Books: The Life of Harriet Beecher Stowe

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How we did talk and go on for three days! I guess he is tired. I'm
sure we were. He is a nervous, excitable being, and talks with head,
shoulders, arms, and hands, while his hesitance makes it the harder.
Of his theology I will say more some other time. He, also, has been
through the great distress, the "Conflict of Ages," but has come out
at a different end from Edward, and stands with John Foster, though
with more positiveness than he.

He laughed a good deal at many stories I told him of father, and
seemed delighted to hear about him. But he is, what I did not expect,
a zealous Churchman; insists that the Church of England is the finest
and broadest platform a man can stand on, and that the thirty-nine
articles are the only ones he could subscribe to. I told him you
thought them the best summary (of doctrine) you knew, which pleased
him greatly.

Well, I got your letter to-night in Paris, at No. 19 Rue de Clichy,
where you may as well direct your future letters.

We reached Paris about eleven o'clock last night and took a carriage
for 17 Rue de Clichy, but when we got there, no ringing or pounding
could rouse anybody. Finally, in despair, we remembered a card that
had been handed into the cars by some hotel-runner, and finding it was
of an English and French hotel, we drove there, and secured very
comfortable accommodations. We did not get to bed until after two
o'clock. The next morning I sent a messenger to find Mme. Borione, and
discovered that we had mistaken the number, and should have gone to
No. 19, which was the next door; so we took a carriage and soon found
ourselves established here, where we have a nice parlor and two
bedrooms.

There are twenty-one in the family, mostly Americans, like ourselves,
come to learn to speak French. One of them is a tall, handsome, young
English lady, Miss Durant, who is a sculptress, studying with Baron de
Triqueti. She took me to his studio, and he immediately remarked that
she ought to get me to sit. I said I would, "only my French lessons."
"Oh," said he, smiling, "we will give you French lessons while you
sit." So I go to-morrow morning.

As usual, my horrid pictures do me a service, and people seem relieved
when they see me; think me even handsome "in a manner." Kingsley, in
his relief, expressed as much to his wife, and as beauty has never
been one of my strong points I am open to flattery upon it.

We had a most agreeable call from Arthur Helps before we left London.
He, Kingsley, and all the good people are full of the deepest anxiety
for our American affairs. They really do feel very deeply, seeing the
peril so much plainer than we do in America.

_Sunday night_. I fear I have delayed your letter too long. The
fact is, that of the ten days I have been here I have been laid up
three with severe neuralgia, viz., _toothache in the backbone_,
and since then have sat all day to be modeled for my bust.

We spent the other evening with Baron de Triqueti, the sculptor. He
has an English wife, and a charming daughter about the age of our
girls. Life in Paris is altogether more simple and natural than in
England. They give you a plate of cake and a cup of tea in the most
informal, social way,--the tea-kettle sings at the fire, and the son
and daughter busy themselves gayly together making and handing tea.
When tea was over, M. de Triqueti showed us a manuscript copy of the
Gospels, written by his mother, to console herself in a season of
great ill-health, and which he had illustrated all along with
exquisite pen-drawings, resembling the most perfect line engravings. I
can't describe the beauty, grace, delicacy, and fullness of devotional
feeling in these people. He is one of the loveliest men I ever saw.

We have already three evenings in the week in which we can visit and
meet friends if we choose, namely, at Madame Mohl's, Madame Lanziel's,
and Madame Belloc's. All these salôns are informal, social gatherings,
with no fuss of refreshments, no nonsense of any kind. Just the
cheeriest, heartiest, kindest little receptions you ever saw.

A kiss to dear little Charley. If he could see all the things that I
see every day in the Tuileries and Champs Elysées, he would go wild.
All Paris is a general whirligig out of doors, but indoors people seem
steady, quiet, and sober as anybody.

_November_ 30. This is Sunday evening, and a Sunday in Paris
always puts me in mind of your story about somebody who said, "Bless
you! they make such a noise that the Devil couldn't meditate." All the
extra work and odd jobs of life are put into Sunday. Your washerwoman
comes Sunday, with her innocent, good-humored face, and would be
infinitely at a loss to know why she shouldn't. Your bonnet, cloak,
shoes, and everything are sent home Sunday morning, and all the way to
church there is such whirligiging and pirouetting along the boulevards
as almost takes one's breath away. Today we went to the Oratoire to
hear M. Grand Pierre. I could not understand much; my French ear is
not quick enough to follow. I could only perceive that the subject was
"La Charité," and that the speaker was fluent, graceful, and earnest,
the audience serious and attentive.

Last night we were at Baron de Triqueti's again, with a party invited
to celebrate the birthday of their eldest daughter, Blanche, a lovely
girl of nineteen. There were some good ladies there who had come
eighty leagues to meet me, and who were so delighted with my miserable
French that it was quite encouraging. I believe I am getting over the
sandbar at last, and conversation is beginning to come easy to me.

There were three French gentlemen who had just been reading "Dred" in
English, and who were as excited and full of it as could be, and I
talked with them to a degree that astonished myself. There is a review
of "Dred" in the "Revue des Deux Mondes" which has long extracts from
the book, and is written in a very appreciative and favorable spirit.
Generally speaking, French critics seem to have a finer appreciation
of my subtle shades of meaning than English. I am curious to hear what
Professor Park has to say about it. There has been another review in
"La Presse" equally favorable. All seem to see the truth about
American slavery much plainer than people can who are in it. If
American ministers and Christians could see through their sophistical
spider-webs, with what wonder, pity, and contempt they would regard
their own vacillating condition!

We visit once a week at Madame Mohl's, where we meet all sorts of
agreeable people. Lady Elgin doesn't go into society now, having been
struck with paralysis, but sits at home and receives her friends as
usual. This notion of sitting always in the open air is one of her
peculiarities.

I must say, life in Paris is arranged more sensibly than with us.
Visiting involves no trouble in the feeding line. People don't go to
eat. A cup of tea and plate of biscuit is all,--just enough to break
up the stiffness.

It is wonderful that the people here do not seem to have got over
"Uncle Tom" a bit. The impression seems fresh as if just published.
How often have they said, That book has revived the Gospel among the
poor of France; it has done more than all the books we have published
put together. It has gone among the _les ouvriers_, among the
poor of Faubourg St. Antoine, and nobody knows how many have been led
to Christ by it. Is not this blessed, my dear husband? Is it not worth
all the suffering of writing it?

I went the other evening to M. Grand Pierre's, where there were three
rooms full of people, all as eager and loving as ever we met in
England or Scotland. Oh, if Christians in Boston could only see the
earnestness of feeling with which Christians here regard slavery, and
their surprise and horror at the lukewarmness, to say the least, of
our American church! About eleven o'clock we all joined in singing a
hymn, then M. Grand Pierre made an address, in which I was named in
the most affectionate and cordial manner. Then followed a beautiful
prayer for our country, for America, on which hang so many of the
hopes of Protestantism. One and all then came up, and there was great
shaking of hands and much effusion.

Under date of December 28, Mrs. Perkins writes: "On Sunday we went
with Mr. and Mrs. (Jacob) Abbott to the Hôtel des Invalides, and I
think I was never more interested and affected. Three or four thousand
old and disabled soldiers have here a beautiful and comfortable home.
We went to the morning service. The church is very large, and the
colors taken in battle are hung on the walls. Some of them are so old
as to be moth-eaten. The service is performed, as near as possible, in
imitation of the service before a battle. The drum beats the call to
assemble, and the common soldiers march up and station themselves in
the centre of the church, under the commander. All the services are
regulated by the beat of the drum. Only one priest officiates, and
soldiers are stationed around to protect him. The music is from a
brass band, and is very magnificent.

"In the afternoon I went to vespers in the Madeleine, where the music
was exquisite. They have two fine organs at opposite ends of the
church. The 'Adeste Fidelis' was sung by a single voice, accompanied
by the organ, and after every verse it was taken up by male voices and
the other organ and repeated. The effect was wonderfully fine. I have
always found in our small churches at home that the organ was too
powerful and pained my head, but in these large cathedrals the effect
is different. The volume of sound rolls over, full but soft, and I
feel as though it must come from another sphere.

"In the evening Mr. and Mrs. Bunsen called. He is a son of Chevalier
Bunsen, and she a niece of Elizabeth Fry,--very intelligent and
agreeable people."

Under date of January 25, Mrs. Stowe writes from Paris:--"Here is a
story for Charley. The boys in the Faubourg St. Antoine are the
children of _ouvriers_, and every day their mothers give them two
sous to buy a dinner. When they heard I was coming to the school, of
their own accord they subscribed half their dinner money to give to me
for the poor slaves. This five-franc piece I have now; I have bought
it of the cause for five dollars, and am going to make a hole in it
and hang it round Charley's neck as a medal.

"I have just completed arrangements for leaving the girls at a
Protestant boarding-school while I go to Rome.

"We expect to start the 1st of February, and my direction will be, E.
Bartholimeu, 108 Via Margaretta."

CHAPTER XIII.

OLD SCENES REVISITED, 1856.

EN ROUTE TO ROME.--TRIALS OF TRAVEL.--A MIDNIGHT ARRIVAL AND AN
INHOSPITABLE RECEPTION.--GLORIES OP THE ETERNAL CITY.--NAPLES AND
VESUVIUS.--VENICE.--HOLY WEEK IN ROME.--RETURN TO ENGLAND.--LETTER
FROM HARRIET MARTINEAU ON "DRED."--A WORD FROM MR. PRESCOTT ON
"DRED."--FAREWELL TO LADY BYRON.

After leaving Paris Mrs. Stowe and her sister, Mrs. Perkins, traveled
leisurely through the South of France toward Italy, stopping at
Amiens, Lyons, and Marseilles. At this place they took steamer for
Genoa, Leghorn, and Civita Vecchia. During their last night on
shipboard they met with an accident, of which, and their subsequent
trials in reaching Rome, Mrs. Stowe writes as follows:--

About eleven o'clock, as I had just tranquilly laid down in my berth,
I was roused by a grating crash, accompanied by a shock that shook the
whole ship, and followed by the sound of a general rush on deck,
trampling, scuffling, and cries. I rushed to the door and saw all the
gentlemen hurrying on their clothes and getting confusedly towards the
stairway. I went back to Mary, and we put on our things in silence,
and, as soon as we could, got into the upper saloon. It was an hour
before we could learn anything certainly, except that we had run into
another vessel. The fate of the Arctic came to us both, but we did not
mention it to each other; indeed, a quieter, more silent company you
would not often see. Had I had any confidence in the administration of
the boat, it would have been better, but as I had not, I sat in
momentary uncertainty. Had we then known, as we have since, the fate
of a boat recently sunk in the Mediterranean by a similar
carelessness, it would have increased our fears. By a singular chance
an officer, whose wife and children were lost on board that boat, was
on board ours, and happened to be on the forward part of the boat when
the accident occurred. The captain and mate were both below; there was
nobody looking out, and had not this officer himself called out to
stop the boat, we should have struck her with such force as to have
sunk us. As it was, we turned aside and the shock came on a paddle-
wheel, which was broken by it, for when, after two hours' delay, we
tried to start and had gone a little way, there was another crash and
the paddle-wheel fell down. You may be sure we did little sleeping
that night. It was an inexpressible desolation to think that we might
never again see those we loved. No one knows how much one thinks, and
how rapidly, in such hours.

In the Naples boat that was sunk a short time ago, the women perished
in a dreadful way. The shock threw the chimney directly across the
egress from below, so that they could not get on deck, and they were
all drowned in the cabin.

We went limping along with one broken limb till the next day about
eleven, when we reached Civita Vecchia, where there were two hours
more of delay about passports. Then we, that is, Mary and I, and a Dr.
Edison from Philadelphia, with his son Alfred, took a carriage to
Rome, but they gave us a miserable thing that looked as if it had been
made soon after the deluge. About eight o'clock at night, on a lonely
stretch of road, the wheel came off. We got out, and our postilions
stood silently regarding matters. None of us could speak Italian, they
could not speak French; but the driver at last conveyed the idea that
for five francs he could get a man to come and mend the wheel. The
five francs were promised, and he untackled a horse and rode off. Mary
and I walked up and down the dark, desolate road, occasionally
reminding each other that we were on classic ground, and laughing at
the oddity of our lonely, starlight promenade. After a while our
driver came back, Tag, Rag, and Bobtail at his heels. I don't think I
can do greater justice to Italian costumes than by this respectable
form of words.

Then there was another consultation. They put a bit of rotten timber
under to pry the carriage up. Fortunately, it did not break, as we all
expected it would, till after the wheel was on. Then a new train of
thought was suggested. How was it to be kept on? Evidently they had
not thought far in that direction, for they had brought neither hammer
nor nail, nor tool of any kind, and therefore they looked first at the
wheel, then at each other, and then at us. The doctor now produced a
little gimlet, with the help of which the broken fragments of the
former linchpin were pushed out, and the way was cleared for a new
one. Then they began knocking a fence to pieces to get out nails, but
none could be found to fit. At last another ambassador was sent back
for nails. While we were thus waiting, the diligence, in which many of
our ship's company were jogging on to Rome, came up. They had plenty
of room inside, and one of the party, seeing our distress, tried hard
to make the driver stop, but he doggedly persisted in going on, and
declared if anybody got down to help us he would leave him behind.

An interesting little episode here occurred. It was raining, and Mary
and I proposed, as the wheel was now on, to take our seats. We had no
sooner done so than the horses were taken with a sudden fit of
animation and ran off with us in the most vivacious manner, Tag, Rag,
and Co. shouting in the rear. Some heaps of stone a little in advance
presented an interesting prospect by way of a terminus. However, the
horses were luckily captured before the wheel was off again; and our
ambassador being now returned, we were set right and again proceeded.

I must not forget to remark that at every post where we changed horses
and drivers, we had a pitched battle with the driver for more money
than we had been told was the regular rate, and the carriage was
surrounded with a perfect mob of ragged, shock-headed, black-eyed
people, whose words all ended in "ino," and who raved and ranted at us
till finally we paid much more than we ought, to get rid of them.

At the gates of Rome the official, after looking at our passports,
coolly told the doctor that if he had a mind to pay him five francs he
could go in without further disturbance, but if not he would keep the
baggage till morning. This form of statement had the recommendation of
such precision and neatness of expression that we paid him forthwith,
and into Rome we dashed at two o'clock in the morning of the 9th of
February, 1857, in a drizzling rain.

We drove to the Hotel d'Angleterre,--it was full,--and ditto to four
or five others, and in the last effort our refractory wheel came off
again, and we all got out into the street. About a dozen lean, ragged
"corbies," who are called porters and who are always lying in wait for
travelers, pounced upon us. They took down our baggage in a twinkling,
and putting it all into the street surrounded it, and chattered over
it, while M. and I stood in the rain and received first lessons in
Italian. How we did try to say something! but they couldn't talk
anything but in "ino" as aforesaid. The doctor finally found a man who
could speak a word or two of French, and leaving Mary, Alfred, and me
to keep watch over our pile of trunks, he went off with him to apply
for lodgings. I have heard many flowery accounts of first impressions
of Rome. I must say ours was somewhat sombre.

A young man came by and addressed us in English. How cheering! We
almost flew upon him. We begged him, at least, to lend us his Italian
to call another carriage, and he did so. A carriage which was passing
was luckily secured, and Mary and I, with all our store of boxes and
little parcels, were placed in it out of the rain, at least. Here we
sat while the doctor from time to time returned from his wanderings to
tell us he could find no place. "Can it be," said I, "that we are to
be obliged to spend a night in the streets?" What made it seem more
odd was the knowledge that, could we only find them, we had friends
enough in Rome who would be glad to entertain us. We began to
speculate on lodgings. Who knows what we may get entrapped into?
Alfred suggested stories he had read of beds placed on trap-doors,--of
testers which screwed down on people and smothered them; and so, when
at last the doctor announced lodgings found, we followed in rather an
uncertain frame of mind.

We alighted at a dirty stone passage, smelling of cats and onions,
damp, cold, and earthy, we went up stone stairways, and at last were
ushered into two very decent chambers, where we might lay our heads.
The "corbies" all followed us,--black-haired, black-browed, ragged,
and clamorous as ever. They insisted that we should pay the pretty
little sum of twenty francs, or four dollars, for bringing our trunks
about twenty steps. The doctor modestly but firmly declined to be thus
imposed upon, and then ensued a general "chatteration;" one and all
fell into attitudes, and the "inos" and "issimos" rolled freely. "For
pity's sake get them off," we said; so we made a truce for ten francs,
but still they clamored, forced their way even into our bedroom, and
were only repulsed by a loud and combined volley of "No, no, noes!"
which we all set up at once, upon which they retreated.

Our hostess was a little French woman, and that reassured us. I
examined the room, and seeing no trace of treacherous testers, or
trap-doors, resolved to avail myself without fear of the invitation of
a very clean, white bed, where I slept till morning without dreaming.

The next day we sent our cards to M. Bartholimeu, and before we had
finished breakfast he was on the spot. We then learned that he had
been watching the diligence office for over a week, and that he had
the pleasant set of apartments we are now occupying all ready and
waiting for us.

_March 1._

MY DEAR HUSBAND,--Every day is opening to me a new world of wonders
here in Italy. I have been in the Catacombs, where I was shown many
memorials of the primitive Christians, and to-day we are going to the
Vatican. The weather is sunny and beautiful beyond measure, and
flowers are springing in the fields on every side. Oh, my dear, how I
do long to have you here to enjoy what you are so much better fitted
to appreciate than I,--this wonderful combination of the past and the
present, of what has been and what is!

Think of strolling leisurely through the Forum, of seeing the very
stones that were laid in the time of the Republic, of rambling over
the ruined Palace of the Cæsars, of walking under the Arch of Titus,
of seeing the Dying Gladiator, and whole ranges of rooms filled with
wonders of art, all in one morning! All this I did on Saturday, and
only wanted you. You know so much more and could appreciate so much
better. At the Palace of the Cæesars, where the very dust is a
_mélange_ of exquisite marbles, I saw for the first time an
acanthus growing, and picked my first leaf.

Our little _ménage_ moves on prosperously; the doctor takes
excellent care of us and we of him. One sees everybody here at Rome,
John Bright, Mrs. Hemans' son, Mrs. Gaskell, etc., etc. Over five
thousand English travelers are said to be here. Jacob Abbot and wife
are coming. Rome is a world! Rome is an astonishment! Papal Rome is an
enchantress! Old as she is, she is like Niñon d'Enelos,--the young
fall in love with her.

You will hear next from us at Naples.

Affectionately yours,

H. B. S.

From Rome the travelers went to Naples, and after visiting Pompeii and
Herculaneum made the ascent of Vesuvius, a graphic account of which is
contained in a letter written at this time by Mrs. Stowe to her
daughters in Paris. After describing the preparations and start, she
says:--

"Gradually the ascent became steeper and steeper, till at length it
was all our horses could do to pull us up. The treatment of horses in
Naples is a thing that takes away much from the pleasure and comfort
of such travelers as have the least feeling for animals. The people
seem absolutely to have no consideration for them. You often see
vehicles drawn by one horse carrying fourteen or fifteen great, stout
men and women. This is the worse as the streets are paved with flat
stones which are exceedingly slippery. On going up hill the drivers
invariably race their horses, urging them on with a constant storm of
blows.

"As the ascent of the mountain became steeper, the horses panted and
trembled in a way that made us feel that we could not sit in the
carriage, yet the guide and driver never made the slightest motion to
leave the box. At last three of us got out and walked, and invited our
guide to do the same, yet with all this relief the last part of the
ascent was terrible, and the rascally fellows actually forced the
horses to it by beating them with long poles on the back of their
legs. No Englishman or American would ever allow a horse to be treated
so.

"The Hermitage is a small cabin, where one can buy a little wine or
any other refreshment one may need. There is a species of wine made of
the grapes of Vesuvius, called 'Lachryma Christi,' that has a great
reputation. Here was a miscellaneous collection of beggars, ragged
boys, men playing guitars, bawling donkey drivers, and people wanting
to sell sticks or minerals, the former to assist in the ascent, and
the latter as specimens of the place. In the midst of the commotion we
were placed on our donkeys, and the serious, pensive brutes moved
away. At last we reached the top of the mountain, and I gladly sprang
on firm land. The whole top of the mountain was covered with wavering
wreaths of smoke, from the shadows of which emerged two English
gentlemen, who congratulated us on our safe arrival, and assured us
that we were fortunate in our day, as the mountain was very active. We
could hear a hollow, roaring sound, like the burning of a great
furnace, but saw nothing. 'Is this all?' I said. 'Oh, no. Wait till
the guide comes up with the rest of the party,' and soon one after
another came up, and we then followed the guide up a cloudy, rocky
path, the noise of the fire constantly becoming nearer. Finally we
stood on the verge of a vast, circular pit about forty feet deep, the
floor of which is of black, ropy waves of congealed lava.

"The sides are sulphur cliffs, stained in every brilliant shade, from
lightest yellow to deepest orange and brown. In the midst of the lava
floor rises a black cone, the chimney of the great furnace. This was
burning and flaming like the furnace of a glass-house, and every few
moments throwing up showers of cinders and melted lava which fell with
a rattling sound on the black floor of the pit. One small bit of the
lava came over and fell at our feet, and a gentleman lighted his cigar
at it.

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