standing water, and evidently the people had studied gooseology; for no
Vermonter ever saw such flocks of geese. One hundred in a flock was no
surprise, and we were leaving one flock and running into another for
hours.
At one o’clock our train pulled into a spacious depot, and we found
ourselves in an American-looking city of five hundred thousand people,
called Budapest, lying on the Danube, occupying both sides of the
river. We took carriages for the hotel, where we remained one day.
I hardly know how to hold up the town before you that you may get a
glimpse of its beauty. The place is but little known, but is rapidly
coming to the front, and, if not already, will soon be the finest city
in Europe. We come into it sweeping over the Peakos valley. As you look
upon the city and beyond, you see the advance guard or picket line of
the mighty Alps coming gracefully down to the Danube. On one of these
shoulders or arms of the mountain the king has his palace, with his
terraced gardens in front, of walks, trees, shrubbery, and flowers,
coming down to the Danube, and in the sunlight cast their reflections
in its waters, and become the crowning point of a beautiful picture.
The Danube goes sweeping down through the city. One side is level,
where the great marts of business have gathered, throwing up massive
buildings, not as high as those of Chicago, but from five to eight
stories, beautiful in structure, with statuary and ornamentation that
the most artistic eye cannot criticise.
Her streets are broad, and look as if they had been swept and
garnished. All over her borders are commons and small parks, beautiful
with art as well as nature. On the other side of the river, as I said
before, are those graceful elevations coming down from the Alps. Upon
these has climbed the residence part of Budapest, or at least from
appearance the wealthy have gone up there, building fine residences,
giving a fine background to the lovely city.
Budapest has considerable manufacturing. It is said to have a model
flouring mill, from which the mills of Minneapolis were patterned. She
has the finest suspension bridge in the world, spanning the Danube,
costing two and a quarter millions. Near the bridge in the square are
mounted two splendid statues of distinguished Hungarians. One is Count
Stephen Szechenyi, who stands there resting his eye upon two of his
great creations: one is the suspension bridge, and the other is the
Hungarian Academy of Science. The other statue is Francis Deak, the
sage of the country, sitting on a magnificent pedestal. This great
statesman succeeded in composing the contentions that had lasted years
between Hungary and Austria, and turning them into relations of firm
friendship, and has proved a great blessing to both nations.
From the suspension bridge, along the river bank for a long distance,
is what is called the Corso. Here runs a beautiful street that
carriages are not allowed on in the evening. This is lined with gardens
and small parks; and, being on the banks of the river, it is charming.
Here you must take a stroll in the evening, and see the brave men and
fair women, as well as children, of Budapest. Nowhere in our travels
have we seen a people apparently so happy. In going through this Corso,
you will see thousands of ladies and gentlemen, also children, in gay
attire, some walking, others sitting at their little tables, partaking
of some light viands with water or lemonade, chatting merrily. We
saw but very little beer or wine, nothing in the way of drunkenness
or rowdyism. The people seem to spend much time out doors; and we
have seen very few sickly, puny-looking people. God’s fresh air and
exercise seem to be a panacea for all ills.
Budapest, we understand, has fine schools, museums, art galleries,
etc., which we did not have time to visit.
Saturday, June 9, we took our train for Vienna, a run of five hours.
Our travel through Austria has been a succession of surprises, finding
it a beautiful farming country and scenery unsurpassed anywhere. In
travelling through this country, some of our party have had their faces
badly twisted by trying to pronounce the names of the stations and
towns as we come along, such as Tzaribrab, Szabadka, Kiskoros, etc.;
but it probably will not be lasting, and our friends will have no
trouble in picking us out when we return.
We reached Vienna Saturday evening, and are quartered at the Hotel
Oesterreichischen, and shall remain here until Wednesday morning, when
we leave for Paris, being eight hundred and fifty miles. The run is
made in twenty-four hours.
Vienna has some sixteen hundred thousand people, and is near the
Danube. There are two small tributaries of the Danube that run through
the city.
Vienna is known the world over, and it will be foolish for me to weary
you in taking you through the city or pointing out things that you
are familiar with. You will remember her bread at the World’s Fair at
Philadelphia in 1876, and we find she still retains the art. So we
are enjoying that part of the _table d’hôte_. Vienna at one time was
a walled city, that was when her borders were narrow to what they
are now; but the city grew, and they built outside, and the wall
became of little use and was taken away, and the ground was made into
a boulevard, and is called the Ringstrasse. It is a circular street
now in the centre of the city, and to go around it will make a trip
of some three miles. It is one hundred and eighty-five feet wide.
There are three drive-ways for carriages; but each side of the centre
one are walks for the people, some forty feet wide, lined each side
with trees. These with generous sidewalks next to the buildings make
a great thoroughfare, and nearly all of the public buildings and fine
residences are on this boulevard. You will find crowds moving on the
Ringstrasse at all times of day and night.
One thing new we saw at Budapest, also here in Vienna, is the way they
drive many of their single teams. The small wagons, instead of having
shafts or thills, as we do in America, have a pole; and the horse is
hitched in on the left-hand side as you sit in the wagon. The first one
I saw a lady was driving. I came very near going to her and offering
her my sympathies. I thought she had been unfortunate, and one of her
horses had broken his neck or something else, and she was getting home
with one horse the best she could; but she was too lively for me. I
was not able to reach her, and was saved the embarrassment; and I soon
learned that that was the way they were all driving, but I have no
desire to take the fashion home to America.
Sunday, the 9th, we went to the St. Stephen Church. It is the largest
cathedral in Austria, tower and spire four hundred and fifty feet
high. We heard beautiful music: organ, trumpets, cymbals, and fine
voices would take you almost from your feet. We saw them swing the
golden censer, burning incense. The rest of it was all Dutch to me.
In one of the chancels of the church was a sarcophagus of Frederic III.
We also took a drive to the king’s summer palace on the outskirts of
the city, and went through all its gaudy and elegant rooms, one room
only twenty-five feet square costing five hundred thousand dollars,
finished in mosaic. The grounds and gardens, which were immense in
size, were more enjoyable than the house. Here the king entertains his
royal guests that come from other countries.
We also visited the Rathhaus, what we would call a town house. It was
a building of great capacity, elegant in finish. In it is one hall
three hundred feet long, sixty feet wide, with a colonnade and balcony
fifteen feet wide, running the whole length, two rows of chandeliers
the length of the hall. This is where they have their banquets and
public gatherings. In this building the business of the nation is
transacted. The building was dedicated in 1883, the two hundredth
anniversary of the nation’s freedom from the Turks. It cost six
millions, and is an attractive ornament to Vienna.
I will call your attention to the Capuchin church. Under this church
are large vaults, subterranean passages. Here you will find the royal
families of Spain and Austria sleeping their last sleep. There are one
hundred and ten already placed there. Many of the sealed caskets are
kept covered with flowers. Maximilian’s casket was pointed out to us.
It used to be the custom in olden times, when a lady of the royal
family was to be married, to place her here the night before the
nuptials. One lady died the next morning from the shock this ordeal
gave her.
A few minutes’ walk from here we will step into the Augustinian
church, and see the beautiful marble statues standing at the tomb of
Archduchess Maria Christina, expressing sorrow and benevolence. This
was Canova’s masterpiece.
As you go around the Ringstrasse, you will notice a large square
or park, with fountains, trees, and flowers. Each side there are
imposing-looking buildings. One is the museum, the other is the
building of natural history. Though you are going to Paris and London
and will have a chance to see great things in this line, yet it will
pay you to drop in for a half-day at each place.
The mineral collection in the natural history building is said to be
the finest in the world. We saw an opal valued at one million. They
have collections from all over the world. Saw Vermont granite and
marble, Michigan copper, etc.
The parks and gardens of Vienna are delightful. You must be sure and go
to the Prater. This is a vast territory just outside the city, shaded
with trees and shrubbery, and is fitted up for all kinds of amusement,
restaurants and gardens where you can go and get coffee, lemonade,
beer, and anything to eat you desire, bands of music playing in all
directions. In the evenings thousands upon thousands of people are
gathered here for an hour of enjoyment; and, if you wish to see Vienna
in all its life and gayety, then go to the Prater.
As you pass through the streets of Vienna, you will be interested in
the express wagons. They are drawn by large dogs, usually men or boys
with them, but occasionally women are seen doing the trucking of the
city. Wednesday, the 12th, at 9 A.M., our train, the Oriental express
for Paris, left the station with all hands on board, and went sweeping
out into the country of hills and vales, embowered with trees and
shrubbery, among which nestled cottages and villas; and occasionally
upon some hill-top would be seen a castle, standing like some monarch,
owning all he could survey. Farther on comes the broad field, with the
tiller of the soil holding possession.
About 2 P.M. we crossed the line into Germany, where we could see the
forest that had been planted in rows, beautiful spruces, tall, straight
as arrows, fields of clover and grain,--these views constantly changing.
At four o’clock for miles we went sweeping around the outskirts of
Munich, covering acres of plain and level country, dotted over with
tall chimneys, and from appearance was a real manufacturing city.
Iron, cotton, and leather goods are made here, but the greatest of all
productions is her beer. Munich beer is known everywhere, and goes out
of Munich every day by the train-loads.
Leaving this place, we soon plunged in among the mountains, following
down a meandering river for miles.
We had all day long been drinking in the beautiful scenery, and were
thankful that scenery was not intoxicating. If it had been, twilight
would have found us in bad condition. We looked about for a Joshua to
stay the sun, that we might have daylight all the way to Paris; but not
a Joshua to be found. So Night spread her mantle over the scene; and
we went to our berths, rising at four the next morning, finding the
country as beautiful as ever, though the farming lands from appearance
not as fertile as Austria and Germany.
We are now in France, and begin to enter the suburbs of Paris. It is
evident that Germany and France pay great attention to forestry. The
canals, roads, and everything else seem to be lined with trees, besides
acres of forests that have been sown or planted.
We shall remain here some six days, and then push on to London.
Our itinerary is about ended for this side of the Atlantic, and I drop
my pen here.
Now I have taken you across the Atlantic, through the Mediterranean,
Ægean, and Marmora Seas, have been with you on the Nile, traveled over
land with you through Italy, Egypt, Palestine, Syria, Greece, Turkey,
Bulgaria, Servia, Hungary, Austria, Germany, and into France, and you
ought to be able now to travel alone; for I must hurry away to old
Vermont, and to a people that I expect have never looked as handsome to
me as they will when I next meet them.
If you get into trouble, write me; and I will send you my passport,
and perhaps my letter of credit, although it will probably look thin
when I reach Springfield, but there will probably be enough left to
help you out. I shall be glad to see you when you return, and we will
talk over the sights, scenes, and wonders of the last four months.
PARIS TO SCOTLAND.
When I bade you good-by at Paris June 12, the Oriental party had their
faces turned toward New England, and the Vermonters had dreams of the
Green Mountain State. Our itinerary was taking us through to New York
without any stay of proceedings anywhere. Though our tickets would hold
good through the season, the party decided to break up in the beautiful
city of Paris, and each one take the reins in his own hands.
Our managers went to their homes, and we were left as free as the
breezes of the mountains. For one, I was anxious to see old Scotland,
and look over the places where our grandfathers and grandmothers are
sleeping, and shake hands with our cousins, see the country where the
pure Scotch blood flows freely in the veins of the people,--an article
that is current not only in New England, but the world over.
I shall be only too happy to take you to Edinburgh, Glasgow, and
through the Trossachs, getting the most we can out of Scotland in the
time allowed us. If I do this, I might as well pick up the thread where
I dropped it June 12. I shall not detain you very long either in Paris
or London.
In Paris the first proper thing to do is to take a small boat up the
Seine, stopping at the Eiffel Tower, where you can ascend up into the
heavens either in a balloon or go up in the elevator of the tower. The
balloon has been started recently as an opposition scheme. It has one
advantage in this way, you can go as high as you please. It is held by
a rope; and, when you get all of the ethereal regions you care for,
they pull it down. However, when you are up in these institutions,
Paris is spread out before you like a map; and, if you have taken a
guide with you, which is the best thing to do, he will point out all
the wonderful things of the city, and, when you return to your hotel,
you start out more intelligently than you could without this panoramic
view.
As you come up from the boat near the obelisk I referred to in my
Egyptian letter, on the Rue Champs Elysées, the finest street or avenue
probably in Paris, looking in one direction you see the Tuileries, the
other way the Royal Arch of Napoleon.
This arch is a wonderful structure, standing on a slight elevation.
The great warrior had the streets laid out so that they radiated from
this point like the spokes of a wheel, in order that he might plant
his cannon at this arch, and sweep the city in all directions. But
the requiem has been chanted over this great general; and he is now
sleeping in Hôtel des Invalides, a place you will want to visit before
leaving the city. The sun, as it shines through the pale blue and
yellow glass, gives a peculiar icy appearance, and will prove to be a
picture unlike anything you ever saw before. Here you will see some of
the cannon he captured, as well as the flags of other nations that he
gathered in his hard-fought battles. On the pavements around his tomb
are inscribed the names of the battles he won.
Leading from the altar above to the crypt beneath are flights of steps,
at the foot of which is a bronze door with two caryatides in bronze,
by Durot, one bearing a sceptre and crown, and the other a globe. Over
this door are words taken from Napoleon’s will, which your guide will
interpret in English, as follows: “I desire that my ashes shall repose
on the banks of the Seine, among the French people I have loved so
much.”
When we consider the thousands that lost their lives to gratify his
pleasure and ambition, it sounds rather ironical. Hôtel de Ville
is another place that will fill your eyes with admiration. The old
building that stood there was commenced in 1533, and was nearly a
century in building. It was destroyed in 1871. The Communists had taken
possession of it, using it for several months as their headquarters,
and had stored in the building large quantities of explosive material.
When they were attacked by the soldiers, who shot every one that came
out, some foolhardy fellow inside touched off the explosives, which
destroyed the building and all there was in it.
In this condition it remained many years, but was finally rebuilt in
greater splendor than the original.
The Champs Elysées is very broad, and up the avenue, past the Royal
Arch, the people drive to the two-thousand-acre park; and afternoons
it is full of people going and coming to that resort. Much of the way
of this great avenue it is virtually a park. On either side and in the
groves are built theatres and anything and everything for amusement,
lighted in the evening with thousands of globe lights. A stroll up and
back the Champs Elysées from 8 till 11 P.M. will feed the curiosity of
any Yankee that may happen to be in Paris. One evening will be enjoyed
at the opera, where you will see the finest opera building in the world.
Place de la Concorde is one of the finest squares in Europe, and
carries with it much of historical interest. It was once called Place
de la Révolution. Here the guillotine was erected. Louis XVI. lost his
head here, also his queen, Marie Antoinette, Madame Roland, Charlotte
Corday, as well as hundreds of the nobility.
Some morning early, say eight o’clock,--for that is early in
Paris,--you had better visit Les Halles, the great market, situated at
the rear of the Rue St. Honoré. This is a wonderful sight, and gives
you some idea of the gastronomical powers of the French people, or, in
other words, the amount it takes to feed a large city. Le Panthéon, or
Sainte Geneviève, is situated on the hill Sainte Geneviève. This church
was founded in 1764 by Louis XIV., in accordance with a vow made by him
when ill at Metz.
It is built in the form of a Greek cross, and somewhat resembles the
Pantheon at Rome. In the vaults of this church have been placed the
bones of such men as Voltaire, Victor Hugo, and others of renown.
Visiting these old churches in Paris can be carried to any extent one
may wish; but most people get full of these things about the second
day, and prefer some other diet.
You can step into a meat market where they handle nothing but
horseflesh, and see the nice, fat quarters hanging there; also the
place where they make sausages out of mule meat.
We can visit the place where they erect the scaffold where they behead
the criminals. This is done on one of the main streets of Paris, free
to all. Paris has fine streets, which are kept beautifully clean. No
city, in my opinion, is ahead of them in that respect.
The people of France are groaning under taxation. Their debt is some
four thousand million dollars. They have half a million standing army,
another half million that drill a part of the time, also a million
men enrolled that they can call out on short notice. The priests
draw their money out of the state treasury. Sugar retails at twelve
cents per pound, and every pound that is made has to pay a duty to
the government. The idea of making beet sugar was first conceived in
France. It is said that necessity is the mother of invention.
At the time of the great naval battle of Trafalgar, although Nelson
lost his life, the English were victorious on the seas, crushing
out the navy of France. They had been having their sugar from the
islands. This supply was then cut off; and the people of France became
desperate, and were even on the verge of riots. Napoleon called
together his greatest chemists, and told them they must devise some way
to manufacture sugar; and it resulted in extracting the sweet from the
beet.
While in Paris, we visited the Sèvres china works. Their wares are
noted the world over. In their ware-rooms you will see large, elegant
pictures painted on porcelain and then fired or burned, which is a very
difficult thing to accomplish.
We have feasted our eyes as we have traveled through the Old World
on the works of the old masters, and seemingly nothing has outdone
the wonderful work of art accomplished by this company. The process
of manufacturing their wares was shown to us, and was exceedingly
interesting.
Before we leave for London, we will take a day and visit Versailles.
This can be done by railroad train or tramway; but the most enjoyable
way, if there is a company of you, is to charter a tallyho. It is a
ten-mile drive through charming scenery; and, with the jokes, puns, and
conundrums that accompany such a drive, it is a thing of anticipation
and delight.
Versailles is a place of some fifty thousand inhabitants. The main
thing to visit is the palace and grounds, with immense fountains that
play only the first Sunday in each month, except on special occasions.
Louis XIII. built the first part of the palace, and Louis XIV. added
to the original, and employed Le Brun to decorate the entire structure
inside and Lenôtre to design and lay out the grounds, expending some
forty million pounds.
This palace was used as the seat of the monarchy until 1789, when the
Assembly Nationale overthrew the government, giving a free hand to the
Revolutionists, who sacked the palace and ended its days as a royal
abode. Later Louis Philippe spent six hundred thousand pounds in
putting it in repair. He redecorated and converted it into a picture
gallery and museum; and, as a whole, it is to-day one of the finest
attractions of Paris. While there, you will want to visit the building
where the royal carriages are kept, those that have become _passé_.
There you will see the most expensive carriage ever built by any king
or monarch, which it takes some eight horses to draw. It never was used
but three times. Versailles is the first place to visit outside of
Paris.
Fontainebleau, thirty-four miles south-west from the city, comes next.
There you will find another palace and a wonderful forest of over
forty thousand acres. The cheapest and best way to get an idea of the
city of Paris or London is to hire a guide, and then take to the tops
of the tramways and buses, fare two pennies. By making a few changes,
you can go in all directions, and your guide, if a good one, will be
continually calling your attention to things of interest; and it also
gives you an idea of the broad acres these cities have flung their arms
around and appropriated to their use.
Having spent several days here in Paris, we might as well pack our
grips, and go through to London. This is about ten hours’ ride. You
can go by the way of Dover, where it takes but little over an hour to
cross the English Channel, which is a terror to all seasick people, or
you can go by the way of Newhaven, and be on the channel some three
hours. But, in looking over our tickets, I find we are to go by the way
of Newhaven. You can leave at 9 A.M. or 9 P.M., the latter taking you
through in the night, getting breakfast the next morning in London. The
former way you take in the whole thing by daylight, excepting on the
channel. There, if you are a good sailor, you are all right. Otherwise
you are more likely to let out than take in. However, it makes but
little difference. After the ten hours you will find yourself in the
largest city in the world; and you will find no place more convenient
and central than Hôtel Metropole, near Trafalgar Square, where stands
the statue of Nelson on a very high pedestal.
Around this square are clustered some of the best hotels in London.
The Metropole accommodates seven hundred people, and is always full.
Here every man must have a silk hat; and the ladies in the evening are
walking fashion plates, with a sprinkling of diamonds thrown in.