DECEMBER 6, 1829--FEBRUARY 6, 1830
Journey from Liverpool to London by coach.--Neatness of the cottages.--
Trentham Hall.--Stratford-on-Avon.--Oxford.--London.--Charles R. Leslie.
--Samuel Rogers.--Seated with Academicians at Royal Academy lecture.--
Washington Irving.--Turner.--Leaves London for Dover.--Canterbury
Cathedral.--Detained at Dover by bad weather.--Incident of a former
visit.--Channel steamer.--Boulogne-sur-Mer.--First impressions of
France.--Paris.--The Louvre.--Lafayette.--Cold in Paris.--Continental
Sunday.--Leaves Paris for Marseilles in diligence.--Intense cold.--
Dijon.--French funeral.--Lyons.--The Hôtel Dieu.--Avignon.--Catholic
church services.--Marseilles.--Toulon.--The navy yard and the galley
slaves.--Disagreeable experience at an inn.--The Riviera.--Genoa.
Morse was now thirty-eight years old, in the full vigor of manhood, of a
spare but well-knit frame and of a strong constitution. While all his
life, and especially in his younger years, he was a sufferer from
occasional severe headaches, he never let these interfere with the work
on hand, and, by leading a sane and rational life, he escaped all serious
illnesses. He was not a total abstainer as regards either wine or
tobacco, but was moderate in the use of both; a temperance advocate in
the true sense of the word.
His character had now been moulded both by prosperity and adversity. He
had known the love of wife and children, and of father and mother, and
the cup of domestic happiness had been dashed from his lips. He had
experienced the joy of the artist in successful creation, and the
bitterness of the sensitive soul irritated by the ignorant, and all but
overwhelmed by the struggle for existence. He had felt the supreme joy of
swaying an audience by his eloquence, and he had endured with fortitude
the carping criticism of the envious. Through it all, through prosperity
and through adversity, his hopeful, buoyant nature had triumphed.
Prosperity had not spoiled him, and adversity had but served to refine.
He felt that he had been given talents which he must utilize to the
utmost, that he must be true to himself, and that, above all, he must
strive in every way to benefit his fellow men.
This motive we find recurring again and again in his correspondence and
in his ultimate notes. Not, "What can I do for myself?" but "What can I
do for mankind?" Never falsely humble, but, on the contrary, properly
proud of his achievements, jealous of his own good name and fame and
eager _honestly_ to acquire wealth, he yet ever put the public good above
his private gain.
He was now again in Europe, the goal of his desires for many years, and
he was about to visit the Continent, where he had never been. Paris, with
her treasures of art, Italy, the promised land of every artist, lay
before him.
We shall miss the many intimate letters to his wife and to his parents,
but we shall find others to his brothers and to his friends, perhaps a
shade less unreserved, but still giving a clear account of his
wanderings, and, from a mass of little notebooks and sketch-books, we can
follow him on his pilgrimage and glean some keen observations on the
peoples and places visited by him. It must be remembered that this was
still the era of the stage-coach and the diligence, and that it took many
days to accomplish a journey which is now made in almost the same number
of hours.
On Christmas Day, 1829, he begins a letter from Dover to a favorite
cousin, Mrs. Margaret Roby, of Utica, New York:--
"When I left Liverpool I took my seat upon the outside of the coach, in
order to see as much as possible of the country through which I was to
pass. Unfortunately the fog and smoke were so dense that I could see
objects but a few yards from the road. Occasionally, indeed, the fog
would become less dense, and we could see the fine lawns of the seats of
the nobility and gentry, which were scattered on our route, and which
still retained their verdure. Now and then the spire and towers of some
ancient village church rose out of the leafless trees, beautifully simple
in their forms, and sometimes clothed to the very tops with the evergreen
ivy. It was severely cold; my eyebrows, hair, cap, and the fur of my
cloak were soon coated with frost, but I determined to keep my seat
though I suffered some from the cold.
"Their fine natural health, or the frosty weather, gave to the
complexions of the peasantry, particularly the females and children, a
beautiful rosy bloom. Through all the villages there was the appearance
of great comfort and neatness,--a neatness, however, very different from
ours. Their nicely thatched cottages bore all the marks of great
antiquity, covered with brilliant green moss like velvet, and round the
doors and windows were trained some of the many kinds of evergreen vines
which abound here. Most of them also had a trim courtyard before their
doors, planted with laurel and holly and box, and sometimes a yew cut
into some fantastic shape. The whole appearance of the villages was neat
and venerable; like some aged matron who, with all her wrinkles, her
stooping form, and grey locks, preserves the dignity of cleanliness in
her ancient but becoming costume.
"At Trentham we passed one of the seats of the Marquis of Stafford,
Trentham Hall. Here the Marquis has a fine gallery of pictures, and among
them Allston's famous picture of 'Uriel in the Sun.'
"I slept the first night in Birmingham, which I had no time to see on
account of darkness, smoke, and fog: three most inveterate enemies to the
seekers of the picturesque and of antiquities. In the morning, before
daylight, I resumed my journey towards London. At Stratford-on-Avon I
breakfasted, but in such haste as not to be able to visit again the house
of Shakespeare's birth, or his tomb. This house, however, I visited when
in England before. At Oxford, the city of so many classical
recollections, I stopped but a few moments to dine. I was here also when
before in England. It is a most splendid city; its spires and domes and
towers and pinnacles, rising from amid the trees, give it a magnificent
appearance as you approach it.
"Before we reached Oxford we passed through Woodstock and Blenheim, the
seat of the Duke of Marlborough, whose splendid estates are at present
suffering from the embarrassment of the present Duke, who has ruined his
fortunes by his fondness for play.
"Darkness came on after leaving Oxford; I saw nothing until arriving in
the vicinity of the great metropolis, which has, for many miles before
you enter it, the appearance of a continuous village. We saw the
brilliant gas-lights of its streets, and our coach soon joined the throng
of vehicles that rattled over its pavements. I could scarcely realize
that I was once more in London after fourteen years' absence.
"My first visit was to my old friend and fellow pupil, Leslie, who seemed
overjoyed to see me and has been unremitting in his attentions during my
stay in London. Leslie I found, as I expected, in high favor with the
highest classes of England's noblemen and literary characters. His
reputation is well deserved and will not be ephemeral.
"I received an invitation to breakfast from Samuel Rogers, Esq., the
celebrated poet, which I accepted with my friend Leslie. Mr. Rogers is
the author of 'Pleasures of Memory,' of 'Italy,' and other poems. He has
not the proverbial lot of the poet,--that of being poor,--for he is one
of the wealthiest bankers and lives in splendid style. His collection of
pictures is very select, chosen by himself with great taste.
"I attended, a few evenings since, the lecture on anatomy at the Royal
Academy, where I was introduced to some of the most distinguished
artists; to Mr. Shee, the poet and author as well as painter; to Mr.
Howard, the secretary of the Academy; to Mr. Hilton, the keeper; to Mr.
Stothard, the librarian; and several others. I expected to have met and
been introduced to Sir Thomas Lawrence, the president, but he was absent,
and I have not had the pleasure of seeing him. I was invited to a seat
with the Academicians, as was also Mr. Cole, a member of our Academy in
New York. I was gratified in seeing America so well represented in the
painters Leslie and Newton. The lecturer also paid, in his lecture, a
high compliment to Allston by a deserved panegyric, and by several
quotations from his poems, illustrative of principles which he advanced.
"After the lecture I went home to tea with Newton, accompanied by Leslie,
where I found our distinguished countryman, Washington Irving, our
Secretary of Legation, and W.E. West, another American painter, whose
portrait of Lord Byron gave him much celebrity. I passed a very pleasant
evening, of course.
"The next day I visited the National Gallery of pictures, as yet but
small, but containing some of the finest pictures in England. Among them
is the celebrated 'Raising of Lazarus' by Sebastian del Piombo, for which
a nobleman of this country offered to the late proprietor sixteen
thousand pounds sterling, which sum was refused. I visited also Mr.
Turner, the best landscape painter living, and was introduced to him....
"I did not see so much of London or its curiosities as I should have done
at another season of the year. The greater part of the time was night--
literally night; for, besides being the shortest days of the year (it not
being light until eight o'clock and dark again at four), the smoke and
fog have been most of the time so dense that darkness has for many days
occupied the hours of daylight....
"On the 22d inst., Tuesday, I left London, after having obtained in due
form my passports, for the Continent, in company with J. Town, Esq., and
N. Jocelyn, Esq., American friends, intending to pass the night at
Canterbury, thirty-six miles from London. The day was very unpleasant,
very cold, and snowing most of the time. At Blackheath we saw the palace
in which the late unfortunate queen of George IV resided. On the heath
among the bushes is a low furze with which it is in part covered. There
were encamped in their miserable blanket huts a gang of gypsies. No
wigwams of the Oneidas ever looked so comfortless. On the road we
overtook a gypsy girl with a child in her arms, both having the stamp of
that singular race strongly marked upon their features; black hair and
sparkling black eyes, with a nut-brown complexion and cheeks of russet
red, and not without a shrewd intelligence in their expression.
"At about nine o'clock we arrived at the Guildhall Tavern in the
celebrated and ancient city of Canterbury. Early in the morning, as soon
as we had breakfasted, we visited the superb cathedral. This stupendous
pile is one of the most distinguished Gothic structures in the world. It
is not only interesting from its imposing style of architecture, but from
its numerous historical associations. The first glimpse we caught of it
was through and over a rich, decayed gateway to the enclosure of the
cathedral grounds. After passing the gate the vast pile--with its three
great towers and innumerable turrets, and pinnacles, and buttresses, and
arches, and painted windows--rose in majesty before us. The grand centre
tower, covered with a grey moss, seemed like an immense mass of the
Palisades, struck out with all its regular irregularity, and placed above
the surrounding masses of the same grey rocks. The bell of the great
tower was tolling for morning service, and yet so distant, from its
height, that it was scarcely heard upon the pavement below.
"We entered the door of one of the towers and came immediately into the
nave of the church. The effect of the long aisles and towering, clustered
pillars and richly carved screens of a Gothic church upon the imagination
can scarcely be described--the emotion is that of awe.
"A short procession was quickly passing up the steps of the choir,
consisting of the beadle, or some such officer, with his wand of office,
followed by ten boys in white surplices. Behind these were the
prebendaries and other officers of the church; one thin and pale, another
portly and round, with powdered hair and sleepy, dull, heavy expression
of face, much like the face that Hogarth has chosen for the 'Preacher to
his Sleepy Congregation.' This personage we afterward heard was Lord
Nelson, the brother of the celebrated Nelson and the heir to his title.
"The service was read in a hurried and commonplace manner to about thirty
individuals, most of whom seemed to be the necessary assistants at the
ceremonies. The effect of the voices in the responses and the chanting of
the boys, reverberating through the aisles and arches and recesses of the
church, was peculiarly imposing, but, when the great organ struck in, the
emotion of grandeur was carried to its height,--I say nothing of
devotion. I did not pretend on this occasion to join in it; I own that my
thoughts as well as my eyes were roaming to other objects, and gathering
around me the thousand recollections of scenic splendor, of terror, of
bigotry, and superstition which were acted in sight of the very walls by
which I was surrounded. Here the murder of Thomas à Becket was
perpetrated; there was his miracle-working shrine, visited by pilgrims
from all parts of Christendom, and enriched with the most costly jewels
that the wealth of princes could purchase and lavish upon it; the very
steps, worn into deep cavities by the knees of the devotees as they
approached the shrine, were ascended by us. There stood the tomb of Henry
IV and his queen; and here was the tomb of Edward, the Black Prince, with
a bronze figure of the prince, richly embossed and enamelled, reclining
upon the top, and over the canopy were suspended the surcoat and casque,
the gloves of mail and shield, with which he was accoutred when he fought
the famous battle of Crécy. There also stood the marble chair in which
the Saxon kings were crowned, and in which, with the natural desire that
all seemed to have in such cases, I could not avoid seating myself. From
this chair, placed at one end of the nave, is seen to best advantage the
length of the church, five hundred feet in extent.
"After the service I visited more at leisure the tombs and other
curiosities of the church. The precise spot on which Archbishop Becket
was murdered is shown, but the spot on which his head fell on the
pavement was cut out as a relic and sent to Rome, and the place filled in
with a fresh piece of stone, about five inches square....
"In the afternoon we left Canterbury and proceeded to Dover, intending to
embark the next morning (Thursday, December 24) for Calais or Boulogne in
the steamer. The weather, however, was very unpromising in the morning,
being thick and foggy and apparently preparing for a storm. We therefore
made up our minds to stay, hoping the next day would be more favorable;
but Friday, Christmas Day, came with a most violent northeast gale and
snowstorm. Saturday the 26th, Sunday the 27th, and, at this moment,
Monday the 28th, the storm is more violent than ever, the streets are
clogged with snow, and we are thus embargoed completely for we know not
how long a time to come.
"Notwithstanding the severity of the weather on Thursday, we all ventured
out through the wind and snow to visit Dover Castle, situated upon the
bleak cliffs to the north of the town....
"The castle, with its various towers and walls and outworks, has been the
constant care of the Government for ages. Here are the remains of every
age from the time of the Romans to the present. About the centre of the
enclosure stand two ancient ruins, the one a tower built by the Romans,
thirty-six years after Christ, and the other a rude church built by the
Saxons in the sixth century. Other remains of towers and walls indicate
the various kinds of defensive and offensive war in different ages, from
the time when the round or square tower, with its loopholes for the
archers and crossbowmen, and gates secured by heavy portcullis, were a
substantial defence, down to the present time, when the bastion of
regular sides advances from the glacis, mounted with modern ordnance,
keeping at a greater distance the hostile besiegers.
"Through the glacis in various parts are sally-ports, from one of which,
opening towards the road to Ramsgate, I well remember seeing a corporal's
guard issue, about fifteen years ago, to take possession of me and my
sketch-book, as I sat under a hedge at some distance to sketch the
picturesque towers of this castle. Somewhat suspicious of their
intentions, I left my retreat, and, by a circuitous route into the town,
made my escape; not, however, without ascertaining from behind a distant
hedge that I was actually the object of their expedition. They went to
the spot where I had been sitting, made a short search, and then returned
to the castle through the same sally-port.
"At that time (a time of war not only with France but America also) the
strictest watch was kept, and to have been caught making the slightest
sketch of a fortification would have subjected me to much trouble. Times
are now changed, and had Jack Frost (the only commander of rigor now at
the castle) permitted, I might have sketched any part of the interior or
exterior."
"_Boulogne-sur-Mer, France, December 29, 1829._ This morning at ten
o'clock, after our tedious detention, we embarked from Dover in a steamer
for this place instead of Calais. I mentioned the steamer, but, cousin,
if you have formed any idea of elegance, or comfort, or speed in
connection with the name of steamer from seeing our fine steamboats, and
have imagined that English or French boats are superior to ours, you may
as well be undeceived. I know of no description of packet-boats in our
waters bad enough to convey the idea. They are small, black, dirty,
confined things, which would be suffered to rot at the wharves for want
of the least custom from the lowest in our country. You may judge of the
extent of the accommodations when I tell you that there is in them but
one cabin, six feet six inches high, fourteen feet long, eleven feet
wide, containing eight berths.
"Our passage was, fortunately, short, and we arrived in the dominions of
'His Most Christian Majesty' Charles X at five o'clock. The transition
from a country where one's own language is spoken to one where the
accents are strange; from a country where the manners and habits are
somewhat allied to our own to one where everything is different, even to
the most trifling article of dress, is very striking on landing after so
short an interval from England to France.
"The pier-head at our landing was filled with human beings in strange
costume, from the grey _surtout_ and belt of the _gendarmes_ to the broad
twilled and curiously plaited caps of the masculine women; which latter
beings, by the way, are the licensed porters of baggage to the
custom-house."
"_Paris, January 7, 1830._ Here have I been in this great capital of the
Continent since the first day of the year. I shall remember my first
visit to Paris from the circumstance that, at the dawn of the day of the
new year, we passed the Porte Saint-Denis into the narrow and dirty
streets of the great metropolis.
"The Louvre was the first object we visited. Our passports obtained us
ready admittance, and, although our fingers and feet were almost frozen,
we yet lingered three hours in the grand gallery of pictures. Indeed, it
is a long walk simply to pass up and down the long hall, the end of which
from the opposite end is scarcely visible, but is lost in the mist of
distance. On the walls are twelve hundred and fifty of some of the _chefs
d'oeuvre_ of painting. Here I have marked out several which I shall copy
on my return from Italy.
"I have my residence at present at the Hôtel de Lille, which is situated
very conveniently in the midst of all the most interesting objects of
curiosity to a stranger in Paris,--the palace of the Tuileries, the
Palais Royal, the Bibliothèque Royale, or Royal Library, and numerous
other places, all within a few paces of us. On New Year's Day the
equipages of the nobility and foreign ambassadors, etc., who paid their
respects to the King and the Duke of Orléans, made considerable display
in the Place du Carrousel and in the court of the Tuileries.
"At an exhibition of manufactures of porcelain, tapestry, etc., in the
Louvre, where were some of the most superb specimens of art in the world
in these articles, we also saw the Duchesse de Berri. She is the mother
of the little Duc de Bordeaux, who, you know, is the heir apparent to the
crown of France. She was simply habited in a blue pelisse and blue
bonnet, and would not be distinguished in her appearance from the crowd
except by her attendants in livery.
"I cannot close, however, without telling you what a delightful evening I
passed evening before last at General Lafayette's. He had a soirée on
that night at which there were a number of Americans. When I went in he
instantly recognized me; took me by both hands; said he was expecting to
see me in France, having read in the American papers that I had embarked.
He met me apparently with great cordiality, then introduced me to each of
his family, to his daughters, to Madame Lasterie and her two daughters
(very pretty girls) and to Madame Rémusat,[1] and two daughters of his
son, G.W. Lafayette, also very accomplished and beautiful girls. The
General inquired how long I intended to stay in France, and pressed me to
come and pass some time at La Grange when I returned from Italy. General
Lafayette looks very well and seems to have the respect of all the best
men in France. At his soirée I saw the celebrated Benjamin Constant, one
of the most distinguished of the Liberal party in France. He is tall and
thin with a very fair, white complexion, and long white, silken hair,
moving with all the vigor of a young man."
[Footnote 1: This was not, of course, the famous Madame de Rémusat;
probably her daughter-in-law.]
In a letter to his brothers written on the same day, January 7th, he
says:--
"If I went no farther and should now return, what I have already seen and
studied would be worth to me all the trouble and expense thus far
incurred. I am more and more satisfied that my expedition was wisely
planned.
"You cannot conceive how the cold is felt in Paris, and, indeed, in all
France. Not that their climate is so intensely cold as ours, but their
provision against the cold is so bad. Fuel is excessively high; their
fireplaces constructed on the worst possible plan, looking like great
ovens dug four or five feet into the wall, wasting a vast deal of heat;
and then the doors and windows are far from tight; so that, altogether,
Paris in winter is not the most comfortable place in the world.
"Mr. Town and I, and probably Mr. Jocelyn, set out for Italy on Monday by
the way of Chalons-sur-Saone, Lyons, Avignon, and Nice. I long to get to
Rome and Naples that I may commence to paint in a warm climate, and so
keep warm weather with me to France again....
"I don't know what to do about writing letters for the 'Journal of
Commerce.' I fear it will consume more of my time than the thing is
worth, and will be such a hindrance to my professional studies that I
must, on the whole, give up the thought of it. My time here is worth a
guinea a minute in the way of my profession. I could undoubtedly write
some interesting letters for them, but I do not feel the same ease in
writing for the public that I do in writing to a friend, and, in
correcting my language for the press, I feel that it is going to consume
more of my time than I can spare. I will write if I can, but they must
not expect it, for I find my pen and pencil are enemies to each other. I
must write less and paint more. My advantages for study never appeared so
great, and I never felt so ardent a desire to improve them."
Morse spent about two weeks in Paris visiting churches, picture
galleries, palaces, and other show places. He finds the giraffe or
camelopard the most interesting animal at the Jardin des Plantes, and he
dislikes a ceiling painted by Gros: "It is allegorical, which is a class
of painting I detest." He deplores the Continental Sunday: "Oh! that we
appreciated in America the value of our Sabbath; a Sabbath of rest from
labor; a Sabbath of moral and religious instruction; a Sabbath the
greatest barrier to those floods of immorality which have in times past
deluged this devoted country in blood, and will again do it unless the
Sabbath gains its ascendancy once more."
From an undated and unfinished draft of a letter to his cousin, Mrs.
Roby, we learn something of his journey from Paris to Rome, or rather of
the first part of it:--
"I wrote you from Paris giving you an account of my travels to that city,
and I now improve the first moments of leisure since to continue my
journal. After getting our passports signed by at least half a dozen
ambassadors preparatory to our long journey, we left Paris on Wednesday,
January 13, at eight o'clock, for Dijon, in the diligence. The weather
was very cold, and we travelled through a very uninteresting country. It
seemed like a frozen ocean, the road being over an immense plain unbroken
by trees or fences.
"We stopped a few moments at Melun, at Joigny and Tonnerre, which latter
place was quite pretty with a fine-looking Gothic church. We found the
villages from Paris thus far much neater and in better style than those
on the road from Boulogne.
"Our company consisted of Mr. Town, of New York, Mr. Jocelyn, of New
Haven, a very pretty Frenchwoman, and myself. The Frenchwoman was quite a
character; she could not talk English nor could we talk French, and yet
we were talking all the time, and were able to understand and be
understood.
"At four o'clock the next morning we _dined!!_ at Montbar, which place we
entered after much detention by the snow. It was so deep that we were
repeatedly stopped for some time. At a picturesque little village, called
Val de Luzon, where we changed horses, the country began to assume a
different character. It now became mountainous, and, had the season been
propitious, many beautiful scenes for the pencil would have presented
themselves. As it was, the forms of the mountains and the deep valleys,
with villages snugly situated at the bottom, were grateful to the eye
amidst the white shroud which everywhere covered the landscape. We could
but now and then catch a glimpse of the scenery through our coach window
by thawing a place in the thickly covered glass, which was so plated with
the arborescent frost as not to yield to the warmth of the sun at midday.
"We arrived at Dijon at nine o'clock on Saturday evening, after three
days and two nights of fatiguing riding. The diligence is, on the whole,
a comfortable carriage for travelling. I can scarcely give you any idea
of its construction; it is so unlike in many respects to our stage-coach.
It is three carriage-bodies together upon one set of wheels. The forward
part is called the _coupé_, which holds but three persons, and, from
having windows in front so that the country is seen as you travel, is the
most expensive. The middle carriage is the largest, capable of holding
six persons, and is called the _intérieur_. The other, called the
_derrière_, is the cheapest, but is generally filled with low people. The
_intérieur_ is so large and so well cushioned that it is easy to sleep in
it ordinarily, and, had it not been for the sudden stops occasioned by
the clogging of the wheels in the snow, we should have had very good
rest; but the discordant music made by the wheels as they ground the
frozen snow, sounding like innumerable instruments, mostly discordant,
but now and then concordant, prevented our sound sleep.
"The cold we found as severe as any I have usually experienced in
America. The snow is as deep upon the hills, being piled up on each side
of the road five or six feet high. The water in our pitchers froze by the
fireside, and the glass on the windows, even in rooms comfortably warmed,
was encrusted with arborescent frost. The floors, too, of all the rooms
are paved with bricks or tiles, and, although comfortable in summer, are
far from desirable in such a winter.
"At Dijon we stopped over the Sabbath, for the double purpose of avoiding
travelling on that day and from really needing a day of rest. On Sunday
morning we enquired of our landlord, Mons. Ripart, of the Hôtel du Parc,
for a Protestant church, and were informed that there was not any in the
place. We learned, however, afterwards that there was one, but too late
to profit by the information. We walked out in the cold to find some
church, and, entering a large, irregular Gothic structure, much out of
repair, we pressed towards the altar where the funeral service of the
Catholic Church was performing over a corpse which lay before it. The
priests, seven or eight in number, were in the midst of their ceremonies.
They had their hair shorn close in front, but left long behind and at the
sides, and powdered, and, while walking, covered partially with a small,
black, pyramidal velvet cap with a tuft at the top. While singing the
service they held long, lighted wax tapers in their hands. There was much
ceremony, but scarcely anything that was imposing; its heartlessness was
so apparent, especially in the conduct of some of the assistants, that it
seemed a solemn mockery. One in particular, who seemed to pride himself
on the manner in which he vociferated 'Amen,' was casting his eyes among
the crowd, winking and laughing at various persons, and, from the
extravagance of his manners, bawling out most irreverently and closing by
laughing, I wondered that he was not perceived and rebuked by the
priests.
"As the procession left the church it was headed by an officer bearing a
pontoon;[1] then one bearing the silver crucifix; then eight or ten boys
with lighted wax tapers by the side of the corpse; then followed the
priests, six or eight in number, and then the relatives and friends of
the deceased. At the grave the priests and assistants chanted a moment,
the coffin was lowered, the earth thrown upon it, and then an elder
priest muttered something over the grave, and, with an instrument
consisting of a silver ball with a small handle, made the sign of the
cross over the body, which ceremony was repeated by each one in the
procession, to whom in succession the instrument was handed.
[Footnote 1: This must be a mistake.]
"There were, indeed, two or three real mourners. One young man in
particular, to whom the female might have been related as wife or sister,
showed all the signs of heartfelt grief. It did not break out into
extravagant gesture or loud cries, but the tears, as they flowed down his
manly face, seemed to be forced out by the agony within, which he in vain
endeavored to suppress. The struggle to restrain them was manifest, and,
as he made the sign of the cross at the grave in his turn, the feebleness
with which he performed the ceremony showed that the anguish of his heart
had almost overcome his physical strength. I longed to speak to him and
to sympathize with him, but my ignorance of the language of his country
locked me out from any such purpose....
"Accustomed to the proper and orderly manner of keeping the Sabbath so
universal in our country, there are many things that will strike an
American not only as singular but disgusting. While in Paris we found it
to be customary, not only on week days but also on the Sabbath, to have
musicians introduced towards the close of dinner, who play and sing all
kinds of songs. We supposed that this custom was a peculiarity of the
capital, but this day after dinner a hand-organ played waltzes and songs,
and, as if this were not enough, a performer on the guitar succeeded,
playing songs, while two or three persons with long cards filled with
specimens of natural history--lobsters, crabs, and shells of various
kinds--were busy in displaying their handiwork to us, and each concluded
his part of the ceremony by presenting a little cup for a contribution."
The letter ends here, and, as I have found but few more of that year, we
must depend on his hurriedly written notebooks for a further record of
his wanderings.
Leaving Dijon on January 18, Morse and his companions continued their
journey through Châlons-sur-Saone, to Macon and Lyons, which they reached
late at night. The next two days were spent in viewing the sights of
Lyons, which are described at length in his journal. Most of these notes
I shall omit. Descriptions of places and of scenery are generally
tiresome, except to the authors of them, and I shall transcribe only such
portions as have a more than ordinary personal or historic interest. For
instance the following entry is characteristic of Morse's simple
religious faith:--
"From the Musee we went to the Hôtel Dieu, a hospital on a magnificent
and liberal scale. The apartments for the sick were commodiously and
neatly arranged. In one of them were two hundred and twelve cots, all of
which showed a pale or fevered face upon the pillow. The attendants were
women called 'Sisters of Charity,' who have a peculiar costume. These are
benevolent women who (some of them of rank and wealth) devote themselves
to ministering to the comfort and necessities of the wretched.
"Benevolence is a trait peculiarly feminine. It is seen among women in
all countries and all religions, and although true religion sets out this
jewel in the greatest beauty, yet superstition and false religions cannot
entirely destroy its lustre. It seems to be one of those virtues
permitted in a special manner by the Father of all good to survive the
ruins of sin on earth, and to withstand the attacks of Satan in his
attempts on the happiness of man; and to woman in a marked manner He has
confided the keeping of this virtue. She was first in the transgression
but last at the cross."
Leaving Lyons at four o'clock on the morning of the 22d, they journeyed
slowly towards Avignon, delayed by the condition of the roads covered by
an unusual fall of snow which was now melting under the breath of a warm
breeze from the south. On the way they pass "between the two hills a
telegraph making signals." This was, of course, a semaphore by means of
which visual signals were made.
Reaching Avignon on the night of the 23d, they went the next day, which
was Sunday, in search of a Protestant church, but none was to be found in
this ancient city of the Popes, so they followed a fine military band to
the church of St. Agricola and attended the services there, the band
participating and making most glorious music.
Morse, with his Puritan background and training, was not much edified by
the ritual of the Catholic Church, and, after describing it, he adds:--
"I looked around the church to ascertain what was the effect upon the
multitude assembled. The females, kneeling in their chairs, many with
their prayer-books reading during the whole ceremony, seemed part of the
time engaged in devotional exercises. Far be it from me to say there were
not some who were actually devout, hard as it is to conceive of such a
thing; but this I will say, that everything around them, instead of
aiding devotion, was calculated entirely to destroy it. The imagination
was addressed by every avenue; music and painting pressed into the
service of--not religion but the contrary--led the mind away from the
contemplation of all that is practical in religion to the charms of mere
sense. No instruction was imparted; none seems ever to be intended. What
but ignorance can be expected when such a system prevails?...
"Last evening we were delighted with some exquisite sacred music, sung
apparently by men's voices only, and slowly passing under our windows.
The whole effect was enchanting; the various parts were so harmoniously
adapted and the taste with which these unknown minstrels strengthened and
softened their tones gave us, with the recollection of the music at the
church, which we had heard in the morning, a high idea of the musical
talent of this part of the world. We have observed more beautiful faces
among the women in a single day in Avignon than during the two weeks we
were in Paris."
After a three days' rest in Avignon, visiting the palace of the Popes and
other objects of interest, and being quite charmed with the city as a
whole and with the Hôtel de l'Europe in particular, the little party left
for Marseilles by way of Aix. The air grows balmier as they near the
Mediterranean, and they are delighted with the vineyards and the olive
groves. The first sight of the blue sea and of the beautiful harbor of
Marseilles rouses the enthusiasm of the artist, and some days are spent
in exploring the city.
The journal continues:--
"_Thursday, January 28._ Took our seats in the Malle Poste for Toulon and
experienced one of those vexations in delay which travellers must expect
sometimes to find. We had been told by the officer that we must be ready
to go at one o'clock. We were, of course, ready at that time, but not
only were we not called at one, but we waited in suspense until six
o'clock in the evening before we were called, and before we left the city
it was seven o'clock; thus consuming a half-day of daylight which we had
promised ourselves to see the scenery, and bringing all our travelling in
the night, which we wished specially to avoid. Besides this, we found
ourselves in a little, miserable, jolting vehicle that did not, like the
diligence, suffer us to sleep.
"Thus we left Marseilles, pursuing our way through what seemed to us a
wild country, with many a dark ravine on our roadside and impending
cliffs above us; a safe resort for bandits to annoy the traveller if they
felt disposed."
At Toulon they visited the arsenal and navy yard.
"We saw many ships of all classes in various states of equipment, and
every indication, from the activity which pervaded every department, that
great attention is paying by the French to their marine. Their ships have
not the neatness of ours; there seems to be a great deal of ornament, and
such as I should suppose was worse than useless in a ship of war.
"We noticed the galley slaves at work; they had a peculiar dress to mark
them. They were dressed in red frocks with the letters 'G a l' stamped on
each side of the back, as they were also on their pantaloons. The worst
sort, those who had committed murder, had been shipped lately to Brest.
Those who had been convicted twice had on a green cap; those who were
ordinary criminals had on a red cap; and those who were least criminal, a
blue cap.
"A great mortality was prevailing among them. There are about five
hundred at this place, and I was told by the sentinel that twenty-two had
been buried yesterday. Three bodies were carried out whilst we were in
the yard. We, of course, did not linger in the vicinity of the
hospitals....
"On Saturday, January 30, we left Toulon in a _voiture_ or private
carriage, the public conveyances towards Italy being now uncertain,
inconvenient, and expensive. There were five of us and we made an
agreement in writing with a _vetturino_ to carry us to Nice, the first
city in Italy, for twenty-seven francs each, the same as the fare in the
diligence, to which place he agreed to take us in two days and a half. Of
course necessity obliges us in this instance to travel on the Sabbath,
which we tried every means in our power to avoid.
"At twelve we stopped at the village of Cuers, an obscure, dirty place,
and stopped at an inn called 'La Croix d'Or' for breakfast. We here met
with the first gross imposition in charges that occurred to us in France.
Our _déjeuner_ for five consisted of three cups of miserable coffee,
without milk or butter; a piece of beef stewed with olives for two;
mutton chops for five; eggs for five; some cheese, and a meagre dessert
of raisins, hazel nuts, and olives, with a bottle of sour _vin
ordinaire;_ and for this we were charged fifteen francs, or three francs
each, while at the best hotels in Paris, and in all the cities through
which we passed, we had double the quantity of fare, and of the best
kind, for two francs and sometimes for one and one half francs. All
parleying with the extortionate landlord had only the effect of making
him more positive and even insolent; and when we at last threw him the
money to avoid further detention, he told us to mark his house, and, with
the face of a demon, told us we should never enter his house again. We
can easily bear our punishment. As we resumed our journey we were saluted
with a shower of stones."
The journal continues and tells of the slow progress along the Riviera,
through Cannes, which was then but an unimportant village; Nice, at that
time belonging to Italy, and where they saw in the cathedral Charles
Felix, King of Sardinia. It took them many days to climb up and down the
rugged road over the mountains, while now the traveller is whisked under
and around the same mountains in a few hours.
"At eleven we had attained a height of at least two thousand feet and the
precipices became frightful, sweeping down into long ravines to the very
edge of the sea; and then the road would wind at the edge of the
precipice two or three thousand feet deep. Such scenes pass so rapidly it
is impossible to make note of them.
"From the heights on which La Turbia stands, with its dilapidated walls,
we see the beautiful city of Monaco, on a tongue of land extending into
the sea."
The great gambling establishment of Monte Carlo did not invade this
beautiful spot until many years later, in 1856.
The travellers stopped for a few hours at Mentone,--"a beautiful place
for an artist,"--passed the night at San Remo, and, sauntering thus
leisurely along the beautiful Riviera, arrived in Genoa on the 6th of
February.
[Illustration: JEREMIAH EVARTS
From a portrait painted by Morse owned by Sherman Evarts, Esq.]