[Illustration: THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER
VOL. XX.—NO. 1021.] JULY 22, 1899. [PRICE ONE PENNY.]
AFTER THE STORM.
BY SARAH DOUDNEY.
Patience! for the strife is o’er;
Weary wave and dying blast
Beat and moan around the shore;
Peace must come at last.
Lo! the seagull’s silver wing
Flashes in the sunset gold;
Wait, another morn shall bring
Gladness, as of old.
Sunlight on the yellow strand,
Shadows lying still and clear,
Pearly fringes on the sand;
Murmurs, sweet to hear.
Storms of life must have their way
Ere these changeful years may cease;
Foam and tempest for to-day,
And to-morrow—peace.
Never till the fight is won,
And the bitter draught is drained—
Never till the storm is done
Shall thy rest be gained.
Waves and winds fulfil His word;
Thou, like them, shalt do His will,
Waiting till His voice is heard
Saying, “Peace, be still.”
[Illustration]
_All rights reserved._]
THE HOUSE WITH THE VERANDAH.
BY ISABELLA FYVIE MAYO, Author of “Other People’s Stairs,” “Her Object
in Life,” etc.
CHAPTER XVII.
LIFE’S LITTLE AMENITIES.
Determined to do all she could to please Florence, Lucy donned a pretty
evening dress which she had already worn on the few occasions when she
and Charlie had left their “ain fireside.” She had freshened it up with
white net ruching about the throat and arms. She indulged herself with
a cluster of roses, and in order to arrive as early as possible, she
treated herself to a cab, though otherwise, in the warm summer evening,
her thrifty inclination would have been to shroud herself in a cloak
and eke out the journey by an omnibus.
Still there seemed something exhilarating in the little outburst of
elegance, ease and harmless “extravagance.” For once, surely, Florence
would be quite satisfied. And certainly Mrs. Brand’s glance swept all
over Lucy, from her little comb to her very shoes, even before she
kissed her.
Mrs. Brand was not yet in her drawing-room awaiting her guests, but in
her own apartment completing her dinner toilet. A tired sullen-looking
servant was in attendance, and was curtly dismissed by her mistress
when Lucy came in.
“It’s getting late, Lucy,” said Mrs. Brand, “and the few minutes we can
have now is all the time we shall enjoy together. If I want a hand,
you’ll help me, won’t you? I’m glad to get rid of Sophy, she’s so
stupid and clumsy.”
“You haven’t started a maid, have you, Flo?” asked Mrs. Challoner.
Her sister looked at her, half-bewildered, then replied—
“No, that’s the parlour-maid. I know what you are thinking—that she
will soon be telling me ‘it is not her place’ to push in a hairpin, or
fasten a hook. I ought to have a proper maid, I know. But when I said
so to Jem, he said there were already six women in the house to help
his wife to do her part of the partnership, while to get the money
which keeps the whole affair floating, there are only himself and two
clerks. Jem turns that way sometimes. It’s very ridiculous of him. But
he generally comes right by-and-by. Men do, if one knows how to manage
them. The crosser he is the sooner it’s over, and the more sorry he is,
and the more ready to make amends.”
“But six women, Flo?” echoed Lucy, “Is it really so? That’s an
increase, isn’t it?”
“Six women and a boy—the page,” Florence returned in a stage whisper.
“Jem actually forgot all about him, for, of course, he should have
counted in somewhere, either on my side or Jem’s.”
“That’s an increased contingent, isn’t it?” asked Lucy.
“Well, yes, I believe it is. I’ve not seen you for such a time. There’s
cook and her scullery-maid, and the housemaid, and the parlour-maid,
and the schoolroom-maid, and the nursery governess. And it is not one
more than is needed. Mrs. Jinxson, next door, has only one child, but
she has seven women servants, and a footman instead of a boy. And she
wasn’t brought up as we were, Lucy. She was quite a common person. You
can see that still, under all the veneer. You’ll meet her to-night.
I say, Lucy, how nice you look! How do you manage it? I believe the
fairies dress you sometimes! I am so glad you’ve come. It is such folly
of you to tie yourself up to Hugh. Why, a queen’s children have to be
left to servants sometimes. I don’t think you had any high hopes of
your present girl, but I suppose she is giving you satisfaction, and is
turning out a swan, as geese have a knack of doing under your hands.”
Lucy was not quite proof against Florence’s little flatteries. They
reminded her of old times. She answered playfully—
“My ‘present girl,’ as you call her—you must mean Jane Smith—is now my
past girl, and is represented by another who is a woman of about forty.”
“Dear, dear! So you’ve had another change! Even immaculate you! Now you
won’t wonder at my changes. You used not to find it easy to believe
they were necessary. But you won’t readily get another Pollie. Such
good fortune does not recur.”
Lucy did not remind her sister of her former doubts and sneers
concerning Pollie, and she little knew that Florence’s rash and
thoughtless talk had prematurely cost her the services of that young
woman.
“What went wrong with Jane Smith?” asked Mrs. Brand.
“She had a lover whose visits I permitted,” answered Lucy bravely,
fully aware that after this she would receive no more flattery, but
only censure. “And she changed him for another without one week’s
intermission, and without one word of explanation to me. Then when she
felt I would remonstrate, she gave me notice, and has taken service
with my opposite neighbours.”
Florence laughed elfishly.
“Poor Lucy!” she cried. “When will you learn sense? The only way to do
is to forbid all visitors whatever, as I do.”
“Very Draconian and very unfair that seems to me,” said Lucy, “and apt,
like all Draconian laws, to be ignored.”
“Of course it is,” answered Florence. “And I know how it is done. Our
gates, back and front, are heavy, and we can hear them open or shut.
But our next-door neighbour—the other side from the Jinxsons—is a
doctor, and he leaves his gates open, that a night call may be readily
and noiselessly attended to at his hall door. Consequently, my girls’
‘young men’ come through his gate at night-fall, and leap over the low
railing between our gardens. They depart in the same way.”
“Then of what service is your rule?” asked Lucy.
“It saves us from all responsibility,” Florence answered. “Whoever
is in the house, or whatever happens, it is all absolutely against
our strict orders, and the girls have no excuse to fall back upon. Of
course, we know—and they know—that we cannot enforce our rule, seeing
that Jem and I go out so much of an evening.”
“Well, I think it is all very unfair and demoralising,” said Lucy. “A
respectable girl who wishes to obey you is reduced to solitude, and her
decent friends and connexions are kept away, while any hussy who does
not care a whit for your regulations is able to enjoy herself to her
heart’s content. It is precisely the young men who are prepared ‘to
leap over walls’ whom I would wish to keep out of my house!”
“Well, ‘the proof of the pudding is in the eating,’” returned Florence.
“And now that you have lost your paragon, and are reduced to the rank
and file of domestic servants, you do not seem to get on much better
than the rest of us. What sort of person have you got now?”
“A middle-aged woman—as I told you, a Highland woman. She was
recommended to me by Mrs. Bray’s Rachel,” said Lucy.
“She ought to be another paragon, then,” remarked Florence; “for
Rachel is a model. It needs to be a saint to live with Mrs. Bray, who
keeps her maid ‘going’ from morning to night. And evidently you start
with implicit trust in your Highland woman, as you have so promptly
trusted Hugh to her society, in defiance of all your stoutly defended
principles.”
“I think I might trust him with her,” Lucy answered mildly.
“Nevertheless I should not have done so yet. I have Miss Latimer
staying with me, and Hugh is left in the company of young Tom Black.
Don’t you remember the nice lad Charlie was so interested in, and who
was one of my visitors on that awful Christmas Day? He has come to
board with us.”
Florence sprang up, and confronted her sister.
“What?” she cried, with startling emphasis.
“He has come to board with us,” Lucy repeated. “He had lost the good
home Charlie had found for him, and as I saw this Clementina Gillespie
was a person who could be trusted to keep the housework regularly done,
I suggested that he should come to us. He makes life much happier for
Hugh than I can do myself just now.”
“Well, to be sure!” said Florence. “And so you’ve turned lodging-house
keeper. You don’t mean to say you needed to do it, Lucy?” she asked
with a bitter tone. “In that case you might first have spoken to Jem
and me——”
“I cannot say I needed to do it. So far as money is concerned,
everything is going on as I arranged and hoped,” returned Lucy. “Rather
I felt that the house is the better for another friendly inmate, full
of good nature and spirits. I do not repent of it. Miss Latimer is
old, the servant is elderly, and I am often too tired to talk to Hugh
or play with him. If it will comfort your gentility to know there is
not much money profit in the new arrangement, I can give you that
assurance, Florence. Young Black pays me exactly what he gave Mrs. Mott
in her little suburban house. It is a trifle over his actual expenses
(as I can see by watching the weekly bills). But it cannot be said
to take its share in the upkeep of a house in Pelham Street. It is a
friendly agreement. Of course Tom could not afford more.”
“Then you give up your privacy—your social status—for absolutely
nothing!” cried Florence. “I never did see anybody like you, Lucy. If
you don’t want to make a profit out of your lodger, why did you take
one? You could have got scores of young ladies glad to live in such
a house as yours, without any salary—or even, I do believe, paying a
trifle, and you could have called her Hugh’s ‘governess’ or your own
‘companion.’ You might have taken Hugh away from the Kindergarten, and
let her teach him at home. Any young lady could teach Hugh all he needs
to learn yet.”
Lucy shook her head. “Every young lady has not been taught how to
teach,” she answered. “If she had, it would not be fair to take her
training for nothing.”
“Oh, fair enough, if she were ready to give it,” said Florence. “There
are plenty of girls, with a little means of their own—who can’t get
on with their own people, and don’t care to submit to the restraints
of really salaried employment—who would have just suited you. And, as
I say, I have no doubt there are many such who would even pay you as
much as this boy does. For Pelham Street is a good address (nobody
knows yours is the only small house there), and your appointment as
art-teacher at the Institute would satisfy their friends of your
eligibility as a chaperon.”
Lucy shook her head more vigorously. “I am not eligible as a chaperon,”
she said. “I want my evenings for rest, and my Saturdays for my child
and my house. And I am prejudiced against girls of the very type you
say I might have found so ready to come to me. I certainly would not
subject Hugh to the casual instructions of such errant misses. I desire
his school education to proceed in orderly fashion. Therefore my
household furnishes no occupation or interest for any who are without
regular occupation or interests of their own outside of it. But you
miss the true point of the position, Florence. The girls you speak of
are all strangers to me. I know none such. But I do know Tom Black.
Charlie also knew him and liked him. If I had known equally well some
young woman-clerk or teacher also in Tom’s plight, I should have made
the same suggestion to her which I made to him.”
“Miss Latimer ought to have been ready to teach Hugh and look after
him, considering she is staying with you,” observed Florence.
“Miss Latimer has her own pupils,” Lucy answered. “She has as much work
as her strength is equal for. And she is not my guest, Florence, but my
boarder. She pays her own expenses, and I am much indebted to her for
giving me the comfort of her society.”
“What can she afford to pay?” Florence asked contemptuously. “One
comfort is that it sounds well to say you have your old governess
living with you. Nobody will think she pays anything.”
Lucy was severely silent.
“And to open your house only to lower it, to get in people earning
wages or salaries, or whatever they please to call them!” groaned
Florence. “If you chose to do such a thing, you might have acted so
differently! It might not have been a bad idea if you had worked it
out wisely. I’ve known reduced ladies who have really kept their
establishments going in this way, taking care never to receive anybody
but those who could pay really well. There are always wealthy families
ready to pay handsomely to secure a happy home for some member who was
born with a want or whose mind has failed. Jem has some friends who
pay three hundred pounds a year for the care of their sister, quite
a gentlewoman and cultivated, but just a little ‘touched.’ I believe
he could have secured her for you if we had dreamed of such a thing.
But of course you’d have had to keep a second servant and a first-rate
table. Still, if you’d managed well, I believe it might have paid you
better than going to the Institute. And it would have kept you quite
in touch with social life, instead of shutting you out of it, as your
daily engagements do.”
Florence poured her words out in such a rapid stream that Lucy could
not launch a word on the current. “My dear sister,” she said, “to my
mind there is no shame in any honest work or domestic arrangement. But
it seems to me that one imports pain into these domestic arrangements
precisely in the degree in which money matters and ‘profits’ come
into them rather than individual selection and personal harmony. And
certainly while I can earn bread in any other way I shall not bring a
half crazy woman to live in the house with Hugh.”
“Well, still there are others,” persisted Florence. “There’s the
Arcuts’ son. He isn’t an idiot; he is quite gentlemanly; he just has
a want. Of course it is painful for his people, and they pay ever so
much for a home apart for himself and his man-servant. They like him
to live in a lady’s house and to sit at her table, so as to keep up
refined habits. Or there are many well-to-do married couples who like
to board, because they don’t get on very well alone together, or the
wife doesn’t care for the trouble of housekeeping. I believe Jem and I
may do it, when we are old and the girls are married off.”
“Florence,” repeated Lucy patiently, “I tell you again, you miss the
whole point of the position. I did not do this for money. I did it
because under present conditions it seemed an opportunity for the
interchange of neighbourly service. If Charlie had been at home, I am
sure he would have asked the boy to be our guest for a week or two,
till some fit home was found for him, which Charlie would have helped
to find. I have done the next best thing—the one thing possible under
present circumstances, and I receive a favour in giving one, which
is always the most wholesome and pleasant thing for both parties
concerned.”
“It seems to me that you consider everybody and everything except your
own position and the feelings of your relations,” returned Florence.
“But it is high time we were downstairs; and I must put the whole
matter out of my mind for the present, or I shall not be fit to receive
my visitors. That ever I should live to see the day——”
She bustled off leaving her sentence unfinished, Lucy meekly following
her.
If Lucy’s news had “shocked” Florence, Lucy was certainly startled by
the new standpoint in the Brand establishment! If the five people to
whom she was introduced—quite strange to her, and in most elaborate
toilettes—were “one or two friends,” what represented “formality” in
the Brand ideas? Of course, the hostess’s sister was introduced to them
all—a murmur of names, a waving of bowing figures, amid which Lucy
caught the name of Jinxson, and was able to associate it with a little
woman, in emerald green brocade, a thatch of tawny curls beetling over
a brow which needed no dwarfing. Then she found herself relegated to
the more special society of a very tall man, very dark, with a sounding
Highland name, whose prefix alone fastened itself upon her ears,
so that ever afterwards she thought of him as “Mr. Mac.” He opened
conversation with her by asking first if she had seen the last opera,
and then if she contemplated going “for the autumn” to the Highlands
or to Norway? Then he murmured, “May I have the honour,” and they fell
into the procession filing into the dining-room.
The dining-room was a still further revelation of the long distance
the Brands’ customs had travelled during the few months since Lucy had
last joined in their social life. Fine napery they had always had,
but now the long table-cloth was edged with rich embroidery and heavy
lace. The table centre was a creamy film over pale rose-satin, and that
note of colour was carried out in every detail of china, glass and
floral decoration. The latter was a wonderful arrangement, which Lucy
at once knew it must have taken hours to work out. The menu was equally
elaborate; one out-of-season delicacy followed another. The wines and
liqueurs seemed to Lucy to be equally rare and choice, judging from
their names whispered in her ear ever and again by two men in severely
correct evening dress who “waited at table,” and were in their turn
waited upon by the housemaid and the parlour-maid.
One of the ladies exclaimed on the loveliness of the floral scheme.
“What genius you have at your service, Mrs. Brand!” she cried.
“Oh, not at my service only,” Florence replied nonchalantly. “I could
not trust such a thing to my maids, and I could not spare time for it
myself. Gosson, the florist, knows of one or two young women whom he
recommends for such work.”
“It needs much taste,” said the Highland gentleman.
“Oh, I understand they are quite superior people,” Florence answered.
“When I asked if one could rely on their honesty, he gave me the
history of the one he meant to send. The daughter of a doctor, I
think Gosson said, who had found it so impossible to provide for his
family by his profession that he was tempted into speculation, and, of
course, lost everything and committed suicide. It looked odd to see the
dismal-looking girl in black creating such visions of beauty.”
“Ah, you have such a sensitive heart, dear Mrs. Brand,” said Mrs.
Jinxson. “I should not wonder you helped her with most valuable
suggestions. I think I trace your exquisite taste.” Florence smiled and
did not reply.
Conversation on the whole was not very brisk. Possibly there was too
much shifting of plates and variety of flavours to admit of that.
Lucy found herself seated between her tall escort and a stout man
with a closely shaven head. The former, finding it hard to discover
any subject on which Lucy was readily responsive, devoted himself
chiefly to Florence at the head of the table. His remarks concerned
bags of game, a county hunt and a forthcoming military ball. Lucy’s
other neighbour, whose name she had never caught, made a polite effort
to include her in a conversation going on between himself and Mr.
Brand. It consisted of mutual congratulations as to the magnificent
prospects of a certain “company,” laudation of a man whom Lucy believed
to be a most dangerous enemy to British freedom and honour, and
scornful denunciations of another whom she regarded as their faithful
champion. Lucy could not attempt expostulation or argument under
such circumstances, but she was thankful that her silences were soon
sufficiently understood to check any further appeals for her sympathy
and concurrence. These were readily tendered by Mrs. Jinxson, who
indeed went beyond the gentleman in her derogation of the statesman
whose influence they deprecated.
When dessert made its appearance, little Muriel and Sybil came upon
the scene. The one was a trifle older than Lucy’s Hugh, the other as
much younger. They were artistically dressed, with fair hair floating
over their shoulders. “Just like little pictures!” cried Mrs. Jinxson
ecstatically. Lucy’s Highland escort began to pay court to Sybil as she
stood between him and her mother. He heard her whispered appeal for a
pear which lay in a dish immediately on his right hand.
“Yes, little lady, you shall have it at once,” he said, “but you must
pay me for it. Do you think you will be able to afford one little kiss?”
The child looked up at him with her hard blue eyes. “Give me the pear,”
she said.
“Certainly; I will trust my payment to my little lady’s honour,” said
the gentleman.
Sybil snatched the pear from his hand.
“I will kiss oo when oo washes oor face,” she said rudely in a sharp
childish treble. The other guests laughed. The Highlander coloured
beneath his swarthy complexion.
Muriel had worked her way round to her Aunt Lucy. “Why are you dressed
in black?” she whispered. “The governess always wears black; but that’s
because she’s only the governess. But then you’re only a governess too,
aren’t you? Nurse said so.”
“I think the lady opposite us wishes to speak to you,” Lucy said,
disregarding her niece’s remarks, and noting that the elderly dame at
the other side of the table was making enticing gesticulations.
Muriel shook herself. “I’m not going,” she said, in a stage whisper. “I
don’t like her. I don’t like people who wear spectacles.”
“But, Muriel,” pleaded Lucy, in a low tone, “you ought not to make
personal remarks of that sort! And your mamma herself will have to wear
spectacles if she lives long enough.”
“Then I hope she won’t,” said Muriel. She was going to say something
else, but interrupted herself to put out her tongue at Sybil at the
other side of the table. Possibly Mrs. Brand herself noticed this
performance, and as rebuke to such children at such a moment would have
probably had still more compromising results, all she could do was to
make the signal for the ladies’ retreat into the drawing-room.
Mrs. Jinxson evidently held the position of intimate in the Brand
mansion. She and Florence promptly began to exchange confidences, while
Lucy took up her rôle of the hostess’s sister by trying to interest the
spectacled dame. That lady, however, preferred to strike into the other
conversation.
“Do I hear you say you are changing your footman, Mrs. Jinxson?” she
said.
“Yes,” said that lady, turning to her with animation. “I was just
congratulating dear Mrs. Brand on only keeping a page. It is far better
to secure, for occasions, such perfect attendance as we have had
to-night than to have to endure one’s own man-servant, who is always
either a clumsy raw hand or a finished villain—either quarrelling
with one’s maids or making love to them. But Mr. Jinxson will have his
own way; he has always been used to men-servants, and he will not hear
reason.”
Mr. Jinxson’s father, a very respectable man, had kept a pleasant
little hotel in a provincial town.
“We are parting with our present footman,” Mrs. Jinxson proceeded,
“because he is so crude. Nothing will mellow him. When we have
gentlemen’s dinner parties—as we so often do—and story-telling and
jokes are going, his face is covered with a broad grin. Once I actually
heard him giggle.” She turned to Lucy. “Such a thing is unendurable, is
it not? It is the A B C of a servant’s training, man or woman, that not
a muscle shall move whatever is said or done. What right have they to
take an interest in anything but their work?”
Now this very difficulty had occurred in some of the houses where
Lucy’s friend, Miss Latimer, had been governess. She and Lucy had
discussed it together. Miss Latimer had told her that Dr. Thomas
Guthrie, the great preacher, having heard such a complaint raised
against a servant, had remarked that, for his part, if a servant were
able to conceal all interest in family mirth or misery going on before
his eyes, he should be inclined to wonder what else he had acquired
equal skill in concealing. Lucy told this little story with a smile and
without any comment.
The spectacled lady stared at her stonily. Mrs. Jinxson gave a
polite sniff, and there was a little motion of Florence’s head which
effectually suppressed her sister.
But at that moment the gentlemen came upstairs, and the conversation
drifted into chit-chat about books which nobody seemed to have read,
and pictures which nobody seemed to have seen. Then there was “a little
music”—the elderly spectacled dame contributing “My mother bids me
bind my hair,” and Mr. Jinxson following suit with “My love, she’s but
a lassie yet.” Then somebody’s carriage was announced, and the little
party broke up, Lucy naturally being the last to leave.
“Flo, you’ve never asked me the details of my last news from Charlie,”
whispered Lucy—speaking playfully and meaning no reflection on her
sister—as she and the Brands stood on the stairs waiting for the
drawing up of Lucy’s cab.
“There, make a grievance and a fuss over that!” cried Florence, her
nerves breaking between the tension in which they had been held by
her anxiety that “all should go off well,” and the consciousness of
sundry lapses which she felt sure had not escaped the lynx eyes of Mrs.
Jinxson. “Of course, I expect you to tell me anything that is worth
telling! But you just lie in wait to catch——”
“Your cab, mum,” said the page.
And Lucy hastily kissed Florence and kept her news to herself.
(_To be continued._)
BOOKS BEFORE TRAVEL.
BY DORA DE BLAQUIÈRE.
PART II.
I have put together the Latin nations, as well as those of Eastern
Europe, for convenience’ sake. Indeed the literature of Italy forms,
of itself, one library, and that of Venice another; for there seems no
native of any distant country who has not tried his prentice hand on
Venice, in some of her many aspects. The American authors have been
much attracted by the Queen of the Adriatic. From Byron to Browning,
our English masters of poetry have delighted in it, and we must by no
means omit the _Stories of Venice_ and other works on it by Ruskin,
which will take some time to read. Shelley, Rogers, and Browning—the
first-named in _Euganean Hills_ and the last in _In a Gondola_ and many
other poems—showed they were full of its spirit and colour.
Howell lived there for many years, and has given us _Venetian Life_,
besides _Italian Journeys_, _Tuscan Cities_, and _Alfieri_ and the
_Modern Italian Poets_. Its book-lore, music, and the _Technical
History of its Lace Manufacture_, glass, ceramics, and architecture,
have all been written of in turn by different writers. One of the
last and best is Robertson’s _Bible of St. Mark’s_. J. A. Symonds has
written _New Italian Sketches_, and _Life on a Doge’s Farm_. There is
also a delightful new book in A. M. Hopkinson Smith’s _Gondola Days_.
Mrs. Oliphant has a book on the _Makers of Venice_, as well as the
_Makers of Florence_.
In the way of Italian stories, we have Hans Andersen’s _Improvisatore_,
Whyte Melville’s _Gladiators_, and the series of Marion Crawford,
beginning with _Saracenesca_, which are full of older days in Rome,
the middle portion of this century. Bulwer too has given us _Rienzi_
and _The Last Days of Pompeii_. _Romola_ by George Eliot, and many of
Lever’s novels, picture for us a Florence which has passed away. Nor
must we forget _John Inglesant_, and its remarkable picture of an Italy
in the middle ages. In Italian we have the famous novel, _I Promessi
Sposi_, _Marco Visconti_, and many much more modern books, including
those of Silvio Pellico, Amicis, which are all interesting, and written
also in Italian of a more modern style, which has taken on some shades
of difference from the French. If you intend going to Italy, you should
by all means try to get a few Italian lessons, if only to accustom your
ear to the sound of the spoken tongue.
The Venetian school of painters is famous for their colouring. The best
known of the great Venetian masters are, Paul Veronese, Tintoretto,
and Titian; and you must know something of them. The last half of the
fifteenth century and the first half of the sixteenth were the great
periods of Italian art, and besides Varsari’s great works, you should
read Benvenuto Cellini’s autobiography; and also a good history of
Italian art, such as Crowe and Cavalcaselle’s _History of Painting in
Italy_. Nor must you omit to learn something of the early history of
music, which has so much of Italian in its origin; and poetry which
numbers Dante and Petrarch, Ariosto and Tasso, in its ranks. You should
likewise understand something of Italian architecture, and of its three
schools, Venetian, Florentian, and Roman.
I remember well my own burning desire to learn something of the meaning
of the things which surrounded me, and how I devoured everything that
came in my way, so that the book list in my note-book and the copious
notes surprise me to this day: Sismondi’s _Italian Republics_, Roscoe’s
_Life of Lorenzo di Medicis_, Sir William Gell’s works, Mrs. Jameson’s
books, and the lives of all the painters I could reach in English,
French, and Italian.
If we wander away from the more modern side of life in Italy, we are
even more interested. The Etruscans and their cities, the early days
of Rome, Rome in Christian days, and the wars and tumults of the
middle ages, have all in turn swayed the Peninsula, and have all had
their historians too. The Etruscans are the most mysterious people of
antiquity, and in the Etruscan museum at Florence you will first be
able to gauge the artistic products of this ancient people in bronze
and earthenware. Their power attained its zenith in the sixth century
B.C., and you ought to know something about them in order to comprehend
better the Roman civilisation.
Next in interest to the Etruscans, to me, were the Catacombs in Rome,
and all the Roman monuments there; and you will speedily learn to
distinguish the different styles both of architecture and ornament.
An excellent _Handbook to Christian and Ecclesiastical Rome_ by M. A.
R. Tuker and H. Malleson has just been published in a series of four
parts, two of which are now out, and parts three and four will soon be
issued in one volume. It is intended to give the visitor a complete
historical and descriptive account of Christian Rome in a handy form
not at present otherwise available. The first part deals with the
wonderful churches and basilicas of Rome, while Part II. deals with
the various ceremonies, and Parts III. and IV. with all the monastic
orders, the colleges, palaces, etc., in fact, all those particulars
that everyone wants to know so much, and finds it so difficult to
discover for themselves. This handbook is published by A. & C. Black at
a very moderate price, and is being much recommended by the well-known
travelling agents, Messrs. Cook and Dr. Lund. Middleton’s _Rome_ deals
more with classical Rome, and Story’s _Roba di Roma_ with things as
they are. Augustus Hare’s _Walks about Rome_ is very useful, and so are
Mrs. Jameson’s great books, _Sacred and Legendary Art_ and _Legends of
the Monastic Orders_; and also Withrow’s _Catacombs of Rome_. _Rienzi_,
_The Gladiators_, the _Improvisatore_, and Marion Crawford’s novels,
all deal with Rome from that fictitious side which is founded on facts;
and all of them paint a different Rome. T. A. Trollope’s books on
Italy, Leader Scott’s, and the delightful books of Professor Villari
and his wife, are all delightful reading, and you will gain an idea
of those two wonderful Italians, Giordano Bruno and Savonarola, who
were at once patriots, reformers and martyrs. There are, and have ever
been, so many Romes, the scenes of which pass before you like those in
a drama; and the more you know the more you will enjoy, in your visits
to her storied stones. Do you think I am laying too much stress on your
study of Rome? When you begin to read you will see that in art, poetry,
and literature, in science and in things that made the beauty of life,
she has always led the way. But two things you will have to return to
England to study, the growth of true freedom and the development of
constitutional law; these were of home manufacture.
To understand Italian poets, especially Dante, your knowledge of
Italian history must be fairly good, and the study of Italian
literature would demand more time, probably, than you will have to give
to it. So I will not enter into that subject, but I will advise you to
take an Italian daily paper directly you begin your study of Italian,
if you do so; for you will very soon be able to spell out a great deal
of its contents, and this will aid you in mastering the language. They
are fortunately very cheap indeed. My first purchase when I get into
North Italy, after passing through the St. Gotthard, and getting near
Milan, is the _Corriere della Sera_ (or the _Evening Courier_) of that
city, of which I am very fond, as it is full of general news and is
amusing. In Florence and Rome I am very erratic in my choice, and only
think of avoiding too fine and close print, and bad paper, as these
are often the faults of Italian papers. But at all times there is the
delightful _Nuova Antologia_ to be had; and at Lausanne there is the
_Révue Nationale_. Both of these reviews, or magazines, are of the best
kind, and the same may be said of the _Révue de Deux Mondes_. If you
can enjoy French, all these can be easily obtained in England, as most
libraries take them.
And now I must turn from Italy, as I think you will know quite enough
about it for a short visit; and let me hope that you will not be
one of the disappointed ones, to whom none of her attractions have
appealed, who see nothing of her many-sidedness, and note none of that
endless procession of people who made her history through the ages,
and understand none of the things which make her everlasting charm. A
well-known prelate said the other day, “General culture is sympathetic
interest in the world of human intelligence,” and this to me is a
definition which explains much of the so-called “disappointment” we
hear of to-day.
The books about Spain are legion, and the best of it is that they are
also infinitely delightful, so that, while improving our minds, we may
do it with thorough enjoyment to ourselves. Here, too, the foreigner
has been most bountiful, and has endowed Spanish literature with
jewels of research and beauty. To begin only with those of America, we
have Washington Irving’s _Conquest of Grenada_, and the _Alhambra_,
Prescott’s _Ferdinand and Isabella_, _Philip the Second of Spain_,
and the _Conquest of Mexico and Peru_. Amicis, also, has a charming
book on _Spain and the Spaniards_, and there are one or two, not very
new, but exceedingly interesting, by the Rev. Hugh James Rose, one of
them called _Untrodden Spain_, and a newer one by J. A. O’Shea, called
_Romantic Spain_. If we do not read Spanish, we may enjoy Longfellow’s
beautiful translations from the Spanish poets, and if we do know it, we
may read the great novelist, Fernan Caballero. Perhaps it will surprise
you to hear that Spain possesses several very able female novelists,
besides the lady I have mentioned, and another one, Emilia Bazan Pardo.
In the story of the nations, we have _The Moors in Spain_, by Stanley
Lane Poole, which should also be read, and you will find Murray’s
_Handbook for Spain_, a perfect and voluminous guide. There are several
others as well. Spain has fewer foreigners than any other European
country resident in her borders, and she has the smallest population in
proportion to her size. Travelling in Spain will be of the greatest
use to you in cultivating the virtue of patience, and you can, at the
same time, take lessons in politeness. If you do not know anything of
Italian, you will find Spanish much pleasanter to learn, for the one
language seems to act as an extinguisher to the other, in my mind, and
I hear others say the same thing, for they are so much alike, and yet
quite different. A smattering of Spanish, however, will be very useful
to you, as English is not so well known as in other countries. Murray’s
_Handbook_ was written by Richard Ford, and he has also written
_Gatherings from Spain_, and he is the standard authority on everything
connected with its study. There is a book by a Miss Thomas, called _A
Scamper through Spain and Tangier_, which would be useful to those
who wish to make a cheap tour in Spain. She visited the chief Spanish
cities. Ticknor’s _History of Spanish Literature_ is the standard work
on the subject.
Portugal is not one of the very popular tourist lounges, and the
ordinary person has a hazy idea of it as connected with port wine, and
the earthquake at Lisbon, and has probably heard of Inez di Castro,
Vasco de Gama, and Prince Henry the navigator; and the Jubilee of 1887
made us all acquainted with the fact that the Royal Family of Portugal
are near relations of our own, as on that occasion the Crown Prince
and Princess were seen very frequently about London. Perhaps many of
my readers may know also that Camoëus is the great Portuguese poet,
who was the author of the _Lusiad_, a poem which has received such
recognition in England that it has been translated four times, the last
time by Adamson, who wrote a biography of the poet, and the late Lord
Strangford translated some of his minor poems. The only really good
book on general Portuguese history is that in “The Story of the Nations
Series” by H. M. Stephens. There is also a book by W. A. Salisbury,
_Portugal and its People_, which is a popular work and well compiled.
_Round the Calendar in Portugal_ is a book by Oswald Crawford, which I
have enjoyed very much, but I think that there is plenty of room for
another or even two or three more about Portugal, which perhaps some of
my girl-readers would like to undertake.
Amongst Mrs. Pennell’s delightful books, the whole of which are
worth reading, is one dealing with Hungary and Roumania, which is
called _Gipsyland_; and Mrs. Elliot has a _Diary of an Idle Woman in
Constantinople_. There are one or two lives of Carmen Sylva, the Queen
of Roumania.
Egypt has had plenty of explorers, and I think you will enjoy
Wilkinson’s _Manners and Customs_, Mariette Bey’s writings, and Miss
Edwards’ delightful books. Then there is Lane’s _Modern Egyptians_,
and as a really delightful thing you had better read Miss Gates’ book,
the _Chronicles of the Cid_. Stanley Lane Poole’s book on _Cairo_, and
Alfred Milner’s _England in Egypt_, are quite modern works, and Charles
Warner has written a very interesting one too. For the Soudan, Major
Wingate’s book is a good one, and you ought to be charmed with all
those written by Mr. and Mrs. Bent. There are many books on Palestine,
but none more useful than Thomson’s _Land and the Book_, for those who
wish to travel through the Holy Land with the Bible in their hands.
And now I think I may leave my task of guiding my readers into such
reading of many books as will give them enjoyment in their travels in
foreign lands. I have not done more than speak of some of the many
works which have interested me, for I find others that have been
perused, but which do not seem important nor useful enough to be
mentioned. In many Continental cities there are fairly good libraries,
from which you can procure books dealing with the city in which you are
staying; and if you are a rapid reader, you can do much in the way of
skimming-over the ground, and a few photographs will remind you of the
objects you most desire to recall.
THE COURTSHIP OF CATHERINE WEST.