and it constituted his sitting- and bed-room and kitchen.
It was generally dark and close ; in short, a wretched dwelling.
Its tenant rarely got a sound sleep, as during the night at every
knock he was obliged to pull a cord adjoining his bed, and get
iip to see who entered. They were a peculiar class, these same
concierges, with little of the loquacity which characterises their
countrymen, having, perhaps, too much on their minds to waste
time in talk. They were the depositaries of all the secrets of the
house, and usually played into the hands of both parties, the
cheated and the cheat. No amorous intrigue could go on with
out their having a part in it, and they levied tribute all round.
A writer stigmatised them as perhaps the worst species of ser-

140 Paris.
vants that ever infested a domestic establishment. They were
inadequately paid by the proprietor, and consequently preyed
upon those who had the misfortune of living under their surveil
lance. They compelled the tradesmen who served those who lived
in the house to pay five per cent for every article that entered.
"*- There was a characteristic story told of a concierge by
Deoamps, the celebrated painter. He related that one day a
gentleman called at his house and asked if he was at home.
Receiving a reply in the affirmative, the visitor was about mount
ing the first of three pair of stairs, when the concierge called after
him and said,
' As you are about visiting M. Decamps, perhaps you will be
so kind as to carry up his trousers that I have just brushed.'
' Most certainly,' answered the stranger, ' and very happy to
render you so small a service.'
When the bell of his apartment rang, Deoamps opened the
door, and great was his astonishment to recognise his patron, the
Duke of Orleans, heir to the throne, who laughingly presented
him the trousers the lazy concierge had confided to him.
Maisons meuble'es, or furnished houses, abounded in Paris, and;
were chiefly occupied by travellers. They were low-priced at
the time in question. A sitting- and bedroom and dressing-room
could be had from four dollars upwards a week, according to-
the flat you preferred. They were well furnished, but minus
carpets. Accustomed to the carpeted rooms of Philadelphia, it
was some time before I grew reconciled to the naked though
polished floors of Paris. They were frotte" or rubbed every day
with wax, which gave them a gloss, but made them slippery as
ice. It required some practice to avoid a fall. I imagined I
should find them pleasanter in summer, when they would look.
cooler than a carpet.
Another novelty, I remember, was to find men always em
ployed as chambermaids. The principal reason was that waxing
the floors with a hard brush strapped to the foot was too fatiguing,
for women. The English and American ladies always complained
of men in Paris doing chamber-work ; but by degrees they got
inured to it. This also was a peculiar class, with traits more like wo
men than men. They were very chatty, polite, and always discreet.
One of the greatest luxuries of Paris were the beds. Spring
mattresses were then unknown in the United States. Nothing
but feather-beds or hard mattresses were used, that were both

fans. 141
unhealthy and uncomfortable. After these the elasticity and
buoyancy of a French bed were delightful in the extreme, and
' a joy for ever.' I can credit the story told of some of the rab
ble who were found in the bedchamber of Charles X. at the
Tuileries, in the Revolution of 1 830. All unmindful of the bloody
fray in which they had been engaged, they were amusing them
selves, like so many children, by bounding up and down on the
spring mattress of the King ; a sensation utterly new to them.
I was quite sure that French beds, like democratic principles, were
certain to make the tour of the civilised world.
Baths were much used in Paris, though no such thing as a
bath-room was found in the houses, from the want of water-pipes,
which were not known. A bath-tub of zinc was sent to the house
by the numerous bathing dtablissements, and was then lined with a
white cloth, and filled with water hot or cold, and at a very small
expense. Water was supplied to all the houses by the porteurs
d'eau — water-carriers — who were seen in great numbers in the
streets, pulling a hand-cart with barrels containing the indispen
sable liquid. This was another class quite sui generis, and would
probably disappear some day with the march of improvement
The French of all classes were very cleanly, which was the more
creditable that water was so scarce a commodity.
An enjoyment, almost equal to the beds, I discovered in the
public carriages of Paris. These consisted of the fiacre, with
four places and two horses ; the citadine, with two places and one
horse ; the- cabriolet, with one place, the driver sitting alongside
of you. The latter resembled the old American gig. These
vehicles were always clean, and very cheap. The fixed charge
of two francs — forty cents — per hour, and thirty cents for a
single distance, was printed on a card placed inside, so there could
be no dispute on that vital point. The driver was also required
by the police-laws to give a ticket as you entered with the num
ber of his carriage, so that you might recover anything left
behind. All carriages were compelled to carry lighted lamps
at night — very necessary in the dark streets of Paris. The
cockers, or drivers, piqued my curiosity not a little. They were
the solitary class in Paris who never talked. I could hardly
believe they were veritable Frenchmen. They sat upon their
perches from morn to dewy eve, neither looking to the right or
left, or ever opening their mouths. What they could be thinking
of always puzzled me. A good many took refuge in sleep.

142 Paris.
The only sign of life they ever gave was when you jumped into
their vehicles, and cried 'i I'heureP — by the hour — when they
began at once to crack their whips, which they did with great
dexterity. This was meant, I fancy, to wake up the drowsy
horses, for they never touched them with the lash. The noise
of whips could be heard all over Paris by day and night. This
seemed to me the solitary abandon in which these strange
creatures ever indulged. The only thing they appeared to
have in horror was an hneute, or insurrection of any sort, for
their coaches were always seized the first thing by the mob to
convert into barricades. On the least symptom of any trouble
they vanished from the streets, and were heard of no more till
order was restored. They were the only human beings in Paris
who took no interest in politics. It was all the same to them
who reigned or governed. Whether Bonapartists, Legitimists,
Orleanists, or Republicans, they were ready to drive them all ;
and so long as the gratuity usually given was liberal, they were
^content under whatever Government existed.
In proof of their philosophic turn of mind, I will quote a dia
logue with one of them, told by Dalling, who seemed by some
mysterious process to have enticed him into conversation.
' What were you,' he asked, ' under the Emperor ?'
' A cocher de fiacre,' — a hackney coachman, — was the answer.
' And what under Charles X. ?*
' A hackney coachman.'
' I see you are still one under Louis Philippe ; but what would
you be if a Republic came ?'
* A hackney coachman,' said the cynic of the box. ' What
are dynasties to me ? Let them get on as they can. It is no
affair of mine, as I never expect to be anything else than a hack
ney coachman.'
The churches of Paris deeply interested me. They were
among the most striking edifices of the capital, and some of
them very ancient. But it was less their grand architectural
proportions that attracted me than the strange appearance of
their interior. Instead of the aisles and orderly rows of pews
lined with cloth to which I had been accustomed, I found the
vast space solely occupied by common straw chairs that belonged
to all alike. High and low, rich and poor, here mingled on terms
of perfect equality, proving that in Catholic countries all were
considered on a par in the sight of God. The churches were

Pans. 143
always open day and night, and I never entered one at any hour
without seeing people scattered about devoutly rapt in prayer.
' Many a servant or peasant in going to market,' says an
observer, ' many an artisan in going to his daily work, enters a
church, and remains there in some corner unobserved. This
must arise from piety of the heart. Nobody, perhaps, thinks
better of them for doing it, nor would think worse of them if
they did not.'
Many persons, I remarked, often discarded the chairs, and
knelt on the cold hard stone. None of these sanctuaries were
floored with wood. I found that church-bells were rare in Paris.
As the churches were never closed, and the hours of mass known
to all, it was not considered necessary, I suppose, to make appeals
to the ears of the indifferent by the noise of a bell. Still, the
merry chimes of Protestant countries are none the less a charm.
In all the churches I perceived numerous candles burning in
various parts of them, which was done in memory of some deceased
person by an attached mourner. These candles were either of
wax or tallow, and sold for small sums on the premises, and
generally by old women who lived on the slender profits. The
cathedral of Notre Dame is the oldest church in Paris, and dates
from the twelfth century. The readers of Victor Hugo's famous
romance of Notre Dame may remember that he assigned a habi
tation in the belfry to Quasimodo the bell-ringer. It is related
that hundreds of people who visit the cathedral invariably mount
to the tower in quest of Quasimodo's quarters ; and his oblig
ing successor always points out some locality as the identical
spot, laughing in his sleeve at the credulity of the curious, who
forget that Hugo's Quasimodo was a fictitious character.
One of the attractive features of Paris were les passages, or
arcades as they would probably be called in the United States.
There was one built in Philadelphia when I was a boy, but it
never paid, and has long since disappeared. But here they were
favourite resorts, and filled with shops of every variety, and often
with restaurants and cafes. They were constantly on the increase,
and I always found them delightful places to saunter about in,
especially of a wet day. In 1835, the Passage Vivienne was con
sidered the handsomest, and was much frequented. So was the
Galerie d'Orldans in the Palais Royal, constructed by the King
on his own property. All the windows and doors were encased
in brasswork, which was cleaned daily, and had therefore a bright

1 44 Paris.
and showy appearance. The people who kept these shops all
lived over them. The light was bad, and the air still worse.
They never complained of either, but accommodated themselves
to their circumstances with the utmost cheerfulness. Wonder
fully practical in their philosophy were the French.
Nothing charmed me more of a fine winter's day than to go
to the gardens of the Tuileries, to see the children who were
brought there from the adjoining quarters, and" who disported
themselves in that sunny space to their hearts' content. Their
neat dresses, good manners, and absence of timidity or awkward
ness, were alike remarkable. They were all attended by a class
of women that have no equal, I fancy, in any other country.
They were called bonnes denfans — children's nurses — but how
superior to those usually charged with so important a mission
as looking after the tone and behaviour of children ! Many of
them were from various districts of France — -Normandy, La
Vendee, and the South — and wore their provincial costumes, that
were very picturesque. Their judicious treatment of the children
struck me greatly. They spoke to them in a matronly voice, and
appealed to their sense of propriety ; told them what was comme
ilfaut — a magic phrase ; and with an air of remonstrance checked
any rudeness or extravagance of language or demeanour. They
invariably addressed them as Monsieur or Mademoiselle, to give
them a due sense of their responsibility. The respectable appear
ance and correct conversation of these bonnes d'enfans always
inspired the children with deference, and a call to order was never
disregarded, as was often the case in the Chamber of Deputies.
Most of these bonnes were single ; but if married, with children,
they sent their progeny to the country, where they were brought
up at a small charge, and in better health than in the town.
The French domestic servants of all kinds I thought vastly
superior to any I had ever seen. Their intelligence and civility
were beyond praise, and, whilst never servile, they were never
rude, much less insolent. As a rule they were badly paid, the
wages averaging from fifty to sixty dollars per annum. From a
census, the number of domestic servants in France were esti
mated at 50,000 odd, a very small number to the population. Like
ill the lower classes, they were thrifty, and always managed
to lay aside a portion of their limited earnings. The women ser
vants of all descriptions were wonderfully neat in their attire.
They were scarcely ever seen with bonnets, but wore a simple

Fans. 145
muslin cap, gracefully adjusted to the head ; and their dresses of
coloured dimity or serge, though plain, were always well fitted to
the person.
The French are wonderfully given to amusement, as I have
mentioned, and it cannot be denied they are the easiest people in
the world to amuse. They all look light-hearted and joyous, and
give themselves up with thorough earnestness to pastimes that
Americans or English would consider childish and undignified.
Men and women enjoy, with the same zest as children, whirling
round on wooden horses, or making a circular voyage in the aerial
ships, and even taking their turn in a weighing-machine. "On
fete-days, the miscellaneous crowd all gazed at the various shows
with rapt attention, whether it was a giant of moderate propor
tions, a fat woman, a dwarf walking on his knees, or a mermaid
in a bottle, and took no exception to the impositions on their
credulity; They never stopped to think if an amusement was
rational or not ; were never deterred for a moment by the fear
of making themselves ridiculous ; they engaged with relish in the
most puerile sports, and went home happy and contented with
their day's frolic. They found pleasure in the most frivolous re
creations, and not in mere eating and drinking. Neither drunken
ness nor quarrelling was ever seen in any merry-makings of the
French. To pass from gay to grave, I was much struck by the
touching usage that prevailed in Paris when a funeral passed.
Everybody, high or low, raised his hat to salute the deceased,
whether a millionaire or a pauper. It was most impressive to
witness this universal respect paid to the great leveller Death,
which knocks alike at the door of rich and poor. It must have
been most soothing, too, to the feelings of the humble relations of
the merest mendicant thus honoured by a general salutation never
bestowed in life. I observed, also, that all the men who attended
funerals followed the bier on foot, and with their hats off. It was
the custom, too, for some of the friends of the deceased, if at all
distinguished, to speak over his grave, commenting on his virtues
and character. This deference for the dead was singular in a mili
tary country, where in all ages they have faced death with such
readiness, not to say indifference. The celebrated cemetery of
Pere la Chaise filled me with wonder, not only for its great ex
tent, but the variety and splendour of its monuments. I had
never before seen anything like it ; for at that day, in the United
L

1 46 Paris.
States, all interments took place in the graveyards attached to the
churches. Some of the tombs in this Parisian City of the Dead
were of great historical interest, especially that of Abelard, the
great scholar of the eleventh century, and whose unfortunate love
for his pupil Helolse has been enshrined by the genius of Rous
seau. Many of the tombs, I found, were surrounded by small
gardens filled with flowers, planted by the affectionate hands of
relatives, whilst wreaths and immortelles, in token of enduring love,
were seen on every side decorating the graves of the departed.
This vast mausoleum of Paris had none of that funereal gloom
which pervaded the burial-grounds of my own country, but rather
a pleasing though melancholy aspect, from the number of flowers
scattered so profusely around.
I went abroad with the notion that the United States was
the cheapest country in the world, and so it was at that day for
the mere necessaries of life. But I found in Paris that you could
command for the most moderate sums a range of luxuries then
positively unknown in our young Republic. ' There are many
places,' says a writer of the epoch, ' where a person can live upon
as little ; but there is no place where a person can live so mag
nificently upon a little as Paris.'
In Paris there existed numerous restaurants with divers rooms,
all elegantly furnished, where a dinner of soup, two dishes, dessert,
with wine, was supplied at the price of forty cents, and at other
places for still less. A good bath of warm water cost but ten
cents. Comfortable omnibuses, with each place numbered, trans
ported their passengers from one end of Paris to the other for six
cents. In the less fashionable quarters, on the third or fourth
floor, lodgings could be had for almost nominal rents.* Every
kind of amusement was accessible to the most limited purse. At
all the theatres and operas places were provided for the poorest.
In short, without plunging into further details, I discovered that
a person of the smallest income, say four or five hundred dollars
per annum, or even much less, could command in Paris an extent
and variety of enjoyment utterly beyond his reach in any other
country. * The reader must remember that this is the history of an epoch long ago dis
appeared, — the sober, frugal days of Louis Philippe. Since then, the gold of
California has made its way to Paris. The lavish expenditures also of the Second
Empire contributed to derange the moderate standard of price that formerly
prevailed. In spite, however, of these disturbing causes, a modest income still
commands in Paris comforts and luxuries that double the sum would fail to pur
chase in London or New York.

Paris. 147
The average income of each Parisian at that day, taking one
with the other, was calculated at 1000 francs (200 dollars) ; and
the well-known statist Millot divided its expenditure in the fol
lowing manner. He computed that ' the washerwoman cost the
Parisian more than the schoolmaster ; the New Year's gift more
than the accoucheur; the theatre twice as much as the nurse ;
the bookseller half as much as the theatre ; the bath the same
as the librarian ; and the money spent in amusements and
luxury considerably more than that expended on fuel, the
dearest article of Parisian existence.'
I noticed that wood was the only material used for fire in
Paris, and was, comparatively speaking, rather dear. The fire
places were all small, and the utmost ingenuity was used to
extract the greatest heat from the least quantity of the precious
combustible. Fortunately the climate is neither cold or damp as
a rule, and one may manage to get on comfortably and economi
cally even with French fires. The Siberian rigour of our climate
would rapidly annihilate the Parisians unless they invented some
other means of warmth.
Nothing captivated me more in Paris than the shops. The
most artistic taste and ingenuity were exercised in decking out
the windows to attract the eye of the passer-by. The shops of
the jewellers, the, confectioners, the fruiterers, and others were
made exceedingly seductive, not so much by the richness of the
wares, as by the beautiful effects that an almost magical skill
accomplished. At night the utmost art was used in so dis
posing the light as to make the show still more brilliant.
Similar care and taste were used in rendering the interior of
the shops pretty and attractive ; and this was not all meant for
customers merely, as it was the habit of the shopkeepers to live
more in them than in any other place. Even when closed at
night their owners often sat there, and received their visitors.
They found it probably the liveliest part of the house, as it
was sure to be the most luxurious in decoration. I do not
hesitate to say that the manners of the Parisian shopkeepers
were a model for all the world. Such ease, grace, and civility !
They approached with a polite bow and a gentle look of inquiry.
They did their best to satisfy your wishes, even to gratify your
whims ; but never urged a purchase, nor embarrassed you with
offering or suggesting a multitude of things you did not want.
Whether you bought or not, they parted with you with the same

148 Paris.
amiable salutation as that which greeted you. Whilst there
was an utter absence of servility, there was never the least
freedom or familiarity in word or look. The shops, as I have
said before, were nearly altogether served by women ; and,
besides their engaging demeanour, they enhanced their attrac
tion by their perfect toilettes. Always dressed with simplicity,
but with such neatness and taste as to appear even elegant, a
mere ribbon was either so well chosen in colour, or so artistically
arranged, as to lend a charm to the whole person. There was no
greater mistake, the French thought, than to overload a dress
with trimmings. They were apt to smile at Englishwomen, who
adorned themselves to excess with flowers and ribbons. A
Frenchwoman's great solicitude was to have her apparel so well
fitted as to set gracefully : ornament was a secondary consideration.
All Frenchwomen, high and low, gave the utmost attention
to their coiffure. Dishevelled locks, or an untidy head, were never
seen in Paris. The rich employed afemme de chambre, one of
whose accomplishments was to be able to dress hair with skill ;
whilst the poorer class subscribed annually to a coiffeur, who, for
a small sum, came every morning to exercise his vocation. In
Paris hairdressers were almost as numerous as the National
Guard, not a few of whom belonged to this fraternity.
I frequently visited the great gallery of the Louvre whilst
in Paris. Pictures of such beauty as I found there were then
to me a great novelty. In Philadelphia no private galleries
existed at that day, and nothing but portraits were ever seen
on the walls. At the Louvre I first made acquaintance with the
various great schools of art, and my preference for the Italian
was by far the most decided. The Dutch school, too, had great
charms for me. Apart from the pictures, I was always interested
by the groups of artistes, men and women, who were allowed by
the Government to make copies of any of the paintings that
struck their fancy. One of the greatest favourites of this class
was an exquisite face of the Madonna by Murillo, and several
persons were always at work upon it. They never objected to
your glancing over their performance, and acknowledged ap
proval by a silent bow. They rarely conversed with each other,
which I suppose was a stipulation insisted on to prevent visitors
being disturbed. When the hour of closing came they departed
with the rest, leaving their easels and brushes behind for the
next day's operations.

Paris. 1 49
One of the oddest things in Paris, as it struck me, was
the octroi, which was a tax levied on all liquids and provisions
which entered Paris. Consequently, not only carts and wagons,
but vehicles of all descriptions, were stopped at the barrieres, or
gates, and examined by officials delegated for this duty. In
the case of private carriages the door was simply opened, and its
occupants asked if they had anything subject to duty. The
stoppage was brief and not very troublesome. The tax was chiefly
for the benefit of the municipality, and amounted annually to a
large sum. The usage dated from centuries back, and the won
der was that it had survived so long. Many devices were resorted
to in order to evade it, and one that was current at the time
amused me much. It was related that a very sumptuous
equipage, with a footman behind in rich livery, used to pass in
and out of one of the barrieres almost daily. After some time
the suspicions of the officers began to be excited, and one day
they stopped the carriage for a thorough inspection. They
ordered the footman to get down to assist in the search ; but,
finding he took no heed, they seized upon him, and discovered
to their astonishment that the gorgeous lackey was ingeniously
constructed of tin, with a wax face well covered by whiskers.
He was found to contain a large quantity of choice wine subject
to heavy duty. The carriage was, of course, confiscated, but
profit enough had been already made to pay for it many times
over. Another of the peculiar institutions of Paris, so to speak, was
what was called the claque, which I forgot to mention in connec
tion with the theatres. A small band of men at all the operas
and theatres occupied a central bench in the pit, who were under
the direction of a leader. When he gave the signal they broke
out in. hearty applause that had something of the precision of a
military movement. They received a small salary from the
managers, who indicated the points in the play to be called to
the attention of the audience. They also received voluntary
gratuities, from the artistes who were anxious for notice. The
chef or leader of the \ claque was an experienced judge of his busi
ness, and xarely applauded anything positively bad. If he made
a mistake he was promptly rebuked by the emphatic sibilations
of the audience, who, on the other hand, usually sustained the
claque when they were pleased. At the Grand Opera the
chief] of the claque, Auguste, reaped quite a large sum from

1 50 Paris.
the rival singers and danseuses, who each paid him a stipend'
annually. Of the many good things I have relished in Paris there was
none I am more inclined to extol than the bread. In my inno
cence I thought that the Philadelphia ' twist' of my boyhood
could not be surpassed ; but the superior lightness and whiteness
of French bread utterly eclipsed it. I am speaking of the best
quality only ; for the ordinary household bread, thepain de m/uage,
was not especially entitled to praise. I was diverted by its for
midable size ; for it was made in stout loaves of at least three feet
in length, quite long enough for a walking-stick or a bludgeon.
The butter was quite equal to the famous pats of my native town ;
but I found it rather insipid, from the French habit of not sea
soning it with salt.
There were few things the French held in greater abomination
than the use of drugs of all kinds. Though little acquainted with.
Shakespeare, they seemed to have generally adopted Macbeth's
point of view, ' throw physic to the dogs.' It was only in extreme
cases they could be induced to swallow medicine. When indis
posed they universally resorted to the use of tisanes, which means a
decoction of some simple herb or other, which they drank hot to
provoke perspiration. This, coupled with a rigid diet, was con
sidered adequate for all ordinary cases of illness. France was
clearly not the country where fortunes were likely to be made, as
in the United States, by the wholesale distribution of panaceas
and elixirs, which are swallowed with such unbounded confidence
by credulous people.
At the corner of the Rue Poissonniere, on the boulevard of
the same name, there was this inscription on the front of a house,
' Limites de Paris en 1726.' It was evident from this that Paris
had grown considerably in the last century, but scarcely with.
the rapidity of an American town. It was quite certain that in
the next century it would spread with far greater speed, and, from
present indications, on a greatly improved plan. The narrow
crooked streets and blind alleyswould give wayto broad thorough
fares and spacious avenues, well paved, sewered, and lighted.
In conclusion, I will add that Paris was divided into twelve dis
tricts or arrondissements, each presided over by a maire. The
fact that there were but twelve gave rise to the familiar
phrase applied to a couple living together without the sanction
of the Church, that ' they were married in the thirteenth arron-

Paris. 1 5 1
dissement,' — that is, not married at all. The whole of Paris was
under the administrative control of the Prefect of the Depart
ment of the Seine, who was a functionary of great importance, and
occupied the H6tel de Ville, one of the finest palaces in Paris.
He entertained with great splendour, and his balls during the
winter were thronged by the e"lite of the official and fashionable
world. I must not omit to mention that on every side abundant evi
dence proved that France was essentially a military nation. At
Havre I first encountered the red trousers and short blue tunic
of the common soldier, to say nothing of the officers, who seemed
almost as numerous, with their single or double gold epaulettes ;
and from that day I had never lost sight of them for a moment.
In Paris they thronged the streets, crowded the cafos, overran the
theatres, but were rarely seen in the churches. Sentinels were
pacing in every direction, regiments were constantly parading
the thoroughfares, and every night drummers marched through
the town summoning the laggards home to barracks. All this.
reminded me that France was surrounded by great military
monarchies, and required a powerful army for her protection
even when not needed to gratify the warlike ambition of a
Napoleon.

CHAPTER XVI.
ITALY.
TURIN  GENOA  PISA  ROME.
I WAS in a somewhat desponding mood when I jumped into the
carriage waiting at the door to set out on my trip to Italy. After
rattling on for a few miles, the change of scene and the merry
chat of my companions, Williams and Forrest, gradually dissipated
my regret at parting with Paris, and I began to take an interest
in my new enterprise. At this bleak season there was little to
divert me in the landscape. The country was generally level, and
had a bare and cheerless appearance, unbroken by fences, rarely
seen in France, and with but few trees. Now and then we passed
a.forest, where men were at work clipping and lopping superfluous
branches for firewood. The villages we passed were far from in
viting to the eye, consisting of very old houses of stone, of one or
two stories, many of them covered with thatch.
The road was called a route royale, and was paved with square
blocks of stone, which, though well constructed, was rather rough.
These paved roads had descended from ancient Rome, and it was
strange that no better model had been yet attempted in France.
On either side of the route royale was the ordinary road, so fami
liar to my American experience, but which at this season of the
year was muddy and heavy.
As we travelled byposte,v/e stopped every two leagues at the
post-house to change horses. On all the high-roads of France was
established a functionary entitled the maitre despostes, who was re
quired to furnish relays of horses for travellers and for the mail-
coach. He was paid a fixed sum of so much per horse, yielding a
fair profit. This institution dated as far back as Louis XL, 1464
Our carriage required four horses, which were all stout and strong,
like the breed of the country, but roughly harnessed. They were
bestrode by two postillions, who were quite picturesque in their
braided jackets, leather breeches, and high topboots, to say no
thing of their glazed hats and powdered queues. This was a
favourite costume at all the masked balls in Paris. These pos-

Italy. 153
tillions were wonderfully expert with their short whips, which
they rarely applied to their horses, but amused themselves with
cracking along the road in a manner by no means unmusical.
Since the creation of railways, the post-houses and all their para
phernalia have well-nigh disappeared.
As we dashed along the highway we occasionally caught
glimpses of some old chateau, built of the white stone so common
in France, with its long straight avenue of formal stiff-looking
trees. In advancing south we passed numerous vineyards, which
we only recognised at this rude season by the short sticks in the
ground on which the vine is trained. In fact, there was little in
the wintry aspect around to justify the belief I was travelling
through la belle France.
With short halts for breakfast and dinner, we pushed on, till
in three days and nights we reached Lyons. As there was no
thing to be seen here but the famous silk manufactures of the
town, some of which we visited, we resumed our journey next day,
and made our way to the rugged frontiers of Savoy.
We had barely crossed them before we encountered those
myrmidons of authority so hateful to all travellers, the custom
house officers, and underwent a prying inquisition. I was for
tunate enough to escape without detriment ; but my friend Wil
liams had to pay tribute in the shape of a pair of pistols found
in his luggage, which were declared contraband, and appro
priated accordingly. If I could have anticipated all the vexation
I should undergo from this source in crossing the confines of the
numberless petty States into which Italy was then divided, I think
I should have been tempted to postpone my journey for more
propitious days.
On looking about me as we drove on, I could see nothing to
the right or left but mountains rising on every side, and I came
rapidly to the conclusion that Savoy contained little else of
interest. I had previously come in contact with some of its
principal articles of exportation, in the shape of sturdy little boys
who frequented the streets of Paris with their hurdy-gurdies, and
I understood that most of the chimney-sweeps of the French
capital were imported from the same hilly region, which explained
their facility in climbing. If these sterile mountains had fur
nished the world with little else than itinerant musicians and ra-
moneurs, at least they could boast of possessing the oldest reign
ing dynasty in Europe, dating from the eleventh century. It was

154 Italy.
strange that, through all the vicissitudes of the Middle Ages and
of modern times, the same family had continued to reign over it.
The House of Savoy might be justly proud of having retained
possession of their mountain throne for eight centuries. The
reigning King, Charles Albert, was a lineal descendant of Hum
bert, who was Count of Savoy in 1027.
The day was closing as we approached the foot of Mont
Cenis, the famous road over the Alps, constructed by Napoleon
in 1805, and, adding three more horses to our carriage, we began
the toilsome ascent. We were soon enveloped in a blinding
snowstorm appropriate to the region, and how our guides could
pick their perilous way was a mystery. As nothing could be dis
cerned through the opaque atmosphere, I was obliged to take for
granted all that had been written of the grandeur of Alpine
scenery. It was past midnight when I was roused from my
snooze by the pleasant intelligence that we had reached the
auberge at the summit of Mont Cenis ; and we gladly jumped out
to warm ourselves at a blazing fire, and partake of a bountiful
supper. In an hour's time we resumed our journey, and were
comforted by the fact that the worst was over, and that the
rest of our way was all downhill.
I went to sleep again more soundly than ever, and my last
recollections were of snow and biting winds. When I opened
my eyes a couple of hours later I thought I must be dreaming,
or that I had been suddenly transported from the mountain-top
plump into Paradise. The most enchanting sights and sounds
encountered me at every turn — green fields, smiling villages, placid
streams, orange-groves, the music of birds, flowers of every hue ;
whilst the balmy air was scented with delicious odours. But
happilyit was all real ; for we had emerged from the icebound Alps,
and were galloping merrily over smooth roads through the lovely
vale lying at their base. The transformation was really magical,
and I have never forgotten it We were now in sunny Italy, and
I soon found that overcoats and mufflers were quite superfluous.
Before ten A.M. we drove into Turin, where we joyfully decided
to rest ourselves for a few days. We bade Antoine, our poor devil
of a courier, who for the best part of six days and nights had been
perched on his box, looking after the postillions, with only fitful
snatches of sleep, to go take his ease ; whilst, under the auspices
of a valet . de place, we devoted ourselves to the curiosities of
Turin.

 Italy. 155
I was vastly captivated by the beauty of this town, containing
some 200,000 inhabitants, and it merits its reputation as one of
the handsomest in Europe. It was none the less attractive in
my eyes that in many respects it reminded me of my native
city. The streets were straight, running at right angles, and
marvellously clean. They were all macadamised and smooth as
a floor, which could hardly be said of the cobble-stone of Phila
delphia. Many of them were arcaded, so to speak, as the pave
ments ran under an arched way, which was picturesque, and
afforded a dry promenade in wet weather. The number of large
open spaces called ' Places,' adorned with imposing edifices,
was another striking feature, surpassing anything I had seen in
Paris. I made the rounds of all the galleries and museums like a
¦conscientious traveller, but nothing I saw indoors vied in attrac
tion with the many objects of interest without. Even the picture-
gallery itself, that was far less rich in art than the Louvre, paled
before the gorgeous display of fruits, flowers, and vegetables dis
played in the market-place. Such a sight at this season of the
year was alone worth scaling the Alps to witness. The Opera-
house presented the most striking interior I had seen. It was
vast in circumference, and soared to an immense altitude, tier
above tier. The King's box in the centre was imposing and bril
liantly lit up. I was glad of the opportunity to see something
of the best people of Turin. The beauty of the women was
unquestionable, and their toilettes very simple. Between the acts
visits were general, and I inferred the opera was resorted to
as much for that purpose as to hear the music. Talking was
kept up during the recitatives, and it was only when singing
began that silence was imposed.
There were several fine palaces, and that of the King was a
stately structure. Charles Albert seemed popular with all classes,
and was- especially the idol of the army. Turin was swarming
with military men. In all the streets and public places they
abounded. The truth was the King was an ambitious man, and
he gave great attention to his army, with a view to business the
first favourable opportunity. He knew that not only his own
¦country, but the whole of Italy, was ready to rise at any moment
against the detested domination of Austria. Meanwhile, since
he ascended the throne in 1831, he had gone as far in the
way of reform as Austria would permit. He abolished the feudal

156 Italy.
system ; organised a Council of State ; ordered a civil and criminal
code to be drawn up ; encouraged agriculture, industry, and
science ; above all, he had put his army on a splendid footing.
Whether it would ever turn out more than an expensive toy was
hard to foretell.
I took my last look at Turin from a lofty eminence in the
neighbourhood, and a lovely sight it was. Long rows of noble
mansions lined the spacious avenues adorned with trees ;
numerous public edifices of imposing architecture, with gardens,
squares, and promenades, rose on every side ; a clear broad
river encircled the town, spanned by bridges of the most grace
ful structure ; whilst the gently-sloping hills around gave token
of skilful culture ; and everywhere the landscape was dotted
with pretty villas or picturesque convents and chapels. In
the distance the snowy summits of the Alps, half concealed in
clouds, looked serenely down on this enchanting spectacle.
Who would think, in contemplating this selfsame Turin, so fresh
and fair, as if born of yesterday, that it dated from an origin so
remote, that, before the Christian era, it was sacked by Hanni
bal, and afterwards embellished by Augustus Caesar ?

We drove over a splendid road from Turin to Genoa, as
hard and smooth the whole way as the surface of a billiard-table.
After the paved roads of France it was positive luxury. The
only sensation I experienced on the way was passing a series of
level plains of great extent, which I discovered to be the site of
the battle of Marengo, fought in June 1800. It was here that
Napoleon signalised his accession to power, as First Consul, by
a great victory over the Austrians. Concealing his plan of cam
paign, he set out with his army, and suddenly crossed the Alps
by the pass of the Grand St. Bernard — a prodigious feat — and
fell unexpectedly on the Austrians bivouacked in the smiling
plains around Alessandria.
I awoke from a pleasant nap about 3 A.M., just when a sudden
curve of the road brought the placid surface of the Mediterranean
into view, basking in the bright beams of the moon. I gazed for
the first time on this lovely sea with deep interest, associated as
it was with so many thrilling events from the very dawn of his
tory. Soon afterwards the shouting of our postillions awoke the
sleeping warders of the gates of Genoa, and we soon commenced

naiy. 157
ascending the steep winding streets of this famous old town.
At this early hour it was hushed in profound repose. No living
thing was seen ; no sound disturbed the universal stillness.
How impressive is the sight of a great town plunged in sleep —
' sleep, the death of each day's life' ! What a contrast did this
silence, these noiseless streets, these mute palaces, whose marble
facades sparkled in the moonlight, present to the uproars, the
broils, the clash of arms, that for centuries had characterised the
factious career of Genoa ! But there was a recollection con
nected with Genoa that predominated the rest. It was here that
one of the greatest men of history drew his first breath. It was
here that Columbus, abjuring the unpretending craft of his
father, gave himself up to the study of all that was known of
geography and astronomy at that day ; and it was here, after
the conviction seized upon him that a new world existed beyond
the seas, that his entreaties for means to discover it were received
with jeers, which finally drove him away to confer on Spain the
glory of verifying his predictions. We saluted as we passed
the statue that scoffing Genoa had since raised to his honour.
On reaching our hotel, we quickly sought our beds, but not
before drinking to the memory of Columbus, who had disco
vered us.
Genoa is renowned above all for her palaces, that are unsur
passed in Europe. Rising in an amphitheatre from the sea, the
finest sites are afforded for the many imposing edifices of this
beautiful city. We devoted several days to the inspection of
wondrous structures that were especially rich in the fine marbles
of the district.
Of all the palaces that of the Seria was one of the most strik
ing. Besides its numerous apartments of extraordinary beauty,
adorned with pictures and statuary, it was especially famous for
a saloon of grand dimensions, on which a fabulous sum had been
expended. The gilding was profuse, and all in solid gold. The
walls were covered with vast mirrors extending from floor to
ceiling. The dome, painted with rare skill, was supported by
numerous Corinthian columns of marble. Niches were decked
with vases of finest porcelain and busts of purest Carrara. Nu
merous chandeliers of sparkling crystal and exquisite workman
ship imparted additional lustre to the gorgeous decorations of
this sumptuous hall. The eye at last grew weary of its excessive
richness.

158 Italy.
In wandering through the palace, which I thought was un
occupied, I observed in the corner of one of these fairy apart
ments an old man dressed in black velvet, with long gray locks,
bending over a brazier of live coals. The noise of our steps
attracted his attention, and he raised his head. I was struck by
the lack of expression in the eyes and the dull look of the face-
I was told he was the owner of this grand palace, but had fallen
into dotage, and was wholly unconscious of the magnificence
that environed him. His sole occupation was to keep warm,
and his whole happiness consisted in hanging over a pan of
coals. It was a piteous spectacle to see the possessor of all
these treasures helpless and imbecile, craving for no more than
would content the meanest mendicant. ' Take physic, Pomp,' at
such a sight as this.
Certainly one of the greatest curiosities of Genoa was the
bank of St. George, whose records dated back to 1407, nearly
thirty years before Columbus was born. This was the oldest
bank of Europe, after that of Venice.
Many of the streets of Genoa were very precipitous, and
required care to descend in safety. As we stood on the brow
of one of these sharp declivities, my fellow-traveller Forrest
pointed to a man collecting the horse-manure, an industry of
the place, and, throwing himself into a theatrical attitude, he
paraphrased some lines in King Lear :
' Half-way down
Hangs one that gathers dung — dreadful trade !'
For Shakespeare's word of ' samphire' he substituted the one
given, and the application was so apt as to be amusing.
Of all the attractions of Genoa nothing charmed me more
than its beautiful hanging gardens filled with every variety of
fruits and flowers. It is noteworthy that since Genoa was
annexed by the Congress of Vienna in 18 14 to the dominions of
the King of Sardinia, it had obtained in exchange for its former
fitful sovereignty an era of good order and prosperity it had
never known before.

We decided to push on direct to Rome, the great centre of
attraction, and to take Florence on our return by the Perugia
road. Accordingly, in leaving Genoa, our route lay between the
lovely Mediterranean on the right, and countless groves of

Italy. 159
orange and lemon and luscious vineyards on the left. I shall
always retain the souvenir of the beauty of this road.
Pisa was too full of seduction not to bring us to a halt for a
couple of days. That prodigy of architectural skill, its leaning
tower, was alone worth it. Who could imagine, in contemplating
this wonderful relic, that it had ' braved the battle and the breeze'
for some six hundred years, and that, besides resisting the cor
roding hand of time, it had escaped all harm from the number
less combats and sieges that constituted the normal history of
Italian towns, even from the fall of the Roman Empire ? One
proof that Pisa was second to none in pugnacity is the simple
fact, that she carried on a war with Genoa for the small space of
two centuries, which ended at last in her defeat. In the bitter
conflicts of the Guelphs and Ghibellines she espoused the
German side, and suffered terribly from the national party.
During these centuries of war, the only thing in Pisa which
always drooped its head, but never experienced any damage at the
hands of victor or vanquished, was that marvellous tower, which is
as solid and beautiful as at the close of the twelfth century, when
it first attracted pilgrims to behold it. Apart from its antiquity, it
had even a greater charm in my eyes, as it was from the top of
this identical structure that Galileo, a native of this town, made
his youthful experiments, in the sixteenth century, to ascertain
the laws which governed falling bodies. It was in a church too,
near by, that did not escape my homage, that this wonderful man
observed the regular oscillations of a suspended lamp, and which
led to his invaluable invention of the clock with pendulum and
weights. This, with his other marvellous conceptions, including
the thermometer and the telescope, entitled him more justly to
his crown of immortality than his mere confirmation of the dis
covery of Copernicus, that the earth moved round the sun. It is
singular, the undying halo thrown by genius of the highest type
over all connected with it. Genoa and Pisa, the homes of Co
lumbus and Galileo, left impressions on my mind more indelible
than all 'the cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, the
solemn temples' that I encountered.

After brief stoppages at the notable places en route, we drove
one pleasant evening in early March into Rome, the whilom
mistress of the then known world. My sensations on driving

160 Italy.
through the streets of this ancient city were something indescrib
able. I may say I lived near three thousand years in as many
seconds, for the whole history of this renowned capital, its gran
deur and its vicissitudes, flashed rapidly across my mind. Its
long array of great men — its kings, consuls, and emperors ; its
generals, senators, and demagogues — all seemed to stalk before
the eye of memory, to ' come like shadows, so depart.' No one
could have spent eight consecutive years poring over Latin books,
as I had been obliged to do — the works of Roman historians,
orators, and poets — without becoming very familiar with the men
and events associated with the career of this immortal metropolis.
Yet when I thought of the Rome whose banner had once waved
from the Atlantic to the Euphrates, whose legions had marched
forth from her thirty-seven gates, and contrasted it with the exist
ing city and its 200,000 inhabitants, I was tempted to exclaim,
' Shrine of the mighty ! can it be
That this is all remains of thee !'
Rome, after all, is but a mausoleum, and her Coliseum, arches,
columns, aqueducts, even her Cloaca Maxima, 2300 years old, are
but so many monuments of her great dead, who lie buried beneath
the weight of so many ages. A confused mass of recollections and
reveries like these quite absorbed me whilst twisting and turning
through endless narrow lanes and alleys, till at last we emerged
on the open square where our hotel was situated.
I devoted several weeks to Rome and its wonders, ancient
and modern, but I will not attempt to catalogue the marvellous
contents of this treasure-house of the world. Without stopping
to comment, therefore, on the masses of imposing ruin that rise
on every side, I will single out, as perhaps the most striking of all,
that stupendous monument of imperial splendour the Coliseum.
This immense edifice is still in remarkable preservation, dating
as it does from 80 A.D. Gibbon describes it as ' a building of an
elliptic figure, 564 feet in length, 467 in breadth, and 140 in
height' Its exterior was faced with marble and adorned with
statues. The interior was occupied with eighty rows of seats,
and accommodated over eighty thousand spectators. It was in
this vast amphitheatre that the combats of the gladiators took
place, ' Butchered to make a Roman holiday.'
But, more revolting still, it was in this bloody arena that the early

Italy. 1 6 r
Christian martyrs were torn in pieces by wild beasts, to the in
finite delight of applauding multitudes. As I stood in this vast
solitude, now only disturbed by the hum of insects, and thought
of the terrible scenes of slaughter that the Roman crowd once
hurried with alacrity to witness, my mind sickened, and I
thanked Heaven that such barbaric ferocity had disappeared
from the world.
Of the more modern structures, nothing in Rome compares
with the church of St. Peter's. No religion that ever existed
raised such a temple to the Deity worshipped. This magnificent
fabric owes everything to the genius of Michael Angelo, equally
renowned as painter, sculptor, and architect. It was forty years
after the foundation had been laid, in 1506, and when Angelo was
already seventy-two, that he was invested by Pope Paul III. with
plenary powers over the construction of St. Peter's. He at once
reformed all the plans of his predecessors, and drew up the incom
parable designs that were afterwards carried out. He never
abandoned his task till he died, eighteen years later, and did not
witness, therefore, the completion of that wonder of modern ar
chitecture, the dome, undoubtedly the most majestic in the world.
Byron's lines to a beautiful woman describe it well. It is indeed
' A form of life and light,
¦That, seen, becomes a part of sight,
And rose where'er I turned mine eye.'
The first time I entered this church I was really overwhelmed
by its vastness and magnificence. I visited it again and again, but
never recovered from its overpowering grandeur. There are two
things in the world that defy description — St. Peter's and Niagara
Falls. In these two marvels man and Nature seem to contend
for the supremacy. The churches in Rome, estimated at three
hundred, eclipsed all rivalry, and yet, after St. Peter's, they seemed
comparatively insignificant. It would be a bewildering task to
indicate even the most memorable paintings that filled the gal
leries, palaces, and studios of Rome.
The statuary of the Vatican contains gems nowhere else to
be seen, and of these the Laocoon and the Apollo Belvidere are
unquestionably the most imposing. Both these exquisite pieces
of sculpture are the work of Greek hands, who were never equalled
by the Romans in expression, beauty, or power. The Laocoon
was executed by three artists of Rhodes, in the reign of Titus,
79 AD., and disappeared from view for centuries. It was not dis-
M

1 6 2 Italy.
covered till 1506, when it was dug up from the ruins of the baths
of Titus at Rome. The Apollo, universally regarded as the type
of manly beauty, was found in 1503 among the ruins of Antium,
an ancient city to the south-west of Rome. Milman thus apostro
phises it : ' And the cold marble leapt to life a god,
Too fair to worship, too divine to love. '
Busy as I was in meditating over the antiquities of ancient
Rome, my attention was none the less attracted to the actual
condition of things by the swarming droves of priests, monks,
and friars that thronged its modern streets. I was constantly
reminded that this was the head-quarters of Catholic Christen
dom, and the soldiers of the Cross, in every imaginable uniform,
were on the go, not singly merely, but in battalions, the live
long day, and no small portion of the night. The roadways were
constantly filled with religious processions, whilst frequently one
of a more sacred character obliged all passers-by, whether on foot
or in carriages, to stop and uncover whilst it ' dragged its slow
length along.' With no prejudice against the Catholic religion
and its imposing ceremonial, I could not help feeling shocked
at the divers forms of superstition that abounded on every side,
and which would have been pitiable if sincere ; but it partook of
the ridiculous from the abundant proofs that it was a mere mat
ter of form and usage,
I observed one day a wooden staircase leading into a church
that was covered with people, generally of the lower class, all
hard at work ascending it on their knees. The tradition ran that
somewhere in Asia Minor Christ had ascended these stairs, which
were afterwards brought to Rome, and deposited in their present
position. Few believed this apocryphal story ; but every day
crowds were slowly crawling up the sacred steps, and thinking
themselves all the holier for the feat. Images of the Virgin, or
of the crucifixion, stared you in the face at every turn ; and to
pass one without salutation was an offence, and compelled you
almost to carry your hat in your hand. I soon came to the
conclusion that if there was a priest-ridden community in the
world, it was Rome in the year 1835.
Nor could it be wondered at ; for it was the capital of the
States of the Church, which consisted of a narrow strip of terri
tory hemmed in on the north by Tuscany, on the south by ,the
kingdom of Naples, and on the east and west by the Adriatic

Italy. 1 63
and the Mediterranean, comprising some three millions of inha
bitants. Over these happy mortals his Holiness Gregory XVI.
exercised not only spiritual sway as the successor of St. Peter,
but despotic rule as a temporal prince. From the year 34
A.D., the Bishops of Rome were invested simply with spiritual
authority over the Christian Church down to the eighth century,
when Pepin, King of the Franks, made a present to the Pontiff
of that day of a patch of territory, which was enlarged by Charle
magne, son of Pepin. Further additions were made by Matilda,
Countess of Tuscany, in 1077.
Over this small domain the Papal Government was absolute.
What the Pope willed was law. There was no domination on
earth parallel to his ; for he domineered not merely over the
bodies of his subjects, but carried their souls in the palm of his
hand. As spiritual sovereign he wielded uncontested authority over
the Roman Catholic Church ; saw that its canons or rules were
observed, assembled councils, named the Cardinals, instituted
Bishops, established or suppressed all religious orders, watched
over the maintenance of dogmas and discipline, approved or
condemned doctrines, published bulls and encyclicals, pronounced
canonisations, proclaimed or removed excommunications, ac
corded indulgences, signed concordats.
Whilst, as temporal sovereign, he governed absolutely the
city of Rome and the States of the Church, appointed to all
foreign Governments Legates or Nuncios, who represented him
in his double capacity. As emblematic of his triple character as
head of the Church, Bishop of Rome, and a temporal prince,
the Pope wore a triple tiara. He carried in his hands a key of
gold and a key of silver, called ' the keys of St. Peter,' as a
symbol of his power to lock or unlock, to do or undo, what may
seem fit for the good of the Church. The Papacy is elective, and
has long been so. Originally the Popes were elected by the
clergy and people of Rome ; but in 1274 Gregory X. ordered
the elections thereafter to be made by the College of Cardinals
assembled in conclave, a vote of two-thirds to decide. Nearly
all the functionaries of the Government, political and adminis
trative, were ecclesiastics.
At the time of my visit Gregory XVI. was in the chair of
St. Peter. He was a priest of great learning, but a stanch
defender of his authority. He would listen to no innovations

164 Italy.
in the way of reform, and no Pope of the Middle Ages was
more absolute. Gregory was partial to the order of the Jesuits,
and stimulated their zeal in all the countries where he employed
them. In spite of Papal despotism, the Romans were allowed freely
to indulge in amusement after their fancy. Theatres and operas
flourished ; balls public and private, both fancy and masked, were
popular ; and in the way of vice there was a fair average to be
found in this most saintly of cities. Beggary and brigandage
were allowed free scope, and there were few of the evils that
spring from human passions of which Rome could boast herself
exempt. I was fortunate in finding myself there during the last
days of the Carnival, and the sport that prevailed was novel as
amusing. In the afternoon of each day the fashionable street of
Rome, the Corso, was lined on both sides with carriages occupied
by persons in masks and arrayed in dominoes of all colours.
The balconies of the houses were filled by people similarly cos
tumed, and the fun consisted in throwing down upon the carriage-
folk handfuls of small plaster pellets, which were responded to
in kind from them. Now and then a bushel-basket of these
missiles would be emptied on the devoted heads of those below,
almost suffocating and blinding them, to the great delight of the
spectators, who applauded uproariously. Childish as was this
diversion, our party engaged in it with great zest ; and it amused
me not a little to see Forrest, who was associated in my mind
with all sorts of heroic characters on the stage, utterly absorbed
in this rather undignified pastime. His theory was evidently,
, in Rome to do as the Romans did.'
More than once during my stay I observed processions of
boys moving about the streets attired in a peculiar garb, and,
on asking my guide who they were, was told they were the
natural sons of the priests, and were being educated for the
Church. I had no authority for the story but my valet de place;
but if true, it was conclusive proof that celibacy is no check on
human frailty, even when disguised in a black soutane, and sur
mounted by a broad shovel-hat

CHAPTER XVII.
ITALY {continued).
NAPLES — POMPEII  VESUVIUS  FLORENCE — VENICE — MILAN.
AFTER four weeks in Rome, which required as many months to
investigate thoroughly, we set off for Naples, and started well
armed, as reports were daily circulating of robberies on the road,
always infested by swarms of brigands, who preyed especially on
English travellers. Just the day before we left, an English
family had been stopped on the Pontine Marshes, and despoiled
of baggage and jewelry, but not otherwise harmed. We crossed
this desolate region by daylight, which, owing to the malaria that
rises from its stagnant pools, is wholly uninhabited, and, there
fore, a favourite resort for highwaymen. Though on the qui vive
for an encounter, we reached Terracina in safety, and stopped for
dinner. Our courier and postillions were dismayed at our intention
to continue our journey during the night, and represented the
route as far more dangerous. We suspected it was rather the
loss of their beds than fear of a fight with the brigands that
induced them to protest so loudly, and, as the moon was shining
brightly, we defied the risk and went on. Portions of the road
wound through narrow gorges, between hills well wooded or
covered with shrubbery, very favourable for a nocturnal attack ;
but it was evident that we were not the sort of prize the brigands
fancied, and we reached Naples next morning unmolested,
though perhaps a little disappointed we had met no adventure
worth recording.
I was charmed with the aspect of Naples, that looked so
bright and cheerful after Rome. Its well-paved cleanly streets,
its lofty houses, stuccoed in white plaster, the numberless balco
nies, and many striking edifices, all had a gay appearance, and
impressed me favourably. But when, after dinner, I strolled
down to the public gardens, adorned with fountains and statuary,
running for half a mile on the margin of its celebrated Bay, one

1 66 Italy.
of the great sights of Europe, I was filled with delight, and ad
mitted I had seen nothing as yet half so beautiful. More frequent
inspections of this renowned feature, however, brought me to the
conclusion that, for natural advantages, it was less striking than
its rival of New York, which can boast of two magnificent rivers-
to enhance its charms. Those who have never seen the latter
are sure to lose their hearts with the Bay of Naples, which, be
sides its natural attractions, is invested with the prestige of ages
of history. For several days I devoted myself to the treasures of the
Museo Borbonico, which is regarded as the most wonderful repo
sitory of art and curiosities in the world. The marvellous collec
tion of interesting objects from Pompeii affected me more pro
foundly than anything I had ever witnessed. Here were relics, in
the greatest profusion, of a civilisation that had existed near
eighteen hundred years ago, and many of them as fresh as though
of yesterday. But what astonished me most was the similarity
between many of these articles and those now in common use.
This was especially the case with kitchen utensils, which, for con
venience and skilful construction, might vie with anything now
known. Amongst them were cooking-stoves that a French chef
would eagerly covet. Besides a splendid assortment of jewelry,
such as bracelets, earrings, clasps, and finger-rings, there were a
multitude of articles perfectly familiar, as weights and measures,
steelyards, a simple apparatus for striking time, circular tables of
marble, even needles and thread. I remarked an instrument of
punishment resembling the stocks once used in England, and
two skeletons fastened by the feet were found with it. Busts in
bronze and statues in marble, with cinerary urns of all sizes, filled
several rooms.
In an apartment where special permission was required was
an exhibition of statuary and painting of a very licentious descrip
tion, proving that the morals of Pompeii were none of the best.
I know not how others may have been affected, but nothing
ever moved me to such a degree as the contemplation of these
thrilling vestiges of antiquity, that had lain unknown and unsus
pected in the earth for seventeen centuries, — lost absolute
ly. It was only in 1689 that some accidental discoveries led to the
supposition that the site of ancient Pompeii might possibly be
found ; but it was not till 1765 that any active investigations were
undertaken. Since then they have been followed up with more

Italy. 1 67
or less zeal, and the results have been rich beyond hope or ex
pectation. Nearly half of the buried city is supposed to have been
disinterred ; and the revelations thus afforded of the usages, the
public and private life, of the ancients, their architecture, furni
ture, adornments, and arts, are invaluable beyond precedent.

The engrossing survey of these marvels for several days only
whetted my appetite to see the disentombed city ; and I drove
there one morning, some fifteen miles from Naples, with my
heart palpitating at the sight that awaited me. It would be idle
to describe my sensations as I wandered spellbound through the
silent streets of unfortunate Pompeii. It was no less strange
than impressive to find a town with its thoroughfares, shops,,
houses, and public edifices wholly unoccupied, as though sud
denly abandoned at the approach of an enemy or from fear of
a pestilence. The roadways gave indication of heavy traffic
from the deep ruts cut in the stone. It was easy to recognise
some of the shops, as the jars were still standing where oil was
sold, and the ovens of the bakers were in perfect condition.
Some of the houses of the rich were commodious and beautiful,
with an open court in the centre, adorned with fountains similar
to those existing in Seville. Many of the apartments were richly
ornamented with fresco-paintings admirably executed, and in
wonderful preservation. Large pieces of ground surrounded
several of the dwellings, used doubtless for gardens.
Among the public buildings, the most striking and the most
perfect was the amphitheatre — not a stone inj ured, not an entrance
impaired. There it stood, as though ready for the audience to
assemble and the games to commence ; but the dens of the lions.
were empty, and the rooms of the gladiators deserted. The
brothels were made conspicuous by the indecent emblems carved
over the doorways, demonstrating that the manners of that day
were much coarser than now. It was not difficult, as I gazed
upon the remains of this once gay and populous city, to recall in
imagination the day of the catastrophe, and to conjure up the
scenes of terror that must have ensued. These streets and tene
ments, now so forsaken, were crowded in that dreadful hour with
panic-stricken thousands, all struggling to flee from the terrible
fate that menaced them. Who escaped is not recorded, but those
who perished were all, after long centuries of immurement, found

168 Italy.
in the places and in the attitudes where death overtook them.
At a garden-gate was disinterred a man with a bag of gold in his
hand, whose cupidity possibly cost him his life. Not more than
some three hundred skeletons had been discovered up to this
time, which would lead to the supposition that most of the in
habitants escaped.
In the year 63 A.D., Pompeii was much damaged by an earth
quake, the forerunner of the greater disaster that occurred only six
teen years later ; for in 79 A.D. it was completely swallowed up
by a seething mass of volcanic matter that suddenly rushed down
the sides of Mount Vesuvius, six miles distant. It seems to be a
settled point that Pompeii was not buried in lava. The excava
tions show that the stratum of earth covering the town is of a fine
friable quality, bearing no resemblance to lava. It is supposed
that it was overwhelmed in a boiling sea of mud — a mixture of
hot water and ashes — similar to that thrown up by a volcano in
Java in 1822. On the other hand, it is evident that Hercu-
laneum was destroyed by lava, which to this day continues so
hard as to require great efforts to break it. As Pompeii and
Herculaneum are both stated to have been demolished on the
same day, it must be concluded that one crater of Mount Vesu
vius emitted the compound of water and ashes just mentioned,
whilst another ejected lava — phenomena by no means incom
patible. Whilst my mind was still full of Pompeii and its fearful
doom, I determined to ascend Mount Vesuvius, and set off the
following day to achieve it. Leaving our carriage at Portici, five
miles distant, we mounted donkeys, gathered there in droves,
and began our journey upwards. After an hour's exertions we
reached the ' Hermitage,' as it is named — a small stone house
occupied by a solitary tenant, whose chief business seems to be
to keep a record of travellers' names, and to supply them with
lachrymce Christi, a renowned wine made of the grapes of this
district. I quaffed the beverage, but found the sample far inferior
to other wines of the country that I had tasted. Returning to our
donkeys, we began to climb anew, but the way grew more difficult
as we advanced. We were now surrounded by vast fields of
black lava, the product of an eruption six months previous. In
one place it was spread out in small mounds, and in others it
was piled up in fantastically shaped masses. Nothing could be

Italy. 169
more desolate and weird than the region around. At length
our jaded beasts refused to go further, and we dismounted, to
finish the ascension on foot.
The mountain now became almost vertical, and was covered
with a thick coating of dark ashes that gave way at every step,
making our task toilsome in the extreme. After struggling on
for another hour we arrived panting at the summit, and before
us arose dense columns of sulphurous smoke emerging from the
mouth of the volcano, whose sullen unbroken roar inspired more
dread than admiration. After a short pause for rest and wonder,
our guide proposed to make a circuit of the crater ; but to effect
this it was necessary to confront an opaque cloud of stifling
vapour blowing right across the path. He warned us that it
was a trying ordeal, but, nothing daunted, we agreed to under
take it. Covering our mouths with handkerchiefs, we grasped
each other's hands, the guide leading, and dashed bravely into
the lurid suffocating mist.
I soon repented of my folly, for I had the greatest difficulty
to respire, and, enveloped in darkness, was wholly unconscious
of my direction. At this critical moment my hand was dropped,
and I stood helpless. I was afraid to move lest I should walk
into the crater ; and to get my breath I laid down on the hot
cinders, and wondered in no small trepidation what was to become
of me. In a few minutes, which seemed ages, the guide came
back, found and rescued me. It was useless to assail my com
panion for dropping my grip, as he had well-nigh lost conscious
ness. This adventure taught me how dangerous it was to take
liberties with volcanoes.
Our guide remarked that Vesuvius was in an unusual state
of agitation, and that an eruption was not far distant, which was
anything but an inducement to prolong our stay in its perilous
neighbourhood ; and, bidding the treacherous prodigy farewell,
we turned our backs on it for ever. There are two things I
could never be tempted to repeat — ascending Mount Vesuvius,
or going under the Falls of Niagara. The night after this we
were called out of our hotel to witness lofty jets of flame that
were momentarily shooting up from the raging caverns of the
mountain, which I contemplated with all the more satisfaction
that my distance was a safe one.
How long Vesuvius has been at work no one can say, but
the first eruption recorded is that of 79 AD., which lasted three

170 Italy.
weeks, and was described by Pliny the Younger. Since then
some fifty eruptions have ensued, differing of course in violence
and duration. It will be interesting to cite a few. In September
1538 one occurred which led to the formation of Monte Nuevo—
a new mountain. It was forced up by subterranean convulsions
to the height of 413 feet in two days. Another took place in
December 163 1, and overwhelmed Torre del Greco and other
villages at the foot of Vesuvius, causing the death of 1 8,000
persons. A series of violent eruptions commenced in May and
continued till August 1707, and the ashes were thrown on Naples
to such an extent as to cause great consternation. Another
series began in February 1793, and raged till midsummer 1794,
which poured torrents of lava on Torre del Greco, destroying
the cathedral, several churches, and most of the houses: Furious
disturbances happened in October 1822, during which the great
.cone fell in, and vast quantities of lava covered the adjacent
country. The village of Caposecco was ingulfed in August
1834, little more than six months before my visit.
I have given but a limited list of the ruthless pranks of
Vesuvius, that have occurred more frequently than the dates
given, and during which various phenomena were manifested,
such as the closing of old craters and the opening of new ones,
to the number of seven on one occasion. It is incredible that
people venture to live within miles of it, but from the earliest
times villages and towns are constantly found in its neighbour
hood. Take the case of Torre del Greco, which has been ravaged
over and over again by inundations of lava and storms of ashes.
It is like sitting on the safety-valve of a boiler to dwell in this
volcanic region. Vesuvius is about nine miles from Naples, and
six miles from Pompeii. Its height is 4400 feet.
During my stay I made many delightful excursions to places
that history or poetry had consecrated. Not the least interest
ing was a visit to the subterranean regions immortalised by the
genius of Virgil, and which he described as the realms of Pluto.
I found from the easy manner that we made our way thither
that there was no exaggeration in his familiar lines,
'Facilis descensus Averni :
Sed revocare gradum, superasque evadere ad auras,
Hoc opus, hie labor est.'
I am bound, however, to declare, in the face of Virgil's
strophes, that we got back as comfortably as we descended to

Italy. 1 7 1
the Stygian lake. In the figurative sense, beyond doubt the
great poet is fully borne out by all experience that it is easier to
descend into folly than to retrace our steps.
It was a matter of debate whether we should extend our
journey to Psestum, some miles distant, founded by a Grecian
colony eight centuries B.C. The remains of temples whose
origin was lost in the haze of ages still existed, whose archi
tecture filled the spectator with wonder. Very few travellers
visited these magnificent ruins, which lay in a desolate tract of
country much infested by brigands. We decided on the excur
sion, that was accomplished in three days without adventure,
but vastly to our delight. The temple of Neptune, of whose
date no record survives, is alone worth a trip to Italy, not more
for its remote antiquity than for its marvellous symmetry.
I was anxious to visit Sicily, the largest island in the Me
diterranean, and its capital, Palermo, was said to be full of
enchantment. I should have liked also to gaze on Mount Etna,
the great volcanic rival of Vesuvius, whose history seems so
much better known, for Thucydides records an eruption in
475 B.C. It has never, permanently given over its terrifying
gambols ; for after long intervals of rest it breaks out anew, and
its latest performance was in 1832, when it destroyed the town
of Bronte. My companions, however, opposed the excursion, as
they thought there was work enough left without going farther
to seek more.
Everything seemed well enough managed in Naples, where
Ferdinand II. lived in great state. His chief amusement was to
review his troops, upon whom he relied for the maintenance of
his throne. He was detested by the people for his tyrannical
ways, and there was no want of Masaniellos to make short work
of him and his army if Austria would not interfere. Italy struck
me as in quite as volcanic a condition as either Vesuvius or
Etna ; but whilst the mountains aforesaid are allowed free play,
unfortunate Italy was prevented from exploding by the iron
hand of Austria, which for so many centuries had controlled its
destinies. That mighty man, Napoleon, once drove Austria
out of Italy, carried off the Pope, put his brother Joseph in
Naples, and Ins stepson in Milan. The relief was no doubt
a pleasant one, but Austria resumed her ancient sway. His
Holiness was again master at Rome, and the Bourbons once
more in Naples.

172 Italy.
Near the end of March we turned our faces northwards, and,
after lingering another week in the Eternal City to take a part
ing look at its endless wonders, we moved on to Florence, the
capital of the Grand Duchy of Tuscany, designated as the gar
den of Italy. I was thoroughly enchanted with Florence. It
had not the historical interest of Rome or the bewildering
sights of Naples ; but it seemed less of a show place, and
better adapted for a quiet and luxurious residence. You did
not meet at every turn a squad of eager travellers, under the
convoy of a local guide, hurrying to and from one curiosity to
another. Yet Florence revelled in attractions hardly to be
excelled by any other city. Its palaces, churches, gardens,
galleries, squares, and fountains ; its beautiful river, admirable
thoroughfares, superb villas, and magnificent scenery surround
ing ; to say nothing of its low prices, delicious climate, beautiful
women, and good government, — all these made an ensemble that
constituted Florence an earthly paradise.
I will not dwell on its charms in detail, but simply refer to
the precious works of art displayed in its public gallery and in
the Pitti Palace. These two collections contained gems known to
all the world. In the first was a small room named the ' Tribune,'
where grouped together were the Venus de' Medicis, the Fornarina
of Raphael, and the Venus of Titian. It would be idle to com
ment on the faultless symmetry of the Venus de' Medicis, the
most perfect imitation in marble of female beauty said to exist
Its author is unknown, but it is supposed to be a copy of a statue
by Praxiteles, the rival in fame of Phidias. In proof of the
absolute perfection of this statue, a distinguished artist remarked
to me that ' he had made fifty copies of it, and each time it
seemed to him more divine.' The picture of Venus by Titian is
a masterpiece of colour, in which this great painter excelled ;
but connoisseurs pronounce his drawing often defective.
The paragon of the ' Tribune' was unquestionably the Forna
rina of Raphael. It is a portrait of his mistress, who was a
baker's daughter, as the name of the picture implies. Of course
tastes differ, but this painting struck me as the most beautiful I
hadLever witnessed. The expression thrown into the eyes alone
raise it above all rivalry.
' Mon Dieul exclaimed an enthusiastic Frenchman, who stood
gazing at it one day, ' ces yeux, ces yeux, its parlent /' (My God,
those eyes, those eyes, they speak !)

Italy. x y^
There were few living eyes I had ever met so full of elo
quence, passion, and power. If Raphael had painted nothing else,
this single work would have immortalised him. Sad that such a
genius should have perished at thirty-seven, the victim of exces
sive labour and, perhaps, too much indulgence. He was a con-
tempcrary of Michael Angelo, and a burning rivalry existed
between them. Raphael was considered his equal in architec
ture, and superior in painting. A French critic remarks that
' Raphael, whilst not inferior to Angelo in grandeur of concep
tion and in composition, excelled him in nature and in grace.
Raphael united all kinds of perfection — composition, drawing,
colour, grace, vigour, nature, ideality. He is justly named the
Homer of painting.'
His last picture, shortly before his death, was the 'Trans
figuration,' now in the gallery of the Vatican. It is called the
greatest work that painting has produced.
The Pitti Palace was the residence of the Grand Duke, and
one of the most sumptuous in Italy. According to the fashion of
this land of art, the rare gallery of the ducal palace was thrown
open to the public, and daily visited by strangers and residents.
One of my greatest favourites, Carlo Dolci, was represented here
by some of his loveliest creations. This master, who lived in the
seventeenth century, is seldom approached for the truthful tender
expression depicted in all his female faces. His St. Cecilia is a
striking proof. He was also conspicuous for the softness and
harmony of his colour, and by sweetness of touch, that procured
him his appellation of Dolci.
In this gallery, too, was found another chef-d'oeuvre of Raphael
— the Madonna della Seigiola. There were always crowds before
this exquisite painting, gazing with intense admiration at its
varied beauties. The expression of maternal love portrayed in
the Madonna's countenance, and the consciousness of protection
and watchful care exhibited in the face of the Divine Infant
nestling in His mother's bosom, appealed to every heart.
I shall say no more of pictures, of which Italy is still the
granary of the world. Whilst enriching the galleries of Europe,
she may yet boast of the possession of the rarest models of her
great artists.
Among the churches, none impressed me more than that of
Santa Croce, which contains the monuments of Michael Angelo,
Machiavelli, Galileo, Dante, and Alfieri. Apart from their merit

1 74 Italy.
as works of art, every spectator is impressed by the great names
they commemorate. What country would not be proud of such
a galaxy ?
I met no person in Florence who interested me more than a
gentleman I had known the previous year, when travelling in the
United States — the Marquis Torrigiani. He was a man of rare
attainments, and of quiet pleasing manners. He drove me one
day to visit some beautiful gardens in the possession of his family
that were adorned with statuary, fountains, and conservatories
filled with choice exotics. No city in Europe surpasses this in the
number and splendour of its pleasure-grounds and promenades.
Florence was the first place in Italy where all classes seemed
contented with the Government. The Grand Duke, though nearly
related to the detested dynasty of Austria, was universally popular.
He was a man of excellent sense and strong liberal tendencies ;
and Tuscany, without either Constitution or Parliament, boasted
of being well governed and entirely content.

In bidding adieu to Florence we passed through Bologna and
Padua, arriving on the third day at Fusina, where we left our
carriage for a gondola, which may be regarded as the omnibus of
Venice. As we advanced towards the ' Queen of the Adriatic' I
was delighted by the picturesque appearance of this ancient city,
which dates from 420 A.D. Seen from a distance, it seemed to
have grown out of the sea ; which is hardly a delusion, since it
was built on a number of small islands — some seventy in all —
connected by short bridges, computed at 329. These islands
were divided by narrow streams called canals, which in fact con
stituted the streets of Venice ; and they were traversed day and
night by some 9000 gondolas, which were cheap and comfortable
conveyances enough, of pretty construction, though sombre of
aspect, as they were all painted black. In the way of a view,
nothing could be more striking and original than Venice, contem
plated at some remote point, with her domes, towers, and palaces,
-that seemed to repose swan-like on the bosom of the waters.
After threading our way through several smaller passages we
emerged on to the Grand Canal, the main artery of Venice, lined
with noble edifices, rising from the water's edge to a stately
height. We landed on the stone steps of the Leone Bianco, the
leading hotel, and occupied apartments vacated that morning by

 Italy-  175
the siren Malibran, who had just thrown the Venetians into
ecstasies by her marvellous voice.
Venice could not fail to move every stranger by its sad aspect
of decay. Everything had a mournful dilapidated look. The very
silence that reigned, from the absence of the noisy traffic heard in
other cities, conveyed a sensation that you were inhabiting a city
of the dead. Indeed, it had long since ceased to be the first com
mercial Power in the world. The time was when she did the
carrying trade of Europe with the East, when her quays were
covered with merchandise and her ships filled the Archipelago,
most of whose islands acknowledged the supremacy of the 'winged
lion.' At this period — the close of the fifteenth century — her
coffers overflowed with wealth, and her political influence in
Italy and Europe was undisputed. The discovery of the route
to the Indies by the Cape of Good Hope, in 1497, was a death
blow to the monopoly she had hitherto enjoyed. The League of
Cambrai, in 1508, stripped her of nearly all her Italian posses
sions ; and, in 1571, Selim II. robbed her of Cyprus and most of
her splendid domains in the Archipelago. Blow followed blow,
till, in 1797, came the fell Bonaparte, who extinguished the last
of the Doges, and handed over the once mistress of the seas to
the tender mercies of Austria.
From 697 to 1797, a period of 11 OO years, no less than 122
Doges held sway oyer the fortunes, good and bad, of Venice.
From the beginning to the end the Government was an oli
garchy — the longest that ever existed, ancient or modern. None
but nobles inscribed in the ' Golden Book' could exercise poli
tical functions. All these were now things of the past, but the
memorials of their grandeur still survived. The Palace of the
Doges, with its vast apartments, its pictures and statuary — the
Bridge of Sighs, uniting it with the prison where so many vic
tims mysteriously perished — were still intact, and riveted the
interest of the traveller. Other relics were not less interesting —
the Church of St. Marc, with its 500 columns of marble, dating
from 976 A. D., with its campanile towering to the skies ; the
Bridge of the Rialto, where the business of Europe was once
transacted ; the Library of St. Marc, rich in very precious manu
scripts. Albeit that industry and commerce were gone, yet might
Venice boast that she was the inventor of the great financial lever
of modern days, since the Bank of Venice was founded in n 56

176 Italy.
— the parent of a countless progeny. Nay, prouder still, she might
vaunt of the invention of paper, and that from her presses
appeared the first printed book that Italy ever saw. In arts
she was the equal, and in arms far surpassed, her sister cities of
the Italian main. But all these were gone, as well as the period
1 When Venice sat in state, throned on her hundred isles.'
The day before I left we sculled across the great lagoon
on a visit to the Armenian establishment, whose superintendent
was noted for his learning, and spoke twenty-four languages.
He was known, besides, as an intimate friend of Byron. He
received us with great cordiality, and we found him to be as
genial as he was intelligent. On leaving, he warned us to lose
no time, as the lowering clouds gave indications of an approach
ing storm. It overtook us before we had half crossed the lagoon.
The wind blew fiercely, and the sea rose rapidly. Our gondola
danced wildly about, and every instant we expected to be im
mersed. At last we were dashed against a small island, where
we managed to land, and stood exposed to a drenching rain.
Whilst in this situation we beheld a gondola, struggling in the
waves, upset, and six unfortunates drowned within fifty yards
of us. Taking advantage of a lull, we pushed off again for
Venice, and rejoiced to find ourselves once more skimming
securely over her placid canals.

The first halt we made, after leaving the City of the Doges,
was in the beautiful town of Milan. Its foundation is very
remote, dating from near seven hundred years before the Chris
tian era. The Romans seized it 195 B.C. ; but during the wars
of the Middle Ages it was more than once rased to the ground.
It was justly regarded as one of the finest cities in Europe. The
streets were wide and well paved, and the houses superb. Squares
and gardens were numberless. Of all the churches the cathe
dral was the paragon, and doubtless the most magnificent Gothic
edifice in the world. It looked like a huge mountain of marble,
carved into the most perfect proportions, and ornamented even
to excess. Its vast roof is covered with pinnacles, peaks, and
spires, each of which is surmounted with a statue of a saint, a
warrior, or a king illustrious in the history of Milan, to the
incredible number of 4500. This celebrated cathedral was begun

Italy. 177
in 1385, and required fifty-five years to complete. Even after
St. Peter's it was an object of wonder.
Our Italian tour here came to an end, and our faces were
now turned towards Paris. We crossed the Alps by the famous
Simplon road — a splendid specimen of skilful engineering. This
was one of the great works of Napoleon, and required five years
to construct. It contained six tunnels cut through solid rock —
then a great achievement — and more than fifty bridges across
yawning precipices.
We passed a couple of pleasant days in the little town of
Geneva, renowned for its watches, and as the birthplace of Jean
Jacques Rousseau, who was the son of a watchmaker. Of its
30,000 inhabitants, 20,000 were Calvinists, which attested the
popularity of the grim rival * of Luther. From our windows I
contemplated Mont Blanc, the highest peak of Europe, and so
prettily described by Byron :
' Mont Blanc is the Monarch of Mountains ;
They crowned him long ago,
On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds,
With a diadem of snow.'
Wherever mygaze wandered I counted mountains bythe score.
Switzerland can boast of being in one sense the most elevated
country on the Continent. It is, so to speak, built on the Alps,
and all their loftiest summits are enclosed within its borders.
One would suppose it was above the reach of invading armies ;
but from the time of Julius Caesar it has fared no better than
the various nations at its feet. It was assaulted constantly dur
ing centuries, but more than once its hardy mountaineers beat
the assailants back, and all the efforts of Charles the Bold
failed signally. The various states, or cantons, were united for
the first time under a Federal system in 1798 by Bonaparte, in
compliance with their wishes, and in 1803 he further improved
their organisation. After the fall of Napoleon, the monarchies
of Europe, in 181 5, consented that their territory should hence
forth be 'neutral and inviolable.' They have nothing now to
fear, and may sing the ranz des vaches ana manufacture watches
till time shall be no more.
The Swiss mountains have liberally supplied Germany,
France, and Italy with great rivers like the Rhine, the Rhone,
the Adige, and the Po, but have retained in a patriotic spirit
some of the finest lakes in Europe ; and none I admired more
than sweet Lake Leman, which kisses the feet of Geneva N

CHAPTER XVIII.
PARIS REVISITED.
THE BOULEVARDS IN MAY  VERSAILLES AND ITS HISTORY.
ENTERING our carriage for the last time, we galloped off to Paris,
where we arrived in a joyous mood the middle of May. After
all the wonders and splendours I had witnessed, Paris looked
none the less enticing in her fresh and verdant spring attire. All
the world was now out of doors. No one thought more of balls
and theatres. The gardens were filled with pleasure-seekers ; and
in front of the cafes on the Boulevards were arranged rows 01
small marble tables, where day and night the gay chatty Pari
sians of both sexes were sipping their coffee and eating ices.
This was just the time of year for excursions to the environs,
and my first trip was to Versailles. Its magnificent palace and
gardens were one of the marvels of Europe. They were the
work of Louis XIV., who consumed nineteen years in their con
struction, and two hundred million dollars. The waterworks
were the most extensive and beautiful in the world.
From 1680 to 1789 this palace was the favourite residence 01
the royal family. After Louis XIV. it was occupied by Louis
XV. during his long reign of fifty-one years. Who shall describe
the festivities, the intrigues, and the debaucheries of which it was
the scene during the ill-spent life of this weak and dissipated
monarch ? It was here that the famous Marquise de Pompadour
wielded absolute sway for twenty years over the destinies of the
nation, making wars, changing ministers, naming ambassadors,
and creating generals. She was a very beautiful woman, of good
birth, and of an ambitious temper. She married when young,
and not long after managed to attract the attention of the
King one day at a hunting-party. A little later she left her hus
band, and was duly installed as the royal mistress. She main
tained her ascendency at Court to the time of her death, and
when her charms had faded she retained her influence by pan
dering to the gallantries of the royal rake. She was highly

Fans Revisited. 179

accomplished, and noted for her skill in music and drawing.
She amassed a large property, but spent it lavishly. Her furni
ture, dress, coiffures were so tastefully designed as to become
the fashion of the day, and everything was a la Pompadour. All
the leading men of the time paid her homage,- and even the
cynical Voltaire yielded to her spells, and extolled her grace and
beauty in some of his finest verses. The celebrated porcelain
manufactory at Sevres was established under her patronage, as
well as the Ecole Militaire. She contributed greatly to the em
bellishment of Paris.
This palace was also the scene where a more vulgar heroine
played a prominent role. The long list of Louis XV.'s excesses
wound up with his mad passion for Madame du Barry. She was
a woman of low origin, and began life as a milliner. She then
entered a brothel, and left it to become the mistress of the Count
du Barry. When tired of her, it occurred to this spendthrift that
he might turn the striking beauty of his paramour to a profitable
account, and he presented her to the King, who became violently
enamoured. From this period, 1769, to the death of the King,,
five years later, she exercised the same authority once wielded by
La Pompadour, and induced his Majesty to dismiss the Choiseul
Ministry, and substitute her minion, the Chancellor Maupeou,
whose arbitrary conduct accelerated the march of the Revolu
tion. She afterwards lived for eighteen years in utter obscurity ;
but, alarmed at the violence of the times, she went over to Eng
land in 1792, to deposit in safety some valuable diamonds, and
then , returned to France. A little later she was arrested, and
condemned to death. At her execution she displayedsfehe utmost
terror, and, hoping to save her life, she accused various persons
of royalist leanings, who were all guillotined in turn.
The last incident connected with this palace, and which closed
its career as a royal residence, was the gathering of the people of
Paris under its windows in 1789, demanding the return to the
Tuileries of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette. It was on this
occasion that Lafayette, the popular idol, appeared in a balcony
with the King, whom he embraced, in order to conciliate the
crowd ; just as he embraced Louis Philippe, in a balcony of the
Hotel de Ville, forty-one years later.
I made another pleasant excursion to St. Germain, where an
old palace, dating from 1370, still existed. But a greater attrac
tion was the splendid forest adjoining, which contained many

1 80 Paris Revisited.
delightful drives, to say nothing of the noble terrace on its borders,
commanding an admirable view of Paris.
I devoted another day to the beautiful grounds and palace of
St. Cloud. It was here that Charles X. was calmly playing his
rubber, during the Revolution of 1830, when he was abruptly told
to mount his horse and gallop out of France.
I feared to prolong my stay in this seductive town ; so Wil
liams and I resolved once more to take to flight, and recommence
our travels. We set off in the diligence for Havre, where we em
barked for England.

CHAPTER XIX.
LONDON.
JOURNEY TO THE METROPOLIS — FIRST IMPRESSIONS — THE ITALIAN OPERA — THE
DERBY-DAY  A REBUFF, ETC.
ON a lovely morning towards the end of May we landed at Ports
mouth, the largest naval station of the kingdom. It was already
prominent in the reign of Henry VIII. I experienced lively emo
tion on setting foot on English soil. No American can be insen
sible to the claims of the mother country on his affections and re
spect. The errors of her misguided politicians led to the rupture
of the colonial tie ; but it is impossible to forget that our consti
tutional forms, our traits of character, and much of the civilisation
we enjoy are invaluable legacies inherited from our aged and re
nowned parent. My heart warmed, as I heard for the first time
in Europe the accents of my native tongue, and recognised in the
manners and customs of the people the closeness of our relation
ship. In spite of family quarrels, which may have engendered
some ugly feelings of resentment ; in spite of the political jealousies
which a republican system may inspire against a monarchical
form, I believe there are few Americans who visit England for
the first time whose feelings are not profoundly stirred by the
consciousness they are treading the ground of their forefathers,
whose names still survive on the tombs scattered over the church
yards of England.
I was busy with these reflections whilst eating my breakfast
at the old-fashioned inn at Portsmouth, which I enjoyed all the
more for the neat and tidy aspect of everything my glance fell
upon. My joy was unutterable at finding myself once more in a
land of carpets. The bare desolate floors of the Continent had
been to me a prolonged agony. Not even the unobtrusive civility
of the, servants, nor the pleasant smile of the rosy-cheeked bar
maid, with her blue eyes and auburn locks, were more welcome
than the cheerful comfortable carpet that once again gladdened
my sight.
If the sound of my native tongue was music to my ears, not

182 London.

less grateful to my eyes was the fair white skin of my Saxon kin
dred, after the sallow swarthy complexions of the Gaul and his
Latin neighbour.
I was in this enviable frame of mind when a new sensation
broke upon me. The 'coach' drove up to take us to London,
and ' surely never lighted on this orb a more delightful vision/
The equipage was perfectly dazzling after what I had seen of
public conveyances on the Continent. It looked as if it could
hardly be meant for public use.
If the carriage was so perfect, what shall I say of the horses ?
Never had I seen such beautiful creatures before, with their small
heads, slender limbs, and perfect shape. The neat harness of
polished leather, mounted in glittering brass, was an additional
charm. The coachman had the appearance of a gentleman, and
likely was so, as men of fortune often drove the coach in those
days, for the mere love of the thing. The ' guard,' in his scarlet
uniform and with his profuse civility, was quite a new feature. The
passengers all preferred the outside places, of which there were a
dozen. I was lucky enough to get the box-seat, alongside the
driver, and we started to the minute. The smooth road, the easy
coach, and the four lovely ' thoroughbreds' that whirled us along
at ten miles the hour, convinced me I had discovered the poetry
of travel at last
It was only forty-seven years previously, 1788, that the English
coach was introduced for the conveyance of mails and passengers,
and, alas, to think its days were already numbered ! The first
railway, that began its career, in 1832, by killing a Minister of
State, must add to its holocausts the annihilation of the most per
fect form of locomotion known to man. Forty miles the hour
may be a gain to the world of business, but the lovers of luxury
will for ever mourn the disappearance of the stage-coach of Engi
land. Exhilarated as I was, the beauty of the landscape nearly
drove me wild. I had heard that all England was a garden, but
I had wholly underrated the term. Such exquisite phases of
sylvan scenery as burst upon me, as I sped through this earthly
paradise, I had not anticipated. Nothing I had seen approached
it. It were as easy to describe a rainbow as the vast stretches of
gleaming sward, the shady dells, the leafy glens, the sombre
woodlands, the placid rivulets and bubbling brooks, the wealth of
foliage everywhere ; the trim hedge-like walls of verdure ; the noble

London. 183

parks, with broad avenues of umbrageous oaks, and, in the purple
distance, superb mansions covered with ivy to the roof ; nor less
attractive the cfomely cattle, browsing on the rich pasturage or
reclining in the shade. Had all the artists of the world been
summoned to devise a landscape, they could have produced no
thing like it. Small credit to an Englishman to love such a land
as his. Devout republicans as all Americans are, we would vote
nem. con. to annex this beautiful island to-morrow, in spite of its
royalty, hereditary aristocracy, and venerable abuses. Pity that
Providence planted it so far away !
And the spruce cleanly old villages we rattled through ! What
a contrast to the slovenly hamlets of France and Italy ! They
bore the stamp of centuries, yet they looked so smiling and bright,
with their flower-pots in the windows, and the honeysuckle clam
bering over the doors or trellised on the walls. The passion for
flowers seemed universal. Not the humblest ostler without his
nosegay, and the top of our coach looked like a parterre.
The silent swiftness with which our horses were changed was
a marvel. One team was removed, another substituted, the reins
handed to the coachman, who never budged from his perch, all in
three minutes, and we were off without a word spoken. Succeed
ing the tremendous hubbub that accompanied the same process
abroad, I was amazed. After the garrulity and clatter of the
French — for noise is one of their greatest luxuries — the reserve
and taciturnity of the English were almost chilling. At the cus
tom-house, the inn, on the road — it was the same everywhere.
Not a phrase uttered that was unnecessary. Talking for talk's
sake, so natural to the French, was ' silly in Saxon eyes. Not
that they are morose, or even unsociable, when the ice is broken :
but their advances are slow and cautious. When an Englishman
makes your acquaintance he means it.
We were trotting briskly up a slope, and signs of traffic and
bustle increased every moment. I observed a splendid park on
my left, bristling with equipages.
' What's that ?' I asked.
' Hyde Park.'
* Where's Hyde Park Corner ?' I demanded eagerly.
'We are passing it now.'
' This, then,' I exclaimed earnestly, ' is the very spot where
Charles II. made the witty retort to his brother James, who re
monstrated at the King going about without escort. " Nobody

184 London.

will kill me to make you king," said the Merry Monarch, laugh
ing' The gentleman holding the reins by my side, to whom I im
parted this interesting information, looked at me askance, and
evidently concluded I had taken a glass too much.
' It may be so,' he remarked demurely, ' but I never heard it.'
His tone was a damper. Enthusiasm no Englishman, high or
low, can comprehend.
As we dashed through Piccadilly, the guard's horn sounding
every moment to clear the way for the coach, my heart beat and
my temples throbbed. I was, then, in London, the dream of my
life. My rapture was intense.-
' No room, sir,' was the monotonous reply from a dozen hotels
I drove to on leaving the coach, and I feared I should pass the
night in the street. A* last we found shelter. It was the
height of the ' Season,' and London was crammed. I had often
heard of the Season ; the grandest organisation for dining, danc
ing, dawdling, and flirting — for pleasure and excitement — the sun
ever shone upon. Here, in leafy June, Parliament was sitting,
Fashion on her throne, picture-galleries and operas in full swing.
In short, all the world was in town. Strange anomaly ; when all
other cities were dispersing for ' fresh woods and pastures new,'
London was gathering recruits from every quarter in mad pursuit
of amusement. The solution is simple. In summer London is
dry, fogless, and never hot, the thermometer varying from 65° to
750. Then or never it must be enjoyed. In winter the country
is verdant and cheerful, and fox-hunting — the passion of the
nation from peer to cockney — in full cry. Neither pictures or
music or law-making would ever divert an Englishman from his
fox-hunts. Inter arma silent leges, shouted the Romans of old ;
but when the hounds are unleashed in England not only are laws
silent, but everything else forgotten.
My first walk in London was staggering. The Brobdignagian
size of the place confounded me. It covered a superficies the mind
could not compass. More bewildering still was the steady oceanic
flow of its vast population — the pavements covered with pedes
trians, and the roadways filled with ceaseless traffic the livelong
day. In this prodigious conflux, this swarming mass of humanity,
I dwindled down to the merest pigmy. Let no local magnate,
with an immense sense of his self-importance, come to London.
The discovery of his insignificance might be fatal.

London. 185

The order and calm that prevailed were another feature. The
mighty current flowed up and down without a ripple. The police
man's hint to ' move on' was rarely heard ; every one seemed in
tent on his purpose, and pursued it with unbroken gait. I thought
them nearly related to the man in Tennessee, ' who made a for
tune by minding his own business.' ' All this industry, activity,
and traffic meant wealth, and signs of it abounded. The rich
wares of the shops, the innumerable equipages in the parks, the
inflated scale of prices, proved extraordinary opulence. The
architecture of London was surpassed by that of Paris and the
Italian cities ; its museums of art were inferior, its class of
flaneurs and loungers outnumbered ; but it enjoyed the proud
consciousness it could buy them all, and never miss the outlay.
Comfort, not show — repugnant to English taste — was a lead
ing characteristic. For comfort, the pavements were level as
floors, the streets macadamised, the sewage perfect, the gas-
lamps thick as stars, penetrating every nook, the police vigil
ant and civil. For comfort, parks of hundreds of acres, for
driving and riding, were enclosed, besides spacious squares with
trees and flowers — bright fragrant oases in the wilderness of
houses. If England and France, instead of being twenty-five miles
apart, had occupied different planets, they could not have been
more utterly unlike at every point. In language, appearance,
manners ; in habits, tastes, amusements ; in conduct, character,
and everything constituting individuality, they were wide as
the poles asunder. In Paris I was instantly startled and cap
tivated by the absolute novelty to all I had ever seen or known ;
¦whilst in London I was touched and attracted by much that
was wonted and familiar from my earliest recollection. Nothing
reminded me more of home than people living in their own
houses, with their lares et penates about them, instead of occupy-
, ing flats and sharing the same staircase with a dozen other
families. In the way of contrasts nothing was more remarkable, I
might say ludicrous, than the rivers of Paris and London — the
Seine and the Thames. The former, with its swimming-baths
and toy steamers, mere cockboats, would have scarcely attracted
notice but for its historical bridges, more curious than elegant ;
whilst the majestic Thames bore on its broad bosom the com
merce of the world. Its stupendous docks were crowded with

186 London.
the shipping of every clime, and on beholding them I realised
the significance of the familiar phrase a ' forest of masts,' for the
number was incredible. But the time is approaching when this
graceful spectacle of yards, topmasts, and tapering spars will
be superseded by the grimy funnels of countless steamers, whose
thick vapours will darken the sky.
My view of the Thames, with its vast facilities for mari
time trade, deepened the conviction that England was as essen
tially commercial as her French neighbour was decidedly mili
tary. The fishmongers' stalls alone all over London proved the
Briton's propinquity to the briny element ; whilst an unhappy
salmon that reached Paris after two days' travel was a curi
osity and a wonder, often a highly-scented one then. Jack-tars
and shipping were as familiar in London as barracks and sol
diers in Paris. There could be no doubt about it. The two
nations worshipped at different shrines. Neptune waved his
trident over England. The trumpet of Mars resounded through
France. After I had recovered my centre of gravity, a good deal
shaken by what has been described, and more that has not ;
after I had gloated over the Tower, built by the Conqueror in
1080, and sacred to the memory of the unfortunate Princes
'crammed into a box and thrown down the Thames' by the
bloody Richard ; after I had wandered in the ' dim religious
light' of Westminster Abbey, raised by Edward the Confessor,
and had contemplated the ancient chair in which the Eng
lish sovereigns are crowned, and read the names of many illus
trious dead on their tombs, — I bethought me of my letters of
introduction, and singled out first that for Mr. James Dunlop,
which I delivered at his house in Russell-square. I was grati
fied by a most cordial reception. He was something over sixty,
pale and thin, as though in delicate health. He was a retired
merchant of large fortune, and Scotch by birth. He regretted his
family were driving in the Park at the time of my visit, but asked
me to meet them next day at dinner.
On entering the drawing-room the following evening, I was
presented to Mrs. Dunlop, a daughter of the ' Old Dominion,'
with all the bonhomie and good tone of a true Virginian. Her
niece, Miss Gamble, charmed me at first sight. She was petite,
but of perfect symmetry and exceeding grace. Her hazel eyes
had a merry sparkle that indicated intelligence and a vivacious

i^onaon. 187

disposition. I was delighted with them all, and on leaving was
told to make the house my own ; words of touching significance
to a stranger in this mammoth metropolis. Shortly after, Mr.
Dunlop invited me to escort the ladies to the Opera, as he rarely
went out at night, which I cheerfully assented to.
The Opera at that day was the culminating point of the
e"lite of London. Boxes brought fabulous sums, whilst pit-tickets
sold for two dollars and fifty cents when they could be had. This
was not surprising, as all the lyric and saltatory talent of Europe
was summoned to London, at whatever cost, to swell the delights
of the ' season.' Grisi, Persiani, Rubini, Tamburini, and Lablache
were a phalanx in opera never seen before, nor will ever be again,
at least in our day. Fanny Elssler and Taglioni figured at the
head of the ballet. Such a combination of singers and dancers
could only be congregated in London. Another proof of British
wealth. I was astonished at the splendour of the spectacle on my
first visit. Not that the house was as vast as those of Milan
and Naples, but the audience utterly eclipsed them in brilliancy.
Every one was in evening dress, and the women were resplen
dent in diamonds. Mrs. Dunlop was as good as a directory,
and pointed out all the celebrities. In a capacious box was the
Countess of Blessington with a suite of notable men. Her
beauty, literary reputation, and romantic passe" made her an ob
ject of unusual interest. Half the eyes of the audience were
constantly upon her.
In the omnibus box were grouped Count d'Orsay, the Earl of
Chesterfield, the Marquis of Douro, and other lions of fashion.
'Who is that stout jolly-looking woman,' I asked, 'whose
box is always full of visitors ?'
' That is the Duchess of St. Albans,' was the rejoinder. 'You
know her history ?'
' No ; what is it ?'
' Why, she was originally an actress, Miss Mellon, and her
beauty and intelligence caught the eye of a millionaire, Coutts
the banker, who finally married her. He further obliged her by
dying soon after, leaving her all his money. Then the Duke of
St. Albans fell in love with her, or her immense income, and
espoused her. With her great tact, rank, and revenue, she de
termined to achieve a position, and in a few years her balls and
routs were the talk of London.'

: 8 8 London.

' A, very strange story, truly,' I said, and looked at the ex-
actress with more curiosity than ever.*
In spite of the opera, the ballet, and all the grand people,
my attention was concentrated on a feature of the occasion that
h was new, and affected my nerves terribly. I refer to the dkolletk
[condition of the female part of the audience. All of them, and
! of all ranks, who had anything to boast of, made a revelation,
not merely of arms and shoulders, but of their busts, that was
quite appalling to one ' not a native here, and to the manner
born.' I had seen nothing like it in my travels, for French and
Italian women, though considered lax by the English, recoiled
from any similar parade of their charms. What a strange in
consistency !
The Britons, men and women, are unquestionably a moral
people, and decorous in all things to a nice degree ; but in so
ciety the ladies make an expose" of their persons absolutely
thrilling to a stranger. They are, it is true, magnificent creatures
— a roundness and fulness of form, commanding height, and
beauty of complexion quite unmatched. Their fair, white skin
was dazzling after the sallow cuticle of the French. Yet, for
all that, I could not comprehend the startling usage of unmask
ing their loveliness to the extent I witnessed on my advent at
the Opera and a thousand times after. Instead of sober Eng
land, I almost doubted if I was in a Christian land, but wander
ing rather in the Oriental clime of the voluptuous infidel. I
looked around, perplexed at the impassibility of the men, who
seemed unconscious of the formidable batteries their eyes must
have encountered every moment, whilst I was in a state of pertur
bation hard to conceal.
Accustomed to the prudery of my native town, where a nude
statue flushed the cheek of innocence, and where the unadorned
nymphs of a Rubens or a Titian would have been stigmatised as
indecent, I considered the spectacle not only novel, but indeli
cate. Truly nations have their anomalies, as individuals, that
confound philosophy and defy solution.
The tone of the audience was wholly different from what I
had seen elsewhere. A cold repose, a frigid dignity, prevailed
throughout. It was not listlessness nor insensibility, for all were
* At her death the Duchess of St. Albans restored the whole of the great pro
perty of her first husband to his granddaughter, Miss Burdett, now the Baroness Burdett-
Coutts, only bequeathing fifty thousand dollars a year to the Duke, her second husband.

juonaon. 189

attentive, and the applause was frequently hearty. Still there
was an imperturbability quite chilling after the vivacity of the
French and the geniality of the Italians. This was the habitual
manner of the aristocracy, I found, and it had spread through all
classes. It was not affectation or assumption, but none the less
repelling to foreigners.
The English Jiaut ton, backed by rank, pedigree, and wealth,
are often considered as supercilious ; but it is rather their damp
and gloomy climate that renders them so stoical and apparently
torpid. A year of unbroken sunshine would change the national
character. The following day occurred the annual carnival of London,
the Derby-day, so called in honour of the Earl of Derby, who in
1780 founded the racecourse near the village of Epsom, some
fourteen miles from the metropolis. The animation and hilari
ous aspect that pervaded the town astonished me. After the
frigid reserve of the Opera-house, and the serious plodding ways
of the people which had impressed me daily, this complete me
tamorphosis of mien took me by surprise. ' It is not a year
or two shows us a man,' says Emilia in the play ; nor a nation
either. Englishmen are by nature business animals. Napo
leon called them boutiquiers — shopkeepers — and the desig
nation is not unjust. The peer with an untold rent-roll is
always eager to increase it, and all below are on the qui vive
to add to their ingots. But as the old adage hath it, 'all
work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,' and John Bull is no
exception. Fallible as the rest of mankind, he gives way,
though rarely, to a frolic, and enjoys it all the more. His in
dustrious progeny across the Atlantic sometimes do the same
thing, and put up the shutters on the 4th of July.
Without accusing the Christian English of fetishism, I boldly
assert they have an idol, and it is the horse. From high to low
they love it to adoration, and if they had lived in Roman days they
would have deified it. If ever you catch an Englishman stand
ing in the street, oblivious of all else, with his eyes in a fixed
gaze, it is at some splendid specimen of the equine breed he is
staring, and longing to possess. Time and lore are devoted to
the breeding of horses ; immense sums are spent upon their train
ing for all kinds of uses ; but the highest is that of the turf. It is
on a racecourse that the best blood wins the day. From 1356,
when Edward III. purchased ' running horses,' this passion has

1 90 London.

grown, and now it has become the dominant one of England.
Horse-racing, however, is more ancient, and may boast of a
classical origin, since it was introduced at the national games of
Greece, 649 B.C.
I thought the chance of seeing John Bull in a moment of
abandon was too good to lose ; so Williams and I with no small
difficulty obtained a carriage, and joined the huge current flow
ing steadily to Epsom the morning of the Derby-day. In
proof of the estimation in which the sport was held, Parlia
ment annually adjourned, and most of the members of both
Houses wended their way to the famous downs. The village of
Epsom was a fashionable resort, for its mineral springs, two
hundred years ago, and was associated in my mind with certain
odious doses of salts that I was forced to swallow when too
young to protect myself.
The road for the whole distance was lined with throngs of
country folk, who flocked thither for miles round to witness the
concourse of vehicles of every conceivable variety, from the
chariot-and-four of the nobility to the donkey-cart of the coster-
monger. The scene of the festival was a broad piece of table
land, surrounded by the Surrey hills, which at this verdant
season was a pretty sight of itself; and the vast concourse
assembled looked like a dark carpet covering the bright sward
as far as the eye could reach. It was, in truth, a glorious sight.
The Royal and other stands were filled with the ilite of the
land, females as numerous as men ; and attired in gay dresses,
their faces beaming with excitement, the fair daughters of Albion
were lovely to behold. Carriages were drawn up about the
course four and six deep, crowded with merry faces.
I gave a glance at the racers, that were walked up and down be
fore the judge's rostrum after being saddled and mounted. They
were marvels of beauty, and seemed almost conscious of the thou
sands that depended on their wind and bottom. But I cared nothing
for racing, and soon betook myself to a survey of the amusements
of the day. Innumerable booths were scattered over the grounds,
surmounted with flags and streamers, some for public refresh
ments, others for private luncheons ; whilst more were occupied
by betting-men intent on making their 'pile.' True to their
commercial instincts, the English love to extract profit even
from their pleasures. Much as they delight in racing, additional
zest is derived from the betting that accompanies it The stakes

London. \ g i
that change hands on the Derby are something startling, and
from thousands of pounds down to shillings all classes embark
in the lottery. Go where you may to dine in London the eve
of the Derby, you are gaily invited by the ladies to join in their
sweepstakes on the 'favourites,' and palpitating hearts await
the result.
In wandering over the field I encountered great numbers of
gipsy women, who readily volunteered their services to unravel
the mysteries of Fate. You had only to stretch out your hand,
with a piece of money in it, and all the luck in store for you
would be at once revealed. These sibyls drove a brisk trade on
the Derby-day. Not a few of them were handsome, with their
dark eyes, swarthy complexions, lithe figures, and Bohemian air.
Many wore a gay bandanna, gracefully arranged and partially
enveloping their raven hair. This strange race wandered into
Europe from Asia in the fifteenth century. They appeared in
England in Henry VIII.'s reign, about 15 12; and, in spite of
cruel laws to expel them, they hid away in holes and corners
till prejudice had died away. They are still a nomad tribe,
wandering about the country, without homes or occupation, and
for three centuries forming a caste apart, less savage, though
hardly more civilised, than our Indians of the plains. Gipsy
men or children are never seen at a race ; but all the pretty
women of the clan are despatched thither, and with seductive
smiles and soft words seek to extract an oblation from the
merry-makers, who now regard them with sympathy.
After making a circuit of the shows, Punch and Judy in
cluded, my attention was attracted to a game that I observed
was going on all over the ground, which consisted , simply of
several thimbles, on a small table, concealing a pea, which the
operator moved about from one thimble to another with great
dexterity, and invited the spectators to bet on its hiding-place.
Some indicated it and won, while others lost. This was new to
Williams and myself, and, after inspecting it closely, we began
to bet. To our surprise, neither of us could ever trace the
vagrant pea ; and, after I had lost two or three pounds, I
desisted in despair. Williams, however, got so excited over it
that, after losing all the money about him, he proposed to stake
his watch, which happily I prevented. In relating our adventure
to some friends we met, they told us, laughing, we had been
the dupes of * thimbleriggers,' who adroitly extracted the pea

192 London.

from the thimble bet upon with some adhesive matter on their
fingers. ' But how was it,' we asked, ' that many persons won almost
invariably ?'
' They were simply confederates, acting as decoy ducks,' was
the reply, ' and were skilful enough to entrap you.'
Williams was more chapfallen than myself, and thanked me
for saving his watch.*
Just before we left a tremendous shout announced the ' Derby
Stakes' had been decided, and none of the ' favourites' won. It
was easy to recognise in the joyous faces of some, and in the
lugubrious air of others, who had drawn prizes and who had got
blanks. Shortly after this excursion I started on a visit to our repre
sentative at the English Court, Mr. Aaron Vail. This gentle
man, previously a clerk in the State Department, had accom
panied Mr. Van Buren as secretary when he came as envoy to
England. On the abrupt close of his mission, as described, Mr.
Vail was left behind as our cliarge d'affaires, which position he
had now filled for the past four years. Among the introduc
tions that Vice-President Van Buren had favoured me with was
one to his protege", Mr. Vail, couched in the heartiest language;
and I plumed myself vastly on the advantages of such a recom
mendation. I had a violent longing to make my obeisance to
William IV., and beyond that to penetrate into the patrician
saloons of the most exclusive aristocracy of Europe. My fancy
had been long inflamed by the highly-wrought sketches of
Bulwer and Disraeli of their manners and ways, and to see lords
and ladies in the flesh, I thought, would be little else than
downright bliss. For an American, with neither title or pedigree,
to effect an entrance into those fairy realms, in those days, with
out the zealous aid of his diplomatic representative, was about
as easy as for the biblical camel to pass through the eye of a
needle ; and I was all the more grateful to Mr. Van Buren for
the talisman which I supposed would accomplish my object.
On presenting my letter to Mr. Vail, whom I found living
in quiet lodgings in a retired street, I was a little subdued by
his cold and formal presence. He was a nice-looking man, with
an air of great respectability, but precise and reserved, as he
no doubt thought became his dignity. He read my introduction
* This knavish game was later forbidden by Act of Parliament.

L.ondon. 1 93

carefully, laid it down gravely, paused a moment, and then
inquired if I intended to remain long in London. My imagina
tion took fire at once, for I inferred from this, if I stayed long
enough, my going to Court was a certainty. I replied that I
was master of my own time, was in no hurry to quit London,
and especially anxious to see all I could meanwhile. Mr. Vail
nodded calmly, but said nothing, which a trifle disconcerted me.
In my blandest manner I ventured upon a few remarks on the
state of the weather, expecting every instant the imperturbable
charge would suggest the sort of uniform I must wear at the
King's leve"e. But to my surprise he did not, and I felt that I
must put his ruminations to flight by a bold attack. Summoning
up my pluck, I said, with a genial smile,
' It would afford me the greatest pleasure, Mr. Vail, to be
presented at Court'
' I am very sorry,' he answered, though he did not look it,
' but fear that is impossible, unless you belong to the army or
navy, or hold an official position in civil life. No other
Americans are received at Court'
I fell headlong from the heaven of my expectations.
' Is that the rule ?' I blurted out.
' It is,' was the laconic rejoinder.
I did my best to overcome my disappointment.
' Is it possible,' I continued, ' to obtain an invitation to any
of the balls or parties of the nobility taking place nightly ?'
At this Mr. Vail looked astonished, and did it well.
' Have you brought letters to any of them ?' he inquired.
'No.'
' Then,' he said, in a placid tone, ' I don't see how it is possible.'
My visions of a dip in ' high life' were rudely dispelled, and
I was conscious that I had been building castles in the air with
out thought of the ladder to reach them. Yet surely, methought,
I have a claim to some civility. Will this callous diplomat pre
sume to ignore the Vice-President's indorsement? I will try
something not impracticable.
' I should like,' I persisted boldly, ' to see the House of Lords,
and I hear a ticket fs necessary.'
'It is ; but mine is unfortunately engaged for some days,'
was the response.
* Can you get me into the House of Commons, then?' was my
next demand. O

1 94 London.
' If you will call in about a fortnight,' he remarked, after,
examining a paper on his table, ' perhaps I can manage it
I was astonished and indignant, but lingered for a moment
longer, believing he meant to ask me to dinner, or at least to
breakfast, a cheaper kind of hospitality. Not a bit of it. I de
tected no symptoms of a thaw, and bolted, exclaiming almost
aloud, as I regained the street, ' That man is first cousin to an
iceberg, if not more nearly related. Anything so frigid and hard
I never met in human shape.'
The sunshine was reviving after the freezing contact I had
undergone. A week later he left his card, and this was all I ever
got from him.
This rebuff changed all my plans in a trice. I had seen most
of London that was accessible to a stranger, and my longings
to make my salaam to the royal head of the Guelphs were
scattered to the winds, at least for the present. I was bound
sooner or later to see something of the rank and grandeur of
England's aristocracy ; but now, instead of frittering my time in
London or Paris, I resolved to scour Europe, nor stop then. I
would first make the tour of Great Britain and Ireland, and then
start for Russia, cross its dreary wastes to the Black Sea, scram
ble over that by hook or crook, and pop my nose into Stam-
boul in spite of its savoury odours. After a glance at its houris,
if I could get near them, I would make my way to Egypt, and
try my luck with the Sphinx. They could hardly be more re
pelling than Mr. Vail. Thence I would return to Europe, and
compare Oriental luxury with modern civilisation.
I laid my project before Williams, who fell back horror-
stricken from my wild-goose chase, as he called it.
' How could you get through Russia ?' he remarked ; ' there
are no conveyances beyond Moscow. As for skipping over the
Black Sea you talk of so glibly, you must trust to some wretched
craft that might be tossed about for weeks. To reach Egypt,
you must travel great distances by land, with the certainty of
being robbed by the Arabs, and the chance of having your
throat cut into the bargain. It would require no end of time
and money that I can employ far more to my satisfaction.'
' Not an inviting jaunt as you paint it,' I replied, a trifle dis
composed. ' Not half so bad as you will find it.'
' Then you won't undertake it ?' I pursued.

London. 1 95
' Not I ;pas si bite,' said Williams resolutely.
This was a sore repulse, for I had travelled so long and plea
santly with my old college friend that parting with him was any
thing but a ' sweet sorrow.' Whom could I find to accompany
me was a puzzle, for I had none of the daring spirit of Marco
Polo, and shrank from such a journey alone.
There was yet time to ponder over that ; so I started on my
last trip with Williams, and made the round proposed. We
visited the principal cities of the United Kingdom, looked into
their manufacturing hives, and concluded that the open-air life
of our jolly negroes in the South was far preferable to that of the
pale-faced and over-worked operatives of these parts. The
sylvan beauty of the English landscape never ceased to trans
port me. Nothing but poetry, and that the most sublime, could
do it justice.
Then the old castles and modern palaces of the nobility — the
former with their ages of history and romantic associations ; the
latter with their treasures of art and dazzling splendour. Of all of
them, perhaps Penshurst Castle affected me the most. In one
of the apartments was hanging the first glass chandelier brought
to England from Venice, and presented to the Earl of Leicester,
then living there, by Queen Bess. In the grand old baronial
hall were the long oaken tables used by the retainers of the do
main, standing there for five hundred years ; and in the centre
was the fireplace without a chimney, the smoke escaping through
a hole in the lofty roof.
We got back to London towards the end of July, and to my
delight I found Forrest, then newly arrived from Paris. I fixed
upon him at once as the man above all others to join me in my
crusade, and assailed him vigorously. Like Williams he retreated
in dismay at my bold enterprise, and enlarged upon its draw
backs. Nothing daunted I talked of the ' vast renown' it would
confer upon him, the sensation it would make at home, and the
splendid materials it would furnish to his biographer. By de
grees I gained upon him, and followed it up inch by inch. At
last I won him over, and he agreed to take the leap. Fearing he
would change his mind, I proposed to set out forthwith ; but he
named the 5th of August, and I was content.
' But first,' he said,' ' I desire you to dine with me to-morrow
at a friend's house. I want to present you to — well, no matter ;
you will see.'

1 96 London.
I assented at once. Had he asked me at that moment to
climb up a chimney, I would not have baulked him.
The next day I drove with Forrest to Alfred-place, and was
rejoiced to meet Sinclair, the celebrated tenor, whose triumphant
tour in the United States three years previously I well remem
bered. The thrilling sweetness of his voice and his artistic skill had
captivated thousands at home and abroad. His ballad -singing was
never equalled. He was a most genial and gentlemanly man,
and handsome to boot. He descended from an old Scotch
family. I soon discovered, however, ' metal more attractive.'
Forrest presented me to Kate, his eldest daughter, barely nineteen,
strikingly handsome, with engaging manners, and as intelligent
as she was accomplished. I enjoyed my dinner immensely, and
over the dessert Sinclair gave us a rare treat by singing some of
his delightful ditties. ' John Anderson, my joe, John,' brought
tears to my eyes, and Forrest seemed in quite a ' melting mood,'
though I suspected the sparkling eyes of the daughter were more
powerful solvents than the liquid notes of her father's voice.
Midnight soon overtook us, and as we walked home toge
ther I lauded to the skies the beauty and sweetness of the fair
Kate. ' O, if she were only an American !' sighed Forrest.
' What then ?' I queried.
' I would marry her to-morrow, if she were of the same
mind.' ' What nonsense !' I declared. ' She is just as good as an
American, and talks English better than most of us. It is not
her fault if she was born on the wrong side of the Atlantic'
' True, most veritable,' he answered, in a doleful strain ; ' but I
am resolved. None but an American for me.'
I saw he was enmeshed, and felt sure, in spite of all his kicks
and plunges, he would be broken to harness and made one of a
pair at no distant day.
On my last Sunday in London I cheerfully joined Mrs.
Dunlop and her sprightly niece in a visit to the Zoological
Gardens. More than once I thought if I had been a marrying
man I should have laid myself and all appertaining at Miss
Gamble's tiny feet until I rose her accepted suitor. There was a
witchery in her roguish eyes that attracted and alarmed. Little
did I foresee the mischief they would do me one day. These
renowned Gardens were then the favourite resort of the beau

London. 1 97
monde, and on Sunday the admission was only by vouchers.
The grounds were wonderful specimens of landscape gardening
— delicious patches of bright turf, ornamental sheets of water
spanned by pretty bridges, sequestered alleys, and broad gravel
walks smooth as marble. Even these were secondary to the
brilliant company flitting over them. What splendid women
and well-dressed stylish men compose the upper class of this
country !
There was one woman I remarked everybody was glancing
at, and I did not wonder. She was a marvel. A brunette, with
lustrous glowing eyes that seemed almost to scorch the object
they lit upon ; a stately height and proud air, and something
singularly defiant in her mien. Groups of men were about her.
My curiosity was excited, and I asked Mrs. Dunlop, ' Who is
that superb creature ?'
' That is Mrs. Norton.'
' Good gracious !' I exclaimed ; ' Mrs. Norton the authoress,
the granddaughter of Sheridan, the heroine — ?' I stopped
abruptly. ' Yes,' returned Mrs. Dunlop, smiling ; ' the same.'
I now understood why every head was turned as she passed.
Of all the plucky things any woman ever did was the appearance
of Mrs. Norton in the ' Zoo' that very Sunday afternoon. Only the
night before, the jury had acquitted Lord Melbourne, the Prime
Minister, who was charged by the Hon. Mr. Norton with crim.
con. with his wife. The evidence on the trial was of the most
prurient description, and all London had banqueted on it for a
week. Both plaintiff and defendant were known to the whole
world, and were the crime de la crime. That very morning
men were running about the streets with special editions, dese
crating the day by yelling out, ' Acquittal of Lord Melbourne of
adultery with Mrs. Norton ;' and in the face of this dire publicity
the lovely cause of all the pother was promenading up and down
the broad walk of the Zoo.
She thought it politic to brave the scandal ; and what an
effort it must have cost her ! It was supposed that political
motives were at the bottom of the prosecution ; for Mr. Norton,
heir to Lord Grantley, was a Tory, and hoped to upset the Whig
Ministry, of which Lord Melbourne was the head. I knew Mrs.
Norton well in later years, and often feasted on her brilliant con
versation.

1 98 London.
At midnight on the 4th of August I welcomed Forrest on the
deck of the ' John Bull' steamer bound to Hamburg. I never
doubted his word, of which he was very tenacious ; but it was
pleasant to find him at my side at the critical moment. The
weather was lovely, and we paced up and down as our vessel
descended the Thames. We talked of London, its crowds, its
splendour. Then discoursed of Kate and her various attractions.
I told him of Miss Gamble and her winning ways. Finally we
both began to yawn, and betook ourselves to our bunks.

CHAPTER XX.
HAMBURG.
THE OPERA ON POST-NIGHTS — IMPRISONED SIRENS — DANCING-HOUSES —
A COUNTRY FETE.
After rolling about in the North Sea for a couple of days, we
found ourselves, on the third morning, running up the Elbe,
whose picturesque banks, sprinkled with graceful villas, were
highly attractive. I blessed the potentate, without knowing who
he was, that made Hamburg a free port — one of five in the
world ; and my first step on German soil will be for ever plea
santly associated with my immunity from custom-house inquisi-
tiveness. After the torment I had suffered for months from the
prying officials that met me on every new frontier, it was truly
delightful to drive away without having my portmanteau ran
sacked, and possibly some of my precious property confiscated,
without daring to cry ' Thieves !'
After despatching a good dinner at the H6tel de Russie,
we went off to the opera to hear the Barber of Seville. I was
surprised at the size and elegance of the house, not surpassed
by any in Paris or London. It was well filled by a showy
audience, but I remarked that many of the private boxes were
empty, which was explained by my cicerone, who announced it
was 'post-night' The mail to England was then transmitted
every ten days by steamer ; and the busy merchants of Hamburg
made pleasure subsidiary to business, by staying at home to
write letters on ' post-nights.' This reminded me that the aris
tocracy of the place was all commercial, and very unlike that of
the towns I had hitherto visited, whose only end in life was
amusement, and who knew nothing, therefore, of the exciting
distractions of a ' post-night'
Next day we wandered about Hamburg, which traces its
origin back to 809 A.D., near seven centuries before America was
discovered ; and its quaint unpretending architecture smacks of
the Middle Ages, whence it emerged. There were some fine

200 Hamburg.
streets and stately mansions, but nothing very curious, save the
ancient State-house, with niches all over it filled with wooden
statues, painted white, of renowned citizens of other days.
In rambling about we traversed a long street, where at all the
windows were seated many pretty women, decked out in their
best, who smiled and nodded in the most gracious manner as
we passed. Thinking it was the custom of the place, I began
raising my hat to these fair dames ; but my guide told me this
civility was unnecessary, as they were simply ladies of the town,
who, not being allowed to parade their charms in the streets, as
in London and Paris, were in the habit, at certain hours of the
day, of exhibiting themselves in this fashion to wayfarers. I had
seen nothing of the sort elsewhere, and was struck by its singu
larity. Chaque pays chaque mode, I involuntarily repeated ; and
truly the oddities of different countries are a constant marvel to
travellers. At the table d'kdte one evening I fell into conversation with
a pleasant Englishman returning home from just such a trip as
we contemplated. He warned us against carrying any superfluous
luggage ; and we decided, therefore, to get rid of all impedimenta
in the shape of portmanteaus and hat-boxes, which we sent back
to London, and provided ourselves instead with capacious carpet
bags that could on occasion be slung over a horse. In addition,
Forrest took it into his head to buy a double-barrelled gun,
which, he said, would afford amusement, and perhaps be valu
able for defence, in the ' barking deserts.'
The most novel feature of Hamburg was the dancing-
houses, which contained spacious saloons for this favourite
German pastime, brilliantly lighted and decorated, besides a
good restaurant, with private supper-rooms. They were crowded
every night with the people of the town, chiefly of the middle
class, who came hither in quest of a pleasant evening. The
fathers of the family drank beer and smoked ; the mothers
knitted and gossipped ; whilst the young folks devoted themselves
vigorously to the mazy waltz, the national dance. I was much
struck by the rare beauty of these Hamburg girls — light-brown
hair, blue eyes, fair complexions, and round well-developed
figures. They were as amiable and unaffected as pretty, and as
it was the custom to dance with all who offered, a stranger never
stood in need of a partner. If he were particularly charmed
with her society, she seldom objected to join him over the

Hamburg. aoi

supper-table, and then return smiling and contented to the
family group. These pleasant reunions were wholly unlike those
boisterous gatherings I described in Paris, where all was wild
revelry and noise. Here quiet and good order prevailed, though
far from lacking animation. There were ill-natured travellers
who declared that the morals of Hamburg were as free as its
port, and that many of the young women, apparently guileless,
who attended these gay dancing soir/es, were by no means im
maculate. As far as my observation went, I should set these
assertions down as calumnies.
During my stay, whilst sauntering through one of these plea
sant resorts, my valet de place approached me with the master of
the place, who said, hearing I was an American, he desired greatly
to know if I could tell him anything of a brother of his, who
had emigrated to New York. After hearing his name, and every
possible, detail, I was obliged to confess I knew nothing about
him. He then added that he had acquired a small capital, and
was disposed to follow his brother's example, but would like a
hint as to how he could best employ it. On inquiring into his
aptitudes, I found he had been brought up as a butcher ; but his
love of music tempted him to forsake his early calling, and by
degrees he found himself the leader of an orchestra, and finally
the lessee of a dancing-house. After duly pondering over this
weighty matter, I suggested he could hardly do better in
America than profit by his past experience, and devote his days
to the meat-market, whilst his nights might be profitably em
ployed in fiddling at some of the theatres. My advice met his
views exactly, and his acknowledgments knew no bounds. He
offered to present me forthwith to the prettiest girls in the room,
and to back me with his utmost influence. Hardly knowing
what this meant, or where it might lead me, I thanked him, and
walked away.
Driving out one afternoon to dine at a restaurant a mile or
so from the town, I encountered a cavalcade of peasants of
both sexes, singing and capering about right merrily. One jolly
fellow, mounted astride a hogshead in a cart, represented the
Bacchus of the fite. It reminded me of what I had read of
similar processions in the old Roman times, showing that a
couple of thousand years have little effect on the usages and
pastimes of nations.
Altogether I was gaily impressed with Hamburg, and con-

202 Hamburg.

eluded a traveller could hardly go amiss who wandered within
its pleasant precincts. Its government consisted of an elective
Senate, whose sovereignty extended no farther than the town,
with a few neighbouring villages, comprising some 200,000 people
in all. It was wedged in between Hanover and the Duchy of
Holstein, and it was only a wonder it had not been swallowed
up before then.

CHAPTER XXI.
ST. PETERSBURG.
THE BALTIC — THE U.S. MINISTER — PALACES — CHURCHES — THE ROMANOFFS.
We left Hamburg after breakfast for Liibeck, a distance of
only thirty-eight miles, where we arrived at eleven at night, over
the worse road I had met in Europe. I was restored to good-
humour by not being detained as usual at a custom-house, for
Liibeck had also been a free city since 1226. In the morning
I made a rapid survey of the town, which is nearly as old as its
rival on the Elbe, and resembles it in most respects, architecture
included. It was governed likewise by a Senate, who reigned over
a territory containing some 50,000 inhabitants. Even diminutive
Hamburg might hold up its head alongside its pigmy rival.
In the afternoon we set off for Travesmunde, the port of
I»iibeck, on the Baltic. Here we lounged about the hotel for an
hour or two, waiting for the moment of embarkation. A comical
incident helped to divert my mind. Forrest was attacked by
thirst, and called for a bottle of Moselle. After waiting for some
time his impatience got the better of him, and he began to storm
at the landlord. ' I say, Mr. what's-your-name,' he cried, ' did
you ever hear of Job ?' and was going on to say that even that
placid personage would not have brooked such delay ; but before
he could utter the words the landlord came up to him with a
puzzled look, and repeated, ' Job ! I never heard of him. Does
he live about here ?' I found this joke far more palatable than
the wine when it came at last.
It was a lovely evening as we steamed out into the Baltic in
a large and comfortable vessel bound for the Russian capital.
We had sixty and odd passengers, and I soon made my selec
tion. There was an agreeable Russian lady, with no less than
six children on her hands, the eldest not over fifteen. What
surprised me was that all of them spoke several languages ; and
I found it was the custom in the best families to employ gover
nesses, who taught the children from their earliest years to lisp

204 St. Petersburg.
most of the European tongues, for the chief reason that no
foreigner ever studied Russian. The greater part of the four
days I was on board I passed in the charming society of a
very pretty Russian girl just seventeen. She was exceedingly
intelligent and well read. I talked with her, walked and played
chess with her, till I heartily wished it were possible to carry her
off as a solace to my long journey, and told her so ; whereat she
smiled pleasantly. The Baltic was on its best behaviour, and
after a speedy run we brought up, on August 17, at Cronstadt, the
port of St. Petersburg. It had far more the air of a great naval
station, for forts and batteries and ships of war stared you every
where in the face. Here we were inundated by a swarm of
officials, who all set actively to work on their different errands.
Some demanded passports ; others attacked the luggage, tied it
up and sealed it ; whilst another batch pulled out their pens and
paper, and began writing as though the safety of the empire
depended on it. After three hours of this kind of work they
vanished, and left us free to pursue our way rejoicing.
We soon began ascending the Neva, a splendid river ; and as
we advanced the capital of the Czars hove in sight. The first im
pression is very striking. The magnificent stone quays on both
sides of the river, the multitude of bridges, the numerous steamer*
darting hither and thither, the masses of buildings uniform in
height and colour, all astonish and delight the traveller as he
approaches this very fine town. St. Petersburg has the advan
tage of having been built to order. Its founder, Peter the Great,
felt the necessity of establishing a maritime connection between
his remote empire and the rest of the world ; and so, selecting a
suitable spot on the Neva in 1763, he stamped his foot, and
forthwith sprang up the youngest city in Europe. The old
capital of the Russias, Moscow, was at that day almost inacces
sible to Europe, and the sagacious Peter desired to establish
closer relations.
I got through the dreaded scrutiny at the custom-house
better than I expected. All books, I observed, were taken away,
duly examined, and perhaps returned. The authorities had
great fear of foreign diseases in the shape of poisonous literature.
Hearing that the Russian hotels were far from luxurious, I be
took myself to an excellent English house in the hands of an
honest John Bull, where a tidy room and a good meal could be
counted on.

St. Petersburg. 205

To my great satisfaction, I found our Minister, the Hon.
William Wilkins, living here ; and I hastened next morning to
present my letter from his old colleague in the Senate, Vice-
President Van Buren. I took an immense liking to Mr. Wilkins,
as all did who approached him. He was a high-toned gentle
man of the old school, urbane and refined. His pale visage and
blue eyes were full of benignity, and his manner gentle and
graceful. He was a pleasing talker, and related events and
anecdotes often with great animation. He seemed to take a
fancy to me, and invitefl me one day to pass the winter at St.
Petersburg, offering to attach me to the Legation. This was a
huge temptation, for a diplomatic position would have given me
access to all that was grand and gorgeous in Russian society.
Alas, it was impossible to accept this seductive proposal after
inducing my friend Forrest to undertake the novel trip I had
suggested. Besides, it was likely my only opportunity of seeing
the out-of-the-way countries I proposed to explore. Court fetes
and fine people I might have other chances to behold.
I passed ten days in St. Petersburg, and was engaged from
morn to night in surveying its prominent features. The imperial
palaces were really very grand. We were permitted to inspect
them, and, though the Emperor was absent, it was requisite to
put on evening dress. This seemed absurd enough, but eti
quette must be enforced. The Hermitage was splendid ; but I
was chiefly attracted by its pictures. Those of the Dutch school
especially were all gems. There was a collection of jewelry too,
in glass cases, that dazzled the vision. The Winter Palace, the
principal residence of the Emperor, is considered the largest in
Europe. Its magnificence is staggering. One apartment —
St. George's Hall — is 140 feet long and 60 feet wide, surrounded
by forty marble columns of great height, in double rows, with
pedestals and capitals richly gilt. What an arena for a waltz !
Another apartment was illuminated by a chandelier with 362
lamps. This palace could accommodate 1000 inmates.
In one of its rooms Paul, the grandfather of the reigning
monarch, was strangled during the night in 1801. His tyranny
was so insupportable, and his policy considered so fatal, that a
band of nobles, with Count Pahlen at their head, determined to
get rid of him. The Emperor was in bed, when he heard a fracas
at the door, where the sentry was murdered. In another mo
ment the conspirators rushed in. The unfortunate Paul had

206 St. Petersburg.

concealed himself under the bed ; but he was dragged out and
put to death. The next morning his son Alexander mounted
the throne, and there was an end of the matter. One of the
caprices of this Russian Gesler was that all should drop on
their knees as he passed, and if in a carriage descend im
mediately. ,
I made the round of the churches, but they were insigni
ficant after Rome. One of them was modelled upon St. Peter's,
but was paltry in comparison. The interior looked imposing
with its display of columns ; but instead of marble they were
imitations in scagliola. In all of them there were numberless
pictures of saints pasted over with gilding, which no doubt
added to their sanctity in the eyes of the worshippers, generally
of the lowest class, who were prostrated before them in heaps,
some on their knees, others at full length. The superstition of
the Russian people surpasses that of the Italian, conclusive in
both cases of their abject ignorance.
The Greek religion of Russia differs little from the Latin
or Catholic Church, save that the Czar is its spiritual head
instead of the Pope. This schism occurred in the ninth cen
tury. The Greek Church is divided into numerous sects, and
the religious sentiment is said to be stronger in Russia than in
any other country, which some attribute to the .suppression of all
political and literary development.
The public edifices are on a colossal scale, and some of
good proportions. The Exchange is fashioned after that of
Paris, but the marble pillars of the original are copied in stucco.
Peter and his successors endeavoured to give St. Petersburg an
air of great splendour, but for want of money and marble had
employed cheap material, and concealed it with whitewash. The
streets were straight and wide ; many of them would throw the
avenues of Washington into the shade ; and with the lofty
houses skirting them, and the numerous immense squares, were
certainly impressive. At last, however, you were wearied by the
monotonous uniformity, and began to long for a narrow or a
crooked street, or even a back alley — something to break the
tiresome repetition.
The costume of the lower classes was odd, if not picturesque.
The better sort wore a tunic of blue cloth down to their feet,
fastened round the middle by a coloured sash. A lower strata
were enveloped in sheepskin, the woolly side turned in during

oj. reiersourg. 207

cold weather. Their faces were half concealed in hair, and
their beards covered the breast. A barber would be driven to
despair in this country, for the majority of Russians shave little
vr never. Most of the lower class in the towns, and all of them in the
country, were serfs, and in the condition of servitude of the
common people throughout Europe during the Middle Ages.
Should the nineteenth century make its way into Russia, one
of its first edicts would be the abolition of serfdom. A great
outcry was made over our enslaved blacks ; but here were millions
of the Caucasian race in bondage since centuries, and nobody in
Europe ever mentioned it.* What a funny world !
The Russian horses are small, but well shaped and fleet. The
vehicle chiefly seen in the streets is called a ' drosky,' and un
like any I had ever seen. It consists of a seat running length
wise, on which you sit astride. The driver is perched on a
little box, enveloped in the universal tunic, with a low bell-
crowned hat. There is usually one horse only in the shafts,
with another, not drawing but galloping, alongside. The effect
is novel and pretty.
I found St. Petersburg indescribably dull. Philadelphia of
a Sunday was lively in comparison. August, they said, was the
most torpid month of the year. Not only were the aristocracy
absent, but, to my horror, I could find no place of amusement.
The theatres were all shut, and there were neither concerts, or
balls, or any diversion to be found. I yearned for an evening at
Hamburg. Another dreadful shock was the universal ugliness of the
women, at least of those I encountered in the street. It might
be the effect of this rigorous climate, but look which way I
would, I observed nothing but shrivelled skins, bad complexions,
flat Calmuck features, and eyes without expression. A sojourn
of ten days with all the best people away was hardly sufficient,
however, to justify a final verdict on Russian beauty at St.
Petersburg. I should think one might be very comfortable here in winter,
in spite of the terrible climate. The windows were all double,
and in every room and corridor were square porcelain stoves, of
various sizes, in which wood was burnt. Once heated they re
mained so for hours, and the temperature was kept up to 65
* In 1 86 1 serfdom was modified rather than abolished.

208 St. Petersburg.
degrees Fahrenheit day and night. It must be very pleasant to
live in a house at a uniform warmth throughout. At home it
was agonising in winter to pass from a comfortable room into a
freezing hall.
Paris, I thought, presented a military aspect, but it was
eclipsed by that of St. Petersburg. Marching, drilling, and
reviewing were eternally going on, and it was not mere idle
show either. It was clear the Emperor meant to carry on the
policy bequeathed by his predecessors. He remembered when
Peter ascended the throne, 1689, Russia possessed but one sea
port, Archangel in the White Sea, closed by ice for eight months
of the year. Since then the Romanoffs had added a thousand
miles to their coast in the Baltic, to say nothing of the finest ter
ritories of the Black Sea, and their acquisitions in the Caspian
and Aral Seas. Their flag even floated on the Pacific. An army
and navy of great strength were requisite to extend these con
quests, and these Nicholas was straining every nerve to obtain.
The whole empire was only a barrack, and every man was re
quired to be a soldier or sailor. The Emperor's eldest son, then
seventeen, was allowed none but a military garb, and forbidden
to think of anything but military topics. He was daily drilled
by his warlike father, and even the Princesses were obliged to
be present at all reviews.
With such a man conquest was the breath of his nostrils.
Turkey and Sweden stopped his way to the Atlantic, and one of
them he felt bound to conquer. As Turkey offered most attrac
tion, his attention was directed there. In 1827 he was cunning
enough to get France and England to assist him to destroy the
Turkish fleet at Navarino, under the pretext of effecting the inde
pendence of Greece. The next year he took the Ottomite by the
throat, a la Othello, and smote him hard, returning home with a
rich slice of Asia, the mouths of the Danube, and the protector
ate of the Danubian Provinces in his pocket. In 1832 he
adroitly protected the Sultan against his rebel vassal, the Pasha
of Egypt, and asked in return that the Straits of the Darda
nelles should be closed to all other nations. ' That is, bar the
door, good Turk, against any interference, and I will cut you up at
my leisure.' It seemed manifest destiny that Russia should make
her Christmas dinner on Turkey, until the last morsel was swal
lowed. Would that content her ? Or is the world destined to
become, as Napoleon predicted, ' either Cossack or Republican' ?

St. Petersburg. 209

I regretted the Emperor had gone on a trip to Germany,
else Mr. Wilkins would have presented me. I should have liked
to have contemplated this great monarch, who ruled despotic
ally over the vastest empire of the globe.* Though only a man
with the same complement of limbs and organs, still, as the em
bodiment of such stupendous dominion, he would have been a
sight not met with every day. But Nicholas had physical and
moral advantages besides. He was considered one of the hand
somest men in Europe, and for industry and energy had no
superior. In his private life he was the first of his dynasty to set
an example of strict decorum, for he was a model husband and
father. His ancestors seem never to have read the seventh command
ment. Catherine I., originally a peasant, and wife of a private
soldier, became the mistress of General Menzikoff His master
Peter, struck by her beauty, took possession of her, and, after
several years, married her. Catherine survived him two years,
during which she renewed her old relations with Menzikoff. The
latter began life as a pastrycook ; but Peter took a fancy to
him, and put him in the army, where he achieved the highest
distinction. Anne, niece of Peter, was Empress from 1736 to 1740, and
during her reign was wholly dominated by her favourite, Jean
Biren, son of a peasant.
The Empress Elizabeth, daughter of Peter, was so humane
as to be named the ' Clement.' She refused to marry, that she
might indulge her fancies without impediment. She had a long
list of favourites, of whom the Count de Bestucheff maintained
his hold the longest.
Catherine II., a German princess, was forced into a marriage
with Peter III. whilst Duke of Courland. Peter no sooner
reached the throne than, enraged at Catherine's liaison with
Stanislas Poniatowski, he threatened to divorce and imprison her.
To escape such a fate she organised a conspiracy, which ended
by Peter being thrown into prison, where, in a short time, he was
murdered. Catherine was now sole monarch, and she made
her old love, Stanislas, King of Poland. Orlof, an aide-de-camp,
who had been very active in the conspiracy, and a handsome
man to boot, became the leading favourite. His head was
so turned by the honours and favour bestowed on him that he
* China, perhaps, excepted. P

2io St. Petersburg.

gave frequent offence to Catherine, who, after enduring it for
some time, proving her attachment, she ordered him to go
abroad, providing him with abundant means. Her next amour
was Potemkin, noble by birth, and not more remarkable for
his graces of person than his brilliant military talents. He was
active in effecting the partition of Poland, and frequently com
manded the army against Turkey. He was anxious to march
on Constantinople, but Catherine hesitated. He conquered thft
Crimea, and induced his Sovereign to visit it. To impress her
with an idea of its value, he had numerous artificial villages
erected at various points, which she supposed were of natural
growth. Potemkin's favour was at its height, when the discarded
Orlof returned to St. Petersburg, and was so stung by the gran
deur of his rival that he went mad and died. Catherine II.,
whose reign of thirty-four years was the most brilliant after that
of Peter the Great, died in 1796 of apoplexy, having survived all
her minions. Beside rare political ability she was fond of lite
rature ; corresponded with Voltaire, and bestowed a fortune on
Diderot, the French savant, whom she invited to her Court.
The sad fate of Paul, her son, I have mentioned. Her grand
son, Alexander I., was not much better than the rest. His liaison
with the Baroness Krudner is well known.
This is a sorry record for the house of Romanoff, as far as
their private lives are concerned, but the moral influence of
Europe had less weight in Russia formerly than now. At all
events, as I have remarked, the domestic life of Nicholas, brother
of the last Emperor, was stainless.
I often passed an evening with our Minister, and his sprightly
conversation always charmed me. He frequently related anec
dotes of the distinguished people he had met in St. Petersburg,
and on one occasion spoke of the Empress, a sister of the King
of Prussia, a handsome woman, under forty. He remarked that
she always treated him with great condescension, and was occa
sionally quite playful in her remarks. One night, chatting with
him at a ball at Court, she complimented him on his luxuriant
head of hair, and asked if that was an American characteristic.
' Ah, your Majesty is laughing at my gray hairs.'
' So far from that, Mr. Wilkins, I could wish my hair was as
gray as yours.'
' Your Majesty must surely jest.'
' No, believe me,' — and her tone became more serious,-^' for

St. Petersburg. 211

then I should be nearer to the goal, and feel less dread of the
risks and dangers that ever surround me.5
' Well, then, will your Majesty suffer me to hope you may
live till you are quite gray ? though I should be sorry to see that
beautiful hair blanched by the frosts of years.'
The news had just arrived of the shocking attempt on the
lives of the King of the French and some of his family, and
this had, doubtless, excited the alarm of the Empress for her
husband, whom she passionately loved. Besides, she remem
bered the tragic fate of his father Paul. ' How sweet a thing it
is to wear a crown !' says King Henry ; but the pillows of the
exalted of earth are often beset with thorns that disturb not
*Jie rest of the lowly.
Before leaving, I drove out one fine day to visit the cele
brated palace of Tzarkoe Selo, some sixteen miles from town.
It was in truth a gorgeous edifice, worth alone coming to St.
Petersburg to see. One of the immense apartments was lined
with the finest amber ; another with lapis lazuli ; the floor of a
third was thickly inlaid with pearl, and in the same room stood
a large table of the same precious material. I passed through
the bedroom where the last Emperor had died, and his clothes
were allowed to remain in the exact spot where he had deposited
them. This was by order of his successor, Nicholas, and I
thought it a touching mark of affection.
The theatre of the palace was beautiful, and quite as large
as one of the Philadelphia houses. Forrest was in raptures with
it, and strode up and down the stage as though once more on
his deserted throne. Of a sudden, catching the inspiration of
the place, he threw himself into an attitude, and began spouting
from Othello. I listened with delight to his splendid declama
tion, when, turning round, I observed the face of the palace
official attending us filled with amazement, and I feared every
moment he would run off, and summon the guard to arrest
Forrest for a lunatic. He little dreamt he was contemplating
the great tragedian of his day.
The gardens of the palace, with their avenues of lofty trees,
their close-shaven lawns, pretty lakes, and endless conservatories
filled with choicest fruit, reminded me of the fairyland of Italy.
The soft balmy atmosphere imparted an additional charm, and
I could hardly believe the enchanting scene before me would
soon be buried under deep layers of snow for whole months to-

212 St. Petersburg.

gether. The St. Petersburg summer, like woman's love, is brief,
but delightful.
We afterwards drove to see a palace built by the Emperor
Paul, which, though smaller, was equally sumptuous. As we
approached it, on the brow of a hill, our horses broke away, and
dashed down at a furious gallop. We observed with anxiety,
crossing the road, a party of ladies and gentlemen, with two
children, who were obliged to run for their lives. As we flew
by, a number of servants bellowed and gesticulated fiercely at
our Russian coachman, who looked terror-stricken. It trans
pired that the children were the youngest sons of the Emperor,
out for an airing with their attendants ; and we rejoiced for their
sakes, as well as our own, that a dreadful accident had been
escaped. For several days we had been getting ready to leave St.
Petersburg. The formalities were innumerable, and it was plain
that travellers were not wanted in Russia. Our passports cost
a world of trouble, and we were catechised over and over again
as to our motives in visiting Russia.
I should not forget that some one remarked to us, that
foreigners with military titles were spared a deal of vexation, as
the army was held in great veneration.
This hint was not lost on my companion Forrest, who trans
formed himself forthwith into a colonel of the U.S. ' Screamers.'
In harmony with his new rank he donned a frock-coat for
undress uniform, richly frogged, and mounted a military cap with
gold braid. I feared this might involve him in some awk
ward positions ; but he was so used professionally to changes
of character and costume that he thought nothing of it. This
temporary assumption of army rank, however, was of great ser
vice more than once.
I took an affectionate leave of Mr. Wilkins, who renewed his
invitation to pass the winter at St. Petersburg, adding that he
meant in the spring to resign his mission, and make a tour of
the German Courts on his way home, where he would present
me as his attache". The temptation was extreme, but I was
obliged again to decline.
' At all events,' said the Minister, ' we shall meet in Paris
in April next, where I shall be most happy to render you any
service in my power.'
It so turned out that he was able to lay me under great obli-

of. fetersourg. 213

gation, as I shall relate. He tendered me as I left him several
letters of introduction to our Ministers and Consuls on my in
tended route. I left St. Petersburg without the least regret.
There was not one of its 450,000 inhabitants I ever cared to see
again. For a city built in a century it is a phenomenon, but
with all its grandeur it fails to interest. It is too lofty, too wide,
too straight, and much too white. Of the four newspapers pub
lished, I could only read one, partly printed in French, and the
censorship excluded everything interesting. Even the solace of
a cigar in the streets was forbidden, because the Emperor did not
smoke. The Government is far too absolute to suit an American

CHAPTER XXII.
MOSCOW.
THE KREMLIN — A FETE — THE FOUNDLING HOSPITAL — A GRUMBLER—
THE MONASTERY SIMONOFSKOI, ETC.
We had now five hundred miles before us to reach Moscow, and,
as it was necessary to pass three nights and four days on the
road, we secured a compartment to ourselves, that we might en
joy all the more space and comfort. I had some misgivings as
to what kind of a thing a Russian diligence might be, but my
delight was measureless when I found it the ne plus ultra of
luxury — spring cushions, wadded backs, capacious pockets, and
even mirrors to reflect our contented physiognomies. I only
wished it could carry us to the borders of the Black Sea. I had
just taken my place when an equipage drove up with some officer
of distinction, to judge from his numerous decorations. I took
but a passing glance of him, as my attention was at once
absorbed by an object I had not seen before in St. Petersburg —
a very lovely woman, and young as well. It was clearly his
wife, from the hugs and kisses exchanged at parting. The
traveller took his seat, and the diligence dashed off, but the for
saken lady kept up with us in her carriage for some distance.
Her face was frequently buried in her handkerchief, but when she
looked up, smiling through her tears, I thought it more beautiful
than any rainbow. Evidently it was too much for the grim
soldier, for he waved her back with some remonstrances in
Russian, that sounded harsher than his tone ; and at length,
with a lingering heart-broken gaze, she turned and disappeared.
This little episode caused both Forrest and myself to feel
very queer. We jointly wished that Heaven had made us such a
woman, and then rejoiced it had not, else we should be enduring
the pangs doubtless afflicting the unhappy husband in the next
compartment. It was natural that a prolonged discussion on
marriage should ensue, and all the pros and cons were fully and
gravely considered. I could detect without difficulty that my

Moscow. 2 1 5

companion was a marrying man. He talked of the pleasures of
the fireside, the charm of a congenial and intelligent wife, the
delight of children, and wound up by wishing with a sigh that
Miss Sinclair was an American. Whilst admitting the fascina
tion of the picture he had sketched, I demurred that marriage
involved great risks, and seriously hampered a man's indepen
dence. ' The strongest wills,' I observed, ' were often overpowered by
women, giving a different shape to a career.'
' Generally for their good,' said Forrest.
' Not unfrequently the contrary,' I insisted. ' Besides, your
daily peace depends vastly on a wife — on her conduct, her whims,
not to say her follies.'
' You talk like a confirmed sceptic,' retorted Forrest, ' and are
wilfully shutting your eyes to the joys of paradise.'
' The more I reflect,' I continued, ' the more I tremble. I
have met not a few angelic creatures — Miss Gamble one of
the latest — but I never approach, even mentally, the brink of
matrimony but I take fright and bolt. The fact is, I fancy
women have too great an ascendency over me, and I shrink
instinctively from legalising their influence.'
'None but the brave deserve the fair,' declared Forrest dis
dainfully. ' You are too cowardly or too sentimental, and either
unfits you to make a contented husband.'
' In return, let me say that I think it requires a pliant and
conciliatory spirit to get on comfortably with a wife, and I doubt
if you are over-blest in that respect'
' I expect a wife to be obedient, to defer to my wishes, to
consult my tastes, and this would be easy if she loves — " The
labour we delight in physics pain" — and I'll take care to marry
one whose devotion I can count upon.'
' The more you exact, I warn you, the less you are likely to
get. A woman will do a great deal from affection, but she natur
ally expects something in return. The selfishness of husbands
often makes married life unsatisfactory'
' If you mix up so much fancy with the dose,' remarked
Forrest, ' you will never swallow it.'
' Better that than have it disagree with me.'
' Pshaw,' he protested ; ' if everybody calculated contingencies
so nicely, nobody would do anything. Nothing venture, nothing
have.'

2 1 6 Moscow.

' Yes, and sometimes they have more than was expected.
But as you seem screwed up to take the leap sooner or later,
I hope you may alight on a bed of roses.'
Here the argument, which was carried on till after dark,
dropped ; and, not long after, I inferred from certain guttural
sounds that my friend was already in the land of dreams. This
was confirmed a few minutes later by his murmuring, ' Kate —
American.' It was pretty plain that the great tragedian had
scorched his wings, and that the beauty, intelligence, and sweet
ness of Miss Sinclair had seriously compromised his peace of
mind. ' Not poppy, nor mandragora,
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou ow'dst yesterday.'
I knew my friend to be of an arbitrary temperament, and
dreaded, unless his choice fell on a woman ever ready to bend to
his determined will, that his married life might turn out ' a lame
and impotent conclusion.' So thinking and so fearing, I slowly
reclined into the arms of Morpheus.
I was enchanted with the excellence of the road. It was
macadamised a I'Anglaise, and smooth as a bowling-alley. The
country was uninteresting ; a deal of forest-land, but no cul
ture. We rattled on at great speed, stopping only twice a day
for meals, limited to half an hour. The stations were admirably
constructed, the food satisfactory. We passed some old towns
that had a comely look. One of them, Torjensk, was famous for
its Russian leather. Most of them had a shabby aspect, and
left an unfavourable impression of their inhabitants. Sometimes
I got out at night for a stretch whilst changing horses, and I
always stumbled over a number of boors, lying on the ground
wrapped in their sheepskins, and enjoying themselves hugely, to
judge from their loud snoring.
On the fourth day we drove under a lofty marble arch into
Moscow, the cradle of the Russian monarchy. The glimpse I
caught of the streets, houses, and people as we galloped by was
favourable, and I spied more well-dressed and pretty women in
five minutes than in my whole stay in its northern rival. We
got good rooms at a soi-disant French hotel, but it had an un
tidy look I did not relish. My Philadelphia notions of cleanli
ness often impaired my enjoyment in Europe. We sent out for

Moscow. 1 1 '

a guide, and to our consternation none could be had. We spoke
no Russian, and not one in ten thousand knew a word of French ;
but we concluded it was better to go astray in the streets than be
shut up in the house. So after dinner we desired our land
lord to send us off in a drosky to the principal theatre, with
orders to bring us back.
I was astonished at the size of the house — six rows of boxes,
countless stalls, and a pit of immense dimensions. There was
a large audience, but the nobility were still in the country, and
the display in dress was less striking. Robert le Diable was
given, but the performance suffered in comparison with that of
Paris. The costumes, however, were rich, and the scenery beau
tiful. Between the acts we followed the crowd into a large
saloon filled with men, who were jabbering with animation,
and smoking vehemently long Dutch pipes supplied on the spot.
Observing they all quaffed numerous tumblers of some yellow
liquid which I supposed was punch, we followed the example,
and found the beverage was tea without sugar or milk. I
thought this creditable to the temperate habits of the Muscovites.
In a short time the atmosphere became so dense with smoke
that, to escape suffocation, we beat a retreat. At the close of
the performance we searched in vain for our drosky, and were
obliged to set out for the hotel, with the dread of passing the
night in the street. Luckily the distance was not great, and,
having a good bump of locality, we managed, after wandering
about for a time, to hit upon our domicile.
Finding next day we could still get no guide, we determined
to devote it to the Kremlin. This is the great feature of Mos
cow, and is regarded with peculiar reverence. The towers that
flank it were built in 1487. Numerous structures of great inter
est are contained within its vast circumference. The ancient
palace of the Czars ; the church where they are crowned ; the Im
perial Treasury ; the belfry of J van Veliki, with thirty-two bells,
one of them the largest in Europe, — there was enough here to
occupy us for several days, so I felt less concern for our guideless
condition. After an inspection of the palace where the great
Peter was born, and a survey of the old cathedral, we gave
ourselves up to the wonders and splendours of the treasure-house
of the Czars.
The first thing that struck me, arranged chronologically, were
no less than seven crowns of vanquished kings, whose territories

2 1 8 Moscow.

had been successively gobbled up by greedy Russia. These
glittering trophies indicated the steady aggrandisement of this
growing empire, which seemed destined to play the conquering
role of ancient Rome. The crowns of the various Czars next at
tracted my attention. The diadem of Catherine, wife of Peter
the Great, is said to contain no less than 2536 diamonds, a single
one of which she would have regarded as fabulous wealth when
she began her career as the mate of a private soldier in the
Swedish army.
The thrones, some in massive silver, of the various Emperors
are preserved here, together with sceptres, globes, and crosses
in gold. In glass cases are arranged goblets, vases, watches,
bracelets, necklaces, all in gold and studded with precious stones.
Splendid pickings for an invading army !
In other rooms were displayed a gorgeous array of pre
sents from the Sultans of Turkey to their dreaded neighbour,
consisting chiefly of saddles, bridles, and housings, profusely
decked with jewels of great value. I had never even dreamed
of such a dazzling accumulation of treasure. I doubted if all
the jewellers of Europe with their united collections could have
equalled it in extent, variety, or value.
It was a relief to my dazed vision to get away from the
glitter of this granary of gems, this Russian Golconda, and look
for some new object of interest. I found it at my feet. From
the lovely gardens of the Kremlin a commanding view of the
city is obtained. It was wholly unlike any I had seen. There
was something, as I .thought, singularly Asiatic in its character.
The immense number of domes, towers, and spires that rose on
every side gave it quite an Oriental aspect ; and, painted as nearly
all were in bright blue or green, and thickly besprinkled with
golden stars, the sight in the clear sunlight was hardly less
bewildering than that I had just left. Moscow was said to cover
a greater surface than any city f>f Europe, owing to the great
extent of its ornamental grounds, public and private. A pretty
river, the Moskwa, winds through the town, and greatly en
hances its picturesque beauty. Leaning on the parapet, I con
templated with rapt delight the enchanting panorama, and
recalled the chequered history of this ancient capital, whose
foundation dates from 1 147.
It gradually rose in importance, and from 1300 to 1703 it
enjoyed without a rival the position of the capital of the em-

Moscow. 2 1 9

pire. From the latter period St. Petersburg became the seat of
Government ; but the affections of all true Russians still cling to
the ' Holy City.' Such is its prestige that every new Emperor
comes here to assume his crown. It has undergone much rough
treatment in the course of its long history. It has been re
peatedly besieged, pillaged, and burnt by Lithuanians, Tartars,
and Poles, to say nothing of what it has suffered by rival dis
putants to the throne.
Its latest visitation was still fresh in the minds of many of
its inhabitants. In 1812 it was captured by Napoleon; but he
had scarcely jumped from his horse, and seated himself in his
conqueror's chair in the palace of the Czar, than tall columns of
flame shot up in every quarter of the doomed city. No efforts
could arrest the devouring conflagration, and soon he found him
self only the master of smoking ruins. What a chill must have
struck his heart as he foresaw the terrors of his inevitable retreat !
The greater part of his vast army perished of cold and starvation
in its flight homewards. This was, as Talleyrand declared, ' the
beginning of the end' of Napoleon's career. Whose act it was
that made a holocaust of Moscow has never been discovered. By
many it was attributed to Rostopchin, the governor ; but three
years before his death, in 1826, he denied it. Some suppose it
was a deep-laid scheme of the Holy Alliance, and that Napoleon
was artfully drawn on to Moscow only to receive a mortal blow.
Happily the Kremlin, with all its precious monuments, escaped
destruction. In 18 14 Moscow began to rear its head once more,
and who could help invoking the god of battles that it might
henceforth be spared the miseries it had so often undergone ?
On the fourth day we secured a guide, a short, thin, yellow-
skinned Egyptian, by name of Joseph, who spoke a dozen lan
guages, and knew every foot of the town. He was intelligent and
civil, and turned out quite a treasure.
On sallying forth next morning, I found the shops all shut,
and crowds of people in the streets, decked in their best attire.
Joseph announced it was a/?/(?-day ; and as all public buildings
were closed, we had nothing to do but loiter about and contem
plate Moscow in its holiday garb. It is always pleasant to see
a great city turn out for a frolic, and it affords a traveller especi
ally an opportunity to observe the manners and tastes of the
population. The first thing that struck me was the motley
variety of costumes, not more curious than picturesque. It

220 MOSCOW.

seemed as though all the nations of Asia had sent delegations to
represent them upon the occasion — Persians, Armenians, Tartars,
and Turks, with turbans of every colour and robes of every
texture, to say nothing of the different nationalities that con
stitute modern Russia, with garments as fantastic as any of
them. All meandered to and fro, filling the squares, lingering
around the fountains, and finally collecting towards night in the
splendid public gardens, brilliantly illuminated. What a con
trast to the mercurial French on such a day, who would be
talking, gesticulating, and romping like kittens, whereas the
Muscovites comported themselves with the sober dignity of an
Oriental people ! They talked little and smiled less ; and if they
felt any lively emotions, they were not visible in their grave
countenances or placid eyes.
The perfect order maintained was striking. To be sure, the
police were as thick as flies, and sentinels abounded. 'The
myrmidons of the law' are wonderfully useful in all countries in
keeping crowds on their good behaviour. I inferred, in spite of
their costumes and Asiatic tint, that most of the population were
Christian, and very devout at that ; for they did little else but
cross themselves almost every minute as they passed the images
of saints, that, in this superstitious country, were found in
every conceivable place. Go where you might, into shops, cafes,
theatres, as well as at the corners of the streets, you came in
contact with some member of the holy fraternity, enclosed in a
frame and daubed over with gilt. Not to cross yourself, or at
least to raise your hat, would be considered sacrilegious.
I remember one day getting into a scrape by neglecting the
customs of the place. One of the entrances to the Kremlin was
through a long tunnel, where the air was exceedingly damp; but
as this was christened the Oi Spaskoi, or Holy Gate, everybody,
from the Emperor down, was expected to take his hat off. As
I was suffering from a cold I determined to stick to my beaver;
but every one I passed stood still, horror-stricken at the act. Di
rectly the sentinel caught sight of me, electrified at the outrage,
he uttered a wild shout, and, levelling his spear, made after me-
Knowing nothing of the language, it would have been difficult
to explain the case ; so I took to my heels, and, fortunately,
outran the man with the javelin.
On the night of the fete just spoken of, the town was illumi
nated. The windows were filled with candles ; and along the

MOSCOW. 2 2 I

pavement were placed wooden cups with burning tapers. The
most enticing displays, however, were the gardens that skirted
the town, where coloured lamps, festooned from tree to tree,
doubled the effect of the multifarious costumes, and gave it the
appearance of a masquerade. The ancient walls and Tartar
towers of the Kremlin were ingeniously lit up, and adorned
with eagles and crowns in all the colours of the rainbow.
The next day we set to work, under the auspices of Joseph,
and made the round of all the attractions of Moscow. It was
impossible not to be frequently impressed by the grand scale of
the public edifices, and the almost military organisation that
pervaded everything in Russia. In nothing that I saw was the
civilisation of the century disparaged. The fact is, ever since
Peter the Great knocked down the wall of isolation which had
previously environed his semi-barbarous country, Russia has been
advancing with giant strides. There must be a vigilant mind some
where directing the destinies of this aspiring empire. Behind
the throne there must be some unseen power, which not only
disposes of czars who misunderstand their mission, but is ever
urging the nation onwards. I have referred to Napoleon's pre
diction, that ' in fifty years Europe would be Republican or
Cossack.' It will take longer than that ; but the struggle be
tween the two principles, Democracy and Aristocracy, ' ne'er
knows retiring ebb.' Will the twentieth century bend the knee
to the many-headed monster, or will it sit down resigned under
a system that reposes on unity for its corner-stone ?
For the first time in my life I visited a Foundling Hospital
at Moscow. They exist in most countries, and are usually diffi
cult of access, as was the case here ; but we managed to effect
an entrie. This Russian institution surpassed in extent and ex
penditure any other in Europe, and it will be seen how admir
ably it was utilised by this sagacious Government. An im
pressionable mind could not but be deeply stirred by the singular
fate of those unfortunate waifs, who grew up unconscious of the
tenderest ties of our nature, and were for ever tormented with
the mystery of their origin. How terrible must be the sacrifice
of the mother who abandons her child to unknown hands, living
in perpetual ignorance of its destiny ! Hardly less dreadful than
consigning it to the tomb. With these impressions I entered
the vast building, and began with the male department.
The first room was occupied by clerks, who sat like mutes

2 2 2 MOSCOW.

behind their desks. It was here the foundling was brought, and
his entry recorded. The only question asked was, ' Has this
child a name?' If not, one was given. The next court was
filled with cradles, where the infant was handed over to a nurse,
and gently stowed away till five in the afternoon, when he was
aroused for the right of baptism. In a succeeding gallery I found
the little ones hard at play, some on their legs, others crawling
on all-fours. We then passed into the first schoolroom, where
the three-year-olds were formally introduced to A B C in the
Russian and other modern languages. So we went on, apart
ment after apartment, until the inarticulate babe of the first hall
had been gradually manufactured into a highly educated and
well-bred young gentleman of eighteen. The gradation of ages
through which I had passed, with the corresponding changes in
size, manner, and culture, almost gave me the impression that I
was walking through some factory, where a human being was
picked up a helpless passive piece of flesh, and by degrees, under
careful manipulation, metamorphosed, body and mind, into a
complete and intelligent product called a man. This would
have been the effect upon any one who had gone, step by step,
stage after stage, through this novel and singular process of
transformation. The education was regulated according to the capacity, and
those found equal to it were initiated into the highest branches
of science. At the age of eighteen they left the institution,
and most of them were destined for the army. Those of a more
pacific turn were allowed to engage in commercial pursuits.
Others were enabled to go off in a body to colonise various por
tion of this immense territory, and use their influence to extend
civilisation and strengthen the Government which had fostered
them. Crossing to another wing, we entered the female department.
Here we began again with sundry sweet little cherubs busily
engaged imbibing nourishment, till, in due course, we came
upon them hopping and chirping about with noisy vivacity. Our
inspection went on, till, at the close, we encountered young ladies
of sixteen and seventeen, whose serious and comely deportment
was really most captivating. Not only were they instructed in
all useful studies, but taught every accomplishment that could
facilitate their success in life, as embroidery, music, drawing,
and most of the European languages. Admirable samples of

Moscow. 223

needlework were exhibited, and notably some handkerchiefs em
broidered for the Empress. Some of the best compositions of
the German and Italian schools were brilliantly executed on the
piano and harp, of which there was an abundant supply. These
poor girls, who, for the matter of that, seemed contented and
happy, were vigilantly looked after on leaving their only home.
Most of them became governesses in rich and noble families,
and many married with the sanction of the institution ; but all
remained for six years under the surveillance of the governor. If
undeserved misfortune overtook any after entering the world, they
were received back, and succoured till a fresh opening presented
itself. The dormitories were well ventilated and in excellent
order. In the hospital there was only one patient out of nine
hundred inmates. Infants were received daily in numbers vary
ing from one to forty.
The morality of such an institution it is idle to discuss. It
is certainly a check on infanticide, and many children who might
otherwise have grown up worthless or criminal were thus con
verted into useful members of society. But in Russia, where
educated men and women are important adjuncts in the great
scheme of empire, the Foundling Hospital was considered worth
the liberal sums bestowed on it by the Government. There is
no telling how many distinguished generals and great engineers
began their career in this benevolent establishment.
It was hardly possible to wander for several hours, as we did,
amid such a concourse of young women without encountering some
remarkable specimens of loveliness. One sweet girl in particular
arrested my attention, not for her beauty only, but her modest
refined deportment, and a touching sensibility revealed in her
face and melting eyes. Her ambiguous birth and uncertain
future tended to deepen my interest. The thought flashed across
me that it would be patriotic as romantic to convert her into an
American citizen by carrying her off to the nearest church. But
I lacked nerve for so adventurous an exploit. For days she
haunted my memory, and there was scarcely a morning I might
not have sung with Shelley,
' I arise, I arise, from dreams of thee, of thee.'
I went frequently to the French theatre, where I found an
admirable group of artists. Whatever the Russians imported
always consisted of the best material. One evening I fell in

224 Moscow.

with a distinguished Englishman I had met on the Baltic steamer.
He had just returned from an excursion to Novgorod to see
the celebrated fair, and he described it as very curious, especially
the variety of races that came there from all parts of the East,
as eager for a bargain as the more enlightened denizens of the
Western world.
' However,' he added, in a dissatisfied tone, ' it is paying dear
for your whistle to travel over such detestable roads as you find
in Russia, not to speak of the utter absence of ordinary comforts.'
' You should not forget,' I replied, ' the condition of England
before Macadam appeared, not so very long ago. It is little
over a century since George II. consumed hours driving from
Hampton Court to St. James's Palace, scarcely sixteen miles ;
and then Russia was hardly better than an Asiatic province.
Now she ranks with the first European States.'
' Whatever her political standing,' said the scoffer, ' it is a
wretched country for a traveller. There is not a decent hotel
in St. Petersburg, and you admit that in Moscow you were
compelled to take refuge in an English pension. A thousand
annoyances beset you at every turn. You cannot leave a town
without advertising it for days, and your banker must go security.
At every moment your business must be explained to prying
officials. The Lord deliver me, I say, from another trip in
Russia !'
' If England is taken as a standard,' I answered, ' it must be
admitted there is much to complain of ; but are the other coun
tries of Europe above criticism ? In all of them your passports
are constantly demanded, and your portmanteaus turned in
side out'
' But in all of them,' returned the railer, « you have some com
pensation. What do you get in Russia ? St. Petersburg is the
stupidest place I ever saw. All the buildings are covered with
whitewash. There is not a gallery worth looking at. The
churches are things of yesterday, and contemptible at that. The
people are filthy and plunged in superstition, and, from high to
low, they are the greatest cheats in the world. They cheat the
Government, they cheat each other, and doubtless hope to cheat
Heaven by crossing and prostrating themselves every five minutes
before the daubs you meet at every corner.'
I was amused at this hearty explosion of English spleen.
' Well,' I continued, ' I am not inclined to take up the cudgels

Moscow. 225-

for St. Petersburg, which made little impression on me. But
you cannot deny that Moscow has many charms. What a view
from the Kremlin ! Nothing more picturesque in Europe.'
' Yes,' said the croaker, ' if the picturesque consisted of green
paint and gilt stars, which are smeared over everything. But
where is there a picture or a statue worth crossing the street to
see ? Not a single monument of any grace or antiquity.'
' Don't ignore the Kremlin, remarkable for both.'
' I admit it is old enough.'
' And what a collection of gems is seen there !'
' I'll lay you odds,' said the scoffer emphatically, ' that half of
them are false. The real ones have been stolen long ago. The
officials in this country could not live on their miserable stipends.
They must plunder or starve.'
' It is clear,' I remarked, ' that you can find no good in Naza
reth.' ' Not much, I grant you. Why, I never pick up the London
Times but I find half of it blotted out, as if . a newspaper
article was as deadly as the cholera. What a Government, what
a country ! I don't wish them harm, but I trust never to see
them again.'
My late fellow-voyager was plainly in a bad humour, and I
was diverted by his wholesale abuse of unfortunate Russia. It
was clear that the many vexatious formalities, that I fancy are
meant to exclude travellers, had told upon his equanimity, and I
feared, before bidding adieu to the land of the Czars, I should
fall into the same jaundiced condition. Travelling in England
was so pleasant, that a wandering Briton was apt to look at every
thing through his nil admirari spectacles. The British Lion was
notorious for his growling propensities, but I trusted that my
American temperament would save me from such extravagant
denunciation. I was strongly urged one day to venture on a Russian bath,
although said to be a trying ordeal for novices. With some tre
pidation I undertook it. In the first room I was popped into a
hot-water bath, where the temperature was gradually raised till I
was nearly parboiled. This was intended to prepare the victim
for the second chamber, filled with hot air to the tune of 100
degrees Fahrenheit. The third chamber was still hotter, and
would have been intolerable but for a tremendous perspiration
Coming to my relief. ^At the end was a platform with three
Q

226 Moscow.

steps, each one emitting a hotter current of air. On the top was
a wooden bed, the pons asinorum of the process, and to lie down
upon this was considered a triumph. I tried it ; but my head
seemed to swell, and respiration became difficult. I felt if I did
not melt away I must break out in flames, and I bolted. Sham
pooing followed in another room ; and finally I was consigned
to a divan, and regaled with coffee and cigarettes. Repose in a
moderate temperature, after such dreadful prostration, was really
delightful, and, as strength returned, a wonderful buoyancy suc
ceeded. My conclusion was that a man must be in a very foul
state to require such sweltering to restore him to a state of
cleanliness. Philadelphia in the dog-days almost made me for
swear my country ; but this Russian experiment quite reconciled
me to my native climate.
Forrest and I both found Moscow very agreeable ; but our
journey to the ' Propontic and the Hellespont' was before us,
and we felt it necessary to prepare for our departure. As there
was no public conveyance at that day to Odessa, 1300 miles
distant, we bought a carriage, and, intending to travel day and
night, we ordered a mattress to fit it, that could be doubled up
in the day. An order on the post-houses, maintained for
Government use, to supply us with horses, was then procured,
and we thought four sufficient. We waded heroically through a
sea of formalities that more than once recalled the grumbling
Englishman, until I was almost inclined to adopt his wicked
suspicion against the jewels of the Kremlin. When all was
over, as I thought, Joseph informed us the Governor's signature
to our papers was indispensable, and he was absent for two or
three days.
Though only the middle of September, there was a ' nipping
and an eager air' at night, the thermometer often falling to near
freezing-point, though the day was genial enough. I looked
forward with relish to a more southern latitude.
Some one suggested we should attend vespers at the Monas
tery Simonofskoi ; and thither we went one evening after dark,
under convoy of Joseph, who conducted us into a dimly-lighted
chapel. At the customary hour a priest took his place before
the altar, a twinkling taper in his hand, and began reading
from a book. At each line he paused, and it was repeated by an
invisible chorus, whose voices were singularly melodious. The
effect was most impressive. At the close of this ceremony a

Moscow. 227

long line of priests, emerging from the darkness, advanced with
slow and solemn tread towards the altar. They were clad in
loose garments of black, with high-pointed hats of the same
funereal hue, from which hung pendants in crape. Each bore a
burning taper. They were pale, thin, ghostly-looking men. The
words of Hamlet occurred to me :
' Be thou spirits of health or goblins damn'd,
Be thy intents wicked or charitable,
Thou com'st in such questionable shape — '
Arranging themselves about the altar, they began to chant
anew. I never listened to such a ' concord of sweet sounds/
Their voices swelled at times to so loud a pitch as to make the
vault above reverberate, and then gradually died away into a
gentle cadence almost inaudible. I was strangely affected by
this exquisitely thrilling harmony. Doubtless the surrounding
obscurity, the strange ghoul-like appearance of these monks, and
the sepulchral novelty of the scene, that revived hideous visions
of the Inquisition, combined to deepen the effect. The service
over, these unhappy men, as I regarded them, slowly and sadly
stalked away to their living tombs. Full of youth and vivacity,
I could not comprehend such a dismal existence. These poor
creatures seemed to me only to live
' In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.'
To dispel the impressions of this sombre weird-like scene, I
hurried away to the opera, where the graceful figurantes of the
ballet, which vied with that of Paris, gradually restored me to
more mundane emotions.
The following morning, Joseph came to announce that the
Governor had returned, and all was signed. We ordered the
carriage forthwith ; and it soon appeared, with four spanking
grays, that looked equal to ten miles the hour. As we were told
that provisions were but scanty on the road, we laid in a good
supply of cold joints and pickles to match, trusting to Providence
for the rest. As we rattled through the streets, I experienced a
regret on leaving Moscow I had not felt in the case of St. Peters
burg. There was a deal of charm about the place, and no little
splendour. Many of the private mansions had the air of palaces;
for Moscow was the favourite residence of the Boyars, whose
wealth was often enormous; in proof of which, one of them was

228 Moscow.

said to be the owner of 180,000 serfs, more than the inhabitants
of Philadelphia then.
We got on famously, as the roads were in excellent condi
tion at this season of the year, and we calculated that, barring
accident, we could reach Odessa on the eighth day, stopping
only once in twenty-four hours for a hearty meal, and falling back
on our larder at night for an additional snack, if needed.
The country was flat, and as we advanced south the soil im
proved, and the culture was general. Grain of all kinds was
grown in abundance, and buckwheat was an especial favourite.
It constituted the chief food of the peasantry, who boiled and
ate it as our New Englanders did mush. As we penetrated into
' the bowels of the land,' we observed, to our annoyance, that un
usual delay befell us at every post-house, and that, instead of the
four horses stipulated, we were frequently encumbered with six
or more. We called on our factotum Joseph, whose services we
had secured till our return to France, for an explanation ; and
he alleged that, in spite of all his remonstrances, the post
masters invariably declared either their horses were all gone,
or that they were bespoke by some general or prince, hourly
expected. ' What does that mean ?' we demanded indignantly.
' It means, my masters,' said Joseph, in a fume, ' that the post
masters are unscrupulous knaves, and they employ these pre
texts to force me to take double the number I ask for.'
This revelation led to a discussion between Forrest and my
self as to the best plan of action under the circumstances. The
drain on our purses for extra horses was considerable, and added
nothing to our speed. Finally we determined, rather than suffer
loss of time and temper, we had better submit to extortion, but
cautioned Joseph to spare our pockets, if possible. Things went
on as usual, till one night Joseph woke me up, saying he was in
despair, as the rogue of a postmaster asserted he had no horses
at all, which he knew was false. I roused Forrest, and stated
the case.
' Tell the scamp,' growled the tragedian, ' that we will mur
der him if he detains us another moment'
' And notify him also,' I added, ' that we have despatched
two or three villains like him already.'
Presently Joseph returned, and said the fellow only laughed
at our threats. I then proposed to Forrest we should make a

Moscow. 229

demonstration that might possibly be successful. I suggested
he should draw the long bowie-knife he carried with him, and I
should take a pistol in either hand, and then make a rush on our
victim. ' Good,' returned Forrest, who relished the stratagem ; ' and
I will try his nerves with Metamora's war-whoop.'
' Which I will supplement,' I continued, ' with demoniac yells
of the fiercest description.'
Jumping out of the carriage, we made a dash at the long-
bearded ruffian, who turned pale with terror, and fled screaming
across a courtyard. We put chase, and I fired my pistols in the
air as we ran. The varlet doubled his speed, and disappeared
from view. We returned chuckling to our mattress, and awaited
the result. In a little while Joseph came back in a great fright
— for he thought it was all serious — and said he had found the
peccant Russian hidden under a pile of straw, who implored us to
spare his life, and we might take all his horses if we chose.
' Let us have four horses instantly,' we both responded, ' or
he is a doomed man.'
In ten minutes we were off, congratulating ourselves heartily
over the success of our ruse. Joseph told this story to all suc
ceeding postmasters, and the effect was magical.
Occasionally we passed some small towns of rather a re
pulsive aspect, but everywhere the church was the most im
posing edifice, and we found the priests were held in the
greatest reverence. The Greek faith had clearly a strong hold
on the Russian peasantry. At all the stations scattered along
the route, for the benefit of Government officials, we were sup
plied with excellent bread and delicious tea, and our own com
missariat furnished the more substantial fare required. We lost
the greater part of one day wading slowly through a vast
stretch of sand that must have been the bed of some dried-up
sea. For a time I could imagine we were travelling through the
desert of Sahara, but as the novelty wore off the monotony
increased, and the dragging pace put our patience to a severe
test. We breakfasted one morning at the pretty town of Pultawa,
besieged in 1709 by the famous King of Sweden, Charles XII.,
with an army of 20,000 men. Peter the Great fell upon him with
triple that force, and with great slaughter put him to flight. This
was his first defeat after numerous victories over the Czar and

230 Moscow.

other adversaries. After many vicissitudes, the unfortunate
Charles, the hero of his epoch, was killed in battle, 17 18, only
thirty-six years old. Voltaire's life of this great warrior reads
like a romance.
I was awakened in the middle of our seventh night on the road
by a tremendous uproar, and, on getting out of the carriage, found
Forrest vociferating furiously in very strong English, with Joseph
at his side shrieking wildly in Russian. On inquiring, I found
we had reached a river it was necessary to cross in a scow, and
the ferrymen refused to go over in the dark without some exor
bitant compensation. Inde ira. A simple solution occurred to
me, which Forrest readily adopted. Bidding Joseph give up
the conflict and mount his box, we threw ourselves on our mat
tress and had a glorious snooze till daylight, when we were
taken over the Dnieper at the usual rate. Diplomacy has its
victories as well as war. As we advanced we remarked immense
plains of rich pasturage, and the country assumed every moment
a more cheerful phase.

CHAPTER XXIII.
ODESSA AND THE CRIMEA
AN UNEXPECTED VISIT — BAD NEWS — PRINCE WORONZOW — A FLIRTATION 
SEBASTOPOL — POLITICAL CHAT.
On our eighth day we drove into Odessa, and I was almost
tempted to believe that, by some hocus-pocus, we had tumbled
on an Italian town, so balmy was the air, so bright the aspect
of the place, with its lofty granite houses, broad streets, rich
foliage, and splendid promenade on the borders of the smiling
Black Sea, rivalling the Mediterranean in loveliness. We alighted
at a splendid hotel worthy of any capital in Europe, and our
spacious apartment overlooked the classical Euxine of old. Af
ter a dinner of Parisian excellence, we strolled under a genial
starry sky in the pretty gardens by the seaside, whose trickling
fountains and graceful statuary reminded me every instant of
Naples and its adorable climate. I could not realise I was still a
denizen of the Russian Empire, associated in my mind with cold,
snow, and huge mantles of fur even in the decorous month of
October. All next day we walked and drove about the town, and our
pleasing impressions were confirmed on every side. What was
strange, it seemed to have nothing in common with the cities we
had seen. There was little or nothing Russian about it. Its
inhabitants were chiefly Italian or Greek, with a sprinkling of
French, German, and English. Those drowsy inoffensive crea
tures, the Russian boors, that we had met at every turn in St.
Petersburg and Moscow, seemed never to have found their way
hither. The history of Odessa is curious, and its birth is almost as
recent as an American town. It was only a paltry village in
1795, when Catherine II., with a wave of her imperial sceptre,
commanded a city to supersede it. A grayish granite found in the
neighbourhood answered the purpose, and streets were laid out,
fine houses built, stately edifices erected, as if by magic. Inha-

232 Odessa and the Crimea.
bitants from southern climes, from Greece and Italy, began to
flock in, and its population accumulated with giant strides. Pro
vidence bestowed on it a still greater boon. In 1805 the Duke
df Richelieu was sent here as governor by the Emperor Alex
ander. This distinguished man was a direct descendant of the
great Cardinal. He left France when the Revolution broke out in
1789, and entered the Russian army, where he rose to distinction
in a war against the Turks. He refused to fight against his
country when Russia took up arms to check Napoleon. The
command of Odessa was then offered him, and he gave by his
energy and judgment an immense impetus to its growth. The
Emperor was so pleased with his successful administration that
he extended the Duke's jurisdiction over the whole of Southern
Russia, where he sowed the first germs of modern civilisation.
Returning to France in 18 14, he became a Minister of Louis
XVIII. A monument to his memory stood in one of the squares
of Odessa. It was the French taste of the Duke of Richelieu;
coupled with the refinement of the Emigre's from Greece and
Italy, that gave to Odessa that foreign air and tone that aston
ished me so much at first sight. Its own sweet southern atmo
sphere completed the transformation.
Forrest and I were lolling over our dessert the day after our
arrival, discussing the charms of the place, when our door was
thrown open, and a tall stout man, clad in uniform, entered the
room. The intrusion was somewhat startling, and we began to
fear that our assault on the postmaster had reached Odessa, and
we were in danger of arrest, such things are so common in
Russia. The stranger approached us with a confident manner,
and a look of suspicion, as we thought, and asked if we were the
two Americans who had just arrived. This confirmed our appre
hensions, and we hesitated a moment. Resolved, however, to
die game, we replied in chorus, ' Yes, we are.'
' From what State and what city ?' continued the man in
regimentals. This catechism indicated it was all over with us. We ex
changed glances of conscious guilt, and drawled out again in
chorus, 'From Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.'
' Good Heaven !' exclaimed the unknown individual, his face
flushing and his eyes moistening, ' is it possible ? Give me your
hands, fellow-townsmen. It is my native city and State. My

Odessa and the Crimea. 233
name is General Sontag, in the Russian service. Allow me to
sit down and talk of my dear old birthplace, that I left more
than thirty years ago. You are the first Philadelphians I have
met since then.'
The revulsion in our feelings may be supposed. We rose,
and begged the General to be seated. A delightful conversation
ensued. He asked us a thousand questions about the Quaker
city, not forgetting the venerable State House and Independence
Bell. We told him of our adventure with the recalcitrant keeper
of the post-house, and of our sudden dread, when he appeared in
his military costume, that we were to be consigned to limbo
forthwith. He was much amused, and said when the police
informed him of the advent of two Americans, quite a pheno
menon in Odessa, he set out at once to welcome us.
He added that he had at first entered the Russian navy, but
then left it for the army, where he had made his way successfully.
He was now on the staff of the Governor-General of Southern
Russia, the Prince Woronzow, and was regarded as his right-
hand man. ' The Prince,' he said, ' was one of the pillars of the
empire, and a special favourite of the Emperor. You must know
his Excellency at once.'
' I have brought a letter to him,' I replied.
' That's well,' observed the General ; ' but I will write that
you are friends of mine, and I am sure he will greet you cordially.
He is at his palace in the Crimea, one of the loveliest regions
hereabouts, and as a steamer leaves on Friday with his des
patches, I will retain state-rooms, and you need have no fear of
a kind welcome. It is only a day's trip.'
I assented readily to this pleasant proposal.
' Your names have been given to me,' continued the General,
' but I don't know to whom they belong.'
' That is Mr. Forrest,' I said, indicating my friend.
' Any relation,' he asked, ' to the great actor ?'
' The man himself/ I explained.
' Can it be possible ?' ejaculated the General, contemplating
him with lively interest. ' I have heard of you so often, but
little dreamt of meeting you in Russia.'
As he rose, after a prolonged stay, General Sontag said he
would return the next afternoon, to drive us out to dine at his
villa, and to present us to his wife and daughter.
This rencontre was as gratifying as unexpected. To fall

234 Odessa and the Crimea.
upon an American and a brother-townsman on the very confines
of the Russian Empire, and one so high in authority, was really
a remarkable incident. I was not a little exhilarated, and For
rest was as much pleased, but he demurred to the excursion to
the Crimea. I divined immediately the nature of his objection.
He had, or affected to have, a dislike for fine company, which
he always alleged proceeded from his strong democratic senti
ments ; but I knew, from a long acquaintance, it arose from
other causes. Though a man of great intelligence, he had worked
so sedulously at his profession that he had given little attention
to other matters. Of politics, in the larger sense, he had only a
superficial knowledge, and not much more of literature, save as
connected with his art. He had no facility for small-talk, and
was much addicted to a dogmatic expression of his opinions on
current topics. His intimate friends humoured him, but in
society he could expect no such tolerance. He was proud and
sensitive besides, and could not brook to play a secondary rdle
in the world when he occupied the front rank on the stage. He
therefore eschewed society, as a rule, where he was always rest
less and uncomfortable — gene", as the French say — and sought
the companionship of a limited circle who adored the actor and
admired the man, in spite of his waywardness. We were -often
in collision on the subject of society. I was as fond of distingui
people as he was averse to them ; but he was never more pleased,
I observed, than to make a good impression when he conde
scended to play the carpet-knight. I was bent on the visit to
the Prince Woronzow, and resolved to take him with me. Ac
customed to his peculiarities, I knew how to tackle him ; and so,
after much argument and more persuasion, he yielded the point,
and agreed to accompany me.
The next morning we presented our letters to the United
States Consul, M. Palli, of Greek origin, who spoke English im
perfectly. He was exceedingly courteous, and said we were the
first American travellers he had met, and was entirely at our
service. As a special favour he loaned me the latest numbers of
Galignanis Messenger, an English journal published in Paris, but
remarked it was not allowed to enter Russia, and that I must
take care it was not seen. He received it disguised in letter
form. He pressed us to dine with him, which we accepted for
our return from the Crimea. I hurried back to the hotel to
devour the precious Galignani, which in the way of an omnium

isitasu una me Crimea. 235
gatherum was never equalled. In a series of well-worded para
graphs it dished up the news of the world without comment, and
one of my greatest delights was to roam at random through its
variegated columns.
In the afternoon General Sontag drove up to carry us off to
his country house, a few miles from Odessa. It was a hand
some and commodious residence, in the centre of extensive
grounds. Madame Sontag was a very amiable and unaffected
lady, a Russian by birth, and an authoress of repute. Their
only child, a- daughter of thirteen, was a perfect rosebud. We
took a stroll before dinner over a portion of what the General
called his farm. Yankee-like, he was very practical, and be
stowed great attention on the cultivation of his large tract of
land. I had seen no tillage like it in Russia. It was considered
the model farm of that region, and famous for its produce of all
kinds. He had just erected a dairy on the American plan, and
visitors came daily to inspect it. This was the first time we had
tasted good butter in Russia, and the General promised us daily
supplies of all the good things at his command.
After an excellent repast we adjourned to the drawing-room,
and it was like passing an evening in Philadelphia, for the
General did nothing but talk of his native town — of its familiar
streets and buildings — and was eager to know what changes and
improvements had since occurred. Our hearts warmed and
expanded as we dwelt in turn on this topic, so dear to each of us;
and it was hardly exhausted when the General spoke in Rus
sian to his pretty daughter, who went to the piano, and struck up
' Hail, Columbia!' followed by ' Yankee Doodle.' These patriotic
strains, at this distant spot, touched chords that had long lain
dormant, and nearly brought tears to our eyes. Forrest told me,
as we drove home, that he was as near as could be jumping up,
and shouting ' Hurrah for Jackson !' — the favourite mode, in
those days, for a Democrat to express his strongest emotions.
We were breakfasting gaily next morning, when Joseph came
in, with a rueful countenance, to announce that the plague was
raging at Constantinople, and that it would grieve him to leave
our service, but he could not venture to face that deadly disease.
This was a double blow — to lose Joseph, and confront the
plague. I was less disturbed than was natural, for I longed to
protract my sojourn in Odessa ; whereas Forrest had insisted on
our immediate departure for Turkey the moment we returned

236 Odessa atid the Crimea.
from the Crimea. The grim obstacle that suddenly crossed our
path was sure to impose delay ; but, prudently concealing my
reflections, I awaited my friend's view of the difficulty. After a
moody silence of some minutes, he asked,
' What do you propose ?'
' It is a serious matter,' I answered, ' and requires considera
tion. To retrace our steps would be intolerable. It may not be
so bad as reported. We must await further intelligence.'
' When shall we hear again from Constantinople ?' demanded
Forrest, turning to Joseph.
'It cannot be less than two weeks,' replied the Egyptian,
' for that is the duration of the quarantine for all vessels from
that port'
' The devil !' growled the tragedian, quite out of temper.
' Very hard luck,' I murmured ; ' but what can't be cured,
you know — '
Forrest flew off at once to the Consul, and galloped wildly in
every direction to get more information ; but no alternative pre
sented itself but the delay in question, or a full retreat on St.
Petersburg, which horrified him. No vessels were advertised for
the infected city, and our detention in Odessa for some weeks
was, therefore, a certainty ; but, disguising my inward satisfac
tion, I placidly counselled my disgusted friend to submit heroic
ally to the decrees of Fate.

General Sontag was as good as his word, and obtained for
us two cabins on the Prince's steamer, bound to the Crimea. He
kindly called to conduct us to the quay, where we embarked at
two P.M. on a very pleasant day, and I was buoyant at all the
enticing novelty in store for me. The vessel was English built,
and, though small, was fitted up with great elegance. There
were three Russian officers on board, going with reports to the
Governor-General. They had been informed that we were pro
ceeding on a visit to him, and we all struck up a cordial acquaint
ance, as they spoke French fluently. After dinner they drank to
our nationality, and we responded by toasting the Czar, which
means Russia, especially with the army. In conversation they
manifested no predilection for England or France. Indeed, it
was not difficult to discern a good deal of the opposite feeling.
They displayed great partiality for the United States, of which,

Odessa and the Crimea. 237
of course, they knew little, save that it was so far away that it
could never interfere with Russia. We had a stiff blow next
morning ; and the gallant officers, who would have attacked a
battery gaily, were obliged, after sundry wry faces, to succumb
to the invisible spirit that haunts a rolling sea, which, as Cassio
says, ' If thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee
devil' I amused myself, meanwhile, glancing over a French book on
the Crimea. What a history this unfortunate island has under
gone ! It is usually styled an island, though connected by the
narrow isthmus of Perekop with the mainland. Its records date
back as far as the eighth century before Christ, when the
Scythians held it ; and from that recondite period to our own
time it has passed through the hands of a succession of invaders,
whose number, like the ghosts in Macbeth, ' stretch out to the
crack of doom.' After the Greeks and Romans were done with
it, then came Goths, Huns, Hungarians, and many more, till in
1237 the Tartars took possession^ with whom the Genoese and
Venetians drove a brisk trade. In 1475 the Turks pounced
upon it, made it tributary, but left it in the occupation of the
Tartars and their Khan. In 1783 the Russians seized it, and
set to work at once to utilise it. They look upon it as the
advanced post to Constantinople. Its population is chiefly
Tartar, and amounts to some 250,000. It made immense pro
gress under the vigorous administration of the Prince Woron
zow. He profited by its fertile soil to develop agriculture on
the grandest scale. Its mild climate tempted him to cover it
with vineyards, and the manufacture of wine became an im
portant industry. He converted Sebastopol, with its splendid
harbour, into a formidable fortification. Appreciating its charms
as a residence, he constructed a chateau worthy of the feudal age.
In short, the Crimea under his management became an invaluable
acquisition. .A word of this remarkable man. His grandfather was Chan
cellor of the Empire under the Empress Elizabeth, and after
wards under Catherine II., whom he dissuaded from marrying
her favourite, Orloff. His father was the Russian ambassador
for many years in England, where his sister married the Earl of
Pembroke. Though heir to immense possessions, he entered
the army, and rose to the highest grades. The sobriquet given
him of the ' fire-eater' is proof of his daring valour. He com-

238 Odessa and the Crimea.
manded the army of occupation in France after the abdication
of Napoleon in 18 14. He represented Russia in 1 818 at the
Congress of Aix-la-Chapelle. In 1823 he was made Governor-
General of Southern Russia, an empire in itself ; and such was
the confidence of the Emperor, that his power was absolute.
At 5 P.M. we passed the Prince's domain, and salutes were
fired from our steamer, and returned from the shore. At seven
o'clock we anchored off Yalta, a Tartar village, and then rowed
to land. It was fifteen miles to the Prince's residence, and the
night was dark, so we postponed our departure till the morning.
We found accommodation in a wretched- house, that was in every
way so repulsive that we would gladly have returned to the
steamer, but there were no means to do so. After a scanty
meal, we took to our beds, meaning to be up with the dawn.
I had scarcely stretched myself out when I was set upon by
whole battalions of creeping things, that convinced me the
Crimea was highly favourable to animal life. I sprang to my
feet, and, folding my travelling-cloak around me, laid down on
a bench to ' sleep it into morn.' I soon discovered I was no
better off. Macbeth in his misery exclaimed, ' Methought I
heard a voice cry, Sleep no more.' In my case it was legions of
fleas that uttered the injunction, and I passed the night on foot,
walking to and fro, eager to scent the morning air. At daybreak
we summoned Joseph, who was sleeping soundly in an adjoining
room, to make ready for our precipitate flight, and we drove off
filled with disgust at our first experience of Crimean life. The
picturesque beauty of the country, the singing of birds, the
fragrance of wild flowers, and the genial sunshine, by degrees
restored our equanimity, and by the time we reached Aloupka
we were ourselves again. We alighted at an hotel erected by
the Prince, not far from his residence, for the occupation of his
guests not sufficiently intimate, as was our case, to claim the
hospitality of his roof, and we found delightful rooms prepared
for us. After a luxurious bath, in which any surviving flea was
drowned, we sat down to breakfast with appetites whetted by
the morning's drive. In the course of the day we called at the
castle, a truly royal structure in the style of the moyen dge, and
of grand dimensions. It was built of a dark granite found in the
Crimea. The Russian standard was flying from one of the
towers, which revived reminiscences of the feudal days, when it
was customary ' to hang out the banner on the outward walls.'

Odessa and the Crimea. 239
We left our letters and cards, but were told that our noble host
had gone out for the day on a tour of inspection. In the afternoon,
horses from the Prince's stables were sent to us with a guide,
and we set off on a ride through the adjoining country, which
was singularly wild and full of charm. We dismounted more
than once as we rode through some Tartar villages, to inspect
their abodes, which were of primeval simplicity. In these huts
this semi-barbarous race have lived for centuries, preserving the
traits that have always distinguished them, and clinging fanatic
ally to their quaint usages and faith. They have no love for
their new masters, and shrink timidly from all association. On
one occasion I observed on a neighbouring hill a Tartar church,
or mosque, surmounted by a domewith the Crescent soaring above.
This was the first time I had seen, in real life, this emblem of
the infidel, and I contemplated it naturally with lively interest.
Next morning, M. Galera, Ihe chief secretary of the Prince,
called upon us in his name to invite us to dinner for that day,
and proposed to escort us through the grounds of the castle.
We went wandering about full of admiration, when we remarked
a tall slim man, in an undress uniform, approaching us down
one of the avenues, and M. Galera informed us it was the Prince
Woronzow. We advanced towards him, and he accosted us with
the utmost cordiality. He courteously conducted us to the best
points of view for the surrounding scenery, chatting in English,
which he spoke perfectly, having passed his youth in England
with his father. His manner was easy, natural, and dignified.
His face indicated great firmness of character, blended with an
expression of kind-heartedness. He was apparently over fifty,
and his short-cut hair, only partially concealed by his military
cap, was quite gray. After walking about with us for some
time, he bade us good-morning, saying that he expected us to
dinner that evening. On returning to the hotel, we found
horses in waiting, and we started off at once for a ride, accom
panied by M. Galera. We got home in time to make our toilet
for dinner, and drove over at the appointed hour to the castle.
On entering the principal drawing-room we found a large
company assembled. Besides the members of the Prince's staff,
civil and military, there were numerous guests sojourning at the
chateau. We were presented to the Princess Woronzow, a hand
some woman, in the prime of life, exceedingly affable, yet with
an air of dignity befitting her station. After a few moments she

240 Odessa and the Crimea.
presented me to Madame Narishkine, a relative of the imperial
family. One of her ancestors was the mother of Peter the Great
She was a lady of mature age, and, in spite of her lofty rank,
her manner was most unassuming, and her countenance denoted
a benevolence of disposition that was very winning. In the
course of conversation she remarked I was the first American she
had ever seen, and frankly admitted she was surprised at the
fairness of my complexion, as she had always supposed the
Americans were tawny coloured. She professed unbounded
admiration for Cooper's novels, that she had read over and over
again, so charmed was she by the novelty of the scenes and
characters introduced, utterly unlike the compositions of any
European writers. She singled out the Pioneers and the Last
of the Mohicans as especial favourites, and said that his country
must be very proud of such a genius. Just before dinner the
Prince came to me, saying he wished to introduce me to the
Princess Galitzin, whom I was to escort to the table. I acknow
ledged the compliment, but dreaded being assigned to a person
who might be anything but agreeable. My surprise was only
equal to my delight to find myself in the presence of one of the
loveliest women of the whole group. She was a blonde, with a
profusion of auburn hair, blue eyes full of archness, an exquisite
complexion, above medium height, and a figure positively fault
less. Her manners were quite Parisian in grace and vivacity,
which was soon explained when she told me that she had
passed some time in the French capital, which she extolled to
the skies. Here was a theme most congenial to us both, and
we did nothing all the dinner-time hut talk in raptures of dear
Paris. I did not fail to observe, however, in spite of my sprightly
conversation, that the banqueting-hall was worthy of this splendid
residence. It was of great size, very lofty, with an oaken roof
in the Gothic style. The dinner was sumptuous, and all in the
French style. Our host sent me some champagne to try that
was manufactured on his estate in the Crimea, quite equal to the
best French wine I had ever drunk. Amid all this splendour
and luxury, I could hardly realise the fact that I was revelling
on an island in the Black Sea, which I had always regarded as
beyond the pale of civilisation.
After dinner the company dispersed according to their tastes.
Some of the men retired to smoke. Others sat down to cards.
For my part, I was so fascinated with my lovely acquaintance

Odessa and the Crimea. 241
that I clung to her side, whilst I discovered no symptoms of
weariness. We wandered over the castle, visited the conserva
tories, inspected the picture-gallery, constantly recurring to the
topic so grateful to us both — the charms of Paris. The evening
sped away all too quickly, and it was near midnight before I
withdrew. Forrest had disappeared soon after dinner, as I
expected, and when I got home he was already in bed. This
fairy-like life, as it seemed to me, lasted for some days. The
weather was beautiful, and I rode or walked daily with the
Princess Galitzin, meeting her in the evening at dinner at the
castle. I forgot all about Odessa, my travels, and everything
else. Luckily Forrest had become greatly interested in a Polish
Countess, whose husband had been engaged in a conspiracy at
Warsaw, and was now the tenant of a prison. His wife, knowing
the influence of the Prince Woronzow with the Emperor, hurried
off with her brother to Aloupka, to entreat him to obtain the
pardon of the unfortunate captive. She was young and hand
some, a trifle stout, but seduisante in manner, and singularly
intelligent. Her romantic mission, coupled with her good looks,
deeply interested my friend, and, democratic as he was, he only
wished that he was the Emperor, that he might make this dis
consolate lady the happiest of wives. I was exceedingly glad
that Forrest's sympathies were so keenly stirred in the fate of
the charming Countess's husband, and I could perceive he was
in no greater hurry to quit the Crimea than I was. Nor could
I wonder that he preferred passing so much of his time at the
hotel, whilst I gave most of mine to the castle. All this was
too pleasant to last long ; and my elysium vanished when, on
the fifth day, Prince Woronzow announced that he was going to
Odessa next morning to meet the Earl of Durham, the new
British Ambassador to St. Petersburg, who had come round by
the Mediterranean and the Black Sea, and was now shut up in
quarantine, but would be emancipated at the end of the week.
The Prince offered to take us on his way back to see the fortifi
cations he was erecting at Sebastopol, and, whilst I thanked
him for his courtesy, I felt I would a thousand times rather stay
where I was.
Forrest was more fortunate, for the Countess was going back
to Odessa with the Prince, who had promised to obtain an
audience for her from the Emperor, with the boon, perhaps, of
R

242 Odessa and the Crimea.
a pardon for the conspirator. Whereas my lovely blonde, with
her husband, had engaged to remain some time longer with the
Princess Woronzow, who passed the whole autumn in the
Crimea. On my last evening at the castle the enchanting
Princess Galitzin saw that I was anything but elated at my near
departure. ' You are very silly,' she said, ' to hurry away in this fashion ;
you have seen so little of this picturesque island.'
'You mock me, Princess,' I replied. 'How can I escape?
I have half a mind to tumble over a precipice, and be laid up
for a month at least.'
She was much amused.
' But you might,' she continued, ' without such an heroic feat,
manage to linger a little longer if you cared to do so.'
'Suggest it, pray,' I said earnestly, 'and I will snatch at it
with the desperation of a doomed man.'
She mused for a moment, but whether she was puzzled, or
feared to betray too much solicitude, I know not.
'Well,' she remarked at last, 'if you will go, my best wishes
accompany you. But you are little aware of what you lose.
You have not seen half the beauties of the Crimea yet'
' I have seen one,' I answered, gazing in her sparkling eyes,
' that will suffice for a long time.'
' You are very complimentary,' she rejoined, slightly flushing ;
' but we shall meet, I daresay, some day in Paris.'
' That hope alone renders my departure supportable. Will
you allow me,' I asked, ' to send you my banker's address ?'
' Volontiers,' she replied, and extended her hand, which I
clasped quite fervently ; and so we parted.
Thanking the Princess Woronzow gratefully for her kind
reception, I wandered full of emotion homewards. I found For
rest in high glee, for he toid me the Countess intended to pass a
few days in Odessa with an old friend.
At noon next day the Prince and suite came on board his
steamer lying off Yalta, where we had previously arrived, and
orders were immediately given to head for Sebastopol, some
sixty miles distant. The weather was fine. The day wore off
pleasantly. We entered the harbour of Sebastopol soon after
ten P.M., and salutes were fired in honour of the Prince's arrival
from various ships of war and the batteries on shore. Soon after,
we all retired. I came on deck early next morning, and was

Odessa and the Crimea. 243
struck by the beauty of the scene. We were lying near the
middle of the harbour, which was of vast extent and completely
landlocked, with but a single entrance securely protected. Nu
merous vessels of war were scattered about with their streamers
flying, some of them of great size, and striking specimens of
naval architecture. The water was of a deep blue, and repre
sented to be of extraordinary depth, so that ships of any draught
might anchor right off the shore. Small boats were flying about
in all directions to and from the land, and the sight in the bright
morning sun was full of charm. The Prince had already gone
ashore, leaving word for us to follow after breakfast under the
escort of one of his suite. We found him at the house of the
admiral of the port, and soon after carriages were ordered to
make a tour of the works. Amongst other things we visited was
a dry dock constructed of Russian granite, on the most approved
plans, which was nearly finished. I found the engineer-in-chief
was an Englishman of the name of Upton, who had been in the
employment of the Government since 1826. His task was to
convert Sebastopol into one of the most perfect naval stations in
Europe, and unlimited means were at his command. He was
an active intelligent man, and in conversation complained of the
dulness and sluggishness of the hordes of workmen under his
control, who for the most part were serfs, and required constant
supervision and direction. It was intended, he said, after the
naval programme was carried out, to set to work at the land
defences of Sebastopol, and a series of fortifications were pro
jected which would defy the world in arms.
When this part of the inspection was completed, the Prince
invited us to visit some of the ships in the harbour, and one of
his officers was detailed to escort us. He said he would expect
us to dinner at the admiral's residence at five o'clock. We rowed
off to the ' Warsovy,' one of the largest ships of the line. She was
only a year old, and great sums had been expended to make her
a nonpareil in every respect. Her length was 205 feet, and 56 in
beam, drawing 23 feet. Her armament of 36-pounders amounted
to 140, though only rated at 120. Her complement was 1000
men. She was certainly a beautiful model, and manoeuvred
easily in spite of her bulk. We afterwards boarded several other
vessels of inferior size, and all seemed to my unpractised eye in
a high state of efficiency. The officers for the most part struck
me as very young, and their experience of the ocean was con-

244 Odessa and the Crimea.
fined altogether to the Black Sea, though doubtless looking for
ward some day to a larger field of navigation. This finished our
day's work, and I was sorry that no time was left to run over the
town of Sebastopol, only founded in 1786 by Catherine II., and
which was growing apace. The population was estimated at some
40,000. I hastened back to our steamer to dress for dinner ; but
Forrest pleaded fatigue, and begged me to make his excuses to
the Prince. The truth was, he preferred passing the evening in
the society of the Countess, who remained on board, to paying
homage to the ' big wigs' of Sebastopol.
I arrived just in time to be presented to the admiral and his
lady before dinner was announced. All the officers of the sta
tion, naval and military, as well as those of the fleet, were sum
moned to meet the Governor-General, the chief guest of the
occasion. The number was large, and the various tables were
resplendent with glittering uniforms and showy decorations. I
was the only one in a black coat, and felt duly humiliated by my
insignificant appearance. At the close of the feast a single toast
was given — ' The Health of the Governor-General.' The Prince
rose immediately, and, bowing to the company, sat down. In
England or the United States a harangue would have been
expected, but in Russia speech-making is not in vogue. After
the dinner I was presented by the Prince to many of the leading
personages present. Not a few of them were very old men, and
had taken part in the campaigns against Napoleon. I had a
long and interesting chat with Baron Rosen, the commandant of
the town, who had seen much service, and was covered with
orders from the various sovereigns of Europe. I was struck
by his extreme simplicity of manner and affable demeanour.
The fact is, the Russians of the highest class are the most unpre
tending people I have ever met, which must be set down to their
good breeding. They have none of the ceremonious politeness
of the French, and still less the ill-disguised hauteur of the
English. At eight o'clock the Prince and his suite returned to his
steamer, escorted by the admiral, commandant, and numerous
officers. The moment we got on board, orders were given to
proceed to Odessa, and we moved off amid a tremendous boom
ing of guns. The night was fine, the moon was up, and the sea
smooth. The Prince was in a humour for a chat, and desired
me to sit down beside him.

Odessa and the Crimea. 245
He asked me many questions concerning the United States,
and seemed anxious about their destiny.
' It is a strange experiment,' he said, ' to put a government
in the hands of the masses. It may answer in your case, where
you have the continent pretty much to yourselves ; but in Europe,
split up as we are into various States, with conflicting interests
and large standing armies, a democratic government strikes me
as impossible. You change your executive and legislature at
short intervals, and, as both must represent the momentary views
of the electors, a consistent policy must be out of the question.'
' Fortunately, as your Excellency remarked,' I replied, ' we
are not surrounded by armed and rival States, and, therefore,
under no necessity to be always on our best behaviour, and with
circumspection obliged to shape our course. In short, we are
happily exempt from a foreign policy other than our commercial
interests require.'
' Yes,' continued the Prince, ' and that is very favourable to
the political problem you have undertaken ; but though you
have no foreign policy, demanding the highest intellect of the
country, you have domestic doctrines not entirely in harmony.
You have a tariff system sustained by the North and opposed
by the South. You have a system of slavery supported by the
South and condemned by the North. These opposite views are
founded on antagonistic interests, and how is a collision sooner
or later to be avoided ?'
' The collision,' I answered, ' will take place at the polls, and
the law of the majority will decide the dispute.'
' That might be depended upon,' pursued the Prince, ' if men
were always controlled by reason, but the history of the world
shows that human passions shape the destinies of mankind. If
ever the minority with you consider themselves unjustly op
pressed, and sacrificed to the interests of the majority, they will
retire from the compact entered into between them, and, if the
majority resists, civil war ensues.'
' Your Excellency will pardon me,' I rejoined, 'for saying that
your argument is based on the past history of the world, when
the people had no control over their government. Monarchs
and statesmen have, from time immemorial, allowed their jeal
ousies to involve them in wars whose evil consequences did not
fall on themselves. But in the United States, where the people
alone govern — a people not only intelligent but highly educated

246 Odessa and the Crimea.

— is it likely they would allow their passions to drown their
reason, when the blood and money expended in war would be
their own ?'
' I grant you,' replied the Prince, after a pause, ' it does seem
unlikely ; but after all, how far do the people really govern with
you ? Their fate is in the hands of the men, the politicians,
elected as their representatives, who are the governing body
whilst in office. They make the laws, and the people, if dissatis
fied, are obliged to abide by them, These laws, as your tariff
system proves, are in the interest of a section, in the interest of
a class, the manufacturer and capitalist. Your politicians of the
North, if they are in majority, pass laws favouring their section
at the expense of the others. If they were guided by reason, as
you say, they would foresee the result of this selfish legislation.
I frequently read the heated discussions that occur in Washing
ton, and I see far more of passion in the debates than calm
reason. I admit the people may be cooler than the politicians
inflamed by party strife ; but the people, if they do not catch the
infection, can do nothing to stifle words or prevent party
manoeuvres that may cause irreparable mischief. If war, foreign
or domestic, or legislation likely to provoke it, were always sub
mitted to the popular vote, you might get on peacefully enough ;
but this must be the work of a conclave of politicians, and before
the people can act the evil is done.'
After pondering for a few moments, I answered, ' I cannot
deny that all governments, democratic or monarchical, must be
confided to a class competent to conduct it. The people with
us delegate their authority to individuals, who, in executive or
legislative positions, are obliged to carry out the views of those
they represent.'
' Divided always in two camps, the majority and minority,'
observed the Prince.
' Undoubtedly. If the representative is false to his mandate,
he is punished by dismissal.'
' Not before his lease of power expires,' remarked the Prince ;
' till then, he and those acting with him pursue the course their
party interests dictate, and their constituencies are necessarily
bound. Furthermore, the political class with you, as elsewhere,
are skilful enough to perplex the judgment of the people, and
to induce them often to adopt a policy opposed to their true
interests.'

Odessa and the Crimea. 247
'Against that danger,' I rejoined, 'we have, in the United
States, the protection of a free press, which enlightens the popu
lar mind and checks political manoeuvres.'
' As far as I can see,' returned the Prince, ' your press is
simply the organ of party, and all its comments on passing
events are coloured by party prejudice. It seems to me quite
under the control of your politicians, and cares little for the
general interests. I have never seen an American journal
entirely independent, which expressed opinions regardless of
party expediency or sectional advantage.'*
' I am really surprised,' I exclaimed, ' to find your Excellency
so minutely informed of the state of things in the United States.'
' It is the business,' he replied, ' of our Ministers abroad to
send the fullest information concerning the various countries
they reside in ; but I have taken especial pains to know what
was transpiring in your land, since the scheme of government
initiated there is something new in politics. The republics of
antiquity and of the Middle Ages were simply oligarchies. This
is the first time a democracy has essayed to govern. It remains
to be seen if the greatest good of the greatest number — your
favourite dogma — can be achieved with the cheerful consent of
the lesser number. If not, then your experiment will be a
failure. I fear your democratic government is liable to the same
vices as all other forms, for I can see no proofs that mankind in
your country is composed of different materials than elsewhere,
— that it is more guided by reason and less by passion, or more
insensible to self-interest. In that case, what is to save you
from the same vicissitudes and misfortunes that have befallen
other governments ?'
' Doubtless,' I said, ' all depends on the sagacity of the
people. If they do not see clearly it is their interest to live
in harmony, and to push their fortunes in a spirit of com
promise, one section not seeking to enrich itself at the expense
of the others — if they fail to pursue this upright and patriotic
course, then they must become the football of the politicians,
who always seek renown in controversy, and love to "ride on the
whirlwind and direct the storm." '
' You are quite right,' declared the Prince ; ' all depends on
your people, who are said to be shrewd and practical beyond
* It must be borne in mind this conversation took place in 1835, when our press
was far less independent than now.

248 Odessa and the Crimea.
most others. If they discountenance legislation that benefits
one section to the detriment of another — if they restrain the
politicians from involving them in dangerous disputes with one
another — if they prevent their passions being inflamed by gaudy
rhetoric — then all may go well. But this is expecting too much
of human nature, at least such human nature as exists on this
side of the Atlantic. It is natural the manufacturing North
should covet a high tariff, but it is unnatural to expect the agri
cultural South and West should accept it without resistance. It
is the interest of the people to arrange such difficulties in a spirit
of concord, but it is the interest of the politicians to prevent
pacific solutions ; for, as you say, they seek notoriety by preach
ing discord, and provoke battles in which their dupes only are
killed. I trust your people may never become their victims.'
' Your Excellency seems to entertain a lively horror of the
political fraternity,' I remarked.
'Yes,' he answered, 'I consider them the pests of modern
society. Look at poor France, which has suffered so dreadfully
from these cunning incendiaries. The politicians of the first
Revolution, for the sake of power and pelf, deluged the country
in blood, and, after cutting off everybody's head who opposed
them, set to work at last to behead each other. Napoleon put
his foot upon them ; but Louis XVIII. no sooner returned than
they began to stir up civil feuds, which ended in the Revolution
of 1830. They are now as hard at work as ever, quarrelling,
conspiring, intriguing, utterly reckless of the welfare of the
country, ready at any moment to precipitate France into civil
or foreign war, if one set can only turn the other set out, and
jump in their places.'
' That is exactly the view I take,' was my reply, ' of the
squabbles between Guizot and Thiers. Both aspire to be the
leading Minister, and to gain their point would throw the country
into revolution to-morrow. Unfortunately, the people don't
understand the game, and, worked up first by one and then by
the other to a pitch of frenzy, they take to the street, and begin
butchering each other, whilst the politicians aforesaid chuckle
over their credulity/
' That is the simple history of all French revolutions,' said
the Prince.
' It strikes me,' I went on to say, 'that the English people
are not so easily gulled by their political tricksters/

Odessa and the Crimea. 249

' They were hoaxed, in fact, the same way,' said the Prince,
' in 1642, when one faction in Parliament got the country to take
up their quarrel with the rival one, and civil war ensued. Charles
I. lost his head, and Cromwell took his place. The end of it was
that Charles II. was enthusiastically proclaimed his father's suc
cessor. Since then the politicians have been kept quiet by a
great commercial class which has grown up in England, chiefly
composed of the middle rank, whose interest is peace, and whose
passion is trade. Any political agitation likely to disturb trade
and commerce is immediately called to order, and the politicians
are then obliged to buffet each other only in their struggles for
place. They are not allowed to appeal to the people and stir
up civil discords. The Reform Bill of three years ago would
have produced a civil war two hundred years ago ; but neither
the madcaps of the aristocracy, nor the demagogues of the lower
classes, are now suffered by the wealth and intelligence of the
country to sow the seeds of disorder/
' In Russia,' I observed, ' you have neither the bane nor the
antidote — neither politicians nor middle class.'
' Happily, no,' returned the Prince ; ' we are still a long way
off from that state of society which engenders politicians, and
parliaments, and congresses. Our national life is very young.
It may be said to date from Peter the Great, at the end of the
sixteenth century. At all events, our career as a European
nation then began. Before that period we were a semi-barbarous
people, eternally at war with nations of a similar character. The
organising genius of the Czar Peter welded us into a nation, and
gave us a mission to achieve which was of a civilising character.
Our role is to overcome and reduce to order the belligerent
populations to the east and south. The work is beneficent as it
is imperious. It may be likened to what you are engaged in on
the North American continent. You are in constant warfare
with the Indian tribes in possession of vast tracts of land utterly
useless in their hands. When that is accomplished you will, no
doubt, spread your civilisation over the country south of you, in
the occupation of mongrel races, who are incapable of organi
sation. Fortunately, in your case, there are no surround
ing nations suspicious of your motives and jealous of your
growth/ ' I may congratulate your Excellency,' I remarked, ' on the
success of Russian arms, and, still more, of Russian diplomacy,

250 Odessa and the Crimea:
over the jealousies you allude to. Your territorial development
has even been more rapid than ours.'
' That is not a little due,' said the Prince, smiling, ' to the fact
that we have had no troublesome politicians to obstruct the
action of our Government. The Czar, under the advice of a few
able counsellors whom he selects, has only to give his orders to
open a negotiation or to begin a war, and the thing is done.
How could we have made the progress you speak of if the Czar
had to consult the rival leaders of parties, or take a vote in
Parliament ?'
' Yet,' I observed, ' in spite of these drawbacks, England has
annexed a great empire in India, and is every day adding to
her territory in all parts of the globe.'
' That is partially true,' replied the Prince ; ' but the English
conquests in India were effected by a company of traders, the
" East India Company," who wielded an army, and were in a
measure independent. Still their two great generals, Clive and
Hastings, were persecuted by the politicians at home, and were
both put on trial in Parliament for the crime of increasing the
power and riches of England. But the mission of England and
ours is different. Hers is a commercial one. Napoleon styled
England une nation de boutiquiers (" a nation of shopkeepers"),
and it is mainly true. Her purpose is trade. Our role is a mili
tary one, and if not more disinterested it is equally useful. Our
task, as I said before, is to reduce barbarous nations to civil
order and a regular mode of life. This can be done only by
military force. A great outcry is raised at our war with the
Turks. This is silly, if not hypocritical. The Turks are an
Asiatic horde, who came into Europe as invaders, and wherever
they have maintained themselves barbarism has endured. Why
should we be blamed for fighting the Turks, any more than the
combined forces of Venice, Spain, and the Papacy, which de
stroyed the Turkish fleet in 1571, or the combined navies of
France, England, and Russia, which crushed the Turkish fleet
in 1827? Europe regarded these victories as guarantees of
Christian civilisation. We are doing the same work in seeking
to drive these infidels out of Europe. Since 1672 we have been
in conflict with them, and shall continue till we force them back
to Asia. Who censured France for driving the Turks out of
Algiers in 1830, and taking possession of the territory? We
can hardly expect, when we succeed, to monopolise all Turkey

i^ue^cu. unu- t/t-L, ^nmea. 251
in Europe. We will readily share it with the Christian States
who cooperate with us.'
' That is an equitable arrangement,' I declared, ' and it is cer
tainly a consummation devoutly to be wished. I consider the
occupation of any portion of Europe by the Turks a disgrace to
Christendom. I wonder that England, with a view to her trade,
does not aid you in this holy crusade as she did at Navarino,
and supply the Danubian Provinces with her manufactures.'
' That would be a far more practical policy,' observed the
Prince, ' than struggling to keep the Turk in Europe. I don't
understand her statesmanship. She professes that the safety of
her Indian possessions depends on the maintenance of the effete
Ottoman Empire. She fancies if we seized upon it she would be
endangered. Then let her cooperate with us to erect an inde
pendent Christian State, which might check our extension in that
direction, but would be more useful to her than the rotten fabric
she vainly hopes to sustain. If she fears or suspects us, why not
cultivate amicable relations instead of courting hostility ? We
are always ready to settle the Eastern Question with her, and
not in despite of her, unless she drives us to it. As to India, we
do not dream of disturbing her there. Why does she strive, then,
to impede our growth if her interests are not compromised ?'
' I know too little of English policy,' I replied, ' to penetrate
its mysteries. All I crave is the redemption of Christian Europe
from the degrading domination of the Turk. Your Excellency
adverted just now to the outcry raised over your aggressions on
the Turk, but a louder clamour has denounced the partition of
Poland.' ' One is not more rational than the other,' said the Prince.
' Why should Russia be more censured for this event than
Prussia and Austria, who shared in it ? But the plain truth is,
no one was to blame. It was a sheer necessity. Poland was a
nuisance, and had to be abated. During the course of centuries
she was always engaged in foreign or civil war. She invaded
us over and over again. She could never live at peace with her
neighbours or with herself. Anarchy was her normal condition
from the defects of her organisation. Russia upheld her last
king, Stanislaus II.; but intestine feuds, as always, dethroned
him, till, to put an end to this furnace of discord, Austria,
Prussia, and Russia extinguished it. It sounds very pretty in
poetry to say that " Freedom shrieked when Kosciusko fell" —

252 Odessa ana the L.rimea.
which, by the way, he did not — yet all the Kosciuskos in the
world would never have made an orderly well-conducted State
of Poland. Her long history is there to prove it.
' Bless me,' exclaimed the Prince, consulting his watch by the
light of the binnacle, ' it is past midnight ! You must be fatigued
with this long talk, and I regret having detained you such a time
from your bed.'
Assuring his Excellency that I was under great obligation
for the varied information he had afforded me, I bade him
' Good-night,' and went below. He, on the contrary, ordered a
mattress to be stretched on deck ; and, folding his cloak about
him, took his rest, soldier-like, under the broad canopy above
glittering with stars.

CHAPTER XXIV.
ODESSA {continued).
A DINNER WITH THE PRINCE WORONZOW  THE RUSSIAN ARMY — A MORNING VISIT
— BANQUET TO THE BRITISH AMBASSADOR  FORREST HIMSELF AGAIN.
NEXT morning I paid a visit to the Prince, who was seated in
his salon, listening to a play of Shakespeare read to him by one
of his secretaries, who had, I understood, translated some of the
works of the divine bard into Russian. I had a chat with the
Prince on the English poets, with whose masterpieces he was
perfectly familiar ; and then I went on deck to watch our approach
to Odessa, which looked lovely in the sunlight. The quay was
lined with troops, and General Sontag came on board to receive
the Prince. He was greatly pleased to hear that his predictions
had been fully verified, and that we had returned enchanted with
our Crimean excursion. Thanking Prince Woronzow for his
gracious hospitality, we awaited his departure, and then drove
off to our hotel.
My return to Odessa recalled me to my half-forgotten pro
jects of travel, and I posted off to our consul, M. Ralli, to get
the latest news from Constantinople. It was lugubrious to the
last degree. The plague was running riot, and carrying off its
victims in great numbers. The worst sign of all was that the
Europeans, who took every possible precaution, were prostrated,
as well as the Turks, whose Mahometan belief in fatality made
them utterly indifferent. I held counsel with Forrest whether we
should ' put on manly readiness,' and face the fell monster ; but
to my amusement, I found that my friend's zeal to push on at
every risk was much abated. He thought now it would be only
prudent to abide a while longer in Odessa. I divined the secret
of this resolution. He had become so deeply interested in the
fate of the husband of the Polish Countess, that he could not
bear to quit Odessa whilst she was still there. What advantage
that would bring the luckless conspirator I could not exactly see ;
but as I desired also to linger in this charming town, I fell in
cheerfully with his proposition of delay. I soon discovered I was
quite master of my own movements ; for the sympathetic Forrest

254 Odessa.
was off every day to condole with the unhappy Countess, and
talk over plans for the emancipation of her imprisoned mate. I
often "wondered whether he was so very anxious to obtain his
freedom. Meanwhile I passed my time most pleasantly. I used to go
daily to M. Ralli's office and read the news. That from the
United States was not very exhilarating. There was a good deal
of ' lynching' going on out West. Riots had occurred in Balti
more. The house of Reverdy Johnson had been gutted, and
the furniture burnt in the street, because a bank had failed of
which he was president. I doubted if such mad pranks as these
were likely to enhance the reputation of our Republic in the eyes
of foreign nations.
Shortly after our return, we were invited to dine with the
Prince Woronzow. He occupied a superb palace, whose nu
merous suites of gilded apartments, picture-galleries, and conser
vatories were hardly inferior to the imperial abodes I had seen
at St. Petersburg. The guests on this occasion numbered some
twenty persons, comprising several of the nobility, and a sprink
ling of generals, who abound in Russia. The Prince, wjth his
usual kindness, placed me on his right, and kept up an animated
conversation during dinner. The more I saw of this distinguished
man, the more I was impressed, I might say fascinated. His
rare intelligence, wide knowledge, moderate views, coupled with
his energy and uprightness, justified the great influence he
wielded. After dinner I was presented to several of the leading nota
bilities. I got into conversation with General Sabloukoff, a good
type of the Russian militaire — a tall robust man, with short-
cropped hair of iron gray, a moustache and imperial to match, a
brusque manner, and blunt mode of expression. He spoke highly
of Mr. Poinset, our former Minister in Russia, whom he had known.
He made inquiries of our system of slavery in the Southern States
— whether cotton-planting could be successfully carried on without
it — whether the said States would ever consent to its abolition —
whether free blacks would work as well as slaves — whether the
sale and removal of the slaves from one plantation to another
was any grievance. In turn, I asked him some questions about
serfdom in Russia.
' You know,' he sa':l, ' our serfs cannot be separated from the
land — adscripti glebce — like the serfs of the Middle Ages in

Odessa. 255

Europe. They are only sold with it. ' They have a portion of
land to cultivate for themselves. But three days' labour a week
can be exacted of them. For more continuous work stipulations
must be made. These usages are of long date, and are consi
dered as rights. They are consequently never overworked, and
are a contented race. There is a movement afoot, however, for a
modification of the system, which will probably end in its aboli
tion. I do not think they will be any better for the change.
Innovation, however, is the order of the day, and it is hard to
resist it.'
I asked who was said to be the largest owner of serfs in
Russia. ' That I could hardly tell. It depends on their territorial
possessions. Our host of to-night is supposed to be the lord of
some sixty thousand — quite an army/
' Apropos of armies,' I continued, ' what do you estimate the
strength of yours ?'
' From four to five hundred thousand ; but it could be doubled
if required.' ' In, the way of discipline,' I inquired, ' how do you think it
compares with those of other nations ?'
' It is not for me to say it is better,' he replied ; ' but I am
satisfied it is not inferior. It is an advantage for us that a
Russian soldier is more of a machine than a man. He never
thinks ; he obeys orders. If commanded to jump out of a win
dow, the next moment he is in the street, dead or alive, as the
case may be. That's the material for a good army/
' And I suppose,' I remarked, ' the same is true of the officers,
and that, from the Czar's son down to the subaltern, all obey
alike ?'
' Yes ; obedience is the law in Russia. We know no other.'
'At this moment, General, I consider Russia as the first
military nation in Europe, both as to numbers and efficiency.
The Emperor is said to be a soldier from top to toe, and thinks
of nothing but military organisation. If he contemplated the
conquest of Europe he could scarcely be more absorbed in drill.'
' What he contemplates,' was the reply, ' is no affair of ours.
When he commands, we march.'
' And if the word is,' I said, smiling, ' to clear the window — '
'We jump,' replied the General, cordially shaking hands, as
we separated.

256 Odessa.
One day I accompanied Forrest to pay a visit to the Countess
S  , whom I had not seen since our return from Aloupka,
She was now in better spirits, and looked all the handsomer. I
was presented to the hostess, a Russian lady of fortune, and living
in much splendour. She was a stately woman, with dark hair
and eyes of uncommon brilliancy. After some pleasant chat, the
Countess said her friend Madame R  was a proficient on the
piano, and if I cared for music I might select what school I liked,
as she was familiar with all. I announced my preference for the
Italian ; and Madame R  , saying her taste accorded with mine,
sat down to her favourite instrument with such unaffected readi
ness as to show it was a labour of love. She played some of the
choicest morceaux of Rossini, and with so much skill and expres
sion as to astonish and delight me. I had rarely witnessed
such finished execution by an amateur. Absorbed by the music,
it was some time before I observed that my friend had wandered
away with the fair Countess into one of the adjoining apartments,
and it was plain that the dulcet strains of the divine composer
had less charm for them than soft communion over the unhappy
plight of the poor prisoner in the dungeons of Warsaw. -#¦
I thought the opportunity a good one to ascertain something
of the plans of the Countess, and whether her stay in Odessa was
likely to be prolonged.
' O no,' answered Madame R  . ' The moment she ftears
of the Emperor's return to St. Petersburg she will hasten thither.'
' Under the escort of her brother ?' I inquired.
' Of course,' she replied.
' I daresay,' I continued, • my friend will be very sorry to part
with her, as he seems so interested in her husband's misfortune.'
Smiling significantly, she remarked, ' Why, he talks of accom
panying her to the north, as going to plague-stricken Constanti
nople, he thinks, would be sheer insanity.'
' Indeed !' I exclaimed, quite taken aback.
' Yes, indeed,' returned the lady, laughing at the upset she
had given me.
I was lost for a moment in reverie. The words of Othello
occurred to me : ' This honest creature, doubtless,
Sees and knows more, much more, than she unfolds.'
I set to work, therefore, in a crafty way to find out if it were
really probable that my fellow-traveller meant to desert me ;

Odessa. 257
and I began by extolling the fascination of her friend the Coun
tess, which she responded to by declaring a handsomer man than
Forrest she had never met. This was true enough ; for he was
then only twenty-nine, and in all respects 'framed to make women
false.' With my utmost finesse I could learn no more than the fair
Russian sphinx had chosen to reveal, and I »went away to ponder
over the new situation.
What was to be done now ? Was the tragedian really fright
ened by the plague, or had his sympathies for a victim of Russian
tyranny roused his democratic ire ? or, far more likely, were the
blandishments of the Countess overpowering, making him forget
his pledges to me and all the rest ? It seemed ludicrous that this
skilful delineator of human passions on the stage should now be
caught in their toils in the real world. But what course should
I pursue ? To insist on his accompanying me to Constantinople
was incurring a grave responsibility. What would his legion of
admirers say if he were carried off by the plague ? My taking
the same risk would be derided. What was a common mortal
to the greatest artist of the day ? Moreover, the prospect of
crossing the Black Sea in a small sailing-vessel, with the chance
of being knocked about for a week, or even two, was dishearten
ing. I began to think it was better, on the whole, to renounce my
Oriental schemes, and return to St. Petersburg, to pass the win
ter as attache" to the Legation.
In this unsettled state of mind I returned to my hotel, and
found General Sontag waiting for me. He said at once he had
called to give me a bit of news, and thought I was especially
entitled to it.
' How so ?' I inquired.
' Do you remember expressing your surprise lately to the
Prince that no steam line existed between Odessa and Constan
tinople, when there were so many reasons for the closest com
munication ?'
' Perfectly,' I answered.
'Well, it has borne fruit. His Excellency,' continued the
General, 'has been thinking it over, and ordered me two or three
days ago to buy the first steamer I could find, and despatch her
to Constantinople as the pioneer of a line he means to establish
as soon as vessels can be obtained.'
' Can it be possible ?' I exclaimed. ' Would that the order
had been given months ago, for then we might have profited by it!'
S

258 Odessa.
' No difficulty on that point,' asserted the General ; ' for I
found an English steamer in our port, and bargained for her.
The Russian flag now flutters over her stern, and next week
she will begin the service. So if you and Forrest want state
rooms, you shall have the best.'
This unexpected#intelligence quite revolutionised the conclu
sions I had all but formed. I manifested my eager desire to
embark, but told the General of my fears respecting Forrest.
He was amused at the story, and promised to aid in the recovery
of my travelling companion.
'But come,' he said, 'jump in my carriage. My wife and
Mary expect you to dinner, when we shall have time to talk it
all over.' I returned to town full of buoyancy, and resolved to have a
tussle with the Polish siren for the possession of my backslidipg
friend. Forrest picked up his hat next morning after breakfast, to run
off as usual to the Countess, ' to see if she had any later news
from Warsaw ;' but I demanded the first stance, to talk over our
plans. I knew the odds were against me, but I determined
none the less to struggle hard for the fulfilment of our original
programme. I appealed fervently to his sense of honour, remind
ing him I had refused Mr. Wilkins's seductive offer to join his
Legation rather than violate my plighted word. This had some
effect, but the wrangle went on.
' It is mere folly,' said he, 'to brave the plague.'
' If it be as bad as reported,' I continued, ' we can push
right on to Smyrna.'
' But worse than that,' persisted the wily tragedian, ' would
be loitering about the Black Sea for Heaven knows how
long.' ' Happily no such martyrdom awaits us. A steamer starts
next week that will land us in forty-eight hours.'
' What !' thundered the astonished Forrest.
'Ask the General' (who most opportunely entered at that
critical moment) ; ' ask him, and he will tell you he has secured
our places.'
This fortunate reinforcement decided the contest. Our
mutual friend, without pretending to know anything of Forrest's
penchant, said so much in favour of our seizing this glorious
opportunity to prosecute our travels that the tragedian, out-

Odessa. 259
manoeuvred and undermined, gradually gave way, till, finally
starting to his feet, he said,
' So be it. I will embark on Thursday,' and disap
peared. ' Tell the ladies,' I cried out, ' I will join them at the opera
to-night' General Sontag was highly diverted at the scene, but I felt
no small compassion for my entangled friend.
' He may give you the slip yet,' remarked the General.
' No ; he is " ever precise in promise-keeping," and his word
is as good as his bond.'
That night there was a gala performance at the Italian
Opera, in honour of the Earl of Durham, who had been in
Odessa several days. I wended my way to the box of Madame
R  ,just in time to witness the entree of the Prince Woronzow
with the British Ambassador and their respective suites. The
English National Anthem was played, and the whole audience
rose. Bellini's sweet opera of Norma was admirably given, and
its love-lorn story seemed to absorb the Countess and her swain.
I was glad to know that my friend was a more reliable character
than the faithless Pollione. Madame R  proposed, after the
opera, to take a stroll in the lovely gardens by the sea. The
moon shone brightly, and the atmosphere was delicious. I
became quite gallant under their joint influence, and chatted
gaily with my fair companion, whilst the enamoured pair fol
lowed in our wake. Once I overheard Forrest quoting poetry,
and in his softest accents :
' How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank 1
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears.'
His case was evidently a bad one. Suddenly ' the iron tongue
of midnight' sounded, when the ladies entered their carriage,
and left us to our meditations.
The day before our departure a grand banquet was given by
the Prince Woronzow to Lord Durham. As the occasion was
official, the guests were desired to come in uniform. I had not
brought my Court costume, and Forrest, though a colonel for the
nonce, was unprovided with regimentals. We were therefore
ineligible. But General Sontag intervened, and insisted on our
coming in simple evening dress. My friend, however, decided
to pass the evening — his last in Odessa — more to his fancy, as I

260 Odessa.
anticipated ; and so I went to the fite accompanied by the
American Consul.
All the State apartments were thrown open and blazed with
light. Some eighty persons of distinction were assembled, spark
ling with embroidery and decorations. The banqueting-hall was
of immense size and great splendour. The British Ambassador
sat on the right of the Prince, both in rich uniforms, and covered
with orders. The pallid physiognomy of the noble lord was lit
up by piercing dark eyes of singular lustre. He seemed of
a nervous restless temperament, which his previous history indi
cated. Towards the close of the dinner the Prince proposed the
health of the British Ambassador. The company at once rose,
and the band played ' God save the King.' Lord Durham ac
knowledged the compliment in a short speech in English, and
gave 'The Czar.' The company again stood up, and the National
Anthem followed. The Prince then translated into Russian the
remarks of the Ambassador ; whereon all adjourned for coffee
through the various saloons.
I had merely exchanged salutations with the Prince on
entering the palace, and he desired me to come to him after »
dinner. When, accordingly, I approached him, he said, ' I wish
to present you to my English guest. Follow me.'
Making our way to a room at the end of a long suite, appar
ently reserved for the more conspicuous personages, we found
the Ambassador conversing rather stiffly with some Russian
generals. I was introduced as ' an American gentleman on his
travels/ I detected in Lord Durham's face an expression of
surprise at finding a Yankee wandering so far from his base
The Prince left us ; and whether it was his satisfaction at
escaping from the officials around him, or the pleasure of speak
ing his own language, certain it is his lordship's manner changed,
and, dropping his previous lofty bearing, he became familiar and
chatty. Hearing I had just accomplished the journey from St
Petersburg, he began making inquiries about the route, and then
gradually went on to talk of Russia. He showed a thorough
knowledge of her organisation, civil and military, which he dis
cussed with the frankness that characterised him.
I was astonished that his lordship evinced so little diplo
matic caution in talking to a stranger who might possibly have
been in close relations with Russian officials ; but he probably
thought that an American would scarcely remember opinions on

Odessa. 261
topics so foreign to him, and that, in any case, he might repose
confidence in my discretion. The conversation lasted half an
hour ; and when I withdrew, General Sontag led me into one of
the conservatories, charmingly illuminated, and displayed a lively
-curiosity to hear what his lordship had been saying ; ' for it was
evident,' remarked the General, ' he was much interested in his
subject, or he would not have talked so long and with so much
warmth.' I evaded the pressing queries of my compatriot with
what skill I could, and the very candid declarations of Lord
Durham remained locked in my breast. Perhaps it is just as
well they did.
I went up, as the company was dispersing, to bid my illus
trious host farewell, and expressed, in grateful terms, my deep
sense of all his kindness.
' Before you go,' he said, ' come, look at a painting by a Rus
sian artist, that has been much admired.'
Leading me to the picture-gallery, he pointed out a fine work
of art, representing a large vessel of war labouring heavily in a
furious sea.
' I was with the Emperor,' said the Prince, ' on board that
ship, coming from Varna, and for some hours our situation was
very critical.'
I congratulated him on his happy escape. He then took me
cordially by the hand, and said, ' I am sorry to bid you adieu, but
hope you may revisit Odessa.'
My fellow-traveller was up betimes next morning, despatched
his packing, and hurried away to bid his innamorata once more
good-bye. I warned him not to fail me, that the steamer was to
leave punctually at noon. Replying laconically, ' I will be
there,' he vanished. General Sontag called to accompany me
to the harbour. I felt the most poignant regret at parting
with this estimable man, and was profuse in my acknowledg
ments for his thousand kind attentions. The American Consul
also came to see us off.
It was five minutes to twelve o'clock, and no Forrest appeared.
I grew nervous. What if he should not come ! My anxiety
increased every instant. When only two minutes intervened,
the General cried, ' I see him ;' and in the distance I descried a
drosky dashing at full speed towards us. A hurried farewell
ensued ; we rushed on board as the gun fired, and the vessel
moved. My disconsolate friend buried himself in his state-room,

262 Odessa.
not caring I should witness his emotion, and I saw no more of
him that day. I gazed earnestly as Odessa faded gradually
from view, and experienced the acutest sorrow at the thought I
should never likely see it again. I felt sure I should never for
get the good friends and flattering civilities associated with it.
I sat for hours on deck recalling the many agreeable sou
venirs connected with my trip through Russia. The retrospect
teemed with pleasing memories, if I might except the currency
and the calendar, which from first to last involved me in bewil
derment. The Prussian money was issued by the Government
Bank at St. Petersburg, dating from 1786. The kopek was at
the bottom of all the mischief — a copper coin of less value than
our cent. One hundred kopeks made a paper rouble of about
eighty cents. Then followed the silver rouble, worth some ninety-
two cents. Finally the gold rouble, varying from seventy-six to
over a hundred cents. All these fractions, with their fluctuating,
rates, soared beyond my arithmetic, and left me at the mercy
of every rogue I encountered.
Another maze quite as intricate was the Russian mode of
reckoning time. Of course, I had never known but that exist
ing in my own country, and in Europe generally, called the
Gregorian Calendar, which dates from a Bull of Pope Gregory,
1582. This corrected the errors of the previous calendar, decreed
by Julius Caesar, 46 B.C. England did not adopt the new style,
or Gregorian Calendar, till George II.'s reign in 1752 ; but,
luckily, that was in time for my generation ; whereas Russia
chose superciliously to adhere to the old style, or Julian Calen
dar, making a difference of some twelve days in the year. Con
sequently I was for ever in a fog, not knowing whether I was
twelve days ahead or behind time. How under these circum
stances I managed to get out of the country at all is an enigma.
Saving these complications with reference to money and time,
both important factors, my Russian recollections were without
alloy. When I came up rfext morning I was pleased to find the
water smooth and the weather fair. I dreaded different treat
ment, for amongst mariners this mare clausum is pronounced the
most capricious of seas. I spied my friend in the stern of the
vessel, apparently engrossed in ' chewing the cud of sweet and
bitter fancies.' I was anxious to dispel his sombre rumin
ations, and bring him back to his better self. I bethought me of

Odessa. 263

an expedient that I felt sure would strike a familiar chord. So
I approached him with a quotation from the bard whom he held
in almost sacred reverence :
' " Why should a man whose blood is warm within
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?" '
I had scarcely uttered the lines when he turned round and smiled
pleasantly. I followed up my success with another arrow from
the same quiver :
' "Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for
love." '
At this he laughed outright, and, getting up, said with strong
emphasis, ' Quite true, most learned Theban ! I must throw off
this " green and yellow melancholy," and live in hope of some
day seeing Warsaw :
" The miserable have no other medicine
But only hope." '
' Bravo ! ' I exclaimed ; ' a most felicitous citation ! Now,
let us go down to breakfast.'
We had the steamer nearly to ourselves. There were only a
Russian official on board, connected with the Embassy at Con
stantinople, and his wife. They never once appeared on deck,
so Forrest and I had it all our own way. We walked, talked,
read, and diarised to our hearts' content. Ever and anon the fit
would seize him, and he recurred with the 'passing tribute of
a sigh ' to the girl he had left behind ; but I assailed him
promptly with playful strokes of raillery, that sobered him, if it
did not awaken a sense of perfidy to the bright eyes dimmed by
his departure from London.

CHAPTER XXV.
CONSTANTINOPLE.
A MIDNIGHT REVERIE — THE PLAGUE  HAREM BEAUTIES AT THE BAZAAR — VISIT
TO COMMODORE PORTER — DIALOGUE WITH A MISSIONARY.
IT was near dusk of our second day out that we approached
the Bosphorus. I contemplated the shores of Asia with breath
less interest. This vast continent was populous and rich when
Europe was a howling wilderness. Thoughts of its exciting
history crowded upon me as we ascended the river to our
goal, some twenty miles distant. I stood intently gazing
on the Asiatic shore of the Bosphorus, totally forgetting I
was turning my back on Europe, just as near on the other
side. It was a strange experience to be steaming up this
famous strait, with Asia and Europe on either shore, and almost
shaking hands at the nearest point. Already the continuous
line of dwellings on both banks were lit up, and the effect
was, perhaps, more picturesque than if daylight had revealed
the ugly as well as the beautiful. By degrees the panorama
grew more varied and brilliant, till at last our steamer entered
the Golden Horn, or harbour of Constantinople. A sight
here presented itself, the most striking I had ever witnessed.
This great city, rising from the water's edge, spread out like a fan
into a perfect amphitheatre, street rising above street, like so
many tiers of benches, each distinct with its separate rows of
lights. A mass of domes and countless spires were dimly visible
in the starlit night, whilst the clear loud voice of the muezzin,
calling the faithful to prayer, rose audibly above the hum and
bustle of the population. Around was spread out a dense forest
of vessels, whose tall masts and spars could be traced in outline
by the numberless lanterns hung up to protect them. On every
side the placid water was incessantly ruffled by the flight of
caiques darting to and fro across the river. The spectacle was
novel, enchanting, and I gazed from right to left, above, beneath,
silent and spellbound, till I was summoned below to dinner. I

Constantinople. 265

came again on deck about ten o'clock, and the coup d'oeil had
assumed a new appearance. The twinkling lights in most of the
houses had been extinguished, for the Turks keep early hours ;
but the moon had risen in a cloudless sky, and the effect was still
more bewitching.
I sat down alone, and gave myself up to reverie. Could it be
that I was contemplating the site of ancient Byzantium, which
was successively assailed by Persians, Arabs, and Bulgarians ;
then destroyed by Septimus Severus ; then rebuilt and raised to
its greatest splendour by Constantine, who not only gave it his
name, but made it the capital of the vast Roman Empire? A still
higher glory succeeded, for here the first Christian temple, St.
Sophia, was erected, and after 1 100 years the cross which sur
mounted it was struck down, and the emblem of the infidel now
glittering in the moonlight took its place. In this very city too
occurred the tragedy that soiled the fame of the first Christian
Emperor, who, believing his son guilty of a criminal passion for
his stepmother Fausta, condemned him to death. When later
he discovered the accusation had sprung from the rage of the
perfidious woman, whose advances had been repulsed, horror-
stricken, he ordered her to instant execution. Constantinople,
too, was identified with the glory of Justinian, whose reign was
signalised by the celebrated code he founded, 530 A.D., Cor
pus Juris Civilis (the body of the civil law), which to this day
is familiar to all jurists. Strange that this eminent prince should
have espoused a Roman danseuse, Theodora, whose sway over his
affections was absolute. Here also was accomplished that fierce
schism which rent the authority of Rome in twain, and gave
birth to the Greek Church, which denied the supremacy of the
Pope and many of the dogmas of the Latin creed. At last
descended upon the Eastern capital of Christendom the bar
barous hordes of Asia, 1453 :
' The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold.'
Then it was that Mahomet II. unfurled the Turkish banner
in Constantinople, when he denounced the Christians as dogs,
which is still their fate. Since that proud day the rule of the
Ottomite had visibly declined, and the triumphs of Christian
nations over the successors of Mahomet promised at no distant
day the return of the Cross to Constantinople. So praying, I
broke off my historical musings, and, taking a final survey of the

266 Constantinople.
renowned city, now hushed in deep repose, I went below, quite
exhausted by the emotions of the day.
What a change came o'er the spirit of my dream next morn
ing ! My enthusiasm disappeared at the reports that reached us
of the wide prevalence of the plague. If proofs were wanting, they
were furnished every moment by the numerous caiques that
passed our steamer, bearing the dead to their last home. Lugu
brious as the sight was, I could hardly avoid being amused at the
stoical business-like indifference the Turks displayed in escorting
their relatives across the river to the cemeteries. In the bottom
of the caique, little larger than an Indian canoe, was deposited
the coffin, and on top of it was seated a cross-legged Turk,
placidly smoking his pipe,, whilst propelling his bark onward.
There was not the faintest sign of sorrow. His belief in fate
forbade it. The dead man's time had come, and there was the
end of it. As I had no such consolatory creed, I debated with
Forrest what was best under the circumstances. Should we go
on shore and take the risk, or safely abide on board till we could
make our escape from the pest-infected town ? The belief was
that the disease was contagious, and that contact with any one
stricken by it was fatal. It seemed absurd to come to Constanti
nople, and run away without seeing it ; so we determined to take
our chance. We were told that all but Turks wore oilcloth
cloaks to escape the dangers of contact, and we sent on shore to
procure them. The messenger brought only one back, saying
none more could be had. This looked ominous. Forrest offered
it to me, but I refused to take an unfair advantage ; and we started
off provided with sticks, to keep the Turks at a respectful distance,
as we were informed they were fond of jostling the Franks, in
order to give them a fright. The fact is, I felt no apprehension
whatever from mere contact, for I observed that what was in
dispensable for daily use, as chairs, cushions, and pipes, were
pronounced non-contagious, whilst nearly everything else was.
Hence I concluded the disease was infectious, and haunted the
atmosphere. I had not advanced a hundred yards after landing before dis
covering the origin of the plague. The streets were a labyrinth
of narrow crooked lanes, reeking with odour from every variety of
filth. The houses of wood were small, and almost piled on each
other, and utterly deprived of ventilation. We encountered vast
packs of famished dogs, that were the only scavengers. They

Constantinople. 267
seemed to scent Christian blood, and we found our sticks useful
in keeping them at bay.
We wandered about for some time under convoy, and met
with nothing to charm the eye. All was mean, squalid, and
repulsive. There were but few people in the thoroughfares ; foi
your Turk is not given to pedestrian feats, but delights rather in
squatting about with a pipe in his mouth. Only once a facetious
Moslem gave Forrest a rub, expecting to see him retreat in
alarm ; but in return he administered a bump that sent the as
tonished infidel spinning across the street, when, after a look ot
, unutterable disdain, he moved quietly off.
We passed several women, whose attire was more curious
than ornamental. Their heads and faces were swathed in white
linen, leaving only their eyes and noses visible. It was strictly
forbidden to reveal their faces to the gaze of the profane. The
rest of their persons was enveloped in loose drapery, without
shape or style. We stared at them with all our might, but
extracted scarce a glance in return. The penalties for any kind
of communion with a Christian are so severe, that a Turkish
woman dreads even to bestow a look.
We stopped at a shop kept by a Greek, but found the door
barred to prevent entrance, and our money was passed through
water before it might be touched. We then went in quest of
lodgings ; but the vile dens we inspected filled us with dismay,
and we quickly decided to accept the kind offer of the captain
of our steamer to make our home on board if we could find no
other accommodation. We returned to our steamer, rejoicing
we had a refuge from the odious sights and smells of the town ;
and my illusions of the previous night were rudely dispelled by
all I had seen during my excursion on shore. It was very evi
dent that, if Stamboul was to be admired, it could only be done
at a distance, which alone lent enchantment to the view.
In the afternoon we took a row on the Bosphorus, when,
besides fresh air, we had endless pretty views of the villa-like
residences of the wealthy Turks, adorned with kiosks and foun
tains and bright verdure. But after all, the only charm of Con
stantinople is its site. Sloping gently upwards from the brink
of the Golden Horn, it offers the finest situation in the world
for the structure of a beautiful city, and who cannot but regret
that such an unrivalled position should be thrown away upon
these lazy unprogressive sons of Islam ?

268 Constantinople.
It was amusing in the morning to survey the large barges-
crossing the river, crammed full of women and their black gaolers,
on their way to the Bazaars, their chief occupation for the day.
Another object of curiosity were the numerous caiques lying
around our steamer in the hope of hire. These tiny barks might
be considered the cabs of Constantinople, for they were con
stantly plying across the river. Their owners were the only
class in the whole population that showed any disposition to
work for their living. The rest of Turkeydom impressed me as
the most inert mass of humanity that existed. I never looked
down on the turbaned wherrymen hanging about us but half of
them were diligently engaged in sponging over every spot of
their scollop-shells ; and when the task was completed to their
satisfaction, down they sat in the bottom of the boat, lit their
pipes, and, without a look or sign that betokened the least in
terest in the world here, or hereafter, they calmly awaited till
the Prophet sent them a customer.
We rowed off one morning in the wake of the numerous
barges, with their muffled freight, wending their way to the great
Bazaar. It was a huge ungainly structure, covering many acres,
dimly lit by skylights, and divided into narrow lanes, with an in
terminable row of counters on either side, in the rear of which,
on a few shelves, were arrayed the goods on sale. Each class of
article had its separate alley. Shawls of infinite variety were
found in one ; laces, embroidered handkerchiefs, slippers, arms,.
pipes, in the others. Nothing interested me more than the still
ness, not to say solemnity, that pervaded the place. In any
other country, above all in France, the din would have been
deafening. The shopkeepers, with their snow-white turbans,.
long beards, and inevitable pipes, sat cross-legged on their
counters. They more resembled statues than men, so motion
less was their posture. A passer-by might stop at a counter,
scrutinise or touch everything within his reach, and the grim
vendor sat quite unconcerned, not deigning to bestow a glance,
nor diverted for a moment from his pipe and tranquil rumina
tions. He was convinced that, if the Prophet so ordained, he
would buy ; if not, why lose a whiff? Not the least curious
among the sights were the number of devout Turks engaged in
prayer. Every good Mussulman is required to pray five times
a day ; and if the enemy was at the gates, or an earthquake ex
pected, he would scrupulously fulfil his religious duties. When

Constantinople. 269

the hour arrived, he would lay down his pipe, undo his legs, fall '
on his knees, with his face to the east, and, raising his hands to
his breast, give himself up to spiritual converse with Allah. The
observance over, he would recross his legs, relight his pipe, and
resume his former impassibility. An odd set these Turks, it
must be confessed, but in their way they live in the odour of
sanctity. I was tempted to think that all the harems of Constantinople
had emptied their be-muslined contents into this favourite em
porium, so great was the multitude of women. In its contracted
, passages it was impossible to avoid contact, and I made no effort
to escape the soft pressure of these poor creatures, for whom I
felt the profoundest sympathy. Disguised as they were, it was
hopeless to investigate their claims to beauty. All that was
visible were the eyes and nose ; and the former feature, with
their long silken lashes, were almost invariably magnificent, yet
singularly devoid of expression. How could it be otherwise ?
There was nothing in their lives to arouse their dormant natures.
Bought in the market like sheep, they were consigned to the
harem, to drag out a purely animal existence. It was to me
revolting that women, and some of them the fairest of their kind,
should be degraded to a level that rendered the lot of an African
slave enviable. These unfortunate beings seemed only born to
pander to the lust of the brutes that owned them. Without amuse
ment, save the trivial pastimes accorded to children, without
society other than their own, their minds a blank, their hearts a
void, they wander from the cradle to the grave ignorant of human
affections, unconscious of friendship, dead to love — that pure love
the poet apostrophises :
' It is the secret sympathy,
The silver link, the silken tie,
Which heart to heart and mind to mind
In body and in soul can bind.'
What a fate ! It seemed to me incomprehensible that Christen
dom could tolerate a social organisation that reduced women to
a condition simply bestial. Great commiseration was bestowed
on the destiny of our negro slaves, who were bought and sold.
But the lovely denizens of Turkey were also bought and sold,
and for something worse than the needs of healthy labour. It
was with such impressions I turned away from the great Bazaar,
and I could not help wishing that the plague would not quit

270 Constantinople.

'Constantinople without taking every Turk with it, at least all
who kept harems.
We had seen and smelt all that was curious and odorous
in Stamboul ; but ere quitting it we decided to hunt up our
Minister, who was living some ten miles from the city, at a
village called San Stefano. How to get there was a puzzle.
We could procure no guide for love or money. Travellers were
too few in these regions to beget such a class. In the midst of
our perplexity our banker called, and he suggested our taking a
caique to a certain point on the river, and there obtain horses to
carry us to our destination. He directed our caikfees to hire
horses, and bid their owner pilot us to the Minister's residence.
Trusting to chance, we started, more amused than alarmed at
what might befall us if we missed our aim. After an hour's pull
we landed at a small hamlet, and our boatmen went off in. quest
of horses. They returned with a couple of stout nags, accom
panied by a gray-bearded Mussulman to escort us. I extended
my hand with some silver pieces to our navigators, who gravely
selected their fare, a very modest sum, and turned on their
heel. The Turks are scrupulously honest, and here was a proof ;
for if they had taken ten times their due, I should have been
none the wiser or the worse.
For a time we wound round the immense walls of the capital,
with their picturesque towers to the number of 250. We passed
a cemetery seemingly of miles in extent, adorned with the melan
choly cypress. The wind whistling through the thick branches
sounded like a soft dirge, in unison with the place. We then
struck across the country, which had a most desolate look. Of all
the uncomfortable things in the world is a Turkish saddle. It
was as much as I could do to keep my seat, and I was thinking
of trying my luck bare-back, when, just after dark, we galloped
into a small town, and stopped before an imposing gateway
brightly lit up. We gladly dismounted and entered. To my
surprise, the janitor took my arm and led me to what looked
like a sentry-box. Opening the door, he motioned me to enter.
Thinking it was some custom of the country, I complied ; but
was surprised to find the door closed and locked. Whilst won
dering what it all meant, I was suddenly enveloped in thick
smoke, and, to escape suffocation, I put my nose to a small ori
fice, through which the light without was streaming. Forrest
was served in the same way, and shut up in a box on the oppo-

Constantinople.

site side. Between us both we made such a rumpus, that in a
few minutes we were let out, and the language we jointly ad
dressed the ' base Phrygian Turk,' who had literally ' done us
brown,' was neither polite nor classic. By this time a third per
son appeared on the -scene, in the shape of a stalwart young
man, and, hearing our unmistakable English, he announced
himself as the nephew of the U.S. Minister, and courteously in
quired our business. Finding we were innocent Americans,
with letters for his uncle, he could not restrain his merriment
at the mishap that had stirred up our bile ; but explained that
all persons coming from Constantinople during the plague
were invariably fumigated before entering the house. On learn
ing that it was the usual thing to treat visitors like herrings, and
smoke them beforehand, our indignation vanished into laughter
at the absurdity of our adventure.
On entering the drawing-room we were warmly welcomed by
our illustrious Envoy, Commodore Porter, whose famous exploits
in the war of 1812 had endeared him to all his countrymen. He
expressed regret at the ordeal we had just undergone, but, seeing
we had recovered our serenity, he could not forbear smiling at
what must have seemed to us a practical joke of a very novel
character. After a pleasant chat we sat down to an excellent
dinner. Mrs. Brown, the Commodore's sister, joined us at table.
It was very delightful, after a lapse of months, to find myself
again, as it were, on American soil, surrounded by a group of
fellow-countrymen. It was even a greater pleasure to be the
guest of so distinguished a person as Commodore Porter. I
could hardly believe that the quiet amiable man before me, so
chatty and playful, was no other than the daring seaman who
captured, after an action of eight minutes, the British vessel the
' Alert,' which surrendered with seven feet of water in her hold.
A dozen other exploits, equally attesting the most desperate
valour, occurred to me in succession, as I sat contemplating his
placid countenance ; but, in spite of its winning expression, there
were indications enough of fearlessness in his eye and firm
mouth to make him an unwelcome foe, when on his quarter
deck, with the drum beating to quarters.
After a sound night's sleep, I strolled in the early morn
about the Commodore's pretty grounds, enjoying both the bright
sunshine and the delicious green figs growing all round. Look
ing up, I descried the star-spangled banner waving from the

272 Constantinople.
house-top. The thrill it gave me proved that my patriotism was
still glowing. I repeated Scott's beautiful lines :
¦Breathes there a man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
" This is my own, my native flag!" '
I mentioned to the Commodore at breakfast my emotion at
sight of our standard.
' I ordered it to be raised,' he replied, ' in honour of my
visitors. I thought it would give you a sensation/
' It is a queer place,' said I, ' to see the Stars and Stripes fly
ing.' ' Yes, indeed it is,' he remarked ; ' and it is just as well the
poor devils hereabouts don't know the story it tells.'
' Will you allow me, Commodore,' I continued, ' to express
my wonder that an active spirit like yours can tolerate a resi
dence in such a country as this, where all is barren, where life
is stripped of every charm, and where existence must be mono
tonous to the last degree ? Yet there is so much besides that is
odious. The religion which denounces Christianity ; the degra
dation of women ; the enslavement of men ; the caprice of a
despot the only law ; the absence of the comforts and the re
finements of our century, — all these would make an abode in
this land, I should think, worse than a prison in our own/
' The monotony you speak of,' observed the Commodore, ' is
nothing to me, after spending the most of my life on shipboard.
As regards the condition of things in Turkey, I am less vividly
impressed than you, accustomed only to one phase of life.
Having visited many countries, whose institutions and customs
differ widely from my own, I have fallen into a somewhat callous
state over the eccentricities of mankind. An old tar settles
down, sooner or later, into a practical philosopher, and learns to
contemplate the varieties of race, the difference of creeds, and
the contrasts in usage with curiosity, perhaps, but without
wonder or emotion.'
' I comprehend, Commodore, the effect which larger experi
ence and riper years would doubtless produce ; but with my
present eyes I cannot help expressing all the aversion I feel at
the state of things about me.'
' There is no reason in the world you should not,' returned
the veteran, in a tone of the utmost toleration. ' But the day is
too fine to waste upon the Turks. Let us turn out for a cruise

- 1/ /lOt-U lit I.

nople. 273

in the neighbourhood. There are some objects that will possibly
interest you and Forrest.'
I joyfully sallied forth under the convoy of the Commodore,
and he led us to see an old Greek church, which dated from
the days when a Christian emperor reigned in Constantinople.
There was nothing but its great antiquity to attract us, and after
looking it over the Commodore proposed we should visit a
palace of the Sultan in the outskirts, which he occupied when
he came here to shoot, a pastime he was partial to.
As we loitered carelessly along I observed, dogging our steps,
a girl of about fifteen. As she was a Greek and a Christian,
her face was not swathed in the usual muslin bandage of the
Turkish women. It would have been a thousand pities if such
rare beauty had been hidden. She was of the lower class, and
her curiosity had evidently been aroused by a group of Franks
in their strange costume invading this retired spot, where naught
was ever seen but the wide trousers, long beards, and ample
turbans of the Turks. Wholly unconscious of any impropriety,
she followed pertinaciously, and her gaze never left us for a
moment. The Commodore's nephew, seeing that our attention
was drawn to this alluring young creature, beckoned her to
approach, and asked her some trivial questions in Turkish,
which afforded us an opportunity to contemplate her charms.
Her features were of the strict Grecian type, her complexion
clear, with cheeks of vermilion, and her eyes large, dark, and
beaming. She wore a Greek jacket of the simplest material,
and short skirts, revealing her perfectly-formed limbs and small
feet. The Turks must have eyed her wistfully, and regretted
she was not a disciple of the Prophet. She advanced towards
us without the least hesitation, though plainly curious as to our
motives. She replied to Mr. Porter's inquiries with the frank
ness of a child, and each of us tendered her a small piece of
money, not exceeding a dollar in all. Such wealth had never
been hers before ; a million would not have caused greater
emotion. Her face flushed to the temples, her lustrous eyes
dilated ; uttering a wild shriek of delight, she turned and ran
with the fleetness of a deer to her mother's hovel, to exhibit
her untold treasure.
Amused at the incident, we continued our walk to the palace.
Like all those we had seen, it was built of wood, painted in
colours, and of moderate size, with no pretensions to architectural T

274 Constantinople.
effect. On entering a hall we were accommodated with chairs
instead of cushions, a recent innovation of the Sultan's, which
caused the Turks to groan over his degenerate fancies, and shake
their heads in apprehension of the fate of Islam. The usual
observances of Turkish hospitality then followed. Pipes of some
two yards in length, with the bowl resting in a brass saucer on
the floor, were handed to each of us. A glass dish of preserved
rose-leaves was then passed round, each taking a mouthful, the
same spoon serving for all. This was succeeded by a cup, or
rather thimbleful, of coffee, which, in consistency and colour, re
sembled very black mire, though the flavour was exquisite. This
was the usual entertainment offered to all strangers entering a
Turkish house, and to refuse any part of it would be regarded
an insult. After disposing of the pipes, the rose-leaves, and
the coffee, we got up, placed our hands on the breast, the
Turkish mode of acknowledging courtesy, and then set to work
inspecting the palace.
It consisted of a series of rooms well proportioned, and
lighted by numerous windows. The walls were painted in drab ;
straw matting covered the floors, and each room was skirted
with ottomans. Strips of coloured calico served in lieu of
doors. There was no adornment of any kind — no pictures or
statuary ; no silks, satins, or velvets in curtains or furniture.
Could this be the residence of an Eastern potentate ? Grant
that it was only a shooting-box, still some indication of royal
luxury might have been expected. My visions of Oriental
splendour had already received some rude shocks, but this exhi
bition scattered what illusions still survived. Those who indulge
in dreams of Eastern magnificence would discover on inspection
that all the pretty stories on the subject, the Arabian Nights
included, were the merest fables.
As we returned homewards, we met in the street a friend of
the Commodore's, a Mr. Goodell, an American missionary in
Turkey, and he joined our party. I found him very intelligent
and chatty. He had lived some time in these parts, and was a
careful observer of men and things. On arriving at the house,
the Commodore, his nephew, and Forrest entered, whilst I pro
posed continuing my promenade with Mr. Goodell. After a time
we adjourned to a sort of cafo, and were supplied with more
muddy coffee, and pipes called narghiles. The smoke is inhaled
after passing through perfumed water, and this process renders

c onstantinople. 275

the mild Syrian tobacco still more pleasant. I was eager for a
conversation with my new acquaintance, as I felt sure of picking
up interesting information from a sagacious American not afraid
to express his opinions. I began by asking him if his missionary
labours had been attended with any'satisfactory results.
' I cannot boast,' he said, ' of much progress in spreading the
truths of the Gospel among these heathen. They are fanati
cally wedded to their religion, which sanctions the vices and
customs which have prevailed in the East from time immemo
rial. If I were to assail polygamy or slavery, it would be re
garded as an outrage on their sacred book, the Koran, which
approves of both. If I insisted that they must be saved by their
works, they would point to the doctrine of predestination taught
by the Koran, and the assurance of paradise with its black-eyed
hoUris to all believers/
' It would be up-hill work, indeed,' I remarked, ' to combat
this blissful creed of a sensual people, by recommending the
tenets of our religion, which so emphatically denounces it. Under
these circumstances, I should think your task here must be very
unsatisfactory/ ' Not by any means/ he returned. ' There is work enough
for a conscientious disciple of Christ. I teach them to read and
write, and thus can supply books which, without attacking their
faith openly, will indirectly awaken doubt and inquiry/
' But have you no fear of arousing the anger of the Mufti,
who might call for your expulsion, if not worse ?'
' No ; under this reign there is nothing to apprehend. The
Sultan's mania is to introduce European civilisation, in the hope
of regenerating his empire. He is therefore favourable to edu
cation.' ' His notion strikes me as absurd ; for how can our civilisa
tion, founded on Christianity, be reconciled with the Turkish
system, based on the Koran ? As well attempt to harmonise fire
and water/
'You are quite right ; but, meanwhile, I can profit by the tolera
tion allowed, and I am sowing seed that I hope will bear good fruit/
' Pray tell me,' I asked, ' what you think of the Sultan Mah-
moud. He is clearly a man of resolute character and great
courage. His massacre of the Janissaries is a proof of that,
though I think his destruction of those unfortunate troops, the
elite of his army, was a savage act, if not impolitic as well.'

\
276 Constantinople.
' Without justifying such a terrible deed,' said Mr. Goodell,
' it was plainly Mahmoud's conviction he must abandon his plans
of reform, or get rid of the Janissaries. He remembered that
his brother and predecessor, Mustapha IV., was strangled by
this fierce legion for venturing to contest their domination ;
whilst his cousin, Selim III., was overthrown for only dreaming
of reform.' ' True enough,' I replied ; ' and he probably recalled that
from 15 12 the Janissaries had been the veritable masters of the
empire. Since that date they had murdered no less than seven
sultans, besides those you have mentioned. Mahmoud was
doubtless stimulated by the example of Peter the Great, who
destroyed the rebellious Strelitz ; but it was a bolder act to
assail the Janissaries, who were ten times more numerous. Do
you know how many perished ?'
' No one knew the exact number, but in a single day, in
June 1826, 15,000 were immolated on the square of the Atmeidan
at Constantinople.' ' How was such a fearful slaughter effected ?'
' The Janissaries occupied extensive barracks on that square,
which were set on fire at daybreak. To escape the confla
gration they rushed out unarmed, and were mowed down by
batteries of cannon collected there during the night. Thou
sands more were killed or put to flight in other parts of the
empire. Poor wretches ! they little dreamt of such a fate at the
hands of a man they raised to the throne.'
' Since then,' I queried, 'Mahmoud must have been absolute
master of the situation ? I trust he has been more fortunate in
his domestic reforms than in his foreign policy. Ever since his
accession, in 1 809, he has met defeat from every foe encountered.
The Russians have taken large slices of his territory in Europe
and Asia ; the Greeks, with foreign aid, have thrown off his
yoke ; he has lost the Ionian Islands and Algiers. Finally, he
was compelled to appeal to Russia to escape being overthrown
by the Pasha of Egypt, Mehemet Ali. I don't wonder the
Turks believe their doom is sealed.'
' Yes,' returned Mr. Goodell, 'that is the prevailing impression
amongst them, and I fear the Sultan has essayed a task far
beyond his strength.'
' Just my conviction,' I rejoined. ' Has he any capacity for
the administrative revolution he is said to contemplate ?'

Constantinople. 277

' I see little sign ,of it yet,' replied Mr. Goodell. ' He has
thrown aside the Turkish costume, dressed his army in the
French uniform, and inaugurated the European drill. He
encourages Europeans to come and establish their institutions,
to set up libraries, schools of science and medicine, and I know
not what. If he were to import a European population as well,
and send the Turks into Asia, he might make Constantinople a
model city ; but as long as it is occupied by the Mussulman
these European novelties are simply exotics, not likely to flourish
in an intractable soil. But, as I said before, his whims are
favourable to us missionaries, and I have no reason to com
plain/ ' Among his importations,' I inquired, ' has he introduced
the European code of morals ?'
' Alas, no !' said Mr. Goodell. ' Polygamy and concubinage
are as rife now as in the times of his predecessors. In that
respect the Turks find no fault. Mahmoud has four wives, the
complement allowed by the Prophet ; whilst his harem is
stocked with more than four hundred women/
' As you say, the Prophet allowed four wives, though he
recommended only one ; which is hardly to be wondered at after
his experience of fifteen. But where does the Sultan obtain his
supplies — does he buy in the slave-market of Constantinople, or
of private dealers ?'
' Of course not. As Sultan he has the pick of all the beauty
imported. The choicest lots, as the auctioneers say, are first
submitted to him, and afterwards go for sale to the market/
' What is the usual price,' I demanded, ' for a Circassian
beauty ?'
'That depends on the competition. The average sum is
about one hundred dollars ; but the greatest expense is the
maintenance of these poor creatures, as they are very fond of
trinkets and fine clothes. A Turk must be quite rich to keep
up an extensive harem.'
' The lives of these women must be fearfully monotonous.'
'It would be so if they had ever known any other exist
ence ; but in their native homes of Circassia and Georgia they
grow up mere animals ; and it is said they long eagerly for the
day when the slave-merchant will arrive to strike a bargain with
their mercenary parents, and carry them off to the fairy realm of
Constantinople/

278 Constantinople.

'Do you know anything about the condition and manage
ment of the harem ?' I asked.
' Only from hearsay ; for, as the Arabic derivation of the
word — -charam — imports, it is the "sacred" part of the house.
No male ever enters it but the owner, save physicians and
water-carriers. It is always the best-furnished part, and among
the wealthy Turks it is luxuriously organised. There are various
suites of rooms, according to the number of inmates, with
numerous attendants, chiefly black. Musical instruments of the
simplest kind, as the mandolin, are provided. Thus, within
doors, the time is passed in singing, dancing, bathing, smoking,,
and eating sweets, which is a mania with Turkish women. Some
of the more favoured damsels of the rich Turks are allowed to
vary their amusements by hiring jugglers and story-tellers in
the old Oriental style. No small part of the day is spent in
rambling over the Bazaars and about the streets, as you must
have observed. They may go where they please, under the
strict condition of never exposing the face, or talking to any
man, least of all to a Christian.'
' I suppose infidelity is of rare occurrence, from the wide
separation of the sexes ; but it is still punished, I believe, with
drowning in a sack ?'
' As you say,' responded Mr. Goodell, ' it is unlikely the
offence is common, not only from the complete isolation of the
women, but the rigorous supervision exercised. At home or
abroad, black slaves, male and female, are employed to forbid or
report any violation of usage. The superior beauty and intelli
gence of the Greek men no doubt often attract the admiring
notice of the women of the harem in the Bazaars ; and it is said
that, without conversation, means of communication are found,
and intrigues carried on by the medium of flowers. Written
correspondence is unknown, as the harem inmates neither read
or write. In cases of suspicion the delinquent is taken before
the cadi or judge, whose only code is the Koran, and he de
cides as he thinks fit. There may be evidence, or only sur
mise ; but, if the cadi sees no objection, the victim is conducted
to the Bosphorus, put in a caique, where her hands are tied, a
sack drawn over, and she is thrown into the stream. Any one
who chooses may stop to witness the act, which is regarded with
indifference and as a matter of course/
' It is inconceivable,' I declared, ' that such barbarities should

Constantinople. 2 79

exist in Europe in our day. But is there no check on the caprice
of the cadi ?'
' None. He is the sole representative of the law, civil and
criminal, as laid down in the Koran.'
' I have heard stories,' I remarked, ' of the cruel treatment of
the women in the harem.'
' It is next to impossible,' was the reply, ' to know what trans
pires there. That punishments are inflicted by the black eunuchs
who act as gaolers is not denied ; but, of course, they vary in
degree and character. Sometimes whips are used ; at others,
starvation and imprisonment. I have also heard that in cases
of extreme insubordination women are sent to special houses
kept for the purpose, where a course of punishment, including
dungeons and torture, is inflicted until the patient is returned
thoroughly cured.'
' All this is new to me,' I observed, ' and very revolting. It
is plain that in Turkey to-day the usages of the East of centuries
ago are still flourishing. Polygamy, concubinage, slavery, white
and black, are as common as in the days of Solomon. It is a
consolation, however, to know that it may all crumble to pieces
at any moment. Nothing but the jealousy of England, Russia,
and Austria preserves the Turkish Empire, at least in Europe.
A war or a compromise between them would rid Christendom
of the horrors you have related. Is the slave-market visited by
strangers ?'
' Never kby Christians, who are excluded ; but you have only
to turn Turk, and you may go and buy there as many women,
white or black, as may suit your fancy or your pocket. The
supply is always kept up, and the merchandise is freely paraded
and exhibited without disguise. A Turk never buys a " pig in
a poke/" ' I wonder,' I inquired, ' if such a thing as maternal affection
is known among the Turkish women ?'
' It may exist in a moderate degree,' said Mr. Goodell, 'among
those in the rank of wives, but I doubt if it extends to the class
of mere concubines. The affections, like plants, must be culti
vated to thrive. Among barbarous nations history proves that
natural ties are little regarded. Among the Turks, as you see,
women are considered inferior beings, mere chattels, playthings,
animals ; and their progeny can have but little hold on either
father or mother, I fancy. They grow up without education, and

280 Constantinople.

are disposed of according to their position. The boys go into
the army, the administration, or the priesthood, and others
follow various occupations ; whilst the girls are got rid of in
marriage a la Turque, or otherwise.'
' Is there is any such thing as divorce recognised by the
Koran ?'
' Yes, as far as the husband is concerned. If dissatisfied with
a wife, he has only to say, " Get thee gone ; I banish thee
from my house," and she ceases from that moment to be a mar
ried woman. She is at liberty to marry again, and she has
another right of importance : she retains possession of any pro
perty previously hers.'
' Can a wife dismiss a husband in the same summary fashion?'
' No ; that privilege is confined exclusively to the male sex.
These divorces, however, are not frequent, as the husband may
console himself by adding to his wives within the limit of the
Koran ; or, if he prefers, can fill his harem with as many con
cubines from the market as his means allow.'
' Who does the work in a Turkish household ?'
' The black slaves, male and female.'
'Allow me to put a question about Mahometanism. Into
how many sects is it divided ?'
' Only two,' repeated Mr. Goodell, ' of any importance, and
with very little difference. The Sunnites are spread over Turkey,
Arabia, Egypt, and the Barbary States ; the Chyites are domi
nant in Persia.'
'The priesthood are distributed, if I remember, into various
classes,' I pursued.
' Yes,' said my informant ; ' into several. The highest is the
Ulema, who is not only a minister of religion, but a doctor of law,
as prescribed in the Koran. Next come the Mufti, the Iman,
the Mollah. This hierarchy is presided over by the Cheik ul
Islam, who ranks next to the Sultan ; and this ecclesiastical body
is the only check on the absolute authority of the potentate.'
' What is the position,' I asked, ' of the dancing Dervishes in
the Ottoman religion ?'
' They are a kind of Mussulman monk, and sprang up about
a hundred years after the death of the Prophet. They consist,
it is said, of thirty-two different orders, and live in common in a
sort of convent. They take vows of poverty and chastity, but
are not much credited with either. They live on the alms of the

Constantinople. 2 8 1

faithful. They wander all over the empire, and are easily recog
nised by their tall sugar-loaf caps, and long robes tied with a
girdle, from which hangs a tin pouch for donations. To stimu
late charity they perform acrobatic feats that can hardly be called
dancing. They revolve with great dexterity on the heel of one
foot, and use the other as a propeller to keep up the motion.
They are also very expert in jugglery.'
1 You must be tired,' I declared, ' of my wearisome catechism,
but one inquiry more. Of whom does the Divan or Cabinet of
the Sultan consist ?'
' The chief Minister,' said Mr. Goodell, ' is the Grand Vizier.
Next comes the Reis Effendi, or Minister of Foreign Affairs.
There is also a Minister of the Interior, with a hard Turkish
name. The Seraskier or Commander-in-Chief of the Army, and
the Capitan-Pasha or Grand Admiral of the Fleet, are like
wise members of the Cabinet. But you must not suppose that
these persons have the least independence, or exercise the least
influence over the Government, especially in the reign of the pre
sent Sultan. They are nothing more than lackeys to do his
bidding. Any disobedience, and they are thrown into prison,
if not bowstrung forthwith.'
'Just the style of government,' I remarked, ' in vogue a thou
sand years ago. Have these men any special capacity for their
functions ?'
' That may or may not be the case. They owe their position
to the caprice of the Sultan, who for one reason or another has
taken a fancy to them. They are often men of low origin, some
times with good natural ability, but no education. Many a
seraskier and capitan-pasha began life as a Georgian or Circas
sian slave. This shows, as you say, how little the East has
changed for centuries.'
¦ ' Have the Ministers any social importance?'
' Whilst in power, yes, but the day afterwards are lost in the
common herd. In a country where a boatman or a shoemaker
may be made a Grand Vizier one day, and sent back to his busi
ness the next, if not otherwise disposed of, there can be no
stability of position no permanence in rank. Everything, for
tune and life included, is at the mercy of the despot. His smile
or frown means prosperity or ruin.'
' Just as it was a thousand years ago,' I replied mechanically.
' One final question. How is the revenue collected ?'

282 Constantinople.,

' By an army of tax-gatherers under the control of the pashas
or governors of the various districts of the empire.'
' Who appoints these ?'
' Sometimes the Sultan names one of his favourites, at others
the Grand Vizier sells these lucrative posts to the highest bidder.
In order to pay the bribe, and enrich himself, the pasha extorts
the last penny from his victims. There have been instances
where the population of a whole province has fled from grinding
oppression into some other part of the land.'
' This was the condition of the peasantry of Europe in the
Middle Ages under the feudal system,' I replied ; ' and as that has
disappeared, so let us hope the days of the merciless pashas of
Turkeyare numbered.' Hereupon I rose, and thanked Mr. Goodell
for his good-natured endurance of my tedious cross-examination.
' I have read,' I added, ' not a few books of travellers in Turkey,
and been delighted with many of their vivid descriptions, but
from none of them have I gleaned half the information your long
residence here has enabled you to afford me.'
I got back to the Legation just in time for dinner. The
Commodore wondered what had become of me, and I related the
long 'confab' I had just held with Mr. Goodell on the Turks and
their odd ways.
' You could not go,' said the Minister, ' to a better source for
instruction. He is well informed on these topics, and is entirely
reliable.' During the evening my host was full of conversation, and told
numerous anecdotes of his adventurous life with great gusto. It
was late before we retired.
During the night I woke up very unwell. I was attacked with
violent perspiration, headache, and nausea ; in short, with all the
symptoms of the plague. I hesitated to raise an alarm, as it
might only be a passing derangement of the stomach; so I screwed
up my nerves and set the plague at defiance. I had the liveliest
horror of becoming a permanent resident of Turkey, even under
the shade of a cypress-tree. I was all right again in the morning ;
and when I related at breakfast what had befallen me, and my
dread lest the fumigation had failed of its effect, the Commo
dore inquired if I had been eating fruit.
' Only some green figs,' I replied.
' I should have warned you,' he said, ' that nothing was so
likely to disturb any one unaccustomed to them.'

CHAPTER XXVI.
CONSTANTINOPLE {continued).
THE PADISHAH — AN AMERICAN SHIP-BUILDER  A DIAMOND SHOW —
THE SERAGLIO AND ST. SOPHIA.
We had settled on returning to Constantinople that day, and
the Commodore said he would write to the Dragoman of the
Legation to call and escort us to any places of interest where he
could obtain access. He gave us also a letter to Mr. Rhodes,
the American ship-builder in the service of the Sultan, for whom
he had constructed a frigate the Commodore pronounced 'a tip-top
vessel.' As the weather was fine, he recommended us to return
by water, and directed a boat to be secured for the purpose. We
took only a temporary leave of our distinguished Minister, as we
promised to return for a farewell visit.
The row back of some three hours we found much easier work
than clinging desperately to a Turkish saddle. Just as we entered
the Bosphorus we observed a showy-looking barge coming our
way, and we endeavoured to ascertain from our boatman who was
the occupant of this richly-gilt water equipage. With a startled
look he put his finger on his mouth, and bent his gaze downwards.
As it passed we remarked a handsome man, with a dark well-
trimmed beard, wearing a fez and an embroidered coat, seated
a la Turque under a rich canopy, to protect him from the sun.
It was evidently some high official, and we raised our hats in
courtesy, which was acknowledged by a careless nod. As he
glanced towards us I observed his eye was large and clear, with
an expression somewhat startling, an ' eye like Mars, to threaten
and command.' When we had got out of earshot the boatman in
a low voice said, ' The Padishah.' It sounded like an Irish name,
but it was the Arabic word for Sultan. We had just bowed,
without suspecting it, to his Sublimity the Grand Turk himself,
and were glad to have had a glimpse of him, as it was the only
one we were likely to get. I learned afterwards the secret of our
boatman's alarm, as it was strictly ordered by the Sultan that none

284 Const a n tinople.
of his subjects should recognise him when he passed. It was his
habit to rove about at all hours, and he demanded no notice
should be taken of his presence, under pains and penalties.
We returned to our former lodgings on the Bosphorus, and our
worthy captain welcomed us right heartily. After dinner we set
off with him to find Mr. Rhodes, and by dint of rowing about we
discovered him at one of his numerous dockyards. He was up to
his eyes in work, his coat off, his sleeves rolled back, a Greek cap
on his head, and an immense diamond pin glittering on his shirt-
front. He seemed delighted to meet a couple of his countrymen,
and, after showing us about for a time, proposed to knock off
work, and take us to his'house for a longer chat. He was a tall
muscular man, with a pleasant countenance, off-hand manner,
earnest and energetic. He said he had a splendid berth, that the
Sultan considered him a treasure, and lavished no end of rewards
and honours upon him. He stated that Mahmoud was eager to
repair his immense losses at Navarino, and that one ship was no
sooner built than he ordered another.
' This suits me exactly,' said Mr. Rhodes ; ' for if there is any
thing I really love, it is putting a ship together.'
' It is certain,' I replied, ' the Sultan has got a prize in you ;
for Commodore Porter says that, as a naval constructor, you
have no superior anywhere.'
' I am flattered by the Commodore's commendation, for he
understands a ship as well as I do.'
'Tell me,' I asked, 'how you get on with the Sultan. I
hear he spends a good deal of his time in your work-yards.
Does he interfere with you much ?'
' I don't allow him,' said the blunt ship-builder. ' I carry out
my own ideas. If he makes a good suggestion, I adopt it ; if it
is a bad one, I reject it.'
' Does he growl at you ?' I inquired ; ' for they say there's a
deal of the tiger in him.'
' I think,' said Mr. Rhodes, smiling, ' I astonish him some
times. At others he is amused. At all events, he likes my
work, and that is the main point.'
' Lucky you are not a Turk,' remarked Forrest.
' In that case, I would obey him and build catamarans/
Whilst talking, we were gliding over the glassy Bosphorus
to Mr. Rhodes' house, which was given him by the Sultan ; and
on reaching it we found it delightfully situated, and most com-

^onsianunople. 285

fortably furnished in the style he had been accustomed to at
home. His residence in Turkey had neither demoralised his
habits, manners, or morals. He had contracted no fancy for
cushions, but sat like a Christian on a chair, with his legs before
him ; and shunned the attractions of polygamy and the charms
of Circassian slaves, though he could have well afforded either.
It was a treat, in this outlandish place, to find myself in a
house that had quite an American tone, and I would not have
exchanged my pleasant sensations whilst rocking in a Boston
chair for all the vain delights of the Mahometan paradise.
Whilst quaffing some delicious tea, imported from Russia, and
which I found infinitely more palatable than the turbid coffee of
the Turks, our host entertained us with many racy anecdotes
of his daily life in Islam. At last I called on him for the dis
play of his presents from his munificent Highness the Sultan,
and he at once spread before us a dazzling array of snuff-boxes,
rings, stars, pins, and -chains, all set in diamonds of great size
and purest water. There were more than enough to constitute
a splendid stock-in-trade for the richest jeweller in New York.
It was hard work to contemplate them without blinking, and
one could scarcely help wishing he had been born a ship-builder
in the employment of Mahmoud II.
' When you give up the manufacture of frigates/ I said, ' you
have only to turn these treasures into a seven per cent stock,
and you might snap your fingers at an English lord, unless you
preferred to bequeath them to your posterity as heirlooms.'
' My posterity,' retorted the true American, ' must take care
of themselves. What do I want with such gewgaws ? I intend
to sell them to the highest bidder in the best market/
' In that case,' I replied, picking up a breast-pin in the shape
of a star, containing just seventy diamonds, which I had taken
a fancy to, ' put your price on this gem, for I am bound to carry
it off as a souvenir.'
' Put your own price on it, for I know nothing of the value
of such things.' ,
Of course I refused to do that ; but Mr. Rhodes, with the
utmost insouciance, agreed that his other two guests — Forrest
and the captain of our steamer — should appraise it, which they
did, and I took it cheerfully at their estimate. I broke it up
afterwards into sundry rings, which I distributed amongst my
female favourites.

286 Constantinople.
After a very merry evening, we rose to go ; but Mr. Rhodes
said he would accompany .us to our boat, else we might fall into
the hands of the sentinels scattered about, who allowed no one
to pass without the watchword. As we pursued our way along
the deserted streets, we were howled at and barked at by the
hideous curs that infest Constantinople, and are almost as
dangerous as wolves. Mr. Rhodes had providently brought
some of his servants with him to beat off the famished crea
tures, that seemed thirsting for Christian blood. We promised,
at parting, to be ready next morning after breakfast to accom
pany our friend to inspect the latest specimen of his handi
work, then lying in the Bosphorus, and which the Sultan ad
mired so much that he named it after himself.
Soon after ten o'clock the following morning Mr. Rhodes
hailed us from his caique, and, finding us prepared, bade us follow
in his wake. The captain of our steamer joined us with alac
rity ; he was much better ' able than ourselves to appreciate the
tidy bit of work we were going to inspect. As we approached
the noble craft, we were all struck with her immense size and
really beautiful proportions. The captain was in ecstasies ; and
even with my landlubber eyes I could not but remark the grace
of her outlines, and the harmony of her shape. We followed
Mr. Rhodes on board, who conducted us over all parts of the
leviathan. We were full of admiration at every turn, and I had
an opportunity of picking up from the conversation of our cap
tain and Mr. Rhodes a deal of useful knowledge about such
vessels. She had not only all the modern improvements intro
duced into ships of war, but others of Mr. Rhodes' own inven
tion. One, for instance, I thought striking. He had connected
water-pipes with the powder-magazine, so as to prevent explo
sion in case of fire. She carried a heavy armament — I forget
the number of guns ; but I could form some opinion of their
noisy reverberation, for, whilst on board, the Sultan crossed the
Bosphorus in state to attend one of the mosques, and the
whole fleet in the harbour began firing broadsides, manning
their yards, and spreading their bunting fore and aft. It was a
very pretty sight, but made my tympanum tingle.
I was not a little amused at the utter want of subordination
among the crew, numbering several hundred, in contrast to that
maintained on all European and American vessels of war. In
stead of the neat dress, the martial air, the deference to rank,

Constantinople. 287

and the rigid discipline found in these, the Sultan's jolly tars
were scattered up and down the immense decks, squatting on
their crossed legs, like a bevy of tailors, rigged out in turbans and
flowing trousers, and every one with a pipe in his mouth. A
decorous silence was preserved, and much gravity of mien ; but
that is a Turk's normal condition. To talk or gesticulate is
against his torpid nature. There seemed to be no real distinc
tion of ranks, for the officers, though better dressed, were gathered
up on their legs among the men, as if they were all on a common
level, like so many "Quakers or St. Simonians. The effect was
exceedingly grotesque.
On sea or land the Turks fight well, for the Koran tells them
that death in battle is a sure passport to paradise. Who would
not fight with such a temptation ! As we rowed away from the
frigate, I spied a man in uniform on a platform, suspended over
the ship's side, scrubbing away for dear life with a long-handled
brush, which he wielded with singular dexterity. I inquired who
he was. ' O, that is the first lieutenant,' said Mr. Rhodes.
I was vastly amused at this novel sphere of duty for the first
officer of a line-of-battle ship, and took it as an additional proof
of the Turkish love of cleanliness.
We all went home with Mr. Rhodes to dine, and fared sump
tuously. Among other interesting stories he related was one
I will repeat. He was the first person to introduce in this part
of the world the ordinary mode of launching a vessel down an
inclined plane. Previously the Turks were in the habit, as their
ancestors before them, of hauling a ship into the stream by ropes.
All Constantinople was stirred to its depths with the liveliest
curiosity on the day when the new method of making a vessel
launch itself was to be carried into effect. The Sultan ordered
all the houses opposite to the dockyard to be cleared of their
inhabitants, to make room for himself and the ladies of his
harem, numbering some 400. All the dignitaries of the empire
turned out in force. Even the sluggish population of Stamboul
wended their way thither, half anxious, half curious, as if about
to witness a miracle. Opium-smokers laid down their pipes, and
the snarling dogs almost ceased to bark.
When the signal was given, the blocks were knocked away,
and after a moment's pause the towering mass began to move.
A deep low murmur of wonder escaped from the assembled

288 Constantinople.

thousands. The majestic vessel, as if conscious of her freedom,
glided swiftly down the slope till, with a mighty plunge, she
dashed into her native element, and gracefully swung round
under the control of her hawsers. Dumbfounded and amazed,
the immense throng were silent. ¦ To the Mussulman mind it
was an inscrutable mystery ; for to a Turk mechanical agencies
were utterly unknown. Profoundly moved, the vast multitude
dispersed, and sought the refuge of their mosques to commune
with Allah over this incomprehensible phenomenon. There was
some danger that day of Mahomet being deposed, and of Mr.
Rhodes being declared the true prophet.
On returning to our steamer in the evening, we found the
Dragoman of our Legation waiting for us, having called, he said,
at the request of the Minister to offer us his services. We agreed
on our programme for the next day, and after a pleasant con
versation he went away.
These Dragomans, or official interpreters, are an influential
body at Constantinople. They are necessarily intelligent and
educated men, mostly Greeks, and from their functions and inti
macy with the Diplomatic Corps are held in great respect. All
the leading ambassadors have a special Dragoman attached to
them. We began our round next morning, under the escort of our
new acquaintance, by a visit to the Seraglio, the most famous
of the Sultan's palaces. It is charmingly situated at the junction
of the Bosphorus with the Sea of Marmora, and covers an
immense extent of ground, enclosed within lofty walls. No
Christian foot is ever suffered to profane its sacred precincts.
Indeed, it was a rare privilege to' be allowed to enter the do
main at all. This was only effected through the influence of our
Dragoman, who was a friend of the officer on duty. It is never
occupied, we were told, by the Sultan, who resided by turns in
several smaller palaces of modern structure, dotting both banks
of the Bosphorus. He is so apprehensive of assassination —
such is the hatred of his subjects— that he carefully conceals his
whereabouts. The Seraglio we inspected was devoted to the
occupation of the wives and vast retinue of concubines belong
ing to his Ottoman Majesty. These, with their numerous atten
dants, white and black, were supposed to make up a population
of near 2000 persons. We were permitted by the jealous guards
to approach so near the hallowed edifice as to obtain a furtive

Constantinople. 289

glimpse of its vast kitchens ; but the strange compound of
unsavoury odours issuing therefrom soon drove me to a more
respectful distance.
Our attention was chiefly directed to the gardens, which were
on an immense scale, and for a considerable distance skirted by
the blue waters of the Marmora. There was a general appear
ance of neglect. The walks were in disorder, the trees un-
pruned, the grass uncut. It reminded me of the dilapidated
condition of its master's fortunes. There were some pretty
fountains and flower-beds ; groves of orange and lemon trees ;
here and there a small mosque with its miniature minarets ;
somewhat picturesque, but, as a whole, incomparably less beau
tiful than the thousand and one gardens I saw in Italy. What
wonders may be hidden within the mystic recesses of the ancient
Seraglio is left to the imagination ; but such is the ignorant in
sensibility of the Turks to the fine arts, that it is certain neither
pictures nor statuary are numbered amongst its attractions. It
is likely nothing but a repetition of what I saw at San Stefano,
save on a large scale.
No doubt the beauties of the palace would amply atone for the
absence of the rarest productions of the chisel or the brush ; but
so cautiously were they protected from even a wandering eye,
that the windows of the harem were covered with the finest lattice
work, that defied the keenest scrutiny. I was likely to leave Con
stantinople as I entered it, utterly ignorant of the claims of either
Circassian or Georgian women to superlative loveliness; but from
what I heard they are only prized by these barbarians when they
obtain the rotundity appreciated in a Strasburg goose, which is
cooped up and fattened till thought worthy of being devoured
in the shape of a pate de foie gras. The Turks care nothing for the
graceful curve and winding outline of the female figure that Chris
tians are given to admire.
From the gardens of the Seraglio we pushed on to visit the
renowned mosque of St. Sophia. It was only by bribery we
were allowed to intrude our profane noses within this vener
able shrine. It was the first time I had ever seen an edifice
used for worship without any symbol indicating its pious cha
racter. There were neither altars, or pulpits, or images, or
paintings of a sacred character. The vast interior was almost
shrouded in darkness. I could merely discern that the pave
ment was covered with matting, and that numerous disciples of
U

290 Constantinople.

the Prophet were scattered about on their haunches, as usual,
absorbed in their devotions.
Whatever a Christian may think of the Turkish religion, he
cannot withhold his respect to the sincerity of its followers.
The gravity and dignity of a Turk's demeanour are at all times
imposing ; but when engaged at his prayers his solemnity of
expression and manner is truly impressive. With his face
turned towards the tomb of the Prophet at Medina, he seems
wholly absorbed in devotional meditation. He bends forwards
at intervals, his head almost touching the earth, but with none
of that abject abasement or superstitious prostration before gilded
images that I found so repulsive in the Russian boor. The
Turks may be heathens, but cannot be stigmatised as idolaters.
I could descry nothing in the shape of ornament on glancing
round St. Sophia, save a large glass chandelier suspended in the
centre, that looked ancient and unused. It is said the walls
are ornamented with splendid mosaics, dating from the period
when it was a Christian church ; but that the Turks, in their
horror of art, covered them over centuries ago with plaster.
Though there is nothing of the bewildering grandeur of St.
Peter's, yet who could help being impressed by this mighty relic
of past ages ?
On this very site in Roman days stood the Temple of Wis
dom. Constantine transformed it into the first Christian church
in the world about 332 a.d., dedicating it to St. Sophia. It was
partially burnt in 404 ; rebuilt, and again destroyed in 532. The
same year it was restored by Justinian. Ten thousand workmen
were employed, and it was consecrated in 537. Its dimensions
are 243 feet in breadth, and 269 in length. The diameter of the
dome is 115 feet, and its height from the floor is 180 feet. It
was fortified Vith new buttresses in 13 17, and finally converted
into a mosque by Mahomet II. in 1453. When will it be re
stored to the worship of the true faith, in whose honour it was
first erected ? I cannot believe the day is very far distant.
I went afterwards to obtain a glimpse of some other mosques,
but there was nothing striking or different from what I had seen.
In all the great courts surrounding them were large marble basins
supplied by fountains, in which the Turks performed their ablu
tions before entering the mosque, an indispensable usage. They
also left their slippers at the door, and walked in barefooted. It
is only from the exterior, however, that a mosque is seen to the

Cons tan tinople. 291

greatest advantage, which is due chiefly to the graceful effect of
the minarets, which adorn them all in varying numbers. The
minaret is a tall slender steeple, that may be likened to a gigan
tic wax candle topped by an extinguisher. Sometimes they are
ornamented with gilding, and all are encircled by light balconies.
On the topmost one of these the muezzin, an ecclesiastic attached
to the mosque, appears five times a day, and, turning successively
to the four quarters of the heavens, he chants in a loud voice,
' There is no God but God ; Mahomet is His Prophet/ This is the
signal for prayer, and the cry is no sooner heard than all good
Turks who are masters of their time hurry away to the mosques.
We were conducted by our amiable guide, the Dragoman,
to inspect other curiosities, and amongst the rest an immense
repository of valuable merchandise, built of stone, and thus pro
tected from the disastrous conflagrations that prey repeatedly
on the wooden structures of Constantinople. These frequent fires
are doubtless useful in a sanitary point of view, as they consume
a deal of filth that would only engender disease. We returned
quite fatigued to our floating home, having exhausted the limited
round of sight-seeing in this dull town. Next morning, to our
delight, we heard an Austrian steamer was leaving for Smyrna,
and we determined to make our escape. There was nothing
more to be seen, and the plague continued raging with virulence,
which, in spite of our philosophy, cast a gloom over everything.
At every instant caiques with their dead freight were darting by
our steamer, and I felt a lively longing to contemplate something
a little more exhilarating. I was sorry to abandon a second visit
to our estimable Minister and his family, but I despatched a mes
senger with a note, explaining the motives of our sudden retreat.
I received the following reply from his nephew :
San Stefano, October 20, 1835.
Dear Wikoff, — I herewith enclose the magazine the Com
modore presented you as a souvenir, containing the likeness of
our famous dog ' Cora Gen.' It was with heartfelt regret we
were informed of your speedy departure from Stamboul, as we
had flattered ourselves with again enjoying the pleasure of your
society at our solitary village, and of becoming better acquainted
with each other. As the opportunity has been denied me in
Turkey, I hope the day is not far distant when I shall again
visit my happy country, and be enabled to avail myself of your

292 Constantinople.

friendly invitation. — With kind regards from us all to yourself
and Mr. Forrest, believe me, yours most truly,
G. A. Porter.
Henry Wikoff, Esq.
I made a flying call on my English banker, Mr. Churchill, a
very agreeable person, who had lived some eighteen years in this
capital. He resided in Asia, and transacted his daily business
in Europe, which feat he accomplished by simply crossing the
river. In the afternoon we took a farewell row up the Bosphorus,
and enjoyed without stint this really pleasing spectacle. The
numerous pretty villas lining both sides of the river, painted in
various bright colours, with their fantastic balconies, gilded
kiosks, and picturesque towers, their yellow groves of orange and
lemon, their' ' Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the lawn, '
were charming to contemplate.
These pretty abodes were interspersed with more striking
structures. Here and there, on some commanding site, arose an
imperial palace, coloured in pink or yellow, more curious than
imposing. These were succeeded by other objects not less at
tractive — mosques, with their graceful minarets ; Greek or Arme
nian chapels, each with a style of architecture different from the
rest. All the way from Constantinople to the Black Sea the
shores of Asia and Europe seemed to struggle which could surpass
the other in picturesque beauty. Behind this diversified line of
dwellings rose a dark background of swelling hills, covered with
cypress and myrtle. The scenery of the Bosphorus — there is no
denying it — was more novel, varied, and beautiful than any sight
I had ever met. But fanciful and odd as is the view, it could
only be enjoyed by the passing stranger. To live in Constanti
nople, with its dirt and monotony, surrounded by indolent Turks,
and cut off from the society of women, would be paying much
too dear for the finest sight in the world, as enthusiastic travellers
describe the Bosphorus.

CHAPTER XXVII.
SMYRNA.
THE HELLESPONT — A. PHILOSOPHIC TURK — A COMICAL INCIDENT — AN EARTHLY
PARADISE — A SAD DISAPPOINTMENT.
AFTER dinner we bade a grateful adieu to the captain of our
steamer, who had lodged and boarded us during our stay, and
positively refused all compensation. We embarked on board
the ' Maria Dorathea,' whose wheels began to revolve punctually
at five P.M., as announced. As we steamed into the Sea of Mar
mora I cast a lingering, but by no means sorrowful, gaze upon
Constantinople, with its 600,000 inhabitants, its 300 mosques, its
harems, its eunuchs, and very devout Turks, never desiring to
see it again till St. Sophia resounded with Hosannas to the true
Messiah. Whether it was escaping from the hideous plague, or the
comfort and elegance of our steamer, I know not, but I had
experienced no such buoyancy since leaving Odessa. Our vessel
was built in Trieste by an English firm, the engines were English,
so were the captain and crew. Wherever I went I found the Eng
lish in possession of the sea. They seem the favourite heirs of
Neptune, and dominate his dominions. Though the Austrian flag
was flying over our bark in token of ownership, yet its naviga
tion was confided to English skill. I felt no uneasiness, there
fore, when I woke in the night, to find a tremendous gale had
overtaken us. It disappeared before morning, and we had a fine
day to make our observations. The most interesting event on
the route was passing through the slender strait of the Darda
nelles, called in ancient times the Hellespont. At the nearest
point, Asia and Europe almost touch noses. The distance be
tween Abydos on the Asiatic shore, and Sestos on the European,
is barely a mile. As we passed through this narrow passage my
mind reverted to the stirring incidents connected with it. It was
here that Xerxes, King of Persia, crossed on a bridge of boats,
at the head of a million of men, 480 B.C., to overwhelm defiant

294 Smyrna.
Greece. Here, too, the Greek Leander swam nightly over to
Abydos to renew his vows to his beloved Hero, till one dark night
a tempest swallowed him :
' A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry
Of some strong swimmer in his agony.'
Such was the fate of the devoted Leander. It was here, too,
in more recent days, the poet Byron, as if to prove his lame
leg was yet a useful member, swam across, and immortalised
Abydos in an imperishable poem.
There was only one other passenger on board, a pleasant
Italian gentleman, attached to the Sardinian Legation at Con
stantinople. He was full of vivacity, and we spent hours in
lively conversation.
Next morning we anchored off the town of Smyrna, lying at
the head of its splendid gulf, with a lofty hill rising immediately
in its rear. On this very site, town after town had succeeded
since one thousand years before our era. Wars, earthquakes, and
fires had in turn destroyed them. The survivor of them all was
before me, and it still figured as the metropolis of Asia Minor.
We lost no time in landing, and I was glad enough to lodge once
more on terra firma. We obtained a sitting- and two bed-rooms
in a tumble-down wooden house sporting the name of the Navy
Hotel, and we found them furnished in the usual Turkish style,
far from expensive or elegant. Our windows commanded the
gulf, and we had therefore fresh air and a magnificent view.
We soon started out for a stroll, and I discovered that I had
gained little by change of residence. The lanes and alleys of
Smyrna were as narrow and dirty as those of Constantinople, and
were lined by the same wretched structures in wood that dis
figured the city of thet Sultans. Both Constantinople and
Smyrna were designed by Nature as sites for the finest cities
of the world. When the Greeks and Romans held them, no
doubt they were so ; but since these turbaned sons of Mahomet
came into possession they had become the head-quarters of
pestilence and discomfort of every variety. A pigsty or a
palace, it is all the same thing to your Turk. Give him but his
animal delights — his chibouck and Circassian slave — and he
will sit unmoved while centuries revolve. Byron could not help
exclaiming, ' O Christ ! it is a goodly sight to see
What Heaven hath done for this delicious land.'

Smyrna. 2 95
But Heaven's gifts have been thrown away on the impassible
stagnant Turk, who resembles in that respect not a little our
Indian of the West. The advance of civilisation will dispose of
them both.
There were two things, however, I encountered in the tho
roughfares of Smyrna that were both novel and attractive. I
met camels in every direction that were as thick as donkeys in
Geneva. They were the pack-horses and parcel-carriers of the
place, and did the chief work of transportation. They gave an
Oriental aspect to the town, reminding me I was still in Asia.
Yet a far greater treat was to meet women in large numbers,
whose faces and forms were not enveloped in impenetrable
muslin, but revealed to the gaze of all. And such faces, and
such forms ! ' Heart on their lips, and soul within their eyes,
Soft as their clime, and sunny as their skies.'
These were Greeks, the original inhabitants, and though the
Moslem banner had waved over Smyrna for four centuries, the
Greeks still kept their foothold. Of the 100,000 and odd popula
tion, the Turks barely constituted one-half. Of the remainder,
two-thirds were Greek ; the other was made up of Armenians and
Jews, with a mixture of Europeans. Partly owing to climate,
and as much to race, the Christian women of Smyrna — nor can I
exclude the Jewesses — were certainly the most beautiful I have
ever seen. I would match them against the best specimens that
Circassia or Georgia could produce. I fancy the sensual Turk
must have keenly regretted they were not purchasable commo
dities. Before returning to the hotel, I hunted up the American
Consul, Mr. Offley, to whom Commodore Porter had given me
a letter. He greeted us very heartily, and I was completely won
by his genial engaging manners. He had a large round face,
with a person to match, and seemed the impersonation of bon
homie. He said that he had occupied his post for twenty years,
and had grown so accustomed to the climate, and his way of life,
that he never desired to leave it. Finding that our stay was likely
to be short, he said we must come and dine with him next day
at his villa across the gulf, where the Consular Corps and many
wealthy merchants retreated for the summer months.
We passed two or three hours next morning wandering
about the principal Bazaar, a facsimile of that of Constantinople,

296 Smyrna.
though on a smaller scale. Our steps were constantly dogged
by a pack of half-starved Jews, who urged us to make purchases
in the hope of picking up a crumb in the shape of a trifling com
mission. During my perambulations I was caught by the ingenuous
face of a handsome Turk, who sat smoking on his stall, with his
legs coiled under him, with an air of supreme complacency. He
was a vendor of perfumes, for which ' Araby the blest' is famous.
It was pleasant to stand and sniff the mingled aromas that sur
rounded the spot. Jars of various essences and boxes of spiced
shrubs emitted a fragrance ravishing to the nose. As we ex
amined his sweet-scented wares, I glanced occasionally at their
owner, whose countenance continued serene and impassive.
He might have passed for a statue, so perfect was the repose of
his features and attitude. There was not the least indication of
solicitude as to our intentions. We would buy if the Prophet so
ordained. We purchased some ottar of roses and other extracts,
which were no cheaper than in Paris, but far more genuine.
After the parcels were made up, I felt inclined to have some
chat with our marchand. Though sedate and reticent, as all
Turks are, yet there was a frankness in his visage that was en
couraging ; and so I bade my interpreter to ask him if he could
be tempted to leave Smyrna, and go to my country, where his
rare perfumes would yield him ten times the profit he could hope
for here. At the end of a few years he might return to the East
a rich man.
A look of undisguised astonishment overspread his face.
' What !' he exclaimed, ' leave the land of the Prophet, to go
among infidels ! abandon my home, to accumulate money I do
not want! I have enough to eat and drink, and my pipe to
smoke. I have a wife, and, please Allah, I hope some day to
have another. What more have I to desire ? I am satisfied.'
This sample of Turkish philosophy was not a little staggering.
'But tell him,' I continued to the interpreter, 'that in my
country he would be under the protection of law, where no cadi
could either imprison or bowstring him. He would be instructed,
would have books and papers to read, and might learn what was
passing in the world ; also, in that happy country the Padishah
is chosen by the people to govern them, and he could take a
share in his election.'
This enticing description of the advantages of a superior

Smyrna. 297
civilisation were all thrown away on the incredulous, if not con
temptuous, Turk.
' What are these things to me ?' he answered. ' Would they
make me any happier ? Could I eat or drink more in your country
than mine ? could I smoke more or love more ? My fathers have
always lived in this holy land. Why should I leave it till Allah
calls me away, when I shall go to Mahomet's paradise, where
houris innumerable await me ? Do you think I would give up
this to go to your unknown world ?'
I felt that it was idle to hold out intellectual delights or
political privileges as baits to this true son of the Prophet, whose
faith in the Koran was implicit — far more so than that of most
Christians in their Bible. As I was moving off, I said, with a
smile, he little knew what he lost by not listening to my
suggestion. Suddenly a thought struck him, for, taking the amber mouth
piece from his lips, he inquired if women were cheaper in my
country than in Turkey.
I told him that no one in my land was allowed to have more
than one, and then only with her consent.
This settled the business. A scowl of unutterable scorn
darkened his fine physiognomy, and, replacing his pipe, he raised
his eyes to heaven, evidently in a spirit of thankfulness to
Allah that it had not been his cruel fate to be born in such a be
nighted land. This stupid Turk knew of no other happiness than
the gratification of his animal cravings. Neither newspapers, nor
the franchise, nor even the foreknowledge of an eclipse could add
to his beatification. His absolute confidence in the celestial enjoy
ments reserved for him was enough to provoke a Christian's
envy. It is impossible to conceive of an antithesis more complete
than between a Turk and an American. The one as placid as
the other is restless ; the one as sensual as the other is intellectual ;
the one so trusting, the other so incredulous ; the one so stationary,
the other so progressive. Which is the happier of the two is a
problem beyond my solution.
Just as I was leaving the Bazaar my eye was arrested by a
singular rencontre on the opposite side of the street. On a very
narrow path, with a wall on one side and a sea of mud on the
other, stood a Turk and a camel, confronting each other. To
pass was impossible ; and neither liked descending into the
quagmire. The situation amused me, and I lingered to see the

298 Smyrna.
result. Of a sudden the camel made a dash, and sent the un
fortunate Turk flying up to his waist into the slough ; and, as
if conscious of the outrage, galloped swiftly out of sight. The
incident was so ludicrous that it threw me into convulsions of
laughter. Forrest roared as loudly as I did. Our unruly mirth
seemed to scandalise the grave Turks of the Bazaar, who took
their pipes from their mouths, and contemplated us with won
der. It was a long time since I had had such a hearty guffaw.
The afternoon was lovely when we set off at three o'clock
in Mr. Offley's boat, and, crossing the bay, found horses and a
guide awaiting us on the opposite shore. We rode some two
or three miles through the most beautiful scenery imaginable.
The trees and plants, the fruits and flowers, were all the product
of a tropical clime. The graceful palm, the flowery myrtle, the
succulent date and cocoa trees, abounded on all sides. Groves,
almost forests, of orange, citron, and pomegranate ; vast or
chards of olive ; whole acres of vineyards ; flowers of brilliant
hue, broke on our enchanted view at every turn. The air was
redolent of sweet odours, and the atmosphere transparent and
balmy. I had never conceived anything on earth so celestial,
and was filled with ecstasy. As we ambled gently onwards,
I recalled the pretty lines of the German bard :
' Know'st thou the land where the lemon-trees bloom,
Where the gold orange glows in the deep thicket's gloom,
Where a wind ever soft from the blue heaven blows,
And the groves are of laurel and myrtle and rose ?'
The house of our Consul was in keeping with this bewitch
ing spot. It was a graceful and commodious residence, and sur
rounded by gardens filled with flowers of rarest fragrance and
fruits of every description. His wife was a Greek lady, very
handsome, and of winning address. The dinner was luxurious,
for our host was evidently given to the good things of life. He
was full of animation, and entertained us with a fund of anec
dote. I left the table for a turn in the gardens, where Mr.
Offley's children were romping about in high glee. I met here
a niece of Mrs. Offley's, only sixteen, but already a full-grown
woman. I was transfixed by her beauty. Phidias could not
have lent a charm to her features, cast in the purest Grecian
mould ; and her complexion would have abashed Apelles, so
exquisite were its tints. But who can paint like Nature ? More
fascinating still was her childlike simplicity, her fawnlike grace,

Smyrna. 299
her sensitive downcast modesty. I fell into conversation with
her in French, and I was struck by her utter ignorance of the
world. A nymph of these lovely glades, she knew nothing of
men or women. Mankind was a sealed book to her. She had
no knowledge or illusions, no hopes or fears, of the world with
out. She supposed that all was as fair, as calm, as the pathless
groves and lonely dells where she had budded. In truth, she
was ' Beautiful as sweet ;
And young as beautiful ; and soft as young ;
And gay as soft ; and Innocent as gay.'
I count this day, with its varied sensations, as one of the
most entrancing of my travels. The wonderful scenery baffling
all description ; the joyous reception of my genial hosts ; and,
more intoxicating still, the angelic creature, that seemed
rather to belong to Eden than the garden where I found her, —
all these scenes and sights, and emotions begot of them, recurred
to me as I was wafted by gentle zephyrs homewards across the
limpid surface of the bay, reflecting the countless stars of this
Eastern sky, and impelled me to exclaim in the words of Moore :
' And, O, if there be an elysium on earth,
It is this, it is this !'
The next day, to our infinite delight, a duck of a steamer —
English of course — arrived at Smyrna, and offered us, as we
hoped,' an opportunity of running down the coast to Jerusalem,
and landing at Alexandria, for our intended tour in Egypt. Up
to this moment we could find no means of reaching the pro
mised land but a small Greek sailing-vessel, both incommodious
and foul, in which we might be buffeted about for weeks, if we
met with no worse treatment. There were ugly stories current
of travellers never being heard of again who trusted themselves
to the tender mercies of the lawless men who usually commanded
these cutthroat-looking craft. It was a boon indeed to escape
from such startling contingencies, and we gladly betook ourselves
aboard the spruce little ' Levant,' to engage our passages for the
destination in view. What was our chagrin when we heard the
captain declare that nothing would induce him to make the
tour we proposed ! He had just come from those very places,
he said, and what with quarantines, dirt, disease, and endless
annoyances, he had ' supped full of horrors,' and return to them
he would not. Both Forrest and myself did our best to over-

300 Smyrna.
come his scruples, and plied him briskly with golden arguments.
We offered him at last 3000 dollars to make the trip suggested,
but money and entreaties both failed.
Finding he meant to start next day for the Piraeus, the sea
port of Athens, we decided, in the face of so many difficulties,
to abandon our Egyptian campaign, and cross over to Greece.
The limited attractions of Smyrna we had quite exhausted, and
the only grateful duty left was to call on Mr. Offley and thank
him for his hearty hospitality, assuring him that I never should
forget my visit to his fairy-like abode.
We were off next morning, and I turned my back on the
East without a sigh. It impressed me as a world in rapid
decadence, as clashing with the epoch in which it lingered. In
contrast to Europe, with its enlightened civilisation, its mate
rial and moral agencies, its triumphs in science, literature, and
art, all was ' stale, flat, and unprofitable.' The fancy of poets
and the florid descriptions of travellers have thrown a spell over
the Orient that vanished when approached. Even what was
picturesque and strange was fast disappearing, and naught but
the lees remained.
I was delighted with our little steamer, which was admirably
fitted up. The cleanliness and comfort were captivating after
my late experience. It was like stepping from the shores of
Asia into a first-class English inn, with its neatness and civility.
There was but a single passenger on board, who turned, out a
very agreeable person — a Captain Johnson, of the East India
army.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
ATHENS.
CLASSICAL REMINISCENCES — BRIGHT ANTICIPATIONS — MOURNFUL REALITIES —
AN AMERICAN REGENERATOR — AN UNFORESEEN OBSTACLE.
Our trip across the Archipelago was full of interest. We were
almost constantly in sight of some of the numerous and beau
tiful islands that give such celebrity to the eastern end of the
Mediterranean. It would have been a great delight to have
stopped at some of them directly on our route ; but, coming
from the infected coast of Asia Minor, we should not have been
allowed to land, and so we kept on our course for the Piraeus,
which we reached on the third day.
I felt no dread of the inevitable quarantine that awaited us,
for I was so comfortable and happy on board the ' Levant' that
I resigned myself cheerfully to whatever penance might be
decreed. To say nothing of the material delights of a good
table and excellent beds, there was a well-assorted library at
my command. An additional resource was the instructive con
versation of Captain Johnson, who was full of erudition. These
East Indian officers, I found, were little else than travelling
bookcases, as their tranquil life in Hindostan enabled them to
accumulate vast stores of knowledge. The weather was hea
venly, and the health of our locality above suspicion. I lounged
about the deck all day, smoking narghiles, reading and talking
by turns, and secretly hoping our imprisonment might not ter
minate prematurely. Free from all care, and with nothing to
do but what was agreeable, I comprehended for the first time
the significance of the Italian phrase, dolce far niente, another
expression for a Turk's notion of paradise.
Lying off the shores of Greece, it was natural that my
classical reminiscences should be roused from their long sleep
of years. The very harbour in which the ' Levant' was reposing
was fortified by Themistocles some five hundred years before
Christ, whilst the hallowed soil of Athens was only four miles

302 Athens.
away. By degrees the men and events of its day of renown
began to possess my mind, and the school-lore of my youth,
which I thought had perished, revived with a freshness and
fulness that proved how strong and durable were first impres
sions. Little did I dream that the tasks that used to weary me
would one day yield such satisfactory returns. The more I
recalled, the more I read, and the more I reflected, the deeper
grew my astonishment at the originality and vastness of the
intellect of ancient Greece. I discussed the topic with Captain
Johnson, whose views fortified my own. We both agreed that
the development of the human mind began in Greece. Till
then Asia and Egypt, already centuries old, had wallowed in
ignorance, scarce emitting a single spark of knowledge of any
kind. What little the priesthood of those countries knew, if
anything, they kept to themselves.
It almost seemed to both of us that at this juncture of the
world's history Providence had ordained a new movement in
human progress, and that the Greeks had been endowed with a
creative fertility of brain to carry out the civilising mission for
which they had been selected. So amazing was the quantity
and variety of knowledge brought into existence by this chosen
people that it could hardly be regarded in any other light than
a miracle. Before this no such things were known as philosophy,
politics, literature, science, and art. But let me record facts,
however briefly, and let craniums better furnished than mine
controvert or correct them.
Politics, or the laws which regulate the relations of society,
were systematised by Lycurgus, 884 B.C., and by Solon, 593 B.C.,
whose constitutions, the first ever written, gave to Sparta and
Athens order and prosperity.
Literature in all its phases was created and developed.
First, history, of whom Herodotus was called the ' father.' He
was succeeded by Thucydides, Xenophon, and Polybius. All of
these were remarkable for elegance of style, erudition, and im
partiality. Next came the drama. Thespis was its parent,
540 B.C. After writing some plays he began acting, and tra
velled over Attica with a band of players, who coloured their
faces with the lees of wine. yEschylus followed with dramas of
a higher class, and is usually regarded as the ' father' of Greek
tragedy. He introduced a regular theatre, with scenery, costumes,
and music, in the fifth century B.C. Sophocles succeeded, and

Athens. 303
was the author of some 120 plays. Euripides was his rival, and
far excelled him in pathos and the delineation of the passions.
He wrote some 84 tragedies. A contemporary of the latter was
Aristophanes, styled the ' father' of comedy. He was celebrated
for his sarcastic wit, and wrote some 54 pieces. Menander, who
appeared near a century later, was christened the ' Prince of the
New Comedy.' He eschewed the personalities of Aristophanes,
and satirised the follies and vices of his times. He composed
over 100 plays. There were also numerous writers of farces,
and even burlesques. Poets of the highest order, as Theocrites
and Menippus, flourished in various parts of Greece. Nor should
^Esop and his fables be forgotten.
Science had many votaries. Thales and Anaxoras were
skilful astronomers, and foretold eclipses in the fifth and sixth
centuries B.C. Anaximander, at the same period, declared the
earth was round, that the moon was lighted by the sun, drew
geographical maps, and invented sundials. Pythagoras, in the
sixth century B.C., was renowned in mathematics. Two centuries
later, Euclid excelled in geometry. He opened a school in
Alexandria, and one of the Ptolemys was a disciple. The
king, it is related, asked if there was not some easy way to solve
his propositions. Euclid replied, ' There is no royal road in
mathematics.' In medicine, Hippocrates was the first (fifth century B.C.)
to raise medicine from mere empiricism to a science. He
observed the symptoms of diseases, prescribed, the simplest
remedies, and said the physician should only follow and imitate
Nature. He insisted on the vital importance of diet. To arrest
the plague at Athens he suggested large bonfires all over the
city — just as it was stopped, many centuries later, in London by
the accidental conflagration in the time of Charles II. Many
writers on anatomy and physiology succeeded.
In the fine arts the Greeks revealed a world of beauty, grace,
and expression never previously known, and established rules
never superseded since. In architecture they invented the three
orders — the Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian — recognised to this day.
Before then the buildings and monuments of Asia and Egypt
were striking for solidity, but were inferior in elegance and har
monious proportion. In sculpture the Greeks have never been
surpassed. Phidias and Praxiteles carried the art to its highest
perfection. Their statues were said ' to walk, see, and talk,' so

3°4 Athens.
full were they of life and power. In painting the Greeks were
the first to invent drawing, light and shade, and colour. In the
fifth century B.C., Zeuxis was a great master of colour, and
excelled in the ' divine beauty' of his figures. He became so
rich that he refused at last to sell his pictures, but gave them
away. A little later Parrhasius rose to distinction. He was
sometimes reproached with sacrificing the moral expression to
material illusion. The Roman Emperor Tiberius paid for one
of his pictures, then very old, 600,000 sesterces, near 24,000
dollars. Polygnotus, at a later period, is said to have painted
the first portrait. He was especially celebrated in fresco-paint
ing. Doubtless the most renowned painter of Greece was
Apelles. He was in the habit of admitting the public to exa
mine his pictures, whilst he was concealed behind a curtain to
hear their criticisms. One day a shoemaker praised the execu
tion of a sandal, and was proceeding to comment on the rest of
the work, when Apelles presented himself, and used the expres
sion, so familiar to this day, ' Let the shoemaker stick to his
last ;' that is, give his opinion on shoes only. He executed a
portrait of Campaspe, the mistress of Alexander the Great, and
became so desperately enamoured that the monarch, who was
very fond of him, gave her up to Apelles, who married her. He
left a painting unfinished — a Sleeping Venus — and no other
artist ventured to touch it. The Greeks were also famous for
their skill in carving on metal, and for their proficiency in all
kinds of jewelry. The specimens found of late years corro
borate this.
I have mentioned but a tithe of their great men in every
sphere of intellectual effort, but enough to attest the rare genius
of this wonderful people. No previous nation left such proofs
of originality, and no succeeding one has outstripped them.
The Romans, who followed them, were mere copyists, and far
inferior in intellect, and especially in art. An amusing instance
of the latter is shown by the remark of Mummius, the Roman
general who conquered Greece, 146 B.C. He ordered a great
number of statues, vases, and pictures to be transported to Rome,
but was so ignorant of their intrinsic merit that he declared, ' if
any were lost, they must be replaced at the expense of the person
who was culpable.' He supposed a statue of Phidias or a paint
ing of Apelles could be reproduced !
Of Greek statuary we can judge by the specimens that sur-

Athens. 305
vive ; but their paintings have long since perished, and we must
accept the lavish praise of Cicero and Pliny as a criterion of
their worth.
With the fall of the Roman Empire, in the fifth century A.D.,
the letters, science, and arts of Greece disappeared from view
It was not till the fifteenth century that the Greeks, who were
driven out of Constantinople by Mahomet II., took refuge in
Italy, and there inaugurated the period known as the Renaissance
— the resurrection of letters and arts. From thence the revival
spread gradually over Europe. How strange that the Greeks
of old should have brought art and learning into the world, and
when, buried in the depths of the dark ages for centuries, it should
be the Greeks again to disinter and restore them once more to
life ! Who can help hoping that a people who have been twice
chosen for the mission of dispensing the blessings of a refined
civilisation on mankind should live to recover their former
greatness ?
So absorbed had I become in these interesting investiga
tions that I failed to observe the gradual waning away of our
quarantine. Captain Johnson was equally engrossed, and took
infinite pains to justify my theory, that the intellectual birth
of the world occurred in ancient Greece. He assisted me in
hunting up dates, and in summoning from the depths of twenty
centuries the great phantoms of the past.
What a prodigious amount of genius,' I said to him one day,
have we disinterred in this petty territory of old Greece ! And
yet have overlooked the mightiest of them all : those three
great thinkers who ascended to altitudes where the human mind
had never soared, and whose writings for centuries constituted
the limit of all knowledge.'
'Of course,' he replied, 'you refer to Socrates, Plato, and
Aristotle, who laid down principles in morals, metaphysics, and
philosophy that have never been confuted. It is chiefly in the
domain of physical science that the modern world has broken
new ground.'
' Very true,' I answered ; ' and the best proof of the superiority
of these great intellects is the veneration that has followed them
through centuries. Their names and doctrines are as fresh and
familiar as though they had lived in our era. Socrates is still
quoted as the model of an upright man, one who practised
what he preached. His definitions of the virtues have never
X

306 Athens.

been discarded, and the corner-stone of his moral code, that
" happiness could only be attained by doing good," is still un
disturbed. The purity of his life and teachings was a standing
rebuke to the designing men of his day, who consequently con
trived his death.'
' Whilst I admit,' observed the Captain, ' that Socrates was
the most perfect of men, yet I consider his disciple Plato sur
passed him in capacity. His investigations of the human mind
and its laws entitle him to the appellation of the father of
metaphysics. He declared that there was nothing real and om
nipotent in the world but ideas ; and that these constituted the
foundation of art, of morals, and of government. That in art
the ideal of the beautiful must be sought ; in morals, the ideal
of good, which is God, should be our guide ; and in government,
the ideal was the enforcement of reason and justice. His cele
brated book, the Ideal Republic, though vague in some of its
theories, is a prodigy for its lofty conceptions, sound morals, and
grandeur of style/
' Plato's speculations/ I continued, ' were too abstract to
make him always intelligible. It is strange that the most re
nowned of his followers, Aristotle, should have rejected his
dicta, and asserted that knowledge should be based on facts
rather than ideas, while true philosophy was the science of cause
and effect. According to his system, the beautiful in art was
only to be found in the imitation of Nature ; that in morals, vir
tue was the result of an equilibrium of the passions ; whilst in
politics, the real aim of government should be utility. In variety
and extent of learning Aristotle surpassed all his predecessors,
and down to our day his authority is rarely contested. Philip
of Macedon paid a tribute to his stupendous intellect when he
declared, " he was not so proud of having a son as he was of
having Aristotle for his tutor." It is truly phenomenal that
master-minds like these should have appeared for the first time
in Greece nearly four centuries before the Christian era. It is
equally so that each of these profound speculators believed in
the progress of mankind, but from dread of martyrdom were
forced to discuss the moral perfections of man rather than point
to his political elevation.'
This was the substance of my last palaver with Captain
Johnson on our joint creed that humanity in general, and Europe
in particular, owed all they knew — save in physical science — to

Athens. 307

the intellect of ancient Greece ; and we voted unanimously that
they would be the vilest of ingrates if they hesitated to acknow
ledge the fact.
During the pleasant interval of my detention on board the
' Levant' I gave myself up entirely to the congenial society of
my East Indian friend, and we did nothing but compare notes
and exchange opinions on the classical topic we had taken in
hand. Meanwhile, Forrest avoided us both with undisguised horror,
regarding our enthusiasm for the ancient Greeks as childish, if
not downright affectation. He had taken a great liking to our
Captain, an intelligent and agreeable man, and, when not read
ing or sleeping, used to lavish on the unsuspecting tar the
choicest quotations from his favourite rdles, and occasionally
electrify him by some of his best American stories.
On the fifth morning our liberation was proclaimed, and we
hurried on shore to mount horses in readiness to convey us to
Athens. My mind had become so thoroughly imbued with the men
and events of the palmy days of Greece, that I almost expected
to find the demigods I had so recently conjured to life walking
about the streets of their lovely capital, frequenting their solemn
temples of pure Pentelicon, or delivering discourses to a spell
bound crowd. I scarcely noticed, in the midst of my hallucina
tions, the desolate country I was traversing ; naught to break
the monotony save straggling orchards of the silvery olive, and
a series of unsightly habitations. As I approached the city,
my eye fell upon the Acropolis, once the proud citadel which
threw its protecting shadow over the metropolis of Attica.
Full of enthusiasm, I galloped into the town, and fearful was
the disenchantment that followed. I rode through narrow
dirty streets, bordered by rows of mean and shabby hovels that
it would have been flattery to dignify by the name of houses.
Here and there building was- going on, and a better style of
structure was superseding the wretched abodes that met my
gaze in every direction. It seemed as though a destructive con
flagration had recently swept over the place, or that an earth
quake had overthrown it, and that the unfortunate inhabitants
had hurriedly constructed these paltry tenements, to protect
them against the weather. This, then, was Athens, such as the
Turks, after an occupation of over two centuries, had left it.
They found it a city of marble, and transformed it into one of

308 Athens.
mud and straw. It was a piteous sight, and I could not but
sigh over her fallen greatness. If the spirits of her departed
worthies, if Pericles the magnificent, and Phidias his inspired
contemporary, who had lavished such treasure and genius on the
adornment of their adored Athens, had ever looked down on
her degradation, it must have been a punishment worse even
than ' the Furies could have devised. As I wound my devious
way through filthy alleys and over heaps of refuse, the wail of
Byron was constantly ringing in my ears :
' Shrine of the mighty ! can it be
That this is all remains of thee ?'
At length we reached the Royal Hotel, the only one here
abouts, and it contrasted ludicrously with its sounding name —
a wooden mansion of recent date, with accommodation of the
most meagre description. Contenting ourselves with a couple of
bedrooms, and ordering the best the house could afford for
dinner later in the day, we strode off at once for the Acropolis.
As I toiled up the difficult ascent on which is posted this famous
stronghold, I thought of its great antiquity. Its walls were first
erected iooo years B.C., but had often been restored. Within
its enclosure, at different periods, were constructed various
temples, whose fame has spread over the world. The most
celebrated of these was the Parthenon, built by Pisistratus in
the sixth century B.C. ; then nearly destroyed by the Persians,
but restored on a grander scale by Pericles a century later. It
was dedicated to Minerva — Partlienos, the Virgin ; hence its
name. It was a Doric edifice, surrounded by columns, eight at
either end and seventeen on the sides, and all of Pentelicon
marble, a quarry near Athens. It was designed by Phidias, who
embellished its frieze with exquisite sculpture, and added to its
attractions a statue of Minerva in ivory and gold, considered his
masterpiece. This noble relic of Grecian art, at one period converted into
a Christian church, and afterwards into a Turkish mosque, sur
vived almost intact down to 1676; but it was sadly damaged by
the Venetians, who bombarded Athens in 1687. It suffered still
further detriment in the fierce struggles between the Greeks and
Turks for the possession of the Acropolis. In 1822 the natives
captured it, and, after holding it for five years, were driven out by
the Turks in 1827. I hastened my steps, so eager was I to con
template it. The Parthenon owed its renown not merely to its

Athens. 309
beauty and its antiquity, but more still to the fact that for over
two thousand years it had inspired the architecture of the world.
Rome, the Middle Ages, and modern times had copied, but none
surpassed, this model of perfect proportion. The Madeleine and
Bourse at Paris are among the latest imitations, though of a more
florid order.
On reaching the summit of the Acropolis we found its chief
entrance guarded by a Bavarian sentinel, who admitted us on the
payment of a fee, appropriated to the restoration of the temples.
What a scene of sacrilegious ruin met my gaze on stepping within
the gate ! Prostrate columns, mutilated statues, bas-reliefs of rare
beauty defaced, capitals, friezes, cornices ruthlessly scattered
about and marred. Such was the deplorable condition of these
precious remains. The hand of the despoiler had done much,
but that of the plunderer had aggravated the wreck. Some of
the most perfect relics had been carried off and sold. Not a
few of them have found their way to the British Museum, though
it must be said in extenuation that the Turks, utterly insensible
to the desecration, allowed whoever pleased to cart away the
'marble rubbish.' The Greeks, having come once more by their
own, now watch piously over these venerated memorials. It was
like walking over a battle-field with the ground strewn with
marble, carcasses, their stony limbs lying about in fragments, and
blanching in the sultry sunlight. Of the superb Parthenon, but
twenty columns, with their architraves, still lifted their heads to
the sky, and some portions of the walls yet stood defying man
and Nature. I sat me down on a broken pillar, as Marius of old,
and brooded for a time in silence over this melancholy scene.
At length I rose, followed my guide, a learned antiquary, and
up to his eyes in ancient Athens and its imperishable souvenirs.
As we walked round the Acropolis he began pointing out objects
he thought would interest me.
' There,' he said, raising his finger, ' is the prison of Socrates,
the very cell where he drank the hemlock, 400 B.C.'
' What!' I exclaimed, ' was it there that he discoursed so tran
quilly in his last moments on the immortality of the soul, and died
declaring there was but one God ?'
' And there/ continued the guide, ' is Mars Hill, where the
Areopagus used to assemble/
' That tribunal,' I responded, ' so famous for its impartiality,
that it would allow no rhetoric to be uttered that could bias or

310 Athens.

disturb its judgment. And was it on that spot,' I asked, ' that
St. Paul in the middle of the first century addressed these pagan
judges, and boldly proclaimed the truths of the new Gospel ?'
'The very place,' he answered. Crossing over to another point,
he remarked, ' There, where you see a clump of olive-trees, was
the site of the Academy, founded by Plato in 388 B.C.'
' Was it really there,' I replied, my eyes rooted to the spot, ' that
the " Homer of Philosophy" pronounced his sublime discourses ?'
'And there,' continued my escort, 'is the position of the
promenade, the peripatos, where Aristotle, the master of them all,
founded his Lyceum in 331 B.C.'
' I agree with you,' I remarked, ' that Aristotle was the giant
that towered above them all/
' Before we descend,' continued my cicerone, ' look over at
yonder slope, for it was there the people assembled to listen to
their orators on the topics of the day. It was there that Demos
thenes hurled his invectives against Philip of Macedon, and drove
Athens to take up arms against him.'
' Strange,' I observed, as I gazed on the Pnyx, 'that Demos
thenes, like so many great orators, should have failed in his first
efforts, and yet, before he was thirty, achieved a reputation which
is deathless. His rivals used to say his orations " smelt of the
lamp," which was only a proof of the care he bestowed on his
fiery philippics.'
Long before I had exhausted my inspection of these thrilling
localities my friend Forrest had gone off, quite out of humour
with what he considered my exaggerated reverence for ancient
Greece and its paragons.
The captain of the 'Levant' dined with us the same evening,
and we were obliged to apologise for the scanty entertainment
furnished by the Royal Hotel. Its larder was miserably pro
vided, and seemed to contain neither ' fish, flesh, nor good red-
herring.' Amongst the rest, butter and milk were non est inventus,
and my companion declaimed eloquently at the folly of foregoing
such essential dainties for the sake of statues without noses, and
a lot of tumble-down temples.
Next morning we had a visit from a very prepossessing gentle
man, who turned out to be Mr. Hill, an American missionary
at Athens, where he had resided for several years.* During that
* General J. Meredith Read informed me a few months ago that Mr. Hill was
still alive, and one of the most influential residents of Athens.

Athens. 311
time he had succeeded in establishing a school — not one of phi
losophy, in imitation of Plato and Aristotle, but one where the
rudiments of a simple education were taught, and which might
perchance some day send forth a new Demosthenes. It seemed
odd enough that our young Republic should forward a delegate
to give the oldest republic in the world a new start in the way of
education. In this case, however, it was not the progeny of the
rich, as in the olden time, who were taken in hand, but the children
of the poor and lowly, who were not only ignorant of their ABC,
but devoid of all religious knowledge. Though nominally
Christians, the unfortunate Greeks had been so long the slaves of
the heathen Turk, that they were little better, perhaps worse.
What sort of a place would the United States become after some
centuries of Turkish rule? Mr. Hill could not have chosen a better
vineyard; and not only was the Christian religion cropping up
anew in the city where St. Paul made so many converts, but other
valuable seed, such as reading, writing, and arithmetic, was taking
root. How singular that a nation the most brilliant of her epoch,
and upon whose learning succeeding ages have waxed fat, should
begin to go to school again ! How the pupils of Mr. Hill
would stare, when able to read, if the histories of their ancestors
Xenophon and Thucydides were put into their hands !
My missionary acquaintance had anything but the appear
ance of a ' round, fat, oily man of God.' He was about medium
height, rather slender, with a bright visage and brisk fidgety
manner that indicated an active brain and energetic disposition.
We accompanied him to his house, which was the most imposing
I had yet seen, and was presented to his wife, quite as agreeable
as himself, and who aided him efficiently in his scholastic
labours. All about the house, especially his study, displayed
method and industry. He was a man of business, and one of
the busiest sort, American to the tips of his fingers. I thought
it a godsend that such a man had got a foothold in Athens. I
was sure he would contribute materially to its resurrection. It is
wonderful what a single man with a clear head and strong will
can accomplish. I wished the whole of Greece could be handed
over to Mr. Hill under contract, and it would not have been long
before he made 'the desert rejoice and blossom as the rose.'
I took a stroll with my new friend about Athens, mustering
some 20,000 inhabitants, and he pointed to the widening of the
streets, the building of a better class of houses, and the improve-

3 1 2 Athens.
ments generally going on, and said if the Government would
give proper encouragement, the town would pick up rapidly.
' What sort of a Government have you got ?' I asked. ' It
seems to me an anomaly to send a German satrap to rule over a
people just out of the throes of a patriotic war. What sym
pathy can exist between a Bavarian princeling and a people
who fought for years with their ancient heroism to get rid of a
foreign domination ?'
' Naturally there is none at all,' said Mr. Hill, ' and I don't
know what will be the end of it. The Greeks desired to govern
themselves ; but the foreign Powers who aided them to gain
their independence, England, France, and Russia, were jealous
of each other, and it was finally agreed that Greece should have
a constitutional Government, with a king who was not under
the influence of either. Consequently, Otho, a son of the King
of Bavaria, was chosen ; but as he was only eighteen, it was settled
that a regency composed of Bavarian statesmen should conduct
the Government till he was twenty. In June last he reached
this age, and is now at the head of affairs.'
' Is he competent,' I inquired, ' to discharge his important
functions ?'
' He is intelligent,' replied Mr. Hill, ' but of course inexperi
enced, and therefore his Bavarian Ministers manage matters to
suit themselves. All the offices, civil and military, are bestowed
on Bavarians, and the dissatisfaction is universal. I foresee
trouble if this policy is maintained.'
' It is not probable,' I returned, ' that the Greek patriots, men
of spirit and great ability, like Tricoupi, Mavrocordato, and the
rest, will quietly submit to this Bavarian regime. If the King
is not shrewd enough to call the national party to his side, he
will sooner or later be overturned.'
' The prospect is gloomy,' continued the missionary ; ' but
as far as I am concerned, the King gives me every encourage
ment. My school goes on swimmingly. Come and take a look
at it.' I accompanied Mr. Hill to the scene of his labours, and in a
large room of a fine new building I found his young neophytes,
nearly a hundred in number, hard at work at their lessons. They
were of both sexes, but the girls in majority. They were very
beautiful children, and all neatly clad. Mr. Hill praised their
intelligence and good conduct. I could not help contrasting this

Athens. 313
interesting spectacle with the condition of things only a few
years ago, when Athens was writhing under the heel of the piti
less Turk, and I felt a glow of patriotic pride at the thought that
an American had undertaken to regenerate the intellect of
Greece. On my way home I stopped to admire the majestic
beauty of the Temple of Theseus, which is in almost perfect pre
servation. It seemed quite incredible that this wonderful edi
fice should have resisted the ravages of time for_ over two
thousand years. It was more fortunate than its rivals in the
Acropolis, and escaped the destructive effect of the bombshells
of the Venetians and the Turks. The soft and temperate clime
of Greece is highly favourable to the longevity of its ancient
temples. I was struck whilst walking about the streets with
the picturesque dress of the Greek men of the better class.
They wore a tunic of white down to their knees, like the kilt of
the Scotch Highlander, and a richly braided jacket of red cloth,
with open sleeves and without a collar. A small red-velvet cap
was stuck jauntily on the head. They were for the most part
remarkably handsome, justifying the declaration of Byron that
they were ' Nature's favourites still.' The women, too, were ex
ceedingly lovely, preserving the well-cut features and expressive
eyes so long the characteristic of their race.
I examined one day, with great curiosity, a clepsydra, or
water-clock, such as was in use in ancient Athens. These water-
clocks and sundials were the only means of marking time known
to the ancients. It was not till the beginning of our era that
mechanism began to supersede these simple contrivances.
After four days in Athens, which I enjoyed beyond measure
in spite of the deficiencies of the Royal Hotel, Forrest insisted
on the resumption of our travels. It then became a question as
to our future route. A sailing-vessel to the South of Italy or
France involved a tedious voyage, from which we shrank. Mr.
Hill advised us to cross Greece on horseback to Patras, whence
an Austrian naval vessel ran every fortnight to Trieste. This
journey would expose us to some privation and fatigue, with a
possible encounter with brigands, who were scattered rather
plentifully about the country. All this struck us as preferable
to a long trip by sea, and we decided to undertake it. We set
off early in the morning, with a guide well acquainted with the
line of march, and a good stock of provisions. I was cheered by
the fine weather and the novelty of the journey. As we jogged

314 Athens.
slowly onwards I had abundant time for retrospection. The
marvellous relics I had so recently contemplated carried me back
in fancy to the extraordinary people they commemorated, and
the strange vicissitudes of their history. After numberless tri
umphs over foreign enemies and long periods of civil war, their
nationality was at last extinguished by the legions of Rome. I
rejoiced to think I had seen them standing once more erect aftei
seventeen hundred years of vassalage, and that an American
missionary was hard at work giving them lessons in the modern
grammar of independence. A nation with less vitality would
have been obliterated long ago, but they have never ceased to
struggle. Again and again they have been stricken down, but
at length are masters of their native soil :
' For freedom's battle, once begun,
Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son,
Though baffled oft, is ever won.'
My mind was diverted by reminiscences like these as I
wandered over Greece to its western coast. The country was
wild, and thinly populated. We travelled all day, and slept in
miserable hovels at night. On one occasion our advance was
impeded for a short time by an unexpected incident. We were
creeping very cautiously along a narrow ledge, around the base
of a mountain, with a deep precipice on the other side, when we
encountered a mule lying down, apparently from fright, directly
in our way. The path was too narrow to attempt going round,
and it was necessary to cross over the animal at the risk of its
suddenly rising, which would have involved a catastrophe. After
considerable hesitation and delay we dismounted, and our horses
were led over the recumbent mule, who remained perfectly still.
Forrest and I cleared him at a bound. Whether his driver ever
managed to get him up remained a mystery.
We reached Patras on the fourth evening, somewhat jaded by
such unusual exercise. We lingered in this dull town for several
days, hard put to it for amusement. It had remained in the
possession of the Turks till 1828, and was in no wise the better
for that. We inspected the ruins of some old temples, whose
history was wrapt in oblivion, and the rest of the time we passed
in praying hard for the arrival of the Austrian vessel that was to
bear us off. At last it came, and after a day's delay it turned
its head for Trieste. We expected to run up the Adriatic in
four or five days, but contrary winds prolonged it to a fortnight.

Athens. 315

Our craft belonged to the Austrian navy, and ranked as a
sloop of war. The officers were intelligent and amiable. Most
of them spoke French, and there was no lack of conversation.
We were the only passengers, and had a choice of accommoda
tion, which was nothing to boast of.
Besides reading, walking, and chatting, we had a bout at
fencing every afternoon. The officers took great interest in
pitting Forrest and I against each other. With all his herculean
strength, I remarked he was weak in the wrist, and I found it
easy to disarm him, which I frequently did to check his im
petuous onset. One day we were startled by the appearance
of a large water-spout directly ahead of us, considered danger
ous in these regions. They have been known to sink vessels
larger than ours. The gunners were ordered to go to work,
and a steady cannonade ensued. We were fortunate enough
to strike it before it reached us, but a portion of it quite de
luged our bark. Forrest was so happy at his escape from
Greece and its classic associations, that he was in high spirits
all the way, and told many good stories. On one occasion he
uttered a witticism quite unconsciously. He had a habit of
rubbing his nose with one of his fingers, and of distorting his
feature's ludicrously when he did so. I told him of it, when he
replied, ' You forget my friend, that I get my living by making
faces.'

CHAPTER XXIX.
GERMANY.
TRIESTE AND VIENNA.
I WAS delighted with Trieste, a beautiful town, and it reminded
me greatly of Odessa, with its well-paved streets, handsome
shops, and fine houses. It lies at the head of the Adriatic, some
seventy miles from Venice on the opposite side of the Gulf, and
overlooked by the Friuli mountains, a spur of the Alps. Its
population of some 60,000 is partly German and partly Italian,
with a melange of Greeks, English, and French. There was a deal
of commercial bustle about the place, but it received little en
couragement from its supine Government. It is the principal sea
port of Austria, and, in such close communication with the Medi
terranean and the East, it ought to be a flourishing maritime
town. In the hands of Americans or English it would rapidly
develop into a great emporium ; but the Austrian Government was
too much occupied with its military aggrandisement to think of
its commercial interests.
My short stay at Trieste was indescribably pleasant. Coming
so recently from the stagnant East, with its privations, dirt, and
monotony, I revelled in the cleanliness, animation, and amuse
ments of Trieste. It was like emerging suddenly from the
ignorant brutal epoch of the Middle Ages into the light and life
of the nineteenth century, and the drawbacks I had lately ex
perienced immeasurably sweetened the enjoyments of the hour.
We drove out one morning some twenty miles, under the
escort of Mr. Moore, the American Consul, a soft-mannered
genial man, to see the famous grotto of Adelsburg, one of the
wonders of these parts. We entered it with the requisite number
of guides carrying torches, and were soon plunged into its sub
terranean depths. Its dimensions are vast, and have never been
completely investigated. We listened to the mysterious sounds
of rushing waters ; admired the splendid stalactites, that often
resembled columns of alabaster, and glittered with dazzling

oermany. 3 1 7

brilliancy in the light of our flambeaux ; and after getting
thoroughly wet and chilled we scrambled back to daylight, with
our appetites sharpened for the palatable dinner that awaited us
at the inn.

From hence we moved on to Vienna, and a formidable job it
was. The distance was between three and four hundred miles,
and the only conveyance was the eile-wa.gon, a sort of French
diligence. It should have been called a snail-wagon from its
dilatory pace. We secured the coupe, and endeavoured to make
ourselves comfortable, as the journey was an affair of three days
and four nights, with short interludes for meals.
We began our task by crawling for a couple of hours up the
mountain overhanging Trieste, and then set off on a sluggish jog
trot, that never varied for the entire way. The Germans are very
steady, but never in a, hurry. The country we traversed would
have been interesting at a more mellow season, but looked dreary
enough in December. The contrast, however, to poor devastated
Greece was very striking. On every side signs of careful culture
abounded. Tidy farmhouses and capacious barns covered the
landscape in every direction. The scenery, even at this season,
was not without attraction, but was charmingly diversified by
mountain, hill, and dale. We stopped three times a day for a
repast, which was always substantial. The Germans never
neglect their nourishment, which accounts for their solid struc
ture. All the inns were strikingly clean, and looked half-
scrubbed to death.
I was not a little attracted by the plump healthy-looking
girls who waited at table, with their short petticoats and neat
white aprons. They chatted pleasantly with our German fellow-
travellers, and a more simple-mannered guileless-looking band
of Hebes I never remembered. I was dreadfully annoyed by
the incessant smoking of the Germans. Every man, from high
to low, had a pipe in his mouth. The postillions, the conductor,
the passengers, one and all, were puffing away from morn to
night. I rejoiced I was not shut up in the middle compartment
of our coach, whence thick clouds of smoke were always issuing
by the windows.
For the best part of two days we dragged along through
Illyria, a southern province of Austria. Its principal town is
Laybach, but we had no time to inspect it. We next traversed

3 1 8 Germany.
Styria, whose chief town is Gratz. Both these districts are
overrun with mountains, that made our journey doubly tedious.
During the whole distance we constantly met large bodies of
troops, marching hither and thither, that served not a little to
enliven the road. One would have thought the country at war,
but these movements only indicated a change of garrison. The
men looked strong and healthy, and were well uniformed. I was
struck by their grave demeanour, which was the effect rather of
the national disposition than of discipline. In this respect the
Germans resemble the reticent Turks. Neither ever talk for the
mere love of it.
I experienced a keen sense of relief when I descended,
jaded and wayworn, from the diligence on the morning of the
fourth day, in Vienna. Though my journey from Moscow to
Odessa was still longer, yet, on that occasion, I could stretch
out at night — an immense relief. I was sorry to see that Forrest
was greatly out of humour with our tedious pull over the moun
tains, and the weariness of being cooped up for four consecutive
nights ; I was, therefore, less surprised than troubled to hear
him declare, after our first breakfast at Vienna, that he had had
a surfeit of travelling, and meant to scamper off to Paris by the
shortest route. This utterly disconcerted my plans ; for I de
sired to push on to Berlin by way of Prague and Dresden, and
thence, by Leipsic and Frankfort, to the sweet isle of Calypso.
Of course I was not at all disposed to set off alone on this
roundabout excursion, and yet very loth to give up a sight of
these interesting places, not knowing when another opportunity
might offer ; so I began in my blandest manner and most per
suasive strain to* argue in favour of my project. After a long
discussion I induced my recalcitrant companion to consent to
accompany me, but on the absolute condition that not an hour
was to be wasted in the survey of the places mentioned ; that
no calls were to be made or hospitalities accepted ; that three
days were to be allotted to Vienna, as many to Berlin, and one
for each of the other towns. All this was reduced to writing
and duly signed. A carriage and valet de place were ordered
forthwith to begin work. I did not like this hop-skip-and-
jump process of going through Germany, but it was better than
not seeing it at all, or wandering over it alone.
It was as much as my legs could do to keep up with my
impetuous friend in our gallop over Vienna. I was more be-

Germany. 319
wildered than gratified at this hurry-scurry mode of examining
a great city. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope. Beau
tiful colours and picturesque sights danced before my vision,
and lingered for a moment in the mind ; but all was confusing
and perplexing. ' I remembered a mass of things, but nothing
distinctly,' as Cassio says. This sort of thing suited Forrest
exactly. He loved movement, and plenty of it, for its own sake.
He was so full of health and strength, that mere physical action
was to him exhilarating. Often, whilst I was gloating over
some beautiful work of art, he would be at the end of the
gallery chafing at my tardy steps. In this high-pressure fashion
we dashed through palaces, churches, galleries, and the Lord
knows what else within the allotted time.
We even managed to drive out three miles to visit Schoen-
brun, one of the finest palaces in Europe, with gardens of im
mense extent, and great beauty, I should think, in summer time.
The place was the more interesting from its having been occu
pied by that brilliant meteor, Napoleon, after twice vanquishing
Austria. It was here that he signed the treaty of 1809, which
spared Austria from dismemberment on condition of giving in
marriage Maria Louisa, daughter of the defeated Emperor. It
was here, too, that the only child of this unhappy union, the
Duke de Reichstadt, died in 1832. I had a glimpse of the state-
apartments of the Hofburg, the imperial residence in Vienna.
It is an immense and ancient building, more a fortress than
a palace. It is dimly lighted ; and everything, furniture in
cluded, has a venerable aspect. Its possessor, Ferdinand I.,
only came into possession in March of that year. He was, from
all accounts, an amiable but weak-minded man, and took no
interest whatever in the government, which was managed by the
chief Minister, the Prince Metternich, the real monarch.
An amusing anecdote was current of the Emperor, which his
subjects took great delight in repeating. It appears that his
Majesty was hunting that summer in the Styrian mountains,
and was overtaken by a violent thunderstorm. He took refuge
in a farmhouse, whose occupants were just then at dinner.
The Emperor's eye was caught by some smoking dumplings,
made of coarse flour, and he said he would like to taste them.
The farmer's wife was overjoyed, and helped him plentifully.
His chamberlains were astounded to see their master eating
with more relish than he had ever done before. When he got

320 Germany.

back to Vienna, he ordered the same kind of dumplings to be
served up daily, to the horror of the royal cooks. The courtiers
were scandalised at such a homely dish figuring on the menu,
and even his physicians remonstrated against such coarse food.
The Emperor, who had always been the most pliant of men,
now showed he had a will of his own, and persisted in gratifying
his new fancy. Finally, after a long consultation, the physicians
decided it was dangerous to his health to be living on dump
lings, and insisted on his giving them up. To their astonish
ment, the docile sovereign stamped his foot, and declared he
would never sign another official document if his diet was denied
him. ' Emperor I am,' he shouted, ' and dumplings I will have !'
To prevent a stoppage of the government machinery, all oppo
sition was withdrawn, and his Majesty clung tenaciously to
his dumplings. The imperial phrase was likely to become pro
verbial, for already, I heard, if any one insisted on the gratification
of a silly whim, the Emperor's words were sure to be thrown at
him : ' Emperor I am, and dumplings I will have !'
Another story going the rounds is worth repeating. A week
or two previously a Minister came to the Emperor's apartment
facing on <-he street, and begged permission to communicate a
document before asking his signature. His Majesty sat down by
the window, and the Minister went on reading a very lengthy
despatch. At last it was finished, and the Emperor inquired if
he had done.
' I have, your Majesty,' said the official, much flattered at the
close attention paid to him.
' Well, then, I wish to inform you,' replied the Emperor, ' that
whilst you have been reading, nearly two hours, no less than 425
hacks and 180 omnibuses have driven by the Hofburg.'
The Minister was quite crestfallen to find the Emperor, in
stead of listening, had been busy counting the traffic passing the
palace. Some people suspected his Majesty was a bit of a wag,
and fond of a practical joke at the expense of the sticklers for
etiquette who surrounded him, and disturbed the gratification
of his simple tastes.
Vienna struck me as a very jolly place, a kind of German
Paris, full of animation, variety, and amusement. The streets
were gay, and crowded with people and showy equipages, whose
coachmen and footmen were gorgeously apparelled. The number
of dashing officers in brilliant uniforms I have nowhere seen

Oermany. 321

exceeded. The picturesque variety of military dress, represent
ing the numerous provinces of Austria, reminded me of a bal
costume" in Paris. My head was quite turned by the women
of Vienna. It was not so much their beauty, which was really
striking, as their soft seductive manners. They had a warm
hearted confiding air and expression, which appealed keenly to
my sympathies, and perhaps it is just as well my stay at Vienna
was so limited, or I might never have got away. The picture-
galleries of this charming capital were not inferior to those of
Rome in merit, though perhaps less numerous. It grieved me
deeply to flit by numberless gems I would fain have lingered
over. I descended, on my last afternoon, into the sombre damp
vault where repose the mouldering bones of the imperial family,
male and female. ' Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell
her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come.'
It was impressive and mournful, this review of royal remains,
some of whose names glitter in history, discrowned by that sullen
democrat, Death. I stopped for a moment at the bronze sar
cophagus inscribed with the name of the Duke of Reichstadt, son
of Napoleon the Great, and meditated with pensive interest over his
untimely fate. His epitaph recorded his many virtues. He was
handsome, amiable, chivalric. At his birth, in 181 1, he was the
sole heir of the greatest empire Europe had seen since the days
of Charlemagne. He was scarce three years old when it was all
swept away like ' the baseless fabric of a vision.' He grew up
in the Court of his grandfather, the Emperor of Austria, for a
long time unconscious of the greatness to which he was born.
When informed of his parentage, a sudden ambition seized him,
and he gave himself up to unremitting study. His delicate
frame broke down under this incessant toil, and he was barely
twenty-one when he was carried off by rapid consumption. On
his deathbed he confessed his passion for Fanny Elssler, then
the ' bright particular star' of Vienna. This secret had never
escaped his lips, and was unknown to its object :
' He never told his love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
Feed on his damask cheek.'
Vienna was enclosed with her old walls, and their gates and
bridges. The rampart was laid out as a promenade, and even
at that dull season was a delightful walk. Beyond this a new
Y

322 Germany.
city was springing up, destined to eclipse in size and beauty the
old one.
These weather-beaten walls had endured some rough usage
in their time. Amongst the rest, the Turks encamped before
them in 1529, and, after twenty vain assaults, were finally driven
off by Charles V. Again, in 1683, the Turks returned, and this
time would have scaled them but for the intervention of the
King of Poland, who aided the Austrians to drive them back.
When these ramparts were first erected goodness knows, but the
site of Vienna was an important military station of the Romans
in the time of Augustus.
Outside the walls there were numerous gardens, where in
summer concerts were given daily. The Viennese are inordinately
fond of music, and equally addicted to the dance. In waltzing
they are unsurpassed. The Opera here was hardly inferior to
that of Paris. The artists were of the highest grade, whilst the
orchestra was a nonpareil. The Germans always excel in instru
mentation. The ballet was splendidly organised.
The people of Vienna have lost much of the gravity and heavi
ness of the German character by their long association with
Italy. Something of the soft and sunny influence of the southern
nation has penetrated the Austrians after the contact of cen
turies, and inspired a love of mirth and recreation I did not
expect to find on the banks of the Danube.
I was told that the Austrian Government was as absolute as
five hundred years ago, that any allusion to a constitutional rigime
must be made in a whisper. The truth is poor Austria was so
knocked about in the Napoleonic wars for twenty years that the
people were perfectly content with Metternich and good order.
The suggestion they might be happier under a representative
system found no credence,and they were disposed to let well alone.
They might see things through other spectacles one of these days.

CHAPTER XXX.
GERMANY {continued).
PRAGUE — DRESDEN — BERLIN — FRANKFORT.
I WAS pleased to arrive in Prague, the capital of Bohemia, on a
Sunday morning, for I anticipated seeing more of the population
in the streets than on a week-day. I found their tone very
different from the gay Viennese. They seemed to have inherited
a good deal of the seriousness, if not sternness, of the indomitable
John Huss, who at the beginning of the fifteenth century began
life in this town as confessor of the Queen of Bohemia, and Rector
of the University. He was one of that pugnacious breed, however,
who, as they say at home, are always ' spoiling for a fight ;' and
he no sooner heard of Wickliffe's rebellion against the Pope in
England than he adopted his heretical views, and threw the good
Catholics of Prague and Bohemia into consternation by de
nouncing his Holiness of Rome and all his works. This was
the birth of Protestantism in Germany, nearly a century before
Luther came to consolidate it. The poor man paid dearly for
his battle with Mother Church, for when he refused to retract he
was condemned to be burnt at Constance in 141 5. His courage
and death aroused the whole of Bohemia, and only four years
later an army of Hussites entered Prague, and murdered all the
Senators. This was only one of many bloody scenes connected
with the town that occurred to me as I walked through its streets,
which had such a placid aspect one could hardly fancy they had
been so often the theatre of sanguinary commotions. Prague had
a very old and quaint appearance, that stirred my archaeological
tendencies, and I appealed to Forrest for another day, but he was
intractable. At this time Charles X. was living here in the old palace of
the Bohemian kings ; and I was told that if I went to the chapel
in the afternoon I might see him, as he never slighted his religious
duties. I was there before service began, and, soon after, the e::-

3 24 Germany.
King appeared in the royal box. He was tall and erect, though
in his seventy-ninth year, and bore traces of the elegance for which
he was remarkable in his youth. He had still the graceful grand
air which distinguished him among the cavaliers of the Court of
Marie Antoinette. He opened his prayer-book when he sat
down, and his mind seemed wholly absorbed in his devo
tions. I contemplated with keen interest this relic of the old French
monarchy, which died in his hands. He was seventeen when his
brother Louis XVI. came to the throne; and he witnessed all the
tumults which foretold the storm of 1789. He was shrewd enough
to leave France, and spent his time in urging the sovereigns of
Europe to restore the sceptre to his family. It was harder work
than at first supposed ; but in 18 14 he returned to Paris with his
brother Louis XVIII. When asked if he saw much change, T only
see a Frenchman the more,' he replied, referring to himself. He
was unconscious of the mighty change that had occurred, and
that France had been born anew since he left it He resumed his
old Court life as if nothing had happened, proving how true it was
that 'the Bourbons forgot nothing and learned nothing.' In 1824
he succeeded his brother on the throne, and expected to govern
as his ancestors had done before him. The outcries at his arbitrary
policy he ignored, and went on with his hunting pastimes as usual.
One day, in July 1830, he was informed that Paris was in revolu
tion. ' O, that will soon blow over,' he remarked, as he sat down
to his rubber of whist with perfect composure. When informed
the troops were giving way, he answered, ' That's nothing ; what's
trumps ?' This was his last game of whist at St. Cloud. The
next day he was again on the road to exile.
There he sat, as calmly as though he had never heard of the
first Revolution, which devoured his brother and sister, or that he
had any hand in the second, which sent him to attend mass at
Prague. Though by no means a fool, yet he could not compre
hend the march of events, or believe that the France of his old
age was any different from that of his youth. He was always
the same man ; why should others change ? At the conclusion
he rose, crossed himself, and disappeared with his suite from
view. This was my only glimpse of the last representative of
the French monarchy of the Middle Ages. I left the Austrian
dominions when I crossed the frontier of Bohemia, which had
belonged to the House of Hapsburg for three centuries. Every

Germany. 325
new Emperor of Austria came to Prague to be crowned King of
Bohemia.

Dresden was our next stopping-place, and I was so carried
away by its attractions that I had half a notion to abandon
Forrest, and let him proceed alone to Paris. He remonstrated
at any violation of our agreement, and I yielded reluctantly. A
lovely place is Dresden, with its wide streets, its noble mansions.
its gardens, palaces, museums, and galleries. A very busy time
I had of it galloping from one point of interest to another.
The pictures of Dresden are among the finest in Europe ; but I
was forced to pass them in rapid review.
I worked indefatigably to see all that was possible in the
limited time at my command ; but, amid all the flurry, my mind
reverted to the singular death of Moreau before this town in
18 1 3. He was the most brilliant of all the great generals that
suddenly appeared when Europe invaded France in 1792. His
victories in Germany covered him with renown, and not less so
his skilful retreat through the Black Forest. In 1 804 he became
jealous of the rising greatness of his rival Napoleon, and entered
into a conspiracy against him. It was discovered, and he was
sentenced to exile. He then went to the United States, and
afterwards to England. The Emperor of Russia offered him a
high position if he would join the Allies against Napoleon. He
accepted it gladly, thirsting for revenge. He came to Dresden
in July, and, the very day before the battle fought here in August
1 81 3, he was engaged in making a reconnaissance, when a
cannon-ball struck him, carrying off both his legs. He under
went amputation, and smoked tranquilly through the operation.
He died soon after, deploring his ill-luck in not contributing to
the defeat of the man he detested. He would have been dis
appointed, for Napoleon won the battle.
We had just finished dinner when the card of an American
gentleman was brought in, who desired to pay us a visit. We
welcomed him cordially, and a sprightly conversation followed.
He was full of anecdote and piquant remark, displaying acute
observation and great independence of character. He was
living in Dresden, studying German, and enjoying the gaieties of
this fascinating town. This was my first acquaintance with
Samuel Ward, son of the New York banker, of the well-known
house of Prime, Ward, & King.

326 Germany.
There was not a more popular man in Germany than Anthony,
the reigning King of Saxony. He was the first who made up his
mind, shut his eyes, and swallowed the constitutional pill. To
be sure, a little pressure was necessary. Insurrections broke
out in Dresden and Leipsic in 1831 ; but, rather than fight about
it, he consented to consign absolutism to the tomb of the
Capulets, and granted a constitution. It was working well, and
everybody was satisfied. Now that the example had been set,
other rulers in Germany would be called on to take the same
dose, but would they imitate the sagacious Anthony ?

The ez'/^-wagon deposited us safely in Berlin, the capital of
Prussia, the largest city in the north of Germany, and the head
quarters of Protestantism. Whether it was the difference of
climate, soil, or religion, the contrast was striking between the
cold austere people of Berlin and the jovial jocund souls of
Vienna. Everything had a dull and chilly look. The streets,
though wide, were ill-paved ; the houses mostly small and
ungainly. There was nothing anywhere either grand or im
posing. The insignificant river that runs through the town
offers no facilities for shipping ; and no such thing as trade or
commerce, in the large sense, seemed to exist. This was not to
be wondered at, since the resources of the country were so
limited. The land throughout Prussia is unproductive, and
barely furnishes subsistence for its restricted population. Yet
Prussia ranked as one of the first Powers of Europe ; but this
was solely due to her perfect military organisation. She was
preeminently a nation of soldiers. Berlin was simply a garrison,
and the rest of the country a camp.
It was by these means Frederick the Great raised her from
an insignificant State to the foremost place. This eminent
genius, who ascended the throne in 1740, was the first soldier of
his time, and hardly less distinguished in politics and literature.
He was the hero of the ' Seven Years' War,' when he fought
singly against a coalition of France, Austria, Russia, Sweden, and
Saxony, and came out victorious. The reigning King was an
estimable man, but no soldier. He joined the coalition against
Napoleon, and was stripped of nearly all his dominions, which,
however, were returned to him after the battle of Waterloo.
Education was greatly advanced in Prussia, and she relied for

Germany. 327
influence on her superior intelligence and admirably disciplined
army. I found three days enough to run over Berlin ; indeed
one of these I devoted to Potsdam, some fifteen miles away.
This was the favourite residence of the great Frederick, and he
embellished it with some fine monuments, churches, and palaces.
The one he occupied, Sans Souci, was the least pretending of
all. An anecdote is told of him quite characteristic. When the
land was bought for the royal park, a miller refused to give up
his ground, in spite of the liberal sum offered. When the King
heard of it he ordered him not to be disturbed, but to include
his mill in the park, where it remains to this day. The few
simple rooms that Frederick occupied in Sans Souci are pre
served -in the exact condition he left them, and they interested
me more than anything I saw at Berlin.
For me there is an indefinable charm thrown over even the
commonest object associated with a truly great man. I felt this
profoundly at Mount Vernon ; hardly less so at Ferney, where
Voltaire did his spiriting.
Napoleon visited the tomb of Frederick at Potsdam, and,
removing his hat, pronounced a strong eulogium on his great
merits. The Government of Prussia still remained what Fre
derick left it, an absolute monarchy, and there was no prospect
at present of its undergoing any modification. It was well
adapted to a country so essentially military, and which counted
on its development by force of arms. Should the constitutional
fever break out here, as it might some day, it would curtail the
royal prerogative, but not materially affect the military system
on which Prussia depended for its importance in the European
orbit. She had made astonishing progress since the insignificant
Electorate of Brandenburg was converted into a monarchy.
She was well-nigh the youngest monarchy in Europe, and
already was disputing the preponderance of Austria over Ger
many. Another Frederick II. would make her the terror of the
Continent. We met with a trifling accident as we drove in hot haste from
our hotel to the diligence, the first in all our travels. A wheel
of our carriage was torn off by the rough causeway, and we
rolled over in a very precipitate fashion. Fortunately the horses
did not run away. After extricating ourselves from the capsized
vehicle, Forrest groaned at our probable detention for another
day ; but, as our luggage had preceded us, I suggested a pedes-

328 Germany.

trian effort to catch the eile-wagon ; and we started off at full
speed, under the lead of our valet. We came up breathless, but
just in time.
We entered Leipsic next day after dark, and I would gladly
have tarried here for a little time, if only to inspect the famous
battle-field where Napoleon's career was virtually terminated, in
October 1813. He lost the victory through the defection of his
Saxon allies. The mere suggestion of delay brought an em
phatic protest from my companion, who was wild with excite
ment now that his head was turned towards Paris. After a
hasty meal we resumed our places, and started for Frankfort -
on-the-Main. We were barely off before I perceived that For
rest, in his hurry, had left behind him the gun he bought at
Hamburg, and had constantly dragged about with him, with
out a single opportunity of ever using it for pleasure or defence.
He wore it strapped over his shoulder as we crossed Greece,
and he looked so like a brigand that we may have been re
garded as brother highwaymen by the numerous gangs of
that region. He was anxious to preserve it as a souvenir of his
journey. ' Well,' I remarked, ' your gun, I fancy, has gone off at last/
He looked about eagerly, but it was not to be found. He
was vastly annoyed, and gave way to a volley of expletives.
' If you had stayed a day in Leipsic,' I hinted, ' this might
not have happened.'
' I would rather lose a hundred guns than a single day of
Paris,' he retorted energetically; and there the matter dropped.
We were forced to pass most of the day in Frankfort, and I
invested the whole of it in rambling about this interesting old
town, which became prominent aS" far back as the eighth cen
tury. It was one of the four free cities of Germany, and the seat
of the German Diet or Congress. Many of its public buildings
bear the stamp of great antiquity. I visited the beautiful statue
of Ariadne at the residence of M. Bethmann, its owner, copies of
which are scattered over Europe. In elegance of form and
natural grace it is worthy of Grecian sculpture. I stopped to
look at the unpretending house of Meyer Rothschild, the founder
of the famous banking firm. He began life as a clerk with a
banker in Hanover. By degrees he accumulated a small capi
tal, and then established himself in business in his native town of

Germany. 329
Frankfort. He owed to a single incident his rise in the world.
In 1806 the Landgrave of Hesse was obliged to abandon his
territory on the advance of Napoleon, and he deposited all his
money with the young banker of Frankfort, who took charge of it
at the risk of offending the French Emperor. On the return of
the Landgrave to his capital, the house of Rothschild promptly
restored the large sum in its hands with interest. This loyal
conduct gained the confidence' of all the crowned heads of
Germany, and it gradually became their trusted financial agent.
Meyer, the founder of the Frankfort house, had five sons, who
all entered the business. On his death the eldest succeeded
him at Frankfort. The others had successively become the
heads of various branches, established at Vienna, Paris, London,
and Naples. At the desire of their father they all continued in
partnership, and it is now admitted to be the richest firm in
Europe. The motto bequeathed by Meyer Rothschild to his
children was ' Concord, Industry, Integrity,' and thus far it has
been faithfully observed.

CHAPTER XXXI.
PARIS REVISITED.
STRIKING IMPROVEMENTS — AN ' INFERNAL MACHINE'  ITS AUTHORS ARRAIGNED
— A THRILLING EXECUTION.
To find myself once more in Paris, January 1836, after so ex
tended a journey, was of itself a source of satisfaction. It was
a still greater one to mingle again with a people so amiable,
gay, and intelligent as the French, and to participate in the
luxurious life that renders this splendid capital so attractive to
all foreigners. But the greatest delight of all was to return to
a country that, in its intellectual and political activity, as well
as in its social and material aspects, fully represented the cen
tury in which I was living.
However curious and interesting in many respects the lands
I had lately visited, they all seemed to belong to a past epoch.
Russia was simply a military despotism, doubtless admirably
adapted to develop a semi-civilised empire. Turkey was a
mere barbarism, filling the spectator with wonder that it still
survived the lawless era whence it sprang. Greece a mere
museum of antiquities, though slowly emerging from a long
night of cruel oppression. Germany, for the most part, in the
condition the Middle Ages had left it, with its absolute govern
ments, its feudal laws, and oppressed peasantry. But here, in
France, the nineteenth century, with its limited monarchy, its
representative rigime, its unrestricted intellect, was in full swing,
and the spectacle overflowed with animation. Every day had
its events, its thoughts, its emotions. I felt, in fact, as if I had
emerged once more into the streets, full of bustle and variety,
after wandering for a long time through a gallery of waxworks,
silent and motionless.
I perceived that Paris had been much improved during my
absence. Gas was rapidly superseding oil in the thoroughfares ;
sewers were constructed ; new streets opened ; foot-pavements
multiplied ; new buildings erected ; the Arch of Triumph com
pleted, as well as the beautiful Madeleine Church ; the Place

Paris Revisited. 331

de la Concorde was paved, and embellished with fountains. In
short, on every side, signs of prosperity and good government
were apparent. One thing, however, struck me forcibly, which
was a certain sobriety of tone, a greater reserve in the manners
and language of people, than I had previously observed. This was
especially the case with the press. When I left Paris the previous
spring, the papers were tilting at each other furiously. They
were divided then, as now, into three hostile camps — the Legi
timists, the Republicans, and the supporters of the Government.
All the daily papers were the organs of one or the other of these
parties, and they were incessantly engaged in combat. When
fiery words were not enough to convey their hatred of each
other, they resorted to the sword or pistol, and duels were of
constant occurrence. As for a newspaper in the ordinary sense,
no such a thing existed. In the eyes of these pugnacious jour
nalists, news was of secondary importance to their personal in
terests and party advantage. If an earthquake had swallowed
the half of Paris, the papers would have been the last to men
tion it. These lords of the quill lived in just the same state of
open warfare as did the feudal lords of the olden time. They
thought of nothing but their own quarrels, and the din of arms
resounded day and night. However exciting and pleasant this
might be for them, the mass of the community were disturbed
and alarmed by all this wrangling and hubbub. The worst of
it was the encouragement given to the idle and desperate men
abounding in Paris to concoct plots against the Government,
and even to hatch attempts against the life of the King, who
was doing his best to make France prosperous and happy.
A most diabolical effort to get rid of him and all his family,
and so precipitate another Revolution, had been made only a few
months previous to my return. At the end of July, on the anni
versary of the Revolution of 1830, a review of the army of Paris
had been ordered. The troops were drawn up in double lines
over a distance of two miles. The King set out at ten in the
morning, followed by his three sons, his Ministers, and a military
escort. He had well-nigh completed his task, when, as he was
passing along the Boulevard du Temple, amid the acclamations
of the crowd, a sudden explosion was heard, like the simul
taneous discharge of a platoon, and in an instant the ground
around the royal family was strewn with the dead and the dying.
An ' infernal machine,' consisting of twenty-five musket-barrels,

332 Paris Revisited.

had been erected in the window of a house commanding the
street, and as the King passed it was fired. Fortunately six of
the barrels burst, but the rest did their deadly work. Eighteen
persons were killed, and many more wounded ; most of them
were spectators. The King escaped untouched ; but the bullet
that would have pierced him entered the body of his Prime
Minister, the Marshal Mortier, who was at his side. Thus
perished this distinguished soldier and upright man, who entered
the army in 1791, and fought his way through the countless
battles of the Republic and the Empire. The King's eldest son
was slightly bruised, and the horse of another son was wounded.
Providence willed it that none of the intended victims should
suffer. The blow fell upon those only who were not selected
for sacrifice.
The assassin who had planned this fiendish massacre made
desperate efforts to escape. Jumping from a window in the
rear of the house where the machine had been fired, he lit upon
an adjoining roof, and running along he dashed through a sky
light, and made his way to the street, where he was at once
arrested. He was covered with blood, having been severely
wounded by the explosion of the barrels that had been over
loaded. His name was Fieschi ; and an investigation of his
history showed that his career had always been infamous. He
had been at one time convicted of theft and forgery; at another
had figured as a police-spy ; and latterly, without resources or
character, he had determined on the destruction of the royal
family, hoping that anarchy and pillage would ensue, which he
meant to turn to his profit. Soon afterwards it was discovered
that he had two accomplices : one quite an old man, by name
of Morey, a harness-maker by trade ; the other a grocer named
Pepin, who was able to supply what money was required. All
these wretches were committed for trial ; and no one doubted
the fate that awaited them.
Horror and indignation filled the public mind, and the general
conviction was that the unscrupulous vilification of the Govern
ment by the party press was the real cause of these appalling
acts. The whole community-demanded that some check should
be applied ; and accordingly Thiers, who was one of the Ministers,
brought forward in September a series of laws designed to curb
the unbridled license of the party journals. Everybody rejoiced
at this needed legislation ; but the champions of the Opposition

Paris Revisited.

333

cried out that the liberty of the press was muzzled. ' High time
too,' retorted the public ; ' for the liberty you want is to over
throw the Government, and step into its place, regardless of the
ruin that would fall on the country.'
The trial of Fieschi and his confederates took place soon after
my arrival in Paris ; and such was the eagerness to witness the
proceedings that every privileged spot had been secured for
weeks in advance. As foreseen, they were all condemned to
death, but the day of execution was not named. According to
usage, it was certain to follow soon ; but as the Government
desired to prevent a large, and perhaps riotous, assemblage, the
time was not announced. Though the spectacle was likely to be
a painful one, I determined to witness it. In common with all,
I experienced such profound detestation for the crime that I felt
I could look upon the deserved punishment of these odious
malefactors with something like indifference. The only means
that occurred to me to ascertain when the sentence would be
carried out was to employ a man to pass the night at the Barriere
St. Jacques, the usual place of execution, to watch when prepara
tions were made for the erection of the scaffold, and then to come
to me immediately with the information. After the lapse of se
veral days I was aroused at four o'clock one morning, about the
middle of February, and told they were putting up the guillotine.
Accompanied by an American friend, I started off in all haste
for the somewhat distant point, and on my arrival could just
discern through the misty dawn that the instrument of death
was standing in the middle of the great square, and ready for its
victims. It was surrounded by a large body of troops, to pre
vent any possible attempts at rescue. Already an immense crowd
was assembled ; and, along with the rest, I pushed my way to the
nearest accessible spot, regardless of the repeated orders of the
police to fall back. At last a determined charge of cavalry was
made, and many of the excited spectators were knocked down,
whilst the others were scattered in all directions. To save my
self, I dashed headlong into the open door of a small house facing
the square, and to my great satisfaction observed a window com
manding a complete view of the scene without. By the offer of
a liberal sum I obtained possession of this advantageous position,
and desired the owner to turn out a motley lot, who in the
scamper had sought the same shelter, and would have disputed
my monopoly of the sight. The police were called in to clear

334 Paris Revisited.
the house ; and amongst those who protested the loudest I
recognised the voice of my friend, whom I had lost some time
before in the darkness and confusion. I rescued him from eject
ment, and we were left in undisturbed enjoyment of the ad
mirable point of view I had so strangely come by.
It was now seven o'clock and broad daylight. This was the
first time I had ever beheld that terrible engine the guillotine,
so closely associated with the carnage of the first Revolution.
The sight of it at any time would have given me a chill ; but
now that its glittering axe was so soon to be smeared with the
blood of the doomed men, it awakened a feeling of lively horror.
The executioner and his assistants were calmly walking about
on the platform, apparently insensible to the dreadful task that
would soon devolve upon them. A sombre and impressive silence
prevailed among the troops and the multitude beyond, which was
only disturbed by the neighing of horses and a low hoarse murmur
that revealed the excited emotions at work. Suddenly a startled
movement of the crowd indicated the approach of the criminals,
and in a moment more three hackney coaches drove up under a
strong escort, and stopped directly in front of the guillotine.
A suppressed cry, like a groan, was uttered by the harrowed
spectators, and then all was silent again. The occupant of the
first coach descended. It was Pepin, the grocer. From the
second one emerged Morey, the harness-maker ; and last appeared
the chief assassin, Fieschi, each accompanied by a priest. All
three were then led towards the scaffold, and for a few moments
each was addressed in a low voice by the confessor, who repeatedly
put to their mouths a small crucifix to kiss.
Pepin was the first to mount the fatal platform. He was a
short thin man, and his face was ghastly pale, but calm. He
turned round, and exclaimed, ' I die innocent, I die a victim ;
farewell to you all.' He was then seized by the executioners,
who stripped off his coat, pinioned his arms behind, and led
him to an upright plank, extending to the top of his breast, to
which he was securely strapped. This plank, moving on a pivot,
was then placed in a horizontal position, and slid between the
two upright bars sustaining the knife, with the back of the cul
prit's neck directly beneath it. At a signal the cord was
loosened, and in an instant the head was severed from the body,
and fell into a basket below ; the bleeding trunk was then un
strapped, and thrown into another basket on the side. The

Paris Revisitea.

noise of the knife, which was heavily weighted, had a dull chop
ping sound, and sent a quiver through all who heard it. The
effect on the two wretches whose turn was yet to come must
have been agonising.
Morey was the next to ascend the steps of the guillotine.
He was an old man, and so enfeebled by illness that he had to
be supported. ' Assist me,' he said ; ' the spirit is strong, but
the body is weak.' His countenance, though wan, betrayed no
signs of fear. It had a cold austere expression. When a black-
silk cap was removed from his head, his gray hair fluttered in the
breeze. He showed no desire to speak. As his upper garments
were somewhat roughly stripped off by the executioner, he cried
out, in an angry tone, ' Pourquoi dichirez-vous mon gilet ?' (Why
are you tearing my waistcoat ?) Strange protest at such an awful
juncture ! A few moments later he had ceased to exist.
The greatest criminal had been purposely reserved to the
last, as an aggravation of his punishment. He naturally turned
away his eyes from the guillotine during the execution of his
accomplices. ' You are afraid to look upon it,' said an officer standing near
him.' ' Non pas', he replied, ' mais fe ne veux pas braver mes cama-
rades' (I am not, but I do not wish to brave my companions).
He certainly displayed the utmost intrepidity. When his
turn came, he said to his confessor, ' How I should like to be able
in five minutes from this time to come and tell you how I feel !'
and then, with a firm and easy step, he ascended the guillotine.
Turning round, and assuming an oratorical attitude, he made a
short address, declaring his repentance, and imploring pardon of
God for the crime he had committed. Bowing to the right and
left, he then advanced with a quick stride, as if to show his readi
ness to meet death, and delivered himself up to the executioners.
In another minute he joined his guilty associates in eternity.
I gazed fixedly on this terrible tragedy in a sort of stupor.
My eyes never wandered for an instant, as though spellbound
by the hideous scene, and my feelings seemed benumbed with
horror. My companion fell back, almost fainting, after the first
death, and closed his ears to the revolting echo of the axe as it
struck the block. The execution was scarcely over, when the
troops began marching rapidly away. I left my place of refuge
to retire, but, almost unconsciously, followed a number of people

336 Paris Revisited.

who, seeing the guillotine apparently unguarded, approached,
from a morbid curiosity, to inspect it more closely. It was drip
ping with gore, and the baskets containing the heads and bodies
presented a frightful spectacle. The crowd increased every
moment, and, to disperse it, a charge of cavalry was suddenly
made. My only chance of escape was to leap precipitately on
the box of one of the coaches that had conveyed the prisoners.
As soon as I could venture to descend I hastened away, and,
for some time after, was haunted by the sickening sight I had
foolishly resolved to witness. A few days later, it was stated
that the keeper of a low cafe had hired the late mistress of
Fieschi, a girl by name of Nina Lassave, to attend upon his cus
tomers. The curious flocked to the place, and it became a sort
of exhibition, which numerous journals denounced as an outrage.
The police soon put an end to it

CHAPTER XXXII.
PARIS REVISITED {continued).
ARRIVAL OF MR. WILKINS — A DINNER MISCARRIED  COLONEL THORN AND A MAN
FROM TENNESSEE — A CONVERSATION WITH THE KING.
To my great delight, towards the end of March, Mr. Wilkins,
whom I had left in St. Petersburg some seven months ago,
arrived in Paris on his way home. He had resigned his mission,
saying it was too great a sacrifice to give up family, friends, and
congenial occupations for the mere honour of an official residence
abroad. He was glad to have witnessed the splendours of the
Russian capital ; but he was still more glad to know that, at no
very distant period, he would again be a resident of Pittsburg,
whose sooty charms were only enhanced by his enforced absence.
It was easy to see he- spoke the truth, for he was full of buoyancy
and gaiety — quite a different man from what I remembered him.
He had never been in Paris, and was desirous to see it in all its
seductive phases. I was too happy to put my services as cicerone
at his command ; and for a month I was almost constantly at
his side, conducting him over the curiosities of the town, or
accompanying him to dinners and parties.
With all his gentleness and good-nature I was surprised to
see how quickly he resented even an imaginary slight. We were
invited to dine one evening with Mr. Lewis Rogers, an American,
long resident in Paris, and well known in the best French
society. He was famous as an epicure, and his dinners at the
Rocher de Cancale, the first restaurant of Europe, were worthy of
Lucullus. I looked forward to a rare feast, for, though no gour
mand, I was willing to take my place among the gourmets, which
simply means that while the first eat for the love of it, the second
are only attracted by tits-bits of exceptional delicacy. At the
appointed hour I accompanied Mr. Wilkins to the renowned
restaurant, and on entering the salon found several of the guests
assembled there. Mr. Wilkins looked round for his host, and was
told he had not yet arrived. Regarding his watch, and finding
z

338 Paris Revisited.

several minutes after the time of invitation had elapsed, he said
to me quietly, ' I consider this very rude. Stay if you please,
but I am going.' I followed him down-stairs, seeking to extenu
ate the remissness of my friend Rogers, but in vain. He got in
his carriage, and we drove back to his hotel, where we dined
alone. Thus most unexpectedly I lost a display of French culi
nary skill, that I afterwards heard had never been surpassed.
Poor Rogers made a thousand explanations and apologies, but
the punctilious plenipotentiary would never accept another invi
tation. Not long after this I called one day with Mr. Wilkins to be
presented to a countryman of ours, who was then the talk of the
beau monde of Paris. I refer to Colonel Thorn of New York,
who was living in a style of princely splendour that eclipsed all
rivalry. I had often heard of his grand entertainments, whilst
his beautiful equipages frequently attracted my admiring notice
in the streets. His high-bred horses and costly carriages were
not surpassed even by royalty. The French were astonished at
such sumptuousness in an American, for at that time millionaires
were scarce in the United States ; but they were still more sur
prised at the lofty social position he had obtained, for his mansion
was the resort of all the foreign ambassadors as well as of the
leading nobility of France and of Europe. It must have required
infinite tact, even more than money, to have reached such a pin
nacle as this. I was glad to make the acquaintance of a country
man who had achieved such fashionable distinction, and at a
time, too, when Americans were little known in Court circles,
and were unfairly regarded as an unpolished and ill-mannered
people. I found Colonel Thorn a person of very imposing appearance,
somewhat above medium height, with a strikingly handsome
face that wore an expression of tranquil reserve. Perfectly self-
possessed in manner, without affectation or pretension, there
was nothing in air or tone to convey the impression of z. parvenu.
There was much natural dignity, but no animation or sprightli-
ness in gesture or conversation. We left him after a pleasant
chat, cheerfully accepting an invitation to dinner for the following
Monday. Mr. Wilkins informed me that Colonel Thorn had
begun his career in our navy, but that his good looks won the
affections of Miss Jauncey, a great heiress, who married him
against her father's wish.

Pans Revisited. 339

My second visit to dine afforded an opportunity to survey
the superb residence of my countryman. It was royal property,
belonging to Madame Adelaide, sister of the King, and I con
sidered 25,000 dollars a year as a moderate rent. The courtyard
was of vast extent. An antechamber led to an apartment of extra
ordinary splendour, which opened on either side into two other
saloons of equal extent and richness. At the extremity, on the
right wing, was the banqueting-hall, of regal dimensions, suc
ceeded by a family dining-room of smaller size. The left wing
consisted of a ballroom worthy of a palace. The furniture
throughout was of the costliest description, mostly in gilt and
damask. The windows in the rear commanded a garden of un
usual space filled with flowers, fountains, and lofty trees. At
this season of the year it was an enchanting background.
I was presented on this occasion to Mrs. Thorn, a tall and
handsome woman of unassuming and affable demeanour. She
had a numerous family, all remarkable for exceeding comeliness.
The company comprised two foreign ambassadors and many
persons of rank. None of the ladies present could vie in beauty
with Miss Talmadge of New York, who was now travelling in
Europe with her father. It was no wonder a buzz of admiration
followed her, for in feature and complexion she was absolutely
faultless, and not less so in figure. Some thought her attrac
tions would have been enhanced by more animation ; and whether
it was from the constant homage paid her, or from temperament,
she was somewhat less vivacious than most American women.
I was much struck by the appearance and manner of one of the
American guests; Captain Ramsey of the U.S. army. In refine
ment of tone and bearing he impressed me as quite a model
gentleman. He had come to Europe recently in consequence
of a severe domestic bereavement, which threw a tinge of melan
choly over his mien and conversation. I became very intimate
with him, and derived unqualified pleasure from his agreeable
society. The dinner was served with great elegance, and the
dessert-service, I remarked, was of the rarest Sevres porcelain.
The numerous servants were attired in showy liveries.
During the evening I had a chat with my host, who com
plained with some emphasis of the unreasonable conduct of
not only Americans, but of many foreigners visiting Paris.
' Constantly,' he said, ' I receive cards from persons I don't
know, and which are frequently followed by letters expressing

340 Paris Revisited.
lively indignation at my not inviting them to my house. I never
fail to honour all introductions that are brought.; but to expect
me to entertain strangers who have no claim whatever is
simply absurd.'
After running on in this strain for a time, he related the fol
lowing incident as by no means of unusual occurrence.
' A short time ago,' he continued, ' some one called and de
sired to see me. I sent for his card ; but he had none, he said,
and promised not to detain me five minutes. I ordered him to
be admitted, when a tall gaunt man, somewhat roughly dressed,
presented himself.
" I am a stranger, Mr. Thorn," he explained, " from the far
West. I have seen pretty much everything in Paris ; but I have
heard that your house is one of the sights, and I thought I'd just
come over and have a look at it."
' He was serenely unconscious, I could perceive, that there
was anything at all irregular in his demand, and his good-natured
face rather won upon me.
" I am not in the habit," I replied, " of making an exhibition
of my house ; but as you seem so curious, I will take you over it."
' He followed me through the rooms, examining quite minutely
the furniture, pictures, and statuary, indulging frequently in
strong Western exclamations of delight. All went on satisfac
torily till we came to the ballroom, which he had hardly en
tered before he slipped on its highly waxed floor, and came
down at full length. I apologised for not having warned him
in time of its treacherous surface, and, getting up quite confused,
he asked me to assist him to the door.
" Well, Mr. Thorn," he remarked, " the next time I go into
that room, I guess I'll put on a pair of skates."
' Anxious to make amends for his mishap, I asked him if he
would like to come and dine with me that evening, and I would
introduce him to my family.
" Well, I don't mind," he answered ; " but I have had my
dinner long ago. I'll come to supper, if you choose."
" Very well," I returned ; " come at eight o'clock, and you
shall have whatever you like best."
' He reappeared punctually at the hour named, and had evi
dently bestowed some attention on his toilette. His frock-coat had
quite a new gloss, and his boots had been duly polished for the
occasion. Mrs. Thorn and the children, to whom I had related

Paris Revisited. 341

his morning's visit, received him with great cordiality. He chatted
on without the least embarrassment. He declared the supper,
as he called it, the best he had eaten in Eu-rope. My daughters
played and sang for him during the evening, and he went away
asserting that he did not expect to enjoy himself as much again
till he got back to Tennessee. Now,' added Colonel Thorn,
* if I could be sure that all the strangers who call here were as
naive and amusing as my Western visitor, I might be somewhat
less cautious.'
During Mr. Wilkins's stay in Paris he was presented to the
King. I accompanied him on the evening appointed at ten
o'clock to the palace. We were conducted to the Salle des Mare-
chaux, and informed that the King had a dinner-party, but that
we should not have long to wait. Whilst we were inspecting
the portraits of the various distinguished marshals adorning this
beautiful apartment, the doors were thrown open, and the King,
the Queen, and royal family entered, followed by their guests,
all arrayed in uniform or Court dress. The King immediately
asked for the American Minister, who was forthwith presented.
A little formal conversation ensued, when his Majesty wandered
on to speak to some of his Ministers and generals who had
arrived after us. I could detect at once that Mr. Wilkins, who
was a man of courtly manners and very pleasing appearance,
had made a favourable impression on the King, and my sus
picion soon proved to be correct ; for after he had exchanged
salutations with his later guests he came back to our Minister,
and said he would like to talk with him for a few moments about
Russia. Louis Philippe, without the aid of ' the divinity that
doth hedge a king,' was really a fascinating man. There was
a geniality of manner that put every one at ease that he ad
dressed. There was not a spice of haughtiness in his counten
ance or bearing. He had undergone such strange vicissitudes,
and seen so much of the world, that he had lost or thrown aside
that lofty reserve characteristic of royalty. His information was
immense, and he talked with fluency, though with a certain
deliberation. He especially enjoyed conversing with Americans,
and was fond of referring to his adventures when an exile in
that country.. After asking Mr. Wilkins various questions touch
ing his residence in Russia, and speaking highly of the abilities
of his ' brother,' the Emperor Nicholas, the King inquired if our
Minister was pleased with Paris. This enabled Mr. Wilkins to

342 Paris Revisited.

state that it was the most beautiful city he had ever beheld, and
that he noticed in every direction his Majesty was striving to
make it the most desirable residence in the world.
' If the French,' he added, ' could only see through the eyes.
of foreigners, they would appreciate the blessings they enjoy,
and be less hostile to the Government.'
This adroit compliment seemed to touch the King, and a
transient shadow crossed his face.
' Ah, Mr. Wilkins,' he exclaimed, ' though hardly six years
upon the throne, I have discovered that the best intentions and
most anxious efforts avail but little. It is true, I think, the
country in the main is satisfied. The French masses are the
most industrious and thrifty people in the world. All they
want is to pursue their avocations in peace ; and my resolution
is fixed to preserve order at whatever cost. My chief difficul
ties are with the politicians, the journalists, and fanatics. All
of them are full of theories and projects, and if I were to give
way to their crude schemes, the country would be plunged in
anarchy and war. I am resolved on peace abroad and tran
quillity at home.'
' Your Majesty,' said our Minister, ' has a laborious task
indeed. The French, with all their intelligence, are impulsive
and flighty, not to say impracticable, and to govern them for
their own good seems to me well-nigh impossible/
' What you say,' returned the King, ' is true enough as applied
to the classes I have alluded to. The great body of the people,
I repeat, are sensible and laborious. I have no fear of these.
It is in Paris all my embarrassments are concentrated. I try to
appease the politicians by giving power in turn to the various
leaders, but I must watch vigilantly to prevent their abusing it.
The journalists, however, are my greatest plague. Some from
vanity, others from love of agitation, every day propound new
plans and systems of government, which they advocate with
passionate vehemence. Some declare parliamentary govern
ment absurd ; others support it, with modifications. Some pro
pose universal suffrage ; others condemn it altogether. Some
recommend free-trade ; others absolute protection. Some de
mand that all individual property should be abolished, and the
Government made the only capitalist. Some, that the present
form of society should be superseded, and reconstructed on prin
ciples entirely new. All these wild Utopias seduce the ignorant

Pans Revisited. 343

and the idle, who fancy themselves the victims of intolerable
tyranny, and are ready to immolate those who disagree with them/
' These latter, I infer,' remarked the Minister, ' become the
instruments of the insurrections so common in Paris, and supply
the assassins always lying in wait for your Majesty.'
' Just so,' said the King. ' I am really at a loss to know how
to treat these harebrained visionaries of the press. If I dis
regard them, trade and commerce protest against such damaging
agitation. If any restraint is applied, the artful gang cry out
that the liberty of the press is assailed. Now, in England, and
in your country, the press is in the hands of sane and practical
men, who are content to criticise the Government without seek
ing daily to overturn it ; who busy themselves with obtaining
the earliest news instead of concocting senseless essays on an
ideal state of society.'
' In the United States, as in England,' observed Mr. Wilkins,
' public opinion, as well as the law, exercises a salutary restraint
over the excesses of the press, which are only exceptional. How
is it, your Majesty, that public opinion in France has so little
influence over the literary maniacs in question ?'
' Public opinion with us,' said the King, 'is in a nebulous
state as regards politics. After the overthrow of the old
monarchy in 1789, France fell into anarchy. All that existed
was destroyed. Napoleon reorganised it on a military model.
Since then parliamentary government has been imported from
England, and I am trying conscientiously to keep it on its legs.
But it is a new thing, and no one is sure it is the right thing ;
consequently there is no settled public opinion with us as to
the best form of government. High, middle, and lower class in
France are all adrift on this vital point. Happily for you, in the
United States there is no doubt on that subject. A cry of
" Madman !" would be heard all over the land if any one there
attacked the Republican form adopted. The same would be the
case in England if any one denounced limited monarchy. Whilst
we remain in this unhappy state of transition we are at the
mercy of political tinkers of every kind. The old nobility
desire to set up the old monarchy. The ambitious invoke a
republic. Dreamers, to say no worse, aim at communism. All
that the laborious masses require, as I said before, is good order,
and they care not whether it is a king, an emperor, or a presi
dent who maintains it/

34+ Paris Revisited.

' Your Majesty has enabled me to understand the situation
better than ever before, but it is a melancholy picture. Until
the mind of the nation is made up, until a public opinion is
established as to the form of government best adapted to France,
I can see nothing but periodical disasters, revolutions, perhaps
civil wars.'
'Alas, sir!' responded the King, looking very grave, 'that is
the ordeal, I fear, we must undergo, until a stable government is
found. If the old monarchy had been reformed, as happened in
England, and not torn up by the roots, after the growth of cen
turies, we should not now be all afloat, at the mercy of the winds
and waves of faction, a prey to intriguing politicians and crazy
journalists. You see,' added the King, smiling sadly, ' I am not
reposing on a bed of roses/
' The task is so formidable,' replied Mr. Wilkins, ' and the
result so uncertain, that I wonder your Majesty ever left the
palace of your ancestors to venture on so perilous a sea. The
sort of government adapted to France is indeed a mysterious
problem. A limited monarchy, like that of England, requires
conscientious statesmen to administer it ; a republic like ours
;needs a sagacious people to control it. I fear neither of these
^exist in France, and I really despair of her future.'
'I do not,' said the King energetically. ' The French are
=a remarkable people, if you will permit me to extol my own
countrymen. History proves they are intelligent, courageous,
and wonderfully buoyant. They will never succumb. It may
not be my lot to lead them to the promised land, but they will
ultimately reach it. New political creeds will succeed each
¦other ; fresh apostles will rise and fall ; but every experiment
and failure will add to the experience of the nation, until finally
speculators and adventurers will find it hard to mislead it, and
then France will become an example, instead of a warning, to
other communities.'
' God grant it may be so,' responded our Minister, with much
earnestness. ' Amen to your friendly invocation,' rejoined the King,
shaking hands with him. ' I bid you good-night, Mr. Wilkins,
but expect you to dine with me before you leave Paris/
' I am at your Majesty's orders,' answered the Minister, in
the true tone of a courtier, showing that his residence in Russia
had not been lost upon him.

Paris Revisited. 345

As we went down the stairs of the palace, Mr. Wilkins
remarked, ' " Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown." I would not
be in the King's place for all the wealth of the Indies.'
' You would prefer,' I suggested playfully, ' the post of
United States Senator, or even Mayor of Pittsburg.'
' A thousand times over,' exclaimed Mr. Wilkins emphati
cally, as he stepped into his carriage.
Next day he received a summons to dine at the palace. He
told me afterwards it was not exceeded in splendour by any
thing he had witnessed at the Russian Court. He was charmed
with the gracious Queen, Marie Amelie, whose countenance, he
remarked, was full of anxiety and trouble.
' There was not a day,' she observed to him, ' that she did
not tremble for the King's life.'
He reminded me of his conversation with the Empress of
Russia, when she betrayed a similar unhappy state of mind.
' It is strange,' he added, ' that in my short experience abroad
the wearers of two of the most brilliant crowns in Europe should
have declared to me that their lives were full of care, and their
hearts preyed upon by apprehensions of the most torturing
nature.' ' It must be a dreadful thing,' I moralised, ' to feel that the
sword of Damocles is for ever suspended over your head.'
¦On the eve of his departure Mr. Wilkins said to me,
' I hope to find in London Mr. Andrew Stevenson, our new
Minister to that Court ; and, if you would like it, I will recom
mend you strongly as an attache" to his Legation.'
' Nothing would give me greater pleasure,' I assured him,
'than to occupy such a position, as it would enable me to see
something of the exclusive society of England, almost inacces
sible to an unofficial American.'
Some ten days later I received the following letter from him,
which will be read with interest by all who knew him, as it
conveys such a genuine impression of his amiable character and
playful disposition : London, April 30, 1836.
My dear Wikoff, — I have but a moment left, and only a
word to say. I am off at half-past nine o'clock for Portsmouth,
with the intention to sail to-morrow in the ' Philadelphia,' Cap
tain Morgan, for New York. A few days ago I received from

346 Paris Revisited.

the State Department the long-wished-for letter of permission to
resign and return home. Among my fellow-passengers I hear
of Dr. Delancy, and of Dr. Mott and family. No doubt we shall
be a motley crew.
I thank you with all my heart for your letter and the ring.
My daughter, I hope, will have an opportunity of thanking you
in person one day or another.
Mr. Stevenson has not yet arrived, but will be here, I pre
sume, before very long. I send you the enclosed introduction.
Remember me warmly to Ramsey, Carroll, the Tuckers, to
Mr. Brent, the Consul, and by all means to the lovely Miss
Talmadge. Take her by the hand, and give it an affectionate
squeeze for me. To her father also say all that is kind for
me. Tell him I would write to him, but I have not a word of
news or science for him. God bless you ! — In haste, most truly
yours,
Wm. Wilkins.
I am tempted to copy the introduction to Mr. Stevenson
alluded to, as a flattering testimonial of his regard :
London, April 30, 1836.
Hon. Andrew Stevenson.
Dear Sir, — I cordially congratulate you. I wish I could
have met you here, but I depart to-day for our blessed native
land. I shall leave this letter with Henry Wikoff, Esq., of Phila
delphia, for the purpose of introducing him to you. I first met
him in St. Petersburg, where he came recommended to me by
the late Roberts Vaux of Philadelphia, and Mr. Martin Van
Buren. I have since met him in Paris. He is a young gentle
man of fortune, of superior intelligence, and of the most correct
deportment. I feel much interested in his welfare, and beg you
to do me the favour to extend to him your kind attentions.
Should you have an attach/ship to your Legation to confer, I am
sure you will find him eminently worthy of your confidence
Your reception here will be a cordjal one, and I wish you all
manner of happiness. — Yours very truly,
Wm. Wilkins.
Knowing the intimacy and cordial regard that existed be
tween our late Minister to St. Petersburg and the forthcoming

Paris Revisited. 347

Minister to the Court of St. James, I could not help placing con
siderable reliance on this hearty recommendation, and I looked
forward to the prospect of being connected with the American
Legation in London with lively satisfaction. I was well aware
that it would afford me facilities of access to the Court circles of
England not otherwise attainable ; and I felt a natural longing to
see something of the inner life of that brilliant society whose
sayings and doings had been the theme of so many sparkling
writers of fiction.

CHAPTER XXXIII.
PARIS REVISITED {continued).
A FATAL DUEL — A SORCERESS— DR. MOTT — ANOTHER ATTEMPT ON THE KING.
Whilst I was still in Paris an event occurred that created no
little sensation. A violent quarrel broke out between Armand
Carrel and Emile de Girardin, two of the most prominent jour
nalists of Paris. Carrel, formerly an officer in the army, was the
editor of the National, the organ of the Democratic party. It had
been founded early in 1830 by Thiers and Carrel, and did much to>
hasten the Revolution that overthrew Charles X. This accom
plished, the astute Thiers withdrew, and left Carrel as sole editor,
who was implacable in his opposition to Louis Philippe, and
openly advocated a republic. Girardin was quite an extra
ordinary person. He began his career as a clerk in the office of
a Stock Exchange broker, under the name of Emile Delamothe.
He then published a book called Emile, describing his early life,
and announced that he was the natural son of General Count de
Girardin. From that time he assumed his father's name.
He was .an able writer, very audacious, and displayed an
activity really startling. He adopted the press as a profession ;
but instead of using it, like all the writers of the day, to achieve
political influence, he aspired simply to make it a source of
wealth. He established in succession several journals, at prices
so far below the usual standard that an immense circulation was
the result. He then appealed to the world of trade to advertise
at moderate rates in journals so widely read ; which was re
sponded to, and he accumulated money rapidly. This was some
thing entirely new, and was justly considered a revolution. The
entire press of Paris fell into hysterics of disgust at this daring
attempt to degrade journalism to the level of a mere commercial
medium. Girardin met the fate of all reformers. He was attacked,
vilified, and denounced by the journalists, who considered their
very existence endangered
' What,' they cried, ' convert journalism into a vulgar trade,
whic? rightly viewed, is a magistracy, nay, a priesthood! What,

Pans Revisited. 349

employ the press as a vehicle for mendacious advertisements, for
the self-commendations of quackery and imposture, and make it
the mere speaking-trumpet of speculation — the press, that should
be consecrated to philosophy, history, literature, the arts, to all
which elevates and delights the mind of man !'
These fine phrases conveyed the notions prevalent in Paris of
the mission of the press. Up to this time the French papers de
rived their revenue from high-priced subscriptions, and were read
solely for their political articles. The papers that supported the
Ministers of the day were subsidised by the Government. No>
one thought, as I have remarked, of looking to the papers for
news or for advertisements, as neither were ever found there.
This was the happy state of things when the iconoclast Girardin
broke into the temple, and threw the priesthood into dire con
fusion. Yet all that he thought of was to attract an advertising
patronage with a view to profit. It never even occurred to him
that news had any charm for a Frenchman. He was so suc
cessful, however, that he was soon able to establish a first-class.
daily journal, La Presse, which he sold for less than half the
usual price.
At last the patience of his adversaries gave way, and a sum
mary mode of dealing with him was resolved on. Against some
of the bitterest attacks upon him Girardin had contented him
self with simply appealing to the law. At this stage, Carrel,
who was the head and front of the Democratic party, and, from his
military training, more given to the pistol than the pen, stepped
forward to vindicate the philosophical, historical, literary, and
artistic press against the interloper who had desecrated it by
attempting to make it the organ of ' vulgar trade.' He wrote an
article, therefore, in his own journal, the National, meant to draw
a reply from Girardin, who responded next day in La Presse, and
with such spirit as to give Carrel the pretext he wanted. Putting
on his hat, and accompanied by a friend, he strode off to the
office of Girardin, paper in hand, and, pointing out the offensive
article, demanded if he were the author.
' I am,' said the innovator, with unruffled composure.
' Then,' said the grim Carrel, ' I require a full and immediate
apology.' ' Allow me to inquire if you wrote the lampoon upon me,'
said Girardin.
' I did,' was the reply.

350 Paris Revisited.
' Then,' continued Girardin, ' apology for apology.'
' It seems to me, sir,' remarked Carrel, ' that your intention
is to bring this matter to a duel.'
' A duel with such a man as you, sir,' said Girardin, with a
polite bow, 'would really be a bonne fortune!
This complimentary rejoinder no doubt stung Carrel, for,
rising with his eyes flashing, he said, 'As I am the offended
party, I choose the pistol,' and he stalked to the door.
' So be it,' answered his antagonist, who went on writing at
his desk.
The same night the respective seconds met, and arranged
for the duel to take place early next morning. Carrel had
frequently figured in affairs of honour, and this was Girardin's
fourth experience in the same line. Neither, therefore, was a
neophyte in this bloody business.
At dawn next day the two journalists met once more in the
Bois de Vincennes. Whilst the pistols were loading, Carrel said
to his adversary, ' Should the chance be against me, sir, and you
should write any statement of this affair, you will, in all honour,
adhere strictly and simply to the facts ?'
' Yes, sir,' briefly replied Girardin.
When all was ready the combatants took their places. The
seconds had measured a distance of forty paces. The principals
were to advance within twenty paces of each other, firing at their
option. Carrel immediately advanced, disregarding the entrea
ties of his seconds to show less front. Girardin advanced at the
same time, and both fired nearly at the same moment ; and both
fell wounded, the first in the groin, the latter in the leg. Carrel
was promptly raised by his friends and carried off the ground.
As he passed Girardin, who was still prostrate, he politely said,
' I hope, sir, you are not in much pain ;' to which Girardin as
courteously responded.
The unfortunate Carrel was fatally hurt. The ball had
pierced the intestines, and, after lingering in great agony for
nearly two days, he died. He was a high-toned loyal man,
greatly respected by all. His friends adored him, and they vowed
vengeance against Girardin. His house was daily flooded with
new challenges, and insults awaited him whenever he appeared.
It is said Girardin was much distressed by the tragic result of
the duel, and resolved to fight no more. He was quite resolute
enough to adhere to his determination.

Paris Revisited.

351

I was induced one morning, by a lady-friend, to accompany
her to see one of the celebrities of Paris, Mdlle. Lenormand, the
famous fortune-teller. It is strange that in our enlightened
century, which boasts of the 'schoolmaster abroad,' that the
votaries of the occult science should still be found in all ranks of
society, and that implicit faith is still put in the oracles of divi
nation. There is no trait of our mental constitution more in
eradicable than superstition, a tendency to believe in omens and
prognostics. Of course it prevails in different degrees, and is
strongest among those whose imaginations are the most sus
ceptible. There are individuals whose reason is so robust as to
set augury at defiance ; but with not a few men, and many
women, there is a proneness to the supernatural, a disposition to
listen to those who profess the power
' to look into the seeds of time,
And say which grain will grow, and which will not.'
It is not so very many years ago when witchcraft was
punished in prosaic England with death. It was as late as 181 5
that Mesmer died, the German physician, who really performed
wonders by means of ' animal magnetism,' as he styled it, but
which was regarded by thousands as a supernatural agent. That
credulity was not seriously on the decrease was proved by the fact
that Mdlle. Lenormand, up to that day, was doing a thriving
business in her art of divination, not from necessity, however, as
she made a fortune long before. This singular character came
to Paris from the provinces in 1790, and soon after set up as a
sorceress. Some of her predictions as to the fate of the Republic,
then at its zenith, offended the revolutionary tribunal, which
thrust her straightway into prison, and it was lucky she saved
her head. Of course this imprisonment added to her renown,
and during the Empire and the Restoration she laid bare the
mysteries of the future to countless believers in her sibylline
power. It is well known that, of all her devotees, none was more
trusting than the gentle Josephine, wife of Napoleon, who used
to consecrate long sittings to the Pythoness. In 1819 she
published a book called the Sibyl at the Congress of Aix-la-
Chapelle, where she undertook to reveal some of the secret
proceedings at that august assembly, which met there in the
previous year, and for which she was prosecuted.

35 2 Paris Revisited.

When I entered her reception-room in the Rue de Tournon,
the day of my visit, I found several ladies, all deeply veiled ; but
from their dress I inferred that they were persons of good
condition. Only one at a time was admitted into the enchanted
chamber, and I received a card duly numbered, that was called
out by the attendant when my turn came. It was several mo
ments after I found myself in the sanctum of the oracle before I
could make out my surroundings, so dimly lighted was the small
room where she sat. At last I discovered a stout woman
strangely attired behind a large table covered with all kinds of
cabalistic charms. Bats and owls and other ' varmints' equally
unattractive were arranged fantastically on the walls and ceiling.
I had barely time to glance round before I was called to order
by a gruff masculine voice proceeding from the venerable
Hecate, who demanded my age, what animal I liked best, what
colour I preferred, and some other insignificant questions.
Meanwhile, without deigning scarcely to notice me, without
scrutinising my countenance, as I expected, she busied herself
in shuffling and cutting various packs of mysterious cards
covered with curious figures and devices. Having finished this
process, she bade me in peremptory tones to ' cut' them. She
then carefully arranged them in parallel rows, and devoted some
little time to meditation. I was surprised that she held no con
versation with me, nor made any effort to discover my mode of
life, or anything concerning me. After closing her steady perusal
of my destiny, she began her prophetic role. She seemed ut
terly indifferent whether her vaticinations were pleasant or
otherwise, but spoke as one inspired. The Sphinx went on for
some time, and gave me my money's worth in the way of revela
tion. She spoke, amongst the rest, of my strong sympathy for
the fair sex, but said it was more sentimental than otherwise ;
declared I was not married, and would never marry — that I would
lead an idle, but not altogether unprofitable, life. However, I
was so profanely incredulous that I paid no great attention to
what she said, though I confess she more than once somewhat
startled me. She wound up by saying that I was about to leave
Paris, and boldly named the month and week of my departure,
adding that, although I proposed travelling with a friend, I
should make the journey alone. In connection with this
prediction I may mention that, some three weeks after, I set off
in the diligence for Boulogne, in company with a friend who was

Fans Revisited. 353

also bound for London. When we reached St. Denis, some few
miles from Paris, my companion discovered to his horror that he
had left behind him a bag containing some valuable papers, and
resolved to return immediately in quest of them. I was there
fore compelled to pursue my trip without him. I really began
to suspect that Mdlle. Lenormand was little better than a witch.
During my stay in Paris I frequently met our great surgeon,
Dr. Mott, who was making a jaunt in Europe with his family. I
took a strong liking to this distinguished man, as did everybody
else. His beardless face wore an expression of benevolence that
won at first sight, and his mild unobtrusive manner confirmed
the predilection. He was a close observer and extensive reader ;
consequently his conversation was always interesting and instruc
tive. He was fond of talking, and a pleasing smile flickered
over his features the whole time. I never knew him to laugh
heartily but once, when- 1 told him a medical anecdote that
struck his sense of the ludicrous. His wife still enjoyed the
beauty for which she was so famous in her girlhood, and her
genial demeanour attracted to her salon a large circle of friends
and admirers. All the flower of the American colony, as well
as many distinguished persons of the French world, readily
assembled at her weekly soire'es. A strange incident occurred
at this time, that led to a deal of exciting comment. Some
malicious person addressed, for several weeks, a series of anony
mous letters to Mrs. Mott of an offensive character. Her friends
made every effort, with the aid of the police, to ferret out the
writer, but in vain. On the return of Dr. Mott to Paris, from a
short tour in Egypt, the American community, to manifest their
indignation at this cowardly persecution, tendered him a compli
mentary banquet, which he accepted. To a toast in his honour
the Doctor replied in a very effective speech, showing that he
could wield his tongue, as well as the scalpel, with singular dex
terity. Dr. Mott was held in high repute by the Faculty of
Paris, and not less so by that of London. Some of his opera
tions were equally novel and bold, displaying not only rare
surgical skill, but a steadiness of hand quite remarkable.
Just on the eve of my departure from Paris, another effort
was made to assassinate the King. He was leaving the palace
for his villa at Neuilly, and had barely started, when a gun was
fired into his carriage, and the ball grazed his head. The assas
sin was seized, and carried off to prison. He was quite a young
AA

354 Paris Revisited.

man, and alleged that love of liberty was his motive ; but it
turned out that he was an idle fellow, unwilling to earn an
honest livelihood, and had actually stolen the gun with which
he sought to commit the murder. Some supposed he was
simply a fanatic, whilst others believed that, like the miserable
creatures who had previously made similar attempts, he was
only animated by a desire of notoriety, and the hope of effecting
a revolution. He declared, when sentence of death was pro
nounced, ' I had, with reference to Philippe I., the same right
which Brutus exercised against Csesar. Regicide is the right of
all men who are debarred from any justice but that which they
take into their own hands.' Just before he was guillotined, he
exclaimed, in a theatrical tone, ' I die for liberty ;' which reminded
me of the words of the unfortunate Madame Roland, ' O Liberty,
what crimes are committed in thy name !'
Whilst such wretches as Fieschi and Alibaud were constantly
prowling about the streets, eager for the renown of a regicide, it
was no wonder the countenance of Marie Am&ie wore the touch
ing expression of fear and despondency that Mr. Wilkins men
tioned. I marvelled the King did not throw his crown out of
the window, and let them fight amongst themselves in the
Kilkenny fashion. It would be a miracle if he escaped the assas
sin's bullet. His ancestor, the good Henry IV., survived twenty-
three attacks on his life, and was killed by Ravaillac in the
twenty-fourth.

CHAPTER XXXIV.
LONDON REVISITED.
APPOINTED ATTACHE — WILLIAM IV.— ST. JAMES'S PALACE.
I LOST no time after my arrival in London, the summer of 1836,
in calling in Portland-place, to make the acquaintance of our
new Plenipotentiary, Mr. Andrew Stevenson of Virginia, who
reached his post in May. His name was familiar as one of the
prominent political leaders of General Jackson's Administration.
He had lately resigned the Speaker's chair of the House of
Representatives, and his devotion to his party had so incensed
the Opposition that they endeavoured to defeat his nomination
to the Court of St. James, which he finally obtained. I pre
sented my introduction from Mr. Wilkins, of whom he spoke in
the warmest terms. After perusing it, he said he would take
into consideration his suggestion of my being attached to the
Legation, and let me know his decision at an early day. I was
not surprised that he had already made a favourable impression
in London, for he was a very handsome man, with a command
ing air like one used to authority. His face denoted force of
character, and his manner was easy, natural, and at times full of
animation. He was a fluent energetic talker. After a lively
chat in the library, he took me up to the drawing-room to present
me to his wife ; and as I half suspected my appointment to the
Legation would depend on her verdict, I was very solicitous to
make a favourable impression.
I found it an easy task to be agreeable, for she was a remark
ably attractive woman. She had passed the meridian of life,
and her somewhat attenuated form and pallid cheek indicated
impaired health. But she was endowed with a buoyant disposi
tion and sympathetic nature, whilst her superior culture gave to
her blithesome conversation an unusual charm. I was greatly
prepossessed, and from her very cordial manner inferred I
should likely obtain her support. I was not long kept in sus-

35°" London Revisited.

pense ; for I received in a few days a note from Mr. Stevenson,
saying, as he understood I desired it, he would attach me with
pleasure to his Legation, and if I could get my Court dress ready
in time, he would present me to the King at the last leve"e of the
season, a week later.
I ordered forthwith my diplomatic costume, consisting of a
blue coat with collar, lapels, and cuffs embroidered in gold, and
trousers of the same material with gold bands. This was the dress
worn at levees. For Drawing-rooms or other Court files, white-
cassimere breeches with silk stockings and buckled shoes were
adopted. A dress-sword and chapeau bras were used on both
occasions. Duly accoutred, I drove up to the Legation at the
appointed hour, and accompanied the Minister, and the Secre
tary of Legation, Mr. Theodore S. Fay, to St. James's Palace.
We drove into the courtyard reserved for the Diplomatic
Corps, and, mounting a staircase, traversed a long gallery which
led us to the Presence Chamber. The King had not yet entered ;
but many of the foreign envoys were already assembled, together
with several of the Ministers of the Crown. The Prime Minister,
Lord Melbourne, was pointed out to me : a fine-looking man
of some fifty-five years, with the gay and graceful air of a man
of the world. He was known as an accomplished courtier, but
he could not have become the head of the Cabinet without parlia
mentary ability of the highest order. My attention was also
called to Lord Palmerston, the Secretary for Foreign Affairs,
who was chatting with the Russian Ambassador. He was appa
rently beyond middle age, and there was a briskness of manner
that indicated the activity and force of his character.
My curiosity was aroused by a person who was evidently the
' observed of all observers.' He wore a field-marshal's uniform,
was about medium height, and rather slender. His gray hair
showed that age was gaining on him, but he looked strong and
hearty. His compressed lips and steady eye denoted firmness
and courage of no ordinary kind. His manner was serious and
reserved, though quite unassuming. The foreign Ministers all
approached him in turn. He replied briefly to their remarks,
always retaining the same sedate aspect. Who could he be?
At this moment I encountered a secretary of the French Em
bassy, and asked for information.
' Why, don't you know him ?' he said. ' That is the " Iron
Duke." '

London Revisited. 357

' What !' I exclaimed, ' is that the great Duke of Wellington ?'
For some minutes my gaze never left him. To behold the
victor of Napoleon for the first time was an event.
Shortly after, the doors of an inner apartment were thrown
open, and, preceded by his chamberlains, William IV. advanced,
amid the salutations of all present. The King posted himself
at one end of the room, and the reception at once began. Each
foreign Minister, according to his seniority at the Court, defiled
before him, with whom he exchanged a few words. Whilst this
formality was going on I had time to contemplate his Britannic
Majesty. He was about medium height, somewhat stout, and
his white hair attested his advanced age, then seventy-one, but
he seemed in sound health. His face was pleasant in expres
sion, and his mild blue eye gave assurance of an amiable dispo
sition. He was the third son of George III., and had borne the title
of Duke of Clarence. He was brought up in the Navy, and,
passing through the various grades, became Lord High Admiral.
He succeeded to the throne in 1830, on the death of his brother,
George IV., and his reign was not a little disturbed by the
struggles of the Whig and Tory parties for supremacy. He
was more of a sailor, however, than a politician, and took little
interest in parliamentary squabbles. He married a German
princess in 181 8, and had no lineal issue. It is well known,
however, that his long relations with the celebrated actress, Mrs.
Jordan, led to a numerous family.
When the turn of the American Minister came, I followed
him, and was presented to the King as an attache" to the U.S.
Legation. He bestowed on me a gracious glance, and inquired
if I had recently arrived in London, to which I replied in the
affirmative. He then asked in what part of the country my
estate was situated.
' In Pennsylvania, your Majesty,' I answered.
This seemed entirely satisfactory, and his Majesty bowed ;
which was the signal to move on, and henceforward I took rank
as an attache" to the Court of St. James.
When the diplomatic reception was over, the general com
pany was admitted from an apartment till then kept closed ; and
as this was likely to last some time, I seized the occasion to
wander over the state-rooms of this interesting old palace. I
was struck by the size and loftiness of the various saloons and

358 London Revisited.

halls, which could hardly be suspected from the sombre dingy
appearance of the exterior. This edifice was erected by Henry
VIII. in 1536, and has been the scene of many strange and
thrilling events. It was here that Queen Mary, daughter of
Catherine of Aragon, known in history as ' Bloody Mary,'
wasted away and died in 1588. Shortly before her" decease she
said to her attendants, ' If you would know the cause of my
death, you must dissect me, and you'll find Calais at my heart ;'
meaning that the recapture of that town by the French was her
death-wound. It was here that Charles II. and James II. were born, and
here that their unhappy father, Charles I., passed the last three
nights previous to his execution. Whilst a prisoner he was
treated with great brutality by Cromwell, who ordered him to
be confined in a single room, which was guarded day and night
by soldiers, who treated the King with much rudeness. ' There
is nothing,' said the unfortunate Charles, ' more contemptible
than a despised prince.' After sleeping calmly he rose, on the
morning he was beheaded, January, 1649, and said to his atten
dant, ' Give me a second shirt, that I may not tremble from the
cold, which would be attributed to fear.' On the scaffold he be
haved with the utmost intrepidity.
In a bedroom of this palace, Anne, the first wife of the Duke
of York, afterwards James II., expired. She became a convert
to Catholicism in her last hours, and desired that no Protestant
bishop should be admitted to her presence. The Bishop of
Worcester, however, obtained access on condition of not troubling
her with any controversial discussion. He limited himself to
merely saying, ' I hope your Highness still continues in the
truth/ Fixing her eyes upon him, she said, with great effort,.
' What is truth ?' At short intervals she repeated several times'
' Truth, truth,' and so died.
This palace also was the scene of the dissolution of the
'Merry Monarch,' Charles II. Almost his last words were
characteristic of his amiable disposition. Turning to the cour
tiers and attendants around his bed, he said, ' I must really beg
your pardon for being such an unconscionable time a-dying.'
When I got back to the Presence Chamber, the levie was
nearly over, and I retired with the Minister.
As I was likely to pass some time in London, I established
myself comfortably by taking part of a house in a fashionable

London Revisited. 359

locality, and setting up an equipage. In this country, both aris
tocratic and wealthy, it was necessary above all for a foreigner
to display pecuniary independence before seeking an entre"e to its
gilded saloons. This done, I began to look about me. I was
soon sensible I was living in a community the very antipodes
to that I had so recently left. In France, all seemed afloat.
Government, society, institutions — everything, apparently, rested
on quicksand. But here, in England, all was solid and stable.
No one dreamt of revolutions. Arguments, not guns, were em
ployed for any modifications of the political system desired.
Consequently everything moved smoothly in its regular orbit,
and no one was perplexed by fear of change. In Paris I lived
in a feverish state, always on the qui vive for some startling
event. Society was fermenting from top to bottom, and it was
like dwelling in the vicinity of a volcano constantly emitting
smoke and flame. Whereas in London the horizon was clear,
the national pulse steady, and all classes calmly engaged in their
various avocations.
It was worth my while, therefore, to investigate the Eng
lish regime, since the knowledge would be useful for a lifetime ;
whilst in France the study was less encouraging, as its whole
structure might be transmogrified in a decade. I resolved, then,
to apply myself sedulously to the comprehension of the political
and social organisation of England, with which, like most
foreigners, I had but a superficial acquaintance. This was
desirable information for any intelligent stranger ; but it was
incumbent on any one connected, however humbly, with the
Diplomatic Corps to have a clear understanding of the character
and state of the country he was inhabiting. Furthermore, within
a recent period from the time I am speaking of, a radical
change had occurred in the parliamentary machinery of Eng
land, and to estimate its importance it will be necessary to take
a retrospective glance at what had previously existed. The
subject is interesting, but it may not have attractions for all ;
and therefore I will enclose within a separate chapter this brief
digression from the main course of my narrative.

CHAPTER XXXV.
LONDON REVISITED {continued).
POLITICAL STRUCTURE  SOCIAL ORGANISATION — ORDERS OF CHIVALRY.
The familiar formula of King, Lords, and Commons expressed
the theory on which the English Constitution was based, and
signified that the political power was divided coordinately be
tween them. But on investigation I found that such had never
been the case. From the time of William the Conqueror, 1066,
the King exercised, in the main, absolute control, down to 1688,
when James II. was driven into exile. Then the monopoly of
power fell into the hands of the Lords, who wielded it for 144
years, down to 1832. This was effected by the Lords holding
exclusive possession of the House of Commons, which was filled
with their nominees. Of the 658 members, 487 represented
territorial districts owned by the Lords, and no one, conse
quently, was chosen not favourable to their supremacy. The
remaining 171 seats belonged, for the most part, to constituencies
so very limited that they were at the command of the highest
bidder. So late as 1821 the celebrated Sydney Smith declared :
' The country belongs to the Duke of Rutland, Lord Lonsdale, the
Duke of Newcastle, and about twenty other holders of boroughs.
They are our masters/
Thus it is clear the Lords monopolised both branches of
Parliament, and therefore controlled the legislation of the
country. It cannot be denied that during the period of their
ascendency the nation was well governed, and made great pro
gress. It is also true that their especial interests were not
neglected, and that class-legislation often took precedence. It
is not likely this state of things would have lasted so long but
for the adroitness of the ruling class. Whenever a superior
intellect appeared, whether in politics, in literature, or finance, at
the bar, in the army or navy — no matter from what stratum of
society it emerged — its adhesion to the existing system was
secured ; and the prominent politician, barrister, litterateur,

London Revisited. 361

banker, or soldier was either raised to the House of Lords, put
in the House of Commons, or assigned to a lucrative office. At
length, however, the middle class — representing the trade, com
merce, and manufactures of the country — took exception to the
government being permanently invested in a single class, how
ever able or patriotic. They pointed to the scandal of populous
towns like Birmingham, Manchester, and Leeds possessing no
franchise, and therefore not represented in Parliament. They
demanded in stentorian tones their just share of political power.
The Lords were averse to yielding their preponderance ; and
the struggle became daily more violent. Some of the monopo
lists, like Earl Grey and Lord John Russell, either from policy
or ambition, went over to the malcontents, and became the
leaders of the middle-class party, claiming a wholesale reform
of the electoral system. The agitation became so general, and
public opinion pronounced so decidedly in favour of a reorgan
isation, that the Lords gave way, and the Reform Bill of 1832
was passed.
This measure abolished the so-called ' pocket boroughs,' and
greatly extended the franchise, admitting all the large towns to
representation. This was the end of the oligarchy which had
flourished for 144 years, as stated. Henceforward the House
of Commons would become more independent and influential,
and the Lords cease to dominate the legislation of the country.
Yet itwas certain the aristocracy would maintain the commanding
position they had held for centuries ; for besides their wealth
and long pedigrees, their well-trained intellects would enable them
to cope successfully with all competitors.
It is thus apparent that the theory of a division of power
between King, Lords, and Commons has never been realised in
England. First the King, then the Lords, and finally the
Commons, have exercised a controlling sway. It is strange that
this scheme of government has been successfully carried out in
the Constitution of the United States, where the sovereign power
is equally divided between the Executive and both branches of
the Legislature,
Though this political supremacy of the aristocracy had been
curtailed by the Reform Bill alluded to, their social predominance
at the time of my visit, in 1836, was still as potent as ever, and
I was glad to have arrived in time to witness its last phase. I
found the examination of the social organisation of England

362 London Revisited.

more perplexing than the political analysis I had undertaken.
It was intricate work for a foreigner to arrive at a correct know
ledge of the relative social importance of the various grades into
which society was split up ; but the information was vital, and
I set about it with alacrity.
At the head of the social hierarchy stood the King and
Queen. Then followed the Royal Princes and Princesses. Next
in order came the nobility, divided into five ranks — the duke,
marquis, earl, viscount, and baron. The first was addressed as
' ' Your Grace,' the others as 'My Lord.' All these were members
of the House of Lords, and their titles hereditary. Outside the
nobility were the baronet and the knight, both addressed as
' Sir ;' this title hereditary in the former, in the latter for life
only. A class known as the ' landed gentry,' though without title,
enjoyed high social prestige, as they represented ancient lineage
and great wealth. They were large owners of land, and it was
from this category the peerage was chiefly recruited. No one was
considered, as a rule, eligible for the House of Lords who had
not an extensive interest in the soil. Ancestry without acres was
little esteemed in England, though of rare occurrence. Of the
570 peers then on record, some two-thirds had sprung from
land. About fifty peerages might be traced to great lawyers, and
some forty to high distinction in the army and navy.
The clergy of the Church of England rank socially with the
nobility and landed gentry. They are divided into numerous
grades, and their various titles are bewildering. The Archbishop
of Canterbury, whose title dates from 597 A.D., is the head of the
ecclesiastical fabric. He takes precedence of the nobility, and
is addressed as ' Your Grace.' The Archbishop of York is next
in rank. Then succeeds a long string of bishops, who are ad
dressed as ' My Lord,' being entitled to a seat in the House of
Lords as spiritual peers. The Church of England, though much
despoiled under the rigime of Cromwell, was still rich in land and
endowments. Her annual revenue was estimated at not far from
twenty millions of dollars, and measures had been adopted to
increase it by better management. The National Church was sur
rounded by a vast body of Dissenters, of all denominations, con
stantly on the increase ; but it was awake to the necessity of new
efforts to maintain its position. Various abuses were disappear
ing, and the days of ' fox-hunting parsons' were numbered. It was

London Revisited. 363

asserted that nearly one-third of the existing generation had
grown up out of her communion, but her power was still dominant
in the State and in society. She was at the head of the parochial
organisation of the country, and had the largest share in the
education of the people. The traditions and sentiments of the
nation were on her side, and whilst she was compact and united,
her rivals were split up into endless sects. The Wesleyans, for
instance, were severed into nine divisions, and the Baptists into
five. There was work enough, however, for all in looking 'after
the spiritual needs of an ever-growing population. It was a
satisfactory sign of the times that religious animosity was fast
abating. The Church of England was discarding her jealousy
of her opponents, and the Protestant hatred of Catholicism was
gradually dying out. In 1829 the Catholics were admitted by
Parliament to the enjoyment of political rights, and the country
approved it.
I found two orders of chivalry existing in England, and both
of ancient date. The most distinguished was the ' Order of the
Garter,' founded by Edward III. in 1347, and limited to twenty-
five knights. The symbols of the order are a garter worn on
the left leg, a broad blue ribbon across the breast, and a star.
This distinction is chiefly restricted to the nobility, and to the
most illustrious only.
The second order was that of the ' Bath,' so called from the
ceremony of bathing which was originally performed before the
knight was invested. Mention is made of a Knight of the Bath
created by King John in 1 204, but it is supposed to be of still
earlier origin. This decoration is principally bestowed on mili
tary men for signal services, and is not limited in number.*
* In 1847 it was decided to confer the Order of the Bath also on civilians, as a
mark of distinction.

CHAPTER XXXVI.
LONDON REVISITED {continued).
ALMACK'S — MR. JOSHUA BATES — BARING BROTHERS— MARCHIONESS OF WELLESLEV
— THE POET ROGERS, ETC.
Though busy with my researches into the political and social
organism of the country of which I had become a denizen, I
was none the less eager to investigate personally the scented
realms of its recherche" society. My first plunge was a bold one,
and put my nerves to a severe test. I obtained an invitation to
Almack's, and ventured upon the sacred ground. This name
was applied to the most exclusive balls given in London in the
famous assembly-rooms built by Almack in 1765. From that
day forward they were renowned as the rendezvous of the bluest
blood in England. They were under the direction of a limited
number of lady-patronesses, the quintessence of the fashionable
world. They issued all the admissions, and their fiat was final
as to the claims of aspirants to this great distinction. A signal
proof of their daring is shown by an anecdote I had lately heard-
When the Duke of Wellington returned to England after
Waterloo, his company was sought by the most illustrious in the
land. On one of the ball-nights at Almack's, he presented him
self at the door, but was told that after eleven o'clock no one
was admitted.
' Give my card,' said the Duke,' to the Countess of Jersey, and
say I am waiting/
In a few moments the answer was brought.
' Lady Jersey's compliments to the Duke of Wellington. No
admittance to Almack's after eleven o'clock/
The great soldier, for the first time, was compelled to retreat,
as much astonished as amused.
This occurred twenty years previously; but these statelyassem-
blies had lost nothing oftheirtr/rt^in the interval. My connection
with a foreign legation enabled me to obtain an entree, and when
I breathed for the first time the aromatic atmosphere of lords
and ladies of the seventh heaven of fashion, I thought it just as
well I was not known as an American. What effect such a

London Revisited. 365

thrilling discovery might have had, it is hard to say. At this
time the higher classes of England had the vaguest notions of
the great Republic and its occupants. Most of them had none at
all, whilst the rest were uncertain whether Americans were tawny
savages, black negroes, or Irish emigrants, and had only one
aspiration concerning them — that the hybrids might never come
* betwixt the wind and their nobility.' I took the risk of being
presented to one of the lady-patronesses, the Countess Aylmer,
wife of the former Governor-General of Canada, whom I had
contemplated so inquisitively at Quebec. She regarded me for
a few moments with a look half curious, half supercilious.
' How well you speak English !' at last she remarked.
' This is not the first time, your ladyship, that I have visited
England,' I replied, with a smile.
'Ah, that explains it,' she said, in a satisfied tone ; and, turn
ing to speak to some one who came up, I fell back in the throng.
I wandered observantly among the titled crowd. The beauty
of the women filled me with wonder. Their stature and full
development were imposing. Such shoulders, busts, and figures
I had never seen in any other country. Their skin was supremely
fair, and hair of luxurious growth. Their toilettes were of great
elegance, and jewels of rare value. The men were mostly tall,
handsome, and dressed with great simplicity. The manner of
both sexes was more striking even than their appearance —
natural and easy, but neither graceful nor urbane. It was singu
larly hard and insouciant. Arrogance it could not be called, but
under it lurked, beyond doubt, a calm consciousness of their
superiority. An Englishman generally considers his country at
the head of civilisation, though he has not the vanity to declare
it ; but the aristocracy, whose pedigree, rank, and wealth, whose
high breeding and remarkable culture, raise them beyond rivalry,
can hardly help regarding not merely the classes below them at
home, but even the rest of mankind, as something of inferior
mould altogether.
To a person of a nervous sensitive temperament, the cold
undemonstrative deportment of the haute noblesse that I met at
Almack's was not a little benumbing, and it required a good
deal of resolution to approach it without being congealed on the
spot More than once I had to invoke the democratic senti
ment of Burns, that ' the man's the goud for a' that,' in order to
preserve my moral equilibrium. I waltzed with a niece of the

366 London Revisited.
Duke of St. Albans, the fair Frederica Beauclerc, a noted belle
of Almack's ; and though her impassive nonchalant mien made
me feel as little better than a straw or a pin, yet I affected out
wardly as much self-possession as I could possibly summon.
That night's experience of Almack's taught me, if I would pass
current in noble society, I must take care to suppress all signs of
natural emotion, and to think as little of indulging in enthusiasm
as I would in strong drink. When among the ilite I felt the
necessity of assuming, as far as was in my nature, the same dry
callous tone that at this time was as habitual to them as armour
was to the knights of the Middle Ages.*
Dining one day with our Minister, I met Mr. Joshua Bates, a
partner of the eminent house of Baring Brothers. The Baring
family was of German origin. The first who came to England,
in the last century, was Franz Baring, a Lutheran pastor. His
son John established himself in Exeter as a cloth manufacturer,
and left a large fortune. Two of his sons came to London, and
set up in business as importers of woollen and dyed stuffs. One
brother then withdrew ; and the other, Francis, wound up his
old business, and devoted himself to banking. He became the
friend and financial adviser of Lord Shelburne, then Prime Min
ister, who used to style him ' the Prince of Merchants.' Francis
Baring was therefore the founder of the house of Baring, and
he was made a baronet in 1793 by Pitt, then Prime Minister.
Dying in 1810, he left two millions sterling as the capital of the
firm. His sons succeeded to the business, which was considered
as only second to that of the Rothschilds.
For many years the house was managed by Alexander
Baring, who married in Philadelphia in 1798 a daughter of
William Bingham, who inherited, on the death of her father, a
million of dollars. The prosperity of Baring Brothers augmented
materially under the able direction of Alexander Baring, who
was acknowledged as one of the highest commercial and finan
cial authorities in London. He served in Parliament for many
years, and exercised great influence. In 1828 he retired from
the banking-house, and was raised to the House of Lords in
1835, with the title of Baron Ashburton. Just at the time he
withdrew the managing partner died, and Mr. Bates was chosen
to fill his place. He had already resided some years in London
* Since that period the tone of the English aristocracy is much modified, both at
home and abroad.

London Revisited. 367

as the agent of William Gray of Boston ; and in this capacity
Mr. Bates frequently came into business contact with Alexander
Baring, upon whom he made so favourable an impression that,
the moment an opportunity offered, he was invited to enter the
house of Baring. This was a splendid rise in his fortunes, and
far beyond his dreams when he left Boston as a mere confi
dential employe".
When I first met Mr. Bates he was apparently some forty
years of age, of lofty stature, and robust in person ; he had all
the gravity of demeanour characteristic of the English world.
This, however, was a matter of temperament with him. His
face had a quiet pleasant expression ; but his gleaming eyes
revealed the activity and force of his intellect. In manner and
language he was always sedate to solemnity. In short, he was
the embodiment of a shrewd cautious man of business, and
rendered immense services to the house of Baring for the many
years he was connected with it. It often occurred to me, when
thinking of him, that he was just one of those rare beings whose
conformation, mental and physical, was so evenly balanced that
he could not fail to pursue a steady course amid all the fluctua
tions and temptations of life. He reminded me of the words of
Sir Walter Scott when writing of Byron. ' Those,' he said, ' who
are gifted with strong nerves, regular temper, and habitual self-
command are not, perhaps, aware how much of what they may
think virtue they owe to constitution.'
Mr. Bates resided in Portland-place, only a few doors from
the Minister, and I soon became an liabitue of his hospitable
mansion. His wife was a Miss Sturgis of New England, and was newly
married when she came to London. She was a handsome
woman, with a very kind genial disposition. They had an only
child, a daughter, barely sixteen. She had the dark eyes and
regular features of her father, with much of his reserved dispo
sition. She promised to grow up a striking beauty, and was
sole heiress to a large fortune.
I was highly gratified one day, when calling on the Minister,
to meet the Hon. Richard Rush, who had been lately sent to Lon
don by the President to recover, through the Court of Chancery,
a legacy left by Mr. Smithson, to found a scientific institution
at Washington. Mr. Rush was a citizen of Philadelphia, and a
son of the distinguished physician, Dr. Rush, an intimate friend

368 London Revisited.

of Washington. For many years he had occupied prominent
official positions, and had acquitted himself in all with honour.
He was an amiable high-bred man, but with a certain formal
dignity which belonged to a school of manners dying out in the
United States. He was one of the last representatives of the
American gentleman of the olden time.
I was chatting with Mrs. Stevenson one morning, when the
Marchioness of Wellesley was announced. I was exceedingly
glad of the opportunity of making the acquaintance of this once
celebrated beauty. She was. the granddaughter of Charles
Carroll of Carrolton, and first married Mr. Patterson of Balti
more. She was cordially received in the best circles when she
came to Europe, and her handsome person and graceful manners
were universally extolled. She visited Paris soon after the
battle of Waterloo, when the allied sovereigns and the victorious
generals were residing there. One day she was present at a
banquet given by a foreign ambassador, and among the dis
tinguished guests was the hero of Waterloo, the Duke of Wel
lington. He was chatting with Mrs. Patterson when dinner
was announced, and the Duke offered her his arm. As if over
powered by the compliment she instinctively shrank back ; and
the Count D'Artois, afterwards Charles X., who witnessed the
incident, was so charmed with her modesty that he approached,
and begged her acceptance of a rose that he plucked from some
flowers near him.
She came again to England after the death of her husband,
where she met the Marquis of Wellesley, elder brother of the
Duke of Wellington, who achieved great fame as Governor-
General of India. The Marquis became desperately enamoured
of the beautiful widow, and offered her his hand ; which she
accepted, and England was henceforth her permanent home.
I naturally regarded her with lively interest when she entered
Mrs. Stevenson's drawing-room. Tall and commanding in ap
pearance, her figure was still perfect, and her face bore many
traces of the beauty for which it was formerly so remarkable.
Nothing could be more distingue than her mien, and her conver
sation, though serious, was none the less pleasing. Two of her
younger sisters, the Misses Caton of Baltimore, were equally
noted for their personal charms, and both married into the
English nobility. One espoused the Duke of Leeds, and the
other Lord Stafford.

London Revisited. 369

One of the last balls of the season took place at the elegant
residence of Mr. Mansfield in Upper Grosvenor-street. I men
tioned previously that this gentleman, when Secretary of the
British Legation at Washington, married the daughter of General
Smith of Baltimore. Inheriting a large fortune, he abandoned
diplomacy, and settled down with his handsome wife in Eng
land. His house in London, and his lovely country place in
Hertfordshire, were the favourite resorts of the fashionable world,
attracted more by the tact and winning manners of the Mans
field family than by their sumptuous entertainments. Though
without title, Mr. Mansfield was highly connected, and belonged
to that class of the landed gentry I have spoken of.
It often surprised foreigners in London to meet the ilite of
the aristocracy at the houses of people without title — not aware
that many families not included in the peerage boasted of a
descent more ancient than a majority of those who wore
coronets. Good family and fortune were indispensable to a
fashionable position ; but many of those whose salons were
the most crowded could not boast of handles to their names, to
use a familiar expression. This was the case with the Mansfields ;
and at their ball, on the night referred to, I met with many
members of the Cabinet, and a splendid array of the rank and
wealth of the town. Lord Melbourne, the Premier, was there,
chatting gaily, as was his wont. He was celebrated for his cynical
wit, and I was amused at ofie of his sallies. An enthusiast was
boring his lordship with a description of an oratorio he had
recently heard.
' It was beautiful,' he said, ' and so wonderfully difficult/
' Difficult !' repeated Lord Melbourne ; ' I wish it had been
impossible ;' and he turned away to talk on some topic more
congenial to him.
I observed Lord Palmerston in the throng, with his usual
airy manner, but dignified tone. Who could imagine that this
great statesman, in his early days, was remarkable for his levity
and gallantry ? He was once the hero of Almack's, and intro
duced the German waltz into England, which so scandalised
Byron that he satirised it in some of his beautiful verses :
' Not Cleopatra on her galley's deck
Displayed so much of leg, or more of neck
Than thou, ambrosial Waltz, when first the moon
Beheld thee twirling to a Saxon tune.' BB

3 70 London Revisited.

My attention was attracted by a handsome man, with lumi
nous eyes, and a dark full beard, which showed he was a foreigner,
as no English gentlemen wore beards at that time. Only officers
of the army were decorated with a moustache. The foreigner I
am speaking of was clad in a gold-embroidered coat of great
richness, and the hilt of his sword was thickly set with large
diamonds. On inquiry I found it was Duke Charles of Bruns
wick, cousin of the King. He was a direct descendant of the
Guelphs, who date from the eleventh century. The contests
between the Guelphs and the Ghibellines kept Italy and Ger
many in hot water for over three centuries. The father of the
Duke was a brave soldier, and was killed at Waterloo ; and his
grandfather also died in battle. The quiet-looking man I was
gazing at, though only thirty-two, had finished his ducal reign.
He mounted the throne of Brunswick in 1823, and began at
once his machinations against the constitution adopted in 1 820.
Besides this he indulged in countless vagaries, to say nothing of
his tyrannical tendencies, which all led to such an uproar in the
country that he was finally forced to abdicate, and retired to
England. He retained possession of his great wealth, and had
an extraordinary collection of diamonds. He was very fond of
law-suits, and never lost a chance of provoking one. He slept
during the day, and dined at midnight. He was full of oddities,
though he looked inoffensive enough in a ballroom. The Royal
Family avoided him altogether, and he never went to Court.*
Forrest came to London in July, to talk over an engagement
that had been offered him to play at Drury Lane Theatre in
October. He was ambitious to appear in London, but had
doubts of his success. He thought the prejudice so strong
against Americans that he should be bitterly criticised, if not
worse. I took an opposite view, and believed he would meet
with a cordial reception. I considered his acting superior to
any tragedian on the English boards, and urged him earnestly
to accept an engagement, which he finally decided to do. But
as he publicly declared, when he left home, that he did not go
abroad to play, he determined to return to New York rather
than break his word. To make two trips across the Atlantic,
in a sailing-ship, for the mere formality of keeping his pledge,
about which nobody cared, I deemed quixotic ; but there was
* The Duke of Brunswick died in 1878 at Geneva, bequeathing his large for-
une to the town.

London Revisited. 371

no persuading him out of it. So, for conscience' sake, he set off
in August on his pilgrimage, promising to return by the end of
September. He narrowly escaped paying dear for his folly, as
the coach in which he travelled to the port of embarkation was
upset, and several of the passengers had legs or arms broken.
Luckily Forrest escaped with only some contusions.
I renewed my pleasant relations with the Dunlop family
soon after my return to London, and dined with them repeatedly.
Miss Gamble seemed as charming as ever, and I took great
delight in her merry society. I accompanied the Dunlops one
evening to a party at the house of Miss Rogers, in Regent's
Park, the sister of the celebrated poet and banker, Samuel Rogers.
The company was large and distinguished. Amongst others,
Miss Stephens, the admired singer, was there, and enchanted all
with her exquisite voice. Not long after, she married Lord
Essex. I was greatly. captivated by a rare collection of pictures
that adorned the house. One was pointed out that had so
fascinated Sir Joshua Reynolds that he said, if he could only
obtain it, he would be too happy to cover it twice over with
guineas. The object, however, of greatest interest to me was
Rogers the poet. The son of a rich banker, he continued a
member of the house after his father's death. He devoted him
self chiefly to poetry, and wrote some memorable compositions.
The Pleasures of Memory, perhaps, is the best known. The
following lines, referring to one thought suggesting another, are
often quoted :
' Lulled in the secret chambers of the brain,
Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain ;
Awake but one, and, lo, what myriads rise !
Each stamps its image as the other flies.'
He was a singular-looking man, short and stout, with a face
pallid to ghastliness, and a voice strangely sepulchral. It was
difficult to fancy him the author of such charming verses. He
was celebrated for his wit, which was of a somewhat mordant
turn. ' No one could offend him with impunity. His epigram on
Mr. Ward, who had provoked him, was a proof of this :
' They say that Ward's no heart ; but I deny it :
He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it.'
He was reported to be slow of inspiration, and rarely uttered
an impromptu ; but on one occasion he made a very felicitous
paraphrase of a line of Horace. He was walking in the street

372 London Revisited.

with the well-known Roman Catholic Father Mahoney, when he
observed a negro approaching them. Affecting alarm, he ex
claimed, ' Hie niger est — nunc tu, Romane, caveto.'
' He is a black — beware of him, thou Roman.'
Though seventy-four years old, he was in the constant habit of
entertaining the best people in London, especially of the literary
world, which he had done for half a century. Everybody was
pleased to figure at one of ' Rogers's breakfasts,' when no one
contributed more liberally than himself to the common fund of
anecdote and racy criticism.
I was sorry to perceive soon after I joined the Legation that
unpleasant relations existed between the Minister and the Secre
tary of Legation, Theodore S. Fay. The latter gentleman was
well known in journalism, having been associated with N. P.Willis
and G. P. Morris in editing the New York Mirror. He was, au
fond, an amiable man enough, but one of the genus irritabile.
The Minister, on the other hand, was a rough-and-ready sort of
man, in the habit of exercising authority and expecting prompt
compliance. In fact, they were so opposite in character that
disagreement was inevitable ; and though I made constant efforts
to pour oil on the ruffled waters, the estrangement at last grew
complete. The Minister appealed to Washington, and desired
the removal of Mr. Fay to some other post. Finally he was
transferred to Berlin, and Mr. B. Rush, son of the former Minister,
Richard Rush, was sent to take his place. The latter gentleman
was as bland and obliging as the susceptible Fay had proved the
contrary; and thenceforward matters at the Legation resumed
their wonted smoothness. Mr. Fay, in the tranquil sphere of
Berlin, where diplomatic labour was far less onerous than in
London, devoted his leisure to literature, and wrote some very
popular novels. After some years at this post he was sent as
resident Minister to Switzerland.
I made the acquaintance one day of Mr. Stephen Price, then
a resident of London. He was a New Yorker by birth, and
inherited a handsome property. During the earlier part of his
career he had a duel with Mr. McKenzie, afterwards better
known as Slidell, the Senator from Louisiana. Jealousy led to the
quarrel ; and in the rencontre Price was severely wounded. Grow
ing tired of an idle life, he gave way to his penchant lot theatricals,
and became part-lessee of the Park Theatre, New York. After

London Revisited. 373

some years he came to London, and assumed the direction of
Drury Lane Theatre. In this venture he damaged his fortune,
and finally retired from it a wiser, if a poorer, man. He was an
odd kind of a man, and not one of the most conciliating of
mortals in point of disposition. He was cross-grained and
arbitrary, but well-informed, good-hearted, and very hospitable.
He had a fine house in Tavistock-square, and gave frequent
entertainments, where you were always sure to meet all the well-
known men of the day, literary, journalistic, and artistic.
James Smith, who with his brother Horace wrote those re
markable parodies in verse called the Rejected Addresses, dined
there frequently. He was a great wit, and often ' set the table
on a roar,' though he preserved meanwhile a solemnity of visage,
as if wholly unconscious of the cause of merriment. He was one
of the few humorists I ever met who did not laugh the loudest
at his own sallies.
Theodore Hook was another habitue of Price's table. He was
the editor of a popular weekly journal, and his articles were
always written with force and pungency. He was a ' diner-out'
of great repute, and his conversation overflowed with bons mots
and repartee. One of his favourite feats was to spin verses on all
the persons assembled at a dinner, and this he did with the greatest
facility and point. He was a practical joker, too, of no mean
order when circumstances prompted it. I heard a good story of
his skill in this line. He was out upon a country walk one day
with some friends, when they were all overtaken by the pangs of
hunger. There was no inn nearer than some five or six miles,
and they bemoaned their sad fate at so long a delay. Of a sudden
Hook proposed they should go and dine at a fine mansion loom
ing in the distance.
' What nonsense !' echoed his party.
' I am serious,' responded Hook ; ' and if you will only follow
my instructions, I guarantee you the best the house can provide.'
He then suggested they should pass themselves off as a body
of surveyors, who had come to select the line of one of the new
railways then under consideration for this part of the country.
Greatly diverted at the proposition, they followed their jovial
leader, who made his way at once to the house in question, and
singled out the beautiful lawn as the proper theatre of operations.
Spreading themselves all over it, they began with their walking-
sticks to measure out the ground, assuming meanwhile the

374 London Revisited.

serious aspect of conscientious officials wholly intent on their
work. Of course they were seen at once by the family from the
windows of the drawing-room opening on the lawn, and servants
were sent out to order them away.
' We are engaged,' said Hook gravely, ' on Government work.'
When this was reported, the master of the manor came out
quite perplexed to know what they were at.
1 Only laying out the line for the new railway,' returned
Hook, shouting at the same time to his assistants to be a little
more spry.
' Good heavens !' ejaculated the astounded proprietor, 'a rail
way through my grounds, and right across my lawn !'
A parley ensued, and the surveying party were earnestly
invited to come into the house to talk the matter over, and to
see if there was no possibility of diverting the line a little farther
to the north or south. As the party admitted they had not yet
had time to dine, the larder was emptied of its choicest contents,.
and the rarest wines were brought from the cellar. At the end
of a delicious repast the soi-disant surveyor announced that he-
would do his best to spare the lawn, and, if practicable, to take
the railway by a different route. His unsuspecting host was
overjoyed, and, hearing the party had some distance to travel,,
immediately ordered his carriage to convey them to their desti
nation. 'Hook and I and the rest of us,' said my informant,
' came away jubilant over our bold stroke, that procured us a
glorious dinner our victim could well afford/
Another intimate friend of Price I often met was a popular
physician, who was celebrated for his voice of unrivalled sweet
ness. It was a rare treat to hear him sing one of Moore's Melo
dies, and it was impossible to listen to his execution of ' Oft in
the stilly night' without deep emotion. He was a handsome
man, with a soft and winning manner. He had a large practice
and a wide circle of friends. He was fond of company, and
entertained delightfully at his comfortable house in .Audley-
street At the pressing request of Price I got the Minister to
appoint him ' Physician to the American Legation,' which added
to his prestige in London eyes. One day, somewhat later on, I
was startled to learn the admired Doctor had disappeared, and
his wife and children were in great trouble at his mysterious
eclipse. Not long afterwards his friends were shocked to discover
that he had left the country, and, what was worse, had taken as

London Revisited. 375

a travelling companion the wife of one of his friends. The
demented couple made their way to New York, intending to
begin life anew in a new world. They soon began to see things
in a clearer light in that bright atmosphere, and their illusions
rapidly vanished. They mutually confessed they had made a
mistake, and that the best thing was to go right back and admit
it. So off they started for their desecrated homes, full of repent
ance and apologies. How the erring lady fared I know not ; but
the irresistible Doctor, by degrees, recovered many of his old
patients, and not a few of his indulgent friends. In spite of his
meek looks and mild manners he evidently had confidence in
himself, and, above all, in the magic of his voice. He felt quite
sure, ' Though he had cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack,
He knew, when he pleased, he could sing them all back.'

CHAPTER XXXVII.
LONDON REVISITED {continued).
FORREST AT DRURY LANE — THE LONDON PRESS.
As the news began to spread through the theatrical world that
an American tragedian was coming to challenge English criticism
on the boards of Drury Lane, a considerable movement soon
revealed itself in dramatic circles. Some were curious, others
friendly, but not a few decidedly hostile. As I had been
urgent in my advice to my friend Forrest to try his luck in
London, I felt a keen sense of responsibility, and began to think
the matter anxiously over. He had selected for his dibut the
rSle of Othello ; but I came to the conclusion that this was in
judicious. It would arouse the prejudices of the friends of Mac-
ready and Kean to see a foreigner undertake a part which both
of these favourite actors had played with great success ; and as
their version was pronounced quite perfect, Forrest's impersona
tion would be condemned if it differed, as it was sure to do, from
the accepted standard. It occurred to me that it would be wiser
if he appeared in some character where comparisons could not
be instituted, where criticism would be more disinterested, if not
disarmed. Full of this conviction, I went to the manager of Drury Lane,
who knew of my intimate relations with Forrest, and laid my
views of the matter before him. He was influenced by my rea
soning, and asked what I proposed to substitute for Othello. I
handed him the play of the Gladiator, which was not only un
known in London, but was one of Forrest's grandest rSles. He
told me next day, after reading it, that he was quite of my
opinion, and would set to work at once in getting it ready. A
fortnight after, the tragedian arrived in London, and was at first
annoyed to hear the Gladiator was in preparation for his first
appearance, but I soon won him over to my point of view.
On the 17th of October he made his bow to the British
public. Old Drury was crowded from pit to ceiling with an
eager and excited audience: All the friends of the popular

London Revisited. 377

actors of the day congregated in force. The American Minister
and all the fellow-countrymen of Forrest were likewise present.
There was silence till Spartacus, the Gladiator, came forward,
when a hearty shout of welcome broke forth from all parts of the
house. His magnificent person astonished those who had never
seen him. His rich and powerful voice thrilled all who had not
heard it. His earnest impassioned acting quite electrified the
audience. At the end he was overwhelmed with applause, and
it was plain he had secured a hold on British sympathies which
he never lost. There was a clique present, who were disappointed
by his success, and when he appeared at the general demand to
make his acknowledgments they raised a cry of ' Shakespeare,
Shakespeare !' Their object was evident. The partisans of the
popular actors of the time knew it would be easier to arouse
opposition to a foreigner should he attempt roles the public
were accustomed to see played according to the idiosyncrasies
of the tragedians who had successfully assumed them, and which
only proved my judgment was correct in suggesting an original
part for Forrest's dibut. The press was almost unanimous in
its approval, though some among them, it must be admitted,
were ' Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike ;
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike.'
I will extract a paragraph or two from one of the London
journals as a fair sample of the criticism on the occasion.
' So much interest/ said the writer, ' has not for a long time
been felt in any event connected with theatrical affairs as was
on Monday night occasioned by the first appearance at Drury
Lane Theatre, and on English boards, of Mr. Edwin Forrest, the
American tragedian. After witnessing Mr. Forrest's representa
tion, we can acknowledge that in him the States have com
menced the repayment of a heavy debt long due to the old
country. . . . The characteristics of his acting are simplicity,
sincerity, and energy. Subtleties of passion — passion highly
spiritualised — would, we should suppose, utterly baffle him, while
to the broad feelings which are the foundation of all hearts he
can impart an extraordinary power. His action is full of variety
and grace, but at the same time it partakes overmuch of the
athletic style. There were several passages, not points, in Mr. For
rest's performance which were exceedingly fine. The agony of
generous grief, subduing the desire of vengeance, which he dis-

378 London Revisited.

plays in the last act was expressed by him with tremendous
force, which reminded us above anything we have ever seen
on the stage of the face of the Laocoon, or of Canova's Hercules
writhing under the tortures of the poisoned scarf. On the whole,
and with every allowance for blemishes, Mr. Forrest's Spartacus
must be pronounced a noble piece of acting. We must add that
Mr. Forrest's reception was such as his warmest friends could
desire : it was enthusiastic in the extreme on his entrance ; he
was frequently applauded heartily during the performance ; and
at the end he was called before the curtain, and greeted with most
prolonged cheering, and waving of hats and handkerchiefs from
all parts of the house. More enthusiasm, in fact, we scarcely
ever witnessed on the part of an audience in a British theatre/
The Gladiator was twice repeated to immense crowds ; but
such was the reiterated demand for ' Shakespeare' that Othello
was announced. One of the papers remarked on this notification :
> Othello will be a great test of his talents, for of late years
audiences have seen Kean, Young, C. Kemble, Macready, and
Vandenhoff in this character, and they have therefore formed a
standard of excellence by which they can measure the abilities
of any new aspirant.' Forrest's Othello stirred up the critics
tremendously. The impersonation differed materially, as I knew
it did, from the 'standard of excellence ' just alluded to, and
he was sharply assailed by the partisans of the rival actors ; and
I considered it fortunate, as Forrest did also, that he had not
made his first appearance in this character. He was too firmly
established by his acting in the Gladiator to be damaged by
interested disparagement or the clamour of a cabal. He con
tinued to grow in favour, and played during the winter of 1836
and the spring of 1837. His longest run was in Macbeth.
Forrest received many gratifying compliments. His brethren
of Drury Lane presented him with a gold snuff-box; and some of
the leading members of the profession gave him a dinner at the
Garrick Club, at which Macready and C. Kemble were present.
With his usual shyness, he declined many flattering tenders of
hospitality from distinguished admirers, and I had some diffi
culty in inducing him to meet a dinner-party at the Minister's.
During this period he renewed his attentions to the lovely
Miss Sinclair, and it was easy to perceive that he was yielding
more and more to the power of her incontestable attractions of
mind and person. I was not at all surprised when he told me

London Revisited. 379

one day that he had proposed, was accepted, and meant to
marry at the end of his engagement in the spring. I was glad
he had quite forgotten his anti-English prejudices, and congratu
lated him cordially on the future possession of so amiable and
charming a girl.
I was In raptures with the daily press of London. It far
transcended all I had seen in Europe. Materially the contrast
was striking — the paper used was so white and firm after the
thin dun-colour sheets of the French, and the type so distinct,
varying in size with the importance of the topic. The writing,
however, astonished me even more. The knowledge displayed
was masterly, whilst the style was remarkable for elevation and
grace. These conspicuous features were nevertheless subordi
nate to the amount and variety of information in their columns
— correspondence from all parts of the world, as well as prompt
and complete intelligence on domestic events. The parlia
mentary debates of the night were fully reported the ensuing
morning, and every new opera or play immediately criticised.
One other peculiarity struck me forcibly. In France and the
United States it was the editor, not the journal, that addressed
the reader. His personality took precedence, and his opinions
were duly set forth, often ostentatiously. But London journalism
was shrouded in mystery. The editors, writers, and contributors
were all unknown. The deities who inspiried the diurnal oracles
were wrapt in the same obscurity as those of the Greeks and
Romans. Of course this enhanced their effect. If they could
have been traced to a mere literary employe", the aristocatic world
especially would have sneered at them. This impersonality was
essentially English, and was characteristic of the social organi
sation existing. If a noble lord or a prominent statesman were
editing a paper, it might have given it importance ; but it would
lose it entirely if Brown or Jones, however able, announced him
self as the editor.
It was somewhat strange in a population not far from two
millions that only four leading morning papers were published.
There were also four evening ones, little read. It was stranger
still that the circulation of the morning journals was so limited.
The explanation of this was doubtless the high price of four
teen cents a copy ; and the principal cause of this dearness were
the various imposts levied by the Government. They were
subject to a tax on stamps, on advertisements, and on paper.

380 London Revisited.

Efforts were making to remove one or all of these, and this
would lead necessarily to a reduction in price.*
These papers were hired out by newsvendors by the hour,
and the reader could peruse them all for a less sum than the
price of one of them. Such was the enormous expense of a
London daily that even fourteen cents a copy would "not defray
it. The profit was on the advertisements, which were numerous
and costly.
Nothing was more extraordinary than the preponderance of
the Times over its rivals. It was not only far better written,
but its reports were more perfect, its news more extensive, and
its correspondence more complete. This was due to the supe
rior tact and capacity of the principal owner, who Was known
in the craft to be Mr. Walter. This journal was founded in
1788 by his father, but it owed its exalted position entirely to
the son. On one occasion the proceedings at a public dinner at
Glasgow, to the Earl of Durham, were brought to the Times by
relays of horses in less than twenty-seven hours. As the dis
tance is four hundred miles, the speed achieved was some fifteen
miles the hour — quite unprecedented. The same energy had
been displayed in mechanical improvements, but the greatest
feat was the employment in 18 14 of steam for printing the
Times, which produced four thousand copies an hour. Previous
to this the printing of the daily journals was by the hand-press,
which only supplied five hundred impressions the hour, and it
was therefore necessary to go to press early to get the paper
out in proper time in the morning. Consequently all news, how
ever important, that arrived after this was necessarily delayed
for twenty-four hours. With a view to economise time, it was
usual, before steam was introduced, to set up the paper in dupli
cate ; and even then it required ten hours to work off the Times
edition. This journal was the first to issue a double sheet, in order to
make room for its .excess of matter and flow of advertisements.
The press of the world is under obligations to the sagacity and
untiring assiduity of the then chief owner of the Times. He had
reaped meanwhile a splendid reward in the profits of his journal,
which was said to yield a net income of some 200,000 dollars per
annum. * Such was the condition of the London press forty years ago. The abolition of
the taxes mentioned has led to a great reduction of price and increased circulation.

London Revisited. 381

It was amusing to compare the Times of that day with a
number of the first newspaper established in England in 1622,
called the Certaine News of the Present Week, which may be seen
in the British Museum. The Times was the youngest of the four
daily papers. The Morning Chronicle was established in 1769,
the Morning Post in 1772, and the Morning Herald in 1780, but
the juvenile far outstripped all its predecessors. It is odd that
it was not till 1758 that any original composition appeared in
an English newspaper. In that year the celebrated Dr. Johnson
was employed to write original articles for the Universal Chronicle
and Weekly Gazette, and the essays of the great lexicographer
were afterwards republished in the Idler.
The London press was ever eager in its pursuit of the latest
news — the first want of a commercial community; but it took an
equally active part in the political discussions of the day. Each
paper was the organ of one of the two leading parties. The policy
of the Times was to give an independent support to the Govern
ment of the hour, as representing the opinion of the country.
One striking merit was shared by all the daily press in com
mon, for though there might be degrees of difference as to ability,.
there was none. whatever as to the high tone and good taste which
distinguished them alike. The moral effect of this on all classes
in England must have been very beneficial, but I fancy it was to
be attributed not a little to the manners of the day. Extreme
opinions or violent language were generally regarded with dis
favour, and the respectability of a journal or of an individual was
compromised by indulgence in either.
The weekly journals of London were not a whit inferior in.
capacity to the daily press.
The monthly magazines were very numerous and ably written.
One of them, the Gentleman's Magazine, was over a hundred
years old, having been founded in 1733. It was still vigorous
and much read in the country. It was curious to contrast its
style with that of sixty or seventy years previously. It then in
dulged in a pruriency of language and coarseness of matter which
reflected the tone of the epoch, but that would later have led
to its immediate suppression as an obscene publication. Who
reads nowadays the works of Fielding, written nearly twenty
years after the rise of the Gentleman's Magazine ? The growth
of refinement in diction and morals has been rapid, as it is mar
vellous bv contrast.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
LONDON revisited {continued).
EX-KING JOSEPH BONAPARTE — CONVERSATION WITH MR. MANSFIELD — ENGLAND
AND THE UNITED STATES DISCUSSED.
Calling one day, as I was in the frequent habit of doing, on
Mrs. Joshua Bates, I found her conversing in French with two
gentlemen who were evidently foreigners. After a word of wel
come I sat down to listen to the conversation. Mrs. Bates
directed her remarks chiefly to the elder of her two guests,
whom she addressed as Count. She seemed on familiar terms ;
yet there was a marked deference in her manner, which showed
she held him in great respect. My curiosity was excited, and I
contemplated him with great attention. He was beyond middle
age, though his hair was not gray, and his face was round and
fresh. The head was large and well-shaped, the brow ample, and
the features regular. He was about medium height, and some
what stout. His manner was unaffected, though rather reserved,
The countenance was remarkable for its mild and benevolent
expression. He talked with a certain deliberation, and only on
simple topics. After a little while he desired Mrs. Bates to
introduce me to him, and I was presented to the Count de
Survilliers. It was no other than Joseph Bonaparte, ex-King of Spain
and elder brother of the great Napoleon. I was filled with sur
prise and emotion at thus unexpectedly making the acquaintance
of this distinguished person. He asked me how long I had been
connected with the Legation, and next from what part of the
United States I came. Hearing that I was from Philadelphia,
he spoke of having resided there occasionally, and of knowing
many citizens of the town. When he rose to go, after bidding
adieu to his hostess, he said he should be happy to see me at his
house. Mrs. Bates congratulated me on having made a favour
able impression on her good friend the Count, who came often,
she said, to see her, and frequently consulted Mr. Bates on his

London Revisited. 383

financial affairs, as the Barings were his bankers. I went away
highly contented at my good fortune in meeting one of the
leading figures of the First French Empire.
The career of Joseph Bonaparte was full of startling vicissi
tudes ; more so than any other member of Napoleon's family.
Born in 1768 in Corsica, he was intended for the bar. In 1796
he was sent by Corsica as Deputy to the ' Council of Five
Hundred.' In 1797.be was made Ambassador at Rome. In
1 80 1 he signed the Treaty of Luneville on the part of France
with Austria. In 1802 he signed the Treaty of Peace with Eng
land at Amiens. In 1806 he was raised to the throne of Naples,
and by his conciliatory policy won the good-will of the people.
Against his will he was transferred in 1808 to the throne of
Spain, where his reign was disturbed by constant conflicts with
the English army under Wellington, ending in the disastrous
battle of Vittoria. In 18 14 he became Lieutenant-General of
the Empire, whilst Napoleon was struggling against the Allies
In 1 81 5, after the defeat at Waterloo, he embarked for the
United States. He chartered a vessel for this purpose, and
urged his brother the Emperor to share his flight. The risk was
great, as the sea was covered with English cruisers. Napoleon
refused, but Joseph reached the States in safety. He built a
princely residence at Bordentown, in New Jersey, and lived there
calmly for many years, occupied with agriculture and engaged
in the composition of his memoirs. He returned, not many
years after, to England, where he had since resided. This is but
a meagre outline of a career crowded with varied and moving-
incidents. Of all the brothers he was the most beloved by Napo
leon ; and it was his practice never to thwart the Emperor's
wishes, which the others repeatedly did.
I called at the mansion of the ex-King in Park-crescent the
day after meeting him at Mr. Bates's house, and left my card.
A few days later I received an invitation to dinner. I met with
a kind welcome from my illustrious host, and was presented to
the members of his household, Messrs. Maillard and Thibaud,
his two secretaries, and to Mdlle. Thibaud, the daughter of the
latter, a pretty girl of sixteen, with sparkling black eyes, and that
quiet subdued manner characteristic of young Frenchwomen. 1
recognised among the guests Lord Dudley Stuart, a prominent
public man of the day, who married a daughter of Lucien
Bonaparte, Prince of Canino, and a niece, therefore, of the

384 London Revisited.

Count de Survilliers. She was the only lady-guest at table, and
was exceedingly animated in manner and conversation.
Nothing could be more simple and unaffected than the bear
ing of the Count. There was a gentleness in his manner that
impressed all who approached him. As I contemplated his
benignant countenance and simple air as he sat at table, it was
difficult to imagine his career had been so stormy — that he had
twice sat upon a throne, had commanded armies in the field,
had presided over the destinies of France in moments of extreme
emergency. He spoke but little during dinner ; but towards the
close an inquiry was made by Lord Dudley Stuart as to some
event connected with Napoleon's reign, and, in replying, the
Count began to comment on the epoch in question. As he
went on he grew more animated. His recollections of men
and incidents were recalled with singular distinctness, and re
lated in language equally vivid and graphic. All sat silent in
rapt attention, and for nearly an hour he continued to talk,
revealing the unwritten history of many great events of which
he had been an eye-witness.
I constantly frequented the hospitable residence of the
Mansfields, where I was ever a welcome guest. Mr. Mansfield
was agreeable and chatty, a thorough man of the world, well
read, and of independent mind, with complete knowledge of his
own country, and a lively recollection of the United States, that
he always spoke of kindly. I never conversed with him without
benefiting by his sagacious observations. One day after dinner,
as we were sitting alone, I began to remark on the aristocratic
structure of English society.
' Nothing interests me more,' I said, ' than to observe with
what ready complacency the inequalities of social position
amongst Englishmen of all classes are acknowledged. Amongst
the aristocracy themselves the different degrees of rank are
cheerfully recognised, and the lower in title promptly give way
to those higher in the scale. At dinner, as at Court, all
are arranged according to their grade, and no one dreams of
disputing another's precedence. This classification in degrees
of dignity descends, I observe, through all gradations of society,
down to the very lowest. In the middle class the same willing
submission is accorded to all superior claims, whether founded
on money or accidental distinction. Even in the lower class I
perceive the same spirit prevails. Those in anywise better off

London Revisited. 385

are allowed a priority no one is inclined to contest. Among the
servants there is no such thing as social equality. Your butler,
housekeeper, valet, and lady's-maid have a room apart, and dine
by themselves, which the rest accept as a matter of course.
Thus, from high to low, the spirit of aristocracy leavens every
stratum of English society, and to one accustomed to democratic
usages, where one man is considered as good as another, the
effect is not only novel, but somewhat displeasing.'
' I can well understand,' said my cordial host, ' that to an
American our aristocratic organisation is strange, if not offen
sive. From the days of the Normans, who brought over their
feudal institutions with them — primogeniture amongst the rest
— the aristocracy have kept the lead in our society. They owe
this preponderance not so much to their wealth and privileges
as to their real merit and hard work. For several centuries
they were always in the front of battle, whether against the
enemy abroad or the assaults of tyranny at home. To them we
are indebted for Magna Charta and. all the liberties we enjoy.
In these days of popular progress they still maintain their ascen
dency. Instead of their swords they now use their intellect, and
fear no rivalry from any quarter. In Parliament, on the hust
ings, and in all public movements they are ever to the fore, and
in ability of every kind they display a marked superiority.
Above all, they are free from the petty jealousies of a caste, and
if they encounter a competitor worthy of high honours, they are
readily conceded, and one aristocrat the more is added to the
list. Voila tout. It is impossible, I consider it, to deny rank,
power, and wealth to an aristocracy which wins them by intel
lectual prowess, for nowadays that is the means by which alone
they can be achieved. The aristocracy are as energetic and as
much respected now as in the twelfth century, though their
tenure, so to speak, is rather intellectual than feudal. It is
natural that where an aristocracy has existed for so many cen
turies, and which is still socially as strong as ever, that its
usages, habits, and even prejudices should be copied and adopted
throughout the whole community. Besides, it strikes me the
aristocratic principle is deeply planted in the human breast.
Every man is struggling to get the better of the other in one
fashion or another, and succeeds if his intelligence is superior.
The homage paid to the higher intellect is a spontaneous con
cession from the lower one, and it is just as prevalent in your
CC

386 London Revisited.

democracy as in our aristocracy. You hurrah over your leading
men, your Jacksons, Clays, and Websters, as much as we do
over our Wellingtons, Greys, and Russells.'
'Yes,' I replied, 'but we do not give them hereditary titles
or fortunes ; and though we yield them precedence and defer
ence, it is all voluntary/
' Humph !' exclaimed my friend. ' You give them life-titles
at all events. The first soldiers are called generals, and the
statesmen are dignified with the appellation of excellency or
honourable. If you don't compensate them in proportion to
their merit and services, that is a fault of your system. My
doctrine is, " The labourer is worthy of his hire ;" and parsimony
to a great man often makes him a dangerous one. Our practice
is to pay well for valuable service, and consequently the highest
intellect is always at the command of the State. Our soldiers,
statesmen, and judges all know their efforts will be duly re
warded, and they struggle hard to obtain it. To those who are
indifferent to money, or who possess it, we give titles and deco
rations, for badges of distinction are always an incentive to
ambitious men.'
' I do not remonstrate,' I remarked, ' at bestowing honours
on distinguished men, but why transmit them to their successors,
who may be incapable ?'
' This only makes the prize,' answered Mr. Mansfield, ' more
tempting, and stimulates greater exertion. Besides, the families
that are ennobled or enriched are under bonds, as it were, to
sustain their prestige, which leads the son to emulate the deeds
of his father. How often this is proved in the history of our
aristocracy ! I think it invidious, if not illogical,' continued my
host, ' to institute comparisons between the institutions of dif
ferent countries, which are the result of antecedents wholly dif
ferent. History has made our system aristocratic, and yours
democratic. Time alone can show which will yield the best
fruits and enjoy the longest life. But one defect in your demo
cratic organisation struck me forcibly when I was residing in
the United States, namely, that your public positions are so
shortlived and precarious, and so inadequately compensated,
that the highest intellect of the nation is driven to private em
ployments, to the professions, and to commerce. This leaves
the public service in the hands of inferior men, which I consider
detrimental to the interests of the country/

London Revisited. 387
' I admit,' was my reply, ' there is some justice in your stric
tures. The term of office in our system' is too short and the
scale of remuneration too low to tempt superior men to devote
their lives to a political career, which may lead to injurious re
sults. But, as you suggested, what might be hurtful to you may
bring no harm to us, as the situations of the two countries are
so unlike. You alluded just now to primogeniture. There is
nothing in all your social structure so repugnant to an Ameri
can as bestowing on the eldest-born all the property and honours
of the family, and condemning the rest to inadequate support.
It strikes me as equally unjust and unnatural/
' Accustomed as you are,' observed Mr. Mansfield, ' to an
exact distribution of property amongst all the children, I can
imagine your dislike to primogeniture. Yet it is as much the
keystone of our system as an equal division is of yours. It is
your object to break up estates to strengthen democracy, and
ours is to preserve them to fortify aristocracy. Primogeniture,
however, is an ancient institution. It existed among the
Hebrews, the Egyptians, and the Greeks. Since the Christian
era it has prevailed all over Europe. It was overthrown by the
Revolution of 1789 in France ; but if the French aristocracy had
not become worthless, no Revolution would have occurred. With
us it has lasted since the eleventh century, and to it we owe the
preservation of our aristocracy, for mere titles without wealth
are a mockery. One advantage of the institution is that whilst
the eldest son preserves the family property and dignity, the
younger ones are forced to exertion. They descend into the
common arena, and battle with all-comers for preferment. Some
go into the army and navy ; some into the professions or into
commerce. They start with a good education, which they owe
to the paternal estate; and instead of jealousy of the heir, they
are proud to belong to a family of hereditary possessions and
honours. These younger sons I regard as the backbone of
England. Educated, well bred, and high principled, which is
their chief inheritance, they strive to sustain the lustre of their
family by earning more distinction. Our illustrious Wellington
was a younger son ; and he is now a duke, whilst his. father died
an earl. It is not the first time that a younger son has created a
title and a family greater than he descended from. William Pitt
was likewise a younger son, and became a Prime Minister, as his
father before him. Lord John Russell the leading man of the

j88 London Revisited.

day, is a younger son of the Duke of Bedford, and is adding to
the renown of his house/
' It would be mere prejudice,' I conceded, ' to gainsay your
arguments ; but I cannot help indulging it, brought up under a
system so opposed to yours, and which reposes on the absolute
equality of all men/
' You should say,' interposed my host, ' political equality, for
the intellects of men are no more equal than their condition or
their stature. Intelligence makes one man rich, and the want of
it keeps the other poor. Intelligence gives authority to one set
of men, and those without it remain obscure. Notwithstanding
your boasted equality in the United States, classes there are as
sharply defined as with us. You have an upper, middle, and
lower class, representing the different degrees of intelligence of
their members — the thinkers at the top, and those not so gifted
at the bottom. This is the universal law. No political schemes
or theories can reverse it. Goldsmith expressed this in two
lines : " For just experience tells, in every soil,
That those who think must govern those who toil."
In England there is nothing to present a man with brains reach
ing any elevation corresponding to his calibre. It is a mistake
that noble birth is requisite to success in this country. A
majority of the House of Lords, I may venture to say, represent
self-made families.'
' I have often heard,' I remarked, ' that it is a misfortune for
England that the land is monopolised by a limited number of
wealthy persons, and that if the peasant proprietorship which
prevails in France were introduced here, the lower agricultural
class would be greatly alleviated.'
' That is all twaddle, believe it,' asserted Mr. M. ' Look in
the newspapers, and you will see land advertised for sale in
every direction, from an acre upwards. Of course there are large
quantities held by wealthy individuals, which explains the high
culture nowhere equalled in Europe. Great capital is required
to make the land profitable, and large estates are constantly sold '
for the want of it. What is the result of the French system of
dividing the land? The peasants who own a few acres are
obliged to mortgage them in order to work them, and inquiry
would show that two-thirds or more of the land were really
owned by capitalists. Money is just as necessary in the tillage

London Revisited. 389

of the land as in any other business, and a great deal is indis
pensable to reach the high farming that is not seen out of
England. There are peers and commoners who hold a vast
acreage, but I doubt if they get two per cent on their capital.
A French peasant may get a bare subsistence out of his acre or
two, mortgaged as they may be, for he is content with one or two
children, and lives on thin soup. An English labourer is incapable
of thrift or economy of any kind. If you divided England among
them to-morrow, it would all come back to the capitalist at the
end of a few years. Brains and money monopolise land as all
other property. The stupid and thriftless have never been capi
talists since the world began/*
' It has often struck me,' I continued, ' that the influence of
your aristocracy must be beneficial. They are, as you allege, a
hard-working, well-mannered, well-conducted class, and their
example must be salutary.'
' You are right,' said Mr. Mansfield. ' Their good manners
permeate through all classes, who strive in this as in other
respects to imitate their betters. This explains the quiet civility
and good tone characteristic of the English people. The religious
habits of the aristocracy, and their high moral character, not
withstanding the laxity of a few, tell most favourably on their
countrymen of inferior position. In no country in the world is
the Sabbath so universally respected as in England, and nowhere
else is a higher value set upon morality of every kind. Another
trait which contributes to the popularity of our aristocracy is the
free and unaffected manner with which they mingle with all classes.
In the country their love of agriculture brings them into familiar
relationship with the farmer and his ally, Hodge. The turf, too,
in this country is neutral ground for high and low. In the town
you find the aristocracy figuring at the head of the thousand and
one societies that abound in England, where their oratory is as
* In the new 'Domesday Book' it is shown there are 33,000,000 acres of arable
land in England. In England and Wales alone there are 972, 8z6 persons described
as landowners — about one in twenty of the population. Of landowners of one acre
and upwards there are 269, 547. The aggregate holding of the 100 largest owners
is 3,852,000 acres. Of these 100 there are 47 holding from 20,000 to 30,000 ; 27 with
30,000 to 40,000; 8 with 40,000 to 50,000; 8 with 50,000 to 60,000; 3 with 60,000
to 70,000; a with 70,000 to 80,000; 2 with 80,000 to 90,000; 3 with over 100,000
acres. The 12 largest owners, as regards area, in England and Wales are the Duke
of Northumberland, Duke of Devonshire, Duke of Cleveland, Sir W. W. Wynn,
Duke of Bedford, Earl of Carlisle, Duke of Rutland, Earl of Lonsdale, Lord Lecon-
field, Earl of Powis, Earl Brownlow, and Earl of Derby.

39° London Revisited.
useful as their presence is encouraging. The fact is, an English
nobleman is very like, in his main characteristics, the rest of his
countrymen. He is practical, with strong commercial instincts..
He improves his land to enhance its value. He looks sharply
after his investments. He never bets on a horse without ex
amining his strong points. He embarks in no enterprise without
aiming at its success. Is it wonderful, then, the aristocracy are
rich, powerful, and respected ? Of course, a coronet is some
times worn by a fool or a roue. These are exceptions, and
where's the flock without a black sheep or two ?'
' Do you think,' I inquired, ' that the late Reform Bill, which
impaired the political power of the aristocracy, will diminish their
influence?' ' Just the contrary, I fancy,' replied Mr. M. ' They no longer
control the legislation, and are not solely responsible for any
shortcomings or blunders in that respect. The middle class
will hereafter be under equal political obligation, and less pre
judice will be entertained against the upper class in the minds
of the masses. I feel no apprehension or dislike of reform.
Whatever will tend to relieve or improve the condition of the
middle or lower class will never be opposed by the upper, for
they are sagacious and patriotic enough to know that the wel
fare of all classes should be considered and promoted to make
the nation contented and prosperous. It is just their solicitude
for the interests of all that makes our upper class so respected
and strong. In no country, I venture to say, are the various
classes more thoroughly united, which is the secret of the free
dom we enjoy. It is this union of classes that has stripped the
monarchy of an undue preponderance, and no man's liberty in
England is now at the mercy of royal caprice.'
' It is undeniable,' I admitted, ' that liberty and order are
most happily combined in your country. A man is really at
liberty to do what he pleases, so long as he respects the rights of
others. I saw this amusingly illustrated recently by a writer
who was commenting on the graduations of personal liberty in
different countries. " In England," he said, " you are allowed
to go on dangerous ice ; but great preparations are ready to get
you out in case of immersion. In France you are not allowed
to venture on thin ice at all. In the United States you can't be
prevented going on unsafe ice, and whoever chooses may help you
out." This is all true, and gauges very fairly the different notions

London Revisited. 391

of liberty that exist in these three nations. You alluded to the
monarchy just now. It strikes me it is reduced to well-nigh a
nullity in a political sense.'
' Not quite,' said Mr. M., ' though it has been gradually
shorn of all prerogatives inconsistent with the public welfare.
The imperious conduct of George III. would not be tolerated
now. In fact, the government of the country is confided to
Parliament, or rather, since the Reform Bill, to the House of
Commons. The sovereign must choose a Prime Minister accept
able to the majority of that House, and as long as he retains its
confidence he is the bondfideYLmg. He cannot be displaced except
by vote of that majority. If it is adverse, he can either resign, or
appeal to the country by a new election. Iftfhe new majority is
unfavourable, a new Minister must be selected in harmony with
the sentiments of the country. Now, by your Constitution, you
cannot get rid of your Executive under four years ; whereas
with us, if the policy of ours is distasteful to the popular branch
of Parliament, he is disposed of immediately. Our Administra
tion must therefore represent the interests and feelings of the
hour. Though the royal power is politically so much con
trolled, which insures its stability, yet its social influence is
always great. The King, who is only the symbol of our nation
ality, of the majesty of the nation, as the President is of yours,
albeit divested of " the divinity that doth hedge a king," can
make himself useful in a thousand ways. His words and his
conduct can stimulate or check the opinions of the country, and
give a true direction to the popular mind. Nowadays, the King,
like his meanest subject, is responsible to public opinion for his
high trust, which he is not likely to ignore. The King is ex
pected to be an example and pattern to all. The days of
George IV. are gone for ever.'
I rose at length, with my mind teeming with the reflections
awakened by this edifying conversation, and, bidding my clear
headed friend good -night, I went away plunged in cogitation.

CHAPTER XXXIX.
AN EXCURSION TO PARIS.
THE NEW AMERICAN MINISTER — A SUCCESSION OF STARTLING EVENTS>—
A RESPONSIBLE UNDERTAKING.
Towards the close of the year, I decided on making a brief
excursion to Paris ; and, dining one day with the Count de Sur-
villiers, I mentionedlto him my purpose, adding that if I could
be of any use to him, I hoped he would command my services.
After a moment's reflection he said I could render him a service
which he would appreciate highly, and that its nature would be
made known to me before I left the French capital. Somewhat
curious to know the nature of the commission proposed, I
simply bowed, assuring him that he might count on the zeal
ous performance of any task confided to me.
I took the steamer at London Bridge to Boulogne, and tra
velled thence by diligence. This I found the easiest, if not the
most expeditious, route to my destination. What a contrast
the wide uncouth-looking plains of France presented to the
highly cultivated lands and trim hedges of England ! But I soon
forgot this in roving through the gay streets of Paris, so bright
and animated after the foggy dull avenues of London. One of
my first visits was to our new Minister, General Cass, whom I had
met at dinner at Mr. Stevenson's on his way to his new post
some two months previously.
General Cass was a New England boy, and in 1802 became
a member of the New Hampshire bar. In 1806 he made his
way to Ohio, bent on achieving fame and fortune in the West.
He soon became a member of the Legislature ; and when the war
with England broke out in 1812, he took command of a regi
ment of volunteers, and made the campaign in Canada under
General Hall. At the close of the war he was appointed
Governor of the territory of Michigan, whither, in 18 19, he re
moved his family, with a view to a permanent residence. In
1831 he was made Secretary of War in the second Cabinet of
General Jackson, and in 1836 was named as Minister to France.

An Exmrsion to Paris. 393
Throughout his public career, both as soldier and civilian, he
invariably displayed abilities of a high order, and established
a reputation for integrity that gave him a strong hold on the
respect of his countrymen. His judicious investments in Detroit
had yielded him a large fortune.
I found him installed in the former mansion of the celebrated
banker Lafitte, and a splendid residence it was. He was a
genial man in manner, and his countenance, though pleasant and
bright, displayed abundant traces of shrewdness and keen calcu
lation. He was always circumspect and prudent, even to the
extent of perplexity in doubtful cases. The General was not
a copious talker, but far from reserved either in demeanour or
conversation. I dined with him the following day, and was
presented to his family. Mrs. Cass was a quiet unpretending
woman, and her three daughters resembled her in tone, and were
very prepossessing in appearance : one of them was strikingly
handsome. I found Paris just as I had left it some six months previously,
palpitating with emotions, and throbbing with sensations of every
variety, the very antithesis of sober, placid, imperturbable London.
Political passions were running high ; but the new Minister,
Count Mole, was doing his best to allay them. Those implacable
rivals, Thiers and Guizot, were for the moment out of power.
The King had managed to lay them aside, and had intrusted
the Government to a statesman of ability and high character-
With a view to upset him, Thiers and Guizot had smothered their
enmities, joined hands, and were moving heaven and earth to
effect a Ministerial crisis.
Only two months before, a daring insurrection was attempted
in Strasburg by Prince Louis Napoleon, the heir of the great
Emperor. Most of the garrison took part in it ; and for a
moment its chances were promising. It was quelled with diffi
culty, and the Prince was made a prisoner and banished from
France. Whilst Paris was gesticulating over this stirring event the
death was announced of the exiled King, Charles X., which
occurred in Austria ; and his youthful grandson, the Count de
Chambord, now became a new candidate for the disputed crown
of France. As the people were still ruminating over the demise of the
last brother of Louis XVI. and the prospects of the young Pre-

394 An Excursion to Paris.
tender, the town was startled by the news of another attempt on
the life of the King, on his way to open the Chambers for their
annual session.
On the top of this came the mortifying intelligence from
Algiers of the defeat of the French troops by the Arab chieftain,
Abd el Kader ; and this threw the streets and cafos of Paris into
great fermentation. In short, the troubled stream of Parisian life
never ran smooth for a moment ; it was always covered with
ripples, bubbles, and swift currents, with now and then a storm,
often portending a hurricane. Every day had its occurrence, its
lively incident, its moving event. All this, however, never checked
for a minute the French love of gaiety, and, certes, there was no
lack of amusement for all tastes. Theatres, balls, and dinners
kept the votaries of pleasure ever on the alert, and the winter of
1837 opened brilliantly.
The few weeks I had allotted to Paris dissipation were rapidly
absorbed in a round of festive engagements, and I was beginning
to think of my approaching departure, when one day a tall
dignified-looking man presented himself at my residence, and
announced that he was M. Presle, a confidant of the Count de
Survilliers, at whose bidding he had come to put in my hands a
number of valuable cases which had been in his keeping for some
years, and which now the Count desired should be sent over to
London. I replied that I would most cheerfully take charge of
them, and requested that they should be brought to my apart
ment immediately, as I was leaving Paris in a day or two. He
said he would call with them the next day, which he did ; and
they consisted of six boxes of various sizes, all stamped with an
imperial crown and the cipher N. I asked, with some surprise,
the nature of their contents ; and he stated that they were the
personal effects of the Emperor Napoleon, and had been brought
to France after his death from St. Helena, and deposited with
him. He also added that lists had been prepared of all the
articles, many of them being of great value ; and after they had
been verified by my inspection, ' would I be good enough to sign
them ; and then his responsibility was at an end.' I was not a
little troubled at the important nature of the duty I had under
taken, and almost trembled at the chance of any mishap befalling
these interesting relics whilst under my care. I spoke of my
anxiety to M. Presle ; but he comforted me with the assurance
that I had nothing to apprehend, with the reasonable heed I

An Excursion to Pans. 395

would doubtless exercise. The boxes were opened one after the
other ; and as the articles were taken out and compared with the
list, I could not be otherwise than deeply moved. Like thousands
of others of all lands, my enthusiasm for Napoleon was un
bounded ; and as my eyes fell successively on objects so closely
identified with his person, so intimately associated with his me
mory, I was profoundly affected almost to tears.
First, there was all the wearing apparel he had used at St.
Helena : his shirts, cravats, and handkerchiefs ; his coats and
breeches ; the three-cornered hat and gray overcoat I had so
often seen in portraits ; and even his red-morocco slippers, con
siderably worn. Then there were his uniforms, sashes, and
swords — one had belonged to Frederick the Great ; his alarm-
clock, that he always carried in his campaigns. Then the books
he had last read. Finally, a great variety of jewelry of extreme
value : his watches, snuff-boxes presented by the different sove
reigns of Europe, stuffed with diamonds ; and the very identical
collar of the Legion of Honour, in gold and precious stones, that
he wore over his imperial robes on the day of his coronation at
Notre Dame.
I went through the cases, comparing every article with the
numerous lists, which I signed ; and thus became answerable for
the safe delivery of all this property, of great worth in itself, but
a thousand times more precious from its near relation to the
greatest man of modern times. At the close M. Presle bade me
adieu, with a bon voyage, and the hope that no misadventure
would occur.
Every hour I seemed to grow more nervous over the safety of
the priceless property committed to my charge ; and I determined
to hurry back to London without delay. I left next evening for
Boulogne ; and, for greater security, I carried most of the jewelry
about my person. The grand collar of the Legion of Honour I
wore about my neck under my waistcoat. As ill-luck would have
it, a tremendous storm was raging in the Channel, and the
steamer was detained for two days till it subsided. I had all the
cases brought up into my bedroom at Boulogne, and was un
easy at leaving them for a moment. The attention of the waiters
about the hotel had been caught by the crown and cipher on
the boxes, and, in their prying familiar way, endeavoured to
extract from me some solution of the enigma. The French at
this time, especially the lower classes, were so rabidly infected

39^ An Excursion to Paris.
with Bonapartism, that if they could have got a clue to the real
contents of my packages, they would not have hesitated long
over a burglarious attack. I managed to elude their curiosity,
without ceasing, however, to keep careful watch and ward. More
than once in the night I got up to count over the cases, to see
they were all right. I heartily rejoiced when, at last, I got away
from France with impunity ; and my solicitude gradually dimin
ished as I approached London. My passport attested that I was
a member of a foreign Legation ; and consequently all my
effects were passed at the Custom-house on our arrival without
examination — no small source of satisfaction.
I drove at once to the house of the ex-King Joseph, and de
livered to his secretaries the various coffers and their treasures, say
ing I would come the following morning to go over the lists and
verify the contents. I called the next day at noon, and was most
cordially received by the Count. He remained in the room whilst
the lists were passed in review, and he seemed greatly agitated at
the sight of these touching reminiscences of his beloved brother.
More than once he retired for a short interval with his hand
kerchief to his eyes. At the close he thanked me with empresse-
ment for the service I had rendered him. Not very long after
this I had a visit one morning from M. Thibaud, who brought
me a note from the Count, which afforded me not a little grati
fication. The following is a literal translation of its contents :
London, March 22, 1837.
Sir, — You very kindly gave yourself the trouble to take
charge at Paris of various articles which belonged to the Em
peror my brother, and which you delivered to me here with an
extreme punctuality. You did not fear even to carry some of
them about your person for the sake of greater security.
I perceive also, by your language, that you bear to the
memory of Napoleon that just respect which they entertain who
knew him personally, and that posterity will not fail to award
him. I think, then, I shall give you pleasure, and testify, at the
same time, my gratitude and attachment, in begging you to
accept this silver cup, which I have taken from a campaign
service of Napoleon, that was for a long time in use, and which
I owe to his friendship. — Your very devoted and affectionate
Joseph N. Bonaparte, Count de Survilliers.
Henry Wikoff, Esq.
AttachHo the U.S. Legation at London.

An Excursion to Paris. 397
This flattering missive was accompanied by the gift alluded
to, which M. Thibaud handed to me enclosed in a morocco
case lined with satin. The goblet was stamped with the
imperial arms. I wrote the same day to his ex-Majesty a
grateful acknowledgment of the rare present he had bestowed
on me, assuring him that I would treasure it with almost reli
gious care.

CHAPTER XL.
LONDON REVISITED.
THE BELGIAN AMBASSADOR — ADVENT OF 'JIM CROW'— ANDREW JACKSON ALLEN-
HOLLAND HOUSE — A BALL AT COURT  A WEDDING.
One morning, soon after my return to London, I received the
following note :
Dear Mr. W., — I have just heard, though I cannot believe it,
that you have been in town some days, for I am sure you would
not forget your old friends at 30 Portland-place. If you have no
engagement this evening, we shall be happy to see you, having
a small party. — Yours sincerely,
Lucretia Bates.
Thursday. Of course I did not fail to present myself at Mrs. Bates's
hospitable house, make my apologies for apparent neglect, and
receive absolution. On this occasion I made the acquaintance
of M. Van de Weyer, the Envoy from Belgium to the English
Court. There was something very preposessing in his manner
and appearance. His dark eye was singularly brilliant. He
addressed me with a winning smile and refined courtesy ; made
sensible remarks without actually entering into conversation ;
but left the impression of a superior man. He was a product of
the Revolution in Belgium. Without position or fortune, he
resolved to achieve both. He began at the bar, and then threw
himself into journalism, where he energetically advocated the
separation of Belgium from Holland. When the struggle
against the Dutch began in 1830, he became the leading mem
ber of the Belgian Junto, and was sent to London to solicit the
aid of the English Government. Lord Palmerston, then Minister
for Foreign Affairs, determined to recognise the independence
of Belgium, and induced Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, son-
in-law of George IV., to accept the Belgian crown, which he did
in July 1 83 1. All this was the handiwork of M. Van de Weyer,

London Revisited. 399

and he continued for some time as the chief Minister of Leopold,
to consolidate the budding institutions of his native land. He
was afterwards sent, at his own desire, as Ambassador to Lon
don, where he enjoyed, not only the favour of the Court and the
Cabinet, but wide popularity in society. Besides his political
capacity and diplomatic adroitness, he was known as a brilliant
amateur in scientific pursuits. I met him often at the pleasant
dinner-table of Mr. Bates, and was not long in perceiving, nor
in the least surprised, that he had fallen a victim to the beauty
and infinite charms of the fair Elizabeth, sole heiress of the
house. Such a match would be mutually advantageous ; for
while it would raise the daughter of a ' Boston boy' to the Court
circles of England, it would bring a splendid independence to
the ambitious and successful man who built the pedestal on
which he stood.
A grotesque novelty, of American origin, presented itself
that winter at one of the London theatres, which at first was
considered rather vulgar, but at last became quite the rage. An
American, by the name of Rice, was advertised to appear in a
negro rdle — a thing then quite unknown in London. When he
came forward the audience was astonished and amused at his
extraordinary aspect. He was, of course, painted black, and his
attire was something quite indescribable. He was accoutred in
the picturesque, costume of the old negro wood-sawyer, seen
about our towns before coal was introduced. His coat — like
Joseph's — was of many colours, a thing of ' shreds and patches ;'
his trousers were full of fissures, and his hat was crownless.
His tall thin person thus bedizened, and his limping walk, were
so new and fantastic, that people first contemplated him in
silence, and then began to giggle. The feature of the night,
however, was the famous ditty of 'Jim Crow;' and this was as
complete a novelty as the rest. The refrain at the end of each
verse, ' Turn about, wheel about, do just so ;
And every time you turn about, jump Jim Crow !'
was accompanied by a rotatory movement, awkward, but very
comic, and in the true negro vein. By degrees Jim Crow and
his antics were on everybody's tongue, and his fortune was made
when some member of the House of Commons described a
political antagonist as the 'very Jim Crow of politics.' Rice,
who was a quiet well-conducted man in private life, went on

4°° London Revisited.

singing for months at the Adelphi Theatre, and every week he
introduced some new verses referring to the events of the day,
which made his buffo performance still more racy and popular.
Rice was well paid, and likely to become a nabob. The advent
of the American negro on the English stage, with his uncouth
grimaces and monkey pranks, so full of oddity and humour, was
quite a revolution, and sure to become permanently popular.
It was a phase of humanity totally unknown to this country, and
to Rice will belong the glory of having introduced the planta
tion black to the English world.
Forrest's engagement at Drury Lane closed at the beginning
of May. For the previous two months he had appeared twice a
week in Macbeth to crowded houses. The play was admirably-
cast, and in the Witches' Chorus all the leading English singers,
male and female, of the day were enrolled. Forrest's acting
was most effective ; and though a few captious ones objected to
his vehemence, yet the audience was always carried away by
his intensity. His chief opponent in the press was Forster, the
Thersites of the Examiner. His devotion to Macready rendered
him malicious and unfair to his American rival. All the lead
ing critics, however, extolled Forrest with great warmth; and
the most accomplished of them all — Oxenford, of the Times —
pronounced his acting in many of his roles incomparable.
Forrest had selected the middle of June for his wedding, and
preparations were already making for the joyous event. After
a short bridal tour on the Continent, he had decided to return
home, and renew his professional career.
Things were in this pleasant shape when one day he rushed
into my room, his cheek burning, his eyes sparkling with anger,
and, pacing up and down in great agitation, declared in a pas
sionate voice he intended to renounce his marriage. Surprised
and shocked at this abrupt announcement, I inquired the cause.
' Why, would you believe, they want me to settle what they
call a jointure on my intended wife !'
' Whom do you mean by they ?' I inquired.
' Her father and mother,' he replied, full of indignation.
' You seem to forget,' I continued, 'or perhaps are not aware,
that in this country it is an invariable usage to make what is
called a marriage settlement previous to the nuptials, and  '
' I don't care,' interrupted my irate friend, ' whether it is the
usage or not j I will never do it, that's flat. Do they suppose I

London Revisited. 401

will not provide sufficiently for my wife, according to my means ?
It is an insult and an outrage.'
' That is a wholly mistaken view,' I persisted. 'It is a matter
of custom here, and founded on prudence. The parents would
be censured by their friends if they allowed * their daughter to
marry, especially a foreigner, without the usual provision against
unforeseen contingencies.'
' If it is for my money,' he ranted, ' they propose to give me
their daughter, they may keep her. What right have they to
doubt my affection ? It is disgusting to demand a pecuniary
guarantee for my loyalty.'
Finding argument wasted upon him, and fearing lest in his
excited mood he would dash out of London and sail for home,
I determined to change my tactics. I knew he was deeply
attached to the fascinating Kate, and would be loth to lose her.
So I said, ' Will you put the matter in my hands ? If I cannot
stave off the jointure, why, then take your own course.'
' If you can arrange the matter according to my view,' he
replied, ' I shall be pleased, you may be sure. It is not Kate's
fault ; but I never will subscribe to any such degrading proposi
tion.' I drove up at once to Alfred-place, and had an interview
with Mrs. Sinclair, a very worthy woman. She told me how
astonished and distressed she was at Forrest's wayward conduct.
She considered it was her duty to ask for a compliance with
the usual English custom of a settlement, however modest, and
she could not comprehend, she reiterated, Forrest's motive in
refusing it in so impetuous a manner. I explained that jointures
were wholly unknown in the United States, where marriage was
never mixed up with money negotiations ; and that, in Forrest's
eyes, so strange a proposition seemed to imply a suspicion of the
sincerity of his attachment. Fortunately, whilst we were talk
ing, the lovely fiance"e came into the room, her eyes red and her
face ashy pale, showing what anguish this painful difficulty had
cost her. She earnestly besought her mother to listen to my
suggestion to waive any further discussion of this ' hateful settle
ment, and to put her trust in Edwin's honour and affection.' My
earnest representations, and her daughter's touching appeals, at
last overcame Mrs. Sinclair's sense of responsibility and her
maternal solicitude. She agreed to renounce what she deemed
not only customary but proper, and earnestly prayed she might
DD

402 London Revisited.

never have Occasion to regret it. I hurried off, at the pressing
entreaty of his betrothed, to Forrest's lodgings, who was really
overjoyed at the result. He was moved almost to tears when
I told him that my success was more due to the pathetic
remonstrances of his Kate than to my own efforts.
Attached to Forrest's suite in London was a great oddity,
by name of Andrew Jackson Allen. He officiated nightly as
the great actor's principal auxiliary ; but he more especially
prided himself on his functions of chief costumer. He designed,
and in part executed, the splendid dresses which Forrest wore in
his royal roles. He was a somewhat portly man, of about fifty,
with an honest good face, slow and dignified in manner, and
not without a due consciousness of his importance. Allen had
a sort of idolatry for the tragedian, and followed him out of pure
devotion. He might have got a better livelihood as a theatrical
costumer. He had one other worship, whose name he bore,
namely, the great soldier- President, Andrew Jackson. He spent
the most of his time, when off duty, in expatiating on the respec
tive merits of his two fetiches. He was an impressive talker,
and an earnest believer in his own opinions. There was, in his
conviction, but one great actor on any stage, and he would
demonstrate by the hour that Forrest was the prodigy in ques
tion. There was, to his mind, but one great man in the world,
and that was Andrew Jackson, whose renown it was his delight
to dilate on. He was quite deaf ; and it was amusing, when
Forrest set him talking, to hear the actor declare jocosely, in
an under-tone, the contrary to all he said, whilst poor Allen sup
posed it was a laudatory indorsement. More than once during
the winter Forrest and I were regaled at breakfast at Allen's
lodgings, where he had rigged up a griddle, and converted some
prime buckwheat he had imported into delicious cakes. He
was as proud of this feat as if he had conceived some original
design for a new dress. As long as he could make ' the boy,' as
he styled Forrest behind his back, happy he was ready to under
take anything short of abjuring General Jackson.
One day I was surprised to receive a visit from the eccentric
Allen, and I supposed he had brought me a message from
Forrest. He said no to my inquiry, and essayed to talk, but
seemed rather embarrassed. There was evidently something on
his mind, and at last I was obliged to ask why he had called.
Gathering himself up for the effort, he said :

London Revisited. 403

' Why, I have made a beautiful article, a portfolio, of my
finest gilt leather, and embossed with great elegance. There is
nothing like it jn London.'
'Ah!' I remarked, 'a present to the illustrious tragedian
doubtless.' ' No,' he answered.
' Well,' I queried, ' there can only be one other man you
would deem worthy such a gift — General Jackson ?'
' It is,' said he, in a low voice, ' for a woman.'
' What !' I exclaimed, in surprise, for the costumer was a con
firmed anchorite, ' can it be that an Englishwoman has over
come you ? I thought you too good an American for that.'
He winced a little.
' Well,' he said, after a pause, ' I intend it as a present to the
Princess Victoria from an American citizen.'
At first I thought it was a joke, but that was foreign to his
character. He rarely smiled, much less jested. Seeing my in
credulous look, he took from under his cloak a parcel he care
fully untied, and laid the object before me. It was certainly
quite a chef-d'oeuvre in its way. I expressed my admiration,
and then asked him how he expected it would ever reach the
Princess. ' That is just what I have come here for. I want you, as a
great favour, to send it to her, with a letter from me saying it
was made expressly for her.'
The poor fellow was wholly ignorant that the etiquette which
surrounded royalty made such a proposition preposterous, and I
tried to divert him from his fancy.
' What would Kentucky say, your native State,' I asked, ' if
it should leak out that you, a veteran democrat, had bent the
knee to royalty ?'
' Kentucky may say what she pleases,' asseverated the un
daunted Allen, 'if the Princess will accept my portfolio; for
then I can advertise the fact, and sell them by the dozen.'
' O, I see ; it is not an act ol homage, but a stroke of busi
ness you are aiming at. Not a bad idea, if it could be accom
plished/ ' I am sure you will try,' said the persistent Andrew, ' for
" the boy's " sake, who would be pleased at my turning an honest
penny, if I don't neglect him.'
' Very well,' I replied reflectively ; ' I will see what can be

404 London Revisited.
done, and let you know ; but there is little probability of success,
I warn you in advance.'
' If the Princess will only look at it,' declared -the Jack-of-all-
trades, ' she will never refuse it ;' and away he went, full of his
speculation. I was really desirous to do the simple-minded Andrew a
good turn, and I cudgelled my brains for some time in search
of the best course to pursue. Finally I decided the most direct
way was the best. So I wrote to Sir John Conroy, whom I
slightly knew, the chamberlain of the Duchess of Kent, the
mother of the Princess Victoria, and frankly stated the facts of
the case. I made no secret of the motive of the enterprising
Allen, as I explained that if the Princess deigned to accept the
portfolio, the manufacturer expected to derive considerable ad
vantage from the sale of similar articles. I added that he was
a respectable person, though in a humble walk of life. I des
patched my missive with the certainty of a polite refusal. I
was well aware of the irregularity of the proceeding, and if it
had been made on behalf of an ambitious Briton it would have
been scouted at once. Coming from an American, I felt sure it
would not be regarded as presumption.
A few days later I received a reply from Sir John, who said
he was authorised by the Duchess of Kent to state that the
Princess Victoria would accept the portfolio from its American
maker with great pleasure, and that he was at liberty to use her
name if he thought it would add to the popularity of the article
in question. He notified me he would be happy to receive Mr.
Allen with the portfolio, if I would bring him to Kensington
Palace on the ensuing Wednesday, at two p.m. I sent at once for
the triumphant speculator, and announced the unexpected intel
ligence. He was greatly exhilarated, but more touched by the
honour than elated at the prospect of gain. In the excitement
of the moment I thought he had forgotten the tragedian, and
General Jackson as well.
' What would Kentucky say now,' he exclaimed, ' if she heard
of such a compliment to one of her citizens ?'
' The least she could do,' I suggested, ' would be to run you
for Congress at the next election.'
He turned round abruptly, as if I had really meant it, and
vowed he would not leave ' the boy' to be elected to the White
House ; and I am sure he would not.

London Revisited. 405

On the appointed day, and at the proper time, down came
the jubilant Allen, with the portfolio enclosed in a handsome
morocco case lined with satin, and stamped with the royal arms.
Furthermore, he was attired in a faultless suit of clothes made
for the occasion. His shirt-collar was wonderfully erect, rather
more so than he was himself. As we entered the palace the
usually imperturbable Andrew showed symptoms that indicated
nervousness, and looked as if he would have preferred his old
hunting-ground * behind the scenes' to the royal residence where
he so unexpectedly found himself. We traversed, under escort,
several stately apartments of this fine old palace, where William
III. lived and died, and, when we halted at last, were requested
to wait a few minutes. Shortly after, Sir John Conroy appeared,
and received us most affably. I presented Mr. Andrew Jackson
Allen, and said he was deeply honoured by the condescension of
the Princess. The portfolio was then tendered to Sir John, who
deposited it on a table, and stated that he was commanded by
her Royal Highness the Princess Victoria to express her gratifi
cation at the gift, and added one or two complimentary remarks.
Andrew made a desperate effort to say something which he had
doubtless concocted, but it stuck in his throat. It was a clear
case of vox faucibus hasit. With a brief expression of my ac
knowledgments on behalf of the dazed Allen, we took our leave.
Now that the ordeal was over, the costumer rapidly recovered
his normal self-possession, and had the air of a man who felt he
had not been born in vain. As we drove away I remarked,
' Your fortune is made. You have only to manufacture port
folios, and advertise them " under the patronage of her Royal
Highness the Princess Victoria," and you'll sell bales of them.'
' I will never make another,' retorted Andrew.
' What do you mean ?' I asked, in surprise.
' I am so proud,' he said, ' of the honour conferred on me
that I will never tarnish it by a speculation. There is but one
portfolio of the kind in England, and that is in the possession of
the Princess Victoria. I will never make another.'
This was really a fine touch of feeling, and quite character
istic of the erratic Kentuckian. I applauded his lofty resolu
tion, and he adhered to it faithfully.
I paid a visit one day to Lord and Lady Holland at Hol
land House. This famous mansion was erected in the first years
of James I.'s reign. It stands in the suburbs of London, and in

406 London Revisited.

the centre of very lovely grounds, extending from Kensington
to Bayswater, about a mile in length. It was occupied at one
time by Charles I., and also by Cromwell. At that period it
was the property of the Earl Holland, the gay and graceful
courtier, who was reputed to be the lover of Henrietta Maria,.
the French wife of the Martyr King. The unfortunate Earl fell
under the displeasure of the grim Protector, and was beheaded
in 1649. His property was confiscated, and afterwards passed
into the hands of Stephen Fox, whose son was raised to the
peerage as Lord Holland by George III. A younger son of the
latter was the celebrated orator, Charles James Fox, who passed
his youth in this splendid residence. Its actual owner was the
third lord of the new creation, and nephew of the great states
man, whose eloquence he inherited. He was regarded as the
Cicero of the House of Lords, and his speeches, in finish and
elegance, were hardly inferior to his Roman model.
Holland House was considered the head-quarters of the Whig
party, and every week during the season its distinguished leaders
and a crowd of brilliant satellites assembled there at dinners
which were remarkable for the display of learning and wit, and
which have added to the prestige of this historical house. The
presiding genius over these famous reunions, and whose tact and
energy had called them into existence, was Lady Holland, a
woman of signal ability and force of character. She was ad
vanced in life ; but her face could not have been without charm
in her earlier years, though it was marked by a severity of ex
pression which indicated the despotic disposition attributed to
her. In this respect she offered a striking contrast to Lord
Holland, whose genial smile and kindly manner were very
engaging. Lady Holland's history was a romantic one. She was the
wife of a rich baronet, Sir Godfrey Webster, and whilst travelling
in Italy some years previously met Lord Holland. An intimacy
ensued, which resulted in Lady Webster conceiving a violent
attachment for the rising young statesman. The end of it was
she abandoned her husband, when their marriage was dissolved
by Act of Parliament, and soon after she espoused the new
object of her affections. The scandal connected with this event
damaged her with her own sex, who were never seen at Holland
House ; but the tastes of its new tenant rendered the society
of men far preferable. Some thought it was even more ambition

London Revisited. 407

than love that prompted her to throw aside a country baronet
to figure as the wife of an eminent statesman, and become the
tutelary divinity of the great Whig party.
Certain it is, under her adroit management Holland House
became the habitual rendezvous of all the great names of the
Whig world, whether political or literary. It is said the passage
of the Reform Bill was more fully discussed over the dinner-
table of Lady Holland than in the Cabinet itself. A distinguished
leader on the adverse side used to say, ' It was a misfortune the
Tory party had no Holland House to sustain them.' The glories
of the reign of Lady Holland have been consecrated by the
genius of Macaulay, one of the peerless galaxy who acknow
ledged the power of her magic wand.
A ball at St. James's Palace was ordered by the King on the
24th of May, to celebrate the coming of age of the Princess
Victoria. On that day she attained her legal majority of eighteen.
The crown would devolve on her, and it was strange it should ever
have reached her through so many adverse chances. George IV.
had an only child, the Princess Charlotte, who married in 18 16,
and died the following year, in her first confinement, with a still
born child. Thus two heirs were swept away. The next was
the Duke of York, second son of George III., who died in 1827,
without offspring. The Duke of Clarence, who stood next, mar
ried in 1818, and had no issue. Thus it happened that the Prin
cess Victoria, only child of the Duke of Kent, the fourth son of
George III., who died in 1820, would succeed her uncle, the reign
ing King.
Only a few days before the ball, it was announced the King
had fallen ill, and the supposition was general it would be post
poned till his recovery. The Duchess of Kent desired it should
be, but the King insisted on its taking place notwithstanding.
Queen Adelaide was in attendance on the King, who was lying
at Windsor Castle. Consequently the Duchess of Kent and her
daughter, the Princess Victoria, occupied the chairs of state that
would otherwise have been filled by the King and Queen.
The ball was unusually crowded, and a certain flutter per
vaded the whole assembly. No one could suppress the thought,
uppermost in all minds, that it would be strange indeed if
William IV. departed just as his heir had reached her majority.
The Princess was the cynosure of all eyes, as she sat for the first
time on the throne which might so soon be hers. Her face was

London Revisited.

somewhat flushed by the /novelty of her position, as well as by
the rumours of the King's increasing illness. But she displayed
a self-possession under the circumstances quite remarkable, and
was the theme of general admiration.
In person she was something under medium height, and most
symmetrically formed. Her bust was strikingly handsome, and
her features were small and regular, her complexion clear and
healthy. Her blue eyes were full of intelligence, and the ex
pression of her countenance was amiable, but not without firm
ness. She danced several times, and all were impressed by her
graceful and unaffected manner. The Duchess of Kent was a
stately-looking woman, and must have been highly attractive in
her youth. In demeanour, though dignified, she was gracious and
affable. She had given great cars to the education and training
of her royal daughter, to fit her for the high destinies that some
day awaited her.
The Duke of Wellington, who was regarded as the first subject of
the realm, the Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne, and his colleagues,
Lord Palmerston and Lord John Russell, were in close attend
ance, and in frequent conversation with the Duchess of Kent
and the lovely Princess. There was much animation, but not
the usual gaiety that enlivens a Court ball. All were preoccu
pied and abstracted by the thoughts and exciting reports con
nected with his Majesty's illness. I had the honour of dancing
a quadrille with Lady Fanny Elliot, the charming daughter of
the Earl of Minto, the First Lord of the Admiralty. Her en
gaging manners and sweetness of disposition were even more
winning than her admitted beauty.* The ball broke up rather
early. A week later the King rallied a little, and then relapsed.
Anxiety increased as his malady grew more unmanageable ; and
after lingering to the 20th of June he died, less than a month
from the festivity just mentioned.
The same day the Privy Council assembled at Kensington
Palace, and the young Princess entered the hall, leaning on the
arm of her uncle, the Duke of Sussex. Taking her place at the
head of the Council, the Lord President administered the oath,
' to govern the realm according to law, and cause justice to be
executed in mercy.' Whereupon each member of the Council
* This captivating woman married, in 1841, Lord John Russell, one of the
leading statesmen of the day.

London Revisited. 409

in turn knelt before Victoria, and kissed her hand as Queen of
Great Britain and Ireland. Throughout the ceremony her
dignity and grace impressed all present. She spoke only when
the ceremonial required, and addressed herself chiefly to Lord
Melbourne, the head of the Cabinet. Her discretion and tact
seemed to convince all she would be fully equal to her high
constitutional duties.
Out of doors there were universal signs of public satisfaction
at the advent of the young Queen. The immediate descendants
of George III. belonged to an epoch fast disappearing, and, with
the exception of the Duke of Sussex, none of them were
popular. It was over a century since Queen Anne had sat on the
English throne, and the glories of her reign in arms and litera
ture were recalled in the hope they might be equalled, if not
surpassed, under the sway of Victoria.
I was present, in attendance upon the American Minister, at
the first levee of the new reign, and the throng was immense.
The Queen wore the Order of the Garter, and her royal diadem
sat gracefully oh her well-shaped head. She went through the
trying ordeal with extraordinary composure, and all were struck
by the absence of anything like timidity or agitation, that might
have been expected on the first assumption of her queenly office.
Her political views were known to be in entire unison with
the Ministry bequeathed to her by the late King, so no change
in that respect was likely. The Queen was said to entertain a
strong liking for the Premier ; and no wonder, for Lord Mel
bourne was declared to be one of the most fascinating of men.
A pleasing physique, graceful manners, lively wit, and great
acquirements, he was a model at once of a high-bred nobleman
and an accomplished Minister. It could hardly be irksome for
the girl-Queen to transact official business with so finished a
courtier, whilst his experience and political tact would be of infi
nite service in initiating her into the mysteries of government.
It would be a sad day when party exigencies might compel her
to give up such pleasant guidance, and to enter into new relations
with politicians less prepossessing in exterior and less conciliat
ing in address. No woman, even though she wear a crown, can
be insensible to the personal attractions of the men about her ;
but an English sovereign nowadays must needs accept such
political association as Parliament in its omnipotence may choose
to ordain. Queen Bess was more fortunate in her day; for if

41 0 London Revisited.

she preferred a Cecil or a Leicester, she could retain him during
her august pleasure.
In the latter part of June the marriage of Forrest took place,
in the church of the parish he was living in, St. Paul's, Covent
Garden, which was built in 1633, and is said to contain the
remains of more celebrities than any church in London, save
Westminster Abbey. It was there that the handsome actor,
William O'Brien, married his runaway bride, Lady Susan
Strangways, eldest daughter of the Earl of Ilchester. Only a
limited number of the tragedian's friends were invited, as he
desired to avoid anything like a sensational display. Among
these were the American Minister and his wife, Mr. and Mrs.
Joshua Bates, Mr. and Mrs. Dunlop, and Miss Gamble, with
some others. The Rev. John Croly, the biographer of George
IV., officiated. I had the honour of figuring as Forrest's only
groomsman, or, as they call it here, his ' best man.' I do not
believe there ever was seen a handsomer couple who took each
other for better or worse than the twain who were nuptially
bound together that day. Forrest was just thirty-one, and a
model of manly beauty ; his bride barely twenty, and neither
poet nor painter ever dreamed of anything more lovely than
she appeared on her bridal day. Everybody gazed on them
with admiration, and declared never was seen a more beautiful
pair. From the church we adjourned to the house of the bride's
father in Alfred-place, where the usual wedding breakfast was
served with great luxury. The U.S. Minister, in a felicitous
speech, toasted the happy couple, and Forrest responded in the
best taste. Dr. Croly, even better known in the literary world
than the Church, delivered a very effective speech. At last the
speeches and jokes were over, and the wedding-cake cut and
distributed. Soon after three P.M. a carriage-and-four drove up
to carry off the newly-married ones on their bridal tour. The
nuptial habiliments having been changed for travelling costume,
they took their places, and departed under the customary shower
of rice and old shoes. They looked supremely happy as they
set off on their hymeneal trip, and everybody heartily wished
them God-speed.
After a honeymoon stroll of a couple of weeks about Eng
land, Forrest meant to return to London for a few days, when I
had agreed to accompany him and his bride on a short conti-

London Revisited. 411

nental tour. About the middle of July I received the following
letter : Stratford-upon-Avon, 14 July 1837.
My dear Wikoff, — I shall be in town on Thursday or Friday
next. Will you be good enough to order a suite of rooms to be
secured for me at the hotel we spoke of? Let them be retained
on Thursday, though I may not arrive till the following day ; and
please drop me a line to Alfred-place. My time draws on, and
I should like to leave for the Continent about the 20th instant.
What say you — can you be ready ? To-day I have been paying
homage to the memory of him who was not of an age, but for
all time. Truly this is a most interesting spot :
'Where his first infant lays sweet Shakespeare sung,
Where his last accents faltered on his tongue. '
Yours ever, E. F.
I was not a little amused that in his absorbing reveries over
Shakespeare's birthplace he had apparently forgotten all about
his fair bride, whom he never mentioned in his letter, not even
to send her regards. It was evident that neither love nor the
novelty of marriage had seduced his mind from his ruling pas
sion. The stage first, and everything else after.

CHAPTER XLL
LONDON REVISITED {continued).
DISRAELI'S ' MAIDEN SPEECH' — GLADSTONE'S TORYISM — PRINCE ESTERHAZY'S,
BALL  LADY POWERSCOURT.
A PARLIAMENTARY friend of mine suggested that if I cared to
witness ' a scene,' I had better go down to the House of Com
mons on a certain evening in July he mentioned, as Mr. Disraeli,
who had just entered the House, intended to make his maiden
speech. I resolved, of course, to be there, as I felt no little
curiosity to witness the first oratorical essay of this brilliant
writer of romance.
Benjamin Disraeli, born in 1805, was the son of Isaac Dis
raeli, the well-known author of the Curiosities of Literature. His
grandfather was an Italian merchant, who came to England
about 1750. Young Benjamin began his career as a clerk to a
London solicitor, where he led an idle dreamy life for some three
years. His employer complained that ' he did no work, but was
always scribbling some romantic trash or the like/ When he
was only twenty he startled the literary world by his brilliant
novel of Vivian Grey. The buzz of admiration had scarcely
subsided, when in the following year he produced Henrietta
Temple, which was followed up rapidly by other fictions of
equal merit. These various books displayed a power of imagi
nation, an analysis of character, and a splendour of diction of a
rare order. The young author then betook himself to Eastern
travel, and returned to England in the height of the Reform
agitation in 1831.
He then resolved to embark in political life, and thinking he
had little chance of favour at the hands of the Tory party, from
his want of fortune and family, he determined to join the ranks
of the ultra-Liberals. He obtained the support of two of their
prominent leaders, Hume and O'Connell, and under their
auspices offered himself for election in the borough of Wycombe
in 1832. He published on this occasion a Radical pamphlet,
entitled ' Who is he ?' which was the somewhat contemptuous
phrase used by Earl Grey with reference to the aspiring novel-

London Revisited. 413

writer. He declared in this electioneering pasquinade that ' to
fortify the democratic principle it would be necessary to obtain
shorter Sessions of Parliament and the vote by ballot/ He was
rejected at Wycombe. Whether it was the mortification of de
feat or that overtures had been made to him by the Tory party,
but all of a sudden he abandoned the Radical cohort, and went
over to the aristocratic camp.
In 1835 he came forward as the Tory candidate at Taunton,
and in the ardour of his conversion vigorously assailed his for
mer allies. He especially singled out as a butt for his sarcasm
the redoubtable O'Connell, who replied by denouncing him as ' a
turncoat, a charlatan, and a descendant of the impenitent thief
who died on the cross.' Disraeli was so stung by the scurrilous
language of his antagonist that he sent a challenge to Morgan
O'Connell, son of the peccant Daniel, who had made a vow
against duelling. The challenge was not accepted, but a great
hubbub was the result. Disraeli failed at Taunton ; but though
unable to get a seat in Parliament, he was obtaining great noto
riety, in the political world, which he was shrewd enough to
appreciate. In 1836 he published a series of powerful letters in
the "Times newspaper, signed ' Runnymede,' in which he indulged
in thebitterest irony at the expense of the Whig party. In July
1837 he was at last elected for Maidstone, and immediately took
his seat in the House. He had rendered himself, by his slashing
philippics, so obnoxious to both the Whigs and the Radicals, that
they were bent on seizing the first occasion to express their spite.
He made no secret of his intention to speak on a particular night ;
and the House was crowded to excess, in expectation of an ex
plosion. I was fortunate enough to get a place in the Diplomatic
gallery. The proceedings were dull enough at the outset. Parliament
ary speaking, both in the Upper and Lower House, was usu
ally tame to monotony. The conversational tone was generally
adopted, and anything like effective oratory was considered the
atrical and in bad taste. If such notions had prevailed in former
times, we should never have heard of the splendid bursts of elo
quence of such men as Chatham, Fox, and Sheridan. Mr.
Disraeli was pointed out to me, and he looked even younger
than he was. His head was adorned with a luxurious growth
of black hair, with a decided tendency to curl. His dress was
rather showy, more so than was customary here. His lace
interested me not a little. The features were regular, and the

414 London Revisited.

expression was striking. Cynicism and force were the marked
characteristics. He was clearly a man bent on making his way
over all obstacles and in spite of all difficulties. His demeanour
was singularly calm : not the least indication of nervousness,
not the faintest sign of anxiety. He was about to make his
maiden speech in the House, and probably anticipated some
opposition ; but he was apparently no more concerned at the
ordeal before him than if he had been waiting a summons to
dinner. How differently men are constituted ! Some of the great
est intellects that have ever adorned the House of Commons
have utterly succumbed in their first efforts to address it.
Sheridan did so, though he declared afterwards ' it was in him,
and would yet come out/ He lived to make his wonderful
oration on the trial of Warren Hastings, which Pitt, Burke, and
Fox pronounced a feat of oratory that eclipsed all they ever
heard or read of. The eloquent Erskine broke down in his
first attempt ; whilst the polished Addison rose three successive
times, and said, ' Mr. Speaker, I conceive,' and sat down finally
without being able to bring forth a single word more. Even
Cicero has left on record that the first time he addressed an
assembly of his countrymen his knees shook, and his whole
frame trembled with nervous emotion.
To the disappointment of all, on the night in question Mr.
Disraeli did not speak. Either the spirit did not move him, or
discretion whispered he had better await a more favourable mo
ment. Parliament soon after adjourned, but reassembled in
December. If Mr. Disraeli fancied the animosity of his adversaries
would cool down in the interval, he was mistaken ; for when at
last he got up to deliver his ' maiden speech,' he fared no better
than if he had made the attempt on the first occasion. Unfor
tunately I had left London before the predicted 'scene' took
place ; but a friend of mine, who was present, sent me the
following brief description.
' Whatever may have been,' he wrote, ' the secret agitation of
Mr. Disraeli on the night he spoke, it is certain, when he got up to
reply to the great Irish athlete, Daniel O'Connell, who had just
sat down, he looked as collected and pleasant as a bridegroom
on his nuptial day. There was a moment of intense silence,
highly flattering to the youthful politician. He began in an
easy flow of graceful elocution, and his voice was clear and
strong. I looked forward to a triumphant display of his powers

London Revisited. 415

when of a sudden, as if it had been concerted, as doubtless it
was, a loud chorus of discordant ejaculations broke forth from
the Whig and Radical members, that rose in volume and dis
sonance till the voice of the orator was quite drowned. He
seemed in no wise disconcerted, but persistently began again
and again. At last he appealed to the refractory members, and
said that, as a matter of fairness, if not propriety, they ought to
allow him to proceed, at least till he gave cause for interruption,
and that nothing would induce him to take part in treating any
honourable gentleman in the manner in which he was assailed.
His dulcet remonstrances were entirely thrown away ; for he
no sooner resumed his speech than the din of " Oh, oh !" groans,
doughs, with frequent outbreaks of obstreperous laughter, made
him utterly inaudible. He saw, at last, it was useless to struggle
against the uproar, which was only increased by the stentorian
efforts of the Tory side of the House to sustain him ; so gather
ing himself up to his full height, with his eyes emitting fierce
flashes of indignation, and in a voice of proud defiance, he ex
claimed, as he brandished his right arm, " Though I sit down
now, the time will come when you will hear me."
' Though he was put down in this summary fashion by the
majority of the House, still the real triumph was his ; for public
opinion is shocked at this unseemly conduct of the Government
party, and expressions of sympathy are uttered loudly by all
classes on behalf of the outraged Disraeli. He is quite sagacious
enough to perceive that this ill-judged effort to suppress him
only rebounded to his advantage, and that his reputation is
really increased by the belligerent hostility of his political anta
gonists. He is politic enough to profit by the blunder com
mitted, and for the rest of the Session it is likely he will be too
discreet to provoke a new conflict.'
There was another youthful member of Parliament on the
Tory side, who might possibly turn out a rival of the bold and
resolute Disraeli. W. E. Gladstone, a younger son of a rich
merchant of Liverpool, entered the House of Commons in 1832,
the same year that he left the University of Oxford, only twenty-
three years of age. He began his parliamentary career as the
champion of all that was retrograde in the political and religious
system of England. His premature talents brought to mind the
wonderful precocity of the younger Pitt, who was a member of
the House at twenty-two, and Chancellor of the Exchequer
at twenty-three. The young member for Newark had made no

41 6 London Revisited.

such rapid strides as this, but in the five years he had held his
seat he had made a solid impression on the House. He dis
played great dexterity as a debater, and had few competitors as
a graceful rhetorician. He was remarkable for his scholarship,
lucidity of exposition, and elegance of diction. Though always
fluent and forcible, he never offended the prejudices of the House
by launching into any imitation of Demosthenian oratory,
which would only have been ridiculed. He was a tall hand
some man, with bright dark eyes, and a bland countenance, lit
up, however, by a very intellectual expression. His manner was
conciliatory and serious. All parties were unanimous that
' He is a scholar, and a ripe and good one,
Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading.'
During Sir Robert Peel's short tenure of power in 1834 he was
made Under-Secretary for the Colonies. In the following year
he returned with his patron once more to the Opposition benches.
It would be curious to follow the careers of these two young
politicians across the stormy seas of public life. How far they
would be able to push their adventurous barks, which would out
sail the other, whether either would ever rise to command on
the quarter-deck, it was, of course, impossible to foresee. That
both would make their mark on contemporary history there was
little doubt. Disraeli had the harder battle to fight. There
was a strong prejudice in this country against a Jew even after
he had abandoned his ancient faith. There was, too, a lively dis
like in the political world of a mere literary man, and up to this
time Disraeli had won his chief distinction in the paths of litera
ture, and that of the most ephemeral kind. But he had already
evinced so much daring and tenacity of purpose, that it was pretty
certain he would fight on, in the warlike spirit of Macbeth,
' Till from my bones my flesh be hacked.'
July was gradually waning, and the glories of the season of
1837 were fast fading away. Dinners, balls, and festivities of all
kinds were becoming ' fine by degrees, and beautifully less/
For my part, I was not sorry to escape from further midnight
revels. I had supped full of the delights of London drawing-
rooms, of their bevies of fair women and crowds of lordly men.
Though not in the sullen vein of Wolsey when he exclaimed,
' Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye,' still I was far
from the regretful mood of our first parents, when leaving Eden :
'Must I then leave thee, Paradise?' I had abandoned myself

London Revisited. 4 1 7

willingly to the maelstrom of fashionable gaieties that, during
the season, converts life in London into a never-ending still-
beginning scene of mad pastime ; for I desired to see it in all
its charm, variety, and splendour. But now I was in the hu
mour to echo the words of Horace, Jam satis, and to retire from
the giddy whirl. In this contented quiescent state of mind I
received one morning the following note from my cherished
colleague, Richard Vaux : Thursday.
Dear Harry, — Prince Esterhazy sent a note last evening to
the Minister, saying he would be glad to see us to-night at his
ball. It would be hardly less than an act of Use majeste not to
respond in person to the invitation. I have heard you lately
complain of the fatigues of the season, but on this occasion you
must rouse your jaded limbs to a final effort. What a screech
of triumph would the double-headed eagle of Austria give to see
the young and aspiring bird of America stretched with folded
wings and hanging head exhausted on the ground ! Perish the
thought ! Mind you are ready to join me when I call to-night
at twelve to half-past. ' On with the dance, let joy be uncon-
fined.'— Thine always, Dick.
I should have mentioned before that my friend Vaux, of
whom I have already spoken, had joined the United States
Legation in London, in the early spring of this year, as private
secretary to Mr. Stevenson. I hailed his advent with delight,
and many a pleasant hour had we spent in each other's society.
This was his first visit abroad ; and, after his studious and quiet
life in Philadelphia, the dissipation of the London season had
exhilarated him to a giddy pitch of excitement. He seemed
never to have his fill of revelry, and, as his note shows, was as
eager for the last ball as the first. It was difficult to refuse his
stirring appeal, though I groaned inwardly at the prospect of
another night on foot.
The Prince Esterhazy was the Austrian Ambassador to the
Court of St. James, and represented one of the oldest families
of Hungary. His pedigree could be traced to Attila, King of
the Huns. He was the owner of immense estates, and his
annual revenue was computed at millions. The celebrated
Tokay wine, considered the rarest in Europe, was the product
of one of his Hungarian domains, and was never sold, but dis
tributed as presents to the various sovereigns of Europe. The
EE

4i 8 London Revisited.

father of the Prince was offered the crown of Hungary by
Napoleon in 1809, but he refused to be disloyal to the House
of Austria. Prince Paul, as the Austrian Ambassador was familiarly
called, was an immense favourite in English society. He was
one of the most amiable and affable of men. His bright blue
eyes, and good-natured physiognomy always wreathed in smiles,
were seen everywhere ; and at the Court fites his light graceful
figure, clad in the showy uniform of a Hungarian hussar, was
conspicuous above all others. A ball at the Austrian Embassy
always rallied the beau monde of the West-end ; and as this was
known to be the last gathering of the season, I was not sur
prised, when Vaux and I entered the saloons of Chandos
House after midnight, to find them already crowded with the
e"lite of the fashionable world.
There may not be the polished grace and elegance of toilette
in an English assembly that you encounter in the best French
society ; but the majestic persons of these Saxon dames, and the
admirable tone of the men, make ample amends. There was
about them, perhaps, a spice of hauteur that was not at all dis
tasteful ; but it could not fail to remind foreigners that the
sons and daughters of Albion are not without a faint conviction
of their claims to profound consideration. The inspiring strains
of the music, and the lovely white shoulders flitting at every
moment by us, had their natural effect on my ally Dick and
myself, who soon parted company, and were lost in the mazy
rounds of the dance. Amid these fairy-like revels the time sped
rapidly on ; but before leaving I wandered up to the buffet to sip
a glass of the Prince's famous Tokay, when my glance fell on a
lady whose extraordinary beauty entranced me. Description
would be idle — a commanding height, a faultless figure, a com
plexion of roses and lilies, magic in the eyes, sorcery in the
smile ; in short, it was
' A sight to dream of, not to tell.'
I found this prodigy of loveliness was a daughter of Earl Roden,
and recently married to Viscount Powerscourt, the very nobleman
I had met at Saratoga three years previously. I lost at least
one hour's comfortable rest in bed by lingering on for still
another gaze at this magnificent creature, ' framed in the prodi
gality of Nature.'

CHAPTER XLII.
HOLLAND AND BELGIUM.
AMSTERDAM  THE HAGUE — ANTWERP — BRUSSELS.
On a lovely morning in the beginning of August I embarked
at London Bridge on board the steamer for Rotterdam with
Forrest and his bride, to carry out our projected excursion to
Holland and Belgium, which none of us had yet visited. Forrest
was resolved to make short work of it, as he was anxious to
catch the next packet from Havre to New York, where he was
under an engagement to appear at the end of September.
After breakfast the tragedian went ' forrard' to indulge in his
mild havanna, whilst I sat down for a dish of chat with his
intelligent wife. Among other topics we touched upon was
that of religion, when I did not hesitate to warn her against the
freethinking tendencies of her husband, with whom, in our travels,
I had many a wrangle on this subject. Her reply was naive and
womanly. ' I have no fear,' she said, ' of his influence in this respect
I could not disbelieve in religion if I would, and the very thought
of it fills me with horror. It seems impossible for the human
mind to exist without a faith of some sort. The history of the
world proves that no nation was ever known without a religion.
Our Christian tenets are so pure and elevating that it is un
natural to reject them. There may be intellects strong enough
to dispense with belief ; but for my part I fancy most freethinkers
are more carried away by vanity than incredulity, and parade
their infidelity to show a superior mind, unaware that they simply
make themselves odious or ridiculous. Believing for most of the
world is easier than disbelieving, and to say the least they are
quite as likely to be in the right. I know nothing of my hus
band's opinions on this grave topic, and after what you say I
shall never engage in any discussion of it under any provoca
tion. I think it wise for a wife to avoid collision of opinion with
her consort on all possible subjects, but on this one especially/

420 Holland and Belgium.
I heartily commended her sensible views and prudent reso
lutions ; but whilst still talking with her I observed she grew
suddenly pale, and indulged in some grimaces of a startling
description. ' I begin to feel very dizzy,' she exclaimed ; ' pray give me
your arm. I must go below, I feel so strange.'
I escorted her to the door of the ladies' cabin, and the mys
terious sounds issuing thence proved that she was not the first
victim of the ill-behaviour of our steamer, which, having left the
placid bosom of the Thames, was rolling wildly about on the
angry surface of the North Sea Forrest and I, who were hard
ened sailors, had nearly all the good things at dinner to our
selves. It was a great relief to many sorely-tried stomachs when we
steamed next morning into the Meuse, and fastened our hawsers
to the solid quay of Rotterdam. We were glad to get ashore ;
and the bride, who had recovered her colour and affability, made
a breakfast all the heartier that she had to forego her dinner of
the previous day.
I was pleased with the quaint and original aspect of Rot
terdam. It was intersected in every direction by canals that
reminded me somewhat of Venice, but instead of sombre palaces
the banks were lined with elm and lime trees. The houses, with
their gables towards the street, and their little wooden balconies,
had nothing in common with the German towns I had seen,
proving that the Dutch were as independent in their architecture
as in other matters. The women, with their short petticoats,
pert caps, and rosy cheeks, added not a little to the attractions
of the place. I was amused at their extraordinary mania for
washing and scouring. At every turn they were hard at it in one
way or another, and I was convinced that the national reputation
for cleanliness was honestly earned. They seemed an industrious
lot too, for everybody was doing something in the way of work.
After breakfast we ascended a tower of great height, 350
feet, and the view was striking and pleasing. The country on
every side was as flat as a pancake, with water always in sight.
No wonder, in the days of the Romans, the whole land was sub
merged for six months at a time. Some countries are troubled
with volcanoes and earthquakes ; India is a prey more or less
to wild beasts ; but anybody who lives in Holland ought to have
a boat handy, for, in town or country, there is water everywhere.

Holland and Belgium. 42 1
The pasturage was magnificent. Immense numbers of fine cattle
were scattered about, and I could understand why the land over
flowed with milk, if not with honey. Flowers, too, of great
splendour were abundant, as horticulture is one of the arts in
Holland. 
Next morning we drove off to the Hague, the political capital
of Holland, some twenty miles distant. The fine weather, the
excellent road shaded by umbrageous trees, the picturesque
scenery, and the happy face of Mrs. Forrest, made the jaunt quite
delightful. We stopped to lunch at Delft, so renowned for its
crockery. I strolled off to an old church, to do homage at the
shrine of Grotius, a monster of learning, who wrote Latin verses
when eight years old. He was born in Delft in 1583, and his
life abounded with vicissitudes. He rose to distinction, but
quarrelled with the Government, and was condemned to per
petual imprisonment. After two years of captivity his wife
secreted him in a box of books, and so effected his escape. Chris
tine, the Queen of Sweden, made him her Ambassador at Paris,
where he remained for ten years. No one ever surpassed him in
erudition. His works on the most recondite subjects are num
berless. His great renown was to be the founder of the laws of
nations. He wrote the first treatise that ever appeared on this
subject — T>e Jure Belli et Pads. Though not so witty or brilliant
a writer as his fellow-countryman Erasmus, born over a century
before him, he far excelled him in depth and variety of know
ledge. I was really enchanted with the Hague, the prettiest town,
in many respects, I had ever seen, though only containing some
70,000 inhabitants.
During the afternoon Forrest and I paid a visit to our
Charge" d Affaires, Major Davezac. He was a brother-in-law of
Edward Livingston, our late Minister to France, and an aide-de
camp of General Jackson at the battle of New Orleans. He
received us with great warmth, and reminded Forrest he had
met him some years ago in Louisiana. He was of Creole ex
traction, and quite a Frenchman in appearance, manners, and
accent. We left him after a pleasant chat, and he proposed to
call in the evening, to be presented to la nouvelle mariee.
He arrived just as we were quaffing, after dinner, some deli
cious Burgundy, and joined heartily in our praise of Boniface's

422 Holland and Belgium.
cellar. The Major was a delightful talker, and quite fascinated
Mrs. Forrest with his piquant anecdotes, told with all the grace
and animation of a Frenchman. We accepted an invitation
to take a French breakfast with him next morning. Nothing
could be more recherche" than the repast ; but I remarked that
our conversation was frequently enlivened by the music of an
anvil. On inquiry I discovered that our Charge" was living over
a blacksmith's shop, which I thought an odd fancy. Yet if no-
one had oddities, the world would not be half so amusing.
I touched a responsive chord when I alluded to the battle
of New Orleans. The Major was never loth to
' Shoulder his crutch, and show how fields were won.'
He gave endless details of that memorable day. It would have
driven Andrew Jackson Allen wild with delight if he could have
heard an eye-witness extol the prowess of the hero of the fight.
Our meal over, we rambled off to the picture-gallery of the
town. I have a passion for the Dutch school, and revelled with
out stint in the treasures gathered there. The portraits of Rem
brandt, the cattle-pieces and landscapes of Paul Potter and Cuyp,.
quite overpowered me. In the world of art there is nothing to.
surpass them.
The courteous Davezac dined with us that evening, and did
his best to prolong our stay. He offered to introduce us to all
sorts of fine people, not suspecting that would only precipitate
Forrest's departure.
The next day we drove on to Amsterdam. It is a repro
duction in appearance and character of its sister Rotterdam,.
but on a larger scale — over 200,000 people. It is wholly built
on piles ; and its numberless canals convert it into a city of
islands, amounting to ninety in all, with no less than two hun
dred and eighty bridges to connect them. Its port is considered
one of the best in Europe. Its celebrated Bank dates from
1309. For any one fond of commerce, ship-building, and im
ports and exports, I commend him to Amsterdam. As for us,.
our tastes did not run that way, and we were eager to turn about
and push on to old Flanders, modern Belgium.
In leaving Holland I had none of the cynical humour that-
inspired Voltaire when he exclaimed, ' Adieu, canaux, canardsr
canaille !' On the contrary, I cherished the liveliest feelings of
interest in the country and its denizens. With an insignificant.

Holland and Belgium. 423
area and a mere handful of people, never daring to withdraw their
eye from the aggressive ocean around them, Holland has
managed to carry her head high among the nations. Though
overrun by the Romans, the Franks, and the Spaniards, yet her
nationality was never effaced. Besides foreign wars innumer
able, she has been rent a thousand times by civil dissensions.
The Dutch are neither an impulsive or enthusiastic race, and
the wonder is that their career should have been so stormy and
chequered. I can only account for it by the preponderance of a
trait which is undeniable. Their stubbornness is proverbial ; and
a nation which insists on its own way in everything is bound to
be always in collision with the rest of mankind. With a Dutch
man there is no choice : you must either yield to him or fight.

We halted for a couple of days at Antwerp — that during the
Middle Ages was the most flourishing port of Europe — chiefly
to contemplate the pictures of some of its great masters. Rubens,
his pupil Vandyck, and the younger Teniers have immortalised
their native town, though the latter passed but a short portion
of his life there. Rubens has never been exceeded for brilliancy
of colour ; but his fondness for plump well-fed beauty I consider
a fault. No one, however, can contest the vigour and gran
deur of most of his compositions. He painted with wonderful
facility, and the churches of Antwerp, and the Louvre of Paris,
display his singular fecundity. He equally excelled in portrait,
landscape, animals, and history.
Vandyck is thought to have surpassed his master in ideality
and grace ; but after some years he abandoned historical sub
jects and gave himself up to portraits, which, to this day, are
unrivalled. He, too, painted with such ease that he could dash
off one or two portraits in a day, if so minded.
Teniers the younger is here seen in all his glory. His pictures
have an immense charm for me. The subjects are invariably
domestic and familiar, often grotesque, and even vulgar. Village
scenes — a wedding of peasants, the interior of a cabaret, with its
groups of -drinkers, smokers, and card-players — what matchless
truth, what subtle inimitable humour, pervaded them all !

Brussels is a beautiful city, and reminded me somewhat of
Edinburgh, with its old town and its new — here perched on a

424 Holland and Belgium.
hill, there nestling in a valley. All the characteristics of the
place, the manners and tone of the people, as well as their lan
guage, are French — and no wonder. For many centuries Flan
ders and the north of France were closely interwoven. Calais,
Dunkirk, and Lille formed part of the domain of the Count
of Flanders, whose daughter married William the Conqueror.
We made a rapid inspection of Brussels, that I resolved to
see again, and continudd our trip.
Belgium, so often the battle-ground of Europe, seemed at last
to have obtained tranquillity and prosperity. She possessed a
Constitution which guaranteed every kind of liberty.

After a hot and dusty journey in the diligence of some thirty-
six hours we alighted in Paris, the end of our hurried excursion.
The glorious capital looked enchanting in its summer attire, and
the cafes and loungers on the boulevards were just as attractive
as though we had not seen them before. One never tires of
the French, either men or women.
All the world was talking of the new picture-gallery at Ver
sailles. The King had conceived the idea of converting the
palace of Louis XIV. into a pictorial history of France. It was
no longer needed as a royal residence, and he resolved to dedi
cate it to art. We drove out to behold the transformation, and
were filled with wonder. Imposing as was the collection, our
inspection of the pictures was constantly diverted by the mag
nificence of their receptacle. Louis XIV. reared this gorgeous
palace for himself. Louis Philippe had given it up to the nation.
After a few brief days Forrest and his bride bade me farewell,
and started for New York. I felt less regret at parting, aB I
expected to meet them soon again outre mer.
I had already determined to return home this autumn, after
an absence of three years, which had been so crowded with in
cident that it seemed much longer. I had no plans for the
future, no intention of settling down to any occupation ; but I
felt a lively yearning to see old friends, and to sniff once more
my native air. All beyond was nebulous, and I was content to
leave it so.

CHAPTER XLIIL
LONDON REVISITED.
A RENCONTRE WITH CELEBRITIES — VISIT TO GORE HOUSE — COUNT D'ORSAV.
I ORDERED a seat to be taken in the coupe" of the diligence
for Boulogne, on my return to London. I was not a little
annoyed to find that the two corners were secured, and I had
to put up with the middle place, not by any means so desirable.
My companions in the coupe", I observed, on taking my place,
were a gentleman and a lady. The former was stately in ap
pearance and somewhat formal in manner, rather enhanced by
a pair of gold spectacles. The latter was so veiled I could
discern nothing of her physiognomy ; but she seemed high
bred and genial. My conclusions were favourable — no small
matter, as I was destined to be shut up with both of them
for twenty-four hours, stopping only for breakfast and dinner.
As we jolted along, a steady current of conversation ebbed
and flowed across me between the occupants of the two
corners. I gathered, by degrees, that no relations existed be
tween them other than that the lady was travelling to England
under the escort of her male friend. They both spoke English
admirably ; but I thought I detected in the gentleman a slight
Milesian accent, whilst the peculiar intonations of the lady con
vinced me she was a foreigner. What a sweet silvery voice she
had! There was something in her demeanour so graceful and
seductive, I became more and more interested. They were evi
dently persons of very superior culture, for every topic touched on
was handled in a masterly manner. It was equally clear they
belonged to the best society, for they seemed on familiar terms
with everybody of high repute in both Paris and London.
My anxiety was keenly excited to know who and what they
were, but I saw not the faintest chance of making the discovery.
Finding I was not disposed to intrude upon their conversation,
they both began to manifest an amiable tendency. First the
gentleman dropped a civil remark ; and then the lady followed

426 London Revisited.
it up with a question. It soon turned out that I knew many of
their various friends, both French and English, and this added
greatly, no doubt, to my respectability in their eyes. I began to
cherish hopes 0/ finding them out. At length night came on,
and conversation slackened. Now and then an isolated remark
was dropped, like a stray shot after a battle, and then all was
silence again. About 9 P.M. we stopped for dinner ; and as we
sat at the same table, I had an opportunity of seeing, for the
first time, the face of the lady, which was exceedingly pretty.
Her blue eyes were full of archness, and sparkled with intel
ligence. Her features were well-shaped. Her blonde hair
hung round her visage in ringlets. She was about medium
height, and perfect in symmetry. I fancied she was near thirty.
Her manner, above all, was captivating, and her voice completed
the charm. The gentleman was tall, and very erect. There was
a precision and celerity in every movement that indicated energy
and a well-balanced mind. I observed that more than once he
addressed the lady as ' Countess,' which showed she was a person
of rank. After resuming our places in the diligence we talked
for some time, and gradually, one after the other, were overtaken
by sleep. As I was in the middle, and had no place to repose on, my
head toppled over, and, strangely enough, it gravitated towards
the lady, till by degrees it rested on her plump shoulder, which
must have been, a very soft pillow, for I slept soundly most of
the night. In the morning she told me, with a gentle smile, oi
the unconscious liberty I had taken, and I overflowed with
apologies for my unintentional rudeness. I found my travelling
companions so agreeable and entertaining that I took no note ot
time, and was surprised to find myself in Boulogne about five
P.M., not in the least wearied by the journey. The steamer for
London did not leave till ten o'clock, and we had abundant time
to indulge in a bath, and dine at our ease. I now dreaded to
lose sight of my unknown acquaintances ; but I took care to
accompany them to the same hotel. They politely asked me to
join them at dinner, which I readily accepted.
After a cheerful repast, and whilst we were sipping our coffee,
the gentleman said to me :
' As we are both residents of London, I should be very happy
to meet you again ; and, if you have no objection, I should be
pleased to exchange cards with you.'

London Revisited. 427

' Most willingly,' I replied.
On looking at his name, my surprise was extreme to find I
had made the acquaintance in this accidental way of the cele
brated Dyonisius Lardner, founder of the Cabinet Encyclopcedia,
and by far the most popular man of science of the day. I ex
pressed my great pleasure at meeting him, when the lady said :
' Mon cher Lardner, present your new friend to me.'
' Certainly,' he said. ' Allow me to introduce you to the
Countess Guiccioli, going to London on a visit to her friend
Lady Blessington.'
I was quite dumbfounded at this chance encounter with a
lady whose romantic history was so familiar to me, and who was
said to be the only woman the poet Byron ever truly loved. I
tried to prevent any unseemly display of my astonishment at
this strange adventure, but assured her of my profound delight
in having so unexpectedly made her acquaintance. I told her
how puzzled I had been to divine her nationality, and that her
fair complexion and blue eyes led me to suppose she was a
German, perhaps a Russian, but I had never suspected for a
moment she was an Italian of unmixed descent. We con
tinued to chat till we were summoned on board the steamer,
and parted for the night. It was a long time before I grew
sufficiently composed to sleep, and my last thought was that on
the previous night I had luxuriated on a bed of down that the
illustrious Byron once so highly prized. We landed early next
morning in London, and separated with the mutual exclamation
of au revoir.
As I drove from London Bridge to my residence I had full time
to muse over my good fortune in falling in with two celebrities I
had never dreamt of meeting. Moore's Life of Byron and other
books had made me well acquainted with the sentimental career
of the Countess Guiccioli. She was a daughter of Count Gamba,
the head of an ancient family of Italy. She was barely fifteen
when she was taken from the convent where she was educated
to marry an old man of great wealth, the Count Guiccioli. The
match was forced on her by her family without regard to her
inclinations. She was just sixteen when she met Lord Byron,
then living in Venice. He seems to have lost his head at first
sight, and she must have been exquisitely beautiful. Who can
wonder that the young and inexperienced girl, full of sensibility
and longing for an idol, should have abandoned herself, heart

428 London Revisited.

and soul, to such a man as Byron, not merely handsome, but in
every way fascinating ? The liaison that ensued lasted till the
heroic poet went to Greece in 1823, where he died prematurely
the following year. I looked forward with eagerness to the con
tinuance of my acquaintance with the bien-aime"e of Byron. She
had kindly offered to introduce me to Lady Blessington, at
whose invitation she had come to London. How often I had
gazed at the admired mistress of Gore House at the Opera and
in the Park ! How assiduously I had devoured her brilliant
novels, her travels, her conversations with Byron, without ever
anticipating it would be my happiness to kiss the hand that
penned them !
No one in England at that day enjoyed such enviable prestige
as Dr. Lardner. His scientific attainments and his eloquence as
a writer and lecturer had given him immense vogue. With a
view to aid his friend Lord Brougham in his project for the
' diffusion of knowledge/ he established in 1830 his Cabinet En
cyclopcedia, consisting of short essays on every branch of learning,
written partly by himself and partly by the ablest men of the
country. I could not but think that my star was in the ascendant, to
be able to enrol amongst my friends persons of such an interest
ing description as these, and I rejoiced accordingly. Among
other failings I might as well confess to a violent hankering
after celebrities. There is no reason I should not acknowledge
so venial a weakness. It was not the mere vanity of knowing
people who had achieved distinction or incurred notoriety, as
the case might be ; but certain it was that all individuals, male
or female, with a history attached to them had a charm for me
that was well-nigh irresistible. It could hardly be considered
strange to feel curiosity about persons who were prominent in
the world. It might be pronounced eccentric to chase after
them with the ardour of a foxhunter, and I could not honestly
tax myself with such puerility. Yet I admit that the halo en
circling the heads of the conspicuous had a magnetic attraction
I never sought to resist It might be regarded as a fancy, but it
had its raison ditre, as the French say — its justification — in my
mental or moral organisation. My want of ambition, and my
dislike to that strenuous exertion necessary to acquire any kind
of eminence, probably made me curious to study and investigate
closely the men and women who worked and fretted to record

j^onaon Revisited. 429

their names on the pillar of fame. The people who are a prey
to these unappeasable cravings after renown must be of a
superior order to the rest ; their minds must be of richer texture
and their characters of stronger fibre. They may be considered
the natural aristocrats of the race, and association with them
could not be other than a pleasure and a profit. It might be
also the conviction that greatness of any kind was beyond my
reach, made me love to approach and bask in its refulgence.
It was a privilege that filled the measure of my aspirations ;
and if it be true that ' none can be unhappy but the great,' I
was consoled to forego greatness, and rest contented in my
sphere. I found the metropolis, at least the fashionable part of it,
utterly deserted when I returned. The Opera was closed, and
half the theatres. The Park was a dismal solitude. The beau
monde were scattered in all directions. Happily some of my
friends were within reach. The Bates family were at their villa
at Wimbledon ; the Dunlops residing at Richmond ; and some
of my diplomatic associates were officially tied to the town,
though I found the American Minister had gone off for a jaunt
My approaching embarkation filled me with sadness at parting
with friends to whom I had grown much attached. The touch
ing lines of Coleridge were constantly in my mind :
¦To know, to esteem, to love, and then to part,
Makes up life's tale to many a feeling heart.'
The sharpest wrench of all was separating from the Dunlop
family, with whom I had lived in close intimacy. Miss Gamble
was amiable enough to say she hoped I would come back some
day ; and, with a glance I meant to be telling, I assured her such
was my fixed intention. I was glad that at the last dinner there
were some others present, as it helped to divert my mind. Sir
Francis Chantry, the renowned sculptor, was among the guests,
and he talked as well as he chiselled.
A few days after my return, Dr. Lardner called, and we had
a pleasant chat. He regretted my early departure, but said I
must dine with him before going. Among other topics, I
deplored the necessity of my again crossing the Atlantic under
sail, but hoped the time was not distant when steam would be
adopted. ' There is little prospect of that,' said the man of science

43 o London Revisited.

emphatically. ' A steamer would never be able to contend
successfully against the mighty power of the Atlantic. The
machinery would be disabled ; the wheels would be rendered
useless ; the coal she would be obliged to carry would leave no
room for cargo ; and mere passenger traffic would never defray
the expenses of such an enterprise.'
' I admit your high authority,' I retorted, ' for who has written
so ably on steam propulsion ? But in spite of your prognostics,
you know, they are building a steamer at Bristol, and another
in London, to put the experiment to a test ; and if either was
ready, I would readily take the risk to escape the dreary ordeal
•of a sailing-vessel.'
' It is astonishing,' remarked Dr. L., ' that people will be so
silly as to put money into such experiments. It will end in
failure, and probably in a dreadful catastrophe. Take my advice,
and stick to your splendid " liners." Better pass an additional
week at sea, than never reach the shore.'
In the face of the ominous predictions of this learned oracle
I clung to the hope, if not the belief, that the Atlantic would
still be conquered by steam ; and so the discussion ended.
My time was oozing away rapidly. Scarce ten days inter
vened before my departure, and still I heard nothing from the
lovely Countess. I was forced to think I had passed from her
recollection ; but amid these desponding reflections a note from
her finally arrived. It was written in English, in a clear bold
hand, and showed such familiarity with the language, I am
tempted to append it : Gore House.
The Countess Guiccioli presents her compliments to Mr.
Wikoff, and is very happy to inform him that the Countess of
Elessington will make his acquaintance with the greatest plea
sure. Mr. Wikoff may come whenever he likes to Gore House,
in the evening, and the Countess G. will present him to Lady
Blessington. Thursday. I was vastly delighted at the chance of improving my ac
quaintance with this interesting woman, and not less elated at
the prospect of meeting Lady Blessington, whose reputation as
an authoress, as well as her piquant career, made me eager to
behold her. She was of Irish birth and good family. She was

London Revisited. 43 1

but sixteen when she was forced into a marriage with a Captain
Farmer, whose fortune was an object to her parents. After a
wretched life of two or three years, the unhappy girl abandoned
her husband for ill-treatment. For several years she led a roving
life, sometimes in Ireland, and then in England. In 1817 her
husband died ; and the following year she married an Irish lord,
the Earl of Blessington, and long a devoted suitor. She was
then twenty-eight, in the zenith of her beauty. They travelled
for some years in Italy, where she met Byron, whose delightful
conversations she had recorded. They lived afterwards in Paris
in great luxury, where Lord Blessington died in 1829. With an
ample income, the widow returned to London, and established
herself in Gore House, which soon became the resort of the
leading men of the day. A favourite of Lord Blessington was a
young Frenchman, Count D'Orsay, who accompanied him and
his Countess in their Italian tour. A match was arranged
between a daughter of Lord B. by his first marriage and the
Count ; but it soon ended in a separation. Since Lady Blessing
ton established her residence in London, Count D'Orsay had
constantly resided there, and was well-nigh a fixture at Gore
House. Mrs. Grundy took exception to this close intimacy, and
consequently the fair sex were seldom seen at this brilliant ren
dezvous of fashion and intellect.
These recollections flitted across my mind as I was driving
to the mansion of Lady Blessington, in the environs of Lon
don. My name was announced by the footman as I entered a
sumptuous apartment on the ground floor, and my pulse beat
quickly as I advanced towards the Countess Guiccioli, who, after
shaking hands with me, cordially presented me to the mistress
of the house. It was only nine p.m., and no other guests had
arrived. I must confess that, finding myself sitting face to face
with these two gifted and remarkable women, I experienced an
embarrassment I could scarcely overcome. I fancy Lady Bless
ington must have perceived some signs of nervousness, for she
immediately began talking in the most friendly and unaffected
manner. ' I know a countryman of yours,' she said, ' and like him very
much — Mr. Willis. Have you ever met him ?'
' He left the University just as I entered it,' I replied ; ' but I
remember him very well.'

43 2 London Revisited.
' I found him a very agreeable person,' she continued, ' and
think him a brilliant writer.'
' I fully agree with your ladyship. His recent book of tra
vels I consider quite a gem, though it has been harshly treated by
English critics.'
' Not by all,' said Lady B. ; ' but several of high authority
have assailed it bitterly. The only offence that Willis really com
mitted was the repetition of certain remarks made at my table
which ought not to have been published. He regrets the inad
vertency, I know ; and he underrated their significance. Besides,
he never could have expected they would attract so much atten
tion in this country.'
' A conclusive proof,' I said, ' of the great merit of his sketches.
Admitting, as I do, that he was reprehensible in the matter al
luded to, yet it strikes me as unfair to make him the target of
such abuse. I suspect it is on the score of his nationality. I
fear, Countess,' I continued, smiling, ' that England has not for
given us for our rebellious conduct in 1776/
'Well,' rejoined her ladyship, in the sweetest tones, 'you do
deserve some punishment for abandoning your mother country,
and forcing her afterwards to give you up as irreclaimable. But,
though there are some spiteful critics here who gladly seized
such a chance as poor Willis offered, you have hosts of friends,
, increasing every day. Your great writers, Irving and Cooper, I
hear repeatedly extolled, and many of your public men are vastly
admired. For my part, I am keenly flattered to hear my poor
books are much read in the States.'
Her ladyship was here interrupted by the entrance of a batch
of guests ; and, getting up, I sauntered away.
All that I had heard of Lady Blessington, her appearance,
manners, and conversation, I found not in the least exaggerated.
Though no longer young — she was over forty — she was still ex
ceedingly handsome. A very fair skin, well-cut features, deeply
blue eyes, and dark-brown hair ; quite the Irish type. She was
wonderfully graceful, and knew how, by a word or a look, to con
ciliate all with whom she came in contact.
I amused myself for a time wandering about the superb apart
ment, which was some sixty feet in length, and adorned with rich
furniture and rare works of art. A bewildering variety of name
less things, curious and beautiful, attracted my attention every
moment, when suddenly the Countess Guiccioli came up, and said,

London Revisited. 433

' I did not interrupt your conversation with Lady Blessington,
as you were discussing a mutual friend ; but now I want ma
revanche. Let us go to the drawing-rooms and have a good long
chat.' Offering my arm, we strolled off into some adjoining rooms
on the same floor with the library we had left. They were em
bellished with the same splendour and taste.
' I am sorry,' began the Countess, ' that you are going away
so soon. I should have liked to see more of you.'
' I shall certainly return at no distant day, and all the sooner
for my good luck in meeting you.'
' That is very gallant/ she replied ; ' but as I live in Paris, I
shall not see you any the oftener.'
' So shall I on my return, as I mean to resign my connection
with our Legation, having seen enough of London for the pre
sent. Have you abandoned Italy ?' I inquired.
• Yes,' she answered, with a sigh ; ' and probably for ever. It
has lost all its charm since — '
She stopped abruptly, and her cheek reddened.
Not affecting to notice this, I asked,
' Are you contented with Paris ?'
' Yes, as contented as I should be anywhere. Paris is very
gay, and I have many friends. I pass the winter there, and
travel about in summer. But tell me, how do you like Lady
Blessington?' ' Perfectly enchanted,' I answered. ' So much handsomer
than I expected. Her face is as fresh and her eye as bright
as though she was twenty years younger. Though not want
ing in vivacity, I am especially struck by her elegance and
repose/ ' She is a very good-hearted woman,' remarked the Countess,
' which is better than all the rest.'
' Pray tell me,' I queried, ' about the marriage of Lord Bless-
ington's daughter with Count D'Orsay. What was the cause of
so early a rupture ?'
' Simply,' she responded, ' that they never cared for each
other. Lord B. was so fond of D'Orsay he wanted to keep him
in his family, and he urged him into a marriage with Lady Har
riet, a lovely girl, who reluctantly yielded to her father's wishes.
Indifference by degrees grew into dislike, and it was a relief to
both to separate. Voild tout! FF

434 London Revisited.

' I have heard endless gossip about it,' I continued, ' and some
ill-natured people say the Count cared more for Lady Blessing
ton than he ever did for her step-daughter, which was the chief
reason he forsook his wife/
' Yes,' said the Countess, ' I know the scandalmongers have
been busy with the topic. Doubtless there is a great attachment
between Lady B. and the Count ; and who can wonder, after their
long acquaintance and mutual attractions ? I am sure their rela
tions are perfectly innocent ; but in this land of prudery it would
be difficult to escape aspersion. The Count adores London, and
Gore House is his throne. To ask him to abdicate merely to
extinguish cancan would be exacting too much of a Frenchman
who usually likes it. At all events, this superb house is the
head-quarters of the rank and intellect of the town, and Lady B.
finds many compensations for the lukewarmness of her own sex.
It is painful to be the butt of censorious comment, but the victims
of untoward circumstances have no choice but to accept their fate,
and bear their load without repining or anger/
The voice of the Countess trembled as she uttered these
words, and she dropped her handkerchief to divert my gaze from
her face.
'Come,' she said, jumping up, 'let us look at some of these
admirable pictures. That portrait of Lady Blessington is by Sir
Thomas Lawrence, and is beyond praise. This picture of the
Duke of Wellington is by Count D'Orsay. What do you think
of it ?'
' Inimitable for resemblance, character, and colour. I did not
dream he was so skilful an artist/
' It is a great loss to art,' said the Countess, ' that he is not
driven to it for a living. The Count is too fond of society, and
wastes his time. A few years ago, for mere amusement, he be
gan sketching his friends in crayon, and the likenesses were so
remarkable that not a few found their way to the shop-windows.
At last he began painting, and here is one of his first martyrs,'
pointing to a portrait of Lord Brougham.
' How lifelike !' I exclaimed ; ' it is the man himself. What
wonderful expression !'
' That is his especial excellence. But he is no less dexterous
in sculpture. Come into the boudoir, and look at his statuettes
of Napoleon and Wellington on horseback. There ! what do you

think of them ?'

London Revisited. 435

' More astonished than ever,' I declared earnestly, as I con
templated these remarkable works.
' The Duke was so struck by their beauty,' said the Countess,
' that he had them cast in silver, and always ornaments his table
with them at grand dinners.'
' In truth,' I ejaculated, ' Count D'Orsay must be a man of
genius.' ' He is unquestionably,' continued the Countess. ' He excels
in all minor accomplishments, and you see what he can do in
art. He is well read besides, and never speaks without saying
something striking or witty. He must write well too, for Lord
Byron praised some of his early compositions. It is a pity that
a man so gifted should be content with a mere life of fashion.
He might, if so disposed, bequeath a lasting reputation, instead
of going down to posterity as simply a roi de salon!
' He is the nearest approach to the famous " Admirable
Crichton" I ever heard of,' I asserted. ' How I should like to
know him !'
' Nothing easier,' she said. ' He must be here by this time.
Let us return to the library, and I will present you.'
We did so, when she exclaimed,
' Yes, there he is !'
The person designated was, beyond doubt, the handsomest
man I ever saw. Over six feet in height, a model in form, his
forehead covered with dark curly hair, large hazel eyes, small fea
tures, a finely shaped but rather voluptuous mouth, small hands
and feet, an amiable countenance radiant with intelligence, grace
ful, animated, and with an air quite regal, he impressed me at
once as ' a noble of Nature's own creating.'
The Countess perceived my undissembled admiration, and
said, ' Come, let us have a parley with the Count.'
He received me with that bonhomie which characterised him.
' I have already heard" of you,' he remarked, ' from la belle et
bonne Guiccioli, and am very pleased to know you.'
He spoke English with facility, but with a French intona
tion. As we talked I was struck by the originality of his mind,
and his terse and epigrammatic phrases.
He had the faculty of giving interest and point to the merest
trifles, and when he rose to serious subjects the breadth and force
of his views were surprising.

436 London Revisited.

In bidding Lady Blessington good-night, I thanked her for
one of the most delightful evenings I had passed in London.
' I am sorry,' she said, ' that so many of my friends have left
town ; but there are still a few laggards, and if you can come I
will invite some of them to meet you at dinner.'
I acknowledged her kindness in most grateful terms.
' I will write to you in a day or two,' she promised, as I took
her hand in parting.

CHAPTER XLIV.
LONDON REVISITED {continued).
LAWN VILLA — AN ANCIENT CORPORATION — A MEMORABLE DINNER.
The following morning I received an invitation from Dr.
Lardner to dine with him at Lawn Villa, Shepherd's Bush, in
the outskirts of London. I found his residence very charming,
with the grounds admirably laid out. Among the guests I was
gratified to recognise the Countess Guiccioli, whose society
proved more and more attractive. Her somewhat masculine
understanding was tempered by a manner sweetly feminine and
a smile quite irresistible. I felt no doubt of the glowing passion
she awakened in Byron, and then she was some fifteen years
younger and lovelier.
Another lady at the table interested me not a little. It was
Mrs. Shelley, the wife of the ill-fated poet who perished in a gale
off Spezzia, and whose remains were cremated in the presence
of Byron and Trelawney. The brilliant writer was not then
thirty, and had already achieved an enduring reputation. His
widow, now not forty, was the daughter of Godwin, the author
of " Caleb Williams." She justified her descent and her alliance
by the revelation of talents that had given her high rank in the
world of letters. Of all her books, that thrilling romance of
" Frankenstein" will likely be remembered the longest. She was
a tall, pale woman, of handsome face and person, stately and
reserved in tone, and I thought somewhat haughty. Our host
was the life of the occasion. He talked with animation, and was
entertaining without being actually amusing. He was rather hard
and positive in manner, like a rigid mathematician ; but he had
the genial Irish temperament, with all its readiness and vivacity.
He was only forty-four, yet he wore a brown wig that fitted him
to a nicety, and a dainty pair of spectacles. His face was fresh
and comely, and his person quite pleasing. He was said to be
a favorite with women, to whom he was always assiduous.
Another conspicuous person present was Albany Fonblanque,

438 London Revisited.

the renowned journalist. He was not a talker in the ordinary
sense. Rather a quiet man. but it was the quiet of gunpowder.
Every now and then he exploded in a flashing remark that
startled the company. Though remarkable for learning, deep
thoughts and felicity of illustration that seemed exhaustless, he
was especially noted for his satirical wit that gave piquancy to
everything he wrote or said. His brilliant political articles were
devoured with avidity by all classes, and he was ever a welcome
guest in the aristocratic saloons of the Whig party.
I was glad before leaving London to dine with the Lord
Mayor, as this afforded me an opportunity to inspect his official
residence, known as the Mansion House. It is about a hundred
years old, and contains many handsome reception saloons, and
a banqueting-room for public occasions, styled the Egyptian
Hall, of imposing extent. This residence, with furniture, equip
ages, and 40,000 dollars a year, is bestowed on the chief magis
trate of the city for his year of office. The municipal govern
ment of London is a perplexity for foreigners, and it required
some study to fathom it.
The Lord Mayor, with his Court of Aldermen and Common
Council, presides over the old City of London, whose area con
stitutes but a small part of what is known as London. Within
these city limits, covering about six hundred acres, the corpora
tion in question is sovereign. Its jurisdiction ends at its ancient
boundaries, once in part surrounded by a wall. This is the old
est municipal body in the world. Its charter was granted in
1101, and the first Mayor was appointed in 1189. The Guild
hall, or town hall, was built in 141 1 ; and the first official dinner
given there by the Lord Mayor was in 1502, and these banquets
have been repeated annually ever since. These dates are
astounding to an American.
All round the ancient city, but especially to the east and
west, have grown up in the course of centuries vast districts with
which the old corporation has nothing to do. They are divided
into parochial zones, and are governed by vestrymen elected by
the inhabitants of each parish, and whose duties are to provide
for the lighting, paving, and sewage of their respective parishes,
and to assess the rates necessary for this expenditure. These
parishes differ widely in size and expenditure. At the West-
end, or fashionable part of the metropolis, the rates are higher
than at the East-end, occupied by the lower classes. In 1829,

L ondon Revisi ted. 439

Parliament established a police force for the metropolis outside
of the ancient City, which has its own police. The expediency
of doing away with the old Corporation of the City, as well
as parish government, has been mooted often in Parliament;
but the outcry against touching that venerable organisation has
always been so loud that the Imperial Legislature has shrunk
from the task. So for the present the Lord Mayor, with his
gilded coaches and mace-bearer, is safe within the charmed
precincts of the City, as well as parish government without.
The time, however, will probably come when this mammoth
London will pass under a government more simple and uniform
than its old-fashioned machinery, which nevertheless does its
work well.*
On my last night in London I dined at Gore House, and was
delighted beyond measure to meet the most remarkable man of
the day — Lord Brougham. Among the other guests were the
Countess Guiccioli, Count D'Orsay, the Earl of Chesterfield, Mr.
Planche the dramatist, and Mr. Madden the author. The tall
and slender form of Lord Brougham I had often seen in public,
and a thousand sketches had made me familiar with his striking
countenance. It was a new sensation to find myself in his so
ciety, to hear his ringing voice, witness his animated gestures,
and enjoy the variety and brilliancy of his (unrivalled conver
sation. Lady Blessington handled him with rare dexterity, and
suggested topics she knew would stimulate him to the utmost.
He talked with a volubility I never heard equalled ; and such
talk ! What variety, force, glitter, mingled with sarcasm and wit !
It seemed as though he must give vent to his thoughts, always
bubbling up, or suffocate. It was said he had more knowledge
than any man living, and I could well believe it ; but on this
occasion his purpose was not so much to enlighten as to amuse.
He indulged in racy stinging comments on the men and things
of the time, and he appeared to revel in the fun. I had seen him
in the House of Lords the graceful, dignified, impassioned orator ;
but this was a new phase of his character I was not prepared for.
* The records of the old City contain many curious facts that will be read
with" lively interest. I will quote only a sample : In 1582 water was brought from
the Thames to private houses in leaden pipes. In 1603 James I. issued a procla
mation against 'the multitude of dwellers in and about London,' never dreaming it
would one day reach four millions. In 1681 a penny post wa5 established by private
enterprise. In 174.0 the first circulating library was organised. In 1764 the houses
were first numbered.

440 London Revisited. 
What astonished me most of all was the irrepressible vitality
which demanded incessant outlet. His brain seemed not to
require an instant's rest. It flew from Dan to Beersheba, not
ing and discussing everything on the way. His body was as
active as the mind, and was in ceaseless movement. The eyes
constantly changed expression, the nose had a nervous twitch,
the arms incessantly gesticulated. No part of him was for a
moment in repose. I fancied that some day the volcanic forces
within would scatter him in a thousand fragments. He was
fond of relating anecdotes, which he did with telling effect.
During the dinner remarks were made by some, but no one
talked but Lord Brougham. All were content to listen to him.
His control over language was something marvellous, and he
used words as a skilful painter does colours, to give the exact
tint to all he said. He rarely employed ' words of learned length
and thundering sound/ The dessert was no sooner on the table
than he rose, reminding his hostess that he had warned her of
numerous engagements that would prevent him staying longer;
and she cordially thanked him for having come at all under the
circumstances. He shook hands with me on leaving, and hoped
to see me when I returned to England. I asked him if he never
intended visiting the States, and assured him that his welcome
there would reverberate over England.
' Nothing would afford me greater pleasure,' he replied. ' It
has always been my wish ; but my horror of slavery is so great
that some expression of it would be sure to escape me, and I
should get into trouble. No, I must wait till that blot on your
escutcheon is rubbed out'
Every eye followed him as he disappeared, and with the sud
den extinction of this great luminary all fell for a moment under
an eclipse. Everyone had some anecdote of him to relate. LadyB.
said after he became Lord Chancellor the first thing he did was
to hasten to Brougham Hall, in the north of England, to tell
his aged mother of his elevation, and to ask her blessing. She
took him in her arms, and said, ' I would rather have embraced
the member for Yorkshire ; but as it is, God bless you.' It was
thought the shrewd old lady feared he would be less powerful in
the House of Lords than in the Commons.
Mr. Madden was very familiar with his extraordinary career
and stated that the first bent of his mind was towards mathe
matics and natural science ; that at eighteen he wrote an essav

London Revisited. 441

on the ' Refraction of Light,' which attracted attention in the
scientific world, and followed it up by other essays of still greater
merit ; that he was only twenty-four when, with Jeffrey, he
founded the Edinburgh Review, for which he had written whole
volumes. On one occasion he had composed the entire number,
containing a surgical article among the rest. He wrote the
stinging criticism on Byron's juvenile poems, which the irate
bard answered with ' English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.' ' As
to his speeches in Parliament,' continued Mr. M., 'they have
rarely been equalled by the greatest orators. He spoke for four
hours on the Reform Bill in the House of Lords in 1831 ; and
Lord Campbell, who was present, says, " He showed a most
stupendous memory and extraordinary dexterity in handling
the weapons both of ridicule and reason. Without a note to
refer to, he went through all the speeches of his opponents dur
ing the five nights of debate, analysing them successively, and
giving them all a triumphant answer." His efforts on behalf of
political reform,' added Mr. M., ' were prodigious, but as nothing
compared to his exertions for law reform, popular education,
abolition of slavery, and Catholic Emancipation. He has
assailed with impetuosity every kind of venerable abuse, and
has done more to revolutionise the England of the past than any
hundred men have done. His amazing knowledge, energy, and
eloquence especially fitted him for the herculean task. Here
after it will be seen what a giant he was. We are too near him
now to appreciate his colossal powers/
' That is all very true,' said Mr. Planch^, with his pleasant
chuckle, ' but I wonder he is not pursued by the ghosts of the
old " rotten boroughs," denouncing him as a false, fleeting, per
jured Clarence.'
' And why ?' demanded the company.
' Because he owed his admission to Parliament to a " rotten
borough," given him by the Duke of Cleveland ; and after a
dissolution he remained four years without a seat, till the Duke
gave him another " rotten borough," which he represented for
fifteen years. He might never have got into the Commons at
all but for the " rotten boroughs" he annihilated — naughty man !'
Whilst the conversation continued I had an opportunity to
glance around the dining-room, which was of octagonal shape,
well proportioned, and adorned with numerous portraits. Two
of them were by Count D'Orsay — one of Byron, very striking :

442 London Revisited.

the skin was so transparently white that the blue veins shone
through, which was attributed to the poet having abandoned
the use of meat when it was painted ; the other of Napoleon,
whose expression was mild ; but the eyes had an introverted look
really remarkable. The noble artist had painted them over
and over again, till Landseer at last remonstrated at his ex
cessive fastidiousness.
On returning to the drawing-room we had music and anec
dotes. The Countess Guiccioli sang delightfully, and Mr. Planche
overflowed with a budget of good stories.
One or two I remember. He related that a rich old bachelor,
whom he named, had a box at the Opera, which he regularly
occupied. One night he asked the box-keeper the name of a
beautiful woman who had a box on the opposite side, which he
indicated. The box-keeper carelessly gave the name of a lady
in the box adjoining the beauty referred to. Great was the sur
prise, a few years afterwards, of Lady Florence  to find her
self the heiress of a large property, bequeathed by the amorous
old gentleman in question, which was intended for the occupant
of another box.
He then went on to say that a similar incident occurred with
reference to a pretty ballet-girl at Covent Garden Theatre. An
eccentric person he mentioned left a large sum to Miss Lee,
meaning the danseuse he was known to admire ; but another
Miss Lee of the same theatre laid claim to it, and got it, on the
ground that she was permanently connected with the establish
ment. Another laughable anecdote was told by a nephew of the
Duke of Wellington who was present. He said he was staying
at Stratfieldsaye, the Duke's country seat, where a numerous
company was assembled, and the Rev. G. W, one of the party,
asked them to come down to his Sunday-school in a village on
the property, where the annual examination was to take place.
They were all present, and after sundry questions had been put
and bungled over by the frightened bumpkins, the reverend gentle
man, in a grave tone, asked : ' What solemn event had once
occurred on the 25th of December ?' One of the boys immedi
ately cried out, ' The battle of Waterloo !' and the whole batch
at once began shouting, ' Hurrah ! hurrah !' As soon as he could
quiet them the irritated parson exclaimed, ' No, no, you stupid
fellows ! I meant who was born on the 25 th of December ?'

London Revisited. 443

* The Duke of Wellington !' shouted another ; and again the
welkin rang with hurrahs ; and the company, in convulsions of
laughter, hurried away forthwith.
Lady Blessington, in her splendid dinner toilette, looked
really superb. Her snowy-white shoulders, with such a graceful
fall and lovely bust, must have been the admiration of all.
Her coiffure was the same that Challon has immortalised in his
famous portrait, consisting of a species of cap, with a band of
lace crossing the forehead, with lappets drawn down close to the
cheeks and fastened under the chin. It was most artistically
planned to reveal the beauty of her fine brow and the perfect
oval of her face. I was profuse in my thanks to her ladyship
for her flattering hospitality, and the inestimable honour of the
acquaintances she had given me.
I felt something more than regret at parting with the
Countess Guiccioli, to whom I had grown much attached even
in the short time I had known her. She was good enough to
say again she was loth to lose sight of me so soon, but counted
on renewing my acquaintance on my return. As I kissed her
hand quite fervently for the last time, I repeated some lines of
Byron that I was sure would be familiar to her :
' Farewell ! If ever fondest prayer
For others' weal availed on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,
But waft thy name beyond the sky.'
It was plain she recognised them, for a sad expression overspread
her face. But in a moment she threw it off, and, smiling, said,
'Au revoir, a Paris! She turned away; and in a few minutes I
was on the road to my residence, quite absorbed in the pleasing
recollections of the night — one not soon to be forgotten.

CHAPTER XLV.
RETURN TO PHILADELPHIA.
J. S. BUCKINGHAM — CONTRASTS AND COMPARISONS — FORREST'S RECEPTION
AT HOME.
I took the morning coach for Portsmouth on September 20th,
to embark in the ship ' President' for New York. I roamed
over the town and its famous dockyards full two days before
our ship arrived from London, and I rejoiced at having escaped
this much of the ordeal that awaited me. I hurried on board,
and was soon under full sail with a rattling breeze and the
compass pointing due west. The passengers were, happily, few,
and rather a commonplace lot. I discovered, however, one
exception, and looked forward to many pleasant hours in the
society of J. Silk Buckingham, late a prominent member of Par
liament for Sheffield. He was a fine-looking man of fifty and
upwards, his countenance mild and genial ; but his clear blue
eyes gave token of a restless spirit, that his career fully justified.
Some twenty years previously he had been the proprietor of
a flourishng paper in Calcutta, and was accumulating money and
fame ; but he had an unfortunate knack of ' prying into abuses,'
and made frequent war on the doubtful doings of the East India
Company, whose power was then absolute. He was warned
more than once that he would be sent about his business ; but
he snapped his fingers at threats, and cracked his critical whip
louder than ever. He rose one morning to find his journal
suppressed, and himself ordered forthwith to take up his bed and
walk. He was then inclined to parley, and promised better
behaviour ; but the only reply was, ' Avaunt, and quit my sight !'
for in those days the East India Company gave short shrive to
offenders. He was obliged to sail for England, without time to
sell his paper — a splendid property, which collapsed, to nearly
his utter ruin. He resolved on vengeance, and no sooner did
he land in England than he organised a crusade against his
enemy. He travelled from town to town through the country,
launching the thunderbolts of his eloquence against the tyranny

Return to Philadelphia. 445
of the East India Company. So powerful was his array of facts
that he stirred up an agitation that threatened its existence.
He was elected for Sheffield in the reformed Parliament of 1832,
and never lost an opportunity to inflict a blow on the head of
his relentless foe. Satisfied at last that his purpose was achieved,
he resigned his seat, and, with unabated energy, set about a new
enterprise. His purpose now was to make a tour of the world,
and publish a book of travels. He was accompanied by his wife,
an amiable and refined woman, and their only child, a fine lad of
fifteen, whose culture was far beyond his years. As we made
our way down the Channel he penned some pretty verses, bidding
farewell to his native land, which, for grace and finish, would have
done honour to many a famous poet.
During our weary voyage Mr. Buckingham often entertained
me with curious stories of Eastern life, from which I gleaned a
deal of information. Some of his adventures in that part of the
world were actually startling. I quote one among many that
impressed me strongly.
He stated that many districts of India were infested by
tigers, and though a reward was given for their destruction, they
continued very numerous, and prowled about the villages seek
ing for a victim. He was on a visit ' up country,' he related,
and one evening, about dusk, was returning home in a palanquin
from making a call in the neighbourhood, when suddenly the
native servants put down their burden abruptly, and, yelling, took
to their heels. Wondering at the cause of their alarm, he was
about opening the door to look out, when the roar of a tiger
filled him with terror. In another moment the palanquin was
thrown on the ground, and the savage beast began pushing it
over and over with his nose, growling fiercely all the time.
Every moment he dreaded would be his last, as one blow of the
tiger's paw would have shattered the frail carriage. After smelling
about for some minutes, the baffled animal, with a loud cry, ran
off ; a short time after, the natives returned with guns, and to
his infinite joy he was picked up, and carried to the house. This
incident so terrified him that he hurried back to Calcutta, and
made no more jaunts 'up country.'
All that I had dreaded in the way of head-winds and ennui
was more than realised in that tedious voyage. We were buf
feted about for weeks by contrary gales, till my patience was
utterly exhausted, and I registered a solemn ' So help me' that

446 Return to Philadelphia.
never again would I trust myself to the caprice of the weather at
sea. At length, after moaning and groaning, and I believe a little
swearing, we reached Sandy Hook, making the transit in thirty-
five days ; and nothing else, I believe, than the Bay of New
York — quite equal to that of Naples or Constantinople — could
have restored me to my wonted serenity. Taking a hurried fare
well of my fellow-passengers, I made my way to Philadelphia,
eager to greet my relatives and friends after so long an absence.
This over, I began to look curiously about, and to analyse the
effect of my old home upon me after three years of absence,
crowded with impressions so varied and wonderful that I felt
my travelled vision would likely regard objects and people in a
different, perhaps more unfavourable, light. The first thing that
struck, and rather shocked, me was the newness of the town.
It looked as if built yesterday, so fresh and recent was its aspect.
My nose turned up involuntarily at the State House I once
venerated as a relic. Even an old wooden tenement in Second-
street, reared before the Revolution, that I formerly gazed on
with reverence, I glanced at with something not unlike con
tempt. This came of my having contemplated the Coliseum,
to say nothing of Pompeii, which for antiquity not only dwarfed
our Revolution, but made America herself seem a very modern
discovery. After recovering from this disenchantment, I next turned my
attention to the people themselves, and soon observed there was
no occasion for derogatory comparison. In various respects
they seemed unlike the denizens of any country I had visited.
They certainly cared less for music than the Italians, less for art
than the French, and less for horseflesh than the English, but
had especial characteristics of their own. The quick intelli
gence, extreme energy, and self-reliance that pervaded all classes
distinguished them, I thought, from any other nation. There
was another trait as deeply marked — a calm, exact, unsenti
mental way of judging of men and things. They were singularly
observant, too ; shrewd, and even suspicious ; not easily played
upon or hoodwinked. The road to their convictions lay through
their reason. They were difficult of access through their feel
ings or imagination. Not that they were deficient in either, but
the portals to both were jealously guarded, and nothing passed
that was not genuine. Mere ' buncombe' had no chance at all.
Though earnest, grave, and laborious, yet there was a vein of

Return to Philadelphia. 447

humour at bottom : not one of them but would suspend business
a moment to hear a joke, which was wholly unlike any other
country's jokes. It was something original, exaggerated, gro
tesque, bordering on caricature, flavoured with the ridiculous ;
in short, something so opposite to their own conformation as
to make it ludicrous. A smile oftener than a laugh was the
acknowledgment, and then work was resumed ; and how they
worked ! Every man seemed to have a mission — wealth first,
enjoyment afterwards. There was no such thing as the leisure
class of Europe — no idlers or loungers. They impressed me as
very decorous and well conducted, capable of governing them
selves. What a contrast to foreign lands, with their parapher
nalia of soldiery, gendarmes, and police ! I missed the glare of
ribbons and stars, and the pompous announcement of titles.
The distinguished bore no external signs of intellectual or social
superiority. Respect was paid to both, but a jealous republi
canism protested against gold embroidery for one or coats of
arms for the other.
Nothing surprised and delighted me more than the universal
deference paid at that day to the women of all classes and con
ditions. Nothing like it existed in Europe. In France there
was more flourish of the hat, but nowhere such genuine homage,
such refined consideration to the fair sex, as were then prevalent
all over the States, and which I felt indicated a high civilisation.
I was proud to remark that in form and feature American
beauty suffered no detriment from the rivalry of any country.
With less ' plumptitude' than the English, less conventional ease
than the French, it was unaffected, keen-witted, and vivacious,
with a general aplomb that struck me as remarkable. At that
day less attention was given by our women to the pitch of the
voice in conversation. Foreigners often complained that they
spoke in a shriller and higher key than was common in European
society. Since then cadence has been more cultivated, in con
formity with the saying of King Lear in the play : ' Her voice
was- ever soft, an excellent thing in woman.'
In fine, after some weeks of scrutiny and tranquil reflection,
I wound up with this postulate — that in antiquities Europe beat
us all hollow — there was no denying it ; but for mental or moral
worth our men and women had no reason to shrink from a com
parison. This was the modest way I put it. Yet, after all, it
occurred to me, comparisons were idle between a country so

448 Return to Philadelphia.
young as ours and the ancient communities of Europe. We
were still in our green youth, with all the innocence of that age
— ' a people/ as Burke said, ' who are still, as it were, but in the
gristle, and not yet hardened into the bone of manhood.' What
should we become with a centuiy or so on our backs, and with
the increased knowledge and wickedness that follow years?
Should we be as rational and patriotic amid the struggles of
hostile parties and the clashing of rival interests ? or were we
destined, like so many before us, only to leave a name at which
' The world grew pale,
To point a moral or adorn a tale' ?
In spite of the misgivings of the Prince Woronzow, and with
due concession to the faults and frailties of human nature, I
believed the United States would carve out a new record, and
furnish fresh materials for philosophers to analyse and historians
to chronicle. My late fellow-traveller, Forrest, appeared at the Chestnut-
street Theatre in November, after a lapse of three years, and met
with an enthusiastic welcome. His foreign triumphs had added
to his prestige, and all agreed that his acting had improved under
the joint effect of maturer study and English criticism. The
theatre was crowded to overflowing, and the elite of the town
were now amongst his heartiest admirers. Partly from the
nervousness I have previously noticed, but more from mistaken
pride, he had always refused their proffers of civility, which they
resented by absenting themselves from his performances. His
European experience had made him more tractable, and I in
duced him, after a little hesitation, to consent to meet many of
the leading persons of his native town at dinner at the house of
Mr. Charles Ingersoll. This gentleman was an eminent member
of the bar, and a grandson of Jared Ingersoll, a signer of the
Federal Constitution. His father,' C. J. Ingersoll, was for many
years equally prominent at the bar and in politics. The bearing
of Mr. Charles Ingersoll was somewhat cold and lofty, and not
likely to conciliate so proud and sensitive a man as my friend
Forrest ; but he had a thorough love of the drama, and a sincere
admiration of the great actor, which he lost no opportunity to
proclaim. This laid the foundation of a strong mutual esteem.
The dinner in question was to take place on a Sunday, and
as I had been active in bringing about this conjunction of our

Return to Philadelphia. 449
tragedian with the aristocracy of his birthplace, I felt not a littlr-
uneasy at his possible retreat at the last moment, which had
occurred more than once on similar occasions. I visited him,
therefore, in his dressing-room at the theatre on Saturday night,
to find if his nerves were steady and his purpose unaltered. My
reconnaissance was satisfactory, and I left him fully reassured.
As I turned the corner of the street at four P.M. on the following
day, I noticed my valiant friend making a steady advance on Mr.
Ingersoll's house, and I slackened my pace to allow him to enter
before me. He mounted the steps resolutely and rang the bell,
when, to my surprise, he turned short round, and strode away
hastily. Evidently a sudden chill had seized him, and he deter
mined to bolt. I soon overtook him, and brought him to a halt.
' What in the world is the matter ?' I exclaimed. ' Are~you
taken ill ?'
He turned about with a confused air, and cried out,
' I was not going to stand there all day. Why didn't they
open the door when I rang ?'
' Why didn't you give the servant half a minute to reach it ?
Come along like a man,' I said, in a pleasant tone. ' None of
your nonsense.'
He followed me quietly, like a schoolboy caught in the act. I
was secretly amused at the collapse of his courage. He meant
to hurry home, write a letter of apology, and so escape the dreaded
ordeal. Forrest met with a hearty reception from his host, who pre
sented him to his wife, the only lady present. Mrs. Ingersoll was
a handsome woman, of superior intelligence, and with a charm
of manner she had doubtless acquired at the Court of France,
where she had passed some years with her father, Mr. Brown,
then the American Envoy. The company was numerous, and I
recognised amongst them General Cadwalader, Nicholas Biddle;
Richard Rush, former Minister to England, and his brother, Dr.
Rush, a nabob of Philadelphia ; Dr. Chapman, the noted wit ;
Charles J. Ingersoll, his brother Joseph, and others of the same
distinction. Forrest was so kindly greeted by all in turn that he
was soon at his ease, and I never knew him to show to more
advantage. His fine countenance beamed with satisfaction, and
his manner was pleasing and affable. As the chief guest, he
escorted Mrs. Ingersoll to table ; and when she retired, he was
questioned by the company as to his reception in England and
GG

450 Return to Philadelphia.
his travels in Europe. He talked with fluency, told several good'
anecdotes, and, in fine, made a most favourable impression on all
present. We left the house together, and as we walked along the
quiet streets, he said, after some moments of silence,
' This is the proudest day of my life, for I have met on terms
of social equality many of the conspicuous men of my native
city, whose names have been familiar to me from my boyhood,
and whom I never aspired to know.'
' And yet,' I replied, ' you showed the utmost eagerness to
escape their acquaintance, which accident alone prevented.'
' I confess it,' said the penitent Forrest ; ' but at the last mo
ment I recoiled at the thought of the patronising airs I was about
to undergo, and turned instinctively to fly from the humiliation.'
'That is just your abiding error,' was my answer. 'Well-
bred people never assume airs of any kind, and it is easy to turn
your back on the vulgar who do. But it is getting late, and so
good-night/ I left him in the pleasantest mood imaginable, and I indulged
the hope that his silly prejudice against good society would be
finally overcome.
It was during this engagement of Forrest that unwittingly
I made my first and last appearance on the stage, and it hap
pened in this wise : I had occasion to call one evening on the
tragedian in his dressing-room, and, entering by the usual door,
undertook to cross the stage at the upper end where the scenes
were usually closed. I had got half-way over when the voices
of the actors struck me as unusually distinct, and, looking round,
discovered to my terror I was standing in front of the audience,
who contemplated me with undisguised astonishment. Every
eye was upon me, and, worse than all, Forrest, as Coriolanus,
was ' looking daggers' at my unexpected intrusion. My first
instinct was to run, but I knew this would bring a yell that
might possibly stop the performance. My appearance must
have been ludicrous, with my umbrella under my arm and my
face full of dismay. I decided to walk calmly off as I entered,
and did so, whilst an audible titter pervaded the house. I was
still standing at the wings in a copious perspiration, when For
rest left the stage, and, seeing me, exclaimed :
' The next time, my friend, you wish to make an appear
ance, let me know, and you shall have the scene to yourself/

Return to Philadelphia. 451
' Thank you,' I replied ; ' but I will not try it again. I never
had such a scare in my life.'
He smiled, but was somewhat annoyed at the incident. I had
to undergo a deal of banter from friends who were amongst the
audience, and who said they were much disposed to applaud me,
as I really acquitted myself very well for ' a first appearance.'
A movement was on foot in Philadelphia to tender the
tragedian the compliment of a public banquet, in honour of his
return from Europe, which he cheerfully accepted. A com
mittee had been formed of the leading citizens, and Mr. Charles
Ingersoll took an active part in its operations, of which the fol
lowing note is a proof : 13th Dec. 1837.
Dear Sir, — Will you send me word before four o'clock how many of
the tickets I sent you have been taken? I want to know with a view
to some of the arrangements for the dinner. — Very sincerely, C. Ingersoll.
H. Wikoff, Esq.
Mr. Nicholas Biddle had consented to preside ; but two days
previously a sudden illness compelled him to withdraw, and Mr.
Joseph R. Ingersoll was substituted in his place. On the after
noon of the festival I went up to Forrest's house to see if all was
right, not knowing what freak might have seized on my fitful
friend. I found him sitting in his library, with a wet napkin
around his head, which had rather a comical effect.
' What's the matter now ?' I inquired. ' Not trying on a new
costume ?'
' No ; but I am suffering from a diabolical headache, and if it
lasts I don't see how I can go to the dinner.'
' I understand — another nervous attack ; but you must go, if
you are carried on a litter. Make up your mind to that'
He gave vent to his feelings in a hearty ' D — n it !' and fel
back in his chair.
' Is your speech ready ?' I asked.
' Yes ; but I should not be surprised if I forgot every word.'
' Hand me a copy, and I will sit near to give the cue.'
This seemed to relieve him ; and after a little chat, in which
I assured him the dinner would have an excellent effect over
the country, that all the newspapers were full of it, he suddenly
rallied, took off his headdress, and pledged himself to come to
time.

452 Return to Philadelphia.
The banquet was given at the Merchants' Hotel on De
cember 15, where some two hundred of the notables of the town
assembled to do honour to the renowned actor. Punctually at
six o'clock the hero of the night appeared, and shook hands
gaily with the eager throng that pressed round him. He
looked perfectly composed, and no one could have imagined
from his calm mien and smiling visage that he had passed the
afternoon with throbbing temples, and secretly revolving how
best he could elude the ordeal that awaited him. The dinner
was irreproachable — every luxury of the season, and much
more. One of the champagnes was christened the ' Forrest
brand,' and was drunk almost exclusively. The cloth removed,
the chairman rose, and delivered an admirable discourse in
honour of ' our guest/ He recapitulated the steady rise of the
tragedian in his profession from its lowest grade ; his intense
devotion to his art ; his successes abroad ; his private worth and
conscientious discharge of his duties in life. These topics were
dexterously handled by the distinguished chairman, who was
always a ready and impressive speaker ; but his earnestness on
this occasion, coupled with his eminent respectability, gave ad
ditional weight to all he said. When he called on the company
to drink to the health of the actor ' we all admire and the man
we all esteem,' every one sprang to his feet, and the welkin rang
with cheers.
To my surprise, Forrest preserved his self-possession. He
looked serene, but I could fancy the turmoil raging within. His
will triumphed over his nerves. When he stood up to respond,
fresh acclamations greeted him. In appearance he was the
beau ideal of an orator. His noble person, dignity, and grace
arrested every eye. His speech was a perfect gem, and he threw
into its delivery all the resources of his art. His fine voice, like
a melodious organ, gave forth every variety of tone, and was
modulated to correspond with the sentiments enunciated, now
swelling into a sonorous utterance of his sense of the honour
conferred, and now sinking into a tremulous key as he described
the emotions he experienced. The varying expressions of his
face and admirable gesticulation doubled the effect of his telling
language. It was a masterly performance, and richly deserved
the enthusiasm it evoked. I never knew an audience more
completely carried captive by the charms of oratory. Toasts
and speeches followed. Mr. Charles Ingersoll spoke most effec-

Return to Philadelphia. 453
tively, and bore testimony to the genius of the first tragic
actor of the day. Mr. Morton M'Michael, a rising lawyer, made
one of the best harangues of the night. He conveyed his ideas
in well-rounded sentences, and with an earnestness of manner
that told on the convictions of his auditors. He impressed me
as belonging to that limited category of men who believed what
they said. Every one left the banquet-hall delighted with the
entertainment, and I doubted not the occasion would be long
remembered. I accompanied Forrest to his house, and congratulated him
heartily on his brilliant success. He was conscious he had made
a hit, and vastly elated at the compliments showered upon him.
' This is another proud day for you,' I remarked. ' Hence
forth eschew headaches, nor " put a clout upon that head where
late a diadem stood." '
' Well quoted,' retorted the tragedian ; ' but if there is any
thing I abhor, it is making a speech.'
' Why,' said I, ' you are making speeches every night to ap
plauding audiences.'
' Ah,' he returned, ' Shakespeare and the rest are responsible
for my speeches in the theatre ; but when I figure as the author,
my knees are apt to knock together.'
' It is strange, but true,' I added. ' Yet no one less familiar
with you than myself could believe it.'
The White House had changed its tenant during my absence.
The grim old warrior of Tennessee had returned to his home, and
was followed in the chief magistracy by his favourite henchman,
Martin Van Buren. The manoeuvres, the intrigues, and the dip
lomacy of the ' Little Magician' had triumphed, and he was now
the occupant of the Presidential chair. But he soon discovered
that he had only succeeded to ' a heritage of woe.' The country
had fallen into utter financial confusion ; trade and commerce
were prostrated, and bankruptcy was spread far and wide. The
overthrow of the United States Bank, which had acted as a use
ful lever in the business machinery of the country, was the soli
tary cause of this dire condition of things. President Jackson,
in his hatred of the ' Monster,' and doubtless believing he could
effect a ' reform in the currency,' which really required none,
never stopped to reflect what might ensue when all check over
the circulating medium, which was the special function of the
United States Bank, was removed. The Government deposits,

454 Return to Philadelphia.
when withdrawn from the vaults of the national institution, were
confided to various State Banks, which, supposing themselves
the permanent custodians of all this gold, issued at once large
amounts of paper, that was considered safe and convertible. This
was not all, nor the worst. For when the fiscal agent of the Govern
ment disappeared, a host of sham banks sprang up all over the
country, which was soon flooded with an enormous emission of
notes, that represented not gold, but the brass, of the audacious
men who manufactured them. Of course this stimulated the
wildest speculation, and gave an artificial value to all kinds of
property. The reaction came. All the banks of the country,
good and bad, suspended specie payments, and gold and silver,
taking the wings of the morning, vanished from the land.
This was the state of things when I arrived in the autumn of
1837. Alarmed by the outcries and groans of the afflicted
people, President Van Buren called a special Session of Congress,
and the Administration party set to work tinkering and cobbling,
in the hope to mitigate the universal ruin staring them in the
face. The politicians of the Jackson school were filled with
dismay, for they could plainly discern the coming of the whirl
wind. The knowing ones began seceding, and hid themselves
away in the ranks of the Whigs. As for the masses, who had
been shouting 'Hurrah for Jackson !' for years past, never dream
ing they would pay such a penalty for their hero-worship, they
were expiating their folly in sackcloth and ashes. It was clear
to any impartial observer they would seek vengeance at the
polls when the next Presidential election came on. Meanwhile
they were consigned to penury and repentance.

CHAPTER XLVI.
RETURN TO PHILADELPHIA {continued).
M. B. SAMPSON — UNDER LOCK AND KEY — PHRENOLOGY EXPLORED.
I MADE the acquaintance, during the winter, of an English
gentleman who was staying at the same hotel. His name was-
Mr. M. B. Sampson, and he was a trusted agent of the Bank of
England, which had sent him recently to Philadelphia to investi
gate its accounts with the Bank of the United States. He was
accompanied by his wife, who was an amiable woman, but
of a very taciturn bent. The kind disposition, unassuming
manners, superior mind, and decorous tone of Mr. Sampson
made his society exceedingly congenial. Though profoundly
versed in the lore of finance, he had none of the arid reserve
usually belonging to a mere man of figures. He was fond of
society and the amusements of the day, especially the theatre.
He had once even written a play on the sly, for the Bank of
England would have shrunk aghast from association with a
dramatist. I took him often to see Forrest, whom he greatly
admired, and he wrote some admirable notices of his acting,
which I had inserted in the newspapers.
I remember on one occasion he promised to accompany me
to the theatre, and we agreed to meet at the hotel for that pur
pose. I was punctual at the rendezvous ; but my friend, who
was always exact, did not return, and his wife was not a little
perplexed at his disappearance. After waiting some time I
went off in despair. I got back to the hotel at midnight, and
expected to have the mystery solved, but nothing had been
heard of the missing Sampson in the interval. His wife was
greatly agitated, and feared some accident had befallen him.
I felt uneasy, but tried to calm her apprehensions. He had
gone as usual to the United States Bank, where he always
passed the day, poring over his balance-sheets, but invariably
returned home about five p.m., when the Bank was locked up, and
the janitor left It was too late to make any inquiries that

456 Return to Philadelphia.
night, and so Mrs. Sampson and myself were forced to retire to
rest with our anxiety unrelieved. I had such entire confidence in
the steady habits and domestic devotion of my friend, that I
refused to give way for a moment to the supposition that he had
yielded to any passing temptation. The next morning, to my
great satisfaction, I found him seated at the breakfast-table,
serene and smiling as usual ; and before I could interrogate him
on his mysterious eclipse of the previous night, he began
promptly to explain it.
Absorbed in his figures, he related, he had remained at his
desk in the Bank beyond his usual hour, and the janitor, know
ing his punctuality, took it for granted he had gone, locked up
the doors, and retired. When Sampson came down, he found,
to his dismay, he was a prisoner, and discovering no egress pos
sible, he resolved to make the best of it. He was lucky enough
to stumble on candles and matches, when he resumed his finan
cial labours, and so passed most of the weary night. Occasion
ally he stretched himself on the counters of the Bank, with a
ponderous ledger for a pillow, hoping to snatch a little sleep ;
but the cold was so sharp, he' was forced to pace to and fro
to keep up his circulation, envying the while the fortunate folks
who were comfortably ensconced in bed. At seven in the
morning the janitor walked in, and, seeing a man in the Bank,
was going to give the alarm, but recognising Mr. Sampson, he
wondered how he had got there. He was full of penitence
when he learned the facts ; but disregarding his excuses the
liberated Sampson hurried home, to reassure his wife of his
safety. I laughed at the story, and said it was very amusing.
' To you it may be,' retorted the ex-captive, ' but, as Clarence
says, " I would not spend another such a night,
Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days." '
What interested me the most in my English friend was the
strange conjunction of very opposite traits. Though profoundly
versed in all the mysteries of finance, which indicated a mind
steady and exact, he was, at the same time, impregnated with a
keen relish for literature and the arts. Furthermore, he re
vealed a decided bias for new theories, and was given to pin
his faith on speculative doctrines of all sorts. He was a convert
to homoeopathy, a devout believer in phrenology, and scarcely
less disposed to put trust in mesmerism. I had never investi-

Return to Philadelphia. 457
gated any of these novel subjects, and was therefore full of
scepticism. We spent hours wrangling over these topics, and
his superior knowledge often silenced, but failed to convince, me.
One day we had a set-to on phrenology.
' From the days of Pythagoras and Plato,' I remarked, ' down
to our time, the subtlest thinkers have lost themselves in seeking
to penetrate the mysteries of the brain, and its invisible connec
tion with the body. It seems to me, therefore, absurd to say
that the functions of the brain in general, and its different parts
in particular/ can be determined, and that the various disposi
tions and intellects of people can be indicated by the protuber
ances and cavities found on the skull.'
' Whilst I grant,' replied Sampson, ' that the development
of the skull is not the same in all persons, yet I assert that the
protuberances and cavities in question are manifested on every
head. It is also true that nearly all the philosophers who have
made the mystical relations of the soul and body their study
have agreed in designating the fore part of the head as the seat
of the intellectual faculties, and the back part that of the animal
organs. Experiment has likewise proved that the brain is divided
andsubdivided into hemispheres and lobes, with bridges, as it were,
connecting them, and that the loss or disease of any particular
part affects some especial faculty or organ. The opponents of
phrenology are compelled to admit that the brain is not only
complex, but that each part of it has its various functions. A
simple but convincing illustration of its composite nature is the
fact that insane people are usually only deranged on one or two
subjects, and are rational on all others.'
' I do not question the complexity of the brain,' I answered,
' or that it is the seat of all mental and moral power, or that its
ascendency is complete over the body, as shown by such familiar
phenomena as the paleness or redness of the face and a thousand
other bodily disturbances. But what I fail to comprehend is
the possibility of making a scientific classification of our mental
and moral traits, and that each has its special residence in the
brain, and can be discovered by an external development. This
I consider a downright fallacy of Dr. Gall, the founder of the
system ; and whilst conceding all he has done for the anatomy
of the brain, I cannot subscribe to his doctrine that the twenty-
seven organs he specifies have each their favourite haunts, and
that the propensities, sentiments, and intellectual faculties of

458 Return to Philadelphia.
every one may be detected by the simple application of the
finger to the skull/
' You should not forget,' continued Sampson, ' that the doc
trine of Gall, fantastic as you may think it, has been sustained
and elaborated by men of such undoubted learning as Spurzheim
and Combe and a host of others. However, I do not aspire to
overcome your doubts by mere discussion ; and as I believe you
would like to verify what there may be of truth or deception in
the new science, as I regard it, I propose you should accompany
me, when convenient, to the house of a practical phrenologist I
know, and draw your conclusions accordingly/
' Most cheerfully,' I replied. ' I will go to-morrow.'
The next day I accompanied my friend to the residence of
Mr. Fowler, who was informed that I was a rank unbeliever in
the creed of Gall, and qame there to have my doubts confirmed.
Mr. Fowler bowed pleasantly, and asked me to be seated, when
he began manipulating my head in silence. After a few minutes
he proceeded in simple language to portray my mental and
moral characteristics, which seemed to interest him, whilst it
utterly astounded me. Had he lived with me all his life, ' had
he twinned with me, both at a birth,' as Othello says, he could
hardly have made a closer analysis of my individuality. Point
ing out the various elevations and depressions of the cranium,
he stated the size and force of the organ there resident, and
showed how one of a certain tendency either balanced or over
powered another of an opposite tendency, and so gave shape
and direction to the mind and character. After studying these
indications for a time, he proceeded to draw up a map, as it
were, of my personality, and the result was, as I just said, quite
confounding. Whether he strictly told the truth, which might
not always be politic, or only revealed what he thought would
be palatable, I cannot say, but he really made me out a very
inoffensive sort of person. Nay, more, the portrait he drew
was, on the whole, so flattering that I began to hope the new
doctrine might be true. I was bound to admit, however, that
much of what he declared I felt to be exact. I will venture to
repeat some of the utterances of the oracle, not from vanity, but
more to call the attention of scoffers like myself to the preten
sions of phrenology as a new science. I will write the organs in
italics. Your mind,' said Mr. Fowler, 'is active, your propelling

Return to Philadelphia. 459
powers positive and energetic ; hence you work off your power,
both physically and mentally, very rapidly. You have a good
combination of energy, enterprise, and determination ; and with
these elements of power you also have a poetical spirit and love
of the beautiful and perfect. You also have the religious ele
ment strongly marked, embracing Spirituality, Veneration, and
Benevolence, which often manifests itself for moral perfection,
and creates a strong sympathy for the refinements of life and
with all that pertains to the beautiful and artistic. You are
something of an antiquarian. You have enough of Veneration
to give you a strong affinity for the past, especially for what
ever has been connected with eminent personages and eminent
events. ' Your Hope is very influential, and you always expect suc
cess. If you were to fail in one undertaking, you would enter
upon another with increased zest. You generally have a word
of comfort for everybody. The future to you is always bright.
You do not mourn over losses and disappointments. Your
Firmness and Faith, your Hope and Pride, all work together,
producing cheerfulness, earnestness of effort, persistent courage,
joined to a belief in Providence that " it helps those who help
themselves." ' Your love of Approbation is not that which seeks flattery or
display, but is that which acts in conjunction with pride and
determination, giving a sense of honour and love of success.
You are anxious that those whose good opinions you value
should comprehend your motives, even though you fail in your
schemes. ' Your Combativeness and Destructiveness are distinctively,
though not largely, developed. It is more natural for these
faculties, in your case, to give promptness and efficiency than to
produce severity and pugnacity of disposition.
' You have but little Secretiveness, and what you have is em
ployed in conjunction with intellect, giving policy, shrewdness,
and tact, rather than with the animal propensities, giving cun
ning and slyness. In ordinary society you appear very frank,
and ordinarily are so. You are watchful, without being timid ;
but you have felt more embarrassment in trying situations than
most persons would give you credit for. It is generally sup
posed you are never afraid ; and you have a fashion of making a
bold effort and striking early when you feel embarrassed, and

460 Return to Philadelphia.
thus often appear particularly brave and self-possessed, when,
in fact, you feel apprehensive.
'Your Adhesiveness is large. You make friends wherever
you go. You are capable of strong attachments, especially for
women, with whom you have always been popular, and can
interweave yourself with them in almost any society, so as to
make your company sought after by old and young. You can
gain the confidence of children and women — either will tell you
that which they will not confide to most men, and are inclined
to regard you as a friend.
' You have intensity rather than continuity of mind. You
engage in an enterprise with great energy, and for the time
being appear to have but a single object in view.
' Your reasoning intellect has been considerably cultivated,
particularly Causality. You reason much more than is generally
supposed. You have a way of coming to conclusions almost at:
a jump ; but your mind works industriously, though not plod
dingly, still philosophically. You perceive the facts of the case
very quickly. You have large observing organs, and a leading
peculiarity of your mind is to arrange facts most methodi
cally. ' You have a large organ of Language. Your vocabulary of
words is extensive, and you are rarely at a loss for just the word
to give the desired shade and modification to your thought.
' Another organ equally developed is Order. You must have
everything systematically organised. If you were at the head
of a business or a school, you would have a system from top to
bottom almost as strict as a military establishment.
' You have the faculty of Human Nature largely developed,
which enables you to comprehend character at a glance ; and
Agreeableness and Imitation, which empower you to adapt your
self successfully to society.
' You value property chiefly for its uses. You could be
economical if necessary ; but it is more natural for you to
acquire than to keep and lay up.
' Your sympathies are so influential as to blind you to the
faults of others, and to lead you to waive your own interests and
convenience in their behalf/
This was merely an abstract of what was said, but enough to
convey a fair impression of the process. I left Mr. Fowler's
residence quite staggered at the evidence that phrenology, in-

Return to Philadelphia. 461
stead of an imposture, as I supposed, was hardly less than a
new revelation. Sampson divined my state of mind, and quietly-
remarked, ' You see I did not exaggerate the pretensions of the young
science, and you will readily admit that Gall and his disciples
are not the mere theorists you fancied.'
' I will admit whatever you please,' I said sincerely. ' I am
utterly confounded, and forced to confess that what I thought
was superior wisdom on my part was simply ignorance and con
ceit. Meanwhile, I am under boundless obligations to you for
bringing me into contact with an unknown world. I shall here
after be less sceptical, and more disposed to investigate than to
denounce doctrines because they are new.'
Sampson's honest face radiated with intense satisfaction.
' I could almost embrace you,' he said, ' for your candid
intelligent declarations. I have known people as bewildered as
you still assert that it was all jugglery, mere guess-work ; as if
the inmost recesses of the mind and heart could be laid bare by
trickery !'
' Yet to be frank with you,' I replied, in a pondering mood,
' I do not see how far phrenology will serve mankind. To tell
the whole truth in every case would rob those who practised it
of their occupation. Besides, the religious world would say it
tended to fatalism, and would invoke the eloquence of the pulpit
against it.'
' However that may be,' returned my undaunted friend,
' phrenology is none the less one of the striking discoveries of
our day ; and who can foresee the benefits it may confer ?
Socrates declared the most precious knowledge was " to know
thyself." If he lived now he would advise all to go to a phre
nologist as the shortest road to the desired information.'
We parted in front of the United States Bank, which Samp
son entered ; and I betook myself to my hotel, to make notes of
my morning's experience.*
* I shall have occasion to speak of Mr. Sampson hereafter. He wielded for
some years supreme power over the financial world of London as the editor of the
Times City article.

CHAPTER XLVII.
RETURN TO PHILADELPHIA {continued).
FASHIONABLE SOCIETY — THE ' NEW YORK HERALD* — JAMES GORDON BENNETT.
I PASSED a merry winter in my native town, frequenting the
luxurious houses of many old friends. Dinners were numerous
at the usual hour of five P.M., an hour or two later than was
fashionable only ten years before. Balls and large parties were
occasionally given ; but the most popular mode of entertainment
were small reunions, where the invitation was for eight P.M., and
the refreshments consisted chiefly of tea and ices. These soir/es
broke up early, which made them all the more acceptable to the
quiet people of that time, who eschewed late hours and hot
suppers. One of the houses I often visited in this pleasant way
was that of Mrs. John Ridgway, the acknowledged beauty of
the beau monde. She was the eldest daughter of Richard Wil
ling, the head of one of the oldest families of the town. In
early youth she was famous for her charms, and as she grew in
years she developed in loveliness. Above medium height, dark
hair, regular features, and eyes of peculiar fascination, she was
pronounced universally the beauty par excellence of Philadelphia.
Her manner was reserved, but free from pretension. To all
persons and on all occasions she was imposing, and intensely
comme il faut. No wonder she was always surrounded by
throngs of eager admirers, struggling desperately to carry off
this brilliant trophy ; but this neither tempted her into coquetry,
nor hastened a premature decision. The prize was drawn at
last by young Ridgway, and a happy selection it proved. He
was a student of Nassau Hall when I was an inmate of the
grammar-school at Princeton. Every one knew him and liked
him ; for, though the heir to a great fortune, he was unassuming
and kind.
At the house of this handsome couple the best society con
stantly assembled, and I was not more impressed by the rare
beauty of most of the women than by the affable manners and

Return to Philadelphia. 463

excellent tone that uniformly prevailed. I felt that, for good
breeding and easy deportment, the society of the Quaker city
lost nothing in comparison with the leading capitals of Europe.
I often met here, as elsewhere, a remarkably seductive woman —
Mrs. T. Willing, a sister-in-law of our hostess. It was not her
bright and pleasing face, her superb figure or winning manners
alone, that always attracted a group around her. These powerful
attractions were supplemented by a sparkling intelligence and
raciness of conversation that never failed to charm, and made
her society courted wherever she went. She was an accom
plished musician too, and her brilliant execution on the harp
elicited the enthusiastic applause of every company. Her hus
band, popularly known as Tom Willing, was celebrated for his
splendid person and elegant address. He was certainly one of
the handsomest men of his day, and lost nothing even by com
parison with the unrivalled Count D'Orsay. I met, for the
first time, at Mrs. Ridgway 's residence an American who was
said to have the widest entree to the best society of England and
France of any American abroad. I refer to Francis P. Corbin,
a grandson of the colonial Governor of Virginia. He married
Miss Hamilton, an heiress of Philadelphia, and resided chiefly in
Paris, but was passing the winter in Philadelphia on business
connected with his large property. He was tall and graceful,
with an indefinable charm of manner. Highly educated, unusual
gifts of conversation, distingue" at all times and in all things, it is
not surprising his company was appreciated, and his presence re
marked, even in the Court circles of Europe. I will not stop to
dwell on other houses no less agreeable, such as those of Mrs. J.
Rush, the Ingersolls, the Wains, and many more. It was evident
that the social attractions of the city of Penn had not declined
since its pre-revolutionary days, when its gaieties eclipsed those
of all its colonial rivals.
I resorted constantly to my favourite haunt of former days,
the Athenaeum, to look over the newspapers and magazines. I
found the press generally in the condition I left it three years
previously. It struck me as insipid after my European expe
rience. The English and French papers, though tinctured with
partisanship, were written with elegance and force ; whereas our
journals of that day were not only given up to party, but their
style was careless and commonplace. I thought most of them
below the culture and intellect of the country. The truth was

464 Return to Philadelphia.
our journalism was then little else than a mere mercantile enter
prise. Advertising patronage was apparently the only object
sought. News of any kind, or comments on the events of the
day conveyed in vigorous language, seemed beyond the ambition
or ability of the journalists of that time.
Wearied and repelled by these dull and spiritless sheets, I
found my attention gradually attracted to a New York paper of
recent date, christened the Herald. It was something wholly
new in American journalism. Its articles and paragraphs over
flowed with a pungency, raciness, and sardonic wit not always
decorous, but none the less novel and entertaining. It was the
very antipodes of the serious and prosy sheets that surrounded
it. All topics, whether men or things, were treated in a mirthful
mocking vein that smacked of cynicism, but lacked its acidity.
The editor displayed powers of ridicule of surpassing brilliancy,
that reminded me of those famous masters the Grtrian Aristo
phanes and the French Voltaire. But it was not all mere glitter
of style and piquant humour. There was besides wide informa
tion, bold thought, and shrewd sense that startled and impressed
the reader. Beyond this was also an eagerness to fulfil the
highest mission of journalism, in procuring the latest and best
news likely to serve the interests or gratify the curiosity of all
classes. The most striking feature was the complete independence
of parties and factions, the utter contempt avowed for politicians
and wire-pullers, and the daily exposure of their manoeuvres
and pretences, which showed the writer to be as well informed
as he was daring. These innovations were supplemented by
others not less surprising. The price of the Herald was two
cents, a third only of. the standard rate. Its business was con
ducted solely on a cash basis. Subscriptions and advertisements
were paid in advance. More novel still were its daily comments
on the stock market, with bold disclosures of the tricks of un
scrupulous operators. All this was so- new, so defiant, so revo
lutionary, that the Herald was the talk of New York and the
country. In sedate Philadelphia the quidnuncs wondered, snarled,
but read it. The Athenaeum duplicated its copies. It was
scarcely three years old, and its success was beyond question.
Its daily circulation was estimated at 20,000, really prodigious
when hitherto the leading journals rarely reached 3000. Its
popularity was not to be wondered at, since it valiantly assailed

Return to Philadelphia. ' 465
the plots of cliques in the interests of all. The public appre
ciated its motives, applauded its courage, and enjoyed its fun and
audacity. It was not likely that the individuals satirised or the
coteries exposed would submittosuch maltreatmentwithout explo
sions of rage. The Herald was denounced by its furious rivals, and
even personal assaults in the streets were resorted to by violent
men to silence its irrepressible editor. All to no purpose. The
Herald neither relaxed its energy nor abandoned its Hudibrastic
vein. Its raillery, banter, and gibes flowed on unchecked, whilst
its pursuit of news was ever indefatigable. Imitators soon sprang
up. Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore in turn gave birth to a cheap
and independent press, though lacking the originality and force
of their model. It was plain that the founder of the Herald,
James Gordon Bennett by name, was the creator of a new epoch
in journalism— another Luther destined to overthrow a corrupt
system ; a modern Hamlet derisively exclaiming,
'The time is out of joint : O cursed spite,
That ever I was born to set it right !'
Certainly he had one gift singularly developed. It was clearly
' his nature's plague to spy into abuses.' None excelled him in
this peering propensity. Be it in men or things, a failing or de
fect instantly caught his eye. His nose scented it from afar.
I was curious to know his history, and endeavoured to trace
it. It appeared he was of Scotch descent, and crossed the At
lantic, like our Puritan fathers, in search of fortune when little
over twenty years old. He landed at Halifax, but saw no future
there, and made his way to Boston. Here his limited means gave
out, and he sought employment in a publishing house. Aspiring
to something higher, he wandered on to New York, and strug
gled thence as far as Charleston. By chance he there entered a
newspaper office, the Charleston Courier, and discovered at once
that he had found his vocation. From that moment he never
deserted it. A year later he returned to New York, and joined
the National Advocate, a Democratic organ. When that paper
went over to the opposition, Bennett abandoned it; but soon after
appeared in the office of the Courier and Enquirer, edited by
Noah and Webb. For three successive winters, 1829, 1830, and
1 83 1, he was sent to Washington as their correspondent, and his
graphic sparkling letters attracted general attention. In 1832
the Courier and Enquirer changed sides, and opposed the reelec
tion of General Jackson to the Presidency. Bennett at once

466 Return to Philadelphia.
seceded, and founded the Globe, which had a short-lived existence.
He then betook himself, in 1833, to Philadelphia, and became a
co-proprietor of the Pennsylvanian ; but his somewhat irreverent
manner of handling the party leaders soon gave offence, and he
was forced to retire. This led to a lawsuit, and Bennett recovered
5000 dollars in damages. He immediately invested this in the
Evening Chronicle, and, assuming the sole editorship, essayed his
hand at independent journalism in Philadelphia, which proved,
however, much too sedate a town to appreciate his pungent sallies,
and the politicians especially, whom he daily lampooned, strug
gled hard to overthrow him. He wrestled manfully till his capital
was exhausted, when he threw down his pen discomfited.
He was then offered the editorship of a Trenton paper, but the
negotiation happily failed. He returned again to New York well-
nigh penniless, almost friendless, but not utterly hopeless. He
had served an apprenticeship of nearly twelve years to journalism.
He had carefully studied the country and its true interests. He
had thoroughly probed the political game, North and South, and
was familiar with all its pretexts and covert designs. He had at
tentively surveyed the press, and saw how far it was below its
mission : the mouthpiece of party instead of the advocate of the
public weal ; the medium of advertisements, but not the purveyor
of news. He was made of sterner stuff than to quail before ad
verse fortune. In the prime of life, free of vice, full of experi
ence, a powerful intellect, an indomitable will, he inscribed on his
banner, ' For this, amongst the rest, was I ordained,' and de
scended into a basement in Wall-street to challenge Fate once
more. ' One poor man in a cellar against the world !' cried a
sceptic. Thence emerged, in May 1835, a small sheet, ' four little pages
of four columns,' all written by one hand after sixteen hours of
steady labour. The article sold rapidly ; customers multiplied ;
the paper was enlarged ; the price rose from one cent to two ; till
in December 1837 the editor sat, I heard, in his office above-
stairs, surrounded by a staff, and with two objects clearly in view,
— the overthrow of the party press and the establishment of a
great newspaper.
A few only of the vicissitudes and disappointments of this
tenacious and pugnacious man are recorded here, but enough to
show he was not to be rebuffed or put down by man or demon.

CHAPTER XLVIII.
A TRIP TO WASHINGTON.
A TRAGIC DUEL — A CHAT WITH PRESIDENT VAN BUREN — A CONFLICT IN THE
SENATE  STEAM ON THE ATLANTIC — AN UNEXPECTED INTRODUCTION.
THE winter was over, a very pleasant one, weather included,
and I decided on a short excursion to Washington. I found
the town on my arrival, March 1838, in violent agitation over a
fatal duel that had just occurred. Mr. Cilley, a member of the
House from Maine, in a recent speech, had declared that James
Watson Webb, editor of the New York Courier and Enquirer,
had taken a bribe of 52,000 dollars from the United States Bank.
This was followed by a challenge from Webb, which Mr. Cilley
declined. Mr. Webb's second, Mr. J. Graves, a member of the
House from Kentucky, then desired to know if the refusal was
grounded ' on any personal exception to his friend as a gentle
man and man of honour.' Mr. Cilley denied his right ' to pro
pound the question,' and no' answer was returned. A second
challenge then ensued from Mr. Graves, which was accepted, and
the parties repaired to Bladensburg, in the vicinity. The weapons
chosen were rifles. The first fire was without effect. A parley
ensued between the seconds, which led to the renewal of the duel.
A second discharge left both principals still untouched. Where
upon Mr. Graves sent word to his antagonist that ' he was there
to defend the honour of his friend ;' to which no satisfactory
answer was made, and the combat recommenced. On the third
exchange of shots Mr. Cilley fell dead. The whole country was
deeply shocked at this tragic event. The seconds — Henry A.
Wise and General Jones — were much censured for not having
stopped the duel after the first or second fire. Public opinion
was exasperated against this barbarous practice. The Supreme
Court declined to attend the funeral of the victim, as a protest
against duelling. Congress then passed an Act to make the
giving or accepting a challenge in the district of Columbia a
misdemeanour, punishable with fine and imprisonment.
I was glad to meet at the same hotel my former shipmate,

4^3 A Trip to Washington.
 f  .  ,
Mr. J. S. Buckingham, who had passed the winter in the north
ern cities, lecturing on temperance, of which he was an ardent
apostle. His eloquent denunciations of this vice in England
had stimulated the American temperance societies to invoke
his services in their behalf, and wherever he appeared his audi
ences overflowed. He was an admirable speaker, clear in
statement, lucid in style, and graceful in delivery. His success
would induce him, he said, to continue his oratorical tour
through the Union.
' Then you have abandoned,' I remarked, ' your trip round
the world, which I always considered impracticable.'
' Not at all,' he said ; ' I am as staunch as ever in my pur
pose. I have no fear the world will run away before I get
through my temperance crusade.'
He expressed the liveliest horror of the late dreadful cata
strophe, and expressed his hope that a humane nation like the
United States would extirpate this barbarous custom of the
Middle Ages. In talking with Mrs. Buckingham, I found her
dread had waxed stronger than ever at her husband's grandiose
project of crossing the two continents before returning to Lon
don. She complained not a little of travelling in the States,
and declared she should never survive the fatigue and horrors of
a journey through a wilderness occupied by buffaloes and savages.
I consoled her by the prediction that her nerves would never be
put to such an improbable test*
I received one morning the following note : Monday.
Dear Mr. Wikoff, — If you are disposed to call on the President this
fine morning, it will give me great pleasure to go with you whenever you
are at leisure. — Very truly yours, H. D. Gilpin.
The writer then held the distinguished position of Attorney-
General of the new Administration, and was, moreover, the
confidential friend of President Van Buren. I was glad to
renew my acquaintance with the President under such flattering
auspices, and therefore readily accompanied Mr. Gilpin to the
* Mr. B. finally relinquished his wild scheme, and, after a long stay in the United
States, went home and wrote an excellent book of travels. His promising son, when
only twenty, published an historical work of great merit ; then suddenly married an
actress, to the horror of his parents ; produced some unsuccessful plays, and dis
appeared from view. These model young men sometimes sadly belie the sanguine
•expectations of their future.

A i rip to Washington. 469
White House. As I entered its unguarded portals I related to
my friend the stirring scene I had witnessed on ray visit to
General Jackson some years before, provoked by the indignity
inflicted on the present occupant of the mansion. I followed
Mr. Gilpin to the sanctum of the President, who received me
with cordiality. I saw no change, either in appearance or
manner, since I last beheld him. Time had written no wrinkles
on his tranquil brow, and power sat lightly upon his expansive
shoulders. Affable, yet constrained in demeanour ; animated,
yet wary in conversation ; free from the blemishes of many
politicians of that day ; never familiar or vulgar, — he had the air
of a man rather bred in a Court than amidst the turmoil of our
public life. The President referred, in touching terms, to his
late cherished friend, Mr. Roberts Vaux, and extolled his bene
ficent character and elevated mind. He talked pleasantly of
England, and regretted his stay there was so short. Upon this,
Mr. Gilpin repeated the narrative I had given him of President
Jackson's anger at the conduct of the Senate in 1831.
' The affront,' said his Excellency, ' ruffled me slightly at
the time, but no better fortune could have befallen me. The
country magnanimously took up my cause, and rewarded me far
beyond my expectations.'
' The injudicious animosity of your rivals,' observed Mr. Gil
pin, ' raised you to the Vice-Presidency, and so made you heir
apparent to the crown.'
' Even so,' said the President, with his courteous smile.
I could discern no symptoms of anxiety at the fierce hissing
of the political caldron in the imperturbable bearing of the Pre
sident, and so expressed myself.
' I must confess, however,' he replied, ' that I am troubled at
the disturbed condition of the country. The sudden change in
our financial system led first to wild speculation, and that has
been succeeded by a tremendous reaction. If I could induce
Congress to apply the proper remedy, and enable the Govern
ment to employ hereafter its own fiscal agents, thus putting an
end to any connection with financial institutions of any kind, I
am convinced that all would soon go well again.'
' I think it unlikely,' I replied, ' that the politicians of the
opposite camp will be so disinterested as to legislate for the
good of the country solely, but will rather seek to prolong the
existing disorder in the hope of ousting the Democrats from office."

470 A Trip to Washington.
The President smiled significantly ; but Mr. Gilpin, in his
energetic way, said,
' Of course they mean to upset us if they can, and events are
in their favour. Our finances are deranged ; trade and com
merce languish ; and if we cannot restore them to a sounder
condition in time, the people may lose patience, and send us
adrift' ' In that case, Gilpin,' retorted his Excellency, in a playful
tone, ' the Philadelphia bar will recover one of its brightest orna
ments.' ' Thank you, Mr. President,' returned the Attorney-General,
who looked, however, as if he did not relish the prospect.
Soon after, the President arose and shook hands with us,
when we retired from the Executive presence.
I passed several hours almost daily at the Capitol. Great
fermentation prevailed there. The Whigs, who held the Senate,
were in great glee, and rubbed their hands at the manifest
symptoms of popular dissatisfaction. The aroma of office began
to fill their nostrils, and their attacks on the fiscal policy of the
Government were incessant and skilful. Clay and Webster,
the Hotspur and Rupert of the day, were constantly in the van,
and their ponderous blows fell thick and fast on their cowed
opponents. The country greedily devoured their eloquent
speeches, and even the Democrats, whilst smarting under these
diatribes, could hardly refuse the homage of their admiration.
A splendid passage-of-arms occurred at this period between
Clay, Webster, and Calhoun. The Carolina senator had lately
swung round to the Administration, and powerfully advocated
the divorce of the Government from all banks whatever. Where
upon the champions of a mixed currency set upon him fiercely,
and twitted him in sarcastic tones for his inconsistency in de
nouncing the specie policy of the last President, whilst vindicat
ing it under the present one. This exciting conflict between the
Colossus of the South and the Brobdignags of the North brought
all Washington to the Senate House, and the brilliancy of the
combat fascinated every spectator. The Whig party were indig
nant at the secession of Calhoun from their ranks, and enjoyed
the sharp rapier-thrusts that pierced him in the milee*
* Later in the Session the specie circular of July 1836 was repealed, and approved
by President Van Buren, who thought it wiser to abandon his former policy than
incur the ill-will of the masses.

A Trip to Washington. 471

These stirring scenes in the Senate impressed me deeply.
The eager throng of men and women that filled every avenue
to the Capitol, and hung spellbound on the declamation of
these brilliant rhetoricians, whilst the whole land rang with
applause at the mere mention of their honoured names — all this
penetrated my mind and aroused a fiery spirit of emulation. It
seemed to me the time had come for some lofty decision as to
my future. My conscience protested loudly against the inglori
ous life I was leading. What ! should I resign all hope of
renown for the hollow pleasure of lolling in the perfumed
boudoirs of society ? should I content myself for the rest of my
days with ' treading the primrose path of dalliance,' and fly from
the ' steep and thorny way ' to a noble reputation ? Stinging
reflections like these pressed on me thickly as I strolled about
the grounds of the Capitol, and I was just on the point of
making a solemn resolution that henceforth I
' Would scorn delights and live laborious days,'
when, to my great relief, the thought crossed me that something
more than resolution was necessary to transform myself into a
distinguished man ; that capacity was indispensable, and a great
deal of it. On looking into my supply of this vital article I was
fain to confess that Nature had not dealt with me over-liberally.
Even worse than this, I found myself wofully deficient in am
bition, 'that last infirmity of noble minds.' Under these de
pressing convictions there was no choice but to be content with
the humble role Fate had assigned to me. Happily it cost me
no grief that I was not destined to become a nation's idol, or to
leave my name engraved on anything save a visiting-card. I
was encouraged by the hope that possibly some opportunities of
usefulness might arise as I wandered through the world, which
would likely think none the worse of me for not having extorted
its admiration. I descended the Capitoline Hill quite cured of
my momentary longing for glory, which on closer scrutiny seemed
very like Macbeth's notion of life : 1 It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.'
Upon my return to Philadelphia I began pondering over
my future movements. The heat of the approaching summer
alarmed me, and secretly I longed to return to Europe to study
it more attentively. I was so dazed by its wonders on my first

47 2 A Trip to Washington.
visit, I could not bring my mind to a focus, and sit down calmly
to investigate a multitude of subjects worthy the profoundest
thought. Another voyage in a sailing-vessel, however, stag
gered me. In this dubious state of mind I was electrified by
the news that a steamer had arrived in New York from Liver
pool, the pioneer of a regular line to be established. The whole
country was stirred by this startling event. The junction of the
two continents by steam, the reduction of their distance from
forty days and upwards to twelve or less, was indeed an immense
advantage to both, commercially and socially. New York, the
chief gainer by this bold attempt, went almost into hysterics.
Bells were rung, meetings were called, dinners were given, and
the captain of the ' Sirius' was nearly toasted to death. The
excitement rose to fever-heat when, two days later, a second
steamer, the ' Great Western,' from Bristol, cast her anchor in
the Bay of New York. It was no mere experiment, as hitherto.
Crossing the Atlantic by steam was now a problem solved. The
famous ' liners' that had carried the ' Stars and Stripes' so tri
umphantly at their mastheads for years were doomed. Hence
forth the ocean belonged to steam.
The ' Sirius' was advertised to return to London on May i,
and, heedless of warnings, I wrote instantly to secure a berth,
only dreading that they might all have been disposed of in the
rush. Bidding a hurried adieu to friends, who censured my
rashness, I hastened on to New York, and was one of only seven
passengers who met on the tug that was to convey us on board
the ' Sirius,' smoking in the distance. I was surprised on ap
proaching at her diminutive size, and felt some uneasiness
thereat. I regretted I had not taken my place in the ' Great
Western,' lying near by, that looked able to cope with the At
lantic in its worst moods. Fortunately it was the merry month
of May, when a smooth passage might be anticipated. It turned
out the ' Sirius' was nothing else than a coasting steamer, plying
between Cork and Liverpool, and had been precipitately char
tered by a London company building two steamers for the New
York trade, when they found that a Bristol company was likely
to cross the Atlantic before them. Rather than lose the glory
of initiating this great enterprise, they risked a disaster that
might have thrown a cloud over steam navigation for a long
time to come.
As we moved off amid the hurrahs of hundreds of excited

A Trip to Washington. 473
people, who came in every kind of craft to wish us God-speed,
I thought of nothing but the delight of setting winds and
waves at defiance in our journey over the ocean. Once out at
sea, I began to scrutinise my fellow-travellers, consisting of five
men and two women. Some one had told me the formidable
editor of the Herald, J. G. Bennett, was among them, and I was
only half pleased at the intelligence. He was certainly a man
worth knowing, and I was eager to analyse such an extraordinary
compound of brain and pluck. Still, there was something in him
to inspire dread. He seemed to look on mankind as fit for little
else than to be converted into paragraphs, which he never failed
to spice with his ironical wit, that made them very piquant, but
not over-pleasant for the individual who was made the butt. He
had promised his readers to send them a full account of his
travels, beginning with his voyage in the ' Sirius.' He might not
condescend to notice me, or he might regard me as a good target
for his playful sarcasm. I determined to find him out and make
a friend of him, though I had heard he was not a man easy to
conciliate, but rather difficult of approach, if not actually re
pelling. I was standing in the stern whilst thinking this over, and per
ceiving a tall slim man near me I entered into conversation, and
found him intelligent and quite dignified in tone. His physi
ognomy was striking : lofty forehead, prominent nose, firm
mouth, and the general expression, though somewhat stern, not
forbidding. After chatting for some time, I remarked,
' I hear the famous Bennett is on board.'
' Yes, I believe he is,' said the tall man, with a smile.
' Do you feel at all nervous about it ?'
' Not in the least,' was the reply.
' Well, for my part,' I continued, ' I am not altogether com
fortable on the point.'
' Why ?' asked my companion.
' Because he is so given to saying sarcastic things of people.'
' That depends a good deal,' he answered, ' whether they are
worth it.'
' Do you know him by sight ?' I inquired.
'Very well.'
' Then do point him out if you see him on deck/
' He is standing before you. My name is Bennett/
' What !' I exclaimed, on recovering my breath ; ' are you the

474 A Trip to Washington.
man so fiercely assailed, and whose humorous sallies I have read
with such delight these six months past ?'
' Ecce homo !' he retorted, greatly amused at my astonishment
Thus began my acquaintance with this remarkable man.
All went merrily for the first week. Then stormy weather
set in, and our little steamer was put to a rougher test than I had
expected. She was dreadfully knocked about, but was staunch
and steady in the worst gales ; and though her progress was often
slow, still she ever advanced in the right direction. No more
tacking to the right and left, as in a sailing-vessel; no more
thumping about in a calm. If we made only five knots an hour,
it was so much off our distance.
There was little amusement to be extracted from my fellow-
passengers. One of them was a rich old Englishman of some
seventy odd, as merry and active as a cricket, hopping and chirp
ing about the world, making friends with everybody, but scarcely
sitting down in any country he visited. He had been three weeks
in the United States, and was now on his way to India. After
that he would take a turn in South America. He was an oddity,
but a jolly one.
There was another Englishman besides ; a conceited dog
matic fellow, a banker in Rio Janeiro. I often found myself in
collision with him ; and when I got the worst of it on a financial
topic, Mr. Bennett generally came to the rescue, and invariably
took the starch out of this blatant prig.
I spent a deal of time very profitably in talking with the re
nowned journalist. I found him the antipodes of what one might
have expected who read the Herald. No levity, or jocularity, or
abandon. In manner and conversation he was serious, practical,
and full of knowledge of all kinds, yet making no parade of it.
His vigorous positive mind had the effect of a tonic on my
romantic temperament. He looked at things earnestly, analysed
them accurately, and came to almost mathematical conclusions.
He had a wonderful insight of mankind, generally suspected
the worst, and thus sometimes fell into error. Men are not all
so bad as some think, though others are worse. As to women,
he had no comprehension whatever, and for that reason shunned
them. Their wayward illogical natures were to him as a labyrinth,
difficult of egress, and therefore dangerous to enter. With men
he made short work, by assailing them if they stood in his way.
When only a couple of days from the English coast our coal

A Trip to Washington. 475
was nearly exhausted, and we were obliged to economise by
going half-speed. Towards the last we were forced to burn up
whatever could be spared.
On entering the English Channel we were enveloped in a
dense fog, but kept on our way, rejoicing at the near termination
of our voyage. Suddenly the mist cleared off, and to our horror
we found we were heading right on to one of the Scilly Isles.
In a half-hour more we should have been a wreck. Our skip
per, Roberts by name, was a cheery little man, with a bright face
and quick wit, but much too daring. I thought he lacked judg
ment and due caution. His sad fate, a little later, did not sur
prise me. On the seventeenth day we put into Falmouth for
coal and provisions, and then started off for London in high
spirits. Several of our passengers left us there to take the coach
to London. I was sorry to part with Mr. Bennett, who was
bound to Scotland, but we arranged to meet in Paris during
July. On the eighteenth day we disembarked in the London
Docks. The 'Great Western' made her return trip to Bristol in less
than twelve days. Steam-travelling on the Atlantic was thus
inaugurated, and I felt sure that the day was not distant when
no other mode of ocean-transit would be thought of.
I had already resolved to make my head-quarters at Paris.
Not that London had lost all its charms, but the gay capital of
France was by far the more attractive. I stopped but a day in
London, and called at Gore House to pay my respects to the
Countess of Blessington. Unfortunately her ladyship was out ;
and I left for her kind acceptance a Philadelphia edition of some
of her works, which I thought would be a pleasing proof of
foreign admiration of her great literary talent The same
evening I received the following note :
Gore House, Wednesday night.
Dear Mr. Wikoff, — On my return home this evening I found your
obliging note, and the very acceptable gift that accompanied it, accept
able no less as a proof of your recollection than as a flattering evidence
of the kind feeling of your country towards my books. I regret that the
shortness of the notice of your departure precludes me from taking ad
vantage of your polite offer of sending a letter to my fair and amiable
friend, the Countess Guiccioli, to whom I beg you will offer my kindest
regards. When you return, I trust you will give me an early oppor
tunity of thanking you in person, and that you will believe me very
sincerely yours,
Marguerite Blessington.

CHAPTER XLIX.
PARIS REVISITED.
DEATH OF TALLEYRAND  RAILWAY EXCITEMENT — A CONVERSATION WITH
THE COUNTESS GUICCIOLI.
Mv feelings on returning to Paris were not of the wild and
tumultuous character as on my first visit ; but my delight,
though more serene, was none the less profound. My late
residence in London and recent trip to the States seemed only
to have renovated my taste for this bewitching town, whose se
ductions are as mysterious as they are inscrutable. The magic^
that pervades it must reside in the irresistible manners and gay
temperament of the French, who in these qualities surpass all
other people known. The effect is the same upon the inhabi
tants of all countries, who seek in Paris an exhilaration to be
found nowhere else ; but it is the Anglo-Saxon especially who
appreciates it, since he finds the ways of the French so pleasing
and picturesque after the sedate prosaic life he leads at home.
An Englishman or American enters Paris in the same lively
excited frame of mind with which people generally visit a place
of amusement ; and it is rare indeed they leave it without theii
full of entertainment of one sort or another.
On my arrival I found the name of Talleyrand in everybody's
mouth. He had just died, and the varied incidents of his extra
ordinary career were related and discussed by every class and at
every corner. His reconciliation to the Church astounded every
body. Excommunicated long years before, he had got on so
successfully whilst under the ban that no one supposed he cared
to make it up with the Pope at the last moment. His niece,
the Duchess de Dino, whom he adored, induced him to abjure
his naughtiness, and reenter the fold. When his recovery was
hopeless, the King paid him a visit. Talleyrand rallied in the
royal presence, and declared ' this was the greatest honour ever
conferred upon his house/
His Majesty asked him if he was in much pain.

Paris Revisited. 477

' Yes,' he replied. ' I am suffering the torments of the
damned/ 'Already!' said the King, almost unconsciously.
The dying man smiled faintly at this bon mot, that might
have been his own. A day or two later, when he was sinking
fast, a priest whispered in his ear that the Archbishop of Paris
had said ' he would give his life to save him.'
Talleyrand, with difficulty, replied, ' He might make a better
use of it'
These were his last words. A striking illustration of his
character may be found in the following words he used when
talking one day, in the time of the first Napoleon, of Narbonne,
a fellow-diplomatist : ' He has more capacity than I have, a
hundred times more, but less tact. He was often accused of
being giddy and reckless : these are the accusations of super
ficial people. There was nothing giddy about him but his con
versation, which was charming. His chief fault was that he was
mostly serious, too serious. He allowed himself to become
attached, to get excited, to give way to his zeal — trop de zele. If
he returned to public life he would show the same devotion,
which just now is more fashionable than prudent. Believe me,
there is nothing more absurd. In politics, as in other things, it
is necessary not to allow your heart to be engaged. It is a
mistake to love too much. It bewilders you, it damages the
clearness of your vision, and never leads to good. To be exclu
sively engrossed by another — to be devoted to the point of
entirely forgetting yourself — is injurious to the object cherished,
and equally so to the one who loves, for it makes the latter less
careful, less adroit, and even less seductive.' This sounds very
callous, and has the frigidity of a voice from the Polar regions.
But though Talleyrand denounced the folly of the heart swaying
the mind, he was not without human sympathies, and his rela
tives and dependents were devoted to him.
The wonderful invention of railways, that had appeared in
England only a few years previously, made very little impression
on France. The English and American mind was thoroughly
aroused as to the immense results of this new means of com
munication, and already plans were on foot in both countries
for increasing and extending them as fast as capital could be
raised. Whereas it struck the French they might be made very
useful as a new source of amusement for pleasure-seekers, and

478 Paris Revisited.

they had managed, with great effort, to build two short lines of
ten and twelve miles each, to convey the Parisians out to the
woods of St. Germain and to the Palace of Versailles. The idea
of substituting them for la diligence as a superior mode of loco
motion seemed simply absurd, and the suggestion of travelling
at twenty miles the hour filled them with terror. Some bold
speculators, chiefly English, had begun building a railway from
Paris to Rouen, about eighty miles ; but the difficulty of raising
capital was so great that the enterprise hung fire, and the shares
were two-thirds below their par value. This was the state of
things when, in the summer of 1838, the King, fully compre
hending the incalculable advantages to the country, ordered his
Ministers to bring the subject before the Legislature, and pro
pose a network of railways connecting all parts of France. If
constructed by the Government, it was alleged, they would be
built better and cheaper, and the fares could be made corre
spondingly lower. A tremendous hubbub ensued. The moment
the Government displayed its confidence in this novel mode of
travel and transportation, the French flew to the conclusion it
must be a safe and profitable investment, and protested loudly
against the Government monopolising the gains. The Repub
lican party sagaciously supported the Government in its patriotic
projects ; but the Government majority in the Chamber, con
sisting of all the great capitalists who had hitherto held aloof,
voted that the railways should be built by joint-stock companies.
The battle raged furiously for weeks, and at last the Government
was forced to retire from the field. The conflict had the advan
tage of arousing the attention of the whole country to the intro
duction of steam on land, certain to be attended with results as
extraordinary as its use had proved on water. Nothing could
illustrate more clearly the uncommercial character of the French
mind than the indifference with which they had hitherto regarded
this truly marvellous event. The bold move of the Government
of Louis Philippe to enable France to profit promptly, and on a
grand scale, by the ingenious device of the English engineer
Stephenson would surely hasten the day when travellers would
be able to dispense with the aid of the slow and lumbering dili
gence, and reach London from Paris in twelve instead of thirty-
six hours, as hitherto.
I lost little time, after my return to Paris, in calling upon the
Countess Guiccioli, whose attractions of mind and person had

Paris Revisited. 479

been in nowise effaced by the few months that had elapsed since
I saw her. My welcome was so cordial that I had every reason
to think she had decided to enrol me in the envied circle of her
chosen friends. The more I saw of her, the deeper grew my
admiration and regard. For an Italian woman her intellect was
of a very superior order. She had read much, and her judgment
was unerring. There was something like a masculine acuteness
in her appreciation of all kinds of literature. She detected
fallacies at a glance, and was never bewildered by sophistries,
however subtle. The French romantic literature of the day she
disliked for its exaggeration and mock-sentimentality. She
preferred the more serious writers, and praised the lucidity of
Thiers, the brilliancy of Lamartine, the sentertiousness of
Guizot. She admired De Tocqueville's wonderful work on the
United States, and questioned me closely on its accuracy. She
had none of the austerity, however, or pretension, of tk° blue
stocking. Her nature was gentle and sympathetic, and her
goodness of heart revealed itself in a thousand ways and ir a
thousand things.
I visited her once or twice every week, and took infinite
delight in her conversation. She spoke usually in French, of
which she had a wonderful command. Sometimes she broke
into English, and expressed herself with facility and elegance.
Her voice was musical, and a certain animation, chastened by an
innate dignity that never forsook her, lent a singular charm to
all she said. I was eager to have a chat with her about Lord
Byron, but waited till my intimacy was more established. At
last, one evening, I asked her if she would be offended if I
questioned her about her old friend the illustrious poet.
' No,' she replied. ' It is a subject I rarely touch upon, but I
will make an exception in your favour/
' You were very young when you met him ?' I remarked.
' Yes, scarcely sixteen. Not long before, I had been forced
into a marriage with an old man, the Count Guiccioli, whose
wealth made him, in the eyes of my father, a desirable match.
We were living in Venice when Lord Byron established his resi
dence there, and soon met in society. My husband took a great
liking to him, and he became a frequent guest at our house.'
She hesitated a moment, and then continued :
' I confess that his handsome person, distinguished manners,
and brilliant conversation soon made a deep impression, and

4?° Paris Revisited.

before I was aware of it I became greatly enamoured. Though
young and inexperienced — for I had passed my life in a convent
almost to the day of my marriage — I could perceive that Byron
had conceived a strong passion for me/
' And it was not very long, I infer,' I added, with a smile, ' be
fore you mutually discovered you were involved in the meshes
of a violent attachment that neither could control. This was
unfortunate, as both of you were married, though Lord Byron
had abandoned his w,ife after a short and incompatible union/
' It was unfortunate,' said the Countess, with a deep sigh ;
' for Byron and I both believed we were made for each other,
and would gladly have married had we been free to choose.'
' As it was,' I continued, ' you struggled hard, no doubt, to
escape the complications of such a false position ?'
' Yes,' she answered ; ' I resisted to the last. For nearly a
year I was a prey to intense and conflicting emotions, that
almost disturbed my reason, and quite broke down my health.
My husband removed me from Venice to my native town of
Ravenna ; but I was so inconsolable for the loss of Byron that
the Count urged him to join us again, which of course he was
not sorry to do.'
' But in Italy,' I observed, ' your social customs are so differ
ent from the English that no exception is taken to a liaison that
is not only tolerated, but recognised as an inoffensive usage.
Every married woman in Italy has her cavaliere servente if her
attractions can secure one. This arises from marriages being
decided on by parents, regardless of the inclinations of their chil
dren, as your own was. I remember a letter of Lord Byron com
menting on this state of things. He wrote : " The women marry
for their parents and love for themselves. They exact fidelity
from a lover as a debt of honour, whilst they pay the husband
as a tradesman, or not at all. You hear a person's character,
male or female, canvassed, not as depending on their conduct
to their husbands and wives, but to their lovers or mistresses. It
is to be observed that while they do all this, the greatest outward
respect is paid to the husbands, not only by the ladies, but by
their serventi, so that you often suppose them relations." '
' Very accurately quoted,' returned the Countess. ' I re
member the letter perfectly. Yes, there is a freedom of man
ners in Italy that the English world denounce very fiercely ;
but from what I have seen they are not a whit better than other

Paris Revisited. 48 1

people, only they take greater pains to conceal their frailties,
which the Italians and the French look on as hypocrisy. My
case was a very distressing one. Byron could by no possibility
obtain a divorce, and my chance was just as hopeless. He was
a proud sensitive man, and chafed under a position we both felt
to be intolerable, yet could see no escape from. Byron more
than once proposed I should take to flight ; but this would
have been such a violation of Italian etiquette, to say the least,
that I shrank from it/
' Did Lord Byron continue his residence at Ravenna after
your recovery ?' I inquired.
' Yes,' replied the Countess, ' for some months. When I was
convalescent my husband took me off for a short time on a tour
over his estates, and Byron remained behind of his own accord.
He used, during my absence, to go to my house daily for several
hours, which he passed in writing and reading in my rooms or
gardens. If you like, I will read you a sort of memorandum of
his state of mind, which he wrote on a blank page of Corinne,
one of my pet books. I have preserved this record as a precious
token of his sincere attachment.'
I expressed the liveliest curiosity to hear it, and the Countess
went to her library in search of the book.
Returning, she read me the following, and was good enough
to give me a copy :
' August 25, 1 819.
My dearest Teresa, — I have read this book in your garden. My
love, you were absent, or I should not have read it. It is a favourite
book of yours, and the writer was a friend of mine.* You will not un
derstand these English words, and others will not understand them,
which is the reason I have not scrawled them in Italian. But you will
recognise the handwriting of him who passionately loves you, and you
will divine that over a book which is yours he could only think of love.
In that word, beautiful in all languages, but most so in yours— amor
mio— -is comprised my existence here and hereafter. I feel I exist here,
and fear I shall exist hereafter — to what purpose you will decide ; my
destiny rests with you, and you are a woman, seventeen years of age,
and only two out of a convent. I wish you had stayed there, with all
my heart ; or at least that I had never met you in your married state.
But all this is now too late. I love you, and you love me— at least you
say so, and act as if you did so ; which last is a great consolation, in all
* Madame de Stae'I. II

482 Paris Revisited.
events. But I more than love you, and cannot cease to love you. Think
of me sometimes, when the Alps and the ocean divide us ; but they
never will unless you wish it Byron.
As the Countess read these touching words her eyes filled
with tears, and her voice choked with emotion. I, too, was not
a little affected by this simple and ardent avowal of an affection
that evidently knew no bounds. None who have ever known any
thing of the pangs of an ill-starred love can doubt that this was a
genuine outburst of the great poet's infatuation for his idol.
After a short pause, I asked the Countess what happened on
the return to her home.
' I found Byron,' she responded, ' in a very unhappy and fretful
state. He could not bear what seemed to him an equivocal, if
not degrading, position. He insisted, as a positive proof of my
devotion, that I should break off all relations with my aged hus
band ; and I was only too ready to comply with his wishes.* I
appealed to my family to assist me in obtaining from the Pope
a final separation from the Count Guiccioli ; and, finding that
my resolution was irrevocable, they at last consented to do so.
During this trying interval Byron thought it prudent to leave
Ravenna. You can imagine my harassing anxiety when I heard
that, if the Pope granted the separation, he would probably do
so only on condition that I retired for life to a convent. The
risk of this filled Byron with the utmost alarm. At the end of
November, when my fate was still in the balance, I received this
letter from him.'
Taking it from a casket near at hand, she read it :
Dearest Teresa, — You are, and ever will be, my first thought. But
at this moment I am in a most dreadful state, not knowing which way
to decide : on the one hand fearing that I should compromise you for
ever by my return to Ravenna ; and on the other dreading I may lose
you, and myself too, and all that I have ever known or tasted of happi
ness, by never seeing you more. I pray, I implore you to be comforted,
and tp believe I cannot cease to love you but with my life. Byron.
' Happily,' I rejoined, 'you succeeded in obtaining the sepa
ration without the fearful penalty you apprehended.'
* In his Letters from Italy Shelley said the Countess Guiccioli made a great
pecuniary sacrifice in leaving her husband, as his income was 120,000/. a year —
600,000 dollars.

Paris Revisited. 485
'Yes,' replied the Countess. 'The influence of my family and
friends was strong enough to stave it off; but not without great
effort/ 'And after that, if I remember, your relations with Byron
continued unclouded till he gave way to his chivalric impulses
for the desperate cause of Greece ?'
' Yes,' she said feelingly ; ' that was the happiest period of
my life ; and it is to me a profound consolation to think my
influence had a benign effect on Byron's wild and stormy
character. To show I do not exaggerate my ascendency, I will
read you an extract from his Diary, in January 1821/
Taking up the volume, she read :
' I carried Teresa the Italian translation of Grillparzer's Sappho,
which she promises to read. She quarrelled with me because I said
that love was not the loftiest theme for true tragedy ; and having the
advantage of her native language, and natural female eloquence, she
overcame my poorer arguments. I believe she was right. I must put
more love into Sardanapalus than I intended.'
' Most conclusive evidence,' I added, ' that he would take ad
vice from you on literary topics when he would listen to no one
else. Is it true that you told him once that " You would rather
have a year's fame of Childe Harold than an immortality of Don
Juan" f
'Yes,' she answered. 'I did not approve of the free and, as
I thought, too voluptuous style of that very beautiful poem.'
' If any more testimony were needed, Countess,' I continued,
' of the wholesome influence you wielded over this gifted man,
it may be found in Shelley's letters, written from Ravenna in the
summer of 1821. In one of them that I recollect he said, " Lord
Byron is improved in every respect — in genius, in temper, in moral
views, in health, in happiness. His connection with la Guiccioli
has been an inestimable benefit to him." '
'Ah, poor Shelley!' ejaculated the Countess; 'what a sad
fate was his ! I remember well his generous appreciation.'
' One question more, Countess, and I have done. Is it true
that you urged Byron, in the summer of 1823, to take up arms
for the unfortunate Greeks ?'
' Alas, I did,' she replied, ' little dreaming it would cost him
his precious life. I saw how deeply he was interested in their
glorious struggle, and that he longed to encourage them by his

484 Pans Revisited.

presence and influence. Never believing he would incur any
risk, I not only encouraged but applauded his heroic purpose.
My brother accompanied him, and brought me back, the follow
ing spring, the dreadful tidings of his death.'
She paused, and buried her face in her hands.
' I am sorry,' I expostulated, 'to have awakened such pain
ful recollections. Pray forgive me.'
' It is I who should ask you to excuse my weakness,' she
murmured, in a plaintive tone, extending her beautiful hand,
which I clasped affectionately.
' I cannot bid you good-night,' I said, on rising to go, ' with
out expressing my deep sense of obligation. These thrilling
details from your lips of the illustrious poet have impressed me
more than I can describe, and I shall never forget your goodness.'
' I have said more,' was her reply, ' than I intended. The
subject is in every way painful to me; but I have no regrets if
you are gratified.'
For hours after I left this interesting woman my mind was
wholly absorbed by the moving story she had related. Nothing
I had ever read of it equalled in fascination the simple recital
of her relations with Byron.
That he ardently loved her was beyond all question. This
I had never been so convinced of till now. That she was in
every respect worthy of his attachment was equally certain. Save
for Byron's respect for her, and her ancient family, he would
doubtless have embalmed his passion in immortal verse that
would have soared beyond Petrarch's poetical adoration of his
Laura.* Not many days after this the Countess Guiccioli left Paris on
her usual summer jaunt ; and a fortnight later I received the fol
lowing letter, which will be read with interest, since it portrays
her amiable disposition as well as her unfading veneration for
the memory of Byron :
* The only allusion to her in song that I can recall is found in his charming
' Stanzas to the Po, ' from which I quote the following lines :
' Her bright eyes will be imaged on thy stream,
Yes ! they will meet the wave I gaze on nowj
Mine cannot witness, even in a dream,
That happy wave repass me in its flow.
The wave that bears my tears returns no more :
Will she return by whom that wave shall sweep?
Both tread thy banks, both wander on thy shore —
I by thy source, she bv the dark-blue deep.'

Paris Revisited 485

Aix-les-Bains, Savoy, September 7, 1 8^8.
Dear Mr. Wikoff, — Your letter, so full of amiable expressions of kind
and noble sentiments, gave me the very greatest pleasure. I only re
ceived it recently, because my stay amongst the valleys and lakes of the
Oberland was prolonged beyond my original intentions. I may also add
that I nearly missed it, for I only crossed Geneva on my way here ; but
in passing through the town I stopped my carriage at the post-office,
having a presentiment that I might find the promised letter. I did find
it, and it has proved a cheering and soothing companion on my journey.
Pray let this explanation justify my tardiness in writing to you. I shall
only remain here to take a few baths and to visit the sights of this part
-of Savoy. I can easily do so without renouncing my predilection for
•solitude and the repose of country life, as I have come here so late that
I have escaped, as I wished, the companionship of the noisy world,
¦which has entirely disappeared within these last few days. As soon as
I have had a week or so at the baths I shall go to Italy. I have de
cided on this since receiving important letters from my family, none of
whom I have seen for more than four years. I shall travel by Mont
€£nis, and arrive at the end of September at the country seat of my
father in Romagna, where I shall remain with my family during October.
At the commencement of November I shall return to Paris, where I hope
to find you in good health, and always the same cordial and devoted
friend as hitherto. Pray excuse, my dear Mr. Wikoff, my writing in
French. It is the most familiar language to me after my own, and when
I write it seems to flow unconsciously from my pen. By this time, also,
you must know French as well as your own language, and are doubtless
pleased to exercise yourself in it.
The article on Lady Blessington's works seems, from what you say,
to be very just. Piquancy and cleverness are her best titles to public
notice as an authoress. Of course, the article was not intended to be of
a flattering nature — but no doubt she gave it a flattering interpretation.
Our self-esteem is never wanting or inadequate on such occasions. As
for the article in the American paper you sent me on Lord Byron, it is
only one of the thousand and more absurdities that have been reported
about him. But the day of justice will come, if God only permits me
to live until I can throw my testimony into the urn of eternity. When
that is done I shall gladly sing my Nunc dimittis.
Good-bye, dear Mr. Wikoff, and keep my place intact in your
memory, since you are carefully treasured in mine. — Believe me very
sincerely voire d'evoute, T. Guiccioli.
If I can do anything for you in Italy pray write to me. My address
will be, Ravenna, Papal States.

CHAPTER L.
PARIS revisited {continued).
MR. J. G. BENNETT'S ARRIVAL — DINNER AT SURESNES  THE AMERICAN BELLES 
A THEATRICAL SENSATION — AN INSURRECTION.
My late fellow-passenger in the ' Sirius,' Mr. J. G. Bennett, made
his appearance in Paris, as promised, towards the end of July.
He had never seen it before, and was quite carried away by its
novelty and splendour. The gay and somewhat mocking spirit
of the French was in harmony with his own disposition, and under
its influence he became more genial than I had found him on
shipboard. He was eager to see all the sights, and I readily vo
lunteered my services as his guide and mentor. We spent days
together ransacking the wonders of the town, and my original
predilection for him grew rapidly into a settled liking. I was
more and more struck by his original mind, his vivacious fancy,,
and a certain bantering humour entirely devoid of malice. He
contemplated with interest the imposing monuments of Paris,
enjoyed its masterpieces of art, and attentively examined its rapid
advance in modern innovations. The people themselves, however,
their traits, habits, and amusements, seemed especially to attract
and divert him. We sympathised heartily in our admiration of the
French, and both agreed that in many respects they resembled
the Americans more than any other nation. Our daily inter
course brought all phases of his mind and character under my
observation, and I had rarely met any one who impressed me
more favourably. His unaffected manner and dignified deport
ment were as conciliatory as his sound and practical views on
all subjects were edifying. Though an earnest and thoughtful
man in the main, he could not suppress an irresistible tendency
to make a jest of the vagaries of mankind. One might suppose
he regarded the world as little other than a stupendous joke, and
that there was nothing serious in mortality. There was none,
however, of the Diogenes in his composition. His philosophy
was always sportive, never cynical or morose.
Though far from a lonely man, he never cared for society in

Paris Revisited. 487

the general sense. Perhaps he feared its influence on his future
plans in journalism. He was resolutely bent on establishing an
organ of the most independent character, above the sway or dic-
tation of parties and coteries. Without affecting to be indifferent
to prejudice and abuse, he was resolved to defy both, as he de
clared more than once, with a smile. His courage and determi
nation filled me with wonder, and all the more that I was some
what deficient in these virile ingredients. Yet, with all this iron
force of character, there lurked underneath a keen sensibility, of
which I had an unexpected proof one day when, among other
sights, we went to see a combat des animaux, which consisted of
furious conflicts between animals of ferocious natures. The exhi
bition was certainly repulsive, and we had not been present over
ten minutes before my friend rose, declaring it was too odious
to witness, which was plainly revealed in his countenance. He
turned ghastly pale, and disgust overspread every feature. It
was strange to me, after this, to hear him denounced by his
opponents in the press as a heartless and pitiless man.
I proposed to him to pay a visit to our Minister, General Cass,
to whom he brought an introduction, but had not intended to
present it. We called, however, on our genial Envoy, who gave
a hearty welcome to the energetic editor. We dined with him a
few days later.
Before leaving Paris, Mr. Bennett expressed a wish to make
the acquaintance of our American banker, Mr. Welles.
' It will give me great pleasure,' I said ; ' but he is an eccen
tric man, and I will not guarantee his good behaviour. Besides,
you have taken such liberties with the financial craft, and upset
so many of their little games, that he may decline to meet you
at all. Will you risk it ?'
' Certainly,' he said. ' He is worth knowing. I sha'n't mind
his pranks.'
The next day we went to his counting-house, in the Place St.
George, and, mounting its narrow staircase, we met Mr. Welles
coming down.
' I am in a hurry,' he said, in his abrupt way. ' I'm going to
the Bourse. What do you want ?'
' Only wish to present a friend leaving for New York/
' Who is he ?' asked the cautious banker, looking hard at my
companion, who stood tranquilly beside me.
' Mr. Bennett, of the New York Herald!

t88 Paris Revisited.

The banker was electrified, and he glared for a moment with
out saying a word. Then, wheeling about, he added gruffly,
' Come up-stairs.'
We entered his sanctum and sat down. Mr. Welles paced
up and down in his usual fashion, evidently in a perturbed state
of mind. ' You-are leaving Paris ?' at length he remarked, with a side-
look at Mr. B.
' In a few days,' was the laconic answer.
I felt uneasy at the situation, and observed that ' Mr. Bennett
was reluctant to quit Paris without meeting so well known an
American as the head of the house of Welles & Co.'
' Ah !' was the only reply, which sounded like a grunt.
'Where are you living ?' demanded the banker, after a pause,
never ceasing his trot.
' At the flfitel Montmorency,' answered the immovable Ben
nett, who seemed equal to the crisis.
After a few more turns, with occasional glances at his unex
pected visitor, he growled, ' Will see you again,' and took up
his hat. On this signal we departed.
1 What did I tell you ?' I observed, when we reached the
street. ' Is he not an oddity ?'
' Very droll indeed,' replied Bennett, laughing. ' I wouldn't
have missed it for anything.'
The next day, on calling on my friend, he exclaimed,
' I have an invitation from that funny man Welles to dine
with him on Sunday next, at Suresnes.'
' So have I,' was my answer ; ' and I am glad of it, as it shows
he bears no malice for the shock I gave him. It also proves that
your self-possession under fire made a favourable impression. I
congratulate you on the prospect of meetingMrs.Welles,decidedly
one of the most elegant women of her day.'
The weather was lovely as we drove out to the luxurious
villa of Mr. Welles, on the banks of the Seine, some five miles
from Paris. He had bought it for a song, just after the Re
volution of 1830, when its owner, a grand seigneur, took fright,
and sold it to the first bidder. Mr. Bennett was in ecstasy with
the beauty of the grounds as we rattled up to the house. There
was a large company assembled. We met our whimsical host on
our arrival, who simply bobbed his head at us and vanished, leav
ing us in the hands of Providence. Bennett was more amused

Paris Revisited. 489

than ever. We were introduced to nobody, though I recognised
several acquaintances — the Corbins, the Gibbeses, and that very
charming woman Mrs. A. Thorndike of Boston. The dinner was
even more recherdie" than usual, and the wines of superlative
merit. I half suspected our generous Amphitryon meant to
astonish his New York guest by the rare excellence of his cave.
On returning to the salons I whispered to Mrs. Welles, who was
superbly dressed, and never looked handsomer,
' Pray give me ten minutes apart. A friend of mine is eager
for a little chat with you, his last opportunity.'
She smiled significantly, for though Mr. Bennett had not yet
been introduced she was evidently aware of his presence.
' Come now, then,' she replied, and led the way to a splendid
apartment opening on the grounds.
Taking my companion by the arm, we followed, her. As we
seated ourselves I remarked that,
' It would have been a dire disappointment to my friend Mr.
Bennett if he had gone away without assuring his affable hostess
of his great delight at meeting her.'
With a graceful recognition of the compliment, Mrs. Welles
then began conversing in her piquant way, and, as I anticipated,
her rare intelligence, tact, and grace completely fascinated her
guest. He responded with unusual animation and gallantry,
evidently interesting his new acquaintance, for she prolonged
the sitting for nearly an hour.
On our way home Mr. Bennett could talk of nothing save
Mrs. Welles, her beauty, wit, and unbounded charms.
' I should like,' he declared, ' of all things, to give way to my
enthusiasm, and write my impressions in my next letter to the
Herald, of course suppressing her name.'
' Do so by all means,' I said ; ' she is a perfect woman of the
world, and would appreciate your homage, that she would not
fail to detect was genuine. No pretty woman is ever offended at
honest admiration.'
' If I had not abandoned poetry,' he exclaimed, ' I would give
way to the inspirations she has aroused. What an adorable
woman !'
In this strain he continued to express his admiration till we
parted. His last day in Paris we dined together, and talked of the
Herald.

490 Paris Revisited.

' I mean to make it,' he declared emphatically, ' the leading
journal of the country.'
' No difficult matter,' I returned. ' Your wit has made it the
most readable already.'
' Ah,' he continued, ' I contemplate a more solid basis than
that. My jokes are mere sprats to catch the gudgeons. Our
press has strangely neglected its real mission, which is to obtain
the news of the day. This is the vital principle, the end and aim,
of journalism. The Americans are a practical people. They care
nothing for the opinions of editors, or their political squabbles.
They want information, and plenty of it, of what is passing in the
world. Whilst my rivals waste their time abusing me, I will ran
sack the globe for news ; and some fine day the party organs
/will find their vocation gone.'
' No doubt of it,' I answered, sipping my Burgundy. ' Your
industry, vigilance, and journalistic acumen -make your triumph
inevitable. I drink to the success and power of the Herald!
' Nonsense !' he retorted, rather contemptuously. ' The press
has no power, especially in the United States. Public opinion is
the only power there, and the wisest editor is he who keeps in its
wake. It is dangerous to anticipate it a single day.'
We separated sworn friends, and I promised to send him all
the news that fell in my way.
' I want nothing else,' were his last words.
Paris was undergoing a theatrical sensation. An actress of
extraordinary genius had thrown the town into wild commotion.
By her marvellous talent this youthful prodigy, named Elizabeth
Rachel, had revived the forgotten tragedies of Racine and Cor-
neille. What was strange, she had appeared in the previous
June, and played for three months to empty benches. The mere
name of one of Racine's obsolete plays on the bills, whose he
roine was represented by an unknown dSutaute, was enough to
deter the most inveterate playgoer. At last a great critic, con
vinced of her matchless powers, announced, in his grandest style,
that a phenomenon had appeared, and that classical tragedy
might once more raise its head.
' She has restored to the dead, but imperishable, chef-d'ceuvres
of our language,' cried Jules Janin, ' life, thought, movement,
passion, interest. It is an incomprehensible feat, but a fact'
All the world rushed to the neglected Theatre Francais, filled
with doubt and curiosity, and came away electrified. This re-

Paris Revisited. 49 1

volution was achieved by a girl of eighteen, striking rather than
handsome. She owed comparatively little to physical aids : tall,
slender, a narrow chest, an unsymmetrical form, an ordinary phy
siognomy, diminutive features, small eyes, though deep-set and
expressive. Her voice, however, was remarkable in volume and
variety of intonation, with exceeding grace of gesture and atti
tude. Her articulation was also singularly distinct and effective.
Her success in the delineation of the stronger passions was never
surpassed. Despair, hatred, pride, irony, disdain, were exhibited
with such earnestness and truth as to appal the spectator. Her
chief trait was intensity of expression, and some of her greatest
effects were produced in a low voice, with clenched hands and a
withering look. Her acting in some of her favourite roles was
really beyond description or panegyric. She laboured incessantly
at her art ; and even when considered perfect at rehearsal would
retire to the house of her professor and recite passage after pass
age, seeking to discover some new point or neglected beauty of
expression. But no study, however conscientious or sustained,
could have arrived at such results. Genius alone, the mens
divinior, could give such thrilling vividness to a word, a glance,
a gesture. On the stage she was a creature of inspiration, and
frequently bewildered the actors and astounded the audience by
'ome original creation she had never planned or contemplated.
Her history was romantic. The daughter of poor ped
lars, and actually born on the high-road during one of their
tramps, her youth was passed in utter destitution, and she
picked up a meagre pittance singing in the cafos of Lyons.
Her intention was to become a vocalist ; but her voice was
pronounced deficient. She then studied for the stage, and
appeared at a second-class theatre in Paris, but attracted no
notice. Undismayed, and impelled more by instinct than con
viction, she persisted, and was finally recognised as the very in
carnation of the tragic Muse. Emerging from so low a station,
with associations of the most vulgar kind, it would have been
natural if her tone and manners corresponded with her humble
origin. On the contrary, her bearing in society was easy, and even
distingue", and though never educated, ignorant of literature, art,
science, of everything, yet her native intellect supplied all defi
ciencies. She was often known to say the wittiest things, and to
utter repartees full of point. Count Mole, the Prime Minister,
in a moment of enthusiasm, said to her :

492 Paris Revisited.
' Mademoiselle, you have saved the French language.'
She returned the compliment with a low curtsey, and whis
pered to a friend,
' That is all the more strange, since I never knew it'
What effect on her character the torrent of homage and
admiration would produce remained to be seen. It was a trying
ordeal to one sprung from such depths into the dazzling glare
of such renown. Her kindness of heart was still untouched, as
the following anecdote proves.
One night she was leaving the opera-house, and about en
tering her carriage, when a girl with a basket of oranges on her
arm recognised a former companion under her luxurious attire..
Involuntarily she exclaimed, ' Rachel ! Rachel !' and ran up to her.
The great tragedienne turned round, and recalled the features
of one of her old friends of the street.
' Ah, Marie,' she responded playfully, ' is it you ? How goes
business ?'
Putting a gold piece in her hand, Rachel drove off, leaving
her old comrade in the orange trade dumb with amazement.
Another anecdote, hardly less piquant, was in circulation.
Some months previously, when she thought herself ready for the
ordeal, she called on M. PreVost, the secretary of the Theatre
Francais, and made known her aspirations. Regarding her frail
form and unattractive appearance with astonishment, he replied,
' Ah, my poor child, go and sell bouquets — that's more in
your line.'
On one of her nights of triumph she picked up the wreaths
and flowers showered on her from all sides, and smilingly ap
proached the supercilious secretary.
' You see,' she said, ' I have taken your advice, and have em
barked in the flower business. Will you buy a bouquet ?'
Among my favourite resorts during the winter was the resi
dence of our Minister, General Cass. He occupied a splendid
mansion in the Avenue Matignon, and his charming daughters-
dispensed the hospitalities of the Legation with unaffected grace
and dignity. Soiries dansantes were of frequent occurrence, and
were thronged by the ilite of all nationalities. The American
belles bore off the palm for beauty and sprightliness. There
were none to contest the claims of Virginia Scott, Rebecca
Thorndike, and Louisa Mott — the first a perfect blonde, with
classical features and matchless form. There was a spice of

Paris Revisited.

493

hauteur in her manner in nowise repelling. The second, with
her dark hair, hazel eyes, and faultless symmetry, was no less
attractive. The last, though considered by some, perhaps, less
beautiful than her rivals, was wonderfully liked for her pleasing
expression and winning manners. All three were constantly
surrounded by a crowd of admirers, and to see them tripping
through the mazes of a quadrille, one felt inclined to exclaim to
each: ' When you do dance, I wish you
A wave o' th' sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that.'
I was on intimate terms with our affable Minister, and took
great delight in his urbane society and racy conversation. I
often sent him a copy of the New York Herald, which reached
me regularly, and which he read with lively zest, as the following
note attests : February 10, 1839.
Dear Mr. Wikoff, — I return the Herald you were good enough to
send to me, and which I am always glad to see. It contains so much
that is graphic and piquant that I devour it when I get it. Bennett
is certainly a wonderful fellow, and possesses powers of observation and
of writing which are not often combined in the same person. — With
much regard most truly yours, Lewis Cass.
Avenue Matignon, 17.
I had always been longing to witness a Parisian insurrection,
which I thought must be a spectacle of the most spirit-stirring
description. No people in the world could vie with the French
in these sanguinary feats ; and frequent experiments had given
them such dexterity and sang-froid in their organisation that
they were carried out with the scientific precision of a pitched
battle. The strategic points were carefully selected, and the
plans of attack and defence were all maturely settled. At
length an opportunity presented itself in the spring of 1839.
For months previously the Chamber of Deputies had been the
scene of desperate efforts by the politicians out of office, headed
by Thiers and Guizot, to overturn the Ministry of Count Mole..
At last the King dissolved the Chamber ; and a violent electoral
struggle threw the country into great commotion. The revolu
tionary party thought this state of things so favourable that it
set to work actively, in countless garrets and cellars, preparing
an insurrection, in which it was hoped the giddy populace of

49+ Paris Revisited.
Paris might be induced to join. The ringleaders, Barbes, Ber
nard, and Blanqui,* were all determined men, and they meant to
overthrow the Orleans dynasty, in order to establish a Republic
of the Robespierre pattern in its place. They had iooo men
under their orders, thoroughly drilled ; and if successful in their
first movements they counted on many thousands more rallying
to their standard. When all was ready the signal was given,
and on the 12th of May the startling cry of ' To arms ! to arms !'
resounded through the capital. I no sooner heard the uproar
than, eager for the fray, I hurried into the street. The inhabi
tants all rushed to their doors, with faces full of apprehension ;
but none of them stirred from the spot, or seemed inclined to
court unknown risks. They knew from experience the danger
incurred. I wondered at their stoicism, which I thought pusil
lanimity, and dashed on in the direction of the firing. Following
several men in blouses, with muskets in their hands, I ran in
the direction of the Boulevard St., Martin. Seeing a barricade
erected in the Rue St. Martin, I went down to have a closer in
spection, and found behind it a motley group of desperadoes, all
armed and ready for work. Strange to say, there was no chat
tering or noise of any kind. Sullen and savage, they awaited,
like tigers at bay, the coming of the foe. As I had no interest
in the matter, nor was likely to be gazetted for intrepidity, it
occurred to me that I was in a dangerous neighbourhood, and had
better gratify my curiosity elsewhere. Just as I had taken this
prudent resolution, I perceived, to my horror, a strong body
of troops coming round the corner of the street to attack the
barricaders, who immediately levelled their muskets and began
firing. The door of every house was closed, and I saw no loop
hole of escape. Running either way was equally perilous, and,
though awfully scared, I had wit enough to lay myself flat under
a porte-cochere. The soldiers advanced steadily up to the barri
cade, when the drums beat the charge, and a furious fight began.
It lasted, it seemed to me, for hours ; but it appeared that in
some twenty minutes the barricaders were overpowered, and fled,
leaving many dead and wounded behind. As soon as the firing
ceased I resumed my perpendicular, and took to my heels forth-
* This is the same Blanqui who, in May 1879, was discharged from imprison
ment incurred for endeavouring to overthrow the Republican Government in October
1871. He has spent upwards of forty years in prison, and will probably die in one.
He is seventy-four years old.

Paris Revisited. 495

with, but in a different direction from my late friends of the
barricade. Whenever I met any more insurgents or troops, I
bolted down the first street to avoid them, and kept on my
zigzag course until I got safely home, quite resolved, when the
next insurrection occurred, to imitate the prudent tactics of the
householders, and keep out of harm's way.
A short time afterwards I read in the papers the statement
of M. Tisserand, the officer in command, of what took place in
the Rue St. Martin. I might have seen it all if I had only stood
up, but an unlucky shot might then have prevented my ever
recording it. ' I placed myself,' said M. Tisserand, ' a few paces
in advance of my troops, and, ordering the drummers to sound
the charge, I rushed forward, sword in hand, followed by all my
men. The insurgents also beat the 'charge, and received me
with a hot fire at point-blank distance. Many were struck, my
self among the rest ; but I instantly sprang upon the barricade.
One of the insurgents aimed at, but missed, me. I struck him
with my sword on the breast, and he fell. As I jumped down
from the barricade, another insurgent was kneeling on the
ground, holding his musket, the muzzle of which he laid on my
chest. Fortunately I was nimble enough to run him through
with my sword. In his dying convulsions he seized me by the
legs, and falling, we both rolled upon the ground together.'
This was only one of the bloody episodes that transpired in
my close proximity, but the fighting was equally murderous in
other quarters. Numerous guard-houses were stormed and cap
tured. The shops of many gunsmiths were assailed in search of
weapons. Finally, the H6tel de Ville was attacked and carried,
when Barbes read a proclamation, announcing the advent of the
Republic. For a time the rioters thought their success certain,
and fought with unparalleled fury. After several hours, the
superior numbers and discipline of the troops prevailed, and the
sauve qui pent commenced. The ringleaders were all made
prisoners, covered with wounds, but defiant to the last. Several
were condemned to death, but the King commuted their punish
ment to transportation.
This daring attempt to effect a Revolution had a sobering
effect on the politicians of the Chamber of Deputies, and Louis
Philippe had the supreme satisfaction of forming at last a Min
istry of his own choice ; and he inflicted a merited rebuke on the
chief fomentors of the late difficulties by discarding them all.

CHAPTER LI.
PARIS REVISITED {continued).
A VISIT FROM MR. PRICE  THE MARQUIS DE LAVALETTE — A RENOWNED ARTIST 
A STRANGE INFATUATION  TAGLIONI AND FANNY ELSSLER.
MY appetite for Paris seemed ' to grow by what it fed on,' and
as I could imagine no more delightful residence in any known
part of the globe, I gladly seized an opportunity to establish my
self in a comfortable apartment in a central situation on a lease
of three years. I furnished it somewhat luxuriously, and settled
down with the pleasant determination to take ' mine ease in mine
inn.' In order to be on good terms with my conscience, I re
solved to devote a portion of my time to diligent perusal of all
the standard authors in the various realms of literature, including
even the tranquil topic of political economy, I found abundant
occupation for my leisure hours in frequenting the houses of my
numerous friends, whose society and hospitalities left me no
thing to desire. I can recall no period of my career with more
relish than this. I was leading in all respects a blameless life,
and one in perfect conformity to my quiet tastes. Happily I
was not troubled by the qualms of an unsatisfied ambition. Had
Mephistopheles offered without a penalty to envelop me in
renown, I should have politely declined the temptation. If there
was anything to which I had an especial aversion, it was pub
licity of any kind. This, no doubt, proceeded from my nervous
organisation, that I never could overcome, and which made me
shrink timidly from the least chance of falling under public
observation. Had any one threatened to make me the theme of
a newspaper article, however eulogistic, I should have begged
harder to be spared than if my life had been attacked.
Another peculiarity, as strongly developed, was my solicitude
for an unsullied character. I sought in all things to be on the
best footing with Mrs. Grundy, and fastidiously avoided asso
ciation with any one of doubtful odour, male or female. Indif-

Paris Revisited. 497

ferent, as I have said, to public distinction, I courted eagerly good
repute in private life :
' Unblemished let me live, or die unknown ;
O, grant an honest fame, or grant me none !'
I have indulged in this explanatory prelude to show what a
puppet is a human being in the hands of Fate, and that, in spite
of his will or wishes, a man may be suddenly precipitated into
a position diametrically opposed to his views, and wholly unfore
seen in his wildest fancies. This was just my unlucky experi
ence, as the following narrative will prove. From a friendly
motive I was drawn into a connection that finally enveloped me
like a net, and neither caution or apprehension prevented my
becoming an instrument in an enterprise in which not only I had
no interest, but every inducement to evade. The comical part of
it was that it scattered to the winds my love of privacy, to say
nothing of my craving for high respectability.
It was a lovely morning in July, and I was absorbed in a
speech of Burke's, when the door of my library was thrown open,
and the servant announced, ' Mr. Stephen Price.' I jumped up
in surprise, exclaiming,
' My dear Price, delighted to see you ! When did you come
to Paris ? You are the last man I expected to meet.'
My visitor took no notice of my gushing welcome, but,
deliberately depositing his hat and stick on a table, sat down
in his gruff way, and looked me steadily in the face. There
was something in his eye and manner that indicated a settled
purpose of some sort. I have already described him as an oddity,
and I always dreaded any collision, knowing his arbitrary temper.
' I have come here expressly to see you,' he began. ' Don't
interrupt me ; I want to ask a service. You are just the man for
my project.'
' It will give me the greatest pleasure to oblige you,' I said,
without hesitation.
' I am utterly ruined, on the verge of bankruptcy,' he con
tinued, without change of countenance.
' I am deeply shocked to hear it,' I added, not a little moved.
' Now listen to me,' he said emphatically. ' I have hit on a
plan to retrieve my fortunes. I want to engage Fanny Elssler
for my theatre in New York for forty nights. I will give her
half the houses, less the expenses. This ought to put 30,000
KK

498 Paris Revisited.

dollars in my pocket, which will tide me over my difficulties.
Will you aid me ?'
I was astounded at the proposition, and felt inclined to reject
it instantly. Yet his situation touched me. After pondering
a moment, I said,
' She would be as likely to embark for the moon as go to
America. The one she has seen, but probably never heard of
the other. Besides, the director of the Opera would oppose it
desperately. Moreover, I don't know her.'
Clouds gathered on his brow, and he replied, in a testy tone,
' These obstacles could be overcome if you desired to serve
me. Do you refuse ?'
' No,' I answered blandly ; ' but I would like to think it over.'
' No time for that,' he replied, rising. ' I must return to'
London at once. I am in great trouble. May I rely upon you ?'
' Yes. What can I do ?'
' Get me an interview with Fanny Elssler,' he demanded.
' After that I will leave the negotiation in your hands.'
' Fortunately,' I remarked, ' I know the Marquis de Lavalette,
the chief adviser of the brilliant artist. If I get his adhesion, it
will facilitate matters.'
' If you wish it,' he added, ' I will ask my friend Frank Corbirc
to assist you.'
' Do so, it may be useful ; but I will" see the Marquis to-day,
and send you his impressions. I trust, for your sake, he will not
oppose the project.'
' You understand me,' he persisted. ' The engagement is
vital to my interests. I count on your influence and tact. Will
you help me ?' and he took me nervously by the hand.
' I will do my best to accomplish your object,' I assured him
earnestly. He went away, and left me quite bewildered. I regarded the
job with repugnance. Yet what could I do ? The appeal was
from an old man, in broken health and stricken by misfortune.
He had lavished hospitality on me without stint in London.
Should I withhold my hand in an emergency like this ? It would
have been unfeeling to do so.
I started off instantly to the Jockey Club to hunt up the
Marquis de Lavalette, who was the presiding genius of that
fashionable resort. This gentleman was a descendant of an old
family and a member of the Diplomatic Corps, which did not

Fans Revisited. 499

prevent him dabbling in theatricals, leading an active club life,
and giving much attention to the turf. He was a handsome man
of thirty-three, of pleasing and distinguished manners, remarkable
for acuteness of mind, and withal so energetic in purpose that
he rarely failed in what he undertook. Activity and tact were
his salient traits. He was a great authority in the artistic world,
and all-potential with the peerless danseuse. I broached to him
the scheme of Mr. Price, and, to my surprise, he favoured it. I
learned his reasons later. After a chat, he said,
' Come with your friend to-morrow at two P.M. to the resi
dence of Mdlle. Elssler, and I will present you.'
I wrote promptly to the manager to join me before the
designated hour, which he did, and we drove off to our rendez
vous in the Rue Lafitte.
Mdlle. Elssler occupied the chief part of a mansion in this
central position, and mounting to the premier we passed through
several richly-furnished rooms, and were ushered into her boudoir,
where we found the Marquis in earnest parley with the diva of
the dance.
She received us with exceeding courtesy, and the conversa
tion forthwith began. The Marquis spoke English perfectly, and
translated at intervals to the lady what passed between him
and Mr. Price. The length of the engagement proposed, the
time, and the terms were all fully discussed ; and whilst this was
going on I had abundant opportunity to contemplate this cele
brated woman. I was struck by her quiet lady-like appearance.
She was above medium height, and divinely formed, as I had
often seen on the stage. Her features were well shaped, and the
eyes, of dark gray, wonderfully soft and gentle. Her head
was beautifully shaped, the countenance singularly sweet and
winning. The voice, too, was low and musical. Every move
ment was the incarnation of grace. What puzzled me was that
so meek and placid a creature should have made such a furore
in Europe, on and off the stage. One would have supposed,
from her retiring air and modest deportment, that she had been
reared in a convent, or had budded in some ' cool sequestered
vale,' far away from the haunts of men and the purlieus of the
opera-house. Could she be as innocent and confiding as she
looked ? Had the admiration of suitors, the enthusiasm of mul
titudes, the homage of princes, fallen unnoticed on the ground ?
Could she have walked, or rather danced, over so many hot

>"oo Paris Revisited.

ploughshares without scorching her tiny feet ? Was it possible
to live in the malarious atmosphere in which she had been bred,
and preserve purity of mind, goodness of heart, and sincerity of
character ? It seemed to me well-nigh incredible. During the
colloquy of the Marquis and my friend Price she rarely spoke,
simply nodding her head as the main points were interpreted.
whilst I busied myself with the reflections just expressed. At
the close Mr. Price said he must return forthwith to London,
and would leave me to arrange the details, if Mdlle. Elssler
accepted the engagement.
' A mighty simple unpretending sort of a body,' observed the
manager, as we wended our way homewards. ' I expected
something very different. I fancy she is quite under the tute
lage of the Marquis. If you win him over, you'll have little
trouble with her, I feel sure/
' Just as I told you,' was my reply.
' Well, the affair begins favourably,' he remarked. ' I am off to
night. All now depends on you, and if you succeed I shall be
profoundly grateful. I have no other hope.'
' I shall not fail for want of effort,' I answered, ' and begin to
feel more sanguine.'
He shook me cordially by the hand at parting, and said all
he could to stimulate my zeal.
I was now resolved to go on with this business, which at first
awakened my dread. It was quite out of my line, and might
involve unpleasant associations. But the embarrassed situation
of my friend, who gave me fuller details than related, aroused
my sympathies, whilst the pleasing well-bred demeanour of
Mdlle. Elssler diminished many objections. I had frequent inter
views with the Marquis de L., who frankly assured me he
desired the engagement to be effected. He stated he should
be compelled shortly to go to Persia, as chief secretary of an
important mission the Government proposed to send there, and
would be away, perhaps, for a year. During this interval he
preferred that Mdlle. E. should make a tour in America, as her
simple trusting nature wholly disabled her from contending with
the intrigues and temptations of her life in Paris. She required
at her elbow some sagacious influential friend, who would pro
tect her from harm. He said the main obstacle to the engage
ment was the certain opposition of the director of the Opera,
as her absence would greatly diminish his receipts. She was

Pans Revisited. soi

entitled by her contract to three months' leave annually during
the dead season ; but this was hardly sufficient for the trip in
question. However, he would undertake to arrange this, if pos
sible, and the rest would be comparatively easy.
' You must see Mdlle. Elssler as often as convenient,' he said,
' and remove her apprehensions of so perilous an enterprise, as
she regards it. Already the interested and ignorant people
about her are describing the risks and terrors of the barbarous
land she talks of visiting. They tell her it is filled with savages
and wild beasts, and I daresay they think so. They declare
her graceful art would be derided and denounced, and that if she
ventured to show her ankles, much more her legs, an outcry of
horror would be raised, and she would probably be prosecuted
for indecency. You must undertake to disabuse her mind of
these absurdities, which she hardly knows whether to believe or
not ; and if you find her tractable, we will then set to work at
the engagement.'
This was the substance of several conversations with the
Marquis, and I cheerfully agreed to enter the lists against the
defamers of the taste and refinement of my maligned country.
I called occasionally on the famous danseuse, and was in
variably charmed by her affability and elegance. I could not
question her natural intelligence ; but it was blended with an
ingenuousness very rare in the world, and still more on the stage.
It was long before I could be convinced that this was all genuine,
and not merely the skilful dissimulation of a consummate actress.
I ridiculed the amusing fabrications of her visitors respecting the
sauvagerie of the United States, and guaranteed her a reception
that would throw the enthusiasm of other countries she had
vanquished into the shade. Such art as hers, I assured her, had
never been seen there, and, united with so much beauty and
grace, would be quite a revelation, that would yield results in
fame and profit beyond her most sanguine calculations. By
degrees she seemed to give me her confidence ; for, though artless
by disposition, her experience had taught her caution, and she
felt doubt more than suspicion of the motives of men.
I had often applauded the marvellous skill and expressive
pantomime of this great artist in the opera-house, but once out
of it had never thought any more about her. Now, however,
that I had unexpectedly met and found her so unlike any one
connected with the stage I had known, I felt great curiosity

50 2 Paris Revisited.

about her past history, and endeavoured to collect all that was
reliable on the subject. She was a native of Vienna, and her
father was a musician, and a friend of Haydn the composer.
At first she was trained as a singer, but suddenly conceived a
violent passion for the dance ; and, after fruitless resistance, her
father gave way, and she was apprenticed to her art. She made
such rapid progress that, when barely fifteen, she and her elder
sister, who adopted the same profession, were engaged for two
years at Naples. Here Fanny became an immense favourite ;
but at the end of her contract insisted on returning to Vienna,
where she was installed as la premiire danseuse at the Court
Theatre. Though only seventeen, she was pronounced the first
dancer of Germany, and her remarkable loveliness added to her
reputation. She drew enthusiastic crowds whenever she ap
peared, and engagements from all parts of Europe poured in
upon her. She led a very retired life at home, and thought of
nothing but her art It was at this period the Duke of Reich-
stadt, son of Napoleon I., became deeply enamoured of her, but,
whether from pride or other reasons, he never revealed it. He
was constantly at the theatre when she danced, but beyond this
proof of admiration he made no sign. It was only on his death
bed, as I have stated, some three years later, that he avowed his
passion. Another striking testimony of her fascination for cultivated
minds occurred during this residence in her native town. The
celebrated Gentz, the first statesman of Germany, and then sixty-
six years old, became desperately infatuated, but had great
difficulty in knowing her, so averse was she to acquaintances
out of her home circle. Of course, at his time of life, the illus
trious sexagenarian had no idea of becoming her lover in the
ordinary sense. All he aspired to was the occasional enjoyment
of her society, and the privilege of improving her education.
On this basis he became a frequent visitor at her father's house,
and took great delight in giving her lessons in French and
other languages. This remarkable man was so well known in
Germany that his extreme devotion to Fanny Elssler became
the theme of general comment. In 1836, four years after his
death, his correspondence with the Baroness Varnhagen, the wife
of one of the Prussian Ministers, was published in Berlin, and
the fervent declarations of his romantic attachment to the charm
ing artist were so striking as to be widely copied and dis-

Paris Revisited. 503

cussed. Any translation would convey but a feeble idea of the
glow of his brilliant style ; but still these letters are so curious
that a few extracts will likely be read with interest.
In a letter dated Vienna, September 1830, he writes :
* * * To you I must and I dare confess what to others I con
tent myself with not formally denying, that since last winter I have borne
in my breast a passion of greater strength than any I have ever known.
You will be astonished — perhaps horror-struck — when I tell you that the
object of this passion is a girl scarce nineteen, and, what is more, a dan.
seuse. Yet when I assure you that my intercourse with this girl has
poured out upon me a fulness of felicity such as I have never known or
felt before ; that this intercourse has been to me, not only the counter
poise of numerous anxieties under which I should otherwise have infal
libly succumbed, but also the upholding principle of my cheerfulness,
my health, and my life, I think you will be induced not only to excuse
me, but also to admit, with your usual enlightened candour, that the
person who could thus work upon me, besides the unbounded beauty
by which she enchains me, must also possess other qualities which ex
plain a relation such as I have depicted. This person is now in Berlin.
If you happen still to concern yourself about the theatre you will cer
tainly hear of her ; but I feel anxious you should see her once or twice,,
if it be only upon the stage. I am anything but indifferent to the im
pression that Fanny may make upon you, and I entreat you to take an
opportunity of writing to me on the subject.
In a second letter, from Presburg, October 30, to the Baroness,
he writes :
* * * Now that you have come to know some of her charms
you will consider it natural and probable that Fanny had only to beckon
in order to have at her feet ten admirers instead of one, and those, too,
the most distinguished for their rank and prestige. She despised all
these, and preferred my society. I had neither youth nor beauty nor
wealth to offer her ; nor, indeed, anything which could gain the heart of
a young girl, more especially one upon the stage. Ordinary people
about me think, and affirm, I have interested her by my eloquence.
This of itself would be singular enough, but it is far from the truth. I
have won upon her simply and exclusively by the magical power of my
devotion. * * * I never conceived she could ' fall in love' with me,
for in the full fervour of my idolatry my reason does not abandon me.
It was enough for me to inspire her with a sentiment floating be
tween friendship and gratitude, and I did in fact succeed ; for men suc
ceed in everything which they struggle for with complete energy and
genuine perseverance. Now imagine what it is, at my time of life, and

504 Paris Revisited.

with my few remaining pretensions, to see an affection like mine thus
rewarded. Imagine the satisfaction of one's self-love, from which no
human being can disengage himself; imagine the blessedness of daily
undisturbed intercourse with a person in whom everything ravishes me
— in whose eyes, in whose hands (do you only look at them), in whose
single and separate charms my mind absorbs itself for hours together —
whose voice tells upon me like magic — and with whom I carry on end
less conversations, which would often astound you, as I should do with
the most docile schoolgirl ; for I educate her with paternal care, and she
is at once my beloved pupil and my faithful child. Doubtless you will
have found her timid and embarrassed — a feeling arising partly from her
consciousness of her slender education, and partly from her respect for
a lady whom I have more than once described to her as a being all
but miraculous. Perhaps you may succeed in soothing her ; and it
would delight me infinitely if you could manage to untie her tongue.
The nature of my admiration for Fanny is so little a secret at Vienna
that it is talked of every day ; and what contributes to my comfort is that
persons for whose opinion I care the most— amongst them Prince Met-
ternich — never refer to it with any other feeling than kindness and
delicacy. In a succeeding letter from Vienna, in November the same
year, he says :
I hope to see Fanny once more on the ioth of next month, and I
am half dead with longing for her. Her prodigious success in Berlin
has awakened in me neither fear nor jealousy; but I do indeed feel in
dignant that she has been so unmercifully put to work, and strained
above her natural powers, with scarcely leisure to take breath, and still
less for any friendly visiting. I shall rejoice when this severe trial is
over. Again, he writes in January 1831 :
My intercourse with Fanny, and her incomparable behaviour to
wards me, are now, in truth, the only bright spots in my life. Yet even
this tender and blissful connection is insufficient to cheer me perman
ently. There are hours when, even in her society, I go through the
mournful experience so beautifully described by one of the greatest
poets of antiquity. I must quote the passage in Latin; Varnhagen will
translate it for you. * * * When things are come to this pass
there is good reason for complaint Yet I initiate Fanny as little as I
can into the secrets of my distress. The more completely she continues
pure and free from embarrassment, the more certain am I to find in her
that diversion of mind and refreshment without which I should very
shortly sink altogether. But to you, and to your clear head and strong
oul, I speak out freely. * * *

Paris Revisited. 505

In another letter the same month he writes :
Fanny, who will never forget how nobly and kindly you have be
haved to her, desires to be remembered to you most devotedly. Next
week she will give for her benefit the Swiss Milk-Maid, which has
pleased you so much, but which I have never seen. As the best male
dancer here is absent on leave, the ballets occur but seldom, and I pass
my evening hours— as many of them, at least, as I can rescue from affairs
of State — with her. I instruct her in French and German, and educate
her like a beloved child. This is the single occupation which has still
preserved its charms for me, and it is only when I am with her that I
forget grief, age, and death. I regard her as a boon from Heaven —
as a spring -flower which still flourishes for me in the midst of wintry
fields and tombs.
I will add a final extract from a letter dated Vienna, July same
year. He begins describing the political situation, of which I
give only the following sentences :
No one can tell very well to what party he belongs ; opinions,
wishes, necessities cross each .other in so strange a way, and meet one
another again in the general confusion, that one can no longer distin
guish a friend from an enemy ; it is a war of all against all, which can
only be terminated by thunderbolts from above or earthquakes from
beneath. * * * Fanny alone reconciles me to life. I love her
more than ever, and my adoration, without in the least abating in its
original intensity, has at the same time acquired a character of quietude,
of assurance, of deep-seated and tender friendship, such as seldom com
ports with love properly so called. For this inexpressible bliss — all
that I have preserved out of the great shipwreck — I have to thank,
not myself, but her — or rather, I have to thank Heaven, who made her
what she is, and caused me to light upon her. In the middle of Sep
tember she will again visit Berlin. I neither can nor dare postpone her
departure, although even now my heart bleeds at the thought of such
a separation, and I really do not know how it will be possible for me
this time to endure it. During the past year Fanny has made wonder
ful progress in her art; she is now the first dancer in Europe in the
judgment of others as well as of mine. A wide and brilliant career is
before her; she will long, long outlive me, and I should act criminally
if I were to mar her future prospects. This would still be my feeling
even if I were master of a million of money, so that I could settle it all
upon her to-morrow, marry her on the next day, and take her away from
the theatre altogether. The quen dira-t-on, by Heaven, would not re
strain me ; but all our feelings, even the most powerful, must be silent
in the presence of principle.

506 Paris Revisited.

It is certainly extraordinary that a man prized and feted by
all the potentates of Europe, and who was to the last the main
spring of the politics of Germany, should, in his old age, abandon
himself to the paroxysms of a passion that at times almost rose
to delirium. That such was the case the extracts from his cor
respondence — and they are greatly curtailed — are surely a proof.
The inference is that it must have been something more than
mere beauty that could have stirred to their depths the mind and
heart of such a man as Baron von Gentz. There must have been
intelligence and sweetness as well as charms of person. Else this
moral bouleversement, this subjugation of one of the first intel
lects of his age, is quite incomprehensible.
To go on with the history of Mdlle. Elssler. She accepted
an engagement at His Majesty's Opera in London in 1833, and
aroused the sober-minded English to the liveliest enthusiasm. The
noise of this ovation was so great that Veron, the able director
of the French Opera, was attracted to London, and at once re
solved to secure the prize. Totally ignorant of the character of
the great artist, he began a series of diplomatic manoeuvres to
bring about an engagement. Amongst the rest, he got up a
grand dinner at the Clarendon Hotel in honour of Mdlle. Elssler,
where a recherche" party was invited to meet her. When the des
sert was put on the table, all eyes were attracted to a rich panier
in the centre, filled with costly jewelry. At a nod from M.
Veron this glittering array of diamonds and rubies was brought
to the astonished Fanny, who was gallantly requested by her
host to accept this tribute of his loyal admiration. To his won
derment she politely declined, secretly regarding it as a some
what vulgar compliment. It was only when she observed his
mortification at her refusal that she consented to select the
simplest bracelet of the collection as a souvenir of the feast
When the astute Veron discovered that the usual managerial
artifices were thrown away on the simple-minded Fanny, he came
at once to business, and proposed a long engagment at the rate
of 20,000 dollars a year. She could take no exception to this sum,
but desired that her sister might likewise be engaged. This the
director resisted, as he was already supplied with many danseuses
of superior attraction. She then refused the offer of M. Veron,
unless he agreed to engage her sister, and divide the salary pro
posed between them. Of course, no objection was made to this
kind suggestion, and the engagement was concluded.

Paris Revisited.

507

In the autumn of 1834, Fanny Elssler made her appearance
at the Grand OpeYa of Paris, and her triumphs were numberless.
She had a formidable antagonist in the celebrated Taglioni,
whose Sylphide was pronounced the embodiment of the ' poetry
of motion ;' but Fanny surpassed her in beauty, was her equal
in grace, and outstripped her in pantomimic expression. More
over, she introduced a new school of dancing, full of brilliancy
and eclat. The rivalry between the great artists was keen and
exciting, and their respective partisans exhausted the flower-
markets of Paris in their enthusiastic demonstrations.
On one occasion the admirers of Taglioni insisted on crown
ing their favourite on the stage as the de'esse de la danse. This
was far from acceptable to the director, who thought it would be
an unfair mark of preference, and a slight to the swelling popu
larity of the fascinating Elssler ; but he was too politic to pro
voke an uproar by a blunt refusal, and so orders were given for
the ceremony, which was to take place one evening at the close
of the performance of La Sylphide.
The house was crowded with the champions of the renowned
Taglioni, who longed for the moment when the white wreath of
the Sylph was to be removed and a coronet of laurel-leaves in
gold substituted, as the emblem of her sovereignty over the fairy
realm of the dance. When all was ready, and just as Taglioni,
full of exultation, had fallen on one knee to receive her crown,
the immense orchestra suddenly struck up the wild galop from
Gustave, and the whole corps de ballet, exceeding a hundred,
came dashing down the stage with :-uch impetuosity as to sweep
the astonished danseuse and the bewildered group around her
completely out of sight, when the curtain fell.
A great sensation followed, and for days there was searching
inquiry as to who could have instigated this unlooked-for denoue
ment. The chef d'orchestre could never tell where he got the
signal to play the galop that did all the mischief. M. Veron
would never consent to any repetition of the ceremony, and it
was shrewdly suspected he was the real author of this adroit
stratagem to prevent Taglioni and her friends from inflicting a
mortifying slight on her popular rival.
In what were called pas de caractere Mdlle. Elssler created a
•sensation in Paris that had never been witnessed. In a new
ballet, the Diable Boiteux, she introduced a Spanish dance of her
own composition that, for beauty and grace, was pronounced a

508 Paris Revisited.

chef-d'oeuvre. La Cachuca, with its clinking castanets and equi
vocal poses, quite intoxicated the susceptible French, and put
the seal on her saltatory reputation. In another ballet, the Gipsy,,
she executed a Polish dance entitled La Cracovienne, which for
dash and elegance eclipsed all her previous efforts. These charac
ter dances were utterly beyond the reach of Taglioni. Elssler
was in the zenith of her fame when Mr. Price came to Paris, in
the summer of 1839, in the hope of carrying her off to the Park
Theatre, New York, to build up his battered fortunes.
As might have been foreseen, the Marquis de L. had a tough
job in seeking to overcome the obstinate resistance of the new
director of the Opera, M. Duponchel, to part for even a limited
period with one of his greatest attractions ; and as the struggle
was likely to last for some weeks I determined on a brief ex
cursion to London, to look up some of my old friends I knew
were residing in the vicinity.

CHAPTER LII.
ST. LEONARDS-ON-SEA
THE DUNLOP FAMILY — A HISTORIC BATTLE-GROUND — LADY BLESSINGTON'S
OPINIONS OF BULWER AND DISRAELI — A RARE BEAUTY — COUNT D'ORSAY.
I FOUND, of course, towards the close of August, the West-end
in the forlorn condition of a ' banquet-hall deserted,' but it was
pleasant to escape the bustle and hubbub of the ' season/
I called forthwith at Gore House, and was sorely disappointed
to find its fair tenant, the Countess of Blessington, had disappeared
with the rest of the gay world. I wrote the same day to express
my poignant regrets at her absence. I passed a few days with my
cherished friends the Dunlops, who were rusticating in the pretty
village of Richmond, where their residence overlooked one of the
most picturesque views in England. The gentle society of this
charming family was really refreshing after the somewhat arti
ficial life of Paris.
Miss Gamble looked rosy and radiant in the fresh country
air. Her conversation was full of sparkle and mirth, and I had
more than one pleasant stroll with her in the lovely park of Rich
mond. Not unfrequehtly I thought what a delightful companion
she would make for life, but the exhortation of Cowper always
checked my ardour :
' Choose not alone a proper mate,
But proper time to marry.'
A fortnight soon vanished in skipping about to various villas
in the environs of London, and intercourse with the hospit
able sociable English, always unaffected and natural, I soon
discovered had lost none of its attractions. I dined one day
in town with Mr. Price, who was full of nervous anxiety about the
engagement of Mdlle. Elssler for New York ; but I bade him be
of good cheer, as I thought the prospect of success was brightening
steadily. He pressed me urgently to return to Paris, lest some
hitch might ensue from my absence, and I was on the point of
yielding to his solicitations, when a kind invitation came from

510 St. Leonards-on-Sea.
Lady Blessington to join her party for a few days on the sea-
coast of Sussex. I could not resist this tempting opportunity to
enjoy in the solitude of the country, away from the glare and
rattle of the town, the society of this very fascinating woman.
It was a balmy morning in early September when I started
for St. Leonards-on-Sea, some seventy miles distant. I was
bubbling over with ecstasy the whole way at the exquisite
beauty of the landscape, to which I had been a stranger for two
years past. I found a room ready for me at the Victoria Hotel,
where Lady Blessington occupied an extensive suite of apart
ments commanding the sea.
I was summoned at the dinner-hour to join my hostess, and
was cordially welcomed. Her party was small, consisting of her
niece, just arrived from Canada,- two gentlemen guests, and the
magnificent Count D'Orsay.
This visit to St. Leonards is indelibly engraved on my me
mory. The famous scenery of this neighbourhood, and its thrill
ing historical associations, were enough to enchant me ; but the
society and conversation of my brilliant hostess added immeasur
ably to my enjoyment. Every day we made excursions to vari
ous objects of interest. On one occasion we wandered over the
battle-ground where the Saxon dynasty was overthrown in 1066.
Crossing the Channel with his army of 60,000 men, William
Duke of Normandy landed near this spot, where a conflict began
at sunrise which, lasting the whole day, terminated with the utter
rout of the Saxons and the death of the valiant Harold. We next
visited Battle Abbey, erected by the Conqueror in commemora
tion of his victory ; and, though since converted into a private
residence, it still retains many traces of its ancient origin. Ruined
castles of the most picturesque beauty, and in singular preserva
tion,, abounded on every side, and my archaeological tastes were
gratified to the full.
The conversations of the evening, however, when we assem
bled in the drawing-room after dinner, were, perhaps, even more
•delightful. Lady Blessington was celebrated as a talker ; and
whether she discoursed of books or men, her close observation,
retentive memory, and felicitous language always made her
theme attractive and entertaining. Undisturbed by the flow of
company that broke in upon her at Gore House, her mind, in
vigorated by the air and seclusion of St. Leonards, seemed to
expand, and we all listened to her brilliant extemporisations with

'St. Leonards-on-Sea. 511
genuine admiration. One night I questioned her as to the relative
merits of her two friends, Lytton Bulwer and Disraeli, whose
splendid works of fiction were the talk of the day.
'Both,' she said, 'are men of remarkable genius, and in
their province the master-minds of the country. It would be
difficult, however, to draw any comparison or assign any su
periority. Bulwer is rich in imagination and wonderfully fecund,
whilst at the bottom of his mind, so to speak, there seems to run
a calm current of deep thought and searching analysis. Dis
raeli, though hardly less inventive or less prolific, strikes me as
less poetical, less sentimental in his creations. The men and
women of his fancy are more like those we meet in the world.
They may use language of higher polish and more sparkling
point ; but their motives are practical, and tinctured with a spice
of malevolence that renders them all the more human. In
Bulwer's writings I recognise a kindly sympathetic tone ; whilst
the pen of Disraeli is more incisive, more pitiless in criticism,
more caustic in sarcasm. I cannot, however, express myself to
my own satisfaction, as I have never before attempted any dis
crimination between these two gifted writers.'
' It appears,' I remarked, ' that, not content with literary
renown, both aspire to political distinction.'
' Both,' she replied, ' are ambitious men ; and I regret that
either should desire " to give up to party what was meant for
mankind." Both are in Parliament ; but I think it not unlikely
that in this arena Disraeli will outstrip his rival. Bulwer is
more circumspect and, perhaps, more conscientious in his oratory
and conduct than the times demand ; whilst Disraeli is daring
and resolute, with a sprinkling of gall in his composition that
will make his ridicule stinging and his invective formidable. I
shall watch their political career with the keenest interest.'
' I have heard it said,' I continued, ' that these celebrated
men are both rather eccentric in manner and dress.'
' It is not strictly true,' returned Lady B., ' nor yet wholly the
reverse. Men with so much individuality cannot be wholly free
from mannerism. Bulwer is excitable, restless in movement, and
often vehement in gesture, which sometimes has the appearance
of affectation, when it is only the overflow of his powerful mind.
Disraeli is more quiet in manner, but somewhat original in
dress. He is fond of ornament, and rather addicted to showy
raiment and superfluous jewelry. Such singularities in so strik-

512 St. Leonards-on-Sea.
ing a character are curious, but must disappear as he grows
more prominent/
' His recent marriage to Mrs. Wyndham Lewis,' I remarked,
' is said to be quite a romance. Her late husband was his de
voted friend, and assisted him to obtain a seat in Parliament
During all this time it is rumoured that a warm regard existed
between the wife and the famous novelist, which at last has
ended in their union.'
' I do not know how that may be,' answered Lady B. ; ' but
the marriage promises in every way to be a happy one. She is
certainly one of the sweetest women imaginable ; and with her
great intelligence and large fortune can render most effective aid
to her husband's ambitious aspirations.'
' Is it true,' I asked, ' that Bulwer is on bad terms with his
wife, and that a separation has ensued ?'
' Yes,' replied Lady B., ' it is unfortunately too true. An
incompatibility of temper has alienated them, and, I fear, for
ever. Lady Bulwer is a beautiful woman and of superior intellect, ¦
but with all the ardour of the Irish character, and apt, therefore,
to come into constant collision with a temperament so sensitive
and impassioned as that of her husband. It is all the more to be
regretted for their children's sakes. She intends passing the
winter, I hear, in Paris, and you may meet her there/
' I hope I shall be so fortunate/ I responded.
During my stay at St. Leonards I was more charmed than
ever with Count D'Orsay. Apart from all his accomplishments,
there was a vein of bonhomie and thorough good-nature per
meating his character, that made him a man to love as well as
admire. In all his pungent epigrams and sparkling bons mots
no trace of malice was ever to be detected, and this kindly temper
further revealed itself in his hearty but always refined manner.
He was unquestionably the handsomest of men, and he made
the most of Nature's prodigality by adorning his person with the
utmost elegance. Though his dress was by the English standard
a trifle showy, yet such was the harmony of colour and the per
fection of fit, that it captivated the eye by its artistic effect. In
this quiet watering-place, far away from the gaze of Hyde Park,
he attired himself with the same scrupulous care as always.
His morning costumes and evening dress were equally perfect,
and were a study and delight to behold. Who could wonder
that he was —

St. Leonards-on-Sea. 513

' The glass of fashion and the mould of form,
The observed of all observers.'
I have barely mentioned as yet a member of Lady Blessing-
ton's small party who had for me an attraction it would be diffi
cult to express. I refor to her nie.co. Marguerite Power, just
seventeen, whose beauty was something quite ethereal. In height,
form, feature, and complexion she was absolutely perfect. A
yet greater charm than her extreme beauty was the engaging
sweetness of her disposition, which beamed in her large blue
eyes, and revealed itself in every word, look, and movement
She had been brought up in Canada, and had come to pass a few
months with her aunt in London. She knew nothing of the
world, and was as artless and guileless as a child. She reminded
me constantly of that ingenuous seraph I met in one of the
islands of the ^Egean. I could not help regretting the transfor
mation that awaited her when transplanted to the arid soil of
fashionable life. Her maiden simplicity and dove-like innocence
would soon wither in contact with the insidious demoralising
world of London. Yet I was sure the poisonous atmosphere
would never taint her purity of nature or kind gentle heart.
It required a determined effort to break away from the en
thralling influences that environed me at St. Leonards. For five
days I had given myself up spellbound to seductions I could
not resist ; but on the sixth, rousing myself for the occasion, I
bade a grateful adieu to my amiable hostess, and took up my
solitary line of march for London.
The following day I called on my friend Price, and comforted
him by the assurance that I would leave immediately for Paris ;
and he entreated me to complete the engagement, on which all
his hopes were based. I promised not to neglect his interests,
and bade him good-bye, as he was about to embark in the
" British Queen' for New York.

LL

CHAPTER LIIL
PARIS REVISITED.
THE CONTRACT SIGNED — AN UNFORESEEN RESPONSIBILITY  MRS. GENERAL SCOTT
 THE DAGUERREOTYPE INVENTED.
SOON after my return to Paris I met the Marquis de Lavalette,
who told me with lively satisfaction that, after much difficulty,
he had obtained for Mdlle. Elssler a conge of six months, which
would enable her to make the voyage to America. He proposed,
therefore, to commence forthwith the discussions respecting her
engagement, and we had repeated interviews to that effect. By
the end of September we had settled all the necessary details,
and the covenant was drawn up in due form. Without copy
ing the clauses, the agreement especially bound Mdlle. Fanny
Elssler to be at New York in the beginning of April 1840, and
to play and dance at the Park Theatre for thirty-six nights, to
the end of June ensuing. Further, it was stipulated that the re
ceipts for each night were to be equally divided between the said
Price and the said Elssler, after a deduction of 150 dollars per
night, save on her benefit-nights, when the receipts were to be
divided without any deduction.
On the 8th of October the Marquis and I repaired to the
abode of Mdlle. Elssler to sign the important document, big with
the fate of the New York Park Theatre. I appended my name
on behalf of my principal, Price ; Fanny affixed hers with a sort
of trepidation ; and the Marquis signed as witness. So the die
was cast. Fanny Elssler was now bound to exhibit to Transat
lantic eyes her splendid feats and magnificent person, or pay a
heavy forfeit ; whilst my friend Price could reasonably expect to
meet all his obligations and set the demon of bankruptcy at de
fiance. I sent him immediately a duplicate of the engagement
to New York, for which he had embarked, and congratulated him
on the probable result.
About a week after this ceremony the Marquis called on me
one day with a saddened visage, and told me he had been ordered
to join hic embassy forthwith, on its way to Persia.

Paris Revisited. 5 1 5

' When I am gone,' he said, ' there will be no one here to give
advice to Fanny, and she will be at the mercy of a silly mischiev
ous crowd, who will torment her life out. She expresses the
utmost confidence in your straightforwardness and good feeling,
and begs that you will allow her to consult you when occasion
demands.' ' Certainly,' I replied. ' I consider her interests and those of
Mr. Price quite mutual, and I am at her service at all times.'
' More than that,' continued the Marquis very earnestly, ' I
would like to ask you to look after her welfare in Paris up
to the time of her departure. She needs a friend to guide her,
and it would make me comfortable to think I had provided her
one who could be trusted.'
'You propose a responsibility somewhat startling,' I re
sponded, rather surprised ; ' but I am willing to do what I can
to serve you and your fair protegie!
' Thank you,' he said ; ' and allow me to inquire if there is
any probability of your going to New York about the time she
does ?'
' None whatever,' I answered positively.
' Well, I regret it ; for how she is to get on there without
speaking the language, and utterly ignorant of business, I cannot
imagine/ ' I will give her letters to my friends,' I assured him, ' besides
making every suggestion that can be useful.'
He repeated his hearty acknowledgments, and bade me
good-bye. I mused for some time over the singular position in which I
found myself. Here was I saddled with the supervision of the
peerless Fanny Elssler ; constituted by her own wish, and at the
entreaty of her confidential friend, her chief adviser. It was
flattering enough to have the exclusive charge of such a lovely
woman, the idol of Paris ; but might it not involve me in a vortex
of demoralising occupations wholly foreign to my life, and in con
flict with my aforesaid notions of respectability? It is true I had
a decided bias for the theatrical profession, and counted many of
its members among my esteemed friends. Yet hitherto I had to
do chiefly with its male representatives, and had but little inti
macy with the heroines of the stage. Whether that was accident,
or whether I dreaded the danger of such seductive contact, I
know not, but up to this time it had not occurred. It was pass-

516 Paris Revisited.
ing strange that I had been suddenly converted into the confidant,
not only of a female artist, but of a danseuse, whose fascinations
had turned so many heads. I feared I was on an inclined plane,
and that if I did not look carefully after my foothold I might be
launched into unknown perplexities. At all events, by the terms
of her contract, the fair Fanny would be compelled to leave Paris
in three or four months, when I should be restored to my former
status of a man of leisure. Meanwhile, my sympathy for the
embarrassed Price stimulated me to prevent any obstacles aris
ing that might impede her departure. I did not fancy the new
line of business in which I had got entangled, but it was no
small comfort to feel sure that my probation could not extend
over many weeks.
To my great delight Mrs. General Scott returned to Paris for
the winter from a summer excursion to the Pyrenees. She was
a welcome addition to our American colony, and her society was
always eagerly courted by a host of friends, native and foreign.
In former years the name of Maria Mayo was known not only
throughout the Old Dominion, where she was born, but all over
the land, as the reigning belle of the day. This was due not
merely to her loveliness and charming manners, but to her bril
liant wit and superior culture. Wherever she travelled she was
followed by a retinue of enthusiastic swains, in the fashion of the
time, all hoping and struggling to capture the hand of the fastidi
ous beauty, and her refusals must have counted by the score.
At last she yielded to the blandishments of Winfield Scott, and
the felicity of her choice was justified by the great renown achieved
by her soldier-husband on many a hotly-contested field of battle.
She still retained in meridian perfection nearly all the charms for
which she was formerly celebrated. Of commanding height, a
handsome animated countenance, imposing demeanour, and rare
gifts of conversation, Mrs. General Scott was still the attractive
centre of the various salons she frequented, and never failed to im
press and captivate all who approached her. Virginia, her eldest
daughter, bade fair to sustain her mother's reputation for beauty,
wit, and, above all, distinction of manner.
I always prized and eagerly courted the society of this
distinguished family, and an evening's chat with Mrs. Scott was
for me the greatest de"lice that even Paris afforded. In serious
conversation her intellect displayed vigour and depth, whilst in
sportive discourse her repartee was brilliant, and her sallies full

Paris Revisited.

sn

of vivacity and point. She was a poetess of no small merit, and
her pen was in frequent requisition, as may be seen in the
allusion to some verses on the ' Sulphur Springs' of Virginia
that she makes in the following note I cannot forbear quoting :
Thursday, 5 Rue de la Paix.
* * * No, I do not like that style to-day. Therefore I will tel
¦you more simply, beau sire, that, notwithstanding the great pleasure with
which I had anticipated the fulfilment of our plan for this evening, the
postponement of it was announced in time to relieve me from a dilemma
— one of our American nursery dilemmas, brought on by the indisposi
tion of a child and want of confidence in its nurse. Ella awoke this
morning very unwell, and was in my arms, whilst the opera (Heaven for
give me !) was in my mind, at the moment of your note's arrival. So the
engagement will come off much more favourably for us on Monday than
it could this evening. I say for us, because Virginia, who is to be of the
party, has seen La Gipsy, but not the new ballet ; and for me, La Taren-
tule is quite as attractive as the other, both being new to me.
I am glad to hear that Mdlle. Elssler has received letters of introduc
tion from Mr. Hughes* — for her sake in a measure, and in a greater one
for his, since the fact of his writing them proves a better state of mind
than I had attributed to him. He is very kind-hearted, however, and
may have made a great exertion for her advantage.
You are very indulgent to those ' pretty lines,' as you style them. I
am pleased that they should have afforded you a moment's pleasure.
As for my description of the eaux bonnes (Pyrenees), it is finished; and
when you have ten minutes absolutely to throw away, which can scarcely
happen in Paris, you may read it, and afterwards you will laugh at the
thought of having it printed.
Virginia is much obliged for the valuable autograph you sent to her,
as well as for your good intentions regarding her collection for the
future. Always, dear Mr. Wikoff, sincerely yours, M. Mayo Scott.
I may as well mention that everybody had been talking for
some months past of a wonderful invention by a Frenchman of
the name of Daguerre. After years of experiment, he had suc
ceeded in reproducing on metal-plates exact images of all objects
by the simple action of sunlight, which had been denominated
daguerreotype. This was destined to effect a strange revolution,
and almost supersede the art of engraving as well as of portrait-
* The popular Christopher Hughes, U.S. Minister to Sweden.

5 1 8 Paris Revisited.
painting. It had, however, been found impossible thus far to
reproduce colours, which give to portraits especially their chief
merit, although far greater exactitude in likeness was obtained —
a higher object even than colour. It could not fail to be em
ployed in an immense number of ways, and would certainly be
applied in copying public buildings, landscapes, and I know not
what besides. In astronomy it would be found of the utmost
utility. It is no wonder the ingenious inventor was pensioned
by the Government, and honoured by universal testimonies to
his genius.

CHAPTER LIV.
PARIS REVISITED {continued).
A DINNER-PARTY  LADY LYTTON BULWER — CAUGHT IN A TRAP — STRANGE
DISCLOSURES — FRENCH LAWYERS — A 'CAUSE CSLfeBRE.'
One day in November I received a visit from a former friend of
mine in London, Sir Henry Webster, a colonel of the British army.
He was a son of the famous Lady Holland by her first marriage,
and figured as aide-de-camp to the Prince of Orange at the
battle of Waterloo. He was knighted for his gallantry on that
sanguinary day. Sir Henry was a handsome and very agree
able man, and married a great heiress, the only child of a Director
of the East India Company. He came to tell me he had just
arrived in Paris with his family, where he proposed to pass the
winter, and hoped to see me often. On leaving he invited me to
dine with him the following day, to meet a few friends, which I
readily accepted. I found quite a large company assembled on
the occasion, and among them several interesting persons. I
was presented before dinner to the Earl of Munster, a natural
son of William IV., and he bore a strange resemblance to his
royal uncle, George IV. He was of medium height, robust
frame, large face, with a heavy expression, and black bushy
hair. Rather reserved in manner, he was intelligent and cour
teous. His Countess was- also present. During the dinner my
attention was constantly attracted to a very beautiful woman,
whose merry conversation and flashing wit greatly diverted the
company. She seemed about thirty ; yet her complexion was
wonderfully fresh, her features delicate, and her sparkling eyes
indicated not only remarkable intelligence, but great warmth
and force of feeling. She talked with much animation, and
always said the most telling things in language singularly choice
and epigrammatic. Who could she be ? Certainly no ordinary
woman. I was completely captivated by her engaging manners
and racy discourse. On returning to the drawing-room after
dinner I went up to my host, and said,

520 Paris Revisited.
' I have quite lost my head with your lovely guest yonder.
Pray present me.'
' What, you don't know her ?' he replied. ' Come along,
then.' As we approached, her he remarked, in his playful way,
' Here is a Yankee friend of mine dying to know you, Lady
Bulwer.' This was indeed a surprise, and for a moment I was quite
confused. I sat down beside her, and a long and interesting
chat ensued. In the course of it I observed that I had been
talking of her a couple of months ago with Lady Blessington at
St. Leonards-on-Sea.
' Oh,' she returned, as a frown gathered on her fine brow
' she is a devoted friend of my husband, and said nothing to my
advantage, I am certain.'
I assured her to the contrary ; and when I rose to bid her good
night she desired me to come and see her soon, which I declared
would afford me the greatest pleasure. I lost no time in profit
ing by her invitation, and a cordial and intimate acquaintance
was established. I was not long in discovering that Lady
Bulwer was a most gifted woman, of rare grasp and brilliancy of
mind, and thoroughly good-hearted as well ; but her nature was
impulsive and ardent, and she gave herself up without reserve
to the dominant thought or passion of the moment. She had
separated from her distinguished husband in the conviction she
had suffered great wrong ; but after listening to her long list of
grievances, that she divulged with touching eloquence, — as we be
came more friendly, — I could really discern nothing that might
not have been compromised or easily endured with a more patient
spirit. All her complaints, frequently couched in vehement
language, pointed to naught else than an imperious, dictatorial
temper, quite forgetting that, perhaps, her own was hardly less
sensitive and exacting. Yet, in a moment of anger, she had
taken the rash step of withdrawing from her home ; and now she
found her peace of mind disturbed, and her life made weary and
unhappy. She often wept over the loss of her two children,*
whom her husband thought fit to retain under his care, that the
law allowed him to do, and she would have momentarily made any
concessions to have recovered even one of them ; but this was
no longer practicable. It was sad to witness, as I often did, the
* One of these children is Lord Lytton, the present Viceroy of India.

Paris Revisited. 521
varying phases of her discontented, morbid state of mind. At
times she was irascible, and would walk the floor, declaiming in
indignant but splendid language against the injuries she had
suffered, quite unconscious that she was in any degree to blame ;
and then, giving way to a softer mood, would fall into a chair, and,
with her beautiful countenance bathed in tears, would bewail her
lonely wretched condition, bereft of husband, children, and home
that she had thoughtlessly forsaken. When she could be led
away from the contemplation of her domestic troubles, and began
to talk of literature, of art, and society, she fascinated all about
her, who listened in supreme delight to her witty and dazzling
inspirations. I had known her but little over a month, though our acquaint
ance ripened rapidly, when her servant came to me one day,
saying Lady Bulwer desired to see me immediately on an im
portant matter. I complied with the summons, and asked her
curiously what could have happened to make my presence so
necessary. ' A very strange thing has occurred,' she replied, ' and I wish
your advice. When I was out last evening an unknown man
came here, and under a pretext desired to see my maid. She
appeared, and, after some idle palaver, he said that he would
make her a present of a thousand francs if she would admit him
to my boudoir, only to look over my correspondence. She cun
ningly answered that she would think about it, and he must
come again on Tuesday night, when her ladyship would be at
the Opera. Now what do you think this means, and what am
I to do ?'
' Why, what an odd thing !' I answered. ' It may be, how
ever, nothing else than an ingenious attempt to make the ac
quaintance of your pretty maid.'
' I have thought of that,' she replied. ' But suppose it is
really a contrivance of my enemies to get at my letters. What
then ?'
I reflected for a few minutes.
' In that case,' I continued, ' it is important to be prepared
for a second visit of the mysterious interloper. If he comes
again on Tuesday, bid your maid to say she will accept his
present and gratify his wish. Let her then admit him to your
boudoir, and whilst he is perusing your notes he can be arrested
in flagrant delit!

522 Paris Revisited.

* Admirably planned !' she exclaimed ; ' but how can I arrange
all that ?'
' Leave that to me,' I said. ' I will go at once to my friend
Charles Ledru, an able lawyer of great energy, and we will settle
the necessary details between us.'
I hurried away in search of M. Ledru, widely known in Paris
for his forensic abilities, and laid the case before him. He was
astonished to hear of such an unusual proceeding, and could
hardly believe it was serious, but, if so, deserved prompt expo
sure and punishment. He sent at once for a commissaire de
police, stated the matter to him, and asked for his zealous support,
which, of course, was immediately accorded.
When the night came all was in readiness. About nine
o'clock the unknown individual presented himself, and Murray,
the maid, purposely opened the door, saying it was all right. Her
ladyship had gone to the Opera, and she had sent the butler out
of the way. So he might go into the boudoir if that was what he
wanted, on condition, however, of his giving the money promised.
The unsuspecting one immediately took out his pocket-book, and
handed to Murray the sum he had offered. She then conducted
him to the room in question, where Lady B.'s desk had been left
unlocked, and he immediately began to investigate its contents.
Whilst he was examining the letters found there a police-agent
put his hand on his shoulder, and announced he was in custody.
The culprit roared out in great fright that he meant no harm,
that he was employed merely to look over some of her ladyship's
letters, and begged hard to be allowed to go. His protestations
were of no avail, and he was carried off to prison. The next day
he was interrogated before a magistrate, and, under apprehension
of some severe penalty, he declared that he had been hired for
this job by an official of high standing connected with the British
Embassy in Paris, whose name he gave. This seemed incredible,
but after a careful examination he was remanded until further
steps were decided on.
It turned out that the official in question was an intimate
friend of M. Ledru, and he said to me in confidence that he felt
the liveliest repugnance to following up the affair if his friend
was likely to be involved in a public scandal, and one of rather
an odious character. I sympathised with his natural considera
tion for his friend so highly placed, and manifested a disposition
to compromise matters if Lady Bulwer's interests were duly

Paris Revisited. 523

cared for. But I warned him it would be no easy thing to save
his friend from publicity ; for his irritated client would demand
this before everything else to atone for the outrage she had
undergone. ' If you retire from the case,' I added, ' she will employ some
body else, and the affair will be pushed to extremities.'
' You are right,' he remarked. ' I must keep it in my hands
to save my friend, and I will work with you cordially to obtain
all possible advantage for Lady Bulwer. But I must have your
cooperation, clier Wikoff. I never could manage my lady by
myself. You have influence with her ; and between us we may
hush up this unfortunate imbroglio, whilst benefiting the posi
tion of my client, your lovely friend.'
I consented to this, for I had a dislike to humiliating not
only a high official, but others more nearly connected with Lady
B., merely for the sake of gratifying her angry feelings ; and I
knew that a conciliatory policy would redound far more to her
real good, which was my only object. I could not help smiling
at the quandaries into which I foresaw she would plunge Ledru,
for her natural impetuosity was greatly stimulated at the prospect
of revenge over her ' persecutors,' as she called them. She lost
no time, as I anticipated, in relating this piquant event to all her
friends, and it soon began to spread widely among the fashion
able English colony in Paris. She burned with impatience to
have it all printed in some of the London journals, and sent for
the able correspondent of the Morning Post, with whom she was
acquainted, and entreated his aid to carry out her object. M.
Ledru was greatly troubled when he heard of the energetic
course his client was taking, and implored me to restrain and
appease her excitement. I assured him I was making the most
active exertions, and kept constantly urging upon her the wisdom
of seizing this opportunity to secure certain solid advantages
that would be forfeited if she rushed prematurely into the news
papers. Sometimes I succeeded for a day or two, as I informed
him, in calming down her extreme irritation, and then it would
burst out as violently as ever, forcing me to despair of ever
inducing her to abandon the publicity she seemed so bent upon.
M. Ledru was very successful, however, in convincing his client
of his profound sympathy and earnest desire to promote her
welfare ; but he begged her to leave the management of the
affair in his hands, and not to increase his difficulties by any

524 Paris Revisited.
indiscreet or passionate act. Up to this time she put implicit
trust in the adroit French advocate. Things were in this con
dition when I received from her the following letter :
30 Rue de Rivoli, Friday.
Dear Mr. Wikoff, — I am sure, with your usual kindness, you will for
give me for troubling you when you remember that this is the crisis of
my miserable fate. Don't think me vindictive if I beg you to impress
upon that demi-god, M. Ledru — whom I can never repay — that nothing
but exposure can do anything with the Bulwers. This on my part is
merely self-defence. My cause has already been wrecked several times
by gentlemen believing they were trustworthy, and consequently accept
ing their solemn oaths as a guarantee of future good conduct There i&
no oath they are not capable of taking before their peers, pour se tirer de
I 'affaire, and violating it after. I see clearly a deep-laid scheme, of which
M. Ledru should be fully warned, in Henry Bulwer getting my cousin,
Mr. Bushe, to be his witness. Bushe has never seen me since I was a
child, and knows not one syllable of the painful details of my history.
It is only meant to have a plausible appearance before the world, in
order they may hereafter say that my own relation agreed to whatever
cheat it is intended to put on my friends. I remember, not long ago,
Walter Savage Landor left me, bravely swearing that unless, my poor
children were given up to me, he should think it his bounden duty to
publish certain letters in his hands, and declared that he would never sit
in the same room with Sir E. Lytton Bulwer again. Yet he ended by
being gulled by my Lady Blessington's machinations into drinking wine
with him before twenty people the very next day. So much for man
with man. If therefore this glorious opportunity of exposing them all as
they deserve is lost, unless, as you suggest, great advantages can be
secured, not promised, then 7 am lost. There is to be a meeting at M.
Ledru's to-day at four o'clock, and therefore I beg of you to impress all
this upon him beforehand.— I cannot get a pen that will tell you how
sincerely I am, dear Mr. Wikoff, your grateful and obliged
Rosina Lytton Bulwer.
This emphatic missive plainly indicated the inflammable state
of the poor lady's mind, and made the prospect of effecting any
amicable adjustment very difficult and doubtful. I hastened
away to my friend Ledru, to whom I read it carefully, whilst
he pondered on the chances of bridging over the yawning
chasm before him. When I told him that Lady B. had already
related everything to the correspondent of the Morning Post,
urging the most expeditious publication possible, he jumped

Fans Revisited. 525

from his chair, declaring that this must be prevented at all
hazards, and entreated me to lend a hand to effect it. I felt
reluctant to venture on such dangerous intervention, which might
put me in a false position, and recommended him to see his client
at once to divert her from her purpose. ' I will go to her this
evening/ he declared, ' and insist that nothing shall be said, at
least for a little while. I will tell her I am going into the
country for a few days, and that everything must be kept quiet
till my return. This will give time for reflection at all events,.
and then we may manage to stave off this explosion.' ' A good
idea,' I observed. ' Do so by all means.' Late that evening
I received a note from her which showed that his ruse had
succeeded : Friday night.
Dear Mr. Wikoff, — I saw M. Ledru to night, who said he had to go
some hundred and fifty miles into the country to-morrow, and begged
that nothing might be done until his return, which would be in three or
four days. So, perhaps, Mr. Gruneisen, 50 Rue St. Anne, had better not
say anything in the Morning' Post just yet. Would you have the good
ness to see Mr. G. early in the morning, and suggest a postponement of
the publication ? — Pray forgive this incessant trouble, and believe me
your grateful, though obliged, Rosina Lytton Bulwer.
Will you have the kindness to come to me to-morrow about four
o'clock ?
So far so well, methought, after reading the above. At least,
poor Ledru has got a respite for the nonce.
I called, of course, on the gentlemanly correspondent of the
Morning Post the next day, and requested, in Lady B.'s name,.
the suppression for a short time of the information she had fur
nished him, which he readily conceded. In fact, he said he felt
considerable repugnance to saying anything about it ; but he re
garded it as his duty as a correspondent not to ignore altogether
such a racy tit-bit as this, affecting so many prominent people,
although he could not handle it in a way, he feared, to give
satisfaction to Lady B., who was overflowing with indignation,
and expected stronger language than it was possible to employ.
I remarked that her lawyer was averse to the affair being laid
before the public at all, as he believed he would then be able
to obtain far greater advantages for his client. Above all, he
deprecated any precipitate announcement whatever.

526 Paris Revisited.
' If it is hushed up, so much the better for all concerned,'
added the courteous representative of the fashionable organ ;
' but if not, I shall be obliged to take some notice of it.'
Ledru was vastly delighted to learn that the dreaded bomb
was not yet to be fired, and he went to work with greater
zeal than ever to lay, if possible, the ugly spectre that we had
both unconsciously raised. He determined to ' stay in the
country,' as he had pretended to Lady B., as long as he possibly
could manage it without exciting her suspicions, and, with his
usual empressement, he supplicated me to employ every means I
could think of to assuage her animosity, lull her anger, and
tranquillise her feelings. 'Take her to the Opera and theatres,'
he advised, ' get up dinners for her, organise excursions to Fon-
tainebleau or elsewhere. For Heaven's sake, keep her occupied
and amused till I can utilise the short time at my disposal to
close the door on this unpleasant business, and prevent the public
eye from scanning it further.' I applauded his judicious counsel,
and promised, of course, to assist his Strenuous efforts to really
serve Lady B., though in a different way than she desired. I
carried out Ledru's injunctions, and arranged various parties of
various kinds on the soothing system recommended ; but although
I could perceive the volcano was less active, I suspected the
flames would not fail to reappear in due time. Here is one of
her notes during this quiescent interval : Wednesday.
Dear Mr. Wikoff, — I shall have much pleasure in accompanying you
to the Opera to-night. Pray come punctually at 7.30, as I must call for
Lady A., in the Faubourg St. Honore", to go with us. I will explain to
night why I was compelled to decline your kind offer of yesterday. All
you say in your note is true. I feel your advice is sound ; but I so heartily
despise the ' official,' as you style him, as well as those allied with him,
and I may even add, the world generally, Que fe m'en moque comme
de Van 40 / All my life I might have lived in a glass house, and had I
much vanity or ambition I should court rather than shun inspection.
Thanks to the spies round me, How I do live in a glass house. They
may shiver it with their dastardly missiles, but they shall not shake me,
even with the zealous assistance of Lady Blessington, or any other Mes-
salina, old or young. — In haste, your ever obliged
Rosina Lytton Bulwer.
A very merciless blow that at my good friend Lady Blessing
ton, I mused ; but as she has taken up her quarters in the oppo-

Paris Revisited. 527

site camp she must expect occasionally the flourish of the
scimetar over her head, with a thrust or a cut as opportunity
serves. She held, I knew, the renowned author of Pelham in
great veneration, and naturally espoused his unfortunate quarrel
with his high-spirited wife. She wielded, too, great influence on
her literary throne in Gore House, as is proved conclusively by
her manipulation of the celebrated Walter Savage Landor.
Much as I liked the Countess of. Blessington, I could not, out
of sympathy for Lady Bulwer, seriously censure the strong
expression of her indignant feelings at the undoubted partisan
ship of the influential authoress. Poor Lady Bulwer, in her
moments of excitement, sometimes railed against the men for
uniting with each other in their conflicts with women ; and then
she would. assail her own sex for not joining hands in their own
defence against their male persecutors. I listened with imper
turbable calmness to such angry blasts, and then strove to
appease these hysterical outbursts as well as I could.
After a week of gentle dissipation, according to Ledru's recipe,
I remembered that a grand ball was coming off at the Tuileries,
and proposed escorting her to this splendid fite.
'How could I get an invitation,' she exclaimed, 'except through
the British Embassy? and I would refuse to enter heaven by that
channel !'
' No necessity for the Embassy,' I replied. ' I can obtain the
invitation through a friend at Court.'
' Then I should be delighted to go, for I have not yet seen the
royal family,' was her answer.
Another week was consumed in getting ready for the Court
ball, where I accompanied her and Lady Webster. I was now
nearly at my wits' ends to prevent her looking after the missing
Ledru, when luckily I found her one day in terrible agitation
over the disappearance of her 'dear darling little Taffy,' a
favourite poodle. For some days Ledru, the ' official,' and Gore
House were all forgotten in her new misfortune. Paris was
placarded in every direction with offers of reward for Taffy's
restoration, and even Vidocq, the illustrious thief-catcher, was
enrolled in the eager pursuit of the stray pet. To the joy of his
mistress Taffy was found, and nestled once more securely in her
loving arms. The flurry was hardly over when I received this
impatient remonstrance :

528 Paris Revisited.

Thursday, 30 Rue de Rivoli.
Dear Mr. Wikofi,— I fear you will think me very troublesome, but I
have heard nothing yet of or from M. Ledru, and I begin to sink rather
more, if possible, into despair than usual, and fear that this last business.
will end, as all former ones have done, in an additional triumph to the
Bulwers, and fresh defeat and persecution for me, especially as the time
now seems almost gone by to do anything that could serve me. I hear
that dastardly little ' official' is going about saying that even I am perfectly
satisfied with his honourable conduct in the affair. A greater or meaner
fabrication he never uttered.
I have had a final billet — anything but doux — from the amiable
Vidocq, enclosing me a bill of 95 francs for the men he employed to
look after poor Taffy, and saying that he leaves it to my generosity to
reward his services as he is sure I feel they deserve 1 Now, having
already paid 100 francs to the old fellow at the Louvre, I cannot help
suspecting that they are both in league to cheat me as much as pos
sible. As the old man swears he bought the dog the day after it was
lost, I don't know what Vidocq's great services have been. Would you
have the kindness to tell me how much you think I ought to give Vi
docq, as I am not rich enough to be cheated more than it is absolutely
necessary that a woman should be on every occasion in this best of all
possible worlds ? — Forgive this trouble, and believe me, dear Mr. Wikoff,
ever yours sincerely, Rosina Lytton Bulwer.
I kept Ledru constantly informed of all that was passing
during his supposed ' sojourn in the country,' and of my assidu
ous endeavours and desperate expedients to keep ' milady' com
paratively quiet, and prevent her resorting to the newspapers.
I notified him, however, that he must push on his negotiations ;
for I felt that both my ingenuity and strength were oozing away,
and I was in daily terror lest some fine morning Lady Bulwer
should suddenly turn round, and, in her usual frank manner,
express suspicions of me, and perhaps denounce him for trifling
with her interests, if not for deliberately seeking to defeat all
her hopes of revenge. ' Remember,' I said, ' that, woman-like,
she thinks far more of gratifying her animosity against the
" official" and the rest than of securing the most solid gains.'
' I count upon you,' he replied, ' to thwart her from carrying
out any such childlike purpose. I am getting on most satis
factorily with the arrangements I proposed with a view to a
pacific settlement. I will obtain a considerable increase of her
income, and accomplish other objects that will be most accept-

L"ans Kevisited. 529

able to her. All this cannot be done in a day I must have
more time. For goodness' sake, cher ami, struggle on but a
little longer, till I conclude my treaty of peace, and then we
can explain to Lady Bulwer how zealously we have laboured to
constrain her antagonists to yield all the concessions demanded.
I am greatly mistaken if she will not appreciate all that has
been done, and crown our services in her behalf with the heartiest
expressions of her gratitude. She is impetuous, I know, and
wincing under a sense of ill-treatment, and stung almost to fury
by the haughty defiance of her adversaries. Yet I cling to the
hope that we can bring her to a more rational state of mind,
when her beautiful face will light up with smiles, as she gives
utterance to her joy at having been precluded from injuring both
herself and others, and throwing away the unquestionable benefits
acquired for her.'
'That's a very pretty picture you have drawn, mon clier
Ledru,' I returned, ' and it does credit to your head and heart ;
but I am very uneasy at any longer delay. At all events, I
insist on your going at once to see your client to announce your
return " from the country." It is a wonder she has not heard of
your being in Paris, though you have kept so carefully out of the
way. You can manage in conversation to draw off her impatience,
and to convince her that you are as active as ever in prosecuting
her cause. I must have some relief, or I shall infallibly break
down under the weight put on my shoulders.'
' Vous avez raison' responded the supple Frenchman. ' I will
take your advice, and go see " milady" forthwith.'
Accordingly he went next day, and found her fuming over
his prolonged absence. He endeavoured to reassure her as to
his entire devotion, and sought to dissipate all anxiety and doubt
on that vital point. He left her convinced he had quite reestab
lished his influence, and would succeed, bon gre", mal gre", in
bringing her safely into port, finally rescued from the dangers
of shipwreck she had so often and eagerly courted. This was
all very pleasant news for me. I began to think my period of
probation was nearly over, and that our joint manoeuvres for
everybody's welfare were near their fruition. I was looking for
ward to a vote of thanks from all sides. In this delectable mood
I called upon her a day or two after Ledru's visit ; and imagine
my consternation to learn that meanwhile she had encountered
at a dinner-party the famous politician and lawyer, Odillon
MM

530 Paris Revisited.

Barrot. She had related her whole case to him, she said ;
whereat he had expressed the greatest asonishment and indig
nation. Nothing was easier, he declared, than to. inflict on all
concerned the most condign punishment The man who was
caught in her house tampering with her correspondence should
be brought before the court, and his extorted revelations would
lead to the complete exposure of the conspiracy, and the utter
disgrace of all the parties to it.
' There ! What did I tell you ?' cried Lady Bulwer, in the
highest glee. ' I knew I could obtain the fullest redress against
all these vile plotters, and I will follow them up if it costs me
every penny I have. I begin to fear that M. Ledru is either
reluctant, or incapable of conducting this business.'
I hastened to break a lance in behalf of the suspected Ledru,
and reminded her how active and energetic he had always proved
himself, and sought to dispel her incipient misgivings. I did
my best to conceal my vexation at this unlooked-for contretemps,
and, as soon as I could beat a retreat without attracting her
attention, I pleaded an engagement, and directed my steps to
Ledru's office.
' Quel malheurf he exclaimed, after I stated what had hap
pened, and walked to and fro in feverish agitation. ' What's to
be done now ?' he demanded. ' I fear all is lost/
' What I fear most,' I observed, ' is that she will throw you
over ; and then down the abyss she is certain to go, dragging
everybody with her. Odillon Barrot has immense prestige at
the bar and before the world. How can we get her out of his
hands ? Otherwise, as you say, all is lost/
Ledru was utterly upset. He desired, naturally, if the case
must go on, to be Lady Bulwer's leading counsel, for the sake
of his professional iclat ; but he had waived this hitherto, in
the honest wish to protect the interests of all.
' Yes, it is not at all unlikely,' he continued, ' she will give me
up for Odillon Barrot. It will not be difficult to find fault, and
allege complaints that will justify her, in her own eyes, putting
her case in new hands. I should regret this more for her own
sake than mine. If you cannot check her, clier Wikoff, then the
end is inevitable.'
' Let us sleep over it,' I suggested. ' I will come to-morrow,
and we may decide on what course to steer ; perhaps a new one
may be necessary. I have some influence with her, and will

fans Kevisited. 53s

stoutly oppose her withdrawing from you, if she really dreams
of it. I can hardly believe she ever would.'
' Cest bien,' he said, in downcast tones ; ' a demain, d demain,
— to-morrow, to-morrow.'
The ensuing morning my apprehensions were verified. The
subjoined note showed that she longed to employ a more active
combatant than the temporising Ledru : Saturday, 30 Rue de Rivoli.
Dear Mr. Wikoff,— How can I ever sufficiently thank you for all the
trouble you have so kindly taken and I have so unmercifully given you
in my unhappy business ! However, I may not always be in the miser
able and unable-to-show-gratitude position I am now in.
I fear Ledru is tormented by people who have been set on to croak
at him for taking up the cause of so unprotected a person as I am. If
he feels at all sorry ox frightened at having done so, I wish he would
honestly say so, and give it up. Odillon Barrot would then undertake it ;
but he won't act in conjunction with Ledru. This, of course, I cannot
tell the latter. There is, I must say, a Frenchiness about Ledru that I
own makes me tremble. The other night he was to have sent me a
letter that he said was indispensable I should send to Mr. H. instanter.
It has never yet come. Again, on Friday, it was of ' vital importance'
that Murray should go at nine o'clock with his clerk to bring the woman
who was with her when T. met her. From that hour to this no clerk
has appeared. For God's sake, dear Mr. Wikoff, don't let him delay the
translating and printing of the paper I gave you yesterday ! I want 100
copies in French, and 100 in English ; and tell the translator and printer
to send to me for payment. Above all, don't let Ledru alter one word
out of delicacy to his friend H. Bulwer. It is not to be published ; and
if it were, that is my affair, and nobody else's.
I need hardly say that I shall be most happy to see any friend of
yours you wish to present From your great kindness to me, I feel that
all your friends are mine, as I am ever, dear Mr. Wikoff, most sincerely
yours, Rosina Lytton Bulwer.
It was only too plain that all Ledru's well-meant artifices to
obtain delay, in order to patch up this unhappy family squabble,
on the French principle of ' washing dirty linen at home,' must
come to naught. Lady Bulwer was desperately resolved on an
appeal to the public, believing their sympathies would sustain
her, but knowing well that such a course would annoy her dis
tinguished husband, and be 'gall and wormwood' to all who had

532 Paris Revisited.

sided with him. I had reasoned with her for hours and days,
and found at last the truth of the familiar lines :
' She that complies against her will
Is of her own opinion still.'
To persist in the same course of resistance to her wishes would
only end in my ceasing to be her ' guide, philosopher, and friend,'
and in becoming to her jaundiced vision an enemy in disguise,
disposed to play into the hands of the ' adverse faction/ I had
seen enough of Lady Bulwer to be satisfied of her goodness of
heart, whilst her intelligence was beyond all question. Indeed,
she was one of those blest ' with too much quickness ever to be
taught.' In her case, however, heart and mind were all absorbed,
or rather buried, under a seething mass of bitter recollections
and scorching affronts. She was determined to pull down the
pillars of the temple, caring little if she were crushed or not. As
for Ledru, it was evident his strategy was exhausted. She began
to suspect either bad faith or timidity, and any further dallying
on his part would be resented by her employing other counsel,
who cared nothing, or knew nothing, of her interests as wife and
mother, but simply took a purely legal view of the best means to
secure the redress she sought. It grieved me not a little to see
the collapse of all Ledru's anxious efforts to avert a catastrophe;
and whilst I was still engaged in pondering over the situation
another discontented note reached me, proving the restless chafing
state of the writer's mind : Saturday night, 30 Rue de Rivoli.
Dear Mr. Wikoff, — I fear you will abandon Paris, thinking the plague
is raging at sight of another note from me ; but the more I think over
and hear of Ledru's conduct, the more I feel that he is wrecking me. I
will still hope, but in spite of the false position he has taken. Treach
erous he most unquestionably is to H. Bulwer or to me. Why should he
be so to either ? I don't like it. He gave me his honour — this is
Carnival time, so men may talk about that phantom — last night that
he would expose H. Bulwer to-day. We shall see. But what is the use
of continually telling me that he thinks H. Bulwer more wicked and more
foolish than I do, and yet appear in society the best possible friends
with him? Such crooked conduct no expediency — particularly in so
very plain a case — can render necessary, and no results can justify.
May I then trouble you, first to read, and then to seal and take to him,
the enclosed letter ? If I find that Ledru has also acted a manly part,
and sold me, I think I had better gratify the Bulwers at once by walking

Paris Revisited. 533

out of the world, for all this is a little too much for one poor wretch to
bear. — Forgive all this trouble, if you can, and believe me, dear Mr.
Wikoff, your sincerely obliged Rosina Lytton Bulwer.
The note addressed to Ledru she desired me to deliver was
temperate but positive. Would he go on, or not, to vindicate her
in the mode she demanded? That was the substance, and left no
alternative. Putting on my hat, I wended my sorrowful way to
my friend's residence. He read over the note addressed to him,
and listened to that written to me. For a while he was plunged
in thought, and then slowly enunciated :
' A lea facta est ! She is inflexible, arid peremptorily closes
the door on all compromise. To struggle longer is useless. My
loyal tactics to serve her are regarded as manoeuvres to benefit
her husband. She will have publicity, and invokes the interven
tion of the law, hoping to humiliate those so near to her, and to
vindicate the course she has taken. I know she will be disap
pointed, and that chagrin and vexation will overtake her. Odillon
Barrot has told her that the only plan to adopt is to bring an
action against the man arrested in her apartment. So be it. Pray
call and tell her I have done so. I shall go immediately and enter
the case for trial.'
Deploring as he did the utter failure of our joint expectations
of a satisfactory denouement, I left him, as he stepped into a car
riage on his way to the Criminal Court. I went at once to Lady
Bulwer and announced what had occurred. I told her frankly
that Ledru had diplomatised, with my knowledge, as long as he
could, in the sole and ardent hope of compounding this unhappy
quarrel. Since she insisted on an appeal to the arbitrament of
the law, he obeyed her behests, and by this time the case was
inscribed on the records of the Tribunal. She expressed supreme
satisfaction. ' At last,' she exclaimed, ' I shall triumph over all the intrigues
and malice that have hitherto pursued me. My wrongs will be
made known, and my enemies be confounded/
Not much over a month elapsed before the trial came on of
the man arrested in Lady Bulwer's residence for tampering sur
reptitiously with her correspondence ; and as the event had be
come by this time widely known, the court was crowded to excess
with all that was recherche" in fashionable and diplomatic life, who
flocked thither in glowing anticipation of a rich feast of scandal.

534 Paris Revisited.

When Ledru found it necessary, in compliance with Lady Bul-
wer's determination, to go on with her case, he decided to call to
his aid the invaluable cooperation of the first orator of the day,
the renowned advocate and deputy, M. Berryer. It turned out
oddly enough that Odillon Barrot, equally prominent at the bar
and in politics, and whom Lady Bulwer at first wished to employ,
now appeared as her antagonist, being retained as the counsel of
her husband, Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer.
When the President of the Court took his seat, M. Berryer
rose to open the proceedings. His fine face, grand manner, and
noble person, that borrowed additional grace from his silk gown
of avocat, prepossessed at once the whole audience. In his clear
sympathetic voice he stated the offence committed, and in admir
able language enlarged upon its heinous character. He informed
the court that the culprit declared he had been incited to the
criminal act by Mr. Henry Bulwer, Secretary of the British
Embassy at Paris ; but however discreditable that might be to
the gentleman in question, it did not in any way mitigate the
felonious trespass of which the former had been guilty. His
preliminary address was a perfect . gem of oratory, and its effect
was unmistakable.
Ledru next rose, and was about to call for the production
of the prisoner, when Odillon Barrot suddenly got up and
claimed the attention of the court prior to taking any further
steps. He said this was an action brought by Lady Lytton
Bulwer, the wife of Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer, now residing in
England. Opening a volume in his hand, he begged to read to
the court a law of the land, perfectly familiar, of course, to the
judge he had the honour to address ; and proceeded at once to
do so. It was to the effect that no married woman could initiate
a suit at law without the express permission and cooperation of
her husband. He desired to know, therefore, whether Lady Bul-
wer's counsel were provided with this indispensable adjunct,
otherwise he should call upon the court to dismiss the case.
M. Berryer admitted, in reply, that Lady Bulwer had not
applied to her husband for his consent to institute this prosecu
tion, as she had not anticipated he would invoke the law to pre
vent the punishment of so gross an outrage upon the sanctity of
her domicile. M. Berryer protested energetically against the un
justifiable intervention of Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer, who was
evidently more anxious to screen his brother, implicated in the

Paris Revisited. 535

charge, than to protect his wife against a conspiracy that stooped
to the vilest means to effect its purpose. The President of the
Court said that, however deplorable it was that so atrocious an
offence should go unscourged of justice, he had no alternative
but to dismiss the case. The disappointment of the auditory
was profound, and it was the universal opinion that Sir Edward
Lytton Bulwer was particeps criminis, and feared that if a legal
investigation took place the fact might be disclosed that he had
instigated his brother Henry to obtain access to Lady Bulwer's
correspondence by any process he chose to adopt.
M. Ledru published, the following day, a very able letter,
arraigning Henry Bulwer as the real author of a most disreput
able act, and indulged in comments of a very damaging character.
Although this scandahun magnatum fell to the ground in the
manner shown, yet the sensation produced was deep and pro
longed. The private bickerings between Lady Bulwer and her
husband were thus brought fully before the public, and caused
all the friends of the illustrious writer to regret sincerely the ill-
advised course that had been pursued against his wife. The
result, therefore, did not dishearten Lady Bulwer in the least.
She had yearned for publicity, and she had accomplished it. The
mere punishment of an obscure tool she cared nothing about, but
rejoiced in the detrimental exposure that had befallen her brother-
in-law, whom she disliked most cordially. I hoped the upshot of
all this would be that Lady Bulwer would calm down and submit
to the harsh decrees of Fate. But her ungovernable spirit was
still unbroken.
' I have been shamefully ill-treated,' she constantly exclaimed ;
' but I will never relax my efforts to obtain redress. I know the
odds are against me, and that money and influence will be em
ployed unsparingly to prostrate me ; yet I will struggle on to
the last/
It would have been easy enough to have ended this unhappy
quarrel if due respect had been shown to her feelings as a
mother and her claims as a wife. Persecution and disdain
only stimulated her anger, and drove her to desperate acts of
retaliation.

CHAPTER LV.
PARIS REVISITED {continued).
A STRONG APPEAL — MRS. GROTE — LETTER FROM MR. PRICE — A SHOAL OF
INTRODUCTIONS — ' A FIRST-RATER'  AN EXTRAORDINARY FREAK.
FOR the satisfaction of my reader I have related the unhappy
story of Lady Bulwer continuously, though during the progress
of the events described, extending over several months, I was
occupied with a diversity of engagements that almost bewildered
me. In spite of my studious resolves, I found political economy,
or reading of any kind, gradually drifting out of sight, and I was
carried away by a whirl of occupations, both pleasant and excit
ing, but not likely to contribute much to my ultimate advantage.
Amid all my distractions, however, I never lost sight of my fealty
to Mr. Price, but regularly dropped in upon Mdlle. Elssler, to see
if she remained firm to her contract, and to disabuse her mind of
the thousand and one fabrications that constantly beset her. She
seemed to grow more nervous, and I feared some day she would
bolt out of her engagement and offer to pay the forfeit.
One morning I received a note from her, begging to see me
immediately on a very pressing matter; and, dreading some hitch,
I repaired promptly to her residence. I found her alone in her
boudoir, with a troubled aspect bordering on agitation.
' What is the matter now ?' I asked, smiling. ' Another alarm
ing story, I suppose, against my slandered country.'
' More important than that,' she replied gravely. ' But sit
down. I want to ask you a great favour/
' It would be difficult to refuse you anything,' I said play
fully. ' That remains to be seen,' she replied, with a searching look.
' I mean to put you to the test/
' Well,' I continued, ' say what I can do to oblige you.'
' Well,' she repeated, ' I want you to alter my contract*
' Why ?' I demanded, much surprised.
' Because,' she asserted, ' my friends tell me you have out
witted Lavalette, and bound me hand and foot to Mr. Price,'

Paris Revisited. 537
Upon this followed an argument on the terms of the con
tract, and I perceived she was under the decided impression that
Price had got too much the advantage. I could not talk her out
of it. ' But suppose,' I surmised, ' that Mr. Price refuses to modify
it?' She dropped her head as she drawled out, ' I have never
broken an engagement in my life.'
' Which implies, I fear, that you think of beginning now/
' No, I will make no such threat ;' and, fixing her eyes upon
me, she said, in a confiding tone, ' I put my trust in you. Surely
you will not allow me to be sacrificed.'
It was idle to discuss it further, so I promised to write to Mr.
Price to meet her objections.
' No,' she exclaimed, seizing my hand, as a tear glistened
in her eye, ' that will not calm my fears. I will not sleep to
night if you do not pledge me it shall be changed as I wish.'
To terminate the scene, I bound myself that Price should
make the alterations she exacted. Her delight was boundless,
and I fancied for a moment she meant to embrace me, but I was
over-sanguine. Before I left her she remarked that a friend of hers desired to
know me. Thinking it was some singer or dancer, I hesitated an
instant. Observing it, she said it was an English lady she re
ferred to.
'An artist, I suppose?'
' No,' she answered ; ' une dame du monde. It is Mrs. Grote.'
' Mrs. Grote !' I echoed. ' That is the name of a prominent
member of Parliament/
' Yes, it is his wife. She wishes to know you, having heard
me speak of you so often.'
' With great pleasure,' I replied.
' Then please come here to-morrow at four o'clock, and you
will meet her.'
Poor Fanny ! she had been duped by some busybody, who
had led her to believe she was in dire peril ; whereas the changes
she implored were so insignificant that I knew Mr. Price would
not oppose them.
Could it really be the wife of the famous M.P. ? I queried,
as I wandered home. An odd associate for the brilliant danseuse.
She must be an eccentric woman ; but that's no novelty in Eng-

538 Paris Revisited.

land, where so many of the upper classes are full of odd fancies
and strange ways.
On entering Mdlle. Elssler's salon the next day, I was pre
sented to a stately woman, whose air and manner betokened a
superior position. Her face had a certain masculine expression,
blended, however, with a benevolent tone that indicated a kind
disposition. She said :
' I wished to know you, as you have manifested so much in
terest in the fortunes of my amiable protegie, and hope we shall
be good friends.'
I reciprocated her civil expressions, and a pleasant chat en
sued, with Fanny sitting by, who took little part in it. It turned
out that we had many mutual friends, which warmed up our
acquaintance. After a time I took my leave ; but Mrs. Grote
begged I would call on her in a day or two, as she desired a
long talk on Fanny's proposed trip to America, which I pro
mised. There could be no mistake about it. The lady I had met
was really the wife of George Grote, a conspicuous member of
Parliament, and widely known in the literary world. Report
said he was writing a history of Greece likely to surpass all that
had yet appeared on the subject. He was also a member of a
rich banking firm in the City. An anecdote was current that
the head of another banking house had exclaimed one day,' Can
it be true that George Grote has taken to writing books ? What
is he coming to ?' It was plain that literature was at a low ebb
in financial estimation. The social position of the Grotes, I knew,
was a solid one, and their West-end house was frequented by
the best people of the political, literary, and fashionable world-
This made their close alliance with Fanny Elssler all the more
puzzling, for, though a brilliant artist, she was not likely to be on
visiting terms with society either in London or Paris.
I made an early call on Mrs. Grote, who received me with
extreme cordiality. We plunged at once into a long conversa
tion about Fanny, the topic nearest her heart. She began by
saying :
' You must be surprised to find a person in my position so
interested in the affairs of an opera-dancer. Let me explain that
at once. She brought me a letter, some time ago, from Madame
Varnhagen von Ense of Berlin, who, you possibly know, is the
wife of one of the Ministers of Prussia, and one of the first ladies

Paris Revisited. 539
of Germany. She related that Fanny had been presented to her
by her illustrious friend Von Gentz, and that she had become
greatly attached to her. She begged me to look after the poor
thing, who had no acquaintance in London, and to show her
whatever kindness was in my power. Notwithstanding my love
of art, I hesitated at entering into relations with a dancer, how
ever renowned, and my husband stoutly opposed it. But, re
luctant to ignore the earnest request of Madame von Ense, I sent
for Fanny, and was surprised to find her not only well bred, but
one of the most simple-minded, good-hearted creatures I had
ever met. Since then I have conceived a violent affection for
her, and my only anxiety is to promote her welfare in every way
I can. I wish to aid her to acquire a competency, that she may
quit the opera-house, whose associations are uncongenial to her.
Now this American engagement will tend towards that object,
and I encourage it for that reason. I know you made Fanny's
acquaintance on behalf of your friend Mr. Price, and all she has
told me of your disinterested conduct led me to seek your in
timacy ; and I desire to cooperate in the work you so kindly
undertook.' I candidly confessed to Mrs. Grote that her intercourse with
Mdlle. Elssler had perplexed me not a little ; but I could well
understand her attachment, for the more I had seen of her the
more my regard had increased. I added also that it was credit
able to her good heart to brave the prejudices of society and ex
tend a helping hand to this deserving creature, who had neither a
relative or a true friend to protect her amid the thousand snares
that beset her path.
' You have uttered my sentiments exactly,' responed Mrs. G.
' It is just because she is so fascinating and so innocent that I
foresee her ruin, unless some chivalrous arm averts it. If I can
rescue this brand from the burning, I reck not the upraised eyes
of my circle. My attachment for Fanny is known to some
of my friends, who smile and set it down to my romantic
nature. I have already a reputation for eccentricity, and have
kicked over the traces more than once. Those who know me
are prepared for occasional escapades, and never withhold con
donation/ Whilst we were talking Mr. Grote came in, and I was intro
duced to him. He was a fine-looking man, with a pleasant,
genial countenance, but with the usual English reserve and

54° Paris Revisited.

stiffness. I soon got into conversation with him on French poli
tics, and to my surprise his wife joined in, displaying a thorough
knowledge of the men and events of the day, and handling both
with an ease and a" perspicacity quite extraordinary in a woman.
On going away, they invited me to dine with them the following
day, which I accepted cheerfully.
I found, on talking about Mrs. Grote to my English friends
in Paris, that all knew her by reputation. Some said she was
the best political writer of the day, and contributed powerful
articles to the Edinburgh Review and the Whig journals. Others
declared she was the most skilful ' whip' in England, and most
daring horsewoman. Others, again, dilated on her proficiency
in painting and music. All had something to relate proving her
varied accomplishments, as well as independence of character.
No one denied her rare mental gifts or her real goodness of
nature. Unquestionably she was a most remarkable person,
and I anticipated great delight in her society.
I had kept up a steady correspondence with Mr. Price since
his departure for New York. He continued to feel anxious as
to the fulfilment of Mdlle. Elssler's engagement, upon which his
fortunes depended. I informed him immediately of the signing
of the contract, and assured him of my belief of its being duly
carried out. The opposition to Fanny's departure from Paris
seemed to increase every day, inside and outside the opera-
house. The public were indignant at the loss of their favourite,
whilst the director of the Opera, more alive than ever to her im
mense popularity, began to exert his utmost influence to induce
her to abandon her project. He offered at last, if she would
throw over her contract, to pay all the damages, and to aug
ment her salary besides. The most ingenious manoeuvres, the
most unscrupulous intrigues, were resorted to, but in vain. The
upright Fanny stood her ground firmly, resisting blandishments
and defying auguries alike.
In my letters I had acquainted Mr. Price of all the artifices
and crafty devices employed to defeat Fanny's American expe
dition, and in one of his replies from New York, dated towards
the end of December, he wrote to the following effect :
My dear Wikoff,— I have received your letter of Nov. 30 by the
' Great Western,' and sincerely thank you for the trouble you have taken
and the friendly interest you manifest in my affairs. The schemes to
which you allude to obstruct Elssler's departure are no doubt quite new

fans revisited. 541

to you ; but I have seen too much of actors and dancers not to under
stand their manoeuvres, and to be able to explain them to you. Augusta
[a popular danseuse], of course, wants to prevent Elssler coming to New
York. And why? Augusta has been a great favourite here, and in
tends soon to return ; but if Elssler arrives, then Augusta will do no
good by coming, as she will be of little importance to the audiences
which have once admired Elssler. Now, if she could persuade Elssler
not to come, and so keep a dangerous rival out of the field, the harvest-
would be all her own. Taglioni's sister-in-law will play the same game.
She and her husband Paul left here last September, giving out to friends
and managers their intention to return next July. Should Elssler come
meanwhile, their attraction would be ruined ; and they have therefore
the same motives as Augusta in striving by all means to prevent it. So
much for Augusta's and Taglioni's little games, and I hope Elssler has
too much sagacity to be entrapped by them.
The effect of the various bank suspensions has produced much
general distress and confusion in New York. The depreciation of their
paper, with the adherence to specie payments, has caused money to be
very scarce. The theatres have felt the pressure very severely, and, as-
might have been expected, Wallack has given up, after compelling his
friend and moneyed supporter, Wash. Coster, to sell off furniture, plate,
horses, and everything tangible, and to make an assignment of his real
estate, to avoid the effect of executions for the amount— said to be
enormous — of his sureties and indorsements for Wallack. The boasted
success of the National has been mere deception. Every week it was,
open the loss only increased ; and, even with the low portion of the
press to bolster him up, he is at this moment helpless. His immense
debts, here and in England, must be cleared off before he can start
again ; and he will then be fortunate if, after numerous failures, he finds
another fool to trust him.
You may rely upon my exertions to produce the ballets of Elssler to
the very best effect ; and if she will provide the music, and get the busi
ness well described, all shall be well got up. I will defray all the ex
penses. Urge her to be here as much before the 1st of April as possible.
We shall be ready for her. Money affairs are slowly getting better, and
everything reviving fast. There is now no opposition, and her success
must be triumphant The suggestion of securing Petipas, the male
dancer, is good, and I hare set my agents about effecting it Don't
allow Elssler to neglect sending the music-score for the orchestra, which
I will pay for ; or if you will advance the sum necessary, Mrs. Price will
repay you, or I will pay here to your order. I don't mean this to go be
yond three or four ballets.
Forrest called on me to-day, and I delivered your message to him.
And now, my dear Wikoff, I conclude this long scrawl by repeating to

542 Paris Revisited.

you that the execution of Elssler's agreement is to me all-important. I
have relied upon it ; have devoted an excellent part of my season to it ;
and without her I shall be unprovided. Let me hope you will not relax
in your kind efforts to bring it about. — Wishing you a very happy new
year, and many successive ones, I am, very faithfully, S. Price.
I could not help being amused at the burst of spleen against
that consummate actor and truly fascinating man, James Wal
lack. My friend Price, as intimated, was by no means the bland
est of men to the world in general ; but his jealousy of all rivals
in business was bitter, and always strongly expressed. Wallack
had erected a splendid theatre in New York, the National,
which bade fair to impair the prosperity of the old Park, in which
the fortunes of the veteran Price were embarked. It was not in
his nature, therefore, to restrain the vindictive utterance of his
satisfaction when the pressure of the times compelled the Na
tional to close its doors. Besides, he may have feared that
Elssler might be tempted some day to go over to the rival estab
lishment, and he thought it politic to arouse her prejudices
against his formidable competitor.
As I could entertain no doubt of Mdlle. Elssler's fixed inten
tion to visit the United States, I endeavoured to secure for her
such facilities as would tend to make it agreeable as well as pro
fitable. I presented to her many of the leading American gentle
men in Paris, who promised to give her letters of introduction.
All were charmed with her pleasing manners and refined tone.
I thought it desirable to obtain also the patronage of some of
our ladies of fashion, and amongst the rest applied to Mrs. Welles
for a line of indorsement.
' I am willing,' she said, ' to write to my lady friends at home
to go and applaud the most brilliant dancer of Europe, but how
can you ask me for letters of introduction ? I don't know her ;
nor could I properly present her to my own sex, who must have
heard that her career has not been wholly immaculate, and might
resent it as an affront.'
I told her of the kind interest displayed by Mrs. Grote, who
had strongly recommended Mdlle. Elssler to an American lady
of her acquaintance. Mrs. W. said she would like to see a copy
of the letter I referred to, and I sent it to her. The day after
wards she returned me this reply :

Paris Revisited. 543

Place St. George, Tuesday.
Dear Mr. Wikoff, — I restore to you the copy of Mrs. Grote's letter
with many thanks. I do not know the American lady to whom it is ad
dressed, but I know this much, that if Mrs. G. possesses common sense
she will not undertake to make reforms among opera- dancers. Not
that I do not believe Fanny Elssler to be a very interesting person,
but there must be a line drawn between a woman sold and a woman
given. — Very sincerely yours, Adeline Welles.
It struck me that the line in question must be a very narrow
one, if not wholly invisible, since the offence would be equal in
both cases. I could understand the difference between a virtu
ous woman and one who was not ; but whether transgression
would be more venial when it was voluntary and disinterested
than in the opposite case was quite puzzling. Such casuis
try was beyond my ken. But certain it is that Mrs. Welles was
wholly misled by malicious rumours if she supposed that Fanny
Elssler, the most unselfish of women, could have been tempted
into error by mercenary motives.
As I had failed to enlist the patronage of Mrs. Welles, I had
recourse to her worthy husband, and solicited his cooperation in
any way agreeable to him. He replied at once that he should like
to be presented to Mdlle. Elssler, and named a day for the pur
pose. We made the visit, and he was so much charmed with the
fair ballerina that he promised his most cordial support. In his
usual prompt manner, he wrote to me the next day :
Place St. George, Thursday morning.
My dear Wikoff, — In mentioning our visit of yesterday to Mrs.
Welles, and how tres comme ilfautl found Mdlle. Elssler, Mrs. W. has
expressed the desire of being serviceable to Mdlle. E. in her intended
voyage to America. I have, therefore, something to be communicated
to Mdlle. E. upon this subject If, then, you can send her word that
you will call upon her in going from here after seeing me at half-past
four o'clock to-day, you can let her know what it is I refer to. My
servant, who brings you this, can, if you wish, take a note from you to
Mdlle. E. in returning home.— Yours truly, S. Welles.
The purport of this communication was that Mrs. W. would
be pleased to furnish Mdlle. Elssler with letters to some of her
intimate friends in New York, and to show her any other civility

544 Paris Revisited.

in her power. She gave a proof of this a short time later. Our
Minister, General Cass, tendered Mdlle. Elssler a letter to his
old friend Col. J. Watson Webb, of the New York Courier and
Enquirer, which was sure to be useful. Baron James Rothschild,
a warm patron of the captivating danseuse, gave her letters to the
agent of his house in New York, Mr. August Belmont. The
nervous Fanny was vastly encouraged in her Transatlantic inten
tions by these various acts of kindness.
As the time of her departure approached her preparations
grew more active. She made extensive purchases of costumes,
and ordered prodigious supplies of white-satin slippers for her
ballets, of which she consumed two pairs a night. Her farewell
houses at the Opera were crowded and enthusiastic, though the
public were still sceptical of her bold design of going to America.
Towards the end of January, M. Laporte came to Paris to engage
her for a few nights at Her Majesty's Opera in London. As she
felt herself incompetent to deal with so crafty a man of business,
she referred him to me, as her confidential friend ; and a contract
was duly drawn up for her appearance thrice a week in London
during the month of March ; terms, 2500 francs each perform
ance, to be paid the following morning. M. Laporte stickled at
such prompt payment, but yielded. I was gradually getting
immersed up to my eyes in Fanny's affairs, and began to long
for her speedy exit from Paris.
Meanwhile my acquaintance went on with Mrs. Grote, and
grew more intimate every day. There were so many sides to
her character, so to speak, that she never failed to interest, amuse,
and instruct me. She seemed familiar with every topic, and talked
with equal ability on all. The subject nearest to her heart was
her favourite Fanny, and we had interminable confabs about
her. That once exhausted, she would branch off on such a mul
titude of subjects that it was quite bewildering to follow her.
She manifested the liveliest interest in my manner of life and in
the affairs of my friends, all of which I related. I told her the
story of Lady Bulwer, which greatly moved her sympathies. I
submitted to her inspection some of my crude lucubrations on
politics, and solicited her criticism. I had frequent notes from
her, of which the following is a specimen :
Rue de Rivoli, 13th January.
Dear Mr. Wikoff, — I have procured a box, such as it is ; but it seems
there is a prodigious press for places to-night to see our pet, so we

Paris Revisited. 545

are hoisted up into the second tier, which I can't endure. However,
as I am engaged with Madame de M., I must e'en go; but if I were
not, I should stay away, for a bad place is a great bore to a spoilt
child like your humble servant, who is used to the best of most things.
I return your ' Miscellanea,' of which more anon. I pity your fair
friend Lady Bulwer most cordially ; but my experience is entirely in this
wise— whenever a connubial discord arises, nobody thinks of inquiring
into the circumstances, but the weakest always ' goes to the wall.' So
ciety is disfigured with injustice from top to bottom; and if it were not
that every now and then a generous soul raises his valiant arm on
behalf of our oppressed sex, I don't know where we might not arrive
in respect of persecution. It is the few, and not the many, on whom
we must rely. God send us a larger proportion, say I.
As to your editor, I fear he is of the 'sow's ear' make. You
will never transform him into anything else but a clever acute Yankee.
As for your own effusions, you have a good deal more pudding to
eat before you will be fit to 'foregather' with political dissertations.*
But you have it in you, and with time and self-culture you may very
well look to be 'something above the common' by and by. At all
events, you are not all ' leather and prunella.'
I will not have you dine here, because I think you ought to dine
elsewhere, since you pass the evening out. I will call for you about
eight o'clock. — Believe me, with truth, your well-wisher,
Harriet Grote.
I met Mrs. Wheaton, the wife of your great publicist, at a soir'ee on
Friday. Shortly after this I received a summons to dine with her one
day to meet a ' first-rater,' as she styled him, which, of course, I
accepted. What was my surprise and delight to encounter the
illustrious statesman M. Guizot, one of her intimate friends !
We were only three at table, as Mr. Grote had been called away
to London. I fully appreciated the distinguished honour of a
familiar presentation to so prominent a man as M. Guizot, so
renowned in literature, and the frequent occupant of the highest
Ministerial posts. This was enough to inspire no little trepida
tion ; but there was a coldness and puritanical stiffness in his
manner that for a time quite subdued me. It was not haughti
ness, but the natural tone of the man, and led to his being de
scribed by one of the writers of the day as the ' austere intriguer/
* Just ten years afterwards — 1849 — Mrs. Grote reviewed with great ability in th
London Spectator three political essays of mine, published that year in Paris.
NN

546 Paris Revisited.

His face indicated a stubborn relentless will ; but in all else it
was an impenetrable mask. It made no revelation of that in
satiable activity that characterised his mind and marked his
career. His ambition was to sway the destinies of France ; and
his struggle for the mastery against his rival in ability and in
aim, M. Thiers, kept the King in constant anxiety and the coun
try in perpetual agitation. Mrs. Grote sustained an animated
colloquy with him on the state of affairs, and was not in the
least discomfited by his oracular utterances or his gravity of
mien. She forced him at last to grow more confidential, and
extracted the admission that the Ministry was in danger, and
likely to be soon overthrown.
' And then,' she said, ' you expect, no doubt, to step into the
shoes of Marshal Soult ?'
' I don't know how that may be,' he replied cautiously.
' All things are possible. If the King should consider me ne
cessary to his policy, I should be proud to obey his summons.'
' Well,' continued Mrs. Grote, ' I should be glad to see you at
the head of the State ; for I consider you a good friend to Eng
land, as well as a safe hand at the helm at home. A little too
much inclined to arbitrary rule perhaps, which we Whigs of
England regard as unwise, if not perilous/
' You must not forget,' remarked M. Guizot, ' that the situa
tion of the countries is widely different. In England you have
a stable form of government, and a resigned, if not contented,
population. Your politicians, besides, limit their aspirations
merely to the possession of office. Happily you have no revolu
tionary party, ever plotting in the dark, not only to displace
Ministers, but to overthrow the Government itself. A strong
control is needed to quell these turbulent spirits and maintain
the principle of authority.'
' I admit the difference,' continued Mrs. Grote ; ' but I cling
to the conviction that inflexible rigour in government is always
hazardous ; and that even in France it would be expedient to
temper authority with concession, which might avert catastrophes,
that stern resistance provokes.'
In this wise the conversation went on long after the dinner
was over. I listened with deferential interest to this remarkable
discussion between one of the first intellects of France and an
English lady whose political acumen filled me with astonishment.
I sat by, scarcely venturing to utter a word, whilst the disputants

Paris Revisited. 547

seemed hardly conscious of my presence. At length M. Guizot
rose to bid good-night, and retired, preserving to the last his
solemn rigid manner. He had barely gone when Mrs. Grote
banished from her mind all recollection of the serious topics
she had been debating, and threw herself with headlong eager
ness into a variety of fanciful speculations connected with her
darling Fanny's voyage to America. She continued discours
ing on this and kindred themes till near midnight, when I left
her. I could not reconcile the singular incongruities of this in
teresting woman's mind and character. How a person of her
unusual capacity and lofty associations could find recreation of
the most stimulating kind in the private and public career of an
opera-dancer, however irresistible, was to me quite enigmatical.
Perhaps it was just because of its contrast to the ordinary chan
nels in which her thoughts ran that she found in it a relief to
her overstrained intellect. Besides, she was of a tender and
romantic disposition, and could not bear that her pro tcge'e should
live in the Stygian atmosphere of the coulisses, so little in har
mony with her meek and gentle nature. Mrs. Grote's fond hope
was to rescue her from these contaminating influences, and waft
her into purer air and more tranquil pursuits. She would gladly
have settled a sufficient income on her favourite if she could
have induced her to abandon the opera-house ; but Fanny was
much too high-minded to accept such an obligation. Therefore
Mrs. Grote considered it her duty, and one she delighted in, to
assist the indefatigable artist to accomplish an independence,
that she might retire into well-earned repose, and cultivate
associations more in unison with her quiet tastes.
For my part, as I walked home from Mrs. Grote's dinner-
table, my mind was far more engrossed with the distinguished
man I had met than with the future of the charming Fanny.
What a contrast in manner and appearance he presented to the
man he really was ! It was almost difficult to believe him a
Frenchman, such was the absence of that vivacity which charac
terises his nation. To be sure, he was brought up in Switzer
land, where his mother fled, after her husband, an eminent lawyer,
had been guillotined in the ghastly days of 1794 He was a
Protestant too, which likely had a sobering effect on his mind.
As the London season was approaching, Mrs. Grote felt it
necessary to bring her visit to Paris to a conclusion ; and her

548 Paris Revisited.

reluctance to part with her beloved Fanny was less, as she looked
forward to meeting her soon again in London. Before she left
she announced her intention to 'build up' a soiree in honour
of her idol, as she desired some of her intimate friends to
see what a charming person the celebrated dancer really was.
She made no revelation to Fanny or to me as to the persons
she had invited, but merely said they were very limited, and that
all were desirous to meet the object of her predilection.
On entering her salon on the night in question, I was hardly
less than astounded at sight of the extraordinary group Mrs.
Grote had assembled for the occasion. I recognised the Count
de Tocqueville, the illustrious author of Democracy in America,
which had been universally pronounced the most remarkable
book of the century, and had raised its writer to an immense
eminence. Gustave de Beaumont, just elected a deputy, and
who had been sent, in 1832, by the Government to the United
States with M. de Tocqueville, to examine our penitentiary
system, was another guest. His wife, a granddaughter of
Lafayette, was also present. Victor Cousin, who had founded
the new school of philosophy, and was considered the most
gifted of contemporary writers, was talking with Mrs. Grote
when I entered. There were two or three others of almost
equal celebrity. Since the world began, I do not believe an
opera-dancer ever found her way into such a circle as this.
That was my inward conclusion when I had once looked round
upon the gathering. I could not help regarding this as a most
extraordinary freak of Mrs. Grote ; but as she had notified, her
friends of the treat in store for them, they could not complain
of being taken by surprise.
In chatting with M. de Tocqueville, who was a very sedate
but soft-mannered man, he remarked, in an explanatory way:
' I have come with my wife to-night to bid good-bye to our
esteemed friend Mrs. Grote, and she has asked permission
to present to us her latest whim, in the shape of Fanny
Elssler, the popular dancer. It seems to me Horace must
have had in his eye just such a person as our friend when he
wrote the phrase, Nil fuit unquam sic impar sibi, for, without
knowing it, she is full of vagaries and strange inconsistencies.
But she is a good-hearted creature, to say nothing of her extra
ordinary intellect ; and it would have grieved her sorely if we
had baulked her fancy in not coming here. Besides, my wife

Paris Revisited. 549

was really curious to see this celebrated artist, of whom Mrs.
Grote had related so many piquant stories/ Whilst we were
still talking Mdlle. Fanny Elssler was announced, and every one
turned round to contemplate her. She was simply attired in a
robe of black velvet, and wore very little ornament. Her easy
graceful manner, as she crossed the room to greet her hostess,
charmed the company. If she had passed her whole life amid
philosophers and members of the Institute, she could not have
been more natural and unembarrassed, yet modest withal. Her
engaging simplicity, repose, and elegance gradually won upon
the sympathies of all, who found it difficult to reconcile their
preconceived notions of the brilliant danseuse with the quiet
unpretending person before them.
The conversation went on, and by degrees, to Mrs. Grote's
great delight, one after another of the distinguished guests
desired to make Fanny's acquaintance ; and all found her
in converse quite as charming as she looked. Cousin the
philosopher, a sprightly and agreeable man, seemed especially
captivated, and kept up a long and animated parley with
her. It could not be questioned that Fanny had made a
decided hit before an entirely new audience ; and she could
not have been more admired if, enveloped in the fleecy white
drapery of La Tarentule, she had regaled the company with
some of those splendid evolutions and twinkling petits pas
which were wont to throw the opera-house into spasms of
delight. This was Fanny's first and last appearance before a
conclave representing the highest regions of philosophy and
literature ; for shortly after, Mrs. Grote returned to London, and
the artist went back to her familiar haunts and usual avoca
tions, quite oblivious, probably unconscious, that she had be
witched a philosopher, or figured in the society of the elite of the
world of letters.

CHAPTER LVI.
PARIS REVISITED {continued).
SAD NEWS  A DINNER IN THE PLACE ST. GEORGE  PIQUANT LETTERS-
OVERTHROW OF MARSHAL SOULT.
ABOUT the middle of February I received a letter from New
York, superscribed with the name of E. Simpson, and sealed
with black wax. I knew that Mr. Simpson was the partner of
my friend Price, and had long been associated with him in the
management of the Park Theatre. I was deeply shocked to
gather from its contents that poor Price was dead ; and the
event must have been sudden, for in his last letter he had made
no mention of illness. The cold dry tone of the missive convey
ing such sad intelligence was not a little repulsive. The writer
had been for years the friend and associate of Mr. Price, yet he
announced his decease in much the same style he would
speak of his departure from town. Not an expression of regret,
not a trace of emotion. It ran as follows :
New York, January 14, 1840.
Dear Sir, — Mr. Price, during his last illness, received your favour
enclosing the agreement of Mdlle. F. Elssler. Mr. Price being deceased,
will that circumstance alter Mdlle. Elssler's determination, or does she
consider herself engaged to the management, or to Mr. Price alone ? If
you will favour me with a speedy answer to this you will much oblige
me, as till I hear satisfactorily I must pause in my other engagements.
that will be necessary for the production of her pieces, such as ballet-
master, dancers, &c. Pray excuse the trouble I am giving you, but the
kindness exhibited in all your letters to the establishment emboldens me.
— Yours respectfully, E. Simpson.
Apart from my sorrow at this melancholy occurrence, I was
much troubled at its possible effect on Mdlle. Elssler's plans.
She had made all her preparations for the journey to America,
and to renounce it would not only expose her to much loss, but
to many stinging sarcasms. It had been so widely discussed

Paris Revisited. 55 1

that to forego it would induce many to believe, especially the
authorities of the Opera, that it had only been mooted for some
ulterior object, and had never been seriously entertained. From
the tenor of Mr. Simpson's letter it might be inferred he was
disposed to ratify her engagement with his late partner, but he
did not distinctly say so. At all events, it was my duty to com
municate the painful information, and I did so at once. Fanny
was much agitated to hear of Mr. Price's demise, for though she
had seen but little of him, he had inspired her with confidence.
She knew nothing of the new manager, and was utterly at a loss
what course to pursue. She hesitated at relinquishing the jour
ney, that had been so long the town talk, yet she confessed it
would delight her to do so. In the end she appealed to me for
advice, declaring her intention to abide by it.
This was a new responsibility I had not anticipated, and it threw
me into great perplexity. I had been induced to take part in
this theatrical speculation solely to oblige my poor friend Price,
who could be no longer benefited by it. If I advised her to renew
with Mr. Simpson the engagement entered into with his late
partner, I made myself morally answerable for the consequences.
This opened the door to contingencies that forced me to pause.
I decided the wisest thing was to discuss the matter fully with
Fanny, and leave her to adopt what course she thought best,
simply binding myself, if she adhered to the American expedi
tion, to aid her all in my power. A long talk thereupon en
sued ; the various pros and cons were considered ; and finally she
said that she felt herself so committed to the enterprise that, be
the results what they might, she would rather go than retreat.
She begged me then to draw up a new contract with Mr.
Simpson, introducing, however, some fresh clauses that she
thought were reasonable. For instance, she preferred receiving
a fixed sum per night, say 400 dollars, to a division of the
receipts, as in the former agreement ; also she desired the time
for her appearance in New York to be postponed till the end
of April ; and further, a forfeit binding on both signatories to be
inserted. I reminded her that Simpson might demur to these
modifications, though I thought them quite unobjectionable.
' If he refuses,' she said, ' to accept these propositions, so be
it ; then I will abandon the project altogether ; but if he really
wants me, he will raise no difficulty.'
I agreed to draw up the contract as suggested, but told her

552 Paris Revisited.

' she could not expect a reply till the middle of March, when she
would be in England.
' That will do,' she answered. ' I will take all my costumes
for America with me ; and if Mr. Simpson's reply is unfavourable,
I will bring them back to Paris, pocketing the loss. Voild tout!
During this month Mr. Welles, who continued to manifest the
liveliest interest in Fanny's American trip, embarked for New
York on business, and he promised her to prepare his friends for
the delight her visit would afford them. A few days later, in
making one of my usual calls on his engaging wife, she expressed
her regret at never having met Fanny off the stage. <
' My husband,' she added, ' talks so enthusiastically of her
good breeding, her pleasing manners and amiability, that I am
really longing to see her.'
' Nothing easier,' I said.
' Well, how can I manage it ?' she inquired.
' Ask her to dinner,' I suggested.
' Good Heavens !' she exclaimed. ' What would Paris say —
at least that portion of it which knows me? There would be a
vehement cackle at my entertaining a danseuse, even though she
were Fanny Elssler/
' Your position in the beau monde', I replied, ' is too firm to be
affected by the outcries of a few malcontents. Besides, you are
an American, and independence of character is a national trait.
You may not be disposed to call on Fanny ; but as you desire to
know her, why should you not invite her to your house ? Mrs.
Grote did not hesitate, as I have related to you ; and years ago
the Prince and Princess Metternich often asked her to their
palace in Vienna to gratify their friend Von Gentz.'
After pondering a few moments, Mrs. Welles tossed up her
pretty head, and said defiantly,
' I am mistress of my own castle, and may admit whom I
please. Ask Fanny to dine with me next Monday.'
' With great pleasure,' I responded ; ' but whom will you
invite to meet her ?'
' Whom do you suggest ?' she asked.
' I know that my friend Lady Bulwer would be pleased to
make her acquaintance ; and two of your friends, Corbin and
Morgan Gibbes, who know her, would be delighted to come.'
' Yes,' she added, ' and an intimate friend of mine, the Mar
chioness de las Marismas, wife of the wealthy Spaniard Aguado,

Fans Revisited. 553
would be pleased, I am sure, to meet Fanny. Let me know if
she accepts, and I will send off the invitations.'
Fanny gratefully accepted the compliment tendered ; and I
forwarded the invitation to Lady Bulwer, who replied as follows :
Rue de Rivoli, February 25.
How can I ever thank you sufficiently, dear Mr. Wikoff, for all your
kind consideration for me on all occasions — not by words certainly, which
never yet thanked any one ? I look forward with very great pleasure to
the agreeable party on Monday, and to meeting the beautiful Fanny, to
whom I feel very grateful for all the delight she has so often afforded me.
Pray thank Mr. Gibbes de ma part ; but had I not better call for him,
unless he has a carriage ? Let me know.
I fear you will think that I am guilty of that worst of crimes — spurring
a free horse to death— if I ask- you, should you find yourself (but not
otherwise) in the Rue 29th juillet in the course of the day, to have
the goodness to call at No. 11, on a Mr. Cook, to inquire after the
character of a German servant of the name of Samuel Stridet. M.
Ledru promised to do so three days ago, but I suppose he has too much
to do to think of such things ; and, en attendant, I am in the greatest
distress for a manservant. All I hope is, that the way I torment you
will convince you, dear Mr. Wikoff, of the sincerity of the friendship of
your grateful and obliged Rosina Lytton Bulwer.
The dinner in the Place St. George went off in the pleasantest
manner. The hostess was enchanted with her chief guest, and
treated her with the kindest consideration. The rest of the con
vives, who had not met her before, were equally charmed. Fanny
was dressed, as usual, with great simplicity, wearing but little
jewelry, which she chiefly reserved for the stage. Her modest
deportment, graceful manners, and intelligent conversation as
tonished, as much as they captivated, all present. She, in turn,
was greatly flattered by the marked attentions of the company,
and conceived a violent admiration for her very elegant hostess.
She was hardly less struck by the beauty and brilliancy of Lady
Bulwer. ' If all Americans,' she said to me driving home, ' are only
half as amiable and high-bred as those I have met to-night, I
fear it will cost me a great effort to leave their country. They
seem so sincere, and are so free from that mawkish gallantry
which assails me everywhere, that I fancy them quite a new

554 Paris Revisited.

race of people. How little they are known in Europe, and
what ridiculous things are said of them !'
These remarks referred to Mrs. Welles and her American
guests ; and certainly, in tone and bearing, they would have
done honour to any country. I have already spoken of Mr.
Corbin,.but in all respects Mr. Morgan Gibbes might be regarded
as his worthy compeer. He resided in Paris with his wife, who
was the daughter and heiress of Mr. Oliver of Baltimore. In
the whole circle of my friends there were none who excelled Mr.
Gibbes in suavity of disposition and a bland consideration for all
whom he encountered. I greatly delighted in his society, and
had presented him, in turn, to Lady Bulwer, Mrs. Grote, the
Countess Guiccioli, and finally to Fanny, all of whom admired
and liked him equally.
By the time she left Paris I had contracted a profound regard
for Mrs. Grote. In spite of her towering intellect, that was wholly
virile in breadth and force, there ran through her nature a deep
layer of sentiment and romance, which proved that the softer
traits of her sex had not become ossified, as it were, with the
unusual development of her mind. Though she was considerably
my senior, there was so much in common between us that a
sincere and lasting friendship was sure to grow up, and I rejoiced
at the prospect. Our acquaintance had a strange origin truly,
but was none the less precious for that. The strongest tie that
united us for the moment was the keen interest we jointly took
in the welfare of the brilliant artist that had been thrown in our
way. We both felt she deserved a better fate, and both were
anxious to raise and consolidate her future. We were equally
conscious that we were wandering out of our respective walks of
life in meddling in the affairs of a danseuse, however estimable
and lovable, and we often talked over this irregularity ; yet
neither of us had the heart to turn our backs and leave her to
the fate that would likely befall her. This was the state of things
when Mrs. Grote left for home, and I promised to keep her con
stantly informed of the doings of her enfant gate", and also pledged
myself to pay her a visit during the coming London season. I
wrote to her only three days after her departure, to give her some
description of Fanny's farewell benefit at the Opera, which was
quite an ovation. She replied immediately at great length ; but
her letter is so characteristic, and I think interesting, I venture
to insert it entire :

fans Revisited. 555

February, 6, 1 840.
Dear Mr. Wikoff, — I received your animated epistle duly on Mon
day, and owe you cordial thanks for the vivid picture you have fur
nished us withal. Mr. Grote and I devoured the details, and were
charmed to learn how glorious a triumph ' our Fann/ — as you affec
tionately term her — achieved on the 30th January. As for your own
delight, I envy you the transports, blending, as they would do, the
purest sympathy with the deepest admiration. I am sure no man whose
bosom had once glowed with such emotions could ever sink so low as to
partake of the nature of the man a la mode in the smallest fraction, and I
only hope that you were not a solitary example of benevolent enthusiasm.
'Sack of Sand'* must have heaved and rolled, surely, under the exciting
spectacle, till some might have been discerned oozing out at the
seams. Well, it would have been too much for us, I think, so I am
content to dwell on your tableau ; assuring you that it was in a high de
gree eloquent, and glowingly expressed, and did your talents much credit.
Now there's a pourboire for my ' reporter.' You know I don't deal
much in eulogy usually, reserving my praise for great occasions, such
as this. I have been but poorly ever since my arrival on Saturday last,
as I always am after a sea-voyage. 1 wrote to Fanny, however, on
Monday to announce the fact. She has not written me a single line
since, at which, I confess, I am somewhat surprised, if not chagrined.
I am one of the most constant of mortals, even to the extent of loving
on — having once taken to a 'body' — even after change in them. But
my lamp will not burn without oil ; and much and fondly as I love
Fanny, I am far from being disposed to spend my heart on an unre-
quiting object. However, this is all confidential between you and me,
and perhaps other impressions may be in store for me.
London is very full ; but Seguint/ tells me such is the distrust of
Laporte's programme that opera-boxes hang on hand, in spite of the
early season expected. However, F. E. has her bargain ratified, I
trust, long ere this, and will ' touch,' whether L. gains or not ; but her
iclat must of course depend on the quality of her audiences. Nous
perrons. I have sent an abridgment of your rhapsody to the papers,
and hope it will serve her a trifle. Seguin was much pleased to hear
how high Fanny's terms were to be, and said he always advised her to
ask as much for this season. He showed me also a long letter from
Taglioni, dated 7th January, in which she talks of coming here in June
as uncertain, though this rascally Laporte has announced her for May !
She will come, nevertheless, if only to keep her name up in London,
and to fill her pouches. Seguin gave me a whole dish of anecdotes of
* This appellation Mrs. G. applied to a mutual acquaintance.
t A theatrical agent, and father of the celebrated basso.

5 $6 Paris Revisited.

the opera-world, which sent me to bed with a sort of mental indigestion
and heartburn. Seguin is a true well-wisher to F. E., and spoke of her
with the same esteem and regard he ever did in his communications
with me.
I understand from a few private friends that my intimacy with
Fanny has been the subject of the greatest astonishment, and the
general surmise is that I am deceived by her. No one has dared to>
allude to it to me ; but from what I hear, I rather expect it will be
tolerated in me as an odd caprice, and is not likely at all to injure me
in my relations with society. I shall go on cautiously, and abstain
from talking of Fanny, as I feel persuaded no one will believe her to
be what we know her to be. I believe Lady Blessington's jealousy of
D'Orsay' s admiration of F; E. to have been the fertile source of many
abominable slanders against her. All my information ends in Lady B.'s
circle, for each foul tongue seems to take its cue thence. Poor dear
Fanny ! Well, the venom shall not poison the stream of my kind
sympathy towards this gifted woman. Long will I fight for her,
through evil report and good report, so she be but worthy of my quix
otic devotion, and capable of affection.
I hear from Seguin that Price has reduced his company to two-
thirds salary. Don't tell this to F., however, as it may frighten her.
Resumed, 7th February, 9 p.m.
I never saw H. Bulwer again, though he actually called three times
upon us, I suppose to try to get into my good graces, in hope I would
take part with him in this odious affair of the spy. The letter of M.
Ledru must have a most prejudicial effect on H. B.'s character, I think.
I never can help lending him and Sir Edward ' an ugly lift' when I
hear the matter alluded to, as well for the cause of fair play as
because of my sex. Your Minister and lady have already called ; but I
was too languid to feel equal to ' a round' with that vigorous combatant,
and so I denied myself. It must soon come, nevertheless, and I shall
write you if worth reporting. I have received a shoal of invitations to
dinner, &c, already, but implore, in the words of the Psalmist, ' Oh,
spare me, that I may recover my breath.' I have made up my mind,
though reluctantly, to go to the first Drawing-room, in order to be
eligible for the Tuileries balls, if ever I am in Paris in the winter again.
So if you come over in March we shall meet, perhaps, in the presence
of royalty. ' Ups and downs,' Herr Wikoff ! But, ah, no gorgeous
entourage of Queen Victoria's proud Court will ever outvie the powerful
trains of emotion with which I sat a guest at Fanny Elssler's table, and
received the gentle devoirs of its enchanting hostess, dight with the rare
gems of Nature, and beaming with conscious charms of person and
mind. And the salle de danse! You and I, I trust, shall many a time

fans revisited. 557
and oft recur to that teeming glance we exchanged under the influence-
of a common fascination. I felt as I never felt before, for surely never
was a gentlewoman's heart beset with such a complex tide of feelings
and ideas. Bouleversie, as the French say, as to habitual prejudices, and
astonished at the hidden treasures of that hitherto unexplored world -r
the odour of elegance which it breathed, the impress of good taste and
breeding, the undefinable romance which kept humming in my mental
ear, — all this I saw reflected in your perceptions, and I seemed relieved
of my fulness in sharing it with a fellow-mortal of my own mould. Mr.
G. feels all this sort of thing ; but then he covers it over with such a
thick waterproof veil that his sympathy is next to useless all the while.
He is as bad as Fanny herself for reserve and external masking of emo
tion — which is saying much. Reste a savoir whether Fanny can feel
half as powerfully.
I often think of your future, and with much interest. I trust you
will steadily pursue the true aims of a lofty mind, and endeavour to
keep the indulgence of stimulating pleasures at its proper level in rela
tion to the main web of your life. At present, the occupations of a
sentimental and tender character occupy a prodigious space in the
canvas, and it were cynical — in the English meaning — to blame you,
under all the circumstances, for being so absorbed. Accident has sa
enslaved you as to furnish your justification as a chivalrous young man.
Yet you must ' heave short' presently, Mr. Wikoff, or you will lose your
turn in the citizen race. But you know the programme of a useful and
honourable life as well as any one. I wish you self-rule enough to
* play up' to its dictates ; and if you continue to steer, as you have done,
amid the rocks and shoals of the heart undebased, I shall indeed vote
you ' something above common.' You will have a sad job to go
through in parting with all your ' loves' at Paris, eh ? Here are charm
ing girls too, and I wish you may not get a ' scorch,' en passant, to
finish the mess.
I think I have seen at least twelve or fifteen women since my arri
val — yes, at least ! — and not one ventured to hint anything about my
doings in the matter of Elssler. I am sure now I can afford the risk. But,
to be sure, I am excessively caressed by my acquaintance, and, being
delicate in health, am the more tenderly treated. Methinks no harm
will befall me. Howbeit, whether or no, I will stick by Fanny so long
as she will love me and be discreet. If she prove insensible, I droop.
Pride and temperament alike forbid a struggle of one side only.
Report says Guizot will be here next week as the French Ambas
sador. Again a curious turn of the wheel, n'est-cepas ? You remember
that quiet evening in my salon at Paris — he and you and I dining and
chatting so cosily. Now in London 'twill be ' his Excellency,' with an
antechamber full !

558 Paris Revisited.

Hope you have seen Madame de Tocqueville, dear good soul ; must
get them both over with us this summer. I am going down to Bucks,
to my country place, next week, to see how matters are getting on
there. Expect to have news of F.'s plans before I go, however. The
agreement with Laporte, you know, was not definitely signed when I
left, and the tiresome puss has never given herself the trouble to indite
one line since. Remember me to Mr. Corbin, pray, and to Mr. Gibbes,
with sincere regard. Madame L. will prove to be a half-bred ' cock
tail,' as we say of the equine species here. You owe me a good turn
for compromising my dignity in that quarter — I, who am proverbially
' high horse' too. Well, that girl has made me do many a thing I never
dreamt of, and this, among others, must be ' booked' to her.
Adieu, dear Mr. Wikoff. Here is a huge long despatch, probably
the last you will have ere we meet, which, I trust, is not very distant
When you come, make my house your home till you suit yourself else
where — no easy matter, you know, in our ' season.' Mr. Grote is gone
down to the House of Commons, or would send his kind regards. He
made a speech at Guildhall on Wednesday — Corn-laws — and was most
warmly greeted by the citizens. He is now forced by his duties to
resume active life, yet often talks of you, of Fanny, &c. Farewell once
more. — Sincerely yours, Harriet Grote.
Was there ever such a piquant jumble of topics more elegantly
conveyed, or at times more quaintly expressed ? Horace Walpole
never mixed a more palatable dish of gossip. The dominant
thought throughout, however, was Fanny. Her interest, not to
say infatuation, for her darling seemed to increase with absence.
Sure enough, the King had appointed M. Guizot Ambassador
to England ; and this had caused no little surprise, as this pro
minent statesman was still in the Opposition. What could it
mean ? Surely there was some dark intrigue at the bottom. If
the Cabinet broke up — which daily looked more probable —
whilst Guizot was absent, Thiers would succeed to the Premier
ship. Was the King anxious to get one of the jealous rivals out
of the way, that he might have less trouble with the other ?
It remained to be seen.
Scarcely a week elapsed before I had another letter from
Mrs. Grote, who was keenly piqued at not hearing from Fanny,
who was so absorbed in her preparations for departure, to say
naught of her work at the Opera, that she was fagged to death,
and really not to blame for neglecting her correspondence. Mrs.
Grote wrote in this strain :

jt ur is ivevis

died. 559

London, February 12.
Dear Mr. Wikoff, — Having an opportunity of sending a note by a
private hand, I just pen a line, though you probably have but lately
finished reading my last volume. I hope you saw my * puff' in the
Morning Chronicle of Feb . 8th, the leading Ministerial paper ; only I mis
stated the name of the artist who sang with Duprez, through my pre
ferring the authority of the Gazette Musicale to yours ! The object of
my sending you this line is to entreat you to inform me, if you can, why
I continue sans lemoindremot (without the least word) from our fair pet ?
Here is now the 1 2th. I wrote to her on the 3d. 'Tis three weeks ago
now since I embraced her at parting, with the pleasing persuasion that
she bore me an affectionate regard — gratitude I put aside, not desiring
that sentiment to bear any share between two persons of lofty feelings.
Well, if she can quietly remain three weeks without a single manifesta
tion of her affection, all I can say is that I have been misspending my
money — I don't mean specie, you know, but far more precious stuff:
Here am I suffering again from dire neuralgia. I have had a very
painful attack, and F.'s neglect is hard to bear added to physical
trials. I have ordered apartments for her here for 6th of March, because
there is a great scarcity near us, and the people would not warrant them
being disponible in another week, or even another day. And these lodg
ings, I fancy, would not have been let to any theatrical person, only
that I pledged myself for the respectability, &c, as round hereabout the
folks are rather particular, and I shall have to lend her plate and linen as
it is. However, all I said I would do shall be done, but I own I am
seriously hurt at F.'s indifference. Lest I say more than this, I now
conclude, entreating you again to explain why it has been she neglects
to write. Mr. G. is as sore as I am, and prophesies daily that I shall
live to repent getting so fond of a person who is either too spoilt or too
callous to respond.
I see in the Morning Post an article on Paris theatricals to-day, but
don't recognise your style. Faucher* writes me that Fanny's benefit
realised 15,000 francs.— Yours ever truly,
H. Grote.
I hastened to tell Fanny of Mrs. Grote's annoyance at receiv
ing no reply to her letter, and urged her not to neglect on any
account so good and valuable a friend.
' I am very sorry,' said the penitent, ' if I have offended her ;
but if she only knew how overwhelmed I am by a thousand dis-
* Mrs. Grote refers to Leon Faucher, the celebrated deputy, afterwards Minister
of State. No doubt this statistical item was appended to a letter on politics, as the
writer knew of Mrs. G.'s ardent interest in all pertaining to Fanny's affairs.

560 Paris Revisited.

tracting cares, she would forgive me readily. But I will write at
once and crave indulgence. I really thought that by this time
she must have half forgotten me, in the great world she lives in.
I am flattered and touched by her affectionate regard. How can
I ever repay it ?'
' That is not likely,' I replied ; ' but write immediately, and
let her see you appreciate it/
Down came the Soult Cabinet with a crash on the 20th of this
month, which was the handiwork of those twin contrivers of mis
chief, Thiers and Guizot. As I have shown, they overturned the
Cabinet of Count Mole in March 1839 ; but the King outwitted
them, in forming a Government under Marshal Soult in the May
following, leaving them both out. Of course they went jointly to
work at once to undermine the Marshal, and now they were masters
of the situation. The King, with all his cunning, had played
blindly into the hands of the two men who sought to control him.
He foolishly insisted on his Prime Minister introducing a Bill
into the Chamber of Deputies, granting an allowance of 500,000
francs a year to his second son, the Duke de Nemours. The
Duke, however, was an unpopular man ; and next, the country
knew the King was very rich, and could afford to give his son
what revenue he chose. Thiers and Guizot saw their chance, and
seized it. They brought their influence to bear on the Chamber,
and worked the press under their sway. The Bill was therefore
rejected ; and Marshal Soult, according to constitutional usage,
resigned. What would the King do now ? He had just dis
posed of Guizot by sending him as Ambassador to London ; and
it was suspected the astute politician would not have accepted
the post if he had not seen some ulterior advantage in it. Mean
while the King was at the mercy of the adroit Thiers, who would
clutch the prize he lost in 1839. He was the inevitable Prime
Minister ; but how long he would hold it was another thing.
Thiers was one of the most dexterous of men and politicians ;
but the King and Guizot were equally so. They were sure to
combine, if they had not done so already, as I suspected, when
' the little man in specs' would be unhorsed. Guizot would
never have quitted Paris, leaving his rival master of the field,
without hatching some plot to insure his own triumph later.
It was amusing to watch the tactics of these crafty politicians,
though it was a pity the nation, with its precious interests
was made the shuttlecock between them.

CHAPTER LVIL
PARIS REVISITED (continued).
MRS. GROTE'S VATICINATIONS — SELF-COMMUNING  A STROKE OE DESTINY —
A LUDICROUS SITUATION — LADY BULWER.
I HAD duly informed Mrs. Grote of the sudden death of my
friend Price, and of the letter of his colleague, Mr. Simpson. I
told her also that I had sent out a new agreement for his accept
ance, with certain modifications. Apparently I had omitted to
state that these originated with Fanny, as her reply, which I give
below, chides me for not having adhered to the first engagement :
February 24, n P.M.
Dear Mr. Wikoff, — I received your prodigious budget on the 2 2d.
It was a very nice sensible letter, and, I warrant you, set me a ponder
ing for an hour or two afterwards. I like your sketch of the dinner-day
at Mrs. Welles's. It is drawn with a free outline that quite brought the
scene before me. Your news of the Simpson move first delighted me ;
but I was damped by your response. Why, in the name of Fate, did you
not reply, ' So be h/ ? Why and wherefore recommence negotiations if
he was ready to slip into Price's shoes sans more ado ? Now you will
hang up the bargain till the ' Great Western' returns, and subject Fanny
to all its inconveniences — delaying the departure of her costumes, &c,
which, if she were sure, ought to go forthwith from Havre. Again, I
hink 80/. a night less advantageous to F. than the half profits. How
ever, this job is done, I conclude, and she must abide the ' Great West
ern's' return to know the result. If Simpson decline the proposal 01 80/.
a night, she will either give up the trip, or go out under the mortification
of having no secure engagement ; which would have been so easily
warded off by your holding fast to Price's, that I feel quite vexed at your
letting the fish get off the hook.
The proud hussy has thought fit to write to me in answer to my
letter to her on the subject of New York. I received her letter only
to-day, though it was posted on Friday, but no letters are delivered in
London on Sundays. This letter of hers is, beyond compare, the most
fraught with marks of feeling that any of hers have ever been. I can
scarcely preserve myself from giving way to a conviction that my affec
tion and good offices towards her have awakened in her bosom a cor
responding sentiment, not untinged with gratitude, for there are grate-
00

562 Pans Revisited.
ful expressions in it such as she has never yet employed. After pe
rusal of your very sagacious remarks and musings upon the curious
mixture of her character, both Mr. G. and myself seemed settling
down into much the same frame of mind concerning this gifted but
veiled creature. We had been gradually adjusting our anticipations, in
fact, so as to guard us against sore disappointment in relation to her,
inferring from her neglect of me since my return a chilling indifference
to the preservation of the intimacy. I do not marvel at your saying
she is a beau masque. At this instant I recall scenes wherein I much
doubt if I were not deluded by her admirable feu. I do not, how
ever, blame it so much in a woman whose pride has had no other
mode of defence through a ten years' experience of a degrading pro
fession, except dissembling craft. I lament it, whilst I recognise this
excuse. Heaven knows whether she be callous or no ! You and I can
not tell. Your observations about letters being insecure evidence of
a lack ot friendship are very just, and strictly conformable to my own
experience. I will therefore ' suspend judgment' on poor Fanny till
farther data shall have been furnished me. She writes most simply
and tenderly in this letter, and really indicates confidence in my friend
ship, so that I am lulled into oblivion of her shortcomings for one
while. ' Ebb and flow' have been my fare ever since I knew this
strange and fascinating girl ; and such, peradventure, will ever attend
a connection so romantic and out of precedent.
What fun this resignation of the Soult Cabinet must be to our friend
Faucher, and to many other of our acquaintances too ! I fear M. Guizot
will not come over now — perhaps he may be Prime Minister instead.
The town here is uncommonly full, and Queen Victoria ravenous for gay
doings after her marriage. I have been but little out, being feeble, and
also busy with domestic affairs ; but there is no end to invitations for
those who choose to accept them. The frost is intense, and the wind
Siberian. Your Minister, Mr. Stevenson, and I have not met yet ; but I shall
treat our little ' brush' gently. I don't mean to quarrel with anybody be
cause they think me a dupe in the matter of Elssler. I must make up
my mind to that. I am so sleepy I can't scribble any more, so you
must accept this brief letter as merely an acknowledgment of your
interesting epistle. I wish you would obtain for me a copy of Guizot's
notice on Washington. It is not sold, but some copies are to be had
by favour, printed off separately from the work to which it is the in
troduction. Madame de M. never returned me mine, presented by
the author. You could get another for me from him, or from M. Fau
cher perhaps. — Yours very sincerely,
H. Grote.

Paris Revisited. 563.
Fanny was to leave for London on the 4th of March. Her
last days in Paris were absorbed in a round of visits and dinners
from her wide circle of attached friends. She had retired from
the Opera on a conge" of six months, and her fanatical admirers
declared they should go into mourning till her return. On the
day she left I called to bid her adieu. Her travelling carriage
was already at the door. I found her quite despondent, and
attempted to rally her.
' Why so dejected,' I remarked, ' on the eve of a splendid
campaign, where fame and fortune await you ? I expected to
find you full of buoyancy, radiant with hope and joy/
She looked up with a sad expression, and said,
' The nearer I approach this terrible journey, the more my
spirits droop. I feel as if I were drifting towards a precipice,
and at times I am disposed to turn round and fly with my utmost
speed. Can you wonder ? I am leaving all that is dear to me
to go to a land of strangers, whose very language is unknown to
me. The distance, too, is appalling ; and all predict failure and
mortification. If I had only a friend to cheer, a guide to advise
and sustain me, I would defy augury. If you were at my side I
would dismiss every fear, and boldly take the plunge.'
She gazed wistfully in my face as she uttered these words.
' What nonsense,' I replied, ' to prate of failure ! Your skill,
grace, and beauty would vanquish a people far less susceptible
and discerning than my fellow-countrymen. The voyage is but
ten or eleven days, when you will be surrounded by troops of
friends quite as competent and devoted as myself/
She shook her head sceptically.
' If I could accompany you, ma chere Fanny, I would gladly
do so ; but circumstances forbid. Besides, my position would
be a false one, liable to misconstruction. By some I should be
regarded as your agent ; by others as your lover ; by more as a
mere speculator in the venture. You could not expect me to
make such a sacrifice. Who would believe me a disinterested
friend, only solicitous for your welfare ? Above all, the publicity
that would befall me as your companion would be fearful ; and
what would my relatives and friends say to such a freak ?'
'I see that it is impossible,' she observed disconsolately.
' How could I dream of your taking such risks for me ? Forgive
my selfishness.'
At this moment her faithful cousin Katy entered the room to

564 Paris Revisited.

announce that all was ready ; and the cracking of the postillions
whips without displayed their eagerness to be en route. Seizing
me almost passionately by the hand, she demanded,
' Will you promise to come to London to see me off? It will
encourage, it will brace me/
' If I can manage it I will,' I answered.
' If you fail,' she said, in quite an earnest tone, ' I don't believe
I shall ever go/
I saw her depart at full gallop for Boulogne. I returned
home in a musing mood. Seating myself in my library, of late
much neglected, I began pondering over my acquaintance with
this ' bright particular star.' Scarce nine months had passed, and
our intimacy had become as cordial as if years had elapsed.
The departure of her confidant Lavalette, who committed her to
my hands, was one cause of this, and the advent of Mrs. Grote
on the scene was another. My sorrow at parting with Fanny was
a proof of the interest she had inspired. It was not her fascina
tion as artist, nor yet her charms of person, that had impressed
me ; but it was difficult wholly to resist her angelic disposition,
upright character, and magnetic manners. Constant association
with such a woman was perilous in the extreme ; and I could
not but rejoice that our familiar relations were broken off, doubt
less for ever. I felt that I deserved the approbation of my con
science for not abjuring my steady decorous life for one invested
with so much novelty and seduction. There was nothing that
prevented me leaping into the giddy vortex of a theatrical career,
that I secretly loved, save resolution. I began to plume myself
on my strength of will, and was disposed to regard Fate as only
another name for weakness and infirmity of purpose.
That night I went to a fancy ball, given by Colonel Thorn, and
rigged myself up as Lord Leicester, the favourite of Queen Bess,
fancying myself more or less irresistible. I considered this the
most splendid /<?&? in private life I had ever witnessed. The mag
nificent mansion was all thrown open, and illuminated a giorno.
The guests, consisting of several hundreds, comprised the flower
of French and foreign society. Some of the princes of the royal
family were present. The American colony in Paris was well
represented. General Cass and daughters were there, together with
the Corbins, the Gibbes's, the Thorndikes, the Bates's of Boston,
and the Burds of Philadelphia. A concert by amateurs was first
given, in which Mrs. Jauncey Thorn, daughter-in-law of the host

Paris Revisited. 565
and the Prince Belgioso carried off the honours. Dancing then
succeeded ; and the gorgeous ballroom was crowded to its fullest
capacity. I wandered enraptured through the numerous glitter
ing salons, gazing at the immense variety of rare and costly cos
tumes of the titled throng. The French, both men and women,
are never seen to greater advantage than in a fairy-scene like
this. Their easy sprightly manners and graceful assumption of
disguise made one almost believe that a crowd of gay knights
and lovely chdtelaines of the Middle Ages had suddenly taken
possession of Colonel Thorn's palatial abode. As I was saunter
ing about in dreamy delight at the splendour of the spectacle, I
espied more than once my friend Mr. Bates, who was got up as
a Puritan, standing sedately in a corner that he never seemed to
quit, and which I thought might arise from his knowing but few
of the company. His face had a twitching unhappy expression,
that induced me to approach and invite him to take a stroll.
' There's nothing I should like better,' he said, ' but I can't
move/ ' What, suffering from cramp ?' I replied sympathetically.
' Worse than that,' he returned. ' These devilish fancy boots
1 have on pinch me so dreadfully I can't walk a step. They
only came home at the last moment, and little did I anticipate
what was in store for me.'
I did my best to restrain my merriment, for his situation
struck me as very comical.
' Courage, my friend,' I continued ; ' think of what your ances
tors must have endured without boots, in the winter of 1620/
' Don't banter me, for Heaven's sake !' he groaned ; ' I am suf
fering agony. I want to go home, but my wife won't listen to
it. If I could only sit down — but there's not a chair to be had.*
I thought the case demanded prompt succour, so I volun
teered to go in quest of his wife, and bring her to reason.
' You will lay me under eternal obligation,' he said im
ploringly, ' if you will get me out of this pillory/
At last I found her — a superb woman she was, and a daugh
ter of Harrison Gray Otis.
' Your husband,' I declared, ' is suffering martyrdom. Pray
allow him to retire. I'll escort you home whenever you wish/
' That will answer,' she said, smiling. ' Tell the poor man
to go/ 'All is arranged,' I assured him, on my return. 'Come

566 Paris Revisited.

along ;' and, taking my arm, he limped and moaned till he
reached the door. He was no sooner in his carriage than he had
his Puritan boots off in a trice, when a smile of inexpressible
relief overspread his features.
' Now,' he cried, as he gaily drove off, ' " Richard's himself
again." '
I made desperate efforts to pull myself together, and to settle
down to my studious habits of old. My mind wandered wildly,
and I often found myself engrossed with recollections at dire
variance with the abstract topics I sought to master. I kept my
eye, meanwhile, on politics. M. Thiers became Prime Minister
on the 1st of March, and immediately got into collision with
Lord Palmerston, the British Minister of Foreign Affairs, who
was determined to prevent Mehemet Ali, the Viceroy of Egypt,.
from overturning the Turkish Empire. This extraordinary man
began life as a shopkeeper, and was wholly uneducated, only
learning to read when he was forty-five. Yet by his genius he
made himself master of Egypt. Always eager for war, he
quarrelled with the Sultan and invaded Turkey. The victory of
Nezib put Constantinople at his mercy. The British Govern
ment determined to uphold Turkey, and made war on Mehemet
Ali. This was the situation when Thiers became Minister, and
he decided to support the rebellious Viceroy, and for no other
reason, I could see, but to have a tussle with Lord Palmerston.
This would precipitate a war with England if Louis Philippe did
not interfere by dismissing his bellicose Minister.
Barely a week had elapsed after Fanny had taken wing,
when a letter reached me from Philadelphia, announcing the
sudden death of my guardian, Mr. S. P. Wetherill, and desiring
my immediate return to take possession of my property, which
had always remained in his hands. This melancholy event
shocked me deeply, but I was actually dumbfounded it should
have occurred at this precise juncture. I foresaw at a glance
that if I left at once for America I could not possibly escape
being more or less mixed up with Fanny's theatrical campaign.
She would naturally appeal to me for assistance, and on what
pretext could I refuse, after having so largely contributed to her
going there at all ? I thought, when she left Paris, my intervention
in her affairs was at an end ; but now, by a stroke of destiny
wholly unforeseen, I was likely to be plunged into them deeper
than ever. Thus it seemed that all my prudence, self-control,

Paris Revisited. 567
and laudable intentions were shivered to fragments by the iron
mallet of Fate, and no option left but to submit to events utterly
beyond my command. It occurred to me, that perhaps I might
venture to postpone my departure for a couple of months ; but
before deciding, deemed it judicious to consult my estimable
friend Mr. Dunlop as to the expediency of such delay.
This was his reply : London, March ij, 1840.
My dear Sir,— I hope you will excuse my long silence. What with
more to do than I am able to overtake, and very uncertain health, I have
postponed writing to many friends till I am quite ashamed of myself.
The ladies of my family [his wife and niece, Miss Gamble] have read your
recent letter with great pleasure, and have been hoping for a visit for some
time. But as you seem as reluctant to forsake Paris as all those who
are once established there, I consider it my duty to reply at once to that
part of your letter which refers to your property in the United States.
Money matters are by no means in a settled position, either in the
States or in England, and I advise you to lose no time in return
ing to Philadelphia to look after your patrimony there. Expecting to
see you soon, I shall only add my own and my family's best and kindest
wishes for your health and happiness. — I am yours very sincerely,
James Dunlop.
H. Wikoff, Esq.
This advice had great weight ; but all hesitation vanished
with another letter from Philadelphia assigning special reasons
for my prompt arrival. By this time my mind had calmed
down, and I yielded pliantly to the inevitable. Without more
ado, I secured a berth in the ' Great Western' steamer, to leave
Bristol on April 15 th. I wondered whether Fanny would go in
this vessel or her rival, the ' British Queen,' from London. Per
haps she might not go at all.
Before I had written to Mrs. Grote of the new turn of events
I had this letter from her : London, March 20.
Dear Mr. Wikoff, — I confess my iniquity in withholding all epistolary
favours from you ever since your kind letters — the first containing the
description of your state of mind in regard to F., and the second con
veyed by her hand. I write now under the fear that I shall not get the
letter finished. It is not want of time ; it is not occupation ; it is not
Fanny; but a continued languor and bodily incapacity, which renders
me all but a dead letter of late. Even my interest for her yields before
it, and I can take no pleasure in anything that demands exertion. You
will, I am sure, pity me sincerely, for my fate is worse than that of Tan-

568 Paris Revisited.

talus. I have and hold all that can impart flavour to life, but cannot
drink. I sleep away my existence, as it were. You may judge how
lively my sense of obligation towards you is by my struggling to write a
line to you now. But, in truth, your two last letters deserve my best
acknowledgments. You cannot think how entirely your outline of what
your impressions are respecting F. concur with ours.
She arrived on the 6th of March duly, and I received her in my
house for a few hours to restore her, whilst Katy was occupied in un
packing and settling the traps at their lodgings. After dinner she went
to her own home, which she is delighted with; and, indeed, she has
been in one uninterrupted course of contentment from that hour. She
came out the next night at the Opera, and was enthusiastically welcomed.
The Gipsy has drawn well, and she is most frantically applauded, espe
cially in La Cracovienne. I think I never saw her look worse — worn
and haggard. She has been worked like a post-horse to ' mount' her
new ballet, the Tarentule, daily, and even twice a day, returning after
dinner to stage slavery ! I have seen little of her ; and not one hour
yet for conversation. I have a great deal to say to you about her, but
must absolutely refuse myself this pleasure faute de forces. Your defini
tion of ' un beau masque' so far fits perfectly. Whether you or I shall
ever dive deeper into that heart of hers remains to be seen.
Get something said of Mdlle. Nau* in some of the foreign papers,
that I may copy and insert it here to serve her. This is Fanny's request.
I wrote a sheet full to Nau lately of information for her guidance that I
derived from the ' big-wigs' of the musical world. She is as yet un
known here, and a puff or two will be invaluable. Chorleyf has lent
her a lift in his Athenceum, which will tell for something. I have sent
an article to Spectator on Fanny, which you must look for. Perhaps I
can send you a Spec, by Monday's post. F. comes out in the Tarentule
this evening. I have taken a capital box, and carry with me three true
men as claqueurs — to wit, Sir W. Molesworth, M.P., Lord B., and a
countryman of yours, Charles Sumner — besides Grote, who dines first
with the Speaker of the House, and joins us afterwards.
Excuse my wretched instalment ! I really am dead with lassitude.
I have had a tempest of remonstrances about my attachment to Fanny;
but as long as she runs steady they will never alienate me from her, poor
dear soul. I shall be at the Queen's Drawing-room on the 9th of April.
Won't you come over to escort me ? You must be here for the levee on
the 1st, you know, to go to the Drawing-room on the 9th. — I remain
your sincere friend,
H. G.
* A prima donna of the French Opera, of American origin, and an intimate
friend of Mdlle. Elssler. She was engaged for the London Opera in June.
f A celebrated musical critic.

Paris Revisited. 569

It was diverting to hear Mrs. Grote croaking over her lassi
tude ; but the moment a new ballet was to be produced, she
was up and off forthwith. The truth is, she had an inordinate
love of artists and their doings ; and this was a weakness I fully
shared with her. I wrote to her in a day or two to inform her
of the decease of my guardian, and the consequent necessity of
my going to the United States straightway. I asked her to
convey this news to Fanny, and to assure her I should be happy
if I could find time to assist in launching her bark prosperously
in American waters. I began bidding good-bye all round with
promptitude, and really found it ' a sad job,' as Mrs. G. expressed
it, ' in parting with all my loves.' I paid a long farewell visit to
my cherished friend the Countess Guiccioli, whom I have not
mentioned of late, but whose society I courted always. I con
tinued in the service, so to speak, of Lady Bulwer to the last, as
this her valedictory epistle testifies : March 30, 1840.
Many thanks, my dear Mr. Wikoff, for all the trouble you have had
with regard to that suborned coward Galignani.* I can only say of him,
as of many of his sex — not, like the Royal Psalmist, ' in my haste,' but
after mature deliberation — ' Verily, all men are liars.' If it is not
troubling you- too much, I should be greatly obliged if you could get my
letter back from the tool. The English papers, thank Heaven, are not
all bought up. You said something yesterday about calling on me at
one o'clock to-day. If it is not very inconvenient, I wish you would have
the goodness to do so, as I have ordered the carriage at one o'clock, and
we could go together to decide upon the apartment I spoke of. But
should you, in the agonies of departure, fail to see me again, accept my
best wishes for your pleasant journey and most speedy return. And, in
the hope that you will not forget your kind promise of writing to me,
both from London and America, believe me, dear Mr. Wikoff, ever your
grateful, though obliged, Rosina Lytton Bulwer.
The indignant outbreak against Galignani proved that her
spirit was still chafing and wrestling with her situation. HeifS
was a nature that could only be subdued by forbearance and
conciliation. Defiance she looked upon as an appeal to arm§.
I never could make her understand that people generally shrank
from interference between man and wife, and that it was un
reasonable to denounce those who feared to take sides. Such
* Editor of the English journal in Paris.

Syo Paris Revisited.

temperate logic was thrown away on her torrid mind. I was
filled with sorrow as I bade her adieu, and entreated her to
' hang her harp upon the willows,' and to sing, or think no more
of her troubles, in the hope of happier days.
It was a strange contrast to leave the side of this sensitive
and impassioned creature, and to sit down with a woman of
the world like Mrs. Welles, whose calm and airy elegance
captivated the fancy even if it failed to touch the heart. She
told me, in the course of my parting visit, that she had letters
recently from her husband at New York, who said they were
much excited there by the news of Fanny Elssler's early ad
vent, and that she might count on a glorious reception, which
would gladden her soul and fill her pocket.
I had not time to call on the illustrious De Tocqueville, but
wrote to say I should be happy to execute any commission he
was disposed to intrust to me. I give his reply, as the simplest
lines from such a man are not without interest : Paris, Saturday.
A thousand pardons, dear sir, that I have been unable hitherto to
answer the note you so kindly addressed to me. The long sittings of
the Chamber, and the preoccupations to which they give rise, have pre
vented my carrying out my wishes. Pray accept my regrets. Will you
be good enough to give in my name, and in that of my wife, to Mr. and
Mrs. Grote, a profusion of affectionate remembrances ? Tell them we
should be happy if we thought to see them soon. I trust they preserve
in their memories as large a space as we reserve for them in ours. I
cannot accept the obliging offer you make me with reference to the United
States. My intention is to send some copies of my new work to friends
in that country whose good opinion is precious to me ; but as it has
not yet appeared, all 1 can send you now are my best wishes for a safe
journey, which, believe me, are most sincere. — Receive the assurances
of my high consideration, Alexis de Tocqueville.
M. H. Wikoff.
I left my apartment in the care of my two servants, assur
ing them of my return within three months, as I considered that
period amply sufficient to accomplish the sole object of my
visit. I quitted Paris on April i st, and it did not occur to me at
the time that it was All-Fools' day, else I might have hesitated.

CHAPTER THE LAST.
LONDON REVISITED.
DINNER AT MRS. GROTE'S — CHARLES SUMNER— A ' SOIREE' AT LORD BROUGHAM'S
— SIMPSON'S AMBASSADOR — A 'GRANDE DAME'  PRINCE LOUIS NAPOLEON — A
THUNDER-CLAP — THE DEPARTURE.
I REACHED London on the 3d, and was fortunate in finding
rooms at Fenton's Hotel, for the West-end was already over
flowing. The recent marriage of the young Queen had brought
all the world to town, and the animated crowd seen everywhere
was as great as in June, the culminating period of the fashionable
year. I had just ten days to run about and exchange greetings with
my numerous friends, and it was likely I should have my hands
full. I felt in duty bound to call first on Mrs. Grote. I found
her living in a fine mansion near Belgrave-square, and looking
uncommonly well, in spite of her doleful talk about her nerves.
' Delighted to see you again,' she said heartily ; ' but how
wonderful this new turn of the wheel ! The sudden demise of
your guardian carries you abruptly off to America, the last thing
you dreamt of a month ago. What a godsend for Fanny! Only for
dread of ridicule she would have abandoned her trip before this
but now that she will have your support she is eager to under
take it'
' Yes, in truth,' I answered, ' it is a strange freak of Fortune.
I was just rejoicing that my connection with Fanny's affairs had
come to an end ; and though I feared her going to America un
protected would involve her in trouble, I determined positively
to interfere no further. By a singular fatality all is changed, and
the prospect makes me very nervous.'
' I don't see why it should,' answered Mrs. Grote, in a friendly
tone. ' You can give her advice, or save her from ill-treatment,
without mixing yourself up with her openly. Surely no one could
blame you for that, even if anything was known of it, which is not
likely/ ' In London,' I replied, 'it might all be done with impunity;
but our American towns are comparatively small, and many of
the newspapers fond of gossip. Depend on it, anybody connected

$ji London Revisited.
with a star of Fanny's magnitude will be discovered and freely
discussed. The worst of it is, my position will be so equivocal.
If I were her agent or manager, that would excite no curiosity ;.
but a gentleman friend will not be understood, and I should be
set down as her husband or lover. What would the world say
to that ? what would my friends say ?'
' They would probably say,' returned Mrs. G., laughing at my
scruples, ' that you were a very lucky fellow. But seriously you
exaggerate the risk. You are a single man, and a little scandal
can't hurt you much. All I care about is Fanny's success. It
would be dreadful if she crossed the ocean only to meet a rebuff
Everybody here says she is mad to run away from Europe, where
every capital longs for her, in the hope of captivating a people
ignorant of her art, and possibly inaccessible to her fascination.
I often tremble I advised her to go.'
' That's the nonsense,' I replied, ' they talked in Paris, and I
daresay they think the same here. It annoys me so, that some
times I feel like sacrificing my own interests, and devoting my
self to Fanny's American campaign. Her triumphs there, I am
sure, will equal, if not eclipse, any she has had in Europe. My
countrymen are not insensible to beauty and grace, whatever else
they may lack.'
' I trust it will prove so/ continued Mrs. G. ' But have you
heard from Mr. Simpson ? It is high time. What will Fanny
do if he rejects the changes made in Price's engagement ? Her
going to America has occasioned such a talk, and she has been at
such great expense, that it would mortify her deeply to break
down at the last moment.'
' I have heard nothing,' I said, ' and feel uneasy, for Fanny
has not a moment to lose. There is no dancing in our summer
heat/ ' She can't go without a contract,' returned Mrs. G. ; • and if
Simpson demurs, or fails to reply, what a blow to my pet! It
would be awful !'
Our conversation ran on for an hour, when I got up, pleading
the many calls on my list.
' I have not half done with you,' exclaimed Mrs. Grote. ' Come
back to dinner this evening ; I have only a few of my cronies.
Fanny, of course, as she is not dancing to-night. Her success
here is immense. Houses crammed to the roof. The Queen and
Prince Albert constantly there.'

i^onaon Kevisited. 573
Promising to return, I hurried away on a round of visits which
occupied me till dark. I had barely time to dress, but reached
Eccleston-street punctually. Most of the company was assem
bled : three ladies and as many gentlemen. Fanny, in her usual
simple toilet, looked very lovely.
' Mkhant !' she said, in a pouting tone, as I shook hands with
her; 'in London since yesterday, and never to come near me!'
' I knew I should meet you to-night,' I explained, ' or I would
have called/
' Well,' she replied, ' you must come to-morrow. I have so
much to say. And you must go to Mrs. Price. She is crazy to
see you — says it is important.'
I promised to make both visits, and then turned to chat with
Mr. Grote. I found him more genial than in Paris ; but he had
always an abstracted air, like a man thinking of something else.
It was no doubt the case, as he was plunged knee-deep in a his
tory of Greece that quite absorbed him. He never left the house
without some Greek books in his pocket to consult on the road.
He introduced me to a chum of his, Sir William Molesworth,
who represented an ancient baronetcy, and was one of the rising
members of Parliament. His smooth handsome face had a fresh
boyish aspect, but his manner was ponderous and somewhat
awkward. Evidently not a man of society, but rather given to
study and seclusion.
I observed a tall slim man moving affably about from one
to another with a sunny smile and easy digage air that won
upon me greatly. I felt I should like to know him, and asked
my host to introduce me. I was not a little surprised to dis
cover he was a fellow-countryman, Charles Sumner, whom I had
heard frequently talked about in Paris and London the last two
years. His superior intelligence was highly praised, but I fancied
half the spell lay in his extreme agreeableness. In the best Eng
lish society he was an immense favourite, and hobnobbed with
all the leading men of the day. He had read much and talked
well, but he was so unassuming and gentlemanly that everybody
took to him.
' I am much gratified to meet you,' I said to him, ' and con
gratulate you on your success abroad. It is the same wherever
you go ; but in this country especially you have disarmed aris
tocratic prejudice, and made it easier for your humbler country
men to get on pleasantly.'

.574

London Revisited.

' You are much too kind,' he replied, in his natural winning
way. ' I have been very fortunate, that's all/
As we chatted I remarked his gaze was frequently bent on
Fanny. ' You seem attracted,' I said, 'byour hostess's newest favourite,
fresh from the coulisses!
' Yes, by Jove !' he returned emphatically. ' What a sweet-
mannered, refined creature she appears to be ! There's something
about her, a j'e ne sais quoi, wonderfully engaging. And who
could imagine the quiet woman sitting there, so modest and
gentle, is the brilliant, dashing, ethereal artist I have repeatedly
applauded at the Opera ?'
' She is as good as she looks,' I avouched. ' Do you know she
is going to America ?'
' I hear it everywhere, and Mrs. Grote says I must never return
to London if I don't strain every nerve to make her tour trium
phant'* ' Are you returning home ?' I asked.
' Yes, within a month.'
Dinner was announced, and we all paired off. When the ladies
had retired we had a little political talk, which in England seems
to mix well with claret or port. I was amused at the fantastic
opinions of my host and his friend Sir William. Both enjoyed
high social rank, were rich, and in scholarship not surpassed. I
expected strong Conservative views, if not something more ultra.
Instead of that they discoursed most eloquent Radicalism, which
had even a potent flavour of Republicanism. Mr. Grote used the
* Mr. Sumner fulfilled his pledges to Mrs. Grote by contributing ardently to Mdlle.
Elssler's American success. I give an extract from one of numerous letters in proof :
4 Court-street, Boston, October n, 1840.
My dear Wikoff, — Stern business (may I use that word in writing to you?) pre
vented my sending you a line at Niagara, and I now scrawl away, hoping this will
meet you on your arrival at New York, with your fair charge. I know nothing
more of theatricals. Forrest is still here ; but, since Mdlle. Fanny's last night, I
have not entered the house, and shall not again till she returns. Otis is well, but
refuses to be comforted. He still thinks of Paris, and of her who brought Paris so
vividly to the minds of all of us. . . . In her last letter, Mrs. Grote complains of
Fanny's determination to prolong her stay here ; says she has lost her head, and that
her splendid Parisian throne is tottering to its fall. I do not believe this. . . . What
are your plans ? Do you go to Havana ? In that case I will introduce to you my
friend Osgood the artist, whose reputation you know. He wishes to paint Mdlle.
Fanny ; and if you can prevail upon her to sit, you will much oblige him, as well
as myself. Remember me most cordially to mademoiselle and to her cousin ; and
believe me faithfully yours and theirs, Charles Sumner.

fonaon revisited. 575
sonorous language of a philosopher, and Sir William disported
himself in the subtleties of a metaphysician — such was the dif
ferent character of their minds ; but both enlarged upon 'ex
tended suffrage,' ' vote by ballot,' and similar fanciful nostrums,
that, once applied in England, would turn its old-fashioned Con
stitution inside out.
I have remarked that ambitious men often begin their political
career in this country as furious reformers. They play the same
pranks as the demons in an incantation scene — flashing red fire,
making hideous grimaces and startling noises — till some day the
doors of the House of Lords are thrown open, when, presto, they
pop in, don their coronets, and forthwith denounce the ' Radical
gang' they so recently led. I could count a dozen who had
played this sly game within as many years.*
On returning to the drawing-room we were regaled with some
excellent music. My eye at one moment happened to fall upon
Mrs. Grote sitting by Fanny on a sofa, who was evidently urging
upon her reluctant guest something she was loth to under
take. Presently the two walked to the centre of the room, whilst
one of the ladies went to the piano and played the minuet. I
never had a greater treat. Mrs. Grote acted as the cavalier, and
Fanny's grace and elegance in the execution of this stately dance
of Louis XlV.'stime riveted every eye; and all applauded raptur
ously as she ran smiling back to her seat, throwing the blame of
'the performance' on Mrs. Grote's whimsical fancy.
Next morning I betook myself to Tavistock-square, in quest
of Mrs. Price, the widow of my poor friend. I had known her for
some time, and liked her much. She was a plump and pretty
blonde, under thirty, with flaxen hair, soft blue eyes, and a
joyous disposition. I condoled with her on her late loss, and
said it must have been sudden, though I had no details from his
very laconic partner.
' Yes,' she replied, ' it was most unexpected. He had never
been seriously ill, but one morning was sitting in his chair, look
ing out of the window. " What a dark and dreary day is this !"
he said ; and shortly after was found to be dead. It was a great
blow for I was much attached to him, though double my age.
* Mr. Grote turned out an exception, for he was offered a peerage some years
afterwards, which he modestly declined. In his latter days, however, he recanted
his Radical heresies, and admitted that even ' vote by ballot, ' that he had so long
advocated, would not accelerate the Millennium.

576 London Revisited.

I must go to New York immediately, as he has left his property to
me. The theatre stands in his name, and Mr. Simpson was only
his associate in the management. I am so happy you are going
out, as I have never crossed the sea, and I am sure you will take
charge of me.'
Though a good deal surprised, I answered promptly I would
do so for her own as well as for her late husband's sake.
' Then the Park Theatre has fallen into your hands ?' I con
tinued. ' Yes,' she returned, ' and I anticipate large profits from the
engagement of Mdlle. Elssler.'
' Do you know,' I asked, ' that she modified the agreement
made with Mr. Price, and it may be that Simpson will cavil
at it ?'
' He cannot be such an idiot,' she declared, ' as to throw away
such a chance. She has told me of the small changes proposed,
and I approved of them.'
' Glad to hear that ; but I should like to know what Simpson
says. I must get his letter in a day or two, methinks.'
' Please let me know the moment it arrives,' she begged; and
promising to do so, I bade her good-morning.
I could scarcely refrain from smiling at the rate my obligations
were increasing. Besides Fanny and her cousin Katy, the un
looked-for protection of Mrs. Price had devolved upon me. It
was a considerable satisfaction, however, to know the control of
the theatre was in her hands ; and though Simpson was still the
manager, yet he might be overpowered if he proved rebellious.
I dropped in upon the Dunlops in the same neighbourhood.
The ladies were out, but the master of the house was luckily at
home. He applauded my resolution to return immediately to
Philadelphia, and said the case would not admit of a day's de
lay ; that it was most important to investigate at once the con
dition of my property, that had lain for fourteen years, as I had
stated, in my guardian's keeping. He added that money affairs
were very unsettled, and that the disorder in American finance
had affected England gravely, which showed how closely con
nected the interests of the two countries had become. Leaving
my regards to his family, I gladly promised to come to dinner
the next day. It was at the end of my tongue to tell my dear
old friend what a strange assortment of live cargo I had charge
of on my voyage to America, but hesitated lest he might find

London Revisited. S77

fault. I asked, however, if the ladies had been to the Opera to
see Fanny Elssler.
' No,' he said, ' but they are dying to go.'
' Then I will secure a box for them at once.'
' They will be delighted, I am sure,' he replied, as I drove off,
I complied with Fanny's wish, and had a long chat with
her in the afternoon. She was in ecstasies at my departure for
America. ' To tell you the truth,' she confessed, ' as the moment
approached, my dread increased, and it appeared to me sheer
insanity to start off alone to a foreign land so far away, whose
language and customs I was ignorant of. I had almost re
solved, in spite of ridicule and loss, to renounce the wild enter
prise, when Mrs. Grote told me you were obliged to go home on
pressing business. I was overjoyed at the intelligence, and now
I look forward with delight to this strange and exciting expedi
tion. All the Americans I have seen inspire me with confidence.
They seem so frank, truthful, and deferential to women that I
have fallen in love with their country before seeing it'
' You are very complimentary,' I answered, ' and I hope you
may always retain your kind sentiments towards my country
men. But I must sober your expectations as regards myself.
I am going to my native town, whilst you are bound to New
York, a hundred miles away. I shall be pleased to escort you
there, and must then leave you.'
' I don't care,' she replied gaily. ' You will be near enough
to advise me, and protect me if required. I shall have a friend
at hand I can trust implicitly.'
' Not so fast,' I interrupted. ' You are counting your chickens
before they are hatched, as the saying is. You may never go to
America at all. Mr. Simpson has not yet accepted the new
engagement, and you would not think of going unless he does.'
This remark seemed to dispirit her.
* That would be a sad disappointment,' she admitted.
Then reflecting a moment, she added,
' I will withdraw my propositions if he objects — anything
rather than give it up after all that has been said, done, and
written about my trip to America.'
' Well, we shall see,' I interposed. ' There are nearly ten days
before I embark, and we must have some news before then. It
is foolish, however, to be too sanguine, though I agree with Mrs.
PP

§yS London Revisited.

Price, whom I saw this morning, that Simpson is not likely to
let slip such an opportunity to fill his pouches.'
We rattled on for some time to this effect ; and when I pre
pared to go, she asked,
' Are you coming to see me to-night in La Tarentule ? I
never danced better, they say. Come and tell me if I shall do
for New York.'
' Make yourself easy about that,' I assured her. ' One of
your pirouettes will throw them into transports. I am only
anxious that Simpson should not pocket all the profits.'
' O, I don't care about the money,' she protested, with the
abandon of a true artist, ' if they only like me, if they only
applaud me. I will do my best to deserve it/
'You will get an ovation you'll never forget,' I declared, 'or I
overrate the taste and enthusiasm of my countrymen. Good
bye : I cannot come to-night ; but shall on Saturday with some
dear friends of mine.'
' I will try to captivate them, if possible,' she replied, with an
arch smile.
That night I went to a party at Lord Brougham's, and was
wonder-struck at the splendour of the assemblage. All the
great titles of the realm were revolving like stars around the
central luminary, the greatest genius of his day.
Henry Brougham began public life, as stated, one of the
fiercest of innovators, and seemed disposed to throw England
into chaos. After attacking with stormy energy all sides of the
old organisation, the oligarchy included, unexpectedly he threw
down his Hercules club, was arrayed in a peer's mantle, and
sat on the woolsack as Lord Chancellor, with the hereditary
title of Baron Brougham and Vaux. Since that day the new
noble manifested the keenest eagerness to be on the best terms
with the loftiest of his order. Instead of turning their backs on
the parvenu, as the French noblesse did on Voltaire and other
men of genius, the English grandees, very sagacious men, cheer
fully accepted invitations to the house of the ex-iconoclast,
politely ignoring his malevolence in the past, and only desirous
to bridle his daring tongue in the future. Knowing this, I was
not surprised at the imposing muster of the Tory party of the
highest rank in the spacious saloons of Grafton-street, but in my
eyes the longest pedigrees and most glittering escutcheons paled
before the ' noblest Roman of them all.' There stood the whilom

London Revisited. 579

Ensign Wellesley, now the puissant Duke of Wellington. On
his arm was leaning affectionately the superb Marchioness of
Douro, his step-daughter. It was a strange conjunction : youth
and beauty — age and glory. What an epitome of history that
venerable warrior in plain evening dress represented, and how
calmly he bore the gaze of the crowd which bowed as it swept
by, but rarely presumed to speak !
Nothing amused and interested me more that night than the
marvellous change of manner in Lord Brougham — quite a new
phase of this Protean man. At the dinner-table of Gore House,
or among his intimates anywhere, he was free and easy, rollick
ing, sans f agon, talking impetuously, with every feature and limb
in motion. In his own house, with the flower of the land sur
rounding him, he was stately, dignified, refined — the courteous
attentive host, moving freely amongst his guests, an affable word
for one, a pleasant smile for another. It was an exquisite bit of
acting, but doubtless a bore. It was not what he liked best ;
but noblesse oblige.
I had just finished breakfast next morning when the waiter
announced that a gentleman wished to see me immediately on
business. I ordered him to be admitted ; and in a few moments
a stout man, done up in a spruce suit of black, with a large round
visage and bright eye, entered the room. He handed me his
card : ' Mr. H. Placide, of New York.' It was the inimitable
actor of that name, and a person of great respectability.
' I thought I knew your face,' I said, ' but did not dream you
were in London/
' Just arrived,' he stated, ' and have been in pursuit of you
ever since. I have brought a letter from Mr. Simpson, who sent
me over ;' and he handed it to me.
' I have been expecting it for some days,' I observed ; and,
with an ' Allow me,' broke it open and read as follows :
New York, March 19, 1840.
Dear Sir, — Since I wrote you last I have received your favour inform
ing me that you had signed an agreement with Mdlle. Elssler on my
part, which I sincerely regret I cannot ratify. I was willing to take up
Mr. Price's arrangement with her, and so offered ; but certainly never
would consent to her altering the time fixed for her appearing here, or
making myself liable to a forfeit of 2500 dollars. Presuming that on
Mdlle. Elssler's .hesitation to accept the .ratification of Mr. Price's en
gagement by me that she would decline coming altogether, I have made

580 London Revisited.
arrangements that will preclude the possibility of her beginning here
before the 18th of May. That period is much too late; and for the
sake of all parties I would advise her to remain in Europe till the next
season. Mr. Placide will see you and the lady on the subject, and will
make every arrangement necessary to that end. I sincerely regret the
trouble you have had in this disagreeable business, and thank you most
cordially for your kindness. — Very truly yours, E. Simpson.
H. Wikoff, Esq.
Fanny's campaign was thus summarily disposed of till next
year. It was a stroke of luck for me ; but I knew it would be a
cruel blow for her. Concealing my emotions, that were conflict
ing, I said, in a careless way :
' As Mr. Simpson rejects the contract I signed on his behalf,
my functions are at an end. It is idle to talk of Mdlle. Elssler's
visit for next season, as it is out of the question.'
' Bless me !' exclaimed Mr. Placide, much astonished, ' why is
that ?'
' Simply,' I continued, 'because her leave of absence from the
Opera expires in September, and cannot be renewed. She must
go now, or never.'
' Good gracious ! how unfortunate !' he returned. ' Mr. Simp
son never anticipated such a difficulty ; and you know it would
be far better to begin in New York in September than the middle
of May/ ' I grant it,' was my reply ; ' but you see it is impossible.'
A pause ensued, whilst Simpson's ambassador pondered
deeply. At last, raising his head, he asked :
' What's to be done ? I can arrange nothing, save for next
season.' ' I will see Mdlle. Elssler and her advisers,' I informed him,
' and write to you to-morrow. However, the business, it strikes
me, is at an end/
He thanked me, and went away much perplexed.
I drove straightway to Mrs. Grote.
'I have news at last,' I said on entering her boudoir, 'but
ruinous for Fanny/
I handed her Simpson's letter, which she perused eagerly.
' It is crushing, indeed,' she ejaculated, looking quite distressed
' It will almost break her heart, she is so deeply committed and
has spent so much money. Is there no remedy, no loophole ?'

London Revisited. 581

' I ought to be content,' I replied, ' with the turn affairs have
taken, for it frees me from all contingencies ; but I find my sym
pathies stronger than my discretion.'
* You are not the preux chevalier I took you for, if that were
not the case.'
' I have thought it all over,' I continued, ' and Fanny must be
saved.' ' But how ?'
' I will see Mrs. Price and secure her adhesion. A new con
tract must then be drawn up, guaranteeing fifteen or twenty per
formances, during May and June, in New York. We will all
combine and make Simpson's agent sign this, which will bind
his principal.'
' That will do admirably,' cried Mrs. Grote, elated. ' I will
draw up the engagement at once. You see Mrs. Price ; she is
most anxious to have Fanny go, and will bring all her influence
to bear/ ' For goodness' sake,' I entreated, ' not a syllable to Fanny
of what has happened. It would worry her dreadfully, and she
has need of all her strength. For the last three months she has
been under a tremendous strain of mind and body/
' No, not a syllable till something is decided,' said Mrs. G.
compassionately. ' Poor dear thing ! It would break her down,
I am sure/
I had a long chat with Mrs. Price, who was in terror at the
engagement falling through, as she expected a considerable sum
from it as lessee of the theatre. She adopted my plan readily,
and said she would sign if Placide refused.
' Yet,' I said, ' Simpson is locum tenens', which I explained to
her, ' and I prefer the signature of his agent'
' Then,' she declared energetically, ' we must make him sign/
I proposed she should write to Placide to meet us both at Mrs.
Grote's house the next day, at two o'clock, which she undertook.
I wrote to Mrs. Grote of the rendezvous arranged, and she re
ported the contract was ready.
We all met, as agreed, and a tedious sitting we had of it.
Placide was conscientious, careful, and even timid. He had the
greatest dread of exceeding his authority, and of ' putting his
foot in it,' as he phrased it.
' I know,' he stated, ' that Mr. Simpson has made engagements
. for May and June ; and how can he get out of them ?'

582 London Revisited.

' Buy out,' I suggested ; ' it would not cost much ; and let the
expense be divided between him, Mrs. Price, and Mdlle. Elssler/
' I consent,' said Mrs. Price promptly.
' I see,' continued Placide, much bothered, ' the contract says
we must provide a corps de ballet. We have no such thing, and
don't know what it is.'
We all laughed at this candid sally.
' Then,' I added, ' Mdlle. Elssler must manufacture one on
the spot.'
' But, believe me,' persisted the nervous delegate, ' the result
is doubtful : business is so bad in New York — no money in the
country.' ' Fudge !' contended Mrs. Grote. ' Fanny will dance every
thing to rights again. Go and see her ; I'll give you a stall.'
After some two hours the anxious agent was badgered into
signing the agreement, when he sat down, took out his bandana
(as big as a flag), and sopped the perspiration streaming in tor
rents down his honest face.
' Now send for Fanny,' I whispered to Mrs. G., ' and tell her
all about it. She will tremble at her escape.'
Bidding all good-bye, I hurried back to my hotel, to meet M.
Maillard by appointment.
I have already mentioned this gentleman, who was the fac
totum of the ex-King, the Count de Survilliers. He was with
him during his reign in Spain, and had been faithful to his
fortunes since. He was an upright and amiable man. His young
son was full of promise, and a great favourite of his ex-Majesty.*
He called soon after my return.
' The Count,' he began, ' was sorry he was out when you
came the other day, but has sent me to ask you to dine with
him on Friday, and to say he has another favour to request, but
not so onerous as the last.'
' I am always at the service of the illustrious Count,' I
answered, ' and shall be flattered to dine with him. Is it a
large party ?'
' No ; some seven or eight. You have met them all before,
save two, the Prince Louis Napoleon and the Countess Merlin.'
' I have long wished to know the Prince Louis/ I replied,
* M. Maillard jun., after the death of Joseph Bonaparte, returned to Borden
town, N.J., where he had been brought up, and afterwards married Miss Anne
Ward, sister of the well-known Mr. Sam. Ward, and now resides in California.

London Revisited. 583
' and am enchanted at the prospect. I was not aware the cele
brated Countess was in London.'
'Yes,' responded M. Maillard; 'she is on a visit to the
Count. You know her husband, General Count Merlin, was
long an aide-de-camp to King Joseph. It is concerning her the
Count wishes to see you.'
I was filled with surprise, but simply bowed.
' You will be at Hanover House, then, on Friday,' said my
friend, shaking hands.
' Sansfaute', I rejoined, 'and my grateful thanks to the Count.'
I was quite elated at the thought of meeting the Prince
Louis Napoleon, whose career had inspired me with the liveliest
interest. He was a son of the former King of Holland, and sole
heir of the great Emperor. In youth he had been an active
leader of the popular party in Italy against Austria. In 1836
he headed a military insurrection in Strasburg, when he was
taken prisoner, and finally deported. He returned in 1838, and
settled down at his chateau in Switzerland ; but the French
Government, alarmed at his proximity, demanded the Swiss
Federation to banish him. This was boldly refused ; and to pre
vent a war, Prince Louis voluntarily abandoned his residence
and came to London, where he now lived in much splendour.
He believed it was his destiny to reign over France, and would
never cease plotting till he gained the crown or lost his life.
His ability was undoubted. His last book, Napoleonic Ideas, was
translated all over Europe. His daring spirit and fixed purpose
made him formidable to the Orleans dynasty.
I was greatly pleased, also, to encounter the Countess Merlin,
one of the most distinguished women of Paris, equally famous
for her intelligence, beauty, and warm heart. She was of Spanish
descent, and her splendid house in Paris was a neutral ground
for all parties. The Legitimist nobility met there the Orleans
Ministers, together with all the renowned talent of Paris and
Europe. She was especially noted for her wonderful voice, and
at her brilliant concerts she frequently sang with Malibran and
Grisi, and was considered equal to either.
I was most warmly welcomed by his ex-Majesty, the kind-
hearted Count de Survilliers, whom I had not seen for upwards
of two years. After chatting with me for a few minutes he led
me up to a lady, whose handsome face, dark eyes, and un
rivalled bust quite enchained me, and said,

584 London Revisited.

' My dear Countess, this is the gentleman to whose care I mean
to confide you.'
He then explained that the Countess Merlin was going to
New York by the next steamer, on her way to Cuba, to inherit a
large property ; and hearing I was going by the same vessel, he
proposed to put her under my charge, and he was sure I would
not refuse him this service.
' I will try,' said the Countess, smiling, ' not to give you too
much trouble.'
I assured the Count I was deeply honoured by his flattering
confidence, and pledged myself to the Countess to do my best to
serve her. I went on conversing with her, and found the re
ports of her esprit and charming disposition in nowise exagger
ated. All the time, I was planning how I could break to her that
Fanny was going out in the ' Great Western' under my auspices,
to say nothing of Mrs. Price. At last I ventured on the dis
closure :
' My devoted attentions, Madame la Comtesse, will be given
at all times to your comfort ; but I have already promised to
look occasionally after two other ladies who will be fellow-
passengers — one an English dame, and the other you have
doubtless heard of — Mdlle. Fanny Elssler, both old acquaint
ances.' ' What, la belle Fanny !' she exclaimed. ' I heard she was
going to America. She has so often fascinated me, I shall be
delighted to tell her so. You must introduce her.'
Just then ' His Highness the Prince Louis Napoleon' was
announced, and the Countess went up to speak to him.
My gaze was concentrated for some minutes on the new-comer.
He was about medium height and well made. His face indicated
resolution, and his eyes, that he kept half-closed, revealed subtlety
as well as daring. His manner was graceful, composed, and very
distingue". He had the air of a man superior by nature as by birth.
He would strike any one as far ' above the common.' I was still
contemplating him, and pondering over his future, when the
Count approached, and said,
' Come, let me present you to my nephew.'
Addressing the Prince, he observed,
' You have often heard me speak, my dear Louis, of my friend
M. Wikoff. I hope you will always receive him kindly for my
sake. He is worthy of your regard.'

London Revisited. 585
The Prince took me cordially by the hand, and I was struck
by his singularly seductive smile.
' I hope,' he said, ' we shall be long and fast friends. I have
frequently heard Lady Blessington speak of you.'*
I made my acknowledgments in the most grateful terms.
Whilst we were talking the butler announced, 'Le diner est servi!
The Count led in the Countess Merlin, and the Prince escorted
his cousin Lady Dudley Stuart.
The dinner was truly regal, and it was half-past ten before
we returned to the drawing-rooms. The company broke up
soon after eleven, when I discovered to my annoyance that my
•carriage had not arrived. The Count was living in the depths
•of Regent's Park, and the night was wet. I mentioned my
predicament to the urbane M. Maillard, who said he would
arrange it immediately. He returned in a moment, and noti
fied me,
' The Prince will take you home. He lives in Carlton Gardens,
very near to your hotel.'
' But it may not be convenient or agreeable to his Highness,'
I remonstrated, rather shocked at being forced upon him.
' It will give him the greatest pleasure, I am sure,' asserted M-
Maillard. I asked the Countess, in bidding her good-night, if I should
-escort her from London to Bristol.
' No, thank you,' she replied ; ' I shall be well guarded till I
Teach the steamer, where your functions will begin.' „
The venerable Count uttered many kind words in saying
good-bye, and I little thought I should never see him again.
In entering the Prince's carriage I sat down on the front seat,
•out of deference to his rank ; but he said immediately,
' Pas de ceremonie. Come sit by me.'
This was characteristic. He was always amiable, however
stately. ' Are you going to Gore House on Sunday night ?' he inquired
as he set me down.
' Yes, Monseigneur ; I am going to say adieu.'
* Then we' shall meet again, as I dine there. Au revoir ;' and
•waving his hand, drove off.
I could not help being amused, though a little fluttered, at still
* The acquaintance thus begun lasted unbroken till the Emperor's death in
January 1873.

586 London Revisited.
 — — . — ^  ^
another addition to my responsibilities aboard ship. I felt my
self equal to the task of supervising Fanny, her cousin, and
Mrs. Price ; but the petits soins that would be expected by
a great lady, so much courted as the Countess Merlin, might
possibly overweight me. Fortunately, so far from haughty and
exacting, she was the personification of good-nature, and the kind
feeling she displayed towards Fanny relieved me from all em
barrassment. Luckily, too, I was a good sailor, and should be
ready at all hours to meet any demands upon me.
Only three days remained before my departure, and every
minute was mortgaged.
On Saturday night Fanny made her farewell appearance. It
was a scene of splendour and excitement I never saw equalled.
The young Queen and her handsome husband and suite were
there. Prince Louis Napoleon and entourage occupied a con
spicuous box. The house was densely packed, and the prices
demanded were unprecedented.*
The enthusiasm knew no bounds. Poor Fanny was called
on incessantly, and almost smothered under bouquets and
wreaths. She seemed quite affected by the demonstrations. As
the curtain fell at the close the occupants of the 'omnibus box,'
Count D'Orsay, Lord Chesterfield, Sir George Wombwell, and
others, cried out repeatedly, ' Bon voyage ! Bon voyage !'
I began on Sunday morning by breakfasting with Mr. R. M.
Milnes at his quarters in Pall Mall. He was a member of Parlia
ment, but more celebrated in literature. He had written several
poems of striking merit that are destined to live. He was bland
in address, and most impressive in conversation.! On my re
turn to the hotel, I found Placide anxiously waiting for me. He-
said he had received unexpected news from New York, that
would doubtless be most unpleasant to Mdlle. Elssler and her
friends. ' Indeed !' I interjected ; ' and what may it be ?'
' I had a letter,' he continued, ' last night from Mr. Simpson,
* Mrs. Grote, in a note, gave way to a murmur : Saturday.
I am to be victimised again to-night (to a precious tune, too) for Fanny's last
performance. Grand tier. Mind you pay me a visit. Ill in bed all yesterday j
never got up at all ; knocked up. But must go to-night, cost what it may to health,
or pocket. High time the sorceress was off ! H. G.
t Mr. Milnes was raised to the House of Peers as Lord Houghton in 1863. He
was much feted in New York which he visited two or three years ago,

London Revisited. 587

who says the business was so bad, he had closed the theatre,
and dismissed his company.'
This was a thunder-clap, and for a moment I was silent.
' You remember/ he added, ' I said it was wiser to adjourn
the affair till September. It would be rank folly for Mdlle..
Elssler to begin in May ; and, financially, the time is most un-
propitious. However, it is out of the question now!
' I see it is,' I slowly replied ; ' and perhaps it is all for the
best' ' Will -you kindly convey the' facts to Miss Fanny and Mrs.
Grote ?'
' I will/
' And should you feel disposed to draw up another contract
for next season, I shall be happy to call/
' I will let you know,' were my last words as he bade me
good-morning. I sat me down and examined the situation calmly, but fully.
For weeks the papers of Paris and London had discussed Fanny's
visit to the United States. She had obtained six months' leave
from the Opera, and had nearly drained her purse in preparations.
Worse than all, her mind was so set upon it, and her feelings.
so stirred by the reception she was told awaited her in New
York, that a collapse now would be an overwhelming shock. At
all events, I was completely emancipated by Simpson's act of
shutting up shop, and could now go tranquilly home, transact my
business, and return to Paris and my old haunts. What should
I do ? I asked myself over and over again, as I paced up and
down my room. ' Shall I leave Fanny to her fate and her tears ?
Can there be a doubt of her success, even in the month of May,
and with trade languishing ?' This was the vital point. ' No,' I
exclaimed, after deep rumination, ' not a shadow of doubt. If this
opportunity is lost, she will forfeit a large sum and immense
prestige.' And the widow of my old friend, Mrs. Price, who
counted anxiously on the gains of Fanny's engagement. At last
I gave way to my feelings, not knowing or caring what it might
cost. It was rash ; but young men, especially of the sentimental
sort, will commit follies.
Putting on my hat, I drove off to Tavistock-square.
' Do you know the Park Theatre is closed ?' I asked Mrs. Price.
' Placide has told me so,' she responded, ' and I am grieved
beyond measure/

588 London Revisited.
' Will you put it in my hands ?' I demanded. ' I will pay any
thing in reason.'
' Cheerfully,' she said, astonished. ' But what do you mean ?'
' I mean to take Fanny over on Wednesday's steamer, ap
point a manager when I arrive, and open the house.'
' Capital !' she cried, delighted. ' Will she go without an
engagement ? I fear not.'
' I will not tell her what has happened,' I said. ' I will take
the hazard and pay the loss, if there be any. Not a word to
Fanny nor to Mrs. Grote, still less to Placide. There is no time
to wrangle. The day after to-morrow we must leave.'
' Not a word,' she promised emphatically. ' It might spoil all.'
' Then meet me at Paddington Station on Tuesday at nine
A.M.,' I proposed, ' and we will all start together. I am sanguine/
' So am I,' she asserted, and her eyes sparkled at the venture.
Women always like a risk. I called on Fanny in the after
noon. I thought it best to sound her. I might, even in my desire
to serve her, go too far. She received me with heartiness, but
blamed me for neglecting her.
' You hardly know how busy I have been,' I replied. ' I
come now to make a reconnaissance. How are your nerves?
Are you ready for the jump ? On Tuesday we are off for
America/ ' Yes,' she declared, her face flushing ; ' my heart bounds at
the thought. I am eager for the hour of departure/
'Mrs. Grote told you,' I went on, 'that Simpson rejected the
engagement. We patched up another with his agent, but he
may not recognise it. Reflect ; will vou brave it ?'
Her head fell, and for a moment she was buried in thought.
Then looking up, with her eyes suffused, she said very deliber
ately, ' I have never moved a foot in Europe without a settled en
gagement ; but my confidence in you is unbounded, and a blind
belief possesses me in the warm hearts and generous nature of
your countrymen. Yes, partons. I have no fears. The Ameri
cans, I am sure, will not turn their backs on me/
' Well and good,' I said, fully reassured. ' If you defy even
tualities, and put your trust in me, I will struggle hard to
justify it'
After gossiping for a time, I rose.
' Are you packed up ?' I inquired.

London Revisited. 589
* Not quite ; but Katy is hard at work.'
'Mrs. Grote, no doubt, will bring you to the station, and my
escort will hardly be required.'
' No,' she answered ; ' all is arranged. Dear Mrs. Grote, she
is in downright affliction, and I am dreadfully depressed at
losing her.'
I dined that night with the Mansfields, and it was near eleven
o'clock before I reached Gore House. The rooms were crowded
with nobility, and I had little opportunity of chatting with the
presiding genius, whom I had seen a short time previously.
Prince Louis Napoleon was there, and he talked with me for
some time. There was a strange magnetism about him that
affected all who came within its spell. He parted with me most
kindly, and said, ' On your return you must come and see me.'
Thanking him, I promised to do sa It was a mournful place,
indeed, where I found him at our next meeting. Count D'Orsay
came up to me before I left, with a stout jolly young fellow on his
arm. ' Cher Wikoff' he proposed,' I wish youto make the acquaint
ance of the Hon. Paul Methuen,* a favourite of mine. He is going
in your steamer on Wednesday to New York to join his regiment
in Canada. I commit him to your care and kind offices/ I
assured the Count I would bestow the utmost attention on his
good friend. I gazed repeatedly on that gem of loveliness,
Marguerite Power, whom I had met six months previously at
St. Leonards. Her beauty had matured, and she was one of the
sirens of London. Already I perceived the change I had con
templated. The guileless manner of the unsophisticated girl had
vanished, and in its place had succeeded the easy self-possession
and smiling callousness that constitute the usual armour of a
woman of the world.
I congratulated myself on my way home that if I could not
escape new accessions to my list of protege's, at least the sex
was changed. I even speculated on the probability that I might
utilise the Count's cheery friend, by assigning to him the pleasant
duty of looking after Mrs. Price, that might be equally agreeable
to both parties, and relieve my burden.
I shared the hospitality of the Dunlops on my last night in
London. When the ladies had retired, I revealed to my worthy
friend my overladened condition in going to America ; having
not only three ladies on my shoulders, but one a bewitch-
* Afterwards Lord Methuen.

59° London Revisited.

ing widow, another a fascinating Countess, and a third the for
midable Fanny Elssler. He was thunderstruck, but somewhat
amused. He launched forthwith into sundry grave warnings, to
which I listened respectfully ; and his final words on mounting
the drawing-room stairs were, ' Beware ; the pitcher that goes too
often to the well — you know the adage.' Miss Gamble insisted
on my staying longer in London when I came back. Alas, we
did not meet again for eleven years, and then it would have been
better for both if we had not met at all !
I found Fanny, Katy, and servants at the station, under
convoy of Mrs. Grote, when I arrived. Mrs. Price too was there,
and Methuen. I introduced them off-hand, and desired them
to take care of each other, which seemed to suit them exactly.
Both were young, handsome, and merry. Mrs. Grote was in a
doleful state, and I was glad we had little time for parting. I
accompanied her back to her carriage, ' like Niobe, all tears,' and
promised to write the same night from Bristol. She sobbed out
that I should have a letter from her in the morning. It came.
Here it is : London, April 14.
Dear Mr. Wikoff, — I am perfectly stranded in mind, and feel as if all
was dead around me, and as if the sun was put out. I never felt so cruelly
any separation from a person not of my near kindred. I put a strong
force upon myself yester-night, and also to-day, knowing by sad experi
ence that when once my grief runs over it is all over with me : headache
ensues, and to bed I go. But I shall be some days getting my mind
afloat again, for the idea of Fanny has full possession of it, and my heart
has gone with her. How delightful to think I contributed to her happy
residence here, and to know she fully recognises it ! She is a precious
gem — tend her as one. I know you will. I wish you a happy issue out
of what I will not term your troubles — let me rather call them trials,
wherein the strong soul is tested. Be but firm in your own self-ap-
proval, and I never can believe you will lose that of others — at least
not of the portion of mankind you and I value. Go and prosper, and
may we all meet again sound and undimmed! My trusting and cordial
valediction upon you. Every sort of love and sorrow to Fanny. Adieu.
—Your faithful, affectionate friend,
H. Grote.
Dear Mrs. Grote ! she knew how I wriggled and shivered at
the dubious position into which I was sliding ; but she always
encouraged me to ' stand to my guns/
We embarked on a lovely morning, April 15th. I found the

London Revisited.

591

Countess Merlin on board, surrounded by cavaliers, who were in
turn kissing her hand at parting. As I approached she said, in
her buoyant manner,
' Maintenant,fe me fie d vous' — Now I confide myself to you.
I presented Fanny, and the Countess lavished many graceful
compliments upon her.
A chill shot through me with the first turn of the wheels, as
our gallant craft moved off. I felt I was taking a leap in the
dark, and if I had known the precise habitation of my guardian
angel, I would have sent thither a strong appeal to guide my
faltering steps.

This volume has swelled to an inordinate length, and I
hasten to close it lest the patience of my readers should be
utterly exhausted.
If its success should be at all commensurate with my hopes,
I will not hesitate to continue my story, taking care, however,
to compress my materials to more reasonable proportions, which
will add to their attraction without diminishing their interest

INDEX OF PERSONS.

Albert, Charles, 154, 155
Ali, Mehemet, 566
Alibaud, 354
Allen, Andrew Jackson, 402
Angelo, Michael, 161
Amte of Russia, 209
Ayhner, Countess of, 365
Aylmer, Earl of,2-$
Bagioli, Antonio, 34
Baird, Robert, 2
Barbes, 494
Barrot, Odillon, 529, 534
Baring Brothers, 366
Bates, Mr. and Mrs., 564, 565
Bates, Elisabeth, 399
Bates, Joshua, 366
Bates, Mrs., 367, 382, 398
Beauclerc, Frederica, 366
Beaumont, Gustave dc, 548
Belgioso, Prince, 565
Belmont, August, 544
Bennett, James Gordon, 465, 473,
486
Benton, Jessie, 31
Benton, Thomas H., 29
Berryer, 1 17, 539
Bernard, 494
Bethune, George, Rii*., 3
Biddle, Nicholas, 62, 67, 68, 449
Blanqui, 494
Blight, Charles, 58
Blessington, Countess of, 431, 439. 475,
510,589
^/wrf, Z>r., 374
Bonaparte, Joseph 382, 352, 396, 583
Borgo, Count Rosso di, 1 26
Brisbane, George, 21
Brown, Mrs., 271
Brougham, Lord, 439, 578
Brutiswick, Duke of, 370
Buckingham, J. Silk, 444, 468
Bulwer. Henry, 534

Bulwer, Lady Lytton, 519, 523, 524,
525. 526, 527. 528,531, 553, 569
Bulwer, Sir Edward Lytton. 5*34
Burd, Mr. and Mrs. E.
Butler, Pierce, 38
Byron, Lord, 479
Cadwalader, General, 449
Calhoun, John C, 28, 29, 38, 470
Camac, William, 5
Catharine I. of Russia, 209
Catharine II. of Russia, 209
Carrell, Arm'and, 348
Caw, O/z. Lewis, 392, 487, 492, 493,
544, 5^4
Chandler, J.R.,%
Charles X., 180, 393
Charles XII., 220
Chapman, Dr., 449
Chesterfield, Earl of , 187, 586
Chouteau, Mr., 73
Cilley, Jonathan, 467
Clark, De Witt Clinton, 22
Clarke, Mrs. Dr., 134
C'/ay, Henry, 29, 39, 65, 470
Clementine, Princess, 121
Columbus, 157
Conroy, Sir John, 404
Corbin, Francis P., 463, 489, 522, 645
Coster, Washington, 42
J/rs., 58, 78
Cousin, Victor, 548
Co.r,?, Alfred, 32
Crockett, Davy, 60
Croly, Rev. George, 410
DaguERRE, 517
Dallas, G. M.
Davesac, 421
i?ay, Jeremiah, 19
Depau, 42
Z?<» Forest, Julia, 18
 AO-.T., 1 8, 59

594

Index of Persons.

De Forest, Pastor a, 18
Dejazet, Mile., 1 1 1
Denison, S. B., 94
Disraeli, Benjamin, 412
Douro, Marquis of, 187
Duane, W. J., 63
Du Barry, Madame, 1 79
Dumas, Alexander, III
Dunlop, James, 186, 567, 576, 589
 Mrs., 186, 187, 196
Dunn, Nathan, 60
Durham, Earl of, 259
Duprez, 169
Eaton, General, 28
 Mrs., 28
Edward III., 189
Elliott, Lady Fafiny, 168
Elssler, Fanny, 109, no, 499, 500, 506,
5H, 537, 549, 55i, 553- 559, 5^3- 573-
575, 577, 586, 587, 591
Elizabeth, Empress, 209
Englishman, A Distinguished, 224
Erasmus, 421
Esterhazy, Prince Paul, 417
Falcon, Mlle., 109, no
Fay, Theodore S., 372
Ferdinand I., 319
Ferdinand II., 1 7 1
Fieschi, 332
Fonblanque, Albany, 437
Forrest, Edtvin, 75, 133, 134, 152, 164,
195, 198, 203, 21 1, 212, 214, 230, 241,
253, 258, 315, 318,328,330,370,376,
400, 410, 417, 424, 448
Forsyth, Mr., 45
Fowler, Mr., 458
Frederick the Great 326
Fulton, Miss, 58
Galitzin, Princess, 240, 242
Galera, M., 239
Galileo, 1 59
Gamble, Miss, 186, 196, 371, 429, 509,
589
Gentz, Baron, 502
George, Mile., 113, 114, 115, 116
Gibbes, Morgan, 552, 554, 564
Gilpin, Henry D., 60, 468
Girardin, Emil de, 348
Gladstone, William E., 415
Goodell, Mr., 274
Goodrich, Miss, 18
 Prof., 18
Graves, J., 467
Gregory XVI., 163

6>0/>, George, 539, 573, 574
 Afrj. Harriet, 537, 538, 544,
554, 559- 56i, 567, 57i, 575, 580. 59°
Grotius, 421
Guiccioli, Countess, 425, 430, 433,478,
569
Guizot, M., 102, 131, 136, 493, 545,
560
Haight, R. K., 97
 Mrs., 97
Hamilton, Governor, 44
Hayne, 29
-rYz'//, Isaac, 62
 Afr., 210
Holland, Lady, 406
 Lord, 406
Hook, Theodore, 373
Hughes, Christopher, 26
Hugo, Victor, 113
Ingersoll, Charles, 448, 451,452
 C 7., 448, 449
 J//-.?. C, 449
 Joseph R., 24,449,451
Jackson, Andrew, 26, 30, 53, 60
Janin, Jules, 490
Jefferson, Joseph, 8
Johnson, Captain, 301, 305
Jones, W. Hemphill, 24
Jones, Gen., 467
Joseph, 119, 228, 235
Kemble, Charles, 36
 Fanny, 36
Kendall, Amos, 64
Kent, Duchess of, 408
AjQ£, Lorenzo, 1 7
Lafayette, 179
Lafitte, M., 102
Laporte. M ., 544
Lardner, Dr. Dionysius, 425, 429, 437
Lavalette. Marquis de, 498, 514
Ledru, Charles, 522, 526, 528, 530, 535
Lenorntand, Mile., 351
Lewis, Gen. Morgan, 78
leanor Parke Custis, 32 Mrs. jr., 32
z>z 
Ligier, M., no
Livingston, Edward, 100
 Maturne, 42
 Mortimer, 42
 Afrj., 42, 78
 Robert L., 101
Lobau, Marshal, 123, 124, 125

Index of Persons.

595

Madden, Mr., 440
Maillard, M., 383, 582, 585
Malibran, 175
Mansfield, Mr., 26, 3^9, 384, 589
Marismas, Marchioness de las, 552
Marie Ame'lie, Queen of France, 105,
131
Marie, Princess, 105, 121
Markoe, Miss., 5
Mars, Mile., no
Mason, Mr., 62
McDitjfie, Mr., 63
McHenry, James, 7
McKenzie, Mr., 372
McMichael, Morton, 453
Mayor, the Lord, 430
Melbourne, Lord, 356, 408, 409
Methuen, Hon. Paul, 589, 590
Merlin, Countess, 584, 585, 591
Meyerbeer, 108
Milnes, Richard Monckton, 586
J/tf/*?', Count, 491, 493
Molesworth, Sir William, 573, 575
Moore, Mr., 316
Moreau, Gen., 325
Mortier, Marshal, 332
Af^<?y, 332, 335
.Afw7, .Dr., 353
 Louisa, 492
Munster, Earl of , 519
Napoleon, Emperor, 394
 Prince Louis, 393, 584, 585, 589
.Narishkine, Madame, 240
-AW//, j)/. /I/., 64
Norton, Mrs., 197
2VW/, Z)?-., 20
Nourrit, M, 108, 109, no
Offley, J/>., 295, 298, 586, 589
Orleans, Dztkeof, 105, 121, 125
Orsay, Count d' , 187, 435, 512
Ouvrard, M., 114, 121
Palmerston, Lord, 356, 408, 566
Paul I. of Russia, 205
/V/*?r the Great, 204
-P<^2«, 332, 334
Phalen, James, 18
Philippe, Louis, 102, 104, 121, 231, 424,
476, 495, 558, 560
Planche", M., 441
Placide, Henry, 13, 579, 581, 586
Pompadour, Marquise de, 178
Porter, Commodore, 271, 272, 282
 Mr., 273, 291
Power, Marguerite, 573, 589

Power, Tyrone, 69
Powerscourt, Lady, 418
 Viscount, 58
Presle, M„ 394
Preston, 29
Price, Stephen, 372, 497, 509, 540
 Afrj-., 575, 581, 587, 590
Rachel, Mlle., 490
Ramsey, Captain, U. S. A., 339
j?a//z, A/r., 234, 253
 Madame, 256
Reichstadt, Duke of, 319, 321
Renshaw, Commodore, 1 1
¦/?/«, Z>a«, 399
Richelieu, Duke of, 232
Ridgeway, John, 462
Aft-.r., 462

Rhodes Mr., 284, 286
Rickets, Major, 5
Roberts, Captain, 475
Robertson, Gilbert, 76
Rogers, Miss, yjl
 Samuel, 371
Rothschild, Baron James, 544
 Meyer. 328
Roosevelt, Mrs., 31
Rubens, 423
Rush, Benjamin, 372
 25;-., 449
 Richard, 367, 449
Sabloukoff, Gen., 254
Sampson, M. B., 455
S#.r£ Weimar, Duke of,$7
Saxony, King of, 326
5,r0#, Afr.s\ General, 516
 Virginia, 492
Shelley, Mrs., 437
Simpson, E., 550, 579
Silliman. Professor, 17
Sinclair, the Tenor, 196
 A'rt^, 196, 378, 401, 429
 /!/«., 401
Slidell.Mr., 372
Smith. Albert, 17
 Horace, 373
 7a;««, 373
 GV#. Samuel, 25
 5z'r Sydney, 128
S<?«#, Marshal, 123, 124, 560
Sontag, General, 233, 257, 261
 Madame, 235
Stephens, Lyne, 109
Stevenson, Andrew, 355
 Afrj., 355
Stockton, Robert, 11

596

fndex of Persons.

St. Albans, Duchess of, 187
Stuart, Lord Dudley, 383
Sumner, Charles, 573
Survilliers, Count de, 382
Talleyrand, Prince, 122, 476
Taglioni, Mile., 109, 507
Talbot, Hon. George, 96
Tallmadge, General, 61
 Miss, 339
Talma, no
Taney, Roger B., 63
Teniers, 423
Thanet, Lord, 96
Thibaud, M., 383, 396
 Mile., 383 ' " (
Thiers, M., 101, 126, 127, 135,493, 560,
566
7^w«, Co/., 338, 339, 564
 Mrs., 339
 Afr^, Jauncey, 564
Thorndike, A., 489, 564
 Rebecca, 492
Tisserand, M, 495
Tocqueville, Count de, 548, 570
Torrigiani, Marquis, 174
Vail, Aaron, 192
Krt« Buren, John, 14
 Martin, 28, 30, 38, 58, 76, 453,
469
Fa» Dyck, 423
K«« rf<? Weyer, M., 398
Fazz Ness, General, 31

Fizzwr, Richard, 57, 68, 417
 Robert, 55, 65, 66
 :  Afrj., 57
Victoria, Princess, 407, 409
Wadsworth, James, 126
A/>-j-. 126

Wain, Edward, 15, 24
Walsh, Robert, 8
Ward, Samuel, 325
Warren, W., 8
W<?W, J. Watson, 64
Webster, Daniel, 29, 470
 6z> Henry, 579 ,.
Wells, Samuel, 98, 467, 487, 543
  Afrj., 98, 489, 542, 552, 570
Wellesley, Marchioness of, 368
Wellington, Dtike of, 356, 304, 408
Wetherill, S. P., 11, 20, 23, 566
Wiggins, J., 98
Wilkins,, William, 205, 210, 212
William IV., 357,408
Williams, Alpheus S., 44, 73, 77, 8ir
133, 152, 191, 194
Willing, Tom, 463
 "  Mrs., 463
r-ra/M, .y. p., 1 5
Wz'j^, Henry A., 467
Woorf; William, 8
Wombwall, Sir George, 586
Woronzow, Prince, 237, 239, 242, 244,
254, 261
 Princess, 239 "-
Worthin^ton, 17