FROM SEA TO MOUNTAIN
“All of Italy that remains for us is to be compressed into the next
two or three days,” said Sidney regretfully, as she watched the last
red sail fade from sight upon the lagoons of Venice. “Oh that those
days were limitless and that we could recover that lost power of the
ancients who counted their years by centuries. If one might live to
be as old as Methuselah, for example, it would be nothing to spend a
hundred years in Italy. I almost believe I love Venice the best of all.
How about you, Gabriella?”
“I am not sure. I think Sorrento comes first with me, and then
Florence, though it is hard to decide. I think I love it all from the
top of the boot to the toe, and would be satisfied to live anywhere in
it between Switzerland and Sicily. How do you suppose Signor Rondinelli
became possessed of the idea that I represented the wealth of the
party?” she asked suddenly.
“Miss Bailey must have told him so,” replied Miss Cavendish. “She
evidently discovered that one of us is not a pauper, and was under the
impression that it was you.”
“Oh!” returned Gabriella, and lapsed into silence.
“I think it would be good fun if you would keep up that impression,”
said Sidney, after a pause. “Think what numbers of romances you might
have. Your personality plus gold would attract the heiress seekers as
sugar does a swarm of ants.”
“But where would your innings be?” questioned Gabriella.
“I don’t want them. I couldn’t cope with those brilliant and beautiful
soldiers if I had the opportunity. I think it would be much better to
allow me the retirement my looks afford, and let you go forth to battle
with the fortune hunters. I was ever ‘a violet by a mossy stone’ you
know. I hope you did not tell the count that you refused him because
you were not able to fill his coffers.”
“No, I must confess that I did not. I felt at the time that it was
rather mean of me to keep on sailing under false colors, but now I am
glad I did. I do believe, Sid, that it would be fun to change places. I
should not in the least mind carrying out the plan, and should like to
see confusion written in the various languages. I know how it appears
in Italian already. Perhaps we shall have German next. It is a go, Sid.
I am the heiress, if you please. You shall see how well I will fill the
rôle without ever declaring in so many words what I wish to suggest.”
They watched the landscape from the car windows and presently Sidney
nudged Gabriella. “Please to see our opposite neighbor. I envied him
his neatly packed basket of luncheon when we came in, but I do so no
more.”
Gabriella glanced at her vis-à-vis to behold a thin red stream
trickling down upon the man’s shoulder. He was gazing out the window in
utter unconsciousness that he was losing the better part of his flask
of wine.
“Would you dare to tell him?” whispered Sidney.
“We needn’t, but Gem can. She is absorbed in her accounts, but when she
has stopped reducing that last column of francs and centimes to dollars
and cents, I’ll speak to her. She can’t bear to be interrupted when she
is doing her sums, you know.”
“And in the meantime our Italian friend will lose all his wine, and
what is a meal without wine to a Latin?”
“Tell him then.”
“Oh, I can’t; I shouldn’t know what to say, and Gem has the dictionary.”
Just at this moment Miss Cavendish looked up, a smile of satisfaction
upon her face. “It is better than I thought,” she announced. “So far it
has cost us but fifteen dollars a week apiece for everything, board,
lodging, washing, travelling expenses and--”
Here Sidney clutched her. “I can’t stand it another minute. It will
soak through. Please tell him.”
“What?” Miss Cavendish turned an amazed countenance upon her. “What are
you talking about, Sidney?”
“That man, and his bottle of wine,” she whispered. “Do tell him that it
is leaking.”
Miss Cavendish grasped the situation, and after presenting a disjointed
sentence to their travelling companion, was given voluble thanks in
perfectly good English, to the utter confusion of the girls. The
bottle was then restored to a perpendicular position, while Sidney and
Gabriella vainly tried to suppress an attack of giggles.
“And to think,” whispered Sidney, “we have been disclosing our inmost
thoughts.”
“And Gem has gone so far as to confide to him the state of our
finances. Did you ever know such first-class idiots as we are?”
“But he looks so Italian,” murmured Sidney, “as if he never had even
heard a word of English before. I hope he does not understand enough to
distinguish what we are saying under our breath.” But the rest of the
way little was said by any of the three ladies, and when the Italian
left the carriage, at Verona, all breathed a sigh of relief.
“All the same,” said Gabriella, after she had graciously returned the
very polite bow he made at leaving, “we had our fun out of him, if we
did afford him amusement. I wish, however, that we had let the wine
drip its very last drop before we had told him.”
“You revengeful creature; I am sure he could not have been more
unobtrusively polite,” said Miss Cavendish. “We never in the world
could have told, by his expression, that he understood a word of what
we were saying.”
“That’s just what I have against him,” returned Gabriella; “he ought to
have looked as if he understood and then we shouldn’t have made such
geese of ourselves.”
“Nevertheless, it was his intention to be as courteous as possible,”
Miss Cavendish insisted. “Indeed, I think the most humble of these
Italians could give us lessons in politeness. I shall never forget our
dear little _padrona’s_ beautiful courtesy.”
“Yes, and didn’t you feel like some high muckamuck when the entire
family, even to the old grandmother, followed us to the water’s edge
and stood there bowing till we were out of sight?”
“And they were so grateful for the largess we bestowed,” added Sidney.
“The smalless, you mean,” Gabriella put in, “for we do not break
ourselves when we give tips.”
“I am sure,” said Miss Cavendish slightly aggrieved, “we give enough.
It seems to me that I have tipped everybody and everything in Italy.”
“Except your soup plate,” broke in Gabriella saucily; “I notice you
are never guilty of tipping that.”
Miss Cavendish paid no attention to the interruption but went on: “They
usually expect so much from Americans, that I think it is unjust to
others to give more than seems fair. I am perfectly willing to give as
much as the service is worth, but when it makes it difficult for those
who have to economize, I think one should forbear the overpaying. It
is indulging one’s self in generosity at the expense of one’s fellow
countrymen.”
“Shall you ever forget the bland way in which that delightful old
fellow in Naples said, when we discovered that he had charged three
prices: ‘but you are so reech-a and we are so poor-a?’ It seemed quite
reason enough in his mind, and he was not in the least abashed at the
fact of his having been detected.”
“They are like children,” returned Miss Cavendish, “and for that reason
we can forgive them much.”
“We are leaving Verona,” said Gabriella, poking her head out of the
window. “I didn’t notice it before. I wonder if our friend of the wine
flask is one of the two gentlemen of Verona.”
“He certainly is a gentleman,” remarked Miss Cavendish, still defending
their late companion. “Why do you smile, Gabriella?”
“Oh, only because I shook my head and scowled so savagely at two women
who were making for the carriage, that they backed away and went into
the next. I think now we shall have this to ourselves the rest of the
way.”
“I don’t mind travelling with the people,” said Sidney. “They are
rather entertaining, and one learns many things about manners and
customs, in a train.”
“It seems to me that we had enough of it this morning,” said Gabriella.
“If another man with a lunch basket comes in, I shall not be able to
stand it, I am afraid. Why didn’t we get one of those nice little
baskets, by the way?”
“Because we shall get to Milan in time for our next meal,” Miss
Cavendish told her.
“Did you hear that American voice? Why do such people travel? What do
they get out of a trip?” said Gabriella.
“What was she saying?” asked Miss Cavendish.
“She announced to the world at large, very much through her nose, that
she meant to travel first-class. ‘I can’t stand them fumeries,’ was
her parting remark. I suppose she came abroad because her opposite
neighbor went last year, and she will travel as rapidly as she can in
order to get over all the ground possible; three months, no doubt for
an extended tour of Europe. Can’t you fancy it? Oh, Gem, you certainly
were a wise woman not to join a party. What might we not have had
thrust upon us?”
“You are a little too severe, dearie, for there is a deal to be gained
from travelling with others. Travel at least ought to teach us to live
and let live, and we ought to return home with a broader charity.”
“Or else with a ruined disposition,” returned Gabriella saucily.
“Answer for your own,” laughed Miss Cavendish; “mine has already been
severely tested.”
“Wicked, bad old woman to talk so to her dear little goddaughter,”
returned Gabriella. “I’ll never come over again with you.”
“Then I can bring Sidney, who never says naughty things to me.”
For answer Gabriella snuggled up close to the older woman, called her
all sorts of pet names, and made “love-eyes” at her as she had done
from babyhood.
“There is one thing we all must learn,” said Sidney, watching the
by-play, “and that is to cultivate a gentle tone of voice. That woman’s
rasping notes still ring in my ears. I notice that there are very few
Americans whose voices cannot be heard above all others.”
“Oh, but consider; we do not screech like peacocks, as the Italians
do,” said Gabriella in her slow drawl. “Do I speak like an American
phonograph, Sid? If I do, I’ll talk no more.”
“Oh, you, no, I didn’t mean you,” returned Sidney quickly. “To be sure
you would never be mistaken for an Englishwoman, still you neither
whine, talk through your nose, nor clip your words. I think you will do
if you will remember not to shout, nor laugh loud when you are excited;
it is then that we Americans lose control of our voices.”
“Alas, alas,” sighed Gabriella, “I believe you are right. Please call
me down when I soar too high, and I’ll do the same for you. Gem never
forgets herself.”
“She has had the advantage over you of fifteen years of practice,”
remarked Miss Cavendish, “and she has likewise lost her girlish
excitability.”
“She has not lost her enthusiasm, though; she will never outgrow that,”
said Gabriella affectionately.
But here Milan was reached, and Gabriella rushed from the train to find
a porter to take the luggage. It promised to be a difficult task, for
the passengers were many and the porters few. “_Facchino! Facchino!_”
called Miss Cavendish, her head out of the car window.
“_Facchino_,” called Sidney the other side, but not one seemed able to
spare time to attend to them.
Gabriella clutched first one and then the other, but all were already
spoken for. “Do go and help the child,” said Miss Cavendish to Sidney.
“I will watch the luggage.” And Sidney joined forces with Gabriella.
Yet up to the time the train was ready to start not one disengaged
porter could be found. “What shall we do?” cried Miss Cavendish in
despair. “I can’t leave the luggage, and I must get off.”
“This is where our American system of checking seems mighty fine,” said
Gabriella. “I’ll come in and we’ll tumble out the baggage, not luggage,
if you please on this occasion. We can manage it somehow.”
But just here a soft voice behind Miss Cavendish asked, “What is the
matter? Can’t we help you?” and turning, she saw two Englishwomen
who had taken places in this special compartment. “The train will be
going,” they warned her; “you’d best get off,” and they summarily
bundled Miss Cavendish from the carriage, and by the strength of their
own beringed hands and braceleted arms lifted the heavy hand trunks
through the windows just in time for them to be received by their
anxious owners.
“Oh, dear,” said Gabriella, looking after the departing train, “I wish
I could run after it and thank them again. Did you ever see such dear
kind things? I foresee plainly that I shall become an Anglomaniac
before I sail for home. I must get myself in training, for now I see
why the English girls of necessity must be athletic.”
“I feel quite overpowered,” said Miss Cavendish. “They were certainly
friends in need. I suppose we might have lifted down those trunks
ourselves, but every minute I hoped we could get hold of a porter, and
I was afraid to leave the things for fear they might be stolen, or the
train would start. That certainly was an experience I do not want to
repeat.”
“We have never had any trouble before, and I have been so proud of my
little trunk, but I begin to think it might be better to register.”
“Oh, no, we need not do that, I am sure,” said Gabriella. “We shall
probably never have such an experience again, and we have saved no end
of money by always having our trunks in the carriage with us wherever
we went. I should not wonder if we could take them over the Simplon
pass with us. Next time if we don’t get hold of a _facchino_ right
away, I shall lug them myself.”
After the quiet waterways of Venice, Milan seemed bustling and noisy.
“I don’t like it,” declared Sidney. “Take out the cathedral and
Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper, and it may share the fate of a buried
city for all I care. It is noisy, wicked and uninteresting.”
“Ah, but the cathedral is well worth stopping to see,” said Miss
Cavendish as they left the door of the great church.
“The light streaming across those vaulted arches was wonderful,” said
Gabriella dreamily. “I shall never forget that, and as for the Last
Supper, dilapidated as it is, there is nothing to compare to it in
all the well preserved copies which share the room with it. Leonardo
alone seems to have had a vision of his Lord. Oh, what a pity, what
a pity that so great a triumph of art should be lost to the world as
eventually it must be. Nothing has ever impressed me more. Surely
Leonardo was inspired if ever artist was. No, Sidney, I don’t regret
coming to Milan, though now that we have seen the cathedral and that
great picture I want to go.”
“If it were the opera season,” remarked Miss Cavendish, “we might
feel that it would be worth while to linger, but I agree with you,
Gabriella, we have seen all that has any charm for us.”
“So now for the lakes and that heavenly ride over the Simplon pass. I
know it is going to be heavenly.”
“Unless it should be a rainy day, and you know it is so likely to rain
in the mountains,” said Sidney.
“You old pessimist,” cried Gabriella. “It isn’t going to rain, or if it
does, only a very little, just enough for us to see the clouds rolling
around the tops of the mountains and the beautiful distance breaking
through as we come down into the valley.”
“What do you know about it?” asked Miss Cavendish.
“I am like the little boy who had eaten green apples and who suffered
therefrom; when his Christian Science aunt insisted that he had no pain
in his little tum, that it was only imagination, he said: ‘I reckon I
know better than you; I have inside information.’ That is my case. My
prophetic soul tells me that we shall have a glorious trip.”
“I most devoutly hope so,” returned Miss Cavendish, “for I have been
thirsting for that mountain scenery for days.”
“Let me see, this is the plan, isn’t it? We leave early to-morrow
morning for the lakes, spend a couple of days thereabouts and arrive
at that place with the funny name--Domodossola, in the evening. I am
sure I shall like that town or village or whatever it is. Then the next
morning we get into a real diligence, and go over a real Swiss mountain
pass, all snow and glaciers and such things. Much as I hate to leave
Italy, I shall be glad to get to Switzerland, for I think Milan is an
ugly link between the two, and I shall be glad to leave it.”
“But not the cathedral?” interposed Miss Cavendish.
“No, of course not; it is Milan’s saving grace, to my mind. Without
that I should remember it only as a bad, ugly, noisy place and I don’t
care who hears me say it. Besides, the maid told me to-day that among
the lower classes cats are considered as an excellent article of food,
and that the poor things, even when they are known to be pets, are
frequently stolen to be cooked and eaten. Isn’t that horrible? Almost
like cannibalism, isn’t it? No, I shall have no glad memories of
Milan.”
“Gabriella, are you sure you are not making that up?” asked Sidney.
“No, I really am not. It was what the maid told me.”
“Then she was hoaxing you.”
“She seemed perfectly serious, and she speaks English very well, so I
could not have mistaken her. No, after that hullabaloo that kept up in
the street the entire night, I am ready to believe anything of this
place, and I yearn for a peaceful Swiss valley.”