spot this is! We are making a little sojourn of a week “in the beautiful
valley.” The Staubach is shimmering its long, filmy length in the
sunlight to my right: the Jungfrau lifting just opposite its sun-struck
dazzle of snow, and beautiful as she is reported, which cannot be said
of all Jungfraus. The village is prettily scattered along the glacier
stream “tearing like mad” through the depths of the valley; mountains
hem it in, some snow-covered the year round; others, bare rock; lower
ones are covered with trees and grass. Many show only precipitous walls,
down which tumble and foam countless cascades. One long, wide reach of
the mountain side is a vast meadow, here and there broken into knolls
outlined by rows of trees, but the meadow part is mantled with the
velvetiest green eyes ever fastened upon, and it is all dotted with
little huts and barns, the lower half white and the upper, the richest
reddish brown, under its roof of the same hue projecting into the deep
eaves, we know so well from our ornamental “Swiss châlets.” Nothing
could be lovelier or more unique and picturesque. I have seen nothing
equal to it, anywhere else. Words cannot picture it, and I do not
believe any artist could paint it.
L. G. C.
Lauterbrunnen, July 29, 1886.
[Illustration]
ON THE NILE.
You will have to take jostle instead of penmanship; but I have a
comforting conviction that will be preferred to nothing at all,
especially as I am giving you my best.
This is my third day’s steaming up the Nile. The most enthusiastic
tourists consider this prosaic in the extreme, and that the _dahabeah_
is the only method by which to take the Nile. As for me--is it my
accumulating years, I wonder?--I am more than content to be prosaic. We
are about 125 or 130 miles from Cairo. Such a strange, kaleidoscopic,
fascinating experience as this is! I think I have quite lost my head. I
am totally unequal to putting it into words. But I shall try to toss you
bits of it--Esterhazy scattering diamonds as he passes, if you choose!
First, the thrilling episode. We steamed away from Marseilles “in the
teeth of a storm,” which rapidly grew into such violence even Miss B----
got to her prayers. For myself, I was in my berth, too sick--_i. e._,
dizzy--to care for anything. A tremendous wave burst through my door,
flooding everything; the floor looked the very sea itself. I could lift
my head only long enough to ask if the door was gone.
This was a dangerous storm indeed. No vessel left Marseilles for two
days after ours on account of it. But we weathered it, and lived to
enjoy the beautiful Mediterranean, the exceeding wonder of its blueness
and its lovely sunrises and sunsets. Also, we made acquaintance with
many pleasant fellow-passengers, and Miss B----, as is her wont, had a
lively flirtation with a distinguished fellow-citizen from the Hub, now
an appointee of government at Alexandria, “an associate justice of
international law,” or something like it.
We had a day at Alexandria. Saw one of the “seven wonders” it boasts
of--the Pharos, Pompey’s Pillar, the Serapeum, some of its bazaars, and
had two charming drives to its famous quais and one garden. Everywhere
all the phases of oriental life greeted us. Anything more exciting is
inconceivable. Any enumeration would be absurd, as you know just what
they must have been.
At dark the judge saw us off and looked a “Melancholy Jaques” indeed, as
my detective eyes saw his parting pressure of Miss B----’s hand.
We came by train to Cairo. Such a charming young Englishman sat beside
me, a naval officer. We fell into the friendliest talk at once, and kept
it up until I was breathless. I saw him once again. We shook hands and
parted. I do not know his name, but I shall remember him forever. I have
come to think young English naval officers a class set apart; for at
supper, on reaching the hotel, another sat beside me, and we talked till
both forgot to “do justice to the fare before us.” _We_ met several
times, and I have the most precious little good-by note which I shall
never part with. At the second interview we merrily introduced each to
the other. Do you know it makes my heart sore to think we shall never
meet again?
The above is proof that after all the living human interest is
paramount. The Cairo life into which I plunged, or maybe it swallowed me
up, did not dim the tenderness of this experience.
At the Pyramids I would have written to you, but I found myself in the
hands of the Philistines--Beduoins, and never did I enjoy anything
more. Beyond all the wonder, sublimity of feeling and unutterable
admiration for them, the Pyramids, another of the seven--came a curious
thrill of bond and blood that made me sit down with and walk about with,
“that throng of importunate vendors of spurious antiques,” and try to
get at them. Shrewd, amiable, bright, ready, handsome, picturesque-looking
fellows--we were soon on the best of terms. We _gripped_ hands at
parting. No, the devil is not as black as he is painted! They made Miss
B--- nervous. But I hope I shall see them again.
Also we saw the lone pillar at Heliopolis, a garden in which is the
“Virgin’s tree”--I have leaves and a ball from it; it is a sycamore--an
_ostrich garden_ with 600 of the bare-legged bypeds strutting round and
now and then flapping their $300 apiece matchless feathers. The Museum,
where mummies “are a drug,” and genuine scarabea too, but you could not
buy one of them for “a mint of money.” The island of Rhoda, where
Pharaoh’s daughter picked up Moses. The indescribable mosques, tombs of
the Khalifs, Bachas and Marmelukes, and just a thousand or more wonders
that seemed to have been handed down from the “Arabian Nights.” Camels,
donkeys, turbaned Turks, Nubians blacker than night, veiled women--I can
more easily tell you what was not than what was there. I am only sorry I
cannot go back and stay “ever so long.” Six days--that is only an
aggravation!
The steamer lands at every point of interest, and arrangements are made
for us to see them. Donkeys and camels where too far to walk. We went on
donkeys to see the site of Memphis, Tombs of Apis and the Serapum, etc.
My donkey and its little sixteen year old driver were jewels. The first
was as well gaited as any horse, and the latter was proud to show him
off--too proud to take any account of his own sixteen mile trot. All we
saw at Memphis was the site of some fragments of statues and temples.
The shifting sands sometimes bury it from sight; sometimes, but rarely,
leave a little bare. The tombs are in splendid order for seeing; long
avenues, the floor a perfect level, and everybody carrying a candle. You
can fancy how unique and beautiful the flitting glimmer of the moving
throng--now peering into the dark recesses in which are the great,
massive tombs, or again running their lights along the walls to see the
exquisite picture stones, or gathering in groups to discuss them. But
oh! how I wish all I care for could see with their own eyes!
As we glide along, we see many characteristic features of this “twelve
miles wide” strip of wonderland. Long trains of camels; Bedouin
encampments; stately fellows in white turbans and flowing draperies,
sweeping past on their fleet steeds; vast green fields; mud towns and
villages; the tall, beautiful palms in groves and avenues; sugar
plantations, with their stacked canes and great factories; long tongues
of sand fringed with pelicans; flocks of herons winging their way in the
blue sky; and--there is the luncheon gong!
After that interesting collation, how tiresome eating is! I wish we
could live on air, perfume of flowers, sunbeams and the like. Everybody
nearly is English, and they come out strong as trenchermen and women.
One, Canon Farrer, not _the_ canon of Westminster, eats and drinks
to--well, it is none of my business. I need see nothing. I do not wish
to. The “guests” of this steamer number ex-members of Parliament and
their families, canons, curates, and plenty of people with “handles to
their names;” but they are not specially interesting. Mr. Cook owns
these steamers and is himself aboard--a large, rather fine-looking man,
but far from being a model of deportment; simply seems quite deficient
in good manners.
The river, the land, the people, the animals, the ruins and their
history, and legends with books, books forever! furnish my daily food.
But I like companionship, and if the whole truth must be told prefer
that of some really “splendid man” to this of my own sex. One can live
too much in books, I fear. Do not they unfit for
“Living in common ways with
Common men?”
But why should I complain of anything under the sun?
Well, good-bye.
L. G. C.
On the Nile, December 30, 1886.
[Illustration]
EGYPT (FROM PARIS).
Nothing like agreeable surprises, is there? I ought to be on the broad
Atlantic, but am not. Let Miss B---- go without me several days ago. I
am going to linger here for several weeks longer. There is the woman for
you! I wonder if I can go back to where I left off. What did I tell you?
I wish I could recall. But don’t you call my young naval officers
“infernal.” I cannot allow that. If only you could have seen and known
them, you would go down on your knees to take that back. You cannot even
know how sore it makes my heart to think I shall never see them again.
Ah! woe is me!
No, I did not, “of course, take a run over to Jerusalem.” Yet two more
weeks would have accomplished that. The other two, Miss B---- and her
friend, would not even consider it. I could not go alone. But indeed
Egypt was enough, had we only stayed long enough. What we had was for me
that “first taste of blood that makes the tiger.” Did I not tell you I
had found out what it was to be a “lotus-eater?”
No need of anything but sitting still to be borne by that invisible,
noiseless steam-power up and down the Nile--that wonderful, mysterious,
enchanted stream. How its waters--your warning came too late; I had
already quaffed deep and long of it--thank the Lord if that take me
back!--slipped away from beneath us; how the banks studded here with its
picture-villages built of mud, there with groves of stately palm trees,
or yonder with some famous ruins, sped by carrying the enraptured gaze
with them into the distances that dimmed and melted into the sky; how
the unfolding scenes ahead won it after a time of dreams, revery,
ecstasy, to behold great hills gliding towards us with lengthening
chains of grottoes hewed out of their solid rock, and wrought and carved
into stately monuments for dead kings or their mighty subjects; how the
day wore on to sunsets of inexpressible glory, succeeded by intervals of
curious grey, and then--the sudden afterglow that made sky, air, water
and earth an ethereal commingling of “all the tints that in the colors
of the rainbow live and play in the plighted clouds!” Ah! mere existence
there was bliss, more than akin, beyond that of lotus-eating. But alas!
how to give you any idea of it!
There was a comical side, or else I must have become a slave to the
enchantment of such a life. The contact with the natives. They came in
swarms the moment the steamer landed, to beg if there was no excursion;
with their donkeys to act as “guides” if there was. Here is an instance:
We were to go to the rock tombs of Beni-Hassan. At seven in the morning,
behold me mounted on a miserable little scrap of a donkey, for which my
English saddle even more than myself was a world too large. The road
varied from sharp inclines to steep ascents. How was I to stick to my
steed, was scarcely queried before I found myself clasped in the dirty
arms of my tall Arab and firmly pinioned. No use to squirm. That only
made him tighten his embrace. My only comfort was seeing all my sisters
in the same plight. I do not know what I did not dread; but certainly
hosts to which your Holy Land of “f----s” would have been welcome
guests. Once at the tombs, I forgot my terrors. Spacious chambers
hollowed out of the solid rock, with ceiling and walls decorated with
biographical paintings; all the details of the history of the life of
the occupant. And in front those magnificent columns “that have preceded
our era, notwithstanding their Doric appearance, by some 3,000 years,”
says Mariette Bey. They _are_ perfect Doric style, and imposing as
magnificent. One of the pictures is that of a body of emigrants, “the
most ancient-known example of the hordes attracted by the proverbial
fertility of Egypt.” Its date is 4,800 years ago. Three days and a half
at Luxor and Karnak and Thebes. Temples, kings, tombs, palaces,
Colossi-obelisks, all carved in intaglios and reliefs, and covered with
those brilliant paintings that defy time, weather, everything but the
profaning hand of man. I rode to melodious Memnon on a donkey _in a
shower_. Rain in Egypt! And it was afternoon! Bah! how I detest doing
the right thing at the wrong time. I thought of you and the letter I
meant to have written on that lofty knee. I had my music, though!
All the way to the limit of my trip, Assuan, “ancient Syene,” there was
repetition of landings, donkeys, guides, rides and ruins. I never tired.
Each had its special attractions. I lived in a daze. Ah! I wish every
time I think of them to be back and doing it all over and over again.
Yes, when I come, you _must_ listen and _look_. For I shall have
pictures to help me tell their story--those beautiful, sublime monuments
of a mighty people and civilization, vanished from the face of the earth
these thousands of years ago.
I am growing eager to see that “Venture on the Sea of Literature.” Have
I told you I like the title amazingly? I shall be astonished and
disgusted if it is not a happy hit. It shall be! Those--
Your friend,
L. G. C.
Paris, February 10, 1883.
[Illustration]
CUBA.
Yes, I went to Cuba, and it was a ravishing experience. Not quite an
Eden, but so near to being! There was not an American (_i. e._, a
Yankee) of us all who did not fully believe it _would be_, once “Uncle
Sam” held it in his sturdy grip. To the last man and woman and the best,
we defiantly broke the commandment and coveted our neighbor’s possession
with our whole hearts. It is the most unreal reality, the most
dream-like substantiality, the most vision-like, sure-enough scrap of
earth imaginable. I feared to shut my eyes, lest on opening them it
would have vanished. It looked as magical an isle as that. Oh--h! Just
writing about it makes me catch my breath and widen my eyes to get it
all back again.
The unspeakable splendors of its tropical vegetation--not only avenues
and groves of “lofty palm trees,” but vast forests of them; not only
“lofty palm trees,” but countless others, gorgeous in a burst of bloom
without foliage--not a suspicion of green mingled with that blaze of
richest rose, scarlet, purple or white, as it happened to be; not trees
only, but clambering vines, all aflower with such lily bells as made me
rub my eyes to make sure there was no illusion; and oh! such vistas and
vistas of “the wonders of creation” as made me marvel what surpassing
them could be possible in any other sphere!
I wish you could have seen the sunrise as we steamed into the harbor of
Havana, the city itself seeming to rise out of the water like “beautiful
Venice,” and like it, fashioned by the cunningest conjury out of
sunbeams, the colors of the rainbow, the ethereal elements of the blue
empyrean, the crystalline layers of the atmosphere, the tints of time
and the films of earth! Yes, and have stood, as I stood later, on the
ramparts of the fort, taking in such a spectacle of “the kingdoms of
this earth” as swept me into thinking it almost equaled that of the
Great Temptation on the Mount!
I am forgetting to tell you of the trip. We took the steamer Niagara at
St. Augustine. It was fresh and clean and very comfortable. Among our
fellow-travelers were several who proved very companionable and
courteous. The weather was bright, mild, delightful. There were several
young Cubans, quite attractive in appearance.
Next morning I rose early and went on deck in time for the sunrise. It
was wonderful. The “First Officer” said, “It is a rare sunrise,” which
made me more than thankful to see it. After breakfast, I stayed on deck
to see the gulf sights. Saw jelly-fish in great numbers; they looked
like fungi. The coast of Florida was in sight all the time; also an
occasional vessel, ship or steamer. At night, Cape Farewell light-house,
the long wake of gleaming, flashing phosphorescent waves; Orion, in all
his glory overhead, and the stars more brilliant than I had ever seen
them. Remained up so late did not undress, as I wished to be on deck
again at the earliest possible hour. At 5:30 the moon was in its last
quarter; the sky a lovely glow. Just as the sun rose above the horizon,
we were steaming into port. The spectacle was indescribably beautiful
and unique. Fort Morro Castle, on its not high bluff, the circular sweep
of the shore line, the city as it were rising out of the water, with its
buildings so varied in size, style and color; the harbor filled with
shipping and innumerable little craft shooting hither and thither, and
the dazzling sunlight firing it all into a glory no words could catch!
We were quickly passed into a rude kind of gondola, and skimmed over the
liquid interval between the steamer and quai.
What a medley of fellow-beings awaited us on landing! What a jargon of
sounds! Everything so new and strange to us. A procession of cabs and
victorias bore us our several ways. We went to Hotel Quinta Menida, kept
by a young fellow-countryman in conjunction with some Cubans. The
building is in the Moresque style, round a triangular court, arcades on
this court to two stories. The entrance on the ground floor is under an
arcade that goes round the entire exterior, into a lofty vestibule like
those seen all over Europe. This ground floor is paved with great slabs
of stone! the stairways and all the other floors with white marble. The
ceilings are from eighteen to twenty feet high. Windows and doors are
also very high and broad. On the halls there are double doors, a massive
inside one, and a glazed outside one of half its height. This is for
ventilation and privacy. The same massive doors open on the balconies
with which every room is provided and the outer with marble slats, for
adjusting the light. The two middle panes of the inner doors are on
hinges, making them movable for the same purpose. There are no glass
windows such as we have, but there are transoms in ornamental devices of
stained glass, generally white and blue. The house has three stories,
and a flat roof with a balustrade that can be used for promenading or
sitting. The laundry is on one corner, and Chinese, blacks, children and
dogs seem to be perfectly at home there. The view was fine and
extensive.
We went over the whole edifice, peering into the rooms, corridors, etc.,
getting that “first _lasting_ impression.” The parlor is an immense
room, furnished peculiarly, one-half being in cane seat, sofas and
chairs placed in the wall! Rows of flowers all around; a central rug,
with a geometrical square of rocking chairs inclosing it, and a table in
the center. In the exact center of the spacious room, another table,
with a fixed number of chairs packed up close to it. On the opposite
side, the same arrangement is reproduced in upholstered furniture,
covered with white Holland. From the ceiling depended chandeliers and
brackets of tropical blooms and vines, while the side walls were covered
with great mirrors. The entire interior is white. As a room, it is
certainly unique. I have never seen anything like it. The arcades on
this parlor floor are full of small tables, where the meals are served,
of which there are two, breakfast at 9 a. m. and dinner at 6 p. m. The
dishes are the same for both, except the addition of soup for dinner.
Oranges caught on a fork and peeled--it takes both practice and skill to
accomplish this--are sucked, the pulp not being swallowed. Fried
plantains are a disappointment, tasting as if they had soured before or
in the process of cooking. A small panfish is exceedingly delicate and
appetizing, and a very petite banana is delicious. Coffee is only
tolerable. Can any anywhere compare with our own “home coffee?” Ice is
manufactured and the supply is abundant.
One of the first things to do was to take an orientation drive. The
temperature was perfect; a breeze, just warm enough, just cool enough,
blowing steadily. The sky was tinted in pinks, green and gold. The city
seemed an enchanted one. I half feared to close my eyes, lest it would
vanish. The houses had caught the sky tints, being “in all the colors of
the rainbow;” are painted so. The most of them are but one story or two
stories. Arcades are the rule, some with columns of different color from
the house. The windows, almost without exception, are unglazed, having
instead a light iron grating. This is a most singular and curious
feature. The inmates chat through them with friends on the outside,
looking as if in prison. Mischievous or “venturesome” urchins clamber up
and cling to the inside like birds in a cage. The Prado, quite recently
laid out, and many of the squares, are beautiful and light up
brilliantly in the very superior quality of gas. The streets were not
thronged, as I expected them to be. There was a glorious “afterglow,”
which gave us as long a drive as we wished. I got up at 2 a. m. to look
for the Southern Cross, that same “First Officer” having told me it did
not rise till after midnight. I saw it, to my great gratification. This
was the second time. The first time was on the Nile.
One morning, we went out early “to go to market,” this being “a thing to
do” in all cities of note. The walk was short, leading past one of the
public squares, with few trees, but pleasant looking. There was a most
miscellaneous crowd of people and “beasts of burden.” Horses (very
small) and donkeys with immense panniers filled with every conceivable
product and commodity; _tows_ of them fastened to each other by their
tails, and so covered up with their burdens only their feet were
visible. Fancy the spectacle. The women were of the common and lowest
classes, dark-yellow and black in color, wearing no bonnets, of course,
but only some light veil over the head. Very few of either men or women
looked clean. The market building was a large structure, well lighted,
and exhibiting every known vegetable as well as all the delicious
tropical fruits.
I had an experience worth chronicling. My watch was in its little
outside breast-pocket attached by pin and chain, but in full view. A
fine, open-countenanced man at one of the stalls touched me gently on my
arm and warned me to put it out of sight. This was done in pantomine, as
he spoke no English and I no Spanish, but was as “plain as words could
say it.” I never felt or gave warmer thanks. The dirt and odors soon
became unbearable, and we returned to our hotel just in time for
breakfast.
We tried a shopping expedition with some other ladies and an
interpreter--a very pretty Cuban--but it was not a success. Saw nothing
characteristic but the mode of shopping. The goods were brought to our
carriages and shown to us by the interpreter and a clerk.
One afternoon we went to the Cathedral; it was grey and rather
picturesque, but what we wished to see was not shown, so we soon left.
Thence we drove to the Gov.-General’s country-seat to see its noted
garden, which went beyond expectation. We walked through avenues of
stately palms, and saw tropical trees in bloom of which we had never
read or heard. One, the Carolinas, had fringe-like tassels of blossoms
in Magenta color, graduated from very deep to the faintest tint. The
threadlike fringe was tipped with the deepest red and gold. This was one
of those “without foliage or a suspicion of green.” The house is
unpretending indeed, and the grounds only fairly kept up. Brought away
several flowers and pressed them.
After our 6 o’clock dinner and a short reunion in the parlor, a party of
us went to one of the most frequented of the public squares to hear the
band and watch the crowd. The party consisted of a German gentleman from
Chicago, of political and journal prominence, a Catholic priest from New
England--his tongue shot with such arrows of wit and flashes of
eloquence one could hardly keep back a “hurra! for old Ireland!” and
two ladies beside myself. I fell to the care of the priest, and made
merry over having a priest for a cavalier, as I took his arm. But indeed
it was a curious experience.