Hotel Feder, Genoa.
My dear Molly,--It's little that piety and holy living assists us in
this wicked world, as you 'll allow, when I tell you that after all
my penances, my mortifications, and my self-abstainings, instead of
enjoyment and pleasure, as I might reasonably look for in this place, I
never knew real misery and shame till I came here. I would n't believe
anybody that said people was always as bad as they are now! Sure, if
they were, why would n't we be prepared for their baseness and iniquity?
Why would we be deceived and cheated at every hand's turn? It's all
balderdash to pretend it, Molly. The world must be coming to an end, for
this plain reason, that it's morally impossible it can be more corrupt,
more false, and more vicious than it is.
I 'm trying these three days to open my heart to you. I 've taken ether,
and salts, and neumonia--I think the man called it--by the spoonfuls,
just to steady my nerves, and give me strength to tell you my
afflictions; and now I 'll just begin, and if my tears does n't blot out
the ink, I 'll reveal my sorrows, and open my breast before you.
We left that blessed village of Orsaro two days after I wrote to you
by the Earl of Guzeberry, and came on here, by easy stages, as we were
obliged to ride mules for more than half the way. Our journey was, of
course, fatiguing, but unattended by any other inconvenience than K.
I.'s usual temper about the food, the beds, and the hotel charges as we
came along. He would n't fast, nor do a single penance on the road; nor
would he join in chanting a Litany with Father James, but threatened
to sing "Nora Chrina," if we did n't stop. And though Lord George was
greatly shocked, James was just as bad as his father. Father Giacomo
kept whispering to me from time to time, "We 'll come to grief for this.
We 'll have to pay for all this impiety, Mrs. D.;" till at last he got
my nerves in such a state that I thought we 'd be swept away at every
blast of wind from the mountains, or carried down by every torrent that
crossed the road. I couldn't pass a bridge without screeching; and as
to fording a stream, it was an attack of hysterics. These, of course,
delayed us greatly, and it was a good day when we got over eight miles.
For all that, the girls seemed to like it. Cary had her sketch-book
always open; and Mary Anne used to go fishing with Lord G. and James,
and contrived, as she said, to make the time pass pleasantly enough.
I saw very little of K. I., for I was always at some devotional
exercise; and, indeed, I was right glad of it, for his chief amusement
was getting Father James into an argument, and teasing and insulting him
so that I only wondered why he did n't leave us at once and forever. He
never ceased, too, gibing and jeering about the miracles of Orsaro; and
one night, when he had got quite beyond all bounds, laughing at Father
G., he told him, "Faith," says he, "you 're the most credulous man ever
I met in my life; for it seems to me that you can believe anything but
the Christian religion."
From that moment Father G. only shook his hands at him, and would n't
discourse.
This is the way we got to Genoa, where, because we arrived at night,
they kept us waiting outside the gates of the town till the commandant
of the fortress had examined our passports; K. I. all the while abusing
the authorities, and blackguarding the governor in a way that would have
cost us dear, if it was n't that nobody could understand his Italian.
That wasn't all, for when we got to the hotel, they said that all the
apartments had been taken before Lord George's letter arrived, and that
there was n't a room nor a pantry to be had in the whole city at any
price. In fact, an English family had just gone off in despair to
Chiavari, for even the ships in the harbor were filled with strangers,
and the "steam dredge" was fitted up like an hotel! K. I. took down the
list of visitors, to see if he could find a friend or an acquaintance
amongst them, but, though there were plenty of English, we knew none of
them; and as for Lord G., though he was acquainted with nearly all the
titled people, they were always relatives or connections with whom he
wasn't "on terms." While we sat thus at the door, holding our council of
war, with sleepy waiters and a sulky porter, a gentleman passed in, and
went by us, up the stairs, before we could see his face. The landlord,
who lighted him all the way himself, showed that he was a person of some
consequence. K. I. had just time to learn that he was "No. 4, the grand
apartment on the first floor, towards the sea," which was all they
knew, when the landlord came down, smiling and smirking, to say that the
occupant of No. 4 felt much pleasure in putting half his suite of rooms
at our disposal, and hoped we might not decline his offer.
"Who is it?--who is he?" cried we all at once; but the landlord made
such a mess of the English name that we were obliged to wait till we
could read it in the Strangers' Book. Meanwhile we lost not a second in
installing ourselves in what I must call a most princely apartment, with
mirrors on all sides, fine pictures, china, and carved furniture,
giving the rooms the air of a palace. There was a fine fire in the great
drawing-room, and the table was littered with English newspapers and
magazines, which proved that he had just left the place for us, as he
was himself occupying it.
"Now for our great Unknown," said Lord George, opening the Strangers'
Book, and running his eye down the list. There was Milor Hubbs and
Miladi, Baron this, Count that, the "Vescovo" di Kilmore, with the
"Vescova" and five "Vescovini,"--that meant the Bishop and his wife, and
the five small little Bishops,--which made us laugh. And at last we came
down to "No. 4, Grand Suite, Sir Morris Penrhyn, Bt," not a word more.
"There is a swell of that name that owns any amount of slate quarries
down near Holyhead, I think," said Lord George. "Do you happen to know
him?"
"No," was chorused by all present.
"Oh! everyone knows his place. It's one of the show things of the
neighborhood. How is this they call it,--Pwlldmmolly Castle?--that's the
name, at least so far as human lips can approach it At all events, he
has nigh fifteen thousand a year, and can afford the annoyance of a
consonant more or less."
"Any relative of your Lordship's?" asked K. I.
"Don't exactly remember; but, if so, we never acknowledged him. Can't
afford Welsh cousin ships!"
"He 's a right civil fellow, at all events," said K. I., "and here's his
health;" for at that moment the waiter entered with the supper, and we
all sat down in far better spirits than we had expected to enjoy half an
hour back. We soon forgot all about our unknown benefactor; and, indeed,
we had enough of our own concerns to engross our attention, for there
were places to be secured for the tournament and the other great sights;
for, with all the frailty of our poor natures, there we were, as hot
after the vanities and pleasures of this world as if we had never done a
"Novena" nor a penance in our lives!
When I went to my room, Mary Anne and I had a long conversation about
the stranger, whom she was fully persuaded was a connection of Lord
G.'s, and had shown us this attention solely on his account. "I can
perceive," said she, "from his haughty manner, that he doesn't like to
acknowledge the relationship, nor be in any way bound by the tie of an
obligation. His pride is the only sentiment he can never subdue! A bad
'look-out' for me, perhaps, mamma," said she, laughing; "but we'll see
hereafter." And with this she wished me good-night.
The next morning our troubles began, and early, too; for Father James,
not making any allowance for the different life one must lead in a
great city from what one follows in a little out-of-the-way place amidst
mountains, expected me to go up to a chapel two miles away and hear
matins, and be down at mid-day mass in the town, and then had a whole
afternoon's work at the convent arranged for us, and was met by Lord
George and James with a decided and, indeed, almost rude opposition. The
discussion lasted till late in the morning, and might perhaps have gone
on further, when K. L, who was reading his "Galignani," screamed out,
"By the great O'Shea!"--a favorite exclamation of his,--"here's a bit
of news. Listen to this, Gentles, all of you: 'By the demise of Sir
Walter Prichard Penrhyn, of--I must give up the castle--' the ancient
title and large estates of the family descend to a sister's son, Captain
George Morris, who formerly served in the--th Foot, but retired from
the army about a year since, to reside on the Continent. The present
Baronet, who will take the name of Penrhyn, will be, by this accession
of fortune, the richest landed proprietor in the Principality, and may,
if he please it, exercise a very powerful interest in the political
world. We are, of course, ignorant of his future intentions, but we
share in the generally expressed wish of all classes here, that the
ancient seat of his ancestors may not be left unoccupied, or only
tenanted by those engaged in exhibiting to strangers its varied
treasures in art, and its unrivalled curiosities in antiquarian
lore.--_Welsh Herald_.' There 's the explanation of the civility we
met with last night; that clears up the whole mystery, but, at the same
time, leaves another riddle unsolved. Why did n't he speak to us on the
stairs? Could it be that he did not recognize us?"
Oh, Molly! I nearly fainted while he was speaking. I was afraid of my
life he 'd look at me, and see by my changed color what was agitating
me; for only think of what it was I had done,--just gone and refused
fifteen thousand a year, and for the least marriageable of the two
girls, since, I need n't say, that for one man that fancies Cary, there
's forty admires Mary Anne--and a baronetcy! She 'd have been my Lady,
just as much as any in the peerage. I believe in my heart I could n't
have kept the confession in if it had n't been that Mary Anne took my
arm and led me away. Father G. followed us out of the room, and began:
"Isn't it a real blessing from the Virgin on ye," said he, "that you
rejected that heretic before temptation assailed ye?" But I stopped him,
Molly; and at once too! I told him it was all his own stupid bigotry got
us into the scrape. "What has religion to do with it?" said I. "Can't a
heretic spend fifteen thousand a year; and sure if his wife can't live
with him, can't she claim any-money, as they call it?"
"I hope and trust," said he, "that your backsliding won't bring a
judgment on ye."
And so I turned away from him, Molly, for you may remark that there 's
nothing as narrow-minded as a priest when he talks of worldly matters.'
Though we had enough on our minds the whole day about getting places for
the tournament, the thought of Morris never left my head; and I knew,
besides, that I 'd never have another day's peace with K. I. as long as
I lived, if he came to find out that I refused him. I thought of twenty
ways to repair the breach: that I 'd write to him, or make Mary Anne
write--or get James to call and see him. Then it occurred to me, if we
should make out that Cary was dying for love of him, and it was to save
our child that we condescended to change our mind. Mary Anne, however,
overruled me in everything, saying, "Rely upon it, mamma, we 'll have
him yet. If he was a very young man, there would be no chance for us,
but he is five or six and thirty, and he 'll not change now! For a few
months or so, he'll try to bully himself into the notion of forgetting
her, but you 'll see he'll come round at last; and if he should not,
then it will be quite time enough to see whether we ought to pique his
jealousy or awaken his compassion."
She said much more in the same strain, and brought me round completely
to her own views. "Above all," said she, "don't let Father James
influence you; for though it's all right and proper to consult him about
the next world, he knows no more than a child about the affairs of
this one." So we agreed, Molly, that we 'd just wait and see, of course
keeping K. I. blind all the time to what we were doing.
The games and the circus, and all the wonderful sights that we were
to behold, drove everything else out of my head; for every moment Lord
George was rushing in with some new piece of intelligence about some
astonishing giant, or some beautiful creature, so that we hadn't a
moment to think of anything.
It was the hardest thing in life to get places at all. The pit was taken
up with dukes and counts and barons, and the boxes rose to twenty-five
Napoleons apiece, and even at that price it was a favor to get one!
Early and late Lord George was at work about it, calling on ministers,
writing notes, and paying visits, till you 'd think it was life and
death were involved in our success.
You have no notion, Molly, how different these matters are abroad and
with us. At home we go to a play or a circus just to be amused for the
time, and we never think more of the creatures we see there than if they
were n't of our species; but abroad it 's exactly the reverse. Nothing
else is talked of, or thought of, but how much the tenor is to have for
six nights. "Is Carlotta singing well? Is Nina fatter? How is Francesca
dancing? Does she do the little step like a goat this season? or has
she forgotten her rainbow spring?" Now, Lord George and James gave us
no peace about all these people till we knew every bit of the private
history of them, from the man that carried a bull on his back, to the
small child with wings, that was tossed about for a shuttlecock by
its father and uncle. Then there was a certain Sofia Bettrame, that
everybody was wild about; the telegraph at one time saying she was at
Lyons, then she was at Vichy, then at Mont Cenis,--now she was sick,
now she was supping with the Princess Odelzeffska,--and, in fact, what
between the people that were in _love_ with _her_, and a number of
others to whom she was _in debt_, it was quite impossible to hear of
anything else but "La Sofia," "La Bettrame," from morning till night
It's long before an honest woman, Molly, would engross so much of public
notice; and so I could n't forbear remarking to K. I. Nobody cared to
ask where the Crown Prince of Russia was going to put up, or where the
Archduchess of Austria was staying, but all were eager to learn if the
"Croce di Matta" or the "Leone d'Oro" or the "Cour de Naples" were to
lodge the peerless Sofia. The man that saw her horses arrive was the
fashion for two entire days, and an old gentleman who had talked with
her courier got three dinner invitations on the strength of it. What
discussions there were whether she was to receive a hundred thousand
francs, or as many crowns; and then whether for one or for two nights.
Then there were wagers about her age, her height, the color of her eyes,
and the height of her instep, till I own to you, Molly, it was downright
offensive to the mother of a family to listen to what went on about her;
James being just as bad as the rest.
At last, my dear, comes the news that Sofia has taken a sulk and won't
appear. The Grand-Duchess of somewhere did something, or didn't do
it--I forget which--that was or was not "due to her." I wish you saw
the consternation of the town at the tidings. If it was the plague was
announced, the state of distraction would have been less.
You would n't believe me if I told you how they took it to heart.
Old generals with white moustaches, fat, elderly gentlemen in
counting-bouses, grave shopkeepers, and grim-looking clerks in the
Excise went about as if they had lost their father, and fallen suddenly
into diminished circumstances. They shook hands, when they met, with a
deep sigh, and parted with a groan, as if the occasion was too much for
their feelings.
At this moment, therefore, after all the trouble and expense, nobody
knows if there will be any tournament at all. Some say it is the
Government has found out that the whole thing was a conspiracy for a
rising; and there are fifty rumors afloat about Mazzini himself being
one of the company, in the disguise of a juggler. But what may be the
real truth it is impossible to say. At all events, I 'll not despatch
this till I can give you the latest tidings.
Tuesday Evening.
The telegraph has just brought word that she _will_ come. James is gone
down to the office to get a copy of the despatch.
James is come back to say that she is at Novi. If she arrive here
to-night, there will be an illumination of the town! Is not this too
bad, Molly? Doesn't your blood run cold at the thought of it all?
They 're shouting like mad under my window now, and Lord George thinks
she must be come already. James has come in with his hat in tatters and
his coat in rags. The excitement is dreadful. The people suspect that
the Government are betraying them to Russia, and are going to destroy a
palace that belongs to a tallow merchant.
All is right, Molly. She is come! and they are serenading her now under
the windows of the "Croce di Matta!"
Wednesday Night.
If my trembling hand can subscribe legibly a few lines, it is perhaps
the last you will ever receive from your attached Jemima. I was never
intended to go through such trials as these; and they 're now rending a
heart that was only made for tenderness and affection.
We were there, Molly! After such a scene of crushing and squeezing as
never was equalled, we got inside the circus, and with the loss of my
new turban and one of my "plats," we reached our box, within two of
the stage, and nearly opposite the King. For an hour or so, it was
only fainting was going on all around us, with the heat and the violent
struggle to get in. Nobody minded the stage at all, where they were
doing the same kind of thing we used to see long ago. Ten men in pinkish
buff, vaulting over an old white horse, and the clown tumbling over the
last of them with a screech; the little infant of three years, with a
strap round its waist, standing and tottering on the horse's back; the
man with the brass balls and the basin, and the other one that stood on
the bottles,--all passed off tiresome enough, till a grand flourish of
trumpets announced Signor Annibale, the great Modern Hercules. In he
rode, Molly, full gallop, all dressed in a light, flesh-colored, web,
and looking so like naked that I screeched out when I saw him. His hair
was divided on his forehead, and cut short all round the head; and,
indeed, I must confess he was a fine-looking man. After a turn or two,
brandishing a big club, he galloped in again, but quickly reappeared
with a woman lying over one of his arms, and her hair streaming down
half-way to the ground. This was Sofia; and you may guess the enthusiasm
of the audience at her coming! There she lay, like in a trance, as he
dashed along at full speed, the very tip of one foot only touching the
saddle, and her other leg dangling down like dead. It was shocking to
hear the way they talked of her symmetry and her shape,--not but they
saw enough to judge of it, Molly!--till at last the giant stopped to
breathe a little just under our box. K. I. and the young men, of course,
leaned over to have a good look at her with their glasses, when suddenly
James screamed, "By the ------ --I won't say what--it is herself!" Mary
Anne and I both rose together. The sight left my eyes, Molly, for she
looked up at me, and who was it--but the Countess that James was going
to marry! There she was, lying languidly on the giant, smiling up at us
as cool as may be. I gave a screech, Molly, that made the house ring,
and went off in Mary Anne's arms.
If this is n't disgrace enough to bring me to the grave, Nature must
have given stronger feelings than she knows to your ever afflicted and
heart-broken
Jemima Dodd.
LETTER XXIII. MISS CAROLINE DODD TO MISS COX, AT MISS MINCING'S ACADEMY, BLACK ROCK, IRELAND
Sestri, Gulf of Genoa.
My dear Miss Cox,--I had long looked forward to our visit to Genoa in
order to write to you. I had fancied a thousand things of the "Superb
City" which would have been matters of interest, and hoped that many
others might have presented themselves to actual observation. But with
that same fatality by which the future forever evades us, we have come
and gone again, and really seen nothing.
Instead of a week or fortnight passed in loitering about these
mysterious, narrow streets, each one of which is a picture, poking into
crypts, and groping along the aisles of those dim churches, and then
issuing forth into the blaze of sunshine to see the blue sea heaving
in mighty masses on the rocky shore, we came here to see some vulgar
spectacle of a circus or a tournament. By ill-luck, too, even
this pleasure has proved abortive; a very mortifying, I might say
humiliating, discovery awaited us, and we have, for shame's sake, taken
our refuge in flight from one of the most interesting cities in the
whole peninsula.
I am ashamed to confess to you how ill I have borne the disappointment.
The passing glimpses I caught here and there of steep old alleys, barely
wide enough for three to go abreast; the little squares, containing some
quaint monument or some fantastic fountain; the massive iron gateways,
showing through the bars the groves of orange-trees within; the wide
portals, opening on great stairs of snow-white marble,--all set me
a-dreaming of that proud Genoa, with its merchant-princes, who combined
all the haughty characteristics of a feudal state with the dashing
spirit of a life of enterprise.
The population, too, seemed as varied in type as the buildings around
them. The bronzed, deep-browed Ligurian--the "Faquino"--by right of
birth, stood side by side with the scarcely less athletic Dalmatian. The
Arab from Tiflis, the Suliote, the Armenian, the dull-eyed Moslem, and
the treacherous-looking Moor were all grouped about the Mole, with a
host of those less picturesque figures that represent Northern Europe.
There, was heard every language and every dialect. There, too, seen
the lineaments of every nation, and the traits of every passion that
distinguish a people. Just as on the deep blue water that broke beside
them were ships of every build, from the proud three-decker to the swift
"lateen," and from the tall, taper spare of the graceful clipper to the
heavily rounded, low-masted galliot of the Netherlands.
I own to you that however the actual life of commerce may include
commonplace events and commonplace people, there is something about the
sea and those that live on the great waters that always has struck me as
eminently poetical.
The scene, the adventurous existence, the strange faraway lands they
have visited, the Spice Islands of the South, the cold shores of the
Arctic Seas, the wondrous people with whom they have mingled, the
dangers they have confronted,--all invest the sailor with a deep
interest to me, and I regard him ever as one who has himself been an
actor in the great drama of which I have only read the outline.
I was, indeed, very sorry to leave Genoa, and to leave it, too, unseen.
An event, however, too painful to allude to, compelled us to start at
once; and we came on here to the little village from whence I write. A
lovely spot it is,--sheltered from the open sea by a tall promontory,
wooded with waving pines, whose feathery foliage is reflected in the
calm sea beneath. A gentle curve of the strand leads to Chiavari,
another town about six miles off; and behind us, landward, rise the
great Apennines, several thousand feet in height,--grand, barren,
volcanic-looking masses of wildest outline, and tinted with the colors
of every mineral ore. On the very highest pinnacles of these are
villages perched, and the tall tower of a church is seen to rise against
the blue sky, at an elevation, one would fancy, untrodden by man.
There is a beautiful distinctness in Italian landscape,--every detail
is "picked out" sharply. The outline of every rock and cliff, of every
tree, of every shrub, is clean and well defined. Light and shadow fall
boldly, and even abruptly, on the eye; but--shall I own it?--I long for
the mysterious distances, the cloud-shadows, the vague atmospheric tints
of our Northern lands. I want those passing effects that seem to give
a vitality to the picture, and make up something like a story of the
scene. It is in these the mind revels as in a dreamland of its own. It
is from these we conjure up so many mingled thoughts of the past, the
present, and the coming time,--investing the real with the imaginary,
and blending the ideal with the actual world.
How naturally do all these thoughts lead us to that of Home! Happily for
us, there is that in the religion of our hearts towards home that takes
no account of the greater beauty of other lands. The loyalty we owe our
own hearth defies seduction. Admire, glory in how you will the grandest
scene the sun ever set upon, there is still a holy spot in your heart
of hearts for some little humble locality,--a lonely glen,--a Highland
tarn,--a rocky path beside some winding river, rich in its childish
memories, redolent of the bright hours of sunny infancy,--and this you
would not give for the most gorgeous landscapes that ever basked beneath
Italian sky.
Do not fancy that I repine at being here because I turn with fond
affection to the scene of my earliest days. I delight in Italy; I
glory in its splendor of sky and land and water. I never weary of its
beauteous vegetation, and my ear drinks in with equal pleasure the soft
accents of its language; but I always feel that these things are to
be treasured for memory to be enjoyed hereafter, just as the emigrant
labors for the gold he is to spend in his own country. In this wise, it
may be, when wandering along some mountain "boreen" at home, sauntering
of a summer's eve through some waving meadow, that Italy in all its
brightness will rise before me, and I will exalt in my heart to have
seen the towers of the Eternal City, and watched the waves that sleep in
"still Sorrento."
We leave this to-morrow for Spezia, there to pass a few days; our object
being to loiter slowly along till papa can finally decide whether to go
back or forward: for so is it, my dearest friend, all our long-planned
tour and its pleasures have resolved themselves into a hundred
complications of finance and fashionable acquaintances.
One might have supposed, from our failures in these attempts, that we
should have learned at least our own unfitness for success. The very
mortifications we have suffered might have taught us that all the
enjoyment we could ever hope to reap could not repay the price of a
single defeat. Yet here we are, just as eager, just as short-sighted,
just as infatuated as ever, after a world that will have "none of
us," and steadily bent on storming a position in society that, if won
to-morrow, we could not retain.
I suppose that our reverses in this wise must have attained some
notoriety, and I am even prepared to hear that the Dodd family have
made themselves unhappily conspicuous by their unfortunate attempt at
greatness; but I own, dearest friend, that I am not able to contemplate
with the same philosophical submission the loss of good men's esteem and
respect, to which these failures must expose US--an instance of which, I
tremble to think, has already occurred to us.
You have often heard me speak of Mrs. Morris, and of the kindness with
which she treated me during a visit at her house. She was at that time
in what many would have called very narrow circumstances, but which by
consummate care and good management sufficed to maintain a condition in
every way suitable to a gentlewoman. She has since--or rather her son
has--succeeded to a very large fortune and a title. They were at Genoa
when we arrived there,--at the same hotel,--and yet never either called
on or noticed us! It is perfectly needless for me to say that I know,
and know thoroughly, that no change in _their_ position could have
produced any alteration in their manner towards us. If ever there were
people totally removed from such vulgarity,--utterly incapable of even
conceiving it,--it is the Morrises. They were proud in their humble
fortune,--that is, they possessed a dignified self-esteem, that would
have rejected the patronage of wealthy pretension, but willingly
accepted the friendship of very lowly worth; and I can well believe that
prosperity will only serve to widen the sphere of their sympathies, and
make them as generous in action as they were once so in thought. That
their behavior to _us_ depends on anything in themselves, I therefore
completely reject,--this I know and feel to be an impossibility. What
a sad alternative is then left me, when I own that they have more than
sufficient cause to shun our acquaintance and avoid our intimacy!
The loss of such a friend as Captain Morris might have been to James
is almost irreparable; and from the interest he once took in him, it
is clear he felt well disposed for such a part; and I am thoroughly
convinced that even papa himself, with all his anti-English prejudices,
has only to come into close contact with the really noble traits of the
English character, to acknowledge their excellence and their worth. I am
very far from undervaluing the great charm of manner which comes
under the category of what is called "aimable." I recognize all its
fascination, and I even own to an exaggerated enjoyment of its display;
but shall I confess that I believe that it is this very habit of
simulation that detracts from the truthful character of a people, and
that English bluntness is--so to say--the complement of English honesty.
That they push the characteristic too far, and that they frequently
throw a chill over social intercourse, which under more genial
influences had been everything that was agreeable, I am free to admit;
but, with all these deficiencies, the national character is incomparably
above that of any other country I have any knowledge of. It will be
scarcely complimentary if I add, after all this, that we Irish are
certainly more popular abroad than our Saxon relatives. We are more
compliant with foreign usages, less rigid in maintaining our own habits,
more conciliating in a thousand ways; and both our tongues and our
temperaments more easily catch a new language and a new tone of society.
Is it not fortunate for you that I am interrupted in these gossipings by
the order to march? Mary Anne has come to tell me that we are to start
in half an hour; and so, adieu till we meet at Spezia.
Spezia, Croce di Malta.
The little sketch that I send with this will give you some very faint
notion of this beautiful gulf, with which I have as yet seen nothing to
compare. This is indeed Italy. Sea, sky, foliage, balmy air, the soft
influences of an atmosphere perfumed with a thousand odors,--all breathe
of the glorious land.
The Garden--a little promenade for the townspeople, that stretches along
the beach--is one blaze of deep crimson flowers,--the blossom of the
San Giuseppe,--I know not the botanical name. The blue sea--and such a
blue!--mirrors every cliff and crag and castellated height with the most
minute distinctness. Tall lateen-sailed boats glide swiftly to and fro;
and lazy oxen of gigantic size drag rustling wagons of loaded vines
along, the ruddy juice staining the rich earth as they pass.
Como was beautiful; but there was--so to say--a kind of trim coquetry in
its beauty that did not please me. The villas, the gardens, the
terraced walks, the pillared temples, seemed all the creations of a
landscape-gardening spirit that eagerly profited by every accidental
advantage of ground, and every casual excellence of situation. Now, here
there is none of this. All that man has done here had been even
better left undone. It is in the jutting promontories of rock-crowned
olives,--the landlocked, silent bays, darkened by woody shores,--the
wild, profuse vegetation, where the myrtle, the cactus, and the arbutus
blend with the vine, the orange, and the fig,--the sea itself, heaving
as if oppressed with perfumed languor,--and the tall Apennines,
snow-capped, in the distance, but whiter still in the cliffs of pure
Carrara marble,--it is in these that Spezia maintains its glorious
superiority, and in these it is indeed unequalled.
It will sound, doubtless, like a very ungenerous speech, when I say that
I rejoice that this spot is so little visited--so little frequented--by
those hordes of stray and straggling English who lounge about the
Continent. I do not say this in any invidious spirit, but simply in the
pleasure that I feel in the quiet and seclusion of a place which, should
it become by any fatality "the fashion" will inevitably degenerate
by all the vulgarities of the change. At present the Riviera--as the
coast-line from Genoa to Pisa is called--is little travelled. The
steamers passing to Leghorn by the cord of the arch, take away nearly
all the tourists, so that Spezia, even as a bathing-place, is little
resorted to by strangers. There are none, not one, of the ordinary
signs of the watering-place about it. Neither donkeys to hire, nor
subscription concerts; not a pony phaeton, a pianist, nor any species
of human phenomenon to torment you; and the music of the town band is,
I rejoice to say, so execrably bad that even a crowd of twenty cannot be
mustered for an audience.
Spezia is, therefore, _au naturel_,--and long may it be so! Distant be
the day when frescoed buildings shall rise around, to seduce from its
tranquil scenery the peaceful lover of nature, and make of him the
hot-cheeked gambler or the broken debauchee. I sincerely, hopefully
trust this is not to be, at least in our time.
We made an excursion this morning by boat to Lerici, to see poor
Shelley's house, the same that Byron lived in when here. It stands in
the bight of a little bay of its own, and close to the sea; so close,
indeed, that the waves were plashing and frothing beneath the arched
colonnade on which it is built. It is now in an almost ruinous
condition, and the damp, discolored walls and crumbling plaster bespeak
neglect and decay.
The view from the terrace is glorious; the gulf in its entire extent is
before you, and the island of Palmaria stands out boldly, with the tall
headlands of Porto Venere, forming the breakwater against the sea. It
was here Shelley loved to sit; here, of a summer's night, he often sat
till morning, watching the tracts of hill and mountain wax fainter and
fainter, till they grew into brightness again with coming day; and it
was not far from this, on the low beach of Via Reggio, that he was lost!
The old fisherman who showed us the house had known him well, and spoke
of his habits as one might have described those of some wayward child.
The large and lustrous eyes, the long waving hair, the uncertain step,
the look half timid, half daring, had made an impression so strong, that
even after long years he could recall and tell of them.
It came on to blow a "Levanter" as we returned, and the sea got up with
a rapidity almost miraculous. From a state of calm and tranquil repose,
it suddenly became storm-lashed and tempestuous; nor was it without
difficulty we accomplished a landing at Spezia. To-morrow we are to
visit Porto Venere,--the scene which it is supposed suggested to Virgil
his description of the Cave in which AEneas meets with Dido; and the
following day we go to Carrara to see the marble quarries and the
artists' studios. In fact, we are "handbooking" this part of our tour in
the most orthodox fashion; and from the tame, half-effaced impressions
objects suggest, of which you come primed with previous description,
I can almost fancy that reading "John Murray" at your fireside at home
might compensate for the fatigue and cost of a journey. It would be
worse than ungrateful to deny the aid one derives from guide-books; but
there is unquestionably this disadvantage in them, that they limit
your faculty of admiration or disapproval. They set down rules for your
liking and disliking, and far from contributing to form and educate
your taste, they cramp its development by substituting criticism for
instinct.
As I hope to write to you again from Florence, I 'll not prolong this
too tiresome epistle, but, with my most affectionate greetings to all my
old schoolfellows, ask my dear Miss Cox to believe me her ever attached
and devoted
Caroline Dodd.
The Morrises arrived here last night and went on this morning, without
any notice of us. They must have seen our names in the book when writing
their own. Is not this more than strange? Mamma and Mary Anne seemed
provoked when I spoke of it, so that I have not again alluded to the
subject. I wish from my heart I could ask how _you_ interpret their
coldness.