The Youthful Wanderer Part 6

(1272-1688). When armory had reached its height, just before the introduction of gunpowder, the suits of armor were so heavy and covered the bodies of the soldiers and horses so completely, that a knight in full armor looked much like a turtle sitting upon an armadillo. I saw a suit of armor that weighs 112 pounds, and a spear 18 feet in length. In those days physical strength carried almost everything, while intelligence frequently counted nothing. Looking at those mailed figures makes one almost feel ashamed of his ancestry. Besides one of the blocks upor which were beheaded both the innocent and the guilty in former times, there are also on exhibition the Collar of Torture, 14 pounds in weight, the Thumb-screw, the Stocks, &c., a collection of instruments of torture well calculated to restore in the mind of the beholder, a vivid picture of the dark and wretched past, when man's greatest and most dangerous enemy was his brother. It seemed then to be the best policy of kings, queens, and of all n.o.blemen, to get rid of brothers and sisters at the earliest convenience!

On our way to Beauchamp Tower, the Prison of Anne Boleyn and Lady Jane Grey, we pa.s.sed Tower Green, where Anne Boleyn, Lady Jane Grey and Catherine Howard, three queens, were beheaded.

This is the place where King Henry VIII. had several of his six wives dispatched, which he could not well have got rid of, by divorce.

I had intended to touch in these remarks a number of other points about London, and especially the almost boundless resources of England's welthy Lords, but I can only present a single example, and must then hurry on with my account to Continental Europe. The wealthiest n.o.bleman whose home and dwelling-place I pa.s.sed, is the Duke of Maclew (a Scotchman) whose annual income is estimated at 350,000 or about $1,700,000. He lives at White Hall, near Westminster Bridge.

Chapter VII.

London to Paris.

On Wednesday, July 21st, the eight day of my stay in London, I went to Charing Cross Station and procured a ticket for Paris. Before leaving however, I exchanged my English currency for French money. The rate of Exchange is 25 francs for one sovereign. The exchange clerk explained to me the relative values of the French coins which I found to be much easier to understand than English money.

The table runs thus: 100 centimes equal one franc; and 20 francs, one napoleon. The coins are: napoleons, (20), 10 franc and 5 franc pieces in gold; francs and half-franc coins in silver; and 10 centime, 5 centime, (the sou), and 1 centime copper and nickle coins, though the centime is not in general circulation now, being equal to but one fifth of a cent in our money. It was a great consolation to me to know that I would understand the French money perfectly, especially as I expected not to be able to speak with anybody in Paris, except, now and then, with a stray German or Englishman. Soon after entering the train at Charing Cross I met a Frenchman (Prof. P. Simond who could speak English fluently, having occupied his time in England in teaching French, and was on his way to Paris to spend his vacation there. He offered at once, very kindly, to a.s.sist me in Paris, and I felt from that moment that I should be ten-fold luckier in making my entry into Paris than I had thus far had reason to expect. The train left London at 6:35 p.m., and was to make connection with a steamer for Calais, (p.r.o.n. K[)a]l'[)i]), thence by rail to Paris, reaching the latter place the next afternoon. The "through ticket" 3rd Cla.s.s, from London to Paris, cost 21 s.h.i.+llings. Distance 262 miles.

Soon after leaving London, I discovered that I was surrounded by the family of an English merchant, who, having retired from business, had taken his wife and daughters to make a trip to the Continent, with a view to see France and Germany. The mother expressed great delight on learning that I was an American, remarking that "Americans are not so _stiff_ in their intercourse." It was lot long before I felt that I was in a fair position to spend the _day and night en route from London to Paris_ pleasantly, even if we were to be confined to the cars and the boat with the exception of a few hours.

We crossed the Strait of Dover at about midnight, though not _unawares_!

As I had no fears of getting sea-sick upon the Strait of Dover, I took my seat on the deck in confidence of a pleasant voyage. Mrs. L. soon asked me whether I did not expect to get sick, stating that she was in great fear of it. I replied that I hoped our pa.s.sage was too short for getting sick, as the waves were not apt to rise very high in such a narrow strait. But I was mistaken; the sick were soon moaning in every direction. My gay companions all disappeared except the old gentleman and his younger daughter. A large steams.h.i.+p of 3,000 tons burden would probably show more dignity, but the little steamer upon which we had taken pa.s.sage, was as fiercely knocked about by the waves, and made fully as much ado about it, as the old "Manhattan" ever did in the middle of the Atlantic. The young lady was keeping close to her father and had already ceased to laugh, when I asked him the last time about their health. _He_ was well, but the young lady was also becoming dizzy from the rocking, and turning pale at the terrors of the sea. I hastened to the cabin below and sought relief in lying down. Being both weary and giddy I soon fell into a sleep, from which I did not wake until we reached Calais.

The train for Paris was not to leave until the next morning, so I tried to find rest and sleep in the Waiting Room, but without success. By and by a gentleman came round and offered to conduct us to lodging places. I followed him into the city, through strange streets into a strange house, and was shown to retire in a strange room. Everything seemed in its place, however, so that I had no occasion for feeling uneasy. The next morning I rose at break of day and took a long walk through the city of Calais, to look about and see as much, as possible before I had to leave. This was my first walk on the Continent of Europe.

I looked about where I might get breakfast, but as most of the business houses were not yet open, I stood a poor chance. Into the saloons I would not go, as I could not have asked for what I wanted on account of my inability to speak French; my only hope, therefore, was to find a shop or store that displayed in the window what I wanted, so that I could make my purchase by gestures. I had provided myself with a Conversational Guide Book, in London, containing the French, Italian and German equivalents of English words and phrases, most necessary to the tourist; but the French p.r.o.nunciation is so difficult that I could after all not make myself understood except by pointing out these French words to the shop-keepers.

To give the reader an idea of what mistakes an American is apt to make in p.r.o.nouncing French, I offer the names of two of the most common articles of food. They are _pain_ (bread) p.r.o.nounced pa, and _lait_ (milk) p.r.o.nounced l[=a]. I succeeded, however, later in the morning, when the shops were generally open, to procure a breakfast, whereupon, after having visited a very antique church and examined the strong fortifications of the city, I started for the railway station.

On my way thither I pa.s.sed the open door of a saloon in which Mr. and Mrs. L., whose friends.h.i.+p I had formed the previous day, sat at coffee. It was a pleasant surprise, and I took my seat with them, drinking coffee for the benefit of the milk (_du lait_) which I poured into it. This done, Mr.

L. invited me to accompany him to their hotel to "see what a nice place they had found last night!" It was a excellant hotel, and as we approached the beautiful flower-beds which lined the path leading to the entrance, their daughter came down the walk, and greeted us, the old gentleman remarking that they had been inquiring last night what had become of me.

It is very pleasant and agreeable to fall into such society, and to behold the cloth spread and the China and gla.s.s ware set with an excellent breakfast (a regular home-fas.h.i.+on scene) after one has spent several hours in lingual conflicts for a breakfast, and seen nothing but the outside of old weather-beaten houses.

I took my seat with the English party and my French friend (Prof. P.S.) in the same car, and left Calais at 7:20 a.m. Everything looked strange again; even more so than when I first came to England. Everybody, except our English company, spoke French, and the cars, the buildings, and the tickets and conductors, seemed all different from what I was accustomed to in England. The houses which we saw from the train, were small and covered with tiles like those which I had seen in northwestern England. We soon pa.s.sed burial grounds in which the graves were headed with crosses, in place of marble slabs, for tombstones. Large quant.i.ties of peat and the white stone quarries in the chalk formations, next arrested our attention.

Though it was the 22nd of July, haying was not yet finished. Some of the farmers were, however, engaged in reaping both their wheat and barley. At 8:34 a.m., the English Channel came again into view. Thus we pa.s.sed along enjoying the scenery of "belle France," (beautiful France), but by and by we became tired of watching landscapes.

To see odd styles of architecture, and watch the strange ways about a people, may afford a pleasant diversion for a time; but the eyes, too, become tired of looking. A striking feature about the agriculture is the smallness of many of the fields; there being no fences, the fields are distinguished by their crops. Some of them are but several rods in extent.

The various colors which the different kinds of vegetables a.s.sume in their progress of growth and ripening, make the landscape look like an immense expanse of checkered carpet, exceedingly beautiful to behold.

When these scenes seemed no longer to be charming, or we had become too fatigued to appreciate them, we commenced to amuse ourselves in games, joking and tricks, of which the traveler sees and enjoys his fill.

Gambling; which is such a wide-spread social evil in America, is prohibited or restricted to certain fixed days of the year, in some countries of Europe; but games of various kinds are played, by the best society, almost everywhere. Notwithstanding all the arguments that may be advanced in favor of games at chess and back-gammon, as exercises in mental gymnastics, and of playing cards as affording pleasant diversion for mixed parties, the diligent tourist, like the industrious student, should not squander much of his time at it.

Chapter VIII.

Paris.

In the middle of the afternoon, we reached the Northern Railway Terminus _(Embarcadere du Nord) _ in Paris. This magnificent station covers nearly 10 acres of ground. The arrival and departure sheds in the center are 230 metres long, and 70 metres wide. (The meter is equal to 39.370079 inches).

Its facade is 180 metres long, 38 metres (about 125 feet) high and consists of a lofty central arch and two lateral arches. This imposing front is adorned with twenty-three colossal statues of n.o.ble female figures, representing the following, princ.i.p.al cities of Europe: Paris, (surmounting the central arch), Londres, St. Petersburg, Berlin, Frankfort, Vienne, Bruixelles, Cologne, Amsterdam, Donai, Dunkerque, Boulogne, Compeigne, St. Quentin, Cambrai, Beauvais, Lille, Armiens, Rouen, Arras, Laon, Calais, Valengiens. (1864).

There are a number of other very fine railway stations in Paris, but we can only take room to define their area. The largest is the Strasbourg Railway Terminus, nearly 13 acres in extent; while the Western Railway Terminus covers an area of 5 acres.

As soon as our train had stopped, I followed my French companion (Prof.

S.) into the extensive apartments of the station, and pa.s.sed muster. I expected to be asked for my "pa.s.sport," but slipped through unchallenged.

On pa.s.sing out into the yard I was again saluted by my English friends who were about entering a "bus" to drive to a hotel. In bidding each other good-by and G.o.d-speed on our journeys, I ran a great risk of losing my Parisian friend, in the great mult.i.tude of people that thronged the yard and pavement; but fortunately, I found him again in a few minutes.

Before we reached the street, I was already made to feel that some strange scenes and experiences were undoubtedly in store for me in Paris and likely throughout the rest of my continental tour, for I had already observed one of those strange social habits of the Parisians in a most public place which the nice delicacies of our language and customs forbid to describe.

The French, the Italians, and many of the inhabitants of South Germany and parts of Switzerland--I should say all the sunny lands in Europe--have handed down to our day, manners and customs which speak in a language that cannot be misunderstood, and with a force far louder than a whisper, that _it is not very long since man took to dressing himself_. In my intercourse with those people, from Paris to Egypt, I nowhere observed any baneful influences exerted over morality by these practices in question, for they are not thought about by those people which are guilty of them, but many an American will be shocked at them, and go home declaring that such indecencies _must_ lead to immoralities, even if they have never gone to the trouble to see whether they actually _do_. Their pernicious influence upon American tastes and manners may be granted, but that does not prove that foreigners, who are cradled, nursed and brought up in these customs, will be affected in like manner. American and English tourists are alike shocked and provoked at the sight of the innumerable nude statues and paintings, on the, pleasure gardens and in the art galleries, but the ladies of the continent seem to see as little of indecencies or improprieties in those things, as we do in opening our Bibles and seeing saints and apostles represented with bare feet--the _toes_ standing out naked over the sandals, or when we read in the family circle and in the public capacity of teachers and ministers, pa.s.sages from Scriptures, such as no one would be capable of reading if they were found in a periodical or a newspaper.

During my first month on the continent, I was often vexed to think that much of what I saw, that was not only very interesting and impressive, but which had likewise an important bearing on history, was of such a nature that it would either const.i.tute unfit material for general diffusion, or seem to be incredible to the average reader.

We went down Boulevard (p.r.o.n. Bool'var') de Magenta about one-third of a mile, to Boulevard de Strasbourg, (p.r.o.n. Straws'boor'), thence along that avenue (?) to the foot of it (another third of a mile) and continued our walk down Boulevard de Sebastopol to Rue de Rivoli, along which latter street we went half a mile west, where my friend, guide and teacher procured for me a room not far from _his_ home.

[With this gentleman I spent from three to five hours daily, during my first stay of fifteen days, in walking about the city seeing sights and studying French reading and p.r.o.nunciation].

As soon as I had taken my room, I retraced my steps to the railway station and fetched my sachel; this time, alone. It was not a little task, for the distance from my quarters, which were near the center of Paris, to the station, was over two miles. The names of the Boulevards "Magenta, Strasbourg and Sebastopol," I was constantly repeating in my mind, so that I might not forget the way that I had come with my friend, the first time.

It was dark by the time I reached my lodging place the second time, but I had seen and learned enough for one day. Almost two miles of _Boulevards_ and nearly half a mile of Rue de Rivoli (the finest _Rue_ in Paris) thrice walked that afternoon, had presented to me more that was new, than I had expected to see in a week.

The Boulevards,

like a dozen other of the distinguis.h.i.+ng features of Paris, are _new things_ to the American; and as they are quite different from anything that I have yet seen of the kind in this country, I shall here take room to note some of their striking characteristics. They are the grandest streets in Paris, sustaining about the same relation to the "Rues" that the avenues in our American cities sustain to the streets. In the French nomenclature, the names applied the different cla.s.ses of thoroughfares, &c., run as follows: 1st., avenues; 2nd., boulevards; 3rd., rues; 4th., allees or ruelles, and 5th., pa.s.sages (p.r.o.n. pahsahjes). In America, the corresponding terms are 1st., avenues; 2nd.,----; 3rd., streets; 4th., alleys, and 5th., pa.s.sages. It will be observed, that we have here nothing to correspond with the boulevard. In the cla.s.sification here presented, the term avenue is to designate thoroughfares of great width and shaded with rows of trees on each side, as are the avenues in Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C. In most American cities, the avenues are diagonal streets or openings connecting distant points of the cities, but this definition loses most of its force when applied to European cities, as they are not built square or rectangular.

Champs Elysees intersects a fine and extensive reservation, (having many of the characteristics of the pleasure garden), extending from the Jardin des Tuileries (Garden of the Tuileries) to the Arc de Triomphe (the Arch of Triumph). Its length is a mile and a quarter, and the garden or park of which it is the grand thoroughfare, is, in one place, about a third of a mile in width. The buildings are consequently a considerable distance off from this carriage-way; but in the boulevards, nothing except the pavement intervenes between the street and the houses. The boulevards of Paris are its widest as well as its n.o.blest streets. The pavements on each side of them, are, in many instances from twenty-five to thirty feet in width.

Thick rows of large and elegant shade-trees border them on both sides, and under these are placed numerous wooden settees for the accommodation of the public. Many of the 6,000 cafes which are strewn over Paris, grace these boulevards with their gla.s.s fronts. During the summer season, most of the refreshments and meals are served in front of the cafes on the pavements, and grand is the sight of seeing ten thousand gay Parisians seated along these splendid streets, chattering away over their wine and coffee! Paris is about five miles long by four miles wide, and few are the houses in the entire city that are less than five or six stories high. A few only of the outer streets have as low as four and five story houses.

These houses are mostly built of stone, having stone floors, even. Each room is arched over from the four walls; upon these arches are placed the flagstones const.i.tuting the next floor, and it is in consequence of this arching that each story is so very high. The white sandstone of the Paris basin const.i.tutes the princ.i.p.al building stone. The city is divided into seven sections, and each section is required by law, to either sc.r.a.pe the fronts of their houses once every seven years, so that the walls look new again, or to paint them anew. No proprietor can choose his time, but when the year is come for his section to repair their houses, it must be done.

In consequence of this regulation, the streets never look _checkered_ by old and new houses contrasting with each other, but the external appearance of the buildings is made to harmonize, and each street is a unit in appearance. In the finest part of Paris there are few alleys or stables, but splendid rues and boulevards lined with magnificent buildings with elegant fronts, have taken their places. This section is over three miles in length, nearly two in width, and presents scenes of beauty, grandeur and magnificence which are _unrivaled_ by anything that the first other cities of the world have ever brought forth.

Its beautiful balconies, as numerous as the windows, const.i.tute another very charming feature of Parisian scenery. The streets are always kept clean and wet by sweepers and sprinklers, and the broad smooth pavements along the boulevards, free from dust and all manner of rubbish or obstructions, afford a suitable promenade for gayety, wealth and fas.h.i.+on to roam. Here beauty's feet may stray, arrayed in the most showy colors or the stateliest attire, without fear of encountering nasty crossings or of being splashed over and soiled by teams upon muddy streets. Ladies attired in gaudy ball-room dresses with long trails, would scarcely present a contrast in dress with the average promenaders. All dress equally well, on Sundays, and on week-days, so that Paris presents to the foreigner, the appearance of a city celebrating an eternal Sabbath. Even when it rains, the pedestrian can walk _for miles_ about the city, without being in want of an umbrella. In that event he need only confine his course to the

Arcades and Pa.s.sages.

Webster defines an arcade as "A long, arched building or gallery lined on each side with shops." May the reader not be misled by this definition; for the arcades of Paris do not have shops on _both_ sides. They are a uniform system of porticoes generally from twenty to thirty feet in width.

Those on Rue de Rivoli are about a mile in length, and the houses to which they belong have been exempted from taxes for thirty years. From these ramify numerous pa.s.sages and other arcades, connecting different parts of the city.

A "Pa.s.sage" (p.r.o.n. pa-sahj) is a street covered with a gla.s.s roof, elegantly paved, animals and vehicles excluded or shut off, and lined by the first-cla.s.s shops in the city. The most remarkable are the Pa.s.sages des Panoramas, Jouffroy, Verdean, Vivienne, Colbert, Choiseul, Delorine du Saumon, &c. The first of these are the most brilliant and are perhaps not excelled or even equaled by any other in the world, with the solitary exception of Pa.s.sage des Victor Emanuel of Milan, in Italy. Some of these pa.s.sages are called