home of the great Giacinti family; well, the Prince Nicolo di Giacinti
gives a grand ball to-night at the Palazzo Costa. Rocjean and I have
received invitations, embracing any illustrious strangers of our
acquaintance who may happen to be in Rome; so you must go with us. You
have no idea, until you come to know them intimately, what a
good-natured, off-hand set the best of the Roman nobility are. Compelled
by circumstances to keep up for effect an appearance of great reserve
and dignity before the public, they indemnify themselves for it in
private by having the highest kind of old times. They are passionately
attached to their native habits and costumes, and though driven, on
state occasions especially, to imitate French and English habits, yet
they love nothing better than at times to enjoy themselves in their
native way. The ball given by the prince to-night is what might be
called a free-and-easy. It is his particular desire that no one should
come in full dress; in fact, he rather likes to have his stranger guests
come in their worst clothes, for this prevents the attention of the
public being called to them as they enter the palace. After you have
lived some time in Rome you will see how necessary it is to keep dark,
so you will see no flaring light at the palace gate; it's all as quiet
and common-place as possible. The dresses, you must remember, are
assumed for the occasion because they are, or were, the national
costume, which is fast disappearing, and if it were not for the noble
wearers you will see to-night, you could not find them anywhere in Rome.
You will perhaps think the nobility at the ball hardly realize your
ideas of Italian beauty and refinement, compared with the fine specimens
of men and women you may have seen among the Italian opera singers at
home: well, these same singers are picked specimens, and are chosen for
their height and muscular development from the whole nation, so that
strangers may think all the rest at home are like them: it is a little
piece of deception we can pardon.'
After this long prelude, Rocjean proposed that they should try a game of
billiards in the Cafe Nuovo. After they had played a game or two, and
drank several _mezzo caldos_, or rum punches, they walked up the Corso
to the Via San Claudio, No. 48, and entered the palace gate. It was very
dark after they entered, so Rocjean, telling them to wait one moment,
lit a _cerina_, or piece of waxed cord, an article indispensable to a
Roman, and, crossing the broad courtyard, they entered a small door, and
after climbing and twisting and turning, found a ticket-taker, and the
next minute were in the ball-room.
Uncle Bill was delighted with the excessively free-and-easy ball of
Prince Giacinti, but was very anxious to know the names of the nobility,
and Rocjean politely undertook to point out the celebrities, offering
kindly to introduce him to any one he might think looked sympathetic;
'what they call _simpatico_ in Italian,' explained Rocjean.
'That pretty girl in _Ciociara_ costume is the Condessa or Countess
Stella di Napoli.'
'Introduce me,' said Uncle Bill.
Rocjean went through the performance, concluding thus: 'The countess
expresses a wish that you should order a _bottiglia_ (about two bottles)
of red wine.'
'Go ahead,' quoth Uncle Bill; 'for a nobility ball this comes as near a
dance-house affair as I ever want to approach. By the way, who is that
pickpocket-looking genius with eyes like a black snake?'
'Who is _that_?' said Rocjean, theatrically. 'Chut! a word in your ear;
that is An-to-nel-li!'
'The devil! But I heard some one only a few minutes ago call him
Angelucio.'
'That was done satirically, for it means big angel, which you, who read
the papers, know that Antonelli is _not_. But here comes the wine, and I
see the countess looks dry. Pour out a half-dozen glasses for her. The
Roman women, high and low, paddle in wine like ducks, and it never
upsets them; for, like ducks, their feet are so large that neither you
nor wine can throw them. I wish you could speak Italian, for here comes
the Princess Giacinta _con Marchese_--'
'I wish,' said Uncle Bill, 'you would talk English.'
'Well,' continued Rocjean, 'with the Marchioness Nina Romana, if you
like that better. Shall I introduce you?'
'Certainly,' replied the old gentleman, 'and order two more what d'ye
call 'ems. It's cheap--this knowing a princess for a quart of red
teaberry tooth-wash, for that's what this "wine" amounts to. I am going
to dance to-night, for the Princess Giacinta is a complete woman after
my heart, and weighs her two hundred pound any day.'
The nobility now began begging Rocjean and Caper to introduce them to
his excellency _Il vecchio_, or the old man; and Uncle Bill, in his
enthusiasm at finding himself surrounded with so many princes,
Allegrini, Pelligrini, Sapgrini, and Dungreeny, compelled Caper to order
up a barrel of wine, set it a-tap, and tell the nobility to 'go in.' It
is needless to say that they _went_ in. Many of the costumes were very
rich, especially those of the female nobility; and in the rush for a
glass of wine the effect of the brilliant draperies flying here and
there, struggling and pushing, was notable. The musicians, who were
standing on what appeared to be barrels draped with white cloth, jumped
down and tried their luck at the wine-cask, and, after satisfying their
thirst, returned to their duties. There was a guitar, mandolin, violin,
and flute, and the music was good for dancing. Uncle Bill was pounced on
by the Princess Giacinta and whirled off into some kind of a dance, he
did not know what; round flew the room and the nobility; round flew
barrels of teaberry tooth-wash, beautiful princesses, big devils of
Antonellis. Lights, flash, hum, buzz, buzz, zzz--ooo--zoom!
Uncle Bill opened his eyes as the sunlight shed one golden bar into his
sleeping-room at the Hotel d'Europe, and there by his bedside sat his
nephew, Jim Caper, reading a letter, while on a table near at hand was a
goblet full of ice, a bottle of hock, and another bottle corked, with
string over it.
'It's so-da wa-ter,' said Uncle Bill, musing aloud.
'Hallo, uncle, you awake?' asked Caper, suddenly raising his eyes from
his letter.
'I am, my son. Give thy aged father thy blessing, and open that hock and
soda water quicker! I say, Jim, now, what became of the nobility, the
Colonnas and Aldobrandinis, after they finished that barrel? Strikes me
some of them will have an owlly appearance this morning.'
'You don't know them,' answered Caper.
'I am beginning to believe I don't, too,' spoke Uncle Bill. 'I say, now,
Jim, where did we go last night?'
'Why, Uncle Bill, to tell you the plain truth, we went to a ball at the
Costa Palace, and a model ball it was, too.'
'I have you! Models who sit for you painters. Well, if they arn't
nobility, they drink like kings, so it's all right. Give us the hock,
and say no more about it.'
* * * * *
HOWE'S CAVE.
Few persons, perhaps, are aware that Schoharie County, N.Y., contains a
cave said to be nine or ten miles in extent, and, in many respects, one
of the most remarkable in America. Its visitors are few,--owing,
probably, to its recent discovery, together with its comparative
inaccessibility;--yet these few are well rewarded for its exploration.
In the month of August, 1861, I started, with three companions, to visit
this interesting place.
I will not weary the reader by describing the beauty of the Hudson and
the grandeur of the Catskills; yet I would fain fix in my memory forever
one sunrise, seen from the summit of a bluff on the eastern bank of the
river, when the fog, gradually lifting itself from the stream, and
slowly breaking into misty fragments, unveiled broad, smiling meadows,
dark forests, village after village, while above all, far in the
distance, rose the Catskills, clear in the sunlight.
After two days crowded with enjoyment, we arrived in Schoharie, where we
passed the night. Having given orders to be called at five, we took
advantage of the leisure hour this arrangement gave us to view, the next
morning.
AN OLD FORT.
In reality, the 'fort' is a dilapidated old church, used as a shelter
during the Indian wars, and also in the days of the Revolution. On the
smooth stones that form the eastern side are carved the names of the
soldiers who defended it, with the date, and designation of the regiment
to which they belonged. I deciphered also, among other curious details,
the name of the person who 'gave the favor of the ground.' I would
gladly have indulged my antiquarian tastes by copying these rude
inscriptions; but the eager cries of my companions compelled me to hurry
on.
The western portion of the structure has also its story to tell. The
traces of besieging cannon balls are still to be distinctly seen, and in
one place I observed a smooth, round hole, made by the passage of a ball
into the interior of the fort.
As I stood on the walls of this ancient building, surveying the valley
it overlooked, with its straggling village lying at our feet, and the
fair Schoharie Creek, now gleaming in the sunlight of the meadows, or
darkening in the shade of the trees that overhung it, the past and the
present mingled strongly in my thoughts.
The Stars and Stripes, that on this very spot had seen our fathers
repelling a foreign foe, now waved over their sons, forced from their
quiet homes, not to contend with the stranger and the alien, but to
subdue those rebellious brothers whose sacrilegious hands had torn down
that sacred flag, reared amidst the trials and perils of '76. Not less
noble the present contest than the past, nor less heroic the soldier of
to-day than the patriot of the Revolution. We continue to-day the fight
they fought against injustice and oppression--a conflict that will end
only when every nation and every race shall lift unshackled hands up to
God in thanksgiving for the gift of freedom. A deeper love of my
country, and a firmer trust in the God of truth and justice, sank into
my heart as I turned away from those rude walls, sacred to the memory of
departed valor.
We hurried back to the breakfast that awaited us, and then drove to
THE CAVE,
which lies six miles from the village of Schoharie. The entrance is at
the base of a heavily-wooded mountain that shuts in a secluded little
valley. The only opening from this solitary vale is made by a small
stream that winds out from among the hills. The entire seclusion of the
place has prevented its earlier discovery; but the inevitable 'Hotel'
now rears its wooden walls above the cave to encourage future
adventurers to explore its recesses.
In the absence of the proprietor of the hotel, who usually acts as
cicerone, we took as guide a sun-burnt young man, with an economical
portion of nose, closely cut hair, and a wiry little mouth, which we saw
at a glance would open only at the rate of a quarter of a dollar a fact.
He proved himself, however, shrewd, witty, and, withal, good-natured,
and as fond of a joke as any one of us all. Bob, for so our new
companion named himself, showed us at once into a dressing-room,
advising us to put on, over our own garments, certain exceedingly coarse
and ragged coats, hats and pants, which transformed us at once from
rather fashionable young men into a set of forlorn-looking beggars. Each
laughed at the appearance of the other, unconscious of his own
transformation; but Bob, with more truth than politeness, informed us
that we all 'looked like the Old Nick;' whence it appeared that in Bob's
opinion the Enemy is usually sorely afflicted with a shabby wardrobe,
and that, in the words of the sage,
'Poverty is the devil.'
Being furnished with small oil lamps, we descended to the mouth of the
cave. This opens at once into an entrance-hall, one hundred and fifty
feet in length and thirty in width, and high enough for a tall man to
enter upright.
I inquired of Bob when the cave was discovered. 'In 1842,' he replied.
'And by whom?' I continued. 'Why,' rejoined our guide, 'Mister Howe was
a huntin' for caves, and he came across this one.' Rather a queer thing
to be hunting for, I thought, though without comment; but in future I
allowed Bob to carry on the conversation as best suited himself. He
plunged at once into a dissertation on the state of the country, gravely
stating that 'Washington was taken.' At the involuntary smile which this
astounding piece of news called forth, Bob confessed 'he might be
mistaken in this respect, as his paper came but once a week, and
frequently only once in two weeks.' Finding him a stanch Union man, and
inclined to serve his country to the best of his ability, we undertook
'to post him up' on the present state of affairs, for which the poor
fellow was truly grateful.
Entrance Hall leads into Washington Hall, a magnificent apartment, three
hundred feet long, and in the lowest part upwards of forty feet high.
Our guide favored us at every turn with some new story or legend,
repeated in a sing-song, nasal tone, ludicrously contrasting with the
extravagance of the tales themselves. Yet he recited all alike with the
most immovable gravity. It was a lively waltz of three notes.
Old Tunnel and Giant's Chapel, two fine cave-rooms, were next explored.
On entering the latter, Bob favored us with the rehearsal of an old
story from the Arabian Nights, which--unfortunately, not one which will
bear repetition--he wished us to believe actually happened in this very
locality.
I may here confess that, when we came to 'the dark hole in the ground,'
I felt some slight reluctance to trust myself therein. Bob, observing
this, immediately drew from his lively imagination such an astonishing
increase of the perils of the way, looking complacently at me all the
while, that my alarm, strange to say, took flight at once, and I pushed
onward defiantly. The journey is, however, one that might justly inspire
timidity. Above our heads, and on each side, frowned immense rocks,
threatening at every instant to fall upon us; while the dash and babble
of a stream whose course we followed, increasing in volume as we
progressed, came to our ears like the 'sound of many waters.' We crossed
this stream a hundred times, at least, in our journey. Sometimes it
murmured and fretted in a chasm far below us; again, it spread itself
out in our very path, or danced merrily at our side, until it seemed to
plunge into some distant abyss with the roar of a cataract.
We emerged from the windings of our tortuous path into Harlem Tunnel, a
room six hundred feet in length. In its sides were frequent openings,
leading into hitherto unexplored parts of the cave; but we did not
venture to enter many of these. Never have I seen such rocks as we here
encountered; at one time piled up on one another, ready to totter and
fall at a touch; at another, jutting out in immense boulders, sixty feet
above our heads, while, in the openings they left, we gazed upward into
darkness that seemed immeasurable.
From Harlem Tunnel we came into Cataract Hall, also of great length, and
remarkable for containing a small opening extending to an unknown
distance within the mountain, since it apparently cannot be explored.
Applying the ear to this opening, the sound of an immense cataract
becomes audible, pouring over the rocks far within the recesses of the
mountain, where the Creator alone, who meted out those unseen, sunless
waters, can behold its beauty and its terror.
Crossing the Pool of Siloam, whose babbling waters sparkled into beauty
as we held our lamps above them, we entered Franklin Hall. Here the
roof, although high enough in some places, is uncomfortably low in
others; whereupon Bob bade us give heed to the caution of Franklin,
'Stoop as you go, and you will miss many hard thumps.'
We arrived next at Flood Hall, where a party of explorers were once put
in great peril by a sudden freshet in the stream. They barely saved
themselves by rapid flight, the water becoming waist-deep before they
gained the entrance. We had no reason to doubt the truth of this story,
as there were evidences of the rise and fall of water all about us.
Congress Hall now awaited us, but I will omit a description of it, as
Musical Hall, which immediately succeeded, contains so much more that is
interesting. On entering, our attention was first directed to an
aperture wide enough for the admission of a man's head. Any sound made
in this opening is taken up and repeated by echo after echo, till the
very spirit of music seems awakened. Wave after wave of melodious sound
charms the ear, even if the first awakening note has been most
discordant. If the soul is filled with silent awe while listening to the
unseen waterfall in Cataract Hall, it is here wooed into peace by a
harmony more perfect than any produced by mortal invention. A
temple-cavern vaster than Ellora with a giant 'lithophone' for organ!
The second wonder of Musical Hall is a lake of great extent, and from
ten to thirty feet in depth. The smooth surface of these crystal waters,
never ruffled by any air of heaven, and undisturbed save by the dip of
our oars as we were ferried across, the utter darkness that hid the
opposite shore from our straining sight, the huge rocks above, whose
clustering stalactites, lighted by our glimmering lamps, sparkled like a
starry sky, the sound of the far-off waterfall, softened by distance
into a sad and solemn music, all united to recall with a vivid power,
never before felt, the passage of the 'pious AEneas' over the Styx, which
I had so often read with delight in my boyhood. I half fancied our
Yankee Bob fading into a vision of the classic Charon, and that the
ghosts of unhappy spirits were peering at us from the darkness.
At the end of the lake is Annexation Rock, a huge limestone formation in
the shape of an egg. It stands on one end, is twenty-eight feet in
diameter, and over forty in height.
We were now introduced into Fat Man's Misery, where the small and
attenuated have greatly the advantage. We emerged from this narrow and
difficult passage into the Museum, half a mile long, and so called from
the number and variety of its formations. We did not linger to examine
its curiosities, but pushed on over the Alps, which we surmounted, aided
partly by ladders. Very steep and rugged were these Alps, and quite
worthy of the name they bear. We descended from them into the Bath-room,
where a pool of water and sundry other arrangements suggest to a lively
imagination its designation. It certainly has the recommendation of
being the most retired bath-room ever known. That of the Neapolitan
sibyl is public in comparison to it.
We then entered Pirate's Retreat. Why so named, I can not guess, for I
doubt if the boldest pirate who ever sailed the 'South Seas o'er' would
dare venture alone so far underground as we now found ourselves.
Leaving the Pirate's Retreat, we were obliged to cross the Rocky
Mountains, similar in formation and arrangement to the Alps. The Rocky
Mountains lead into Jehoshaphat's Valley, one mile in length. Like its
namesake, this valley is a deep ravine, with steep, rugged sides, and a
brawling brook running at the bottom.
Miller's Hall next claims our attention. Here we take leave of the
brook, which, with the cave, loses itself in a measureless ravine, where
the rocks have fallen in such a manner as to obstruct any further
explorations.
From thence, turning to the right, we enter Winding Way, a most
appropriate name for the place. The narrow passage turns and twists
between masses of solid rook, high in some places, and low in others.
The deathlike silence of the solitude that surrounded us impressed us
with a vague feeling of fear, and we felt no disposition to tempt the
Devil's Gangway, especially as, in consequence of a recent freshet, it
was partly filled with water. Our guide informed us that beyond the
Gangway were several rooms, among which Silent Chamber and Gothic Arch
were the most noteworthy. The portion of the cave visited by tourists
terminates in the 'Rotunda,' eight miles from the entrance; although
explorations have been made some miles further. The Rotunda is
cylindrical in shape, fifteen feet in diameter, and one hundred feet in
height.
We were now in a little room six miles from the mouth of the cave, and
thought the present a good opportunity to try the effect of the absence
of light and sound on the mind. Extinguishing our lights, therefore, we
resigned ourselves to the influences of darkness and silence. To realize
such a state fully, one must find one's self in the bowels of the earth,
as we were, where the beating of our own hearts alone attested the
existence of life. We were glad to relight our lamps and begin our
return to upper air.
I have already mentioned Annexation Rock; near it is another curious
freak of nature, called the Tree of the World's History. It resembles
the stump of a tree two feet in diameter, and cut off two feet above the
ground, upon which a portion of the trunk, six feet in length, is
exactly balanced. A singular type of the changes which time makes in the
world above-ground.
In the Museum, whose examination we had postponed till our return, we
were lost in a world of wonders. It were vain to attempt to describe or
even enumerate half of the various objects that met us at every turn.
Churches, towers, complete with doors and windows, as if finished by the
hand of an architect; an organ, its long and short pipes arranged in
perfect order; Lot's Wife, a figure in stone, life size; in another
place two women, in long, flowing garments, standing facing each other,
as if engaged in earnest conversation, and a soldier in complete
armor,--these were among the most striking of the larger objects. The
vegetable world was also well represented. Here was a bunch of carrots,
fresh as if just taken from the ground, sheaves of wheat, bunches of
grain and grass hanging from the walls and roofs. Interspersed were
birds of every species, doves in loving companionship, sparrows, and
hawks. I noticed also in one place a pair of elephant's ears perfect as
life. Indeed it was not difficult to believe that these stony semblances
had once been endowed with life, and, ere blight or decay could change,
had been transmuted into things of imperishable beauty.
While waiting for our guide to unmoor the boat, which was to take us
over the lake a second time, I ran up the bank to look at the
stalactites that hung in the greatest profusion above the water. The
light of my lamp shining through them produced an effect as surprising
as it was beautiful. But no words can do justice to the scene. Imagine
an immense room whose ceiling is studded with icicles forming every
conceivable curve and angle, and you will have only a faint idea of the
number and variety of these subterranean ornaments.
A mile from the entrance we found some stray bats,--the first living
creatures we had met. We endeavored to attract them by holding up our
lamps, and succeeded so well that we were glad to leave them behind us
as soon as possible.
It is a singular fact, noted by other cave-explorers, and confirmed by
our own experience, that while within a cave one's usual vigor and
activity appears augmented. A slight reaction takes place on coming out
into the upper world, and renders rest doubly refreshing and grateful.
Let me, in closing, advise other visitors to Howe's Cave to choose _fair
weather, and take time enough_ for their visit, as the windings of the
cave and its curiosities are alike exhaustless.
* * * * *
POTENTIAL MOODS
I sit and dream
Of the time that prophets have long foretold,
Of an age surpassing the age of gold,
Which the eyes of the selfish can never behold,
When truth and love shall be owned supreme.
I think and weep
O'er the thousands oppressed by sin and woe,
O'er the long procession of those who go,
Through ignorance, error, and passions low,
To the unsought bed of their dreamless sleep.
I wait and long
For the sway of justice, the rule of right;
For the glad diffusion of wisdom's light;
For the triumph of liberty over might;
For the day when the weak shall be free from the strong.
I work and sing
To welcome the dawn of the fairer day,
When crime and sin shall have passed away,
When men shall live as well as they pray,
And earth with the gladness of heaven shall ring.
I trust and hope
In the tide of God's love that unceasingly rolls,
In the dear words of promise that bear up our souls,
In the tender compassion that sweetly consoles,
When in death's darkened valley we tremblingly grope.
I toil and pray
For the beauty excelling all forms of art;
For the blessing that comes to the holy heart;
For the hope that foretells, and seems a part
Of the life and joy of the heavenly day.
* * * * *
THE TRUE INTEREST OF NATIONS.