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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Saturday, September 30th 1854 ~ Brussels, Belgium

The Sonian Forest or Forêt de Soignes (photo: D. Edgar).

Hotel de L’Unions ~ We find we made a mistake in selecting our hotel. It is a good house celebrated for its table d’hote but in a bad location, not near the park and decidedly “down town”. Here, and indeed all through Germany, there are no double beds, two good sized single beds being invariably used instead. They have always full white curtains descending from a round head piece. The beds are low and in what we call the French style. I took the stage at ten o’clock this morning for Waterloo, leaving Lizzie and the girls to do some shopping for lace etc. in the city. The road to Waterloo is a very fine one, graded almost as well as one of our railways. The county, for the most part, would be considered uninteresting; but some parts of it are beautiful. The distance is thirteen miles and the road is paved with round stone all the way. It passes for several miles through the forest of Soigne and over it the British troops past on their way to the great battle field. This wood Lord Byron alludes to in the beautiful lines commencing “And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, dewy with Natures tear drops as they pass.” Here the road is truly beautiful, the trees are immense and entirely shade it, and the wood is very thick. In all this level expanse of country there is not a fence or hedge or any other perceptible line to divide a man’s land from his neighbors’. The effect of this view of highly cultivated, unbroken prairie land is very fine, extending as it does, as far as the eye can reach. The field of Waterloo is only marked by a great mound of earth, on the top of which the Belgic lion, in bronze, puts his paw on a small marble world, and looks defiant. The ground the two armies occupied would not seem to give either a great advantage. It is merely a swelling meadow land. The little vale between the foes seems much too small to give either a great advantage. Wellington’s strength of position seems to have consisted entirely in having his extreme wings supported by the brick walls, which surrounded two old farm houses, so protected by clumps of trees that the French could not us their artillery against them and could not therefore get at the English from the rear on account of these temporary forts. They are called “Hougoumont” and “La Haye Sainte.” The walls of the Houngoumont are still standing and are all battered up on the outsides by musket balls fired at the loop holes. I stood upon the spot where Wellington gave his orders and to which the imperial gard almost penetrated during their final charge. The village is in plain sight, and about two miles distant, from which late in the afternoon the Prussians emerged. Our guide was an English officer of low grade who served under Wellington in the battle. He is a very smart fellow in that he does not boast of his courage but says he felt much relieved when his company were withdrawn from the fire. One cannot help feelings of sadness at the remembrance of the misery caused here and I believe we all left the place with subdued feelings and quiet faces. I got back to Brussels at four o’clock just in time for the table d’hote. Dinner in the French style. Nothing on the table, but dishes handed around, already carved and no two things placed on the same plate. Soup, corn beef, roast beef liver, fricandeau of veal larded, roast veal and baked pears, bread and cheese, jelly, pudding, pears, peaches etc. Each kind of meat constituted a separate course. The waiters are drest in black frock coats and white gloves and are generally gentlemanly looking young men speaking two or more languages.

Tuesday, September 19th 1854 ~ Liverpool, U.K.

Liverpool ~ The Doctor (Gallup) finally bid us good bye today and started for London. He had become, in his character of suitor to Alice, a little in the way. It would have been amusing to me, if I had not felt a little badly for him in his disappointment. We bought for him yesterday a cane with a compass in the top, a very odd affair, as a little memento of our friendship and voyage. He said goodbye to us just as we were getting into a carriage to take us to the railway for Chester, which ancient city we visited today in company with Capt Knowles. Starting at ten this morning and returning at seven o’clock in the evening – as soon as we arrived in Chester we went to a hotel and ordered dinner prepared at a certain hour and then walked out to see the place. This is the oldest town in England, or rather the oldest looking town- its walls are still perfect and most of their watch towers standing, all of course covered with moss and ivy. The walls cannot be over 12 feet high and have a very antique bow and arrow look. They extend completely around the city and upon them is a very pretty walk presenting picturesque views. This being the first walled town we have seen delights us much – the streets are narrow; the houses queer and old fashioned, and the people primitive looking for England. The chief object of interest in this place is the fine old cathedral, which with a few alterations since, was completed in the 12th century and is still perfect. It is a most venerable looking pile of blackened stone, weather worn on the outside and its carving much defaced. Like almost all catholic cathedrals it is cruciform – one enters by the (nave) which is empty and unadorned, except by a few plain marble tablets to the memory of men who died in the 18th century. From the end of the nave opens the Choir, which is beautifully fitted up for service. The lower part is lined with tier above tier of carved oak in gothic spires – the seats, or rather their arms, are also elaborately carved and this work is very curious. It was done in the middle ages and is taken from scriptural history. Of course the designs are somewhat rough and uncouth – one is the “root of Jesse, he is represented as an old man with a tail and to this tail are attached several other old men and women, his descendants in single file. Many feet above us and running around the building is a very narrow stone gallery – so narrow that two persons could not possibly walk abreast in it. It is arched and that so low that a man of the usual size cannot stand upright in it. Here, eight hundred years ago, in each of these arches, stood a veiled nun and chanted the Te Deum, in concert with the monks who were placed in a similar gallery just above this. The Captain became wedged in one of the passages and it was really several minutes before he could extricate himself. In the transepts are the “parish chapel”, the “chapter house”, school room and monks refectory. The transepts being thus divided up, break the cruciform appearance of the cathedral. In the chapter house are preserved some torn flags borne at Bunker Hill. In one of the passages a Norman crypt was pointed out to us, where many of the dignitaries of church and state in the times of the first English Normans were laid. We saw it through a grated window. In passing we noticed a monument about two feet high of stone and somewhat carved of an Abbot that landed in England with William the Conqueror – this is in one of the side isles. There are many monuments here that were much defaced in the time of Cromwell who made the cathedral a vast stable for his horses. We now returned to the hotel and dined, after dinner we returned and heard service here. The chanting was done by a choir of eleven boys of different sizes and it was very sweet indeed. They were all robed in white and looked very devotional and withal made a perfect picture standing in the midst of the gothic spires of dark oak, in this venerable and massive building. The shadows of a thousand years seemed looking down upon us. These sang sweetly and the whole service was most impressive. We walked to the barracks and on the wall of the city and then returned to Liverpool.

Monday, September 18, 1854 ~ Liverpool, U.K.

Liverpool docks, ca. mid 1800's (painting by R. Dudley)

Queens Hotel ~ Captain Knowles dined with us yesterday at six o’clock. Prof. Treadwell* undertook to do the honors of the table. He ordered the dinner and had the general getting up of the whole affair. Dr. Gallup and Dr. Spooner dined also with us. We had a very fair dinner – an immense piece of roast beef in real English style, so large that it took my appetite away to look at it, but the Prof. did not provide properly in the way of wine, and before dinner was over we had to look at empty bottles, and no more was ordered. I should have taken the matter into my own hands, but did not do it. Thus far I have not been particularly pleased with the English, with whom we have come in contact. They have shown themselves somewhat extortioners and unjust in little ways, however we are still green, verdant in the ways of the old world. Professor Treadwell has been joking Dr. Gallup so much at the table and elsewhere about Alice, that the little gentleman has evidently been persuaded that he is in love. Unfortunately Alice at such times could not always refrain from a blush, which of course greatly encouraged the Dr. I fear we shall have some little trouble in getting rid of the fellow, or keeping him quiet. He is in many respects a fine man but this time “can not come in”. Our rooms are in the third story and look out on a large square, in which is the great St. Lawrence Hall just being finished; an immense stone building to be used (I believe) for municipal purposes. Most Americans go to Mrs. Blodget’s boarding house, we called there yesterday but it was full. The “Queens” is not the crack house, but it was the best we could get into yesterday, all are full. It is however first class and very comfortable. This morning I went dawn to the custom house with Prof Treadwell; there we met Capt Knowles and had our baggage passed with but a slight examination. Capt Knowles brought it in, with the emigrants and their effects on a steam tug. They are particular here in searching Americans for Segars and tobacco in every form, for there is a very high duty on it, $2.25 I think on every pound. By the way it is the custom for American ships to give a pound paper of chewing tobacco to the pilot when he boards them. The custom house are careful to see that no reprints of English books are brought into the country. I called on Brown and Shipley, and took a letter of credit on the London house. Received a delightful letter from Mother. Mr. and Mrs. Treadwell left today for the Chester and London also Dr Spooner. I presented letters of introduction to Chas Humbertson** and others. He wears a threadbare coat and is a plain enough man for one so well known.

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*Prof. Treadwell may be the inventor and Harvard professor Daniel Treadwell (1791-1892). He was a friend of Longfellow and the inventor of the first mechanized printing press and rope spinner!!

**A newspaper in Liverpool references Charles Humberston as a "commission merchant," which was also C.K. Cobb's trade at the time.

Friday, September 15th 1854 ~ At sea

At sea ~ At ten o’clock we arrived within sight of the first point of the Irish coast (Cape Clear) but it was nearly twelve before to my landsman’s eyes, it appeared a well defined land of hill and dale. The day is clear and we could plainly see the bold coast, looking like broken off sand banks descending into the water. We could scarcely realize that we were gazing on the Old World! We to whom it had been so long a dream, a many colored picture in the atlas, a story of the geographies and histories, its every foot of earth recalling some record of the olden time, while our native land was still a wilderness. And this is the country of our ancestors, from which they went out a little band to plant a mighty nation, destined perhaps to be the most powerful of modern times, as it is now the most enlightened. Alice, who is decidedly the most enthusiastic of the party, could not restrain her oh’s! of delight. With the day only closed our view of Ireland, a poor woman, of the steerage, died yesterday morning, of consumption, and just after dinner today she was consigned to the sea. The body was sewed up in its bed clothes, making a compact bale, not unlike a coffin in shape and size, shutted at one end, then placed on a plank which was balanced on the bulwarks, while Dr. Gallup read some prayers, the ceremony over, one end of the plank was raised, there was a dull splash, and the waves received their charge, only to be released when the sea shall give up her dead. It was a very solemn sight. The woman was a native of Ireland and was on her way to die there. Death came but a little too soon, her country was in sight, as she took her last journey. There is only a step between birth and death, a baby was born aboard yesterday. The mother is a single lady, who made the voyage for her health, she being troubled with “dropsy”. She was treated for that until yesterday when her dropsy was removed!! I wrote to Aunt Jane today giving a full account of our voyage.

Thursday, September 7th 1854 ~ At sea

At sea ~ Just a year ago today Lizzie was taken with her brain fever at Saven Hill. To what a train of recollections does this lead! The Captain started us from our slumbers this morning, by knocking at our state room door, and asking if we wanted to see a ship of war! Of course Lizzie and I were drest (after a fashion) in a moment, and on deck, and there in plain sight were two French frigates just astern, and near enough to read our name. They were under full sail and bound West, with colors flying. They looked splendidly, very unlike in rig and general appearance to merchantmen, the masts were straighter, “taughter”, firmer, more raking, and the hull less crank. We ran up our flag and passed without hindrance, but our neighbor the ship New York was less lucky. She was about a mile on the other side of us, but as she was a new ship and a little tardy about showing her colors, the Frenchman determined to over haul her. By this time we were both well ahead, so one of the French frigates rounded to and gave chase. Her yards were alive with men to effect this maneuver, crowd all sail etc. It was indeed a most beautiful sight. A stern chase is always a long one and so it proved in this instance for it was only after three hours of close sailing that the Yankee was overtaken and boarded. We had preserved the same relative distance between the pursuer and the pursued, but now of course we left our competitor behind, the result of the examination was favorable and she was soon allowed to proceed. This was a highly exciting scene and one I suppose that rarely falls to the lot of mere land-lubbers - the breeze was strong and the American ship laid down to it until her hull seemed nearly out of water, while the frigate maintained a perpendicular position. Every short time after the chase began the second frigate was lost in the distance. Alice is ill today was taken with cramp last night and has not been able to bear her birth. This afternoon the weather became thick and we are once more alone on the ocean.

Thursday, August 31st 1854 ~ At sea

At sea ~ The ship is somewhat less crank today and the wind more favorable. All the lady passengers made their appearance at the breakfast table for the first time this morning and it really seems like quite an event in our very quiet life. Mrs. Treadwell only came with a great effort that she might not be the last. She has passed the greater part of the day heretofore extended on a mattress on the cabin floor. After breakfast we had a game of shuffle-board on deck, where we remained reading, studying French etc. We were on deck also in the afternoon. All feel well enough now to enjoy the new life. Our time goes quickly, so much so that we read but little. It is an unfailing pleasure to watch the ever-changing swelling waters. It is still pleasant without over coats or shawls. We see large banks of seaweed every few moments. This afternoon a school of porpoises were playing about the ship, springing out of the water every few moments and then swimming so near the surface as to be distinctly seen in their rapid course - we are moving from ten to twelve knots per hour and yet they pass us as if we were standing still. A sail appeared and in the distance this afternoon. In the evening we sat upon the deck listening to the Doctor’s flute, and exercising our melodious voices in the Ave Maria, Home Sweet Home etc. At nine o’clock we descended to the cabin and had a game of “old-maid,” Alice much frightened but not hurt!! Prof. Treadwell today thought I would not dare to go aloft, there being no “lubber-holes” in the “tops”. I made the attempt and succeeded, when I returned he desired to put his hand on my wrist to see “how the pulse went.” Dr. Gallup reads French to us and has become in a measure our teacher. In the steerage are two poor women in the consumption who are returning to Ireland to die, our days are also numbered and be they shorter or longer they will pass like a dream in the night, or the shadow of a cloud, and the places that have known us shall know us no more forever and we shall be called upon to render an account to our Maker. Looking upon the vast expanse around us should teach us humility and our own littleness in the presence of Him who holds the ocean in the hollow of his hand.

Wednesday, August 30th 1854 ~ At sea

At sea ~ This morning the wind is somewhat better but we are still further in the gulf stream and have made with our numerous tacks North and South but a very few miles of Easting. I shaved this morning for the first time since leaving home and left the upper lip. Capt. Knowles thinks I was seized with “mal de mer” just in time to check operations on that member. Lizzie and the girls are much better today, even Alice seems to have partially recovered. The Capt. and Dr. carried mattresses up on deck for their use, on which they have been reclining all day, watching the ever undulating plain around us and basking in the warm sun. It is surprising how a few days of sea sickness preys on the damask cheek and bleaches even the sweetest rose. Our ladies appear as if they had passed through a dangerous illness, all sentiment is famished and listless content the greatest good aimed at for the present. The moon has made her appearance and we are looking forward to a succession of fine moon light nights.

Tuesday, August 29th, 1854 ~ At sea

Painting: "The Chariot of Fame crossing the Atlantic from Liverpool to Boston" by M.J. Whitehead.

At sea ~ Lizzie and the girls are somewhat better today although it is still rough and the tin cups that hang to our births are in requisition sometimes. Capt. Knowles is in despair for the wind comes from the old quarter and we are much out of our course. We have seen a whale in the distance, but as yet no other fish. Time is divided into watches and bells – there are six watches in the 24 hours of 4 hours each, beginning at noon, at half past twelve the steersman strikes one bell, at one o’clock he strikes two bells, at half past strikes three, at two he strikes four bells, at half past, five bells and so on until four o’clock when the number of bells reaches eight. Here the second watch comes on, and the sublimity of the ocean does not strike me as I supposed it would were I out at sea. I am disappointed in the heighth of the ocean waves, they seem higher when one is seated on the rocks at Sahant or the beach at Newport – perhaps it is that the land is an obstacle that shows to advantage their force. Our great vessel looks smaller contrasted only with this vast expanse of water – and the effect of the waves upon her have ceased to cause wonder.