The city descends from mountain coves to the strand of the bay, like a spreading stream, which encounters here a rolling hill and there a projecting bluff. Some of the elevations are crowned with public edifices, but no princely palace, gorgeous dome, or glittering spire, strongly arrests the eye. The architecture of man here is so inferior to that of nature, it ought to make an apology whenever it shows itself. It is like the tent of an Arab throwing up its dirty cone beneath the magnificent umbrage of the palm. It is said the genius of a people is in harmony with the scenery in the midst of which they have been reared; but here is scenery that might almost throw sunbows over the dreams of the dead, and architecture sombre enough to send even a Quaker to sleep. Such is the aspect of the city as seen from our frigate, swinging at her anchors in front of the imperial palace. A nearer view may possibly bring out some concealed beauty. But cities, like fashionable women, are very apt to betray their charms at the first blush.
Monday, Dec. 22. I visited the shore to-day, in company with Dr. Mosely and Mr. Spieden, our purser. We landed in front of the palace-square. A flight of broken wood steps took us to the top of the sea-wall, where we found ourselves on a paved parapet, presenting an open area of several hundred feet, which was broken only by the dark form of a fountain, from which the water fell in profusion. We here encountered a swarm of half-naked slaves, sufficiently diversified in their features to represent every African tribe from which they were stolen. Some had not lost their first look of wonder, while others seemed as those in whom grief and hope had long since perished. They were engaged in transporting merchandise, and seemed to be the walking drays of the city. They carry these enormous burdens on their heads, and trot along with a sonorous grunt, which works itself off into a sort of song. You wonder how they can have so much wind to spare for their tune.
We next encountered a little carriage, with a child in it, drawn by a diminutive pony. You might almost put the whole establishment into a good sized market-basket. It was attended by some half dozen slaves, who seemed extremely anxious about their charge. Where they were going I know not; but the whole group presented a striking picture of the extremes of human life. That child would have been just as happy in the strong arms of its nurse; the globe would probably have turned on its axle just as long; but parental pride and folly would not have been gratified. This is a small outbreak of the aristocratic sentiment—a sentiment not primitive.
“When Adam delved and Eve span,
Where was then the gentleman?”
The royal palace has no charms of architecture. It is a long, low, and rather heavy-looking building, with ballustraded windows, and stuccoed walls. Within the iron gratings of the court the form of a black soldier moved to and fro, on guard; while others stretched at length on benches, or sitting in the corners of the walls, were sound asleep. The whole was a breathing type of that listlessness and slumber which falls on the soldier guarding in a time of profound peace an empty palace. This palace might be converted into a warehouse without ever awaking in the visiter a suspicion of the regal use to which it had been put.
We passed on to the royal chapel, which stands near by, and which communicates with the palace through the silent halls of a monastery. The exterior of the chapel presents only its front to the eye, surmounted by a cross, and relieved by a mimic crown which reposes in a central niche. The interior is adorned with a profusion of gilding, and contains several private boxes, where the occupants may conceal themselves behind crimson curtains. We found in the oratory a dozen priests or monks, chanting their devotions. Two of them were laughing most immoderately. They seemed to make every effort to suppress their risible impulses, and would now and then succeed so far as to present for a moment a grave countenance, but the ludicrous would immediately gain the ascendency, and the laughter burst out. I once saw the gravity of a whole congregation in one of our largest country churches irretrievably disturbed. An owl had perched himself on the key of the arch directly over the choir; the clergyman had given out the hymn commencing with the words,
“Hark from the tombs, a doleful sound.”
As the singers rose, and just as the leader was going to pitch the pathetic tune, the owl, as if taking this duty on himself, gave a solemn hoot! They who were troubled with a quick sense of the ludicrous, couldn’t hold in for a moment, and the infection spread to the whole congregation.
Tuesday, Dec. 23. I came near being captured to-day by a troop of lancers. They were riding at full speed before two carriages, in one of which lay the infant emperor, in its nurse’s arms, and in the other chatted the servants in attendance on the baby. The lancers had the important bearing of Roman cohorts, ushering Cæsar into the imperial city after the triumphs of his African campaign. How far the baby was benefitted by this military display, or the lactant provisions of its nurse increased, I was not informed.