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diff --git a/old/65765-0.txt b/old/65765-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a606b71..0000000 --- a/old/65765-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,16417 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Traveler at Forty, by Theodore Dreiser, -Illustrated by William Glackens - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: A Traveler at Forty - - -Author: Theodore Dreiser - - - -Release Date: July 5, 2021 [eBook #65765] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TRAVELER AT FORTY*** - - -E-text prepared by Charlie Howard and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by -Internet Archive (https://archive.org) - - - -Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this - file which includes the original illustrations - by William Glackens. - See 65765-h.htm or 65765-h.zip: - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/65765/65765-h/65765-h.htm) - or - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/65765/65765-h.zip) - - - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/traveleratforty00drei - - -Transcriber’s note: - - Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - - - - - -A TRAVELER AT FORTY - - -[Illustration: Piccadilly Circus] - - -A TRAVELER AT FORTY - -by - -THEODORE DREISER - -Author of “Sister Carrie,” “Jennie Gerhardt,” -“The Financier,” etc., etc. - -Illustrated by W. Glackens - - -[Illustration] - - - - - - -New York -The Century Co. -1913 - -Copyright, 1913, by -the Century Co. - -Published, November, 1913 - - - - - TO - “BARFLEUR” - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - I BARFLEUR TAKES ME IN HAND 3 - II MISS X. 16 - III AT FISHGUARD 24 - IV SERVANTS AND POLITENESS 32 - V THE RIDE TO LONDON 37 - VI THE BARFLEUR FAMILY 47 - VII A GLIMPSE OF LONDON 57 - VIII A LONDON DRAWING-ROOM 66 - IX CALLS 72 - X SOME MORE ABOUT LONDON 77 - XI THE THAMES 89 - XII MARLOWE 95 - XIII LILLY: A GIRL OF THE STREETS 113 - XIV LONDON; THE EAST END 128 - XV ENTER SIR SCORP 136 - XVI A CHRISTMAS CALL 148 - XVII SMOKY ENGLAND 171 - XVIII SMOKY ENGLAND (_continued_) 180 - XIX CANTERBURY 188 - XX EN ROUTE TO PARIS 198 - XXI PARIS! 211 - XXII A MORNING IN PARIS 225 - XXIII THREE GUIDES 238 - XXIV “THE POISON FLOWER” 247 - XXV MONTE CARLO 255 - XXVI THE LURE OF GOLD! 264 - XXVII WE GO TO EZE 275 - XXVIII NICE 288 - XXIX A FIRST GLIMPSE OF ITALY 295 - XXX A STOP AT PISA 306 - XXXI FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF ROME 315 - XXXII MRS. Q. AND THE BORGIA FAMILY 327 - XXXIII THE ART OF SIGNOR TANNI 337 - XXXIV AN AUDIENCE AT THE VATICAN 345 - XXXV THE CITY OF ST. FRANCIS 354 - XXXVI PERUGIA 365 - XXXVII THE MAKERS OF FLORENCE 371 - XXXVIII A NIGHT RAMBLE IN FLORENCE 380 - XXXIX FLORENCE OF TO-DAY 387 - XL MARIA BASTIDA 398 - XLI VENICE 409 - XLII LUCERNE 415 - XLIII ENTERING GERMANY 424 - XLIV A MEDIEVAL TOWN 437 - XLV MY FATHER’S BIRTHPLACE 449 - XLVI THE ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT 454 - XLVII BERLIN 462 - XLVIII THE NIGHT-LIFE OF BERLIN 474 - XLIX ON THE WAY TO HOLLAND 486 - L AMSTERDAM 494 - LI “SPOTLESS TOWN” 501 - LII PARIS AGAIN 507 - LIII THE VOYAGE HOME 515 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - - Piccadilly Circus _Frontispiece_ - - FACING - PAGE - - I saw Mr. G. conversing with Miss E. 8 - - One of those really interesting conversations between - Barfleur and Miss X. 20 - - “I like it,” he pronounced. “The note is somber, but - it is excellent work” 70 - - Hoped for the day when the issue might be tried out - physically 74 - - Here the Thames was especially delightful 90 - - Barfleur 156 - - The French have made much of the Seine 228 - - One of the thousands upon thousands of cafés on the - boulevards of Paris 236 - - These places were crowded with a gay and festive throng 244 - - I looked to a distant table to see the figure he indicated 252 - - “My heavens, how well she keeps up!” 290 - - I sated myself on the house fronts or backs below the - Ponte Vecchio 384 - - There can only be one Venice 404 - - A German dance hall, Berlin 464 - - Teutonic bursts of temper 482 - - - - -A TRAVELER AT FORTY - - - - -CHAPTER I - -BARFLEUR TAKES ME IN HAND - - -I have just turned forty. I have seen a little something of life. I -have been a newspaper man, editor, magazine contributor, author and, -before these things, several odd kinds of clerk before I found out what -I could do. - -Eleven years ago I wrote my first novel, which was issued by a New York -publisher and suppressed by him, Heaven knows why. For, the same year -they suppressed my book because of its alleged immoral tendencies, they -published Zola’s “Fecundity” and “An Englishwoman’s Love Letters.” -I fancy now, after eleven years of wonder, that it was not so much -the supposed immorality, as the book’s straightforward, plain-spoken -discussion of American life in general. We were not used then in -America to calling a spade a spade, particularly in books. We had great -admiration for Tolstoi and Flaubert and Balzac and de Maupassant at a -distance--some of us--and it was quite an honor to have handsome sets -of these men on our shelves, but mostly we had been schooled in the -literature of Dickens, Thackeray, George Eliot, Charles Lamb and that -refined company of English sentimental realists who told us something -about life, but not everything. No doubt all of these great men knew -how shabby a thing this world is--how full of lies, make-believe, -seeming and false pretense it all is, but they had agreed among -themselves, or with the public, or with sentiment generally, not to -talk about that too much. Books were always to be built out of facts -concerning “our better natures.” We were always to be seen as we wish -to be seen. There were villains to be sure--liars, dogs, thieves, -scoundrels--but they were strange creatures, hiding away in dark, -unconventional places and scarcely seen save at night and peradventure; -whereas we, all clean, bright, honest, well-meaning people, were living -in nice homes, going our way honestly and truthfully, going to church, -raising our children believing in a Father, a Son and a Holy Ghost, and -never doing anything wrong at any time save as these miserable liars, -dogs, thieves, et cetera, might suddenly appear and make us. Our books -largely showed us as heroes. If anything happened to our daughters it -was not their fault but the fault of these miserable villains. Most of -us were without original sin. The business of our books, our church, -our laws, our jails, was to keep us so. - -I am quite sure that it never occurred to many of us that there was -something really improving in a plain, straightforward understanding of -life. For myself, I accept now no creeds. I do not know what truth is, -what beauty is, what love is, what hope is. I do not believe any one -absolutely and I do not doubt any one absolutely. I think people are -both evil and well-intentioned. - -While I was opening my mail one morning I encountered a now memorable -note which was addressed to me at my apartment. It was from an old -literary friend of mine in England who expressed himself as anxious -to see me immediately. I have always liked him. I like him because he -strikes me as amusingly English, decidedly literary and artistic in his -point of view, a man with a wide wisdom, discriminating taste, rare -selection. He wears a monocle in his right eye, à la Chamberlain, and I -like him for that. I like people who take themselves with a grand air, -whether they like me or not--particularly if the grand air is backed up -by a real personality. In this case it is. - -Next morning Barfleur took breakfast with me; it was a most interesting -affair. He was late--very. He stalked in, his spats shining, his -monocle glowing with a shrewd, inquisitive eye behind it, his whole -manner genial, self-sufficient, almost dictatorial and always final. He -takes charge so easily, rules so sufficiently, does so essentially well -in all circumstances where he is interested so to do. - -“I have decided,” he observed with that managerial air which always -delights me because my soul is not in the least managerial, “that you -will come back to England with me. I have my passage arranged for the -twenty-second. You will come to my house in England; you will stay -there a few days; then I shall take you to London and put you up at a -very good hotel. You will stay there until January first and then we -shall go to the south of France--Nice, the Riviera, Monte Carlo; from -there you will go to Rome, to Paris, where I shall join you,--and then -sometime in the spring or summer, when you have all your notes, you -will return to London or New York and write your impressions and I will -see that they are published!” - -“If it can be arranged,” I interpolated. - -“It _can_ be arranged,” he replied emphatically. “I will attend to the -financial part and arrange affairs with both an American and an English -publisher.” - -Sometimes life is very generous. It walks in and says, “Here! I want -you to do a certain thing,” and it proceeds to arrange all your -affairs for you. I felt curiously at this time as though I was on the -edge of a great change. When one turns forty and faces one’s first -transatlantic voyage, it is a more portentous event than when it comes -at twenty. - - * * * * * - -I shall not soon forget reading in a morning paper on the early ride -downtown the day we sailed, of the suicide of a friend of mine, a -brilliant man. He had fallen on hard lines; his wife had decided to -desert him; he was badly in debt. I knew him well. I had known his -erratic history. Here on this morning when I was sailing for Europe, -quite in the flush of a momentary literary victory, he was lying in -death. It gave me pause. It brought to my mind the Latin phrase, -“_memento mori_.” I saw again, right in the heart of this hour of -brightness, how grim life really is. Fate is kind, or it is not. It -puts you ahead, or it does not. If it does not, nothing can save you. I -acknowledge the Furies. I believe in them. I have heard the disastrous -beating of their wings. - -When I reached the ship, it was already a perfect morning in full glow. -The sun was up; a host of gulls were on the wing; an air of delicious -adventure enveloped the great liner’s dock at the foot of Thirteenth -Street. - -Did ever a boy thrill over a ship as I over this monster of the seas? - -In the first place, even at this early hour it was crowded with people. -From the moment I came on board I was delighted by the eager, restless -movement of the throng. The main deck was like the lobby of one of the -great New York hotels at dinner-time. There was much calling on the -part of a company of dragooned ship-stewards to “keep moving, please,” -and the enthusiasm of farewells and inquiries after this person and -that, were delightful to hear. I stopped awhile in the writing-room -and wrote some notes. I went to my stateroom and found there several -telegrams and letters of farewell. Later still, some books which had -been delivered at the ship, were brought to me. I went back to the -dock and mailed my letters, encountered Barfleur finally and exchanged -greetings, and then perforce soon found myself taken in tow by him, for -he wanted, obviously, to instruct me in all the details of this new -world upon which I was now entering. - -At eight-thirty came the call to go ashore. At eight fifty-five I -had my first glimpse of a Miss E., as discreet and charming a bit of -English femininity as one would care to set eyes upon. She was an -English actress of some eminence whom Barfleur was fortunate enough -to know. Shortly afterward a Miss X. was introduced to him and to -Miss E., by a third acquaintance of Miss E.’s, Mr. G.--a very direct, -self-satisfied and aggressive type of Jew. I noticed him strolling -about the deck some time before I saw him conversing with Miss E., and -later, for a moment, with Barfleur. I saw these women only for a moment -at first, but they impressed me at once as rather attractive examples -of the prosperous stage world. - -It was nine o’clock--the hour of the ship’s sailing. I went forward to -the prow, and watched the sailors on B deck below me cleaning up the -final details of loading, bolting down the freight hatches covering -the windlass and the like. All the morning I had been particularly -impressed with the cloud of gulls fluttering about the ship, but now -the harbor, the magnificent wall of lower New York, set like a jewel -in a green ring of sea water, took my eye. When should I see it again? -How soon should I be back? I had undertaken this voyage in pell-mell -haste. I had not figured at all on where I was going or what I was -going to do. London--yes, to gather the data for the last third of a -novel; Rome--assuredly, because of all things I wished to see Rome; the -Riviera, say, and Monte Carlo, because the south of France has always -appealed to me; Paris, Berlin--possibly; Holland--surely. - -I stood there till the _Mauretania_ fronted her prow outward to the -broad Atlantic. Then I went below and began unpacking, but was not -there long before I was called out by Barfleur. - -“Come up with me,” he said. - -We went to the boat deck where the towering red smoke-stacks were -belching forth trailing clouds of smoke. I am quite sure that Barfleur, -when he originally made his authoritative command that I come to -England with him, was in no way satisfied that I would. It was a -somewhat light venture on his part, but here I was. And now, having -“let himself in” for this, as he would have phrased it, I could see -that he was intensely interested in what Europe would do to me--and -possibly in what I would do to Europe. We walked up and down as the -boat made her way majestically down the harbor. We parted presently but -shortly he returned to say, “Come and meet Miss E. and Miss X. Miss E. -is reading your last novel. She likes it.” - -[Illustration: “I saw Mr. G. conversing with Miss E.”] - -I went down, interested to meet these two, for the actress--the -talented, good-looking representative of that peculiarly feminine -world of art--appeals to me very much. I have always thought, since I -have been able to reason about it, that the stage is almost the only -ideal outlet for the artistic temperament of a talented and beautiful -women. Men?--well, I don’t care so much for the men of the stage. I -acknowledge the distinction of such a temperament as that of David -Garrick or Edwin Booth. These were great actors and, by the same -token, they were great artists--wonderful artists. But in the main -the men of the stage are frail shadows of a much more real thing--the -active, constructive man in other lines. - -On the contrary, the women of the stage are somehow, by right of mere -womanhood, the art of looks, form, temperament, mobility, peculiarly -suited to this realm of show, color and make-believe. The stage is -fairyland and they are of it. Women--the women of ambition, aspiration, -artistic longings--act, anyhow, all the time. They lie like anything. -They never show their true colors--or very rarely. If you want to know -the truth, you must see through their pretty, petty artistry, back to -the actual conditions behind them, which are conditioning and driving -them. Very few, if any, have a real grasp on what I call life. They -have no understanding of and no love for philosophy. They do not care -for the subtleties of chemistry and physics. Knowledge--book knowledge, -the sciences--well, let the men have that. Your average woman cares -most--almost entirely--for the policies and the abstrusities of her -own little world. Is her life going right? Is she getting along? Is -her skin smooth? Is her face still pretty? Are there any wrinkles? Are -there any gray hairs in sight? What can she do to win one man? How can -she make herself impressive to all men? Are her feet small? Are her -hands pretty? Which are the really nice places in the world to visit? -Do men like this trait in women? or that? What is the latest thing in -dress, in jewelry, in hats, in shoes? How can she keep herself spick -and span? These are all leading questions with her--strong, deep, -vital, painful. Let the men have knowledge, strength, fame, force--that -is their business. The real man, her man, should have some one of these -things if she is really going to love him very much. I am talking -about the semi-artistic woman with ambition. As for her, she clings -to these poetical details and they make her life. Poor little frail -things--fighting with every weapon at their command to buy and maintain -the courtesy of the world. Truly, I pity women. I pity the strongest, -most ambitious woman I ever saw. And, by the same token, I pity the -poor helpless, hopeless drab and drudge without an idea above a potato, -who never had and never will have a look in on anything. I know--and -there is not a beating feminine heart anywhere that will contradict -me--that they are all struggling to buy this superior masculine -strength against which they can lean, to which they can fly in the hour -of terror. It is no answer to my statement, no contradiction of it, to -say that the strongest men crave the sympathy of the tenderest women. -These are complementary facts and my statement is true. I am dealing -with women now, not men. When I come to men I will tell you all about -them! - -Our modern stage world gives the ideal outlet for all that is most -worth while in the youth and art of the female sex. It matters not that -it is notably unmoral. You cannot predicate that of any individual case -until afterward. At any rate, to me, and so far as women are concerned, -it is distinguished, brilliant, appropriate, important. I am always -interested in a well recommended woman of the stage. - -What did we talk about--Miss E. and I? The stage a little, some -newspapermen and dramatic critics that we had casually known, her -interest in books and the fact that she had posed frequently for those -interesting advertisements which display a beautiful young woman -showing her teeth or holding aloft a cake of soap or a facial cream. -She had done some of this work in the past--and had been well paid for -it because she was beautiful, and she showed me one of her pictures in -a current magazine advertising a set of furs. - -I found that Barfleur, my very able patron, was doing everything that -should be done to make the trip comfortable without show or fuss. -Many have this executive or managerial gift. Sometimes I think it is -a natural trait of the English--of their superior classes, anyhow. -They go about colonizing so efficiently, industriously. They make fine -governors and patrons. I have always been told that English direction -and English directors are thorough. Is this true or is it not? At this -writing, I do not know. - -Not only were all our chairs on deck here in a row, but our chairs -at table had already been arranged for--four seats at the captain’s -table. It seems that from previous voyages on this ship Barfleur knew -the captain. He also knew the chairman of the company in England. No -doubt he knew the chief steward. Anyhow, he knew the man who sold us -our tickets. He knew the head waiter at the Ritz--he had seen him or -been served by him somewhere in Europe. He knew some of the servitors -of the Knickerbocker of old. Wherever he went, I found he was always -finding somebody whom he knew. I like to get in tow of such a man as -Barfleur and see him plow the seas. I like to see what he thinks is -important. In this case there happens to be a certain intellectual and -spiritual compatibility. He likes some of the things that I like. He -sympathizes with my point of view. Hence, so far at least, we have got -along admirably. I speak for the present only. I would not answer for -my moods or basic change of emotions at any time. - -Well, here were the two actresses side by side, both charmingly -arrayed, and with them, in a third chair, the short, stout, red-haired -Mr. G. - -I covertly observed the personality of Miss X. Here was some one -who, on sight, at a glance, attracted me far more significantly than -ever Miss E. could. I cannot tell you why, exactly. In a way, Miss -E. appeared, at moments and from certain points of view--delicacy, -refinement, sweetness of mood--the more attractive of the two. But -Miss X., with her chic face, her dainty little chin, her narrow, -lavender-lidded eyes, drew me quite like a magnet. I liked a certain -snap and vigor which shot from her eyes and which I could feel -represented our raw American force. A foreigner will not, I am afraid, -understand exactly what I mean; but there is something about the -American climate, its soil, rain, winds, race spirit, which produces -a raw, direct incisiveness of soul in its children. They are strong, -erect, elated, enthusiastic. They look you in the eye, cut you with a -glance, say what they mean in ten thousand ways without really saying -anything at all. They come upon you fresh like cold water and they -have the luster of a hard, bright jewel and the fragrance of a rich, -red, full-blown rose. Americans are wonderful to me--American men and -American women. They are rarely polished or refined. They know little -of the subtleties of life--its order and procedures. But, oh, the glory -of their spirit, the hope of them, the dreams of them, the desires and -enthusiasm of them. That is what wins me. They give me the sense of -being intensely, enthusiastically, humanly alive. - -Miss X. did not tell me anything about herself, save that she was -on the stage in some capacity and that she knew a large number of -newspaper men, critics, actors, et cetera. A chorus girl, I thought; -and then, by the same token, a lady of extreme unconventionality. - -I think the average man, however much he may lie and pretend, takes -considerable interest in such women. At the same time there are -large orders and schools of mind, bound by certain variations of -temperament, and schools of thought, which either flee temptation -of this kind, find no temptation in it, or, when confronted, resist -it vigorously. The accepted theory of marriage and monogamy holds -many people absolutely. There are these who would never sin--hold -unsanctioned relations, I mean--with any woman. There are others who -will always be true to one woman. There are those who are fortunate if -they ever win a single woman. We did not talk of these things but it -was early apparent that she was as wise as the serpent in her knowledge -of men and in the practice of all the little allurements of her sex. - -Barfleur never ceased instructing me in the intricacies of ship life. I -never saw so comforting and efficient a man. - -“Oh”--who can indicate exactly the sound of the English “Oh”--“Oh, -_there_ you are.” (His _are_ always sounded like _ah_.) “Now let -me tell you something. You are to dress for dinner. Ship etiquette -requires it. You are to talk to the captain some--tell him how much -you think of his ship, and so forth; and you are not to neglect the -neighbor to your right at table. Ship etiquette, I believe, demands -that you talk to your neighbor, at least at the captain’s table--that -is the rule, I think. You are to take in Miss X. I am to take in Miss -E.” Was it any wonder that my sea life was well-ordered and that my -lines fell in pleasant places? - -After dinner we adjourned to the ship’s drawing-room and there Miss -X. fell to playing cards with Barfleur at first, afterwards with Mr. -G., who came up and found us, thrusting his company upon us perforce. -The man amused me, so typically aggressive, money-centered was he. -However, not he so much as Miss X. and her mental and social attitude, -commanded my attention. Her card playing and her boastful accounts of -adventures at Ostend, Trouville, Nice, Monte Carlo and Aix-les-Bains -indicated plainly the trend of her interests. She was all for the -showy life that was to be found in these places--burning with a desire -to glitter--not shine--in that half world of which she was a smart -atom. Her conversation was at once showy, naïve, sophisticated and yet -unschooled. I could see by Barfleur’s attentions to her, that aside -from her crude Americanisms which ordinarily would have alienated him, -he was interested in her beauty, her taste in dress, her love of a -certain continental café life which encompassed a portion of his own -interests. Both were looking forward to a fresh season of it--Barfleur -with me--Miss X. with some one who was waiting for her in London. - -I think I have indicated in one or two places in the preceding pages -that Barfleur, being an Englishman of the artistic and intellectual -classes, with considerable tradition behind him and all the feeling of -the worth-whileness of social order that goes with class training, has -a high respect for the conventions--or rather let me say appearances, -for, though essentially democratic in spirit and loving America--its -raw force--he still clings almost pathetically, I think, to that vast -established order, which is England. It may be producing a dying -condition of race, but still there is something exceedingly fine about -it. Now one of the tenets of English social order is that, being a man -you must be a gentleman, very courteous to the ladies, very observant -of outward forms and appearances, very discreet in your approaches to -the wickedness of the world--but nevertheless you may approach and much -more, if you are cautious enough. - -After dinner there was a concert. It was a dreary affair. When it was -over, I started to go to bed but, it being warm and fresh, I stepped -outside. The night was beautiful. There were no fellow passengers -on the promenade. All had retired. The sky was magnificent for -stars--Orion, the Pleiades, the Milky Way, the Big Dipper, the Little -Dipper. I saw one star, off to my right as I stood at the prow under -the bridge, which, owing to the soft, velvety darkness, cast a faint -silvery glow on the water--just a trace. Think of it! One lone, -silvery star over the great dark sea doing this. I stood at the prow -and watched the boat speed on. I threw back my head and drank in the -salt wind. I looked and listened. England, France, Italy, Switzerland, -Germany--these were all coming to me mile by mile. As I stood there a -bell over me struck eight times. Another farther off sounded the same -number. Then a voice at the prow called, “All’s well,” and another -aloft on that little eyrie called the crow’s nest, echoed it. “All’s -well.” The second voice was weak and quavering. Something came up in -my throat--a quick unbidden lump of emotion. Was it an echo of old -journeys and old seas when life was not safe? When Columbus sailed into -the unknown? And now this vast ship, eight hundred and eighty-two feet -long, eighty-eight feet beam, with huge pits of engines and furnaces -and polite, veneered first-cabin decks and passengers! - - - - -CHAPTER II - -MISS X. - - -It was ten o’clock the next morning when I arose and looked at my -watch. I thought it might be eight-thirty, or seven. The day was -slightly gray with spray flying. There was a strong wind. The sea -was really a boisterous thing, thrashing and heaving in hills and -hollows. I was thinking of Kipling’s “White Horses” for a while. There -were several things about this great ship which were unique. It was a -beautiful thing all told--its long cherry-wood, paneled halls in the -first-class section, its heavy porcelain baths, its dainty staterooms -fitted with lamps, bureaus, writing-desks, washstands, closets and the -like. I liked the idea of dressing for dinner and seeing everything -quite stately and formal. The little be-buttoned call-boys in their -tight-fitting blue suits amused me. And the bugler who bugled for -dinner! That was a most musical sound he made, trilling in the various -quarters gaily, as much as to say, “This is a very joyous event, -ladies and gentlemen; we are all happy; come, come; it is a delightful -feast.” I saw him one day in the lobby of C deck, his legs spread -far apart, the bugle to his lips, no evidence of the rolling ship in -his erectness, bugling heartily. It was like something out of an old -medieval court or a play. Very nice and worth while. - -Absolutely ignorant of this world of the sea, the social, domestic, -culinary and other economies of a great ship like this interested me -from the start. It impressed me no little that all the servants were -English, and that they were, shall I say, polite?--well, if not that, -non-aggressive. American servants--I could write a whole chapter on -that, but we haven’t any servants in America. We don’t know how to -be servants. It isn’t in us; it isn’t nice to be a servant; it isn’t -democratic; and spiritually I don’t blame us. In America, with our turn -for mechanics, we shall have to invent something which will do away -with the need of servants. What it is to be, I haven’t the faintest -idea at present. - -Another thing that impressed and irritated me a little was the -stolidity of the English countenance as I encountered it here on this -ship. I didn’t know then whether it was accidental in this case, -or national. There is a certain type of Englishman--the robust, -rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed Saxon--whom I cordially dislike, I think, -speaking temperamentally and artistically. They are too solid, too -rosy, too immobile as to their faces, and altogether too assured and -stary. I don’t like them. They offend me. They thrust a silly race -pride into my face, which isn’t necessary at all and which I always -resent with a race pride of my own. It has even occurred to me at times -that these temperamental race differences could be quickly adjusted -only by an appeal to arms, which is sillier yet. But so goes life. It’s -foolish on both sides, but I mention it for what it is worth. - -After lunch, which was also breakfast with me, I went with the -chief engineer through the engine-room. This was a pit eighty feet -deep, forty feet wide and, perhaps, one hundred feet long, filled -with machinery. What a strange world! I know absolutely nothing of -machinery--not a single principle connected with it--and yet I am -intensely interested. These boilers, pipes, funnels, pistons, gages, -registers and bright-faced register boards speak of a vast technique -which to me is tremendously impressive. I know scarcely anything of -the history of mechanics, but I know what boilers and feed-pipes and -escape-pipes are, and how complicated machinery is automatically oiled -and reciprocated, and there my knowledge ends. All that I know about -the rest is what the race knows. There are mechanical and electrical -engineers. They devised the reciprocating engine for vessels and then -the turbine. They have worked out the theory of electrical control and -have installed vast systems with a wonderful economy as to power and -space. This deep pit was like some vast, sad dream of a fevered mind. -It clanked and rattled and hissed and squeaked with almost insane -contrariety! There were narrow, steep, oil-stained stairs, very hot, -or very cold and very slippery, that wound here and there in strange -ways, and if you were not careful there were moving rods and wheels to -strike you. You passed from bridge to bridge under whirling wheels, -over clanking pistons; passed hot containers; passed cold ones. Here -men were standing, blue-jumpered assistants in oil-stained caps and -gloves--thin caps and thick gloves--watching the manœuvers of this -vast network of steel, far from the passenger life of the vessel. -Occasionally they touched something. They were down in the very heart -or the bowels of this thing, away from the sound of the water; away -partially from the heaviest motion of the ship; listening only to the -clank, clank and whir, whir and hiss, hiss all day long. It is a metal -world they live in, a hard, bright metal world. Everything is hard, -everything fixed, everything regular. If they look up, behold a huge, -complicated scaffolding of steel; noise and heat and regularity. - -I shouldn’t like that, I think. My soul would grow weary. It would -pall. I like the softness of scenery, the haze, the uncertainty of the -world outside. Life is better than rigidity and fixed motion, I hope. I -trust the universe is not mechanical, but mystically blind. Let’s hope -it’s a vague, uncertain, but divine idea. We know it is beautiful. It -must be so. - -The wind-up of this day occurred in the lounging- or reception-room -where, after dinner, we all retired to listen to the music, and then -began one of those really interesting conversations between Barfleur -and Miss X. which sometimes illuminate life and make one see things -differently forever afterward. - -It is going to be very hard for me to define just how this could be, -but I might say that I had at the moment considerable intellectual -contempt for the point of view which the conversation represented. -Consider first the American attitude. With us (not the established -rich, but the hopeful, ambitious American who has nothing, comes -from nothing and hopes to be President of the United States or John -D. Rockefeller) the business of life is not living, but achieving. -Roughly speaking, we are willing to go hungry, dirty, to wait in the -cold and fight gamely, if in the end we can achieve one or more of -the seven stars in the human crown of life--social, intellectual, -moral, financial, physical, spiritual or material supremacy. Several -of the forms of supremacy may seem the same, but they are not. Examine -them closely. The average American is not born to place. He does not -know what the English sense of order is. We have not that national -_esprit de corps_ which characterizes the English and the French -perhaps; certainly the Germans. We are loose, uncouth, but, in our way, -wonderful. The spirit of God has once more breathed upon the waters. - -Well, the gentleman who was doing the talking in this instance and the -lady who was coinciding, inciting, aiding, abetting, approving and at -times leading and demonstrating, represented two different and yet -allied points of view. Barfleur is distinctly a product of the English -conservative school of thought, a gentleman who wishes sincerely he was -not so conservative. His house is in order. You can feel it. I have -always felt it in relation to him. His standards and ideals are fixed. -He knows what life ought to be--how it ought to be lived. You would -never catch him associating with the rag-tag and bobtail of humanity -with any keen sense of human brotherhood or emotional tenderness of -feeling. They are human beings, of course. They are in the scheme of -things, to be sure. But, let it go at that. One cannot be considering -the state of the underdog at any particular time. Government is -established to do this sort of thing. Statesmen are large, constructive -servants who are supposed to look after all of us. The masses! Let them -behave. Let them accept their state. Let them raise no undue row. And -let us, above all things, have order and peace. - -[Illustration: One of those really interesting conversations between -Barfleur and Miss X.] - -This is a section of Barfleur--not all, mind you, but a section. - -Miss X.--I think I have described her fully enough, but I shall add one -passing thought. A little experience of Europe--considerable of its -show places--had taught her, or convinced her rather, that America did -not know how to live. You will hear much of that fact, I am afraid, -during the rest of these pages, but it is especially important just -here. My lady, prettily gowned, perfectly manicured, going to meet her -lover at London or Fishguard or Liverpool, is absolutely satisfied that -America does not know how to live. She herself has almost learned. She -is most comfortably provided for at present. Anyhow, she has champagne -every night at dinner. Her equipment in the matter of toilet articles -and leather traveling bags is all that it should be. The latter are -colored to suit her complexion and gowns. She is scented, polished, -looked after, and all men pay her attention. She is vain, beautiful, -and she thinks that America is raw, uncouth; that its citizens of whom -she is one, do not know how to live. Quite so. Now we come to the point. - -It would be hard to describe this conversation. It began with some -“have you been’s,” I think, and concerned eating-places and modes of -entertainment in London, Paris and Monte Carlo. I gathered by degrees, -that in London, Paris and elsewhere there were a hundred restaurants, a -hundred places to live, each finer than the other. I heard of liberty -of thought and freedom of action and pride of motion which made me -understand that there is a free-masonry which concerns the art of -living, which is shared only by the initiated. There was a world in -which conventions, as to morals, have no place; in which ethics and -religion are tabooed. Art is the point. The joys of this world are sex, -beauty, food, clothing, art. I should say money, of course, but money -is presupposed. You must have it. - -“Oh, I went to that place one day and then I was glad enough to get -back to the Ritz at forty francs for my room.” She was talking of her -room by the day, and the food, of course, was extra. The other hotel -had been a little bit quiet or dingy. - -I opened my eyes slightly, for I thought Paris was reasonable; but not -so--no more so than New York, I understood, if you did the same things. - -“And, oh, the life!” said Miss X. at one point. “Americans don’t know -how to live. They are all engaged in doing something. They are such -beginners. They are only interested in money. They don’t know. I see -them in Paris now and then.” She lifted her hand. “Here in Europe -people understand life better. They know. They know before they begin -how much it will take to do the things that they want to do and they -start out to make that much--not a fortune--just enough to do the -things that they want to do. When they get that they retire and _live_.” - -“And what do they do when they live?” I asked. “What do they call -living?” - -“Oh, having a nice country-house within a short traveling distance -of London or Paris, and being able to dine at the best restaurants -and visit the best theaters once or twice a week; to go to Paris or -Monte Carlo or Scheveningen or Ostend two or three or four, or as many -times a year as they please; to wear good clothes and to be thoroughly -comfortable.” - -“That is not a bad standard,” I said, and then I added, “And what else -do they do?” - -“And what else should they do? Isn’t that enough?” - -And there you have the European standard according to Miss X. as -contrasted with the American standard which is, or has been up to this -time, something decidedly different, I am sure. We have not been so -eager to live. Our idea has been to work. No American that I have ever -known has had the idea of laying up just so much, a moderate amount, -and then retiring and living. He has had quite another thought in his -mind. The American--the average American--I am sure loves power, the -ability to do something, far more earnestly than he loves mere living. -He wants to be an officer or a director of something, a poet, anything -you please for the sake of being it--not for the sake of living. He -loves power, authority, to be able to say, “Go and he goeth,” or, -“Come and he cometh.” The rest he will waive. Mere comfort? You can -have that. But even that, according to Miss X., was not enough for -her. She had told me before, and this conversation brought it out -again, that her thoughts were of summer and winter resorts, exquisite -creations in the way of clothing, diamonds, open balconies of -restaurants commanding charming vistas, gambling tables at Monte Carlo, -Aix-les-Bains, Ostend and elsewhere, to say nothing of absolutely -untrammeled sex relations. English conventional women were frumps and -fools. They had never learned how to live; they had never understood -what the joy of freedom in sex was. Morals--they are built up on a lack -of imagination and physical vigor; tenderness--well, you have to take -care of yourself; duty--there isn’t any such thing. If there is, it’s -one’s duty to get along and have money and be happy. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -AT FISHGUARD - - -While I was lying in my berth the fifth morning, I heard the room -steward outside my door tell some one that he thought we reached -Fishguard at one-thirty. - -I packed my trunks, thinking of this big ship and the fact that my trip -was over and that never again could I cross the Atlantic for the first -time. A queer world this. We can only do any one thing significantly -once. I remember when I first went to Chicago, I remember when I first -went to St. Louis, I remember when I first went to New York. Other -trips there were, but they are lost in vagueness. But the first time of -any important thing sticks and lasts; it comes back at times and haunts -you with its beauty and its sadness. You know so well you cannot do -that any more; and, like a clock, it ticks and tells you that life is -moving on. I shall never come to England any more for the first time. -That is gone and done for--worse luck. - -So I packed--will you believe it?--a little sadly. I think most of us -are a little silly at times, only we are cautious enough to conceal it. -There is in me the spirit of a lonely child somewhere and it clings -pitifully to the hand of its big mama, Life, and cries when it is -frightened; and then there is a coarse, vulgar exterior which fronts -the world defiantly and bids all and sundry to go to the devil. It -sneers and barks and jeers bitterly at times, and guffaws and cackles -and has a joyous time laughing at the follies of others. - -Then I went to hunt Barfleur to find out how I should do. How much -was I to give the deck-steward; how much to the bath-steward; how much -to the room-steward; how much to the dining-room steward; how much to -“boots,” and so on. - -“Look here!” observed that most efficient of all managerial souls that -I have ever known. “I’ll tell you what you do. No--I’ll write it.” And -he drew forth an ever ready envelope. “Deck-steward--so much,” it read, -“Room steward--so much--” etc. - -I went forthwith and paid them, relieving my soul of a great weight. -Then I came on deck and found that I had forgotten to pack my ship -blanket, and a steamer rug, which I forthwith went and packed. Then I -discovered that I had no place for my derby hat save on my head, so -I went back and packed my cap. Then I thought I had lost one of my -brushes, which I hadn’t, though I did lose one of my stylo pencils. -Finally I came on deck and sang coon songs with Miss X., sitting in -our steamer chairs. The low shore of Ireland had come into view with -two faint hills in the distance and these fascinated me. I thought I -should have some slight emotion on seeing land again, but I didn’t. It -was gray and misty at first, but presently the sun came out beautifully -clear and the day was as warm as May in New York. I felt a sudden -elation of spirits with the coming of the sun, and I began to think -what a lovely time I was going to have in Europe. - -Miss X. was a little more friendly this morning than heretofore. She -was a tricky creature--coy, uncertain and hard to please. She liked me -intellectually and thought I was able, but her physical and emotional -predilections, so far as men are concerned, did not include me. - -We rejoiced together singing, and then we fought. There is a directness -between experienced intellects which waves aside all formalities. She -had seen a lot of life; so had I. - -She said she thought she would like to walk a little, and we strolled -back along the heaving deck to the end of the first cabin section and -then to the stern. When we reached there the sky was overcast again, -for it was one of those changeable mornings which is now gray, now -bright, now misty. Just now the heavens were black and lowering with -soft, rain-charged clouds, like the wool of a smudgy sheep. The sea -was a rich green in consequence--not a clear green, but a dark, muddy, -oil-green. It rose and sank in its endless unrest and one or two boats -appeared--a lightship, anchored out all alone against the lowering -waste, and a small, black, passenger steamer going somewhere. - -“I wish my path in life were as white as that and as straight,” -observed Miss X., pointing to our white, propeller-churned wake which -extended back for half a mile or more. - -“Yes,” I observed, “you do and you don’t. You do, if it wouldn’t cost -you trouble in the future--impose the straight and narrow, as it were.” - -“Oh, you don’t know,” she exclaimed irritably, that ugly fighting light -coming into her eyes, which I had seen there several times before. “You -don’t know what my life has been. I haven’t been so bad. We all of us -do the best we can. I have done the best I could, considering.” - -“Yes, yes,” I observed, “you’re ambitious and alive and you’re -seeking--Heaven knows what! You would be adorable with your pretty face -and body if you were not so--so sophisticated. The trouble with you -is--” - -“Oh, look at that cute little boat out there!” She was talking of the -lightship. “I always feel sorry for a poor little thing like that, set -aside from the main tide of life and left lonely--with no one to care -for it.” - -“The trouble with you is,” I went on, seizing this new remark as an -additional pretext for analysis, “you’re romantic, not sympathetic. -You’re interested in that poor little lonely boat because its state is -romantic; not pathetic. It may be pathetic, but that isn’t the point -with you.” - -“Well,” she said, “if you had had all the hard knocks I have had, you -wouldn’t be sympathetic either. I’ve suffered, I have. My illusions -have been killed dead.” - -“Yes. Love is over with you. You can’t love any more. You can like to -be loved, that’s all. If it were the other way about--” - -I paused to think how really lovely she would be with her narrow -lavender eyelids; her delicate, almost retroussé, little nose; her red -cupid’s-bow mouth. - -“Oh,” she exclaimed, with a gesture of almost religious adoration. “I -cannot love any one person any more, but I can love love, and I do--all -the delicate things it stands for.” - -“Flowers,” I observed, “jewels, automobiles, hotel bills, fine dresses.” - -“Oh, you’re brutal. I hate you. You’ve said the cruelest, meanest -things that have ever been said to me.” - -“But they’re so.” - -“I don’t care. Why shouldn’t I be hard? Why shouldn’t I love to live -and be loved? Look at my life. See what I’ve had.” - -“You like me, in a way?” I suggested. - -“I admire your intellect.” - -“Quite so. And others receive the gifts of your personality.” - -“I can’t help it. I can’t be mean to the man I’m with. He’s good to -me. I won’t. I’d be sinning against the only conscience I have.” - -“Then you have a conscience?” - -“Oh, you go to the devil!” - -But we didn’t separate by any means. - -They were blowing a bugle for lunch when we came back, and down we -went. Barfleur was already at table. The orchestra was playing Auld -Lang Syne, Home Sweet Home, Dixie and the Suwannee River. It even -played one of those delicious American rags which I love so much--the -Oceana Roll. I felt a little lump in my throat at Auld Lang Syne -and Dixie, and together Miss X. and I hummed the Oceana Roll as it -was played. One of the girl passengers came about with a plate to -obtain money for the members of the orchestra, and half-crowns were -universally deposited. Then I started to eat my dessert; but Barfleur, -who had hurried off, came back to interfere. - -“Come, come!” (He was always most emphatic.) “You’re missing it all. -We’re landing.” - -I thought we were leaving at once. The eye behind the monocle was -premonitory of some great loss to me. I hurried on deck--to thank his -artistic and managerial instinct instantly I arrived there. Before me -was Fishguard and the Welsh coast, and to my dying day I shall never -forget it. Imagine, if you please, a land-locked harbor, as green as -grass in this semi-cloudy, semi-gold-bathed afternoon, with a half-moon -of granite scarp rising sheer and clear from the green waters to the -low gray clouds overhead. On its top I could see fields laid out in -pretty squares or oblongs, and at the bottom of what to me appeared -to be the east end of the semi-circle, was a bit of gray scruff, -which was the village no doubt. On the green water were several other -boats--steamers, much smaller, with red stacks, black sides, white -rails and funnels--bearing a family resemblance to the one we were on. -There was a long pier extending out into the water from what I took to -be the village and something farther inland that looked like a low shed. - -This black hotel of a ship, so vast, so graceful, now rocking gently -in the enameled bay, was surrounded this hour by wheeling, squeaking -gulls. I always like the squeak of a gull; it reminds me of a rusty car -wheel, and, somehow, it accords with a lone, rocky coast. Here they -were, their little feet coral red, their beaks jade gray, their bodies -snowy white or sober gray, wheeling and crying--“my heart remembers -how.” I looked at them and that old intense sensation of joy came -back--the wish to fly, the wish to be young, the wish to be happy, the -wish to be loved. - -But, my scene, beautiful as it was, was slipping away. One of the -pretty steamers I had noted lying on the water some distance away, was -drawing alongside--to get mails, first, they said. There were hurrying -and shuffling people on all the first cabin decks. Barfleur was forward -looking after his luggage. The captain stood on the bridge in his great -gold-braided blue overcoat. There were mail chutes being lowered from -our giant vessel’s side, and bags and trunks and boxes and bales were -then sent scuttling down. I saw dozens of uniformed men and scores of -ununiformed laborers briskly handling these in the sunshine. My fellow -passengers in their last hurrying hour interested me, for I knew I -should see them no more; except one or two, perhaps. - -While we were standing here I turned to watch an Englishman, tall, -assured, stalky, stary. He had been soldiering about for some time, -examining this, that and the other in his critical, dogmatic British -way. He had leaned over the side and inspected the approaching -lighters, he had stared critically and unpoetically at the gulls which -were here now by hundreds, he had observed the landing toilet of the -ladies, the material equipment of the various men, and was quite -evidently satisfied that he himself was perfect, complete. He was -aloof, chilly, decidedly forbidding and judicial. - -Finally a cabin steward came hurrying out to him. - -“Did you mean to leave the things you left in your room unpacked?” -he asked. The Englishman started, stiffened, stared. I never saw a -self-sufficient man so completely shaken out of his poise. - -“Things in my room unpacked?” he echoed. “What room are you talking -about? My word!” - -“There are three drawers full of things in there, sir, unpacked, and -they’re waiting for your luggage now, sir!” - -“My word!” he repeated, grieved, angered, perplexed. “My word! I’m -sure I packed everything. Three drawers full! My word!” He bustled off -stiffly. The attendant hastened cheerfully after. It almost gave me a -chill as I thought of his problem. And they hurry so at Fishguard. He -was well paid out, as the English say, for being so stalky and superior. - -Then the mail and trunks being off, and that boat having veered away, -another and somewhat smaller one came alongside and we first, and -then the second class passengers, went aboard, and I watched the -great ship growing less and less as we pulled away from it. It was -immense from alongside, a vast skyscraper of a ship. At a hundred -feet, it seemed not so large, but more graceful; at a thousand feet, -all its exquisite lines were perfect--its bulk not so great, but -the pathos of its departing beauty wonderful; at two thousand feet, -it was still beautiful against the granite ring of the harbor; but, -alas, it was moving. The captain was an almost indistinguishable spot -upon his bridge. The stacks--in their way gorgeous--took on beautiful -proportions. I thought, as we veered in near the pier and the ship -turned within her length or thereabouts and steamed out, I had never -seen a more beautiful sight. Her convoy of gulls was still about her. -Her smoke-stacks flung back their graceful streamers. The propeller -left a white trail of foam. I asked some one: “When does she get to -Liverpool?” - -“At two in the morning.” - -“And when do the balance of the passengers land?” (We had virtually -emptied the first cabin.) - -“At seven, I fancy.” - -Just then the lighter bumped against the dock. I walked under a long, -low train-shed covering four tracks, and then I saw my first English -passenger train--a semi-octagonal-looking affair--(the ends of the cars -certainly looked as though they had started out to be octagonal) and -there were little doors on the sides labeled “First,” “First,” “First.” -On the side, at the top of the car, was a longer sign: “Cunard Ocean -Special--London--Fishguard.” - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -SERVANTS AND POLITENESS - - -Right here I propose to interpolate my second dissertation on the -servant question and I can safely promise, I am sure, that it will not -be the last. One night, not long before, in dining with a certain Baron -N. and Barfleur at the Ritz in New York this matter of the American -servant came up in a conversational way. Baron N. was a young exquisite -of Berlin and other European capitals. He was one of Barfleur’s idle -fancies. Because we were talking about America in general I asked them -both what, to them, was the most offensive or objectionable thing about -America. One said, expectorating; the other said, the impoliteness -of servants. On the ship going over, at Fishguard, in the train from -Fishguard to London, at London and later in Barfleur’s country house I -saw what the difference was. Of course I had heard these differences -discussed before _ad lib._ for years, but hearing is not believing. -Seeing and experiencing is. - -On shipboard I noticed for the first time in my life that there was an -aloofness about the service rendered by the servants which was entirely -different from that which we know in America. They did not look at one -so brutally and critically as does the American menial; their eyes did -not seem to say, “I am your equal or better,” and their motions did not -indicate that they were doing anything unwillingly. In America--and I -am a good American--I have always had the feeling that the American -hotel or house servant or store clerk--particularly store clerk--male -or female--was doing me a great favor if he did anything at all for me. -As for train-men and passenger-boat assistants, I have never been able -to look upon them as servants at all. Mostly they have looked on me as -an interloper, and as some one who should be put off the train, instead -of assisted in going anywhere. American conductors are Czars; American -brakemen and train hands are Grand Dukes, at least; a porter is little -less than a highwayman; and a hotel clerk--God forbid that we should -mention him in the same breath with any of the foregoing! - -However, as I was going on to say, when I went aboard the English ship -in question I felt this burden of serfdom to the American servant -lifted. These people, strange to relate, did not seem anxious to -fight with me. They were actually civil. They did not stare me out of -countenance; they did not order me gruffly about. And, really, I am not -a princely soul looking for obsequious service. I am, I fancy, a very -humble-minded person when traveling or living, anxious to go briskly -forward, not to be disturbed too much and allowed to live in quiet and -seclusion. - -The American servant is not built for that. One must have great social -or physical force to command him. At times he needs literally to be -cowed by threats of physical violence. You are paying him? Of course -you are. You help do that when you pay your hotel bill or buy your -ticket, or make a purchase, but he does not know that. The officials -of the companies for whom he works do not appear to know. If they did, -I don’t know that they would be able to do anything about it. You can -not make a whole people over by issuing a book of rules. Americans -are free men; they don’t want to be servants; they have despised the -idea for years. I think the early Americans who lived in America after -the Revolution--the anti-Tory element--thought that after the war -and having won their nationality there was to be an end of servants. -I think they associated labor of this kind with slavery, and they -thought when England had been defeated all these other things, such -as menial service, had been defeated also. Alas, superiority and -inferiority have not yet been done away with--wholly. There are the -strong and the weak; the passionate and passionless; the hungry and -the well-fed. There are those who still think that life is something -which can be put into a mold and adjusted to a theory, but I am not -one of them. I cannot view life or human nature save as an expression -of contraries--in fact, I think that is what life is. I know there can -be no sense of heat without cold; no fullness without emptiness; no -force without resistance; no anything, in short, without its contrary. -Consequently, I cannot see how there can be great men without little -ones; wealth without poverty; social movement without willing social -assistance. No high without a low, is my idea, and I would have the low -be intelligent, efficient, useful, well paid, well looked after. And -I would have the high be sane, kindly, considerate, useful, of good -report and good-will to all men. - -Years of abuse and discomfort have made me rather antagonistic to -servants, but I felt no reasonable grounds for antagonism here. They -were behaving properly. They weren’t staring at me. I didn’t catch -them making audible remarks behind my back. They were not descanting -unfavorably upon any of my fellow passengers. Things were actually -going smoothly and nicely and they seemed rather courteous about it all. - -Yes, and it was so in the dining-saloon, in the bath, on deck, -everywhere, with “yes, sirs,” and “thank you, sirs,” and two fingers -raised to cap visors occasionally for good measure. Were they acting? -Was this a fiercely suppressed class I was looking upon here? I -could scarcely believe it. They looked too comfortable. I saw them -associating with each other a great deal. I heard scraps of their -conversation. It was all peaceful and genial and individual enough. -They were, apparently, leading unrestricted private lives. However, -I reserved judgment until I should get to England, but at Fishguard -it was quite the same and more also. These railway guards and porters -and conductors were not our railway conductors, brakemen and porters, -by a long shot. They were different in their attitude, texture and -general outlook on life. Physically I should say that American railway -employees are superior to the European brand. They are, on the whole, -better fed, or at least better set up. They seem bigger to me, as I -recall them; harder, stronger. The English railway employee seems -smaller and more refined physically--less vigorous. - -But as to manners: Heaven save the mark! These people are civil. They -are nice. They are willing. “Have you a porter, sir? Yes, sir! Thank -you, sir! This way, sir! No trouble about that, sir! In a moment, sir! -Certainly, sir! Very well, sir!” I heard these things on all sides and -they were like balm to a fevered brain. Life didn’t seem so strenuous -with these people about. They were actually trying to help me along. -I was led; I was shown; I was explained to. I got under way without -the least distress and I began actually to feel as though I was being -coddled. Why, I thought, these people are going to spoil me. I’m -going to like them. And I had rather decided that I wouldn’t like the -English. Why, I don’t know; for I never read a great English novel that -I didn’t more or less like all of the characters in it. Hardy’s lovely -country people have warmed the cockles of my heart; George Moore’s -English characters have appealed to me. And here was Barfleur. But -the way the train employees bundled me into my seat and got my bags -in after or before me, and said, “We shall be starting now in a few -minutes, sir,” and called quietly and pleadingly--not yelling, mind -you--“Take your seats, please,” delighted me. - -I didn’t like the looks of the cars. I can prove in a moment by any -traveler that our trains are infinitely more luxurious. I can see where -there isn’t heat enough, and where one lavatory for men and women on -any train, let alone a first-class one, is an abomination, and so on -and so forth; but still, and notwithstanding, I say the English railway -service is better. Why? Because it’s more human; it’s more considerate. -You aren’t driven and urged to step lively and called at in loud, -harsh voices and made to feel that you are being tolerated aboard -something that was never made for you at all, but for the employees -of the company. In England the trains are run for the people, not the -people for the trains. And now that I have that one distinct difference -between England and America properly emphasized I feel much better. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE RIDE TO LONDON - - -At last the train was started and we were off. The track was not so -wide, if I am not mistaken, as ours, and the little freight or goods -cars were positively ridiculous--mere wheelbarrows, by comparison -with the American type. As for the passenger cars, when I came to -examine them, they reminded me of some of our fine street cars that -run from, say Schenectady to Gloversville, or from Muncie to Marion, -Indiana. They were the first-class cars, too--the English Pullmans! -The train started out briskly and you could feel that it did not have -the powerful weight to it which the American train has. An American -Pullman creaks audibly, just as a great ship does when it begins to -move. An American engine begins to pull slowly because it has something -to pull--like a team with a heavy load. I didn’t feel that I was in a -train half so much as I did that I was in a string of baby carriages. - -Miss X. and her lover, Miss E. and her maid, Barfleur and I comfortably -filled one little compartment; and now we were actually moving, and I -began to look out at once to see what English scenery was really like. -It was not at all strange to me, for in books and pictures I had seen -it all my life. But here were the actual hills and valleys, the actual -thatched cottages, and the actual castles or moors or lovely country -vistas, and I was seeing them! - -As I think of it now I can never be quite sufficiently grateful to -Barfleur for a certain affectionate, thoughtful, sympathetic regard -for my every possible mood on this occasion. This was my first trip to -this England of which, of course, he was intensely proud. He was so -humanly anxious that I should not miss any of its charms or, if need -be, defects. He wanted me to be able to judge it fairly and humanly -and to see the eventual result sieved through my temperament. The soul -of attention; the soul of courtesy; patient, long-suffering, humane, -gentle. How I have tried the patience of that man at times! An iron -mood he has on occasion; a stoic one, always. Gentle, even, smiling, -living a rule and a standard. Every thought of him produces a grateful -smile. Yet he has his defects--plenty of them. Here he was at my elbow, -all the way to London, momentarily suggesting that I should not miss -the point, whatever the point might be, at the moment. He was helpful, -really interested, and above all and at all times, warmly human. - -We had been just two hours getting from the boat to the train. It -was three-thirty when the train began to move, and from the lovely -misty sunshine of the morning the sky had become overcast with low, -gray--almost black--rain clouds. I looked at the hills and valleys. -They told me we were in Wales. And, curiously, as we sped along first -came Wordsworth into my mind, and then Thomas Hardy. I thought of -Wordsworth first because these smooth, kempt hills, wet with the rain -and static with deep gray shadows, suggested him. England owes so much -to William Wordsworth, I think. So far as I can see, he epitomized in -his verses this sweet, simple hominess that tugs at the heart-strings -like some old call that one has heard before. My father was a German, -my mother of Pennsylvania Dutch extraction, and yet there is a pull -here in this Shakespearian-Wordsworthian-Hardyesque world which is -precisely like the call of a tender mother to a child. I can’t resist -it. I love it; and I am not English but radically American. - -I understand that Hardy is not so well thought of in England as he -might be--that, somehow, some large conservative class thinks that his -books are immoral or destructive. I should say the English would better -make much of Thomas Hardy while he is alive. He is one of their great -traditions. His works are beautiful. The spirit of all the things he -has done or attempted is lovely. He is a master mind, simple, noble, -dignified, serene. He is as fine as any of the English cathedrals. -St. Paul’s or Canterbury has no more significance to me than Thomas -Hardy. I saw St. Paul’s. I wish I could see the spirit of Thomas Hardy -indicated in some such definite way. And yet I do not. Monuments do not -indicate great men. But the fields and valleys of a country suggest -them. - -At twenty or thirty miles from Fishguard we came to some open water--an -arm of the sea, I understood--the Bay of Bristol, where boats were, and -tall, rain-gutted hills that looked like tumbled-down castles. Then -came more open country--moorland, I suppose--with some sheep, once -a flock of black ones; and then the lovely alternating hues of this -rain-washed world. The water under these dark clouds took on a peculiar -luster. It looked at times like burnished steel--at times like muddy -lead. I felt my heart leap up as I thought of our own George Inness and -what he would have done with these scenes and what the English Turner -has done, though he preferred, as a rule, another key. - -At four-thirty one of the charming English trainmen came and asked -if we would have tea in the dining-car. We would. We arose and in a -few moments were entering one of those dainty little basket cars. The -tables were covered with white linen and simple, pretty china and a -silver tea-service. It wasn’t as if you were traveling at all. I felt -as though I were stopping at the house of a friend; or as though I -were in the cozy corner of some well-known and friendly inn. Tea was -served. We ate toast and talked cheerfully. - -This whole trip--the landscape, the dining-car, this cozy tea, Miss X. -and her lover, Miss E. and Barfleur--finally enveloped my emotional -fancy like a dream. I realized that I was experiencing a novel -situation which would not soon come again. The idea of this pretty -mistress coming to England to join her lover, and so frankly admitting -her history and her purpose, rather took my mind as an intellectual -treat. You really don’t often get to see this sort of thing. I don’t. -It’s Gallic in its flavor, to me. Barfleur, being a man of the world, -took it as a matter of course--his sole idea being, I fancy, that the -refinement of personality and thought involved in the situation were -sufficient to permit him to tolerate it. I always judge his emotion -by that one gleaming eye behind the monocle. The other does not -take my attention so much. I knew from his attitude that ethics and -morals and things like that had nothing to do with his selection of -what he would consider interesting personal companionship. Were they -interesting? Could they tell him something new? Would they amuse him? -Were they nice--socially, in their clothing, in their manners, in the -hundred little material refinements which make up a fashionable lady or -gentleman? If so, welcome. If not, hence. And talent! Oh, yes, he had a -keen eye for talent. And he loves the exceptional and will obviously do -anything and everything within his power to foster it. - -Having started so late, it grew nearly dark after tea and the distant -landscapes were not so easy to descry. We came presently, in the -mist, to a place called Carmarthen, I think, where were great black -stacks and flaming forges and lights burning wistfully in the dark; -and then to another similar place, Swansea, and finally to a third, -Cardiff--great centers of manufacture, I should judge, for there were -flaming lights from forges (great, golden gleams from open furnaces) -and dark blue smoke, visible even at this hour, from tall stacks -overhead, and gleaming electric lights like bright, lucent diamonds. - -I never see this sort of place but I think of Pittsburgh and Youngstown -and the coke ovens of western Pennsylvania along the line of the -Pennsylvania Railroad. I shall never forget the first time I saw -Pittsburgh and Youngstown and saw how coke was fired. It was on my way -to New York. I had never seen any mountains before and suddenly, after -the low, flat plains of Indiana and Ohio, with their pretty little -wooden villages so suggestive of the new life of the New World, we -rushed into Youngstown and then the mountains of western Pennsylvania -(the Alleghanies). It was somewhat like this night coming from -Fishguard, only it was not so rainy. The hills rose tall and green; -the forge stacks of Pittsburgh flamed with a red gleam, mile after -mile, until I thought it was the most wonderful sight I had ever seen. -And then came the coke ovens, beyond Pittsburgh mile after mile of -them, glowing ruddily down in the low valleys between the tall hills, -where our train was following a stream-bed. It seemed a great, sad, -heroic thing then, to me,--plain day labor. Those common, ignorant men, -working before flaming forges, stripped to the waist in some instances, -fascinated my imagination. I have always marveled at the inequalities -of nature--the way it will give one man a low brow and a narrow mind, a -narrow round of thought, and make a slave or horse of him, and another -a light, nimble mind, a quick wit and air and make a gentleman of him. -No human being can solve either the question of ability or utility. Is -your gentleman useful? Yes and no, perhaps. Is your laborer useful? Yes -and no, perhaps. I should say obviously yes. But see the differences in -the reward of labor--physical labor. One eats his hard-earned crust in -the sweat of his face; the other picks at his surfeit of courses and -wonders why this or that doesn’t taste better. I did not make my mind. -I did not make my art. I cannot choose my taste except by predestined -instinct, and yet here I am sitting in a comfortable English home, as -I write, commiserating the poor working man. I indict nature here and -now, as I always do and always shall do, as being aimless, pointless, -unfair, unjust. I see in the whole thing no scheme but an accidental -one--no justice save accidental justice. Now and then, in a way, some -justice is done, but it is accidental; no individual man seems to will -it. He can’t. He doesn’t know how. He can’t think how. And there’s an -end of it. - -But these queer, weird, hard, sad, drab manufacturing cities--what -great writer has yet sung the song of them? Truly I do not recall one -at present clearly. Dickens gives some suggestion of what he considered -the misery of the poor; and in “Les Miserables” there is a touch of -grim poverty and want here and there. But this is something still -different. This is creative toil on a vast scale, and it is a lean, -hungry, savage, animal to contemplate. I know it is because I have -studied personally Fall River, Patterson and Pittsburgh, and I know -what I’m talking about. Life runs at a gaunt level in those places. -It’s a rough, hurtling world of fact. I suppose it is not any different -in England. I looked at the manufacturing towns as we flashed by in -the night and got the same feeling of sad commiseration and unrest. -The homes looked poor and they had a deadly sameness; the streets -were narrow and poorly lighted. I was eager to walk over one of these -towns foot by foot. I have the feeling that the poor and the ignorant -and the savage are somehow great artistically. I have always had it. -Millet saw it when he painted “The Man with the Hoe.” These drab towns -are grimly wonderful to me. They sing a great diapason of misery. I -feel hunger and misery there; I feel lust and murder and life, sick -of itself, stewing in its own juice; I feel women struck in the face -by brutal men; and sodden lives too low and weak to be roused by any -storm of woe. I fancy there are hungry babies and dying mothers and -indifferent bosses and noble directors somewhere, not caring, not -knowing, not being able to do anything about it, perhaps, if they did. -I could weep just at the sight of a large, drab, hungry manufacturing -town. I feel sorry for ignorant humanity. I wish I knew how to raise -the low foreheads; to put the clear light of intellect into sad, sodden -eyes. I wish there weren’t any blows, any hunger, any tears. I wish -people didn’t have to long bitterly for just the little thin, bare -necessities of this world. But I know, also, that life wouldn’t be as -vastly dramatic and marvelous without them. Perhaps I’m wrong. I’ve -seen some real longing in my time, though. I’ve longed myself and I’ve -seen others die longing. - -Between Carmarthen and Cardiff and some other places where this drab, -hungry world seemed to stick its face into the window, I listened -to much conversation about the joyous side of living in Paris, -Monte Carlo, Ostend and elsewhere. I remember once I turned from -the contemplation of a dark, sad, shabby world scuttling by in the -night and rain to hear Miss E. telling of some Parisian music-hall -favorite--I’ll call her Carmen--rivaling another Parisian music-hall -favorite by the name of Diane, let us say, at Monte Carlo. Of course -it is understood that they were women of loose virtue. Of course it is -understood that they had fine, white, fascinating bodies and lovely -faces and that they were physically ideal. Of course it is understood -that they were marvelous mistresses and that money was flowing freely -from some source or other--perhaps from factory worlds like these--to -let them work their idle, sweet wills. Anyhow they were gambling, -racing, disporting themselves at Monte Carlo and all at once they -decided to rival each other in dress. Or perhaps it was that they -didn’t decide to, but just began to, which is much more natural and -human. - -As I caught it, with my nose pressed to the carriage window and the -sight of rain and mist in my eyes, Carmen would come down one night -in splendid white silk, perhaps, her bare arms and perfect neck and -hair flashing priceless jewels; and then the fair Diane would arrive a -little later with her body equally beautifully arrayed in some gorgeous -material, her white arms and neck and hair equally resplendent. Then -the next night the gowns would be of still more marvelous material and -artistry, and more jewels--every night lovelier gowns and more costly -jewels, until one of these women took all her jewels, to the extent of -millions of francs, I presume, and, arraying her maid gorgeously, put -all the jewels on her and sent her into the casino or the ballroom or -the dining-room--wherever it was--and she herself followed, in--let -us hope--plain, jewelless black silk, with her lovely flesh showing -voluptuously against it. And the other lady was there, oh, much to her -chagrin and despair now, of course, decked with all her own splendid -jewels to the extent of an equally large number of millions of francs, -and so the rivalry was ended. - -It was a very pretty story of pride and vanity and I liked it. But -just at this interesting moment, one of those great blast furnaces, -which I have been telling you about and which seemed to stretch for -miles beside the track, flashed past in the night, its open red furnace -doors looking like rubies, and the frosted windows of its lighted shops -looking like opals, and the fluttering street lamps and glittering arc -lights looking like pearls and diamonds; and I said: behold! these are -the only jewels of the poor and from these come the others. And to a -certain extent, in the last analysis and barring that unearned gift of -brain which some have without asking and others have not at all, so -they do. - -It was seven or eight when we reached Paddington. For one moment, when -I stepped out of the car, the thought came to me with a tingle of -vanity--I have come by land and sea, three thousand miles to London! -Then it was gone again. It was strange--this scene. I recognized -at once the various London types caricatured in _Punch_, and _Pick -Me Up_, and _The Sketch_, and elsewhere. I saw a world of cabs and -‘busses, of porters, gentlemen, policemen, and citizens generally. I -saw characters--strange ones--that brought back Dickens and Du Maurier -and W. W. Jacobs. The words “Booking Office” and the typical London -policeman took my eye. I strolled about, watching the crowd till it was -time for us to board our train for the country; and eagerly I nosed -about, trying to sense London from this vague, noisy touch of it. I -can’t indicate how the peculiar-looking trains made me feel. Humanity -is so very different in so many little unessential things--so utterly -the same in all the large ones. I could see that it might be just as -well or better to call a ticket office a booking office; or to have -three classes of carriages instead of two, as with us; or to have -carriages instead of cars; or trams instead of street railways; or -lifts instead of elevators. What difference does it make? Life is the -same old thing. Nevertheless there was a tremendous difference between -the London and the New York atmosphere--that I could see and feel. - -“A few days at my place in the country will be just the thing for you,” -Barfleur was saying. “I sent a wireless to Dora to have a fire in the -hall and in your room. You might as well see a bit of rural England -first.” - -He gleamed on me with his monocled eye in a very encouraging manner. - -We waited about quite awhile for a local or suburban which would take -us to Bridgely Level, and having ensconced ourselves first class--as -fitting my arrival--Barfleur fell promptly to sleep and I mused with my -window open, enjoying the country and the cool night air. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE BARFLEUR FAMILY - - -I am writing these notes on Tuesday, November twenty-eighth, very close -to a grate fire in a pretty little sitting-room in an English country -house about twenty-five miles from London, and I am very chilly. - -We reached this place by some winding road, inscrutable in the night, -and I wondered keenly what sort of an atmosphere it would have. The -English suburban or country home of the better class has always been -a concrete thought to me--rather charming on the whole. A carriage -brought us, with all the bags and trunks carefully looked after (in -England you always keep your luggage with you), and we were met in the -hall by the maid who took our coats and hats and brought us something -to drink. There was a small fire glowing in the fireplace in the -entrance hall, but it was so small--cheerful though it was--that I -wondered why Barfleur had taken all the trouble to send a wireless -from the sea to have it there. It seems it is a custom, in so far as -his house is concerned, not to have it. But having heard something of -English fires and English ideas of warmth, I was not greatly surprised. - -“I am going to be cold,” I said to myself, at once. “I know it. The -atmosphere is going to be cold and raw and I am going to suffer -greatly. It will be the devil and all to write.” - -I fancy this is a very fair and pretty example of the average country -home near London, and it certainly lacks none of the appointments -which might be considered worthy of a comfortable home; but it is as -cold as a sepulcher, and I can’t understand the evoluted system of -procedure which has brought about any such uncomfortable state and -maintains it as satisfactory. These Britons are actually warm when -the temperature in the room is somewhere between forty-five and fifty -and they go about opening doors and windows with the idea that the -rooms need additional airing. They build you small, weak coal fires in -large, handsome fireplaces, and then if the four or five coals huddled -together are managing to keep themselves warm by glowing, they tell you -that everything is all right (or stroll about, at least, looking as -though it were). Doors are left open; the casement windows flung out, -everything done to give the place air and draughtiness. - -“Now,” said my host, with his usual directness of speech, as I stood -with my back to the hall fireplace, “I think it is best that you should -go to bed at once and get a good night’s rest. In the morning you shall -have your breakfast at whatever hour you say. Your bath will be brought -you a half or three-quarters of an hour before you appear at table, so -that you will have ample time to shave and dress. I shall be here until -eleven-fifteen to see how you are getting along, after which I shall -go to the city. You shall have a table here, or wherever you like, and -the maid will serve your luncheon punctually at two o’clock. At half -past four your tea will be brought to you, in case you are here. In the -evening we dine at seven-thirty. I shall be down on the five fifty-two -train.” - -So he proceeded definitely to lay out my life for me and I had to -smile. “That vast established order which is England,” I thought -again. He accompanied me to my chamber door, or rather to the foot of -the stairs. There he wished me pleasant dreams. “And remember,” he -cautioned me with the emphasis of one who has forgotten something of -great consequence, “this is most important. Whatever you do, don’t -forget to put out your boots for the maid to take and have blacked. -Otherwise you will disrupt the whole social procedure of England.” - -It is curious--this feeling of being quite alone for the first time in -a strange land. I began to unpack my bags, solemnly thinking of New -York. Presently I went to the window and looked out. One or two small -lights burned afar off. I undressed and got into bed, feeling anything -but sleepy. I lay and watched the fire flickering on the hearth. So -this was really England, and here I was at last--a fact absolutely of -no significance to any one else in the world, but very important to me. -An old, old dream come true! And it had passed so oddly--the trip--so -almost unconsciously, as it were. We make a great fuss, I thought, -about the past and the future, but the actual moment is so often -without meaning. Finally, after hearing a rooster crow and thinking of -Hamlet’s father--his ghost--and the chill that invests the thought of -cock-crow in that tragedy, I slept. - - * * * * * - -Morning came and with it a knocking on the door. I called, “Come in.” -In came the maid, neat, cleanly, rosy-cheeked, bringing a large tin -basin--very much wider than an American tub but not so deep--a large -water can, full of hot water, towels and the like. She put the tub and -water can down, drew a towel rack from the wall nearby, spread out the -towels and left. - -I did not hear her take the boots, but when I went to the door they -were gone. In the afternoon they were back again, nice and bright. I -speculated on all this as an interesting demonstration of English life. -Barfleur is not so amazingly well-to-do, but he has all these things. -It struck me as pleasing, soothing, orderly--quite the same thing I -had been seeing on the train and the ship. It was all a part of that -interesting national system which I had been hearing so much about. - -At breakfast it was quite the same--a most orderly meal. Barfleur was -there to breakfast with me and see that I was started right. His face -was smiling. How did I like it? Was I comfortable? Had I slept well? -Had I slept very well? It was bad weather, but I would rather have to -expect that at this season of the year. - -I can see his smiling face--a little cynical and disillusioned--get -some faint revival of his own native interest in England in my -surprise, curiosity and interest. The room was cold, but he did not -seem to think so. No, no, no, it was very comfortable. I was simply not -acclimated yet. I would get used to it. - -This house was charming, I thought, and here at breakfast I was -introduced to the children. Berenice Mary Barfleur, the only girl and -the eldest child, looked to me at first a little pale and thin--quite -peaked, in fact--but afterwards I found her not to be so--merely a -temperamental objection on my part to a type which afterwards seemed to -me very attractive. She was a decidedly wise, high-spoken, intellectual -and cynical little maid. Although only eleven years of age she -conversed with the air, the manner and the words of a woman of twenty. - -“Oh, yes. Amáyreeka! Is that a nice place? Do you like it?” - -I cannot in the least way convey the touch of lofty, well-bred feeling -it had--quite the air and sound of a woman of twenty-five or thirty -schooled in all the niceties of polite speech. “What a child,” I -thought. “She talks as though she were affected, but I can see that -she is not.” Quite different she seemed from what any American child -could be--less vigorous, more intellectual, more spiritual; perhaps not -so forceful but probably infinitely more subtle. She looked delicate, -remote, Burne-Jonesy--far removed from the more commonplace school of -force we know--and I think I like our type better. I smiled at her and -she seemed friendly enough, but there was none of that running forward -and greeting people which is an average middle-class American habit. -She was too well bred. I learned afterward, from a remark dropped at -table by her concerning American children, that it was considered bad -form. “American children are the kind that run around hotel foyers with -big bows on their hair and speak to people,” was the substance of it. I -saw at once how bad American children were. - -Well, then came the eldest boy, Percy Franklin Barfleur, who reminded -me, at first glance, of that American caricature type--dear to -the newspaper cartoonist--of Little Johnnie Bostonbeans. Here he -was--“glawses,” inquiring eyes, a bulging forehead, a learned air; -and all at ten years, and somewhat undersized for his age--a clever -child; sincere, apparently; rather earnest; eager to know, full of the -light of youthful understanding. Like his sister, his manners were -quite perfect but unstudied. He smiled and replied, “Quite well, thank -you,” to my amused inquiries after him. I could see he was bright and -thoughtful, but the unconscious (though, to me, affected) quality -of the English voice amused me here again. Then came Charles Gerard -Barfleur, and James Herbert Barfleur, who impressed me in quite the -same way as the others. They were nice, orderly children but English, -oh, so English! - -It was while walking in the garden after breakfast that I encountered -James Herbert Barfleur, the youngest; but, in the confusion of meeting -people generally, I did not recognize him. He was outside the coach -house, where are the rooms of the gardener, and where my room is. - -“And which little Barfleur might this be?” I asked genially, in that -patronizing way we have with children. - -“James Herbert Barfleur,” he replied, with a gravity of pronunciation -which quite took my breath away. We are not used to this formal dignity -of approach in children of so very few years in America. This lad was -only five years of age and he was talking to me in the educated voice -of one of fifteen or sixteen. I stared, of course. - -“You don’t tell me,” I replied. “And what is your sister’s name, again?” - -“Berenice Mary Barfleur,” he replied. - -“Dear, dear, dear,” I sighed. “Now what do you know about that?” - -Of course such a wild piece of American slang as that had no -significance to him whatsoever. It fell on his ears without meaning. - -“I don’t know,” he replied, interested in some fixture he was fastening -to a toy bath tub. - -“Isn’t that a fine little bath tub you have,” I ventured, eager to -continue the conversation because of its novelty. - -“It’s a nice little bawth,” he went on, “but I wouldn’t call it a tub.” - -I really did not know how to reply to this last, it took me so by -surprise;--a child of five, in little breeches scarcely larger than my -two hands, making this fine distinction. “We surely live and learn,” I -thought, and went on my way smiling. - -This house interested me from so many other points of view, being -particularly English and new, that I was never weary of investigating -it. I had a conversation with the gardener one morning concerning his -duties and found that he had an exact schedule of procedure which -covered every day in the year. First, I believe, he got hold of the -boots, delivered to him by the maid, and did those; and then he brought -up his coal and wood and built the fires; and then he had some steps -and paths to look after; and then some errands to do, I forget what. -There was the riding pony to curry and saddle, the stable to clean--oh, -quite a long list of things which he did over and over, day after -day. He talked with such an air of responsibility, as so many English -servants do, that I was led to reflect upon the reliability of English -servants in general; and he dropped his h’s where they occurred, of -course, and added them where they shouldn’t have been. He told me how -much he received, how much he had received, how he managed to live on -it, how shiftless and irresponsible some people were. - -“They don’t know ’ow to get along, sir,” he informed me with the same -solemn air of responsibility. “They just doesn’t know ’ow to manige, -sir, I tyke it; some people doesn’t, sir. They gets sixteen or highteen -shillin’s, the same as me, sir, but hawfter they goes and buys five or -six g’uns (I thought he said guns--he actually said gallons) o’ beer in -the week, there hain’t much left fer other things, is there, sir? Now -that’s no wy, sir, is it, sir? I hawsk you.” - -I had to smile at the rural accent. He was so simple minded--so -innocent, apparently. Every one called him Wilkins--not Mr. Wilkins (as -his colleagues might in America) or John or Jack or some sobriquet, but -just Wilkins. He was Wilkins to every one--the master, the maid, the -children. The maid was Dora to every one, and the nurse, Nana. It was -all interesting to me because it was so utterly new. - -And then this landscape round about; the feel of the country was -refreshing. I knew absolutely nothing about it, and yet I could see -and feel that we were in a region of comfortable suburban life. I -could hear the popping of guns all day long, here--and thereabouts--this -being the open season for shooting, not hunting, as my host informed -me; there was no such thing as hunting hereabouts. I could see men -strolling here and there together, guns under their arms, plaid caps -on their heads, in knee breeches, and leather leggings. I could see, -from my writing desk in the drawing-room window, clever-riding English -girls bounding by on light-moving horses, and in my limited walks I -saw plenty of comfortable-looking country places--suburban homes. I -was told by a friend of mine that this was rather a pleasant country -section, but that I might see considerable of the same thing anywhere -about London at this distance. - -“Dora” the maid interested me very much. She was so quiet, so silent -and so pretty. The door would open, any time during the day when I was -writing, and in she would come to look after the fire, to open or close -the windows, to draw the curtains, light the candles and serve the tea, -or to call me to luncheon or dinner. Usually I ate my luncheon and -drank my four-o’clock tea alone. I ate my evening meal all alone once. -It made no difference--my eating alone. The service was quite the same; -the same candles were lighted--several brackets on different parts of -the table; the fire built in the dining-room. There were four or five -courses and wine. Dora stood behind me watching me eat in silence, and -I confess I felt very queer. It was all so solemn, so stately. I felt -like some old gray baron or bachelor shut away from the world and given -to contemplating the follies of his youth. When through with nuts and -wine--the final glass of port--it was the custom of the house to retire -to the drawing-room and drink the small cup of black coffee which was -served there. And on this night, although I was quite alone, it was the -same. The coffee was served just as promptly and dignifiedly as though -there were eight or ten present. It interested me greatly, all of it, -and pleased me more than I can say. - -Personally I shall always be glad that I saw some rural aspects -of England first, for they are the most characterful and, to me, -significant. London is an amazing city and thoroughly English, but -the rural districts are more suggestive. In what respects do the -people of one country differ from those of another, since they eat, -sleep, rise, dress, go to work, return, love, hate, and aspire alike? -In little--dynamically, mechanically speaking. But temperamentally, -emotionally, spiritually and even materially they differ in almost -every way. England is a mood, I take it, a combination of dull -colors and atmosphere. It expresses heaven only knows what feeling -for order, stability, uniformity, homeliness, simplicity. It is -highly individual--more so almost than Italy, France or Germany. It -is vital--and yet vital in an intellectual way only. You would say -off-hand, sensing the feel of the air, that England is all mind with -convictions, prejudices, notions, poetic longings terribly emphasized. -The most egotistic nation in the world because, perhaps, the most -forcefully intellectual. - -How different is the very atmosphere of it from America. The great open -common about this house smacked of English individuality, leisure, -order, stratification--anything you will. The atmosphere was mistily -damp, the sun at best a golden haze. All the bare trees were covered -with a thin coating of almost spring-green moss. The ground was -springy, dewy. Rooks were in the sky, the trees. Little red houses -in the valleys, with combination flues done in quaint individual -chimney pots send upward soft spirals of blue smoke. Laborers, their -earth-colored trousers strapped just below the knees by a small leather -strap, appeared ever and anon; housemaids, spick and span, with black -dresses, white aprons, white laces in their hair, becoming streamers of -linen made into large trig bows at their backs, appeared at some door -or some window of almost every home. The sun glints into such orderly, -well-dressed windows; the fields suspire such dewy fragrances. You can -encounter hills of sheep, creaking wains, open common land of gorse -and wild berries. My little master, smartly clad, dashes by on a pony; -my young mistress looks becomingly gay and superior on a Shetland or -a cob. A four-year-old has a long-eared white donkey to ride. That is -England. - -How shall it be said--how described? It is so delicate, so remote, so -refined, so smooth, a pleasant land of great verse and great thought. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -A GLIMPSE OF LONDON - - -After a few days I went to London for the first time--I do not -count the night of my arrival, for I saw nothing but the railway -terminus--and, I confess, I was not impressed as much as I might have -been. I could not help thinking on this first morning, as we passed -from Paddington, via Hyde Park, Marble Arch, Park Lane, Brook Street, -Grosvenor Square, Berkeley Square, Piccadilly and other streets to -Regent Street and the neighborhood of the Carlton Hotel, that it was -beautiful, spacious, cleanly, dignified and well ordered, but not -astonishingly imposing. Fortunately it was a bright and comfortable -morning and the air was soft. There was a faint bluish haze over the -city, which I took to be smoke; and certainly it smelled as though it -were smoky. I had a sense of great life but not of crowded life, if I -manage to make myself clear by that. It seemed to me at first blush -as if the city might be so vast that no part was important. At every -turn Barfleur, who was my ever-present monitor, was explaining, “Now -this that we are coming to,” or “This that we are passing,” or “This is -so and so;” and so we sped by interesting things, the city impressing -me in a vague way but meaning very little at the moment. We must have -passed through a long stretch of Piccadilly, for Barfleur pointed out a -line of clubs, naming them--the St. James’s Club, the Savile Club, the -Lyceum Club, and then St. James’s Palace. - -I was duly impressed. I was seeing things which, after all, I thought, -did not depend so much upon their exterior beauty or vast presence as -upon the import of their lineage and connections. They were beautiful -in a low, dark way, and certainly they were tinged with an atmosphere -of age and respectability. After all, since life is a figment of the -brain, built-up notions of things are really far more impressive in -many cases than the things themselves. London is a fanfare of great -names; it is a clatter of vast reputations; it is a swirl of memories -and celebrated beauties and orders and distinctions. It is almost -impossible any more to disassociate the real from the fictitious or, -better, spiritual. There is something here which is not of brick -and stone at all, but which is purely a matter of thought. It is -disembodied poetry; noble ideas; delicious memories of great things; -and these, after all, are better than brick and stone. The city is -low--universally not more than five stories high, often not more than -two, but it is beautiful. And it alternates great spaces with narrow -crevices in such a way as to give a splendid variety. You can have -at once a sense of being very crowded and of being very free. I can -understand now Browning’s desire to include “poor old Camberwell” with -Italy in the confines of romance. - -The thing that struck me most in so brief a survey--we were surely -not more than twenty minutes in reaching our destination--was that -the buildings were largely a golden yellow in color, quite as if they -had been white and time had stained them. Many other buildings looked -as though they had been black originally and had been daubed white -in spots. The truth is that it was quite the other way about. They -had been snow white and had been sooted by the smoke until they were -now nearly coal black. And only here and there had the wind and rain -whipped bare white places which looked like scars or the drippings of -lime. At first I thought, “How wretched.” Later I thought, “This effect -is charming.” - -We are so used to the new and shiny and tall in America, particularly -in our larger cities, that it is very hard at first to estimate a -city of equal or greater rank, which is old and low and, to a certain -extent, smoky. In places there was more beauty, more surety, more -dignity, more space than most of our cities have to offer. The police -had an air of dignity and intelligence such as I have never seen -anywhere in America. The streets were beautifully swept and clean; -and I saw soldiers here and there in fine uniforms, standing outside -palaces and walking in the public ways. That alone was sufficient -to differentiate London from any American city. We rarely see our -soldiers. They are too few. I think what I felt most of all was that I -could not feel anything very definite about so great a city and that -there was no use trying. - -We were soon at the bank where I was to have my American order for -money cashed; and then, after a short walk in a narrow street, we -were at the office of Barfleur, where I caught my first glimpse of an -English business house. It was very different from an American house of -the same kind, for it was in an old and dark building of not more than -four stories--and set down in a narrow angle off the Strand and lighted -by small lead-paned windows, which in America would smack strongly of -Revolutionary days. In fact we have scarcely any such buildings left. -Barfleur’s private offices were on the second floor, up a small dingy -staircase, and the room itself was so small that it surprised me by its -coziness. I could not call it dingy. It was quaint rather, Georgian in -its atmosphere, with a small open fire glowing in one corner, a great -rolltop desk entirely out of keeping with the place in another, a -table, a book-case, a number of photographs of celebrities framed, and -the rest books. I think he apologized for, or explained the difference -between, this and the average American business house, but I do not -think explanations are in order. London is London. I should be sorry if -it were exactly like New York, as it may yet become. The smallness and -quaintness appealed to me as a fit atmosphere for a healthy business. - -I should say here that this preliminary trip to London from Bridgely -Level, so far as Barfleur was concerned, was intended to accomplish -three things: first, to give me a preliminary glimpse of London; -second, to see that I was measured and examined for certain articles of -clothing in which I was, according to Barfleur, woefully lacking; and -third, to see that I attended the concert of a certain Austrian singer -whose singing he thought I might enjoy. It was most important that I -should go, because he had to go; and since all that I did or could do -was merely grist for my mill, I was delighted to accompany him. - -Barfleur in many respects, I wish to repeat here, is one of the most -delightful persons in the world. He is a sort of modern Beau Brummel -with literary, artistic and gormandizing leanings. He loves order and -refinement, of course,--things in their proper ways and places--as he -loves life. I suspect him at times of being somewhat of a martinet in -home and office matters; but I am by no means sure that I am not doing -him a grave injustice. A more even, complaisant, well-mannered and -stoical soul, who manages to get his way in some fashion or other, if -it takes him years to do it, I never met. He surely has the patience -of fate and, I think, the true charity of a great heart. Now before I -could be properly presented in London and elsewhere I needed a long -list of things. So this morning I had much shopping to attend to. - -Since the matter of English and American money had been troubling me -from the moment I reached that stage on my voyage where I began to -pay for things out of my own pocket to the ship’s servants, I began -complaining of my difficulties now. I couldn’t figure out the tips to -my own satisfaction and this irritated me. I remember urging Barfleur -to make the whole matter clear to me, which he did later. He gave me a -typewritten statement as to the relative value of the various pieces -and what tips I should pay and how and when at hotels and country -houses, and this I followed religiously. Here it is: - - In leaving the hotel to-morrow, give the following tips: - - Maid 3/- - Valet 3/- - Gold Braid 1/- - Porter (who looks after telephone) 1/- - Outside Man (Doorman) 1/- - - If you reckon at a hotel to give 9d. a day to the maid and the - valet, with a minimum of 1/-, you will be doing handsomely. On - a visit, on the supposition that they have only maids, give the - two maids whom you are likely to come across 2/6 each, when - you come away on Monday. (I am speaking of weekends.) Longer - periods should be figured at 9d. a day. If, on the other hand, - it is a large establishment--butler and footman--you would have - to give the butler 10/- and the footman 5/- for a week-end; for - longer periods more. - -I cannot imagine anything more interesting than being introduced -as I was by Barfleur to the social character of London. He was so -intelligent and so very nice about it all. “Now, first,” he said, “we -will get your glasses mended; and then you want a traveling bag; and -then some ties and socks, and so on. I have an appointment with you at -your tailor’s at eleven o’clock, where you are to be measured for your -waistcoats, and at eleven-thirty at your furrier’s, where you are to be -measured for your fur coat,” and so on and so forth. “Well, come along. -We’ll be off.” - -I have to smile when I think of it, for I, of all people, am the least -given to this matter of proper dressing and self-presentation, and -Barfleur, within reasonable limits, represents the other extreme. -To him, as I have said, these things are exceedingly important. The -delicate manner in which he indicated and urged me into getting the -things which would be all right, without openly insisting on them, -was most pleasing. “In England, you know,” he would hint, “it isn’t -quite good form to wear a heavy striped tie with a frock coat--never a -straight black; and we never tie them in that fashion--always a simple -knot.” My socks had to be striped for morning wear and my collars -winged, else I was in very bad form indeed. I fell into the habit of -asking, “What now?” - -London streets and shops as I first saw them interested me greatly. -I saw at once more uniforms than one would ordinarily see in New -York, and more high hats and, presumably,--I could not tell for the -overcoats--cutaway coats. The uniforms were of mail-men, porters, -messenger-boys and soldiers; and all being different from what I had -been accustomed to, they interested me--the mail-men particularly, with -a service helmet cut square off at the top; and the little messenger -boys, with their tambourine caps cocked joyously over one ear, amused -me; the policeman’s helmet strap under his chin was new and diverting. - -In the stores the clerks first attracted my attention, but I may say -the stores and shops themselves, after New York, seemed small and old. -New York is so new; the space given to the more important shops is -so considerable. In London it struck me that the space was not much -and that the woodwork and walls were dingy. One can tell by the feel -of a place whether it is exceptional and profitable, and all of these -were that; but they were dingy. The English clerk, too, had an air of -civility, I had almost said servility, which was different. They looked -to me like individuals born to a condition and a point of view; and I -think they are. In America any clerk may subsequently be anything he -chooses (ability guaranteed), but I’m not so sure that this is true in -England. Anyhow, the American clerk always looks his possibilities--his -problematic future; the English clerk looks as if he were to be one -indefinitely. - -We were through with this round by one o’clock, and Barfleur explained -that we would go to a certain very well-known hotel grill. - -The hotel, after its fashion--the grill--was a distinct blow. I had -fancied that I was going to see something on the order of the luxurious -new hotel in New York--certainly as resplendent, let us say, as our -hotels of the lower first class. Not so. It could be compared, and I -think fairly so, only to our hotels of the second or third class. There -was the same air of age here that there was about our old but very -excellent hotels in New York. The woodwork was plain, the decorations -simple. - -As for the crowd, well, Barfleur stated that it might be smart and it -might not. Certain publishers, rich Jewish merchants, a few actors and -some Americans would probably be here. This grill was affected by the -foreign element. The _maître d’hôtel_ was French, of course--a short, -fat, black-whiskered man who amused me by his urbanity. The waiters -were, I believe, German, as they are largely in London and elsewhere in -England. One might almost imagine Germany intended invading England -via its waiters. The china and plate were simple and inexpensive, -almost poor. A great hotel can afford to be simple. We had what we -would have had at any good French restaurant, and the crowd was rather -commonplace-looking to me. Several American girls came in and they were -good-looking, smart but silly. I cannot say that I was impressed at -all, and my subsequent experiences confirm that feeling. I am inclined -to think that London hasn’t one hotel of the material splendor of the -great new hotels in New York. But let that go for the present. - -While we were sipping coffee Barfleur told me of a Mrs. W., a friend -of his whom I was to meet. She was, he said, a lion-hunter. She tried -to make her somewhat interesting personality felt in so large a sea -as London by taking up with promising talent before it was already -a commonplace. I believe it was arranged over the ’phone then that -I should lunch there--at Mrs. W.’s--the following day at one and be -introduced to a certain Lady R., who was known as a patron of the arts, -and a certain Miss H., an interesting English type. I was pleased with -the idea of going. I had never seen an English lady lion-hunter. I had -never met English ladies of the types of Lady R. and Miss H. There -might be others present. I was also informed that Mrs. W. was really -not English but Danish; but she and her husband, who was also Danish -and a wealthy broker, had resided in London so long that they were to -all intents and purposes English, and in addition to being rich they -were in rather interesting standing socially. - -After luncheon we went to hear a certain Miss T., an Austrian of about -thirty years of age, sing at some important hall in London--Bechstein -Hall, I believe it was,--and on the way I was told something of her. -It seemed that she was very promising--a great success in Germany -and elsewhere as a concert-singer--and that she might be coming to -America at some time or other. Barfleur had known her in Paris. He -seemed to think I would like her. We went and I heard a very lovely -set of songs--oh, quite delightful, rendered in a warm, sympathetic, -enthusiastic manner, and representing the most characteristic type of -German love sentiment. It is a peculiar sentiment--tender, wistful, -smacking of the sun at evening and lovely water on which the moon is -shining. German sentiment verges on the mushy--is always close to -tears--but anything more expressive of a certain phase of life I do not -know. - -Miss T. sang forcefully, joyously, vigorously, and I wished sincerely -to meet her and tell her so; but that was not to be, then. - -As we made our way to Paddington Barfleur, brisk and smiling, asked: - -“Were you amused?” - -“Quite.” - -“Well, then this afternoon was not wasted. I shall always be satisfied -if you are amused.” - -I smiled, and we rode sleepily back to Bridgely Level to dine and -thence to bed. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -A LONDON DRAWING-ROOM - - -I recall the next day, Sunday, with as much interest as any date, for -on that day at one-thirty I encountered my first London drawing-room. -I recall now as a part of this fortunate adventure that we had been -talking of a new development in French art, which Barfleur approved -in part and disapproved in part--the Post-Impressionists; and there -was mention also of the Cubists--a still more radical departure from -conventional forms, in which, if my impressions are correct, the artist -passes from any attempt at transcribing the visible scene and becomes -wholly geometric, metaphysical and symbolic. - -When I reached the house of Mrs. W., which was in one of those lovely -squares that constitute such a striking feature of the West End, I was -ushered upstairs to the drawing-room, where I found my host, a rather -practical, shrewd-looking Dane, and his less obviously Danish wife. - -“Oh, Mr. Der_riz_er,” exclaimed my hostess on sight, as she came -forward to greet me, a decidedly engaging woman of something over -forty, with bronze hair and ruddy complexion. Her gown of green silk, -cut after the latest mode, stamped her in my mind as of a romantic, -artistic, eager disposition. - -“You must come and tell us at once what you think of the picture we -are discussing. It is downstairs. Lady R. is there and Miss H. We are -trying to see if we can get a better light on it. Mr. Barfleur has told -me of you. You are from America. You must tell us how you like London, -after you see the Degas.” - -I think I liked this lady thoroughly at a glance and felt at home with -her, for I know the type. It is the mobile, artistic type, with not -much practical judgment in great matters, but bubbling with enthusiasm, -temperament, life. - -“Certainly--delighted. I know too little of London to talk of it. I -shall be interested in your picture.” - -We had reached the main floor by this time. - -“Mr. Der_riz_er, the Lady R.” - -A modern suggestion of the fair Jahane, tall, astonishingly lissom, -done--as to clothes--after the best manner of the romanticists--such -was the Lady R. A more fascinating type--from the point of view of -stagecraft--I never saw. And the languor and lofty elevation of her -gestures and eyebrows defy description. She could say, “Oh, I am so -weary of all this,” with a slight elevation of her eyebrows a hundred -times more definitely and forcefully than if it had been shouted in -stentorian tones through a megaphone. - -She gave me the fingers of an archly poised hand. - -“It is a pleasure!” - -“And Miss H., Mr. Der_riz_er.” - -“I am very pleased!” - -A pink, slim lily of a woman, say twenty-eight or thirty, very -fragile-seeming, very Dresden-china-like as to color, a dream of light -and Tyrian blue with some white interwoven, very keen as to eye, the -perfection of hauteur as to manner, so well-bred that her voice seemed -subtly suggestive of it all--that was Miss H. - -To say that I was interested in this company is putting it mildly. The -three women were so distinct, so individual, so characteristic, each -in a different way. The Lady R. was all peace and repose--statuesque, -weary, dark. Miss H. was like a ray of sunshine, pure morning light, -delicate, gay, mobile. Mrs. W. was of thicker texture, redder blood, -more human fire. She had a vigor past the comprehension of either, if -not their subtlety of intellect--which latter is often so much better. - -Mr. W. stood in the background, a short, stocky gentleman, a little -bored by the trivialities of the social world. - -“Ah, yes. Daygah! You like Daygah, no doubt,” interpolated Mrs. W., -recalling us. “A lovely pigture, don’t you think? Such color! such -depth! such sympathy of treatment! Oh!” - -Mrs. W.’s hands were up in a pretty artistic gesture of delight. - -“Oh, yes,” continued the Lady R., taking up the rapture. “It is saw -human--saw perfect in its harmony. The hair--it is divine! And the -poor man! he lives alone now, in Paris, quite dreary, not seeing any -one. Aw, the tragedy of it! The tragedy of it!” A delicately carved -vanity-box she carried, of some odd workmanship--blue and white enamel, -with points of coral in it--was lifted in one hand as expressing her -great distress. I confess I was not much moved and I looked quickly at -Miss H. Her eyes, it seemed to me, held a subtle, apprehending twinkle. - -“And you!” It was Mrs. W. addressing me. - -“It is impressive, I think. I do not know as much of his work as I -might, I am sorry to say.” - -“Ah, he is marvelous, wonderful! I am transported by the beauty and the -depth of it all!” It was Mrs. W. talking and I could not help rejoicing -in the quality of her accent. Nothing is so pleasing to me in a woman -of culture and refinement as that additional tang of remoteness which -a foreign accent lends. If only all the lovely, cultured women of the -world could speak with a foreign accent in their native tongue I would -like it better. It lends a touch of piquancy not otherwise obtainable. - -Our luncheon party was complete now and we would probably have gone -immediately into the dining-room except for another picture--by -Piccasso. Let me repeat here that before Barfleur called my attention -to Piccasso’s cubical uncertainty in the London Exhibition, I had -never heard of him. Here in a dark corner of the room was the nude -torso of a consumptive girl, her ribs showing, her cheeks colorless -and sunken, her nose a wasted point, her eyes as hungry and sharp and -lustrous as those of a bird. Her hair was really no hair--strings. And -her thin bony arms and shoulders were pathetic, decidedly morbid in -their quality. To add to the morgue-like aspect of the composition, the -picture was painted in a pale bluish-green key. - -I wish to state here that now, after some little lapse of time, this -conception--the thought and execution of it--is growing upon me. I am -not sure that this work which has rather haunted me is not much more -than a protest--the expression and realization of a great temperament. -But at the moment it struck me as dreary, gruesome, decadent, and I -said as much when asked for my impression. - -“Gloomy! Morbid!” Mrs. W. fired in her quite lovely accent. “What has -that to do with art?” - -“Luncheon is served, Madam!” - -The double doors of the dining-room were flung open. - -I found myself sitting between Mrs. W. and Miss H. - -“I was so glad to hear you say you didn’t like it,” Miss H. applauded, -her eyes sparkling, her lip moving with a delicate little smile. “You -know, I abhor those things. They _are_ decadent like the rest of France -and England. We are going backward instead of forward--I am quite sure. -We have not the force we once had. It is all a race after pleasure and -living and an interest in subjects of that kind. I am quite sure it -isn’t healthy, normal art. I am sure life is better and brighter than -that.” - -“I am inclined to think so, at times, myself,” I replied. - -We talked further and I learned to my surprise that she suspected -England to be decadent as a whole, falling behind in brain, brawn and -spirit and that she thought America was much better. - -“Do you know,” she observed, “I really think it would be a very good -thing for us if we were conquered by Germany.” - -I had found here, I fancied, some one who was really thinking for -herself and a very charming young lady in the bargain. She was quick, -apprehensive, all for a heartier point of view. I am not sure now that -she was not merely being nice to me, and that anyhow she is not all -wrong, and that the heartier point of view is the courage which can -front life unashamed; which sees the divinity of fact and of beauty -in the utmost seeming tragedy. Piccasso’s grim presentation of decay -and degradation is beginning to teach me something--the marvelous -perfection of the spirit which is concerned with neither perfection, -nor decay, but life. It haunts me. - -The charming luncheon was quickly over and I think I gathered a very -clear impression of the status of my host and hostess from their -surroundings. Mr. W. was evidently liberal in his understanding of what -constitutes a satisfactory home. It was not exceptional in that it -differed greatly from the prevailing standard of luxury. But assuredly -it was all in sharp contrast to Piccasso’s grim representation of life -and Degas’s revolutionary opposition to conventional standards. - -[Illustration: “I like it,” he pronounced. “The note is somber, but it -is excellent work”] - -Another man now made his appearance--an artist. I shall not forget -him soon, for you do not often meet people who have the courage to -appear at Sunday afternoons in a shabby workaday business suit, -unpolished shoes, a green neckerchief in lieu of collar and tie, -and cuffless sleeves. I admired the quality, the workmanship of the -silver-set scarab which held his green linen neckerchief together, -but I was a little puzzled as to whether he was very poor and his -presence insisted upon, or comfortably progressive and indifferent -to conventional dress. His face and body were quite thin; his hands -delicate. He had an apprehensive eye that rarely met one’s direct gaze. - -“Do you think art really needs that?” Miss H. asked me. She was -alluding to the green linen handkerchief. - -“I admire the courage. It is at least individual.” - -“It is after George Bernard Shaw. It has been done before,” replied -Miss H. - -“Then it requires almost more courage,” I replied. - -Here Mrs. W. moved the sad excerpt from the morgue to the center of the -room that he of the green neckerchief might gaze at it. - -“I like it,” he pronounced. “The note is somber, but it is excellent -work.” - -Then he took his departure with interesting abruptness. Soon the Lady -R. was extending her hand in an almost pathetic farewell. Her voice was -lofty, sad, sustained. I wish I could describe it. There was just a -suggestion of Lady Macbeth in the sleep-walking scene. As she made her -slow, graceful exit I wanted to applaud loudly. - -Mrs. W. turned to me as the nearest source of interest and I realized -with horror that she was going to fling her Piccasso at my head again -and with as much haste as was decent I, too, took my leave. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -CALLS - - -It was one evening shortly after I had lunched with Mrs. W. that -Barfleur and I dined with Miss E., the young actress who had come over -on the steamer with us. It was interesting to find her in her own -rather smart London quarters surrounded by maid and cook, and with -male figures of the usual ornamental sort in the immediate background. -One of them was a ruddy, handsome, slightly corpulent French count of -manners the pink of perfection. He looked for all the world like the -French counts introduced into American musical comedy,--just the right -type of collar about his neck, the perfect shoe, the close-fitting, -well-tailored suit, the mustachios and hair barbered to the last touch. -He was charming, too, in his easy, gracious aloofness, saying only the -few things that would be of momentary interest and pressing nothing. - -Miss E. had prepared an appetizing luncheon. She had managed to collect -a group of interesting people--a Mr. T., for instance, whose _bête -noire_ was clergymen and who stood prepared by collected newspaper -clippings and court proceedings, gathered over a period of years, to -prove that all ecclesiastics were scoundrels. He had, as he insisted, -amazing data, showing that the most perverted of all English criminals -were usually sons of bishops and that the higher you rose in the scale -of hieratic authority the worse were the men in charge. The delightful -part of it all was the man’s profound seriousness of manner, a thin, -magnetic, albeit candle-waxy type of person of about sixty-five who had -the force and enthusiasm of a boy. - -“Ah, yes,” you would hear him exclaim often during lunch, “I know -him well. A greater scoundrel never lived. His father is bishop of -Wimbledon”--or, for variation--“his father was once rector of Christ -Church, Mayfair.” - -There was a thin, hard, literary lady present, of the obviously and -militantly virgin type. She was at the foot of the table, next to the -count, but we fell into a discussion of the English woman’s-suffrage -activity under his very nose, the while he talked lightly to Barfleur. -She was for more freedom for women, politically and otherwise, in order -that they might accomplish certain social reforms. You know the type. -How like a sympathetic actress, I thought, to pick a lady of this -character to associate with! One always finds these opposing types -together. - -The thing that interested me was to see this charming little actress -keeping up as smart a social form as her means would permit and still -hoping after years of effort and considerable success to be taken up -and made much of. She could not have been made to believe that society, -in its last reaches, is composed of dullness and heaviness of soul, -which responds to no schools of the unconventional or the immoral and -knows neither flights of fancy nor delicacy and tenderness of emotion. - -Individuals like Miss E. think, somehow, that if they achieve a certain -artistic success they will be admitted everywhere. Dear aspiring little -Miss E.! She could hardly have been persuaded that there are walls that -are never scaled by art. And morality, any more than immorality or -religion, has nothing to do with some other walls. Force is the thing. -And the ultimate art force she did not possess. If she had, she would -have been admitted to a certain interchange in certain fields. Society -is composed of slightly interchanging groups, some members of which -enter all, most members of which never venture beyond their immediate -individual circle. And only the most catholic minded and energetic -would attempt or care to bother with the labor of keeping in touch with -more than one single agreeable circle. - -Another evening I went with Barfleur to call on two professional -critics, one working in the field of literature, the other in art -exclusively. I mention these two men and their labors because they were -very interesting to me, representing as they did two fields of artistic -livelihood in London and both making moderate incomes, not large, but -sufficient to live on in a simple way. They were men of mettle, as I -discovered, urgent, thinking types of mind, quarreling to a certain -extent with life and fate, and doing their best to read this very -curious riddle of existence. - -These two men lived in charming, though small quarters, not far from -fashionable London, on the fringe of ultra-respectability, if not of -it. Mr. F. was a conservative man, thirty-two or thirty-three years -of age, pale, slender, remote, artistic. Mr. Tyne was in character -not unlike Mr. F., I should have said, though he was the older -man--artistic, remote, ostensibly cultivated, living and doing all the -refined things on principle more than anything else. - -It amuses me now when I think of it, for of course neither of these -gentlemen cared for me in the least, beyond a mild curiosity as to what -I was like, but they were exceedingly pleasant. How did I like London? -What did I think of the English? How did London contrast with New York? -What were some of the things I had seen? - -[Illustration: Hoped for the day when the issue might be tried out -physically] - -I stated as succinctly as I could, that I was puzzled in my mind as to -what I did think, as I am generally by this phantasmagoria called -life, while Mr. Tyne served an opening glass of port and I toasted -my feet before a delicious grate-fire. Already, as I have indicated -in a way, I had decided that England was deficient in the vitality -which America now possesses--certainly deficient in the raw creative -imagination which is producing so many new things in America, but far -superior in what, for want of a better phrase, I must call social -organization as it relates to social and commercial interchange -generally. Something has developed in the English social consciousness -a sense of responsibility. I really think that the English climate has -had a great deal to do with this. It is so uniformly damp and cold -and raw that it has produced a sober-minded race. When subsequently -I encountered the climates of Paris, Rome and the Riviera I realized -quite clearly how impossible it would be to produce the English -temperament there. One can see the dark, moody, passionate temperament -of the Italian evolving to perfection under their brilliant skies. The -wine-like atmosphere of Paris speaks for itself. London is what it is, -and the Englishmen likewise, because of the climate in which they have -been reared. - -I said something to this effect without calling forth much protest, -but when I ventured that the English might possibly be falling behind -in the world’s race and that other nations--such as the Germans and -the Americans--might rapidly be displacing them, I evoked a storm of -opposition. The sedate Mr. F. rose to this argument. It began at the -dinner-table and was continued in the general living-room later. He -scoffed at the suggestion that the Germans could possibly conquer -or displace England, and hoped for the day when the issue might be -tried out physically. Mr. Tyne good-humoredly spoke of the long way -America had to go before it could achieve any social importance even -within itself. It was a thrashing whirlpool of foreign elements. He -had recently been to the United States, and in one of the British -quarterlies then on the stands was a long estimate by him of America’s -weaknesses and potentialities. He poked fun at the careless, insulting -manners of the people, their love of show, their love of praise. No -Englishman, having tasted the comforts of civilized life in England, -could ever live happily in America. There was no such thing as a -serving class. He objected to American business methods as he had -encountered them, and I could see that he really disliked America. To -a certain extent he disliked me for being an American, and resented my -modest literary reputation for obtruding itself upon England. I enjoyed -these two men as exceedingly able combatants--men against whose wits I -could sharpen my own. - -I mention them because, in a measure, they suggested the literary and -artistic atmosphere of London. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -SOME MORE ABOUT LONDON - - -“London sings in my ears.” I remember writing this somewhere about -the fourth or fifth day of my stay. It was delicious, the sense of -novelty and wonder it gave me. I am one of those who have been raised -on Dickens and Thackeray and Lamb, but I must confess I found little to -corroborate the world of vague impressions I had formed. Novels are a -mere expression of temperament anyhow. - -New York and America are all so new, so lustful of change. Here, in -these streets, when you walk out of a morning or an evening, you feel a -pleasing stability. London is not going to change under your very eyes. -You are not going to turn your back to find, on looking again, a whole -sky line effaced. The city is restful, naïve, in a way tender and sweet -like an old song. London is more fatalistic and therefore less hopeful -than New York. - -One of the first things that impressed me, as I have said, was the -grayish tinge of smoke that was over everything--a faint haze--and -the next that as a city, street for street and square for square, it -was not so strident as New York or Chicago--not nearly so harsh. The -traffic was less noisy, the people more thoughtful and considerate, the -so-called rush, which characterizes New York, less foolish. There is -something rowdyish and ill-mannered about the street life of American -cities. This was not true here. It struck me as simple, sedate, -thoughtful, and I could only conclude that it sprang from a less -stirring atmosphere of opportunity. I fancy it is harder to get along -in London. People do not change from one thing to another so much. The -world there is more fixed in a pathetic routine, and people are more -conscious of their so-called “betters.” In so far as I could judge on -so short a notice, London seemed to me to represent a mood--a uniform, -aware, conservative state of being, neither brilliant nor gay anywhere, -though interesting always. About Piccadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, -Leicester Square, Charing Cross, and the Strand I suppose the average -Londoner would insist that London is very gay; but I could not see it. -Certainly it was not gay as similar sections in New York are gay. It is -not in the Londoner himself to be so. He is solid, hard, phlegmatic, -a little dreary, like a certain type of rain-bird or Northern loon, -content to make the best of a rather dreary situation. I hope not, but -I felt it to be true. - -I do not believe that it is given any writer to wholly suggest a -city. The mind is like a voracious fish--it would like to eat up all -the experiences and characteristics of a city or a nation, but this, -fortunately, is not possible. My own mind was busy pounding at the -gates of fact, but during all the while I was there I got but a little -way. I remember being struck with the nature of St. James’s Park -which was near my hotel, the great column to the Duke of Marlborough, -at the end of the street, the whirl of life in Trafalgar Square and -Piccadilly Circus which were both very near. The offices I visited -in various nearby streets interested me, and the storm of cabs which -whirled by all the corners of the region of my hotel. It was described -to me as the center of London; and I am quite sure it was--for clubs, -theaters, hotels, smart shops and the like were all here. The heavy -trading section was further east along the banks of the Thames, and -between that and Regent Street, where my little hotel was located, lay -the financial section, sprawling around St. Paul’s Cathedral and the -Bank of England. One could go out of this great central world easily -enough--but it was only, apparently, to get into minor centers such as -that about Victoria Station, Kensington, Paddington, Liverpool Street, -and the Elephant and Castle. - -I may be mistaken, but London did not seem either so hard or foreign to -me as New York. I have lived in New York for years and years and yet I -do not feel that it is My city. One always feels in New York, for some -reason, as though he might be put out, or even thrown out. There is -such a perpetual and heavy invasion of the stranger. Here in London I -could not help feeling off-hand as though things were rather stable and -that I was welcome in the world’s great empire city on almost any basis -on which I wished myself taken. That sense of civility and courtesy to -which I have already so often referred was everywhere noticeable in -mail-men, policemen, clerks, servants. Alas, when I think of New York, -how its rudeness, in contrast, shocks me! At home I do not mind. With -all the others I endure it. Here in London for the first time in almost -any great city I really felt at home. - -But the distances! and the various plexi of streets! and the endless -directions in which one could go! Lord! Lord! how they confounded me. -It may seem odd to make separate comment on something so thoroughly -involved with everything else in a trip of this kind as the streets -of London; but nevertheless they contrasted so strangely with those -of other cities I have seen that I am forced to comment on them. For -one thing, they are seldom straight for any distance and they change -their names as frequently and as unexpectedly as a thief. Bond Street -speedily becomes Old Bond Street or New Bond Street, according to the -direction in which you are going; and I never could see why the Strand -should turn into Fleet Street as it went along, and then into Ludgate -Hill, and then into Cannon Street. Neither could I understand why -Whitechapel Road should change to Mile End Road, but that is neither -here nor there. The thing that interested me about London was that it -was endless and that there were no high buildings--nothing over four -or five stories as a rule--though now and then you actually find -eight-and nine-story buildings--and that it was homey and simple -and sad in some respects. I remember thinking how gloomy were some -of the figures I saw trudging here and there in the smoke-grayed -streets and the open park spaces. I never saw such sickly, shabby, -run-down-at-the-heels, decayed figures in all my life--figures from -which all sap and juice and the freshness of youth and even manhood -had long since departed. Men and women they were who seemed to emerge -out of gutters and cellars where could be neither light nor freshness -nor any sense of hope or care, but only eloquent misery. “Merciful -heaven!” I said to myself more than once, “is this the figure of a -man?” That is what life does to some of us. It drains us as dry as -the sickled wheat stalks and leaves us to blow in wintry winds. Or -it poisons us and allows us to fester and decay within our own skins. - -But mostly I have separate, vivid pictures of London--individual -things that I saw, idle, pointless things that I did, which cheer and -amuse and please me even now whenever I think of them. Thus I recall -venturing one noon into one of the Lyons restaurants just above Regent -Street in Piccadilly and being struck with the size and importance of -it even though it was intensely middle class. It was a great chamber, -decorated after the fashion of a palace ball-room, with immense -chandeliers of prismed glass hanging from the ceiling, and a balcony -furnished in cream and gold where other tables were set, and where a -large stringed orchestra played continuously during lunch and dinner. -An enormous crowd of very commonplace people were there--clerks, -minor officials, clergymen, small shop-keepers--and the bill of fare -was composed of many homely dishes such as beef-and-kidney pie, suet -pudding, and the like--combined with others bearing high-sounding -French names. I mention this Lyons restaurant because there were -several quite like it, and because it catered to an element not reached -in quite the same way in America. In spite of the lifted eyebrows with -which Barfleur greeted my announcement that I had been there, the food -was excellent; and the service, while a little slow for a place of -popular patronage, was good. I recall being amused by the tall, thin, -solemn English head-waiters in frock coats, leading the exceedingly -_bourgeois_ customers to their tables. The English curate with his -shovel hat was here in evidence and the minor clerk. I found great -pleasure in studying this world, listening to the music, and thinking -of the vast ramifications of London which it represented; for every -institution of this kind represents a perfect world of people. - -Another afternoon I went to the new Roman Catholic Cathedral in -Westminster to hear a fourteenth-century chant which was given between -two and three by a company of monks who were attached to the church. In -the foggy London atmosphere a church of this size takes on great gloom, -and the sound of these voices rolling about in it was very impressive. -Religion seems of so little avail these days, however, that I wondered -why money should be invested in any such structure or liturgy. Or why -able-bodied, evidently material-minded men should concern themselves -with any such procedure. There were scarcely a half-dozen people -present, if so many; and yet this vast edifice echoes every day at -this hour with these voices--a company of twenty or thirty fat monks -who seemingly might be engaged in something better. Of religion--the -spirit as opposed to the form--one might well guess that there was -little. - -From the cathedral I took a taxi, and bustling down Victoria Street, -past the Houses of Parliament and into the Strand, came eventually to -St. Paul’s. Although it was only four o’clock, this huge structure -was growing dusky, and the tombs of Wellington and Marlborough were -already dim. The organist allowed me to sit in the choir stalls with -the choristers--a company of boys who entered, after a time, headed -by deacons and sub-deacons and possibly a canon. A solitary circle of -electric bulbs flamed gloomily overhead. By the light of this we were -able to make out the liturgy covering this service--the psalms and -prayers which swept sonorously through the building. As in the Roman -Catholic Cathedral, I was impressed with the darkness and space and -also, though not so much for some reason (temperamental inclination -perhaps), with the futility of the procedure. There are some eight -million people in London, but there were only twenty-five or thirty -here, and I was told that this service was never much more popular. On -occasions the church is full enough--full to overflowing--but not at -this time of day. The best that I could say for it was that it had a -lovely, artistic import which ought to be encouraged; and no doubt it -is so viewed by those in authority. As a spectacle seen from the Thames -or other sections of the city, the dome of St. Paul’s is impressive, -and as an example of English architecture it is dignified--though in my -judgment not to be compared with either Canterbury or Salisbury. But -the interesting company of noble dead, the fact that the public now -looks upon it as a national mausoleum and that it is a monument to the -genius of Christopher Wren, makes it worth while. Compared with other -cathedrals I saw, its chief charm was its individuality. In actual -beauty it is greatly surpassed by the pure Gothic or Byzantine or Greek -examples of other cities. - -One evening I went with a friend of mine to visit the House of -Parliament, that noble pile of buildings on the banks of the Thames. -For days I had been skirting about them, interested in other things. -The clock-tower, with its great round clock-face,--twenty-three feet -in diameter, some one told me,--had been staring me in the face over -a stretch of park space and intervening buildings on such evenings as -Parliament was in session, and I frequently debated with myself whether -I should trouble to go or not, even if some one invited me. I grow so -weary of standard, completed things at times! However, I did go. It -came about through the Hon. T. P. O’Connor, M.P., an old admirer of -“Sister Carrie,” who, hearing that I was in London, invited me. He had -just finished reading “Jennie Gerhardt” the night I met him, and I -shall never forget the kindly glow of his face as, on meeting me in the -dining-room of the House of Commons, he exclaimed: - -“Ah, the biographer of that poor girl! And how charming she was, too! -Ah me! Ah me!” - -I can hear the soft brogue in his voice yet, and see the gay romance of -his Irish eye. Are not the Irish all in-born cavaliers, anyhow? - -I had been out in various poor sections of the city all day, -speculating on that shabby mass that have nothing, know nothing, -dream nothing; or do they? It was most depressing, as dark fell, to -return through long, humble streets alive with a home-hurrying mass of -people--clouds of people not knowing whence they came or why. And now I -was to return and go to dine where the laws are made for all England. - -I was escorted by another friend, a Mr. M., since dead, who was, when -I reached the hotel, quite disturbed lest we be late. I like the man -who takes society and social forms seriously, though I would not be -that man for all the world. M. was one such. He was, if you please, a -stickler for law and order. The Houses of Parliament and the repute -of the Hon. T. P. O’Connor meant much to him. I can see O’Connor’s -friendly, comprehensive eye understanding it all--understanding in his -deep, literary way why it should be so. - -As I hurried through Westminster Hall, the great general entrance, once -itself the ancient Parliament of England, the scene of the deposition -of Edward II, of the condemnation of Charles I, of the trial of -Warren Hastings, and the poling of the exhumed head of Cromwell, I -was thinking, thinking, thinking. What is a place like this, anyhow, -but a fanfare of names? If you know history, the long, strange tangle -of steps or actions by which life ambles crab-wise from nothing to -nothing, you know that it is little more than this. The present places -are the thing, the present forms, salaries, benefices, and that dream -of the mind which makes it all into something. As I walked through into -Central Hall, where we had to wait until Mr. O’Connor was found, I -studied the high, groined arches, the Gothic walls, the graven figures -of the general anteroom. It was all rich, gilded, dark, lovely. And -about me was a room full of men all titillating with a sense of their -own importance--commoners, lords possibly, call-boys, ushers, and -here and there persons crying of “Division! Division!” while a bell -somewhere clanged raucously. - -“There’s a vote on,” observed Mr. M. “Perhaps they won’t find him right -away. Never mind; he’ll come.” - -He did come finally, with, after his first greetings, a “Well, now -we’ll ate, drink, and be merry,” and then we went in. - -At table, being an old member of Parliament, he explained many things -swiftly and interestingly, how the buildings were arranged, the number -of members, the procedure, and the like. He was, he told me, a member -from Liverpool, which, by the way, returns some Irish members, which -struck me as rather strange for an English city. - -“Not at all, not at all. The English like the Irish--at times,” he -added softly. - -“I have just been out in your East End,” I said, “trying to find -out how tragic London is, and I think my mood has made me a little -color-blind. It’s rather a dreary world, I should say, and I often -wonder whether law-making ever helps these people.” - -He smiled that genial, equivocal, sophisticated smile of the Irish that -always bespeaks the bland acceptance of things as they are, and tries -to make the best of a bad mess. - -“Yes, it’s bad,”--and nothing could possibly suggest the aroma of a -brogue that went with this,--“but it’s no worse than some of your -American cities--Lawrence, Lowell, Fall River.” (Trust the Irish to -hand you an intellectual “You’re another!”) “Conditions in Pittsburgh -are as bad as anywhere, I think; but it’s true the East End is pretty -bad. You want to remember that it’s typical London winter weather -we’re having, and London smoke makes those gray buildings look rather -forlorn, it’s true. But there’s some comfort there, as there is -everywhere. My old Irish father was one for thinking that we all have -our rewards here or hereafter. Perhaps theirs is to be hereafter.” And -he rolled his eyes humorously and sanctimoniously heavenward. - -An able man this, full, as I knew, from reading his weekly and his -books, of a deep, kindly understanding of life, but one who, despite -his knowledge of the tragedies of existence, refused to be cast down. - -He was going up the Nile shortly in a house-boat with a party of -wealthy friends, and he told me that Lloyd George, the champion of -the poor, was just making off for a winter outing on the Riviera, but -that I might, if I would come some morning, have breakfast with him. -He was sure that the great commoner would be glad to see me. He wanted -me to call at his rooms, his London official offices, as it were, at 5 -Morpeth Mansions, and have a pleasant talk with him, which latterly I -did. - -While he was in the midst of it, the call of “Division!” sounded -once more through the halls, and he ran to take his place with -his fellow-parliamentarians on some question of presumably vital -importance. I can see him bustling away in his long frock coat, his -napkin in his hand, ready to be counted yea or nay, as the case might -be. - -Afterwards when he had outlined for me a tour in Ireland which I must -sometime take, he took us up into the members’ gallery of the Commons -in order to see how wonderful it was, and we sat as solemn as owls, -contemplating the rather interesting scene below. I cannot say that I -was seriously impressed. The Hall of Commons, I thought, was small and -stuffy, not so large as the House of Representatives at Washington, by -any means. - -In delicious Irish whispers he explained a little concerning the -arrangement of the place. The seat of the speaker was at the north end -of the chamber on a straight line with the sacred wool sack of the -House of Lords in another part of the building, however important that -may be. If I would look under the rather shadowy canopy at the north -end of this extremely square chamber, I would see him, “smothering -under an immense white wig,” he explained. In front of the canopy was a -table, the speaker’s table, with presumably the speaker’s official mace -lying upon it. To the right of the speaker were the recognized seats of -the government party, the ministers occupying the front bench. And then -he pointed out to me Mr. Lloyd George, Mr. Bonar Law (Unionist member -and leader of the opposition), and Mr. Winston Churchill, all men -creating a great stir at the time. They were whispering and smiling in -genial concert, while opposite them, on the left hand of the speaker, -where the opposition was gathered, some droning M. P. from the North, -I understood, a noble lord, was delivering one of those typically -intellectual commentaries in which the British are fond of indulging. I -could not see him from where I sat, but I could see him just the same. -I knew that he was standing very straight, in the most suitable clothes -for the occasion, his linen immaculate, one hand poised gracefully, -ready to emphasize some rather obscure point, while he stated in the -best English why this and this must be done. Every now and then, at a -suitable point in his argument, some friendly and equally intelligent -member would give voice to a soothing “Hyah! hyah!” or “Rathah!” Of -the four hundred and seventy-six provided seats, I fancy something -like over four hundred were vacant, their occupants being out in the -dining-rooms, or off in those adjoining chambers where parliamentarians -confer during hours that are not pressing, and where they are sought at -the call for a division. I do not presume, however, that they were all -in any so safe or sane places. I mock-reproachfully asked Mr. O’Connor -why he was not in his seat, and he said in good Irish: - -“Me boy, there are thricks in every thrade. I’ll be there whin me vote -is wanted.” - -We came away finally through long, floreated passages and towering -rooms, where I paused to admire the intricate woodwork, the splendid -gilding, and the tier upon tier of carven kings and queens in their -respective niches. There was for me a flavor of great romance over it -all. I could not help thinking that, pointless as it all might be, -such joys and glories as we have are thus compounded. Out of the dull -blatherings of half-articulate members, the maunderings of dreamers and -schemers, come such laws and such policies as best express the moods of -the time--of the British or any other empire. I have no great faith in -laws. To me, they are ill-fitting garments at best, traps and mental -catch-polls for the unwary only. But I thought as I came out into the -swirling city again, “It is a strange world. These clock-towers and -halls will sometime fall into decay. The dome of our own capital will -be rent and broken, and through its ragged interstices will fall the -pallor of the moon.” But life does not depend upon parliaments or men. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -THE THAMES - - -As pleasing hours as any that I spent in London were connected with -the Thames--a murky little stream above London Bridge, compared with -such vast bodies as the Hudson and the Mississippi, but utterly -delightful. I saw it on several occasions,--once in a driving rain -off London Bridge, where twenty thousand vehicles were passing in the -hour, it was said; once afterward at night when the boats below were -faint, wind-driven lights and the crowd on the bridge black shadows. -I followed it in the rain from Blackfriars Bridge, to the giant plant -of the General Electric Company at Chelsea one afternoon, and thought -of Sir Thomas More, and Henry VIII, who married Anne Boleyn at the Old -Church near Battersea Bridge, and wondered what they would think of -this modern powerhouse. What a change from Henry VIII and Sir Thomas -More to vast, whirling electric dynamos and a London subway system! - -Another afternoon, bleak and rainy, I reconnoitered the section -lying between Blackfriars Bridge and Tower Bridge and found it very -interesting from a human, to say nothing of a river, point of view; I -question whether in some ways it is not the most interesting region in -London, though it gives only occasional glimpses of the river. London -is curious. It is very modern in spots. It is too much like New York -and Chicago and Philadelphia and Boston; but here between Blackfriars -Bridge and the Tower, along Upper and Lower Thames Street, I found -something that delighted me. It smacked of Dickens, of Charles II, -of Old England, and of a great many forgotten, far-off things which -I felt, but could not readily call to mind. It was delicious, this -narrow, winding street, with high walls,--high because the street was -so narrow,--and alive with people bobbing along under umbrellas or -walking stodgily in the rain. Lights were burning in all the stores -and warehouses, dark recesses running back to the restless tide of the -Thames, and they were full of an industrious commercial life. - -It was interesting to me to think that I was in the center of so much -that was old, but for the exact details I confess I cared little. Here -the Thames was especially delightful. It presented such odd vistas. -I watched the tumbling tide of water, whipped by gusty wind where -moderate-sized tugs and tows were going by in the mist and rain. It -was delicious, artistic, far more significant than quiescence and -sunlight could have made it. I took note of the houses, the doorways, -the quaint, winding passages, but for the color and charm they did -not compare with the nebulous, indescribable mass of working boys and -girls and men and women which moved before my gaze. The mouths of many -of them were weak, their noses snub, their eyes squint, their chins -undershot, their ears stub, their chests flat. Most of them had a waxy, -meaty look, but for interest they were incomparable. American working -crowds may be much more chipper, but not more interesting. I could not -weary of looking at them. - -[Illustration: Here the Thames was especially delightful] - -Lastly I followed the river once more all the way from Cleopatra’s -Needle to Chelsea one heavily downpouring afternoon and found its -mood varying splendidly though never once was it anything more than -black-gray, changing at times from a pale or almost sunlit yellow to -a solid leaden-black hue. It looked at times as though something -remarkable were about to happen, so weirdly greenish-yellow was the -sky above the water; and the tall chimneys of Lambeth over the way, -appearing and disappearing in the mist, were irresistible. There is -a certain kind of barge which plies up and down the Thames with a -collapsible mast and sail which looks for all the world like something -off the Nile. These boats harmonize with the smoke and the gray, lowery -skies. I was never weary of looking at them in the changing light and -mist and rain. Gulls skimmed over the water here very freely all the -way from Blackfriars to Battersea, and along the Embankment they sat in -scores, solemnly cogitating the state of the weather, perhaps. I was -delighted with the picture they made in places, greedy, wide-winged, -artistic things. - -Finally I had a novel experience with these same gulls one Sunday -afternoon. I had been out all morning reconnoitering strange sections -of London, and arrived near Blackfriars Bridge about one o’clock. I -was attracted by what seemed to me at first glance thousands of gulls, -lovely clouds of them, swirling about the heads of several different -men at various points along the wall. It was too beautiful to miss. It -reminded me of the gulls about the steamer at Fishguard. I drew near. -The first man I saw was feeding them minnows out of a small box he had -purchased for a penny, throwing the tiny fish aloft in the air and -letting the gulls dive for them. They ate from his hand, circled above -and about his head, walked on the wall before him, their jade bills and -salmon-pink feet showing delightfully. - -I was delighted, and hurried to the second. It was the same. I found -the vender of small minnows near by, a man who sold them for this -purpose, and purchased a few boxes. Instantly I became the center of -another swirling cloud, wheeling and squeaking in hungry anticipation. -It was a great sight. Finally I threw out the last minnows, tossing -them all high in the air, and seeing not one escape, while I meditated -on the speed of these birds, which, while scarcely moving a wing, rise -and fall with incredible swiftness. It is a matter of gliding up and -down with them. I left, my head full of birds, the Thames forever fixed -in mind. - -I went one morning in search of the Tower, and coming into the -neighborhood of Eastcheap witnessed that peculiar scene which concerns -fish. Fish dealers, or at least their hirelings, always look as though -they had never known a bath and are covered with slime and scales, and -here, they wore a peculiar kind of rubber hat on which tubs or pans of -fish could be carried. The hats were quite flat and round and reminded -me of a smashed “stovepipe” as the silk hat has been derisively called. -The peasant habit of carrying bundles on the head was here demonstrated -to be a common characteristic of London. - -On another morning I visited Pimlico and the neighborhood of Vincent -Square. I was delighted with the jumble of life I found there, -particularly in Strutton Ground and Churton Street. Horse Ferry Road -touched me as a name and Lupus Street was strangely suggestive of a -hospital, not a wolf. - -It was here that I encountered my first coster cart, drawn by the -tiniest little donkey you ever saw, his ears standing up most nobly and -his eyes suggesting the mellow philosophy of indifference. The load he -hauled, spread out on a large table-like rack and arranged neatly in -baskets, consisted of vegetables--potatoes, tomatoes, cabbage, lettuce -and the like. A bawling merchant or peddler followed in the wake of -the cart, calling out his wares. He was not arrayed in coster uniform, -however, as it has been pictured in America. I was delighted to listen -to the cockney accent in Strutton Ground where “’Ere you are, Lydy,” -could be constantly heard, and “Foine potytoes these ’ere, Madam, -hextra noice.” - -In Earl Street I found an old cab-yard, now turned into a garage, where -the remnants of a church tower were visible, tucked away among the -jumble of other things. I did my best to discover of what it had been a -part. No one knew. The ex-cabman, now dolefully washing the wheels of -an automobile, informed me that he had “only been workin’ ’ere a little -wile,” and the foreman could not remember. But it suggested a very -ancient English world--as early as the Normans. Just beyond this again -I found the saddest little chapel--part of an abandoned machine-shop, -with a small hand-bell over the door which was rung by means of a piece -of common binding-twine! Who could possibly hear it, I reflected. -Inside was a wee chapel, filled with benches constructed of store boxes -and provided with an altar where some form of services was conducted. -There was no one to guard the shabby belongings of the place and I sat -down and meditated at length on the curiosity of the religious ideal. - -In another section of the city where I walked--Hammersmith--and still -another--Seven Kings--I found conditions which I thought approximated -those in the Bronx, New York, in Brooklyn, in Chicago and elsewhere. -I could not see any difference between the lines of store-front -apartment houses in Seven Kings and Hammersmith and Shepherd’s Bush -for that matter, and those in Flatbush, Brooklyn or the South End of -Philadelphia. You saw the difference when you looked at the people and, -if you entered a tavern, America was gone on the instant. The barmaid -settled that and the peculiar type of idler found here. I recall in -Seven Kings being entertained by the appearance of the working-men -assembled, their trousers strapped about the knees, their hats or -caps pulled jauntily awry. Always the English accent was strong and, -at times, here in London, it became unintelligible to me. They have a -lingo of their own. In the main I could make it out, allowing for the -appearance or disappearance of “h’s” at the most unexpected moments. - -The street cars in the outlying sections are quite the same as in -America and the variety of stores about as large and bright. In -the older portions, however, the twisting streets, the presence of -the omnibus in great numbers, and of the taxi-stands at the more -frequented corners, the peculiar uniforms of policemen, mail-men, -street-sweepers (dressed like Tyrolese mountaineers), messenger-boys, -and the varied accoutrements of the soldiery gave the great city -an individuality which caused me to realize clearly that I was far -from home--a stranger in a strange land. As charming as any of the -spectacles I witnessed were the Scotch soldiers in bare legs, kilts, -plaid and the like swinging along with a heavy stride like Norman -horses or--singly--making love to a cockney English girl on a ’bus top -perhaps. The English craze for pantomime was another thing that engaged -my curious attention and why any reference to a mystic and presumably -humorous character known as “Dirty Dick” should evoke such volumes of -applause. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -MARLOWE - - -After I had been at Bridgely Level four or five days Barfleur suggested -that I visit Marlowe, which was quite near by on the Thames, a place -which he said fairly represented the typical small country town of the -old school. - -“You will see there something which is not so generally common now in -England as it was--a type of life which is changing greatly, I think; -and perhaps you had better see that now before you see much more.” - -I promised to go and Barfleur gave positive instructions as to how this -was to be achieved. I was to say to the maid when I would be ready. -Promptly at that hour one of the boys was to come and escort me to some -point in the road where I could see Marlowe. From there I was to be -allowed to proceed alone. - -“You won’t want to be bothered with any company, so just send him back. -You’ll find it very interesting.” - -The afternoon had faired up so beautifully that I decided I must go -out of doors. I was sick of writing. I gave notice to Dora, the maid, -at luncheon that I should want one of the boys for a guide at three -o’clock, and at ten minutes of the hour Percy entered my room with the -air of a soldier. - -“When shall you be ready for your walk to Marlowe?” he asked, in his -stately tone. - -“In just ten minutes now.” - -“And have you any objection to our walking to Marlowe with you?” - -“Are there two of you?” - -“Yes. My brother Charles and myself.” - -“None whatever. Your father doesn’t mind, does he?” - -“No, he doesn’t mind.” - -So at three Percy and Charles appeared at the window. Their faces -were eager with anticipation and I went at once to get my cap and -coat. We struck out along a road between green grass, and although it -was December you would have thought it April or May. The atmosphere -was warm and tinged with the faintest, most delicate haze. A lovely -green moss, very fine, like powdered salt, was visible on the trunks -of the trees. Crows were in the air, and robins--an English robin is -a solemn-looking bird--on the lawns. I heaved a breath of delight, -for after days of rain and chill this burst of golden light was most -delicious. - -On the way, as I was looking about, I was being called upon to answer -questions such as: “Are there any trees like these in Amáyreeka? Do you -have such fine weather in Amáyreeka? Are the roads as good as this in -Amáyreeka?” - -“Quite as good as this,” I replied, referring to the one on which we -were walking, for it was a little muddy. - -The way lay through a patch of nearly leafless trees, the ground strewn -thick with leaves, and the sun breaking in a golden shower through -the branches. I laughed for joy at being alive--the hour was so fine. -Presently, after going down a bank so steep that it was impossible not -to run if you attempted to walk fast, we came to an open field, the -west border of which was protected by a line of willows skirting the -banks of a flume which gave into the Thames somewhere. Below the small -bridge over which we passed was fastened a small punt, that quaint -little boat so common on the Thames. Beyond that was a very wide field, -fully twenty acres square, with a yellow path running diagonally -across it and at the end of this path was Marlowe. - -In the meantime my young friends insisted on discussing the possibility -of war between America and England and I was kept busy assuring them -that England would not be able to do anything at all with the United -States. The United States was so vast, I said. It was full of such -smart people. While England was attempting to do something with its -giant navy, we should be buying or building wonderful ships and -inventing marvelous machines for destroying the enemy. It was useless -to plead with me as they did that England had a great army and we none. -“We can get one,” I insisted, “oh, a much vaster army than you could.” - -“And then Can-ee-dah,” insisted Percy wisely, “while you would be -building your navy or drilling your army, we should be attacking you -through Can-ee-dah.” - -“But Canada doesn’t like you,” I replied. “And besides it only has six -million people.” - -He insisted that Canada was a great source and hope and I finally said: -“Now, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You want England to whip the United -States, don’t you?” - -“Yes,” echoed both Percy and Charles heartily. - -“Very well, then for peace and quiet’s sake, I’ll agree that it can. -England can whip the United States both on sea and land. Now is that -satisfactory?” - -“Yes,” they echoed, unanimously. - -“Very well then,” I laughed. “It is agreed that the United States is -badly beaten everywhere and always by England. Isn’t Marlowe lovely?” -and fixed my interested gaze on the approaching village. - -In the first glimpse of Marlowe some of the most joyous memories of my -childhood came back. I don’t know whether you as a boy or a girl loved -to look in your first reader at pictures of quaint little towns with -birds flying above belfries and gabled roofs standing free in some -clear, presumably golden air, but I did. And here, across this green -field lay a little town, the sweetness of which was most appealing. The -most prominent things were an arched bridge and a church, with a square -gray belfry, set in a green, tree-grown church-yard. I could see the -smooth surface of the Thames running beside it, and as I live, a flock -of birds in the sky. - -“Are those rooks?” I asked of Percy, hoping for poetry’s sake that they -were. - -“Rooks or crows,” he replied, “I don’t know which.” - -“Are there rooks in Amáyreeka?” - -“No--there are no rooks.” - -“Ah, that’s something.” - -I walked briskly because I wanted to reach this pretty scene while -the sun was still high, and in five minutes or so we were crossing -the bridge. I was intensely interested in the low gray stone houses, -with here and there a walk in front with a gate, and a very pretty -churchyard lying by the water, and the sylvan loveliness of the Thames -itself. - -On the bridge I stopped and looked at the water. It was as smooth as -glass and tinged with the mellow light which the sun casts when it is -low in the west. There were some small boats anchored at a gate which -gave into some steps leading up to an inn--The Compleat Angler. On the -other side, back of the church was another inn--the Lion and Elk or -something like that--and below the bridge, more towards the west, an -old man in a punt, fishing. There was a very old man such as I have -often seen pictured in _Punch_ and the _Sketch_, sitting near the -support of the bridge, a short black pipe between his very wrinkled -lips. He was clad in thick greenish-brown clothes and heavy shoes and -a low flat hat some curate may have discarded. His eyes, which he -turned up at me as I passed, were small and shrewd, set in a withered, -wrinkled skin, and his hands were a collection of dried lines, like -wrinkled leather. - -“There,” I thought, “is a type quite expressive of all England in its -rural form. Pictures of England have been teaching me that all my life.” - -I went into the church, which was located on the site of one built -in the thirteenth century--and on the wall near the door was a -list of the resident vicars and their patrons, beginning with -some long-since-forgotten soul. The monks and the abbots of the -pre-Reformation period were indicated and the wars of the Reformation -also. I think that bridge which I had crossed had been destroyed by -Cromwell and rebuilt only sixty or seventy years before, but my memory -is not good and I will not guarantee these facts. - -From the church we went out into the street and found an old stock -inside an iron fence, dating from some older day where they punished -people after that fashion. We came to a store which was signaled by -a low, small-paned window let into a solid gray wall, where were -chocolates and candies and foreign-manufactured goods with labels I had -never seen before. It is a strange sensation to go away from home and -leave all your own familiar patent medicines and candies and newspapers -and whiskies and journey to some place where they never saw or heard of -them. - -Here was Marlowe, and lovely as it was, I kept saying to myself, “Yes, -yes, it is delicious, but how terrible it would be to live here! I -couldn’t. It’s a dead world. We have passed so far beyond this.” I -walked through the pretty streets as smooth and clean as though they -had been brushed and between rows of low, gray, winding houses which -curved in pretty lines, but for the life of me I could not help -swinging between the joy of art for that which is alive and the sorrow -for something that is gone and will never be, any more. Everything, -everything spoke to me of an older day. These houses--all of them were -lower than they need be, grayer than they need be, thicker, older, -sadder. I could not think of gas or electricity being used here, -although they were, or of bright broad windows, open plumbing, modern -street cars, a stock of modern, up-to-date goods, which I am sure they -contained. I was impressed by a grave silence which is apathetic to me -as nothing else--a profound peace. “I must get out of this,” I said to -myself, and yet I was almost hugging myself for joy at the same time. - -I remember going into one courtyard where an inn might once have been -and finding in there a furniture shop, a tin shop, a store room of -some kind and a stable, all invisible from the street. Do you recall -Dickens’ description of busy inn scenes? You came into this one under -the chamber belonging to a house which was built over the entry way. -There was no one visible inside, though a man did cross the court -finally with a wheel spoke in his hand. One of the houses or shops had -a little circular cupola on it, quite white and pretty and surmounted -by a faded weather cock. “How lovely,” I said, “how lovely,” but I was -as sad as I could be. - -In the stores in the main street were always small, many-paned windows. -There were no lights as yet and the rooms into which I peered and the -private doors gave glimpses of things which reminded me of the poorest, -most backward and desolate sections of our own country. - -I saw an automobile here and there, not many, and some girls on -bicycles,--not very good looking. Say what you will, you could not find -an atmosphere like this in an American town, however small, unless -it had already been practically abandoned. It would not contain a -contented population of three or four hundred. Instead of saloons I saw -“wine and spirit merchants” and also “Mrs. Jane Sawyer, licensed wine -and spirit dealer.” The butcher shops were the most American things -I saw, because their ruddy goods were all displayed in front with -good lights behind, and the next best things were the candy stores. -Dressmakers, milliners, grocers, hardware stores, wine shops, anything -and everything--were apparently concealed by solid gray walls or at -best revealed by small-paned windows. In the fading afternoon I walked -about hunting for schools, some fine private houses, some sense of -modernness--but no--it was not there. I noticed that in two directions -the town came abruptly to an end, as though it had been cut off by a -knife, and smooth, open, green fields began. In the distance you could -see other towns standing out like the castellated walls of earlier -centuries--but here was an end, sharp, definite, final. - -I saw at one place--the end of one of these streets and where the -country began--an old gray man in a shabby black coat bending to -adjust a yoke to his shoulders to the ends of which were attached two -buckets filled with water. He had been into a low, gray, one-story inn -entitled, “Ye Bank of England,” before which was set a bench and also a -stone hitching post. For all the world he looked like some old man in -Hardy, wending his fading, reflective way homeward. I said to myself -here--England is old; it is evening in England and they are tired. - -I went back toward the heart of things along another street, but I -found after a time it was merely taking me to another outer corner of -the town. It was gray now, and I was saying to my young companions that -they must be hurrying on home--that I did not intend to go back so -soon. “Say I will not be home for dinner,” I told them, and they left -after a time, blessed with some modern chocolate which they craved very -much. - -Before they left, however, we reconnoitered another street and this led -me past low, one-story houses, the like of which, I insist, can rarely -be duplicated in America. Do you recall the log cabin? In England it -is preserved in stone, block after block of it. It originated there. -The people, as I went along, seemed so thick and stolid and silent to -me. They were healthy enough, I thought, but they were raw, uncouth, -mirthless. There was not a suggestion of gaiety anywhere--not a single -burst of song. I heard no one whistling. A man came up behind us, -driving some cattle, and the oxen were quite upon me before I heard -them. But there were no loud cries. He was so ultra serious. I met a -man pushing a dilapidated baby carriage. He was a grinder of knives -and mender of tinware and this was his method of perambulating his -equipment. I met another man pushing a hand cart with some attenuated -remnants of furniture in it. “What is that?” I asked. “What is he?” - -“Oh, he’s somebody who’s moving. He hasn’t a van, you know.” - -Moving! Here was food for pathetic reflection. - -I looked into low, dark doors where humble little tin and glass-bodied -lamps were beginning to flicker. - -“Thank God, my life is different from this,” I said, and yet the pathos -and the beauty of this town was gripping me firmly. It was as sweet as -a lay out of Horace--as sad as Keats. - -Before a butcher shop I saw a man trying to round up a small drove of -sheep. The grayish-yellow of their round wooly backs blended with the -twilight. They seemed to sense their impending doom, for they ran here -and there, poking their queer thin noses along the ground or in the air -and refusing to enter the low, gray entry way which gave into a cobbled -yard at the back where were located the deadly shambles they feared. -The farmer who was driving them wore a long black coat and he made no -sound, or scarcely any. - -“Sooey!” he called softly--“Ssh,” as he ran here and there--this way -and that. - -The butcher or his assistant came out and caught one sheep, possibly -the bell-wether, by the leg and hauled him backward into the yard. -Seeing this, the silly sheep, not recognizing the enforced leadership, -followed after. Could there be a more convincing commentary on the -probable manner in which the customs and forms of life have originated? - -I walked out another long street, quite alone now in the dusk, and met -a man driving an ox, also evidently to market. - -There was a school in session at one place, a boys’ school--low, -ancient in its exterior equipment and silent as I passed. It was -_out_, but there was no running--no hallooing. The boys were going -along chatting rather quietly in groups. I do not understand this. -The American temper is more ebullient. I went into one bar--Mrs. -Davidge’s--and found a low, dark room, with a very small grate fire -burning and a dark little bar where were some pewter mugs, some -pink-colored glasses and a small brass lamp with a reflector. Mrs. -Davidge must have served me herself, an old, slightly hunched lady in a -black dress and gray gingham apron. “Can this place do enough business -to support her?” I asked myself. There was no one in the shop while I -was there. - -The charm of Marlowe to me was its extreme remoteness from the life I -had been witnessing in London and elsewhere. It was so simple. I had -seen a comfortable inn somewhere near the market place and this I was -idly seeking, entertaining myself with reflections the while. I passed -at one place a gas manufacturing plant which looked modern enough, in -so far as its tank was concerned, but not otherwise, and then up one -dark street under branches of large trees and between high brick walls, -in a low doorway, behind which a light was shining, saw a shovel-hatted -curate talking to an old woman in a shawl. All the rest was dark. At -another corner I saw a thin old man, really quite reverential looking, -with a peaked intelligent face, fine in its lines (like Calvin or Dante -or John Knox) and long thin white hair, who was pulling a vehicle--a -sort of revised baby carriage on which was, of all things, a phonograph -with a high flower-like tin horn. He stopped at one corner where some -children were playing in the dark and putting on a record ground out -a melody which I did not consider very gay or tuneful. The children -danced, but not, however, with the lightness of our American children. -The people here seemed either like this old man, sad and old and -peaked, with a fine intellectuality apparent, or thick and dull and red -and stodgy. - -When I reached the market I saw a scene which something--some book or -pictures had suggested to me before. Solid women in shawls and flat, -shapeless wrecks of hats, and tall shambling men in queer long coats -and high boots--drovers they looked like--going to and fro. Children -were playing about and laborers were going home, talking a dialect -which I could not understand, except in part. - -Five men came into the square and stood there under the central gas -lamp, with its two arms each with a light. One of them left the others -and began to sing in front of various doors. He sang and sang--“Annie -Laurie,” “Auld Lang Syne,” “Sally in our Alley,” in a queer nasal -voice, going in and coming out again, empty-handed I fancy. Finally he -came to me. - -“Would you help us on our way?” he asked. - -“Where are you going?” I inquired. - -“We are way-faring workmen,” he replied simply, and I gave him some -coppers--those large English “tuppences” that annoyed me so much. He -went back to the others and they stood huddled in the square together -like sheep, conferring, but finally they went off together in the dark. - -At the inn adjacent I expected to find an exceptional English scene of -some kind but I was more or less disappointed. It was homey but not so -different from old New England life. The room was large with an open -fire and a general table set with white linen and plates for a dozen -guests or more. A shambling boy in clothes much too big for him came -and took my order, turning up the one light and stirring the fire. I -called for a paper and read it and then I sat wondering whether the -food would be good or bad. - -While I was waiting a second traveler arrived, a small, dapper, -sandy-haired person, with shrewd, fresh, inquisitive eyes--a -self-confident and yet clerkly man. - -“Good evening,” he said, and I gave him the time of day. He bustled to -a little writing table nearby and sat down to write, calling for a pen, -paper, his slippers--I was rather puzzled by that demand--and various -other things. On sight this gentleman (I suppose the English would -abuse me for that word) looked anything but satisfactory. I suspected -he was Scotch and that he was cheap minded and narrow. Later something -about his manner and the healthy, brisk way in which, when his slippers -came, he took off his shoes and put them on--quite cheerful and -homelike--soothed me. - -“He isn’t so bad,” I thought. “He’s probably a traveling salesman--the -English type. I’d better be genial, I may learn something.” - -Soon the waiter returned (arrayed by this time, remarkable to relate, -in a dress suit the size of which was a piece of pure comedy in -itself), and brought the stranger toast and chops and tea. The latter -drew up to the other end of the table from me with quite an air of -appetite and satisfaction. - -“They don’t usually put us fellows in with you,” he observed, stating -something the meaning of which I did not grasp for the moment. “Us -traveling men usually have a separate dining- and writing-room. Our -place seems to be shut up here to-night for some reason. I wouldn’t -have called for my slippers here if they had the other room open.” - -“Oh, that’s quite all right,” I replied, gathering some odd class -distinction. “I prefer company to silence. You say you travel?” - -“Yes, I’m connected with a house in London. I travel in the south of -England.” - -“Tell me,” I said, “is this a typical English town from the point of -view of life and business, or is it the only one of its kind? It’s -rather curious to me.” - -“It’s one of the poorest I know, certainly the poorest I stop at. -There is no life to speak of here at all. If you want to see a typical -English town where there’s more life and business you want to see -Canterbury or Maidenhead. No, no, you mustn’t judge England by this. I -suppose you’re traveling to see things. You’re not English, I see.” - -“No, I’m from America. I come from New York.” - -“I had a strong notion before I came to London to go to America after -I left school”--and to have heard him pronounce _school_ alone would -have settled his identity for those who know the Scotch. “Some of my -friends went there, but I decided not. I thought I’d try London instead -and I’m glad I did.” - -“You like it?” - -“Oh, yes, from a money point I do. I make perhaps fifty per cent. more -than I did in Scotland but I may say, too, it costs me almost fifty -per cent. more to live.” He said this with a sigh. I could see Scotch -thrift sticking out all over him. An interesting little man he proved, -very intelligent, very cautious, very saving. You could see early -religious training and keen desire to get up in the world in his every -gesture. - -We fell into a most interesting conversation, to me, for knowing so -little of England I was anxious to know more. Despite the littleness of -my companion and his clerkly manner I found him entertaining. He wanted -to know what I thought of England and I told him--as much as I could -judge by a few days’ stay. He told me something of London life--its -streets, sections and so on and asked a great many questions about -America. He had the ability to listen intelligently which is a fine -sign. He wanted to know particularly what traveling salesmen receive -in America and how far their money goes. He was interested to know the -difference between English and American railroads. By this time the -meal had ended and we were toasting our toes before the fire. We were -quite friendly. - -“It’s some little distance back to my place and I think I’ll be going,” -I said. “I don’t know whether I really know how to get there, but I’ll -try. I understand there is no direct railroad connection between here -and there. I may not be able to find my way at night as it is.” - -“Well, I’ll walk with you a little way if you don’t mind,” he replied -solicitously. “I have nothing else to do.” - -The idea of companionship soothed me. Walking around alone and standing -in the market place looking at the tramping men had given me the blues. -I felt particularly lonely at moments, being away from America, for the -difference in standards of taste and action, the difference in modes -of thought and practice, and the difference in money and the sound of -human voices was growing on me. When you have lived in one country all -your life and found yourself comfortable in all its ways and notions -and then suddenly find yourself out of it and trying to adjust yourself -to things that are different in a hundred little ways, it is rather -hard. - -“That’s very nice of you. I’d like to have you,” and out we went, -paying our bills and looking into a misty night. The moon was up but -there was a fairly heavy fog and Marlowe looked sheeted and gray. -Because I stated I had not been in any of the public houses and was -interested to go, he volunteered to accompany me, though I could see -that this was against his principles. - -“I don’t drink myself,” he observed, “but I will go in with you if you -want to. Here’s one.” - -We entered and found a rather dimly lighted room,--gas with a mantle -over it,--set with small tables and chairs, and a short bar in one -corner. Mrs. Davidge’s bar had been short, too, only her room was -dingier and small. A middle-sized Englishman, rather stout, came out of -a rear door, opening from behind the bar, and asked us what we would -have. My friend asked for root beer. I noticed the unescapable open -fire and the array of pink and green and blue wine glasses. Also the -machinery for extracting beer and ale from kegs, a most brassy and -glowing sight. Our host sold cigars and there were boards about on the -tables for some simple games. - -This and a half-dozen other places into which we ventured gave me the -true spirit of Marlowe’s common life. I recalled at once the vast -difference between this and the average American small town saloon. In -the latter (Heaven preserve us from it) the trade might be greater or -it might not, but the room would be larger, the bar larger, the flies, -dirt, odor, abominable. I hope I am not traducing a worthy class, -but the American saloon keeper of small town proclivities has always -had a kind of horror for me. The implements of his trade have always -been so scummy and ill-kept. The American place would be apt to be -gayer, rougher, noisier. I am thinking of places in towns of the same -size. Our host was no more like an American barkeeper than a bee is -like a hornet. He was a peaceful-looking man, homely, family marked, -decidedly dull. Your American country barkeeper is another sort, more -intelligent, perhaps, but less civil, less sensible and reliable -looking. The two places were miles apart in quality and feeling. -Here in Marlowe and elsewhere in England, wherever I had occasion to -inspect them, the public houses of the small-town type were a great -improvement over the American variety. They were clean and homelike and -cheerful. The array of brass, the fire, the small tables for games, -all pleased me. I took it to be a place more used as a country club -or meeting-house than as in our case a grimy, orgiastic resort. If -there were drunken men or women in any of the “pubs,” this night I -did not see them. My Scotch friend assured me that he believed them, -ordinarily, to be fairly respectable. - -Not knowing my way through the woods adjacent and having spent much -time in this way I finally decided to take a train or conveyance of -some kind. But there was no train to be had for some time to come. The -trains there were did not run my way and no “fly” would convey me, as -one bar mistress informed me, because there was a hard hill to climb -and the rain which had fallen during the day had made the roads bad. I -began to meditate returning to the inn. Finally the lady observed, “I -can tell you how to get there, if you want to walk. It’s not more than -an hour and it is a perfectly good road all the way.” She drew with her -finger an outline of the twists of the road. “If you’re not afraid of a -few screech owls, there’s nothing to harm you. You go to the bridge up -here, cross it and take the first road to your left. When you come to a -culvert about a mile out you will find three roads dividing there. One -goes down the hollow to somewhere, I forgot the name; one goes up the -hill to Bridgely Level, it’s a bridle path; and one goes to the right. -It’s a smooth, even road--that’s the one you want.” - -It was a lovely night. The moon overhead was clear and bright and the -fog gave the fields a white eerie look. As we walked, my friend regaled -me with what he said was a peculiar custom among English traveling -men. At all English inns there is what is known as the traveling men’s -club. The man who has been present at any inn on any stated occasion -for the greatest number of hours or days is _ipso facto_, president of -this club. The traveling man who has been there next longest if only -for ten minutes less than the first, or more than the third, is vice -president. Every inn serves what is known as the traveling man’s dinner -at twelve o’clock or thereabouts and he who is president by virtue of -the qualifications above described, is entitled to sit at the head of -the table and carve and serve the roast. The vice president, if there -be one, sits at the foot of the table and carves and serves the fowl. -When there are two or more traveling men present, enough to provide -a president and a vice president for this dinner, there is a regular -order of procedure to be observed. The president arriving takes his -seat first at the head of the table; the vice president then takes his -place at the foot of the table. The president, when the roast beef is -served, lifts the cover of the dish and says, “Mr. Vice President, -we have here, I see, some roast beef.” The vice president then lifts -the cover of his dish and says, “Mr. President we have here, I see, -some roast goose.” “Gentlemen,” then says the president, bowing to -the others present, “the dinner is for all,” and begins serving the -roast. The vice president later does his duty in turn. The next day in -all likelihood, the vice president or some other becomes president, -and so it goes. My little Scotchman was most interested in telling me -this, for it appealed to his fancy as it did to mine and I could see he -relished the honor of being president in his turn. - -It was while he was telling this that we saw before us three paths, the -middle one and the one to the right going up through the dark woods, -the one to the left merely skirting the woods and keeping out in the -light. - -“Let’s see, it’s the left you want, isn’t it?” he asked. - -“No, it’s the right,” I replied. - -“I think she said the left,” he cautioned. “Well, anyhow here’s a sign -post. You lift me up and I’ll read what it says.” - -It wasn’t visible from the ground. - -I caught him about the legs and hoisted him aloft and he peered closely -at all three signs. He was a dapper, light little man. - -“You’re right,” he said. - -We shook hands and wished each other luck. He struck off back along the -road he had come in the fog and I mounted musingly through the woods. -It was dark and delightfully odorous, the fog in the trees, struck by -the moonlight, looking like moving sheeted ghosts. I went on gaily -expecting to hear a screech owl but not one sounded. After perhaps -fifteen or twenty minutes of walking I came out into the open road and -then I found that I really did not know where Bridgely Level was after -all. There was no sign. - -I went from house to house in the moonlight--it was after -midnight--rousing drowsy Englishmen who courteously gave me directions -and facing yowling dogs who stood in the open roadway and barked. I -had to push one barking guardian out of the way with my hands. All was -silent as a church yard. Finally I came to a family of Americans who -were newly locating for the winter not far from Bridgely Level and -they put me right. I recall the comment of the woman who opened the -door: “You’re an American, aren’t you?” and the interest she took in -being sure that I would find my way. When I finally reached my door I -paused in the garden to survey the fog-lined valley from which came the -distant bark of a dog. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -LILLY: A GIRL OF THE STREETS - - -I stood one evening in Piccadilly, at the dinner hour, staring into -the bright shop windows. London’s display of haberdashery and gold and -silver ornaments interests me intensely. It was drizzling and I had no -umbrella; yet that situation soon ceases to annoy one in England. I -walked on into Regent Street and stopped under an arc light to watch -the home-surging crowds--the clerks, men and women, the boys and girls. - -The thought was with me as I walked in the rain, “Where shall I dine? -How shall I do it?” I wandered through New Bond Street; and looking -idly at the dark stores, as I came back along Piccadilly, I saw two -girls, arm in arm, pass by. One of them looked over her shoulder at me -and smiled. She was of medium size and simply dressed. She was pretty -in the fresh English way, with large, too innocent eyes. The girls -paused before a shop window and as I stopped beside them and looked at -the girl who had smiled, she edged over toward me and I spoke to her. - -“Wouldn’t you like to take the two of us?” she asked with that quaint -odd accent of the Welsh. Her voice was soft and her eyes were as blue -and weak in their force as any unsophisticated girl’s might well be. - -“This girl isn’t hard and vulgar,” I said to myself. I suppose we all -pride ourselves on knowing something of character in women. I thought I -did. - -“No,” I replied rather directly to her question. “Not to-night. But -let’s you and I go somewhere for dinner.” - -“Would you mind givin’ my friend a shillin’?” she asked. - -“Not at all,” I replied. “There you are.” - -It was a wet night, chill and dreary, and on second thought I made -it half-a-crown. The second girl went away--a girl with a thin white -face--and I turned to my companion. - -“Now,” I said, “what shall we do?” It was nearly eight o’clock and I -was wondering where I could go with such a girl to dine. Her clothes, -I perceived, were a mere patchwork. Her suit was of blue twill, worn -shiny. She wore the cheapest kind of a feather boa and her hat was -pathetic. But the color of her cheeks was that wonderful apple color -of the English and her eyes--really her eyes were quite a triumph of -nature--soft and deep blue, and not very self-protective. - -“Poor little storm-blown soul,” I thought as I looked at her. “Your -life isn’t much. A vague, conscienceless thing (in the softer sense of -that word). You have a chilly future before you.” - -She looked as though she might be nineteen. - -“Let’s see! Have you had your dinner?” I asked. - -“No, sir.” - -“Where is there a good restaurant? Not too smart, you know.” - -“Well, there’s L.’s Corner House.” - -“Oh, yes, where is that? Do you go there yourself, occasionally?” - -“Oh, yes, quite often. It’s very nice, I think.” - -“We might go there,” I said. “Still, on second thought, I don’t think -we will just now. Where is the place you go to--the place you take -your--friends?” - -“It’s at No. -- Great Titchfield Street.” - -“Is that an apartment or a hotel?” - -“It’s a flat, sir, my flat. The lady lets me bring my friends there. If -you like, though, we could go to a hotel. Perhaps it would be better.” - -I could see that she was uncertain as to what I would think of her -apartment. - -“And where is the hotel? Is that nice?” - -“It’s pretty good, sir, not so bad.” - -I smiled. She was holding a small umbrella over her head. - -“We had better take a taxi and get out of this rain.” - -I put up my hand and hailed one. We got in, the driver obviously -realizing that this was a street liaison, but giving no sign. London -taxi-drivers, like London policemen, are the pink of civility. - -This girl was civil, obliging. I was contrasting her with the Broadway -and the American type generally--hard, cynical little animals. The -English, from prostitutes to queens, must have an innate sense of fair -play in the social relationship of live and let live. I say this in all -sincerity and with the utmost feeling of respect for the nation that -has produced it. They ought to rule, by right of courtesy. Alas, I fear -me greatly that the force and speed of the American, his disregard for -civility and the waste of time involved, will change all this. - -In the taxi I did not touch her, though she moved over near to me in -that desire to play her rôle conscientiously line by line, scene by -scene. - -“Have we far to go?” I asked perfunctorily. - -“Not very, only a little way.” - -“How much ought the cab charge to be?” - -“Not more than eight or ten pence, sir.” Then, “Do you like girls, -sir?” she asked quaintly in a very human effort to be pleasant under -the circumstances. - -“No,” I replied, lying cautiously. - -She looked at me uncertainly--a little over-awed, I think. I was surely -a strange fish to swim into her net anyhow. - -“Very likely you don’t like me then?” - -“I am not sure that I do. How should I know? I never saw you before in -my life. I must say you have mighty nice eyes,” was my rather banal -reply. - -“Do you think so?” She gave me a sidelong, speculative look. - -“What nationality are you?” I asked. - -“I’m Welsh,” she replied. - -“I didn’t think you were English exactly. Your tone is softer.” - -The taxi stopped abruptly and we got out. It was a shabby-looking -building with a tea- or coffee-room on the ground floor, divided into -small rooms separated by thin, cheap, wooden partitions. The woman -who came to change me a half sovereign in order that I might pay the -driver, was French, small and cleanly looking. She was pleasant and -brisk and her whole attitude reassured me at once. She did not look -like a person who would conspire to rob, and I had good reason to think -more clearly of this as we came out later. - -“This way,” said my street girl, “we go up here.” - -And I followed her up two flights of thinly carpeted stairs into a -small dingy room. It was clean, after the French fashion. - -“It’s not so bad?” she asked with a touch of pride. - -“No. Not at all.” - -“Will you pay for the room, please?” - -The landlady had followed and was standing by. - -I asked how much and found I was to be charged five shillings which -seemed a modest sum. - -The girl locked the door, as the landlady went out, and began taking -off her hat and jacket. She stood before me with half-challenging, -half-speculative eyes. She was a slim, graceful, shabby figure and a -note of pathos came out unexpectedly in a little air of bravado as she -rested one hand on her hip and smiled at me. I was standing in front of -the mantelpiece, below which was the grate ready to be fired. The girl -stood beside me and watched and plainly wondered. She was beginning -to suspect that I was not there on the usual errand. Her eyes, so -curiously soft and blue, began to irritate me. Her hair I noticed was -brown but coarse and dusty--not well kept. These poor little creatures -know absolutely nothing of the art of living or fascination. They are -the shabbiest pawns in life, mere husks of beauty and living on husks. - -“Sit down, please,” I said. She obeyed like a child. “So you’re Welsh. -What part of Wales do you come from?” - -She told me some outlandish name. - -“What were your parents? Poor, I suppose.” - -“Indeed not,” she bridled with that quaint country accent. “My father -was a grocer. He had three stores.” - -“I don’t believe it,” I said mockingly. “You women lie so. I don’t -believe you’re telling me the truth.” - -It was brutal, but I wanted to get beneath the conventional lies these -girls tell, if I could. - -“Why not?” Her clear eyes looked into mine. - -“Oh, I don’t. You don’t look to me like the daughter of a man who owned -three grocery stores. That would mean he was well-to-do. You don’t -expect me to believe that, with you leading this life in London?” - -She bristled vaguely but without force. - -“Believe it or not,” she said sullenly. “It’s so.” - -“Tell me,” I said, “how much can you make out of this business?” - -“Oh, sometimes more, sometimes less. I don’t walk every day. You know -I only walk when I have to. If I pick up a gentleman and if he gives me -a good lot I don’t walk very soon again--not until that’s gone. I--I -don’t like to very much.” - -“What do you call a good lot?” - -“Oh, all sorts of sums. I have been given as high as six pounds.” - -“That isn’t true,” I said. “You know it isn’t true. You’re talking for -effect.” - -The girl’s face flushed. - -“It is true. As I’m alive it’s true. It wasn’t in this very room, but -it was in this house. He was a rich American. He was from New York. All -Americans have money. And he was drunk.” - -“Yes, all Americans may have money,” I smiled sardonically, “but they -don’t go round spending it on such as you in that way. You’re not worth -it.” - -She looked at me, but no angry rage sprang to her eyes. - -“It’s true just the same,” she said meekly. “You don’t like women, do -you?” she asked. - -“No, not very much.” - -“You’re a woman-hater. That’s what you are. I’ve seen such.” - -“Not a woman-hater, no. Simply not very much interested in them.” - -She was perplexed, uncertain. I began to repent of my boorishness and -recklessly lighted the fire (cost--one shilling). We drew up chairs -before it and I plied her with questions. She told me of the police -regulations which permit a woman to go with a man, if he speaks to -her first, without being arrested--not otherwise--and of the large -number of women who are in the business. Piccadilly is the great -walking-ground, I understood, after one o’clock in the morning; -Leicester Square and the regions adjacent, between seven and eleven. -There is another place in the East End--I don’t recall where--where the -poor Jews and others walk, but they are a dreadful lot, she assured -me. The girls are lucky if they get three shillings and they are poor -miserable drabs. I thought at the time, if she would look down on them, -what must they be? - -Then, somehow, because the conversation was getting friendly, I fancy, -this little Welsh girl decided perhaps that I was not so severe as I -seemed. Experience had trained her to think constantly of how much -money she could extract from men--not the normal fee, there is little -more than a poor living in that, but extravagant sums which produce -fine clothes and jewels, according to their estimate of these things. -It is an old story. Other women had told her of their successes. Those -who know anything of women--the street type--know how often this is -tried. She told the customary story of the man who picked her up and, -having escorted her to her room, offered her a pound when three or -four pounds or a much larger sum even was expected. The result was, of -course, according to her, dreadful for the man. She created a great -scene, broke some pottery over his head, and caused a general uproar -in the house. It is an old trick. Your timid man hearing this and -being possibly a new or infrequent adventurer in this world, becomes -fearful of a scene. Many men are timid about bargaining with a woman -beforehand. It smacks too much of the brutal and evil and after all -there is a certain element of romance involved in these drabby liaisons -for the average man, even if there is none--_as there is none_--for the -woman. It is an old, sad, sickening, grim story to most of them and -men are fools, dogs, idiots, with rarely anything fine or interesting -in their eyes. When they see the least chance to betray one of them, -to browbeat and rob or overcharge him in any way and by any trick, -they are ready to do it. This girl, Lilly E----, had been schooled by -perhaps a hundred experienced advisers of the street as to how this was -done. I know this is so, for afterwards she told me of how other women -did it. - -But to continue: “He laid a sovereign on the table and I went for him,” -she said. - -I smiled, not so much in derision as amusement. The story did not fit -her. Obviously it was not so. - -“Oh, no, you didn’t,” I replied. “You are telling me one of the oldest -stories of the trade. Now the truth is you are a silly little liar and -you think you are going to frighten me, by telling me this, into giving -you two or three pounds. You can save yourself the trouble. I don’t -intend to do it.” - -I had every intention of giving her two or three if it suited my mood -later, but she was not to know this now. - -My little Welsh girl was all at sea at once. Her powerless but really -sweet eyes showed it. Something hurt--the pathos of her courage and -endurance in the face of my contemptuous attitude. I had made fun of -her obvious little lies and railed at her transparent tricks. - -“I’m a new experience in men,” I suggested. - -“Men! I don’t want to know anything more about them,” she returned with -sudden fury. “I’m sick of them--the whole lot of them! If I could get -out of this I would. I wish I need never see another man!” - -I did not doubt the sincerity of this outburst. But I affected not to -believe her. - -“It’s true!” she insisted sullenly. - -“You say that, but that’s talk. If you wanted to get out, you would. -Why don’t you get a job at something? You can work.” - -“I don’t know any trade now and I’m too old to learn.” - -“What nonsense! You’re not more than nineteen and you could do anything -you pleased. You won’t, though. You are like all the others. This is -the easy way. Come,” I said more gently, “put on your things and let’s -get out of this.” - -Obediently and without a word she put on her coat and her bedraggled -hat and we turned to the door. - -“Look here,” I said, “I haven’t meant to be unkind. And Heaven knows -I’ve no right to throw stones at you. We are all in a bad mess in this -world--you and I, and the rest. You don’t know what I’m talking about -and it doesn’t matter. And now let’s find a good quiet restaurant where -we can dine slowly and comfortably like two friends who have a lot to -talk over.” - -In a moment she was all animation. The suggestion that I was going -to act toward her as though she were a lady was, according to her -standards, wildly unconventional. - -“Well, you’re funny,” she replied, laughing; “you really are funny.” -And I could see that for once, in a long time, perhaps, the faintest -touch of romance had entered this sordid world for her. - -As we came out, seeing that my attitude had changed so radically, she -asked, “Would you get me a box of cigarettes? I haven’t any change.” - -“Surely,” I said, and we stepped into a tobacconist’s shop. From there -we took a taxi to L.’s Corner House, which she seemed to regard as -sufficiently luxurious; and from there--but I’ll tell this in detail. - -“Tell me,” I said, after she had given the order, picking something -for herself and me; “you say you come from Wales. Tell me the name -of a typical mining-town which is nearer London than some of the -others--some place which is really poor and hard-worked.” - -“Well, where I come from was pretty bad,” she ventured, giving me some -unpronounceable name. “The people haven’t got much to live on there.” - -I wish you might have heard the peculiar purr of her accent. - -“And how far is that?” - -She gave me the hours from London and the railroad fare in shillings. I -think it was about three hours at most. - -“And Cardiff’s pretty bad,” she added. “There’s lots of mines there. -Very deep ones, too. The people are poor there.” - -“Have you ever been in a mine?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -I smiled at her civility, for in entering and leaving the room of the -house of assignation, she had helped me on and off with my overcoat, -quite as a servant might. - -I learned a little about Wales through her--its ill-paid life--and then -we came back to London. How much did the average street girl really -make? I wanted to know. She couldn’t tell me and she was quite honest -about it. - -“Some make more than others,” she said. “I’m not very good at it,” she -confessed. “I can’t make much. I don’t know how to get money out of -men.” - -“I know you don’t,” I replied with real sympathy. “You’re not brazen -enough. Those eyes of yours are too soft. You shouldn’t lie though, -Lilly. You’re better than that. You ought to be in some other work, -worse luck.” - -She didn’t answer, choosing to ignore my petty philosophic concern over -something of which I knew so little. - -We talked of girls--the different kinds. Some were really very pretty, -some were not. Some had really nice figures, she said, you could see -it. Others were made up terribly and depended on their courage or -their audacity to trick money out of men--dissatisfied men. There -were regular places they haunted, Piccadilly being the best--the -only profitable place for her kind--and there were no houses of ill -repute--the police did not allow them. - -“Yes, but that can’t be,” I said. “And the vice of London isn’t -concentrated in just this single spot.” The restaurant we were in--a -large but cheap affair--was quite a center, she said. “There must be -other places. All the women who do this sort of thing don’t come here. -Where do they go?” - -“There’s another place along Cheapside.” - -It appeared that there were certain places where the girls congregated -in this district--saloons or quasi-restaurants, where they could go -and wait for men to speak to them. They could wait twenty minutes at -a time and then if no one spoke to them they had to get up and leave, -but after twenty minutes or so they could come back again and try their -luck, which meant that they would have to buy another drink. Meantime -there were other places and they were always full of girls. - -“You shall take me to that Cheapside place,” I suggested. “I will buy -you more cigarettes and a box of candy afterwards. I will pay you for -your time.” - -She thought about her traveling companion whom she had agreed to meet -at eleven, and finally promised. The companion was to be left to her -fate. - -While we dined we talked of men and the types they admired. Englishmen, -she thought, were usually attracted toward French girls and Americans -liked English girls, but the great trick was to get yourself up like -an American girl and speak her patois--imitate her slang, because she -was the most popular of all. - -“Americans and English gentlemen”--she herself made that odd -distinction--“like the American girl. I’m sometimes taken for one,” she -informed me, “and this hat is like the American hats.” - -It was. I smiled at the compliment, sordid as it may appear. - -“Why do they like them?” I asked. - -“Oh, the American girl is smarter. She walks quicker. She carries -herself better. That’s what the men tell me.” - -“And you are able to deceive them?” - -“Yes.” - -“That’s interesting. Let me hear you talk like an American. How do you -do it?” - -She pursed her lips for action. “Well, I guess I’ll have to go now,” -she began. It was not a very good imitation. “All Americans say ‘I -guess,’” she informed me. - -“And what else?” I said. - -“Oh, let me see.” She seemed lost for more. “You teach me some,” she -said. “I knew some other words, but I forget.” - -For half an hour I coached her in American slang. She sat there -intensely interested while I drilled her simple memory and her lips -in these odd American phrases, and I confess I took a real delight in -teaching her. She seemed to think it would raise her market value. And -so in a way I was aiding and abetting vice. Poor little Lilly E----! -She will end soon enough. - -At eleven we departed for the places where she said these women -congregated and then I saw what the London underworld of this kind was -like. I was told afterwards that it was fairly representative. - -This little girl took me to a place on a corner very close to a -restaurant we were leaving--I should say two blocks. It was on the -second floor and was reached by a wide stairway, which gave into a -room like a circle surrounding the head of the stairs as a center. To -the left, as we came up, was a bar attended by four or five pretty -barmaids, and the room, quite small, was crowded with men and women. -The women, or girls rather, for I should say all ranged somewhere -between seventeen and twenty-six, were good looking in an ordinary way, -but they lacked the “go” of their American sisters. - -The tables at which they were seated were ranged around the walls -and they were drinking solely to pay the house for allowing them -to sit there. Men were coming in and going out, as were the other -girls. Sometimes they came in or went out alone. At other times they -came in or went out in pairs. Waiters strolled to and fro, and the -etiquette of the situation seemed to demand that the women should buy -port wine--why, I don’t know. It was vile stuff, tasting as though -it were prepared of chemicals and I refused to touch it. I was shown -local detectives, girls who worked in pairs, and those lowest of all -creatures, the men who traffic in women. I learned now that London -closes all its restaurants, saloons, hotel bars and institutions of -this kind promptly at twelve-thirty, and then these women are turned -out on the streets. - -“You should see Piccadilly around one o’clock in the morning,” my guide -had said to me a little while before, and now I understood. They were -all forced out into Piccadilly from everywhere. - -It was rather a dismal thing sitting here, I must confess. The room -was lively enough, but this type of life is so vacant of soul. It is -precisely as though one stirred in straw and sawdust, expecting it -to be vigorous with the feel of growing life and freshness, such as -one finds in a stalk or tree. It is a world of dead ideals I should -say--or, better yet, a world in which ideals never had a chance -to grow. The women were the veriest birds of prey, cold, weary, -disillusioned, angry, dull, sad, perhaps; the men were victims of -carnal desire without the ability to understand how weary and disgusted -the women were who sought to satisfy them. No clear understanding of -life on either side; no suggestion of delicacy or romance. No subtlety -of lure or parade. Rather, coarse, hard bargaining in which robbery and -abuse and bitter recrimination play a sodden part. I know of nothing so -ghastly, so suggestive of a totally dead spirit, so bitter a comment on -life and love and youth and hope as a street girl’s weary, speculative, -commercial cry of--“Hello, sweetheart!” - -From this first place we went to others--not so good, Lilly told me. - -It is a poor world. I do not attempt to explain it. The man or woman -of bridled passion is much better off. As for those others, how much -are they themselves to blame? Circumstances have so large a part in -it. I think, all in all, it is a deadly hell-hole; and yet I know that -talking is not going to reform it. Life, in my judgment, does not -reform. The world is old. Passion in all classes is about the same. We -think this shabby world is worst because it is shabby. But is it? Isn’t -it merely that we are different--used to different things? I think so. - -After buying her a large box of candy I hailed a taxi and took my -little girl home to her shabby room and left her. She was very gay. She -had been made quite a little of since we started from the region of -rented rooms. Her purse was now the richer by three pounds. Her opinion -had been asked, her advice taken, she had been allowed to order. I had -tried to make her feel that I admired her a little and that I was sorry -for her a little. At her door, in the rain, I told her I might use some -of this experience in a book sometime. She said, “Send me a copy of -your book. Will I be in it?” - -“Yes.” - -“Send it to me, will you?” - -“If you’re here.” - -“Oh, I’ll be here. I don’t move often.” - -Poor little Welsh waif! I thought, how long, how long, will she be -“here” before she goes down before the grim shapes that lurk in her -dreary path--disease, despair, death? - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -LONDON; THE EAST END - - -As interesting as any days that I spent in London were two in the -East End, though I am sorry to add more drabby details to those just -narrated. All my life I had heard of this particular section as grim, -doleful, a center and sea of depraved and depressed life. - -“Nothing like the East End of London,” I have heard people say, and -before I left I expected to look over it, of course. My desire to do -so was whetted by a conversation I had with the poet, John Masefield, -who, if I remember rightly, had once lived in the extreme East End of -London, Canningtown. He had talked of the curious physical condition -of the people which he described as “bluggy” or stagnant. Little -intelligence in the first place, according to him, seemed to be -breeding less and less intelligence as time went on. Poverty, lack -of wits, lack of ambition were fostering inbreeding. Such things are -easy to say. No one can really tell. Even more interesting to me was -the proffered information concerning East End amusements--calf-eating -contests, canary-singing contests, whiffet races, pigeon-eating -contests. I was told it would be hard to indicate how simple-minded the -people were in many things and yet how low and dark in their moods, -physical and moral. I got a suggestion of this some days later, when -I discovered in connection with the police courts that every little -while the court-room is cleared in order that terrible, unprintable, -almost unbearable testimony may be taken. What he said to me somehow -suggested the atmosphere of the Whitechapel murders--those demoniac -crimes that had thrilled the world a few years before. - -I must confess that my first impression was one of disappointment. -America is strident and its typical “East Side” and slum conditions -are strident also. There is no voiceless degradation that I have ever -seen in America. The East Side of New York is unquestionably one of -the noisiest spots in the world, if not the worst. It is so full of -children--so full of hope too. - -I was surprised to find how distinctly different are the two realms of -poverty in New York and London. - -On my first visit I took the subway or tube to St. Mary’s Station, -Whitechapel, and getting out, investigated all that region which lies -between there and the Great Eastern Railway Station and Bethnal Green -and Shoreditch. I also reconnoitered Bethnal Green. - -It was a chill, gray, January day. The London haze was gray and heavy, -quite depressing. Almost at once I noticed that this region which I was -in, instead of being strident and blatant as in America, was peculiarly -quiet. The houses, as in all parts of London, were exceedingly low, two -and three stories, with occasional four- and five-story buildings for -variation, but all built out of that drab, yellowish-gray brick which -when properly smoked has such a sad and yet effective air. The streets -were not narrow, as in New York’s East Side,--quite the contrary; but -the difference in crowds, color, noise, life, was astounding. In New -York the East Side streets, as I have said, are almost invariably -crowded. Here they were almost empty. The low doors and areaways -oozed occasional figures who were either thin, or shabby, or dirty, -or sickly, but a crowd was not visible anywhere. They seemed to me -to slink along in a half-hearted way and I, for one, experienced no -sense of desperado criminality of any kind--only a low despair. The -people looked too meek--too law-governed. The policeman must be an -immense power in London. Vice?--yes. Poverty?--yes. I saw young boys -and girls with bodies which seemed to me to be but half made up by -nature--half done. They were ambling, lackadaisical, weary-looking. -Low?--yes, in many cases. Filthy?--yes. Savage or dangerous?--not at -all. I noticed the large number of cheap cloth caps worn by the men -and boys and the large number of dull gray shawls wrapped slatternwise -about the shoulders of the women. This world looked sad enough in all -conscience, inexpressibly so, but because of the individual houses -in many instances, the clean streets and the dark tiny shops, not -unendurable--even homey in instances. I ventured to ask a stalwart -London policeman--they are all stalwart in London--“Where are the very -poor in the East End--the poorest there are?” - -“Well, most of these people hereabouts have little enough to live on,” -he observed, looking straight before him with that charming soldierly -air the London policemen have--his black strap under his chin. - -I walked long distances through such streets as Old Montague, King -Edward, Great Carden, Hope, Brick Lane, Salesworthy, Flower, Dean, -Hare, Fuller, Church Row, Cheshire, Hereford,--a long, long list, too -long to give here, coming out finally at St. John’s Catholic Church at -Bethnal Green and taking a car line for streets still farther out. I -had studied shops, doorways, areas, windows, with constant curiosity. -The only variation I saw to a dead level of sameness, unbroken by -trees, green places or handsome buildings of any kind, were factory -chimneys and endless charitable institutions covering, apparently, -every form of human weakness or deficiency, but looking as if they were -much drearier than the thing they were attempting to cure. One of them -I remember was an institution for the orphans of seamen, and another a -hospital for sick Spanish Jews. The lodging-houses for working-girls -and working-boys were so numerous as to be discouraging and so dreary -looking that I marveled that any boy or girl should endure to live in -them. One could sense all forms of abuse and distress here. It would -spring naturally out of so low a grade of intelligence. Only a Dickens, -guided by the lamp of genius, could get at the inward spirit of these, -and then perhaps it would not avail. Life, in its farthest reaches, -sinks to a sad ugly mess and stays there. - -One of the places that I came upon in my perambulations was a public -washhouse, laundry and bath, established by the London County -Council, if I remember rightly, and this interested me greatly. It -was near Winchester Street and looked not unlike a low, one-story, -factory building. Since these things are always fair indications of -neighborhoods, I entered and asked permission to inspect it. I was -directed to the home or apartment of a small martinet of a director -or manager, quite spare and dark and cockney, who frowned on me -quizzically when he opened his door,--a perfect devil of a cheap -superior who was for putting me down with a black look. I could see -that it was one of the natives he was expecting to encounter. - -“I would like to look over the laundry and baths,” I said. - -“Where do you come from?” he asked. - -“America,” I replied. - -“Oh! Have you a card?” - -I gave him one. He examined it as though by some chance it might reveal -something concerning me. Then he said if I would go round to the other -side he would admit me. I went and waited a considerable time before -he appeared. When he did, it was to lead me with a very uncertain air -first into the room filled with homely bath closets, where you were -charged a penny more or less--according to whether you had soap and -towel or not--and where the tubs were dreary affairs with damp-looking -wooden tops or flanges, and thence into the washroom and laundry-room, -where at this time in the afternoon--about four o’clock--perhaps a -score of women of the neighborhood were either washing or ironing. - -Dreary! dreary! dreary! Ghastly! In Italy, later, and southern -France, I saw public washing under the sky, beside a stream or near a -fountain--a broken, picturesque, deliciously archaic fountain in one -instance. Here under gray skies, in a gray neighborhood, and in this -prison-like washroom was one of the most doleful pictures of life -the mind of man could imagine. Always when I think of the English, I -want to go off into some long analysis of their character. We have -so much to learn of life, it seems to me, and among the first things -is the chemistry of the human body. I always marvel at the nature of -the fluids which make up some people. Different climates must produce -different kinds, just as they produce strange kinds of trees and -animals. Here in England this damp, gray climate produces a muggy -sort of soul which you find _au naturel_ only when you walk among the -very poor in such a neighborhood as this. Here in this wash-house I -saw the low English _au naturel_, but no passing commentary such as -this could do them justice. One would have to write a book in order -to present the fine differences. Weakness, lowness of spirit, a vague -comprehension of only the simplest things, combined with a certain -meaty solidarity, gave me the creeps. Here they were, scrubbing or -ironing; strings tied around their protuberant stomachs to keep their -skirts up; clothes the color of lead or darker, and about as cheerful; -hair gray or brownish-black, thin, unkempt; all of them flabby and -weary-looking--about the atmosphere one would find in an American -poorhouse. - -They washed here because there were no washing facilities in their own -homes--no stationary tubs, no hot or cold water, no suitable stoves to -boil water on. It was equally true of ironing facilities, the director -told me. They came from blocks away. Some women washed here for whole -vicinities--the more industrious ones. And yet few came here at -that--the more self-respecting stayed away. I learned this after a long -conversation with my guide whose principal commentary was that they -were a worthless lot and that you had to watch them all the time. “If -you don’t,” he said in cockney English, “they won’t keep things clean. -You can’t teach ’em scarcely how to do things right. Now and then they -gets their hands caught.” He was referring to the washing-drums and the -mangles. It was a long story, but all I got out of it was that this -was a dreary world, that he was sick of his position but compelled to -keep it for financial reasons, that he wanted as little as possible to -do with the kind of cattle which he considered these people to be and -that he would prefer to give it up. There was a touch of socialism in -all this--trying to do for the masses--but I argued that perhaps under -more general socialistic conditions things would be better; certainly, -one would have to secure more considerate feelings on the part of -directors and some public approval which would bring out the better -elements. Perhaps under truer socialism, however, public wash-houses -would not be necessary at all. Anyhow, the cry from here to Bond Street -and the Houses of Parliament and the stately world of the Lords seemed -infinitely far. What can society do with the sad, shadowy base on which -it rests? - -I came another day to another section of this world, approaching -the East End via Aldgate and Commercial Road, and cutting through -to Bethnal Green via Stepney. I found the same conditions--clean -streets, low gray buildings, shabby people, a large museum whose chief -distinction was that the floor of its central rotunda had been laid by -women convicts!--and towering chimneys. So little life existed in the -streets, generally speaking, that I confess I was depressed. London -is so far flung. There were a great many Jews of Russian, Roumanian -and Slavic extraction, nearly all bearing the marks of poverty and -ignorance, but looking shrewd enough at that, and a great many -physically deteriorated English. The long-bearded Jew with trousers -sagging about his big feet, his small derby hat pulled low over his -ears, his hands folded tightly across his back, was as much in evidence -here as on the East Side in New York. I looked in vain for restaurants -or show places of any kind (saloons, moving pictures, etc.). There were -scarcely any here. This whole vicinity seemed to me to be given up to -the poorest kind of living--sad, drab, gray. No wonder the policeman -said to me: “Most of these people hereabouts have little enough to -live on.” I’m sure of it. Finally, after a third visit, I consulted -with another writer, a reputed authority on the East End, who gave me -a list of particular neighborhoods to look at. If anything exceptional -was to be detected from the appearance of the people, beyond what I -have noted, I could not see it. I found no poor East End costers with -buttons all over their clothes, although they once existed here. I -found no evidence of the overcrowded home life, because I could not get -into the houses to see. Children, it seemed to me, were not nearly so -numerous as in similar areas in American cities. Even a police-court -proceeding I saw in Avon Square was too dull to be interesting. I was -told I might expect the most startling crimes. The two hours I spent -in court developed only drunkenness and adultery. But as my English -literary guide informed me, only time and familiarity with a given -neighborhood would develop anything. I believe this. All I felt was -that in such a dull, sordid, poor-bodied world any depth of filth or -crime might be reached, but who cares to know? - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -ENTER SIR SCORP - - -During all my stay at Bridgely Level I had been hearing more or -less--an occasional remark--of a certain Sir Scorp, an Irish knight -and art critic, a gentleman who had some of the finest Manets in the -world. He had given Dublin its only significant collection of modern -pictures--in fact, Ireland should be substituted for Dublin, and for -this he was knighted. He was the art representative of some great -museum in South Africa--at Johannesburg, I think,--and he was generally -looked upon as an authority in the matter of pictures. - -Barfleur came one evening to my hotel with the announcement that Sir -Scorp was coming down to Bridgely Level to spend Saturday and Sunday, -that he would bring his car and that together on Sunday we three would -motor to Oxford. Barfleur had an uncle who was a very learned master of -Greek at that University and who, if we were quite nice and pleasant, -might give us luncheon. We were, I found, to take a little side trip on -Saturday afternoon to a place called Penn, some twenty or twenty-five -miles from Bridgely Level, in Buckinghamshire, whence William Penn had -come originally. - -Saturday was rainy and gloomy and I doubted whether we should do -anything in such weather, but Barfleur was not easily put out. I wrote -all morning in my alcove, while Barfleur examined papers, and some -time after two Sir Scorp arrived,--a pale, slender, dark-eyed man of -thirty-five or thereabouts, with a keen, bird-like glance, a poised, -nervous, sensitive manner, and that elusive, subtlety of reference and -speech which makes the notable intellectual wherever you find him. For -the ten thousandth time in my life, where intellectuals are concerned, -I noticed that peculiarity of mind which will not brook equality save -under compulsion. Where are your credentials?--such minds invariably -seem to ask. How do you come to be what you think you are? Is there a -flaw in your intellectual or artistic armor? Let us see. So the duel of -ideas and forms and methods of procedure begins, and you are made or -unmade, in the momentary estimate of the individual, by your ability -to withstand criticism. I liked Sir Scorp as intellectuals go. I liked -his pale face, his trim black beard, his slim hands and his poised, -nervous, elusive manner. - -“Oh, yes. So you’re new to England. I envy you your early impression. I -am reserving for the future the extreme pleasure of reading you.” These -little opening civilities always amuse me. We are all on the stage and -we play our parts perforce whether we do so consciously or not. - -It appeared that the chauffeur had to be provided for, Sir Scorp had -to be given a hasty lunch. He seemed to fall in with the idea of a -short run to Penn before dark, even if the day were gloomy, and so, -after feeding him quickly before the grate fire in the drawing-room, we -were off--Sir Scorp, Barfleur, Berenice and Percy--Barfleur’s son--and -myself. Sir Scorp sat with me in the tonneau and Barfleur and Percy in -the front seat. - -Sir Scorp made no effort to strike up any quick relationship with -me--remained quite aloof and talked in generalities. I could see -that he took himself very seriously--as well he might, seeing that, -as I understood it, he had begun life with nothing. There were -remarks--familiar ones concerning well-known painters, sculptors, -architects, and the social life of England. - -This first afternoon trip was pleasant enough, acquainting me as it did -with the character of the country about Bridgely Level for miles and -miles. Up to this time I had been commiserated on the fact that it was -winter and I was seeing England under the worst possible conditions, -but I am not so sure that it was such a great disadvantage. To-day -as we sped down some damp, slippery hillside where the river Thames -was to be seen far below twisting like a letter S in the rain, I -thought to myself that light and color--summer light and color--would -help but little. The villages that we passed were all rain-soaked -and preternaturally solemn. There were few if any people abroad. We -did not pass a single automobile on the way to Penn and but a single -railroad track. These little English villages for all the extended -English railway system, are practically without railway communication. -You have to drive or walk a number of miles to obtain suitable railway -connection. - -I recall the sag-roofed, moss-patterned, vine-festooned cottages of -once red but now brownish-green brick, half hidden behind high brick -walls where curiously clipped trees sometimes stood up in sentinel -order, and vines and bushes seemed in a conspiracy to smother the doors -and windows in an excess of knitted leafage. Until you see them no -words can adequately suggest the subtlety of age and some old order -of comfort, once prevailing, but now obsolete, which these little -towns and separate houses convey. You know, at a glance, that they -are not of this modern work-a-day world. You know at a glance that no -power under the sun can save them. They are of an older day and an -older thought--the thought perhaps that goes with Gray’s “Elegy” and -Goldsmith’s “Traveller” and “Deserted Village.” - -That night at dinner, before and after, we fell into a most stirring -argument. As I recall, it started with Sir Scorp’s insisting that St. -Paul’s of London, which is a product of the skill of Sir Christopher -Wren, as are so many of the smaller churches of London, was infinitely -superior externally to the comparatively new and still unfinished Roman -Catholic Cathedral of Westminster. With that I could not agree. I have -always objected, anyhow, to the ground plan of the Gothic cathedral, -namely, the cross, as being the worst possible arrangement which could -be devised for an interior. It is excellent as a scheme for three or -four interiors--the arms of the cross being always invisible from the -nave--but as one interior, how can it compare with the straight-lying -basilica which gives you one grand forward sweep, or the solemn Greek -temple with its pediment and glorifying rows of columns. Of all -forms of architecture, other things being equal, I most admire the -Greek, though the Gothic exteriorly, even more than interiorly, has a -tremendous appeal. It is so airy and florate. - -However, St. Paul’s is neither Greek, Gothic, nor anything else very -much--a staggering attempt on the part of Sir Christopher Wren to -achieve something new which is to me not very successful. The dome is -pleasing and the interior space is fairly impressive, but the general -effect is botchy, and I think I said as much. Naturally this was solid -ground for an argument and the battle raged to and fro,--through -Greece, Rome, the Byzantine East and the Gothic realms of Europe and -England. We finally came down to the skyscrapers of New York and -Chicago and the railway terminals of various American cities, but I -shall not go into that. What was more important was that it raised a -question concerning the proletariate of England,--the common people -from whom, or because of whom, all things are made to rise, and this -was based on the final conclusion that all architecture is, or should -be, an expression of national temperament, and this as a fact was -partly questioned and partly denied, I think. It began by my asking -whether the little low cottages we had been seeing that afternoon--the -quaint windows, varying gables, pointless but delicious angles, and -the battered, time-worn state of houses generally--was an expression -of the English temperament. Mind you, I love what these things stand -for. I love the simpleness of soul which somehow is conveyed by Burns -and Wordsworth and Hardy, and I would have none of change if life could -be ordered so sweetly--if it could really stay. Alas, I know it can -not. Compared to the speed and skill which is required to manipulate -the modern railway trains, the express companies, the hotels, the -newspapers, all this is helpless, pathetic. - -Sir Scorp’s answer was yes, that they were an expression, but that, -nevertheless, the English mass was a beast of muddy brain. It did -not--could not--quite understand what was being done. Above it were -superimposed intellectual classes, each smaller and more enthusiastic -and aware as you reach the top. At least, it has been so, he said, but -now democracy and the newspapers are beginning to break up this lovely -solidarity of simplicity and ignorance into something that is not so -nice. - -“People want to get on now,” he declared. “They want each to be greater -than the other. They must have baths and telephones and railways and -they want to undo this simplicity. The greatness of England has been -due to the fact that the intellectual superior classes with higher -artistic impulses and lovelier tendencies generally could direct the -masses and like sheep they would follow. Hence all the lovely qualities -of England; its ordered households, its beautiful cathedrals, its -charming castles and estates, its good roads, its delicate homes, and -order and precedences. The magnificent princes of the realm have been -able to do so much for art and science because their great impulses -need not be referred back to the mass--the ignorant, non-understanding -mass--for sanction.” - -Sir Scorp sprang with ease to Lorenzo, the magnificent, to the princes -of Italy, to Rome and the Cæsars for illustration. He cited France -and Louis. Democracy, he declared, is never going to do for all what -the established princes could do. Democracy is going to be the death -of art. Not so, I thought and said, for democracy can never alter -the unalterable difference between high and low, rich and poor, -little brain and big brain, strength and weakness. It cannot abolish -difference and make a level plane. It simply permits the several planes -to rise higher together. What is happening is that the human pot is -boiling again. Nations are undergoing a transition period. We are in a -maelstrom, which means change and reconstruction. America is going to -flower next and grandly, and perhaps after that Africa, or Australia. -Then, say, South America, and we come back to Europe by way of India, -China, Japan and through Russia. All in turn and new great things from -each again. Let’s hope so. A pretty speculation, anyhow. - -At my suggestion of American supremacy, Sir Scorp, although he -protested, no doubt honestly, that he preferred the American to any -other foreign race, was on me in a minute with vital criticism and I -think some measure of insular solidarity. The English do not love the -Americans--that is sure. They admire their traits--some of them, but -they resent their commercial progress. The wretched Americans will -not listen to the wise British. They will not adhere to their noble -and magnificent traditions. They go and do things quite out of order -and the way in which they should be done, and then they come over to -England and flaunt the fact in the noble Britisher’s face. This is -above all things sad. It is evil, crass, reprehensible, anything you -will, and the Englishman resents it. He even resents it when he is an -Irish Englishman. He dislikes the German much--fears the outcome of -a war from that quarter--but really he dislikes the American more. I -honestly think he considers America far more dangerous than Germany. -What are you going to do with that vast realm which is “the states”? -It is upsetting the whole world by its nasty progressiveness, and this -it should not be permitted to do. England should really lead. England -should have invented all the things which the Americans have invented. -England should be permitted to dictate to-day and to set the order of -forms and procedures, but somehow it isn’t doing it. And, hang it all! -the Americans _are_. We progressed through various other things,--an -American operatic manager who was then in London attempting to revise -English opera, an American tobacco company which had made a failure of -selling tobacco to the English, but finally weariness claimed us all, -and we retired for the night, determined to make Oxford on the morrow -if the weather faired in the least. - -The next morning I arose, glad that we had had such a forceful -argument. It was worth while, for it brought us all a little closer -together. Barfleur, the children and I ate breakfast together while we -were waiting for Scorp to come down and wondering whether we should -really go, it was so rainy. Barfleur gave me a book on Oxford, saying -that if I was truly interested I should look up beforehand the things -that I was to see. Before a pleasant grate fire I studied this volume, -but my mind was disturbed by the steadily approaching fact of the trip -itself, and I made small progress. Somehow during the morning the -plan that Barfleur had of getting us invited to luncheon by his uncle -at Oxford disappeared and it turned out that we were to go the whole -distance and back in some five or six hours, having only two or three -hours for sightseeing. - -At eleven Sir Scorp came down and then it was agreed that the rain -should make no difference. We would go, anyhow. - -I think I actually thrilled as we stepped into the car, for somehow -the exquisite flavor and sentiment of Oxford was reaching me here. I -hoped we would go fast so that I should have an opportunity to see -much of it. We did speed swiftly past open fields where hay cocks were -standing drearily in the drizzling rain, and down dark aisles of bare -but vine-hung trees, and through lovely villages where vines and small -oddly placed windows and angles and green-grown, sunk roofs made me -gasp for joy. I imagined how they would look in April and May with the -sun shining, the birds flying, a soft wind blowing. I think I could -smell the odor of roses here in the wind and rain. We tore through -them, it seemed to me, and I said once to the driver, “Is there no law -against speeding in England?” - -“Yes,” he replied, “there is, but you can’t pay any attention to that -if you want to get anywhere.” - -There were graceful flocks of crows flying here and there. There were -the same gray little moss-grown churches with quaint belfries and odd -vine-covered windows. There were the same tree-protected borders of -fields, some of them most stately where the trees were tall and dark -and sad in the rain. I think an open landscape, such as this, with -green, wet grass or brown stubble and low, sad, heavy, gray clouds for -sky and background, is as delicious as any landscape that ever was. -And it was surely not more than one hour and a half after we left -Bridgely before we began to rush through the narrow, winding streets -where houses, always brick and stone and red walls with tall gates and -vines above them, lined either side of the way. It was old--you could -see that, even much that could be considered new in England was old -according to the American standard. The plan of the city was odd to me -because unlike the American cities, praise be! there was no plan. Not -an east and west street, anywhere. Not a north and south one. Not a -four- or five-story building anywhere, apparently, and no wood; just -wet, gray stone and reddish-brown brick and vines. When I saw High -Street and the façade of Queens College I leaped for joy. I can think -of nothing lovelier in either marble or bronze than this building line. -It is so gentle, so persuasive of beautiful thought, such an invitation -to reflection and tender romance. It is so obvious that men have worked -lovingly over this. It is so plain there has been great care and pains -and that life has dealt tenderly with all. It has not been destroyed -or revised and revivified, but just allowed to grow old softly and -gracefully. - -Owing to our revised plans for luncheon I had several marmalade -sandwiches in my hand, laid in an open white paper which Barfleur had -brought and passed around, the idea being that we would not have time -for lunch if we wished to complete our visit and get back by dark. Sir -Scorp had several meat sandwiches in another piece of paper equally -flamboyant. I was eating vigorously, for the ride had made me hungry, -the while my eyes searched out the jewel wonders of the delicious -prospect before me. - -“This will never do,” observed Sir Scorp, folding up his paper -thoughtfully, “invading these sacred precincts in this ribald manner. -They’ll think we’re a lot of American sightseers come to despoil the -place.” - -“Such being the case,” I replied, “we’ll disgrace Barfleur for life. He -has relations here. Nothing would give me greater pleasure.” - -“Come, Dreiser. Give me those sandwiches.” - -It was Barfleur, of course. - -I gave over my feast reluctantly. Then we went up the street, shoulder -to shoulder, as it were, Berenice walking with first one and another. I -had thought to bring my little book on Oxford and to my delight I could -see that it was even much better than the book indicated. - -How shall one do justice to so exquisite a thing as Oxford,--twenty-two -colleges and halls, churches, museums and the like, with all their -lovely spires, towers, buttresses, ancient walls, ancient doors, -pinnacles, gardens, courts, angles and nooks which turn and wind and -confront each other and break into broad views and delicious narrow -vistas with a grace and an uncertainty which delights and surprises the -imagination at every turn. I can think of nothing more exquisite than -these wonderful walls, so old that whatever color they were originally, -they now are a fine mottled black and gray, with uncertain patches of -smoky hue, and places where the stone has crumbled to a dead white. -Time has done so much; tradition has done so much; pageantry and -memory; the art of the architect, the perfect labor of builder, the -beauty of the stone itself, and then nature--leaves and trees and the -sky! This day of rain and lowery clouds--though Sir Scorp insisted it -could stand no comparison with sunshine and spring and the pathos of a -delicious twilight was yet wonderful to me. Grays and blacks and dreary -alterations of storm clouds have a remarkable value when joined with so -delicate and gracious a thing as perfectly arranged stone. We wandered -through alleys and courts and across the quadrangles of University -College, Baliol College, Wadham College, Oriel College, up High -Street, through Park Street, into the Chapel of Queens College, into -the banquet of Baliol and again to the Bodleian Library, and thence by -strange turns and lovely gateways to an inn for tea. It was raining all -the while and I listened to disquisitions by Sir Scorp on the effect of -the personalities, and the theories of both Inigo Jones and Christopher -Wren, not only on these buildings but on the little residences in -the street. Everywhere, Sir Scorp, enthusiast that he is, found -something--a line of windows done in pure Tudor, a clock tower after -the best fashion of Jones, a façade which was Wren pure and simple. He -quarreled delightfully, as the artist always will, with the atrocity of -this restoration or that failure to combine something after the best -manner, but barring the worst errors which showed quite plainly enough -in such things as the Oxford art gallery and a modern church or two--it -was all perfect. Time and tradition have softened, petted, made lovely -even the plainest surfaces. - -I learned from Barfleur where Walter Pater and Oscar Wilde lived, where -Shelley’s essay on atheism was burned, and where afterwards a monument -was erected to him, where some English bishops were burned for refusing -to recant their religious beliefs and where the dukes and princes of -the realm were quartered in their college days. Sir Scorp descanted on -the pity of the fact, that some, who would have loved a world such as -this in their youth, could never afford to come here, while others who -were as ignorant as boors and as dull as swine, were for reasons of -wealth and family allowed to wallow in a world of art which they could -not possibly appreciate. Here as elsewhere I learned that professors -were often cads and pedants--greedy, jealous, narrow, academic. Here as -elsewhere precedence was the great fetish of brain and the silly riot -of the average college student was as common as in the meanest school. -Life is the same, be art great or little, and the fame of even Oxford -cannot gloss over the weakness of a humanity that will alternately be -low and high, shabby and gorgeous, narrow and vast. - -The last thing we saw were some very old portions of Christ College, -which had been inhabited by Dominican monks, I believe, in their day, -and this thrilled and delighted me quite as much as anything. I forgot -all about the rain in trying to recall the type of man and the type of -thought that must have passed in and out of those bolt-riven doors, but -it was getting time to leave and my companions would have none of my -lagging delight. - -It was blowing rain and as we were leaving Oxford I lost my cap and had -to walk back after it. Later I lost my glove! As we rode my mind went -back over the ancient chambers, the paneled woodwork, stained glass -windows, and high vaulted ceilings I had just seen. The heavy benches -and somber portraits in oil sustained themselves in my mind clearly. -Oxford, I said to myself, was a jewel architecturally. Another thousand -years and it would be as a dream of the imagination. I feel now as if -its day were done; as if so much gentle beauty can not endure. I had -seen myself the invasion of the electric switch board and the street -car in High Street, and of course other things will come. Already the -western world is smiling at a solemnity and a beauty which are noble -and lovely to look upon, but which cannot keep pace with a new order -and a new need. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -A CHRISTMAS CALL - - -The Christmas holidays were drawing near and Barfleur was making due -preparations for the celebration of that event. He was a stickler for -the proper observance of those things which have national significance -and national or international feeling behind them. Whatever joy he -might get out of such things, much or little, I am convinced that he -was much more concerned lest some one should fail of an appropriate -share of happiness than he was about anything else. I liked that in -Barfleur. It touched me greatly, and made me feel at times as though I -should like to pat him on the head. - -During all my youth in Indiana and elsewhere I had been fed on that -delightful picture, “Christmas in England,” concocted first, I believe -(for American consumption, anyhow), by Washington Irving, and from -him rehashed for magazines and newspaper purposes until it had come -to be romance _ad nauseum_. The boar’s head carried in by the butler -of Squire Bracebridge, the ancient peacock pie with the gorgeous tail -feathers arranged at one end of the platter and the crested head at -the other, the yule log, the mistletoe berries, and the Christmas -choristers singing outside of windows and doors of echoing halls, had -vaguely stood their ground and as such had rooted themselves in my -mind as something connected with ancestral England. I did not exactly -anticipate anything of this kind as being a part of present-day -England, or of Barfleur’s simple country residence, but, nevertheless, -I was in England, and he was making Christmas preparations of one kind -or another, and my mind had a perfect right to ramble a little. I think -most of all I anticipated another kind of toy from that to which we are -accustomed in America. - -So many things go to make up that very amiable feast of Christmas when -it is successful that I can hardly think now of all that contributed -to this one. There was Sir Scorp, of whom by now I had grown very -fond, and who was coming here to spend the holidays. There was Gerard -Barfleur, a cousin of Barfleur’s, a jolly, roystering theatrical -manager, who was unquestionably--after Barfleur--one of the most -pleasing figures I met in England, a whimsical, comic-ballad-singing, -character-loving soul, who was as great a favorite with women and -children as one would want to find. He knew all sorts of ladies, -apparently, of high and low degree, rich and poor, beautiful and -otherwise, and seemed kindly disposed toward them all. I could write a -splendid human-interest sketch of Gerard Barfleur alone. There was Mr. -T. McT., a pale, thoughtful person, artistic and poetic to his finger -tips, curator of one of the famous museums, a lover of Mr. Housman’s -“A Shropshire Lad,” a lover of ancient glass and silver, whose hair -hung in a sweet mop over his high, pale forehead, and whose limpid dark -eyes shone with a kindly, artistic light. Then there was Barfleur’s -aunt and her daughter, mother and sister respectively of the highly -joyous Gerard Barfleur, and wife and daughter of a famous litterateur. -Then, to cap it all, were the total of Barfleur’s very interesting -household,--housekeeper, governess, maid, cook, gardener, and--last, -but not least, the four charming, I might almost say adorable, children. - -There, too, was Barfleur, a host in himself. For weeks beforehand he -kept saying on occasion as we wandered about London together, “No, we -can’t go there,” or, “You mustn’t accept that, because we have reserved -that Saturday and Sunday for Christmas at my place,” and so nothing was -done which might interfere. Being in his hands I finally consulted him -completely as to Christmas presents, and found that I was to be limited -to very small gifts, mere tokens of good-will, I being his guest. I -did manage to get him a supply of his favorite cigarettes, however, -unknown to himself,--the ones his clever secretary told me he much -preferred,--and had them sent out to the house with some favorite books -for the remaining members of the household. - -But the man was in such high spirits over the whole program he had -laid out for me--winter and spring,--the thought of Paris and the -Riviera,--that he was quite beside himself. More than once he said -to me, beaming through his monocle, “We shall have a delightful time -on the continent soon. I’m looking forward to it, and to your first -impressions.” Every evening he wanted to take my hastily scribbled -notes and read them, and after doing so was anxious to have me do -them all just that way, that is, day by day as I experienced them. I -found that quite impossible, however. Once he wanted to know if I had -any special preference in wines or cordials and I knew very well why -he asked. Another time he overheard me make the statement that I had -always longed to eat rich, odorous Limburger cheese from Germany. - -“Done!” he exclaimed. “We shall have it for Christmas.” - -“But, Papa,” piped up Berenice maliciously, “we don’t all have to have -it at the same time, do we?” - -“No, my dear,” replied Barfleur solemnly, with that amazingly -patronizing and parental air which always convulsed me, a sort of gay -deviltry always lurking behind it. - -“Only Mr. Dreiser need have it. He is German and likes it.” - -I assumed as German a look as I might,--profound, Limburgery. - -“And I believe you like Mr. Jones’s sausage,” he observed on another -occasion, referring to an American commodity, which he had heard me say -in New York that I liked. “We shall have some of those.” - -“Are American sausage like English sausage?” inquired young Charles -Gerald interestedly. - -“Now Heaven only knows,” I replied. “I have never eaten English -sausages. Ask your father.” - -Barfleur merely smiled. “I think not,” he replied. - -“Christmas is certainly looking up,” I said to him badgeringly. “If I -come out of here alive,--in condition for Paris and the Riviera,--I -shall be grateful.” - -He beamed on me reprovingly. - -Well, finally, to make a long story short, the day came, or, at -least, the day before. We were all assembled for a joyous Christmas -Eve--T. McT., Sir Scorp, Gerard Barfleur, the dearest aunt and the -charming cousin, extremely intelligent and artistic women both, the -four children, Barfleur’s very clever and appealing secretary, and -myself. There was a delightful dinner spread at seven-thirty, when -we all assembled to discuss the prospects of the morrow. It was on -the program, as I discovered, that I should arise, and accompany -Barfleur, his aunt, his cousin, and the children to a nearby abbey -church, a lovely affair, I was told, on the bank of the Thames hard -by the old English town called Bridgely, while Gerard Barfleur, who -positively refused to have anything to do with religion of any kind, -quality or description, was to go and reconnoiter a certain neighboring -household (of which more anon), and to take young James Herbert (he -of the “bawth”) for a fine and long-anticipated ride on his motor -cycle. Lord Scorp and T. McT. were to remain behind to discuss art, -perhaps, or literature, being late risers. If there was to be any Santa -Claus, which the children doubted, owing to Barfleur’s rather grave -asseveration to the contrary (there having been a number of reasons why -a severely righteous Santa might see fit to remain away), he was not to -make his appearance until rather late in the afternoon. Meanwhile we -had all adjourned to the general living-room, where a heavy coal fire -blazed on the hearth (for once), and candles were lighted in profusion. -The children sang songs of the north, accompanied by their governess. I -can see their quaint faces now, gathered about the piano. Lord Scorp, -McT. and myself indulged in various artistic discussions and badinage; -Mrs. Barfleur, the aunt, told me the brilliant story of her husband’s -life,--a great naturalistic philosopher and novelist,--and finally -after coffee, sherry, nuts and much music and songs,--some comic ones -by Gerard Barfleur,--we retired for the night. - -It is necessary, to prepare the reader properly for the morrow, to -go back a few days or weeks, possibly, and tell of a sentimental -encounter that befell me one day as I was going for a walk in that -green world which encompassed Bridgely Level. It was a most delightful -spectacle. Along the yellowish road before me, with its border of green -grass and green though leafless trees, there was approaching a most -interesting figure of a woman, a chic, dashing bit of femininity,--at -once (the presumption, owing to various accompanying details was -mine) wife, mother, chatelaine,--as charming a bit of womanhood and -English family sweetness as I had yet seen in England. English women, -by and large, let me state here, are not smart, at least those that I -encountered; but here was one dressed after the French fashion in trig, -close-fitting blue, outlining her form perfectly, a little ermine cap -of snowy whiteness set jauntily over her ear, her smooth black hair -parted demurely over her forehead, a white muff warming her hands, and -white spats emphasizing the trim leather of her foot gear. Her eyes -were dark brown, her cheeks rosy, her gait smart and tense. I could -scarcely believe she was English, the mother of the three-year-old in -white and red wool, a little girl, who was sitting astride a white -donkey, which, in turn, was led by a trim maid or nurse or governess -in somber brown,--but it was quite plain that she was. There was such -a wise, sober look about all this smartness, such a taut, buttressed -conservatism, that I was enchanted. It was such a delightful picture -to encounter of a clear December morning that, in the fashion of the -English, I exclaimed, “My word! This is something like!” - -I went back to the house that afternoon determined to make inquiries. -Perhaps she was a neighbor,--a friend of the family! - -Of all the individuals who have an appropriate and superior taste for -the smart efforts of the fair sex, commend me to Barfleur. His interest -and enthusiasm neither flags nor fails. Being a widower of discretion -he knows exactly what is smart for a woman as well as a man, and all -you have to do to make him prick up his ears attentively is to mention -trig beauty as existing in some form, somewhere,--not too distant for -his adventuring. - -“What’s this?” I can see his eye lighting. “Beauty? A lovely woman? -When? Where?” - -This day, finding Wilkins in the garden trimming some bushes, I had -said, “Wilkins, do you know any family hereabouts that keeps a white -donkey?” - -Wilkins paused and scratched his ear reflectively. “No, sir! I cawn’t -say has I do, sir. I might harsk, sir, down in the village, hif you’re -very hanxious to know.” - -Be it known by all men that I feed Wilkins amply for all services -performed,--hence his interest. - -“Never mind for the present, Wilkins,” I replied. “I may want to know. -If so, I’ll ask you.” - -I knew he would inquire anyhow. - -That night at dinner, the family being all present, Barfleur in his -chair at the head of the table, the wine at his right, I said mildly-- - -“I saw the most beautiful woman to-day I have yet seen in England.” - -Barfleur was just in the act of elevating a glass of champagne to his -lips, but he paused to fix me with an inquiring eye. - -“Where?” he questioned solemnly. “Were you in the city?” - -“Not at all. I rarely, if ever, see them in the city. It was very near -here. A most beautiful woman,--very French,--trim figure, small feet, a -gay air. She had a lovely three-year-old child with her riding a white -donkey.” - -“A white donkey? Trim, very French, you say? This is most interesting! -I don’t recall any one about here who keeps a white donkey. Berenice,” -he turned to his young daughter. “Do you recall any one hereabout who -keeps a white donkey?” - -Berenice, a wizard of the future, merely smiled wisely. - -“I do not, Papa.” - -“This is very curious, very curious indeed,” continued Barfleur, -returning to me. “For the life of me, I cannot think of any one who -keeps a white donkey. Who can she be? Walking very near here, you say? -I shall have a look into this. She may be the holiday guest of some -family. But the donkey and child and maid--Young, you say? Percy, you -don’t remember whether any one hereabout owns a white donkey,--any one -with a maid and a three-year-old child?” - -Percy smiled broadly. “No, I don’t,” he said. Barfleur shook his head -in mock perturbation. “It’s very strange,” he said. “I don’t like the -thought of there being any really striking women hereabout of whom I -know nothing.” He drank his wine. - -There was no more of this then, but I knew that in all probability the -subject would come up again. Barfleur inquired, and Wilkins inquired, -and as was natural, the lady was located. She turned out to be the wife -of a tennis, golf, and aeroplane expert or champion, a man who held -records for fast automobiling and the like, and who was independently -settled in the matter of means. Mrs. Barton Churchill was her name as -I recall. It also turned out most unfortunately that Barfleur did not -know her, and could not place any one who did. - -“This is all very trying,” he said when he discovered this much. “Here -you are, a celebrated American author, admiring a very attractive woman -whom you meet on the public highway; and here am I, a resident of the -neighborhood in which she is living, and I do not even know her. If I -did, it would all be very simple. I could take you over, she would be -immensely flattered at the nice things you have said about her. She -would be grateful to me for bringing you. Presto,--we should be fast -friends.” - -“Exactly,” I replied sourly. “You and she would be fast friends. After -I am gone in a few days all will be lovely. I shall not be here to -protect my interests. It is always the way. I am the cat’s paw, the -bait, the trap. I won’t stand for it. I saw her first, and she is mine.” - -“My dear fellow,” he exclaimed banteringly, “how you go on! I don’t -understand you at all. This is England. The lady is married. A little -neighborly friendship. Hmm.” - -“Yes, yes,” I replied. “I know all about the neighborly friendship. You -get me an introduction to the lady and I shall speak for myself.” - -“As for that matter,” he added thoughtfully, “it would not be -inappropriate under the circumstances for me to introduce myself in -your behalf. She would be pleased, I’m sure. You are a writer, you -admire her. Why shouldn’t she be pleased?” - -“Curses!” I exclaimed. “Always in the way. Always stepping in just when -I fancy I have found something for myself.” - -But nothing was done until Gerard Barfleur arrived a day or two before -Christmas. That worthy had traveled all over England with various -theatrical companies. Being the son of an eminent literary man he had -been received in all circles, and knew comfortable and interesting -people in every walk of life apparently, everywhere. Barfleur, who, at -times, I think, resented his social sufficiency, was nevertheless prone -to call on him on occasion for advice. On this occasion, since Gerard -knew this neighborhood almost as well as his cousin, he consulted him -as to our lady of the donkey. - -“Mrs. Churchill? Mrs. Barton Churchill?” I can still see his interested -look. “Why, it seems to me that I do know some one of that name. If I -am not mistaken I know her husband’s brother, Harris Churchill, up in -Liverpool. He’s connected with a bank up there. We’ve motored all over -England together, pretty nearly. I’ll stop in Christmas morning and see -if it isn’t the same family. The description you give suits the lady I -know almost exactly.” - -[Illustration: Barfleur] - -I was all agog. The picture she had presented was so smart. Barfleur -was interested though perhaps disappointed, too, that Gerard knew -her when he didn’t. - -“This is most fortunate,” he said to me solemnly. “Now if it should -turn out that he does know her, we can call there Christmas day after -dinner. Or perhaps he will take you.” - -This came a little regretfully, I think, for Gerard Barfleur accounted -himself an equal master with his cousin in the matter of the ladies, -and was not to be easily set aside. So Christmas eve it was decided -that Gerard should, on the morrow, reconnoiter the Churchill country -house early, and report progress, while we went to church. Fancy -Barfleur and me marching to church Christmas morning with the children! - -Christmas in England! The day broke clear and bright, and there we all -were. It was not cold, and as is usual, there was little if any wind. I -remember looking out of my window down into the valley toward Bridgely, -and admiring the green rime upon the trees, the clustered chimneys of -a group of farmers’ and working-men’s cottages, the low sagging roofs -of red tile or thatch, and the small window panes that always somehow -suggest a homey simplicity that I can scarcely resist. The English -milkmaid of fiction, the simple cottages, the ordered hierarchy of -farmers are, willy nilly, fixtures in my mind. I cannot get them out. - -First then, came a breakfast in our best bibs and tuckers, for were -we not to depart immediately afterwards to hear an English Christmas -service? Imagine Barfleur--the pride of Piccadilly,--marching -solemnly off at the head of his family to an old, gray abbey church. -As the French say, “I smile.” We all sat around and had our heavy -English breakfast,--tea, and, to my comfort and delight, “Mr. Jones’s -sausages.” Barfleur had secured a string of them from somewhere. - -“Think of it,” commented Berenice sardonically. “‘Mr. Jones’s -sausages’ for breakfast. Aren’t they comic! Do you like them?” - -“I most assuredly do.” - -“And do you eat them every day in A-máy-reeka?” queried Charles Gerard -with a touch of latent jesting in his voice. - -“When I can afford them, yes.” - -“They’re quite small, aren’t they?” commented five-year-old James -Herbert. - -“Precisely,” I replied, unabashed by this fire of inquiry. “That’s -their charm.” - -The church that we visited was one of those semi-ancient abbey affairs, -done in good English Gothic, with a touch of Tudor here and there, -and was located outside the village of Bridgely Level two or three -miles from Barfleur’s home. I recall with simple pleasure the smug, -self-righteous, Sunday-go-to-meeting air with which we all set forth, -crossing homey fields via diagonal paths, passing through stiles -and along streams and country roads, by demure little cottages that -left one breathless with delight. I wish truly that England could be -put under glass and retained as a perfect specimen of unconscious, -rural poetry--the south of England. The pots and pans outside the -kitchen doorways! The simple stoop, ornamented with clambering vines! -The reddish-green sagging roofs with their clustered cylindrical -chimneypots! When we came to the top of a hill we could see the church -in the valley below, nestling beside one bank of the Thames which wound -here and there in delightful S’s. A square tower, as I recall, rose -quaintly out of a surrounding square of trees, grass, grave-stones and -box-hedge. - -There was much ado in this semi-ancient place as we came up, for -Christmas day, of all days, naturally drew forth a history-loving -English audience. Choir boys were scurrying here and there, some -ladies of solemn demeanor, who looked as if they might be assisting at -the service in some way or another, were dawdling about, and I even -saw the rector in full canonicals hastening up a gravel path toward a -side door, as though matters needed to be expedited considerably. The -interior was dark, heavy-beamed, and by no means richly ornamented -with stained glass, but redolent of by-gone generations at that. The -walls were studded with those customary slabs and memorial carvings -with which the English love to ornament their church interiors. A -fair-sized, and yet for so large an edifice, meager audience was -present, an evidence it seemed to me, of the validity of the protest -against state support for the Established Church. There was a great -storm of protest in England at this time against the further state -support of an institution that was not answering the religious needs -of the people, and there had been some discussion of the matter at -Barfleur’s house. As was natural, the artistically inclined were -in favor of anything which would sustain, unimpaired, whether they -had religious value or not, all the old cathedrals, abbeys, and -neighborhood churches, solely because of their poetic appearance. -On the other hand an immense class, derisively spoken of as “chapel -people,” were heartily in favor of the ruder disposition of the matter. -Barfleur in his best Piccadilly clothing was for their maintenance. - -To be frank, as charming as was this semi-ancient atmosphere, and -possibly suited to the current English neighborhood mood (I could not -say as to that), it did not appeal to me as strongly on this occasion -as did many a similar service in American churches of the same size. -The vestments were pleasing as high church vestments go; the choir, -made of boys and men from the surrounding countryside no doubt, was -not absolutely villainous but it could have been much better. To tell -the truth, it seemed to me that I was witnessing the last and rather -threadbare evidences of an older and much more prosperous order of -things. Beautiful in its way? Yes. Quaint? Yes. But smacking more of -poverty and an ordered system continued past its day than anything -else. I felt a little sorry for the old church and the thin rector and -the goodly citizens, albeit a little provincial, who clung so fatuously -to a time-worn form. They have their place, no doubt, and it makes that -sweet, old lavender atmosphere which seems to hover over so much that -one encounters in England. Nevertheless life does move on, and we must -say good-bye to many a once delightful thing. Why not set these old -churches aside as museums or art galleries, or for any other public -use, as they do with many of them in Italy, and let the matter go at -that? It is not necessary that a service be kept up in them day by -day and year by year. Services on special or state occasions would be -sufficient. Let by-gones be by-gones, and let the people tax themselves -for things they really do want, skating-rinks, perhaps, and moving -pictures. They seemed to flourish even in these elderly and more sedate -neighborhoods. - -Outside in the graveyard, after the services were over and we were -idling about a few moments, I found a number of touches of that valiant -simplicity in ability which is such a splendid characteristic of the -English. Although there were many graves here of the nobility and -gentry, dating from as far back as the sixteenth century, there was no -least indication so far as I could see, of ostentation, but everywhere -simple headstones recording names only, and not virtues,--sometimes, -perhaps, a stately verse or a stoic line. I noticed with a kind of -English-speaking pride the narrow new-made grave of Sir Robert Hart, -the late great English financial administrator of China, who, recently -deceased, had been brought over sea to this simple churchyard, to lie -here with other members of his family in what I assumed to be the -neighborhood of his youth and nativity. It is rather fine, I think, -when a nation’s sons go forth over the world to render honorable -service, each after his capacity, and then come back in death to an -ancient and beloved soil. The very obscurity of this little grave with -its two-feet, six-inch headstone and flowerless mound spoke more to me -of the dignity and ability that is in true greatness of soul than a -soaring shaft might otherwise do. - -On the way home I remember we discussed Christian Science and its -metaphysical merit in a world where all creeds and all doctrines blow, -apparently, so aimlessly about. Like all sojourners in this fitful -fever of existence Mrs. Barfleur and her daughter and her son, the -cheerful Gerard were not without their troubles; so much so that, -intelligent woman that she was, and quite aware of the subtleties and -uncertainties of religious dogma, she was eager to find something upon -which she could lean,--spiritually speaking,--the strong arm, let us -say, of an All Mighty, no less, who would perchance heal her of her -griefs and ills. I take it, as I look at life, that only the very able -intellectually, or the very rock-ribbed and dull materially can front -the storms and disasters that beset us, or the ultimate dark which -only the gifted, the imaginative, see, without quakes and fears. So -often have I noticed this to be true, that those who stand up brave -and strong in their youth turn a nervous and anguished eye upon this -troubled seeming in later years. They have no longer any heart for a -battle that is only rhyme and no reason, and, whether they can conceive -why or not, they must have a god. I, for one, would be the last person -in the world to deny that everywhere I find boundless evidence of -an intelligence or intelligences far superior to my own. I, for one, -am inclined to agree with the poet that “if my barque sink, ’tis to -another sea.” In fact I have always innately presumed the existence of -a force or forces that, possibly ordered in some noble way, maintain -a mathematical, chemical, and mechanical parity and order in visible -things. I have always felt, in spite of all my carpings, that somehow -in a large way there is a rude justice done under the sun, and that a -balance for, I will not say right, but for happiness is maintained. -The world has long since gathered to itself a vast basket of names -such as Right, Justice, Mercy, and Truth. My thinking has nothing to -do with these. I do not believe that we can conceive what the ultimate -significance of anything is, therefore why label it? I have seen good -come to the seemingly evil and evil come to the seemingly good. But if -a religion will do anybody any good, for Heaven’s sake, let him have -it! To me it is a case of individual, sometimes of race weakness. A -stronger mind could not attempt to define what may not be defined, nor -to lean upon what, to infinite mind must be utterly insubstantial and -thin air. Obviously there is a vast sea of force. Is it good? Is it -evil? Give that to the philosophers to fight over, and to the fearful -and timid give a religion. “A mighty fortress is our God,” sang Luther. -He may be, I do not know. - -But to return to Mrs. Barfleur and her daughter and Barfleur’s children -and Barfleur ambling across the sunny English landscape this Christmas -morning. It was a fine thing to see the green patina of the trees, -and richer green grass growing lush and thick all winter long, and -to see the roofs of little towns like Bridgely Level,--for we were -walking on high ground,--and the silvery windings of the Thames in -the valley below, whence we had just come. I think I established -the metaphysical basis of life quite ably,--for myself,--and urged -Mrs. Barfleur to take up Christian Science. I assailed the wisdom of -maintaining by state funds the Established Church largely, I think, to -irritate Barfleur, and protested that the chapel people had a great -deal of wisdom on their side. As we drew near Bridgely Level and -Barfleur’s country place it occurred to me that Gerard Barfleur had -gone to find out if he really knew the lady of the donkey, and I was -all anxiety to find out. Barfleur himself was perking up considerably, -and it was agreed that first we would have an early afternoon feast, -all the Christmas dainties of the day, and then, if Gerard really knew -the lady, we were to visit her and then return to the house, where, I -now learned, there was to be a Santa Claus. He was to arrive via the -courtesy of Gerard Barfleur who was to impersonate him, and on that -account, Barfleur announced, we might have to cut any impending visit -to our lady short in order not to disappoint the children, but visit we -would. Knowing Gerard Barfleur to be a good actor and intensely fond of -children,--Barfleur’s especially,--I anticipated some pleasure here. -But I will be honest, the great event of the day was our lady of the -donkey, her white furs, and whether she was really as striking as I -had imagined. I was afraid Gerard would return to report that either, -(A)--he did not know her, or (B)--that she was not so fascinating as -I thought. In either case my anticipated pleasure would come to the -ground with a crash. We entered, shall I say, with beating hearts. - -Gerard had returned. With Sir Scorp and T. McT. he was now toasting his -English legs in front of the fire, and discoursing upon some vanity of -the day. At sight of the children he began his customary badinage but I -would have none of it. Barfleur fixed him with a monitory eye. “Well,” -he said, putting the burden of the inquiry on me. “Our friend here has -been quite restless during the services this morning. What did you find -out?” - -“Yes,” chimed in Mrs. Barfleur who had been informed as to this -romantic encounter, “for goodness’ sake tell us. We are all dying to -know.” - -“Yes, tell them,” sarcastically interpolated Lord Scorp. “There will be -no peace, believe me, until you do.” - -“To be sure, to be sure,” cheerfully exclaimed Gerard, straightening -up from jouncing James Herbert. “I know her well. Her sister and her -husband are here with her. That little baby is hers, of course. They -live just over the hill here. I admire your taste. She is one of the -smartest women I know. I told her that you were stopping here and she -wants you to come over and see the Christmas tree lighted. We are all -invited after dinner.” - -“Very good,” observed Barfleur, rubbing his hands. “Now that is -settled.” - -“Isn’t she charming,” observed Mrs. G. A. Barfleur, “to be so politely -disposed?” - -Thereafter the dinner could not come too soon, and by two-thirty we -were ready to depart, having consumed Heaven knows how many kinds of -wines and meats, English plum-pudding, and--especially for me--real -German Limburger. It was a splendid dinner. - -Shall I stop to describe it? I cannot say, outside of the interesting -English company, that it was any better or any worse than many another -Christmas feast in which I have participated. Imagine the English -dining-room, the English maid, the housekeeper in watchful attendance -on the children, the maid, like a bit of Dresden china, on guard over -the service, Barfleur, monocle in eye, sitting solemnly in state -at the head of the board, Lord Scorp, T. McT., Gerard Barfleur, his -mother, her daughter, myself, the children all chattering and gobbling. -The high-sounding English voices, the balanced English phrases, the -quaint English scene through the windows,--it all comes back, a bit of -sweet color. Was I happy? Very. Did I enjoy myself? Quite. But as to -this other matter. - -It was a splendid afternoon. On the way over, Barfleur and myself, -the others refusing contemptuously to have anything to do with this -sentimental affair, had the full story of our lady of the donkey and -her sister and the two brothers that they married. - -We turned eventually into one of those charming lawns enclosed by a -high, concealing English fence, and up a graveled automobile path to a -snow-white Georgian door. We were admitted to a hall that at once bore -out the testimony as to the athletic prowess of the husbands twain. -There were guns, knives, golf-sticks, tennis rackets, automobile togs -and swords. I think there were deer and fox heads in the bargain. By -a ruddy, sportsmanlike man of perhaps thirty-eight, and all of six -feet tall, who now appeared, we were invited to enter, make ourselves -at home, drink what we would, whiskey, sherry, ale--a suitable list. -We declined the drink, putting up fur coats and sticks and were -immediately asked into the billiard room where the Christmas tree and -other festivities were holding,--or about to be. Here, at last there -were my lady of the donkey and the child and the maid and my lady’s -sister and alas, my lady’s husband, full six feet tall and vigorous -and, of all tragic things, fingering a forty-caliber, sixteen-shot -magazine pistol which his beloved brother of sporting proclivities had -given him as a Christmas present! I eyed it as one might a special -dispensation of Providence. - -But our lady of the donkey? A very charming woman she proved, -intelligent, smiling, very chic, quite aware of all the nice things -that had been said about her, very clever in making light of it for -propriety’s sake, unwilling to have anything made of it for the present -for her husband’s sake. But that Anglicized French air! And that -romantic smile! - -We talked--of what do people talk on such occasions? Gerard was full of -the gayest references to the fact that Barfleur had such interesting -neighbors as the Churchills and did not know it, and that they had once -motored to Blackpool together. I shall not forget either how artfully -Barfleur conveyed to Mrs. Barton Churchill, our lady of the donkey, -that I had been intensely taken with her looks while at the same time -presenting himself in the best possible light. Barfleur is always at -his best on such occasions, Chesterfieldian, and with an air that says, -“A mere protegee of mine. Do not forget the managerial skill that is -making this interesting encounter possible.” But Mrs. Churchill, as -I could see, was not utterly unmindful of the fact that I was the -one that had been heralded to her as a writer, and that I had made -the great fuss and said all the nice things about her after a single -encounter on a country road which had brought about this afternoon -visit. She was gracious, and ordered the Christmas tree lighted and -had the young heir’s most interesting toys spread out on the billiard -table. I remember picking up a linen story book, labeled Loughlin -Bros., New York. - -“From America,” I said, quite unwisely I think. - -“Oh, yes, you Americans,” she replied, eyeing me archly. “Everything -comes from America these days, even our toys. But it’s rather -ungracious to make us admit it, don’t you think?” - -I picked up a train of cars, and, to my astonishment, found it stamped -with the name of a Connecticut firm. I hesitated to say more, for I -knew that I was on dangerous ground, but after that I looked at every -book or box of blocks and the like, to find that my suspicions were -well founded. England gets many of its Christmas toys from America. - -Nothing came of this episode except a pleasant introduction for -Barfleur, who had all the future before him. I was leaving for -Manchester after the new year, and for Paris a week or two later. It -was all in vain as I foresaw, that I was invited to call again, or -that she hoped to see something of me among her friends in London. I -think I said as much to Barfleur with many unkind remarks about the -type of mind that manages to secure all merely by a process of waiting. -Meantime he walked bravely forward, his overcoat snugly buttoned, his -cane executing an idle circle, his monocle on straight, his nose in the -air. I could have made away with him for much less. - -The last of this very gallant day came in the home of Barfleur himself. -As we neared the house we decided to hurry forward and to say that -Gerard had remained at the Churchill’s for dinner, while he made a wide -detour, ending up, I think, in some chamber in the coach house. I did -not see him again until much later in the evening, but meantime the -children, the relatives, the friends and the family servants were all -gathered in the nursery on the second floor. There was much palaver -and badinage concerning the fact that Santa Claus had really had such -bad reports that he had found it much against his will to come here, -early at least. There were some rather encouraging things that had been -reported to him later, however, and he had, so some one had heard, -changed his mind. Whether there would be little or much for such a -collection of ne’er-do-wells was open to question. However if we were -all very quiet for a while we should see. I can see Barfleur now in -his gala attire, stalking nobly about, and the four little Barfleurs -surveying rather incredulously but expectantly the maid, the nurse, the -governess, and their father. I wondered what had become of my small -mementos and whether my special cigarettes for Barfleur were in safety -in Santa Claus’s pack. It was small stock, I fear me much, that these -well-behaved little English children took in this make-believe, but -presently there was a loud hammering at the nursery door, and without -a “By your leave,” the same was opened and a vigorous, woolly-headed -Santa Claus put his rosy face into the chamber. - -“Is there any one living here by the name of Percy Franklin Barfleur, -or Berenice Barfleur, or James Herbert Barfleur?” I shall not repeat -all the names he called in a high falsetto voice, “I’ve been a long way -to-day and I’ve had a great deal to do, and I haven’t had the least -assistance from anybody. They’re so busy having a good time themselves.” - -I never saw a redder nose, or more shaggy eye-browed eyes, or a gayer -twinkle in them. And the pack that he carried was simply enormous. It -could barely be squeezed through the door. As he made his way to the -center of the room he looked quizzically about, groaning and squeaking -in his funny voice, and wanting to know if the man in the monocle were -really Barfleur, and whether the fat lady in the corner were really a -nurse, or merely an interloper, and if the four children that had been -reported to him as present were surely there. Having satisfied himself -on various counts, and evoked a great deal of innocent laughter, to say -nothing of awe as to his next probable comment, he finally untied the -enormous bag and began to consult the labels. - -“Here’s a package marked ‘Charles Gerard Barfleur.’ It’s rather large. -It’s been very heavy to carry all this distance. Can anybody tell me -whether he’s been a reasonably good child? It’s very hard to go to all -this trouble, if children aren’t really deserving.” Then, as he came -forward, he added, “He has a very impish look in his eye, but I suppose -I ought to let him have it.” And so the gift was handed over. - -One by one the presents came forth, commented on in this fashion, only -the comments varied with the age and the personality of the recipient. -There was no lack of humor or intimacy of application, for this Santa -Claus apparently knew whereof he spoke. - -“Is there a writer in the room by the name of Theodore Dreiser?” he -remarked at one time sardonically. “I’ve heard of him faintly and he -isn’t a very good writer, but I suppose he’s entitled to a slight -remembrance. I hope you reform, Mr. Dreiser,” he remarked very wisely, -as he drew near me. “It’s very plain to me that a little improvement -could be effected.” - -I acknowledged the wisdom of the comment. - -When my cigarettes were handed to Barfleur, Santa Claus tapped them -sapiently. “More wretched cigarettes!” he remarked in his high -falsetto. “I know them well! If it isn’t one vice that has to be -pampered, it’s another. I would have brought him pâté de foies gras or -wine, if I didn’t think this was less harmful. He’s very fond of prawns -too, but they’re very expensive at this time of the year. A little -economy wouldn’t hurt him.” Dora, the maid, and Mrs. A., the nurse, -and Miss C., the governess, came in for really brilliant compliments. -Lord Scorp was told that an old English castle or a Rembrandt would be -most suitable, but that Santa was all out at present, and if he would -just be a little more cheerful in the future he might manage to get -him one. T. McT. was given books, as very fitting, and in a trice the -place was literally littered with wonders. There were immense baskets -and boxes of candied fruit from Holland; toys, books and fruit from -Barfleur’s mother in Rome; more toys and useful presents from ladies in -London and the north of England and France and the Isle of Wight,--a -goodly company of mementos. It’s something to be an attractive widower! -I never saw children more handsomely or bountifully provided for--a -new saddle, bridle and whip for Berenice’s riding pony, curious -puzzles, German mechanical toys from Berlin, and certain ornamental -articles of dress seemed, by the astonishing bursts of excitement they -provoked, exceedingly welcome. Santa now drew off his whiskers and cap -to reveal himself as Gerard Barfleur, and we all literally got down -on the floor to play with the children. You can imagine, with each -particular present to examine, how much there was to do. Tea-time came -and went unnoticed, a stated occasion in England. Supper, a meal not -offered except on Christmas, was spread about eight o’clock. About -nine an automobile took Lord Scorp and T. McT. away, and after that -we all returned to the nursery until about ten-thirty when even by -the most liberal interpretation of holiday license it was bedtime. We -soberer elders (I hope no one sets up a loud guffaw) adjourned to the -drawing-room for nuts and wine, and finally, as the beloved Pepys was -accustomed to remark, “So to bed.” - -But what with the abbey church, the discourse on Christian Science, our -lady of the donkey, a very full stomach and a phantasmagoria of toys -spinning before my eyes, I went to bed thinking of,--well now, what do -you suppose I went to bed thinking of? - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -SMOKY ENGLAND - - -For years before going to England I had been interested in the north -of England--the land, as I was accustomed to think, of the under dog. -England, if one could trust one’s impression from a distance, was a -land of great social contrasts--the ultimate high and the ultimate -low of poverty and wealth. In the north, as I understand it, were all -of the great manufacturing centers--Sheffield, Leeds, Nottingham, -Birmingham, Liverpool, Manchester--a whole welter of smoky cities -whence issue tons upon tons of pottery, linen, cotton, cutlery. While -I was at Bridgely Level I spoke of my interest in this region to -Barfleur, who merely lifted his eyebrows. He knew little or nothing -about that northern world. The south of England encompassed his -interest. However, Barfleur’s cousin, the agreeable Gerard Barfleur, -told me soulfully that the north of England must be like America, -because it was so brisk, direct, practical, and that he loved it. (He -was a confirmed American “rooter” or “booster,” we would say over here, -and was constantly talking about coming to this country to enter the -theatrical business.) - -I journeyed northward the last day of the old year to Manchester and -its environs, which I had chosen as affording the best picture of -manufacturing life. I had been directed to a certain hotel, recommended -as the best equipped in the country. I think I never saw so large a -hotel. It sprawled over a very large block in a heavy, impressive, -smoky-stone way. It had, as I quickly discovered, an excellent Turkish -and Russian bath in connection with it and five separate restaurants, -German, French, English, etc., and an American bar. The most important -travel life of Manchester centered here--that was obvious. I was told -that buyers and sellers from all parts of the world congregated in -this particular caravanserai. It was New Year’s day and the streets -were comparatively empty, but the large, showy, heavily furnished -breakfast-room was fairly well sprinkled with men whom I took to be -cotton operatives. There was a great mill strike on at this time and -here were gathered for conference representatives of all the principal -interests involved. I was glad to see this, for I had always wondered -what type of man it was that conducted the great manufacturing -interests in England--particularly this one of cotton. The struggle was -over the matter of the recognition of the unions and a slight raise in -the wage-scale. These men were very much like a similar collection of -wealthy manufacturers in the United States. Great industries seem to -breed a certain type of mind and body. You can draw a mental picture -of a certain keen, dressy, phlegmatic individual, not tall, not small, -round, solid, ruddy--and have them all. These men were so comfortably -solid, physically. They looked so content with themselves and the -world, so firm and sure. Nearly all of them were between forty-five -and sixty, cold, hard, quick-minded, alert. They differed radically -from the typical Englishman of the South. It struck me at once that if -England were to be kept commercially dominant it would be this type of -man, not that of the South, who would keep it so. - -And now I could understand from looking at these men why it was that -the north of England was supposed to hate the south of England, and -vice versa. I had sat at a dinner-table in Portland Place one evening -and heard the question of the sectional feeling discussed. Why does it -exist? was the question before the guests. Well, the south of England -is intellectual, academic, historic, highly socialized. It is rich -in military, governmental, ambassadorial and titled life. The very -scenery is far more lovely. The culture of the people, because of the -more generally distributed wealth, is so much better. In the north of -England the poor are very poor and contentious. The men of wealth are -not historically wealthy or titled. In many cases they are “hard greedy -upstarts like the irrepressible Americans,” one speaker remarked. They -have no real culture or refinement. They manage to buy their way in -from time to time, it is true, but that does not really count. They are -essentially raw and brutal. Looking at these men breakfasting quietly, -I could understand it exactly. Their hard, direct efficiency would but -poorly adjust itself to the soft speculative intellectuality of the -south. Yet we know that types go hand in hand in any country with a -claim to greatness. - -After my breakfast I struck out to see what I could see of the city. -I also took a car to Salford, and another train to Stockport in order -to gather as quick a picture of the Manchester neighborhood as I -could. What I saw was commonplace enough. All of the larger cities of -present-day Europe are virtually of modern construction. Most of them -have grown to their present great population in the last fifty years. -Hence they have been virtually built--not rebuilt--in that time. - -Salford, a part of Manchester, was nothing--great cotton and machine -works and warehouses. Stockport was not anything either, save long -lines of brick cottages one and two stories high and mills, mills, -mills, mills. It always astounds me how life repeats itself--any idea -in life such as a design for a house--over and over and over. These -houses in Salford, Stockport and Manchester proper were such as you -might see anywhere in Chicago, St. Louis, Cincinnati, Baltimore--in -the cheap streets. I had the sense of being pursued by a deadly -commonplace. It all looked as people do when they think very little, -know very little, see very little, do very little. I expected to learn -that the churches flourished here very greatly and that there was an -enormous Sunday school somewhere about. There was--at Stockport--the -largest in the world I was told, five thousand students attending. The -thing that impressed me most was the presence of the wooden clog or -shoe. - -In Stockport there was a drab silence hanging over everything--the -pathetic dullness of the laborer when he has nothing to do save the -one thing he cannot do--think. As it was a Sunday the streets were -largely empty and silent--a dreary, narrow-minded, probably religious, -conventional world which accepts this blank drabness as natural, -ordered, probably even necessary. To the west and the south and the -east and the north are great worlds of strangeness and wonder--new -lands, new people--but these folks can neither see nor hear. Here they -are harnessed to cotton-mills, believing no doubt that God intended -it to be so, working from youth to age without ever an inkling of the -fascinating ramifications of life. It appalled me. - -In some respects I think I never saw so dreary a world as manufacturing -England. In saying this I do not wish to indicate that the working -conditions are any worse than those which prevail in various American -cities, such as Pittsburgh, and especially the minor cities like -Lawrence and Fall River. But here was a dark workaday world, quite -unfavored by climate, a country in which damp and fogs prevail for -fully three-fourths of the year, and where a pall of smoke is always -present. I remember reading a sign on one of the railway platforms -which stated that owing to the prevalence of fogs the company could -not be held responsible for the running of trains on time. I noticed -too, that the smoke and damp were so thick everywhere that occasionally -the trees on the roadside or the houses over the way would disappear -in a lovely, Corot-like mist. Lamps were burning in all stores and -office-buildings. Street cars carried head-lamps and dawned upon you -out of a hazy gloom. Traffic disappeared in a thick blanket a half -block away. - -Most of these outlying towns had populations ranging from ninety to -a hundred thousand, but in so far as interesting or entertaining -developments of civic life were concerned--proportioned to their -size--there were none. They might as well have been villages of five -hundred or one thousand. Houses, houses, houses, all of the same size, -all the same color, all the same interior arrangement, virtually. - -Everywhere--in Middleton, Oldham, and Rochdale, which I visited the -first day, and in Boulton, Blackburn, and Wigan, which I visited the -next--I found this curious multiplication of the same thing which you -would dismiss with a glance--whole streets, areas, neighborhoods of -which you could say, “all alike.” - -In Middleton I was impressed with the constant repetition of “front -rooms” or “parlors.” You could look in through scores of partly open -doors (this climate is damp but not cold) and see in each a chest of -drawers exactly like every other chest in the town and in the same -position relative to the door. Nearly all the round tables which -these front rooms contained were covered with pink, patterned, cotton -tablecloths. The small single windows, one to each house, contained -blue or yellow jardinières set on small tables and containing -geraniums. The fireplace, always to the right of the room as you -looked in the window, glowed with a small coal fire. There were no -other ornaments that I saw. The ceilings of the rooms were exceedingly -low and the total effect was one of clean, frugal living. - -The great mills bore pleasing names, such as Rob Roy, Tabitha, -Marietta, and their towering stacks looked down upon the humbler -habitations at their base much as the famous castles of the feudal -barons must have looked down upon the huts of their serfs. I was -constrained to think of the workaday existence that all this suggested, -the long lines of cotton-mill employees going in at seven o’clock in -the morning, in the dark, and coming out at six o’clock at night, in -the dark. Many of these mills employ a day and a night shift. Their -windows, when agleam in the smoke or rain, are like patins of fine -gold. I saw them gleaming at the end of dull streets or across the -smooth, olive-colored surfaces of mill ponds or through the mist and -rain. The few that were running (the majority of them were shut down -because of the strike) had a roar like that of Niagara tumbling over -its rocks--a rich, ominous thunder. In recent years the mill-owners -have abandoned the old low, two-story type of building with its narrow -windows and dingy aspect of gray stone, and erected in its stead these -enormous structures--the only approach to the American sky-scraper -I saw in England. They are magnificent mills, far superior to those -you will see to-day in this country, clean, bright and--every one I -saw--new. If I should rely upon my merely casual impression, I should -say that there were a thousand such within twenty-five miles of -Manchester. When seen across a foreground of low cottages, such as I -have described, they have all the dignity of cathedrals--vast temples -of labor. I was told by the American Consul-General at London that -they are equipped with the very latest cotton-spinning machinery and -are now in a position to hold their own on equal terms with American -competition, if not utterly to defy it. The intricacy and efficiency -of the machinery is greater than that employed in our mills. I could -not help thinking what a far cry it was from these humble cottages, -some few of which in odd corners looked like the simple, thatched huts -sacred to Burns and “The Cotter’s Saturday Night,” to these lordly -mills and the lordly owners behind them--the strong, able, ruthless men -whom I saw eating in the breakfast-room at the Midland the day before. -Think of the poor little girls and boys, principally girls, clattering -to and from work in their wooden shoes and, if you will believe it (I -saw it at Boulton on a cold, rainy, January day), in thin black shawls -and white straw hats, much darkened by continuous wear. One crowd that -I observed was pouring out at high noon. I heard a whistle yelling its -information, and then a mouse-hole of a door in one corner of the great -structure opened, and released the black stream of mill-workers. By -comparison, it looked like a small procession of ants or a trickle of -black water. Small as it was, however, it soon filled the street. The -air was wet, smoky, gray, the windows even at this midday hour gleaming -here and there with lights. The factory hands were a dreary mass in the -rain, some of them carrying umbrellas, many without them, all the women -wearing straw hats and black shawls! - -I looked at their faces--pale, waxy, dull, inefficient. I looked -at their shapeless skirts hanging like bags about their feet. I -looked at their flat chests, their graceless hands, and then I -thought of the strong men who know how to use--I hesitate to say -exploit--inefficiency. What would these women do if they could not work -in the mills? One thing I am sure of: the mills, whatever charges -may be brought against their owners in regard to hours, insufficiency -of payment, indifference of treatment, are nevertheless better places -in which to spend one’s working hours than the cottages with their -commonplace round of duties. What can one learn washing dishes and -scrubbing floors in a cottage? I can see some one jumping up to -exclaim: “What can one learn tying commonplace threads in a cotton -mill, taking care of eight or nine machines--one lone woman? What -has she time to learn?” This--if you ask me; the single thought of -organization, if nothing more. The thought that there is such a thing -as a great machine which can do the work of fifty or a hundred men. -It will not do to say the average individual can learn this method -working in a home. It is not true. What the race needs is ideas. It -needs thoughts of life and injustice and justice and opportunity or -the lack of it kicked into its senseless clay. It needs to be made to -think by some rough process or other (gentleness won’t do it), and -this is one way. I like labor-leaders. I like big, raw, crude, hungry -men who are eager for gain--for self-glorification. I like to see them -plotting to force such men as I saw breakfasting at the Midland to -give them something--and the people beneath them. I am glad to think -that the clay whose womankind wears black shawls and straw hats in -January has sense enough at last to appoint these raw, angry fellows, -who scheme and struggle and fight and show their teeth and call great -bitter strikes, such as I saw here, and such as had shut tight so many -of these huge solemn mills. It speaks much for the race. It speaks much -for _thinking_, which is becoming more and more common. If this goes -on, there won’t be so many women with drabbly skirts and flat chests. -There will still be strong men and weak, but the conditions may not be -so severe. Anyhow let us hope so, for it is an optimistic thought and -it cheers one in the face of all the drab streets and the drab people. -I have no hope of making millionaires of everybody, nor of establishing -that futile abstraction, justice; but I do cherish the idea of seeing -the world growing better and more interesting for everybody. And the -ills which make for thinking are the only things which will bring this -about. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -SMOKY ENGLAND (_continued_) - - -At Middleton the mills are majestically large and the cottages -relatively minute. There is a famous old inn here, very picturesque to -look upon, and Somebody of Something’s comfortable manor, but they were -not the point for me. In one of its old streets, in the dark doorway of -an old house, I encountered an old woman, very heavy, very pale, very -weary, who stood leaning against the door post. - -“What do you burn here, gas or oil?” I asked, interested to obtain -information on almost any topic and seeking a pretext for talking to -her. - -“Hey?” she replied, looking at me wearily, but making no other move. - -“What do you burn?” I asked. “What do you use for light, gas or oil?” - -“Ile,” she replied heavily. “You’ll have to talk very loud. I’m gettin’ -old and I’m goin’ to die pretty soon.” - -“Oh, no,” I said, “you’re not old enough for that. You’re going to live -a long time yet.” - -“Hey?” she asked. - -I repeated what I had said. - -“No,” she mumbled, and now I saw she had no teeth. “I’m gettin’ old. -I’m eighty-two and I’m goin’ to die. I been workin’ in the mills all my -life.” - -“Have you ever been out of Middleton?” I asked. - -“Hey?” she replied. - -I repeated. - -“Yes, to Manchester, Saturdays. Not of late, though. Not in years and -years. I’m very sick, though, now. I’m goin’ to die.” - -I could see from her look that what she said was true. Only her -exceeding weariness employed her mind. I learned that water came from a -hydrant in the yard, that the kitchen floor was of earth. Then I left, -noticing as I went that she wore wooden-soled shoes. - -In the public square at Boulton, gathered about the city-hall, where -one would suppose for the sake of civic dignity no unseemly spectacle -would be permitted, was gathered all the paraphernalia of a shabby, -eighth-rate circus--red wagons, wild animal and domestic horse tents, -the moderate-sized main tent, the side show, the fat woman’s private -wagon, a cage and the like. I never saw so queer a scene. The whole -square was crowded with tents, great and small; but there was little -going on, for a drizzling rain was in progress. Can human dullness -sink lower? I asked myself, feeling that the civic heart of things was -being profaned. Could utmost drabbiness out-drab this? I doubted it. -Why should the aldermen permit it? Yet I have no doubt this situation -appealed exactly to the imagination of the working population. I can -conceive that it would be about the only thing that would. It was just -raw and cheap and homely enough to do it. I left with pleasure. - -When I came into Oldham on a tram-car from Rochdale, it was with my -head swimming from the number of mills I had seen. I have described the -kind--all new. But I did not lose them here. - -It was the luncheon hour and I was beginning to grow hungry. As I -walked along dull streets I noticed several small eating-places labeled -“fish, chip, and pea restaurant” and “tripe, trotters, and cow-heels -restaurant,” which astonished me greatly--really astonished me. I had -seen only one such before in my life and that was this same morning -in Middleton--a “fish, chip, and pea restaurant”; but I did not get -the point sufficiently clearly to make a note of it. The one that I -encountered this afternoon had a sign in the window which stated that -unquestionably its chips were the best to be procured anywhere and very -nourishing. A plate of them standing close by made it perfectly plain -that potato chips were meant. No recommendation was given to either the -fish or the peas. I pondered over this, thinking that such restaurants -must be due to the poverty of the people and that meat being very dear, -these three articles of diet were substituted. Here in Oldham, however, -I saw that several of these restaurants stood in very central places -where the rents should be reasonably high and the traffic brisk. It -looked as though they were popular for some other reason. I asked a -policeman. - -“What is a ‘fish, chip, and pea’ restaurant?” I asked. - -“Well, to tell you the truth,” he said, “it’s a place where a man -who’s getting over a spree goes to eat. Those things are good for the -stomach.” - -I pondered over this curiously. There were four such restaurants in the -immediate vicinity, to say nothing of the one labeled “tripe, trotters, -and cow-heels,” which astonished me even more. - -“And what’s that for?” I asked of the same officer. - -“The same thing. A man who’s been drinking eats those things.” - -I had to laugh, and yet this indicated another characteristic of a wet, -rainy climate, namely considerable drinking. At the next corner a man, -a woman, and a child conferring slightly confirmed my suspicion. - -“Come on,” said the man to the woman, all at once, “let’s go to the -pub. A beer’ll do you good.” - -The three started off together, the child hanging by the woman’s hand. -I followed them with my eyes, for I could not imagine quite such a -scene in America--not done just in this way. Women--a certain type--go -to the back rooms of saloons well enough; children are sent with pails -for beer; but just this particular combination of husband, wife, and -child is rare, I am sure. - -And such public houses! To satisfy myself of their character I went to -three in three different neighborhoods. Like those I saw in London and -elsewhere around it, they were pleasant enough in their arrangement, -but gloomy. The light from the outside was meager, darkened as it was -by smoke and rain. If you went on back into the general lounging-room, -lights were immediately turned on, for otherwise it was not bright -enough to see. If you stayed in the front at the bar proper it was -still dark, and one light--a mantled gas-jet--was kept burning. I asked -the second barmaid with whom I conferred about this: - -“You don’t always have to keep a light burning here, do you?” - -“Always, except two or three months in summer,” she replied. “Sometimes -in July and August we don’t need it. As a rule we do.” - -“Surely, it isn’t always dark and smoky like this?” - -“You should see it sometimes, if you call this bad,” she replied -contemptuously. “It’s black.” - -“I should say it’s very near that now,” I commented. - -“Oh, no, most of the mills are not running. You should see it when it’s -foggy and the mills are running.” - -She seemed to take a sort of pride in the matter and I sympathized with -her. It is rather distinguished to live in an extreme of any kind, even -if it is only that of a smoky wetness of climate. I went out, making -my way to the “Kafe” Monico, as the policeman who recommended the -place pronounced it. Here I enjoyed such a meal as only a third-rate -restaurant which is considered first by the local inhabitants would -supply. - -I journeyed forth once more, interested by the fact that, according -to Baedeker, from one point somewhere, _on a clear day_, whenever -that might be, six hundred stacks might be seen. In this fog I soon -found that it was useless to look for them. Instead I contented myself -with noting how, in so many cases, the end of a street, or the sheer -dismal length of an unbroken row of houses, all alike, was honored, -made picturesque, made grand even, by the presence of the mills, these -gloomy monuments of labor. - -There is an architecture of manufacture, dreary and shabby as its -setting almost invariably is, which in its solemnity, strangeness of -outline, pathos and dignity, quite rivals, if it does not surpass, the -more heralded forms of the world--its cathedrals, parthenons, Moorish -temples and the like. I have seen it often in America and elsewhere -where a group of factory buildings, unplanned as to arrangement and -undignified as to substance, would yet take on an exquisite harmony of -line and order after which a much more pretentious institution might -well have been modeled. At Stockport, near Manchester, for instance, on -the Mersey, which here is little more than a rivulet, but picturesque -and lovely, I saw grouped a half-dozen immense mills with towering -chimneys which, for architectural composition from the vantage point -of the stream, could not have been surpassed. They had the dignity of -vast temples, housing a world of under-paid life which was nevertheless -rich in color and enthusiasm. Sometimes I fancy the modern world has -produced nothing more significant architecturally speaking, than -the vast manufactory. Here in Oldham they were gathered in notable -clusters, towering over the business heart and the various resident -sections so that the whole scene might well be said to have been -dominated by it. They bespeak a world of thought and feeling which we -of more intellectual fields are inclined at times to look on as dull -and low, but are they? I confess that for myself they move me at times -as nothing else does. They have vast dignity--the throb and sob of the -immense. And what is more dignified than toiling humanity, anyhow--its -vague, formless, illusioned hopes and fears? I wandered about the -dull rain-sodden thoroughfares, looking in at the store windows. In -one I found a pair of gold and a pair of silver slippers offered for -sale--for what feet in Oldham? They were not high in price, but this -sudden suggestion of romance in a dark workaday world took my fancy. - -At four o’clock, after several hours of such wandering, I returned to -the main thoroughfare--the market-place--in order to see what it was -the hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants found to entertain them. I -looked for theaters and found two, one of them a large moving-picture -show. Of a sudden, walking in a certain direction my ears were greeted -by a most euphonious clatter--so interwoven and blended were the -particular sounds which I recognized at once as coming from the feet of -a multitude, shod with wooden-soled clogs. Where were they coming from? -I saw no crowd. Suddenly, up a side street, coming toward me down a -slope I detected a vast throng. The immense moving-picture theater had -closed for the afternoon and its entire audience, perhaps two thousand -in all, was descending toward the main street. In connection with -this crowd, as with the other at Boulton, I noted the phenomenon of -the black or white straw hat, the black or brown shawl, the shapeless -skirts and wooden-soled clogs of the women; the dull, commonplace -suit and wooden clogs of the men. Where were they going now? Home, of -course. These must be a portion of the strikers. They looked to me -like typical mill-workers out on a holiday and their faces had a waxy -pallor. I liked the sound of their shoes, though, as they came along. -It was like the rattle of many drums. They might have been waltzing on -a wooden floor. The thing had a swing and a rhythm of its own. “What -if a marching army were shod with wooden shoes!” I thought; and then, -“What if a mob with guns and swords came clattering so!” - -A crowd like this is like a flood of water pouring downhill. They came -into the dark main street and it was quite brisk for a time with their -presence. Then they melted away into the totality of the stream, as -rivers do into the sea, and things were as they had been before. - -If there were any restaurants other than the “Kafe” Monico, I did not -find them. For entertainment I suppose those who are not religiously -minded do as they do in Fall River and elsewhere--walk up and down past -the bright shop windows or sit and drink in the public houses, which -are unquestionably far more cheerful by night than by day. - -The vast majority who live here must fall back for diversion on other -things, their work, their church, their family duties, or their vices. -I am satisfied that under such conditions sex plays a far more vital -part in cities of this description than almost anywhere else. For, -although the streets be dull and the duties of life commonplace, -sex and the mysteries of temperament weave their spells quite as -effectively here as elsewhere, if not more so. In fact, denied the -more varied outlets of a more interesting world, humanity falls back -almost exclusively on sex. Women and men, or rather boys and girls (for -most of the grown women and men had a drudgy, disillusioned, wearied -look), went by each other glancing and smiling. They were alert to be -entertained by each other, and while I saw little that I would call -beauty in the women, or charm and smartness in the men, nevertheless -I could understand how the standards of New York and Paris might not -necessarily prevail here. Clothes may not fit, fashion may find no -suggestion of its dictates, but after all, underneath, the lure of -temperament and of beauty is the same. And so these same murky streets -may burn with a rich passional life of their own. I left Oldham finally -in the dark and in a driving rain, but not without a sense of the -sturdy vigor of the place, keen if drab. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -CANTERBURY - - -It was not so long after this that I journeyed southward. My plan was -to leave London two days ahead of Barfleur, visit Canterbury and Dover, -and meet with him there to travel to Paris together, and the Riviera. -From the Riviera I was to go on to Rome and he was to return to England. - -Among other pleasant social duties I paid a farewell visit to Sir -Scorp, who shall appear often hereafter in these pages. During the -Christmas holidays at Barfleur’s I had become well acquainted with -this Irish knight and famed connoisseur of art, and while in London -I had seen much of him. Here in his lovely mansion in Cheyne Walk I -found him surrounded by what one might really call the grandeur of his -pictures. His house contained distinguished examples of Rembrandt, -Frans Hals, Van Dyck, Paul Potter, Velasquez, Mancini and others, -and as I contemplated him on this occasion he looked not unlike one -of the lymphatic cavaliers of Van Dyck’s canvases. A pale gentleman, -this--very remote in his spirit, very far removed from the common run -of life, concerned only with the ultimately artistic, and wishing to -be free of everything save the leisure to attend to this. He was not -going to leave London, he thought, at this time, except possibly for -a short visit to Paris. He was greatly concerned with the problem of -finding a dilapidated “cahstle” which he could restore, live in, fill -with his pictures and eventually sell, or dedicate to his beloved -England as a memorial of himself. It must be a perfect example of Tudor -architecture--that he invariably repeated. I gained the impression that -he might fill it with interesting examples of some given school or -artist and leave it as a public monument. - -He urged upon me that I ought to go about the work of getting up a -loan exhibit of representative American art, and have it brought to -London. He commended me to the joys of certain cities and scenes--Pisa, -San Miniato outside of Florence, the Villa Doria at Rome. I had to -smile at the man’s profound artistic assurance, for he spoke exactly -as a grandee recounting the glories of his kingdom. I admired the -paleness of his forehead and his hands and cast one longing look at his -inestimable Frans Hals. To think that any man in these days should have -purchased for little a picture that can in all likelihood be sold for -$500,000--it was like walking into Aladdin’s cave. - -The morning I left it was gray as usual. I had brought in all my -necessary belongings from Bridgely Level and installed them in my room -at the hotel, packed and ready. The executive mind of Barfleur was on -the qui vive to see that nothing was forgotten. A certain type of tie -must be purchased for use on the Riviera--he had overlooked that. He -thought my outing hat was not quite light enough in color, so we went -back to change it. I had lost my umbrella in the excitement, and that -had to be replaced. But finally, rushing to and fro in a taxi, loaded -like a van with belongings, Barfleur breathing stertorously after -each venture into a shop, we arrived at the Victoria Station. Never -having been on the Continent before, I did not realize until we got -there the wisdom of Barfleur’s insistence that I pack as much of my -belongings as possible in bags, and as little as possible in trunks. -Traveling first class, as most of those who have much luggage do, -it is cheaper. As most travelers know, one can take as many as five -or six parcels or bags in the compartment with one, and stow them -on racks and under the seats, which saves a heavy charge for excess -baggage. In some countries, such as Italy, nothing is carried free -save your hand-luggage which you take in your compartment with you. In -addition the rates are high. I think I paid as much as thirty shillings -for the little baggage I had, over and above that which I took in my -compartment with me. To a person with a frugal temperament such as -mine, that is positively disconcerting. It was my first taste of what I -came subsequently to look upon as greedy Europe. - -As the train rushed southeastwards I did my best to see the pleasant -country through which we were speeding--the region indicated on the map -as North Downs. I never saw any portion of English country anywhere -that I did not respond to the charming simplicity of it, and understand -and appreciate the Englishman’s pride in it. It has all the quality of -a pastoral poem--the charm of Arcady--fields of sheep, rows of quaint -chimney pots and odd houses tucked away among the trees, exquisite -moldy and sagging roofs, doorways and windows which look as though -loving care had been spent on them. Although this was January, all the -leafless trees were covered with a fine thin mold, as green as spring -leaves. At Rochester the ruins of an ancient castle came into view and -a cathedral which I was not to see. At Faversham I had to change from -the Dover express to a local, and by noon I was at Canterbury and was -looking for the Fleur-de-lis which had been recommended to me as the -best hotel there. “At least,” observed Barfleur, quite solemnly to me -as we parted, “I think you can drink the wine.” I smiled, for my taste -in that respect was not so cultivated as his. - -Of all the places I visited in England, not excluding Oxford, I believe -that Canterbury pleased me most. The day may have had something to -do with it. It was warm and gray--threatening rain at times--but at -times also the sun came out and gave the old English town a glow which -was not unrelated to spring and Paradise. You will have to have a -fondness for things English to like it--quaint, two-story houses with -unexpected twists to their roofs, and oriel and bay windows which have -been fastened on in the most unexpected places and in the strangest -fashion. The colors, too, in some instances, are high for England--reds -and yellows and blues; but in the main a smoky red-brick tone prevails. -The river Stour, which in America would be known as Stour’s Creek, -runs through the city in two branches; and you find it in odd places, -walled in closely by the buildings, hung over by little balconies -and doorsteps, the like of which I did not see again until I reached -Venice. There were rooks in the sky, as I noticed, when I came out of -the railway station; I was charmed with winding streets, and a general -air of peace and quiet--but I could not descry the cathedral anywhere. -I made my way up High Street--which is English for “Main”--and finally -found my recommended inn, small and dark, but in the hands of Frenchmen -and consequently well furnished in the matter of food. I came out after -a time and followed this street to its end, passing the famous gate -where the pilgrims used to sink on their knees and in that position -pray their way to the cathedral. As usual my Baedeker gave me a world -of information, but I could not stomach it, and preferred to look at -the old stones of which the gate was composed, wondering that it had -endured so long. The little that I knew of St. Augustine and King -Ethelbert and Chaucer and Thomas à Becket and Laud came back to me. I -could not have called it sacred ground, but it was colored at least -with the romance of history, and I have great respect for what people -once believed, whether it was sensible or not. - -Canterbury is a city of twenty-eight thousand, with gas-works and -railroads and an electric-power plant and moving pictures and a -skating-rink. But, though it has all these and much more of the same -kind, it nevertheless retains that indefinable something which is pure -poetry and makes England exquisite. As I look at it now, having seen -much more of other parts of Europe, the quality which produces this -indefinable beauty in England is not so much embodied in the individual -as in the race. If you look at architectural developments in other -countries you have the feeling at times as if certain individuals had -greatly influenced the appearance of a city or a country. This is true -of Paris and Berlin, Florence and Milan. Some one seems to have worked -out a scheme at some time or other. In England I could never detect an -individual or public scheme of any kind. It all seemed to have grown -up, like an unheralded bed of flowers. Again I am satisfied that it is -the English temperament which, at its best, provides the indefinable -lure which exists in all these places. I noticed it in the towns -about Manchester where, in spite of rain and smoke, the same poetic -_hominess_ prevailed. Here in Canterbury, where the architecture dates -in its variation through all of eight centuries, you feel the dominance -of the English temperament which has produced it. To-day, in the newest -sections of London--Hammersmith and Seven Kings, West Dulwich and North -Finchley--you still feel it at work, accidentally or instinctively -constructing this atmosphere which is common to Oxford and Canterbury. -It is compounded of a sense of responsibility and cleanliness and -religious feeling and strong national and family ties. You really feel -in England the distinction of the fireside and the family heirloom; -and the fact that a person must always keep a nice face on things, -however bad they may be. The same spirit erects bird-boxes on poles -in the yard and lays charming white stone doorsteps and plants vines -to clamber over walls and windows. It is a sweet and poetic spirit, -however dull it may seem by comparison with the brilliant iniquities of -other realms. Here along this little river Stour the lawns came down to -the water in some instances; the bridges over it were built with the -greatest care; and although houses lined it on either side for several -miles of its ramblings, it was nevertheless a clean stream. I noticed -in different places, where the walls were quite free of any other -marks, a poster giving the picture and the history of a murderer who -was wanted by the police in Nottingham, and it came to me, in looking -at it, that he would have a hard time anywhere in England concealing -his identity. The native horror of disorder and scandal would cause him -to be yielded up on the moment. - -In my wanderings, which were purely casual and haphazard, I finally -came upon the cathedral which loomed up suddenly through a curving -street under a leaden sky. It was like a lovely song, rendered with -great pathos. Over a Gothic gate of exquisite workmanship and endless -labor, it soared--two black stone towers rising shapely and ornate -into the gray air. I looked up to some lattices which gave into what -might have been the belfry, and saw birds perched just as they should -have been. The walls, originally gray, had been turned by time and -weather into a soft spongy black which somehow fitted in exquisitely -with the haze of the landscape. I had a curious sensation of darker -and lighter shades of gray--lurking pools of darkness here and there, -and brightness in spots that became almost silver. The cathedral -grounds were charmingly enclosed in vine-covered walls that were -nevertheless worked out in harmonious detail of stone. An ancient -walk of some kind, overhung with broken arches that had fallen into -decay, led away into a green court which, by a devious process of -other courts and covered arches, gave into the cloister proper. I -saw an old deacon, or canon, of the church walking here in stately -meditation; and a typical English yeoman, his trousers fastened about -the knee by the useless but immemorial strap, came by, wheeling a -few bricks in a barrow. There were endless courts, it seemed to me, -surrounded by two-story buildings, all quaint in design, and housing -Heaven-knows-what subsidiary factors of the archiepiscopal life. They -seemed very simple habitations to me. Children played here on the walks -and grass, gardeners worked at vines and fences, and occasional workmen -appeared--men who, I supposed, were connected with the architectural -repairs which were being made to the façade. As I stood in the -courtyard of the archbishop’s house, which was in front and to the -left of the cathedral as you faced it, a large blue-gray touring-car -suddenly appeared, and a striking-looking ecclesiastic in a shovel hat -stepped out. I had the wish and the fancy that I was looking at the -archbishop himself--a sound, stern, intellectual-looking person--but -I did not ask. He gave me a sharp, inquiring look, and I withdrew -beyond these sacred precincts and into the cathedral itself, where a -tinny-voiced bell was beginning to ring for afternoon service. - -I am sure I shall never forget the interior of Canterbury. It was -the first really old, great cathedral that I had seen--for I had not -prized very highly either St. Paul’s or St. Alban’s. I had never quite -realized how significant these structures must have been in an age when -they were far and away the most important buildings of the time. No -king’s palace could ever have had the importance of Canterbury, and the -cry from the common peasant to the Archiepiscopal see must have been -immense. Here really ruled the primate of all England, and here Becket -was murdered. - -Of all known architectural forms the Gothic corresponds more nearly to -the finest impulse in nature itself--that is, to produce the floreated -form. The aisles of the trees are no more appealing artistically than -those of a great cathedral, and the overhanging branches through which -the light falls have not much more charm than some of these perfect -Gothic ceilings sustained by their many branching arms of stone. Much -had happened, apparently, to the magnificent stained-glass windows -which must have filled the tall-pointed openings at different periods, -and many of them have been replaced by plain frosted glass. Those -that remain are of such richness of color and such delightful variety -of workmanship that, seen at the end of long stretches of aisles and -ambulatories, they are like splotches of blood or deep indigo, throwing -a strange light on the surrounding stone. - -I presently fell in tow of a guide. It is said to-day that Americans -are more like the Germans than like the English; but from the types I -encountered in England I think the variety of American temperaments -spring naturally from the mother country. Four more typical New England -village specimens I never saw than these cathedral ushers or guides. -They were sitting on the steps leading up to the choir, clad in cap and -gown, engaged in cheerful gossip. - -“Your turn, Henry,” said one, and the tallest of the three came around -and unlocked the great iron gates which give into the choir. Then -began, for my special benefit, a magnificent oration. We were joined, -after we had gone a little way, by a party of ladies from Pennsylvania -who were lurking in one of the transepts; and nothing would do but my -guide must go back to the iron entrance-way to the choir and begin -all over. Not a sentence was twisted, not a pause misplaced. “Good -heavens,” I thought, “he does that every day in the year, perhaps a -dozen times a day.” He was like a phonograph with but one record, which -is repeated endlessly. Nevertheless, the history of the archbishops, -the Black Prince, the Huguenot refugees, the carving of the woodwork -and the disappearance of the windows was all interesting. After having -made the rounds of the cathedral, we came out into the cloister, the -corridors of which were all black and crumbling with age, and he -indicated the spot and described the manner in which Becket had been -stabbed and had fallen. I don’t know when a bit of history has moved me -so much. - -It was the day--the gentle quality of it--its very spring-like texture -that made it all so wonderful. The grass in this black court was as -green as new lettuce; the pendants and facets of the arches were -crumbling into black sand--and spoke seemingly of a thousand years. -High overhead the towers and the pinnacles, soaring as gracefully -as winged living things, looked down while I faced the black-gowned -figure of my guide and thought of the ancient archbishop crossing this -self-same turf (how long can be the life of grass?). - -When I came outside the gate into the little square or triangle which -faces it I found a beautiful statue of the lyric muse--a semi-nude -dancing girl erected to the memory of Christopher Marlowe. It surprised -me a little to find it here, facing Canterbury, in what might be called -the sacred precincts of religious art; but it is suitably placed and -brought back to my mind the related kingdom of poetry. - -All the little houses about have heavy overhanging eaves and -diamond-shaped, lead-paned windows. The walls are thick and -whitewashed, ranging in color from cream to brown. They seem unsuited -to modern life; and yet they frequently offered small shop-windows full -of all the things that make it: picture-postcards, American shoes, -much-advertised candy, and the latest books and magazines. I sought a -tea-room near by and had tea, looking joyously out against the wall -where some clematis clambered, and then wandered back to the depot to -get my mackintosh and umbrella--for it was beginning to rain. For two -hours more I walked up and down in the rain and dark, looking into -occasional windows where the blinds had not been drawn and stopping -in taprooms or public houses where rosy barmaids waited on one with -courteous smiles. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -EN ROUTE TO PARIS - - -One of the things which dawned upon me in moving about England, and -particularly as I was leaving it, was the reason for the inestimable -charm of Dickens. I do not know that anywhere in London or England I -encountered any characters which spoke very forcefully of those he -described. It is probable that they were all somewhat exaggerated. But -of the charm of his setting there can be no doubt. He appeared at a -time when the old order was giving way, and the new--the new as we have -known it in the last sixty years--was manifesting itself very sharply. -Railroads were just coming in and coaches being dispensed with; the -modern hotel was not yet even thought of, but it was impending. - -Dickens, born and raised in London, was among the first to perceive -the wonder of the change and to contrast it graphically with what had -been and still was. In such places as St. Alban’s, Marlowe, Canterbury, -Oxford, and others, I could see what the old life must have been like -when the stage-coach ruled and made the principal highways lively with -traffic. Here in Canterbury and elsewhere there were inns sacred to -the characters of Dickens; and you could see how charming that world -must have appeared to a man who felt that it was passing. He saw it -in its heyday, and he recorded it as it could not have been recorded -before and can never be again. He saw also the charm of simple English -life--the native love of cleanly pots and pans and ordered dooryards; -and that, fortunately, has not changed. I cannot think of any one doing -England as Dickens did it until there is something new to be done--the -old spirit manifested in a new way. From Shakespeare to Dickens the cry -is long; from Dickens to his successors it may be longer still. - -I was a bit perturbed on leaving Canterbury to realize that on the -morrow at this same time I should catch my first glimpse of Paris. The -clerk at the station who kept my bags for me noted that I came from New -York and told me he had a brother in Wisconsin, and that he liked it -very much out there. - -I said, “I suppose you will be coming to America yourself, one of these -days?” - -“Oh, yes,” he said; “the big chances are out there. I’ll either go to -Canada or Wisconsin.” - -“Well, there are plenty of states to choose from,” I said. - -“A lot of people have gone from this place,” he replied. - -It rained hard on the way to Dover; but when I reached there it had -ceased, and I even went so far as to leave my umbrella in the train. -When I early discovered my loss I reported it at once to the porter who -was carrying my belongings. - -“Don’t let that worry you,” he replied, in the calmest and most -assuring of English tones. “They always look through the trains. You’ll -find it in the parcel-room.” - -Sure enough, when I returned there it was behind the clerk’s desk; and -it was handed to me promptly. If I had not had everything which I had -lost, barring one stick, promptly returned to me since I had been in -England, I should not have thought so much of this; but it confirmed my -impression that I was among a people who are temperamentally honest. - -My guide led me to the Lord Warden Hotel, where I arranged myself -comfortably in a good room for the night. It pleased me, on throwing -open my windows, to see that this hotel fronted a bay or arm of the sea -and that I was in the realm of great ships and sea traffic instead of -the noisy heart of a city. Because of a slight haze, not strong enough -to shut out the lights entirely, fog-horns and fog-bells were going; -and I could hear the smash of waves on the shore. I decided that after -dinner I would reconnoiter Dover. There was a review of warships in the -harbor at the time; and the principal streets were crowded with marines -in red jackets and white belts and the comic little tambourine caps -cocked jauntily over one ear. Such a swarm of red-jackets I never saw -in my life. They were walking up and down in pairs and trios, talking -briskly and flirting with the girls. I fancy that representatives of -the underworld of women who prey on this type of youth were here in -force. - -Much to my astonishment, in this Snargate Street I found a -south-of-England replica of the “Fish, Chip, and Pea” institution of -the Manchester district. I concluded from this that it must be an -all-English institution, and wherever there was much drunkenness there -would be these restaurants. In such a port as Dover, where sailors -freely congregate, it would be apt to be common; and so it proved. - -Farther up High Street, in its uttermost reaches in fact, I saw a sign -which read: “Thomas Davidge, Bone-setter and Tooth-surgeon”--whatever -that may be. Its only rival was another I had seen in Boulton which -ran: “Temperance Bar and Herbal Stores.” - -The next morning I was up early and sought the famous castle on the -hill, but could not gain admission and could not see it for the fog. -I returned to the beach when the fog had lifted and I could see not -only the castle on the hill, but the wonderful harbor besides. It -was refreshing to see the towering cliff of chalk, the pearl-blue -water, the foaming surf along the interesting sea walk, and the -lines of summer--or perhaps they are winter--residences facing the -sea on this one best street. Dover, outside of this one street, was -not--to me--handsome, but here all was placid, comfortable, socially -interesting. I wondered what type of Englishman it was that came to -summer or winter at Dover--so conveniently located between London and -Paris. - -At ten-thirty this morning the last train from London making the boat -for Calais was to arrive and with it Barfleur and all his paraphernalia -bound for Paris. - -It seems to me that I have sung the praises of Barfleur as a directing -manager quite sufficiently for one book; but I shall have to begin -anew. He arrived as usual very brisk, a porter carrying four or five -pieces of luggage, his fur coat over his arm, his monocle gleaming as -though it had been freshly polished, a cane and an umbrella in hand, -and inquiring crisply whether I had secured the particular position on -deck which he had requested me to secure and hold. If it were raining, -according to a slip of paper on which he had written instructions days -before I left London, I was to enter the cabin of the vessel which -crossed the channel; preëmpt a section of seat along the side wall by -putting all my luggage there; and bribe a porter to place two chairs -in a comfortable windless position on deck to which we could repair -in case it should clear up on the way over. All of this I faithfully -did. The chairs had the best possible position behind the deck-house -and one of my pieces of luggage was left there as a guarantee that -they belonged to me. It looked like rain when the train arrived, and -we went below for a sandwich and a cup of coffee; but before the boat -left it faired up somewhat and we sat on deck studying the harbor and -the interesting company which was to cross with us. Some twenty English -school-girls in charge of several severe-looking chaperones were -crossing to Paris, either for a holiday, or, as Barfleur suggested, -to renew their studies in a Paris school. A duller lot of maidens -it would be hard to conceive, and yet some of them were not at all -bad-looking. Conservatism and proper conduct were written all over -them. Their clothing was severely plain, and their manners were most -circumspect. None of that vivacity which characterizes the average -American girl would have been tolerated under the circumstances. There -was no undue giggling and little, if any, jesting. They interested me, -because I instantly imagined twenty American girls of the same age in -their place. They would have manifested twenty times the interest and -enthusiasm, only in England that would have been the height of bad -manners. As it was these English maidens sat in a quaint row all the -way over, and disappeared quite conservatively into the train at Calais. - -This English steamer crossing the channel to France was a -disappointment to me in one way. I had heard for some time past that -the old uncomfortable channel boats had been dispensed with and new -commodious steamers put in their place. As a matter of fact, these -boats were not nearly so large as those that run from New York to Coney -Island, nor so commodious, though much cleaner and brighter. If it -had rained, as Barfleur anticipated, the cabin below would have been -intolerably overcrowded and stuffy. As it was, all the passengers were -on the upper deck, sitting in camp chairs and preparing stoically to -be sick. It was impossible to conceive that a distance so short, not -more than twenty-three or four miles, should be so disagreeable as -Barfleur said it was at times. The boat did not pitch to any extent -on this trip over. On my return, some three months later, I had -a different experience. But now the wind blew fiercely and it was -cold. The channel was as gray as a rabbit and offensively bleak. I -did not imagine the sea could be so dull-looking, and France, when -it appeared in the distance, was equally bleak in appearance. As we -drew near Calais it was no better--a shore-line beset with gas tanks -and iron foundries. But when we actually reached the dock and I saw -a line of sparkling French _facteurs_ looking down on the boat from -the platform above--presto! England was gone. Gone all the solemnity -and the politeness of the porters who had brought our luggage aboard, -gone the quiet civility of ship officers and train-men, gone the -solid doughlike quiescence of the whole English race. It seemed to -me on the instant as if the sky had changed and instead of the gray -misty pathos of English life--albeit sweet and romantic--had come the -lively slap-dash of another world. These men who looked down on us -with their snappy birdlike eyes were no more like the English than a -sparrow is like a great auk. They were black-haired, black-eyed, lean, -brown, active. They had on blue aprons and blue jumpers and a kind -of military cap. There was a touch of scarlet somewhere, either in -their caps or their jackets, I forget which; and somewhere near by I -saw a French soldier--his scarlet woolen trousers and lead-blue coat -contrasting poorly, so far as _éclat_ goes, with the splendid trimness -of the British. Nevertheless he did not look inefficient, but raw and -forceful, as one imagines the soldiers of Napoleon should be. The -vividness of the coloring made up for much, and I said at once that I -would not give France for fifty million Englands. I felt, although I -did not speak the language, as though I had returned to America. - -It is curious how one feels about France, or at least how I feel -about it. For all of six weeks I had been rejoicing in the charms and -the virtues of the English. London is a great city--splendid--the -intellectual capital of the world. Manchester and the north represent -as forceful a manufacturing realm as the world holds, there is no -doubt of that. The quaintness and sweetness of English country life is -not to be surpassed for charm and beauty. But France has fifty times -the spirit and enthusiasm of England. After London and the English -country it seems strangely young and vital. France is often spoken of -as decadent--but I said to myself, “Good Lord, let us get some of this -decadence, and take it home with us. It is such a cheerful thing to -have around.” I would commend it to the English particularly. - -On the way over Barfleur had been giving me additional instructions. -I was to stay on board when the boat arrived and signal a facteur -who would then come and get my luggage. I was to say to him, “_Sept -colis_,” whereupon he would gather up the bundles and lead the way to -the dock. I was to be sure and get his number, for all French facteurs -were scoundrels, and likely to rob you. I did exactly as I was told, -while Barfleur went forward to engage a section, first class, and to -see that we secured places in the dining-car for the first service. -Then he returned and found me on the dock, doing my best to keep track -of the various pieces of luggage, while the facteur did his best to -secure the attention of a customs inspector. - -It was certainly interesting to see the difference between the arrival -of this boat at Calais and the similar boat which took us off the -_Mauretania_ at Fishguard. There, although the crowd which had arrived -was equally large, all was peaceful and rather still. The porters -went about their work in such a matter-of-fact manner. All was in -apple-pie order. There was no shouting to speak of. Here all was hubbub -and confusion, apparently, although it was little more than French -enthusiasm. You would have fancied that the French guards and facteurs -were doing their best to liberate their pent-up feelings. They bustled -restlessly to and fro; they grimaced; they reassured you frequently -by look and sign that all would be well, must be so. Inside of five -minutes,--during which time I examined the French news-stand and saw -how marvelously English conservatism had disappeared in this distance -of twenty miles,--the luggage had been passed on and we were ready to -enter the train. Barfleur had purchased a number of papers, _Figaro_, -_Gil Blas_, and others in order to indicate the difference between the -national lives of the two countries which I was now to contrast. I -never saw a man so eager to see what effect a new country would have -on another. He wanted me to see the difference between the English and -the French papers at once; and although I was thoroughly familiar with -it already, I carefully examined these latest productions of the French -presses. The same delicious nudities that have been flourishing in the -French papers for years were there, the same subtle Gallic penchant for -the absurd and the ridiculous. I marveled anew at the sprightliness of -these figures, which never cross the Atlantic into American papers. -We do not know how to draw them because we are not accustomed to them -in our lives. As a matter of fact the American papers and magazines -adhere rigorously to the English standard. We have varied some in -presentation, but have not broadened the least in treatment. As a -matter of fact I believe that the American weekly and monthly are even -more conservative than the British paper of the same standard. We think -we are different, but we are not. We have not even anything in common -with the Germans, from whom we are supposed to have drawn so much of -our national personality. - -However,--the train started after a few moments and soon we were -speeding through that low flat country which lies between Calais and -Paris. It was a five-hour run direct, but we were going to stop off -at Amiens to see the great cathedral there. I was struck at once by -the difference between the English and the French landscape. Here the -trees were far fewer, and what there were of them were not tinged with -that rich green mold which is characteristic of every tree in England. -The towns, too, as they flashed past--for this was an express--were -radically different in their appearance. I noted the superabundance of -conical red roofs swimming in a silvery light, and hard white walls -that you could see for miles. No trees intervened to break the view, -and now and then a silvery thread of a river appeared. - -It was on this trip that I gathered my first impressions of a French -railway as contrasted with those of England and America. The French -rails were laid to the standard gage, I noticed, and the cars were -after the American not the English style: large, clean, commodious, -with this improvement over the American car that they were of the -corridor and compartment style as contrasted with our one room, -open-space style. After my taste of the compartment car in England I -was fairly satisfied to part forever with the American plan of one long -open room in which every one can see every one else, interesting as -that spectacle may be to some. The idea of some privacy appealed to me -more. The American Pullman has always seemed a criminal arrangement to -me, anyhow, and at Manchester I had met a charming society woman who in -passing had told me that the first time she was compelled to undress in -an American sleeping car she cried. Her personal sense of privacy was -so outrageously invaded. Our large magnates having their own private -cars or being able to charter a whole train on occasion need not worry -about this small matter of delicacy in others (it would probably never -concern them personally anyhow) and so the mass and the unsuspecting -stranger is made to endure what he bitterly resents and what they -never feel. I trust time and a growing sense of chivalry in the men at -the top as well as a sense of privilege and necessity in the mass at -the bottom will alter all this. America is a changing country. In due -time, after all the hogs are fed or otherwise disposed of, a sense of -government of the people for the people will probably appear. It has -made only the barest beginning as yet. There are some things that the -rank and file are entitled to, however--even the rank and file--and -these they will eventually get. - -I was charmed with the very medieval air of Amiens, when we reached -there, a bare, gray, cobble-stony city which, however, appeared to be -solid and prosperous. Here, as in the rest of France, I found that the -conical-roofed tower, the high-peaked roof, the solid gray or white -wall, and the thick red tile, fluted or flat, combined to produce -what may be looked upon as the national touch. The houses here varied -considerably from the English standard in being in many cases very -narrow and quite high for their width--four and five stories. They -are crowded together, too, in a seemingly defensive way, and seem to -lack light and air. The solid white or gray shutters, the thick fluted -rain-pipe, and the severe, simple thickness of the walls produced an -atmosphere which I came to look upon after a time as supremely Gallic, -lingering on from a time when France was a very different country from -what it is to-day. - -Amiens was all of this. It would have seemed hard and cold and bare and -dry except for these little quirks of roofs, and the lightness of the -spirit of the people. We wandered through high-walled, cobble-paved -streets until suddenly we came on the cathedral, soaring upward out of -a welter of the dreary and commonplace. I had thought Canterbury was -wonderful--but now I knew that I had never seen anything in my life -before so imposing as Amiens. Pure Gothic, like Canterbury, it was so -much larger; a perfect maze of pinnacles, towers, arches, buttresses -and flying buttresses; it soared into the sky--carven saint above -carven saint, and gargoyles leering from every cranny. I could scarcely -believe that the faith of man had ever reared so lovely a thing. What a -power religion must have been in those days! Or what a grip this form -of art must have taken on the imagination of some! To what perfection -the art of architecture had attained! The loving care that has been -exercised in designing, shaping and placing these stones is enough -to stagger the brain. I did not wonder when I saw it that Ruskin and -Morris had attained to a sort of frenzy over the Gothic. It is a thing -for sighs and tears. Both Barfleur and I walked around it in reverent -silence, and I knew that he was rejoicing to know that I was feeling -what I ought to feel. - -We went inside after a time because it was threatening dusk and we -had to make our train for Paris. I shall never forget the vast space -within those wondrous doors--the world of purple and gold and blue in -the windows, the blaze of a hundred and more candles upon the great -altar, the shrines with their votive offerings of flaming tapers, the -fat waddling mothers in bunchy skirts, the heavy priests with shovel -hats and pig-like faces, the order of attendant sisters in blue collars -and flaring linen headgear, the worshipful figures scattered here -and there upon the hard stone floor on their knees. The vast space -was full of a delicious incense; faint shadows were already pooling -themselves in the arches above to blend into a great darkness. Up rose -the columns, giant redwoods of stone, supporting the far-off roof; the -glory of pointed windows, the richness of foliated decorations, the -worshipfulness of graven saints set in shrines whose details seemed -the tendrils of spring. Whatever the flower, the fruit, the leaf, the -branch, could contribute in the way of artistic suggestion had here -been seized upon. Only the highest order of inspiration could have -conceived or planned or executed this delicious dream in stone. - -A guide, for a franc or two, took us high up into the organ-loft -and out upon a narrow balustrade leading about the roof. Below, all -France was spread out; the city of Amiens, its contour, was defined -accurately. You could see some little stream, the Somme, coming into -the city and leaving it. Wonderful figures of saints and devils were on -every hand. We were shown a high tower in which a treaty between France -and Spain had been signed. I looked down into the great well of the -nave inside and saw the candles glowing like gold and the people moving -like small bugs across the floor. It was a splendid confirmation of the -majesty of man, the power of his ideals, the richness and extent of his -imagination, the sheer ability of his hands. I would not give up my -fleeting impression of Amiens for anything that I know. - - * * * * * - -As we came away from the cathedral in the dusk we walked along some -branch or canal of the Somme, and I saw for the first time the -peculiar kind of boat or punt used on French streams--a long affair, -stub-pointed at either end. It was black and had somewhat the effect -of a gondola. A Frenchman in baggy corduroy trousers and soft wool -cap pulled over one ear was poling it along. It contained hay piled -in a rude mass. It was warm here, in spite of the fact that it was -the middle of January, and there was a feeling of spring in the air. -Barfleur informed me that the worst of winter in Paris appeared between -January fifteenth and the middle of March, that the spring did not -really show itself until the first of April or a little later. - -“You will be coming back by then,” he said, “and you will see it in all -its glory. We will go to Fontainebleau and ride.” That sounded very -promising to me. - -I could not believe that these dull cobble-stone streets through which -we were passing were part of a city of over ninety thousand, and that -there was much manufacturing here. There were so few people in sight. -It had a gray, shut-up appearance--none of the flow and spirit of the -towns of the American Middle West. It occurred to me at once that, -though I might like to travel here, I should never like to live here. -Then we reached the railway station again. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -PARIS! - - -There is something about the French nation which, in spite of its -dreary-looking cities, exhibits an air of metropolitan up-to-dateness. -I don’t know where outside of America you will find the snap and -intensity of emotion, ambition, and romance which you find everywhere -in French streets. The station, when we returned to it, was alive -with a crowd of bustling, hurrying people, buying books and papers -at news-stands, looking after their luggage in the baggage-room, and -chattering to the ticket-sellers through their windows. A train from -Paris was just in and they were hurrying to catch that; and as I made -my first French purchase--twenty centimes’ worth of post-cards of -Amiens--our train rolled in. It was from the North--such a long train -as you frequently see in America, with cars labeled Milan, Trieste, -Marseilles, Florence, and Rome. I could hardly believe it, and asked -Barfleur as he bustled about seeing that the luggage was put in the -proper carriage, where it came from. He thought that some of these cars -started from St. Petersburg and others from Denmark and Holland. They -had a long run ahead of them yet--over thirty hours to Rome, and Paris -was just one point in their journey. We crowded into one car--stuffy -with luggage, its windows damp with human breath, various nationalities -occupying the section--and disposed of our grips, portmanteaus, rugs -and so on, as best we could. I slipped the bustling old _facteur_ a -franc--not so much because he deserved it, but because he had such a -gay and rakish air. His apron swung around his legs like a skirt, and -his accordion-plaited cap was lolling gaily over one ear. He waved me -a smiling farewell and said something in French which I wished I could -understand. Then I realized for the first time what a pity it is not to -understand the language of the country in which you are traveling. - -As the train sped on through the dark to Paris I fell to speculating on -the wonders I was to see. Barfleur was explaining to me that in order -to make my entrance into Paris properly gay and interesting, we were -to dine at the Café de Paris and then visit the Folies-Bergère and -afterwards have supper at the Abbaye Thélème. - -I should say here that of all people I know Barfleur is as capable -of creating an atmosphere as any--perhaps more so. The man lives -so heartily in his moods, he sets the stage for his actions long -beforehand, and then walks on like a good actor and plays his part -thoroughly. All the way over--from the very first day we met in New -York, I think--he was either consciously or unconsciously building up -for me the glamour of smart and artistic life in Europe. Now these -things are absolutely according to your capacity to understand and -appreciate them; they are, if you please, a figment of the brain, a -frame of mind. If you love art, if you love history, if the romance -of sex and beauty enthralls you, Europe in places presents tremendous -possibilities. To reach these ethereal paradises of charm, you must -skip and blink and dispense with many things. All the long lines -of commonplaces through which you journey must be as nothing. You -buy and prepare and travel and polish and finally you reach the -center of this thing which is so wonderful; and then, when you get -there, it is a figment of your own mind. Paris and the Riviera are -great realities--there are houses and crowds and people and great -institutions and the remembrance and flavor of great deeds; but the -thing that you get out of all this for yourself is born of the attitude -or mood which you take with you. Toward gambling, show, romance, -a delicious scene, Barfleur carries a special mood. Life is only -significant because of these things. His great struggle is to avoid -the dingy and the dull, and to escape if possible the penalties of -encroaching age. I think he looks back on the glitter of his youth with -a pathetic eye, and I know he looks forward into the dark with stoic -solemnity. Just one hour of beauty, is his private cry, one more day of -delight. Let the future take care of itself. He realizes, too, with the -keenness of a realist, that if youth is not most vivid in yourself, it -can sometimes be achieved through the moods of others. I know he found -in me a zest and a curiosity and a wonder which he was keen to satisfy. -Now he would see this thing over as he had seen it years before. He -would observe me thrill and marvel, and so he would be able to thrill -and marvel himself once more. He clung to me with delicious enthusiasm, -and every now and then would say, “Come now, what are you thinking? -I want to know. I am enjoying this as much as you are.” He had a -delicious vivacity which acted on me like wine. - -As we neared Paris he had built this city up so thoroughly in my -mood that I am satisfied that I could not have seen it with a -realistic eye if I had tried. It was something--I cannot tell you -what--Napoleon, the Louvre, the art quarter, Montmartre, the gay -restaurants, the boulevards, Balzac, Hugo, the Seine and the soldiery, -a score and a hundred things too numerous to mention and all greatly -exaggerated. I hoped to see something which was perfect in its artistic -appearance--exteriorly speaking. I expected, after reading George Moore -and others, a wine-like atmosphere; a throbbing world of gay life; -women of exceptional charm of face and dress; the bizarre, the unique, -the emotional, the spirited. At Amiens I had seen enough women entering -the trains to realize that the dreary commonplace of the English woman -was gone. Instead the young married women that we saw were positively -daring compared to what England could show--shapely, piquant, -sensitive, their eyes showing a birdlike awareness of what this world -has to offer. I fancied Paris would be like that, only more so; and -as I look back on it now I can honestly say that I was not greatly -disappointed. It was not all that I thought it would be, but it was -enough. It is a gay, brilliant, beautiful city, with the spirit of New -York and more than the distinction of London. It is like a brilliant, -fragile child--not made for contests and brutal battles, but gay beyond -reproach. - -When the train rolled into the Gare du Nord it must have been about -eight o’clock. Barfleur, as usual, was on the qui vive for precedence -and advantage. He had industriously piled all the bags close to the -door, and was hanging out of a window doing his best to signal a -facteur. I was to stay in the car and hand all the packages down -rapidly while he ran to secure a taxi and an inspector and in other -ways to clear away the impediments to our progress. With great -executive enthusiasm he told me that we must be at the Hotel Normandy -by eight-fifteen or twenty and that by nine o’clock we must be ready -to sit down in the Café de Paris to an excellent dinner which he had -ordered by telegraph. - -I recall my wonder in entering Paris--the lack of any long extended -suburbs, the sudden flash of electric lights and electric cars. Mostly -we seemed to be entering through a tunnel or gully, and then we were -there. The noisy facteurs in their caps and blue jumpers were all -around the cars. They ran and chattered and gesticulated--so unlike -the porters in Paddington and Waterloo and Victoria and Euston. The one -we finally secured, a husky little enthusiast, did his best to gather -all our packages in one grand mass and shoulder them, stringing them on -a single strap. The result of it was that the strap broke right over a -small pool of water, and among other things the canvas bag containing -my blanket and magnificent shoes fell into the water. “Oh, my God,” -exclaimed Barfleur, “my hat box!” - -“The fool ass,” I added, “I knew he would do just that--My blanket! My -shoes!” - -The excited facteur was fairly dancing in anguish, doing his best to -get the packages strung together. Between us we relieved him of about -half of them, and from about his waist he unwrapped another large strap -and strung the remainder on that. Then we hurried on--for nothing would -do but that we must hurry. A taxi was secured and all our luggage piled -on it. It looked half suffocated under bundles as it swung out into the -street, and we were off at a mad clip through crowded, electric-lighted -streets. I pressed my nose to the window and took in as much as I -could, while Barfleur between calculations as to how much time this -would take, and that would take, and whether my trunk had arrived -safely, expatiated laconically on French characteristics. - -“You smell this air--it is all over Paris.” - -“The taxis always go like this.” (We were going like mad.) - -“There is an excellent type--look at her.” - -“Now you see the chairs out in front--they are that way all over Paris.” - -I was looking at the interesting restaurant life which never really -seems to be interrupted anywhere in Paris. You can always find a dozen -chairs somewhere, if not fifty or a hundred, out on the sidewalk under -the open sky, or a glass roof--little stone-topped tables beside them, -the crowd surging to and fro in front. Here you can sit and have your -coffee, your liqueur, your sandwich. Everybody seems to do it--it is as -common as walking in the streets. - -We whirled through street after street partaking of this atmosphere, -and finally swung up in front of a rather plain hotel which, I learned -this same night, was close to the Avenue de l’Opéra, on the corner of -the Rue St. Honoré and the Rue de l’Echelle. Our luggage was quickly -distributed and I was shown into my room by a maid who could not speak -English. I unlocked my belongings and was rapidly changing my clothes -when Barfleur, breathing mightily, fully arrayed, appeared to say that -I should await him at the door below where he would arrive with two -guests. I did so, and in fifteen minutes he returned, the car spinning -up out of a steady stream that was flowing by. I think my head was -dizzy with the whirl of impressions which I was garnering, but I did my -best to keep a sane view of things, and to get my impressions as sharp -and clear as I could. - -I am quite satisfied of one thing in this world, and that is that -the commonest intelligence is very frequently confused or hypnotized -or overpersuaded by certain situations, and that the weaker ones are -ever full of the wildest forms of illusion. We talk about the sanity -of life--I question whether it exists. Mostly it is a succession of -confusing, disturbing impressions which are only rarely valid. This -night I know I was moving in a sort of maze, and when I stepped into -the car and was introduced to the two girls who were with Barfleur, I -easily succumbed to what was obviously their great beauty. - -The artist Greuze has painted the type that I saw before me over -and over--soft, buxom, ruddy womanhood. I think the two may have -been twenty-four and twenty-six. The elder was smaller than the -younger--although both were of good size--and not so ruddy; but they -were both perfectly plump, round-faced, dimpled, and with a wealth of -brownish-black hair, even white teeth, smooth plump arms and necks and -shoulders. Their chins were adorably rounded, their lips red, and their -eyes laughing and gay. They began laughing and chattering the moment I -entered, extending their soft white hands and saying things in French -which I could not understand. Barfleur was smiling--beaming through -his monocle in an amused, superior way. The older girl was arrayed in -pearl-colored silk with a black mantilla spangled with silver, and -the younger had a dress of peach-blow hue with a white lace mantilla -also spangled, and they breathed a faint perfume. We were obviously in -beautiful, if not moral, company. - -I shall never forget the grand air with which this noble company -entered the Café de Paris. Barfleur was in fine feather and the ladies -radiated a charm and a flavor which immediately attracted attention. -This brilliant café was aglow with lights and alive with people. It is -not large in size--quite small in fact--and triangular in shape. The -charm of it comes not so much from the luxury of the fittings, which -are luxurious enough, but from their exceeding good taste, and the fame -of the cuisine. One does not see a bill of fare here that indicates -prices. You order what you like and are charged what is suitable. -Champagne is not an essential wine as it is in some restaurants--you -may drink what you like. There is a delicious sparkle and spirit to the -place which can only spring from a high sense of individuality. Paris -is supposed to provide nothing better than the Café de Paris, in so far -as food is concerned. It is as good a place to go for dinner as the -city provides. - -It amuses me now when I think of how the managerial ability of Barfleur -had been working through all this. As the program had been arranged in -his mind, I was to take the elder of the two ladies as my partner and -he had reserved the younger for himself. As a matter of fact they were -really equally pretty and charming--and I was interested in both until, -after a few parleys and when I had exchanged a few laughing signs with -the younger, he informed me that she was really closely tied up with -some one else and was not available. This I really did not believe; -but it did not make any particular difference. I turned my attention -to the elder who was quite as vivacious, if not quite so forceful as -her younger sister. I never knew what it meant before to sit in a -company of this kind, welcome as a friend, looked to for gaiety as a -companion and admirer, and yet not able to say a word in the language -of the occasion. There were certain words which could be quickly -acquired on an occasion of this kind, such as “beautiful,” “charming,” -“very delightful,” and so on, for which Barfleur gave me the French -equivalent, and then I could make complimentary remarks which he would -translate for all, and the ladies would say things in reply which -would come to me by the same medium. It went gaily enough--for the -conversation would not have been of a high order if I had been able -to speak French. Barfleur objected to being used constantly as an -interpreter, and when he became stubborn and chattered gaily without -stopping to explain, I was compelled to fall back on the resources of -looks and smiles and gestures. It interested me to see how quick these -women were to adapt themselves to the difficulties of the situation. -They were constantly laughing and chaffing between themselves--looking -at me and saying obviously flattering things, and then laughing at my -discomfiture in not being able to understand. The elder explained what -certain objects were by lifting them up and insisting on the French -name. Barfleur was constantly telling me of the compliments they made -and how sad they thought it was that I could not speak French. We -departed finally for the Folies-Bergère where the newest sensation of -Paris, Mistinguett, was playing. She proved to be a brilliant hoyden to -look upon; a gay, slim, yellow-haired tomboy who seemed to fascinate -the large audience by her boyish manners and her wayward air. There -was a brilliant chorus in spangled silks and satins, and finally a -beautiful maiden without any clothing at all who was cloaked by the -soldiery of the stage before she had half crossed it. The vaudeville -acts were about as good as they are anywhere. I did not think that the -performance was any better than one might see in one or two places in -New York, but of course the humor was much broader. Now and then one -of their remarkable _bons mots_ was translated for me by Barfleur just -to give me an inkling of the character of the place. Back of the seats -was a great lobby or promenade where a fragment of the demi-monde of -Paris was congregated--beautiful creatures, in many instances, and -as unconventional as you please. I was particularly struck with the -smartness of their costumes and the cheerful character of their faces. -The companion type in London and New York is somewhat colder-looking. -Their eyes snapped with Gallic intelligence, and they walked as though -the whole world held their point of view and no other. - -From here at midnight we left for the Abbaye Thélème; and there I -encountered the best that Paris has to show in the way of that gaiety -and color and beauty and smartness for which it is famous. One really -ought to say a great deal about the Abbaye Thélème, because it is the -last word, the quintessence of midnight excitement and international -_savoir faire_. The Russian and the Brazilian, the Frenchman, the -American, the Englishman, the German and the Italian all meet here -on common ground. I saw much of restaurant life in Paris while I was -there, but nothing better than this. Like the Café de Paris it was -small--very small--when compared to restaurants of similar repute -in New York and London. I fancy it was not more than sixty feet -square--only it was not square but pentagonal, almost circular. The -tables, to begin with, went round the walls, with seats which had the -wall for a back; and then, as the guests poured in, the interior space -was filled up with tables which were brought in for the purpose; and, -later in the morning, when the guests began to leave, these tables were -taken out again, and the space devoted to dancing and entertainers. - -As in the Café de Paris I noticed that it was not so much the quality -of the furnishings as the spirit of the place which was important. -This latter was compounded of various elements--success, perfection -of service, absolute distinction of cooking, and lastly the subtlety -and magnetism of sex which is capitalized and used in Paris as it is -nowhere else in the world. I never actually realized until I stepped -into this restaurant what it is that draws a certain moneyed element -to Paris. The Tomb of Napoleon and the Panthéon and the Louvre are -not the significant attractions of that important city. Those things -have their value--they constitute an historical and artistic element -that is appealing, romantic and forceful. But over and above that -there is something else--and that is sex. I did not learn what I am -going to say now until later, but it might as well be said here, for -it illustrates the point exactly. A little experience and inquiry -in Paris quickly taught me that the owners and managers of the more -successful restaurants encourage and help to sustain a certain type -of woman whose presence is desirable. She must be young, beautiful, -or attractive, and above all things possessed of temperament. A woman -can rise in the café and restaurant world of Paris quite as she can -on the stage; and she can easily graduate from the Abbaye Thélème and -Maxim’s to the stage, though the path is villainous. On the other -hand, the stage contributes freely to the atmosphere of Maxim’s, the -Abbaye Thélème, and other restaurants of their kind. A large number of -the figures seen here and at the Folies-Bergère and other places of -the same type, are interchangeable. They are in the restaurants when -they are not on the stage, and they are on the stage when they are not -in the restaurants. They rise or fall by a world of strange devices, -and you can hear brilliant or ghastly stories illustrating either -conclusion. Paris--this aspect of it--is a perfect maelstrom of sex; -and it is sustained by the wealth and the curiosity of the stranger, as -well as the Frenchman. - -The Abbaye Thélème on this occasion presented a brilliant scene. -The carpet, as I recall it, was a rich green velvet; the walls a -lavender-white. From the ceiling six magnificently prismed electroliers -were suspended--three glowing with a clear peach-blow hue and three -with a brilliant white. Outside a small railing near the door several -negro singers, a mandolin and a guitar-player, several stage dancers, -and others were congregated. A perfect storm of people was pouring -through the doors--all with their tables previously arranged for. Out -in the lobby, where a January wind was blowing, you could hear a wild -uproar of slamming taxi doors, and the calls of doormen and chauffeurs -getting their vehicles in and out of the way. The company generally, -as on all such occasions, was on the qui vive to see who else were -present and what the general spirit of the occasion was to be. -Instantly I detected a number of Americans; three amazingly beautiful -English women, such as I never saw in England, and their escorts; a few -Spaniards or South Americans; and, after that, a variety of individuals -whom I took to be largely French, although it was impossible to tell. -The English women interested me because, during all my stay in Europe, -I never saw three other women quite so beautiful, and because, during -all my stay in England, I scarcely saw a good-looking English woman. -Barfleur suggested that they were of that high realm of fashion which -rarely remains in London during the winter season--when I was there; -that if I came again in May or June and went to the races I would see -plenty of them. Their lovely hair was straw-colored and their cheeks -and foreheads a faint pink and cream. Their arms and shoulders were -delightfully bare, and they carried themselves with amazing hauteur. -By one o’clock, when the majority of the guests had arrived, this room -fairly shimmered with white silks and satins, white arms and shoulders, -roses in black hair and blue and lavender ribbons fastened about -coiffures of lighter complexion. There were jewels in plenty--opals and -amethysts and turquoises and rubies--and there was a perfect artillery -of champagne corks. Every table was attended by its silver bucket -of ice; and the mandolins and guitars in their crowded angle were -strumming mightily. - -I speculated interestedly as we seated ourselves as to what drew all -these people from all parts of the world to see this, to be here -together. Barfleur was eager to come here first and to have me see -this, without delay. I do not know where you could go, and for a -hundred francs see more of really amazing feminine beauty. I do not -know where for the same money you could buy the same atmosphere of -lightness and gaiety and enthusiasm. This place was fairly vibrating -with a wild desire to live. I fancy the majority of those who were -here for the first time--particularly of the young--would tell you -that they would rather be here than in any other spot you could name. -The place had a peculiar glitter of beauty which was compounded by -the managers with great skill. The waiters were all of them deft, -swift, suave, good-looking; the dancers who stepped out on the floor -after a few moments were of an orchid-like Spanish type--ruddy, brown, -full-bodied, black-haired, black-eyed. They had on dresses that were as -close fitting as the scales of a fish and that glittered with the same -radiance. They waved and rattled and clashed castanets and tambourines -and danced wildly and sinuously to and fro among the tables. Some of -them sang, or voices accompanied them from the raised platform devoted -to music. - -After a while red, blue, pink and green balloons were introduced, -anchored to the champagne bottles, and allowed to float gaily in the -air. Paper parcels of small paste balls of all colors, as light as -feathers, were distributed for the guests to throw at one another. In -ten minutes a wild artillery battle was raging. Young girls were up -on their feet, their hands full of these colored weapons, pelting the -male strangers of their selection. You would see tall Englishmen and -Americans exchanging a perfect volley of colored spheres with girls of -various nationalities, laughing, chattering, calling, screaming. The -cocotte in all her dazzling radiance was here--exquisitely dressed, her -white arms shimmering, perfectly willing to strike up an understanding -with the admirer who was pelting her. - -After a time, when the audience had worn itself through fever and -frenzy to satisfaction or weariness, or both, a few of the tables -were cleared away and the dancing began, occasional guests joining. -There were charming dances in costume from Russia, from Scotland, -from Hungary, and from Spain. I had the wonder of seeing an American -girl rise from her table and dance with more skill and grace than the -employed talent. A wine-enthused Englishman took the floor, a handsome -youth of twenty-six or eight, and remained there gaily prancing about -from table to table, dancing alone or with whomsoever would welcome -him. What looked like a dangerous argument started at one time because -some high-mettled Brazilian considered that he had been insulted. A -cordon of waiters and the managers soon adjusted that. It was between -three and four in the morning when we finally left; and I was very -tired. - -It was decided that we should meet for dinner; and since it was almost -daylight I was glad when we had seen our ladies to their apartment and -returned to the hotel. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -A MORNING IN PARIS - - -I shall never forget my first morning in Paris--the morning that I -woke up after about two hours’ sleep or less, prepared to put in a -hard day at sight-seeing because Barfleur had a program which must be -adhered to, and because he could only be with me until Monday, when -he had to return. It was a bright day, fortunately, a little hazy and -chill, but agreeable. I looked out of the window of my very comfortable -room on the fifth floor which gave out on a balcony overhanging the -Rue St. Honoré, and watched the crowd of French people below coming -to shop or to work. It would be hard to say what makes the difference -between a crowd of Englishmen and a crowd of Frenchmen, but there is a -difference. It struck me that these French men and women walked faster -and that their every movement was more spirited than either that of -the English or the Americans. They looked more like Americans, though, -than like the English; and they were much more cheerful than either, -chatting and talking as they came. I was interested to see whether I -could make the maid understand that I wanted coffee and rolls without -talking French, but the wants of American travelers are an old story -to French maids; and no sooner did I say _café_ and make the sign of -drinking from a cup than she said, “Oh, oui, oui, oui--oh, oui, oui, -oui!” and disappeared. Presently the coffee was brought me--and rolls -and butter and hot milk; and I ate my breakfast as I dressed. - -About nine o’clock Barfleur arrived with his program. I was to walk in -the Tuileries--which is close at hand--while he got a shave. We were -to go for a walk in the Rue de Rivoli as far as a certain bootmaker’s, -who was to make me a pair of shoes for the Riviera. Then we were to -visit a haberdasher’s or two; and after that go straight about the -work of sight-seeing--visiting the old bookstalls on the Seine, the -churches of St. Étienne-du-Mont, Notre-Dame, Sainte-Chapelle, stopping -at Foyot’s for lunch; and thereafter regulating our conduct by the -wishes of several guests who were to appear--Miss N. and Mr. McG., two -neo-impressionist artists, and a certain Mme. de B., who would not mind -showing me around Paris if I cared for her company. - -We started off quite briskly, and my first adventure in Paris led me -straight to the gardens of the Tuileries, lying west of the Louvre. -If any one wanted a proper introduction to Paris, I should recommend -this above all others. Such a noble piece of gardening as this is the -best testimony France has to offer of its taste, discrimination, and -sense of the magnificent. I should say, on mature thought, that we -shall never have anything like it in America. We have not the same -lightness of fancy. And, besides, the Tuileries represents a classic -period. I recall walking in here and being struck at once with the -magnificent proportions of it all--the breadth and stately lengths -of its walks, the utter wonder and charm of its statuary--snow-white -marble nudes standing out on the green grass and marking the circles, -squares and paths of its entire length. No such charm and beauty could -be attained in America because we would not permit the public use of -the nude in this fashion. Only the fancy of a monarch could create a -realm such as this; and the Tuileries and the Place du Carrousel and -the Place de la Concorde and the whole stretch of lovely tree-lined -walks and drives that lead to the Arc de Triomphe and give into the -Bois de Boulogne speak loudly of a noble fancy untrammeled by the -dictates of an inartistic public opinion. I was astonished to find how -much of the heart of Paris is devoted to public usage in this manner. -It corresponds, in theory at least, to the space devoted to Central -Park in New York--but this is so much more beautiful, or at least it -is so much more in accord with the spirit of Paris. These splendid -walks, devoted solely to the idling pedestrian, and set with a hundred -sculptural fancies in marble, show the gay, pleasure-loving character -of the life which created them. The grand monarchs of France knew what -beauty was, and they had the courage and the taste to fulfil their -desires. I got just an inkling of it all in the fifteen minutes that I -walked here in the morning sun, waiting for Barfleur to get his shave. - -From here we went to a Paris florist’s where Madame pinned bright -_boutonnières_ on our coats, and thence to the bootmaker’s where Madame -again assisted her husband in the conduct of his business. Everywhere -I went in Paris I was struck by this charming unity in the conduct of -business between husband and wife and son and daughter. We talk much -about the economic independence of women in America. It seems to me -that the French have solved it in the only way that it can be solved. -Madame helps her husband in his business and they make a success of -it together. Monsieur Galoyer took the measurements for my shoes, but -Madame entered them in a book; and to me the shop was fifty times -as charming for her presence. She was pleasingly dressed, and the -shop looked as though it had experienced the tasteful touches of a -woman’s hand. It was clean and bright and smart, and smacked of good -housekeeping; and this was equally true of bookstalls, haberdashers’ -shops, art-stores, coffee-rooms, and places of public sale generally. -Wherever Madame was, and she looked nice, there was a nice store; and -Monsieur looked as fat and contented as could reasonably be expected -under the circumstances. - -[Illustration: The French have made much of the Seine] - -From Galoyer’s we struck forth to Paris proper, its most interesting -features, and I recall now with delight how fresh and trig and spick it -all seemed. Paris has an air, a presence, from the poorest quarter of -the Charenton district to the perfections of the Bois and the region -about the Arc de Triomphe. It chanced that the day was bright and I saw -the Seine, as bright as new buttons glimmering over the stones of its -shallow banks and racing madly. If not a majestic stream it is at least -a gay and dashing one--quick-tempered, rapid-flowing, artistically -walled, crossed by a score of handsome bridges, and ornamented in every -possible way. How much the French have made of so little in the way -of a river! It is not very wide--about one-half as wide as the Thames -at Blackfriars Bridge and not so wide as the Harlem River which makes -Manhattan an island. I followed it from city wall to city wall one day, -from Charenton to Issy, and found every inch of it delightful. I was -never tired of looking at the wine barges near Charenton; the little -bathing pavilions and passenger boats in the vicinity of the Louvre; -the brick-barges, hay-barges, coal-barges and Heaven knows what else -plying between the city’s heart and points downstream past Issy. It -gave me the impression of being one of the brightest, cleanest rivers -in the world--a river on a holiday. I saw it once at Issy at what is -known in Paris as the “green hour”--which is five o’clock--when the -sun was going down and a deep palpable fragrance wafted from a vast -manufactory of perfume filled the air. Men were poling boats of hay and -laborers in their great wide-bottomed corduroy trousers, blue shirts -and inimitable French caps, were trudging homewards, and I felt as -though the world had nothing to offer Paris which it did not already -have--even the joy of simple labor amid great beauty. I could have -settled in a small house in Issy and worked as a laborer in a perfume -factory, carrying my dinner pail with me every morning, with a right -good-will--or such was the mood of the moment. - -This morning, on our way to St.-Étienne-du-Mont and the cathedral, we -examined the bookstalls along the Seine and tried to recall off-hand -the interesting comment that had been made on them by great authors and -travelers. My poor wit brought back only the references of Balzac; but -Barfleur was livelier with thoughts from Rousseau to George Moore. They -have a magnificent literary history; but it is only because they are on -the banks of the Seine, in the center of this whirling pageant of life, -that they are so delighted. To enjoy them one has to be in an idle mood -and love out-of-doors; for they consist of a dusty row of four-legged -boxes with lids coming quite to your chest in height, and reminding one -of those high-legged counting-tables at which clerks sit on tall stools -making entries in their ledgers. These boxes are old and paintless and -weather-beaten; and at night the very dusty-looking keepers, who from -early morning until dark have had their shabby-backed wares spread out -where dust and sunlight and wind and rain can attack them, pack them in -the body of the box on which they are lying and close the lid. You can -always see an idler or two here--perhaps many idlers--between the Quai -d’Orsay and the Quai Voltaire. - -We made our way through the Rue Mazarin and Rue de l’Ancienne Comédie -into that region which surrounds the École de Medecin and the -Luxembourg. In his enthusiastic way Barfleur tried to indicate to -me that I was in the most historic section of the left bank of the -Seine, where were St.-Étienne-du-Mont, the Panthéon, the Sorbonne, -the Luxembourg, the École des Beaux-Arts and the Latin Quarter. We -came for a little way into the Boulevard St.-Michel, and there I saw -my first artists in velvet suits, long hair, and broad-brimmed hats; -but I was told that they were poseurs--the kind of artist who is so by -profession, not by accomplishment. They were poetic-looking youths--the -two that I saw swinging along together--with pale faces and slim hands. -I was informed that the type had almost entirely disappeared and that -the art student of to-day prefers to be distinctly inconspicuous. -From what I saw of them later I can confirm this; for the schools -which I visited revealed a type of boy and girl who, while being -romantic enough, in all conscience, were nevertheless inconspicuously -dressed and very simple and off-hand in their manner. I visited this -region later with artists who had made a name for themselves in the -radical world, and with students who were hoping to make a name for -themselves--sitting in their cafés, examining their studios, and -sensing the atmosphere of their streets and public amusements. There is -an art atmosphere, strong and clear, compounded of romance, emotion, -desire, love of beauty and determination of purpose, which is thrilling -to experience--even vicariously. - -Paris is as young in its mood as any city in the world. It is as wildly -enthusiastic as a child. I noticed here, this morning, the strange -fact of old battered-looking fellows singing to themselves, which I -never noticed anywhere else in this world. Age sits lightly on the -Parisian, I am sure; and youth is a mad fantasy, an exciting realm -of romantic dreams. The Parisian--from the keeper of a market-stall -to the prince of the money world, or of art--wants to live gaily, -briskly, laughingly, and he will not let the necessity of earning his -living deny him. I felt it in the churches, the depots, the department -stores, the theaters, the restaurants, the streets--a wild, keen desire -for life with the blood and the body to back it up. It must be in the -soil and the air, for Paris sings. It is like poison in the veins, and -I felt myself growing positively giddy with enthusiasm. I believe that -for the first six months Paris would be a disease from which one would -suffer greatly and recover slowly. After that you would settle down to -live the life you found there in contentment and with delight; but you -would not be in so much danger of wrecking your very mortal body and -your uncertainly immortal soul. - -I was interested in this neighborhood, as we hurried through and away -from it to the Ile-de-la-Cité and Notre-Dame, as being not only a -center for art strugglers of the Latin Quarter, but also for students -of the Sorbonne. I was told that there were thousands upon thousands of -them from various countries--eight thousand from Russia alone. How they -live my informant did not seem to know, except that in the main they -lived very badly. Baths, clean linen, and three meals a day, according -to him, were not at all common; and in the majority of instances they -starve their way through, going back to their native countries to take -up the practice of law, medicine, politics and other professions. After -Oxford and the American universities, this region and the Sorbonne -itself, I found anything but attractive. - -The church of St.-Étienne-du-Mont is as fine as possible, a type of -the kind of architecture which is no type and ought to have a new -name--modern would be as good as any. It has a creamish-gray effect, -exceedingly ornate, with all the artificery of a jewel box. - -The Panthéon seemed strangely bare to me, large and spacious but cold. -The men who are not there as much as the men who are, made it seem -somewhat unrepresentative to me as a national mausoleum. It is hard to -make a national burying-ground that will appeal to all. - -Notre-Dame after Canterbury and Amiens seems a little heavy but -as contrasted with St. Paul’s in London and anything existing in -America, it seemed strangely wonderful. I could not help thinking of -Hugo’s novel and of St. Louis and Napoleon and the French Revolution -in connection with it. It is so heavy and somber and so sadly -great. The Hôtel Dieu, the Palais de Justice, Sainte-Chapelle and -the Pont-Saint-Michel all in the same neighborhood interested me -much, particularly Sainte-Chapelle--to me one of the most charming -exteriors and interiors I saw in Paris. It is exquisite--this chapel -which was once the scene of the private prayers of a king. This whole -neighborhood somehow--from the bookstalls to Sainte-Chapelle suggested -Balzac and Hugo and the flavor of this world as they presented it, was -in my mind. - -And now there was luncheon at Foyot’s, a little restaurant near the -Luxembourg and the Musée de Cluny, where the wise in the matter of -food love to dine and where, as usual, Barfleur was at his best. The -French, while discarding show in many instances entirely, and allowing -their restaurant chambers to look as though they had been put together -with an effort, nevertheless attain a perfection of atmosphere which -is astonishing. For the life of me I could not tell why this little -restaurant seemed so bright, for there was nothing smart about it when -you examined it in detail; and so I was compelled to attribute this -impression to the probably all-pervading temperament of the owner. -Always, in these cases, there is a man (or a woman) quite remarkable -for his point of view. Otherwise you could not take such simple -appointments and make them into anything so pleasing and so individual. -A luncheon which had been ordered by telephone was now served; and at -the beginning of its gastronomic wonders Mr. McG. and Miss N. arrived. - -I shall not soon forget the interesting temperaments of these two; for -even more than great institutions, persons who come reasonably close -to you make up the atmosphere of a city. Mr. McG. was a solid, sandy, -steady-eyed Scotchman who looked as though, had he not been an artist, -he might have been a kilted soldier, swinging along with the enviable -Scotch stride. Miss N. was a delightfully Parisianized American, -without the slightest affectation, however, so far as I could make out, -of either speech or manner. She was pleasingly good-looking, with black -hair, a healthy, rounded face and figure, and a cheerful, good-natured -air. There was no sense of either that aggressiveness or superiority -which so often characterizes the female artist. We launched at once -upon a discussion of Paris, London and New York and upon the delights -of Paris and the progress of the neo-impressionist cult. I could see -plainly that these two did not care to force their connection with -that art development on my attention; but I was interested to know of -it. There was something so solid and self-reliant about Mr. McG. that -before the meal was over I had taken a fancy to him. He had the least -suggestion of a Scotch burr in his voice which might have said “awaw” -instead of away and “doon” instead of down; but it resulted in nothing -so broad as that. They immediately gave me lists of restaurants that -I must see in the Latin Quarter and asked me to come with them to the -Café d’Harcourt and to Bullier’s to dance and to some of the brasseries -to see what they were like. Between two and three Mr. McG. left because -of an errand, and Barfleur and I accompanied Miss N. to her studio -close by the gardens of the Luxembourg. This public garden which, not -unlike the Tuileries on the other side of the Seine, was set with -charming statues, embellished by a magnificent fountain, and alive -with French nursemaids and their charges, idling Parisians in cutaways -and derbies, and a smart world of pedestrians generally impressed me -greatly. It was lovely. The wonder of Paris, as I was discovering, was -that, walk where you would, it was hard to escape the sense of breadth, -space, art, history, romance and a lovely sense of lightness and -enthusiasm for life. - -Miss N.’s studio is in the Rue Deñfert-Rochereau. In calling here I had -my first taste of the Paris concierge, the janitress who has an eye on -all those who come and go and to whom all not having keys must apply. -In many cases, as I learned, keys are not given to the outer gate or -door. One must ring and be admitted. This gives this person a complete -espionage over the affairs of all the tenants, mail, groceries, guests, -purchases, messages--anything and everything. If you have a charming -concierge, it is well and good; if not, not. The thought of anything so -offensive as a spying concierge irritated me greatly and I found myself -running forward in my mind picking fights with some possible concierge -who might at some remote date possibly trouble me. Of such is the -contentious disposition. - -The studio of Mr. McG., in the Boulevard Raspail, overlooks a lovely -garden--a heavenly place set with trees and flowers and reminiscent -of an older day in the bits of broken stone-work lying about, and -suggesting the architecture of a bygone period. His windows, reaching -from floor to ceiling and supplemented by exterior balconies, were -overhung by trees. In both studios were scores of canvases done in the -neo-impressionistic style which interested me profoundly. - -It is one thing to see neo-impressionism hung upon the walls of a -gallery in London, or disputed over in a West End residence. It is -quite another to come upon it fresh from the easel in the studio of -the artist, or still in process of production, defended by every -thought and principle of which the artist is capable. In Miss N.’s -studio were a series of decorative canvases intended for the walls of -a great department store in America which were done in the raw reds, -yellows, blues and greens of the neo-impressionist cult--flowers which -stood out with the coarse distinctness of hollyhocks and sunflowers; -architectural outlines which were as sharp as those of rough buildings, -and men and women whose details of dress and feature were characterized -by colors which by the uncultivated eye would be pronounced unnatural. - -For me they had an immense appeal if for nothing more than that they -represented a development and an individual point of view. It is so -hard to break tradition. - -It was the same in the studio of Mr. McG. to which we journeyed after -some three-quarters of an hour. Of the two painters, the man seemed to -me the more forceful. Miss N. worked in a softer mood, with more of -what might be called an emotional attitude towards life. - -During all this, Barfleur was in the heyday of his Parisian glory, and -appropriately cheerful. We took a taxi through singing streets lighted -by a springtime sun and came finally to the Restaurant Prunier where it -was necessary for him to secure a table and order dinner in advance; -and thence to the Théâtre des Capucines in the Rue des Capucines, where -tickets for a farce had to be secured, and thence to a bar near the -Avenue de l’Opéra where we were to meet the previously mentioned Mme. -de B. who, out of the goodness of her heart, was to help entertain me -while I was in the city. - -This remarkable woman who by her beauty, simplicity, utter frankness, -and moody immorality would shock the average woman into a deadly fear -of life and make a horror of what seems a gaudy pleasure world to -some, quite instantly took my fancy. Yet I think it was more a matter -of Mme. de B.’s attitude, than it was the things which she did, which -made it so terrible. But that is a long story. - -[Illustration: One of the thousands upon thousands of cafés on the -boulevards of Paris] - -We came to her out of the whirl of the “green hour,” when the Paris -boulevards in this vicinity were fairly swarming with people--the -gayest world I have ever seen. We have enormous crowds in New York, -but they seem to be going somewhere very much more definitely than -in Paris. With us there is an eager, strident, almost objectionable -effort to get home or to the theater or to the restaurant which one can -easily resent--it is so inconsiderate and indifferent. In London you -do not feel that there are any crowds that are going to the theaters -or the restaurants; and if they are, they are not very cheerful about -it; they are enduring life; they have none of the lightness of the -Parisian world. I think it is all explained by the fact that Parisians -feel keenly that they are living now and that they wish to enjoy -themselves as they go. The American and the Englishman--the Englishman -much more than the American--have decided that they are going to live -in the future. Only the American is a little angry about his decision -and the Englishman a little meek or patient. They both feel that life -is intensely grim. But the Parisian, while he may feel or believe it, -decides wilfully to cast it off. He lives by the way, out of books, -restaurants, theaters, boulevards, and the spectacle of life generally. -The Parisians move briskly, and they come out where they can see each -other--out into the great wide-sidewalked boulevards and the thousands -upon thousands of cafés; and make themselves comfortable and talkative -and gay on the streets. It is so obvious that everybody is having -a good time--not trying to have it; that they are enjoying the -wine-like air, the cordials and _apéritifs_ of the _brasseries_, the -net-like movements of the cabs, the dancing lights of the roadways, and -the flare of the shops. It may be chill or drizzling in Paris, but you -scarcely feel it. Rain can scarcely drive the people off the streets. -Literally it does not. There are crowds whether it rains or not, and -they are not despondent. This particular hour that brought us to G.’s -Bar was essentially thrilling, and I was interested to see what Mme. de -B. was like. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -THREE GUIDES - - -It was only by intuition, and by asking many questions, that at times -I could extract the significance of certain places from Barfleur as -quickly as I wished. He was always reticent or a little cryptic in his -allusions. In this instance I gathered rapidly however that this bar -was a very extraordinary little restaurant presided over by a woman -of a most pleasant and practical type. She could not have been much -over forty--buxom, good-looking, self-reliant, efficient. She moved -about the two rooms which constituted her restaurant, in so far as -the average diner was concerned, with an air of considerable social -importance. Her dresses, as I noticed on my several subsequent visits, -were always sober, but in excellent taste. About this time of day the -two rooms were a little dark, the electric lights being reserved for -the more crowded hours. Yet there were always a few people here. This -evening when we entered I noticed a half-dozen men and three or four -young women lounging here in a preliminary way, consuming _apéritifs_ -and chatting sociably. I made out by degrees that the mistress of this -place had a following of a kind, in the Parisian scheme of things--that -certain men and women came here for reasons of good-fellowship; and -that she would take a certain type of struggling maiden, if she were -good-looking and ambitious and smart, under her wing. The girl would -have to know how to dress well, to be able to carry herself with an -air; and when money was being spent very freely by an admirer it might -as well be spent at this bar on occasion as anywhere else. There was -obviously an _entente cordiale_ between Madame G. and all the young -women who came in here. They seemed so much at home that it was quite -like a family party. Everybody appeared to be genial, cheerful, and to -know everybody else. To enter here was to feel as though you had lived -in Paris for years. - -While we are sitting at a table sipping a brandy and soda, enter Mme. -de B., the brisk, genial, sympathetic French personage whose voice -on the instant gave me a delightful impression of her. It was the -loveliest voice I have ever heard, soft and musical, a colorful voice -touched with both gaiety and sadness. Her eyes were light blue, her -hair brown and her manner sinuous and insinuating. She seemed to have -the spirit of a delightfully friendly collie dog or child and all the -gaiety and alertness that goes with either. - -After I had been introduced, she laughed, and putting aside her muff -and stole, shook herself into a comfortable position in a corner and -accepted a brandy and soda. She was so interested for the moment, -exchanging whys and wherefores with Barfleur, that I had a chance to -observe her keenly. In a moment she turned to me and wanted to know -whether I knew either of two American authors whom she knew--men of -considerable repute. Knowing them both very well, it surprised me -to think that she knew them. She seemed, from the way she spoke, to -have been on the friendliest terms with both of them; and any one by -looking at her could have understood why they should have taken such an -interest in her. - -“Now, you know, that Mistaire N., he is very nice. I was very fond of -him. And Mistaire R., he is clever, don’t you think?” - -I admitted at once that they were both very able men and that I was -glad that she knew them. She informed me that she had known Mr. R. and -Mr. N. in London and that she had there perfected her English, which -was very good indeed. Barfleur explained in full who I was and how long -I would be in Paris and that he had written her from America because he -wanted her to show me some attention during my stay in Paris. - -If Mme. de B. had been of a somewhat more calculating type I fancy -that, with her intense charm of face and manner and her intellect and -voice, she would have been very successful. I gained the impression -that she had been on the stage in some small capacity; but she had been -too diffident--not really brazen enough--for the grim world in which -the French actress rises. I soon found that Mme. de B. was a charming -blend of emotion, desire, and refinement which had strayed into the -wrong field. She would have done better in literature or music or art; -and she seemed fitted by her moods and her understanding to be a light -in any one of them or all. Some temperaments are so--missing by a -fraction what they would give all the world to have. It is the little -things that do it--the fractions, the bits, the capacity for taking -pains in little things that make, as so many have said, the difference -between success and failure and it is true. - -I shall never forget how she looked at me, quite in the spirit of a -gay uncertain child, and how quickly she made me feel that we would -get along very well together. “Why, yes,” she said quite easily in her -soft voice, “I will go about with you, although I would not know what -is best to see. But I shall be here, and if you want to come for me we -can see things together.” Suddenly she reached over and took my hand -and squeezed it genially, as though to seal the bargain. We had more -drinks to celebrate this rather festive occasion; and then Mme. de -B., promising to join us at the theater, went away. It was high time -then to dress for dinner; and so we returned to the hotel. We ate a -companionable meal, watching the Parisian and his lady love (or his -wife) arrive in droves and dine with that gusto and enthusiasm which is -so characteristic of the French. - -When we came out of this theater at half after eleven, Mme. de B. was -anxious to return to her apartment, and Barfleur was anxious to give me -an extra taste of the varied café life of Paris in order that I might -be able to contrast and compare intelligently. “If you know where they -are and see whether you like them, you can tell whether you want to see -any more of them--which I hope you won’t,” said he wisely, leading the -way through a swirling crowd that was for all the world like a rushing -tide of the sea. - -There are no traffic laws in Paris, so far as I could make out; -vehicles certainly have the right-of-way and they go like mad. I have -read of the Parisian authorities having imported a London policeman -to teach Paris police the art of traffic regulation, but if so, the -instruction has been wasted. This night was a bedlam of vehicles and -people. A Paris guide, one of the tribe that conducts the morbid -stranger through scenes that are supposedly evil, and that I know from -observation to be utterly vain, approached us in the Boulevard des -Capucines with the suggestion that he be allowed to conduct us through -a realm of filthy sights, some of which he catalogued. I could give a -list of them if I thought any human organization would ever print them, -or that any individual would ever care to read them--which I don’t. I -have indicated before that Barfleur is essentially clean-minded. He is -really interested in the art of the demi-mondaine, and the spectacle -which their showy and, to a certain extent, artistic lives present; -but no one in this world ever saw more clearly through the shallow -make-believe of this realm than he does. He contents himself with -admiring the art and the tragedy and the pathos of it. This world of -women interests him as a phase of the struggle for existence, and for -the artistic pretense which it sometimes compels. To him the vast -majority of these women in Paris were artistic--whatever one might -say for their morals, their honesty, their brutality and the other -qualities which they possess or lack; and whatever they were, life made -them so--conditions over which their temperaments, understandings and -wills had little or no control. He is an amazingly tolerant man--one -of the most tolerant I have ever known, and kindly in his manner and -intention. - -Nevertheless, he has an innate horror of the purely physical when it -descends to inartistic brutality. There is much of that in Paris; and -these guides advertise it; but it is filth especially arranged for the -stranger. I fancy the average Parisian knows nothing about it; and if -he does, he has a profound contempt for it. So has the well-intentioned -stranger, but there is always an audience for this sort of thing. -So when this guide approached us with the proposition to show us a -selected line of vice, Barfleur took him genially in hand. “Stop a -moment, now,” he said, with his high hat on the back of his head, his -fur coat expansively open, and his monocled eye fixing the intruder -with an inquiring gaze, “tell me one thing--have you a mother?” - -The small Jew who was the industrious salesman for this particular type -of ware looked his astonishment. - -They are used to all sorts of set-backs--these particular guides--for -they encounter all sorts of people, severely moral and the reverse; -and I fancy on occasion they would be soundly trounced if it were not -for the police who stand in with them and receive a modicum for their -protection. They certainly learn to understand something of the type -of man who will listen to their proposition; for I have never seen -them more than ignored and I have frequently seen them talked to in an -off-hand way, though I was pleased to note that their customers were -few. - -This particular little Jew had a quizzical, screwed-up expression on -his face, and did not care to answer the question at first; but resumed -his announcement of his various delights and the price it would all -cost. - -“Wait, wait, wait,” insisted Barfleur, “answer my question. Have you a -mother?” - -“What has that got to do with it?” asked the guide. “Of course I have a -mother.” - -“Where is she?” demanded Barfleur authoritatively. - -“She’s at home,” replied the guide, with an air of mingled -astonishment, irritation and a desire not to lose a customer. - -“Does she know that you are out here on the streets of Paris doing what -you are doing to-night?” he continued with a very noble air. - -The man swore under his breath. - -“Answer me,” persisted Barfleur, still fixing him solemnly through his -monocle. “Does she?” - -“Why, no, of course she doesn’t,” replied the Jew sheepishly. - -“Would you want her to know?” This in sepulchral tones. - -“No, I don’t think so.” - -“Have you a sister?” - -“Yes.” - -“Would you want her to know?” - -“I don’t know,” replied the guide defiantly. “She might know anyhow.” - -“Tell me truly, if she did not know, would you want her to know?” - -The poor vender looked as if he had got into some silly, inexplicable -mess from which he would be glad to free himself; but he did not seem -to have sense enough to walk briskly away and leave us. Perhaps he did -not care to admit defeat so easily. - -“No, I suppose not,” replied the interrogated vainly. - -“There you have it,” exclaimed Barfleur triumphantly. “You have a -mother--you would not want her to know. You have a sister--you would -not want her to know. And yet you solicit me here on the street to -see things which I do not want to see or know. Think of your poor -gray-headed mother,” he exclaimed grandiloquently, and with a mock -air of shame and sorrow. “Once, no doubt, you prayed at her knee, an -innocent boy yourself.” - -The man looked at him in dull suspicion. - -“No doubt if she saw you here to-night, selling your manhood for a -small sum of money, pandering to the lowest and most vicious elements -in life, she would weep bitter tears. And your sister--don’t you think -now you had better give up this evil life? Don’t you think you had -better accept any sort of position and earn an honest living rather -than do what you are doing?” - -“Well, I don’t know,” said the man. “This living is as good as any -other living. I’ve worked hard to get my knowledge.” - -“Good God, do you call this knowledge?” inquired Barfleur solemnly. - -“Yes, I do,” replied the man. “I’ve worked hard to get it.” - -[Illustration: These places were crowded with a gay and festive -throng] - -“My poor friend,” replied Barfleur, “I pity you. From the bottom of my -heart I pity you. You are degrading your life and ruining your soul. -Come now, to-morrow is Sunday. The church bells will be ringing. Go to -church. Reform your life. Make a new start--do. You will never regret -it. Your old mother will be so glad--and your sister.” - -“Oh, say,” said the man, walking off, “you don’t want a guide. You want -a church.” And he did not even look back. - -“It is the only way I have of getting rid of them,” commented Barfleur. -“They always stop when I begin to talk to them about their mother. They -can’t stand the thought of their mother.” - -“Very true,” I said. “Cut it out now, and come on. You have preached -enough. Let us see the worst that Paris has to show.” And off we went, -arm in arm. - -Thereafter we visited restaurant after restaurant,--high, low, smart, -dull,-and I can say truly that the strange impression which this world -made on me lingers even now. Obviously, when we arrived at Fysher’s -at twelve o’clock, the fun was just getting under way. Some of these -places, like this Bar Fysher, were no larger than a fair-sized room in -an apartment, but crowded with a gay and festive throng--Americans, -South Americans, English and others. One of the tricks in Paris to -make a restaurant successful is to keep it small so that it has an -air of overflow and activity. Here at Fysher’s Bar, after allowing -room for the red-jacketed orchestra, the piano and the waiters, there -was scarcely space for the forty or fifty guests who were present. -Champagne was twenty francs the bottle and champagne was all they -served. It was necessary here, as at all the restaurants, to contribute -to the support of the musicians; and if a strange young woman should -sit at your table for a moment and share either the wine or the fruit -which would be quickly offered, you would have to pay for that. Peaches -were three francs each, and grapes five francs the bunch. It was plain -that all these things were offered in order that the house might thrive -and prosper. It was so at each and all of them. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -“THE POISON FLOWER” - - -It was after this night that Barfleur took his departure for London -for two weeks, where business affairs were calling him during which -time I was to make myself as idle and gay as I might alone or with the -individuals to whom he had introduced me or to whom I had introductions -direct. There was so much that I wished to see and that he did not care -to see over again with me, having seen it all before--the Musée de -Cluny, for instance, the Louvre, the Luxembourg and so on. - -The next afternoon after a more or less rambling day I saw him off for -London and then I plunged into this treasure world alone. - -One of the things that seriously impressed me was the never-failing -singing air of the city which was everywhere; and another the -peculiarly moody atmosphere of the cemetery of Père-Lachaise--that -wonderful world of celebrated dead--who crowd each other like the -residents of a narrow city and who make a veritable fanfare of names. -What a world! One whole day I idled here over the tombs of Balzac, -Daudet, De Musset, Chopin, Rachel, Abélard and Héloise--a long, long -list of celebrities. My brain fairly reeled with the futility of -life--and finally I came away immensely sad. Another day I visited -Versailles and all its splendor with one of the most interesting and -amusing Americans I met abroad, a publisher by the name of H----, -who regaled me with his own naïve experiences. I fairly choked at -times over his quaint, slangy, amusing comments on things as when at -Versailles, in the chambers of Marie Antoinette, he discovered a small -secret stair only to remark, “There’s where Louis XVI took a sneak -often enough no doubt,” or on one of the towers of Notre Dame when to -a third person who was present he commented, “There’s your gargoyles, -old sox!” Think of the artistic irreverence of it! Concerning a group -of buildings which related to the Beaux-Arts I believe he inquired, -“What’s the bunch of stuff to the right?” and so it went. But the -beauty of Versailles--its stately artificiality!--how it all comes back. - -After two weeks in which I enjoyed myself as much as I ever hope to, -studying out the charm and color of Paris for myself, Barfleur returned -fresh, interested, ready for the Riviera, ready for more of Paris, -ready indeed for anything, I said to myself once more, when I saw -him--and I was very glad to see him indeed. - -The personality of Barfleur supplies a homey quality of comfortable -companionship. He is so full of a youthful zest to live, and so keen -after the shows and customs of the world. I have never pondered why he -is so popular with women, or that his friends in different walks of -life constitute so great a company. He seems to have known thousands -of all sorts, and to be at home under all conditions. That persistent, -unchanging atmosphere of “All is well with me,” to maintain which is -as much a duty as a tradition with him, makes his presence a constant -delight. - -We were soon joined by a small party of friends thereafter: Sir Scorp, -who was bound for an extended stay on the Riviera, a sociologist, -who was abroad on an important scientific investigation, and the -representative of an American publishing house, who was coming to -Paris to waylay Mr. Morgan Shuster, late of Persia, and secure his -book. This goodly company descended upon the Hotel Normandy late one -Friday afternoon; and it was planned that a party of the whole was to -be organized the following night to dine at the Café de Paris and then -to make a round of the lesser known and more picturesque of Parisian -resorts. - -Before this grand pilgrimage to the temples of vice and excitement, -however, Barfleur and I spent a remarkable evening wandering from one -restaurant to another in an effort to locate a certain Mlle. Rillette, -a girl who, he had informed me when we first came to Paris, had been -one of the most interesting figures of the Folies stage. Four or five -years before she had held at the Folies-Bergère much the same position -now recently attained by Mistinguett who was just then enthralling -Paris--in other words, she was the sensation of that stormy world of -art and romance of which these restaurants are a part. She was more -than that. She had a wonderful mezzo-soprano voice of great color -and richness and a spirit for dancing that was Greek in its quality. -Barfleur was most anxious that I should get at least a glimpse of this -exceptional Parisian type--the real spirit of this fast world, your -true artistic poison flower, your lovely hooded cobra--before she -should be too old, or too wretched, to be interesting. - -We started out to visit G.’s Bar, the Bar Fysher, the Rat Mort, -Palmyr’s Bar, the Grelot, the Rabelais, in fact the whole list of -restaurants and show-places where on occasion she might be expected to -be seen. On the way Barfleur recounted bits of her interesting history, -her marriages, divorces, vices, drug-habits, a strange category of -tendencies that sometimes affect the most vigorous and eager of human -temperaments. - -At one café, on this expedition, quite by accident apparently, we -encountered Miss X., whom I had not seen since we left Fishguard, and -who was here in Paris doing her best to outvie the women of the gay -restaurants in the matter of her dresses, her hats, and her beauty. I -must say she presented a ravishing spectacle--quite as wonderful as any -of the other women who were to be seen here; but she lacked, as I was -to note, the natural vivacity of the French. We Americans, in spite of -our high spirits and our healthy enthusiasm for life, are nevertheless -a blend of the English, the German, and some of the sedate nations -of the north; and we are inclined to a physical and mental passivity -which is not common to the Latins. This Miss X., vivid creature that -she was, did not have the spiritual vibration which accompanies the -French women. So far as spirit was concerned, she seemed superior to -most of the foreign types present--but the French women are naturally -gayer, their eyes brighter, their motions lighter. She gave us at once -an account of her adventures since I had seen her--where she had been -living, what places she had visited, and what a good time she was -having. I could not help marveling at the disposition which set above -everything else in the world the privilege of moving in this peculiar -realm which fascinated her so much. From a conventional point of view, -much of what she did was, to say the least of it, unusual, but she -did not trouble about this. As she told me on the _Mauretania_, all -she hoped for was to become a woman of Machiavellian finesse, and to -have some money. If she had money and attained to real social wisdom, -conventional society could go to the devil; for the adventuress, -according to her, was welcome everywhere--that is, anywhere she would -care to go. She did not expect to retain her beauty entirely; but she -did expect to have some money, and meanwhile to live brilliantly as -she deemed that she was now doing. Her love of amusement was quite -as marked as ever, and her comments on the various women of her class -as hard and accurate as they were brilliant. I remember her saying of -one woman, with an easy sweep of her hand, “Like a willow, don’t you -think?”--and of another, “She glows like a ruby.” It was true--fine -character delineation. - -At Maxim’s, an hour later, she decided to go home, so we took her to -her hotel and then resumed our pursuit of Mlle. Rillette. After much -wandering we finally came upon her, about four in the morning, in one -of those showy pleasure resorts that I have so frequently described. - -“Ah, yes, there she is,” Barfleur exclaimed. I looked to a distant -table to see the figure he indicated--that of a young girl seemingly -not more than twenty-four or twenty-five, a white silk neckerchief tied -about her brown hair, her body clothed in a rather nondescript costume -for a world so showy as this. Most of the women wore evening clothes. -Rillette had on a skirt of light brown wool, a white shirtwaist open -in the front and the collar turned down showing her pretty neck. Her -skirt was short, and I noticed that she had pleasing ankles and pretty -feet and her sleeves were short, showing a solid forearm. Before she -noticed Barfleur we saw her take a slender girl in black for a partner -and dance, with others, in the open space between the tables which -circled the walls. I studied her with interest because of Barfleur’s -description, because of the fact that she had been married twice, and -because the physical and spiritual ruin of a dozen girls was, falsely -or not, laid at her door. Her face did not suggest the depravity which -her career would indicate, although it was by no means ruddy; but -she seemed to scorn rouge. Her eyes--eyes are always significant in -a forceful personage--were large and vague and brown, set beneath a -wide, full forehead--very wonderful eyes. She appeared, in her idle -security and profound nonchalance, like a figure out of the Revolution -or the Commune. She would have been magnificent in a riot--marching -up a Parisian street, her white band about her brown hair, carrying -a knife, a gun, or a flag. She would have had the courage, too; for -it was so plain that life had lost much of its charm and she nearly -all of her caring. She came over when her dance was done, having seen -Barfleur, and extended an indifferent hand. He told me, after their -light conversation in French, that he had chided her to the effect that -her career was ruining her once lovely voice. “I shall find it again at -the next corner,” she said, and walked smartly away. - -“Some one should write a novel about a woman like that,” he explained -urgently. “She ought to be painted. It is amazing the sufficiency of -soul that goes with that type. There aren’t many like her. She could -be the sensation again of Paris if she wanted to--would try. But she -won’t. See what she said of her voice just now.” He shook his head. -I smiled approvingly, for obviously the appearance of the woman--her -full, rich eyes--bore him out. - -She was a figure of distinction in this restaurant world; for many knew -her and kept track of her. I watched her from time to time talking with -the guests of one table and another, and the chemical content which -made her exceptional was as obvious as though she were a bottle and -bore a label. To this day she stands out in my mind in her simple dress -and indifferent manner as perhaps the one forceful, significant figure -that I saw in all the cafés of Paris or elsewhere. - -[Illustration: I looked to a distant table to see the figure he -indicated] - -I should like to add here, before I part forever with this curious and -feverish Parisian restaurant world, that my conclusion had been, -after much and careful observation, that it was too utterly feverish, -artificial and exotic not to be dangerous and grimly destructive if -not merely touched upon at long intervals. This world of champagne -drinkers was apparently interested in but two things--the flare and -glow of the restaurants, which were always brightly lighted and packed -with people--and women. In the last analysis women, the young women -of easy virtue, were the glittering attraction; and truly one might -say they were glittering. Fine feathers make fine birds, and nowhere -more so than in Paris. But there were many birds who would have been -fine in much less showy feathers. In many instances they craved and -secured a demure simplicity which was even more destructive than the -flaring costumes of the demi-monde. It was strange to see American -innocence--the products of Petoskey, Michigan, and Hannibal, Missouri, -cheek by jowl with the most daring and the most vicious women which the -great metropolis could produce. I did not know until some time later -how hard some of these women were, how schooled in vice, how weary -of everything save this atmosphere of festivity and the privilege of -wearing beautiful clothes. - -Most people come here for a night or two, or a month or two, or once -in a year or so; and then return to the comparatively dull world from -which they emanated--which is fortunate. If they were here a little -while this deceptive world of delight would lose all its glamour; but -a very few days and you see through the dreary mechanism by which it -is produced; the brow-beating of shabby waiters by greedy managers, -the extortionate charges and tricks by which money is lured from the -pockets of the unwary, the wretched hallrooms and garrets from which -some of these butterflies emanate to wing here in seeming delight and -then disappear. It was a scorching world, and it displayed vice as an -upper and a nether millstone between which youth and beauty is ground -or pressed quickly to a worthless mass. I would defy anybody to live -in this atmosphere so long as five years and not exhibit strongly the -tell-tale marks of decay. When the natural glow of youth has gone comes -the powder and paint box for the face, belladonna for the eyes, rouge -for the lips, palms, and the nails, and perfumes and ornament and the -glister of good clothing; but underneath it all one reads the weariness -of the eye, the sickening distaste for bargaining hour by hour and -day by day, the cold mechanism of what was once natural, instinctive -coquetry. You feel constantly that so many of these demi-mondaines -would sell their souls for one last hour of delight and then gladly -take poison, as so many of them do, to end it all. Consumption, -cocaine and opium maintain their persistent toll. This is a furnace of -desire--this Montmartre district--and it burns furiously with a hard, -white-hot flame until there is nothing left save black cinders and -white ashes. Those who can endure its consuming heat are welcome to its -wonders until emotion and feeling and beauty are no more. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -MONTE CARLO - - -All my life before going abroad I had been filled with a curiosity as -to the character of the Riviera and Monte Carlo. I had never quite -understood that Nice, Cannes, Mentone, San Remo in Italy and Monte -Carlo were all in the same vicinity--a stone’s throw apart, as it were; -and that this world is as distinct from the spirit of the north of -France as the south of England is from the north of England. - -As Barfleur explained it, we went due south from Paris to Marseilles -and then east along the coast of the Mediterranean until we came to the -first stopping-place he had selected, Agay, where we would spend a few -days in peace and quiet, far from the hurry and flare of the café life -we had just left, and then journey on the hour or two more which it -takes to reach Monte Carlo. He made this arrangement in order that we -might have the journey through France by day, and proceed from Agay of -a morning, which would give us, if we had luck--and such luck usually -prevails on the Riviera--a sunlight view of the Mediterranean breaking -in rich blue waves against a coast that is yellow and brown and gold -and green by turns. - -Coming south from Paris I had the same sensation of wonder that I had -traveling from Calais to Paris--a wonder as to where the forty odd -millions of the population of France kept itself. It was not visible -from the windows of the flying train. All the way we traveled through -an almost treeless country past little white lawns and vineyards; and -I never realized before, although I must have known, that these same -vineyards were composed of separate vines, set in rows like corn stalks -and standing up for all the world like a gnarled T. Every now and -then a simple, straight-running, silvery stream would appear, making -its way through a perfectly level lane and set on either bank with -tall single lines of feathery poplars. The French landscape painters -have used these over and over; and they illustrate exactly the still, -lonely character of the country. To me, outside of Paris, France has -an atmosphere of silence and loneliness; although, considering the -character of the French people I do not understand how that can be. - -On the way south there was much badinage between Barfleur and Sir -Scorp, who accompanied us, as to the character of this adventure. A -certain young friend of Barfleur’s daughter was then resident at Lyons; -and it was Barfleur’s humorously expressed hope, that his daughter’s -friend would bring him a basket of cold chicken, cake, fruit, and wine. -It seems that he had urged Berenice to write her friend that he was -passing through; and I was hourly amused at Scorp’s biting reference -to Barfleur’s “parental ruse,” which he vindictively hoped would come -to nothing. It was as he hoped; for at Lyons the young lady and her -parents appeared, but no basket. There were some minutes of animated -conversation on the platform; and then we were off again at high speed -through the same flat land, until we reached a lovely mountain range in -the south of France--a region of huts and heavy ox-wains. It reminded -me somewhat of the mountain regions of northern Kentucky. At Marseilles -there was a long wait in the dark. A large number of passengers left -the train here; and then we rode on for an hour or two more, arriving -by moonlight at Agay, or at least the nearest railway station to it. - -The character of the world in which Agay was located was delicious. -After the raw and cold of our last few days in Paris this satin -atmosphere of moonlight and perfume was wonderful. We stepped out of -a train at the little beach station of this summer coast to find the -trees in full leaf and great palms extending their wide fronds into the -warm air. There was much chatter in French while the cabby struggled -to get all our numerous bags into one vehicle; but when it was all -accomplished and the top lowered so that we could see the night, we set -forth along a long white road between houses which had anything but a -French aspect, being a showy development of things Spanish and Moorish, -and past bright whitewashed walls of stone, over which wide-leaved -palms leaned. It was wonderful to see the moonlight on the water, the -bluish black waves breaking in white ripples on sandy shores, and to -feel the wind of the South. I could not believe that a ten-hour ride -from Paris would make so great a change; but so it was. We clattered up -finally to the Grand Hôtel d’Agay; and although it possessed so fine -a name it was nothing much more than a country inn--comparatively new -and solidly built, with a charming vine-covered balcony overlooking the -sea, and a garden of palms in which one might walk. However, the food, -Barfleur assured us, would be passable. It was only three stories high -and quite primitive in its appointments. We were lighted to our rooms -with candles, but the rooms were large and cool, and the windows, I -discovered by throwing mine open, commanded a magnificent view of the -bay. I stood by my window transfixed by the beauty of the night. Not in -France outside this coast--nor in England--can you see anything like -this in summer. The air was like a caress. Under the white moon you -could see the main outlines of the coast and the white strip of sand -at the bottom. Below us, anchored near the garden, were some boats, and -to the right white houses sheltered in trees and commanding the wonders -of the water. I went to bed breathing a sigh of relief and feeling as -if I should sleep soundly--which I did. - -The next morning revealed a world if anything more wonderful. Now all -the whiteness and the brownness and the sharpness of the coast line -were picked out by a brilliant sun. The bay glittered in the light, -a rich indigo blue; and a fisherman putting forth to sea hoisted a -golden sail. I was astonished to find now that the houses instead of -being the drab and white of northern France were as like to be blue -or yellow or green--and always there was a touch of color somewhere, -blue window-sills ornamenting a white house, brown chimneys contrasting -with a blue one, the charm of the Moorish arch and the Moorish lattice -suggesting itself at different points--and always palms. I dressed -and went below and out upon the balcony and through the garden to the -water’s edge, sitting in the warm sun and tossing pebbles into the -water. Flowers were in bloom here--blue and yellow blossoms--and when -Barfleur came down we took a delightful morning walk up a green valley -which led inland between hills. No northern day in June could have -rivaled in perfection the wonder of this day; and we talked of the -stagey make-believe of Parisian night-life as contrasted with this, and -the wonder of spring generally. - -“I should think the whole world would want to live here in winter,” I -said. - -“The fact is,” replied Barfleur, “what are called the best people do -not come here so much nowadays.” - -“Where do they go?” I asked. - -“Oh, Switzerland is now the thing in winter--the Alps and all that -relates to them. The new rich have overdone this, and it is becoming a -little banal.” - -“They cannot alter the wonder of the climate,” I replied. - -We had a table put on the balcony at eleven and ate our morning fish -and rolls and salad there. I can see Sir Scorp cheerfully trifling with -the cat we found there, the morning sun and scenery having put him in a -gay mood, calling, “_Chat, chat, chat!_” and asking, “How do you talk -to a cat in French?” There was an open carriage which came for us at -one into which we threw our fur coats and blankets; and then climbed by -degrees mile after mile up an exquisite slope by the side of a valley -that gradually became a cañon; and at the bottom of which tinkled and -gurgled a mountain stream. This road led to more great trees at the -top of a range overlooking what I thought at first was a great valley -where a fog prevailed, but which a few steps further was revealed as -the wondrous sea--white sails, a distant pavilion protruding like a -fluted marble toy into the blue water, and here and there a pedestrian -far below. We made our way to a delightful inn some half way down and -back, where under soaring black pine trees we had tea at a little green -table--strawberry jam, new bread, and cakes. I shall never forget the -bitter assault I unthinkingly provoked by dipping my spoon into the -jelly jar. All the vials of social wrath were poured upon my troubled -head. “It serves him right,” insisted Barfleur, treacherously. “I saw -him do that once before. These people from the Middle West, what can -you expect?” - -That night a grand row developed at dinner between Scorp and Barfleur -as to how long we were to remain in Agay and whether we were to stop -in or out of Monte Carlo. Barfleur’s plan was for remaining at least -three days here, and then going to a hotel not directly in Monte Carlo -but half way between Monte Carlo and Mentone--the Hôtel Bella Riva. -I knew that Barfleur had come here at the present time largely to -entertain me; and since I would rather have had his presence than the -atmosphere of the best hotel in Monte Carlo, it really did not matter -so much to me where we went, so long as it was comfortable. Scorp was -greatly incensed, or pretended to be, to think I should be brought here -to witness the wonders of this festive world, and then be pocketed in -some side spot where half the delicious life would escape me. “Agay!” -he kept commenting, “Agay! We come all the way to the south of France -to stop at Agay! Candles to light us to bed and French peasants for -servants. And then we’ll go to Monte Carlo and stop at some third-rate -hotel! Well, you can go to the Bella Riva if you choose; I am going to -the Palace Hotel where I can see something, and have a decent bed. I -am not going to be packed off any ten miles out of Monte Carlo, and be -compelled to use a street car that stops at twelve o’clock and spend -thirty francs getting home in a carriage!” - -This kept up until bedtime with Barfleur offering solemn explanations -of why he had come here, why it would be advisable for us to refresh -ourselves at the fountain of simple scenery after the fogs of London -and the theatric flare of Paris. He had a fine argument for the Bella -Riva as a dwelling-site: it was just half way between Monte Carlo and -Mentone, it commanded all the bay on which Monte Carlo stood. Cap -Martin, with the hotel of that name, here threw its sharp rocky point -far out into the sea. A car-line passed the door. In a half-hour either -way we could be in either Mentone or Monte Carlo. - -“Who wants to be in Mentone?” demanded Sir Scorp. “I would rather be -an hour away from it instead of half an hour. If I came to see Monte -Carlo I would not be bothering about Mentone. I, for one, will not go.” - -It was not long before I learned that Scorp did much protesting but -equally much following. The patient silence of Barfleur coupled with -direct action at the decisive moment usually won. Scorp’s arguments -did result in one thing. The next morning, instead of idling in the -sun and taking a carriage ride over the adjacent range, we gathered -all our belongings and deposited them at the near-by station, while -Barfleur and I climbed to the top of an adjacent hill where was an old -water-pool, to have a last look at the lovely, high-colored, florescent -bay of Agay. Then the long train, with drawing-room cars from all parts -of Europe rolled in; and we were off again. - -Barfleur called my attention as we went along to the first of the -umbrella trees--of which I was to see so many later in Italy--coming -into view in the occasional sheltered valleys which we were passing, -and later those marvels of southern France and all Italy, the hill -cities, towering like great cathedrals high in the air. I shall never -forget the impression the first sight of one of these made on me. -In America we have nothing save the illusion of clouds over distant -landscapes to compare with it. I was astonished, transported--the -reality was so much more wonderful than the drawings of which I had -seen so many. Outside the car windows the sweeping fronds of the palms -seemed almost to brush the train, hanging over white enclosures of -stone. Green shutters and green lattices; red roofs and bright blue -jardinières; the half-Italianized Frenchman with his swarthy face and -burning eyes. Presently the train stopped at Cannes. I struck out to -walk in the pretty garden which I saw was connected with the depot, -Barfleur to send a telegram, Scorp to show how fussy and cantankerous -he could be. Here were long trains that had come from St. Petersburg -via Vilna and Vienna; and others from Munich, Berlin and Copenhagen -with diners labeled “_Speisewagen_” and sleepers “_Schlafwagen_.” Those -from Paris, Calais, Brussels, Cherbourg bore the imposing legend, -“_Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits et des Grands Express -Européens_.” There was a long black train rumbling in from the south -with cars marked Tripoli, Roma, Firenze and Milano. You had a sense, -from merely looking at the stations, that the idleness and the luxury -of all the world was pouring in here at will. - -In ten minutes we were off again--Barfleur expatiating solemnly on the -fact that in England a homely girl was left to her own devices with no -one to make anything of her, she being plain and that being the end of -it; while here in France something was done with the poorest specimens. - -“Now those two young ladies,” he said, waving his hand dramatically in -the direction of two departing travelers,--“they are not much--but look -at them. See how smartly they are gotten up. Somebody will marry them. -They have been encouraged to buck up,--to believe that there is always -hope.” And he adjusted his monocle cheerfully. - -Our train was pulling into the station at Monte Carlo. I had the usual -vague idea of a much-talked-of but never-seen place. - -“I can hear the boys calling ‘Ascenseur,’” exclaimed Barfleur to Scorp -prophetically, when we were still a little way out. He was as keen for -the adventure as a child--much more so than I was. I could see how -he set store by the pleasure-providing details of the life here; and -Scorp, for all his lofty superiority, was equally keen. They indicated -to me the great masses of baggage which occupied the platforms--all -bright and new and mostly of good leather. I was interested to see -the crowds of people--for there was a train departing in another -direction--and to hear the cries of “Ascenseur” as predicted--the -elevators lifting to the terrace in front of the Casino, where the -tracks enter along a shelf of a declivity considerably above the -level of the sea. It is a tight little place--all that I had expected -in point of showiness--gay rococo houses, white and cream, with red -roofs climbing up the sides of the bare brown hill which rises to La -Turbie above. We did not stop, but went on to Mentone where we were -to lunch. It was charming to see striped awnings--pink and white and -blue and green--gay sunshades of various colors and ladies in fresh -linens and silks and men in white flannels and an atmosphere of outing -generally. I think a sort of summer madness seizes on people under -such circumstances and dull care is thrown to the winds, and you plan -gay adventures and dream dreams and take yourself to be a singularly -important person. And to think that this atmosphere should always be -here, and that it can always be reached out of the snows of Russia and -the bitter storms of New York and the dreary gray fogs of London, and -the biting winds of Berlin and Paris! - -We lunched at the Admiralty--one of those _restaurants celebrés_ where -the _haute cuisine_ of France was to be found in its perfection, where -balconies of flowers commanded the _côte d’azure_. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -THE LURE OF GOLD! - - -Before I go a step further in this narrative I must really animadvert -to the subject of restaurants and the _haute cuisine_ of France -generally, for in this matter Barfleur was as keen as the greatest -connoisseurs are in the matter of pictures. He loved and remembered -the quality of dishes and the method of their preparation and the -character of the men who prepared them and the atmosphere in which they -were prepared and in fact everything which relates to the culinary and -gastronomic arts and the history of the gourmet generally. - -In Paris and London Barfleur was constantly talking of the restaurants -of importance and contrasting the borrowed French atmosphere of the -best English restaurants with the glories of the parent kitchens in -France. He literally schooled me in the distinction which was to be -drawn between the Café Anglais, Voisin’s and Paillard’s, and those -smart after-supper restaurants of the Montmartre district where the -cuisine of France had been degraded by the addition of negroes, tinsel, -dancers, and music. Nevertheless he was willing to admit that their -cuisine was not bad. As I remember it now, I was advised to breakfast -at Henry’s, to dine at the Ritz, and to sup at Durand’s; but if I chose -to substitute the Café de Paris for the Ritz at dinner I was not going -far wrong. He knew that M. Braquesec, the younger, was now in charge -of Voisin’s and that Paul was the _maître d’hôtel_ and that during the -Commune Voisin’s had once served _consommé d’éléphant_, _le chameau -roti à l’Anglais_, and _le chat planqué de rats_. He thought it must -have been quite excellent because M. Braquesec, the elder, supervised -it all and because the wines served with it were from twenty to forty -years of age. - -When it came to the Riviera he was well aware of all that region had to -promise from Cannes to Mentone; and he could nicely differentiate the -advantages of the Café de Paris; the grand dining-room of the Hôtel de -Paris which was across the street; the Hermitage, which he insisted had -quite the most beautiful dining-room in Monte Carlo; the Princess which -one of the great stars of the opera had very regularly patronized some -years before; the restaurant of the Grand Hotel which he considered -very exceptional indeed; and the restaurant at the terminus of the -La Turbie mountain railway--which he emphatically approved and which -commanded a magnificent view of the coast and the sea. I was drilled -to understand that if I had _mostelle à l’Anglais_ at the Hôtel de -Paris I was having a very excellent fish of the country, served in -the very best manner, which is truly worth knowing. If we went to the -Princess, the _maître d’hôtel_, whom he knew from an older day, would -serve us midgeon in some marvelous manner which would be something for -me to remember. At the Café de Paris we were to have soupe Monègasque -which had a reminiscence, so he insisted, of Bouillabaisse and was very -excellent. The soupions were octopi, but delicate little ones--not the -kind that would be thrust upon one in Rome. I was lost among discourses -regarding the value of the Regents at Nice; the art of M. Fleury, now -the manager of the Hôtel de Paris; and what a certain head-master -could do for one in the way of providing a little local color, as -Barfleur termed it, in the food. To all of this, not being a gourmet, -I paid as strict attention as I could; though I fear me much, that a -large proportion of the exquisite significance of it all was lost on -me. I can only say, however, that in spite of Scorp’s jeering, which -was constant, the only time we had a really wonderful repast was when -Barfleur ordered it. - -The first luncheon at the Admiralty was an excellent case in point. -Barfleur being on the Riviera and being host to several, was in the -most stupendous of artistic moods. He made up a menu of the most -delicious of hors d’œuvre--which he insisted should never have been -allowed to take the place of soup, but which, alas, the custom of the -time sanctioned and the caviare of which in this case was gray, a -point which he wished me particularly to note--sole walewski; roast -lamb; salad nicois; and Genoese asparagus in order to give our meal -the flavor of the land. We had coffee on the balcony afterwards, and -I heard much concerning the wonders of this region and of the time -when the Winter Palace was the place to lunch. A grand duke was a part -of the day’s ensemble, and two famous English authors before whom we -paraded with dignity. - -After lunch we made our way to the Hôtel Bella Riva, which Barfleur -in spite of Scorp’s complaints had finally selected. It stood on a -splendid rise between Mentone and Monte Carlo; and here, after some -slight bargaining we were assigned to three rooms _en suite_ with bath. -I was given the corner room with two balconies and a flood of sunshine -and such a view as I have never seen from any window before or since. -Straight before me lay the length of Cap Martin, a grove of thousands -of olive trees reflecting from its burnished leaves the rays of the sun -and crowding it completely, and beyond it the delicious sweep of the -Mediterranean. To the right lay the bay of Monte Carlo, the heights of -La Turbie, and all the glittering world which is Monte Carlo proper. -To the left lay Mentone and the green and snow-capped mountains of -Ventimiglia and San Remo faintly visible in the distance. Never an hour -but the waters of the sea were a lighter or a darker shade of blue and -never an hour but a lonely sail was crossing in the foreground. High -above the inn at La Turbie, faintly visible in the distance, rose a -ruined column of Augustus--a broken memory of the time when imperial -Rome was dominant here, and when the Roman legions passed this way -to Spain. At different hours I could hear the bugle of some frontier -garrison sounding reveille, guard-mount, and the sun-set call. Oh, -those wonderful mornings when I was waked by the clear note of a horn -flying up the valleys of the mountains and sounding over the sea! - -Immediately after our arrival it was settled that once we had made a -swift toilet we would start for Monte Carlo. We were ready to bring -back tremendous winnings--and eager to see this showy world, the like -of which, Scorp insisted, was not to be found elsewhere. - -“Oh, yes,” he said, “I have been to Biarritz and to Ostend and -Aix-les-Bains--but they are not like this. We really should live at -the Palace where we could walk on the terrace in the morning and watch -the pigeon-shooting.” He told a significant story of how once having a -toothache he came out of the card-rooms of the Casino into the grand -lobby and attempted to pour a little laudanum out of a thin vial, with -which to ease the pain. “I stepped behind a column,” he explained, “so -that I might not be seen; but just as I uncorked the vial four guards -seized me and hurried me out of the place. They thought I was taking -poison. I had to make plain my identity to the management before they -would let me back.” - -We arrived at the edge of the corporation which is Monte Carlo and -walked in, surveying the character of the place. It was as gaudy and -rococoesque as one might well expect this world to be. It reminded -me in part of that Parisian world which one finds about the Arc de -Triomphe, rich and comfortable, only there are no carriages in Monte -Carlo to speak of. The distances are too slight and the grades too -steep. When we reached the square of the Casino, it did not strike me -as having any especial charm. It was small and sloping, and laid off -in square beds of reddish flowers with greensward about and gravel -paths going down either side. At the foot lay the Casino, ornate and -cream-white, with a glass and iron canopy over the door and a swarm of -people moving to and fro--not an idling throng but rather having an air -of considerable industry about it, quite as one might expect to find in -a business world. People were bustling along as we were to get to the -Casino or to go away from it on some errand and get back. We hurried -down the short length of the sward, checking our coats, after waiting -a lengthy time for our turn in line, and then entering the chambers -where credentials are examined and cards of admission sold. There was -quite some formality about this, letters being examined, our personal -signature and home address taken and then we were ready to enter. - -While Barfleur presented our credentials, Sir Scorp and I strolled -about in the lobby observing the inpouring and outpouring throng. He -showed me the exact pillar where he had attempted to ease his tooth. -This was an interesting world of forceful people. The German, the -Italian, the American, the Englishman and the Russian were easily -recognizable. Sir Scorp was convinced that the faces of the winners and -the losers could be distinguished, but I am afraid I was not enough of -a physiognomist to do this. If there were any who had just lost their -last dollar I did not detect them. On the contrary it seemed to me that -the majority were abnormally cheerful and were having the best time -in the world. A large bar at the end of the room opposite the general -entrance to the card-rooms had a peculiarly American appearance. -The one thing that was evident was that all here were healthy and -vigorous, with a love of life in their veins, eager to be entertained, -and having the means in a large majority of cases to accomplish this -end. It struck me here as it has in so many other places where great -pleasure-loving throngs congregate, that the difference between the -person who has something and the person who has nothing is one of -intense desire, and what, for a better phrase, I will call a capacity -to live. - -The inner chambers of the Casino were divided into two groups, the -outer being somewhat less ornately decorated and housing those who for -reasons of economy prefer to be less exclusive, and the inner more -elaborate in decoration and having of an evening, it was said, a more -gorgeously dressed throng. Just why one should choose less expensive -rooms when gambling, unless low in funds, I could not guess. Those in -both sets of rooms seemed to have enough money to gamble. I could not -see, after some experience, that there was very much difference. The -players seemed to wander rather indiscriminately through both sets of -rooms. Certainly we did. An extra charge of five louis was made for the -season’s privilege of entering the inner group or “_Cirque privé_” as -it was called. - -I shall never forget my first sight of the famous gaming-tables in -the outer rooms--for we were not venturing into the inner at present. -Aside from the glamour of the crowd--which was as impressive as an -opera first night--and the decorative quality of the room which was -unduly rich and brilliant, I was most vividly impressed by the vast -quantities of money scattered so freely over the tables, small piles of -gold louis, stacks of eight, ten, fifteen and even twenty-five franc -pieces, layers of pale crisp bank-notes whose value was anywhere from -one hundred to one thousand francs. It was like looking through the -cashier’s window of an immense bank. The mechanism and manipulation of -the roulette wheel I did not understand at first nor the exact duties -of the many croupiers seated at each table. Their cry of “Rien ne _va -plus_!” and the subsequent scraping together of the shining coin with -the little rakes or the throwing back of silver, gold and notes to the -lucky winner gripped my attention like a vise. “Great God!” I thought, -“supposing I was to win a thousand pounds with my fifteen. I should -stay in Europe an entire year.” - -Like all beginners I watched the process with large eyes and then -seeing Barfleur get back five gold louis for one placed on a certain -number I ventured one of my own. Result: three louis. I tried again -on another number and won two more. I saw myself (in fancy) the happy -possessor of a thousand pounds. My next adventure cost me two louis, -whereupon I began to wonder whether I was such a fortunate player after -all. - -“Come with me,” Barfleur said, coming around to where I stood -adventuring my small sums with indescribable excitement and taking my -arm genially. “I want to send some money to my mother for luck. I’ve -just won fifteen pounds.” - -“Talk about superstition,” I replied, coming away from the table, “I -didn’t believe it of you.” - -“I’m discovered!” he smiled philosophically; “besides I want to send -some sweets to the children.” - -We strolled out into the bright afternoon sun finding the terrace -comparatively empty, for the Casino draws most of the crowd during -the middle and late afternoon. It was strange to leave these shaded, -artificially lighted rooms with their swarms of well-dressed men -and women sitting about or bending over tables all riveted on the -one thrilling thing--the drop of the little white ball in a certain -pocket--and come out into the glittering white world with its blazing -sun, its visible blue sea, its cream-colored buildings and its waving -palms. We went to several shops--one for sweets and one for flowers, -_haut parisiennes_ in their atmosphere--and duly dispatched our -purchases. Then we went to the post-office, plastered with instructions -in various languages, and saw that the money was sent to Barfleur’s -mother. Then we returned to the Casino and Barfleur went his way, -while I wandered from board to board studying the crowd, risking an -occasional louis, and finally managing to lose three pounds more than -I had won. In despair I went to see what Scorp was doing. He had three -or four stacks of gold coin in front of him at a certain table, all -of five hundred dollars. He was risking these in small stacks of ten -and fifteen louis and made no sign when he won or lost. On several -occasions I thought he was certain to win a great sum, so lavishly were -gold louis thrown him by the croupier, but on others I felt equally -sure he was to be disposed of, so freely were his gold pieces scraped -away from him. - -“How are you making out?” I asked. - -“I think I’ve lost eight hundred francs. If I should win this though, -I’ll risk a bee-a.” - -“What’s a bee-a?” - -“A thousand franc note.” - -My poor little three louis seemed suddenly insignificant. A lady -sitting next to him, a woman of perhaps fifty, with a cool, calculating -face had perhaps as much as two thousand dollars in gold and notes -piled up before her. All around the table were these piles of gold, -silver and notes. It was a fascinating scene. - -“There, that ends me,” observed Scorp, all at once, his stock of gold -on certain numbers disappearing with the rake of the croupier. “Now I’m -done. We might walk out in the lobby and watch the crowd.” All his good -gold so quietly raked in by the croupier was lingering painfully in my -memory. I was beginning to see plainly that I would not make a good -gambler. Such a loss distressed me. - -“How much did you lose?” I inquired. - -“Oh, a thousand francs,” he replied. - -We strolled up and down, Scorp commenting sarcastically on one type and -another and yet with a genial tolerance which was amusing. - -I remember a charming-looking cocotte, a radiant type of brunette, with -finely chiseled features, slim, delicate fingers, a dainty little foot, -who, clad in a fetching costume of black and white silk which fitted -her with all the airy grace of a bon-bon ribbon about its box, stood -looking uncertainly about as if she expected to meet some one. - -“Look at her,” Scorp commented with that biting little ha! ha! of his, -which involved the greatest depths of critical sarcasm imaginable. -“There she is. She’s lost her last louis and she’s looking for some one -to pay for her dinner!” - -I had to smile to myself at the man’s croaking indifference to the -lady’s beauty. Her obvious charms had not the slightest interest for -him. - -Of another lovely creature who went by with her head held high and her -lips parted in a fetching, coaxing way he observed, “She practises that -in front of her mirror!” and finding nothing else to attack, finally -turned to me. “I say, it’s a wonder you don’t take a cocktail. There’s -your American bar.” - -“It’s the wrong time, Scorp,” I replied. “You don’t understand the art -of cocktail drinking.” - -“I should hope not!” he returned morosely. - -Finally after much more criticism of the same sort Barfleur arrived, -having lost ten louis, and we adjourned for tea. As usual an -interesting argument arose now not only as to where we were to dine, -but how we were to live our very lives in Monte Carlo. - -“Now I should think,” said Barfleur, “it would be nice if we were to -dine at the Princess. You can get sole and _canard à la presse_ there -and their wines are excellent. Besides we can’t drive to the Bella Riva -every evening.” - -“Just as I thought!” commented Scorp bitterly. “Just as I thought. Now -that we are staying at Bella Riva, a half hour or so away, we will dine -in Monte Carlo. I knew it. We will do no such thing. We will go back to -the Bella Riva, change our clothes, dine simply and inexpensively [this -from the man who had just lost a thousand francs] come back here, buy -our tickets for the _Cirque privé_ and gamble inside. First we go to -Agay and spend a doleful time among a lot of peasants and now we hang -around the outer rooms of the Casino. We can’t live at the Hôtel de -Paris or enter the _Cirque privé_ but we can dine at the Princess. Ha! -ha! Well, we will do no such thing. Besides, a little fasting will not -do you any harm. You need not waste all your money on your stomach.” - -The man had a gay acidity which delighted me. - -Barfleur merely contemplated the ceiling of the lobby where we were -gathered while Sir Scorp rattled on in this fashion. - -“I expected to get tickets for the _Cirque privé_--” he soothed and -added suggestively, “It will cost at least twenty francs to drive over -to the Bella Riva.” - -“Exactly!” replied Scorp. “As I predicted. We can’t live in Monte Carlo -but we can pay twenty francs to get over to Cap Martin. Thank Heaven -there are still street cars. I do not need to spend all my money on -shabby carriages, riding out in the cold!” (It was a heavenly night.) - -“I think we’d better dine at the Princess and go home early,” pleaded -Barfleur. “We’re all tired. To-morrow I suggest that we go up to La -Turbie for lunch. That will prove a nice diversion and after that we’ll -come down and get our tickets for the _Cirque privé_. Come now. Do be -reasonable. Dreiser ought to see something of the restaurant life of -Monte Carlo.” - -As usual Barfleur won. We _did_ go to the Café Princess. We _did_ have -_sole Normande_. We _did_ have _canard à la presse_. We _did_ have some -excellent wine and Barfleur was in his glory. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -WE GO TO EZE - - -The charms of Monte Carlo are many. Our first morning there, to the -sound of a horn blowing reveille in the distance, I was up betimes -enjoying the wonderful spectacles from my balcony. The sun was just -peeping up over the surface of an indigo sea, shooting sharp golden -glances in every direction. Up on the mountains, which rise sharp and -clear like great unornamented cathedrals back of the jeweled villages -of this coast, it was picking out shepherd’s hut and fallen mementoes -of the glory that was Rome. A sailboat or two was already making its -way out to sea, and below me on that long point of land which is Cap -Martin, stretching like a thin green spear into the sea, was the -splendid olive orchard which I noted the day before, its gleaming -leaves showing a different shade of green from what it had then. I did -not know it until the subject came up that olive trees live to be a -thousand years old and that they do as well here on this little strip -of coast, protected by the high mountains at their back, as they do -anywhere in Italy. In fact, as I think of it, this lovely projection -of land, no wider than to permit of a few small villages and cities -crowding between the sea and the mountains, is a true projection of -Italy itself, its palms, olive trees, cypresses, umbrella trees and its -peasants and architecture. I understand that a bastard French--half -French, half Italian--is spoken here and that only here are the hill -cities truly the same as they are in Italy. - -While I was gazing at the morning sun and the blue sea and marveling -how quickly the comfortable Riviera Express had whirled us out of the -cold winds of Paris into this sun-kissed land, Barfleur must have been -up and shaving, for presently he appeared, pink and clean in his brown -dressing-gown, to sit out on my lovely balcony with me. - -“You know,” he said, after he had commented on the wonder of the -morning and the delicious soothing quality of the cool air, “Scorp is -certainly an old fuss-button. There he lies in there now, ready to -pounce on us. Of course he isn’t very strong physically and that makes -him irritable. He does so love to be contrary.” - -“I think he is a good running-mate for you,” I observed. “If he leans -to asceticism in the matter of food, you certainly run to the other -extreme. Sybaritic is a mild expression for your character.” - -“You don’t mean it?” - -“I certainly do.” - -“In what way have I shown myself sybaritic?” - -I charged him with various crimes. My amicable lecture was interrupted -by the arrival of rolls and coffee and we decided to take breakfast in -the company of Scorp. We knocked at his door. - -“_Entrez!_” - -There he was, propped up in bed, his ascetic face crowned by his -brownish black hair and set with those burning dark eyes--a figure of -almost classic significance. - -“Ah!” he exclaimed grimly, “here he comes. The gourmet’s guide to -Europe!” - -“Now, do be cheerful this morning, Scorp, do be,” cooed Barfleur. -“Remember it is a lovely morning. You are on the Riviera. We are going -to have a charming time.” - -“You are, anyway!” commented Scorp. - -“I am the most sacrificial of men, I assure you,” commented Barfleur. -“I would do anything to make you happy. We will go up to La Turbie -to-day, if you say, and order a charming lunch. After that we will go -to Eze, if you say, and on to Nice for dinner, if you think fit. We -will go into the Casino there for a little while and then return. Isn’t -that a simple and satisfactory program? Dreiser and I will walk up to -La Turbie. You can join us at one for lunch. You think he ought to see -Eze, don’t you?” - -“Yes, if there isn’t some Café de Paris hidden away up there somewhere -where you can gormandize again. If we can just manage to get you past -the restaurants!” - -So it was agreed: Barfleur and I would walk; Sir Scorp was to follow -by train. As the day was balmy and perfect, all those special articles -of adornment purchased in London for this trip were extracted from our -luggage and duly put on--light weight suits, straw hats and ties of -delicate tints; and then we set forth. The road lay in easy swinging -S’s, up and up past terraced vineyards and garden patches and old -stone cottages and ambling muleteers with their patient little donkeys -heavily burdened. Automobiles, I noticed, even at this height came -grumbling up or tearing down--and always the cypress tree with its -whispering black-green needles and the graceful umbrella tree made -artistic architectural frames for the vistas of the sea. - -Here and now I should like to pay my tribute to the cypress tree. I saw -it later in all its perfection at Pisa, Rome, Florence, Spello, Assisi -and elsewhere in Italy, but here at Monte Carlo, or rather outside of -it, I saw it first. I never saw it connected with anything tawdry or -commonplace and wherever it grows there is dignity and beauty. It is -not to be seen anywhere in immediate contact with this feverish Casino -world of Monte Carlo. It is as proud as beauty itself, as haughty as -achievement. By old ruins, in sacred burial grounds, by worn gates and -forgotten palaces it sways and sighs. It is as mournful as death--as -somber in its mien as great age and experience--a tree of the elders. -Where Rome grew it grew, and to Greek and Roman temples in their prime -and pride it added its sacred company. - -Plant a cypress tree near my grave when I am dead. To think of its tall -spearlike body towering like a stately monument over me would be all -that I could artistically ask. If some of this illusory substance which -seems to be that which is I, physically, here on this earth, should -mingle with its fretted roots and be builded into the noble shaft of -its body I should be glad. It would be a graceful and artistic way to -disappear into the unknown. - -Our climb to La Turbie was in every respect delightful. We stopped -often to comment on the cathedral-like character of the peaks, to -speculate as to the age of the stone huts. - -About half way up we came to a little inn called the Corniche, which -really hangs on the cornice of this great range, commanding the wide, -blue sweep of the Mediterranean below; and here, under the shade of -umbrella trees and cypresses and with the mimosa in full bloom and with -some blossom which Barfleur called “cherry-pie” blowing everywhere, -we took seats at a little green table to have a pot of tea. It is an -American inn--this Corniche--with an American flag fluttering high on -a white pole, and an American atmosphere not unlike that of a country -farmhouse in Indiana. There were some chickens scratching about the -door; and at least three canaries in separate bright brass cages hung -in the branches of the surrounding trees. They sang with tremendous -energy. With the passing of a muleteer, whose spotted cotton shirt and -earth-colored trousers and dusty skin bespoke the lean, narrow life of -the peasant, we discussed wealth and poverty, lavish expenditure and -meager subsistence, the locust-like quality of the women of fashion -and of pleasure, who eat and eat and gorge and glut themselves of the -showy things of life without aim or even thought; the peasant on this -mountainside, with perhaps no more than ten cents a day to set his -beggar board, while below the idle company in the Casino, shining like -a white temple from where we sat, were wasting thousands upon thousands -of dollars hourly. Barfleur agreed most solemnly with it all. He was -quite sympathetic. The tables there, he said, even while we looked, -were glutted with gold, and the Prince of Monaco was building, with his -surplus earnings, useless marine museums which no one visited. - -I was constantly forgetting in our peregrinations about the -neighborhood how small the Principality of Monaco is. I am sure it -would fit nicely into ten city blocks. A large portion of Monte Carlo -encroaches on French territory--only the Casino, the terrace, the -heights of Monaco belong to the Principality. One-half of a well-known -restaurant there, I believe, is in Monaco and the other half in France. -La Turbie, on the heights here, the long road we had come, almost -everything in fact, was in France. We went into the French post-office -to mail cards and then on to the French restaurant commanding the -heights. This particular restaurant commands a magnificent view. A -circle about which the automobiles turned in front of its door was -supported by a stone wall resting on the sharp slope of the mountain -below. All the windows of its principal dining-room looked out over -the sea, and of the wonderful view I was never weary. The room had an -oriental touch, and the white tables and black-coated waiters accorded -ill with this. Still it offered that smartness of service which only -the French restaurants possess. - -Barfleur was for waiting for Scorp who had not arrived. I was for -eating, as I was hungry. Finally we sat down to luncheon and we were -consuming the sweet when in he came. His brownish-black eyes burned -with their usual critical fire. If Sir Scorp had been born with a -religious, reforming spirit instead of a penchant for art he would -have been a St. Francis of Assisi. As it was, without anything to base -it on, except Barfleur’s gormandizing propensities, he had already -established moral censorship over our actions. - -“Ah, here you are, eating as usual,” he observed with that touch of -lofty sarcasm which at once amused and irritated me. “No excursion -without a meal as its object.” - -“Sit down, El Greco,” I commented, “and note the beautiful view. This -should delight your esthetic soul.” - -“It might delight mine, but I am not so sure about yours. Barfleur -would certainly see nothing in it if there were not a restaurant -here--ha!” - -“I found a waiter here who used to serve me in the Café Royal in -London,” observed Barfleur cheerfully. - -“Now we can die content,” sighed Scorp. “We have been recognized by a -French waiter on the Riviera. Ha! Never happy,” he added, turning to -me, “unless he is being recognized by waiters somewhere--his one claim -to glory.” - -We went out to see the ruined monument to Augustus Cæsar, crumbling -on this high mountain and commanding the great blue sweep of the -Mediterranean below. There were a number of things in connection with -this monument which were exceedingly interesting. It illustrated so -well the Roman method of construction: a vast core of rubble and -brick, faced with marble. Barfleur informed me that only recently the -French government had issued an order preventing the removal of any -more of the marble, much of which had already been stolen, carted -away or cut up here into other forms. Immense marble drums of pure -white stone were still lying about, fallen from their places; and in -the surrounding huts of the peasant residents of La Turbie could be -seen parts of once noble pillars set into the fabric of their shabby -doorways or used as corner-stones to support their pathetic little -shelters. I recall seeing several of these immense drums of stone set -at queer angles under the paper walls of the huts, the native peasants -having built on them as a base, quite as a spider might attach its -gossamer net to a substantial bush or stone. I reflected at length on -the fate of greatness and how little the treasures of one age may be -entrusted to another. Time and chance, dullness and wasteful ignorance, -lie in wait for them all. - -The village of La Turbie, although in France, gave me my first -real taste of the Italian village. High up on this mountain above -Monte Carlo, in touch really with the quintessence of showy -expenditure--clothes, jewels, architecture, food--here it stood, quite -as it must have been standing for the last three or four hundred -years--its narrow streets clambering up and down between houses of -gray stone or brick, covered with gray lichens. I thought of Benvenuto -Cellini--how he always turned the corners of the dark, narrow streets -of Rome in as wide a circle as possible in order to save himself from -any lurking assassin--that he might draw his own knife quickly. Dirt -and age and quaintness and romance: it was in these terms that La -Turbie spoke to us. Although anxious to proceed to Eze, not so very -far away, which they both assured me was so much more picturesque -and characteristic, yet we lingered, looking lovingly up and down -narrow passages where stairs clambered gracefully, where arches -curved picturesquely over streets, and where plants bloomed bravely -in spotted, crumbling windows. Age! age! And with it men, women and -children of the usual poverty-stricken Italian type--not French, but -Italians. Women with bunchy blue or purple skirts, white or colored -kerchiefs, black hair, wrinkled, yellow or blackish-brown faces, -glittering dark eyes and claw-like hands. - -Not far from the center of this moldy scene, flourishing like a great -lichen at the foot of Augustus, his magnificent column, was a public -fountain, of what date I do not know. The housewives of the community -were hard at their washing, piling the wet clothes in soapy masses on -the stone rim of the basin. They were pattering and chattering, their -skirts looped up at their hips, their heads wound about with cloths of -various colors. It brought back to my mind, by way of contrast, the -gloomy wash- and bath-house in Bethnal Green, which I have previously -commented on. Despite poverty and ignorance, the scene here was so -much more inviting--even inspiring. Under a blue sky, in the rays of -a bright afternoon sun, beside a moldering but none the less lovely -fountain, they seemed a very different kind of mortal--far more -fortunate than those I had seen in Bethnal Green and Stepney. What -can governments do toward supplying blue skies, broken fountains and -humanly stirring and delightful atmosphere? Would Socialism provide -these things? - -With many backward glances, we departed, conveyed hence in an -inadequate little vehicle drawn by one of the boniest horses it has -ever been my lot to ride behind. The cheerful driver was as fat as -his horse was lean, and as dusty as the road itself. We were wedged -tightly in the single green cloth seat, Scorp on one side, I on the -other, Barfleur in the middle, expatiating as usual on the charm of -life and enduring cheerfully all the cares and difficulties of his -exalted and self-constituted office of guide, mentor and friend. - -Deep green valleys, dizzy precipices along which the narrow road -skirted nervously, tall tops of hills that rose about you craggily or -pastorally--so runs the road to Eze and we followed it jestingly, Sir -Scorp so dizzy contemplating the depths that we had to hold him in. -Barfleur was gay and ebullient. I never knew a man who could become so -easily intoxicated with life. - -“There you have it,” said Sir Scorp, pointing far down a green slope to -where a shepherd was watching his sheep, a cape coat over his arm, a -crooked staff in his hand; “there is your pastoral, lineally descended -from the ancient Greeks. Barfleur pretends to love nature, but that -would not bring him out here. There is no _canard à la presse_ attached -to it--no _sole walewski_.” - -“And see the goose-girl!” I exclaimed, as a maiden in bare feet, her -skirt falling half way below her knees, crossed the road. - -“All provided, my dear boy,” assured Barfleur, beaming on me through -his monocle. “Everything as it should be for you. You see how I do. -Goose-girls, shepherds, public fountains, old monuments to Cæsar, -anything you like. I will show you Eze now. Nothing finer in Europe.” - -We were nearing Eze around the green edge of a mountain--its top--and -there I saw it, my first hill-city. Not unlike La Turbie, it was old -and gray, but with that spectacular dignity which anything set on a -hill possesses. Barfleur carefully explained to me that in the olden -days--some few hundred years before--the inhabitants of the seashore -and plain were compelled to take to the hills to protect themselves -against marauding pirates--that the hill-city dates from the earliest -times in Italy and was common to the Latins before the dawn of history. -Eze towered up, completely surrounded by a wall, the only road leading -to it being the one on which we were traveling. By a bridge we crossed -a narrow gully, dividing one mountain height from another, and then, -discharging our fat cabman and his bony horse, mounted to the open gate -or arched door, now quite unguarded. Some of the village children were -selling the common flowers of the field, and a native in tight dusty -trousers and soft hat was entering. - -I think I devoured the strangeness and glamour of Eze as one very -hungry would eat a meal. I examined all the peculiarities of this outer -entrance and noted how like a hole in a snail shell it was, giving not -directly into the old city, or village, but into a path that skirted -the outer wall. Above were holes through which defenders could shower -arrows and boiling oil upon those who might have penetrated this outer -defense. There was a blind passage at one point, luring the invaders -into a devilish pocket where their fate was sealed. If one gained -this first gate and the second, which gave into a narrow, winding, -upward-climbing street, the fighting would be hand to hand and always -upward against men on a higher level. The citadel, as we found at last, -was now a red and gray brick ruin, only some arches and angles of -which were left, crowning the summit, from which the streets descended -like the whorls of a snail-shell. Gray cobble-stone, and long narrow -bricks set on their sides, form the streets or passages. The squat -houses of brick and gray stone followed closely the convolutions of the -street. It was a silent, sleepy little city. Few people were about. -The small shops were guarded by old women or children. The men were -sheep-herders, muleteers, gardeners and farmers on the slopes below. -Anything that is sold in this high-placed city is brought up to it on -the backs of slow-climbing, recalcitrant donkeys. One blessed thing, -the sewage problem of these older Italian-French cities, because of -their situation on the hillside, solves itself--otherwise, God help -the cities. Barfleur insisted that there was leprosy hereabouts--a -depressing thought. - -Climbing up and around these various streets, peering in at the meager -little windows where tobacco, fruit, cheese and modest staples were -sold, we reached finally the summit of Eze, where for the first time -in Italy--I count the Riviera Italian--the guide nuisance began. An -old woman, in patois French, insisted on chanting about the ruins. Sir -Scorp kept repeating, “No, no, my good woman, go away,” and I said -in English, “Run, tell it to Barfleur. He is the bell-wether of this -flock.” - -Barfleur clambered to safety up a cracked wall of the ruin and from his -dizzy height eyed her calmly and bade her “Run along, now.” But it was -like King Canute bidding the sea to retreat, till she had successfully -taken toll of us. Meanwhile we stared in delight at the Mediterranean, -at the olive groves, the distant shepherds, at the lovely blue vistas -and the pale threads of roads. - -We were so anxious to get to Nice in time for dinner, and so opposed -to making our way by the long dusty road which lay down the mountain, -that we decided to make a short cut of it and go down the rocky side of -the hill by a foot-wide path which was pointed out to us by the village -priest, a haggard specimen of a man who, in thin cassock and beggarly -shoes and hat, paraded before his crumbling little church door. We -were a noble company, if somewhat out of the picture, as we piled down -this narrow mountaineer’s track--Barfleur in a brilliant checked suit -and white hat, and Sir Scorp in very smart black. My best yellow -shoes (ninety francs in Paris) lent a pleasing note to my otherwise -inconspicuous attire, and gave me some concern, for the going was most -rough and uncertain. - -We passed shepherds tending sheep on sharp slopes, a donkey-driver -making his way upward with three donkeys all heavily laden, an -umbrella-tree sheltering a peasant so ancient that he must have -endured from Grecian days, and olive groves whose shadows were as -rich as that bronze which time has favored with its patina. It seemed -impossible that half way between Monte Carlo and Nice--those twin -worlds of spendthrift fashion and pampered vice--should endure a scene -so idyllic. The Vale of Arcady is here; all that art could suggest or -fancy desire, a world of simple things. Such scenes as this, remarked -Sir Scorp, were favored by his great artistic admiration--Daubigny. - -We found a railway station somewhere, and then we got to Nice for -dinner. Once more a soul-stirring argument between Barfleur and Sir -Scorp. We would take tea at Rumpelmeyer’s--we would _not_ take tea at -Rumpelmeyer’s. We would dine at The Regence; we would _not_ dine at The -Regence. We would pay I-forget-how-many louis and enter the baccarat -chambers of the Casino; we would _not_ do anything of the sort. It was -desired by Barfleur that I should see the wonders of the sea-walk with -the waves spraying the protecting wall. It was desired by Scorp that -I should look in all the jewelry shop windows with him and hear him -instruct in the jeweler’s art. How these matters were finally adjusted -is lost in the haze of succeeding impressions. We _did_ have tea at -Rumpelmeyer’s, however--a very commonplace but bright affair--and -then we loitered in front of shop windows where Sir Scorp pointed out -really astounding jewels offered to the public for fabulous sums. One -great diamond he knew to have been in the possession of the Sultan -of Turkey, and you may well trust his word and his understanding. A -certain necklace here displayed had once been in his possession and -was now offered at exactly ten times what he had originally sold it -for. A certain cut steel brooch--very large and very handsome--was -designed by himself, and was first given as a remembrance to a friend. -Result--endless imitation by the best shops. He dallied over rubies -and emeralds, suggesting charming uses for them. And then finally we -came to the Casino--the Casino Municipale--with its baccarat chambers, -its great dining-rooms, its public lounging-room with such a world of -green wicker chairs and tables as I have never seen. The great piers -at Atlantic City are not so large. Being the height of the season, it -was of course filled to overflowing by a brilliant throng--cocottes -and gamblers drawn here from all parts of Europe; and tourists of all -nationalities. - -Sir Scorp, as usual, in his gentle but decided way, raised an argument -concerning what we should have for dinner. The mere suggestion that it -should be _canard à la presse_ and champagne threw him into a dyspeptic -chill. “I will not pay for it. You can spend your money showing off if -you choose; but I will eat a simple meal somewhere else.” - -“Oh, no,” protested Barfleur. “We are here for a pleasant evening. I -think it important that Dreiser should see this. It need not be _canard -à la presse_. We can have sole and a light Burgundy.” - -So sole it was, and a light Burgundy, and a bottle of water for Sir -Scorp. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -NICE - - -Not having as yet been in the _Cirque privé_ at Monte Carlo, I was -perhaps unduly impressed by the splendor of the rooms devoted to -gambling in this amazingly large casino. There were eight hundred or a -thousand people all in evening clothes, who had paid a heavy price for -the mere privilege of entering, and were now gathered about handsome -green-covered mahogany tables under glittering and ornate electroliers, -playing a variety of carefully devised gambling games with a fervor -that at times makes martyrs in other causes. To a humble-minded -American person like myself, unused to the high world of fashion, this -spectacle was, to say the least, an interesting one. Here were a dozen -nationalities represented by men and women whose hands were manicured -to perfection, whose toilets were all that a high social occasion might -require, their faces showing in every instance a keen understanding -of their world and how it works. Here in Nice, if you walk away from -these centers of social perfection, where health and beauty and -sophistication and money abound, the vast run of citizens are as -poverty-stricken as any; but this collection of nobility and gentry, of -millionaires, adventurers, intellectual prostitutes and savage beauties -is recruited from all over the world. I hold that is something to see. - -The tables were fairly swarming with a fascinating throng all very -much alike in their attitude and their love of the game, but still -individual and interesting. I venture to say that any one of the -people I saw in this room, if you saw him in a crowd on the street, -would take your attention. A native force and self-sufficiency went -with each one. I wondered constantly where they all came from. It -takes money to come to the Riviera; it takes money to buy your way -into any gambling-room. It takes money to gamble; and what is more it -takes a certain amount of self-assurance and individual selection to -come here at all. By your mere presence you are putting yourself in -contact and contrast with a notable standard of social achievement. -Your intellectuality, your ability to take care of yourself, your -breeding and your subtlety are at once challenged--not consciously, but -unconsciously. Do you really belong here? the eyes of the attendants -ask you as you pass. And the glitter and color and life and beauty of -the room is a constant challenge. - -It did not surprise me in the least that all these men and women in -their health and attractiveness carried themselves with cynical, almost -sneering hauteur. They might well do so--as the world judges these -material things--for they are certainly far removed from the rank and -file of the streets; and to see them extracting from their purses and -their pockets handfuls of gold, unfolding layers of crisp notes that -represented a thousand francs each, and with an almost indifferent -air laying them on their favorite numbers or combinations was to my -unaccustomed eye a gripping experience. Yet I was not interested in -gambling--only in the people who played. - -I know that to the denizens of this world who are fascinated by -chance and find their amusement in such playing, this atmosphere is -commonplace. It was not so to me. I watched the women--particularly the -beautiful women--who strolled about the chambers with their escorts -solely to show off their fine clothes. You see a certain type of youth -here who seems to be experienced in this gay world that drifts from one -resort to another, for you hear such phrases as “Oh, yes, I saw her at -Aix-les-Bains,” or, “She was at Karlsbad last summer.” “Is that the -same fellow she was with last year? I thought she was living with --” -(this of a second individual). “My heaven, how well she keeps up!” or, -“This must be her first season here--I have never seen her before.” -Two or three of these young bloods would follow a woman all around the -rooms, watching her, admiring her beauty quite as a horseman might -examine the fine points of a horse. And all the while you could see -that she was keenly aware of the critical fire of these eyes. - -[Illustration: “My heaven, how well she keeps up!”] - -At the tables was another type of woman whom I had first casually -noticed at Monte Carlo, a not too good looking, rather practical, and -perhaps disillusioned type of woman--usually inclined to stoutness, -as is so often the case with women of indolent habits and no -temperament--although, now that I think of it, I have the feeling that -neither illusion nor disillusion have ever played much part in the -lives of such as these. They looked to me like women who, from their -youth up, had taken life with a grain of salt and who had never been -carried away by anything much--neither love, nor fashion, nor children, -nor ambition. Perhaps their keenest interest had always been money--the -having and holding of it. And here they sat--not good-looking, not -apparently magnetic--interested in chance, and very likely winning and -losing by turns, their principal purpose being, I fancy, to avoid the -dullness and monotony of an existence which they are not anxious to -endure. I heard one or two derogatory comments on women of this type -while I was abroad; but I cannot say that they did more than appeal -to my sympathies. Supposing, to look at it from another point of view, -you were a woman of forty-five or fifty. You have no family--nothing to -hold you, perhaps, but a collection of dreary relatives, or the _ennui_ -of a conventional neighborhood with prejudices that are wearisome to -your sense of liberty and freedom. If by any chance you have money, -here on the Riviera is your resource. You can live in a wonderful -climate of sun and blue water; you can see nature clad in her daintiest -raiment the year round; you can see fashion and cosmopolitan types and -exchange the gossip of all the world; you can go to really excellent -restaurants--the best that Europe provides; and for leisure, from ten -o’clock in the morning until four or five o’clock the next morning, -you can gamble if you choose, gamble silently, indifferently, without -hindrance as long as your means endure. - -If you are of a mathematical or calculating turn of mind you can -amuse yourself infinitely by attempting to solve the strange puzzle -of chance--how numbers fall and why. It leads off at last, I know, -into the abstrusities of chemistry and physics. The esoteric realms -of the mystical are not more subtle than the strange abnormalities of -psychology that are here indulged in. Certain people are supposed to -have a chemical and physical attraction for numbers or cards. Dreams -are of great importance. It is bad to sit by a losing person, good to -sit by a winning one. Every conceivable eccentricity of thought in -relation to personality is here indulged in; and when all is said and -done, in spite of the wonders of their cobwebby calculations, it comes -to about the same old thing--they win and lose, win and lose, win and -lose. - -Now and then some interesting personality--stranger, youth, celebrity, -or other--wins heavily or loses heavily; in which case, if he plunges -fiercely on, his table will be surrounded by a curious throng, their -heads craning over each other’s shoulders, while he piles his gold on -his combinations. Such a man or woman for the time being becomes an -intensely dramatic figure. He is aware of the audacity of the thing he -is doing, and he moves with conscious gestures--the manner of a grand -seigneur. I saw one such later--in the _Cirque privé_ at Monte Carlo--a -red-bearded man of fifty--tall, intense, graceful. It was rumored that -he was a prince out of Russia--almost any one can be a prince out of -Russia at Monte Carlo! He had stacks of gold and he distributed it -with a lavish hand. He piled it in little golden towers over a score -of numbers; and when his numbers fell wrong his towers fell with them, -and the croupier raked great masses of metal into his basket. There was -not the slightest indication on his pale impassive face that the loss -or the gain was of the slightest interest to him. He handed crisp bills -to the clerk in charge of the bank and received more gold to play his -numbers. When he wearied, after a dozen failures--a breathing throng -watching him with moist lips and damp, eager eyes--he rose and strolled -forth to another chamber, rolling a cigarette as he went. He had lost -thousands and thousands. - -The next morning it was lovely and sunshiny again. Sitting out on my -balcony high over the surrounding land, commanding as it did all of -Monte Carlo, the bay of Mentone and Cap Martin, I made many solemn -resolutions. This gay life here was meretricious and artificial, -I decided. Gambling was a vice, in spite of Sir Scorp’s lofty -predilection for it; it drew to and around it the allied viciousness of -the world, gormandizing, harlotry, wastefulness, vain-glory. I resolved -here in the cool morning that I would reform. I would see something of -the surrounding country and then leave for Italy where I would forget -all this. - -I started out with Barfleur about ten to see the Oceanographical Museum -and to lunch at the Princess, but the day did not work out exactly -as we planned. We visited the Oceanographical Museum; but I found it -amazingly dull--the sort of a thing a prince making his money out of -gambling would endow. It may have vast scientific ramifications, but I -doubt it. A meager collection of insects and dried specimens quickly -gave me a headache. The only case that really interested me was the one -containing a half-dozen octopi of large size. I stood transfixed before -their bulbous centers and dull, muddy, bronze-green arms, studded with -suckers. I can imagine nothing so horrible as to be seized upon by one -of these things, and I fairly shivered as I stood in front of the case. -Barfleur contemplated solemnly the possibility of his being attacked by -one of them, monocle and all. He foresaw a swift end to his career. - -We came out into the sunlight and viewed with relief, by contrast -with the dull museum, the very new and commonplace cathedral--oh, -exceedingly poorly executed--and the castle or palace or residence -of His Highness, the Prince of Monaco. I cannot imagine why Europe -tolerates this man with his fine gambling privileges unless it is that -the different governments look with opposition on the thought of any -other government having so fine a source of wealth. France should have -it by rights; and it would be suitable that the French temperament -should conduct such an institution. The palace of the Prince of Monaco -was as dull as his church and his museum; and the Monacoan Army drawn -up in front of his residence for their morning exercise looked like a -company of third-rate French policemen. - -However I secured as fine an impression of the beauty of Monaco and -the whole coast from this height, as I received at any time during my -stay; for it is like the jewel of a ring projecting out of the sea. You -climb up to the Oceanographical Museum and the palace by a series of -stairways and walks that from time to time bring you out to the sheer -edge of the cliff overlooking the blue waters below. There is expensive -gardening done here, everywhere; for you find vines and flowers and -benches underneath the shade of palms and umbrella trees where you can -sit and look out over the sea. Lovely panoramas confront you in every -direction; and below, perhaps as far down as three and four hundred -feet, you can see and hear the waves breaking and the foam eddying -about the rocks. The visitor to Monte Carlo, I fancy, is not greatly -disturbed about scenery, however. Such walks as these are empty and -still while the Casino is packed to the doors. The gaming-tables are -the great center; and to these we ourselves invariably returned. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -A FIRST GLIMPSE OF ITALY - - -My days in Monte Carlo after this were only four, exactly. In spite of -my solemn resolutions of the morning the spirit of this gem-like world -got into my bones by three o’clock; and at four, when we were having -tea at the Riviera Palace Hotel high above the Casino, I was satisfied -that I should like to stay here for months. Barfleur, as usual, was -full of plans for enjoyment; and he insisted that I had not half -exhausted the charms of the place. We should go to some old monastery -at Laghet where miracles of healing were performed, and to Cannes and -Beaulieu in order to see the social life there. - -A part of one of these days we spent viewing a performance in Mentone. -Another day Barfleur and I went to Laghet and Nice, beginning with a -luncheon at the Riviera Palace and winding up at the Hôtel des Fleurs. -The last day we were in the Casino, gambling cheerfully for a little -while, and then on the terrace viewing the pigeon shooting, which -Barfleur persistently refused to contemplate. This (to me) brutal -sport was evidently fascinating to many, for the popping of guns was -constant. It is so curious how radically our views differ in this world -as to what constitutes evil and good. To Scorp this was a legitimate -sport. The birds were ultimately destined for pies anyhow; why not kill -them here in this manner? To me the crippling of the perfect winged -things was a crime. I would never be one to hold a gun in such a sport. - -It was this last day in the Café de Paris that Barfleur and I -encountered Marcelle and Mme. Y., our companions of that first dinner -in Paris. Barfleur was leaving for London, Scorp was to stay on at -Monte Carlo, and for the first time I faced the prospect of traveling -alone. Acting on impulse I turned to Marcelle and said: “Come with me -as far as Ventimiglia,” never thinking for a moment that she would. -“_Oui_,” she replied, “_oui, oui_,” and seemed very cheerful over the -prospect. - -Marcelle arrived some fifteen minutes before my train was due, but -she was not to speak to me until we were on the train. It took some -manœuvering to avoid the suspicions of Scorp. - -Barfleur left for the north at four-thirty, assuring me that we would -meet in Paris in April and ride at Fontainebleau, and that we would -take a walking tour in England. After he was gone, Scorp and I walked -to and fro and then it was that Marcelle appeared. I had to smile as I -walked with Scorp, thinking how wrathful he would have been if he had -known that every so often we were passing Marcelle, who gazed demurely -the other way. The platforms, as usual, were alive with passengers -with huge piles of baggage. My train was a half hour late and it was -getting dark. Some other train which was not bound for Rome entered, -and Marcelle signaled to know whether she was to get into that. I shook -my head and hunted up the Cook’s tourist agent, always to be found on -these foreign platforms, and explained to him that he was to go to the -young lady in the blue suit and white walking-shoes and tell her that -the train was a half hour late and ask her if she cared to wait. With -quite an American _sang-froid_ he took in the situation at once, and -wanted to know how far she was going. I told him Ventimiglia and he -advised that she get off at Garaban in order to catch the first train -back. He departed, and presently returned, cutting me out from the -company of Sir Scorp by a very wise look of the eye, and informed me -that the lady would wait and would go. I promptly gave him a franc for -his trouble. My pocket was bulging with Italian silver lire and paper -five- and ten-lire pieces which I had secured the day before. Finally -my train rolled in and I took one last look at the sea in the fading -light and entered. Sir Scorp gave me parting instructions as to simple -restaurants that I would find at different places in Italy--not the -showy and expensive cafés, beloved of Barfleur. He wanted me to save -money on food and have my portrait painted by Mancini, which I could -have done, he assured me, with a letter from him. He looked wisely -around the platform to see that there was no suspicious lady anywhere -in the foreground and said he suspected one might be going with me. - -“Oh, Scorp,” I said, “how could you? Besides, I am very poor now.” - -“The ruling passion--strong in poverty,” he commented, and waved me a -farewell. - -I walked forward through the train looking for my belongings and -encountered Marcelle. She was eager to explain by signs that the Cook’s -man had told her to get off at Garaban. - -“_M’sieur Thomas Cook, il m’a dit--il faut que je descends à -Garaban--pas Ventimiglia--Garaban._” She understood well enough that if -she wanted to get back to Monte Carlo early in the evening she would -have to make this train, as the next was not before ten o’clock. - -I led the way to a table in the dining-car still vacant, and we -talked as only people can talk who have no common language. By the -most astonishing efforts Marcelle made it known that she would not -stay at Monte Carlo very long now, and that if I wanted her to come -to Florence when I got there she would. Also she kept talking about -Fontainebleau and horseback riding in April. She imitated a smart rider -holding the reins with one hand and clucking to the horse with her -lips. She folded her hands expressively to show how heavenly it would -be. Then she put her right hand over her eyes and waved her left hand -to indicate that there were lovely vistas which we could contemplate. -Finally she extracted all her bills from the Hôtel de Paris--and they -were astonishing--to show me how expensive her life was at Monte Carlo; -but I refused to be impressed. It did not make the least difference, -however, in her attitude or her mood. She was just as cheerful as -ever, and repeated “Avril--Fontainebleau,” as the train stopped and -she stepped off. She reached up and gave me an affectionate farewell -kiss. The last I saw of her she was standing, her arms akimbo, her head -thrown smartly back, looking after the train. - - * * * * * - -It was due to a railroad wreck about twenty miles beyond Ventimiglia -that I owe my acquaintance with one of the most interesting men I have -met in years, a man who was very charming to me afterwards in Rome, -but before that I should like to relate how I first really entered -Italy. One afternoon, several days before, Barfleur and I paid a flying -visit to Ventimiglia, some twenty miles over the border, a hill city -and the agreed customs entry city between France and Italy. No train -leaving France in this region, so I learned, stopped before it reached -Ventimiglia, and none leaving Ventimiglia stopped before it entered -France, and once there customs inspectors seized upon one and examined -one’s baggage. If you have no baggage you are almost an object of -suspicion in Italy. - -On the first visit we came to scale the walls of this old city which -was much like Eze and commanded the sea from a great eminence. But -after Eze it was not Ventimiglia that interested me so much as the fact -that Italy was so different from France. In landing at Fishguard I had -felt the astonishing difference between England and the United States. -In landing at Calais the atmosphere of England had fallen from me like -a cloak and France--its high color and enthusiasm--had succeeded to it. -Here this day, stepping off the train at Ventimiglia only a few miles -from Monte Carlo, I was once more astonished at the sharp change that -had come over the spirit of man. Here were Italians, not French, dark, -vivid, interesting little men who, it seemed to me, were so much more -inclined to strut and stare than the French that they appeared to be -vain. They were keen, temperamental, avid, like the French but strange -to say not so gay, so light-hearted, so devil-may-care. - -Italy, it seemed to me at once, was much poorer than France and -Barfleur was very quick to point it out. “A different people,” he -commented, “not like the French, much darker and more mysterious. See -the cars--how poor they are. You will note that everywhere. And the -buildings, the trains--the rolling stock is not so good. Look at the -houses. The life here is more poverty-stricken. Italy is poor--very. I -like it and I don’t. Some things are splendid. My mother adores Rome. I -crave the French temperament. It is so much more light-hearted.” So he -rambled on. - -It was all true--accurate and keenly observed. I could not feel that I -was anywhere save in a land that was seeking to rehabilitate itself but -that had a long way to go. The men--the officials and soldiery of whom -there were a legion clad in remarkable and even astonishing uniforms, -appealed to my eye, but the souls of them to begin with, did not take -my fancy. I felt them to be suspicious and greedy. Here for the first -time I saw the uniform of the Italian _bersaglieri_: smart-looking -in long capes, round hats of shiny leather with glossy green rooster -feathers, and carrying short swords. - -This night as I crossed the border after leaving Garaban I thought -of all I had seen the day I came with Barfleur. When we reached -Ventimiglia it was pitch dark and being alone and speaking no Italian -whatsoever, I was confused by the thought of approaching difficulties. - -Presently a customs inspector descended on me--a large, bearded -individual who by signs made me understand that I had to go to the -baggage car and open my trunk. I went. Torches supplied the only -light: I felt as though I were in a bandit’s cave. Yet I came through -well enough. Nothing contraband was found. I went back and sat down, -plunging into a Baedeker for Italian wisdom and wishing gloomily that I -had read more history than I had. - -Somewhere beyond Ventimiglia the train came to a dead stop in the dark, -and the next morning we were still stalled in the same place. I had -risen early, under the impression that I was to get out quickly, but -was waved back by the porter who repeated over and over, “_Beaucoup de -retard!_” I understood that much but I did not understand what caused -it, or that I would not arrive in Pisa until two in the afternoon. -I went into the dining-car and there encountered one of the most -obstreperous English women that I have ever met. She was obviously of -the highly intellectual class, but so haughty in her manner and so -loud-spoken in her opinions that she was really offensive. She was -having her morning fruit and rolls and some chops and was explaining to -a lady, who was with her, much of the character of Italy as she knew -it. She was of the type that never accepts an opinion from any one, -but invariably gives her own or corrects any that may be volunteered. -At one time I think she must have been attractive, for she was -moderately tall and graceful, but her face had become waxy and sallow, -and a little thin--I will not say hard, although it was anything but -ingratiating. My one wish was that she would stop talking and leave -the dining-car, she talked so loud; but she stayed on until her friend -and her husband arrived. I took him to be her husband by the way she -contradicted him. - -He was a very pleasing, intellectual person--the type of man, I -thought, who would complacently endure such a woman. He was certainly -not above the medium in height, quite well filled out, and decidedly -phlegmatic. I should have said from my first glance that he never took -any exercise of any kind; and his face had that interesting pallor -which comes from much brooding over the midnight oil. He had large, -soft, lustrous gray eyes and a mop of gray hair which hung low over -a very high white forehead. I must repeat here that I am the poorest -judge of people whom I am going to like of any human being. Now and -then I take to a person instantly, and my feeling endures for years. On -the other hand I have taken the most groundless oppositions based on -nothing at all to people of whom subsequently I have become very fond. -Perhaps my groundless opposition in this case was due to the fact that -the gentleman was plainly submissive and overborne by his loud-talking -wife. Anyhow I gave him a single glance and dismissed him from my -thoughts. I was far more interested in a stern, official-looking -Englishman with white hair who ordered his bottle of Perrier in a low, -rusty voice and cut his orange up into small bits with a knife. - -Presently I heard a German explaining to his wife about a wreck -ahead. We were just starting now, perhaps twenty-five or thirty miles -from Ventimiglia, and were dashing in and out of rocky tunnels and -momentarily bursting into wonderful views of walled caves and sunlit -sweeps of sea. The hill-town, the striped basilica with its square, -many-arched campanile was coming into view. I was delighted to see -open plains bordered in the distance by snow-capped mountains, and -dotted sparsely with little huts of stone and brick--how old, Heaven -only knows. “Here once the Tuscan shepherds strayed.” As Barfleur -said, Italy was much poorer than France. The cars and stations seemed -shabbier, the dress of the inhabitants much poorer. I saw natives, -staring idly at the cars as we flashed past, or taking freight away -from the platforms in rude carts drawn by oxen. Many of the vehicles -appeared to be rattle-trap, dusty, unpainted; and some miles this -side of Genoa--our first stop--we ran into a region where it had been -snowing and the ground was covered with a wet slushy snowfall. After -Monte Carlo, with its lemon and orange trees and its lovely palms, this -was a sad comedown; and I could scarcely realize that we were not so -much as a hundred miles away and going southward toward Rome at that. -I often saw, however, distant hills crowned with a stronghold or a -campanile in high browns and yellows, which made up for the otherwise -poor foreground. Often we dashed through a cave, protected by high -surrounding walls of rock, where the palm came into view again and -where one could see how plainly these high walls of stone made for a -tropic atmosphere. I heard the loud-voiced English woman saying, “It is -such a delight to see the high colors again. England is so dreary. I -never feel it so much as when we come down through here.” - -We were passing through a small Italian town, rich in whites, pinks, -browns and blues, a world of clothes-lines showing between rows of -buildings, and the crowds, pure Italian in type, plodding to and -fro along the streets. It was nice to see windows open here and the -sunshine pouring down and making dark shadows. I saw one Italian -woman, in a pink-dotted dress partly covered by a bright yellow apron, -looking out of a window; and then it was that I first got the tang of -Italy--the thing that I felt afterwards in Rome and Florence and Assisi -and Perugia--that wonderful love of color that is not rampant but just -deliciously selective, giving the eye something to feed on when it -least expects it. That is Italy! - -When nearly all the diners had left the car the English lady left also -and her husband remained to smoke. He was not so very far removed from -me, but he came a little nearer, and said: “The Italians must have -their striped churches and their wash lines or they wouldn’t be happy.” - -It was some time before he volunteered another suggestion, which was -that the Italians along this part of the coast had a poor region to -farm. I got up and left presently because I did not want to have -anything to do with his wife. I was afraid that I might have to talk to -her, which seemed to me a ghastly prospect. - -I sat in my berth and read the history of art as it related to -Florence, Genoa, and Pisa, interrupting my paragraphs with glances at -every interesting scene. The value of the prospect changed first from -one side of the train to the other, and I went out into the corridor to -open a window and look out. We passed through a valley where it looked -as though grapes were flourishing splendidly, and my Englishman came -out and told me the name of the place, saying that it was good wine -that was made there. He was determined to talk to me whether I would -or no, and so I decided to make the best of it. It just occurred to -me that he might be the least bit lonely, and, seeing that I was very -curious about the country through which we were passing, that he might -know something about Italy. The moment it dawned upon me that he might -be helpful to me in this respect I began to ask him questions, and I -found his knowledge to be delightfully wide. He knew Italy thoroughly. -As we proceeded he described how the country was divided into virtually -three valleys, separated by two mountain ranges, and what the lines of -its early, almost prehistoric, development, had been. He knew where -it was that Shelley had come to spend his summers, and spots that had -been preferred by Browning and other famous Englishmen. He talked -of the cities that lie in a row down the center of Italy--Perugia, -Florence, Bologna, Modena, Piacenza and Milan--of the fact that -Italy had no educational system whatsoever and that the priests were -bitterly opposed to it. He was sorry that I was not going to stop at -Spezia, because at Spezia the climate was very mild and the gulf very -beautiful. He was delighted to think that I was going to stop at Pisa -and see the cathedral and the Baptistery. He commented on the charms -of Genoa--commercialized as it had been these later years--saying that -there was a very beautiful Campo Santo and that some of the palaces of -the quarreling Guelphs and Ghibellines still remaining were well worth -seeing. When we passed the quarries of Carrara he told me of their age -and of how endless the quantity of marble still was. He was going to -Rome with his wife and he wanted to know if I would not look him up, -giving me the name of a hotel where he lived by the season. I caught -a note of remarkable erudition; for we fell to discussing religion -and priestcraft and the significance of government generally, and he -astonished me by the breadth of his knowledge. We passed to the subject -of metaphysics from which all religions spring; and then I saw how -truly philosophic and esoteric he was. His mind knew no country, his -knowledge no school. He led off by easy stages into vague speculations -as to the transcendental character of race impulses; and I knew I had -chanced upon a profound scholar as well as a very genial person. I was -very sorry now that I had been so rude to him. By the time we reached -Pisa we were fast friends, and he told me that he had a distinguished -friend, now a resident of Assisi, and that he would give me a letter to -him which would bring me charming intellectual companionship for a day -or two. I promised to seek him out at his hotel; and as we passed the -Leaning Tower and the Baptistery, not so very distant from the railroad -track as we entered Pisa, he gave me his card. I recognized the name -as connected with some intellectual labors of a most distinguished -character and I said so. He accepted the recognition gracefully and -asked me to be sure and come. He would show me around Rome. - -I gathered my bags and stepped out upon the platform at Pisa, eager to -see what I could in the few hours that I wished to remain. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -A STOP AT PISA - - -Baedeker says that Pisa has a population of twenty-seven thousand two -hundred people and that it is a quiet town. It is. I caught the spell -of a score of places like this as I walked out into the open square -facing the depot. The most amazing botch of a monument I ever saw in -my life I saw here--a puffing, swelling, strutting representation of -Umberto I, legs apart, whiskers rampant, an amazing cockade, all the -details of a gaudy uniform, a breast like a pouter-pigeon--outrageous! -It was about twelve or thirteen times as large as an ordinary man and -not more than twelve or fifteen feet from the ground! He looked like -a gorgon, a monster to eat babies, ready to leap upon you with loud -cries. I thought, “In Heaven’s name! is this what Italy is coming to! -How can it brook such an atrocity?” - -With the spirit of adventure strong within me I decided to find the -campanile and the cathedral for myself. I had seen it up the railroad -track, and, ignoring appealing guides with urgent, melancholy eyes, -I struck up walled streets of brown and gray and green with solid, -tight-closed, wooden shutters, cobble pavements and noiseless, empty -sidewalks. They were not exactly narrow, which astonished me a little, -for I had not learned that only the older portions of growing Italian -cities have narrow streets. All the newer sections which surround such -modern things as depots are wide and supposedly up to date. There was -a handsome trolley-car just leaving as I came out, a wide-windowed -shiny thing which illustrated just how fine trolley-cars can be, even -in Italy. I had learned from my Baedeker that Pisa was on the Arno. -I wanted to see the Arno because of Florence and Dante. Coming from -Ventimiglia I had read the short history of Pisa given in Baedeker--its -wars with Genoa, the building of its cathedral. It was interesting to -learn that the Pisans had expelled the Saracens from Sardinia in 1025, -and destroyed their fleet in 1063 near Palermo, that once they were the -most powerful adherents of the Ghibellines, and how terribly they were -defeated by the Genoese near Leghorn in 1284. I pumped up a vast desire -to read endless volumes concerning the history of Italy, now that I -was here on the ground, and when it could not be done on the instant. -My book told me that the great cathedral was erected after the naval -victory of the Pisans at Palermo and that the ancient bronze gates were -very wonderful. I knew of the Campo Santo with its sacred earth brought -from Palestine, and of the residence here of Niccolò Pisano. His famous -hexagonal pulpit in the Baptistery is a commonplace--almost as much so -as the Leaning Tower. I did not know that Galileo had availed himself -of the oblique position of the tower to make his experiments regarding -the laws of gravitation until I read it in my precious Baedeker, but it -was a fact none the less delightful for encountering it there. - -Let me here and now, once and for all, sing my praises of Baedeker and -his books. When I first went abroad it was with a lofty air that I -considered Barfleur’s references to the fact that Baedeker on occasion -would be of use to me. He wanted me to go through Europe getting my -impressions quite fresh and not disturbed by too much erudition such -as could be gathered from books. He might have trusted me. My longing -for erudition was constantly great, but my willingness to burn the -midnight oil in order to get it was exceedingly small. It was only at -the last moment, when I was confronted with some utterly magnificent -object, that I thumbed feverishly through my one source of supply--the -ever-to-be-praised and blessed Karl Baedeker--his books. I think the -German temperament is at its best when it is gathering all the data -about anything and putting it in apple-pie order before you. I defy the -most sneering and supercilious scholars and savants to look at these -marvelous volumes and not declare them wonderful. There is no color in -Baedeker anywhere, no joke, no emotion, no artistic enthusiasm. It is -a plain statement of delightful fact--fact so pointless without the -object before you, so invaluable when you are standing open-mouthed -wondering what it is all about! Trust the industrious, the laborious, -the stupendous, the painstaking Baedeker to put his finger on the exact -fact and tell you not what you might, but what you must, know to really -enjoy it. Take this little gem from page 430 of his volume on northern -Italy. It concerns the famous Baptistery which I was so eagerly seeking. - - The interior (visitors knock at the principal entrance; adm. - free) rests on eight columns and four piers, above which there - is a single triforium. In the center is a marble octagonal - _Font_ by Guido Bigarelli of Como (1246) and near it the famous - hexagonal _PULPIT_ borne by seven columns, by Niccolò Pisano, - 1260. The reliefs (comp. p.p. XXXIX, 432) on the pulpit are: - (1) Annunciation and Nativity; (2) Adoration of the Magi; (3) - Presentation in the Temple; (4) Crucifixion; (5) Last Judgment; - in the spandrels, Prophets and Evangelists; above the columns, - the Virtues.--Fine echo. - -Dry as dried potatoes, say you. Exactly. But go to Italy without a -Baedeker in your hand or precious knowledge stored up from other -sources and see what happens. Karl Baedeker is one of the greatest -geniuses Germany has ever produced. He knows how to give you what -you want, and has spread the fame of German thoroughness broadcast. I -count him a great human benefactor; and his native city ought to erect -a monument to him. Its base ought to be a bronze library stand full of -bronze Baedekers; and to this good purpose I will contribute freely and -liberally according to my means. - -When I reached the Arno, as I did by following this dull vacant street, -I was delighted to stop and look at its simple stone bridges, its muddy -yellow water not unlike that of the New River in West Virginia, the -plain, still, yellow houses lining its banks as far as I could see. The -one jarring note was the steel railroad bridge which the moderns have -built over it. It was a little consoling to look at an old moss-covered -fortress now occupied as a division headquarters by the Italian army, -and at a charming old gate which was part of a fortified palace left -over from Pisa’s warring days. The potential force of Italy was -overcoming me by leaps and bounds, and my mind was full of the old and -powerful Italian families of which the Middle Ages are so redolent. I -could not help thinking of the fact that the Renaissance had, in a way, -its beginning here in the personality of Niccolò Pisano, and of how -wonderful the future of Italy may yet be. There was an air of fallow -sufficiency about it that caused me to feel that, although it might be -a dull, unworked field this year or this century, another might see -it radiant with power and magnificence. It is a lordly and artistic -land--and I felt it here at Pisa. - -Wandering along the banks of the Arno, I came to a spot whence I could -see the collection of sacred buildings, far more sacred to art than -to religion. They were amazingly impressive, even from this distance, -towering above the low houses. A little nearer, standing on a space -of level grass, the boxing of yellow and brown and blue Italian houses -about them like a frame, they set my mouth agape with wonder and -delight. I walked into Pisa thinking it was too bad that any place so -dignified should have fallen so low as to be a dull, poverty-stricken -city; but I remained to think that if the Italians are wise (and they -_are_ wise and new-born also) they will once more have their tremendous -cities and their great artistic inheritances in the bargain. I think -now that perhaps of all the lovely things I saw abroad the cathedral -and tower and baptistery and campo santo of Pisa grouped as they are -in one lovely, spacious, green-sodded area, are the loveliest and -most perfect of all. It does not matter to me that the cathedral at -Pisa is not a true Gothic cathedral, as some have pointed out. It is -better than that--it is Italian Gothic; with those amazing artistic -conceptions, a bell-tower and a baptistery and a campo santo thrown in. -Trust the Italians to do anything that they do grandly, with a princely -lavishness. - -As I stepped first into this open square with these exquisite jewels -of cream-colored stone pulsating under the rays of an evening sun, it -was a spectacle that evoked a rare thrill of emotion, such as great -art must always evoke. There they stood--fretted, fluted, colonnaded, -crowded with lovely traceries, studded with lovely marbles, and showing -in every line and detail all that loving enthusiasm which is the first -and greatest characteristic of artistic genius. I can see those noble -old first citizens who wanted Pisa to be great, calling to their aid -the genius of such men as Pisano and Bonannus of Pisa and William of -Innsbruck and Diotisalvi and all the noble company of talent that -followed to plan, to carve, to color and to decorate. To me it is a -far more impressive and artistic thing than St. Peter’s in Rome. It -has a reserve and an artistic subtlety which exceeds the finest Gothic -cathedral in the world. Canterbury, Amiens and Rouen are bursts of -imagination and emotion; but the collection of buildings at Pisa is -the reserved, subtle, princely calculation of a great architect and a -great artist. It does not matter if it represents the handiwork, the -judgment and the taste of a hundred men of genius. It may be without -the wildfire of a cathedral like that at Cologne, but it approximates -the high classic reserve of a temple of Pallas Athene. It is Greek -in its dignity and beauty, not Christian and Gothic in its fire and -zeal. As I think of it, I would not give it for anything I have seen; -I would not have missed it if I had been compelled to sacrifice almost -everything else; and the Italian Government has done well to take it -and all similar achievements under its protection and to declare that -however religion may wax or wane this thing shall not be disturbed. It -is a great, a noble, a beautiful thing; and as such should be preserved -forever. - -The interior of the basilica was to me a soothing dream of beauty. -There are few interiors anywhere in this world that truly satisfy, but -this is one of them. White marble turned yellow by age is gloriously -satisfying. This interior, one hundred feet in diameter and one -hundred and seventy-nine feet high, has all the smooth perfection of -a blown bubble. Its curve recedes upward and inward so gracefully -that the eye has no quarrel with any point. My mind was fascinated by -the eight columns and four piers which seemingly support it all and -by the graceful open gallery or arcade in the wall resting above the -arches below. The octagonal baptismal font, so wide and so beautiful, -and the graceful pulpit by Pisano, with its seven columns and three -friendly-looking lions, is utterly charming. While I stood and stroked -the heads of these amiable-looking beasts, a guide who had seen me -enter came in, and without remark of any kind began slowly and clearly -to articulate the scale, in order that I might hear the “fine echo” -mentioned by Baedeker. Long practice had made him perfect, for by -giving each note sufficient space to swell and redouble and quadruple -itself he finally managed to fill the great chamber with a charming -harmony, rich and full, not unlike that of a wind-harp. - -If I fell instantly in love with the Baptistery, I was equally moved -by the Leaning Tower--a perfect thing. If man is wise and thoughtful -he can keep the wonders of great beauty by renewing them as they wear; -but will he remain wise and thoughtful? So little is thought of true -beauty. Think of the guns thundering on the Parthenon and of Napoleon -carrying away the horses of St. Mark’s! I mounted the steps of the -tower (one hundred and seventy-nine feet, the same height as the -Baptistery), walking out on and around each of its six balustrades and -surveying the surrounding landscape rich in lovely mountains showing -across a plain. The tower tilts fourteen feet out of plumb, and as I -walked its circular arcades at different heights I had the feeling -that I might topple over and come floundering down to the grass below. -As I rose higher the view increased in loveliness; and at the top I -found an old bell-man who called my attention by signs to the fact that -the heaviest of the seven bells was placed on the side opposite the -overhanging wall of the tower to balance it. He also pointed in the -different directions which presented lovely views, indicating to the -west and southwest the mouth of the Arno, the Mediterranean, Leghorn -and the Tuscan Islands, to the north the Alps and Mount Pisani where -the Carrara quarries are, and to the south, Rome. Some Italian soldiers -from the neighboring barracks came up as I went down and entered the -cathedral, which interiorly was as beautiful as any which I saw -abroad. The Italian Gothic is so much more perfectly spaced on the -interior than the Northern Gothic and the great flat roof, coffered -in gold, is so much richer and more soothing in its aspect. The whole -church is of pure marble yellowed by age, relieved, however, by black -and colored bands. - -I came away after a time and entered the Campo Santo, the loveliest -thing of its kind that I saw in Europe. I never knew, strange to -relate, that graveyards were made, or could be made, into anything -so impressively artistic. This particular ground was nothing more -than an oblong piece of grass, set with several cypress trees and -surrounded with a marble arcade, below the floor and against the walls -of which are placed the marbles, tombs and sarcophagi. The outer walls -are solid, windowless and decorated on the inside with those naïve, -light-colored frescoes of the pupils of Giotto. The inner wall is full -of arched, pierced windows with many delicate columns through which -you look to the green grass and the cypress trees and the perfectly -smooth, ornamented dome at one end. I have paid my tribute to the -cypress trees, so I will only say that here, as always, wherever I -saw them--one or many--I thrilled with delight. They are as fine -artistically as any of the monuments or bronze doors or carved pulpits -or perfect baptismal fonts. They belong where the great artistic -impulse of Italy has always put them--side by side with perfect things. -For me they added the one final, necessary touch to this realm of -romantic memory. I see them now and I hear them sigh. - -I walked back to my train through highly colored, winding, -sidewalkless, quaint-angled streets crowded with houses, the façades -of which we in America to-day attempt to imitate on our Fifth Avenues -and Michigan Avenues and Rittenhouse Squares. The medieval Italians -knew so well what to do with the door and the window and the cornice -and the wall space. The size of their window is what they choose to -make it, and the door is instinctively put where it will give the last -touch of elegance. How often have I mentally applauded that selective -artistic discrimination and reserve which will use one panel of colored -stone or one niche or one lamp or one window, and no more. There is -space--lots of it--unbroken until you have had just enough; and then -it will be relieved just enough by a marble plaque framed in the -walls, a coat-of-arms, a window, a niche. I would like to run on in my -enthusiasm and describe that gem of a palace that is now the Palazzo -Communale at Perugia, but I will refrain. Only these streets in Pisa -were rich with angles and arcades and wonderful doorways and solid -plain fronts which were at once substantial and elegant. Trust the -Italian of an older day to do well whatever he did at all; and I for -one do not think that this instinct is lost. It will burst into flame -again in the future; or save greatly what it already possesses. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - -FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF ROME - - -As we approached Rome in the darkness I was on the qui vive for my -first glimpse of it; and impatient with wonder as to what the morning -would reveal. I was bound for the Hotel Continental--the abode, for the -winter at least, of Barfleur’s mother, the widow of an Oxford don. I -expected to encounter a severe and conservative lady of great erudition -who would eye the foibles of Paris and Monte Carlo with severity. - -“My mother,” Barfleur said, “is a very conservative person. She is -greatly concerned about me. When you see her, try to cheer her up, and -give her a good report of me. I don’t doubt you will find her very -interesting; and it is just possible that she will take a fancy to you. -She is subject to violent likes and dislikes.” - -I fancied Mrs. Barfleur as a rather large woman with a smooth placid -countenance, a severe intellectual eye that would see through all my -shams and make-believes on the instant. - -It was midnight before the train arrived. It was raining; and as I -pressed my nose to the window-pane viewing the beginning lamps, I saw -streets and houses come into view--apartment houses, if you please, -and street cars and electric arc-lights, and asphalt-paved streets, -and a general atmosphere of modernity. We might have been entering -Cleveland for any particular variation it presented. But just when I -was commenting to myself on the strangeness of entering ancient Rome -in a modern compartment car and of seeing box cars and engines, coal -cars and flat cars loaded with heavy material, gathered on a score of -parallel tracks, a touch of the ancient Rome came into view for an -instant and was gone again in the dark and rain. It was an immense, -desolate tomb, its arches flung heavenward in great curves, its rounded -dome rent and jagged by time. Nothing but ancient Rome could have -produced so imposing a ruin and it came over me in an instant, fresh -and clear like an electric shock, like a dash of cold water, that this -was truly all that was left of the might and glory of an older day. -I recall now with delight the richness of that sensation. Rome that -could build the walls and the baths in far Manchester and London, -Rome that could occupy the Ile-St.-Louis in Paris as an outpost, that -could erect the immense column to Augustus on the heights above Monte -Carlo, Rome that could reach to the uppermost waters of the Nile and -the banks of the Tigris and Euphrates and rule, was around me. Here it -was--the city to which St. Paul had been brought, where St. Peter had -sat as the first father of the Church, where the first Latins had set -up their shrine to Romulus and Remus, and worshiped the she-wolf that -had nourished them. Yes, this was Rome, truly enough, in spite of the -apartment houses and the street cars and the electric lights. I came -into the great station at five minutes after twelve amid a clamor of -Italian porters and a crowd of disembarking passengers. I made my way -to the baggage-room, looking for a Cook’s guide to inquire my way to -the Continental, when I was seized upon by one. - -“Are you Mr. Dreiser?” he said. - -I replied that I was. - -“Mrs. Barfleur told me to say that she was waiting for you and that you -should come right over and inquire for her.” - -I hurried away, followed by a laboring porter, and found her waiting -for me in the hotel lobby,--not the large, severe person I had -imagined, but a small, enthusiastic, gracious little lady. She told me -that my room was all ready and that the bath that I had demanded was -connected with it, and that she had ordered some coffee sent up, but -that I could have anything else that I chose. She began with a flood of -questions--how was her poor dear son, and her daughter in London? And -had we lost much money at Monte Carlo? And had we been very nice and -quiet in Paris? And had I had a pleasant trip? And was it very cold in -Paris? And would I like to go with her here and there for a few days, -particularly until I was acclimated and able to find my own way about? -I answered her freely and rapidly, for I took a real liking to her and -decided at once that I was going to have a very nice time--she was so -motherly and friendly. It struck me as delightful that she should wait -up for me, and see that I was welcomed and comfortably housed; I can -see her now with a loving memory in her charming gray silk dress and -black lace shawl. - -The first morning I arose in Rome it was raining; but to my joy, in -an hour or two the sun came out and I saw a very peculiar city. Rome -has about the climate of Monte Carlo, except that it is a little more -changeable, and in the mornings and evenings quite chill. Around noon -every day it was very warm--almost invariably bright, deliciously -bright; but dark and cool where the buildings or the trees cast a -shadow. I was awakened by huzzaing which I learned afterwards was for -some officer who had lately returned from Morocco. - -Like the English, the Italians are not yet intimately acquainted with -the bathroom, and this particular hotel reminded me of the one in -Manchester with its bath chambers as large as ordinary living-rooms. My -room looked out into an inner court, which was superimposed upon the -lobby of the hotel, and was set with palms and flowers which flourished -mightily. I looked out through an opening in this court to some brown -buildings over the way--brown as only the Italians know how to paint -them, and bustling with Italian life. - -Mrs. Barfleur had kindly volunteered to show me about this first day, -and I was to meet her promptly at ten in the lobby. She wanted me -to take a street car to begin with, because there was one that went -direct to St. Peter’s along the Via Nazionale, and because there were -so many things she could show me that way. We went out into the public -square which adjoined the hotel and there it was that she pointed out -the Museo delle Terme, located in the ancient baths of Diocletian, -and assured me that the fragments of wall that I saw jutting out from -between buildings in one or two places dated from the Roman Empire. The -fragment of the wall of Servius Tullius which we encountered in the Via -Nazionale dates from 578 B. C., and the baths of Diocletian, so close -to the hotel, from 303 A. D. The large ruin that I had seen the night -before on entering the city was a temple to Minerva Medica, dating from -about 250 A. D. I shall never forget my sensation on seeing modern -stores--drug stores, tobacco stores, book stores, all with bright clean -windows, adjoining these very ancient ruins. It was something for the -first time to see a fresh, well-dressed modern throng going about its -morning’s business amid these rude suggestions of a very ancient life. - -Nearly all the traces of ancient Rome, however, were apparently -obliterated, and you saw only busy, up-to-date thoroughfares, with -street cars, shops, and a gay metropolitan life generally. I have to -smile when I think that I mistook a section of the old wall of Servius -Tullius for the remnants of a warehouse which had recently been -removed. All the time in Rome I kept suffering this impression--that -I was looking at something which had only recently been torn down, -when as a matter of fact I was looking at the earlier or later walls -of the ancient city or the remnants of famous temples and baths. This -particular street car line on which we were riding was a revelation -in its way, for it was full of black-frocked priests in shovel hats, -monks in brown cowls and sandals, and Americans and English old maids -in spectacles who carried their Baedekers with severe primness and who -were, like ourselves, bound for the Vatican. The conductors, it struck -me, were a trifle more civil than the American brand, but not much; and -the native passengers were a better type of Italian than we usually see -in America. I sighted the Italian policeman at different points along -the way--not unlike the Parisian gendarme in his high cap and short -cape. The most striking characteristic, however, was the great number -of priests and soldiers who were much more numerous than policemen -and taxi drivers in New York. It seemed to me that on this very first -morning I saw bands of priests going to and fro in all directions, but, -for the rest of it, Rome was not unlike Monte Carlo and Paris combined, -only that its streets were comparatively narrow and its colors high. - -Mrs. Barfleur was most kindly and industrious in her explanations. She -told me that in riding down this Via Nazionale we were passing between -those ancient hills, the Quirinale and the Viminale, by the Forum of -Trajan, the Gallery of Modern Art, the palaces of the Aldobrandini and -Rospigliosi, and a score of other things which I have forgotten. When -we reached the open square which faces St. Peter’s, I expected to be -vastly impressed by my first glimpse of the first Roman Church of the -world; but in a way I was very much disappointed. To me it was not -in the least beautiful, as Canterbury was beautiful, as Amiens was -beautiful, and as Pisa was beautiful. I was not at all enthusiastic -over the semicircular arcade in front with its immense columns. I knew -that I ought to think it was wonderful, but I could not. I think in a -way that the location and arrangement of the building does not do it -justice, and it has neither the somber gray of Amiens nor the delicate -creamy hue of the buildings of Pisa. It is brownish and gray by turns. -As I drove nearer I realized that it was very large--astonishingly -large--and that by some hocus-pocus of perspective and arrangement this -was not easily realizable. I was eager to see its interior, however, -and waived all exterior consideration until later. - -As we were first going up the steps of St. Peter’s and across the -immense stone platform that leads to the door, a small Italian -wedding-party arrived, without any design of being married there, -however; merely to visit the various shrines and altars. The gentleman -was somewhat self-conscious in a long black frock coat and high hat--a -little, brown, mustached, dapper man whose patent leather shoes -sparkled in the sun. The lady was a rosy Italian girl, very much -belaced and besilked, with a pert, practical air; a little velvet-clad -page carried her train. There were a number of friends--the parents on -both sides, I took it--and some immediate relatives who fell solemnly -in behind, two by two; and together this little ant-like band crossed -the immense threshold. Mrs. Barfleur and I followed eagerly after--or -at least I did, for I fancied they were to be married here and I wanted -to see how it was to be done at St. Peter’s. I was disappointed, -however; for they merely went from altar to altar and shrine to shrine, -genuflecting, and finally entered the sacred crypt, below which the -bones of St. Peter are supposed to be buried. It was a fine religious -beginning to what I trust has proved a happy union. - -St. Peter’s, if I may be permitted to continue a little on that curious -theme, is certainly the most amazing church in the world. It is not -beautiful--I am satisfied that no true artist would grant that; but -after you have been all over Europe and have seen the various edifices -of importance, it still sticks in your mind as astounding, perhaps the -most astounding of all. While I was in Rome I learned by consulting -guide-books, attending lectures and visiting the place myself, that -it is nothing more than a hodge-podge of the vagaries and enthusiasms -of a long line of able pontiffs. To me the Catholic Church has such a -long and messy history of intrigue and chicanery that I for one cannot -contemplate its central religious pretensions with any peace of mind. -I am not going into the history of the papacy, nor the internecine -and fratricidal struggles of medieval Italy; but what veriest tyro -does not grasp the significance of what I mean? Julius II, flanking -a Greek-cross basilica with a hexastyle portico to replace the -Constantinian basilica, which itself had replaced the oratory of St. -Anacletus on this spot, and that largely to make room for his famous -tomb which was to be the finest thing in it; Urban VIII melting down -the copper roof of the Panthéon portico in order to erect the showy -baldachino! I do not now recall what ancient temples were looted for -marble nor what popes did the looting, but that it was plentifully -done I am satisfied and Van Ranke will bear me out. It was Julius II -and Leo X who resorted to the sale of indulgences, which aided in -bringing about the Reformation, for the purpose of paying the enormous -expenses connected with the building of this lavish structure. Think -of how the plans of Bramante and Michelangelo and Raphael and Carlo -Maderna were tossed about between the Latin cross and the Greek cross -and between a portico of one form and a portico of another form! -Wars, heartaches, struggles, contentions--these are they of which St. -Peter’s is a memorial. As I looked at the amazing length--six hundred -and fifteen feet--and the height of the nave--one hundred and fifty-two -feet--and the height of the dome from the pavement in the interior to -the roof--four hundred and five feet--and saw that the church actually -contained forty-six immense altars and read that it contained seven -hundred and forty-eight columns of marble, stone or bronze, three -hundred and eighty-six statues and two hundred and ninety windows, I -began to realize how astounding the whole thing was. It was really so -large, and so tangled historically, and so complicated in the history -of its architectural development, that it was useless for me to attempt -to synchronize its significance in my mind. I merely stared, staggered -by the great beauty and value of the immense windows, the showy and -astounding altars. I came back again and again; but I got nothing save -an unutterable impression of overwhelming grandeur. It is far too rich -in its composition for mortal conception. No one, I am satisfied, truly -completely realizes how _grand_ it is. It answers to that word exactly. -Browning’s poem, “The Bishop Orders His Tomb at St. Praxed’s,” gives a -faint suggestion of what any least bit of it is like. Any single tomb -of any single pope--of which it seemed to me there were no end--might -have had this poem written about it. Each one appears to have desired -a finer tomb than the other; and I can understand the eager enthusiasm -of Sixtus V (1588), who kept eight hundred men working night and day on -the dome in order to see how it was going to look. And well he might. -Murray tells the story of how on one occasion, being in want of another -receptacle for water, the masons tossed the body of Urban VI out of -his sarcophagus, put aside his bones in a corner, and gave the ring -on his finger to the architect. The pope’s remains were out of their -receptacle for fifteen years or more before they were finally restored. - -The Vatican sculptural and art museums were equally astonishing. I had -always heard of its eleven hundred rooms and its priceless collections; -but it was thrilling and delightful to see them face to face, all the -long line of Greek and Roman and medieval perfections, chiseled or -painted, transported from ruins or dug from the earth--such wonders as -the porphyry vase and Laocoon, taken from the silent underground rooms -of Nero’s house, where they had stood for centuries, unheeded, in all -their perfection; and the river god, representative of the Tiber. I -was especially interested to see the vast number of portrait busts of -Roman personalities--known and unknown--which gave me a face-to-face -understanding of that astounding people. They came back now or arose -vital before me--Claudius, Nerva, Hadrian, Faustina the elder, wife of -Antoninus Pius, Pertinax, whose birthplace was near Monte Carlo, Julius -Cæsar, Cicero, Antoninus Pius, Tiberius, Mark Antony, Aurelius Lepidus, -and a score of others. It was amazing to me to see how like the modern -English and Americans they were, and how practical and present-day-like -they appeared. It swept away the space of two thousand years as having -no significance whatever, and left you face to face with the far older -problem of humanity. I could not help thinking that the duplicates -of these men are on our streets to-day in New York and Chicago and -London--urgent, calculating, thinking figures--and that they are doing -to-day much as these forerunners did two thousand years before. I -cannot see the slightest difference between an emperor like Hadrian -and a banker like Morgan. And the head of a man like Lord Salisbury is -to be found duplicated in a score of sculptures in various museums -throughout the Holy City. I realized, too, that any one of hundreds of -these splendid marbles, if separated from their populous surroundings -and given to a separate city, meager in artistic possessions, would -prove a great public attraction. To him that hath shall be given, -however; and to those that have not shall be taken away even the -little that they have. And so it is that Rome fairly suffocates with -its endless variety of artistic perfection--one glory almost dimming -the other--while the rest of the world yearns for a crust of artistic -beauty and has nothing. It is like the Milky Way for jewels as -contrasted with those vast starless spaces that give no evidence of -sidereal life. - -I wandered in this region of wonders attended by my motherly friend -until it was late in the afternoon, and then we went for lunch. Being -new to Rome, I was not satisfied with what I had seen, but struck -forth again--coming next into the region of Santa Maria Maggiore -and up an old stairway that had formed a part of a Medici palace -now dismantled--only to find myself shortly thereafter and quite by -accident in the vicinity of the Colosseum. I really had not known that -I was coming to it, for I was not looking for it. I was following idly -the lines of an old wall that lay in the vicinity of San Pietro in -Vincoli when suddenly it appeared, lying in a hollow at the foot of a -hill--the Esquiline. I was rejoicing in having discovered an old well -that I knew must be of very ancient date, and a group of cypresses -that showed over an ancient wall, when I looked--and there it was. It -was exactly as the pictures have represented it--oval, many-arched, -a thoroughly ponderous ruin. I really did not gain a suggestion of -the astonishing size of it until I came down the hill, past tin cans -that were lying on the grass--a sign of the modernity that possesses -Rome--and entered through one of the many arches. Then it came on -me--the amazing thickness of the walls, the imposing size and weight -of the fragments, the vast dignity of the uprising flights of seats, -and the great space now properly cleared, devoted to the arena. All -that I ever knew or heard of it came back as I sat on the cool stones -and looked about me while other tourists walked leisurely about, their -Baedekers in their hands. It was a splendid afternoon. The sun was -shining down in here; and it was as warm as though it were May in -Indiana. Small patches of grass and moss were detectable everywhere, -growing soft and green between the stones. The five thousand wild -beasts slaughtered in the arena at its dedication, which remained as -a thought from my high-school days, were all with me. I read up as -much as I could, watching several workmen lowering themselves by ropes -from the top of the walls, the while they picked out little tufts -of grass and weeds beginning to flourish in the earthy niches. Its -amazing transformations from being a quarry for greedy popes by whom -most of its magnificent marbles were removed, to its narrow escape -from becoming a woolen-mill operated by Sixtus V, were all brooded -over here. It was impossible not to be impressed by the thought of -the emperors sitting on their especial balcony; the thousands upon -thousands of Romans intent upon some gladiatorial feat; the guards -outside the endless doors, the numbers of which can still be seen, -giving entrance to separate sections and tiers of seats; and the vast -array of civic life which must have surged about. I wondered whether -there were venders who sold sweets or food and what their cries were -in Latin. One could think of the endless procession that wound its way -here on gala days. Time works melancholy changes. - -I left as the sun was going down, tremendously impressed with the -wonder of a life that is utterly gone. It was like finding the -glistening shell of an extinct beetle or the suggestion in rocks of -a prehistoric world. As I returned to my hotel along the thoroughly -modern streets with their five- and six-story tenement and apartment -buildings, their street cars and customary vehicles, their newspaper, -flower and cigar stands, I tried to restore and keep in my mind a -suggestion of the magnificence that Gibbon makes so significant. It -was hard; for be one’s imagination what it will, it is difficult to -live outside of one’s own day and hour. The lights already beginning to -flourish in the smart shops, distracted my mood. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - -MRS. Q. AND THE BORGIA FAMILY - - -“I am going to introduce you to such a nice woman,” Mrs. Barfleur told -me the second morning I was in Rome, in her very enthusiastic way. -“She is charming. I am sure you will like her. She comes from America -somewhere--New York, I think. Her husband is an author, I believe. I -heard so.” She chattered on in her genial, talk-making way. “I don’t -understand these American women; they go traveling about Europe without -their husbands in such a strange way. Now, you know in England we would -not think of doing anything of that kind.” - -Mrs. Barfleur was decidedly conservative in her views and English in -manner and speech, but she had the saving proclivity of being intensely -interested in life, and realized that all is not gold that glitters. -She preferred to be among people who know and maintain good form, who -are interested in maintaining the social virtues as they stand accepted -and who, if they do not actually observe all of the laws and tenets -of society, at least maintain a deceiving pretense. She had a little -coterie of friends in the hotel, as I found, and friends outside, such -as artists, newspaper correspondents and officials connected with the -Italian court and the papal court. I never knew a more industrious -social mentor in the shape of a woman, though among men her son -outstripped her. She was apparently here, there and everywhere about -the hotel, in the breakfast-room, in the dining-room, in the card-room, -in the writing-room, greeting her friends, planning games, planning -engagements, planning sightseeing trips. She was pleasant, too; -delightful; for she knew what to do and when to do it, and if she was -not impelled by a large constructive motive of any kind, nevertheless -she had a sincere and discriminating love of the beautiful which caused -her to excuse much for the sake of art. I found her well-disposed, -kindly, sympathetic and very anxious to make the best of this sometimes -dull existence, not only for herself, but for every one else. I liked -her very much. - -Mrs. Q. I found on introduction, to be a beautiful woman of perhaps -thirty-three or four, with two of the healthiest, prettiest, -best-behaved children I have ever seen. I found her to be an -intellectual and brilliant woman with an overwhelming interest in the -psychology of history and current human action. - -“I trust I see an unalienated American,” I observed as Mrs. Barfleur -brought her forward, encouraged by her brisk, quizzical smile. - -“You do, you do,” she replied smartly, “as yet. Nothing has happened to -my Americanism except Italy, and that’s only a second love.” - -She had a hoarse little laugh which was nevertheless agreeable. -I felt the impact of a strong, vital temperament, self-willed, -self-controlled, intensely eager and ambitious. I soon discovered she -was genuinely interested in history, which is one of my great failings -and delights. She liked vital, unillusioned biography such as that of -Jean Jacques Rousseau’s Confessions, Cellini’s Diary, and the personal -reminiscences of various court favorites in different lands. She was -interested in some plays, but cared little for fiction, which I take -to be commendable. Her great passion at the moment, she told me, was -the tracing out in all its ramifications of the history and mental -attitude of the Borgia family especially Cæsar and Lucrezia--which I -look upon as a remarkable passion for a woman. It takes a strong, -healthy, clear-thinking temperament to enjoy the mental vagaries of -the Borgias--father, son and daughter. She had conceived a sincere -admiration for the courage, audacity, passion and directness of -action of Cæsar, to say nothing of the lymphatic pliability and lure -of Lucrezia, and the strange philosophic anarchism and despotic -individualism of their father, Alexander VI. - -I wonder how much the average reader knows of the secret history of -the Borgias. It is as modern as desire, as strange as the strangest -vagaries of which the mind is capable. I am going to give here the -outline of the Borgia family history as Mrs. Q. crisply related it to -me, on almost the first evening we met, for I, like so many Americans, -while knowing something of these curious details in times past had but -the haziest recollection then. To be told it in Rome itself by a breezy -American who used the vernacular and who simply could not suppress her -Yankee sense of humor, was as refreshing an experience as occurred in -my whole trip. Let me say first that Mrs. Q. admired beyond words the -Italian subtlety, craft, artistic insight, political and social wisdom, -governing ability, and as much as anything their money-getting and -money-keeping capacities. The raw practicality of this Italian family -thrilled her. - - You will remember that Rodrigo Lanzol, a Spaniard who - afterwards assumed the name of Rodrigo Borgia, because his - maternal uncle of that name was fortunate enough to succeed - to the papacy as Calixtus III, and could do him many good - turns afterwards, himself succeeded to the papacy by bribery - and other outrages under the title of Alexander VI. That was - August 10, 1442. Before that, however, as nephew to Calixtus - III, he had been made bishop, cardinal, and vice-chancellor of - the Church solely because he was a relative and favored by his - uncle; and all this before he was thirty-five. He had proceeded - to Rome, established himself with many mistresses at his call - in a magnificent palace, and at the age of thirty-seven, his - uncle Calixtus III having died, was reprimanded by Pius II, the - new pope, for his riotous and adulterous life. By 1470, when - he was forty-nine he took to himself, as his favorite, Vanozza - dei Cattani, the former wife of three different husbands. By - Vanozza, who was very charming, he had four children, all of - whom he prized highly--Giovanni, afterwards Duke of Gandia, - born 1474; Cæsar, 1476; Lucrezia, 1480; Geoffreddo or Giuffré, - born 1481 or 1482. There were other children--Girolamo, - Isabella and Pier Luigi, whose parentage on the mother’s side - is uncertain; and still another child, Laura, whom he acquired - via Giulia Farnese, the daughter of the famous family of - that name, who was his mistress after he tired, some years - later, of Vanozza. Meanwhile his children had grown up or were - fairly well-grown when he became pope, which opened the most - astonishing chapter of the history of this strange family. - - Alexander was a curious compound of paternal affection, love - of gold, love of women, vanity, and other things. He certainly - was fond of his children or he would not have torn Italy with - dissension in order to advantage them in their fortunes. His - career is the most ruthless and weird of any that I know. - - He was no sooner pope (about April, 1493) than he proposed to - carve out careers for his family--his favored children by his - favorite mistress. In 1492, the same year he was made pope, - he created Cæsar, his sixteen-year-old son, studying at Pisa, - a cardinal, showing the state of the papacy in those days. He - proposed to marry his daughter Lucrezia well, and having the - year before, when she was only eleven, betrothed her to one Don - Cherubin de Centelles, a Spaniard, he broke this arrangement - and had Lucrezia married by proxy to Don Gasparo de Procida, - son of the Count of Aversa, a man of much more importance, who, - he thought, could better advance her fortune. - - Italy, however, was in a very divided and disorganized state. - There was a King of Naples, a Duke of Venice, a Duke of Milan, - a separate state life at Pisa, Genoa, Florence and elsewhere. - In order to build himself up and become very powerful, and - to give preferment to each of his sons, some of these states - had to be conquered and controlled; and so the old gentleman, - without conscience and without mercy except as suited his whim, - was for playing politics, making war, exercising treachery, - murdering, poisoning, persuading, bribing--anything and - everything to obtain his ends. He must have been well thought - of as a man of his word, for when he had made a deal with - Charles VIII of France to assist him in invading and conquering - Naples, the king demanded and obtained Cæsar, Alexander’s son, - aged twenty-one, as a hostage for faithful performance of - agreement. He had not taken him very far, however, before the - young devil escaped and returned to Rome, where subsequently - his father, finding it beneficial to turn against the King of - France, did so. - - But to continue. While his father was politicking and - trafficking in this way for the benefit of himself and his dear - family, young Cæsar was beginning to develop a few thoughts - and tendencies of his own. Alexander VI was planning to create - fiefs or dukedoms out of the papal states and out of the - Kingdom of Naples and give them to his eldest son, Giovanni, - and his youngest, Giuffré. Cæsar would have none of this. He - saw himself as a young cardinal being left out in the cold. - Besides, there was a cause of friction between him and his - brother Giovanni over the affections of their youngest brother - Giuffré’s wife, Sancha. They were both sharing the latter’s - favors, and so one day, in order to clear matters up and teach - his father (whose favorite he was) where to bestow his benefits - and so that he might have Sancha all to himself--he murdered - his brother Giovanni. The latter’s body, after a sudden and - strange absence, was found in the Tiber, knife-marked, and all - was local uproar until the young cardinal was suspected, when - matters quieted down and nothing more was thought of it. There - was also thought to be some rivalry between Cæsar and Giovanni - over the affections of their sister Lucrezia. - - After this magnificent evidence of ability, the way was clear - for Cæsar. He was at once (July, 1497) sent as papal legate to - Naples to crown Frederick of Aragon; and it was while there - that he met Carlotta, the daughter of the king, and wanted - to marry her. She would have none of him. “What, marry that - priest, that bastard of a priest!” she is alleged to have said; - and that settled the matter. This may have had something to - do with Cæsar’s desire to get out of Holy Orders and return - to civil life, for the next year (1498) he asked leave of - the papal consistory not to be a cardinal any longer and was - granted this privilege “for the good of his soul.” He then - undertook the pleasant task, as papal legate, of carrying to - Louis XII of France the pope’s bull annulling the marriage of - Louis with Jeanne of France in order that he might marry Anne - of Brittany. On this journey he met Charlotte d’Albret, sister - of the King of Navarre, whom he married. He was given the duchy - of Valentinois for his gracious service to Louis XII and, - loaded with honors, returned to Rome in order to further his - personal fortunes with his father’s aid. - - In the meanwhile there were a number of small principalities in - Romagna, a territory near Milan, which his father Alexander VI - was viewing with a covetous eye. One of these was controlled - by Giovanni Sforza, Lord of Pesaro, whom Alexander, at a - time when he wanted to pit the strength of Milan against the - subtle machinations of the King of Naples--caused Lucrezia - his daughter, then only thirteen years of age, to marry, - her union with the Count of Aversa having by this time been - severed. Alexander having won the friendship of the King of - Naples, he decided to proceed against the princelings of - Romagna and confiscated their property. Cæsar was tolled off - as general to accomplish this for himself, being provided - men and means. Young Sforza, who had married Lucrezia, found - himself in a treacherous position,--his own brother-in-law, - with the assistance of his father-in-law, plotting against - his life,--and fled with his wife, the fair Lucrezia, aged - fifteen, to Pesaro. There he was fought by Cæsar who, however, - not having sufficient troops was checked for the time being and - returned to Rome. A year or so later, Pope Alexander being in a - gentler frame of mind--it was Christmas and he desired all his - children about him--invited them all home, including Lucrezia - and her husband. Then followed a series of magnificent fêtes - and exhibitions in honor of all this at Rome, and the family, - including the uncertain son-in-law, husband of Lucrezia, seemed - to be fairly well united in bonds of peace. - - Unfortunately, however, a little later (1497) the pope’s mood - changed again. He was now, after some intermediate quarrels, - once more friendly with the King of Naples and decided that - Sforza was no longer a fit husband for Lucrezia. Then came the - annulment of this marriage and the remarriage of Lucrezia to - Alphonso of Aragon, Duke of Bisceglie, a relative and favorite - of the King of Naples, aged eighteen and handsome. But, alas! - no sooner is this fairly begun than new complications arise. - The pope thinks he sees an opportunity to destroy the power - of Naples as a rival with the aid of the King of France, Louis - XII. He lends assistance to the latter, who comes to invade - Naples, and young Bisceglie, now fearing for his life at the - hands of his treacherous father-in-law, deserts Rome and - Lucrezia and flees. Louis XII proceeds against Naples. Spoleto - falls and Lucrezia, Bisceglie’s wife, as representative of the - pope (aged eighteen) is sent to receive the homage of Spoleto! - - But the plot merely thickens. There comes a nice point in here - on which historians comment variously. Incest is the basis. It - was one time assumed that Alexander, the father, during all - these various shifts treated his daughter as his mistress. - Her brother Cæsar also bore the same relation to her. Father - and son were rivals, then, for the affections and favors of - the daughter-sister. To offset the affections of the son the - father has the daughter lure her husband, Bisceglie, back to - Rome. From all accounts he was very much in love with his wife - who was beautiful but dangerous because of her charms and the - manner in which she was coveted by others. In 1499, when he was - twenty and Cæsar twenty-three, he was lured back and the next - year, because of Cæsar’s jealousy of his monopoly of his own - wife (Cæsar being perhaps denied his usual freedom) Bisceglie - was stabbed while going up the steps of the papal palace by - Cæsar Borgia, his brother-in-law, and that in the presence of - his father-in-law, Alexander VI, the pope of Rome. According - to one account, on sight of Cæsar, jumping out from behind a - column, Alphonso sought refuge behind Alexander, the pope, who - spread out his purple robe to protect him, through which Cæsar - drove his knife into the bosom of his brother-in-law. The dear - old father and father-in-law was severely shocked. He was quite - depressed, in fact. He shook his head dismally. The wound was - not fatal, however. Bisceglie was removed to the house of a - cardinal near-by, where he was attended by his wife, Lucrezia, - and his sister-in-law, Sancha, wife of Giuffré, both of whom he - apparently feared a little, for they were compelled first to - partake of all food presented in order to prove that it was not - poisoned. In this house--in this sick-chamber doorway--suddenly - and unexpectedly one day there appears the figure of Cæsar. - The ensuing scene (Lucrezia and Sancha present) is not given. - Bisceglie is stabbed in his bed and this time dies. Is the - crime avenged? Not at all. This is Papa Alexander’s own - dominion. This is a family affair, and father is very fond of - Cæsar, so the matter is hushed up. - - Witness the interesting final chapters. Cæsar goes off, - October, 1500, to fight the princes in Romagna once more, among - whom are Giovanni, and Sforza, one of Lucrezia’s ex-husbands. - July, 1501, Alexander leaves the papal palace in Rome to fight - the Colonna, one of the two powerful families of Rome, with the - assistance of the other powerful family, the Orsini. In his - absence Lucrezia, his beloved, is acting-pope! January first - (or thereabouts), 1501, Lucrezia is betrothed to Alphonso, son - and heir to Ercole d’Este, whose famous villa near Rome is - still to be seen. Neither Alphonso nor his father was anxious - for this union, but Papa Alexander, Pope of Rome, has set his - heart on it. By bribes and threats he brings about a proxy - marriage--Alphonso not being present--celebrated with great - pomp at St. Peter’s. January, 1502, Lucrezia arrives in the - presence of her new husband who falls seriously in love with - her. Her fate is now to settle down, and no further tragedies - befall on account of her, except one. A certain Ercole Strozzi, - an Italian noble, appears on the scene and falls violently - in love with her. She is only twenty-three or four even now. - Alphonso d’Este, her new husband, becomes violently jealous - and murders Ercole. Result: further peace until her death in - 1511 in her thirty-ninth year, during which period she had four - children by Alphonso--three boys and one girl. - - As for brother Cæsar he was, unfortunately, leading a more - checkered career. On December 21, 1502, when he was only - twenty-six, as a general fighting the allied minor princes - in Romagna, he caused to be strangled in his headquarters at - Senigallia, Vitellozzo Viletti and Oliveralto da Fermo, two - princelings who with others had conspired against him some time - before at Perugia. Awed by his growing power, they had been so - foolish as to endeavor to placate him by capturing Senigallia - for him from their allies and presenting it to him and allowing - themselves to be lured to his house by protestations of - friendship. Result: strangulation. - - August 18, 1503, Father Borgia, Pope Alexander VI, charming - society figure, polished gentleman, lover of the chase, patron - of the arts, for whom Raphael, Michelangelo and Brabante had - worked, breathes his last. He and Cæsar had fallen desperately - sick at the same time of a fever. When Cæsar recovers - sufficiently to attend to his affairs, things are already in a - bad way. The cardinals are plotting to seat a pope unfriendly - to the Borgias. The Spanish cardinals on whom he has relied - do not prove friendly and he loses his control. The funds - which Papa Borgia was wont to supply for his campaigns are no - longer forthcoming. Pope Julius II succeeding to the throne, - takes away from Cæsar the territories assigned to him by his - father “for the honor of recovering what our predecessors have - wrongfully alienated.” In May, 1504, having gone to Naples on - a safe conduct for the Spanish governor of that city, he is - arrested and sent to Spain, where he is thrown into prison. - At the end of two years he manages to escape and flees to the - court of his brother-in-law, the King of Navarre, who permits - him to aid in besieging the castle of a refractory subject. - Here, March 12, 1507, while Lucrezia elsewhere is peacefully - residing with her spouse, he is killed. - -I have given but a feeble outline of this charming Renaissance idyl. -Mixed in with it are constant murders or poisonings of wealthy -cardinals and the confiscation of their estates whenever cash for the -prosecution of Cæsar’s wars or the protection of papal properties -are needed. The uxorious and child-loving old pope was exceedingly -nonchalant about these little matters of human life. When he died there -was a fight over his coffin between priests of different factions and -mercenaries belonging to Cæsar Borgia. The coffin being too short, -his body was jammed down in it, minus his miter, and finally upset. -Think of so much ambition coming to such a shameful end! He achieved -his desire, however. He wrote his name large, if not in fame, at least -in infamy. He lived in astonishing grandeur and splendor. By his -picturesque iniquities he really helped to bring about the Reformation. -He had a curious affection for his children and he died immensely -rich--and, pope. The fair Lucrezia stands out as a strange chemical -magnet of disaster. To love her was fear, disappointment, or death. And -it was she and her brother Cæsar, who particularly interested Mrs. Q., -although the aged Alexander amused her. - -During her vigorous recital I forgot the corner drug store and modern -street cars of Rome, enthralled by the glamour of the ancient city. It -was a delight to find that we had an intellectual affinity in the study -of the vagaries of this strange phantasmagoria called human life, in -which to be dull is to be a bond-slave, and to be wise is to be a mad -philosopher, knowing neither right from wrong nor black from white. - -Together Mrs. Q. and I visited the Borghese and Barberini Palaces, the -Villa Doria, the Villa Umberto, the Villa d’Este and the Appian Way. We -paid a return visit to the Colosseum and idled together in the gardens -of the Pincian, the paths of the Gianicolo, the gardens of the Vatican -and along the Tiber. It was a pleasure to step into some old court of -a palace where the walls were encrusted with fragments of monuments, -inscriptions, portions of sarcophagi and the like, found on the place -or in excavating, and set into the walls to preserve them--and to -listen to this clever, wholesome woman comment on the way the spirit of -life builds shells and casts them off. She was not in the least morbid. -The horror and cruelties of lust and ambition held no terrors for her. -She liked life as a spectacle. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - -THE ART OF SIGNOR TANNI - - -The first Sunday I was in Rome I began my local career with a visit -to the church of Santa Maria Maggiore, that faces the Via Cavour not -far from the Continental Hotel where I was stopping, and afterwards -San Prassede close beside it. After Canterbury, Amiens, Pisa and -St. Peter’s, I confess churches needed to be of great distinction -to interest me much; but this church, not so divinely harmonious, -exteriorly speaking, left me breathless with its incrustations of -marbles, bronzes, carvings, and gold and silver inlay. There is a kind -of beauty, or charm, or at least physical excitation, in contemplating -sheer gorgeousness which I cannot withstand, even when my sense of -proportion and my reason are offended, and this church had that. Many -of the churches in Rome have just this and nothing more. At least, -what else they may have I am blind to. It did not help me any to learn -as I did from Mrs. Barfleur, that it was very old, dating from 352 -A. D., and that the blessed Virgin herself had indicated just where -this basilica in her honor was to be built by having a small, private -fall of snow which covered or outlined the exact dimensions of which -the church was to be. I was interested to learn that they had here -five boards of the original manger at Bethlehem inclosed in an urn of -silver and crystal which is exposed in the sacristy on Christmas Eve -and placed over the high altar on Christmas Day, and that here were -the tombs and chapels of Sixtus V and Paul V and Clement VIII of the -Borghese family and, too, a chapel of the Sforza family. Nevertheless -the hodge-podge of history, wealth, illusion and contention, to say -nothing of religious and social discovery, which go to make up a -church of this kind, is a little wearisome, not to say brain-achey, -when contemplated en masse. These churches! Unless you are especially -interested in a pope or a saint or a miracle or a picture or a monument -or an artist--they are nothing save intricate jewel-boxes; nothing more. - -For the first five or six days thereafter I went about with a certain -Signor Tanni who was delivering peripatetic lectures at the principal -places of interest in Rome. This is a curious development of the -modern city, for so numerous are the travelers and so great their -interest in the history of Rome that they gladly pay the three to -twelve lire each, which is charged by the various lecturers for their -discussions and near-by trips. There was a Nashville, Tennessee, -chicken-and-egg merchant who, with his wife, was staying at our hotel -and who was making the matter of seeing Rome quite as much of a -business as that of chickens and eggs in Tennessee. He was a man of -medium height, dark, pale, neat, and possessed of that innate courtesy, -reserve, large-minded fairness and lively appreciation--within set -convictions--which is so characteristic of the native, reasonably -successful American. We are such innocent, pure-minded Greeks--most -of us Americans. In the face of such tawdry vulgarity and vileness -as comprises the underworld café life of Paris, or before such a -spectacle of accentuated craft, lust, brutality, and greed as that -presented by the Borgias, a man such as my chicken-merchant friend, -or any other American of his type, of whom there are millions, would -find himself utterly nonplused. It would be so much beyond his ken, or -intention, that I question whether he would see or understand it at -all if it were taking place before his very eyes. There is something so -childlike and pure about the attitude of many strong, able Americans -that I marvel sometimes that they do as well as they do. Perhaps -their very innocence is their salvation. I could not have told this -chicken-merchant and his wife, for instance, anything of the subtleties -of the underworld of Paris and Monte Carlo as I encountered them; and -if I had he would not have believed me, he would have recoiled from -it all as a burned child would recoil from fire. He was as simple and -interesting and practical as a man could be, and yet so thoroughly -efficient that at the age of forty-five he had laid by a competence and -was off on a three years’ tour of the world. - -Mrs. Chicken Merchant was a large woman--very stout, very fair, very -cautious of her thoughts and her conduct, thoroughly sympathetic -and well-meaning. Before leaving her native town, she told me, she -had inaugurated a small library, the funds for which she had helped -collect. Occasionally she was buying engravings of famous historic -buildings, such as the Colosseum and the Temple of Vesta, which would -eventually grace the walls of the library. She and her husband felt -that they were educating themselves; and that they would return better -citizens, more useful to their country, for this exploration of the -ancient world. They had been going each day, morning and afternoon, to -some lecture or ancient ruin; and after I came they would seek me out -of an evening and tell me what they had seen. I took great satisfaction -in this, because I really liked them for their naïve point of view -and their thoroughly kindly and whole-hearted interest in life. It -flattered me to think that I was so acceptable to them and that we -should get along so well together. Frequently they invited me to their -table to dinner. On these occasions my friend would open a bottle of -wine, concerning which he had learned something since he had come -abroad. - -It was Mr. and Mrs. Chicken Merchant who gave me a full description of -the different Roman lecturers, their respective merits, their prices, -and what they had to show. They had already been to the Forum, the -Palatine, the Colosseum and the House of Nero, St. Peter’s, the Castle -of St. Angelo, the Appian Way, the Catacombs and the Villa Frascati. -They were just going to the Villa d’Este and to Ostia, the old seaport -at the mouth of the Tiber. They were at great pains to get me to join -the companies of Signor Tanni who, they were convinced, was the best of -them all. “He tells you something. He makes you see it just as it was. -By George! when we were in the Colosseum you could just fairly see the -lions marching out of those doors; and that House of Nero, as he tells -about it, is one of the most wonderful things in the world.” - -I decided to join Signor Tanni’s classes at once, and persuaded Mrs. -Barfleur and Mrs. Q. to accompany me at different times. I must say -that in spite of the commonplaceness of the idea my mornings and -afternoons with Signor Tanni and his company of sightseers proved as -delightful as anything else that befell me in Rome. He was a most -interesting person, born and brought up, as I learned, at Tivoli near -the Villa d’Este, where his father controlled a small inn and livery -stable. He was very stocky, very dark, very ruddy, and very active. -Whenever we came to the appointed rendezvous where his lecture was to -begin, he invariably arrived, swinging his coat-tails, glancing smartly -around with his big black eyes, rubbing and striking his hands in a -friendly manner, and giving every evidence of taking a keen interest in -his work. He was always polite and courteous without being officious, -and never for a moment either dull or ponderous. He knew his subject -thoroughly of course; but what was much better, he had an eye for the -dramatic and the spectacular. I shall never forget how in the center of -the Forum Romanum he lifted the cap from the ancient manhole that opens -into the Cloaca Maxima and allowed us to look in upon the walls of -that great sewer that remains as it was built before the dawn of Roman -history. Then he exclaimed dramatically: “The water that Cæsar and the -emperors took their baths in no doubt flowed through here just as the -water of Roman bath-tubs does to-day!” - -On the Palatine, when we were looking at the site of the Palace of -Elagabalus, he told how that weird worthy had a certain well, paved -at the bottom with beautiful mosaic, in order that he might leap down -upon it and thus commit suicide, but how he afterwards changed his -mind--which won a humorous smile from some of those present and from -others a blank look of astonishment. In the House of Nero, in one -of those dark underhill chambers, which was once out in the clear -sunlight, but now, because of the lapse of time and the crumbling of -other structures reared above it, is deep under ground, he told how -once, according to an idle legend, Nero had invited some of his friends -to dine and when they were well along in their feast, and somewhat -intoxicated, no doubt, it began to rain rose leaves from the ceiling. -Nothing but delighted cries of approval was heard for this artistic -thought until the rose leaves became an inch thick on the floor and -then two and three, and four and five inches thick, when the guests -tried the doors. They were locked and sealed. Then the shower continued -until the rose leaves were a foot deep, two feet deep, three feet deep, -and the tables were covered. Later the guests had to climb on tables -and chairs to save themselves from their rosy bath; but when they had -climbed this high they could climb no higher, for the walls were smooth -and the room was thirty feet deep. By the time the leaves were ten -feet deep the guests were completely covered; but the shower continued -until the smothering weight of them ended all life.--An ingenious but -improbable story. - -No one of Signor Tanni’s wide-mouthed company seemed to question -whether this was plausible or not; and one American standing next to me -exclaimed, “Well, I’ll be switched!” My doubting mind set to work to -figure out how I could have overcome this difficulty if I had been in -the room; and in my mind I had all the associated guests busy tramping -down rose leaves in order to make the quantity required as large as -possible. My idea was that I could tire Nero out on this rose-leaf -proposition. The picture of these noble Romans feverishly trampling -down the fall of rose leaves cheered me greatly. - -After my first excursion with Signor Tanni I decided to take his -whole course; and followed dutifully along behind him, listening -to his interesting and good-natured disquisitions, during many -delightful mornings and afternoons in the Forum, on the Palatine, in -the Catacombs, on the Appian Way and in the Villas at Frascati and -Tivoli! I shall never forget how clearly and succinctly the crude -early beginnings and characteristics of Christianity came home to me -as I walked in the Catacombs and saw the wretched little graves hidden -away in order that they might not be desecrated, and the underground -churches where converts might worship free from molestation and -persecution. - -On the Palatine the fact that almost endless palaces were built one on -top of the other, the old palace leveled by means of the sledge and -the crowbar and the new one erected upon the smoothed-over space, -is easily demonstrated. They find the remains of different ruins in -different layers as they dig down, coming eventually to the early -sanctuaries of the kings and the federated tribes. It is far more -interesting to walk through these old ruins and underground chambers -accompanied by some one who loves them, and who is interested in them, -and who by fees to the state servitors has smoothed the way, so that -the ancient forgotten chambers are properly lighted for you, than -it is to go alone. And to have a friendly human voice expatiating -on the probable arrangement of the ancient culinary department and -how it was all furnished, is worth while. I know that the wonder and -interest of the series of immense, dark rooms which were once the -palace of Nero, and formerly were exposed to the light of day, before -the dust and incrustation of centuries had been heaped upon them, but -which now underlie a hill covered by trees and grass, came upon me -with great force because of these human explanations; and the room in -which, in loneliness and darkness for centuries stood the magnificent -group of Laocoon and the porphyry vase now in the Vatican, until some -adventuring students happened to put a foot through a hole, thrilled -me as though I had come upon them myself. Until one goes in this way -day by day to the site of the Circus Maximus, the Baths of Caracalla, -the ruins of Hadrian’s Villa, the Castle of St. Angelo, the Forum, -the Palatine and the Colosseum, one can have no true conception of -that ancient world. When you realize, by standing on the ground and -contemplating these ancient ruins and their present fragments, that the -rumored immensity of them in their heyday and youth is really true, -you undergo an ecstasy of wonder; or if you are of a morbid turn you -indulge in sad speculations as to the drift of life. I cannot tell you -how the mosaics from the palace of Germanicus on the Palatine affected -me, or how strange I felt when the intricacies of the houses of -Caligula and Tiberius were made clear. To walk through the narrow halls -which they trod, to know truly that they ruled in terror and with the -force of murder, that Caligula waylaid and assaulted and killed, for -his personal entertainment, in these narrow alleys which were then the -only streets, and where torches borne by hand furnished the only light, -is something. A vision of the hugeness and audacity of Hadrian’s villa -which now stretches apparently, one would say, for miles, the vast -majority of its rooms still unexcavated and containing what treasures -Heaven only knows, is one of the strangest of human experiences. I -marveled at this vast series of rooms, envying the power, the subtlety -and the genius which could command it. Truly it is unbelievable--one of -those things which stagger the imagination. One can hardly conceive how -even an emperor of Rome would build so beautifully and so vastly. Rome -is so vast in its suggestion that it is really useless to apostrophize. -That vast empire that stretched from India to the Arctic was surely -fittingly represented here; and while we may rival the force and -subtlety and genius and imagination of these men in our day, we will -not truly outstrip them. Mind was theirs--vast, ardent imagination; and -if they achieved crudely it was because the world was still young and -the implements and materials of life were less understood. They were -the great ones--the Romans. We must still learn from them. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - -AN AUDIENCE AT THE VATICAN - - -The remainder of my days in Rome were only three or four. I had seen -much of it that has been in no way indicated here. True to my promise -I had looked up at his hotel my traveling acquaintance, the able and -distinguished Mr. H., and had walked about some of the older sections -of the city hearing him translate Greek and Latin inscriptions of -ancient date with the ease with which I put my ordinary thought into -English. Together we visited the Farnese Palace, the Mamertine Prison, -the Temple of Vesta, Santa Maria in Cosmedin and other churches too -numerous and too pointless to mention. It was interesting to me to note -the facility of his learning and the depth of his philosophy. In spite -of the fact that life, in the light of his truly immense knowledge of -history and his examination of human motives, seemed a hodge-podge of -contrarieties and of ethical contradictions, nevertheless he believed -that through all the false witness and pretense and subtlety of the -ages, through the dominating and apparently guiding impulses of lust -and appetite and vanity, seemingly untrammeled by mercy, tenderness or -any human consideration, there still runs a constructive, amplifying, -art-enlarging, life-developing tendency which is comforting, -dignifying, and purifying, making for larger and happier days for -each and all. It did not matter to him that the spectacle as we read -it historically is always one of the strong dominating the weak, of -the strong battling with the strong, of greed, hypocrisy and lying. -Even so, the world was moving on--to what he could not say,--we were -coming into an ethical understanding of things. The mass was becoming -more intelligent and better treated. Opportunity, of all sorts, was -being more widely diffused, even if grudgingly so. We would never again -have a Nero or a Caligula he thought--not on this planet. He called my -attention to that very interesting agreement between leading families -of the Achæan League in lower Greece in which it was stipulated that -the “ruling class should be honored like gods” and that the subject -class should be “held in subservience like beasts.” He wanted to know -if even a suspicion of such an attitude to-day would not cause turmoil. -I tried out his philosophy by denying it, but he was firm. Life was -better to him, not merely different as some might take it to be. - -I gave a dinner at my hotel one evening in order to pay my respects -to those who had been so courteous to me and put it in charge of Mrs. -Barfleur, who was desirous of nothing better. She was fond of managing. -Mrs. Q. sat at my left and Mrs. H. at my right and we made a gay hour -out of history, philosophy, Rome, current character and travel. The -literary executor of Oscar Wilde was present, Mr. Oscar Browning, and -my Greek traveler and merchant, Mr. Bouris. An American publisher and -his wife, then in Rome, had come, and we were as gay as philosophers -and historians and antiquaries can be. Mr. H. drew a laugh by -announcing that he never read a book under 1500 years of age any more, -and the literary executor of Oscar Wilde told a story of the latter -to the effect that the more he contemplated his own achievements, the -more he came to admire himself, and the less use he had for other -people’s writings. One of the most delightful stories I have heard in -years was told by H. who stated that an Italian thief, being accused -of stealing three rings from the hands of a statue of the Virgin that -was constantly working miracles, had declared that, as he was kneeling -before her in solemn prayer, the Virgin had suddenly removed the rings -from her finger and handed them to him. But the priests who were -accusing him (servitors of the Church) and the judge who was trying -him, all firm believers, would not accept this latest development of -the miraculous tendencies of the image and he was sent to jail. Alas! -that true wit should be so poorly rewarded. - -One of the last things I did in Rome was to see the Pope. When I came -there, Lent was approaching, and I was told that at this time the -matter was rather difficult. None of my friends seemed to have the -necessary influence, and I had about decided to give it up, when one -day I met the English representative of several London dailies who -told me that sometimes, under favorable conditions, he introduced his -friends, but that recently he had overworked his privilege and could -not be sure. On the Friday before leaving, however, I had a telephone -message from his wife, saying that she was taking her cousin and would -I come. I raced into my evening clothes though it was early morning and -was off to her apartment in the Via Angelo Brunetti, from which we were -to start. - -Presentation to the Pope is one of those dull formalities made -interesting by the enthusiasm of the faithful and the curiosity of -the influential who are frequently non-catholic, but magnetized by -the amazing history of the Papacy and the scope and influence of the -Church. All the while that I was in Rome I could not help feeling -the power and scope of this organization--much as I condemn its -intellectual stagnation and pharisaism. Personally I was raised in -the Catholic Church, but outgrew it at an early age. My father died -a rapt believer in it and I often smile when I think how impossible -it would have been to force upon him the true history of the Papacy -and the Catholic hierarchy. His subjugation to priestly influence was -truly a case of the blind leading the blind. To him the Pope was truly -infallible. There could be no wrong in any Catholic priest, and so on -and so forth. The lives of Alexander VI and Boniface VIII would have -taught him nothing. - -In a way, blind adherence to principles is justifiable, for we have not -as yet solved the riddle of the universe and one may well agree with -St. Augustine that the vileness of the human agent does not invalidate -the curative or corrective power of a great principle. An evil doctor -cannot destroy the value of medicine; a corrupt lawyer or judge cannot -invalidate pure law. Pure religion and undefiled continues, whether -there are evil priests or no, and the rise and fall of the Roman -Catholic hierarchy has nothing to do with what is true in the teachings -of Christ. - -It was interesting to me as I walked about Rome to see the indications -or suggestions of the wide-spread influence of the Catholic -Church--priests from England, Ireland, Spain, Egypt and monks from -Palestine, the Philippines, Arabia, and Africa. I was standing in the -fair in the Campo dei Fiori, where every morning a vegetable-market -is held and every Wednesday a fair where antiquities and curiosities -of various lands are for sale, when an English priest, seeing my -difficulties in connection with a piece of jewelry, offered to -translate for me and a little later a French priest inquired in French -whether I spoke his language. In the Colosseum I fell in with a German -priest from Baldwinsville, Kentucky, who invited me to come and see a -certain group of Catacombs on a morning when he intended to say mass -there, which interested me but I was prevented by another engagement; -and at the Continental there were stopping two priests from Buenos -Ayres; and so it went. The car lines which led down the Via Nazionale -to St. Peter’s and the Vatican was always heavily patronized by -priests, monks, and nuns; and I never went anywhere that I did not -encounter groups of student-priests coming to and from their studies. - -This morning that we drove to the papal palace at eleven was as usual -bright and warm. My English correspondent and his wife, both extremely -intelligent, had been telling of the steady changes in Rome, its rapid -modernization, the influence of the then Jewish mayor in its civic -improvement and the waning influence of the Catholics in the matter of -local affairs. “All Rome is probably Catholic,” he said, “or nearly so; -but it isn’t the kind of Catholicism that cares for papal influence in -political affairs. Why, here not long ago, in a public speech the mayor -charged that the papacy was the cause of Rome’s being delayed at least -a hundred years in its progress and there was lots of applause. The -national parliament which meets here is full of Catholics but it is not -interested in papal influence. It’s all the other way about. They seem -to be willing to let the Pope have his say in spiritual matters but he -can’t leave the Vatican and priests can’t mix in political affairs very -much.” - -I thought, what a change from the days of Gregory VII and even the -popes of the eighteenth century! - -The rooms of the Vatican devoted to the Pope--at least those to which -the public is admitted at times of audience seemed to me merely large -and gaudy without being impressive. One of the greatest follies of -architecture, it seems to me, is the persistent thought that mere -size without great beauty of form has any charm whatever. The Houses -of Parliament in England are large but they are also shapely. As much -might be said for the Palais Royal in Paris though not for the Louvre -and almost not for Versailles. The Vatican is another great splurge of -nothing--mere size without a vestige of charm as to detail. - -All I remember of my visit was that arriving at the palace entrance -we were permitted by papal guards to ascend immense flights of steps, -that we went through one large red room after another where great -chandeliers swung from the center and occasional decorations or -over-elaborate objects of art appeared on tables or pedestals. There -were crowds of people in each room, all in evening dress, the ladies -with black lace shawls over their heads, the men in conventional -evening clothes. Over-elaborately uniformed guards stood about, and -prelates of various degrees of influence moved to and fro. We took our -station in a room adjoining the Pope’s private chambers where we waited -patiently while various personages of influence and importance were -privately presented. - -It was dreary business waiting. Loud talking was not to be thought -of, and the whispering on all sides as the company increased was -oppressive. There was a group of ladies from Venice who were obviously -friends of the Holy Father’s family. There were two brown monks, -barefooted and with long gray beards, patriarchal types, who stationed -themselves by one wall near the door. There were three nuns and a -mother superior from somewhere who looked as if they were lost in -prayer. This was a great occasion to them. Next to me was a very -official person in a uniform of some kind who constantly adjusted his -neck-band and smoothed his gloved hands. Some American ladies, quite -severe and anti-papistical if I am not mistaken, looked as if they were -determined not to believe anything they saw, and two Italian women of -charming manners had in tow an obstreperous small boy of say five or -six years of age in lovely black velvet, who was determined to be as -bad and noisy as he could. He beat his feet and asked questions in a -loud whisper and decided that he wished to change his place of abode -every three seconds; all of which was accompanied by many “sh-sh-es” -from his elders and whisperings in his ear, severe frowns from the -American ladies and general indications of disapproval, with here and -there a sardonic smile of amusement. - -Every now and then a thrill of expectation would go over the company. -The Pope was coming! Papal guards and prelates would pass through the -room with speedy movements and it looked as though we would shortly -be in the presence of the vicar of Christ. I was told that it was -necessary to rest on one knee at least, which I did, waiting patiently -the while I surveyed the curious company. The two brown monks were -appropriately solemn, their heads bent. The sisters were praying. -The Italian ladies were soothing their restive charge. I told my -correspondent-friend of the suicide of a certain journalist, whom he -and his wife knew, on the day that I left New York--a very talented but -adventurous man; and he exclaimed: “My God! don’t tell that to my wife. -She’ll feel it terribly.” We waited still longer and finally in sheer -weariness began jesting foolishly; I said that it must be that the Pope -and Merry del Val, the Pope’s secretary, were inside playing jackstones -with the papal jewels. This drew a convulsive laugh from my newspaper -friend--I will call him W.--who began to choke behind his handkerchief. -Mrs. W. whispered to me that if we did not behave we would be put out -and I pictured myself and W. being unceremoniously hustled out by the -forceful guards, which produced more laughter. The official beside me, -who probably did not speak English, frowned solemnly. This produced -a lull, and we waited a little while longer in silence. Finally the -sixth or seventh thrill of expectation produced the Holy Father, the -guards and several prelates making a sort of aisle of honor before -the door. All whispering ceased. There was a rustle of garments as -each one settled into a final sanctimonious attitude. He came in, a -very tired-looking old man in white wool cassock and white skull cap, -a great necklace of white beads about his neck and red shoes on his -feet. He was stout, close knit, with small shrewd eyes, a low forehead, -a high crown, a small, shapely chin. He had soft, slightly wrinkled -hands, the left one graced by the papal ring. As he came in he uttered -something in Italian and then starting on the far side opposite the -door he had entered came about to each one, proffering the hand which -some merely kissed and some seized on and cried over, as if it were the -solution of a great woe or the realization of a too great happiness. -The mother superior did this and one of the Italian ladies from Venice. -The brown monks laid their foreheads on it and the official next to me -touched it as though it were an object of great value. - -I was interested to see how the Supreme Pontiff--the Pontifex Maximus -of all the monuments--viewed all this. He looked benignly but rather -wearily down on each one, though occasionally he turned his head away, -or, slightly interested, said something. To the woman whose tears -fell on his hands he said nothing. With one of the women from Venice -he exchanged a few words. Now and then he murmured something. I could -not tell whether he was interested but very tired, or whether he was -slightly bored. Beyond him lay room after room crowded with pilgrims -in which this performance had to be repeated. Acquainted with my -newspaper correspondent he gave no sign. At me he scarcely looked at -all, realizing no doubt my critical unworthiness. At the prim, severe -American woman he looked quizzically. Then he stood in the center of -the room and having uttered a long, soft prayer, which my friend W. -informed me was very beautiful, departed. The crowd arose. We had to -wait until all the other chambers were visited by him and until he -returned guarded on all sides by his soldiers and disappeared. There -was much conversation, approval, and smiling satisfaction. I saw him -once more, passing quickly between two long lines of inquisitive, -reverential people, his head up, his glance straight ahead and then he -was gone. - -We made our way out and somehow I was very glad I had come. I had -thought all along that it really did not make any difference whether I -saw him or not and that I did not care, but after seeing the attitude -of the pilgrims and his own peculiar mood I thought it worth while. -Pontifex Maximus! The Vicar of Christ! What a long way from the -Catacomb-worshiping Christians who had no Pope at all, who gathered -together “to sing responsively a hymn to Christ as to a God” and -who bound themselves by a sacramental oath to commit no thefts, nor -robberies, nor adulteries, nor break their word, nor deny a deposit -when called upon, and who for nearly three hundred years had neither -priest nor altar, nor bishop nor Pope, but just the rumored gospels of -Christ. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV - -THE CITY OF ST. FRANCIS - - -The Italian hill-cities are such a strange novelty to the American of -the Middle West--used only to the flat reaches of the prairie, and the -city or town gathered primarily about the railway-station. One sees a -whole series of them ranged along the eastern ridge of the Apennines -as one travels northward from Rome. All the way up this valley I had -been noting examples on either hand but when I got off the train -at Assisi I saw what appeared to be a great fortress on a distant -hill--the sheer walls of the church and monastery of St. Francis. It -all came back to me, the fact that St. Francis had been born here of -a well-to-do father, that he had led a gay life in his youth, had had -his “vision”--his change of heart--which caused him to embrace poverty, -the care of the poor and needy and to follow precisely that idealistic -dictum which says: “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth,... -but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven,... for where your -treasure is there will your heart be also.” I had found in one of the -little books I had with me, “Umbrian Towns,” a copy of the prayer that -he devised for his Order which reads: - - Poverty was in the crib and like a faithful squire she kept - herself armed in the great combat Thou didst wage for our - redemption. During Thy passion she alone did not forsake Thee. - Mary, Thy Mother, stopped at the foot of the cross, but poverty - mounted it with Thee and clasped Thee in her embrace unto the - end; and when Thou wast dying of thirst as a watchful spouse - she prepared for Thee the gall. Thou didst expire in the ardor - of her embraces, nor did she leave Thee when dead, O Lord - Jesus, for she allowed not Thy body to rest elsewhere than in - a borrowed grave. O poorest Jesus, the grace I beg of Thee is - to bestow on me the treasure of the highest poverty. Grant - that the distinctive mark of our Order may be never to possess - anything as its own under the sun for the glory of Thy name and - to have no other patrimony than begging. - -I wonder if there is any one who can read this without a thrill of -response. This world sets such store by wealth and comfort. We all -batten on luxury so far as our means will permit,--many of us wallow -in it; and the thought of a man who could write such a prayer as that, -and live it, made my hair tingle to the roots. I can understand Pope -Innocent III’s saying that the rule offered by St. Francis and his -disciples to ordinary mortals was too severe, but I can also conceive -the poetic enthusiasm of a St. Francis. I found myself on the instant -in the deepest accord with him, understanding how it was that he -wanted his followers not to wear a habit, and to work in the fields -as day-laborers, begging only when they could not earn their way. The -fact that he and his disciples had lived in reed huts on the site of -Santa Maria degli Angeli, the great church which stands in the valley -near the station, far down from the town, and had practised the utmost -austerity, came upon me as a bit of imaginative poetry of the highest -sort. Before the rumbling bus arrived, which conveyed me and several -others to the little hotel, I was thrilling with enthusiasm for this -religious fact, and anything that concerned him interested me. - -In some ways Assisi was a disappointment because I expected something -more than bare picturesqueness; it is very old and I fancy, as modern -Italy goes, very poor. The walls of the houses are for the most part -built of dull gray stone. The streets climbed up hill and down dale, -hard, winding, narrow, stony affairs, lined right to the roadway by -these bare, inhospitable-looking houses. No yards, no gardens--at least -none visible from the streets, but, between walls, and down street -stairways, and between odd angles of buildings the loveliest vistas -of the valley below, where were spread great orchards of olive trees, -occasional small groups of houses, distant churches and the mountains -on the other side of the valley. Quite suited to the self-abnegating -spirit of St. Francis, I thought,--and I wondered if the town had -changed greatly since his day--1182! - -As I came up in the bus, looking after my very un-St. Francis-like -luggage, and my precious fur overcoat, I encountered a pale, -ascetic-looking French priest,--“L’Abbé Guillmant, Vicar General, -Arras (Pas-de-Calais), France;” he wrote out his address for me,--who, -looking at me over his French Baedeker every now and then, finally -asked in his own tongue, “Do you Speak French?” I shook my head -deprecatingly and smiled regretfully. “Italiano?” Again I had to shake -my head. “C’est triste!” he said, and went on reading. He was clad in a -black cassock that reached to his feet, the buttons ranging nicely down -his chest, and carried only a small portmanteau and an umbrella. We -reached the hotel and I found that he was stopping there. Once on the -way up he waved his hand out of the window and said something. I think -he was indicating that we could see Perugia further up the valley. In -the dining-room where I found him after being assigned to my room he -offered me his bill-of-fare and indicated that a certain Italian dish -was the best. - -This hotel to which we had come was a bare little affair. It was new -enough--one of Cook’s offerings,--to which all the tourists traveling -under the direction of that agency are sent. The walls were quite -white and clean. The ceilings of the rooms were high, over high -latticed windows and doors. My room, I found, gave upon a balcony which -commanded the wonderful sweep of plain below. - -The dining-room contained six or seven other travelers bound either -southward towards Rome or northward towards Perugia and Florence. It -was a rather hazy day, not cold and not warm, but cheerless. I can -still hear the clink of the knives and forks as the few guests ate in -silence or conversed in low tones. Travelers in this world seem almost -innately fearsome of each other, particularly when they are few in -number and meet in some such out-of-the-way place as this. My Catholic -Abbé was longing to be sociable with me, I could feel it; but this -lack of a common tongue prevented him, or seemed to. As I was leaving -I asked the proprietor to say to him that I was sorry that I did not -speak French, that if I did I would be glad to accompany him; and -he immediately reported that the Abbé said, Would I not come along, -anyhow? “He haav ask,” said the proprietor, a small, stout, dark man, -“weel you not come halong hanyhow?” - -“Certainly,” I replied. And so the Abbé Guillmant and I, apparently not -understanding a word of each other’s language, started out sightseeing -together--I had almost said arm-in-arm. - -I soon learned that while my French priest did not speak English, he -read it after a fashion, and if he took plenty of time he could form -an occasional sentence. It took time, however. He began,--in no vivid -or enthusiastic fashion, to be sure,--to indicate what the different -things were as we went along. - -Now the sights of Assisi are not many. If you are in a hurry and do -not fall in love with the quaint and picturesque character of it and -its wonderful views you can do them all in a day,--an afternoon if -you skimp. There is the church of St. Francis with its associated -monastery (what an anachronism a monastery seems in connection with -St. Francis, who thought only of huts of branches, or holes in the -rocks!) with its sepulcher of the saint in the lower church, and the -frescoed scenes from St. Francis’s life by Giotto in the upper; the -church of St. Clare (Santa Chiara) with its tomb and the body of that -enthusiastic imitator of St. Francis; the Duomo, or cathedral, begun -in 1134--a rather poor specimen of a cathedral after some others--and -the church of St. Damiano, which was given--the chapel of it--to St. -Francis by the Benedictine monks of Monte Subasio soon after he had -begun his work of preaching the penitential life. There is also the -hermitage of the Carceri, where, in small holes in the rocks the early -Franciscans led a self-depriving life, and the new church raised on the -site of the house belonging to Pietro Bernardone, the father of St. -Francis, who was in the cloth business. - -I cannot say that I followed with any too much enthusiasm the involved -architectural, historical, artistic, and religious details of these -churches and chapels. St. Francis, wonderful “jongleur of God” that he -was, was not interested in churches and chapels so much as he was in -the self-immolating life of Christ. He did not want his followers to -have monasteries in the first place. “Carry neither gold nor silver -nor money in your girdles, nor bag, nor two coats, nor sandals, nor -staff, for the workman is worthy of his hire.” I liked the church -of St. Francis, however, for in spite of the fact that it is gray -and bare as befits a Franciscan edifice, it is a double church--one -below the other, and seemingly running at right angles; and they are -both large Gothic churches, each complete with sacristy, choir nave, -transepts and the like. The cloister is lovely, in the best Italian -manner, and through the interstices of the walls wonderful views of the -valley below may be secured. The lower church, gray and varied in its -interior, is rich in frescoes by Cimabue and others dealing with the -sacred vows of the Franciscans, the upper (the nave) decorated with -frescoes by Giotto, illustrating the life of St. Francis. The latter -interested me immensely because I knew by now that these were almost -the beginning of Italian and Umbrian religious art and because Giotto, -from the evidences his work affords, must have been such a naïve and -pleasant old soul. I fairly laughed aloud as I stalked about this -great nave of the upper church--the Abbé was still below--at some of -the good old Italian’s attempts at characterization and composition. -It is no easy thing, if you are the founder of a whole line of great -artists, called upon to teach them something entirely new in the way -of life-expression, to get all the wonderful things you see and feel -into a certain picture or series of pictures, but Giotto tried it -and he succeeded very well, too. The decorations are not great, but -they are quaint and lovely, even if you have to admit at times that -an apprentice of to-day could draw and compose better. He couldn’t -“intend” better, however, nor convey more human tenderness and feeling -in gay, light coloring,--and therein lies the whole secret! - -There are some twenty-eight of these frescoes ranged along the lower -walls on either side--St. Francis stepping on the cloak of the poor -man who, recognizing him as a saint, spread it down before him; St. -Francis giving his cloak to the poor nobleman; St. Francis seeing the -vision of the palace which was to be reared for him and his followers; -St. Francis in the car of fire; St. Francis driving the devils away -from Arezzo; St. Francis before the Sultan; St. Francis preaching to -the birds; and so on. It was very charming. I could not help thinking -what a severe blow has been given to religious legend since those -days however; nowadays, except in the minds of the ignorant, saints -and devils and angels and stigmata and holy visions have all but -disappeared. The grand phantasmagoria of religious notions as they -relate to the life of Christ have all but vanished, for the time -being anyhow, even in the brains of the masses, and we are having an -invasion of rationalism or something approximating it, even at the -bottom. The laissez-faire opportunism which has characterized the -men at the top in all ages is seeping down to the bottom. Via the -newspaper and the magazine, even in Italy--in Assisi--something of -astronomy, botany, politics and mechanics, scientifically demonstrated, -is creeping in. The inflow seems very meager as yet, a mere trickle, -but it has begun. Even in Assisi I saw newspapers and a weekly in -a local barber-shop. The natives--the aged ones--very thin, shabby -and pale, run into the churches at all hours of the day to prostrate -themselves before helpless saints; but nevertheless the newspapers are -in the barber-shops. Old Cosimo Medici’s truism that governments are -not managed by paternosters is slowly seeping down. We have scores of -men in the world to-day as able as old Cosimo Medici and as ruthless. -We will have hundreds and thousands after a while, only they will be -much more circumspect in their ruthlessness and they will work hard -for the State. Perhaps there won’t be so much useless praying before -useless images when that time comes. The thought of divinity _in the -individual_ needs to be more fully developed. - -While I was wandering thus and ruminating I was interested at the -same time in the faithful enthusiasm my Abbé was manifesting in the -details of the art of this great church. He followed me about for a -time in my idle wanderings as I studied the architectural details of -this one of the earliest of Gothic churches and then he went away by -himself, returning every so often to find in my guide-book certain -passages which he wanted me to read, pointing to certain frescoes and -exclaiming, “Giotto!” “Cimabue!” “Andrea da Bologna!” Finally he said -in plain English, but very slowly: “Did--you--ever--read--a--life--of -St. Francis?” - -I must confess that my knowledge of the intricacies of Italian art, -aside from the lines of its general development, is slim. Alas, -dabbling in Italian art, and in art in general, is like trifling with -some soothing drug--the more you know the more you want to know. - -We continued our way and finally we found a Franciscan monk who spoke -both English and French--a peculiar-looking man, tall, and athletic, -who appeared to be very widely experienced in the world, indeed. He -explained more of the frescoes, the history of the church, the present -state of the Franciscans here, and so on. - -The other places Franciscan, as I have said, did not interest me -so much, though I accompanied my friend, the Abbé, wherever he was -impelled to go. He inquired about New York, looking up and waving his -hand upward as indicating great height, great buildings, and I knew he -was thinking of our skyscrapers. “American bar!” he said, twittering to -himself like a bird, “American stim-eat [steam heat]; American ’otel.” - -I had to smile. - -Side by side we proceeded through the church of St. Clare, the Duomo, -the new church raised on the site of the house that belonged to Pietro -Bernardone, the father of the saint; and finally to the Church of San -Damiano, where after St. Francis had seen the vision of the new life, -he went to pray. After it was given him by the Benedictines he set -about the work of repairing it and when once it was in charge of the -poor Clares, after resigning the command of his order, he returned -thither to rest and compose the “Canticle of the Law.” I never knew -until I came to Assisi what a business this thing of religion is in -Italy--how valuable the shrines and churches of an earlier day are -to its communities. Thousands of travelers must pass this way each -year. They support the only good hotels. Travelers from all nations -come, English, French, German, American, Russian, and Japanese. The -attendants at the shrines reap a small livelihood from the tips of -visitors and they are always there, lively and almost obstreperous -in their attentions. The oldest and most faded of all the guides and -attendants throng about the churches and shrines of Assisi, so old and -faded that they seemed almost epics of poverty. My good priest was for -praying before every shrine. He would get down on his knees and cross -himself, praying four or five minutes while I stood irreligiously in -the background, looking at him and wondering how long he would be. -He prayed before the tomb of St. Francis in the Franciscan church; -before the body of St. Clare (clothed in a black habit and shown behind -a glass case), in the church of St. Clare; before the altar in the -chapel of Saint Damiano, where St. Francis had first prayed; and so -on. Finally when we were all through, and it was getting late evening, -he wanted to go down into the valley, near the railroad station, to -the church of Santa Maria degli Angeli, where the cell in which St. -Francis died, is located. He thought I might want to leave him now, -but I refused. We started out, inquiring our way of the monks at Saint -Damiano and found that we had to go back through the town. One of the -monks, a fat, bare-footed man, signaled me to put on my hat, which I -was carrying because I wanted to enjoy the freshness of the evening -wind. It had cleared off now, the sun had come out and we were enjoying -one of those lovely Italian spring evenings which bring a sense of -childhood to the heart. The good monk thought I was holding my hat out -of reverence to his calling. I put it on. - -We went back through the town and then I realized how lovely the life -of a small Italian town is, in spring. Assisi has about five thousand -population. It was cool and pleasant. Many doorways were now open, -showing evening fires within the shadows of the rooms. Some children -were in the roadways. Carts and wains were already clattering up from -the fields below and church-bells--the sweetest echoes from churches -here and there in the valley and from those here in Assisi--exchanged -melodies. We walked fast because it was late and when we reached the -station it was already dusk. The moon had risen, however, and lighted -up this great edifice, standing among a ruck of tiny homes. A number -of Italian men and women were grouped around a pump outside--those -same dark, ear-ringed Italians with whom we are now so familiar in -America. The church was locked, but my Abbé went about to the cloister -gate which stood at one side of the main entrance, and rang a bell. -A brown-cowled monk appeared and they exchanged a few words. Finally -with many smiles we were admitted into a moonlit garden, where cypress -trees and box and ilex showed their lovely forms, and through a long -court that had an odor of malt, as if beer were brewed here, and so -finally by a circuitous route into the main body of the church and -the chapel containing the cell of St. Francis. It was so dark by now -that only the heaviest objects appeared distinctly, the moonlight -falling faintly through several of the windows. The voices of the monks -sounded strange and sonorous, even though they talked in low tones. We -walked about looking at the great altars, the windows, and the high, -flat ceiling. We went into the chapel, lined on either side by wooden -benches, occupied by kneeling monks, and lighted by one low, swinging -lamp which hung before the cell in which St. Francis died. There was -much whispering of prayers here and the good Abbé was on his knees in -a moment praying solemnly. - -St. Francis certainly never contemplated that his beggarly cell would -ever be surrounded by the rich marbles and bronze work against which -his life was a protest. He never imagined, I am sure, that in spite of -his prayer for poverty, his Order would become rich and influential -and that this, the site of his abstinence, would be occupied by one of -the most ornate churches in Italy. It is curious how barnacle-wise the -spirit of materiality invariably encrusts the ideal! Christ died on -the cross for the privilege of worshiping God “in spirit and in truth” -after he had preached the sermon on the mount,--and then you have the -gold-incrusted, power-seeking, wealth-loving Papacy, with women and -villas and wars of aggrandizement and bastardy among the principal -concomitants. And following Francis, imitating the self-immolation of -the Nazarene, you have another great Order whose churches and convents -in Italy are among the richest and most beautiful. And everywhere you -find that lust for riches and show and gormandizing and a love of -seeming what they are not, so that they may satisfy a faint scratching -of the spirit which is so thickly coated over that it is almost -extinguished. - -Or it may be that the ideal is always such an excellent device -wherewith to trap the unwary and the unsophisticated. “Feed them with -a fine-seeming and then put a tax on their humble credulity” seems to -be the logic of materialism in regard to the mass. Anything to obtain -power and authority! Anything to rule! And so you have an Alexander -VI, Vicar of Christ, poisoning cardinals and seizing on estates that -did not belong to him: leading a life of almost insane luxury; and a -Medicean pope interested in worldly fine art and the development of a -pagan ideal. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI - -PERUGIA - - -We returned at between seven and eight that night. After a bath I -sat out on the large balcony, or veranda, commanding the valley, and -enjoyed the moonlight. The burnished surface of the olive trees, and -brown fields already being plowed with white oxen and wooden shares, -gave back a soft glow that was somehow like the patina on bronze. There -was a faint odor of flowers in the wind and here and there lights -gleaming. From some street in the town I heard singing and the sound of -a mandolin. I slept soundly. - -At breakfast,--coffee, honey, rolls and butter,--my Abbé gave me his -card. He was going to Florence. He asked the hotel man to say to me -that he had had a charming time and would I not come to France and -visit him? “When I learn to speak French,” I replied, smiling at him. -He smiled and nodded. We shook hands and parted. - -After breakfast I called a little open carriage such as they use in -Paris and Monte Carlo and was off for Spello; and he took an early -omnibus and caught his train. - -On this trip which Barfleur had recommended as offering a splendid -view of cypresses I was not disappointed: about some villa there -was an imposing architectural arrangement of them and an old Roman -amphitheater nearby--the ruins of it--bespoke the prosperous Roman -life which had long since disappeared. Spello, like Assisi, and beyond -it Perugia, (all these towns in this central valley in fact) was set -on top of a high ridge, and on some peak of it at that. As seen from -the valley below it was most impressive. Close at hand, in its narrow -winding streets it was simply strange, outre, almost bizarre, and yet a -lovely little place after its kind. Like Assisi it was very poor--only -more so. A little shrine to some old Greek divinity was preserved here -and at the very top of all, on the extreme upper round of the hill -was a Franciscan monastery which I invaded without a by your leave -and walked in its idyllic garden. There and then I decided that if -ever fortune should permit I would surely return to Spello and write -a book, and that this garden and monastery should be my home. It was -so eerie here--so sweet. The atmosphere was so wine-like. I wandered -about under green trees and beside well-kept flower beds enjoying the -spectacle until suddenly peering over a wall I beheld a small garden on -a slightly lower terrace and a brown-cowled monk gathering vegetables. -He had a basket on his arm, his hood back over his shoulders--a busy -and silent anchorite. After a time as I gazed he looked and smiled, -apparently not startled by my presence and then went on with his work. -“When I come again,” I said, “I shall surely live here and I’ll get -him to cook for me.” Lovely thought! I leaned over other walls and saw -in the narrow, winding streets below natives bringing home bundles of -fagots on the backs of long-eared donkeys, and women carrying water. -Very soon, I suppose, a car line will be built and the uniformed -Italian conductors will call “Assisi!” “Perugia!” and even “The Tomb of -St. Francis!” - - * * * * * - -Of all the hill-cities I saw in Italy certainly Perugia was the -most remarkable, the most sparkling, the most forward in all things -commercial. It stands high, very high, above the plain as you come in -at the depot and a wide-windowed trolley-car carries you up to the -principal square, the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele, stopping in front -of the modern hotels which command the wide sea-like views which -the valley presents below. Never was a city so beautifully located. -Wonderful ridges of mountains fade into amazing lavenders, purples, -scarlets, and blues, as the evening falls or the dawn brightens. If -I were trying to explain where some of the painters of the Umbrian -school, particularly Perugino, secured their wonderful sky touches, -their dawn and evening effects, I should say that they had once lived -at Perugia. Perugino did. It seemed to me as I wandered about it the -two days that I was there that it was the most human and industrious -little city I had ever walked into. Every living being seemed to -have so much to do. You could hear, as you went up and down the -streets--streets that ascend and descend in long, winding stairways, -step by step, for blocks--pianos playing, anvils ringing, machinery -humming, saws droning, and, near the great abattoir where cattle were -evidently slaughtered all day long, the piercing squeals of pigs in -their death throes. There was a busy market-place crowded from dawn -until noon with the good citizens of Perugia buying everything from -cabbages and dress-goods to picture post-cards and hardware. Long rows -of fat Perugian old ladies, sitting with baskets of wares in front -of them, all gossiped genially as they awaited purchasers. In the -public square facing the great hotels, nightly between seven and ten, -the whole spirited city seemed to be walking, a whole world of gay, -enthusiastic life that would remind you of an American manufacturing -town on a Saturday night--only this happens every night in Perugia. - -When I arrived there I went directly to my hotel, which faces the -Piazza Vittorio Emanuele. It was excellent, charmingly built, -beautifully located, with a wide view of the Umbrian plain which is so -wonderful in its array of distant mountains and so rich in orchards, -monasteries, convents and churches. I think I never saw a place with -so much variety of scenery, such curious twists of streets and lanes, -such heights and depths of levels and platforms on which houses, the -five- and six-story tenement of the older order of life in Italy, are -built. The streets are all narrow, in some places not more than ten or -fifteen feet wide, arched completely over for considerable distances, -and twisting and turning, ascending or descending as they go, but they -give into such adorable squares and open places, such magnificent views -at every turn! - -I do not know whether what I am going to say will have the force and -significance that I wish to convey, but a city like Perugia, taken as a -whole, all its gates, all its towers, all its upward-sweeping details, -is like a cathedral in itself, a Gothic cathedral. You would have to -think of the ridge on which it stands as providing the nave and the -transepts and the apse and then the quaint little winding streets of -the town itself with their climbing houses and towers would suggest the -pinnacles, spandrels, flying buttresses, airy statues and crosses of a -cathedral like Amiens. I know of no other simile that quite suggests -Perugia,--that is really so true to it. - -No one save an historical zealot could extract much pleasure from the -complicated political and religious history of this city. However once -upon a time there was a guild of money-changers and bankers which -built a hall, called the Hall of the Cambio, which is very charming; -and at another time (or nearly the same time) there was a dominant -Guelph party which, in conjunction with some wealthy townsmen known -as the “Raspanti,” built what is now known as the Palazzo Publico or -Palazzo Communale, in what is now known as the Piazza del Municipio, -which I think is perfect. It is not a fortress like the Bargello or the -Palazzo Vecchio at Florence, but it is a perfect architectural thing, -the charm of which remains with me fresh and keen. It is a beautiful -structure--one that serves charmingly the uses to which it is put--that -of a public center for officials and a picture-gallery. It was in one -of these rooms, devoted to a collection of Umbrian art, that I found -a pretentious collection of the work of Perugino, the one really -important painter who ever lived or worked in Perugia--and the little -city now makes much of him. - -If I felt like ignoring the long-winded art discussions of -comparatively trivial things, the charm and variety of the town and its -present-day life was in no wise lost upon me. - -The unheralded things, the things which the guide-books do not talk -about, are sometimes so charming. I found it entrancing to descend of -a morning by lovely, cool, stone passages from the Piazza of Vittorio -Emanuele to the Piazza of the Army, and watch the soldiers, principally -cavalry, drill. Their ground was a space about five acres in extent, as -flat as a table, set high above the plain, with deep ravines descending -on either hand, and the quaint houses and public institutions of -Perugia looking down from above. To the left, as you looked out over -the plain, across the intervening ravine, was another spur of the -town, built also on a flat ridge with the graceful church of St. Peter -and its beautiful Italian-Gothic tower, and the whole road that swept -along the edge of the cliff, making a delightful way for carriages and -automobiles. I took delight in seeing how wonderfully the deep green -ravines separate one section of the town from another, and in watching -the soldiers, Italy then being at war with Tripoli. - -You could stand, your arms resting upon some old brownish-green wall, -and look out over intervening fields to distant ranges of mountains, -or tower-like Assisi and Spoleto. The variety of the coloring of the -plain below was never wearying. - -This Italian valley was so beautiful that I should like to say one more -word about the skies and the wonderful landscape effects. North of -here, in Florence, Venice and Milan, they do not occur so persistently -and with such glorious warmth at this season of the year. At this -height the nights were not cold, but cool, and the mornings burst with -such a blaze of color as to defy the art of all save the greatest -painters. They were not so much lurid as richly spiritualized, being -shot through with a strange electric radiance. This did not mean, as -it would so often in America, that a cloudy day was to follow. Rather -the radiance slowly gave place to a glittering field of light that -brought out every slope and olive orchard and distant cypress and -pine with amazing clearness. The bells of the churches in Perugia and -in the valley below were like muezzins calling to each other from -their praying-towers. As the day closed the features of the landscape -seemed to be set in crystal, and the greens and browns and grays to -have at times a metallic quality. Outside the walls in the distance -were churches, shrines, and monasteries, always with a cypress or two, -sometimes with many, which stood out with great distinctness, and from -distant hillsides you would hear laborers singing in the bright sun. -Well might they sing, for I know of no place where life would present -to them a fairer aspect. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII - -THE MAKERS OF FLORENCE - - -With all the treasures of my historic reading in mind from the lives of -the Medici and Savonarola to that of Michelangelo and the Florentine -school of artists, I was keen to see what Florence would be like. Mrs. -Q. had described it as the most individual of all the Italian cities -that she had seen. She had raved over its narrow, dark, cornice-shaded -streets, its fortress-like palaces, its highly individual churches -and cloisters, the way the drivers of the little open vehicles plied -everywhere cracking their whips, until, she said, it sounded like -a Fourth of July in Janesville. I was keen to see how large the -dome of the cathedral would look and whether it would really tower -conspicuously over the remaining buildings of the city, and whether -the Arno would look as picturesque as it did in all the photographs. -The air was so soft and the sun so bright, although sinking low in the -west, as the train entered the city, that I was pleased to accept, -instead of the ancient atmosphere which I had anticipated, the wide -streets and rows of four- and six-family apartment houses which -characterize all the newer sections. They have the rich browns and -creams of the earlier portion of Florence; but they are very different -in their suggestion of modernity. The distant hills, as I could see -from the car windows, were dotted with houses and villas occupying -delightful positions above the town. Suddenly I saw the Duomo; and -although I knew it only from photographs I recognized it in an instant. -It spoke for itself in a large, dignified way. Over the housetops it -soared like a great bubble; and some pigeons flying in the air gave it -the last touch of beauty. We wound around the city in a circle--I could -tell this by the shifting position of the sun--through great yards of -railway-tracks with scores of engines and lines of small box-cars; -and then I saw a small stream and a bridge,--nothing like the Arno, -of course,--a canal; and the next thing we were rolling into a long -crowded railway-station, the guards calling Firenze. I got up, gathered -my overcoat and bags into my arms, signaled a _facino_ and gave them -to him; and then I sought a vehicle that would convey me to the hotel -for which I was bound--the Hotel de Ville on the Arno. I sat behind -a fat driver while he cracked his whip endlessly above the back of a -lazy horse, passing the while the showy façade of Santa Maria Novella, -striped with strange bands of white and bluish gray or drab,--a -pleasing effect for a church. I could see at once that the Florence of -the Middle Ages was a much more condensed affair than that which now -sprawls out in various directions from the Loggia dei Lanzi and the -place of the cathedral. - -The narrow streets were alive with people; and the drivers of vehicles -everywhere seemed to drive as if their lives depended on it. Suddenly -we turned into a _piazza_ very modern and very different from that -of Santa Maria Novella; and then we were at the hotel door. It was a -nice-looking square, as I thought, not very large,--clean and gracious. -To my delight I found that my room opened directly upon a balcony which -overlooked the Arno, and that from it, sitting in a chair, I could -command all of that remarkable prospect of high-piled medieval houses -hanging over the water’s edge. It was beautiful. The angelus bells -were ringing; there was a bright glow in the west where the sun was -going down; the water of the stream was turquoise blue, and the walls -of all the houses seemingly brown. I stood and gazed, thinking of -the peculiarly efficient German manager I had encountered, the German -servants who were in charge of this hotel, and the fact that Florence -had long since radically changed from what it was. A German porter -came and brought my bags; a German maid brought hot water; a German -clerk took my full name and address for the register, and possibly for -the police; and then I was at liberty to unpack and dress for dinner. -Instead I took a stroll out along the stream-banks to study the world -of jewelry shops which I saw there, and the stands for flowers, and the -idling crowd. - -I dare not imagine what the interest of Florence would be to any one -who did not know her strange and variegated history, but I should -think, outside of the surrounding scenic beauty, it would be little -or nothing. Unless one had a fondness for mere quaintness and gloom -and solidity, it would in a way be repulsive, or at best dreary. But -lighted by the romance, the tragedy, the lust, the zealotry, the -brutality and the artistic idealism that surrounds such figures as -Dante, the Medici, Savonarola, Donatello, Michelangelo, Brunelleschi, -and the whole world of art, politics, trade, war, it takes on a strange -luster to me, that of midnight waters lighted by the fitful gleams of -distant fires. I never think of it without seeing in my mind’s eye -the Piazza della Signoria as it must have looked on that day in 1494 -when that famous fiasco, in regard to “the test by fire,” entered -into between Savonarola and the Franciscan monks, took place,--those -long, ridiculous processions of Dominicans and Franciscans, Savonarola -bearing the chalice aloft; or that other day when Charles VIII of -France at the instance of Savonarola paraded the street in black -helmet with mantle of gold brocade, his lance leveled before him, -his retainers gathered about him, and then disappointed the people -by getting off his horse and showing himself to be the insignificant -little man that he was, almost deformed and with an idiotic expression -of countenance. Neither can I forget the day that Savonarola was -beheaded and burnt for his religious zealotry in this same Piazza della -Signoria; nor all the rivals of the Medici hung from the windows of -the Palazzo Vecchio or beheaded in the Bargello. Think of the tonsured -friars and grave citizens of this medieval city, under Savonarola’s -fiery incitement, their heads garlanded with flowers, mingling with the -overwrought children called to help in purifying the city, dancing like -David before the ark and shouting “Long live Christ and the Virgin, -our rulers”; of the days when Alessandro Medici and his boon companion -and cousin, Lorenzo, rode about the city on a mule together, defiling -the virtue of innocent girls, roistering in houses of ill repute, -and drinking and stabbing to their hearts’ content; of Fra Girolamo -preaching to excited crowds in the Duomo and of his vision of a black -cross over Rome, a red one over Jerusalem; of Machiavelli writing his -brochure “The Prince”; and of Michelangelo defending the city walls -as an engineer. Can any other city match this spectacular, artistic, -melodramatic progress in so short a space of time, or present the -galaxy of artists, the rank company of material masters such as the -Medici, the Pazzi, the Strozzi, plotting and counter-plotting to the -accompaniment of lusts and murders? Other cities have had their amazing -hours, all of them, from Rome to London. But Florence! It has always -seemed to me that the literary possibilities of Florence, in spite of -the vast body of literature concerning it, have scarcely been touched. - -The art section alone is so vast and so brilliant that one of the art -merchants told me while I was there that at least forty thousand of -the city’s one hundred and seventy thousand population is foreign -(principally English and American), drawn to it by its art merits, and -that the tide of travel from April to October is amazing. I can believe -it. You will hear German and English freely spoken in all the principal -thoroughfares. - -Because of a gray day and dull, following the warmth and color and -light of Perugia and Rome, Florence seemed especially dark and somber -to me at first; but I recovered. Its charm and beauty grew on me by -degrees so that by the time I had done inspecting Santa Maria Novella, -Santa Croce, San Marco, the Cathedral group and the Bargello, I was -really desperately in love with the art of it all, and after I had -investigated the galleries, the Pitti, Uffizi, Belle Arti, and the -Cloisters, I was satisfied that I could find it in my heart to live -here and work, a feeling I had in many other places in Europe. - -Truly, however, there is no other city in Europe just like Florence; -it has all the distinction of great individuality. My mood changed -about, at times, as I thought of the different periods of its history, -the splendor of its ambitions or the brutality of its methods; but -when I was in the presence of some of its perfect works of art, such -as Botticelli’s “Spring” in the Belle Arti, or Michelangelo’s “Tombs -of the Medici” in San Lorenzo, or Titian’s “Magdalen,” or Raphael’s -“Leo X” in the Pitti, or Benozzo Gozzoli’s fresco (the journey of the -three kings to Bethlehem) in the old Medici Palace, then I was ready to -believe that nothing could be finer than Florence. I realized now that -of all the cities in Europe that I saw Florence was possessed of the -most intense art atmosphere,--something that creeps over your soul in a -grim realistic way and causes you to repeat over and over: “Amazing men -worked here--amazing men!” - -It was so strange to find driven home to me,--even more here than in -Rome, that illimitable gulf that divides ideality of thought and -illusion from reality. Men painted the illusions of Christianity -concerning the saints and the miracles at this time better than ever -before or since, and they believed something else. A Cosimo Medici who -could patronize the Papacy with one hand and make a cardinal into a -pope, could murder a rival with the other; and Andrea del Castagno, -who was seeking to shine as a painter of religious art--madonnas, -transfigurations, and the like--could murder a Domenico Veneziano in -order to have no rival in what he considered to be a permanent secret -of how to paint in oils. The same munificence that could commission -Michelangelo to design and execute a magnificent façade for San Lorenzo -(it was never done, of course) could suborn the elective franchise of -the people and organize a school on the lines of Plato’s Academy. In -other words, in Florence as in the Court of Alexander VI at Rome, we -find life stripped of all sham in action, in so far as an individual -and his conscience were concerned, and filled with the utmost subtlety -in so far as the individual and the public were concerned. Cosimo and -Lorenzo de’ Medici, Andrea del Castagno, Machiavelli, the Pazzi, the -Strozzi,--in fact, the whole “kit and kaboodle” of the individuals -comprising the illustrious life that foregathered here, were cut -from the same piece of cloth. They were, one and all, as we know, -outside of a few artistic figures, shrewd, calculating, relentless and -ruthless seekers after power and position; lust, murder, gormandizing, -panoplizing, were the order of the day. Religion,--it was to be laughed -at; weakness,--it was to be scorned. Poverty was to be misused. -Innocence was to be seized upon and converted. Laughing at virtue and -satisfying themselves always, they went their way, building their -grim, dark, almost windowless palaces; preparing their dungeons and -erecting their gibbets for their enemies. No wonder Savonarola saw -“a black cross over Rome.” They struck swiftly and surely and smiled -blandly and apparently mercifully; they had the Asiatic notion of -morality,--charity, virtue, and the like, combined with a ruthless -indifference to them. Power was the thing they craved--power and -magnificence; and these were the things they had. But, oh, Florence! -Florence! how you taught the nothingness of life itself; its shams; -its falsehoods; its atrocities; its uselessness. It has never been -any wonder to me that the saddest, darkest, most pathetic figure in -all art, Michelangelo Buonarroti, should have appeared and loved -and dreamed and labored and died at this time. His melancholy was a -fit commentary on his age, on life, and on all art. Oh, Buonarroti, -loneliest of figures: I think I understand how it was with you. - -Bear with me while I lay a flower on this great grave. I cannot think -of another instance in art in which indomitable will and almost -superhuman energy have been at once so frustrated and so successful. - -I never think of the great tomb for which the Moses in San Pietro in -Vincoli--large, grave, thoughtful; the man who could walk with God--and -the slaves in the Louvre were intended without being filled with a vast -astonishment and grief to think that life should not have permitted -this design to come to fulfilment. To think that a pope so powerful as -Julius should have planned a tomb so magnificent, with Michelangelo -to scheme it out and actually to begin it, and then never permit it -to reach completion. All the way northward through Italy this idea of -a parallelogram with forty figures on it and covered with reliefs and -other ornaments haunted me. At Florence, in the Belle Arti, I saw more -of the figures (casts), designed for this tomb--strange, unfolding -thoughts half-hewn out of the rock, which suggest the source from -which Rodin has drawn his inspiration,--and my astonishment grew. -Before I was out of Italy, this man and his genius, the mere dreams -of the things he hoped to do, enthralled me so that to me he has -become the one great art figure of the world. Colossal is the word for -Michelangelo,--so vast that life was too short for him to suggest even -a tithe of what he felt. But even the things that he did, how truly -monumental they are. - -I am sure I am not mistaken when I say that there is a profound -sadness, too, running through all that he ever did. His works are -large, Gargantuan, and profoundly melancholy; witness the Moses that -I have been talking of, to say nothing of the statues on the tombs of -the Medici in San Lorenzo at Florence. I saw them in Berlin, reproduced -there in plaster in the Kaiser-Friederich-Museum, and once more I was -filled with the same sense of profound, meditative melancholy. It is -present in its most significant form here in Florence, in San Lorenzo, -the façade of which he once prepared to make magnificent, but here he -was again frustrated. I saw the originals of these deep, sad figures -that impressed me as no other sculptural figures ever have done. -“Dawn and Dusk”; “Day and Night.” How they dwell with me constantly. -I was never able to look at any of his later work--the Sistine Chapel -frescoes, the figures of slaves in the Louvre, the Moses in San Pietro -in Vincoli, or these figures here in Florence, without thinking how -true it was that this great will had rarely had its way and how, -throughout all his days, his energy was so unfortunately compelled to -war with circumstance. Life plays this trick on the truly great if they -are not ruthless and of material and executive leanings. Art is a pale -flower that blooms only in sheltered places and to drag it forth and -force it to contend with the rough usages of the world is to destroy -its perfectness. It was so in this man’s case who at times, because of -unlucky conjunctions, was compelled to fly for his life, or to sue for -the means which life should have been honored to bestow upon him, or -else to abandon great purposes. - -Out of such a mist of sorrow, and only so, however, have come these -figures that now dream here year after year in their gray chapel, while -travelers come and go, draining their cup of wonder,--rising ever and -anon to the level of the beauty they contemplate. I can see Browning -speculating upon the spirit of these figures. “Night” with her heavy -lids, lost in great weariness; and “Day” with his clear eyes. I can see -Rodin gathering substance for his “Thinker,” and Shelley marveling at -the suggestions which arise from these mighty figures. There is none so -great as this man who, in his medieval gloom and mysticism, inherited -the art of Greece. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII - -A NIGHT RAMBLE IN FLORENCE - - -Whatever the medieval atmosphere of Florence may have been, and when I -was there the exterior appearance of the central heart was obviously -somewhat akin to its fourteenth- and fifteenth-century predecessor, -to-day its prevailing spirit is thoroughly modern. If you walk in the -Piazza della Signoria or the Piazza del Duomo or the Via dei Calzaioli, -the principal thoroughfare, you will encounter most of the ancient -landmarks--a goodly number of them, but they will look out of place, as -in the case of the palaces with their windowless ground floors, built -so for purposes of defense, their corner lanterns, barricaded windows, -and single great entrances easily guarded. To-day these regions have, -if not the open spacing of the modern city, at least the commercial -sprightliness and matter-of-fact business display and energy which is -characteristic of commerce everywhere. - -I came to the Piazza della Signoria, the most famous square of the -city, quite by accident, the first night following a dark, heavily -corniced street from my hotel and at once recognized the Palazzo -Vecchio, with its thin angular tower; the Loggia dei Lanzi, where -in older times public performances were given in the open; and the -equestrian statue of Cosimo I. I idled long here, examining the -bronze slab which marks the site of the stake at which Savonarola -and two other Dominicans were burned in 1498, the fountain designed -by Bartolommeo Ammanati; the two lions at the step of the Loggia and -Benvenuto Cellini’s statue of “Perseus” with the head of Medusa. A -strange genius, that. This figure is as brilliant and thrilling as it -is ghastly. - -It was a lovely night. The moon came up after a time as it had at -Perugia and Assisi and I wandered about these old streets, feeling -the rough brown walls, looking in at the open shop windows, most -of them dark and lighted by street lamps, and studying always the -wide, overhanging cornices. All really interesting cities are so -delightfully different. London was so low, gray, foggy, heavy, drab, -and commonplace; Paris was so smart, swift, wide-spaced, rococo, -ultra-artistic, and fashionable; Monte Carlo was so semi-Parisian -and semi-Algerian or Moorish, with sunlight and palms; Rome was so -higgledy-piggledy, of various periods, with a strange mingling of -modernity and antiquity, and over all blazing sunlight and throughout -all cypresses; and now in Florence I found the compact, dark -atmosphere, suggestive of what Paris once was, centuries before, with -this distinctive feature, that the wide cornice is here an essential -characteristic. It is so wide! It protrudes outward from the building -line at least three or four feet and it may be much more, six or -seven. One thing is certain, as I found to my utter delight on a -rainy afternoon, you can take shelter under its wide reach and keep -comparatively dry. Great art has been developed in making it truly -ornamental and it gives the long narrow streets a most individual and, -in my judgment, distinguished appearance. - -It was quite by accident, also, on this same evening that I came -upon the Piazza del Duomo where the street cars are. I did not know -where I was going until suddenly turning a corner there I saw it--the -Campanile at last and a portion of the Cathedral standing out soft -and fair in the moonlight! I shall always be glad that I saw it so, -for the strange stripe and arabesque of its stone work,--slabs of -white or cream-colored stone interwoven in lovely designs with slabs -of slate-colored granite, had an almost eerie effect. It might have -been something borrowed from Morocco or Arabia or the Far East. -The dome, too, as I drew nearer, and the Baptistery soared upwards -in a magnificent way and, although afterwards I was sorry that -the municipality has never had sense enough to tear out the ruck -of buildings surrounding it and leave these three monuments--the -Cathedral, the Campanile, and the Baptistery--standing free and clear, -as at Pisa, on a great stone platform or square,--nevertheless, cramped -as I think they are, they are surely beautiful. - -I was not so much impressed by the interior of the cathedral. Its -beauty is largely on the outside. - -I ascended the Campanile still another day and from its height viewed -all Florence, the windings of the Arno, San Miniato, Fiesole, but, -try as I might, I could not think of it in modern terms. It was -too reminiscent of the Italy of the Medici, of the Borgias, Julius -II, Michelangelo and all the glittering company who were their -contemporaries. One thing that was strongly impressed upon me there -was that every city should have a great cathedral. Not so much as a -symbol or theory of religion as an object of art, something which would -indicate the perfection of the religious ideal taken from an artistic -point of view. Here you can stand and admire the exquisite double -windows with twisted columns, the infinite variety of the inlaid marble -work, and the quaint architecture of the niches supported by columns. -It was after midnight and the moon was high in the heavens shining down -with a rich springlike effect before I finally returned from the Duomo -Square, following the banks of the Arno and admiring the shadows cast -by the cornices and so finally reached my hotel and my bed. - -The Uffizi and Pitti collections of paintings are absolutely the most -amazing I saw abroad. There are other wonderful collections, the -Louvre being absolutely unbelievable for size; but here the art is so -uniformly relative to Italy, so identified with the Renaissance, so -suggestive of the influence and the patronage which gave it birth. The -influence of religion, the wealth of the Catholic Church, the power -of individual families such as the Medici and the Dukes of Venice are -all clearly indicated. Botticelli’s “Adoration of the Magi” in the -Uffizi, showing the proud Medici children, the head of Cosimo Pater -Patriae, and the company of men of letters and statesmen of the time, -all worked in as figures about the Christ child, tell the whole story. -Art was flattering to the nobility of the day. It was dependent for its -place and position upon religion, upon the patronage of the Church, -and so you have endless “Annunciations,” “Adorations,” “Flights into -Egypt,” “Crucifixions,” “Descents from the Cross,” “Entombments,” -“Resurrections,” and the like. The sensuous “Magdalena,” painted for -her form and the beauty of suggestion, you will encounter over and over -again. All the saints in the calendar, the proud Popes and Cardinals -of a dozen families, the several members of the Medici family--they -are all there. Now and then you will encounter a Rubens, a Van Dyck, -a Rembrandt, or a Frans Hals from the Netherlands, but they are rare. -Florence, Rome, Venice, Pisa, and Milan, are best represented by their -own sculptors, painters and architects and it is the local men largely -in whom you rejoice. The bits from other lands are few and far between. - -Rome for sculptures, frescoes, jewel-box churches, ancient ruins, but -Florence for paintings and the best collections of medieval artistic -craftsmanship. - -In the Uffizi, the Pitti, and the Belle Arti I browsed among the vast -collections of paintings sharpening my understanding of the growth of -Italian art. I never knew until I reached Florence how easy it is to -trace the rise of Christian art, to see how one painter influenced -another, how one school borrowed from another. It is all very plain. -If by the least effort you fix the representatives of the different -Italian schools in mind, you can judge for yourself. - -I returned three times to look at Botticelli’s “Spring” in the Belle -Arti, that marvelous picture which I think in many respects is the -loveliest picture in the world, so delicate, so poetically composed, -so utterly suggestive of the art and refinement of the painter and of -life at its best. The “Three Graces,” so lightly clad in transparent -raiment, are so much the soul of joy and freshness, the utter -significance of spring. The ruder figures to the left do so portray -the cold and blue of March, the warmer April, and the flower-clad May! -I could never tire of the artistry which could have March blowing on -April’s mouth from which flowers fall into the lap of May. Nor could -I weary of the spirit that could select green, sprouting things for -the hem of April’s garment; or above Spring’s head place a wingèd -and blindfolded baby shooting a fiery arrow at the Three Graces. To -me Botticelli is the nearest return to the Greek spirit of beauty, -grace and lightness of soul, combined with later delicacy and romance -that the modern world has known. It is so beautiful that for me it is -sad--full of the sadness that only perfect beauty can inspire. - -[Illustration: I sated myself on the house fronts or backs below the -Ponte Vecchio] - -I think now, of all the places I saw in Italy, perhaps Florence really -preserves in spite of its changes most of the atmosphere of the past, -but that is surely not for long, either; for it is growing and the -Germans are arriving. They were in complete charge of my hotel here and -of other places, as I shortly saw, and I fancy that the future of -northern Italy is to be in the hands of the Germans. - -As I walked about this city, lingering in its doorways, brooding over -its pictures, reconstructing for myself the life of the Middle Ages, I -could not help thinking how soon it must all go. No doubt the churches, -palaces, and museums will be retained in their present form for -hundreds of years, and they should be, but soon will come wider streets -and newer houses even in the older section (the heart of the city) and -then farewell to the medieval atmosphere. In all likelihood the wide -cornices, now such a noticeable feature of the city, will be abandoned -and then there will be scarcely anything to indicate the Florence of -the past. Already the street cars were clang-clanging their way through -certain sections. - -The Arno here is so different from the Tiber at Rome; and yet so much -like it, for it has in the main the same unprepossessing look, running -as it does through the city between solid walls of stone but lacking -the spectacles of the castle of St. Angelo, Saint Peter’s, the hills -and the gardens of the Aventine and the Janiculum. There are no ancient -ruins on the Arno,--only the suggestive architecture of the Middle -Ages, the wonderful Ponte Vecchio and the houses adjacent to it. - -Indeed the river here is nothing more than a dammed stream--shallow -before it reaches the city, shallow after it leaves it, but held in -check here by great stone dams which give it a peculiarly still mass -and depth. The spirit of the people was not the same as that of those -in Rome or other cities; the spirit of the crowd was different. A -darker, richer, more phlegmatic populace, I thought. The people were -slow, leisurely, short and comfortable. I sated myself on the house -fronts or backs below the Ponte Vecchio and on the little jewelry shops -of which there seemed to be an endless variety; and then feeling that -I had had a taste of the city, I returned to larger things. The Duomo, -the palaces of the Medici, the Pitti Palace, and that world which -concerned the Council of Florence, and the dignified goings to and fro -of old Cosimo Pater and his descendants were the things that I wished -to see and realize for myself if I could. - -I think we make a mistake when we assume that the manners, customs, -details, conversation, interests and excitements of people anywhere -were ever very much different from what they are now. In three or four -hundred years from now people in quite similar situations to our own -will be wondering how we took our daily lives; quite the same as our -ancestors, I should say, and no differently from our descendants. Life -works about the same in all times. Only exterior aspects change. In the -particular period in which Florence, and all Italy for that matter, was -so remarkable, Italy was alive with ambitious men--strong, remarkable, -capable characters. _They_ made the wonder of the life, it was not the -architecture that did it and not the routine movements of the people. -Florence has much the same architecture to-day, better in fact; but not -the men. Great men make great times--and only struggling, ambitious, -vainglorious men make the existence of the artist possible, however -much he may despise them. They are the only ones who in their vainglory -and power can readily call upon him to do great things and supply the -means. Witness Raphael and Michelangelo in Italy, Rubens in Holland, -and Velasquez in Spain. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX - -FLORENCE OF TO-DAY - - -It was while I was in Florence that a light was thrown on an industry -of which I had previously known little and which impressed me much. - -Brooding over the almost endless treasures of the city, I ambled into -the Strozzi Palace one afternoon, that perfect example of Florentine -palatial architecture, then occupied by an exposition of objects of -art, reproductions and originals purporting to be the work of an -association of Italian artists. After I had seen, cursorily, most of -the treasures in the Palazzo Strozzi, I encountered a thing which I had -long heard of but never seen,--an organization for the reproduction, -the reduplication, of all the wonders of art, and cheaply, too. The -place was full of marbles of the loveliest character, replicas of -famous statues in the Vatican, the Louvre, the Uffizi, and elsewhere; -and in many instances, also, copies of the great pictures. There was -beautiful furniture imitated, even as to age, from many of the Italian -palaces, the Riccardi, Albizzi, Pazzi, Pitti, Strozzi, and others; -and as for garden-fittings--fountains, fauns, cupids, benches, metal -gateways, pergolas, and the like, they were all present. They were -marvelous reproductions from some of the villas, with the patina of age -upon them, and I thought at first that they were original. I was soon -undeceived, for I had not been there long, strolling about, when an -attendant brought and introduced to me a certain Prof. Ernesto Jesuram, -a small, dark, wiry man with clear, black, crowlike eyes who made clear -the whole situation. - -The markets of the world, according to Mr. Jesuram, a Jew, were being -flooded with cheap imitations of every truly worthy object of art, -from Italian stone benches to landscapes by Corot or portraits by -Frans Hals--masquerading as originals; and it had been resolved by -this Association of Italian Artists that this was unfair, not only to -the buyer and the art-loving public generally, but also to the honest -craftsman who could make an excellent living reproducing, frankly, -copies of ancient works of merit at a nominal price, if only they -were permitted to copy them. Most, in fact all of them, could make -interesting originals but in many cases they would lack that trait of -personality which makes all the difference between success and failure; -whereas they could perfectly reproduce the masterpieces of others and -that, too, for prices with which no foreigner could compete. So they -had banded themselves together, determined to do better work, and sell -more cheaply than the fly-by-night rascals who were confounding and -degrading all good art and to say frankly to each and all: “Here is a -perfect reproduction of a very lovely thing. Do you want it at a very -low cost?” or, “We will make for you an exact copy of anything that you -see and admire and wish to have and we will make it so cheaply that you -cannot afford to dicker with doubtful dealers who sell you imitations -_as originals_ and charge you outrageous prices.” - -I have knocked about sufficiently in my time in the showy chambers of -American dealers and elsewhere to know that there is entirely too much -in what was told me. - -The wonder of Florence grew a little under the Professor’s quiet -commercial analysis, for after exhausting this matter of reproducing so -cheaply, we proceeded to a discussion of the present conditions of the -city. - -“It’s very different commercially from anything in America or the -north of Europe,” he said, “or even the north of Italy, for as yet we -have scarcely anything in the way of commerce here. We still build in -the fashion they used five hundred years ago--narrow streets and big -cornices in order to keep up the atmosphere of the city, for we are -not strong enough commercially yet to go it alone, and besides I don’t -think the Italians will ever be different. They are an easy-going -race. They don’t need the American “two dollars a day” to live on. -Fifty centimes will do. For one thousand dollars (five thousand lire) -you can rent a palace here for a year and I can show you whole floors -overlooking gardens that you can rent for seventeen dollars a month. We -have a garden farther out that we use as a workshop here in Florence, -in the heart of the city, which we rent for four hundred dollars a -year.” - -“What about the Italian’s idea of progress? Isn’t he naturally -constructive?” I asked Mr. Jesuram. - -“Rarely the Italian. Not at this date. We have many Jews and -Germans here who are doing well, and foreign capital is building -street-railways. I think the Italians will have to be fused with -another nation to experience a new birth. The Germans are mixing with -them. If they ever get as far south as Sicily, Italy will be made over; -the Germans themselves will be made over. I notice that the Italians -and Germans get along well together.” - -I thought of the age-long wars between the Teutons and the Italians -from the fifth to the twelfth century, but those days are over. They -can apparently mingle in peace now, as I saw here and farther north. - -It was also while I was in Florence that I first became definitely and -in an irritated way conscious of a certain aspect of travel which no -doubt thousands of other travelers have noted for themselves but of -which, nevertheless, I feel called upon to speak. - -I could never come in to the breakfast table either there, or at Rome, -or in Venice, or Milan, without encountering a large company of that -peculiarly American brand of sightseers, not enormously rich, of no -great dignity, but comfortable and above all enormously pleased with -themselves. I could never look at any of this tribe, comfortably -clothed, very pursy and fussy, without thinking what a far cry it -is from the temperament which makes for art or great originality -to the temperament which makes for normality--the great, so-called -sane, conservative mass. God spare me! I’ll admit that for general -purposes, the value of breeding, trading, rearing of children in -comfort, producing the living atmosphere of life in which we “find” -ourselves and from which art, by the grace of great public occasions -may rise, people of this type are essential. But seen individually, -dissociated from great background masses, they are--but let me not go -wild. Viewed from the artistic angle, the stress of great occasions, -great emotion, great necessities, they fall into such pigmy weaknesses, -almost ridiculous. Here abroad they come so regularly, Pa and Ma. Pa -infrequently, and a little vague-looking from overwork and limited -vision of soul; Ma not infrequently, a little superior, vain, stuffy, -envious, dull and hard. I never see such a woman as that but my gorge -rises a little. The one idea of a pair like this, particularly of the -mother, is the getting her children (if there be any) properly married, -the girls particularly, and in this phase of family politics Pa has -obviously little to say. Their appearance abroad, accompanied by Henry -and George, Junior, and Mary and Anabel, is for--I scarcely know what. -It is so plain on the face of it that no single one of them has the -least inkling of what he is seeing. I sat in a carriage with two of -them in Rome, viewing the ruins of the Via Appia, and when we reached -the tomb of Cæcilia Metella I heard: - -“Oh, yes. There it is. What was _she_, anyhow? He was a Roman general, -I think, and _she_ was his wife. His house was next door and he built -this tomb here so she would be near him. Isn’t it wonderful? Such a -nice idea!” - -So far as I could make out from watching this throng the principal idea -was to be able to say that they had been abroad. Poor old Florence! Its -beauty and its social significance passed unrecognized. Art, so far -as I could judge from the really unmoved spectators present, was for -crazy people. The artist was some weird, spindling, unfortunate fool, -a little daft perhaps, but tolerable for a strange furore he seemed to -have created. Great men made and used him. He was, after his fashion, -a servant. The objectionable feature of a picture like Botticelli’s -“Spring” would be the nudity of the figures! From a Rubens or a nude -Raphael we lead brash, unctuous, self-conscious Mary away in silence. -If we encounter, perchance, quite unexpectedly a “Leda” by Michelangelo -or a too nude “Assumption” by Bronzino, we turn away in disgust. Art -must be limited to conventional theories and when so limited is not -worth much anyhow. - -It was amazing to see them strutting in and out, their good clothes -rustling, an automobile in waiting, noisily puffing the while they -gather aimless “impressions” wherewith to browbeat their neighbors. -George and Henry and Mary and Anabel, protesting half the time or in -open rebellion, are duly led to see the things which have been the most -enthusiastically recommended, be they palaces or restaurants. - -I often wondered what it was--the best--which these people got out -of their trip abroad. The heavy Germans I saw I always suspected of -having solid Teutonic understanding and appreciation of everything; -the English were uniformly polite, reserved, intelligent, apparently -discriminating. But these Americans! If you told them the true story -of Antinous, whose head I saw them occasionally admiring; or forced -upon them the true details of the Borgias, the Sforzas, the Medici, -or even the historical development of Art, they would fly in horror. -They have no room in their little crania for anything save their own -notions,--the standards of the Methodist Church at Keokuk. I think, -sometimes, perhaps it is because we are all growing to a different -standard, trying to make life something different from what it has -always been, or appeared to be, that all the trouble comes about. Time -will remedy that. Life,--its heavy, interminable processes,--will -break any theory. I conceive of life as a blind goddess, pouring from -separate jars, one of which she holds in each hand, simultaneously, the -streams of good and evil, which mingling, make this troubled existence, -flowing ever onward to the sea. - -It was also while I was at Florence that I finally decided to change -my plan and visit Venice. “It is a city without a disappointment,” a -publisher-friend of mine had one time assured me, with the greatest -confidence. And so, here at Florence, on this first morning, I altered -my plans; I changed my ticket at Thomas Cook’s and crowded Venice in -between Florence and Milan. I gave myself a stay of four days, deciding -to lengthen it if I chose. - -I really think that every traveler of to-day owes a debt of gratitude -to Thomas Cook & Sons. I never knew, until I went abroad what an -accommodation the offices of this concern are. Your mail is always -courteously received and cared for; your routes and tickets are changed -and altered at your slightest whim; your local bank is their cash-desk -and the only advisers you have, if you are alone and without the native -tongue at your convenience, are their clerks and agents at the train. -It does not make any difference to me that that is their business and -that they make a profit. In a foreign city where you are quite alone -you would grant them twice the profit for this courtesy. And it was -my experience, in the slight use I made of their service, that their -orders and letters of advice were carefully respected and that when you -came conducted by Thomas Cook, whether you took the best or the worst, -you were politely and assiduously looked after. - -One of the most amusing letters that I received while abroad was from -this same publisher-friend who wanted me to go to Venice. Not so long -before I left Rome, he had arrived with his wife, daughter, and a -young girl friend of his daughter whose first trip abroad they were -sponsoring. At a luncheon they had given me, the matter of seeing the -Pope had come up and I mentioned that I had been so fortunate as to -find some one who could introduce me, and that it was just possible, -if they wished it, that my friend would extend his courtesy to them. -The young girls in particular were eager, but I was not sure. I left -Rome immediately afterward, writing to my British correspondent, -bespeaking his interest in their behalf, and at the same time to my -publisher-friend that I was doing so. As an analysis of girlhood -vagaries, keen and clever, read his letter: - - _My Dear Dreiser_: - - The young woman who thinks she wants to see the Pope goes under - the name of Margaret,--but I wouldn’t try very hard to bring it - about, because if Margaret went, my daughter would want to go, - and if Margaret and my daughter went, my wife would feel out in - the cold. (The old man can stand it.) - - Margaret’s motives are simply childish curiosity, possibly - combined with a slight desire to give pleasure to the Holy - Father. - - But don’t try to get that Papal interview for Margaret unless - you can get it for all the ladies. You will introduce a serpent - into my paradise. - -No serpent was introduced because I couldn’t get the interview. - -And the cells and cloister of San Marco,--shall I ever forget them? -I went there on a spring morning (spring in Italy) when the gleaming -light outside filled the cloister with a cool brightness, and studied -the frescoes of Fra Angelico and loitered between the columns of the -arches in the cloister proper, meditating upon the beauty of the things -here gathered. Really, Italy is too beautiful. One should be a poet -in soul, insatiable as to art, and he should linger here forever. -Each poorest cell here has a small fresco by Fra Angelico, and the -refectory, the chapter house, and the foresteria are filled with large -compositions, all rich in that symbolism which is only wonderful -because of the art-feeling of the master. I lingered in the cells, -the small chambers once occupied by Savonarola, and meditated on the -great zealot’s imaginings. In a way his dream of the destruction of the -Papacy came true. Even as he preached, the Reformation was at hand, -only he did not know it. Martin Luther was coming. The black cross was -over Rome! And also true was his thought that the end of the old order -in Italy had come. It surely had. Never afterwards was it quite the -same and never would it be so again. And equally true was his vision -of the red cross over Jerusalem, for never was the simple humanism of -Jesus so firmly based in the minds of men as it is to-day, though all -creeds and religious theories totter wearily to their ruin. Savonarola -was destroyed, but not his visions or his pleas. They are as fresh and -powerful to-day, as magnetic and gripping, as are any that have been -made in history. - -It was the same with the Bargello, the tombs of the Medici, San Miniato -and the basilica and monastery at Fiesole. That last, with the wind -singing in the cypresses, a faint mist blowing down the valley of the -Arno, all Florence lying below and the lights of evening beginning -to appear, stands fixed and clear in my mind. I saw it for the last -time the evening before I left. I sat on a stone bench overlooking a -wonderful prospect, rejoicing in the artistic spirit of Italy which -has kept fresh and clean these wonders of art, when I was approached -by a brown Dominican, his feet and head bare, his body stout and -comfortable. He asked for alms! I gave him a lira for the sake of -Savonarola who belonged to his order and--because of the spirit of -Italy, that in the midst of a changing, commercializing world still -ministers to these shrines of beauty and keeps them intact and -altogether lovely. - -One last word and I am done. I strolled out from Santa Croce one -evening a little confused by the charm of all I had seen and wondering -how I could best bestow my time for the remaining hours of light. I -tried first to find the house of Michelangelo which I fancied was -somewhere in the vicinity, but not finding it, came finally to the -Arno which I followed upstream. The evening was very pleasant, quite -a sense of spring in the air and of new-made gardens, and I overcame -my disappointment at having failed to accomplish my original plan. I -passed new streets, wider than the old ones in the heart of the city, -with street lamps, arc-lights, modern awnings and a trolley-car running -in the distance. Presently I came to a portion of the Arno lovelier -than any I had yet seen. Of course the walls through which it flows in -the city had disappeared and in their place came grass-covered banks -with those tall thin poplars I had so much admired in France. The -waters were a “Nile green” at this hour and the houses, collected in -small groups, were brown, yellow, or white, with red or brown roofs and -brown or green shutters. The old idea of arches with columns and large -projecting roofs still persisted in these newer, outlying houses and -made me wonder whether Florence might not, after all, always keep this -characteristic. - -As I went farther out the houses grew less frequent and lovely -bluish-black hills appeared. There was a smoke-stack in the distance, -just to show that Florence was not dead to the idea of manufacturing, -and beyond in a somewhat different direction the dome of the -cathedral,--that really impressive dome. - -Some men were fishing in the stream from the bank, apparently catching -nothing. I noticed the lovely cypresses of the South in the distance, -the large villas on the hills, and here and there clumps of those tall, -slender trees of France, not conspicuous elsewhere on my journey. - -In one place I noticed the largest display of washing I have ever seen, -quite the largest,--a whole field of linen, no less, hung out to dry; -and in another place some slow-moving men cutting wood. - -It was very warm, very pleasant, slightly suggestive of rain, with -the smoke going up straight, and after a while when the evening -church-bells were beginning to ring, calling to each other from vale -and hill, my sense of springtime and pleasant rural and suburban -sweetness was complete. - -Laughter carried I noticed, in some peculiar, echoing way. The music of -the bells was essentially quieting. I had no sense of Florence, old -or new, but just spring, hope, new birth. And as I turned back after -a time I knew I had acquired a different and very precious memory of -Florence--something that would last me years and years. I should always -think of the Arno as it looked this evening--how safe and gracious and -still. I should always hear the voices in laughter, and the bells; I -should always see the children playing on the green banks, quite as -I used to play on the Wabash and the Tippecanoe; and their voices in -Italian were no less sweet than our childish voices. I had a feeling -that somehow the spirit of Italy was like that of America, and that -somehow there is close kinship between us and Italy, and that it was -not for nothing that an Italian discovered America or that Americans, -of all people, have apparently loved Italy most and rivaled it most -closely in their periods of greatest achievement. - - - - -CHAPTER XL - -MARIA BASTIDA - - -In studying out my itinerary at Florence I came upon the homely advice -in Baedeker that in Venice “care should be taken in embarking and -disembarking, especially when the tide is low, exposing the slimy -lower steps.” That, as much as anything I had ever read, visualized -this wonder city to me. These Italian cities, not being large, end -so quickly that before you can say Jack Robinson you are out of them -and away, far into the country. It was early evening as we pulled out -of Florence; and for a while the country was much the same as it had -been in the south--hill-towns, medieval bridges and strongholds, the -prevailing solid browns, pinks, grays and blues of the architecture, -the white oxen, pigs and shabby carts, but gradually, as we neared -Bologna, things seemed to take on a very modern air of factories, wide -streets, thoroughly modern suburbs and the like. It grew dark shortly -after that and the country was only favored by the rich radiance of the -moon which made it more picturesque and romantic, but less definite and -distinguishable. - -In the compartment with me were two women, one a comfortable-looking -matron traveling from Florence to Bologna, the other a young girl of -twenty or twenty-one, of the large languorous type, and decidedly good -looking. She was very plainly dressed and evidently belonged to the -middle class. - -The married Italian lady was small and good-looking and _bourgeoise_. -Considerably before dinner-time, and as we were nearing Bologna, she -opened a small basket which she carried and took from it a sandwich, -an apple, and a bit of cheese, which she ate placidly. For some reason -she occasionally smiled at me good-naturedly, but not speaking Italian, -I was without the means of making a single observation. At Bologna I -assisted her with her parcels and received a smiling backward glance -and then I settled myself in my seat wondering what the remainder of -the evening would bring forth. I was not so very long in discovering. - -Once the married lady of Bologna had disappeared, my young -companion took on new life. She rose, smoothed down her dress and -reclined comfortably in her seat, her cheek laid close against the -velvet-covered arm, and looked at me occasionally out of half-closed -eyes. She finally tried to make herself more comfortable by lying down -and I offered her my fur overcoat as a pillow. She accepted it with a -half-smile. - -About this time the dining-car steward came through to take a -memorandum of those who wished to reserve places for dinner. He looked -at the young lady but she shook her head negatively. I made a sudden -decision. “Reserve two places,” I said. The servitor bowed politely -and went away. I scarcely knew why I had said this, for I was under -the impression my young lady companion spoke only Italian, but I was -trusting much to my intuition at the moment. - -A little later, when it was drawing near the meal time, I said, “Do you -speak English?” - -“_Non_,” she replied, shaking her head. - -“_Sprechen Sie Deutsch?_” - -“_Ein wenig_,” she replied, with an easy, babyish, half-German, -half-Italian smile. - -“_Sie sind doch Italianisch_,” I suggested. - -“_Oh, oui!_” she replied, and put her head down comfortably on my coat. - -“_Reisen Sie nach Venedig?_” I inquired. - -“_Oui_,” she nodded. She half smiled again. - -I had a real thrill of satisfaction out of all this, for although I -speak abominable German, just sufficient to make myself understood by -a really clever person, yet I knew, by the exercise of a little tact I -should have a companion to dinner. - -“You will take dinner with me, won’t you?” I stammered in my best -German. “I do not understand German very well, but perhaps we can make -ourselves understood. I have two places.” - -She hesitated, and said--“_Ich bin nicht hungerich._” - -“But for company’s sake,” I replied. - -“_Mais, oui_,” she replied indifferently. - -I then asked her whether she was going to any particular hotel in -Venice--I was bound for the Royal Danieli--and she replied that her -home was in Venice. - -Maria Bastida was a most interesting type. She was a Diana for size, -pallid, with a full rounded body. Her hair was almost flaxen and her -hands large but not unshapely. She seemed to be strangely world-weary -and yet strangely passionate--the kind of mind and body that does and -does not, care; a kind of dull, smoldering fire burning within her and -yet she seemed indifferent into the bargain. She asked me an occasional -question about New York as we dined, and though wine was proffered -she drank little and, true to her statement that she was not hungry, -ate little. She confided to me in soft, difficult German that she was -trying not to get too stout, that her mother was German and her father -Italian and that she had been visiting an uncle in Florence who was in -the grocery business. I wondered how she came to be traveling first -class. - -The time passed. Dinner was over and in several hours more we would be -in Venice. We returned to our compartment and because the moon was -shining magnificently we stood in the corridor and watched its radiance -on clustered cypresses, villa-crowned hills, great stretches of flat -prairie or marsh land, all barren of trees, and occasionally on little -towns all white and brown, glistening in the clear light. - -“It will be a fine night to see Venice for the first time,” I suggested. - -“_Oh, oui! Herrlich! Prachtvoll!_” she replied in her queer mixture of -French and German. - -I liked her command of sounding German words. - -She told me the names of stations at which we stopped, and finally she -exclaimed quite gaily, “Now we are here! The Lagoon!” - -I looked out and we were speeding over a wide body of water. It -was beautifully silvery and in the distance I could see the faint -outlines of a city. Very shortly we were in a car yard, as at Rome and -Florence, and then under a large train shed, and then, conveyed by an -enthusiastic Italian porter, we came out on the wide stone platform -that faces the Grand Canal. Before me were the white walls of marble -buildings and intervening in long, waving lines a great street of -water; the gondolas, black, shapely, a great company of them, nudging -each other on its rippling bosom, green-stained stone steps, sharply -illuminated by electric lights leading down to them, a great crowd of -gesticulating porters and passengers. I startled Maria by grabbing her -by the arm, exclaiming in German, “Wonderful! Wonderful!” - -“_Est ist herrlich_” (It is splendid), she replied. - -We stepped into a gondola, our bags being loaded in afterwards. It was -a singularly romantic situation, when you come to think of it: entering -Venice by moonlight and gliding off in a gondola in company with an -unknown and charming Italian girl who smiled and sighed by turns and -fairly glowed with delight and pride at my evident enslavement to the -beauty of it all. - -She was directing the gondolier where to leave her when I exclaimed, -“Don’t leave me--please! Let’s do Venice together!” - -She was not offended. She shook her head, a bit regretfully I like -to think, and smiled most charmingly. “Venice has gone to your head. -To-morrow you’ll forget me!” - -And there my adventure ended! - -It is a year, as I write, since I last saw the flaxen-haired Maria, and -I find she remains quite as firmly fixed in my memory as Venice itself, -which is perhaps as it should be. - - * * * * * - -But the five or six days I spent in Venice--how they linger. How shall -one ever paint water and light and air in words. I had wild thoughts as -I went about of a splendid panegyric on Venice--a poem, no less--but -finally gave it up, contenting myself with humble notes made on the -spot which at some time I hoped to weave into something better. Here -they are--a portion of them--the task unfinished. - - What a city! To think that man driven by the hand of - circumstance--the dread of destruction--should have sought out - these mucky sea islands and eventually reared as splendid a - thing as this. “The Veneti driven by the Lombards,” reads my - Baedeker, “sought the marshy islands of the sea.” Even so. Then - came hard toil, fishing, trading, the wonders of the wealth of - the East. Then came the Doges, the cathedral, these splendid - semi-Byzantine palaces. Then came the painters, religion, - romance, history. To-day here it stands, a splendid shell, - reminiscent of its former glory. Oh, Venice! Venice! - - * * * * * - - The Grand Canal under a glittering moon. The clocks striking - twelve. A horde of black gondolas. Lovely cries. The rest is - silence. Moon picking out the ripples in silver and black. - Think of these old stone steps, white marble stained green, - laved by the waters of the sea these hundreds of years. A long, - narrow street of water. A silent boat passing. And this is a - city of a hundred and sixty thousand! - - * * * * * - - Wonderful painted arch doorways and windows. Trefoil and - quadrifoil decorations. An old iron gate with some statues - behind it. A balcony with flowers. The Bridge of Sighs! Nothing - could be so perfect as a city of water. - - * * * * * - - The Lagoon at midnight under a full moon. Now I think I know - what Venice is at its best. Distant lights, distant voices. - Some one singing. There are pianos in this sea-isle city, - playing at midnight. Just now a man silhouetted blackly, under - a dark arch. Our gondola takes us into the very hallway of the - Royal-Danieli. - - * * * * * - - Water! Water! The music of all earthly elements. The lap of - water! The sigh of water! The flow of water! In Venice you have - it everywhere. It sings at the base of your doorstep; it purrs - softly under your window; it suggests the eternal rhythm and - the eternal flow at every angle. Time is running away; life - is running away, and here in Venice, at every angle (under - your window) is its symbol. I know of no city which at once - suggests the lapse of time hourly, momentarily, and yet soothes - the heart because of it. For all its movement or because of - it, it is gay, light-hearted, without being enthusiastic. The - peace that passes all understanding is here, soft, rhythmic, - artistic. Venice is as gay as a song, as lovely as a jewel (an - opal or an emerald), as rich as marble and as great as verse. - There can only be one Venice in all the world! - - * * * * * - - No horses, no wagons, no clanging of cars. Just the patter of - human feet. You listen here and the very language is musical. - The voices are soft. Why should they be loud? They have nothing - to contend with. I am wild about this place. There is a - sweetness in the hush of things which woos, and yet it is not - the hush of silence. All is life here, all movement--a sweet, - musical gaiety. I wonder if murder and robbery can flourish - in any of these sweet streets. The life here is like that of - children playing. I swear in all my life I have never had such - ravishing sensations of exquisite art-joy, of pure, delicious - enthusiasm for the physical, exterior aspect of a city. It is - as mild and sweet as moonlight itself. - - * * * * * - - This hotel, Royal Danieli, is a delicious old palace, laved - on one side by a canal. My room commands the whole of the - Lagoon. George Sand and Alfred de Musset occupied a room here - somewhere. Perhaps I have it. - - * * * * * - - Venice is so markedly different from Florence. There all is - heavy, somber, defensive, serious. Here all is light, airy, - graceful, delicate. There could be no greater variation. Italy - is such a wonderful country. It has Florence, Venice, Rome and - Naples, to say nothing of Milan and the Riviera, which should - really belong to it. No cornices here in Venice. They are all - left behind in Florence. - - * * * * * - - What shall I say of St. Mark’s and the Ducal Palace--mosaics - of history, utterly exquisite. The least fragment of St. - Mark’s I consider of the utmost value. The Ducal Palace should - be guarded as one of the great treasures of the world. It is - perfect. - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: There can only be one Venice] - - Fortunately I saw St. Mark’s in the morning, in clear, - refreshing, springlike sunlight. Neither Venice nor Florence - have the hard glitter of the South--only a rich brightness. - The domes are almost gold in effect. The nine frescoes of - the façade, gold, red and blue. The walls, cream and gray. - Before it is the oblique quadrangle which necessitates your - getting far to one side to see the church squarely--a perfect - and magnificently individual jewel. All the great churches - are that, I notice. Overhead a sky of blue. Before you a - great, smooth pavement, crowded with people, the Campanile - (just recompleted) soaring heavenward in perfect lines. What - a square! What a treasure for a city to have! Momentarily - this space is swept over by great clouds of pigeons. The new - reproduction of the old Campanile glows with a radiance all - its own. Above all, the gilded crosses of the church. To the - right the lovely arcaded façade of the library. To the right - of the church, facing the square, the fretted beauty of the - Doge’s Palace--a portion of it. As I was admiring it a warship - in the harbor fired a great gun--twelve o’clock. Up went all - my pigeons, thousands it seemed, sweeping in great restless - circles while church bells began to chime and whistles to blow. - Where are the manufactories of Venice? - - * * * * * - - At first you do not realize it, but suddenly it occurs to - you--a city of one hundred and sixty thousand without a wagon, - or horse, without a long, wide street, anywhere, without - trucks, funeral processions, street cars. All the shops doing a - brisk business, citizens at work everywhere, material pouring - in and out, but no wagons--only small barges and gondolas. No - noise save the welcome clatter of human feet; no sights save - those which have a strange, artistic pleasantness. You can hear - people talking sociably, their voices echoed by the strange - cool walls. You can hear birds singing high up in pretty - windows where flowers trail downward; you can hear the soft lap - of waters on old steps at times, the softest, sweetest music of - all. - - * * * * * - - I find boxes, papers, straw, vegetable waste, all cast - indifferently into the water and all borne swiftly out to - sea. People open windows and cast out packages as if this - were the only way. I walked into the Banca di Napoli this - afternoon, facing the Grand Canal. It was only a few moments - after the regular closing hour. I came upon it from some - narrow lane--some “dry street.” It was quite open, the ground - floor. There was a fine, dark-columned hall opening out upon - the water. Where were the clerks, I wondered? There were none. - Where that ultimate hurry and sense of life that characterizes - the average bank at this hour? Nowhere. It was lovely, open, - dark,--as silent as a ruin. When did the bank do business, I - asked myself. No answer. I watched the waters from its steps - and then went away. - - * * * * * - - One of the little tricks of the architects here is to place a - dainty little Gothic balcony above a door, perhaps the only one - on the façade, and that hung with vines. - - * * * * * - - Venice is mad about campaniles. It has a dozen, I think, some - of them leaning, like the tower at Pisa. - - * * * * * - - I must not forget the old rose of the clouds in the west. - - * * * * * - - A gondolier selling vegetables and crying his wares is pure - music. At my feet white steps laved by whitish-blue water. - Tall, cool, damp walls, ten feet apart. Cool, wet, red brick - pavements. The sun shining above makes one realize how lovely - and cool it is here; and birds singing everywhere. - - * * * * * - - Gondolas doing everything, carrying casks, coal, lumber, lime, - stone, flour, bricks, and boxed supplies generally, and others - carrying vegetables, fruit, kindling and flowers. Only now I - saw a boat slipping by crowded with red geraniums. - - * * * * * - - Lovely pointed windows and doors; houses, with colonnades, - trefoils, quadrifoils, and exquisite fluted cornices to match, - making every house that strictly adheres to them a jewel. It is - Gothic, crossed with Moorish and Byzantine fancy. Some of them - take on the black and white of London smoke, though why I have - no idea. Others being colored richly at first are weathered by - time into lovely half-colors or tones. - - * * * * * - - These little canals are heavenly! They wind like scattered - ribbons, flung broadcast, and the wind touches them only in - spots, making the faintest ripples. Mostly they are as still - as death. They have exquisite bridges crossing in delightful - arches and wonderful doors and steps open into them, steps gray - or yellow or black with age, steps that have green and brown - moss on them and that are alternately revealed or hidden by a - high or low tide. Here comes a gondolier now, peddling oranges. - The music of his voice! - - * * * * * - - Latticework is everywhere, and it so obviously _belongs_ here. - Latticework in the churches, the houses, the public buildings. - Venice loves it. It is oriental and truly beautiful. - - * * * * * - - I find myself at a branch station of the water street-car - service. There are gondolas here, too,--a score for hire. - This man hails me genially, his brown hands and face, and - small, old, soft roll hat a picture in the sun. I feel as if - I were dreaming or as if this were some exquisite holiday of - my childhood. One could talk for years of these passages in - which, amidst the shadow and sunlight of cool, gray walls a - gleam of color has shown itself. You look down narrow courts - to lovely windows or doors or bridges or niches with a virgin - or a saint in them. Now it is a black-shawled housewife or a - fat, phlegmatic man that turns a corner; now a girl in a white - skirt and pale green shawl, or a red skirt and a black shawl. - Unexpected doorways, dark and deep with pleasant industries - going on inside, bakeries with a wealth of new, warm bread; - butcheries with red meat and brass scales; small restaurants, - where appetizing roasts and meat-pies are displayed. Unexpected - bridges, unexpected squares, unexpected streams of people - moving in the sun, unexpected terraces, unexpected boats, - unexpected voices, unexpected songs. That is Venice. - - * * * * * - - To-day I took a boat on the Grand Canal to the Giardino which - is at the eastern extreme of the city. It was evening. I found - a lovely island just adjoining the gardens--a Piazza d’Arena. - Rich green grass and a line of small trees along three sides. - Silvery water. A second leaning tower and more islands in the - distance. Cool and pleasant, with that lovely sense of evening - in the air which comes only in spring. They said it would be - cold in Venice, but it isn’t. Birds twittering, the waters of - the bay waveless, the red, white and brown colors of the city - showing in rich patches. I think if there is a heaven on earth, - it is Venice in spring. - - * * * * * - - Just now the sun came out and I witnessed a Turner effect. - First this lovely bay was suffused with a silvery-gold - light--its very surface. Then the clouds in the west broke - into ragged masses. The sails, the islands, the low buildings - in the distance began to stand out brilliantly. Even the - Campanile, San Giorgio Maggiore and the Salute took on an added - glory. I was witnessing a great sky-and-water song, a poem, a - picture--something to identify Venice with my life. Three ducks - went by, high in the air, honking as they went. A long black - flotilla of thin-prowed coal barges passed in the foreground. - The engines of a passing steamer beat rhythmically and I - breathed deep and joyously to think I had witnessed all. - - * * * * * - - Bells over the water, the lap of waves, the smell of seaweed. - How soft and elevated and ethereal voices sound at this time. - An Italian sailor, sitting on the grass looking out over it - all, has his arms about his girl. - - * * * * * - - It would be easy to give an order for ten thousand lovely views - of Venice, and get them. - - * * * * * - - - - - -CHAPTER XLI - -VENICE - - -Aside from the cathedral of St. Mark’s, the Doge’s Palace and the -Academy or Venetian gallery of old masters, I could find little of -artistic significance in Venice--little aside from the wonderful -spectacle of the city as a whole. As a spectacle, viewed across the -open space of water, known as the Lagoon, the churches of San Giorgio -Maggiore and Santa Maria della Salute with their domes and campaniles -strangely transfigured by light and air, are beautiful. Close at hand, -for me, they lost much romance which distance gave them, though the -mere space of their interiors was impressive. The art, according to -my judgment, was bad and in the main I noticed that my guide books -agreed with me--spiritless religious representations which, after the -Sistine Chapel in Rome and such pictures as those of Michelangelo’s -“Holy Family” and Botticelli’s “Adoration of the Magi” in the Uffizi -at Florence, were without import. I preferred to speculate on the fear -of the plague which had produced the Salute and the discovery of the -body of St. Stephen, the martyr, which had given rise to San Giorgio, -for it was interesting to think, with these facts before me, how art -and spectacle in life so often take their rise from silly, almost -pointless causes and a plain lie is more often the foundation of a -great institution than a truth. Santa Maria didn’t save the citizens -of Venice from the plague in 1630, and in 1110 the Doge Ordelafo -Faliero did not bring back the true body of St. Stephen from Palestine, -although he may have thought he did,--at least there are other “true -bodies.” But the old, silly progress of illusion, vanity, politics and -the like has produced these and other institutions throughout the world -and will continue to do so, no doubt, until time shall be no more. -It was interesting to me to see the once large and really beautiful -Dominican monastery surrounding San Giorgio turned into barracks and -offices for government officials. I do not see why these churches -should not be turned into libraries or galleries. Their religious -import is quite gone. - -In Venice it was, I think, that I got a little sick of churches and -second- and third-rate art. The city itself is so beautiful, exteriorly -speaking, that only the greatest art could be tolerated here, yet -aside from the Academy, which is crowded with canvases by Bellini, -Tintoretto, Titian, Veronese and others of the Venetian school, and the -Ducal Palace, largely decorated by Tintoretto and Veronese, there is -nothing, save of course St. Mark’s. Outside of that and the churches of -the Salute and San Giorgio,--both bad, artistically, I think,--there -are thirty-three or thirty-four other churches all with bits of -something which gets them into the catalogues, a Titian, a Tintoretto, -a Giorgione or a Paolo Veronese, until the soul wearies and you say to -yourself--“Well, I’ve had about enough of this--what is the use?” - -There is no use. Unless you are tracing the rise of religious art, or -trying to visit the tombs of semi-celebrated persons, or following out -the work of some one man or group of men to the last fragment you might -as well desist. There is nothing in it. I sought church after church, -entering dark, pleasant, but not often imposing, interiors only to -find a single religious representation of one kind or another hardly -worth the trouble. In the Frari I found Titian’s famous Madonna of the -Pescaro family and a pretentious mausoleum commemorating Canova, and in -Santa Maria Formosa Palma Vecchio’s St. Barbara and four other saints, -which appealed to me very much, but in the main I was disappointed -and made dreary. After St. Peter’s, the Vatican, St. Paul’s Without -the Walls in Rome, the cathedrals at Pisa and elsewhere, and the -great galleries of Florence, Venice seemed to me artistically dull. I -preferred always to get out into the streets again to see the small -shops, to encounter the winding canals, to cross the little bridges and -to feel that here was something new and different, far different and -more artistic than anything which any church or museum could show. - -One of the strangest things about Venice to me was the curious manner -in which you could always track a great public square or market place -of some kind by following some thin trickling of people you would -find making their way in a given direction. Suddenly in some quite -silent residence section, with all its lovely waterways about you, -you would encounter a small thin stream of people going somewhere, -perhaps five or six in a row, over bridges, up narrow alleys, over -more bridges, through squares or triangles past churches or small -stores and constantly swelling in volume until you found yourself in -the midst of a small throng turning now right, now left, when suddenly -you came out on the great open market place or piazza to which they -were all tending. They always struck me as a sheep-like company, these -Venetians, very mild, very soft, pattering here and there with vague, -almost sad eyes. Here in Venice I saw no newspapers displayed at all, -nor ever heard any called, nor saw any read. There was none of that -morning vigor which characterizes an American city. It was always more -like a quiet village scene to me than any aspect of a fair-sized city. -Yet because I was comfortable in Venice and because all the while I -was there it was so radiantly beautiful, I left it with real sorrow. To -me it was perfect. - - * * * * * - -The one remaining city of Italy that I was yet to see, Milan, because -already I had seen so much of Italy and because I was eager to get into -Switzerland and Germany, was of small interest to me. It was a long, -tedious ride to Milan, and I spent my one day there rambling about -without enthusiasm. Outside of a half-dozen early Christian basilicas, -which I sedulously avoided (I employed a guide), there was only the -cathedral, the now dismantled palace and fortress of the Sforzas -masquerading as a museum and the local art gallery, an imposing affair -crowded with that same religious art work of the Renaissance which, -one might almost say in the language of the Milwaukee brewer, had made -Italy famous. I was, however, about fed up on art. As a cathedral that -of Milan seemed as imposing as any, great and wonderful. I was properly -impressed with its immense stained-glass windows, said to be the -largest in the world, its fifty-two columns supporting its great roof, -its ninety-eight pinnacles and two thousand statues. Of a splendid -edifice such as this there is really nothing to say--it is like Amiens, -Rouen, and Canterbury--simply astounding. It would be useless to -attempt to describe the emotions it provoked, as useless as to indicate -the feelings some of the pictures in the local gallery aroused in me. -It would be Amiens all over again, or some of the pictures in the -Uffizi. It seemed to me the newest of all the Gothic cathedrals I saw, -absolutely preserved in all its details and as recently erected as -yesterday, yet it was begun in 1386. - -The wonder of this and of every other cathedral like it that I saw, -to me, was never their religious but their artistic significance. -Some one with a splendid imagination must always have been behind each -one--and I can never understand the character or the temper of an age -or a people that will let anything happen to them. - -But if I found little of thrilling artistic significance after Rome -and the south I was strangely impressed with the modernity of Milan. -Europe, to me, is not so old in its texture anywhere as one would -suppose. Most European cities of large size are of recent growth, just -as American cities are. So many of the great buildings that we think -of as time-worn, such as the Ducal Palace at Venice, and elsewhere, -are in an excellent state of preservation--quite new looking. Venice -has many new buildings in the old style. Rome is largely composed of -modern tenements and apartment houses. There are elevators in Perugia, -and when you reach Milan you find it newer than St. Louis or Cleveland. -If there is any medieval spirit anywhere remaining in Milan I could -not find it. The shops are bright and attractive. There are large -department stores, and the honk-honk of the automobile is quite as -common here as anywhere. It has only five hundred thousand population, -but, even so, it evidences great commercial force. If you ride out in -the suburbs, as I did, you see new houses, new factories, new streets, -new everything. Unlike the inhabitants of southern Italy, the people -are large physically and I did not understand this until I learned -that they are freely mingled with the Germans. The Germans are here in -force, in control of the silk mills, the leather manufactories, the -restaurants, the hotels, the book stores and printing establishments. -It is a wonder to me that they are not in control of the Opera House -and the musical activities, and I have no doubt that they influence it -greatly. The director of La Scala ought to be a German, if he is not. -I got a first suggestion of Paris in the tables set before the cafés -in the Arcade of Vittorio Emanuele and had my first taste of Germany -in the purely German beer-halls with their orchestras of men or women, -where for a few cents expended for beer you can sit by the hour and -listen to the music. In the hotel where I stopped the German precision -of regulation was as marked as anywhere in Germany. It caused me to -wonder whether the Germans would eventually sweep down and possess -Italy and, if they did, what they would make of it or what Italy would -make of them. - - - - -CHAPTER XLII - -LUCERNE - - -I entered Switzerland at Chiasso, a little way from Lake Como in -Italy, and left it at Basle near the German frontier, and all I saw -was mountains--mountains--mountains--some capped with snow and some -without, tall, sharp, craggy peaks, and rough, sharp declivities, with -here and there a patch of grass, here and there a deep valley, here -and there a lonely, wide-roofed, slab-built house with those immense -projecting eaves first made familiar to me by the shabby adaptations -which constitute our “L” stations in New York. The landscape hardens -perceptibly a little way out of Milan. High slopes and deep lakes -appear. At Chiasso, the first stop in Switzerland, I handed the guard -a half-dozen letters I had written in Milan and stamped with Italian -stamps. I did not know until I did this that we were out of Italy, had -already changed guards and that a new crew--Swiss--was in charge of -the train. “Monsieur,” he said, tapping the stamp significantly, “vous -êtes en Suisse.” I do not understand French, but I did comprehend that, -and I perceived also that I was talking to a Swiss. All the people -on the platform were “Schweitzers” as the Germans call them, fair, -chunky, stolid-looking souls without a touch of that fire or darkness -so generally present a few miles south. Why should a distance of ten -miles, five miles, make such an astonishing change? It is one of the -strangest experiences of travel, to cross an imaginary boundary-line -and find everything different; people, dress, architecture, landscape, -often soil and foliage. It proves that countries are not merely soil -and climatic conditions but that there is something more--a race stock -which is not absolutely a product of the soil and which refuses to -yield entirely to climate. Races like animals have an origin above -soil and do hold their own in spite of changed or changing climatic -conditions. Cross any boundary you like from one country into another -and judge for yourself. - -Now that I was started, really out of Italy, I was ready for any -change, the more marked the better; and here was one. Switzerland is -about as much like Italy as a rock is like a bouquet of flowers--a -sharp-edged rock and a rich colorful, odorous bouquet. And yet, in -spite of all its chill, bare bleakness, its high ridges and small -shut-in valleys, it has beauty, cold but real. As the train sped on -toward Lucerne I kept my face glued to the window-pane on one side or -the other, standing most of the time in the corridor, and was rewarded -constantly by a magnificent panorama. Such bleak, sharp crags as stood -always above us, such cold, white fields of snow! Sometimes the latter -stretched down toward us in long deep cañons or ravines until they -disappeared as thin white streaks at the bottom. I saw no birds of any -kind flying; no gardens nor patches of flowers anywhere, only brown or -gray or white châlets with heavy overhanging eaves and an occasional -stocky, pale-skinned citizen in a short jacket, knee trousers, small -round hat and flamboyant waistcoat. I wondered whether I was really -seeing the national costume. I was. I saw more of it at Lucerne, -that most hotelly of cities, and in the mountains and valleys of the -territory beyond it--toward Basle. Somebody once said of God that he -might love all the creatures he had made but he certainly couldn’t -admire them. I will reverse that for Switzerland. I might always -admire its wonders but I could never love them. - -And yet after hours and hours of just this twisting and turning -up slope and down valley, when I reached Lucerne I thought it was -utterly beautiful. Long before we reached there the lake appeared -and we followed its shores, whirling in and out of tunnels and along -splendid slopes. Arrived at Lucerne, I came out into the piazza -which spreads before the station to the very edge of the lake. I was -instantly glad that I had included Lucerne in my itinerary. It was -evening and the lamps in the village (it is not a large city) were -already sparkling and the water of the lake not only reflected the -glow of the lamps along its shores but the pale pinks and mauves -over the tops of the peaks in the west. There was snow on the upper -stretches of the mountains but down here in this narrow valley filled -with quaint houses, hotels, churches and modern apartments, all was -balmy and pleasant,--not at all cold. My belongings were bundled into -the attendant ’bus and I was rattled off to one of the best hotels -I saw abroad--the National--of the Ritz-Carlton system; very quiet, -very ornate, and with all those conveniences and comforts which the -American has learned to expect, plus a European standard of service and -politeness of which we can as yet know nothing in America. - -I am afraid I have an insatiable appetite for natural beauty. I am -entertained by character, thrilled by art, but of all the enlarging -spiritual influences the natural panorama is to me the most important. -This night, after my first day of rambling about Lucerne, I sat out -on my hotel balcony, overlooking the lake and studied the dim moonlit -outlines of the peaks crowding about it, the star-shine reflected in -the water, the still distances and the moon sinking over the peaks -to the west of the quaint city. Art has no method of including, or -suggesting even, these vast sidereal spaces. The wonder of the night -and moonlight is scarcely for the painter’s brush. It belongs in verse, -the drama, great literary pageants such as those of Balzac, Turgenieff -and Flaubert, but not in pictures. The human eye can see so much and -the human heart responds so swiftly that it is only by suggestion that -anything is achieved in art. Art cannot give you the night in all its -fullness save as, by suggestion, it brings back the wonder of the -reality which you have already felt and seen. - -I think perhaps of the two impressions that I retained most distinctly -of Lucerne, that of the evening and of the morning, the morning was -best. I came out on my balcony at dawn, the first morning after I -arrived, when the lake was lying below me in glassy, olive-black -stillness. Up the bank to my left were trees, granite slopes, a small -châlet built out over the water, its spiles standing in the still lake -in a soothing, restful way. To my right, at the foot of the lake, lay -Lucerne, its quaint outlines but vaguely apparent in the shadow. Across -the lake only a little space were small boats, a dock, a church, and -beyond them, in a circle, gray-black peaks. At their extreme summits -along a rough, horny skyline were the suggestions of an electric dawn, -a pale, steely gray brightening from dark into light. - -It was not cold at Lucerne, though it was as yet only early March. The -air was as soft and balmy as at Venice. As I sat there the mountain -skyline brightened first to a faint pink, the snow on the ridges took -on a lavender and bluish hue as at evening, the green of the lower -slopes became softly visible and the water began to reflect the light -of the sky, the shadow of the banks, the little boats, and even some -wild ducks flying over its surface,--ducks coming from what bleak, -drear spaces I could only guess. Presently I saw a man come out from -a hotel, enter a small canoe and paddle away in the direction of the -upper lake. No other living thing appeared until the sky had changed -from pink to blue, the water to a rich silvery gray, the green to a -translucent green and the rays of the sun came finally glistering over -the peaks. Then the rough notches and gaps of the mountains--gray where -blown clear of snow, or white where filled with it--took on a sharp, -brilliant roughness. You could see the cold peaks outlined clearly -in the water, and the little steeples of the churches. My wild ducks -were still paddling briskly about. I noticed that a particular pair -found great difficulty in finding the exact spot to suit them. With a -restless quank, quank, quank, they would rise and fly a space only to -light with a soft splatter and quack cheerfully. When they saw the lone -rower returning they followed him, coming up close to the hotel dock -and paddling smartly in his vicinity. I watched him fasten his boat and -contemplate the ducks. After he had gone away I wondered if they were -pets of his. Then the day having clearly come, I went inside. - -By ten o’clock all Lucerne seemed to have come out to promenade -along the smooth walks that border the shore. Pretty church-bells in -severe, conical towers began to ring and students in small, dark, -tambourine-like hats, jackets, tight trousers, and carrying little -canes about the size of batons, began to walk smartly up and down. -There were a few travelers present, wintering here, no doubt,--English -and Americans presenting their usual severe, intellectual, inquiring -and self-protective dispositions. They stood out in sharp contrast to -the native Swiss,--a fair, stolid, quiescent people. The town itself -by day I found to be as clean, spruce and orderly as a private pine -forest. I never saw a more spick and span place, not even in ge-washed -and ge-brushed Germany. - -This being Sunday and wonderfully fair, I decided to take the trip -up the lake on one of the two small steamers that I saw anchored at -apparently rival docks. They may have served boats plying on different -arms of the lake. On this trip I fell in with a certain “Major Y. -Myata, M.D., Surgeon, Imperial Japanese Army” as his card read, -who, I soon learned, was doing Europe much as I was, only entirely -alone. I first saw him as he bought his ticket on board the steamer -at Lucerne,--a small, quiet, wiry man, very keen and observant, who -addressed the purser in English first and later in German. He came on -the top deck into the first-class section, a fair-sized camera slung -over his shoulder, a notebook sticking out of the pocket, and finding a -seat, very carefully dusted his small feet with the extreme corners of -his military overcoat, and rubbed his thin, horse-hairy mustache with a -small, claw-like hand. He looked about in a quiet way and began after -the boat started to take pictures and make copious notes. He had small, -piercing, bird-like eyes and a strangely unconscious-seeming manner -which was in reality anything but unconscious. We fell to talking of -Switzerland, Germany and Italy, where he had been, and by degrees I -learned the route of his trip, or what he chose to tell me of it, and -his opinions concerning Europe and the Far East--as much as he chose to -communicate. - -It appeared that before coming to Europe this time he had made but -one other trip out of Japan, namely to California, where he had spent -a year. He had left Japan in October, sailed direct for London and -reached it in November; had already been through Holland and Belgium, -France, Germany, Italy, and was bound for Munich and Hungary and, -not strange to relate, Russia. He was coming to America--New York -particularly, and was eager to know of a good hotel. I mentioned -twenty. He spoke English, French, Italian and German, although he -had never before been anywhere except to California. I knew he spoke -German, for I talked to him in that language and after finding that -he could speak it better than I could I took his word for the rest. -We lunched together. I mentioned the little I knew of the Japanese in -New York. He brightened considerably. We compared travel notes--Italy, -France, England. “I do not like the Italians,” he observed in one -place. “I think they are tricky. They do not tell the truth.” - -“They probably held up your baggage at the station.” - -“They did more than that to me. I could never depend on them.” - -“How do you like the Germans?” I asked him. - -“A very wonderful people. Very civil I thought. The Rhine is beautiful.” - -I had to smile when I learned that he had done the night cafés of -Paris, had contrasted English and French farce as represented by -the Empire and the Folies-Bergère, and knew all about the Post -Impressionists and the Futurists or Cubists. The latter he did not -understand. “It is possible,” he said in his strange, sing-songy way, -“that they represent some motives of constructive subconscious mind -with which we are not any of us familiar yet. Electricity came to man -in some such way as that. I do not know. I do not pretend to understand -it.” - -At the extreme upper end of Lucerne where the boat stopped, we decided -to get out and take the train back. He was curious to see the shrine or -tomb of William Tell which was listed as being near here, but when he -learned that it was two or three miles and that we would miss a fast -train, he was willing to give it up. With a strange, old-world wisdom -he commented on the political organization of Switzerland, saying that -it struck him as strange that these Alpine fastnesses should ever have -achieved an identity of their own. “They have always been separate -communities until quite recently,” he said, “and I think that perhaps -only railroads, tunnels, telegraph and telephone have made their -complete union satisfactory now.” - -I marveled at the wisdom of this Oriental as I do at so many of them. -They are so intensely matter-of-fact and practical. Their industry is -uncanny. This man talked to me of Alpine botany as contrasted with that -of some of the mountain regions of Japan and then we talked of Lincoln, -Grant, Washington, Li Hung Chang and Richard Wagner. He suggested quite -simply that it was probable that Germany’s only artistic outlet was -music. - -I was glad to have the company of Major Myata for dinner that same -evening, for nothing could have been duller than the very charming -Louis Quinze dining-room filled with utterly conventional American and -English visitors. Small, soldierly, erect, he made quite an impression -as he entered with me. The Major had been in two battles of the -Russian-Japanese War and had witnessed an attack somewhere one night -after midnight in a snowstorm. Here at table as he proceeded to explain -in his quiet way, by means of knives and forks, the arrangement of the -lines and means of caring for the wounded, I saw the various diners -studying him. He was a very forceful-looking person. Very. He told me -of the manner in which the sanitary and surgical equipment and control -of the Japanese army had been completely revolutionized since the date -of the Japanese-Russian War and that now all the present equipment was -new. “The great things in our army to-day,” he observed very quietly -at one point, “are artillery and sanitation.” A fine combination! He -left me at midnight, after several hours in various cafés. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII - -ENTERING GERMANY - - -If a preliminary glance at Switzerland suggested to me a high -individuality, primarily Teutonic but secondarily national and -distinctive, all I saw afterwards in Germany and Holland with which I -contrasted it, confirmed my first impression. I believe that the Swiss, -for all that they speak the German language and have an architecture -that certainly has much in common with that of medieval Germany, are -yet of markedly diverging character. They struck me in the main as -colder, more taciturn, more introspective and less flamboyant than the -Germans. The rank and file, in so far as I could see, were extremely -sparing, saving, reserved. They reminded me more of such Austrians and -Tyrolians as I have known, than of Germans. They were thinner, livelier -in their actions, not so lusty nor yet so aggressive. - -The new architecture which I saw between Lucerne and the German -frontier reminded me of much of that which one sees in northern Ohio -and Indiana and southern Michigan. There are still traces of the -over-elaborate curlicue type of structure and decoration so interesting -as being representative of medieval Teutonic life, but not much. The -new manufacturing towns were very clean and spruce with modern factory -buildings of the latest almost-all-glass type; and churches and public -buildings, obviously an improvement or an attempt at improvement on -older Swiss and Teutonic ideals, were everywhere apparent. Lucerne -itself is divided into an old section, honored and preserved for its -historic and commercial value, as being attractive to travelers; a -new section, crowded with stores, tenements and apartments of the -latest German and American type; and a hotel section, filled with large -Anglicized and Parisianized structures, esplanades, small lounging -squares and the like. I never bothered to look at Thorwaldsen’s famous -lion. One look at a photograph years ago alienated me forever. - -I had an interesting final talk on the morning of my departure from -Lucerne with the resident manager of the hotel who was only one of -many employees of a company that controlled, so he told me, hotels -in Berlin, Frankfort, Paris, Rome and London. He had formerly been -resident manager of a hotel in Frankfort, the one to which I was going, -and said that he might be transferred any time to some other one. He -was the man, as I learned, whom I had seen rowing on the lake the first -morning I sat out on my balcony--the one whom the wild ducks followed. - -“I saw you,” I said as I paid my bill, “out rowing on the lake the -other morning. I should say that was pleasant exercise.” - -“I always do it,” he said very cheerfully. He was a tall, pale, -meditative man with a smooth, longish, waxen countenance and very dark -hair. He was the last word as to toilet and courtesy. “I am glad to -have the chance. I love nature.” - -“Are those wild ducks I see on the lake flying about?” - -“Oh, yes. We have lots of them. They are not allowed to be shot. That’s -why they come here. We have gulls, too. There is a whole flock of gulls -that comes here every winter. I feed them right out here at the dock -every day.” - -“Why, where can they come from?” I asked. “This is a long way from the -sea.” - -“I know it,” he replied. “It is strange. They come over the Alps from -the Mediterranean I suppose. You will see them on the Rhine, too, if -you go there. I don’t know. They come though. Sometimes they leave for -four or five days or a week, but they always come back. The captain of -the steamer tells me he thinks they go to some other lake. They know me -though. When they come back in the fall and I go out to feed them they -make a great fuss.” - -“They are the same gulls, then?” - -“The very same.” - -I had to smile. - -“Those two ducks are great friends of mine, too,” he went on, referring -to the two I had seen following him. “They always come up to the dock -when I come out and when I come back from my row they come again. Oh, -they make a great clatter.” - -He looked at me and smiled in a pleased way. - - * * * * * - -The train which I boarded at Lucerne was a through express from Milan -to Frankfort with special cars for Paris and Berlin. It was crowded -with Germans of a ruddy, solid variety, radiating health, warmth, -assurance, defiance. I never saw a more marked contrast than existed -between these travelers on the train and the local Swiss outside. The -latter seemed much paler and less forceful by contrast, though not less -intellectual and certainly more refined. - -One stout, German lady, with something like eighteen packages, had made -a veritable express room of her second-class compartment. The average -traveler, entitled to a seat beside her, would take one look at her -defenses and pass on. She was barricaded beyond any hope of successful -attack. - -I watched interestedly to see how the character of the people, soil and -climate would change as we crossed the frontier into Germany. Every -other country I had entered had presented a great contrast to the last. -After passing fifteen or twenty Swiss towns and small cities, perhaps -more, we finally reached Basle and there the crew was changed. I did -not know it, being busy thinking of other things, until an immense, -rotund, guttural-voiced conductor appeared at the door and wanted to -know if I was bound for Frankfort. I looked out. It was just as I -expected: another world and another atmosphere had been substituted -for that of Switzerland. Already the cars and depot platforms were -different, heavier I thought, more pretentious. Heavy German porters -(packträger) were in evidence. The cars, the vast majority of them -here, bore the label of Imperial Germany--the wide-winged, black eagle -with the crown above it, painted against a pinkish-white background, -with the inscription “Kaiserlicher Deutsche Post.” A station-master, -erect as a soldier, very large, with splendiferous parted whiskers, -arrayed in a blue uniform and cap, regulated the departure of -trains. The “Uscita” and “Entrata” of Italy here became “Eingang” -and “Ausgang,” and the “Bagaglia” of every Italian station was here -“Gepäck.” The endless German “Verboten,” and “Es ist untersagt” also -came into evidence. We rolled out into a wide, open, flat, mountainless -plain with only the thin poplars of France in evidence and no waterways -of any kind, and then I knew that Switzerland was truly no more. - -If you want to see how the lesser Teutonic countries vary from this -greater one, the dominant German Empire, pass this way from Switzerland -into Germany, or from Germany into Holland. At Basle, as I have said, -we left the mountains for once and for all. I saw but few frozen peaks -after Lucerne. As we approached Basle they seemed to grow less and -less and beyond that we entered a flat plain, as flat as Kansas and as -arable as the Mississippi Valley, which stretched unbroken from Basle -to Frankfort and from Frankfort to Berlin. Judging from what I saw the -major part of Germany is a vast prairie, as flat as a pancake and as -thickly strewn with orderly, new, bright forceful towns as England is -with quaint ones. - -However, now that I was here, I observed that it was just these -qualities which make Germany powerful and the others weak. Such -thoroughness, such force, such universal superintendence! Truly it is -amazing. Once you are across the border, if you are at all sensitive to -national or individual personalities you can feel it, vital, glowing, -entirely superior and more ominous than that of Switzerland, or Italy, -and often less pleasant. It is very much like the heat and glow of a -furnace. Germany is a great forge or workshop. It resounds with the -industry of a busy nation; it has all the daring and assurance of a -successful man; it struts, commands, defies, asserts itself at every -turn. You would not want to witness greater variety of character than -you could by passing from England through France into Germany. After -the stolidity and civility of the English, and the lightness and spirit -of France, the blazing force and defiance of the Germans comes upon you -as almost the most amazing of all. - -In spite of the fact that my father was German and that I have known -more or less of Germans all my life, I cannot say that I admired the -personnel of the German Empire, the little that I saw of it, half so -much as I admired some of the things they had apparently achieved. -All the stations that I saw in Germany were in apple-pie order, new, -bright, well-ordered. Big blue-lettered signs indicated just the things -you wanted to know. The station platforms were exceedingly well built -of red tile and white stone; the tracks looked as though they were -laid on solid hardwood ties; the train ran as smoothly as if there -were no flaws in it anywhere and it ran swiftly. I had to smile as -occasionally on a platform--the train speeding swiftly--a straight, -upstanding German officer or official, his uniform looking like new, -his boots polished, his gold epaulets and buckles shining as brightly -as gold can shine, his blond whiskers, red cap, glistening glasses or -bright monocle, and above all his sharp, clear eyes looking directly -at you, making an almost amazing combination of energy, vitality and -superiority, came into view and disappeared again. It gave you a -startling impression of the whole of Germany. “Are they all like that?” -I asked myself. “Is the army really so dashing and forceful?” - -As I traveled first to Frankfort, then to Mayence, Coblenz and Cologne -and again from Cologne to Frankfort and Berlin, and thence out of -the country via Holland, the wonder grew. I should say now that if -Germany has any number of defects of temperament, and it truly has from -almost any American point of view, it has virtues and capacities so -noteworthy, admirable and advantageous that the whole world may well -sit up and take notice. The one thing that came home to me with great -force was that Germany is in no way loose jointed or idle but, on the -contrary, strong, red-blooded, avid, imaginative. Germany is a terrific -nation, hopeful, courageous, enthusiastic, orderly, self-disciplining, -at present anyhow, and if it can keep its pace without engaging in -some vast, self-destroying conflict, it can become internally so -powerful that it will almost stand irresistible. I should say that any -nation that to-day chose to pick a quarrel with Germany on her home -ground would be foolish in the extreme. It is the beau ideal of the -aggressive, militant, orderly spirit and, if it were properly captained -and the gods were kind, it would be everywhere invincible. - - * * * * * - -When I entered Germany it was with just two definite things in mind. -One was to seek out my father’s birthplace, a little hamlet, as I -understood it, called Mayen, located somewhere between the Moselle and -the Rhine at Coblenz,--the region where the Moselle wines come from. -The other was to visit Berlin and see what Germany’s foremost city was -really like and to get a look at the Kaiser if possible. In both of -these I was quickly successful, though after I reached Frankfort some -other things transpired which were not on the program. - -Frankfort was a disappointment to me at first. It was a city of over -four hundred thousand population, clean, vigorous, effective; but I -saw it in a rain, to begin with, and I did not like it. It was too -squat in appearance--too unvarying in its lines; it seemed to have -no focal point such as one finds in all medieval cities. What has -come over the spirit of city governments, directing architects, and -individual enterprise? Is there no one who wants really to do the very -exceptional thing? No German city I saw had a central heart worthy of -the name--no Piazza del Campidoglio such as Rome has; no Piazza della -Signoria such as Florence has; no Piazza San Marco such as Venice has; -not even a cathedral center, lovely thing that it is, such as Milan -has. Paris with its Gardens of the Tuileries, its Champs-de-Mars, its -Esplanades des Invalides, and its Arc de Triomphe and Place de l’Opéra, -does so much better in this matter than any German city has dreamed of -doing. Even London has its splendid focal point about the Houses of -Parliament, St. Paul’s and the Embankment, which are worth something. -But German cities! Yet they are worthy cities, every one of them, and -far more vital than those of Italy. - -I should like to relate first, however, the story of the vanishing -birthplace. Ever since I was three or four years old and dandled on my -father’s knee in our Indiana homestead, I had heard more or less of -Mayen, Coblenz, and the region on the Rhine from which my father came. -As we all know, the Germans are a sentimental, fatherland-loving race -and my father, honest German Catholic that he was, was no exception. -He used to tell me what a lovely place Mayen was, how the hills rose -about it, how grape-growing was its principal industry, how there were -castles there and grafs and rich burghers, and how there was a wall -about the city which in his day constituted it an armed fortress, and -how often as a little child he had been taken out through some one of -its great gates seated on the saddle of some kindly minded cavalryman -and galloped about the drill-ground. He seems to have become, by the -early death of his mother and second marriage of his father, a rather -unwelcome stepchild and, early, to escape being draughted for the -Prussian army which had seized this town--which only a few years before -had belonged to France, though German enough in character--he had -secretly decamped to the border with three others and so made his way -to Paris. Later he came to America, made his way by degrees to Indiana, -established a woolen-mill on the banks of the Wabash at Terre Haute and -there, after marrying in Ohio, raised his large family. His first love -was his home town, however, and Prussia, which he admired; and to his -dying day he never ceased talking about it. On more than one occasion -he told me he would like to go back, just to see how things were, but -the Prussian regulations concerning deserters or those who avoided -service were so drastic and the likelihood of his being recognized -so great that he was afraid of being seized and at least thrown into -prison if not shot, so he never ventured it. I fancy this danger of -arrest and his feeling that he could not return cast an additional -glamour over the place and the region which he could never revisit. -Anyhow I was anxious to see Mayen and to discover if the family name -still persisted there. - -When I consulted with the Cook’s agent at Rome he had promptly -announced, “There isn’t any such place as Mayen. You’re thinking of -Mayence, near Frankfort, on the Rhine.” - -“No,” I said, “I’m not. I’m thinking of Mayen--M-a-y-e-n. Now you look -and see.” - -“There isn’t any such place, I tell you,” he replied courteously. “It’s -Mayence, not very far from Frankfort.” - -“Let me see,” I argued, looking at his map. “It’s near the junction of -the Rhine and the Moselle.” - -“Mayence is the place. See, here it is. Here’s the Moselle and here’s -Mayence.” - -I looked, and sure enough they seemed reasonably close together. “All -right,” I said, “give me a ticket to Berlin via Mayence.” - -“I’ll book you to Frankfort. That’s only thirty minutes away. There’s -nothing of interest at Mayence--not even a good hotel.” - -Arrived at Frankfort, I decided not to send my trunks to the hotel as -yet but to take one light bag, leaving the remainder “_im Gepäck_” and -see what I could at Mayence. I might want to stay all night, wandering -about my father’s old haunts, and I might want to go down the Rhine a -little way--I was not sure. - -The Mayence to which I was going was not the Mayen that I wanted, but -I did not know that. You have heard of people weeping over the wrong -tombstones. This was a case in point. Fortunately I was going in the -direction of the real Mayen, though I did not know that either. I ran -through a country which reminded me very much of the region in which -Terre Haute is located and I said to myself quite wisely: “Now I can -see why my father and so many other Germans from this region settled in -southern Indiana. It is like their old home. The wide, flat fields are -the same.” - -When we reached Mayence and I had deposited my kit-bag, for the time -being I strolled out into the principal streets wondering whether I -should get the least impression of the city or town as it was when -my father was here as a boy. It is curious and amusing how we can -delude ourselves at times. Mayence I really knew, if I had stopped -to consider, could not be the Mayen, where my father was born. The -former was the city of that Bishop-Elector Albert of Brandenburg who -in need of a large sum of money to pay Rome for the privilege of -assuming the archbishopric, when he already held two other sees, made -an arrangement with Pope Leo X--the Medici pope who was then trying to -raise money to rebuild or enlarge St. Peter’s--to superintend the sale -of indulgences in Germany (taking half the proceeds in reward for his -services) and thus by arousing the ire of Luther helped to bring about -the Reformation in Germany. This was the city also of that amiable -Dominican Prior, John Tetzel, who, once appealing for ready purchasers -for his sacerdotal wares declared: - -“Do you not hear your dead parents crying out ‘Have mercy on us? We -are in sore pain and you can set us free for a mere pittance. We have -borne you, we have trained and educated you, we have left you all our -property, and you are so hard-hearted and cruel that you leave us to -roast in the flames when you could so easily release us.’” - -I shall always remember Mayence by that ingenious advertisement. My -father had described to me a small, walled town with frowning castles -set down in a valley among hills. He had said over and over that it -was located at the junction of the Rhine and the Moselle. I recalled -afterward that he told me that the city of Coblenz was very near by, -but in my brisk effort to find this place quickly I had forgotten that. -Here I was in a region which contained not a glimpse of any hills from -within the city, the Moselle was all of a hundred miles away, and no -walls of any medieval stronghold were visible anywhere and yet I was -reasonably satisfied that this was the place. - -“Dear me,” I thought, “how Mayence has grown. My father wouldn’t know -it.” (Baedeker gave its population at one hundred and ten thousand). -“How Germany has grown in the sixty-five years since he was here. It -used to be a town of three or four thousand. Now it is a large city.” I -read about it assiduously in Baedeker and looked at the rather thriving -streets of the business heart, trying to visualize it as it should have -been in 1843. Until midnight I was wandering about in the dark and -bright streets of Mayence, satisfying myself with the thought that I -was really seeing the city in which my father was born. - -For a city of so much historic import Mayence was very dull. It was -built after the theories of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries -with, however, many modern improvements. The Cathedral was a botch, -ornamented with elaborate statues of stuffy bishops and electors. The -houses were done in many places in that heavy scroll fashion common to -medieval Germany. The streets were narrow and winding. I saw an awful -imitation of our modern Coney Island in the shape of a moving circus -which was camped on one of the public camping places. A dull heavy -place, all told. - -Coming into the breakfast-room of my hotel the next morning, I -encountered a man who looked to me like a German traveling salesman. -He had brought his grip down to the desk and was consuming his morning -coffee and rolls with great gusto, the while he read his paper. I said -to him, “Do you know of any place in this part of Germany that is -called Mayen?--not Mayence.” I wanted to make sure of my location. - -“Mayen? Mayen?” he replied. “Why, yes. I think there is such a place -near Coblenz. It isn’t very large.” - -“Coblenz! That’s it,” I replied, recalling now what my father had told -me of Coblenz. “To be sure. How far is that?” - -“Oh, that is all of three hours from here. It is at the juncture of the -Moselle.” - -“Do you know how the trains run?” I asked, getting up, a feeling of -disgusted disappointment spreading over me. - -“I think there is one around half-past nine or ten.” - -“Damn!” I said, realizing what a dunce I had been. I had just -forty-five minutes in which to pay my bill and make the train. Three -hours more! I could have gone on the night before. - -I hurried out, secured my bag, paid my bill and was off. On the way -I had myself driven to the old “Juden-Gasse,” said to be full of -picturesque medieval houses, for a look. I reached the depot in time -to have a two-minute argument with my driver as to whether he was -entitled to two marks or one--one being a fair reward--and then hurried -into my train. In a half hour we were at Bingen-on-the-Rhine, and in -three-quarters of an hour those lovely hills and ravines which make -the Rhine so picturesque had begun, and they continued all the way to -Coblenz and below that to Cologne. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV - -A MEDIEVAL TOWN - - -After Italy and Switzerland the scenery of the Rhine seemed very mild -and unpretentious to me, yet it was very beautiful. The Hudson from -Albany to New York is far more imposing. A score of American rivers -such as the Penobscot, the New in West Virginia, the James above -Lynchburg, the Rio Grande, and others would make the Rhine seem simple -by comparison; yet it has an individuality so distinct that it is -unforgetable. I always marvel over this thing--personality. Nothing -under the sun explains it. So, often you can say “this is finer,” “that -is more imposing,” “by comparison this is nothing,” but when you have -said all this, the thing with personality rises up and triumphs. So it -is with the Rhine. Like millions before me and millions yet to come, I -watched its slopes, its castles, its islands, its pretty little German -towns passing in review before the windows of this excellent train and -decided that in its way nothing could be finer. It had personality. A -snatch of old wall, with peach trees in blossom; a long thin side-wheel -steamer, one smokestack fore and another aft, labeled “William Egan -Gesellschaft”; a dismantled castle tower, with a flock of crows flying -about it and hills laid out in ordered squares of vines gave it all the -charm it needed. - -When Coblenz was reached, I bustled out, ready to inspect Mayen at -once. Another disappointment. Mayen was not at Coblenz but fifteen or -eighteen miles away on a small branch road, the trains of which ran -just four times a day, but I did not learn this until, as usual, I had -done considerable investigating. According to my map Mayen appeared -to be exactly at the junction of the Rhine and the Moselle, which was -here, but when I asked a small boy dancing along a Coblenz street where -the Moselle was, he informed me, “If you walk fast you will get there -in half an hour!” - -When I reached the actual juncture of the Rhine and the Moselle, -however, I found I was mistaken; I was entertained at first by a fine -view of the two rivers, darkly walled by hills and a very massive and, -in a way, impressive equestrian statue of Emperor William I, armed in -the most flamboyant and aggressive military manner and looking sternly -down on the fast-traveling and uniting waters of the two rivers. Idling -about the base of this monument, to catch sightseers, was a young -picture-post-card seller with a box of views of the Rhine, Coblenz, -Cologne and other cities, for sale. He was a very humble-looking -youth,--a bit doleful,--who kept following me about until I bought -some post-cards. “Where is Mayen?” I asked, as I began to select a few -pictures of things I had and had not seen, for future reference. - -“Mayence?” he asked doubtfully. “Mayence? Oh, that is a great way from -here. Mayence is up the river near Frankfort.” - -“No, no,” I replied irritably. (This matter was getting to be a sore -point with me.) “I have just come from Mayence. I am looking for Mayen. -Isn’t it over there somewhere?” I pointed to the fields over the river. - -He shook his head. “Mayen!” he said. “I don’t think there is such a -place.” - -“Good heavens!” I exclaimed, “what are you talking about? Here it is -on the map. What is that? Do you live here in Coblenz?” - -“Gewiss!” he replied. “I live here.” - -“Very good, then. Where is Mayen?” - -“I have never heard of it,” he replied. - -“My God!” I exclaimed to myself, “perhaps it was destroyed in the -Franco-Prussian War. Maybe there isn’t any Mayen.” - -“You have lived here all your life,” I said, turning to my informant, -“and you have never heard of Mayen?” - -“Mayen, no. Mayence, yes. It is up the river near Frankfort.” - -“Don’t tell me that again!” I said peevishly, and walked off. The -elusiveness of my father’s birthplace was getting on my nerves. Finally -I found a car-line which ended at the river and a landing wharf and -hailed the conductor and motorman who were idling together for a moment. - -“Where is Mayen?” I asked. - -“Mayence?” they said, looking at me curiously. - -“No, no. M-a-y-e-n, Mayen--not Mayence. It’s a small town around here -somewhere.” - -“Mayen! Mayen!” they repeated. “Mayen!” And then frowned. - -“Oh, God!” I sighed. I got out my map. “Mayen--see?” I said. - -“Oh, yes,” one of them replied brightly, putting up a finger. “That is -so. There _is_ a place called Mayen! It is out that way. You must take -the train.” - -“How many miles?” I asked. - -“About fifteen. It will take you about an hour and a half.” - -I went back to the station and found I must wait another two hours -before my train left. I had reached the point where I didn’t care a -picayune whether I ever got to my father’s town or not. Only a dogged -determination not to be beaten kept me at it. - -It was at Coblenz, while waiting for my train, that I had my first real -taste of the German army. Around a corner a full regiment suddenly came -into view. They swung past me and crossed a bridge over the Rhine, -their brass helmets glittering. Their trousers were gray and their -jackets red, and they marched with a slap, slap, slap of their feet -that was positively ominous. Every man’s body was as erect as a poker; -every man’s gun was carried with almost loving grace over his shoulder. -They were all big men, stolid and broad-chested. As they filed over -the bridge, four abreast, they looked, at that distance, like a fine -scarlet ribbon with a streak of gold in it. They eventually disappeared -between the green hills on the other side. - -In another part of the city I came upon a company of perhaps fifty, -marching in loose formation and talking cheerfully to one another. -Behind me, coming toward the soldiers, was an officer, one of those -band-box gentlemen in the long gray, military coat of the Germans, -the high-crowned, low-visored cap, and lacquered boots. I learned -before I was out of Germany to listen for the clank of their swords. -The moment the sergeant in charge of the men saw this officer in the -distance, he gave vent to a low command which brought the men four by -four instantly. In the next breath their guns, previously swinging -loosely in their hands, were over their shoulders and as the officer -drew alongside a sharp “_Vorwärts!_” produced that wonderful jack-knife -motion “the goose-step”--each leg brought rigidly to a level with the -abdomen as they went slap--slap--slapping by, until the officer was -gone. Then, at a word, they fell into their old easy formation again -and were human beings once more. - -It was to me a most vivid glimpse of extreme military efficiency. -All the while I was in Germany I never saw a lounging soldier. The -officers, all men of fine stature, were so showily tailored as to -leave a sharp impression. They walked briskly, smartly, defiantly, -with a tremendous air of assurance but not of vain-glory. They were so -superior to anything else in Germany that for me they made it. But to -continue. - -At half-past two my train departed and I entered a fourth-class -compartment--the only class one could book for on this branch road. -They were hard, wooden-seated little cars, as stiff and heavy as cars -could possibly be. My mind was full of my father’s ancestral heath -and the quaint type of life that must have been lived here a hundred -years before. This was a French border country. My father, when he -ran away, had escaped into Alsace, near by. He told me once of being -whipped for stealing cherries, because his father’s house adjoined the -priest’s yard and a cherry-tree belonging to that holy man had spread -its branches, cherry-laden, over the walls, and he had secretly feasted -upon the fruit at night. His stepmother, informed by the priest, -whipped him. I wondered if I could find that stone wall. - -The train was now running through a very typical section of old-time -Germany. Solid, healthy men and buxom women got leisurely on and off at -the various small but well-built stations. You could feel distinctly -a strong note of commercial development here. Some small new factory -buildings were visible at one place and another. An occasional -real-estate sign, after the American fashion, was in evidence. The -fields looked well and fully tilled. Hills were always in the distance -somewhere. - -As the train pulled into one small station, Metternich by name, I saw -a tall, raw-boned yokel, lounging on the platform. He was a mere boy, -nineteen or twenty, six feet tall, broad-shouldered, horny-handed, and -with as vacuous a face as it is possible for an individual to possess. -A cheap, wide-brimmed, soft hat, offensively new, and of a dusty mud -color, sat low over one ear; and around it, to my astonishment, was -twined a slim garland of flowers and leaves which, interwoven and -chained, hung ridiculously down his back. He was all alone, gazing -sheepishly about him and yet doing his best to wear his astounding -honors with an air of bravado. I was looking at his collarless shirt, -his big feet and hands and his bow legs, when I heard a German in the -next seat remark to his neighbor, “He won’t look like that long.” - -“Three months--he’ll be fine.” - -They went on reading their papers and I fell to wondering what they -could mean. - -At the next station were five more yokels, all similarly crowned, -and around them a bevy of rosy, healthy village girls. These five, -constituting at once a crowd and a center of attention, were somewhat -more assured--more swaggering--than the lone youth we had seen. - -“What is that?” I asked the man over the seat. “What are they doing?” - -“They’ve been drawn for the army,” he replied. “All over Germany the -young men are being drawn like this.” - -“Do they begin to serve at once?” - -“At once.” - -I paused in amazement at this trick of statecraft which could make of -the drawing for so difficult and compulsory a thing as service in the -army a gala occasion. For scarcely any compensation--a few cents a -day--these yokels and village men are seized upon and made to do almost -heroic duty for two years, whether they will or no. I did not know -then, quite, how intensely proud Germany is of her army, how perfectly -willing the vast majority are to serve, how certain the great majority -of Germans are that Germany is called of God to rule--_beherrschen_ -is their vigorous word--the world. Before I was out of Frankfort and -Berlin, I could well realize how intensely proud the average boy is to -be drawn. He is really a man then; he is permitted to wear a uniform -and carry a gun; the citizens from then on, at least so long as he is -in service, respect him as a soldier. By good fortune or ability he -may become a petty officer. So they crown him with flowers, and the -girls gather round him in admiring groups. What a clever custom thus to -sugar-coat the compulsory pill. And, in a way, what a travesty. - -The climax of my quest was reached when, after traveling all this -distance and finally reaching the “Mayen” on the railroad, I didn’t -really reach it after all! It proved to be “West Mayen”--a new section -of the old town--or rather a new rival of it--and from West Mayen I -had to walk to Mayen proper, or what might now be called East Mayen--a -distance of over a mile. I first shook my head in disgust, and then -laughed. For there, in the valley below me, after I had walked a little -way, I could actually see the town my father had described, a small -walled city of now perhaps seven or eight thousand population, with -an old Gothic church in the center containing a twisted spire, a true -castle or _Schloss_ of ancient date, on the high ground to the right, a -towered gate or two, of that medieval conical aspect so beloved of the -painters of romance, and a cluster or clutter of quaint, many-gabled, -sharp-roofed and sharp-pointed houses which speak invariably of days -and nations and emotions and tastes now almost entirely superseded. -West Mayen was being built in modern style. Some coal mines had been -discovered there and manufactories were coming in. At Mayen all was -quite as my father left it. I am sure, some seventy years before. - - * * * * * - -Those who think this world would be best if we could have peace and -quiet, should visit Mayen. Here is a town that has existed in a more or -less peaceful state for all of six hundred years. The single Catholic -church, the largest structure outside of the adjacent castle, was -begun in the twelfth century. Frankish princes and Teuton lords have -by turns occupied its site. But Mayen has remained quite peacefully -a small, German, walled city, doing--in part at least--many of the -things its ancestors did. Nowhere in Europe, not even in Italy, did I -feel more keenly the seeming out-of-placeness of the modern implements -of progress. When, after a pause at the local graveyard, in search of -ancestral Dreisers, I wandered down into the town proper, crossed over -the ancient stone bridge that gives into an easily defended, towered -gate, and saw the presence of such things as the Singer Sewing Machine -Company, a thoroughly up-to-date bookstore, an evening newspaper office -and a moving-picture show, I shook my head in real despair. “Nothing is -really old” I sighed, “nothing!” - -Like all the places that were highly individual and different, Mayen -made a deep impression on me. It was like entering the shell of -some great mollusc that had long since died, to enter this walled -town and find it occupied by another type of life from that which -originally existed there. Because it was raining now and soon to grow -dark, I sauntered into the first shelter I saw--a four-story, rather -presentable brick inn, located outside the gate known as the Brückentor -(bridge-gate) and took a room here for the night. It was a dull -affair, run by as absurd a creature as I have ever encountered. He was -a little man, sandy-haired, wool-witted, inquisitive, idle, in a silly -way drunken, who was so astonished by the onslaught of a total stranger -in this unexpected manner that he scarcely knew how to conduct himself. - -“I want a room for the night,” I suggested. - -“A room?” he queried, in an astonished way, as if this were the most -unheard-of thing imaginable. - -“Certainly,” I said. “A room. You rent rooms, don’t you?” - -“Oh, certainly, certainly. To be sure. A room. Certainly. Wait. I will -call my wife.” - -He went into a back chamber, leaving me to face several curious natives -who went over me from head to toe with their eyes. - -“Mah-ree-ah!” I heard my landlord calling quite loudly in the rear -portion of the house. “There is one here who wants a room. Have we a -room ready?” - -I heard no reply. - -Presently he came back, however, and said in a high-flown, deliberate -way, “Be seated. Are you from Frankfort?” - -“Yes, and no. I come from America.” - -“O-o-oh! America. What part of America?” - -“New York.” - -“O-o-oh--New York. That is a great place. I have a brother in America. -Since six years now he is out there. I forget the place.” He put his -hand to his foolish, frizzled head and looked at the floor. - -His wife now appeared, a stout, dull woman, one of the hard-working -potato specimens of the race. A whispered conference between them -followed, after which they announced my room would soon be ready. - -“Let me leave my bag here,” I said, anxious to escape, “and then I -will come back later. I want to look around for awhile.” - -He accepted this valid excuse and I departed, glad to get out into the -rain and the strange town, anxious to find a better-looking place to -eat and to see what I could see. - -My search for dead or living Dreisers, which I have purposely skipped -in order to introduce the town, led me first, as I have said, to the -local graveyard--the old “Kirchhof.” It was lowering to a rain as I -entered, and the clouds hung in rich black masses over the valley -below. It was half-after four by my watch. I made up my mind that -I would examine the inscription of every tombstone as quickly as -possible, in order to locate all the dead Dreisers, and then get down -into the town before the night and the rain fell, and locate the live -ones--if any. With that idea in view I began at an upper row, near the -church, to work down. Time was when the mere wandering in a graveyard -after this fashion would have produced the profoundest melancholy in -me. It was so in Paris; it made me morbidly weary and ineffably sad. -I saw too many great names--Chopin, Balzac, Daudet, Rachel--solemnly -chiseled in stone. And I hurried out, finally, quite agonized and -unspeakably lonely. - -Here in Mayen it was a simpler feeling that was gradually coming over -me--an amused sentimental interest in the simple lives that had had, -too often, their beginning and their end in this little village. It -was a lovely afternoon for such a search. Spring was already here in -South Germany, that faint, tentative suggestion of budding life; all -the wind-blown leaves of the preceding fall were on the ground, but in -between them new grass was springing and, one might readily suspect, -windflowers and crocuses, the first faint green points of lilies and -the pulsing tendrils of harebells. It was beginning to sprinkle, the -faintest suggestion of a light rain; and in the west, over the roofs -and towers of Mayen, a gleam of sunlight broke through the mass of -heavy clouds and touched the valley with one last lingering ray. - -“_Hier ruht im Gott_” (Here rests in God), or “_Hier sanft ruht_” (Here -softly rests), was too often the beginning. I had made my way through -the sixth or seventh row from the top, pushing away grass at times from -in front of faded inscriptions, rubbing other lichen-covered letters -clean with a stick and standing interested before recent tombstones. -All smart with a very recently developed local idea of setting a black -piece of glass into the gray of the marble and on that lettering the -names of the departed in gold! It was to me a very thick-witted, truly -Teutonic idea, dull and heavy in its mistakes but certainly it was -no worse than the Italian idea of putting the photograph of the late -beloved in the head of the slab, behind glass in a stone-cut frame and -of further ornamenting the graves with ghastly iron-shafted lamps with -globes of yellow, pink and green glass. That was the worst of all. - -As I was meditating how, oysterlike, little villages reproduce -themselves from generation to generation, a few coming and a few going -but the majority leading a narrow simple round of existence. I came -suddenly, so it seemed to me, upon one grave which gave me a real -shock. It was a comparatively recent slab of gray granite with the -modern plate of black glass set in it and a Gothic cross surmounting it -all at the top. On the glass plate was lettered: - - Here Rests - Theodor Dreiser, - Born 16--Feb--1820. - Died 28--Feb--1882. - R. I. P. - -I think as clear a notion as I ever had of how my grave will look after -I am gone and how utterly unimportant both life and death are, anyhow, -came to me then. Something about this old graveyard, the suggestion of -the new life of spring, a robin trilling its customary evening song -on a near-by twig, the smoke curling upward from the chimneys in the -old houses below, the spire of the medieval church and the walls of -the medieval castle standing out in the softening light--one or all of -them served to give me a sense of the long past that is back of every -individual in the race of life and the long future that the race has -before it, regardless of the individual. Religion offers no consolation -to me. Psychic research and metaphysics, however meditated upon, are -in vain. There is in my judgment no death; the universe is composed -of life; but, nevertheless, I cannot see any continuous life for any -individual. And it would be so unimportant if true. Imagine an eternity -of life for a leaf, a fish-worm, an oyster! The best that can be said -is that ideas of types survive somewhere in the creative consciousness. -That is all. The rest is silence. - -Besides this, there were the graves of my father’s brother John, and -some other Dreisers; but none of them dated earlier than 1800. - - - - -CHAPTER XLV - -MY FATHER’S BIRTHPLACE - - -It was quite dark when I finally came across a sort of tap-room -“restaurant” whose quaint atmosphere charmed me. The usual pewter -plates and tankards adorned the dull red and brown walls. A line of -leather-covered seats followed the walls, in front of which were ranged -long tables. - -My arrival here with a quiet request for food put a sort of panic into -the breast of my small but stout host, who, when I came in, was playing -checkers with another middle-aged Mayener, but who, when I asked for -food, gave over his pleasure for the time being and bustled out to find -his wife. He looked not a little like a fat sparrow. - -“Why, yes, yes,” he remarked briskly, “what will you have?” - -“What _can_ I have?” - -On the instant he put his little fat hand to his semi-bald pate and -rubbed it ruminatively. “A steak, perhaps. Some veal? Some sausage?” - -“I will have a steak, if you don’t mind and a cup of black coffee.” - -He bustled out and when he came back I threw a new bomb into camp. “May -I wash my hands?” - -“Certainly, certainly,” he replied, “in a minute.” And he bounded -upstairs. “Katrina! Katrina! Katrina!” I heard him call, “have Anna -make the washroom ready. He wishes to wash his hands. Where are the -towels? Where is the soap?” - -There was much clattering of feet overhead. I heard a door being opened -and things being moved. Presently I heard him call, “Katrina, in God’s -name, where is the soap!” More clattering of feet, and finally he came -down, red and puffing. “Now, mein Herr, you can go up.” - -I went, concealing a secret grin, and found that I had dislocated -a store-room, once a bath perhaps; that a baby-carriage had been -removed from a table and on it pitcher, bowl, towel, and soap had been -placed--a small piece of soap and cold water. Finally, after seeing -me served properly, he sat down at his table again and sighed. The -neighbor returned. Several more citizens dropped in to read and chat. -The two youngest boys in the family came downstairs with their books to -study. It was quite a typical German family scene. - -It was here that I made my first effort to learn something about -the Dreiser family. “Do you know any one by the name of Dreiser, -hereabouts?” I asked cautiously, afraid to talk too much for fear of -incriminating myself. - -“Dreiser, Dreiser?” he said. “Is he in the furniture business?” - -“I don’t know. That is what I should like to find out. Do you know of -any one by that name?” - -“Is not that the man, Henry,”--he turned to one of his guests--“who -failed here last year for fifty thousand marks?” - -“The same,” said this other, solemnly (I fancied rather feelingly). - -“Goodness, gracious!” I thought. “This is the end. If he failed for -fifty thousand marks in Germany he is in disgrace. To think a Dreiser -should ever have had fifty thousand marks! Would that I had known him -in his palmy days.” - -“There was a John Dreiser here,” my host said to me, “who failed for -fifty thousand marks. He is gone though, now I think. I don’t know -where he is.” - -It was not an auspicious beginning, and under the circumstances I -thought it as well not to identify myself with this Dreiser too -closely. I finished my meal and went out, wondering how, if at all, I -was to secure any additional information. The rain had ceased and the -sky was already clearing. It promised to be fine on the morrow. After -more idle rambling through a world that was quite as old as Canterbury -I came back finally to my hotel. My host was up and waiting for me. All -but one guest had gone. - -“So you are from America,” he observed. “I would like very much to talk -with you some more.” - -“Let me ask _you_ something,” I replied. “Do you know any one here in -Mayen by the name of Dreiser?” - -“Dreiser--Dreiser? It seems to me there was some one here. He failed -for a lot of money. You could find out at the _Mayener Zeitung_. Mr. -Schroeder ought to know.” - -I decided that I would appeal to Mr. Schroeder and his paper in the -morning; and pretending to be very tired, in order to escape my -host, who by now was a little tipsy. I went to the room assigned me, -carrying a candle. That night I slept soundly, under an immense, stuffy -feather-bed. - -The next morning at dawn I arose and was rewarded with the only truly -satisfying medieval prospect I have ever seen in my life. It was -strange, remote, Teutonic, Burgundian. The “grafs” and “burghers” -of an older world might well have been enacting their life under my -very eyes. Below me in a valley was Mayen,--its quaint towers and -housetops spread out in the faint morning light. It was beautiful. -Under my window tumbled the little stream that had served as a moat -in earlier days--a good and natural defense. Opposite me was the -massive Brückentor. Further on was a heavy circular sweep of wall -and a handsome watch-tower. Over the wall, rising up a slope, could -be seen the peak-roofed, gabled houses, of solid brick and stone with -slate and tile roofs. Never before in my life had I looked on a truly -medieval city of the castellated, Teutonic order. Nothing that I had -seen in either France, England, or Italy had the peculiar quality of -this remote spot. I escaped the opportunities of my talkative host by -a ruse, putting the two marks charged for the room in an envelope and -leaving it on the dresser. I went out and followed the stream in the -pleasant morning light. I mailed post-cards at the local post-office -to all and sundry of my relatives, stating the local condition of the -Dreisers, as so far learned, and then sought out the office of the -_Mayener Zeitung_, where I encountered one Herr Schroeder, but he -could tell me nothing of any Dreisers save of that unfortunate one -who had failed in the furniture business. He advised me to seek the -curator of the local museum, a man who had the history of Mayen at his -finger-tips. He was a cabinet-maker by trade. I could not find him at -home and finally, after looking in the small local directory published -by Mr. Schroeder and finding no Dreisers listed, I decided to give up -and go back to Frankfort; but not without one last look at the private -yard attached to the priest’s house and the cherry-tree which had been -the cause of the trouncing, and lastly the local museum. - -It is curious how the most innocent and idle of sentiments will lead a -person on in this way. In the little Brückentor Museum, before leaving, -I studied with the greatest interest--because it was my father’s -town--the ancient Celtic, Teutonic, Roman and Merovingian antiquities. -It was here that I saw for the first time the much-talked-of wheat -discovered in a Celtic funeral urn, which, although thousands of years -have elapsed since it was harvested, is still--thanks to dryness, so -the local savant assured me--fertile, and if planted would grow! Talk -of suspended animation! - -Below the town I lingered in the little valley of the Moselle, now laid -out as a park, and reëxamined the gate through which my father had been -wont to ride. I think I sentimentalized a little over the long distance -that had separated my father from his old home and how he must have -longed to see it at times, and then finally, after walking about the -church and school where he had been forced to go, I left Mayen with a -sorrowful backward glance. For in spite of the fact that there was now -no one there to whom I could count myself related, still it was from -here that my ancestors had come. I had found at least the church that -my father had attended, the priest’s house and garden where possibly -the identical cherry-tree was still standing--there were several. I -had seen the gate through which my father had ridden as a boy with the -soldiers and from which he had walked finally, never to return any -more. That was enough. I shall always be glad I went to Mayen. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI - -THE ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT - - -Before leaving Frankfort I hurried to Cook’s office to look after my -mail. I found awaiting me a special delivery letter from a friend of -Barfleur’s, a certain famous pianist, Madame A., whom I had met in -London. She had told me then that she was giving a recital at Munich -and Leipzig and that she was coming to Frankfort about this very time. -She was scheduled to play on Wednesday, and this was Monday. She was -anxious to see me. There was a long account of the town outside Berlin -where she resided, her house, its management by a capable housekeeper, -etc. Would I go there? I could have her room. If I did, would I wait -until she could come back at the latter end of the month? It was a -most hospitable letter, and, coming from such a busy woman, a most -flattering one and evidently instigated by Barfleur. I debated whether -to accept this charming invitation as I strolled about Frankfort. - -At one corner of the shopping district I came upon a music store in -the window of which were displayed a number of photographs of musical -celebrities. A little to my surprise I noticed that the central place -was occupied by a large photograph of Madame A. in her most attractive -pose. A near-by bill-board contained full announcement of her coming. -I meditated somewhat more mellowly after this and finally returned to -Cook’s to leave a telegram. I would wait, I said, here at Frankfort -until Wednesday. - -In due time Madame A. arrived and her recital, as such things go, was -a brilliant success. So far as I could judge, she had an enthusiastic -following in Frankfort, quite as significant, for instance, as a -woman like Carreno would have in America. An institution known as -the Saalbau, containing a large auditorium, was crowded, and there -were flowers in plenty for Madame A. who opened and closed the -program. The latter arrangement resulted in an ovation to her, men and -women crowding about her feet below the platform and suggesting one -composition and another that she might play--selections, obviously, -that they had heard her render before. - -She looked forceful, really brilliant, and tender in a lavender silk -gown and wearing a spray of an enormous bouquet of lilacs that I had -sent her. - -This business of dancing attendance upon a national musical favorite -was a bit strange for me, although once before in my life it fell to my -lot, and tempestuous business it was, too. The artistic temperament! My -hair rises! Madame A. I knew, after I saw her, was expecting me to do -the unexpected--to give edge as it were to her presence in Frankfort. -And so strolling out before dinner I sought a florist’s, and espying a -whole jardinière full of lilacs, I said to the woman florist, “How much -for all those lilacs?” - -“You mean all?” she asked. - -“All,” I said. - -“Thirty marks,” she replied. - -“Isn’t that rather high?” I said, assuming that it was wise to bargain -a little anywhere. - -“But this is very early spring,” she said. “These are the very first -we’ve had.” - -“Very good,” I said, “but if I should take them all would you put a -nice ribbon on them?” - -“O-o-oh!” she hesitated, almost pouting, “ribbon is very dear, my good -sir. Still--if you wish--it will make a wonderful bouquet.” - -“Here is my card,” I said, “put that in it.” And then I gave her the -address and the hour. I wrote some little nonsense on the card, about -tender melodies and spring-time, and then I went back to the hotel to -attend Madame. - -A more bustling, aggressive little artist you would not want to find. -When I called at eight-thirty--the recital was at nine--I found several -musical satellites dancing attendance upon her. There was one beautiful -little girl from Mayence I noticed, of the Jewish type, who followed -Madame A. with positively adoring glances. There was another woman of -thirty who was also caught in the toils of this woman’s personality and -swept along by her quite as one planet dislocates the orbit of another -and makes it into a satellite. She had come all the way from Berlin. -“Oh, Madame A.,” she confided to me upon introduction, “oh, wonderful! -wonderful! Such playing! It is the most wonderful thing in the world to -me.” - -This woman had an attractive face, sallow and hollow, with burning -black eyes and rich black hair. Her body was long and thin, supple and -graceful. She followed Madame A. too, with those strange, questioning -eyes. Life is surely pathetic. It was interesting, though, to be in -this atmosphere of intense artistic enthusiasm. - -When the last touch had been added to Madame’s coiffure, a sprig of -blossom of some kind inserted in her corsage, a flowing opera cloak -thrown about the shoulders, she was finally ready. So busy was she, -suggesting this and that to one and another of her attendants, that -she scarcely saw me. “Oh, there you are,” she beamed finally. “Now, I -am _quite_ ready. Is the machine here, Marie? Oh, very good. And Herr -Steiger! O-o-oh!” This last to a well-known violinist who had arrived. - -It turned out that there were two machines--one for the satellites and -Herr Steiger who was also to play this evening, and one for Madame A., -her maid and myself. We finally debouched from the hall and elevator -and fussy lobby, where German officers were strolling to and fro, into -the machines and were away. Madame A. was lost in a haze of artistic -contemplation with thoughts, no doubt, as to her program and her -success. “Now maybe you will like my program better,” she suggested -after a while. “In London it was not so goot. I haf to feel my audience -iss--how do you say?--vith me. In Berlin and here and Dresden and -Leipzig they like me. In England they do not know me.” She sighed and -looked out of the window. “Are you happy to be with me?” she asked -naïvely. - -“Quite,” I replied. - -When we reached the auditorium we were ushered by winding passages into -a very large green-room, a salon, as it were, where the various artists -awaited their call to appear. It was already occupied by a half-dozen -persons, or more, the friends of Madame A., the local manager, his hair -brushed aloft like a cockatoo, several musicians, the violinist Herr -Steiger, Godowsky the pianist, and one or two others. They all greeted -Madame A. effusively. - -There was some conversation in French here and there, and now and -then in English. The room was fairly babbling with temperament. -It is always amusing to hear a group of artists talk. They -are so fickle, make-believe, innocently treacherous, jealous, -vainglorious, flattering. “Oh, yes--how splendid he was. That aria -in C Major--perfect! But you know I did not care so much for his -rendering of the Pastoral Symphony--very weak in the _allegro ma non -troppo_--very. He should not attempt that. It is not in his vein--not -the thing he does best”--fingers lifted very suggestively and warningly -in the air. - -Some artist and his wife did not agree (very surprising); the gentleman -was the weaker instrument in this case. - -“Oh!”--it was Madame A. talking, “now that is too-oo ridiculous. She -must go places and he must go along as manager! Herr Spink wrote me -from Hamburg that he would not have him around. She has told him that -he affects her playing. Still he goes! It is too-oo much. They will not -live together long.” - -“Where is Herr Schochman?” (This being incident number three.) “Isn’t -he leading to-night? But they promised me! No, I will not play then! -It is always the way. I know him well! I know why he does it! It is to -annoy me. He doesn’t like me and he disappoints me.” - -Great business of soothing the principal performer of the evening--the -manager explaining volubly, friends offering soothing comment. More -talk about other artists, their wives, flirtations, successes, failures. - -In the midst of this, by some miscalculation (they were to have been -delivered over the footlights after the end of Madame A.’s first -number) in came my flowers. They looked like a fair-sized bush being -introduced. - -“Oh!” exclaimed Madame A. when the card was examined and they were -offered to her, “how heavenly. Good heavens! it is a whole tree. -Oh--wonderful, wonderful! And these be-yutiful words! O-o-oh!” - -More coquettish glances and tender sighs. I could have choked with -amusement. It was all such delicious by-play--quite the thing that -artists expect and must have. She threw away the sprig of jasmine she -wore and drawing out a few sprigs of the lilac wore those instead. -“Now I can play,” she exclaimed. - -Deep breathings, sighs, ecstatic expressions. - -Her turn came and, as I expected after hearing her in London, I heard -delicious music. She had her following. They applauded her to the -echo. Her two female satellites sat with me, and little Miss Meyer of -Mayence--as I will call her--fairly groaned with happiness at times. -Truly Madame A. was good to look upon, quite queenly, very assured. -At the end of it all a fifteen- or twenty-minute ovation. It was -beautiful, truly. - -While we were in the green-room talking between sections of the program -and intermediate soloists, I said to her, “You are coming with me to -supper, of course.” - -“Of course! What else did you expect?” - -“Are there any other restaurants besides those of the Frankforter Hof?” - -“I think not.” - -“How will you get rid of your friends after the performance?” - -“Oh, I shall send them away. You take a table anywhere you like and I -will come. Make it twelve o’clock.” - -We were bundled back to the hotel, flowers, wraps, maid, satellites, -and I went to see about the supper. In fifteen minutes it was ready; -and in twenty minutes more Madame A. came, quite rosy, all awake -temperamentally, inquisitive, defensive, coquettish, eager. We are all -greedy animals at best--the finer the greedier. The whole world is -looking to see what life will give it to eat--from ideas, emotions, -enthusiasms down to grass and potatoes. We are organized appetites, -magnificent, dramatic, pathetic at times, but appetites just the -same. The greater the appetite the more magnificent the spectacle. -Satiety is deadly discouraging. The human stomach is the grand -central organ--life in all its amazing, subtle, heavenly, pathetic -ramifications has been built up around that. The most pathetic thing -in life is a hungry man; the most stirringly disturbing thing, a -triumphant, greedy one. Madame A. sat down to our cold chicken, salad, -champagne, and coffee with beaming birdlike eyes. - -“Oh, it is so good to see you again!” she declared; but her eyes were -on the chicken. “I was so afraid when I wrote you from Munich that you -would not get my letter. I can’t tell you how you appeal to me; we have -only met twice, yet you see we are quite old friends already!” - -Just as her none too subtle flattery was beginning to work, she -remarked casually, “Do you know Mr. Barfleur well?” - -“Oh, fairly well. Yes, I know a little something about him.” - -“You like him, don’t you?” - -“I am very fond of him,” I answered, my vanity deflating rapidly. - -“He is so fond of you,” she assured me. “Oh, he admires you so much. -What you think must have considerable weight with him, eh? Where did -you first meet him?” she asked. - -“In New York.” - -“Now, between us: he is one of the few men in the world I deeply care -for--but I don’t think he cares for me.” - -“Good Lord!” I said to myself wearily, “why is it that all the charming -ladies I meet either are or have been in love with Barfleur. It’s -getting monotonous!” But I had to smile. - -“You will visit me in Berlin?” she was saying. “I will be back by the -twenty-sixth. Can’t you wait that long? Berlin is so interesting. When -I come, we shall have such nice talks!” - -“Yes--about Barfleur!” I thought to myself. Aloud I said vaguely, “It -is charming of you; I will stop over to see you, if I possibly can.” -Then I said good night and left. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII - -BERLIN - - -Berlin, when I reached it, first manifested itself in a driving rain. -If I laugh at it forever and ever as a blunder-headed, vainglorious, -self-appreciative city I shall always love it too. Paris has had its -day, and will no doubt have others; London is content with an endless, -conservative day; Berlin’s is still to come and come brilliantly. -The blood is there, and the hope, and the moody, lustful, Wagnerian -temperament. - -But first, before I reached it, I suffered a strange mental revolt -at being in Germany at all. Why? I can scarcely say. Perhaps I was -beginning to be depressed with what in my prejudice I called the -dullness of Germany. A little while later I recognized that while -there is an extreme conflict of temperament between the average German -and myself, I could yet admire them without wishing to be anything -like them. Of all the peoples I saw I should place the Germans first -for sobriety, industry, thoroughness, a hearty intolerance of sham, a -desire and a willingness to make the best of a very difficult earthly -condition. In many respects they are not artistically appetizing, being -gross physically, heartily passionate, vain, and cocksure; but those -things after all are unimportant. They have, in spite of all their -defects, great emotional, intellectual, and physical capacities, and -these things _are_ important. I think it is unquestionable that in -the main they take life far too seriously. The belief in a hell, for -instance, took a tremendous grip on the Teutonic mind and the Lutheran -interpretation of Protestantism, as it finally worked out, was as -dreary as anything could be--almost as dreary as Presbyterianism in -Scotland. That is the sad German temperament. A great nationality, -business success, public distinction is probably tending to make over -or at least modify the Teutonic cast of thought which is gray; but in -parts of Germany, for instance at Mayence, you see the older spirit -almost in full force. - -In the next place I was out of Italy and that land had taken such a -strange hold on me. What a far cry from Italy to Germany! I thought. -Gone; once and for all, the wonderful clarity of atmosphere that -pervades almost the whole of Italy from the Alps to Rome and I presume -Sicily. Gone the obvious _dolce far niente_, the lovely cities set on -hills, the castles, the fortresses, the strange stone bridges, the -hot, white roads winding like snowy ribbons in the distance. No olive -trees, no cypresses, no umbrella trees or ilexes, no white, yellow, -blue, brown and sea-green houses, no wooden plows, white oxen and -ambling, bare-footed friars. In its place (the Alps and Switzerland -between) this low rich land, its railroads threading it like steel -bands, its citizens standing up as though at command, its houses in -the smaller towns almost uniformly red, its architecture a twentieth -century modification of an older order of many-gabled roofs--the order -of Albrecht Dürer--with its fanciful decorations, conical roofs and -pinnacles and quaint windows and doors that suggest the bird-boxes of -our childhood. Germany appears in a way to have attempted to abandon -the medieval architectural ideal that still may be seen in Mayence, -Mayen, the heart of Frankfort, Nuremberg, Heidelberg and other places -and to adapt its mood to the modern theory of how buildings ought to -be constructed, but it has not quite done so. The German scroll-loving -mind of the Middle Ages is still the German scroll-loving mind of -to-day. Look and you will see it quaintly cropping out everywhere. Not -in those wonderful details of intricacy, Teutonic fussiness, naïve, -jester-like grotesqueness which makes the older sections of so many old -German cities so wonderful, but in a slight suggestion of them here -and there--a quirk of roof, an over-elaborateness of decoration, a -too protuberant frieze or grape-viney, Bacchus-mooded, sex-ornamented -panel, until you say to yourself quite wisely, “Ah, Teutons will be -Teutons still.” They are making a very different Germany from what the -old Germany was--modern Germany dating from 1871--but it is not an -entirely different Germany. Its citizens are still stocky, red-blooded, -physically excited and excitable, emotional, mercurial, morbid, -enthusiastic, women-loving and life-loving, and no doubt will be so, -praise God, until German soil loses its inherent essentials, and German -climate makes for some other variations not yet indicated in the race. - -[Illustration: A German dance hall, Berlin] - -But to return to Berlin. I saw it first jogging down Unter den Linden -from the Friedrichstrasse Bahnhof (station) to Cook’s Berlin agency, -seated comfortably in a closed cab behind as fat a horse and driver -as one would wish to see. And from there, still farther along Unter -den Linden and through the Wilhelmstrasse to Leipzigstrasse and the -Potsdamer Bahnhof I saw more of it. Oh, the rich guttural value of the -German “platzes” and “strasses” and “ufers” and “dams.” They make up -a considerable portion of your city atmosphere for you in Berlin. You -just have to get used to them--just as you have to accept the “fabriks” -and the “restaurations” and the “wein handlungs,” and all the other -“ichs,” “lings,” “bergs,” “brückes,” until you sigh for the French -and Italian “-rics” and the English-American “-rys.” However, among -the first things that impressed me were these: all Berlin streets, -seemingly, were wide with buildings rarely more than five stories -high. Everything, literally _everything_, was American new--and -newer--German new! And the cabbies were the largest, fattest, most -broad-backed, most thick-through and _Deutschiest_ looking creatures I -have ever beheld. Oh, the marvel of those glazed German cabby hats with -the little hard rubber decorations on the side. Nowhere else in Europe -is there anything like these cabbies. They do not stand; they sit, -heavily and spaciously--alone. - -The faithful Baedeker has little to say for Berlin. Art? It is -almost all in the Kaiser-Friedrich-Museum, in the vicinity of the -Kupferdam. And as for public institutions, spots of great historic -interest--they are a dreary and negligible list. But, nevertheless and -notwithstanding, Berlin appealed to me instantly as one of the most -interesting and forceful of all the cities, and that solely because it -is new, crude, human, growing feverishly, unbelievably; and growing in -a distinct and individual way. They have achieved and are achieving -something totally distinct and worth while--a new place to go; and -after a while, I haven’t the slightest doubt, thousands and even -hundreds of thousands of travelers will go there. But for many and many -a day the sensitive and artistically inclined will not admire it. - -My visit to Cook’s brought me a mass of delayed mail which cheered -me greatly. It was now raining pitchforks but my bovine driver, who -looked somehow like a segment of a wall, managed to bestow my trunk -and bags in such a fashion that they were kept dry, and off we went -for the hotel. I had a preconceived notion that Unter den Linden -was a magnificent avenue lined shadily with trees and crowded with -palaces. Nothing could have been more erroneous. The trees are few and -insignificant, the palaces entirely wanting. It is a very wide business -street, lined with hotels, shops, restaurants, newspaper offices and -filled with a parading throng in pleasant weather. At one end it -gives into an area known as the Lustgarten crowded with palaces, art -galleries, the Berlin Cathedral, the Imperial Opera House and what -not; at the other end (it is only about a mile long) into the famous -Berlin Thiergarten, formerly a part of the Imperial (Hohenzollern) -hunting-forest. On the whole, the avenue was a disappointment. - -For suggestions of character, individuality, innate Teutonic charm or -the reverse--as these things strike one--growth, prosperity, promise, -and the like, Berlin cannot be equaled in Europe. Quite readily I can -see how it might irritate and repel the less aggressive denizens of -less hopeful and determined realms. The German, when he is oppressed -is terribly depressed; when he is in the saddle, nothing can equal his -bump of I-am-ity. It becomes so balloon-like and astounding that the -world may only gaze in astonishment or retreat in anger, dismay, or -uproarious amusement. The present-day Germans do take themselves so -seriously and from many points of view with good reason, too. - -I don’t know where in Europe, outside of Paris, if even there, you will -see a better-kept city. It is so clean and spruce and fresh that it is -a joy to walk there--anywhere. Mile after mile of straight, imposing -streets greet your gaze. Berlin needs a great Pantheon, an avenue -such as Unter den Linden lined with official palaces (not shops), and -unquestionably a magnificent museum of art--I mean a better building. -Its present public and imperial structures are most uninspired. They -suggest the American-European architecture of 1860–1870. The public -monuments of Berlin, and particularly their sculptural adornments are -for the most part a crime against humanity. - -I remember standing and looking one evening at that noble German -effort known as the memorial statue of William I, in the Lustgarten, -unquestionably the fiercest and most imposing of all the Berlin -military sculptures. This statue speaks loudly for all Berlin and for -all Germany and for just what the Teutonic disposition would like to -be--namely, terrible, colossal, astounding, world-scarifying, and the -like. It almost shouts “Ho! see what I am,” but the sad part of it is -that it does it badly, not with that reserve that somehow invariably -indicates tremendous power so much better than mere bluster does. What -the Germans seem not to have learned in their art at least is that -“easy does it.” Their art is anything but easy. It is almost invariably -showy, truculent, vainglorious. But to continue: The whole neighborhood -in which this statue occurs, and the other neighborhood at the other -end of Unter den Linden, where stands the Reichstag and the like, -all in the center of Berlin, as it were, is conceived, designed, and -executed (in my judgment) in the same mistaken spirit. Truly, when you -look about you at the cathedral (save the mark) or the Royal Palace in -the Lustgarten, or at the Winged Victory before the Reichstag or at the -Reichstag itself, and the statue of Bismarck in the Königs-Platz (the -two great imperial centers), you sigh for the artistic spirit of Italy. -But no words can do justice to the folly of spending three million -dollars to erect such a thing as this Berlin _Dom_ or cathedral. It is -so bad that it hurts. And I am told that the Kaiser himself sanctioned -some of the architectural designs. And it was only completed between -1894 and 1906. Shades of Brabante and Pisano! - -But if I seem disgusted with this section of Berlin--its evidence -of Empire, as it were--there was much more that truly charmed me. -Wherever I wandered I could perceive through all the pulsing life -of this busy city the thoroughgoing German temperament--its moody -poverty, its phlegmatic middle-class prosperity, its aggressive -commercial, financial, and, above all, its official and imperial life. -Berlin is shot through with the constant suggestion of officialism -and imperialism. The German policeman with his shining brass helmet -and brass belt; the Berlin sentry in his long military gray overcoat, -his musket over his shoulder, his high cap shading his eyes, his -black-and-white striped sentry-box behind him, stationed apparently at -every really important corner and before every official palace; the -German military and imperial automobiles speeding their independent -ways, all traffic cleared away before them, the small flag of -officialdom or imperialism fluttering defiantly from the foot-rails -as they flash at express speed past you;--these things suggest an -individuality which no other European city that I saw quite equaled. It -represented what I would call determination, self-sufficiency, pride. -Berlin is new, green, vigorous, astounding--a city that for speed of -growth puts Chicago entirely into the shade; that for appearance, -cleanliness, order, for military precision and thoroughness has no -counterpart anywhere. It suggests to you all the time, something very -much greater to come which is the most interesting thing that can be -said about any city, anywhere. - -One panegyric I should like to write on Berlin concerns not so much -its social organization as a city, though that is interesting enough, -but specifically its traffic and travel arrangements. To be sure it is -not yet such a city as either New York, London or Paris, but it has -over three million people, a crowded business heart and a heavy, daily, -to-and-fro-swinging tide of suburban traffic. There are a number of -railway stations in the great German capital, the Potsdamer Bahnhof, -the Friedrichstrasse Bahnhof, the Anhalter Bahnhof and so on, and -coming from each in the early hours of the morning, or pouring toward -them at evening are the same eager streams of people that one meets in -New York at similar hours. - -The Germans are amazingly like the Americans. Sometimes I think that we -get the better portion of our progressive, constructive characteristics -from them. Only, the Germans, I am convinced, are so much more -thorough. They go us one better in economy, energy, endurance, and -thoroughness. The American already is beginning to want to play too -much. The Germans have not reached that stage. - -The railway stations I found were excellent, with great switching-yards -and enormous sheds arched with glass and steel, where the trains -waited. In Berlin I admired the suburban train service as much as I -did that of London, if not more. That in Paris was atrocious. Here the -trains offered a choice of first, second, and third class, with the -vast majority using the second and third. I saw little difference in -the crowds occupying either class. The second-class compartments were -upholstered in a greyish-brown corduroy. The third-class seats were of -plain wood, varnished and scrupulously clean. I tried all three classes -and finally fixed on the third as good enough for me. - -I wish all Americans who at present suffer the indignities of the -American street-railway and steam-railway suburban service could go to -Berlin and see what that city has to teach them in this respect. Berlin -is much larger than Chicago. It is certain soon to be a city of five or -six millions of people--very soon. The plans for handling this mass of -people comfortably and courteously are already in operation. The German -public service is obviously not left to supposedly kindly minded -business gentlemen--“Christian gentlemen,”--as Mr. Baer of the Reading -once chose to put it, “in partnership with God.” The populace may be -underlings to an imperial Kaiser, subject to conscription and eternal -inspection, but at least the money-making “Christian gentlemen” with -their hearts and souls centered on their private purses and working, as -Mr. Croker once said of himself, “for their own pockets all the time,” -are not allowed to “take it out of” the rank and file. - -No doubt the German street-railways and steam-railways are making a -reasonable sum of money and are eager to make more. I haven’t the least -doubt but that heavy, self-opinionated, vainglorious German directors -of great wealth gather around mahogany tables in chambers devoted to -meetings of directors and listen to ways and means of cutting down -expenses and “improving” the service. Beyond the shadow of a doubt -there are hard, hired managers, eager to win the confidence and support -of their superiors and ready to feather their own nests at the expense -of the masses, who would gladly cut down the service, “pack ’em in,” -introduce the “cutting out” system of car service and see that the “car -ahead” idea was worked to the last maddening extreme; but in Germany, -for some strange, amazing reason, they don’t get a chance. What is the -matter with Germany, anyhow? I should like to know. Really I would. -Why isn’t the “Christian gentleman” theory of business introduced -there? The population of Germany, acre for acre and mile for mile, is -much larger than that of America. They have sixty-five million people -crowded into an area as big as Texas. Why don’t they “pack ’em in”? Why -don’t they introduce the American “sardine” subway service? You don’t -find it anywhere in Germany, for some strange reason. Why? They have -a subway service in Berlin. It serves vast masses of people, just as -the subway does in New York; its platforms are crowded with people. But -you can get a seat just the same. There is no vociferated “step lively” -there. Overcrowding isn’t a joke over there as it is here--something -to be endured with a feeble smile until you are spiritually comparable -to a door mat. There must be “Christian gentlemen” of wealth and -refinement in Germany and Berlin. Why don’t they “get on the job”? The -thought arouses strange uncertain feelings in me. - -Take, for instance, the simple matter of starting and stopping -street-railway cars in the Berlin business heart. In so far as I could -see, that area, mornings and evenings, was as crowded as any similar -area in Paris, London, or New York. Street-cars have to be run through -it, started, stopped; passengers let on and off--a vast tide carried in -and out of the city. Now the way this matter is worked in New York is -quite ingenious. We operate what might be described as a daily guessing -contest intended to develop the wits, muscles, lungs, and tempers of -the people. The scheme, in so far as the street railway companies are -concerned, is (after running the roads as economically as possible) -to see how thoroughly the people can be fooled in their efforts to -discover when and where a car will stop. In Berlin, however, they -have, for some reason, an entirely different idea. There the idea is -not to fool the people at all but to get them in and out of the city -as quickly as possible. So, as in Paris, London, Rome, and elsewhere, -a plan of fixed stopping-places has been arranged. Signs actually -indicate where the cars stop and there--marvel of marvels--they -all stop even in the so-called rush hours. No traffic policeman, -apparently, can order them to go ahead without stopping. They must -stop. And so the people do not run for the cars, the motorman has no -joy in outwitting anybody. Perhaps that is why the Germans are neither -so agile, quick-witted, or subtle as the Americans. - -And then, take in addition--if you will bear with me another -moment--this matter of the Berlin suburban service as illustrated by -the lines to Potsdam and elsewhere. It is true the officers, and even -the Emperor of Germany, living at Potsdam and serving the Imperial -German Government there may occasionally use this line, but thousands -upon thousands of intermediate and plebeian Germans use it also. You -can _always_ get a seat. Please notice this word _always_. There are -three classes and you can _always_ get a seat in any class--not the -first or second classes only, but the third class and particularly the -_third_ class. There are “rush” hours in Berlin just as there are in -New York, dear reader. People swarm into the Berlin railway stations -and at Berlin street-railway corners and crowd on cars just as they -do here. The lines fairly seethe with cars. On the tracks ranged in -the Potsdamer Bahnhof, for instance, during the rush hours, you will -see trains consisting of eleven, twelve, and thirteen cars, mostly -third-class accommodation, waiting to receive you. And when one is -gone, another and an equally large train is there on the adjoining -track and it is going to leave in another minute or two also. And when -that is gone there will be another, and so it goes. - -There is not the slightest desire evident anywhere to “pack” anybody -in. There isn’t any evidence that anybody wants to make anything -(dividends, for instance) out of straps. There _are_ no straps. These -poor, unliberated, Kaiser-ruled people would really object to straps -and standing in the aisles, They would compel a decent service and -there would be no loud cries on the part of “Christian gentlemen” -operating large and profitable systems as to the “rights of property,” -the need of “conserving the constitution,” the privilege of appealing -to Federal judges, and the right of having every legal technicality -invoked to the letter;--or, if there were, they would get scant -attention. Germany just doesn’t see public service in that light. It -hasn’t fought, bled, and died, perhaps, for “liberty.” It hasn’t had -George Washington and Thomas Jefferson and Andrew Jackson and Abraham -Lincoln. All it has had is Frederick the Great and Emperor William I -and Bismarck and Von Moltke. Strange, isn’t it? Queer, how Imperialism -apparently teaches people to be civil, while Democracy does the -reverse. We ought to get a little “Imperialism” into our government, -I should say. We ought to make American law and American government -supreme, but over it there ought to be a “supremer” people who really -know what their rights are, who respect liberties, decencies, and -courtesies for themselves and others, and who demand and see that -their government and their law and their servants, public and private, -are responsive and responsible to them, rather than to the “Christian -gentlemen” who want to “pack ’em in.” If you don’t believe it, go to -Berlin and then see if you come home again cheerfully believing that -this is still the land of the _free_ and the home of the _brave_. -Rather I think you will begin to feel that we are getting to be the -land of the _dub_ and the home of the _door-mat_. Nothing more and -nothing less. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVIII - -THE NIGHT-LIFE OF BERLIN - - -During the first ten days I saw considerable of German night-life, -in company with Herr A., a stalwart Prussian who went out of his way -to be nice to me. I cannot say that, after Paris and Monte Carlo, I -was greatly impressed, although all that I saw in Berlin had this -advantage, that it bore sharply the imprint of German nationality. The -cafés were not especially noteworthy. I do not know what I can say -about any of them which will indicate their individuality. “Piccadilly” -was a great evening drinking-place near the Potsdamer Platz, which was -all glass, gold, marble, glittering with lights and packed with the -Germans, _en famille_, and young men and their girls. - -“La Clou” was radically different. In a way it was an amazing place, -catering to the moderately prosperous middle class. It seated, I should -say, easily fifteen hundred people, if not more, on the ground floor; -and every table, in the evening at least, was full. At either end of -the great center aisle bisecting it was stationed a stringed orchestra -and when one ceased the other immediately began, so that there was -music without interruption. Father and mother and young Lena, the -little Heine, and the two oldest girls or boys were all here. During -the evening, up one aisle and down another, there walked a constant -procession of boys and girls and young men and young women, making shy, -conservative eyes at one another. - -In Berlin every one drinks beer or the lighter wines--the children -being present--and no harm seems to come from it. I presume -drunkenness is not on the increase in Germany. And in Paris they sit -at tables in front of cafés--men and women--and sip their liqueurs. -It is a very pleasant way to enjoy your leisure. Outside of trade or -the desire to be _president_, _vice-president_, or _secretary_ of -something, we in America have so often no real diversions. - -In no sense could either of these restaurants be said to be smart. -But Berlin, outside of one or two selected spots, does not run to -smartness. The “Cabaret Linden” and the “Cabaret Arcadia” were, once -more, of a different character. There was one woman at the Cabaret -Linden who struck me as having real artistic talent of a strongly -Teutonic variety. Claire Waldoff was her name, a hard, shock-headed -tomboy of a girl, who sang in a harsh, guttural voice of soldiers, -merchants, janitors, and policemen--a really brilliant presentation of -local German characteristics. It is curious how these little touches of -character drawn from everyday life invariably win thunders of applause. -How the world loves the homely, the simple, the odd, the silly, the -essentially true! Unlike the others at this place, there was not a -suggestive thing about anything which this woman said or did; yet this -noisy, driveling audience could not get enough of her. She was truly an -artist. - -One night we went to the Palais de Danse, admittedly Berlin’s greatest -night-life achievement. For several days Herr A. had been saying: -“Now to-morrow we must go to the Palais de Danse, then you will see -something,” but every evening when we started out, something else had -intervened. I was a little skeptical of his enthusiastic praise of this -institution as being better than anything else of its kind in Europe. -You had to take Herr A.’s vigorous Teutonic estimate of Berlin with -a grain of salt, though I did think that a city that had put itself -together in this wonderful way in not much more than a half-century had -certainly considerable reason to boast. - -“But what about the Café de Paris at Monte Carlo?” I suggested, -remembering vividly the beauty and glitter of the place. - -“No, no, no!” he exclaimed, with great emphasis--he had a habit of -unconsciously making a fist when he was emphatic--“not in Monte Carlo, -not in Paris, not anywhere.” - -“Very good,” I replied, “this must be very fine. Lead on.” - -So we went. - -I think Herr A. was pleased to note how much of my skepticism melted -after passing the sedate exterior of this astounding place. - -“I want to tell you something,” said Herr A. as we climbed out of our -taxi--a good, solid, reasonably priced, Berlin taxi--“if you come -with your wife, your daughter, or your sister you buy a ticket for -yourself--four marks--and walk in. Nothing is charged for your female -companions and no notice is taken of them. If you come here with a -demi-mondaine, you pay four marks for yourself and four for her, and -you cannot get in without. They know. They have men at the door who are -experts in this matter. They want you to bring such women, but you have -to pay. If such a woman comes alone, she goes in free. How’s that?” - -Once inside we surveyed a brilliant spectacle--far more ornate than -the Café l’Abbaye or the Café Maxim, though by no means so enticing. -Paris is Paris and Berlin is Berlin and the Germans cannot do as do the -French. They haven’t the air--the temperament. Everywhere in Germany -you feel that--that strange solidity of soul which cannot be gay -as the French are gay. Nevertheless the scene inside was brilliant. -Brilliant was the word. I would not have believed, until I saw it, -that the German temperament or the German sense of thrift would have -permitted it and yet after seeing the marvelous German officer, why not? - -The main chamber--very large--consisted of a small, central, highly -polished dancing floor, canopied far above by a circular dome of -colored glass, glittering white or peach-pink by turns, and surrounded -on all sides by an elevated platform or floor, two or three feet -above it, crowded with tables ranged in circles on ascending steps, -so that all might see. Beyond the tables again was a wide, level, -semi-circular promenade, flanked by ornate walls and divans and set -with palms, marbles and intricate gilt curio cases. The general -effect was one of intense light, pale, diaphanous silks of creams and -lemon hues, white-and-gold walls, white tables,--a perfect glitter -of glass mirrors, and picturesque paneling. Beyond the dancing-floor -was a giant, gold-tinted, rococo organ, and within a recess in this, -under the tinted pipes, a stringed orchestra. The place was crowded -with women of the half-world, for the most part Germans--unusually -slender, in the majority of cases delicately featured, as the best of -these women are, and beautifully dressed. I say beautifully. Qualify -it any way you want to. Put it dazzlingly, ravishingly, showily, -outrageously--any way you choose. No respectable woman might come so -garbed. Many of these women were unbelievably attractive, carried -themselves with a grand air, pea-fowl wise, and lent an atmosphere of -color and life of a very showy kind. The place was also crowded, I need -not add, with young men in evening clothes. Only champagne was served -to drink--champagne at twenty marks the bottle. Champagne at twenty -marks the bottle in Berlin is high. You can get a fine suit of clothes -for seventy or eighty marks. - -The principal diversions here were dining, dancing, drinking. As at -Monte Carlo and in Paris, you saw here that peculiarly suggestive -dancing of the habitués and the more skilled performances of those -especially hired for the occasion. The Spanish and Russian dancers, -as in Paris, the Turkish and Tyrolese specimens, gathered from Heaven -knows where, were here. There were a number of handsome young officers -present who occasionally danced with the women they were escorting. -When the dancing began the lights in the dome turned pink. When it -ceased, the lights in the dome were a glittering white. The place is, -I fancy, a rather quick development for Berlin. We drank champagne, -waved away charmers, and finally left, at two or three o’clock, when -the law apparently compelled the closing of this great central chamber; -though after that hour all the patrons who desired might adjourn to an -inner sanctum, quite as large, not so showy, but full of brilliant, -strolling, dining, drinking life where, I was informed, one could stay -till eight in the morning if one chose. There was some drunkenness -here, but not much, and an air of heavy gaiety. I left thinking to -myself, “Once is enough for a place like this.” - -I went one day to Potsdam and saw the Imperial Palace and grounds and -the Royal Parade. The Emperor had just left for Venice. As a seat of -royalty it did not interest me at all. It was a mere imitation of -the grounds and palace at Versailles, but as a river valley it was -excellent. Very dull, indeed, were the state apartments. I tried to be -interested in the glass ballrooms, picture galleries, royal auditoriums -and the like. But alas! The servitors, by the way, were just as anxious -for tips as any American waiters. Potsdam did not impress me. From -there I went to Grunewald and strolled in the wonderful forest for an -enchanted three hours. That was worth while. - - * * * * * - -The rivers of every city have their individuality and to me the Spree -and its canals seem eminently suited to Berlin. The water effects--and -they are always artistically important and charming--are plentiful. - -The most pleasing portions of Berlin to me were those which related to -the branches of the Spree--its canals and the lakes about it. Always -there were wild ducks flying over the housetops, over offices and -factories; ducks passing from one bit of water to another, their long -necks protruding before them, their metallic colors gleaming in the sun. - -You see quaint things in Berlin, such as you will not see -elsewhere--the Spreewald nurses, for instance, in the Thiergarten with -their short, scarlet, balloon skirt emphasized by a white apron, their -triangular white linen head-dress, very conspicuous. It was actually -suggested to me one day as something interesting to do, to go to the -Zoological Gardens and see the animals fed! I chanced to come there -when they were feeding the owls, giving each one a mouse,--live or -dead, I could not quite make out. That was enough for me. I despise -flesh-eating birds anyhow. They are quite the most horrible of all -evoluted specimens. This particular collection--eagles, hawks, condors, -owls of every known type and variety, and buzzards--all sat in their -cages gorging themselves on raw meat or mice. The owls, to my disgust, -fixed me with their relentless eyes, the while they tore at the -entrails of their victims. As a realist, of course, I ought to accept -all these delicate manifestations of the iron constitution of the -universe as interesting, but I can’t. Now and then, very frequently, in -fact, life becomes too much for my hardy stomach. I withdraw, chilled -and stupefied by the way strength survives and weakness goes under. And -to think that as yet we have no method of discovering why the horrible -appears and no reason for saying that it should not. Yet one can -actually become surfeited with beauty and art and take refuge in the -inartistic and the unlovely! - - * * * * * - -One of the Berliners’ most wearying characteristics is their -contentious attitude. To the few, barring the women, to whom I was -introduced, I could scarcely talk. As a matter of fact, I was not -expected to. _They_ would talk to _me_. Argument was, in its way, -obviously an insult. Anything that I might have to say or suggest -was of small importance; anything they had to say was of the utmost -importance commercially, socially, educationally, spiritually,--any -way you chose,--and they emphasized so many of their remarks with a -deep voice, a hard, guttural force, a frown, or a rap on the table with -their fists that I was constantly overawed. - -Take this series of incidents as typical of the Berlin spirit: One -day as I walked along Unter den Linden I saw a minor officer standing -in front of a sentry who was not far from his black-and-white striped -sentry-box, his body as erect as a ramrod, his gun “presented” stiff -before him, not an eyelash moving, not a breath stirring. This endured -for possibly fifty seconds or longer. You would not get the importance -of this if you did not realize how strict the German military -regulations are. At the sound of an officer’s horn or the observed -approach of a superior officer there is a noticeable stiffening of the -muscles of the various sentries in sight. In this instance the minor -officer imagined that he had not been saluted properly, I presume, and -suspected that the soldier was heavy with too much beer. Hence the -rigid test that followed. After the officer was gone, the soldier -looked for all the world like a self-conscious house-dog that has -just escaped a good beating, sheepishly glancing out of the corners -of his eyes and wondering, no doubt, if by any chance the officer was -coming back. “If he had moved so much as an eyelid,” said a citizen -to me, emphatically and approvingly, “he would have been sent to the -guard-house, and rightly. _Swine-hound!_ He should tend to his duties!” - -Coming from Milan to Lucerne, and again from Lucerne to Frankfort, and -again from Frankfort to Berlin, I sat in the various dining-cars next -to Germans who were obviously in trade and successful. Oh, the compact -sufficiency of them! “Now, when you are in Italy,” said one to another, -“you see signs--‘French spoken,’ or ‘English spoken’; not ‘German -spoken.’ Fools! They really do not know where their business comes -from.” - -On the train from Lucerne to Frankfort I overheard another sanguine and -vigorous pair. Said one: “Where I was in Spain, near Barcelona, things -were wretched. Poor houses, poor wagons, poor clothes, poor stores. And -they carry English and American goods--these dunces! Proud and slow. -You can scarcely tell them anything.” - -“We will change all that in ten years,” replied the other. “We are -going after that trade. They need up-to-date German methods.” - -In a café in Charlottenberg, near the Kaiser-Friedrich -Gedächtnis-Kirche, I sat with three others. One was from Leipzig, in -the fur business. The others were merchants of Berlin. I was not of -their party, merely an accidental auditor. - -“In Russia the conditions are terrible. They do not know what life is. -Such villages!” - -“Do the English buy there much?” - -“A great deal.” - -“We shall have to settle this trade business with war yet. It will -come. We shall have to fight.” - -“In eight days,” said one of the Berliners, “we could put an army -of one hundred and fifty thousand men in England with all supplies -sufficient for eight weeks. Then what would they do?” - -Do these things suggest the German sense of self-sufficiency and -ability? They are the commonest of the commonplaces. - -During the short time that I was in Berlin I was a frequent witness -of quite human but purely Teutonic bursts of temper--that rapid, -fiery mounting of choler which verges apparently on a physical -explosion,--the bursting of a blood vessel. I was going home one night -late, with Herr A., from the Potsdamer Bahnhof, when we were the -witnesses of an absolutely magnificent and spectacular fight between -two Germans--so Teutonic and temperamental as to be decidedly worth -while. It occurred between a German escorting a lady and carrying a -grip at the same time, and another German somewhat more slender and -somewhat taller, wearing a high hat and carrying a walking-stick. This -was on one of the most exclusive suburban lines operating out of Berlin. - -[Illustration: Teutonic bursts of temper] - -It appears that the gentleman with the high hat and cane, in running to -catch his train along with many others, severely jostled the gentleman -with the lady and the portmanteau. On the instant, an absolutely -terrific explosion! To my astonishment--and, for the moment, I can -say my horror--I saw these two very fiercely attack each other, the -one striking wildly with his large portmanteau, the other replying -with lusty blows of his stick, a club-like affair which fell with hard -whacks on his rival’s head. Hats were knocked off, shirt-fronts -marked and torn; blood began to flow where heads and faces were cut -severely, and almost pandemonium broke loose in the surrounding crowd. - -Fighting always produces an atmosphere of intensity in any nationality, -but this German company seemed fairly to coruscate with anguish, wrath, -rage, blood-thirsty excitement. The crowd surged to and fro as the -combatants moved here and there. A large German officer, his brass -helmet a welcome shield in such an affair, was brought from somewhere. -Such noble German epithets as “Swine-hound!” “Hundsknochen!” (dog’s -bone), “Schafskopf!” (sheep’s head), “Schafsgesicht!” (sheep-face), and -even more untranslatable words filled the air. The station platform was -fairly boiling with excitement. Husbands drove their wives back, wives -pulled their husbands away, or tried to, and men immediately took sides -as men will. Finally the magnificent representative of law and order, -large and impregnable as Gibraltar, interposed his great bulk between -the two. Comparative order was restored. Each contestant was led away -in an opposite direction. Some names and addresses were taken by the -policeman. In so far as I could see no arrests were made; and finally -both combatants, cut and bleeding as they were, were allowed to enter -separate cars and go their way. That was Berlin to the life. The air of -the city, of Germany almost, was ever rife with contentious elements -and emotions. - -I should like to relate one more incident, and concerning quite another -angle of Teutonism. This relates to German sentiment, which is as -close to the German surface as German rage and vanity. It occurred in -the outskirts of Berlin--one of those interesting regions where solid -blocks of gold- and silver-balconied apartment houses march up to the -edge of streetless, sewerless, lightless green fields and stop. Beyond -lie endless areas of truck gardens or open common yet to be developed. -Cityward lie miles on miles of electric-lighted, vacuum-cleaned, -dumb-waitered and elevator-served apartments, and, of course, street -cars. - -I had been investigating a large section of land devoted to free -(or practically free) municipal gardens for the poor, one of those -socialistic experiments of Germany which, as is always the way, benefit -the capable and leave the incapable just where they were before. As I -emerged from a large area of such land divided into very small garden -plots, I came across a little graveyard adjoining a small, neat, -white concrete church where a German burial service was in progress. -The burial ground was not significant or pretentious--a poor man’s -graveyard, that was plain. The little church was too small and too -sectarian in its mood, standing out in the wind and rain of an open -common, to be of any social significance. Lutheran, I fancied. As I -came up a little group of pall-bearers, very black and very solemn, -were carrying a white satin-covered coffin down a bare gravel path -leading from the church door, the minister following, bareheaded, and -after him the usual company of mourners in solemn high hats or thick -black veils, the foremost--a mother and a remaining daughter I took -them to be--sobbing bitterly. Just then six choristers in black frock -coats and high hats, standing to one side of the gravel path like six -blackbirds ranged on a fence, began to sing a German parting-song to -the melody of “Home Sweet Home.” The little white coffin, containing -presumably the body of a young girl, was put down by the grave while -the song was completed and the minister made a few consolatory remarks. - -I have never been able, quite, to straighten out for myself the magic -of what followed--its stirring effect. Into the hole of very yellow -earth, cut through dead brown grass, the white coffin was lowered and -then the minister stood by and held out first to the father and then -to the mother and then to each of the others as they passed a small, -white, ribbon-threaded basket containing broken bits of the yellow -earth intermixed with masses of pink and red rose-leaves. As each -sobbing person came forward he, or she, took a handful of earth and -rose leaves and let them sift through his fingers to the coffin below. -A lump rose in my throat and I hurried away. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIX - -ON THE WAY TO HOLLAND - - -I came near finding myself in serious straights financially on leaving -Berlin; for, owing to an oversight, and the fact that I was lost in -pleasant entertainment up to quite the parting hour, on examining -my cash in hand I found I had only fifteen marks all told. This was -Saturday night and my train was leaving in just thirty minutes. My taxi -fare would be two marks. I had my ticket, but excess baggage!--I saw -that looming up largely. It could mean anything in Europe--ten, twenty, -thirty marks. “Good Heavens!” I thought. “Who is there to cash a letter -of credit for me on Saturday night?” I thought of porters, taxis, -train hands at Amsterdam. “If I get there at all,” I sighed, “I get -there without a cent.” For a minute I thought seriously of delaying my -departure and seeking the aid of Herr A. However, I hurried on to the -depot where I first had my trunk weighed and found that I should have -to pay ten marks excess baggage. That was not so bad. My taxi chauffeur -demanded two. My _Packträger_ took one more, my parcel-room clerk, one -mark in fees, leaving me exactly one mark and my letter of credit. -“Good Heavens!” I sighed. “I can see the expectant customs officers at -the border! Without money I shall have to open every one of my bags. I -can see the conductor expecting four or five marks and getting nothing. -I can see--oh, Lord!” - -Still I did not propose to turn back, I did not have time. The clerk at -the Amsterdam hotel would have to loan me money on my letter of credit. -So I bustled ruminatively into the train. It was a long, dusty affair, -coming from St. Petersburg and bound for Holland, Paris, and the boats -for England. It was crowded with passengers but, thank Heaven, all of -them safely bestowed in separate compartments or “drawing-rooms” after -the European fashion. I drew my blinds, undressed swiftly and got into -bed. Let all conductors rage, I thought. Porters be damned. Frontier -inspectors could go to blazes. I am going to sleep, my one mark in my -coat pocket. - -I was just dozing off when the conductor called to ask if I did not -want to surrender the keys to my baggage in order to avoid being waked -in the morning at the frontier. This service merited a tip which, of -course, I was in no position to give. “Let me explain to you,” I said. -“This is the way it is. I got on this train with just one mark.” I -tried to make it clear how it all happened, in my halting German. - -He was a fine, tall, military, solid-chested fellow. He looked at me -with grave, inquisitive eyes. “I will come in a little later,” he -grunted. Instead, he shook me rudely at five-thirty A. M., at some -small place in Holland, and told me that I would have to go out and -open my trunk. Short shrift for the man who cannot or will not tip! - -Still I was not so downcast. For one thing we were in Holland, actually -and truly,--quaint little Holland with its five million population -crowded into cities so close together that you could get from one -to another in a half-hour or a little over. To me, it was first and -foremost the land of Frans Hals and Rembrandt van Ryn and that whole -noble company of Dutch painters. All my life I had been more or -less fascinated by those smooth surfaces, the spirited atmosphere, -those radiant simplicities of the Dutch interiors, the village inns, -windmills, canal scenes, housewives, fishwives, old topers, cattle, -and nature scenes which are the basis and substance of Dutch art. -I will admit, for argument’s sake, that the Dutch costume with its -snowy neck and head-piece and cuffs, the Dutch windmill, with its -huge wind-bellied sails, the Dutch landscape so flat and grassy and -the Dutch temperament, broad-faced and phlegmatic, have had much to -do with my art attraction, but over and beyond those there has always -been so much more than this--an indefinable something which, for want -of a better phrase, I can only call the wonder of the Dutch soul, the -most perfect expression of commonplace beauty that the world has yet -seen. So easily life runs off into the mystical, the metaphysical, the -emotional, the immoral, the passionate and the suggestive, that for -those delicate flaws of perfection in which life is revealed static, -quiescent, undisturbed, innocently gay, naïvely beautiful, how can we -be grateful enough! For those lovely, idyllic minds that were content -to paint the receipt of a letter, an evening school, dancing peasants, -a gust of wind, skaters, wild ducks, milk-time, a market, playing at -draughts, the fruiterer, a woman darning stockings, a woman scouring, -the drunken roysterers, a cow stall, cat and kittens, the grocer’s -shop, the chemist’s shop, the blacksmith’s shop, feeding-time, and the -like, my heart has only reverence. And it is not (again) this choice -of subject alone, nor the favorable atmosphere of Holland in which -these were found, so much as it is that delicate refinement of soul, of -perception, of feeling--the miracle of temperament--through which these -things were seen. _Life seen through a temperament! that is the miracle -of art._ - -Yet the worst illusion that can be entertained concerning art is -that it is apt to appear at any time in any country, through a given -personality or a group of individuals without any deep relation to -much deeper mystical and metaphysical things. Some little suggestion -of the artistry of life may present itself now and then through a -personality, but art in the truest sense is the substance of an age, -the significance of a country--a nationality. Even more than that, -it is a time-spirit (the _Zeitgeist_ of the Germans) that appears of -occasion to glorify a land, to make great a nation. You would think -that somewhere in the sightless substance of things--the chemistry back -of the material evidence of life--there was a lovely, roseate milling -of superior principle at times. Strange and lovely things come to the -fore--the restoration in England, the Renaissance in Italy, Florence’s -golden period, Holland’s classic art--all done in a century. “And the -spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters,” and there was that -which we know as art. - -I think it was years before those two towering figures--Rembrandt and -Frans Hals (and of the two, Frans Hals is to me the greater)--appeared -in my consciousness and emphasized the distinction of Holland for me, -showing me that the loveliness of Dutch art,--the naïveté of Wouverman, -the poetic realism of Nicolaes Maes, the ultimate artistry of Vermeer, -de Hoogh, Ruysdael and all that sweet company of simple painters of -simple things,--had finally come to mean _to me_ all that _I_ can -really hope for in art--those last final reflections of halcyon days -which are the best that life has to show. - -Sometimes when I think of the homely splendors of Dutch art, which -in its delicate commonplaceness has nothing to do with the more -universal significance of both Hals and Rembrandt, I get a little -wild artistically. Those smooth persuasive surfaces--pure enamel--and -symphonies of blue light which are Vermeer; those genial household -intimacies and candle-light romances which are Dou; those alleluiahs -of light and water which are Vandervelde, Backhysen, Van Goyen; those -merry-makings, perambulations, doorway chats, poultry intimacies, small -trade affections and exchanges which are Terburg and Van Ostade! Truly, -words fail me. I do not know how to suggest the poetry, the realism, -the mood, the artistic craftsmanship that go with these things. -They suggest a time, a country, an age, a mood, which is at once a -philosophy, a system, a spirit of life. What more can art be? What -more can it suggest? How, in that fortune of chance, which combines it -with color-sense, temperament, craft, can it be exceeded? And all of -this is what Dutch art--those seemingly minor phases, after Hals and -Rembrandt--means to me. - -But I was in Holland now, and not concerned so much for the moment -with Dutch art as with my trunks. Still I felt here, at the frontier, -that already I was in an entirely different world. Gone was that -fever of the blood which is Germany. Gone the heavy, involute, -enduring, Teutonic architecture. The upstanding German,--kaiserlich, -self-opinionated, drastic, aggressive--was no longer about me. The -men who were unlocking trunks and bags here exemplified a softer, -milder, less military type. This mystery of national temperaments--was -I never to get done with it? As I looked about me against a pleasant -rising Sunday sun I could see and feel that not only the people but -the landscape and the architecture had changed. The architecture was -obviously so different, low, modest, one-story cottages standing out -on a smooth, green level land, so smooth and so green and so level -that anything projected against the skyline--it mattered not how -modest--thereby became significant. And I saw my first Holland windmill -turning its scarecrow arms in the distance. It was like coming out of a -Russian steam bath into the cool marble precincts of the plunge, to be -thus projected from Germany into Holland. If you will believe me I was -glad that I had no money in order that I might be driven out to see all -this. - - * * * * * - -I had no trouble with trunks and bags other than opening them and -being compelled to look as though I thought it a crime to tip anybody. -I strolled about the station in the early light of a clear, soft day -and speculated on this matter of national temperaments. What a pity, -I thought, if Holland were ever annexed by Germany or France or any -country and made to modify its individuality. Before I was done with -it I was inclined to believe that its individuality would never be -modified, come any authority that might. - -The balance of the trip to Amsterdam was nothing, a matter of two -hours, but it visualized all I had fancied concerning Holland. Such -a mild little land it is. So level, so smooth, so green. I began to -puzzle out the signs along the way; they seemed such a hodge-podge -of German and English badly mixed, that I had to laugh. The train -passed up the center of a street in one village where cool brick -pavements fronted cool brick houses and stores, and on one shop window -appeared the legend: “Haar Sniden.” Would not that as a statement of -hair-cutting make any German-American laugh? “Telefoon,” “stoom boot,” -“treins noor Ostend,” “land te koop” (for sale) and the like brought a -mild grin of amusement. - -When we reached Amsterdam I had scarcely time to get a sense of it -before I was whisked away in an electric omnibus to the hotel; and I -was eager to get there, too, in order to replenish my purse which was -now without a single penny. The last mark had gone to the porter at -the depot to carry my bags to this ’bus. I was being deceived as to -the character of the city by this ride from the central station to the -hotel, for curiously its course gave not a glimpse of the canals that -are the most charming and pleasing features of Amsterdam--more so than -in any other city in Holland. - -And now what struggles for a little ready money! My bags and fur coat -had been duly carried into the hotel and I had signified to the porter -in a lordly way that he should pay the ’busman, but seeing that I had -letters which might result in local invitations this very day a little -ready cash was necessary. - -“I tell you what I should like you to do,” I observed to the clerk, -after I had properly entered my name and accepted a room. “Yesterday in -Berlin, until it was too late, I forgot to draw any money on my letter -of credit. Let me have forty gulden and I will settle with you in the -morning.” - -“But, my dear sir,” he said, very doubtfully indeed and in very polite -English, “I do not see how we can do that. We do not know you.” - -“It is surely not so unusual,” I suggested ingratiatingly, “you must -have done it before. You see my bags and trunk are here. Here is my -letter of credit. Let me speak to the manager.” - -The dapper Dutchman looked at my fur coat and bags quite critically, -looked at my letter of credit as if he felt sure it was a forgery -and then retired into an inner office. Presently a polished creature -appeared, dark, immaculate, and after eyeing me solemnly, shook his -head. “It can’t be done,” he said. - -He turned to go. - -“But here, here!” I called. “This won’t do. You must be sensible. -What sort of a hotel do you keep here, anyhow? I must have forty -gulden--thirty, anyhow. My letter of credit is good. Examine it. Good -heavens! You have at least eight hundred gulden worth of luggage -there.” - -He had turned and was surveying me again. “It can’t be done,” he said. - -“Impossible!” I cried. “I must have it. Why, I haven’t a cent. You must -trust me until to-morrow morning.” - -“Give him twenty gulden,” he said to the clerk, wearily, and turned -away. - -“Good Heavens!” I said to the clerk, “give me the twenty gulden before -I die of rage.” And so he counted them out to me and I went in to -breakfast. - -I was charmed to find that the room overlooked one of the lovely canals -with a distant view of others--all of them alive with canal-boats poled -along slowly by solid, placid Hollanders, the spring sunlight giving -them a warm, alluring, mildly adventurous aspect. The sense of light on -water was so delightful from the breakfast-room, a great airy place, -that it gave an added flavor to my Sunday morning breakfast of eggs and -bacon. I was so pleased with my general surroundings here that I even -hummed a tune while I ate. - - - - -CHAPTER L - -AMSTERDAM - - -Amsterdam I should certainly include among my cities of light and -charm, a place to live in. Not that it has, in my judgment, any of -that capital significance of Paris or Rome or Venice. Though greater -by a hundred thousand in population than Frankfort, it has not even -the forceful commercial texture of that place. The spirit of the city -seemed so much more unbusinesslike,--so much slower and easier-going. -Before I sent forth a single letter of introduction I spent an entire -day idling about its so often semicircular streets, following the -canals which thread their centers like made pools, rejoicing in the -cool brick walks which line the sides, looking at the reflection of -houses and buildings in the ever-present water. - -Holland is obviously a land of canals and windmills, but much more -than that it is a land of atmosphere. I have often speculated as to -just what it is that the sea does to its children that marks them so -definitely for its own. And here in Amsterdam the thought came to me -again. It is this: Your waterside idler, whether he traverses the -wide stretches of the ocean or remains at home near the sea, has a -seeming vacuity or dreaminess of soul that no rush of ordinary life -can disturb. I have noted it of every port of the sea, that the eager -intensity of men so often melts away at the water’s edge. Boats are not -loaded with the hard realism that marks the lading of trains. A sense -of the idle-devil-may-care indifference of water seems to play about -the affairs of these people, of those who have to do with them--the -unhastening indifference of the sea. Perhaps the suggestion of the -soundless, timeless, heartless deep that is in every channel, inlet, -sluice, and dock-basin is the element that is at the base of their -lagging motions. Your sailor and seafaring man will not hurry. His eyes -are wide with a strange suspicion of the deep. He knows by contact what -the subtlety and the fury of the waters are. The word of the sea is to -be indifferent. “Never you mind, dearie. As it was in the beginning, so -it ever shall be.” - -I think the peace and sweetness of Amsterdam bear some relationship -to this wonderful, soporific spirit of the endless deep. As I walked -along these “grachts” and “kades” and through these “pleins”--seemingly -enameled worlds in which water and trees and red brick houses swam in a -soft light, exactly the light and atmosphere you find in Dutch art--I -felt as though I had come out of a hard modern existence such as one -finds in Germany and back into something kindly, rural, intellectual, -philosophic. Spinoza was, I believe, Holland’s contribution to -philosophy,--and a worthy Dutch philosopher he was--and Erasmus its -great scholar. Both Rembrandt and Frans Hals have indicated in their -lives the spirit of their country. I think, if you could look into the -spirits and homes of thousands of simple Hollanders, you would find -that same kindly, cleanly realism which you admire in their paintings. -It is so placid. It was so here in Amsterdam. One gathered it from the -very air. I had a feeling of peaceful, meditative delight in life and -the simplicities of living all the time I was in Holland, which I take -to be significant. All the while I was there I was wishing that I might -remain throughout the spring and summer, and dream. In Germany I was -haunted by the necessity of effort. - -It was while I was in Amsterdam this first morning that the -realization that my travels were fast drawing to a close dawned upon -me. I had been having such a good time! That fresh, interested feeling -of something new to look forward to with each morning was still -enduring; but now I saw that my splendid world of adventure was all but -ended. Thoreau has proved, as I recalled now with some satisfaction, -that life can be lived, with great intellectual and spiritual -distinction in a meager way and in small compass, but oh, the wonder of -the world’s highways--the going to and fro amid the things of eminence -and memory, seeing how, thus far, this wordly house of ours has been -furnished by man and by nature. - -All those wonderful lands and objects that I had looked forward to with -such keen interest a few months before were now in their way things of -the past. England, France, Italy, Germany, London, Paris, Rome, Berlin, -Canterbury, Amiens, St. Peter’s, Pisa--I could not look on those any -more with fresh and wondering eyes. How brief life is, I thought! How -taciturn in its mood! It gives us a brief sip, some of us, once and -then takes the cup away. It seemed to me, as I sat here looking out on -the fresh and sweet canals of Holland, that I could idle thus forever -jotting down foolish impressions, exclaiming over fleeting phases of -beauty, wiping my eyes at the hails and farewells that are so precious -and so sad. Holland was before me, and Belgium, and one more sip of -Paris, and a few days in England, perhaps, and then I should go back to -New York to write. I could see it--New York with its high buildings, -its clanging cars, its rough incivility. Oh, why might I not idle -abroad indefinitely? - - * * * * * - -The second morning of my arrival I received a telephone message from a -sister of Madame A., Madame J., the wife of an eminent Dutch jurist who -had something to do with the International Peace Court. Would I come -to lunch this day? Her husband would be a little late, but I would not -mind. Her sister had written her. She would be so glad to see me. I -promptly accepted. - -The house was near the Ryks Museum, with a charming view of water from -the windows. I can see it now--this very pleasant Holland interior. -The rooms into which I was introduced were bluish-gray in tone, the -contents spare and in good taste. Flowers in abundance. Much brass and -old copper. Madame J. was herself a study in steel blue and silver -gray, a reserved yet temperamental woman. A better linguist than Madame -A., she spoke English perfectly. She had read my book, the latest one, -and had liked it, she told me. Then she folded her hands in her lap, -leaned forward and looked at me. “I have been so curious to see what -you looked like.” - -“Well,” I replied smilingly, “take a long look. I am not as wild as -early rumors would indicate, I hope. You mustn’t start with prejudices.” - -She smiled engagingly. “It isn’t that. There are so many things in your -book which make me curious. It is such a strange book--self-revealing, -I imagine.” - -“I wouldn’t be too sure.” - -She merely continued to look at me and smile in a placid way, but her -inspection was so sympathetic and in a way alluring that it was rather -flattering than otherwise. I, in turn, studied her. Here was a woman -that, I had been told, had made an ideal marriage. And she obviously -displayed the quiet content that few achieve. - - * * * * * - -Like Shakespeare, I would be the last one to admit an impediment to -the marriage of true minds. Unquestionably in this world in spite -of endless liaisons, sex diversions, divorces, marital conflicts -innumerable, the right people do occasionally find each other. There -are true chemical-physical affinities, which remain so until death -and dissolution undo their mysterious spell. Yet, on the other hand, -I should say this is the rarest of events and if I should try to -formulate the mystery of the marital trouble of this earth I should -devote considerable percentages to: a--ungovernable passion not willed -or able to be controlled by the individual; b--dull, thick-hided -irresponsiveness which sees nothing in the emotional mood of another -and knows no guiding impulse save self-interest and gluttony; -c--fickleness of that unreasoning, unthinking character which is based -on shallowness of soul and emotions--the pains resulting from such a -state are negligible; d--diverging mental conceptions of life due to -the hastened or retarded mental growth of one or the other of the high -contracting parties; e--mistaken unions, wrong from the beginning, -based on mistaken affections--cases where youth, inexperience, early -ungovernable desire lead to a union based on sex and end, of course, -in mental incompatibility; f--a hounding compulsion to seek for a high -spiritual and intellectual ideal which almost no individual can realize -for another and which yet _may_ be realized in a lightning flash, out -of a clear sky, as it were. In which case the last two will naturally -forsake all others and cleave only the one to the other. Such is sex’s -affection, mental and spiritual compatibility. - -But in marriage, as in no other trade, profession, or contract, once -a bargain is struck--a mistake made--society suggests that there is -no solution save in death. You cannot back out. It is almost the -only place where you cannot correct a mistake and start all over. -Until death do us part! Think of that being written and accepted of -a mistaken marriage! My answer is that death would better hurry up. -If the history of human marriage indicates anything, it is that the -conditions which make for the union of two individuals, male and -female, are purely fortuitous, that marriages are not made in heaven -but in life’s conditioning social laboratory, and that the marriage -relation, as we understand it, is quite as much subject to modification -and revision as anything else. Radical as it may seem, I predict a -complete revision of the home standards as we know them. I would not be -in the least surprised if the home, as we know it, were to disappear -entirely. New, modifying conditions are daily manifesting themselves. -Aside from easy divorce which is a mere safety valve and cannot safely -(and probably will not) be dispensed with, there are other things which -are steadily undermining the old home system as it has been practised. -For instance, endless agencies which tend to influence, inspire, and -direct the individual or child, entirely apart from the control and -suggestion of parents, are now at work. In the rearing of the _average_ -child the influence of the average parent is steadily growing less. -Intellectual, social, spiritual freedom are constantly being suggested -to the individual, but not by the home. People are beginning to see -that they have a right to seek and seek until they find that which is -best suited to their intellectual, physical, spiritual development, -home or no home. No mistake, however great, or disturbing in its -consequences, it is beginning to be seen, should be irretrievable. -The greater the mistake, really, the easier it should be to right it. -Society _must_ and _is_ opening the prison doors of human misery, and -old sorrows are walking out into the sunlight where they are being -dispelled and forgotten. As sure as there are such things as mental -processes, spiritual affinities, significant individualities and as -sure as these things are increasing in force, volume, numbers, so -sure, also, is it that the marriage state and the sex relation with -which these things are so curiously and indissolubly involved will be -modified, given greater scope, greater ease of adjustment, greater -simplicity of initiation, greater freedom as to duration, greater -kindliness as to termination. And the state will guarantee the right, -privileges and immunities of the children to the entire satisfaction of -the state, the parents, and the children. It cannot be otherwise. - - * * * * * - -Mynheer J. joined us presently. He was rather spare, very waxy, very -intellectual, very unattached philosophically--apparently--and yet -very rigid in his feeling for established principle. The type is quite -common among intellectuals. Much reading had not made him mad but a -little pedantic. He was speculatively interested in international peace -though he did not believe that it could readily be established. Much -more, apparently, he was interested in the necessity of building up a -code or body of international laws which would be flexible and binding -on all nations. Imaginatively I could see him at his heavy tomes. He -had thin, delicate, rather handsome hands; a thin, dapper, wiry body. -He was older than Madame J.,--say fifty-five or sixty. He had nice, -well-barbered, short gray whiskers, a short, effective mustache, loose, -well-trained, rather upstanding hair. Some such intellectual Northman -Ibsen intended to give Hedda. - - - - -CHAPTER LI - -“SPOTLESS TOWN” - - -At three o’clock I left these pleasant people to visit the Ryks Museum -and the next morning ran over to Haarlem, a half-hour away, to look -at the Frans Hals in the Stadhuis. Haarlem was the city, I remember -with pleasure, that once suffered the amazing tulip craze that swept -over Holland in the sixteenth century--the city in which single rare -tulips, like single rare carnations to-day, commanded enormous sums of -money. Rare species, because of the value of the subsequent bulb sale, -sold for hundreds of thousands of gulden. I had heard of the long line -of colored tulip beds that lay between here and Haarlem and The Hague -and I was prepared to judge for myself whether they were beautiful--as -beautiful as the picture post-cards sold everywhere indicated. I found -this so, but even more than the tulip beds I found the country round -about from Amsterdam to Haarlem, The Hague and Rotterdam delightful. -I traveled by foot and by train, passing by some thirty miles of -vari-colored flower-beds in blocks of red, white, blue, purple, pink, -and yellow, that lie between the several cities. I stood in the old -Groote Kerk of St. Bavo in Haarlem, the Groote Kerk of St. James in -The Hague--both as bare of ornament as an anchorite’s cell--I wandered -among the art treasures of the Ryks Museum in Amsterdam and the -Mauritshuis and the Mesdag Museum in The Hague; I walked in the forests -of moss-tinted trees at Haarlem and again at The Hague; my impression -was that compact little Holland had all the charm of a great private -estate, beautifully kept and intimately delightful. - -But the canals of Holland--what an airy impression of romance, of pure -poetry, they left on my mind! There are certain visions or memories -to which the heart of every individual instinctively responds. The -canals of Holland are one such to me. I can see them now, in the early -morning, when the sun was just touching them with the faintest pearls, -pinks, lavenders, blues, their level surfaces as smooth as glass, -their banks rising no whit above the level of the water, but lying -even with it like a black or emerald frame, their long straight lines -broken at one point or another by a low brown or red or drab cottage or -windmill! I can see them again at evening, the twilight hour, when in -that poetically suffused mood of nature, which obtains then, they lie, -liquid masses of silver, a shred of tinted cloud reflected in their -surface, the level green grass turning black about them, a homing bird, -a mass of trees in the distance, or humble cottage, its windows faintly -gold from within, lending those last touches of artistry which make the -perfection of nature. As in London and Venice the sails of their boats -were colored a soft brown, and now and again one appeared in the fading -light, a healthy Hollander smoking his pipe at the tiller, a cool wind -fanning his brow. The world may hold more charming pictures but I have -not encountered them. - -And across the level spaces of lush grass that seemingly stretch -unbroken for miles--bordered on this side or that with a little patch -of filigree trees; ribboned and segmented by straight silvery threads -of water; ornamented in the foreground by a cow or two, perhaps, or -a boatman steering his motor-power canal boat; remotely ended by the -seeming outlines of a distant city, as delicately penciled as a line -by Vierge--stand the windmills. I have seen ten, twelve, fifteen, -marching serenely across the fields in a row, of an afternoon, like -great, heavy, fat Dutchmen, their sails going in slow, patient -motions, their great sides rounding out like solid Dutch ribs,--naïve, -delicious things. There were times when their outlines took on classic -significance. Combined with the utterly level land, the canals and the -artistically martialed trees, they constitute the very atmosphere of -Holland. - - * * * * * - -Haarlem, when I reached it, pleased me almost as much as Amsterdam, -though it had no canals to speak of--by comparison. It was so clean and -fresh and altogether lovely. It reminded me of _Spotless Town_--the -city of advertising fame--and I was quite ready to encounter the mayor, -the butcher, the doctor and other worthies of that ultra-respectable -city. Coming over from Amsterdam, I saw a little Dutch girl in wooden -shoes come down to a low gate which opened directly upon a canal and -dip up a pitcher of water. That was enough to key up my mood to the -most romantic pitch. I ventured forth right gaily in a warm spring sun -and spent the better portion of an utterly delightful day idling about -its streets and museums. - -Haarlem, to me, aside from the tulip craze, was where Frans Hals -lived and where in 1610, when he was thirty years of age, he married -and where six years later he was brought before the Burgomaster -for ill-treating his wife, and ordered to abstain from “_dronken -schnappe_.” Poor Frans Hals! The day I was there a line of motor-cars -stood outside the Stadhuis waiting while their owners contemplated -the wonders of the ten Regents pictures inside which are the pride -of Haarlem. When I left London Sir Scorp was holding his recently -discovered portrait by Hals at forty thousand pounds or more. I fancy -to-day any of the numerous portraits by Hals in his best manner would -bring two hundred thousand dollars and very likely much more. Yet at -seventy-two Hals’s goods and chattels--three mattresses, one chair, -one table, three bolsters, and five pictures--were sold to satisfy a -baker’s bill, and from then on, until he died fourteen years later, at -eighty-six, his “rent and firing” were paid for by the municipality. -Fate probably saved a very great artist from endless misery by letting -his first wife die. As it was he appears to have had his share of -wretchedness. - -The business of being really great is one of the most pathetic things -in the world. When I was in London a close friend of Herbert Spencer -told me the story of his last days, and how, save for herself, there -was scarcely any one to cheer him in his loneliness. It was not that -he lacked living means--he had that--but living as he did, aloft -in the eternal snows of speculation, there was no one to share his -thoughts,--no one. It was the fate of that gigantic mind to be lonely. -What a pity the pleasures of the bottle or a drug might not eventually -have allured him. Old Omar knew the proper antidote for these -speculative miseries. - -And Rembrandt van Ryn--there was another. It is probably true that from -1606, when he was born, until 1634, when he married at twenty-eight, -he was gay enough. He had the delicious pleasure of discovering that -he was an artist. Then he married Saskia van Uylenborch--the fair -Saskia whom he painted sitting so gaily on his knee--and for eight -years he was probably supremely happy. Saskia had forty thousand gulden -to contribute to this _ménage_. Rembrandt’s skill and fame were just -attaining their most significant proportions, when she died. Then, -being an artist, his affairs went from bad to worse; and you have the -spectacle of this other seer, Holland’s metaphysician, color-genius, -life-interpreter, descending to an entanglement with a rather dull -housekeeper, losing his money, having all his possessions sold to pay -his debts and living out his last days in absolute loneliness at the -Keizerskroon Inn in Amsterdam--quite neglected; for the local taste for -art had changed, and the public was a little sick of Hals and Rembrandt. - -As I sat in the Kroon restaurant, in Haarlem, opposite the Groote Kerk, -watching some pigeons fly about the belfry, looking at Lieven de Key’s -meat market, the prototype of Dutch quaintness, and meditating on the -pictures of these great masters that I had just seen in the Stadhuis, -the insignificance of the individual as compared with the business of -life came to me with overwhelming force. We are such minute, dusty -insects at best, great or small. The old age of most people is so -trivial and insignificant. We become mere shells--“granthers,” “Goody -Two-Shoes,” “lean and slippered pantaloons.” The spirit of life works -in masses--not individuals. It prefers a school or species to a single -specimen. A great man or woman is an accident. A great work of art of -almost any kind is almost always fortuitous--like this meat market -over the way. Life, for instance, I speculated sitting here, cared no -more for Frans Hals or Rembrandt or Lieven de Key than I cared for the -meanest butcher or baker of their day. If they chanced to find a means -of subsistence--well and good; if not, well and good also. “Vanity, -vanity, saith the preacher, all is vanity.” Even so. - -From Haarlem I went on to The Hague, about fifty minutes away; from The -Hague, late that evening, to Rotterdam; from Rotterdam to Dordrecht, -and so into Belgium, where I was amused to see everything change -again--the people, language, signs,--all. Belgium appeared to be -French, with only the faintest suggestion of Holland about it--but -it was different enough from France also to be interesting on its own -account. - -After a quick trip across Belgium with short but delightful stops at -Bruges, that exquisite shell of a once great city, at Ghent and at -Brussels, the little Paris, I arrived once more at the French capital. - - - - -CHAPTER LII - -PARIS AGAIN - - -Once I was in Paris again. It was delightful, for now it was spring, -or nearly so, and the weather was pleasant. People were pouring into -the city in droves from all over the world. It was nearly midnight -when I arrived. My trunk, which I had sent on ahead, was somewhere -in the limbo of advance trunks and I had a hard time getting it. -Parisian porters and depot attendants know exactly when to lose all -understanding of English and all knowledge of the sign language. It is -when the search for anything becomes the least bit irksome. The tip -they expect to get from you spurs them on a little way, but not very -far. Let them see that the task promises to be somewhat wearisome and -they disappear entirely. I lost two _facteurs_ in this way, when they -discovered that the trunk was not ready to their hand, and so I had -to turn in and search among endless trunks myself. When I found it, a -_facteur_ was quickly secured to truck it out to a taxi. And, not at -all wonderful to relate, the first man I had employed now showed up -to obtain his _pourboire_. “Oh, here you are!” I exclaimed, as I was -getting into my taxi. “Well, you can go to the devil!” He pulled a long -face. That much English he knew. - -When I reached the hotel in Paris I found Barfleur registered there but -not yet returned to his room. But several letters of complaint were -awaiting me: Why hadn’t I telegraphed the exact hour of my arrival; -why hadn’t I written fully? It wasn’t pleasant to wait in uncertainty. -If I had only been exact, several things could have been arranged for -this day or evening. While I was meditating on my sins of omission and -commission, a _chasseur_ bearing a note arrived. Would I dress and -come to G.’s Bar. He would meet me at twelve. This was Saturday night, -and it would be good to look over Paris again. I knew what that meant. -We would leave the last restaurant in broad daylight, or at least the -Paris dawn. - -Coming down on the train from Brussels I had fallen into a blue funk--a -kind of mental miasma--one of the miseries Barfleur never indulged -in. They almost destroy me. Barfleur never, in so far as I could -see, succumbed to the blues. In the first place my letter of credit -was all but used up--my funds were growing terrifyingly low; and it -did not make me any more cheerful to realize that my journey was now -practically at an end. A few more days and I would be sailing for home. - -When, somewhat after twelve, I arrived at G.’s Bar I was still -a little doleful. Barfleur was there. He had just come in. That -indescribable Parisian tension--that sense of life at the topmost -level of nervous strength and energy--was filling this little place. -The same red-jacketed musicians; the same efficient, inconspicuous, -attentive and courteous waiters; Madame G., placid, philosophic, comfy, -businesslike and yet motherlike, was going to and fro, pleasingly -arrayed, looking no doubt after the interests, woes, and aspirations -of her company of very, very bad but beautiful “girls.” The walls were -lined with life-loving patrons of from twenty-five to fifty years of -age, with their female companions. Barfleur was at his best. He was -once more in Paris--his beloved Paris. He beamed on me in a cheerful, -patronizing way. - -“So there you are! The Italian bandits didn’t waylay you, even if they -did rob you, I trust? The German Empire didn’t sit too heavily on you? -Holland and Switzerland must have been charming as passing pictures. -Where did you stop in Amsterdam?” - -“At the Amstel.” - -“Quite right. An excellent hotel. I trust Madame A. was nice to you?” - -“She was as considerate as she could be.” - -“Right and fitting. She should have been. I saw that you stopped at the -National, in Lucerne. That is one of the best hotels in Europe. I was -glad to see that your taste in hotels was not falling off.” - -We began with appetizers, some soup, and a light wine. I gave a rough -summary of some things I had seen, and then we came to the matter of my -sailing date and a proposed walking trip in England. - -“Now, I’ll tell you what I think we should do and then you can use your -own judgment,” suggested Barfleur. “By the time we get to London, next -Wednesday or Tuesday, England will be in prime condition. The country -about Dorchester will be perfect. I suggest that we take a week’s walk, -anyway. You come to Bridgely Level--it is beautiful there now--and stay -a week or ten days. I should like you to see how charming it is about -my place in the spring. Then we will go to Dorchester. Then you can -come back to Bridgely Level. Why not stay in England and write this -summer?” - -I put up a hand in serious opposition. “You know I can’t do that. Why, -if I had so much time, we might as well stay over here and settle -down in--well, Fontainebleau. Besides, money is a matter of prime -consideration with me. I’ve got to buckle down to work at once at -anything that will make me ready money. I think in all seriousness I -had best drop the writing end of the literary profession for a while -anyway and return to the editorial desk.” - -The geniality and romance that lightened Barfleur’s eye, as he thought -of the exquisite beauty of England in the spring, faded, and his face -became unduly severe. - -“Really,” he said, with a grand air, “you discourage me. At times, -truly, I am inclined to quit. You are a man, in so far as I can see, -with absolutely no faith in yourself--a man without a profession or an -appropriate feeling for his craft. You are inclined, on the slightest -provocation, to give up. You neither save anything over from yesterday -in the shape of satisfactory reflection nor look into the future with -any optimism. Do, I beg of you, have a little faith in the future. -Assume that a day is a day, wherever it is, and that so long as it is -not in the past it has possibilities. Here you are a man of forty; -the formative portion of your life is behind you. Your work is all -indicated and before you. Public faith such as my own should have some -weight with you and yet after a tour of Europe, such as you would -not have reasonably contemplated a year ago, you sink down supinely -and talk of quitting. Truly it is too much. You make me feel very -desperate. One cannot go on in this fashion. You must cultivate some -intellectual stability around which your emotions can center and settle -to anchor.” - -“Fairest Barfleur,” I replied, “how you preach! You have real -oratorical ability at times. There is much in what you say. I should -have a profession, but we are looking at life from slightly different -points of view. You have in your way a stable base, financially -speaking. At least I assume so. I have not. My outlook, outside of the -talent you are inclined to praise, is not very encouraging. It is not -at all sure that the public will manifest the slightest interest in -me from now on. If I had a large bump of vanity and the dull optimism -of the unimaginative, I might assume anything and go gaily on until -I was attacked somewhere for a board bill. Unfortunately I have not -the necessary thickness of hide. And I suffer periods of emotional -disturbance such as do not appear to afflict you. If you want to adjust -my artistic attitude so nicely, contemplate my financial state first -and see if that does not appeal to you as having some elements capable -of disturbing my not undue proportion of equanimity.” We then went -into actual figures from which to his satisfaction he deducted that, -with ordinary faith in myself, I had no real grounds for distress, and -I from mine figured that my immediate future was quite as dubious as -I had fancied. It did not appear that I was to have any money when I -left England. Rather I was to draw against my future and trust that my -innate capabilities would see me through. - -It was definitely settled at this conference that I was not to take -the long-planned walking tour in the south of England, lovely as it -would be, but instead, after three or four days in Paris and three or -four days in London, I was to take a boat sailing from Dover about the -middle of April or a little later which would put me in New York before -May. This agreed we returned to our pleasures and spent three or four -very delightful days together. - -It is written of Hugo and Balzac that they always looked upon Paris -as the capital of the world. I am afraid I shall have to confess to -a similar feeling concerning New York. I know it all so well--its -splendid water spaces, its magnificent avenues, its varying sections, -the rugged splendor of its clifflike structures, the ripping force of -its tides of energy and life. Viewing Europe from the vantage point of -the seven countries I had seen, I was prepared to admit that in so many -ways we are, temperamentally and socially speaking, the rawest of raw -material. No one could be more crude, more illusioned than the average -American. Contrasted with the _savoir faire_, the life understanding, -the philosophic acceptance of definite conditions in nature, the -Europeans are immeasurably superior. They are harder, better trained, -more settled in the routine of things. The folderols of romance, the -shibboleths of politics and religion, the false standards of social -and commercial supremacy are not so readily accepted there as here. -Ill-founded aspiration is not so rife there as here: every Jack does -not consider himself, regardless of qualifications, appointed by God -to tell his neighbor how he shall do and live. But granting all this, -America, and particularly New York, has to me the most comforting -atmosphere of any. The subway is like my library table--it is so much -of an intimate. Broadway is the one idling show place. Neither the -Strand nor the Boulevard des Capucines can replace it. Fifth Avenue is -all that it should be--the one really perfect show street of the world. -All in all the Atlantic metropolis is the first city in the world to -me,--first in force, unrivaled in individuality, richer and freer in -its spirit than London or Paris, though so often more gauche, more -tawdry, more shamblingly inexperienced. - -As I sat in Madame G.’s Bar, the pull of the city overseas was on -me--and that in the spring! I wanted to go _home_. - -We talked of the women we had got to know in Paris--of Marcelle and -Madame de B.--and other figures lurking in the background of this -brilliant city. But Marcelle would expect a trip to Fontainebleau and -Madame de B. was likely to be financially distressed. This cheerful -sort of companionship would be expensive. Did I care to submit to the -expense? I did not. I felt that I could not. So for once we decided to -be modest and go out and see what we could see alone. Our individual -companionship was for the time-being sufficient. - -Barfleur and I truly kept step with Paris these early spring days. -This first night together we revisited all our favorite cafés and -restaurants--Fysher’s Bar, the Rat Mort, C----’s Bar, the Abbaye -Thélème, Maxim’s, the American, Paillard’s and the like,--and this, I -soon realized: without a keen sex interest--the companionship of these -high-voltage ladies of Paris--I can imagine nothing duller. It becomes -a brilliant but hollow spectacle. - -The next day was Sunday. It was warm and sunny as a day could be. The -air was charged with a kind of gay expectation. Barfleur had discovered -a neo-impressionist portraitist of merit, one Hans Bols, and had agreed -to have his portrait done by him. This Sunday morning was the first day -for a series of three sittings; so I left him and spent a delicious -morning in the Bois. Paris in spring! The several days--from Saturday -to Wednesday--were like a dream. A gay world--full of the subtleties of -social ambition, of desire, fashion, love-making, and all the keenest, -shrewdest aspects of life. It was interesting, at the Café Madrid -and The Elysée, to sit out under trees and the open sky and see an -uninterrupted stream of automobiles and taxis pouring up, depositing -smart-looking people all glancing keenly about, nodding to friends, now -cordially, now tentatively, in a careful, selective social way. - -One evening after I returned from a late ramble alone, I found on my -table a note from Barfleur. “For God’s sake, if you get this in time, -come at once to the Abbaye Thélème. I am waiting for you with a Mrs. -L., who wants to meet you.” So I had to change to evening clothes -at one-thirty in the morning. And it was the same old thing when I -reached there--waiters tumbling over one another with their burdens of -champagne, fruit, ices, confitures; the air full of colored glucose -balls, colored balloons floating aloft, endless mirrors reflecting a -giddy panorama, white arms, white necks, animated faces, snowy shirt -bosoms--the old story. Spanish dancers in glittering scales, American -negroes in evening clothes singing coon songs, excited life-lovers, -male and female, dancing erotically in each other’s arms. Can it be, I -asked myself, that this thing goes on night after night and year after -year? Yet it was obvious that it did. - -The lady in question was rather remote--as an English-woman _can_ be. -I’m sure she said to herself, “This is a very dull author.” But I -couldn’t help it. She froze my social sense into icy crystals of “yes” -and “no.” We took her home presently and continued our rounds till the -wee sma’ hours. - - - - -CHAPTER LIII - -THE VOYAGE HOME - - -The following Wednesday Barfleur and I returned to London via Calais -and Dover. We had been, between whiles, to the races at Longchamps, -luncheons at Au Père Boivin, the Pré Catalan, and elsewhere. I had -finally looked up Marcelle, but the concierge explained that she was -out of town. - -In spite of the utter fascination of Paris I was not at all sorry to -leave, for I felt that to be happy here one would want a more definite -social life and a more fixed habitation than this hotel and the small -circle of people that we had met could provide. I took a last--almost a -yearning--look at the Avenue de l’Opéra and the Gare du Nord and then -we were off. - -England was softly radiant in her spring dress. The leaves of the trees -between Dover and London were just budding, that diaphanous tracery -which resembles green lace. The endless red chimneys and sagging green -roofs and eaves of English cottages peeping out from this vesture of -spring were as romantic and poetic as an old English ballad. No doubt -at all that England--the south of it, anyhow--is in a rut; sixty years -behind the times,--but what a rut! Must all be new and polished and -shiny? As the towers and spires of Canterbury sped past to the right, -gray and crumbling in a wine-like air, something rose in my throat. I -thought of that old English song that begins-- - - “When shepherds pipe on oaten straws--” - -And then London once more and all the mystery of endless involute -streets and simple, hidden, unexplored regions! I went once more to -look at the grim, sad, two-story East End in spring. It was even more -pathetic for being touched by the caressing hand of Nature. I went -to look at Hyde Park and Chelsea and Seven Kings. I thought to visit -Sir Scorp--to cringe once more before the inquiring severity of his -ascetic eye; but I did not have time, as things turned out. Barfleur -was insistent that I should spend a day or two at Bridgely Level. Owing -to a great coal strike the boat I had planned to take was put out of -commission and I was compelled to advance my sailing date two days on -the boat of another line. And now I was to see Bridgely Level once -more, in the spring. - -After Italy and Holland, perhaps side by side with Holland or before -it, England--the southern portion of it--is the most charmingly -individual country in Europe. For the sake of the walk, the evening -was so fine, we decided to leave the train at Maidenhead and walk the -remaining distance, some five or six miles. It was ideal. The sun was -going down and breaking through diaphanous clouds in the west, which it -tinted and gilded. The English hedges and copses were delicately tinted -with new life. English robins were on the grass; sheep, cows; over one -English hamlet and another smoke was curling and English crows or rooks -were gaily cawing, cheered at the thought of an English spring. - -As gay as children, Barfleur and I trudged the yellow English road. -Now and then we passed through a stile and cut diagonally across a -field where a path was laid for the foot of man. Every so often we met -an English laborer, his trousers gripped just below the knee by the -customary English strap. Green and red; green and red; (such were the -houses and fields) with new spring violets, apple trees in blossom, and -peeping steeples over sloping hillsides thrown in for good measure. -I felt--what shall I say I felt?--not the grandeur of Italy, but -something so delicate and tender, so reminiscent and aromatic--faintly -so--of other days and other fames, that my heart was touched as by -music. Near Bridgely Level we encountered Wilkins going home from his -work, a bundle of twigs under his arm, a pruning hook at his belt, his -trousers strapped after the fashion of his class. - -“Well, Wilkins!” I exclaimed. - -“W’y, ’ow do you do, sir, Mr. Dreiser? Hi’m glad to see you again, Hi -am,” touching his cap. “Hi ’opes as ’ow you’ve had a pleasant trip.” - -“Very, Wilkins, very,” I replied grandiosely. Who cannot be grandiose -in the presence of the fixed conditions of old England. I asked after -his work and his health and then Barfleur gave him some instructions -for the morrow. We went on in a fading light--an English twilight. And -when we reached the country house it was already aglow in anticipation -of this visit. Hearth fires were laid. The dining-room, reception-hall, -and living-room were alight. Dora appeared at the door, quite as -charming and rosy in her white apron and cap as the day I left, but she -gave no more sign that I was strange or had been absent than as if I -had not been away. - -“Now we must make up our minds what particular wines we want for -dinner. I have an excellent champagne of course; but how about a light -Burgundy or a Rhine wine? I have an excellent Assmanshäuser.” - -“I vote for the light Burgundy,” I said. - -“Done. I will speak to Dora now.” - -And while he went to instruct Dora, I went to look after all my -belongings in order to bring them finally together for my permanent -departure. After a delicious dinner and one of those comfortable, -reminiscent talks that seem naturally to follow the end of the day, I -went early to bed. - -When the day came to sail I was really glad to be going home, although -on the way I had quarreled so much with my native land for the things -which it lacks and which Europe apparently has. - -Our boasted democracy has resulted in little more than the privilege -every living, breathing American has of being rude and brutal to every -other, but it is not beyond possibility that sometime as a nation we -will sober down into something approximating human civility. Our early -revolt against sham civility has, in so far as I can see, resulted in -nothing save the abolition of all civility--which is sickening. Life, I -am sure, will shame us out of it eventually. We will find we do not get -anywhere by it. And I blame it all on the lawlessness of the men at the -top. They have set the example which has been most freely copied. - -Still, I was glad to be going home. - -When the time came the run from London to Folkstone and Dover was -pleasant with its fleeting glimpses of the old castle at Rochester -and the spires of the cathedral at Canterbury, the English orchards, -the slopes dotted with sheep, the nestled chimneys and the occasional -quaint, sagging roofs of moss-tinted tiles. The conductor who had -secured me a compartment to myself appeared just after we left -Folkstone to tell me not to bother about my baggage, saying that I -would surely find it all on the dock when I arrived to take the boat. -It was exactly as he said, though having come this way I found two -transfers necessary. Trust the English to be faithful. It is the one -reliable country in which you may travel. At Dover I meditated on how -thoroughly my European days were over and when, if ever, I should come -again. Life offers so much to see and the human span is so short that -it is a question whether it is advisable ever to go twice to the same -place--a serious question. If I had my choice, I decided--as I stood -and looked at the blue bay of Dover--I would, if I could, spend six -months each year in the United States and then choose Paris as my other -center and from there fare forth as I pleased. - -After an hour’s wait at Dover, the big liner dropped anchor in the -roadstead and presently the London passengers were put on board and we -were under way. The Harbor was lovely in a fading light--chalk-blue -waters, tall whitish cliffs, endless squealing, circling gulls, and a -bugle calling from the fort in the city. - - * * * * * - -Our ship’s captain was a Christian Scientist, believing in the -nothingness of matter, the immanence of Spirit or a divine idea, yet -he was, as events proved, greatly distressed because of the perverse, -undismissable presence and hauntings of mortal thought. He had -“beliefs” concerning possible wrecks, fires, explosions--the usual -terrors of the deep, and one of the ship’s company (our deck-steward) -told me that whenever there was a fog he was always on the bridge, -refusing to leave it and that he was nervous and “as cross as hell.” -So you can see how his religious belief squared with his chemical -intuitions concerning the facts of life. A nice, healthy, brisk, -argumentative, contentious individual he was, and very anxious to have -the pretty women sit by him at dinner. - -The third day we were out news came by wireless that the _Titanic_ -had sunk after collision with an iceberg in mid-ocean. The news had -been given in confidence to a passenger. And this passenger had “in -confidence” told others. It was a terrible piece of news, grim in its -suggestion, and when it finally leaked out it sent a chill over all -on board. I heard it first at nine o’clock at night. A party of us -were seated in the smoking-room, a most comfortable retreat from the -terrors of the night and the sea. A damp wind had arisen, bringing with -it the dreaded fog. Sometimes I think the card room is sought because -it suggests the sea less than any place else on the ship. The great -fog-horn began mooing like some vast Brobdingnagian sea-cow wandering -on endless watery pastures. The passengers were gathered here now in -groups where, played upon by scores of lights, served with drinks -and reacted upon, one by the moods of the others, a temperamental -combustion took place which served to dispel their gloom. Yet it was -not possible entirely to keep one’s mind off the slowing down of -the ship, the grim moo of the horn, and the sound of long, swishing -breakers outside speaking of the immensity of the sea, its darkness, -depth, and terrors. Every now and then, I noticed, some one would rise -and go outside to contemplate, no doubt, the gloominess of it all. -There is nothing more unpromising to this little lamp, the body, than -the dark, foggy waters of a midnight sea. - -One of the passengers, a German, came up to our table with a troubled, -mysterious air. “I got sumpin’ to tell you, gentlemen,” he said in a -stage whisper, bending over us. “You better come outside where the -ladies can’t hear.” (There were several in the room.) “I just been -talkin’ to the wireless man upstairs.” - -We arose and followed him out on deck. - -The German faced us, pale and trembling. “Gentlemen,” he said, “the -captain’s given orders to keep it a secret until we reach New York. -But I got it straight from the wireless man: The _Titanic_ went down -last night with nearly all on board. Only eight hundred saved and -two thousand drowned. She struck an iceberg off Newfoundland. You, -gentlemen, must promise me not to tell the ladies--otherwise I shuttn’t -have told you. I promised the man upstairs. It might get him in -trouble.” - -We promised faithfully. And with one accord we went to the rail and -looked out into the blackness ahead. The swish of the sea could be -heard and the insistent moo of the fog-horn. - -“And this is only Tuesday,” suggested one. His face showed a true -concern. “We’ve got a week yet on the sea, the way they will run now. -And we have to go through that region--maybe over the very spot--” - -He took off his cap and scratched his hair in a foolish, thoughtful -way. I think we all began to talk at once, but no one listened. The -terror of the sea had come swiftly and directly home to all. I am -satisfied that there was not a man of all the company who heard without -feeling a strange sensation. To think of a ship as immense as the -_Titanic_, new and bright, sinking in endless fathoms of water. And -the two thousand passengers routed like rats from their berths only to -float helplessly in miles of water, praying and crying! - -I went to my berth thinking of the pains and terrors of those doomed -two thousand, a great rage in my heart against the fortuity of -life--the dullness or greed of man that prevents him from coping with -it. For an hour or more I listened to the vibration of the ship that -trembled at times like a spent animal as a great wave struck at it with -smashing force. - -It was a trying night. - -I found by careful observation of those with me that I was not the -only one subject to disquieting thoughts. Mr. W., a Chicago beef man, -pleased me most, for he was so frank in admitting his inmost emotions. -He was a vigorous young buck, frank and straightforward. He came down -to breakfast the next morning looking a little dull. The sun was out -and it was a fine day. “You know,” he confided genially, “I dreamed of -them poor devils all night. Say--out in the cold there! And then those -big waves kept hitting the ship and waking me up. Did you hear that -smash in the night? I thought we had struck something. I got up once -and looked out but that didn’t cheer me any. I could only see the top -of a roller now and then going by.” - -Another evening, sitting in the deepest recesses of the card room he -explained that he believed in good and bad spirits and the good spirits -could help you “if they wanted to.” - -Monsieur G., a Belgian, doing business in New York, was nervous in a -subdued, quiet way. He never ceased commenting on the wretchedness of -the catastrophe, nor did he fail daily to consult the chart of miles -made and course traveled. He predicted that we would turn south before -we neared the Grand Banks because he did not believe the captain would -“take a chance.” I am sure he told his wife and that she told every -other woman, for the next day one of them confided to me that she knew, -and that she had been “stiff with fear” all the night before. - -An Englishman, who was with us making for Calgary gave no sign, one way -or the other. The German who first brought us the news was like a man -with a mania; he talked of it all the time. An American judge on board -talked solemnly with all who would listen--a hard crab of a man, whose -emotions found their vent in the business of extracting information. -The women talked to each other but pretended not to know. - -It took three days of more or less pleasant sailing to relax the -tension which pervaded the whole vessel. The captain did not appear -again at table for four days. On Wednesday, following the Monday of the -wreck, there was a fire drill--that ominous clanging of the fire-bell -on the forward deck which brought many troubled spectators out of their -staterooms and developed the fact that every piece of hose employed was -rotten; for every piece put under pressure burst--a cheering exhibition! - -But as the days passed we began to take heart again. The philosophers -of the company were unanimously agreed that as the _Titanic_ had -suffered this great disaster through carelessness on the part of her -officers, no doubt our own chances of safely reaching shore were -thereby enhanced. We fell to gambling again, to flirting, to playing -shuffle-board. By Saturday, when we were passing in the vicinity of -where the _Titanic_ went down, only much farther to the south, our -fears had been practically dispelled. - -It was not until we reached Sandy Hook the following Tuesday--a -hard, bright, clear, blowy day, that we really got the full story. -The customary pilot was taken on there, out of a thrashing sea, his -overcoat pockets bulging with papers, all flaring with headlines -describing the disaster. We crowded into the smoking-room for the last -time and devoured the news. Some broke down and cried. Others clenched -their fists and swore over the vivid and painful pen pictures by eye -witnesses and survivors. For a while we all forgot we were nearly -home. We came finally to quarantine. And I was amused to see how in -these last hours the rather vigorous ardors of ship-friendship that -had been engendered by the days spent together began to cool--how -all those on board began to think of themselves no longer as members -of a coördinated ship company bound together for weal or woe on the -bosom of the great deep, but rather as individuals of widely separated -communities and interests to which they were now returning and which -of necessity would sever their relationship perpetually. I saw, for -instance, the American judge who had unbent sufficiently after we -had been three days out to play cards with so humble a person as the -commission merchant, and others, begin to congeal again into his native -judicial dignity. Several of the young women who had been generally -friendly now became quite remote--other worlds were calling them. - -And all of this goodly company were so concerned now as to whether -they could make a very conservative estimate of the things they -were bringing into America and yet not be disturbed by the customs -inspectors, that they were a little amusing. What is honesty, anyhow? -Foreign purchases to the value of one hundred dollars were allowed; -yet I venture to say that of all this charming company, most of whom -prided themselves on some form of virtue, few made a strictly honest -declaration. They were all as honest as they had to be--as dishonest as -they dared be--no more. Poor pretending humanity! We all lie so. We all -believe such untrue things about ourselves and about others. Life is -literally compact of make-believe, illusion, temperamental bias, false -witness, affinity. The so-called standards of right, truth, justice, -law, are no more than the wire netting of a sieve through which the -water of life rushes almost uninterrupted. It seems to be regulated, -but is it? Look close. See for yourself. Christ said, “Eyes and they -see not; ears and they hear not.” Is this not literally true? Begin -with number one. How about _you_ and the so-called universal standards? - -It had been so cold and raw down the bay that I could scarcely believe, -as we neared Manhattan Island that it was going to be so warm and -springlike on land as it proved. When we first sighted Long Island and -later Long Beach it was over a thrashing sea; the heads of the waves -were being cut off by the wind and sent flying into white spindrift or -parti-colored rainbows. Even above Sandy Hook the wind made rainbows -out of wave-tops and the bay had a tumbled surface. It was good to -see again the stately towers of the lower city as we drew near--that -mountain of steel and stone cut with its narrow canyons. They were just -finishing the upper framework of the Woolworth Building--that first -cathedral of the American religion of business--and now it reared its -stately head high above everything else. - -There was a great company at the dockside to receive us. Owing to -the sinking of the _Titanic_ relatives were especially anxious and -all incoming ships were greeted with enlarged companies of grateful -friends. There were reporters on hand to ask questions as to the -voyage--had we encountered any bodies, had we struck any ice? - -When I finally stepped on the dock, gathered up my baggage, called a -few final farewells and took a taxi to upper Broadway, I really felt -that I was once more at home. New York was so suggestively rich to -me, this spring evening. It was so refreshing to look out and see -the commonplace life of Eighth Avenue, up which I sped, and the long -cross streets and later upper Broadway with its rush of cars, taxis, -pedestrians. On Eighth Avenue negroes were idling at curbs and corners, -the Eighth Avenue type of shopkeeper lolling in his doorway, boys and -girls, men and women of a none-too-comforting type, making the best -of a humdrum and shabby existence. In one’s own land, born and raised -among the conditions you are observing, responsive to the subtlest -modifications of speech, gesture, expression, life takes on a fresh and -intimate aspect which only your own land can give after a trip abroad. -I never quite realized until later this same evening, strolling out -along Broadway to pay a call, how much one really loses abroad for want -of blood affinity and years and years of residence. All the finer -details, such as through the magnifying glass of familiarity one gains -at home, one loses abroad. Only the main outlines--the very roughest -details--stand revealed as in a distant view of mountains. That is why -generalizations, on so short an acquaintance as a traveler must have, -are so dangerous. Here, each sight and sound was significant. - -“And he says to me,” said one little girl, strolling with her -picturesque companion on upper Broadway, “if you don’t do that, I’m -through.” - -“And what did you say?” - -“Good _night_!!!” - -I was sure, then, that I was really home! - -[Illustration] - - - - - * * * * * * - - - - -Transcriber’s note: - -Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a -predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they -were not changed. - -Simple typographical errors were corrected; unpaired quotation -marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left -unpaired. - -Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned between paragraphs -and outside quotations. 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