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[Illustration: TITIAN. ACADEMY, VENICE
VIRGIN. FROM ASSUMPTION OF THE VIRGIN.]
BARBARA'S HERITAGE
OR
_YOUNG AMERICANS AMONG THE OLD ITALIAN MASTERS_
BY
DERISTHE L. HOYT
AUTHOR OF
"THE WORLD'S PAINTERS"
THIRD EDITION.
BOSTON AND CHICAGO
W.A. WILDE COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1899,
BY W.A. WILDE COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_.
BARBARA'S HERITAGE.
To the Brother and Sister who have been my
companions during many happy sojourns in
Italy.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS 13
II. ACROSS TWO OCEANS 29
III. IN BEAUTIFUL FLORENCE 45
IV. A NEW FRIEND APPEARS 61
V. STRAWS SHOW WHICH WAY THE WIND BLOWS 77
VI. LUCILE SHERMAN 93
VII. A STARTLING DISCLOSURE 107
VIII. HOWARD'S QUESTIONINGS 123
IX. THE COMING-OUT PARTY 139
X. THE MYSTERY UNFOLDS TO HOWARD 157
XI. ON THE WAY TO ROME 171
XII. ROBERT SUMNER FIGHTS A BATTLE 189
XIII. CUPID LAUGHS 205
XIV. A VISIT TO THE SISTINE CHAPEL 221
XV. A MORNING IN THE VATICAN 239
XVI. POOR BARBARA'S TROUBLE 259
XVII. ROBERT SUMNER IS IMPRUDENT 279
XVIII. IN VENICE 299
XIX. IN A GONDOLA 317
XX. RETURN FROM ITALY 335
EPILOGUE: THREE YEARS AFTER 355
ILLUSTRATIONS
VIRGIN. FROM ASSUMPTION OF THE VIRGIN. TITIAN.
Academy, Venice _Frontispiece_
BYZANTINE MAGDALEN. PAGE
Academy, Florence 58
GROUP OF ANGELS. FROM CORONATION OF THE VIRGIN. FRA ANGELICO.
Uffizi Gallery, Florence 112
CORONATION OF THE VIRGIN. BOTTICELLI.
Uffizi Gallery, Florence 146
HEAD OF MADONNA. PERUGINO.
Uffizi Gallery, Florence 186
THE DELPHIAN SIBYL. MICHAEL ANGELO.
Sistine Chapel, Rome 226
SAINT CECILIA. RAPHAEL.
Academy, Bologna 296
MARRIAGE OF SAINT CATHERINE. LUINI.
Poldi-Pezzoli Museum, Milan 350
ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT
_Pen and Ink Drawings made by Homer W. Colby_
PAGE
BARBARA'S HOME 15
A BIT OF GENOA 31
CHURCH OF THE ANNUNZIATA, FLORENCE 47
DUOMO AND CAMPANILE, FLORENCE 63
SANTA MARIA NOVELLA, FLORENCE 79
A GLIMPSE OF FLORENCE 95
CLOISTER, MUSEUM OF SAN MARCO, FLORENCE 109
PONTE ALLA CARRAJA, FLORENCE 125
PALAZZO PITTI, FLORENCE 141
SAN MINIATO AL MONTE, FLORENCE 159
ORVIETO CATHEDRAL 173
SAN FRANCESCO, ASSISI 191
RUINS OF FORUM, ROME 207
SAINT PETER'S AND CASTLE OF SAINT ANGELO, ROME 223
LOGGIA OF RAPHAEL, VATICAN, ROME 241
A BIT OF AMALFI 261
CAMPO SANTO, BOLOGNA 281
SAN MARCO, VENICE 301
GRAND CANAL AND RIALTO, VENICE 319
MILAN CATHEDRAL 337
PRELUDE.
Each day the world is born anew
For him who takes it rightly;
Not fresher that which Adam knew,
Not sweeter that whose moonlit dew
Entranced Arcadia nightly.
Rightly? That's simply: 'tis to see
_Some_ substance casts these shadows
Which we call Life and History,
That aimless seem to chase and flee
Like wind-gleams over meadows.
Simply? That's nobly: 'tis to know
That God may still be met with,
Nor groweth old, nor doth bestow
These senses fine, this brain aglow,
To grovel and forget with.
--JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
Chapter I.
The Unexpected Happens.
_And foorth they passe with pleasure forward led._
--SPENSER.
[Illustration: BARBARA'S HOME.]
"O Barbara! _do_ you think papa and mamma will let us go? _Can_ they
afford it? Just to think of Italy, and sunshine, and olive trees, and
cathedrals, and pictures! Oh, it makes me wild! Will you not ask them,
dear Barbara? You are braver than I, and can talk better about it all.
How can we bear to have them say 'no'--to give up all the lovely thought
of it, now that once we have dared to dream of its coming to us--to you
and me, Barbara?" and color flushed the usually pale cheek of the young
girl, and her dark eyes glowed with feeling as she hugged tightly the
arm of her sister.
Barbara and Bettina Burnett were walking through a pleasant street in
one of the suburban towns of Boston after an afternoon spent with
friends who were soon to sail for Italy.
It was a charming early September evening, and the sunset glow burned
through the avenue of elm trees, beneath which the girls were passing,
flooding the way with rare beauty. But not one thought did they now give
to that which, ordinarily, would have delighted them; for Mrs. Douglas
had astonished them that afternoon by a pressing invitation to accompany
herself, her son, and daughter on this journey. For hours they had
talked over the beautiful scheme, and were to present Mrs. Douglas's
request to their parents that very night.
Mrs. Douglas, a wealthy woman, had been a widow almost ever since the
birth of her daughter, who was now a girl of fifteen. Malcom, her son,
was three or four years older. An artist brother was living in Italy,
and a few years previous to the beginning of our story, Mrs. Douglas and
her children had spent some months there. Now the brother was desirous
that they should again go to him, especially since his sister was not
strong, and it would be well for her to escape the inclemency of a New
England winter.
Barbara and Bettina,--Bab and Betty, as they were called in their
home,--twin daughters of Dr. Burnett, were seventeen years old, and the
eldest of a large family. The father, a great-hearted man, devoted to
his noble profession, and generous of himself, his time, and money, had
little to spare after the wants of his family had been supplied, so it
was not strange that the daughters, on sober second thought, should feel
that the idea of such a trip to the Old World as Mrs. Douglas suggested
could be only the dream of a moment, from which an awakening must be
inevitable.
But they little knew the wisdom of Mrs. Douglas, nor for a moment did
they suspect that for weeks before she had mentioned the matter to them,
she and their parents had spent many hours in planning and contriving so
that it might seem possible to give this great pleasure and means of
education to their daughters.
Even now, while they were hesitating to mention the matter, it was
already settled. Their parents had decided that, with the aid of a
portion of a small legacy which Mrs. Burnett had sacredly set aside for
her children, to be used only when some sufficient reason should offer,
enough money could be spared during the coming year to allow them to
accompany Mrs. Douglas.
As the sisters drew near the rambling, old-fashioned house, set back
from the street, which was their home, a pleasant welcome awaited them.
The father, who had just come from the stable to the piazza, the mother
and younger children,--Richard, Lois, Margaret, and little Bertie,--and
even the old dog, Dandy,--each had an affectionate greeting.
A quick look of intelligence passed between the parents as they saw the
flushed faces of their daughters, which so plainly told of unusual
excitement of feeling; but, saying nothing, they quietly led the way
into the dining room, where all gathered around the simple supper which
even the youngest could enjoy.
After the children had been put to bed, and the older ones of the family
were in the library, which was their evening sitting room, Bettina
looked anxiously at Barbara, who, after several attempts, succeeded in
telling the startling proposition which Mrs. Douglas had made, adding
that she should not dare to speak of it had she not promised Mrs.
Douglas to do so.
Imagine, if you can, the amazement, the flood of joyous surprise that
the girls felt as they realized, first, that to their parents it was not
a new, startling subject which could not for a moment be entertained;
then, that it was not only to be thought of, but planned for; and more,
that the going to Italy with Mrs. Douglas, Malcom, and Margery was to be
a reality, an experience that very soon would come into their lives, for
they were to sail in three weeks.
After the hubbub of talk that followed, it was a very subdued and quiet
pair of girls who kissed father and mother good night and went upstairs
to the room in which they had slept ever since their childhood. The
certain nearness of the first home-breaking, of the first going away
from their dear ones, and a new conception of the tenderness of the
parents, who were sacrificing so much for them, had taken such
possession of their hearts that they were too full for words. For
Barbara and Bettina were dear, thoughtful daughters and sisters, who had
early learned to aid in bearing the family burdens, and whose closest,
strongest affections were bound about the home and its dear ones.
Such busy days followed! Such earnest conferences between Mrs. Burnett
and Mrs. Douglas, who was an old traveller, and knew all the ins and
outs of her dear doctor's household!
It was finally decided that the dark blue serge gowns that had been worn
during the last spring and on cold summer days with the warm spring
jackets, would be just the thing for the girls on the steamship; that
the pretty brown cloth suits which were even then in the dressmaker's
hands could be worn almost constantly after reaching Italy for
out-of-door life; while the simple evening gowns that had done duty at
schoolgirl receptions would answer finely for at-home evenings. So that
only two or three extra pairs of boots (for nothing abroad can take the
place of American boots and shoes), some silk waists, so convenient for
easy change of costume, and a little addition to the dainty
underclothing were all that was absolutely needed.
Busy fingers soon accomplished everything necessary, and in a few
swiftly passing days the trunks were packed, the tearful good-bys
spoken, and the little party was on its way to New York, to sail thence
for Genoa on the _Kaiser Wilhelm II._ of the North German Lloyd line of
steamships.
Dr. Burnett had managed to accompany them thus far, and now, as the
great ship is slowly leaving the wharf, and Mrs. Douglas, Malcom,
Margery, Barbara, and Bettina are clustered together on her deck, waving
again and again their good-bys, and straining their eyes still to
recognize the dear familiar form and face among the crowd that presses
forward on the receding pier, we will take time for a full introduction
of the chief personages of our story.
Mrs. Douglas, who stands between her children, Malcom's arm thrown
half-protectingly about her shoulders, was, or rather is (for our tale
is of recent date and its characters are yet living), a rare woman.
Slender and graceful, clothed in widow's dress, her soft gray hair
framing a still fair and youthful face, she looks a typical American
woman of refinement and culture. And she is all this, and more; for did
she not possess a strong Christian character, wise judgment, and a warm
motherly heart, and were she not ever eager to gain that which is
noblest and best both for herself and her children from every experience
of life, careful Dr. and Mrs. Burnett would never have intrusted their
daughters to her.
Her husband had been a young Scotchman, well-born, finely educated, and
possessed of ample means, whom she had met when a girl travelling abroad
with her parents, and her brief wedded life had been spent in beautiful
Edinburgh, her husband's native city. Very soon after Margery's birth
came the terrible grief of her husband's death, and lonely Elizabeth
Douglas came across the sea, bringing her two fatherless children to
make a home for herself and them among her girlhood friends.
Malcom, a well-developed, manly young fellow, has just graduated from
the Boston Latin School. As he stands beside his mother we see the
military drill he has undergone in his fine carriage, straight
shoulders, and erect head. He has the Scotch complexion, an abundance of
fair hair, and frank, steady eyes that win him the instant trust and
friendship of all who look into them. Though full of a boy's enthusiasm
and fun, yet he seems older than he is, as is usually the case with boys
left fatherless who early feel a certain manly responsibility for the
mother and sisters.
Proud and fond indeed is Malcom Douglas of his mother and "little
Madge," as he calls her, who, petite and slender, with sunny, flowing
curls, the sweetest of blue eyes, and a pure, childlike face, stands,
with parted lips, flushed with animation, by her mother's side. Margery
is, as she looks, gentle and lovable. Not yet has she ever known the
weight of the slightest burden of care, but has been as free and happy
as the birds, as she has lived in her beautiful home with her mother and
brother.
Barbara and Bettina stand a little apart from the others, with clasped
hands and dim eyes, as the shore, the home-shore, is fast receding from
their sight. They are alike, and yet unlike. People always say "Barbara
and Bettina," never "Bettina and Barbara." They are of the same height,
each with brown hair and eyes.
Barbara's figure is a little fuller and more womanly, her hair has
caught the faintest auburn hue, her eyes have a more brilliant sparkle,
and the color on her cheeks glows more steadily. She looks at strangers
with a quiet self-possession, and questions others rather than thinks of
herself being questioned. As a child she always fought her own and her
sister's battles, and would do the same to-day did occasion demand.
Bettina is more timid and self-conscious; her dreamy eyes and quickly
coming and going color betray a keen sensitiveness to thought and
impressions.
Both are beautiful, and more than one of their fellow-passengers look at
the sisters with interest as they stand together, so absorbed in feeling
that they take no note of what is passing about them. Just now both are
thinking of the same thing--a conversation held with their father as the
trio sat in a corner of the car just before reaching New York.
Dr. Burnett had explained to them just how he had been enabled to meet
the expense of their coming travel.
Then he said:--
"Now girls, you are, for the first time in your lives, to be away from
the care and advice of your parents. Of course, if you need help in
judging of anything, you are free to go to Mrs. Douglas; but there will
be much that it will be best for you to decide without troubling her.
You will meet all sorts of people, travellers like yourselves, and many
you will see who are spending money freely and for what seems pleasure
only, without one thought of the special education that travel in the
Old World might bring them. Your mother and I have always been actuated
by one purpose regarding our children. We cannot give you money in
abundance, but we are trying to give you a liberal education,--that
which is to us far superior to mere money riches,--and the only
consideration that makes us willing to part from you and to sacrifice
for you now, is our belief that a rare opportunity for gaining culture
and an education that cannot be found at home is open to you.
"Think of this always, my daughters. Ponder it over while you are gone,
and do your best to come home bringing a new wealth of knowledge that
shall bless your younger brothers and sisters and our whole household,
as well as your own lives. You are not going on a pleasure trip, dear
girls, but to another school,--a thoroughly novel and delightful
one,--but do not forget that, after all, it is a school."
As the rapidly increasing distance took from them the last sight of the
father's form, Barbara and Bettina turned and looked at each other with
tearful eyes; and the unspoken thought of one was, "We _will_ come home
all that you long for us to be, dear papa!" and of the other, "Oh, I do
hope we shall understand what you wish, and learn what and wherever we
can!" and both thoughts meant the same thing and bore the same earnest
purpose.
"Come girls," said Mrs. Douglas, who had keenly observed them without
appearing to do so, "it is best for us all to go to our staterooms
directly and unpack our steamer-trunks. Perhaps in even an hour or two
we may not feel so much like doing it as we do now."
As they passed through the end of the dining-saloon, whose tables were
laden with bouquets of fresh and fragrant flowers, brought by loving
friends to many of the passengers, Malcom's quick eye spied a little
pile of letters on the end of a corner table.
"I wonder," said he, as he turned back to look them over, "if anybody
thought to write to us."
Returning with an envelope in his hands, he cried:--
"What will you give for a letter from home already, Barbara and Betty?"
"For us!" exclaimed the girls, "a letter from home for us! Why, we never
thought such a thing could be! How did it get here? Did papa bring one
and put it here?"
But no, for the letter addressed in the dear mother's handwriting was
clearly stamped, and its appearance testified that it had come through
the mail to New York.
Hurrying to their stateroom and sitting close to each other on the sofa
under the port-hole, they read Mrs. Burnett's bright, sweet motherly
letter, and a note from each of their brothers and sisters,--even a
crumpled printed one from five-year-old Bertie. So bright and jolly were
they all, that they allayed rather than heightened the first homesick
feelings, and very soon the girls were chattering happily as they busied
themselves with their unpacking.
The staterooms of the _Kaiser Wilhelm II._ are more commodious than can
be found in most steamships, even those of the same line. It was
delightful to find a small wardrobe in which to hang the warm wrappers
so useful on shipboard, and the thick coats that might be needed, and a
chest of drawers for underclothing, gloves, etc. Toilet articles were
put on the tiny wall-shelves; magazines and books on the top of the
chest of drawers; and soon the little room took on a bit of an
individual and homelike look which was very pleasing.
Mrs. Douglas and Margery were just opposite them, and Malcom close at
hand, so there was no chance of feeling too much adrift from the old
life.
"Hello, girls! Are you ready to come upstairs?" in Malcom's voice.
"How nice your room looks!" cried Margery; and up to the deck they
trooped to find that Malcom had seen that their steamer-chairs were well
placed close together, and that Mrs. Douglas was already tucked in under
her pretty Scotch rug.
How strange the deck looked now that the host of friends that had
crowded to say good-by were gone! Already many hats and bonnets had been
exchanged for caps, for the wind was fresh, and, altogether, both
passengers and deck struck our party as wearing quite a ship-shape air.
Mrs. Douglas held in her hand a passenger-list, so interesting at just
this time, and was delighted to learn that an old-time travelling
companion was on board.
"But, poor woman," said she, "she always has to spend the first three or
four days in her berth, so I shall not see her for a time unless I seek
her there. She is a miserable sailor."
"Oh, dear!" said Bettina, "I had forgotten that there is such a thing as
seasickness. Do you think, Mrs. Douglas, that Barbara and I shall be
seasick? It seems impossible when we feel so well now; and the air is so
fine, and everything so lovely! Are you always seasick, and Malcom, and
Margery?"
"I have never been really sick, save once, when crossing the English
Channel," replied Mrs. Douglas; "neither has Malcom ever given up to it,
though sometimes he has evidently suffered. But poor Margery has been
very sick, and it is difficult for her to exert enough will-power to
quickly overcome it. It requires a prodigious amount to do this if one
is really seasick."
"I wonder what it feels like," said Barbara. "I think if will-power can
keep one from it, I will not be seasick."
"Come and walk, girls," called Margery, who, with Malcom, had been
vigorously walking to and fro on the wide deck, while their mother,
Barbara, and Bettina had been talking.
So they walked until lunch-time, and then enjoyed hugely the novelty of
the first meal on shipboard. After this, the young people went aft to
look down upon the steerage passengers, and forward to the bow of the
noble ship, while Mrs. Douglas took her little nap downstairs.
But alas! as the steamship took her course further into the open sea,
and the wind grew more and more fresh, the three girls sank into their
chairs, grew silent, and before dinner-time were among the great
suffering company that every ship carries during the first days and
nights of her voyage.