Part 16

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.