Chapter56: In Switzerland and Italy

Chapter 56.
In Switzerland and Italy

Rest Needed—Among the Swiss Mountains—Venice—Italy—The Continental Sunday—The Island Church—Sacra Monte—The St. Bernard Hospice—Dr. Pritchard and Constance Kent—The Freeman.

As the spring of the year 1865 advanced, it became again evident that there would have to be another lengthened break in Mr. Spurgeon's round of toil. Although he was only thirty years old, he had already done what might have passed for the work of a lifetime: he had gathered an immense congregation, he had founded a college, while the ten volumes of his published sermons might have ranked as a respectable body of divinity. Now the preacher had to confess, however, that preaching the Word had been somewhat of a weariness or a drag—symptoms of an ailment which rest alone could cure. Accordingly, on Sunday, May 7, he told the congregation thai; he found it necessary to leave England for a season for change of scene, and to seek refreshment both for mind and body. Before the end of the week the report was circulated that the pastor of the Metropolitan Tabernacle had gone to the Holy Land; but in point of fact Mr. and Mrs. Spurgeon had started off together for a tour on the Continent. The object he had in view this time was rest above all things, so that the journey differed from other European rounds which had been undertaken, because it was not made laborious by formal visits and preaching on extraordinary occasions. The tourists passed through France into Switzerland, and made their first stop at Basle, the capital of the canton of the same name, and the richest city in Switzerland. The next stage was to Lugano, with its beautiful lake of deep transparent water and matchless amphitheatre of hills. Though a small place in comparison with Basle, the surroundings of Lugano would be more interesting; for to spend any time amid such scenery was to Spurgeon a more profitable exercise than reading books, because the thousand and one things he looked upon gave him illustrations for future use. Como, the birthplace of Pliny the Younger, was next reached, the journey thus increasing in interest at every stage. The old town, with its double walls, strong towers, and narrow crowded lanes, which passed for streets, was a contrast indeed to the surpassing beauty of the natural surroundings, or to the attractions of the shores of the justly celebrated lake. Amid the olive gardens and vineyards, the orchards and richly productive fields of the country around the base of the mountains, Mr. Spurgeon found a country after his own heart. It was possible to rest, and at the same time to gather materials for future service. As the preacher looked out upon the striking scenes which Nature presented, he called it the Work-Volume of the Creator, as distinguished from the Word-Volume which it had been the work of his life to expound. The party next went on to Venice, which was then under the Austrian yoke; but apart from that, and apart from the degraded superstition of its Romanism, it was a city in which Mr. Spurgeon saw hardly anything but beauty. The characteristics of the city rendered a sojourn in it as novel as it was delightful to one of the distinguished visitor's temperament. "We did not need to walk," he said, "for in a gondola one might travel all day long in that wonderful city." The fact was, that a person wishing to walk could leave an hotel by one door, and step out into the solid street; by going out at another door, a canal with its gondolas offered a more delightful method of transit. In the city itself, however, the eye was entertained more than the ear. To a sturdy Calvinist, who had just come straight from Switzerland, with its stimulating memories of the Reformation, Venice was a beautiful place, but a spiritual desert. "It would be a great mercy if one could dispense with ears whilst there," said Mr. Spurgeon; "for there is an infinite number of churches, and the bells are ringing twenty-five hours out of the twenty-four. I give that as a guess as to the number of hours," he added; "they began to ring as soon as they left off. By night and by day there was nothing but a perpetual ringing of bells. Out at sea in a gondola the sound was lovely, but near it was a horrid ding-dong." All this discord, which the people associated with the worship of God, carried home its lesson to the ready mind of such an observer as Mr. Spurgeon, however. "I think it is very like some churches and some people," he remarked, "who are very beautiful in the distance, making you think how much you would like to belong to such communions; but on getting into their midst and understanding what is going on, all that was so harmonious is nothing but ding-dong."

But, notwithstanding all such drawbacks as these, the offspring of the priestcraft of Romanism, the famous city of the Adriatic was a place in which it seemed impossible to go an inch without learning something. To Mr. Spurgeon it was not only full of interest, it was the most enchanting of all the places he had visited; for a profitable holiday he seemed to think the city preferable to all others, so that anyone who even walked thither would find himself well repaid. Among the places visited was a famous charnel-house, in which were to be seen no less than two thousand skulls, as well as coffins containing the remains of former citizens, and which were variously decorated. That scene so impressed itself on the preacher's memory that, on his return to England, he spoke and wrote about it. In a week-night address at the Tabernacle an account was given of this charnel-house: "What a picture it is of many professors who are well decorated with the flowers of morality, and well garnished with a knowledge of the Gospel doctrine, but who, seeming to be living, are yet dead." The preacher prayed that such might never be the effects of his own preaching, simply making people outwardly fair to look upon; on the contrary, he prayed that all who came within his influence might really have the heavenly life.

It does not appear that very much was seen of the Italian villages, otherwise we might have heard something about the deplorable condition of the peasants, but some particular attention was given to the life of the towns. In one town where the party happened to be staying there was a funeral procession, and Mr. Spurgeon was tempted to follow in order to see how it would end. Each of the mourners carried a lighted candle, but, as it was broad daylight, the English preacher thought a candle was unnecessary so far as he was concerned. The procession went on until a certain church was reached, the coffin being then put down to be sprinkled with holy water. No sooner was this ceremony over than a number of those who had followed took off their funeral robe and stole away out of the church. When first seen there had been about a hundred following, but when at length the graveyard was reached, the whole of the mourners had disappeared, Mr. Spurgeon and his friends being the only followers. As usual, the adventure taught a useful lesson, which he brought with him to England for the benefit of others. "I thought this was wonderfully like some ministers," he said. "When they first begin their ministry, what numbers of people follow them, and how they admire and respect those pastors! But gradually they slip away, and turn the corner. May it never be so with us." The traveller also saw enough of the Continental Sunday to make him prize more than ever his English privileges. On one of the Sabbaths he was away he much desired to have a quiet day, and it was arranged that the time should be passed in a town on the shore of a beautiful lake. One might have fished from the bedroom window of the hotel, and there was an abundance of the finny tribe to catch. Here a complete view of the Italian Sunday, as it was observed on a high occasion, was obtained. The day happened to be King Victor Emmanuel's birthday, and thus, early in the morning the popular festivities commenced by an incessant firing of guns of various sizes. After this din had been kept up for some time, those who were piously inclined went off to church, while others prepared themselves for further enjoyment. In the afternoon

The late Rev. James Spurgeon of Stambourne
Mrs. C.H. Spurgeon The late Mrs. John Spurgeon
Rev. John Spurgeon Rev. J.A. Spurgeon. L.L.D. there were divers diversions such as would be associated with a low fair in England. There were bonfires, climbing greasy poles, and such-like diversions to suit a low taste. Italy thus proved herself to be far lower down in the scale of civilisation than England. "I thought what a mercy it is that in England we have our quiet Sabbaths," said Mr. Spurgeon after he returned. "Although in London there are Sunday trading and other objectionable things, I thank God that we have not gone so far as the Italians," he added. "Wherever the Sabbath is used as a day of pleasure, there it is also a day of drudgery. Wherever they have fetes on the Sabbath, in those same places we see carpenters and bricklayers at work; trade goes on just the same throughout the seven days of the week; and the workman gets no more than the wages of six days' labour. Sabbath consecration ensures Sabbath rest; and when once the Sabbath is desecrated, it ceases to be a Sabbath altogether." With such views, Mr. Spurgeon was naturally opposed to the Sunday opening of museums and picture galleries. But there was always something fresh or novel to see in that sunny land. When Sabbath was passed, Monday happened to be a fete-day, and there was sure to be something in prospect far more interesting than the most brilliant of London pageants. On the other side of the lake was a mountain, which would repay those who undertook the passage across the water in order to visit it; and while in a boat accomplishing that voyage, the English preacher was privileged to look upon a spectacle which in itself struck him as being one of the most charming sights that had ever met his eye. There was a beautiful little island in the middle of the lake, and on that was a church, to which, on certain occasions, people from the surrounding towns and villages went to worship. These small companies, of course, put off from land in boats of various sizes, but they formed, as it were, but one procession. At the bows of the craft which led the way a crucifix was visible, and behind that there was a picture of the Virgin Mary. The scene was pre-eminently picturesque, and the chanting of the whole of those who were in the boats which followed produced an effect which was peculiarly striking. "It struck me that this was no new picture," remarked Mr. Spurgeon when speaking of this scene. "I thought of the whole Church of God coming across the sea of life to the land of the hereafter, with the Cross at the prow, gently rowing along and singing the praise of God."

One fete-day may follow closely on the heels of another in Italy; but the picturesque and suggestive of to-day may be succeeded by something far more objectionable on the morrow. This was Mr. Spurgeon's experience: he saw what he called "an exhibition of idolatry." This was, after all, neither more nor less than an ordinary procession of priests, before whom was carried an image of the Virgin, at sight of which persons in the streets fell on their knees to worship. That was a very ordinary sight; but it was also a most saddening and depressing one. "Roman Catholics sometimes tell us that they are not idolaters, and that they do not worship these things; they had better take out the eyes of observers at once," said Mr. Spurgeon when speaking of this procession. "I saw," he added, "the people bowing down before what seemed to me nothing but a doll which only a little child would cry for, and which I could not worship even if I felt some reverence for the Virgin Mary." The ascent of Sacra Monte, "the Holy Mountain of the New Jerusalem," was described as "a very stiff pull," but the waxwork show to be seen there was of a kind never to be forgotten. As Mr. Spurgeon said:—

"The first thing we saw was the 'Birth of the Saviour;' in a square building were seen the Virgin Mary and the newborn babe, with the shepherds and angels in figures large as life. We also saw Jesus Christ represented in the Garden of Gethsemane, just like life, and exquisitely done. There were great drops of blood on the ground, the three disciples asleep, and the others in the distance. A little further on we came to the Crucifixion—a dreadful sight. There was also a tomb, in which lay the representation of Jesus Christ's body. The Resurrection was exhibited, too, and the Ascension. The whole was very remarkable, and if it were not that the people came to worship these objects, I can scarcely blame them. Though we deplore the idolatry that leads multitudes of pilgrims there, we cannot but feel that we have a very lifelike picture of the scene of our Saviour's life and death."

Some further experiences in the Alps Mr. Spurgeon also described, as follows:—

"On one mountain we came to an inn, surrounded by the most lovely scenery; and although it had been recently built, yet, on going to the bedroom window, close under me was the most splendid dunghill I ever saw. This is the general custom, but it struck me it was human nature all over. When God makes an object beautiful and lovely, we must bring something close under our nostrils which must be offensive; we must have something to fret about. I have become quite an adept in riding; I should not think anything of riding up to the top of the galleries before me. I did not carry my wife on my back, but I will not say that some other person did not do so. In ascending we were accompanied by a man whoso duty it was to dig us out of the snow, for there was a great deal to get through in some places. But going down-hill was ten thousand times worse than getting up. I started over the slippery shingle, when my feet went under me, and down I came, and in order to hold on I stuck my fingers right into the earth. I thought I would crawl back again to the top, but, supposing the other side of the mountain would be as bad, I did not do so. I saw a mule drift more than a quarter of a mile. My heart was in my mouth, and I expected to follow the mule. I wished I was at home in the Tabernacle. Cowardly people ought not to go on such journeys. In some places it was necessary to tie the mules together, so dangerous was the road. I thought it was a good picture: whenever the road got bad, it was good for Christian people to unite together, so that when one slipped the others should help him up." In travelling among the Alps, it was found that the snow variously affected people's eyes. As a rule, those who lived high up the mountain were superior to such as were located in the valleys; they were superior in intellect as well as in physical strength. The party reached the St. Bernard Hospice, which was found to be at the time of this visit deeply embedded in snow up to the second floor. That hospital, capable of entertaining six hundred guests, was certainly one of the most extraordinary houses of entertainment in the world, rich and poor being alike welcome, and no donation being expected from the latter. It was a wonderful place, which had its weird sights while it afforded hospitable shelter. Nothing was wanting to make even Protestant visitors happy, for there were pianos on which the accompaniment to their hymns might be played. But any who slept there would think of the corpses in the Morgue, for there were there the remains of some who had perished centuries before, preserved from corruption by the atmosphere.

Mr. Spurgeon was refreshed and even wonderfully benefited by this tour. In addressing his people on his return, he spoke in the characteristic manner of a man who was in love with his work, and who was encouraged by his people's bearing towards him:—

"I have heard that it is worth while for a man and his wife to fall out for the pleasure of coming round again; but I had my suspicions as to the correctness of that remark. Still, I really think it is worth while to go away for the pleasure of coming back again. I thank you ten thousand times for the kind expressions I have received from one and all. I feel that my absence has been of very great service to myself; and how far serviceable it may be to you, you must form your own judgment. You have looked in my face pretty well. I am not complaining, but am rather thankful, and I think you will have observed a material difference. I cannot help thinking that I am ten years younger in feeling; but I hope not ten years sillier—there is no need for that. I feel ten years more elastic in body, and I hope ten years fuller of life, spirit, life and soul for the preaching of the Word." The fact was, that, prior to setting out on this eight weeks' holiday, the ominous symptoms which are produced by overwork had begun to show themselves. Preaching had become a task and a drag rather than a pleasure; the work seemed to have lost some of its freshness, although to observers in the pews there did not appear to be any falling off of power, nor of good effects following. As regarded the" supplies," all had not been satisfied, while the funds for the support of the institutions had fallen off. This was in some respects a disappointment, although the money began again to flow in immediately on the pastor's return. As regarded those who had occupied the pulpit in his absence, he said: "I had been hoping that I should receive some such intimation as that given by an old lady to Dr. Leifchild. She said, 'There, now, you are a good man; you are not like some preachers, who, when they go away, get dull sticks to fill their pulpits; whenever you go away, you always get a better preacher than yourself.'" On the whole, all things had gone on well, however; and one who had preached most acceptably was a young man from the College, that fact yielding peculiar satisfaction all round. The time occupied by the Continental tour represented the vacation of the College, so that during that same eight weeks Principal Rogers had visited several of the College men who were stationed in pastorates. As Mr. Spurgeon himself explained: "Mr. Rogers has been travelling episcopally through the diocese of England, ordaining the young men, or something of that kind, visiting five or six places where their students had settled, stirring up the Church, and holding confirmations—confirming the young men in the faith." At this time Mr. Rogers was about sixty-six years of age, and he was so popular among his former students that he was often engaged to preach on special occasions. While going from place to place during the summer of 1865, he was greatly encouraged at the signs of progress which he witnessed. The College was now recognised as the chief work of the Church, and it already numbered about a thousand subscribers. The cases of Dr. Pritchard, the notorious poisoner, and Constance Kent were now attracting notice. The former had poisoned his wife and mother-in-law. Constance Kent, who was twenty years old, had confessed that she murdered her brother, aged four, on June 29, 1860. Dr. Pritchard was hanged, but Miss Kent was sentenced to penal servitude for life. After serving twenty years, she was liberated on ticket-of-leave on July 18, 1885. In the course of his sermon at the Metropolitan Tabernacle on July 23, Mr. Spurgeon said:—

"It was deserving of note in regard to Pritchard that he pleaded Not Guilty before the judge, and that he then endeavoured to throw the whole blame of the offence with which he was charged on the unfortunate woman, Mary M'Leod, whom he had led astray from the paths of virtue. It seemed that the convict would have been glad if he himself could have escaped by mating her suffer in his stead. This conduct reminded one of Adam throwing the blame on Eve, and of Eve throwing it upon the serpent. Then, Dr. Pritchard made no confession whatever until after the case against him had been proved. In fact, he pleaded innocency, and only pleaded guilty when he must have been stark mad to do otherwise—namely, after his conviction and sentence of death was passed upon him. He then confessed after a sort and after a fashion, something like as sinners usually confessed—when the confession was wrung and squeezed out of them. In Dr. Pritchard's case it was very partial at first; villain as he was, he would only confess to one part of his crime: that he poisoned his wife, not his mother-in-law. This, too, was what sinners usually did, confessing part, but not all their offences. When he made his last confession, supposing the last to be true and complete (and of this we could not bo quite sure), there were no words of extenuation in it, but a sort of madness, and the influence of strong drink, were made to bear the blame. All this was done not through ignorance, but in the teeth of an excellent education, and in the teeth, also, of a knowledge that he was doing evil. Had it been done by a person of a low order of intellect, who might throw the blame on the nation for his want of culture, there might possibly be some excuse; but he was a man who, he supposed, had listened to thousands of sermons, read the Bible, knew well the difference between right and wrong, and yet who had sinned grievously, and made no confession until he made a lying one, and then made a second confession with as much coolness as when he was denying the whole of his crimp with a lie in his right hand."

Reference was then made to Constance Kent, whose crime was creating immense sensation throughout the country:—

"In the other case—that of Constance Kent—no doubt an atrocious sin and a very great crime had been committed. She appeared in court under her own confession. Her life was not in danger when she made that confession. She surrendered voluntarily to justice, and when asked whether she pleaded Guilty or Not Guilty, she unhesitatingly replied Guilty. Several persons had asked her to plead Not Guilty in the hope that through some flaw in the evidence she might be acquitted upon her trial, but she said Guilty, and though an offer was made to her to retract that plea, she exhibited no signs of wavering, and again said Guilty. This was the sinner's true and only plea. Then, she was anxious to free all others from blame. If her counsel spoke, it was to assure the judge that, upon her honour, she alone was guilty, and that no father, sister, brother, or friend was implicated in the crime. Her language was that of the Psalmist, 'Against thee only have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight.' She needed no witness to come and convict her. No one saw the deed committed; it was done in secret. Collateral evidence there might have been to prove her guilt, and she might have been sentenced to death if she retracted her plea. But she confessed all. I think it must have been a solemn moment when the judge said to her, 'You are charged with having feloniously and maliciously killed and murdered your brother.' Yes, she was Guilty. This was her reply. She did not object to those words. 'Guilty of malice?' 'Yes.' 'Of malice aforethought?' 'Yes.' 'Of murder?' 'Yes.' Not a word of extenuation; she took it as the judge put it. She had not, nor had her counsel for her, a single word to say by way of apology. Her counsel might have said she was very young, being young that she was easily led away by evil passions, and that the murder was committed long ago, when she was younger still. But no. It was her own confession, and nothing of the kind was said. The judge might think all this if he pleased. There was nothing said by her or for her upon the subject. The confession came so thoroughly and truly that not a word was put in to render that calm stream of confession muddy or impure. When asked whether she could give any reason why sentence of death should not be passed upon her, nothing why the solemn and dreadful sentence that she should be hanged by the neck until she was dead should not be carried into effect, she was silent. It was no wonder the judge wept; he could not help it. She did not speak the confession in the spirit of bravado, saying, 'Yes, I did it, and I will do it again.' She seemed to know what guilt was. She felt that she could not make any atonement to society for the offence she committed except by confessing, and accordingly she confessed as one who felt within the guilt she felt without. Sin, in the sight of God, could not be taken away by mere confession, but law, in the case of man, might remove the penalty in consequence of it. Dr. Pritchard had asked for the prayers of the public on his behalf, and those prayers would not be withheld, although one could not help feeling a loathing for his denial of his guilt. But in the case of Constance Kent, if it were put to a show of hands in England to-morrow whether mercy should be extended to her, I feel confident that the verdict would be, 'Let the penitent sinner live. A great and dreadful crime she committed, which must blight and blast her life; but she has confessed, and let her be spared—spared, not on the ground of justice, but this is a case in which, if the sovereignty of mercy is to be exercised at all, it should be now exercised,' "

It was about this time that, through lack of adequate support, the denominational weekly newspaper, The Freeman, was taken in hand by a limited liability company. From the first Mr. Spurgeon had been somewhat disappointed with the paper, because he considered its theology to be too broad. In one of his letters to the American Watchman and Reflector some time before, he had remarked, "I must beg that neither you nor your readers will regard any newspaper as the organ of the English baptists. We have no organ which represents the Calvinistic Baptist Churches of England." The change of management which was soon afterwards effected resulted in a change of tone, which Mr. Spurgeon heartily approved. Under some responsible advisers, Mr. Edward Leach now became acting editor; but the high price of fourpence a copy naturally hindered the paper from becoming popular in the widest sense. It might possibly have been an advantage if the plan, adopted some years later, of issuing the paper at a penny had been adopted then; but that was opposed by friends who thought that the Baptist denomination in England was too small to allow of a representative penny paper being able to hold its own.