Chapter 5

Here another box was opened, when, to the great vexation of my dear Claudia, her journal was found. Hitherto she had been very patient, but now she could bear it no longer. What! her journal, so carefully locked that nobody had ever been allowed to read it, to be at the mercy of these strange men! Claudia remonstrated loudly. 'They might have anything else they chose,' she said, 'but that she really could not give them.' She did not perceive that the more anxious she appeared about the book, the more important it seemed in their eyes, and the more anxious they, of course, were to retain it. After a long discussion, and many prayers and entreaties on Claudia's part, the books and papers were sealed up before us. They inquired what hotel we were going to, and told us we must call the next day for our books at a certain custom-house office they mentioned. Feeling harassed and persecuted, we proceeded to our hotel, my unhappiness being rendered more acute by our being separated from our _Murray_, without which I felt myself a perfectly helpless being, entirely at the mercy of any one who chose to impose upon me.

We obtained apartments at the hotel we intended lodging at, and as it was now late in the day, ordered our dinner, and retired early to rest, very anxious for the morrow, that we might know the fate of our books. Accordingly, the first thing we did the next day was to take a gondola, and proceed to the custom-house that had been mentioned to us. There, however, they knew nothing of our books. So we went to the British Consulate, to inform them of our case, and then returned to the hotel. During this voyage, I had several times observed a paper stuck against the walls, with _Notificazione_ written in large letters on it, with some smaller printing beneath it. With a very uneasy heart, I asked Claudia to read it, and tell me what it meant. She did so, and found that it was informing the world in general, that two noble Italians were condemned, one to death, and the other to the galleys, for political offences. Of course, we were no judges of the rights of the case; but it is impossible not to feel one's heart saddened by the approaching death of a fellow-creature; besides which, my heart trembled for Claudia, and I conjured up to my mind the leaden-roof prisons; those beneath the ducal palace, those under water; the Bridge of Sighs; and that fearful part of the lagoon where no fishing was allowed, lest it should reveal some fearful secret, known only to the dead, and to certain minions of the dread Council. In vain I repeated to myself, that those days were past; in vain was it that Claudia laughed at my fears, and told me it was disgraceful for a British subject to feel them: still my heart felt heavy, and I shall not soon forget the anxiety of that hour.

We returned to the hotel, where we had not long been, when we were informed that a gentleman wished to speak to us. Fearful moment! I pictured to myself a ferocious-looking officer with a guard, like those who come upon the stage with Jaffier. Somewhat to my relief, the reality turned out to be of a gentler character. I found myself introduced to a polite-looking personage, who, however, speedily informed me, through the medium of the waiter--for we had no common language--that he did not want me, but a younger lady! O my poor Claudia! My heart beating violently, I returned to her, and informed her that she was wanted. Instead of being at all alarmed, she appeared rather gratified at finding herself of so much importance, and hastened to join the person who was waiting for her. He, in a very polite and respectful manner, told us that our books were at the police-office, and only awaited our arrival to be examined. Accordingly, we ordered a gondola, and accompanied him there. On the way, he took an opportunity of informing Claudia, that he was not what was called in England a policeman, but a gentleman, and that the person who would examine her was a count. Claudia replied rather haughtily, that she was an English lady, and had never been examined by any one. At last we arrived, and proceeded to the apartment of the count; but what was my distress when I was informed that Claudia was to be examined alone! Claudia declared that she was a British subject, and that such a proceeding was an insult. I was almost in hysterics, and with tears entreated to be permitted to accompany my niece; but the obdurate though polite count was immovable. He merely said to Claudia: 'Madame, you have avowed that you have in your possession papers which have never been read by anybody but yourself; therefore you must be examined alone.' Further opposition was hopeless, so I returned disconsolate to my gondola, to await the issue.

When Claudia was left alone with the count, he shewed her a paper in which he was officially informed, that a lady of her name and appearance was coming to Venice, who was suspected of being a dangerous political character. To hear such a character attributed to her--to her, who was only last year boarding in a school--to her, who knew little more of politics than that Queen Victoria and Prince Albert were the most amiable young couple in England--was ludicrous even in that hour of trouble. I do not exactly know how she comported herself during her examination; but I suspect she not merely laughed at the whole affair, but felt a little elated at the idea of being held as of so much importance. She was really anxious, however, about her journal and writing-case, as they contained so many things 'of no importance to any but the owner.' When the count informed her, that the journal and papers must, in the first place, be subjected to translation, she could set no bounds to her vexation; and yet the thing had its ridiculous aspect also. She had been pretty free, in the journal, with her criticisms on the Austrian army, though only with regard to the appearance and manners of the officers. How they were to take her remarks on their moustaches, their everlasting smoking, and their almost as constant perseverance in _dining_, was not to be conceived. Then her papers--scraps of paper on which she had tried rhymes, such as love, dove; heart, part; fame, name; with a view to embodiment in her poems--letters from young friends, telling all about the parties of their respective mammas, and how interesting the last baby was: to think of these being subjected to the rigid scrutiny of a council of either Ten or Three, was too whimsical. To the count, on the other hand, everything was grave and official. He said he could well believe, that she was innocent of all that had been imputed to her; still, his instructions must be obeyed. He could not promise the restoration of her papers in less than ten days. At the end of the examination, he courteously dismissed her, but not without letting her know, that she and her companion would be under the surveillance of the police till the papers were fully examined.

My light-hearted niece returned to me with an air of importance quite new to her, and which did not abate till she observed how exceedingly I had suffered during our separation. I felt reassured on learning that everything depended on the examination of the papers, as I had no doubt they were of a sufficiently innocent character. The shock, however, had been enough to mar my power of enjoying Venice. We did, indeed, go about to see the usual sights; and even the shadow-like attendance of the policeman ceased at length to give us much annoyance. But I saw everything through an unpleasant medium, and heartily wished myself out of a region where the government of pure force seems the only one attainable. At the end of a fortnight, we received back our papers, with many apologies for their detention, and for the scrutiny to which we had been exposed; which, however, it too truly appeared, had been brought upon us by that one incautious expression of Claudia at Verona. Very soon after, we left Venice, and regained the safe shores of England with little further adventure.

[_Note._--Let no one suppose that this is in any degree an exaggeration of the present state of things in Venice. Only about a month after the adventure of the two ladies, two individuals of that city were condemned for having been in correspondence with political exiles. One, a nobleman, had his sentence commuted to the galleys, at the intercession of a Spanish princess, daughter of Don Carlos; the other, a bookseller in the Piazza di San Marco, was hanged on the morning of Saturday the 11th October, during the whole of which day his body was exposed to the public gaze. The walls were next day found extensively inscribed with, 'Venetians! remember the murder of yesterday, and revenge it!'--_Ed._]

STUDENT-LIFE AT CAMBRIDGE.

Most Englishmen know as much about Timbuctoo or Patagonia as they either know or care to know about Oxford or Cambridge. Those, however, who have the curiosity to include such subjects in their knowledge of 'foreign parts,' will find a very pleasant guide to an acquaintance with the geography, language, laws, manners, and customs of Cambridge, in a work recently published by an American student,[5] who some years ago transferred his studies from Yale College to that university.

In describing Cambridge, Mr Bristed asks his readers to imagine the most irregular town that _can_ be imagined--streets of the very crookedest kind, houses low and antique, with their upper storeys sometimes projecting into the narrow pathway, which leads the bewildered stranger every now and then over a muddy little river, winding through the town in all sorts of ways, so that in whatever direction he walks from any point, he is always sure before long to come to a bridge. Such is the town of Cambridge--the _bridge_ over the _Cam_. And among these narrow, ugly, dirty streets, are tumbled in, as it were at random, some of the most beautiful academical buildings in the world.

It was in the October of 1840, that our young New-Yorker first wended his way through these narrow streets, and gazed upon these beautiful buildings. The idea of an educational institution scattered over an area of some miles, was new to the late inhabitant of the brick barn yclept Yale College. The monkish appearance of the population was no less novel, while his own appearance caused the gownsmen to retaliate his curiosity. He was dressed, he tells us, in the 'last Gothamite fashion, with the usual accessories of gold chain and diamond pin, the whole surmounted by a blue cloth cloak'--a costume which drew down upon him a formidable array of eye-glasses.

Mr Bristed entered Trinity College as a fellow-commoner. The fellow-commoners are 'young men of fortune,' who, in consideration of paying twice as much for everything as anybody else, are allowed the privilege of sitting at the fellows' table in hall, and in their seats at chapel; of wearing a gown with gold or silver lace, and a velvet cap with a metallic tassel; and of getting off with a less number of 'chapels' per week. The main body of the students are called pensioners. The sizars are an inferior class, who receive alms from the college, and dine gratis after the fellows (_sic_), on the remains of their table.

When one 'goes up,' as the phrase is, to the university, the first academical authority he makes acquaintance with in the regular order of things, is the college tutor. Besides lecturing, this functionary is the medium of all the students' pecuniary relations with the college. He sends in their accounts every term, and receives the money through his banker; nay, more, he takes in their tradesmen's bills, and settles them also. The tutor is supposed to stand _in loco parentis_. Some colleges have one, others two, and even three tutors, according to the size. The first thing, is to be examined; and this over, the freshman is first inducted into his rooms by a _gyp_ (from [Greek: gyps], a _vulture_!), who acts as flunkey to a dozen or twenty students--calling them in the morning, brushing their clothes, carrying parcels and the queerly-twisted notes they are constantly writing to each other, waiting at their parties, and so on. 'Boots' is a subordinate functionary. The furniture of the room is generally taken from the former occupant at a valuation by the college upholsterer. Crockery he has always to find for himself; but in this matter, again, he has the college authorities to assist him in getting a good article.

We shall now accompany the student through a day's history. Morning chapel begins at seven; and the gyp calls him at half-past six. In chapel, he commences picking up some knowledge of the powers that be, or the _dons_, as they are styled in the slang of the university. In general terms, they are the _master and fellows_.

The master, or 'head of the house,' is the supreme ruler within the college walls, and moves about like an undergraduate's deity. The fellows, who form the general body from which the other college-officers are chosen, are the aggregate of those four or five bachelor scholars per annum, who pass the best examination in classics, mathematics, and metaphysics. The eight oldest fellows at any time in residence, together with the master, have the government of the college vested in them. The _dean_ is the presiding officer in chapel: his business is to pull up the absentees--no sinecure, it is said. Even the scholars, who are literally paid for going, every chapel being directly worth two shillings sterling to them, give the dean a good deal of trouble. Other officers are the _vice-master_, the _bursar_ or treasurer, lecturers, assistant-lecturers, assistant-tutors, four chaplains, and the librarian. Prayers last half an hour; after which the student walks in the college grounds, and by 8, he is seated by his comfortable fire over his hot rolls and tea. At 9, lectures begin, and continue till 12, some ten or eleven going on at once, and each occupying an hour. A little before 1, the student resorts to his private tutor, or _coach_, as the cantabs call him. He generally takes five or six pupils a day, giving an hour to each. The coach is indispensable to a student; and 'a good coach' is always in great requisition. His intercourse with his pupils is of the most familiar character; nevertheless, he must drive his team well, or he would lose his reputation. From 2 till 4 is the traditional time of exercise, the most usual modes of which are walking (constitutionalising is the cantab for it) and rowing. Cricketing, and all games of ball, are much practised in their respective seasons. Towards 4 P.M., they begin to flock in for dinner. A Latin grace is read by two of the dons, and forthwith the demolition of eatables proceeds. Though there is a common hall, there is no common table. On the contrary, there is no end to the variety, both as respects rank, provision, and privilege. Hall lasts about three-quarters of an hour. Two scholars conclude the business by reading a long Latin grace--the dons, it is said, being too full after dinner for such duty. After hall is emphatically lounging-time. Some stroll in the grounds; many betake themselves to the reading-room; and many assemble at wine-parties, to exchange the gossip of the day. At 6 P.M., the chapel-bell rings again, when the muster is better than in the morning. After chapel, the evening reading begins in earnest. Most of the cantabs are late readers, always endeavouring to secure several hours' consecutive work, their only intermission being to take a cup or two of tea by way of stimulus. One solid meal a day is the rule: even when they go out to sup, as a reading-man does perhaps once a term, and a rowing-man twice a week, they eat very moderately, though the same cannot always be said of their potations. Such is the reading-man's day--now for the boating-man's.

Boating is _the_ university amusement, _par excellence_. The expense of it is small, and the Cam so convenient--just behind the colleges. At all times of the year you may see solitary men in wherries; while the boat-clubs for the formal spring-races are a convenient outlet for college emulation--the 'top of the river' being an honour hardly inferior to the senior wranglership. Each college has at least one boat-club; and about nine races take place in the season. They have an annual match with Oxford, in which they are generally victorious, for the cantabs are reckoned to be the best smooth-water 'oars' in England, if not in the world. The Cam not being much wider than a canal, it is impossible for the boats to race side by side. They are, therefore, drawn up in a line, two lengths between each, and the contest consists in each boat endeavouring to touch with its bow the stern of the one before it, which operation is called _bumping_; and at the next race, the _bumper_ takes the place of the _bumped_. To-day, there is to be a race; and the gownsmen--_not_ in their gowns--are hurrying down to the scene of action, distant two miles from the town. Bang! There goes the first gun! In three minutes, there will be another; and in two more, a third; and then for it! We are at the upper end of 'the Long Reach,' where we have a good view. The eight stalwart Caius-men bend to their oars the moment they see the last gun flash. On they come at a good rate, the Caius-men, who are first, taking it quite easy, when suddenly there is a shout: 'Trinity! Trinity! Go it, Trinity!' Trinity is now overhauling Caius at every stroke; and the partisans of the respective boats fill the air with their shouts. 'Now, Keys (Caius)!' 'Now, Trinity!' 'Why don't you pull, Keys?' 'Now you have 'em, Trinity!' 'Keys!' 'Trinity!' 'Now's your chance, Keys!' 'Pull, Trinity!' 'Pull, Keys!' 'Hurrah, Trinity! inity! inity!' Not more than half a foot intervenes between the pursuer and the pursued, still Caius pulls with all his might; for boats occasionally run a mile almost touching. But there is no more chance. One tremendous pull from Trinity, and half that distance has disappeared. Another such stroke, and you are aboard of them. Hurrah! a bump--a bump! Not so. Caius is on the look-out; and with a skilful inclination of the rudder, the steersman makes his boat fall off--just the least bit in the world, but enough--Trinity overlaps, but does not touch. Another moment, and Trinity is head of the river.

The staple exercise, however, is walking. Between 2 and 4, all the roads in the neighbourhood of Cambridge are covered with men taking their constitutionals. Longer walks, of twelve or fifteen miles, are frequently taken on Sundays. There is not so much riding as might be supposed. When there is ice enough, the cantabs are great skaters. It is almost a _sine qua non_ that their exercise should be in the open air. A finer set of men, consequently, is not to be seen. So bent, indeed, are they upon combining study and recreation, that, during the vacations, they form excursion-parties, which, from their professed design, are called _reading_-parties (_lucus a non lucendo_), and of which the utmost that can be advanced in justification of their name is, that reading is _not impossible_. Reading-parties do not confine themselves to England, or even the United Kingdom; sometimes they go as far as Dresden. When a crack tutor goes on one, which is not often, he takes his whole team with him.

Debating-clubs do not seem to be so common at the English universities as at the Scotch. At Cambridge, there is only one of a public nature--the 'Union.' Henry F. Hallam was instrumental in getting up a small society of about forty members, called the 'Historical.' Another society of a private nature was composed of a number of intellectual aspirants, called the 'Cambridge _Apostles_;' so called, it is said, because they had usually thirteen members in residence. This was a university feeder to the Metropolitan Club, founded by the friends of John Sterling. Their association had great influence in the formation of their minds and characters--a sort of mutual benefit society in more respects than one. For example, when a member of the club publishes a book, one of the fraternity has a footing in the _Edinburgh_, another in the _Quarterly_, a third in _Fraser_, and a fourth in _Blackwood_, and so the new work is well introduced. Both Tennyson and Thackeray, it is said, got well taken notice of in this way by their comrades. But there was no plan at the bottom of it--nothing to constitute them a name. The Apostles were always inveighing against cant--always affecting much earnestness, and a hearty dislike of formalism, which rendered them far from popular with the _high_ and _dry_ in literature, politics, or religion. They were eyed with terror by the conservatives as something foreign--German, radical, altogether monstrous. But, in reality, their objects were literary--not religious; and religion only entered into their discussions as it must into those of all serious and philosophic men.

Upon the whole, our young American was much pleased with Cambridge, and much benefited during his residence there. Genial himself, he found Englishmen the same; and though he had his eyes open, while in this country, and never forgot that he was an American, he writes with great impartiality, which raises the value of his intense enthusiasm for the English and English life. After five years' residence, he took leave of his friends in a series of substantial dinners, that there might be a pleasant memory of the transatlantic in their mouths. On a fine May morning, he took his last walk in the beautiful grounds of Trinity, and set out for New York, where he now leads a classical existence, puzzling the natives by his free use of the Græco-cantab dialect, as well as by a semi-pagan sort of worship which he pays to his _Alma Mater_.

FOOTNOTES:

[5] _Five Tears at an English University_, By C. A. Bristed. 2 vols. New York: 1852.

DREAMS.

Dreams usually take place in a single instant, notwithstanding the length of time they seem to occupy. They are, in fact, slight mental sensations, unregulated by consciousness; these sensations being less or more intense, painful or agreeable, according to certain physical conditions. On this subject, the following observations occur in Dr Winslow's _Psychological Journal_:--'We have in dreams no true perception of the lapse of time--a strange property of mind! for if such be also its property when entered into the eternal disembodied state, time will appear to us eternity. The relations of space, as well as of time, are also annihilated; so that while almost an eternity is compressed into a moment, infinite space is traversed more swiftly than by real thought. There are numerous illustrations of this principle on record. A gentleman dreamed that he had enlisted as a soldier, joined his regiment, deserted, was apprehended, carried back, tried, condemned to be shot, and at last led out for execution. After all the usual preparations, a gun was fired; he awoke with the report, and found that a noise in the adjoining room had, at the same moment, produced the dream, and awakened him. A friend of Dr Abercrombie dreamed that he had crossed the Atlantic, and spent a fortnight in America. In embarking, on his return, he fell into the sea, and awakening in the fright, found that he had not been asleep ten minutes.'

A WIND-STORM AT NIGHT.

O sudden blast, that through night's silence black Sweep'st past my windows, Coming and going with invisible track-- As death or sin does--

Why scare me, lying sick, and--save thine own-- Hearing no voices? Why mingle with a helpless human moan Thy fierce rejoices?

Thou shouldst come gently, as good angels come To souls departing; Floating among the shadows of the room With eyes light-darting: