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.

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.

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.

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.

Wednesday, September 27th 1854 ~ Ghent, Belgium

Hotel Royale ~ We breakfasted in London at half past six this morning and at seven took a carriage for the South Eastern railway, and at eight we were en route for the Continent. Hack hire in London is regulated according to distance, a hackman having a right to charge six pence for each mile if only two people ride, if more than two then an additional 6 d is charged for each additional person for the whole trip, not per mile. The miles of an English drive are always very short!! We have purchased tickets right through to Cologne and begin to feel quite like travelers. The ticket is given in a book of checks which the conductor tears off a leaf from, from time to time. An English Railway car is a very different thing from our own – they are long nearly as long as our own, but subdivided so that there are only two seats in each car, or rather in each partition. These seats run across and hold four persons each, so that four ride backward and four ride forward in stage coach fashion. The first class cars are nicely lined with cloth or leather and the seats and backs well stuffed, but the second class which are made just as well in every other respect have no cushions either for the back or seat and are therefore of course much more fatiguing. The third class are generally uncovered. Many gentlemen travel in the second class cars and sometimes ladies take them but not so often. The prices for second class in England is about the same as for first class at home. The ride to Dover is tolerably pleasant, but not as much as that from Liverpool to London. The country not as fine though having the same characteristics, until near Dover where it is more barren and where there are several long tunnels in which the road is carried through the chalk cliffs. Arriving at Dover at eleven o’clock we took the boat immediately for Calais. The water was perfectly smooth and although the boat was very small there was no motion. In two hours we landed in Calais and at halfway we could distinguish the land on either side. At first the French language sounded very strange and incomprehensible to us, but we are gradually getting accustomed to the sound and able to understand conversations. We walked to the custom hous and passport offices between a file of French soldiers in their brick red pants and blue coats. This is a great place for imposition on English and Americans where we experienced a small degree. We dined here and then took our place in the cars for Lille and Ghent. Between these two places by the way we came very near being left by the cars. For on crossing the frontier of Belgium I did not know what was going on and therefore did not get out and have any trunks opened and examined until just as the train was ready to start again and then they waited it for me some moments until a hasty custom house examination could be made. Our passports have been [visiid?] three times today, and it is a great nuisance, this being our first experience with a passport. The country here (France) has entirely a different appearance from that of England. There we saw generally beautiful meadowland divided by live hedges. Here one sees nothing but ploughed land. The houses are poorer, built mostly of stone or brick, and not picturesque, while men and women in queer costumes are working the ground. We arrived at Ghent at eight o’clock and were very much struck by its odd appearance in our drive to the hotel. The streets are narrow, entirely without sidewalks and paved with round stones. The houses are all tiled (at least the roofs of the houses) and this is entirely new to us. The tiles are made of red clay. Our rooms look out on a canal, one of several that run through the city.

Wednesday, September 20th 1854 ~ London

Pasture in Gumley, UK (photo: pdeee454 via flickr)

Miss Ayers boarding house, 29 George St Hanover Sq. ~ This is a boarding house in the American style, or at least it is called the American style but is in fact a poor imitation. She has a common parlor and charges by the week, but has a different price for brand varying with the size and situation of her rooms. This is a great place of resort for Americans who always prefer living together at a boarding house to living shut up in their own apartments at a hotel. At an English hotel a party of gentlemen and ladies are obliged to take a private parlor, in which they dine and from which they never emerge except to go to their bedrooms, or out of the house. There is no public saloon and no table (d’hote). Then the charges are made in accordance with each separate convenience or necessary one has. For instance – bedrooms so much, parlor so much, breakfast so much, tea so much, dinner so much, candles and fire are another charge. Even the dinner has no regular price, it depends upon what one orders. Being at a first class English hotel costs a party containing ladies from $3 to $6 per day each. $3 would be living with great economy. --- At half past nine this morning we started from Liverpool and reached London at half past four. We left our sea chests at the hotel in Liverpool, to be called for on our return there, in route for home. It is a great deal of extra trouble to carry much baggage in traveling abroad and a very great expense as well, for the allowance of baggage is very small to each person in public conveyances. In England it is about 60 pounds and in some places on the continent I believe every pound is charged for. We passed through an extremely beautiful country today and its is a beauty never seen with us- one arising from a state of high cultivation. The land is generally level, and almost all of it in grass, pasture or meadow, along this route, so that the effect is very beautiful. You ride for hours through a country covered with the greenest, cleanest looking grass, shaded with fine looking old trees. One almost imagines himself in a gentleman’s park for the whole distance. The houses of the cultivators are scarcely ever seen from the railroad – in a word it is a perfect garden scene, unlike anything one sees in America, where nature wild, beautiful, but uncultivated in this degree, invites labor and promise plenty. The white cows and droves of sheep look very picturesque. The depots have little flower gardens in front, are built in cottage style, and have neither the air of business or the cake and gingerbread look that ours have. Then English when they travel are not always eating cakes and pies. Both are almost unknown.