Chapter I: Havana, 1 (7)

It was not my lot to discover any remains of the lost cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. From the Dead Sea we proceeded across the limestone mountains to Mount Saba, where there is a Greek convent, and arrived just at night at this extraordinary location, which is situated among rocky cliffs and ledges, in the midst of a gloomy mountain occupied only by the Bedouins. On knocking at the gate of this vast monastery, fortified by nature and art, and asking admission as pilgrims and Christians, we were welcomed in; and our dragoman being a Greek, we were received with all hospitality, and enjoyed the repose we so much needed. We here found the monks very polite in showing us all the contents of the convent. They told us that in the middle ages St. Saba, with many followers, occupied the caves and ledges of the rocks which are to be found in the vicinity, and that he had a dream, in which he was directed by an angel to found a convent on this spot, which was finally accomplished. They showed us the ancient chapel in the rock, where were exhibited the skulls of all the monks slain in three attacks by the Turks. One of their number was buried the morning we left, having been there forty years, dying at the age of ninety.

On leaving Mount Saba, we directed our course for Bethlehem, and after a ride of three hours over the mountain, we approached the town by a gradual ascent along the side of a well cultivated hill, walled up amphitheatre-like. On entering the convent erected over the place of nativity of our Saviour, we discovered the remains of a church founded by the empress Helena. Taking lights, we followed one of the priests down a flight of steps, visiting several altars consecrated to St. Gerolomi and others, and finally came to a chamber, in which place it is said Jesus was born. The chamber is from twenty-five to thirty feet long, and about fifteen broad, illuminated by fifty hanging lamps. At the extreme end is shown the ancient fireplace of the house of the Virgin; upon the marble hearth is a plate of gold beset with precious stones. On the other side, in a sort of grotto in the rock, is represented a manger, the place being said to be the identical spot where the babe of Bethlehem was laid. The chamber is adorned with paintings representing the virgin and the infant, and lamps are continually burning.

After quitting this interesting spot, we pursued our course to Jerusalem, where we soon arrived, after an absence of three days; and glad I was to return, having suffered exceedingly with my eyes from the extreme heat and glare of the sun, in crossing the limestone mountains. The weakness of my sight confined me to the house for two days, whereby I was able only to receive the vendors of beads and crucifixes.

On our route from Jerusalem to Jaffa, we took refuge at the house of our vice-consul, at Ramlah, who entertained that evening all the suite of the Pasha of Jerusalem, on their return from Gaza, as also the sheiks of several tribes of Bedouins; and it was an amusing sight to see some twenty persons squatted on the low divan, with their long pipes, all in Turkish costume, with long black beards and turbans, and occasionally a venerable Turk with his beard as white as snow. When dinner was announced, five small tables, about a foot and a half in height, were placed upon the floor, with servers on each; when four persons squatting around each, commenced the repast, eating in silence, without the use of forks, rising when satisfied, and washing their hands, which is done both before and after eating, the master of the house dipping his fingers first in the dish at table, and being the last to leave the table, following the rules of etiquette; all returning upon the divan, and resuming their favorite chibouque and cup of coffee.

We are now stopping in the Saba convent, and waiting an opportunity to go to Alexandria; expecting the arrival of a schooner to-morrow, which is the only communication. This town is the ancient Joppa spoken of in Scripture, 2d Chron. ii. 16; Acts ix. 36 and 42, and is situated upon an eminence overhanging the sea. The houses rise in terraces from the water’s edge, and present a singular appearance from the sea. It is like a town of stairs, the streets paved in steps, owing to the inequality of the ground. This port is small, and the rocks dangerous. The view from the roofs of the houses is splendid. The surf comes to an immense height to-day, having had a strong north wind. The environs are beautiful, particularly the orange groves, which abound, extending all over the plains of Sharon, so celebrated in Scripture for their fertility, and the beautiful flowers that grow spontaneously from the soil.

XXXVI.

VALETTA, ISLAND OF MALTA, _May 14, 1842_.

My only means of passage from Jaffa to Alexandria, where I wished to take the steamer for this island, was on board of a crazy old brig, laden with bones for the manufacture of buttons. The captain and his wife were Greeks, and occupied the cabin, infested with vermin. My companion preferred the deck. I spread my Turkish rug in the yawl-boat, and covered it with the awning of our tent, and resigned myself for a four days’ trip. Our servants succeeded in preparing our meals, although surrounded by fifteen or twenty Arabs, Turks, and Armenians, most of them dirty-looking fellows. Some of them were pilgrims from Jerusalem. Entering the harbor of Alexandria an Egyptian officer, who spoke French, approached us in his boat, but without coming in contact. He took our bill of health in a tin box to be fumigated, and then condemned us to a quarantine of ten days. This was annoying and unexpected; but poor Tray was found in bad company, and we marched off to the quarantine prisons, where, separated from others by iron bars and railings, to avoid plague-contagion, we awaited provisions from outside. Our apartments consisted of two rooms, without furniture, and covered with dust. We applied to our consul for supplies and made remonstrances, as the plague did not actually exist where we came from, but persons were dying from the disease in our vicinity, and the guard were obliged to keep our servants from communication with infected subjects, which might jeopardize our lives. Our arms were demanded of us, which we were unwilling to give up. To our great joy, through the united action of the Prussian and American consuls, we were liberated after two days’ incarceration in this miserable place. What a relief it was to find a decent hotel, a fair table, a comfortable bed, clean sheets, and tolerably free from fleas and other vermin, after the fatigue and inconvenience of Nile and desert travel, sleeping under tents, in mud huts, and subjected to a thousand annoyances, notwithstanding which my health has improved. But the strong glare of light, and reflection of the sun’s rays upon the sand, if it had not produced ophthalmia, had so affected my eyes that I had to abandon reading and writing for some time. Fortunately a pair of green goggles, which I had used among the ice mountains of Switzerland, came apropos. I remained a few days at Alexandria, and embarked for this island in the steamer Great Liverpool, bearing the Oriental mail and passengers. The accommodations are of a superior character. Those who land here must undergo a quarantine of twenty-one days. This being the third annoyance of the kind, I was loth to submit, but comfortable provision being made under British rule, and the desire to visit the island in detail, and then proceed to Spain, made the sacrifice compulsory. This ridiculous farce will in time be modified or abandoned. Our ship came in quarantine harbor without communication with the shore, other than through the fumigating process.

We were taken in a boat, keeping at a respectful distance from the oarsmen, and when at the station the payment of coin was made by throwing it in a bucket of water. Our quarters were comfortable, the servants attentive, the restaurant was well provided. We could receive and pay visits within the ward, but only in the presence of the guards, and without touching each other, being kept at the length of the guardiano’s stick. The island of Malta lies sixty miles east of Sicily; it is twenty miles in length, twelve in breadth, and sixty in circumference. The capital, Valetta, was built by the grand master in 1566; it has houses of cut stone, two and three stories high, with balconies; rises to a considerable height like a town of stairs, and is well paved and very clean, under English military rule. The strong glare of light and dust from pulverized stone is bad for the eyes. It has many edifices and public buildings full of interest. The ancient palace of the Knights of St. John, now the residence of the governor, is interesting for its works of art and relics taken in the siege of Rhodes. The Church of St. John, or cathedral, is a gem. Even after one has seen most of the prominent churches of Italy, much of merit will be found in this edifice. The mosaic pave is of precious marble, and the epitaphs of the members of the order are intensely interesting. The city is two and a half miles in circumference. The fortifications are on an enormous scale, and considered impregnable. The harbors are small but safe, containing many frigates and other naval vessels at anchor. The promenade on the bastions gives an extended view.

Although, properly speaking, the island is not much more than a barren rock, it has become, through the industry and perseverance of its occupants exceedingly fertile and well cultivated. The hills and rising grounds are inclosed by walls, to prevent the earth washing away, and form a succession of terraces.

They excavate and export cut stone, for flagging, in large quantities, and with the return vessels bring soil, which, mixed with pulverized stone, is made productive. I have made the tour of the island on horseback, and found the weather hot; in many places they had commenced harvesting.

My servant and a running guide accompanied me to the ancient city of Citta Vecchia. After riding five miles over a dusty but magnificent road, in many places cut through the solid rock, and admiring the small patches of vegetation, we came to the palace and gardens of San Antonio. Here I found a mixture of English and African trees, almonds, roses in profusion, and loquats, a fruit of a golden color, of an acid taste, introduced from China, and very refreshing on a dusty road. We then rode to Citta Vecchia; we were considerably annoyed by beggars. We looked at the old church, containing some beautiful work in bronze and marble, with paintings and frescoes of St. Paul’s shipwreck. The relics of stately buildings, rich in architecture, are visible in all directions. Not far distant we were shown a church under which was the cave where St. Paul and St. Luke resided for three months. In the neighborhood are found the catacombs. Descending a staircase we found a gallery, with branches in all directions, forming quite a labyrinth.

The sides contain tombs cut out of the solid rock, without regular order, but with considerable taste. There are several halls, galleries, and places for sacrifices. On the floor was one circular block, about four feet in diameter, flat on the top, with a low edge around it. Above are seen funnels and chimneys leading outside. The ancient Phœnicians burnt offerings to the element of fire on the occasion of every tenant deposited in the tomb. In another direction we visited a village where the poor people voluntarily tax themselves in erecting a commodious church over and around the old one. They have been at work nine years, and require five more to accomplish it.

On Sundays the mechanics and laborers are all sure to turn out and work. When the new edifice is finished, the old one will be torn down and taken out. We passed through several villages containing fine churches, clean and comfortable houses, notwithstanding the poverty of the inhabitants. They are strong Catholics, and speak the Maltese dialect, a mixture of Arabic and Italian. The caleshe, or vehicle of the country, has three windows, one pair of wheels, and the driver runs beside the horse. St. Paul’s Bay is quite prominent; the spot where he landed has a chapel dedicated to him.

We passed over some high hills to obtain a view of Mellicha, where the devoted make their pilgrimage.

In the neighborhood are seen caves in the rock, once inhabited. The Grotto of Calypso was pointed out by our guide; we found a man and his wife in it, with a hand-loom, a few cooking utensils, a few old clothes, and a couple of chairs, which was all their stock; a small present made them quite happy. They had, very naturally, never heard of Calypso.

They had a beautiful valley lying below them, with a deep bay and the island of Gozo in the distance. There is much to be said and described in and about the island, but time does not permit, as I embark for Spain.

SUMMER TRIP, 1842.

The steamer Alecto brought me from Malta to Gibraltar; we coasted along the African shore, sighting Algiers, with its high walls and whitewashed buildings, crowned by its citadel. I was struck with awe and admiration at the sight of the renowned rock of Gibraltar, whose defences entitle it to be called the key of the Mediterranean. I climbed up zigzag roads and stairways, and was shown immense galleries excavated out of the solid rock, which terminate in the battery called “St. George’s Hall.” Higher up, at the height of thirteen hundred feet, is the rock gun. The number of cannon employed in all the general defences is said to be eight hundred. On the summit, or Telegraph Hill, we partook of refreshments, and looking over a register kept for visitors, I was amused at their comments: “No monkeys visible to-day.” “Where are all the monkeys?” “Lots of monkeys to-day.” I looked over the parapet wall, and, sure enough, the fine weather had brought out thirty-nine or forty, who were scrambling and chattering among the branches of the scrub trees. It is the only spot in Europe where they are found; heavy penalties prevent killing them, but the dogs sometimes destroy them when they descend to rob the gardens below. St. Michael’s Cave is curious for its stalactites, and came in as an additional attraction. The view from the summit over the straits and the African coast, the Spanish town of Algesiras, on the opposite side of the bay, the neutral ground, the walled and fortified city below, was of the most enjoyable character. The alemedas, or promenades, are well laid out, and planted with trees and flowers, which give them a cheerful appearance. The birthday of Queen Victoria was the occasion of grand demonstrations on shore and on shipboard. At mid-day the roar of cannons from the vessels of war, in which our own ship Brandywine took part, and the discharge of thirty-two pounders from the rock galleries, produced such a concussion that my inkstand trembled while I wrote. The night illumination of the eighty-four gun-ship Formidable, and others, was magnificent.

The tents and camp of the General, covered with devices and transparencies, produced a fine effect, and the bursting of rockets lighted up the countenances of the dancing multitude upon the Alemeda.

Eight hours’ steaming took me to Malaga, just in time for the festival of Corpus Christi. Our passengers were mostly Moors in Arab dress, Spaniards with steeple-crowned hats and fantastic round jackets, contrabandists in embroidered boots and leggings, provided with goods for their traffic. A grand procession, military and civic, priests, men, and boys with lighted candles, preceded by the crucifix, passed through the narrow streets, and made a long circuit. The balconies covered with flags and drapery of gay colors, and filled with the beautiful senoritas of the true Andalusian type, could not help but add to the attraction. Groups of fascinating creatures with black lace mantillas, fan in hand, giving it that peculiar twirl belonging to the race, were kneeling upon the rugs on the cathedral pave, and casting their captivating glances (perhaps unconsciously) upon the passing strangers. My fellow-traveller, the Spanish Consul from Gibraltar, was _en route_ for Grenada; he had opposed the contraband trade, and was afraid of an attack.

Our miserable diligence was drawn by eight mules with rope traces; the driver guides the wheel mules with nose-straps only, without bits, and at times jumps down beside them, whipping up and crying out lustily; so they dash along the rugged roads and on the banks of precipices at the imminent risk of one’s life.

The first venta had flat stone floor, a rude table with benches, and a poor breakfast. The chambers were bare walls, no chairs, no bedstead; the people slept upon mats with no notion of comfort. The country has been disturbed by civil wars for the past seven years. Assassinations are frequent, caused by political intrigue, or love affairs. The first night we found ourselves at the town of Loza, situated in a picturesque country, in the midst of luxurious groves and gardens on the south side of a rocky gorge, through which a small river forces its way after passing the rich valley of Grenada. The place is celebrated for two sieges under Ferdinand and Isabella, in 1487, and was taken, it is asserted, through the cowardice of Bobadil. Our accommodations had improved.

We passed the Duke of Wellington’s estate, given for services during the Peninsular War; it is a pretty vega, or valley, with a village of cottages. Not far from this place an English party had been robbed. Three horsemen, with long carabines, a brace of pistols, and dirks each, presented themselves and asked them politely to get out and prostrate themselves upon their faces, while one of the number stood guard until the luggage was ransacked. They were then offered some of their own cigars, a drink of aguardiente, and left in the usual gallant manner--“_Vaya con Dios_.” Some eight miles from Grenada, we passed the small walled town of Santa Fè, built by Ferdinand during the siege of Grenada.

We had made the seventy-six miles from Malaga, and now saw the magnificent valley for miles in extent, the snow-capped mountains of the Sierra Nevada, with the rivers Dano and Genil forcing their passages out of them. Once Grenada was the pride and glory of the Moors; now it is the admiration of every traveller.

We found a quiet retreat upon the summit of the Alhambra hill, near a lofty tower commanding an extensive view of the city below. The unfinished palace of Charles V., and the palace of the Moorish sovereigns stood hard by. A description of the Alhambra, with its beautiful architecture, the court of the lions, its marble-paved halls, its arabesque walls and ceilings, and the many objects of admiration, I shall not attempt to describe. The cathedral, containing the monuments of Ferdinand and Isabella, the archduke Philip and his wife Joanna, has many attractions. The church of San Juan de Dios is rich in marble. The road to Cordova, a distance of eighty-four miles, we made on mule-back, there being no carriage roads. The first night we slept in a venta, upon a brick floor, among horses, mules, drivers, and others of bandit appearance. We were almost devoured by fleas; there were no beds or other accommodations. I find it worse, if possible, than a Turkish khan. We procured here an escort through the wild heath and across the mountain paths, the roads being infested with robbers. Our guides were old cut-throats, and were considered the safest, as they were to be well paid if they piloted us through in safety; they knew all the haunts of the bandits. At Alcala-el-Real we found a posada well fitted up, and the landlady reminded me of a Dutch housewife for cleanliness, which we were prepared to appreciate.

We made a tarry at Byena, and proceeded then to Cordova, and were rejoiced to arrive, as it is not pleasant to grasp one’s pistol in the night at the sound of some slight noise in the bush, not knowing what moment you may be pounced upon.

Passing through some of the small villages, the people looked so wretched one could almost excuse an attack. In other portions of the country the peasants looked well, returning from the fields of ripened grain. We escaped with one arrest, only, from highwaymen. One fine-looking, but swarthy, heavy-whiskered fellow, clad in velvet, with knee-breeches and leather-strapped leggings, pointed hat and feather, long carabine, and pistols in his belt, who carried a whistle to call his comrades, descended slowly from a craggy eminence, greeted our guides, and made his demand, which being extremely moderate we readily granted, and passed on without further molestation.

A part of the journey our guide suggested riding by night, and lying by during the day, thereby escaping the heat, and dodging the highwaymen. We started at six P.M. and halted at seven A.M., partook of a miserable breakfast, stretched our mattresses upon a cement floor, encircled with double streaks of olive oil to keep the fleas from jumping across, closed the shutters to darken the room, and reposed until the hour for dinner, after which mounted our mules again. Cordova is dull and lifeless, a large city in decay; the greatest curiosity is the Moorish mosque of eight hundred and thirty-four columns, now converted into a Catholic church. Approaching the city the country is well cultivated, and the gardens of pomegranates in blossom were quite pretty. How delightful it is for the traveller, while quite alone and exposed to danger, to meet with a familiar face. A singular rencontre took place near Cordova. We had abandoned our mule and taken the diligence, when we were met by a vehicle escorted by gensd’armes, who inquired if we had been interrupted by bandits, when to my surprise out jumped a Frenchman, whom I had last met among the ruins of Thebes and Karnak. “Bonjour, Monsieur. D’où venez-vous? Où allez-vous?” he cried out. I had scarcely time to greet him and reply, when off dashed our animals, and I have seen him perhaps for the last time. From Cordova I came to Seville, rejoiced to find comfortable quarters, get a bath, and put myself in the hands of il barbiero di Sevilla. The services of Figaro were only required in hair-cropping, as the natural Turkish and Arab eight months’ growth of beard could be still worn with impunity, but once in England the heavy crop must be harvested, or the little urchins will set up a cry.

While in Egypt an anecdote was related of an old man who had been impressed in the army from his native village. Mehemet Ali had adopted the custom of shaving the soldiery. It was found he had passed the age for service, and was told he might go: “Yes,” he replied, “go, where shall I go?” “To your village,” was the answer. “The boys and girls of my village will hoot at me,” he exclaimed, “give me back my beard or allow me to remain until it grows.” Such is the value of a beard in oriental countries. The next acquisition was a valet de place, whose duty is to point out all the remarkable sights of the city, which, when Spain possessed America, was considered the wealthiest of the realm.

The cathedral is one of the finest in Spain, of the Moro-Gothic style; its stained glass historical windows, and its sacristy and other decorations demand attention. The secret councils of the Inquisition were held there. From the summit of la Giralda, the tower built by the Moors, two hundred and fifty years before, and taken by king Ferdinand, at a height of two hundred and sixty-four feet, one has a fine view of the city and suburbs, lying upon the banks of the Guadalquiver. The Alcazar, or Moorish palace, built fifty years before the conquest of Seville, with its arabesque and beautiful colored ceilings, bears resemblance to the Alhambra of Granada. Several days were passed pleasantly and agreeably in the old city. I gazed at its fine Murillo paintings, strolled upon its Alemedas, plucked its delicious oranges in shady gardens, peeped into its theatres, saw its tobacco factory, a monopoly in Spain, where two thousand women and six hundred men are employed making cigars and snuff. I then came down the river to the seaport of Cadiz. The banks of the stream are low; large droves of cattle were seen grazing--and many orange and lemon groves. We passed St. Mary’s with Xeres in the background; the latter is celebrated for its sherry wine. Cadiz, while Spain was in possession of her American colonies, ranked next in wealth to Seville, but has declined notwithstanding its free port. The houses are lofty, spacious, well-built; the streets narrow, to protect from the sun’s rays; they are well-paved, clean, and pretty. The ramparts are planted with rows of trees overlooking the park. The large squares of San Antonio and Constitucion, in the centre of the city, are where ices, love, and scandal occupy the fair sex until midnight. The steamer Royal Tar brought me to Lisbon, the Portuguese capital. Steaming up the broad river Tagus, the first coup d’œil of the city, with its long quays, public buildings, and handsome streets upon its banks, is prepossessing, but in climbing its precipitous hills, built even to the summit, one finds many narrow and filthy streets and lanes, offensive both to the eye and olfactories.

The sights of the city were done up with usual assiduity. The Royal Palace, yet unfinished, occupied by Don Miguel during his short sway, the prominent churches of the city, remarkable for works of art, the Alemeda, the great opera house, and the gigantic aqueduct of the city, all received their share of attention.

We drove to Cintra, the royal country residence, which was some three or four hours’ distance. Our party mounted donkeys, whose heads were dressed with flowers by their drivers, and off we started for the Moorish castle, which is now in course of reparation, situated upon a precipitous height, affording a fine view. The vineyards of Collares were visited, and their products tested. The cork-wood forests where the trees had been stripped of their bark were examined. The waters of the iron spring were not as acceptable as delicious oranges from the hands of a Portuguese beauty, whose charms were not heightened by her white head-handkerchief and capuchin cloak, comparing unfavorably with the black mantilla and beautiful eyes of the Andalusians. We visited the palace, met the king, mounted on a beautiful bay horse, who bowed politely as he galloped over the lawn. The queen was plainly clad, a fleshy lady, riding upon a donkey, her infant in a pannier upon a second, accompanied by a train of liveried servants, altogether a novel cortege.

The excursion was a delightful one. I embarked for England, sighting Oporto, touching at Vigo, and landed at Southampton. I went to London, thence to Liverpool, crossed over to Ireland, visited Dublin, Newry, and Belfast; crossed again from Donaghadee to Portpatrick in Scotland; went along the coast to Ayrshire, upon the banks of the Doon, to the former thatched cottage of the poet Burns, thence up to Greenock, and Glasgow, and across by rail to Edinburgh.

I shall return by another route to Liverpool, and embark for the United States, when I can commune verbally about the magnificent countries passed through.

EXPLANATORY NOTES.

Finding that this work would be too voluminous for the publication of letters and extracts from journals, from 1842 to 1847, I have concluded to omit almost all correspondence, excepting what relates to European, Asiatic, African, South American, and Pacific coast travel. In the intermediate years of foreign travel, my winters were passed in the South, and the West Indies. Going southerly I varied and changed my routes in every possible manner, in order to pass over almost all the roads and rivers of our country, now touching the capitals of all the western and southern States, and then taking cross roads, through pine forests and everglades, along the banks of low fever rivers with their rice plantations, upon the bayous and streams whose deep alluvial produces the sugar crop, and upon the high and low lands which produce the sea-island and up-land cotton, thereby giving one an opportunity to see the small towns and villages of our country, and to study the characteristics of our people, and the mildness of their peculiar institution, as compared with other countries, and to value the productions of the south. After escaping the rigors of a northern winter in the West Indies, my five upward Mississippi trips from New Orleans, in the month of May or June, would be varied.

After making Natchez and Vicksburg, Mississippi, a visit, I looked into Arkansas--Natchitoches and Alexandria on the Red River, I had already seen. The rising city of Memphis and its producing region demanded attention. St. Louis, from its commanding position and rapid growth, could not be neglected. Louisville and Frankfort, in Kentucky, were not forgotten, and a pilgrimage to Ashland, where the hospitalities of the renowned and beloved Henry Clay can never be forgotten. The populous city of Cincinnati, with its fleet of steamers and its immense commerce, was regarded with pleasure on several occasions. The passes of the Alleghany mountains through Virginia and Maryland gave me a chance to examine the coal mines, to say nothing of the mineral resources of the country. To vary the trips, Pittsburg, the Manchester of America, and Alleghany, its sister city, came in for their share of attention in the visits of their iron works--the smoky atmosphere reminded one of Birmingham, Sheffield, and other manufacturing cities in England.

The mountain rides through Pennsylvania, and the canal trip to Harrisburg, the State capital, were suited to the admirer of nature; a short sojourn among the Germans in the close cultivated regions of Lancaster brought up souvenirs of Hesse Cassel in Germany.

On other northern-bound trips instead of turning east by the Ohio, I would go up the Illinois river to Peru and Peoria, then strike across the prairies to Chicago, or continue up the Mississippi, touching Nauvoo, the former residence of the Mormons, and visiting Iowa, thence up the Fever River to Galena, take a look at the lead mines, cross the prairies in a slow coach, the wild grass and flowers up to the horses’ knees, where the cries of the wolf and the scream of wild birds only disturb the monotony of these plains bounded by the horizon. At this early period Chicago and Milwaukie were only in their infancy. I have looked at them again on several occasions since, but more recently what was my astonishment to find them large populous cities, with iron arms extending in all directions, the snort of the iron horse replacing the cries of the wild beasts of the prairies. In due course St. Paul, Minnesota, the Falls of St. Anthony, the head sources of the Father of Waters, Madison, the capital of Wisconsin, with Fond du Lac, Racine and Sheboygan, had to be seen. The tour of the great lakes, Michigan, Huron, St. Clair, Erie, Ontario, all the cities of Upper and Lower Canada, the running of the rapids of the St. Lawrence, and a return by lake Champlain, formed part of another programme. The interior cities and capitals of Michigan, Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio, were visited partly before any railroad penetrated them, and of course attended with much inconvenience and fatigue. During my stay in the north from time to time the cities of Massachusetts, Maine, New Hampshire, Rhode Island, Connecticut, and Vermont were visited, the cotton and woollen manufactories of Lowell, the whaling mart of New Bedford, and shipbuilding on the Kennebec river, were looked at, as well as almost all the railroad routes with their towns and cities in this and other States.

The inquiry will naturally be, What was the inducement? The answer must be briefly this: I designed going again to Europe, and I wished to familiarize myself with every point in our own country, and to obtain some general knowledge at least of the resources, productions, and characteristics of this vast territory. Emigration had been setting in so rapidly, the interest felt by foreigners was increasing, and the inquiries made by English, French, German, and other races were so frequent that I hoped to be able to answer all general interrogations, if not practically, theoretically. The embarrassment to Americans abroad is frequently great from having too little knowledge of their own country.

An English traveller in Switzerland once asked me why we had such frightful accidents by explosion and otherwise on the Mississippi river, while cases were so rare in England. I replied that high-pressure steamers were employed, and that the navigation was obstructed by snags and sawyers, or trees carried down and fastened in the river-bed. He remarked, that an American had told him our boats were all low-pressure. I replied, that the gentleman was from the north, and had probably never seen a high-pressure steamer.

I trust the reader will accept these explanations as an apology for an itinerant life, and not attribute it all to the passion for travel.

1848.

XXXVIII.

ROME, _May, 1848_.

My voyage across the Atlantic was rather boisterous. We were exposed to the gale the night that the unfortunate ship Stephen Whitney was lost with upwards of one hundred passengers, near Liverpool, while we were approaching the port of Havre. We left Sandy Hook together, and reached the British and French coasts about the same time.

I found Havre much the same as I left it some years since, but instead of coasting along the beautiful banks of the Seine, by steamers, as formerly, to Rouen, and thence by diligence to Paris, I was whirled through in locomotive style in a few hours.

My stay at Paris was only sufficient to make preparations for my southern trip. I took my departure via Orleans, Tours, Bordeaux, Toulouse, Nismes, and Arles; the latter cities, with their vast collection of Roman ruins, are worthy of a visit. At all these places I made a short sojourn, not having touched them in my former travels in France. In my general voyages, I have adopted as a rule varying my route, in order to see the entire country, for which reason instead of going from Marseilles to Genoa by water, as formerly, I took land conveyance to Toulon in order to visit the great French naval station, and the prisons and workshops of the five thousand French culprits.

From Toulon I came to Nice, the city so celebrated for its salubrity of climate, where so many pulmonary patients are sent by their physicians to spend the winter, and where I designed also passing some months. But here I must be allowed to differ in opinion with the faculty, as far as I am at liberty to judge from my own experience. The approach to the city from Toulon, winding along the shore of the Mediterranean with its walled hills, amphitheatre-like, covered with a profusion of olive, lemon, and orange trees, laden with fruit, is truly enchanting. The mild and genial rays of the sun, with the light breeze from the sea, is most grateful, while one beholds in the distance the ranges of mountains covered with snow to their summits. The new part of the city is well built with spacious streets on both sides of the _river_ Paglione, or rather mountain torrent, but the old town is quite Italian, with narrow streets, tall buildings, and much filth. The rides and promenades along the coast and over the hills and mountains in the suburbs, can scarcely be surpassed; but the transition from the heat of the day to the cool of night, or from the exposure of the sun’s rays to the shade, is too severe for those of a pulmonary habit.

From Nice I took my departure along the coast to Genoa, and over one of the most interesting roads for the sublime and picturesque, I had yet seen. The shore is studded with small cities and fishing towns; elevated at times nearly to the summit of the mountains which project in the sea; the huge and elaborate tunnels are cut through solid rocks which are covered with snow; then a descent upon vineyards and orange groves, with a wide and expanded view upon the bosom of the sea, dotted with fruit and fishing vessels; and around the ever-varying costume of the peasantry and fishermen, the former engaged in gathering the olive and bearing loaded baskets of oranges, and the latter lazily lounging in the sun’s rays, or hauling their vessels on the beach, or mending their nets preparatory to a cruise.

From Genoa I embarked for Leghorn and Pisa, where I have passed some time, and where the climate seems more uniform and dry than any other part of Italy, and more desirable as a winter residence for those who have any pulmonary disposition. It is less subject to changes from the contiguity of mountains, as at Genoa and Florence, and is less humid than Naples or Rome. I am quite satisfied, however, that no climate in Italy for the winter residence of an invalid will compare with the West India Islands, or even with the southern part of the United States.

As far as my experience goes the climates of the islands of Sicily and Malta are more desirable than Italy, but Egypt, being dry and warm, is better still; however, I would advise those who are decidedly pulmonary to pass their winters in the West Indies.

The revolutions all about us, and the preparation and marching of troops, both regulars and volunteers, arriving from Naples and Leghorn, and departing from here, have been exciting. The frequent illuminations on the receipt of victorious news from the Italian army, and the tri-colored flags waving from every house in the city, with the roaring of cannon and “le feu de joie” from every window, continued until the authorities found it was best to keep their powder and prevent accidents.

One extreme always follows another; joy is changed into grief; the whole populace in tears at the loss of a battle, the massacre of their brethren--widows, sisters, and mothers are sobbing bitterly; the cathedral is clothed in black, and thronged with thousands, the transparencies in large letters at the ponderous brazen doors breathe vengeance upon the oppressor; the immense catafalque in the centre of the nave is covered with the uniforms, and flags, and all the instruments of war, and shrouded with mourning; the Te Deum is chaunted; the cry is again to arms. The priest in his long robes and girdled waist, and broad brimmed three-cocked hat, heads the movement, the crucifix in hand, for the holy crusade, amid the cries of “Death to Metternich,” “VIVA ITALIA, VIVA PIO NONO.”

I have spent a month in Rome, and have found no great changes since I was last here, except the political ones. It is pleasant to hear the cry of the newsboy, and see the groups of citizens at the corners of the streets, reading the news of the day; for which they are indebted to the liberal mind of the present Pope, Pius IX. I find fewer strangers at Rome during the services of the Holy Week than formerly, and in consequence of the revolutions about us, the English are afraid to travel, and are deserting the city rapidly, and taking passage by sea for their native isle.

The ceremonies of the church were quite as gorgeous as under Pope Gregory XVI.; the illumination of St. Peter’s with its thousands of lamps and torches, was quite as magical, but the Girandola, or fireworks of the castle of St. Angelo, did not take place, to the disappointment of thousands who had not seen it. Report says a conspiracy had been discovered, and several barrels of powder found intended for a general blow-up on the occasion. The Pope, who has a fine-looking person and an amiable face, appeared thoughtful and devout during all the services of Passion Week, pronounced the benediction to the thousands and thousands from the balcony of St. Peter’s, preached with dignity at the Feast of the Pilgrims, but I thought washed the feet of the latter with less humility than his predecessor Gregory.

We have been on the eve of civil war, having had a three days’ émeute. The Pope, who had headed the reform movement and acquiesced in the arming of thousands of Romans for the crusade against the Austrians, was, in his pious moments, after the Holy Week, prevailed upon by the perfidious counsels of the cardinals to proclaim against the war. As a natural consequence the whole population were interested; mothers, sisters, and lovers, whose friends had gone forth in good faith to fight the battle of national independence, were liable to be taken and shot or hung, without any privileges accorded to an enemy legally enrolled. The National Guard of twelve thousand strong took possession of all the gates of the city, inclosed the cardinals in their palaces to prevent escape from the city, and thus things remained for three days until a reconciliation took place, and a change of ministry.

The carnival season this year was rather dull in comparison with former times; but in addition to the usual parade of masquerades in carriages and on foot, with an ample supply of sugar rouberies which they throw furiously at each other in passing, and the avalanche of bouquets of flowers for the ladies, they have a custom at Pisa of carrying wax torches called Moccolo, which, as nightfall finishes the procession, are lighted, and then the whole line of the river Arno is illuminated with bonfires, which give an enchanting effect. The shout of “Moccolo, Moccolo,” from thousands of voices, as they endeavor to tear from each other the wax tapers, amid the shower of sugar-plums and bouquets, was an exciting scene, from which I was glad to make my escape with spotted garments.

XXXIX.

GENEVA, SWITZERLAND, 1848.

I had taken the precaution at Rome to write to Civita Vecchia to secure a berth by the steamer Capri for Leghorn, but on my arrival I found my chance was only for a mattress on the cabin floor, as some one hundred and fifty passengers had just escaped from the revolution and massacre at Naples, and the steamer was full. We had one of those nights that I had seldom seen on the Mediterranean, stormy and boisterous, with a heavy sea; the horrors of sea-sickness were experienced by all, except some six of us old travellers, who, in place of a four-franc dinner, always paid for in advance, could only get a bowl of soup by bracing oneself in a corner. Chairs were flying about under the table, and one confused, chaotic mass of humanity, men, women, and children, was stretched over the settees and cabin floors, while others kept on deck exposed to a drenching rain.

At the Baths of Lucca I found but few strangers, as they were fearful of an attack from deserted soldiers, and a portion of the Neapolitan army who had been recalled by their despotic king.

At Florence the people caught the general, whose mission had been at Bologna to recall the troops after the revolution of Naples; he succeeded in making his escape, however, but we had a great flare-up in the public place, at midnight, in the burning of his papers and carriage. It was a tumultuous scene; the infatuated mob hissing, groaning, and shouting, and the military with their gleaming bayonets shining, as the flames and cinders rose in the air.

The Grand Duke is much respected by his people, and Tuscany has more liberty than any other part of Italy. I was a witness of the brilliant reception he received by the populace at Leghorn, and heard his address from the balcony of the palace, after which followed an illumination of the city. I have little confidence in the lower classes of Leghorn. They are excitable and tumultuous, and difficult to restrain, and we may soon hear of a general flare-up or civil war. It afforded me pleasure to visit once again our fellow-countrymen, Messrs. Powers and Greenough, whose studios have contributed so much in sculpture to the fame of American artists, and who are so well known in our country. I found several other American artists, both painters and sculptors, at Florence, who promise well for the future. It is one of the most agreeable residences in Italy, but I find fewer strangers here than formerly, as the political disturbances, and the failure of bankers in Paris, have driven them away.

At Genoa all was tranquil, and from thence I took the malle-poste via Alexandria, the great Piedmont fortifications, near which is the battle-ground of Marengo, for Turin. In the absence of the royal family and the bulk of the army it was rather dull. The greatest enthusiasm for the Italian cause pervades all Sardinia, and the Piedmont soldiers, being a brave and hardy race from the mountains, are capable of doing duty; but I fear without support from other sources they will not be able to resist the impetuous and large forces of the Austrians, composed of Croats, Slavonians, and Hungarians.

Turin is a beautiful city, with a population of some two hundred thousand, and is handsomely situated on the river Po. Its boulevards and promenades in the suburbs are strikingly pretty. The palace of Charles Albert is vast and richly ornamented; the collection of ancient armor in the old chateau is more beautiful than any I had seen, except the Green Vaults of Dresden.

The Sardinian Senate was in session, and in company with our Chargé d’Affaires, Mr. Niles, who accompanied me to the Tribune, where was seated the delegation from Milan, praying the union of Lombardy to Sardinia. We heard Count Balbi of Genoa, well known for his liberal views, present a petition for the immediate incorporation of the two countries. It was received with bursts of applause and unanimous acclamations, and rarely have I seen so much enthusiasm in a public body of representatives.

The country from Turin to Ivrea, as the road strikes north to the St. Bernard, is well cultivated, and has an air of comfort; and, in fact, in Piedmont generally is seen much less of that squalid poverty than is met with at the south of Italy.

The valley of Ostia is beautiful in the extreme, for the wild and picturesque, as is also the mountain scenery, and the torrents from the melting of the snows, as they rush by with an impetuosity frightful to behold, and only found in Switzerland in the vicinity of high mountains. To my surprise, at the foot of St. Bernard, in the extreme north of Italy, I found at the entrance of the town of Ostia a Roman arch that in beauty and preservation would surpass the arches of Titus and Constantine in Rome. There is also a colossal Roman bridge in good preservation, although partly covered with the dust of ages, also the remains of an amphitheatre, and other relics.

After a day spent here I proceeded in a one-horse vehicle to a small village at the foot of the mountain, where commences the ascent, and where I passed the night. At the entrance of the inn I started back at the sight of a huge chained dog, with glassy eyes, but soon found it was none other than the stuffed skin of one of those noble fellows who had saved the lives of several snow-benighted travellers.

The keeper of the inn was the guide of the pass. I asked him his terms for his mules and services, and found that he asked double the ordinary prices. Upon expostulating with him he informed me that no traveller had yet passed; that the avalanches were yet unmelted and to be feared. I thought it was all a ruse, but he said he would prefer not to go. I could not retrace my steps; I was well provided with garments, having an Algerine cloak with a hood attached to protect the head, a mantle in addition, with shoes and overshoes. I knew I could not suffer from cold, and I accepted his terms, to leave the following morning with two mules for myself and baggage, and two guides. To my surprise I found all he had said was true. We passed over immense avalanches of snow in the gorges and passages, where it was necessary for the two guides to take one mule at a time, one at the head and the other at the side, to keep me mounted.

We arrived safely at the Convent or Hospice, and I was cordially received by the fraternity and showed the interior of the immense building with over one hundred rooms; its chapel or church is decorated with paintings, marble altars, crucifixes, &c., and would compare with many small churches in Italy. Here is also the monument of Gen. Dessaix, Napoleon’s bosom friend, who fell at the battle of Marengo. The Emperor contributed largely to the funds of the establishment. I saw that famous breed of dogs so well known, and also a building where are the bones and dried mummies of those who die in the convent or are found in the snow. The monks are only thirteen in number, and usually change every three years, as the temperature is found too bracing. They informed me that all my guide had said was true; that I was the first traveller of the season; I was quite at home among them, as they had many inquiries to make about Rome and Palestine; and although dinner was served early on my behalf, our sitting was prolonged until I was admonished by my guides it was time to depart in order to arrive at the village at the foot of the mountain before nightfall. There I procured a _char-à-banc_ and came to St. Maurice and Martigny, and soon embarked by steamer upon the beautiful Lake of Geneva, passing Vevay, Lausanne, and other towns with all their souvenirs of a former visit during the season of the vintage. The day was warm and beautiful, and the lake placid, and I was quite satisfied having made the pass of the mountains which loomed up in the distance, the peak eternally covered with snow, without having suffered accident or inconvenience.

I find this beautiful town, Geneva, less active than when I last visited it, as the distracted state of affairs on the Continent has operated seriously against the branch of commerce in which it chiefly engaged--the manufacture of jewelry. There are now five thousand workmen without their regular employment, and the authorities, to keep them from open rebellion, are levelling a rampart and filling up the fosses, which gives employ to a vast number at a remuneration of only one and a half francs, or thirty cents per day, barely sufficient to keep body and soul together.

XL.

MUNICH, BAVARIA, 1848.

When I wrote you last I was on the eve of departure for Neufchatel, which is a quiet town, and beautifully situated upon the lake which bears the same name. The rich and varied mountain scenery, the still and placid waters of the lake, the high state of culture of the grape and other products, with the apparent comfort surrounding the Swiss cottages, made it an agreeable trip. Here too they had had their Revolution, and the royalist party, which was under the protection of the King of Prussia, was obliged to give way to the Republican Swiss.

Lucerne offers but few attractions in itself, but an excursion by steamer to the head of the lake, with its ever-varying scenery and localities full of historical reminiscences, gives it additional interest. The chapel erected to the memory of William Tell is seen under the precipice from which he leaped when pursued by his oppressors; also the Grotto of the Swiss conspirators, where they concealed themselves when striving for the redemption of their country. Mount Riga, too, rises in all his majesty in the distance, and is much visited in ordinary seasons by travellers, but in these revolutionary times I find myself quite alone. The landlords complain, and say their callings are gone, for this year at least.

At the beautiful town of Zurich I made an agreeable sojourn, and met with real Swiss hospitality from friends whose acquaintance I had made en voyage. The society is good here, and gave me an opportunity of seeing much of the manners and customs in private life. The hotels are excellent; the excursions upon the lake by steamer, most agreeable. The town is pleasantly situated upon both sides of the stream where the lake discharges itself, and is connected by bridges, and reminds me of Geneva.