But the troubles were not over for the courageous travellers who had thus gratified their curiosity to witness for themselves the scenes of a besieged city and a Parisian Communistic revolt. On coming down to breakfast on the Sunday morning, they were gratified to meet at the breakfast table an old friend, in company with two others who, like themselves, had come to Paris to see the results of the terrible war. They were the only other guests at the hotel. On their first visit to Versailles they had had a good view of the great fortress, Mont Valérien, and explored with much interest the surrounding rifle-pits and other means of defence; and it was now proposed that the whole party should visit the fort. But Mrs. Nelson writes:—“On reconsidering our plans, William decided that he would prefer going to Versailles; so Mr. Buckham and I set out with him, while our friends started for Fort Valérien. We found much to interest us, and did not return to our hotel till the evening. But on arriving there the landlord met us in a state of great excitement. We had, it seemed, very narrowly escaped a novel and trying experience. Our three friends had been taken for spies, and as soon as they reached the fort were made prisoners. After being detained all day, they had been released, and were already on their way to England. He also told us that he had orders from head-quarters that we were to leave at once.” So ended this visit to Paris in the days of the capitulation and the Commune, not without some very exciting experiences, and more than one narrow escape from imminent danger. It was characteristic of William Nelson’s fearless unconsciousness of danger that he made Mrs. Nelson the sharer in an expedition, replete indeed with attractions of a highly novel and exceptional kind, but beset by so many dangers that nothing but her trusting confidence in his guardianship could have induced her to risk the exposure which it involved. As it was, it might be styled a lucky accident which alone prevented her sharing in the uncomfortable romance of being made a state prisoner in Fort Valérien. But such incidents have a piquancy in the memories of later years, when the discomforts and apprehensions they involved have passed out of memory. Nevertheless the narrow escape from incarceration in a state prison under the later Commune was the foremost incident in Mrs. Nelson’s thoughts whenever she recalled the experiences of that exciting time.
“It was a narrow escape,” she writes, “for we were the last people to get out of Paris. The Provisional Government took the place of the Prussian invaders; and our train was the last one allowed to leave Paris. We were repeatedly taken for spies and stopped on the street. Had we gone to Fort Valérien and been made prisoners, the suspicions that had been excited would have told against us. But William never seemed to be put out, or to be conscious of danger.”
CHAPTER X.
HOLIDAYS ABROAD.
A JOURNEY through unfamiliar scenes had at all times a special fascination for William Nelson; and had circumstances favoured the devotion of his early years to exploration in strange, unknown regions, it was a work that would have proved peculiarly congenial to his tastes. He had some of the most needful characteristics of an observant traveller; and his acuteness and keen desire for the thorough investigation of whatever came under notice, would have secured results of permanent value. But as it was, his later travels, even when out of the beaten track of the tourist, were necessarily the mere holiday rambles of a man escaping from the engrossing cares of business. Yet even such rambles furnish some interesting glimpses of character.
From among William Nelson’s varied experiences of foreign travel in later years I select his trip to the Baltic in 1878, the incidents of which are familiar to me as his companion on the journey. More correctly, he accompanied me, starting at a few hours’ notice with that indifference to elaborate preparation so characteristic of him as a traveller. We sailed from Leith on the 4th of July by the steam-ship Buda, bound for Copenhagen. The North Sea gave us a rough shake; but I was seasoned for the voyage by fresh Atlantic experiences, and William Nelson was a good sailor in all weathers. He was at home among the sailors on the deck or in the forecastle, and found, as usual, some objects of practical sympathy there.
The first subject of curious investigation was the famed castle of Helsingör—Hamlet’s Elsinore. But it is better seen through Shakespeare’s eyes, and is much too modern and prosaic to awaken any associations with Hamlet the Dane. Our traveller, who was apt to be amusingly literal on such occasions, protested against the contemptible escarpment which it offered in lieu of
“The dreadful summit of the cliff
That beetles o’er his base into the sea.”
But Copenhagen had much to interest him; and among the rest, the recurrence of his own name, under slight modifications, suggesting the possible descent of the Covenanting farmers of the Carse of Stirling from some rough old Baltic viking. The Thorwaldsen Galleries were explored with keen interest. Then, too, I was fortunate in an early personal acquaintance with the eminent Danish archæologist, Wörsaae, which subsequent correspondence on subjects of mutual interest had ripened into friendship. He was then chamberlain to the king. So under his guidance a charming day was passed in the Rosenborg Slot, where, in addition to the choice cabinet of coins, the famous silver drinking-horn of Oldenburg, and other ancient relics, a succession of state apartments are arranged with historical portraits, arms, jewels, and furniture of the royal Danish line. Illustrated as they were by the fascinating commentary of our guide, they charmed William Nelson beyond measure. “It was,” he said, “like walking down the centuries into the present time.” Another day was spent, under the same instructive guidance, inspecting the richly-stored cabinets of the Prindsens Palais, where the Runic slabs from Greenland—memorials of the Northmen’s pre-Columbian discovery of America—excited the liveliest interest.
On returning to our hotel on the latter occasion, we found unusual stir and excitement. We had not been aware that the Prince Imperial of France was a guest at the hotel—come to Copenhagen, as was reported, to sue for the hand of a Danish princess; and here was his Danish majesty’s carriage awaiting the prince to take him to dine at the palace at the fashionable hour of 5 P.M. William Nelson remarks in a letter of the following July:—“You would see the sad fate of the Prince Imperial; though one cannot help asking what business he had there, fighting the poor Zulus who had done him no wrong, and bringing discredit on British officers who were there on duty, whatever we may think of such duty. It seems hard to blame them for bolting—every man for himself. But you remember the little prince as we saw him at Copenhagen; he did not seem very fit to fight Zulus or anybody else, poor fellow.”
The Frue Kirke occupies a prominent place among the attractions of Copenhagen, and is now associated in my mind with a characteristic little incident. The travellers had visited the church, the decorations of which, from the chisel of Thorwaldsen, constitute the main source of its interest. On the morning of the Sunday following they attended the English service; and in the afternoon his companion announced his intention to go to the Frue Kirke, and invited William Nelson to accompany him. But he refused, protesting that they should not understand a word of the service, and pronouncing the procedure to be a desecration of the day. His fellow-traveller had accordingly to go alone. The church is in the form of a Roman basilica, built under the direction of the great Danish sculptor, with a special view to its marble adornments. The sole light is admitted from ground-glass panels in the ceiling. Above the altar, in the chancel, stands the colossal statue of Christ, with arms extended in loving regard. In front of each pier, in the nave, is a statue of an apostle: St. Paul symbolizing the irresistible might of the truth; St. Peter the custodian of the symbolic keys; the doubting Thomas, with look of indecision and finger on his lip; St. John as the impersonation of love; and the others, each more or less skilfully suggesting some appropriate ideal. As works of art they are open to criticism, for as an artist Thorwaldsen had far more of classical than of Christian feeling. But the absence of all gay colouring, usually so much favoured in church decoration, and the grand scale of the works in pure white marble, so appropriate to a place of Christian worship, produce as a whole an effect singularly impressive in its mode of enlisting art as the handmaid of religion. The Lutheran service, with its familiar hymn tunes, was simple as that of the Presbyterian Church; and the sermon was obviously eloquent, though delivered in the unknown Danish tongue. On the wanderer returning to the hotel, he found his friend asleep in an easy-chair, and ventured to hint that his time had been spent to as good purpose; but this idea was scouted, and William Nelson stuck to it, that the sharing in the afternoon service of the Frue Kirke was a profanation of the day.