SAMARCANDSanta BarbaraHow can we speak the glad surpriseWhich met us on that morning ride—The glory of the boundless skies,The mountains in their stately pride!And greater yet the misty deep,Which, huge and vast, swept out afarIn dreaming beauty, silent sleep,Which storm, it seemed, could never mar.But better than the boughs which hungWith golden fruit and blossoms sweet,And better than the flowers which clung,Were words which there our hearts did greet.They said, "Come see my roses red;"They came from frank, sweet face, and eyesWhich gleamed with happy mirth, and said,"Come here for further yet surprise."We climbed the mount, we grasped the hand,We looked upon the gracious face;We saw the wealth of "Samarcand,"The Place, and Lady of the Place.Fit setting for so warm a heartSeemed orange grove and mountain side;Of nature's best she seemed a part,Yea, more; of all, its greatest pride.Too soon the time to part drew near,The farewell words at last were said;But memory ever will hold dearHer Home, Herself, her Roses red.
SAMARCAND
SAMARCAND
Santa Barbara
Santa Barbara
How can we speak the glad surpriseWhich met us on that morning ride—The glory of the boundless skies,The mountains in their stately pride!
How can we speak the glad surprise
Which met us on that morning ride—
The glory of the boundless skies,
The mountains in their stately pride!
And greater yet the misty deep,Which, huge and vast, swept out afarIn dreaming beauty, silent sleep,Which storm, it seemed, could never mar.
And greater yet the misty deep,
Which, huge and vast, swept out afar
In dreaming beauty, silent sleep,
Which storm, it seemed, could never mar.
But better than the boughs which hungWith golden fruit and blossoms sweet,And better than the flowers which clung,Were words which there our hearts did greet.
But better than the boughs which hung
With golden fruit and blossoms sweet,
And better than the flowers which clung,
Were words which there our hearts did greet.
They said, "Come see my roses red;"They came from frank, sweet face, and eyesWhich gleamed with happy mirth, and said,"Come here for further yet surprise."
They said, "Come see my roses red;"
They came from frank, sweet face, and eyes
Which gleamed with happy mirth, and said,
"Come here for further yet surprise."
We climbed the mount, we grasped the hand,We looked upon the gracious face;We saw the wealth of "Samarcand,"The Place, and Lady of the Place.
We climbed the mount, we grasped the hand,
We looked upon the gracious face;
We saw the wealth of "Samarcand,"
The Place, and Lady of the Place.
Fit setting for so warm a heartSeemed orange grove and mountain side;Of nature's best she seemed a part,Yea, more; of all, its greatest pride.
Fit setting for so warm a heart
Seemed orange grove and mountain side;
Of nature's best she seemed a part,
Yea, more; of all, its greatest pride.
Too soon the time to part drew near,The farewell words at last were said;But memory ever will hold dearHer Home, Herself, her Roses red.
Too soon the time to part drew near,
The farewell words at last were said;
But memory ever will hold dear
Her Home, Herself, her Roses red.
XII
Leaving Santa Barbara. — Delay at Saugus. — Viewing the Wreck. — Brentwood. — The Mission Mass. — The Social Afternoon. — The Garden and the Homing Pigeons. — The Grape-Shot. — The Chinaman's Pipe.
We had yet one more sweet glimpse of Santa Barbara as we left in the early morning hour. It was soon hidden from our view, but not from our memory, where it will ever abide, a place of sunshine and flowers, where the old and the new stand face to face—the old ocean and the everlasting hills, and the fresh young life of California, with its exuberant surroundings and genial hospitality.
Our next point was Brentwood, which we hoped to reach ere the close of day, but a wreck on the line ahead kept us for hours waiting at a place called Saugus until the track could be cleared.
Saugus was as forlorn as a muddy beach at low tide, but some of us made the most of our unpromising surroundings. The uncertainty of the moment of our departure kept us ever within sound of the warning whistle of the engine, so that our little rambles in the woods adjoining were rather nervous and fitful, but yet better than nothing.
After all, it is a comfortable thing to be safe away from a wreck, and a detention for our security from accident ought to bring gratitude rather than fretfulness at all times.
In due time "All aboard!" was sounded, and then off we were, climbing up into the mountains. It was a continual feast to look at their ever-changing forms, and watch the curves and twists of the railroad as it scaled their heights.
We reached the wreck, the cause of our delay, and even in our rapid glimpse of it we could see the havoc which had been done in that one "smash up." Sacks of flour were hurled hither and thither, their contents scattered on the rocks; cans of fruit were shot about like war-like projectiles; and the eccentric heaping of engine, tender, and freight cars gave us an idea of the impetus of the force which caused the whole disaster. Fortunately no lives were lost.
It was Sunday morning when we reached Brentwood. It was a scattering village of detached houses in the midst of a vast plain through which the railroad ran, straight as an arrow, from horizon to horizon. The somnolence of Sunday and of nature hung over all, giving little promise for the twenty-four hours we were to stay there; yet unpromising as it all seemed, we passed there a very enjoyable time.
We were left to our own devices all day, for Dr. and Mrs. Humphreys and the members of his family, went off in the early morning, to visit some relatives ranching in the foot-hills of the encircling mountains, which enclose the vast plain, on which Brentwood stands. How beautiful and ever-varying those mountains were! They told us new stories from morning until night—now a romance of purple and gold; again, a story of less heroic character, as they stood out plain and clear in the sunshine; and again, a tale of deeper mystery, as the night shadows gathered upon their sides, and the moonbeams gave a strange brilliancy to their higher peaks.
Brentwood and all its belongings was before us for the Sunday. After an exploring tour, we found two churches, a Campbellite and a Methodist. They did not look particularly inviting, although the hymn singing in one by the Sunday-school children touched us. We still strolled on and came upon a group of people busily engaged taking flowers into a long, blackened shed which we were told was the town hall, and that there a Dominican monk was to hold services that morning. A fine-looking young German of the tall, black type was busy arranging the rude temporary altar, and a number of ladies and others were assisting him. My German friend offered us an introduction to Father Burke, the monk in question, but we declined, not wishing to intrude upon him before his Mass.
The hour for service came, and we were on hand, with a varied crowd from the town and country adjacent, quite a goodly number. There was a large, white curtain hung back of the altar as a sort of reredos. It did not reach the floor, however, and as the platform was rather high, we had a preliminary view from almost the knees down of all the necessary preparation and vesting, more interesting than edifying. But the service itself,—in the character of the congregation, the mothers with their babies, the young, restless lads, the old people of other days and other climes, and the young people of California growth,—all made up a most interesting study. The music was quite good, being provided by some visitors from San Francisco; two ladies, whom we afterward met, having voices of excellent tone and real culture. AnAve Mariaand theSanctuswere especially well sung. Father Burke gave an offhand sermon, well arranged and thoughtful, suitable for Christians of any orthodoxy whatever. It was good to hear him.
My German friend, after service, again invited me to call. It turned out he was the tavern-keeper in the place; so after our pleasant midday dinner on the "Lucania," we all adjourned to the hotel, where in the parlor were the choir of the morning service, several other ladies and gentlemen, and, taking his ease and enjoyment, also Father Burke. We spent more than two hours in the happiest way. Stories were told and songs were sung, and libations of the best California vintage were offered us, all ending with "The Star Spangled Banner," sung by all standing. I say all standing, for two ladies, said to be Spanish sympathizers, remained seated glumly on a sofa, but were good-naturedly drawn to their feet by a laughing companion, and made to assume the virtue of patriotism if they had it not.
By this time the train was due, and Father Burke, the lady singers from San Francisco, and their friends had to leave us, obedient to the imperial mandate, "All aboard!"
My German friend again came to our assistance in the way of amusements, and invited us into his hotel garden. It was a humble little enclosure, but in the centre, coming up through some rock-work, there was an iron jet which he let on, and made a fountain of for our pleasure, quite refreshing to look at. The distant mountains, too, which appeared so far away as one looked from the open plain, seemed here strangely near and picturesque, when seen through the arched openings of the enclosing trees. Our friend also had a surprise for us in some homing pigeons of rare excellence, of which he was specially proud. He showed us his pet prize winner with its eyes and carriage like a genius. He went in among them, and seemed so tender with them, and interested in them, that it was all a thing of poetry of the highest kind; the great tall man and the fairy-like shapes and motions of his beloved birds. He took out of the cote the very best of the lot, and gave it to one of our young ladies to let fly outside, so that we could see it circle round and round, and then make for its home again.
By this time it was toward evening, and we could descry in the dim distance the return of Dr. Humphreys and his family, as their carriages wound along the plain back again to Brentwood.
Night brought us a silver moon, which added new beauty to all our great surroundings of plain and mountain, and we could look back over a day filled to overflowing with interest and pleasantness, the half of which is not told; but we must at least mention the grape-shot which was picked up on the railroad track, and which set us thinking of how it got there. Was it fired from a Spanish cannon in early days, or by settlers in some Indian difficulty, or marauding trouble, or when?
We must also tell of the happy Chinese laundryman whom we interviewed under the light of the moon, the very picture of placid, contented comfort, as he smoked a huge pipe with stem two feet long. Poor soul, all in his loneliness, coming out from his little hole for a breath of fresh air and a touch of that great nature which is ever so good to us all if we will but let it. Our Chinaman told us that his pipestem was especially valuable, that it had the excellent quality of making the smoke cool, and that such stems, being made of the tea shrub, were very rare. One of our number next morning wished to purchase the said pipestem from "John," but he refused all offers, saying he would not give it for fifty dollars.
XIII
San Francisco. — Bustling Traffic. — Railroad Employees. — The Flagman. — The Palace Hotel. — The Seal Rocks. — Sutro Residence and Baths. — The Presidio. — Sentinels. — Golden Gate Park. — The Memorial Cross. — San Francisco and Edinburgh Compared. — The Cable Cars. — Chinatown. — The Opium Den. — The Goldsmiths' Shops. — Across the Bay to Tiburon. — The Bohemian Club.
In San Francisco we had a couple of full days and fragments of two others, all too short to fully take in the wonders of that romantic city, so bizarre, so strange, and in its way so attractive.
After coming across the Bay from Oakland, we found ourselves in the midst of the noise and bustle of the railroad yards, fronting on a street crowded with teams and wagons from morning until night; and in the night, the ever-resounding snorts of the iron horse were not found as soothing as the nightingales of San Remo; but one cannot have everything. If you travel thousands of miles in the same car, and are proud to reach home in the same palatial manner, the nuisances of the depot are of minor importance, after all.
The huge wagons hung low near the ground, groaning under merchandise in transit, and the splendid horses which drew them were worth looking at. The ever-wakeful life of railroad men and their unceasing labors must increase one's respect for that class of people, so strong, so active, so intelligent, and so self-reliant, which garrison the fortresses and outposts of trade all over the American continent. Such a life is a training-ground for possible armies of another kind, which a touch on the American flag, or on our national honor, could transform in a flash into a formidable and reliable force in any emergency.
In my musings while in this busy place, my attention was called to a flagman just opposite where our car was anchored. I explored his shanty and had a good chat with him. His little place was bright without and within. Outside were flowers and shrubs; within not a speck of dust was to be seen. It was as shipshape as the best kind of a New England home, having a place for everything, and everything in its place.
In the intervals of his labor, he had time for a quiet rest on an improvised seat outside his cabin door. That seat attracted me. It was like stone, but its peculiar shape told me it was a joint from the vertebræ of a whale. It was just a piece of gigantic bric-à-brac, well seasoned, which one might covet. I asked him what he would take for it. "Oh," said he, "I could not sell that; it was here before I came, and will remain after me." One could not but respect the sentiment which would regard a tradition rather than pocket a possible dollar. I had too much admiration for such fine feelings to offer to tempt the man again with a new proposal.
A little later on in our stay, we all adjourned to the Palace Hotel, an enormous hostelry which was once the wonder of the continent, and yet has, with its huge interior glass court, a certain air about it quite magnificent.
From there we made excursions to some of the stock sights of the place. We went out to the Seal Rocks and saw the Pacific breakers dash up on the huge crags, where the seals, or sea-lions rather, for they are not true seals, mowed and roared and tumbled over each other in their awkward progress on the cliffs. We saw them also in their element, darting gracefully through the waves. We saw Sutro's Baths near by, a huge structure with splendid accommodation for bathers. We saw also the grounds and residence of Sutro, the rich man who built those baths at his own expense, and for the benefit of the people. The grounds of the residence were filled with statues and ornamental sculptures, too lavish for good taste; but, let us admit, at least, that the intention to thus decorate was certainly good. We also saw the Presidio, or army station, and were severely, but most politely, warned off from certain points by armed and mounted sentries. It was a little touch of the war spirit and order, not displeasing. The sentry with whom we parleyed was a type of the American soldier, self-reliant, unconventional, intelligent, and polite. When one looks at such men, they see the new ideas which have discarded forever the millinery of military life. There are no more restraining straps and buckles; no more pipeclay; no more propping up, like trussed fowls, of chest and shoulders; but all is free, natural, and unrestrained.
We drove out over the bare sand hills, which myriads of lupins of various shades of purple and yellow, were doing their best to clothe and glorify. We came to Golden Gate Park in our drive, and thoroughly enjoyed its extent, the glory of its trees and strange shrubs, and, among other sculptures, the splendid monument to Francis Key, the author of the "Star Spangled Banner." From the park, we could see the surrounding mountains, and on their slopes the distant buildings of various educational institutions, of splendid proportions.
The great stone cross, commemorative of the first religious services held on the Pacific Coast in the time of Sir Francis Drake, loomed up grandly at some distance from us, but we could not get our Jehu to drive us to it; there was always some excuse at hand. The late George William Childs, of Philadelphia, caused its erection, to commemorate these first services of the Church of England; but a cunning myth is circulated in San Francisco that it is an advertisement for a stone quarry!
San Francisco, situated as it is, on a series of precipitous hills, presents some magnificent and picturesque views. It is a sort of gigantic and altogether exaggerated Edinburgh. When one thinks of Edinburgh, however, with its castled crag and Holyrood, and the gardens right through the city, one is almost ashamed to compare a bijou like it, with a huge creature like San Francisco, which suggests, somehow, a kind of prehistoric being, of dragon-like shape and unimagined power.
This prehistoric suggestion which San Francisco gives, is further carried out by the untempered breath of its climate. The trade winds blow in fiercely in the afternoons, and the chill sea fog creeps over everything with a ferocious persistency quite appalling. The promontory on which the city stands is open to all gales, and one's clothing, throughout the year, must be of such a kind, as always to be capable of resisting borean blasts.
This strange, unfamiliar look of San Francisco, is further carried out by the huge, reddish-yellow bars which mark its form. These are the streets, which ride up and down in uncompromising straight lines and parallels, right over every obstacle which they meet.
The barbaric forcefulness which laid out straight streets sheer over little mountains, has developed in San Francisco the cable-car system, which here reigns supreme, tugging everything along with it.
It is no easy matter for a tenderfoot from the East, to ride in such cars on a first attempt, with either comfort or dignity. On one stretch you are ascending at a fearful angle, then for a brief space you are on the level, only to be whirled up or down, as the case may be, in a few minutes more. When one is sitting sideways, as is usual in street cars, it requires a certain diffused consciousness to preserve one's equilibrium, which, those accustomed to the use of seats always on the level, cannot readily attain. This self-adjustment once reached, however, and the pivot of permanence properly adjusted, one can proudly keep one's position like a native, and not flop over one's neighbors at every change of angle, as one must do, to one's utter confusion, on a first ride in a San Francisco cable-car on a steep incline.
There were many attractions for me in San Francisco, among friends whom I had known in days long gone by, in Chicago, Milwaukee, and Racine; but in our short stay little more could be had than a handshake, a good-by, and anau revoir, which one hoped, that even the three or four thousand miles soon to intervene, would not render utterly impossible.
Of course we saw Chinatown. We emerged from the Palace Hotel well on in the night, and did not return until almost a naughty hour in the morning; but we all felt well repaid for our trip. I think, though, really, the best part of it was the feeling of possible danger in the sights before us; and the spooky appearance of the dark, narrow streets, into which the moonbeams dropped, revealing to our excited gaze, gliding or stationary and wretched-looking Chinese, on every hand. Our guide was a strange specimen, a short, thickset man with a queer Pennsylvania Dutch dialect, and an Irish name, like Duffy or McCarthy, I forget which. It was droll beyond measure, to hear his description of the joss-house given in a sing-song, full of ludicrous blunders and clipped words. But despite of the comic in our guide, the joss-house itself was solemn enough, and provocative of thought. It was strange to see altar before altar, all covered with vases and lamps alight, and all manner of bronze bowls and incense burners. It was all so weirdly like what one sees in many Christian churches, and yet with a difference, for the dragons and monster forms were so strangely gruesome and grotesque, that it gave one almost an uncomfortable feeling. What did it all mean? Were we at times unconsciously heathen in our cults, or are they at times unconsciously Christian? The whole difficulty was summed up in one monosyllable, which escaped from a brother clergyman's lips standing near me, and that one word was an astonished and emphatic "Well!!!"
We are soon aroused from our reverie by the strident tones of our guide, who, taking his stand near a large stove in one corner, exclaims: "Now, ladies and gemmen, y' would s'pose that dis yere stove was for heating this buildin', but it ain't no such thing. 'Tis for sending things to dead Chinamen. They puts 'em on papers and burns 'em here, and then they thinks they have 'em." Again he would show us the accumulated ashes in the incense bowls, and tell us that it was kept to put under the bodies of the "dead corpses;" and so on, and so on, until you scarcely knew whether he himself knew or not what he was talking about. During all this harangue, a pale-faced celestial was seated behind a sort of counter in one corner, with a countenance bereft of all expression, except the suspicion thereon of a highbred scorn for us all, as a gaping crowd being led about among things of which none of us knew anything. This custodian, or priest, whatever he might have been, had a kind of jaunty cap on his head, and was comfortably smoking, in the most earthly manner, a well-flavored cigarette. We bought from him some joss-sticks as a peace offering, at double prices, and in a grand manner he bowed us out.
I had asked the guide to draw it mild in his exhibitions, and to omit all places, so to speak, off color. This he did. We saw a few restaurants, and a Chinese drug store, where we purchased some strange medicines which looked moreoutreand picturesque in their material, than in any promise of possible effectiveness in their use. Among these was a dried toad neatly spread out upon wooden splints. This, we were assured, if boiled into a soup, was an infallible remedy for leanness. Soup we knew was said to be fattening, but he who would drink such a concoction as this dried skin would promise, must be deeply enamored of obesity.
We also saw an opium den. This was horrible enough; but the smoker on exhibition was not so horrible to me as the still, silent figures, stowed away on bunks, in the loathsome darkness of the place. The "John," who was conveniently placed in a lighted place near the entrance, lay prone on the hard boards of his cubicle, bent flat on his side like the letter w, clutching his long, villanous-looking pipe in his hands. Near him was a cat, which we were assured also had contracted "the habit;" not that it too hit the pipe, but that it rejoiced in the heavy atmosphere. The impassive smoker, however, burst into a fit of most intense and humorous laughter, when one of us made an attempt to pronounce some Chinese phrase which he was repeating for us. "Now," said our guide, "he is going to take the long draw." By this time the bit of opium was cooked sufficiently at the cocoanut-oil lamp, and with cheeks distended and eyes closed he sucked in the smoke, and exhaled it in a few moments in a large cloud. I had a lighted cigar in my own hands, and I could not but think that two kindred vices here confronted each other face to face, and my conscience was a bit disturbed; but at once reassurance came to me in a sweet female voice, for one of our ladies said, "Oh, do smoke your cigar; the odor of it is so refreshing in this dreadful place." All over the bunks and floor were crawling black insects, large and small. The guide seeing me shrinking from them said, "Never mind them, they never leave here." By this time we were glad to depart and get into the purer air of the moonlit night.
We walked back to our hotel, passing by balconies lit with Chinese lanterns, restaurants aglow with lights, and numerous Chinese club houses where the celestials, by coöperation, evade certain prohibitory enactments, and in the privacy of their associations, enjoy all their celestial delights.
We also visited a manufacturing jeweller's shop where a lot of goldsmiths were at work. The whole place had on it the mark of utter simplicity. The instruments of the craft were primitive, almost rude, in appearance. Each man was seated before his portion of the work bench, or at a small table, in the narrowest possible space. An open dish containing some nut oil, and a bunch of vegetable fibre for wick, aflame at one end in a tiny light, this, a blowpipe, a few little files, and some lumps of wax was all; but behind this was a patient yellow man, capable of quick motion, but never of ignoble hurry, to whom the present moment was an eternity of time and opportunity, of which he felt that himself, and all his work, were essential parts. But, to our infinite amusement, behind all this was a busy little Chinese woman, who flitted from man to man and bench to bench, criticising, blaming, encouraging, and urging on everybody, with a tongue that never ceased, and eyes and motions as alert and rapid as a humming-bird. Her bright little eyes, her unceasing movement, her evident control of all, was absolutely exhilarating. Woman rules everywhere, or could, if she only would.
I must not omit the mention of a glorious trip out across the harbor, to a watering place full of villa residences, nestled at the water's edge, close under the towering mountains which encompass the whole great expanse. The coloring of the place, the forms of the mountains, and the tints upon the water, all suggest the Mediterranean and other foreign shores.
In the fragments of the days left us in San Francisco, most agreeable hours were spent in stores where Chinese and Japanese goods, in great profusion and splendid taste, were freely open to our view.
An agreeable treat was also given me in a visit to the Bohemian Club, where, through an introduction from a New York friend, I met some delightful and hospitable men. In the club were some capital pictures produced by California artists; among them, a great small painting of the redwoods seen at night, with a camp-fire in the foreground, most Rembrandt-like in effect. Another was full of sunshine and life. It was a group of boys undressing in the blue shade between two yellow sand dunes by the sea; while out in the ocean surf beyond, in the full light, were two or three, already in, having the full frolic of their free pleasure in the blue waters of the Pacific.
But we had yet to see other places, and soon San Francisco was left behind.
XIV
Departure for San José. — Palo Alto. — Advertiser. — Leland Stanford, Jr., University.
Our next point after leaving San Francisco was San José. On our flight thither, we stopped off for some four hours at Palo Alto, and took a lovely ride through the gorgeous Leland Stanford estate, and also some others; taking in besides, the wonderful Leland Stanford, Jr., University. It was all, it is true, but a glimpse, but a glorious one. Are not our best impressions often but the result of supreme moments! We see and feel in such moments, with an intenseness, which gives us our best conceptions and our most cherished memories. If we approach a scene with the imagination all wrought up, we are often apt to be disappointed; for, there is that in the ideal of all minds which never can be realized. But, as if to make up for this condition of our being, nature and art, each alike, sometimes come upon us unawares, with such unexpected beauty, that our ideal is accomplished for us, and even more than realized, before we know it. Then we submit ourselves to our surprise, and are satisfied.
Somewhat in this mood Palo Alto broke upon us. There were the rich lands in high cultivation, the spreading trees of various kinds, the vineyards, the olive yards, the orchards, the spacious houses, the glowing gardens all abloom. The whole was a rich combination gratifying every sense.
We saw in one of the gardens a beautiful piece of Greek art brought from Pompeii, a portion of a graceful curved peristyle of marble, once white and glistening, but now a rich fawn color, the result of time stretching back to the beginning of the Christian era or beyond. Every line of the fluting on the columns, and the carving on architrave and capital, was fresh as if of yesterday. It stood there like a dream of the far past, made visible to us here to-day, in a garden of roses in this enchanting West.
Another object also interested us. It was a superb living thing which might have served as a model for the sculptor of the Parthenon frieze. It was the great blooded horse "Advertiser," for which some fabulous sum had been offered and refused. I forget who owned the creature, or what the sum was which was thus offered. It matters not. I remember only the graceful stallion led out from his stall for us to look at him. His glossy coat, his perfect form, his noble attitude, his fiery eye, his strange look of intelligence—all these spoke of the art of Athens and the Greeks. The life and force, which could carve such a creature in marble, seemed to have place also in the superb living creature himself. I was struck particularly by his noble bearing, by the contour of his head, and also by a peculiar length of the upper lip, having a kind of quivering, prehensile property, not often seen in such animals. When he was led back into his stall, it seemed to me, that we sightseers, should have apologized to him for our intrusion.
We also saw in our short stay the famous Leland Stanford, Jr., University. The first sight of the structure is rather disappointing. Its low elevation on the broad plain on which it stands, and a huge chimney for heating and engine purposes rising above it, give the whole place the aspect of a machine shop or railroad works; but on closer approach this impression vanishes. Then the spirit of the architect is understood. He had ample space for his design, and so he laid out a vast, cloistered parallelogram of one story in height, all built of a warm-tinted yellowish stone, giving the richest shadows of blue and purple.
It was a delight to gaze down the perspective of these enclosing aisles, and then from the arches to look out on the fountains playing in the sunshine, to see the richness of flowers and trees and shrubs, all overarched by a sky of blue without a fleck of cloud.
How different it all seemed to the quads of Oxford, or the backs of Cambridge, where the yew, the beech, and the ivy give a sombre tone of the past, with which the weather-worn buildings and the clouded skies well accord; while the ever-verdant turf under foot, gives all a touch of a constant life that is ever new.
Here all was different. The court was asphalted, the flowers were as if in baskets, the trees were the product of untiring care. It was all the result of energy and art conquering nature and chaining it down to a definite work.
The whole University speaks of this forceful energy. It is the result of fortune amassed by untiring purpose and sleepless activity; but all the intense activity which it symbolizes has on it the touch of a tragedy, which lifts itself and its conception, into a far higher sphere than ordinary things. It is the crystallization of affections which shine out from grieved hearts. It is the memorial of an only son taken from boundless fortune and all that earth could promise—taken in the first flush of his beautiful manhood, from parents, whose whole life was centred in his being.
There is a touching pathos in the picture of this youth, as it looks down from the walls of the library, on the group of young students, men and women, gathered there to reap the benefit of the institution which his fortune sustains, and ever will sustain. He was the sole heir to vast estates, to many commercial interests, to great enterprises. All that was his, is now devoted to the uses of those who teach and are taught, in the Leland Stanford, Jr., University.
One leaves the place with regret. One turns back longingly to take a last look at its quaint Spanish architecture, and one treasures up the memories of it all with greatest pleasure. One remembers the quiet of the marble mausoleum in the woods, where father and son rest side by side, waiting for the completion of the family group beyond the tomb. One also calls to mind the beautiful museum which our time would only allow us to glance at; and also, the many picturesque homes springing up all about the University, the whole leaving an impression upon us which cannot soon be forgotten.
Our four hours in the luxuriant surroundings of Palo Alto and the University, every moment filled in with busy sightseeing, caused us to enjoy the rest of our further railroad ride to San José.
XV
Through Santa Clara Valley. — Arrival at San José. — Old Friends. — Semi-tropical Climate. — An Excursion to the Stars. — The Lick Observatory. — Our Journey There. — Sunset on the Summit. — With the Great Telescope. — The Tomb of James Lick. — The Midnight Ride Down the Mountain.
After leaving Palo Alto, our journey revealed to us an ideal Californian landscape. We passed through the lovely Santa Clara Valley. Rich cultivation met our eye on every side, interspersed with fine forest trees, all hemmed in by the ranges of the surrounding mountains. These vast masses enclosed the whole view with their ever-varying outlines, soft and purple in the distance, while the foreground of orchards, with their rich herbage, was all of the deepest green. It was a picture to take away with one as, indeed, that of a happy valley. But in this connection the word valley must not be construed in any limited sense. It was a vast champaign of almost boundless extent, which the fairy-like coloring of the mountains, softened by their great distance, enclosed, as it were, with banks of unmoving clouds. Through this delightful country we sped on rapidly, until at the evening hour, we reached San José, and once more, came to our night anchorage in the station.
We had had a full day of it, and, as if by mutual consent, we separated into various groups to wander at will through the strange streets of the pretty place. It was pleasant to look at the rose-covered cottages and the well-kept lawns, seen by the glitter of the electric light; as also it was pleasant to stroll through the busy streets with the shops all aglow, and the people lounging about in happy leisure.
I wandered off, all alone, to hunt up some friends who had moved to San José from distant Illinois, years and years ago. I found the street and number in a drug-store directory, and strolled on and on under the deep shadows of the overarching trees, losing myself once or twice, but after some inquiry, I was soon piloted to the place and rang the bell. There is always a little trepidation in such an adventure. Will one be remembered? Will the friends be much changed? Will one be welcome? But soon all doubts vanished when my good friend, Mrs. G——, stood in the doorway, lamp in hand. Yes, she was changed; but the years had made her look more and more like her dear mother, whose face I could never forget. Instantly my name was spoken and I was at home. The whole house was rather topsy-turvy; carpets all up, and everything in that state of desolation which house cleaning involves. But what did that matter? We had a long and good talk over all the past. I was told how, when they came to San José in the early days, they had first to go to New York, then take a steamer to the Isthmus, to cross that, and then once more embark on the Pacific for San Francisco, and from thence come here by team. I was shown the pictures of the five lovely girls and the boy, a man grown—all Californians—and I saw that happiness and prosperity, which rejoiced me much, had come to these my friends.
The evening hours lengthened out while our chat went on, until I had to retrace my steps once more under the overarching trees to the "Lucania," after promising that I should dine with the family on the coming Sunday. This I did, and saw them all, and enjoyed the hour to the fullest. The Chinese man-servant, cook and butler in one, was noiseless perfection in his attendance, and the works of his art which he placed before us, were well worthy of our attention; while California claret, of tenderest texture, helped to whet our appetites and loosen our tongues.
But we must return to the Saturday which intervened before that dinner. The morning was spent in a drive through the town—through the garden would better describe it, for it was all a garden, with rose-embowered roofs or stately mansions framed in by towering palms and stately growths of other graceful trees. It is strange to see the effect which this semi-tropical climate produces on familiar plants. The sweet geranium towers up until it becomes almost a tree, covering the whole ends of houses with its perfumed leaves, and the English lavender emerges from its island modesty, and stands up on this American soil with all the self-assertion of an independent shrub. In one of the parks we saw the little English daisy, but that was the same "wee crimson-tipped flower" that it ever was. It brought tears to the eyes of some of our party, as the springs of home memories welled up within the breast. What volumes do blossoms ever speak to us! A bunch of red primroses, discovered once by chance among the myriad common yellow blooms which gladdened the woods all about us, stands out forever in our memory, as a sudden revelation of beauty—and all for us who found it—which no subsequent possession of far greater worth, has ever yet excelled.
But the friends, the flowers, the fruits, and the foliage of San José, charming as they all were, could not detain us. We were bound for the stars; and at noon or thereabouts, a happy party of us took passage in a large brake, with four horses, for the Lick Observatory on Mount Hamilton. We were armed with an introduction to Professor Schaeberle, the astronomer in charge, and the electric wire had flashed also our coming, beforehand.
It was a merry party that rattled out of San José and looked down on the orchards on either hand as we whirled by. Our ascent was gradual at first, but soon the magnificent, winding roadway, which cost Santa Clara County nearly $100,000 to construct, took us up, and up, ever extending our view, and giving us fresh vistas of surprise, as we dashed by curves and grades which made the nervous among us more nervous still. But there was little to fear with such good drivers and well-trained animals. They knew their business, and were as careful of themselves as if we were not in existence. The ever-increasing panorama of the mountains was full of interest. The great, swelling foothills were yielding and soft-looking in their brown outline, dotted over by huge, woolly-looking, dark green live-oaks and other trees. The whole effect was like a gigantic piece of old Flemish tapestry. If some giant horsemen with winding horns and bounding dogs of like vast scale, and a stag with antlers touching the mountain-tops, and a castle like Walhalla were in our vision, the thing would have been the ancient tapestry, indeed, in true Californian proportions. It was all beautiful as it was, the mossy brown of the mountains, and the dark green of the trees, and over all a cloudless sky, and in our lungs the clear, pure air, full of elation and vigorous life.
Of course in such a mountain drive we changed horses frequently, and at Smith Creek we made a long halt for supper. It seemed that that much-desired meal would never arrive, and the fear that we would miss the sunset view from the summit, added to our impatience. It so happened that there was a rush of visitors that day, and we had to wait our turn while the limited domestic force in this isolated spot, renewed their labors in cooking and serving another meal.
The perfect imperturbability of our host was a thing to admire. No amount of muttered discontent moved him a particle. He did not show impatience even, when we lined up at the dining-room door; by this action, and the rush which it intimated, suggesting that we felt he might come some game upon us, and let some more favored ones in first. When we did make the rush, and saw the well-filled tables, and saw also the patient wife and daughter, neither of them over-robust, who had to do all the work, no "help" wishing to stay up there, we almost felt ashamed of ourselves for our grumbling.
We soon got through our eating, and once more wereen routefor the summit. We got there before sunset all right, and were received in most hospitable fashion by Professor Schaeberle, who showed us through the long halls and into the library, where transparencies and photographs of eclipses and double stars, and various other celestial phenomena charmed us, until at last it was announced that the royal presence of the sun was about to sink to its rest, in the distant west. Then all were soon out on the grand terrace, and as we watched the great, round orb vanish from our sight, a silence fell upon us all, the cause of which it would be hard to put into words. We had seen the great mystery of life move on a point. We thought, perhaps, of the angel trumpeter, who some day will say so that all will hear, "Time shall be no more!" We thought, perhaps, of that day when we should close our eyes upon the earthly sun forever, and days for us should be at an end.
As the darkness settled down, so solemnly and grandly on the mountains, we retraced our steps to the Observatory, and followed our kind guide through its many mysteries.
We first looked through some of the smaller telescopes. In one of these, while the glow was still in the heavens, we saw Venus, the evening star, in all its beauty. The earth currents, through which we had to look, gave the glowing planet a purplish tinge and a sort of vibratory motion, which quite suggested the floating movements of the goddess, as she figures in Virgil's verse.
We saw all sorts of instruments, of the most delicate and yet simple character, for recording seismic disturbances of any kind, or, as we might call them in plainer speech, earthquakes. It is most interesting to note how a glass disk, a little lamp-black, a spring or two, a bit of clockwork, and a tracing-pen, will do the work automatically, and record the direction, the duration, and the time of any seismic disturbance at any hour of day or night. The brain which contrived all this cunning machinery, can go to rest and take its needed sleep, but the wires and traps set to catch the shakes of the old globe, are always wide awake, animated ever by the intelligence of the brain which sleeps, and can sleep in peace; for, when the brain wakes, it will find that the machine has faithfully recorded every quiver of this old, trembling world. Professor Schaeberle told me, with quiet humor, that earthquakes of some kind were always going on, but so slight that machinery alone could detect them.
After seeing the many minor attractions of transit instruments and meridians and other affairs, which some of us wondered at, in complete, but polite and interested ignorance, we were at last ushered into the presence of the great Lick telescope. The immense dim space in which we stood, the half-seen figures of the visitors, the professor and his attendants, with lanterns in their hands, accenting the gloom by the very light itself, made up a weird picture. Then, towering over all, was the movable dome, with the great notch from top to bottom of its curved surface, open to the sky, for the great telescope to reach through; while the great instrument itself, in its huge proportions, its intricate machinery, and the wonderful ease of its movements, as it yielded to the slightest touch of a hand, seemed like some living thing, some being of superior intelligence from some other sphere, captive and at work for our pleasure and our profit. Who can ever forget the mystery of it all in the silent darkness of that night!
But before looking through the great tube, the professor, with quite unintended, but most dramatic effect, called our attention to a black-looking object at the base of the great pier, on which the telescope stands. It was like an altar, as we saw it in the dimness, but a lantern flash upon the front showed us it was a monument above the last resting-place of James Lick, by whose munificent bequest of seven hundred thousand dollars, the Observatory on Mount Hamilton, with all its wonderful instruments, has been established for all time.
It was a thrilling thing to see there in the dimness that plain, unpretending tomb, and to read thereon the short and simple record:
JAMES LICK.1796–1876.
JAMES LICK.
1796–1876.
But what a life story is revealed by the dash which separates those figures, 1796–1876! Eighty years of toil and endurance, toil in early youth, toil in manhood, toil in the midst of amassed wealth, until the inevitable end at last came. He was born in Fredericksburg, Pa., where he received a common school education. He learned the trade of an organ builder and piano maker in Hanover, Pa. He went into business in Baltimore, Md., and also in Philadelphia; but his destiny drove him away to Buenos Ayres, to Valparaiso, and other places in South America, until, in 1847, he settled in California, where he became interested in real estate, and in due time amassed a large fortune. His strong face, which greets one in bronze, at the Mount Hamilton Observatory, bespeaks a powerful and stern character. He never married. He was deemed by those who knew him to be "unlovable, eccentric, solitary, selfish, and avaricious," but when this is said, the memory of it is somewhat condoned, for there was a romance in the case—he was crossed in love.
It is hard to judge of such a man, and of such circumstances. He certainly has made amends for all his shortcomings, or tried to, if they were as related, by his munificent bequests to charity, and above all to pure science. When one looks at his carpenter's bench, preserved as a relic of his workman's life, and then at his tomb in the still silence and darkness of the great telescope chamber, and then remembers all that this silent, lonely man has done, one cannot but believe that he had in heart, all along, great ideals which none of those about him, in the vulgar strife of life, ever imagined. What can be more unlike a narrow, selfish, unlovable, and avaricious man than his splendid offering of a fortune to keep eternal watch upon the stars?
These thoughts danced through one's brain in presence of it all. We were grateful to the old man, whose face, singularly like that of John Brown of Harper's Ferry fame, seemed to embody the tragedies and aspirations of life; and we thought of his silent dust beneath us, as through his gifts we looked at Jupiter and his moons, and noted the strange belts which band the planet, brought near to us by the lens of the Lick telescope. We saw also the crested edge, glittering like molten silver, of the moon of this our own planet, and longed to wait until Saturn should rise, and other wonders open before us. Professor Schaeberle made me the fascinating offer to stay all night, and go down the mountain in the early morning; but I kept with the party, and, well after eleven at night, we started on the home run down the mountain to San José.
The coming up was grand indeed, but the going down was better. The great moon flung its radiance over the vast expanse. It was a symphony in gray and silver. It was a downward plunge into black mysteries of overhanging mountains. It was delirious with possible dangers. It set one's heart throbbing, and the best relief we could have was in song and shout which roused the echoes of the night.
We subsided into silence when we reached safety and the plain, and were rather bored than otherwise, as we cantered into the deserted streets of San José at half-past two o'clock in the morning. How tame seemed the dull surroundings of even that pretty place at such an hour—a few saloons yet aglare, a light in an occasional window, all the rest ghostly, silent, and yet commonplace, too, after our splendid excursion to the stars.