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BLACKWOOD'S
EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
NO. CCCLXI. NOVEMBER, 1845. VOL. LVIII.
CONTENTS.
THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. PART I., 521
HUMBOLDT, 541
HAKEM THE SLAVE, 560
THE LAY OF STARKATHER, 570
MOZART, 572
ACCOUNT OF A VISIT TO THE VOLCANO OF KIRAUEA, 591
THE DAYS OF THE FRONDE, 596
THE GRAND GENERAL JUNCTION AND INDEFINITE
EXTENSION RAILWAY RHAPSODY, 614
SKETCHES OF ITALY--LUCCA, 617
THE RAILWAYS, 633
* * * * *
EDINBURGH:
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, 45, GEORGE STREET;
AND 37, PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.
_To whom all Communications (post paid) must be addressed._
SOLD BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM.
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND HUGHES, EDINBURGH.
BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
No. CCCLXI. NOVEMBER, 1845. VOL. LVIII.
THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA.
PART I.
"Espana de la guerra
Tremola la pendon."
_Cancion Patriotica._
It wanted about an hour of sunset on the last day of September 1833,
when two young men, whose respective ages did not much exceed twenty
years, emerged from a country lane upon the high-road from Tarazona to
Tudela, in that small district of Navarre which lies south of the
river Ebro.
The equipments of the travellers--for such the dusty state of their
apparel, and the knapsacks upon their shoulders, indicated them to
be--were exactly similar, and well calculated for a pedestrian journey
across the steep sierras and neglected roads of Spain. They consisted,
with little variation, of the national Spanish dress--short jackets of
dark cloth, somewhat braided and embroidered, knee-breeches of the
same material, and broad-brimmed hats, surrounded by velvet bands.
Only, instead of the tight-fitting stockings and neat pumps, which
should have completed the costume, long leathern gamashes extended
from knee to ankle, and were met below the latter by stout
high-quartered shoes. Each of the young men carried a stick in his
hand, rather, as it appeared, from habit, or for purposes of defence,
than as a support, and each of them had a cloak of coarse black serge
folded and strapped upon his otter-skin knapsack. With their costume,
however, the similarity in their appearance ceased; nothing could be
more widely different than their style of person and countenance. The
taller of the two, who was also apparently the elder, was of a
slender, active figure, with well-moulded limbs, and a handsome,
intelligent countenance, in which energy and decision of character
were strongly marked. His complexion was dark olive; his eyes and
short curling hair were of a coal black; what little beard he had was
closely shaven, excepting upon the upper lip, which was fringed by a
well-defined mustache, as gracefully curved and delicately penciled as
any that Vandyke ever painted. At this time, however, there was a
shade over his countenance other than that cast by the broad leaf of
his sombrero; it was the look of mingled hope, anxiety, and suspense,
sometimes worn by persons who are drawing near to a goal, their
attainment of which is still doubtful, and at which, even when
attained, it is not quite certain whether pleasure or pain awaits
them.
No such thoughts or anxieties were to be read upon the joyous,
careless countenance of the second traveller--a stout, square-built
young man, whose ruddy complexion and light-brown hair contrasted as
strongly with the dark locks and olive skin of his companion as they
differed from the generally received notions of Spanish physiognomy.
The face wore no particular expression, excepting that of
good-humoured _insouciance_; his hazel eye had a merry twinkle, and a
slight fulness of lip and chin seemed to denote a reasonable degree of
addiction to the good things of this life. Altogether, and to judge
them by their physiognomies only, one would have chosen the first for
a friend, the latter for a pleasant and jovial boon-companion.
On leaving the cross-road, the two pedestrians took a northerly
direction, in which they proceeded for nearly a quarter of an hour
without exchanging a syllable, the one absorbed in meditations which
the other was apparently unwilling to disturb. At the end of that time
they paused, as if by preconcerted arrangement, in front of a small
_venta_, or country inn, less remarkable for the accommodation it
afforded, than for its pleasant situation and aspect. It stood a
little back from the road, in a nook formed by the recession of a line
of wooded hills which there skirt the highway. The front of the house,
composed of rough blocks of grey stone, was overgrown by the twisted
branches of a venerable vine, the age of which did not prevent it from
becoming covered each spring with leaves and tendrils, nor from
yielding in the autumn an abundant supply of delicious gold-coloured
grapes. At a short distance in front of the door, which opened into
the stable, whence a wooden step-ladder led to the upper floor, there
stood a huge oak, throwing its broad shadow over a table and some
benches placed beneath it for the accommodation of guests. On one side
of the venta, and detached from it, but in a right line with its
front, was a massive fragment of wall, which had probably, at no very
remote period, formed part of a chapel or convent. Its summit, which
was broken and irregular, rose full thirty feet from the ground
throughout more than double that length, and along the wall, at about
two-thirds of a man's height, ran a horizontal black line, indicating,
as did also the numerous marks and bruises upon the whitewashed
surface, that this ancient piece of masonry enabled the frequenters of
the venta to indulge in the favourite _juego de pelota_, or a game at
ball, to which the Navarrese and the northern Spaniards generally are
much addicted, and at which most of them excel.
On the arrival of our travellers, the benches in front of the venta
had already two occupants, belonging to classes of men which may rank
amongst the chief supporters of Spanish roadside inns. One of them was
a corporal of dragoons, returning to his garrison at Tudela, whence he
had probably been sent with a despatch, or on some similar mission. He
was a strapping, powerful fellow, well set up, as the phrase goes, and
whose broad shoulders and soldierly figure showed to advantage in his
dark-green uniform. His horse--a high-crested, fine-legged Andalusian,
whose jetty coat looked yet blacker by contrast with the white
sheep-skin that covered the saddle, and the flakes of foam with which
his impatient champings had covered his broad chest--was tied up near
the stable door, the bridle removed, finishing out of a nose-bag a
plentiful feed of maize. The dragoon's sabre and his brass and
leopard-skin helmet were hanging at the saddle-bow, their owner having
temporarily covered his head with a smart foraging-cap of green and
scarlet cloth, which set off to great advantage his bearded and
martial countenance. Having provided for his horse, the trooper was
now attending to the calls of his own appetite, and doing immense
execution on some goat's-milk cheese and excellent white bread, which
he moistened by copious draughts of the thick black wine of Navarre.
Seated opposite to the soldier, and similarly employed, was a
hardy-looking man, who had arrived in company with two mules, which
were also tethered to a ring in the venta wall, but at a respectful
distance from the dragoon's charger. A heap of chopped straw and
Indian corn leaves was lying before them, at which they assiduously
munched--not, however, without occasionally casting wistful glances
at the more luxurious repast of their neighbour. The soldier and the
muleteer had apparently met before; and when the new-comers approached
them, they were discussing with great animation the merits of the
various players in a ball-match which they had recently witnessed near
Tudela. Thence they glided into a discussion concerning ball-players
in general; the muleteer, who was a Navarrese, asserting the
invincibility of his country at the game of pelota, whilst the
corporal, who came from the neighbourhood of Oviedo, was equally
confident of the superiority of the Asturians.
Whilst the younger of the travellers was ascertaining from the
_patrona_ the state of the larder, which, as is usual enough in
Spanish inns, was but meagrely provided, his companion sought out the
landlord of the venta, whom he found in the chimney-corner, enjoying a
supplementary siesta amidst a cloud of wood smoke.
"The Conde de Villabuena," enquired the young man, when he had shaken
the drowsy host out of his slumbers--"is he still at his house between
this and Tudela?"
The _ventero_, a greasy, ill-conditioned Valencian, rubbed his eyes,
muttered a coarse oath, and seemed half disposed, instead of replying,
to pick a quarrel with his interrogator; but a glance at the athletic
figure and resolute countenance of the latter, dissipated the
inclination, and he answered by a surly affirmative.
"And his daughter also?" continued the stranger in a lower tone.
"Dona Rita? To be sure she is, or was yesterday; for I saw her ride by
with her father and some other cavaliers. What eyes the little beauty
has; and what a foot! It was peeping from under her habit as she
passed. Sant'Antonio, what a foot!"
And now thoroughly awakened, the ventero launched out into a panegyric
on the lady's beauty, interlarded by appeals to various saints as to
the justice of his praise, which was continued, in the manner of a
soliloquy, for some time after the stranger had turned his back upon
him and descended the stairs.
At the door of the venta the young man encountered his companion, who
was issuing forth with a jug of wine in his hand.
"Well, Luis," said the latter, "have you ascertained it? Is she still
here, or has our journey been in vain?"
"She is here," was the reply.
"Good. Then I hope you will put aside your melancholy, and eat and
drink with better appetite than you have lately done. We have plenty
of time; it will not be dark for the next two hours. So let us to
supper, such as it is; ham as rancid as an old oil-cask, eggs that
would have been chickens to-morrow, and wine--but the wine may atone
for the rest--it is old Peralta, or the patrona is perjured. I have
had the table spread under the tree, in hopes that fresh air may
sweeten musty viands, and in order that we may see the ball-play of
yonder soldier and muleteer."
The young man who had been addressed by the name of Luis, glanced in
the direction of the ball-court, where the two men to whom his
companion referred were preparing for a match. The discussion as to
the superiority of Navarrese or Asturian ball-players had increased in
warmth, until the disputants, each obstinate in his opinion, finding
themselves, perhaps, at a loss for verbal arguments, had agreed to
refer the matter to a trial of individual skill. The challenge came
from the dragoon, who, as soon as he heard it accepted, proceeded to
lighten himself for his task. With great alacrity he threw aside his
foraging-cap, stripped off his pouch-belt and uniform coat, and
unfastened his spurs. The preparations of the muleteer were even more
rapidly completed. When he had thrown off his jacket--the back of
which was adorned, according to the custom of his class, with flowers
and various quaint devices, cut out in cloth of many colours, and sewn
upon the brown material of which the garment was composed--he stood in
his shirt and trousers of unbleached linen, with light sandals of
plaited hemp upon his feet. In this latter respect he had the
advantage of the soldier, who, not choosing to play barefooted, was
obliged to retain his heavy boots. In apparent activity, too, the
advantage was greatly on the side of the Navarrese, who was spare and
sinewy, without an ounce of superfluous flesh about him, but with
muscles like iron, and limbs as elastic and springy as whalebone. His
very face partook of the hard, wiry character of his person; the
cheekbones were slightly prominent, and, although he evidently wanted
some years of thirty, two deep furrows or lines, such as are rarely
seen on the countenance of so young a man, curved outwards from either
nostril to considerably below the mouth, increasing in depth when he
talked or smiled, and giving, in conjunction with a quick grey eye,
considerable character to his frank, and by no means disagreeable
countenance.
The game began with great spirit, and with much appearance of equality
between the players, who would both have been deemed first-rate in any
ball-court in Europe. The great strength of the dragoon seemed at
first to give him the advantage; the tremendous blows he delivered
sent the ball against the wall with as much seeming force as if it had
been driven out of a cannon, and caused it to rebound to an immense
distance, keeping the muleteer continually at the very top of his
speed. The match was to be the best two out of three games. The first
of the three was won by the muleteer, after the victory had been long
and well contested.
"_Bien!_" said the dragoon, as he wiped the perspiration from his
face, and took a deep draught out of a jug of wine which the ventero
presented to him. "_Bien_--that is one for you; the next may go
differently. I only missed the ball through my foot slipping. Curse
boots for playing ball in, say I! Hola, Valenciano! have you never a
pair of shoes or espadrillas to lend me?"
The landlord, who acted as umpire, and who, as well as his wife and
two or three loitering peasants, was taking an intense interest in the
game, ran into the house and brought out a pair of sandals. These the
soldier tied upon his feet, in lieu of the boots to which he
attributed his defeat. Then, with renewed confidence, he took his
place opposite the wall, where the muleteer was waiting for him.
But if, as the dragoon said, an accident had lost him the first game,
it soon became evident that the superior activity and endurance of his
antagonist were equally certain to make him lose the second. The
idleness of a garrison life, fat feeding, and soft lying, had
disqualified the soldier to compete for any length of time with a man
like the Navarrese, accustomed to the severest hardships, whose most
luxurious meal was a handful of boiled beans, his softest couch a
bundle of straw or the packsaddles of his mules. Constant exposure and
unceasing toil had given the muleteer the same insensibility to
fatigue attributed to certain savage tribes. Whilst his antagonist,
with inflamed features and short-drawn breath, and reeking with
perspiration, was toiling after the ball, the Navarrese went through
the same, or a greater amount of exertion, without the least
appearance of distress. Not a bead of moisture upon his face, nor a
pant from his broad, well-opened chest, gave token of the slightest
inconvenience from the violent exercise he was going through. On the
contrary, as he went on and got warm in the harness, he seemed to play
better, to run faster, to catch the ball with greater address, and
strike it with more force. Sometimes he would be standing close to the
wall, when a mighty blow from the strong arm of the dragoon sent the
ball scores of yards in his rear. It seemed impossible that he should
arrive soon enough to strike it. But before it had time to rebound, he
was behind it, and by a blow of his horny palm, less forcible perhaps,
but more dexterously applied than the one his opponent had given, he
sent it careering back to the wall with greater swiftness than it had
left it. He rarely struck the ball in the air, even when the
opportunity offered, but allowed it to rebound--a less dashing, but a
surer game than he would perhaps have played, had he not considered
the honour of "Navarra la bella" to be at stake, represented in his
person. Again, when the ball fell near the wall, he would sometimes
swing his arm as though about to strike it a violent blow, and, whilst
the dragoon was already beginning to retire in the direction he
expected it to take, he would change his apparent intention, and drop
it gently just above the line, so that his opponent, although rushing
up in desperate haste, could scarcely arrive in time to avoid being
put out. It was by a feint of this description that the second game
was decided in favour of the Navarrese.
"_Viva la Navarra!_" shouted the winner, bounding like a startled
roebuck three or four feet from the ground, in front of the
discomfited soldier.
"_Viva el demonio!_" growled the latter in reply. "Do you think that
because you have beaten me to-day, thanks to your herring guts and
dog's hide, that you could do the same if I were in training, or had a
month's practice? You would find it very different, Master Paco."
"Viva la Navarra!" repeated Paco, chucking the small hard ball up into
the air, to a height at which it appeared scarcely bigger than a
bullet. Then replying to the words of the dragoon; "At your orders,
Senor Velasquez," said he, "I shall pass through Tudela some time next
month, and shall be ready to give you your revenge."
And catching the ball as it fell, the Navarrese, whom victory had put
into extravagant spirits, began tossing it from one hand to the other,
catching it behind his back, and performing various other small feats
of address, looking the while at the corporal with a sort of jeering
smile, which greatly aggravated the irritation of the latter.
"_Pues_," said Velasquez at last, after gazing at Paco for the space
of a minute with a stern look, which was insufficient, however, to
make the other lower his eyes, or alter the expression of his
countenance; "Well, what do you stare at? Oh! I forgot--you may well
stare. It is the first time that you have seen an Asturian caballero
beaten at any thing by a cur of a Navarrese."
"Not at all," replied the muleteer coolly; "your Senoria is mistaken.
It is only the first time that I have seen an Asturian _caballero_
with a pipeclayed belt over his shoulder, and a corporal's bars upon
his arm."
And he broke out into one of those wild shrill laughs of scorn and
defiance with which the peasant soldiers of Navarre have so often,
during recent Spanish wars, caused the rocks and ravines of their
native province to ring again.
"_Hijo de zorra!_" muttered the soldier, enraged beyond endurance by
this last taunt; and drawing back his right arm, he dealt so heavy and
unexpected a blow upon the breast of the muleteer that the latter
reeled a couple of paces backwards, and then fell headlong and with
considerable violence to the ground. The dragoon gazed for an instant
at the fallen man, as if expecting him to rise and attack him in turn;
but, seeing that he did not do so, he turned round and walked slowly
in the direction of his charger.
He had taken but a few steps when the Navarrese sprang to his feet,
and thrust his hand into the red sash which girded his waist, as
though seeking a weapon. He found none, and, instantly darting
forward, he passed the soldier, and reached his mules a moment sooner
than the former did his horse. The next instant a long brown barrel
was projected across the packsaddles, and behind it was seen the blue
cap and pale countenance of Paco, who, with glittering eye and face
livid from fury, was taking a deadly aim at the soldier, now standing
beside the shoulder of his charger. Without a moment's hesitation the
Navarrese pulled the trigger. As he did so, the dragoon, suddenly
aware of his danger, threw himself on one side, and at the same time
his horse, either startled by the movement or tormented by a fly,
tossed his head violently up and backwards. The muleteer's bullet,
intended for the rider, entered the brain of the steed. There was a
convulsive quivering of the animal's whole frame, and then, before the
smoke cleared away, the horse fell over so heavily and suddenly that
he bore down Velasquez under him. The soldier lay with the whole
weight of the expiring animal resting upon his legs and thighs; and,
before he could make an attempt to extricate himself, the Navarrese,
with a large dagger-shaped knife gleaming in his hand, sprang across
the space that separated him from his antagonist. The fate of the
latter would speedily have been decided, had not the innkeeper, his
wife, and the two young men, who had been observing with much
interest these rapidly occurring incidents, thrown themselves between
Paco and the object of his wrath.
"Out of the way!" roared the infuriated muleteer. "He has struck me,
and by the Holy Trinity I will have his blood. He has struck _me_, a
free Navarrese!" repeated he, striking his own breast with the points
of his fingers, one of the expressive and customary gestures of his
countrymen.
"Let him be, Senor Don Paco!" yelled the ventero and his wife, greatly
alarmed at the prospect of a murder in broad daylight and at their
very threshold. "You have done enough already to send you to the
galleys. Get on your mules, and ride away before worse comes of it."
"_A los infiernos!_" shouted Paco. "As the horse now is, so shall be
the rider." And he gave a long sweep of his arm, making the bright
blade of his knife flash in the last red sun-rays like a curved line
of burnished gold. The point of the weapon passed within an inch or
two of the face of the innkeeper, who started back with a cry of
alarm. At the same moment the wrist of the Navarrese was caught in a
firm grasp by the elder of the two travellers, and the knife was
wrested from his hand. The muleteer turned like a madman upon his new
antagonist. The latter had laid aside the hat which shaded his face,
and now fixed his eyes upon the angry countenance of the Navarrese.
"Do you not know me, Paco?" said he, repulsing the first furious onset
of the muleteer.
Paco stared at him for a moment with a look of doubt and astonishment.
"Don Luis!" he at last exclaimed.
"The same," replied the stranger. "You have been too hasty, Paco, and
we expose ourselves to blame by not detaining you to answer for your
attempt on yonder soldier's life, and for the death of his horse. But
you had some provocation, and I, for one, am willing to take the risk.
Begone, and that immediately."
"I shall do your bidding, Senorito," said Paco, "were it only for old
acquaintance sake. But let that cowardly Asturian beware how he meets
me in the mountains. I have missed him once, but will answer for not
doing so again."
"And you," retorted the soldier, whom the innkeeper and a peasant had
dragged from under the dead horse, and placed upon a bench, where he
sat rubbing his legs, which were numbed and bruised by the weight that
had fallen upon them--"and you, have a care how you show yourself in
Tudela. If there is a stirrup-leather or sword-scabbard in the
garrison, I promise you as sound a beating as you ever yet received."
The Navarrese, who had returned to his mules and was busied reloading
his gun, snapped his fingers scornfully at this menace. Don Luis
walked up to him.
"Listen, Paco," said he, in a low voice, "take my advice, and avoid
this neighbourhood for a while. Are you still in the service of Count
Villabuena?"
"No, Senor," replied the man, "I have left his Senoria, and the mules
are my own. I shall be passing near the count's house to-morrow, if
you have any thing to send."
"I have nothing," answered Don Luis. "Should you by chance see any of
the family, it is unnecessary to mention our meeting."
Paco nodded his head significantly, seated himself sideways on one of
his mules, his gun across his knees, and, leading the other by the
bridle, trotted off at a brisk pace down a mountain path nearly
opposite to the venta. Ten minutes later the dragoon, having regained,
in some degree, the use of his legs, resumed his boots, took his
saddle and valise on his shoulders, and set out on foot for his
garrison.
The sun had set, and the twilight passed away, the night was clear and
starlight, but moonless, when Luis and his companion left the venta
and resumed their progress northwards. After following the highway for
a short league, they took a cross-road, on either side of which the
richly cultivated plain was sprinkled with farmhouses, and with a few
country villas. In spite of the darkness, which was increased by the
overhanging foliage of the fruit-trees that on either hand bordered
the road, Luis moved rapidly and confidently forward, in the manner
of one perfectly acquainted with the ground; and presently, leaving
the beaten track, he passed through a plantation of young trees,
crossed a field, and arrived with his companion at a low hedge
surrounding a spacious garden. Jumping over this boundary, the young
men penetrated some distance into the enclosure, and soon found
themselves within fifty yards of a house, of which the white walls
were partially visible, rising out of a thick garland of trees and
bushes in which the building was embowered. Several of the windows
were lighted up, and the sound of music reached the ears of Luis and
his companion.
"This is far enough, Mariano," said the former. "To the right, amongst
the trees, you will find an old moss-grown bench, upon which I have
often sat in happier days than these. There await my return."
"Let me accompany you further," replied Mariano. "There is no saying
what reception the count may give you."
"I shall not see the count," answered Luis; "and if by chance I
should, there is nothing to apprehend. But my plan, as I have already
explained to you, is only to seek one moment's interview with Rita. I
am well acquainted with the arrangements of the house, and you may
depend that I shall be seen by no one whom I wish to avoid."
Mariano turned into the shrubbery, and Luis, with rapid but silent
step, advanced towards the villa, favoured in his clandestine approach
by the darkness of the night and the trees of the thickly-planted
garden.
The house was a square edifice, without balconies, and the windows
that were lighted up were those of the first floor. On the side on
which Luis first approached the building, the windows were closed,
but, upon moving noiselessly round to the front, he perceived one
which the fineness of the weather, still mild and genial although at
the end of September, had induced the occupants of the room to leave
open. The sound of laughter and merriment issued from it; but this was
presently hushed, and two voices, accompanied by guitars, began to
sing a lively _seguidilla_, of which, at the end of each piquant
couplet, the listeners testified their approbation by a hum of
mirthful applause. Before the song was over, Luis had sought and found
a means of observing what was passing within doors. Grasping the lower
branch of a tree which grew within a few feet of the corner of the
house, he swung himself up amongst the foliage. A large bough extended
horizontally below the open window, and by climbing along this, he was
enabled to look completely into the apartment; whilst, owing to the
thickness of the leafage and the dark colour of his dress, there was
scarcely a possibility of his being discovered.
The room was occupied by about twenty persons, the majority of whom
were visitors, inhabitants of Tudela or of neighbouring
country-houses. With four or five exceptions, the party consisted of
men, for the most part elderly or middle-aged. One of the ladies and a
young officer of the royal guard were the singers, and their
performance seemed partially to interrupt the conversation of a group
of the seniors who were seated round a card-table at the further end
of the apartment. The cards, however, if they had been used at all,
had long been thrown aside, and replaced by a discussion carried on in
low tones, and with an earnestness of countenance and gesture, which
gave to those engaged in it the appearance rather of conspirators than
of friends met together for the enjoyment of each other's society. The
ladies, and a few of the younger men, did not appear disposed to let
the gravity of their elders interfere with their own pleasures. The
song and the dance, the pointed epigram and witty repartee, all the
varied resourccs which Spaniards know so well how to bring into play,
and which render a Spanish _tertulia_ so agreeable, had been in turn
resorted to. When the seguidilla--during the continuance of which Luis
had gained his post of observation--was brought to a close, there
seemed to ensue a sort of break in the amusements of the evening. The
younger members of the company, whose conversation had previously been
general, separated into groups of two or three persons; and in more
than one of those composed of the former number, the flashing eye,
coquettish smile, and rapidly significant motions of the fan, bespoke
the existence of an animated flirtation.
Two ladies, neither of whom could have seen more than eighteen
summers, now left the sofa upon which they had been sitting, and, with
arms intertwined, approached the open window. Luis remained motionless
as the leaves that surrounded him, and which were undisturbed by a
breath of wind. The ladies leaned forward over the window-sill,
enjoying the freshness of the night; and one of them, the lively
brunette who had taken a part in the seguidilla, plucked some sprays
of jasmine which reared their pointed leaves and white blossoms in
front of the window, and began to entwine them in the hair of her
companion--a pale and somewhat pensive beauty, in whose golden locks
and blue eyes the Gothic blood of old Spain was yet to be traced.
Presently she was interrupted in this fanciful occupation by a voice
within the room calling upon her to sing. She obeyed the summons, and
her friend remained alone at the window.
No sooner was this the case than a slight rustling occurred amongst
the branches of the tree, and the name of "Rita" was uttered in a
cautious whisper. The lady started, and but half suppressed a cry of
terror. The next instant the leaves were put aside, and the light from
the apartment fell upon the countenance of Luis, who, with uplifted
finger, warned the agitated girl to restrain her emotion.
"Santa Virgen!" she exclaimed, leaning far out of the window, and
speaking in a hurried whisper, "this is madness, Luis. My father is
unchanged in his sentiments, and I dread his anger should he find you
here."
"I will instantly depart," replied Luis, "if you promise me an
interview. I am about to leave Spain--perhaps for ever; but I cannot
go without bidding you farewell. You will not refuse me a meeting
which may probably be our last."
"What mean you?" exclaimed the lady. "Why do you leave Spain, and
when? But we shall be overheard. To-morrow my father goes to Tudela.
Be here at mid-day. Brigida will admit you."
She held out her hand, which Luis pressed to his lips. At that moment
the clatter of a horse's hoofs, rapidly approaching, was heard upon
the hard ground of the avenue. The lady hastily withdrew her land and
left the window, whilst Luis again concealed himself behind the screen
of foliage. Scarcely had he done so, when a horseman dashed up to the
house, forced his steed up the three or four broad steps leading to
the door, and, without dismounting or looking for a bell or other
means of announcing his arrival, struck several blows upon the oaken
panels with the butt of his heavy riding-whip. Whilst the party
above-stairs hurried to the windows, and endeavoured to discern who it
was that disturbed them in so unceremonious a manner, a servant opened
the small grated wicket in the centre of the door, and enquired the
stranger's pleasure.
"Is the Conde de Villabuena at home?" demanded the horseman. "I must
see him instantly."
"The name of your Senoria," enquired the domestic.
"It is unnecessary. Say that I have a message to him from friends at
Madrid."
The servant disappeared, and in another moment his place was occupied
by a grave, stern-looking man, between fifty and sixty years of age.
"I am Count Villabuena," said he; "what is your business?"
The stranger bent forward over his horse's mane, so as to bring his
face close to the wicket, and uttered three words in a tone audible
only to the count, who replied to them by an exclamation of surprise.
The door was immediately opened, and Villabuena stood beside the
horseman.
"When?" said he.
"Yesterday. I have ridden night and day to bring you the intelligence,
and shall now push on to the interior of Navarre. At the same time as
myself, others of our friends started, north and south, east and west.
Early this morning, Santos Ladron heard it at Valladolid, and Merino
in Castile. To-day the news has reached Vittoria; this night they will
be at Bilboa and Tolosa. It is from the northern provinces that most
is expected; but 'El Rey y la Religion' is a rallying-cry that will
rouse all Spaniards worthy of the name. You are prepared for the
event, and know what to do. Farewell, and success attend us!"
The stranger set spurs to his horse, and galloped down the avenue at
the same rapid pace at which he had arrived. The count re-entered the
house; and, as soon as he had done so, Luis dropped from his tree, and
hurried to rejoin Mariano. In another hour they had returned to the
venta.
Luis Herrera was the son of a Castilian gentleman, who had suffered
much, both in person and property, for his steady adherence to the
constitutional cause in Spain. Severely wounded whilst fighting
against the Royalists and their French allies in 1823, Don Manuel
Herrera with difficulty escaped to England, taking with him his only
son, then a boy of eleven years of age. In 1830 he changed his
residence to the south of France, and thence, taking advantage of his
proximity to the frontier, and wishing his son's education to be
completed in Spain, he dispatched Luis to Madrid, with a
recommendation to the Conde de Villabuena, who, notwithstanding that
his political principles were diametrically opposed to those of Don
Manuel, was one of the oldest friends of the latter. The count
welcomed Luis kindly, and received him into his house, where for some
months he prosecuted his studies in company with the young
Villabuenas, and, at the end of that time, went with them to the
university of Salamanca. The vacations were passed by the young men
either at the count's house at Madrid, or at a country residence near
Tudela, north of which, in the central valleys of his native province
of Navarre, the Conde de Villabuena owned extensive estates. The count
was a widower, and, besides his two sons, had an only daughter, who,
at the time of Luis's arrival was in her sixteenth year, and who added
to great personal attractions a share of accomplishment and
instruction larger than is usually found even amongst the higher
classes of Spanish women. During the first sojourn of Luis at the
count's house, he was naturally thrown a great deal into Dona Rita's
society, and a reciprocal attachment grew up between them, which, if
it occasionally afforded the young Villabuenas a subject of
good-humoured raillery, on the other hand was unobserved or uncared
for by the count--a stern silent man, whose thoughts and time were
engrossed by political intrigues. When Luis went to Salamanca, his
attachment to Rita, instead of becoming weakened or obliterated,
appeared to acquire strength from absence; and she, on her part, as
each vacation approached, unconsciously looked forward with far more
eagerness to the return of Herrera than to that of her brothers.
The autumn of 1832 arrived, and the count and his family, including
Luis, were assembled at the villa near Tudela. The attachment existing
between Rita and Luis had become evident to all who knew them; and
even the count himself seemed occasionally, by a quiet glance and
grave smile, to recognise and sanction its existence. Nor was there
any very obvious or strong reason for disapproval. The family of
Herrera was ancient and honourable; and, although Don Manuel's estates
had been confiscated when he fled the country, he had previously
remitted to England a sum that secured him a moderate independence.
The state of things in Spain was daily becoming more favourable to the
hopes of political exiles. The declining health of Ferdinand had
thrown the reins of government almost entirely into the hands of Queen
Christina, who, in order to increase the number of her adherents, and
ensure her daughter's succession to the throne, favoured the return to
Spain of the Liberal party. Although Don Manuel, who was known to be
obstinate and violent in his political views, had not yet been
included in the amnesties published, it was thought that he speedily
would be so; and then time and importunity, and an adherence to the
established order of things, might perhaps procure him the restitution
of some part of his confiscated property.
It chanced, that on the fourth day after the arrival of Luis and the
Villabuenas from Salamanca, the two latter rode over to the Ebro,
below Tudela, for the purpose of bathing. They were not good swimmers,
and were moreover unaccustomed to bathe in so rapid and powerful a
stream. A peasant, who observed two horses tied to a tree, and some
clothes upon the grass by the river side, but who could see nothing of
the owners, suspected an accident, and gave the alarm. A search was
instituted, and the dead bodies of the unfortunate young men were
found upon the sandy shore of an island some distance down the river.
This melancholy event was destined to have an important influence on
the position of Luis Herrera in the family of Count Villabuena, and on
his future fortunes. Mingled with the natural grief felt by the count
at the untimely death of his children, were the pangs of disappointed
pride and ambition. He had reckoned upon the gallant and promising
young men, thus prematurely snatched away, for the continuance and
aggrandizement of his ancient name. Upon his daughter he had hitherto
scarcely bestowed a thought. She would marry--honourably of course,
richly if possible; but even in this last respect he would not be
inflexible, for where his pride of birth did not interfere, Villabuena
was not an unkind father. But the death of his sons brought about
great changes. The next heir to his title and estates was a distant
and unmarried cousin, and to him the count determined to marry his
daughter, whose beauty and large fortune in money and unentailed
estates, rendered any objection to the match on the part of her
kinsman a most improbable occurrence. As a first step towards the
accomplishment of this scheme, the count resolved to put an end at
once to what he considered the childish attachment existing between
Rita and Luis. Within a week after the death of his sons, he had a
conversation with young Herrera, in which he informed him of his
intentions with regard to his daughter, and pointed out to him the
necessity of forgetting her. In vain did Luis declare this to be
impossible, and plead the strength which his attachment had acquired
by his long permitted intercourse with Rita. The count cared little
for such lover-like arguments; he assured Luis that he was mistaken,
that time and absence brought oblivion in their train, and that after
a few months, perhaps weeks, of separation, he would wonder at the
change in his sentiments, and laugh at the importance he had attached
to a mere boyish fancy. It so happened, that on the day preceding the
one upon which this conversation took place, a letter had been
received from Don Manuel Herrera, announcing his speedy return to
Spain, the much-desired permission having at length been obtained. In
order to give Luis an opportunity of speedily testing the effects of
absence, the count proposed that he should at once set out for the
French frontier to meet his father. Under the existing circumstances,
he said, it was undesirable that he should remain under the same roof
with his daughter longer than could be avoided.
Although bitterly deploring the prospect of an immediate and lasting
separation from Rita, Luis had no choice but to adopt the course
proposed; nor would his pride have allowed him to remain in the
count's house an instant longer than his presence there was
acceptable. He feared that the count would prevent his having a last
interview with Rita; but this Villabuena did not think it worth while
to do, contenting himself with repeating to his daughter the
communication he had already made to Luis. When the latter sought his
mistress, he found her in tears and great affliction. The blow was so
sudden and unexpected, that she could scarcely believe in its reality,
and still less could she bring herself to think that the count would
persist in his cruel resolution. "He will surely relent," she said,
"when he sees how unhappy his decision makes me; but should he not do
so, rest assured, Luis, that I will never be forced into this odious
marriage. Sooner than submit to it, a convent shall receive me." And
once more repeating the vows of constancy which they had so often
interchanged, the lovers separated. At daybreak upon the following
morning, Luis set out for Bayonne.
The joy experienced by Don Manuel Herrera upon once more treading his
native soil, did not so engross him as to prevent his observing the
melancholy of his son. In reply to his father's enquiries, Luis
informed him of his attachment to Rita, and of the interdict which
the count had put upon its continuance. Don Manuel was indignant at
what he termed the selfish and unfeeling conduct of Villabuena, who
would thus sacrifice his daughter's happiness to his own pride and
ambition. He then endeavoured to rouse the pride of Luis, and to
convert his regrets into indignation; but, finding himself
unsuccessful, he resolved to try the effect of change of scene and
constant occupation. He set out with his son for Old Castile, of which
he was a native, and undertook various journeys through the province
in search of a small estate, such as his means would permit him to
purchase, and upon which he might in future reside. This he at last
found, a few leagues to the south of Burgos. The purchase completed,
there were still many arrangements to make before Don Manuel could
settle down and enjoy the peaceful country life which he had planned
for himself, and in making these arrangements he took care to find his
son abundant and varied employment. But all his well-meant efforts
were in vain. Luis could not detach his thoughts from one
all-engrossing subject; and at last, although Count Villabuena had
expressly forbidden any correspondence between his daughter and young
Herrera, the latter, after some weeks' absence, unable to resist any
longer his desire to hear from Rita, ventured to write to her. The
letter was intercepted by the count, and returned unopened, with a few
haughty lines expressive of his indignation at the ingratitude of
Luis, who was requiting the kindness he had received at his hands by
endeavouring to thwart his plans and seduce the affections of his
daughter. The terms in which this letter was couched roused the ire of
Don Manuel, who in his turn forbade his son to expose himself to a
repetition of similar insults by any communication with the count or
his daughter. Shortly afterwards Luis returned to Salamanca to
complete his studies.
The profession of the law, to which young Herrera was destined, had
never had any charms for him. His own inclinations pointed to a
military career, which he had on various occasions urged his father to
allow him to adopt; but Don Manuel had invariably refused his request,
alleging the poor prospect of advancement in time of peace, and in a
service in which nearly all promotion was gained by interest and
court-favour. Nevertheless, from his earliest youth Luis had devoted
his leisure hours to the attainment of accomplishments qualifying him
for the trade of war. He was the boldest horseman, most skilful
swordsman, and best shot in the University of Salamanca. His
superiority in these respects, his decided character, and agreeable
manners, had gained him considerable popularity amongst his
fellow-students, who frequently expressed their surprise, that one
whose vocation was evidently military should abide by the dusty folios
and dry intricacies of the law.
More insupportable than ever did his studies now appear to Luis, who
nevertheless persevered in them for several months after his father's
return to Spain, endeavouring by strenuous application to divert his
thoughts from his hopeless attachment. Weary at length of the effort,
he determined to abandon a pursuit so uncongenial to his tastes, and
to seek a more active course of life, and one for which he felt he was
better suited. His plan was to repair to Africa, and endeavour to
obtain a commission in one of the foreign corps which the French were
raising for their campaign against the Bedouins. Should he fail in
this, he would serve as a volunteer, and trust to his courage and
merits for procuring him advancement. Previously, however, to the
execution of this scheme, he resolved to see Rita once more, ascertain
from her own lips whether there was a chance of the count's relenting,
and, should there be none, bid her a last farewell. He would then
return to his father's house, and obtain Don Manuel's sanction to his
project.
Since the unfortunate death of the young Villabuenas, Herrera's chief
intimate at the University had been Mariano Torres, a hot-headed,
warm-hearted Arragonese, entirely devoted to Luis, to whom he looked
up as a model of perfection. To this young man Luis had confided his
love for Rita, and her father's opposition, and to him he now
communicated his new plans. To his infinite surprise, scarcely had he
done so when Mariano, instead of expressing regret at his approaching
departure, threw his three-cornered student's hat to the ceiling, tore
off his gown, and declared his intention of accompanying his friend to
Africa, or to any other part of the world to which he chose to betake
himself. Luis tried to persuade him to abandon so mad a resolution;
but Torres persisted in it, protesting that it would suit his taste
much better to fight against Bedouins than to become a bachelor of
arts, and that he had always intended to leave the University with his
friend, and to accompany him wherever he might go. Trusting that, by
the time they should reach Navarre, Mariano's enthusiasm would cool
down, and his resolution change, Luis at length yielded, and the two
friends left Salamanca together. Travelling by the public conveyances,
they reached Valladolid, and subsequently the town of Soria, whence
they had still nearly twenty leagues of high-road to Tudela. The path
across the mountains being considerably shorter, and in order to
diminish the risk of being seen by persons who might inform the count
of his arrival, Luis resolved to complete the journey on foot; and
after two short days' march, the young men reached the neighbourhood
of Count Villabuena's residence.
The church and convent clocks of the right Catholic city of Tudela had
not yet chimed out the hour of noon, when Luis, impatient for the
interview promised by Rita, entered the count's domain by the same
path as on the previous evening. Before he came in sight of the house,
he was met at an angle of the shrubbery by Rita herself.
"I was sure you would take this path," said she, with a smile in which
melancholy was mingled with the pleasure she felt at seeing her lover;
"it was your favourite in days gone by. Our interview must be very
brief. My father was to have remained at Tudela till evening, but
something has occurred to derange his plans. He sat up the whole night
in close conference with some gentlemen. At daybreak two couriers were
dispatched, and the count rode away with his friends without having
been in bed. He may return at any moment."
Luis drew the arm of his mistress through his own, and they slowly
walked down one of the alleys of the garden. Rita had little to tell
him favourable to the hopes which he still, in spite of himself,
continued to cherish. The appeals which she had ventured to make to
her father's affection, and to his regard for her happiness, had been
met by severe reproof. Her evident depression and melancholy remained
unnoticed, or at least unadverted to, by the count. All that she said
only confirmed Luis in his resolution of seeking high distinction or
an honourable death in a foreign service. He was deliberating, with
eyes fixed upon the ground, on the best manner of breaking his
intentions to Rita, when an exclamation of alarm from her lips caused
him to look up, and he saw Villabuena crossing on horseback the end of
the walk along which they were advancing. The count's head was turned
towards them, and he had without doubt seen and recognised them.
Herrera's resolution was instantly taken. He would seek the count's
presence, take upon himself the whole blame of his clandestine meeting
with Rita, and appease her father's anger by informing him of his
proposed self-banishment. Before, however, he had succeeded in calming
Rita's fears, he again perceived the count, who had left his horse,
and was advancing slowly towards them, with a grave, but not an angry
countenance. On his near approach, Luis was about to address him; but
by a wave of his hand Villabuena enjoined silence.
"Return to the house, Rita," said he in a calm voice: "and, you, Senor
de Herrera, remain here; I would speak a few words with you."
Tremblingly, and with one last lingering look at Luis, Rita withdrew.
"We will walk, sir, if you please," said the count; and the two men
walked for some distance side by side and in silence; Villabuena
apparently plunged in reflection, Luis wondering at his forbearance,
and impatient for its explanation.
"You are surprised," said the count at last, "after all that has
passed, that I show so little resentment at your uninvited presence
here, and at Rita's infringement of my positive commands."
Luis would have spoken, but Villabuena resumed.
"You will be still more astonished to learn, that there is a
possibility of your attachment receiving my sanction."
Herrera started, and his face was lighted up with sudden rapture.
"You will of course have heard," continued the count, "of the
important intelligence received here last night, and with which this
morning all the country is ringing. I allude to the death of Ferdinand
VII."
"I had not heard of it," replied Luis, much surprised; for, although
the desperate state of the king's health was well known, his malady
had lasted so long that men had almost left off expecting his death.
"I know I can depend upon your honour, Luis," said the count; "and I
am therefore about to speak to you with a confidence which I should
repose in few so young and inexperienced."
Luis bowed.
"Although," resumed Villabuena, "his Majesty Charles the Fifth is at
this moment absent from Spain, his faithful subjects will not allow
that absence to be prejudicial to him. They intend to vindicate his
just rights, and to overturn the contemptible faction which, headed by
an intriguing woman, supports the unfounded claims of a sickly infant.
In anticipation of Ferdinand's death, all necessary measures have been
taken; and, before three days elapse, you will see a flame lighted up
through the land, which will speedily consume and destroy the enemies
of Spain, and of her rightful monarch. Navarre and Biscay, Valentia
and Arragon, Catalonia and Castile, will rise almost to a man in
defence of their king; the other provinces must follow their example,
or be compelled to submission. Although confident of success, it yet
behoves us to neglect no means of securing it; nor are we so blinded
as to think that the faction which at present holds the reins of
government will resign them without a struggle. Avoiding
overconfidence, therefore, which so often leads to failure, each man
must put his shoulder to the wheel, and contribute his best efforts to
the one great end, regardless of private sacrifices. What I have to
propose to you is this. Time was when our universities were the
strongholds of loyalty and religion; but that time is unfortunately
past, and the baneful doctrines of republicanism and equality have
found their way even into those nurseries of our priesthood and
statesmen. We are well informed that at Salamanca especially, many of
the students, even of the better class, incline to the self-styled
Liberal party. You, Luis, are ready of speech, bold and prompt in
action, and, moreover, you are known to have great influence amongst
your fellow-students. Return, then, to Salamanca, and exert that
influence to bring back into the right path those who have been led
astray. Urge the just claims of Charles V., hold out the prospect of
military glory and distinction, and of the gratitude of an admiring
country. Let your efforts be chiefly directed to gain over young men
of wealthy and influential families, and to induce them to take up
arms for the king. Form them into a squadron, of which you shall have
the command, and the private soldiers of which shall rank as officers
in the army, and subsequently be transferred to other corps to act as
such. Appoint a place of rendezvous; and, when your men are assembled
there, march them to join the nearest division of the Royalist army. I
guarantee to you a captain's commission; and as soon as the king, with
whom I have some influence, arrives in Spain, I will strongly
recommend you to his favour. Our campaign, however brief, must afford
opportunities of distinction to brave men who seek them. With your
energy, and with the natural military talents which I am persuaded you
possess, high rank, honours, and riches may speedily be yours. And
when Charles V., firmly seated on the throne of Spain, points you out
to me as one of those to whom he owes his crown, and as a man whom he
delights to honour, I will no longer refuse to you my daughter's
hand."
However distant the perspective of happiness thus offered to his view,
and although the avenue leading to it was beset with dangers and
uncertainties, it promised to realize the ardent hopes which Luis
Herrera had once ventured to indulge. Sanguine and confident, he would
at once have caught at the count's proposal, but for one consideration
that flashed across his mind. He was himself wedded to no political
creed, and had as yet scarcely bestowed a thought upon the different
parties into which his countrymen were split. But his father, who had
so strenuously adhered to the Liberal side, who had poured out his
blood with Mina, fought side by side with Riego, sacrificed his
property, and endured a long and wearisome exile for conscience and
his opinions' sake--what would be his feelings if he saw his only son
range himself beneath the banner of absolutism? The struggle in the
mind of Luis, between love on the one hand and filial duty and
affection on the other, was too severe and too equally balanced to be
instantly decided. He remained silent, and the count, mistaking the
cause of his hesitation, resumed.
"You are surprised," said he, "to find me so willing to abandon my
dearest projects for the sake of a remote advantage to the king's
cause. But remember that I promise nothing--all is contingent on your
own conduct and success. And although you may have thought me
unfeeling and severe, I shall gladly, if possible, indulge the
inclinations of my only surviving child."
It required all Herrera's firmness and sense of duty to prevent him
from yielding to the temptation held out, and pledging himself at once
to the cause of Charles V.
"You will not expect me, Senor Conde," said he, "to give an immediate
answer to a proposal of such importance. I feel sincerely grateful to
you, but must crave a short delay for consideration."
"Let that delay be as brief as possible," said Villabuena. "In the
present circumstances, the value of assistance will be doubled by its
promptness. When love and loyalty are both in one scale," added he,
with a slight smile, "methinks a decision were easy."
They had now approached the gate of the garden, and Luis, desirous of
finding himself alone, to arrange his thoughts and reflect on his
future conduct, took his leave. The count held out his hand with some
of his former cordiality.
"You will write to me from Salamanca?" said he.
Herrera bowed his head, and then, fearful lest his assent should be
misconstrued, he replied--
"From Salamanca, or from elsewhere, you shall certainly hear from me,
Senor Conde, and that with all speed."
The count nodded and turned towards the house, whilst Luis retook the
road to the venta.
He found Mariano impatiently waiting his return, and eager to learn
the result of his interview with Rita. Upon being informed of the
proposal that had been made to Luis, Torres, seeing in it only a means
of happiness for his friend, strongly urged him to accept it. To this,
however, Luis could not make up his mind; and finally, after some
deliberation, he resolved to proceed to Old Castile, and endeavour to
obtain his father's consent to his joining the party of Don Carlos.
Should he succeed in this, of which he could not help entertaining a
doubt, he would no longer hesitate, but at once inform the count of
his decision, and hasten to Salamanca to put his instructions into
execution. Without further delay the two friends set out for Tarazona,
where they trusted to find some means of speedy conveyance to the
residence of Don Manuel.
* * * * *
In the kingdom of Old Castile, and more especially in its mountainous
portions and the districts adjacent to the Ebro, an extraordinary
bustle and agitation were observable during the first days of October
1833. There was great furbishing of rusty muskets, an eager search
for cartridges, much dusting of old uniforms that had long served but
as hiding-places for moths, and which were now donned by men, many of
whom seemed but ill at ease in their military equipments. For ten
years Spain had been tranquil, if not happy; but now, as if even this
short period of repose were too long for the restless spirit of her
sons, a new pretext for discord had been found, and an ominous stir,
the forerunner of civil strife, was perceptible through the land.
Whilst Santos Ladron, an officer of merit, who had served through the
whole of the war against Napoleon, raised the standard of Charles V.
in Navarre, various partisans did the same in the country south of the
Ebro. In the northeastern corner of Castile, known as the Rioja,
Basilio Garcia, agent for the Pope's bulls in the province of Soria--a
man destitute of military knowledge, and remarkable only for his
repulsive exterior and cold-blooded ferocity--collected and headed a
small body of insurgents; whilst, in other districts of the same
province, several battalions of the old Royalist volunteers--a loose,
ill-disciplined militia, as motely and unsoldierlike in appearance as
they were unsteady and inefficient in the field--ranged themselves
under the orders of a general-officer named Cuevillas, and of the
veteran Merino. To these soon joined themselves various individuals of
the half-soldier half-bandit class, so numerous in Spain--men who had
served in former wars, and asked no better than again to enact the
scenes of bloodshed and pillage which were their element. The
popularity and acknowledged skill of Merino as a guerilla-leader,
secured to him the services of many of these daring and desperate
ruffians, who flocked joyously to the banner of the soldier-priest,
under whose orders some of them had already fought.
Through a tract of champaign country in the province of Burgos, a
column of these newly-assembled troops was seen marching early upon
the third morning after the interview between Luis Herrera and Count
Villabuena. It consisted of a battalion of the Realista militia, for
the most part middle-aged citizens, who, although they had felt
themselves bound to obey the call to arms, seemed but indifferently
pleased at having left their families and occupations. Their equipment
was various: few had complete uniform, although most of them displayed
some part of one; but all had belts and cartridge-box, musket and
bayonet. Although they had as yet gone but a short distance, many of
them appeared footsore and weary; and it was pretty evident that, in
the event of a campaign, their ranks would be thinned nearly as much
by the fatigues of the march as by the fire of the enemy. In front and
rear of the battalion marched a squadron of cavalry, of a far more
soldierly aspect than the foot-soldiers, although even amongst them
but little uniformity of costume was found. The bronzed and bearded
physiognomy, athletic form and upright carriage, which bespeak the
veteran soldier, were not wanting in their ranks; their horses were
active and hardy, their arms clean and serviceable.
At the head of the column, a few paces in advance, rode a small group
of officers, the chief amongst whom was only to be distinguished by
the deference shown to him by his companions. Insignia of rank he had
none, nor any indications of his military profession, excepting the
heavy sabre that dangled against the flank of his powerful black
charger. His dress was entirely civilian, consisting of a long surtout
something the worse for wear, and a round hat. Heavy spurs upon his
heels, and an ample cloak, now strapped across his holsters, completed
the equipment of the cura Merino, in whose hard and rigid features,
and wiry person, scarcely a sign of decay or infirmity was visible
after more than sixty years of life, a large portion of which had been
passed amidst the fatigues and hardships of incessant campaigning.
As if infected by the sombre and taciturn character of their leader,
the party of officers had been riding for some time in silence, when
they came in sight of a house situated at a short distance from the
road, and of a superior description to the _caserias_ and peasants'
cottages which they had hitherto passed. It was a building of moderate
size, with an appearance of greater comfort and neatness about it than
is usually found in Spanish houses. Stables adjoined it, and, at some
distance in its rear, a range of barns and outhouses served to store
the crops produced by the extensive tract of well-cultivated land in
the centre of which the dwelling was situated. The front of the house
was partially masked from the road by an orchard, and behind it a
similar growth of fruit trees seemed intended to intercept the keen
blasts from a line of mountains which rose, grey and gloomy, at the
distance of a few miles.
"Who lives yonder?" abruptly enquired Merino, pointing to the house,
which he had been gazing at for some time from under his bushy
eyebrows. The officer to whom the question was addressed referred to
another of the party, a native of that part of the country.
"Senor de Herrera," was the answer. "We have been riding for some
minutes through his property. He purchased the estate about a year
ago, on his return from France."
"What had he been doing in France?"
"Living there, which he could not have done here unless he had been
bullet-proof, or had a neck harder than the iron collar of the
garrote."
"Herrera!" repeated the cura musingly--"I know the name, but there are
many who bear it. There was a Manuel Herrera who sat in the Cortes in
the days of the constitutionalists, and afterwards commanded a
battalion of their rabble. You do not mean him?"
"The same, general," replied the officer, addressing Merino by the
rank which he held in the Spanish army since the war of Independence.
A most unpriestly ejaculation escaped the lips of the cura.
"Manuel Herrera," he repeated; "the dog, the _negro_,[1] the friend of
the scoundrel Riego! I will hang him up at his own door!"
All the old hatreds and bitter party animosities of Merino seemed
wakened into new life by the name of one of his former opponents. His
eyes flashed, his lips quivered with rage, and he half turned his
horse, as if about to proceed to Herrera's house and put his threat
into execution. The impulse, however, was checked almost as soon as
felt.
"Another time will do," said he, with a grin smile. "Let us once get
Charles V. at Madrid, and we will make short work of the Senor Herrera
and of all who resemble him." And the cura continued his march, silent
as before.
He had proceeded but a short half mile when the officer commanding the
cavalry rode up beside him.
"We have no forage, general," said he--"not a blade of straw, or a
grain in our corn-sacks. Shall I send on an orderly, that we may find
it ready on reaching the halting-place?"
"No!" replied Merino. "Send a party to that house on the left of the
road which we passed ten minutes ago. Let them press all the carts
they find there, load them with corn, and bring them after us."
The officer fell back to his squadron, and the next minute a subaltern
and twenty men detached themselves from the column, and, at a brisk
trot, began retracing their steps along the road. Upon arriving in
sight of the house to which they were proceeding, they leaped their
horses over a narrow ditch dividing the road from the fields and
struck across the latter in a straight line, compelled, however, by
the heaviness of the ground to slacken their pace to a walk. They had
not got over more than half the distance which they had to traverse,
when they heard the clang of a bell, continuously rung; and this was
followed by the appearance of two men, who issued from the stables and
out-buildings, and hurried to the house. Scarcely had they entered
when the shutters of the lower windows were pushed to, and the heavy
door closed and barred. The soldiers were now within a hundred yards
of the dwelling.
"Hallo!" cried the officer contemptuously, "they will not stand a
siege, will they? The old don is a black-hearted rebel, I know; but he
will hardly be fool enough to resist us."
The trooper was mistaken. The courage of Don Manuel Herrera was of
that obstinate and uncalculating character which would have induced
him to defend his house, single-handed, against a much larger force
than that now brought against it. When he had learned, three days
previously, that risings were taking place in his own neighbourhood in
the name of Charles V., he had attached very little importance to the
intelligence. An old soldier himself, he entertained the most
unmitigated contempt for the Realista volunteers, whom he looked upon
as a set of tailors, whose muskets would rather encumber them than
injure any body else; and who, on the first appearance of regular
troops, would infallibly throw down their arms, and betake themselves
to their homes. As to the parties of insurgent guerillas which he was
informed were beginning to show themselves at various points of the
vicinity, he considered them as mere bandits, availing themselves of
the stir and excitement in the country to exercise their nefarious
profession; and, should any such parties attempt to molest him, he was
fully determined to resist their attacks. In this resolution he now
persevered, although he rightly conjectured that the horsemen
approaching his house were either the rearguard or a detachment of the
disorderly-looking column of which he had a short time previously
observed the passage.
"Hola! Don Manolo!" shouted the officer, as he halted his party in
front of the house; "what scurvy hospitality is this? What are you
fastening doors and ringing alarm-bells for, as if there were more
thieves than honest men in the land? We come to pay you a friendly
visit, and, instead of welcome and the wine-skin, you shut the door in
our faces. Devilish unfriendly, that, Don Manolito!"
The speaker, who, like many of Merino's followers, was an inhabitant
of the neighbouring country, knew Don Manuel well by name and
reputation, and was also known to him as a deserter from the
Constitutionalists in 1823, and as one of the most desperate smugglers
and outlaws in the province.
"What do you want with me, Pedro Rufin?" demanded Don Manuel, who now
showed himself at one of the upper windows; "and what is the meaning
of this assemblage of armed men?"
"The meaning is," replied Rufin, "that I have been detached from the
division of his Excellency General Merino, to demand from you a
certain quantity of maize or barley, or both, for the service of his
Majesty King Charles V."
"I know no such persons," retorted Don Manuel, "as General Merino or
King Charles V. But I know you well, Rufin, and the advice I give you
is to begone, yourself and your companions. We shall have troops here
to-day or to-morrow, and you will find the country too hot to hold
you."
The officer laughed.
"Troops are here already," he said; "you may have seen our column
march by not half an hour ago. But we have no time to lose. Once more,
Senor Herrera, open the door, and that quickly."
"My door does not open at your bidding," replied Don Manuel. "I give
you two minutes to draw off your followers, and, if you are not gone
by that time, you shall be fired upon."
"Morral," said the officer to one of his men, "your horse is a kicker,
I believe. Try the strength of the door."
The soldier left the ranks, and turning his rawboned, vicious-looking
chestnut horse with its tail to the house-door, he pressed his
knuckles sharply upon the animal's loins, just behind the saddle. The
horse lashed out furiously, each kick of his iron-shod heels making
the door crack and rattle, and striking out white splinters from the
dark surface of the oak of which it was composed. At the first kick
Don Manuel left the window. The soldiers stood looking on, laughing
till they rolled in their saddles at this novel species of
sledge-hammer. Owing, however, to the great solidity of the door, and
the numerous fastenings with which it was provided on the other side,
the kicks of the horse, although several times repeated, failed to
burst it open; and at last the animal, as if wearied by the resistance
it met with, relaxed the vigour of its applications.
"Famous horse that of yours, Morral!" said the officer; "as good as a
locksmith or a six-pounder. Try it again, my boy. You have made some
ugly marks already. Another round of kicks, and the way is open."
"And if another blow is struck upon my door," said Don Manuel,
suddenly reappearing at the window, to the soldier, "your horse will
go home with an empty saddle."
"Silence! you old rebel," shouted Rufin, drawing a pistol from his
holster. "And you, Morral, never fear. At it again, man."
The soldier again applied his knuckles to his horse's back, and the
animal gave a tremendous kick. At the same instant a puff of smoke
issued from the window at which Don Manuel had stationed himself, the
report of a musket was heard, and the unlucky Morral, shot through the
body, fell headlong to the ground.
"Damnation!" roared the officer, firing his pistol at the window
whence the shot had proceeded; and immediately his men, without
waiting for orders, commenced an irregular fire of carbines and
pistols against the house. It was replied to with effect from three of
the windows. A man fell mortally wounded, and two of the horses were
hit. Rufin, alarmed at the loss the party had experienced, drew his
men back under shelter of some trees, till he could decide on what was
best to be done. It seemed at first by no means improbable that the
Carlists would have to beat a retreat, or at any rate wait the arrival
of infantry, which it was not improbable Merino might have sent to
their assistance when the sound of the firing reached his ears. The
lower windows of the house were protected by strong iron bars; and,
although the defenders were so few in number, their muskets, and the
shelter behind which they fought, gave them a great advantage over the
assailants, whose carbines would not carry far, and who had no cover
from the fire of their opponents. At last a plan was devised which
offered some chance of success. The party dismounted; and whilst four
men, making a circuit, and concealing themselves as much as possible
behind trees and hedges, endeavoured to get in rear of the building,
the others, with the exception of two or three who remained with the
horses, advanced towards the front of the house, firing as rapidly as
they could, in order, by the smoke and by attracting the attention of
the besieged, to cover the manoeuvre of their comrades. The
stratagem was completely successful. Whilst Don Manuel and his
servants were answering the fire of their assailants with some effect,
the four men got round the house, climbed over a wall, found a ladder
in an out-building, and applied it to one of the back-windows, which
they burst open. A shout of triumph, and the report of their pistols,
informed their companions of their entrance, and the next moment one
of them threw open the front door, and the guerillas rushed
tumultuously into the house.
It was about two hours after these occurrences, that Luis Herrera and
Mariano Torres arrived at Don Manuel's residence. They had been
delayed upon the road by the disturbed state of the country, which
rendered it difficult to procure conveyances, and had at last been
compelled to hire a couple of indifferent horses, upon which,
accompanied by a muleteer, they had made but slow progress across the
mountainous district they had to traverse. The news of the Carlist
insurrection had inspired Luis with some alarm on account of his
father, whom he knew to be in the highest degree obnoxious to many of
that party. At the same time he had not yet heard of the perpetration
of any acts of violence, and was far from anticipating the spectacle
which met his eyes when he at last came in view of the Casa Herrera.
With an exclamation of horror he forced his horse, up a bank
bordering the road, and, followed by Mariano, galloped towards the
house.
Of the dwelling, so lately a model of rural ease and comfort, the four
walls alone were now standing. The roof had fallen in, and the tongues
of flame which licked and flickered round the apertures where windows
had been, showed that the devouring element was busy completing its
work. The adjoining stables, owing to their slighter construction, and
to the combustibles they contained, had been still more rapidly
consumed. Of them, a heap of smoking ashes and a few charred beams and
blackened bricks were all that remained. The paling of the tastefully
distributed garden was broken down in several places; the parterres
and melon-beds were trampled and destroyed by the hoofs of the Carlist
horses, which had seemingly been turned in there to feed, or perhaps
been ridden through it in utter wantonness by their brutal owners. The
ground in front of the house was strewed with broken furniture, and
with articles of wearing apparel, the latter of which appeared to have
belonged to the Carlists, and to have been exchanged by them for
others of a better description found in the house. Empty bottles,
fragments of food, and a couple of wine-skins, of which the greater
part of the contents had been poured out upon the ground, lay
scattered about near the carcass of a horse and three human corpses,
two of the latter being those of Carlists, and the third that of one
of the defenders of the house. A few peasants stood by, looking on in
open-mouthed stupefaction; and above the whole scene of desolation, a
thick cloud of black smoke floated like a funereal pall.
In an agony of suspense Luis enquired for his father. The peasant to
whom he addressed the question, pointed to the buildings in rear of
the house, which the Carlists, weary perhaps of the work of
destruction, had left uninjured.
"Don Manuel is there," said he, "if he still lives."
The latter part of the sentence was drowned in the noise of the
horse's feet, as Luis spurred furiously towards the buildings
indicated, which consisted of barns, and of a small dwelling-house
inhabited by his father's steward. On entering the latter, his worst
fears were realized.
Upon a bed in a room on the ground floor, Don Manuel Herrera was
lying, apparently insensible. His face was overspread with an ashy
paleness, his eyes were closed, his lips blue and pinched. He was
partially undressed, and his linen, and the bed upon which he lay,
were stained with blood. A priest stood beside him, a crucifix in one
hand and a cordial in the other; whilst an elderly peasant woman held
a linen cloth to a wound in the breast of the expiring man. In an
adjacent room were heard the sobbings and lamentations of women and
children. With a heart swollen almost to bursting, Luis approached the
bed.
"Father!" he exclaimed as he took Don Manuel's hand, which hung
powerless over the side of the couch--"Father, is it thus I find you!"
The voice of his son seemed to rouse the sufferer from the swoon or
lethargy in which he lay. He opened his eyes, a faint smile of
recognition and affection came over his features, and his feeble
fingers strove to press those of Luis. The priest made a sign to the
woman, and, whilst she gently raised Don Manuel's head, he held the
cordial to his lips. The effect of the draught was instantaneous and
reviving.
"This is a sad welcome for you, Luis," said Don Manuel. "Your home
destroyed, and your father dying. God be thanked for sending you now,
and no sooner! I can die happy since you are here to close my eyes."
He paused, exhausted by the exertion of speaking. A slight red foam
stood upon his lips, which the priest wiped away, and another draught
of the cordial enabled him to proceed.
"My son," said he, "my minutes are numbered. Mark my last words, and
attend to them as you value my blessing, and your own repose. I
foresee that this country is on the eve of a long and bloody struggle.
How it may end, and whether it is to be the last that shall rend
unhappy Spain, who can tell? But your course is plain before you. By
the memory of your sainted mother, and the love you bear to me, be
stanch to the cause I have ever defended. You are young, and strong,
and brave; your arm and your heart's best blood are due to the cause
of Spanish freedom. My son, swear that you will defend it!"
No selfish thought of his own happiness, which would be marred by the
oath he was required to take, nor any but the one absorbing idea of
smoothing his dying father's pillow by a prompt and willing compliance
with his wishes, crossed the mind of Luis as he took the crucifix from
the hand of the priest, and, kneeling by the bedside, swore on the
sacred emblem to obey Don Manuel's injunctions both in letter and
spirit, and to resist to his latest breath the traitors who would
enslave his country. His father listened to the fervent vow with a
well-pleased smile. By a last effort he raised himself in his bed, and
laid his hand upon the head of his kneeling son.
"May God and his saints prosper thee, Luis," said he, "as thou
observest this oath!"
He sank back, his features convulsed by the pain which the movement
occasioned him.
"Mother of God!" exclaimed the woman, who was still holding the
bandage to the wound. The bleeding, which had nearly ceased, had
recommenced with redoubled violence, and a crimson stream was flowing
over the bed. The death-rattle was in Don Manuel's throat, but his
eyes were still fixed upon his son, and he seemed to make an effort to
extend his arms towards him. With feelings of unutterable agony, Luis
bent forward and kissed his father's cheek. It was that of a corpse.
For the space of a minute did the bereaved son gaze at the rigid
features before him, as if unable to comprehend that one so dear was
gone from him for ever. At last the sad truth forced itself upon his
mind; he bowed his face upon the pillow of his murdered parent, and
his overcharged feelings found relief in a passion of tears. The
priest and the woman left the apartment. Mariano Torres remained
standing behind his friend, and after a time made an effort to lead
him from the room. But Luis motioned him away. His grief was of those
that know not human consolation.
It was evening when Mariano, who had been watching near the chamber of
death, without venturing to intrude upon his friend's sorrow, saw the
door open and Luis come forth. Torres started at seeing him, so great
was the change that had taken place in his aspect. His cheeks were
pale and his eyes inflamed with weeping, but the expression of his
countenance was no longer sorrowful; it was stern even to fierceness,
and his look was that of an avenger rather than a mourner. Taking
Mariano's arm, he led him out of the house, and, entering the stable,
began to saddle his horse with his own hands. Torres followed his
example in silence, and then both mounted and rode off in the
direction of the high-road. Upon reaching it, Mariano first ventured
to address a question to his friend.
"What are your plans, Luis?" said he. "Whither do we now proceed?"
"To provide for my father's funeral," was the reply.
"And afterwards?" said his friend, with some hesitation.
"To revenge his death!" hoarsely shouted Herrera, as he spurred his
horse to its utmost speed along the rough road that led to the nearest
village.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] _Negro_, or black, was the term commonly applied to the Liberals
by their antagonists.
HUMBOLDT.
We hear much, and much that is true, of the ephemeral character of a
large part of our literature; but to no branch of it are the
observations more truly applicable, than to the greater number of
travels which now issue from the British press. It may safely be
affirmed that our writers of travels, both male and female, have of
late years arrived at a pitch of weakness, trifling, and emptiness,
which is unparalleled in the previous history of literature in this or
perhaps any other country. When we see two post octavos of travels
newly done up by the binder, we are prepared for a series of useless
remarks, weak attempts at jokes, disquisitions on dishes, complaints
of inns, stale anecdotes and vain flourishes, which almost make us
blush for our country, and the cause of intelligence over the world.
The Russian Emperor, who unquestionably has the power of licensing or
prohibiting any of his subjects to travel at his own pleasure, is said
to concede the liberty only to the men of intelligence and ability in
his dominions; the fools are all obliged to remain at home. Hence the
high reputation which the Muscovites enjoy abroad and the frequent
disappointment which is felt by travellers of other nations, when they
visit their own country. It is evident, from the character of the
books of travels which every spring issue from the London press, with
a few honourable exceptions, that no such restraining power exists in
the British dominions. We have no individuals or particular works in
view in these observations. We speak of things in general. If any one
doubts their truth, let him enquire how many of the numberless travels
which annually issue from the British press are ever sought after, or
heard of, five years after their publication.
Our annual supply of ephemeral travels is far inferior in point of
merit to the annual supply of novels. This is the more remarkable,
because travels, if written in the right spirit, and by persons of
capacity and taste, are among the most delightful, and withal
instructive, species of composition of which literature can boast.
They are so, because by their very nature they take the reader, as
well as the writer, out of the sphere of every-day observation and
commonplace remark. This is an immense advantage: so great indeed,
that, if made use of with tolerable capacity, it should give works of
this sort a decided superiority in point of interest and utility over
all others, excepting History and the higher species of Romance.
Commonplace is the bane of literature, especially in an old and
civilized state; monotony--the thing to be principally dreaded. The
very air is filled with ordinary ideas. General education, universal
reading, unhappily make matters worse; they tend only to multiply the
echoes of the original report--a new one has scarce any chance of
being heard amidst the ceaseless reverberation of the old. The more
ancient a nation is, the more liable is it to be overwhelmed by this
dreadful evil. The Byzantine empire, during a thousand years of
civilisation and opulence, did not produce one work of original
thought; five hundred years after the light of Athenian genius had
been extinguished, the schools of Greece were still pursuing the
beaten paths, and teaching the doctrines of Plato and Aristotle. It is
the peculiar and prodigious advantage of travelling, that it
counteracts this woful and degrading tendency, and by directing men's
thoughts, as well as their steps, into foreign lands, has a tendency
to induce into their ideas a portion of the variety and freshness
which characterize the works of nature. Every person knows how great
an advantage this proves in society. All must have felt what a relief
it is to escape from the eternal round of local concerns or county
politics, of parish grievances or neighbouring railroads, with which
in every-day life we are beset, to the conversation of a person of
intelligence who has visited foreign lands, and can give to the
inquisitive at home a portion of the new ideas, images, and
recollections with which his mind is stored. How, then, has it
happened, that the same acquaintance with foreign and distant
countries, which is universally felt to be such an advantage in
conversation, is attended with such opposite effects in literature;
and that, while our travellers are often the most agreeable men in
company, they are beyond all question the dullest in composition?
Much of this extraordinary and woful deficiency, we are persuaded, is
owing to the limited range of objects to which the education of the
young of the higher classes is so exclusively directed in Oxford and
Cambridge. Greek and Latin, Aristotle's logic and classical
versification, quadratic equations, conic sections, the differential
calculus, are very good things, and we are well aware that it is by
excellence in them that the highest honours in these seminaries of
learning can alone be attained. They are essential to the fame of a
Parr or a Porson, a Herschel or a Whewell. But a very different
species of mental training is required for advantageous travelling.
Men will soon find that neither Greek prose nor Latin prose, Greek
verse nor Latin verse, will avail them when they come to traverse the
present states of the world. The most thorough master of the higher
mathematics will find his knowledge of scarce any avail in Italy or
Egypt, the Alps or the Andes. These acquisitions are doubtless among
the greatest triumphs of the human understanding, and they are
calculated to raise a few, perhaps one in a hundred, to distinction in
classical or scientific pursuits; but upon the minds of the remaining
ninety-nine, they produce no sort of impression. Nature simply rejects
them; they are not the food which she requires. They do not do much
mischief to such persons in themselves; but they are of incalculable
detriment by the time and the industry which they absorb to no
available purpose. Ten years of youth--the most valuable and important
period of life--are wasted in studies which, to nineteen-twentieths of
the persons engaged in them, are of no use whatever in future years.
Thus our young men, of the highest rank and best connexions, are sent
out into the world without any ideas or information which can enable
them to visit foreign countries with advantage. Need we wonder that,
when they come to write and publish their travels, they produce such a
woful brood of ephemeral bantlings?[2]
The reaction against this enormous evil in a different class of
society, has produced another set of errors in education--of an
opposite description, but perhaps still more fatal to the formation of
the mental character, which is essential to the useful or elevating
observation of foreign countries. The commercial and middle classes of
society, educated at the London university, or any of the numerous
academies which have sprung up in all parts of the country, have gone
into the other extreme. Struck with the uselessness, to the great bulk
of students, of the classical minutiae required at one of the
universities, and the mathematical depth deemed indispensable at the
other, they have turned education into an entirely different channel.
Nothing was deemed worthy of serious attention, except what led to
some practical object in life. Education was considered by their
founders as merely a step to making money. Science became a trade--a
mere handmaid to art. Mammon was all in all. Their instruction was
entirely utilitarian. Mechanics and Medicine, Hydraulics and
Chemistry, Pneumatics and Hydrostatics, Anatomy and Physiology,
constituted the grand staples of their education. What they taught was
adapted only for professional students. One would suppose, from
examining their course of study, that all men were to be either
doctors or surgeons, apothecaries or druggists, mechanics,
shipwrights, or civil-engineers. No doubt we must have such
persons--no doubt it is indispensable that places of instruction
should exist in which they can learn their various and highly
important avocations; but is that the school in which the enlarged
mind is to be formed, the varied information acquired, the
appreciation of the grand and the beautiful imbibed, which are
essential to an accomplished and really useful writer of travels?
Sulphuric acid and Optics, Anatomy and Mechanics, will do many things;
but they will never make an observer of Nature, a friend of Man, a fit
commentator on the world of God.
Persons of really cultivated minds and enlarged views will probably
find it difficult to determine which of these opposite systems of
education is the best calculated to attain what seems the grand object
of modern instruction, the cramping and limiting the human mind. But
without entering upon this much-disputed point--upon which much is to
be said on both sides, and in which each party will perhaps be found
to be in the right when they assail their opponents, and in the wrong
when they defend themselves--it is more material to our present
purpose to observe, that both are equally fatal to the acquisition of
the varied information, and the imbibing of the refined and elegant
taste, which are essential to an accomplished writer of travels. Only
think what mental qualifications are required to form such a
character! An eye for the Sublime and the Beautiful, the power of
graphically describing natural scenery, a vivid perception of the
peculiarities of national manners, habits, and institutions, will at
once be acknowledged to be the first requisites. But, in addition to
this, how much is necessary to make a work which shall really stand
the test of time, in the delineation of the present countries of the
world, and the existing state of their inhabitants? How many branches
of knowledge are called for, how many sources of information required,
how many enthusiastic pursuits necessary, to enable the traveller
worthily to discharge his mission? Eyes and no Eyes are nowhere more
conspicuous in human affairs; and, unhappily, eyes are never given but
to the mind which has already seen and learned much.
An acquaintance with the history of the country and the leading
characters in its annals, is indispensable to enable the traveller to
appreciate the historical associations connected with the scenes; a
certain degree of familiarity with its principal authors, to render
him alive to that noblest of interests--that arising from the
recollection of Genius and intellectual Achievement. Without an
acquaintance with political economy and the science of government, he
will be unable to give any useful account of the social state of the
country, or furnish the most valuable of all information--that
relating to the institutions, the welfare, and the happiness of man.
Statistics form almost an indispensable part of every book of travels
which professes to communicate information; but mere statistics are
little better than unmeaning figures, if the generalizing and
philosophical mind is wanting, which, from previous acquaintance with
the subjects on which they bear, and the conclusions which it is of
importance to deduce from them, knows what is to be selected and what
laid aside from the mass. Science, to the highest class of travellers,
is an addition of the utmost moment; as it alone can render their
observations of use to that most exalted of all objects, an extension
of the boundaries of knowledge, and an enlarged acquaintance with the
laws of nature. The soul of a poet is indispensable to form the most
interesting species of travels--a mind, and still more a heart,
capable of appreciating the grand and the beautiful in Art and in
Nature. The eye of a painter and the hand of a draughtsman are equally
important to enable him to observe with accuracy the really
interesting features of external things, and convey, by faithful and
graphic description, a correct impression of what he has seen, to the
mind of the reader. Such are the qualifications necessary for a really
great traveller. It may be too much to hope to find these ever united
in one individual; but the combination of the majority of them is
indispensable to distinction or lasting fame in this branch of
literature.
Compare these necessary and indispensable qualifications for a great
traveller, with those which really belong to our young men who are
sent forth from our universities or academies into the world, and take
upon themselves to communicate what they have seen to others. Does the
youth come from Oxford? His head is full of Homer and Virgil, Horace
and AEschylus: he could tell you all the amours of Mars and Venus, of
Jupiter and Leda; he could rival, Orpheus or Pindar in the melody of
his Greek verses, and Cicero or Livy in the correctness of his Latin
prose; but as, unfortunately, he has to write neither about gods nor
goddesses, but mere mortals, and neither in Greek verse nor Latin
verse, but good English prose, he is utterly at a loss alike for
thought and expression. He neither knows what to communicate, nor is
he master of the language in which it is to be conveyed. Hence his
recorded travels dwindle away into a mere scrap-book of classical
quotations--a transcript of immaterial Latin inscriptions, destitute
of either energy, information, or eloquence. Does he come from
Cambridge? He could solve cubic equations as well as Cardan, is a more
perfect master of logarithms than Napier, could explain the laws of
physical astronomy better than Newton, and rival La Grange in the
management of the differential calculus. But as, unluckily, the world
which he visits, and in which we live, is neither a geometric world
nor an algebraic world, a world of conic sections or fluxions; but a
world of plains and mountains, of lakes and rivers, of men and women,
flesh and blood--he finds his knowledge of little or no avail. He
takes scarce any interest in the sublunary or contemptible objects
which engross the herd of ordinary mortals, associates only with the
learned and the recluse in a few universities, and of course comes
back without having a word to utter, or a sentence to write, which can
interest the bulk of readers. Does he come from the London University,
or any of the provincial academies? He is thinking only of railroads
or mechanics, of chemistry or canals, of medicine or surgery. He could
descant without end on sulphuric acid or decrepitating salts, on
capacity for caloric or galvanic batteries, on steam-engines and
hydraulic machines, on the discoveries of Davy or the conclusions of
Berzelius, of the systems of Hutton or Werner, of Liebig or Cuvier.
But although an acquaintance with these different branches of
practical knowledge is an indispensable preliminary to a traveller in
foreign countries making himself acquainted with the improvements they
have respectively made in the useful or practical arts, they will
never qualify for the composition of a great or lasting book of
travels. They would make an admirable course of instruction for the
overseer of a manufactory, of a canal or railway company, of an
hospital or an infirmary, who was to visit foreign countries in order
to pick up the latest improvements in practical mechanics, chemistry,
or medicine; but have we really become a race of shopkeepers or
doctors, and is Science sunk to be the mere handmaid of Art?
We despair therefore, as long as the present system of education
prevails in England, (and Scotland of course follows in the wake of
its great neighbour,) of seeing any traveller arise of lasting
celebrity, or book of travels written which shall attain to durable
fame. The native vigour and courage, indeed, of the Anglo-Saxon race,
is perpetually impelling numbers of energetic young men into the most
distant parts of the earth, and immense is the addition which they are
annually making to the sum-total of _geographical_ knowledge. We have
only to look at one of our recent maps, as compared to those which
were published fifty years ago, to see how much we owe to the courage
and enterprise of Parry and Franklin, Park and Horneman, of Burckhardt
and Lander. But giving all due credit--and none give it more sincerely
than we do--to the vigour and courage of these very eminent men, it is
impossible not to feel that, however well fitted they were to explore
unknown and desert regions, and carry the torch of civilization into
the wilderness of nature, they had not the mental training, or varied
information, or powers of composition, necessary to form a great
_writer of travels_. Clarke and Bishop Heber are most favourable
specimens of English travellers, and do honour to the great
universities of which they were such distinguished ornaments; but they
did not possess the varied accomplishments and information of the
continental travellers. Their education, and very eminence in their
peculiar and exclusive lines, precluded it. What is wanting in that
character above every thing, is an acquaintance with, and interest in,
a _great many and different branches of knowledge_, joined to
considerable power of composition, and unconquerable energy of mind;
and that is precisely what our present system of education in England
renders it almost impossible for any one to acquire. The system
pursued in the Scottish universities, undoubtedly, is more likely to
form men capable of rising to eminence in this department; and the
names of Park and Bruce show what travellers they are capable of
sending forth. But the attractions of rank, connexion, and fashion,
joined to the advantage of speaking correct English, are fast drawing
a greater proportion of the youth of the higher ranks in Scotland to
the English universities; and the education pursued at home,
therefore, is daily running more and more into merely utilitarian and
professional channels. That system is by no means the one calculated
to form an accomplished and interesting writer of travels.
In this deficiency of materials for the formation of a great body of
male travellers, the ladies have kindly stepped in to supply the
deficiency; and numerous works have issued from the press, from the
pens of the most accomplished and distinguished of our aristocratic
beauties. But alas! there is no royal road to literature, any more
than geometry. Almack's and the exclusives, the opera and ducal
houses, the lordlings and the guards, form an admirable school for
manners, and are an indispensable preliminary to success at courts and
coronations, in ball-rooms and palaces. But the world is not made up
of courts or palaces, of kings or princes, of dukes or marquesses. Men
have something more to think of than the reception which the great
world of one country gives to the great world of another--of the balls
to which they are invited, or the fetes which they grace by their
charms--or the privations to which elegant females, nursed in the lap
of luxury, are exposed in roughing it amidst the snows of the North or
the deserts of the South. We are grateful to the lady travellers for
the brilliant and interesting pictures they have given us of capitals
and manners,[3] of costume and dress, and of many eminent men and
women, whom their rank and sex gave them peculiar opportunities of
portraying. But we can scarcely congratulate the country upon having
found in them a substitute for learned and accomplished travellers of
the other sex; or formed a set-off on the part of Great Britain, to
the Humboldts, the Chateaubriands, and Lamartines of continental
Europe.
It is impossible to contemplate the works of these great men without
arriving at the conclusion, that it is in the varied and discursive
education of the Continent, that a foundation has been laid for the
extraordinary eminence which its travellers have attained. It is the
vast number of subjects with which the young men are in some degree
made acquainted at the German universities, which has rendered them so
capable in after life of travelling with advantage in any quarter of
the globe, and writing their travels with effect. This advantage is in
a peculiar manner conspicuous in HUMBOLDT, whose mind, naturally
ardent and capacious, had been surprisingly enlarged and extended by
early and various study in the most celebrated German universities. He
acquired, in consequence, so extraordinary a command of almost every
department of physical and political science, that there is hardly any
branch of it in which facts of importance may not be found in his
travels. He combined, in a degree perhaps never before equalled in one
individual, the most opposite and generally deemed irreconcilable
mental qualities. To an ardent poetical temperament, and an eye alive
to the most vivid impressions of external things, he united a power of
eloquence rarely given to the most gifted orators, and the habit of
close and accurate reasoning which belongs to the intellectual powers
adapted for the highest branches of the exact sciences. An able
mathematician, a profound natural philosopher, an exact observer of
nature, he was at the same time a learned statistician, an
indefatigable social observer, an unwearied philanthropist, and the
most powerful describer of nature that perhaps ever undertook to
portray her great and glorious features. It is this extraordinary
combination of qualities that render his works so surprising and
valuable. The intellectual and imaginative powers rarely coexist in
remarkable vigour in the same individual; but when they do, they
produce the utmost triumphs of the human mind. Leonardo da Vinci,
Johnson, Burke, and Humboldt, do not resemble single men, how great
soever, but rather clusters of separate persons, each supremely
eminent in his peculiar sphere.
Frederick Henry Alexander, Baron of Humboldt, brother of the
celebrated Prussian statesman of the same name, was born at Berlin on
the 14th September 1769, the same year with Napoleon, Wellington,
Goethe, Marshal Ney, and many other illustrious men. He received an
excellent and extensive education at the university of Gottingeu, and
at an academy at Frankfort on the Oder. His first step into the
business of life was as a clerk in the mercantile house of Buch, at
Hamburg, where he soon made himself master of accounts and
bookkeeping, and acquired that perfect command of arithmetic, and
habit of bringing every thing, where it is possible, to the test of
figures, by which his political and scientific writings are so
pre-eminently distinguished. But his disposition was too strongly bent
on scientific and physical pursuits, to admit of his remaining long in
the comparatively obscure and uninviting paths of commerce. His thirst
for travelling was from his earliest years unbounded, and it erelong
received ample gratification. His first considerable journey was with
two naturalists of distinction, Messrs Fontu and Genns, with whom he
travelled in Germany, Holland, and England, in the course of which his
attention was chiefly directed to mineralogical pursuits. The fruit of
his observations appeared in a work, the first he ever published,
which was printed at Brunswick in 1790, when he was only twenty-one
years of age, entitled _Observations sur les Basaltes du Rhin_.
To extend his information, already very considerable, on mineralogical
science, Humboldt in 1791 repaired to Freyburg, to profit by the
instructions of the celebrated Werner; and, when there, he devoted
himself, with the characteristic ardour of his disposition, to make
himself master of geology and botany, and prosecuted in an especial
manner the study of the fossil remains of plants in the rocks around
that place. In 1792, he published at Berlin a learned treatise,
entitled _Specimen Florae, Friebergensis Subterraniae_; which procured
for him such celebrity, that he was soon after appointed
director-general of the mines in the principalities of Anspach and
Bayreuth, in Franconia. His ardent and philanthropic disposition there
exerted itself for several years in promoting, to the utmost of his
power, various establishments of public utility; among others, the
public school of Streben, from which has already issued many
distinguished scholars. Charmed by the recent and brilliant
discoveries of M. Galvani in electricity, he next entered with ardour
into that new branch of science; and, not content with studying it in
the abstract, he made a great variety of curious experiments on the
effects of galvanism on his own person, and published the result in
two octavos, at Berlin, in 1796, enriched by the notes of the
celebrated naturalist Bluemenbach. This work was translated into French
by J. F. Jadelot, and published at Paris in 1799. Meanwhile Humboldt,
consumed with an insatiable desire for travelling, resumed his
wanderings, and roamed over Switzerland and Italy, after which he
returned to Paris in 1797, and formed an intimacy with a congenial
spirit, M. Aime Bonpland; who afterwards became the companion of his
South American travels. At this time he formed the design of joining
the expedition of Captain Baudin, who was destined to circumnavigate
the globe; but the continuance of hostilities prevented him from
carrying that design into effect. Baffled in that project, upon which
his heart was much set, Humboldt went to Marseilles with the intention
of embarking on board a Swedish frigate for Algiers, from whence he
hoped to join Napoleon's expedition to Egypt, and cross from the banks
of the Nile to the Persian Gulf and the vast regions of the East. This
was the turning point of his destiny. The Swedish frigate never
arrived; the English cruisers rendered it impossible to cross the
Mediterranean, except in a neutral vessel; and after waiting with
impatience for about two months, he set out for Madrid, in the hope of
finding means in the Peninsula of passing into Africa from the
opposite shores of Andalusia.
Upon his arrival in the Spanish capital, the German philosopher was
received with all the distinction which his scientific reputation
deserved; and he obtained from the government the extraordinary and
unlooked-for boon of a formal leave to travel over the whole South
American colonies of the monarchy. This immediately determined
Humboldt. He entered with ardour into the new prospects thus opened to
him; wrote to his friend Aime Bonpland to propose that he should join
him in the contemplated expedition--an offer which was gladly
accepted; and soon the visions of Arabia and the Himalaya were
supplanted by those of the Pampas of Buenos Ayres and the Cordilleras
of Peru. The two friends embarked at Corunna on board a Spanish
vessel, and after a prosperous voyage, reached Cumana, in the New
World, in July 1799. From that city they made their first expedition
in Spanish America, during which they travelled over Spanish Guiana,
New Andalusia, and the Missions of the Caribbees, from whence they
returned to Cumana in 1800. There they embarked for the Havannah; and
the whole of the summer of that year was spent in traversing that
great and interesting island, on which he collected much important and
valuable information. In September 1801, he set out for Quito, where
he arrived in January of the succeeding year, and was received with
the most flattering distinction. Having reposed for some months from
their fatigues, Humboldt and Bonpland proceeded, in the first
instance, to survey the country which had been devastated in 1797 by
the dreadful earthquake, so frequent in those regions, and which
swallowed up in a minute forty thousand persons. Then he set out, in
June 1802, to visit the volcano of Tungaragno and the summit of
Chimborazo. They ascended to the height of 19,500 feet on the latter
mountain; but were prevented from reaching the top by impassable
ravines. Perched on one of the summits, however, of this giant of
mountains, amidst ice and snow, far above the abode of any living
creature except the condor, they made a great variety of most
interesting observations, which have proved of essential service to
the cause of science. They were 3485 feet above the most elevated
point which the learned Condamine, who had hitherto ascended highest,
reached in 1745, but were still 2140 feet below the loftiest summit of
the mountain. They determined, by a series of strict trigonometrical
observations, the height of the chief peaks of that celebrated ridge--
"Where Andes, giant of the western star,
Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world."
Having returned, after this fatiguing and dangerous mountain
expedition, to Lima, Humboldt remained several months enjoying the
hospitality of its kind-hearted inhabitants, whose warm feelings and
excellent qualities excited in him the warmest admiration. In the
neighbouring harbour of Callao, he was fortunate enough to see the
passage of the planet Mercury over the disk of the sun, of which
transit he made very important observations; and from thence passed
into the province of New Spain, where he remained an entire year,
sedulously engaged in agricultural, political, and statistical, as
well as physical enquiries, the fruits of which added much to the
value of his published travels. In April 1803, he proceeded to Mexico,
where he was so fortunate as to discover the only specimen known to
exist of the tree called _Cheirostomon Platanoides_, of the highest
antiquity and gigantic dimensions. During the remainder of that year,
he made several excursions over the mountains and valleys of Mexico,
inferior to none in the world in interest and beauty; and in autumn
1804, embarked for the Havannah, from whence he passed into
Philadelphia, and traversed a considerable part of the United States.
At length, in 1805, he returned to Europe, and arrived safe at Paris
in November of that year, bringing with him, in addition to the
observations he had made, and recollections with which his mind was
fraught, the most extensive and varied collection of specimens of
plants and minerals that ever was brought from the New World. His
herbarium consisted of four thousand different plants, many of them of
extreme rarity even in South America, and great part of which were
previously unknown in Europe. His mineralogical collection was of
equal extent and value. But by far the most important additions he has
made to the cause of science, consist in the vast series of
observations he has made in the New World, which have set at rest a
great many disputed points in geography, mineralogy, and zoology,
concerning that interesting and, in a great degree, unknown part of
the world, and extended in a proportional degree the boundaries of
knowledge regarding it. Nor have his labours been less important in
collecting the most valuable statistical information regarding the
Spanish provinces of those vast regions, especially the condition of
the Indian, negro, and mulatto race which exist within them, and the
amount of the precious metals annually raised from their mines;
subjects of vast importance to Great Britain, and especially its
colonial and commercial interests, but which have hitherto been in an
unaccountable manner neglected, even by those whose interests and
fortunes were entirely wound up in the changes connected with these
vital subjects.
The remainder of Baron Humboldt's life has been chiefly devoted to the
various and important publications, in which he has embodied the fruit
of his vast and extensive researches in the New World. In many of
these he has been assisted by M. Aime Bonpland, who, his companion in
literary labour as in the danger and fatigues of travelling, has, with
the generosity of a really great mind, been content to diminish,
perhaps destroy, his prospect of individual celebrity, by associating
himself with the labours Of his illustrious friend. Pursued even in
mature years by the desire of fame, the thirst for still greater
achievements, which belongs to minds of the heroic cast, whether in
war or science, he conceived, at a subsequent period, the design of
visiting the upper provinces of India and the Himalaya range. After
having ascended higher than man had yet done on the elevated ridges of
the New World, he was consumed with a thirst to surmount the still
more lofty summits of the Old, which have remained in solitary and
unapproachable grandeur since the waves of the Deluge first receded
from their sides. But the East India Company, within whose dominions,
or at least beneath whose influence, the highest ridges of the
Himalaya are situated, gave no countenance to the design, and even, it
is said, refused liberty to the immortal Naturalist to visit their
extensive territories. Whatever opinion we may form on the liberality
or wisdom of this resolution, considered with reference to the
interests, physical, moral, and political, of British India, it is not
to be regretted, for the cause of science and literature over the
world, that the great traveller has been prevented from setting out
late in life to a fresh region of discovery. It has left the remainder
of his life, and his yet undiminished powers, to illustrate and
explain what he has already seen. To do that, was enough for the
ordinary span of human life.
Humboldt's works relating to the New World are very numerous. I. He
first published, in 1805, at Paris, in four volumes quarto, the
_Personal Narrative_ of his travels from 1799 to 1804. Of this
splendid and interesting work, several editions have since been
published in French, in twelve volumes octavo. It is upon it that his
fame with the generality of readers mainly rests. II. _Vues des
Cordilleras et Monumens des Peuples Indigenes de l'Amerique_--two
volumes folio: Paris, 1811. This magnificent work, the cost of which
is now L130, contains by far the finest views of the Andes in
existence. Its great price renders it very scarce, and not more than a
few copies are to be met with in Great Britain; but a cheap edition,
without the great plates, was published at Paris in 1817. III.
_Recueil d'Observations Astronomiques, et de Mesures executees dans le
Nouveau Continent_: two volumes quarto. This learned work contains the
result of Humboldt's astronomical and trigonometrical observations on
the lunar distances, the eclipses of the satellites of Jupiter, the
transit of Mercury, and upwards of five hundred elevated points in the
New World, taken from barometrical observations, with all the
requisite allowances and calculations carefully made. IV. _Essai sur
la Geographie des Plantes, ou Tableau Physique des Regions
Equinoxiales_: in quarto, with a great map. V. _Plantes Equinoxiales
recueillies au Mexique, dans l'Ile de Cuba, dans les Provinces de
Caraccas, &c._: two volumes folio. A splendid and very costly work.
VI. _Monographie des Melastomes_: two volumes folio. A most curious
and interesting work on a most interesting subject. VII. _Nova Genera
et Species Plantarum_: three volumes folio. Containing an account of
the botanical treasures collected by him in the New World, and brought
home in his magnificent herbarium. VIII. _Recueil des Observations de
Zoologie et d'Anatomie comparee faites dans un Voyage aux Tropiques_:
two volumes quarto. IX. _Essai Politique sur la Nouvelle Espagne._
1811: two volumes quarto. Of this admirable work a subsequent edition
has been published in 1822, in four volumes octavo. It contains an
astonishing collection of important statistical facts, arranged and
digested with the utmost ability, and interspersed with political and
philosophical reflections on the state of the human race, and the
relation of society in the New World. X. _Ansichten der Natur._
Tubingen, 1808: in octavo. It is remarkable that this is the only one
of the learned author's works on Spanish America which originally
appeared in his own language; but it was soon translated into French
under the title of _Tableaux de la Nature_. Paris: 1808. It contains a
series of descriptions of the different styles of scenery and
remarkable objects in the vast regions he had visited, portrayed with
all the vigour and accuracy for which the author is distinguished. XI.
_De Distributione Geographica Plantarum secundum Coeli Temperiem et
Altitudinem Montium, Prolegomena_. In octavo. Paris: 1817. The title
of this work explains its object and its importance, in describing a
portion of the globe consisting of such lofty and successive ridges
and table-lands as rise from the level of the sea to the summits of
the Cordilleras of Mexico and Peru. XII. _Sur l'Elevation des
Montagnes de l'Inde._ Octavo. Paris: 1818. A work prepared when the
author was contemplating a journey to the Himalaya and mountains of
Thibet. XIII. _Carte du Fleuve Orenoque._ Presented to the Academy of
Sciences in 1817. M. Humboldt has there demonstrated the singular fact
of the junction of the great rivers Orinoco and of the Amazon by the
intermediate waters of the Rio Negro; a fact which the sagacity of
D'Anville had long ago led him to suspect, but which the travels of
the indefatigable German has established beyond a doubt. XIV. _Examen
Critique de l'Histoire de la Geographie du Nouveau Continent, et du
Progres de l'Astronomie Nautique aux 15me et 16me siecles._ Paris:
1837. XV. "_Cosmos:_" in German--a "Scheme of a Physical Description
of the Universe." This last work embraces a much wider sphere of
learning and speculation than any of the preceding, and is more
characteristic of the vast erudition and ardent genius of the author.
From the brief account which has now been given of the published works
of this indefatigable traveller and author, the reader will be able to
appreciate the extent and variety of his scientific and political
attainments. We shall now present him under a different aspect, as an
eloquent and almost unrivalled describer of nature. It need hardly be
said that it is on these splendid pictures, more even than the
numerous and valuable additions he has made to the treasures of
science, that his reputation with the world in general is founded.
The rapids of the Orinoco--one of the most striking scenes in
America--are thus described by our author:[4]--
"When we arrived at the top of the Cliff of Marimi, the first
object which caught our eye was a sheet of foam, above a mile in
length and half a mile in breadth. Enormous masses of black rock,
of an iron hue, started up here and there out of its snowy
surface. Some resembled huge basaltic cliffs resting on each
other; many, castles in ruins, with detached towers and
fortalices, guarding their approach from a distance. Their sombre
colour formed a contrast with the dazzling whiteness of the foam.
Every rock, every island, was covered with flourishing trees, the
foliage of which is often united above the foaming gulf by
creepers hanging in festoons from their opposite branches. The
base of the rocks and islands, as far as the eye can reach, is
lost in the volumes of white smoke, which boil above the surface
of the river; but above these snowy clouds, noble palms, from
eighty to an hundred feet high, rise aloft, stretching their
summits of dazzling green towards the clear azure of heaven. With
the changes of the day these rocks and palm-trees are alternately
illuminated by the brightest sunshine, or projected in deep shadow
on the surrounding surge. Never does a breath of wind agitate the
foliage, never a cloud obscure the vault of heaven. A dazzling
light is ever shed through the air, over the earth enameled with
the loveliest flowers, over the foaming stream stretching as far
as the eye can reach; the spray, glittering in the sunbeams, forms
a thousand rainbows, ever changing, yet ever bright, beneath whose
arches, islands of flowers, rivalling the very hues of heaven,
flourish in perpetual bloom. There is nothing austere or sombre,
as in northern climates, even in this scene of elemental strife;
tranquillity and repose seem to sleep on the very edge of the
abyss of waters. Neither time, nor the sight of the Cordilleras,
nor a long abode in the charming valleys of Mexico, have been able
to efface from my recollection the impression made by these
cataracts. When I read the description of similar scenes in the
East, my mind sees again in clear vision the sea of foam, the
islands of flowers, the palm-trees surmounting the snowy vapours.
Such recollections, like the memory of the sublimest works of
poetry and the arts, leave an impression which is never to be
effaced, and which, through the whole of life, is associated with
every sentiment of the grand and the beautiful."--(Vol. vii.
171-172.)
Such is a specimen of the descriptive powers of the great German
natural philosopher, geographer, botanist, and traveller. When our
senior wranglers from Cambridge, our high-honoured men from Oxford, or
lady travellers from London, produce a parallel to it, we shall hope
that England is about to compete with the continental nations in the
race of illustrious travellers--but not till then.
As a contrast to this, we cannot resist the pleasure of laying before
our readers the following striking description of night on the
Orinoco, in the placid part of its course, amidst the vast forests of
the tropical regions:--
"The night was calm and serene, and a beautiful moon shed a
radiance over the scene. The crocodiles lay extended on the sand;
placed in such a manner that they could watch our fire, from which
they never turned aside their eyes. Its dazzling evidently
attracted them, as it does fish, crabs, and the other inhabitants
of the waters. The Indians pointed out to us in the sand the
recent marks of the feet of three tigers, a mother and two young,
which had crossed the open space between the forest and the water.
Finding no tree upon the shore, we sank the end of our oars into
the sand, in order to form poles for our tents. Every thing
remained quiet till eleven at night, when suddenly there arose, in
the neighbouring forest, a noise so frightful that it became
impossible to shut our eyes. Amidst the voice of so many savage
animals, which all roared or cried at once, our Indians could only
distinguish the howling of the jaguar, the yell of the tiger, the
roar of the cougar, or American lion, and the screams of some
birds of prey. When the jaguars approached near to the edge of the
forest, our dogs, which to that moment had never ceased to bark,
suddenly housed; and, crouching, sought refuge under the shelter
of our hammocks. Sometimes, after an interval of silence, the
growl of the tiger was heard from the top of the trees, followed
immediately by the cries of the monkey tenants of their branches,
which fled the danger by which they were menaced.
"I have painted, feature by feature, these nocturnal scenes on the
Orinoco, because, having but lately embarked on it, we were as yet
unaccustomed to their wildness. They were repeated for months
together, every night that the forest approached the edge of the
river. Despite the evident danger by which one is surrounded, the
security which the Indian feels comes to communicate itself to
your mind; you become persuaded with him, that all the tigers fear
the light of fire, and will not attack a man when lying in his
hammock. In truth, the instances of attacks on persons in hammocks
are extremely rare; and during a long residence in South America,
I can only call to mind one instance of a Llanero, who was found
torn in pieces in his hammock opposite the island of Uhagua.
"When one asks the Indians what is the cause of this tremendous
noise, which at a certain hour of the night the animals of the
forest make, they answer gaily, 'They are saluting the full moon.'
I suspect the cause in general is some quarrel or combat which has
arisen in the interior of the forest. The jaguars, for example,
pursue the pecaris and tapirs, which, having no means of defence
but their numbers, fly in dense bodies, and press, in all the
agony of terror, through the thickets which lie in their way.
Terrified at this strife, and the crashing of boughs or rustling
of thickets which they hear beneath them, the monkeys on the
highest branches set up discordant cries of terror on every side.
The din soon wakens the parrots and other birds which fill the
woods, they instantly scream in the most violent way, and erelong
the whole forest is in an uproar. We soon found that it is not so
much during a full moon, as on the approach of a whirlwind or a
storm, that this frightful concert arises among the wild beasts.
'May heaven give us a peaceable night and rest, like other
mortals!' was the exclamation of the monk who had accompanied us
from the Rio Negro, as he lay down to repose in our bivouac. It is
a singular circumstance to be reduced to such a petition in the
midst of the solitude of the woods. In the hotels of Spain, the
traveller fears the sound of the guitar from the neighbouring
apartment: in the bivouacs of the Orinoco, which are spread on the
open sand, or under the shade of a single tree, what you have to
dread is, the infernal cries which issue from the adjoining
forest."--(Vol. vi., 222-3.)
One of the most remarkable of the many remarkable features of Nature
in South America, is the prodigious plains which, under the name of
Llanos and Pampas, stretch from the shores of the Atlantic to the foot
of the Andes, over a space from fifteen hundred to two thousand miles
in breadth. Humboldt traversed them more than once in their full
extent, and has given the following striking description of their
remarkable peculiarities.
"In many geographical works, the savannahs of South America are
termed _prairies_. That word, however, seems not properly
applicable to plains of pasturage, often exclusively dry, though
covered with grass four or five feet high. The Llanos and Pampas
of South America are true _steppes_: they present a rich covering
of verdure during the rainy season; but in the months of drought,
the earth assumes the appearance of a desert. The turf is then
reduced to powder, the earth gapes in huge cracks; the crocodiles
and great serpents lie in a dormant state in the dried mud, till
the return of rains, and the rise of the waters in the great
rivers, which flood the vast expanse of level surface, awaken them
from their long slumber. These appearances are often exhibited
over an arid surface of fifty or sixty leagues square--every
where, in short, where the savannah is not traversed by any of the
great rivers. On the borders, on the other hand, of the streams,
and around the lakes, which in the dry season retain a little
brackish water, the traveller meets from time to time, even in the
most extreme drought, groves of Mauritia, a species of palm, the
leaves of which, spreading out like a fan, preserve amidst the
surrounding sterility a brilliant verdure.
"The steppes of Asia are all out of the region of the tropics, and
form in general the summit of very elevated plateaux. America also
presents, on the reverse of the mountains of Mexico, of Peru, and
of Quito, steppes of considerable extent. But the greatest
steppes, the Llanos of Cumana, of Caraccas, and of Meta, all
belong to the equinoctial zone, and are very little elevated above
the level of the ocean. It is this which gives them their peculiar
characters. They do not contain, like the steppes of Southern
Asia, and the deserts of Persia, those lakes without issue, or
rivers which lose themselves in the sand or in subterraneous
filtrations. The Llanos of South America incline towards the east
and the south; their waters are tributary to the Orinoco, the
Amazon, or the Rio de la Plata.
"What most strongly characterizes the savannahs or steppes of
South America, is the entire absence of hills, or inequalities of
any kind. The soil, for hundreds of miles together, is perfectly
flat, without even a hillock. For this reason, the Castilian
conquerors, who penetrated first from Coro to the banks of the
Apure, named the regions to which they came, neither deserts, nor
savannahs, nor meadows, but _plains--los Llanos_. Over an extent
of thirty leagues square, you will often not meet with an eminence
a foot high. The resemblance to the sea which these immense plains
bear, strikes the imagination the more forcibly in those places,
often as extensive as half of France, where the surface is
absolutely destitute of palms, or any species of trees, and where
the distance is so great from the mountains, or the forests on the
shores of the Orinoco, as to render neither visible. The uniform
appearance which the Llanos exhibit, the extreme rarity of any
habitations, the fatigues of a journey under a burning sun, and in
an atmosphere perpetually clouded with dust, the prospect of a
round girdle of an horizon, which appears constantly to recede
before the traveller, the isolated stems of the palm-tree, all
precisely of the same form, and which he despairs to reach,
because he confounds them with other seemingly identical trunks
which appear in the distant parts of the horizon: all these causes
combine to make these steppes appear even more vast than they
really are.
"Yet are their actual dimensions so prodigious, that it is hard to
outstrip them, even by the wildest flights of the imagination. The
colonists, who inhabit the slopes of the mountains which form
their extreme boundary on the west and north, see the steppes
stretch away to the south and east, as far as the eye can reach,
an interminable ocean of verdure. Well may they deem it boundless!
They know that from the Delta of the Orinoco, crossing the
province of Vannos, and from thence by the shores of the Meta, the
Guaviare, and the Caguan, you may advance in the plains, at first
from east to west, then from north-east, to south-east, three
hundred and eighty leagues--a distance as great as from Tombuctoo
to the northern coast of Africa. They know, by the report of
travellers, that the Pampas of Buenos Ayres--which are also
Llanos, destitute of trees, covered with rich grass, filled with
cattle and wild horses--are equally extensive. They imagine,
according to the greater part of maps, that this huge continent
has but one chain of mountains, the Andes, which forms its western
boundary; and they form a vague idea of the boundless sea of
verdure, stretching the whole way from the foot of this gigantic
wall of rock, from the Orinoco and the Apure, to the Rio de la
Plata and the Straits of Magellan. Imagination itself can hardly
form an idea of the extent of these plains. The Llanos, from the
Caqueta to the Apure, and from thence to the Delta of the Orinoco,
contain 17,000 square marine leagues--a space nearly equal to the
area of France; that which stretches to the north and south is of
nearly double the extent, or considerably larger than the surface
of Germany; and the Pampas of Buenos Ayres, which extend from
thence towards Cape Horn, are of such extent, that while one end
is shaded by the palm-trees of the tropics, the other, equally
flat, is charged with the snows of the antarctic circle."--(Vol.
vi. 52, 67.)
These prodigious plains have been overspread with the horses and
cattle of the Old World, which, originally introduced by the Spanish
settlers, have strayed from the enclosures of their masters, and
multiplied without end in the vast savannahs which nature had spread
out for their reception.
"It is impossible," says Humboldt, "to form an exact enumeration
of the cattle in the Pampas, or even to give an approximation to
it, so immensely have they augmented during the three centuries
which have elapsed since they were first introduced; but some idea
of their number may be formed from the following facts in regard
to such portions of these vast herds as are capable of being
counted. It is calculated that in the plains from the mouths of
the Orinoco to the lake Maracaybo, there are 1,200,000 head of
cattle, 180,000 horses, and 90,000 mules, which belong to
individual proprietors. In the Pampas of Buenos Ayres there are
12,000,000 cows and 3,000,000 horses belonging to private persons,
besides the far greater multitude which are wild, and wander
altogether beyond the reach of man. Considerable revenues are
realized from the sale of the skins of these animals, for they are
so common that the carcasses are of scarcely any value. They are
at the pains only to look after the young of their herds, which
are marked once a-year with the initial letter of the owner.
Fourteen or fifteen thousand are marked by the greater proprietors
every year, of which five or six thousand are annually
sold."--(Vol. vi. 97.)
The enormous number of beasts of prey which multiply with this vast
accumulation of animals to be devoured, as well those introduced by
man as those furnished by the hand of nature, renders the life of many
of the inhabitants of these regions little else than a constant
struggle with wild animals. Many hairbreadth escapes and heroic
adventures are recounted by the natives, which would pass for fabulous
if not stated on such unquestionable authority as that of M. Humboldt,
and supported by the concurring testimony of other travellers. The
number of alligators, in particular, on the Orinoco, the Rio Apure,
and their tributary streams, is prodigious; and contests with them
constitute a large portion of the legendary tales of the Indian and
European settlers in the forest.
"The numerous wild animals," says Humboldt, "which inhabit the
forests on the shores of the Orinoco, have made apertures for
themselves in the wall of vegetation and foliage by which the
woods are bounded, out of which they come forth to drink in the
river. Tigers, tapirs, jaguars, boars, besides numberless lesser
quadrupeds, issue out of these dark arches in the green
wilderness, and cross the strip of sand which generally lies
between it and the edge of the water, formed by the large space
which is annually devastated and covered with shingle or mud,
during the rise of the water in the rainy season. These singular
scenes have always possessed a great attraction for me. The
pleasure experienced was not merely that of a naturalist in the
objects of his study; it belongs to all men who have been educated
in the habits of civilization. You find yourself in contact with a
new world, with savage and unconquered Nature. Sometimes it is the
jaguar, the beautiful panther of America, which issues from its
dark retreat; at others the hosco, with its dark plumes and curved
head, which traverses the _sauso_, as the band of yellow sand is
called. Animals of the most various kinds and opposite
descriptions succeed each other without intermission. 'Es como en
el Paraiso,' (It is as in Paradise,) said our pilot, an old Indian
of the Missions. In truth, every thing here recalls that primitive
world of which the traditions of all nations have preserved the
recollection, the innocence, and happiness; but on observing the
habits of the animals towards each other, it is evident that the
age of gold has ceased to them as well as to the human race; they
mutually fear and avoid each other, and in the lonely American
forests, as elsewhere, long experience has taught all living
beings that gentleness is rarely united to force."
* * * * *
"When the sands on the river side are of considerable breadth, the
sauso often stretches to a considerable distance from the water's
edge. It is on this intermediate space that you see the
crocodiles, often to the number of eight or ten, stretched on the
sand. Motionless, their huge jaws opened at right angles, they lie
without giving any of those marks of affection which are
observable in other animals which live in society. The troop
separate when they leave the coast; they are probably composed of
several females and one male. The former are much more numerous
than the latter, from the number of males which are killed in
fighting during the time of their amours. These monstrous reptiles
have multiplied to such a degree, that there was hardly an instant
during our voyage along the whole course of the river that we had
not five or six in view. We measured one dead which was lying on
the sand; it was sixteen feet nine inches long. Soon after, Mr
Bonpland found a dead male on the shore, measuring twenty-two
feet three inches. Under every zone--in America as in Egypt--this
animal attains the same dimensions. The Indians told us, that at
San Fernando scarce a year passes without two or three grown up
persons, usually women, who are drawing from the river, being
devoured by these carnivorous lizards.
"They related to us an interesting story of a young daughter of
Urituen, who, by extraordinary intrepidity and presence of mind,
succeeded in extricating herself from the very jaws of a
crocodile. When she felt herself seized by the voracious animal in
the water, she felt for its eyes, and thrust her fingers into them
with such violence that she forced the animal to let go, but not
before he had torn off the lower part of her left arm. The Indian
girl, notwithstanding the enormous quantity of blood which she
lost, succeeded in swimming to shore with the hand which was left,
and escaped without further injury. In those desert regions, where
man is constantly in strife with animated or inanimated nature,
they daily speak of similar or corresponding means by which it is
possible to escape from a tiger, a great boa, or a crocodile.
Every one prepares himself against a danger which may any day
befall him, 'I knew,' said the young girl calmly, when praised for
her presence of mind, 'that the crocodile lets go his hold when
you plunge your fingers in his eyes.' Long after my return to
Europe, I learned that the negroes in the interior of Africa make
use of the same method to escape from the alligators in the Niger.
Who does not recollect with warm interest, that Isaaco the guide,
in his last journey of the unfortunate Mungo Park, was seized
twice near Boulinkombro, and that he escaped from the throat of
the monster solely by thrusting his fingers into his two eyes?[5]
The African Isaaco and the young American girl owed their safety
to the same presence of mind, and the same combination of
ideas."--(Vol. vi. 203, 205.)
If there is any one fact more than another demonstrated by the
concurring testimony of travellers, historians, and statistical
observers, in all ages and quarters of the world, it is, that the
possession of _property in land_ is the first step in social
improvement, and the only effectual humanizer of Savage Man.
Rousseau's famous paradox, "The first Man who enclosed a field, and
called it mine, is the author of all the social ills which followed,"
is not only false but decidedly the reverse of the truth. He was the
first and greatest benefactor of his species. Subsequent ills have
arisen, not from following but forgetting his example; and preferring
to the simplicity of country life the seductions and vices of urban
society. Humboldt adds his important testimony to the noble army of
witnesses in all ages, and from all parts of the world, on this all
important subject.
"The Guamos are a race of Indians whom it is extremely difficult
to fix down to the soil. Like other wandering savages, they are
distinguished by their dirt, revengeful spirit, and fondness for
wandering. The greater part of them live by fishing and the chase,
in the plains often flooded by the Apure, the Meta, and the
Guaviare. The nature of those regions, their vast extent, and
entire want of any limit or distinguishing mark, seems to invite
their inhabitants to a wandering life. On entering, again, the
mountains which adjoin the cataracts of the Orinoco, you find
among the Piroas, the Macos, and the Macquiritares, milder
manners, a love of agriculture, and remarkable cleanliness in the
interior of their cabins. On the ridges of mountains, amidst
impenetrable forests, man is forced to fix himself, to clear and
cultivate a corner of the earth. That culture demands little care,
and is richly rewarded: while the life of a hunter is painful and
difficult. The Guamos of the Mission of Santa Barbara are kind and
hospitable; whenever we entered their cottages, they offered us
dried fish and water."--(Vol. vi. 219.)
No spectacle in nature can exceed, few equal, the sublimity and
magnificence of the scenery presented by the vast chain of mountains
which, under the name of Cordilleras, Andes, and Rocky Mountains,
traverses the whole continent of America, both north and south, in the
neighbourhood of the Pacific Ocean. Of this prodigious pile of rocks
and precipices, Humboldt, in another of his works, has given the
following admirable account:--
"The immense chain of the Andes, traversing its whole extent near
the Pacific Ocean, has stamped a character upon South American
nature which belongs to no other country. The peculiarity which
distinguishes the regions which belong to this immense chain, are
the successive plateaux, like so many huge natural terraces, which
rise one above another, before arriving at the great central
chain, where the highest summits are to be found. Such is the
elevation of some of these plains that they often exceed eight and
nine, and sometimes reach that of twelve thousand feet above the
level of the sea. The lowest of these plateaux is higher than the
summit of the Pass of the Great St Bernard, the highest inhabited
ground in Europe, which is 7545 feet above the level of the sea.
But such is the benignity of the climate, that at these prodigious
elevations, which even in the south of Europe are above the line
of perpetual snow, are to be found cities and towns, corn-fields
and orchards, and all the symptoms of rural felicity. The town of
Quito itself, the capital of a province of the same name, is
situated on a plateau, or elevated valley, in the centre of the
Andes, nearly 9000 feet above the level of the sea. Yet there are
found concentrated a numerous population, and it contains cities
with thirty, forty, and even fifty thousand inhabitants. After
living some months on this elevated ground, you experience an
extraordinary illusion. Finding yourself surrounded with pasture
and corn-fields, flocks and herds, smiling orchards and golden
harvests, the sheep and the lama, the fruits of Europe and those
of America, you forget that you are as it were suspended between
heaven and earth, and elevated to a height exceeding that by which
the European traveller makes his way from France into Italy, and
double that of Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in Great Britain.
"The different gradations of vegetation, as might be expected in a
country where the earth rises from the torrid zone by a few steep
ascents to the regions of eternal congelation, exhibit one of the
most remarkable features in this land of wonders. From the borders
of the sea to the height of two thousand feet, are to be seen the
magnificent palm-tree, the musa, the heleconia, the balms of Tolu,
the large flowering jasmin, the date-tree, and all the productions
of tropical climates. On the arid and burning shores of the ocean,
flourish, in addition to these, the cotton-tree, the magnolias,
the cactus, the sugar-cane, and all the luscious fruits which
ripen under the genial sun, and amidst the balmy breezes of the
West India Islands. One only of these tropical children of nature,
the _Carosylou Andicola_, is met with far in advance of the rest
of its tribe, tossed by the winds at the height of seven and eight
thousand feet above the sea, on the middle ridges of the
Cordillera range. In this lower region, as nature exhibits the
riches, so she has spread the pestilence, of tropical climates.
The humidity of the atmosphere, and the damp heats which are
nourished amidst its intricate thickets, produce violent fevers,
which often prove extremely destructive, especially to European
constitutions. But if the patient survives the first attack, the
remedy is at hand; a journey to the temperate climate of the
elevated plateau soon restores health; and the sufferer is as much
revived by the gales of the Andes, as the Indian valetudinarian is
by a return to Europe.
"Above the region of the palms commences the temperate zone. It is
there that vegetation appears in its most delightful form,
luxuriant without being rank, majestic yet not impervious; it
combines all that nature has given of the grand, with all that the
poets have figured of the beautiful. The bark-tree, which she has
provided as the only effectual febrifuge in the deadly heats of
the inferior region; the cyprus and melastoma, with their superb
violet blossoms; gigantic fuchsias of every possible variety, and
evergreen trees of lofty stature, covered with flowers, adorn that
delightful zone. The turf is enamelled by never-fading flowers;
mosses of dazzling beauty, fed by the frequent rains attracted by
the mountains, cover the rocks; and the trembling branches of the
mimosa, and others of the sensitive tribe, hang in graceful
pendants over every declivity. Almost all the flowering shrubs
which adorn our conservatories, are to be found there in primeval
beauty, and what to Europeans appears a gigantic scale;
magnificent arums of many different kinds spread their ample snowy
petals above the surrounding thickets; and innumerable creepers,
adorned by splendid blossoms, mount even to the summit of the
highest trees, and diffuse a perennial fragrance around.
"The oaks and trees of Europe are not found in those parts of the
Andes which lie in the torrid zone, till you arrive at the height
of five thousand feet above the sea. It is there you first begin
to see the leaves fall in winter, and bud in spring, as in
European climates: below that level the foliage is perpetual.
Nowhere are the trees so large as in this region: not unfrequently
they are found of the height of a hundred and eighty or two
hundred feet; their stems are from eight to fifteen feet across at
their base, and sometimes rise a hundred feet without a single
cross branch. When so great an elevation as the plains of Quito,
however, which is 9515 above the sea, is reached, they become less
considerable, and not larger than those usually found in the
forests of Europe. If the traveller ascends two thousand feet
higher, to an elevation of eleven or twelve thousand feet, trees
almost entirely disappear; but the frequent humidity nourishes a
thick covering of arbutus and other evergreens, shrubs three or
four feet high, covered with flowers generally of a bright yellow,
which form a striking contrast to the dark evergreen foliage with
which they are surrounded. Still higher, at the height of thirteen
thousand feet, near the summit of the lower ranges of the
Cordilleras, almost constant rains overspread the earth with a
verdant and slippery coating of moss; amidst which a few stunted
specimens of the melastoma still exhibit their purple blossoms. A
broad zone succeeds, covered entirely with Alpine plants, which,
as in the mountains of Switzerland, nestle in the crevices of
rocks, or push their flowers, generally of yellow or dark blue,
through the now frequent snow. Higher still, grass alone is to be
met with, mixed with the grey moss which conducts the wearied
traveller to the region of perpetual snow, which in those warm
latitudes is general only at an elevation of fifteen thousand
feet. Above that level no animated being is found, except the huge
condor, the largest bird that exists, which there, amidst ice and
clouds, has fixed its gloomy abode."--(_Tableau de la Nature dans
les Regions Equatoriales_, 59, 140-144.)
In the rhythm of prose these are the colours of poetry; but it is of
poetry chastened and directed by the observation of reality, and
possessing the inimitable charm of being drawn from real life, and
sharing the freshness and variety which characterize the works of
nature, and distinguish them from the brightest conceptions of human
fancy. As we have set out in this article with placing Humboldt at the
head of modern travellers, and much above any that Great Britain has
produced, and assigned as the main reason of this superiority the
exclusive and limited range of objects on which the attention of our
youth is fixed at our great universities, we shall, in justice to
Oxford and Cambridge, present the reader with a specimen of the finest
passages from Clarke and Bishop Heber, that he may judge for himself
on their merit, great as it often is, when compared with that of the
ardent and yet learned German.
Clarke, on leaving Greece, gives the following brilliant summary of
the leading features of that classic land:--
"The last moments of this day were employed in taking once more a
view of the superb scenery exhibited by the mountains Olympus and
Ossa. They appeared upon this occasion in more than usual
splendour; like one of those imaginary Alpine regions suggested by
viewing a boundary of clouds when they terminate the horizon in a
still evening, and are gathered into heaps, with many a towering
top shining in fleecy whiteness. The great Olympian chain forms a
line which is exactly opposite to Salonica; and even the chasm
between Olympus and Ossa, constituting the defile of Tempe, is
here visible. Directing the eye towards that chain, there is
comprehended in one view the whole of Pieria and Bottiaea; and with
the vivid impressions which remain after leaving the country,
memory easily recalled into one mental picture the whole of
Greece. Every reader may not duly comprehend what is meant by
this: but every traveller who has beheld the scenes to which
allusion is made, will readily admit its truth; he will be aware
that, whenever his thoughts were directed to that country, the
whole of it recurred to his imagination, as if he were actually
indulged with a view of it.
"In such an imaginary flight he enters, for example, the defile of
Tempe; and as the gorge opens to the south, he beholds all the
Larissian plain. This conducts him to the fields of Pharsalia,
whence he ascends the mountains south of Pharsalus; then, crossing
the bleak and still more elevated region extending from these
mountains towards Lamia, he views Mount Pindus far before him, and
descending into the plain of the Sperchius, passes the straits of
Thermopylae. Afterwards, ascending, Mount Oeta, he beholds
opposite to him the snowy point of Lycorea, with the rest of
Parnassus, and the villages and towns lying at its base: the whole
plain of Elataia lying at his feet, with the course of the
Cephissus to the sea. Passing to the summit of Parnassus, he looks
down upon all the other mountains, plains, islands, and gulfs of
Greece; but especially surveys the broad bosom of Cithaeron,
Helicon, and Hymettus. Thence, roaming into the depths and over
all the heights of Euboea and Peloponnesus, he has their inmost
recesses again submitted to his contemplation. Next, resting upon
Hymettus, he examines, even in the minutest detail, the whole of
Attica, to the Sunian promontory; for he sees it all--and all the
shores of Argos, Sicyon, Corinth, Megara, Eleusis, and Athens.
Thus, although not in all the freshness of its living colours, yet
in all its grandeur, doth GREECE actually present itself to the
mind's eye--and may the impression never be obliterated! In the
eve of bidding it farewell for ever, as the hope of visiting this
delightful country constituted the earliest and warmest wish of
his youth, the author found it to be some alleviation of his
regret excited by a consciousness of never returning, that he
could thus summon to his recollection the scenes over which he had
passed."--(_Clarke's Travels_, Vol. vii. pp. 476-478.)
So far Clarke--the accomplished and famed traveller of Cambridge. We
now give a favourable specimen of Bishop Heber--his companion in
traversing Russia--the celebrated author, in early life at Oxford, of
_Palestine_, the amiable and upright Bishop of Calcutta, whose life,
if ever that could be said of mortal, was literally spent in doing
good. This accomplished and excellent prelate thus describes the first
view of the Himalaya range and the summits of Nundidevi, the highest
mountain in the world, neatly 5000 feet above the loftiest peak of
Chimborazo.
"After coasting the lake for a mile, we ascended for thirteen more
by a most steep and rugged road over the neck of Mount Gaughur,
through a succession of glens, forests, and views of the most
sublime and beautiful description. I never saw such prospects
before, and had formed no adequate idea of such. My attention was
completely strained, and my eyes filled with tears; every thing
around was so wild and magnificent that man appeared as nothing,
and I felt myself as if climbing the steps of the altar of the
great temple of God. The trees, as we advanced, were in a large
proportion fir and cedar; but many were ilex, and to my surprise I
still saw, even in these wild Alpine tracts, many venerable Peepul
trees, on which the white monkeys were playing their gambols.
Tigers used to be very common and mischievous; but since the
English have begun to frequent the country, they have become very
scarce. There are many wolves and bears, and some chamois, two of
which passed near us. After wending up
'A wild romantic chasm, that slanted
Down the steep hill athwart a cedar cover--
A savage place, as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath the waning moon was haunted
By woman's wailing for her demon lover,'
we arrived at the gorge of the Pass, in an indent between the two
principal summits of Mount Gaughur, near 8600 feet above the sea.
And now the snowy mountains, which had been so long eclipsed,
opened upon us in full magnificence. To describe a view of this
kind is only lost labour: and I found it nearly as impossible to
make a sketch of it. Nundidevi was immediately opposite, Kedar
Nath was not visible, but Marvo was visible as a distant peak. The
eastern mountains, for whom I could procure no name, rose into
great consequence, and were very glorious objects as we wound down
the hill on the other side. The guides could only tell us they
were a great way off, and on the borders of the Chinese empire.
Nundidevi, the highest peak in the world, is 25,689 feet above the
sea, 4000 higher than Chimborazo. Bhadinath and Kedernath, which
are merely summits of it, are 22,300 feet high. They are all in
the British dominions."--(_Heber's India_, Vol. ii. pp. 193-194,
209.)
On comparing the descriptions of the most interesting objects in
Europe and Asia--Greece and the Himalaya range--by these two
distinguished British travellers, with the pictures given by Humboldt
of the Andes, the falls of the Orinoco, the forests of the same river,
and the expanse of the Pampas in South America, every one must admit
the great superiority of the German's powers of painting Nature.
Neither Clarke nor Heber appear to attempt it. They tell you, indeed,
that certain scenes were grand and beautiful, certain rocks wild,
certain glens steep; but they make no attempt to portray their
features, or convey to the reader's mind the pictures which they tell
you are for ever engraven on their own. This is a very great defect,
so great indeed that it will probably prevent their works, how
valuable soever as books of authority or reference, from ever
acquiring lasting fame. It is a total mistake to say that it is in
vain to attempt describing such scenes; that is the same mistake as
was formerly committed by pacific academical historians, who said it
was useless to attempt painting a battle, for they were all like each
other. How like they really are to each other, has been shown by
Colonel Napier and many other modern historians. We question if even
the sight of the rapids of the Orinoco would make so vivid an
impression on the imagination, as Humboldt's inimitable description;
or a journey over the Pampas or the Andes, convey a clearer or more
distinct idea of their opposite features than what has been derived
from his brilliant pencil. It is the same with all the other scenes in
nature. Description, if done by a masterly hand, can, to an
intelligent mind, convey as vivid an idea as reality. What is wanting
is the enthusiasm which warms at the perception of the sublime and the
beautiful, the poetic mind which seizes as by inspiration its
characteristic features, and the pictorial eye which discerns the
appearances they exhibit, and by referring to images known to all,
succeeds in causing them to be generally felt by the readers.
With all Humboldt's great and transcendent merits, he is a child of
Adam, and therefore not without his faults. The principal of these is
the want of arrangement. His travels are put together without any
proper method; there is a great want of indexes and tables of
contents; it is scarcely possible, except by looking over the whole,
to find any passage you want. This is a fault which, in a person of
his accurate and scientific mind, is very surprising, and the more
inexcusable that it could so easily be remedied by mechanical
industry, or the aid of compilers and index-makers. But akin to this,
is another fault of a more irremediable kind, as it originates in the
varied excellences of the author, and the vast store of information on
many different subjects which he brings to bear on the subject of his
travels. He has so many topics of which he is master himself, that he
forgets with how few, comparatively, his readers are familiar; he sees
so many objects of enquiry--physical, moral, and political--in the
countries which he visits, that he becomes insensible to the fact,
that though each probably possesses a certain degree of interest to
each reader, yet it is scarcely possible to find one to whom, as to
himself, they are _all alike_ the object of eager solicitude and
anxious investigation. Hence, notwithstanding his attempt to detail
his personal narrative from the learned works which contain the result
of his scientific researches, he has by no means succeeded in
effecting their separation. The ordinary reader, who has been
fascinated by his glowing description of tropical scenery, or his
graphic picture of savage manners, is, a few pages on, chilled by
disquisitions on the height of the barometer, the disk of the sun, or
the electricity of the atmosphere; while the scientific student, who
turns to his works for information on his favourite objects of study,
deems them strangely interspersed with rhapsodies on glowing sunsets,
silent forests, and sounding cataracts. It is scarcely possible to
find a reader to whom all these objects are equally interesting; and
therefore it is scarcely to be expected that his travels, unrivalled
as their genius and learning are, will ever be the object of general
popularity.
In truth, here, as in all the other branches of human thought, it will
be found that the rules of composition are the same, and that a
certain _unity of design_ is essential to general success or durable
fame. If an author has many different and opposite subjects of
interest in his head, which is not unfrequently the case with persons
of the higher order of intellect, and he can discant on all with equal
facility, or investigate all with equal eagerness, he will do well to
recollect that the minds of his readers are not likely to be equally
discursive, and that he is apt to destroy the influence, or mar the
effect of each, if he blends them together; separation of works is the
one thing needful there. A mathematical proposition, a passage of
poetry, a page of history, are all admirable things in their way, and
each may be part of a work destined to durable celebrity; but what
should we say to a composition which should present us, page about,
with a theorem of Euclid, a scene from Shakspeare, and a section from
Gibbon? Unity of effect, identity of train of thought, similarity of
ideas, are as necessary in a book of travels as in an epic poem, a
tragedy, or a painting. There is no such thing as one set of rules for
the fine arts, and another for works of thought or reflection. The
_Iliad_ is constructed on the same principles as the _Principia_ of
Newton, or the history of Thucydides.
What makes ordinary books of travels so uninteresting, and, in
general, so shortlived, is the want of any idea of composition, or
unity of effect, in the minds of their authors. Men and women seem to
think that there is nothing more to do to make a book of travels, than
to give a transcript of their journals, in which every thing is put
down of _whatever_ importance, provided only it really occurred.
Scenes and adventures, broken wheels and rugged rocks, cataracts and
omelets, lakes and damp beds, thunderstorms and waiters, are huddled
together, without any other thread of connexion than the accidental
and fortuitous one of their having successively come under the notice
of the traveller. What should we say to any other work composed on the
same principle? What if Milton, after the speech of Satan in _Paradise
Lost_, were to treat us to an account of his last dinner; or
Shakspeare, after the scene of the bones in Juliet, were to tell us of
the damp sheets in which he slept last night; or Gibbon, after working
up the enthusiasm of his readers by the account of the storming of
Constantinople by the Crusaders, was to favour us with a digression on
the insolence of the postilions in Roumelia? All the world would see
the folly of this: and yet this is precisely what is constantly done
by travellers, and tolerated by the public, because it is founded on
nature. Founded on nature! Is every thing that is actually true, or
real, fit to be recorded, or worthy of being recounted? Sketches from
nature are admirable things, and are the only foundation for correct
and lasting pictures; but no man would think of interposing a gallery
of paintings with chalk drawings or studies of trees. Correctness,
fidelity, truth, are the only secure bases of eminence in all the arts
of imitation; but the light of genius, the skilful arrangement, the
principles of composition, the selection of topics, are as necessary
in the writer of travels, as in the landscape painter, the historian,
or the epic poet.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] We lately heard of a young man, who had gone through the
examination at Cambridge with distinction, enquiring, "whether the
Greek church _were Christians?_" What sort of a traveller would he
make in the East or Russia?
[3] Lady Londonderry's description of Moscow is the best in the
English language.
[4] We have translated all the passages ourselves. A very good
translation of Humboldt's _Personal Narrative_ was published many
years ago, by Miss H. Williams; but we could not resist the pleasure
of trying to transfer to English such noble specimens of descriptive
eloquence.
[5] Park's _Last Mission to Africa_, 1815, p. 89.
HAKEM THE SLAVE.
A TALE EXTRACTED FROM THE HISTORY OF POLAND.
CHAPTER I.
Albert Glinksi, the powerful, ostentatious, and intriguing Duke of
Lithuania, was passing, distinguished by his glancing plume and
gorgeous mantle, through one of the more retired streets of the city
of Cracow, at this time (A.D. 1530) the capital of Poland, when a
domestic wearing the livery of the palace deferentially accosted him.
"Her Majesty," he said, "commands me to deliver these tablets into
your hands; you dropped them in the palace."
"I dropped no tablets," replied the duke; but instantly added, "Yes,
they are mine--Give them me."
He took from the hands of the domestic certain tablets of ivory, which
folded into a case of gold exquisitely wrought by one of the most
skilful artists of Italy, and dismissed the bearer with a liberal
gratuity for his services.
"Ha! my excellent Bona! youthful bride of our too aged monarch
Sigismund!" said the duke to himself when he was left alone. "Each day
some new device. What have we in these tablets? Here, in the corner of
each leaf, I see a solitary figure finely pencilled in, which to any
other eye than mine would mean nothing, but which tells me that at
eight o'clock this evening you will receive your favoured duke. So,
so! But, charming Bona! it is not love--loveable as you are--it is not
love--it is ambition gives its zest, and must bring the recompense to
this perilous intrigue. The Duke of Lithuania is no hot-brained youth
to be entangled and destroyed by a woman's smiles. To have a month's
_happiness_, as men phrase it, and then the midnight dagger of a
jealous monarch--I seek no such adventures. It is the crown of
Poland--yes, the crown--that you must help me to, fair lady."
As he stood reflecting on his ambitious schemes, his rival in the
state, Count Laski, minister and chancellor of the king, passed by him
on his way to the palace. The duke, assuming a frank and cordial
manner, called to him. Laski paused. "What would the Duke of
Lithuania?" he asked in his usual calm and reserved manner.
"Peace!" replied the duke--"amicable terms. Political opponents it
seems we are destined to be. The world gives us out as the selected
champions of two hostile factions. You affect the commons, I side with
the nobility. Be it so. But there exists between us, I hope, a mutual
respect; and it would be my greatest boast if, in spite of this
political antagonism, I might reckon Count Laski amongst my personal
friends."
A derisive smile played upon the countenance of the chancellor as he
replied--"Such friendship, my lord, as is consistent with perpetual
strife--open and concealed--shall, if it please you, subsist between
us. Pardon me, but we prate a silly jargon when we talk of private
friendship and public hostility."
"At all events," rejoined the duke, "political rivalry does not
exclude the practice of the courtesies of life. It has been reported
to me that you admire the marble statue of a nymph which an Italian
sculptor has lately wrought for me. I, on my part, have envied you the
possession of a certain Arab slave, a living statue, a moving bronze,
that you have amongst your retainers. Let us, like Homeric heroes,
make an exchange. Give me your statue-man, your swart Apollo, and
accept from me what many have been pleased to call the living statue."
Glinski had a secret motive for the acquisition of this slave: his
known fidelity, his surprising address and power, had protected the
life of the minister against more than one scheme of assassination.
"The exchange," replied Laski, "is too much in my favour. Your Italian
marble would purchase a hundred slaves. It would be a present in
disguise; and you know my rule--even from his Majesty himself I never
_receive_."
"Yes, we know your tyrannous munificence; but this," said the duke
with a smile, "shall be pure barter."
"What say you, then," said the count, "to those golden tablets which
you hold in your hand? Give me leave to look at them. They might suit
my pedantic way of life. But," added he, as he examined their delicate
workmanship, "came you honestly by this toy, my lord? What fair
frailty have you cheated of this knack, that never, I will be sworn,
was a man's marketing?"
"I am glad to hear so grave a gentleman indulge so pleasant a view,"
said the duke.
As Count Laski was handling the tablets, he touched, whether by
accident or design, a spring that had not been observed by him to whom
the present had been sent. The outer case flew back, and disclosed a
miniature of the queen!
"I have been indiscreet," said the count, and immediately folded up
and returned the tablets. "This is perilous ware to deal in, Duke of
Lithuania. Have you aught else in the way of honest barter to
propose?"
"What you may infer," said the duke, reddening with anger, and
grievously embarrassed at his discovery--"What you may infer from this
silly bauble I shall not be at the pains to enquire. I addressed you,
my lord, in courteous and amicable terms; you have ill responded to
them; our conversation had better close here."
"As you will," said the chancellor, bowing; and he continued his way
towards the palace, with the same deliberate step with which he was
proceeding when accosted by the duke.
"He is master of our secret," muttered the duke. "He or I"----