The Life and Letters of Elizabeth Prentiss Part 17

... Boiling over does one good of itself, and I am sure you feel the better for having done so. I do not know why _men_ seem to get along without such reliefs as women almost always seek in this way; whether there is less water in their kettles or whether their kettles are bigger than ours and boil with more safety. It is a comfort to believe that, whatever our troubles, in the end all will work together for our good.

The new year has opened upon us here at Genevrier pretty gloomily, as George has told you. You will not be surprised, therefore, to hear that M. is also quite sick, much sicker than G. She is one of those meek, precious little darlings whom it is painful to see suffer, and I have hardly known what I was about, or where I was, since she was taken down.

My baby is deserted by us all; I have only seen him in _moments_ for three weeks. You can not think how lonely poor A. is; half the time she eats alone in the big solitary dining-room; n.o.body has any time to walk out with her, what few children she knew are afraid to come here or to have her come nigh them, and I feel as if I should fly, when I think of it--for she is not strong or well and her life here in Switzerland has been a series of disappointments and anxieties. The only leisure moments I can s.n.a.t.c.h in the course of the twenty-four hours I have to spend in writing to George; but the last few evenings M. has slept, so that I could play a game of chess with her and try to cheer and brace her up against next day's dreariness. All her splendid dreams of getting off from this solitude to the life and stir of Paris have been dissipated, but she has never uttered one word of complaint; I have not heard her say as much as "Isn't it too bad!" And indeed we ought none of us to say so or to feel so, for the doctor a.s.sures me that for three such delicate children as he considers ours, to pa.s.s safely through whooping-dough and scarlet-fever, is a perfect wonder and that he is sure it is owing to the pure country air. And when I think how different a scene our house might present if our three little ones had been s.n.a.t.c.hed away, as three or four even have been from other families, I am ashamed of myself that I dare to sigh, that I am lonely and friendless here, or that I have anything to complain of. It has been no small trial, however, to pa.s.s through such anxieties in so remote a place, with George gone; while on the other hand I have been most thankful that he has been spared all the details of the children's ailments, and permitted once more to feel himself about his Master's business. Providence most plainly called him to Paris, and I trust he will stay there and get good till we can join him. But I feel uneasy about him, too, lest his anxiety about the children should hang as a dead weight on his not quite rested head and heart. At any rate, I shall be tolerably glad to see him again at the end of our two months' separation. How I should love to drop in on you to-night! Doesn't it seem as if one _could_ if one tried hard enough!

Well, good night to you.

_To Mrs. Smith, Genevrier, Jan. 29, 1860._

I believe George has written you about our private hospital. He had not been gone to Paris forty-eight hours when G. was taken sick; that was a month ago, and I have only tasted the air twice in all that time. G. had the disease lightly. M., poor little darling, was much sicker than he was. It is a fortnight since she was taken and she hardly sits up at all; an older child would be in bed, but little ones never will give up if they can help it; I suppose it is because they can be held in the arms and rocked, and carried about. I have pa.s.sed through some most anxious hours on account of M., and it seems little less than a miracle that she is still alive. The baby is well, and he is a nice little rosy fellow. It was a dreadful disappointment to us to be detained here instead of going to Paris. I felt that I couldn't live longer in such entire solitude; and just then, lo and behold, George was whisked off and I was shut up closer than ever. It is a great comfort to me that he got off just when he did, and has had grace to stay away; on the other hand, I need not say how his absence has aggravated my cares, how solitary the season of anxiety has been, and how, at times, my faith and courage have been put to their utmost stretch. The whole thing has been so evidently ordered and planned by G.o.d that I have not dared to complain; but, my dear child, if you had come in now and then with a little of your strengthening talk, I can't deny I should have been most thankful. It has been pretty trying for George to hear such doleful accounts from home, but I hope the worst is over, and that we shall be the wiser and the better for this new lesson of life. Dr. Curchod's rule is the same as Dr. Buck's--forty days confinement to one room; so we have a month more to spend here. I am afraid I am writing a gloomy letter. If I am, you must try to excuse me and say, "Poor child, she isn't well, and she hasn't had any good sleep lately, and she's tired, and I don't believe she _means_ to grumble." Do so much for me, and I'll do as much for you sometime. I hear your husband has taken up a Bible-cla.s.s. It is perfectly shocking. Does he _want_ to kill himself, or what ails him? The pleasantest remembrance we shall have of this place is his visit.... Our doctor and his family stand out as bright lights in this picture; he has been like a brother in sympathy and kindness. We shall never forget it. G.o.d has been so good to you and to me in sparing our children when a.s.sailed by so fearful a disease, that we ought to love Him better than we ever did. I do so want my weary solitude to bear that fruit.

IV.

Paris. Sight-seeing. A sick Friend. London and its Environs. The Queen and Prince Albert. The Isle of Wight. Homeward.

On the 20th of February the family gladly bade adieu to Switzerland and set out for Paris, arriving there on the morning of the 22d. Mrs.

Prentiss was overjoyed to find herself once more in the world. On the 23d she wrote to Mrs. Smith:

We have got here safe and sound with our little batch of invalids. They bore the journey very well and are heartily glad to get into the world again. I am chock-full of worldliness. All I think of is dress and fashion, and, on the whole, I don't know that you are worth writing to, as you were never in Paris and don't know the modes, and have perhaps foolishly left off hoops and open sleeves. I long, however, to hear from you and your new babby, and will try to keep a small spot swept clear of finery in my heart of hearts, where you can sit down when you've a mind.

Our little fellow is getting to be a sweet-looking baby, with what his nurse calls a most "gracieuse" smile--if you can guess what kind of a smile that is. But he is getting teeth and is looking delicate and soft, and your Hercules will knock him down, I know.

But Paris was far from fulfilling to her or to the children the bright antic.i.p.ations with which it had been looked forward to from lonely Genevrier. The weather could hardly have been worse; the house soon became another hospital; and sight-seeing was a task. Friends, however, soon gathered about her, and by their hospitality and little kindnesses, relieved the tedium of the weary days.

_To Mrs. Stearns, Paris, March 27, 1860._

We pa.s.s many lonely hours in this big city, and often long for you and Mr. Stearns to drop in, or for a chance to run in to see dear mother.

Getting nearer home makes it attractive. It works in the natural life just as it does in the spiritual in that respect. The weather is _dreadful_ and has been for five months--scarcely one cheery day in that whole time. What with this and the children's ill-health, I should not wonder if we left Paris as ignorant of its beauties as when we came. But I hope we shall not let that worry us too much, but rather be thankful that, bad as things are, they are not so bad as they might be. Our sympathies are greatly excited now for the Rev. Mr. Little, formerly of Bangor, who is in Paris--alone, friendless, and sick. If we could by any miraculous power stretch our scanty accommodations, we should certainly take him home and nurse him till his wife could be got here.

You know, perhaps, that Mrs. Little is a daughter of Dr. Cornelius; and, when I recall the love and honor I was taught to feel towards him when I was a little girl, my heart quite yearns towards her, especially in this time of fearful anxiety about her husband. How insignificant my own trials look to me, when I think of the sorrow which is probably before her.

_April 26th._--Our patience is still tried by the cold, damp, and most unwholesome weather, which prevents the children from going to see anything. But we do not care so much for ourselves or for them as for poor Mr. Little, who is exceedingly feeble, chiefly confined to his room, and so forlorn in this strange, homeless land. While George was with him last evening, he had a bad fit of coughing, which resulted in the raising of a gill or so of blood. I know you will feel interested to hear about him, and will not wonder that our hearts are so full of sympathy for him and for his poor wife, that we can hardly talk of anything else. He expects her in about a week. What a coming to Europe for her! How little those who stand on the sh.o.r.e to watch the departure of a foreign steamer, know what they do when they envy its pa.s.sengers!... We buckled on our armor and began sight-seeing the other day, going to see the Sainte Chapelle and the galleries and museum of the Louvre among the rest. The Sainte Chapelle is quite unlike anything I ever saw and delighted us extremely. As to the Louvre, one needs several entire days to do justice to it, besides an amount of youthful enthusiasm and bodily strength which we do not possess; for, amid midnight watchings over our sick children and the like, the oil of gladness has about burnt out, and we find sight-seeing a weary task.

_May 25th._--It does seem as if George's preaching was listened to with more and more serious attention, and it may be seen long after he has rested from his labors on earth, that he has done a good work here. We both are much interested in Professor [6] Huntington's sermons, [7] sent us by Miss W. This is a great deal for me to say, because I do not like to read sermons. During the last three weeks, before Mr. and Mrs. Little left, we accomplished very little. It was not that we did or could do so very much for them, but they had n.o.body to depend on but us, and George was constantly going back and forth trying to make them comfortable, arranging all their affairs, etc. She had a weary, anxious two weeks here, and now has set her face homewards, not knowing but Mr. L. may sink before reaching America. It is a great comfort to us to have been able to soothe them somewhat as long as they stayed in Paris. George says it was worth coming here for that alone. I say _we,_ but I _mean_ George, for what was done he did. The most I could do was to feel dreadfully for them. [8]

We are now to begin sight-seeing again, and do all we can as speedily as possible, for only two weeks remain. The children are now pretty well.

The baby is at that dangerous age when they are forever getting upon their feet and tumbling over backward on their heads. M. is the oddest little soul. Belle says she would rather go to a funeral than see all the shops in Paris, and, when they are out, she can hardly keep her from following every such procession they meet. I asked her the last time they went out if she had had a nice walk. She said not very nice, as she had only seen _one_ pretty thing, and that was a police-officer taking a man to jail. The idea of going to England is very pleasant, and, if we only keep tolerably well, I think it will do us all good. What is dear mother doing about these times? I always think of her as sitting by the little work-table in her room, knitting and watching the children. Give lots of love and kisses to her, and tell her we long to see her face to face. Kiss all the children for us--I suppose they'll let _you_! boys and all--and you may do as much for Mr. S. if you want to. Good-bye.

On the 7th of June the family left Paris for London. A first visit to England--

That precious stone set in the silver sea--

is always an event full of interest to children of the New England Puritans. The "sceptered isle" is still in a sense their mother-country, and a thousand ancestral ties attract them to its sh.o.r.es. There is no other spot on earth where so many lines of their history, domestic and public, meet. And in London, what familiar memories are for them a.s.sociated with almost every old street and lane and building!

The winter and spring of 1860 had been cold, wet and cheerless well-nigh beyond endurance; and the summer proved hardly less dreary. It rained nearly every day, sometimes all day and all night; the sun came out only at long intervals, and then often but for a moment; the atmosphere, much of the time, was like lead; the moon and stars seemed to have left the sky; even the English landscape, in spite of its matchless verdure and beauty, put on a forbidding aspect. All nature, indeed, was under a cloud. This, added to her frail health, made the summer a very trying one to Mrs. Prentiss, and yet it afforded her not a little real delight.

Some of her pleasantest days in Europe were spent in England. The following extracts are from a little journal kept by her in London:

_June 10th._--We went this morning to hear Dr. Hamilton, and were greatly edified by the sermon, which was on the text: "Hitherto hath the Lord helped us." In the afternoon we decided to go to Westminster Abbey.

It began to rain soon after we got out, and we had a two miles' walk through the mud. The old abbey looked as much like its picture as it could, but pictures can not give a true idea of the grandeur of such a building. We were a little late, and every seat was full and many were standing, as we had to do through the whole service. The sermon struck me as a very ordinary affair, though it was delivered by a lord. But the music was so sweet, performed for aught I know by angel--for the choir was invisible--and we stood surrounded by such monuments and covered by such a roof, that we were not quite throwing away our time. Albert B---- dined with us, and in the evening, with one accord, we went to hear Dr.

Hamilton again. We had good seats and heard a most beautiful as well as edifying discourse on the first verses of the 103d Psalm. Some of the images were very fine, and the whole tone of the sermon was moderate, sensible, and serious. I use these words advisedly, for I had an impression that he was a flowery, popular man whom I should not relish.

At the close of the service a little prayer-meeting of half an hour was held, and we came home satisfied with our first English Sunday, feeling some of our restless cravings already quieted as only contact with G.o.d's own people could quiet them.

_11th._--Went to see the Crystal Palace. It proved a fine day, and we took M. with us. None of us felt quite well, but we enjoyed this new and beautiful scene for all that. It is a little fairy land.

_14th._--Went to Westminster Abbey, and spent some time there. On coming out we made a rapid, but quite amusing pa.s.sage through several courts where we saw numerous great personages in stiff little gray wigs. To my untrained, irreverent eyes they all looked perfectly funny. George was greatly interested and edified. It has been raining and shining by turns all day, and is this evening very cold.

_15th._--Another of those days which the English so euphoniously term "_nasty_." Not knowing what else to do with it, we set off in search of No. 5 Sermon Lane, a house connected with a stereoscopic establishment in Paris, which we reached after many evolutions and convolutions, and found it to be a wholesale concern only. Pitying us for the trouble we had been at in seeking them, they let us have what views we wanted, but at higher prices than they sell them at Paris. We then went to the Tract House, and while selecting French and other tracts, a gentleman came and asked for a quant.i.ty of the "Last Hours of Dr. Payson."

_16th._--Went to the Tower, and had a most interesting visit there. We were particularly struck by some spots shown us by one of the wardens, after the regular round had been gone through with, and the other visitors dispersed--namely, the cell where prisoners were confined with thumbscrews attached to elicit confession, and the floor where Lady Jane Grey was imprisoned. We looked from the window where she saw her husband carried to execution, and A. was locked up in the room so as to be able to say she had been a prisoner in the Tower.

_17th._--Heard Dr. Hamilton again. Met Dr. and Mrs. Adams of New York there, and had a most kind and cordial greeting from them. Dr. A.

introduced us to Dr. Hamilton. In the evening we went to hear Dr. Adams at Dr. H.'s church, and came home quite proud of our countryman, who gave us a most excellent sermon. At the close of the service Dr. H.

invited us to take tea with him next week, and introduced us to his wife; a young, quiet little lady, looking as unlike most of us American parsonesses as possible, her parochial cares being, perhaps, less weighty than ours.

_18th._--Two things made this day open pleasantly. One was a decided attempt on the part of the sun to come out and shine. The second was Dr.

Adams' dropping in and taking breakfast with us. We also got letters from home, and the news that Mr. Little had reached New York in safety.

After lunch, George went off in glory to the House of Commons, hinting that he might stay there till to-morrow morning, and begging for a night-key to let himself in. The rest of us went to the Zoological Garden, which is much more ample and interesting than the Jardin des Plantes.

_20th._--Yesterday it poured in torrents all day, so that going out was not possible. To-day we went out in the drops and between the drops, to do a little shopping in the way of razors, scissors, knives, needles, and such like sharp and pointed things. We stepped into Nesbit's and took a view of Little Susy, who looked as usual, bought a few books, subscribed to a library, coveted our neighbor's property, and came home covered with mud and mire.

_22d._--Went out to Barnet to call on Miss Bird. On reaching the station, we found Miss B. awaiting us with phaeton and pony. We were driven over a pretty three miles route to "Hurst Cottage," where we were introduced to Mrs. Bird and a younger daughter, and I had a nice little lunch, together with pleasant chat about America in general and E. L. S.

in particular. Miss Bird said she showed her likeness to a gentleman, who is a great physiognomist, and asked his opinion of her. He replied, "She is a genius, a poetess, a Christian, and a true wife and mother."

We then went up-stairs, and looked at Miss B.'s little study, after which she took us to see the church in Hadley, a very old building dating back to 1494. It has been repaired and restored and is a beautiful little church. On leaving it Miss Bird came with us a part of the way to the station and we got home in good season for dinner. The weather, true to its rule, could not last fine, and so this evening it is raining again. [9]

_24th._--No rain all day! Can it be true? George went in the morning to hear Mr. Binney, and A. and I to Dr. Hamilton's, who preached a very good sermon on a favorite text of mine, "I beseech Thee show me Thy glory." In the evening Dr. Patton, of New York, induced us to go with himself and wife to a meeting at a theatre three miles off. The Rev. Mr.

Graham preached. It was an interesting, but touching and saddening sight to look upon the congregation; to wonder why they came, and whether they would come again, and whether under those stolid and hardened faces there yet lay humanity. Many came with babies in their arms, who made themselves very much at home; some were in dirty week-day clothes; "some in rags and some in jags." Coming home we pa.s.sed the spot where John Rogers was burned, and that where in time of the plague dead bodies were thrown in frightful heaps into one grave.

_25th._--We took tea at Dr. Hamilton's, where we had a very pleasant evening, meeting Dr. and Mrs. Adams, as well as all Dr. H.'s session.

Dr. H. strikes one most agreeably, and seems as genial and as full of life as a boy.

_26th._--Visited Windsor Castle with Dr. Adams and his party, ten of us in all. We drove afterward to see the country church-yard, where Grey wrote his elegy and where he now lies buried. This was a most charming little trip and we all enjoyed it exceedingly. The young folks gathered leaves and flowers for their books.

_29th._--Last evening we had a nice time and a cup of tea with the Adamses. To-day--another nasty day--they lunched with us, which broke up its gloom and we went with them to see Sloan's museum, a most interesting collection. We all enjoyed its novelty as well as its beauty.

She also records the pleasure with which she visited the National Gallery, Madame Tussaud's Collection, the British Museum, Richmond, the Kew Gardens, and Bunhill Fields Burying-Ground, and, in particular, the grave of "Mr. John Bunyan."

Not long before leaving London she attended a Sunday evening service for the people in Westminster Abbey, which interested her deeply. It suggested--or rather was the original of--the scene in The Story Lizzie Told:

When we first got into that grand place, I was scared, and thought they would drive us poor folks out. But when I looked round, most everybody was poor too. At last I saw some of them get down on their knees, and some shut their eyes, and some took off their hats and held them over their faces. Father couldn't, because he had me in his arms; and so I took it off, and held it for him.

"What's it for?" says I.

"Hush," says father, "the parson's praying."

When I showed IT to G.o.d, the room seemed full of Him. But that's a small room. The church is a million and a billion times as big, isn't it, ma'am? But when the minister prayed, that big church seemed just as full as it could hold. Then, all of a sudden, they burst out a-singing.

Father showed me the card with large letters on it, and says he, "Sing, Lizzie, Sing!"

And so I did. It was the first time in my life. The hymn said,

Jesus, lover of my soul, Let me to Thy bosom fly,