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diff --git a/35289-h/35289-h.htm b/35289-h/35289-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bbb004a --- /dev/null +++ b/35289-h/35289-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2479 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Hospital Sketches, by Robert Swain Peabody. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 1.25em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + img {border: 0;} + .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + ins {text-decoration:none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + .copyright {text-align: center; font-size: 70%;} + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify;} + + .bbox {border: solid 2px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + .small {font-size: 70%;} + .big {font-size: 110%;} + .author {font-size: 120%; text-align: center;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .chaptertitle {text-align: center; font-size: 110%; font-weight: bold;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold; font-size: 90%;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .unindent {margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + .right {text-align: right;} + .poem {margin-left: 30%; text-align: left;} + .poem2 {margin-left: 15%; text-align: left;} + .poem3 {margin-left: 10%; text-align: left;} + .sig {margin-right: 10%; text-align: right;} + + .hang1 {text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;} + .cap:first-letter {float: left; clear: left; margin: -0.2em 0.1em 0; margin-top: 0%; + padding: 0; line-height: .75em; font-size: 300%; text-align: justify;} + .cap {text-align: justify;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Hospital Sketches, by Robert Swain Peabody + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Hospital Sketches + +Author: Robert Swain Peabody + +Release Date: February 15, 2011 [EBook #35289] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOSPITAL SKETCHES *** + + + + +Produced by Chris Curnow, Emmy and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 397px;"> +<img src="images/i_cover.jpg" width="397" height="600" alt="Cover" title="" /> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1>HOSPITAL SKETCHES</h1> + +<div class='center'><br /><br /><br />1916</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1>HOSPITAL SKETCHES</h1> + +<div class='center'>BY</div> + +<div class='author'>ROBERT SWAIN PEABODY<br /><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 74px;"> +<img src="images/i_004.png" width="74" height="100" alt="Emblem" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><br /><br /><br /> +BOSTON & NEW YORK<br /> +HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br /> +<i>The Riverside Press Cambridge</i><br /> +1916<br /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class='copyright'> +COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY ROBERT SWAIN PEABODY<br /> +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED<br /> +<i>Published December 1916</i><br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class='poem'> +"<i>Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Enwrought with golden and silver light,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">The blue and the dim and the dark cloths</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Of night and light and the half light;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">I would spread the cloths under your feet:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">But I, being poor, have only my dreams;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">I have spread my dreams under your feet;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Tread softly because you tread on my dreams."</span></i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">W. B. Yeats.</span></span><br /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>NOTE</h2> + +<p><span class="smcap">Acknowledgments</span> are made to Messrs. +Charles Scribner's Sons for permission to use a +passage from Edith Wharton's <i>Fighting France</i> +and to The Macmillan Company for the use +of the poem "Aedh wishes for the Cloths of +Heaven," by W. B. Yeats.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'>INTRODUCTION</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_ix">ix</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'>VIEW FROM THE HOSPITAL TERRACE</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'><br />UPTHORPE-CUM-REGIS</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>I.</td><td align='left'>The Minster and the Meadows</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>II.</td><td align='left'>The Church Yard</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>III.</td><td align='left'>The Village</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IV.</td><td align='left'>The Hall</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>V.</td><td align='left'>Trong's Almshouses</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'><br />RANCONEZZO</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VI.</td><td align='left'>The Town and the Lake</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VII.</td><td align='left'>Piazza Garibaldi</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VIII.</td><td align='left'>Piazza Cavour</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IX.</td><td align='left'>North Door of the Duomo</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>X.</td><td align='left'>Interior of the Duomo</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XI.</td><td align='left'>The Villa of the Cardinal Schalchi-Visconti</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XII.</td><td align='left'>Santa Prassede, the Cardinal's Church</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIII.</td><td align='left'>The Cloisters of S<sup>ta</sup> Prassede</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIV.</td><td align='left'>The Tomb of the Cardinal in S<sup>ta</sup> Prassede</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_55">55</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'><br />ROCHER-ST.-POL</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XV.</td><td align='left'>The Town and the River Merle</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVI.</td><td align='left'>La Grande Rue and La Place de la République</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVII.</td><td align='left'>L'escalier de Jacob</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVIII.</td><td align='left'>Le Parvis de S<sup>te</sup> Frédigonde</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIX.</td><td align='left'>Interior of the Church of S<sup>te</sup> Frédigonde</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XX.</td><td align='left'>Sacristy Steps in the Church of S<sup>te</sup> Frédigonde </td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXI.</td><td align='left'>The Château Beaumesnil</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXII.</td><td align='left'>La Tour de la Dame Blanche</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'><br />AEGINASSOS</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXIII.</td><td align='left'>The Temple and the Forum</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXIV.</td><td align='left'>The Temple and the Forum</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_94">95</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span></p> + +<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2> + + +<div class='right'> +<span class="smcap">Johns Hopkins Hospital,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-right: .5em;"><span class="smcap">Baltimore, Maryland,</span></span><br /> +<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><i>December, 1915.</i></span><br /><br /> +</div> + +<div class='cap'>ONE of my good friends, a stanch upholder of +what to him is "The Catholic Church," looks +back to the thirteenth century as marking the highest +tide of Christian civilization. He longs for a restoration +(but under other rule) of that monastic +life which then gave shelter to Art, Science, Learning, +and Religion. It does not appear that this +longing is coupled with any regret for the exceptionally +happy domestic life with which he personally +has been blessed. Probably his hopes are +that even if he establishes, others will maintain, +that monastic life and discipline which, duly purified +from Ultramontane tendencies, he thinks would +be so uplifting and beneficial to our times.</div> + +<p>However that may be, if he is ever immured +for many weeks in a great hospital, he will be surprised +to find how many are the similarities between<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span> +its life, its discipline and its atmosphere, +and those of the great monasteries. I mean those +mediæval houses which spread from the parent at +Monte Cassino to Citeaux and Cluny and Vezelay +and thence to far-away parts of Europe, and which +were even more abundant in England where the +ruins of the Yorkshire Abbeys still attest to their +former power. When the time is ripe for the change +longed for by our friend he will find that very +slight additions to a modern hospital will give him +what he wants in great perfection.</p> + +<p>Grateful though I am to them—deeply grateful—yet +I know little of the personal history of the +founder of this great hospital which now shelters +me, or of that "Diamond Jim Brady" who built +and endowed this noble wing. Still, I feel sure that +in many ways these benefactors to their race +made their gifts under much the same conditions +as those barons and nobles of old who, led by some +deep feeling, devoted their wealth to the saving, +not only of their own souls, but of the souls and +bodies of their fellow men.</p> + +<p>Moreover, if the benefactors who founded and +endowed this hospital resembled the men and +women who made possible the powerful monasteries +of the Middle Ages, there is also a resemblance to +be found between the service that the monks rendered +in their day to humanity and knowledge +and that devotion which to-day inspires the staff +of a great modern hospital. In this very building<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span> +are housed and in constant attendance a large +number of doctors, surgeons and orderlies. Their +quarters, though in many ways like those in a +modern club, are almost equally like the cells of a +great monastery. There probably is not one of the +staff who was not turned to his profession in some +degree by the thought that it would make him of +service to mankind. In another wing live several +hundred nurses. The strength and health and happiness +which appear in the faces of these young +women attest to the good effect for women as well +as for men of discipline and regular attention to +duty. What a shining example is theirs of faithful +and altruistic service to suffering humanity! Indeed +a generous, helpful and encouraging spirit +pervades all the men and women who form the +staff of the hospital. Theirs is a single-minded and +unwearying attention which no monks could have +excelled, nor could the monasteries ever have offered +a wider charity than that which makes white +and colored, Hebrew and Gentile, poor and rich all +objects of the kindly help of a skilful and devoted +company.</p> + +<p>I know that the kernel and very centre of the +monastery was the lighted altar in the chapel +where daily the sacred mysteries were enacted. +That is what our friend will need to add to his perfected +institution;—and yet—and yet—I doubt +if the atmosphere will be very different when that +is done. Although this place is world-famous as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span> +a centre of scientific research and of applied science,—though, +in general, religion here is worked out +in terms of service,—yet there are signs that the +spirit has recognition as well as the physical body. +To-day, in the great entrance rotunda stands a +colossal and impressive statue of Christ, his hands +outstretched welcoming the weary and the heavy-laden. +The several hundred nurses have daily +prayers together before they begin their unselfish +work. At the dawn of Christmas morning, the +doctors, nurses and orderlies make the halls resound +with the carols suited to the day; and we hear +how one convalescent who was praising his doctor's +power over his ailments was surprised by the +reply, "It was another power than mine that did +it!" Perhaps he meant that miraculous servant +Radium; perhaps he meant Nature herself; perhaps +he meant something beyond these. He did +not explain.</p> + +<p>This devotion with which the staff is consecrated +to altruistic labor is met by a spirit of buoyant +gratitude from those on whom they minister. Our +ward is vibrant with it. Perhaps this is not true at +the very first. The patient arrives in misery. For +a few days he is perhaps made even more miserable. +But during this time he is in seclusion and not visible +to his comrades. Soon he rallies. In bed or +wheel chair he joins other convalescents on the +roof terrace. They compare notes over their +operations. They settle among themselves all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</a></span> +those great pending questions which have been +engrossing the active outside world and, looking +forward to returning health and strength, a very +joyous spirit pervades the group. These not too +inviting surroundings abound, therefore, in a +hearty thankfulness—a thankfulness abundant +and sincere, and not unlike what it would be +if it were offered amid solemn rites and with majestic +music before the glowing altar of a monastery.</p> + +<p>But in these early days of seclusion the lonely +patient has opportunity for much thinking. Lying +in bed in a room which, as a recent writer described +it, is richly decorated with a white ceiling, +four white walls, a door, a window and a floor, +he has indeed time for thought and for thought +without distraction.</p> + +<p>Surrounded as he is by the sick and the maimed, +perhaps one of the first subjects on which he is led +to ponder is the mystery of Pain. What does it +all mean that a God otherwise beneficent should +impose on the creatures he has brought into the +world illness and suffering? Even Prince Siddartha +wondered at it:</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"Since if, all powerful, he leaves it so,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">He is not good; and if not powerful,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">He is not God?"</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>In better mood the patient may wonder whether +his personal share of pain is in any sense a penance or +atonement for his own past sins. This is a thought<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</a></span> +which is natural and acceptable perhaps to most +minds. But the Saints and Martyrs testifying to +their faith went farther and not only submitted to +but gladly sought pain and suffering. Now pain +and agony well endured undoubtedly strengthen +character. Have we not a vivid example of this before +us in the catastrophe of the European war; a +war which is saved from being wholly evil and +dreadful because out of it has come the spiritual regeneration +of the allied nations who are engulfed in +it? Still it can hardly be expected that ordinary +flesh and blood should in this world, so full of love +and beauty, invite and seek out suffering and disaster +even in order to bear them bravely. Enough +for most of us that if doomed to walk with them +we</p> + +<div class='center'> +"Turn the necessity to glorious gain."<br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>But all the same it must be a happy thing for a +sufferer if he can hope with the Martyrs that pain +borne with fortitude may be offered as a sacrifice +and atonement.</div> + +<p>In these dull and lonely moments also one inevitably +asks whether it is true that people exist +who are stolid to pain? One may consecrate it +before it comes and after it goes, but to most of us +feeble folk pain when present occupies the whole +limelight and leaves the rest of the stage in darkness! +The only inmate of the hospital who stirred +my temper was a patient who on making a rapid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[xv]</a></span> +recovery from what he described as a very severe +operation said he had refused ether and did not +mind pain. I regained my equanimity when an +orderly confided to me that the operation had +been slight!</p> + +<p>In health one is apt to think that Love is the +great motive power of humanity. In illness and +suffering Pain seems the great and pressing problem. +They often go hand in hand and perhaps it is +true that without them both life has not rendered +its full wealth or its perfect discipline. "The ennobling +depths of pain" need also "the purifying fire +of love" to round out a perfect character.</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"Incomprehensibly Love's will doth move<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Through this blind world in ways we cannot see,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Death giving birth to life. So does deep sorrow</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Give birth to rarer joy on some glad morrow."</span><br /> +</div> + +<p>These and many such questions can be as solemn, +as perplexing and as engrossing as any that exercised +the inmates of the Monastery to which we here +find so much resemblance. As a contrast to such +heart-searching thoughts the patient can wonder +at the properties of that radium by which he may +have been treated. How astonishing is it that this +atom of matter should constantly emit rays which +search out and destroy evil tissues and leave unharmed +the good; and that they do this without +any perceptible diminution of energy! How +contrary this is to all we have hitherto known of +the conservation of energy and of the impossibility<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[xvi]</a></span> +of obtaining perpetual motion or continued power! +What is so contrary to our preconceived ideas +proves itself, however, by experience efficient in +an almost supernatural or miraculous manner. +Perhaps fatigued by these thoughts the patient +can turn from them and closing his eyes begin to +count "The flock of sheep that leisurely pass by one +after one" and by happy chance submit himself to +sleep.</p> + +<p>The roof terrace has a wide view over the City +of Baltimore, as well as of the heavens which encompass +it. We sit there in our wheel chairs or lie +tucked up in our rolling beds and talk flows freely. +We watch the flocks of pigeons making endless +circles in the upper air; the black and solemn buzzards +hanging above us unmoved though the gale +blow ever so fiercely; the cloud shadows moving +over the panorama; the haze of mist and steam and +smoke floating over the City; the ever-changing +pageant of fleeting clouds and blue sky and blazing +sunsets. At one time—</p> + +<div class='poem'> +"And when the wind from place to place<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Doth the unmoored cloud galleons chase"—</span><br /> +</div> + +<div class='unindent'>we follow the white fleets as they sail away towards +the south, ever replaced by new armadas surging +up and over the northern horizon. At another time +in range beyond range of snowy clouds, we see +rise before us the Delectable Mountains beyond +which is the Land of Beulah where the shining<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[xvii]</a></span> +ones go to and fro as messengers to the Celestial +City.</div> + +<p>It is said that an eye unused to the telescope +cannot see the canals on the planet Mars, but +that through the same instrument they are plainly +visible to an eye trained to such observation. +Sometimes, when the clouds have hung in white +masses over the city, I have been eager to see +what was hidden by those luminous walls, but my +untrained eyes could not pierce them. Day after +day, however, I became more familiar with them. +Others before now, without journeying like Columbus +to prove the truth of his visions, have, +even by their own firesides, enjoyed Castles in the +Air and Châteaux and great possessions in Spain. +In like manner as the breeze moved the silver +edges of the clouds, I had unexpectedly through +the rifts views of strange lands and fair cities which +I had never before seen or heard of. As they were +indeed lovely, in all haste I tried to make rapid +notes of them to prove the truth of my strange +experience.</p> + +<p>Far to the north over Homewood, a pile of mountainous +clouds was rent for a short space by the +breeze, and disclosed a Minster in a meadow land. +Its name seemed to be Upthorpe-cum-Regis. Its +tower rose before me over the busy life of the +town and looked down on the mansion of the Squire +and the house of the Dean. Close around the walls +of the Minster, indeed within sound of its prayers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[xviii]</a></span> +and anthems, were clustered the graves of the +dead,—the former generations who had made the +life of the town and who built the church and +worshipped at its altar. It was a town in which the +characters described by Trollope or George Eliot +or Jane Austen would have felt themselves at +home.</p> + +<p>Again when a sunset was filling the western sky +with "the incomparable pomp of eve," a break in +the clouds above the gilded towers of Cardinal +Gibbons's Cathedral disclosed an Italian town on +a lovely lake shore. Boats with colored sails lined +the Riva of Ranconezzo. Two piazzas teeming +with life surrounded the Duomo or Cathedral and +from them there were wide views over lake and +mountain scenery. It appears that in the long +ago, the Cardinal Schalchi-Visconti was the benefactor +of this town, and there on the hillside, tree +embowered, was his villa with its little port for +the lake boats. His tomb I also saw, not in the +Duomo, but in the Bramantesque Church of Santa +Prassede, a building resembling the many small +churches in northern Italy due to the refined influence +of Bramante. In my dreaming I entered +the church, and found that the great Cardinal lies +beneath a tomb carved by Mino da Fiesole on the +north side of Santa Prassede.</p> + +<p>Then on a cool and crisp day when clouds were +scudding through the sky, between them there +was revealed to me a French town that seemed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix">[xix]</a></span> +to bear the name of Rocher-St.-Pol. There was +the river Merle winding its way through meadow +and woodland. A range of hills bounded the +horizon and from the plain rose the Rock. Not +far away the ruined castle of "La Dame Blanche" +crowned a steep hill, and close to the town was the +Château Beaumesnil, beetling over the wooded +hillside and bristling with conical towers and burnished +girouettes. The Grande Rue of Rocher-St.-Pol +I saw winding between gabled and half-timbered +houses towards the church on the summit, +and finally a long flight of stairs called by the +people Jacob's ladder brings the pilgrim to the +terrace in front of the church door. The interior +of Ste. Frédigonde showed me the same period of +French Gothic which marks the cathedrals of Notre +Dame at Paris and Rheims. Coming out from +Jacob's ladder upon the Parvis, there was a wide +view over the meadows and the river. At the +moment when the cathedral door was disclosed to +me, a procession of clergy bearing sacred relics +emerged from the church. It passed between the +ranks of prophets and martyrs whose effigies flank +the portal, and vanished with its banners and vestments +down the long incline of Jacob's ladder +towards the old town.</p> + +<p>And finally came a dismal day, at the end of +which the west was lined with long streaks of red, +and, just before sunset, through a lengthened break +in the gray, I seemed to see an Island in the far<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xx" id="Page_xx">[xx]</a></span> +Ægean. I think it must have been somewhere +between the Ægina that looks across the waters to +the Athenian Acropolis and the Assos which my +friends in their youth dug from its grave. Let us +call it Æginassos. Its buildings as I dimly saw +them are in a remarkable condition of preservation. +The white temple stood out on a promontory +over the sea, and brought back to memory the +temple-crowned headland at Sunium. Higher on +the mountain-side was the Forum with its terraces +and long colonnades. Steep and winding paths +descended to the ancient port, and far across the +water rose the heights of the Isles of Greece.</p> + +<p>Here are the records of what I was privileged to +see from the roof terrace of the Hospital. Made +in bed or wheel chair and depending on the passing +imagination of an invalid, the sketches are of +necessity crude. Would that instead they were like +the work of Claude or Turner, who were the great +experts at seeing visions in the clouds and in +transferring them to their paper! These drawings +will, however, be a reminder that idle hours can +be passed happily even during a long captivity! +Opposite each drawing I have placed some quotations +from various writers. Although these do +not describe with exactness the places which no +eye but mine has seen, yet they do picture others +very like those which I saw from the hospital +terrace.</p> + +<p>A day at last arrived when the patient was suddenly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xxi" id="Page_xxi">[xxi]</a></span> +released. After being the object of tender care +for many weeks the outer world seemed very large +and very hustling. It was with a certain timidity +and almost with reluctance that facing it all +he left the peaceful quiet of the Johns Hopkins +Hospital.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 383px;"> +<img src="images/i_026.jpg" width="383" height="450" alt="I UPTHORPE-CUM-REGIS The Minster and the Meadows" title="" /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> + +<h2>UPTHORPE-CUM-REGIS</h2> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>THE RIVER</b></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was one of their happy mornings. They trotted +along and sat down together, with no thought that life +would ever change much for them; they would only get +bigger and not go to school, and it would be always like +the holiday; they would always live together and be +fond of each other. And the mill with its booming—the +great chestnut tree under which they played at +house—their own little river, the Ripple, where the +banks seemed like home, and Tom was always seeing +water-rats while Maggie gathered the purple plumy +tops of the reeds which she forgot, and dropped afterwards—above +all, the great Floss, along which they +wandered with a sense of travel, to see the rushing +spring-tide, the awful Eagre, come up like a hungry +monster, or to see the Great Ash which had once wailed +and groaned like a man—these things would always be +just the same to them. Tom thought people were at a +disadvantage who lived in any other spot of the globe; +and Maggie when she read about Christiana passing +"the river over which there is no bridge," always saw +the Floss between the green pastures by the Great Ash.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">George Eliot.</span><br /> +<br /><br /></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<img src="images/i_028.jpg" width="550" height="382" alt="title and dedication" title="" /> +<span class="caption">I<br /><br /> + +UPTHORPE-CUM-REGIS<br /> +<br /> +<i>The Minster and the Meadows</i></span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>THE MINSTER</b></div> + +<div class='poem3'> +<span class="smcap">Strong</span> as time, and as faith sublime,—clothed round with shadows of hopes and fears,<br /> +Nights and morrows, and joys and sorrows, alive with passion of prayers and tears,—<br /> +Stands the shrine that has seen decline eight hundred waxing and waning years.<br /> +Tower set square to the storms of air and change of season that blooms and glows,<br /> +Wall and roof of it tempest proof, and equal even to suns and snows,<br /> +Bright with riches of radiant niches and pillars smooth as a straight stem grows.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;"><span class="smcap">A. Swinburne.</span></span><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>ELEGY</b></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Now</span> fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,<br /> +And all the air a solemn stillness holds,<br /> +Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,<br /> +And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;<br /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><b>. . . . . . . . . .</b></div> + + +<div class='poem'> +Beneath these rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade<br /> +Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap<br /> +Each in his narrow cell forever laid,<br /> +The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><b>. . . . . . . . . .</b></div> + +<div class='poem'> +The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,<br /> +The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed,<br /> +The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,<br /> +No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;"><span class="smcap">Gray.</span></span><br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>THE CHURCHYARD</b></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was a very quiet place, as such a place should be, +save for the cawing of the rooks who had built their nest +among the branches of some tall old trees, and were +calling to one another, high up in the air. First one +sleek bird, hovering near his ragged house as it swung +and dangled in the wind, uttered his hoarse cry, quite +by chance as it would seem, and in a sober tone as +though he were but talking to himself. Another answered, +and he called again, but louder than before; +then another spoke and then another; and each time the +first, aggravated by contradiction, insisted on his case +more strongly. Other voices, silent till now, struck in +from boughs lower down and higher up and midway, +and to the right and left, and from the tree-tops; and +others arriving hastily from the grey church turrets and +old belfry window, joined the clamour which rose and +fell, and swelled and dropped again, and still went on; +and all this noisy contention amidst a skimming to and +fro, and lighting on fresh branches, and frequent changes +of place, which satirized the old restlessness of those +who lay so still beneath the moss and turf below, and +the useless strife in which they had worn away their +lives.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Charles Dickens.</span><br /><br /><br /> +</div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 415px;"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7"></a> +<img src="images/i_032.jpg" width="415" height="500" alt="II UPTHORPE-CUM-REGIS The Church Yard" title="" /> +<span class="caption">II<br /> +<br /> +UPTHORPE-CUM-REGIS<br /> +<br /> +<i>The Church Yard</i></span> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>THE PARSON</b></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">As</span> I was walking with him last night, he asked me +how I liked the good man whom I have just now mentioned? +and without staying for my answer told me, that +he was afraid of being insulted with Latin and Greek at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +his own table; for which reason he desired a particular +friend of his at the university to find him out a clergyman +rather of plain sense than much learning, of a good +aspect, a clear voice, a sociable temper, and, if possible, +a man that understood a little of backgammon. "My +friend," says Sir Roger, found me out this gentleman, +who, besides the endowments required of him, is, they +tell me, a good scholar, though he does not show it. I +have given him the parsonage of the parish; and because +I know his value, have settled on him a good annuity +for life....</p> + +<p>At his first settling with me, I made him a present of +all the good sermons which have been printed in English, +and only begged of him that every Sunday he would pronounce +one of them in the pulpit. Accordingly he has +digested them into such a series, that they follow one +another naturally, and make a continued system of +practical divinity.</p> + +<p>As Sir Roger was going on in his story, the gentleman +we were talking of came up to us, and upon the +Knight's asking him who preached to-morrow, for it +was Saturday night, told us, the bishop of St. Asaph in +the morning, and Dr. South in the afternoon. He then +showed us his list of preachers for the whole year, where +I saw with a great deal of pleasure, Archbishop Tillotson, +Bishop Saunderson, Dr. Barrow, Dr. Calamy, with +several living authors who have published discourses of +practical divinity.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Addison</span>.<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>THE SWAN INN</b></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Last</span> night I lay at the Swan Inn in Lathbury town. +A sad night I had of it! My chamber was warmed fair +enough by a fire of sea coal. There was a sweet smell of +lavender in the sheets which a hot warming pan had +also made comfortable. All this promised well, but +Polly had forgot to put my silk night cap into my saddlebags! +That vexed me sore! All night I felt I was taking +a rheum. Some clodhoppers roystering in the tap room +forbade sleep at first and as I am not wont to hear the +quarters stricken the Abbey bells roused me at frequent +intervals and made me swear roundly. About midnight +the Royal Mail rolled over the bridge with a noise fit to +wake the Seven Sleepers! The hoof beats of its cattle +echoed on the stone walls of the houses like a salute by +His Majesty's Footguards! How I ached for my quiet +chambers in the Temple. At length I fell to sleep and so +sound that when I waked the sun had long been shining +through my lattice. I was late in meeting the Squire and +the Vicar, and that too after making express this arduous +ride. Indeed I was vexed—and I showed it.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Swain's</span> <i>Old Salop.</i><br /><br /> +</div> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Swan is a venerable and rambling building, +stretching itself lazily with outspread arms; one of those +inns (long may they be preserved from the rebuilders!) +on which one stumbles up or down into every room, and +where eggs and bacon have an appropriateness that +make them a more desirable food than ambrosia. The +little parlor is wainscotted with the votive paintings—a +village Diploma Gallery—of artists who have made +the Swan their home.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">E. V. Lucas.</span><br /><br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"> +<img src="images/i_036.jpg" width="550" height="467" alt="III UPTHORPE-CUM-REGIS The Village" title="" /> +<span class="caption">III<br /> +<br /> +UPTHORPE-CUM-REGIS<br /> +<br /> +<i>The Village</i></span> +</div> +<p><br /><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">One</span> almost expects to see a fine green moss all over +an inhabitant of Steyning. One day as I passed through +the town I saw a man painting a new sign over a shop, +a proceeding that so aroused my curiosity that I stood +for a minute or two to look on. The painter filled in one +letter, gave a huge yawn, looked up and down two or +three times as if he had lost something, and finally descended +from his perch and disappeared. Five weeks +later I passed that way again, and it is a fact that the +same man was at work on the same sign. Perhaps when +the reader takes the walk I am about to recommend to +his attention—a walk which comprises some of the +finest scenery in Sussex—that sign will be finished, and +the accomplished artist will have begun another; but I +doubt it. There is plenty of time for everything in +Steyning.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Louis Jennings.</span><br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>THE OLD COUNTRY HOUSE</b></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">If</span> our old English folk could not get an arched roof, +then they loved to have it pointed, with polished timber +beams on which the eye rested as on looking upwards +through a tree. Their rooms they liked of many shapes, +and not at right angles on the corners, nor all on the +same dead level of flooring. You had to go up a step +into one, and down a step into another, and along a +winding passage into a third, so that each part of the +house had its individuality. To these houses life fitted +itself and grew to them; they were not mere walls, but +became part of existence. A man's house was not only +his castle, a man's house was himself. He could not tear +himself away from his house, it was like tearing up the +shrieking mandrake by the root, almost death itself.... +Dark beams inlaid in the walls support the gables; the +slight curve of the great beam adds, I think, to the interest +of the old place, for it is a curve that has grown +and was not premeditated; it has grown like the bough +of a tree, not from any set human design. This too is +the character of the house. It is not large, not overburdened +with gables, not ornamented, not what is +called striking, in any way, but simply an old English +house, genuine and true. The warm sunlight falls on the +old red tiles, the dark beams look the darker for the +glow of light, the shapely cone of the hop-oust rises at +the end; there are swallows and flowers and ricks and +horses, and so it is beautiful because it is natural and +honest. It is the simplicity that makes it so touching,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +like the words of an old ballad ... why even a tall +chanticleer makes a home look homely. I do like to see a +tall proud chanticleer strutting in the yard and barely +giving way as I advance, almost ready to do battle with +a stranger like a mastiff.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Jeffries</span>, <i>Buckhurst Park</i>.<br /><br /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"></a> +<img src="images/i_040.jpg" width="550" height="440" alt="IV UPTHORPE-CUM-REGIS The Hall" title="" /> +<span class="caption">IV<br /> +<br /> +UPTHORPE-CUM-REGIS<br /> +<br /> +<i>The Hall</i></span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>THE BEDESMEN</b></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">There</span> he lies, Fundator Noster, in his ruff and gown, +awaiting the great Examination Day.... Yonder sit +some threescore old gentlemen pensioners of the hospital, +listening to the prayers and the psalms. You hear +them coughing feebly in the twilight,—the old reverend +blackgowns.... How solemn the well-remembered +prayers are, here uttered again in the place where in +childhood we used to hear them! How beautiful, and +decorous the rite; how noble the ancient words of the +supplications which the priest utters, and to which +generations of fresh children and troops of bygone seniors +have cried Amen! under those arches! The service for +Founder's Day is a special one; one of the psalms selected +being the thirty-seventh and we hear—</p> + +<p>23. The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, +and he delighteth in his way—</p> + +<p>24. Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down, +for the Lord upholdeth him with his hand.</p> + +<p>25. I have been young and now am old, yet have I not +seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging their +bread.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">W. M. Thackeray.</span><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>HIRAM'S HOSPITAL</b></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Hiram's Hospital</span>, as the retreat is called, is a +picturesque building enough, and shows the correct +taste with which the ecclesiastical architects of those +days were imbued. It stands on the banks of the little +river, which flows nearly round the cathedral close, +being on the side furthest from the town. The London<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +road crosses the river by a pretty one-arched bridge, +and looking from this bridge, the stranger will see the +windows of the old men's rooms, each pair of windows +separated by a small buttress. A broad gravel walk +runs between the building and the river, which is always +trim and cared for; and at the end of the walk, under +the parapet of the approach to the bridge, is a large +and well-worn seat, on which, in mild weather three or +four of Hiram's bedesmen are sure to be seen seated. +Beyond this row of buttresses, and further from the +bridge and also further from the water which here suddenly +bends, are the pretty oriel windows of Mr. Harding's +house, and his well mown lawn. The entrance to +the hospital is from the London road and is made +through a ponderous gateway under a heavy stone arch, +unnecessary, one would suppose, at any time, for the +protection of twelve old men, but greatly conducive to +the good appearance of Hiram's charity. On passing +through this portal, never closed to any one from six +<span class="smcap">a.m.</span> till ten <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>, and never open afterwards, except on +application to a huge, intricately hung mediæval bell, +the handle of which no un-initiated intruder can possibly +find, the six doors of the old men's abodes are +seen, and beyond them is a slight iron screen, through +which the more happy portion of the Barchester élite +pass into the Elysium of Mr. Harding's dwelling.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Anthony Trollope</span>, <i>The Warden.</i><br /><br /><br /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"></a> +<img src="images/i_044.jpg" width="550" height="442" alt="V UPTHORPE-CUM-REGIS Trong's Almshouses" title="" /> +<span class="caption">V<br /> +<br /> +UPTHORPE-CUM-REGIS<br /> +<br /> +<i>Trong's Almshouses</i></span> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p> + +<h2>RANCONEZZO</h2> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>SIRMIONE</b></div> + +<div class='poem2'> +<span class="smcap">Row</span> us out from Desenzano, to your Sirmione row!<br /> +So they row'd, and there we landed—"O venusta Sirmio!"<br /> +There to me thro' all the groves of olive in the summer glow,<br /> +There beneath the Roman ruin where the purple flowers grow,<br /> +Came that "Ave atque Vale" of the Poet's hopeless woe,<br /> +Tenderest of Roman poets nineteen hundred years ago,<br /> +"Frater Ave atque Vale"—as we wandered to and fro<br /> +Gazing at the Lydian laughter of the Garda lake below<br /> +Sweet Catullus's all-but-island, olive silvery Sirmio.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;"><span class="smcap">Alfred Tennyson.</span></span> +<br /><br /></div> + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"></a> +<img src="images/i_048.jpg" width="550" height="450" alt="VI RANCONEZZO The Town and the Lake" title="" /> +<span class="caption">VI<br /> +<br /> +RANCONEZZO<br /> +<br /> +<i>The Town and the Lake</i></span> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>THE ITALIAN LAKES</b></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">He</span> who loves immense space, cloud shadows sailing +over purple slopes, island gardens, distant glimpses of +snow-capped mountains, breadth, air, immensity, and +flooding sunlight, will choose Maggiore. But scarcely +has he cast his vote for this, the Juno of the divine rivals, +when he remembers the triple lovelinesses of the Larian +Aphrodite, disclosed in all their placid grace from Villa +Serbelloni;—the green blue of the waters, clear as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +glass, opaque through depth; the <i>millefleurs</i> roses clambering +into cypresses by Cadenabbia; the laburnums +hanging their yellow clusters from the clefts of Sasso +Rancio; the oleander arcades of Varenna; the wild white +limestone crags of San Martino, which he has climbed +to feast his eyes with the perspective, magical, serene, +<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Leornardesquely'">Leonardesquely</ins> perfect, of the distant gates of Adda. +Then while this modern Paris is yet doubting, perhaps +a thought may cross his mind of sterner solitary Lake +Iseo—the Pallas of the three. She offers her own attractions. +The sublimity of Monte Adamello, dominating +Lovere and all the lowland like Hesiod's hill of Virtue +reared aloft above the plain of common life, has +charms to tempt heroic lovers.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Symonds</span>, <i>Sketches and Studies in Italy and Greece</i>.<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>PIAZZA GARIBALDI</b></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> painter may transfer its campanile, glittering like +dragon's scales, to his canvas. The lover of the picturesque +will wander through its aisle at mass-time, +watching the sunlight play upon those upturned Southern +faces with their ardent eyes; and happy is he who +sees young men and maidens on Whit Sunday crowding +round the chancel rails, to catch the marigolds and gillyflowers +scattered from baskets which the priest has +blessed.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Symonds</span>, <i>Sketches and Studies in Italy and Greece</i>.<br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>DOWN IN THE CITY</b></div> + +<div class='poem2'> +<span class="smcap">Is</span> it ever hot in the square? There's a fountain to spout and splash!<br /> +In the shade it sings and springs; in the shine such foam-bows flash<br /> +On the horses with curling fish-tails, that prance and paddle and pash<br /> +Round the lady atop in the conch—fifty gazers do not abash,<br /> +Though all that she wears is some weeds round her waist in a sort of a sash!<br /> +<br /> +Ere opening your eyes in the city the blessed church-bells begin:<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>No sooner the bells leave off, than the diligence rattles in:<br /> +You get the picks of the news, and it costs you never a pin.<br /> +By and by there's the travelling doctor gives pills, lets blood, draws teeth;<br /> +Or the Pulcinello-trumpet breaks up the market beneath.<br /> +At the post-office such a scene-picture—the new play, piping hot!<br /> +And a notice how, only this morning, three liberal thieves were shot.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><b>. . . . . . . . . .</b></div> + +<div class='poem2'> +Noon strikes,—here sweeps the procession! Our lady borne smiling and smart<br /> +With a pink gauze gown all spangles, and seven swords stuck in her heart!<br /> +<i>Bang, whang, whang</i>, goes the drum; <i>tootle-te-tootle</i> the fife;<br /> +Oh, a day in the city-square, there is no such pleasure in life!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 20em;"><span class="smcap">Robert Browning.</span></span><br /> +<br /><br /></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27"></a> +<img src="images/i_052.jpg" width="400" height="472" alt="VII RANCONEZZO Piazza Garibaldi" title="" /> +<span class="caption">VII<br /> +<br /> +RANCONEZZO<br /> +<br /> +<i>Piazza Garibaldi</i></span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>PIAZZA CAVOUR</b></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> changes of scene upon this tiny square are so +frequent as to remind one of a theatre. Looking down +from the inn-balcony, between the glazy green pots gay +with scarlet amaryllis-bloom, we are inclined to fancy +that the whole has been prepared for our amusement. +In the morning the cover for the macaroni-flour, after +being washed, is spread out on the bricks to dry. In the +afternoon the fishermen bring their nets for the same +purpose. In the evening the city magnates promenade +and whisper. Dark-eyed women, with orange or crimson +kerchiefs for headgear, cross and re-cross, bearing +baskets on their shoulders. Great lazy large limbed fellows, +girt with scarlet sashes and finished off with dark +blue night-caps (for a contrast to their saffron-colored +shirts, white breeches and sunburnt calves), slouch +about or sleep face downwards on the parapets.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Symonds</span>, <i>Sketches and Studies in Italy and Greece</i>.<br /> +<br /><br /></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 410px;"> +<img src="images/i_056.jpg" width="410" height="500" alt="VIII RANCONEZZO Piazza Cavour" title="" /> +<span class="caption">VIII<br /> +<br /> +RANCONEZZO<br /> +<br /> +<i>Piazza Cavour</i></span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>A ROMANESQUE DOORWAY</b></div> + +<div class='center'><b>. . . . . . . . . .</b></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">How</span> the hand of Time has mellowed the ruddy brick +and the marble's whiteness until ivory and rose blend +and are in harmony with those stained and faded frescoes +which still remain in the panels of the upper walls. +Columns of veined marble stand in ranks on either side +of the entrance. They are mounted on the backs of +stiff-maned lions. Fit supporters are these for the arches +of the Sanctuary as, at its very door, with claw and +tooth they tear to pieces the bestial forms of vice and +ignorance. Above rise the moulded archivolts, tier on +tier, clothed with vine and tendril and peopled with bird +and beast. These may be uncouth in form, but the rude +hands that fashioned them learned their lesson at the +feet of Nature. What there is of convention in arrangement +or in pattern has flowed hither through the East +from the original fountains of Greece and Rome but +now at last all moves in freedom and without restraint. +As in the short nights of the North sunrise follows fast +upon the setting of the sun, so here though we see in this +work the sunset of the Antique yet it is already aglow +with light from the coming dawn of Mediæval Art.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Roberts</span>, <i>Italian Sketches</i>.<br /> +<br /><br /></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 366px;"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35"></a> +<img src="images/i_059.jpg" width="366" height="495" alt="IX RANCONEZZO North Door of Duomo" title="" /> +<span class="caption">IX<br /> +<br /> +RANCONEZZO<br /> +<br /> +<i>North Door of Duomo</i></span> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>LEAVES FROM MY JOURNAL</b></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Florence</span> is more noisy; indeed, I think it the noisiest +town I was ever in. What with the continual jangling +of its bells, the rattle of Austrian drums, and the street +cries, <i>Ancora mi raccapriccio</i>. The Italians are a vociferous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +people, and most so among them the Florentines. +Walking through a back street one day, I saw an old +woman higgling with a peripatetic dealer, who, at every +interval afforded him by the remarks of his veteran antagonist, +would tip his head on one side, and shout, +with a kind of wondering enthusiasm, as if he could +hardly trust the evidence of his own senses to such +loveliness, <i>O, che bellezza! che belle-e-ezza!</i> The two had +been contending as obstinately as the Greeks and Trojans +over the body of Patroclus, and I was curious to +know what was the object of so much desire on the one +side and admiration on the other. It was a half dozen +of weazeny baked pears, beggarly remnant of the day's +traffic.... It never struck me before what a quiet +people Americans are.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">James Russell Lowell</span>.<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>WITHIN THE DUOMO</b></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> semi-dome of the eastern apse above the high +altar is entirely filled with a gigantic half-length figure +of Christ. He raises His right hand to bless and with +His left holds an open book on which is written in Greek +and Latin, "I am the Light of the world." ... Below +him on a smaller scale are ranged the archangels and +the mother of the Lord, who holds the child upon her +knees. Thus Christ appears twice upon this wall, once +as the Omnipotent Wisdom, the Word by whom all +things were made, and once as God deigning to assume +a shape of flesh and dwell with men. The magnificent +image of supreme Deity seems to fill with a single influence +and to dominate the whole building. The house +with all its glory is his. He dwells there like Pallas in +her Parthenon or Zeus in his Olympian temple. To left +and right over every square inch of the cathedral blaze +mosaics, which portray the story of God's dealings with +the human race from the Creation downwards, together +with those angelic beings and saints who symbolize +each in his own degree some special virtue granted to +mankind. The walls of the fane are therefore an open +book of history, theology and ethics for all men to read.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Symonds</span>, <i>Sketches and Studies in Italy and Greece</i>.<br /> +<br /><br /></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 371px;"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39"></a> +<img src="images/i_063.jpg" width="371" height="446" alt="X RANCONEZZO Interior of the Duomo" title="" /> +<span class="caption">X<br /> +<br /> +RANCONEZZO<br /> +<br /> +<i>Interior of the Duomo</i></span> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>FROM "A LEGEND OF BRITTANY"</b></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Deeper</span> and deeper shudders shook the air,<br /> +As the huge bass kept gathering heavily,<br /> +Like thunder when it rouses in its lair,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>And with its hoarse growl shakes the low-hung sky,<br /> +It grew up like a darkness everywhere,<br /> +Filling the vast cathedral;—suddenly<br /> +From the dense mass a boy's clear treble broke<br /> +Like lightning, and the full-toned choir awoke.<br /> +<br /> +Through gorgeous windows shone the sun aslant,<br /> +Brimming the church with gold and purple mist.<br /> +Meet atmosphere to bosom that rich chant,<br /> +Where fifty voices in one strand did twist<br /> +Their varicolored tones and left no want<br /> +To the delighted soul, which sank abyssed<br /> +In the warm music cloud, while, far below,<br /> +The organ heaved its surges to and fro.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;"><span class="smcap">James Russell Lowell.</span></span><br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>THE VILLA</b></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Our</span> villa ...<br /> +... lies on the slope of the Alban hill;<br /> +Lifting its white face, sunny and still,<br /> +Out of the olives' pale gray green,<br /> +That, far away as the eye can go,<br /> +Stretch up behind it, row upon row.<br /> +There in the garden the cypresses, stirred<br /> +By the sifting winds, half musing talk,<br /> +And the cool, fresh, constant voice is heard<br /> +Of the fountain's spilling in every walk.<br /> +There stately the oleanders grow,<br /> +And one long gray wall is aglow<br /> +With golden oranges burning between<br /> +Their dark stiff leaves of sombre green.<br /> +And there are hedges all clipped and square,<br /> +As carven from blocks of malachite,<br /> +Where fountains keep spinning their threads of light<br /> +And statues whiten the shadow there.<br /> +And if the sun too fiercely shine,<br /> +And one would creep from its noonday glare,<br /> +There are galleries dark, where ilexes twine<br /> +Their branchy roofs above the head.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;"><span class="smcap">W. W. Story.</span></span><br /> +<br /><br /></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 402px;"> +<img src="images/i_067.jpg" width="402" height="500" alt="XI RANCONEZZO The Villa of the Cardinal Schalchi-Visconti" title="" /> +<span class="caption">XI<br /> +<br /> +RANCONEZZO<br /> +<br /> +<i>The Villa of the Cardinal Schalchi-Visconti</i></span> +</div> + +<p><br /><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Truly</span> everything here has a dramatic character. +The smallness and grace of this little church gleaming +with colour, its chapels and grottoes like a spiritual vision, +such as I have never found elsewhere in the whole +field of religious conception. It is an illustrated picture-book +of poetical legends, which are bloodless and +painless, though fantastic, like the lives of pious anchorites +in the wilderness, and amid the birds of the +field. Here Religion treads on the borders of fairy-land, +and brings an indescribable atmosphere away +from thence.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Gregorovius.</span><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>BRAMANTE</b></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Few</span> words record Bramante's great command,<br /> +As from some mountain silence set apart,<br /> +He blazed a trail along the way of art,<br /> +Upheld the torch and led his little band.<br /> +<br /> +He spoke alone to those who understand,<br /> +Not cheapening words within the public mart,<br /> +Living withdrawn, a high and humble heart,<br /> +Creating loveliness for his loved land.<br /> +<br /> +Though he dwelt cloistered in his northern home,<br /> +When he strode forth it was with unveiled face,<br /> +To rear a fabric that may crumble never.<br /> +<br /> +They called him "Master" when he wrought in Rome<br /> +And with earth's greatest ones shall labor ever<br /> +The hand that gave to Lombardy her grace.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;"><span class="smcap">Marion Monks Chase.</span></span><br /> +<br /><br /></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 403px;"> +<img src="images/i_070.jpg" width="403" height="500" alt="XII RANCONEZZO Santa Prassede, the Cardinal's Church" title="" /> +<span class="caption">XII<br /> +<br /> +RANCONEZZO<br /> +<br /> +<i>Santa Prassede, the Cardinal's Church</i></span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>IL PENSEROSO</b></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">But</span> let my due feet never fail<br /> +To walk the studious cloister's pale,<br /> +And love the high embowèd roof,<br /> +With antick pillars massy proof,<br /> +And storied windows richly dight,<br /> +Casting a dim religious light.<br /> +There let the pealing organ blow<br /> +To the full-voiced Quire below,<br /> +In service high and anthems clear,<br /> +As may with sweetness, through mine ear,<br /> +Dissolve me into ecstacies,<br /> +And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;"><span class="smcap">Milton.</span></span><br /> +<br /><br /></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 394px;"> +<img src="images/i_074.jpg" width="394" height="482" alt="XIII RANCONEZZO The Cloisters of Santa Prassede" title="" /> +<span class="caption">XIII<br /> +<br /> +RANCONEZZO<br /> +<br /> +<i>The Cloisters of Santa Prassede</i></span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>THE BISHOP ORDERS HIS TOMB IN SANTA PRASSEDE</b></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Yet</span> still my niche is not so cramped but thence<br /> +One sees the pulpit o' the epistle-side<br /> +And somewhat of the choir, those silent seats,<br /> +And up into the aery dome, where live<br /> +The angels, and a sunbeam's sure to lurk;<br /> +And I shall fill my slab of basalt there,<br /> +And neath my tabernacle take my rest,<br /> +With those nine columns round me, two and two,<br /> +The odd one at my feet where Anselm stands;<br /> +Peach blossom marble all, the rare, the ripe<br /> +As fresh poured red wine of a mighty pulse.<br /> +Old Gandolph with his paltry onion-stone<br /> +Put me where I may look at him! True peach,<br /> +Rosy and faultless: ...<br /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><b>. . . . . . . . . .</b></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Did I say basalt for my slab, sons? Black<br /> +'T was ever antique-black I meant! How else<br /> +Shall ye contrast my frieze to come beneath?<br /> +The bas-relief in bronze you promised me,<br /> +Those Pans and Nymphs ye wot of, and perchance<br /> +Some tripod, thyrsus, with a vase or so,<br /> +The Saviour at his sermon on the mount,<br /> +Saint Praxed in a glory, and one Pan<br /> +Ready to twitch the Nymph's last garment off,<br /> +And Moses with the tables,—but I know<br /> +Ye mark me not!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;"><span class="smcap">Robert Browning.</span></span><br /> +<br /><br /></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 401px;"> +<img src="images/i_077.jpg" width="401" height="487" alt="XIV RANCONEZZO The Tomb of Cardinal Schalchi-Visconti in Santa Prassede" title="" /> +<span class="caption">XIV<br /> +<br /> +RANCONEZZO<br /> +<br /> +<i>The Tomb of Cardinal Schalchi-Visconti in Santa Prassede</i></span> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> + +<h2>ROCHER-ST.-POL</h2> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>FRENCH TOWNS</b></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> is a drowsy little Burgundian town, very old and +ripe, with crooked streets, vistas always oblique, and +steep moss-covered roofs.... I carried away from +Beaune the impression of something autumnal,—something +rusty yet kindly, like the taste of a sweet +russet pear.</p> + +<div class='center'><b>. . . . . . . . . .</b></div> + +<p>At Le Mans as at Bourges, my first business was with +the cathedral, to which I lost no time in directing my +steps.... It stands on the edge of the eminence of the +town, which falls straight away on two sides of it, and +makes a striking mass, bristling behind, as you see it +from below, with rather small but singularly numerous +flying buttresses. On my way to it I happened to +walk through the one street which contains a few ancient +and curious houses,—a very crooked and untidy lane, +of really mediæval aspect, honored with the denomination +of the Grand Rue. Here is the house of Queen +Berengaria.... The structure in question—very sketchable, +if the sketcher could get far enough away from it—is +an elaborate little dusky façade, overhanging the +street, ornamented with panels of stone, which are covered +with delicate Renaissance sculpture. A fat old +woman, standing in the door of a small grocer's shop +next to it,—a most gracious old woman, with a bristling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +moustache and a charming manner,—told me +what the house was.</p> + +<div class='center'><b>. . . . . . . . . .</b></div> + +<p>This admirable house, in the centre of the town, +gabled, elaborately timbered, and much restored, is a +really imposing monument. The basement is occupied +by a linen-draper, who flourishes under the auspicious +sign of the Mère de Famille; and above her shop the +tall front rises in five overhanging stories. As the house +occupies the angle of a little <i>place</i>, the front is double, +and carved and interlaced, has a high picturesqueness. +The Maison d'Adam is quite in the grand style, and I +am sorry to say I failed to learn what history attaches +to its name.</p> + +<div class='center'><b>. . . . . . . . . .</b></div> + +<p>I remember going around to the church, after I had +left the good sisters, and to a little quiet terrace, which +stands in front of it, ornamented with a few small trees +and bordered with a wall, breast high, over which you +look down steep hillsides, off into the air, and all about +the neighboring country. I remember saying to myself +that this little terrace was one of those felicitous nooks +which the tourist of taste keeps in his mind as a picture.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Henry James</span>, <i>A Little Tour in France</i>.<br /> +<br /><br /></div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 393px;"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59"></a> +<img src="images/i_080.jpg" width="393" height="445" alt="XV ROCHER-ST.-POL The Town and the River Merle" title="" /> +<span class="caption">XV<br /> +<br /> +ROCHER-ST.-POL<br /> +<br /> +<i>The Town and the River Merle</i></span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>A COUNTRY TOWN</b></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">They</span> wake you early in this hilly town. It was +hardly light this morning when up and down through +all its highways went a vigorous drum beat. Reluctantly +peeking from the window to see the troops enter our +square I was disappointed to find that one regimental +drummer, marching unaccompanied and lonely, had +done all this mischief. What useful purpose did he +serve? After a brief respite and repose the noise of another +commotion came in with the morning air; a murmur +which grew and became a chatter and at last a din! +The next journey to the window showed that the morning +market was in full swing. Piles of fresh greens and +rich-colored vegetables were tended by gnarled old +peasant women sitting under widespread umbrellas of +faded colors. But what a pleasant air it was that came +through the opened sash; a mountain air with just that +faint flavor of garlic tinging it which presages something +satisfying to be found later. Strengthened for a time by +our coffee and rolls we wandered through these winding +streets. We saw the weather-beaten, leaden flèche of the +cathedral high on the hill, but for the time were satisfied +to study the many ancient houses which still remain. +Their fronts framed in dark oak with a filling of amber-colored +plaster topple over the public ways until they +almost meet. Here and there the oak beams are carved, +and grinning man or snarling monster regards you from +corbel or boss. In places too there are bits of old Gothic +detail and one doorway of true Flamboyant work. +There is the true poetry of architecture! In England +the Decorated Period gives you what is handsome, the +Perpendicular what is stately. In France the cathedrals<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +of Paris and of Rheims are splendidly serious and +correct; but if in Gothic work you seek imaginative, +unrestrained, carelessly free poetry it is to be found in +the flowing lines and exuberant fancy of the work of the +Flamboyant period.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 412px;"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63"></a> +<img src="images/i_084.jpg" width="412" height="491" alt="XVI ROCHER-ST.-POL La Grande Rue and La Place de la République" title="" /> +<span class="caption">XVI<br /> +<br /> +ROCHER-ST.-POL<br /> +<br /> +<i>La Grande Rue and La Place de la République</i></span> +</div> + +<p>We found much needed restoration in the <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'hors-œuvres'">hors-d'œuvres</ins>, +the omelette, the cutlet, the salads and the +cheese of <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'd'éjeuner'">déjeuner</ins>,—and then followed coffee under the +awning of the café. Here we looked out on the Grand +Place which had now become sleepy, all signs of the +market and its business having disappeared. On it front +the Mairie, the Bureau des Postes, the Hôtel du Lion +d'Or and various centres of local commerce. We watched +our neighbors in the café; the colonel with clanking +sword in vigorous discussion with a local magnate; the +retired bourgeois who played a desultory game of billiards +or a deeply thought out match at dominoes. A +quiet square it was now, and, in the shade of its plane +trees, comfortable and at peace with the world, we fell +asleep and made up for the wakefulness of our earlier +hours.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Roberts</span>, <i>Letters from France.</i><br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>OUR LADY OF THE ROCKS</b></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">High</span> throned above th' encircling meadows fair<br /> +Our Lady of the Rocks holds queenly sway!<br /> +Bright kerchiefed peasants daily wend their way<br /> +With clattering sabots up the winding stair,<br /> +Pausing at each rude rock-hewn station, there<br /> +To bend the knee and many an Ave say.<br /> +Up, up they climb, their voices echoing gay<br /> +Till by the Virgin's shrine they kneel in prayer.<br /> +<br /> +This is that "Jacob's Ladder" famed afar<br /> +To which the Kings of France made pilgrimage<br /> +Asking for favors both in Peace and War.<br /> +Well named!—for Heavenwards the way is tending,<br /> +And all these happy, pious folk presage<br /> +Angels of God ascending and descending.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">H. L. P.</span><br /><br /><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">But</span>, when so sad thou canst no sadder,<br /> +Cry, and upon thy so sore loss<br /> +Shall shine the traffic of Jacob's ladder<br /> +Pitched between heaven and Charing Cross.<br /> +<br /> +So in the night my soul, my daughter,<br /> +Cry, clinging heaven by the hems,<br /> +And lo! Christ walking on the water<br /> +Not of Gennesaret but Thames.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;"><span class="smcap">Francis Thompson.</span></span><br /> +<br /><br /></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 393px;"> +<img src="images/i_088.jpg" width="393" height="491" alt="XVII ROCHER-ST.-POL L'escalier de Jacob" title="" /> +<span class="caption">XVII<br /> +<br /> +ROCHER-ST.-POL<br /> +<br /> +<i>L'escalier de Jacob</i></span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='poem'><br /><br /> +<span class="smcap">Oft</span> have I seen at some cathedral door<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A laborer, pausing in the dust and heat,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lay down his burden, and with reverent feet</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Enter, and cross himself, and on the floor</span><br /> +Kneel to repeat his paternoster o'er;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Far off the noises of the world retreat;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The loud vociferations of the street</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Become an undistinguishable roar.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So as I enter here from day to day,</span><br /> +And leave my burden at this minster gate,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kneeling in prayer, and not ashamed to pray,</span><br /> +The tumult of the time disconsolate<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To inarticulate murmurs dies away,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While the eternal ages watch and wait.</span><br /> +<br /> +How strange the sculptures that adorn these towers!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This crowd of statues, on whose folded sleeves</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Birds build their nests; while canopied with leaves</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Parvis and portal bloom like trellised bowers</span><br /> +And the vast minster seems a cross of flowers!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But fiends and dragons on the gargoyled eaves</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Watch the dead Christ between the living thieves,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And, underneath, the traitor Judas lowers!</span><br /> +Ah! from what agonies of heart and brain,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What exultations trampling on despair,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What tenderness, what tears, what hate of wrong,</span><br /> +What passionate outcry of the soul in pain<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Uprose this poem of the earth and air,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This mediæval miracle of song!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;"><span class="smcap">H. W. Longfellow.</span></span><br /> +<br /><br /></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 408px;"> +<img src="images/i_091.jpg" width="408" height="530" alt="XVIII ROCHER-ST.-POL Le Parvis de Ste Frédigonde" title="" /> +<span class="caption">XVIII<br /> +<br /> +ROCHER-ST.-POL<br /> +<br /> +<i>Le Parvis de Ste Frédigonde</i></span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>THE CATHEDRAL</b></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Looking</span> up suddenly, I found mine eyes<br /> +Confronted with the minster's vast repose.<br /> +Silent and gray as forest-leaguered cliff<br /> +Left inland by the ocean's slow retreat.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><b>. . . . . . . . . .</b></div> + +<div class='poem'> +It rose before me, patiently remote<br /> +From the great tides of life it breasted once,<br /> +Hearing the noise of men as in a dream<br /> +I stood before the triple northern port,<br /> +Where dedicated shapes of saints and kings,<br /> +Stern faces bleared with immemorial watch,<br /> +Looked down benignly grave and seemed to say,<br /> +<i>Ye come and go incessant; we remain<br /> +Safe in the hallowed quiets of the past;<br /> +Be reverent, ye who flit and are forgot,<br /> +Of faith so nobly realized as this.<br /></i> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">James Russell Lowell.</span></span><br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>CHARTRES</b></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">All</span> day the sky had been banked with thunderclouds, +but by the time we reached Chartres, toward four +o'clock, they had rolled away under the horizon, and +the town was so saturated with sunlight that to pass into +the cathedral was like entering the dense obscurity of a +church in Spain. At first all detail was imperceptible: +we were in a hollow night. Then, as the shadows gradually +thinned and gathered themselves up into pier and +vault and ribbing, there burst out of them great sheets +and showers of color. Framed by such depths of darkness, +and steeped in a blaze of mid-summer sun, the +familiar windows seemed singularly remote and yet +overpoweringly vivid. Now they widened into dark-shored +pools splashed with sunset, now glittered and +menaced like the shields of fighting angels. Some were +cataracts of sapphires, others roses dropped from a +saint's tunic, others great carven platters strewn with +heavenly regalia, others the sails of galleons bound for +the Purple Islands; and in the western wall the scattered +fires of the rose window hung like a constellation in an +African night. When one dropped one's eyes from these +ethereal harmonies, the dark masses of masonry below +them, all veiled and muffled in a mist pricked by a few +altar lights, seemed to symbolize the life on earth, with +its shadows, its heavy distances and its little islands of +illusions. All that a great cathedral can be, all the meanings +it can express, all the tranquillizing power it can +breathe upon the soul, all the richness of detail it can +fuse into a large utterance of strength and beauty, the +cathedral of Chartres gave us in that perfect hour.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">Edith Wharton</span>, <i>Fighting France.</i><br /> +<br /><br /></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 378px;"> +<img src="images/i_095.jpg" width="378" height="483" alt="XIX ROCHER-ST.-POL Interior of the Church of Ste Frédigonde" title="" /> +<span class="caption">XIX<br /> +<br /> +ROCHER-ST.-POL<br /> +<br /> +<i>Interior of the Church of Ste Frédigonde</i></span> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>AT HIGH MASS</b></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">Thou</span> Who hast made this world so wondrous fair;—<br /> +The pomp of clouds; the glory of the sea;<br /> +Music of water; songbirds' melody;<br /> +The organ of Thy thunder in the air;<br /> +Breath of the rose; and beauty everywhere—<br /> +Lord, take this stately service done to Thee,<br /> +The grave enactment of Thy Calvary<br /> +In jewelled pomp and splendor pictured there!<br /> +<br /> +Lord, take the sounds and sights; the silk and gold;<br /> +The white and scarlet; take the reverent grace<br /> +Of ordered step; window and glowing wall—<br /> +Prophet and Prelate, holy men of old;<br /> +And teach us children of the Holy Place<br /> +Who love Thy Courts, to love Thee best of all.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">Robert Hugh Benson.</span></span><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>THE LAMP OF SACRIFICE</b></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">All</span> else for which the builders sacrificed, has passed +away—all their living interests, and aims, and +achievements. We know not for what they labored, and +we see no evidence of their reward. Victory, wealth, +authority, happiness—all have departed, though +bought by many a bitter sacrifice. But of them, and +their life and their toil upon the earth, one reward, one +evidence, is left to us in those gray heaps of deep-wrought +stone. They have taken with them to the +grave their powers, their honors, and their errors; but +they have left us their adoration.</p> + +<div class='sig'> +<span class="smcap">John Ruskin.</span><br /> +<br /><br /></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 328px;"> +<img src="images/i_098.jpg" width="328" height="438" alt="XX ROCHER-ST.-POL Sacristy Steps in the Church of Ste Frédigonde" title="" /> +<span class="caption">XX<br /> +<br /> +ROCHER-ST.-POL<br /> +<br /> +<i>Sacristy Steps in the Church of Ste Frédigonde</i></span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> +<div class='center'><br /><b>HUNTING THE STAG</b></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> spent yesterday in the Forêt de C——. As the +Emperor had guests we were not admitted at the Château, +but we tramped for long through the woods. The +grassy roads run beneath the embowering beeches +straight from carrefour to carrefour. The gnarled and +twisted trunks give to each tree a personal character +and make it a master-piece of Nature. Of a sudden we +came on the Imperial hunt winding in gay procession +through the forest to its rendezvous. Hunting horns in +triple rings of brass encircled the leading horsemen. +From time to time we heard from them the familiar +strains which echo through the Latin Quarter at Mi-Carême. +Then followed in brilliant liveries a troop of +lackeys, grooms, and other servants, and the pack of +staghounds held in leash but sniffing and yelping. Next +came the hunters themselves on high-bred mounts and +in court costumes of ancient design. Lastly there were +barouches and landaus carrying the ladies of the Court +"en grande tenue." The sunlight flickering through the +beech branches enlivened this brilliant train as it +wound through the forest glades and disappeared down +a green allée.</p> + +<p>We had continued our walk for scarce a mile when, +but a short distance from us, a stag crossed our path—stood +startled—with head erect,—and then with confident +leaps vanished in the forest just as the distant +hounds became aware of him and joined in a wild +chorus. In a few moments the pack came in a rush +across our path. Up the different allées rode the horsemen +in haste—asking of us news of the stag. We on +foot joined in the pursuit,—but at last the forest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +swallowed one after the other, stag, and hounds, and +hunters, and the sound of dog and horn.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 394px;"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83"></a> +<img src="images/i_101.jpg" width="394" height="484" alt="XXI ROCHER-ST.-POL The Château Beaumesnil" title="" /> +<span class="caption">XXI<br /> +<br /> +ROCHER-ST.-POL<br /> +<br /> +<i>The Château Beaumesnil</i></span> +</div> + +<p>On leaving the forest we passed the small Château. +Its conical turret roofs and lofty chimneys, and its +flashing finials and girouettes make a brave show above +the forest trees. The terraces overlook wide meadow +lands through which the river winds until it is lost in the +hazy distance.</p> + +<div class='sig'><span class="smcap">Roberts</span>, <i>Letters from France.</i></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>CLOTILDE</b></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">In</span> Geraudun were brothers three,<br /> +They had one sister dear;<br /> +The cruel Baron her lord must be,<br /> +And the fellest and fiercest knight is he<br /> +In the country far or near.<br /> +<br /> +He beat that lovely lady sore<br /> +With a staff of the apple green,<br /> +Till her blood flowed down on the castle floor,<br /> +And from head to foot the crimson gore<br /> +On her milk-white robe was seen.<br /> +</div> + +<div class='center'><b>. . . . . . . . . .</b></div> + +<div class='poem'> +Her robe was stained with the ruby tide<br /> +Once pure as the fleece so white;<br /> +And she hied her to the river-side<br /> +To wash in the waters bright.<br /> +<br /> +While there she stood three knights so gay<br /> +Came riding bold and free.<br /> +"Ho! tell us young serving maiden, pray<br /> +Where yon castle's lady may be?"<br /> +<br /> +"Alas! no serving maid am I,<br /> +But the lady of yonder castle high!"<br /> +<br /> +"O sister, sister, truly tell<br /> +Who did this wrong to thee?"<br /> +<br /> +"Dear brothers it was the husband fell<br /> +To whom you married me."<br /> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p><div class='center'><b>. . . . . . . . . .</b></div> + +<div class='poem'> +The brothers spurred their steeds in haste<br /> +And the castle soon they gained.<br /> +From chamber to chamber they swiftly passed<br /> +Nor paused till they reached the tower at last<br /> +Where the felon knight remained:<br /> +<br /> +They drew their swords so sharp and bright<br /> +They thought on their sister sweet;<br /> +They struck together the felon knight,<br /> +And his head rolled at their feet!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;"><i>Translated by</i> <span class="smcap">Louis S. Costello.</span></span><br /> +<br /><br /></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 373px;"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87"></a> +<img src="images/i_105.jpg" width="373" height="450" alt="XXII ROCHER-ST.-POL La Tour de la Dame Blanche" title="" /> +<span class="caption">XXII<br /> +<br /> +ROCHER-ST.-POL<br /> +<br /> +<i>La Tour de la Dame Blanche</i></span> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> + +<h2>AEGINASSOS</h2> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>THE ISLES OF GREECE</b></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">The</span> isles of Greece! The isles of Greece!<br /> +Where burning Sappho loved and sung,—<br /> +Where grew the arts of war and peace,—<br /> +Where Delos rose and Phœbus sprung!<br /> +Eternal summer gilds them yet<br /> +But all, except their sun, is set.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;"><span class="smcap">Byron.</span></span><br /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>THE ODYSSEY</b></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">As</span> one that for a weary space has lain<br /> +Lull'd by the song of Circe and her wine<br /> +In gardens near the pale of Proserpine,<br /> +Where the <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Ææean'">Ægean</ins> isle forgets the main,<br /> +And only the low lutes of love complain,<br /> +And only shadows of wan lovers pine,—<br /> +As such an one were glad to know the brine<br /> +Salt on his lips, and the large air again,—<br /> +So gladly from the songs of modern speech<br /> +Men turn, and see the stars, and feel the free<br /> +Shrill wind beyond the close of heavy flowers,<br /> +And through the music of the languid hours<br /> +They hear, like Ocean on a western beach,<br /> +The surge and thunder of the Odyssey.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;"><span class="smcap">Andrew Lang.</span></span><br /> +<br /><br /></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 548px;"> +<img src="images/i_109.jpg" width="548" height="453" alt="XXIII Aeginassos The Temple and the Forum" title="" /> +<span class="caption">XXIII<br /> +<br /> +Aeginassos<br /> +<br /> +<i>The Temple and the Forum</i></span> +</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> + + +<div class='center'><br /><b>ULYSSES</b></div> + +<div class='center'><b>. . . . . . . . . .</b></div> + +<div class='poem'> +<span class="smcap">There</span> lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;<br /> +There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,<br /> +Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me—<br /> +That ever with a frolic welcome took<br /> +The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed<br /> +Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;<br /> +Old age hath yet his honor and his toil;<br /> +Death closes all; but something ere the end,<br /> +Some work of noble note, may yet be done,<br /> +Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.<br /> +The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;<br /> +The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs: the deep<br /> +Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,<br /> +'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.<br /> +Push off, and sitting well in order smite<br /> +The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds<br /> +To sail beyond the sunset, and the paths<br /> +Of all the western stars, until I die.<br /> +It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;<br /> +It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,<br /> +And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.<br /> +Though much is taken, much abides; and though<br /> +We are not now that strength which in old days<br /> +Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;<br /> +One equal temper of heroic hearts,<br /> +Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will<br /> +To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14.5em;"><span class="smcap">Alfred Tennyson.</span></span><br /> +<br /><br /></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 404px;"> +<img src="images/i_112.jpg" width="404" height="500" alt="XXIV Aeginassos The Temple and the Forum" title="" /> +<span class="caption">XXIV<br /> +<br /> +Aeginassos<br /> +<br /> +<i>The Temple and the Forum</i></span> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p> + + + + +<div class='center'> +The Riverside Press<br /> +CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS<br /> +U . S . A<br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3> + +<p>Text uses both Aeginossis and Æginassos.</p> + +<p>Some illustrations had to be relocated so that they did not interrupt +paragraphs or stanzas of poetry. However, the table of contents links to the illustration.</p> +<p>The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p></div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Hospital Sketches, by Robert Swain Peabody + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOSPITAL SKETCHES *** + +***** This file should be named 35289-h.htm or 35289-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/2/8/35289/ + +Produced by Chris Curnow, Emmy and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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