Monday, November 6th 1854 ~ Milan

Hotel de Ville ~ I began today’s labors by visiting the post office and found there a letter for Alice. The first she has had since leaving home. Of course, she is perfectly enchanted and has been clapping her hands and jumping about like a child with a new toy. I bought a hat this morning and the girls looked for bonnets. After this important business ended, we walked to the other end of the city following the lead of our friend Mr. Murray to see the celebrated painting in frescoe of Leonardo da Vinci “the last supper.” It is on the wall of the refectory of the Jesuit college Santa Maria delle Grazie, a tumble down old building of brick now used as a military barrack. The refectory itself is quite a large room, somewhat longer than it is broad and paved with brick. The painting occupies all one end of it, and is dropping off every year. Traces of the great master are still to be seen in its fading design and general conception, more than in any particular part. It has been repainted and thus greatly damaged several times and it is said that the faces of the Saviour and of Judas are the only ones which are at all perfect (whose expression has not been entirely changed by the repainting). The apostles are placed around a long table, and the scene is drawn at the moment when the servant Peter demands of his Lord “is it I?” Our Lord’s expression is most saintlike and is clothed with an almost unearthly spirituality and dignity. The faces of the group show their interest in the answer expected, and their innocence. The features of Judas are thrown a little in the shade, the better to produce a fiendish expression in which evil passions and cowardice are blended. His face alone does not ask “is it I” but retired from the light. The monks have cut a door through the lower part of the painting, thus taking off all the lower part of our Lord’s person. It’s study gave me a new idea of the effects attainable in painting. As we passed out, soldiers were practicing gymnastic exercises in front of their quarters. They had a rope suspended from the roof to the sidewalk, and were coming down on it head downwards, sitting on each other’s shoulders etc. These operations were superintended by an officer in uniform and apparently on duty. We then walked over to the castle where fifteen hundred or two thousand men were on parade, marching over the great square in front.

Just at the end of this ground is the “Arco della Pace,” a very beautiful triumphal arch, modern, surmounted by bronze statues, chariot and horses and a group of figures about it. We dined at six, just after the table d’hote, and Lizzie was much incommoded by being stared at by an Englishman, who was lingering over his coffee.

Sunday, November 5th 1854 ~ Milan

Hotel de Ville ~ We find ourselves in a fine situation not far from the cathedral and the Imperial Palace. Today (there being no protestant church in the city) we attended the Catholic church “San Carlo Borromeo” and heard some very fine music there. It happened to be the day of this saint and a fine opera corps had been engaged for the occasion who supplied us with music that sounded anything but devotional. After services there we went over to the celebrated cathedral or “Duomo” and were delighted with its beauties and overcome with wonder at the {minute a dommient}. Its many long graceful gothic spires of stone recall in a measure Westminster Abbey. It is unfair for me to attempt its description. As a mere item however I may mention that the outside is adorned with two thousand statues, all in marble, the size of life or greater, in niches, at different heights. As a whole the cathedral is wonderful in its beauty and imposing in its proportions. I had often read descriptions and seen prints of it but never knew it as it is. Today all the shops are closed here, as much as in one of our own New England villages, but the city lacks that aspect of quiet; for the streets are crowded. Apple, cake, and candy venders abound. People peddling portraits of saints etc. etc. At four, Lizzie and myself took a walk out to the Porte Orientale to see the “belle-monde”. This fashionable thoroughfare was crowded with ladies and gentlemen handsomely drest, Austrian officers in their gay uniforms, handsome carriages , and single turnouts, each gentleman with his footman behind etc. A fine military band way playing in the square. We returned to a five o’clock table d’hote dinner as usual in the French style. In the evening we read the Episcopal service before a wood fire in our own room. When we entered the cars at Como for Milan, an official in uniform took away our passport and gave us a receipt for it on the back of which I found that unless I called at the police office in Milan within 24 hours I should subject myself to a fine and fourteen days imprisonment etc. The arrival at the gates of the city was the signal for the receipt being demanded and shown. We had not been in the hotel half an hour when a printed blanc was sent me to be filled up with my country, age, profession, wherefrom, destination, object in traveling etc. Tomorrow I must call at the police office in propria personae to verify the description and furthermore must wait upon the gentlemen every third day after, while I remain to report myself. A government loved at home and respected abroad!

Saturday, November 4th 1854 ~ Milan

Hotel de Ville ~ We breakfasted this morning at Como and after much discussion we decided to make an excursion on the lake; so we took the little steamer at eight o’clock for Bellaggio arriving there after a delightful sail of an hour and a half. The lake is long and narrow, bounded by quite high hills on either hand, along the base of which are beautiful Italian villas in great profusion, with their terraced gardens still clothed in summer verdure. These villas are generally white square houses, having an air of wealth and elegance. The houses at Longwood resemble them very much. We have struck up an acquaintance with an English family aboard, a father, mother and grown up son, bu speedily found them, like all the other specimens of their race that we have met, reserved, uncommunicative, and purse-proud. They were talking continuously about their courier, their servants from England etc. etc. We left our shawls etc. at a hotel in the village and ascended a hill on which is placed the Villa Serbilloni, from the garden of which we obtained some magnificent views of the lake and surrounding country. Bellaggio is on a spur of land running into the lake so that here we had water on both sides, indeed all sides but one. This garden is a succession of terraces, which shelter almost tropical fruits and flowers. Here again we met the English party, the lady riding in a sedan chair carried by two men. We dined at Bellaggio and found the names of J.V.C. Smith {mayor of Boston} and party on the books. Mrs. Smith had written a warm commendation of the hotel, and had added a note in which she says that after having received the bill she found herself obliged take back all her previously expressed praise!! We left at two for Como again, and had to row off to the steamer in a little boat. There was considerable wind and the ladies of the party found a sad pleasure in looking over the side of the little boat! Arrived at Como we had just time to get our passport and baggage in order to take the six o’clock train for Milan. At the depot no one spoke a word of French or German and I was obliged to use signs. It is very disagreeable. The money is still francs (called by another name) and I know the Italian numbers, still it is hard work. The cars are good and the comfort of passengers well attended to. As we crossed the boundary line between Switzerland and Italy (the Alps), the language, manners, customs, as well as climate seemed to change in a moment. Our baggage was again examined on entering this city. Officials are plenty and very strict, but civil.

Friday, November 3rd 1854 ~ Como

Hotel de l’Angello ~ We took tea last evening at Domo d’Ossola last evening and then took the diligence again in route. There being none but night conveyances. The conductors and all the other officials were Italians; it was a crowded, uncomfortable conveyance. Mary was perhaps the greatest sufferer having if possible the worst seat. I slept well all night awaking only when horses were changed, or when someone came to the window and roused us all up to pay 5 centima (one cent) each for toll. We arrived at Barina on Lake Maggiore at five o’clock this morning and were dropt at the Hotel de la Poste before day break where we made ourselves comfortable with a good wood fire and a meat breakfast. About seven o’clock we took a row boat with two rowers and started out over the Lake for Laveno on the opposite side by the way of the Borromean Islands. It seemed very strange to us to be driving last night over a great level expanse after the mountainous country we have left. At half past eight we landed at Isola Bella having past by the other little islands of the group, Isola Pescatori, and Isola Madre. Isola Bella is square; rises in formal terraces from the water and is devoted to what was once a magnificient palace and a splendid garden. The garden is still a curious monument of Italian art and taste. It is in fact a great greenhouse, the greater part of it being covered in during the winter. We were shown through the upper rooms of the palace, which did not seem to us very remarkable. Napoleon lodged here at one time during his great Italian campaign and of course his bed room is still shown. Also a tree in the garden on which he cut with his knife the word “battaille” {“battle”}. We were carried down to the “grottoes” under the palace. They are quite handsome small rooms, with roofs, walls and floor of pebbles of different colors in mosaic patterns. Many of them open to the lake and some admitting its waters. In one of them Napoleon had dined previous to the battle of Marengo. We were shown all over the garden, we spent some time walking over its terraces, under lemon and orange trees, full of the ripe fruit, where the century plant grows wild and tropical vegetation flourishes in the open air and this within twelve hours ride of the Alpine snows, and eternal glacier, which by the way are in plain sight from these orange trees. From a little little distance it has a very square pyramidal appearance. The view over the lake is superb. The great Alps to the Northward, the smiling level lands of Italy on the south. At Isola Bella the American pine and the orange bloom almost side by side. At half past eight we started again in our boat for Laveno, reaching there at a little past ten. The moment we landed we were marched to the custom house and passport offices where we underwent quite a rigid examination, for we were within Austrian jurisdiction, perhaps the strictest government in Europe. Our boatmen were very extortionate in their charges and {Ienchnid} to resist so we had quite a quarrel and having lost the diligence were forced to take a very miserable voiturier, who at half way turned us over to another with an inferior carriage besides damaging our trunks by bad loading etc. etc. Our first impressions of Italians are not agreeable. The latter part of our drive was delightful. In it we saw our first Italian sunset which was superb; so mellow yet so brilliant. The country so level as almost to pain the eye, perfectly Italian in its characteristics, stretching in an unbroken surface as far as the eye can reach. We arrived at our hotel in Como at six o’clock this evening, having left our baggage in passing at the “Strada della Ferrata” (Railway) where no one spoke English. It is a little out of the city proper. Our driver knows no English or French, we no Italian, so had to make signs to him, which he obeys pretty well. All but the command to drive more quickly! Alice’s presto’s were useless.

Thursday, November 2nd 1854 ~ Domo d’Ossola

We started at nine o’clock this morning from Brigue in the diligence drawn by seven horses, two to the pole, three abreast next, and two abreast for leaders. The road, which is macadamized, conducts immediately from Brigue along the side of the mountain, continuously rising at the rate of one inch per foot until it reaches the highest point marked by a simple cross of wood, sixty two hundred feet above the level of the sea. We walked much of the way up admiring the views at every turn. The road on the Swiss side rises spirally, so that it looks from below like a great corkscrew laid against the mountainside. An Italian who talked French fast and badly and a young, silent German, a woman and ourselves were the only passengers. The Italian made himself as agreeable as he could, told us he was Turin lawyer etc. I endeavored to make him understand, in French, the scheme of our own government. He was polite enough to pretend a perfect comprehension of my ideas conveyed through the medium but I fear his truth suffered for his “politisse.” As we approached the summit of the mountain we found snow along the sides of the road until at the highest point it was nearly a foot deep. Near the summit the road passes through a tunnel and several covered galleries, supported by columns of solid masonry, to protect it from the avalanches of ice and snow that fall from the higher peaks above it. Quite a large cascade falls on one of the galleries while the diligence drives safely beneath it. We arrived at the highest point at four o’clock, seven hours after our departure from Brigue and then half an hour’s drive over a level road brought us to the Hospice founded by Napoleon the Great. It’s an immense stone building looking not unlike a factory with its long and regular rows of windows. Here we halted for a few moments and were shown by a monk (Father Barras) who was for many years stationed on the Gt. St. Bernard, the whole of the building. It is nicely heated by a furnace and is neat as shaker dwelling. The floors are of dark wood highly polished. The good monk took us into the cuisine and gave us a little lunch of bread, butter, cheese and wine and then reprised a gratuity for his hospitality. He took us into the chapel and the sleeping rooms and invited us to pass the night. From here the Bernese chain is still visible. The Jung Frau Monk etc. The conductor had given us up his place in the morning and now all were crowded into the “Banquette” to see to advantage our decent into Italy. Dear Switzerland adieu. Soon after learning the Hospice the sun set and the moon rose silvering the snow covered peaks and their over-hanging glaciers, in her pale radiance and deepening indefinitely the chasms beneath us. The diligence followed a terrible but beautiful drive. The horses were put into a trot, then into a gallop and we almost flew through the most magnificent scenery ever beheld. At one moment dashing through a dark tunnel cut through the solid rock and emerging to sweep along the edge of a precipice, with a torrent foaming below but at such a depth that we were aware of its presence only by its roar. And now winding around needles of rock that rose three thousand feet into the air above our heads. The atmosphere quickly changed in our rapid descent and we were soon at Isella, where our trunks were ransacked and our passports countersigned by Italians. The change has not dawned gradually but we found ourselves in a moment within range of the Italian lingo. We again resumed our seats and continued our journey descending gradually through a country of vinyards and soft verdure, white wooden houses etc. Everything is Italian in appearance and in effect we are in Piedmont with the snows of the Semplon still clinging to our wheels. At nine o’clock we found ourselves at Domo d’Ossola just at the foot of the mountain chain.

Wednesday, November 1st 1854 ~ Brigue

Hotel des Trois Couronnes ~ This place seems to lie just at the end of the valley of the Rhone. Mountains enclose it on all sides but one, and here the river takes its first waters from the snows of the great mountains. Just above us towards the Semplon and its great road built by Napoleon. We passed last evening at Matigny in recounting our mutual adventures. The girls met in the diligence an old lady who was a great mineralogist having her collections for the day in a bag with her. She was English and going to the salt mines for Stalactites. Also, Mrs Edward Cathy an intimate friend of Mrs Gillebran, Miss Ropes that was etc., etc. They were treated with great consideration at the Hotel Byron and altogether had a most comfortable time. We left Matigny at three o’clock and arrived here at one at night. The diligence conductors wear a uniform consisting of a blue frock coat with brass buttons, standing collar and a blue cap. Both cap and coat have a bugle embroidered on them in gold to denote the postal service. The “cocher” wears a coat which would be a dress coat if the tails were double the size. This coat boasts scarlet collar and cuffs and is mounted with gilt bugle buttons. The hat is of glazed leather having a gold band and embroidered bugle. On our arrival here we went down into the kitchen and helped ourselves to some “potage” we found on the stove. It was the only comfortable place in the house.

Tuesday, October 31st 1854 ~ Martigny

Hotel de la Tour ~ We breakfasted at Chamonix this morning still with the Polish party and bid them goodbye at nine leaving them on their way to the Fligire, a mountain from which perhaps the best view of Mt. Blanc is to be had, while we started for this place over the “Tite-noire” and the “Val Orsini” on horses each having a guide to lead him. It was a clear bright day and all nature looked fresh and beautiful. Mt. Blanc from the village of Chamonix is in plain sight but looks lower than many of the other mountains because it is somewhat farther removed than they and it is only when the traveler reaches pretty high ground that the Monarch unveils his majesty and rises supreme, a great dom of snow. Our path conducted first through the Val d’Orsini, a narrow valley bounded on either side by sloping rocks, forming high shelving walls and looking like one of the sterile vales of the Arabian nights entertainments. All around us were great masses of jagged stone broken off and thrown here by the winters avalanches, many of them containing twenty and many sixty cubic feet. Between these, the mules picked their way, until the path began to ascend one of the hillsides; as it rose giving us views of the Alpine chain presided over by Mt. Blanc, unapproachable and vast, who here assumed his true rank. The road rising still, soon brought us to the “Tete Noire” which is the summit of the mountain, along whose side we had been creeping – rushing brooks from time to time appear forming beautiful cascades which are lost to view in the dark glens about us, or leaping down the precipice at our feet their voice is hushed in their distant landing. Looking down, the Swiss houses in the vale are reduced to the size of toy buildings in shop windows. Green meadows, little men and miniature cattle, sparkling brooks whose voices are lost in the distance. Now passing through a rock tunnel’d to receive the path we reached a little hotel closed to travelers for the season, but where we obtained some bread and wine and a pleasant parlor to rest in. Walking on, and leaving the mules and guides to follow, we wind through the woods on the top of the mountain picking wild flowers and obtaining beautiful views of nigh looking hillsides clothed in Autumnal verdure. A little further on the road descends and then ascends again and we recoup the frontier of Switzerland. Lizzie’s mule is the quickest walker so that she is in Switzerland while I remain’d in Savoy. A good natured gendarme came out and examined our passport and admired his own signature which allowed us to proceed.

From this point the guide pointed out the Silber-horn. The Jung Frau and before us the great valley of the Rhone almost as far as Brigue two days journey by diligence. The valley is bounded on either side by high hills between which the Rhone looks like a silver thread with the great road by its side running in a straight line through the green meadows. On the other side of the Rhone, rising above all lesser mountains, are the snowcapt mountains of the Bernese chain (which here we bid farewell to) and rich foliage of lesser mountains, makes a scene never to be forgotten. We walked a good part of the way down feeling badly at having bid farewell to our friends the Silber horn and Jung Frow, so beautiful in their majesty. We made friends with some peasants taking their flocks to Matigny which lies on the Rhone just at our feet in plain sight. Had quite a conversation with a peasant woman on her prospects. Lizzie’s guide gave her a history of his life, telling her he was still unmarried because his father wanted him to marry a rich girl that he did not like etc., etc. We found the girls already arrived when we reached the hotel in Matigny and a nice fire in rooms prepared for us. Our hostess’ first words to us were “il y a deux dames ici monsieur gui vous attend” {“there are two ladies waiting for you here, sir”} We were right glad to meet them safe and well.

Gardens

{poem written on scrap of paper, inserted in journal:}

Gardens
"A garden is a lovesome thing, God woh!
Rose, plot,
Fringed pool, Ferned grot -
The veriest school
Of peace! And yet the fool
Contends that God is not –
Not God! in gardens! when the air is cool?
Nay, but I have a sign;
'Tis very sure God walks in mine."

- Thomas E. Brown

Rev. John Codman

Lizzie's father, Rev. Dr. John Codman (1782-1847)

1782 - Born, August 3rd.
1813 - Married to Mary Wheelwright, January 19th.
1826 - Daughter, Elizabeth Codman, born December 10th.
1847 - Died, December 23rd, Dorchester, Mass.

1800's - worked as a minister/preacher.

Monday, October 30th 1854 ~ Chamonix

Hotel de Londres ~ We were called at six and a half this morning and breakfasted at seven. After breakfast bid the girls good bye (I kissed Alice at parting) and started off for Sallenches. The idea was so ridiculous of our going in different directions that it put us into fine spirits. We left our trunks to the girls to take care of and at eight o’clock were comfortably seated in the coupé of the diligence and “en route.” This is the best seat. It is front, just under the driver and shut in with glass. It holds just three people and after the first two hours we had it all to ourselves. The early morning was misty so that we saw but little of the country. As we approached Sallenches the view became superb. The great chain of Mt. Blanc coming into sight, the sun gilding its summits and the mist rolling upward from the valley and creeping up the hill sides. At Sallenches, we obtained our second sight of Mt. Blanc (the first was from Geneva). We dined there and the dinner was miserable in the extreme, bad wine, bad meat, bad everything, cold room. It was market-day however and the costumes of the peasants in the great square were very pretty, standing before their booths, ornamented with ribands etc. We dined with a Polish Count and his sister, the widow of a Russian officer, and with them we took a carriage for Chamonix. They had been fellow travelers in the diligence from Geneva. By the way, on the road to Sallenches we met quantities of market people coming from and going to the fair with droves of cattle, shepherds carrying their little lambs and followed by the flock, droves of black pigs, carts of calves, in one a number of dead ones and one standing alive in their midst. The Polish Count was very deaf and did no talking but his sister did enough for both and in very glib French (which was her native tongue) and we had to keep our heads very clear to understand her rattle. She told us she had one son who was in the Russian army and to my question “how do you like the Russians and their rule” she answered with an expressive shrug “je suis Polonaise.” {I am Polish.} That told the whole story and seemed a history of a great nation’s wrongs. She seemed much interested in hearing about America and showed us by her questions that she had read much about us. The country between Sallenches and Chamonny is very beautiful. The road winds between the mountains, now ascending, now descending, passing through deep defiles, by rushing brooks and waterfalls and among snow capt hills. We had a drunken driver, who whirled us down the hills at a pace that threatened to shake the carriage to pieces; still we did not reach Chamonnix until eight o’clock. Our view as we drove through the vale of Chomonix by moonlight passes description. Mt. Blanc and his aiguilles on the one hand and lesser mountains on the other; in the half light they seemed supernaturally high and their glittering summits seemed as if cut out of solid silver. In many places they were so high that the moon rays did not reach us at all, but were arrested on the sides of the opposite mountains, daguerreotyping there the fantastic shapes of the great Alpine range. The road passes close to three arms of the great “mer de glace,” which descends from the summit of Mt. Blanc into the plain, wave upon wave of ice throwing back the moonlight. Just as the moon rose this evening the sun disappeared so that their rays were blended on the great white dome of Mt. Blanc, the moon rising over it, the sun’s last rays gulding it with rosy hues after they had for some time left us in the valley in the shades of night. Oh man, what are thy works compared with Natures wonders! We cannot help asking here “what is man that thou should’st be mindful of him! We took tea with our Polish friends and retired at midnight. We are the only people at the hotel which is about to be closed for the season.

Sunday, October 29th 1854 ~ Geneva

Caesar Malan

The day has been perfectly splendid. Lake Leman unruffled and clear as crystal, and in the distance the white chain of Mt. Blanc presided over by the monarch himself. A little before ten this morning Lizzie and myself sallied out on a voyage of discovery for the chapel of the celebrated Caesar Malin {actually spelled Malán}. He does not seem at all popular in his native place and we found it difficult to hear where he could be found. After many inquiries we discovered his house just out of the city proper and his church in the grounds. We rang at his garden gate and were told by the woman that came that he would not preach until two o’clock so we went back to the English Chapel and heard the service badly read and a sermon so delivered that we could comprehend very little of it. After church we returned to the hotel and in a quarter of an hour set out again for Mr. Malan’s. It is a very plain little building of wood not painted on the inside with a high old fashioned pulpit, narrow and covered by a canopy of green velvet. Mr. Malin is a fine looking old man about middle height with long hair white as snow. His text was from St. John’s gospel “He it was that should betray him being one of the twelve.” His doctrine we found were very severe (Calvinistic), and somewhat peculiar, but his sermon forcible and manner most impressive, voice musical and instinct with deep feeling. In speaking of the love of Christ it faintly trembled. It is needless to say the sermon impressed us all much. It was in French but remarkably distinct and clear. As he descended from the pulpit in his long black robe he extended his hand to one, a stranger, and I took the opportunity to introduce myself and Lizzie whose father he remembered well. The sunset was superb; we saw it returning along the banks of the lake. The giant shadows of the mountains were reflected in the many colored waters. Byron’s description does not now seem over drawn. In the evening before our woodfire we talked over our plans and concluded to separate our party, Mary and Alice passing over the lake to Hotel Byron and meeting us at Martigny and we going by way of Chamonix, Alice not being able to bear the fatigue of this route.

Saturday, October 28th 1854 ~ Geneva

Hotel de l’Eau ~ Mary’s birthday; the sun shines brightly and Mt. Blanc is in full view. I finally decided upon my watch this morning and took it. I then called at the police office rue de la Cite’ and obtained my passport which had been taken from me on our arrival. Nothing of importance transpired. There is nothing particularly to see in Geneva and I have no impressions to write.

Friday, October 27th 1854 ~ Geneva

Geneva, ca. 1860.

Hotel de l’Eau ~ This is indeed a beautiful city, clean, modern, and enjoyable. The houses are large and handsome – almost every second one bears the sign “horrologerie” (watchmaking). The watchmakers shops are large and handsome besides being thick as blackberries. Mount Blanc has not shown himself today. I passed the morning in shopping and have seen so many watches as perfectly to confuse me. I give the preference to two that I have seen. One for 280 francs ($56), a fine gold watch, lepine, or “echappement a cylindre” with eight holes in rubies. It is the quality sold in Boston for 75 or 80 dollars I think. The other is a compensated lever (“ichappement a l’ancre”) or half chronometer with fifteen holes in rubies, splendid workmanship, and costs 380 francs or 76 dollars. It would be worth in Boston from $125 to $150. On our arrival yesterday I posted off to the post office immediately and found a long and pleasant letter to me from Mother, one from Kitty to Lizzie, and several more indifferent ones. Alice had none and feels very badly. Poor girl, her last was received at London. We dined at four today on broiled chicken, dessert and “vin du pays.” The Swiss silver is much mingled with copper so that their size is large for value. Pieces of from 5 to 50 centimeters - 8 Francs, with gold Napoleon always {} Francs.

Thursday, October 26th 1854 ~ Geneva

Mount Blanc.

Hotel de l’Eau ~ We became quite attached to the Hotel Byron. It was so neat orderly and pleasant. In fact I suppose it might be called a “pension” more than a hotel. We dined there yesterday as they had us table d’hote on broiled chicken, vin du pays, and dessert. At ten o’clock we took the little steamer at Villeneuve for Geneva. (Some palpitations about the Treadwells!) The lake struck us as beautiful but not remarkably so, for the end toward Villeneuve alone commands a view of the mountains and the shores elsewhere and low and ordinary looking. On the trip we made the acquaintance of the English ladies, residents of Vivey, going also to Geneva and to Italy afterward by the Mount Cenis. They cautioned us against the snows of the Semplon, the elder of the two having met with some accident there. We arrived here at three in the afternoon and were obliged to give up our passport on landing to a Swiss soldier on the g-way. Geneva is built around the bay so that its finest streets face the water and face Mt. Blanc in the distance looking over the lake. A great snow capt dome seems from here merely the highest of a high chain of mountains, nearly equal in majesty. The range must be superb from here in Summer for they are always white with snow.

Saturday, October 21th 1854 ~ Interlochen

Castle of Chillon, on the shores of Lake Geneva.

Hotel Belvidere ~ Our windows at Grindelwald looked out upon the {Mittenberg} mountain and Unt glacier which descended close to us. It is a small but pretty collection of wooden houses, surrounded by mountains. The Wetterhorn Eiger, Mittenberg, and Wengern Alp all look very near. In fact, we seemed to be just under them. The Eiger is the most imposing at Grindelwald. It rises so like a needle of rock (as the Swiss call it) into the air. Its summit always clothed in ice and snow, from which the black rock shows itself in jagged points and ridges.

At ten o’clock this morning we took a carriage for Lauterbrunnen and Staubach on the way to Interlachen. The drive was a very pleasant one although it rained quite hard. The road winds between high mountains, but we could not see their summits on account of the clouds. The Staubach fall is about half a mile from Lauterbrunnen and this last place was about three miles out of our way. Still we thought it would be a shame not to see a fall so celebrated by Byron, Longfellow and other poets. At Lauterbrunnen we were forced to leave the carriage and walk under umbrellas though the wind to see this beautiful object. Our path was pointed out by the driver and after having pursued it for some time we asked a peasant to point out the fall and were told we had “just past it!” and there it was, a little meek stream trickling down from very high rocks; scarcely a teacup full of water. We had passed it without remarking it. I can however imagine its being very beautiful during the spring and summer when there is more water and of a bright day where the sun would tinge with rainbow hues the “lace veil” which the water is converted into before it reaches the earth by the action of the air. A little girl and boy seeing us staring at this “wonder work of God and Nature’s hand”! brought out an Alpine horn and sounded it there. The echo was wonderful. The air was instinct with the melody long after the instrument ceased. It is a long wooden pipe, perhaps five feet long and produces a very loud and at a distance a very melodious sound. We did not appreciate Longfellow’s fall or his chime of Bells at Bruges. The magnificent king Frau and {Monk} here rose just above us but we could not see them. We reached Interlachen at four o’clock, and after getting settled at the hotel I posted off to the “poste aux lettres” and received there a letter from Mother, our first since leaving Liverpool. Poor Alice had none and is in {} despair. Also a letter from Sidney Homer saying he would meet {} chain. In descending to Vivey we took out our Childe Harold and read the passages which have added if possible even more renown to Lake Geneva so celebrated in history, poetry, and painting. We remained for two hours at Vivey and then took a boat for Ville{men}, a little place just at the extreme end of the lake. The sail of course was delightful, the waters smooth and clear reflecting every cloud. On the other side of Vivey the shores are rather low and on the other, hills not very high just serve to shut off the view of the great mountain range behind them. The lake has no islands and is not in itself as beautiful as many of our own lakes. It cannot compare in beauty with Lake Lucerne although they can hardly be compared for one has the charms of wilderness, the other is all smiles and soft sunlit beauty. Vivey is far the handsomest Swiss city we have yet seen. The streets are wide, clean and well paved, the houses large and tasty.

Our hotel here is about a quarter or half mile from Villeneuve and quite near the Castle of Chillon. It looks much more like a gentleman’s country place than a hotel. The long avenue leading from the road to the door is shaded with high trees while a large flower garden behind, perfume in the air. English people often pass the summer here, for it is said to be a particularly healthy situation. We ordered dinner and then started the walk over a muddy road to the Castle. It is a fine looking old place, but not as picturesque as many of the Rhemish castles. Its chief interest to us consisted in the story with which Lord Byron has invested it – “the prisoner of Chillon.” The castle is of reddish stone. It is built at the waters edge so that its principal tower stands in the water. Just opposite it and quite near is the “little isle” on which the “prisoner” saw the sun beams play. It is a mere heap of stones not large enough to contain the trees spoken of. We were shown the dungeon where Bonivard was confined. The ring which had bound him to one of its stone pillars and the little path worn by his feet in the stone pavement, about three feed long, in a half circle, around the pillar showing the length of his chain. On a neighboring column Byron, Jean Jaque Rousseau, Eugene Sue, Victor Hugo, Richard Dana and others have inscribed their names. Why Dana’s name should be in such company I cannot conceive. The vaulted roof is supported by about seven of these columns. The dungeon though strong is not as gloomy and terrible as that of Baden. In one of the apartments we were shown a great slanting stone on which two thousand Jews had been strangled. In the torture room is still standing a beam to which offenders were fastened while fire was applied to the soles of their feet. The wood is still scorched. Here also is an “oubliette” A cross beam of an often used gibbet which stands or stood opposite an image of the Virgin. These relics should teach us to appreciate our days of law and order. “Chillon thy prison is a holy place and thy sad floor an altar.”

Friday, October 20th 1854 ~ Grindelwald

The Wetterhorn in Grindelwald, Switzerland.

Hotel de l’Aigle ~ We engaged horses, one for each of the ladies with two men as guides, and a man to carry the baggage and with them left Meyringen this morning over the great Scheidek Pass at half past nine. Meyringen is beautifully situated between mountains that literally shut it in on every side but one, and from that the high road conducts to Breintz. All these mountains were covered with snow at about halfway up, presenting a strange contrast with the deep green of the valley. And from the summit of one of them descends the glacier of “Rosenlaui”, a brook of ice glittering in the sunlight. Our host and hostess came out to bid us goodbye and wish us a bon voyage, and we were en route up the mountain in single file, the girls ahead on their led horses and I bringing up the rear with a Swiss mountain pole with a pike on the end. And never was such a staff more needed than during the seven hours of incessant walking, or rather climbing that ensued. The path for the greater part was so steep that it would have been a relief could it have been converted into a regular flight of steps. After reaching Rosenlaui it became a little less steep. There we rested and took a little lunch almost at the foot of the glacier, and then in half an hour pushed on in our winding way. The path is open so that it gives at every step fine views of the vale and neighboring mountain. The distance is about 20 miles and the highest elevation of the path above the sea 6000 feet. From Rosenlaui it conducted us almost immediately from verdure trees and flowers into snow, gradually increasing in depth until we stood on the summit of the Scheidek, standing in snow of more than a foot deep and having left all trees and verdure far behind. I shall never forget the view. It was snowing hard where we stood but the sun shone brightly in the green valleys on either side below. Before us lay the Wengern Alp and the great Eiger apparently close to us. The Eiger is 12220 feet higher than the sea. Immediately above us rose, like a wall of rock, snow and ice, the highest peak of the Wetterhorn (11450 feet) crowned by a great glacier which curled over its summit and crept down its sides. While we were looking up, an avalanche of snow came tumbling down from rock to rock until it rested within a gun shot of where we stood in a cloud of spray broken by the rock and air. On the other side of us rose the great domes of the Fanl-horn, the Schwerz-horn and the lesser mountains without number. We took a lunch, on the summit, of bread, meat, and wine in a little log hut uninhabited except by the “cramping wind,” or rather the guides and myself did, for the ladies lunched on horseback outside. We had brought up the provisions from Meryringen. The rarefied air of the mountain gave an additional effect to the wine in raising our spirits and Alice found the scenery far more magnificent than usual for the ensuing hour. At least she seemed to enjoy it more than before. After our halt of fifteen minutes, two hours of descent brought us to the glacier called the Ober where we dismounted (all but Alice, who was thrown off by a misstep) and leaving our horses passed into one of the transparent caves of the glacier. The green walls above and around us recalled the fabled abodes of the mermaids in old Ocean’s dominions. It descends a gorge in the mountains, looking not unlike a foaming cataract, each great frozen wave seems struggling with its fellow which first shall reach the plain, and here they are alike transfixed in Winter’s cold and in Summer’s heat. Another half hour brought us to Grindelwald and to a comfortable hotel. We ordered fire in our rooms. The girls are on the floor, before theirs at full length, much fatigued. I feel tired, not very much so, but shall not try such a walk again.

Thursday, October 19th 1854 ~ Meiringen

Postcard of Meiringen, Switzerland, ca. 1900.

Hotel du Sauvage ~ We breakfasted as usual this morning on mutton chops, cream, honey, bread, butter, etc. It was rainy but the clouds were broken and at all heights, as that we could sometimes see the tops of the hills which surrounded the little vale, in which the cottages of Lungern are scattered. Mountain rills come tumbling down the hillsides with a rushing sound. It partially cleared off at noon and we started then for Meyringen over the Brunig pass. The ladies each had a horse and a man to lead him while I brought up the train on foot. Our baggage was carried over the mountain with us on the shoulders of a fine looking Swiss. It weighed seventy pounds! Our party looked picturesque enough winding up the narrow path, in single file (large trees on either side) accompanied by their guides carrying long staves. At short intervals the men sang Tyrolean songs, which the echo returned seven fold. The view from the highest point of the pass must be very pretty but as we saw it (in the rain) it was not remarkably so. We arrived at Meyringen at four o’clock, and found a marriage feast in progress at the hotel. We were the only travelers in the house and were invited to join in the festivities. The young couple had been married at two o’clock and even now dancing with their guests, one hundred and fifty or two hundred in number, to the music of an orchestra of five pieces. The dresses were very peculiar; the man wearing very short tailed frock coats and the women in short skirts, velvet vests, without sleeves, displaying a long shirt sleeve (white). We found that they were the sons and daughters of Swiss farmers living in the neighborhood. They were having a real merry time; we joined the company and after a few moments I asked mine host to introduce me to one of the fair dames and was soon engaged in the mazes of the polka and schottische with a native of the land in which they originated. I was unable to say a word to my partner for she could speak no French, and I could speak no German. At eight o’clock dinner was served; the company were seated around three long tables. At the head of the middle one the bride and groom were placed under a canopy made of green leaves. He was a fine looking fellow speaking French, German and English. The bride fine looking but not pretty. Seats were allotted us at their left hands. Near them were the respective families and the Lutheran clergyman who tied the knot. He was a jolly looking German with a cigar in his mouth. The dinner was a very good but a plain one consisting of soup, several courses of meats, dessert and wine of the country. After it had been discussed the clergy man made a congratulatory address, ending with the song (joined in by all) “Sie Leben Hoch.” This was followed by some toasts and then young men went out of the room and returned with little presents (mostly articles of dress) which they presented to their respective favorites of the other sex. They were given with many jokes, holdings of mock auctions over them etc. After this everyone made some present to the bride or groom in the same gay style. Generally articles of household use, and in several instances money. One of these was an apple with gold pieces stuck in it. There were several baskets of chinaware etc. etc. It was a scene of great festivity without ceremony or restraint and we enjoyed it vastly. After dinner the company assembled again in the ball room where they danced until two in the morning. Very beautiful chessmen of carved wood are made here, but there are so many custom houses still before us that I do not dare to purchase.

Wednesday, October 18th 1854 ~ Lungern

Hotel du Lion d’Or. ~ The fine weather lasted but a single day. This morning it rained quite hard again. We breakfasted early at Lucerne, packed our trunks and forwarded them by poste to Berne and at nine o’clock we took a boat with two rowers for Fahr. It is only a trip of two hours and a half and our boat was covered by an awning which kept off the rain nicely. At Fahr we took a carriage for Lungern, through Sarnen, Sachseln and over the mountain called the Kaiser Stuhl. The road conducts along the borders of the little lakes Sarnen and Lung, which lie cradled among high hills and much above the level of Lake Lucerne. It is a highly picturesque road. The hills above it and among which it winds are as high as to be (many of them) covered with snow. The Swiss valleys along it are beautiful. In them we saw more of the real Swiss cottages than we have seen elsewhere, with their covered balconies, one above the other. We arrived here at four o’clock and find our hotel very comfortable. Lungern is a peasants’ village, surrounded on all sides but one by hills and here the carriage road ceases. Two men followed our carriage for some distance, to be engaged for tomorrow.

Tuesday, October 17th 1854 ~ Lucerne

View from Mt. Rigi (Photo: P.R. Lloyd)

Hotel du Cygne ~ I awoke at four o’clock this morning and sprang out of bed with delight at the sight of the moonbeams on the floor; the stars were out and not a cloud in the sky. I could not get asleep again and at five the porter knocked at my door and announced the hour, with the cheering words “il fait bien tempis monsieur.” [“it’s about time sir.”] To us who had waited so long for this sound, that we might see one of the finest views of Switzerland, it was welcome indeed. At six o’clock, we were on our way to “Weggis”, in the little “beautean a vapiur,” from thence to ascend the Rigi. The morning was charming; the tops of the mountains were covered with freshly fallen snow, which was silvered by the rising beams of the sun. The mists of the Lake curled up from the water and hung in the fleecy clouds below the mountain summits, dyed by the sun in rainbow hues. The lake is very narrow and makes very picturesque windings between its high and verdant banks. I shall never forget this scene, the rainbow mist, the shadows of the clouds on lake and mountain, the verdure below and the snow above! One hours steaming brought us to Weggis, where we breakfasted and took horses for the ascent of the mountain. Each horse accompanied by a man to lead him. The path up was conducted along the side of the mountain and gave splendid views of the lake and adjoining mountains at every step. The soil was very fine and vegetation abounded, but as we advanced, it gradually became less fourishing until at the summit we rode through snow six inches deep. The Rigi is only 5600 feet high and therefore never takes snow in the summer. Still the change of temperature is very marked between it and the valley. Below we had summer weather (too warm for overcoats), above they were greatly needed. The view from the Rigi-kulen was magnificent beyond description. Looking Southward a mass of snow covered peaks met our gaze, rising into the air like waves of some polar sea charmed by the cold while in full careen. Among them our guides pointed out the Jung Frau, the Silberhorn, the Bright-horn, the Monk etc., some of the highest mountains in Europe. Looking north a great extent of level country is visible extending as far as the Lake of Zurich, whose waters we saw a shining surface set in green. There is a good hotel on the top of the Rigi, when we took a lunch of petit pains and butter with hot milk punch, a beverage our landlord had never heard of before. We rested there an hour, had a polka in the drawing room and then took up our winding way downwards. We often see clouds below us. The lake of Zug lies on the opposite side of the Rigi from Lake Lucerne, and from the summit both are distinctly seen [louing?] either base. There are half a dozen smaller lakes quite near and within sight. From here a steamer is scarcely seen on Lake Lucerne just at our feet. It is but a mooring spot on the waters and looks like a duck on a mill pond. The ascent of the Rigi requires about two hours and the decent about the same time. We got back to Weggis at four o’clock and there took a row boat back to Lucerne propelled by two strong men. We past in skirting the shore several small islands on one of which was a little chapel dedicated to the patron saint of row boats. A man has been perfectly haunting us this afternoon to allow him to travel with us as a servant and will not take no for an answer, but we do not want him. One great nuisance in traveling on the Continent is to have to wade the importunities of guides, servants, couriers etc. that one does not want…and such importunities!

Monday, October 16th 1854 ~ Lucerne

Lucerne, Switzerland.

Hotel du Cygne ~ The morning opened gloomily enough with rain and cloud, but at noon it cleared up a little, the wind changed and dispersed the lower clouds, so that we obtained a fine view of Mount Pilatus and Rigi, their summits covered with a snowy mantle. Mt. Pilatus is the higher of the two, but is not often ascended. It is almost a perpendicular rock, in the crevices of which the snow contrasts beautifully with the dark stone of the more exposed parts. One of the finest points of view from mountain tops in all Switzerland is that on the top of the Rigi. Oh for the sun once more to enable us to enjoy it! This afternoon we all took a row upon the lake. We dined at five and ~ half and drank John’s health and happiness for it is his birthday. During our walks we meet rough wooden crosses very often, set up by the side of the public roads, in passing which the peasants cross themselves with much apparent feeling. It seems to me very proper thus to remind men during their daily avocations of the employments of Eternity.

Sunday, October 15th 1854, Lucerne, Switzerland

Lake Lucerne from Mt. Rigi (photo: J. Selby, cc).

Hotel du Cygne ~ Last evening Lizzie and myself took a row boat and made a little excursion on the Lake, I rowing, but the boat was heavy and the clouds too low to enable us to see anything of the mountains. Coming back we met a party of washerwomen, rowing themselves and their linen [Lumenards] and singing so merrily that it was quite delightful. A little steamer that makes the trip over the Lake and back lies just under our windows. The day has been cloudy and rainy part of the time. We however got a little sight of the top of the Rigi for the first time. There is no English chapel here, or rather none open at present, so after watching the peasants pass the hotel on their way to church, we followed them there (the cathedral is quite near us). The dress of the female peasants was a striped skirt reaching a little below the knee, a short white apron, basque looking like a boys jacket open in front, disclosing what old fashioned people call a stomacher of black velvet and tinsel, worn with a white under handkerchief pleated. The hair generally long, braided, and hanging down the back with ribbons on the ends. We had in the cathedral some quite fine orchestral music, or rather fine music with orchestral accompaniment. European cathedrals are never provided with fixed seats, but each person, on entering, calls for a chair which is provided upon the payment of a small fee. They are used more for kneeling on than for sitting, the back of the chair being as arranged as to make a very good desk or shelf for a prayer book. All these peasants looked very picturesquely kneeling with their faces to the Alter. After church we took a walk into the country choosing a road, running along the border of the Lake, but on the hill side. We walked several miles enjoying the beautiful scenery. On the road we past an old watch tower in ruins, and were drown by a sudden shower under the forties of a large and very dirty cottage. We could not persuade ourselves to enter its hallowed precincts, and after a time were forced to walk home with umbrellas up. Ours is not the first house and we regret having come to it. It is comfortable but small, has no table d’hote, so that we are obliged to dine in private. Today we had nothing but chicken and for dessert ‘compot’ of peaches. This afternoon read the church service at home. The Switzerhof is the name of the best house; this is the first class of course but not as good.

Frederick Augustus Cobb

Charles' father, Frederick Augustus Cobb (1801 - 1848)

1801 - born in Portland, ME on July 26th.

1820 to ≥ 1833 - Lived in Boston, where he attended Harvard
(a member of the "Porcellian Club"), was a member of the local
library, owned lots of stock, married Helen Augusta Kane, and
had two children: Charles (1831) and Mary Wray Cobb (1833).
(Mary accompanied Charles and Lizzie to Europe).

≤ 1838 to 1848 - Lived in Schenectady, NY., where he donated
$5 to a church and apparently attended political conventions of
the Whig party! He died in Schenectady on August 2nd 1848
(aged 47), when Charles was 17.

It isn't clear where all of his money came from...or where it went for that matter!

Thanks to great-great-grandson-in-law Rich Allen and great-great-great granddaughter Becky James for digitizing the painting!

Saturday, October 14th 1854 ~ Lucerne, Switzerland

Lion Monument carved in 1819 by B. Thorvaldsen.

Hotel du Cygne ~ It is rainy and cloudy again today, but at intervals among the shifting clouds we can see the mountains around us. Lucerne is directly upon the lake; on one side of the city rises the steep Mount Pilatus, on the other, but further off towers the Rigi (spelt in several ways). Up to this evening we have not seen the summit of either mountain, both are above the clouds. Lucerne is surrounded on all sides but one by high land and seems to be a fitting portal to the majestic scenery of the Oberlands. Our rooms are large, connect and have each two windows that look out over the Lake with a little balcony in front. I could almost toss a cigar into the water from them. This afternoon during a pause in the rain, we went to see the lion designed by Thorvaldsen and cut in solid rock, in memory of the Swiss guard who fell while defending the palace of Luis 16th. It is colossal in size and cut in the face of a perpendicular rock, so that it rests in a niche formed by cutting the figure. The lion is 26 feet long but as it is above one and proportions well preserved it does not look very large. He is in a crouching attitude, transfixed by a dart, with his paw resting on a shield on which are engraved the “fleur de lis” of France. The whole design is full of grace, life, and feeling. Our rooms cold and damp. We bought some Swiss wood carving on our way home.

Friday, October 13th 1854 ~ Lucerne, Switzerland

"The Lake of Lucerne: Mont Pilatus in the Distance" (1857) by J. Inchbold.

The morning was chilly, cold, and disagreeable, but promised to be more pleasant than yesterday. The sun peeped out at intervals and seemed to be making efforts to redeem the character of a Swiss autumn. We left Kreutzstrasse at half past eight this morning and arrived at Lucerne at four o’clock this afternoon. The country is generally level and does not possess much that would be interesting to old European travelers, but we were delighted with the picturesque dresses of the peasantry, the brown cows, eight harnessed to a plow. The peculiar houses, generally of wood, pretty at a distance but dirty and uncomfortable when closely inspected. The occasional ruins of castles each on its high rock, the pleasant manners of the peasants, who all touched their hats to us as we passed etc. Our road lay through Sursee and along the borders of the pretty little Lake Sempach. When our witurier stopt to find his horses at noon Lizzie and myself walked on, leavin the carriage to come up in an hours time. During our walk we met an old priest, drest in the rusty brown cloth frock of a monk, with a rope girdle. Around him were grouped a dozen children with whom he was talking. We joined him and in conversation he informed us that he no longer exercised the holy office. The reason why was apparent from the state of his breath. He was without a hat and had a rosary hung from his rope belt. On this road I first saw an English walnut tree. We stopt and partook of its fruit which some little boys were shaking down. One seems to see infinitely more of the country when walking and of the people. Indeed I think it is the only way to become well acquainted and enjoy a European country. If I could I should much prefer traversing Switzerland on foot. The peasants of the Northern and Eastern cantons speak bad German. In the neighborhood of Geneva the language is French, but not Parisian French. Our breakfasts since we have been in Switzerland have been peculiar. We have always honey, good butter, rich cream, French rolls or “petit pains” as they are called here. These “petit pains” are only found in the hotels, the Swiss bread tastes like our home made except that it is always a little acid and darker in color. Fresh eggs are plenty. Mutton chops are very nice here. As we approached Lucerne the country became more hilly as if to give us a foretaste of the glories to be revealed.

Thursday, October 12th 1854 ~ Kreutzstrasse, Switzerland

Hotel du Lion d’Or ~ The morning opened with fog rain and mud, but as we had arranged with a “witurier” to carry us on to Lucerne we started from Basle this morning at nine o’clock. Our carriage is very comfortable and roomy one, and our driver a person who speaks French seems quite honest and obliging. We have of course the entire carriage to ourselves. It rained pretty steadily all the morning and the country under those auspices did not seem particularly interesting. At half past two o’clock we dined at Buklen and at three were again “en route.” From there our drive was delightful; the clouds broke away just enough to enable us to see something of the road, but still resting on the tops of the highest hills, and occasionally forming rainbows of all colors. Just before reaching Olten the road conducts over a chain of hills, from which in fine weather a good view is obtained of the Alps, and then crosses the Aar at Aarburg. We are now à moitié chemin [halfway] to Lucerne. Our driver owns his carriage and horse, and seems to be a person quite well off. We should not forget that we are now again on republican soil, where every man is equal.

Wednesday, October 11th 1854 ~ Basle, Switzerland

Hotel du Laurage ~ I talked with some Frenchmen in the cars yesterday who gave me some very valuable information in relation to the charges on foreigners at the hotels. I found out from them that our bills were always higher than those of the natives, and obtained a list of charges for this section of country. I called on my bankers here last evening and obtained a little of the root of all evil. The post office is nearly opposite the hotel and no better are to be found. Of course we are very much disappointed for we have not heard since leaving London from home. We are now in Switzerland. Basle is just within the line. It is quite an uninteresting place, large but not possessing anything remarkable. The houses are very much in the same style as all those we have seen since leaving England, but occasionally we see one with a distinctive Swiss character. The day has been spent in making arrangements for a journey by carriage and looking out for a “return witurier.” That is a carriage which belongs to the part of country to which we want to go and which will therefore be lower in price than if we took a Basle carriage which would have to return here. We dined at five “à la carte” (by bill of fare) in private. After dinner bought a map and chose our course through Switzerland.

Tuesday, October 10th 1854 ~ Basle, Switzerland

Hotel du Laurage ~ The morning was passed in Strasburg. Soon after breakfast Alice went out with me to a dentist (the best and truly good one in the city) and had the tooth extracted that has been paining her so long. It was done under the influence of chloriform, so that she did not feel it at all. The dentists in Europe are not generally good. Their services are not needed, judging from appearances, as much as in our cake and preserve eating country. The best dentists in Europe are American. Even the French Emperor employs an American dentist. We visited the great Strasburg cathedral, celebrated for its immense spire, the highest (I believe) in Europe. It rises like a fairy dream into the air, so light that it seems scarcely to rest on earth. It is constructed throughout of columns of stone, so that the steeple looks like trellis work at the great height above us. The cathedral boasts also an automaton clock which sends out figures every quarter hour to beat the time etc. This is said to be a very curious piece of mechanism. We left Strasburg at one o’clock. The cars to Basle are very poor and the charges high. It would have been far better to have crossed over to the German side of the Rhine and taken the German railway.

Monday, October 9th 1854 ~ Strasbourg, France

View from "Das alte Schloss," the Old Castle.

Hotel de la Ville de Paris ~ We left Baden at one o’clock this afternoon and arrived here at four by rail. The country is somewhat uninteresting but the cars are good and very comfortable. In the cars we met an English family who came also from Baden, the man a great fop and fool, the lady more sensible. They had lived so long in Germany that they spoke English with a decided accent. Their child (a little girl) was quite a prodigy. She was but five years old and spoke about equally well English, French, German, and Italian and all very well. Before leaving Baden this morning Lizzie and myself walked to “das neue Schloss” the present summer residence of the Dukes of Baden. This castle is rather a modern looking gothic building, founded in 1471 but which has built and demolished several times since, so that now only the foundation of the edifice remains. We were taken into the cellars by the castellan and found ourselves at a great depth in chambers hewn out of the solid rock on which the castle is placed. The first room we entered was a Roman bath, then followed a succession of cells, closed by doors of stone two feet thick, which led us into the judgment hall, where still are the stone seats of the judges of the secret tribunal. Out of this chamber opens a small room called the chamber of torture. Here stood the rack, rows of iron rings still remain in the walls, part of the paraphernalia of the dreadful apparatus. On one side of this room is a narrow passage terminated by an image of the Virgin. Just before reaching this image is a deep well called the “oubliette,” ninety feet deep, armed at the bottom by knives etc. and covered with a trap door. Along this passage the trembling victim is told to pass to kiss the image of the Virgin. Before he reaches it, the “oubliette” receives its victim. All these apartments are about 8 feet in height and perfectly dark, that is the light of day does not penetrate at all.

From these subterranean passages we again ascended to the realms of day, and visited the gorgeously furnished apartments of the Duke. These were the handsomest rooms we have thus far seen. The walls and ceiling are principally of oak, heavily carved and richly gilded. The floors of colored woods inlaid and highly polished, of course without carpets. In the state rooms were portraits of all the Dukes of Baden full length and in complete armor. The Protestant dukes on one side and the catholic on the other. From this chateau we ascended to “das alte Schloss,” a ruin on a high neighboring hill. Lizzie took an ass for the trip with a pretty little boy to lead him, while I went up on foot. The path wound through thick woods and was extremely pretty, to the old castle. This is a highly picturesque ruin which was the residence of the Dukes of Baden until somewhat more peaceful times, when they ventured down from their inaccessible cliff, to a strong castle below. The view from here is superb. At our feet is the beautiful little village of Baden, its tiled roofs glittering in the sunlight. To the west may be traced the course of the Rhine, in the distance looking like a thread of light in the green meadows. Behind us is seen the commencement of the great “black forest.” Beautiful walks wind through the woods.

Sunday, October 8th 1854 ~ Baden Baden, Germany

I find I have made an error and described today’s proceedings under date of yesterday which was occupied merely in getting from Frankfort to Baden in the cars, rather an uninteresting trip of which I have nothing to say. So please consult the preceding page for what should be here.

Saturday, October 7th 1854 ~ Baden Baden, Germany

Hotel de la Courde Baden ~ This certainly is a charming place. Very beautifully situated, but looking in itself like all watering places. The streets wide and unpaved, rows of trees, wooden houses etc. Baden is surrounded on three sides by high hills covered with deep woods, and having beautiful walks along their sides extending for miles in every direction. Just behind our hotel is a large flower garden filled with bright autumnal flowers, bounded by a high brick wall and behind it rises one of the three hills to a height, which would make its ascent very toilsome. At a distance of about half a mile in front is the hill which forms the opposite boundary of our little valley. It is somewhat higher than the one behind us and is crowned by an old ruin which was the earliest residence of the Dukes of Baden. This ruin is so embowered by the trees, that it is only seen through the foliage and above it, in its iron strength of other days. We attended service this morning at the English Chapel, but Alice was obliged to remain in the house on account of a bad toothache. At four o’clock Lizzie and myself took a walk to the neighborhood of the great club house, which seems to be the favorite promenade; there a band (a large and fine one) was playing polkas in the open air, while ladies and gentlemen handsomely drest were sitting or walking under thee trees. Nurses teaching children to dance to the music etc. Rather a gay scene for the Sabbath! From here we struck off on one of the paths through the hill side woods, taking religious books with us and using them when quite above society and its [voices]. After returning home we started out again to obtain some medicine for Alice and were informed that the apothecary could only sell a small quantity of landanum (too small to take life) to any one person. Baden is a place where gambling is authorized by law, and this perhaps accounts for such a regulation. In our walk before breakfast this morning, we saw a handsome house of peculiar architecture, with long piazzas, etc. which we found covered the chief springs. We went in and were served from the spring which comes up into the midst of a handsome room with frescoed ceiling. The waters are hot, have no decided taste and resemble in color water slightly tinged with milk. They spring from the ground in thirteen places at a boiling heat. I bathed in them this evening and found the bath so warm that cold water was needed to dilute.

Charles Kane Cobb, timeline

A photo of Charles K. Cobb ca. 1861.

1831 - Born in Boston, MA.
1833 - Sister Mary Wray Cobb is born in Boston.
1830s - Family moves to Schenectady, NY.
1848 - Father, Frederick Augustus Cobb, dies in Schenectady.
1850 - Possibly boards at 7 Morton Pl., Boston (Charles Cobb, clerk).
1852 - Boards at "Winthrop House" in Boston.
1853 - Marries Elizabeth Codman.
1854 - Clerkship in a dry goods commission house.
1854 - Trip to Europe with wife Lizzie and sister Mary.
1855 - Son born in Schenectady, NY: Charles Kane Cobb, Jr.
1856 - Grandmother mentioned in journal (Maria Wray) dies.
1857 - Resides at 18 E. Brookline St., Boston.
1857 - Daughter born in Boston: Helen Kent Cobb.
1857-8 Works as a merchant at 53 Central Wharf.
1858 - Possibly boards at 4 Bulfinch Place (C.K. Cobb).
1858 - Mother, Helen Augusta Kane, dies in Boston.
1859 - Son born in Boston: Frederick Codman Cobb.
1860 - Appears in US Census as Boston resident, merchant.
1861 - Works at 22 Central Wharf, J.P. Hawes & Co., merchants.
1861-? - Lieutenant/adjutant in Civil War, stationed in Boston Harbor.
1862 - Absent from the Boston Directory. At war?
1864 - Daughter born in Boston: Elizabeth Codman Cobb.
1864 - Starts a bank and brokerage company.
1865-6 - Partners with Francis V. Parker becoming "Parker & Cobb."
1865 - Resides at 11 Brookline St.
1865 - Parker & Cobb located at "1 Phoenix Building" in Boston.
1868 - Parker & Cobb located at 8 Devonshire St.
1868-death - Resides at 11 Marlboro St.
1870-3 - Parker & Cobb located at 36 Devonshire St.
1872 - Parker & Cobb narrowly escapes the "great fire" of Nov 9.
1873 - Charles is a member of the Boston Stock and Exchange Board.
1873-6 - Parker & Cobb is located at 78 Devonshire St.
1876 - Dies in Boston, age 45. Bank becomes F.V. Parker & Co.


Advertisement from The Banker's Almanac, 1874.

sources:
Banker's Almanacs, 1872-1874.
Barron, C. W. and J. G. Martin. 1893. The Boston Stock Exchange.
Boston Directories 1849 to 1875.
Chandler, A. 1876. Secretary's Report, class of 1868, Harvard.
Greenough, Jones & Co. 1872. Boston Business Directory.
Parker, F. J. 1880. The story of the 32nd regiment Massachusetts...
Reno, C. 1900. Memoirs of the judiciary and the bar of New England...

Note: some dates and/or places may be wrong! (i.e., mistaken identities)

Friday, October 6th 1854 ~ Frankfurt, Germany

Frankfurt's "Jewish Quarter," or Judengasse in 1868.

Hotel de Russie ~ I forgot to mention that the grape harvest was being gathered in as we ascended the river yesterday. Peasants, men and women, were to be seen toiling up and down the hills, with baskets of the ripe fruit upon their heads. We left Mayence this morning. It is only about an hours ride from here. Before leaving we took a walk about the city and concluded that there was not much to be seen there. It has no surrounding high land and therefore no fine scenery. We took a walk some distance beyond its gates to a garden, on the banks of the river farther up, and obtained from there a fair view of the city besides seeing some forest trees changing color, to remind us of the scenery in our own native land. Mayence is strongly fortified by a succession of small forts, so small as and so placed among the trees that one scarcely notices them. Murray calls it one of the most important fortresses of Germany on the side of France. It suffered greatly during the 30 years war. This afternoon we took a guide from our hotel, here in Frankfort, and walked to see the celebrated Ariadni (a woman seated on a lion) and were delighted with it beyond measure. The models one sees of this in all our shop windows at home give a very good idea of it but fail to convey the exquisite “feeling” of the original, fail to impress as this. It is the prosperity of a private gentleman here, who has a building appropriated entirely to its use in his grounds. One of its beauties consists in the marble being still fresh pure and white. The statuary we have generally seen has been yellow or brown with age. Leaving the Ariadni we dismissed our guide, took a carriage and drove to see the house in which Martin Luther was born and from which the Protestant religion and the bible went out to all the worlds. We saw the house in which Goethe was born and his monument (a colossal sitting figure in marble) finely done. It was still crowned with garlands of oak leaves placed there on his last birth day. We drove through the “jews quarter” the worst in Europe. It is the vilest, darkest, dirtiest street I ever saw, without sidewalks, without the light of heaven almost, and crowded with tumble down houses. Here they were formerly shut up every night, but now they may live where they please. Frankfort has very extensive parks but is not a handsome city, cannot compare with Brussels. In the public library we saw the wooden shoes etc. Luther wore, a copy of the first edition of the bible printed in Latin and some other rare books.

Elizabeth Codman

This is a photo/painting of Elizabeth Codman Cobb ("Lizzie"), wife of Charles, around 1900. She was born in 1826, which would make her about 75 in the painting and about 28 during the trip. Thanks to great-grandson-in-law Rich Allen for photographing it and to great-great-granddaughter Becky James for improving the image.

Thursday, October 5th 1854 ~ Mayence, Germany

Rhine view showing Mouse Tower and Ehrenfels ruin (anonymous, after 1840).

Hotel de l’Europe ~ This morning we obtained a splendid view of the river and its scenery from Coblentz, which I think is one of the most beautiful points. Almost directly above us, on the opposite side rose the strong fortress of Ehrenbreitstein, capable of holding one hundred thousand men. Its situation is highly picturesque, being an immense stone structure on an almost inaccessible rock. Murray calls it the fortress of Germany. This scenery is beyond all my conceptions. We left Coblentz at one o’clock this afternoon by boat and reached here about nine o’clock this evening. It has been a delightful sail to us, finer I think than between Bonn and Coblentz. The deck of the steamer was quite full of English with their red covered guide books and [sules] of shawls. Ruined castles greeted us at every turn, while nature itself is most charming, wild yet soft, grand yet beautiful. High hills bound the river continuously and every few moments we pass one crowned by a fortress, most of them in ruins but some still kept up. These old castles on steep rocks give a good history of the middle ages (perhaps better than books) when no man could trust his neighbor, all were at strife and only concurred in levying contributions on the peasantry, and on the trade of the country. This river being a great highway of communication it abounds with strong holds from whence, when might made right, the noble might levy contributions on all merchandise passing up and down the river. Perhaps the most striking point we have passed today is in the neighborhood of St. Goar. Close to the water on a little hill is the great fortress of Reinfels in ruins. Just above it on a steep rock is perched the “Castle of the Cat” and below on the river, in plain sight, is the beautiful ruin of the “Castle of the Mouse.” This seems like fairy land, every few moments shows us a ruin which has some romantic history and every bend of the river discloses new natural beauties. We were much struck by the appearance of two ruined castles within a stones throw of each other, on rival peaks, which once belonged to brothers, who had the misfortune to fall in love with the same “fair” lady and who for her sake fell by each others hands. The castles and even their respective hills are exactly alike. It was moonlight long before we arrived at Mayence so that we saw it streaming through the loopholes and broken walls of these feudal towers. By night it is more easy to picture them in their strength, “when they were young and proud and banners waved on high and battles passed below,” and to people them with the mail clad men to whose tread their walls of old resounded.

A photo of Charles?

"Whipple studio portrait of Lieutenant Charles K. Cobb, Adjutant of the 32nd Massachusetts Volunteer Regiment during the Civil War." (CORBIS)

This is a possible photo of the author (my great-great-grandfather) taken in Boston ca. 1861. He would have been about 30 years old - about 6 years after the trip with Lizzy, during which the mustache would have first sprouted (see entry of 30 August 1854).

A Charles K. Cobb was stationed at Fort Warren in Boston Harbor in 1861 (*)

Wednesday, October 4th 1854 ~ Koblenz, Germany

Drachenfels Castle as it looked in the 21st and 17th centuries (photo: S. Mense, engraving: M. Merian).

Hotel Du Géant ~ Last evening at six o’clock we left Cologne for Bonn by rail and past the night there. It is only one hours ride. Bonn is a lovely place, just upon the river, where it begins to be picturesque and commands a fine view of the seven hills, with the Drachenfells castle in the distance. We saw the river by moonlight last evening. Bonn is a fine looking city, looking somewhat like an American watering place, handsome houses, unpaved streets, large trees on either side etc. It contains a celebrated university in which Prince Albert was educated. The house is still shown there in which Bethoven was born. At ten o’clock we took an open carriage provided by our hotel and left Bonn en route up the river. The drive is delightful to Godesberg, a hill overlooking the river, crowned by a ruined castle built by one of the Archbishops of Cologne in the 13th century, on the site of a Roman fort. We made the ascent on Donkeys in about 15 minutes. Our donkeys were each led by little boys. The view from the top is magnificent, finer much than that from the Drachenfells. It is a hard scrambling ride but the view repays the trouble. Our little guides, when we arrived at the top, picked little bouquets for us, in hopes to increase their “drink geld.” The little asses seemed quite disproportionate to the load they bear. My feet almost touched the ground, on either side, when seated on one of them. They walk with great elasticity and force but do not like to trot. They seem to posses more sagacity than a horse and make a loud crying when displeased, which is very painful to unaccustomed ears. Continuing our drive up the river, we found we were traversing a road founded by Marcus Aurelius of Lucius Verus, 160 years after Christ. A few miles brought us to the foot of the Drachenfells, which we ascended on mules. The hill is very steep indeed and the road winds up through vineyards almost all the way. The ruined towers at the top and the view is not as fine as in many other places on the Rhine. Still it is beautiful. We took out Childe Harold and read the passages relating to this part of the river. At half past one we took a steamer and were soon sailing rapidly up the river, between very high and irregular banks. Just above Konigswinter on the opposite side rises a steep hill on which is the ruin of the castle of Rolandseck. The nephew of Charlemagne (Roland) built it to command a view of the convent where his betrothed had taken the veil. From a point a short distance above this the prospect is charming. One may see the ruins of the Drachenfells, Rolandseck Castle, on their separate heights and the convent below, besides several less important castellated summits. Farther up the river are the ruins of Hammerstein Castle, on a high rock just over the water. It was built in the 10th century and was besieged by the Swedes in the 30 years war. Still farther up we passed the white tower which marks the spot where Caesar crossed the Rhine when leading an army against the Sicambri and also where General Hoche crossed in 1797 in spite of the opposition of the Austrians. All these Rhemish hillsides are covered with grape vines which grow on terraces and which seem to be inaccessible to mortal foot. Many of these terraces are cut out of the solid rock and the soil has been carried up to them in baskits, on the heads of the peasants. The vines did not seem to us to add to the landscape as they are trained on straight poles only about four or five feet high, which appear merely like scrub bushes from the river below. We have been perfectly enchanted with our days voyaging. The Rhine is beautiful beyond description, more beautiful by far than the Hudson (setting aside the ruins) although there are some small portions of the Hudson that more than equal it in natural beauty. This part of the Rhine is narrower than the Hudson and the banks are far more precipitous, rocky, and the general scenery wilder. The white and red wines are very agreeable to one who is a little used to them. They are entirely without adulteration and admixture of alcohol here, that these wines always have in America and possess a purer taste. Lizzie and the girls do not like them because they are not accustomed to any acid wine. The price on board the Rhine boats is one franc to one and a half per bottle (20 to 30 cts). Last evening at Bonn we all went to a concert because Alice said she “wanted to hear some German music in a German land.” But the concert turned out to be only a four Tyrolian songs given by three or four natives in costume. It would have been decidedly common in America. The audience looked just as any well dressed one would in America. Thus far life seems much the same all over. At the hotels they always give us here a square pillow (about two feet square) stuffed with down as an extra covering. It is a very peculiar arrangement because it only covers half the body, and that only for half the night, for at the first turn it rolls off. We have not seen a double bed for a long while. We arrived this evening at Coblentz. Our rooms look out upon the river.