EXUBRK UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA'
JOHN HENRY NASH LIBRARY
SAN FRANCISCO
PRESENTED TO THE
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
ROBERT GORDON SPROUL, PRESIDENT.
<8> BY"
MR.ANDMRS.MILTON S.RAY
CECILY, VIRGINIAANDROSALYN RAY
AND THE
RAY OIL BURNERCDMPANY
1
BY THE WAY
TRAVEL LETTERS WRITTEN
DURING SEVERAL JOURNEYS ABROAD
DESCRIBING SOJOURNS IN ENGLAND, SCOTLAND, IRELAND
FRANCE, GERMANY, AUSTRIA-HUNGARY
ITALY, GREECE, AND EUROPEAN
AND ASIATIC TURKEY
BY
AGNESS GREENE FOSTER
AUTHOR OF
"You &f SOME OTHERS*'
"A ROYAL ROAD "
"BLESSINGS"
ETC.
Illustrated
PAUL ELDER 5? COMPANY
PUBLISHERS . . SAN FRANCISCO
REVISED AND ENLARGED
EDITION
New material has been added in this edition
including sojourns in Turkey, Greece, Austria-
Hungary and Germany. While not intended in
any way as a guide-book, this volume will be
found especially helpful to those contemplating a
first journey across the Atlantic. Attention is called
to the list of pensions and to the bibliography.
Copyright, 1903
by AGNESS GREENE FOSTER
Copyright, 1910
by PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY
THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY
MY DEAR :
"WHEN AT THE FIRST I TOOK MY PEN IN HAND
THUS FOR TO WRITE, I DID NOT UNDERSTAND
THAT I AT ALL SHOULD MAKE A LITTLE BOOK
IN SUCH A MODE; NAY, I HAD UNDERTOOK
TO MAKE ANOTHER, WHICH, WHEN ALMOST DONE,
BEFORE I WAS AWARE I THIS BEGUN.
. . . BUT YET I DID NOT THINK
To SHOW TO ALL THE WORLD MY PEN AND INK
IN SUCH A MODE; I ONLY THOUGHT TO MAKE
I KNEW NOT WHAT : NOR DID I UNDERTAKE
THEREBY TO PLEASE MY NEIGHBOR ; NO, NOT I,
I DID IT MINE OWN SELF TO GRATIFY."
5jC5jx>js>jx5jC5{s5jC5j
AND THUS IT WAS, ONE BRIGHT SEPTEMBER DAY,
FULL SUDDENLY I FINISHED "BY THE WAY."
Ill
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY iii
BY WAY OF PREAMBLE ix
PART I
ENGLAND 3
SCOTLAND 28
IRELAND 34
ITALY 51
SWITZERLAND 93
HOLLAND AND BELGIUM 105
PART II
GREECE 115
TURKEY 120
HUNGARY 129
AUSTRIA 132
GERMANY 134
FRANCE 137
ISCHIA 162
INDEX OF PLACES 171
INDEX OF AUTHORS AND BOOKS 177
ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING
PAGE
Castello Mezzatorre Title
Lime Walk, Oxford 10
National Gallery, London, fronting Trafalgar Square 1 6
Ventnor \ 2O
Tennyson's House f
Shanklin, Isle of Wight \ 22
Street in Bonchurch J * " "
Stoke-Poges, where Gray's u Elegy " was written ... 24
National Gallery, Edinburgh, Castle on Hill in background . 30
Dryburgh Abbey, where Sir Walter Scott is buried ... 32
Dunluce Castle 36
Trinity College, Dublin 4 8
Old Steps and Sea Wall, Capri 54
Isola di Capri 56
Amalfi 58
Street Scene, Naples 60
The Pincian Hill, Rome 68
Stanza della Segnatura, Vatican Palace, Rome 74
Piazza della Signoria, Florence 82
Stairway Bargello Palace, Florence 84
The Grand Canal, Venice 86
Lake Maggiore, Isola Bella, Italy 92
Amsterdam 106
Ship Canal cut across the Isthmus of Corinth 1 1 6
The Acropolis as It Was )
The Acropolis as It Is )
Landing at Smyrna 120
Constantinople 122
The Galata Bridge, Constantinople 126
Modern Nurnberg ") /-
Old Nurnberg f
Rue de Rivoli, showing Tuileries Gardens 140
Bois de Vincennes \
Chateau d'Amboise/
Campo Santo, Genoa 156
Valley of the Rhone \ g
Corniche Road between Nice and Monaco J
Chateau d'lf \ -
Almeria, Spain /
vii
BTM4T
OF PREAMBLE
Ah me, ah me, that I should be
So torn by my inconstancy ,
I fain would go I tarry so.
But see the 'world \ I must heigh-ho.
WASHINGTON:
/NDEED, and in truth, one is rarely natural
save under deep emotions. After all my
resolutions and determinations, I found I was
not able to fart from those 1 love with any
degree of composure.
I assure you that I did not stay composed
very long, for as the cruel train pulled out,
and I saw, through a mist of tears, that dear
form fade from sight, I broke down, and re-
mained "down" all the afternoon and eve-
ning. With this mornings bright sunshine,
however, I am a man (? ) again.
The first sound I heard this morning was,
"Here ' s a message for you, Miss" and
straightway that porter s name goes rattling
down the rocky road of history as a discern-
ing and right-minded person. What married
woman of, well, lefs say thirty, does not enjoy
ix
BY WAT OF PREAMBLE
being called "Miss" ? But to go back to my
telegram, /'/ served as my dejeuner a la
felicite. From that moment I was happy,
and peace has taken possession of me since the
coming of that dear message.
PHILADELPHIA:
rHE SHIP was so white and clean, and I
was so pleased over our stateroom, that
I forgot for a moment the big lump in my
throat; but I do not understand why people
allow those near and dear to them to come to
see them off. Nothing could have kept me
on that boat had my nearest and dearest
been standing on the dock.
Ruth and Suzanne are here at last.
I am sending these lines back with the pilot.
I wish he were to take me instead of the
letter.
How I envy it !
ONBOARD SHIP:
rHERE has been no writing on board this
ship for the past four days, and very little
sleeping, and less eating. Every one seemed
sick except Ruth, a few of the men and my-
self. Those of us who were able to crawl up
on deck were lashed to our steamer chairs
and the chairs lashed to the deck.
BY WAY OF PREAMBLE
The pilot left at six in the evening. Every
one on board rushed to the side to see the
sailors lower him into his little boat, and I
watched him as far as the eye could see,
for he carried with him my last message to
you.
We no sooner struck the breakwater than
the ship began to roll, and the tossing has
continued for four days without cessation, for
we are following in the wake of a storm.
Tou asked me to tell you every little detail
of life on board ship. Tou little know the
task you set me; and right here I desire to
put myself on record as begging the pardon
of all writers on this subjeft for my unkind
thoughts of them. I see now, after only five
days on shipboard, why all descriptions are so
unsatisfactory to those who have never ex-
perienced a voyage.
In the first place, the word "deck" is most
inadequate. One naturally thinks that a deck
is an open space on the top of a ship, similar
to that of a river steamboat, The decks are
in reality wide piazzas when the sea is
quiet. On them the passengers congregate
when all is well with them and with the
elements. I say "up on deck," when it is only
"out on the veranda" Flights of easy stairs
conned the various floors. These stairs are
xi
BT WAT OF PREAMBLE
dancing continually, but one soon gets used to
it if one has his "sea legs" and usually ar-
rives safely. This ship is similar to an oval
house of several stories, with galleries or
verandas running completely around each
story, and any number of basements and sub-
basements; but with these we have nothing
to do.
As I crossed the gangplank I landed on
the saloon deck and entered the only door on
that side. I found myself in a small hallway,
out of which opened the ladies' saloon and
the writing-rooms, and from which the stairs
descend to the floor where the dining-room
and most of the berths are situated. My
stateroom is on the top story, so I have only
to step from our hallway on to the main
deck.
I read the description which I have just
written to the captain, and I wish you could
have heard him shout. He begged me to per-
mit his "tiger" to make a copy of it for him,
and I did, but I was sorry the moment it left
my hands, for I know it is most absurd, and it
was intended for you only. Nevertheless, Pll
venture the assertion that those who know
will readily see the pitture, and those who do
not know will get a pretty good idea of how
a ship looks.
xii
BT WAT OF PREAMBLE
MID-ATLANTIC:
one is out today , and as it is cold,
the entire saloon deck is lined with a
much-wrapped, many-rugged assembly, whose
chairs are fastened to the house-side of the
deck, while those who have their sea legs are
marching to and fro in front of the line of
chairs. The deck steward has the chairs
placed for us each morning on the side free
from the winds. Most of the time these past
days I have been sitting in my chair looking
at my feet, first with the sea and then with
the sky, as a background.
a
OFF QUEENSTOWN:
)#, BLESSED day! We saw land for a few
moments, and I have your dear letters
two happy events. I ran away with my
letters and have written answers to them
which are for your eyes alone. 'That reminds
me to say, that I think it would be better for
me to write on one sheet of paper a wee bit
of a letter to you, telling you a few of the
many nice things I think of you, but which will
interest no one but you. On another sheet I
will tell of the places I see and the people I
meet, and this you may send to the friends who
are self-sacrificing enough to say they would
like to read about this little journey of mine.
xiii
BY WAT OF PREAMBLE
I found on this ship the usual number of
wise and otherwise passenger -s, a few of
whom are most interesting. Mr. and Mrs.
P., of Philadelphia, who are well-known
philanthropists; an Englishman, whose care
and attention to an invalid wife and child
forever clear his countrymen from the con-
tumely of indifference to their families ; Mrs.
F. and her son ; and a most charming Cana-
dian gentleman, who has made the voyage a
delight for us.
Ruth and I are seated at the right and
left of the dear old captain. The table is
served bountifully, and the viands are deli-
cious. We really try not to ask too many ques-
tions^ but I fancy our endeavors are a failure.
Were I a captain of one of these ocean liners,
Fd have something like the following hung
in each stateroom, along with "How to put
on this life-preserver when drowning"
First. This ship is fireproof, waterproof,
and mal de mer proof.
Second. We will positively land on the
day of y or on the next day, or surely the
next.
Third. The captain is (or is not) married,
as the case may be. (I should advise that
it be written "/V" in either case, to save
trouble.)
xiv
BY WAY OF PREAMBLE
These liners carry much freight, and are
slow, taking usually nine days for the ocean
voyage, which together with the day down
the Delaware, another up the channel, and
the delay caused by the storm, will keep us
on board thirteen days. It is because of the
slow speed and the limited number of passen-
gers that this line is patronized by such a
delightful class of people who go chiefly for
the quiet obtained on the sea.
ST. GEORGE'S CHANNEL:
T^LOATING around in my ink-pot" are
-F many things which I intend to tell you
some day, but with the unsteady condition
of this writing-table, not now. Just a word
today about my fellow-travelers.
Mrs. F., of Boston, reminds me of the
Arabian proverb : "He who knows not, and
knows not that he knows not, is a fool; shun
him. He who knows not, and knows that he
knows not, is simple; teach him. He who
knows, and knows not that he knows, is
asleep; wake him. He who knows, and
knows that he knows, is wise; follow him."
Mrs. F. is one whom I should be willing
to follow. She has with her an invalid son,
who looks older than she. She did not appear
on deck for many days, and kept entirely to
XV
ET WAT OF PREAMBLE
herself. She came up one of those days when I
was alone on the deck. Joe, our deck steward,
placed us in Ruth's two chairs, one of which
she had just vacated, while he and the lady s
servant fetched our chairs. When the chairs
appeared they were identical, and with the
same initials on them. Joe knew mine well,
and the lady's servant knew hers. As the
chairs were brought neither of us spoke, but
our eyes met and we laughed.
After a few moments, "I wonder" said
she, " if they are spelled the same, too." "/
doubt it" I replied. 'That was all. The ser-
vants stared in wonder and left. She smiles
and bows each time we meet, and I must con-
fess Pd like to know what her given name
is. On the sailing list it is Mrs. Wilbur n
Godfrey F and maid, and Mr. W. G.
F and servant.
We missed the tide, so the boat will not
be able to land us at the dock, but instead,
we shall be compelled to go in on the tender,
which is approaching in the distance.
xvi
PART I.
This other Eden, demi-para dise ;
This fortress built by nature for herself.
Against infeftion and the hand of war;
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the siher sea.
SHAKSPERE, Richard II,
A6t II, Scene I, Line 42.
ENGLAND
Oh, to be in England
Now that Aprir& there ,
And whoever 'wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brush-wood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England now ! ROBERT BROWNING.
LIVERPOOL :
TTTE LANDED at eleven o'clock and I went
* * immediately and sent a cable to you.
In the paying for it my first money trans-
adtion in England I was given too little
change, which stamps me fresh from Amer-
ica and not up in shillings, pence, and ha'-
pennies.
The contents of our letters made it nec-
essary to change some of our plans. A
telegram to Ruth from Lady S , com-
pelling her to go north for a few days, will
separate us for a time. Ruth begged me
to accompany her, but my plans lead else-
where, so this merry family of ours parts
to meet (?)
You are a very satisfactory sort of corre-
spondent, for you bid me tell how one
BY THE WAY
should go to London from Liverpool, what
to see and any little details not known to
the stranger, not forgetting the necessary
expenses. Ruth has been here many times,
and knows every spot of interest, and she
has mapped out a route for me to take un-
til she can join me.
After going through the Customs, which,
by the way, is easier in European countries
than in America, we started at once for
London, via the Great Western Railway.
Speaking of the Customs, they have sort
of aisles, in which the trunks are arranged,
and one is not allowed to enter until all is
ready. Hanging in conspicuous places are
the letters of the alphabet, and a man at
the door asks your name, and you are di-
refted to the proper aisle. The officer first
looks you over, then says: "Have you any
spirits" (not ghosts, but liquors), "cigars,
or English copyrighted books?" I an-
swered, "No," of course, and the blue
chalk mark was placed on my luggage
without further question, after which a
splendid porter was called to carry it to my
carriage.
The woman behind me, too, said "No,"
just as I did, but she, it seems, had a man
all her own, and the officer said,
ENGLAND
" I will have to trouble you to open the
trunks for me."
Apparently the Customs officers have a
way of finding out things, and I wish you
could have seen the contents of those
trunks ! There were bottles and bottles,
and cigars and tobacco everything but
books. That was the first time I was sorry
my name began with , for had it been
otherwise I should have been spared the
sight of the discomfort of that poor woman.
As I was leaving, the second officer said
to her, cc Please call your husband, madam."
Now, how do you suppose they knew she
had a husband with her?
Oh, dear! Oh, dear! That ocean seems,
somehow, awfully wide today with you on
the other side.
CHESTER :
TTTE PURCHASED in Liverpool an"Amer-
^ * ican tourists' stop-over ticket," over
what is known as the " Garden Route," for
1 6/6, which, being interpreted, signifies
sixteen shillings and sixpence, or slightly
over four dollars.
We are at The Blossoms, an inn over
four hundred years old. We have been to
Hawarden Castle, the beautiful home of
BY THE WAY
the late Mr. Gladstone. It is in Wales,
but five miles from here. On our return
we visited Eaton Hall, the magnificent
"place" of the Duke of Westminster.
Chester is one of the oldest towns in
England, and some of the old Roman wall,
built over one thousand years ago, is yet
standing. The " Old Rows," two-story
shops, with some above and some below
the sidewalk, are quaint. The beautiful
drive is called the " Roodee," a contraction
of the French word rue and the River
Dee, on the banks of which the old town
is situated. Here is a cathedral which pre-
sents every style of English mediaeval
archite&ure, from the early Norman to the
last Perpendicular.
I count this a remarkable day. I have
seen my first English cathedral, my first
English estate, and have stood, for the
first time, in the cloisters of an abbey.
LEAMINGTON:
ARRIVED at Leamington at "ten to
five" last evening. The people of
the Manor House were expefting us, as
we had written from Chester. We chose
this inn from our guide-book, and because
it had a garden. I have learned that, in
6
ENGLAND
England, when in doubt about an inn,
"lead" with a garden, and you will rarely
make a mistake.
This has been a damp journey so far.
The rain began in Chicago, and has kept
pace with me all the way. Notwithstand-
ing, we strolled, after tea, over the little
spa and a good five miles of beautiful
meadow to Guy's Cliff, the handsome
countryseat of Lord Percy, and back in
time for eight o'clock table d'hote. The
number of times these English cousins of
ours eat is remarkable. They breakfast
anywhere from eight to eleven, lunch from
twelve to four, have tea always at five, and
dinner from eight to eleven at night.
This morning, at eight, dressed in our
short walking skirts and heavy boots, with
every warm garment we possess under our
jackets, we started for Warwick. It was
bitterly cold but did you ever see a
castle ?
I have! Today!
Imagine me standing outside the castle
wall, gazing up in silent awe. This wall
is one hundred and twenty-five feet high
and ten feet thick, built around a square
of two miles, the gray walls of the castle
itself forming one side of the square. *
BY THE WAY
I wonder if other people are moved to
tears by grandeur in nature or in art ? Do
you recall how the tears would come the
day I caught my first glimpse of the Pa-
cific Ocean from Mt. Lowe? So today,
while others were "ohing" and "ahing,"
I was dumb with joy; and if I have said
once, I have said a hundred times, " If you
were only here to enjoy it with me!"
As we left the embattled gateway we
passed through a road deeply cut out of
the solid rock, the walls of which were
covered with vines. A sudden turn brought
us abruptly into the vast open court, when
there burst upon our vision a fortress,
mighty and magnificent, and this was War-
wick Castle! No matter how many em-
battled castles you see, the one seen first
will be stamped forever upon your mem-
ory, and I hope it will be beautiful War-
wick. We were shown through the state
apartments, but they were as nothing com-
pared with my first glimpse of the massive
fortress of the feudal barons of Warwick
the old king-makers. After dinner we
drove to Kenilworth and viewed the stately
ruins by moonlight.
ENGLAND
STRATFORD-ON-AVON :
HE sun shone today, and it was a wel-
come sight. We came here to rest
over the Sabbath, and we have wandered
over the simple old town to all the haunts
of the poet, where we met Americans,
Germans, Frenchmen, Italians all doing
him honor. As we walked "Across the
field to Ann" in the twilight, I recalled
Dr. Richard Burton's beautiful poem of
that title.
OXFORD:
HACKERAY was certainly right when he
said of Oxford, " It is a delight to
enter, but despair to leave." Should you
ask me to tell you candidly how long one
should remain in Oxford in order to see
it perfedly, I should reply, "A lifetime."
It is charming. Of course the college
buildings, with their quads and cloisters,
the churches, the Sheldonian Theater and
Bodleian Library, are all teeming with
historic interest, but it is the beauty of the
outdoor part of Oxford of all England,
in fad: that most appeals to me. Well
may this be called the "Garden Route," for
all nature is alive with flowers and foliage,
with green of all shades, and odors sweeter
BY THE WAY
than honey. Everything here is freely
accessible to the visitor. No wonder the
English women are good walkers. One
cannot see the beauties of these glorious
gardens, both public and private, unless
one walks miles, as I have this day.
WINDSOR:
T HAVE been repaid a thousandfold for
-* that awful ocean voyage. The massive
walls of Windsor Castle are just outside
my window, and as I write, I count ten
guards abreast upon them. It is the
Queen's birthday, " God bless her!"
I was up with the lark and entered the
embattled gateway as soon as it was open
to visitors. The terraces, the grand par-
terre, the royal stables, St. George's Chapel
where the royal marriages are celebrated,
the State Apartments, the Round Tower,
and Albert Memorial Chapel all, all are
beyond my power of description. It was
with difficulty that I tore myself away,
bade good-bye to Mr. and Mrs. W.,
caught the train for Paddington Station,
reached London in time to take a cab to
my bankers, where I found your blessed
letters, and then went to my new home.
ENGLAND
LONDON:
T AWRENCE HUTTON says i " London has
**f no associations so interesting as those
connected with its literary men." I do not
entirely agree with him.
Not half has been told of dear, delight-
ful, dirty, dreary London. I should be the
last person to call her dreary, for she put
on her best behavior for me, and the sun
shone nearly every day those first weeks.
It was June:
" And what is so rare as a day in June ? "
You will remember that the American
statesman-poet wrote the poem containing
this line in London.
The first and last place to visit in Lon-
don is Westminster Abbey. The church
is in the form of a Latin cross, and the
poets' corner is in the south transept, a
wing off the organ-room. When you enter
it, you seem to be in a chapel with pews
and an altar like any place of worship, but
it appears to grow larger as one continues
to gaze. The walls and every available
space are filled with marble busts or bas-
reliefs.
It is worthy of note that Longfellow is
the only American whose bust adorns the
1 1
BY THE WAY
poets' corner. There is a service of song
here every afternoon at four, and the har-
mony of those sweet voices is yet ringing
in my ears.
The Houses of Parliament are across
the street from the Abbey. They contain
over a thousand apartments, more than a
hundred staircases, and a dozen courts.
The art in these buildings rivals anything
of the kind in the world. The paintings,
sculptures, and the mosaic pavements are
beautiful. They are open to the public
only on Saturdays, from ten to four.
One should take a boat from the Tower
Bridge to get the view of the Parliament
buildings from the river, and sail away
down past the embankment, where are
many of the finest hotels.
There are some beautiful water trips
about London. One particularly pleasant
is from London Bridge to Kew. If you
have time, stop at Chelsea and see the
home of Carlyle, which is now fitted up as
a memorial and open to visitors. Go on
to Kew, where you disembark and take a
char-a-bancs^ or the top of an omnibus, to
Hampton Court and walk through the
grounds.
To me one of the greatest delights of
12
ENGLAND
London is Hyde Park. I cannot under-
stand why one hears so much about Paris
and so little of London. Hyde Park is to
London what the Tuileries are to Paris,
and the marble arch at the Victoria Street
entrance, ereded by George the Fourth,
is as beautiful as the Arc de Triomphe,
while the massive archway and iron gates
at the Piccadilly end are imposing. One
gets the best idea of Hyde Park by taking
a 'bus at Piccadilly Circus and, by the
by, do you know what Piccadilly Circus is?
Well, it is only a street, or rather a widen-
ing of the place where Regent Street ends
and where Piccadilly turns west. Picca-
dilly itself is a prominent street, but only
about half a mile in length, beginning at
Haymarket and ending at Hyde Park.
To go back to Hyde Park I repeat,
take a 'bus at Piccadilly Circus, ride to Kens-
ington Gore, and walk back through Kens-
ington Gardens, past the Albert Memorial
and the marble statue of the Queen, done
by her daughter, Princess Louise. One is
obliged to walk, as carriages are not allowed
in Kensington Gardens, and there is no
other way to see the beauty of the rare old
trees, the fountains, the lakes, the bridges
and the glorious array of blossoms. Try
BY THE WAY
to get to Rotton Row in Hyde Park by
four, for at that time the "drive" begins,
and one may see London's lords and ladies
at their best.
Another delightful day may be spent in
St. James* Park. Aim to arrive there for
the "guard mount," at nine each morning,
and if you go on a Wednesday, and the
King and Queen happen not to be in town,
you may be shown through the palace.
Make a day of the Crystal Palace at
Norwood. If you cannot take the conti-
nental trip, a very good idea of the works
of art of Switzerland, Germany, France
and Italy may be obtained in this "minia-
ture world," as the Crystal Palace is some-
times called.
You should go to the theaters, and go
some time when they do not "book stalls."
This experience is apt to test your dispo-
sition. The Haymarket Theater, for in-
stance, does not book seats on Saturday
afternoons and the highest priced seat is
but four shillings. It seemed strange that
Ruth insisted on our lunching so early the
Saturday we were to attend, but I thought
the performance began at twelve like
the Wagnerian cycles at Covent Garden.
When I saw the pretty, well-behaved
14
ENGLAND
young women sitting there in line on
camp-stools, it struck me as very funny.
I lost my "place" time after time stepping
out to gaze at them. There were few men
present, and the low voices of the women
never rose high or shrill when arguing
about their right to a place.
But best and most fascinating of all is
the National Gallery, and after that the
British Museum. I like the English school
of art: Landseer, Turner, Reynolds, Ho-
garth and Gainsborough.
If I could have but one picture, and
that of my own choosing, I'd take, without
hesitation, Landseer's "A Distinguished
Member of the Royal Humane Society/'
not because the largest crowd is always
before it, nor because the easel space is full
with artists copying it, but because it ap-
peals to my heart. One should go several
times to the National Gallery that the
knowledge gained may be properly di-
gested. On the first visit especially, a
guide should be taken.
BOURNE END :
T HAVE had a most delightful opportunity
-* to see something of the country life of
England, and one that the casual traveler
'5
BY THE WAY
cannot experience, unless she has friends
living here. It was on a house-boat at
Bourne End, and the memory of that
charming week will live long after paint-
ings and sculptures have faded from my
mind. It was the last week in June. The
Thames was in gala dress for the boat
races, and the banks were lined with house-
boats veritable bowers of plants and
blossoms ready for the Henley regatta.
These house -boats are really flatboats
supporting summer cottages. They are
seldom moved except for the races, and
are then towed up the Thames to Henley
or Oxford by little tugs.
The scene is one of unsurpassed love-
liness the banks lined with these floating
bowers, the water dotted with thousands
of small boats each flying some college
colors, the fresh-looking English maidens
in holiday array, the stalwart fellows in
white duck, the bands of music, the gaiety
and flowers flowers everywhere. If you
have read the description of an Oxford
regatta in "The Handsome Humes," you
will agree with me, I am sure.
######
I shall not soon forget those who have
been faithful and have written me every
16
ENGLAND
little while. No one knows, save those
who have experienced it, what a letter
means to one traveling in a strange country.
I am having the desire of my life. Every
one is lovely to me. I am seeing pidur-
esque England, literary England and his-
torical England. I am having an ideally
perfed: time amid elegance and luxury, yet
you can little realize the courage it takes
not to throw the whole thing up and go
home. I feel as though I'd like to gallop
run is too tame right off to the docks
and take the first thing that crosses that
big ocean. Never fear, though; I'm going
to brave it out, and I'll be a better and a
wiser woman in consequence of it.
H
LONDON, JULY FOURTHS
[URRAH for the red, white, and blue!
The dear maid brought me eleven
letters, each with a little flag on it, and
each intended to reach me this day.
Ruth and I took two young American
girls with us to the Ambassador's reception
this afternoon at four.
There is a spirit of patriotism in the
breast of social leaders which perhaps is
seldom equaled by those in the humbler
walks of life. The firing of gunpowder in
1 7
BY THE WAY
its various forms, the drinking of all sorts
and conditions of drinks, the noise of the
numerous and senseless yells on our na-
tion's natal day, do not necessarily stamp
the doer with boundless national love.
When one is far from one's native land
the feeling of love for that home land is
of too deep and sacred a nature to admit
of jocular demonstrations. I saw society
today with statesmen and men of letters
and foreign representatives at the Ambas-
sador's reception, and the heart swelled
with patriotic emotion, and many eyes
were moist with tears as some one unfurled
the Stars and Stripes, while the band
played the Star-spangled Banner. All this
was done without sound of any sort, save
the sweet strains of the music, or the
deeper drawing of the breath, and yet the
men of other nations uncovered their heads
in respedful acknowledgment of the faft
that they stood before the representatives
of the truest and most patriotic country
on earth.
, Jfc . . $ i . g . " 4* '
So many things crowd to the place where
the gray matter should be that I gasp for
breath. I wonder if every woman who
comes over here is possessed with the
18
ENGLAND
wild desire to write letters. I go to places
now, that I may tell you about them, and
am uneasy until I reach my little sky-par-
lor in order to begin the telling.
Can I ever make you understand how
much, how very much, I appreciate all the
delights you are making it possible for me
to enjoy? Were I to be stricken blind
and deaf, and then live a thousand years,
I have enough of beauty of color, of
sound and of fragrance to enable me to
live happily through it all. And yet, I am
going to say, " I told you so."
You never did so unwise a thing as to
induce me to bring those trunks. We have
discarded them, and have each purchased
an English " hold-all " and a dress basket.
This last we send to the place where we
are to be at the week's end, and there we
are laundered, and away it goes to our
next resting-place.
I find that one can get her linen washed
quickly, cheaply and well in all parts of
England. You give your soiled clothes,
with a thru'pence, to your maid at night,
and you will find them at your door, along
with your shoes, in the morning shoes
and all having been thoroughly washed.
There is a system of "carted luggage "
BY THE WAY
here by which one may send any large
piece of luggage that can be locked (it
will not be taken otherwise) from one's
door and find it in one's room at the hotel
or lodgings in the next city. The cost is
nominal. Unless one comes to visit or for
social duties, only the bare necessities
should be taken. Other articles are an extra
bother and expense. We have learned, too,
to write in advance, in time for a reply,
before venturing to hotels or lodgings.
Women unaccompanied by men do not
receive the best attention in Europe un-
less "expeded."
FRESHWATER, ISLE OF WIGHT:
TN COMING to the Isle of Wight we jour-
* neyed from London to Portsmouth by
rail, and from Portsmouth to Ryde by
boat across the Solent. The Spithead, as
this part of the Solent is called, is the naval
rendezvous of the world. Portsmouth har-
bor is filled with historic interest. It is
here that Nelson's famous flagship Viftory,
now a schoolship, is anchored. Off to the
northward are many basins lined with fac-
tories. A monstrous floating bridge carries
multitudes of passengers and vehicles, and
the smaller ferries and boats of every
20
VENTNOR
TENNYSON'S HOUSE
ENGLAND
description make a wonderful scene of
a&ivity.
The ride was all too short. It seemed
but a moment until we were stepping from
the boat into the train at Ryde which was
to carry us the entire length of the island
to Freshwater, twenty-three miles away.
We arrived at Freshwater at sunset just
as the bells were ringing for vespers, and
we walked with the country folk the half
mile from the station to the inn. Stopping
long enough to leave our bags and wraps,
we continued across the meadows to Far-
ringford, the beautiful home of Tennyson.
This was the realization of one of my
cherished desires.
The house possesses no architectural
pretensions, but is singularly attractive. It
is a long, low, rambling stru6ture abso-
lutely covered with creeping vines. I sat
in Tennyson's chair, held his pen, leaned
on his desk and touched the books he
loved. This was a privilege because the
public is not admitted since the young Lord
Tennyson has taken up his residence there.
Afterwards, I stood on the rustic bridge
where Tennyson often stood to watch the
sea, seen far away through the trees. I
sat in the bower where he wrote " Enoch
21
BY THE WAY
Arden," and strolled along the lanes which
wind over the three hundred acres com-
prising the estate.
It was with difficulty that I dragged
myself away from this restful spot, but I
hope that I caught a bit of the inspiration
that he found there.
Another day from the top of a coach we
saw the beautiful country through which
we had been whirled at dusk some days
before. We drove to the rocks at the
" bottom of the island/' called the Needles;
we wound through the cluster of cottages
forming the village of Freshwater then
on we went through a succession of flow-
ers on the hillside, flowers in the valleys,
flowers by the sea, for the Isle of Wight
is composed of blossoms and all the vari-
ations of green, with ever the blue sea as
a background.
We had our tea in the garden of the
little inn which nestles under the wall of
Carisbrooke Castle. After we had climbed
to its tower for the view and had returned
to earth again, we continued on to New-
port and Ventnor.
If you ever arrive at that part of Vent-
nor called " Bonchurch," stay there. Who-
ever named it must have been color-blind.
22
SHANKLIN,ISLE OF WIGHT
STREET IN BONCHURCH
BY THE WAY
STOKE POGES :
A DELIGHTFULLY restful day has been
*^ spent at Stoke Poges, in that peaceful
old churchyard which inspired Gray's
Elegy. The whole place remains the same
as in the poet's time 1717? except
" Yon ivy-mantled tower," which has been
spoiled by a modern spire. But the ivy
refuses to " mantle " it, and with strange
perverseness stops at the tower, leaving
the spire bare and "unloved" by the vine.
As you sit under the yew tree where
Gray sat and dreamed, you will realize the
significance of his immortal lines :
"Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfa thorn 'd caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air."
The scenery along the Thames Valley,
from London to Slough, is pleasing. On
leaving the train at Slough, one finds all
sorts of carriages waiting to carry one to
Stoke Poges, and on to Burnham Beeches.
LAKESIDE, WINDERMERE,
WEST VIEW VILLAS :
TTTE LEFT London, St. Pancras Station,
** via the Midland Railway, stopping
en route at Chesterfield long enough to see
24
ENGLAND
the " Twisted Tower " of the cathedral. It
was built in the fourteenth century, and
the book says, "A curious twist to the
spire was caused by the warping of the
wood." The poor ignorant people say it
was the devil. It is very odd, whatever
did it.
We left the train at Leeds to see the
ruins of Kirkstall Abbey, catching the next
through train by driving to Skipton, and
here began the most picturesque scenery I
have found in England.
The valley of Craven consists of mead-
ows similar to those of Chester and War-
wick, but they are softer and greener ; the
same hedges, but darker, higher, and more
velvety. The woods behind them set them
off to advantage, and here and there, spark-
ling in the sunlight, are little lakes. The
winding white roads and beautiful roses
are everywhere. We passed a canon cut
in the rocks, with cliffs as high as one can
see, then the blue hills of Cumberland
burst on our vision.
This mountain region, called the Eng-
lish Lake Distrid, is said by the English
to be the most beautiful spot in the Brit-
ish Isles, but the Scotch and the Irish each
claim the same superlative. I shall see
25
BY THE WAY
them all, and shall give you an unpreju-
diced opinion, but certain it is that within
these limits lies a wealth of scenery not to
be very far surpassed anywhere.
Have you the slightest idea what an
English meadow is like ? I had not, until
today. This one has hills on either side
with the clear blue Windermere at their
feet. The white roads wind in and out,
with this cluster of villas all covered with
roses, and an old rustic bridge near by. I
am writing this in the sweetest and cleanest
of rooms, from the window of which I see
the purple hills in the west and the sun
just sinking behind them.
EN ROUTE:
HE sail on Lake Windermere was
delightful. The boat touched at a
number of pi6hiresque places once fre-
quented by Scott, Wordsworth, Shelley
and Southey, landing us at Ambleside
about ten in the morning. Here the coach
was waiting to take us on one of the love-
liest drives in Great Britain. All the way
we glided over the same smooth roads,
with mountains on one side and Lake
Grasmere at our feet. We visited the cot-
tage where Wordsworth lived, the one in
26
ENGLAND
which Coleridge died, and the home of
Harriet Martineau. What wonder that
these dear people wrote so poetically ! One
must find expression for one's dreams in
this land of beauty.
We reached Keswick just in time to
board the train for Penrith, where we
changed for Carlisle. Here we took time to
visit the old castle and the really fine cathe-
dral before leaving for Melrose, Scotland.
* & * ft -K-
It is a mistaken idea that the English
people sneer at or slight Americans. Every
well-informed Englishman acknowledges
the United States to be the most progress-
ive nation on earth. Everything Ameri-
can is sought after, and American ideas
command the highest price.
I have found the better class of English
the most charming of people, and their
hospitality knows no limit. My stay here,
away from my native land, has been one
bright dream of pleasure, made so particu-
larly by a dear old English couple, and
by the family on the house-boat.
And now, good-bye, bright, fragrant and
flowery England!
27
SCOTLAND
I canna thole my ain toun, sin* I hat diuelt /'* this }
To bide in Edinboro* reek ivad be the tap o* bliss.
yon bonnie plaid aboot me hap, the skirlin* pipes gae bring,
With thistles fair tie up my hair, ivAi/e I of Scotia sing.
KATB DOUGLAS WIGGIN.
EDINBURGH:
MELROSE ABBEY by moonlight !
What a world of meaning those
words hold for me! What a wealth of
history those ruins contain ! Their story
must be read before coming, for the cus-
todian's daughter, who was our guide, like
Stockton's Pomona, had learned her story
by heart, and no amount of questioning
would bring forth any other fails save
those in the " book."
This morning Ruth and I hired wheels
and rode to Abbotsford. The beautiful
home of Sir Walter Scott is after the style
of many castles we have seen, walled in
with gardens, terraced lawns, parks and
drives. We plucked a bit of the ivy and
holly hedge planted by Sir Walter's own
hand, and walked in the gardens he loved
so well.
28
SCOTLAND
Imagine, if you can, a city of three hun-
dred thousand inhabitants, having in its
heart an immense rock, with a castle on
top of it.
Edinburgh is rich in landmarks, in spite
of the fadl that it has been burned to the
ground twice since 1300. Its natural beauty
surpasses that of either London or Paris.
It is built upon two ridges, divided by a
valley, which is now a park. The new
town is situated to the north of the park,
and in this portion are found the modern
buildings and principal hotels. From my
window I look out on the marble features
of Scott, whose monument is at the end
of the park.
The pifturesque "Old Town" begins
with the castle on its huge embankment
and slopes down toward the south. It is
here one finds the historic landmarks
crowding each other in dramatic interest.
Here, too, is brought vividly to mind the
sad story of poor Queen Mary.
In the valley between the old and new
towns is found a wealth of art and archi-
tedture not duplicated anywhere, for these
Scots are strong in their originality.
It was from the esplanade overlooking
one of the perpendicular sides of the castle
29
BY THE WAY
rock, but which is now used as a drill-
ground for the soldiers in the barracks,
that I had my first view of that man-de-
vised wonder, the Forth Bridge. I crossed
it afterwards en route to Glasgow.
A few days is but scant time to do jus-
tice to the landmarks of Edinburgh, and
it puzzles one to choose from among those
orthodox and those otherwise. St. Giles,
the old Gray Friars and John Knox vie
with the haunts of Burns, Scott, Johnson
and Boswell. The shops, too, form no
small part of the attraftiveness of the street
scene, and the windows filled with articles
done in plaids of the different clans are
alluring.
GLASGOW:
HE chief difference, I find, between the
English and Scottish castles lies in
the fad: that the former are simply resi-
dences walled to be sure while the
latter are strongholds, generally perched
on some gigantic rock, and, incidentally,
royalty resided in them long enough to
have their heads under the guillotine.
Stirling Castle is no exception to the rule,
and it is therefore not visited by many
women.
3
SCOTLAND
There is a long, hard climb up the hill
leading to the fortifications, for Stirling is
still a garrisoned town, and the castle stands
on the edge of a steep, isolated rock over-
hanging the Forth. Here are the steps
where Mary, Queen of Scots, stood to sur-
vey her possessions, the window out of
which the body of Douglas was thrown,
and the raised dais, on the battlements,
from which Queen Victoria reviewed her
troops. From the battlements there is a
fine view of the country for miles around,
with the statue of Wallace to be seen in
the far distance. Just before crossing the
drawbridge at the entrance to the castle
stands a bronze Robert Bruce, whose feat-
ures, even in iron, bring back the foremost
of Scottish chiefs.
# * * # *
When a Scotchman tells you to do or
see anything, he invariably adds, " If the
day be fine," and true enough much de-
pends on the "fineness" of the day in a
country where it rains a little every day.
The good wishes had been so many and so
fervent that we might have a fine day for
the coach drive through the Trossachs that
nature put on her brightest smile and never
shed a tear until we were under shelter.
31
BY THE WAY
The name Trossachs signifies "bristly
country/' and Scott, in his " Lady of the
Lake/' tells how it "bristles" with beauty
and romance. That old story is, after all,
the best guide to the lake region of Scot-
land.
The big red coach, with its four white
horses and red-coated driver, meets the
passengers as they alight from the travel-
ing carriages, and dashes away almost be-
fore they are seated. Then follows in
quick succession pictures of white roads
bordered with purple heather, with a back-
ground of the dark green of the mountain;
of a stone bridge spanning the blue waters
of a salmon stream ; of a wild bit of moun-
tain scenery, with a road seemingly straight
up its rugged sides; and last comes the
view of the calm waters of Loch Katrine.
The boat Rob Roy receives the party
' from the coach and rounds Ellen's Isle,
sailing almost the entire length of the
beautiful loch. When it finally lands, there
is another coach waiting to carry us across
the mountains, and on to Inversnaid,
where, after visiting the waterfall, the train
is taken for Glasgow.
Glasgow is not a picturesque town in
fa6t, the Clyde is the prettiest thing about
3 2
DRYBURGH ABBEY
WHERE SIR WALTER SCOTT IS BURIED
SCOTLAND
it but it is modern and progressive, and
it has two attra&ive public buildings, the
cathedral and university.
AYR:
"DURNS'S land lies between Glasgow and
*-* the sea, and from the moment that one
alights from the train, at each step is found
some haunt of the much-loved poet. It
takes but a short time to peep through
the window into the room where Burns
was born, and to compare the humble cot
where he lived his life with the magnificent
place he occupies in death. His tomb is
set high up on a hill in the midst of a
park whose sides slope down to the bonnie
Doon.
33
IRELAND
When the glass is up to thirty ,
Be sure the tueather 'will be dirty.
When the glass is high, very !
There^ll be rain in Cork or Kerry.
When the glass is /ow, Lork !
Therc^ll be rain in Kerry and Cork.
* -X- * -X- * *
jAnd when the glass has climbed its best.
The sky '// be weeping in the 'west.
KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN.
HE shortest sea voyage between Scot-
land and Ireland is from Stranraer to
Larne. Stranraer is a short ride from Ayr,
but the S. S. Princess Viftoria was five hours
crossing the channel. It was cold and
rough, and many of the passengers were ill.
* * * * ^
One of the most fascinating of trips is
that to the Giant's Causeway. From Larne
the road takes its way through a number
of thriving towns, and the country looks
neat and has an air of the well-to-do.
At Portrush the scene changes, and be-
comes, almost at once, one of wild rugged-
ness. The cliffs rise high on one side,
and the steep precipice at the edge of the
tramway goes down to the sea on the other.
34
IRELAND
This is an extraordinary coast. The a<5tion
of the waves and the tides on the lime-
stone has made the rocks take on fantastic
shapes. The ocean is always tempestuous.
It must be beautiful from the water, but
nothing save small boats can venture here,
so the view is almost unknown. This sort
of scene continues until we reach Dunluce
Castle.
Perched on the summit of an isolated
rock, not far from the shore, is this pi<5tur-
esque fortress, separated from the main-
land by a deep chasm. The castle is reached
by a drawbridge, while beneath, the waves
beat madly against the sides of the rock,
black with the age of centuries.
The word "causeway" means paving, and
these Irish giants paved well. Basaltic rock
is plentiful along the north coast, but this
particular district alone embraces these odd
varieties of form. The caves along the
coast can be seen only by means of row-
boats. These are manned by strong and
trustworthy sailors. The sea is very rough,
and the boatmen delight in making the
trip seem even more hazardous than per-
haps it really is. After the caves have been
explored the boat is rowed to the extreme
end of the Causeway, and it is during the
35
BY THE WAY
walk back that we get the best idea of
these wonderful formations, and have a
hair-raising experience on a narrow path
three hundred and twenty feet in air. At
first it was delightful high, of course,
but with a broad path. On turning a sharp
corner, suddenly we came to a narrowing
of the way, with nothing but rocks and
sky above, and rocks and sea below. We
dared not turn back, and we walked that
terrible pass until we came to a widening
in the path it seemed hours and then
Ruth and I sat down and cried from sheer
exhaustion. It cost us ten shillings to
enter by the sea and six to make our exit
by land.
How is that for the downtrodden Irish ?
KILLARNEY:
T WISH I were a poet! But even the poet
-* laureate, who recently visited here, says,
"Words cannot do justice to this sweet,
sad scene." His word "sad" pleased me,
for I said yesterday to Ruth that the
scenery of Ireland has a tenderness about
it that makes one be quiet and think
things.
We started at nine-thirty in a four-
horse coach with a bugler. The road lies
36
IRELAND
along the north side of the lower lake,
and it wasn't long before the exquisite
mountain scenery came into view. The
Purple Mountains grew more interesting
at every step. Presently we came to Kate
Kearney's cottage, and our Irish guide
turned and asked, in the richest of brogues :
" Oh ! have you ever heard of Kate Kearney?
She lived at the Lakes of Killarney ;
One glance of her eye would make a man die;
And have you never heard of Kate Kearney?"
Further on we struck the mountain pass,
where the coach could not go. We dis-
mounted and were placed on ponies. I
thought at first I could not ride one, but
I soon got used to the saddle, and I would
not have missed the wild, weird pass over
the mountain for anything. There was
nothing " sad " or " tender " about that. It
was fearful, awesome and mysterious.
We left the ponies at the foot of the
mountains and paid toll into Lord Bran-
don's estate in order to reach the boats.
Lunch was served on the banks of the
upper lake.
These lakes have to be explored in row-
boats, on account of the narrows, a pass
between the rocks not more than ten feet
37
BY THE WAY
apart. Such varied beauty I have seen
nowhere else. The tender grace of the
heather-strewn valley against the back-
ground of hills, the frequent change from
the gentle to the stern, the calm-flowing
waters, the smiling cascades turning into
dashing cataradls over dangerous piles, are
a never-ending source of surprises.
The upper lake is more placid and less
changeable, but the lower has every change,
from smooth, glass-like waters to the rapids,
which we "shoot "in no fearless manner.
Finally we alight on Innisfallen Island to
see the ruins of the abbey ; then we cross
to Ross Castle. Here another coach and
four was in waiting to carry us home.
After ten miles by coach, five on horse-
back and thirteen by boat, I actually dress
for dinner.
# # # # # *
We were up with the larks this morn-
ing, packed everything very carefully, sent
the basket off by carted luggage, and nearly
came to blows with the stupid paddy at
the station over the settlement.
After breakfast the coach came dashing
up, and away we flew again, over the purple
hills, through shady lanes, past the wee
farms and the hovels, catching glimpses
38
IRELAND
of castles, churches and ruins. The most
beautiful of all is Muckross Abbey. I had
no idea we could possibly repeat the
pleasures of yesterday, but in some respefts
we exceeded them. Our road today wound
up and around Eagle Nest Mountain, in
the dark recesses of which the eagle builds
its nest. Here, too, is the home of the
famous Killarney echo. The effeft pro-
duced by the notes of a bugle is almost
supernatural.
The coachmen have a clever manner of
talking to the echoes. For instance, ours
called out, "Pat, were you drunk last
night ?" and the confession came back
from a thousand hills, " Drunk last night,
drunk last night, drunk last night/'
The literary Killarnian claims for this
beautiful region that it was the ruins of
the old castle on the shores of the Middle
Lake which called forth Tennyson's mas-
terpiece, " The Bugle Song."
The Purple Mountains take their name
from the purple of the heather. One can
see every shade, from the light pink-lav-
ender to the dark, almost red, purple.
We arrived at Glengariffjust as the sun
was sinking. The valley, the lakes, the
mountains, the red coach, with its four big
39
BY THE WAY
horses darting in and out of the winding
road, and finally galloping up to the ex-
quisite little inn at Glengariff, high on a
knoll overlooking the blue waters of the
Bay of Bantry, are among the delightful
details of today's pidure.
The shore line of this attractive bay can
be appreciated only when one is taken in
a small boat, threading one's way through
the numberless private yachts that dot
its waters. One of the gentlemen of our
party, thinking to have some sport with
the boatman, said that only one lady could
go in each boat, and that he must choose
the one he wished to go with him. After
a critical survey the answer came, cc Divil
a step will I go without the both of yez ! "
and he handed us both into the boat, and
left the gentlemen to seek a boat by them-
selves.
CORK:
VTTE LEFT the coach at Bantry and took
** an observation car to Cork. After a
rest of a few hours and a dainty luncheon
a jaunting-car "shook" us over the road
to Blarney Castle. The road lies through
a beautifully cultivated country. There is
a charm about the sweet old castle that is
40
IRELAND
indescribable. The view from the top is su-
perb, taking in the valley of the Lee, with
the old Roman bridge in the far distance.
When any one tells you that he kissed
the Blarney stone, take it with several
grains of salt. It is a physical impossibility
for one who wears petticoats.
Cork is, to my mind, the prettiest town
in all Ireland. It lies in the midst of lime-
stone quarries, and is white to a degree. I
had not read Thackeray's "Sketch Book"
before I came here, and I wondered why
some one had not raved over this magnifi-
cent part of the world. I have since been
delighted to find that he did rave I use
the word advisedly as no one but Thack-
eray can.
Cork has more well-known landmarks
than any other place in Ireland. In a little
three-storied bell-tower in the center of
the town hangs the chime of bells made
famous by Francis Mahony in his
"With deep affeftion and recollection
I often think of the Shandon bells. ' '
One of the pleasant drives from Cork
takes one to Sir Walter Raleigh's home at
Youghal. For more than four hundred
years it has stood with but little change.
41
BY THE WAY
Attached to the grounds is the garden
where Raleigh experimented with the po-
tato, which here was first grown in Ireland.
We were a rather solemn lot on the
drive to Queenstown, for all but Ruth and
me were to sail from there for home.
This seeing people off isn't what "it's
cracked up" to be, especially when they
are off for the land where "some one loves
you and thinks of you far away," but we
wished them bon voyage, and Ruth and I
turned our hard-set faces northward.
DUBLIN GREAT DENMARK STREET:
" No wind can drive my bark astray,
Nor change the tide of destiny."
A ND so this all too happy summer must
** come to a close. I remain here to
study, and Ruth goes to Iceland. We
shall meet in the spring, when I shall have
taken my degree (?), and go to sunny Italy
together.
It is said that to travel through Europe
with one and still remain friends, stamps
both as remarkably amiable persons.
Without wishing to seem egotistical, I'd
like you to know that before bidding Ruth
42
IRELAND
good-bye she invited me to join her later
in this jaunt through Italy.
I was sitting on the deck of the ship
that was to carry Ruth away from me,
looking at the lights out over Dublin
Bay, when some one touched me on the
shoulder, and, on turning around, there
stood dear Miss B., who was with us for
a time at Killarney. I met her father on
the street the other day, and told him of
Ruth's intended departure. They were
very good to come to us that night, and I
shall never forget their kindness in help-
ing me over these first days without my
blessed Ruth. Through them I have
made some charming friends who occupy
the time before I start in to study.
# # * # * &
I have had a delightful outing, one
which enabled me to see, and in an un-
common manner, certain out-of-the-way
places where the casual tourists rarely go,
and it has all been due to the friends of
Miss B. These Irish know how to do
things well.
We started away, a regular cavalcade,
with most of the women in the coach and
a few on horseback. The servants went
ahead with the wagons carrying the viands
43
BY THE WAY
and rugs, and, oh, a hundred things we
Americans would never think of.
Dublin has more pleasure resorts at her
door than any other city in the world.
We drove out through Phoenix Park, pass-
ing the summer home of the Lord Lieu-
tenant of Ireland. We made our first stop
at Killiney Castle to get the fine view of
Dublin Bay. It was from this spot that
the poet wrote :
O Bay of Dublin!
My heart you're troublin*.
Your beauty haunts me
Like a fever dream."
Then we dashed away to Bray and Bray's
Head, along the Esplanade, through the
Scalp, a wild bit of country in the county
of Wicklow, and the Dargle, which is a
romantic glen. We never go slowly
the horses are either galloped, or stopped
altogether. Then on we flew through
Enniskerry, a lovely little village, where
everybody stopped or ran to the door to
watch us go by, with a wave of the hand,
and always a " God bless ye ! "
I could not believe such magnificence
was possible in Ireland as was found at
Powers Court had I not seen it with my
44
IRELAND
own eyes. It is the finest private mansion
I have seen in all my travels. The Vale
of Avoca, which called from Moore these
lines,
"There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet
As the vale on whose bosom these bright waters
meet/'
did not appeal to me so much as did
Killarney.
The city of Kilkenny, called the " Marble
City," impressed itself on me. The streets
are paved with marble of their own quarry-
ing, and what is better, the inhabitants
have fire without smoke, from a peculiar
coal found in that district. They also
claim to have water without mud, and
earth without bog, and however true these
boasts may be, it is a wonderfully clean
city. The coach was sent back from this
place by the servants, and we returned by
train.
It all seems very tame in this telling of
mine, but the trip, every moment of it,
was delightful. Sometimes we would all
get out and walk; sometimes the ladies
would exchange with the men and ride
horseback; or when it would rain for a
few moments the men would crowd into
45
BY THE WAY
the coach. Then there would be good
fun, and I could get an idea of their
thoughts. They are great story-tellers,
these Irish, and have such warm hearts.
And the songs they sang, when shall I
ever hear such again ? And yet there was
not a young person, that is, one under
thirty, in the party.
Other things besides wine, my dear,
" improve with age."
There is a pathos about the love of an
Irishman for his country that is most
touching, and each county vies with the
others in patriotic loyalty ; and let me whis-
per in your ear, that the Irish gentry are far
and away ahead of "what the world thinks"
they are. In fad:, they are " deloitful."
I suppose you have noticed the number
of" Kills'' which form some part of many
of the names I have referred to. "Kil"is
the Gaelic for " church/'
One of my Irish friends told the story
of an Englishman who went over to Ire-
land and fell upon the following conver-
sation between two tough-looking natives :
"I'm afther being over to Kilpatrick,"
said the first.
"An' I," replied the other, "am afther
being over to Kilmary."
4 6
IRELAND
"And where are you going now?" asked
number one.
" To Kilmore," was the answer.
The frightened Englishman concluded
not to tarry in such a bloodthirsty country,
and stood not upon the order of his going.
* * * f #
Since writing that last letter I have been
very busy getting in trim for work, and at
last I'm" fit."
I have been taking my afternoons to
see this wonderful city. I told you, did I
not, that because I am in these blessed
petticoats, I am obliged to recite "apart"
not apart from the petticoats, but apart
from the unpetticoated sort.
My home is in quite a good-looking
house, and it is well furnished, but the
landlady is away, and the maidens do it up
when and how they please. I have a large
room " front," and as I study here every
morning, and write much of the remainder
of the time, my room is "tidied" only
when I ask for it, and then, of course, it is
an extra.
Will you believe me when I tell you
that nowhere in Europe have I seen more
lovely or better dressed women than right
here on Sackville Street ? I have accounted
47
BY THE WAY
for it, in some degree, by the fad: that our
Irish cousins follow the American styles
more closely than do any of their immedi-
ate sisters. The Irish woman is always in
good form. One never sees her wearing
any sort of jewelry before luncheon. She
is usually found in the morning in a short,
tailored skirt, a chic blouse and hat; some
dainty confedlion of lace and muslin in
the afternoon ; and, almost without excep-
tion, the middle class, as well as the gentry,
"dress" for dinner; then it is one sees
the beautiful jewels handed down by their
forebears.
The college buildings are delightfully
quaint, with multitudes of old-fashioned
wee window-panes which stud their faces.
Statues of two of Ireland's beloved sons,
Burke and Goldsmith, are on either side
of the entrance. Opposite is the famous
Bank of Ireland, beautiful in design, and
the general post-office. Statues of "Hiber-
nia," "Mercury " and "Fidelity" adorn the
latter.
For some reason an Irishman, in his
native country, will not admit ignorance
on any subjed. He would rather tell you
wrongly than to say, " I don't know."
Some one asked a "jarvey" what those
4 8
C2"
n
IRELAND
statues I have just mentioned were. Pat
hadn't their names handy in his mind, so
he drew on his imagination, and replied :
" Thim 's the twelve apostles, sur."
"Twelve apostles/' shouted the in-
quirer; "why, man, there are only three
of them ! " To which Pat, not to be caught
by such a trifle, said :
"Sure, an' yer honor wouldn't have
thim all out in this dom rain, would ye ?
The rest of 'em are inside sortin' o' the
letters."
The first day I was shown over Dublin
my guide, in pointing out the college, said :
" This is the Library, and an institute for
learning." I asked, " How far does the
Library extend ? " meaning, which was the
Library and which the Institute. The
honest, but thick-headed, paddy replied,
"To the roof, mum."
* * * * * *
The comparative negleft by tourists of
a country like Ireland, where nature has
lavished her charms with such wonderful
profusion, can only be explained by its
hitherto unsettled condition, and its long-
a-dying notoriety for inferior accommoda-
tions and modes of transportation. But
whatever difficulties and discomforts may
49
BY THE WAY
have existed to deter the traveler in former
days, it seems to me that little now is
wanting to render a tour through Ireland
all that the rational traveler can desire.
It is well nigh impossible to tell of the
exquisite scenery of the beautiful island
without seeming fulsome. Almost every
county so teems with prehistoric remains,
and the island is so begirt with varied at-
traftiveness, that it is as alluring to the
student and artist as it is to the pleasure
seeker.
5
ITALY
For Italy, my Italy, mere 'words are faint !
No 'writer* s pencil can convey thy heaven** blue.
Thy languorous bay.
Thou art thine own interpreter.
I dream and wake and find no 'words for her
For Italy *s soft-storied charms
I throw the English words away.
Her gondolas drip through the night
/ stretch my arms toward Napoli,
And " Monte Bella" softly say.
HARRIET AXTELL JOHNSTONE.
SORRENTO :
TTow splendid it seems to be free again !
"> And yet I do believe it does one
good having been out of the habit of
studying to take a few months every
year or so and to give close application to
some subjedt.
I was glad when the time came to end
traveling and to begin study; and now I
am glad that I can cease my studies and
again begin sight-seeing.
Ruth, as you know, found it necessary
to return to America before rejoining me.
She sailed from New York the i8th and
I met her at Ponta Delgada. Ponta Del-
gada is the chief city of the island of San
5 1
BY THE WAY
Miguel, which, in turn, is the principal
island of the Azores, and it is prominent
for having the most beautiful gardens in
the world.
Among the passengers who boarded the
ship with me at Ponta Delgada was a de-
lightful Portuguese family the mother,
son and his wife who came with us to
Italy. They are cultured people, and speak
English perfe&ly, though the mother and
wife had never before been off the island.
We left the Azores on the zyth of
April, passing Gibraltar on May Day.
Gibraltar is not so frowning as I had im-
agined, for the graceful rock smiled down
on us as if in greeting.
* * * * * *
All that has been written about the blue
Mediterranean is true. It is blue as noth-
ing else is. The sky, those days, was
greenish pink, and you know what a de-
light to the eye is the blending of these
colors. But the one bright memory that
stands out clearest when I think of the
Mediterranean is the sunset. I remember
one night in particular. The good captain
told me to hasten from dinner. I drew my
chair close to the rail, and out beyond
the horizon I saw a city of fire. The beau-
52
ITALY
tiful mansions, and cathedrals, and castles,
with turrets and towers, were all ablaze.
Through the streets people in fiery red
draperies were flying from the flames.
Sometimes an old man with flowing beard
appeared in the midst of them, and with
outstretched hands, would seem to call
aloud. The flames turned to a greenish
gold, the smoke rolled away, and far be-
yond appeared a Moorish village, the
temples carved of alabaster. Suddenly,
through the lace-like pillars, came the
faintest tint of pink, growing dimmer and
dimmer, until only the outlines could be
discerned. A great billowy sea of foam
rolled over the village, and divided on
either side of a world of golden fire, and,
as I gazed, it dropped into the black water.
A voice said, " Come, dear, the captain
wants you to see the moon come up out
of the sea." It was my blessed Ruth.
"Did you see that burning city and
Moorish village?" I asked, as soon as I had
returned to earth. "Yes, dear," she replied,
and there were tears in her eyes, too.
# # # * # *
This morning we were called at five
o'clock to see the sun rise over Vesuvius.
The same ball of golden fire which went
53
BY THE WAY
down into the sea that night crowned for
a brief moment the wonderful Mount.
The Bay of Naples is unlike anything
else on earth. On one side are the castles,
or villas, or pleasure resorts, whichever it
be that comes to your gaze as you glide
past; on the other, the turquoise-blue
water; and far in the distance, like a camel
with two humps, rising out of the sea, is
Capri. The air is filled with music, and
the scene is one of the wildest confusion.
Every sort of craft that sails the seas, every
sort of flag, every sort of sound, causes you
to wonder if you will ever get through
that throng. The ship is stopped, the
steps are let down the side, and the dodor
and the purser with the mail come on
board.
While we were busy with our letters
from home, one of the party with whom
we were to go through the Blue Grotto
had bargained with a boatman to take us
to the ship that goes to Capri.
The mode of going ashore here at
Naples is different from that of any other
port where I have landed. Hundreds of
stout row-boats come from the various
hotels, just as the omnibuses meet the
trains in the smaller cities at home,
54
OLD STEPS AND SEA WALL, CAPRI
ITALY
The Blue Grotto must be visited on a
clear, calm day, and some old travelers
advised us, if the day was fine, to go direftly
from the ship before landing. The captain
allowed us to leave our luggage on board,
as the ship will stay in Naples for several
days to unload freight. There were six
of us, then, transferred to the German
Lloyd S. S. Nixe.
As we sailed away, Vesuvius and Sor-
rento were to the left, the city of Naples
behind us, and the outlines of Capri ahead.
We went direftly to the Grotto, or rather
as near as the large boat goes. Here, again,
we took to the row-boats, two in each.
The Grotto itself is a cavern in the side
of the huge rocks of Capri. It is necessary
to lie flat in the boat to get through the
tiny opening. I could readily see why the
authorities do not permit visitors on stormy
days, for the sea was rough even on this
quiet morning. The interior of the cave
is high, and the effect of the reflection of
the sun on the blue waters is indescribable.
Everything under water takes on a silvery
hue, and the echo is weird.
On board the ship once more, we sailed
away from this real fairies' abode to the
town of Capri, arriving at high noon, and
55
BY THE WAY
as the town is on the side of a mountain,
we climbed up a good part of its side to
get a lunch. It was my first Italian meal,
and it was delicious. Of course there
was macaroni in the Italian style, with
beef-stock and tomatoes, and fried fresh
sardines.
The dessert was a fruit, something like
our California plum, which I tasted for
the first time at the Azores, the nespera.
After the repast we hired a carriage for
Anacapri. The road, hewn out of solid
rock, lies along the mountainside, giving
us a magnificent view of the bay, with
Vesuvius always in sight.
We caught the Nixe on her return trip
to Sorrento. Here, again, the little boats
meet us, each bearing the name of its hotel
on a silken banner. The boatman shouts
out the name of the one he represents
until a passenger calls, in turn, his choice.
We were going to the Cocumella, and I
wish you might have heard the boatman
call, in his soft, musical voice, "Co ceh
m-e-1-l-a! Co ceh m-e-1-l-a!" The
steward helped us into the boat, and we
were rowed to an opening in the cliff. The
town lies on the top of perpendicular rocks,
and we struggled up five hundred steps
56
ITALY
cut in a tunnel through the mountain,
coming out; at the top into the lovely
garden of this hotel.
The Cocumella was once a monastery,
and its situation is ideal. Here is a place
where I should be willing to spend the
remainder of my days.
NAPLES :
RUTH is such a brick ! She is not afraid
of her shadow, and she likes to be
alone some time each day. That remark
was called forth by the number of tourists
one meets who are worn to the bone by
companions who are afraid to room alone
or to look out of the window alone to
eat, sleep, walk, talk, or pray alone and
who must have some one close by them
every moment of the time.
Last night, on our walk about Sorrento,
we called at the house of Mr. Marion
Crawford.
This morning in two carriages, for there
were eight of us, we went for the drive
from Sorrento to Amalfi. The road, cut
out of the rock, with a balustrade of stone
to prote6t the traveler from the precipice,
is regarded as one of the finest pieces of
engineering in existence. Sometimes a
57
BY THE WAY
viaducfi, perhaps five hundred feet high,
will span a chasm. The road winds up
and around the mountain, and the view,
with the Bay of Naples at its feet, is
sublimely picturesque. The almost per-
pendicular sides of the mountain, on the
different levels, are terraced and planted
with olive, lemon, or other fruit trees.
The drive was ended at Vietri about
five, and we returned to Naples by train,
having our first glimpse of Pompeii and
our first ride on an Italian railway.
* * # # # #
It rained in torrents all day, but, nothing
daunted, we started for the Customs. That
sounds very commonplace and innocent,
but it spells a mad, wild sort of a time.
In the first place, we had to beg, borrow,
and finally to steal ?ifacchino (porter), and
induce him to get a boatman to fetch our
luggage from the ship, fully a mile out in
the bay. We paid him first to show there
were no hard feelings, again to get a tar-
paulin to cover the luggage, and again and
again for I know not what.
Then we sat down and waited stood
up and waited purchased all the post-
cards in the little cafe and wrote to every
one we knew waited some more, and,
58
ITALY
finally yes, they came. There was an-
other transferring of coins always from
my hand into that of the facchino then
the Customs with its fees, and the cabman
with his, and all the time I had to take
their word for the change, for I had not
mastered the lira.
r * * * * *
Before leaving Naples we visited Pom-
peii. I was disappointed at first with these
wonderful ruins. There is much that one
must imagine. One must take the word
of the guides for everything, and they have
a little way of "space-filling " which has
lost its charm for me. But Pompeii grew
on me each moment of my stay. We were
taken in a sedan chair carried on the
shoulders of two strong peasants. The
general appearance is that of a town which
has been swept by a tornado, unroofing
the houses and leaving only the walls
standing. It is on these walls that one
finds the exquisite bits of coloring which
has given us the Pompeian tints.
# * * r * *
The charm of Naples lies in the won-
derful scenery surrounding it, and in its
street scenes, with the noise and clatter of
its street vendors. Life in the poorer
59
BY THE WAY
quarters is like that in no other city, being
free and open to public gaze. All the
duties of the household are performed in
the street.
ROME:
HE first thing to learn in Rome is the
pronunciation of the name of the street
and the number of your pension, in order
that you may be able to get home. Our
pronunciation is set-tahn-tah dew-ey vee-ah
sis-teen-ah, and the manner with which we
hop into a cab and say it to the cocchiere
stamps us as old Italians.
Our home here is at the top of the Scala
dt Spagna (Spanish steps), right in the
heart of the new town. We walk down
the steps every morning as we start out
to the American Express office to get our
letters, but we come up the" lift " for
ten centimes.
* * * %> * *
It is absolutely necessary to be driven
about Rome accompanied by a guide,
whether one's stay is to be of long or
short duration. In no other manner can
one comprehensively grasp this vast array
of ancient and modern art, nor the colossal
expanse of architecture, both standing and
60
STREET SCENE, NAPLES
ITALY
in ruins. After having been shown the
important places, it is well to return alone,
and at leisure ponder over those things
which most appeal to the heart as well as
to the senses.
* & & & * r
I have had a careful explanation of the
significance of that much-used word
"basilica." Originally it was a portico
separated from some public building, not
unlike the peristyle at our Columbian Ex-
position, save that it need not, of necessity,
be near any body of water; in fadt, it rarely
was in the old Roman days. The basilicas
of the old forums were really walks under
cover. In later days these porticos were
inclosed and made into churches. The
name "basilica" still clung to them, and
now the oblong space forming the main
body between the pillars in any church
edifice, without regard to the style of
architecture, is so called.
* # # * * *
I have read somewhere, in the reveries
of a bachelor (not Ik Marvel's), that
"style is born IN a woman and ON a
man." I wonder how he knew perhaps
he had been in Rome.
The style of the greater number of
61
BY THE WAY
foreign tourists of the female persuasion
must be " in," as there is little visible to
the naked eye. But the style of these
Italian soldiers is " on," indeed, and they
are on dress parade the livelong day. I
have used all my superlatives, but really
in no city on earth does one see such glori-
ously, exquisitely dressed little men as are
the soldiers of Italy, and especially of
Rome. The Bersaglieri form the elite
corps, and wear a large round hat, with a
multitude of cock's plumes, tipped far on
one side of the head. This tribute to the
swagger appearance of the soldiers is also
applicable to the young priests, monks
and students, and even to the butlers and
footmen.
* & # * * #
On a fete day we went to St. Peter's,
and were repaid by meeting our Portu-
guese friends, who took us to drive through
the beautiful parks and grounds of the
Villa Borghese, returning to luncheon with
us at our pension. This home of ours is a
very attractive place, but it tries my patience
to be forced to go through a ten-course
dinner each night, when I am anxious to
get out. The words "change" and "haste"
are unknown here, and it is only endurable
62
ITALY
because the dinner is so exquisitely pre-
pared and served.
We have some interesting and clever
people at our table a family from Bos-
ton, two girls from Washington, a brother
and sister from Philadelphia, who have
lived here for years, and a beautiful Cana-
dian. The last named sits next me, and
our sotto voce conversations have brought
out the fa<ft that her heart is full of love
for all things. She is Canadian only by
birth, and among the array of smartly
dressed Americans in the pension, she leads.
I do not wish to be put on record as
one who judges a woman solely by her
clothes; but oh, the American woman
here is incomparable. I agree with Lillian
Bell, that the women of no other race can
compare with her in dress, or taste, or
carriage. She is bewitching! She is a type !
I believe I once told you that we had no
type. I take it back. We have, and so
glorious a one that I am proud to claim
kinship with her.
fr # * * # *
You will be shocked, I am sure, when
I tell you that I do not agree with Mr.
Howells, nor yet with my beloved Haw-
thorne, for I love modern Rome. To be
63
BY THE WAY
sure, Hawthorne wrote of Rome in 1858,
and Mr. Howells in 1864, and it may be
the shops were not so altogether enticing
in those early days, or it may be because
they were not women that the shops had
no charm for them ; but if they had known
Castellani, the goldsmith on the Piazzi di
Trevi, who executes designs from the old
Grecian, Etruscan and Byzantine models,
or Roccheggiani's exquisite mosaics and
cameo carvings, it is probable their opin-
ions would be modified.
# * * # * *
Michelangelo's " Moses " is not in the
big St. Peter's of the Vatican, but in
St. Peter's of Vincoli. This was a surprise
to me, for I had supposed to the contrary.
I had asked many times, to no avail, why
Michelangelo put horns on his " Moses,"
until a learned monk told me that, in an
early translation of the Scriptures, the
word "horns" was incorre&ly given for
"skin." Notwithstanding the dispropor-
tion of its outlines, the gigantic statue is,
to me, the most wonderful thing ever cut
from a block of marble.
# # * * * *
We have an ascensor in our pension.
The big concierge puts me in, locks the
6 4
ITALY
door, unlocks the catch, and lets it go.
When it gets to my floor it is supposed
to stop, and in the same breath to have its
door unfastened, and all I have to do is
to walk out. Sometimes, however, it stops
midway between floors, and then I wish I
had walked up. I find Roman and Span-
ish steps just as fatiguing to climb as any
others, and patronize the ascensors with
vigor.
* * # # * *
We went by appointment one day to
the Rospigliosi Palazzo to return the visit
of our Portuguese friends, Signor and
Signora A., and were taken into another
part of the palace to see Guido Reni's
" Aurora/' The pi6ture is painted on the
ceiling, and there is an arrangement of
mirrors by which one can view it without
having to tire the neck with looking up so
constantly. It is the greatest painting that
has been done in the last two hundred
years. In the evening we all went to hear
"Gioconda" at the Teatro Adriano. The
Italian audience seemed, by the uproarious
applause that greeted each aria, to appre-
ciate the music, but talked continually
through it all.
* * * * * *
65
BY THE WAY
We have revisited many of the places
which most interested us during our three
days' drive with the cicerone, and have
whiled away many delightful mornings in
the shops. We rest a little in the early
part of each afternoon, and then, almost
invariably, we drive on the Corso and to
the Pincian Gardens, where the band plays
from five until an hour after Ave Maria.
Here one sees the smart Romans, and in
fad: people of nearly every race on earth,
in their best attire, on pleasure bent.
It is needless to tell you that we take a
carriage sans numero, for the private parks
of the best palazzos allow only carriages
without numbers to enter.
The scene on the Pincio is just what it
was in Hawthorne's day. Read his descrip-
tion of it in the " Italian Note Book,"
and you will see it more clearly than I can
make you understand. It is a continual
fete champetre.
One day, while we were obliged to stop
on account of a jam in the ring of carriages
that move slowly round and round the
circle where the band plays, Ruth stepped
from the vehicle to get nearer the beautiful
fountain of Moses to make a little sketch
of it. I sat alone listening to the glorious
66
ITALY
Italian band. And while my thoughts were
thousands of miles away, and very near
the one to whom this message goes first,
some one spoke to me in French, and
asked if I would have the goodness to go
to his madame. It was the serving-man
of our fellow-voyager, she of the same
initials as my own. I looked in the direc-
tion he indicated, and there, not ten car-
riages back, she was, so hemmed in that
it was impossible to drive alongside.
As I left my seat and walked over to
her, she met me with the radiant face and
smiling greeting of an old friend. She is
beautiful, with that inimitable something
about her that attracts one, and I won-
dered if I should ever know what her
given name is. I knew for a certainty that
I should never ask. She is not old, but
gives one the impression that she has lived
long enough to have " gathered the fruits
of experience where once blossomed the
flowers of youthful enthusiasm."
* * # * # *
The bells for^ve Maria had rung. The
musicians were picking up their music.
The Pincian Hill was deserted. Ruth sat
alone in her carriage as this woman's hand
grasped mine in reluctant parting.
6 7
BY THE WAY
"Good night/' I said.
"Goodnight!"
# * * * * *
You recall my telling you of Mrs. F.
on the ship she whom I met on the
Pincian Hill and her invalid son ? Well,
he was not her son. He is her husband.
It will be no breach of confidence to tell
you the story, for I have her permission
withholding her name, of course.
It seems that the husband, in his youth,
was rather "rapid"; and, in a most idiotic
will, the father left him a large fortune,
provided that before his twenty-fifth year
he had been married to a woman at least ten
years his senior. It was stipulated that the
woman was not to know the conditions of
the will until after the marriage, so that
she might be some one of worth and char-
adler, capable of caring for the money.
No wonder it sobered the poor young
man. He swore that he would never
marry, and that those who were ready to
grasp the fortune, should he fail to "keep
the bond/' might have it, and be happy.
One vacation time found him at the
home of a classmate in one of the eastern
college towns, where he met and fell in love
with this woman whom I have described
68
I!
w >
25
ITALY
to you. He had no idea she was older
than himself until he had made her a pro-
posal of marriage. She, of course, refused
what she conceived to be a foolish boy's
fancy. He sent for his mother, and to-
gether they set themselves to win the lady
of his choice, after the mother had " looked
her up" and down as mothers of pre-
cious boys are wont to do.
In the meantime the young man was
taken very ill, in his delirium calling for
his love, who finally, at the physician's
urgent request, went to him, and, with his
mother, cared for him.
It was the day before his twenty-fifth
birthday. The mother was frantic at the
thought that her son was to lose his for-
tune. He cared little for the money, save
that it would enable him to shower favors
upon this love of his. He begged her to
marry him that night to save him from
some great trouble if she ever regretted
it for one moment she should be free
that he could not in honor tell her why it
was so necessary that the marriage be sol-
emnized at once. She had grown fond of
him, yet naturally hesitated to do either
him or herself injustice. Finally his help-
lessness and his mother's agony proved
6 9
BY THE WAY
too much for her, and just before the mid-
night they were married at his bedside.
Who can account for the vagaries of a
woman's fancy ? The foolish conditions
which she made a part of this contract
were : that they should live abroad where
they were not known, and that she should
be known as his mother.
His own mother, otherwise a strong,
sensible woman, agreed to everything, so
great was her anxiety about her son.
In another week they had started for
Europe, and I have accounted to you the
strange manner in which their names ap-
peared on the ship's register. It served as
a safeguard against inquisitive people, and
every one took it for granted that they
were mother and son and she a widow.
Immediately they landed they met an
old friend of hers, and thus began a series
of explanations, for her friend knew she
had no son.
Fortunately this woman was a brave,
true friend, and her advice was so heroic
that the bride was speechless before such
fearlessness.
She said to her: "You must stop all this
foolishness at once. There is absolutely
no excuse for such deceit. One falsehood
ITALY
paves the way for hundreds of others. It
has already cost you the loss of your peace
of mind and it is the cause of your hus-
band's continued illness. How can you
exped: him to be strong, while living a
lie?"
This last statement was pretty hard to
accept, but it proved that her liking for
her young husband had grown into love,
for her one desire was to see him well and
strong.
Her pride, however, stood in her way
and she must have advice. Everything
else the friend said was true, for already
her day had become a hideous nightmare
with this constant fear of meeting some
one whom she knew. And this is why she
sent her footman for me the day of the
concert in the Pincian Gardens.
She explained that she had heard Ruth
and me discussing points in ontology on
the ship, and wanted to ask me if what
her friend said was true. She told me the
story just as I have told it to you, not
naming herself. I divined at once it was
her own, but did not let her feel that I
had perceived it, and for answer I said :
<c How I should love to meet that friend !
Most assuredly she is right. Falsehood
7 1
BY THE WAY
and deceit bring nothing but suffering.
Send word to that poor foolish woman at
once that you too are opposed to her
living a lie any longer/'
It was listening to this tale that made
me forget the crowd, the perfume of the
flowers, and even the exquisite music of
the King's band.
* * * * * *
How glad I am that I saw dear old
England first, for it seems very young
when compared to Rome. Everything here
is twenty centuries or more old, therefore
you may imagine that, by comparison,
things only a few hundred years old are
yet in their infancy.
Apropos of age, while at Oxford a stu-
dent told us, with much solemnity, that
Magdalen College "was built in 1490, be-
fore you were discovered." The doftor
said, "Well, what of it?" I was shocked
at the good doftor, and was much im-
pressed by the great age; but I understand
the dodtor's sarcasm now, for he had re-
cently returned from Rome.
The "oldest church in Rome," how-
ever, reminds one of "the favorite pupil
of Liszt." I am meeting with them still.
The most magnificent place in Rome,
72
ITALY
after the Vatican, is the Villa Borghese
( bor-gay-zay ), not only on account of the
beautiful park which contains numerous
ornamental structures, little temples, ruins,
fountains and statues, but also on account
of the collection of antiques in its casino,
or gallery. It is here that Canova's marble
statue of Pauline Borghese is exhibited
to me the most beautiful marble in Rome.
Here, too, is Titian's first great work,
" Sacred and Profane Love." I fancy that
Titian saw life from many view-points.
# * # * # #
Imagine one going from the sublime to
the ridiculous from the gorgeous Bor-
ghese Villa to a Rag Fair. A Rag Fair is
an open-air sale of everything that can be
thought of, from a garter clasp to a diadem.
We went for old brass candlesticks of the
seven-pronged, sacred variety, afterwards
continuing on to St. Peter's, where we
were repaid for mounting an incline of
1,332 feet up through the dome by the
view of all Rome, the Vatican gardens
and the tops of the c< seven hills."
# * # * # #
Mrs. F. joins us often now. She went
with us again Thursday to the church
San Paola alle Tre Fontane ( St. Paul of
73
BY THE WAY
the Three Fountains). It is kept by Trap-
pist monks, a silent order. They never
speak to each other, but make up for
it when visitors come. We had a dear
"brother" show us the objeds of interest,
and he presented each with a wee drinking
glass to measure out the Eucalyptus wine
which they make there.
The three fountains are flowing clear as
crystal, and whether or not the head of
St. Paul jumped three times on these
spots, as tradition has it, it matters little;
but the simple faith of the sweet-faced
sisters who knelt and drank from each
spring and arose freed from some claim
was touching, and far from provoking the
mirth that some people feel toward these
devout pilgrims.
En route home we stopped at the Eng-
lish cemetery and plucked a flower from
the grave of Keats and of Shelley and of
Constance Fenimore Woolson.
We saw Hilda's Tower, too, that day.
I had occasion to thank Hawthorne for
"The Marble Faun" and "Italian Note
Book," otherwise I should not have been
able to relate the story of Hilda and her
tower. In truth, all Italy would have re-
mained as a closed book to me had it not
74
O
ITALY
been for my three "H's," as Ruth calls
them Hawthorne, Howells and Hutton.
The latter says, in his cc Literary Land-
marks of Rome," that the "Italian Note
Book" is still the best guide to Rome that
has ever been written, and that one should
read it before coming, again while here,
and yet once more after returning home.
I shall say the same about the Land-
marks, for without them much of the
charm I have found here would have been
lost.
# # # # # #
Yesterday we bade St. Peter's good-bye
on our way to Sant' Onofrio. Here, again,
a bright young frere showed us over the
church made most interesting from its
association with Tasso. There are some
excellent paintings in the lunettes under
the colonnade of the cloisters.
It is a great pleasure to show Mrs. F.
anything, as her appreciation is keen. She
knew little of the literary landmarks which
she passed each day, and I pointed out to
her the house where Keats lived, on the
left as one goes down the Spanish steps,
the house of Shelley on the right, with
the lodgings occupied by Byron almost
directly opposite.
75
BY THE WAY
On our return from Sant' Onofrio, she
inquired of the coachman if the horses were
fit, and upon his answering that they were
good for several hours, she turned and in
a low voice asked me to remain with her
as long as possible. I understood. From
a list of streets and numbers which I had
with me, we selected such as we wished to
visit.
On the Via di Bocca di Leona we found
the home of the Brownings ; close by, the
house that sheltered Thackeray in Rome ;
and not far away, the place where Adelaide
Sartoris lived. In rapid succession, then,
we made "little journeys" to the Italian
homes of Louisa Alcctt, Helen Hunt
Jackson, George Eliot, and the house
where Mrs. Jameson held Sunday soirees
in a wee two-by-four room. Mr. Hutton
and I did good work, for after all other
sights had failed to interest, our (?) liter-
ary landmarks succeeded in saving the day.
ORVIETO :
A FTER the rather strenuous day, the ac-
-^^ count of which closed my last letter,
we settled up our affairs in Rome, heard
for the last time the Pope's angel choir,
sent off our luggage, purchased our tickets,
76
ITALY
with innumerable stop-overs, and, hardest
of all, bade good-bye to our friends.
Just before we were leaving, Mrs. F.'s
footman brought to the door of our com-
partment in the traveling-carriage an arm-
ful of roses and a letter. The flowers
brightened all the hot dusty day, but the
letter oh, that letter will brighten all the
years that may come to me, and I have
tucked the precious words away in the
warmest corner of my heart, to be taken
out on the rainy days of life, and fondled
like some of childhood's memories.
I did not see her again after she left
me at the door that evening, nor had she
spoken one word to indicate that she
knew that I knew. She paid me the high-
est tribute of friendship silence.
Among other things in the letter, she
said:
"The Catholic Church has not a mo-
nopoly of 'ears that hear yet hear not,
eyes that see and are blind/ for I find in
you one who is built fine-grained enough
not to mistake silence for stupidity, nor to
consider the absence of an interrogation
mark as lack of sympathy. The very evi-
dent fa<5t that your beautiful companion
knows nothing of my sorrow stamps you
77
BY THE WAY
as a splendid friend, and I want you for
such. * * * Your going has taken away
my strongest staff. You have been bravely
permitting me to lean on you, too hard I
fear, these last days, but you understand,
and, understanding, forget.
" I should come to you in person to bid
you good-speed, but I should break down
and perhaps not be able to let you go, so
I am sending instead this message. I have
determined to be brave, to end this deceit,
to go away from Rome; to begin aright
in some other place; to live the truth."
I left the eternal city with a light and
happy heart, for my new heart's sister
(new if we count by that false estimate
time) is free. I still do not know what
her given name is, as all her notes have
been signed with her initials, and her sur-
name does not resemble mine in the least.
# # # # * *
No wonder Mrs. Ward sent her weak-
est heroine here to hide. If you ever lose
me, and susped that I am in hiding, hunt
for me in Orvieto. I had heard nothing
of the place until I read "Eleanor," but
now, if I were a guide-book, I'd put five
asterisks before it and six in front of its
cathedral.. You will understand how I feel
78
ITALY
about it when I tell you that most of
the guide-books never use more than two
stars to indicate the superlative. Loomis,
in his wildest flights, sometimes uses three,
so I think five would about fit my estima-
tion of the Orvieto of today.
The town is on the top of a mountain,
up the almost perpendicular sides of which
it is reached by a funicolare.
SIENA, ITALIE SIGNORA EL VINA SACCARO'S, PEN-
SION TOGNAZZI, VIA SALLUTIO BANDINI 1 9.
T WISH I might live here, on this street
- and in this pension^ and have it all on
my visiting-cards, and write it in my best
style at the top of my letters. If it were
engraved on my visiting-cards, and you
should wish to come to see me, you would
simply have to say to the cabman, " See-
nyee-o-rah Al-vee-nyee-ah Sah-chah-
ro Pen-see-yo Tog-natz-zee Vee-ah
Sal-lut-chio Bahn-dee-nee Dee-chee-ah-
no-vay" but the entire address doesn't
include the beautiful cloisters into which
my windows open, for the place is an old
monastery.
The first I ever knew of Siena was from
one of Lilian Whiting's books. She spoke
of Symonds' history and Mrs. Butler's
79
BY THE WAY
" Biography of Katherine of Siena," and
straightway I devoured them both. How
little I thought then that I should walk
the same streets and kneel at the same
altar at which that saint knelt. I like her
the best of all the saints " I have met/'
for she loved to be alone and build castles.
Siena is a rival of Rome and Florence
in mediaeval art and archite&ure. The
churches are wonderfully beautiful, and
filled with the choicest works of ancient
and modern artists. The marble pave-
ment and the carved white marble pulpit
in the cathedral cannot be equaled.
FLORENCE:
HREE weeks in the art center of the
world and not one letter written ! The
note-book, however, is getting so fat that
it begs to be put on paper and sent away
to you. My bank account is correspond-
ingly lean, made so partly by the purchase
of pretty carte-postales which carry the
telegraphic messages across the sea, just to
show that I'm thinking and that a letter
is coming some fine day.
Ifmyporte-monnaiewere not so tres mai-
gre, I'd buy many copies of Howell's "Tus-
can Cities," Hutton's "Literary Land-
So
ITALY
marks of Florence/' Ruskin's " Mornings
in Florence," Mrs. Oliphant's " Makers
of Florence/ 1 and Mrs. Browning's " The
Casa Guidi Windows/' and send to each
of you with this inscription : " These are
my sentiments."
It was with a sense of lazy delight that
we wandered about Siena, watching the
peasant women in their picturesque head
coverings, inhaling the atmosphere of me-
diaeval art and the restfulness that comes
with it. In the same leisurely manner,
armed with numerous Leghorn straws, we
turned our faces northward, and found
pleasant rooms awaiting us here.
Our windows look out on the Arno,
and to the right I see the Ponte Vecchio ;
to the left, a bella vista. which ends at
Fiesole.
The new Florence is broad and white
and glistening; the old is narrow, dark and
massively rich.
The Arno, like the Tiber, is a yellowish
green. Its eight bridges are unique, ancient
and historic.
The Lungarno, down which we walk
each morning, is odd and fascinating. It
has on the Arno side a marble balustrade ;
on the other, little shops displaying jewels
81
BY THE WAY
and precious stones which would tempt
the soul of a female angel Gabriel. The
display of turquoise, of which stone Flor-
ence is the home, is ravishing, yet some-
times once, I think we really went by
without entering. The day we did not go
in, however, we went by appointment to
one of the shops on the Tornabuoni, where
were arrayed some gorgeous ancient chains
and rings of scarabs, the cartouch of which
proved them to belong to some Egyptian
potentate.
The Piazza della Signoria forms the
center of Florence. It is surrounded by
the Palazzo Vecchio, the Uffizi, and the
Loggia dei Lanzi. In the center is the
fountain of Neptune. It was in this piazza
that Savonarola was burned.
In the buildings just named, each a mas-
terpiece of architedural beauty, are found
many of the chefs-d'ceuvre of the world.
Florence overflows with so much that is
ornate, it was difficult to make selections.
Like poor Helen
"Were the whole world mine, Florence being bated,
I'd give it all to be to her translated."
Sometimes I think if I could have but
one of these gems of architecture, I'd
82
ITALY
choose the Duomo, with its graceful fa9ade
and its campanile; but when I cross the
street to the Baptistery of San Giovanni,
and gaze at its bronze doors, I change my
mind, and give it first place.
Now it is Santa Croce, with its wondrous
wealth of marbles, where Ruskin and
I spent many happy hours; but soon
Santa Maria Novella has outshone them
all, until the loveliness of the Medicean
Chapel wins my heart anew.
Alas, so weak am I, that all the cathe-
drals sink into obscurity when the Uffizi
Palazzo, with its Tribune, is seen. It holds
the one perfect woman the Uffizi Venus.
The Pitti Palace and the Boboli Gardens ;
the Bargello, with its unique staircase and
court; the Riccardi in truth, all the
wealth of incomparable grandeur of artistic
Florence have their places in my affedions.
The wealth, beauty and royalty of Flor-
ence are seen on the fashionable driveway.
The Cascine is to Florence what the Pincio
is to Rome. There, in the late afternoon,
society drives back and forth along the
bank of the Arno, listening to the music
of a military band.
# # # * # #
It is of little consequence how the artist
83
BY THE WAY
gives expression to his dream whether
by pencil, pen, brush, chisel or voice, in
marble, painting, song or story Florence
is the home of them all.
And Fiesole, ah, Fiesole by moonlight !
I have walked up the Fiesolian Hill, and
taken the little eledric tram, but last night
I took you with me in a carriage. The
others did not know you were there, so
you and I "cuddled down" on the back
seat. You held my hand and said never a
word, but by that same blessed silence I
knew you were drinking in the beauty of
it all.
As the strong horses pulled up the
mountainside, you and I looked back at
Florence. She lay off in the distant shad-
ows, with the Arno at her feet the Arno,
no longer a yellow, muddy stream, but a
glistening, silvery ribbon, with the moon-
beams dancing merrily on its phantom-
like bridges. The towers and turrets were
transformed into marble lace; the statues to
golden cupids; the chimney-tops formed
bas-reliefs ; and the whole, a misty shadow-
pifture. Even Florence was improved by
the witchery of " that old man in the
moon." The silvery unrealness of it cast
a spell over us, making
8 4
STAIRWAY BARGELLO PALACE, FLORENCE
ITALY
* * * The longing heart yearn for
Some one to love, and to be
Beloved of some one.
That's why I took you with me.
When the top was reached we looked
only at the fairyland in the distance. It is
difficult to idealize an ordinary little vil-
lage, even if it be Tuscan, and this one
has nothing to recommend it but a cathe-
dral and some picturesque beggars.
Returning another way, we passed Boc-
caccio's villa, and in fancy saw his merry
party of lords and ladies seated in the
arbors looking out toward Belle Firenze
over the now golden River Arno.
Thus it was I left you in Florence. I
could not find you when Ruth called out,
" Are you going back with the cab, honey ? "
VENICE:
TF FLORENCE was left behind in a memory
- of purple mist, the highroad between
it and Bologna would awaken the most
poetic. The word "highroad" is a little
creation of my own in this connexion, but
I feel sure you will believe it to be " high "
when I tell you that Florence lies at the
foot of the Apennines and Bologna at the
summit ; and that the railway is, by some
85
BY THE WAY
miracle of engineering, built up through
and around these mountains. We threaded
forty-five tunnels, swung around number-
less viaducfts, crawled over heart-stilling
trestleworks connecting one peak with an-
other, and finally came out on top, much
dirty and more tired.
We arrived in Venice at 12 o'clock,
midnight, at the full of the moon. It can-
not be compared with my Florentine
dream, for while they are both exquisitely
lovely, they are different. There is nothing
on earth quite like Venice by moonlight.
All things lose perspective at close range,
or in the glare of the sun's rays, and Ven-
ice shares this disenchantment. It matters
little what or how much one has read of
Venice to realize its charm, its color
scheme and its uniqueness it must be ex-
perienced. For Venice is not a thing, it is
an experience.
We owned a gondola, for a week. We
lived in it, and I, sometimes, slept in it
while we were being wafted from one place
to another.
There is the usual oh, no! there is
nothing usual in Venice cathedral, as in
all cities, but St. Mark's stands out first
and forever as The Church of all churches.
86
ITALY
My first glimpse of this pile of precious
stones was unexpected and most dramatic
to me.
There were no letters that morning, and
I was just walking I did not care where
or on what. What's beauty and loveliness
compared to One letter ? An arcade blocked
the way, and not knowing not caring
where it led, I passed in and through it.
Chancing to look up, I found myself in
the light of day, and straight before me,
ablaze with the sunlight full on its fa9ade,
was a structure of lavish Oriental magnifi-
cence.
" What is that ? " I cried aloud.
"San Marco!" answered a number of
soft, musical voices in unison; and there
stood by my side a little crowd of Italians,
their dark eyes sparkling and white teeth
showing, evidently pleased at my adoration.
" San M-ahr-co, San M-ahr-co ! " they
drawled in delight. For once their pleas-
ure was real ; they did not break the spell
upon me by holding out the hand for a
pourboire.
St. Mark's is Moorish in design, and
has a coloring both gorgeous and subdued.
The richness of jewels and costly stones
does not seem out of place here as in many
87
BY THE WAY
Roman churches. Nothing could be too
precious, too sumptuous, too rare, for this
temple magnificent.
The piazza of St. Mark's is a square
paved with trachyte and marble. It has
the church on one side, and on the other
sides, old white marble palaces, in the
arcades of which are now found shops of
world-wide renown. The piazzetta leads
one, between the Doge's palace and Li-
breria Vecchia, to the Grand Canal.
Every evening a military band plays in
the square, and it is like a vast, open-air
drawing-room with a huge masquerade
ball in full tilt.
We climbed the Campanile and saw, be-
sides a beautiful sunset, the Alps, the
Adriatic, and in the dim distance the Is-
trian Mountain rising out of the sea.
With but a day to give to Venice, or
with a year at your disposal, there is only
one thing to do dream! Whether you
rest in a gondola on the Lagune, drifting
past the Bridge of Sighs, the Rialto, the
Ghetto, or the Lido, listening to the gon-
dolier calling out the names of the palaces
as the boat glides by, or whether you stroll
idly through the miles of churches and
galleries containing the paintings, or sit in
ITALY
wondering awe before the vast area of
mosaics in St. Mark's it matters little
dream !
In truth, one cannot well avoid it, amid
the " subtle, variable, inexpressible color-
ing of transparent alabaster, of polished
Oriental marbles and of lusterless gold,"
as Ruskin puts it.
AU BORD DU LAC COMO:
HEAVENS ! Just think of me writing
u Como " at the top of my letters ! I
have pinched myself to see if I am really
here. The unreality of it all recalls what
Mr. Howells said after reading Ruskin:
"Just after reading his description of St.
Mark's, I, who had seen it every day for
three years, began to doubt its existence."
So I am beginning to doubt my own
existence.
The morning we left Venice I was
nearly arrested by a man in a cocked hat,
all on account of two other men in sailor
hats. In short, I overstepped the etiquette
of the gondolier most woefully. Our train
left at the fetching hour of six, so I made
an appointment with our trustworthy Pie-
tro to come for us in time. I think I have
told you that the word "haste" is an un-
BY THE WAY
known quantity here, and when Pietro
was not at the door ten minutes before the
time to start, I had the clerk call another
gondola. As we were about to step into
the boat, Pietro was seen drifting idly
toward our hotel.
He wasn't very indolent when he saw
what was going on, and those two "sun-
sets " ( I think that is my own, for in a
sunset, do you not see the day-go ? ) danced
several kinds of jigs up and down and
sidewise before me. Several others came
to their assistance, among them the afore-
said cocked-hatted individual.
I told the clerk to tell them that I
wished to conform to the rules, and to
settle it their way. A summer breeze could
not have been calmer than all became in
the twinkling of an eye, but the cause of
the calm was apparent when I settled the
bill. Their understanding of "settling it
their own way" was to pay each of them,
including the cocked-hat, but that was
better than languishing in a dungeon for
ever so little a time, n'est-ce-pas y mon cher?
Since then Milan has been visited
Milan, with its mammoth marble cathe-
dral, done in Irish-point pattern and with
a papier-mache interior but beautiful
ITALY
withal. Several days were spent at Me-
naggio on this lovely lake; another at
Villa Carlotta, where Canova's original and
divinely beautiful marble, " Cupid and
Psyche," stands in all its purity; many
more, sailing up and down these enchant-
ing waters, made green by the reflection of
the forest on the mountains surrounding,
and by the grounds of the wealthy Milan-
ese, whose summer villas line its banks.
Vineyards are scattered along the moun-
tainside in terraces, and the brilliant green
of the chestnut and walnut trees is blended
with the dull grayish green of the olive
and laurel.
# * * # # #
Lake Lugano and Lake Maggiore are
beautiful sheets of water, but they lack the
romantic atmosphere of Como. I can re-
call no other description so pleasing to the
heart as well as to the fancy as the eulogy
to these lakes in Mrs. Ward's " Lady
Rose's Daughter."
DOMODOSSOLA :
URAL Italy, to be appreciated, must be
seen by tram, by boat, by steam, by
old-fashioned diligence, and on foot. Its
lakes and mountains, its valleys and vine-
9 1
BY THE WAY
yards, have been a source of continual sur-
prise to me, and it is with a feeling of
keenest regret that our last place in Italy
is reached. I feel with Browning as I say
farewell to
" Italy, my Italy !
# # # # #
Open my heart and you will see
Graven inside of it, Italy V
9 a
SWITZERLAND
Fair Switzerland, thou art my theme,
Thy praise by day, by night my dream.
My swelling heart with rapture speaks;
I love thy lakes and snow-capped peaks.
Thy wooded glens my thought recalls^
Thy mountain paths and 'waterfalls.
With praises I my verse adorn
Of Jungfrau and the Matter horn.
Thy moon-lit nights and sun-lit days.
For thee in song, my voice I raise.
Thy name for right and freedom stand
/ love thee, dear old Switzerland.
ROLAND PHELPS MARKS.
LUCERNE:
A H, KATE ! dear old friend of my child-
^ hood! How little I thought that night
in June, when you stood up and told the
audience, " Beyond the Alps lies Italy,"
that some day those same Alps would lie
between us. We have not only been cc be-
yond," but over them.
* # * * # *
The soft pink glow of the early dawn
hung over the village of Domodossola as
the start was made for Switzerland.
Our caravan consisted of four diligences,
two luggage vans, and a mounted guide,
93
BY THE WAY
who knew every inch of the pass. He
galloped from coach to coach, hurling his
instructions to occupants and drivers.
Above the blowing of horns, the ringing
of bells, and the answering shouts from
the coaches, this guide's last command rang
out loud and clear : " Keep close together !
Follow me ! Come ! "
It was all as uncertain as life itself. How
blindly and with what enthusiasm we enter
the race, knowing nothing of what the day
may bring !
The creaking diligences started away
with their freight of human souls, to fol-
low follow to what? God only knows.
Again, as in life up and up, on and
on, higher and higher until the summit
is reached at noon-day, and as the shadows
lengthened in the waning of the day, we
began the descent.
That morning as the purple village was
left behind, the road grew narrow and
clung close to the mountainside. So close
it was, did we but stretch the hand ever so
little, we would touch its ruggedness.
Sometimes the road widened into a moun-
tain village, but ever and always on the
other side was the deep, dark abyss. It
varied in depth and blackness, or was
94
SWITZERLAND
filled with some mountain torrent, but the
gloom was always there.
The mountains themselves often smiled
down on us, or laughed outright, as some
sparkling, bubbling cascade could no longer
keep within the channel time had worn
for it in the rocky slope; yet the same
rippling waterfall that had danced right
merrily down from its snowy source, be-
came stern and cruel after it had crossed
the road under us and joined the somber-
ness of the cavern.
If the glare of the sun partially dispelled
the glamour the moon had cast over Ven-
ice, how vastly more does close proximity
to the Alpine village of song and story
dissipate its charm. As every gleam of
sunshine must cast a shadow somewhere,
so the splendor of the Alps must needs
be balanced by the materiality of its in-
habitants.
Of the forty miles from Domodossola,
Italy, to Brigue, Switzerland, the first ten
perhaps are inhabited. These people live
on the road, their huts snuggling close to
the mountain. The little patches of ground
that are tilled lie straight up the moun-
tainside, and upon these sides, too, their
sheep graze. One of the witcheries of the
95
BY THE WAY
region is the tinkling of the tiny bells tied
around the necks of the sheep.
Before reaching Iselle, where the Cus-
toms are paid, the longest of the Simplon
tunnels is passed through, and a block of
granite marks the boundary line between
the two countries.
Along the route the drivers had often
to call out, that the women and children
might make way for the coaches. The chil-
dren, offering fruit or flowers, would run
along with the vehicles and call out the
little English that had been picked up:
"Good-a-bye!" "Kiss-a-me!" "Hur-rah-
up ! " But the smiles soon turned to tears
if no pennies were thrown to them.
Sometimes in the distance there seemed
to be a mammoth pile of rock or debris
obstructing the roadway, which, on being
approached, was found to be part of an
avalanche tunneled out for the passageway.
These are termed "galleries" to distinguish
them from the usual tunnels.
Away up on a high point is an old
hospice which can be reached only by pe-
destrians, a refuge for the mountain
climbers.
Far up among the clouds is a bridge
resembling a tiny toy. Long hours after-
9 6
SWITZERLAND
wards, when the summit of the peak is
reached, and when the road seems to end
abruptly, the bridge comes into view again
spanning some yawning gulf.
Once while crossing from one peak to
another, the gorge below seemed filled
with white smoke. It was the clouds. Some
thousands of feet below, these same clouds
had been above us we were now above
them.
The sensation was awful. cc Look !
Look!" cried the guide, pointing down
into the moraine. The clouds had sepa-
rated, and the rain could be seen pouring
on a little village far below, while the sun
shone bright on us.
The sunshine is not warm among these
snow-clad peaks. It was bitterly cold. The
crunching of the snow under the iron hoofs
of the horses was the only sound to be
heard.
At the village of Simplon where lunch-
eon was served, and where the horses were
changed, the luggage vans were raided for
warm wraps and rugs.
Half a mile from the village of Simplon
the remains of a big avalanche were en-
countered. Men were at work clearing
the roadway, and the guide ordered every
97
BY THE WAY
one to dismount and walk across, the
drivers leading the horses.
When "the road grew wider/' it should
not make a mental picture of a broad
roadway. It is wide only in comparison
with the narrow mountain pass, cut out of
the side of the cliff, making a sort of ridge
of sufficient width to permit but one vehi-
cle at a time. There are places cut deeper
into the rock so that two may pass. A
stone parapet runs along the ledge next to
the precipice to prevent accidents should
the wheels come too near the edge.
At the highest point this parapet was
broken. The workmen who were repair-
ing the wall had been called to assist in
clearing the lower road of the avalanche
over which we had been obliged to walk.
It was at this point that one of our
horses balked. The road, so narrow that
it scarcely permitted the passage of the
diligence, the parapet entirely gone for
a distance of many feet -*- the gorge, deep
and black, with a roaring torrent, too far
down to be seen the very heavens weep-
ing at our misery, here it was the horse
chose to become unmanageable.
The two in the box seat behind the
driver did not realize what was happening
SWITZERLAND
until a shriek from some one in the body
of the coach caused the entire party to
turn. The driver yelled, "Jump ! Jump
toward the mountainside!"
God grant that rarely on human sight
may dawn such a scene, horrible only to
those who had occupied the coach a second
before. The back wheels were over that
fearful ledge, the diligence just tottering.
One moment more, made heavy by its
human load, one quiver of the now terri-
fied beasts, and the whole would have been
engulfed in the depths of that seething
torrent.
We had jumped at the first word of
command jumped as one body. One
second and it would have been too late.
And the old coach, relieved of its burden,
had balanced itself in an almost human
manner, as if it, too, clung to life.
We stood crouching away from the
gorge against the wet side of the rock, the
driver unnerved, one horse unruly and the
leader balky. The entire cavalcade had
begun the descent, and there was no stop-
ping when once under way until a valley
was reached some seven miles below. There
was nothing to do but wait, and pray that
the guide would miss us and send help.
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BY THE WAY
The awesomeness of that scene had time
to imprint itself on my very soul, for the
hours spent on that Alpine peak I count
as the most stirring years of my life.
Help came, or I should not be writing
this. But, grateful and overjoyed as we
were to see a fresh horse and two men on
its back coming to our aid, the result was
even more terrifying than the past experi-
ence.
The guide had missed us when, as was
his wont, at the first stop, he galloped back
from coach to coach. Fortunately it was
near a hospice, where he procured two men
and a powerful horse, and sent them after
us. Surely God had
" One arm 'round thee,
And one 'round me,
To keep us near."
The driver and his helper had hardly
dismounted from the back of the new horse
when the wild creature reared around, and
started on a mad gallop down the slope.
He tripped, thank heavens, on a strap
that had become loosened from his trap-
pings, and was caught.
That the new driver was a fiend was
apparent from the cruel manner in which
100
SWITZERLAND
he treated the runaway. I am still uncer-
tain what his excuse was for living. He
was so hideous he was unique. After he
had pounded the horses he turned his
attention to the passengers.
Ruth and I were ordered out of the box
seat into the coach. It was impossible to
crowd us all inside, and he was obliged to
submit to our remaining above. The hood
was closed, the boot drawn up, and we were
strapped securely to our seats. The doors
were locked on those inside. These were
his instructions from the guide.
The three drivers mounted in front of
us, and, while we were thankful to be in
the open air and to be able to view the
wonderful scenery around us, we were also
compelled to witness the inhuman treat-
ment of the animals.
In this manner we began the descent.
The fiend had the reins and the long
whip, the others had prods, and used them
on the horses. The fresh horse took the
lead, dragging the others after him. On,
and on, and on we flew, now under wild-
roaring cataracts, whose waters thundered
down on the rocky roof of the tunnels
under them now over frail bridges, which
trembled with our speed now down slip-
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BY THE WAY
pery, ice-covered stretches. They did not
stop at the first plateau, fearing, I suppose,
they would never get the horses started
again.
The fiendish shouts of the drivers, the
cries of the occupants locked inside the
coach, the swaying and groaning of the old
diligence, and the almost human moans of
the horses blended with the warning cries
of the natives, who stood aside, aghast at
our mad speed.
Down, down, down ! The white peaks
grow fainter and fainter, until they are lost
in the blue mist. The incline becomes less
steep. The little farms look like window-
panes set up in air, and the sun sinks be-
hind the purple mountains. The beautiful
valley of the Rhone spreads out below,
like a celestial vision.
Suddenly, after a long curve has been
rounded, the Rhone, bathed in a flood of
golden fire, comes into view. Across the
yawning gulf the mountains, on the other
side, take on the same glorious hue.
It is the Alpine glow!
Yet on and down we go, never stopping
the wild pace until the horses dash into
the courtyard of the inn at Brigue !
We had crossed the Alps !
102
SWITZERLAND
We were in Switzerland !
* * * # * *
Switzerland is one of the places whose
charm is enhanced by the glare of the sun.
But Switzerland does not have many op-
portunities to endure glare of anything, for
it rains almost continually. The "weeping
skies of Ireland" cannot compare with it.
Lake Geneva, as it winds around Lau-
sanne, is extremely pretty, and Lake Lu-
cerne has quite the most piduresque
surroundings possible. It nestles down
among the Alps, with Rigi on one side
and the beautiful town on the other. And
Lucerne is a beautiful town, built in a
curve in the Alps, with towers and battle-
ments on its walls. Sailing away from it,
it presents a picture altogether different
from anything else I have seen.
It took some days for me to recover
from that mad ride down the mountains.
After the effeds of it had passed, I could
but think how very near the ludicrous is
the sublime.
Death by climbing up or falling down
these Alpine heights would be, perhaps,
romantic; but to be backed over a preci-
pice by a common balky horse could not
be otherwise than ignominious.
103
BY THE WAY
Now, too, I recall some of those sense-
less questions women ask. One woman
cried, " Oh, where will we go if that har-
ness breaks ? "
" We will go right on from the heights
to which our thoughts have risen," an-
swered a beautiful voice from within the
diligence. It was Mrs. F.'s friend, she who
had first told her how foolish it was to
live a lie. Now I know why the old coach
had kept up.
104
HOLLAND
AND BELGIUM
Holland and Belgium
Are countries quite funny ;
Their Art is a joy,
But a bete noire their money.
AMSTERDAM :
T HAVE a&ually found some places that I
* do not like, and it is well, for I have
used up all my adje&ives and exclama-
tions. I did not care for Zurich, and many
of the Rhine towns found no favor in my
eyes. I saw most of them only from the
river about which we have heard so much
that, naturally, it failed in the realization
of my anticipations, besides, it rained
much of the time.
I overheard a conversation between two
American girls on the boat up or down
the Rhine. Every time I say "up" the
other person says, " Down, was n't it?"
and when I change it to " down," I am
asked, " Up, was n't it ? "
The first girl was saying, in a strenuous
manner, "I saw EVERYchurch in Rome! "
BY THE WAY
" Ah, indeed ! How long a time did you
spend in Rome ? You know, do you not,
that there are over four hundred churches
there ? " sarcastically asked the other.
" Four hundred ! " shouted the first girl,
never noticing the sarcasm, " four hundred !
Til bet I tramped through a thousand!"
I can sympathize with that first girl.
The cathedral at Cologne is very fine.
It is built in two distinct styles of archi-
tecture. The legend runs that the first
architect sold his soul to the devil for
plans unlike any other church in the world.
When he had it half finished he disap-
peared, and the plans with him.
I suppose he and the devil became too
well acquainted with each other, and per-
haps he ran in to see him every day
which is enough to tire even the devil him-
self so he put the architect out of the
way. Be that the case or not, the church
was commenced in 1243, and finished only
recently in a modern fashion.
# # # # # *
What a difference it makes to have a
friend residing in a foreign city ! I posted
a letter to Marie from Cologne, and as I
was breakfasting the morning of my ar-
rival here her visiting-card was brought to
106
S
w
O
HOLLAND AND BELGIUM
me. She has made our stay in this quaint
city a bright green spot in the oasis of
hotel life and hustling for oneself.
She has driven us over this pifturesque
old town and taken us to the palaces, and
to the Royal Rijks Museum. We have
walked with her through her favorite
haunts in the parks. She has made a mar-
tyr of herself and shown us through the
shops, and have you ever heard of the
lovely shops of Amsterdam ? But, best of
all, we have had a bit of home life, and
Marie, bless her heart ! has given us the
first cup of real coffee we have had since
we left home.
* # # # # *
I cannot tell you much in detail about
the splendid school of art here, for let
me whisper it to you I did not get a
guide-book of Holland. Marie and her
good husband left little for us to glean.
But this I do know, that, in all our travels,
no more comprehensive and beautiful col-
lection of art treasures have we found.
The building itself is magnificent, and
the masterpieces are all Flemish. Rubens'
" Helena Fourment," Rembrandt's "The
Night Watch," and a portrait by Van
Dyke are among those which I recall.
107
BY THE WAY
Holland is a quaintly picturesque coun-
try. Everything that Mr. F. Hopkinson
Smith, that exquisite word-etcher as well
as painter, has said of it is true.
But the language ! And the money ! Oh,
the money is impossible.
Now, I call Ruth a brilliant woman,
and one vastly above the average intellect-
ually; and you know that, while I'm not
an expert accountant, I can do" sums'*
once in a while. Well, neither of us has
learned to pronounce, nor do we yet know,
the value of the thing which takes the place
of the franc. It is spelled g-u-l-d-e-n
most Americans call it gilder , but it is no
more like that than it is like "horse." In
fad, it is not unlike the last word, when a
native gets his tongue around it.
As to its value ! I have taken goods for
it to the value of a penny and of a half-
dollar. I simply take the change given me
and go. The other, like Thoreau's friend,
has both the first word and the last. How
awful ! A woman can never talk back in
this language.
BRUSSELS :
T^LBERT HUBBARD tells, in one of his
-*-' " Little Journeys," how, when his ship
108
HOLLAND AND BELGIUM
landed in Antwerp at eleven o'clock in the
morning, he walked to the hotel and awak-
ened the landlord from his early morning
nap in order to get some breakfast. I can-
not speak from experience as to what hour
they arise, but I do know, from very close
association with the people, that they do
not know what sort of money they use.
At the door of the cathedral, where we
went to see Rubens' chef -d y centre ^ " The
Descent from the Cross," the woman at
the door refused to take one of those coins
of which I do not know the value; but
when I tried a little dramatic a6tion, and
turned to go, she took it very readily, and
permitted us to enter. The same scene
was enaded at the door of the really ex-
quisite museum; but it did not work at
the station.
We were using all our Belgian coins be-
fore going into France, and had saved
enough for the porters at the station where
we had left our hand luggage. The porter
who brought our luggage from the train
into the station had accepted the coin we
gave him. The one we secured to carry
them out to the train had reached our
compartment, and demanded his money.
I counted out the coins. He refused
109
BY THE WAY
them. We had no other money. I ten-
dered him a book, and finally my watch.
He still refused, and would not permit us
to put the things in the compartment.
There was no woman in sight, and foreign
men are so different from our countrymen
that we could not bring ourselves to ask
aid from them ; besides, we did not speak
Flemish.
It was absolutely necessary for us to
reach Brussels that night, and had we gone
back to get the money changed, it would
have necessitated our remaining over Sun-
day in Antwerp, where we had exhausted
everything of interest. We were becoming
desperate, when good fortune smiled on us
in the form of a pair of girlish black eyes.
I asked her if she spoke English. She
shook her head.
" Parlez vous Franfais?" and, oh, joy,
"Mais un peu" she replied.
I made known our dilemma, and she
very sweetly settled with the faReur for
about half the amount he had demanded
of me.
Who shall say there is not a free ma-
sonry among women ? There, in a strange
country, with not a cent of that country's
coinage in my pocket, knowing no word
.1 IO
HOLLAND AND BELGIUM
of its language, came to my assistance a
woman of yet another country, speaking
nor understanding no word of my mother
tongue, and, in yet another language, which
we both spoke indifferently, I asked and
she gave aid with that same grave polite-
ness which marks the noblesse oblige every-
where.
The next morning, dressed in our brav-
est, we had the concierge call the shiniest
cab he could find, with the tallest-hatted
cocker, and with the loveliest basket of
roses that could be procured, we drove in
state to the address she had given us. We
had a cordial greeting, but somehow I
fancy she had been in doubt as to whether
or not she would ever see those few francs
again.
You may rest assured that we have had
sufficient money changed here, and that
we have found numerous ways in which
to spend it. Next to Venice, the lace shops
are the finest in the world.
in
PART II.
The sea ! the sea ! the open sea !
The blue y the fresh, the ever-free !
Without a mark, without a bound,
It runneth the earth's wide regions round ;
It plays with the clouds, it mocks the skies,
Or like a cradled creature lies.
I never was on the dull, tame shore,
But I loved the great sea more and more ;
And backward flew to her billowy breast,
Like a bird that seeketh its mother 's nest.
BARKY CORNWALL.
GREECE
Come, come with me to the Isles of Greece,
And on o'er the seas to its golden shore;
Pause not till you reach Athenia & crown.
Then mount to its heaven-domed Parthenon.
Its glories will feed your musing hours,
W 'hen fame has dwindled to cheap renown.
TT is a far cry from the Bowery to the
* Bosporus, but only a few obstacles, such
as the Atlantic, the Mediterranean, the
Adriatic and the Sea of Marmora, inter-
vene. We had overcome two of these so
that it was from Brindisi, Italy, the end of
the Appian Way, that we embarked for
Greece.
I expefted to find tall, willowy maidens
in Grecian draperies standing on the banks
of Corfu waving golden lyres to welcome
me to these fair Ionian Islands, with mighty
warriors back of them proclaiming of their
ancestors; instead, I found a pretty little
island covered with blossoms, in the midst
of which is the magnificent Villa Achilleion
ereded for Empress Elizabeth of Austria.
One would never dream that the lazy
sailors found along the shores of this hilly
"5
BY THE WAY
isle were descendants of those old Greeks
who fought the first naval battle 2600
years ago, off its coast.
One must be a good pedestrian, for even
with the excellent roads it is necessary to
climb on foot to the lookout if one would
have a survey of the island and its sur-
roundings. I reached it just in time to see
the sun sink, all gold and orange, into the
green liquid of the Adriatic.
If Corfu gives one a flowery welcome to
the Isles of Greece, the mainland keeps up
the cordiality. Patras, its first port, a dig-
nified, progressive little city, was not be-
hind its island sister in greeting us. Its
historic neighbor, Olympia, is reached by
a bridle path, and the two days' journey
will give one a better insight into the man-
ners and customs of the ancient Greeks
than months spent in a modern city.
Many of the inhabitants along this path
have never visited their nearest village.
The road between Patras and Athens
my heart throbs now at the mere writing
of the name "Athens," just as it did
when I first took my seat in the train for
that classic city is different from any-
thing else on earth, for almost all the way
to the ship canal which crosses the Isth-
116
GREECE
mus of Corinth the mountainsides are
strewn with currants, drying in the sun on
beds of white pebbles. All the dried cur-
rants, originally called " grape of Corinth/'
come from this part of the Levant.
ATHENS :
Full many a bard of thy strong walls has sung,
Full many a hand has sketched thy fair outline;
But none can sing nor paint all that thou art,
To earnest, loving, simple hearts like mine.
T FEEL now as though the scratching of
* my pen were sacrilege, just as I first tread
softly on this sacred soil and would start
when I heard some one laugh aloud. I
cannot tell you of the deep impression
Athens has made upon me.
If you were here where I could touch
your hand and, without one word being
spoken, we could stand and drink in all
its grandeur, or sit in silence by moonlight
watching the shadows come and go, you
would understand but to put Athens in
cold black and white, ah, never ask me to
try.
The new Athens, like Florence, is broad
and white, but not glistening. The old
Athens my Athens lies yonder on the
hill, a mass of monstrous rocks, gigantic
BY THE WAY
pillars and huge squares of stone which
some mighty tempest or some avalanche
seems to have scattered hither and yon.
It was by the light of the moon that
the vastness of the Acropolis impressed
itself upon me, though the immensity of
purpose the Herculean obstacles sur-
mounted rather than its ponderous pro-
portions, creates its magnitude. But it was
just as the day was dawning that its love-
liness appeared to me.
I have been to the Acropolis with a
registered cicerone who knew every stone
of it, and again with a fine young Greek
who loved every atom of it, but today at
dawn I stood there alone and watched the
sun come up seemingly from beneath my
feet. No sound broke the stillness. All
nature was hushed that I might bid my
beloved Athens farewell. There she lay
outspread before me, bathed in the first
faint glow of the early dawn. Far down is
the Porte Beule and the marble staircase
from it to the Propylaea, one of whose
courts leads to that diminutive jewel, the
Temple of Nike, with its Pentelic marble
grown yellow with age.
Before the sun had climbed above the
mountain, I watched the purple marble of
118
'-,: .:
THE ACROPOLIS AS IT WAS
THE ACROPOLIS AS IT IS
THE TEMPLE OF THESEUS IN FOREGROUND
GREECE
the Erechtheion turn to gold, giving a
rosy glow of youth to the Maidens of the
Caryatides portico who have held up their
canopy for two thousand years. Always
before the eye, tall and commanding, in all
its perfection, stands the Parthenon. Off
yonder is Mars Hill, and far beyond, the
Temple of Theseus, its weather-stained,
golden-hued marbles, that have braved the
storms of centuries, exhaling a vigorous
vitality.
As the sun climbed over the hilltop my
heart grew heavy at the thought of part-
ing with Athens. In a few hours I would
be leaving her, perhaps forever. But Ath-
ens Athens over whom I wept slept on.
# # # # # *
I came back to earth and went to Pi-
raeus in a very "earthy" eleftric tram
think of desecrating Athens with a trolley !
119
TURKEY
The cloud-capp* d towers.
The gorgeous palaces.
The solemn temples.
SHAKSPERE, the Temfest,
Act IV, Scene I, Line 153.
CONSTANTINOPLE :
DURING the early hours of yesterday
morning we reached Smyrna, one of
the seven cities spoken of in the Book of
Revelation, and we spent the day in its
odd, underground bazaars. Wildness, mad-
ness and fiendishness have lost their ter-
rors for me since landing at Smyrna.
Imagine all the wild animals of the zoo
put together in one cage and all roaring
at the same time and you will have some
idea of the sound that greeted my ears as
our ship dropped anchor. Then look over
the rail and, as far as the eye can see, pic-
ture rowboats by the hundreds, so thickly
crammed together that scarcely a bit of
the water can be seen. Watch the oars-
man pushing another boat or beating his
brother boatman over the head with his
oar, each of them yelling at the top of his
1 2O
TURKEY
voice, and you will have a dim outline of
what really happened. All had the same
objeft in view that of getting as many
passengers as they could carry, 'and as soon
as possible.
Our dragoman turned us over to a
Turkish guide who proved to be a scholar
and a Christian.
The bazaars are filthy, but the filth
simply serves to make prominent by con-
trast the beautiful embroideries and laces
displayed there. If one dares to give more
than a passing glance at any of these, the
old Turks will follow trying to force a
purchase.
To think that Homer should have
chosen Smyrna for his birthplace ! Yet it
was and still is the most important city of
Asia Minor, and is picturesquely situated
on the -ffigean Sea.
When we finally reached the ship, after
the oarsmen's battles en route during which
I had sat still with my eyes closed think-
ing hard, our Christian Turk came up to
me, and, to my surprise and delight, whis-
pered: "We know why we are safe, do
we not?"
I wonder if he understood that the tears
in my eyes were not from fear ?
121
BY THE WAY
The same scene of the boatman was
enafted at the Dardenelles. Later, how-
ever, all the harsh things were forgotten,
as over a foreground of blue sea the dim
outline of a city was seen through the mist
of the morning.
No one can call Constantinople beauti-
ful, but all must admit that it is the most
interesting city in Europe. Unique in be-
ing situated in both Europe and Asia, the
city is divided, like Gaul, into three parts
Stamboul and Galata-Pera, separated from
each other by the Golden Horn, in Europe,
and Skutari across the Bosporus, in Asia.
Galata is the modern business section
containing the banks, steamship offices,
commission houses and the like, while
Pera is on the heights above it with the
hotels, the embassies and the homes of
the foreigners.
Stamboul, or Constantinople proper, is
situated on seven hills, on one of which
stood the ancient city of Byzantium. Here
are the old seraglio and Santa Sophia,
Santa Sophia, with its altars of gold, mo-
saics of precious stones, pillars of rare
marble, its wonderful history and its an-
tiquity.
Between the mountain and the sea, in
122
TURKEY
Skutari, nestles the cluster of buildings
occupied by the American College for girls,
the only college for women in the western
Levant. When you learn through what
vicissitudes I achieved my entree to this
cosmopolitan faole, you will wonder that I
write of it with any degree of composure,
or that I am here to write of it at all.
Everything seemed so perfectly planned
for a comfortable and safe little journey
from the hotel in Pera to Skutari, that I
followed the attendant without question.
He placed me in a caique (ki-eek) putting
me in charge of the caiquejee (ki-eek-gee),
saying that in a few moments this man
would land me at the place where my
American friend was in waiting on the
other side.
A caique is a long narrow skiff with
cushions in the bottom upon which one
must sit quietly else the boat will tip. My
caiquejee and his assistant seemed very
mild sort of Turks, for they would nod
and smile when I waved my hand at
something odd or interesting.
I was not versed then in the etiquette
of the caiquejee, nor yet in the mysteries
of their thousand and one superstitions,
but I found, to my sorrow, that to touch
123
BY THE WAY
even the hem of another caiquejee's oar
was the signal for ordering guns or any
other explosive at hand, including vocal
fireworks.
It was bright and sunny when I left the
hotel, but a storm cloud soon appeared
and it grew darker and darker. In their
haste to reach the other shore, my caique-
jee happened to run into another caique,
which in any other place on earth would
have been overlooked with a bow of excuse.
Not so on the Bosporus! My mild-
mannered Turks and the three in the other
caique were at battle in a second. Had
I been able to speak their language, and
offer them money, they could not have
heard me, so horrible were their cries.
There was nothing to do but to sit still
and pray and try to balance the shell-like
caique.
Suddenly my caiquejee raised his heavy
oar to fling it at the other, lost his balance,
and we were all dashed into the cold water
of the Bosporus.
Instantly the clatter ceased. Some one
held me up in the water, and guided the
upturned boat toward my hands. After the
longest moments of my life, the other
heavier caique was caught and balanced
124
TURKEY
while I was dragged into it. It was then
I noticed there were but four of us where
there had been six.
I did not cry then^ but tried to know I
was being cared for. I afterwards learned
that it was my silence that saved me. Had
I cried or screamed they would have
thrown me overboard again and gone away
without me, for there is a superstition about
tears in a storm, and where a woman is con-
cerned all signs are of an adverse nature.
Suddenly one of the Turks gave a
blood-curdling yell to attraft the attention
of the pilot on the little steamer that plies
between Skutari and the Galata Bridge.
I was helped on board and cared for.
No woman could have been more kind,
more respectful, or more solicitous for my
comfort than were these young Turks.
They formed a ring around me sheltering
me from the gaze of the rougher, older
ones. They put their capes about me
while they dried my coat, hat and shoes,
and shielded my face as I stood by the
engine door to dry my skirt.
The young Turk who had held me up
in the water could speak a little French,
and made me understand that I was per-
fedly safe and that he would see me to my
BY THE WAY
carriage. He told me that he was a pas-
senger in the caique which collided with the
one I was in, and that a caiquejee from each
boat went down in the battle.
When you read some dramatic account
of the varied fancies that are supposed to
pass through the thoughts of one who is
drowning, take it cum grano salts. Believe
me, the one and only thought that takes
possession of a poor mortal at such a time
is to grasp something with his hands, and
if this is accomplished, his next desire is
to feel something solid beneath his feet.
His past is nothing, his future less. The
present is all there is of human existence.
Oh, how well I know this to be true !
I tried to show my gallant Turk the
gratitude I felt for his efforts in my behalf.
He informed me that I could repay him
by speaking a word for his countrymen,
if the occasion arose. I can see his dark
face now light up with pleasure at my
promise as he touched his forehead with
his hand, for he had lost his fez in the
waters.
We parted neither of us knowing the
other's name, but no word against the ris-
ing generation of Turks can ever be said
in my presence since that night.
126
THE GALATA BRIDGE, CONSTANTINOPLE
BY PERMISSION OF DR. LEEPER
COPYRIGHT BY DR. LEEPER
TURKEY
I did not rest long undisturbed among
the cushions of the carriage he found for
me, for my driver who had gone on at a
good speed suddenly stopped in the steep-
est, darkest part of the almost perpendicu-
lar incline that leads up to Pera from
Galata, and, turning, showed me a coin,
demanding something at the same time.
I divined that he was asking if I would
pay him that much, and I, with my cheeri-
est smile, nodded. But as he turned to
gather up the reins again, I caught sight
of his face and only the presence of my
guardian angel, who had held my hand all
that awful day, kept me from shrieking or
from fainting.
Finally we turned into the lighted street
in which was my hotel, and I was out of
the vidoria, through the door and into the
lift before the carriage had stopped. I
called to the clerk to pay the tariff from
the Galata Bridge and to give the driver
his backsheesh. Their angry voices ascended
with the elevator.
When I reached my room and had
turned the key in the lock, I sobbed out
all my pent-up emotion and thankfulness.
Will you credit it when I tell you that
I started again? This time, however, I
127
BY THE WAY
went on the steamboat accompanied by
one of the American teachers from the
college.
fc # # * * *
In spite of the night spent on and
in the black waters of the Bosporus,
when I think of Constantinople, it is not
of this not of its filthy streets nor its
thousands of pariah dogs, not of their
howls nor the well nigh unbearable din of
bells and yells but of my first view of
a phantom-like city, seated on seven hills,
the sides covered with many-colored roofs
which slope down to a long white kiosk,
of minarets, of mosques with slender spires,
and of one tall sentinel cypress tree in the
foreground, all seen through the haze of
dawn over Marmora's blue waters.
128
HUNGARY
The <world* i best garden.
SHAKSPERE,
Htnrj V., Epilogue.
BUDAPEST :
fTpHE Oriental Express was thundering
* around the Balkan Mountains in Bul-
garia on its long run between Constanti-
nople and Budapest, when suddenly, with
a succession of sharp jerks, the train came
to a stop.
Before we could reach the windows,
above the babel was heard : cc An avalanche !
An avalanche ! The torrent's burst ! " And
with the throng of people at the foot of
the mountain, it was enough to strike ter-
ror to the stoutest heart.
Immediately came a guard to explain
that the long tunnel had caved in and that
it would be necessary for us to walk across
the mountain through which the tunnel was
cut that we might take the train on the
other side. The people from that train had
walked over the pass to take our places,
and the peasants who had carried their
luggage were waiting to take ours back.
129
BY THE WAY
One of the mountaineers afting as guide
led the way up the narrow trail and down
to the waiting train on the other side
perhaps two miles.
Instead of a cross, fussy crowd of tired
travelers grumbling at the climb, the guide
found us a happy lot of overgrown chil-
dren, stopping to listen to the wonderful
singing of the birds or to pluck the wild
flowers, whom he had often to remind
with his shrill "Avance!" that time was
passing.
Among the first to descend, I looked
back up the trail and wondered if the old
mountain would ever again witness such a
picture. Travelers from every nation, with
their different costumes, mingling with the
gaily attired peasants, who carried on their
heads the much-labeled luggage, all laugh-
ing, shouting or singing, made a happy
medley both of color and of sound.
*
Budapest is the most beautiful city of
the world, except, perhaps, Barcelona. You
need not look in your "Noted Places "
book to verify this statement, for you will
not find it there. Au contraire, this opinion
is my own.
Go to Budapest, seleft a room with win-
HUNGARY
dows giving on the Danube, and see if you
do not agree with me. Throw the guide-
books aside and wander down the superb
Franz Joseph Quai. Note the battlements,
the colossal statues of bronze, the Moor-
ish architecture united with that of the
Romanesque. You will not find all the
sumptuousness of Budapest on this street,
however, for it is scattered everywhere.
The beauty of the architecture can be
seen by daylight, but the glory of Buda-
pest can only be felt as you sail away,
(f Some night in June,
Upon the Danube River."
w
AUSTRIA
All places that the eye of heaven visits
Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.
SHAKSPERE, Richard //.,
Act i, Scene 3, Line zys.
VIENNA:
r E ARRIVED in Vienna with the Em-
peror. In fa6t, we a6ted as his advance
guard for some time, his train following
ours. The Emperor himself was but a
small part of the show, for the officers
of his suite outshone all else, and were
swagger to a degree. German and Austrian
army officers are imposing anywhere, but
especially so on horseback.
Vienna is a city within a city, for the
fortifications which surrounded the old
town have been torn down and replaced
by a broad boulevard which separates the
ancient from the modern portion. Within
this Ring-Strasse the streets are narrow and
the houses mediaeval ; without, you will find
one of the most inviting cities of Europe.
Vienna is gay, sparkling and fascinating.
Its opera and its shops are world renowned,
132
AUSTRIA
and it is a close rival of Paris in setting
the modes.
Nowhere in all Europe can so much
beauty and grandeur of mountain, forest
and stream be crowded into one day as
during a sail on the Danube from Linz
to Vienna.
133
M 1
GERMANY
For now I am In a holiday humour.
SHAKSPERE, As You Like Jf,
Act IV, Scene I, Line 68.
MUNICH:
fv INTRODUCTION to Bavaria was
through Salzburg. It was a happy
presentation, as few towns can compare
with it in situation.
Salzburg is surrounded by mountains
with castles on every peak. It was the
home of Mozart, and is overflowing with
interesting memoirs of that great musician.
# * # # * *
Munich is a city of wealth. It is the
Mecca for students of art and music and
the starting-point for the three wondrous
castles built by the Mad King of Bavaria,
as well as for Oberammergau. Nestling
at the foot of the Austrian Alps, a long
chain of mountains may be seen on a clear
day, in all its splendor, from the statue
of Bavaria. Munich possesses a lion's
share of public buildings architecturally
notable.
GERMANY
NURNBERG:
WHILE in Munich we were entertained
in the home of Baroness von H.,
giving us a glimpse into German intimate
life, and here I have had the privilege
again of being in the home of an American
girl who married a German officer. I find
their life ideal.
I love Germany and the Germans.
They move quicker than any of our for-
eign cousins, notwithstanding the slowness
ascribed to them in story, and there is al-
ways something doing.
This fancy of mine about rapidity is, I
presume, accentuated by a hurried glimpse
of the Empire which these German friends
have given me. And right here let me
say that foreigners need no longer poke
fun at us for the "lightning conductor "
manner with which some of us see the
world.
The itinerary took us first to Berlin;
and dancing through my head are pictures
of Brandenburg Gates, Sieges- Allees and
Thiergartens ; of Charlottenburg with its
mausoleum of the much-loved Queen
Louise of piftured fame ; of Potsdam with
its Sans Souci; of Frankfort-on-Main with
the renowned Palmen Garten; of Dres-
135
BY THE WAY
den and its Academy of Arts ; of Wies-
baden, its tourists and springs; of Metz,
with its Conservatory and its high-bred
women.
# # # # # #
Nurnberg is unlike any other place in
the world. I never have seen such odd
bridges, fountains and oriel windows. It
is the home of the Faber pencil, and leads
the world in the manufacture of wonderful
toys ; and yet this busy little city has pre-
served to a larger extent than any other
in Germany the appearance of the Middle
Ages. Its quiet quaintness makes it a gem.
If you can see but one place in Ger-
many, let it be Nurnberg.
136
MODERN NURNBERG
OLD NURNBERG
FRANCE
ye voudrais if ttrc pas Francais pour pouvoir dire,
$ue je te choisis, France , et que
Je te proclame
M.a patrie et ma gloire et mon unique amour !
VICTOR HUGO, A LA FRANCE.
Oft, to have been born elsewhere, that I might choose
thee, France, and proclaim thee my country, my glory
and my oivn !
Translation by ELEANOR EVEREST FREER.
PARIS:
>TpHE captain advised us to remain on
* deck while the ship was entering the
harbor at Havre, and we were repaid for
the midnight vigil by the brilliancy of the
scene. The port itself is narrow, but the
effeft of space is given by the numerous
basins and the canal, filled with craft and
sails of every description. The splendid
masonry stands out strong and beautiful
under the multitude of eledric lights which
line the shore on either side.
I was surprised to find Havre so large
and fine a city. Neither Baedeker nor
Hare tell about its beauties nor its harbor.
We had more time there than we had
counted on because we missed the early
137
BY THE WAY
morning train to Rouen, but we passed it
very pleasantly in this bright Norman city.
It is the rural part that has made Nor-
mandy famous, and that part which lies
between Havre and Rouen is beautiful.
It lies low and is checkered with little
silver streams that flow this way and that
through every section.
Rouen, too, keeps up the Normandy
record for quaintness. Suzanne and I would
have been willing to settle right down
there and stay, but we stopped only long
enough to see St. Ouen, one of the most
beautiful Gothic churches in existence, and
the Palais de Justice, which is a splendid
copy or Belgian architecture.
# * * * # &
I must tell you what a joy you are ! You
have contented yourself with the daily
post-card and the by-weekly billet-doux,
which have been plus doux que long, I fear,
but without the usual weekly budget.
We have been going so fast that I think
it wise to wait a bit and endeavor to digest
the knowledge gained in travel before
writing of it. As I look back over what I
have seen in the last few months, both in
art and nature, I realize the truth of a little
thing I once read, taken from a letter by
138
FRANCE
a well-known writer of short stories to
William Dean Howells.
She said that we must have some atmos-
phere, some distance, between ourselves
and our theme in order to get perspective,
whether one be painter or writer. So I feel
sure that this budget will lose nothing by
the waiting when I tell you what I have
picked up by the way in Beau Paris.
If you can come but once, do not come
in July or August, the tourist season.
Paris is a dream of beauty at all seasons,
but the charm of any city is obscured
when it is crowded as Paris is during those
months.
Come in May. Do you not remember
what Vidtor Hugo said in " Le Proscrit" ?
"Le mois de mai sans la France,
Ce n'est pas le mois de mai."
We did a wise thing in choosing from
among our numerous addresses a pension
"downtown." It saves us time, strength
and money. It is not one of those pensions
Longfellow used to tell about, which had
inscribed on its front:
"Ici on donne a boire et a manger;
On loge a pied et a cheval ! ' '
Literally, " Here we give to drink and to
eat; we lodge on foot and on horseback/'
139
BY THE WAY
Our pension only gives to eat and to lodge
" on foot." I do not mention the drinking,
for seldom, I find, can one get a good cup
of coffee anywhere. The chocolate and tea
are perfeft, however, and the little crescent-
shaped rolls and the fresh, unsalted butter
are delicious.
We are on the Rue de la Bienfaisance,
just off the Boulevard Haussman, not far
from the beautiful iglise Saint Augustin,
where many of the weddings of the Paris
four hundred are celebrated, and only a
few minutes' walk from the Gare Saint
Lazare.
We call each morning for our English
friends, who live in the Rue des Pyramides,
near the Rue de Rivoli, at the place where
stands the bronze statue of Jeanne d'Arc.
The Louvre Palais, which contains the
Musee, and the Tuileries are just across
the Rue de Rivoli, with the Place de la
Concorde a little farther up. The Grand
Opera is but a few squares away, with the
American Express office near it, and the
Church of the Madeleine hard by.
The Place de la Concorde is an immense
square with mammoth pieces of sculpture
at each corner, representing the provinces
taken from the Germans. One of these
140
FRANCE
provinces was recaptured by the Germans,
but instead of marring the Place by re-
moving the statue, it is kept draped with
crepe and wreaths of flowers. In the cen-
ter of the square is the obelisk, with foun-
tains playing about it.
The roads are as white as snow, both
through and around the Place. It is framed
in green by the Tuileries, the Champs
Elysees, and the banks of the Seine.
There is a view one gets right here
which cannot, perhaps, be excelled in all
the world. If you stand at the court of the
Louvre in the space where the Arc du Car-
rousal meets the Louvre Palais, and look
through the arch, the eye catches at once
the green of the Tuileries garden and its
trees, the dazzling brightness of its mar-
bles, the sparkling of its fountains, the
obelisk, and far on through the Champs
Elysees, the Arc de Triomphe, which
makes a fitting finish for this most glori-
ous vista.
I am at loss to tell you just what to do
with only a week in this little world, but
let nothing deter you from coming. I
would rather have come for one day than
never to have seen it at all. With a week
on your hands, and an inclination in your
141
BY THE WAY
heart, you can do wonders in this the most
fascinating city on the globe.
Were one to be here but a short time,
a drive over the city should occupy the
first day. Parties are sent out every day,
with guides who know the best routes,
and it is not a bad idea to join one of
them. Do not, however, go with a party
to see interiors or the works of art, for one
is so hurried that one scarcely knows what
has been seen.
As an illustration: Two young girls
stopping at our pension joined one of these
parties going to Versailles the same day
that Suzanne and I went.
We had seats on top of the steam tram
which leaves every hour from the foot of
the Place de la Concorde Bridge. We
spent the entire day at Versailles, and came
away after dark feeling that we had had
the merest peep at the parks and gardens,
vast with miles of marble terraces, miles
of lime-tree bowers, fountains of gold, of
silver and of bronze, green of all shades,
flowers of all colors, staircases of onyx,
paintings, sculptures and relics of untold
value. We walked miles and had been
driven tens of miles through the parks
and gardens of the Grand and Petit Tria-
142
FRANCE
non. We had stood by the most stupen-
dous series of fountains the world has ever
known. And we crawled home weary, but
happy at heart for all this beauty, to find
that our poor little friends had been there
but two hours, that they had galloped
from place to place, catching but little, if
anything, of the foreign names pronounced
so differently from the way we are taught.
Versailles is one of the places where
there are official guides, and it pays to hire
one by the hour.
Of the museums, see the Luxembourg
first, because, while the gardens are beauti-
ful, they are not so well kept nor to be
compared with those of the Louvre or
Versailles. The works of art are placed in
the Luxembourg gallery during the life-
time of an artist, if his works merit that
honor ; if his fame lives for ten years after
his death, they are transferred to the
Louvre. Hence it is in the Luxembourg
one will find the best works of living artists.
The Louvre Musee is a vast colle&ion
of classified art, and occupies the palace of
that name, any room of which will repay
one's effort to see it.
Just wander about alone until some
work of art compels you to stop before it.
H3
BY THE WAY
Then look at your Baedeker and see if it
is something noted. It tickles one's vanity
to find one has selected a masterpiece with-
out having it pointed out. Speaking of
guide-books, Baedeker is by far the best,
and rarely fails one excepting in galleries,
where it is impossible to keep an accurate
list of the works of art, as they are fre-
quently moved from room to room, or are
loaned to some world's exposition.
In the Louvre are many of the piftures
which every boy or girl knows. Well-
known masterpieces of Titian, Raphael,
Van Dyke, Rembrandt, Rubens, Murillo
and Fra Angelico make one agree with
Marie Corelli, that the old masters took
their secret of colors away with them.
I astonished my English friends by an-
nouncing that I did not like Dickens, and
now I'll shock my Holland friends by not
liking Rubens.
One should get catalogues of both the
Louvre and Luxembourg galleries.
If you can make time see Cluny, GUI-
met, the Musee des Religions, the Musee
Gustave Moreau, the Musee Cernuski
almost wholly oriental, the Musee Brig-
noli-Galliera, the magnificent display of
stained glass in the Sainte-Chapelle this
144
FRANCE
on a bright, sunshiny day, and that most
wonderful of modern paintings on the
wall of the large amphitheatre of the Sor-
bonne University done by Puvis de Cha-
vannes.
The best manner to see the Bois de
Boulogne is to take a boat on the Seine
at the Pont Royal, stopping at St. Cloud
and Sevres, and, after an hour of exquisite
rest amid the dreamland on either side,
disembark at Suresnes, cross the bridge,
and walk back to Paris through the forest.
We took the earliest morning boat. As
it chanced to be the day of the Eataille des
Fleurs, we spent some time viewing this
beautiful scene. We stopped frequently at
little cafes for tea or rest, and six o'clock
found us at the Arc de Triomphe hailing
a cab to take us home. It was fatiguing,
but in no other way could we have seen so
well the splendid woods and the glimpses
of family life among the haute bourgeoisie.
The day you go to Notre Dame, cross
the Pont d'Arcole, and that brings you
right into the gardens of the Hotel de
Ville, which is beyond doubt the most
magnificent palace of justice in the world.
Its decorations rival those of the Louvre.
The entrance, the galleries, the ballroom
'45
BY THE WAY
and the banquet hall are splendid beyond
description. The ceiling decorations are
all by noted artists, and represent some
type of Plenty, Music, or Love. It is
marvelous, the art these French have put
into their architecture.
The crowning delight, that of a visit to
the tomb of Napoleon, awaits your week's
end. The tomb is in the crypt under the
Dome des Invalides, a home for old sol-
diers, and is reached by walking through
the gardens and long, cloister-like passages
of the Invalides. As I entered, my eyes fell
on an immense altar, through the amber
window of which a flood of golden light
poured on a colossal cross, lighting the
face of the bronze figure of Christ nailed
to it, making a most dramatic pidture.
This figure was cast from one of Napoleon's
cannons.
The tomb itself is a large marble basin,
over the edge of which you look down
onto the sarcophagus cut out of a huge
block of reddish-brown granite. It stands
on a mosaic pavement, in the form of a
laurel wreath, and around the walls are
twelve colossal statues representing the
twelve victories.
146
FRANCE
" I wish I had been born either rich or
a hod-carrier ! " The very idea of a woman
of my parts counting centimes ! Instead of
telling my friends how to come on the
least money, I'd rather say, Wait until
you have millions to buy the dainty con-
feftions with which Paris abounds. It gives
me heartaches "to look and smile and
reach for, then stop and sigh and count the
aforesaid centimes" From this you have,
perhaps, surmised that we have been going
over the pros and cons of shopping prin-
cipally the cons.
* - *. * . ,f " * . #
How foolish of me to tell any one not
to come to dear, mad, wild, glorious Paris !
Why, I'd come, if only to remain a day,
and though I had nothing to eat for a year
thereafter.
Last night when I wrote, I was "way
back at the end of the procession/' but this
morning I am " right up behind the band."
And the reason ? Never ask a woman so-
journing on foreign shores for a motif.
There is but one that, far from those she
loves, makes or mars the pleasure of be-
ing, brings the sunshine or the cloud, reg-
ulates the pulse-beats of her very existence,
and that is A LETTER!
H7
BY THE WAY
I have not told you. For some days I
have had no word, hence my lowly posi-
tion of yesterday. But on this bright,
beautiful morning I found on my break-
fast tray a packet of many-stamped, much-
crossed and often-forwarded letters. And
now, although it is raining in torrents, and
the coffee is not coffee, I can see only
golden words, and those through rose-
tinted glasses.
"Ah, what care I how bad the weather ! "
: # # * # *
Mademoiselle D. is here, the guest of
friends at their country house at Fontaine-
bleau. The day she was our hostess she
met us at the station, and we were driven
through a long lane, flanked on either
side by immense trees, to the Chateau of
Fontainebleau.
No other palace has aroused so keen
an interest as has the interior of this noble
old mediaeval fortress, which Francis I.
converted into the present chateau. In this
palace are tapestries of rare worth and
weave, jardinieres in cloisonne, bas-reliefs
in jasper, masterpieces of marquetry, and
priceless bric-a-brac, found nowhere else in
such lavish profusion.
148
FRANCE
Mademoiselle's hostess sent her ser-
vants with a dainty luncheon, which they
served for us on the marble steps leading
from VEtang des Carpes to the water's
edge. The afternoon and early hours of
the evening were spent in driving through
the forest and at Barbizon.
Oh, the air of artistic Bohemia, the at-
mosphere of achievement which dominates
this world-renowned Barbizon! It does
not seem possible that the Barbizon of
which Will Low gives a description in his
"A Chronicle of Friendships" could have
remained unaltered since the early seven-
ties, but it has. Both his brush and pen
pictures are so vividly accurate, that I
pointed out many of his old and beloved
haunts before Mademoiselle had time to
tell me. Often she would say, "You have
been here before, n' est-ce-pas ? " I always
assured her to the contrary, but always
added, cc I shall surely come again/'
At the very word "Barbizon'' the
thoughts fly back, involuntarily, to those
painters whose names stand for all that is
highest and best in Art. Their early life
songs ran in minor chords, to be sure, but
the vibrations have lost the pathos, and
we hear only of the beauty and joy they
149
BY THE WAY
have left behind them for their fellow
men.
Every child knows "The Angelus," and
every lover of the truth in picture, song
or story pauses a moment before the bronze
face of Millet, set into a rock that lies on
the edge of this wee village.
The forest of Fontainebleau embraces
over fifty square miles, and its magnificent
timber and picturesque splendor are not
surpassed in all France.
* # # * * *
We were guests at the American Am-
bassador's reception yesterday. His house,
just off the Champs Elysees, is furnished
with elegance and taste. The gowns worn
by both the French and American women
were most of them airy creations of lace,
many of them gorgeous, all of them grace-
ful and fetching. Lace is the prominent
faftor in gowns here.
Refreshments were served from a buffet
set in one of the drawing-rooms, and gen-
tlemen, instead of ladies, assisted the host-
ess about the rooms.
* * * * * *
The Bois of Vincennes is a park cover-
ing some two thousand acres laid out with
drives, walks, lakes and islands, and while
150
BOIS DE VINCENNES
CHATEAU D'AMBOISE
FRANCE
less frequented than the Bois de Boulogne,
it is fully as attradive. Louis IX. hunted
in this forest in 1270, but Louis XV. trans-
formed it into a park in 1731.
Fontenay-sous-Bois, an odd little vil-
lage, is charmingly situated on the edge
of these woods. We had taken a great
fancy to the petit s gateaux of France, and,
happily for us, we found them at Fonte-
nay as good as in Paris. We would stop
at the old patisserie to get them, on our
way to the Bois, where we went every af-
ternoon to write or to study and to hear
the band.
Not far from Fontenay is the antique
al fresco theatre of Champigny where the
leading aftors of France can be seen dur-
ing the summer months.
BOULOGNE-SUR-MER :
T STARTED to spend a few days at Paris-
-* Plage, one of the fascinating seasides of
France, where is found that rare combina-
tion, an excellent beach with shade trees ;
but, instead, I stopped two months at Et-
aples, a little fishing village, about a mile
from the Plage, with a shady path through
the woods between the two places.
Etaples is the old sketching-ground of
BY THE WAY
Millais and Whistler, near Boulogne-sur-
Mer, and is crowded with artists. It is on
an arm of the sea, when the tide is /, but
when that incomprehensibly weird thing
is out, it is on a waste of dry sand. Etaples
is but a short distance from the village of
Montreuil, with its outdoor summer school
for sketching. Because of the old Roman
ramparts which are still standing and be-
cause of its quaintness and its antiquity,
Montreuil also attracts a large colony of
painters.
* * * * # *
I am often asked what foreign language
I would suggest as most useful for travel-
ers. I answer unhesitatingly, " French ! "
French is taught in the schools of every
nation save our own, and it is spoken
by every educated foreigner. Whenever I
could not ask for what I wanted in the
language of the country, invariably I was
asked by host, "boots/' or with whom-
ever I was gesticulating,
" Parlez vous Fran^ais? "
The study of French is a subjeft to
which every parent should give serious
consideration. No nation is so under-
languaged as ours ; and no language is so
necessary to a traveler as French. It helps
152
FRANCE
one with his own language and adds an
interest and enjoyment to intercourse with
our foreign cousins ; while without it, we
stand mute and helpless and ofttimes be-
wildered, and advantage is taken of our
seeming stupidity.
Study English first and always, and
polish it by the study of French.
# # * # * #
In spite of the fa6l that Boulogne-sur-
Mer is full of English pleasure-seekers,
we spent restful, happy days there in a
pension which occupies an old monastery.
BLOIS :
Do YOU recall how Athos of "The
Three Musketeers" fame was con-
tinually reminding D'Artagnan that the
"purest French in all France is spoken in
Blois" ? And it was because of my inter-
est in Dumas's heroes that, when the time
came for me to visit the chateau country
I made Blois my home.
I am unable to pass upon the "purest
French/' but I can assure you that I watch
in vain for the polished Athos, or the reck-
less, dashing D'Artagnan of former days.
I <&/find the youthful Aramis but not at
Blois. This one was en route to Waterloo.
153
BY THE WAY
The only time I feel inclined to forgive
Henry James for the unkind things he
has said of my countrywomen, is when I
read his French sojourns and recall his
advice that the best economy is to stop at
Blois first when on a visit to this fascinat-
ing region.
If you desire a unique experience and
would have entree as a parlor boarder to
the fashionable school for demoiselles, go to
Blois armed with letters from the president,
the king or emperor of your fatherland.
Fortunately, the day I arrived with my
credentials, two English girls had been
called home, and when at last I was per-
mitted to matriculate, I had their room
alone, with windows giving on the terrace
and the Loire.
I fell into line with the rules of the in-
stitution, and studied, recited, walked out
each evening chaperoned by one of the
mistresses, and took my holiday every
Thursday with the other students.
Sometimes I asked and was given per-
mission to add Friday and Saturday to my
holiday when I wished to stop longer than
one day at some of the old chateaux. I
always returned, however, proud that my
Chateau of Blois was the finest of them all.
'54
FRANCE
The Chateau of Blois was erefted on a
colossal foundation, both strong and high,
but the castle itself is light and graceful,
with its wonderful staircase and court of
Franfois I. I used often to take my book
to the little park in front of the chateau
and sit for hours not reading, but gazing
at the old castle and dreaming of Brage-
lonne and Louise.
# * * * * *
The Chateau of Chambord is counted as
one of the finest specimens of the Renais-
sance in existence. Here is found that
wonderful double spiral staircase so ar-
ranged that one can go up and another
down at the same time without each seeing
the other.
If your time is limited, make up a
motor party and visit the Chateaux of
Cheverny and Beauregard on the same
day you go to Chambord, returning by
the Valley of Cesson. In the same man-
ner that is, from Blois and by motor
visit Amboise and Chaumont. Both can
be explored in one day. Both overhang
the Loire, and both teem with history and
beauty.
Make Tours your headquarters from
which to visit the chateaux of Touraine.
BY THE WAY
Some one has said: "Normandy is Nor-
mandy, Burgundy is Burgundy, but Tou-
raine is France." It is the home of Balzac,
Rabelais, Descartes, chateaux, books, beau-
tiful women and romance.
We lived in an old chateau on Rue de
Cygne. You may have a suite of rooms
and keep house, if you wish, and Madame
will find you an excellent bonne; or, you
may simply have lodgings and dine where
you will.
Tours is a good place in which to spend
an entire summer. From there should be
visited the chateaux and towns of Chinon,
Azay-le-Rideau, Montbazon, Loches, and,
last, the exquisite Chateau of Chenonceaux
with its lemon color. It recalls Venice, for
it is built on piles in the River Cher.
MARSEILLES :
FROM Tours to Paris, from Paris to
Geneva, to Aix-les-Bains, to Turin, to
Genoa and the French Riviera such was
our somewhat roundabout route to Mar-
seilles.
It would be difficult to imagine a journey
filled with more magnificent and varied
scenery and with more of romantic interest.
We have climbed up and around and
156
FRANCE
over the Alps, following the gorge of
the upper Rhone. For nearly a day we
threaded the mountains, their tops veiled
by the clouds. Scarcely ever were we out
of sight of a leaping cascade or a pictur-
esque village perched high above, or far
below us, except when rushing in and out
of the countless short tunnels. Of only
less interest was the crossing of the Apen-
nines from Turin to Genoa.
From Genoa, we have traversed the
Riviera by train, tram, carriage and on
foot from the Promenade d' Anglais at
Nice to the famous Corniche road between
Nice and Monaco.
On a Sunday afternoon at Monte Carlo
we had our tea on the terrace of the
Casino to the accompaniment of a sacred
concert by an exquisite orchestra on the
one side, and the sharp click of the
croupier's rake in the gambling salle on
the other.
Amidst such bewitching surroundings
the balmy air, the profusion of flowers,
the towering Maritime Alps, and the blue
Mediterranean at the feet one can easily
fancy oneself in an earthly paradise.
You have, of course, read much of the
principality of Monaco embracing its eight
157
BY THE WAY
square miles of territory, with its Optra
bouffe government, and how, surrounded
by French territory, its independence has
been recognized for several centuries. It
is needless to tell you, too, of the gambling
carried on in its Casino, hedged in by
every external element of alluring culture
and refinement. But, I dare affirm that,
apart from its gambling, Monaco is one of
the enchanted spots of earth. The Cote
d'Azur, as this coast is affectionately
named, haunts me still.
Have I mentioned the masonry of this
region ? All through the Alps, the Apen-
nines and along the Riviera are massive
walls of masonry, supporting a mountain
road, forming the graceful arches of some
viaduft or holding back the mighty waves
of the sea. Much of this work was com-
pleted by Napoleon I. Coming, as I do,
from a younger civilization, its magnitude
appears marvelous to me.
* * * * * *
Marseilles is a place about which the
casual traveler knows but little, and yet it
is one of the oldest and most important
seaports in the world. So long ago as 600
years before Christ, the Greeks sailed into
this natural harbor and made it " master
158
VALLEY OF THE RHONE
CORNICHE ROAD BETWEEN NICE AND MONACO
FRANCE
of the seas/' Marseilles carries on a large
oriental trade, which accounts for the fancy-
dress-ball appearance of its quay and streets.
Then there is the Cannebiere.
Do you know what the Cannebiere is ?
Well, it's a street, or, rather, three streets
in one, each with a double row of trees
meeting in an arch overhead, and each of
these rows of trees flanked by broad walks
which are formed into open-air cafes,
served from the hotels and restaurants
which face them. Here the multitude
gathered from all nations may be found
quite' the most cosmopolitan of my experi-
ence and here we have our tea each
afternoon.
All European cities have open-air cafes,
but none of them can duplicate the Canne-
biere. The Marseillaise are very proud
of it, and have a song which runs :
" Si Paris avait une Cannebiere,
Paris serait une petite Marseilles."
(If Paris had a Cannebiere, it would be a
little Marseilles.)
Those who named the streets in Mar-
seilles must have had their share of senti-
ment and romance. One of them is named
"Rue Paradis" and its principal shop is
159
BY THE WAY
called " Paradis de Dames" Another rue
is named "Pavt d y Amour" which doesn't
quite harmonize with the odor of the favor-
ite dish, bouillabaisse ', of which Thackeray
wrote.
The Chateau d'lf, made famous by
Dumas's " Monte Cristo," is on a barren
rock which rises out of the sea within
sight of the harbor of Marseilles.
The chateau was, until recently, a po-
litical prison, and many notable men have
been confined within its dungeon cells. It
is now kept for the inspection of tourists,
and one is shown the inscriptions carved
on its begrimed walls by Edmond Dante
and the learned Abbe Faria during their
fourteen years' imprisonment in cells where
daylight never penetrated.
# * * * * *
If time should hang heavily on your
hands at Marseilles, go to Aix-en-Prov-
ence not that there is anything especial
to see at Aix except the quaintly rural
landscape, nor yet anything especial to do
except to taste the calisson, an almond cake
of which Aix holds the secret recipe. But,
go! It is in the going that your time will
be unhung.
The tram leaves from the Vieux Port,
1 60
CHATEAU D'lP
ALMERIA, SPAIN
FRANCE
and if you go down at the hour advertised,
just place a book or your top-coat on a
seat to reserve it, and then go to get your
grand dejeuner, to take a nap, or to shop,
returning at your leisure, and you '11 have
ample time.
Local freight is carried on a little trailer
car, and the car is moved alongside the
freight that has been dumped in the
middle of the street near the track. This
looks so easy that before the car is loaded,
it is moved a half block or so, and the
freight is carried to the new location of
the car and again dumped on the ground.
After this operation has been repeated
several times, the ludicrousness of it all
dawns on one, and turns the tears of anget
caused by the delay, to laughter.
It really seems as though some of these
foreign cousins of ours endeavored to do
things in the most difficult way.
161
ISCHIA
So waited I until it came
God*s daily miracle^ oh, shame
That I had seen so many days
Unthankful, 'without 'wondering praise.
LOWELL, " At Sea," Fireside travels.
CASAMICCIOLA:
TTTHAT slaves of sentiment we mortals
* ^ are! Here I am at Ischia again
Ischia that has been enshrined in our
hearts for years! And yet it is not the
enchanted island of our younger dreams.
Will the memory of that first visit ever
be effaced? Can you not recall, as though
it were yesterday, how our hearts beat
when we found the invitation to dine at
the old castello on a promontory of Ischia?
How we donned our spotlessest white,
and boarded one of the smaller craft that
plies between the island towns! How we
threaded our way through the myriad of
boats which crowded the Bay of Naples !
How fascinated we were with everything,
from the fairyland of islands to the old
captain who would lean far over the rail
and scold at people coming to meet the
162
ISCHIA
boat, if they were late, and yet who would
stop his boat anywhere to take them on
board ! How even the rain that threatened
to undo our spotlessness seemed part of
the scheme, and how, when the wind
arose and the waves ran high, you declared
we would not go ashore like the common
herd! How, when we arrived at our desti-
nation, the young officer got the biggest,
whitest and cleanest of the rowboats around
to the sea-side of our ship, avoiding the
crowd which was filling the boats on the
other side.
Will you ever forget the great wave
that drenched the officer as he stood at the
bottom of the ladder trying to steady the
smaller boat that I might leap in, and,
after we were pushed off, the feeling of
helplessness at tossing on that mighty sea
so far from shore ? How the old oarsman
stopped in the roughest part, demanding
his fare, and after you had paid him, in-
sisted, like Oliver Twist, on more! How
you shook your fist at him, balancing your-
self in that frail craft, and cried, "Allez!"
and how he alleged before that fist !
How the handsome young Ischian had
seledted me as his signorinas guest! How
his frank eye inspired confidence, and I let
163
BY THE WAY
him hand me into the wee phaeton ; and
how we started up the mountain, wonder-
ing all the while! How he seemed to
remember something, stopped the pony
bedecked with ribbons and feathers, and
gave me a note which proved my confi-
dence was -not misplaced and that he was
our hostess's coachman! How he showed
us the old castle from each vantage point,
proud to be serving the beautiful signorina,
and bubbling over with joy at our evident
admiration !
All this is changed. The old castle still
stands out, white and clear cut, with the
blue Mediterranean beating on three of
its sides, but the sunshine has flown.
No smiling mistress in silken robes, no
Roman servants, no coachman of polished
bronze were here to welcome me now. The
great hall with its wealth of marble re-
mains, but the objets cT art brought from
every corner of the globe are gone, and
all the warmth of heart that comes from
loving hospitality is missing. My hostess
of former years has been wooed away.
# * # # # #
Let not my musing, however, deter any
one from coming to Ischia. Situated at
the northern extremity of the Bay of
164
ISCHIA
Naples, as Capri is at its southern ex-
tremity, it is at once unique and romantic.
ON SHIPBOARD :
E SET sail from Marseilles one eve-
ning as the autumn sun was sinking
behind the distant Alps. Cruising along
the Riviera and the rugged coast of Cor-
sica, on the second morning we were close
to Italy's shore with the environs of
Naples in the misty background.
We remained in port three days, living
on the ship the while. A drive to Posilipo,
the never-ending panorama of Neapolitan
life, and the day at Ischia, about which I
told you in my last letter, filled the time,
and at midnight of the third day we
weighed anchor for home.
ALMERIA :
TT is to be regretted that the big packet
-* of letters which awaited me here, full to
overflowing with questions, could not have
been received earlier. The twelve hours
of unexpected waiting caused by the de-
layed sailing of the ship will give me,
however, an opportunity to answer a lim-
ited number. You will receive this letter
one of you at least before that happy
165
BY THE WAY
day when I shall set foot again upon my
native land.
Does it pay to come abroad for a short
time ?
It pays to come for a day. The ocean
voyage is compensation in itself. Nothing
broadens one's life like touching the lives
of others.
And did request me to importune you,
To let him spend his time no more at home,
Which would be great impeachment to his age
In having known no travel in his youth.
SHAKSPERE, Two Gentlemen of Verona,
Act I, Scene 3, Line 13.
Is it worth while, before coming, to read
about the places one intends to visit ?
It is more than worth while! It is
necessary! That which one will compre-
hensively absorb during any journey de-
pends largely upon what one has read.
This is especially true of foreign travel.
The books I have named in my letters
will be of assistance to you.*
# * * * * *
And now you ask me to sum up my
foreign experiences. Your request reminds
me of the schoolmaster who gave out as
* See index of authors and books.
166
ISCHIA
the subjedt of a prize composition, "The
World and Its Inhabitants."
In all seriousness, this has been the most
delightful and at the same time the most
miserable year of my life. Comprenez-vous?
They said the stars shone with a softer gleam ;
It seemed not so to me !
In vain a scene of beauty beamed around
My thoughts were o'er the sea.
LONGFELLOW, Outre Mer,
Chapter on Pilgrim's Salutation.
I am not unmindful of all the oppor-
tunities I have had to see God's beautiful
world, and I think little has escaped me
that has been in my line of vision.
Of all countries, I like England best
yes, England! dear, green, blossoming
England; of all cities, Paris and Florence;
of all churches, St. Mark's in Venice;
of picturesque places, Killarney's lakes and
the Lake of Lucerne; of awesome grandeur
in nature, the Giant's Causeway and on
the heights of Switzerland ; of man's work
in art and architecture combined, Fontaine-
bleau, Versailles, the Bargello in Florence
and Raphael's Stanza and Loggie in the
Vatican ; of collected art in sculpture, that
found in Rome; of colleded art in paint-
167
BY THE WAY
ing, that found in the galleries of Florence;
of the sublime in nature, the sunsets on the
Mediterranean, moonlight on the Arno,
the Alpine glow on the Rigi, and sunrise
over the Acropolis; of all peoples, the
upper class of Irish and English. And the
happiest moments spent among this array
were those when reading my letters from
home.
I have been treated with charming cor-
diality everywhere and have met clever,
cultured people, both foreign and Ameri-
can. I have seen and heard a few
Americans, the sort whose bragging brings
the blood to the face, but I am happy to
tell you they have been few.
I should advise any one to come here
with the intention of enjoying and not of
criticising. If things are desired as they
are in America, stay there.
One comes to a foreign country to see
things as they are, and, most of all, to see
things which we have not.
The science of comprehensive observa-
tion should be taught in every school, for
few know how to observe understandingly.
Culture comes high, at the easiest, and
in no way can one absorb so much or so
well as by observation while traveling.
168
ISCHIA
GIBRALTAR:
SOON after the last letter was posted, a
note and a cable were handed me by
the purser.
The cable was from Ruth announcing
her marriage and removal to Porto Rico.
The letter, from Mrs. F. telling of her
husband's complete recovery and that his
business interests were taking them to
Japan, where they would make for them-
selves a home. Her hurried notes to me
have borne only her initials. This letter
she signed, for the first time, with her
Christian name the same as my own.
The spelling is identical. Odd, is it not?
169
INDEX OF PLACES
WITH NAME OF HOTEL OR PENSION
/ rather would entreat thy company
To see the wonders of the 'world abroad.
SHAKSPERE, two Gentlemen of Verona,
Act I, Scene I, Line 5.
Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed.
SHAKSPERE, As You Like
Act II, Scene 4, Line 74.
Abbotsford :
from Melrose, 28.
Aix-les-Bains :
Terminus Hotel, 156.
Aix-en-Provence :
from Marseilles, 160.
Almeria, 165.
Amalfi :
St. Catherine Hotel, 57.
Ambleside :
Grange Private Hotel,
26.
Amsterdam :
Hotel Viftoria, 105.
Amboise :
Hotel du Lion d'Or,
I55 '.
Anacapri :
Hotel Vittoria, 56.
Antwerp :
New Hotel London,
109.
Athens :
Hotel d'Angleterre,
117.
Ayr:
King's Arms, 33, 34.
Azay-le-Rideau :
from Tours, I 56.
Azores :
see Ponta Delgada, 52.
Bantry :
from Cork, 40.
Barbizon :
Sir on, 149.
Barcelona :
Mme. de Bergue,
79 Rambla Cataluna,
130.
Belfast :
Waverly, 34.
Berlin :
Hotel Bristol, 135.
171
INDEX OF PLACES
Blarney :
from Cork, 41.
Blue Grotto :
from Naples, 55.
Blois :
Hotel d'Angleterre,
I53 *
Bonchurch :
Bonchurch Hotel, 22.
Boulogne-sur-Mer :
Christol et Bristol, 151.
Bourne End :
from London, 1 5 .
Bray :
from Dublin, 44.
Brigue :
Hotel des Couronnes et
Poste, 102.
Brindisi :
International, 115.
Brussels :
Bellevue et Flandre,
108.
Budapest :
Hungaria, 1 29.
Callander :
Mrs. Linklater, Kinlock
Cottage coach for
Trossachs, 32.
Capri :
Grotte Bleue, 54, 55,
56, 165.
Carisbrooke Castle :
Eight Bells Inn, 22.
172
Carlisle :
Miss Woodrow, 4 Al-
fred Street, 27.
Casamicciola :
Pension Pithecusa, 162.
Chambord :
from Blois, 155.
Champigny :
from Paris, 151.
Charlottenberg :
from Berlin, 135.
Chateau d'lf :
from Marseilles, 160.
Chaumont :
from Blois, 155.
Chelsea :
from London, 12.
Chenonceaux :
from Tours, 156.
Chester :
The Blossoms, 5.
Chesterfield :
Angel, 24.
Chinon :
Hotel de France,
156.
Cologne :
St. Paul, 1 06.
Como, Lake :
Grande Bretagne, Bel-
lagio, 89.
Constantinople :
Pera Palace, I 20.
Corfu :
St. George, 115.
INDEX OF PLACES
Cork:
Temperance, 40.
Corinth :
Hotel des Etrange,
117.
Corsica, 165.
Cowes :
Royal Medina, 23.
Dardanelles, 122.
Dargle (Dark Glen) :
from Dublin, 44.
Domodossola :
Hotel de la Ville et
Poste, 91, 93.
Dublin :
Metropole, 42, 50.
Dresden :
Savoy, 136.
Edinburgh :
Waverly, 29.
Ellen's Isle, 27.
Etaples :
Mme. Geneau, Rue du
Rivage, 151.
Fiesole :
from Florence, 84.
Florence :
Pension Jennings- Ric-
cioli, 37 Corso dei
Tintori, 80.
Fontainebleau :
Pension Victoria, 148.
Fontenay-sous-Bois :
from Paris, 151.
Frankfort-on-the-Main :
Hotel Schwan, 135.
Freshwater :
Stark's Inn, 21.
Geneva :
Hotel des Families, 1 56.
Genoa :
Nazionale, 157.
Giant's Causeway :
Causeway Hotel, 34.
Gibraltar :
Grand, 52.
Glasgow :
Bath Hotel, 29, 32.
Glengariff:
Eccles, 39.
Grasmere :
Temperance, 26.
Hampton Court :
from London, 12.
Havre :
Frascati, 137.
Hawarden :
from Chester, 5.
Henley :
Red Lion, 16.
Innisfallen :
from Killarney, 38.
Inversnaid :
Inversnaid Hotel, 32.
173
Ischia :
see Casamicciola, 162.
Isle of Wight :
see Ryde, Cowes,
Ventnor, Freshwater,
20.
Keswick :
Queens, 27.
Kew:
from London, 1 2.
Kilkenny :
Club House, 45.
Killarney :
Great Southern, 36.
Kenilworth :
from Leamington, 8.
Lake Distrift :
English, 25.
Larne :
Olderfleet, 34.
Lausanne :
Beau-Sejour, 103.
Leamington :
Manor House, 6.
Leeds :
Queens, 25.
Lido:
from Venice, 88.
Liverpool :
Adelphi, 3.
Loches :
Hotel de la Promenade,
156.
174
INDEX OF PLACES
London :
Russell Square Hotel,
Whitehall Hotels, u,
'7-
Lucerne :
Beau-Rivage, 93, 103.
Lugano :
Splendide, 91.
Maggiore, Lake, 91.
Marseilles :
Hotel de Geneve, 1 58,
i6 5 .
Melrose :
Waverly, 27.
Menaggio :
Menaggio, 91.
Metz:
Grand Hotel de Metz,
136.
Milan :
Roma, 90.
Monaco :
from Nice, 157.
Montbazon :
from Tours, 156.
Monte Carlo :
Hotel des Anglais, 157.
Montreuil :
Mme. Crutcl, 152.
Munich :
Belle vue, 134.
Naples :
Bertolini's Palace, 54,
55>57> * 6 5-
INDEX OF PLACES
Nice:
Terminus, 157.
Norwood :
from London, 14.
Niirnberg :
Goldener Adler, 135.
Oberammergau :
Frau Christus Lang,
Main Street, 134.
Olympia, 1 1 6.
Orvieto :
Belle Arti, 76, 78.
Oxford :
Micklem Hall, 9, 16.
Paris :
Pension, 30 Rue de la
Bienfaisance: Hotel de
Calais, 137.
Patras :
Hotel d'Angleterre,
116.
Penrith :
Waverly Temperance,
27.
Piraeus :
Continental, 119.
Pompeii :
from Naples, 59.
Ponta Delgada :
The Inn, 5 1 .
Portrush :
Landsdown Crescent,
34-
Portsmouth :
Beach Mansions, 21.
Posilipo :
from Naples, 165.
Potsdam :
Einsiedler, 135.
Queenstown :
Queens, xiii, 42.
Richmond :
from London, 1 2.
Rome :
Pension Michel, via
Torino 98, 60.
Rouen :
Hotel de la Poste, 138.
Ryde:
Esplanade, 21.
St. Cloud :
Belvedere, 145.
Salzburg :
Pension Kaiserin Elisa-
beth, 134.
Sans Souci :
from Potsdam, 135.
Sevres :
from Paris, 145.
Shanklin :
Royal Spa, 23.
Siena :
Pension Tognazzi, via
Sallutio Bandini 19,
79-
175
INDEX OF PLACES
Simplon :
Pension Fletschhorn,
97-
Skipton :
Devonshire Arms,
: ^S.
Skutari :
from Constantinople,
123.
Slough :
Crown, 24.
Smyrna, 120.
Sorrento :
Cocumella, 56.
Stirling :
Waverly Temperance,
30-
Stoke Poges :
from Slough, 24.
Stranraer :
King's Arms, 34.
Stratford-on-Avon :
Red Horse, 9.
Suresnes :
from Paris, 145.
Venice :
Pension Beau-Rivage,
8 5 .
Ventnor :
New Queens, 22.
Versailles :
Hotel des Reservoirs,
-14*.
Vienna :
Pension Monopole, IX
3 Garelligasse, 132.
Vietri :
Trattoria Rosa, 58.
Vincennes :
from Paris, I 50.
Warwick :
Globe Inn, 8.
Wicklow :
from Dublin, 44.
Wiesbaden :
Villa Rupprecht,
1 2 Sonnenbergerstrasse,
Windermere :
Mrs. Kellett, Mount
Tours : View, New Road, 24.
Mme. Francois, 27 Rue Windsor :
de Cygne, 156. White Hart Inn, 10.
Trossachs : v/*T,oi .
^. T7j- i_ i loughal :
Glasgow or Edinburgh, Imperial> 4 , .
Turin : Zurich :
Suisse, 157. Pension Neptun, See-
feldstrasse, 105.
176
INDEX OF
AUTHORS AND BOOKS
MENTIONED
Knowing that I loved my books, he furnish* d me
. . . with volumes that I pri%e above my dukedom.
SHAKSPERE, The Tempest,
Act I, Scene a, Line 166.
Alcott, Louise : home of,
7 6.
Austin, Alfred : reference
to, 36.
A Summer in England :
issued by Woman's Rest
Tour Association of Bos-
ton, 1 66.
Baedeker : a guide-book
issued for each country
and principal city, 1 44,
1 66.
Bell, Lilian : reference to,
6 3 .
Besant, Walter : London,
166.
Black, William : Hand-
some Humes ; Strange
Adventure series, 16,
1 66.
Blossom, Henry : quota-
tions from Documents
in Evidence, 147.
Bos well, James: Haunts of,
3 \
Browning, Elizabeth B.:
Casa Guidi Windows ;
The Dance, 80, 166.
Browning, Robert : De
Gustibus ; Old Piftures ;
Andrea del Sarto ; The
Statue and the Bust ;
The Ring and the Book,
3, 92, 166.
Bunyan : Pilgrim's Prog-
ress, The Author's Apol-
ogy, Hi.
Burke, Edmund : statue of,
4 8.
Burns, Robert : home of,
33 ; haunts of, 30.
177
INDEX OF AUTHORS AND BOOKS
Burroughs, John : Waiting,
quotations from, 42,
100.
Burton, Richard : Dumb
in June, reference to, 9,
Butler, Mrs. : Biography
of Katherine of Siena,
79-
Byron : home of, in Rome,
75-
Carlyle, Thomas : home
of, 12.
Clement, C. E. : Naples,
the city of Parthenope,
1 66.
Coleridge, Samuel T. :
home of, 27.
Coufopoulos, Demetrius :
Constantinople, guide-
book in English; 166.
Crawford, F. Marion :
Greifen stein, 1 66 ;
home of, 57.
Dayot, Armand : Beauti-
ful Women in Art, 1 66.
DeForest, Katherine: Paris
as it is, 1 66.
Dickens : reference to, 1 44.
Dumas : reference to,
153, 160.
Eliot, George : home of,
7 6.
178
Emerson : English Traits,
1 66.
Freeman, E. A. : English
Tours & Districts, 1 66.
Goldsmith, Oliver : statue
of, 48.
Gray, Thomas : Elegy,
quotation from, 24.
Green, John Richard :
Short History of the
English People, 166.
Grifi, E.: Saunterings in
Florence, 166.
Hare, Augustus J. C.:
Walks, in principal
cities, 1 66.
Hawthorne, Nathaniel :
English, French and
Italian Note Books ;
Marble Faun, 63, 74,
1 66.
Homer : birthplace of, 1 2 1 .
Horton, George : In
Argolis ; Modern
Athens, 166.
Howard, Blanche Willis :
One Year Abroad, 166.
Howells : Tuscan Cities ;
Italian Journeys ;
Venetian Life ; Silver
Wedding Journey, 63,
75, 80, 89, 139, 166.
INDEX OF AUTHORS AND BOOKS
Hubbard, Elbert : Little
Journeys, 1 08.
Hugo, Vi6lor : quotations
from, 137, 139.
Hutton, Laurence : Liter-
ary Landmarks, 1 1, 75,
76, 80, 1 66.
Hutton, William Holden :
Mediaeval Constantino-
ple, 1 66.
Irving, Washington :
Sketch Book, 166.
Jackson, Helen Hunt :
home of, in Rome, 76.
James, Henry : Little
Tours in France ;
Portraits of Places ;
Transatlantic sketches,
154, 1 66.
Jameson, Mrs.: Early
Italian Painters ; Art
Legends ; home of, in
Rome, 76, 1 66.
Jonson, Ben : haunts of,
30-
Keats, John : home of, in
Rome, 74, 75.
Kingsley, Charles :
Westward Ho, 166.
Knight : Through the
Wordsworth Country,
1 66.
Knox, John : haunts of,
30-
Loomis, L. C.: The Index
Guide, 1 66.
Longfellow : Outre Mer,
quotations from The
Norman Diligence and
Pilgrim's Salutation,
1 1, 139, 166.
Low, Will H.: A Chron-
icle of Friendship,
149.
Lowell, James Russell :
Legends of Brittany;
My Study Window ;
Fireside Travels, 1 1 ,
162, 166.
Lytton, Edward Bulwer :
Last Days of Pompeii,
166.
Macquoid, K. S. : Through
Normandy ; Through
Brittany, 166.
Mahoney, Francis: quota-
tion from, 41.
Martineau, Harriet: Guide
to English Lake District,
27-
Matthews, Brander :
Americanisms and
Briticisms, 166.
Meredith, George:
Vittoria, 166.
179
INDEX OF AUTHORS AND BOOKS
Meredith, Owen : Venice,
166.
Moore, Thomas : Vale of
Avoca, quotation from,
45-
Oliphant, Mrs. : Makers
of Florence ; Royal
Edinburgh, 80, 166.
Ouida : A Dog of Flanders;
Niirnberg Stove, 166.
Parker, John H.: A. B. C.
of Gothic Architecture,
1 66.
Porter, Jane : Scottish
Chiefs, 3 1 .
Raleigh, Sir Walter :
home of, 41.
Ruskin: Stones of Venice;
Mornings in Florence;
Seven Lamps, notes on
Turner and notes on
Pre-Raphaelitism ;
Hortus Inclusus, notes
on pictures in the Royal
Academy, and guide
to pictures in the Acad-
emy of Fine Arts at
Venice, 80, 83, 89,
1 66.
Sartoris, Adelaide : home
of, 76.
i Bo
Scott : home of, 28 ; haunts
of, 26, 29, 30, 32.
Shakspere : home of, 9 ;
quotations from, I, 82,
120, 129, 132, 134,
166.
Shelley : haunts of, 26,
,. 74 ' 75>
Singleton, Esther: Turrets,
Towers and Temples ;
Great Pictures ; Historic
Buildings, 166.
Smith, F. Berkeley : The
Real Latin Quarter, 1 66.
Smith, F. Hopkinson :
Well-worn Roads, 108.
Southey : home of, 26.
Stevenson, Robert Louis :
Travels of a Donkey,
1 66.
Stockton, Frank R. :
reference to, 28.
Stowe, Harriet B. : Agnes
of Sorrento, 166.
Symonds, John A. :
The Renaissance in
Italy, 79, 166.
Tennyson : home and
haunts of, 21, 39.
Thackeray : Irish Sketch
Book ; Paris Sketch
Book : Cornhill to
Cairo, 9, 41, 76, 160,
1 66.
INDEX OF AUTHORS AND BOOKS
Thoreau : reference to,
108.
Trollope : Homes and
Haunts, 1 66.
Ward, Mrs. Humphrey :
Eleanor, reference to,
78,91-
Warner, Charles Dudley :
A Roundabout Journey ;
In the Levant, 166.
Whiting, Richard :
Life of Paris, 1 66.
Whiting, Lilian :
Spiritual Significance,
chapter on Siena, 79.
Wiggins, Kate Douglas :
Cathedral Courtship ;
English, Scotch and
Irish Experiences, 166.
Woolson, Constance
Fenimore: reference to,
74-
Wordsworth: Excursion,
guide to English lakes,
26, 1 66.
181
HERE ENDS BY THE WAY, BEING A SERIES OF
TRAVEL LETTERS WRITTEN DURING SEVERAL
JOURNEYS ABROAD BY AGNESS GREENE FOSTER.
PUBLISHED BY PAUL ELDER & COMPANY AND
PRINTED FOR THEM BY THE TOMOYE PRESS,
IN THE CITY OF SAN FRANCISCO, UNDER THE
DIRECTION OF J. H. NASH IN THE MONTH OF
APRIL AND YEAR NINETEEN HUNDRED & TEN.
