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VIEWS A-FOOT;
OR
EUROPE SEEN WITH KNAPSACK AND STAFF.
BY
J. BAYARD TAYLOR.
WITH A PREFACE BY N.P. WILLIS.
"Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the stile-a;
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile-a."
_Winter's Tale_.
IN TWO PARTS.
PART I.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1846, by
WILEY AND PUTNAM,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for
the Southern District of New York.
PREFACE.
BY N.P. WILLIS.
The book which follows, requires little or no introduction. It tells its
own story, and tells it well. The interest in it, which induces the
writer of this preface to be its usher to the public, is simply that of
his having chanced to be among the first appreciators of the author's
talent--an appreciation that has since been so more than justified, that
the writer is proud to call the author of this book his friend, and
bespeak attention to the peculiar energies he has displayed in travel
and authorship. Mr. Taylor's poetical productions while he was still a
printer's apprentice, made a strong impression on the writer's mind, and
he gave them their due of praise accordingly in the newspaper of which
he was then Editor. Some correspondence ensued, and other fine pieces of
writing strengthened the admiration thus awakened, and when the young
poet-mechanic came to the city, and modestly announced the bold
determination of visiting foreign lands--with means, if they could be
got, but with reliance on manual labor if they could not--the writer,
understanding the man, and seeing how capable he was of carrying out his
manly and enthusiastic scheme, and that it would work uncorruptingly for
the improvement of his mind and character, counselled him to go. He
went--his book tells how successfully for all his purposes. He has
returned, after two years' absence, with large knowledge of the world,
of men and of manners, with a pure, invigorated and healthy mind, having
passed all this time abroad, and seen and accomplished more than most
travelers, _at the cost of only $500, and this sum earned on the road_.
This, in the writer's opinion, is a fine instance of character and
energy. The book, which records the difficulties and struggles of a
printer's apprentice achieving this, must be interesting to Americans.
The pride of the country is in its self-made men.
What Mr. Taylor is, or what he is yet to become, cannot well be touched
upon here, but that it will yet be written, and on a bright page, is, of
course, his own confident hope and the writer's confident expectation.
The book, which is the record of his progress thus far, is now cordially
commended to the public, and it will be read, perhaps, more
understandingly after a perusal of the following outline sketch of the
difficulties the author had to contend with--a letter written in reply
to a note from the writer asking for some of the particulars of his
start and progress:
_To. Mr. Willis_,--
MY DEAR SIR:--
Nearly three years ago (in the beginning of 1844) the time for
accomplishing my long cherished desire of visiting Europe, seemed to
arrive. A cousin, who had long intended going abroad, was to leave
in a few months, and although I was then surrounded by the most
unfavorable circumstances, I determined to accompany him, at
whatever hazard. I had still two years of my apprenticeship to serve
out; I was entirely without means, and my project was strongly
opposed by my friends, as something too visionary to be
practicable. A short time before, Mr. Griswold advised me to
publish a small volume of youthful effusions, a few of which had
appeared in Graham's Magazine, which he then edited; the idea struck
me, that by so doing, I might, if they should be favorably noticed,
obtain a newspaper correspondence which would enable me to make the
start.
The volume was published; a sufficient number was sold among my
friends to defray all expenses, and it was charitably noticed by the
Philadelphia press. Some literary friends, to whom I confided my
design, promised to aid me with their influence. Trusting to this, I
made arrangements for leaving the printing-office, which I succeeded
in doing, by making a certain compensation for the remainder of my
time. I was now fully confident of success, feeling satisfied, that
a strong will would always make itself a way. After many
applications to different editors and as many disappointments, I
finally succeeded, about two weeks before our departure, in making a
partial engagement. Mr. Chandler of the United States Gazette and
Mr. Patterson of the Saturday Evening Post, paid me fifty dollars,
each, in advance for twelve letters, to be sent from Europe, with
the probability of accepting more, if these should be
satisfactory. This, with a sum which I received from Mr. Graham for
poems published in his Magazine, put me in possession of about a
hundred and forty dollars, with which I determined to start,
trusting to future remuneration for letters, or if that should fail,
to my skill as a compositor, for I supposed I could at the worst,
work my way through Europe, like the German hand werker. Thus, with
another companion, we left home, an enthusiastic and hopeful trio.
I need not trace our wanderings at length. After eight months of
suspense, during which time my small means were entirely exhausted,
I received a letter from Mr. Patterson, continuing the engagement
for the remainder of my stay, with a remittance of one hundred
dollars from himself and Mr. Graham. Other remittances, received
from time to time, enabled me to stay abroad two years, during which
I traveled on foot upwards of three thousand miles in Germany,
Switzerland, Italy and France. I was obliged, however, to use the
strictest economy--to live on pilgrim fare, and do penance in rain
and cold. My means several times entirely failed; but I was always
relieved from serious difficulty through unlooked-for friends, or
some unexpected turn of fortune. At Rome, owing to the expenses and
embarrassments of traveling in Italy, I was obliged to give up my
original design of proceeding on foot to Naples and across the
peninsula to Otranto, sailing thence to Corfu and making a
pedestrian journey through Albania and Greece. But the main object
of my pilgrimage is accomplished; I visited the principal places of
interest in Europe, enjoyed her grandest scenery and the marvels of
ancient and modern art, became familiar with other languages, other
customs and other institutions, and returned home, after two years'
absence, willing now, with satisfied curiosity, to resume life in
America.
Yours, most sincerely,
J. BAYARD TAYLOR.
CONTENTS.
I.--The Voyage
II.--A Day in Ireland
III.--Ben Lomond and the Highland Lakes
IV.--The Burns' Festival
V.--Walk from Edinburgh over the Border and arrival at London
VI.--Some of the "Sights" of London
VII.--Flight through Belgium
VIII.--The Rhine to Heidelberg
IX.--Scenes in and around Heidelberg
X.--A Walk through the Odenwald
XI.--Scenes in Frankfort--An American Composer--The Poet Freiligrath
XII.--A week among the Students
XIII.--Christmas and New Year in Germany
XIV.--Winter in Frankfort--A Fair, an Inundation and a Fire
XV.--The Dead and the Deaf--Mendelssohn the Composer
XVI.--Journey on Foot from Frankfort to Cassel
XVII.--Adventures among the Hartz
XVIII.--Notes in Leipsic and Dresden
XIX.--Rambles in the Saxon Switzerland
XX.--Scenes in Prague
XXI.--Journey through Eastern Bohemia and Moravia to the Danube
XXII.--Vienna
XXIII.--Up the Danube
XXIV.--The Unknown Student
XXV.--The Austrian Alps
XXVI.--Munich
XXVII.--Through Wurtemberg to Heidelberg
XXVIII.--Freiburg and the Black Forest
XXIX.--People and Places in Eastern Switzerland
XXX.--Passage of the St Gothard and descent into Italy
XXXI.--Milan
XXXII.--Walk from Milan to Genoa
XXXIII.--Scenes in Genoa, Leghorn and Pisa
XXXIV.--Florence and its Galleries
XXXV.--A Pilgrimage to Vallombrosa
XXXVI.--Walk to Siena and Pratolino--Incidents in Florence
XXXVII.--American Art in Florence
XXXVIII.--An Adventure on the Great St. Bernard--Walks around Florence
XXXIX.--Winter Traveling among the Appenines
XL.--Rome
XLI.--Tivoli and the Roman Campagna
XLII.--Tivoli and the Roman Campagna (_continued_)
XLIII.--Pilgrimage to Vaucluse and Journey up the Rhone
XLIV.--Traveling in Burgundy--The Miseries of a Country Diligence
XLV.--Poetical Scenes in Paris
XLVI.--A Glimpse of Normandy
XLVII.--Lockhart, Bernard Barton and Croly--London Chimes and Greenwich
Fair
XLVIII.--Homeward Bound--Conclusion
TO
FRANK TAYLOR,
THESE RECORDS OF THE PILGRIMAGE,
WHOSE TOILS AND ENJOYMENTS WE HAVE SHARED TOGETHER,
ARE
AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED,
BY
HIS RELATIVE AND FRIEND.
VIEWS A-FOOT.
CHAPTER I.
THE VOYAGE.
An enthusiastic desire of visiting the Old World haunted me from early
childhood. I cherished a presentiment, amounting almost to belief, that
I should one day behold the scenes, among which my fancy had so long
wandered. The want of means was for a time a serious check to my
anticipations; but I could not content myself to wait until I had slowly
accumulated so large a sum as tourists usually spend on their travels.
It seemed to me that a more humble method of seeing the world would
place within the power of almost every one, what has hitherto been
deemed the privilege of the wealthy few. Such a journey, too, offered
advantages for becoming acquainted with people as well as places--for
observing more intimately, the effect of government and education, and
more than all, for the study of human nature, in every condition of
life. At length I became possessed of a small sum, to be earned by
letters descriptive of things abroad, and on the 1st of July, 1844, set
sail for Liverpool, with a relative and friend, whose circumstances were
somewhat similar to mine. How far the success of the experiment and the
object of our long pilgrimage were attained, these pages will show.
* * * * *
LAND AND SEA.
There are springs that rise in the greenwood's heart,
Where its leafy glooms are cast,
And the branches droop in the solemn air,
Unstirred by the sweeping blast.
There are hills that lie in the noontide calm,
On the lap of the quiet earth;
And, crown'd with gold by the ripened grain,
Surround my place of birth.
Dearer are these to my pining heart,
Than the beauty of the deep,
When the moonlight falls in a bolt of gold
On the waves that heave in sleep.
The rustling talk of the clustered leaves
That shade a well-known door,
Is sweeter far than the booming sound
Of the breaking wave before.
When night on the ocean sinks calmly down,
I climb the vessel's prow,
Where the foam-wreath glows with its phosphor light,
Like a crown on a sea-nymph's brow.
Above, through the lattice of rope and spar,
The stars in their beauty burn;
And the spirit longs to ride their beams,
And back to the loved return.
They say that the sunset is brighter far
When it sinks behind the sea;
That the stars shine out with a softer fire--
Not thus they seem to me.
Dearer the flush of the crimson west
Through trees that my childhood knew.
When the star of love with its silver lamp,
Lights the homes of the tried and true!
Could one live on the sense of beauty alone, exempt from the necessity
of "creature comforts," a sea-voyage would be delightful. To the
landsman there is sublimity in the wild and ever-varied forms of the
ocean; they fill his mind with living images of a glory he had only
dreamed of before. But we would have been willing to forego all this and
get back the comforts of the shore. At New York we took passage in the
second cabin of the Oxford, which, as usual in the Liverpool packets,
consisted of a small space amid-ships, fitted up with rough, temporary
berths. The communication with the deck is by an open hatchway, which in
storms is closed down. As the passengers in this cabin furnish their
own provisions, we made ourselves acquainted with the contents of
certain storehouses on Pine St. wharf, and purchased a large box of
provisions, which was stowed away under our narrow berth. The cook, for
a small compensation, took on himself the charge of preparing them, and
we made ourselves as comfortable as the close, dark dwelling would
admit.
As we approached the Banks of Newfoundland, a gale arose, which for two
days and nights carried us on, careering Mazeppa-like, up hill and down.
The sea looked truly magnificent, although the sailors told us it was
nothing at all in comparison with the storms of winter. But we were not
permitted to pass the Banks, without experiencing one of the calms, for
which that neighborhood is noted. For three days we lay almost
motionless on the glassy water, sometimes surrounded by large flocks of
sea-gulls. The weed brought by the gulf stream, floated around--some
branches we fished up, were full of beautiful little shells. Once a
large school of black-fish came around the vessel, and the carpenter
climbed down on the fore-chains, with a harpoon to strike one. Scarcely
had he taken his position, when they all darted off in a straight line,
through the water, and were soon out of sight. He said they smelt the
harpoon.
We congratulated ourselves on having reached the Banks in seven days, as
it is considered the longest third-part of the passage. But the hopes of
reaching Liverpool in twenty days, were soon overthrown. A succession of
southerly winds drove the vessel as far north as lat. 55 deg., without
bringing us much nearer our destination. It was extremely cold, for we
were but five degrees south of the latitude of Greenland, and the long
northern twilights came on. The last glow of the evening twilight had
scarcely faded, before the first glimmering of dawn appeared. I found it
extremely easy to read, at 10 P.M., on the deck.
We had much diversion on board from a company of Iowa Indians, under the
celebrated chief "White Cloud," who are on a visit to England. They are
truly a wild enough looking company, and helped not a little to relieve
the tedium of the passage. The chief was a very grave and dignified
person, but some of the braves were merry enough. One day we had a
war-dance on deck, which was a most ludicrous scene. The chief and two
braves sat upon the deck, beating violently a small drum and howling
forth their war-song, while the others in full dress, painted in a
grotesque style, leaped about, brandishing tomahawks and spears, and
terminating each dance with a terrific yell. Some of the men are very
fine-looking, but the squaws are all ugly. They occupied part of the
second cabin, separated only by a board partition from our room. This
proximity was any thing but agreeable. They kept us awake more than half
the night, by singing and howling in the most dolorous manner, with the
accompaniment of slapping their hands violently on their bare breasts.
We tried an opposition, and a young German student, who was returning
home after two years' travel in America, made our room ring with the
chorus from Der Freischütz--but in vain. They _would_ howl and beat
their breasts, and the pappoose _would_ squall. Any loss of temper is
therefore not to be wondered at, when I state that I could scarcely turn
in my berth, much less stretch myself out; my cramped limbs alone drove
off half the night's slumber.
It was a pleasure, at least, to gaze on their strong athletic frames.
Their massive chests and powerful limbs put to shame our dwindled
proportions. One old man, in particular, who seemed the patriarch of the
band, used to stand for hours on the quarter deck, sublime and
motionless as a statue of Jupiter. An interesting incident occurred
during the calm of which I spoke. They began to be fearful we were
doomed to remain there forever, unless the spirits were invoked for a
favorable wind. Accordingly the prophet lit his pipe and smoked with
great deliberation, muttering all the while in a low voice. Then, having
obtained a bottle of beer from the captain, he poured it solemnly over
the stern of the vessel into the sea. There were some indications of
wind at the time, and accordingly the next morning we had a fine breeze,
which the Iowas attributed solely to the Prophet's incantation and
Eolus' love of beer.
After a succession of calms and adverse winds, on the 25th we were off
the Hebrides, and though not within sight of land, the southern winds
came to us strongly freighted with the "meadow freshness" of the Irish
bogs, so we could at least _smell_ it. That day the wind became more
favorable, and the next morning we were all roused out of our berths by
sunrise, at the long wished-for cry of "land!" Just under the golden
flood of light that streamed through the morning clouds, lay afar-off
and indistinct the crags of an island, with the top of a light-house
visible at one extremity. To the south of it, and barely
distinguishable, so completely was it blended in hue with the veiling
cloud, loomed up a lofty mountain. I shall never forget the sight! As we
drew nearer, the dim and soft outline it first wore, was broken into a
range of crags, with lofty precipices jutting out to the sea, and
sloping off inland. The white wall of the light-house shone in the
morning's light, and the foam of the breakers dashed up at the foot of
the airy cliffs. It was worth all the troubles of a long voyage, to feel
the glorious excitement which this herald of new scenes and new
adventures created. The light-house was on Tory Island, on the
north-western coast of Ireland. The Captain decided on taking the North
Channel, for, although rarely done, it was in our case nearer, and is
certainly more interesting than the usual route.
We passed the Island of Ennistrahul, near the entrance of Londonderry
harbor, and at sunset saw in the distance the islands of Islay and Jura,
off the Scottish coast. Next morning we were close to the promontory of
Fairhead, a bold, precipitous headland, like some of the Palisades on
the Hudson; the highlands of the Mull of Cantire were on the opposite
side of the Channel, and the wind being ahead, we tacked from shore to
shore, running so near the Irish coast, that we could see the little
thatched huts, stacks of peat, and even rows of potatoes in the fields.
It was a panorama: the view extended for miles inland, and the fields of
different colored grain were spread out before us, a brilliant mosaic.
Towards evening we passed Ailsa Crag, the sea-bird's home, within sight,
though about twenty miles distant.
On Sunday, the 28th, we passed the lofty headland of the Mull of
Galloway and entered the Irish Sea. Here there was an occurrence of an
impressive nature. A woman, belonging to the steerage, who had been ill
the whole passage, died the morning before. She appeared to be of a very
avaricious disposition, though this might indeed have been the result of
self-denial, practised through filial affection. In the morning she was
speechless, and while they were endeavoring to persuade her to give up
her keys to the captain, died. In her pocket were found two parcels,
containing forty sovereigns, sewed up with the most miserly care. It was
ascertained she had a widowed mother in the north of Ireland, and
judging her money could be better applied than to paying for a funeral
on shore, the captain gave orders for committing the body to the waves.
It rained drearily as her corpse, covered with starred bunting, was held
at the gangway while the captain read the funeral service; then one
plunge was heard, and a white object, flashed up through the dark
waters, as the ship passed on.
In the afternoon we passed the Isle of Man, having a beautiful view of
the Calf, with a white stream tumbling down the rocks into the sea; and
at night saw the sun set behind the mountains of Wales. About midnight,
the pilot came on board, and soon after sunrise I saw the distant spires
of Liverpool. The Welsh coast was studded with windmills, all in motion,
and the harbor spotted with buoys, bells and floating lights. How
delightful it was to behold the green trees on the banks of the Mersey,
and to know that in a few hours we should be on land! About 11 o'clock
we came to anchor in the channel of the Mersey, near the docks, and
after much noise, bustle and confusion, were transferred, with our
baggage, to a small steamboat, giving a parting cheer to the Iowas, who
remained on board. On landing, I stood a moment to observe the scene.
The baggage-wagons, drawn by horses, mules and donkeys, were
extraordinary; men were going about crying "_the celebrated Tralorum
gingerbread!_" which they carried in baskets; and a boy in the
University dress, with long blue gown and yellow knee-breeches, was
running to the wharf to look at the Indians.
At last the carts were all loaded, the word was given to start, and
then, what a scene ensued! Away went the mules, the horses and the
donkeys; away ran men and women and children, carrying chairs and
trunks, and boxes and bedding. The wind was blowing, and the dust
whirled up as they dashed helter-skelter through the gate and started
off on a hot race, down the dock to the depot. Two wagons came together,
one of which was overturned, scattering the broken boxes of a Scotch
family over the pavement; but while the poor woman was crying over her
loss, the tide swept on, scarcely taking time to glance at the mishap.
Our luggage was "passed" with little trouble; the officer merely opening
the trunks and pressing his hands on the top. Even some American
reprints of English works which my companion carried, and feared would
be taken from him, were passed over without a word. I was agreeably
surprised at this, as from the accounts of some travellers, I had been
led to fear horrible things of custom-houses. This over, we took a
stroll about the city. I was first struck by seeing so many people
walking in the middle of the streets, and so many gentlemen going about
with pinks stuck in their button-holes. Then, the houses being all built
of brown granite or dark brick, gives the town a sombre appearance,
which the sunshine (when there is any) cannot dispel. Of Liverpool we
saw little. Before the twilight had wholly faded, we were again tossing
on the rough waves of the Irish Sea.