Monday evening, twelve o’clock.... As I sit down to tell you what I have

been about to-day, my thoughts cross the wide wave that separates us,

and brings me back to 30 MacDougal Street, and to the time when,

returning from town, I used to present myself before you, give an

account of my proceedings, tell you perhaps some news about that

ill-fated expedition of which you were so sick of hearing; how it would

certainly sail in a month, or something just as likely. When thinking of

this long separation, I console myself with the idea that it is better

than if I had gone there. In that case I should now have been your

antipodes. Now there are only some four or five hours of shadow between

us. And, sluggard as you call me at home, I am up in the morning two or

three hours before you. Tell that to the girls for a wonder! I left my

room this morning at eleven, walked to Portland Place, called on the

American minister, who being unwell I was furnished by the secretary of

legation with what I desired, namely, a passport. This I left, as the

manner is, at the office of the French embassy, that his majesty Louis

Philippe may have fitting notice of the honor that is to be done him,

for the king of the French is, it seems, rather particular abut such

matters, and it is a pity not to oblige him, especially as you can’t

help yourself. This being done I went on to the Linnæan Society, and by

working at the full stretch of my powers contrived to get through the

Linnæan herbarium (skipping a few genera now and then) about six

o’clock. Returned home pretty well fatigued, took some tea and toast,

called upon Bentham, whom I found writing letters of introduction for

me. I have them now before me. They are addressed to Seringe at Lyons;

Requien, Avignon; Lady Bentham (B.’s mother) at Montpellier, with

request to make me acquainted with Dunal and Delile; Moretti at Pavia;

Visiani at Padua; Tomasini at Triest; Unger at Gratz; Endlicher at

Vienna; Martius and Schultes at Munich; Reichenbach at Dresden; Pöppig

at Leipsic. These, with what I have already from Hooker, Arnott,

Greville, Boott, etc., with a few that I expect at Paris, leave me

little to wish for in this respect. About ten o’clock went to Mrs.

Stevenson’s party. It was not a very large one, and in no way especially

remarkable. I found there of course the Bootts (three sizes, viz., Mrs.

Boott the grandmother, Mrs. Boott the mother, and Miss Boott the

daughter) and so of course I was upon good footing. Our minister lives

in neat but by no means splendid style, quite enough so for a

republican; and Mrs. S. is very lady-like and prepossessing in

appearance. Mr. Stevenson did not make his appearance. Of course, I did

not stay long.

TO JOHN TORREY.

Poor Hunneman died yesterday, after a short illness. I have spent much

time evenings with Mr. Valentine, whom I like extremely. Excepting only

Brown, he is the best microscopical observer in Great Britain. He cares

little, however, for proper systematic botany, for which I am sorry. He

has shown me some curious things.

I have learned from Brown the character he observed in our species of

Rhexia, that is, the true genus Rhexia: the unilocularity of the

anthers....

Tuesday evening, March 12.--After a hard day’s work I finished on Monday

evening with the Linnæan herbarium, which I found more interesting than

I expected and more satisfactory, as it is in really good state,

carefully taken care of, etc. I had some very good notes to make. I

assure you I feel much gratified to have studied this collection, which,

with the Gronovian, enables us to start fair as to Linnæan species. Do

you know that Acer saccharinum, Linn., is A. eriocarpum (spec. Kalm)!

Look at Linnæus “Species Plantarum” (which you have not, unfortunately,

though it is the most necessary of books; you will receive it at the

same time as this letter or nearly) and you will find that the

description is all drawn from Eriocarpum.

I took what time I could to-day for the Gronovian plants and a few of

Plukenet’s, etc., but was unable to finish; will go to-morrow, for I

shall work to the last moment.

I have been tempted to buy a collection of Hartweg’s[76] very fine

Mexican plants, which being collected far in the interior of north

Mexico are very North American, and quite necessary, I think, for us.

They will reach you with the other parcels. Be careful about the little

labels with the numbers stuck on. Bentham will publish them

presently....

Professor Royle, as the agent of India people, I believe, offers me

seeds from Himalaya Mountains, received, and still to be received, from

the government collectors, in exchange for those of useful and

interesting North American plants, which they are desirous of

introducing into India. But as I can’t attend to it until another

season, he kindly offers to send to you a portion of the seeds just

received, and to ask you to distribute them in such way as will be most

useful, and ask those you give them to (say Downing, Hogg, Dr. Wray, Dr.

Boykin, etc., and some one in the valley of the Mississippi or Arkansas)

to collect seeds of trees, etc. (you can suggest what would be most

desirable), and send them to London, whence they will be sent in the

mails overland to India. As I fear I shall not see Royle again I shall

write him a note, telling him, as I promised, how to send to you.

I saw Dr. Sims’ herbarium, at King’s College. I want to look at it to

certify a few early “Botanical Magazine” plants.

Brown came to the museum this morning with a copy of a curious late

paper of Schleiden (which I had seen before) on the Development of the

Embryo, with a parcel of his own notes on the same subject made in 1810,

1812, 1815, etc., which did not altogether correspond. Brown thinks much

of Schleiden as an observer. He read me many of his old notes, and the

subject took him to speak of his discoveries with regard to the embryos

of Pinus. To explain to me as he went on he drew the diagram on the

inclosed slip of paper, and pointed out to me how to observe in our

species of Pinus. This will refresh my memory as to all he told me, so

pray keep it safely. There is much very curious matter now afloat about

the process of impregnation and the early development of embryo, which I

am accumulating, as much as I can, for future use. Pray tell Dr. Perrine

that the gardeners and botanists here insist by acclamation almost that

there is no such thing as acclimation in the vegetable kingdom.

What a pickle the Linnæan Ascyrum is in! I wish I had room to tell you.

TO MRS. TORREY.

Tuesday morning, two o’clock A.M., March 14, 1839.

I have just finished packing up, being about to start for Boulogne in

steamboat at nine o’clock this morning, and I must now hastily close my

letters. This, or rather yesterday, has been a busy day with me. I

started in the morning to have a look at a few more things of Pursh’s at

Lambert’s, but he kept me longer than I liked. He found somewhere a

small parcel of plants collected by Eschscholz in Kotzebne’s voyage, who

sent them to Lambert. Lambert gave me all the North American ones, few

to be sure, but interesting. From Lambert’s I returned by way of the

Horticultural Society, to bid good-by to Lindley and Bentham, but the

latter insists upon coming up in the morning to my lodgings to see me

off. I have made a fortunate acquisition for him. He told me he saw, a

few days ago, at an auction some copies of Richard’s fine work on the

Coniferæ, but an engagement at the time prevented him from staying to

buy a copy of the work for himself, which he imagined would be sold

cheap. Mr. Putnam found out who bought up these copies, and obtained one

at nearly the price at which they were sold. I shall have the pleasure

of presenting it to Bentham this morning when he calls. I went to the

British Museum, worked hard until four o’clock; but was not able quite

to finish, so I left my copy of Gronovius, in which I was making notes,

with Mr. Bennett to keep for me until my return in the autumn, and took

leave of Brown and Bennett. Went to Dr. Boott’s; saw Mrs. and Miss

Boott, who insisted upon giving me a note of introduction to a friend of

theirs in Florence; went to the City, dined with Putnam, down to

Well-close Square, took my tea, and bid good-by to Ward and family, and

Mr. Quekett....

TO THE MISSES TORREY.

PARIS, March 18, 1839, Monday evening.

I am now at the Hotel de l’Empereur Joseph II., Rue Tournon, près du

Palais du Luxembourg. Here I have been established for about half an

hour, and my first business shall be to fill this sheet for you. I

suppose I must begin at the beginning and tell you how I came here.

Voilà. I left London at nine o’clock in the morning of the 14th inst.

(Thursday), stopping on my way to the steamboat which was to take me to

Boulogne, to leave a parcel of letters at Mr. Putnam’s office, to be

forwarded to dear friends at home. It was a nasty, rainy morning; and

our boat was, as indeed I expected, not very comfortable. The cabin was

well enough, but much too small for the accommodation of some fifty or

sixty persons, and there was no covering to the deck, nor any

deck-cabin, except two dirty little places for the poorer passengers,

who were not allowed the use of ours; so we had our choice the whole day

between the soaking in the rain upon the deck and the close atmosphere

of the crowded cabin. Of course I was vibrating between the two dilemmas

the whole day, but took as much pains as I could to keep dry. The only

thing I saw worthy of notice as we went down the Thames was Greenwich

Hospital, of which I will perhaps send a print. I should add also chalk

cliffs, for I never before saw rocks and hills of chalk. In the

afternoon, as we had fairly got into the Channel, a thick fog came on.

The captain lost his way and seemed in fear that he should run the boat

upon the Sands, so he dropped anchor about five in the afternoon. We

were to have arrived at Boulogne at nine that evening. But as I saw

there was no great chance of our moving for some time, I set about

making amends for my loss of sleep the previous night. I took possession

of two thirds of a hard sofa, and, wrapped in my cloak, was soon in a

comfortable doze. I awoke late in the evening; and such a sight as there

was before me! It seems that there were no accommodations for sleeping

on board, or next to none, and the passengers, men, women, and children,

were indiscriminately but thickly strewn over the sofas, chairs, and

even over the whole floor, with portmanteaus, great-coats, and whatever

they could find for pillows, attempting to secure such rest as they

could,--some sixty persons or more crowded into a space not larger than

the cabin of one of our ferry-boats....

But I was too drowsy to mind it much, and soon fell asleep again, but

awoke in the morning with swollen eyes and complaining bones. The boat

was moving again, and it was raining as hard as ever. The distant coast

of France soon came in view, and at half past ten we were landed at

Boulogne. We were escorted to the custom-house; what baggage we had

brought in our hands was closely examined by the officers, an

ill-looking, vagabond set; our passports were taken from us and

provisional ones given, which permitted us to go on to Paris, and for

which we each had to pay two francs; we were then allowed to go to a

hotel and get our breakfast, a privilege which most of us were not slow

to avail ourselves of. I made a hearty meal of cold roast beef, café au

lait, excellent bread, and delicious butter. The two last I have found

ever since I have been in France. I gave my keys to the commissionaire

of the hotel to get my luggage through the custom-house, and, my place

being taken in the diligence for Paris at two o’clock, having nothing

else to do, I went to the custom-house to see the examination of the

luggage. Lazy custom-house officers and gendarmes were lounging about,

while heavy carts loaded with baggage were drawn up from the boat by

women!--and this while it was raining hard, and the poor creatures were

without hats or bonnets, and had only a handkerchief or a bit of cloth

tied over their heads. So much for this self-styled most refined and

polite nation! I noticed the poor things when their task was done and

they were waiting to convey the trunks, etc., from the custom-house to

the various hotels. Some were chatting in groups, apparently quite

content with their lot; a few were sleeping, and many, with the

characteristic industry of their sex, produced their knitting-work from

their pockets and were busily employed at a more appropriate and

feminine employment. I was amused at the strictness with which three

exceedingly unpleasant-looking fellows searched all our baggage, that of

the ladies not less than that of the men. Little parcels were opened,

dirty linen was overhauled and most minutely inspected; the whole scene

would have made a fit subject for the pencil of Hogarth. My

traveling-bag was examined from top to bottom, and I began to fear that

my trunk, which I had packed with care, would be sadly deranged, but

they contented themselves with cutting open a packet of seeds I was

taking from the Horticultural Society to De Candolle, and with seizing

as a great prize my rather formidable parcel of letters of introduction.

This was near causing me to be detained until the next diligence; but

the commissionaire succeeded in getting them sent up to the inspector in

another part of the town, upon whom we called, when after due

explanation had been made, and one or two of the letters read, they were

formally delivered back to me.

I can tell you what a French diligence is like. It is just like one of

the railroad cars (about three apartments) of the Harlem railroad, for

example, mounted on coach wheels; the horses are small, lean, shaggy,

and ugly; some seven of these beasts are fastened, three abreast and one

for a leader, with ropes to the said diligence; but how such beasts

contrive to draw such a cumbrous vehicle, loaded with seventeen persons

and their baggage, besides a driver and conductor, I don’t well

understand, although the beasts are changed every five or six miles; but

somehow we got over the ground pretty fast, and came to Paris, over one

hundred and forty miles, in a little less than thirty hours, although it

rained all the first day and part of the second, and the roads were

extremely muddy.

We arrived just before nightfall at Montreuil, a fine old fortified

French town situated on the summit of a hill and overlooking a broad

valley, which in summer must be quite beautiful; here we dined, and were

charged four francs each for dinner, besides sous to the garçon. I slept

pretty well in the night, during which we passed Abbéville, where there

is said to be a fine church. We breakfasted at the queer old town of

Beauvais, where there is a fine cathedral, of which I had a pretty good

view. My breakfast (déjeuner à la fourchette, which is the next thing to

a dinner) cost three and a half francs, for on this route you meet with

very English charges. I wished to say something about the country, but

have not room. Suffice it to say that we passed through the town of St.

Denis late in the afternoon, where I did not even get a glimpse of the

very ancient cathedral, and arrived at Paris just before nightfall.

After dinner, in company with a fellow-passenger, a young Englishman, I

gratified a long-felt curiosity by strolling through the Palais Royal

and some of the principal streets of Paris. On Sunday I attended church

in the morning (after a vain attempt to find the American Chapel) at the

Rev. Mr. Sayer’s English Episcopal Chapel, where I heard a good sermon;

and in the evening at the Methodist Chapel, where the Rev. Mr. Toase

preached a truly excellent discourse from Jeremiah viii. 13. All the

shops were open just as on any other day, and the gardens and parks were

all crowded. This morning I went down to the Jardin des Plantes,

stopping by the way to see the ancient church of Notre-Dame, where I

heard a portion of the Catholic service chanted.... At last, after

looking at many other buildings and objects of curiosity, about which I

will tell you more presently, I reached the garden, found Decaisne, who

could speak no English, and I almost no French; so he took me to Adrien

de Jussieu, who makes out to speak very tolerable English, and to

understand me pretty well. I left soon to call on Mr. Webb,[77] who is

an Englishman, for whom I had a letter from Hooker; thence after

looking in vain for “appartements garnis “ in Rue de l’Odéon, Place de

l’Odéon, etc., I secured my lodgings here, where I shall be obliged to

hear nothing but French, and where I hope I may catch some of the

language, and after dining at the ordinary at the Hôtel de Lille, where

English is spoken, I transferred myself to my present quarters. But my

sheet is full. I will give you another very soon. Till then, mes chères

petites sœurs, adieu.

Wednesday evening, March 20.--I must continue my letter to you on a

large sheet of thin French paper, else I shall have a larger bill of

postage to pay than will be altogether convenient when I send to Havre.

I did not write last evening; I had no fire in my room, and after

running about all day over streets paved with little square blocks of

stone, which it is very fatiguing to walk over, I came home fairly

tired, and went to bed soon after nine o’clock. Except calling on M.

Delessert, for whom I had a letter and a small parcel from Hooker, and

whom I did not find at home, I spent the whole day in looking about the

town, seeing sights, etc. My first call was at the Louvre, a large and

splendid palace, where I spent an hour or two in the vast gallery of

paintings, which fill a very large salon and a long gallery, I suppose

five hundred or six hundred feet long, connecting the Louvre with the

palace of the Tuileries....

To-day I have been wholly occupied at the Jardin des Plantes.

Fortunately for me Jussieu speaks a little English, so I can get on with

him pretty well. But you would have been amused at the attempts which M.

Decaisne and M. Gaudichaud[78] and myself made to understand each

other. Still more amused would you have been to see how I managed to

make a bargain with a bookseller for a few books I wished to purchase. I

feel the want of French sadly, and have no time for study.

Thursday evening.--I have been again occupied the whole day at the

Jardin des Plantes, and went at six o’clock to dine with Mr. Webb to

meet M. Gay.[79] Webb had taken care to ask an English student also, who

speaks French much better than he does English, who sat between Gay and

myself and interpreted when it became necessary. But Gay speaks a little

of what will pass for English, mixed here and there with French, so that

I got on very well indeed.

Gaudichaud was also there, a very interesting man if one could talk with

him. We were kept rather late, so that it is now past twelve, so I must

bid you good-night.

Monday evening.... At three o’clock I went to the Institute. I found

that the room was already crowded. I inquired for Jussieu and

Brongniart, the only members I could think of that I knew, but they were

not there and therefore I could not get in. After some time Jussieu came

in. But it was then too late, so I lost the object for which I had given

up half the day. Jussieu, however, took me into the library, which is

worth seeing. I employed the remaining hour or so in purchasing some

prints of remarkable buildings, etc., in Paris, and I was also tempted

to buy a few engravings from some of the great masters. After dinner I

went to Mr. Webb’s, where I looked at plants for a few hours. He gave

me also some autographs of celebrated botanists, and a few old botanical

books....

Friday evening, March 29.... The Garden of Plants was nearly on my way

home; so I stopped there, worked for an hour (till five o’clock), went

home (home, indeed!), took my dinner, found myself most thoroughly tired

as well as hungry, having had no breakfast but a small roll of bread I

obtained near the cemetery; had a fire kindled in my room, and commenced

writing to you. Just now the little daughter of the concierge, a little

girl of six or seven, who often waits upon me, has brought me a cup of

coffee, which I have enjoyed greatly, and now feel much restored. French

children are all pretty and graceful, and I am making the little girl’s

acquaintance as fast as I can; for it is difficult for me to understand

her (it seems odd to hear such a little thing speak French), and in

answer to some of my attempts to speak French to her, she answers, “Je

n’entends pas anglais, monsieur.”

What great lies the French newspapers tell! Yesterday morning the paper

I was reading at my breakfast stated that one of the gardeners who had

charge of the bears at the Jardin des Plantes descended into the

inclosure for some purpose, and was seized by the bears, killed

immediately, and almost eaten up before help was obtained. So when I

arrived at the garden I of course spoke to Decaisne about it, who was

greatly surprised, for it seems the story was entirely a fabrication.

I see I have at length filled this large sheet, so I must say adieu for

the present, but hope to-morrow evening to begin another. Ever I remain,

Your attached,

A. G....

TO MRS. TORREY.

Wednesday evening.... There is little danger of my being spoiled in

Paris by being overpolished. In London one must take care to be always

comme il faut. There I took pains to keep myself rather spruce, which I

have continued here from the mere force of habit!!! But gentlemen in

Paris dress anyhow; they don’t pay half the attention to the matter it

receives in England; with the ladies it is perhaps different, but here I

scarcely ever see ladies except in the streets or shops and restaurants!

At the houses of botanists I have only seen Mme. Gay, a very plain and

good-natured Swiss lady. As to parlez-vous-ing, it is not such an easy

matter, I assure you. You would laugh most heartily to see me in the

botanic gallery of the Jardin des Plantes, endeavoring to carry on a

conversation with Gaudichaud or Decaisne; the former of whom can

scarcely read English, and the latter can speak only a dozen words. I

get out, with no little difficulty, a few sentences of such French as

has not been heard since the days of King Pepin, I am sure; and when

that fails me I write in English, which Decaisne can read, and make him

write in French in return, or else for short sentences speak very slowly

and distinctly. From my ignorance of the language I am obliged to take

great pains when I wish to purchase anything from the shops; for it is

customary to put on an additional price to English customers.

Fortunately my complexion and the style of my countenance are so far

French that before I speak I am generally taken for a native, and I

sometimes manage to make purchases without saying a word beyond a

monosyllable. So I have to be very careful to avoid being cheated; but I

am every day acquiring more knowledge and experience.

I have been seized with a mania for collecting prints on a small scale,

and shall send home some very good ones,--to adorn my parlor and study

at Michigan, of course! There are astonishing quantities to be found

here. I am endeavoring to get all the portraits of botanists I can, and

from this I have been led to pick up ancient ones, which show the early

state of the art or old-fashioned costumes, etc., and also a few choice

engravings from the old masters; but most of these I can obtain better

in Italy or Germany. Tell Dr. Torrey not to be alarmed, for I shall not

spend much money upon them.

As a general thing Paris is not very beautiful. But there are some

magnificent sights, I assure you. At odds and ends of time I have

already seen most of the ordinary sights which attract the attention of

travelers, but must leave all account of them for the journal from

Paris, which so far is addressed to the girls, though I fear it will

scarcely interest them or any one else....

Decaisne has given me separate copies of his papers. He is now

publishing a most splendid (botanically speaking) memoir upon the order

Lardizabaleæ, in which I see he has found out some things which have

been known to Brown only, for a long time. He will give us copies, I

dare say. He is one of the best botanists here. I like Gaudichaud also

very much....

I have just finished the examination of Michaux’s herbarium, which has

proved worth looking over. I shall write the doctor more particularly,

indeed have already begun a letter for him. Mr. Webb showed me last

evening a letter from Hooker, which contains a good deal of botanical

intelligence for himself and me. The British Antarctic expedition, he

says, is to sail positively in August, and Joseph is to go. I wonder if

they will be two years or so in getting off!...

TO THE MISSES TORREY.

PARIS, April 1, 1889, Monday evening.

MY DEAR GIRLS,--It is rather late, and I have no fire in my room, to

which I have just now returned, but it is nearly comfortable without

one, and so we will have a few words together before I sleep. My last

and long sheet was closed, I think, on Friday evening. On Saturday my

morning was spent as usual at the Jardin des Plantes; returning from

whence I looked along the shops and so on to the Pont du Louvre, which I

crossed; passed through the Palais Royal at the most busy season, when

it is all lighted up splendidly, and dined at the Restaurant Colbert at

half past seven. I am patiently exploring (I should say eating) my way

through the mazes of French cookery, and am trying to select from the

complicated bill of fare the more peculiar and national dishes, some of

which are excellent, others so-so, or very poor....

To-day I have been again at the Garden, working as hard as possible,

since I have so little time remaining. I dined at half past six at one

of the famous restaurants, just to see how it was managed, and returning

spent the early part of the evening with Mr. Webb, who lives near me.

On my way from the Garden, I stopped at another church. I believe the

only remaining one of large size and much interest which I had not

already seen.... It is called St. Severin, and is very old, having been

built in the year 1210.

This is the first of April, and a fine spring day it has been, though

the season is little more advanced than at New York. In two weeks I must

be again upon the wing, and shall soon meet the summer. I want to see

the south of France and sunny Italy. Adieu.

Tuesday evening, April 2.--I intended to have had time this evening to

write several letters, but Decaisne has been with me, and did not leave

until almost twelve, we had so much to talk about. I have been all the

morning at the Garden; have worked very hard, indeed, and have nearly

finished there. To-morrow is like to be a broken day, as I have made an

engagement to see Dr. Montagne[80] and his microscope at twelve o’clock,

which will take an hour or two out of the very best part of the day. I

will try to turn the fragments of the day to some account. But now

good-night.

“To each, to all, a fair good-night,

And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light.”

Monday evening, April 8.... Saturday was a little more diversified. I

went at eight o’clock in the morning to Professor Richard’s,[81] who

lives near me, examined some plants of Michaux, then took my breakfast,

went to the Garden for three or four hours, but returned at two o’clock

to see the Chamber of Peers in session, M. Gay having provided me with a

ticket of admittance, which procured me a very good seat. The members

all wear a kind of court dress, the military peers swords, and those who

have them display the insignia of the order of the Legion of Honor, and

so forth. Several new peers were admitted, but before they were

introduced, a number of peers made some remarks which could not have

been very flattering to them, the creation of a new batch just at this

time having given much dissatisfaction to the old ones. Among others, I

heard a little speech from the famous Marshal Soult. Lord Brougham, who

is now in Paris, was present. I recognized him across the room by his

homely face, which he is in the habit of twitching and contorting

incessantly, as if it pained him. He seemed to listen with much

attention.

In the evening I paid a visit to Mr. Spach,[82] looked over plants and

so forth until ten o’clock, returned shivering with cold, for the

weather here is like March in New York. I am now sitting by a large

fire, and yet I am shivering.

Tuesday evening, April 9.--In the morning went to hear Mirbel[83]

lecture at the Sorbonne; he speaks so distinctly that I understood him

tolerably well in general. The lecture-room is old and incommodious,

rather better, to be sure, than the accommodation for the students of

the university in the olden time, when they used to sit upon straw

spread in the streets, but certainly not very fine. I went afterward to

the Ecole de Médecine; heard the professor of anatomy for a few minutes;

came away, saw two or three books that I wanted in a stall belonging to

a shop, priced them; found the price much higher than I intended to

give, so I named the price I would give; was amused with the

perseverance of the very genteel madame, who reduced her price down to

within seven francs of my offer, and then labored hard to make me take

them. I advanced one franc, but utterly refused to give a sou more.

“Vous n’êtes pas raisonnable,” says madame. “Je suis très raisonnable,”

I replied, “mais votre prix n’est pas raisonnable.” So I left the shop,

madame very coolly replacing the books on the shelf, with one eye turned

toward me to see if I would relent. I had got some distance down the

street when the boy came running after me, to say that I might have the

books, “mais ils sont très bon marché.” So much for the way you are

obliged to make bargains here. Went to the Garden, returned to dine

here, paid a little visit to Mr. Webb, and must write the remainder of

the evening.

Thursday evening, April 11.--My approaching departure makes it a very

busy time for me. Let me recollect what I did yesterday. I went first to

Baron Delessert’s; studied in his magnificent library until about one

o’clock; then visited my banker, who is near, drew some money; then to a

bookseller to arrange some matters about our “Flora” (which I failed to

do); went to the Bibliothèque du Roi, where they have miles of books and

acres of manuscripts, but as it was not a public day, I did not see half

that I wished. I have made arrangements, however, for a future day. I

went next to the post office, and took a place in the malle-post (which

is very much quicker than the diligence) for Lyons, to go on Monday; so

that the time of my departure is pretty well fixed. I next went to learn

the time of the departure of the carriages for Sèvres and Versailles,

which places I intend to visit to-morrow. Then I met Chevalier, the

optician, by appointment, to consult about microscopes for an hour or

two.... Called on M. Gay, with whom I found M. Boissier, a Swiss

botanist whom I had often seen at the Garden, and also August St.

Hilaire,[84] who returned but a few days since from Montpellier.

On reaching my room at half past ten, I found a note from Mr. Webb,

saying that M. Spach had a message for me from Mirbel, and asking me to

call if I had time; went immediately, but was too late; Webb had gone to

bed. Returned, arranged accounts, etc., and went to bed myself.

To-day I have been, if possible, still more busy; at least I have

accomplished more, though I made a bad beginning. The concierge promised

to call me at eight, but I awoke myself at nine. Consequently it was

past ten before I made my first call, which was upon Mr. Webb, to know

when I was to see Mirbel. I called next upon Dr. Montagne to get a

letter to the chief curator of the Bibliothèque du Roi, which should

afford me the opportunity of seeing this, the largest library in the

world, on a private day, namely, Monday, the only public day while I

stay being Friday, when I have something else to do. _Eh bien._ I went

next to the Louvre, and saw the other and best half of that most

magnificent gallery, my passport giving me a ready admittance....

Suffice it to say I saw very much to admire--some things that I greatly

admired--very much I did not allow myself time enough to become

interested in, as well as many works of the old fellows that one likes

to say he has seen.... Again in a cabriolet to the Ecole de Médecine;

looked through the museum, which was to-day open to the public; saw for

a moment the examination of a batch of candidates for a vacant

professorship by concours; also the examination of students in the same

way; then I visited the Musée Dupuytren,--a surgical museum of great

extent; then went to the Ile St. Louis (opposite the Garden) to call on

M. de St. Hilaire; not at home, so I saved a little time. Next to the

Garden; looked on my way at the animals, the hyenas, lions, giraffe,

monkeys, etc., besides a few large snakes; then called at Mirbel’s

rooms, who took a great deal of trouble to show me most curious things

in vegetable anatomy, but of this I will write to your good papa, who

will care much more for it than you. After this I saw Decaisne for a few

minutes at the botanical gallery; took one of the young lads with me;

saw the mineralogical cabinet and that of fossils, which occupy a new

and most beautifully arranged gallery. Here I saw many of the famous

things I have heard so much of. In the vestibule to this gallery they

are preparing a pedestal for a fine and large statue of Cuvier. I went

next to Jussieu’s house, talked with him for a few minutes, and bid him

good-by. On my way home stopped at Ballière’s, the bookseller, to

transact some business; home; dined at half past seven; went to Webb’s,

where I like to go of an evening, as I get a good cup of tea (no common

thing in Paris), which, after such a day’s work, was very grateful, I

assure you; remained until half past nine; returned here, took up my

pen, and voici the result; and if I do not write plainly and neatly, it

is no great wonder, and I trust you will excuse it, for I have other

writing to do also this evening. Besides, I must rise at seven, as I

expect another very busy day. On my return this evening, I found a

polite note from Delessert[85] accompanying a magnificent present, no

less than a copy of three volumes of the “Icones Selectæ.” An invitation

for Saturday evening from M. and Mme. Delessert came with it. I am

already engaged to dinner, at half past six, for the same day.

JOURNAL.

Saturday morning, half past seven.--[After an account of a visit to

Versailles, he goes on:] Now bidding adieu to all this most interesting

ground, I took up my march, on foot and alone, for St. Germain, distant

about four miles. From the heights of Louveciennes I obtained the first

view of the Seine and the lovely and broad valley through which it

winds. Here I passed the remains of an elevated and striking aqueduct

which conveyed water to a royal château which formerly stood in the

neighborhood, and also, I believe, to the village of Marly, through

which I passed a little farther on. Then descending rapidly, I reached

again the banks of the Seine, the terrace of St. Germain being directly

before me. It was now three o’clock. The steep hill was to be ascended

by a winding road, and being somewhat leg-weary, I stopped a passing

countryman’s cart; the lad who was driving readily gave me a seat by his

side, and thus I rode into St. Germain. The lad was quite intelligent,

and answered all my questions (when he understood me) very readily. He

set me down close by the château. I gave him ten sous for his trouble,

and we parted on good terms with each other. The château of St. Germain,

which was a chief royal residence before Versailles was built, is more

interesting to us as the place where the Stuarts kept their petty court

so many years. It is now converted into a military penitentiary, and I

was not anxious to examine the interior, as I am informed scarce any of

the original apartments or furniture remain. The exterior is striking,

quite of the old style, built of the same red bricks as the central

portion of Versailles. What is most worth seeing here is the terrace, a

beautiful park, extending for almost two miles along the brow of the

high ridge, with the most beautiful view from it of the valley beneath

and before you, the hills that bound your view, and the numerous

villages scattered here and there. A finer situation cannot be imagined.

The Seine, after passing Paris, makes a bold, double turn. The view

extends quite to Paris (fifteen miles) though the city is nearly

concealed from view, yet you see the grand Arc de l’Etoile distinctly.

In the summer it must be surpassingly beautiful. At four o’clock I

descended the steep declivity to the commencement of the railroad, took

a little refreshment; at twenty minutes past four we started in cars

propelled by steam, and in an hour I was in Paris and taking my dinner

at the Restaurant Colbert. A pretty good day’s work!

Saturday, went to dine at Mr. Webb’s; a little party,--a bachelors’

party, for Webb is single,--consisting of Dr. Montagne, M. Berthelot, M.

and Mme. Ramon de la Sagra, M. Spach and his wife, and a young Spaniard

whose name I do not recollect. Webb is quite a polyglot; he speaks

French, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, Modern Greek, and I know not what

besides his mother tongue. At half past nine I left, took a cabriolet

for Delessert’s, where I had been invited to an evening party; found

there several botanists and persons I knew. Delessert received me

cordially, introduced me to Madame D., who I was rejoiced to find spoke

English very well. The suite of rooms thrown open was very splendid, and

communicating with the last was a pretty greenhouse, filled with

vigorous plants, all in fine bloom; the whole, carpeted and lighted,

presented a most inviting appearance. The brothers Delessert are said to

be very rich, and I suppose can well afford such an expensive

establishment. The party broke up at eleven. Besides tea, which is quite

English, though the French are getting more into the custom of using it

we had ices, etc., but nothing else. The whole affair was conducted

without any parade and in quiet good taste....

Notabilia varia.--Ellimia, Nutt., was described a little before us by

two authors under two different names: First by Cambessides in

Jacquemont’s Travels, under the name of Oligomeris; second by Webb and

Berthollet, “Histoire Naturelle des Iles Canaries,” under the name of

Resedella; Webb has Jacquemont’s plant from the Himalaya and his own

growing together; they are absolutely the same. I am to examine them

soon, but have scarce a doubt they are even the same species as ours.

Webb has promised me a specimen. It is also the Reseda glauca of Delile

ex Egypto. It is curious that the plant should at the same time be

described from almost every part of the world, and not less so that the

three names hit upon should have all meant the same thing, namely, a

reduced reseda.

I have just spent the evening with Gay. He is publishing Carices in

“Annales des Sciences Naturelles:” has hit upon some of Boott’s notions;

but not all. He is a laboriously minute observer, and will do pretty

well, but like Boott inclines to make too many species. He insists upon

describing the small form of C. Hitchcockiana from Dr. Sartwell and

Kentucky as a distinct species, in which he may be right. He wished to

name it after me, but I declined the honor, and have transferred it to

Dr. Sartwell, the discoverer, whose name it is to bear....

Delessert received me very kindly when I called on him. I must call

again soon, and consult especially his rich library. He showed me a list

he had just ordered from New York; among which of course was our

“Flora.” I should have offered him a copy, but now it is scarcely worth

while.... I shall not see De Candolle here. Delessert does not expect

him until May. I shall leave the books and parcels for him with

Delessert, and make De Candolle take back to Geneva with him all my

parcels that I do not wish to take with me to the south.

April 2, evening, or rather April 3, as it is past midnight.--I have

worked to-day as hard as I could jump from ten to half past five o’clock

at the herbarium général of the Museum de Paris, and have finished.

Apart from Michaux’s plants, of which they have nearly a set

distributed, they are wretchedly poor in North American species; almost

none of Lamarck and Poiret. I except the plants given by LeConte,

Torrey, etc., which are arranged but not incorporated. The present

Gallery of Botany is exceedingly fine and spacious, and well planned. I

have gone carefully through all Michaux’s herbarium (from your limited

time you have made some bad slips in the Carices of Michaux, which Gay,

I am sorry to say, has found out), noting all dubious matters to be

settled by examination of Richard’s set. I have gone through De la

Pylaie’s herbarium completely and carefully; I have examined the

herbarium given by Humboldt,--not complete but said to be as large as

Kunth’s own set or more so, and labeled by Kunth; I have looked at

everything here which I thought could interest us, but some I found not,

such as Cercocarpus; I have examined some other separate sets of the

same kind. I am now ready to glance through Jussieu’s herbarium, which

is said to contain many Lamarck and Poiret; to spend a little time in

Richard’s, a few hours more for Desfontaines at Webb’s, and perhaps

Berlandier’s[86] plants, though these are distributed through Webb’s

immense collection; this I can do, however, in evenings. Then a morning

or two at Delessert’s, which will be more occupied with examination of

books than plants, will, I believe, finish. Webb has promised to give me

some plants of Labilliardière, whose herbarium he bought, as he did

Mercier’s, in which he got many of Nuttall’s plants. He has also a

collection of Lady Dalhousie’s from North America, all Drummond’s, etc.,

etc.; so he is pretty rich in North American plants, but they are not

all arranged yet. Webb has most generously presented me with a complete

copy of L’Héritier’s Works (in sheets) except the “Cornus,” which I have

this day bought of the Jew Meilhac, and for which I was obliged to give

six francs. I shall have the whole bound in two large folio volumes:

“Cornus” and “Sertum Anglicum” in one, “Stirpes Novæ” and “Geraniologia”

in the other. I think thus far that the few copies of the “Flora” I have

given away have turned to good account. I meant to go to Jussieu

to-morrow, but Webb has made an appointment with me to see Dr. Montagne

(muscologist, etc.) and his microscope, which is one of the latest and

best of Chevalier, and will enable me to decide if I may venture upon

one for Sullivant.

On Saturday Decaisne told me, almost by accident, that he was to do the

Asclepiadeæ for De Candolle’s “Prodromus,” at the same time showing me a

paper of his on the family that I was unacquainted with, much to his

surprise, but he at once gave me a copy. You must know, that although I

knew nothing scarcely of this family when I left you, and now know

little as to general structure, yet I pride myself a little on my

researches in extricating the synonymy of the species in London, in

Herbarium Linnæus, Hort. Clift., Herbarium Gronovius, Banks, Walter and

Pursh, and here of Michaux. Accordingly on Monday (yesterday) Decaisne

and myself had a regular examination of all the species we could find

here, and I furnished him with all my notes upon the synonymy, and left

with him those I had with me from your herbarium, to be returned to

London in September next. Decaisne has been with me also all this

evening.

I find that very many of the pamphlets we have sent from time to time

have miscarried, particularly the copies of my “Ceratophyllaceæ,” sent

by Castilneaux, and, what is mortifying, Guillemin and Jussieu received

copies, but Brongniart and Decaisne none. I have just sent my only

remaining copy here (for you sent me none) to Brongniart,[87] with an

explanation.

There is a second species of Podophyllum from Cashmere or Himalaya, P.

Emodi, also collected by Jacquemont, from whose specimens Decaisne has

given me a piece. What is most curious, it is sixandrous, and therefore

comes into Berberideæ except in wanting the dehiscence of the anthers by

valves (which Decaisne tells me is also the case in Nandina), and so

Robert Brown’s views are confirmed. I should not wonder if the sly old

chap had seen a specimen from Wallich when he appended the note to the

“Congo Voyage” on Berberideæ.

Thursday evening, April 4.--Yesterday saw Dr. Montagne, the muscologist,

and examined his microscope thoroughly, which is one of the latest and

best of Charles Chevalier’s. To-day I spent the morning at Jussieu’s,

looking up Lamarckian species, etc., in A. L. de Jussieu’s herbarium;

was very successful in Hypericum, but have no time now to give you

details. In the afternoon Webb, by appointment, met me at the Garden,

and we went to see Mirbel,--a man well worth seeing, I assure you. Webb

acted as interpreter, when it was necessary, for Mirbel speaks with such

distinctness that knowing what he was about I could understand him

pretty well.

I like Mirbel excessively. Considering I was a perfect stranger, of whom

he knew nothing, I think he took great pains to show me what I wanted to

see. Sullivant’s microscope will be of the same kind as his, only

better, so that he will have the means of being a second Mirbel.

Examined his microscope, which is a good one, but I think not equal to

the best English; got some good hints, etc.; am to call again. He is

very communicative, and you missed much in not seeing so extraordinary a

man. He showed me a series of drawings and engravings on which he has

been long engaged, for a mémoire on the structure of roots,--splendid

drawings; and he explained to me what I before could not form a clear

idea about, how the curious emboîtement or thickening of the walls of

cells takes place by the development of new cells within the old. He

showed me what I at once recognized as the so-called gridiron-tissue

which I had seen in England, and I noticed that he explained it in the

same way as Brown. He promised me copies for self and friends of the

late paper of his on Embryologia in the “Comptes Rendus,” just now read

before the Institute (which will also be published with a part of the

plates in the “Annales des Sciences Naturelles” and finally completely

in “Archives du Muséum “), in which he says he has completely upset the

new-fangled notions of Schleiden, Unger, etc. (adopted by Endlicher);

and, what is remarkable, his investigations on the subject were made

before he knew of their views, and the publication is only a little

hastened on account of theirs. This evening I have been with Webb,

looking up Desfontaines and Poiret plants, also some of Spach. Did I

tell you I have seen a good deal of Spach of late? He does not agree

well with the other botanists of the Garden; but there are some good

points about him, and he is mending every day. I pushed him rather hard

upon some of his bad ways, particularly that of his changing specific

names, which he bore very well. Webb says he is now falling into an

opposite extreme as to species, and will hardly admit anything to be

distinct; but Webb himself rather inclines to multiply species, I

believe. I am to meet Spach at his place in the Garden to-morrow

morning. He is married, lately, to Miss Legendre, a relative of

Mirbel’s, who made his drawings in Marchantia, etc.,--indeed the best

botanical artiste in Paris. What a fine library Jussieu has! And what a

capital advantage it is to have a great botanist for one’s father! I

particularly envy Jussieu his collection of botanical pamphlets, which

fill a large cabinet, all arranged in families, etc., the largest

collection of the kind in the world, Jussieu thinks. He gave me to-day a

little print of his father taken in the year his “Genera Plantarum” was

published. He told me, what I did not know before, that Bernard de

Jussieu superintended the publication of Aublet’s “Plantes de la

Guiane.” I could buy that work rather cheap, but think I must refrain. I

bought to-day Schreber’s edition of the “Genera Plantarum,” two francs,

two vols. in one, bound, for myself (you have it, I believe), and a

second copy of “Linnæi Species Plantarum,” ed. 3 (which is the 2d Holm.,

as you know, reprinted paginatim at Vienna). I gave five francs, and

shall put it down for Sullivant, who should have it, unless indeed you

desire to keep it yourself. I have bought (ten francs) the first four

vols. of “Mémoires de l’Institut,” 4to, bound, for library of Michigan.

Ventenat’s mémoire of Tilia is contained in one, also other botanical

papers, and some good old chemical ones, etc. Webb is to put up for me a

small parcel of Labilliardière’s New Holland plants.

I have bought L’Héritier’s “Cornus,” so now I have the whole complete,

and must get it all bound.

P. S.--I have just discovered that the copy of L’Héritier’s is

imperfect. I feel confident that Webb knows it not, and I of course

cannot tell him. I shall have all bound up in one thick volume.

Monday evening, April 8.--I finished early this morning, at Richard’s,

the examination of those species upon which Michaux’s herbarium is not

satisfactory. Richard boasts of his set as the authentic one (which is

true), but it is not as complete nor as good as the other, which is

partly owing to Richard having divided with Kunth when he could. Michaux

must have made a capital collection, since it has moreover supplied the

general herbarium with a pretty extensive set, and Desfontaines and

Jussieu with many; others I meet in the Ventenat herbarium (Delessert).

They say De Candolle has some of Michaux’s plants, and who besides I

know not....

But I have something better than all this to tell you. I have discovered

a new genus in Michaux’s herbarium--at the end, among plantæ ignotæ. It

is from that great unknown region, the high mountains of North Carolina.

We have the fruit, with the persistent calyx and style, but no flowers,

and a guess that I made about its affinities has been amply borne out on

examination by Decaisne and myself. It is allied to Galax, but “un

très-distinct genus,” having axillary one-flowered scapes (the flower

large) and a style like that of a Pyrola, long and declined. Indeed I

hope it will settle the riddle about the family of Galax, and prove

Richard to be right when he says Ordo Ericarcum. I claim the right of a

discoverer to affix the name. So I say, as this is a good North American

genus and comes from near Kentucky, it shall be christened Shortia, to

which we will stand as godfathers. So Shortia galacifolia, Torr. and

Gr., it shall be. I beg you to inform Dr. Short, and to say that we will

lay upon him no greater penalty than this necessary thing,--that he make

a pilgrimage to the mountains of Carolina this coming summer and

procure the flowers. Please lay an injunction upon Nuttall, that he

publish no other Shortia, and I will do the same to Hooker in a letter

that I am now writing. Indeed I think I will tell him some of its chief

peculiarities, and then give him leave to publish the extract in the

“Annals of Natural History” if he thinks it worth while.[88]

I attended a meeting of the Institute this afternoon. An election of a

correspondent took place, which ran very close between Charles

Buonaparte and Agassiz, but the latter carried it!

I must not forget to tell you about the Loganiaceous plant from Florida,

for so Decaisne, to whom I gave leave to sacrifice a flower for drawing,

has determined it to be; so Brown’s hint is confirmed. There is

something rather queer about the style, which, as Brown’s “Prodromus” is

not before me, I cannot say is also the case in any of the subgenera or

genera he has indicated.

Euploca, Decaisne says, is certainly apocyneous. Nuttall, I believe,

places it in Boragineæ.

April 9.--I heard Mirbel lecture to-day, commencing his course at the

Sorbonne. He is a very good and clear lecturer, of the colloquial sort,

and illustrates very well by rapid sketches on the blackboard. I believe

you did not see him. In the contour of his features and in expression he

is a good deal like Dr. Peters, except that his countenance is more

attenuated, his features small and very little prominent, and his

complexion light. At the Ecole de Médecine I was not fortunate enough to

hit the chemical professor. I heard a portion of a lecture in the

anatomical theatre, but soon came away.

I have had another fine lesson from Mirbel. He showed me all the

drawings of the paper, of which I send three copies. I quit to-day.

LYONS, Wednesday evening, April 17, 1839.

At six o’clock precisely the malle-postes for every part of France began

to leave, one after the other: that for Lyons came up; our baggage all

in, our seats selected and arranged for us, in ten seconds we were in

our places, and before the word adieu was fairly beyond my lips we were

off at full speed. We took the route by Burgundy, passed Sens in the

night, breakfasted at six next morning at Auxerre, and during the day

should have passed through Autun, but I believe we did not; passed

Châlons-sur-Saône at dusk, and arrived at Lyons at six precisely the

next morning,--a rather fatiguing ride, but I saved much time over the

diligence, which would have been even more fatiguing. The mail-coach

takes four passengers only, three inside and one with the conducteur; it

is drawn by seven horses guided by a postillion, in boots almost as high

as himself, and the horses are changed every five miles or thereabouts.

The time it took to change the horses I believe never exceeded a minute.

I timed them once or twice by the watch, and we were moving again before

the expiration of the minute. The country through which we passed was

more fertile and in better cultivation than what I saw of Normandy; it

was beautiful but monotonous, except the latter part, which grew quite

picturesque as we approached the Rhone and the rivers that fall into

it....

Lyons is finely situated just above the confluence of the Saône and the

Rhone, occupying the space between the two rivers and also the other

bank of the former. It has two beautiful and very steep hills, between

which the Saône winds, which add much to its appearance....

April 25.--I broke off here some time ago, and left a space which I

intended to fill up the first spare moment, by telling you what I saw at

Lyons; what kind of a town it is; how I might possibly have seen Mont

Blanc from it had it not been a rainy day; how I called on Seringe,[89]

saw the little botanical garden, took notice of many little

contrivances, particularly the way he keeps the aquatic plants wet; how

he went with me to the Académie of Lyons, the branch of the University

of Paris.... I could also describe the manufacture of velvet, which I

also saw, but for all these things time does not permit; a good

opportunity of sending to New York occurring to-morrow morning. So I

must leave the hiatus....

I was called this morning at a quarter before four; went down to the

steamboat, which was to start promptly at five, but which did not until

half an hour later,--a narrow comfortless vessel, with no awning or

protection for the decks, in which point, and in the lack of all

comfortable arrangements, it is just like every other steamboat I have

seen since I left New York, those between Liverpool and Glasgow alone

excepted. The Rhone, even at Lyons and far below, merits pretty well the

epithets applied to it, where it “leaves the bosom of its nursing

lake,”--“the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone,” for it is rapid the

whole course. At Lyons it has a blue tint like that of the ocean, though

not so deep. Well, we were off at length, and aided by the current we

made very satisfactory progress. The distance by post between Lyons and

Avignon is one hundred and sixty-seven miles, but including all the

turnings of the river it must be much more; however, at six o’clock and

a quarter the spires and battlements of Avignon, lighted by the setting

sun, were in sight, and a beautiful sight they were as we drew near. The

wall of the city, built by Pope Innocent VI. in the twelfth century, is

still perfect, and very pretty, the architecture being what I should

have thought. Moorish (judging from pictures merely); the numerous

spires of this very ecclesiastical town rising above it; the huge rocky

elevation next the river,--the site of the ancient fortress, and of old

temples, churches, etc.,--and not least the ruined bridge of very

ancient date, that still throws its beautiful arches half across the

river, the lovely Italian landscape around, so fresh and green, the

distant mountains encircling the whole, made it altogether as delightful

a scene as one could wish to behold. But you must know that I am now in

the region of the olive and myrtle, and have in the short space of three

days concentrated, as it were, the pleasure we experience in watching

the gradual approach of summer. The season is said to be later than

usual at Paris; it is like April in New York,--a few warm days, but the

evenings all chilly and most of the days raw and unpleasant, The

horse-chestnut trees of the Tuileries were just bursting their buds; but

every hour since, and particularly to-day, I have noticed little by

little the advance. Here nearly all the trees have assumed their

foliage,--that pure and delicate vernal foliage which we always so much

admire, but which you enjoy very much to come upon in the way I have

done, instead of waiting week after week, with every now and then a

snowstorm, just to keep winter in remembrance. But I must not forget

that I have seen snow also to-day. The summit of Mont Ventoux, which we

have had in full sight since twelve o’clock, is covered with snow, its

brilliant whiteness contrasting finely with the craggy brown mountains

of lesser elevation, as with the green fields and tender foliage of the

valleys. There is nothing very grand in the scenery of the Rhone from

Lyons to this place. The upper portion is very much like the Hudson

between New York and the Highlands, but I think scarcely as fine, if you

make due allowance for the effect of the old villages, etc. (not half so

comfortable as ours surely, but much better adapted to improve the

beauty of the landscape), with now and then a gray ruin, which is a vast

improvement. But from Tournon quite to Avignon, the scenery quite

surpasses the Hudson, and exhibits such variety, moreover, that you are

charmed continually: now bold and magnificent even; again, picturesque,

particularly where the basaltic rocks, for it is wholly a volcanic

country, form parapets like the Palisades, but much more curious and

diversified, the more friable material being worn away in places,

leaving columns and salient portions in all fantastic shapes. And again,

especially in the lower portion, we see the hills widely separated,

leaving most beautiful broad valleys between, with high mountains for a

distant background. At St. Esprit we passed under the curious old bridge

built in the eleventh century, which is still in as perfect a state

apparently as if finished but yesterday. It is three thousand feet long,

and is said to be the longest bridge in Europe; it consists of

twenty-six arches, and each abutment has also a little arch above it. We

passed other very pretty or striking views of which I should like

vastly to have good prints, but I do not know whether any person has of

late been illustrating the Rhone. But I must come to a close, not to

fatigue you longer. I arrived at the most excellent Hôtel du Palais

Royal (recommended by Bentham) just in time for the table d’hôte at

seven o’clock, and after dinner sallied out, with a guide to conduct me

to see Requien,[90] to whom Bentham had given me a letter. I found him a

prompt man, and in almost ten words we settled my plan for to-morrow,

which is to start in a cabriolet for Vaucluse at five o’clock in the

morning, arrive at eight, spend two hours, breakfast, and return here by

one o’clock; spend the afternoon and evening in seeing the most

interesting objects in town, looking at his collections, his pictures,

etc., etc. What would you give to see Vaucluse? I have many doubts

whether it will equal my expectations, which are raised by the

description; according to the account it must be very curious and

strange, apart from the associations of the place, which here pass for

little with me, as I feel no interest at all in Petrarch or Laura,

whoever she may have been.

AVIGNON, Friday evening, April 19, half past eight o’clock.

I think you will scarcely call me an idle lad. It was about midnight

when I went to bed last night; I was called this morning at half past

four; a few minutes past five I was on my way in a cabriolet for

Vaucluse, with a very lazy horse, so that it was nine o’clock when I

arrived. I visited the famous fountain, admired the rocks, etc.;

collected a few plants as a souvenir; took my breakfast, a very

substantial one, consisting in part of delicate trout from the stream

which issues from the fountain; left at eleven, arrived at Avignon again

at half past two; saw the Requien museum of antiquities, which is rich,

the paintings, the little botanic garden; saw also Requien’s library and

collection of plants, etc; made arrangements for correspondence; climbed

the rocky hill which overlooks the town and river; enjoyed the view;

visited the cathedral (a small affair) which stands upon it; saw the old

papal palace, now converted into a prison; returned to the Hôtel Palais

Royal, and a most excellent hotel it is, which I hope you will patronize

the first time you come to Avignon; dined at seven, having first secured

a place in the diligence for Nîmes at ten o’clock this evening, where I

hope to arrive by daylight and be ready to go on the same day to

Montpellier, where I prefer to pass the Sabbath. Now I think this is

doing pretty well....

MONTPELLIER, Saturday evening, April 20, 1839.

At twelve o’clock I left Nîmes; rode through a highly fertile and level

country, mostly occupied with vineyards, getting now and then a distant

view of the mountains of Cevennes on the right, and soon of the Pic San

Loup, by which I knew we were not very far from Montpellier. At this

last place we arrived at five o’clock precisely, and here I am quartered

at the most comfortable hotel imaginable, the Hôtel du Midi. All my

stopping-places being indicated to me by Bentham, I have no difficulty

in choosing where to stop. Here you are not put into a little seven by

nine chamber up five pairs of stairs, as is the inevitable lot of a

single man traveling in the United States, but I have a room like a

large parlor, airy, the two windows looking into a pretty shady garden,

a sofa, cushioned chairs, and every convenience you can think of. The

town itself has nothing pleasant except its situation, but there are in

it two delightful spots, which I sought at once, after having taken my

dinner,--the Esplanade, very near me, an elevated plateau planted with

trees, from which you have an extensive view of the country around. From

this I had my first view of the Mediterranean, distant, I suppose, about

eight miles! At the opposite side of the town is the Place du Peyrou,

one of the finest squares in the world, on a fine elevation, descending

by bold terraces into the country around, the green fields coming up on

one side close to the parapet. The view is beautiful and very extensive,

the Mediterranean on one side, the Pic San Loup and the mountains of

Cevennes on the other, while toward the south, it is said, the Pyrenees

may be seen in very clear weather. From this point I discovered the

Botanic Garden, the oldest in Europe and in many respects still the

finest. So I descended, sought out Delile the director, who it seems

expected me, and expressed his delight in a most exaggerated and truly

French manner. I stayed with him until nine o’clock; returned here,

commenced this, but being fatigued soon gave it up and went to bed.

Monday morning, April 22.--Nearly all of the foregoing has been written

this morning; but I cannot stay longer, as I should be stirring. There

are many Protestants in Montpellier, it is said, but I fancy that they

are chiefly not very pious, and as I should not understand the language

well enough to be benefited, I thought it better to spend the Sabbath by

myself. This was my first Sabbath on land in which I have not attended

divine worship conducted in the English language.

Tuesday morning, April 23.--As early as possible in the morning

yesterday I called on Lady Bentham, the mother of my good friend who has

taken so much pains to aid me and her daughter, Madame Duchesnil; they

live quite retired, and are occupied in directing the education of the

son of Madame Duchesnil, a fine lad of about thirteen.... The ladies

received me with great cordiality. I prolonged my call to an hour, and

accepted an invitation to take tea with them this evening.... I went to

the Garden, called upon M. Dunal,[91] the best botanist here, who,

having lived single to the age of I should say fifty years, has found

out that it is not good to be alone, and has just taken a wife. I did

not stay very long, as I found when I called that he was not in his

study, but I suppose in his drawing-room, and I could not be so cruel as

to keep him from the company of his beloved.

I called next upon Delile,[92] but as he was not in, I spent a long time

in looking over the Garden, noticing all the little details and

arrangements that it would be useful for me to know. On his return we

spent the remainder of the afternoon in looking over his plants

collected in America. I dined with him at six o’clock, and spent nearly

all the evening.... They have not water enough, however, to supply the

Botanic Garden sufficiently, which has a very barren soil, and in this

dry climate, where it seldom rains from this time till October, it

suffers greatly. The first view of this garden is very striking, but

upon a more careful observation I see less to admire. Still I learn some

thing from every garden I visit.

Previously to calling on Lady Bentham I had accepted an invitation to

dine this evening with Captain Gordon, a retired officer of the British

army residing here, a friend of the Bentham family, who, hearing from

Lady Bentham and Delile that I was soon expected here, called par hasard

at the Hôtel du Midi, to request that they would send him word when I

arrived. On finding me he insisted on my dining with him this evening. I

have this moment, while I was writing, received a note from Lady

Bentham, asking me to call on her this morning, saying she has a

collection of plants made by herself for her son George at some

interesting locality among the mountains, a set of which she is to have

ready for me, knowing, as she says, that George would surely offer them

to me. Although I had arranged my time a little differently, of course I

shall call immediately after breakfast. Lady B., who is now very aged,

is evidently a very superior woman; she is a very good botanist also,

therefore, as I do not know the plants of the south of Europe very well,

I am a little afraid of her.

Marseilles, April 25, Thursday evening.--I broke off my narrative on

Tuesday morning, two days ago. I must continue my brief account, and

then close my letters to send from this port. After breakfast, Captain

Gordon called on me, and we went together to Lady Bentham. We found his

dinner hour so late that we were obliged to give up the expectation of

returning to take tea with the ladies here. Delile joined us, and soon

after I went with him to see the museum of painting and sculpture,

which, by a curious circumstance, is the richest in France, except that

of Paris. There are not a few of originals of great masters; two or

three Raphaels; as many of Salvator Rosa, Rubens, Poussin, Carlo Dolci,

etc., many of which I know from engravings. We went next to the Medical

School, which occupies the former palace of the archbishop, who was

ousted at the time of the revolution. This is one of the oldest medical

schools, and for a long time very celebrated. It is declining now; they

have no professor of very great talent at present, except Lallemand. I

was shown the gallery of portraits of the professors from the

commencement almost, a prodigious number, and some of the old fellows

very queer to look at. I saw also the library, the collection of

manuscripts, classical, theological, a few Persian, Arabic, etc., which

fell into their hands some years ago.

Thence we went to the Garden, looked at plants, but did not get on very

much, Delile being fonder of telling long stories, complaining all the

while how much he is pressed by his avocations, than of working hard. I

then arranged my baggage, took a place in the diligence for Marseilles,

called again on Lady Bentham, to take leave; dined with Captain Gordon,

returned, and went to bed.

Rose on Wednesday (yesterday) morning at half past four; took diligence

at five, arrived at Nîmes at half past ten; had time to take another

survey of the Amphitheatre, the Maison Carrée, and so forth; took

breakfast at half past eleven; off again at twelve, passed in sight of

Beaucaire and Tarascon; crossed the Rhone, here a large river, near its

mouth at Arles, a curious old town which has nothing modern about it,

and thus was again in Provence. The court of Constantine the Great was

for several years at Arles, which was celebrated for its refinement, and

the women and children are said to be still handsome and graceful.

Certainly nearly all I saw, young or old, were comely, and many

handsome. They are all brunettes, and not a little sunburnt; but their

black hair, large dark eyes, and long eyelashes appear to advantage. We

were soon on the road again, traveled over an immense plain, bordered on

the north by a long ridge of mountains, composed of naked jagged

rocks,--a picturesque range, in fine contrast to the fertile plain from

which it abruptly rises. They are, I believe, the mountains of the

Durance. At length the plain became as barren as the mountains; night

came on, and rather late in the evening we reached Aix, took our

supper.... I slept pretty well, and when I awoke we were in sight of the

town and bay of Marseilles, the latter superb as seen from the elevated

place of our view; but the town did not present such an imposing view as

I had been taught to expect....

Genoa, April 27, 1839. Saturday evening.--I have just finished my

afternoon and evening stroll through this, to me, the first Italian

city: the birthplace of Columbus, the city of the Dorias, the rival and

even the conqueror of that other proud republic of the Middle Ages,

Venice, in remembrance of which, huge pieces of the chains which were

employed to bar the harbors of the latter city are suspended from the

gates of Genoa. We arrived in the bay before twelve o’clock to-day, and

during our gradual approach to the town enjoyed the view to the full;

both the distant view and the near are very fine,--equal, I may say, to

what I expected, which is saying a great deal. As seen from the bay it

certainly deserves the name its citizens long ago gave it,--Genoa the

Superb. You have the whole completely before you in one view, the

buildings rising one behind the other, the fortifications that overtop

the whole, with the vast mountain amphitheatre for a background.... You

are not much disturbed with the rattling of carriage wheels here. With

the exception of one street, and this a new one (Strada Nuova) at least

as to its present dimensions, they are barely wide enough for a

wheelbarrow, and mostly too steep for a carriage, even if they were

wider. The houses are very high; six, seven, or eight stories being very

common, indeed usual, so that the streets are mere chinks or crevices. I

found the same advantage from this in Avignon and the other towns of the

south of France, that is, the perfect protection afforded these warm

days from the heat of the sun. You are sure of shade; and the air is so

dry that none of the inconvenience and unhealthiness results which would

surely be the case in other countries. I am at the Hôtel des Etrangers,

not far from the quay, and my room, five or six stories high, looks down

upon the harbor and bay. It is nine o’clock in the evening. The light is

burning quietly in the light-house, a tall and very slender column at

the entrance of the harbor, forming a beacon which is visible far and

wide. I don’t know as I may say that

“The scene is more beautiful far to my eye

Than if day in her pride had arrayed it;”

but it is much softer. The evening gun has just been fired off from one

of the batteries next the sea, the signal, I suppose, for closing the

harbor, and the echo sent back by the hills on either side was

prolonged and repeated fainter and fainter for nearly a minute....

The coast at Marseilles and that I saw yesterday may be described in a

few words: bare, jagged, sterile, rocky mountains; scarcely high enough

to be picturesque, perfectly destitute of verdure, barely supporting

here and there a few stunted olive-trees. We passed Toulon and had a

distant view. We sailed between the mainland and the islands of Hyères,

so remarkable for their fine climate and healthfulness, but they did not

look very inviting to me.

When I rose this morning the scenery had become bolder and more

interesting. We were where the Alps first come down to the sea, and we

have since sailed along a coast so closely skirted by the Maritime Alps,

the chain which passing into Italy forms the Apeninnes, that there is

scarcely room to construct a road between. The loftier peaks, the whole

day, were covered with snow, in fine contrast with the gray and sterile

cliffs below and the dark blue sea which seems to lave their base, for

the Mediterranean has the deep azure tint of mid-ocean quite up to the

shore. There are many pretty villages also, which either seem hung on

the mountain’s side or to rise out of the water. In one place I counted

twelve in a single view, by no means a wide one. We passed Savona, the

town where the pope lived while Napoleon was master of Italy. Here the

hills are more fertile, and vines, olives, and oranges are cultivated

wherever room or soil enough to plant them can be found....

IN THE HARBOR OF LEGHORN, Monday evening, five o’clock.

I must tell you of the pretty view I had Saturday night. My room, I

think I mentioned, looked directly into the bay, and also gave me a

fine view of the western part of the town, the mountains of that side of

the bay, and peeping over them, the sharp crests of the Maritime Alps,

still white with snow, and looking rather like bright clouds than a

portion of terra firma.

While I was sleeping soundly, about two o’clock in the morning the moon

shone into the window directly into my face, and thinking it a pity I

should lose so fine a sight, she awoke me. She was near her full; she

hung in the middle of the bay at just the proper angle that the flood of

golden light she was pouring upon the tranquil sea was reflected

directly to my eyes. The city, too, looked beautiful indeed, and the

mountains, and even the Alps, were all visible. I enjoyed it for a long

time, and went to bed again regretting that I had no one to share the

scene with me.[93]

There is or was a British chapel here, belonging to the British embassy,

but I could find nothing of it, and so spent the Sabbath by myself,

which was as well perhaps. At seven in the evening our boat left, and I

was obliged to continue my voyage. I wrapped myself in my cloak and

slept soundly and quietly, and when we reached the harbor of Leghorn at

five o’clock awoke refreshed, vigorous, and in the finest spirits. I

obtained a light breakfast on board; at seven o’clock was ashore; in

five minutes more was in a cabriolet and on the road to Pisa, distant

from here fourteen Tuscan miles, which make, I should judge, about ten

English ones. My bargain was that I should be driven to Pisa in two

hours at farthest, have two hours and a half there, and be returned

again safe and sound before two o’clock. This was easily accomplished;

the journey being made in less than two hours, I had the more time

there, quite as much, indeed, as I wished. It is a great comfort to be

able to leave a place the moment you have done with it, and so avoid

being sated with it. I had a letter and a little parcel from Mirbel to

deliver to old Savi,[94] the professor of botany in the university; so I

was dropped at the door of the university, once so famous, but now far

from formidable. I found Savi, gave my letter, was introduced to his two

sons, the one professor of natural history, the other assistant

professor of botany, who showed me through the museum, which was

interesting, the botanic garden, which was not much; I then set out to

see the four chief lions, the Duomo or cathedral, the Baptistery, the

Campanile or famous leaning tower, and the Campo Santo, which all stand

near each other and are soon dispatched. In fact they are the separate

parts of a cathedral, the Campanile being, as the name denotes, the

bell-tower, and the Campo Santo the burial-place....

The vine in Tuscany is not kept close to the ground as in France, but is

trained in arbors and festoons along the borders of wheat-fields, and

when their leaves appear must add very much to the beauty of the

country. One here could sit under the shade of his vine, which would be

out of the question in France. But the boat is leaving the harbor. On

the right we can dimly discern the northern extremity of Corsica. Elba

we shall pass in the night, and sometime in the course of the morning be

landed in Civita Vecchia. I have made the acquaintance of an English

clergyman of warm piety, who is in ill health, who has been obliged to

reside for several years in Nice in the winter, and at Interlaken in

Switzerland in the summer, at both of which places he preaches

regularly. He has traveled in Greece, Turkey, and Asia Minor, and passed

much time with our missionaries there, of whom he speaks in the warmest

terms. His name is Hartley. We shall go on in company to Rome.

ROME, 1st May, 1839, Wednesday evening.

And I am indeed in Rome. This is enough to repay one for long and

tedious journeys and even for transient separation from friends, and

when I leave this place I feel as though my face was set homeward. I

feel it is something to be in Rome....

I distinctly recollect the time when, a very small boy, in the course of

a long ride with a relative, the story of Romulus and Remus was first

related to me, and how it struck my wondering fancy. And I recollect

most perfectly my first lesson in Virgil, and how, commencing with “Arma

virumque cano,” I slowly worked my way into the mysteries of Latin

prosody and the story of the Æneid. Little did I think in those days

that I should ever stand within the “walls of lofty Rome;”

“Should tread the Appian

Or climb the Palatine, and stand within those very walls

Where Virgil read aloud his tale divine.”

My enthusiasm has risen by degrees, for I arrived here this morning,

after a delay at that most wretched of all places, Civita Vecchia, where

an Austrian soldier, stationed there, told us he was sent as to a kind

of earthly purgatory to do penance for his sins; after being subjected

to those numberless petty exactions by which the purse of the pope is

replenished from the pockets of us poor Protestants, after tedious

delays on the road, and a most uncomfortable ride for the whole night,

which altogether is enough to put one in a bad humor with

everything,--after all this you may be sure I found myself in such a

prosaic care-for-nothing mood that it was a long time before I could

feel the interest which the Eternal City is calculated to inspire. A fog

in the morning prevented us from a good view on our approach; the

streets of the modern town through which we passed were mostly devoid of

interest, and we saw nothing but the dome of St. Peter’s and the Castle

of St. Angelo. However, we got established at the Hôtel d’Allemagne, and

took breakfast. Mr. Hartley, being worn out by the journey, took to his

room for the day, and I was left to myself. Though perfectly ignorant of

localities here, I was determined not to be deprived of the satisfaction

of discovering the most interesting places for myself. My guide-book

(Madame Starke) describes objects somewhat particularly, but gives no

information as to where they are to be found. I hate the chatter of a

cicerone, and felt confident that I should stumble upon something worth

seeing. So I climbed the hill just before me by a magnificent flight of

marble steps, where the Egyptian obelisk stands which the inscription

says was found in the Circus of Sallust. I saw an imposing building at

the end of a long avenue, on the summit of a rise which I afterwards

learned was the Esquiline Hill. On reaching it and examining the

interior I found by the guide-book that it was the Basilica of Santa

Maria Maggiore. These basilicas, retaining the name of ancient

structures, are a larger kind of churches, which were mostly

established upon the foundations of ancient temples, or they were these

temples themselves turned into churches....

As I emerged from the Coliseum I stood between the Palatine and the

Cælian Hills, the Arch of Constantine just before me, the Arch of Titus

in view on the right hand, and just beyond the Roman Forum, all crowded

with ruins; the very soil is mouldering brickwork and fragments of

columns. Here I spent the greater part of the morning, silent and

undisturbed, finding out by the description the ruins as they presented

themselves....

* * * * *

The journal is so long that most of the Italian, more especially the

Roman, journey must be omitted. Dr. Gray, as is shown, was a busy

sightseer, enjoying the historical and romantic associations with his

natural enthusiasm. Here began his great love of painting, of sculpture,

and of architecture; he carried the details of churches and cathedrals

in his memory remarkably, recognizing quickly a print or photograph of

something he had seen perhaps thirty years before; he had the memory for

form which helped him so much in his science. He was a good critic of

painting and enjoyed extremely his favorite pictures, liking to wander

off alone to enjoy them. Titian on the whole ranked highest in his

estimation. He enjoyed much of the old church music, though his

preference in music was for simple songs, hymns especially, and the old

tunes to which words had long been wedded. There are many quotations

from Byron and Rogers in the original journal. For Byron, with his

brilliant descriptions and versification, he always kept much feeling;

and his great love of natural scenery had full play.

TO MRS. TORREY.

LEGHORN, May 8.

Whenever I have an hour to spare I know of no pleasanter mode of

occupying it than by writing to you, for to you my thoughts, whenever

they are at rest, spontaneously revert. I have yet an hour before the

vetturino starts for Florence, and I may as well commence another sheet,

the first of a series which I may be unable to send you for several

weeks, as I here leave the Mediterranean, loveliest of seas, and except

I find an American ship on the Adriatic, which is not very probable, I

must keep them all until I reach Hamburg. I have just closed a

formidable packet of journal, to be sent from here in the ship Sarah and

Arsilia, which is to sail for New York next week....

I am very well satisfied with my visit to Rome. In the brief space of

time I spent there I saw everything I wished except the pope himself,

and I believe I had a glimpse of him; one statue of Michael Angelo’s,

which I only learned about when it was too late; the Catacombs, where

the early Christians used to conceal themselves, which are some miles

off; the monument of Cecilia Metella, which is not handsome, but is

immortalized by three or four singularly sweet stanzas in “Childe

Harold;” and the Basilica of St. Paul, which is some distance out of the

city, and was nearly destroyed by fire about ten years ago. This is a

very small list compared with what I have seen, so I am quite content. I

wish you could see Rome; there is so much that you would enjoy in the

highest degree, and it is laying up a fund to be enjoyed afterwards as

long as you live.

It is now just sunset, and the air is remarkably balmy,--a mild

sea-breeze, just enough to fan you. And let me tell you, however, as to

Italian skies and sunsets that they are not a bit superior to our own.

You may enjoy from your own parlor windows finer sunsets every clear day

in summer than I have yet seen in Italy; though they certainly are very

near ours. It is only to those who are accustomed to British clouds and

fogs that they are remarkable.

The peripatetic grinders of music upon hand-organs so common in all our

towns are usually Italians, and I supposed that street music here was of

much the same kind. This is a mistake. I have not seen such a thing in

Italy or the south of France. You have universally the harp, commonly

two players in concert, and very frequently a violin also for

accompaniment, and the music is always creditable. At Avignon, the very

land of troubadours, we were serenaded at dinner with a concert of

harps, guitars, etc., but when they called for the coppers we found,

shame to this degenerate age, that the troubadours were all women, and

of the most unromantic appearance possible. The patois of all this part

of France and of Piedmont, however, is the same as the language in which

the trouvères are written, and one who understands the patois as now

spoken can read the former without difficulty.

The Italian language, is very soft and musical, far more pleasant to the

ear than the deep nasal tones of the French.

JOURNAL.

FLORENCE, May 9, Thursday evening.

Finding little more that I could do to-day, I then called at the

residence of Mr. Sloane, a descendant of Sir Hans Sloane of famous

memory, who resides in the Bontrouline palace, and not finding him at

home left a note of introduction written by two ladies, Mrs. Boott and

Miss Boott, and also a letter intrusted to my care by Mirbel. I called

also at the Botanic Garden, but Mr. Targioni-Tozzetti[95] was not at

home, and the garden was of no great consequence. While at dinner Mr.

Sloane called to welcome me to Florence, and to take me out of the city

to the Campagna,--lawns and beautiful pleasure-grounds and groves

skirting the Arno for a mile or two, which are thrown open to the

public, forming the favorite drive or promenade. Almost the whole city

was there, and I never saw a more pleasant place. The roads were

thronged with carriages, from the barouche of the grand duke to the

peasant’s cart, all on terms of perfect equality. The grand duke passed

us twice. He mingles much with the people, is accessible to all, and is

greatly beloved. The government, though despotic, is paternal, the

people are not burdened with taxes, and are contented and industrious.

The difference between Tuscany and the Papal States is manifest enough.

But I must hasten with my narrative. Early the next morning, Friday, I

called on Mr. Sloane, looked at his garden, where he has many fine

things. We then crossed the Arno to the other side of the town, called

on Professor Amici,[96] who removed here from Modena a few years since,

and has charge of the grand duke’s observatory. He was very obliging,

showed me his microscopes, which he thinks unrivaled, but I don’t, and

then the observatory, where I saw all the instruments, peeped through

his telescope, and from the top of the tower had a most beautiful

panoramic view of Florence and the surrounding country. We then passed

through the museum of natural history, which is in the same building,

and is prettily arranged; saw the famous flowers and fruits done in wax,

but not the figures which represent the Plague, which were in the

anatomical museum adjoining, and which I did not care to see. In the

collection were some recent models made under Amici’s superintendence to

illustrate his discoveries, etc. They were wonderfully fine, and would

be useful in a class-room. Amici is a good observer with the microscope,

but his anatomical or physiological notions are in some cases very wide

of the mark, and quite surprised me.

On leaving, Mr. Sloane and myself separated, he going to fulfill some

engagement, and I to the Palazzo Pitti, as it is still called from the

founder, though it early passed into the hands of the Medici family, who

finished it, and now it is the ducal residence. I must tell you, by the

way, that I should have seen a remarkable person in Florence, had she

not been sick. Sloane is very intimate with her and wished me to see

her; she is the ex-queen of Naples, the widow of Murat and the sister of

Napoleon....

On returning to the hotel, however, I learned that I could not get a

place with the courier next day, that the diligence which left at

mid-day did not arrive at Bologna until Sunday afternoon, so I engaged a

cabriolet, to start with me after dinner, arranged my affairs, called on

Mr. Sloane to bid him an unexpected adieu, dined at the table d’hôte at

five, and at dark I was climbing the outskirts of the Apennines.

I would have liked to call upon our sculptor Greenough[97] to see how

the statue of Washington is coming on, but had not time.

At sunrise I was on the mountain-summits, among the clouds, which a

strong wind for a moment blew aside, and gave me some magnificent views.

We journeyed for some hours in this elevated region, but at length

crossed the Tuscan frontier and were once more in the country of his

Holiness. Just as we commenced our descent, which is very abrupt, a

dense fog enveloped us and it began to rain; in consequence of this I

lost the view which you often have of the Adriatic and the Mediterranean

at the same time, as well as the plains of the Po on the north. This was

the first rain I encountered, excepting a few drops at Rome, since I

left Lyons; so you may judge of the dryness of the climate in the south

of France and Italy. It is very different, however, near the mountains.

At length, after a long and rapid descent, we arrived at the foot of the

mountain, and stopped at a comfortable inn to take our dinner and

breakfast at once, it being about two o’clock. Several carriages were

there before us, and just before I left another arrived, bringing with

it a most genuine Yankee, who amused me excessively. It seems that he

came out in the Great Western, a few weeks ago, had seen what he thought

worth seeing in London and Paris, had been even to Naples, and was now

on his way from Rome to Switzerland, and expected to reach London to

return by steamship in--I forget how many days! But the feat upon which

he prided himself above all was that he had ascended Vesuvius and come

back again in--I don’t remember precisely how many minutes, but in an

inconceivably short space of time, and very much quicker than had ever

been done before! to the great wonderment of the guides, as he said, and

as I do not doubt. This was his chef d’œuvre, and I assure you he felt

quite proud of it. I laughed most heartily at the absurdity of the

thing, until I reflected how rapidly I had been doing the sights myself,

and felt I might justly come in for a share of the ridicule. In this

day’s journey I think I outdid the Yankee, for, arriving at Bologna

about five o’clock, I immediately made arrangements for going on to

Ferrara the same night, and this accomplished, I had but two or three

hours to spend at Bologna, a city famous for its university and its

sausages; the former decayed almost to nothing, the latter still in

great demand, diffusing their abominable garlic odor from every table. I

visited all the large churches, took some coffee, and before nine

o’clock was on my way through the vast plain watered by the Po, which,

like most large rivers, branches near its mouth into several streams.

The lad who drove me did not know the road very well, and lost his way

several times, so that instead of arriving before daybreak it was six

o’clock in the morning when we entered Ferrara. Indeed he came near

losing his horse as well as the road, for while I was sleeping soundly

in the carriage I was roused by a prodigious clatter, and jumping out as

quick as I could, found that he had driven into a heap of rough stones

deposited to mend the road; the horse had slipped and was lying flat

upon his back in the bottom of the ditch. With much ado we liberated him

from the carriage and lifted him out of the ditch, repaired the injury

to the harness as well as we could with bits of rope, and were again on

our way. I have wondered since how I could ride thus through the night,

with only a boy with me, through a country which some years ago would

not have been deemed safe. But I felt not the slightest alarm, and slept

as soundly as possible.

Ferrara is famous for possessing the tomb and chair of Ariosto, but

except this is as uninteresting as you can imagine. It was Sunday, and I

spent the day within doors as well as I could.

By making a very early ride I succeeded in reaching Padua at ten o’clock

this morning; visited the university so famed of old, the churches, the

splendid Caffè Pedrocchi, the Botanic Garden,--the most ancient in

Italy, of which Alpinius, the elder and the younger, and Pontedera were

the directors. It is under the care of Visiani,[98] to whom I brought a

letter from Bentham, and who politely showed me all I wished to see. The

university is a queer old place indeed, and the lecture-rooms the most

dark, gloomy, and incommodious places you can conceive; everything is as

old as the fifteenth century. I wish I could describe the anatomical

theatre, which is the most curious specimen of antiquity I have seen.

The Museum of Natural History is so-so. There is still a goodly number

of students, but nothing to what there was in the olden time. The Duomo

is a small affair, but the church of St. Antonio is like a mosque, the

most Saracenic building I ever saw,--with its seven or eight

balloon-shaped domes of various sizes, and three or four tall and

slender minarets. I am sorry I can’t get a decent print of it. The

interior is noble, and very rich in tombs and shrines and sculptures.

Here are tombs of many of the old professors. The church of St.

Augustine is in the same style, and not much inferior.... There is very

much that I wish to write, but I have not the time nor the strength to

write longer, and must sleep. To understand the full luxury of a bed you

should sleep without one, as I have done very often of late. Good-night.

VENICE, on board steamboat for Triest, lying at anchor,

Wednesday evening, May 15, 1839.

For nearly two days I have been “a looker-on in Venice,” a strange

place, as unlike any other city of Europe as can be, unless

Constantinople resemble it in some respects. It is more like some place

you visit in dreams, some creation of fancy, than a real, earthly city,

if it can be called earthly which scarcely stands upon earth.

We left Padua at five o’clock in the morning, yesterday, by the

diligence, passing along the banks of a canal, bordered with numerous

villas; all of them had been fine, some very magnificent, but they are

now decaying. The clouds prevented me from obtaining a view of the

Rhætian Alps, which bound the view on the north, but I hope to make up

for this to-morrow, which will give me some amends for our detention

here; for you must know that the steamboat was to have left at nine

o’clock this evening, and I expected to have been in Triest this

morning; but the day has been stormy, and the water is a little rough,

so, forsooth, the boat is to remain until morning; but as it is to start

early, I have remained on board, where I have a comfortable place to

sleep, and a quiet hour to write.

Oh, I wish you could see Venice!--and the dear girls--whenever I see

anything particularly queer, I think of them at once, and wish for them

to enjoy it with me. And here everything is strange, canals for

streets, gondolas for coaches; not a horse to be seen in the city,

except the celebrated bronze gilt steeds of St. Mark; palaces of

barbaric magnificence, splendid churches; people of all nations and

tongues, Christians, Turks, and Jews. Surely there is nothing like it.

The view from Fusina, on the mainland, which was the first I obtained,

was charming....

You will wonder at the comparison, but the distant view of Venice

reminded me strongly of New York, as you approach from Amboy. The

gondola that brought us stopped in the Grand Canal near the Rialto, or

rather the bridge of the Rialto, for the name properly belongs to the

island; and in crossing this bridge during the day, I found some of the

little shops still occupied by money-changers, and I saw more than one

hard Jewish countenance that might sit for the picture of Shylock. This

part of the town is unpleasant, although the canals are lined with what

were once stately palaces, which now look as if about to sink again into

the water. While on my way to a hotel, I came abruptly upon a view that

seemed like enchantment: the Piazza of St. Mark, a large quadrangle,

three sides inclosed by a magnificent range like the Palais Royal; on

the fourth, the church of St. Mark, and adjoining it the Palace of the

Doges, scarcely less magnificent, and in an equally Oriental style. In

front is the Campanile, taller than that of Florence, but not handsome.

As you turn out of the quadrangle in full front of the palace, you see

the two granite columns, one of them surmounted with the winged lion;

and you stand on the mole, with the most superb view of sea and city,

shipping, churches and palaces, before and around you. I never expect

again to see anything like it. I have walked over this ground again;

and one is never wearied with the sight.... The street musicians here

are very good. A party stops at the door of the café: a man with a

violin, his wife and son each with a guitar, and they perform several

airs exceedingly well, the woman sometimes accompanying with her voice.

She enters the café with the little wooden cup in her hand, and is well

satisfied with a kreutzer (about half a cent) from those who choose to

give, and a sweet “grazia” in the softest Italian expresses her thanks.

There is one café here frequented almost exclusively by Turks, who sit

smoking their large pipes with such an air of ridiculous gravity. Their

turbans or the red caps they often wear, their flowing robes and their

nether garments, which are something between pantaloons and petticoats,

are very queer....

I spare you a detailed account of my movements to-day and yesterday, of

the fine churches, enough to furnish cathedrals to half a dozen cities,

of the arsenal, its ship-yard, the antique lions, the public garden, the

Armenian convent, the gondolas and my rides therein. I have enjoyed it

greatly, and have laid up a stock for future enjoyment, for I shall read

hereafter of Venice with greater interest. One who travels as rapidly as

I do, if he would enjoy the full benefit of his journey, should know

almost everything before he leaves home. The true way for those who have

time and means sufficient is to study the history of each place on the

spot with all its monuments and relics around them. So more might be

learned in one month than in a year at home. If I had what I am not

likely to have,--a family of children to bring up, money sufficient for

the purpose, and no other duties to prevent, I think I would educate

them in this peripatetic way. But now to bed.

Thursday evening, May 16.... We are to start at nine o’clock. The rain

is over, but it is still cloudy. I have been for some days in Austrian

dominions, but I wish to be in Austria itself. It cleared up a little

just at sunset, and gave, me from the deck of the vessel, a most

beautiful view of the town and harbor, with hundreds of gondolas gliding

swiftly through the water in every direction....

TRIEST, Saturday evening, May 18, 1839.

As misfortunes never come single, I found this morning that our places

were not secured in the mail-coach for Monday. The fellow who was to

arrange the business found, after getting our passports in order, that

there was only one place left, and supposing that we were certainly to

go together, did not secure that. It was immediately arranged between us

that I was to have the place, but on arriving at the office I had the

mortification to find it already taken. For an hour or so we made

various plans, negotiated with a vetturino, but were stopped by the

information we received, that they would be five days on the road to

Gratz, from where to Vienna it would require at least two days more by

the same kind of conveyance, or twenty-seven hours in the mail-coach if

we could get a place in it. We found that the quickest way left for us

was to take places for Tuesday by the mail, and go on Monday by a

private conveyance to Adelsberg, as we had intended, where we shall have

a day longer than we desire; and these places we were fortunate enough

to secure. So I cannot expect to reach Vienna before Friday morning of

next week! I had hoped to reach that place by the twentieth.

It rained hard all the morning, so that botanizing was out of the

question. So I put my collection of yesterday in press; visited

Biasoletto,[99] and after dinner met Tommasini,[100] who has given me a

very pretty collection of plants of the country....

VIENNA, 24th May, Friday evening.