diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/65765-h/65765-h.htm')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/65765-h/65765-h.htm | 20661 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 20661 deletions
diff --git a/old/65765-h/65765-h.htm b/old/65765-h/65765-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 6a11e3a..0000000 --- a/old/65765-h/65765-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,20661 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> -<head> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> -<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Traveler at Forty, by Theodore Dreiser</title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 2.5em; - margin-right: 2.5em; -} - -h1, h2 { - text-align: center; - clear: both; - margin-top: 2.5em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - word-spacing: .3em; -} - -h1 {page-break-before: always; page-break-after: always;} -h2+p {margin-top: 1.5em;} -h2 .subhead {display: block; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;} - -.transnote h2 { - margin-top: .5em; - margin-bottom: 1em; -} - -.subhead { - text-indent: 0; - text-align: center; - font-size: smaller; -} - -p { - text-indent: 1.75em; - margin-top: .51em; - margin-bottom: .24em; - text-align: justify; -} -.caption p, .center p, p.center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} - -.p0 {margin-top: 0em;} -.p1 {margin-top: 1em;} -.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} -.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} -.b1 {margin-bottom: 1em;} -.vspace {line-height: 1.5;} - -.in0 {text-indent: 0;} -.l05 {padding-right: .5em;} - -.small {font-size: 70%;} -.smaller {font-size: 85%;} -.larger {font-size: 125%;} -.large {font-size: 150%;} -.xlarge {font-size: 175%;} -.xxlarge {font-size: 200%;} - -p.drop-cap {text-indent: 0; margin-bottom: 1.1em;} -p.drop-cap:first-letter { - float: left; - margin: .05em .2em 0 0; - font-size: 420%; - line-height:0.7em; - text-indent: 0; - clear: both; -} -p.drop-cap.i .smcap1 {margin-left: -.3em;} -p.drop-cap .smcap1 {margin-left: -.8em;} -p.drop-cap.b .smcap1 {margin-left: -1.1em;} -p.drop-cap.al .smcap1 {margin-left: -1.7em;} -p .smcap1 {font-size: 110%;} -.smcap1 {text-transform: uppercase;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin: 4em auto 4em auto; - clear: both; -} - -.tb { - text-align: center; - padding-top: .76em; - padding-bottom: .24em; - letter-spacing: 1.5em; - margin-right: -1.5em; -} - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - max-width: 80%; - border-collapse: collapse; -} - -#toc {min-width: 50%;} -#toc td, #loi td {padding-bottom: .75em;} -#toc .small td, #loi .small td {padding-bottom: 0;} -table.narrow {max-width: 20em;} - -.tdl { - text-align: left; - vertical-align: top; - padding-right: 1em; - padding-left: 1.5em; - text-indent: -1.5em; -} -table#t61 {margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;} -table#t61 .tdc {padding-right: 2.5em;} - -.tdc {text-align: center;} - -.tdr { - text-align: right; - vertical-align: bottom; - padding-left: 1em; - padding-right: 0; - white-space: nowrap; -} -.tdr.top{vertical-align: top; padding-left: 0; padding-right: 1em;} - -.pagenum { - position: absolute; - right: .25em; - text-indent: 0; - text-align: right; - font-size: 70%; - font-weight: normal; - font-variant: normal; - font-style: normal; - letter-spacing: normal; - line-height: normal; - color: #acacac; - border: .0625em solid #acacac; - background: #ffffff; - padding: .0625em .125em; -} - -.figcenter { - margin: 2em auto 2em auto; - text-align: center; - page-break-inside: avoid; - max-width: 100%; -} - -img { - padding: 1em 0 .5em 0; - max-width: 100%; - height: auto; -} - -.caption {text-align: center; margin-top: 0; word-spacing: .02em;} - -.blockquot { - margin: 1.5em 5% 1.5em 5%; - font-size: 95%; -} - -.transnote { - background-color: #999999; - border: thin dotted; - font-family: sans-serif, serif; - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 5%; - margin-top: 4em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - padding: 1em; -} -.covernote {visibility: hidden; display: none;} - -.wspace {word-spacing: .3em;} - -span.locked {white-space:nowrap;} -.pagenum br {display: none; visibility: hidden;} -.bbox {border: .4em double black; padding: 0 0 1em 0; margin: 4em auto 4em auto; max-width: 25em;} - -@media print, handheld -{ - body {margin: 0;} - - h1, .chapter, .newpage {page-break-before: always;} - h1.nobreak, h2.nobreak, .nobreak {page-break-before: avoid; padding-top: 0;} - - p { - margin-top: .5em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .25em; - } - - table {width: auto; max-width: 100%; margin: 1em auto 1em auto;} - - .tdl { - padding-left: 1em; - text-indent: -1em; - padding-right: 0; - } - - .figcenter {max-width: 100%; margin: 0 auto 0 auto;} - img {max-height: 80%;} - - p.drop-cap {text-indent: 0; margin-bottom: .24em;} - p.drop-cap:first-letter { - float: none; - font-size: 1.2em; - margin-left: 0; - margin-right: 0; - padding-left: 0; - text-indent: 0; - } - - p.drop-cap.i .smcap1, p.drop-cap .smcap1, - p.drop-cap.b .smcap1, p.drop-cap.al .smcap1 {margin-left: 0;} - p .smcap1 {font-size: 100%;} - - hr { - margin-top: .1em; - margin-bottom: .1em; - visibility: hidden; - color: white; - width: .01em; - display: none; - } - - .blockquot {margin: 1.5em 3% 1.5em 3%;} - - .transnote { - page-break-inside: avoid; - margin-left: 2%; - margin-right: 2%; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - padding: .5em; - } - - .covernote {visibility: visible; display: block; text-align: center;} -} - - - h1.pgx { text-align: center; - clear: both; - font-weight: bold; - font-size: 190%; - margin-top: 0em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - word-spacing: 0em; - letter-spacing: 0em; - line-height: 1; } - h2.pgx { text-align: center; - clear: both; - font-weight: bold; - font-size: 135%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - word-spacing: 0em; - letter-spacing: 0em; - page-break-before: avoid; - line-height: 1; } - h3.pgx { text-align: center; - clear: both; - font-weight: bold; - font-size: 110%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - word-spacing: 0em; - letter-spacing: 0em; - line-height: 1; } - h4.pgx { text-align: center; - clear: both; - font-weight: bold; - font-size: 100%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - word-spacing: 0em; - letter-spacing: 0em; - line-height: 1; } - hr.pgx { width: 100%; - margin-top: 3em; - margin-bottom: 0em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - height: 4px; - border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ - border-style: solid; - border-color: #000000; - clear: both; } - </style> -</head> -<body> -<h1 class="pgx" title="">The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Traveler at Forty, by Theodore Dreiser, -Illustrated by William Glackens</h1> -<p>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 <a -href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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.</p> -<p>Title: A Traveler at Forty</p> -<p>Author: Theodore Dreiser</p> -<p>Release Date: July 5, 2021 [eBook #65765]</p> -<p>Language: English</p> -<p>Character set encoding: UTF-8</p> -<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TRAVELER AT FORTY***</p> -<p> </p> -<h4 class="pgx" title="">E-text prepared by Charlie Howard<br /> - and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> - (https://www.pgdp.net)<br /> - from page images generously made available by<br /> - Internet Archive<br /> - (https://archive.org)</h4> -<p> </p> -<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10"> - <tr> - <td valign="top"> - Note: - </td> - <td> - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/traveleratforty00drei - </td> - </tr> -</table> -<div class="transnote"> -<p class="center larger">Transcriber’s Note</p> - -<p>Larger versions of most illustrations may be seen by right-clicking them -and selecting an option to view them separately, or by double-tapping and/or -stretching them.</p> -</div> -<p> </p> -<hr class="pgx" /> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<h1>A TRAVELER<br />AT FORTY</h1> - -<div id="i_frontis" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 34em;"> - <img src="images/i_001.jpg" width="1620" height="1798" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">Piccadilly Circus</div></div> - -<div class="newpage p4 center"><div class="bbox"> -<p class="p1 xxlarge wspace"> -<span class="xlarge">A TRAVELER<br /> -AT FORTY</span></p> - -<p class="p2 larger vspace"><span class="smaller">BY</span><br /> -THEODORE DREISER</p> - -<p class="p0 smaller">Author of “Sister Carrie,” “Jennie Gerhardt,”<br /> -“The Financier,” etc., etc.</p> - -<p class="p4 vspace">ILLUSTRATED BY<br /> -W. GLACKENS</p> - -<div id="if_i_002" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 6em;"> - <img src="images/i_002.jpg" width="302" height="296" alt="" /></div> - -<p class="p1 large wspace">NEW YORK<br /> -THE CENTURY CO.<br /> -<span class="smaller">1913</span> -</p> -</div> - -<p class="newpage p4 smaller vspace"> -Copyright, 1913, by<br /> -<span class="smcap">The Century Co.</span></p> - -<p class="smaller"><i>Published, November, 1913</i> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="newpage p4">TO<br /> -“BARFLEUR”</p> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - -<table id="toc" summary="Contents"> -<tr class="small"> - <td class="tdc">CHAPTER</td> - <td class="tdl"> </td> - <td class="tdr">PAGE</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">I</td> - <td class="tdl">BARFLEUR TAKES ME IN HAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_3">3</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">II</td> - <td class="tdl">MISS X.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_16">16</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">III</td> - <td class="tdl">AT FISHGUARD</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_24">24</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">IV</td> - <td class="tdl">SERVANTS AND POLITENESS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_32">32</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">V</td> - <td class="tdl">THE RIDE TO LONDON</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_37">37</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">VI</td> - <td class="tdl">THE BARFLEUR FAMILY</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_47">47</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">VII</td> - <td class="tdl">A GLIMPSE OF LONDON</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_57">57</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">VIII</td> - <td class="tdl">A LONDON DRAWING-ROOM</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_66">66</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">IX</td> - <td class="tdl">CALLS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_72">72</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">X</td> - <td class="tdl">SOME MORE ABOUT LONDON</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_77">77</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XI</td> - <td class="tdl">THE THAMES</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_89">89</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XII</td> - <td class="tdl">MARLOWE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_95">95</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XIII</td> - <td class="tdl">LILLY: A GIRL OF THE STREETS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_113">113</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XIV</td> - <td class="tdl">LONDON; THE EAST END</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_128">128</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XV</td> - <td class="tdl">ENTER SIR SCORP</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_136">136</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XVI</td> - <td class="tdl">A CHRISTMAS CALL</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_148">148</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XVII</td> - <td class="tdl">SMOKY ENGLAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_171">171</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XVIII</td> - <td class="tdl">SMOKY ENGLAND (<i>continued</i>)</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_180">180</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XIX</td> - <td class="tdl">CANTERBURY</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_188">188</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XX</td> - <td class="tdl">EN ROUTE TO PARIS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_198">198</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XXI</td> - <td class="tdl">PARIS!</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_211">211</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XXII</td> - <td class="tdl">A MORNING IN PARIS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_225">225</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XXIII</td> - <td class="tdl">THREE GUIDES</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_238">238</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XXIV</td> - <td class="tdl">“THE POISON FLOWER”</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_247">247</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XXV</td> - <td class="tdl">MONTE CARLO</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_255">255</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XXVI</td> - <td class="tdl">THE LURE OF GOLD!</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_264">264</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XXVII</td> - <td class="tdl">WE GO TO EZE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_275">275</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XXVIII</td> - <td class="tdl">NICE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_288">288</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XXIX</td> - <td class="tdl">A FIRST GLIMPSE OF ITALY</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_295">295</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XXX</td> - <td class="tdl">A STOP AT PISA</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_306">306</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XXXI</td> - <td class="tdl">FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF ROME</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_315">315</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XXXII</td> - <td class="tdl">MRS. Q. AND THE BORGIA FAMILY</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_327">327</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XXXIII</td> - <td class="tdl">THE ART OF SIGNOR TANNI</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_337">337</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XXXIV</td> - <td class="tdl">AN AUDIENCE AT THE VATICAN</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_345">345</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XXXV</td> - <td class="tdl">THE CITY OF ST. FRANCIS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_354">354</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XXXVI</td> - <td class="tdl">PERUGIA</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_365">365</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XXXVII</td> - <td class="tdl">THE MAKERS OF FLORENCE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_371">371</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XXXVIII</td> - <td class="tdl">A NIGHT RAMBLE IN FLORENCE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_380">380</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XXXIX</td> - <td class="tdl">FLORENCE OF TO-DAY</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_387">387</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XL</td> - <td class="tdl">MARIA BASTIDA</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_398">398</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XLI</td> - <td class="tdl">VENICE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_409">409</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XLII</td> - <td class="tdl">LUCERNE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_415">415</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XLIII</td> - <td class="tdl">ENTERING GERMANY</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_424">424</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XLIV</td> - <td class="tdl">A MEDIEVAL TOWN</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_437">437</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XLV</td> - <td class="tdl">MY FATHER’S BIRTHPLACE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_449">449</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XLVI</td> - <td class="tdl">THE ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_454">454</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XLVII</td> - <td class="tdl">BERLIN</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_462">462</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XLVIII</td> - <td class="tdl">THE NIGHT-LIFE OF BERLIN</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_474">474</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">XLIX</td> - <td class="tdl">ON THE WAY TO HOLLAND</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_486">486</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">L</td> - <td class="tdl">AMSTERDAM</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_494">494</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">LI</td> - <td class="tdl">“SPOTLESS TOWN”</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_501">501</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">LII</td> - <td class="tdl">PARIS AGAIN</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_507">507</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdr top">LIII</td> - <td class="tdl">THE VOYAGE HOME</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_515">515</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="ILLUSTRATIONS">ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> -</div> - -<table id="loi" summary="Illustrations"> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Piccadilly Circus</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_frontis"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> -</tr> -<tr class="small"> - <td> </td> - <td class="tdr">FACING<br /><span class="l05">PAGE</span></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">I saw Mr. G. conversing with Miss E.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#if_i_8">8</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">One of those really interesting conversations between Barfleur and Miss X.</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#if_i_20">20</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">“I like it,” he pronounced. “The note is somber, but it is excellent work”</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#if_i_70">70</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Hoped for the day when the issue might be tried out physically</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#if_i_74">74</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Here the Thames was especially delightful</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#if_i_90">90</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Barfleur</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#if_i_156">156</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">The French have made much of the Seine</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#if_i_228">228</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">One of the thousands upon thousands of cafés on the boulevards of Paris</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#if_i_236">236</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">These places were crowded with a gay and festive throng</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#if_i_244">244</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">I looked to a distant table to see the figure he indicated</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#if_i_252">252</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">“My heavens, how well she keeps up!”</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#if_i_290">290</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">I sated myself on the house fronts or backs below the Ponte Vecchio</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#if_i_384">384</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">There can only be one Venice</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#if_i_404">404</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">A German dance hall, Berlin</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#if_i_464">464</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Teutonic bursts of temper</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#if_i_482">482</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">3</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="A_TRAVELER_AT_FORTY"><span class="larger">A TRAVELER AT FORTY</span></h2> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_3" class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I<br /> - -<span class="subhead">BARFLEUR TAKES ME IN HAND</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap i"><span class="smcap1">I have</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">4</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">5</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“If it can be arranged,” I interpolated.</p> - -<p>“It <em>can</em> be arranged,” he replied emphatically. “I -will attend to the financial part and arrange affairs with -both an American and an English publisher.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">6</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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, “<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">memento mori</i>.” -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Did ever a boy thrill over a ship as I over this monster -of the seas?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">7</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">8</span> -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.</p> - -<p>I stood there till the <i>Mauretania</i> 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.</p> - -<p>“Come up with me,” he said.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<div id="if_i_8" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 24em;"> - <img src="images/i_008.jpg" width="1131" height="1762" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">“I saw Mr. G. conversing with Miss E.”</div></div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">10</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">11</span> -beautiful, and she showed me one of her pictures in a -current magazine advertising a set of furs.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I covertly observed the personality of Miss X. Here<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">12</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Barfleur never ceased instructing me in the intricacies -of ship life. I never saw so comforting and efficient a -man.</p> - -<p>“Oh”—who can indicate exactly the sound of the -English “Oh”—“Oh, <em>there</em> you are.” (His <em>are</em> always -sounded like <em>ah</em>.) “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?</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">14</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">15</span> -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!</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_16" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">16</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II<br /> - -<span class="subhead">MISS X.</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">It</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">17</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">18</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">19</span> -Let’s hope it’s a vague, uncertain, but divine idea. We -know it is beautiful. It must be so.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">esprit de corps</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">20</span> -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.</p> - -<div id="if_i_20" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 34em;"> - <img src="images/i_020.jpg" width="1636" height="1490" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">One of those really interesting conversations between -Barfleur and Miss X.</div></div> - -<p>This is a section of Barfleur—not all, mind you, but -a section.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">22</span> -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 <em>live</em>.”</p> - -<p>“And what do they do when they live?” I asked. -“What do they call living?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“That is not a bad standard,” I said, and then I added, -“And what else do they do?”</p> - -<p>“And what else should they do? Isn’t that enough?”</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">23</span> -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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_24" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III<br /> - -<span class="subhead">AT FISHGUARD</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">While</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Then I went to hunt Barfleur to find out how I should<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>We rejoiced together singing, and then we fought. -There is a directness between experienced intellects which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</span> -waves aside all formalities. She had seen a lot of life; -so had I.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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 <span class="locked">is—”</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, look at that cute little boat out there!” She was -talking of the lightship. “I always feel sorry for a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</span> -poor little thing like that, set aside from the main tide -of life and left lonely—with no one to care for it.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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 <span class="locked">about—”</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Flowers,” I observed, “jewels, automobiles, hotel -bills, fine dresses.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you’re brutal. I hate you. You’ve said the -cruelest, meanest things that have ever been said to me.”</p> - -<p>“But they’re so.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“You like me, in a way?” I suggested.</p> - -<p>“I admire your intellect.”</p> - -<p>“Quite so. And others receive the gifts of your personality.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t help it. I can’t be mean to the man I’m with.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</span> -He’s good to me. I won’t. I’d be sinning against the -only conscience I have.”</p> - -<p>“Then you have a conscience?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you go to the devil!”</p> - -<p>But we didn’t separate by any means.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Come, come!” (He was always most emphatic.) -“You’re missing it all. We’re landing.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Finally a cabin steward came hurrying out to him.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Things in my room unpacked?” he echoed. “What -room are you talking about? My word!”</p> - -<p>“There are three drawers full of things in there, sir, -unpacked, and they’re waiting for your luggage now, -sir!”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>“At two in the morning.”</p> - -<p>“And when do the balance of the passengers land?” -(We had virtually emptied the first cabin.)</p> - -<p>“At seven, I fancy.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_32" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">32</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV<br /> - -<span class="subhead">SERVANTS AND POLITENESS</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap b"><span class="smcap1">Right</span> 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 <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">ad lib.</i> for years, but hearing is -not believing. Seeing and experiencing is.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">33</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">34</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">35</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">36</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_37" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">37</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THE RIDE TO LONDON</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">At</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">38</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">39</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">40</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">41</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">42</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">43</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">44</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">45</span> -equally large number of millions of francs, and so the -rivalry was ended.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>Punch</i>, and <i>Pick Me Up</i>, and <i>The Sketch</i>, 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">46</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>He gleamed on me with his monocled eye in a very -encouraging manner.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_47" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">47</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THE BARFLEUR FAMILY</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap i"><span class="smcap1">I am</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">48</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">49</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">50</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes. Amáyreeka! Is that a nice place? Do -you like it?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">51</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">52</span> -recognize him. He was outside the coach house, where -are the rooms of the gardener, and where my room is.</p> - -<p>“And which little Barfleur might this be?” I asked -genially, in that patronizing way we have with children.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“You don’t tell me,” I replied. “And what is your -sister’s name, again?”</p> - -<p>“Berenice Mary Barfleur,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“Dear, dear, dear,” I sighed. “Now what do you -know about that?”</p> - -<p>Of course such a wild piece of American slang as that -had no significance to him whatsoever. It fell on his -ears without meaning.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” he replied, interested in some fixture -he was fastening to a toy bath tub.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t that a fine little bath tub you have,” I ventured, -eager to continue the conversation because of its novelty.</p> - -<p>“It’s a nice little bawth,” he went on, “but I wouldn’t -call it a tub.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">53</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">54</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">55</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">56</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_57" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">57</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">A GLIMPSE OF LONDON</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">After</span> 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.</p> - -<p>I was duly impressed. I was seeing things which,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">58</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">59</span> -places which looked like scars or the drippings of lime. -At first I thought, “How wretched.” Later I thought, -“This effect is charming.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">60</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">61</span> -list of things. So this morning I had much shopping -to attend to.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<table id="t61" class="narrow" summary="suggested tops"> -<tr> - <td class="tdc" colspan="2">In leaving the hotel to-morrow, give the following tips:</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Maid</td> - <td class="tdl">3/-</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Valet</td> - <td class="tdl">3/-</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Gold Braid</td> - <td class="tdl">1/-</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Porter (who looks after telephone)</td> - <td class="tdl">1/-</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Outside Man (Doorman)</td> - <td class="tdl">1/-</td> -</tr> -</table> - -<p>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.</p> -</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">62</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">63</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">maître d’hôtel</i> 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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">64</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">65</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Miss T. sang forcefully, joyously, vigorously, and I -wished sincerely to meet her and tell her so; but that was -not to be, then.</p> - -<p>As we made our way to Paddington Barfleur, brisk and -smiling, asked:</p> - -<p>“Were you amused?”</p> - -<p>“Quite.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then this afternoon was not wasted. I shall -always be satisfied if you are amused.”</p> - -<p>I smiled, and we rode sleepily back to Bridgely Level -to dine and thence to bed.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_66" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">66</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">A LONDON DRAWING-ROOM</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap i"><span class="smcap1">I recall</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr. Der<em>riz</em>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">67</span> -of you. You are from America. You must tell us how -you like London, after you see the Degas.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Certainly—delighted. I know too little of London -to talk of it. I shall be interested in your picture.”</p> - -<p>We had reached the main floor by this time.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Der<em>riz</em>er, the Lady R.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>She gave me the fingers of an archly poised hand.</p> - -<p>“It is a pleasure!”</p> - -<p>“And Miss H., Mr. Der<em>riz</em>er.”</p> - -<p>“I am very pleased!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">68</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Mr. W. stood in the background, a short, stocky gentleman, -a little bored by the trivialities of the social -world.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>Mrs. W.’s hands were up in a pretty artistic gesture -of delight.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“And you!” It was Mrs. W. addressing me.</p> - -<p>“It is impressive, I think. I do not know as much -of his work as I might, I am sorry to say.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">69</span> -accent in their native tongue I would like it better. It -lends a touch of piquancy not otherwise obtainable.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Gloomy! Morbid!” Mrs. W. fired in her quite -lovely accent. “What has that to do with art?”</p> - -<p>“Luncheon is served, Madam!”</p> - -<p>The double doors of the dining-room were flung open.</p> - -<p>I found myself sitting between Mrs. W. and Miss H.</p> - -<p>“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 <em>are</em> 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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">70</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“I am inclined to think so, at times, myself,” I replied.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Do you know,” she observed, “I really think it would -be a very good thing for us if we were conquered by -Germany.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div id="if_i_70" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 41em;"> - <img src="images/i_070.jpg" width="1940" height="1630" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">“I like it,” he pronounced. “The note is somber, -but it is excellent work”</div></div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Do you think art really needs that?” Miss H. asked -me. She was alluding to the green linen handkerchief.</p> - -<p>“I admire the courage. It is at least individual.”</p> - -<p>“It is after George Bernard Shaw. It has been done -before,” replied Miss H.</p> - -<p>“Then it requires almost more courage,” I replied.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I like it,” he pronounced. “The note is somber, but -it is excellent work.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_72" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">72</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX<br /> - -<span class="subhead">CALLS</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">It</span> 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.</p> - -<p>Miss E. had prepared an appetizing luncheon. She had -managed to collect a group of interesting people—a Mr. -T., for instance, whose <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">bête noire</i> 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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">73</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">74</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<div id="if_i_74" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 30em;"> - <img src="images/i_074.jpg" width="1420" height="1727" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">Hoped for the day when the issue might -be tried out physically</div></div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">76</span> -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.</p> - -<p>I mention them because, in a measure, they suggested -the literary and artistic atmosphere of London.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_77" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">77</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X<br /> - -<span class="subhead">SOME MORE ABOUT LONDON</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">“London</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">78</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">79</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">80</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">81</span> -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 -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">bourgeois</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">82</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">83</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Ah, the biographer of that poor girl! And how -charming she was, too! Ah me! Ah me!”</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">84</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“There’s a vote on,” observed Mr. M. “Perhaps -they won’t find him right away. Never mind; he’ll -come.”</p> - -<p>He did come finally, with, after his first greetings, a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">85</span> -“Well, now we’ll ate, drink, and be merry,” and then we -went in.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Not at all, not at all. The English like the Irish—at -times,” he added softly.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>An able man this, full, as I knew, from reading his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">86</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">87</span> -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:</p> - -<p>“Me boy, there are thricks in every thrade. I’ll be -there whin me vote is wanted.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">88</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_89" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">89</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THE THAMES</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">As</span> 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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">90</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div id="if_i_90" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 42em;"> - <img src="images/i_090.jpg" width="1999" height="1216" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">Here the Thames was especially delightful</div></div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">92</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">93</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">94</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_95" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">95</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">MARLOWE</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">After</span> 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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You won’t want to be bothered with any company, -so just send him back. You’ll find it very interesting.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“When shall you be ready for your walk to Marlowe?” -he asked, in his stately tone.</p> - -<p>“In just ten minutes now.”</p> - -<p>“And have you any objection to our walking to Marlowe -with you?”</p> - -<p>“Are there two of you?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">96</span></p> - -<p>“Yes. My brother Charles and myself.”</p> - -<p>“None whatever. Your father doesn’t mind, does -he?”</p> - -<p>“No, he doesn’t mind.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>“Quite as good as this,” I replied, referring to the one -on which we were walking, for it was a little muddy.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">97</span> -a yellow path running diagonally across it and at the end -of this path was Marlowe.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But Canada doesn’t like you,” I replied. “And besides -it only has six million people.”</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” echoed both Percy and Charles heartily.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” they echoed, unanimously.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">98</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Are those rooks?” I asked of Percy, hoping for -poetry’s sake that they were.</p> - -<p>“Rooks or crows,” he replied, “I don’t know which.”</p> - -<p>“Are there rooks in Amáyreeka?”</p> - -<p>“No—there are no rooks.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, that’s something.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>Punch</i> and the <i>Sketch</i>, -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">99</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">100</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">101</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">102</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, he’s somebody who’s moving. He hasn’t a -van, you know.”</p> - -<p>Moving! Here was food for pathetic reflection.</p> - -<p>I looked into low, dark doors where humble little tin -and glass-bodied lamps were beginning to flicker.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">103</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Sooey!” he called softly—“Ssh,” as he ran here -and there—this way and that.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>I walked out another long street, quite alone now in the -dusk, and met a man driving an ox, also evidently to -market.</p> - -<p>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 <em>out</em>, 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">104</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">105</span> -queer nasal voice, going in and coming out again, empty-handed -I fancy. Finally he came to me.</p> - -<p>“Would you help us on our way?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Where are you going?” I inquired.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">106</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that’s quite all right,” I replied, gathering some -odd class distinction. “I prefer company to silence. -You say you travel?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I’m connected with a house in London. I -travel in the south of England.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“No, I’m from America. I come from New -York.”</p> - -<p>“I had a strong notion before I came to London to -go to America after I left school”—and to have heard<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">107</span> -him pronounce <em>school</em> 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.”</p> - -<p>“You like it?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll walk with you a little way if you don’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">108</span> -mind,” he replied solicitously. “I have nothing else to -do.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“I don’t drink myself,” he observed, “but I will go -in with you if you want to. Here’s one.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">109</span> -sold cigars and there were boards about on the tables -for some simple games.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">110</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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 <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">ipso facto</i>, 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">111</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Let’s see, it’s the left you want, isn’t it?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“No, it’s the right,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>It wasn’t visible from the ground.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You’re right,” he said.</p> - -<p>We shook hands and wished each other luck. He -struck off back along the road he had come in the fog<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">112</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_113" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">113</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">LILLY: A GIRL OF THE STREETS</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap i"><span class="smcap1">I stood</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“No,” I replied rather directly to her question.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">114</span> -“Not to-night. But let’s you and I go somewhere for -dinner.”</p> - -<p>“Would you mind givin’ my friend a shillin’?” she -asked.</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” I replied. “There you are.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>She looked as though she might be nineteen.</p> - -<p>“Let’s see! Have you had your dinner?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Where is there a good restaurant? Not too smart, -you know.”</p> - -<p>“Well, there’s L.’s Corner House.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, where is that? Do you go there yourself, -occasionally?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, quite often. It’s very nice, I think.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“It’s at No. — Great Titchfield Street.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">115</span></p> - -<p>“Is that an apartment or a hotel?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>I could see that she was uncertain as to what I would -think of her apartment.</p> - -<p>“And where is the hotel? Is that nice?”</p> - -<p>“It’s pretty good, sir, not so bad.”</p> - -<p>I smiled. She was holding a small umbrella over her -head.</p> - -<p>“We had better take a taxi and get out of this rain.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Have we far to go?” I asked perfunctorily.</p> - -<p>“Not very, only a little way.”</p> - -<p>“How much ought the cab charge to be?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“No,” I replied, lying cautiously.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">116</span></p> - -<p>She looked at me uncertainly—a little over-awed, I -think. I was surely a strange fish to swim into her net -anyhow.</p> - -<p>“Very likely you don’t like me then?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Do you think so?” She gave me a sidelong, speculative -look.</p> - -<p>“What nationality are you?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“I’m Welsh,” she replied.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t think you were English exactly. Your tone -is softer.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“This way,” said my street girl, “we go up here.”</p> - -<p>And I followed her up two flights of thinly carpeted -stairs into a small dingy room. It was clean, after the -French fashion.</p> - -<p>“It’s not so bad?” she asked with a touch of pride.</p> - -<p>“No. Not at all.”</p> - -<p>“Will you pay for the room, please?”</p> - -<p>The landlady had followed and was standing by.</p> - -<p>I asked how much and found I was to be charged five -shillings which seemed a modest sum.</p> - -<p>The girl locked the door, as the landlady went out, and -began taking off her hat and jacket. She stood before<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">117</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Sit down, please,” I said. She obeyed like a child. -“So you’re Welsh. What part of Wales do you come -from?”</p> - -<p>She told me some outlandish name.</p> - -<p>“What were your parents? Poor, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed not,” she bridled with that quaint country accent. -“My father was a grocer. He had three stores.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe it,” I said mockingly. “You women -lie so. I don’t believe you’re telling me the truth.”</p> - -<p>It was brutal, but I wanted to get beneath the conventional -lies these girls tell, if I could.</p> - -<p>“Why not?” Her clear eyes looked into mine.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>She bristled vaguely but without force.</p> - -<p>“Believe it or not,” she said sullenly. “It’s so.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me,” I said, “how much can you make out of -this business?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, sometimes more, sometimes less. I don’t walk<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">118</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“What do you call a good lot?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, all sorts of sums. I have been given as high as -six pounds.”</p> - -<p>“That isn’t true,” I said. “You know it isn’t true. -You’re talking for effect.”</p> - -<p>The girl’s face flushed.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>She looked at me, but no angry rage sprang to her -eyes.</p> - -<p>“It’s true just the same,” she said meekly. “You -don’t like women, do you?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“No, not very much.”</p> - -<p>“You’re a woman-hater. That’s what you are. -I’ve seen such.”</p> - -<p>“Not a woman-hater, no. Simply not very much interested -in them.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">119</span> -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?</p> - -<p>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—<em>as there is none</em>—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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">120</span> -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.</p> - -<p>But to continue: “He laid a sovereign on the table -and I went for him,” she said.</p> - -<p>I smiled, not so much in derision as amusement. The -story did not fit her. Obviously it was not so.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>I had every intention of giving her two or three if it -suited my mood later, but she was not to know this -now.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I’m a new experience in men,” I suggested.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>I did not doubt the sincerity of this outburst. But I -affected not to believe her.</p> - -<p>“It’s true!” she insisted sullenly.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">121</span></p> - -<p>“I don’t know any trade now and I’m too old to -learn.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Obediently and without a word she put on her coat -and her bedraggled hat and we turned to the door.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">122</span> -which is nearer London than some of the others—some -place which is really poor and hard-worked.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>I wish you might have heard the peculiar purr of her -accent.</p> - -<p>“And how far is that?”</p> - -<p>She gave me the hours from London and the railroad -fare in shillings. I think it was about three hours -at most.</p> - -<p>“And Cardiff’s pretty bad,” she added. “There’s -lots of mines there. Very deep ones, too. The people -are poor there.”</p> - -<p>“Have you ever been in a mine?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>She didn’t answer, choosing to ignore my petty -philosophic concern over something of which I knew so -little.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">123</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“There’s another place along Cheapside.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">124</span> -an American girl and speak her patois—imitate her -slang, because she was the most popular of all.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>It was. I smiled at the compliment, sordid as it may -appear.</p> - -<p>“Why do they like them?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Oh, the American girl is smarter. She walks -quicker. She carries herself better. That’s what the -men tell me.”</p> - -<p>“And you are able to deceive them?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“That’s interesting. Let me hear you talk like an -American. How do you do it?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“And what else?” I said.</p> - -<p>“Oh, let me see.” She seemed lost for more. “You -teach me some,” she said. “I knew some other words, -but I forget.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">125</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">126</span> -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!”</p> - -<p>From this first place we went to others—not so good, -Lilly told me.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">127</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Send it to me, will you?”</p> - -<p>“If you’re here.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’ll be here. I don’t move often.”</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_128" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">128</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV<br /> - -<span class="subhead">LONDON; THE EAST END</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">As</span> 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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">129</span> -somehow suggested the atmosphere of the Whitechapel -murders—those demoniac crimes that had thrilled the -world a few years before.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I was surprised to find how distinctly different are the -two realms of poverty in New York and London.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">130</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">131</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I would like to look over the laundry and baths,” -I said.</p> - -<p>“Where do you come from?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“America,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“Oh! Have you a card?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">132</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">au naturel</i> only when you -walk among the very poor in such a neighborhood as -this. Here in this wash-house I saw the low English -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">au naturel</i>, 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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">133</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">134</span></p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">135</span> -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?</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_136" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">136</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV<br /> - -<span class="subhead">ENTER SIR SCORP</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap b"><span class="smcap1">During</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">137</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">138</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>That night at dinner, before and after, we fell into -a most stirring argument. As I recall, it started<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">139</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">140</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">141</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">142</span> -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 -<em>are</em>. 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">143</span> -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.</p> - -<p>At eleven Sir Scorp came down and then it was agreed -that the rain should make no difference. We would go, -anyhow.</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he replied, “there is, but you can’t pay any -attention to that if you want to get anywhere.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">144</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">145</span></p> - -<p>“Such being the case,” I replied, “we’ll disgrace Barfleur -for life. He has relations here. Nothing would -give me greater pleasure.”</p> - -<p>“Come, Dreiser. Give me those sandwiches.”</p> - -<p>It was Barfleur, of course.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">146</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">147</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_148" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">148</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI<br /> - -<span class="subhead">A CHRISTMAS CALL</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">The</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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 <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">ad nauseum</i>. 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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">149</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>There, too, was Barfleur, a host in himself. For -weeks beforehand he kept saying on occasion as we wandered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">150</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Done!” he exclaimed. “We shall have it for Christmas.”</p> - -<p>“But, Papa,” piped up Berenice maliciously, “we don’t -all have to have it at the same time, do we?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">151</span></p> - -<p>“Only Mr. Dreiser need have it. He is German and -likes it.”</p> - -<p>I assumed as German a look as I might,—profound, -Limburgery.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Are American sausage like English sausage?” inquired -young Charles Gerald interestedly.</p> - -<p>“Now Heaven only knows,” I replied. “I have never -eaten English sausages. Ask your father.”</p> - -<p>Barfleur merely smiled. “I think not,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>He beamed on me reprovingly.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">152</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">153</span> -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!”</p> - -<p>I went back to the house that afternoon determined -to make inquiries. Perhaps she was a neighbor,—a -friend of the family!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“What’s this?” I can see his eye lighting. “Beauty? -A lovely woman? When? Where?”</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>Wilkins paused and scratched his ear reflectively. -“No, sir! I cawn’t say has I do, sir. I might harsk, sir,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">154</span> -down in the village, hif you’re very hanxious to know.”</p> - -<p>Be it known by all men that I feed Wilkins amply for -all services performed,—hence his interest.</p> - -<p>“Never mind for the present, Wilkins,” I replied. “I -may want to know. If so, I’ll ask you.”</p> - -<p>I knew he would inquire anyhow.</p> - -<p>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 <span class="locked">mildly—</span></p> - -<p>“I saw the most beautiful woman to-day I have yet -seen in England.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Where?” he questioned solemnly. “Were you in -the city?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>Berenice, a wizard of the future, merely smiled wisely.</p> - -<p>“I do not, Papa.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">155</span> -any one hereabout owns a white donkey,—any one with -a maid and a three-year-old child?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“My dear fellow,” he exclaimed banteringly, “how -you go on! I don’t understand you at all. This is England.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">156</span> -The lady is married. A little neighborly friendship. -Hmm.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Curses!” I exclaimed. “Always in the way. Always -stepping in just when I fancy I have found something -for myself.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<div id="if_i_156" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 21em;"> - <img src="images/i_156.jpg" width="975" height="1899" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">Barfleur</div></div> - -<p>I was all agog. The picture she had presented was -so smart. Barfleur was interested though perhaps disappointed,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">157</span> -too, that Gerard knew her when he didn’t.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Think of it,” commented Berenice sardonically.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">158</span> -“‘Mr. Jones’s sausages’ for breakfast. Aren’t they -comic! Do you like them?”</p> - -<p>“I most assuredly do.”</p> - -<p>“And do you eat them every day in A-máy-reeka?” -queried Charles Gerard with a touch of latent jesting -in his voice.</p> - -<p>“When I can afford them, yes.”</p> - -<p>“They’re quite small, aren’t they?” commented five-year-old -James Herbert.</p> - -<p>“Precisely,” I replied, unabashed by this fire of inquiry. -“That’s their charm.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">159</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">160</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">161</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">162</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">163</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">164</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, tell them,” sarcastically interpolated Lord -Scorp. “There will be no peace, believe me, until you -do.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Very good,” observed Barfleur, rubbing his hands. -“Now that is settled.”</p> - -<p>“Isn’t she charming,” observed Mrs. G. A. Barfleur, -“to be so politely disposed?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">165</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">166</span></p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“From America,” I said, quite unwisely I think.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>I picked up a train of cars, and, to my astonishment,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">167</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">168</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Here’s a package marked ‘Charles Gerard Barfleur.’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">169</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>I acknowledged the wisdom of the comment.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">170</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_171" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">171</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">SMOKY ENGLAND</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">For</span> 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.)</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">172</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">173</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">174</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">175</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">176</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">177</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">178</span> -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 <em>thinking</em>, 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">179</span> -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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_180" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">180</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">SMOKY ENGLAND (<i>continued</i>)</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">At</span> 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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Hey?” she replied, looking at me wearily, but making -no other move.</p> - -<p>“What do you burn?” I asked. “What do you use -for light, gas or oil?”</p> - -<p>“Ile,” she replied heavily. “You’ll have to talk very -loud. I’m gettin’ old and I’m goin’ to die pretty soon.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no,” I said, “you’re not old enough for that. -You’re going to live a long time yet.”</p> - -<p>“Hey?” she asked.</p> - -<p>I repeated what I had said.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Have you ever been out of Middleton?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Hey?” she replied.</p> - -<p>I repeated.</p> - -<p>“Yes, to Manchester, Saturdays. Not of late, though.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">181</span> -Not in years and years. I’m very sick, though, now. -I’m goin’ to die.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">182</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“What is a ‘fish, chip, and pea’ restaurant?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“And what’s that for?” I asked of the same -officer.</p> - -<p>“The same thing. A man who’s been drinking eats -those things.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Come on,” said the man to the woman, all at once, -“let’s go to the pub. A beer’ll do you good.”</p> - -<p>The three started off together, the child hanging by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">183</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“You don’t always have to keep a light burning here, -do you?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Surely, it isn’t always dark and smoky like this?”</p> - -<p>“You should see it sometimes, if you call this bad,” -she replied contemptuously. “It’s black.”</p> - -<p>“I should say it’s very near that now,” I commented.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, most of the mills are not running. You -should see it when it’s foggy and the mills are running.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">184</span> -a meal as only a third-rate restaurant which is considered -first by the local inhabitants would supply.</p> - -<p>I journeyed forth once more, interested by the fact that, -according to Baedeker, from one point somewhere, <em>on a -clear day</em>, 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">185</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">186</span> -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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">187</span> -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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_188" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">188</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX<br /> - -<span class="subhead">CANTERBURY</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">It</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">189</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">190</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">191</span></p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">192</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <em>hominess</em> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">193</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">194</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">195</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">196</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?).</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>All the little houses about have heavy overhanging<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">197</span> -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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_198" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">198</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX<br /> - -<span class="subhead">EN ROUTE TO PARIS</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap b"><span class="smcap1">One</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">199</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I said, “I suppose you will be coming to America -yourself, one of these days?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” he said; “the big chances are out there. -I’ll either go to Canada or Wisconsin.”</p> - -<p>“Well, there are plenty of states to choose from,” I -said.</p> - -<p>“A lot of people have gone from this place,” he replied.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>My guide led me to the Lord Warden Hotel, where I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">200</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">201</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">202</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">203</span> -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 -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">facteurs</i> 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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">éclat</i> 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.</p> - -<p>It is curious how one feels about France, or at least<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">204</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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, “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Sept colis</i>,” 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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>Mauretania</i> 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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">205</span> -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, <i>Figaro</i>, <i>Gil -Blas</i>, 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">206</span> -are supposed to have drawn so much of our national personality.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">207</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Amiens was all of this. It would have seemed hard -and cold and bare and dry except for these little quirks<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">208</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">209</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">210</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_211" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">211</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI<br /> - -<span class="subhead">PARIS!</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">There</span> 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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">facteur</i> a franc—not so much because -he deserved it, but because he had such a gay and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">212</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">213</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">214</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">215</span> -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!”</p> - -<p>“The fool ass,” I added, “I knew he would do just -that—My blanket! My shoes!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You smell this air—it is all over Paris.”</p> - -<p>“The taxis always go like this.” (We were going -like mad.)</p> - -<p>“There is an excellent type—look at her.”</p> - -<p>“Now you see the chairs out in front—they are that -way all over Paris.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">216</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The artist Greuze has painted the type that I saw before<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">217</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">218</span> -is concerned. It is as good a place to go for dinner -as the city provides.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">219</span> -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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">bons mots</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">220</span> -really ought to say a great deal about the Abbaye -Thélème, because it is the last word, the quintessence of -midnight excitement and international <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">savoir faire</i>. 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">221</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">222</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">223</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">224</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_225" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">225</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">A MORNING IN PARIS</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap i"><span class="smcap1">I shall</span> 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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">café</i> 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.</p> - -<p>About nine o’clock Barfleur arrived with his program. -I was to walk in the Tuileries—which is close at hand—while<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">226</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">227</span> -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.</p> - -<p>From here we went to a Paris florist’s where Madame -pinned bright <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">boutonnières</i> 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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">228</span> -there was a nice store; and Monsieur looked as fat and -contented as could reasonably be expected under the circumstances.</p> - -<div id="if_i_228" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 48em;"> - <img src="images/i_228.jpg" width="2305" height="1551" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">The French have made much of the Seine</div></div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">230</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">231</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">232</span> -to me as a national mausoleum. It is hard to make -a national burying-ground that will appeal to all.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">233</span> -telephone was now served; and at the beginning of its -gastronomic wonders Mr. McG. and Miss N. arrived.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">234</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>It is one thing to see neo-impressionism hung upon the -walls of a gallery in London, or disputed over in a West<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">235</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">236</span> -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.</p> - -<div id="if_i_236" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 42em;"> - <img src="images/i_236.jpg" width="2003" height="1541" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">One of the thousands upon thousands of cafés on the boulevards of Paris</div></div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">237</span> -to have it; that they are enjoying the wine-like air, -the cordials and <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">apéritifs</i> of the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">brasseries</i>, 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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_238" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">238</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THREE GUIDES</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">It</span> 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 -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">apéritifs</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">239</span> -bar on occasion as anywhere else. There was obviously -an <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">entente cordiale</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>I admitted at once that they were both very able men<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">240</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">241</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">242</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>The small Jew who was the industrious salesman for -this particular type of ware looked his astonishment.</p> - -<p>They are used to all sorts of set-backs—these particular -guides—for they encounter all sorts of people,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">243</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Wait, wait, wait,” insisted Barfleur, “answer my -question. Have you a mother?”</p> - -<p>“What has that got to do with it?” asked the guide. -“Of course I have a mother.”</p> - -<p>“Where is she?” demanded Barfleur authoritatively.</p> - -<p>“She’s at home,” replied the guide, with an air of -mingled astonishment, irritation and a desire not to lose -a customer.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>The man swore under his breath.</p> - -<p>“Answer me,” persisted Barfleur, still fixing him solemnly -through his monocle. “Does she?”</p> - -<p>“Why, no, of course she doesn’t,” replied the Jew -sheepishly.</p> - -<p>“Would you want her to know?” This in sepulchral -tones.</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t think so.”</p> - -<p>“Have you a sister?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">244</span></p> - -<p>“Would you want her to know?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” replied the guide defiantly. “She -might know anyhow.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me truly, if she did not know, would you want -her to know?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“No, I suppose not,” replied the interrogated vainly.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The man looked at him in dull suspicion.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Good God, do you call this knowledge?” inquired -Barfleur solemnly.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I do,” replied the man. “I’ve worked hard -to get it.”</p> - -<div id="if_i_244" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 41em;"> - <img src="images/i_244.jpg" width="1977" height="1485" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">These places were crowded with a gay and festive throng</div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">245</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, say,” said the man, walking off, “you don’t -want a guide. You want a church.” And he did not -even look back.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">246</span> -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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_247" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">247</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV<br /> - -<span class="subhead">“THE POISON FLOWER”</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">It</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">248</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">249</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>At one café, on this expedition, quite by accident apparently, -we encountered Miss X., whom I had not seen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">250</span> -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 <i>Mauretania</i>, 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">251</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">252</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div id="if_i_252" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 34em;"> - <img src="images/i_252.jpg" width="1638" height="1684" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">I looked to a distant table to see the figure he indicated</div></div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">254</span> -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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_255" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">255</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV<br /> - -<span class="subhead">MONTE CARLO</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">All</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">256</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">257</span></p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">258</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I should think the whole world would want to live -here in winter,” I said.</p> - -<p>“The fact is,” replied Barfleur, “what are called the -best people do not come here so much nowadays.”</p> - -<p>“Where do they go?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Switzerland is now the thing in winter—the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">259</span> -Alps and all that relates to them. The new rich have -overdone this, and it is becoming a little banal.”</p> - -<p>“They cannot alter the wonder of the climate,” I -replied.</p> - -<p>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, “<em>Chat, chat, chat!</em>” 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?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">260</span> -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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Who wants to be in Mentone?” demanded Sir Scorp.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">261</span> -“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">262</span> -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 “<i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Speisewagen</i>” and sleepers “<i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Schlafwagen</i>.” -Those from Paris, Calais, Brussels, Cherbourg -bore the imposing legend, “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Compagnie Internationale -des Wagons-Lits et des Grands Express Européens</i>.” -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">263</span> -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!</p> - -<p>We lunched at the Admiralty—one of those <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">restaurants -celebrés</i> where the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">haute cuisine</i> of France was -to be found in its perfection, where balconies of flowers -commanded the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">côte d’azure</i>.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_264" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">264</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THE LURE OF GOLD!</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap b"><span class="smcap1">Before</span> I go a step further in this narrative I -must really animadvert to the subject of restaurants -and the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">haute cuisine</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">maître -d’hôtel</i> and that during the Commune Voisin’s had once -served <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">consommé d’éléphant</i>, <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">le chameau roti à l’Anglais</i>,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">265</span> -and <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">le chat planqué de rats</i>. 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.</p> - -<p>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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">mostelle -à l’Anglais</i> 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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">maître d’hôtel</i>, 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">266</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">en suite</i> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">267</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>We arrived at the edge of the corporation which is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">268</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">269</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Cirque privé</i>” -as it was called.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">270</span> -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 -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">va plus</i>!” 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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Talk about superstition,” I replied, coming away -from the table, “I didn’t believe it of you.”</p> - -<p>“I’m discovered!” he smiled philosophically; “besides -I want to send some sweets to the children.”</p> - -<p>We strolled out into the bright afternoon sun finding -the terrace comparatively empty, for the Casino draws<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">271</span> -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, <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">haut parisiennes</i> 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.</p> - -<p>“How are you making out?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“I think I’ve lost eight hundred francs. If I should -win this though, I’ll risk a bee-a.”</p> - -<p>“What’s a bee-a?”</p> - -<p>“A thousand franc note.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">272</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“How much did you lose?” I inquired.</p> - -<p>“Oh, a thousand francs,” he replied.</p> - -<p>We strolled up and down, Scorp commenting sarcastically -on one type and another and yet with a genial tolerance -which was amusing.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">273</span> -turned to me. “I say, it’s a wonder you don’t take a -cocktail. There’s your American bar.”</p> - -<p>“It’s the wrong time, Scorp,” I replied. “You don’t -understand the art of cocktail drinking.”</p> - -<p>“I should hope not!” he returned morosely.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Now I should think,” said Barfleur, “it would be -nice if we were to dine at the Princess. You can get -sole and <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">canard à la presse</i> there and their wines are -excellent. Besides we can’t drive to the Bella Riva -every evening.”</p> - -<p>“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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Cirque privé</i> 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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Cirque -privé</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>The man had a gay acidity which delighted me.</p> - -<p>Barfleur merely contemplated the ceiling of the lobby -where we were gathered while Sir Scorp rattled on in -this fashion.</p> - -<p>“I expected to get tickets for the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Cirque privé</i>—” he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">274</span> -soothed and added suggestively, “It will cost at least -twenty francs to drive over to the Bella Riva.”</p> - -<p>“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.)</p> - -<p>“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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Cirque privé</i>. -Come now. Do be reasonable. Dreiser ought to see -something of the restaurant life of Monte Carlo.”</p> - -<p>As usual Barfleur won. We <em>did</em> go to the Café Princess. -We <em>did</em> have <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">sole Normande</i>. We <em>did</em> have -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">canard à la presse</i>. We <em>did</em> have some excellent wine -and Barfleur was in his glory.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_275" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">275</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">WE GO TO EZE</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">The</span> 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.</p> - -<p>While I was gazing at the morning sun and the blue<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">276</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t mean it?”</p> - -<p>“I certainly do.”</p> - -<p>“In what way have I shown myself sybaritic?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Entrez!</i>”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” he exclaimed grimly, “here he comes. The -gourmet’s guide to Europe!”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">277</span></p> - -<p>“You are, anyway!” commented Scorp.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">278</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">279</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">280</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Sit down, El Greco,” I commented, “and note the -beautiful view. This should delight your esthetic soul.”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“I found a waiter here who used to serve me in the -Café Royal in London,” observed Barfleur cheerfully.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">281</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">282</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">283</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">canard -à la presse</i> attached to it—no <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">sole walewski</i>.”</p> - -<p>“And see the goose-girl!” I exclaimed, as a maiden -in bare feet, her skirt falling half way below her knees, -crossed the road.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">284</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">285</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">286</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <em>not</em> take tea at -Rumpelmeyer’s. We would dine at The Regence; we -would <em>not</em> dine at The Regence. We would pay I-forget-how-many -louis and enter the baccarat chambers of -the Casino; we would <em>not</em> 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 <em>did</em> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">287</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">canard -à la presse</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no,” protested Barfleur. “We are here for a -pleasant evening. I think it important that Dreiser -should see this. It need not be <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">canard à la presse</i>. We -can have sole and a light Burgundy.”</p> - -<p>So sole it was, and a light Burgundy, and a bottle of -water for Sir Scorp.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_288" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">288</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">NICE</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">Not</span> having as yet been in the <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Cirque privé</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">289</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">290</span> -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.</p> - -<div id="if_i_290" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 31em;"> - <img src="images/i_290.jpg" width="1495" height="1734" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">“My heaven, how well she keeps up!”</div></div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">291</span> -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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">ennui</i> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Now and then some interesting personality—stranger, -youth, celebrity, or other—wins heavily or loses heavily;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">292</span> -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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Cirque privé</i> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">293</span> -something of the surrounding country and then leave -for Italy where I would forget all this.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>However I secured as fine an impression of the beauty<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">294</span> -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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_295" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">295</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX<br /> - -<span class="subhead">A FIRST GLIMPSE OF ITALY</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">My</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">296</span></p> - -<p>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. “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Oui</i>,” she replied, “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">oui, -oui</i>,” and seemed very cheerful over the prospect.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">sang-froid</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">297</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Scorp,” I said, “how could you? Besides, I -am very poor now.”</p> - -<p>“The ruling passion—strong in poverty,” he commented, -and waved me a farewell.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">M’sieur Thomas Cook, il m’a dit—il faut que je -descends à Garaban—pas Ventimiglia—Garaban.</i>” -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">298</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">299</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">300</span> -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 <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">bersaglieri</i>: smart-looking in -long capes, round hats of shiny leather with glossy green -rooster feathers, and carrying short swords.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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, “<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Beaucoup -de retard!</i>” 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">301</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Presently I heard a German explaining to his wife<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">302</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>We were passing through a small Italian town, rich in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">303</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">304</span> -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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">305</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_306" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">306</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX<br /> - -<span class="subhead">A STOP AT PISA</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap b"><span class="smcap1">Baedeker</span> 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?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">307</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">308</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>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 <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">Font</i> -by Guido Bigarelli of Como (1246) and near it the famous -hexagonal <em>PULPIT</em> 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.</p> -</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">309</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">310</span> -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 <em>are</em> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">311</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">312</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">313</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">314</span> -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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_315" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">315</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI<br /> - -<span class="subhead">FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF ROME</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">As</span> 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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">316</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Are you Mr. Dreiser?” he said.</p> - -<p>I replied that I was.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Barfleur told me to say that she was waiting for -you and that you should come right over and inquire for -her.”</p> - -<p>I hurried away, followed by a laboring porter, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">317</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">318</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">319</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">320</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">321</span></p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">322</span> -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 <em>grand</em> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">323</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">324</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">325</span> -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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">326</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_327" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">327</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">MRS. Q. AND THE BORGIA FAMILY</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap i"><span class="smcap1">“I am</span> 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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">328</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I trust I see an unalienated American,” I observed -as Mrs. Barfleur brought her forward, encouraged by her -brisk, quizzical smile.</p> - -<p>“You do, you do,” she replied smartly, “as yet. -Nothing has happened to my Americanism except Italy, -and that’s only a second love.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">329</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">330</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">331</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">332</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">333</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">334</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">335</span> -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.</p> -</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">336</span> -was she and her brother Cæsar, who particularly interested -Mrs. Q., although the aged Alexander amused her.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_337" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">337</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THE ART OF SIGNOR TANNI</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">The</span> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">338</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">339</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">340</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">341</span> -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!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">342</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">343</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">344</span> -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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_345" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">345</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV<br /> - -<span class="subhead">AN AUDIENCE AT THE VATICAN</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">The</span> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">346</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">347</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_348">348</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_349">349</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>I thought, what a change from the days of Gregory -VII and even the popes of the eighteenth century!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_350">350</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_351">351</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_352">352</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_353">353</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_354" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_354">354</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THE CITY OF ST. FRANCIS</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">The</span> 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:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_355">355</span> -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.</p> -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_356">356</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_357">357</span> -latticed windows and doors. My room, I found, gave -upon a balcony which commanded the wonderful sweep -of plain below.</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_358">358</span> -(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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_359">359</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_360">360</span> -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 -<em>in the individual</em> needs to be more fully developed.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_361">361</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>I had to smile.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_362">362</span> -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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_363">363</span></p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_364">364</span> -and the good Abbé was on his knees in a moment praying -solemnly.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_365" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_365">365</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI<br /> - -<span class="subhead">PERUGIA</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">We</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_366">366</span> -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!”</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_367">367</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_368">368</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_369">369</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>You could stand, your arms resting upon some old -brownish-green wall, and look out over intervening fields<span class="pagenum" id="Page_370">370</span> -to distant ranges of mountains, or tower-like Assisi and -Spoleto. The variety of the coloring of the plain below -was never wearying.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_371" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_371">371</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THE MAKERS OF FLORENCE</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">With</span> 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;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_372">372</span> -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 <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">facino</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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 <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">piazza</i> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_373">373</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_374">374</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_375">375</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>It was so strange to find driven home to me,—even -more here than in Rome, that illimitable gulf that divides<span class="pagenum" id="Page_376">376</span> -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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_377">377</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_378">378</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_379">379</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_380" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_380">380</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">A NIGHT RAMBLE IN FLORENCE</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">Whatever</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_381">381</span> -head of Medusa. A strange genius, that. This figure -is as brilliant and thrilling as it is ghastly.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_382">382</span> -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.</p> - -<p>I was not so much impressed by the interior of the -cathedral. Its beauty is largely on the outside.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_383">383</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Rome for sculptures, frescoes, jewel-box churches, -ancient ruins, but Florence for paintings and the best -collections of medieval artistic craftsmanship.</p> - -<p>In the Uffizi, the Pitti, and the Belle Arti I browsed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_384">384</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div id="if_i_384" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 46em;"> - <img src="images/i_384.jpg" width="2220" height="1551" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">I sated myself on the house fronts or backs below the Ponte Vecchio</div></div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_386">386</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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. <em>They</em> 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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_387" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_387">387</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX<br /> - -<span class="subhead">FLORENCE OF TO-DAY</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">It</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_388">388</span></p> - -<p>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 <em>as originals</em> -and charge you outrageous prices.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_389">389</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“What about the Italian’s idea of progress? Isn’t -he naturally constructive?” I asked Mr. Jesuram.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_390">390</span> -have noted for themselves but of which, nevertheless, -I feel called upon to speak.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_391">391</span> -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:</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes. There it is. What was <em>she</em>, anyhow? -He was a Roman general, I think, and <em>she</em> 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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_392">392</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_393">393</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p class="in0"> -<i>My Dear Dreiser</i>: -</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_394">394</span> -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.)</p> - -<p>Margaret’s motives are simply childish curiosity, possibly -combined with a slight desire to give pleasure to the Holy -Father.</p> - -<p>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.</p> -</div> - -<p>No serpent was introduced because I couldn’t get the -interview.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_395">395</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_396">396</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Laughter carried I noticed, in some peculiar, echoing -way. The music of the bells was essentially quieting.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_397">397</span> -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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_398" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_398">398</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL<br /> - -<span class="subhead">MARIA BASTIDA</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">In</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The married Italian lady was small and good-looking -and <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">bourgeoise</i>. Considerably before dinner-time, and -as we were nearing Bologna, she opened a small basket<span class="pagenum" id="Page_399">399</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>A little later, when it was drawing near the meal time, -I said, “Do you speak English?”</p> - -<p>“<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Non</i>,” she replied, shaking her head.</p> - -<p>“<i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Sprechen Sie Deutsch?</i>”</p> - -<p>“<i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Ein wenig</i>,” she replied, with an easy, babyish, half-German, -half-Italian smile.</p> - -<p>“<i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Sie sind doch Italianisch</i>,” I suggested.</p> - -<p>“<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Oh, oui!</i>” she replied, and put her head down comfortably -on my coat.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_400">400</span></p> - -<p>“<i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Reisen Sie nach Venedig?</i>” I inquired.</p> - -<p>“<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Oui</i>,” she nodded. She half smiled again.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>She hesitated, and said—“<i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Ich bin nicht hungerich.</i>”</p> - -<p>“But for company’s sake,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Mais, oui</i>,” she replied indifferently.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The time passed. Dinner was over and in several -hours more we would be in Venice. We returned to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_401">401</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“It will be a fine night to see Venice for the first -time,” I suggested.</p> - -<p>“<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Oh, oui! Herrlich! Prachtvoll!</i>” she replied in her -queer mixture of French and German.</p> - -<p>I liked her command of sounding German words.</p> - -<p>She told me the names of stations at which we -stopped, and finally she exclaimed quite gaily, “Now we -are here! The Lagoon!”</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>“<i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Est ist herrlich</i>” (It is splendid), she replied.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_402">402</span> -sighed by turns and fairly glowed with delight and pride -at my evident enslavement to the beauty of it all.</p> - -<p>She was directing the gondolier where to leave her -when I exclaimed, “Don’t leave me—please! Let’s -do Venice together!”</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>And there my adventure ended!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>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!</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>The Grand Canal under a glittering moon. The clocks striking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_403">403</span> -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!</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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!</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_404">404</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<div id="if_i_404" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 34em;"> - <img src="images/i_404.jpg" width="1637" height="2219" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">There can only be one Venice</div></div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_405">405</span> -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?</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_406">406</span> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>Venice is mad about campaniles. It has a dozen, I think, -some of them leaning, like the tower at Pisa.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>I must not forget the old rose of the clouds in the west.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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!</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>Latticework is everywhere, and it so obviously <em>belongs</em> here. -Latticework in the churches, the houses, the public buildings. -Venice loves it. It is oriental and truly beautiful.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_407">407</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_408">408</span> -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>It would be easy to give an order for ten thousand lovely views -of Venice, and get them.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_409" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_409">409</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI<br /> - -<span class="subhead">VENICE</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">Aside</span> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_410">410</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_411">411</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_412">412</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The wonder of this and of every other cathedral like -it that I saw, to me, was never their religious but their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_413">413</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_414">414</span> -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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_415" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_415">415</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLII">CHAPTER XLII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">LUCERNE</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap i"><span class="smcap1">I entered</span> 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;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_416">416</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_417">417</span> -I might always admire its wonders but I could -never love them.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_418">418</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_419">419</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_420">420</span> -and span place, not even in ge-washed and ge-brushed -Germany.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_421">421</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“They probably held up your baggage at the station.”</p> - -<p>“They did more than that to me. I could never depend -on them.”</p> - -<p>“How do you like the Germans?” I asked him.</p> - -<p>“A very wonderful people. Very civil I thought. -The Rhine is beautiful.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_422">422</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_423">423</span> -very quietly at one point, “are artillery and sanitation.” -A fine combination! He left me at midnight, -after several hours in various cafés.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_424" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_424">424</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLIII">CHAPTER XLIII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">ENTERING GERMANY</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">If</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_425">425</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Are those wild ducks I see on the lake flying about?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Why, where can they come from?” I asked. “This -is a long way from the sea.”</p> - -<p>“I know it,” he replied. “It is strange. They come<span class="pagenum" id="Page_426">426</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“They are the same gulls, then?”</p> - -<p>“The very same.”</p> - -<p>I had to smile.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>He looked at me and smiled in a pleased way.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I watched interestedly to see how the character of -the people, soil and climate would change as we crossed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_427">427</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_428">428</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_429">429</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_430">430</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_431">431</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_432">432</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“No,” I said, “I’m not. I’m thinking of Mayen—M-a-y-e-n. -Now you look and see.”</p> - -<p>“There isn’t any such place, I tell you,” he replied -courteously. “It’s Mayence, not very far from Frankfort.”</p> - -<p>“Let me see,” I argued, looking at his map. “It’s -near the junction of the Rhine and the Moselle.”</p> - -<p>“Mayence is the place. See, here it is. Here’s the -Moselle and here’s Mayence.”</p> - -<p>I looked, and sure enough they seemed reasonably -close together. “All right,” I said, “give me a ticket to -Berlin via Mayence.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll book you to Frankfort. That’s only thirty -minutes away. There’s nothing of interest at Mayence—not -even a good hotel.”</p> - -<p>Arrived at Frankfort, I decided not to send my trunks -to the hotel as yet but to take one light bag, leaving the remainder -“<i xml:lang="de" lang="de">im Gepäck</i>” 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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_433">433</span></p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_434">434</span> -and you are so hard-hearted and cruel that you -leave us to roast in the flames when you could so easily -release us.’”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_435">435</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Mayen? Mayen?” he replied. “Why, yes. I -think there is such a place near Coblenz. It isn’t very -large.”</p> - -<p>“Coblenz! That’s it,” I replied, recalling now -what my father had told me of Coblenz. “To be sure. -How far is that?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that is all of three hours from here. It is at -the juncture of the Moselle.”</p> - -<p>“Do you know how the trains run?” I asked, getting -up, a feeling of disgusted disappointment spreading over -me.</p> - -<p>“I think there is one around half-past nine or ten.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_436">436</span> -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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_437" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_437">437</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLIV">CHAPTER XLIV<br /> - -<span class="subhead">A MEDIEVAL TOWN</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">After</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_438">438</span> -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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Mayence?” he asked doubtfully. “Mayence? Oh, -that is a great way from here. Mayence is up the river -near Frankfort.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>He shook his head. “Mayen!” he said. “I don’t -think there is such a place.”</p> - -<p>“Good heavens!” I exclaimed, “what are you talking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_439">439</span> -about? Here it is on the map. What is that? Do you -live here in Coblenz?”</p> - -<p>“Gewiss!” he replied. “I live here.”</p> - -<p>“Very good, then. Where is Mayen?”</p> - -<p>“I have never heard of it,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“My God!” I exclaimed to myself, “perhaps it was -destroyed in the Franco-Prussian War. Maybe there -isn’t any Mayen.”</p> - -<p>“You have lived here all your life,” I said, turning -to my informant, “and you have never heard of Mayen?”</p> - -<p>“Mayen, no. Mayence, yes. It is up the river near -Frankfort.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Where is Mayen?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Mayence?” they said, looking at me curiously.</p> - -<p>“No, no. M-a-y-e-n, Mayen—not Mayence. It’s -a small town around here somewhere.”</p> - -<p>“Mayen! Mayen!” they repeated. “Mayen!” And -then frowned.</p> - -<p>“Oh, God!” I sighed. I got out my map. “Mayen—see?” -I said.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” one of them replied brightly, putting up -a finger. “That is so. There <em>is</em> a place called Mayen! -It is out that way. You must take the train.”</p> - -<p>“How many miles?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“About fifteen. It will take you about an hour and -a half.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_440">440</span> -got to my father’s town or not. Only a dogged determination -not to be beaten kept me at it.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -“<i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Vorwärts!</i>” 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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_441">441</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>As the train pulled into one small station, Metternich -by name, I saw a tall, raw-boned yokel, lounging on the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_442">442</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“Three months—he’ll be fine.”</p> - -<p>They went on reading their papers and I fell to wondering -what they could mean.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“What is that?” I asked the man over the seat. -“What are they doing?”</p> - -<p>“They’ve been drawn for the army,” he replied. -“All over Germany the young men are being drawn like -this.”</p> - -<p>“Do they begin to serve at once?”</p> - -<p>“At once.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_443">443</span> -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—<i xml:lang="de" lang="de">beherrschen</i> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Schloss</i> 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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_444">444</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_445">445</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“I want a room for the night,” I suggested.</p> - -<p>“A room?” he queried, in an astonished way, as if -this were the most unheard-of thing imaginable.</p> - -<p>“Certainly,” I said. “A room. You rent rooms, -don’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, certainly, certainly. To be sure. A room. -Certainly. Wait. I will call my wife.”</p> - -<p>He went into a back chamber, leaving me to face several -curious natives who went over me from head to toe -with their eyes.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>I heard no reply.</p> - -<p>Presently he came back, however, and said in a high-flown, -deliberate way, “Be seated. Are you from -Frankfort?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and no. I come from America.”</p> - -<p>“O-o-oh! America. What part of America?”</p> - -<p>“New York.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Let me leave my bag here,” I said, anxious to escape,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_446">446</span> -“and then I will come back later. I want to look around -for awhile.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_447">447</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“<i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Hier ruht im Gott</i>” (Here rests in God), or “<i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Hier -sanft ruht</i>” (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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p class="p1 b1 center larger wspace"> -Here Rests<br /> -Theodor Dreiser,<br /> -Born 16—Feb—1820.<br /> -Died 28—Feb—1882.<br /> -R. I. P. -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_448">448</span></p> - -<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.</p> - -<p>Besides this, there were the graves of my father’s -brother John, and some other Dreisers; but none of them -dated earlier than 1800.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_449" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_449">449</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLV">CHAPTER XLV<br /> - -<span class="subhead">MY FATHER’S BIRTHPLACE</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">It</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Why, yes, yes,” he remarked briskly, “what will -you have?”</p> - -<p>“What <em>can</em> I have?”</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>“I will have a steak, if you don’t mind and a cup of -black coffee.”</p> - -<p>He bustled out and when he came back I threw a new -bomb into camp. “May I wash my hands?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>There was much clattering of feet overhead. I heard -a door being opened and things being moved. Presently<span class="pagenum" id="Page_450">450</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Dreiser, Dreiser?” he said. “Is he in the furniture -business?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. That is what I should like to find out. -Do you know of any one by that name?”</p> - -<p>“Is not that the man, Henry,”—he turned to one of -his guests—“who failed here last year for fifty thousand -marks?”</p> - -<p>“The same,” said this other, solemnly (I fancied -rather feelingly).</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_451">451</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“So you are from America,” he observed. “I would -like very much to talk with you some more.”</p> - -<p>“Let me ask <em>you</em> something,” I replied. “Do you -know any one here in Mayen by the name of Dreiser?”</p> - -<p>“Dreiser—Dreiser? It seems to me there was some -one here. He failed for a lot of money. You could -find out at the <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Mayener Zeitung</i>. Mr. Schroeder ought -to know.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_452">452</span> -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 <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Mayener -Zeitung</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_453">453</span> -was harvested, is still—thanks to dryness, so the local -savant assured me—fertile, and if planted would grow! -Talk of suspended animation!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_454" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_454">454</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLVI">CHAPTER XLVI<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THE ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap b"><span class="smcap1">Before</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>In due time Madame A. arrived and her recital, as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_455">455</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>“You mean all?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“All,” I said.</p> - -<p>“Thirty marks,” she replied.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t that rather high?” I said, assuming that it -was wise to bargain a little anywhere.</p> - -<p>“But this is very early spring,” she said. “These are -the very first we’ve had.”</p> - -<p>“Very good,” I said, “but if I should take them all -would you put a nice ribbon on them?”</p> - -<p>“O-o-oh!” she hesitated, almost pouting, “ribbon is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_456">456</span> -very dear, my good sir. Still—if you wish—it will -make a wonderful bouquet.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <em>quite</em> ready. Is the machine here,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_457">457</span> -Marie? Oh, very good. And Herr Steiger! O-o-oh!” -This last to a well-known violinist who had arrived.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Quite,” I replied.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_458">458</span> -weak in the <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">allegro ma non troppo</i>—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.</p> - -<p>Some artist and his wife did not agree (very surprising); -the gentleman was the weaker instrument in this -case.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_459">459</span> -and drawing out a few sprigs of the lilac wore those -instead. “Now I can play,” she exclaimed.</p> - -<p>Deep breathings, sighs, ecstatic expressions.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“Of course! What else did you expect?”</p> - -<p>“Are there any other restaurants besides those of the -Frankforter Hof?”</p> - -<p>“I think not.”</p> - -<p>“How will you get rid of your friends after the performance?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I shall send them away. You take a table anywhere -you like and I will come. Make it twelve -o’clock.”</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_460">460</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>Just as her none too subtle flattery was beginning to -work, she remarked casually, “Do you know Mr. Barfleur -well?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, fairly well. Yes, I know a little something -about him.”</p> - -<p>“You like him, don’t you?”</p> - -<p>“I am very fond of him,” I answered, my vanity deflating -rapidly.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“In New York.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“You will visit me in Berlin?” she was saying. “I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_461">461</span> -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!”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_462" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_462">462</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLVII">CHAPTER XLVII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">BERLIN</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap b"><span class="smcap1">Berlin,</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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 <em>are</em> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_463">463</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">dolce far niente</i>, 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_464">464</span> -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.</p> - -<div id="if_i_464" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 34em;"> - <img src="images/i_464.jpg" width="1624" height="1656" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">A German dance hall, Berlin</div></div> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_465">465</span> -literally <em>everything</em>, was American new—and -newer—German new! And the cabbies were the largest, -fattest, most broad-backed, most thick-through and -<i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Deutschiest</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_466">466</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I remember standing and looking one evening at that -noble German effort known as the memorial statue of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_467">467</span> -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 <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Dom</i> 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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_468">468</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_469">469</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_470">470</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_471">471</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_472">472</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <em>always</em> get a seat. -Please notice this word <em>always</em>. There are three classes -and you can <em>always</em> get a seat in any class—not the first -or second classes only, but the third class and particularly -the <em>third</em> 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.</p> - -<p>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 <em>are</em> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_473">473</span> -“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 <em>free</em> -and the home of the <em>brave</em>. Rather I think you will begin -to feel that we are getting to be the land of the <em>dub</em> -and the home of the <em>door-mat</em>. Nothing more and nothing -less.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_474" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_474">474</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLVIII">CHAPTER XLVIII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THE NIGHT-LIFE OF BERLIN</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap b"><span class="smcap1">During</span> 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, <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">en -famille</i>, and young men and their girls.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>In Berlin every one drinks beer or the lighter wines—the -children being present—and no harm seems to come<span class="pagenum" id="Page_475">475</span> -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 <em>president</em>, <em>vice-president</em>, or -<em>secretary</em> of something, we in America have so often no -real diversions.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_476">476</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“But what about the Café de Paris at Monte Carlo?” -I suggested, remembering vividly the beauty and glitter -of the place.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Very good,” I replied, “this must be very fine. -Lead on.”</p> - -<p>So we went.</p> - -<p>I think Herr A. was pleased to note how much of my -skepticism melted after passing the sedate exterior of -this astounding place.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_477">477</span> -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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_478">478</span> -twenty marks the bottle in Berlin is high. You can get -a fine suit of clothes for seventy or eighty marks.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_479">479</span> -not impress me. From there I went to Grunewald and -strolled in the wonderful forest for an enchanted three -hours. That was worth while.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_480">480</span> -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!</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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. <em>They</em> would -talk to <em>me</em>. 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_481">481</span> -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. <em>Swine-hound!</em> He -should tend to his duties!”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“We will change all that in ten years,” replied the -other. “We are going after that trade. They need -up-to-date German methods.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“In Russia the conditions are terrible. They do not -know what life is. Such villages!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_482">482</span></p> - -<p>“Do the English buy there much?”</p> - -<p>“A great deal.”</p> - -<p>“We shall have to settle this trade business with war -yet. It will come. We shall have to fight.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>Do these things suggest the German sense of self-sufficiency -and ability? They are the commonest of the -commonplaces.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div id="if_i_482" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 45em;"> - <img src="images/i_482.jpg" width="2145" height="1528" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">Teutonic bursts of temper</div></div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_484">484</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I have never been able, quite, to straighten out for -myself the magic of what followed—its stirring effect.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_485">485</span> -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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_486" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_486">486</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XLIX">CHAPTER XLIX<br /> - -<span class="subhead">ON THE WAY TO HOLLAND</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap i"><span class="smcap1">I came</span> 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 <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Packträger</i> 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!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_487">487</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <span class="smcap">A. M.</span>, 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!</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_488">488</span> -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. <em>Life seen through a temperament! that is the -miracle of art.</em></p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_489">489</span> -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 <i xml:lang="de" lang="de">Zeitgeist</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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 <em>to me</em> all that -<em>I</em> can really hope for in art—those last final reflections -of halcyon days which are the best that life has to show.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_490">490</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_491">491</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_492">492</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He turned to go.</p> - -<p>“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!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_493">493</span> -You have at least eight hundred gulden worth of luggage -there.”</p> - -<p>He had turned and was surveying me again. “It -can’t be done,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Impossible!” I cried. “I must have it. Why, I -haven’t a cent. You must trust me until to-morrow -morning.”</p> - -<p>“Give him twenty gulden,” he said to the clerk, wearily, -and turned away.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_494" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_494">494</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_L">CHAPTER L<br /> - -<span class="subhead">AMSTERDAM</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">Amsterdam</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_495">495</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>It was while I was in Amsterdam this first morning<span class="pagenum" id="Page_496">496</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_497">497</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t be too sure.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_498">498</span> -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 <em>may</em> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_499">499</span> -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 <em>average</em> 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 <em>must</em> -and <em>is</em> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_500">500</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_501" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_501">501</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_LI">CHAPTER LI<br /> - -<span class="subhead">“SPOTLESS TOWN”</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap al"><span class="smcap1">At</span> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_502">502</span> -the charm of a great private estate, beautifully kept and -intimately delightful.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_503">503</span> -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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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 <i>Spotless Town</i>—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.</p> - -<p>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 “<i xml:lang="de" lang="de">dronken schnappe</i>.” 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_504">504</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">ménage</i>. 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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_505">505</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_506">506</span> -Holland about it—but it was different enough from -France also to be interesting on its own account.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_507" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_507">507</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_LII">CHAPTER LII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">PARIS AGAIN</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap b"><span class="smcap1">Once</span> 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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">facteurs</i> -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 -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">facteur</i> 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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">pourboire</i>. “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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_508">508</span> -could have been arranged for this day or evening. While -I was meditating on my sins of omission and commission, -a <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">chasseur</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_509">509</span> -Switzerland must have been charming as passing pictures. -Where did you stop in Amsterdam?”</p> - -<p>“At the Amstel.”</p> - -<p>“Quite right. An excellent hotel. I trust Madame -A. was nice to you?”</p> - -<p>“She was as considerate as she could be.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>The geniality and romance that lightened Barfleur’s eye,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_510">510</span> -as he thought of the exquisite beauty of England in the -spring, faded, and his face became unduly severe.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_511">511</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">savoir faire</i>, the life understanding, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_512">512</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <em>home</em>.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Barfleur and I truly kept step with Paris these early<span class="pagenum" id="Page_513">513</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_514">514</span> -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.</p> - -<p>The lady in question was rather remote—as an English-woman -<em>can</em> 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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_515" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_515">515</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_LIII">CHAPTER LIII<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THE VOYAGE HOME</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">The</span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <span class="locked">begins—</span></p> - -<p class="p1 b1 center"> -“When shepherds pipe on oaten straws—” -</p> - -<p>And then London once more and all the mystery of -endless involute streets and simple, hidden, unexplored<span class="pagenum" id="Page_516">516</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_517">517</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Well, Wilkins!” I exclaimed.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I vote for the light Burgundy,” I said.</p> - -<p>“Done. I will speak to Dora now.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_518">518</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Still, I was glad to be going home.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_519">519</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="tb">* * * * *</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The third day we were out news came by wireless -that the <i>Titanic</i> 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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_520">520</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>We arose and followed him out on deck.</p> - -<p>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 <i>Titanic</i> 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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_521">521</span> -I promised the man upstairs. It might get him in -trouble.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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 <span class="locked">spot—”</span></p> - -<p>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 <i>Titanic</i>, 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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>It was a trying night.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_522">522</span> -“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.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_523">523</span> -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!</p> - -<p>But as the days passed we began to take heart again. -The philosophers of the company were unanimously -agreed that as the <i>Titanic</i> 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 <i>Titanic</i> went down, -only much farther to the south, our fears had been practically -dispelled.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_524">524</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <em>you</em> and the -so-called universal standards?</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_525">525</span> -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.</p> - -<p>There was a great company at the dockside to receive -us. Owing to the sinking of the <i>Titanic</i> 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?</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_526">526</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And what did you say?”</p> - -<p>“Good <em>night</em>!!!”</p> - -<p>I was sure, then, that I was really home!</p> - -<div id="if_i_568" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 30em;"> - <img src="images/i_568.jpg" width="1411" height="954" alt="" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"><div class="transnote"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_Notes">Transcriber’s Note</h2> - -<p>Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made -consistent when a predominant preference was found -in the original book; otherwise they were not changed.</p> - -<p>Simple typographical errors were corrected; unpaired -quotation marks were remedied when the change was -obvious, and otherwise left unpaired.</p> - -<p>Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned -between paragraphs and outside quotations. In versions -of this eBook that support hyperlinks, the page -references in the List of Illustrations lead to the -corresponding illustrations.</p> - -<p>Cover created by Transcriber -and placed into the Public Domain.</p> - -<p>Redundant book title removed on page before <a href="#Page_3">page 3</a>.</p> - -<p><a href="#Page_8">Page 8</a>: “of a talented and beautiful women” was -printed that way.</p> - -<p><a href="#Page_176">Page 176</a>: “workaday” was misprinted as “wordaday”.</p> - -<p><a href="#Page_496">Page 496</a>: “wordly” was printed that way.</p> -</div></div> - -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<hr class="pgx" /> -<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TRAVELER AT FORTY***</p> -<p>******* This file should be named 65765-h.htm or 65765-h.zip *******</p> -<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> -<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/5/7/6/65765">http://www.gutenberg.org/6/5/7/6/65765</a></p> -<p> -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed.</p> - -<p>Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. -</p> - -<h2 class="pgx" title="">START: FULL LICENSE<br /> -<br /> -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE<br /> -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK</h2> - -<p>To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license.</p> - -<h3 class="pgx" title="">Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works</h3> - -<p>1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8.</p> - -<p>1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.</p> - -<p>1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others.</p> - -<p>1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States.</p> - -<p>1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:</p> - -<p>1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed:</p> - -<blockquote><p>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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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.</p></blockquote> - -<p>1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.</p> - -<p>1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work.</p> - -<p>1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.</p> - -<p>1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License.</p> - -<p>1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.</p> - -<p>1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.</p> - -<p>1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that</p> - -<ul> -<li>You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation."</li> - -<li>You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works.</li> - -<li>You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work.</li> - -<li>You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.</li> -</ul> - -<p>1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.</p> - -<p>1.F.</p> - -<p>1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment.</p> - -<p>1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE.</p> - -<p>1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem.</p> - -<p>1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.</p> - -<p>1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions.</p> - -<p>1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause.</p> - -<h3 class="pgx" title="">Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm</h3> - -<p>Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life.</p> - -<p>Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org.</p> - -<h3 class="pgx" title="">Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation</h3> - -<p>The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.</p> - -<p>The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact</p> - -<p>For additional contact information:</p> - -<p> Dr. Gregory B. Newby<br /> - Chief Executive and Director<br /> - gbnewby@pglaf.org</p> - -<h3 class="pgx" title="">Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation</h3> - -<p>Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS.</p> - -<p>The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/donate">www.gutenberg.org/donate</a>.</p> - -<p>While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate.</p> - -<p>International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.</p> - -<p>Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate</p> - -<h3 class="pgx" title="">Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works.</h3> - -<p>Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support.</p> - -<p>Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition.</p> - -<p>Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org</p> - -<p>This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.</p> - -</body> -</html> - |