Page images
PDF
EPUB

a universal law among all animal existences.' He is amused to find the statue of St. Peter, whose foot the Catholics so devoutly kiss, to be an old statue of Jupiter, with a new head put on to make a Christian of him; while the beautiful Cumaan Sibyl, with some slight alteration of costume, appears as St. Anna, "but not, on that account, one jot less good a saint than if she had been made expressly for the purpose." "If they had Lot's wife," he says, "I have no doubt they would make a saint of her, unless possibly they might prefer to use her for culinary purposes.'

Mr. Colman is well satisfied with his visit to Holland. The Belgian husbandry he considers far in advance of the English husbandry. "Such crops," he says, "and such beautiful cultivation never met my eyes before." "I have heard from my youth," he continues, "of the stupid Dutchman, but it seems to me no people ever accomplished such magnificent enterprises, defying the Ocean and robbing him, under his very teeth, of a territory large and fertile beyond calculation."

Our

author has not been alone in his early impressions regarding the almost proverbial stupidity of this remarkable people. Even their admiring historian, Schiller, speaks of them as originally "less capable than their neighbors of that heroic spirit which imparts a higher character to the most insignificant actions;" and refers to the "pressure of circumstances" alone, the great struggle by which, in the time of Phillip II., the "rising republic of the waters" wrested their liberties from despotism.

Mr. Colman admires the neatness, "even to a fault," of the Dutch towns, especially Broeck, a village of about one thousand inhabitants, who are so remarkably nice that no carriage but a wheelbarrow is permitted to travel the streets, which are often scoured with and soap sand." He describes the Dutch as rude and vulgar, without grace and without civility, but acknowledges that, having no letters of introduction, he had no other opportunity of judging than is afforded at public places, hotels, &c. He says the Dutch are free from the American custom of spitting everywhere, but that they smoke every where excepting in church,

[ocr errors]

"This

where they sit with their hats on.
morning," he says, "three gentlemen were
smoking at breakfast-table, where, besides
myself, were two ladies. I do not know
how to reconcile this intolerable smoking
with the neatness that generally prevails.'
The Dutch language is a great trouble to
him; he cannot purchase a pair of shoe-
strings, but by displaying his foot upon
the shop-counter; and makes no approach
even to its sound but by gargling water
in his throat. The knowledge of one
word, however, accidentally remembered,
became, on occasion, an "open sesame"
that saved him no little trouble:

"I went on Sunday from Leyden to Haarlem
by railroad to attend service and hear the great
organ. After service, I strolled into another
part of the city, and attended another service.
I was to go back to Leyden at night, where I
had left my friend. Unfortunately, I lost my
way, and find the railroad station I could not.
I tried English, that would not do-everybody
looked grave and shook their heads; but
whether there was anything in them or not I
could not tell. I tried French, but with the
same ill success. I made all sorts of gesticu
lations; and I dare say, by their laughing
heartily, made myself quite ridiculous; but
nothing would do. I believe at one time they
thought I was begging for cold victuals, for
some of the women seemed piteously disposed
towards me, and would have taken me by the
hand and carried me in to the second table, if
their husbands had not been by. At last, to
my great delight, I recollected seeing, over the
railroad station, the word "Spoorweg," which
I concluded was the Dutch for railroad station
-a blessed revelation it was to me-1 ex-

claimed, like the Greek mathematician, Eu-
I tried the word, still fear-
reka! Eureka!'
ing that I might fail in the pronunciation;
but, to my great joy, the key fitted the lock. I
said spoorweg to every man, woman, and child
I met; and by means of this single word I at
last found my way back to the station, just as
the whistle for the last train was sounding. But
for this, I do not know that I should not have
been in the streets of Haarlem until this time,
and I shall bless the word spoorweg, as a talis-
, all the rest of my life.'

man,

The churches at Antwerp, Brussels, and Mechlin excite especial admiration, and especially the pictures in those churches, and in other galleries and museums. Those of Venice, however, he finds, with the exception of the cathedral at Milan, surpassing all others.

Having at length completed his tour of

the continent; having visited farms, plantations, manufactories, schools, prisons, churches, palaces, galleries, cemeteries, markets, monuments, living cities, and buried cities, Mr. Colman revisits England, and after an absence of more than four years returns to America with the declaration that his head and his heart have been full-that his journey has been crowded to excess with objects of agricultural, moral, political, literary and social interest; that if asked what city he would prefer to live in, he would say London, on account of the friends there, but that "Paris, in beauty, adornment, all the luxuries of life, all the gaieties of life, and all the splendors of life, is before it.'

| Of England he says: "As the time of my departure draws near she appears to me more grand and beautiful than ever."

"She has great faults; she has many dreadful stains upon her escutcheon; I believe there is more crime, and more misery, and more vice existing in her, than can possibly consist with her prosperity, or the permanency of her present institutions; but, with all this, there is such a vast amount of honor and truth, of love of decency and order, of virtuous ambition, and just appartment; there is such an amount of kindness preciation of all that is excellent in every deand philanthropy, of personal, domestic, and private virtue, that not to love and honor her, would only prove one destitute of all elevated moral taste and sentiment."

THREE LEAVES FROM AN ARTIST'S JOURNAL.

No. I.

[FROM THE GERMAN OF RELLSTAB.]

boyhood. It was sad to think that all which we esteemed as most precious, was Milan, May 4, 1811. Have I been dreaming? Am I still a snatched from us by the power of that sojourner upon earth, or have I made acstrange, gigantic, but as regards Germany, quaintance with another world? Scarcely fiend-like spirit, Napoleon. We seemed to two days have elapsed, and I have lived ourselves, our fatherland seemed to us, utterthrough events that might suffice to fillly lost. My friends had just come from the the circle of a year. I arrived here at 8 Tyrol; they had there visited the bloody o'clock in the evening of the 2d of May. but ever-memorable theatre of the sacred My first walk led me to that wonderful building, the Cathedral. The tremulous crescent of the new moon, which was still floating among the last violet clouds and mists of the departed sunset, threw a faint silvery gleam through the obscurity of the twilight; a dull, reddish light fell from the lamps above, and from the evening sky, upon the lower portion of the stately fabric. The heavens were clear above, but obscured below. The edifice,

with its innumerable spires, thus strangely illumined, pierced the clear, dark-blue ether. In front of the dome, the multitude was pressing toward the theatre, the world-renowned Scala; the pointed Gothic spires of the gable and steeple seemed surrounded by a holy, solemn calm, to which the bustling crowd beneath were strangers. I stood for a long time, lost in contemplation. Presently, two figures emerged from the shadow of the vast pillars; they were evidently, as their dress indicated, travellers, like myself. As they are passing, I recognize voices well known to me; how delightful! They are Hermann and Adolph, the friends of my youth, whom I have not seen for many years. What a meeting!

We repair to the nearest café. Here, with the warm mists of evening around us, we took our seats at a retired table near the door. The lamps flickered; a flask of foaming asti, the champaigne of Lombardy, stood before us; we recounted our experiences, since the rough storms of time had severed the ties that united us in

warfare which Hofer, that true son of the mountains, appealing to human and divine justice, had waged with the overpowering armies of France. Our conversation naturally turned at once, in a warmer strain than was prudent under the circumstances, on a subject which filled our hearts with patriotic yearnings. "We visited Hofer's dwelling, too; the true hero!" said Adolph, as he drew forth his tablets. "Allow me," said he, "to read these

verses, which the consecrated spot, as I might almost call it, dictated to my

He read as follows:

With rev'rent steps this dwelling enter,

That by the wayside humbly stands;
Look at the cheerful household table,

The pictures, hung by pious hands.
Here deeds of great emprize designing,
Oft sat the hero of our day,
With friends in council grave consulting,
Who, like himself, gave life away.
Seated around, in earnest converse,

soul."

Yet pealed forth-'twas their fathers' custom-
What lofty sorrow pierced each soul,
The glad song o'er the flowing bowl.
"Brave comrades! let our monarch hear you;
We fight as men in God confiding
Weep on, ye need not blush to weep;

Our faith in him alone we keep."
We, too, a goblet here will empty

In mem'ry of our Hofer's name;
And though our eyes with tear-drops glisten,

Our brows need feel no blush of shame.

I immediately copied the lines. We remained conversing in words of heartfelt sorrow until midnight. The crowd was

[ocr errors]

strange interruption to my thoughts. Tones so sad, so soft, so touching, pealed through the silence of the night that tears rushed unbidden to my eyes. Is it a song? No, and yes! No song of an earthly voice, but of an Orpheus, who

heard till now. I know it will excite a smile, when I say that I had been listening to a violin player.

then returning from the theatre; we departed on our respective paths. I had scarcely proceeded a hundred steps, when I remarked with astonishment, but without apprehension, that I was followed by the ringing step of a French gendarme. I conjectured his design, and in order to sat-witches forth tones such as were never isfy myself, I suddenly crossed the street in the direction of a by-path. He followed. I immediately resolved on a plan of action. The poem might condemn me to death; I would at once tear the paper in pieces-but before this could be accomplished, he seized my arm: "Monsieur, votre porte-feuille ?" I gave it up. "Vous me suivrez." It was all over; I was completely baffled. I was taken to a large, antiquated building, with which I was entirely unacquainted; a lofty door, closed with heavy bolts, was opened. French sentinels were pacing to and fro. My conductor spoke a few words in a familiar manner to the officer. I was taken in charge by two soldiers and a jailer, who carried a lamp. We ascended some steps through dark, intricate passages. The jailer at last came to a halt, opened a door fast-bound with iron, and I found myself in a gloomy dungeon, the grated windows of which scarcely admitted a gleam of sunshine. The gendarme followed. I was subjected to a rigorous search, and all my papers were taken from me; but I was treated courteously, and allowed to retain my money and my watch. The jailer inquired if I wanted anything. I could not suppress a bitter smile. "Well, early tomorrow," said he, and departed. I remained alone in the darkness. Sleep! Rest! Dreams of a soul that has never suffered! For an hour, perhaps, I lay on my pallet of straw, and depicted at leisure the cruel destiny that awaited me. But one-and-twenty high hopes in my breast! and what were these? To assist in obtaining freedom for my fatherland! to aid in the accomplishment of noble deeds! In what dreams does youth indulge! More than these, there was a far-off loved one. Who does not love at this period? A sister! parents! and now a prison! Perhaps early to-morrow I should kneel on the sand-hill, a defenseless victim, awaiting the bullet decreed by the will of a foreign power as my sentence, for the crime of loving my native land. Now came a

How shall I describe those tones, which, while in the space of a few hours, I saw chains, death, the galleys before my eyes, suddenly raised me from the depths of despair to the hopes of freedom and deliverance, and which, as I deem their occurrence the most remarkable event of my life, have left the deepest impression behind? The dread stillness of night prevailed, and a light breeze, which blew in the direction of my grated window, wafted toward me the wonderful sounds. Clear as a bell, rising gradually, like the tone of a manly voice, longing and lamenting like the prayers and sorrows of love, gently confiding, like the modest, timid bride, so fell these sounds on the grief-awakened spirit. The performer, as it seemed, indulged in a free phantasy on his instrument; sometimes interrupting the longsustained tones by his light fantastic passages; now strangely powerful, now artistically graceful, but always pure as a string of unblemished pearls. After having wandered long in this fine, free rhapsody, he suddenly fell, by a strange, but beautiful transition, into a melody of wonderful pathos. Never can I forget the inexpressible feeling with which he gave effect to that sweet, but mournful melody. A fullness, a golden clearness of tone, a blending, a rising and falling, and then the dying cadence. It was the noble, sorrowful lament of a captive monarch. There was encouragement in the thought, as it flashed upon my mind, that better men than I had often been surrounded by worse evils, and I experienced, while lying on my dismal couch, a degree of hope and consolation, which no anticipation of the future could have given me. The beautiful theme was followed by variations. Not the old, thousand times repeated play of wasted trills and quavers, but such strange, peculiar passages, such wonderful combinations of notes, in which the

I saw several bands of desperate robbers, who had been rooted out of Lombardy, and confined here, under the energetic sway of the French government.

theme, notwithstanding the garb in which | horror-struck.
it was veiled, always preserved its dis-
tinctness and individuality so completely,
that I knew not which to admire most,
the performer or the composer. Now he
seemed as if suddenly possessed by some
strange spirit; the passages rolled forth
with such fire and facility that I began to
doubt the correctness of my ear. From
the lowest deep the player sprang to the
loftiest height, and there displayed the
magical flute-tones of his instrument, in-
terrupting them immediately after with
the rolling passages of the full bass, and
thus scorning all difficulties, he performed
incredible achievements. You will disbe-
lieve, and say that to the hopeless prison-
er's melancholy mood, at the hour of
night, the common assumed the impor-
tance of the supernatural. No, my friend,
I have myself played the violin, (though I
shall certainly never do so again,) and I
was quite capable of judging of what
I heard. An adagio, under such cir-
cumstances might well have made a
deeper impression than usual upon me,
but it is incredible that these wild, des-
pairing passages, these grotesque, bold
flights from the lowest to the highest
notes, and back again, should have had
such an effect on one who, like me, be-
lieved himself standing at death's door,
had they not been so surpassingly beau-
tiful. The strains ceased-but in memo-
ry's ear they are ringing yet; yes, my de-
sire to hear them again was even greater
than my wish to regain my liberty.

Day broke. We heard the beat of a drum. I climbed up to my grated window. A company of soldiers was marched out in the court-yard; three prisoners stood before them. The officer motioned, and they marched away. The fate of

[ocr errors]

these men excited in me the most sorrow-
ful interest. The jailer presently opened
my door.
I inquired of him respecting
them. "In one hour," said he, they
are no more; they are suspected of trea-
son; Germans and Tyrolese, they are be-
lieved to have aided the rebels.' These
words were my death-doom. I heard
them with a shudder, though I maintained
my composure. "It is now the hour
when the prisoners are allowed to take
the air in the court-yard," said the jailer,
"will you go down?" We went. I was

Leaning against one of the pillars of the wall, his eye directed toward the sun, which had not yet ascended above the high roof, stood a young man, apparently about twenty-five, who looked the very picture of wretchedness. He was pale and haggard; his eyes were deep sunk in his head; a prominent aquiline nose, a high forehead, raven hair in wild disorder, and a long neglected beard, gave him a ghastly aspect. Yet the expression of deep sorrow, depicted so visibly in the fine, though sharp lines about his soft mouth and hollow, emaciated cheeks, imparted a singular interest to his countenance. I gazed long at this strange, attractive man; he seemed not to observe me, but still kept looking upward, as if he were longing for the sun. Suddenly observing the jailer, he rose, and advanced hastily towards him. "I beg of you earnestly, old man," said he, in Italian, "to be more lenient." "Not at all," replied the old man harshly-"'tis no use. And if you do not keep quiet at nights, I will tear your last string in two." So he is the performer, thought I, and advanced toward him. Suddenly I heard my name pronounced behind me. It was the gendarme of yesterday. "Suivez moi," said he firmly. There was nothing left for me but to obey. Before the door a coach was standing, in which we seated ourselves, and soon arrived in front of a splendid house. My companion was as silent as the grave. We quitted the carriage and ascended the steps. We waited a long time in an elegant ante-room. At last the door of a side apartment was opened, and a voice exclaimed, "Entrez !" What a pleasant surprise! I was standing before General K., who four years before lay severely wounded at my father's house in Berlin, where, though an enemy, he had experi enced the most generous treatment. "My young friend," said he, "what a folly you have committed! Were it not that I happen to command this station, you would not be liberated.

my
friends ?"
sand thanks."

You are free!" "And "Are free also." "A thou“Hush, hush, I am still

« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »