[Letters and Correspondence 1832—Mediterranean]REV. R. H. FROUDE TO REV. J. H. NEWMAN September 9, 1832.
and the latter in close proximity to the former: [tauta de panta theon en gounasi keitai].] I will not go into details, for all is at last as well as possible; but you were right in saying it would be a slow job [N.B. this refers to his sister, I think]; perhaps much pain is yet to come, but all must go right. You will be glad to hear that I have made up my mind to spend the winter in the Mediterranean, and my father is going with me the end of November; and we shall see Sicily and the south of Italy. We are both very anxious that you should come with us. I think it would set you up. {241} REV. DR. HAWKINS TO REV. J. H. NEWMAN Rochester: September 12. REV. J. H. NEWMAN TO REV. R. H. FROUDE September 13, 1832. I am much tempted by your proposal, for several reasons, yet there is so much of impediment in the way of my accepting it. I cannot divest myself of the feeling that I may be intruding upon your father; but, supposing this away, I see much in favour of the scheme. Probably I never shall have such an opportunity again. I mean that of going with a man I know so well as yourself. And going with a person older than myself, as your father, is to me a great temptation. I am indolently distrustful of my own judgment in little matters, and like to be under orders. [N.B.—My leaving them, in the event, at Rome, and going through Sicily by myself is a curious comment upon this.] Then what a name the Mediterranean is! And the time of the year, for I think summer would be too hot for me; and the opportunity of getting there without touching Gallic earth (for I suppose you go by water), which is an abomination. And if I ever am to travel, is not this the time when I am most at liberty for it? My engagements being slighter now {242} than they have been these many years, and than they are likely to be hereafter. And I feel the need of it; I am suspicious of becoming narrow-minded, and at least I wish to experience the feeling and the trial of expansiveness of views, if it were but to be able to say I had, and to know how to meet it in the case of others. And then I think I may fairly say my health requires it. Not that I ever expect to be regularly well as long as I live. It is a thing I do not think of; but still I may be set up enough for years of work, for which, at present, I may be unequal. But you must tell me (1) as to time. I could not allow myself to be absent from England beyond Easter (say the beginning of April). Would it not be possible for me to part company with you? (2) As to expense, which, I apprehend, will be a serious subject ... (3) As to my health. It is quite enough that you should be an invalid; but it would be an ungracious [parergon] for me to fall sick also. Now I cannot answer for my health. If all of a sudden I fell ill? My book [the 'Arians'] has long been out of hand. I suspect that Rose thinks it scarcely safe, and Rivington thinks it dull. However, I am quite satisfied with Rose; he is in ecstasies with parts of it, and, I sincerely believe, delays it under the wish to make it as good as possible. He seems to like the first chapter least, which is now in Lyell's hands. Rose is a very energetic, well-principled fellow. I have seen a good deal of him; whether he is firm remains to be seen. I will believe no one till he has committed himself. Do send Mr. Rose one or two more architectural articles before you go. REV. J. H. NEWMAN TO REV. R. H. FROUDE October 4, 1832. As to myself, I had rather postpone going, without liking to give up the prospect you have opened; so do not let me come in any way into your deliberations, as I suppose you will not. Did I consult my wishes I should stop at home. I grudge the time, the expense, the trouble, the being put out of one's way, &c. But it may be a duty to consult for one's health, to enlarge one's ideas, to break one's studies, and to have the name of a travelled man; this last being a pleasure also—[huperoches gar] [Note 1]. I have been entirely idle the last month. The violin has been my only care, and, though I have not practised or progressed much, yet I see that I could easily play better than I ever did, and with regular attention might do what I pleased. But of all trades under the sun the worst is that of music in a blow-up; for Euripides's complaint still holds good, and the lyre is only heard in feasts. Yet 'music hath charms,' and it were better to ask the Date obolum after a tune than to beg without pretence. As the reader knows, the original plan for spending the winter in the Mediterranean was adhered to, and the party sailed from Falmouth early in December. REV. J. H. NEWMAN TO REV. R. H. FROUDE October 1832. I am afraid of making too much of little things and resting in them. Let us make broad comprehensions. I hope you like this doctrine; certainly it does not do to split on trifles. One must use the [oikonomia]. I agree with you about preaching [i.e. extempore preaching]. I have had from time to time divers thoughts about turning evangelical so far, only I am afraid. If Oxford was any place but Oxford, I certainly would have a weekly lecture—[epideixeos charin]. {244} REV. JOHN KEBLE TO REV. J. H. NEWMAN November 1832. By the time these matters are settled another ten days will be over; and, settled or not, I propose coming up on Monday the 12th, and predicating the 13th. I send the third lecture in case you should think it worth looking over too. I long to know how Froude is. The sooner he comes now [to Fairford] the better, or you either. My dear N., I am sadly afraid you will be giving us the slip as the time of your voyage draws near, and my brother wants to see you, and I want you to see him. You will see that I have reserved much of what we talked of for another lecture. I was sure the yawns else would have been direful. REV. C. P. GOLIGHTLY TO REV. J. H. NEWMAN November 7, 1832. REV. E. B. PUSEY, D.D., TO REV. J. H. NEWMAN November 8, 1832. REV. J. H. NEWMAN TO REV. E. B. PUSEY, D.D. November 10, 1832. FREDERIC ROGERS, ESQ., TO REV. J. H. NEWMAN November 12, 1832. The following note and poem are appended by Mr. Newman to the foregoing letter: {246} I went down with Rogers to Blackheath, Nov. 14, for the first time. I dined there and returned to London. It was my first time of seeing his (F. R.'s) family. Father, mother, sisters, and I think some brothers. In consequence I wrote the lines which stand first in the 'Lyra Apostolica,' 'Where'er I roam.' One of the sisters died on September 22, 1837.
Oxford, Nov. 16, 1832. The author of 'Reminiscences of Oriel' says: 'It never was possible to be even a quarter of an hour in his [Newman's] company without a man feeling himself incited to take an onward step, sufficient to tax his energies or his faith.' The following letters on taking leave of his friend and pupil, who had just taken a high degree, perhaps illustrate this demand upon the energies of men in proportion as he valued and estimated them. November 19, 1832. To the same friend he had written previously: You have an active mind and are not lonely without books, and I almost think that idleness, or rather vacancy, is the best time for thought. Again to the same, who seems to have replied on the question of muddling: November 22, 1832. VEN. ARCHDEACON FROUDE TO REV. J. H. NEWMAN November 24, 1832. … If my correspondent is correctly informed, the ship is the same that took the Bishop of Exeter and myself to Scilly last year. She is, I think, the largest packet in the service, and was at that time fitted up in the most comfortable way imaginable, and her captain was a worthy obliging person. She is 800 tons and is called the 'Hermes.' F. ROGERS, ESQ., TO REV. J. H. NEWMAN November 26, 1832. Among the tasks which Mr. Newman proposed to Mr. Rogers, as an idle man, was the writing of verses. His last letter despatched just before sailing touches upon this. REV. J. H. NEWMAN TO F. ROGERS, ESQ. Oriel College: December 1, 1832. On Sunday, December 2, 1832, as Select Preacher, Mr. Newman preached the sermon on Saul [Note 2]. On Monday, December 3, he set out by the Southampton coach for Whitchurch, writing on the same day. TO HIS MOTHER Whitchurch: December 3, 1832. In the afternoon service yesterday, the second Psalm [for singing] was Ps. 121, Merrick's version. Now I cannot think {249} the organist chose it on purpose, yet chosen on purpose it must have been by some one or other. So it seems like an omen or a promise.—Yours ever dutifully. P.S.—Some time since Mrs. Copley sent me her History of the Bible ... Get Williams to see or write to her, with a message from me, and the gift of a book in turn ... Some book on the Church or like 'Thomas à Kempis,' or Taylor's 'Holy Living,' or against schism, so that it is not offensive. And I have wished some time to give James [the man-servant] Beveridge's 'Private Thoughts,' or some such book. Williams will help you here; and I have promised my laundress a book of the same kind. And I wish to give a gown to Bobbin's mother, but have not told him. H. W. [Henry Wilberforce], perhaps, will try to worm some of my sermons out of you, to carry out of Oxford—do not let him. TO HIS MOTHER Falmouth, December 5, 1832. A night journey through Devonshire and Cornwall is very striking for its mysteriousness; and it was a beautiful night, clear, frosty, and bright with a full moon. Mere richness of vegetation is lost by night, but bold features remain. As I came along, I had the whole train of pictures so vividly upon my mind, that I could have written a most interesting account of it in the most approved picturesque style of modern composition, but it is all gone from me by this time, like a dream. The night was enlivened by what Herodotus calls a night engagement with a man, called by courtesy a gentleman, on the box. The first act ended by his calling me a d— fool. The second by his insisting on two most hearty shakes of the hand, with the protest that he certainly did think me very injudicious and ill-timed. I had opened by telling him he was talking great nonsense to a silly goose of a maid-servant stuck atop of the coach; so I had no reason to complain of his choosing to give me the retort uncourteous ... He assured {250} me he reverenced my cloth ... It is so odd, he thought I had attacked him under personal feeling. I am quite ashamed of this scrawl, yet since I have a few minutes to spare I do not like to be otherwise employed than in writing. I have already experienced several of those lesser inconveniences which become great as soon as they are dwelt upon, but shrink to their proper size when the mind is occupied by any more important object, whether of this world or the next. First, Fisk had not repaired the rent in the side of my cloak. Next, the buckle of my new carpet-bag broke before I set out, and the key broke in opening it at Exeter. I was obliged to improvisate a padlock, which again has got wrong in my journey here, and now a man is at it again. Thirdly, my portmanteau has been cut, but not badly. Fourthly, Harriett's purse has torn itself. Such is the present state of my expedition. Our vessel is the 'Hermes'; it is the largest
vessel in the Malta service. It has been seen miserably perplexed with
the gales off the Downs, and is now expected hourly. Do not tell anyone
any part of the nonsense I have been scrawling. Before entering upon the series of letters from abroad, extending from December 11, 1832, to July 1833, the Editor thinks it well to transcribe the following caution from the writer of them, without any further interference with the letters as they stand. Writing July 26, 1885, he says 'Further—so widely has the world been thrown open since fifty years ago, that I may be very wrong in my descriptions and statements of facts of all kinds.—J. H. N.' On board the 'Hermes'TO HIS MOTHER On board the 'Hermes': December 11,
1832. Today has been the most pleasurable day—as far as externals go—I have ever had that I can recollect; and now, in the evening, I am sleepy and tired with the excitement. We are now off Cape Finisterre. Lights were just now visible from farmhouses on shore, which is, maybe, fifteen miles off. This morning early we saw the high mountains of Spain— {251} the first foreign land I ever saw, having finished most prosperously our passage across the formidable Bay of Biscay. The land first discovered was Cape Ortegal and its neighbourhood, magnificent in its outline; and, as we neared it, marked out with three lines of mountains; in some places very precipitous. At first we were about fifty miles off them, then twenty-five perhaps. At the same time the day cleared, and the sea, which even hitherto had been very fine, now became of a rich indigo colour; and, the wind freshening, was tipped with white edges, which, breaking into foam, turned into momentary rainbows. The sea-gulls, quite at home, were sailing about; and the vessel rocked to and fro with a motion which, unpleasant as it might have been, had the wind been from the south-west, was delightful as being from shore. I cannot describe the exquisite colour of the sea, which, though not striking as being strange or novel, is unlike anything I have ever seen; so subdued, so destitute of all display, so sober—I should call it, so gentlemanlike in colour; and then so deep and solemn, and, if a colour can be so called, so strong; and then the contrast between the white and the indigo, and the change in the wake of the vessel into all colours—transparent green, white, white-green, &c. As evening came on, we had every appearance of being in a warmer latitude. The sea brightened to a glowing purple, inclined to lilac; the sun set in a car of gold, and was succeeded by a sky, first pale orange, then gradually heightening to a dusky red; while Venus came out as the evening star with its peculiar intense brightness. Now it is bright starlight. We passed Corunna in the afternoon, but too far off to see more than the mountains above it. We shall not make Malta by Christmas Day. I think it very probable I shall not be home by Easter ... As to my work [the 'Arians.'—J. H. N.] I ought to give several months of correction to it, which I might give in the Long Vacation. I have not been idle in the matter of verse-making. I have written a copy a day since I have been on board, besides others at Falmouth and Whitchurch. The Captain is a very pleasant man. There are three midshipmen, and one above them, who may or may not be called lieutenant; for steam vessels are anomalies (they are all of the navy, as is the case with all packets now). There are, besides, a purser and a doctor. They are, all of them, young men from twenty to twenty-five; have seen a great {252} deal of all parts of the world, have much interesting information, and are very gentlemanlike. It amuses one to scrutinise them. One so clever, the others hardly so. They have (most of them) made very few inductions, and are not in the habit of investigating causes—the very reverse of philosophers. They have good spirits and are very good-humoured ... Do not I write well, considering the sea is rocking up and down, up and down? I am surprised at the ease with which I walk the deck—that is, at my having got my sea legs and altogether how easily I do many things which seem difficult; and am disposed to think that hitherto [in past years] I have been working under a great pressure, and, should it please God ever to reverse it, I shall be like steam expanding itself. I shall end with one or two matters of business if I can recollect them. Should a letter come to me from the Bishop of London, offering me a Whitehall preacher-ship, get Christie [J. F.], to whom I have spoken, to write him word (I use the expressions I wish him to use) that, since I was honoured with an interview, 'circumstances have arisen which have decided me in declining that flattering mark of his notice, should it be offered me, which, he said, was possible.' Excuse me if I have made blunders in this letter; it is too long to read over. TO HIS SISTER HARRIETT On board the 'Hermes': December 12,
1832. In giving his experience of sea-sickness Mr. Newman certainly did not look for a wide class of readers, but thought was busy; the impulse to analyse was strong in him; and he could reckon on amused sympathy; and perhaps may have it still. My sea-sickness, if it may be so called, left me in twenty-four hours. It is an uncomfortable feeling certainly; but in {253} saying that, I have said the worst of it. Never certainly had I ailment more easy to bear; and, so far from having my spirits depressed, I could do nothing but laugh at the oddity of my plight. It began on going down to dinner on Saturday. The motion is felt much more below, and the cabin is close. A strange feeling came over me; the heaving to and fro of everything seemed to puzzle me from head to foot, but in such a vague, mysterious way, that I could not get hold of it, or say what was the matter with me, or where. On I ate: I was determined, for it is one of the best alleviations. On I drank, but in so absurdly solemn a way, with such a perplexity of mind, not to say of body, that, as I have said, I laughed at myself. How I wished dinner over! Yet, on I sat, heaving up and down, to and fro, in an endless, meaningless motion; a trouble without a crisis; the discomfort of an uneasy dream. I went upstairs and got better. Then I lay down and was well. Got up at eleven at night, walked about, and was better again—went to bed and slept soundly. Sunday morning I was languid and qualmish; lay down on the deck and got well, but was afraid to stir. We had great difficulty to read the service. Archdeacon Froude was very bad and in bed. R. H. F. was getting well, but I did not like to let him try by himself. However, he read, and I was able to respond. I was better and worse all day, and after bed-time had no more trouble up to this time, when I eat and drink, loll about, read and write as usual. Sea-sickness is to me a very light evil; lying down is an instant specific for it, and eating a certain alleviation and fortifying against it. I am only just now getting reconciled to my berth, which yet is very far superior to most, if not all, accommodations of the kind. I will not speak of its smallness, more like a coffin than a bed, nor of its darkness; but, first, think of the roll of the vessel to and fro. The first night my side was sore with the rub, rub of the motion. Then fancy the swinging, the never-ended swinging—you knock your head, you bruise your arms, all the while being shelved in a cupboard five feet from the floor. Then the creaking of the vessel; it is like half a hundred watchmen's rattles mixed with the squeaking of Brobdingnag pigs, while the water dashes, dash, dash against the side. Then overhead the loud foot of the watch, who goes on tramping up and down for more or less the whole night. Then in the morning the washing of the deck; rush comes an engine-pipe on the floor—ceases, is renewed, flourishes {254} about, rushes again: then suddenly half a dozen brooms, wish-wash, wish-wash, scrib-scrub, scratching and roaring alternately. Then the heavy flump, flump of the huge cloth which is meant to dry the deck as a towel or duster. Last, and not least, the smell. In spite of airing it, the berth will smell damp and musty; at best it is close; there is no window in it; it opens into the cabin, which at night is lighted with oil. Added to this, the want of room for your baggage, and your higgledy-piggledy state; and you will allow I have given you enough of discomfort. Yet one day like yesterday outweighs them all; and, in fact, they are vanishing fast. To be sure, a valetudinarian could not bear it. I think that it would quite have knocked me up a year or two since: and as for those who, in advanced stages of consumption, are sent abroad, it must be a martyrdom: yet, I repeat, our vessel is a peculiarly convenient one. But I am glad to say I am getting over all these things. First we have decided on going on with the vessel to Zante, Patras, Corfu, and to take Malta as the vessel comes back; thus we are sure of remaining on board for a month and more to come; so I shall unpack, which will be a comfort ... You must know that each berth has two sleeping-shelves, one above the other, which are both occupied when the vessel is full (fancy the misery). But we have no cabin passengers on board beside ourselves; so we have our berth each to himself. Now the under shelf I shall empty of bedding and arrange my baggage there. There are several little shelves, too, on which I shall place various little articles and books ... Next I am getting to understand my berth, and the way of lying in it comfortably; and certainly I cannot deny that it is snug, though odd. I get not to mind the noises, and I have effected a better ventilation. This is all I have to say at present. Meanwhile, I transcribe one of my follies, having done it before breakfast this morning.
I have written one on Athanasius, and a sort of song; and one on the Church of Rome, and I wish to take Old Testament subjects, but cannot yet seize them. I wonder what news you have at home all this while. How strange it is to have given up all thoughts about the French and Antwerp! But, hearing nothing, we are forced, in self-defence, to forget what otherwise is so interesting. Rose has answered our proposal about the 'Lyra Apostolica' in the most flattering manner. I hope he will let us do as we will. TO HIS SISTER JEMIMA The 'Hermes': December 12, 1832.
Tonight the fire-flies are most beautiful, and the water phosphoric. We are in latitude 41° about. It is curious to see the Great Bear close to the water's edge. I was familiar enough with the Celestial Bear [this is an allusion to Whately] to make it feel odd to see him near the horizon; yet he quite squints, like a word ill spelt. I wish I could draw in your style a picture of men taking the log—that is, finding the rate the vessel is going. A rope is thrown into the sea with certain knots to mark the rate. It is briskly unwound from a roller as the vessel moves, while another man holds a minute glass. About four or five men are employed in it, and the grouping is very good. December 13.—I have had before my eyes the last two hours visions such as I can hardly believe to be real: the Portuguese coast, in all that indescribable peculiarity of foreign scenery which paintings attempt. Whether it is in the clearness of the air or other causes, it is as different from England as possible, and I can hardly say how. The cliffs are high, composed of sandstone. They form a natural architecture—pyramids, and these in groups. The water, which is beautifully calm, breaks in high foam; the sun is bright and casts large shadows on the rocks and downs. Above, all is exposed, barren, or poorly cultivated; an immense plain, irregularly surfaced, slopes down to the brink of the cliffs, a beautiful pale reddish-brown. Through the glass we see houses, flocks of sheep, windmills with sails like a spider's web, martello towers with men lounging about the walls, woods of cork-trees with very long stems, all as clear and as unnaturally bright as you can fancy. To the south the town Mafra, which we are passing; above the magnificent heights of Torres Vedras. Cintra is to the south, and we are expecting it. It is so very tantalising that we cannot land and really determine that it is a country. It is like a vision. It is the first foreign soil I have come near. The line of Torres Vedras is now most distinct. We are passing a point beyond which we see {257} nothing. But I suppose Cintra and Lisbon are on the other side. Since I wrote the above the lines of Torres Vedras and the rocks underneath have passed before us like a pageant. The cliffs are high and bold, all sorts of colours, a greenish-reddish-brown, very sober. Above the cliffs are the country houses of the nobility, scattered along rising plains which terminate in a sharp bold outline, receiving and screening the lines of Torres Vedras. At the base of the cliffs the waves are dashed, the foam rising like Venus from the sea. I never saw more graceful forms, and so sedate and deliberate in their rising and falling. The colour of the heights a strange bluish-greyish something or other, very subdued. Eight o'clock P.M.—In the afternoon we had two more sights: the rock of Lisbon, and the other side of the Torres Vedras, with the mouth of the Tagus. The latter is the most strange sight of this day. Am I only five days from England? Am I in Europe? I expect America to be different; but is it possible that what seems so unlike home should be so near home? How is the North cut off from the South! What colouring! A pale greenish-red which no words can describe, but such as I have seen in pictures of Indian landscape—an extremely clean and clear colour. We shall make Cadiz by tomorrow evening, while Williams is lecturing at Littlemore. The sunset has been fine—the sky bright saffron, the sea purple. The night is strangely warm. Latitude 39° or 38°. The Great Bear almost in the water. The glass 66° in my berth, which is cooler than the cabin, which opens upon the external air. December 14.—The weather gets warmer and warmer, though I believe we are in astonishing fortune for the time of year. This morning porpoises are about us, and we nearly ran over two large turtles. The first object at sunrise was Cape St. Vincent. We had just spoken with a fisher-boat with four men. Whether it is the atmosphere or sky, the colours were very picturesque; the clearness of the air I cannot describe. I end, having room, with a verse:
On board the 'Hermes'—GibraltarTO HIS MOTHER Gibraltar: on board the 'Hermes': December
16, 1832. The population is limited by rule to 18,000, in order to provide against the risk of an excess during a siege; but this rule is evaded, and the town held three times that number at the time of the yellow fever, two or three years since. The population is said to be very dense and dirty, with a great many Jews. The town is cut off from the garrison by walls of defence, and an open space, which is planted and called the Almeidah. Still closer to us are the barracks (still on the Rock), with the Government houses, officers' lodgings, &c. Under, and close opposite to our starboard stem, lie several Dutch coalers detained by the embargo. Right opposite on the other side of the vessel, and on the N.W., runs the Mole close to us, covered with coal, which the foreign jabbering heavers are conveying into time vessel. The whole scene is something quite different from anything I have seen during this wonderful week, and unlike any picture or panorama I have met with. {259} The Rock has a magnificent outline, very sharp in the ridge; the other and outer side (which we do not see) being perpendicular down to the Mediterranean. It is coloured with all sorts of hues—grey, red, white and green—all, of course, subdued. The space between the town and garrison is traversed by a road lying on the side of the cliff, with gardens on both sides. It is fringed with orange-trees as high as a mountain-ash (to judge, from a distance), with long stems. The grass is tinted in places with a bright yellow, which, in England, we should judge to be buttercups. The garrison buildings are very picturesque. The barrack itself is a long, whitish, handsome building; but about it are houses in groups—high, and turning all ways—painted of all colours. Close to us is a large, dull red shed or storehouse, low and long, with gables; above them are buildings faced with blue, cream colour, brown, white and red. The water is so clear we can see, plainly as if they were out of it, innumerable fish of considerable size playing about in all directions. Galleys and boats are moving about, one pulled by more oars than I could count. The morning is very bright—indeed, as time day gets on (now it is 10 A.M.), too bright for the beauty of the scene. Early the surgeon of the garrison came alongside of us, and we were each asked particularly about the cholera, whether we had been in cholera districts, &c. From his manner we are sure we shall be allowed to land; but the Board of Health does not meet till after church; so, instead of going to church on shore, we shall enjoy the black dust of the coal. The yellow quarantine flag dangles from our mast-head. Having at this moment nothing to write, I add a sonnet which I meant to have sent to Aunt:
Last night the stillness, after a week's rattling and roaring, had a most singular effect; it was so unnatural. I never felt anything like it, and cannot describe it. I had, in consequence, a very good night—the first for a week—it was very soothing. Eight P.M.—Our fate is decided, we are not to be released till 2 P.M. tomorrow. The St. Roque Spaniards, who are members of the Board of Health, are the cause of our quarantine. This has been a most uncomfortable day; a Sunday without the signs of a Sunday I can hardly understand. The vessel not being allowed to stop over tomorrow, the men have been all day engaged in bringing on coal. It has been one scene of confusion, dust flying about—the cabin, in consequence, closed—the native coalmen jabbering about nothing at all; the sun blazing on deck; service impossible; the crew very busy or very idle and listless. The warmth of the weather is quite strange, but not relaxing at all. Yesterday we left off all our fire, which even before was nominal, and dined with open skylights. The nights are brilliantly starlight, yet without anything like frost. Mars, to all appearance, almost in the zenith. I shall be heartily sick of not hearing from you till I get to Naples, which is the first place to which letters may be safely directed ... I add a sonnet [Note 4], and some verses:
TO HIS SISTER HARRIETT On board the 'Hermes'. December 18,
1832. We left Gibraltar at 9 P.M. yesterday, and are now on the open Mediterranean—the sea without a billow, and a strange contrast to the Atlantic; and in the distance the dim shadows of snowy mountains, ranging up the Spanish coast to the N.E. Africa out of sight. But I must go back to give you an account of our brief visit to Gibraltar. I no longer wonder at younger persons being carried away with travelling, and corrupted; for certainly the illusions of the world's magic can hardly be fancied while one remains at home. I never felt any pleasure or danger from the common routine of pleasures, which most persons desire and suffer from—balls, or pleasure parties, or sights—but I think it does require strength of mind to keep the thoughts where they should be while the variety of strange sights—political, moral, and physical—are passed before the eyes, as in a tour like this. (I have just been called up to see the mountains of Grenada, which we have neared; they are enveloped in a sheet of snow.) With this remark I proceed to give you some poor account of our visit to Gibraltar, the first foreign land I ever put foot on. We were to have obtained pratique, as it is called (I cannot learn the right meaning of the word), at 2 P.M. yesterday (Monday), but by the good offices of one of Archdeacon Froude's friends, who was afterwards our guide and host, a meeting of the Board of Health was effected in the morning, and we were allowed to land about half-past twelve. Col. Rogers, of the Artillery (the officer in question), took Archdeacon Froude in his gig, and gave Hurrell and me horses, and off we set to the southern point of the Rock—Point Europa. Here the Rock is thrown about into a vast variety of forms with deep fissures or valleys, and most picturesque groups in consequence. It is {262} of a grey colour, varied here and there with a reddish sand. What the solid Rock is composed of I am ashamed to say I do not know; but it may be the same as the rock which is always forming around it—namely, a sandstone cemented and indurated by water passing through limestone. In consequence, it has an oolitic appearance, and sometimes a granitic. There are various caves abounding in stalactites in consequence. The lime is so adhesive that they mix no glutinous substance in the whitewash made of it, as they do in England; and when used for walks, instead of gravel, we observed it looked as solid as a granite pavement. The old Moorish fortifications are entirely made of it—that is, of the earth of the place. They are entirely made of earth rammed tight together in a framework, which is afterwards removed after the manner of time Pisans, which the Duke of Bedford introduced to England some time since at Woburn Abbey. So much on the nature of the rock. As we rode up the carriage-way the Rock seemed to heighten marvellously. It had so hung over us, and at the same time receded from us, when we were in the vessel, that it seems but a few hundred feet high, being really 1,500 feet. But now our up-hill ride convinced us, though our eyes were unconvinced; still, I can give you no account of the guns and batteries, which I do not understand; of course, they are very imposing. Before us lay the range of African mountains, which differ in shape from the Spanish. The African seems to be of volcanic origin—conical and independent like waves. Ape's hill rises 3,000 feet from the sea, being the termination of the Atlas chain. Behind we saw this part of the Atlas distinctly, covered with snow, I think; the range is very high, the highest mountain being 10,000 feet. Further towards the east, about Fez, the range is highest, being in one place 14,000 or 15,000; I forget which. The Rock of Gibraltar, where we now were, presented a very broken surface, being more like haycocks or a ploughed field than an thing else. In the intervals grow large aloes, the flowers still remaining; geraniums clothe them as ground-ivy may a bank in England. As we went along the road, huge cactuses sprawled over the walls. I did not know they grew so large; they were as thick as the trunk of a good-sized tree. The oranges were in full fruit, and various other hot-house plants. We went round the side as far as the Monkey Cave, where we were fortunate enough to see some of {263} the monkeys skipping like birds all over the surface. The Colonel considered we were in high luck. He was in Gibraltar two years before he saw one; yet we also saw some afterwards on the north. At the furthest extremity we reached, the cliff descends right down to the sea from the top, 1,500 feet! with hardly a break, certainly none of consequence. There are caverns at the bottom. After entering the town we went first to the convent, which is now the Government House. Archdeacon Froude had introductions with him to a number of superior officers, and he took this opportunity of staying half an hour with Col. Mair, the Governor's Secretary, with whom we lunched. He is a very young-looking man for a Colonel, remarkably handsome and agreeable, and of a literary turn. On looking over his table I was surprised and amused to see the 'British Magazine' there among the books [Note 5]. We had a delightful lounge in the convent garden, which even at this season is luxuriant and fragrant. Immense cactuses, the date, the orange, the lemon, the custard-apple, the turpentine-tree, the dragon-tree; last, and not least, the palm, about eighteen feet high, and a most singular tree—a perfect garden of Alcinous. Col. Mair told us that in a month's time the garden would be one mass of odours and splendours. Col. Mair gave us some superb Cyprus wine, and then we set off to join Col. Rogers again. ... I will transcribe for you a sort of ecclesiastical carol which I wrote as an experiment, but which, I am by no means confident is a successful one.
P.S. December 26.—I purpose sending you this letter from Corfu overland, and I shall send a packet of letters and a chest of oranges by the 'Hermes' on its return. I send you some verses.
TO HIS SISTER JEMIMA On board the 'Hermes': December 18,
1832. When Marshal Bourmont was here two years ago, his criticism on Gibraltar was that its fortifications were over-done. This may be true, but such a judgment will vary with possession and non-possession. By a curious coincidence an assistant chaplain of my name is expected here. Accordingly the report got about that he had come, and Arch-bishop Froude had come to consecrate the chapel ... Having nothing more to say, I conclude with some verses:
On board the 'Hermes'TO HIS MOTHER On board the 'Hermes': December 19,
1832. What has inspired me with all sorts of strange reflections these two days is the thought that I am in the Mediterranean. Consider how the coasts of the Mediterranean have been the seat and scene of the most celebrated empires and events {267} which are in history. Think of the variety of men, famous in every way, who have had to do with it. Here the Romans and Carthaginians fought; here the Phœnicians traded; here Jonah was in the storm; here St. Paul was shipwrecked; here the great Athanasius voyaged to Rome. Talking of Athanasius, I will give you some verses about him:
December 23. On going on deck there lay before the eye a huge hill covered with heath, with folds and recesses and a roundish form. On this hill—I suppose a mile or two from the town—were perched about a number of very white houses, apparently of Frank merchants, looking very desolate, as if they wondered how they got there. They seemed to have no gardens, lodges, farmyards, or outhouses, such as make an English country house look like a small village. At length the town opened upon us. It lies on the side of a slant, not very steep, apparently, and is of a triangular form, not reaching to the top of the hill, with the fortifications in front of its base. The French tricolour floated from them. The houses are closely jammed together, and are of a discoloured yellow. They have very small windows, some high narrow arches at bottom. The western side of the steep (I did not observe the other) flanked by a high wall. A mosque stands without it, and there are several within. A considerable space walled in is still further west, and at the foot of the heathy hills. The fortifications run along the water's edge with one high tower here Lord Exmouth took his station. The French, on the contrary, landed in the bay to the east, and attacked the city behind. A boat was put off to us to receive the despatches, rowed by four natives—strange-looking fellows—two with somewhat Saracenic features; the other two puzzled me, being very like the old Egyptians: yellow, with skin like leather—you could hardly believe it to be skin—and fine regular features. One of them, with a remarkable vacancy of countenance, took no notice of us, though we were staring at him, or of our vessel: a vacancy like a statue, most strange. This nest of insects, with 4,000 sick in the city—which is small and has such a reputation for the plague that, had we touched anything belonging to them, even their boat, we should, I suppose, have incurred three weeks' quarantine at Malta—affected to put us in quarantine on account of the cholera, and were prompt in assuring us we must not land; and would not receive our letters till they were cut through (to let out the cholera, I suppose), and then only at the end of a pair of tongs. How odd it is I should have lived to see Algiers! {269} After Algiers we saw nothing worth speaking of. We made the small island of Galita yesterday (the 22nd). This morning (the 23rd) we neared Cape Bon, and saw the track to Carthage. An island lies to the west, and the course is between the two. Nothing I had seen so touched me as this. I thought of the Phœnicians, Tyre, of the Punic Wars, of Cyprian, and the glorious Churches now annihilated; the two headlands looked the same then as now; and I recollected I was now looking at Africa for the last time in my life. It disappeared towards noon, and as it diminished, Pantellaria came in sight, a fine volcanic island, thirty miles in circumference. We passed close by its small town. It has an unfathomable lake in the centre, once the crater of a volcano. Its inhabitants are mixed Italian and Arabic. It is a dependency of Sicily. And now we are making quickly for Malta. I am greatly wearied by the gale we encountered after Algiers, which was severe enough to make half the sailors sick. On board the 'Hermes'—MaltaMalta: December 24. Another trouble: yon know a lee shore is always formidable to sailors. Now we were off a coast without a harbour in it, the wind shifting about from the N.W. to N.E. This, indeed, is little to a steamer, which moves against the wind. But on Wednesday our engines had got damaged, and taken a long time to mend, and we fancied they might not be strong enough to make way against the gale, which was severe. About two in the morning the engines stopped; we did not know why. So I got up and went on deck, and was relieved by being told all was right, but it had been an anxious matter. The next day, Friday, the usual swell followed, which is sadly fatiguing. I have not had a night's sleep since I left England, except when we were quiet at Gibraltar, and it is wonderful how little I suffer from it. I am sore all over with the tossing, and very stiff, and so weak that at times I can hardly put out a hand. But my spirits have never given way for an instant, and I laughed when I was most indisposed. And now we are safe at Malta, and hope, please God, to have a quiet night before Christmas Day. We start for Corfu on Wednesday, but it is the passage of only a day or two; we remain there six days, and then back to the Lazaret; then I shall try to write verses. Not a day has passed since I embarked without my doing a copy. When I was most qualmish I solaced myself with verse-making. I send 'Bide thou thy time,' [Note 6] 'Moses,' 'Woe's me.' [Note 7]
TO HIS SISTER HARRIETT On board the 'Hermes': December 25,
1832, Yesterday morning, Monday the 24th, we saw Gozo on first coming on deck (by-the-bye, Graham Island, which went down, was about fifteen miles from Pantellaria, which I spoke of to my Mother). Next we passed Camino, and then came Malta. These three are called the Maltese Islands. We passed along the north side; on our left, in the distance, being the height above Girgenti in Sicily. One of the first sights we came to in Malta was St. Paul's Bay, where tradition goes that the Apostle was wrecked. Above St. Paul's Bay is Città Vecchia, where probably was the Roman garrison spoken of, Acts xxviii. They say there are many antiquities there. Malta is a strange place, a literal rock of a yellowish brown; the coast presents an easy slope towards the sea, and the plain is intersected by a number of parallel walls to keep up the soil. They say here they have had a month of rain, and that the weather changed yesterday. In what good fortune are we! It was certainly a beautiful day, like July, no sign of winter; but it is only what we have had nearly the whole of our passage. This is the rainy season here, I believe. The night turned cold, and there was much rain and heavy in the early morning, and it has been raining now. Immediately on our mooring (opposite to the Lazaretto) we were put under the care of a guardian who watches over our quarantine, both to keep us from others and others from us. A queer set of fellows they are, with yellow collars. We are in the smaller port off the Manual Battery. There is a bright sun upon the light-brown rock and fortresses. The sea a deep green; a number of little boats, some strangely rigged, others strangely rowed, pushing to and fro, painted bright colours; not a few Greek trading-vessels of a respectable size. Their flag is blue and white striped. I never saw a finer group than the coalheavers on the wharf. There are about {273} a dozen of them of all ages, slight and elegantly formed men, many of them—they stood for perhaps half an hour, waiting for our being ready, each in his own attitude, and grouped. In the afternoon we got into one of our boats, and rowed round the quarantine harbour, for which leave is granted. First we went to the parlatorio, which is the place of intercourse between men in and out of quarantine. It is a long naked building or barn divided into several rooms, and cut lengthway from end to end by two barriers parallel, breast high. Between these two, guardians are stationed to hinder contact, the men in quarantine on one side, the townsmen on the other, the latter being either friends of the imprisoned party, or pedlars, traffickers, &c. A crowd of persons are on the prison side, each party under the conduct of its own guardian; for if these parties were to touch each other the longer quarantine would be given to the party which had the smaller number. If I were to touch a Greek, I should have fifteen days of quarantine. The strange dresses, the strange languages, the jabbering and grimaces, the queer faces driving a bargain across the barrier, without a common language, the solemn absurd guardians with their staves in the space between, the opposite speaker fearing nothing so much as touching you, and crying out and receding at the same time, made it as curious a sight as the free communication of breath, and the gratuitous and inconsistent rules of this intercourse made it ridiculous. But the British Government is forced to be strict in its rules by the jealousy of other Powers. By being so, Malta becomes a gate for the whole Continent, and the Lazaret here is much more comfortable than elsewhere, so that it is lucky for us that it is so. Yet, absurd as the system is, I believe the plague is strictly contagious. They say that before now its circle has been gradually narrowed till it actually has been shut up in a box. The most interesting sight in the parlatorio was a number of Greeks. Their most graceful and becoming dresses, their fine countenances and shapes and attitudes, and the thought of their ancestors, not only heathen but Christian, contrasted with the fact, which no one can doubt, that they are now as a people heartless and despicable, sunk below the Turks their masters, made me feel very melancholy. But the power which out of the wild olive-tree formed an Origen or an Athanasius, can transform them too. Fancy being rowed in an open boat without a greatcoat on a December evening, and {274} not feeling cold. The sun went down gloriously and the sky was of an indescribable gold colour. The only object of interest which struck me on our return, was a vessel towed by about a dozen of small boats, like a number of ants bringing in some large insect, into their nest. The bells are beautiful here, as at Gibraltar and Cadiz, deep and sonorous, and they have been going all the morning, to me very painfully [for reasons above given]. We went after breakfast across the plank to the Lazaretto to choose our rooms for our return to Malta. It is as like a prison as one pea to another, yet it is a fine one too. The loss of fifteen days quite casts us down. After several courts we came to a quadrangle of curious but simple architecture. A flight of steps leads to a gallery which runs round it outside, almost half-way up, and is supported by a strange kind of prop It is imposing. In this gallery are openings into our apartments. We may have as many of them as we please, and all for nothing. They are fine rooms, fifty by thirty at least (we measured them); the roof is arched, the walls whitewashed, the floors stone pavement. No furniture (they say we can buy furniture almost for nothing, for a few dollars); there are bed-steads. We find everything. We have taken two rooms; we shall sleep in one and live in the other. I should not have been unwilling to have been there for a few days for the fun of the thing, nor do I care for the length, but for the waste of time. But we must have had a quarantine somewhere; in the north of Italy I suppose, if we went overland, and for our fifteen days we have gained a sight of Gibraltar, and shall see the Ionian Isles besides Malta itself. No one knows whether, in the course of events, it may not be our turn to be put into a worse prison than this. We shall make ourselves as comfortable as we can, eat and drink. I shall write, and perhaps hire a violin. After all, it is a great waste of time when life is so short, and one has so much to do. I thought of learning Italian. I know enough to read a good deal, but as to speaking you must be among the people. I hear there is an overland post from Corfu, which I shall avail myself of, to send a letter to you. Ah! those sad bells; there they go again. I have not time to read this over, and this applies to all my letters. The Malta windmills have six {275} sails, and are strengthened against the wind by a rod at right angles to the sails from their centre, with strings from it to their ends. On board the 'Hermes'—ZanteTO HIS SISTER JEMIMA Between Zante and Patras: December
29, 1832. Our new passengers are the military Governor of Cerigo, old Cytherea [Col. Longley], and the Consul of Patras [Mr. Crowe], and their account of the state of the Morea is deplorable. It is literally overrun with banditti; and a traveller cannot touch on the coast without being robbed. We have had numerous instances of this in the case of military men or messengers with despatches. The coast, too, swarms with little pirates who have look-outs on the hills, who signal, and the pirate vessels run into places where our men-of-war cannot follow them. In such a state is the country that the factions, tired of mutual inflictions, have in some instances had recourse to the Turkish authorities on the other side the Gulf, for arbitration or redress, as the Belgians may be doing to Holland. Russia is at the bottom of these troubles, in order to gain the post of arbitration and then of sovereignty, when the Porte falls, which seems soon expected. She has encouraged a portion of the National Senate to withdraw from the seat of Government, and set up for themselves against the new Regency, which is now in progress from Germany with King Otho. The English Consul, now on board, was forced to fly from Patras, sending his wife and family on board an English man-of-war—Sir John Franklin's. Meanwhile, the Turkish dominions are orderly, and, while the coast from {276} Patras to Corinth is impossible, Athens may safely be visited. Indeed, one of the schemes that has dawned on us, if we are driven hard, is to make for Janina, and so for Athens. I am called on deck. Ithaca is in sight. It is so strange in a vessel: you go on at your employment downstairs; you are called on deck, and find everything new. A scene is spread before you as if by magic, and you cannot believe it is real. I am now in the Greek sea, the scene of old Homer's song and of the histories of Thucydides. Yesterday was the most delightful day I have had. The morning was wet—being the first rain—except a shower perhaps at Malta (I forget), since leaving England. I am sorry to find we are in the rainy season. Last night it rained incessantly; a pouring rain you have no idea of at home. We could see Zante, at the distance of sixty miles, with Cephalonia on the left. The latter is different from anything I have seen; the outline, formed by what is called the Black Mountain, of a bluish black; which, being more or less covered with snow at top, looked like polished marble. We sailed between them and then we saw the Peloponnesus in the distance—kindling what different thoughts from the Morea!—the coast, blue from the distance, with two purplish rocks, isles or promontories, in front, and behind a long and high range of snow mountains to the left, far in the distance, the Acarnanian coast, somewhere about the mouths of the Achelous. Night fell before we reached Zante (the town), but we got into a boat and made for shore. We wandered about the town, and curious it is—(I have just been called to see a magnificent snow mountain towards the north-west point of the Peloponnesus; the outline is wonderful; a sheer descent; the day very unfavourable, thick and cloudy)—a triangular space or Place surrounded by good-looking houses—a guard-room, &c., with towers, a great many streets beyond it, narrow and flagged, or like flagging. What appeared the chief street had arcades running along on each side, giving it a handsome. appearance. The shops all open, without fronts, like booths in England; the halls of private houses open, with stairs and a gallery; a good many churches. Most people were abed, we were told: those who were about were singing, walking fast perhaps the while: some singing in parts, particularly in shops, as at a shoemaker's. We went into the principal inn—such a strange place—into a billiard-room, into several coffee- and smoking-rooms, a barber's, a wine-merchant's, a currant-merchant's, a pipe-seller's. We were surprised at the wealth {277} of this shop. The pipes were from 100 dollars (20l.) downwards. At a nondescript shop, a young urchin was buying his obol worth of oil and bread for supper. We saw a barrel of Cornish pilchards, which have long been in use here. We drank some of the vin ordinaire—which we thought very good of the kind—red and white. The men were miserably filthy, and the countenances of many, who were drinking or playing backgammon, &c., slovenly and sottish. We were told they were the principal men of the place. By-the-bye, I think I have made up my mind about going to operas, &c. I think it allowable—as far as merely going to see the place, &c.—in the same sense in which it is allowable to visit the country at all—e.g. I see no objection to going into a heathen country for the sake of seeing it, and going into a playhouse is nothing more than this. If I may not go into a place because bad men are in it, where can I go? If, indeed, I go for the sake of the amusement—which would be the case if I frequented it—then it would be a different matter; but I go and see, as I go and see a coffee-house, a billiard-room, or a mosque. Nor am I supporting persons in a bad way of life—that is, the actors—for if no one went but strangers, as a matter of curiosity, they would have a poor living. Theatres are set up, not as objects of curiosity, but of amusement. I am only seeing what is established and supported; not establishing and supporting it myself. To return. When we rose this morning—raining as it was—the view, which the night had hidden, was so lovely, that we deplored our fate, which hindered our seeing the place at more advantage. Virgil calls the island 'nemorosa' [Note 8]—it still deserves the title. The whole face of a beautiful and varied rock was covered with olive-trees in an exquisite way. They say that the view over the heights, which takes in Cephalonia, is one of the finest in these parts. We have lately passed Ithaca; the outline is very broken and abrupt, but it was in mist, and we could not make much of it. Since I wrote the above, the day has just so much brightened as to give the effect of light and shadow; and I am lost in enjoyment. The mountains are multiplied without end, one piled on the other, and of such fine shapes and colours; some very high and steep like giants, and black at top, or bleached with snow; and to think that here were Brasidas, Phormio, Demosthenes, Cimon, and the rest! {278} 7 P.M.—We are at Patras. I have seen Rhium and Antirrhium. The chain of Parnassus rises before us, shrouded with clouds, which the eye cannot pierce, yet the imagination can. I have landed on the Peloponnese. High snowy mountains, black rocks, brownish cliffs—all capped with mist, shroud us. The sunset, most wild, harmonises with the scene. On board the 'Hermes'—PatrasTO HIS MOTHER On board the 'Hermes': December 29,
1832, 9 P.M. The fortress of Patras is strong, and was bombarded by the English several years since, when the allied Powers were driving the Turks out of the Morea. I believe they did not succeed with it; anyhow, it is at present occupied by a self-constituted authority, in the shape of a brigand, who would not give up to the French, and now professes he will, or will not submit to King Otho, according as he likes him or no. The town was destroyed during the disturbances, and is now slowly rebuilding, the work being interrupted this year by the continued disorder of the country. We were told we ought to use caution in paying a visit to the place at night, as plunderers were about; and it unluckily happens here, as at Zante, that we scarcely arrived before nightfall. The first news which greeted us at the Russian Consul's was that King Otho was actually on his way, and that we had a chance of seeing him at Corfu. Considering the state of the country, we were amused to learn he was coming (besides a suite of high officers), with thirty ladies, a hundred horses, and a throne finer than anything in Europe. He sent to the man-of-war which is to convey him, to inquire how many German stoves they had on board in provision against cold weather. I suppose that this was an act of gallantry towards the ladies. We are assured by the Resident of Cerigo, who is sitting by me, that there is not at Napoli, whither they are going, any {279} possible accommodation for ladies at all; so that they will be literally houseless. We walked about the new-built town, or rather its foundations. It will be very handsome. We went through the market or bazaar, crowded with people; stopped some time in a billiard-room, where some Russians were playing, and sat and took coffee in a room full of small Greek merchants. The dresses of the men are most picturesque; the 'snowy camese,' spoken of by Byron, then an embroidered waistcoat, a plaited and frilled white petticoat to the shins, and a large greatcoat with the arms hanging down behind, the 'shaggy capote'; their faces and figures very fine; evidently a mixture of races. The coffee was almost the best I ever tasted, and so refreshing I could fancy I had been drinking wine. We returned after a ramble of about an hour. On board the 'Hermes'—IthacaDecember 30. We were on the western side of it, running between it and Cephalonia. The channel is from two to four miles broad, as still as a pond, except that it flows; it is, indeed, a majestic river, the depth, I believe, being out of soundings. Behind us lay the entrance to the Gulf of Corinth, the Morea, and, in the distance, Zante. As we emerged front the strait, we saw on our tight the fine ranges of the Acarnanian Mountains, which are certainly the finest in shape and grouping I have seen. The whole scene was wonderfully grand. The masses of Ithaca and Cephalonia behind us; small islands of rock, breaking the view of Acarnania; its mountains rising as a number of ridges, blue in front, with bright snowy heights, with the sun upon them, behind; Sta. Maura (Leucadia) before us; the famous promontory of Leucas close by; lastly, we come to Sappho's Leap—still so called—which is certainly a high cliff to fall from. By this time, it being about eleven, we went down for the prayers. We are told we can have no notion of the Greek climate by this specimen of it. Corfu is close at hand. I shall go on deck. Meanwhile take some verses. Thus I complete my fortieth set [Note 11]:
Top | Contents | Biographies | Home Notes1. Arist. Rhet. ii. 12. 2.
'Wilfulness the sin of Saul,' University Sermons. 3.
Off the Lizard, December 8. 4.
Never published. 5.
This was afterwards explained to Mr. Newman when, on his return to
England, he found Col. Mair was brother-in-law to Mr. Rose—the
editor—at whose table he afterwards met him. 6.
'The Afflicted Church.' 7.
'Jeremiah.' 8.
Æn. iii. 270. 9.
See Od. ix. 27-37. Cf. vi. 208, xiv. 58. 10.
Ham, near Richmond, where some of his earliest years were passed. 11.
The title 'Moses seeing the Land.' Top | Contents | Biographies | Home Newman Reader Works of John Henry Newman |