ANOTHER EUROPEAN TRIP
In 1877 I went abroad with my daughter Maud, now Mrs. Elliott, and with
her revisited England, France, and Italy. In London we had the pleasure
of being entertained by Lord Houghton, whom I had known, thirty or more
years earlier, as a bachelor. He was now the father of two attractive
daughters, and of a son who later succeeded to his title. At a breakfast
at his house I met Mr. Waddington, who was at that time very prominent
in French politics. At one of Lord Houghton's receptions I witnessed the
entrance of a rather awkward man, and was told that this was Mr. Irving,
whose performance of Hamlet was then much talked of. Here I met the
widow of Barry Cornwall, who was also the mother of the lamented
Adelaide Procter.
An evening at Devonshire House and a ball at Mr. Goschen's were among
our gayeties. At the former place I saw Mr. Gladstone for the first
time, and met Lord Rosebery, whom I had known in America. I had met Mrs.
Schliemann and had received from her an invitation to attend a meeting
(I think) of the Royal Geographical Society, at which she was to make an
address. Her theme was a plea in favor of the modern pronunciation of
Greek. It was much applauded, and the discussion of the views presented
by her was opened by Mr. Gladstone himself.
Lord Houghton one day asked whether I should like to go to breakfast
with Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone. One reply only to such a question was
possible, and on the morning appointed we drove together to the
Gladstone mansion. We were a little early, for Mrs. Gladstone complained
that the flowers ordered from her country seat had but just arrived. A
daughter of the house proceeded to arrange them. Breakfast was served at
two round tables, exactly alike.
I was glad to find myself seated between the great man and the Greek
minister, John Gennadius. The talk ran a good deal upon Hellenics, and I
spoke of the influence of the Greek in the formation of the Italian
language, to which Mr. Gladstone did not agree. I know that scholars
differ on this point, but I still retain the opinion which I then
expressed. I ventured a timid remark regarding the great number of Greek
derivatives used in our common English speech. Mr. Gladstone said very
abruptly, "How? What? English words derived from Greek?" and almost
"Frightened Miss Muffet away."
He was said to be habitually disputatious, and I thought that this must
certainly be the case; for he surely knew better than most people how
largely and familiarly we incorporate the words of Plato, Aristotle, and
Xenophon in our every-day talk.
Lord Houghton also took me one evening to a reception at the house of
Mr. Palgrave. At a dinner given in our honor at Greenwich, I was
escorted to the table by Mr. Mallock, author of "The New Republic." I
remember him as a young man of medium height and dark complexion. Of his
conversation I can recall only his praise of the Church of Rome. William
Black, the well-known romancer, took tea with me at my lodgings one
afternoon. Here I also received Mr. Green, author of "A Short History of
the English People," and Mr. Knowles, editor of the "Nineteenth
Century."
Mrs. Delia Stuart Parnell, whom I had known in America, had given me a
letter of introduction to her son Charles, who was already conspicuous
as an advocate of Home Rule for Ireland. He called upon me and appointed
a day when I should go with him to the House of Commons. He came for me
in his brougham, and saw me safely deposited in the ladies' gallery. He
was then at the outset of his stormy career, and his younger sister told
me that he had in Parliament but one supporter of his views, "a man
named Biggar." He certainly had admirers elsewhere, for I remember
having met a disciple of his, O'Connor by name, at a "rout" given by
Mrs. Justin McCarthy. I asked this lady if her husband agreed with Mr.
Parnell. She replied with warmth, "Of course; we are all Home Rulers
here."
We passed some weeks in Paris, where I found many new objects of
interest. I here made acquaintance with M. Charles Lemonnier, who for
many years edited a radical paper named "Les Etats Unis d'Europe." He
was the husband of Elise Lemonnier, the founder of a set of industrial
schools for women which bore her name, in grateful memory of this great
service.
I had met M. Desmoulins at a Peace Congress in America, and was indebted
to him for the pleasure of an evening visit to Victor Hugo at his own
residence. In "The History of a Crime," which was then just published,
M. Hugo mentions M. Desmoulins as one who suffered, as he did, from the
_coup d'etat_ which made Louis Napoleon emperor.
A congress of _gens de lettres_ was announced in those days, and I
received a card for the opening meeting, which was held in the large
Chatelet Theatre. Victor Hugo presided, and read from a manuscript an
address of some length, in a clear, firm voice. The Russian novelist,
Tourgenieff, was also one of the speakers. He was then somewhat less
than sixty years of age. Victor Hugo was at least fifteen years older,
but, though his hair was silver white, the fire of his dark eyes was
undimmed.
I sought to obtain entrance to the subsequent sittings of this congress,
but was told that no ladies could be admitted. I became acquainted at
this time with Frederic Passy, the well-known writer on political
economy. Through his kindness I was enabled to attend a meeting of the
French Academy, and to see the Immortals in their armchairs, and in
their costume, a sort of quaint long coat, faced with the traditional
palms stamped or embroidered on green satin.
The entertainment was a varied one. The principal discourse eulogized
several deceased members of the august body, and among them the young
artist, Henri Regnault, whose death was much deplored. This was followed
by an essay on Raphael's pictures of the Fornarina, and by another on
the social status of the early Christians, in which it was maintained
that wealth had been by no means a contraband among them, and that the
holding of goods in common had been but a temporary feature of the new
discipline. The exercises concluded with the performance by chorus and
orchestra of a musical composition, which had for its theme the familiar
Bible story of "Rebecca at the Well." A noticeable French feature of
this was the indignation of Laban when he found his sister "alone with a
man," the same being the messenger sent by Abraham to ask the young
girl's hand in marriage for his son. The prospect of an advantageous
matrimonial alliance seemed to set this right, and the piece concluded
with reestablished harmony.
My friend M. Frederic Passy asked me one day whether I should like to
see the crowning of a _rosiere_ in a suburban town. He explained to me
that this ceremony was of annual occurrence, and that it usually had
reference to some meritorious conduct on the part of a young girl who
was selected to be publicly rewarded as the best girl of her town or
village. This honor was accompanied by a gift of some hundreds of
francs, intended to serve as the marriage portion of the young girl. I
gladly accepted the ticket of admission offered me by M. Passy, the more
as he was to be the orator of the occasion, fixed for a certain Sunday
afternoon.
After a brief railroad journey I reached the small town, the name of
which escapes my memory, and found the notables of the place assembled
in a convenient hall, the mayor presiding. Soon a band of music was
heard approaching, and the _rosiere_, with her escort, entered and took
the place assigned her. She was dressed in white silk, with a wreath of
white roses around her head. A canopy was held over her, and at her side
walked another young girl, dressed also in white, but of a less
expensive material. This, they told me, was the _rosiere_ of the year
before who, according to custom, waited upon her successor to the
dignity.
Upon the mayor devolved the duty of officially greeting and
complimenting the _rosiere_. M. Passy's oration followed. His theme was
religious toleration. As an instance of this he told us how, at the
funeral of the great Channing in Boston, Archbishop Chevereux caused the
bells of the cathedral to be tolled, as an homage to the memory of his
illustrious friend. It appeared to me whimsical that I should come to an
obscure suburb of Paris to hear of this. At home I had never heard it
mentioned. Mrs. Eustis, Dr. Channing's daughter, on being questioned,
assured me that she perfectly remembered the occurrence.
M. Passy presented me with a volume of his essays on questions of
political economy. Among the topics therein treated was the vexed
problem, "Does expensive living enrich the community?" I was glad to
learn that he gave lectures upon his favorite science to classes of
young women as well as of young men.
Among my pleasant recollections of Paris at this time is that of a visit
to the studio of Gustave Dore, which came about on this wise. An English
clergyman whom we had met in London happened to be in Paris at this
time, and one day informed us that he had had some correspondence with
Dore, and had suggested to the latter a painting of the Resurrection
from a new point of view. This should represent, not the opening grave,
but the gates of heaven unclosing to receive the ascending form of the
Master. The artist had promised to illustrate this subject, and our new
friend invited us to accompany him to the studio, where he hoped to find
the picture well advanced. Accordingly, on a day appointed, we knocked
at the artist's door and were admitted. The apartment was vast, well
proportioned to the unusual size of many of the works of art which hung
upon the walls.
Dore received us with cordiality, and showed Mr. ---- the picture which
he had suggested, already nearly completed. He appeared to be about
forty years of age, in figure above medium height, well set up and
balanced. His eyes were blue, his hair dark, his facial expression very
genial. After some conversation with the English visitor, he led the way
to his latest composition, which represented the van of a traveling
showman, in front of which stood its proprietor, holding in his arms the
body of his little child, just dead, in the middle of his performance.
Beside him stood his wife, in great grief, and at her feet the trick
dogs, fantastically dressed, showed in their brute countenances the
sympathy which those animals often evince when made aware of some
misfortune befalling their master.
Here we also saw a model of the enormous vase which the artist had sent
to the exposition of that year (1879), and which William W. Story
contemptuously called "Dore's bottle."
The artist professed himself weary of painting for the moment. He seemed
to have taken much interest in his recent modeling, and called our
attention to a genius cast in bronze, which he had hoped that the
municipality would have purchased for the illumination of the "Place de
l'Opera." The head was surrounded by a coronet intended to give forth
jets of flame, while the wings and body should be outlined by lights of
another color.
In the course of conversation, I remarked to him that his artistic
career must have begun early in life. He replied:--
"Indeed, madam, I was hardly twenty years of age when I produced my
illustrations of the 'Wandering Jew.'"
I had more than once visited the Dore Gallery in London, and I spoke to
him of a study of grasses there exhibited, which, with much else, I had
found admirable.
I believe that Dore's works are severely dealt with by art critics, and
especially by such of them as are themselves artists. Whatever may be
the defects of his work, I feel sure that he has produced some paintings
which deserve to live in the public esteem. Among these I would include
his picture of Christ's Entry into Jerusalem, for the contrast therein
shown between the popular enthusiasm and the indifference of a group of
richly dressed women, seated in a balcony, and according no attention
whatever to the procession passing in the street just below them.
Worthy to be mentioned with this is his painting of Francesca da Rimini
and her lover, as Dante saw them in his vision of hell. Mrs. Longfellow
once showed me an engraving of this work, exclaiming, as she pointed to
Francesca, "What southern passion in that face!"
I was invited several times to speak while in Paris. I chose for the
theme of my first lecture, "Associations of Women in the United States."
The chairman of the committee of invitation privately requested me
beforehand not to speak either of woman suffrage or of the Christian
religion. He said that the first was dreaded in France because many
supposed that the woman's vote, if conceded, would bring back the
dominion of the Catholic priesthood; while the Christian religion, to a
French audience, would mean simply the Church of Rome. I spoke in French
and without notes, though not without preparation. No tickets were sold
for these lectures and no fee was paid. A large salver, laid on a table
near the entrance of the hall, was intended to receive voluntary
contributions towards the inevitable expenses of the evening. I was
congratulated, after the lecture, for having spoken with "_tant de bonne
grace_."
Before leaving Paris I was invited to take part in a congress of woman's
rights (_congres du droit des femmes_). It was deemed proper to elect
two presidents for this occasion, and I had the honor of being chosen as
one of them, the other being a gentleman well known in public life. My
co-president addressed me throughout the meeting as "Madame la
Presidente." The proceedings naturally were carried on in the French
language. Colonel T. W. Higginson was present, as was Theodore Stanton,
son of Mrs. Elizabeth Cady Stanton. Among the lady speakers was one, of
whom I was told that she possessed every advantage of wealth and social
position. She was attired like a woman of fashion, and yet she proved to
be an ardent suffragist. Somewhat in contrast with these sober doings
was a ball given by the artist Healy at his residence. In accepting the
invitation to attend this party, I told Mrs. Healy in jest that I should
insist upon dancing with her husband, whom I had known for many years.
Soon after my entrance Mrs. Healy said to me, "Mrs. Howe, your quadrille
is ready for you. See what company you are to have." I looked and beheld
General Grant and M. Gambetta, who led out Mrs. Grant, while her husband
had Mrs. Healy for his partner.
At this ball I met Mrs. Evans, wife of the well-known dentist, who, in
1870, aided the escape of the Empress Eugenie. Mrs. Evans wore in her
hair a diamond necklace, said to have been given to her by the Empress.
I found in Paris a number of young women, students of art and medicine,
who appeared to lead very isolated lives and to have little or no
acquaintance with one another. The need of a point of social union for
these young people appearing to me very great, I invited a few of them
to meet me at my lodgings. After some discussion we succeeded in
organizing a small club which, I am told, still exists.
Marshal MacMahon was at this time President of the French republic. I
attended an evening reception given by him in honor of General and Mrs.
Grant. Our host was supposed to be the head of the Bonapartist faction,
and I heard some rumors of an intended _coup d'etat_ which should bring
back imperialism and place Plon-Plon[4] on the throne. This was not to
be. The legitimist party held the Imperialists in check, and the
Republicans were strong enough to hold their own.
[Footnote 4: The nickname for Prince Napoleon.]
I remember Marshal MacMahon as a man of medium height, with no very
distinguishing feature. He was dressed in uniform and wore many
decorations.
We passed on to Italy. Soon after my arrival in Florence I was asked to
speak on suffrage at the _Circolo Filologico_, one of the favorite halls
of the city. The attendance was very large. I made my argument in
French, and when it was ended a dear old-fashioned conservative in the
gallery stood up to speak, and told off all the counter pleas with which
suffragists are familiar,--the loss of womanly grace, the neglect of
house and family, etc. When he had finished speaking a charming Italian
matron, still young and handsome, sprang forward and took me by the
hand, saying, "I feel to take the hand of this sister from America."
Cordial applause followed this and I was glad to hear my new friend
respond with much grace to our crabbed opponent in the gallery. The
sympathy of the audience was evidently with us.
A morning visit to the Princess Belgioiosa may deserve a passing
mention. This lady was originally Princess Ghika, of a noble Roumanian
family. She had married a Russian--Count Murherstsky. I never knew the
origin of the Italian title. My dear friend, Mrs. Ednah D. Cheney, went
with me to the princess's villa, which was at some distance from the
city proper. Although the winter was well begun she received us in a
room without fire. She was wrapped in furs from head to foot while we
shivered with cold. She appeared to be about sixty years of age, and
showed no traces of the beauty which I had seen in a portrait of her
taken in her youth. She spoke English fluently, but with idioms derived
from other languages, in some of which I should have understood her more
easily than in my own.
Our first winter abroad was passed in Rome, which I now saw for the
first time as the capital of a united Italy. The king, "_Il Re
Galantuomo_," was personally popular with all save the partisans of the
Pope's temporal dominion. I met him more than once driving on Monte
Pinciano. He was of large stature, with a countenance whose extreme
plainness was redeemed by an expression of candor and of good humor.
In the course of this winter Victor Emmanuel died. The marks of public
grief at this event were unmistakable. The ransomed land mourned its
sovereign as with one heart.
I recall vividly the features of the king's funeral procession, which
was resplendent with wreaths and banners sent from every part of Italy.
The monarch's remains were borne in a crimson coach of state, drawn by
six horses. His own favorite war-horse followed, veiled in crape. Nobles
and servants of noble houses walked before and after the coach in
brilliant costumes, bareheaded, carrying in their hands lighted torches
of wax. I stood to see this wonderful sight with my dear friend Sarah
Clarke, at a window of her apartment opposite to the Barberini Palaces.
As the cortege swept by I dropped my tribute of flowers.
I was also present when King Umberto took the oath of office before the
Italian Parliament, to whose members in turn the oath of allegiance was
administered. In a box, in full view, were seated a number of royalties,
to wit, Queen Margherita, her sister-in-law, the Queen of Portugal, the
Prince of Wales, and the then Crown Prince of Germany, loved and
lamented as "_unser Fritz_." The little Prince of Naples sat with his
royal mother, and kindly Albert Edward of England lifted him in his arms
at the crowning moment in order that he might better see what was going
on.
By a curious chance I had one day the pleasure of taking part with
Madame Ristori in a reading which made part of an entertainment given in
aid of a public charity. Madame Ristori had promised to read on this
occasion the scene from the play of Maria Stuart, in which she meets and
overcrows her rival, Queen Elizabeth. The friend who should have read
the part of this latter personage was suddenly disabled by illness, and
I was pressed into the service. Our last rehearsal was held in the
anteroom of the hall while the musical part of the entertainment was
going on. Madame Ristori made me repeat my part several times, insisting
that my manner was too reserved and would make hers appear extravagant.
I did my best to conform to her wishes, and the reading was duly
applauded.
Another historic death followed that of Victor Emmanuel after the
interval of a month. Pope Pius IX. had reigned too long to be deeply
mourned by his spiritual subjects, one of whom remarked in answer to my
condolence, "I should think that he had lived long enough." This same
friend, however, claimed for Pio the rare merit of having abstained from
enriching his own family, and said that when the niece of the Pontiff
was married her uncle bestowed on her nothing save the diamonds which
had been presented to him by the Sultan of Turkey. Be it also
remembered, to his eternal credit, that Pio would not allow the last
sacraments to be denied to the king, who had been his political enemy.
"He was always a sincere Catholic," said the Pope, "and he shall not die
without the sacraments."
My dear sister, Mrs. Terry, went with me to attend the consecration of
the new Pope, which took place in the Sistine Chapel. Leo XIII. was
brought into the church with the usual pomp, robed in white silk,
preceded by a brand new pair of barbaric fans, and wearing his triple
crown. He was attended by a procession of high dignitaries, civil and
ecclesiastic, the latter resplendent with costly silks, furs, and
jewels. I think that what interested me most was the chapter of the
Gospel which the Pope read in Greek, and which I found myself able to
follow. After the elevation of the host, the new Pontiff retired for a
brief space of time to partake, it was said, of some slight refreshment.
As is well known, the celebrant and communicant at the Mass must remain
in a fasting condition from the midnight preceding the ceremony until
after its conclusion. For some reason which I have never heard
explained, Pope Leo, in his receptions, revived some points of ceremony
which his predecessors had allowed to lapse. In the time of Gregory
XVI., Protestants had only been expected to make certain genuflections
on approaching and on leaving the pontifical presence. Pope Leo required
that all persons presented to him should kneel and kiss his hand. This,
as a Protestant, I could never consent to do, and so was obliged to
forego the honor of presentation. It was said in Rome that a brother of
the Pope, a plain man from the country, called upon him just before or
after his coronation. He was very stout in person, and objected to the
inconvenience of kneeling for the ceremonial kiss. The Pope, however,
insisted, and his relative departed, threatening never to return.