Cold rain and mist have now set in. The landscape, which has from the
first possessed a peculiar charm for us, is often blotted from view.
The varied, undivided yet most individual range of dolomites which
rises on the edge of the eastern horizon, instead of melting under
the soft influences of warm sunshine and quivering air into glowing
crimson, purple, palpitating mountains--which only with advancing
night turn into gray, motionless pinnacles and battlements of the
great dolomitic land that stretches beyond--now remain, whenever
visible, cold, hard masses of snow, like rigid nuns of some ascetic
order.
It is time to be gone. And Fanni, the sturdy, devoted attendant
specially engaged to wait upon us during the last season, is wild to
accompany us to Italy--comfortable Italy, where the washing water
does not freeze in winter, and where maize _polenta_ is as cheap and
plentiful as the brown buckwheat _plenten_ of Tyrol. She has a good
stock of clothes: she wants no wages, only her journey paid. Surely we
will take her? We give her no hopes, merely promising that if we come
another year and she be then out of place, we will gladly employ her.
This is a drop of comfort, and she rushes down stairs to convey at
least this bit of good news to Kathi.
A few minutes later we find the two women, joined by Moidel, standing;
against the cellar door, which is kept closely shut, that the smell
emitted by a vat of sauerkraut may not offend the fastidious nostrils
of the gentry. Kathi has a sprig of rosemary behind her ear, and her
bare arms wrapped up in her blue apron, always in her case a sign of
ease and relaxation. She is saying, "Ja, ja, very worrying. Such side
ways to get hold of the place!"
"And Munichers too!" adds Moidel--"so pushing, so clamorous!"
The sight of some brown veils and gentlemen's hats above the garden
wall leads to the following explanation from Fanni: "Herr Je, just
when the Fräulein was speaking of coming back next year, and I was
thinking to myself how I would help the Kathi to scrub and clean
beforehand, there were four strange Herrschaft below, who would insist
on seeing the Hofbauer. And he all in a _Schwitz_! However, he came
out of the stube very slowly, wiping his forehead, and waited to hear
their errand. But when they said they had come to secure part of the
house from Martini day, and all the rooms not wanted by the Hofbauer
from Ascension, he had to wipe his forehead again before he answered.
And then he spoke just like a Herr Curat: 'This is no lodging-house,
where any one can be quartered, my Herrschaft. Nor believe that
those who occupy my spare rooms are casual visitors. Oh no! They are
_particular friends_ of mine. This old place stands at their disposal:
I wish them to be free to come or to stay away, but I desire no
other faces here.' And then," continues Fanni, "out they slunk, quite
sheepish, for the Hofbauer looked so tall."
"_Freilich_" added Kathi, "it is not once nor twice, but ever since
our Herrschaft have had an awning of their own on the balcony, and
the miller's mule has stood with a lady's saddle at the entrance--ever
since the Hofbauer had the plasterer, and let the joiner make some
wardrobes and bedsteads this spring, that barefaced strangers have
hankered to get the place."
We have to calm Kathi, bidding her remember that we once came as
strangers and asked to be taken in.
Well, so the Herrschaft might. There must be a beginning to all good
friendships. But it is not for people to thrust themselves in when
they see the house inhabited, entering even the bed-rooms, and
stripping the currant bushes without once saying, "With your leave."
Why, the _Grossmutterli_ had told her as a child that even the empress
Maria Theresa--who took a vast fancy to Edelsheim, and passed some
nights there--when she walked up the village by herself, and stopped
before the Grossmutterli, who was ranging her milk-pans on the bench
to dry,--even the stately empress said, "My good woman, you live in
an uncommonly handsome house--a schloss, in fact. But I won't give you
the trouble to show me the inside. Let me rather go into the orchard,
for I see a young apple tree there marvelously full of fruit."
Grossmutterli never showed herself disturbed. She pressed down the
latch, led the empress to the tree--it's standing yet, but is almost
worn out--and Maria Theresa said it was a perfect show: there was not
a tree at her castle of Schönbrunn that bore so well; and she gave the
Grossmutterli a shining half thaler, which she never parted with.
The next day, Sunday, Kathi stood before us at noon with tears in her
eyes. The Jakobi, she said, had not only sent down for the cow's
crown and ornaments to go on Tuesday, but word as well that beautiful
Nageli, the queen cow, knocking her head against a rock, had broken
one horn off. "There's a pretty go!" she continued. "I wish it would
bud again. How she will take on! I know her ways: she is greedy of
praise. I should not wonder if the vexation dries her milk, for
she knows she can never wear a crown again. And Zottel, she's to be
queen--a sleek, comely cow, but never used to a crown. However, Jakobi
sends word we need not fear her disgracing herself, for he is training
her up and down with a milking-stool on her head. Cows are more like
mortals than brute beasts. See the way the two that have stayed at the
Hof behave when the rest come back. They make the stall purgatory to
them through their spite or jealousy. But they grow more good-tempered
after a time."
The glittering crown of which poor Nageli's unfortunate accident had
deprived her was now produced from its box for us to see--a barbaric
structure, in spite of the Christian symbols attached. It was two
feet high, a foot and a half wide--all gold wire, tinsel, artificial
flowers, tassels, fringes of colored worsted, and surrounded by a halo
of spun glass gay as a slice of the rainbow. There was a medallion of
the Virgin and Child, and another of Saint Anthony, tutelar saint
of the Hofbauer's father, himself and his son--patron, too, of the
chapel, and a great helper in the recovery of lost calves and sheep,
as well as of household goods. A red velvet gold-fringed pendant in
the form of a heart, handsomely embroidered with the cross and sacred
initials I.H.S., was suspended to all this grandeur. The great
massive cow- and ox-bells, some tulip-shaped, while others were of the
ordinary form, appeared better adapted for a belfry than the neck of
cattle, and the gay leather collars, embroidered with bright worsteds,
had likewise sacred symbols; thus displaying, when worn at the annual
procession, both the pride and piety of the bauer.
The wreaths made at the Olm for the chief oxen, of clustering berries,
leaves and ribbons, hung, as visible though withered trophies of
each triumphant descent, amongst the rakes, flails and other farm
implements in the lower hall; whilst great closets safely hid not
only the bells and the rest of the substantial properties now to be
despatched to the Olm, but other brazen pomps and vanities of an age
gradually becoming obsolete--the heavy harness, for instance, used for
the bridal horse when the Hofbauer was married--antiquities suitable
for a national museum. The good aunt and Moidel, amused by our
interest and astonishment, attired the latter the same evening, for
our gratification, in her mother's wedding-dress. Strong indeed must
be the bride who can bear so heavy a burden, nor would any but
a Tyrolese girl desire thus to be attired for the altar: a cloth
petticoat ten yards wide, laid in narrow, regular folds like an
enormous unopened fan; a heavy square-cut boddice of dark-green
velvet, handsomely worked, and not meeting in front, in order to
reveal a smart silk stomacher beneath; full white linen sleeves,
trimmed at the elbow with broad somewhat coarse Bohemian lace; and a
square collar, with a ruffle of the same to match. The cloth dress is,
however, completely concealed, except a few inches at the bottom, by
the huge apron, which is on all occasions considered an indispensable
addition, no Tyrolese woman feeling modest without it. The dainty
white knitted cotton stockings, with the large fancy clocks and the
low-cut, boat-shaped leather slippers, with rosettes, are clearly
visible. The hair is drawn tightly back _à la Chinoise_, and made into
a knot, which is surmounted by a little green-and-red cushion, like a
bunch of strawberries encircled in their leaves.
Thus Moidel first appeared, followed by Kathi, bidding her walk slow
and not laugh, for a bride who did so could never be a seemly matron.
Her niece, consequently suppressing her merriment, again disappeared.
She returned, however, having replaced the queer little cushion by
a large black beaver hat, and with a leather belt adorned with tin,
copper and glass ornaments fastened round her waist, to which was
attached a richly-ornamented knife-and-fork case, hanging down at her
side. Thus she was supposed to have returned from church, these being
the insignia of the wife. And Kathi, seeing our interest increase
rather than diminish, at her intimation Anton speedily appeared
attired in his father's long wedding-coat, an enormous broad-brimmed,
flapping felt hat of a green canary shade on his head, and displaying
prominently a large bouquet of artificial flowers on his left arm,
upon the summit of which the initials of the bride and bridegroom
quivered in long tinsel sprays.
Looking at this handsome young brother and sister standing side by
side in bridal array, we could not help wondering privately whether
a certain good and pretty young Madel, whose brother possessed
neighboring acres and fat mountain-pastures, came into Anton's head at
that moment as a Madel whom it would be a right and a pleasant thing
to go to church with, he and she in similar or perhaps more modern
costumes; and whether our comely Moidel thought it no sin to let her
heart flutter off into a little romance of its own under that bridal
stomacher. Still, even should our pseudo bride and bridegroom each
indulge in a rapid day-dream, it must quickly come to an end, seeing
that they have speedily to put off their fancy attire and attend that
night to the flax-dressing.
Oh, the constant care and trouble which the little flax-plant
occasions! In August it had been cut and hung to dry in small bundles
on stakes. It had thus been left out several weeks. Then in September
it had been carried to the barn and the seed beaten out like corn and
stowed away, the empty little husks being given to the hens and the
voracious pig. The stalks--_hairs_, as Anton called them--were again
carried to the field, and spread this time on the ground, neither too
thick nor too thin, so that sun and moon could shine through them, and
alternate rain and sun could rot them. The sooner the stalks decay and
the fibres are loosened, the sooner the "hairs" can be carried to the
kiln. This busy time had now come.
In many places an oblong-shaped brick pit, half under ground, but
often at the top, is used. The people of Edelsheim, however, stuck
by preference to a deserted stone hut belonging to the parish, which,
standing alone, could not, when used as a kiln, set fire to other
houses. The night between Sunday and Monday was the time appointed
for the Hof flax to be dried; so Moidel, Anton and the two Nannis--the
_grossdirn_ and the _kleindirn_ in household parlance--carried it
down to the hut, where old Traudl, a village crone and the parochial
"hair-dryer," had already made the vast oven red hot with a load of
wood. Moidel and the servant-girls acting as the flax-dressers, the
_grummelfuhr_ spread the flax on planks in the furnace-like room, and
returned home with cheerful steps. Through the dead hours of the night
a silent watcher sat at the closed hut door. It was no other than
Moro: he had, as usual, attended Moidel to the spot and noticed
the proceedings. This she remembered clearly afterward, when in the
morning, returning to her labors, he greeted her half reproachfully
yet full of affection, as much as to say he had been quietly
rectifying any short-comings on her part. All that day, whilst the
industrious _grummelfuhr_ hackled and received good cheer in the form
of krapfen, for hackling is hard work, Moro attended in the character
of a kind but strict overseer. Let us hope that when the fairies
sat spinning in the stube in the twilight between last Christmas and
Epiphany they amply rewarded Moro with an unlimited supply of magic
bones, for did he not to the best of his ability help to make the flax
"white as chalk, soft as silk and long as the ship's sail"?
A mild excitement reigned in the Hof about the return of the cattle,
and it was confided to us that Jakob greatly hoped that we should
still be at Edelsheim to witness the triumphal entry. The bitter cold
and rain, however, whilst it made it a necessity for us to leave,
impeded the downward journey from the Eder Olm, which was still
further retarded by Zottel, the new queen, not taking as cleverly to
her dignity as Jakob had in the first instance fondly imagined.
Thus, there was nothing for it but to fix the day of departure,
besides having in readiness the parting gifts and surprises intended
for each member of the worthy family. Such farewell occupations had,
however, been long in progress, for it required great management,
labor and forethought to hit on the right thing, and have it
ready, with only the resources of a very small town. The handsome
chromo-lithographs had been smuggled to the stationer's, and framed
for the embellishment of the great sitting-room; the snuff-box for the
Hofbauer the pipe and beer-mug for Onkel Johann, the satin kerchiefs
for Kathi and Moidel, were all ready and ticketed; so were the
neckties and tobacco-pouches for Anton and Jakob, when a bright idea
struck E----. She would subscribe for the illustrated _Alpenfreund_,
to afford reading in the stube in the long snowy winter evenings.
There was no time to be lost: the next day we were leaving; so, the
rain having ceased, we started for the town to pay the subscription.
We knew that it was two o'clock as we crossed the fields, by the bell
of the Capuchin monastery tolling for vespers: at the same moment the
metallic, rattling sound of cattle-bells mixing with the ringing,
and the sight of the peasants leaving their work and running in
the direction of the high-road, told us that a herd of cattle was
returning from the mountains. Other bells immediately became audible
in the contrary direction, the tinkling and rattling continued, and
just as we reached the shrine the two triumphant processions met. The
one approaching from the west was headed by a very queen of Sheba.
What a golden heart-shaped bell clanged from her proud neck! What a
tall, beautiful crown, shining like a great sun in a bed of crimson
ribbons, blazed on her head! Her little princess-calf, adorned with
streamers, followed close at her regal heels: her courtiers attended
in regular order in their purple and fine linen, or, in other words,
their grand red-and-orange collars and their ponderous bells. When the
queen saw the advancing herd she turned round her ample forehead and
gave a significant low, bidding her attendants imitate her. And
then, whilst the senners and herdsmen looked evidently fearful of
an encounter between the two factions, she steadily but defiantly
maintained the middle of the road, forcing by her lofty airs the other
queen, who was young and inexperienced, to slink ignominiously into
the ditch; so that after the proud conquering herd had swept on, she
was with difficulty brought into the road and induced to proceed
at the head of her literally _cowed_ followers. It was but an
illustration of what may often be seen in society, when some proud,
overbearing chaperone at the head of her party sweeps past some
pretty, shy young woman.
The high-road was reported to be wonderfully lively with cattle
this afternoon; consequently we came upon Onkel Johann, that most
experienced man in the stall, seated by another judge of cattle on a
wall, wearing their very longest white aprons and bibs, so that they
almost touched the ground. You could tell the Hansel's keen relish of
the spectacle by his mustering courage to urge our staying, since the
great Jagdhaus herd belonging to the Sterniwitz (landlord of the Star)
was approaching. We therefore lingered, and thus saw the beautiful
herd. It had suffered from no cruel phantom this year. There were
senners and herdsmen in their holiday costumes, with flowers and
ribbons in their hats; there were leiterwagen returning with the
chests of clothes and the now empty meal-sacks; but more than this,
there were four pretty little lads, each leading the bonniest,
cleanest little calf ever seen. What, however, made Onkel Johann rub
his hands with glee and give a big chuckle was the sight of a great
black ox, wearing, instead of the usual verdant wreath round its neck,
a real cow's crown. It was as ludicrous in his eyes as the sight of
some sober gentleman in a Parisian bonnet would be in ours. Such jokes
seemed rife amongst the senners, for later on another black ox, in a
fresh but smaller herd, tramped along with a rosette of scarlet ribbon
on its head. The herdsman, seeing us smile, adjusted the ends as
carefully as a lady's maid would put the last finishing-touches to
the toilet of her mistress. That was the final stroke to Hansel's
hilarity.
That night the presents were given amidst endless expressions of
surprise and affectionate gratitude, which were brought to a climax by
E--'s kind mother presenting Kathi with a pair of china vases adorned
with carefully painted clusters of flowers. They brought great tears
of admiration into the good soul's eyes. She vowed she would treasure
them as long as she lived, and then they should be Moidel's. As
soon as our plots were revealed, we found that counterplots had been
carried on by the Hof family. Thus, Jakob had managed a clandestine
journey from the Olm to Bruneck, and met Anton there, where they had
both been photographed expressly for the Herrschaft, occasioning Anton
to blush up to the roots of his hair when he, with a smile on his
slightly pathetic face, presented each of us, as he said, with "a
very humble _Andenken_". Thus, too, a great many flowers with which to
laden us had been carefully tended through this inclement season. The
next morning, carrying away flowers and good wishes, and filled with
thoughts of mingled pleasure and pain, we bade adieu to the quaint,
quiet pastoral Hof, to arrive at nightfall in the fortified Italian
city of Verona.
MARGARET HOWITT
UNSAID.
For days and weeks upon the lip has hung
A precious something for an absent ear--
Some tender confidence but lately sprung,
Some dear confession that but one must hear.
The heart repeats it over day by day,
And fancies how and when the words will fall--
What answering smile upon the face will play,
What tender light will linger over all.
But eager eyes that watch for one alone
May grow reluctant; for the open gate
Lets in, with him, perchance a guest unknown,
On whom slow words of courtesy must wait.
Or when the presence waited for has come,
It may be dull or cold, too sad or light:
A look that shows the heart away from home
Can often put the dearest words to flight.
Perhaps the time of meeting, or the form,
May chill or wither what we've longed to say:
What fits the sunshine will not fit the storm--
What blends with twilight, jars with noon of day.
Again, when all things seem our wish to serve,
Full opportunity may strike us dumb--
May sink our precious thoughts in deep reserve,
And to the surface bid the lightest come.
And often ere our friend is out of sight,
We start: the thing can scarce be credited--
We have been silent, or our words been trite,
And here's the dearest thing of all _unsaid_!
CHARLOTTE F. BATES.
LAURENTINUM.
If anybody ever could have enjoyed living in heathen times, it
must have been Pliny the Younger. A friend of ours calls him the
gentlemanly letter writer, and so he was. He wrote letters which must
have been treats to his correspondents. It is well that some of his
notes did not require answers, for, as the letters of "the parties of
the second part" are irretrievably lost, the annoyance one feels over
a one-sided record is somewhat abated. Only the imperial replies are
preserved. But, as we have said, Caius Plinius Caecilius Secundus
(nephew to the ponderously fat and still more ponderously learned C.
Plinius Secundus, who, like Leibnitz in latter times, sat, wrote, was
read to, slept, and ate in his arm-chair for days together) must
have enjoyed living. If he had not had so gentle a disposition and so
loving a recollection of his uncle, we might have fancied him terribly
bored by that worthy; for the elder Pliny was a _heluo miraculorum_,
believing in and jotting down everything he heard, saw or read, like
the immortal Mr. Pickwick. A book or a reader was ever at his elbow--a
tablet or parchment ever within reach. And all this was undertaken
or done for his nephew's advantage. There could have been but little
pleasure in having such a guardian, though the nephew's easy, loving
temper and delicate constitution caused him to be petted a good deal.
A lucky dyspepsia (the Romans must have had the dyspepsia from eating
the messes their Greek cooks put upon their tables) spared him from
continuous attendance upon his uncle's studies. Then, too, Pliny was
under his uncle's charge only for a few years, for Pliny the Elder
lost his life in the famous eruption of Vesuvius. He was lord high
admiral of the Mediterranean west of Italy; and of course when the
eruption was reported at Misenum, at the admiralty-house, he must
needs view it. It was too remarkable a thing not to have a high place
in his _Natural History_. He ordered out his light galley. The rest we
all know--how the admiral was as brave as he was fat, and seeing the
danger in which so many friends with whom he had often supped were
put, attempted to help some of them. So, because of the widow Rectina
and his good friend Pomponianus, he came to his sad death.
It was not so very great a loss to his nephew, now turned of
eighteen--a likely youth, of course well connected, and now his
uncle's heir. Caius Pliny went through the steps of the civil service
with credit to himself, though his advancement was checked during
Domitian's reign. He was indeed a consul, but then many consuls were
appointed during the year. But it was much more prudent for him to
keep quiet. He had a good practice--for this, though not strictly
accurate, is the nearest term by which to designate his legal
employment--and, to take a leap beyond the time we are speaking of, he
was about twenty-five years afterward governor of Bithynia, whence he
wrote his famous letter to the emperor Trajan about the Christians
in his province. Of this letter much has been said, but we think
that Pliny has not always been rightly judged about it. He was too
conservative a man to be a persecutor, but was not much above or
beyond his own time. And he wrote of the Christians as being a
_religio illicita_--an illegal assembly of heretics--as regarded
the state religion, which it was his duty to defend. It was wrong
to persecute the Christians--wrong on general principles, wrong on
particular axioms. But, alas! it has taken nearly seventeen more
centuries of fiercer persecutors than Pliny proved to be to learn this
little fact. All this is, as he would have said, _obiter_--by the way.
It has, however, a good deal to do indirectly with his good living;
for, as we were saying, C.P.C. Secundus lived very well indeed--not
extravagantly, but comfortably.
Now, to live well or comfortably, it is needful to have something
wherewith to live thus comfortably. The start which C.P. Secundus
gave C.P.C. Secundus lifted him up into a successful lawyer, a sort of
public orator. As heir to his uncle's estate, and as coheir to estates
of deceased friends, and as a public man, he amassed considerable
property. He could undoubtedly--and we undoubtingly believe he did--do
this with scrupulous honesty. His fees, salaries and legacies he took
pains to earn. Legacies he claimed as they were left him, though he
stooped to no fawning to obtain them, and in at least one instance
returned the property to the natural (though he says undeserving)
heir. If so, let us give him due credit for generosity. Certainly, he
was not selfish or illiberal. He assisted his friends with money and
influence, as well as advice, and he gave to his native town, Comum,
a public library, besides an endowment of three hundred thousand
sesterces ($12,000) yearly for ever to maintain children born of free
parents. How long this endowment lasted we cannot say, but it must, at
any rate, have disappeared in the dilapidations caused three hundred
and fifty years afterward by the Gothic invaders of Italy. Then he had
two villas at least, besides his town-house, with slaves, attendants
and following to match. This will suffice to show that he had the
wherewithal. But could he enjoy it? He was a literary man: his uncle
had settled that for him. He was an oratorical light in the Senate.
His letters show that he was a gentleman, whose delicacy of feeling
was as fine as the lauded courtesies of modern times. As proof that
he was a gentleman, and that he knew how to distinguish a good from a
poor dinner, and as proof, too, of the good advice he was wont to give
away as freely as good money, we will put in his letter to Avitus upon
occasion of a dinner he had just attended:
"_Cains Pliny to his own Avitus, greeting_: It would take too long,
and do no good, to tell you how, though not on familiar terms, I came
to dine with a man who piques himself upon his elegant and correct,
though sordid and profuse, entertainments. They are so in this: he
placed before the select few some rare delicacies--before the rest he
put indifferent or little food. Even of the wine there were but three
sorts, and these, besides, in little flagons--evidently not that you
should choose" but to prevent your choosing--one sort for himself and
us, another for his poorer friends, a third for his and our freedmen.
A neighbor on the same couch asked me what I thought of it: Did I
approve? 'No.' 'Then what is your rule?' 'I put the same things before
all my guests, for I ask them to sup, not to grade them in my esteem:
I equalize in all things those I invite to my table.' 'Even the
freedmen?' 'Yes, for then they are my guests, and not freedmen.' He
replied,' It must cost you a good deal.' 'Very little.' 'How so?'
'Thus: I drink then what my freedmen drink, not they my wines.' And
truly, if you will but restrain your taste a little, it is not hard to
join in drinking with the many at your table. To be sure, fastidious
taste must be repressed, and, as it were, brought under control,
if you spare that expense in which one consults rather his own
gratification than the feelings of others. But why all this? I write,
so that the luxury of some under the specious guise of economy may
not impose upon you as a well-disposed youth. And so, out of pure
good-will to you, I draw instances from my experience to advise or
warn you. There is nothing to be more carefully avoided than that
upstart society compounded of meanness and luxury, for these twain,
bad enough apart, are abominable when joined together. Vale!"
Now, gentle reader, yourself being judge, we submit to your honor
that here are good sense, delicate taste and refinement combined.
Two things also must be noted: First, we are glad to find that the
well-disposed youth to whom we were introduced in Mr. Adams's _Latin
Grammar_ some twenty-odd years ago turns out to be this kindly young
man in whom C.P.C. Secundus, Jr., takes such an interest: we are sure
he is a deserving young man, and will turn out a brilliant diner-out;
only it would have been more ingenuous in Mr. Adams to have told us
plainly that it was Avitus whose character was being formed by the
famous C.P.C. Secundus, generally known as Pliny the Younger; and then
we might have profited by the tuition. Again, the freedman was not one
in the sense in which we use the term, but one who was emancipated
and a member (not always a menial member) of his patron's family. The
African as a slave had just begun to be a common servant in wealthy
households, but the _libertus_ was often of better blood than many a
citizen. You will remember that Horace was the son of such a
freedman. So again we hold it proven that Pliny knew how to enjoy
his opportunities of good living--opportunities acquired partly
by inheritance, partly by his ability and deserts. He had a
well-balanced, self-poised character, and so could trust himself
_temperare gulce_--to eat, drink and enjoy life temperately. He was
tested in the troublous times of Domitian. By living quietly, by
adroitly parrying pointed and dangerous questions, by avoiding public
life, he managed to pass through a very difficult reign; for it was a
difficult time under an emperor who spared not even flies: certainly
it was the only way in which he ever battled with Beelzebub. Now
we hold that had C.P.C. Secundus been anything beyond an amateur
epicure--if he had been a _gourmand_--he would have fatally said or
done something that would have prevented his ever writing any more
letters to friends or to General Trajanus. To be a well-balanced eater
is, _cceteris paribus_, to be a well-balanced man. Perhaps Pliny was
too fastidious to be a proper epicure even--too fastidious in other
directions, we mean. And he had learned some habits from his early
training which would interfere materially with habitual attention to
the pleasures of the table. But we protest we did not intend, even
as a first object, to bring up the table as the main proof of Pliny's
enjoyment of the good things of this life. We wanted to show you,
courteous reader, something of how he lived, and it is necessary to
learn his habits in order to decide whether he enjoyed the things
which Providence had given him. He had learned of his uncle the bad
habit of reading or of being read to at meal-times. He did not indulge
in it, he says, when he had company, but only when his family was
present. His protestation does not avail him: this plea rather
aggravated the rudeness. For, however formal etiquette may be laid
aside in the bosom of his family, a _paterfamilias_ is none the less
bound to observe the laws of courtesy. But it yet leads us to notice
that C.P.C. loved his wife and children. His wife was the daughter of
one Fabatus, who would most undoubtedly have been long since forgotten
but that his son-in-law wrote him model letters, sometimes on
business, sometimes on his health, sometimes about visits that had
been delayed--generally complimentary, always short, always implying
high reverence for the father of a well-loved wife. But he carried the
family passion for reading to excess. One of his regrets is that his
favorite reader is consumptive, and, despite a season in Egypt for his
health, was still suffering. So he sends him to the country-seat of
a friend, to see if the country air and good nursing will not restore
him. It was an accomplishment to read well that added to the value of
a slave, and Pliny prized his "boy" accordingly. This is but a slight
indication of the excess to which he carried his love for reading and
scribbling. If he could not read, he must scribble; so he scribbled
when out hunting! If he had been fishing with a book in his hand, that
had been excusable. But we do not believe that the Romans took
kindly to fishing as a sport. They bred their fish in private
fish-ponds--_piscinae_--and they had a revolting habit of fattening
their fish. Old Izaak would have abhorred the very thought of casting
a line for such prey: sickening thoughts of cannibalism would have
filled him with horror. But C.P.C. consented to hunt one day, so he
writes to Tacitus. Did he ride after the dogs, spear in hand, to kill
the fierce wild-boar? Not he. He; sat down by the nets with tablets
on his knee, under the quiet shade, and meditated and enjoyed the
solitude, and scribbled to his heart's content. Here a doubt arises.
Let us whisper it: Did he inherit the avuncular tendency to obesity?
We have seen no hint of this, and of course it would not enter into
his correspondence; but it is possible. At all events, our natural
conclusion is, that he was too literary to be merely a _bon vivant_.
No, he was a shrewd reader of human nature, a man of rare taste, of
strong sense, and fond of an equable life. He had means, and often,
if not always, the proper leisure to live well. And by living well we
mean, not that he indulged in a greedy enjoyment of the good things of
this life, nor yet in a profuse and gaudy display, but that, being a
heathen, he lived as an upright heathen lawyer, magistrate, statesman
and millionaire should live.
It was needful for him, then, having the wherewithal, and being a
refined and well-balanced man, to have the place where to live well.
Did he have this? Yes: he had two villas--one a summer residence
near the mountains, and a winter one sixteen miles from Rome, near
Laurentum. This was the villa of Laurentinum. It was fitted up with
every then known comfort and convenience which a man of wealth,
pleasure and taste could want and thoroughly enjoy. As he was fond of
showing his winter-house, we may go back just seventeen hundred and
eighty years and introduce you as his friend Gallus. It is so long
since that Pliny would not detect you, and we shall have the benefit
of his own guidance in the intricacies of his spacious villa. We will
take his advice, and instead of traveling in the clumsy _rheda_ over
the sandy road, we will ride out on horseback. The views along the
road are pretty--now in a woody skirt, now by meadows in which the
sheep and cattle find a later pasturage than higher up the country;
so, by a winding path, we come upon a roomy and hospitable villa. This
is Laurentinum, near Laurentum. We come before the _atrium_: a slave
announces us, and the courteous master welcomes us on the steps of
a _porch_ shaped like the letter D, with pleasant transparent mica
windows, and roofed over as a protection against showers. Thence he
ushers us into a cheerful entrance-hall: "Let me show you my winter
retreat. Your room is in rather a distant part of my little villa,
and it is nearly time to bathe. Let me conduct you." We see that our
friend is rather proud of his home, and so he ought to be, for we
find it a snug retreat for a vacation. Now let us see when and how he
enjoys himself after his labors in either of the courts. Let us
follow him out of the hall into the dining-room, which has a pleasant
southern outlook upon the sea. The murmuring waves echo in it. It
has innumerable doors, and windows reaching to the floor, and is as
pleasant as the banquet-room of the Americus Club-house. You look out
upon, as it were, triple seas: so too from the atrium, the portico and
the hall you can look over woods, hills or the sea. Through the hall
again, into an ample chamber, then out to a smaller one, which lets in
the rising sunlight on the one side and the purple glow of sunset on
the other. Here, too, is a partial view of the sea. These rooms are
protected from all but fair-weather winds. The great dining-room is
the pleasant--weather room. Then next beyond is the apsidal
chamber, which admits continuous sunshine through its many windows.
Book-presses stand against the partition wall, to hold the books in
constant use. "My uncle, good Gallus, taught me not to lose an hour.
Behind this is the dormitory, properly tempered according to the
season: farther on are the servants' and freedmen's apartments. But
here is your room. After the bath we will see the rest. The bath is
here between these cool dressing-rooms: you must need it after your
dusty ride, my Gallus.
"My friend Spurenna lives pleasantly. I spent a few days with him not
long ago. Early in the morning he takes a stroll of three miles. If he
has visitors, he chats with them on some improving subject--if not, he
reads. Then with books and conversation he fills up the interval till
it is time to ride, when, with his wife and a friend or two--perhaps
myself--he takes a drive of seven or eight miles. Till it is time to
bathe he amuses us with his graceful lyrics, in Greek as well as in
Latin. He bathes about two or three o'clock, and then suns himself;
for by bathing and rubbing and sunning he fights off the ills of
advancing years. Then a lunch. Then dinner, which is served on antique
solid silver. Have you enjoyed your bath, my Gallus? The tank is large
enough, certainly, for one to swim in. Now, as we pass back, see how
conveniently the bathing-house, heater and perfuming-rooms adjoin.
Here are my fish-ponds: the poor things can look out upon the sea if
they choose. And now my tennis-court, quite a warm place late in the
afternoon. Here is a turret with two sunny rooms under it: that one
yonder is a pleasant sunlit supper-room, with views of sea and beaches
and villas. Yonder is the villa once owned by Hortensius, Cicero's
great rival, you remember. It is not in good repair, and is rather
old-fashioned too. A third turret has under it a large larder and
store-room, and a spacious bed-chamber. In that sunny room, again, you
can escape the crash of the surges, which only penetrates here as a
gentle murmur. In truth, good Gallus, where there are so many wintry
changes on a coast like this, I like to be able to change too.
High winds and storms on a seashore compel us to have protected
dining-rooms. This one we are now in looks out upon my garden and the
shaded alley round it. We will dine early, and in the front triclinium
this pleasant evening.... In the country here we have not all the
delicacies that the city commands, but by the aid of Ostia and yonder
village we manage tolerably.... Some wine? Falernian, that my good
uncle bought forty years ago. The wax on the jar is stiff with age.
There is nothing I delight in more than in gathering my wife and
children around me, as you see. And I make you a member of my
household at once by not laying aside my rule. My reader is hoarse
to-day, or I would have some interesting extracts out of my uncle's
notebook read. Some grapes? They are late October vines. We can look
out of those side windows upon the white-sailed galleys that go by.
My uncle was admiral of the western fleet, you know, and though I have
only been a civil officer, yet I have a sort of love for the sea; and
this is one thing that makes Laurentinum so dear to me. Have you
dined so simply? Your ride has not given you the appetite it gives me.
Fatigue is your true appetizer, and if that fails I cannot hope that
these autumn figs will tempt you."
Our host runs on thus at a great rate, and is evidently bent on
showing us the rest of his comfortable villa before the daylight fails
us:
"So you would see the retreat I claim as my own den? Let us pass back
into the box-alley. The box does not grow well unless sheltered from
the winds and the beating sunshine; so the gaps in the hedge I fill
up with rosemary. You see that the inside of the alley is formed by
vines. The shadowy, tender lawn under them is a pleasant place to walk
on barefoot. The fig and mulberry are the only trees that grow well
here. The garden is backed by two sunny rooms again, and behind that
is the kitchen garden. And here is the long covered way near the
public work. It has twice as many windows opening out as it has
opposite opening into my garden, and on blowing as well as windless
days the shutters are ever open. In front is my colonnade, fringed
with violets. Here is my basking-walk. You see how it shelters one,
too, from the African winds. It cuts off the wind from the other side
in winter. It has advantages both for winter and summer: according to
the season and the shade, you can enjoy the sea-view or can get the
cool of the garden and alley. Then those open windows always keep the
air astir. This summer-like place is my special delight, for I planned
it myself."
And indeed, my pseudo Gallus, let me remark that, being myself a
native of the Mediterranean, I can enter better than you can into the
childish delight that our friend Caius Plinius expresses. It is a joy
which is not to be found in the nature of the American to sleep in the
tropic heats of a July sun. Winter is abhorrent to the nature of every
Levanter. To bask upon the shore of the Mediterranean, with the calm
lazy sea at your feet and the winds cut off from your back, is the
only decent way of hibernating. But this is in your ear as we pass
along, and you will have to repress the smile on your lips or change
it into a sign of courteous pleasure, or he will detect the impostor.
Now then: "Here is my sun-chamber. It looks out on the colonnade, the
sea and the sunshine. It leads into the covered walk by this window,
and into my bed-chamber by this door. But hither. Seaward there is
a letter cabinet on the division wall. It is entered from the
bed-chamber, and can be separated effectually by these curtains and
this transparent door. You see it has only a lounge and a couple of
arm-chairs. At your feet is the sea, behind you the house, over head
the woods: windows look out on either side. My bed-room is convenient,
and yet I am far from the babble of the household. Not the trampling
of the waves, no sounds of storm, no flash of lightning, even daylight
cannot penetrate here unless the shutters are opened. It is so
secret and quiet and hidden because it is in the corridor between the
bed-room walls and the garden wall, and so every sound is deadened. A
small oven is added to the bed-chamber, which by this narrow opening
admits heat when required. There lie the antechamber and the bed-room,
which get the sun all the day long. What do you think of my den, my
Gallus? When I betake myself to this retreat I seem to have left my
home behind me; and especially in the Saturnalia I delight in it. When
the rest of the house is given up to the license of noisy festivals,
no noises can disturb my reveries, no clamors interfere with my
studies."
Let us express our admiration of so well-appointed an abode with
cautious terms, and let us say that we might wonder if any one could
help longing for such a home. Let us be careful that we do not betray
ourselves by asking after modern improvements, as you, O Mask, might
do, but you are not house-hunting to-day.
"Yes, this is comfortable and delightful, but it has one drawback.
There is no spring in the whole enclosure; but we try to make up for
it by wells, or rather fountains. But along this wonderful shore you
have only to dig a little and there oozes out at once--I cannot call
it water, a humor rather, which is unsophisticated brine, on account
of the sea so near by, I suppose. Those forests supply us with wood:
Ostia supplies us with everything else that cannot be got in yonder
village. You see how I live and enjoy myself, and you must be a very
ingrained cit indeed if you do not instantly decide to settle down
amongst us. There is a little farm not far off: let me negotiate it
for you."
It is time for us to vanish, for he will next propose to buy the
Hortensian villa from the improvident prodigal who holds it, and
will make you settle down here in spite of yourself, and so make a
respectable heathen out of you; for of course you have not the courage
to whisper in his ear that you are a Christian: his oven is not yet
cooled down.
But now own, as we are back in the nineteenth century without a
single hair singed, does not C.P.C. Secundus live well as a man who
is upright, just, loving his family, honoring and serving the
emperor, attending to his own business and enjoying his vacations in a
gentlemanly way, though he will become a heathen persecutor before he
dies?
A.A.B.
A PRINCESS OF THULE.
BY WILLIAM BLACK, AUTHOR OF "THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON."