Ninth June, 1843.

Horace Mann was of the party on most of these investigations.

Beside dinners and evening parties, there were breakfasts, with Richard Monckton Milnes (afterward Lord Houghton), with Samuel Rogers,--who gave them plovers' eggs,--and with jovial Sir Robert Harry Inglis, who cut the loaf at either end, giving the guests "a slice or a hunch" at their desire.

This meal, our mother notes, was not "a luncheon in disguise," but a genuine breakfast, at ten or even half-past nine o'clock.

She writes to her sister Louisa:--

"People have been very kind to us--we have one or two engagements for every day this week, and had three dinners for one day, two of which we were, of course, forced to decline. We had a pleasant dinner at d.i.c.kens's, on Sat.u.r.day--a very handsome entertainment, consisting of all manner of good things. d.i.c.kens led me in to dinner--waxed quite genial over his wine, and was more natural than I ever saw him--after dinner we had coffee, conversation and music, to which I lent my little wee voice!

We did not get home until half-past eleven.... Annie has doubtless told you how we went to see Carlyle, and Mrs. was out, and I poured tea for him, and he handed me the preserves with: 'I do not know what thae little things are, perhaps you can eat them--I never touch them mysel'.'

This naturally made me laugh--we had a strange but pleasant evening with him--he is about forty, looks young for that, drinks powerful tea, and then goes it strong upon all subjects, but without extravagance--he has a fine head, an earnest face, a glowing eye.... Furthermore, we have walked into the affections of the Hon. Basil Montagu, and Mrs.

Basil--furthermore, Annie and I did went alone to a rout at Mrs. Sydney Smith's, and were announced, 'Mrs. 'Owe hand Miss Vord'--did not know a soul, Annie frightened, I bored--got hold of some good people--made friends, drank execrable tea, finished the evening by a crack with Sir Sydney himself, and came off victorious, that is to say alive. Sir S.

very like old Mrs. Prime, three chins, and such a corporosity!...

"_Sat.u.r.day, June 2nd._ We have been too busy to write. We dined on Wednesday with Kenyon--present d.i.c.kens's wife, Fellows, Milnes and some others--Milnes a pert little prig, but pleasant. _a propos_, when he came to call upon us, our girl announced him as 'Mr. Miller'--our conversation ran upon literature, and I had the exquisite discrimination to tell him that except Wordsworth, there were no great poets in England now. Fortunately he soon took his departure, and thus prevented me from expressing the light estimation in which I hold his poetry. On Thursday Morpeth gave us a beautiful dinner--thirteen servants in the hall, powdered heads, Lady Carlisle very like Morpeth--Lady Mary Howard not pretty; d.u.c.h.ess of Sutherland, beautiful, but like Lizzie Hogg. They gave us strawberries, the first we have tasted, green peas, pines, peaches, apricots, grapes--all very expensive. We stayed until nearly twelve--they were very gracious--Annie and I are little people here--we are too young(?) to be noticed--we are very demure, and have learned humility. Chev receives a great deal of attention, ladies press forward to look at him, roll up their eyes, and exclaim, 'Oh! he is such a wonner!' I do not like that the pretty women should pay him so many compliments--it will turn his little head! He is now almost well, and so handsome! the wrinkles are almost gone--Yesterday, Sir Robert Inglis gin us a treat in the shape of a breakfast--it was very pleasant, albeit Sir R. is very pious, and a Tory to boot. We had afterward a charming visit from Carlyle--in the evening we went to Landsdowne House, to a concert given by the Marquis--heard Grisi, Lablache, Mario, Standigl, were much pleased--I was astonished, though, to find that our little trio at home was not bad, even in comparison with these stars. They have, of course, infinitely better voices, but hang me if they sing with half the enthusiasm and fire of our old Sam and Cousi, or even of poor Dudy.

Grisi's voice is beautifully clear and flute-like--Mario sings _si-be-mol_ and natural with perfect ease. I was most interested in the German Standigl, who sang the '_Wanderer_' with wonderful pathos.

Lablache thundered away--I must see them on the stage before I shall be able to judge of them. After music we had supper. Willie Wad[21] was indefatigable in our service. 'Go, and bring us a great deal more lemonade!' these were our oft-repeated orders, and the good Geneseo trotted to the table for us, till, as he expressed it, 'he was ashamed to go any more.' Lansdowne is a devilish good fellow! ho! ho! He wears a blue belt across his diaphragm, and a silver star on his left breast--he jigs up and down the room, and makes himself at home in his own house.

He is about sixty, with Marchioness to match; side dishes, I presume, but did not inquire. I have just been breakfasting at the Duke of Sutherland's superb palace. I will tell you next time about it. Lady Carlisle says I am nice and pretty, oh! how I love her!..."

[21] William Wadsworth, of Geneseo.

In another letter she says:--

"I take some interest in everything I see--especially in all that throws light upon human prog. The Everetts[22] have given us a beautiful and most agreeable dinner: d.i.c.kens, Mrs. Norton, Moore, Landseer, and one or two others. Rogers says: 'I have three pleasures in the day: the first is, when I get up in the morning, and scratch myself with my hair mittens; the second is when I dress for dinner, and scratch myself with my hair mittens; the third is when I undress at night, and scratch myself with my hair mittens.'..."

[22] Edward Everett was at that time American Minister to England.

Beside this feast of hospitality, there was the theatre, with Macready and Helen Faucit in the "Lady of Lyons," and the opera, with Grisi and Mario, Alboni and Persiani. Julia, who had been forbidden the theatre since her seventh year, enjoyed to the full both music and drama, but "the crowning ecstasy of all" she found in the ballet, of which f.a.n.n.y Elssler and Cerito were the stars. The former was beginning to wane; the dancing which to Emerson and Margaret Fuller seemed "poetry and religion" had lost, perhaps, something of its magic; the latter was still in her early bloom and grace.

Years later, our mother suggested to Theodore Parker that "the best stage dancing gives the _cla.s.sic, in a fluent form_, with the illumination of life and personality." She recalled nothing sensual or even sensuous in the dances she saw that season, only "the very ecstasy and embodiment of grace." (But the Doctor thought Cerito ought to be sent to the House of Correction!)

Among the English friends, the one to whom our parents became most warmly attached was Lord Morpeth, afterwards Earl of Carlisle. This gentleman proved a devoted friend. Not only did he show the travellers every possible attention in London, but finding that they were planning a tour through Wales, Ireland, and Scotland, he made out with great care an itinerary for them, giving the roads by which they should travel and the points of interest they should visit.

Very reluctantly they left the London of so many delights, and started on the prescribed tour, following in the main the lines laid down by their kind friend.

_To her sister Louisa_

Sunday, July 2.

... We are in Dublin, among the Paddies, and funny enough they are.

There are many beggars--you cannot get into the carriage without being surrounded with ragged women holding out their dirty hands, and clamouring for ha'pence--we have just returned from Edgeworthtown; on our way, we walked into some of the peasants' huts. I will tell you about one--it was thatched, built very miserably, had no floor except the native mud; there was a peat fire, which filled the house with smoke--before the fire lay the pig, grunting in concert with the chickens, who were picking up sc.r.a.ps of the dinner, which consisted of potatoes and salt--three families live in it. Two sets of little ragam.u.f.fins are sitting in the dirt. Ch. bestows some pence: "G.o.d kape your honour--G.o.d save ye, wherever ye go, and sure and it's a nice, comfortable looking young woman you have got with you, an uncommon pretty girl" (that is me). Don't they understand the matter, eh? We pa.s.sed three delightful hours with Miss Edgeworth, in the library in which she wrote all her works--she was surrounded by a numerous and charming family, among others, the last of her father's four wives, whom she calls mother, although the lady must be some ten years her junior.

She is herself a most vivacious little lady, about seventy-five years old, but gay and bright as a young girl--she seemed quite delighted with Ch., and conversed with him on many topics in a very animated manner.

She has very clear and sound views of things, and takes the liveliest interest in all that goes on around her, and in the world. One of her younger brothers (with a nice Spanish wife) has a nest of very young children, in whom she delights as much as if she had not helped to bring up three sets of brothers and sisters. She said to me: "It is not only for Laura Bridgman that I wanted to see Dr. Howe, but I admire the spirit of all his writings." She gave him some engravings, and wrote her name at the bottom.... At one o'clock, we went to luncheon which was very nice, consisting of meat, potatoes, and preserves.... She made us laugh, and laughed herself. They were saying that American lard was quite superseding whale oil. "Yes," said she, "and in consequence, the whale cannot bear the sight of a pig." Her little nephew made a real bull. He was showing me his rat trap, "and," said he, "I shall kill the rat before I let him out, eh?"...

_Dublin, Tuesday._ Went to the Repeal meeting at the Corn Exchange. It was held in a small room in the third or fourth story. "A shilling, sir," said the man at the door to my husband.--"What!" replied he, "do ladies pay?"--"Not unless they'd like to become repealers." We pa.s.sed up--the gentlemen went on to the floor of the room--we went to the ladies' gallery, a close confined place at one end--we were early, and had good seats, for a time at least--we separated, not antic.i.p.ating the trouble we should have in finding each other again--for the ladies, comprising orangewomen, washerwomen, and I fear, all manner of women, poured in, without much regard to order, decency, and the rights of prior possession--and when O'Connell came in, which was in about three quarters of an hour, they pressed, and pushed, and squeezed, and scolded, as only Irishwomen can do.... The current of female patriotism bore down upon me in a most painful manner--a sort of triangular pressure seemed applied to my poor body which threatened to destroy, not only my centre of gravity, but my very personal ident.i.ty. I was obliged, I regret to say, to defend myself as I have sometimes done in a quadrille or waltzing circle in New York--I was forced to push in my turn, though as moderately as I could. This was not my only trouble--in the crowd, I had sc.r.a.ped acquaintance with a respectable Irishwoman, who, after various questions, discovered that I was an American, and imagined me at once to be a good Catholic and repealer--so when O'Connell made some allusions to the Americans, she said so as to be heard by several people, who immediately began to look at me with curious eyes--"You shouldn't disturb her, she's an American," and they would for a time cease to molest me.... O'Connell was not great on this occasion--his remarks were rambling and superficial, distinguished chiefly by their familiarity, and by the extreme ingenuity with which the cunning orator disguises the tendencies of the sentiments he vindicates, and talks treason, yet so that the law cannot lay a finger upon him. He had begun his speech when Steele, a brother repealer, entered. He stopped at once, held out his hand to him, saying in a loud tone, "Tom Steele, how d'ye do?" which drew forth bursts of applause.

"And is he a good man?" I asked of a lady repealer (whether apple-woman or seller of ginger beer, I know not). "Oh, Ma'am, he is the best _cratur_, the most charitable, the most virtuous, the most religious man--sure, he goes to the communion every Sunday, and never says no to no one."

The visit to Scotland was all too hasty, the notes are mere brief jottings; at the end she "remembered but one thing, the grave of Scott.

In return for all the delight he had given me, I had nothing to give him but my silent tears."

The end of July found the party once more in England. The following letter tells of the unlucky visit to Wordsworth which our mother (after forty-six years) describes from memory in her "Reminiscences" in slightly different terms.

_To her sister Louisa_

July 29.

... I am very glad to be out of Ireland and Scotland, where we had incessant rains--even the beautiful Loch Katrine would not show herself to us in sunshine. We crossed in an open boat, and had a pony ride of five miles, all in as abominable a drizzle as you would wish to see. The c.u.mberland Lakes, among which we sought the shrine of Wordsworth, were almost as unaccommodating--in driving to Windermere we got wetted to the skin, and dashed down the steep mountain road in a thick mist, with a pair of horses, so unruly that I supposed the miseries of wet garments would soon be cancelled by that of a broken neck. I prayed to Saint Crispin, Saint Nicholas, and the three kings of Koln, and got through the danger--in the evening we visited Wordsworth, a crabbed old sinner, who gave us a very indifferent m.u.f.fin, and talked repudiation with Chev.

As he had just lost a great deal of money by Mississippi bonds, you may imagine that he felt particularly disposed to be cordial to Americans--and not knowing, probably, that New York is not in the heart of Louisiana, he was inclined no doubt to cast part of the odium upon us. Accordingly Mrs. Wordsworth and her daughter sat at one end of the room, Annie and I at the other. Incensed at this unusual neglect, I made several interjections in a low tone for Annie's benefit (my husband allows me to swear once a week)--at length, good Townsend-on-Mesmerism came to my relief, and kindly talked with me for an hour or more--he is a charming person, and rides other people's horses as well as his own hobby. He dislikes England, and lives princ.i.p.ally in Germany. Kind Heaven, at the termination of the evening, sent me an opportunity of imparting a small portion of the internal pepper and mustard which had been ripening in my heart during the whole evening. The mother and daughter beginning to whine to me about their losses, I told them that where one Englishman had suffered, twenty Americans were perhaps ruined.

They replied, it was hard they should suffer for the misfortunes of another country. "And why," quoth I, "must you needs speculate in foreign stocks? Why did you not keep your money at home? It was safe enough in England--you knew there was risk in investing it so far from you--if we should speculate in yours, we should no doubt be ruined also." This explosion, from my meek self, took the company somewhat by surprise--they held their tongues, and we departed....

From England the travellers had meant to go to Berlin, but the King of Prussia, who eleven years before had kept Dr. Howe in prison _au secret_ for five weeks for carrying (at the request of General Lafayette) succor to certain Polish refugees, still regarded him as a dangerous person, and Prussia was closed to him and his. This greatly amused Horace Mann, who wrote to the Doctor, "I understand the King of Prussia has about 200,000 men constantly under arms, and if necessary he can increase his force to two millions. This shows the estimation in which he holds your single self!"

Years later, the King sent Dr. Howe a gold medal in consideration of his work for the blind: by a singular coincidence, its money value was found to equal the sum which the Doctor had been forced to pay for board and lodging in the prison of Berlin.

Making a detour, the party journeyed through Switzerland and the Austrian Tyrol, spent some weeks in Vienna, and a month in Milan, where they met Count Gonfalonieri, one of the prisoners of Spielberg. Julia had known two of these sufferers, Foresti and Albinola, in New York, where they lived for many years, beloved and respected. Hearing the talk of these men, and seeing Italy bound hand and foot in temporal and spiritual fetters, she was deeply impressed by the apparent hopelessness of the outlook for the Italian patriots. By what miracle, she asked herself long afterward, was the great structure overthrown? She adds, "The remembrance of this miracle forbids me to despair of any great deliverance, desired and delayed. He who maketh the wrath of men to serve Him, can make liberty blossom out of the very rod that the tyrant [wields]."

Southward still they journeyed, by _vettura_, in the old leisurely fashion, and came at last to Rome.

The thrill of wonder that Julia felt at the first sight of St. Peter's dome across the Campagna was one of the abiding impressions of her life; Rome was to be one of the cities of her heart; the charm was cast upon her in that first moment. Yet she says of that Rome of 1843, "A great gloom and silence hung over it."

The houses were cold, and there were few conveniences; but Christmas found the Howes established in the Via San Niccolo da Tolentino, as comfortably as might be. Here they were joined by Louisa Ward, and here they soon gathered round them a delightful circle of friends. Most of the _forestieri_ of Rome in those days were artists; among those who came often to the house were Thomas Crawford, Luther Terry, Freeman the painter and his wife, and Tormer, who painted a portrait of Julia. The winter pa.s.sed like a dream. There were b.a.l.l.s as gorgeous as those of London, with the beautiful Princess Torlonia in place of the d.u.c.h.ess of Sutherland; musical parties, at which Diva sang to the admiration of all. There were visits to the galleries, where George Combe was of the party, and where he and the Chevalier studied the heads of statues and busts from the point of view of phrenology, a theory in which both were deeply interested. They were presented to the Pope, Gregory XVI, who wished to hear about Laura Bridgman. The Chevalier visited all the "public inst.i.tutions, misnamed charitable,"[23] and the schools, whose masters were amazed to find that he was an American, and asked how in that case it happened that he was not black!

[23] S. G. H. to Charles Sumner.

In her "Reminiscences" our mother records many vivid impressions of these Roman days. She had forgotten, or did not care to recall, a certain languor and depression of spirits which in some measure dimmed for her the brightness of the picture, but which were to give place to the highest joy she had yet known. On March 12, her first child was born, and was christened Julia Romana.

There are neither journals nor letters of this period; the only record of it--from her hand--lies in two slender ma.n.u.script books of verse, marked respectively "1843" and "1844." In these volumes we trace her movements, sometimes by the t.i.tle of a poem, as "Sailing," "The Ladies of Llangollen," "The Roman Beggar Boy," etc., sometimes by a single word written after the poem, "Berne," "Milan."

From these poems we learn that she did not expect to survive the birth of her child; yet with that birth a new world opened before her.

He gave the Mother's chastened heart, He gave the Mother's watchful eye, He bids me live but where thou art, And look with earnest prayer on high.

Then spake the angel of Mothers To me in gentle tone: "Be kind to the children of others And thus deserve thine own!"

When, in the spring of 1844, she left Rome with husband, sister, and baby, it seemed, she says, "like returning to the living world after a long separation from it."

Journeying by way of Naples, Ma.r.s.eilles, Avignon, they came at length to Paris.

Here Julia first saw Rachel, and Taglioni, the greatest of all dancers; here, too, she tried to persuade the Chevalier to wear his Greek decorations to Guizot's reception, but tried in vain, he considering such ornaments unfitting a republican.