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.

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.

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.

Friday, September 29th 1854 ~ Ghent, Belgium

"St John the Evangelist at Patmos" (1479, H. Memling).

Late last evening, we visited the Biguinage, a very large nunnery where we saw service performed in a dimly lighted room, in presence of six hundred nuns clothed in white and black; black dresses with white capes and a white piece of linen folded over making the scene very solemn and impressive. The lodging houses of these nuns are small and surround the central point, the building for worship. The people of Belgium are celebrated, and long have been, for their religious devotion or perhaps superstition, whichever you choose to call it. They are said to be controlled more by their priests than any other nation in Europe. This morning early, we left Ghent in the cars for Bruges (about 18 miles distant) and we hardly know whether to be dissatisfied with our days employment or not. Bruges is a smaller city than Ghent, but has two very fine cathedrals and many very curious paintings, products of the early German schools. It also boasts a chime of bells said to be the finest in Europe, which Longfellow has much admired and immortalized. They are played by machinery every quarter hour and are very musical, but did not strike us as of great power, or as being very much superior to all the other chimes of Europe!! They should be heard on Sunday when they are played by a musician. We sat on a bench in the great square to listen to them. Previously we had visited with a guide the Hospitial of “St. Sean” where there are several fine pictures – a Van Dyke the “Virgin and Child.” The Child is sleeping on its mother’s breast, St. Joseph enters in the background and the mother’s face expresses fear least he should awaken the infant. The most beautiful specimen of the Flemish schools we have yet seen are here. The Decolation of John the Babtist and the inspiration of John at Patmos. In the last mentioned St. John is sitting in a rapt attitude and sees in the air above God the Father in encircled by a rainbow of glory and by his side is a white Lamb standing on a throne and around them are the four and twenty elders and in the distance the seven plagues represented by strange looking monsters. The colors of this painting are extremely briht and hard. It is said to be a fine type of the style and strange conceptions of this school in the middle ages. In the cathedral of Notre Dame we were shown a Michael Angelo (the Supper at Emmaus) a beautiful painting, but I should think of doubtful genuineness. Also the tombs of Charles the Bold and his daughter wife of Maximilian, on these tombs were their figures in time worn gilt bronze. In passing, our guide pointed out to us a house in which Charles 2nd of England lived while in exile here. It is in the square before the cathedral and is a large house, but not remarkable in appearance. Everything in this section of country recalls the middle ages. The ordinary buildings here seem to have been preserved an immense time. Among the relics at the Hospital is an area of St. Ursula preserved in a case of wood, on the sides of which are sketches of her life in several parts, representing her voyage to Rome with the eleven thousand virgins, their return with the Pontiff and subsequent massacre by the Huns at Cologne. These virgins were English and went up the Rhine crossed Switzerland and returned in the same way. This was in the third century. We took the cars at two o’clock back to Ghent having gone through a dinner of half a dozen courses of fish at Bruges (a place celebrated for its Friday fish dinners) but not appreciated by us. At six we took the cars from Ghent for Brussels. The conductor uses a large brass horn slung around his neck to direct the movements of the train. He as well as all the other officials are in a sort of uniform. In England a whistle was used for the same purpose. The lower classes here speak Flemish but nearly every one we meet speaks French. The money is francs and centimes.

Sunday, September 17th 1854 ~ Liverpool, U.K.

Queens Hotel ~ We landed at noon today after a splendid sail up the river; we took a towboat outside and came up wind with its assistance, although it was not necessary for the wind was fair for coming in alone. There is an aspect about the harbour unlike America. The river Mercy, a short distance up which Liverpool is situated is straight, wide and regular, and shores low and verdant. It is lined with beautiful beaches on either side, with thin black bathing boxes. Just back of the beaches, are often long blocks or rows of white houses, gentlemans beach residences or resorts for passing a few hours of a hot afternoon, for the gentleman of Liverpool. As we approached land today near enough to see verdure again our delight was extreme, green things never looked so beautiful before to us, who had seen nothing but the ocean for 21 days. It being Sunday we could not land with any thing more than a carpetbag, so shall have to go to the custom house tomorrow. This afternoon we drove over to Doctor McNeil’s church at “Princes Park” but did not hear him. We walked back from there. It is a beautiful walk and the park is beautiful and extensive, decidedly English in style. Mr. Treadwell and myself have taken a parlor between us.