Chapter C: W. V (9)

The old town has considerable of interest in its churches, architecture, monuments, &c. It being my second visit, one day at Augsburg sufficed, as I was _en route_ to Ratisbon, and had to make the circuit by railroad to Donauworth, in order to descend the Danube. A little iron steamer, eighty feet in length, and narrow in proportion, with a tiny cabin, came to the place named as the head of steam navigation, with a small party of first-class passengers. We darted down the rapid stream at a lively rate, at times walled in by precipitous limestone rocks; the scenery was highly romantic and picturesque, with much to interest, but compared unfavorably with the views described in my last, from Vienna to Linz. We landed passengers at Menburg and Ingoldstadt, important towns, and in eight hours’ sail found ourselves at this place.

As I have formerly remarked, most of the German governments have different weights, coin, measure, and regulations. One day one has fifty pounds luggage free, and paper money in use; cross the boundary, as is the case here, no baggage is allowed; it must be paid, for even moderate distances, at one cent per pound. If you happen not to have changed your money, you submit to a heavy discount. My Russian friend had a large sum of Austrian paper florins over, and lost forty guldens or sixteen dollars, by not exchanging as I advised him, and was consoled by the money changer, saying: _Mann muss lehr geld zahlen_. One must pay for experience.

Regensburg, or Ratisbon, whence I write, is beautifully situated upon the south bank of the Danube. It was formerly the seat of the Imperial Diet; it has a population of only twenty-four thousand, but is an interesting old city, with enchanting shady walks surrounding the city, giving the occupants breathing room. Sunday being _Frohnleichnamstag_, or Corpus Christi, the service in the old cathedral was fully attended. This vast Gothic edifice, built in the year 1400, was crammed with furniture, offerings, pictures, and relics, which destroyed its beautiful proportions, until King Ludwig, with the eye of an artist, in 1838, saw its deformity, and ordered a general sweeping out, and renovated its magnificent illuminated glass windows, representing the life of Christ and historical Bible scenes.

Strolling from one church to another, I found the current setting across the river to the _Dreifaltigheitsberge_, upon the summit of which is a pilgrimage church with fourteen stations and monuments on the ascent indicating the bearing of the Cross, and sufferings of Christ, up to the Crucifixion. So I fell in with the train, and passed over the old stone bridge, one thousand and ninety-one feet long and twenty-three feet wide, placed upon thirty arches of thirty feet in width, and well worth remarking, for the early period of 1140. Once on the top, I found the ground occupied mostly by Bauern, in their novel costume. The girls in short frocks of fancy colors, with balloon sleeves, and silver chain across the corsage; the men in red vests and short-waisted coats, with two dozen silver and gilt buttons thereon, about the size of a half dollar.

Tents and booths contained the eatables and drinkables. Service was going on, and the temple jammed full. A thunderstorm came up, and I took refuge in the house of the church guardian, in a small room ten feet square, with a bed in one corner, thirty small prints of saints hanging around the walls, a table covered with mugs, ham, and sausages, eight persons, and cigar smoke in clouds.

The weather soon cleared up, and after dinner I found the town deserted. Protestants and Catholics escape the city, and the society gardens, as well as the public grounds, are crowded. The musicians are playing, and the adjacent environs are planted with trees, among which stand large buildings, over deep cold beer cellars, for summer use.

The former Abbey of St. Emmeran, now the residence of the Prince von Taxis, one of the wealthiest nobles of the country, is one of the lions to be seen. His picture gallery is not large but select; his stable of sixty horses is a choice pattern of neatness and convenience; his riding house is adorned with many equestrian groups of ancient combatants by Schwanthaler, and is a gem in its way. The family chapel and vault will compare favorably with those of the kings of Prussia and Hanover; add to which, he has a large brewery in connexion, in active operation, which was erected and worked by this order of monks. Under the roof of the same previous ecclesiastical establishment, are the refreshment rooms for the sale of the article manufactured. What strikes the stranger here is the universal use without the abuse, and it redounds to the honor of the German character, for the rarest spectacle is an inebriated person. In the deep and dark recesses of the Rath House here are seen the whole apparatus of the inquisition; parts of it I had seen in Italy and Spain, but here it is completed. I saw the latticed screen of the judge, with his desk, and the bored holes for candles; the penitential benches for culprits, while listening to the groans of comrades inducing confession; the chair of pointed spikes, resembling a flax hetchel, upon which the victim sat, with the stone weights suspended from his ankles; the platform upon which the naked body lay during the scraping of the skin from the back from head to foot; bolts in the floor to fasten the feet, and heavy fifty pound weights, attached to the arms, while the shoulders were strained by the windlass; with a variety of other tortures too horrible to describe. The seat of the doctor is also shown, whose business was to decide how much the sufferers could endure, without expiring under the treatment. Also cells with small openings through which the prisoners received their food; they were chained in such a manner that they were obliged to sleep with the blood flowing towards the head and heart, inducing, as was believed, contrition; there were dungeons, too, in which they were let down, with no opening except from above, cutting off all hope of escape. In witnessing such an exhibition it is consoling to reflect that civilization has made much progress since the last century, when these hellish instruments were in use.

CXI.

WIESBADEN, DUCHY OF NASSAU, _June 20, 1855_.

From Ratisbon, I went to the famous Walhalla Temple, occupying the summit of a rocky cliff upon the banks of the Danube, about two hours’ ride from that city, composed entirely of marble, stone, and metal, and of which I must attempt a feeble description.

It seems that the artist ex-king, Ludwig, as early as 1807, when crown-prince, and while Germany was bowed down under French despotism, conceived the design of erecting a monument to the memory of the meritorious sons of the Fatherland. As early as 1821, German sculptors had already prepared a portion of the busts, when the preparatory ground-work was commenced, and on the anniversary-day of the battle of Leipsic, 18th of October, 1830, Ludwig, then king, laid the foundation-stone, and which he opened complete in 1842; the cost of which is reported, but probably incorrect, as I notice an article in a public journal, saying that during his reign forty millions of guilders, say seventeen millions of dollars, were expended in the fine arts, and constructing and beautifying churches, palaces, and temples. A considerable portion is represented as out of his private purse.

The majestic Walhalla stands three hundred feet above the water level, and the ascent is effected by double flights of broad marble steps, three hundred and fifty in number, uniting upon wide platforms, and then recommencing in like manner until the height is reached, giving a magnificent view of the river and surrounding country, as also a front view of the edifice. The terrace wall is built of many-cornered cyclopean blocks of stone, and from the second division corresponds with the underground foundation of the building, nearly one hundred feet in depth. The length of the wall from this platform, from north to south, is four hundred and eighty-three feet, and width two hundred and eighty-eight feet. The temple, bearing some resemblance to the ancient Parthenon at Athens, is two hundred and thirty feet in length, one hundred and eighteen feet in width, and sixty-four feet in height. It has seventeen marble columns on each side, and eight each, front and rear, thirty-one feet high, and six feet in diameter.

The gable pediments contain the splendid marble sculpture work of Schwanthaler, each group comprising fifteen figures. The one at the north occupied that artist eight years. The colossal form of the national hero, Herman, ten feet high, forms the centre of the group in the final struggle with the Romans, whose leader has struck his sword in his own breast to avoid the sight of the overthrow of his legions. From the time of Roman and Greek antiquity, perhaps, so large a gable-group has not been seen, being seventy-two feet in length. The inside is one hundred and sixty-eight feet by forty-eight, and fifty-three feet to the roof, and may be considered a rare gem. The floor is of polished white, yellow, and black marble mosaic; one draws on felt overshoes to slip and slide over the surface. The roof is of gilded bronze plates, with three plate-glass windows to admit the light, the crossbeams of sky blue, and stars of gold, with full-sized figures of gods and heroes. The various polished marble sides contain tablets and busts of one hundred and sixty of the most renowned and distinguished Germans. The different divisions are protected by six figures of Victory, in white Carrara marble; these female forms, with extended wings, are the work of the celebrated Rauch, at Berlin. The bas-reliefs, executed in Rome, of the same material, extend entirely around the hall, two hundred and ninety-two feet in length, in eight divisions, and mark the history of the German race, settlement of the country, conquests, arts, religion, knowledge, &c.

From Ratisbon, twelve hours by mail coach brings one to the old city of Nuremburg, the most antique in Germany. Its former population, ninety thousand, now counts fifty-two thousand; it is surrounded by a wall forty feet high, upon which are seventy-two towers and bastions; the four towers of the principal gates are built in the form of cannons. Its cathedral and churches are remarkable for their old illuminated glass windows, woodcarving of the altars, and life of Christ, by the renowned artists Veit, Stoss, and Adam Kraft; also paintings from the original school of Albert Durer and his master, as early as 1485. A remarkable old cemetery contains the tombs of the artists named. The venerable château, erected in the tenth century, recently fitted up for the royal family, who are soon expected, is worth a visit, not only for the view, but its contents. In the courtyard is a large linden tree, seven hundred years old. The city hall, built in the sixteenth century, is a fine structure, and contains remarkable stucco-work of that period, and paintings of Albert Durer, particularly the triumphal procession of the Emperor Maximilian I. The bridges over the stream which runs through the city, the fountains, monuments, and style of architecture of the old town, generally interest travellers. Nine hours by rail transports one, via Bamburg and Würzburg, through an interesting and varied country, to the free city of Frankfort-upon-the-Main. Being on my way to this favorite resort for a rest, and the use of the waters, I tarried but little on the Rhine, and as these points are as familiar as old acquaintances, nothing strikes one as new. Wiesbaden I find on each repeated visit much improved; the usual concourse of guests is from fifteen thousand to twenty thousand annually; its position on the slope of the Taunus hills, gives it the beautiful valleys that surround it, and the advantage of healthful and recreating excursions to the mountains.

I shall remain here a few days longer, then make my way to Paris, for the Exhibition, after which I may conclude to take steamer to my own Vaterland.

1856.

CXII.

PARIS, FRANCE, _Jan. 28, 1856_.

You have been kept advised from time to time for so many years past of my whereabouts, that I fancy you inquiring, “Where are you? What are you doing? What kind of passage had you out?” and the like. The heading of this epistle will show you that I am once again, and for the tenth time, in the great metropolis of the continent, which is a sort of culminating point for European travellers going and returning. The first day of January, for the first time in some ten years, I was permitted to remain late enough in the north to unite with the denizens of our great Empire City in keeping up the good old Knickerbocker custom of wishing a “happy new year;” on the fifth I stepped on board the good steamship Pacific bound for Liverpool.

We stood shivering upon the upper deck, gazing after those left behind us, until reminded of the comfort of a cabin.

We soon found ourselves at Sandy Hook, in the commencement of a north-east snow storm, and with much difficulty disposed of our pilot. One of the roughest and most boisterous nights followed. Those of our passengers who were at sea for the first time, suffered all the horrors of sea-sickness. Our gallant ship combatted nobly the mountain waves, the decks were swept from time to time, and one life-boat was carried away; so passed the first twenty-four hours. Sunday morning, the sixth, I found three passengers out of fifty-eight at breakfast, and our dinner was not served as usual, “_à la carte_,” as the cook’s galley had been flooded and things temporarily deranged.

We had a succession of head winds and snow flurries for several days, with seldom a nautical observation. The first day we only made sixty-five knots, as we could not see to run, but our noble ship did her duty, and made up for lost time, doing the passage in twelve days. I had just taken up the papers from New York, and noticed that the snow storm ashore was one of the worst ever experienced by that venerable gentleman, the oldest inhabitant.

Passengers at sea are disposed to accommodate themselves to circumstances, and being more dependent upon each other for the means of passing the time than ashore, generally make themselves as amiable as possible. Our commander I had formerly known; our steward had catered to my wants from Panama to San Francisco; we had several gentlemen and ladies--old acquaintances--and passed our time as pleasantly as our rolling and pitching would permit. We had a great variety of character for so limited a number of passengers--American, English, French, German, Italian, and Spanish, who finding your humble servant was familiar with their several countries, rather taxed his vocal organs in the exercises of their different languages.

Once landed at Liverpool, the great commercial mart of England, our party were soon scattered to the four winds. I started for Chester, one of the oldest and most curious towns in England, with its porticoes and colonnades which enable the pedestrian to walk long distances without exposure to sun or rain, and remind one of Bologna.

The Marquis of Westminster, one of the wealthiest noblemen of the kingdom, has a princely palace and parks in the neighborhood well worth a visit.

From Chester I proceeded to the great manufacturing city of Birmingham, and on to Bristol, in the west of England, a large seaport upon the Severn, with its suburban places of resort, Clifton and Hotwells, much frequented by families and invalids during the winter, on account of the mildness of the climate, and the picturesque and romantic scenery. The first steamships, the Sirius and Great Western, were sent to New York by a Bristol Company. It is a curious old city, but contains nothing very striking for the traveller.

Bath, renowned by the bards and poets, lies upon the Avon, and has some forty thousand inhabitants; it is prettily situated and well built; is celebrated for its hot springs, and is quite full at this season of the year with invalids. The weather was mild for the winter; the fields were still quite green, and vegetables were exposed in the gardens. The Great Western Railway passes through Bath. The living is good, after the English style, roast beef, mutton chops, plum-pudding, Cheshire and Stilton cheese, ale, porter, and old port wine, being the chief articles of consumption; there is no _table d’hôte_ at the public houses; parties dine separately at hotels in a very unsocial manner.

The approach to Birmingham via Wolverhampton, for twenty miles along the railway line, early in the evening, presented a curious spectacle, and reminded me of a close proximity to the infernal regions; the hundreds of furnaces for the manufacture of coke, iron, and steel, throwing out their lurid glare of light and smoke, whose fires rarely die out, surpassed those of any part of England I had seen, and filled me with awe and admiration of this immense branch of industry.

Coming over the Great Western Railroad to London, there is much to admire, and many places worth a detour or a visit; among these are the Universities at Oxford, and the residence of the Queen at Windsor Castle, all of which I had formerly seen.

At Sydenham, twenty miles from London, now stands the Crystal Palace. Its lofty towers, two hundred and forty feet in height, are not yet complete; its elevated position commands the whole country; the parks are being beautifully ornamented. It so far excels what it was when I saw it in Hyde Park, at the time of the Exhibition, that I shall not attempt to describe it. Suffice it to say, the Egyptian, East Indian, Moorish, and Italian departments, representing so faithfully the architecture, painting, statuary, and inscriptions of those countries were to me an invaluable souvenir. The Oriental department, kept up to tropical heat in midwinter, with fragrant plants and flowers, fish swimming in the fountains, birds chirping and singing in the presence of huge Indian deities upon the façades of temples, almost transports one to the banks of the Ganges.

A return to the city, with its teeming population of two and a half millions, crowded thoroughfares, bustle and confusion, soon dispels the illusion. The winter is no time for sight-seeing in London, as the smoke or fog oftentimes prevent your seeing more than a few steps before you; indeed at eleven A.M. the gas lights are sometimes still burning. All navigation upon the Thames is suspended; horses and vehicles and foot passengers grope their way in the dense obscurity.

The communication from London to Paris, via Dover and Calais, or Folkstone and Boulogne, is made in twelve or fourteen hours, at an expense of three pounds five shillings, say fifteen dollars. The English railway fares are more than double those of the United States. The same remark will apply to the general expenses of life.

The Parisians are preparing for the Carnival, when masked balls will be all the rage, and the “_Bœuf Gras_” or fat ox, will be paraded through the streets on “_Mardi Gras_”.

CXIII.

FLORENCE, ITALY, _May 2, 1856_.

Yesterday, the 1st of May, a gala-day in many countries, happening to be the anniversary of the Ascension, it united the church festival and the annual rejoicings of citizens and peasants; all business being suspended, and the entire populace at liberty, there was an unusual movement of the masses, and from early dawn until night might be seen the working-classes with their baskets of provisions, and flasks of wine, making their way to the shady groves of the Cascina, or royal farm. The wealthy denizens, in carriages, reserved their drive until towards evening, to enjoy the music of the band, which had already assisted at the church exercises and processions of the morning.

Having left the gay throng, I wandered along through the forest upon the banks of the Arno, listening to the changing notes of the nightingale, until I came to the junction of another stream, which arrested my progress. I was startled by the tread of the iron-horse in the distance, on his way to Leghorn. My thoughts, with more than locomotive speed, carried me back to the advantages enjoyed through steam power. One year before I was strolling upon the shores of the Danube, through the shady woods of the Prater, watching the movements of the people, and the gay cortege of the Imperial family of Austria, on a like occasion. The same power had since conveyed me twice across the Atlantic, through our Western States, and to the head waters of the Mississippi, and how much reason I had to be thankful for my almost miraculous preservation from the perils attending that power which I had so recently praised, in the superior qualities of the steamer Pacific, in my last passage to Europe. If she be now unfortunately added to the list of lost, it makes the sixth of the first-class steamers gone to the bottom, from which I have escaped within the past few years.

My reverie was broken by the appearance of a group of ruddy-faced peasant-girls, some with broad-brimmed straw-hats and long ribbons floating in the breeze, and some with pearl necklaces and crossed ear-rings. It was a bridal party. Some of the girls were remarkable for their beauty and freshness of complexion, notwithstanding their exposure to hard labor in the vineyards. The bridal portion of the peasant girl consists in the dress and valuable ornaments presented to her by the groom a few days before the marriage.

As I returned through the broad and solitary avenues, I met at intervals the forest guards, of which there were ten in number, in picturesque hunting dresses, with rifles in their hands, and plumes in their hats. Then I came to the joyful and giddy throng--music, dancing, eating, and drinking.

Winter is past, spring time has come once again, and all strive to be happy. Little country urchins are offering children miniature corn-stalk cages containing crickets, whose singing qualities they proclaim to inquiring nurses.

The annual races were held recently for three days in the same vicinity, which attracted large numbers of the upper classes of the community. The concourse of beauty and fashion in carriages was quite different from what it is with us, and gave strangers, of whom large numbers are now here on their return from Rome and Naples, a fine opportunity of seeing the aristocracy, and witnessing the sports of the turf. Curiosity led me to be present on one occasion, and I found things went off better than I had expected. Considerable interest was manifested by many for the success of a horse mounted by a negro jockey, rather a rare personage in this country, but poor Cuffy was almost distanced. It seemed to me, however, the fellow was not disheartened, for I saw him in the evening sipping his ice with a well-dressed white woman in a respectable café. I cite this as one of many examples seen in England and on the continent, however shocking it may be to the American mind to witness, of the practical amalgamation of the races carried out among the sympathizers of poor Uncle Tom.

Inasmuch as all Europe have had their demonstrations of joy upon the return of peace, so also has this government manifested its satisfaction in a jubilee. I suppose even the Duchy of Parma has done the same, although recently put in a state of siege, growing out of the frequent attempts at assassination of government officers. All fire-arms must be given up, and strangers are closely watched.

The people are looking anxiously for the publication of the articles of peace, hoping that Italy may also have real cause for rejoicing.

Although the carriage horses here are of large size and well-proportioned, there is quite a passion manifested for small ponies of the Shetland stock, for little tiny wagons, well adapted to run over the hills, and glide in and around the city, over the well-paved streets.

My ears have been bored several days past with the continual chiselling of the _Scarpellini_, or stone-cutters, who are repaving the street under my windows, and the solid arched stone bridge over the river. From seven in the morning until seven in the evening, with an hour’s intermission for a frugal meal, they are measuring, picking, and cutting huge granite blocks into suitable forms, close jointed; the street has no sidewalk, the descent being gradual from the houses, and the water carried off by culverts from the centre. It is a pleasure to look upon such beautiful work; a carriage rolls without impediment, and where there is an ascent it can be nitched or chiselled, as may be needed, for the foothold of horses. These poor mechanics earn from thirty to forty cents per day, our currency, and consider themselves well paid, notwithstanding the increased price of provisions, while large numbers in other pursuits have only the miserable pittance of from one to one and a half pauls per day, say from twelve to eighteen cents.

Begging in the capital is prohibited by law, but tolerated in consequence of the distress of the poor. Public beggars are frequently unworthy of charity, but a Howard would have a fine field here for the exercise of benevolence. The other day, emerging from the Palazzo Pitti, or royal residence, wearied in gazing through long galleries at the pictures of Raphael, Rubens, Titian, Salvator Rosa, Murillo, Carlo Dolci, and a host of other celebrated painters; at the statuary of renowned artists, the allegorical frescoed ceilings, and seeking relief in the shady walks of the Boboli, or palace garden, my attention was arrested by the Ducal family riding out with a splendid equipage. Happy children of wealthy families fed the gold fish in the basins surrounding the fountains, decorated with the colossal figure of Neptune, with the waters of the Ganges, Nile, and Euphrates gushing forth, while nurses and liveried servants were in attendance.

Continuing my walk quite into the suburbs, and reflecting upon the concentration of so much treasure in the hands of the nobility, and the inequality of society in monarchical countries, I accidentally met a little boy quite alone, poorly clad, with dejected air, trying to gather a few sticks. On inquiry I found he had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours, and had left his poor mother and four children in a suffering state. His hunger was soon appeased at the first baker’s shop, and it was pleasant to see the little fellow going to the relief of the others with something more substantial than his errand called for.

After repeated visits to the same city, one becomes so accustomed to the remarkable sights which first attract the stranger, that if he attempts to describe them he scarcely knows where to begin.

We pass and repass the Palazzo Vecchio, an old palace of Grecian and Etruscan architecture, with its lofty tower of the thirteenth century, and its gigantic figures, at the entrance, of David slaying Goliah, and Hercules slaying Cacus, with but slight notice, casting a glance at the open gallery opposite, with its pretty front of columns and arches, containing the beautiful bronze figure of Perseus and Medusa, with the bleeding head of the latter severed from the body, the marble group of a young Roman warrior carrying off a Sabine female, whose father is prostrate at his feet, the statues of priestesses, figures of huge lions, &c.

One strolls along through the city, on some church festival, to the Duomo, or cathedral of the thirteenth century, the walls of which are of black and white polished marble, four hundred feet in length. The front never was finished, but a project is now on foot for its completion. The square tower, or Campanilla, of Arabic and Greek architecture, of white, black, and red marble, stands beside it, and rises two hundred and eighty feet in height. The baptistery, of octagon form, somewhat resembling the Parthenon at Rome, stands opposite and completes the trio.

The bronze doors are exceedingly beautiful, with festoons and foliage prettily wrought. The marble columns, the altars, the twelve statues representing the Apostles and the written laws, the trophies of victory, won by the Republic against the Pisans--these, with other adornments here, become so familiar to the eye, that when one drops in on some festival occasion, or christening, his attention is more directed to the personages and ceremonies than the contents of the edifice.

Instead of wearying you with descriptions of works of art, I would rather revert to the beauties of nature, at this season of the year, in the neighborhood of Florence. The rides, walks, and views from the surrounding hills, are now most agreeable and rarely excelled.

CXIV.

BOLOGNA, _June 3, 1856_.

Before leaving Tuscany, I passed a couple of days in revisiting Siena, from which place I wrote two years since on my way to Rome. It is accessible by railroad from Florence. Although dull it possesses much of interest, and its airy mountain location induces many to spend a part of the summer in it. Its delicious water, from a fountain constructed in the year 1193, and famous for its quantity and quality, is spoken of by Dante, in his Inferno. The people, however, do not consider it the best substitute for their favorite wines, which they have been in some measure deprived of by the partial failure of the grape crop of late years; they look forward, however, to a good return season.

The cathedral, the position of which was once occupied by a temple dedicated to Minerva, is a masterpiece of Tuscan Gothic architecture, incrusted without and within with black and white marble, of the fifteenth century. Notwithstanding the eye may tire of gazing at churches and their contents, still this old edifice, constructed by the celebrated sculptors of Siena, will well bear re-examination, and the mosaic pavement, among the most celebrated in Italy, is a study in itself, consisting of sculptured history, the story of Moses, also that of Joshua, and the emblems of cities once in alliance with Siena; the elephant of Rome, with a castle on his back; the lions of Florence and Massa; the dragon of Pistoia; the hare of Pisa; the unicorn of Viterbo; the horse of Avezzo; the she-wolf of Siena, in memory of Romulus and Remus; and many other animals and armorial representations of the different cities and republics. Abraham’s intended sacrifice of his son is most esteemed. The art of description in mosaic as early as the fourteenth century, strikes many persons with surprise; but it appears from the pavement which I saw in one of the disinterred houses among the ruins of Pompeii, and which represented the battle of Darius with the Persians, that the art was known before Christ, Pompeii being buried by the irruption of Mount Vesuvius in the year 72. The painted glass of the year 1549, with the busts of all popes down to Alexander III., and some original frescoes of Raphael, are all well worth attention.

Some years since, coming to this city, I employed the Vetturino mode of conveyance, taking the mountain route, with the privilege of stopping when and where I pleased, with an agreeable party. For the first trip it was decidedly pleasant; we had a fine view from the summit of the Apennines, of the Adriatic and Mediterranean; now halting for a rest, or gratifying our curiosity; again strolling off to visit some remnant of antiquity, and passing the night in some solitary inn or obscure village; then came a scramble to the top of a hill called Monte di Fo. High up over the rocks there was a small volcano, some fifteen feet in circumference, disgorging its bright flames much to the satisfaction of some of our party, who had not yet climbed Vesuvius or Ætna, or seen Stromboli in a state of eruption. As we are apt to judge by comparison, I naturally looked at it as a small specimen of a volcano. Having since seen the burning mountains and craters of the Sandwich Islands, I was not ambitious to retrace my old route, so I took the railroad to the old city of Pistoia, with its wide, straight, and well-paved streets. It contains some objects worthy of notice, but appears dull for want of population; it was famous among the ancients for the defeat of Catiline, and in more modern times for the factions of the Guelphs and Ghibelines.

The country around is rich and fertile in the extreme, being amongst the best cultivated in Tuscany. At this season of flowers and early fruits, the hedges and climbing vines in festoons upon the trees, forming continuous arbors, present a gay and cheerful appearance.

From Pistoia, taking the coupé or front compartment of a diligence, in company with a French baron and his lady, and nine passengers inside and on top, besides a heavy load of baggage, with from four to seven horses, and a pair of oxen for the steepest ascent of the Apennines, we accomplished the distance of fifty-four miles in thirteen hours, along a most picturesque and romantic route, winding around the brink of precipices and upon the margin of mountain torrents, with their deafening roar, not apprehensive of avalanches of snow which I have sometimes dreaded in Switzerland; they have an occasional land slide here. We passed one spot, in particular, where twenty-four persons lost their lives.

Crossing the frontier into the Papal States, we had, at the first custom-house, the usual scenes, such as I described to you two years since, in going south; also swarms of beggars, blind, halt, and lame, affording an opportunity of disposing of small coin, no longer of use in the adjoining territory.

Descending the mountain, following the course of the river Reno through a beautiful valley, the road lined with the tall poplars of Lombardy, we arrive at Bologna, the second city in size, and first in commercial importance, of the sovereign Pontiff Pius IX.; it is pleasantly situated upon the river just named, and famous for other things besides its sausages. History reports its existence, under the name of Felsina, as an Etruscan town, previous to its capture by the Boii, who changed its name to Boina, and in time converted to Bologna. 653 B.C. it received a Roman colony, but suffered by civil war; it was restored by Augustus after the battle of Actium, and afterwards became one of the most powerful cities of Italy.

It is now commercial, with a population of seventy thousand. It is the most remarkable city for porticoes I have ever seen. It is rainy to-day, but you may walk for miles without an umbrella. About three miles from the city, on the summit of a hill, is the church of the Madonna, the ascent to which is fatiguing; it has a continuous arcade, containing six hundred and forty columns, constructed at the expense of different ecclesiastical establishments, and the bequests of the rich. We went up the carriage road in our vehicle, putting in advance of the horses a pair of oxen. From the summit is a vast and extensive view of the neighboring mountains, the extended valley, and the city, almost at our feet.

A curious old tower stands nearly in the centre of the city, called Asinelli, erected in 1109; it is said to be three hundred and twenty-seven feet high, and inclines four feet. Another, near by, built about the same time, is one hundred and forty feet in height, and inclines eight feet from the perpendicular. They are constructed of brick, and have been restored at different periods. A slight shock of an earthquake would tell a sad tale for the neighbors. A canal, or race, runs through the city with an abundance of water, supplying the mills. The Piazza del Duomo, or principal public square, upon which stands the venerable cathedral, the Government House, and other public buildings, has a noble but antique appearance. Here is a colossal statue of Neptune, in bronze, by the celebrated Giovanni of Bologna. This gigantic figure holds a trident, one foot rests upon a dolphin, and at the base of the four angles of the pedestal are seated four female figures, with their hands across their breasts, from which issue jets of water; their nether limbs, terminating in the form of fish, are seated upon huge dolphins, whose nostrils spout the liquid stream in the basin beneath. The Campo Santo, or burial ground, ordered by Napoleon in 1801, is interesting to visit.

Bologna boasts of giving birth to Guido, Domenichino, Annibale Caracci, and of course has a good gallery of paintings. Its anatomical collections, with the one in Florence, are the most curious and extensive in the world. Its university is supposed to have been founded by the Emperor Theodosius, in the year 425 of the Christian era; others say by the Countess Matilda, much later. It is said to have contained six thousand students once, and professors in proportion; its celebrity is not now so great. Some of the palaces are well worth seeing, for those who have not seen Italy generally.

Strangers, I notice, make but a short tarry here generally, but push on south for Florence and Rome, or further north to Milan and Venice. I design to reach the latter place in a few days, after visiting Modena and Mantua.

CXV.

VENICE, ITALY, _July 1, 1856_.

The Duchies of Modena and Parma (the latter is in a state of siege since the assassination of the Duke), were among the few points in all Italy I had never visited; so I was induced to diverge from my route to this city to look in upon these little courts, whose fortified capitals contain some forty to fifty thousand inhabitants each, and whose territories might bear some resemblance in size to the little states of Rhode Island and Delaware, surrounded by their more opulent neighbors; but the usual forms of visitation of baggage, examination of passport, and other annoyances of the police, must be submitted to.

The strict censorship, and tax upon the home press, and the suppression of liberal foreign journals--even those of patriotic Sardinia, across the frontier, are forbidden--and keep the people in ignorance. The country is rich and fertile, closely cultivated from necessity by a redundant population. The palace of the Duchess Regent of Parma is strongly guarded by Austrian soldiery, which is also the case in many parts of the Pope’s dominions.

Strangers are looked upon with suspicion by the authorities, as they well know the masses are much dissatisfied with the result of the Peace Congress at Paris, having hoped for reform in Italy; they fear, therefore, an outbreak of popular resentment. The parade and pomp observed by the small potentates of Italy and Germany, aping their superiors in all the forms and etiquette of court life, to the exhaustion of their subjects, often brings to my mind the burlesque on royalty of the black emperor Soulouque, before whose palace entrance I noticed more ebony soldiers than I had ever seen Cossacks before the winter palace of the late Czar Nicholas.

From Parma I proceeded north-east some forty miles, passing over a perfectly level agricultural country, with waving fields of wheat, rye, hemp, hedges of trees, and festoons of climbing grape vines. The peasantry were picking the leaves of the mulberry for the silkworms, which are here a great source of revenue.

We crossed the rivers Po and Olio in scow boats, and came to Mantua, renowned for its gallant defence during several sieges. This Lombardian city and fortress, which contain some thirty-five thousand inhabitants, have been much strengthened under Austrian possession, and look impregnable. There are some objects of interest, but not sufficient to detain the tourist long.

Crossing a famous stone bridge over a river, seven hundred and eighty yards in length, at a distance of three miles, one is rejoiced again to strike a railroad, which conducts to this extraordinary city. Had it not been for several days’ indisposition, I really think I should have enjoyed this my third visit to this unique city as much as the first. After having escaped the noise, bustle, and dust of continental cities, it is a great relief to get where you are surrounded with comparative quiet and solitude, away from the rattling of carriages and tread of horses, with free circulation of salt air from the lagoons of the Adriatic, and particularly during this season of salt bathing. I am located on the Grand Canal near the Piazza San Marco, and am annoyed with the continual chattering of the Gondoliers, whose songs are inspiriting, but whose noisy disputes are disturbing to the temporary invalid.

You are aware that Venice is built upon many small islands, mounted upon piles, and connected by means of bridges and canals in the lagoons, thus separated from the sea. I will not undertake to describe this wonder of the world, the seat of the Doges; the vast commerce of its two hundred thousand inhabitants in the fifteenth century, now reduced to one hundred and twenty-five thousand; its gorgeous palaces, its magnificent churches, its narrow streets, its theatres, its valuable collections of art by the old masters, and its four hundred and fifty bridges, connecting one hundred and thirty-six islands with its water communication by one hundred and fifty-four canals. The natural bubbling of a fountain is unknown, and horses are objects of curiosity; thousands of gondolas and other craft supply the places of carriages, both private and public; you step out of your palace or hotel door into your vehicle to be transported for pleasure or business, as in a cab. The Grand Canal winds in the form of an S through the city, and is divided into two parts.

A gay scene presents itself these bright moonlight nights, with the hundreds of boats, containing families, beautifully dressed ladies, and a fair share of strangers, floating gracefully along, while the balconies of the antique marble palaces of Gothic, Byzantine, and other styles of architecture are filled with their residents. The grateful and refreshing breeze disperses the smoke of the lovers of good cigars, and new objects of attraction are continually presented to the eye.

We will here step out for the present and wind our way through the narrow streets lined with tiny stores and shops filled with all that art and taste can conceive of, following the multitude like a swarm of bees through the intricate lanes and alleys from four to twelve feet in width, in order not to lose our way; we will suppose it is eight or nine o’clock in the evening, and they are proceeding to the public square San Marco, which has been lighted with gas since my last visit here. Venice has some four hundred cafés, and here under the porticos of the palaces forming the large piazza, or square, are twenty-five of them, with thousands of chairs and benches for the accommodation of the immense throng, where fashion and beauty partake of ices, and other refreshments, listening to the music of the Austrian band, the interim being filled with the songs and recitations of strolling minstrels. Baskets of confectionery are moving about in the crowd, and groups of promenaders saunter along the well-paved and commodious piazza, which has scarcely a particle of dust to soil their beautiful dresses. There in front stands the Cathedral San Marco, now nearly eight hundred years old, with its symmetrical cupolas and façade of porphyry and other antique marbles, its scriptural figures in golden mosaic, and its four bronze horses brought from Corinth, taken to Paris by Napoleon, but afterwards restored.

There stands the Campanilla, three hundred and thirty-four feet in height, from which a fair view may be obtained by daylight, and near by is the Doge’s Palace, in all its grandeur, communicating by the Bridge of Sighs with the prisons. The columns of the Lion of San Marco and Saint Theodore stand towering in bold relief as you approach the water’s edge, where hundreds of gondolas are waiting to receive their precious freight.

This is the bright side of the picture. My letter is now too extended to give in detail the private communications of those who suffer in spirit and in purse from the arbitrary exactions of the power which now gores them.

CXVI.

COMO, LAKE OF COMO, _July 29, 1856_.

Recovering from temporary indisposition at Venice, I made up for lost time in revisiting several cities already seen, such as Padua, Verona, Milan, Bergamo, Vicenza, and made several detours to visit points that I was not familiar with, such as the Lago di Garda, whose beautiful waters will compare favorably with Lago Maggiore and Lago Como.

The whole distance from the fortification of Peschiera to Riva, at the head of the Lake, is made by a small Austrian steamer in six hours, touching at the different villages upon its well cultivated banks, abounding with millions of orange and lemon trees--a source of a great profit for exportation. This region is protected by mountains, some as high as six thousand feet, with deep blue waters, romantic waterfalls, amphitheatred walls, olive groves and climbing vineyards all around. Although in the north of Italy, approaching Switzerland, the climate in winter is mild, and fogs are quite unknown; the Lake never freezes.

Proceeding to Milan, the Lombardian capital, by rail and land conveyance, I was induced to strike off south-east to visit Pavia, noted for its University containing nine hundred students, and its collection of anatomy and natural history. Twenty miles distant is Lodi, rendered memorable by Napoleon in the famous battle crossing the bridge over the rapid river Adda. I found great preparations making for the festival of the patron saint of the city, whose remains, dating from the fourth century, were being transmitted from the old vault in the basement or crypt of the cathedral to a new sculptured marble tomb. The sarcophagus was of solid silver, with double crystal plates inserted in the sides and cover, exposing to view the skeleton; the bones were joined together with silver wire, and reposed upon a couch of silk and velvet. The rush of the multitude was so great, I could scarcely gain access to the altar; men and women were there with rosaries and handkerchiefs in their hands; and a priest in attendance was busily engaged in passing these articles over the relics of the consecrated saint; after which, when communicated to an afflicted part, they were thought to give relief.

The beautiful plains through which I passed are irrigated at will with abundance of water; the aqueducts were lined with willows, and other trees, affording shade the entire length of the road between the two cities. The rice plantations are beautiful indeed, surpassing in verdure anything I have seen of the kind in the Carolinas or East Indies; but the miasma is productive of fevers, and the peasantry live in villages remote from the inundated fields.

Each city has its objects of interest. Padua boasts of the villa of Petrarch in the vicinity; its stupendous church of the patron saint Antonio; its University with fifteen hundred students, bearing upon its walls the antique armorial insignia of the many noble youths educated there; its library, its anatomical collection, and fifty-five thousand inhabitants.

Verona, rather more populous, has its attractions; its old amphitheatre, in the same style as the Coliseum at Rome, one thousand four hundred and seventy feet in circumference, with forty-five rows of seats, and with places for twenty-five thousand persons, is in remarkable preservation; in the arena is now erected a _Teatro Diurno_. These day-theatres are without roofs; the performance commences at six P.M., and is generally frequented. The tomb of Juliet, in an old convent, is only of interest for the romantic story of herself and of her lover Romeo. The house of the Capulets also exists. The position of Verona, divided by the river Etsch, with its high hills strongly fortified by the Austrians, is almost impregnable withal, and picturesque; it has become, with its garrison, a second Mantua.

Vicenza, a smaller city of thirty-five thousand population, has its antique public square, government house, palace of justice, with arcades worth looking in upon, and a fine view from the summit of a hill in the suburbs. A covered gallery some two thousand feet in length leads the pilgrim to the convent of the Madonna of the Mountain. An antique Olympic theatre in the city attracts strangers. From the benches of the amphitheatre I was struck with a singular perspective receding from the stage of a miniature city of Greekish architecture, representing streets, houses, and professions. While examining the old structure of wood, decorated with ornamental figures, I made some comparisons which were responded to by my conductress, a beautiful girl of light complexion and golden locks. Upon questioning the girl, I found that she spoke English, although of Italian birth; every city and province has its peculiar tongue, and only the educated speak Italian. It is in Tuscany alone where the language is spoken in its purity. I have been in dining rooms where there were several groups at the tables speaking Neapolitan, Genoese, Milanese, and other dialects, without understanding each other, yet all were Italians. One can well conceive the difficulty of regenerating a people where such objections to unity are met with, and where local prejudices are so strong. One fine morning in Milan, twenty-one guns announced to us the telegraphic news from Vienna of the birth of a princess to the House of Austria. Notwithstanding the disappointment (a prince had been hoped for), great preparations having been made at the Duomo for the celebration, it came off in this world-wide renowned edifice with the usual pomp and ceremony of church, civil, and military parade.

The Corso Francesco in Milan has many elegant cafés, which were quite desolate for two or three days, in consequence of the seizure of foreign journals giving the debates in England upon Italian affairs. The old papers were read and re-read, and almost worn through; the evident disgust and under-toned denunciation of the powers that be could not pass unobserved.

CXVII.

ZURICH, _Aug. 16, 1856_.

Leaving the beautiful lake of Como, with its lovely villas, cultivated gardens, vineyards, and picturesque views, I started for Switzerland, via the lake of Lugano.

The Austrian frontier of Lombardy is soon reached, and one finds himself in the Canton of Ticino. Upon crossing the bridge of Chiaso into Swiss territory, one soon discovers the effect of free government and liberal principles in the public schoolhouses, in the culture and manufacture of tobacco, in the relief from annoyances of passports and examination of luggage. A quarter of a mile from there, tobacco is a monopoly, and its growth is prohibited; here it is produced in considerable quantities, and manufactured for exportation.

The town of Lugano, prettily situated upon the borders of the lake, surrounded by romantic scenery, is considerably frequented, and foreign journals may be read there without the intermeddling of the censor-police.

On the opposite side of the lake is the village of Castigleone, in Austrian territory, at the foot of a steep mountain; it is accessible only by land, over the Swiss high-road. Here the people enjoy comparative freedom, and are exempt from military proscription; but in these mountainous regions of Switzerland many women are afflicted with huge swellings of the neck, which are frightful to behold, and are attributed to the water of the country.

Among the twenty-two Cantons of Switzerland, there were four which I had never seen; neither had I yet passed the Splugen and St. Bernardino, which are of great interest; so I was induced to finish the work. The St. Bernardino must not be confounded with the great St. Bernard, which I passed some years since on mule-back, with my guide, in the early part of the month of June, among the avalanches and snow banks twenty feet deep, and was happy to find refuge among the monks of the convent, who greeted me as the first traveller of the season, and were longing for the news of Rome during the Holy Week. The Simplon I had formerly crossed in the month of October, upon a sled for one person, made of hoop-poles, with my trunk lashed thereto. Mount Cenis I passed two years since, on my way from Turin to Chamberry, under favorable circumstances, without exposure or fatigue, and now with the lateness of the season I had nothing but beautiful scenery to expect, four months of the year being considered free from danger.