MADAME IDA PFEIFFER.

THE
L A S T T R A V E L S
OF
IDA PFEIFFER:

INCLUSIVE OF A VISIT TO MADAGASCAR.
WITH
An Autobiographical Memoir of the Author.
TRANSLATED BY H. W. DULCKEN.
NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
FRANKLIN SQUARE.
1861.

PREFACE.

It was at Buenos Ayres that I received the intelligence of the death of my beloved mother. Shortly before her decease she had expressed the wish that I should arrange and prepare for publication the papers she left concerning her last voyage to Madagascar. The dangerous illness which befell her in the Mauritius immediately after she had left Madagascar, and which, in spite of the most careful medical attention, and the kindest nursing on the part of her friends, proved fatal, prevented her from doing this herself.

When, after a few months, I returned from Buenos Ayres to Rio de Janeiro, I found my mother’s papers waiting for me there; but the loss was too recent, and my grief too violent, to allow me to read them then, much less to peruse them with the care and attention which must necessarily precede their publication.

At length I made up my mind to the task. I was obliged to go through it, for it was my mother’s last wish. Filial duty induced me to leave my dear mother’s journal as little altered as possible. In thus giving this last work of my mother to the world, I trust that our kind readers will receive it with the indulgence they have so frequently extended to the other works of the late enterprising traveler.

Oscar Pfeiffer.

Rio de Janeiro, July 8th, 1860.

CONTENTS.

A BIOGRAPHY OF IDA PFEIFFER
(COMPILED FROM NOTES LEFT BY HERSELF).

Several biographies of Ida Pfeiffer are already scattered through various encyclopædias and periodicals. These are based partly on oral communications made by the deceased lady, partly on particulars collected from her friends. No authentic sketch of her life has, however, yet been published, though many whose sympathy has accompanied the dauntless voyager on her dangerous way will doubtless be glad to hear something of the earlier life of Ida Pfeiffer. In remarkable people, the germs of extraordinary faculties are generally recognizable in early youth; and those readers who have followed the course of a remarkable life from its meridian to its close will doubtless be gratified by the opportunity of casting a glance backward to its early years, when the seeds of future distinction were sown.

This consideration will probably be thought a sufficient justification for publishing the following pages; the more so as the facts given in this biographical sketch rest exclusively on the authority of the heroine herself. Madame Ida Pfeiffer left behind her a short outline of her life written by her own hand, and her family very courteously permitted this manuscript to be used. It is to be followed by a summary of her travels, and by her diary in Madagascar, to which her son, Mr. Oscar Pfeiffer, has added the narrative of her sufferings and death. Thus the whole career of the late adventurous pilgrim, with particular reference to the latest circumstances of her checkered life, namely, her interesting and eventful voyage to Madagascar, will be placed before the reader.

Our traveler was born in Vienna on the 14th of October, 1797. She was the third child of the wealthy merchant Reyer, and at her baptism received the name Ida Laura. Till she was nine years old, all the family in her parents’ house, except herself, were boys, so that she was the only girl among a party of six children. Through continual intercourse with her brothers, a great predilection for the games and pursuits of boys was developed in her. “I was not shy,” she says of herself, “but wild as a boy, and bolder and more forward than my elder brothers;” and she adds that it was her greatest pleasure to romp with the boys, to dress in their clothes, and to take part in all their mad pranks. The parents not only abstained from putting any check on this tendency, but even allowed the girl to wear boy’s clothes, so that little Ida looked with sovereign contempt upon dolls and toy saucepans, and would only play with drums, swords, guns, and similar playthings. Her father seems to have looked with complacency upon this anomaly in her character. He jestingly promised the girl that he would have her educated for an officer in a military school, thus indirectly encouraging the child to a display of courage, resolution, and contempt of danger. Ida did not fail to cultivate these qualities, and her most ardent wish was to carve her own way through the world, sword in hand. Even in her early childhood she gave many proofs of fearlessness and self-command.

Mr. Reyer had peculiar ideas on the subject of education, and carried out these notions strictly in his family circle. He was a very honest, and, moreover, strict man, holding the opinion that youth should be carefully guarded against excess, and taught to moderate its desires and wishes; consequently, his children were fed on simple, almost a parsimonious diet, and were taught to sit quietly at table, and see their elders enjoy the various dishes that were served up, without receiving a share of those dainties. The little people were, moreover, forbidden to express their wish for any much-coveted plaything by repeated requests. The father’s strictness of discipline went so far as to induce him to refuse many of the children’s reasonable requests, in order, as he said, to accustom them to disappointments. Opposition of any kind he would never allow, and even remonstrances against a discipline that bordered on harshness were always unavailing.

There is no doubt that the old gentleman carried his system to excess, but it is equally certain that, but for this Spartan education, little Ida would never have ripened into the fearless traveler, able to bear the heaviest fatigue for months together, living meanwhile on the most miserable food. The chief characteristics of Ida Pfeiffer’s courage, endurance, and indifference to pain and hardship became developed by an eccentric course of education, which would hardly find a defender at a time like the present, when every thing peculiar is hastily condemned. The unusual, with its sharp outlines and deep shadows, disappears more and more in the light of common-sense mediocrity, and the characteristic heads that we remember in our youth gradually disappear, and are succeeded by very rational, but somewhat tedious and commonplace figures.

Ida’s father died in the year 1806, leaving a widow and seven children. The boys were in an educational institution, and the mother undertook the education of the girl, who was now nearly nine years old. Though the father had appeared formidable to the children by his strictness, his rule appeared to the girl far preferable to the melancholy régime of her mother, who watched the child’s every movement with suspicion and alarm, and caused her daughter to spend many a bitter hour, merely from an exaggerated notion of duty.

A few months after her father’s death the first attempt was made to deprive the girl of the attire she had hitherto worn, and substituted petticoats for their masculine equivalents. Little Ida, then ten years old, was so indignant at this measure that she absolutely fell ill from grief and indignation. By the doctor’s advice her former costume was restored to her, and it was resolved that the girl’s obstinacy must gradually be subdued by remonstrance.

The boy’s garments were received by Ida with a burst of enthusiasm, her health returned, and she behaved more like a boy than ever. She learned every thing that she thought a boy should know with industry and zeal, and, on the other hand, looked with the greatest contempt on every female occupation. Piano-forte playing, for instance, she despised as a feminine accomplishment, and would actually cut her fingers, or burn them with sealing-wax, to escape the hated task of practicing. For playing the violin, on the contrary, she showed a great predilection. But her mother would not allow her to have her way in this matter, and the piano-forte was formally subsidized and maintained at its post by maternal authority.

When the year 1809 came, a most eventful period for Austria, Ida was twelve years old. From what has been said of her ideas and inclinations, it will readily be believed that she took great interest in the fortunes of the war. She read the newspaper eagerly, and often traced out on the map the relative positions of the two armies. She danced and shouted with glee, like a good patriot, when the Austrians conquered, and wept bitter tears when the fortune of war brought victory to the enemy’s standard. Her mother’s house was situated in one of the busiest streets of the capital; and the frequent marching past of troops caused many interruptions to study, and gave many opportunities for the expression of ardent wishes that the Austrian banners might triumph. When Ida, looking from the window, saw her fellow-countrymen march past to battle, she would vehemently deplore her youth that prevented her from taking part in the impending struggle. She considered her youth the only obstacle that prevented her from going to war.

Unhappily, the French were victorious; the enemy entered the capital, and the affairs of Austria were in a very bad way. The little patriot had the mortification of seeing a number of the hated conquerors quartered in her mother’s house, and evidently considering themselves masters of the situation—dining at the table with the family, and expecting to be treated with the most anxious civility. The members of the household generally thought it best to keep up an appearance of friendship toward the conquerors, but nothing could induce the girl to look at the Frenchmen with favor; on the contrary, she showed her feelings by obstinacy and silence; and when requested by the Frenchmen to express her sentiments, she broke out in words of passionate anger and dislike. She herself has said on this subject, “My hatred to Napoleon was so great, that I looked upon the attempt of the notorious Staps to assassinate him at Schönbrunn as a highly meritorious action, and considered the perpetrator, who was tried by a court-martial and shot, in the light of a martyr. I thought if I myself could murder Napoleon, I should not hesitate one instant to do so.”

It is related that Ida was compelled to be present at a review of his troops held by Napoleon in Schönbrunn. When the hated emperor rode past, the girl turned her back, and received a box on the ear for her demonstrativeness from her mother, who then held her by the shoulders lest she should repeat the trick. But nothing was gained by this manœuvre, for when the emperor came riding back with his glittering staff of marshals around him, Miss Ida resolutely closed her eyes.

At the age of thirteen she again dressed in female attire, and this time the change was persevered in. She had indeed become sensible enough to acknowledge the necessity of the measure, but still it cost her many tears, and made her very unhappy. With the garb of her sex, she was also obliged to adopt different manners and occupations, and a new system of life. “How awkward and clumsy I was at first!” she exclaims, in her diary; “how ridiculous I must have looked in my long skirts, jumping and racing about, and behaving generally like a wild, restless boy!”

“Fortunately, a young man came to us at that time as tutor, who took particular pains with me. I afterward heard that my mother had given him secret directions to treat me with especial indulgence, as a child whose earliest impulses had received a wrong bias. He certainly behaved to me with great kindness and delicacy, and showed great patience and perseverance in combating my overstrained and misdirected notions. As I had learned rather to fear my parents than to love them, and he was, so to speak, the first human being who had displayed affection and sympathy toward me, I clung to him, in return, with enthusiastic attachment, seeking to fulfill his every wish, and never so happy as when he appeared satisfied with my endeavors. He conducted my entire education; and though it cost me some tears to give up my youthful visions, and busy myself with pursuits I had looked upon with contempt, I did it out of affection for him. I even learned many female occupations, such as sewing, knitting, and cookery. I owe to him the insight I received in three or four years into the duties of my sex; and he it was who changed me from a wild hoydenish creature into a modest girl.”

At the period when Ida was compelled to give up her boyish character, there arose in her the first wish to see the world. She turned her thoughts from war and soldiering to fix them upon travel; descriptions of voyages excited her warmest interest, and literature of this kind occupied in her mind the place that, in the majority of young girls’ heads, is filled with thoughts of dress, balls, theatres, and amusements generally. When she heard of any one who had attained celebrity by travel, she would grieve to think that she was debarred by her sex from the happiness of ever crossing the sea and exploring strange lands. Often she felt an inclination to occupy herself with scientific studies; but she always suppressed it, seeming to recognize therein a relapse into the “extravagant ideas” of earlier days. It must be remembered that at the beginning of the present century the daughters of middle-class families did not enjoy the education they receive now.

An important passage in the life of Ida Pfeiffer shall be related in her own words. She tells us:

“In my seventeenth year a wealthy Greek proposed for my hand. My mother declined to entertain his offer because he was not a Catholic, and she thought me too young for such a step. According to her ideas, it was indecorous for a girl under twenty years of age to marry.

“A great change now took place in my character. I had hitherto had no idea of the powerful passion which makes mortals the happiest or the most miserable of beings. When my mother told me of the proposal made to her, feelings of which till then I had been unconscious became clearly defined within me, and I felt that I could love no one but T——, the guide of my youth.

“I was not aware that T—— was attached to me with his whole soul. I scarcely knew my own feelings, and far less was I capable of guessing those of another person. When, however, T—— heard of the proposal that had been made for me, and when the possibility of losing me arose before him, he confessed his love to me, and determined to urge his suit to my mother.

“T—— had devoted himself to the Civil Service, and had for some years occupied a post, with a salary on which he could live very well. He had long given up the profession of a tutor, though he continued to visit our house as frequently as ever, passing all his leisure hours with us, as if he belonged to the family. My five brothers were his friends, and my mother was so fond of him that she often called him ‘her dear sixth son.’ He was at every party in our house, and went with us wherever we accepted an invitation; always accompanying us to theatres, in our walks, and so on. What was more natural than that we should both persuade ourselves that my mother had intended us for each other, and would perhaps only stipulate for our waiting till I had attained my twentieth year, and T—— had a better appointment?

“Accordingly he proposed for my hand.

“But who can paint our grievous surprise when my mother not only entirely refused her consent, but from this moment detested T—— just as much as she had before liked him. There could be no other objection to T—— except that I could look forward to having a tolerable fortune, while T—— had at present nothing but his modest salary. If my mother could have imagined what was one day to become of my fortune, how very different my fate would be from what she had sketched out for me in her mind, what deep sorrow and endless grief might she not have spared me!

“After T——’s proposal, my mother wished to get me married as quickly as possible. I declared resolutely that I would become T——’s wife, or remain unmarried. T—— was, of course, forbidden to come to our house, and as my mother knew how obstinately I adhered to my resolutions when I was in earnest about a matter, she took me to a priest, who was enjoined to explain to me the duty of children toward their parents, and particularly the obedience the latter are authorized to exact. They wanted to bind me by a solemn oath, sworn on the crucifix, that I would not see T—— secretly, nor correspond with him. I refused to take the oath, but gave the required promise, stipulating, however, that I should be allowed to inform T—— of every thing. My mother at last made this concession, and I wrote a long letter to T——, acquainting him with every thing, and begging him not to believe any thing he heard concerning me from other people. I added that it was out of my power either to see him or to write to him again, but that if another suitor presented himself and was accepted by my mother, I would at once inform T—— of the circumstance.

“T——’s reply was short, and full of bitter sorrow. He seemed to understand that, under the circumstances, there was no hope for us, and that nothing remained but to obey my mother’s commands. He declared positively, however, that he would never marry.

“And thus our correspondence closed. Three long, sorrowful years passed away without my seeing him, and without any change in my feelings or position.

“Walking one day with a friend of my mother’s, I met T—— by chance. We both stopped involuntarily, but for a long time neither he nor I could utter a word. At last he conquered his emotion, and asked after my health. I was too deeply moved to be able to reply. My knees trembled, and I felt ready to sink into the earth. I seized my companion by the arm and drew her away with me, and rushed home, scarcely conscious of what I was doing. Two days afterward I was stretched on my couch in a burning fever.

“The physician who was called in seemed to have a suspicion of the cause of my illness, and declared to my mother, as I afterward heard, that the source of evil was mental, not bodily; that medicines would be of little avail in my case, and that every effort must be directed.... But my mother persisted in following her own course, and told the physician she could not alter any thing about me.”

The patient’s life hung for a long time in the balance, and in her fevered state of mind she wished ardently for death. When by chance she heard from an indiscreetly-communicative nurse that her dissolution was daily expected, this intelligence produced such a quieting effect that she sank into a deep slumber, and the crisis of her disease was happily passed.

Ida’s father had left a considerable fortune, and there was no lack of suitors for her hand. She refused every offer, however, and thereby increased the discomfort of her position at home, for her mother insisted more and more strongly upon Ida’s making her choice. These domestic broils at length broke the girl’s spirit, and any fate seemed to her preferable to the continuance of such a state of things. She accordingly declared herself ready to accept the next proposal that should be made, provided the suitor was of advanced age. She wished to convince T—— that moral coercion, and not her own inclination, had impelled her to take this course.

In the year 1819, when Ida was twenty-two years old, Doctor Pfeiffer, one of the most distinguished advocates in Lemberg, and a widower, moreover, with a grown-up son, was introduced to the Reyers. He staid in Vienna a few days for professional purposes, and at his departure recommended his son, who was studying law at the University of Vienna, to the notice of the family.

About four weeks afterward came a letter from Dr. Pfeiffer, containing a formal proposal for Ida’s hand. As he had only exchanged a few words with her on totally unimportant subjects, she had not the least anticipation of an offer in that direction; but her mother did not fail to remind her of the promise she had made to accept the next suitor who came forward.

“I promised to consider the matter,” she says in her diary. “Dr. Pfeiffer seemed to me a very intelligent, well-educated man; but a circumstance that told far more in his favor in my estimation was that he lived a hundred miles from Vienna, and was twenty-four years older than I.”

A week afterward she consented to the marriage on the condition that she should be allowed to acquaint Dr. Pfeiffer with the real state of her affections. This she did in a long letter, in which she concealed nothing from her suitor, evidently indulging the hope that he would abandon his pursuit of her; but Dr. Pfeiffer at once replied, expressing himself not in the least surprised to hear that a maiden of twenty-two years had already loved. The honest, candid avowal of this passage in her life made Ida appear in his eyes all the more worthy of respect; and he avowed his intention of persisting in his suit, feeling assured that he should never have cause to regret it.

The difficult duty of acquainting T—— with this change in her destiny now devolved upon Ida. This duty she fulfilled by means of a few lines, and it will readily be imagined that they were painful ones. The answer was conceived in the manliest spirit, full of self-abnegation and nobility of mind. T—— repeatedly declared that he would never forget her, and would never marry. He kept his word.

The marriage with Dr. Pfeiffer was celebrated on the 1st of May, 1820, and a week afterward the newly-wedded couple departed for Lemberg. The journey brought relief by reviving in the young wife the old predilection for traveling, and allowing the pair an opportunity of becoming better acquainted. Ida found that her husband possessed high principle, candor, and intelligence; and if it was beyond her power to love him, she could not withhold from him respect and hearty appreciation, especially as he showed as much affection as delicacy in his conduct toward her. She was resolved to fulfill her duties honorably, and looked forward with a certain amount of tranquillity to the future.

Dr. Pfeiffer was one of those straightforward, independent-spirited men who attack and expose wrong wherever they find it, and make no secret of their sentiments.

In the official routine in Galicia in those days there were many weak points, and the number of dishonest and venal employés was not small. In an important lawsuit which he brought to a triumphant conclusion, Dr. Pfeiffer discovered peculation of the gravest kind. This he fearlessly and unflinchingly denounced to the highest authorities in Vienna. An investigation was ordered; Dr. Pfeiffer’s accusations were found to be well-grounded, and several officials were dismissed, and others moved.

Very disagreeable results, however, accrued to Dr. Pfeiffer himself. By his report of these delinquencies he had drawn down upon himself the enmity of the majority of official personages; and this enmity was so frequently and so openly manifested, that Dr. Pfeiffer found himself compelled to resign his appointment as councilor, for he found that his advocacy, so far from benefiting his clients, became absolutely prejudicial to their interests.

“My husband,” writes Ida Pfeiffer, “had foreseen all this; but it went against his nature to shut his eyes to flagrant injustice. In the same year he resigned his office, and, after he had arranged his private affairs, we removed, in 1821, to Vienna, where, trusting to his skill and knowledge, he hoped to have no difficulty in obtaining employment. But his reputation had preceded him: his sentiments and his mode of action were as well known in Vienna as at Lemberg, and he was looked upon with suspicion as a restless character and an enemy of existing institutions. All his applications for employment in agencies, etc., were consequently unavailing. Posts which he had solicited in vain were continually given away to the most insignificant and least talented of the profession.”

All this had naturally a very disastrous effect on Pfeiffer’s mind. He saw himself every where crossed and hampered in his work and in his efforts; and labors which he had formerly performed with zeal and pleasure now fretted and annoyed him. At length he lost a portion of his energy, and what he did brought him little or no advantage.

Thus the social position of the Pfeiffers became more and more critical from day to day. As a skillful lawyer, Dr. Pfeiffer had earned a considerable income at Lemberg; but he had liked to live in good style, kept carriages and horses, and a good table, and had not thought of providing for the future. Many people who knew his generosity made use of him, and borrowed his money. Thus Ida’s paternal inheritance vanished also, being lent to a friend of Pfeiffer’s, whom it was to help out of his embarrassments. The man failed in spite of the loan, and thus the whole fortune was lost.

After vainly seeking employment in Vienna, Dr. Pfeiffer returned, with his wife, to Lemberg, but afterward came back again to Vienna, and at length even tried his fortune in Switzerland, his native country, where he had, however, only passed the earliest years of his life. But fortune would nowhere smile upon him, and bitter poverty knocked at the door of the family.

“Heaven only knows what I suffered during eighteen years of my married life!” exclaims Ida Pfeiffer; “not, indeed, from any ill treatment on my husband’s part, but from poverty and want. I came of a wealthy family, and had been accustomed from my earliest youth to order and comfort; and now I frequently knew not where I should lay my head, or find a little money to buy the commonest necessaries. I performed household drudgery, and bore cold and hunger; I worked secretly for money, and gave lessons in drawing and music; and yet, in spite of all my exertions, there were many days when I could hardly put any thing but dry bread before my poor children for their dinner.

“I might certainly have applied to my mother or my brothers for relief, but my pride revolted against such a course. For years I fought with poverty and concealed my real position, often brought so near to despair that the thought of my children alone prevented me from giving way. At last the urgency of my necessities broke my spirit, and several times I had recourse to my brothers for assistance.”

Ida Pfeiffer had two sons. A daughter was born to her, but only lived a few days. The education of the children devolved entirely upon the mother; and as the younger showed a great appreciation for music, she took great pains to cultivate his talents.

In the year 1831 old Madame Reyer died. During the long illness which preceded her death she was tended by her daughter with the most affectionate care. After her mother’s death Ida betook herself again to Lemberg, from whence Dr. Pfeiffer had again written, announcing that he had a sure prospect of employment. He was now sixty years old, and lived in a state of constant illusion; a mere promise was sufficient to inspire him with the greatest confidence in the future. After experiencing a series of hopes and disappointments during a period of two years, she returned to Vienna, where she could at least obtain for her sons a better education.

At her mother’s death she had not, indeed, come into a great property, but she inherited enough to keep her in a respectable style, and to provide good teachers for her children. In 1835 she settled definitely in Vienna. Dr. Pfeiffer remained in Lemberg, where he was kept by force of habit, and by his affection for his son by his first marriage. From time to time, however, he visited Vienna to see his wife and children.

During a journey to Trieste which Ida Pfeiffer undertook with her youngest son, in order that he might have sea-baths, she enjoyed her first sight of the ocean. The impression made upon her by the sea was overpowering. The dreams of her youth came back, with visions of distant unexplored climes, teeming with strange, luxuriant vegetation; an almost irresistible impulse for travel arose in her, and she would gladly have embarked in the first ship to sail away into the great, mysterious, boundless ocean. Her duty toward her children alone restrained her; and she felt happy when she had quitted Trieste, and miles of mountain and plain intervened between the sea and herself, for the longing to see the world had weighed like a mountain on her spirit in the maritime city.

Returning to the routine of every-day life in Vienna, she still secretly nourished the wish that her health and strength might be spared until her sons should have been established in life, and she should be enabled to go out into the world depending on her own resources alone. This wish of hers was to be fulfilled. Her sons grew and throve, and became prosperous, successful men in their profession.

The completion of their education and the establishment of each in his vocation gave Ida Pfeiffer leisure to mature her plans of travel. The old project of seeing the world arose anew, and now no obstacle existed in the calls of duty and common sense. She began to mature a plan for a long journey, to be undertaken alone; for she must journey by herself, as her husband’s advanced age prevented him from participating in the toil and fatigue of such an undertaking, and her sons could not be spared from their professional duties. The financial aspect of the question required much consideration. In the countries she wished to visit railways and hotels were unknown institutions, and travelers in those regions would be necessarily subjected to the expense of carrying with them all they required during the journey; and after she had devoted part of her maternal inheritance to the education of her sons, the funds at Ida Pfeiffer’s disposal were limited indeed.

“But I soon settled these weighty points to my satisfaction,” she writes in her diary. “Respecting the first, namely, the design that I, a woman, should venture into the world alone, I trusted to my years (I was already forty-five), to my courage, and to the habit of self-reliance I had acquired in the hard school of life, during the time when I was obliged to provide, not only for my children, but sometimes for my husband also. As regarded money, I was determined to practice the most rigid economy. Privation and discomfort had no terrors for me. I had endured them long enough by compulsion, and considered that they would be much easier to bear if I encountered them voluntarily with a fixed object in view.”

Another question, namely, whither she should bend her steps, was quickly answered. Two projects had occupied her mind for many years—a voyage to the North, and a journey to the Holy Land. When, however, she imparted to her friends her intention of visiting Jerusalem, she was looked upon simply as a crazy, enthusiastic person, and nobody thought her in earnest in the matter.

Nevertheless, she kept to her resolution, but concealed the real goal of her journey, declaring that her intention was to visit a friend at Constantinople, with whom she had for a long time kept up an active correspondence. She kept her passport concealed, and no one of those from whom she parted had any idea of her destination. Very painful was the parting from her sons, to whom she was tenderly attached; but she fought bravely against her softer emotions, consoled her friends with the prospect of soon meeting them again, and on the 22d of March, 1842, embarked on the steamer that was to convey her down the Danube to the Black Sea and the City of the Crescent. She visited Brussa, Beyrout, Jaffa, Jerusalem, the Dead Sea, Nazareth, Damascus, Baalbek, the Lebanon, Alexandria, and Cairo, and traveled across the Desert to the Isthmus of Suez and the Red Sea. From Egypt she returned by way of Sicily and the whole of Italy to her home, arriving in Vienna in December, 1842.

As she had carefully kept a diary of her journey, from which she frequently read extracts to friends and acquaintances, she was often requested to print her experiences. The thought of becoming an authoress was repugnant to her modesty, and it was only when a publisher made her a direct offer that she consented to trust her first book to the press. It bore the title, “Journey of a Viennese Lady to the Holy Land.” The first edition appeared in two volumes in 1843, the fourth in 1856; and though the authoress neither had much that was new to tell, nor rode her Pegasus in the approved style of the traveled ladies of the period, her little book was still successful, as the four editions sufficiently prove. The very simplicity of the narration, and its appearance of unvarnished truth, at once gained numerous readers for the book.

The good result of this first journey, which gave the pilgrim fresh funds in the form of copyright money, awakened within her fresh plans; and this time she felt impelled toward the far north, where she expected to see majestic sights, and to behold nature exhibited in new and startling forms.

After various preparations, among which may be mentioned the study of the English and Danish languages, and of the art of taking Daguerreotypes, and after obtaining accurate information concerning the countries she purposed visiting, she began her journey to the north on the 10th of April, 1845. On the 16th of May she landed on the coast of Iceland, and proceeded to traverse that interesting island in every direction, visiting the Geysers and other hot springs, and ascending Hecla, which shortly after her departure began to vomit flame, after remaining for seventy years in a quiescent state. At the end of June she sailed back to Copenhagen, and from thence journeyed to Christiania, Thelemark, across the Swedish lakes to Stockholm, and over Upsala to the iron mines of Danemora. She returned to her native city by way of Travemûnde, Hamburg, and Berlin, arriving in Vienna on the 4th of October, 1845, after an absence of six months.

The journal of this second voyage appeared under the title, “Voyage to the Scandinavian North and the Island of Iceland,” in two volumes, at Pesth, and was much read. The money realized by a sale of the geological and botanical specimens collected during this tour, together with the sum paid for the copyright of her book, were put aside by Ida Pfeiffer as the nucleus of a fund for a new undertaking, and one of a more ambitious character. A voyage round the world now occupied the thoughts of this brave woman; and when once she had conceived the idea, she could not rest until it was put in execution.

“Greater privations and fatigue than I had endured in Syria and Iceland,” she writes, “I could scarcely have to encounter. The expense did not frighten me, for I knew by experience how little is required if the traveler will but practice the strictest economy, and be content to forego all comforts and superfluities. My savings accumulated to a sum barely sufficient perhaps to serve such travelers as Prince Pückler-Muskau, Chateaubriand, or Lamartine for a fortnight’s excursion, but which seemed enough for me during a journey of two or three years, and the event proved that I had calculated rightly.”

Again concealing the whole extent of her undertaking from her relations, and especially from her sons, and naming Brazil as her destination, our traveler bade adieu to Vienna on the 1st of May, 1846, and betook herself to Hamburg, where she was compelled to wait till the 28th of June before a suitable opportunity for proceeding to the Brazils offered itself in the shape of a little Danish brig.

Retarded by contrary winds and calms, the ship was a full month in making its way from Hamburg through the English Channel—as long a time as it required to get from thence to the equator. On the 16th of September the harbor of Rio Janeiro was reached. From that port Ida Pfeiffer made several excursions into the interior of the country. On one of these expeditions she was attacked by a runaway negro slave, whose purpose appeared to be robbery and murder. The miscreant was armed with a knife; she received more than one wound, and only owed her life to casual help which arrived at the critical moment.

At the beginning of December she left Rio Janeiro, sailed round Cape Horn on the 3d of February, 1847, and landed at Valparaiso on the 2d of March. The aspect of tropical scenery, particularly in Brazil, made a vivid impression upon her; but she was greatly disgusted at the state of things in what had been Spanish America. Quickly re-embarking, she traversed the Pacific Ocean, and landed at the island of Otaheite at the end of April. She was presented to Queen Pomare, of whose court she afterward published a sufficiently spirited account, which was read with much interest. The state of Europe at that period was one of such tranquillity that, for mere want of matter, the papers were often full of Queen Pomare for weeks together. Her Otaheitan majesty has now gone considerably out of fashion, inasmuch as Europe has enough to do with its own concerns, and has neither time nor inclination to patronize happy islands in the far Pacific.

From Otaheite the enterprising voyager proceeded to China, arriving at Macao in the beginning of July. She afterward visited Hong Kong and the city of Canton, in which she would gladly have spent more time, had not the appearance of a European woman been too much for the weak nerves of the natives of the Celestial Empire. The visitor found herself in danger of being insulted by the mob, and accordingly turned her back on the fortunate country, paid a short visit to Singapore, and proceeded to Ceylon, landing there in the middle of October. She traversed this beautiful island in various directions, and saw Colombo, Candy, and the famous temple of Dagona. At the end of October she landed on the continent of India, at Madras, remained for some time at Calcutta, proceeded up the Ganges to Benares, admired the ruins of Saranath, and visited Cawnpoor, Delhi, Indore, and Bombay. She also had an opportunity of seeing the celebrated rock temples of Adjunta and Ellora, and the islands of Elephanta and Salsette. The houses of many Indians of rank were thrown open to her, and she showed herself every where a close observer of foreign manners, customs, and peculiarities. At more than one tiger-hunt she was also present, and at a suttee. The position and proceedings of the English missionaries also excited her especial attention.

At the end of April, 1848, we find Ida Pfeiffer again at sea, bearing her pilgrim’s staff toward Persia. From Bushire she intended to proceed to Shiraz, Ispahan, and Teheran, but was deterred from this project by disturbances in the interior of the country, and turned her footsteps toward Mesopotamia. Through the bay Shat-el-Arab she betook herself to Bassora, and afterward to Bagdad. After an excursion to the ruins of Ctesiphon and Babylon, she traveled with a caravan through the Desert to Mosul and the neighboring ruins of Nineveh, and afterward to Urumia and Tebris. This expedition through Mesopotamia and Persia may be reckoned among the most daring exploits of this courageous woman. A large amount of mental energy, as well as of physical stamina, was required, to enable her to endure without fainting the many hardships of the undertaking—the burning heat by day, discomfort of every kind at night, miserable fare, an unclean couch, and constant apprehension of attack by robber bands. When she introduced herself at Tebris to the English consul, he would not believe that a woman could have achieved such a feat.

At Tebris our traveler was introduced to the vice-king Vali-Ahd, and received permission to visit his harem. On the 11th of August, 1848, she resumed her journey through Armenia, Georgia, Mingrelia, by Eriwan, Tiflis, and Kutais to Redutkale; she touched at Anapa, Kertch, and Sebastopol, landed at Odessa, and returned home by Constantinople, Greece, the Ionian Islands, and Trieste to Vienna, where she arrived on the 4th of November, 1848, just after the taking of the city by the troops of Prince Windischgrätz. It seemed that even in her fatherland, distracted as it was by faction, she was to find no rest.

Ida Pfeiffer’s fame spread more and more after this journey round the world; for a woman who, trusting to herself alone for protection, could travel 2800 miles by land and 35,000 by sea, was looked upon, not unnaturally, as a remarkable character. Her third work, which appeared in Vienna in 1850, under the title “A Woman’s Journey round the World,” was well received. It was translated twice into English, and afterward appeared in a French garb.

It was now for some time Ida Pfeiffer’s purpose to consider her traveling days as over, and to settle down in repose. But this resigned frame of mind did not last long. When, after selling her collections, and preparing and publishing her journal, she found herself in the enjoyment of undiminished health and strength, she gradually began to entertain the idea of a second voyage round the world. Her slender traveling fund was this time increased by a grant of 1500 florins from the Austrian government; and on the 18th of March, 1851, she left Vienna, betaking herself first to London, as she had no fixed goal in view, and intended to wait till an occasion offered for traveling farther. Even when she had left London, and arrived in Cape Town on the 11th of August, she had come to no definite determination. For a long time her mind wavered between the intention of visiting the interior of Africa and that of proceeding to Australia, till at last she sailed to Singapore, and decided to visit the Sunda Islands. Landing on the west coast of Borneo, at Sarawak, she received a hospitable welcome and energetic assistance from Sir James Brooke, who has established an independent principality in these regions. During an excursion she made among the savage, independent Dyaks, she was not only spared by the “head hunters,” but was even received with great cordiality. Proceeding to Sinting, she continued her journey westward to Pontianak and the diamond mines of Landak. Every where the Dutch officials, civil and military, offered her the readiest assistance, without which she would have found it impossible to extend her travels so far as she did in the Indian Archipelago. Ida Pfeiffer’s design was to push on from Pontianak directly through the interior of the island, a region never yet traversed by Europeans; but she could endure no one to be her guide or companion on so dangerous an expedition. She therefore cast her eyes on Java, and landed at Batavia at the end of May, 1852. Here, likewise, she received every assistance and support from the Dutch authorities, and, in consequence of their example, from the native grandees also. This she often afterward publicly acknowledged, with the warmest thanks.

On the 8th of July, 1852, her journey to Sumatra began; and this she has declared to be the most interesting of all her undertakings. From Padang she proceeded to trust herself among the Battas, who are cannibals, and have never suffered any European to come among them. Though the savages opposed her farther advance, she passed forward through the primeval forest, among a population of man-eaters, almost as far as the Lake Eier-Tau. But here she was compelled by threatening spears to retreat, after having been repeatedly assured that she should be killed and eaten. On the 7th of October she got back to Padang. In Sumatra she was twice attacked by the malignant intermittent fever of the country.

Returning to Java, she made excursions to the principalities of Djokdjokarta and Surakarta, to the temple Boro Budoo, and to Surabaga. From thence she sailed to several of the smaller Sunda Islands, and to the Moluccas, Banda, Amboyna, Saparna, Ceram, and Ternate; remained for a few months among the wild Alfores, and closed her rambles among the Sunda Islands by a visit to Celebes.

Again she traversed the Pacific to a distance of 10,150 miles to visit California. For two months she saw nothing but sea and sky. On the 27th of September, 1853, she landed at San Francisco, visited the gold-washing districts on the Sacramento and the Yuba, and slept in the wigwams of the red-skins of Rogue River.

At the end of 1853 Ida Pfeiffer sailed to Panama, and from thence to the Peruvian coast. From Callao she betook herself to Lima, with the intention of crossing the Cordilleras, and proceeding to Loretto, on the Amazon, and thus gaining the eastern coast of South America. The revolution, however, which had just broken out in Peru, made the land unsafe, and compelled our traveler to try and cross the Cordilleras at another point. She returned, accordingly, to Ecuador, and in March, 1854, began her toilsome passage across the mountains. She crossed the chain in the immediate neighborhood of Chimborazo, came to the elevated plateau of Ambato and Tacunga, and witnessed the rare spectacle of an eruption of the volcano Cotopaxi—a sight for which she was afterward envied by Alexander von Humboldt. On reaching Quito on the 4th of April, she did not, unfortunately, find the assistance she had expected in the shape of several trustworthy guides to the Amazon. She therefore gave up her plan of embarking on that river, and had to repeat her wearisome march across the Cordilleras. In the neighborhood of Guayaquil she twice stood in imminent danger of being killed—first by a fall from her mule, and then from an immersion in the River Guaya, which abounds in caymans. Her companions wished her to perish, and did not render the slightest assistance. Deeply disgusted at their inhumanity, she turned her back upon Spanish South America, betook herself by sea to Panama, and at the end of May crossed the Isthmus.

From Aspinwall she sailed to New Orleans, remaining there till the 30th of June; then she ascended the Mississippi to Napoleon, and the Arkansas as far as Fort Smith. Her projected visit to the Cherokee Indians had to be abandoned, on account of a renewed and violent attack of the Sumatra fever. Returning to the Mississippi, she reached St. Louis on the 14th of July, and paid a visit to the Baden democrat Hecker, who had established himself in the neighborhood of Lebanon. Then she turned northward toward St. Paul and the Falls of St. Anthony, proceeded to Chicago, and thus came to the great lakes and to the Falls of Niagara. After an excursion into Canada, she staid for some time in New York, Boston, and other cities, then went on board a steamer, and, after a passage of ten days, landed in England, at Liverpool, on the 21st of November, 1854.

To this great voyage round the world she added a little supplement, by paying a visit to her son, who was residing at San Miguel, in the Azores. It was not until May, 1855, that she returned to Vienna, by way of Lisbon, Southampton, and London.

The specimens and the ethnographical objects collected by Ida Pfeiffer were for the most part deposited in the British Museum and in the Imperial Cabinets in Vienna. Alexander von Humboldt and Carl Ritter, in Berlin, took great interest in the efforts of Ida Pfeiffer, and Humboldt especially rewarded her with the warmest praise for her energy and perseverance. At the request of these two eminent men, the Geographical Society of Berlin elected Ida Pfeiffer an honorary member, and the King of Prussia awarded her the gold medal for arts and sciences. In Vienna the expressions of approval were much more sparing, probably according to the old rule that no prophet is regarded in his own country.

The brave traveler’s journal again appeared in Vienna in 1856, under the title, “My Second Journey round the World.”

After each of her former voyages, Ida Pfeiffer had for a time cherished the idea of retiring from future enterprises, and living in the memory of the past. But after the second journey round the world, which resulted entirely to her satisfaction, no such ideas seem to have troubled her. Before she had even finished arranging her cabinet of specimens and superintending the publication of her book, she already conceived the plan of exploring Madagascar, and was not to be dissuaded from her purpose even by the representations of Alexander von Humboldt, who proposed various other plans for her consideration.

The farther fortunes of Ida Pfeiffer will be found chronicled in the accompanying journal of her voyage to Madagascar, and, with the communication of her son, Mr. Oscar Pfeiffer, tell the story of her sufferings and death. But, before we enter upon the last act of her toilsome and instructive career, it will be well to say a few words concerning the character of our traveler.

Ida Pfeiffer did not give those who saw her the impression of an emancipated, strong-minded, or masculine woman. On the contrary, she was so simple and downright in word and thought, that those who did not know her had some difficulty in getting at the depth of her knowledge and experience. In her whole appearance and manners there was a quiet staidness that seemed to indicate a practical housewife, with no enthusiastic thought beyond her domestic concerns. Many people were accordingly premature in their judgment concerning Ida Pfeiffer, and felt inclined to ascribe her passion for traveling to mere inquisitive restlessness. This supposition was, however, completely negatived by a leading trait in Ida Pfeiffer’s character, namely, a total absence of any thing like prying curiosity. In proportion as her whole existence had been troubled, was her appearance quiet and sedate.

The sharpest observer would fail to detect in her any tendency to push herself forward, or to interfere in matters not within her sphere. Serious, silent, and reserved, she presented few of the agreeable features of her mind to people with whom she was imperfectly acquainted.

But those who succeeded in gaining her intimacy could not fail to recognize under this unpretending exterior the qualities which make a remarkable woman. Strength of purpose, firmness of character, sometimes amounting almost to obstinacy, were quickly discernible in certain favorite expressions of hers. If we add to these gifts an amount of personal courage rarely found in a woman, indifference to physical pain and to the ordinary conveniences of life, and, moreover, the never-ceasing desire to add something to the stock of human knowledge, it will be allowed that she possessed the qualities with which success is achieved in the world. The value of these gifts was heightened in Ida Pfeiffer by a strict regard for truth and strong sense of conscientious responsibility, and a love of right and justice. She never told any thing that had not happened exactly as she chronicled it, and never made a promise which she did not keep. She had what, in common life, we emphatically term character.

That her communications derive an additional value from her well-known truthfulness is self-evident; and as she was free from sectarian and other prejudices, her judgments were always based upon a solid foundation. Had she in her youthful days employed herself more than she did in scientific study, and gained positive knowledge in that direction, her travels would doubtless have been more useful; but at the commencement of our century even men were seldom found who would employ themselves in scientific pursuits that had no immediate bearing upon their professions, and learned women were rarer still. Ida Pfeiffer was conscious of this defect in her education, and in her mature years often thought of remedying it, but she lacked both the necessary time and patience.

To divest her efforts of all scientific value would, however, be unjust, for the most competent men have given a different verdict. She pressed forward into many regions never before trodden by European foot; and the very fact of her being a woman was her protection in her most dangerous undertakings. She was allowed to pursue her journey where a man would assuredly not have been suffered to advance. Her communications, consequently, have often the merit of containing entirely new facts in geography and ethnology, or of correcting the exaggerations and errors of previous accounts. Science was likewise benefited by the valuable collections she made of plants, animals, and minerals. Frequently she did not herself know the value of what she had brought together; but, nevertheless, she brought many important specimens; and the sciences of conchology and entomology are indebted to her for the discovery of several new genera.

If we compare the results of Ida Pfeiffer’s undertakings with the limited means at her disposal for carrying out her plans, her achievements become marvelous. She traversed nearly 150,000 miles of sea and 20,000 miles of land; and the funds for these travels were gained entirely by wise economy, and by the energy with which she kept the goal continually before her eyes. If her passion for traveling was great, her talents as a traveler were far greater. Without sacrificing her dignity or becoming importunate, she had the art of first arousing and then benefiting by the interest and sympathy of people in all parts of the world. At last she became quite accustomed to see her plan furthered in every possible way, and though she never failed to express her thanks, she seemed at last to receive the good offices of foreigners in all quarters of the globe as almost a matter of course. She even had to fight against little outbursts of wrath when she missed the sympathy for her efforts and herself to which she had become so accustomed. In later years especially, she was fully conscious of her own value, and showed it when people attempted to behave in a condescending or patronizing way to her. Persons of higher rank than herself were obliged to be very careful in their intercourse with her; but with plain, unpretending people she never uttered a word that could hurt or offend. Hating all pretension, and all boastful self-assertion, she showed herself obstinate and self-willed wherever she met with such qualities. Antipathy or sympathy were quickly evoked in her, and it was not easy to make her swerve from an opinion she had once formed. Even when she appeared to give way, it generally happened that she returned by some circuitous route or other to her old starting-point.

For every kind of knowledge she showed the most profound respect, but particularly for the acquirements of people who had distinguished themselves in the domain of science. For Alexander von Humboldt her admiration amounted to perfect enthusiasm, and she never mentioned the great philosopher’s name without testifying the respect she felt toward him. Nothing, perhaps, gave her so much pleasure in her later years as the appreciation for, and sympathy with her efforts manifested by Humboldt.

Ida Pfeiffer was of short stature, thin, and slightly bent. Her movements were deliberate and measured, but she could walk at a very quick pace for her years. When she returned from one of her journeys, her complexion used to give strong evidence of the power of the tropical sun. Beyond this there was nothing in her features to tell of her remarkable trials and adventures; a quieter countenance could not readily be found. But when she became animated in conversation, and spoke of things which strongly awakened her interest, her whole face lighted up, and its expression became exceedingly engaging.

In all that related to the toilet, a matter of importance to most women, Ida Pfeiffer confined her wants within the smallest limits. She was never seen to wear trinkets or jewels; and none of the lady readers who honor these pages with their perusal can show more simplicity in the adornment of her beauty, or greater indifference to the requirements of custom, than were displayed by this voyager round the world.

Straightforward, of high principle, with a promptitude and wisdom in action rarely equaled among her sex, Ida Pfeiffer may justly be classed among those women who richly compensate for the absence of outward charms by the remarkable energy and rare qualities of their minds.

IDA PFEIFFER’S LAST TRAVELS.

CHAPTER I.

Departure from Vienna.—Linz.—Salzburg.—Munich.—The Artists’ Festival.—The King of Bavaria.—Berlin.—Alexander von Humboldt.—Hamburg.

On the 21st of May, 1856, I left Vienna, and set forth on another of my long journeys. At Nussdorf, near Vienna, I embarked on board the fine steamer “Austria,” bound up the river for Linz. The steam-boat company was not only so obliging as to give me a free pass, but even placed a cabin at my disposal, and provided board and every comfort for me.

The short distance (about thirty German miles) from Vienna to Linz can be accomplished in twenty-one hours, and a beautiful trip it is. Few rivers can boast such an endless variety of scenery as greets the eye of the traveler on the Danube. Hill and valley, city and hamlet, magnificent convents and elegant villas glide past in endless succession, nor lacketh there the knightly castle, or the half-decayed ruin with its appropriate legend of romance. Favored by the Fates with the finest possible weather, and surrounded by agreeable company, I could only wish that my journey might continue to present the auspicious appearance under which it had begun.

I made acquaintance with several passengers on board, and among the rest with the wife of the respected physician, Dr. Pleninger, of Linz. This amiable lady insisted upon my taking up my quarters in her house. Unfortunately, I had but a short time to stay at Linz, as I purposed proceeding to Lambach the same day. But kind Dr. Pleninger arranged a little pleasure party for the morning to the neighboring “Freudenberg” (Mountain of Joy), on which a great Jesuit convent is built. Besides its clerical occupants, this establishment numbers more than a hundred and fifty pupils, who, for the sum of only twelve florins[A] per month, are boarded and lodged, and get their education into the bargain. The institution appears to be conducted with care and with notable order. It already possesses a little collection of ethnographical objects and a botanic garden, the latter under the superintendence of Herr Hintereker, a very eminent botanist. The view from the Freudenberg is very charming, and I herewith recommend this walk to all future tourists, including those who are unable to see the convent.

I remained at Dr. Pleninger’s till the afternoon, and then proceeded by rail to Lambach, a distance of eight German miles, which it required full three hours to accomplish.

At Lambach I took the Salzburg omnibus. Unfortunately, this vehicle was not managed on English principles. It was a true, genuine, and unadulterated German omnibus, drawn by German horses, who tramped stolidly along at the rate, as I judged, of a German mile an hour. The distance is twelve German miles, and in just twelve hours we got to our destination, so that my calculation was quite correct.

At Salzburg it was pouring wet weather, of course: my countrymen do not call this town the “rainy corner” without reason.

They tell a story of an Englishman who once came to Salzburg at midsummer, and found town, valley, and hills alike shrouded in mist and rain. He had read so much of the charming situation of Salzburg that he lingered there a few days, but, as the sky showed no token of clearing up, this son of Albion at length lost patience and decamped. Two years afterward, on his journey home from Italy, he took the route by this town, in the hope of being more fortunate this time; but, behold, it was raining as it had rained two years ago. “By Jove!” exclaimed the Briton, in astonishment, “hasn’t it left off yet?”

I might have made the same observation; for, although in my journeys I had several times passed through Salzburg, I had not once had the good luck to see this beautiful region smiling in the sunshine. And beautiful it is—wonderfully beautiful. It would be difficult to find a prettier little town, or one situate in so fertile a valley, and surrounded by such majestic masses of mountains. One of these, the Watzmann, is nearly 9000 feet high.

I had only half a day to spend in Salzburg, and had just time to look at the statue of Mozart, set up here since my last visit. Mozart, as is well known, was born in this town in the year 1756.

From Salzburg I took the stage-coach (stellwagen) to Munich. This kind of conveyance could never be classed among the most agreeable methods of traveling, but since the invention of railways it has become intolerable. Crowded together like negroes in a slave-ship, we loitered for two whole days in accomplishing this little distance of nineteen German miles. The rain fortunately ceased a few miles from Salzburg, and, moreover, the scenery is very fine to within four miles of Munich. The Bavarian frontier is crossed within the first mile. To my great surprise, the inspection of passports and of luggage was speedily accomplished.

Toward evening we came to the Chiem Lake, also called the “Bavarian Sea.” This beautiful sheet of water is two German miles in length, and one and a half in breadth. On three sides it is shut in by high mountains, while on the fourth it is bordered by a plain of seemingly unlimited extent.

Not far from Traunstein we struck into a by-road toward Sekon, a pretty seat belonging to the widowed Empress of Brazil, who was by birth a princess of Leuchtenberg. Sekon is situate on a tiny lake, whose waters are said to possess mineral properties. The empress has caused a large building, originally a convent, on the banks of the lake, to be converted into a bathing hotel, with fifty rooms, and it has been very tastefully arranged. A neat garden surrounds the building, the kitchen is well supplied, and conveyances can be had, and every thing is marvelously cheap. A very good room, for instance, costs only three florins per week; the table d’hôte, twenty-four kreutzers; a one-horse carriage can be had for two florins a day, and other expenses are in proportion. This pleasant bathing-place, when its existence becomes more widely known, can not fail to attract a multitude of guests, and then, of course, the prices will rise.

From Sekon we went on to Wasserburg. This little town is wonderfully placed as regards situation. It lies in a perfect basin, shut in at almost every point by steep walls of rock and sandstone. When I came to the edge a giant crater seemed to open suddenly at my feet, but, instead of fire and flames, this crater contained a charming rural scene. The little houses lay there hidden and secluded as if they belonged to another world. The Inn flowed between them, its yellow waters covered with signs of a busy life; for hundreds of rafts, built of the trunks of trees and planks, float down hence to distant harbors. Taking a wide circuit, we drove down into this crater; and then I became aware that the basin was much wider than it had appeared from above, and that it afforded space for numerous hop-gardens. This region might not inaptly be called the Vineyard of Bavaria.

On the 26th of May I arrived in Munich. The portion of Bavaria with which I became acquainted on this little journey pleased me greatly. The scenery is splendid, the towns and villages look pretty and prosperous, and the fields are well cultivated. The scattered farms in particular bear a certain impress of prosperity, cleanliness, and order. The buildings are of stone, are sufficiently roomy, and generally have an upper story; the roof is constructed in the Swiss manner, almost flat, and weighted with heavy stones, as a protection against the violent storms which prevail here. Exception might be taken to the fact that dwelling-house, barn, and stable are all under the same roof; for, in the event of a fire, the farmer would most probably lose all his property at once.

No one who looks at these teeming fields and valleys (and when I saw them the crops were waving in rich abundance), the smiling villages, the well-built farms, would suppose that poverty could lurk here, and that many of the inhabitants are forced to emigrate, to seek beyond the sea a country that will better repay their toil.

And yet it is so. The chief reason is perhaps to be found in the fact that in Bavaria, and particularly in Upper and Lower Bavaria and the Upper Palatinate, farms are not divided, but given to one of the children, who is chosen by the father from among his family. The fortunate individual thus selected has certainly the responsibility of “paying out” his brothers, as it is called; but they never receive much, as the estate is always appraised considerably below its value, and the chief heir, moreover, receives a considerable sum under the name of “Mannslehen.” The rest have naturally no course left but to seek a service, to learn a trade, or to emigrate. Even in the other provinces, where the estates are divided, there is a great deal of poverty, and emigration is always going on. Why this should be so I can not pretend to determine.

The costume of the peasant women in these regions is very peculiar. They wear short but very full skirts, with double bodices, the one with long sleeves, the other sleeveless. This second jacket, generally of dark-colored velvet, is put on over the other, and laced with silver tags. The wealthier peasant women adorn their necks with eight or ten strings of little real pearls, with great clasps in front. The poorer ones are fain to content themselves with imitation pearls, of silver.

Munich seemed to me a very quiet city. There is little traffic, and none but the principal streets show any signs of life.

I only remained in this city six days, but in that short time I made the acquaintance of several families. So far as I could judge, domestic life appears to be simple and social here, and the fair sex seemed to care less for outward show than the ladies of other capitals. I must confess that the mode of life in Munich pleased me much.

Through a fortunate chance I became acquainted with many distinguished men here, principally artists. The Artists’ Festival was being celebrated, and I received a polite invitation to take part in it. Were I to chronicle the names of all the eminent people to whom I had the honor of an introduction on this occasion, I should perhaps tire my readers; but in my memory those names will always be impressed.

I must devote a few words, however, to the festival, which is celebrated every year on a fine day in May.

It was held at Schwanegg and Pullach, in a beautiful meadow surrounded by forests. At Schwanegg, a chateau built in the Gothic style by Herr von Schwanthaler, a comic interlude was represented, a parody on Schiller’s “Fight with the Dragon.” The fortress of Schwanegg is supposed to have been besieged for a whole year by a dragon, in such wise that no man could go out or in. A knight comes riding past by chance; he is seen from the watch-tower, and the inmates of the castle straightway assemble on the threshold, and in very comic verses implore the knight to deliver them from their enemy. Then follows the combat, with discomfiture of the dragon, etc.

After the dragon had been satisfactorily slain, we had another scenic show in the little wood near Pullach—Spring expelling Winter. Then we had a series of funny processions. Bacchus appeared seated on a wine-cask, drawn by gigantic cockchafers (each represented by a man), with similar insects sporting round him. Apollo came next, on a triumphal car, with Pegasus as his horse, and surrounded by butterflies, flowers, and beetles, from one to two feet in height, cut out of card-board, tastefully colored, and mounted on lofty poles. In short, one frolic succeeded another, and the appreciating public enjoyed the sight most unequivocally; it was a thorough “people’s festival.” There must have been nearly ten thousand people assembled, all passing the day in hearty enjoyment, and seeming to belong to a single family. Some found places at long tables under the trees, others simply threw themselves on the grass; but all seemed equally devoted to the national beverage of the country, the beer, without which a true Bavarian would scarcely be able to enjoy himself thoroughly. In spite of this bibulous propensity, every thing went off peaceably and well, and it was not until the evening that one or two of the company showed signs of having overdone the thing a little. Luckily, the Spirit of the Hop seems to be a good-natured sort of spirit, only promoting hilarity, for I did not hear of a single quarrel.

The first representation had been honored by the presence of King Max, who came in the dress of a plain citizen. Afterward in the theatre I saw the king and the whole court in private dress. It is a long time since I have seen a monarch in the garb of a civilian; crowned heads wear uniforms, and nothing but uniforms, as if they belonged exclusively to the military class. There is some fitness in that; for what would the majority of them be without soldiers?

King Max seems to take a different view of things. He honors the citizens, and does not scruple to associate with them. He marched along with the great crowd, with no followers to accompany or police to escort him. He cleared a path for himself, and the people passed to and fro around him quite unceremoniously.

The king was told that my insignificant self was among the audience at the feast, and I was speedily presented to him among thousands of spectators. His majesty conversed with me for some time in the most gracious manner.

To describe the “lions” of Munich and its Art treasures is no fit task for a journal like mine. Any of my readers who may wish for information on the subject will find it amply detailed in one or other of the capital hand-books which have been published concerning this city of Art.

Two amiable ladies, the Baronesses Du Prel and Bissing, were obliging enough to lead me from gallery to gallery, and from church to church. But nothing is more tiring, or more exhausting to the mind and body, than crowding a large amount of sight-seeing into a limited time. These six days tried me more than a sojourn of double that time in the virgin forests of the tropics, where I had to walk on the most tiring paths all day long, with the damp earth for my resting-place at night, and rice parboiled in water for my daily food.

Before I take leave of Munich I must relate a funny incident that occurred one evening on my leaving the theatre. I did not know my way well, and begged a good dame, who came walking past with a gentleman, to set me right. As they were walking in the same direction, they invited me to go with them. On the way she inquired if I had been to the Artists’ Festival, and if I had seen the “great traveler,” Ida Pfeiffer, there. My questioner added that she had been with her husband, but only in the evening, and had not seen the person in question. I replied that the “great traveler” was a quiet little woman, and that I knew her well enough; if I wanted to see her I had only to look in a glass. The good people seemed very glad to see me, and insisted on accompanying me to my door.

On the 1st of June I proceeded, by way of Hof, to Berlin (ninety-five miles), and, arriving on the following day, was received with their wonted hearty kindness by my dear friends, Professor Weisz and his wife.

The journey from Munich to Berlin offers few points of interest: the views are sometimes pretty, but nowhere striking; the country around Plauen is the most agreeable. Before we got to Hof, the last Bavarian station, something broke down in the engine; we thus lost a whole hour, and missed the corresponding train. At the Prussian frontier my passport was demanded, but the official scarcely glanced at it, and the inspection of my luggage was also entirely formal; in a few moments the whole ceremony was over.

In Berlin a great and joyful surprise awaited me. I received from Alexander von Humboldt an open letter of recommendation to all his friends in the wide world.

The celebrated geographer, Carl Ritter, also did me a great honor by inviting me to a sitting of the Geographical Society. In March last I had been received as an honorary member of that body, and was the first woman to whom such a distinction had been accorded.

I only staid a week in Berlin, and proceeded thence to Hamburg (a distance of thirty-eight German miles), taking up my quarters again with the worthy Schulz family. But in Hamburg also there was no long tarrying for me. I wanted to husband my time for Holland, a country with which I was unacquainted, and accordingly, on the 14th of June, I embarked on board the steamer “Stoomward,” Captain C. Bruns, for Amsterdam, distant three hundred and twelve sea-miles from this port.

This was the first passage I made in Europe on a Dutch steamer, and here I experienced the same kindness I had met with from the proprietors of Dutch steamers in India during my second journey round the world; not only did they give me a free passage, but refused to accept payment for table expenses, etc. How much more easily would my journeys have been accomplished had I met with similar consideration from English steam-boat companies! but unfortunately, till now, such has not been my good fortune. The English directors, agents, and managers have shown far greater appreciation for my dollars than for my journeyings, and always made me pay my passage, alike for long and short distances.

CHAPTER II.

Arrival in Holland.—Amsterdam.—Dutch Architecture.—Picture Galleries.—Mr. Costa’s Diamond-cutting Works.—The Haarlem Lake.—A Dutch Cattle-stable.—Utrecht.—The Students’ Festival.

I arrived in Amsterdam at midday on the 16th of June. My worthy friend, Colonel Steuerwald, was waiting for me in the harbor. This gentleman is one of my oldest traveling acquaintances. I first met him on my journey from Gothenburg to Stockholm, afterward encountered him again at Batavia, and here again in his own native land, where he welcomed me in the heartiest manner, and introduced me at once to his family circle.

I staid in Holland till the 2d of July, and had an opportunity of traveling through the greater part of this interesting country; but I will merely indicate what I saw in as few words as possible, for it does not come within the scope of my book to give detailed accounts of well-known lands and cities.

The thing that struck me most in Amsterdam was the architecture of the houses, which I can best liken to the old German style, as seen, for instance, in Magdeburg. The houses, inhabited generally by a single family, are very narrow, from two to four stories high, terminating in fronted or rounded gable roofs. They are built of brick stained with a dark brown tint, and in some instances ornamented with arabesques. The streets have a singular appearance. The houses stand in straight rows, but do not by any means rise in a perpendicular line. In some the under, in others the upper, and in others, again, the middle story, bulges out beyond the rest, the deviation from the perpendicular frequently exceeding a foot. It would seem that such houses were peculiarly liable to fall in; but, from the dates over the doors, I found that the majority had stood for one, and not a few for two centuries. The narrow steep staircase is a great drawback in Dutch houses. One ought to be a born Hollander, and accustomed from childhood to the task of climbing these stairs, to look upon them with equanimity, especially as in any of these lofty narrow houses one seems to be mounting and descending the stairs all day long. I need scarcely say that the houses of the rich, the hotels, and similar buildings, are free from this inconvenience.

Equally surprised was I to notice that in houses where the ground floor is arranged as a shop, the whole width of the front is thus occupied, and no room left for a private door. The cook with her market-basket, the water-carrier with his pails, the housewife and the visitors, have all to go through warehouses sometimes filled with costly wares arranged to the best advantage. Of course, too, the shop-door must be left open on Sundays and holidays as on ordinary occasions.

These inconveniences are all caused by the high price of the ground. Every one knows with what labor the greater part of the Dutch soil was won from the sea, and how expensive it is to build on ground where the foundation must be almost created, so to speak, by driving heavy piles. Generally the building below the ground costs quite as much as all the rest of the structure.

Amsterdam is intersected by numerous canals, all sufficiently broad, and crossed by 250 bridges. This town might indeed be called the Venice of the North, but that the marble palaces, the bustle and life of the southern people, the crowd of passing gondolas, and the melodious songs of the boatmen, are all wanting. Amsterdam has, however, one advantage over Venice in possessing fine broad streets running parallel with the canals, so that carriages can be used in traversing the city. Many of the streets are adorned with tall stately trees, which make the town look very fresh and pleasant.

There are some handsome buildings, but none of remarkable appearance except the royal palace—the council-house of old times. This is built in a grand style, and beautified with excellent sculpture.

I must farther mention a few peculiarities of Amsterdam which greatly surprised me. The first was, that in this great city of 200,000 inhabitants there are no stands for hired carriages; whoever wants to drive out must send to the stable-keeper’s house, and wait until the horses are harnessed. Another peculiarity struck me as very original: in the middle of summer people may be seen traversing the paved streets in sledges. These sledges—low carriage bodies mounted on frames of wood and iron without wheels—are called “steepkoets,” and are used chiefly by old people. The pace is very slow, but the traveling comfortable enough.

The Zoological Garden, adjoining the town, is spacious and tastefully laid out. The number of foreign animals is considerable, and had just been increased by the arrival of several giraffes. The classes of birds and reptiles were very fully represented.

The Museum contains a valuable collection of sea-shells and land-snails.

I visited two picture galleries, the Trippenhuis collection and that of Herr van der Hoop. The word van, by the way, unlike the German von, is not an indication of nobility; every Hollander may prefix it to his name. The principal pictures I saw were “The Watchmen and——,” by Rembrandt; Van der Helst’s “Meal;” Steen’s “Feast of St. Nicholas;” and the “School by Moonlight” of Dow. The two galleries can boast of many masterpieces by the above-mentioned artists and by various others, as Ruysdael, Wouvermans, Ostade, etc.

The Van der Hoop gallery is in the Academy, and was a bequest from the proprietor. The Academy hesitated long before accepting the valuable present, the institution then lacking funds to pay the high legacy-duty.

I was much interested during my visit to the diamond-cutting works of Herr Costa, reputed to be the chief establishment of the kind in existence. The Dutch enjoy an acknowledged pre-eminence over all the nations of Europe in the art of cutting diamonds; but in India they have found their masters, as is proved by the great diamond in the possession of the sultan, which was cut in Upper India. This diamond, the largest known to exist, though convex on the under side, has been cut in facets of uniform size, with an amount of skill which even the Hollanders are unable to emulate.

The size of the manufactory is very striking when one considers the smallness of the objects manipulated; the building is more than a hundred feet long and three stories high.

The various operations are conducted in the following way: the rough diamond passes first into the hands of the planer, then into those of the cutter, and finally is handed to the grinder. The first of these operators removes any defects that may be in the stone with a sharp diamond, wherewith he files the gem, and then chips off the faulty piece. The cutter gives the stone its proper shape by getting rid of the corners and inequalities in the same way. The dust obtained by these operations is carefully collected and husbanded, for the use of it is indispensable in grinding the diamond. The grinder uses a leaden bullet inclosed in wood, with the upper portion softened in the fire, so that the stone may be pressed into it as far as necessary. The diamond is then ground on a steel plate, on which a little diamond-dust has been strewn. The great art consists in making the facets and corners perfectly even, whereby the fire and beauty of the diamond are greatly increased.

The turning of the grinding machine (by steam power) is so rapid that the steel disk does not seem to move at all; it makes two thousand revolutions per minute.

A great deal is lost by this grinding; thus the English crown diamond Kôh-i-Noor was reduced one fourth in size on being cut the second time. The first cutting of this beautiful diamond had proved a failure, and in 1852 the English government sent for a Dutch workman from Herr Costa’s establishment to cut the stone artistically. The work occupied the lapidary for six months, and the mere working expenses, apart from any profit, which indeed the proprietor of the factory, Herr Costa, would not accept, amounted to four thousand Dutch guilders, or something more than £330 sterling. In Herr Costa’s works, of which he is sole owner, 125 workmen are employed, of whom five are planers, thirty cutters, and ninety grinders. These men earn each from thirty to seventy and eighty Dutch guilders per week.

In Amsterdam I saw also the sugar-refining works of Messrs. Spakler, Neoten, and Fetterode. The sugar is refined by means of steam-engines. I have seen the same thing done in other countries. This manufactory turns out about 5,000,000 kilos (about 4885 tons, English weight) of sugar every year. The greatest establishment of the kind in Holland manufactures 16,000,000 kilos, and the entire produce amounts to 80,000,000.

Very near Amsterdam lies the famous Haarlem Lake, the draining of which may be certainly reckoned among the most gigantic undertakings of the present century. Where a few years ago great ships sailed, and where the fisherman spread his nets, thousands of cows now graze, and beauteous fields and meadows smile with verdure; nay, scattered houses, already fast increasing, will soon probably expand into towns and villages.

The pumping out of this lake, which was about thirteen feet deep, was begun in February, 1849, and the whole great work was completed in four years. Engines of 400-horse power were set up in three different places; each of these engines raised the pistons of eight pumps six times a minute, and poured out the water into the canals leading to the sea. The twenty-four pumps of the three engines discharged 20,340 kilderkins of water per minute.

The area of land thus gained amounts to no less than 60,000 English acres. The cultivation of this great tract was begun as early as 1853.

Herr Muyskens, who had the kindness to show me this new wonder of the world, is the owner of a fair tract of the land, from which he carried the first harvest last year. His house, too, was finished, and had been built with much taste. Here I first saw how far the Hollanders’ predilection for cattle-breeding leads them; the cow-stable was indisputably the handsomest part of the house. It must be borne in mind, however, that the greater part of the Dutch soil consists of rich pastures and meadows, and that stock-breeding is the chief source of the Dutchman’s wealth; it is thus reasonable enough that every possible effort should be made to develop this branch of farming. But I had scarcely expected that their anxiety should go so far as to procure for the cows cleaner and more comfortable dwellings than many well-to-do people can boast in the less civilized countries of Europe, to say nothing of other quarters of the world. The cow-house monopolized the greater part of the building: its windows, of a handsome oval form, were absolutely festooned with white curtains, looped up with gay ribbons. The entrance door, of which the upper part was glazed, also boasted of a curtain of dazzling whiteness. The interior of this establishment was in the form of a lofty spacious hall. The stalls were just broad enough to allow the hind feet of the cows to rest on the edge of a canal or gutter a foot in depth, so that the straw might be kept perfectly clean. Just over this gutter, and parallel with it, a rope had been stretched, and to this rope the tails of the cows were tied, to prevent them from whisking their sides and raising a dust. All these arrangements were pleasing enough to the eye; but I fancy, if the poor animals had been consulted, they would have voted for a little more freedom, although at some sacrifice of neatness.

One compartment of the stable was partitioned off by a wall of planks three feet high: it had a boarded floor, and formed quite a neat little room, for the use of the farm attendants. The store-houses for milk, cheese, and similar farm produce were as scrupulously clean as the stable itself. The walls of the entrance halls, staircases, kitchen, store-rooms, etc., in almost every house, are covered, to the height of three or four feet from the ground, with tiles of white porcelain or green clay, which are not so difficult to keep clean as whitewashed walls.

It was at Herr Muysken’s house that, after a long abstinence, I enjoyed the luxury of good milk to my coffee; milk pure and fresh as it comes from the cow. One would think that in a country like Holland, where there are so many cows, good milk could be had in abundance; but it is not so; for the Hollander is such an enthusiast in making butter and cheese, that, like the Swiss, he scarcely allows himself enough good milk for domestic purposes. Almost every where, even in the wealthiest families, the coffee was very indifferent.

While I am speaking of coffee-drinking, that most important subject for us women, I can not help mentioning a custom prevalent throughout Holland, which, in my humble opinion, is not very seemly or worthy of imitation. As soon as the coffee or tea-drinking is over, the lady or daughter of the house, or one of the female authorities, washes the tea-service at the table, in presence of the company. She pours a little hot water in each of the cups, rinses them out, wipes them on a cloth, and the business is done.

Herr Muyskens was kind enough to lead me right across the drained lake to one of the three machines used for pumping out the water, and one or other of which is occasionally put in requisition when there has been an accumulation of rain-water. We came just in time to see one of these machines at work.

We went on to Haarlem, where we saw the fine park, with the elegant royal palace, and likewise a portion of the town. I noticed over the door of a house an oval disk, about a foot and a half in length, covered with pink silk, and ornamented with rich lace in ample folds. They told me this was a sign that one of the inmates had recently become the possessor of a baby. A strip of paper projecting above the disk indicates that the new arrival is a girl. The custom dates from the old warlike times, when the rough soldier respected the house where the suffering mother lay, and the practice once prevailed throughout Holland. It has now fallen into disuse, and is only kept up in Haarlem.

Besides Colonel Steuerwald, who paid me the kindest attention during my stay in Holland, I was fortunate enough to meet another very amiable friend, the “Resident” van Rees, whom the readers of my “Second Journey round the World” will recollect I had encountered at Batavia. Herr van Rees lived at the Hague; but as soon as he heard of my arrival in Holland he came to Amsterdam to invite me to make a short tour through his native country.

We began by an excursion to Utrecht, where a great Students’ Festival happened to be going on when we arrived. The students are in the habit of celebrating the foundation of the University by an annual commemoration. The festivities are kept up for a whole week. They comprise masked processions, concerts, balls, races, dinners, illuminations, and much more of the same kind. This year the affair was to be particularly brilliant. The worshipful students, it appears, were divided into two factions, the aristocratic and the democratic. Each party wished to out-shine the other, and had stipulated for an entire week to carry out their laudable purpose.

We arrived in Utrecht during the aristocrats’ week. The concourse of visitors was so great that we could not find room in any hotel; fortunately for us, Herr and Frau Suermondt, friends of Herr van Rees, received us with friendly hospitality in their house.

In the afternoon there was a procession. The students were all decked out in the most costly dresses; nothing was to be seen but velvet, satin, lace, and ostrich feathers. Some groups represented characters of the sixteenth century; others figured as princes from Java, Hindostan, etc., with their splendid retinues. There was even an Indian deity, carried in a palanquin, and accompanied by a Malay band of music. Whole scenes were represented in enormously long wagons, and some of these were really very artistically arranged. Thus, for instance, a whole house was shown, with the side walls taken out. A married pair sat at a table; the wife had a child in her lap, and a second was playing about at her feet; the family doctor and another friend were paying a visit, chatting and drinking tea, while the maid was scouring the step in front of the house.

On another wagon a wind-mill was perched; in front sat a man building a boat, while a second mended his nets.

A third wagon showed the interior of a peasant’s farm, where butter was being churned, sail-cloth woven, and ropes twisted. Next came a hunting procession, the huntsmen carrying falcons on their wrists, and the whole thing really capitally carried out. The procession was headed by military music, and a second band brought up the rear. In the evening the town was brilliantly illuminated with lamps of colored glass and gay paper lanterns arranged in festoons along the streets and on both sides of the canals. In some houses the whole façade was blazing with light, and the portals and balustrades of the bridges glittered with thousands of lamps. Some of the streets looked like fairy-land.

Toward midnight the procession came marching back with a number of torches spitting forth blue and dark purple flames. The feast was not over until two o’clock.

Gay and brilliant it was, I can not deny, but much too grand for students. It might be allowable if the celebration only took place once or twice in a century; even then a single day would be sufficient for it; but in its present form the effect can not be beneficial. The young men must occupy themselves for many weeks beforehand with their masks, costumes, balls, and other delectations, much more than with their studies. Moreover, the expenses are so great that only the rich can bear them with ease; the poorer students must therefore abstain or run into debt. For my part, I infinitely prefer the plain burlesque exhibited at the Artists’ Festival at Munich, which, although inexpensive, was full of merriment and wit, lasted only a day, and afforded as much, if not more, pleasure to actors and spectators than could be extracted from this students’ feast, with all its show and glitter.

The townspeople, too, are put to an amount of expense by the two evenings’ illumination that must be any thing but welcome to the poorer classes among them; but if they neglected to illuminate, the students would be almost sure to break their windows or play them some other silly trick.

Another custom of which I could not approve was the practice pursued by the students of parading about the whole week in their fancy costumes, as princes, knights, etc.

The second entertainment at which I was present consisted of a horse-race and a few feats of horsemanship by professional circus-riders. To say the truth, I expected something better. Tilting at the ring, or a joust executed by the students in their fancy costumes, would not have cost more, as they had dresses and horses all ready provided, and would have been more worthy of the grand programme. On this occasion I noticed how difficult it is to rouse the Hollander from his phlegmatic repose. A Herr Loisset brought forward a beautiful and marvelously trained horse, which performed such difficult feats as would have called forth the loudest plaudits from any other audience. To my surprise, the people remained as cold as ice, and Herr Loisset left the circus with his horse without receiving the slightest token of approbation.

The town of Utrecht is surrounded by very pretty shrubberies and park-like plantations; but here, as every where else in Holland, the want of hills and mountains is evident. There was not much to be seen in the place. Of the churches, I only visited the Protestant cathedral, allured by its majestic exterior. Unfortunately, I found the interior defaced in an incredible way. As the church is very large, and the congregation found a difficulty in hearing the sermons, a great and high partition of boards had been erected—a church within the church. Of course, this hideous plank-work, which occupies above half the entire space, completely destroys the proper effect of the really beautiful building.

My friendly host, Herr Suermondt, seemed reluctant to part with me, and I readily accepted his hearty invitation to prolong my stay a little while. The first days were devoted to the town itself and to the fortifications; and here and there I snatched an hour for a visit to the fine picture-gallery belonging to Herr Suermondt, and which he has thrown open to strangers.

We also paid a visit to the favorite resort of the Utrechters—the little village of Zeigst, a few miles from the town. The drive to this place is charming. The road, paved with brick like most of the Dutch high roads, leads us past pretty country houses with handsome gardens; in many parts there are avenues of sturdy trees, of a thickness I have seldom seen surpassed. Lime-trees, oaks, and beech-trees, and among the latter particularly the red beeches, attain a height in Holland perhaps unparalleled elsewhere.

In Zeigst there is an establishment of the Moravian brethren.

CHAPTER III.

Zaandam.—The little Village of Broeck, celebrated for its Cleanliness.—Strange Head-dresses.—The Hague.—Celebrated Pictures.—Leyden.—Rotterdam.—Departure from Holland.

On my return from Utrecht to Amsterdam, Herr van Rees took me to Zaandam and Broeck, an excursion which can be accomplished in a carriage in one day.

Zaandam is famous as the place where Peter the Great worked for several months as a carpenter in order to learn the art of ship-building. They still show the wooden hut where he dwelt, and this is kept in the same condition in which the great emperor left it. It consists of two plain little rooms with a few wooden chairs and tables. To defend it from the effects of the weather, a roof of brick-work has been built over it, and in winter this is covered in at the sides with wooden planks. Zaandam, with its thirteen thousand inhabitants, is a very cheerful little town. Nearly every house is surrounded by its garden.

No less celebrated than Zaandam, but for another cause, is the little village of Broeck, which has acquired fame by its exceeding cleanliness, and that, moreover, in a country where the streets of the towns are often cleaner than the interior of the houses in many other lands. I expected, of course, to see something extraordinary, but must confess that the reality surpassed my expectations.

The houses are all built of wood, and painted of some dark color. The roofs are covered with glazed tiles, and the windows adorned with handsome curtains, while every door-lock is so brightly polished as to look as if it had been just fixed. All the houses stand in little gardens, and each has three doors. One of these is never used but on the most important events of life: when the bridegroom and bride go forth to be married; when the child is carried to the font; and when man is borne forth to take possession of his last earthly dwelling. This strange fashion is found nowhere except in this village. Of the two remaining doors, one is used for daily purposes of entrance and exit; the other leads to the stable, which forms part of the building.

The somewhat narrow streets are bordered by wooden palings; behind the houses room is left to drive in the cattle, to stack the harvest of hay, etc. The streets were washed and swept so clean that, though they are skirted by trees, I did not see a single leaf on the ground. The people, I believe, keep no domestic animals except oxen and cows, for fear the streets should be dirtied. Verily, this is carrying cleanliness to extremes.

We went into several of the houses. The rooms showed the perfection of cleanliness and adornment. The floors were covered with plain carpets or mats, and every piece of furniture polished so highly that it looked like new, though, to judge from the shape of the different pieces, they evidently dated from the last century. The interior arrangements were handsome enough, with plenty of glazed cupboards, full of all kinds of rarities, particularly china, among which I noticed specimens of Chinese and Japanese manufacture. I saw no beds; their place was supplied by false cupboards in all the rooms, which are metamorphosed into couches at night; but great was the store of bed and table linen. The floors of these rooms must not be desecrated by shoes; like the Oriental, the Dutch peasant leaves his slippers at the door. It certainly does not cost him much trouble to divest himself of them, for they are of wood, and he has only to kick them off. Not but that he has better ones for Sundays and visiting days; it is only at his work that he is shod with wood.

The cow-stables were far handsomer than those I had seen at Herr Muysken’s establishment in the Lake of Haarlem. They consist of long halls, with handsome ceilings, resting on pillars of wood. But a stable of this kind is, in fact, only half a stable, for the cattle only live in it during the winter. On the first of May the beasts are driven to pasture, and there they remain until the first of November, and during this time the farmer may be said to make a summer residence of his stable. The hall is divided into compartments or rooms by partitions four feet high, and in these rooms the family lives the whole of the day, only using the real dwelling-house at night. The walls and pillars of the hall are hung with glittering paraphernalia of china, plates, dishes, and metal cans, and even pictures are seen there. The implements for making butter and cheese are ranged in perfect order in the various compartments, and every thing glistens and gleams as brightly as if it had never been used. Not a stain, not an atom of dust is tolerated any where.

It happened to be on a Sunday that we visited Broeck, and the villagers were at church. We proceeded there to see them in their Sunday garb. There was nothing peculiar in the costume of the men, who were all very neat and tidy; but all the women wore that unhappy head-dress, common throughout Holland, which seems to have been invented to deprive the female sex of its chief natural ornament, for it entirely conceals the hair.

This head-dress, probably invented of old by some dame of high degree who had lost her hair, is worthy of a particular description. A hoop of gilt metal encircles the head. This hoop is about an inch and a quarter in width at the forehead, increasing to two inches at the back of the head. This fillet is surmounted by a white cap, fitting tight to the skull, and trimmed with broad folds of lace, while a long strip of the same fabric hangs down over the shoulders. Chased gilt ornaments an inch and a half long, and an inch broad, are attached to each temple, producing very much the effect of the blinkers with which the bridles of carriage-horses are furnished. Three little locks of silk hang down over the eyes. This head-dress certainly has no pretensions to taste, but has the advantage of being subject to no change in fashion. It is expensive enough, costing generally from sixty to eighty Dutch guilders, and even some hundreds in the cases of rich people, who ornament their coifs with pearls and precious stones; but these are heir-looms, descending from generation to generation.

Many women absolutely place a structure of straw, with a broad brim bent upward in front and behind, on this wonderful cap when they go out, and this queer affair they call a hat. I was astonished to find that girls and women endowed by nature with beautiful hair subjected themselves to this foolish fashion—the motive could scarcely be vanity.

In the remaining costume of the women I found nothing very worthy of remark. On Sunday they all wear gowns of black merino. The fashionable world dresses as it does every where else; and some of the citizens’ wives paid homage to the present fashion so far as to wear a stylish bonnet over their hideous Dutch caps.

On the following morning, my indefatigable Mentor, Herr van Rees, took me to the Hague to see his family.

The Hague, a city of eighty thousand inhabitants, does not look so ancient as Amsterdam, but is very much cleaner, principally from the fact that the Hague is not such a manufacturing and commercial city as Amsterdam. Like all Dutch cities, it is intersected by numerous canals. The Hague is the seat of government and the abode of the court, the foreign embassadors, and officials generally. The king has several palaces, not remarkable either for size or for their architecture. They look merely like handsome private houses. The old chief palace, built in the town itself, is a fortress surrounded by moats, and built on a low mound or redoubt. The heavy gates, the tower, and especially the dark color with which it is stained all over, give this place an appearance of antiquity.

About the churches there is not much to be said. The cathedral is a very handsome building, dreadfully disfigured by being surrounded by a number of mean-looking little houses.

The picture gallery, here called the “Museum,” owes its celebrity chiefly to two pictures, which are reckoned among the great masterpieces of the Dutch school—a cattle-piece in life size, by Paul Potter, and Rembrandt’s “Doctor,” or “Anatomist.”

The cattle-piece is so true to nature, so warm in tone, and powerful in execution, that one almost wonders, after a lengthened contemplation of the work, to see the bull, the sheep, the cow, and the shepherd remain so still and motionless, expecting them to begin to move.

The other picture is just as extraordinary in its way, but I thought the subject less attractive. The surgeon is dissecting a corpse. He has just laid open the palm of the hand and the arm sufficiently to expose the whole system of veins and nerves, and he is explaining these to his audience. The calmness of the operator, to whom the business is familiar, and the rapt attention of his hearers, some of whom are hanging upon his words, while others gaze fixedly upon the dissected subject, are admirably rendered; in my poor opinion, this picture is the great painter’s masterpiece. Besides these two great paintings, there are many charming pieces by Steen, Ostade, Rubens, and others.

Herr de Boer’s bazar is well worth a visit. I have seen similar establishments in other great towns, but none to compare with this. The objects to be seen are innumerable, and are arranged in the most attractive manner in large halls. There is a great variety, in particular, of Chinese and Japanese objects. That Nature may not be forgotten amid the charms of Art, these halls are surrounded by beautiful green-houses, which, with their palms and cactuses, sugar-canes, and coffee-trees, remind the Hollander who has returned from India of the El Dorado he has left. Another arrangement, unfortunately not universal, is, that all who come to Herr de Boer’s bazar, whether purchasers or visitors, are alike treated with great civility and attention.

The Dutch seat of government possesses a very fine park, whose fresh verdure, glorious trees, and blooming slopes reminded me of the parks in England. Very charming, too, is the road from the Hague to Scheveningen, a fishing village on the coast, some half a dozen miles from the city, and a place much frequented by the townspeople in summer for bathing purposes. The action of the waves here is said to be particularly invigorating. Thick shady avenues for pedestrians, carriages, and horses extend to the entrance of the village. Scarce a sunbeam struggles through the thick foliage, so that there is coolness and refreshment on the hottest day of summer. Unfortunately, however, real summer days are very sparingly meted out to the Hollanders, the full power of the sun being felt only for a short period in this land. It was in June that I visited Holland, and yet it was only at noon that I found it agreeable to lay aside my warm cloak. In the evening and the morning the thermometer often showed only six to eight degrees Réaumur, and in the night the mercury must have sunk some degrees lower. They told me, however, that this year was an exceptionally cold one, and strong north winds were continually blowing.

From the Hague I made a few excursions—one to the city of Leyden, and another to the busy port of Rotterdam.

Leyden is a very dull place. In the busiest streets it is very easy to count the passengers, and it very seldom happens that one must step aside to avoid a passing carriage. But the place possesses great Art treasures. The museums of Leyden are celebrated for their great collections, particularly of specimens of animals, fishes, and reptiles, and likewise of skulls of men of almost every race. The Museum of Antiquities possesses many rolls of Egyptian papyrus, mummies, and Egyptian and Buddhist idols.

Messrs. Leeman and Schlegel, the curators of these museums, were obliging enough to conduct us through them in person. Unhappily, our time was so limited that we could only give a passing glance at all these wonders. The museums are separated, because it was impossible, we were told, to find a single building with the requisite number of great rooms. The collections are at present deposited in ordinary dwelling-houses.

The Japanese Museum, an exceedingly complete collection of the natural and artificial products of that country, is the private property of Dr. Siebold.

If Leyden did not appear very attractive to me as a city, I was much delighted with Rotterdam: if I had to fix my residence in one of the cities of Holland, it should certainly be here. In this rich commercial town there is business and bustle all day long, especially on the canals, which are broader and deeper than those of the other towns, and as navigable for great three-masted ships as for little cockboats.

Few towns offer such an aspect as Rotterdam, where marine colossi with high masts, as well as smoking steamers, are seen parading, as it were, through the middle of the city. I stood for hours at the window, and was never weary of gazing. Yonder a great East Indiaman is slowly getting under way; here a ship has just arrived from a long voyage, and the sailors are shouting, waving their caps, and calling to their wives, who, informed of the vessel’s arrival, stand waiting on the banks of the canal. Here weighty chests of sugar and bags of coffee are being dragged out of the hold of a ship and deposited in the huge warehouses; there they are loading a brig with Dutch produce for conveyance abroad; steamers of all sizes are swirling by every moment, and hundreds of boats dart to and fro among them. To be able to see all this from my own window seems so strange, that I rub my eyes, fancy myself in a dream, and refuse to believe in the reality.

Rotterdam has many great and handsome houses; some are particularly remarkable for having flat terraces instead of ordinary roofs. The park adjoins one of the best streets; though less spacious than the Haagsche Bosch, it is charmingly laid out.

In Rotterdam I took leave of my worthy and generous friend, Herr van Rees. The good-nature of this gentleman was so great, that he wished to take me through the whole of Holland, as far as Gueldres and Friesland; but it would have been more than encroaching on my part to take advantage of his liberal offer. I alleged that the time had come when I must embark on my new journey, and that I must proceed at once to London to make the necessary preparations.

My stay in Holland had been a brief one—about a fortnight. During this time I had seen many interesting things, but few scenes of natural beauty. In this respect Holland is poor. A great portion of the land, having been won from the sea, necessarily consists of a continuous plain, broken here and there only by low banks and “dunes,” about twenty or thirty feet high. In Gueldres and Friesland, these “dunes,” or sandy banks, are said to attain a height of from fifty to a hundred feet. The views, therefore, show the same features every where—green meadows, with cattle grazing, a few fields, pretty shrubberies, great massive trees, and neat farms and villages. The picture thus presented is cheerful enough, but when one has it continually before one’s eyes it soon becomes monotonous, and creates a craving for the sight of mountains, or, at least, of a range of hills.

The most striking objects to the traveler in Holland are the numerous canals, great and small, which intersect both town and country in all directions. Every patch of field, every meadow, is, as it were, a little island, surrounded in all directions by canals two or three feet broad.

The part of Holland through which I passed consists principally of marsh land. As far as the eye can reach, it rests upon pastures full of fine-looking cattle, which constitute the chief wealth of the country. In Holland there are about 1,130,000 head of cows, oxen, and calves, to a population of 3,200,000 souls, a proportion to which no other country presents a parallel. No wonder that Holland provides half the world with butter and cheese.

The soil is decidedly fertile—witness the fat pastures and meadows, the plentiful crops of great heavy corn-ears, and the strong, lofty trees. A fruitful land is Holland, I will not deny, but certainly not a beautiful one.

CHAPTER IV.

London.—Paris.—Sitting of the Geographical Society.—News from Madagascar.—Popular Life in Paris.—Sights.—A Tale of Murder.—Versailles.—St. Cloud.—Celebration of Sunday.

On the 2d of July I quitted Rotterdam, and embarked in a steamer belonging to Messrs. Smith and Ers for London (distance 150 sea-miles, time of passage 20 hours). This company was the first English one that refused to allow me to pay. I had already taken my passage; but, as soon as Mr. Smith heard my name, he insisted, in the kindest way, on returning me the passage-money.

In London I spent about four weeks with my worthy friend, Mr. Waterhouse, of the British Museum; and on the 1st of August I proceeded to Paris.

The chief aim of my journey was to visit the island of Madagascar, with whose government the French alone have relations. I was therefore obliged to go to Paris to obtain information respecting this, to me, unknown country. To say the truth, I was not sorry for this; for, strange as the fact may appear to many of my readers, in all my wanderings through the world I had never visited Paris.

I reached that city on the morning of the 2d of August, and at once set about my work. My fortunate star led me to make my first visit to Monsieur Jaumard, the President of the Geographical Society, and on that very evening the society was to hold its last meeting for the present summer.

I had a very warm letter of recommendation to Monsieur Jaumard from Professor Carl Ritter, of Berlin. Monsieur Jaumard received me in the kindest manner, and invited me to be present at the sitting. I was introduced by the celebrated geographer, Monsieur Malte-Brun. A place was assigned to me at some distance from the table. At the commencement of the sitting the president made a speech in which he introduced me to the society, said a few words respecting my travels, and concluded by proposing that I should be received as an honorary member. The assembled members held up their hands in assent, and my admission was carried without a dissentient voice.

I was as much gratified as astonished at this distinction, which I had not anticipated in the least; my pleasure was all the greater from the fact that my old tutor, who had taught me history and geography, officiated as corresponding member of this same society. The president rose, and led me from my place to the table, at which I now took my place as a member, amid the cordial congratulations of the whole company.

I immediately consulted the gentlemen present with respect to my intention of undertaking a voyage to Madagascar: they were unanimous in thinking the plan quite impracticable under existing circumstances. During my stay in Holland I had already gleaned from newspaper reports that the French government intended sending a squadron to Madagascar, and that a serious war was considered imminent. I now learned some farther particulars. The French have for centuries possessed a little island, called St. Maria, on the coast of Madagascar. In the time of the late king Radama they succeeded in obtaining a footing in Madagascar itself by acquiring a district in the Bay of Vanatobé. In this district there is a rich depôt for coals; and the French employ 180 colored workmen, Indians, negroes, etc., from the Mauritius, under the superintendence of three white men. On the accession of Queen Ranavola, after the death of Radama, the new sovereign ordered these people to evacuate the district. They refused to obey the mandate, as they considered the place to be the property of the French government. Hereupon the queen sent 2000 soldiers, who fell upon the community, killed two white men and a hundred negroes, and dragged away the rest and sold them as slaves. The French government naturally demanded satisfaction, though there was little chance of obtaining justice without resorting to violent measures; and thus every one was prepared, as I have said, for the breaking out of a serious war.

Wherever I made inquiries, these reports were confirmed; and I consequently found myself compelled, if not to give up the plan of my journey, at all events to modify it. As a matter of precaution, I took with me a letter of recommendation from the French Admiralty to the commanders of their vessels on foreign stations. I was asked to wait for the return of the emperor, who had gone to some bathing-place, that I might be introduced to him; but that would have kept me too long; and I quitted Paris with my business in a very unfinished state.

The few days which I spent in this great city I utilized as much as possible in getting at least a glance at its many objects of interest. Of course I should not dream of giving an accurate description of what I saw. The rage for traveling is so universal at the present day, and the facilities for getting over hundreds of miles of ground, at least in Europe, in a few days’ time, are so great, that a large majority of my readers have probably been to Paris themselves; and those who have not seen the great city are sure to know, from the descriptions of other travelers, as much as I could tell them about it. I will, therefore, only describe in a very few words the impressions I carried away with me.

London and Paris differ as widely from one another as the English character from the French. In both cities there is plenty of life and bustle; but one can see at the first glance that in Paris it is not all, as in London, a business life. One does not see those rigid self-contained figures, wending their way with restless steps, careless of all that is passing around them, and seeming to consider every wasted minute as an irreparable loss. In Paris, lounging seems the order of the day, and even the bustling man of business finds time to greet his friends and exchange a few words with them, and to pause, moreover, for a few minutes in front of this or that shop, and admire the wares displayed with such really wonderful taste in the window.

The houses themselves don’t look so grave as the London domiciles. They are of large size (for in some more than thirty families live), and are not nearly so much blackened by coal-smoke as the London houses are. The doors are all open, and afford a view into neat court-yards, which are sometimes adorned with flowers—decidedly a more agreeable aspect than the tightly-closed doors of London, which seem to give the houses an uninhabited look.

In the evening the difference is most perceptible, for then the characteristic restlessness and love of pleasure inherent in the French display themselves in full force. All the streets, the public squares, the places of amusement, are equally crowded; and the Englishman, accustomed to spend his evenings in the family circle, by the fireside, for seven or eight months in the year, and in the garden of his cottage during the remaining four or five, might fancy, on first seeing the pressure and crush in the streets of Paris, that some public festival was being celebrated.

The centres of all this life are the Boulevards; and very bright and fairy-like is the scene there, on a fine summer evening, with their magnificent cafés standing wide open, and splendid shops, bright as day with the glare of thousands of gas-lamps, and with their motley crowd of carriages in the roads and of pedestrians, either wandering to and fro on the broad pavements, or sitting at neat little tables in front of the coffee-houses.

The Champs Elysées are no less attractive, though they scarcely realize their name of fields; for, except in the short space between the Place de la Concorde and the Rondpoint, trees and grass-plots have begun to vanish rather rapidly, to be replaced by handsome houses and hotels. The view in the Champs Elysées is closed by one of the finest monuments of modern architecture—the Arc de l’Etoile—a colossal triumphal arch, built by Napoleon the Great, in the style of the Roman gate of Septimius Severus. The chief victories of the great conqueror are sculptured with exquisite skill on this monument.

A broad road, or avenue, which in a short time will probably also be quite filled with houses, leads from this point to the celebrated Bois de Boulogne. The name of this wood was so frequently in every body’s mouth, that I naturally expected to see a forest of great sturdy trees, something in the style of the “Prater” at Vienna, or the “Thiergarten” at Berlin; but it was not so. In spite of its age, the Bois de Boulogne has never become a forest. The trees have remained small and spare, and it is a difficult matter to find a shady spot. The new and tasteful arrangement of this locality, and the addition of a beautiful fountain, are due to the present emperor, Napoleon III. He seems to be so fortunate in all his undertakings, that I should not wonder if he succeeded in making the trees grow.

The Tuileries Gardens are not very spacious, but they contain glorious specimens of venerable old trees. Here, as in all public places in Paris, chairs in abundance are to be had. You must pay for them; but the sum asked is very moderate—one sou per chair, whether you are a tenant for five minutes or for half a day.

Between the Champs Elysées and the Tuileries Gardens lies the Place de la Concorde, one of the finest squares in Europe. In old times it was called the Place Louis XV.; and here it was that the guillotine worked with horrible industry during the years 1792, 1793, and 1794, numbering Louis XVI., Marie Antoinette, Philippe Egalité, Marie Helène of France, Robespierre, and hundreds besides, among its victims. Now this place is adorned by two beautiful fountains, and on the spot occupied by the guillotine rises the great obelisk of Luxor. This obelisk, seventy-two feet in height, and of five hundred thousand pounds weight, is hewn out of a single block of stone: 1550 years before the Christian era it was set up in front of a temple at Thebes, in Upper Egypt. Mehemet Ali presented it to the French government. Louis Philippe had a ship built at Toulon expressly for its conveyance to France, peculiarly fashioned, so as to ascend the Nile to Luxor, near Thebes. Eight hundred men were engaged for three months in removing the obelisk from the temple to the ship. In the month of December, 1833, it arrived in Paris, but its erection was not accomplished until October, 1836. The cost of transporting and setting it up amounted to two millions of francs.

Late building operations have completely united the palace of the Tuileries with the Louvre, so that the two now form a single structure—undoubtedly the grandest of its kind in Europe. A few years ago houses of irregular architecture separated these two palaces, and the quarter of Paris surrounding them is said to have been one of the most extensive and the dirtiest in the city. Louis Philippe intended to have these old buildings pulled down, and to build broad straight streets that should unite the Tuileries with the Louvre; but millions of money were required to realize the idea, and constitutional kings can not dispose of the funds of the state at their own sweet will. Napoleon arranged all that more conveniently; the Senate and the Corps Legislatif, far more accommodating than were their predecessors, the Chambers of Peers and of Deputies, are always happy to fulfill the wishes of their sovereign.

There is so much to be seen in both these palaces, in the way of pictures, antiquities, models of fortresses, ships, and other curiosities, that one might wander about for weeks in the labyrinth of halls and galleries, quite unconscious of the lapse of time. One of the apartments is dedicated entirely to relics of Napoleon the First. Here are to be seen his tent-bed, his writing-table, his arm-chair, his robes, various uniforms and hats, many golden keys of conquered cities and fortresses, Turkish and Arabian saddles, and many other properties. The worshipers of this modern Cæsar attach a great value to the handkerchief with which the death-damps were wiped from his brow at St. Helena. Not one of the other members of the Bonaparte family is represented by any article in the collection, except perhaps the Duke of Reichstadt, one of whose coats is displayed there.

The Luxembourg Gardens, on the south bank of the Seine, are very prettily laid out. The palace, built in a severe style, possesses a rich gallery of pictures, mostly modern pieces. The halls and chambers are arranged with great splendor and true artistic taste.

Of the churches I visited but few. Notre Dame is distinguished by its pure Gothic architecture. The church of St. Geneviève is one of the oldest in Paris. It contains the tomb of the patroness of Paris, in a neat chapel, built in the Byzantine style, behind the chief altar. In the church of St. Sulpice, the façade, with its double rows of pillars and a gallery, is remarkable. In the background of this church, in a kind of niche, is a marble statue representing the Virgin Mary standing with the infant Jesus on a globe. A cupola-shaped roof, with a beautiful fresco of the Ascension, rises over the statue, which, exquisitely chiseled, and with the light falling upon it with magic effect, has a most solemn and impressive appearance. Again, I could not help remarking the amount of poetry and effect developed in the Roman Catholic religion—and what an advantage does this effect give it among the excitable masses of the people, over the simple and rather monotonous forms of Protestant worship! It is unfortunate, however, that abuses, more or less objectionable, have every where crept in, and are very damaging, if not entirely destructive, to this poetic feeling. Take, for instance, the wretched custom adopted in French churches of paying for chairs. There are few or no benches, but great stores of chairs are heaped up against the walls. For each chair the charge is a sou; and at the end of the year all these sous no doubt make up a round sum, which is very welcome to the worthy dignitaries of the church; but the devotions of the congregation are terribly disturbed. Every moment the verger comes pushing his way through the people; first he brings a chair, then takes one away; now he asks for money, and then he chats with some regular customer. And is not the idea of being obliged to pay, in a temple of God, for the right of sitting down, enough in itself to drive away all serious and devout thoughts?

The Pantheon is built in the Grecian style; the interior forms a cross. This church contains monuments of many celebrated Frenchmen. I felt the greatest interest in those of J. J. Rousseau and Voltaire.

The Hôtel des Invalides is a magnificent institution for the reception of 5000 old soldiers who have been frequently wounded in battle, or have lost an arm or a leg. The building seems very conveniently arranged, and the old pensioners are said to be well treated; but no one has thought of providing a grass-plot for their delectation. Even the courts are destitute of trees and benches. The officers have had a small garden laid out at their own expense. The dome of the “Invalides” is of great size. The interior is ornamented with a great number of captured flags, and on the walls appear great tablets, graced with the names of celebrated generals. Behind the high altar is the chapel, where the remains of Napoleon, solemnly brought from St. Helena in 1840, are to rest until the mausoleum is finished. It was nearly completed at the time of my visit. It consists of a beautiful rotunda, surrounded by twelve pillars, with twelve colossal statues of marble in the intervening spaces. The floor is likewise of marble, with a laurel wreath in mosaic surrounding the sarcophagus, which is cut out of a single block of porphyry. The entrance porch, from which two flights of steps lead downward into the rotunda, is supported by two gigantic statues. The gate and the statues, which are of bronze, are beautifully executed. The part of the church that rises over the mausoleum is nearly covered with gilding, and when the full light of day shines upon it the effect is magical.

With the celebrated cemetery of Père la Chaise I was greatly disappointed; but seeing the cemetery at New York had perhaps spoiled me for admiring any other. The graves are certainly adorned with tombs, flowers, and shrubs, but every thing is so crowded together that there is scarcely room to walk. The number of monuments distinguished by grace and richness of adornment is small, and their effect is lost by their position. The most interesting among these is that of Abélard and Heloise, who died in the twelfth century, and whose ashes were removed to this resting-place in the nineteenth.

The graves of the poor are in a division by themselves. Here I found on many—particularly on the graves of children—monuments that seemed to me much more attractive and more touching than the tombs of the rich. They consisted of little glass cases, containing tiny altars, on which the favorite playthings of the dead babies were displayed. In one I noticed a tiny basket, in which lay the thimble and sewing implements of some industrious little worker whose labor here on earth was finished—a simple memorial, but one that spoke eloquently to the heart!

The cemetery of Père la Chaise was not opened till the year 1804; it contains 100 acres, and is entirely surrounded by a high wall. The view from the hill that rises in the midst is the best reward for a very toilsome walk.

I could only pay a flying visit to the Jardin des Plantes and the Museum. The wealth of the former in exotic plants and animals is well known; both institutions are reckoned among the most remarkable in Europe.

I was much pleased with my visit to the Manufacture des Gobelins, or, as I might term it, Picture Carpet. This tapestry is wrought with such perfection, that a close inspection is required to convince the beholder he is gazing, not at an oil-painting, but a woven fabric. The drawing is very correct, and the mingling and transition of the various colors delicate and finished, as if a practiced pencil had been at work. For hours I stood watching the workmen, without obtaining the slightest clew to the secret of the art they practiced. The workman has a kind of large frame before him, on which the threads, or tissue, or warp (I am unacquainted with the right term) are perpendicularly fastened; at his side he has a huge basket of Berlin wool, wound on shuttles, and of all imaginable hues and shades. The picture he has to copy is not a worked pattern divided into squares, but an oil-painting; and it is not placed in front of the artistic weaver, but behind him. He works at the wall of threads before him, beginning from below and making his way upward, without even sketching the picture he wants to copy; I noticed some workmen, however, who had indicated the part at which they were working—a foot, for instance, or a hand—by a few strokes on the edge of the frame. Those men who imitate Persian and Indian carpets, producing fabrics a quarter of an inch thick, and which resembles cut velvet, have the original, also an oil-painting, suspended above their heads. In some apartments the most gorgeous Gobelins were displayed. They are very dear; a piece of tapestry, fifteen to twenty feet in height by eight or ten in breadth, will cost from 100,000 to 150,000 francs. But then a workman has frequently to labor for ten or more years at such a piece. The wages of the workmen are not very high; I was told, however, that after a certain number of years of service they receive a pension, which is granted in a shorter period should they become blind over their work—a calamity which not unfrequently befalls them.

My last visit was to the Morgue, where the bodies of persons found dead are exposed for identification by relatives or friends. Many of my readers will perhaps wonder how I, a woman, could visit such a place; but they must remember that, during my journeyings, I have frequently been face to face with death, and that its aspect, consequently, was less terrible to me than to the majority of people; and I can therefore look at times even with a kind of mournful complacency upon its image, mindful of that last journey all of us must take.

The Morgue is a large vaulted apartment, divided into two halves by a partition of glass. In the division behind the glass wall are six or eight low tables, or slabs, on which the corpses are laid out. The clothes they had on when found are hung upon the walls. The other half of the room is for the visitors, among whom, if any of the bodies show marks of violence, secret agents of the police are accustomed to mingle, to glean from the expression of countenance, or from any chance remark, a clew by which to track the criminal. The corpses are thus exposed for three days, but the clothes are left hanging for a longer period. The most terrible sights are sometimes seen here. Thus I saw a male corpse that had lain for some months in the water, and on the next table a young girl whose head had been completely cut off; it had afterward been sewn on the neck. The poor creature had been murdered by her lover through jealousy. A remarkable incident in this murder was that the perpetrator, disturbed in the very fact, leaped from the window of a room on the sixth story without injuring himself. He scrambled up from the ground and ran away. Three days afterward, when I left Paris, he had not been apprehended.

I was told that a few weeks before, some fishermen had brought in a table-leaf with the body of a woman tied to it, but the head and feet were missing. The fishermen had discovered the body in the river by chance; it had been weighted with stones, and sunk. All possible measures were immediately taken by the authorities to find the head and feet; and, contrary to expectation, they were eventually found, though hidden in separate places. The body was then put together and exposed in the Morgue. One of the secret agents quickly noticed among the spectators an old woman who could scarcely suppress an exclamation on seeing the corpse. When she left the room the agent requested her to accompany him to the commissary, and on being asked if she knew the deceased, she replied that she recognized in the poor creature a likeness to a woman who had lived in her neighborhood a short time ago, but who had lately removed to quite another quarter of the town. Farther questioning brought out the fact that the murdered woman had come from the provinces a few months before with a sum of money, intending to carry on some small trade in Paris; she made acquaintance with a man who professed himself willing to serve her, and announced to her, after a short time, that he had found a better and cheaper dwelling for her. She accepted his offer, left her old domicile without giving the address of her new one, and since that time nothing more had been heard of her. Inquiries were made of the commissionaires, or porters of the neighborhood, one of whom remembered carrying her luggage, and pointed out the house where he had deposited it. A secret agent betook himself thither, but found the door locked. At his summons the porter appeared. The agent asked him if a Monsieur X—— did not live in that house; and on receiving an answer in the negative, added, “That is very singular, for the address is quite correct,” at the same time showing a paper. The porter declared there must be some mistake, for the house belonged to Monsieur L——, who passed the greater part of the year in the country, but had given particular orders that not a single room should be let. The agent departed, but the house was watched, and at about eleven o’clock at night two suspicious-looking characters were seen to enter. After making sure that there was no other means of exit, a sufficient number of armed policemen rushed into the house, and secured the porter and his two associates without much resistance. The house was carefully searched, and in one of the rooms they discovered not only the frame-work of the table on a leaf of which the woman had been bound, but traces of blood, and the bloodstained axe with which the unhappy creature, lured into the house by the murderers, had been killed. But enough of these horrors, of which, alas! Paris offers but too many examples.

My excursions in the environs of the capital were limited to Versailles, Trianon, and St. Cloud, which I visited on one and the same day.

The railway takes one, in an hour, to Versailles, past the little town of Sèvres, celebrated for its great porcelain manufactory. Sèvres is picturesquely situated in a broad valley watered by the Seine. The railroad runs, throughout nearly the whole distance, parallel with the valley at a considerable elevation, so that the traveler sees the charming, highly-cultivated country gliding past like scenes in a magic lantern.

As regards Versailles itself, I candidly confess myself unable to describe it. I can only assure my readers that such splendor in buildings, gardens, halls, pictures, and general arrangements could only arise in France, under a king like Louis XIV., who rivaled the Romans themselves in luxury, and held the modest opinion that he was the state, and the people but an accessory to his greatness.

Hurrying through the lofty halls, and marking the innumerable pictures, representing battles, assaults, burning towns and villages, with the inhabitants half naked and in full flight, I could not help asking myself in what we are superior to the wild Indian. Our civilization has refined our customs, but our deeds have remained the same. The savage kills his enemies with a club; we slay ours with cannon balls. The savage hangs up scalps, skulls, and similar trophies in his wigwam; we paint them on canvas to decorate our palaces withal; where, then, is the great difference?

At St. Cloud I could only visit the gardens, the palace being occupied by the empress. The fountains here are said to be very grand, but they do not play every Sunday. It was on a Sunday that I went to St. Cloud, but, unfortunately, not on one of the high days; there were, however, pedestrians in plenty, and, had I been an Englishwoman, I should have been horrified; for there were children here, and even young men and maidens, so lost to all sense of propriety as to play at ball on a Sunday!

I have already observed that the good Parisians are rather too fond of pleasure, and I am ready to allow that too much of any thing is objectionable; but, on the other hand, I submit, even at the risk of being anathematized as unchristianlike by English ladies generally, that it is quite natural for people who have to sit for the whole week long at the work-table, in the shop, or in the counting-house, to indulge in a little recreation on Sundays. I can not imagine the bountiful Creator of all things looking with displeasure upon really innocent relaxation. It is all very well for rich people, who can amuse themselves every day in the week, and let their children have a holiday on Saturday, to make it a rule to observe the Sabbath strictly; but to the poor man, who works hard all the six days to maintain himself and his family in honesty, the Almighty will surely grant permission to forget his cares in harmless pleasure on the seventh.

CHAPTER V.

Return to London and Holland.—Separation Festival in Amsterdam.—Departure from Rotterdam.—My traveling Companions.—Emigrant Children.—Story of a poor Girl.—Cape Town.—Fortunate Meeting.—Alteration of my traveling Plans.

On the 12th of August I left Paris, as I have said, with my business unconcluded, and returned to London.

After mature deliberation, I had at length taken my resolution. The exceedingly kind reception I had met with in the Dutch Indies on my last journey aroused in me the wish to make a second voyage in the same direction, particularly as there were many islands yet to be explored. The state of affairs in Madagascar might also change during my absence, and on my return I might find it possible to visit this almost unknown region. I made inquiries about the price of a passage, but found it was £75—too much for my purse. As a special favor, I was to be allowed a reduction of five pounds; but I hoped to find more favorable conditions offered in Holland, and the sequel proved that I was not mistaken.

Before leaving London I paid a visit to Mr. Shaw, the Secretary of the Geographical Society. He had read in the papers of the honor accorded to me by the Geographical Society of Paris. He seemed somewhat embarrassed, and expressed his regret that a similar step could not be taken in London, inasmuch as it was expressly forbidden by the statutes to receive a woman as a member. I wonder what the emancipated ladies of the United States would say to such a prohibition! That I should not be received was natural enough, for I can not lay claim to a deep knowledge of any branch of the science. But no one will doubt the existence of many really scientific women at the present day, and to exclude such persons merely on account of their sex I think incomprehensible. It might pass in the East, where the female sex is not held in great estimation, but not in a country like England, which professes to take pride in its civilization, and to keep pace with the spirit of the times.

So far as I am personally concerned, I have every reason to be grateful to the Geographical Society of London. It made me a valuable present, without my having taken any steps in the matter; for it never was my way to thrust myself forward or to petition for any thing.

On the 22d of August I again set foot on Dutch soil, and it was in Rotterdam. My valued friend, Colonel Steuerwald, had recommended me to Herr Baarz; and by this friendly and exceedingly obliging gentleman I was received in the heartiest manner, and spent some very agreeable days in his house. Herr Baarz introduced me to Herr Oversee, one of the principal ship-owners of Rotterdam. One of his ships was just ready to sail for Batavia; she was to be dispatched at the end of August. This was a capital opportunity for me. But Herr Oversee tried to dissuade me from going in this ship, as all the berths were not only taken, but overcrowded as far as the Cape of Good Hope, where the vessel was to touch. Besides the cabin passengers, there was to be a whole cargo of children, boys and girls, of from ten to fourteen years of age, nearly a hundred in number, who had been bespoken by Dutchmen settled at the Cape, to be trained as men-and maid-servants. As I heard that a separate part of the ship had been allotted to the girls, and that they had been placed under the superintendence of a matron, and as I was anxious not to miss this opportunity of starting, I urged Herr Oversee to give me a berth in this portion of the ship. The kind man acquiesced at once. He put me on a par with the first-class passengers as to diet and other details: from the Cape to the end of my journey I was to have a separate cabin, and the charge for the entire voyage was not more than twelve pounds ten shillings sterling.

This affair concluded, I went to Amsterdam to take leave of the amiable Steuerwald family, and came just in time to be present at some public festivities, celebrated, as it seemed to me, on very extraordinary grounds. The festival was in honor of the separation effected between Belgium and Holland twenty-five years before. This separation had been any thing but voluntary on the part of Holland, but it was nevertheless commemorated with great enthusiasm. The affair had already been going on for some days when I arrived, and was not to be finished under three or four more. Dutchmen seem to think it impossible to get through with a holiday under a week. On the other hand, the people are certainly very moderate in their requirements: all they want is license to parade about the streets from morning till late in the evening, to look at a few flags and wooden triumphal arches, and to see those who really do feast drive past on their way to banquets and to balls.

The chief solemnity was fixed for the 27th of August, the anniversary of the “separation.” I arrived on the afternoon of the 26th, and found every window decorated with flags, little triumphal arches here and there, gay with green boughs and colored paper, and such a crowd in the streets that my carriage could scarcely force its way through.

Next day there was certainly something extra to be seen. In spite of the streams of rain which kept pouring from the heavens (perhaps in token of mourning for the “separation”), the military turned out on parade; the king appeared on a tribune erected in the cathedral square, opposite the palace, listened to the speeches of the burgomaster, and of the leaders of the troops who still survived from those days, and made speeches in reply. Four hundred children sang the national anthem and other hymns. A monument was moreover uncovered—an obelisk, with the Goddess of Union standing thereupon, and its base resting on the heads of many lions, from whose open jaws streams of water gushed forth. In the evening we had a display of fire-works and illuminations.

I should not like to incur the imputation of passing a hasty judgment upon the people, nor do festivities of this description afford much opportunity for forming an opinion, for the same curiosity and the same contentment are found among the people all the world over when there is any thing to be seen. I was, however, disagreeably impressed here, as I had been already at the Hague and at Utrecht, by the frequent appearance of groups of slatternly women, three or four of them arm-in-arm, pushing their way noisily through the crowd, and sometimes even heading troops of half-drunken men, like so many Megæras, shouting and dancing as noisily as the topers themselves. This the Hollanders call jollity. I call it shamelessness; and am always grieved to see women fallen so low as to brazen out their shame in the face of the world.

After a hearty farewell to my friends I returned to Rotterdam, and on the 31st of August I betook myself on board the “Salt-Bommel,” 700 tons burden, Captain Juta, master.

Our ship was the first that was to carry a cargo of children from their native land; and as the 31st of August happened to be Sunday, and a very fine day, and as the Hollanders are just as inquisitive as any other nation, it is not to be wondered at that from the early morning the quays and the shore were lined with thousands of spectators. The good people had the consolation of looking at our ship all day long, for the steam-tug which was to take us in tow as far as the Nieuwe Sluis did not make its appearance till four o’clock in the afternoon.

On board there was as much life and bustle as on shore. The children came trooping in, a few at a time, accompanied by their relatives, and laden with eatables and with little keepsakes. Here a mother might be seen pressing her child to her bosom for the last time; there a father gave his son a few last words of counsel and exhortation before the journey began; and many parents, after several partings from their children, came hastening back to take a last look at the beloved faces. And when the ship at last moved from the shore, many were there who could be seen crying “farewell” after distance had rendered the sound inaudible. Handkerchiefs and hats were waved to wish us God-speed, and mighty “hurrahs” were raised; the whole city seemed to take an interest in our outgoing, as though the children had belonged to the people at large. This universal sympathy and excitement was a good panacea against mournful reflections. Children and parents shouted their loudest with the rest; and if many a poor mother sat down and dropped a tear as she parted from her darling, her low sob was drowned in the louder accents of rejoicing and farewell.

Whenever we passed a village, the shouting and waving of handkerchiefs began again. Happy youth, that can thus look forward with light heart to the unknown future!

Our progress to-day did not extend beyond eight miles (I must always be understood to mean geographical, or sea-miles, sixty to a degree). The steam-tug took leave of us in the evening. On the following day we drifted lazily as far as the wharf of Helvoetsluys, and here we had to remain at anchor for some days, with what patience we might, waiting for a wind.

These few days were enough to convince me that I must prepare myself for a very uncomfortable voyage with very uncongenial companions.

The cargo of children was bound, as I have said, for the Cape Colony. Some were to be landed at Cape Town, the others at Port Elizabeth, a few hundred miles distant, on the northeast coast. At the Cape it is almost impossible to get respectable industrious servants or artisans: people there are compelled to employ Hottentots and Caffres, who will only hire themselves out for a few days, or at most for a week or two; and they frequently run away, leaving their work half done. The Dutch settlers, therefore, bespeak children from their mother country, with the object of training them up as servants and artisans.

These children receive board, lodging, and clothing from the day of their embarkation. On reaching their destination they serve without wages for the first two years and a half, during which time they are considered as working off the expenses of their journey. For every following year they receive, besides board and clothing, sixty Dutch guilders (£5), one guilder per month being handed to them as pocket-money. The other forty-eight guilders are deposited with the authorities, and on completing their twenty-first year the balance is paid over to them. They have then the right of leaving their masters, should they wish to do so.

In several towns in Holland committees were formed for the selection of these children. From the orphan asylums none were taken. The children are asked, in the presence of the authorities, if they are content to travel beyond sea. Unfortunately, however, the committee seem to have taken matters very easily, and to have troubled themselves very little about the prescribed regulations. Thus the children were not children at all; almost without exception they numbered from sixteen to twenty years, instead of from ten to fourteen; and they must certainly have been picked up out of the streets, for in all my life I never saw such an amount of riff-raff collected together. The grown-up girls must have been lounging about for years in the sailor’s taverns; the younger ones followed the example of the elder, and the whole community swore like the sailors themselves, sang the most uproarious songs, and stole from one another. Their want of cleanliness was awful.

But I will not be too bitter against these poor wretches; and let him who would condemn them consider the curse that weighs from their birth-hour upon the children of poverty. It is not because they are wretchedly clothed and half fed that I pity them so heartily; their greatest misfortune consists in their having nobody to take charge of the education of their hearts and minds. The parents are seldom capable of fulfilling this trust, for did not the same curse rest upon their infancy? They work hard through the day, and give their children the indispensable bread, and think they have done their duty. If several other children come, the loaf becomes insufficient, and they are obliged to put the elder children to work at the earliest possible moment. If this work to which they are put were but regular, it might be rather an advantage to the child than otherwise; but what can a little boy or a little girl of seven or eight years old do? Those who get into the factories, or are bound apprentices, are the best off; but there is not employment of this kind for all, and for many there is no refuge left but to do all kinds of little offices in the streets, hawk newspapers, sweep crossings, and run on errands. Left to themselves, without guidance, without definite notions of right and wrong, and too often, alas! with the evil example of their parents before their eyes, is it to be wondered at if they at last succumb to the temptations that hover round them in such varied forms?

Far more worthy of condemnation do those men appear to me to whom the education of the people is intrusted, and who so often leave their duty unperformed. They can not, like the children of the poor, plead ignorance in their own defense; for if they fail, they do so with a full consciousness of their offense.

I speak of the priests and schoolmasters, who, to my thinking, are the most important men among the people; for in their hands lies the real education of the rest. They are the chief personages in every village; they can, if they earnestly desire it, effect an incalculable amount of good, and the government ought to keep the most vigilant watch upon them. Is this done? Alas! I fear not.

The clergymen are generally so little attended to by their consistories, that the whole village will sometimes be crying out about the misconduct of its minister, while his superiors know nothing about it. And if the affair becomes too bad at length, what is the punishment? Simply his translation to some other parish.

The schoolmasters, moreover, are so badly paid, that scarcely any one will take up with this profession who can earn his living in another way.

With a few notable exceptions, clergymen and schoolmasters think they have done their duty when the former have preached a dry sermon on Sundays, and the latter have managed to teach their pupils to read and write. But how few, how very few, trouble themselves about the moral training of the children intrusted to their charge, by teaching them the difference between right and wrong, by endeavoring to rouse their hearts and minds to healthy action, and, above all, by setting them a good example!

We had a schoolmaster on board, Herr Jongeneel, and his wife: he was to superintend the boys and she the girls. These good people ate their rations with great perseverance, said many prayers and sang psalms, but they cared very little about the behavior of those who had been intrusted to them. The last note of the psalm had scarcely died upon the lips of the girls before they would be hurrying away to the deck, where they spent the evening and half the night bandying jests with the mates and sailors. Even in the daytime their behavior was so unbecoming that I and a married female passenger, with her step-daughter, were obliged to pass nearly all our time in the cabin.

I hear that Herr Jongeneel is to have a post as a missionary at the Cape. What is to be expected from such a man? He began the voyage with a falsehood. He had assured the committee he had no children, yet came on board with a child, and his wife was daily expecting another, which duly arrived on the 3d of September.

Under these circumstances, it was, of course, impossible for me to sleep in the girls’ cabin. Captain Juta, a very good, obliging man, saw this, and as there was no other vacant place, he had a berth arranged for me on a settle in the chief cabin. It was not very comfortable, for the seat was not more than a foot broad, and it was a very difficult matter to maintain my place upon it, particularly when the ship rolled.

The rest of the company consisted—besides the young wife, her step-daughter, and myself—of eight or nine gentlemen, who were not the most eligible of fellow-passengers. They were generally very fond of seizing every opportunity of conversing with the girls, in a very sailor-like style. In the evening there was often such a disturbance that we quiet women could not find a peaceful spot on the deck where we might enjoy a little fresh air. The gentlemen and the girls raced wildly round the decks, pricked one another with needles, and shouted, laughed, and screamed like denizens of the lowest public houses. Mr. Schumann, a young chemist, was an honorable exception.

It was not till the 4th of September that a slight breeze arose, aided by which (and a little steam-tug) we made our way into the North Sea. The sails soon began to fill, and on the 5th we entered the English Channel, through which we sailed in two days and a half—the quickest run through this dangerous passage I have ever made in a sailing-vessel.

The 7th of September was a Sunday. The schoolmaster and missionary expectant read the service with half-closed eyes, and with such an appearance of unction and importance that one would have thought he had been born a priest. His address or sermon was so dry and bald as to be fit only for savages, who would not understand a word, good or bad. At the dinner-table he seemed more at home—ye powers, what an appetite he had! In the afternoon we had almost a calm. The captain, who was ever ready to give pleasure to all, had a fine organ on board. He had it brought on deck, and played, that the young people might dance. It was quite a little festival. Every one was in good spirits, cheerful, and decorous, for the captain remained present the whole time. The sailors also sang, and danced among themselves or with the girls. The boys clambered about the rigging, played with each other, or executed all kinds of gymnastic feats. We passengers stood about in groups, watching the gambols of the merry youngsters.

One of the girls took no part in the general hilarity. The poor thing seemed the only one who felt how mournful it was to go forth into the wide world without staff or stay. On the very first night which I passed in the girls’ cabin I had been struck by her mournful countenance; she had cried herself to sleep, called for her mother in her dreams, and in the morning when she awoke, and saw all the strange faces round her, she seemed to lose all courage, cowered in a corner, and wept long and bitterly. Great indeed must have been the poverty of the parents that induced them to part with a child who clung with such passionate tenderness to the remembrance of home, and bitter the parting of the poor mother from the child that was going to the far country with such a slender prospect of returning. Surely there is a sharper sting in such a parting than in following the remains of a beloved relative to the church-yard. In the one case there is the consoling belief that the soul is safe from harm, but alas for the perils that encompass soul and body on a life-long journey among strange faces!

Oh, that all into whose houses these orphan children come would endeavor to make up to them, by a little love, the mighty loss these poor creatures have sustained! I tried to console the girl as well as I could, and the good captain spoke kind words to her, and promised to take her back to Europe if she did not feel happy at the Cape. But as the girl’s sorrow wore off from day to day, she began to take pleasure—as we find is too frequently the case—in the conduct of her companions, and in a few weeks home and parents were alike forgotten.

The only girl on board whose behavior was uniformly good was one from whom I should least have expected propriety of conduct. Mary, as they called her, was the daughter, by a first marriage, of a man who had married again shortly after the death of his first wife. There was a son by this marriage, two years younger than Mary. The second wife disliked her step-children, scolded them continually, and frequently ill treated them, particularly when she had taken too much brandy, which she appeared to do pretty frequently. When Mary had reached her eighteenth, and her brother his sixteenth year, she declared that they were old enough to earn their own living, and turned them out of the house. For three months the poor creatures slept in the streets or in any corner where they could get shelter; no one would receive them, no one would take pity on the poor, ragged, half-starved wretches. They had learned nothing, and could barely manage by begging, and by little earnings now and then, to get a few farthings to buy bread. Once they had a hope of seeing their condition improved. One evening, as they stood at the corner of a street, they saw an elderly man crossing the road, and leading a little girl by the hand. A merry boy of seven or eight years of age was following them; he had loitered a few paces behind, playing with his hoop. Just when he was in the middle of the road a carriage came round the corner. The startled boy tried to spring aside, but fell over his hoop, and would probably have been crushed by the wheels, or trampled under foot by the horses, if Mary’s brother, who happened to be close by, had not rushed toward him, and dragged him out of the way.

The old gentleman came hurrying up, took the boy in his arms, examined him carefully, and could scarcely believe he had escaped entirely without injury. As a crowd had begun to gather round, he beckoned Mary’s brother to follow him, and went toward his own house accompanied by the children. He made the two beggars—for Mary had kept close to her brother—come in with him, and asked where they lived. They told him their history in a few words. The old gentleman seemed touched, wrote down the address of their father, and dismissed them with a small gratuity and a direction to call again on the following evening.

They were quite overjoyed; for the first time in three months they could enjoy a warm meal and sleep under a roof, and they hoped that next evening the good gentleman would find them work, and perhaps even take them into his house. With what impatience they waited for the appointed hour! At last the evening came, and with beating hearts they knocked at the door. An old servant appeared, and desired them to wait; after a short absence he reappeared, put a few guilders into their hands, and said that his master could do nothing more for them. Great was the disappointment of the poor children; but they did not dare to question the servant, and went away weeping silently.