"_Wednesday, June_ 22. Adieu to Paris! Ho for Chalons-sur-Saone!
After affectionate farewells of our kind friends, by eleven o"clock we were rushing, in the pleasantest of cars, over the smoothest of rails, through Burgundy. We arrived at Chalons at nine P. M.
"_Thursday_, 23, eight o"clock A. M. Since five we have had a fine bustle on the quay below our windows. There lay three steamers, shaped for all the world like our last night"s rolls. One would think Ichabod Crane might sit astride one of them and dip his feet in the water. They ought to be swift. L"Hirondelle (The Swallow) flew at five; another at six. We leave at nine.
"_Lyons_. There was a scene of indescribable confusion upon our arrival here. Out of the hold of our steamer a man with a rope and hook began hauling baggage up a smooth board. Three hundred people were sorting their goods without checks. Porters were shouldering immense loads, four or five heavy trunks at once, corded together, and stalking off Atlantean. Hat-boxes, bandboxes, and valises burst like a meteoric shower out of a crater. "_A moi, a moi_!" was the cry, from old men, young women, soldiers, shopkeepers, and _freres_, scuffling and shoving together.
"_Sat.u.r.day, June_ 25. Lyons to Geneve. As this was our first experience in the diligence line, we noticed particularly every peculiarity. I had had the idea that a diligence was a ricketty, slow- moulded antediluvian nondescript, toiling patiently along over impa.s.sable roads at a snail"s pace. Judge of my astonishment at finding it a full-blooded, vigorous monster, of unscrupulous railway momentum and imperturbable equipoise of mind. Down the macadamized slopes we thundered at a prodigious pace; up the hills we trotted, with six horses, three abreast; madly through the little towns we burst, like a whirlwind, crashing across the pebbled streets, and out upon the broad, smooth road again. Before we had well considered the fact that we were out of Lyons we stopped to change horses. Done in a jiffy; and whoop, crick, crack, whack, rumble, b.u.mp, whirr, whisk, away we blazed, till, ere we knew it, another change and another.
"As evening drew on, a wind sprang up and a storm seemed gathering on the Jura. The rain dashed against the panes of the berlin as we rode past the grim-faced monarch of the "misty shroud." It was night as we drove into Geneva and stopped at the Messagerie. I heard with joy a voice demanding if this were _Madame Besshare_. I replied, not without some scruples of conscience, "_Oui, Monsieur, c"est moi_," though the name did not sound exactly like the one to which I had been wont to respond. In half an hour we were at home in the mansion of Monsieur Fazy."
From Geneva the party made a tour of the Swiss Alps, spending some weeks among them. While there Charles Beecher wrote from a small hotel at the foot of the Jura:--
"The people of the neighborhood, having discovered who Harriet was, were very kind, and full of delight at seeing her. It was Scotland over again. We have had to be unflinching to prevent her being overwhelmed, both in Paris and Geneva, by the same demonstrations of regard. To this we were driven, as a matter of life and death. It was touching to listen to the talk of these secluded mountaineers. The good hostess, even the servant maids, hung about Harriet, expressing such tender interest for the slave. All had read "Uncle Tom;" and it had apparently been an era in their life"s monotony, for they said, "Oh, madam, do write another! Remember, our winter nights here are very long!""
Upon their return to Geneva they visited the Castle of Chillon, of which, in describing the dungeons, Mrs. Stowe writes:--
"One of the pillars in this vault is covered with names. I think it is Bonnevard"s Pillar. There are the names of Byron, Hunt, Schiller, and ever so many more celebrities. As we were going from the cell our conductress seemed to have a sudden light upon her mind. She asked a question or two of some of our party, and fell upon me vehemently to put my name also there. Charley scratched it on the soft freestone, and there it is for future ages. The lady could scarce repress her enthusiasm; she shook my hand over and over again, and said she had read "Uncle Tom." "It is beautiful," she said, "but it is cruel."
"_Monday, July_ 18. Weather suspicious. Stowed ourselves and our baggage into our _voiture_, and bade adieu to our friends and to Geneva. Ah, how regretfully! From the market-place we carried away a basket of cherries and fruit as a consolation. Dined at Lausanne, and visited the cathedral and picture-gallery, where was an exquisite _Eva_. Slept at Meudon.
"_Tuesday, July_ 19. Rode through Payerne to Freyburg. Stopped at the Zahringer Hof,--most romantic of inns.
"_Wednesday, July_ 20. Examined, not the lions, but the bears of Berne. Engaged a _coiture_ and drove to Thun. Dined and drove by the sh.o.r.e of the lake to Interlachen, arriving just after a brilliant sunset.
"We crossed the Wengern Alps to Grindelwald. The Jungfrau is right over against us,--her glaciers purer, tenderer, more dazzlingly beautiful, if possible, than those of Mont Blanc. Slept at Grindelwald."
From Rosenlaui, on this journey, Charles Beecher writes:--
"_Friday, July 22_. Grindelwald to Meyringen. On we came, to the top of the Great Schiedeck, where H. and W. botanized, while I slept.
Thence we rode down the mountain till we reached Rosenlaui, where, I am free to say, a dinner was to me a more interesting object than a glacier. Therefore, while H. and W. went to the latter, I turned off to the inn, amid their cries and reproaches.
"Here, then, I am, writing these notes in the _salle a manger_ of the inn, where other voyagers are eating and drinking, and there is H.
feeding on the green moonshine of an emerald ice cave. One would almost think her incapable of fatigue. How she skips up and down high places and steep places, to the manifest perplexity of the honest guide Kienholz, _pere_, who tries to take care of her, but does not exactly know how! She gets on a pyramid of debris, which the edge of the glacier is plowing and grinding up, sits down, and falls--not asleep exactly, but into a trance. W. and I are ready to go on: we shout; our voice is lost in the roar of the torrent. We send the guide. He goes down, and stands doubtfully. He does not know exactly what to do. She hears him, and starts to her feet, pointing with one hand to yonder peak, and with the other to that knife-like edge that seems cleaving heaven with its keen and glistening cimeter of snow, reminding one of Isaiah"s sublime imagery, "For my sword is bathed in heaven." She points at the grizzly rocks, with their jags and spear- points. Evidently she is beside herself, and thinks she can remember the names of those monsters, born of earthquake and storm, which cannot be named nor known but by sight, and then are known at once perfectly and forever."
After traveling through Germany, Belgium, and Holland, the party returned to Paris toward the end of August, from which place Mrs.
Stowe writes:--
"I am seated in a snug little room at M. Belloc"s. The weather is overpoweringly hot, but these Parisian houses seem to have seized and imprisoned coolness. French household ways are delightful. I like their seclusion from the street by these deep-paned quadrangles.
"Madame Belloc was the translator of Maria Edgeworth, by that lady"s desire; corresponded with her for years, and still has many of her letters. Her translation of "Uncle Tom" has to me all the merit and all the interest of an original composition. In perusing it, I enjoy the pleasure of reading the story with scarce any consciousness of its ever having been mine."
The next letter is from London _en route_ for America, to which pa.s.sage had been engaged on the Collins steamer Arctic. In it Mrs.
Stowe writes:--
"_London, August _28. Our last letters from home changed all our plans. We concluded to hurry away by the next steamer, if at that late hour we could get a pa.s.sage. We were all in a bustle. The last shoppings for aunts, cousins, and little folks were to be done by us all. The Palais Royal was to be rummaged; bronzes, vases, statuettes, bonbons, playthings,--all that the endless fertility of France could show,--was to be looked over for the "folks at home."
"How we sped across the Channel C. relates. We are spending a few very pleasant days with our kind friends the L."s, in London.
"_On board the Arctic, September_ 7. On Thursday, September 1, we reached York, and visited the beautiful ruins of St. Mary"s Abbey, and the magnificent cathedral. It rained with inflexible pertinacity during all the time we were there, and the next day it rained still, when we took the cars for Castle Howard station.
"Lady Carlisle welcomed us most affectionately, and we learned that, had we not been so reserved at the York station in concealing our names, we should have received a note from her. However, as we were safely arrived, it was of no consequence.
"Our friends spoke much of Sunmer and Prescott, who had visited there; also of Mr. Lawrence, our former amba.s.sador, who had visited them just before his return. After a very pleasant day, we left with regret the warmth of this hospitable circle, thus breaking one more of the links that bind us to the English sh.o.r.e.
"Nine o"clock in the evening found us sitting by a cheerful fire in the parlor of Mr. E. Baines at Leeds. The next day the house was filled with company, and the Leeds offering was presented.
"Tuesday we parted from our excellent friends in Leeds, and soon found ourselves once more in the beautiful "Dingle," our first and last resting-place on English sh.o.r.es.
"A deputation from Belfast, Ireland, here met me, presenting a beautiful bog-oak casket, lined with gold, and carved with appropriate national symbols, containing an offering for the cause of the oppressed. They read a beautiful address, and touched upon the importance of inspiring with the principles of emanc.i.p.ation the Irish nation, whose influence in our land is becoming so great. Had time and strength permitted, it had been my purpose to visit Ireland, to revisit Scotland, and to see more of England. But it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps. And now came parting, leave-taking, last letters, notes, and messages.
"Thus, almost sadly as a child might leave its home, I left the sh.o.r.es of kind, strong Old England,--the mother of us all."
CHAPTER XI.
HOME AGAIN, 1853-1856.
ANTI-SLAVERY WORK.--STIRRING TIMES IN THE UNITED STATES.--ADDRESS TO THE LADIES OF GLASGOW.--APPEAL TO THE WOMEN OF AMERICA.-- CORRESPONDENCE WITH WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON.--THE WRITING OF "DRED."-- FAREWELL LETTER FROM GEORGIANA MAY.--SECOND VOYAGE TO ENGLAND.
After her return in the autumn of 1853 from her European tour, Mrs.
Stowe threw herself heart and soul into the great struggle with slavery. Much of her time was occupied in distributing over a wide area of country the English gold with which she had been intrusted for the advancement of the cause. With this money she a.s.sisted in the redemption of slaves whose cases were those of peculiar hardship, and helped establish them as free men. She supported anti-slavery lectures wherever they were most needed, aided in establishing and maintaining anti-slavery publications, founded and a.s.sisted in supporting schools in which colored people might be taught how to avail themselves of the blessings of freedom. She arranged public meetings, and prepared many of the addresses that should be delivered at them. She maintained such an extensive correspondence with persons of all shades of opinion in all parts of the world, that the letters received and answered by her between 1853 and 1856 would fill volumes. With all these multifarious interests, her children received a full share of her attention, nor were her literary activities relaxed.
Immediately upon the completion of her European tour, her experiences were published in the form of a journal, both in this country and England, under the t.i.tle of "Sunny Memories." She also revised and elaborated the collection of sketches which had been published by the Harpers in 1843, under t.i.tle of "The Mayflower," and having purchased the plates caused them to be republished in 1855 by Phillips & Sampson, the successors of John P. Jewett & Co., in this country, and by Sampson Low & Co. in London.
Soon after her return to America, feeling that she owed a debt of grat.i.tude to her friends in Scotland, which her feeble health had not permitted her adequately to express while with them, Mrs. Stowe wrote the following open letter:--
TO THE LADIES" ANTI-SLAVERY SOCIETY OF GLASGOW:
_Dear Friends_,--I have had many things in my mind to say to you, which it was my hope to have said personally, but which I am now obliged to say by letter.
I have had many fears that you must have thought our intercourse, during the short time that I was in Glasgow, quite unsatisfactory.
At the time that I accepted your very kind invitation, I was in tolerable health, and supposed that I should be in a situation to enjoy society, and mingle as much in your social circles as you might desire.
When the time came for me to fulfil my engagement with you, I was, as you know, confined to my bed with a sickness brought on by the exertion of getting the "Key to Uncle Tom"s Cabin" through the press during the winter.
In every part of the world the story of "Uncle Tom" had awakened sympathy for the American slave, and consequently in every part of the world the story of his wrongs had been denied; it had been a.s.serted to be a mere work of romance, and I was charged with being the slanderer of the inst.i.tutions of my own country. I knew that if I shrank from supporting my position, the sympathy which the work had excited would gradually die out, and the whole thing would be looked upon as a mere romantic excitement of the pa.s.sions.
When I came abroad, I had not the slightest idea of the kind of reception which was to meet me in England and Scotland. I had thought of something involving considerable warmth, perhaps, and a good deal of cordiality and feeling on the part of friends; but of the general extent of feeling through society, and of the degree to which it would be publicly expressed, I had, I may say, no conception.
As through your society I was invited to your country, it may seem proper that what communication I have to make to friends in England and Scotland should be made through you.
In the first place, then, the question will probably arise in your minds, Have the recent demonstrations in Great Britain done good to the anti-slavery cause in America?
The first result of those demonstrations, as might have been expected, was an intense reaction. Every kind of false, evil, and malignant report has been circulated by malicious and partisan papers; and if there is any blessing in having all manner of evil said against us falsely, we have seemed to be in a fair way to come in possession of it.