The next morning Mr. Hastings had an interview with the doctor, who told
him that Mrs. Wilson's recovery depended to a great extent upon her
having absolute quiet, and freedom from all anxiety or annoyance. He
advised that the nurse, in whom he had perfect confidence, should have
the entire responsibility of the sick room, but as it was clear that she
could not be always on duty, he hoped it could be arranged for Ella to
remain and take the management of the house, and at the same time
relieve the nurse occasionally by taking her place in the sick room.
It was absolutely necessary, he said, for Mrs. Wilson's sake, that there
should be a mistress in the house, for already the nurse had complained
to him that her patient had been very much disturbed by the loud talking
and banging of doors; and that she herself had found considerable
difficulty in getting her wants attended to, and her meals provided with
comfort.
The doctor's opinion settled the matter; Ella must stay, and in order to
make everything as easy for her as possible, Mr. Hastings called in the
servants, and explained to them that he left his daughter in charge of
the house, and that until Mrs. Wilson was well enough to attend to
business herself, they were to take all orders from, and refer
everything to, Ella.
At first all went smoothly enough; the servants were frightened at Mrs.
Wilson's illness, and were ready to help and obey. Contrary to her
expectations, too, Ella found her time pass very quickly; instead of
days seeming dull, there was only too much to do and think of.
Directly after breakfast each morning, she had an interview with nurse
to get her report, and consult as to the invalid cookery for the day.
Then Bertha, the cook, had to be talked to, and arrangements made for
the day's meals; then there were the fowls and ducks to feed, the
one-eyed pony to visit, and talk to while he nibbled his daily apple,
and the peace to keep between the seagull and jackdaw, whose habitual
friendship could hardly stand the test of breakfast-time. And if she
lingered too long with these and the dogs, Sir Paul, the parrot, was
screaming loudly, threatening to "tell the missus," while the whole
cageful of little birds were twittering and scolding that they had not
been attended to first of all.
"The mistress always did them herself," the cook said; and Ella supposed
it was her duty to do the same. These various duties occupied most of
the morning, and the afternoon was spent in her aunt's room, while the
nurse rested, and prepared for the night's watch.
The arranging of meals was Ella's greatest difficulty at first, but she
managed it more easily than she expected, for Bertha generally had
something to suggest for her own and the kitchen meals, and the nurse
always knew what to advise for her patient. Some of the dishes she
ordered seemed to Ella anything but appetising; one especially, suet and
milk, she thought sounded absolutely nasty, though the nurse assured her
it was very light and wonderfully nourishing; and, indeed, when at last
Ella was persuaded to taste it, she had to acknowledge that if she had
not known what it was she really would not have disliked it. The nurse
generally prepared this herself, as she said all depended on the care in
making. She put a ¼lb. of suet in a pint of milk, and simmered it
gently, stirring frequently, till the milk was as thick as good cream.
She then strained it carefully, and flavoured it with almond or lemon,
which so effectually disguised the taste of the suet in it, that it
became a favourite dish with Mrs. Wilson.
Coffee jelly was another dish which nurse introduced to vary the too
constant beef-tea, and which had the advantage of being very quickly and
easily prepared. She made a cup full of strong coffee, strained out the
grounds very carefully, and added as much sugar and milk as though for
drinking hot, and enough isinglass to stiffen it, and either left it in
the cup or poured it into a mould, and when cold it was ready to turn
out and serve as a jelly. This was only given occasionally, as it was
not considered very strengthening; but nurse found it useful to make a
variety.
Ella expected a great quantity of arrowroot would be used; indeed, that
was her one idea in regard to invalid diet, but the doctor did not care
for it, and never ordered it.
"It is no use," he said, when she once suggested it, "unless you add
nourishing things to it; it is nearly all starch, and there is nothing
in it that could sustain life by itself. Common wheaten flour is far
more valuable, and either that or corn flour should always be used in
preference to arrowroot when it is important to get as much nourishment
as possible."
The nurse was a kind-hearted woman, as well as an efficient attendant,
and was as ready to teach the duties of a sick room as Ella was to learn
them.
"It is a cold day, Miss Ella, you must keep the fire up," she said one
day before retiring for her afternoon rest. "Do not wait till the fire
has gone down, but put more coal on when this seems nearly burnt
through. Many nurses will tell you that you should have some coal
wrapped in paper, ready to lift on to the fire without making any noise,
but I do not like that way myself, the paper makes such a dirty fire. So
look here, miss, I take care to have plenty of pieces of coal of a nice
size in the scuttle, and then I keep this old pair of gloves by the side
of the fire (I will leave them there for you to use), and I slip them on
and lift the pieces of coal up with my fingers; I don't make noise
enough to wake a baby that way, and can lay each piece just where I want
it too."
Ella felt very nervous at first, when she was left alone in charge of
the sick room, but gradually she became accustomed to the darksome
silent room, and rejoiced in finding herself less awkward and stupid
than she had imagined herself to be. At home it was Kate who was always
at hand when anyone was ill, Kate who entertained callers, and Kate who
always knew the right thing to do or say; while Ella believed herself to
be by nature awkward and devoid of tact. She was finding out now,
however, that it was only the opportunity to make herself useful, not
the ability, that had been lacking, and though her want of experience
caused her some difficulties which might have been avoided, she soon
found that prayerful patience and careful thought enabled her to
undertake duties which astonished herself.
The first disturbance of the general peace was occasioned after she had
been only a few days at Hapsleigh, by the nurse's objection to take her
meals in the kitchen with the servants. She had never been expected to
do so before, she said, and she really must ask to have her meals
prepared comfortably. The servants were offended at this slight upon
their kitchen and their company, and retorted that "they had had enough
of her stuck-up ways," that "they were every bit as good as she was,
only they did not give themselves such airs," and so on; all of which
greatly dismayed poor Ella, when the disturbance reached her ears. She
thought the matter over, and had decided that nurse should have her
meals in the dining-room, so that the servants could not complain of
extra trouble, as they would only have to lay another place at the
table; but Mrs. Mobberly, who came in very opportunely in the midst of
her deliberations, dissuaded her from it.
"It is all very well now," she said, "while your aunt is so very ill
that you must of necessity be in her room whenever the nurse is away
having her meals, but we hope she will soon be so much better that there
will be no need for that, and you will sometimes find it awkward then to
keep nurse waiting till you have finished. No, you had much better
insist at once upon her meals being comfortably prepared for her
upstairs."
"But where can she have them? There is not even the tiniest sitting-room
upstairs, only the small bedroom which nurse uses for herself, and the
large one where I sleep."
"Then I think, if I were you, as yours is such a large, airy room, I
would have one of these small tables moved into it, and let nurse have
all her meals there. You will find she will prefer it to coming
downstairs, as it is near enough to the sick room to hear every sound,
and if you make a rule that your bedroom shall be put straight directly
you leave it in the morning, and the windows thrown wide open, it will
be quite fresh by the time she wants it."
Ella thanked Mrs. Mobberly warmly for her advice, which she promised to
follow, and as she walked down the garden with her to the gate, she told
her of her mother's parting advice, that when it was necessary to speak
to the servants, she should first of all make quite sure she was in the
right herself, and then assert her authority decisively, so that there
might be no doubt about her intention of being obeyed.
In spite of her brave words, however, Ella felt her courage ebbing away
as Mrs. Mobberly disappeared in the distance, and she had to summon up
all her resolution and give her orders at once, before it all
evaporated.
The servants listened to what she had to say in perfect silence, and
after waiting in vain for a reply, she had to leave them, feeling very
much discomfited, but no sooner was she safely within the shelter of the
breakfast-room than their tongues were loosed, and she heard their loud,
rude voices angrily discussing what she had said, and declaring they
would not put up with such interference, and adding, to Ella's dismay,
in almost the very words she herself had used before leaving home, that
"she was a fine one to come ordering them about, for they did not
believe she even knew how to boil a potato." Poor Ella felt very much
hurt, for she had tried to speak kindly though firmly, and she had
flattered herself that they had not discovered her ignorance. That
evening's entry in her diary was--
"My first attempt at asserting myself a failure. Decided that managing a
house is not my vocation."
In spite of all these difficulties, however, the time passed very
quickly, and Ella had the happiness of feeling that she was really
useful. As Christmastide approached, a fierce struggle went on in her
mind; she had never thought of being away from home on Christmas Day,
and it would be very lonely and dull at Hapsleigh, so different from the
merry party who always met at home on that day; but her mother had
written that she must judge for herself if it would be right to leave,
and when she thought of her aunt, who was beginning to look to her for
entertainment and company, and of the quarrels certain to arise between
the other members of the household, her mind was soon made up, and,
although with a very heavy heart, she wrote that she thought she must
stay.
The answer came promptly, and was full of praise and warm encouragement,
which comforted and helped her.
"If your happiness cannot be with us, my child," her mother wrote,
"remember that we celebrate the season when our Lord left His Father and
His home to bring happiness to mankind, and you are treading closely in
His footsteps just now. Let your Christmas joy this year be in making
joy for others, and you will find a depth of happiness you never
imagined before."
A short time before Christmas Ella was sitting in her aunt's room,
putting the finishing touches to sundry little presents she was making
to send home, when her aunt interrupted her: "I shall want you to go
into town for me to-morrow, Ella," she said; "you had better write the
things down as I tell you them. You will find a pencil and half sheets
of paper in that little drawer in the table."
Mrs. Wilson loved to make unexpected presents, and her circle of
charities was wider than anyone guessed. She had that spirit of
thoughtful generosity which is as rare as it is valuable, and she was
never tired of finding out and relieving those who, from poverty or
friendlessness, were likely to be overlooked in the general rejoicings
at Christmas. This year her illness made her private gifts difficult to
manage, and Ella had to be taken into a good many secrets which
surprised and touched her.
"Well, first I want you to buy an interesting book, the sort that a boy
would like, to cost about six or seven shillings, and have it sent to
this address; you can put in my card and say I hope the boy will like
it. Are they poor, did you say? No, not very, but this boy is the 'ugly
duckling' of the family, and everybody snubs him, they say he is so dull
and stupid, and I think a little kindness will help him to assert
himself. Then go to the poulterer's, and have a turkey or goose sent to
these addresses."
"Oh, Aunt Mary," exclaimed Ella, aghast, "I daren't choose turkeys, I
don't know anything about them."
"Stuff and nonsense, my dear!" replied her aunt, who had little pity on
ignorance; "it is high time you learnt, then. You had better get a
basket of nice hothouse fruit for the Miss Duquenes; they are as proud
as princesses and as poor as church mice. I don't believe they get half
enough to eat; you must manage to give them some money, somehow."
"Would postal orders do? I could post them in the town, and there is no
need to put any name on them."
"Very well; they are nasty new-fangled things, but I suppose you must
use them; there were no such things when I was young. And do not forget
to go to Miss Alexander's as soon as you can. Dear me! I had no idea
Christmas was so near; she ought to have had her order long ago."
"Is that the queer-looking little lady with blue spectacles?"
"Yes; she used to be a governess, but people think no one can teach
children unless they have certificates and degrees now-a-days, and her
eyesight failed too, so she has to live on a small annuity, but she can
see to knit, and she likes to make a few things to sell when she can.
You had better ask her to make a nice warm shawl for your mamma, and one
of those nice little garments, boot-socks and overalls in one, for the
Jenkins' baby; ten to one its mother is sending it out with hardly
anything on its poor little legs, and its head and shoulders wrapped up
like an Eskimo. You can look round and see if she seems to have anything
else made ready, and buy a few little things."
Ella did not much like these vague and general orders; she would much
rather have been told exactly how much to pay for each article, but she
promised to do her best.
Mrs. Wilson's last commission was to call on an old gentleman, in feeble
health, who had lost his money through the failure of a bank, and was
now unable to procure any of the comforts which his failing health
required; his only son had lately died, and the old man was now alone.
The one relic of his past wealth was a store of beautiful old china,
which it had been the happiness of his life to collect.
"You must go and call on him, Ella, and say that I want a piece of fine
old china for a present, but I cannot go out myself to buy it, and
cannot trust you, and I thought he might know of some one who is
breaking up a collection. If so, will he kindly choose a piece and send
me? Then you see, my dear, if he needs the money he can send me some of
his own china."
Ella did not know old Mr. Dudley, and felt rather shy and embarrassed
when she went to pay this call, and afraid of betraying her aunt's real
intention; but he put her so much at her ease at once, that instead of
running away directly she had delivered her message, she spent a long
time with him admiring his treasures. His old-fashioned courtesy pleased
Ella, and she readily promised to come again and tell him if her aunt
was satisfied with his choice of china, for he had undertaken the
commission, and Ella felt sure, from his manner, that he had understood
Mrs. Wilson's real intention, and intended to avail himself of it.
Ella had to pay several visits to the town before all her shopping was
finished; for there were presents to buy for the servants and nurse, and
decorations for the kitchen, and the parcel of gifts for her own family
to pack and send home; and all these matters took up so much time that
Christmas Day dawned before she had time for any regrets.
(_To be continued._)
[Illustration: THE OLD BRIDGE, LUCERNE.]
OUR TOUR IN NORTH ITALY.
BY TWO LONDON BACHELORS.
We are only a couple of young bachelors--almost "green"--but we enjoy
life greatly and appreciate art when we see it, so on our savings we
decided to see a bit of Italy, and the glorious paintings, buildings,
and picturesque street-corners for which that country is so justly
renowned.
We borrowed books from all our friends, and sought second-hand
bookstalls for every conceivable authority, and a month before our day
for starting we were so brimful of knowledge, that we decided to acquire
no more, but to depend on what we had already achieved.
How tedious the days before the one memorable day which should see us
off to Bâle, and how alarming a cold in the head, caught by one of us
two days before the date! Would it develop into something too serious to
travel upon? Surely, never did so simple an ailment command so careful a
treatment or portend so formidable, or possibly formidable, a
catastrophe! Breakfast in bed was the order of the last two mornings,
and two visits from a doctor, who won golden opinions from the two jolly
bachelors for prescribing change as the best medicine. He is a wise
doctor, that Scotchman, and we will seek his counsel on other
occasions--though not just at present, we trust.
We left Victoria Station on an April morning, being "seen off" by three
kind friends, one of whom nearly lost his life by foolishly standing on
the carriage step while the train steamed to the full extent of the
platform. The risk our friend underwent only made us love him the more
for his devotion to his chums; and, really, we would prefer to see no
possible danger in such a friendly desire to prolong the last glimpse of
such interesting worthies as ourselves.
We found the sea at Dover very blue, as usual, and very smooth, so that
it was a very short passage to Calais, and we found considerable
pleasure in re-reading Ruskin's reference to the fine old church tower.
He says:--
"I cannot find words to express the intense pleasure I have always in
first finding myself, after some prolonged stay in England, at the foot
of the old tower of Calais church. The large neglect, the noble
unsightliness of it; the record of its years written so visibly, yet
without sign of weakness or decay; its stern wasteness and gloom, eaten
away by the Channel winds, and overgrown with the bitter sea grasses;
its slates and tiles all shaken and rent, and yet not falling; its
desert of brickwork, full of bolts, and holes, and ugly fissures, and
yet strong, like a bare brown rock; its carelessness of what any one
thinks or feels about it, putting forth no claim, having no beauty, nor
desirableness, pride, nor grace; yet neither asking for pity; not, as
ruins are, useless and piteous, feebly or fondly garrulous of better
days; but, useful still, going through its own daily work--as some old
fisherman, beaten grey by storm, yet drawing his daily nets, so it
stands, with no complaint about its past youth, in blanched and meagre
massiveness and serviceableness, gathering human souls together
underneath it; the sound of its bells for prayer still roiling through
its rents; and the grey peak of it seen far across the sea, principal of
the three that rise above the waste of surfy sand and hillocked
shore--the lighthouse for life, and the belfry for labour, and this--for
patience and praise.
"I cannot tell the half of the strange pleasures and thoughts that come
about me at the sight of that old tower; for, in some sort, it is the
epitome of all that makes the continent of Europe interesting, as
opposed to new countries; and, above all, it completely expresses that
agedness in the midst of active life which binds the old and the new
into harmony. We in England have our new streets, our new inn, our green
shaven lawn, and our piece of ruin emergent from it--a mere specimen of
the middle ages put on a bit of velvet carpet to be shown; and which,
but for its size, might as well be on a museum shelf at once, under
cover:--but, on the Continent, the links are unbroken between the past
and present; and, in such use as they can serve for, the grey-headed
wrecks are suffered to stay with men; while, in unbroken line, the
generations of spared buildings are seen succeeding, each in its place.
And thus, in its largeness, in its permitted evidence of slow decline,
in its poverty, in its absence of all pretence, of all show and care for
outside aspect, that Calais tower has an infinite of symbolism in it,
all the more striking because usually seen in contrast with English
scenes expressive of feelings the exact reverse of these."
At Tergnier we alighted for dinner, being allowed twenty minutes for
five courses and dessert. But hunger of a violent kind prevented any
unreasonable grumbling, and we fortified ourselves for a long night's
journey. Of course, when our dinner had digested, we thought of all the
horrors of midnight railway journeys, and remembered seeing the poor
Curate of St. Pancras after the same journey into Switzerland a year or
two ago. His head was plastered and bandaged, and he, poor fellow,
looked a sorry pickle after the burglary and attempted murder, but was
it not a splendid subject for a sermon when he found himself at
Chamounix and able to preach! And did he not profit by the unusual
opportunity! In thinking of this we each said our prayers quietly, when
we fancied the other was not looking, and towards midnight we wound up
our watches, which we understand are seldom remembered by travellers on
night journeys.
At this stage of the narrative it seems highly desirable to describe
ourselves, and we hasten to prove a total absence of any reluctance:
No. 1 is a slim youth just over twenty, with a delicate complexion and
curly hair, but whose digestion is atrocious, frequently causing his
normally amiable character to be tinged with viciousness, and
No. 2 is ten years older and the reverse of No. 1 in feature and figure,
and also (alas!) in disposition, being crotchety and irritable whenever
events turn out uncomfortably, as frequently happens when there are no
members of the fair sex near to make the passage through life's waters
smooth. He remembers, though would fain forget, some trifling
difficulties in the matter of mending, button sewings, &c., which caused
him to prove a less desirable companion than might otherwise have been
expected.
[Illustration: FLÜELEN.]
However, the two arrived safely at Bâle, and, after a matutinal bath in
a slop basin at the station, and a very hot breakfast in two minutes in
the refreshment room, proceeded direct to Lucerne, where they put up at
the Swanen.
Old Haefeli always pretends the keenest interest in the latest arrival,
so we were not surprised on the following day that our hotel bill was
not less than usual. Of course, before leaving that lovely town we did
the "lion" and the "lions" of the place, including the picturesque old
bridge, with its numerous paintings of horrible subjects connected with
the eventful lives of SS. Leodegar and Maurice, the patrons of Lucerne.
But, although there seems to be no way of getting at the details of the
story, thus primitively depicted, which evidently embraces old priests
without heads and warriors worshipping the phenomenon, we admired the
colouring and quaint drawings of the pictures.
The Rigi was partly covered with snow, so that it was impossible to get
either on foot or by train higher than Kaltbad--and when once an
official saw us attempting to walk through a likely field for a better
view, warned us sternly against any such foolhardy attempt.
This was amusing, after the information contained in the Hotel Guide
Book, which runs thus:--"Some daring ascensionists up the Rigi, only
obstinate themselves to disdain the railway, and so _walk_ up the
mountain _on foot_."
Our run down to Weggis was exhausting from the speed with which it was
done, but we soon found ourselves safely and comfortably ensconced at
the hotel at Brunnen, where we intended to spend the night previous to
proceeding by the St. Gothard into Italy.
_En passant_ we might remark on the pleasure of the Lucerne Lake, "out
of season." We were the only visitors in the hotel, and were treated
with liberality in the matter of fare, and with unbounded courtesy and
attention. Our walk through the village at night was grand from its
loneliness and mystery. We have since been there in August, but, O! how
different! We do not like brass bands and noisy German tourists.
Early next morning we went by steamer over the Lake of Flüelen, and were
much struck with the view of this place from the distance--the quaint
red steeple, and the little Swiss châlets looking so pretty against the
huge mountains, which are here more striking than anywhere on the banks
of the lake.
At Flüelen we continued our journey by the St. Gothard Railway, but by
an unlucky chance we got into a compartment with an Italian professor of
languages--a terrible nuisance--who was delighted at having an
opportunity of improving his English pronunciation at our expense.
The older and wiser bachelor, realising that it was impossible to
prevent our companion from chattering, determined to turn him to
account, and commenced to ask questions in Italian, adding to his small
store of knowledge of that language. But the younger bachelor, to whom
the magnificent scenery was entirely new, would stand the worry no
longer, and got into another compartment.
The scenery of the St. Gothard Pass, at once after leaving Flüelen, is
magnificent to a degree. At every turn of the railway is presented a
scene of snow mountains, of roaring torrents, and of towering
precipices, which are so characteristic of this superb country.
At Geschenen the train stopped for about half-an-hour, so we got out and
looked about us, and found, to our delight, the whole of this superb
gorge enveloped in snow. The novelty of the sight proved so tempting
that we resolved to see more of it, and ascend to Andermatt, some miles
from Geschenen, thus sacrificing our railway tickets to Lugano.
We ordered a carriage at the station, and wrapping ourselves up
well--for it was very cold--commenced our drive in right good spirits.
Before starting we were joined by a tall, handsome Englishman, who, like
ourselves, had not been able to resist the temptation of breaking his
journey at Geschenen.
Shortly after leaving the station we entered the dreary Schöllenen
defile, certainly one of the finest in all Switzerland. The road here is
cut in the sides of huge granite rocks. At the base of the gorge rushes
the foaming Reuss, tearing madly against the rocks, which try in vain to
arrest its course. All the way from Geschenen to Andermatt the ascent is
very steep--the road in some places being almost suspended over the
Reuss. Of course, our progress was slow, as, in addition to the
steepness of the road, we had to pass by (and sometimes through) huge
snow drifts from twelve to twenty feet high. When we crossed the famous
Devil's bridge it was covered with mist, produced by the spray from the
neighbouring cataracts. The _old_ Devil's bridge, a few feet below the
new one, has been disused for many years, and is now covered with moss
and lichens. After leaving these the road passes through a long tunnel
(covered with icicles in the early spring) into the valley of Unseren,
which No. 2 said was fertile in summer--but how different when we saw
it! The pastures were covered with snow and ice, and so altered was the
scene, that the younger bachelor (No. 1) thought he was beholding a huge
lake snowed over.
Andermatt looked very pretty with its ancient Romanesque church and
funny little white-washed châlets, and how glad we were to get there!
famished with hunger, and fearfully cold, notwithstanding all our
wrapping up! We drove to a smart-looking hotel, where we were received
pleasantly.
After dinner the younger bachelor, who is of rather a foolhardy
temperament, and is, or rather was, very green, was seized with a desire
to immortalise himself by climbing a mountain unattended, by sleeping
out in the snow, or doing something perfectly ridiculous. So, promising
his friend he would be back again in a couple of hours (a compact which
he never intended to keep, by the way), he marched out of the hotel
already thinking himself a kind of hero. Coming back again in about
three hours and a half, he related that he had gone past Hospenthal to
some place on the old St. Gothard road, where he was suddenly stopped by
the path being so covered with snow that farther progress was absolutely
impossible. So, humbled and disappointed, he came quickly home to find
his friend in a terrible state of mind at his lengthened absence. In the
evening we had some music--for both bachelors are musical--the older
having a baritone voice, and the younger playing the piano. How cold
that night was! and how welcome was the great eider-down pillow, which
is generally such a nuisance in continental hotels.
The next morning, after a hearty breakfast, we commenced our return
journey to Geschenen; the driver, after leaving the tunnel and the
snowdrifts, tearing down the defile at a most dangerous pace. At the
station we took fresh tickets to Lugano, travelling third-class to make
up for the extravagance of abandoning our former tickets, and then
waited for the train which was to take us to Italy. Yes, to Italy, that
wonderful country of which we had read so much, about which we had
acquired so much information, and had been so longing to see for the
last six months! The train, with its huge powerful engine, came slowly
into the station, looking very important, as if it knew that it was
conveying its passengers to the most famous country the world has ever
seen.
The entrance to the great tunnel is within a few yards of Geschenen
Station. When we consider that this is the longest tunnel in the world
(from Geschenen to Airolo, nearly nine and a half miles), and that the
rock which is pierced consists of such hard material as quartz and
granitic gneiss, the work may well claim to be one of the great
engineering feats of the century. The difficulty of supplying the
workmen engaged on the boring of the tunnel with air, necessitated the
building of huge air reservoirs (just outside Geschenen Station), which,
in addition, were used for setting the boring machines into motion. The
air was forced into these reservoirs by water supplied from the Reuss.
The operations were commenced at both ends in 1872, under the auspices
of M. Louis Favre. This great contractor, to whose industry and genius
so much of the final success of the scheme was due, died of apoplexy
whilst inspecting the tunnel, after seven years of unremitting labour
and anxiety. The difficulties which poor Favre had to contend against
were terrible, not the least of which were the crushing of the masonry,
the striking of springs, and a riot among the workmen, which took place
in 1875.
We were a little disappointed with the length of the tunnel, especially
as we had heard that the boring alone had taken nearly eight years to
accomplish. But travelling through a tunnel is not a very agreeable
sensation, as passengers by the Underground Railway will know, so we
were glad when the train emerged from the darkness and slowly wended its
way past Airolo, the first Italian village on the south side of the St.
Gothard. The scenery changes its character almost immediately on leaving
the tunnel; for though it is still, of course, mountainous, with a
roaring torrent, the Ticino, almost equal to the Reuss in its
impetuousness, yet it is much more luxuriant than the Swiss side.
Mulberry trees and vines gradually begin to appear, and the little
church towers (called in Italian, Campanili) becoming more frequent as
one goes south, greatly add to the picturesqueness of the landscape.
Here it may be as well to remind our girls that the Canton Ticino,
though Italian in language, in scenery, in architecture, and, in fact,
in all its characteristics, yet politically belongs to Switzerland.
After passing Faido the scenery becomes, if possible, more beautiful,
and at Bellinzona, the capital of the Canton, we saw our _beau-ideal_ of
Italian landscape. From a distance especially Bellinzona is very
striking, with its three castles and fine 16th century Abbey church;
though when one approaches it more closely, like so many Italian towns,
it is slightly disappointing.
As we approach Lugano, the mountains become less elevated, but the soil
far more rich and fertile, and the olive and aloe, so characteristic of
Italian landscape, are to be seen.
About an hour before reaching Lugano both of us began to feel unwell and
very irritable from the continual travelling; the younger of us
especially so, as he was rapidly developing an attack of his horrible
complaint--indigestion.
On arriving at Lugano we drove in the Hotel Omnibus to the Hotel du Parc
and ordered tea to be brought up into our room, after partaking of which
we went to sleep until table d'hôte time. The dinner was, of course, the
first we had tasted in Italy, and we cannot say that it impressed us
favourably with Italian cooking. Everything was oily and rich, and
suggested indigestion and biliousness. After dinner we strolled out of
the hotel to get our impressions of the town of Lugano. The first thing
we noticed was the beautiful Monte S. Salvatore, covered with verdure
from base to summit; and then we admired the charming position and
great picturesqueness of Lugano. Viewed from near the lake, and looking
back on to the town, the number and variety of the Campanili, the
flat-roofed houses scattered near the lake, and the hills covered with
foliage, presented a most delightful scene. With the lake itself we were
disappointed, the mountains struck us as being rather uniform and
uninteresting; the shape of the lake also is not so beautiful as that of
either Como or Maggiore, as we afterwards ascertained.
The interior of the town, with its arcades and quaint shops, so
thoroughly Italian, pleased us very much, and we experienced to the full
that delightful sensation of wandering about in a foreign town on a fine
evening just after sunset.
The Hotel du Parc, at which we stayed, was formerly a monastery, and
contains some rather interesting rooms and corridors. Near to this hotel
is a small church thoroughly unnoticeable from the outside; but which
contains three frescoes by Luini, one of which, the Passion, is not only
the masterpiece of the painter, but one of the finest and best preserved
frescoes in existence. And here we may say a few words about fresco
painting, which is such a marked feature in the Italian churches and
buildings. We do so, because some people, even those who ought to know
better, are in the habit of describing any wall-painting as a fresco;
whereas so many of the wall-paintings, especially in Italy, are not
frescoes at all, but distemper paintings on a dry surface. The real
fresco consists of painting upon plaster, while it is wet. The piece of
plaster which is to be painted upon must be only sufficient for a single
day's work--any that is left over must be cut away, and a fresh piece
added for the next day's work. This accounts for the strongly indented
lines which are really the joins in the plaster work.
The fresco of the Passion before alluded to covers the chancel arch of
the little church, and is divided into two complete sections,
representing various scenes from the Passion. This arrangement, by the
way, is not at all uncommon in early Italian frescoes, and, although it
has been severely criticised, there is no doubt that it often lends
great richness to the composition, though occasionally, from the number
of subjects depicted, and the absence of sky and foreground, it makes
the painting appear confused and over-crowded. The first thing that
strikes one in the work, is three crosses in the largest scale of the
picture, which stand out apart from the rest. On the lower section are
seen the holy women mourning for our Lord, and Roman soldiers on
horseback, the former painted with great beauty and pathos--on this row
also are St. John and a very vigorous group representing the
executioners casting lots for the garments. Above are depicted various
stages of the Passion, and the unbelief of Thomas--this last containing
a most beautiful and dignified representation of Christ. Above both
rows, on either side of the fresco, are two scenes; one being the agony
in the garden, and the other the Ascension. Beneath, between the arches
supporting the fresco, are SS. Sebastian and Roch, the former as fine as
anything in the picture.
As Luini's great work is the most northern fresco of any importance, and
is generally the first seen by the visitor to Italy, it serves as a kind
of introduction to the art which distinguishes that glorious land.
(_To be continued._)
CHILD ISLAND.
A FAIRY TALE FOR YOUNGER GIRLS.