Footnotes

[1]The author must plead guilty to a little hesitation (induced by the present aspect of European affairs) about incorporating this paper on the French Emperor, written some three years since, in his work. He feels, however, that, whatever may be the issue of the present contest in Europe, the services of Napoleon III. to France and to civilization are a part of history; and he has no wish to disguise his satisfaction at having been one of the first Americans who confronted the vulgar prejudices of his countrymen against that remarkable man, and publicly recognized the wonderful talents which have placed France at the head of all civilized nations.
[2]Lest I should be thought guilty of speaking rashly with regard to the anarchy which Napoleon destroyed in 1849 at Rome, I take the liberty to transcribe a few extracts from the constitution of the Society of "Young Italy," which will give some idea of the principles upon which the Roman Republic rested. I translate from the edition published at Naples, by Benedetto Cantalupo. "Article I. The Society is established for the entire destruction of all the governments of the peninsula, and for the forming of Italy into a single state, under a republican government. "Art. II. In consequence of the evils attendant upon absolute government, and the still greater evils of constitutional monarchy, we ought to join all our efforts to establish a single and indivisible republic. "Art. XXX. Those members who shall disobey the commands of the Society, or who shall reveal its mysteries, shall be poniarded without remission. "Art. XXXI. The secret tribunal shall pronounce sentence in such cases as the preceding, and shall designate one or more of the brethren to carry it into instant execution. "Art. XXXII. The brother who shall refuse to execute a sentence thus pronounced shall be considered as a perjurer, and as such shall be immediately put to death. "Art. XXXIII. If the victim condemned to punishment should succeed in escaping, he shall be pursued unremittingly into anyplace whatever, and shall be struck as by an invisible hand, even if he shall have taken refuge on the bosom of his mother, or in the tabernacle of Christ. "Art. XXXIV. Each secret tribunal shall be competent not only to condemn the guilty to death, but also to put to death all persons so sentenced."

THE PHILOSOPHY OF FOREIGN TRAVEL

Foreign travel is one of the most useful branches of our education, but, like a great many other useful branches, it appears to be "gone through with" by many persons merely as a matter of course. It is astonishing how few people out of the great number constantly making the tour of Europe really carry home any thing to show for it except photographs and laces. Foreign travel ought to rub the corners off a man's character, and give him a polish such as "home-keeping youth" can never acquire; yet how many we see who seem to have increased their natural rudeness and inconsiderateness by a continental trip! Foreign travel ought to soften prejudices, religious or political, and liberalize a man's mind; but how many there are who seem to have travelled for the purpose of getting up their rancour against all that is opposed to their notions, making themselves illustrations of Tom Hood's remark, that "some minds resemble copper wire or brass, and get the narrower by going farther." Foreign travel, while it shows a man more clearly the faults of his own country, ought to make him love his country more dearly than before; yet how often does it have the effect of making a man undervalue his home and his old friends! There must be some general reason why foreign travel produces its legitimate fruits in so few instances; and I have, during several European tours, endeavoured to ascertain it. I am inclined to think that it is a general lack of preparation for travel, and a mistaken notion that "sight-seeing" is the chief end of travelling. The expenses of the passage across the Atlantic are diminishing every year, and when the motive power in electricity is discovered and applied, the expense of the trip will be a mere trifle; and in view of these considerations, I feel that, though I might find a more entertaining subject for a letter, I cannot find a more instructive one than the philosophy of European travel.

Concerning the expense of foreign travel, there are many erroneous notions afloat. There are hundreds of persons in America—artists, and students, and persons of small means—who are held back from what is to them a land of promise, by the mistaken idea that it is expensive to travel in Europe. They know that Bayard Taylor made a tour on an incredibly small sum, and they think that they have not his tact in management, nor his self-denial in regard to the common wants of life; but if they will put aside a few of their false American prejudices, they will find that they can travel in Europe almost as cheaply as they can live at home. In America, we have an aristocracy of the pocket, which is far more tyrannical, and much less respectable, than any aristocracy of blood on this side of the water; for every man feels an instinctive respect for another who can trace his lineage back to some brave soldier whose deeds have shone in his country's history for centuries; but it requires a peculiarly constituted mind to bow down to a man whose chief claim to respect is founded in the fact of his having made a large fortune in the pork or dry goods line. Jinkins is a rich man; he lives in style, and fares sumptuously every day. Jones is one of Jinkins's neighbours; he is not so rich as Jinkins, but he feels a natural ambition to keep up with him in his establishment, and he does so; the rivalry becomes contagious, and the consequence is, that a score of well-meaning people find, to their dismay, at the end of the year, that they have been living beyond their means. Now, if people wish to travel reasonably in Europe, the first thing that they must do is to get rid of the Jones and Jinkins standard of respectability. I have seen many people who were content to live at home in a very moderate sort of way, who, when they came to travel, seemed to require all the style and luxury of a foreign prince. Such people may go all over Europe, and see very little of it except the merest outside crust. They might just as well live in a fashionable hotel in America, and visit Mr. Sattler's cosmoramas. They resemble those unfortunate persons who have studied the classics from Anthon's text-books—they have got a general notion, but of the mental discipline of the study they are entirely ignorant. But let me go into particulars concerning the expenses of travelling. I know that a person can go by a sailing vessel from Boston to Genoa, spend a week or more in Genoa and on the road to Florence, pass two or three weeks in that delightful city, and two months in Rome, then come to Paris, and stay here two or three weeks, then go to London for a month or more, and home by way of Liverpool in a steamer, for less than four hundred dollars; for I did it myself several years ago. During this trip, I lived and travelled respectably all the time—that is, what is called respectably in Europe. I went in the second class cars, and in the forward cabins of the steamers. Jones and Jinkins went in the first class cars and in the after cabins, and paid a good deal more money for the same pleasure that cost me so little. I know, too, that a person can sail from Boston to Liverpool, make a summer trip of two months and a half to Paris, via London and the cities of Belgium, and back to Boston via London and Liverpool, for a trifle over two hundred and fifty dollars. A good room in London can be got for two dollars and a half a week, in Paris for eight dollars a month, in Rome and Florence for four dollars a month, and in the cities of Germany for very considerably less. And a good dinner costs about thirty cents in London, thirty-five in Paris, fifteen to twenty-five in Florence or Rome, and even less in Germany. Breakfast, which is made very little of on the continent, generally damages one's exchequer to the extent of five to ten cents. It will be seen from this scale of prices that one can live very cheaply if he will; and, as the inhabitants of a country may be supposed to know the requirements of its climate better than strangers, common sense would dictate the adoption of their style of living.

I need not say that some knowledge of the French language is absolutely indispensable to one who would travel with any satisfaction in Europe. This is the most important general preparation that can be made for going abroad. Next after it, I should place a review of the history of the countries about to be visited. The outlines of the history of the different countries of Europe, published by the English Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, are admirably adapted to this purpose. This gives a reality to the scenes you are about to visit that they would not otherwise possess; it peoples the very roadside for you with heroes. And not only does it impart a reality to your travels, but history itself becomes a reality to you, instead of being a mere barren record of events, hard to be remembered. At this time, when the neglect of classical studies is apparent in almost every book, newspaper, and magazine, I am afraid that I shall be thought somewhat old-fashioned and out of date, if I say that some acquaintance with the Latin classics is necessary before a man can really enjoy Italy. Yet it is so; and it will be a great satisfaction to any man to find that Horace and Virgil, and Cicero and Livy, are something more than the hard tasks of childhood. Should a man's classical studies, however, be weak, the deficiency can be made up in some measure by the judicious use of translations, and by Eustace's Classical Tour. Murray's admirable hand-books of course will supply a vast amount of information; but it will not do to trust to reading them upon the spot. Some preparation must be made beforehand,—some capital is necessary to start in business. "If you would bring home the wealth of the Indies, you must carry out the wealth of the Indies." It would be well, too, for a person about to visit Europe to prepare himself for a quieter life than he has been leading at home. I mean, to tone himself down so as to be able to enjoy the freedom from excitement which awaits him here. It is now more than a year since I left America, and likewise more than a year since I have seen any disorderly conduct, or a quarrel, or even have heard high words between two parties in the street, or have known of an alarm of fire. In the course of the year, too, I have not seen half a dozen intoxicated persons. When we reflect what a fruitful source of excitement all these things are in America, it will be easy to see that a man may have, comparatively, a very quiet life where they are not to be found. It will not do any harm, either, to prepare one's self by assuming a little more consideration for the feelings of others than is generally seen among us, and by learning to address servants with a little less of the imperious manner which is so common in America. Strange as it may seem, there is much less distinction of classes on the continent, than in republican America. You are astonished to find the broadcloth coat and the blouse interchanging the civilities of a "light" in the streets, and the easy, familiar way of servants towards their masters is a source of great surprise. You seldom see a Frenchman or an Italian receive any thing from a servant without thanking him for it. Yet there appears to be a perfectly good understanding between all parties as to their relative position, and with all their familiarity, I have never seen a servant presume upon the good nature of his employer, as they often do with us. We receive our social habits in a great measure from England, and therefore we have got that hard old English way of treating servants, as if our object was to make them feel that they are inferiors. So the sooner a man who is going to travel on the continent, can get that notion out of his head, and replace it with the continental one, which seems to be, that a servant, so long as he is faithful in the discharge of his duties, is quite as respectable a member of society as his employer, the better it will be for him, and the pleasanter will be his sojourn in Europe.

One of the first mistakes Americans generally make in leaving for Europe is, to take too much luggage. Presupposing a sufficiency of under-clothing, all that any person really needs is a good, substantial travelling suit, and a suit of black, including a black dress coat, which is indispensable for all occasions of ceremony. The Sistine Chapel is closed to frock coats, and so is the Opera—and as for evening parties, a man might as well go in a roundabout as in any thing but a dress coat. Clothing is at least one third cheaper in Europe than it is with us, and any deficiency can be supplied with ease, without carrying a large wardrobe around with one, and paying the charges for extra luggage exacted by the continental railways.

Let us now suppose a person to have got fairly off, having read up his classics and his history, and got his luggage into a single good-sized valise,—let us suppose him to have got over the few days of seasickness, which made him wish that Europe had been submerged by the broad ocean (as Mr. Choate would say) or ever he had left his native land,—and to have passed those few pleasant days, which every one remembers in his Atlantic passage, when the ship was literally getting along "by degrees" on her course,—and to have arrived safely in some European port. The custom house officers commence the examination of the luggage, looking especially for tobacco; and if our friend is a wise man, he will not attempt to bribe the officers, as in nine cases out of ten he will increase his difficulties by so doing, and cause his effects to be examined with double care; but he will open his trunk, and, if he have any cigars, will show them to the examiner, and if he have not, he will undoubtedly be told to close it again, and will soon be on his way to his hotel. I suppose him to have selected a hotel before arriving in port—which would be done by carefully avoiding those houses which make a great show, or are highly commended in Murray's guide-books. He will find a neat, quiet European hotel a delightful place, after the gilding and red velvet of the great caravanseries of his native country. If he is going to stop more than a single night, he will ask the price of the room to which he is shown, and if it seems too expensive, will look until he finds one that suits him. When he has selected a room, and his valise has been brought up, he will probably observe that the servant (if it is evening) has lighted both of the candles on the mantel-piece. He will immediately blow one of them out and hand it to the waiter, with a look that will show him that he is dealing with an experienced traveller, who knows that he has to pay for candles as he burns them. When he leaves the hotel, he will make it a principle always to carry the unconsumed candle or candles with him, for use as occasion may require; for it is the custom of the country, and will secure him against the little impositions which are always considered fair play upon outsiders. It is possible that he will find, when he goes to wash his hands, that there is no soap in the wash stand, and will thank me for having reminded him to carry a cake with him rolled up in a bit of oiled silk. When he wishes to take lodgings in any city, he will be particular to avoid that part of the town where English people mostly do inhabit, and will be very shy of houses where apartments to let are advertised on a placard in phrases which the originator probably intended for English. He will look thoroughly before he decides, and so will save himself a great deal of dissatisfaction which he might feel on finding afterwards that others had done much better than he. Besides, "room-hunting" is not the least profitable, nor least amusing part of a traveller's experience. He will, when settled in his rooms, attend in person to the purchase of his candles and his fuel, and to the delivery of the same in his apartments; for by so doing he will save money, and will see more of the common people of the place.

Of course he will see all the "sights" that every stranger is under a sort of moral obligation to see, however much it may fatigue him; but he must not stop there. He must not think, as so many appear to, that, when he has seen the palaces, and picture galleries, and gardens, and public monuments of a country, he knows that country. He must try to see and know as much as he can of the people of the country, for they (Louis Quatorze to the contrary, notwithstanding) are the state. Let him cultivate the habit of early rising, and frequent market places and old parish churches in the twilight of the morning, and he will learn more of the people in one month than a year of reading or ordinary sight-seeing could teach him. Let him choose back alleys, instead of crowded and fashionable thoroughfares for his walks; when he falls in with a wandering musician and juggler, exhibiting in public, let him stop, not to see the exhibition, but the spectators; when he goes to the theatre, let him not shut himself up in the privacy of a box, but go into the pit, where all he will see and hear around him will be full as amusing as the performance itself; and when he uses an omnibus, let him always choose a seat by the driver, in preference to one inside. I have learnt more of the religious character of the poorer class in Paris, by a visit to a little out-of-the-way church at sunrise, than could be acquired by hours of conversation with the people themselves. And I have learned equally as much of the brutality and degradation of the same class in England, by going into a gin-shop late at night, calling for a glass of ale, and drinking it slowly, while I was inspecting the company. There is many a man who travels through Europe, communicating only with hotel keepers, couriers, and ciceroni, and learning less of the people than he could by walking into a market-place alone, and buying a sixpence worth of fruit. Yet such men presume to write books, and treat not merely of the governments of these countries, but of the social condition of the people! I once met a man in Italy, who could not order his breakfast correctly in Italian, who knew only one Italian, and he was the waiter who served him in a restaurant; and yet this man was a correspondent of a respectable paper in Boston, and had the effrontery to write column after column upon Italian social life, and to speak of political affairs as if he were Cardinal Antonelli's sole confidant. There are such people here in Paris now, who send over to America, weekly, batches of falsehood about the household of the Tuileries, which the intelligent public of America accepts as being true; for it seems to be a part of some people's republicanism to believe nothing but evil of a ruler who wears a crown. I need not say in this connection, that the traveller who wishes to enjoy Europe must put away the habit (if he be so unfortunate as to have it) of looking upon every thing through the green spectacles of republicanism, and regarding that form of government as the only one calculated to benefit mankind. He must remember that the government of his own country is a mere experiment, compared with the old monarchies of Europe, and he must try to judge impartially between them. He must judge each system by its results, and if on comparison he finds that there is really less slavery in his own country than in Europe; that the government is administered more impartially; that the judiciary is purer; that there is less of mob law and violence, and less of political bargaining and trickery, and that life and property are more secure in his own country than they are here,—why, he will return to America a better republican than before, from the very fact of having done justice to the governments of Europe.