GREECE AND OTHER LANDS
1867; _aet._ 48
OUR COUNTRY
On primal rocks she wrote her name,
Her towers were reared on holy graves;
The golden seed that bore her came
Swift-winged with prayer o'er ocean waves.
The Forest bowed his solemn crest,
And open flung his sylvan doors;
Meek Rivers led the appointed Guest
To clasp the wide-embracing shores;
Till, fold by fold, the broidered Land
To swell her virgin vestments grew,
While Sages, strong in heart and hand,
Her virtue's fiery girdle drew.
O Exile of the wrath of Kings!
O Pilgrim Ark of Liberty!
The refuge of divinest things,
Their record must abide in thee.
First in the glories of thy front
Let the crown jewel Truth be found;
Thy right hand fling with generous wont
Love's happy chain to farthest bound.
Let Justice with the faultless scales
Hold fast the worship of thy sons,
Thy commerce spread her shining sails
Where no dark tide of rapine runs.
So link thy ways to those of God,
So follow firm the heavenly laws,
That stars may greet thee, warrior-browed,
And storm-sped angels hail thy cause.
O Land, the measure of our prayers,
Hope of the world, in grief and wrong!
Be thine the blessing of the years,
The gift of faith, the crown of song.
J. W. H.
In January, 1867, a new note is sounded.
"In the evening attended meeting in behalf of Crete, at which Chev
presided and spoke. Excellent as to matter, but always with a defective
elocution, not sending his voice out. He was much and deservedly
glorified by other speakers, and, indeed, his appearance on this
occasion was most touching and interesting. Phillips was very fine;
Huntington was careful, polished, and interesting. Andrew read the
resolutions, with a splendid compliment to Chev."
Some months before this, in August, 1866, the Cretans had risen against
their Turkish oppressors, and made a valiant struggle for freedom. From
the first the Doctor had been deeply interested in the insurrection:
now, as reports came of the sufferings of the brave mountaineers, and of
their women and children, who had been sent to the mainland for safety,
he felt impelled to help them as he had helped their fathers forty years
before.
He was sixty-six years old, but looked much younger. When, at the first
meeting called by him, he rose and said, "Forty-five years ago I was
much interested in the Greek Revolution," the audience was amazed. His
hair was but lightly touched with silver; his eyes were as bright, his
figure as erect and martial, as when, in 1826, he had fought and marched
under the Greek banner, and slept under the Greek stars, wrapped in his
shaggy capote.
His appeal in behalf of Crete roused the ever-generous heart of Boston.
Committees were formed, and other meetings were held, among them that
just described. Governor Andrew's "splendid compliment" to him was given
thus:--
"I venture, Mr. Chairman, to make one single suggestion--that if all of
us were dumb to-night, if the eloquent voices which have stimulated our
blood and inspired our hearts had been silent as the tomb, your
presence, sir, would have been more eloquent than a thousand orations;
when we remember that after the life-time of a whole generation of men,
he who forty years ago bared his arm to seize the Suliote blade, speaks
again with the voice of his age in defence of the cause of his youth."
Thirty-seven thousand dollars were raised for Crete, and in March, 1867,
Dr. Howe sailed again for Greece on an errand of mercy. The Journal
gives an outline of the busy winter:--
"The post is the poor man's valet...."
"_January 12._ A busy and studious day; had the neighbors in after tea.
Want clamors for relief, but calls for cure, which begins in
discipline...."
"_January 24._ N. P. Willis's funeral. Chev came home quite suddenly and
asked me to go with him to the church, St. Paul's. The pallbearers were
Longfellow and Lowell, Drs. Holmes and Howe, Whipple and Fields, T. B.
Aldrich and I don't know who. Coffin covered with flowers. Appearance of
the family interesting: the widow bowed and closely shrouded. Thus ends
a man of perhaps first-rate genius, ruined by the adoption of an utterly
frivolous standard of labor and of life. George IV and Bulwer have to
answer for some of these failures.
"My tea party was delightful, friendly, not fashionable. We had a good
talk, and a lovely, familiar time.
"Heard J. F. C. Took my dear Francesco [Marion Crawford] at his request,
with great pleasure, feeling that he would find there a living Jesus
immortal in influence, instead of the perfumed and embalmed mummy of
orthodoxy....
"Of that which is not clear one cannot have a clear idea. My reading in
Fichte to-day is of the most confused."
"_February 7._ Chev came dancing in to tell me that Flossy is engaged to
David Hall. His delight knew no bounds. I am also pleased, for David is
of excellent character and excellent blood, the Halls being first-rate
people and with no family infirmity (insanity or blindness). My only
regret is that it must prove a long engagement, David being a very young
lawyer."
"_February 14._ All's up, as I feared, with 'Northern Lights' in its
present form. Gilmour proposes to go to New York and to change its form
and character to that of a weekly newspaper. I of course retire from it
and, indeed, despite my title of editor, have been only a reader of
manuscripts and contributor--nothing more. I have not had power of any
sort to make engagements."
The tenth number of "Northern Lights" was also the last, and we hear no
more of the ill-fated magazine.
The Journal says nothing of the proposed trip to Greece, until February
15:--
"I had rather die, it seems to me, than decide wrongly about going to
Europe and leaving the children. And yet I am almost sure I shall do so.
Chev clearly wishes me to go.... Whether I go or stay, God help me to
make the best of it. My desire to help Julia is a strong point in favor
of the journey. It would be, I think, a turning-point for her."
Later she writes:--
"Chev has taken our passage in the Asia, which sails on the 13th
proximo. So we have the note of preparation, and the prospect of change
and separation makes us feel how happy we have been, in passing this
whole winter together."
The remaining days were full of work of every kind. She gave readings
here and there in aid of the Cretans.
"Ran about much: saw Miss Rogers's deaf pupils at Mrs. Lamson's, very
interesting.... For the first time in three days got a peep at Fichte.
Finished Jesse's 'George the Third.'
"Went to Roxbury to read at Mrs. Harrington's for the benefit of the
Cretans. It was a literary and musical entertainment. Tickets, one
dollar. We made one hundred dollars. My poems were very kindly received.
Afterwards, in great haste, to Sophia Whitwell's,[65] where I received a
great ovation, all members greeting me most affectionately. Presently
Mr. [Josiah] Quincy, with some very pleasant and complimentary remarks
on Dr. Howe and myself, introduced Mrs. Silsbee's farewell verses to me,
which were cordial and feeling. Afterwards I read my valedictory verses,
strung together in a very headlong fashion, but just as well liked as
though I had bestowed more care upon them. A bouquet of flowers crowned
the whole, really a very gratifying occasion."
[65] This was evidently a meeting of the "Brain Club."
"_March 13._ Departure auspicious. Dear Maud, Harry, and Flossy on board
to say farewell, with J. S. Dwight, H. P. Warner, and other near
friends. Many flowers; the best first day at sea I ever passed."
Julia and Laura were the happy two chosen to join this expedition, the
other children staying with relatives and friends. From first to last
the journey was one of deepest interest. The Journal keeps a faithful
record of sight-seeing, which afterward took shape in a volume, "From
the Oak to the Olive," published in 1868, and dedicated "To S. G. H.,
the strenuous champion of Greek liberty and of human rights."
It is written in the light vein of "A Trip to Cuba." In the first
chapter she says: "The less we know about a thing, the easier it is to
write about it. To give quite an assured and fluent account of a
country, we should lose no time on our first arrival. The first
impression is the strongest. Familiarity constantly wears off the edge
of observation. The face of the new country astonishes us once, and once
only."
Though much that she saw during this trip was already familiar to her,
there is no lack of strength in the impression. She sees things with new
eyes; the presence of "the neophytes," as she calls the daughters, gives
an atmosphere of "first sight" to the whole.
In London she finds "the old delightful account reopened, the friendly
visits frequent, and the luxurious invitations to dinner occupy every
evening of our short week."
"_London._ Lunch with the Benzons, whose palatial residence moved me
not to envy. This seems an idle word, but I like to record my
satisfaction in a simple, unencumbered life, without state of any kind,
save my pleasant relations and my good position in my own country. Mrs.
Benzon asked me to come alone to dinner in the evening. First, however,
I called upon Arthur Mills at Hyde Park Gardens; then upon Mrs.
Ambassadress Adams, who was quite cordial; then in frantic hurry home to
dress. At Benzon's I met Robert Browning, a dear and sacred personage,
dear for his own and his wife's sake. He sat next me at table and by and
by spoke very kindly of my foolish verses[66] about himself and E. B. B.
I mean he spoke of them with magnanimity. Of course my _present_ self
would not publish, nor I hope write, anything of the kind, but I
launched the arrow in the easy petulance of those days, more occupied
with its force and polish than with its direction."
[66] "Kenyon's Legacy," printed in _Later Lyrics_.
"To Lady Stanley's 5 o'clock tea, where I met her daughter Lady Amberley
and Sir Samuel Baker, the explorer of the sources of the Nile. Dined
with the Benzons, meeting Browning again."
"Tea with Miss Cobbe. Met the Lyells. Dined with Males family, Greek,--a
most friendly occasion. Afterwards went for a short time to Mrs. ----, a
very wealthy Greek widow, who received us very ill. Heard there Mr. Ap
Thomas, a Welsh harper who plays exceedingly well. The pleasure of
hearing him scarcely compensated for Mrs. ----'s want of politeness,
which was probably not intentional. Saw there Sir Samuel and Lady
Baker, the latter wore an amber satin tunic over a white dress, and a
necklace of lion's teeth."
"_April 5._ Breakfast with Mr. Charles Dalrymple at 2 Clarges Street,
where we met Mr. Grant Duff, Baron McKaye, and others. Tea at Lady
Trevelyan's, where I was introduced to Dean Stanley of Westminster ...
and young Milman, son of the Reverend H. M. Lady Stanley was Lady
Augusta Bruce, a great favorite of the Queen. Dined at Argyll Lodge,
found the Duchess serene and friendly; the Duke seemed hard and
sensible, Lord Lorne, the eldest son, very pleasant, and Hon. Charles
Howard and son most amiable, with more breeding, I should say, than the
Duke. Chev was the hero of this occasion; the Duchess always liked him."
During this brief week, the Doctor had been in close communication with
the Greeks of London, who one and all were eager to welcome him, and to
bid him Godspeed on his errand. His business transacted, he felt that he
must hurry on toward Greece. Some stay must be made in Rome, where our
Aunt Louisa (now Mrs. Luther Terry) was anxiously expecting the party;
but even this tie of affection and friendship could not keep the Doctor
long from his quest. On May 1 he and Julia went to Greece, the others
remaining for some weeks in Italy.
Sixteen years had passed since our mother's last visit to Rome. She
found some changes in the city, but more vital ones in herself.
"I left Rome," she says, "after those days, with entire determination,
but with infinite reluctance. America seemed the place of exile, Rome
the home of sympathy and comfort.... And now I must confess that, after
so many intense and vivid pages of life, this visit to Rome, once a
theme of fervent and solemn desire, becomes a mere page of embellishment
in a serious and instructive volume."
Here follows a disquisition on "the Roman problem for the American
thinker"; the last passage gives her conclusion:--
"A word to my countrymen and countrywomen, who, lingering on the edge of
the vase, are lured by its sweets, and fall into its imprisonment. It is
a false, false superiority to which you are striving to join yourself. A
prince of puppets is not a prince, but a puppet; a superfluous duke is
no dux; a titular count does not count. Dresses, jewels, and equipages
of tasteless extravagance; the sickly smile of disdain for simple
people; the clinging together, by turns eager and haughty, of a clique
that becomes daily smaller in intention, and whose true decline consists
in its numerical increase--do not dream that these lift you in any true
way--in any true sense. For Italians to believe that it does, is
natural; for Englishmen to believe it, is discreditable; for Americans,
disgraceful."
The Terrys were at this time living in Palazzo Odescalchi. Our mother
observes that "the whole of my modest house in Boylston Place would
easily, as to solid contents, lodge in the largest of those lofty rooms.
The Place itself would equally lodge in the palace. I regard my re-found
friends with wonder, and expect to see them execute some large and
stately manoeuvre, indicating their possession of all this space."
It was Holy Week when they arrived in Rome, and she was anxious that the
"neophytes" should see as much as possible of its impressive ceremonies.
She took them to St. Peter's to see the washing of the pilgrims' feet by
noble Roman ladies, and to hear the "Miserere" in the Sistine Chapel.
These functions are briefly chronicled in the Journal and more fully in
"From the Oak to the Olive."
"Solid fact as the performance of the _functions_ remains, for us it
assumes a forcible unreality, through the impeding intervention of black
dresses and veils, with what should be women under them. But as these
creatures push like battering-rams, and caper like he-goats, we shall
prefer to adjourn the question of their humanity, and to give it the
benefit of a doubt. We must except, however, our countrywomen from dear
Boston, who were not seen otherwise than decently and in order."
A vivid description follows of the ceremonies of Good Friday and Easter
Sunday, ending with the illumination of St. Peter's.
"A magical and unique spectacle it certainly is, with the well-known
change from the paper lanterns to the flaring _lampions_. Costly is it
of human labor, and perilous to human life. And when I remembered that
those employed in it receive the sacrament beforehand, in order that
imminent death may not find them out of a state of grace, I thought that
its beauty did not so much signify."
In the Journal she writes, April 19: "It is the golden calf of old which
has developed into the papal bull."
At a concert she saw the Abbé Liszt, "whose vanity and desire to attract
attention were most apparent."
Though the sober light of middle age showed Rome less magical than of
old, yet the days were full of delight.
"In these scarce three weeks," she cries, "how much have we seen, how
little recorded and described! So sweet has been the fable, that the
intended moral has passed like an act in a dream--a thing of illusion
and intention, not of fact. Impotent am I, indeed, to describe the
riches of this Roman world,--its treasures, its pleasures, its
flatteries, its lessons. Of so much that one receives, one can give
again but the smallest shred,--a leaf of each flower, a scrap of each
garment, a proverb for a sermon, a stave for a song. So be it; so,
perhaps, it is best."
"Last Sunday I attended a Tombola at Piazza Navona.... I know the Piazza
of old. Sixteen years since I made many a pilgrimage thither, in search
of Roman trash. I was not then past the poor amusement of spending money
for the sake of spending it. The foolish things I brought home moved the
laughter of my little Roman public. I appeared in public with some
forlorn brooch or dilapidated earring; the giddy laughed outright, and
the polite gazed quietly. My rooms were the refuge of all broken-down
vases and halting candelabra. I lived on the third floor of a modest
lodging, and all the wrecks of art that neither first, second, nor
fourth would buy, found their way into my parlor, and stayed there at my
expense. I recall some of these adornments to-day. Two heroes, in
painted wood, stood in my dark little entry. A gouty Cupid in bas-relief
encumbered my mantelpiece. Two forlorn figures in black and white glass
recalled the auction whose unlucky prize they had been. And Horace
Wallace, coming to talk of art and poetry, on my red sofa, sometimes
saluted me with a paroxysm of merriment, provoked by the sight of my
last purchase. Those days are not now. Of their accumulations I retain
but a fragment or two. Of their delights remain a tender memory, a
childish wonder at my own childishness. To-day, in heathen Rome, I can
find better amusement than those shards and rags were ever able to
represent."
On May 26 she writes in her Journal:--
"I remembered the confusion of my mind when I was here sixteen years ago
and recognized how far more than equivalent for the vivacity of youth,
now gone, is the gain of a steadfast standard of good and happiness. To
desire supremely ends which are incompatible with no one's happiness and
which promote the good of all--this even as an ideal is a great gain
from the small and eager covetousness of personal desires. Religion
gives this steadfast standard whose pursuit is happiness. Therefore let
him who seeks religion be glad that he seeks the only true good of
which, indeed, we constantly fail, and yet in seeking it are constantly
renewed.... Studios of Mozier and of Rogers--the former quite full. Both
have considerable skill, neither has genius. The statues of Miss Hosmer
are marble silences--they have nothing to say."
Greece was before her. On June 17 the Journal says:--
"Acroceraunian mountains, shore of Albania. Nothing strikes me--I have
been struck till I am stricken down. _Sirocco_ and head wind--vessel
laboring with the sea, I with Guizot's 'Meditations,' which also have
some head wind in them. They seem to me inconclusive in statement and
commonplace in thought, yet presenting some facts of interest. A little
before 2 P.M. we passed Fano, the island on which Calypso could not
console herself, and no wonder. At 2 we enter the channel of Corfù."
At Corfù a Turkish pacha came on board with his harem, to our lively
interest. The Journal gives every observable detail of the somewhat
squalid _ménage_, from the pacha's lilac trousers down to the dress of
his son and heir, a singularly dirty baby. She remarks that "An Irish
servant's child in Boston, got up for Sunday, looks far cleaner and
better."
The pacha looked indolent and good-natured, and sent coffee to her
before she disembarked at Syra. Here she was met by Mr. Evangelides, the
"Christy" of her childhood, the Greek boy befriended by her father. He
was now a prosperous man in middle life, full of affectionate
remembrance of the family at 16 Bond Street, and of gratitude to "dear
Mr. Ward." He welcomed her most cordially, and introduced her not only
to the beauties of Syra, but to its principal inhabitants, the governor
of the Cyclades, the archbishop, and Doctor Hahn, the scientist and
antiquary. She conversed with the archbishop in German.
"He deplored the absence of a state religion in America. I told him that
the progress of religion in our country seemed to establish the fact
that society attains the best religious culture through the greatest
religious liberty. He replied that the members should all be united
under one head. 'Yes,' said I, 'but the Head is invisible'; and he
repeated after me, 'Indeed, the Head is invisible.' I will here remark
that nothing could have been more refreshing to the New England mind
than this immediate introduction to the theological opinions of the
East."
A few hours later his Grace returned the visit, seeking in his turn, it
would appear, the refreshment of a new point of view.
"We resumed our conversation of the morning, and the celibacy of the
clerical hierarchy came next in order in our discussion. The father was
in something of a strait between the Christian dignification of marriage
and its ascetic depreciation. The arrival of other visitors forced us to
part, with this interesting point still unsettled."
Arrived in Athens, the travellers found the "veteran" (as the Doctor is
called throughout her book) in full tide of work. The apartment in the
pleasant hotel swarmed with dark-eyed patriots, with Cretan refugees,
with old men who had known "Xaos" in the brave days of old, with young
men eager to see and greet the old Philhellene. Among the latter came
Michael Anagnostopoulos, who was to become his secretary, and later his
son-in-law and his successor at the Perkins Institution for the Blind.
The ladies of Athens came too, full of hospitable feeling. There were
visits, deputations, committee meetings, all day long, and in the
evening parties and receptions.
Spite of all this, her first impression of Athens was melancholy. She
was oppressed and depressed at sight of the havoc wrought by Time and
war upon monuments that should have been sacred. Speaking of the
Parthenon, she exclaims:--
"And Pericles caused it to be built; and this, his marble utterance, is
now a lame sentence, with half its sense left out....
"Here is the Temple of Victory. Within are the bas-reliefs of the
Victories arriving in the hurry of their glorious errands. Something so
they tumbled in upon us when Sherman conquered the Carolinas, and
Sheridan the Valley of the Shenandoah, when Lee surrendered, and the
glad President went to Richmond. One of these Victories is untying her
sandal, in token of permanent abiding. Yet all of them have trooped away
long since, scared by the hideous havoc of barbarians. And the
bas-reliefs, their marble shadows, have all been battered and mutilated
into the saddest mockery of their original tradition. The statue of
Wingless Victory, that stood in the little temple, has long been absent
and unaccounted for. But the only Victory that the Parthenon now can
seize or desire is this very Wingless Victory, the triumph of a power
that retreats not--the power of Truth.
"I give heed to all that is told me in a dreary and desolate manner. It
is true, no doubt,--this was, and this, and this; but what I see is,
none the less, emptiness,--the broken eggshell of a civilization which
Time has hatched and devoured. And this incapacity to reconstruct the
past goes with me through most of my days in Athens. The city is so
modern, and its circle so small! The trumpeters who shriek around the
Theseum in the morning, the café-keeper who taxes you for a chair
beneath the shadow of the Olympian columns, the _custode_ who hangs
about to see that you do not break the broken marbles further, or carry
off their piteous fragments, all of these are significant of modern
Greece; but the ruins have nothing to do with it.
"Poor as these relics are, in comparison with what one would wish them
to be, they are still priceless. This Greek marble is the noblest in
descent; it needs no eulogy. These forms have given the models for a
hundred familiar and commonplace works, which caught a little gleam of
their glory, squaring to shapeliness some town-house of the West, or
Southern bank or church. So well do we know them in the prose of modern
design that we are startled at seeing them transfigured in the poetry of
their own conception. Poor old age! poor old columns!"
There was a colony of Cretan refugees at Nauplia, another at Argos, both
in dire need of food and clothing. The Doctor asked the Government for a
steamer, and received the Parados, in which he promptly embarked with
wife, daughters, and supplies, and sailed for Nauplia.
The travelling library of this expedition was reduced to "a copy of
Machiavelli's '_Principe_,' a volume of Muir's 'Greece,' and a Greek
phrase-book on Ollendorff's principle." Our mother also took some
worsted work, but she suffered such lively torment from the bites of
mosquitoes and sand-fleas on her hands and wrists that she could make
little use of this. To one recalling the anguish of this visitation, it
seems amazing that she could even write in her Journal; indeed, the
entries, though tolerably regular, are brief and condensed.
"_June 24...._ We arrived in the harbor of Nauplia by 7 P.M. ... Crowd
in the street. Bandit's head just cut off and brought in. We go to the
prefect's house, ... he offers us his roof--sends out for mattresses....
I mad with my mosquito bites. Mattresses on the floor. We women lie down
four in a row, very thankfully...."
At the fortress of Nauplia, she was deeply touched by the sight of a
band of prisoners waiting, in an inner court, for the death to which
they had been condemned.
"'Do not pity them, madam!' said the major; 'they have all done deeds
worthy of death.'
"But how not to pity them," she cries, "when they and we are made of the
same fragile human stuff, that corrupts so easily to crime, and is
always redeemable, if society would only afford the costly process of
redemption!
"As I looked at them, I was struck by a feeling of their helplessness.
What is there in the world so helpless as a disarmed criminal? No inner
armor has he to beat back the rude visiting of society; no secure
soul-citadel, where scorn and anger cannot reach him. He has thrown
away the jewel of his manhood; human law crushes its empty case. But the
final Possessor and Creditor is unseen."
After Nauplia came Argos, where the Cretan refugees were gathered in
force. Here the travellers had the great pleasure of helping to clothe
the half-naked women and children. Many of the garments had been made by
Florence and her young friends in their sewing circle; the book recalls
"how the little maidens took off their feathery bonnets and dainty
gloves, wielding the heavy implements of cutting, and eagerly adjusting
the arms and legs, the gores and gathers! With patient pride the mother
trotted off to the bakery, that a few buns might sustain these strenuous
little cutters and sewers, whose tongues, however active over the
charitable work, talked, we may be sure, no empty nonsense nor unkind
gossip. For charity begins indeed at home, in the heart, and, descending
to the fingers, rules also the rebellious member whose mischief is often
done before it is meditated. At sight of these well-made garments a
little swelling of the heart seized us, with the love and pride of
remembrance so dear."
The Journal describes briefly the distribution among the Cretans, "some
extremely bare and ragged, with suffering little children. Our calico
skirts and sacks made a creditable appearance. We gave with as much
judgment as the short time permitted. Each name was called by a list,
and as they came in we hastily selected garments: the dresses, however,
gave out before we had quite finished.... Ungrateful old woman, who
wanted a gown and would hardly take a chemise. Meddlesome lady of the
neighborhood bringing in her favorites out of order."
Generous as the supplies from America were, they did not begin to meet
the demand. After visiting Crete (in spite--perhaps partly because--of
the fact that a high price was set on his head) and the various colonies
of refugees, the Doctor felt that further aid must be obtained.
Accordingly, the journeyings of the little party after leaving Greece
were for the most part only less hurried than the earlier ones, the
exception being a week of enchantment spent in Venice, awaiting the
Doctor, who had been called back to Athens at the moment of departure.
The Journal tells of Verona, Innsbrück, Munich. Then came flying
glimpses of Switzerland, with a few days' rest at Geneva, where she had
the happiness of meeting her sister once more; finally, Paris and the
Exposition of 1867.
After a visit to Napoleon's tomb, she writes: "Spent much of the
afternoon in beginning a piece of tapestry after a Pompeiian pattern
copied by me on the spot."
Worsted work was an unfailing accompaniment of her journeyings in those
days; indeed, until age and weariness came upon her, she never failed to
have some piece of work on hand. When her eyes could no longer compass
cross-stitch embroidery, she amused herself with knitting, or with
"hooking" small rugs.
Her sketchbook was another resource while travelling. She had no special
talent for drawing, but took great pleasure in it, and was constantly
making pencil sketches of persons and things that interested her. We
even find patterns of Pompeiian mosaic or of historic needlework
reproduced in the Journal.
From Paris the travellers hurried to Belgium, and after a glance at
Brussels, spent several days in Antwerp with great contentment. Both
here and in Brussels she had been much interested in the beautiful lace
displayed on every hand. She made several modest purchases, not without
visitings of conscience.
"I went to the Cathedral.... I saw to-day the Elevation of the Cross
[Rubens] to special advantage. As I stood before it, I felt lifted for a
moment above the mean and foolish pleasures of shopping, etc., on which
I have of late dwelt so largely. The heroic face before me said, 'You
cannot have those and these, cannot have Christian elevation with
heathen triviality.' That moment showed me what a picture can do. I hope
I shall remember it, though I do plead guilty of late to an
extraordinary desire for finery of all sorts. It is as if I were going
home to play the part of Princess in some great drama, which is not at
all likely to be the case."
Yet the same day she went to the beguinage and bought "Flossy's wedding
hdkf, 22 frc--lace scarf, 3 fr., piece of edging, 4 fr."
Among the notabilities of Antwerp in those days was Charles Félu, the
armless painter. He was to be seen every day in the Museum, copying the
great masters with skill and fidelity. He interested the Doctor greatly,
and the whole party made acquaintance with him. A letter from one of
them describes the meeting with this singular man:--
"As we were looking round at the pictures, I noticed a curious painting
arrangement. There was a platform raised about a foot above the floor,
with two stools, one in front of the other, and an easel. Presently the
artist entered. The first thing he did, on stepping on the platform, was
to kick off his shoes. He then seated himself (Heaven knows how) on one
stool and placed his feet in front of him on the other, close before the
easel. I was surprised to see that his stockings had no toes to them.
But my surprise was much greater when I saw him take the palette in one
foot and the brush in the other, and begin to paint. The nicety with
which he picked out his brushes, rubbed the paints, erased with his
great toe, etc., was a mystery to me.... In a few minutes he put his
foot into his pocket, drew out a paper from which he took his card, and
_footed_ it politely to papa.... He shaves himself, plays billiards (and
well, too), cards, and dominoes, cuts up his meat and feeds himself,
etc."
"_October 1._ By accident went to the same hotel [in Bruges] to which I
went twenty-four years ago, a bride. I recognized a staircase with a
balustrade of swans each holding a stiff bulrush in its mouth.... Made a
little verse thereupon."
From Belgium the way led to London; thence, after a brief and delightful
visit to the Bracebridges at Atherstone, to Liverpool, where the China
awaited her passengers. The voyage was long and stormy, thirteen days:
the Journal speaks chiefly of its discomforts; but on the second Sunday
we read: "X. preached a horrible sermon--stood up and mocked at
philosophy in good English and bad Christianity. He failed alike of
satire and of sense, and talked like a small Pharisee of two thousand
years ago. 'Not much like the Sermon on the Mount,' quoth I; not
theology enough to stand examination at Andover. Bluejackets in a row,
unedified, as were most of us."
On October 25 the travellers landed in Boston, thankful to be again on
firm land, and to see the family unit once more complete.
"The dear children came on board to greet us--all well, and very happy
at our return."
Thus ends the story, seven months of wonder and of delight.
At her Club, soon after, she gave the following epitome of the trip,
singing the doggerel lines to an improvised tune which matched them in
absurdity:--
Oh! who were the people you saw, Mrs. Howe,
When you went where the Cretans were making a row?
Kalopathaki--Rodocanachi--
Paparipopoulos--Anagnostopoulos--
Nicolaïdes--Paraskevaïdes--
These were the people that saw Mrs. Howe
When she went where the Cretans were making a row.
Oh! what were the projects you made, Mrs. Howe,
When you went where the Cretans were making a row?
Emancipation--civilization--redintegration of a great nation,
Paying no taxes, grinding no axes--
Flinging the Ministers over the banisters.
These were the projects of good Mrs. Howe
When she went where the Cretans were making a row.
* * * * *
Oh! give us a specimen, dear Mrs. Howe,
Of the Greek that you learned and are mistress of now.
Potichomania--Mesopotamia.
Tatterdemalion--episcopalian--
Megalotherium--monster inferium--
Scoulevon--auctrion--infant phenomenon.
Kyrie ticamete--what's your calamity?
Pallas Athenae Aun,
Favors no Fenian.
Such is the language that learned Mrs. Howe,
In the speech of the Gods she is mistress of now.