Part 16 (1/2)

The clergy present at this convocation were from various parts of France and all the Swiss cantons, and I never saw a finer set of men in any clerical a.s.sembly. Pastor Malan is exceedingly venerable in his appearance. He is about sixty-eight years of age, his hair gray, and worn long in the neck, with a good deal of curl to it. His gait is quick, and he has much the manner of the venerable Dr. Beecher. This patriarch of Geneva is very cheerful, knows every one, and has a word for every one. He told me that he loved Americans, but that they had spoiled his habitation by stealing two of his daughters, who, he explained to me, were married to excellent clergymen in the United States.

We met with great kindness in this city from Mr. Delorme, a gentleman who once resided in New York. He invited us to accompany his family on an excursion to the summit of the Saleve, a mountain in Savoy, which is three thousand one hundred and fifty feet above the lake. We went in two carriages, and stopped at a village on the mountain side, where we had cakes, coffee, and wine. Here, in a sweet little arbor, surrounded with roses, we gazed at Mont Blanc, and on a near summit could very clearly trace the profile of Napoleon. He looks ”like a warrior taking his sleep.” The illusion surpa.s.ses in accuracy of expression any thing that I know of that is similar; there are chin, nose, eye, and the old c.o.c.ked hat, while the eternal vapor over the summit of the peak forms the feather.

We looked down in a ravine and saw the Aar with its icy stream. The carriages went round to meet the party, and the ascent was made. The mountain seems to hang over Geneva, though several miles off. We were greatly pleased with a few good houses, in fine positions; but Savoy is not Switzerland. Here Popery is rampant and pauperism evident. Beggars beset our carriages, and the people looked squalid.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Swiss Cottage.]

I forgot to tell you how much we were pleased with the cottages in Switzerland; they are quite cheerful looking,--some very fine affairs,--but many are not very unlike our western log-houses.

We returned to Geneva at about ten, and found at our friend's house a most sumptuous repast provided for our entertainment. I never sat down at a more elegant supper table. Every luxury seemed placed before us, including the richest wines of the Rhine.

The Roman salad, a peculiar kind of lettuce, which we saw in France, and here again, seemed to us all as quite different from our ordinary kinds; and I have at Genera obtained four or five varieties of the seed for home cultivation.

While at this city we procured some good specimens of wooden ware, Swiss cottages, &c., and the boys bought watches, jewelry, &c., for presents.

We were all delighted with a little island in the centre of a bridge which goes across the lake; it was a favorite retreat of Rousseau, and there is a statue to his memory.

Calvin's residence is still to be seen, No. 116 Rue des Chanoins. We saw the place where Servetus was burnt. The place and prospect were too beautiful for such a foul desecration. But Calvin's virtues were his own, and the faults he fell into belonged to the influence of the age.

It was much so with those greatest and best of men, the New England Pilgrim Fathers. I know they had faults, but they were only spots upon the polished mirror. G.o.d reared them up, a rare race of men, for a rare purpose; and I do not like to hear them abused because they were not perfect. If Laud had come to Plymouth Rock instead of Brewster, Bonner instead of Carver, what kind of a community would have been established and handed down?

In Geneva, too, we had the pleasure to meet a valued friend, Mr. B., from Providence, who has been travelling extensively, and gathering up the treasures of other cities to enrich the one of his birth.

To-morrow we are off for Paris, and go by diligence to Dijon; thence by railroad.

Yours affectionately,

J.O.C.

Letter 47.

PARIS.

DEAR CHARLEY:--

We started from Geneva in the diligence for Dijon, a long drag of one hundred and twenty miles. The weather was oppressively hot, and certainly the roads could not well be more dusty. We had two very gentlemanly companions, Swiss, who were going to London to visit the exhibition. We entered France about four miles on our way, and came to Ferney, where Voltaire so long resided. We pa.s.sed Gex, and ascended the Jura; then to La Vattay. The view from the mountain of the lake and Mont Blanc, together with the Alpine range, is never to be forgotten by one who has the good fortune to see it. I feel that I am acquiring new emotions and gathering up new sources of thought in this journey, and that I cannot be a trifler and waster away of life in such a world as that I live in. I find in every place so much to read about, and study over, and think upon, that I now feel as if life itself would not be long enough to do all I should like to effect. One thing is certain, Charley; I cannot be indolent without feeling that, with the motives and stimulus of this tour pressing upon me, I shall be very guilty.

The scenery of this journey has set me thinking; and so I have written rather sentimentally, but truly.

At St. Laurent we came to the French custom-house, and a pretty thorough overhauling they made. I believe the fellows hooked some of our engravings, which they carried out of the room.

Still up, till we reached Morez, the Jura's greatest elevation. The last half was travelled in the night; so I cannot give you the line of march.

We got to Dijon about eight in the morning, and only had time to get a hasty breakfast at the railroad station; but we had quite a look at the city before entering the cars for Paris.

Dijon is the capital town of the old Burgundy, and is a fine old place, with nearly thirty thousand inhabitants. Here is a great show of churches, and they seem built for all ages. The Cathedral is a n.o.ble-looking edifice. We had no time to see the old ducal palace, which has so many historical events connected with it. We saw some beautiful promenades, but only glanced at them. Bossuet was born here, and St.

Bernard only a mile outside the walls, in a castle yet standing.

The new railroad had just been opened to Paris, and is one hundred and ninety-six miles and a half of most capital track. We went through Verrey, Montbard, Nuits, Tonnerre, La Roche, Joigny, Sens, Montereau, Fontainebleau, Melun, to Paris. Montbard gave birth to Buffon, the naturalist. Nuits is famous for the vintage of its own name, Romanee, and other choice wines of Burgundy. Near Tonnerre is the chateau of Coligny d'Audelot, brother to the admiral ma.s.sacred on St. Bartholomew's night. Sens is famous for its Cathedral, which is apparently very splendid; and here are the vestments of Thomas a Becket, and the very altar at which he knelt, all of which I wanted to see. Fontainebleau is beautifully placed in the midst of a forest. Here is a palace, and at this place Napoleon bade farewell to the Old Guard, in 1814. This place is celebrated for its grapes, raised in the vicinity. Melun was known in Caesar's time, and in 1520 was taken by Henry V., of England, and held ten years. We reached Paris on the evening of Sat.u.r.day, and again occupied our old quarters at the Hotel Windsor. I went off to my favorite bathing-house at the Seine, and felt wondrously refreshed after the heat and dust of more than three hundred miles and two days'

journeying.