The traveller turned her back upon Tabreez on the 11th of August, and in a carriage drawn by post-horses, and attended by a single servant, set out for Natschivan. At Arax she crossed the frontier of Asiatic Russia, the dominions of the "White Tsar," who, in Asia as in Europe, is ever pressing more and more closely on the "unspeakable Turk." At Natschivan she joined a caravan which was bound for Tiflis, and the drivers of which were Tartars. She says of the latter, that they do not live so frugally as the Arabs. Every evening a savoury pillau was made with good-tasting fat, frequently with dried grapes or plums. They also partook largely of fruits.

The caravan wound through the fair and fertile valleys which lie at the base of Ararat. Of that famous and majestic mountain, which lifts its white glittering crest of snow some sixteen thousand feet above the sea- level, our traveller obtained a fine view. Its summit is cloven into two peaks, and in the space between an old tradition affirms that Noah's ark landed at the subsidence of the Great Flood.

[Mount Ararat: page123.jpg]

In the neighbourhood of a town called Sidin, Madame Pfeiffer met with a singular adventure. She was returning from a short walk, when, hearing the sound of approaching post-horses, she paused for a minute to see the travellers, and noticed a Russian, seated in an open car, with a Cossack holding a musket by his side. As soon as the vehicle had passed, she resumed her course; when, to her astonishment, it suddenly stopped, and almost at the same moment she felt a fierce grasp on her arms. It was the Cossack, who endeavoured to drag her to the car. She struggled with him, and pointing to the caravan, said she belonged to it; but the fellow put his hand on her mouth, and flung her into the car, where she was firmly seized by the Russian. Then the Cossack sprang to his seat, and away they went at a smart gallop. The whole affair was the work of a few seconds, so that Madame Pfeiffer could scarcely recognize what had happened. As the man still held her tightly, and kept her mouth covered up, she was unable to give an alarm. The brave woman, however, retained her composure, and speedily arrived at the conclusion that her "heroic" captors had mistaken her for some dangerous spy. Uncovering her mouth, they began to question her closely; and Madame Pfeiffer understood enough Russian to tell them her name, native country, and object in travelling. This did not satisfy them, and they asked for her passport,—which, however, she could not show them, as it was in her portmanteau.

At length they reached the post-house. Madame Pfeiffer was shown into a room, at the door of which the Cossack stationed himself with his musket. She was detained all night; but the next morning, having fetched her portmanteau, they examined her passport, and were then pleased to dismiss her—without, however, offering any apology for their shameful treatment of her. Such are the incivilities to which travellers in the Russian dominions are too constantly exposed. It is surprising that a powerful government should condescend to so much petty fear and mean suspicion.

[Odessa: page127.jpg]

From Tiflis our traveller proceeded across Georgia to Redutkali; whence she made her way to Kertsch, on the shore of the Sea of Azov; and thence to Sebastopol, destined a few years later to become the scene of an historic struggle. She afterwards reached Odessa, one of the great granaries of Europe, situated at the mouth of the Dniester and the Dnieper. From Odessa to Constantinople the distance by sea is four hundred and twenty miles. She made but a short stay in the Turkish capital; and then proceeded by steamer to Smyrna, passing through the maze of the beautiful isles of Greece; and from Smyrna to Athens. Here she trod on hallowed ground. Every temple, every ruin, recalled to her some brave deed of old, or some illustrious name of philosopher, warrior, statesman, poet, that the world will not willingly let die. A rush of stirring glorious memories swept over her mind as she gazed on the lofty summit of the Acropolis, covered with memorials of the ancient art, and associated with the great events of Athenian history. The Parthenon, or Temple of Pallas; the Temple of Theseus; that of Olympian Jove; the Tower of the Winds, or so-called Lantern of Demosthenes; and the Choragic Monument of Lysicrates,—all these she saw, and wondered at. But they have been so frequently described, that we may pass them here with this slight reference.

From Corinth our traveller crossed to Corfu, and from Corfu ascended the Adriatic to Trieste. A day or two afterwards she was received by her friends at Vienna,—having accomplished the most extraordinary journey ever undertaken by a woman, and made the complete circuit of the world. In the most remarkable scenes, and in the most critical positions, she had preserved a composure, a calmness of courage, and a simplicity of conduct, that must always command our admiration.



CHAPTER III.—NORTHWARD.

In giving to the world a narrative of her journey to Iceland, and her wanderings through Norway and Sweden, Madame Pfeiffer anticipated certain objections that would be advanced by the over-refined. "Another journey !" she supposed them to exclaim; "and that to regions far more likely to repel than attract the general traveller! What object could this woman have had in visiting them, but a desire to excite our astonishment and raise our curiosity? We might have been induced to pardon her pilgrimage to the Holy Land, though it was sufficiently hazardous for a solitary woman, because it was prompted, perhaps, by her religious feelings,—and incredible things, as we all know, are frequently accomplished under such an impulse. But, for the present expedition, what reasonable motive can possibly be suggested?"

Madame Pfeiffer remarks that in all this a great injustice is, or would be, done to her; that she was a plain, inoffensive creature, and by no means desirous of drawing upon herself the observation of the crowd. As a matter of fact, she was but following the bent of her natural disposition. From her earliest childhood she had yearned to go forth into the wide world. She could never meet a travelling-carriage without stopping to watch it, and envying the postilion who drove it or the persons it conveyed. When she was ten or twelve years old, no reading had such a charm for her as books of voyages and travels; and then she began to repine at the happiness of every great navigator or discoverer, whose boldness revealed to him the secrets of lands and seas before unknown.

She travelled much with her parents, and afterwards with her husband, and thus her natural bias was encouraged. It was not until her two sons were of age to be educated that she remained stationary—on their account. As the business concerns of her husband required his presence alternately in Vienna and in Lemberg, he intrusted to his wife the responsible duty of superintending their education—feeling assured that, with her perseverance and affection, she could supply the place of both parents.

When this duty was discharged, and the education of her sons completed, the dreams and fancies of her youth once more revived within her. She thought of the manners and customs of foreign lands, of remote islands girdled by the "melancholy main," and dwelt so long on the great joy of treading "the blessed acres" trodden by the Saviour's feet, that at last she resolved on a pilgrimage thither. She made the journey to Palestine. She visited Jerusalem, and other hallowed scenes, and she returned in safety. She came, therefore, to the conclusion that she was not presumptuously tempting the providence of God, or laying herself open to the charge of wishing to excite the admiration of her contemporaries, if she followed her inward impulse, and once more adventured forth to see the world. She knew that travel could not but broaden her views, elevate her thoughts, and inspire her with new sympathies. Iceland, the next object of her desires, was a country where she hoped to see Nature under an entirely novel and peculiar aspect. "I feel," she says, "so wonderfully happy, and draw so close to my Maker, while gazing upon such scenes, that no difficulties or fatigues can deter me from seeking so great a reward."

* * * * *

It was in the year 1845 that Madame Pfeiffer began her northward journey. She left Vienna on the 10th of April, and by way of Prague, Dresden, and Altona, proceeded to Kiel. Thence the steamer carried her to Copenhagen, a city of which she speaks in favourable terms. She notices its numerous splendid palaces; its large and regular squares; its broad and handsome promenades. At the Museum of Art she was interested by the chair which Tycho Brahe, the astronomer, formerly used; and at the Thorvaldsen Museum, the colossal lion executed by the great Danish sculptor. Having seen all that was to be seen, she took ship for Iceland, passing Helsingborg on the Swedish coast, and Elsinore on the Danish, the latter associated with Shakespeare's "Hamlet;" and, through the Sound and the Cattegat, entering upon the restless waters of the North Sea. Iceland came in sight on the seventh day of a boisterous voyage, which had tried our traveller somewhat severely; and at the close of the eleventh day she reached Havenfiord, an excellent harbour, two miles from Reikiavik, the capital of Iceland.

Her first impressions of the Icelandic coast, she says, were very different from the descriptions she had read in books. She had conceived of a barren desolate waste, shrubless and treeless; and she saw grassy hillocks, leafy copses, and even, as she thought, patches of dwarfish woods. But as she drew nearer, and could distinguish the different objects more plainly, the hillocks were transformed into human habitations, with small doors and windows; and the groups of trees proved to be huge lava masses, from ten to fifteen feet in height, entirely overgrown with verdure and moss. Everything was new, was surprising; and it was with pleasurable sensations of excitement and curiosity that Madame Pfeiffer landed on the shores of Ultima Thule.

[Reikiavik: page135.jpg]

* * * * *

At Reikiavik she found the population inhabiting two very different classes of habitations. The wooden houses of the well-to-do are of a single story, she says, with five or six windows in front. A low flight of steps conducts to an entrance in the centre of the building; and this entrance opens into a vestibule, where two doors communicate with the rooms on the right and left respectively. In the rear is the kitchen, and beyond the courtyard. Such a house contains four or five rooms on the ground-floor, and a few small chambers under the roof. The domestic or household arrangements are entirely European. The furniture, much of which is mahogany, comes from Copenhagen, which also supplies the mirrors and cast-iron stoves. Handsome rugs are spread in front of the sofas; neat curtains drop before the windows; English engravings ornament the whitewashed walls; and china, silver, and cut-glass, and the like, are displayed upon the cabinets or corner-tables.

But the poor live in huts which are decidedly much more Icelandic. They are small and low; built of lava blocks, filled in with earth; and as the whole is covered with turf, they might almost be mistaken for natural elevations of the ground, if the wooden chimneys, and low doors, and almost imperceptible windows, did not betray that they were tenanted by human beings. A dark, narrow passage, not more than four feet high, leads on one hand to the living-room, on the other to the store-room, where the provisions are kept, and where, in winter, the cows and sheep are stabled. The fireplace is generally at the end of this passage, which is purposely built low to keep out the cold. Neither the walls nor floors of these huts are boarded; the dwelling-rooms are scarcely large enough for people to sleep in or turn round in; and the whole furniture consists of the bedsteads (very poorly supplied with bedding), a small table, and a few chests—the latter, as well as the beds, being used for seats. To poles fastened in the walls are suspended clothes, shoes, stockings, and other articles; and in each hut is generally found a tiny book-shelf supporting a few volumes. No stoves are needed in these rooms, which are sufficiently warmed by the presence of their numerous inmates.

Speaking of the better classes of the inhabitants of the Icelandic capital, our traveller says: "Nothing struck me so much as the great dignity of carriage at which the Icelandic ladies aim, and which is so apt to degenerate into stiffness when it is not perfectly natural, or has not become a second nature by habit. They incline their head very coolly when you meet them, with less civility than we should use towards an inferior or a stranger. The lady of the house never accompanies her guests beyond the door of the room, after a call; if the husband is present, he goes a little further; but when this is not the case, you are often at a loss which way to turn, as there is no servant on the spot to open the street door for you, unless it may happen to be in the house of the Stiftsamtmann, the first dignitary of the island."

The church at Reikiavik is capable of accommodating about one hundred and fifty persons; it is built of stone, with a wooden roof, under which is kept a library of several thousand volumes. It possesses an artistic treasure of no ordinary value in a font by Thorvaldsen, whose parents were natives of Iceland, though he himself was born in Denmark. Captain Burton describes it as the ancient classical altar, with basso-relievos on all four sides—subjects of course evangelical; on the top an alto- relievo of symbolical flowers, roses, and passiflorae is cut to support the normal "Dobefal," or baptismal basin. In the sacristy are preserved some handsome priestly robes—especially the velvet vestment sent by Pope Julius II. to the last Roman Catholic bishop in the early part of the sixteenth century, and still worn by the chief Protestant dignitary at ordinations.

The climate at Reikiavik would be considered severe by an Englishman. The thermometer sometimes sinks as low as 13 degrees below zero, and the sea is covered with ice for several feet from the shore. The storms and snow- drifts are of the most terrible character, and at times even the boldest Icelander dares not cross his threshold. Daylight does not last more than four or five hours; but the long night is illuminated by the splendid coruscations of the aurora, filling the firmament with many-coloured flame. From the middle until the end of June, however, there is no night. The sun sinks for a short time below the hills, but twilight blends with the dawn, and before the last rays of evening have faded from the sky the morning light streams forth with renewed brilliancy.

* * * * *

Then, as to the people, Madame Pfeiffer speaks of them as of medium height and strength. Their hair is light, and frequently has a reddish tint; their eyes are blue. The women are more prepossessing in appearance than the men; and pleasing faces are not uncommon among the young girls. They wear long skirts of coarse black woollen stuff, with spencers, and coloured aprons. They cover their heads with a man's cap of the same material as their petticoats, ending in a drooping point, to which hangs a woollen or silken tassel, falling as low as the shoulders. This simple head-dress is not inelegant. All the women have an abundance of hair hanging picturesquely about their face and neck; they wear it loose and short, and it is sometimes curled.

The men appear to dress very much like the German peasants. They wear pantaloons, jackets, and vests of dark cloth, with a felt hat or fur cap, and the feet wrapped in pieces of skin, either seal, sheep, or calf.

* * * * *

Here, as a corrective, and for the sake of comparison, let us refer to Captain Burton's description. The men dress, he says, like sailors, in breeches, jackets serving as coats, and vests of good broadcloth, with four to six rows of buttons, always metal, either copper or silver. The fishermen wear overcoats, coarse smooth waistcoats, large paletots, made waterproof by grease or fish-liver oil; leather overalls, stockings, and native shoes. The women attire themselves in jackets and gowns, petticoats and aprons of woollen frieze; over which is thrown a "hempa," or wide black robe, like a Jesuit frock, trimmed with velvet binding. The wealthy add silver ornaments down the length of the dress, and braid the other articles with silk ribbons, galloon, or velvets of various colours. The ruff forms a stiff collar, from three to four inches broad, of very fine stuff, embroidered with gold or silver. The conical head-dress, resembling a fool's-cap or sugar-loaf, measures two or three feet high, and is kept in its place by a coarse cloth, and covered with a finer kerchief. The soleless shoes of ox-hide or sheepskin, made by the women out of a single piece, are strapped to the instep.

* * * * *

Having made herself generally acquainted with the Icelanders and their mode of living, Madame Pfeiffer began to visit the most romantic and interesting spots in the island accessible to an adventurous woman. At first she confined herself to the neighbourhood of Reikiavik. She journeyed, for instance, to the island of Vidoe, the cliffs of which are frequented by the eider-duck. Its tameness while brooding is very remarkable. "I had always looked," she says, "on the wonderful stories I had heard on this subject as fabulous, and should do still had I not been an eye-witness to the fact. I approached and laid my hands on the birds while they were sitting; yes, I could even caress them without their attempting to move from their nests; or, if they left them for a moment, it was only to walk off for a few steps, and remain quietly waiting till I withdrew, when they immediately returned to their station. Those whose young were already hatched, however, would beat their wings with violence, and snap at me with their bills when I came near them, rather allowing themselves to be seized than to desert their broods. In size they resemble our common duck; their eggs are of a greenish-gray, rather larger than hens' eggs, and of an excellent flavour. Each bird lays about eleven eggs. The finest down is that with which they line their nests at first; it is of a dark gray, and is regularly carried off by the islanders with the first eggs. The poor bird then robs itself of a second portion of its down, and lays a few more eggs, which are also seized; and it is not till the nest has been felted for the third time that the ducks are left unmolested to bring up their brood. The down of the second, and particularly that of the third hatching, is much lighter than the first, and of an inferior quality."

The salmon-fishery at the Larsalf next engaged our traveller's attention. It is conducted after a primitively simple fashion. When the fish at spawning-time seek the quiet waters of the inland stream, their way back to the sea is blocked up by an embankment of loose stones, about three feet high. In front of this wall is extended a net; and several similar barriers are erected at intervals of eighty to a hundred paces, to prevent the fish which have slipped over one of them from finally accomplishing their escape. A day is appointed for a grand battue. The water is then let off as much as possible; and the ensnared fish, feeling it grow shallower, dart hither and thither in frantic confusion, and eventually gather together in such a mass that the fishermen have only to thrust in their hands and seize their prey.

Yet some degree of skill is necessary, for, as everybody knows, the salmon is full of vivacity, and both strong and swift. So the fisher takes his victim dexterously by head and tail, and throws it ashore immediately. It is caught up by persons who are specially appointed to this duty, and flung to a still greater distance from the stream. Were not this done, and done quickly, many a fine fellow would escape. It is strange to see the fish turn round in the hands of their captors, and leap into the air, so that if the fishermen were not provided with woollen mittens, they could not keep their hold of the slippery creatures at all. In these wholesale razzias, from five hundred to a thousand fish are generally taken at a time, each one weighing from five to fifteen pounds.

[Salmon-fishing in Iceland: page145.jpg]

* * * * *

Iceland may, with little exaggeration, be described as nothing more than a stratum of snow and ice overlying a mass of fire and vapour and boiling water. Nowhere else do we see the two elements of frost and fire in such immediate contiguity. The icy plains are furrowed by lower currents, and in the midst of wastes of snow rise the seething ebullitions of hot springs. Several of the snow-shrouded mountains of Iceland are volcanic. In the neighbourhood of Kriservick Madame Pfeiffer saw a long, wide valley, traversed by a current of lava, half a mile in length; a current consisting not merely of isolated blocks and stones, but of large masses of porous rock, ten or twelve feet high, frequently broken up by fissures a foot wide.

Six miles further, and our traveller entered another valley, where, from the sulphur-springs and hills, rose numerous columns of smoke. Ascending the neighbouring hills, she saw a truly remarkable scene: basins filled with bubbling waters, and vaporous shafts leaping up from the fissures in the hills and plains. By keeping to windward, she was able to approach very near these phenomenal objects; the ground was lukewarm in a few places, and she could hold her hand for several minutes at a time over the cracks whence the vapour escaped. No water was visible. The roar and hiss of the steam, combined with the violence of the wind, made a noise so deafening that she was glad to quit the scene, and feel a safer soil beneath her feet. It seemed to her excited fancy as if the entire mountain were converted into a boiling caldron.

Descending into the plain, she found there much to interest her. Here a basin was filled with boiling mud; there, from another basin, burst forth a column of steam with fearful violence. Several hot springs bubbled and bubbled around. "These spots," says our traveller, "were far more dangerous than any on the hills; in spite of the utmost caution, we often sank in above our ankles, and drew back our feet in dread, covered with the damp exhalations, which, with steam or boiling water, also escaped from the opening. I allowed my guide to feel his way in front of me with a stick; but, notwithstanding his precaution, he went through in one place half-way to his knee—though he was so used to the danger that he treated it very lightly, and stopped quite phlegmatically at the next spring to cleanse himself from the mud. Being also covered with it to the ankles, I followed his example."

* * * * *

We must now accompany our traveller on some longer excursions.

And first, to Thingvalla, the place where, of old, the Althing or island- parliament was annually held. One side of the great valley of council is bounded by the sea, the other by a fine range of peaks, always more or less covered with snow. Through the pass of the Almannagja we descend upon the Thingvallavatn lake, an expanse of placid blue, about thirty miles in circuit. While our attention is rivetted on the lake and the dark brown hills which encircle it, a chasm suddenly, and as if by enchantment, opens at our feet, separating us from the valleys beyond. It varies from thirty to forty feet in width, is several hundred feet in depth, and four miles in length.

"We were compelled," says Madame Pfeiffer, "to descend its steep and dangerous sides by a narrow path leading over fragments of lava. My uneasiness increased as we went down, and could see the colossal masses, in the shape of pillars or columns tottering loosely on the brink of the precipice above our heads, threatening death and desolation at any moment. Mute and anxious, we crept along in breathless haste, scarcely venturing to raise our eyes, much less to give vent to the least expression of alarm, for fear of starting the avalanche of stone, of the impetuous force of which we could form some idea by the shattered rocks around us. The echo is very remarkable, and gives back the faintest whisper with perfect distinctness."

* * * * *

Every traveller to Iceland feels bound to visit its Geysirs, and Madame Pfeiffer did as others did. From Thingvalla she rode for some distance along the side of the lakes, and then struck through a rocky pass of a very difficult character, into a series of valleys of widely different aspect. At last she came to a stream which flowed over a bed of lava, and between banks of lava, with great rapidity and a rushing, roaring sound. At one point the river-bed was cleft through its centre, to the depth of eighteen or twenty feet, by a chasm from fifteen to eighteen feet wide, into which the waters pour with considerable violence. A bridge in the middle of the river spans this rift, and the stranger who reaches the banks feels unable to account for its appearance among the cloud of spray which entirely conceals the chasm in the bed of the stream.

Into her description of the passage of the river it is to be feared that Madame Pfeiffer introduces a little exaggeration. The waters roar, she says, with the utmost violence, and dashing wildly into the cavity, they form falls on both sides of it, or shiver themselves to spray against the projecting cliffs; at the extremity of the chasm, which is not far from the bridge, the stream is precipitated in its whole breadth over rocks from thirty to forty feet in height. "Our horses began to tremble, and struggled to escape when we drew near the most furious part of the torrent, where the noise was really deafening; and it was not without the greatest difficulty we succeeded in making them obey the reins, and bear us through the foaming waves by which the bridge was washed." Either the scene has greatly altered since Madame Pfeiffer's visit, or her imagination has considerably over-coloured its principal features. That is, if we accept the accounts of recent travellers, and especially that of Captain Burton, who has laboured so successfully to reduce the romance of Icelandic travel to plain matter of fact.

[Great Geysir: page153.jpg]

The Geysirs lie within a comparatively limited area, and consist of various specimens, differing considerably in magnitude. The basin of the Great Geysir lies on a gentle elevation, about ten feet above the plain; it measures about one hundred and fifty feet in diameter, while that of the seething caldron is ten feet. Both caldron and basin, on the occasion of Madame Pfeiffer's visit, were full to the brim with crystal- clear water in a state of slight ebullition. At irregular intervals a column of water is shot perpendicularly upwards from the centre of the caldron, the explosion being always preceded by a low rumbling; but she was not so fortunate as to witness one of these eruptions. Lord Dufferin, however, after three days' watch, was rewarded for his patience. The usual underground thunder having been heard, he and his friends rushed to the spot. A violent agitation was convulsing the centre of the pool. Suddenly a crystal dome lifted itself up to the height of eight or ten feet, and then fell; immediately after which, a shining liquid column, or rather a sheaf of columns, wreathed in robes of vapour, sprang into the air, and in a succession of jerking leaps, each higher than its predecessor, flung their silver crests against the sky. For a few minutes the fountain held its own, then all at once appeared to lose its ascending power. The unstable waters faltered, drooped, fell, "like a broken purpose," back upon themselves, and were immediately absorbed in the depths of the subterranean shaft.

About one hundred and forty yards distant is the Strokkr, or "churn," with a basin about seven feet wide in its outer, and eighteen feet in its inner diameter. A funnel or inverted cone in shape, whereas the Great Geysir is a mound and a cylinder, it gives the popular idea of a crater. Its surface is "an ugly area of spluttering and ever boiling water." It frequently "erupts," and throws a spout into the air, sometimes as high as forty or fifty feet, the outbursts lasting from ten to thirty minutes. Madame Pfeiffer had not the luck to see it in its grandest moods; the highest eruption she saw did not rise above thirty feet, nor last more than fifteen minutes. An eruption can be produced by throwing into the caldron a sufficient quantity of turf or stones.

Two remarkable springs lie directly above the Geysirs, in openings separated by a barrier of rock—which, however, rise nowhere above the level of the ground. Their waters boil very gently, with an equable and almost rhythmic flow. The charm of these springs lies in their wonderful transparency and clearness. All the prominent points and corners, the varied outlines of the cavities, and the different recesses, can be distinguished far within the depths, until the eye is lost in the darkness of the abyss; and the luminous effects upon the rocks lend an additional beauty to the scene, which has all the magic of the poet's fairy-land. It is illumined by a radiance of a soft pale blue and green, which reaches only a few inches from the rocky barrier, leaving the waters beyond in colourless transparency. The light, to all appearance, seems reflected from the rock, but is really owing to atmospheric causes.

* * * * *

From the Geysirs, Madame Pfeiffer proceeded towards Hekla; and at the village of Thorfustadir, on the route, had an opportunity of seeing an Icelandic funeral. On entering the church she found the mourners consoling themselves with a dram of brandy. On the arrival of the priest, a psalm or prayer was screamed, under his direction, by a chosen number of the congregation; each shouting his loudest, until he was completely out of breath. The priest, standing by the coffin, which, for lack of better accommodation, was resting on one of the seats, read in a loud voice a prayer of more than half an hour's duration. The body was then borne to the grave, which was one of remarkable depth; and the coffin being duly lowered, the priest threw earth upon it thrice, thus terminating the ceremony.

At the little village of Skalholt, where the first Icelandic bishopric was established in 1095, Madame Pfeiffer was invited to visit the church, and inspect its treasures. She was shown the grave of the first bishop, Thorlakur, whose memory is cherished as that of a saint; an old embroidered robe, and a plain gold chalice, both of which probably belonged to him; and, in an antique chest, some dusty books in the Iceland dialect, besides three ponderous folios in German, containing the letters, epistles, and treatises of Martin Luther.

Continuing her journey, she arrived at the little village of Salsun, which lies at the foot of Mount Hekla. Here she secured the services of a guide, and made preparations for the ascent of the famous volcano. These included the purchase of a store of bread and cheese, and the supply of a bottle of water for herself, and one of brandy for the guide, besides long sticks, shod with iron, to steady the adventurers' footsteps.

The day fixed for the expedition opened brightly and warmly. At first the road led through fields of tolerable fertility, covered with a rich green herbage, soft as velvet; and then traversed patches of black sand, surrounded by hills, and blocks, and currents of lava. By degrees it grew more difficult, and was so encumbered with lava as greatly to impede the progress of the travellers. Around and behind them rolled the dark congealed lava; and it was needful to be constantly on the watch, to prevent themselves from stumbling, or to avoid rude contact with the rolling rocks. Greater still was the danger in the rifts and gorges filled with snow moistening already in the summer heat; here they frequently broke through the deceptive crust, or at every step slipped backwards almost as far as they had advanced.

[Mount Hekla: page159.jpg]

At length they reached a point where it became necessary to leave behind the horses, and trust entirely to their own strength. Laboriously, but undauntedly, Madame Pfeiffer pressed upward. Yet, as she looked around on the sterile scene, which seemed to have been swept by a blast of fire, and on the drear expanse of black lava that surrounded her, Madame Pfeiffer could scarcely repress a sensation of pain and terror.

They had still, she says, three heights to climb; the last of which was also the most dangerous. The path clambered up the rocks which covered the entire area of the mountain-summit. Frequent were our traveller's falls; her hands were sadly wounded by the sharp jagged projections of the lava; and her eyes suffered severely from the dazzling brilliancy of the snow that filled every gorge and ravine.

But every obstacle gives way to the resolute; and at last Madame Pfeiffer stood on the topmost peak of Hekla. Here she made a discovery: in books of travel she had read of the crater of Mount Hekla, but a careful survey convinced her that none existed. There was neither opening, crevasse, nor sunken wall; in fact, no sign of a crater. Lower down on the mountain-side she detected some wide fissures; and from these, not from any crater, must have rolled the lava-rivers. The height of the mountain is computed at 5110 feet.

During the last hour of the ascent the sun had been veiled in mists, and from the neighbouring glaciers dense clouds now poured down upon them, obscuring or concealing the entire prospect. Fortunately, they gradually dissolved into snow, which spread a carpet, white and soft and glittering, over the dreary lava. The thermometer stood at 29.75 degrees F.

The snow-storm passed, and the sun once more gladdened earth, and filled with light the clear blue arch of the firmament. On her elevated watchtower stood the adventurous traveller, till the clouds, passing away, opened up to her wondering gaze the glorious view—glorious, yet terrible! It seemed as if the ruins of a burned-up world lay all around: the wastes were strewn with masses of lava; of life not a sign was visible; blocks of barren lava were piled upon one another in chaotic confusion; and vast streams of indurated volcanic matter choked up every valley.

"Here, on the topmost peak of Hekla," writes Madame Pfeiffer, "I could look down far and wide upon the uninhabited land, the image of a torpid nature, passionless, inanimate, and yet sublime,—an image which, once seen, can never be forgotten, and the remembrance of which will compensate me amply for all the toils and difficulties I have endured. A whole world of glaciers, lava-peaks, fields of snow and ice, rivers and miniature lakes, were comprehended in that magnificent prospect; and the foot of man had never yet ventured within these regions of gloom and solitude. How terrible must have been the resistless fury of the element which has produced all these changes! And is its rage now silenced for ever? Will it be satisfied with the ruin it has wrought? Or does it slumber only to break forth again with renewed strength, and lay waste those few cultivated spots which are scattered so sparingly throughout the land? I thank God that he has allowed me to see this chaos of his creation; and I doubly thank him that my lot was cast in these fair plains where the sun does more than divide the day from the night; where it warms and animates plant-life and animal-life; where it awakens in the heart of man the deepest feelings of gratitude towards his Maker."

On her way down our traveller discovered that the snow had not melted for the first five or six hundred feet. Below that distance the mountain- sides were enveloped in a shroud of vapour. That glossy, coal-black, shining lava, which is never porous, can be found only at Hekla and in its immediate vicinity; but the other varieties, jagged, porous, and vitrified, are also met with, though they are invariably black, as is the sand which covers the side of the mountain. As the distance from the volcano increases, the lava loses its jet-black colour, and fades into an iron-gray.

After an absence of twelve hours, Madame Pfeiffer reached Salsun in safety.

Six-and-twenty eruptions of Hekla have been recorded,—the last having occurred in 1845-46. One was prolonged for a period of six years, spreading desolation over a country which had formerly been the seat of a prosperous settlement, and burying the cultivated fields beneath a flood of lava, scoriae, and ashes. During the eruption of 1845-46, three new crater-vents were formed, from which sprang columns of fire and smoke to the height of 14,000 feet. The lava accumulated in formidable masses, and fragments of scoriae and pumice-stone weighing two hundredweight were thrown to a distance of a league and a half; while the ice and snow which had lain on the mountain for centuries were liquefied, and rolled in devastating torrents over the plains.

Hekla is not the only volcanic mountain of Iceland. Mounts Leirhnukr and Krabla, in the northeast, are very formidable; and one of the most terrible eruptions recorded in the island annals was that of the Skapta Jokul in 1783.

We have now completed our summary of Madame Pfeiffer's Icelandic excursions. From the country we may pass to its inhabitants, and ascertain the deliberate opinion she had formed of them after an experience extending over several weeks, and under conditions which enabled so shrewd an observer as she was to judge them impartially. Her estimate of their character is decidedly less favourable than that of her predecessors; but it is to be noted that in almost every particular it is confirmed by the latest authority, Captain Burton. And the evidence goes to show that they are not the simple, generous, primitive, guileless Arcadians which it had pleased some fanciful minds to portray.

Their principal occupation consists in the fisheries, which are pursued with the greatest activity during the months of February, March, and April. The people from the interior then stream into the different harbours, and bargain with the coast-population, the fishermen proper, to help them for a share of the profits. On the other hand, in July and August many of the coast-population penetrate inland, and lend their services in the hay-harvest, for which they are paid in butter, wool, and salted lamb. Others resort to the mountains in search of Iceland moss, which they mix with milk, and use as an article of food; or grind it into meal, and make cakes with it, as a substitute for bread. The labours of the women consist in preparing the fish for drying, smoking, or salting; in tending the cattle, in knitting, and gathering moss. During the winter season both men and women knit uninterruptedly.

Madame Pfeiffer thinks their hospitality has been overrated, and gives them credit for the ability to make a good bargain. In fact, she saw nothing of that disinterestedness which Dr. Henderson and other travellers have ascribed to them. They are intolerably addicted to brandy-drinking,—indeed, their circumstances would greatly improve if they drank less and worked more. They are scarcely less passionately addicted to snuff-taking, as well as to tobacco-chewing. Their mode of taking snuff is peculiar, and certainly not one to be imitated. Most of the peasants, and even many of the priests, have no snuff-boxes, but make use instead of a piece of bone, turned in the shape of a little powder- horn. When desirous of indulging in a little titillation, they throw back their heads, and putting the point of the horn to their nostril, empty in the snuff. So little fastidious are these devotees, that they frequently pass on a horn from nose to nose, without the needless formality of cleaning it. The mention of this practice leads Madame Pfeiffer to comment very severely on the want of cleanliness among the Icelanders, who are as dirty in their houses as in their persons.

They are also remarkable for their laziness. There are many ample stretches of meadow-land at a short distance from the coast, completely covered with bog, and passable only with great precautions, which the construction of a few ditches would thoroughly drain. Capital grass would then spring up in abundant crops. It is well known that such will grow in Iceland, for the hillocks which rise above the swamps are luxuriantly overgrown with herbage and wild clover. The best soil is found, it is said, on the north side of the island, where potatoes grow very well, and also a few trees—which, however, do not exceed seven or eight feet in height. The chief occupation of the northerners is cattle- breeding, particularly in the interior, where some of the farmers own three or four hundred sheep, ten or fifteen cows, and a dozen horses. These, it is true, are exceptional cases; but, as a rule, the population here are in much better circumstances than the wretched coast-population, who chiefly rely on the products of their fisheries.

* * * * *

From Iceland Madame Pfeiffer embarked for Copenhagen on the 29th of July, in the sloop Haabet (the "Hope"), which proved by no means a vessel of luxurious accommodation. Our resolute voyager gives an amusing account of her trials. The fare, for instance, was better adapted for a hermit than for a lady of gentle nurture; but it was sublimely impartial, being exactly the same for captain, mate, crew, and passengers. For breakfast they had wretched tea,—or rather, dirty tea-coloured water,—which the common hands drank without any sugar. The officers made use of a small lump of candy, holding it in their mouths, where it melted slowly, while they swallowed cup after cup to moisten the hard ship-biscuit and rancid butter.

The dinners, however, showed a daily variation. First, a piece of salted meat, which, having been soaked and boiled in sea-water, was so intolerably hard, tough, and salt that it required the digestion of an ostrich to overtake it. Instead of soup, vegetables, or dessert, barley grits were served up, plainly boiled, without salt or butter, and eaten with syrup and vinegar. On the second day, the piece de resistance was a lump of bacon, boiled in salt water; this was followed by the barley grits. On the third day, cod-fish and pease; on the fourth, the same bill of fare as on the first; and so on,—a cup of coffee, without milk, closing the noonday meal. The evening's repast resembled that of the morning, consisting of tea-water and ship-biscuit.

So much for the fare. As to the "table appointments," they were miserably meagre. The cloth was a piece of an old sail, so soiled and dirty that it effectually deprived Madame Pfeiffer and her fellow-passengers of any small appetite with which they might have sat down to dinner. Madame Pfeiffer began to think that it would be better to have no cloth at all. She was mistaken! One day she saw the steward belabouring a piece of sailcloth, which was stretched on the deck under his feet, to receive a good sweeping from the ship's broom. The numerous spots of dirt and grease showed plainly that it was the table-cloth; and that same evening the table was bare. The consequence was, that the teapot had no sooner been placed upon it than it began to slide; and nothing but the captain's adroitness prevented the entire "bill of fare" from being poured into the laps of the guests. It then became evident that

A table-cloth all foul and stained Is better far than none at all!

The Hope was twenty days at sea, and for twelve days out of sight of land. She was wind-driven to the westward, so that her passengers saw but few of the monsters of the Northern Seas. They caught sight of the spout of a single whale in the distance; it rose in the air exactly like a fountain-jet, but the animal itself was too far off for its huge outlines to be discernible. One shark had the gallantry to swim round them for a few minutes, affording them an opportunity of observing it closely. It appeared to be from sixteen to eighteen feet in length.

* * * * *

The "unresting" traveller reached Copenhagen on the 19th of August, and on the very same day embarked again for Sweden and Norway.

Let us accompany her to Christiania. This town and its suburbs, the fortress, the royal castle, the freemasons' lodge, and other buildings, surmount the noble harbour in a stately semicircle; which, in its turn, is enclosed by meadows, and woods, and green hills. As if loath to leave a scene so charming, the blue sea winds in among the fields and vales to some distance behind the town.

The best part of Christiania is, not unnaturally, the latest built, where the streets are broad and long, and the houses, both of brick and stone, substantial. In the suburbs, most of the houses are of timber. Some of the public edifices are architecturally conspicuous, particularly the new castle and the fortress, which are finely situated on a commanding elevation, and enjoy a prospect of great extent and splendid variety.

Madame Pfeiffer was much struck by the diverseness of the conveyances that dash through the pleasant, breezy streets of this picturesque city. The most common, but the least convenient, are called carriols. They consist of a very long, narrow, and uncovered box, strung between two enormously high wheels, and provided with a very small seat, into which the passenger must squeeze himself, with outstretched feet, and a leathern apron drawn over his legs; nor can he, nor dare he, move, from the moment he gets in until he gets out again. A place behind is provided for the coachman, in case the occupant of the carriol is disinclined to drive; but as it is unpleasant to have the reins shaken about one's head, and the whip constantly flourishing in one's ears, the services of a driver are seldom in requisition. Besides these unshapely vehicles, there are phaetons, droschkis, chariots, and similar light conveyances; but no covered carriages.

* * * * *

From Christiania to Stockholm.

At Gothenburg Madame Pfeiffer embarked on board the steamer which plies on the Gotha Canal, the great water-way, linking streams and lakes, which affords access to the Swedish capital. She found herself before long on the River Gotha, and at Lilla Edet came to the first of the five locks which occur there. While the boat was passing through them she had an opportunity of seeing the Gotha Falls, which, though of no great height, pour down a considerable volume of water.

Through fir woods, brown with shadows, the canal winds onward to the magnificent locks of Trollhatten—an engineering achievement of which any nation might be justly proud. They are eleven in number, and rise by gradations to a height of 112 feet in a distance of 3550 feet. The wide, deep channel excavated in the rock is literally paved with flagstones; and these locks mount one above the other like the solitary steps of a majestic stairway, and almost lay claim to be ranked among the world's wonders.

While the steamer passes through the successive barriers the passengers have time to make an excursion to the falls of Trollhatten, which are less remarkable for their elevation than for their flood of waters and the picturesqueness of the surrounding scenery.

Beyond Trollhatten the stream expands to the proportions of a lake, while a number of green and wooded islands divide it into several channels. Thence it traverses the Lake of Wenner, which is ten or twelve miles long, and proceeds onward through a country of no great interest, until at Sjotorp it passes into the river again. A few miles further, and it crosses the Vilkensoc, which, like all the other Swedish lakes, is charmingly studded with islands. It lies three hundred and six feet above the level of the North Sea, and is the culminating point of the canal, which thence descends through about seventy locks, traversing the Bottensee and Lake Wetter.

After a tedious journey of five days, Madame Pfeiffer reached the shores of the Baltic, which are finely indented by bays and rivers, with long stretches of lofty cliff, and, inland, dense masses of fir woods. Leaving the sea again, a short canal conducts the voyager into Lake Malar, celebrated for its cluster of islands. The lake at first resembles a broad river, but soon widens to a great extent; the beauty of the scenery never fails to excite the traveller's admiration. It is said that a thousand isles besprinkle its surface; they are crowded together in the most picturesque and varied groups, forming streams, and bays, and a chain of smaller lakes, and continually revealing some new and attractive feature.

Not less charming the shores: sometimes the hills and mountains pass close to the water, and their steep and rocky sides frown like thunder- smitten ramparts; but generally the eye is delighted by a constant and brightly-coloured panorama of meadows, woods, and valleys, villages, and sequestered farmhouses. On the summit of a steep declivity a high pole is erected, to which hangs suspended the hat of the unfortunate King Erik. It is said of him, that having fled from the field of battle, he was here overtaken by one of his soldiers, whose stern reproaches so stung him to the heart that he drove his spurs into his horse's sides, and clearing the precipice with a bound, sank for ever beneath the waters of the lake. His hat, which fell from his head as he made the plunge, is preserved as a memorial of a king's remorse.

* * * * *

On arriving at Stockholm, several stalwart women offer us their services as porters. They are Dalecarlians, who earn a livelihood by carrying luggage or water, by rowing boats, and by resorting to other occupations generally reserved for the stronger sex. Honest, industrious, capable of immense fatigue, they never lack employment. They wear short black petticoats, red bodices, white chemises with long sleeves, short and narrow aprons of two colours, red stockings, and shoes with thick wooden soles. Around their heads they generally bind a handkerchief, or else wear a very small black cap, which just covers the back of their hair.

Stockholm proves, on examination, to be a handsome city, situated at the junction of the Baltic with the Lake Malar; or, more strictly speaking, on the banks of a short canal which unites the two. One of its most conspicuous buildings is the stately Ritterholm Church, which Madame Pfeiffer describes as resembling rather a vault and an armoury than a religious edifice. In the side chapels are enshrined the monuments of dead Swedish kings, whose bones lie in the royal sepulchres below. On both sides of the nave are ranged the equestrian statues of armed knights; while from every vantage-point hang flags and standards. The keys of captured towns and fortresses are suspended in the side chapels, and drums and kettle-drums piled upon the floor—trophies won from the enemies of Sweden in the days when she was a great European power. The chapels also contain, enclosed in glass-cases, parts of the dress and armour of some of the Swedish monarchs. We notice, with keen interest, the uniform worn by Charles XII.—he

"Who left a name at which the world grew pale, To point a moral or adorn a tale"—

at the time of his death, and the hat penetrated by the fatal shot that slew the fiery warrior. A remarkable contrast is afforded by the rich dress and plumed hat of Bernadotte, the French soldier of fortune, who founded the present royal house.

The royal palace is a stately structure, and its interior is enriched with the costliest decoration. The Ritter-house, the Museum of Ancient Art, the Crown-Prince's palace, the theatre, the bank, the mint, are all deserving of inspection. In the vicinity a trip may be made to the beautiful and diversified scenery of the Royal Park, or the military school at Karlberg, or to the ancient royal castle of Gripsholm on the Lake of Malar.

But our last excursion must be directed, by way of Upsala, to the iron- mines of Danemora.

The little village of Danemora is embosomed in woods. It contains a small church and a few scattered houses of various dimensions. The neighbourhood abounds in the usual indications of a mining locality. Madame Pfeiffer arrived in what is called "the nick of time," and just opportunely, to witness the blasting of the ore. From the wide opening of the largest mine it is possible to see what passes below; and a strange and wonderful sight it is to peer down into the abyss, four hundred and eighty feet deep, and observe the colossal entrances to the various pits, the rocky bridges, the projections, arches, and caverns excavated in the solid rock. The miners appear so many puppets; their movements can hardly be distinguished, until the eye has grown accustomed to the darkness and to their diminutive size.

At the given moment a match was applied to four trains of gunpowder. The man who lighted them immediately sprang back, and hid himself behind a wall of rock. In a minute or two came the flash; a few stones were hurled into the air; and immediately afterwards was heard a loud detonation, and the shattered mass fell in fragments all around. Echo caught up the tremendous explosion, and carried it to the furthest recesses of the mine; while, to enhance the terror of the scene, one rock was hardly shivered before another crash was heard, and then a third, and immediately afterwards a fourth.

[Iron-mine of Danemora: page179.jpg]

The other pits are still deeper, one of them being six hundred feet beneath the ground; but as they are smaller in their openings, and as the shafts are not always perpendicular, the gaze is soon lost in the obscurity, which produces a dismal effect upon the spectator. The iron obtained from the Swedish mines is of excellent quality, and large quantities are annually exported.

* * * * *

Madame Pfeiffer now began her homeward journey, and, by way of Hamburg and Berlin, proceeded to Dresden. Thence she returned to Vienna on the 6th of October, after an absence of six months.



CHAPTER IV.—LAST TRAVELS.

Madame Pfeiffer set out on what proved to be her final expedition, on the 21st of May 1856. She proceeded to Berlin, thence to Amsterdam, Leyden, Rotterdam; visited London and Paris; and afterwards undertook the voyage to the Cape of Good Hope. Here she hesitated for a while in what direction she should turn her adventurous steps before she pushed forward to the goal of her hopes—Madagascar. At length she decided on a visit to the Mauritius; and it is at this part of her journey that we propose to take up her record.

[Port Louis, Mauritius: page183.jpg]

She saw much scenery in this rich and beautiful little island that moved her to admiration. The volcanic mountains assume the boldest and most romantic outlines. The vegetation is of the most luxuriant character. Each deep gorge or mountain-valley blooms with foliage; and the slopes are clothed with stately trees, graceful shrubs, and climbing plants; while shining streams fall from crag to crag in miniature cascades. Of course Madame Pfeiffer visited the sugar-cane plantations, which cover the broad and fertile plains of Pamplemousse. She learned that the sugar- cane is not raised from seed, but that pieces of cane are planted. The first cane requires eighteen months to ripen; but as, meanwhile, the chief stem throws out shoots, each of the following harvests can be gathered in at intervals of twelve months; hence four crops can be obtained in four years and a half. After the fourth harvest, the field must be cleared completely of the cane. If the land be virgin soil, on which no former crop has been raised, fresh slips of cane may be planted immediately, and thus eight crops secured in nine years. But if such is not the case, "ambrezades" must be planted—that is, a leafy plant, growing to the height of eight or nine feet, the leaves of which, continually falling, decay and fertilize the soil. After two years the plants are rooted out, and the ground is once more occupied by a sugar plantation.

When the canes are ripe and the harvest begins, every day as many canes are cut down as can be pressed and boiled at once. The cane is introduced between two rollers, set in motion by steam-power, and pressed until it is quite flat and dry: in this state it is used for fuel. The juice is strained successively into six pans, of which the first is exposed to the greatest heat—the force of the fire being diminished gradually under each of the others. In the last pan the sugar is found half crystallized. It is then deposited on great wooden tables to cool, and granulate into complete crystals of about the size of a pin's head. Lastly, it is poured into wooden colanders, to filter it thoroughly of the molasses it still contains. The whole process occupies eight or ten days. Before the sugar is packed, it is spread out on the open terraces to dry for some hours in the sun.

* * * * *

An excursion was made to Mount Orgueil, in order to obtain a panoramic view of the island-scenery. On one side the lofty ridge of the Morne Brabant, connected with the mainland only by a narrow neck of earth, stretches far out into the sapphire sea; near at hand rises the Piton de la Riviere Noire, the loftiest summit in the island, two thousand five hundred and sixty-four feet. In another direction are visible the green tops of the Tamarin and the Rempart; and in a fourth, the three-headed mountain called the Trois Mamelles. Contiguous to these opens a deep caldron, two of the sides of which have broken down in ruin, while the others remain erect and steep. Besides these mountains, the traveller sees the Corps de Garde du Port Loris de Mocca; Le Pouce, with its narrow peak projecting above the plateau like a thumb; and the precipitous Peter Botte.

The last-named mountain recalls the memory of the daring Hollander who first reached its summit, long regarded as impracticable. He succeeded in what seemed a hopeless effort by shooting an arrow, to which a strong cord was attached, over the top. The arrow fell on the other side of the mountain, at a point which could be attained without much difficulty. A stout rope was then fastened to the cord, drawn over the mountain, and secured on both sides; and Peter Botte hauled himself up by it to the topmost crest, and thus immortalized his name. The ascent has since been accomplished by English travellers.

A trip was also undertaken to the Trou de Cerf, or "Stag's Hole," a crater of perfectly regular formation, brimful of bloom and foliage. As no sign or mark betrays its whereabouts, the traveller is seized with astonishment on suddenly reaching its brink. His astonishment soon wears off, and he feels an intense delight in contemplating the view before him. It comprises three-fourths of the island: majestic mountains clothed in virgin forests almost to their very crests; wide-spreading plains, green with the leafiness of the sugar-cane plantations; cool verdurous valleys, where the drowsy shadows softly rest; and beyond and around the blue sea with a fringe of snow-white foam marking the indentations of the coast.

* * * * *

On the 25th of April 1857 Madame Pfeiffer sailed for Madagascar, and after a six-days' voyage reached the harbour of Tamatave.

Madagascar, the reader may be reminded, is, next to Borneo, the largest island in the world. It is separated from the African mainland by the Mozambique Channel, only seventy-five miles wide. It stretches from lat. 12 to 25 degrees S., and long. 40 to 48 degrees E. Its area is about ten thousand geographical square miles.

[The Traveller's Tree: page189.jpg]

Madagascar contains forests of immense extent, far-reaching plains and valleys, rivers, lakes, and great chains of mountains, which raise their summits to an elevation of ten or twelve thousand feet. The climate is tropical, the vegetation remarkable for abundance and variety. The chief products are gums and odoriferous balsams, sugar, tobacco, maize, indigo, silk, spices. The woods yield many valuable kinds of timber, and almost every fruit of the Torrid Zone, besides the curious and useful Traveller's Tree. Palms are found in dense and beautiful groves; and among them is the exquisite water-palm, or lattice leaf-plant. In the animal kingdom Madagascar possesses some remarkable forms; as, for instance, the makis, or half-ape, and the black parrot. The population consists of four distinct races: the Kaffirs, who inhabit the south; the Negroes, who dwell in the west; the Arabs in the east; and in the interior the Malays, among whom the Hovas are the most numerous and the most civilized.

* * * * *

Tamatave, when visited by Madame Pfeiffer looked like a poor but very large village, with between four and five thousand inhabitants. Of late years, however, it has grown into a place of much commercial importance. There are some decent houses; but the natives live chiefly in small huts, which are scattered over a wide area, with scarcely any attempt at regularity of arrangement. These huts are supported on piles from six to ten feet high. They are built of wood or of bamboo, thatched with long grass or palm-leaves; and they contain only one room, of which the fireplace occupies a disproportionate share. Windows are wanting, but light and air are admitted through two opposite doors.

The bazaar is situated in the middle of the village, on an irregular piece of ground, and is distinguished alike by its dirt and poverty. The articles exposed for sale are only a supply of beef, some sugar-cane, rice, and a few fruits; and the whole stock of one of the dealers would be dear at a couple of shillings. The oxen are slaughtered on the spot, and their flesh sold in thick hunches, with the skin, which is esteemed a great delicacy. Meat is not bought according to weight, but the size of each piece is measured by the eye.

The Tamatavians are principally Malagasys; and, physically, their appearance does not recommend them. They have wide mouths, with thick lips; their noses are broad and flat; their chins protrude; their cheek- bones are disagreeably prominent. Their complexion may be any shade of a muddy brown. Generally, their teeth are regular, and very white; but against this redeeming trait must be put their hideous hair, which is coal-black, very long, very woolly, and very coarse. When worn in all its natural amplitude, its effect is curiously disagreeable. The face seems lost in a "boundless convexity" of thick frizzled hair, which stands out in every direction. But, usually, the men cut their hair quite short at the back of the head, leaving only a length of six or eight inches in front, which stands upright, like a hedge of wool. Much pride is felt in their "head of hair" by the women, and even by some of the men; and, unwilling to shorten so ornamental an appendage, they plait it into numerous little tails. Some coquettishly allow these tails to droop all about their head; others twist them together into a band or bunch, covering the top of the head like a cap. No wonder that much time is spent in the preparation of so complex a head-gear; but then, on the other hand, when once made up it will last for several days.

Now as to the costume of these interesting semi-savages. Their articles of clothing are two in number—the sadik and the simbre. The former, which by many natives is considered quite sufficient, is a strip of cloth worn round the loins. The simbre is a piece of white stuff, about four yards long and three broad, which is worn much like a toga. As it is constantly coming loose, and every minute needing adjustment, it is an exceedingly troublesome though not ungraceful garment, keeping one hand of the wearer almost constantly employed.

Males and females wear the same attire, except that the latter indulge in a little more drapery, and often add a third article—a short tight jacket, called kanezu.

Simple as is the clothing of the Malagasy, their food is not less simple. At every meal, rice and anana are the principal or only dishes. Anana is a vegetable very much like spinach, of a by no means disagreeable flavour in itself, but not savoury when cooked with rancid fat. Fish is sometimes eaten, but not often—for indolence is a great Malagasy quality—by those who dwell on the borders of rivers or on the sea-shore; meat and poultry, though both are cheap, are eaten only on special occasions. The natives partake of two meals—one in the morning, the other in the evening.

The rice and anana are washed down with ranugang, or rice-water, thus prepared: Rice is boiled in a vessel, and purposely burned, until a crust forms at the bottom. The water is poured on, and allowed to boil. The water in colour resembles pale coffee, and in taste is abominable to a European palate. The natives, however, esteem it highly, and not only drink the water, but eat the crust.

* * * * *

One of the great ceremonies of Madagascar, the royal bath-feast, is described by Madame Pfeiffer. It is celebrated on the Malagasy New-Year's Day, and has some curious features. On the eve, all the high officers, nobles, and chiefs are invited to court; and assembling in a great hall, partake of a dish of rice, which is handed round to each guest with much solemnity that he may take a pinch with his fingers and eat. Next day, all reassemble in the same place; and the queen steps behind a curtain, which hangs in a corner of the room, undresses, and submits to copious ablutions. Assuming her clothes, she comes forward, holding in her hand an ox-horn that has been filled with water from her bath; and this she sprinkles over the assembled company—reserving a portion for the soldiers drawn up on parade beneath her window.

Throughout the country this day is an occasion of festivity, and dancing, singing, and feasting are kept up till a late hour. Nor does the revel end then; it is prolonged for eight days. The people on the first day are accustomed to kill as many oxen as will supply them with meat for the whole period; and no man who possesses a herd, however small, fails to kill at least one for this annual celebration. The poor exchange rice, and tobacco, and several potatoes, for pieces of meat. These pieces are long thin strips; and being salted, and laid one upon another, they keep tolerably well until the eighth day.

Madame Pfeiffer had an opportunity of witnessing the dances, but did not find them very interesting.

Some girls beat a little stick with all their might against a thick stem of bamboo; while others sang, or rather howled, at their highest and loudest pitch. Then two of the ebony beauties stepped forward, and began to move slowly to and fro on a small space of ground, half lifting their arms, and turning their hands, first outwards, and then towards their sides. Next, one of the men made his debut. He tripped about much in the same style as the dusky danseuses, only with greater energy; and each time he approached any of the women or girls, he made gestures expressive of his love and admiration.

* * * * *

Our traveller obtained permission to enter into the interior of the island, and to visit Antananarivo, {197} the capital. As she approached it, she could see it picturesquely planted on a high hill that rose out of the broad and fertile inland plain; and after a pleasant journey through rich and beautiful scenery, she came upon the suburbs, which enclose it on all sides.

The suburbs at first were villages; but they have gradually expanded until they have been formed into a compact aggregate. Most of the houses are built of earth or clay; but those belonging to the city must, by royal decree, be constructed of planks, or at least of bamboo. They are all of a larger size than the dwellings of the villagers; are much cleaner, and kept in better condition. The roofs are very high and steep, with long poles reared at each end by way of ornament. Many houses, and sometimes groups of three or four houses, are surrounded by low ramparts of earth, apparently for no other purpose than to separate the courtyards from the neighbouring tenements. The streets and squares are all very irregularly built: the houses are not placed in rows, but in clusters,—some at the foot of the hill, others on its slopes. The royal palace crowns the summit.

Madame Pfeiffer expressing her surprise at the number of lightning-conductors that everywhere appeared, was informed that perhaps in no other part of the world were thunderstorms so frequent or so fatal. She was told that, at Antananarivo, about three hundred people were killed by lightning every year.

The interior of the town was in appearance exactly like one of the suburbs, except that the houses were built of planks or of bamboo.

At the time of Madame Pfeiffer's visit, the sovereign of Madagascar was Queen Ranavala, memorable for her sanguinary propensities, her hatred of Europeans, and her persecution of the Christian converts. It proves the extraordinary power of fascination which our traveller possessed, that she obtained from this feminine despot so many concessions—being allowed to travel about the island with comparative freedom, and being even admitted to the royal presence. The latter incident is thus described:—

Towards four o'clock in the afternoon her bearers carried Madame Pfeiffer to the palace, over the door of which a great gilded eagle expands its wings. According to rule, in stepping across the threshold the visitor put her right foot foremost; and this ceremony she also observed on entering, through a second gateway, the spacious courtyard in front of the palace. Here the queen was visible, being seated on a balcony on the first story, and Madame Pfeiffer and her attendants were directed to stand in a row in the courtyard opposite to her. Under the balcony some soldiers were going through divers evolutions, which concluded, comically enough, by suddenly lifting up the right foot as if it had been stung by a wasp.

The queen was attired in a wide silk simbre, and wore on her head a large golden crown. Though she sat in the shade, a very ample umbrella of crimson silk—throughout the East a sign of royal dignity—was held over her head. She was of rather dark complexion, strongly and even sturdily built, and, though seventy-five years of age, remarkably healthy and active. On her right stood her son, Prince Rakoto; and on her left, her adopted son, Prince Ramboasalama. Behind her were gathered nephews, nieces, and other relatives, and the dignitaries and grandees of her kingdom.

The minister who had conducted Madame Pfeiffer and her companion—M. Lambert, a French adventurer, who played a conspicuous part in the affairs of Madagascar—addressed a short speech to the queen; after which the visitors had to bow thrice, and to repeat the words, "Esaratsara tombokoc" (We salute you cordially); to which she replied, "Esaratsara" (We salute you). They then turned to the left to salute King Radama's tomb, which was close at hand, with three similar bows; afterwards returning to their former position in front of the balcony, and making three more. M. Lambert next held up a gold piece of eighty francs value, and placed it in the hands of the minister who had introduced them. This gift, which is expected from every stranger when first presented, is called "Monosina." The queen then asked M. Lambert if he wished to put any question to her, or if he needed anything, and also addressed a remark or two to Madame Pfeiffer. The bowings and greetings were then resumed; obeisance was paid to King Radama's monument; and the visitors, as they retired, were again cautioned not to put the left foot first over the threshold.

The royal palace is (or was) a very large timber building, consisting of a ground-floor and two stories, surmounted by a singularly high-pitched roof. Each story is surrounded by a broad gallery. The roof is supported on wooden pillars, eighty feet high, and rises forty feet above them, resting in the centre on a pillar not less than a hundred and twenty feet in height. All these columns are fashioned each from a single trunk; and when it is considered, says our authority, that the forests containing trees of sufficient size for this purpose lie fifty or sixty miles from the capital, that the roads are nowhere paved, and in some places are quite impassable, and that all the pillars are dragged to the capital without the help of a beast of burden or any single machine, and are afterwards wrought and set up with the simplest tools, the erection of this palace may justly be called a gigantic undertaking, and the palace itself ranked among the wonders of the world.

The government of Madagascar has always been Draconian in its severity, and the penalty exacted for almost every offence is blood. Some of the unfortunates are burned; others are hurled over a high rock; others buried alive; others scalded to death with boiling water; others killed with the spear; others sewn up alive in mats, and left to perish of hunger and corruption; and others beheaded. Recourse is not unfrequently had to poison, which is used as a kind of ordeal or test. This is applicable to all classes; and as any one may accuse another, on depositing a certain sum of money,—and as, moreover, no accused person is allowed to defend himself,—the ordeal does not fall into disrepute for want of use. If the accused endures it without perishing, a third part of the deposit is awarded to him, a third part goes to the court, and the remainder is returned to the accuser. But if the accused die, his guilt is considered to have been established, and the accuser receives back the whole of his money.

The poisoning process takes place as follows:—

The material employed is obtained from the kernel of a fruit as large as a peach, called the Tanghinia venenifera. The lampi-tanghini, or person who administers the poison, announces to the accused the day on which the perilous dose is to be swallowed. For eight-and-forty hours before the prescribed time he is allowed to eat very little, and for the last twenty-four hours nothing at all. His friends accompany him to the poisoner's house. There he undresses, and takes oath that he has had no recourse to magic. The lampi-tanghini then scrapes away as much powder from the kernel with a knife as he judges necessary for the trial. Before administering the dose, he asks the accused if he confesses his crime; which the accused never does, because under any circumstances he would have to swallow the poison. The said poison is spread upon three little pieces of skin, each about an inch in size, cut from the back of a plump fowl. These he rolls together, and administers to the supposed culprit.

"In former days," says Madame Pfeiffer, "almost every person who was subjected to this ordeal died in great agony; but for the last ten years any one not condemned by the queen herself to take the tanghin, is allowed to make use of the following antidote. As soon as he has taken the poison, his friends make him drink rice-water in such quantities that his whole body sometimes swells visibly, and quick and violent vomiting is brought on. If the poisoned man be fortunate enough to get rid not only of the poison, but of the three little skins (which latter must be returned uninjured), he is declared innocent, and his relations carry him home in triumph, with songs and rejoicings. But if one of the pieces of skin should fail to reappear, or if it be at all injured, his life is forfeited, and he is executed with the spear, or by some other means." {204}

* * * * *

During Madame Pfeiffer's stay at Antananarivo a conspiracy broke out, provoked by the queen's cruelty. It failed, however, in its object; and those concerned in it were mercilessly punished. The Christians became anew exposed to the suspicions and wrath of Ranavala; and Madame Pfeiffer and her companions found themselves in a position of great peril. The royal council debated vehemently the question, Whether they should be put to death? and this being answered in the affirmative, What death they should die? Happily, Prince Rakoto interfered, pointing out that the murder of Europeans would not be allowed to pass unavenged, but would bring down upon Madagascar the fleets and armies of the great European powers. This argument finally prevailed; and Madame Pfeiffer and the other Europeans, six in all, then in Antananarivo, were ordered to quit it immediately. They were only too thankful to escape with their lives, and within an hour were on their way to Tamatave, escorted by seventy Malagasy soldiers. They had good cause to congratulate themselves on their escape, for on the very morning of their departure ten Christians had been put to death with the most terrible tortures.

The journey to Tamatave was not without its dangers and difficulties, and Madame Pfeiffer, who had been attacked with fever, suffered severely. The escort purposely delayed them on the road; so that, instead of reaching the coast in eight days, the time actually occupied was three-and-fifty. This was the more serious, because the road ran through low-lying and malarious districts. In the most unhealthy spots, moreover, the travellers were left in wretched huts for a whole week, or even two weeks; and frequently, when Madame Pfeiffer was groaning in a violent excess of fever, the brutal soldiers dragged her from her miserable couch, and compelled her to continue her journey.

At length, on the 12th of September, she arrived at Tamatave; broken-down and unutterably weary and worn, but still alive. Ill as she was, she gladly embarked on board a ship which was about to sail for the Mauritius; and reaching that pleasant island on the 22nd, met with a hearty welcome from her friends—to whom, indeed, she was as one who had been dead and was alive again.

The mental and physical sufferings she had undergone, combined with the peculiar effects of the fever, now brought on an illness of so serious a character that for long the doctors doubted whether her recovery was possible. On her sixtieth birthday, the 14th of October, they pronounced the brave lady out of danger; but, in fact, her constitution had received a fatal shock. The fever became intermittent in its attacks, but it never wholly left her; though she continued, with unabated energy and liveliness, to lay down plans for fresh expeditions. She had made all her preparations for a voyage to Australia, when a return of her disease, in February 1858, compelled her to renounce her intention, and to direct her steps homeward.

Early in the month of June she arrived in London, where she remained for a few weeks. Thence she repaired to Berlin.

Her strength was now declining day by day, though at first she seemed to regard her illness as only temporary, and against the increasing physical weakness her mind struggled with its usual activity. About September, she evinced a keen anxiety to behold her home once more,—evidently having arrived at a conviction that her end was near. She was carefully conveyed to Vienna, and received into the house of her brother, Charles Reyer; where, at first, the influence of her native air had an invigorating effect. This gave way after a week or two, and her illness returned with augmented force. During the last days of her life, opiates were administered to relieve her sufferings; and in the night between the 27th and 28th of October she passed away peacefully, and apparently without pain,—leaving behind her the memory of a woman of matchless intrepidity, surprising energy, and heroic fixity of purpose.



NOTES.

{105} Since Madame Pfeiffer's time this mode of self-torture has been prohibited by the British Government.

{197} That is, the "City of a Thousand Towns."

{204} We give Madame Pfeiffer's account, as an illustration of the old ways of Madagascar society. But the poison-ordeal has of late been abandoned, owing to Christian influence.

THE END