William Nelson A Memoir 16

William Nelson A Memoir 16

But the troubles were not over for the courageous travellers who had

thus gratified their curiosity to witness for themselves the scenes of a

besieged city and a Parisian Communistic revolt. On coming down to

breakfast on the Sunday morning, they were gratified to meet at the

breakfast table an old friend, in company with two others who, like

themselves, had come to Paris to see the results of the terrible war.

They were the only other guests at the hotel. On their first visit to

Versailles they had had a good view of the great fortress, Mont

Valérien, and explored with much interest the surrounding rifle-pits and

other means of defence; and it was now proposed that the whole party

should visit the fort. But Mrs. Nelson writes:--“On reconsidering our

plans, William decided that he would prefer going to Versailles; so Mr.

Buckham and I set out with him, while our friends started for Fort

Valérien. We found much to interest us, and did not return to our hotel

till the evening. But on arriving there the landlord met us in a state

of great excitement. We had, it seemed, very narrowly escaped a novel

and trying experience. Our three friends had been taken for spies, and

as soon as they reached the fort were made prisoners. After being

detained all day, they had been released, and were already on their way

to England. He also told us that he had orders from head-quarters that

we were to leave at once.” So ended this visit to Paris in the days of

the capitulation and the Commune, not without some very exciting

experiences, and more than one narrow escape from imminent danger. It

was characteristic of William Nelson’s fearless unconsciousness of

danger that he made Mrs. Nelson the sharer in an expedition, replete

indeed with attractions of a highly novel and exceptional kind, but

beset by so many dangers that nothing but her trusting confidence in his

guardianship could have induced her to risk the exposure which it

involved. As it was, it might be styled a lucky accident which alone

prevented her sharing in the uncomfortable romance of being made a state

prisoner in Fort Valérien. But such incidents have a piquancy in the

memories of later years, when the discomforts and apprehensions they

involved have passed out of memory. Nevertheless the narrow escape from

incarceration in a state prison under the later Commune was the foremost

incident in Mrs. Nelson’s thoughts whenever she recalled the experiences

of that exciting time.

 

“It was a narrow escape,” she writes, “for we were the last people to

get out of Paris. The Provisional Government took the place of the

Prussian invaders; and our train was the last one allowed to leave

Paris. We were repeatedly taken for spies and stopped on the street. Had

we gone to Fort Valérien and been made prisoners, the suspicions that

had been excited would have told against us. But William never seemed to

be put out, or to be conscious of danger.”

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER X.

 

_HOLIDAYS ABROAD._

 

 

A journey through unfamiliar scenes had at all times a special

fascination for William Nelson; and had circumstances favoured the

devotion of his early years to exploration in strange, unknown regions,

it was a work that would have proved peculiarly congenial to his tastes.

He had some of the most needful characteristics of an observant

traveller; and his acuteness and keen desire for the thorough

investigation of whatever came under notice, would have secured results

of permanent value. But as it was, his later travels, even when out of

the beaten track of the tourist, were necessarily the mere holiday

rambles of a man escaping from the engrossing cares of business. Yet

even such rambles furnish some interesting glimpses of character.

 

From among William Nelson’s varied experiences of foreign travel in

later years I select his trip to the Baltic in 1878, the incidents of

which are familiar to me as his companion on the journey. More

correctly, he accompanied me, starting at a few hours’ notice with that

indifference to elaborate preparation so characteristic of him as a

traveller. We sailed from Leith on the 4th of July by the steam-ship

_Buda_, bound for Copenhagen. The North Sea gave us a rough shake; but I

was seasoned for the voyage by fresh Atlantic experiences, and William

Nelson was a good sailor in all weathers. He was at home among the

sailors on the deck or in the forecastle, and found, as usual, some

objects of practical sympathy there.

 

The first subject of curious investigation was the famed castle of

Helsingör--Hamlet’s Elsinore. But it is better seen through

Shakespeare’s eyes, and is much too modern and prosaic to awaken any

associations with Hamlet the Dane. Our traveller, who was apt to be

amusingly literal on such occasions, protested against the contemptible

escarpment which it offered in lieu of

 

“The dreadful summit of the cliff

That beetles o’er his base into the sea.”

 

But Copenhagen had much to interest him; and among the rest, the

recurrence of his own name, under slight modifications, suggesting the

possible descent of the Covenanting farmers of the Carse of Stirling

from some rough old Baltic viking. The Thorwaldsen Galleries were

explored with keen interest. Then, too, I was fortunate in an early

personal acquaintance with the eminent Danish archæologist, Wörsaae,

which subsequent correspondence on subjects of mutual interest had

ripened into friendship. He was then chamberlain to the king. So under

his guidance a charming day was passed in the Rosenborg Slot, where, in

addition to the choice cabinet of coins, the famous silver drinking-horn

of Oldenburg, and other ancient relics, a succession of state apartments

are arranged with historical portraits, arms, jewels, and furniture of

the royal Danish line. Illustrated as they were by the fascinating

commentary of our guide, they charmed William Nelson beyond measure. “It

was,” he said, “like walking down the centuries into the present time.”

Another day was spent, under the same instructive guidance, inspecting

the richly-stored cabinets of the Prindsens Palais, where the Runic

slabs from Greenland--memorials of the Northmen’s pre-Columbian

discovery of America--excited the liveliest interest.

 

On returning to our hotel on the latter occasion, we found unusual stir

and excitement. We had not been aware that the Prince Imperial of France

was a guest at the hotel--come to Copenhagen, as was reported, to sue

for the hand of a Danish princess; and here was his Danish majesty’s

carriage awaiting the prince to take him to dine at the palace at the

fashionable hour of 5 P.M. William Nelson remarks in a letter of the

following July:--“You would see the sad fate of the Prince Imperial;

though one cannot help asking what business he had there, fighting the

poor Zulus who had done him no wrong, and bringing discredit on British

officers who were there on duty, whatever we may think of such duty. It

seems hard to blame them for bolting--every man for himself. But you

remember the little prince as we saw him at Copenhagen; he did not seem

very fit to fight Zulus or anybody else, poor fellow.”

 

The Frue Kirke occupies a prominent place among the attractions of

Copenhagen, and is now associated in my mind with a characteristic

little incident. The travellers had visited the church, the decorations

of which, from the chisel of Thorwaldsen, constitute the main source of

its interest. On the morning of the Sunday following they attended the

English service; and in the afternoon his companion announced his

intention to go to the Frue Kirke, and invited William Nelson to

accompany him. But he refused, protesting that they should not

understand a word of the service, and pronouncing the procedure to be a

desecration of the day. His fellow-traveller had accordingly to go

alone. The church is in the form of a Roman basilica, built under the

direction of the great Danish sculptor, with a special view to its

marble adornments. The sole light is admitted from ground-glass panels

in the ceiling. Above the altar, in the chancel, stands the colossal

statue of Christ, with arms extended in loving regard. In front of each

pier, in the nave, is a statue of an apostle: St. Paul symbolizing the

irresistible might of the truth; St. Peter the custodian of the symbolic

keys; the doubting Thomas, with look of indecision and finger on his

lip; St. John as the impersonation of love; and the others, each more or

less skilfully suggesting some appropriate ideal. As works of art they

are open to criticism, for as an artist Thorwaldsen had far more of

classical than of Christian feeling. But the absence of all gay

colouring, usually so much favoured in church decoration, and the grand

scale of the works in pure white marble, so appropriate to a place of

Christian worship, produce as a whole an effect singularly impressive in

its mode of enlisting art as the handmaid of religion. The Lutheran

service, with its familiar hymn tunes, was simple as that of the

Presbyterian Church; and the sermon was obviously eloquent, though

delivered in the unknown Danish tongue. On the wanderer returning to the

hotel, he found his friend asleep in an easy-chair, and ventured to hint

that his time had been spent to as good purpose; but this idea was

scouted, and William Nelson stuck to it, that the sharing in the

afternoon service of the Frue Kirke was a profanation of the day.

 

His interest was specially excited by the comments of Wörsaae, on the

succession of flora in Denmark, from the _Pinus sylvestris_ of the

early Stone Period to that of the _Quercus robur_ which accompanies the

prehistoric works of the Iron Age, and has been replaced within the

historic period by the beech. So a run by rail afforded him the

gratification of seeing one of the fine beech forests of Denmark. But he

was still more charmed with the habitual courtesy of the Dane. The

Thorwaldsen Museum has refined the Copenhageners, even to the proverbial

street boy. He who was at all times noticeable for that spontaneous

courtesy which knew no distinction between rich and poor, was amused to

learn that the travellers were guilty of an unconscious boorishness in

keeping their hats on when entering a shop, or even a railway

waiting-room. At their first Swedish railway station--a half-finished

structure with unglazed windows--a Danish friend drew their attention to

this notice: “Behall gerna hufvudbonaden pa!” which politely invited

them to keep their hats on under such exceptional circumstances. The

impression which this produced was recalled by an incident of a

different kind, on their proceeding from Stockholm to Christiania. Their

interview with custom-house officers on the frontier reminded them that

Sweden and Norway are still distinct kingdoms. The simple kindly manners

of the Norwegian people charmed them no less than those of the Danes.

Introductions gave them access to scenes of quiet domestic life, where

they learned to shake hands with the host and hostess after dinner,

with the salutation: “Tak for maten”--thanks for the repast. A journey

northward among the mountains and fiords afforded some amusing

experiences of the kindly hospitalities of the peasant proprietors. The

sheaf of oats, a Christmas gift for the birds, which surmounts the gable

of every Norwegian farm-house, greatly charmed William Nelson as a thing

so consonant to his love for the lower animals. The wild birds struck