A student's views abroad

Front matter

4 o

'^0'

V

Chapter I

The voyage. — Landing at Rotterdam. — Trip on a Dutch canal. — Historical scenes at Delft and Ryswick. . 13

CHAPTER 11.

The Hague. — Famous scenes in Holland's history. — Leyden and its University. — Amsterdam. — Zaandam. — Peter the Great as ship carpenter. . . . -25

Chapter X

Genoa and the Birthplace of Christopher Columbus. — Turin and Lake Como. — Back in Austria. — Trieste and its Environs. . . . . . . . 179

CHAPTER XL

A tramp of three hundred miles in the Austrian mountains. — The Adelsberg Caves . — Gratz . — Over the SemmeringPass. — Vienna. ..... 195

CONTENTS. IX

Chapter XV

Along the Finland Coast. — The Sights of St. Petersburg. — The Great Churches. — The Fortress of Saints Peter and Paul. — Tyranny of the Czar. . .^ . 265

CHAPTER XVIL

Visit to Copenhagen. — "The Platform of the Castle of Elsinore . " — Lubeck . — Hamburg. — Bremen. — Tramp in the Teutoburgian Hills. . . . . 275

CHAPTER XVIII.

Hanover. — Brunswick. — Tramp over the Brocken . — Lost

in the Woods. — Goettingen. — Cassel. . . 288

X CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XIX.

Weimar and its Famous Men.— Jena University. — Over the Thuringian Mountains. — Coburg, Bamberg and Nuremberg. — Back once more at Stuttgart. . . 302

CHAPTER XX.

Farewell to Stuttgart. — Weinsberg's Women. — Heidelberg and Frankfort. — Down the Rhine Again. — Aix-la-

Chapelle. — Inauguration of the Great Cologne Cathedral ^ . . .318

CHAPTER XXI.

From Cologne up the Rhine. — Spires. — Sesenheim. — Strassburg. — Basel. — Constance. — Spending the winter at Geneva. ; . . . . . . .331

CHAPTER XXII.

I leave Geneva. — Embark at Marseilles for Egypt. — Land at Alexandria and go to Cairo. — Pyramids and the Desert. ........ 350

CHAPTER XXIII.

Voyage from Egypt to Palestine. — The Suez Canal.— Landing at Joppa. — Jerusalem and Bethlehem. — The Holy Fire 381

CONTENTS. XI

CHAPTER XXIV.

MoonKght ride from Jerusalem to the Sea. — Along the Coast of Asia. — Site of Ancient Troy. — Constantinople. — Athens. — Back in France 39S

CHAPTER XXV.

In France Again. — Paris. — Across the Channel. — London . — Stratford. — Ayr. — Glasgow. — Edinburgh. — Abbotsford. — Liverpool. — Ireland. — Voyage Home. . 410

Chapter I

THE VOYAGE. LANDING AT ROTTERDAM. TRIP ON A DUTCH

CANAL. HISTORICAL SCENES AT DELFT AND RYSWICK.

A trip to Europe is the dream of every American student. If he has an especial fondness for history, biography and poetry the longing to visit the Old World is intensified. He can imagine no greater pleasure than to spend a quiet afternoon in dreamy reverie in the Poet's Corner in Westminister Abbey, or a week of study among the art treasures of the Louvre or the Vatican, or to wander among the colossal ruins on the banks of the Nile, or to stand on the Acropolis at Athens and gaze on the scenes which were once familiar to the philosophers and statesmen whose power over mankind has not yet waned.

In 1879, when not yet nineteen years of age I graduated from an Ohio college. In my school days I had dipped into general literature with a keener relish than I did into my text books and like many others I dreamed more of foreign travel than I did of choosing a profession and settling down to make my fortune. I could not reconcile myself to adopt any of the courses prescribed for law, theology or medicine. I preferred journalism but longed for greater opportunities for study and travel before entering on that profession.

In the summer after leaving college for the last time I began reading law with my father, in my native city, but was unable to settle down fairly to the work. I devoted more time to the perusal of the books in the city library than I did to the study of law. I continued to think of a trip to Europe for the purpose of a study of the German language but my plans remained as mazy as a dream.

In the course of the summer I reread Bayard Taylor's "Views Afoot" and my admiration for the pluck and en~ thusiasm of that famous traveler led me first to mature a definite plan of a trip to the Old World. After some elaborate figuring and considerable correspondence with various parties I came to the conclusion that I could go to Europe, spend eight or nine months studying German and see something of the Old World for three or four hundred dollars From various sources I got together sufficient funds, and accordingly set to work to prepare for the trip. I had made up my mind to choose journalism as a profession and expected that the knowledge of the German language and an acquaintance with the habits and ideas of the Old World would be a valuable preparatory to such a career.

I secured a passport from Washington to use in case of emergency and also a circular letter of introduction from the Secretary of State to the United States ministers and consuls. My subsequent travels largely exceeded my plans. I saw many more countries and spent more time abroad than I had ventured to think possible. Yet my experience has been that the very best thing any traveler can have is enthusiasm for literature and art. The wealthiest of tourists are generally the most complaining because their pleasure consists only in the luxuries of life and every little detail is therefore a source of annoyance to them. A man, who has an enthusiasm for the heroes of history, feels so much delight in viewing the classic scenes which they once made famous, that he does not brood over the petty annoyances incident to eating and drinking.

A man with enthusiasm for an idea in his breast will cheerfully brave the terrors of the frozen north and the horrors of the fever stricken south to attain his aim. He will hold as nothing the hardships by the way and will rather rejoice in overcoming them and feel renewed pleasure in every victory over unpropitious circumstances. The student who wishes to rough it in Europe should have in some degree a touch of the same enthusiasm. This delight in viewing the historic haunts of the "great of old" must be sufficient to make him forget the roughness of his fare and the hardness of his bed He must have sufficient interest in literature and art to make him indifferent to the unpleasant companions which are often thrust upon him.

"Press on ! for it is godlike to unloose

The spirit and forget yourself in thought ; ,

Bending a pinion for the deeper ssy,

And, in the very fetters of your flesh,

Mating with the pure essences of heaven."

— Willis.

After a preliminary ride through the beautiful country along the Pennsylvania railroad, I embarked at New York on the "Schiedam," of the Netherlands-American Steamship line, shortly after the interesting hour of noon, on Saturday August 30th, 1879. About three o'clock the engine whistled several warning shrieks, which sent the visitors hurriedly ashore ; the officer on the bridge growled a command, the cables were loosened and we were off.

The piers, the ships, the forts hurried past us. We dipped our flag in honor of the guardians of the Nation's peace, and then we were out in the open sea. I felt very little of the Byronic enthusiasm as I watched "my native shore fade o'er the waters blue." I could not forget the humble adage, "never shout until you are out of the woods," and I had too many misgivings about sea sickness on the morrow to indulge in premature sentimentality.

I climbed into my berth that night with the firm conviction that I would spend the next day leaning over the rail gazing steadfastly into the fathomless deep. I opened my eyes in the morning with considerable trepidation but was surprised to find the vessel moving on with a soothing motion which continued several days. As the time went by I gained confidence in my digesting apparatus, and when the waves did run high, I felt none of that "strong emotion" which many of my fellow travelers experienced.

Of course the first thing the ocean passenger does is to get acquainted with his vessel. Ours proved rather a slow one. It never made more than eleven miles an hour,and usually nine was the rate. It was baptised "Schiedam" in honor of the town near Rotterdam which is known far and wide on account of its 300 distilleries. One would think that it had rather a tipsy godfather.

Next after the vessel, one's fellow passengers claim his attention . We had a pretty fair representation of nationalities, but the German element predominated. Of course there were some queer characters on board, which afforded us plenty of amusement. I mention but one. He was a German and a humpback with a roguish face. He had been one year in America in the milk business but his English was limited. He seemed to have been successful for he had a well-filled purse, on which he freely drew for the purchase of schnapps and red wine. He said he was going to the Rhine to get himself a wife. " American gal all false — all hoombug ; Doitch gal — rede cheeks — big — ah ! fine. Doitch gall all work."

For the first week out from New York we had no difficulty in amusing ourselves, but, after that, time seemed to drag along. We had cold and cloudy weather for ten days, which compelled us to remain below deck. At last on the afterncion of our thirteenth day from New York the sun shown out brightly from among the clouds and we were gladdened by seeing the Scilly Islands and the southwest coast of England. From that time on we had land constantly in sight. On Sunday, September 14th, we anchored on the Holland coast. As soon as the tide came in we proceeded up the Maas, past quaint villages and innumerable windmills, and at three in the afternoon, just fifteen days after leaving New York, we reached Rotterdam.

It was with the most agreeable feeling that I first set foot on the continent, which has been the home of the great of the ages. The scenes which had inspired the pencil of the artists and the pen of the authors whose names are household words were now before me.

In every direction strange sights met my glance. Here was a quaint looking house ; there a peasant in the oddest of costumes. I spent the evening in the streets watching the movements of the people, and the appearance of the canals, the boats and the houses. It was Sunday evening and the streets were filled with people in their holiday dress. The windows of most of the stores were brilliantly lighted and every one seemed in the best of spirits. At nearly every block I met squads of young men walking arm in arm singing popular songs at the top of their voices. Men in soldiers' uniforms were very numerous, and with the gayly dressed girls made a pleasmg spectacle.

The next morning all signs of this jollity had disappeared Every one now seemed busy. But in their work they presented a still stranger appearance. Horses are very scarce in Rotterdam. What in America is considered sufficient load for a horse is there drawn by a man. Under most of the hugh handcarts are one or two dogs, hitched to the axle tuggmg away to help the man. Then there are carts pulled exclusively by dogs. Indeed it is no fun to be a dog in Holland. There they earn their tax.

I had always thought that the wearing of earrings was a relic of barbarism, but after being in Holland one thinks our ladic^ are very mild offenders on that score. In Rotterdam many wear immense metal ornaments projecting from the sides of the head like horns. But they have a more common and more pleasing custom than this. Every one from the humblest kitchen girl wears the neatest and whitest little caps ever seen. This combined with the splendid complexions which are almost equally universal, make the feminine element a valuable addition to the city in an aesthetic view.

At the hotel in which I lodged everything was strange. The kitchen had a floor and walls of tile and the brightly polished brass utensils which hung about the room were proof of Dutch cleanliness and thrift. The little room which was assigned to me contained a bed concealed in the drapery of snow white curtains.

In Holland there is a custom, which I think is exclusively Dutch, of having small mirrors just outside the windows, incHned at such an angle as to reflect the image of those on the pavement so that it can be seen by the inmates of the room without being seen themselves . This practice is almost universal but seems very strange to an American.

Rotterdam has about 150,000 inhabitants and boasts of a cathedral, two fine bridges over the river Maas and an extensive shipping. It was the birthplace of the famous ICrasmus, to whom the city has erected a statue in the market place. The house in which he was born is occupied now by a produce and fruit store.

After, having spent three days in the narrow streets of Rotterdam, I thought that it was about time to move. Accordingly I embarked on a little steamer on the canal for Delft, which is ten miles from Rotterdam . There were but two other passengers in the tiny cabin. One was a smooth faced conservative gentleman dressed in broadcloth. His coat was buttoned to his chin, and he still wore the old fashioned knee pantaloons which terminated in black stockings and these in still blacker shoes. A black silk hat crowned this midnight costume. "Well, my friend," thought I,

"You were born about two hundred years too late." The other passenger was a young man in a styHsh suit. After we had gone a short distance the latter addressed me in Dutch. I turned loose my stock of words in that horrible language and told him I did not understand .

" Sprechen Sie Deutsch ?"

I shook my head sadly .

" Parlez-vous Francais ?"

I shook my head again.

" Do you speak English ?"

I quickly told him that I did, and "the polyglot " talked to me in my mother tongue . He was a specimen of the many that I found in Holland who could speak three or four languages. A student of the Leyden university afterwards told me that the Hollander never found anyone else who could speak his language, and so was compelled to learn other languages if he wished to have any communication with the rest of the world.

But as I soon found my newly made acquaintance had nothing to say in particular, I left him and went on deck. The canal was thickly dotted with boats of all sizes and descriptions . But here also was the same scarcity of horses that I noticed in Rotterdam. Most of the boats were pulled by men. Let me place it to the credit of the nation however that I saw none pulled by women. Here and there we passed one with a couple of dogs tugging at the rope. Then we would meet two large boats both pulled by one unfortunate horse.

The surface of the canal on which we were riding, like that of the majority of Holland's canals, lay above the surrounding country, so that our view was unobstructed. The land was in pasture and was covered with the greenest of grass. Not a fence was to be seen, but small canals or trenches filled with water formed an admirable substitute. Windmills were plentifully distributed over the country and their revolving arms gave a look of animation to the landscape. Lines of tall and slender trees relieved the monotony of the level plain and formed a background for the living picture.

As we drew near to Delft the houses along the canal became more numerous, and through the open doors I could see the women working at the eternal scrubbing and washing for which the Dutch are so noted. A sagacious old Holland gentleman whom I met on the steamer assured me that as gold is the god of the Americans, so water is the god of the Dutch. All that I saw made me willing to believe the latter half of his statement. I am not certain but that one may be uncomfortable clean as well as uncomfortably dirty.

However this may be, my meditations were cut short by our arrival at Delft. I gathered up my traps and walked up a street with the inevitable canal in the middle until I reached the Prinsenhof or Palace. By a move of the hand I made one of the soldiers, whom I found at the gateway, understand that I wished to enter. Accordingly he led me across an open court and through a door on the opposite side to the foot of the stairway. In the wall to the right are three small holes in the stone and immediately above them is an inscription recording the fact that here on the loth of July, 1584, William the Silent, Prince of

Orange, and defender of Dutch liberty, was assassinated by a wretch animated by the hope of being rewarded with the gold of the blood thirsty Philip of Spain. To see these bullet marks and this staircase was the principal object of my visit to Delft . I paid that tribute to the interest Motley's narrative awakened in the character of the Dutch Washington.

After having spent sufficient time in imagining the details of the tragedy, 1 crossed the street to the "Old Church," and visited the monuments of the Admirals Van Tromp and and Piet Hein. Then I went to the "New Church," which is however no newer than the middle of the fifteenth century and saw the magnificent monument to William the Silent which was erected in 1621. The effigy of the prince in marble lies on a black marble sarcophagus beneath a canopy, supported by four clustered pillars and six isolated columns, all likewise of marble. In the niches of the pillars stand four allegorical figures, Liberty, Justice, Prudence and Religion. I confess I had been so en wrapt in the present that I had not realized that they were able to conceive of so beautiful a thing as early as 1621. But then I suppose that can be pardoned in an American.

I looked at the simple tablet to the memory of the scholar Hugh Grotius, who was born at Delft, and then went across the market place to the Town House, and was conducted to a neatly furnished hall, in which the honest burghers have met for over two centuries and a half. In the middle of the room is a large table which is surrounded by chairs, while before each is placed writing materials. The chairs are as angular as any Dutchman could wish. On the walls are hung the paintings I wished to see . They are principally portraits of the Orange family. Their history can be plainly traced in their physiognomies. The faces of the powerful princes, William the Silent, Maurice and William the Third are singularly strong and form a marked contrast to those of the two last princes.

I next turned my steps northward along the road to Ryswick and soon left the city of Delft behind. The road runs along the bank of a canal and is paved all the way . On both sides trees are planted at regular intervals, and between the road and the canal is a neat gravel walk lined with grass. The sod is so well kept that I was almost afraid to step on it, though it was in the open country.

I walked along slowly, watching the quaint craft on the canal, the little dog carts Qn the road and the dusky windmills in the fields beyond. But at last, the road led over a bridge across the canal and I soon reached the village of Ryswick, four miles from Delft.

It was here that the peace of 1697 was concluded between France and the allied powers headed by William III. of England . The house is not now standing but its site is oc^ cupied by an obelisk erected at the close of the last century. This peace has a place in American history, for the results of a few paltry scratches of a pen here were felt in the wilderness thousands of miles away. Then King William's war was ended and the Indian allies of the French ceased butchering the English colonists of New York and New England.

I had some difficulty in finding the obelisk. I walked in every direction but could see nothing of it. I asked a mail carrier whom I met but he did not understand, as I unfortunately did not know the Dutch word for obelisk. I was about to give up in despair, when I found it in a park almost concealed by the trees . It is very tall but very plain looking.

I then retraced my steps through the village to the church yard where I visited the tomb of Holland's favorite poet Tollens. He sleeps in a quiet nook behind the church among the less famous dead.

Dutch villages are models of neatness . In America the little towns are the most forlorn and unpicturesque places imaginable and generally combine all the bad qualities of both town and country. But in the Holland villages, the streets, the pavements, the houses and shops are as neat and bright looking and much cleaner than in the cities.

From Ryswick, I returned to the main road and walked a mile farther between two rows of majestic trees, reaching the Hague with its broad streets and handsome buildings long before the evening shadows appeared on the green fields of Holland.

Chapter II

THE HAGUE. FAMOUS SCENES IN HOLLAND^S HISTORY.—

LEYDEN AND ITS UNIVERSITY.— AMSTERDAM, ZAAN-

DAM. PETER THE GREAT AS SHIP CARPENTER,

I had been foot-sore from my rambles in Rotterdam and by the time I reached the Hague I barely had energy enough to mo\'e. But as the traveler must disregard weariness, I mustered up all my enthusiasm for the historical sights before me. Having found a hotel with a French as well as a Dutch sign, I went in and waylaid the first official I met . I recited to him the only sentence of any considerable length that I knew in his language, and expected an answer in the affirmative or negative. But as it is not in the nature of things for a public official to be so brief, he launched out in a long harangue in which I was swamped at the first word. I explained the difficulty and he called in the servant who did the English for the establishment. How impatient the traveler is of these English grinders when he first comes in contact with them ! But let him be forced to do his talkmg in gestures and monosyllables for a week and he is quite glad to meet even these few worded gentlemen. They are not in the least embarrassed, however by the limitedness of their language. When they find you are an American they excuse their ignorance by serenely and contemptiously remarking that they do not understand American English.

I would very willingly have rested after the day's adventures but I had a call to make. Among the passengers on the "Schiedam," was an elderly gentleman from New York who was going to visit his brother at the Hague. Hearing of my plans he gave me his address and requested me to call on him and said he would show me some of the sights of the metropolis. All the time during the voyage he indulged in eulogies of Holland, notwithstanding my repeated assurance that my opinion of the Dutch people was very high.

Well, I had some desire to see the interior of a Holland home, and so 1 gathered together the remnants of my bodily strength the same evening I arrived at the Hague and started out to hunt up the address. I found the name and number attached to a magnificent house which faced on an open square with rows of tall trees and with the National Monument in the center. I rang the bell and was ushered into a marble-floored hall adorned with two statues where I waited while the white-capped servant carried my card to Mynheer H. He quickly appeared and drew me into an elegantly furnished room which was filled with those beautiful trifles which luxury only can conceive and which wealth only can buy. After some brief inquiries about my experience since we had parted in Rotterdam he concluded to begin the sightseeing at once by showing me the house and grounds. So taking his hat and pipe he led me through half a dozen different rooms which rivaled the first one in elegance, out into the garden. We walked slowly along the curved paths under green trees and shrubbery and past the flowers, and the statues, the fountain and the well-kept grass. He showed me the fancy fowls and then we went into the stables, where everything was scrupulously clean. Here I saw the fine looking horse which he assured me cost a thousand guilders. Then he showed me the carriages and the driver's livery. But at every turn he asked me ;

" Is that fine or not ,^"

I drew pretty largely on the list of synonyms for the beautiful and then passed again through the elegant rooms out into the street. We went along the finely paved avenues and looked at the magnificent houses with their lawns adorned with fountains, statues and flowers.

" Is that fine or not ?"

He triumphantly asked in his broken English. I assured him it was gorgeous. But on he went through streets, parks and squares, mto public buildings, and over bridges, now stumbling in dark passages and then emerging into brilliantly lighted and thickly crowded thoroughfares. Every few minutes he would stop and out came that inevitable :

"Is that fine, or not ?"

I ransacked the out-of-the-way corners of my brain for words expressive of incomparable excellence. Yet they were but fuel for the flames,

« Is that fine, or not ?"

That was the greeting for every strange sight. He had heard some Americans, in America, ridiculing Holland, and I was to be sacrificed to satiate his wrath .

" Is that fine, or not ?"

I verily thought I could go no farther, but on and on he dragged me. Trees and houses and street lamps went hy in a confused stream.

"Is that fine^ or not ?"

The query came out as strong as ever, but my answers were reduced to faint monosyllables. At last we were out of the city. We passed through the dark shadows of a large grove and halted in a dense crowd. Within a broad enclosure before us hundreds of people were sitting at small tables drinking and joyously conversing. Upon an elevated platform amid brightly glearning lamps there were several dozen musicians. We had been there but a short time when they began to play, and even my unmusical soul might have shared the raptures of the multitude, but at that time I would have been indifferent to old Orpheus himself. I stood there in misery while several pieces were performed with interludes of the old query :

" Is that fine, or not ?"

At last the worthy Mynheer was satisfied and we turned our faces toward the city, I wanted to rest a few minutes on one of the seats by the way-side, but he was afraid I would take cold.

" Is that fine, or not ?"

The interrogatory still came every few paces, but as even misery has an end we finally reached my hotel and I bade my persecuter a feeble good-night. The next day he was suddenly called away to Utrecht and. I was left to finish my sight seeing alone.

Although the Hague is chiefly a modern built city, it has several places of great historical interest. By the side of the fish pond in the center of the cit}^ rises a number of buildings, called the Binnenhof, surrounding an open court which is entered by several gates. Many of these buildings are very old, and the square which they inclose has been the scene of some great events in Holland history. It was here on the 24th of May, 1619, that the aged Grand Pensionary, John Van Oldenbarneveld, was executed through the influence of Prince Maurice, of Orange. The former was a distinguished representative of the Democratic element, while the latter was one of the greatest generals of the past. But the philosopher tells us that "every excess causes a defect ; every defect, an excess. Every sweet hath its sour ; every evil its good." The Prince was a great general, but the curse came with the blessing of power. He was impatient of opposition and perpetrated this judicial murder which will cast a cloud on his name forever. Instances, like this, of the clashing of two heroes are always painful, especially to the young. It produces the same uncomfortable feeling as hearing one friend express unlimited contempt for the opinion which we know to be defended by another who is equally dear to us. We like to think of characters as having decided shades either of good or of evil and any opposition of one admired hero to another seems unnatural.