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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bac362d --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #53690 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53690) diff --git a/old/53690-0.txt b/old/53690-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b95f3e9..0000000 --- a/old/53690-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4572 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Lamia's Winter-Quarters, by Alfred Austin, -Illustrated by George S. Elgood - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: Lamia's Winter-Quarters - - -Author: Alfred Austin - - - -Release Date: December 7, 2016 [eBook #53690] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAMIA'S WINTER-QUARTERS*** - - -E-text prepared by Charlene Taylor, Les Galloway, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images -generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) - - - -Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this - file which includes the original illustrations. - See 53690-h.htm or 53690-h.zip: - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/53690/53690-h/53690-h.htm) - or - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/53690/53690-h.zip) - - - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/lamiaswinterquar00austuoft - - -Transcriber’s note: - - Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - - Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). - - - - - -LAMIA’S WINTER-QUARTERS - - -[Illustration:] - - - * * * * * - - IN THE SAME SERIES - - THE GARDEN - THAT I LOVE - - BY - - ALFRED AUSTIN - - WITH 16 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS - IN COLOUR - - BY - - GEORGE S. ELGOOD, R.I. - - ORDINARY EDITION, PRICE =7/6= NET - - EDITION DE LUXE, PRICE =21s.= NET - - “The illustrations are worthy of the book, which - is one of the most charming books about a garden - in the language.”—_Daily Chronicle._ - - “This sumptuous edition will enhance the - appreciation even of this much-appreciated book.”—_Aberdeen - Free Press._ - - - PUBLISHED BY A. & C. BLACK, LONDON - - - AGENTS - - AMERICA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 64 & 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK - - CANADA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY OF CANADA, LTD. 27 RICHMOND STREET WEST, - TORONTO - - INDIA MACMILLAN & COMPANY, LTD. MACMILLAN BUILDING, BOMBAY 309 BOW - BAZAAR STREET, CALCUTTA - - * * * * * - - -[Illustration: ‘AND OUT OF A VALLEY OF GRAPE AND GRAIN THERE - BLOSSOMS A CITY OF DOMES AND TOWERS’] - - -LAMIA’S WINTER-QUARTERS - -by - -ALFRED AUSTIN - -Author of ‘The Garden That I Love,’ ‘In Veronica’S Garden,‘ ’Haunts of -Ancient Peace,’ and ‘The Poet’S Diary’ - - - - - - - -[Illustration: Colophon] - -London -Adam and Charles Black -1907 - -This Edition is issued with the kind consent of -Messrs. Macmillan & Co., Ltd. - - - - -[Illustration] - - - Introduction - - TO - - THE EDITION ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE S. ELGOOD, R.I. - - -‘I observe,’ said Lamia, ‘that another of those somewhat numerous prose -performances of yours, that are more or less remotely connected with -Gardens, and which you were pleased, without any previous consultation -with me, to entitle _Lamia’s Winter-Quarters_, is, like the first -of the series, _The Garden That I Love_, to be issued in an equally -luxurious form, and to be illustrated by the attractive talent of Mr. -Elgood. But since this project, to which my attention was called by -that now universal source of information, advertisements, has been -alluded to, do you mind telling me why you called our delightful -sojourn in a Tuscan villa overlooking Florence my winter-quarters -rather than the Poet’s winter-quarters, or Veronica’s, or, for that -matter, even yours?‘ - -Somewhat embarrassed, I replied: - -‘To have called the book my winter-quarters would have savoured of -egotism, and would, moreover, I fear, have failed in attractiveness.’ - -‘But against Veronica’s name, or the Poet’s, no such objection would -lie?‘ - -‘Perhaps not,’ I said. ‘But possibly from living with them, to say -nothing of you, I have acquired a habit of respect for the fact; and it -was more consonant with truth to call the winter-quarters yours.’ - -‘How is that?’ she asked. - -‘Well, you see, Veronica does what the Poet wishes, and the Poet does -what you wish, and so——’ - -‘I beg to say,’ she interrupted, ‘_that_ is not the fact. _I_ do what -the _Poet_ wishes.’ - -‘Is not that much the same thing?’ I replied. ‘You always seem to have -the same wish about everything. So I suppose you felt precisely as he -did when he wrote those adulatory lines which I saw in the public -prints, a few days ago, under the heading, “A Poetical Impromptu.”‘ - -‘Really! He wrote no such, nor indeed any, lines, never having seen nor -heard of the lady in question, in his life.’ - -‘Is it possible?‘ ‘Everything of that kind is possible in these days.’ - -‘But did he not contradict it?‘ ‘Did he contradict! Like a good many -other men, he would have to keep a Secretary for no other purpose than -to contradict what is reported in the papers, and most of which they -probably never see. I should think he turned the opportunity to better -account by recalling a couplet of Pope— - - ‘Let Dennis charge all Grub Street on my quill, - I wished the man a dinner, and sate still.’ - -‘But,’ I said, ‘are not such inventions calculated to injure the -influence of the prints that resort to them?’ - -‘I should think so,’ she said, honouring me for once by talking -seriously. ‘But whose, and what, influence is not being injured -just now by their own misdoings? The House of Commons, for instance, -though more written and talked about than ever, has long been losing -influence, and the Press is now following suit; and it is the silent, -or comparatively silent, persons and forces that are acquiring or -increasing influence; the Monarchy, the House of Lords, and——’ - -‘The House of Lords!’ I exclaimed. ‘I thought it was going to be -abolished, or to have its very moderate claims yet further curtailed.’ - -‘Did you?’ she answered. ‘Then your thoughts are not of much value. I -daresay it would be difficult to persuade Politicians that Shakespeare -was wiser than all the sons of the Mother of Parliaments put together; -and what does he say? - - ‘Take but degree away, untune that string, - And mark what discord follows. - -And so long as the British nation continues on the whole to be sane, it -will never consent to take “degree” away, in order to fasten on itself -a dead level and a tyrannical uniformity.‘ - -I was so flattered by Lamia having, in a short space of time, -condescended to talk seriously with me, that I thought a favourable -opportunity had arisen for preferring any request that I wanted her to -grant. Encouraged by this feeling, I ventured to say: - -‘A great adornment and advantage to the forthcoming volume would be -a portrait of the person whose name is associated with it; in other -words, a portrait of Lamia.’ - -‘So it has come to that!’ she replied. ‘Not satisfied with having -travestied me in—let me see—yes, one, two, three, four, five successive -volumes, _The Garden That I Love_, _In Veronica’s Garden_, _Lamia’s -Winter-Quarters_, _Haunts of Ancient Peace_, and _The Poet’s Diary_, -you now propose to vulgarise my ideal loveliness and magnetic -personality in order to gratify the curiosity of a number of persons -who have never seen me, and never will. Let me never hear of such a -proposal again. As the little boy said, “Myself is my own”; and, if it -please you, part of - - ‘...the gleam, - The light that never was on sea or land, - The consecration, and the Poet’s dream.‘ - -‘Your wish is my law,’ I hastened to say, and was about to snatch at -the first subject I could think of to ward off further reproof, when -she held out a little posy of Penzance sweet-briar roses she had been -wearing, saying in her sweetest manner, as though afraid she might -have wounded me, ‘Are they not lovely? No, keep them, if you care to -do so. They remind me of something I saw the other day, when, on my way -to London for a few hours, the train halted between Waterloo Station -and Charing Cross at a point overlooking a number of back plots and -alleys of the humblest description; and the one immediately below me -arrested my gaze. There were two short rows of the purest white linen, -lately out of the wash-tub, hanging out to dry; and under them, a -hammock, with a chubby baby in it, fast asleep. A few feet behind was a -red-brick wall, and along its foot three rows of pelargoniums in full -flower, and evidently most carefully hoed and watered. A comely looking -woman, with her sleeves tucked up as far as they would go, came out -of the house, peeped into the hammock, kissed, or rather hugged the -baby, and then turned it round to screen it a little from the direct -rays of the sun that were shining on this little paradise. Then the -train moved on; and I thought to myself, with a feeling of quiet joy, -that neither the garden that we love, nor the Tuscan garden that was -our winter-quarters, nor all the gardens and palaces in the world, -contain more happiness than those few yards of ground in one of the -humblest parts of London, tenanted by linen hung out to dry, three rows -of pelargoniums, a hammock with a sleeping child in it, and a loving -mother.’ - -‘I wish I had seen it,’ I said. - -‘I described it to the Poet,’ Lamia replied; ‘and he then did indulge -in an Impromptu, which—let me think a moment—yes—ran somewhat like this: - - ‘How blest are they who hunger not - For riches or renown, - And keep, within a narrow plot, - A country heart in town; - - ‘Who envy not, though lowly born, - Luxurious lives above, - But blend with toil, renewed each morn, - The bliss of blameless Love.’ - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - -List of Illustrations - -BY GEORGE S. ELGOOD, R.I. - - - 1. ‘And out of a valley of grape and grain there - blossoms a City of domes and towers’ _Frontispiece_ - - FACING PAGE - - 2. ‘Peach-trees ablow’ 10 - - 3. Baveno and Isola Pescatori, Lago Maggiore 18 - - 4. Orange Grove, Mentone 22 - - 5. Pear-blossom, Maritime Alps 40 - - 6. ‘Between the mountains and the sea’ 52 - - 7. Florence 60 - - 8. A Tuscan Villa 64 - - 9. A Noble Fountain 80 - - 10. Peach, Plum, and Pear-blossom 84 - - 11. Florence 88 - - 12. Roses and Iris 100 - - 13. ‘Everywhere are roses, roses’ 118 - - 14. Our Tuscan Garden 138 - - 15. Through the Olives, Florence 150 - - 16. Larkspurs 160 - -_The head and tailpieces throughout the volume are from pen and ink -drawings by William Scott._ - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - -INVOCATION - - -I - - Where Apennine slopes unto Tuscan plain, - And breaks into dimples, and laughs to flowers, - To see where the terrors of Winter wane, - And out of a valley of grape and grain - There blossoms a City of domes and towers. - - -II - - Teuton, Lombard, and grasping Gaul, - Prince and Pontiff, have forced their way, - Have forded the river, and scaled the wall, - And made in its palaces stye and stall, - Where spears might glisten and war-steeds neigh. - - -III - - But ever since Florence was fair and young, - And the sun upon turret and belfry shone, - Were her windows bannered and joy-bells rung, - When back to his saddle the Stranger sprung, - And lances were lifted and pikemen gone. - - -IV - - Yes, ever and ever till you, my Queen, - Came over the sea that is all your own, - When the tear on the tip of the vine is seen, - And the fig-tree cressets have flamed to green, - And windflower wakened, and tulip blown. - - -V - - Then roses were showered before your feet, - And her lily-crowned gonfalons waved above, - And children chanted in square and street, - ‘All hail to the Monarch may free men greet, - Whose sceptre is Peace, and whose Throne is Love.’ - - -VI - - And now that each snow-torrent foams and falls, - And the oreoles sing and the skylarks soar, - And the lithe swallow circles her rose-white walls, - Through the clefts of the Apennine Florence calls, - ‘More welcome than Spring,’ come back once more! - - -VII - - ‘Come back, for the cuckoo is on its way, - And the mountains, smiling, await your smile; - And still in my olive-groves bask and stray, - Till the warm-winged waters and winds of May - Shall waft you back to your own loved Isle.’ - - I CEDRI, - PIAN DI RIPOLI, FLORENCE, - _Lady-Day, 1898_. - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - -LAMIA’S WINTER-QUARTERS - - -‘Where is Lamia?’ - -The inquiry is one not infrequently made; for, while most of us can -vanish without being missed, some favoured individuals there are whose -disappearance at once excites a sense of loss; and Lamia is one of -these. The question, I need scarcely say, was put by Veronica; since -the Poet maintains a fine irresponsible attitude respecting others as -well as about himself, and, however anxious I may be to keep sight of -Lamia, I am hardly so simple as to betray my desire. But, responding -with sincere alacrity to Veronica’s question, I protested I had not the -faintest notion where she was, but would at once go in search of her. - -Veronica’s solicitude was, I suspect, prompted by that deep-seated -regard for decorous behaviour, which, far from leaving it at home, -she had carefully brought abroad as peculiarly applicable to foreign -parts and Continental manners. She is well aware that, in the matter -of social observances, Lamia is capable of almost any enormity; -and her absence from the morning-room of the hotel in the southern -seaport where we were making our first halt, inspired her with natural -misgiving. - -The search, as it turned out, was not a long one. Lamia I found seated -under a tall white-flowering magnolia in a leafy garden hard by, where -oleanders already well set for bloom, though still far from their -flowering season, and trees that for some unknown reason English people -call mimosas, but which they should learn to speak of as acacias, and -various evergreen shrubs of stately stature, concerning which I should -not at present like to be too closely cross-questioned, offered a -sufficient protection against the burning December morning sun, while -permitting occasional glimpses of deep-blue sky. Ostensibly, she was -having a further polish put on her brown leather shoes by a black-eyed, -black-haired, tawny-skinned urchin, who entered into her humour with -true Southern adaptability, and who would have gone on performing his -quite unnecessary office as long as ever the young lady desired. For -the moment, I think, she had forgotten all about him, for she had three -oranges in her lap,—‘One for each of you,’ she said,—and was delicately -dividing the other for her own delectation. A large spray of Parma -violets, fastened to her attractive person, I need scarcely say exactly -where they should be, completed her recent purchases. - -‘Do you mind asking Veronica to come and see me?’ she said, ‘for I -never was so happy in my life.’ - -I bethought me of the somewhat stern interrogatory, ‘Where is Lamia?’ -and merely observed that Veronica was superintending the final -operations of the maid in the matter of repacking, and probably would -wish not to be disturbed. - -‘How strange!’ said Lamia, ‘and how tastes differ! The smell of canvas -covers and leather straps is particularly disagreeable to me; whereas -the island of Zante itself could not be more fragrant than the scent -of these violets and oranges, to say nothing of the magnolia flowers -overhead, and that delightful son of the sunshine at my feet. And to -think that, say thirty-six hours ago, I roused you and the Poet from -your slumbers to look upon a snow-white world! I daresay you will think -me very capricious, but _this_ is the garden that I love.’ - -‘_Les absens ont toujours tort_,’ said the Poet, emerging from a shady -avenue behind her. At the sound of his voice she rose somewhat hastily, -as though a performance quite good enough for me was scarcely consonant -with the half-courtly veneration she entertains for him; gave the -oranges in her lap and a franc-piece to the smiling young urchin, who -thought her more fascinating than ever, and said reproachfully, ‘Then -why do _you_ absent yourself?’ - -‘That was hardly what I meaned,’ he replied. ‘I was referring rather -to the position of inferiority you assign to the garden that we love, -because it is now far away from us. But you are quite right, and are -going to Italy in the proper spirit. Whatever you see there, admire -consumedly, and you cannot be far wrong.’ - -‘Are we not in Italy already?‘ ‘Almost. Its vestibule is Provence.’ - - * * * * * - -I suppose it is because we are very simple folk, and lead at home a -rather primitive life, that we find everything new which most other -people find familiar, and so many things attractive that the bulk -of the world treat as undeserving of attention. Along that magical -coast, where we turned our gaze first to the sea-fringe, then to the -hill declivities, then back again to the white-laced bays, and never -being able to determine which were the more beautiful, I observe that -persons who have travelled many hundreds of miles in order to enjoy -the sunshine and glamour of the South, are well content to make this -entrancing journey in a railway carriage, pulling down the blinds if -the sun be a trifle too hot, and conning their newspaper or turning -over the leaves of some conventional novel, in any case. That was not -our way of travelling, which was a good deal more leisurely and more -old-fashioned. We should have liked to find ourselves behind Veronica’s -ponies, but our hired vehicle did well enough; and, while we never -asked our cheerfully communicative driver to quicken his pace, we -frequently begged him to slacken it, and over and over again bade him -halt altogether. Although, save to Lamia, the road was no new one, we -all alike had fresh unsophisticated eyes for it, and all of us found -it a veritable wonder-world. Indeed, I could not help reflecting that -we behaved very much as we behave at home in the garden that we love, -declaring that the last blue creek, or the last secular olive-grove, -was the most wonderful we had yet seen, for no better reason than that -it _was_ the last. - -‘And they told me,’ said Lamia, ‘that the scenery is so monotonous, and -that bay follows bay, and mountain repeats mountain, with provoking -uniformity. Why, there are not any two alike. I only wish human beings -were as diverse.’ - -‘It all depends,’ said the Poet, ‘whether you look lovingly or -unlovingly, passionately or dispassionately. One must be intoxicated by -scenery, in order to appreciate it. Tranquil survey is not enough, and -scrutinising curiosity is fatal.’ - -‘I am sure,’ said Lamia, ‘Veronica is not intoxicated. She is -tranquillity itself.’ - -‘Veronica, you mean,’ was his reply, ‘does not effervesce. But her -silence is, perhaps, the measure of her emotion.’ - -‘O stop! stop! I _must_ have some of those anemones.‘ How often a -kindred need of this kind arose on the part of Lamia, it would be -hard to say; but, by degrees, every part of the carriage that was not -occupied by ourselves was filled with tulips, windflowers, roses, and -long branches of early-flowering golden acacia. - -‘You baby!’ said Veronica, ‘what are you going to do with them all?’ - -‘You shall see, when luncheon-hour has arrived.‘ ‘Which I think it now -has,’ I ventured to suggest. - -Thereupon we came to a standstill; the driver took bit and bridle off -his willing little nags, and replaced them with well-filled nose-bags, -while we unloaded our hampers, that were as commodiously as they were -generously stocked. The unpacking of them went on under the skilful -direction of Veronica, who would no more have dreamed of allowing us -to lunch _al fresco_ without spotless table-cloth, neat napkins, and -all the apparatus of civilisation, than in her parlour at home. But -she allowed Lamia to select the spot; and the choice, though made -from romantic rather than from practical impulse, proved to be not -wanting in comfort. Under a carob-tree, the first Lamia had ever seen, -the cloth was spread; and then she scattered rather than arranged her -lately gathered flowers, with infinite taste. A short distance away, as -we looked under the olive-trees across the ruddy clods and accidental -wild-flowers, were the innumerable dimples of the amiable sea; and, -did we turn our heads, slopes of terraced fertility mounted gradually -toward deciduous clusters of woodland, and peaks of more accentuated -pine. - -‘Will it be very unromantic,’ asked Lamia, ‘to seem hungry? Because if -it would, as I should not like to hurt any one’s feelings, I can sate -the edge of appetite with bare imagination of a feast, or, at most, -with the unsubstantial pageant of a mandarin orange.‘ Veronica’s reply -was to cut some solid slices of galantine of fowl, and to tell me to -do the same to one of those long rolls of crisp crust which contrast -so favourably with the semi-barbarous baker’s bread of our own beloved -island. The Poet, as of right, withdrew the tow from the withy-bound -flask of ruby wine, saying to me, and to me only, as he did so, -‘_Siccis omnia nam dura deus proposuit_.’ It was our first open-air -meal under the southern sky; and even Veronica, who, as we all know, is -rather on the side of indoor festivity at home, could not protest that, -in the shelter Lamia had chosen for us, it was a touch too cold for the -pleasant and perfectly safe satisfaction of our appetite. - -‘Is it always like this?’ asked Lamia. - -‘Far from it,’ I was going to reply; but the Poet anticipated me. - -‘Yes, always, Lamia! always, always, always! No one deserves to travel -who anticipates anything less agreeable than what he is enjoying at the -moment. Should it ever be different, let us hope we shall know how to -meet it. Meanwhile, let us think as little as possible of to-morrow.’ - -‘We can all see,’ said Lamia, ‘that such was the spirit in which you -travelled in your youth. In your rhythmical record of the journey -which you took—not with Veronica, I believe,—along this meandering -coast-line, there is never a stanza, a line, even a word, to indicate -that the myrtle ever ceases to bloom, or that the sun ever forgets to -shine.’ - -‘You forget there is a terrific storm,’ said Veronica, whose -acquaintance with the Poet’s verse, though less frequently exhibited, -is, I must confess, a good deal more intimate than Lamia’s. - -‘Yes,’ said Lamia, quite undisconcerted, ‘only to disappear with the -return of dawn, and never to be heard of again; and thenceforth we are -told of nothing but genial airs, temperate sunshine, almond-trees and -peach-trees ablow, and oleanders reddening into bloom.’ - -‘You must remember,’ said the Poet, ‘that the journey was made in -the very flush and heyday of the Spring; and, if I have in any way -exaggerated what I then beheld, was it not the proper exaggeration of -rapture? It is the instinctive function of Art to reject, to select, -and rightly to magnify what remains. Looking back, I seem to have -omitted much, but to have exaggerated nothing. Have you not observed -that the first impression we receive of scenery, as, indeed, of people -likewise, is the one that abides with us? Many times since, I have -beheld this tract betwixt mountain and main veiled in mist, dimmed by -dust, even powdered with snow. But I always think of it as I saw it -first.’ - -[Illustration: ‘PEACH-TREES ABLOW’] - -‘Do you often think of Olympia?’ Lamia took courage to ask, seeing the -Poet so effusive. ‘Was she very lovely?’ - -‘She was lovely beyond words,’ he answered, readily responding to her -humour. ‘In fact, my recollection of her is that she was as perfect as -the scenery in which she moved and had her being.’ - -‘How nice! I wish I had been Olympia, except that she seems to have -had rather a scanty allowance of luggage for a longish journey, and -no appetite to speak of, seeing that, if I remember rightly, she was -quite satisfied with a missal and some dried figs. I fear, after all, I -should have been but ill equipped for the character.‘ Veronica, to show -her displeasure at Lamia’s levity with things deemed sacred, had risen -from the olive bole on which she was sitting, and moved towards the -sea. Lamia, quick to take a hint, went on, but with an altered voice: - -‘Tell me, dear Poet, what took you first to Italy.’ - -‘An irrepressible longing. It was first aroused in me, I think, by -reading, in tender years, Arnold’s _History of Rome_, whereby I -believed as firmly in the Palatine she-wolf, the leap into the Curtian -Gulf, the Rape of the Sabine Women, and the nocturnal interviews of -Numa and Egeria, as in any of the immediate facts of one’s schoolboy -existence; nor did the iconoclastic criticism, with which one perforce -made acquaintance later on, in any degree shake that cherished -credulity. What romantic prose originated, was consummated by yet more -wizard verse. To no mediæval scholar was Virgil more of a magician than -to me, and not even Dante would say of him with more truth— - - _Tu se’ lo mio maestro e il mio autore._ - -I kept repeating, long before I could translate them into action, the -words addressed by Æneas to his immortal Mother, when she appeared to -him in the guise of a huntress in the Carthaginian forest, _Italiam -quaero patriam_; for already it seemed to be a second fatherland. And -when, at length, the moment arrived that the longing could be indulged, -the only words I could find to express my joy were— - - _Tendimus in Latium, sedes ubi fata quietas - Ostendunt._ - -‘Stop, stop,’ said Lamia, ‘I wish I understood Latin, but you know I -don’t.‘ - -‘Then,’ he replied, ‘do as I did before I first went to Italy, being -then much of the age that you are now. I bought the best Italian -grammar I could find, and worked at it as a schoolboy is made to work -at the elementary rules of a dead language. I studied the dictionary -in like manner; so that, when I went to the new land, I might not long -feel quite a stranger there.’ - -‘The very thing I have been doing, until my brain seems a repository -for the various inflections of the subjunctive mood; and, as Veronica -corrects my pronunciation, I hope, by the time we reach Latium, to -be more or less understanded of the people. But please do not let us -concern ourselves with either my shortcomings or my accomplishments; -but rather tell me, while I make you some coffee in this windless -atmosphere, how you first went to Italy, and when.‘ ‘It is a long story -and will occupy some little time.’ - -‘And so will the making of coffee, if it is to be made properly,’ said -Veronica, who had now returned to us, and to whose superior powers -Lamia only too willingly surrendered that delicate task. - -‘One likes to think,’ he began, ‘that Heaven interests itself in one’s -training; and so I used self-flatteringly to conceive that a special -care arranged the conditions under which one first beheld the shore -of Liguria. I had taken boat at Marseilles direct for Leghorn; and, in -ordinary circumstances, we should have passed some thirty-six hours on -the open sea, far from sight or surmise of land. It was, therefore, -through no intelligent design of one’s own, but through the sheer -bounty of the gods, that the engine broke down a few hours after we -had left Marseilles, but not so completely but that we could continue -our journey. The result was that we had to hug the shore nearly the -whole way. It was the September equinox, and the moon was full; so -night and day we gazed on that bewitching coast; bay after bay, town -after town, village after village, mountain-range after mountain-range, -unfolding themselves to my untravelled gaze. In the course of our -present journey, we shall pass ever and again through gloomy arcades -and narrow ways whose unseemly aspect will probably shock Veronica -and perhaps please none of us. But distance, the enchanter, presented -them to me then as consisting mainly of granite palaces and marble -belfries; and in every fold of every hill nestled villages that seemed -built of porphyry, and wherefrom soared, intermediaries between earth -and heaven, many-storied _campanili_, whose chimes, as they pealed -for _Angelus_ or _Ave Maria_, we could sometimes faintly hear. There -was no cloud in the sky, scarce a ripple on the water, nothing but -sunlight or moonlight in the air. Sleep would have been a desecration -of so ethereal a scene; and I well remember watching the rounded moon -wax paler and paler as the morning sun reddened up over the wave, and -then sink, as in despair of rivalry, behind the hills.‘ ‘O, I say, it’s -boiling!’ said Lamia. - -I hope everybody knows that, in making coffee, that is exactly what -it should not be allowed to do; and I fear Lamia had a malicious -pleasure in finding Veronica for once at fault. I cannot but suppose -that Veronica had heard the foregoing story many times before, but she -catches fire so readily from any one’s enthusiasm for Italy, that she -had almost allowed the coffee to do the same. But she so deftly rescued -it from hurt, that, unheeding of Lamia’s exclamation, he went on: - -‘I saw, what we shall not see, many a form of half-mysterious -loveliness flit by me under flowing veil down the steps of narrow -streets in the Ligurian Capital,—for we touched for a few hours -at Genoa,—and heard, what we shall not hear, jovial-looking monks -vociferating Vespers in the Baptistery at Pisa; and then, Lamia, then! -I was borne, I scarce know how, along _Val d’ Arno_ through unending -vineyard-avenues that seemed to have dyed the leaves with the colour -of their purple fruit, and amongst which sun-bronzed youths, who -appeared to disport rather than to toil, were singing love-songs to -gaily-kirtled maidens. The fawn-coloured _bovi_ oscillated homeward to -the wine-vat, dragging after them the grape-piled _carri_ with their -wooden wheels; children and lizards, seemingly of kindred race, twisted -in and out among the workers; and, stately of stature and sober of -mien, dark-haired matrons stood outside their spacious but unluxurious -homes, plaiting straw with rhythmically-moving fingers that never -seemed to tire. Then came hills more rounded, softer declivities, -a gradual narrowing of the plain, a forest of domes, belfries, and -towers, and I was in Florence.‘ - -‘Why was your visit so brief?’ - -‘You ask why. Can one give a reason for anything one does in one’s -youth? Only I remember, as I reluctantly quitted it, I vowed to return -to it ere long.‘ - -‘And you kept your vow,’ said Veronica. - -‘I remember,’ said Lamia. - -‘You remember what?’ I asked. ‘You must have been in your cradle.’ - -‘Then I suppose,’ she replied, ‘I was extraordinarily precocious. - - ‘The sickle hath performed its work, - The storm-gusts sweep the aspens bare, - Careering clouds and shadows mirk - Cow the disheartened air. - - ‘No swallow circles round the roof, - No chirp redeems the dripping shed; - The very gables frown reproof, - “Why not already fled?”‘ - -‘Lamia is very unmerciful,’ said the Poet, ‘and does not allow one to -forget the sins of one’s youth. But it is quite true that, before the -leaves had fallen, one was again on one’s way to Italy; not along this -sybaritic coast, but through the austere gorges, now green, now gray, -of the Simplon. When, having left the summit behind us, we zigzagged -downward, the mountains began to wear a gentler aspect, the vegetation -seemed more ample and more unrestrained, the air more soft, the sky -farther off and more ethereal; and suddenly I caught sight of a huge -granite cross, on the outstretched arms of which was deeply cut the -word _Italia_! I trembled with delight; and, from that hour to this, -the word “Italy” has never lost its magic. On we deviously descended, -past slopes of intermittent chestnut groves whose leaves, fantastically -faded, had not yet fallen, till my driver exclaimed, “Eccolo! Signore!” -and there basked Baveno by the edge of the lake in the setting sun, and -the Borromean Islands seemed rather floating in the air than resting on -the water. It was a true Saint Luke’s summer, where all things seemed -stationary in a season of arrested change before the winter winds -should arise and everything pass away. I have never again seen Nature -in a mood of such absolute abstraction and self-contemplation; and -she communicated to one’s spirit her own autumnal detachment from the -seasons that are feverish with growth, and the seasons that are shaken -by decay.‘ - -The description of suspended animation in the natural world seemed to -infect us with a kindred tranquillity, and for awhile there followed it -a sympathetic silence. - -‘I know,’ said Lamia at length, ‘your aversion to the curiosity of -the interviewer. But is it permissible to ask if it might not be worth -while to record some such reminiscences as you have just recited; in a -word,—do not be angry with me,— to do what so many other people have -done, and to write an autobiography?’ - -[Illustration: BAVENO AND ISOLA PESCATORI, LAGO MAGGIORE] - -‘I have written it,’ he said. - -‘And when shall you publish it?’ - -‘Dear Lamia, it is published already.‘ ‘I do not understand,’ she said, -‘for certainly it is unknown to me.’ - -‘I fancy not,’ he replied. ‘Indeed, I gather that you have paid me the -compliment of reading much of it more than once.’ - -As Lamia still seemed puzzled, Veronica broke in with a slight touch of -impatience: - -‘You are scarcely as intelligent as usual, Lamia. Surely what he means -you to understand is that a man’s works are his autobiography.‘ - -‘Exactly. But enough surely—perhaps somewhat too much—of that subject; -and our little horses are ringing a carillon with their bells, as if to -remind us it is time we were again on our way.’ - -‘One moment,’ said Lamia, raising her hand deprecatingly. ‘Before we -quit this first fair spot of rest in Southern air, grace must be said -for our _al fresco_ repast. You know what form we like that grace to -take. Be it as brief as you will, but it must be in verse.’ - -‘We are not in Sicily,’ he said, ‘nor am I Theocritus. But Veronica -asked me the other day if I could give her some idea of the short -pastoral idylls written two thousand years ago, which not all of us can -read, but of which all of us have heard. I am not so presumptuous as -to suppose I have succeeded in responding adequately to her wish; but -perhaps our almost Sicilian surroundings, and the indulgent temper of -the hour, may confer on the attempt something of the appropriateness it -would otherwise lack. - - ‘Shepherd swains that feed your flocks - ‘Mong the grassy-rooted rocks, - While I still see sun and moon, - Grant to me this simple boon: - As I sit on craggy seat, - And your kids and young lambs bleat, - Let who on the pierced pipe blows - Play the sweetest air he knows. - And, when I no more shall hear - Grasshopper or chanticleer, - Strew green bay and yellow broom - On the silence of my tomb; - And, still giving as you gave, - Milk a she-goat at my grave. - For, though life and joy be fled, - Dear are love-gifts to the dead.’[1] - - [1] The Poet has since told me that these lines are a free paraphrase - of an idyll by Leonidas of Tarentum, who lived in the time of Pyrrhus. - -Then up we got, and onward we went, past rocks, and waves, and -arbutus, and white heath,—not the white heath of home, but towering -and flowering fifteen or even twenty feet into the air,—and _Cineraria -maritima_, and Bacchic ivy, groups of eucalyptus and acacia, and -glimpses of hill and sky, with here and there a hurrying zigzag -torrent. What seaweed there was, was golden, and the surging and -swirling of the silvery water over and among it and the red rocks -was strangely beautiful. The liliputian waves kept coming on and -breaking, as in any other sea, but never advancing. As Lamia said, -what motion there was seemed purposeless motion, resembling the sport -of children rather than the work of grown-up people. But her greatest -delight was yet to come; for, late that afternoon, she beheld the -first orange-grove glittering and glistening on the sunny outskirts of -a gray-roofed little town, whose bright green _jalousies_ more than -relieved what would otherwise have seemed its somewhat sombre aspect. -Thoughtful Veronica made her take the seat in the carriage where she -might command them best, and her spoken raptures were what we all, -though more travelled than she, silently felt. - -‘O, the Garden that you love is nothing, nothing, nothing, compared -with this, which is not a garden at all, but a fairy grove of light and -lustre. Do let us stop and pluck some of the golden fruit!’ - -‘Better not,’ said Veronica, ‘for doing so might dissipate your dream. -They are lovely to look at, but indifferent to the taste. Neither is -it their best season. Wait to gather oranges till, if ever, you are at -Sorrento in the heart of May.’ - -‘Yes,’ said the Poet, ‘these are well enough; but they are a feeble -imitation of their fellows in the real South, the true Ausonia.’ - -Lamia was as ready to believe everything she was told as to admire -everything she saw; and her only lament was that, even though moving at -a leisurely pace, beautiful scene after beautiful scene was withdrawn -from her gaze along that winding road, almost before she could really -behold it. - -[Illustration: ORANGE GROVE, MENTONE] - -There came a stage in our journey which, as you may suppose, was not -by any means one of a single day, when I felt certain a question would -arise likely to lead to some difference of opinion, and I was curious -to see how it would arrange itself. But, like Lamia herself, who was -the person mainly interested, I carefully avoided all allusion to -it. She, with infinitely more tact, as becomes a woman, kept gradually -and dexterously leading up to it, while seeming to be quite unconscious -of it, and indeed as if moving in quite an opposite direction. - -‘Now,’ said Veronica, with that perfect freedom from afterthought or -unspoken inner thought so characteristic of her, ‘now we turn inland -and ascend. Say good-bye to the coast-line, which you will not see -again till we reach the summit.’ - -‘And say good-bye likewise,’ added the Poet, ‘to the Provençal tongue, -that seems to bear much about the same relation to French that the -Venetian dialect bears to Italian, and to have retained the indefinable -charm of flowers, perfume, and poetry that hovered round the cradle of -modern verse, and has been handed down to us from the lips of lovely -ladies and obeisant troubadours.’ - -Lamia showed no appreciation of these observations, as I could well -perceive, and went on inwardly concerting a well-calculated strategy of -her own. - -‘How long will it take us,’ she asked, with apparent unconcern, ‘to -reach the summit?’ - -‘Perhaps a couple of hours.‘ ‘And to descend?’ - -‘To descend where?’ asked Veronica, who, I think, began to suspect what -was fermenting in Lamia’s mind. - -‘Anywhere,’ answered Lamia. ‘I mean where we reach, as you said, the -coast-line again.’ - -‘An hour perhaps,’ I said. - -Then followed a short interval of silence or truce, broken by Lamia, -who, far too strategic to attack the question in front, was now -evidently meditating a flank movement which interested me greatly. - -‘Do you remember my once saying that I wished I were a poet?’ - -‘Dear Lamia, I can only say to you, as one so often has to write to -unknown correspondents who send one verse, the intention of which is -better than its execution,— - - ‘To have the great poetic heart - Is more than all poetic fame.‘ - -‘But, when one has neither,’ she replied, bringing her forces rapidly -into action, and resolved at all costs to turn Veronica’s position, -‘it is so nice and so advantageous to be taken about by one who has -both.’ - -To the Poet himself, I am sure, this seemed rather wide of the mark; -but it was just one of those complimentary exaggerations which Lamia -invariably employs when she wants to propitiate Veronica. - -‘By one who has both,’ she went on, ‘and accordingly is everywhere -vouchsafed a welcome not only for himself, but for all who travel in -his train. It was not _very_ comfortable last night at that picturesque -_locanda_; and I confess I am looking forward to the prosaic domestic -comforts that are promised us this evening.’ - -I confess I did not follow the workings of her mind, and almost -began to suspect that I had imputed to her a design of which she was -innocent. But I was quickly confirmed again in my original surmise. - -‘Was this country very different when you saw it first from what it is -now?’ - -‘Well, yes, and no,’ replied the Poet, falling into the trap. -‘Different where Pleasure and Fashion have invaded it: not different -where Nature maintains her native dominion. Along the road, then the -only one, we are now ascending, nothing seems to be altered. What -change _has_ taken place you will perceive very shortly, when we arrive -at the summit. Then one looked down only on the austere towers and -jutting promontory of a rock-bound sea-moated Principality. Now,—but -never mind!’ - -‘But I _do_ mind. I am greatly interested in these changes.’ Then -suddenly, ‘Veronica! Has it not struck you that we shall arrive at our -journey’s end to-day in the middle of the afternoon, when you know you -never like guests to present themselves? Do you not think it would be -better if we got there towards tea-time?‘ - -‘Yes, I think it would; and we can easily loiter along the road.’ - -‘Dear Veronica!’ said Lamia in her most impulsive accents and her most -irresistible manner, ‘_do_ let us loiter _there_ then, if only for an -hour!’ - -‘Where?’ said Veronica. - -‘O, you know what I mean. _There!_’ - -‘But we should have to retrace our steps.‘ ‘A couple of miles only,’ I -said, seizing the opportunity to curry favour with Lamia. - -‘It is odious,’ said Veronica. - -‘It certainly is,’ added the Poet; ‘the most offensive place I know.’ - -‘It was not _Spiaggiascura_, was it!’ exclaimed Lamia in a tone of -pathetic tenderness I never heard equalled, laying her hand gently on -the Poet’s arm. ‘If it was, of course, I will not ask it.’ - -‘No, it was not Spiaggiascura,’ he replied. ‘Better to think of that as -a name that has no local habitation.’ - -Lamia had conquered. That last inimitable touch of pathos, which -was moreover, I am sure, entirely sincere, had disarmed Veronica’s -scruples and the Poet’s fastidiousness. By the time three more hours -had gone by, we had seen it all, and were sitting under a brown awning, -partaking of iced coffee to the strains of a Hungarian band. - -‘I am afraid I rather like it,’ said Lamia. - -‘Why should you not?’ said the Poet. - -‘Not the gambling, surely?’ asked Veronica. - -‘Not the gambling, dear Veronica, so long as I have you at my side to -buttress my somewhat shaky virtue.’ Then turning to me, ‘You know, of -old, that I have low tastes.’ - -‘Well,’ observed the Poet, ‘I confess that an earnest desire to be -indulgent to whatever is human has never succeeded in eradicating the -feeling that gambling is the lowest of all human diversions; and, -though here you need neither share nor even see it unless you wish, it -seems to me to cast its ignoble shadow over the entire place, and to -dethrone it from the majestic position with which Nature originally -invested it. It has infected the architecture, vulgarised the -sea-front, corrupted the very air, and exercised a malefic influence on -manners.’ - -‘And it has certainly spoilt the looks of the men and women,’ said -Lamia. ‘I never saw so many ugly people as round those fascinating -tables.’ - -‘Gambling would make any one ugly,’ said Veronica. - -‘Then I will never gamble,’ said Lamia. - -‘Let us leave this,’ I ventured to suggest, ‘and sit among the -flower-beds, somewhat too artificial though I allow they are.’ - -‘They look combed and curled,’ said Lamia. ‘I am sure I am quite as -natural as they are.’ - -‘Dante had so exhaustive an imagination,’ observed the Poet, when we -had shifted our position, ‘that it is not easy to suggest any form -of repugnant penalty not to be met with in the _Divine Comedy_. But -I think what is colloquially called a Hell might be added to his -repulsive Circles. What Lamia said just now is strikingly true. -The place has a malign effect on people’s appearance. Look at those -respectable persons—for I am sure they are such—trying to appear almost -the reverse. Great-granddaughters of the Pilgrim Fathers are collected -here, just as cold no doubt as their grandmothers, but striving to seem -otherwise. Looking back to those years when I first wandered along -this lovely region, when this place had neither existence nor name, I -cannot but regret the simplicity that has passed away. Nor can I think -it is well for the idlers of material civilisation to parade their -opulent _ennui_ before a primitive people whom they will probably end -by infecting with their restlessness and their discontent.‘ - - ‘I can see,’ said Lamia, ‘this is my first and last visit to this -vicious Circle.’ - -‘Come, then,’ he answered, rising, and we all did the same, ‘and see -how unnecessarily intolerant one can be, and how narrow is the slip -of territory that modern pleasures have filched from peasant life and -rustic toil. In a few minutes we shall be among the olive woods. Are we -not there already? See! bare-headed women are washing the clothes of -their husbands and children in the Grima. Look there, beyond! The goats -are clambering up the precipitous slopes, and browsing on the myrtle. -What now do we behold through sunny openings in dense dark foliage? -Meditating mountains and laughing sea. Let us recant all we have said. -There is room enough in this large world for everybody, and manifestly -quite enough for us. Man has wrung from Nature a slight concession -along the coast, but here, as everywhere, the Hinterland belongs to -Heaven.’ - -There was little exaggeration in the words. An ascent as easy as it -was brief carried us beyond the sights and sounds of what Veronica -had, with just alliteration, stigmatised as ‘cosmopolitan canaille,’ -and shortly we were sitting on myrtle-cushioned boulders, and gazing -out, through gaps in the silvery foliage of the olive-trees, at a sea -unchanged since the days when Hercules is reputed to have traversed it. - -‘Yes,’ said Lamia penitently; ‘I own this is better than the chink of -five-franc pieces, the lavishly gilded ceilings, and the hungry faces -fastened on the gyrations of a whirligig. Yet, the rooms are crowded, -and we have the woods to ourselves. The perversity that governs the -lives of so many of us is, I have often felt, a strong argument -against Free Will; and never seemed it more so than here where, in -the most enchanting spot I have as yet beheld, men and women are most -artificial, and most intent on the ugliest of pursuits.’ - -Thereupon—for have you not remarked that the oldest subjects of -discourse are precisely those which best preserve their freshness?—the -conversation, in this mountain solitude, began to travel, if somewhat -discursively, over trite ground, in the course of which Lamia rather -ingeniously suggested that, as with every other human faculty, our will -is partly free, in part under the sway of necessity. The discussion, if -discussion it can be called, was confined to three of us; for the Poet -remained a silent listener. - -‘Have you nothing,’ said Veronica at length, ‘to contribute to our -deliberations? Can you not give us any help in our perplexity?’ - -‘I almost think I can,’ he said, ‘but not by any formal dialectic. -Yet is not a universal conviction, of which it is impossible for -human beings to divest themselves, as convincing as the most logical -demonstration? Once after listening, by no means for the first time, -to the arguments you have yet again been urging, there came to me the -following reflections:— - - FREE WILL AND FATE - -I - - ‘You ask me why I envy not - The Monarch on his throne. - It is that I myself have got - A Kingdom of my own: - Kingdom by Free Will divine - Made inalienably mine, - Where over motions blind and brute - I live and reign supreme, a Sovereign absolute. - - -II - - ‘Ebbing and flowing as the seas, - And surging but to drown, - Think you that I will pass to these - My Sceptre and my Crown? - Unto rebel passions give - Empire and prerogative? - They are attendants in my train, - To come when I command, and crouch as I ordain. - - -III - - ‘If Will by long succession be - Not arbiter of Fate, - Assail its majesty, and see - If it doth abdicate. - Chains that do the body bind - Cannot manacle the mind. - What fetters may the heart control, - Nor doth the Tyrant live that can enslave the soul. - - -IV - - ‘In Spring, when linnets lift their voice - To praise the Lord and bless, - They are thus punctual of free choice, - Detesting waywardness. - Throughout earth, and sky, and sea, - Law is loving liberty, - That could, but will not, go astray, - And, free though to rebel, delighteth to obey. - - -V - - ‘And Spirit, though encased in clay, - To sense’s grovelling mood - Accepteth not, befall what may, - Ignoble servitude. - In the faggot thrust the torch, - Till the flame-tongues search and scorch. - Calmly the martyr mounts the pyre, - And smiles amid the smoke, and prays above the fire. - - -VI - - ‘Nor is it Fate directs the waves, - Or dominates the wind: - They are God’s servants, not His slaves, - And they surmise His mind. - If the planets walk aright - Though the dim and trackless night, - Nor their true pathway ever miss, - Know ye it is because their Will is one with His!‘ - -An hour or so later, just as mountain and main began to exchange the -resplendent garments of sundown for twilight’s more sober mantle, -Veronica leaned forward, and, pointing to a motionless figure that -with dark flowing plumes and glittering bayonet stood out silhouetted -against the sky, exclaimed: - -‘See, Lamia! You are in Italy.’ - -[Illustration] - - - - -[Illustration] - - -LAMIA’S WINTER-QUARTERS - - -‘I wonder,’ said Lamia, ‘who invented the phrase, “the sunny South”?‘ - -‘A poet, no doubt,’ I answered, with perhaps a slight touch of malice; -‘one who, in Bacon’s phrase, accommodates the shows of things to the -affections of the mind.‘ - -‘That is all very well when you are not in immediate contact with the -things themselves. But here we have been for forty-eight hours, and we -have not seen the sun yet. Tuscany could hardly have behaved worse.’ - -‘All of us, even the most prosaic,’ said the Poet, ‘are makers of -phrases only approximately true; but even to-morrow perhaps you will -have to own that this southward-sloping coast is not undeserving of its -fame.’ - -He proved to be right. The following sunrise rebuked Lamia’s lament; -and, when we assembled at breakfast in our English fashion, she -declared she could have dressed before the open window, had Veronica -but permitted it. - -Still let it be confessed that ‘the sunny South’ is a phrase that -partakes of some exaggeration. The South is sunnier, much sunnier, than -the North; but it, too, can have its days of gloom, and even its weeks -of capricious temper. Moreover, there is South, and South; and, despite -Lamia’s somewhat hazardous assertion that Tuscany could hardly have -been more inclement than it had been in our new quarters for the first -two days after our arrival, there is, as the rest of us well knew, a -vast difference between its winter climate and that of the favoured -region where, for Lamia’s sake, we awhile were halting. - -‘Veronica, you grow more wonderful every day,’ she exclaimed, under the -influence of all-glorifying sunlight. ‘You have discovered a paradise, -by sheer intuition.’ - -It is not the first time allusion has been made to Veronica’s -executive talents. They are so much greater than the rest of us -possess, that, when anything serviceable has to be done, she reduces -us all to insignificance. Without counsel or assistance from any one, -and entirely by correspondence, she had procured for us, for three -months, a home that we all, with enthusiastic sincerity, declared to -be enchanting. If you think that an easy matter, I can only say, ‘Try -for yourselves.’ It is this special difficulty that drives so many -people who spend the winter months in the South of Europe to pass them -in hotels. One and all we had avowed that we would sooner a thousand -times remain at home than resort to that depressing expedient. Yet -pretentious, trim, and conventional villas, with their cut-and-combed -lawns, their formal palm-trees and dracænas, and their beds of -dubious-coloured cinerarias, are the alternative that, for the most -part, remains; and I imagine you know that would have consorted but -little better with our tastes. - -‘I knew what you all wanted,’ said Veronica; ‘but let us,’ she added -modestly, ‘give thanks to Fortune, who has had far more to do with it -than I.’ - -I verily believe that something, moreover, should be ascribed to -the comparative slenderness of our purse and to the simplicity of -our tastes; nor do I pretend that what Lamia flatteringly called a -paradise regained would have been much short of a purgatory to many -splendidly-fastidious people. Our new abode had neither architectural -design nor internal pretension; but the taste of man, in partnership -with time, had given it charm without and refinement within. Do you -remember how, in that search which finally planted us in the Garden -that we Love, we kept recalling the words of Tacitus as applied to -the race whose preferences run so strongly in our own blood: _Suam -quisque domum spatio circumdat_? I hope we have nothing to conceal, -but is not a sense of seclusion necessary to felicity? Unlike folk of -Northern blood, the Latin race, and the Italian race more especially, -have little taste for privacy, and none for solitude. To lean out of -the open window onto the street or highway below, to sit on door-steps -whence they can see and accost chance passers-by, to talk, to sing, to -dance, this is their idea of such happiness as life permits. But the -very spaciousness of their hills, their plains, their valleys, affords -to the more meditative children of the mist even larger facilities than -our own land for gratifying the passion for that ‘life removed’ which -the Duke in _Measure for Measure_, probably expressing Shakespeare’s -own personal taste, says he had ‘ever loved.’ Veronica had found it for -us here. The spurs of the Maritime Alps, as they decline and dwindle -towards the sea, enclose a series of gorges and ravines of various -forms and dimensions. Some are narrow, gloomy, and precipitous, others -gradual, well open to the sun, not too deep-bosomed, and gladdened by -streams that have their source in remoter mountain-sheds. It was in one -of the latter we had discovered the shelter and seclusion we desired. -No wind could visit us roughly; for, if it blew from the north, we -were curtained by the hills, and, should it rage from the sea, we were -just sufficiently away from the shore, and protected enough in that -direction by olive-slopes and orange-groves to be apprised of its -displeasure only by an unusual rustling of leaves. - -‘But what do you propose to do in this ravine of rest?’ Lamia inquired -of me somewhat mockingly. ‘Veronica is never without occupation; and -here she will be abundantly employed in scouring the neighbouring -hamlets for fowls that have not become all bone and sinew by constant -mountaineering, in checking the washing-book, and in raising the moral -tone of the young people along the entire countryside. As for me, a -determination to master the Tuscan tongue will give me rest from the -fatigue of too much idleness; and my new tutor, the young ecclesiastic, -whom Veronica has enticed from the Sacristy for my benefit, is quite -charming, and makes me willing, as he also seems to be, to prolong -indefinitely the time nominally allotted to the most fascinating of -studies. But you? You cannot “garden” here, for the ground seems to do -that of itself; nor, in any case, will you have time to pique yourself -on the result of your labours, which, I have observed, is the main -motive power of those persons who are supposed to love flowers for -themselves.‘ - - -Wishing to divert her playful arrows from myself, I replied that I was -indeed rather gravelled for lack of employment, and so intended to try -if sitting in the sun and doing nothing would supply the deficiency; -and I then added that she had forgotten to include the Poet in the -catalogue of the unemployed. - -[Illustration: PEAR-BLOSSOM, MARITIME ALPS] - -‘O, the Poet?’ she replied. ‘That is _un altro paio di -maniche_,—you see my devoted subdeacon is teaching me the proverbs of -his lovely language,—for he abides in a lofty ether whither I fear -my shafts would never reach him. For anything I can tell, he may be -writing an adorable sonnet when he is tapping the top of an egg-shell -at the breakfast table; and I often suspect he is, in reality, in a -fine frenzy, when he appears to be listening deferentially to one of my -shallowest disquisitions.’ - -‘Would you marry a poet?’ I asked. I should have half liked to make the -inquiry more definite; but for that I had not the courage. - -‘Marry a poet!’ she exclaimed, ‘I should think not indeed. Poor -Veronica! She manages tolerably well with hers, thanks to her good -sense and infinite patience; and perhaps she is not as sorely tried -as she deserves to be for the irreparable experiment to which she has -committed herself. For us women marriage is necessarily the chief -mercantile transaction of our lives; and, if one marries a peer, one -becomes a peeress; if one weds a millionaire, one may hope to be a -million-heiress. But the wife of a poet does not become a poetess. -She cannot share with him his only valuable asset; and the supposed -romantic nature of his disposition, which is usually a sheer fiction, -not unoften diverts from her the curiosity to which every woman is -entitled, and which every woman who marries reasonably invariably gets.’ - -‘But if you happen to love a poet?’ I persisted. - -She quickly made me repent my question. ‘You are unteachable. Love -is a terminable annuity, that ends long before death, leaving one’s -declining days to abject poverty.‘ - -At this juncture I saw Veronica and the Poet coming along the rose -_pergola_, for January roses were pretty abundant with us, and I -inwardly wished they had come sooner, for Lamia would not have dared -to say such things in their presence; reserving, as she seems to do, -her most outrageous utterances for my private benefit. But then, it is -true, I should not in that case have put my useless interrogatories. - -‘Now,’ she said, ‘I am going to burn some incense before the Poet.’ - -‘You know he loathes it,’ I observed. - -‘Do you think I should proffer it so liberally if he liked it? We were -talking,’ she said, addressing him, as he joined us, ‘of how we are -to occupy ourselves in the quiet and unexciting quarters Veronica has -provided for us. You, of course, can write a long poem, and I should -think this is just the place for doing so, though I observe that people -nowadays deprecate the writing of long poems as being out of date.’ - -‘I trust,’ he replied, ‘that will have no influence on their being -written or not being written. Novel reading, I fear, has proved -somewhat injurious to the more serious side of the imagination, and -prose fiction has created a distaste for sustained works in verse. If -Milton lived to-day, _L’Allegro_ and _Il Penseroso_ would perhaps still -be more or less appreciated; but _Paradise Lost_ would of a certainty -be condemned as tedious. Even in his own day it had only fit audience -but few, and few are always enough, if fit.‘ - -‘I hope,’ said Lamia, ‘that we who are here would answer to that -description; yet you never read what you are writing either to Veronica -or to me. I have often wondered what is the reason.’ - -‘The reason is very simple,’ he replied. ‘Veronica is rather difficult, -you are somewhat easy, to please; and, while she might make me too -distrustful, you, dear Lamia, would, I fear, render me too enamoured -of my work. It is best, I think, oneself to be its critic, and as -searching and severe a one as possible; and then to leave it with all -its imperfections on its head, which are sure to be very numerous, but -are at least one’s own.‘ - -‘I wonder,’ she said, ‘how poetry is written.’ - -‘If I could tell you that,’ he answered, ‘you might conceivably take -advantage of the information to become a formidable rival. But, as -far as I can help you, I should say poetry is a natural and indeed -inevitable form of expression, as I suppose music also is, in a certain -mood or state.’ - -‘And how is the state brought about?’ she asked. - -A smile came over his face as he replied: ‘I wish I knew. Perhaps by -consorting with Lamias, when they are not too inquisitive.’ - -Veronica remained seated beside us, while he resumed his walk under the -roses. When he had passed out of hearing, Veronica turned to Lamia a -little austerely, and said: - - -‘There are some persons—usually you are not one of them—who are -perpetually trying to invade the sanctuary of one’s soul, with the -result that one double-locks the doors. Only those who come to worship, -not to scrutinise, are admitted. Have we not already been told,— - - ‘What is it rules thy singing season? - Instinct, that diviner Reason, - To which the wish to know seemeth a sort of treason.’ - -‘And again,— - - ‘Why dost thou ever cease to sing? - Singing is such sweet comfort, who, - If he could sing the whole year through, - Would barter it for anything?’ - -‘Would you like him to sing the whole year through?’ asked Lamia. - -Veronica made no reply; for, though the question was put with an air of -perfect seriousness, it might have been interpreted otherwise. So Lamia -went on: - -‘I suppose I do not understand, because I am not married, and still -less have the felicity to be married to a poet. But, if I were, I fear -I should be exacting enough to wish to be even sweeter comfort to -him than his singing. He paid you a great compliment, Veronica, the -other day, when you were not present; for at the end of an interesting -discussion,—interesting, at least, to me,—he said: “The sum of the -matter is, bad wives are as rare as good husbands.” Yet I confess it -seems to me the worst husband in the world would be one who could find -consolation in perpetual carolling. I would rather he beat me.‘ I need -scarcely say that I heartily sympathised, though without having the -courage to say so, with these sentiments of Lamia, albeit it is not -easy to decide if they were really hers or not. She has a fine Socratic -talent for eliciting information; and she was as successful on this -occasion as usual, for, much to my surprise, Veronica, after a brief -silence, rendered necessary perhaps by the violence of Lamia’s closing -observation, said very quietly: - -‘I should like, if I may, to recite some lines he wrote the other day, -which seem to bear on your misgivings, if but indirectly, and may -perhaps help to diminish them.’ Thereupon she recited, much better, I -thought, than the Poet himself, the following apology:— - - -I - - The lark confinèd in his cage, - And captive in his wing, - Though fluttering with imprisoned rage, - Forbeareth not to sing. - - -II - - But still the strain, though loud and long, - Is but the mock of mirth, - Not that dawn-dewy nuptial song - That weddeth Heaven with Earth. - - -III - - Voice that in freedom seems so soft, - Fettered, sounds harsh and rough. - Listen! He shrilleth far too oft, - Nor faltereth half enough. - - -IV - - And I, still feebler if not free, - Do hourly more and more - Grow silent in captivity, - And, if I sing, must soar. - - -V - - And as the lark’s free carol floats - High on a sea of sound, - So let me fling my random notes - To ripple round and round. - - -VI - - Hark! now he shakes the towering skies, - A carillon of light, - Then dwindleth to a faint surmise, - Still singing out of sight. - - -VII - - And, though in clearest light arrayed - The Poet’s song should shine, - Sometimes his far-off voice will fade - Into the dim divine. - - -VIII - - Then we with following ear and heart - Should listen to the end, - Though we descry may but in part, - And dimly apprehend. - - -IX - - Lo! soon he quits his heavenly quest, - Slow-carolling into sight, - Then, quavering downward, strikes his nest, - Earthward aerolite. - - -X - - So doubt not, dear, that if I soar - Where none longwhile may dwell, - Though Heaven at times may be my home, - Home is my Heaven as well. - - * * * * * - -Notwithstanding Lamia’s anxiety lest we should find ourselves short -of agreeable occupation, our familiarity with a quiet and unexciting -existence enabled us to pass many delightful days, while none were -without their incidents and their pleasures. If I attempted to -describe these, they might possibly appear monotonous to you; but -they were not monotonous to us. Excursions to ruined castles, to -picturesquely-perched villages, to slopes and summits famous for their -wild-flowers, are enchanting to those who make them; but one is hardly -justified in demanding sustained attention for them from others. In -life, as in Art, Nature is an excellent background to the actions and -passions of human beings; and our almost daily quest of natural beauty -was not unattended by experiences that aroused a feeling of pathos, -unsealed the sources of pity, or awakened the always welcome sense of -humour. The young ecclesiastic who was engaged in the agreeable task -of reading Italian with Lamia was good enough to wish that we should -pay him a visit, though he warned us, with much well-bred dignity, that -his home was very humble, and that his reception of us would be equally -so. He lived in an up-and-down hamlet among the hills; and we made the -excursion, Veronica and Lamia on mules, the Poet and I on foot, with -much willingness. Lamia spoke of him as her subdeacon; but I believe -he was as yet only in minor orders. He already wore, however, the -ecclesiastical garb, and he had all the grave demeanour of his destined -calling. He made no secret of the modesty of his origin, and confessed, -with perfect simplicity, that he had chosen the sacerdotal state -because, while having lettered tastes, he could so best support his -mother, who was a widow, and his two young sisters. He had contrived -to pick up several volumes of the classics, which evidently were much -dearer to him than the theological tomes that kept them company; and -he frankly declared that, while deeply attached to his Creed, he -would gladly divest himself of the cassock, if we would only take him -to England, and put him in the way of earning a livelihood by such -agreeable labours as he was engaged on with Lamia. Before we left, he -asked if he might read us one of the many Sonnets he had composed in -his abundant leisure; and it was impossible to listen to it without -feeling that he was animated by that desire to extend the horizon of -his existence, which makes the lives of so many students in Italy, both -ecclesiastic and lay, so deeply pathetic. As we descended the hill, -after visiting with him the unpretending chapel where he would one -day minister, we lapsed into a compassionate silence, which I finally -broke, knowing that we were all thinking the same thing, by repeating, -though rather absently, the lovely if hackneyed Virgilian line:— - - ‘_Sunt lachrymae rerum, et mentem mortalia tangunt_’ - -I could not be sorry that I had done so; for instantly the Poet, -translating the line, said: ‘Yes. - - ‘These are the things that cause the tears to start, - And human sorrows touch the human heart.’ - -‘Did you notice the artificial flowers on the altar?’ said Lamia; ‘and -does it not seem strange the peasants should proffer these, when their -hills furnish them with natural ones, in such abundance, of exquisite -beauty and fragrance?’ - -‘It offends our taste,’ said Veronica; ‘but I suppose the artificial -flowers cost them something, however little, while natural flowers -would cost them nothing save the gathering. They want to give Heaven of -their dearest and their best; and their dearest and best, poor things, -are their small earnings and scant savings.’ - -‘Yes, that explains it,’ I said; ‘just as, when we get to Florence, -you will see the most fashionable of its churches, the _Santissima -Annunziata_, bedizened all over with gold; gold being the dearest and -best thing with the fashionable. Thus, both poor and rich alike are -devout in their separate and distinctive ways.’ - -Do what we would, and divert ourselves in our simple, unpretending way -as we might, we could not help thinking withal of Florence, referring -to Florence, and continually anticipating what Tuscany had in store for -us. Lamia was the most impatient of us all, partly perhaps because she -knew that concern for her alone still kept us from our bourne. - -‘Please do not think,’ she said, one day, ‘that I have not greatly -enjoyed myself here. But what is it—for there is something—that renders -life on this lovely strip of coast between the mountains and the sea, -after a brief sojourn, not quite satisfactory?’ - -[Illustration: ‘BETWEEN THE MOUNTAINS AND THE SEA’] - -‘Surely,’ said the Poet, ‘it is the insufficient presence of the -Past. Every spot in Europe, as a matter of course, has had a Past of -considerable duration; and this lovely tract of country must have had a -chequered, and at times a very exciting one. But its visible relics are -few. The Roman came and made his roads; the Saracen came and ravaged; -feudal bandit harried feudal bandit; and the great bandit of our own -century, Bonaparte, dispatched and sometimes accompanied his armies -along it. But almost the sole vestiges of its vanished vigour and -virility are trivial ruins devoid of architectural beauty; its villages -are situated most picturesquely, but they are as devoid of plastic -beauty as an eagle’s eyrie; their churches are touching in their devout -simplicity, but, alike within and without, lack the impress of the -artist’s mind, the artist’s hand. He has not been here; or, if he has, -the _condottiere_ has destroyed all traces of his work. Look at the -sea. Byron most happily called it ‘the image of Eternity,’ for its -Present is exactly like its Past, and its Future will be only like its -Present. Man can make no impression on it, nor leave on it any trace of -his presence. Therefore, despite its sublimity, most of us at last tire -of gazing on it. It lacks human interest. When it smiles, it enchants. -When it frowns, it overawes. But we cannot take it to our heart; and -something of the heartlessness of the sea attaches to a land where -neither poet, architect, nor painter has bequeathed monuments to remind -us that here man has aspired and striven, here woman consoled and -suffered. But be patient, Lamia. Florence is reserving for you ample -compensation.‘ - -‘And yet you, or Veronica, at least,’ said Lamia, ‘would not let -us take up our quarters at or even near,—but perhaps I had better -not mention the place. Only all you have said seems to justify those -wicked people, who find lemon-gardens and olive-groves insufficient for -happiness, and so have enlivened this lovely but unlively coast with -casinos, roulette-tables, and pigeon-shoots.’ - -‘And even the lemon-gardens and olive-groves,‘I said, ‘are fast -disappearing. As we have observed only too frequently, they are being -ruthlessly cut down, in order that, in their place, _Safrano_ and -_Marie van Houtte_ roses may be grown for Vienna, London, and Saint -Petersburg.’ - -‘And then,’ said Lamia, ‘there will be nothing left but the mountains -and the sea.’ - -‘That will be a considerable residuum,’ said the Poet. ‘I happened to -overhear a dialogue between them the other day, which, if you are so -minded, I shall have much pleasure in repeating to you.’ - -‘By all means,’ said Veronica. ‘Here, we are in the presence of both; -so they will be able to judge if you report their colloquy correctly.’ - - -THE MOUNTAINS - - What ails you, Ocean, that nor near nor far, - Find you a bourne to ease your burdened breast, - But throughout time inexorable are - Never at rest? - - With foaming mouth and fluttering crest you leap - Impatiently towards never-shifting beach, - Then wheel, and hurry to some distant deep - Beyond your reach. - - Nor golden sands nor sheltering combes can slake - Your fretful longing for some shore unknown, - And through your shrineless pilgrimage you make - Unending moan. - - -THE SEA - - Nimbused by sunlight or enwreathed in snow, - Lonely you stand, and loftily you soar, - While I immeasurably ebb and flow - From shore to shore. - - I see the palm-dates mellowing in the sun, - I hear the snow-fed torrents bound and brawl, - And if, where’er I range, content with none, - I know them all. - - Inward the ice-floes where the walrus whet - Their pendent tusks, I sweep and swirl my way, - Or dally where ‘neath dome and minaret - The dolphins play. - - Beneath or bountiful or bitter sky - If I myself can never be at rest, - I lullaby the winds until they lie - Husht on my breast. - -THE MOUNTAINS - - Till they awake, and from your feeble lap - Whirl through the air, and in their rage rejoice: - Then you with levin-bolt and thunderclap - Mingle your voice. - - But I their vain insanity survey, - And on my silent brow I let them beat. - What is there it is worth my while to say - To storm or sleet? - - I hear the thunder rumbling through the rain, - I feel the lightning flicker round my head; - The blizzards buffet me, but I remain - Dumb as the dead! - - Urged by the goad of stern taskmaster Time, - The Seasons come and go, the years roll round. - I watch them from my solitude sublime, - Uttering no sound. - - For hate and love I have nor love nor hate; - To be alone is not to be forlorn: - The only armour against pitiless Fate - Is pitying scorn. - - -THE SEA - - Yet do I sometimes seem to hear afar - A tumult in your dark ravines as though - You weary of your loneliness, and are - Wrestling with woe. - -THE MOUNTAINS - - When the white wolves of Winter to their lair - Throng, and yet deep and deeper sleeps the snow, - I loose the avalanche, to shake and scare - The vale below. - - And, when its sprouting hopes and brimming glee - Are bound and buried in a death-white shroud, - Then at the thought that I entombed can be, - I laugh aloud. - - -THE SEA - - I grieve with grief, at anguish I repine, - I dirge the keel the hurricane destroys: - For all the sorrows of the world are mine, - And all its joys. - - And when there is no space ‘twixt surf and sky, - And all the universe seems cloud and wave, - It is the immitigable wind, not I, - That scoops men’s grave. - - I wonder how the blast can hear them moan - For pity, yet keep deaf unto their prayers. - I have too many sorrows of my own, - Not to feel theirs. - - And when the season of sweet joy comes round, - My bosom to their rapture heaves and swells; - And closer still I creep to catch the sound - Of wedding bells. - - I see the children digging in the sand, - I hear the sinewy mariners carouse, - And lovers in the moonlight, hand-in-hand, - Whispering their vows. - - You in your lofty loneliness disdain - Suffering below and comfort from above. - The sweetest thing in all the world is pain - Consoled by Love. - -After a somewhat lengthened pause, Lamia said: ‘With which do you -sympathise, Veronica? With the mountains, or with the sea?’ - -‘O, with the sea! - - ‘The sweetest thing in all the world is pain - Consoled by Love.‘ - -‘And you, Sir Poet?’ - -‘Surely, with both,’ he answered. - -‘But,’ she persisted, ‘with which of the two, chiefly?’ - -‘I suppose,’ he replied, ‘with the ineradicable selfishness of a man, -one inclines towards the mountains. _Pacem summa tenent._ Serenity -dwells upon the heights.’ - - - - -[Illustration] - - -LAMIA’S WINTER-QUARTERS - - -I heard the Poet’s voice in the balcony, followed by the pushing back -of heavy _persiane_, and then: - -‘Lamia! Come as quickly as you can; I want to show you what you may -never have a chance of seeing again.’ - -There was no reason why, if there was anything new or wonderful to -behold, Lamia and the Poet should have a monopoly of the spectacle; so, -arraying myself as rapidly as I could, I emerged onto the balcony just -as Lamia, in incomplete but most fascinating attire, did the same. - -‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘What hills! What slopes! What villas! But where -is Florence?’ - -‘Wait,’ said the Poet, ‘and you shall see. Like you, dear Lamia, she -is very fair,’—how I wish I had the courage to address her in that -fashion!—‘but, unlike you, she has not yet flowered out of the night.’ - -‘Neither have I, quite, I fear,’ she said, showing, when thuswise -reminded, a quite unnecessary concern respecting her hastily-donned -apparel. - -‘She is veiled, absolutely veiled, as I have never seen her before, -in a, shall I call it, _peignoir_ of white mist, which conceals her -utterly from sight. But look! she is beginning to disrobe her marble -beauty.’ - -‘O, what is that, that surges through the mist?‘ ‘That is the noblest -symbol of civic liberty in the world, the Tower of the _Palazzo -Vecchio_.’ - -‘And that? And that?‘ ‘The topmost tier of Giotto’s Belfry, worthy, by -its sublime simplicity, to serve for the type of all great Art; and, at -its side in the rapidly-clearing ether, the cupola of the Duomo, that -Michelangelo would not copy and could not better.‘Dome after dome, -tower after tower, _campanile_ after _campanile_, surged silently out -of the mist; and, to use the Poet’s I hope not too familiar simile, the -silvery folds of night sank downward to her feet, and Florence stood in -naked loveliness before Lamia’s delighted gaze. Over the eastern hills -came the bright vernal sun, every mountain slope broke into smiles -and dimples, and in the last of its seaward valleys Arno glanced and -gleamed with joy of the expanding dawn. Distance lends enchantment -to the sound as well as to the view, and the clang and clash of -innumerable belfries came modulated through the intervening air, -wherefrom the last lingering trails of mist were gradually wizarded -away. - -[Illustration: FLORENCE] - -Question and answer followed each other in uninterrupted succession. -Yes, that was _San Miniato Al Monte_, with _La Bella Villanella_ hard -by; and that beyond was _Santa Margherita_, neighboured by the villa -in which Guicciardini completed his History. And yes,—Lamia was quite -right,—that was the _Torre del Gallo_, and away to the right and -farther up the hills was the Medicean _Poggio-a-Cajano_, where Lorenzo -wrote his poem on the _Ambra_. Over the matchless panorama of hill and -valley her interrogatories wandered unceasingly, whilst we called on -our recollection to supply the names she asked for. - -Suddenly, other _persiane_ were pushed back, and Veronica joined us. - -‘What are you all doing?’ - -‘Do you remember,’ answered Lamia, ‘the wife of Cosimo, Pater Patriæ, -asking him, when advanced in years, why he so often sate with closed -eyes, and his answering that he did so in order to accustom them to -what they must soon always be doing? I am opening mine thus early, -feeling that, in such a world as this, I shall never be able to close -them again.’ - - * * * * * - -‘It is perfect, absolutely perfect,’ said Lamia, ‘and no wonder -Politian found it so.’ - -‘But did Politian really live here?’ I asked. - -‘Let us be wise enough to think so,’ said the Poet, ‘and it was quite -in keeping with Lorenzo’s magnificence, when that testy scholar, to -whom he had committed the tuition of his sons, quarrelled with Donna -Clarice because she thought she also should have something to say -to their training, to provide him with such a sanctuary. Besides, -in Italy, Tradition is not, as some one has said she is elsewhere, -a toothless old crone with memory half gone, but the trustworthy -depositary of unforgotten glories.‘ - -‘It is more than a tradition,’ said Veronica. ‘Only this morning I came -across a passage from Politian’s correspondence, which would seem to -confirm local legend. Here it is. He is writing to Lorenzo. “When you -are incommoded by the heat of the season at Careggi, you will perchance -bethink you of the shelter of my abode, nor deem it undeserving of your -notice. Nestled in the sloping sides of the hill, we have here water -in abundance, and, being constantly refreshed by moderate breezes, -experience but little inconvenience from the fervour of the sun. As you -approach the villa itself, it seems embosomed in a grove; but, when -you reach it, you discover that it commands a full view of the city. -Though the neighbourhood is not without its denizens, I can here enjoy -the solitude so congenial to my disposition. But I can offer you the -temptation of other allurements. Wandering beyond his own boundaries, -Pico della Mirandola sometimes steals unexpectedly on my retirement, -and draws me from my seclusion to share his supper. What that is, you -well know; modest indeed, but neatly served, and made grateful by the -charm of his converse. But be you my guest. The meal shall be as good, -and the wine better.”‘ - -‘How very philosophic!’ said Lamia. ‘So much so, that the passage was -probably written on the morrow of a certain fascinating young woman, -whose name I cannot remember, but of whom Politian, I have read, was, -notwithstanding his erudition, deeply enamoured, giving her hand to -a rival scholar, though which of them, I need scarcely say, I have -equally forgotten.’ - -‘The great Marullus, I think,’ said the Poet; ‘and your fascinating -young woman was Alessandra, the accomplished daughter of Lorenzo’s -Chancellor, Bartolomeo della Scala, whose house, still standing, you -must remind us to show you in Florence.‘ [Illustration: A TUSCAN VILLA] - -Our first business was to make acquaintance with the immediate -surroundings of the home provided for us by Veronica’s indefatigable -foresight, operating through a protracted correspondence none of us -had been deemed worthy to peruse. The rural architecture of Tuscany is -of a noble simplicity; and, in the main portion of our villa, built in -the course of the sixteenth century, there was no deviation from the -familiar type. But, adjoining it westward, and seemingly of more -ancient date, were an upper and a lower _loggia_ of conventual aspect; -the upper one having a sloping roof of rich red tiles supported by -graceful pillars of _pietra serena_, and the lower one serving as an -Italian equivalent of an English verandah, only more spacious and more -tasteful, in which we could sun or shade ourselves according to the -mood of the weather. Together, they formed an impenetrable barrier -against the well-known keenness of the _tramontana_, while the main -building provided ample shelter against possible inclemency from the -east. To the west our view was over the final valley of the Arno, that -spacious plain of fertile cultivation tenderly protected by hills of -exquisite shape and moderate elevation, on whose bolder ridges stand -historic towns of unmatched picturesqueness; while southward, over -vineyards and olive-groves terraced down precipitously-sloping ground, -we gazed on the domes and towers of the fair Tuscan capital. If one -lives on the side of a hill, one cannot reasonably expect to have a -very vast level expanse for the purposes of a garden. A quadrangular -space of modest dimensions between the house and the low boundary wall, -where the ground began to fall away, was all that had been dedicated -to that pleasurable end; and this afforded Lamia an opportunity of -observing that two such enthusiastic horticulturists as the Poet and -myself would find but few worlds to conquer in so narrow a territory. - -‘Forget,’ I ventured to plead, ‘what it is useless to remember. England -is well enough, and so is Italy, but only on condition that you do -not ask from the one what belongs to the other. I am not quite sure -that the person who is intimately acquainted with both is ever quite -satisfied with either, since it is part of our perverse human nature -mentally to extol what we have not, to the depreciation of what we -have.’ - -‘Is it to a woman you say that?’ observed Lamia, to my complete -confusion. ‘Men preach Philosophy, women practise it; and I shall -probably show myself quite content without your well-filled borders, -while you inwardly, and perhaps sometimes outwardly, long for your -rampant greenery and untidy efflorescence. These _garofani_—you see,’ -she said, turning to the Poet, ‘I know the Italian for carnations,—in -their tasteful pots along the loopholed wall are much more to my taste -than all the straggling annuals and robust perpetuals in the world.’ - -‘I can see,’ he said, kindly coming to my rescue, ‘you have found -your proper home at last. I thought it would be so; and we can only -congratulate ourselves on the result. But now let us explore farther -afield, and we shall probably find that, if we will only use the word -garden in a liberal sense, and indeed in that in which it is used in -the corner of England where we have our home, there is more of it than -we have just rashly assumed.’ - -Thereupon, we passed through a cool, spacious _cortile_, cloistered -on two of its sides, but for the rest open to the sky, and whose only -occupants were a disused fountain and a tall glistening orange-tree -covered with golden fruit, of course of the hardy bitter sort; thence -under an archway festooned with wistaria not yet in flower, and out -into the _podere_, which I must needs call by that name, since there is -no English equivalent for it, and which is nowhere to be seen in such -perfection as in Tuscany. - -‘Indeed, indeed you are right,’ exclaimed Lamia; ‘right as when you -once said that, were it always Spring, one would never garden, even -in England. O this young green corn, with its purple anemones, its -crimson tulips, its pale almond and intensely bright peach blossom, -its fantastically growing fig-trees with their budding tips, its -burgeoning vines and spectral olive-trees, all dwelling together on -the fair hillside that seems to be smiling self-complacently at its -own loveliness! Look at that bank of irises, not yet broken from their -sheath! But when they have, what a sight they will be!’ - -It is always delightful to have one’s feelings expressed by some one -else in language of enthusiasm one might oneself be afraid to employ; -and we accompanied Lamia, as a sort of chorus, echoing all she said, -and only too well pleased to follow in her footsteps, as she wandered -on and on through a world of beauty wholly new to her. - -‘And these lovely grassy paths,’ she said, ‘that lead everywhere and -nowhere, tempting one to travel on in search of something unknown, but -with ever, on either side, more sprouting wheat, more pendent vines, -more crookedly-branching fig-stems, more tulips, more windflowers, -more mountains, more glimpses of towers and belfries in the glittering -distance. In England everything seems to crouch. Here everything seems -to soar.’ - -Lured onward by Lamia’s enjoyment, and mounting by such easy and -gradual slopes that we hardly noticed we were ascending, we suddenly -came to a grassy plateau almost encircled by secular cypresses that are -the distinctive glory of Tuscany; and here we might have been tempted -to halt, had it not been that yet beyond it were rugged paths that -zigzagged among tall, dense bushes of white heath and yellow broom, -both now in full flower; while on shapeless boulders and protruding -rocks were the stars of the white, the yellow, and the rose-coloured -cistus. Here and there we came on sheets of the single pink anemone; -elsewhere, in the more sheltered nooks, were the Apennine wind-flower -which, with due care and choice of position, perhaps you remember, we -have persuaded to flourish in the garden that we love. - -‘As Veronica has told us that we are to lead a life of strict -simplicity,’ said Lamia, ‘we had better do something to make it -graceful; and, if you two will only cut some branches of heath and -broom, I will be equally energetic among the anemones.’ - -We were descending homeward with our lovely spoil, when we heard a -creaking sound well known to me; and, in another moment, we overtook -the slowly-rolling wheels of a wooden wain—of wood, not only in its -low, long body, but of wood throughout, with wooden wheels, wooden -pole, and wooden yoke—drawn by a couple of cream-coloured steers, and -bearing a fragrant load of newly-cut rye-grass. Though at no little -inconvenience and delay, on the incline along which it was moving, -the peasants who accompanied it at once cried a halt, that they might -show their respect to and make the acquaintance of the new-comers. Of -the manifold charms of Tuscany, perhaps there is none so great or so -enduring as the charm of manner peculiar to its rural population. Frank -without being free, deferential but never servile, not without a fine -reserve yet with never a touch of shyness, withholding not a certain -tribute to social superiority, while tacitly intimating the fundamental -equality that appertains to human brotherhood, the demeanour and speech -of Tuscan _contadini_ keep intercourse perpetually fresh, and impart -to conversation on the tritest and most familiar themes perennial -liveliness and interest. Their salutations, frequent though these be, -for they would never think of passing you without one, are divested of -conventionality by their manifest sincerity. They can never see you, -never speak to you, too often; and, whenever they speak, they smile. -For thousands of years, morning has risen upon the world, but without -any diminution in its freshness; and it is the same with their _Buon -giorno, signore_! their _Felice sera, sua signoria_! their _Felicissima -notte, e buon riposo_! their _A rivederla_! and all their ancient -consecrated phrases for conveying their sense of the strong link that -binds human creatures to each other. Every time they say these things, -they mean them; nor do they ever tire of the iterated and reiterated -courtesies of life. The undeferential nod of Northern manners, the -mumbled recognition, the slipshod salutation, would seem shocking to -them, as lacking in human piety. On this occasion, no doubt, natural -curiosity blended with native good-breeding to make them halt in -their labours; for they were, I have no doubt, as eager to make our -acquaintance as we were to make theirs. Yet of visible curiosity there -was not a trace, as they lifted their hats from their beaded foreheads -and remained bareheaded till we begged them to cover themselves. What -they conveyed was a fervour of welcome akin to the glow of an Italian -sun, a welcome that warmed us through and through, and made us feel -that, at that instant, we were forming friendships that, save for some -fault of ours, would last through life. Were we all in good health? -Had we had a fatiguing journey? Were we comfortable and happy in the -villa? They hoped we were going to stay a long time. Could they do -anything for us? Did we love Italy? Had we been there before? O, but it -was evident we had; for we talked their language like one of themselves -(somewhat of an exaggeration, save in the case of Veronica). Yes, the -season was fairly forward, and there was good promise for everything, -given what was now wanted, plenty of sunshine. Commonplaces, you -perhaps will say. Indeed, yes. But which of us in this world is so -surprisingly original? The real originality, in some countries I could -mention, would be amiability, unfailing courtesy in the ever-recurring -trifles of life, a wish to please and to be pleased, and a perpetual -freshening of existence by treating nothing in it as a matter of -course, or as undeserving of recognition and thankfulness. Even the -most original of us are original only sometimes; and, if we are to -consort with each other at all, we must needs indulge in a good deal of -repetition and commonplace. But freshness of manner can make repetition -sound absolutely new, and kindliness of disposition invest the veriest -commonplace with an air that everybody shall take for uncommon. - -It was with difficulty we led Lamia away from her new acquaintances, -not the least attractive of those being the sleek, smooth-coated, -soft-eyed oxen that play so large a part in the picturesqueness as in -the rural life of Tuscany, and that seemed to appreciate the tender -stroking of her hand and the equally soft caress of her voice. - -‘I never felt such a bumpkin before,’ she said, ‘as in the presence of -those gracious peasants. What barbarians they must think us!’ - -‘If they thought that of you, Lamia,’ I said, more struck by the -exaggeration than by the humility of her remark, ‘they certainly -contrived to conceal their impression. Still, speaking generally, rural -Tuscany is a school of manners.’ - -The noble simplicity referred to as the distinguishing mark of villa -architecture in Tuscany, is as dominant in the interior as on the -exterior of its buildings; ample space being their chief feature and -adornment. Unless they have been invaded by modern hands, they depend -for effect on bold outlines rather than on decorative detail; and they -are furnished in harmony with the same severe taste. When Veronica -admonished us that we were to lead a life of strict simplicity, she -referred to this circumstance among others. - -‘I hope,’ she said, ‘you have left your sybaritic tastes at home. You -will find many shapely but no comfortable chairs, no superfluity of -cushions, nowhere a footstool, and, if you choose to lie on what looks -like a sofa, you will soon find you are not reposing on rose-leaves. -You must not come to me and complain that there is not a bell in your -room, or, if there is, that it apparently has no communication with the -outer world. If Lamia wishes to make a mess indoors with her flowers -and branches of blossom, she shall not be denied; but you must not -look for those more permanent graces of life to which you are all so -attached.’ - -‘Don’t mind _me_,‘ said Lamia. ‘I am quite prepared to empty my own -bath, brush my own skirts, answer the bell instead of ringing it, and -live on _fagioli_ and dried _funghi_. Indeed, it was chiefly to indulge -in those unusual luxuries that I came to Italy.’ - -Considering who it is that has created, cherished, and fostered in -us those sybaritic tastes, and that attachment to the graces and -elegancies of life of which Veronica spoke, and with which she told -us we were now to dispense, we may be pardoned, I think, if, at the -first opportunity, we indulged in some private humour at her expense. -If we are demoralised by domestic luxury, who is it but Veronica that -has corrupted us? I protest that most men, in the matter of material -comfort, are absolute Spartans, and, as for the Poet, his native -austerity was once not to be surpassed, and he still indulges from time -to time in his ideal, at any rate in conversation. But he too has, for -the most part, succumbed to Veronica’s unequalled capacity for making -life at once graceful and commodious; and I am not sure that now he -would not, if at home, feel almost wronged if, should he happen to want -a paper-cutter, he had to rise from his chair in order to go in search -of one. - -‘Just you wait!’ said Lamia, ‘and see what becomes of the simple life -to which we are to dedicate ourselves. The first time Veronica goes to -Florence, she will return, I will engage to say, laden with manifold -conveniences of existence, and by degrees she will introduce a world -of things into this splendid vacuum; and if, some fine morning, you -meet a plumber or bell-hanger on the stairs, you need not regard -him as an interloper. Nor would I mind wagering my next quarter’s -dress-money that, before long, you will see me sitting in the easiest -of easy-chairs, and gracefully reposing on the softest of ottomans.‘ - -‘I doubt it,’ said the Poet, ‘for Veronica has a fine sense of the -fitness of things, and her tastes are sufficiently flexible for her to -distinguish between Northern and Southern needs, Northern and Southern -traditions. When Francesco Cibo, the nephew of Innocent VIII., married -Lorenzo’s daughter, and came to Florence with a large and splendid -retinue, he was entertained during the period of the nuptials with the -utmost magnificence. But, at the end of that time, he observed that -all the silver vessels and ornaments, of which there had been such a -profusion, disappeared from the table, and were replaced by others of -brass; and, moreover, that every meal was now served with the utmost -plainness and frugality. Anxious lest his Roman attendants should -carry back to the Eternal City the impression that he had contracted a -union with either a very poor or a very parsimonious family, he sought -to discover how they were faring, and found they were still being -entertained in the most sumptuous manner. The enigma was explained -when Lorenzo said to him, “You are now one of ourselves, and as one of -ourselves I treat you. My grandsire Cosimo used to say to his sons, -‘Remember you are only citizens of Florence, and must reserve what -splendours you can command for the glorification of the City.’ As his -descendant, I obey his injunction.”‘ - -‘Hark!’ I said. ‘Already there are sounds of modern civilisation. The -grass-plot is being mown.’ - -Lamia and the Poet listened, though I think the latter at once guessed -my meaning. - -‘What is it?’ said Lamia. ‘A mowing-machine? I cannot hear it. I hear -only the bleating of sheep.’ - -We passed afresh into the garden, and there was a flock of ewes and -lambs nibbling the sweet short clover, attended by a picturesque -shepherd girl, who carefully kept them off the shrubs, but went on -industriously knitting all the while. - -‘Is not that a simple enough mowing-machine for you?’ I asked. ‘It -attains to even Veronica’s ideal of primitive expedients.‘ - -‘It is as simple and primitive,’ said Lamia, ‘as much of the garden -itself. What a comfort it is to find oneself in a country where’—I -imagine this was intended as a shaft against myself—‘there does not -rage a fidgety mania for perfection. Flowers here are reduced to their -proper subordination in the universe.’ - -Whether Lamia was right or wrong in this conclusion, it must be -allowed that, as a race, Italians have not that tender attachment to -flowers which is universal among ourselves, and that being, contrary -to general belief, far less sentimental and more practical than we -are, they do not care to devote much attention to the growing of -anything that cannot be taken to market and turned into _quattrini_, -or ready cash. Hence, they will willingly grow carnations, freesias, -arum-lilies, lilies of the valley, ranunculuses, and such like flowers -that find a quick sale on the ledges of the _Palazzo Strozzi_, or under -the shadow of the _Municipio_ in the _Piazza della Trinità_. But even -these are so reared that the purchaser alone gets any delectation out -of them, and the spot where they are produced is but little more of -a garden in consequence of their temporary presence. The difficulty -is to induce an Italian gardener to believe that you care for flowers -for their own sake, that you regard the sale of them as a sort of -desecration, that you feel they ought to be love-gifts, tokens of -present or mementoes of absent affection, and, in any case, cherished -companions of one’s private thoughts, one’s habitual pursuits, and -one’s transitory emotions. He cannot understand that you want to -consort with them, to tend them in sickness and health, to cultivate -them for better or for worse, to let them twine and garland themselves -about your inner and your outer life, to make them, in fact, flesh of -your flesh, and spirit of your spirit, till death do you part, when, -with a sweet form of suttee, they will come and immolate themselves -upon your grave. - -This conflict of ideals between the Poet and myself on the one side, -and Ippolito, the gardener, on the other,—for the humblest folk in -Tuscany have classical names, which they imagine to be Christian, and -indeed frequently are so, thanks to some primitive martyr in the Church -Calendar,—began at once, and never wholly ceased. We put our veto on -the sale in Florence of flower or leaf grown on the premises; and as -Veronica, with all her marvellous foresight, had not extended our -contract to these, we had to arrange with him what was to be paid by -us for what would otherwise have been profitable produce. Ippolito’s -calculations were of the most elaborate character; but their complexity -arose solely from his scrupulous desire to do justice as between man -and man. Personally, he had no money interest in the matter; for, -but for what he regarded as our unaccountable tastes, he would have -carried all the saleable flowers twice a week to that charming little -market-place which every visitor to the fair city knows so well, made -the best bargain he could with the purchasing public, and credited -his _padrone_ with the amount received. Selling the flowers, he could -know, to a _centesimo_, what they were worth. Not selling them, in -deference to these odd _forestieri_, and therefore having to surmise -what they would probably have fetched could they have been sold, and -anxious neither to defraud his master nor to rob us, he lived, during -our sojourn, a life of continual arithmetical anxiety. In vain were -the Poet’s magnificent endeavours to make him understand that we were -not, as modern language has it, so mighty particular as to what we paid -for rescuing the flowers from what he regarded as an ignoble doom. -We could excite no sentimental emotion on the subject in Ippolito. -To him it was simply a matter of addition in decimals, the sum total -of which should represent the practical results of abstract justice. -It must not be supposed, however, that this quite satisfied him, or -entirely quieted his conscience. To the last he let us perceive that -he considered our arbitrary conduct to have a certain moral obliquity -about it, since it caused and consecrated so much absolute waste; -waste of time, waste of material, waste of money. Once, when we were -not present, he appealed to Veronica, and asked if we were really in -earnest in forbidding him to sell any portion of the flowers. The -violets flowered by tens of thousands, the carnations were rotting on -their stalks, and it was not possible more freesias could be wanted for -indoors; and, with his _Ma, Signora mia_, and _Senta, Sua Signoria_, he -did his best to convert her. But she told him we were inexorable; and, -though she fully shared our sentiments on the subject, she laughed at -us for a couple of _zucconi_, or dunderheads, for allowing ourselves to -pay twice what the flowers were worth: a form of judgment which, as we -have seen, was not quite equitable, but which nevertheless represented, -with tolerable accuracy, the low estimate she entertained of either the -Poet’s or my capacity for a bargain. - -[Illustration: A NOBLE FOUNTAIN] - -Once Ippolito was thoroughly convinced of our obduracy concerning his -mercenary traditions, he showed an amiable readiness to please us, by -bringing pot after pot of well-grown plants from frame and shelf and -sheltering nook, and placing them where we would, and mostly round the -noble fountain that flashed quietly but unceasingly in the centre of -the garden enclosure; though he well knew that, even in the genial -weather with which we were being favoured, the length of their days -would thereby be somewhat curtailed; white arum-lilies, freesias, -lilies of the valley, and early carnations, thus making a most lively -show. - -‘Do not suppose, though,’ I said to Lamia, ‘that Italy has not its -true garden season, even in the English sense; and I trust you will, -in due course, be able to judge of it for yourself. But it is brief -in its marvellous beauty. Like the people themselves of this lovely -land, the year ages soon, when compared with the lagging Spring, the -lingering Summer, and the slowly-ripening Autumn of Northern climes. -But when the roses come they will come in battalions, the wistaria will -run riot over wall and pergola, the _Spiræa Van Houtte_ will whitely -decorate itself with a lavishness unknown to chillier latitudes, and -Madonna lilies will astound you by their height, and irises by their -profusion. For a month, in a favourable season for six weeks, one will -be embowered in bloom; then suddenly to find, if one gardens in English -fashion, you have no garden at all.’ - -‘A short life and a merry one,’ said Lamia: ‘an ideal existence.’ - -‘But do not let us forget,’ I observed, ‘that when this brief exuberant -blending of Spring and Summer has passed away from the garden, the -purple and opal bunches of the festooned and trellised vine come timely -to take its place.’ - -‘Nor,’ added the Poet, ‘should we omit that bewitching preliminary to -the profuse period you speak of, when, as now, in whichever direction -you look or ramble in that astonishing valley, almond and peach, -plum-blossom, pear-blossom, and apple-bloom, fleck with their rich -rival tints, from purest white to rosiest pink, the silvery spray of -the ubiquitous olives.’ - -‘Silvery till ruffled by the wind,’ he went on, ‘as Lorenzo so -admirably describes it in his poem on the _Ambra_. - - ‘L’uliva, in qualche dolce piaggia aprica, - Secondo il vento par, or verde, or bianca.‘ - -‘What an incautious quotation!’ said Lamia; ‘and, were I a critic, I -should at once fasten on you a charge of gross plagiarism. I remember, -if you do not:— - - ‘The smiling slopes with olive groves bedecked, - Now darkly green, now, as the breeze did stir, - Spectral and white, as though the air were flecked - With elfin branches laced with gossamer; - - And then so faint, the eye could scarce detect - Which the gray hillside, which the foliage fair; - Until once more it dense and sombre grew, - To shift again just as the zephyr blew. - -‘Have I not established my case?’ - -‘Completely, my dear Lamia; and I am glad to find myself in such -excellent company as that of Lorenzo, more especially now that we have -taken possession of a villa where he must often have been a guest, with -Politian for host, and Poggio and Pico della Mirandola for companions.‘ -‘I fear,’ said Lamia modestly, ‘I should have found them too learned to -be congenial society.’ - -[Illustration: PEACH, PLUM, AND PEAR-BLOSSOM] - -‘Not when Lorenzo was with them; for he assimilated their learning to -life, and contrived to make gaiety out of their scholarship. With more -even than the statesmanship of his grandfather, and of whom it may -equally be said that he ruled without arms and without a title, endowed -with no inconsiderable portion of the culture of the students he so -generously abetted, Lorenzo was a thorough man-of-the-world, and more -than a respectable man-of-letters. I recommend to you his description, -in the _Selve d’ Amore_, of the shepherd leading his flock from the -wintry fold to the Spring pasture, and carrying in his arms a -newly-dropped lamb, his sonnet on the origin of the violet, and, still -more perhaps, the one in praise of rural sights, sounds, and solitude. -Permit me to cite at least a portion of it:— - - ‘Cerchi, chi vuol, le pompe, e gli alti onori, - Le piazze, e tempi, e gli edifizi magni, - Le delicie, il tesor, qual accompagni - Mille duri pensier, mille dolori. - Un verde praticel pien di bei fiori, - Un rivolo che l’erba intorno bagni, - Un augelletto che d’amor si lagni, - Acqueta molto meglio i nostri ardori.‘ - -‘I fear,’ said Lamia, ‘I have not yet made sufficient progress in -my studies to follow your recitation completely. Will you kindly -translate?’ - -‘Let a spontaneous paraphrase suffice, which will reproduce the -original with, if with less literary perhaps with more spiritual, -accuracy. - - ‘Covet who will the patronage of Kings, - And pompous titles Emperors bestow, - Splendour, and revelry, and all that brings - A thousand bitter thoughts, a world of woe: - A meadow glistening in an April shower, - A green-banked rivulet, and, near his nest, - A blackbird carolling in guelder bower, - ‘Tis these that soothe and satisfy the breast.‘ - -‘Surely it is strange,’ I said, ‘that a man so occupied with affairs -of State as Lorenzo, conspiring and conspired against from morning to -night, a landowner not indifferent to the prosperity of his estate, a -banker attentive to the profitable employment of his capital, a father -most anxious for the wise bringing up of his sons, a collector of -manuscripts, gems and intaglios, a founder of libraries, an owner of -alum mines, a prince, a statesman, and a diplomatist, should not only -have experienced such a sentiment as you have cited, but should have -found leisure to give expression to it.’ - -‘And in so short a space of time,’ said Lamia, more indulgent than -usual to my observations. ‘Was he not only forty-one when he died?’ - -‘He was,’ I said, ‘but he seems to have lived every hour of his life, -and to have acted on the principle he lays down in his contribution -to the _Disputationes Camaldulenses_, that life should consist in -equal parts of action and contemplation; thereby being rather at issue -with Plato, whom he loved so well. But even in his most contemplative -moods he never seems to be divorced from the themes that interest -mankind. There is a passage in a poem of his expository of the -Platonic Philosophy which some critics have thought gave Michelangelo -the suggestion for his famous marble _Sonno_, which you will shortly -see in the Sacristy of San Lorenzo; while, in his _Simposio_ there -is a description of a toping friar which is worthy of Chaucer, and -in the _Canzoni a Ballo_ and the _Canti Carnascialeschi_, which I -cannot recommend you to read save in what you will scarcely find, an -expurgated edition, he expresses the very thoughts, feelings, and -ideals of the populace of Florence.’ - -‘Veronica shall be my Bowdler,’ said Lamia, ‘and meanwhile I thank you -for your erudition! But, as it happens to be my birthday, do you think -you could forget the Medici for a few moments, if only to wish me, in -the most conventional manner, “many happy returns”?‘ - -I had not forgotten the circumstance, and indeed had armed myself with -a propitiatory gift which I intended to offer later in the day. But, -before I could stammer out my excuses, she put her hand in that of the -Poet, and said: - -‘Perhaps you have forgotten that, not very long ago, you rebuked me -most gently for one of my numerous foibles, and that I asked you to -tell me what I ought to do, and to be, in order to merit your approval. -Will you, for a birthday present, tell me now?’ - -We had come, in our saunterings, to the long low wall, leaning over -which we gazed down direct on Florence. - -‘With pleasure,’ he said, ‘and I must only hope you will not think me -too severe. - - -A BIRTHDAY PRESENT - -I - - ‘“Say what, to please you, you would have me be.” - Then listen, dear! - I fain would have you very fair to see, - And sweet to hear. - - -II - - ‘You should have Aphrodite’s form and face, - With Dian’s tread; - And something of Minerva’s lofty grace - Should crown your head. - - -III - - ‘Summer should wander in your voice, and Spring - Gleam in your gaze, - And pure thoughts ripen in your heart that bring - Calm Autumn days. - - -IV - - ‘Yours should be winning ways that make Love live, - And ne’er grow old, - With ever something yet more sweet to give, - Which you withhold. - - -V - - ‘You should have generous hopes that can beguile - Life’s doubts and fears, - And, ever waiting on your April smile, - The gift of tears. - - -VI - - You should be close to us as earth and sea, - And yet as far - As Heaven itself. In sooth, I’d have you be - Just what you are.‘ - -O these poets! I need scarcely say that, after this insidious effusion, -I stowed away the present I had intended for Lamia in a secret drawer, -reserving it for some more propitious occasion. I hope I am not -prejudiced when I say that the verses were scarcely among the Poet’s -happier compositions. But diamonds would have lacked lustre, after such -metrical adulation. - - * * * * * - -But did you go all that way, it will perhaps be asked, and introduce -Lamia to the acknowledged fascinations of Tuscany, only to wander -in search of wild-flowers, to climb rural hill-sides, to rave about -scenery and sunshine, to listen reverentially to the Poet’s rhymes, -and to discuss things in general, and Lamia’s favourite themes in -particular? Surely, you may be disposed to add, all those things could -have been done just as well at home. Had Florence itself, its churches, -its palaces, its galleries, its storied thoroughfares, no attraction -for you all? - -[Illustration: FLORENCE] - -Indeed they had. But these have been written about with such minuteness -by the learned, and with such fervour by the enthusiastic, that you -would hardly thank so homely a pen as mine for describing them afresh. -Moreover, let it be confessed that we had a way of our own, which is -hardly the common way, of impressing Lamia’s sensitive mind with the -artistic marvels of the City of Flowers. To the rest of us, Florence -was already as familiar even as the Garden that we love, and the -Poet had a theory, in which I entirely concurred, as to how Lamia’s -familiarity should grow to be like ours, with a reserved freshness -of its own. ‘There are two ways,’ he said, ‘of approaching a place -like Florence. You can try to take possession of it, or you can allow -it to take possession of you. The first is the more usual, but the -second is, I would suggest, the more excellent way. Once when I was -travelling hitherward, I remember an American tourist who was the only -other occupant of the railway compartment, asking me if I knew Pisa; -and, on my replying that I did, he said he should be much obliged if -I would point it out to him. Shortly we approached it, and the train -slackened pace in order to make the customary halt of some seven or -eight minutes. “This is Pisa,” I said, and he at once leaned out of the -window, and there he remained intently gazing till its Duomo, Leaning -Tower, and Baptistery, could be seen no more. Then he turned to me, -and said, “I thank you, sir, for showing me Pisa. I should not have -liked to return to the States without having seen Pisa.” I beg of you -not to take my fellow-traveller as a national type, for Americans are -as various, and differ from each other as much, as the people of other -countries. But I cannot think he had seen Pisa. Yet numbers of people -resemble him in their tacit assumption that a hasty visual impression -or snapshot, so to speak, deserves to be described as seeing, though, -assuredly, where great works of art are concerned, it is not to see -with the mind’s eye, to say nothing of the spirit’s.‘ - -‘I am easily taken possession of, as you know,’ said Lamia, for a -moment pointedly turning to me, who certainly know nothing of the -kind, and indeed know very much the reverse, and then redirecting her -attention to the Poet. ‘But, if one is to be taken possession of by all -the lovely places and things in this world, would not one have to live -to a rather venerable age?’ - -‘There is an alternative,’ I said, ‘is there not? which is to be taken -possession of by only some of them, but to be taken possession of by -these thoroughly.’ - -‘How conjugal and domestic that sounds. But it makes no allowance for -feminine curiosity. I should be sorry, when we leave Florence, to -think there was anything in it worth seeing I had not seen.‘ ‘Neither -shall there be, I hope,’ said the Poet, ‘but, if one is really to see -what is worth seeing, I think one must bridle one’s curiosity a little -about much that is not worth seeing. The specialist, no doubt, must -be boundlessly curious concerning his particular pursuit, and the -professional student of Art is a specialist. We are, at best, only -dilettanti, and seek solely to expand our minds through sympathetic and -discriminating enjoyment.‘ - -‘In fact,’ said Lamia, ‘it is with Art as with Life. If one is to -enjoy it, one must not know too much about it. In that case, I can -promise myself, during the next few weeks, no end of pleasure.’ - -We none of us, unless it be Veronica sometimes, resent Lamia’s -seemingly irrelevant way of diverting a discussion, and the Poet has -less reason than any of us to do so, since she not only accepts his -utterances as words of absolute wisdom, but invariably strives to shape -herself according to his canons of life and conduct. Accordingly, when -we descended into Florence, which was pretty often, she manifested -neither impatience nor curiosity, but suffered herself to fall into the -fortuitous fashion of wandering about it that he recommended. We had -neither guide nor guide-book; and, if any of us showed a disposition -to enter here or to linger there, we entered or lingered as a matter -of course. Lamia was left to her own impulses in giving much or little -attention to tomb, fresco, statue, altar-piece, pulpit, or doorway; -nor was she distracted by any information concerning them till she -asked for it. Then, indeed, it was given most willingly, and it was -rarely that one or other of us could not answer her inquiries. The Poet -and I were sometimes at fault, but Veronica never. If you think that -by such a method as this much must have been overlooked that is well -deserving of notice, you must remember there was nothing to prevent -us from returning to the same chapel or sacristy, the same monument -or bas-relief, again and again; and, so varying is the human mood in -general, and Lamia’s mood in particular, that what she would pass by on -one occasion would wholly engross her attention in another. Thus there -was a certain method underlying our apparent purposelessness, and I -fancy she ended by knowing fully as much about Florence as those who -order their visits to its innumerable treasures, while I am sure she -enjoyed herself infinitely more. Moreover, this unsystematic system of -artistic vagrancy issued sometimes in welcome surprises that extended -the experience of all of us. One evening, for instance, just as we were -on the point of quitting the city and driving homeward, Lamia said: - -‘Let us go into the Duomo for a few minutes.’ - -‘But it is so dark,’ I suggested, ‘you will see nothing!’ - -We entered, nevertheless. It was the eve of Good Friday, when, -according to the Roman Catholic Ritual, the Host, instead of being -enshrined as usual on the High Altar, is, in commemoration of the -sacred tragedy of Calvary, borne to a dimly-lighted Sepulchre, where, -all night long, the faithful come to watch and pray. The Office of -_Tenebræ_ was just over, and the worshippers had all passed out of -the Cathedral. There remained in the doubtful light only a Verger and -ourselves, till, from either side of the Choir, there emerged a figure -robed in black, and bearing a lighted torch. Slowly, solemnly, and -parallel to each other, they skirted the inner walls of the building, -till they met at the main doorway, and then, at the same grave pace, -they walked up the long empty nave. I had a surmise of what was -signified by this slow and lonely procession, but in order to be quite -sure I said to the Verger: - -‘_Cosa fanno?_’ (What are they doing?) - -‘_Cercano Il Signore, e non lo trovano_,’ he replied. (They are looking -for Our Lord, and cannot find Him.) - -We all had heard the reply. Then we quitted the Duomo, and drove home -in silence. - -Surely it is true, is it not, that accidental experiences have a -sharper savour and leave behind them a more enduring reminiscence than -projected ones? What one expects but rarely comes up to expectation, -and has generally cost some thought or trouble to procure. What happens -unexpectedly, if it be of the welcome kind, finds one disarmed and -indisposed to criticise, and the emotion it excites is all sheer gain, -no price of admission, to so speak, having been paid for it. Just as -wandering along a river is more agreeable than walking along a canal, -so people who canalise their lives and prearrange their enjoyments -lose much of the enchantment which attends the guiding beneficence of -chance. In Florence, you can scarcely halt anywhere, but story sacred -or profane, saint or scholar, painter or patriot, poet, martyr, or -enthusiast, has left some indelible trace to mark and glorify the -spot, and to make you lift your head and then your heart. The very -lapidary inscriptions let into the walls where architect or sculptor, -jurist or astronomer once abode, are a continual invitation to the -wayfarer to pause, to read, to ponder. Nor is it perhaps the most -famous or the best known that are the most interesting and suggestive. -The Poet seemed to have a special faculty for arresting our footsteps -by those most worthy of contemplation. ‘Is not this one,’ he said, -‘peculiarly consolatory in a period like the present, when most people, -and the Italians especially, seem to think that originality consists -in artificial novelty and even grotesqueness—for that is where such -novelty too often leads—of manner and expression.’ - -Thereupon he read: ‘_Qui visse e morì Benedetto da Majano, chi nelle -opere sue confrontò con venustà di stile e di forme le grandi idee del -genio creatore._’ (Here lived and died Benedetto da Maiano, who in his -works conferred charm of style and beauty of form on the lofty ideas of -creative genius.) - -‘To do that,’ he said, ‘is to overcome the main difficulty and solve -the essential problem of Art, whether in marble or in language. In our -day, too many persons shirk the difficulty and ignore the problem, and -seek to conceal the poverty of their ideas under the extravagance of -their manner.’ - -‘Some of these are very successful,’ I ventured to observe. - -‘Not,’ said Veronica, ‘if in the notion of success be included that -of succession. Congratulated to-day, will they not be consigned to -oblivion to-morrow, when right taste has resumed its authority, or when -some one yet more extravagant creates an impression, equally sudden and -equally transitory, of a somewhat similar character?’ - -‘I think so,’ said the Poet, ‘and I am sufficiently enamoured of -_venustà di stile_ to hope so. As great a master of style as this -century has produced says somewhere, “_On peut tout dire dans le style -simple et correct des bons auteurs. Les expressions violentes viennent -toujours ou d’une prétention, ou de l’ignorance de nos richesses -réelles._” Do you mind, Lamia, committing that sentence to memory, for -I see you sometimes deeply immersed in works of much pretension, but -consisting for the most part of _expressions violentes_, though I never -observe you admiring in marble or on canvas the violence or the profuse -colouring you occasionally tolerate in language?‘ - -‘Is it not,’ said Veronica, ‘that in architecture, painting, and -sculpture, the manner in which a thing is done is so much more -conspicuous, so to speak, than what is done, that failure, whether it -arise from feebleness or from violence, strikes us at once; whereas, in -language, what is said, if interesting in itself, makes us indulgent -to, and indeed forgetful of, the manner of saying it?’ - -‘I suppose that is so,’ he answered; ‘and perhaps it is one of the -incidental drawbacks to literature. Fortunately, however, what you say -is more true of prose than of verse; defect of style in poetry being -at least as obvious to fastidious readers as in marble. And yet,’ -he added, ‘in our time, a grotesque, violent, and what seems to me -lamentable way of saying things has been more than tolerated in verse, -for the sake of the things said. For my part, I should be sorry to be -original, either in prose or verse, at the expense of truth or beauty.’ - -[Illustration: ROSES AND IRIS] - -The absence of method in our visits to cloister or gallery seemed to -govern most of our movements. Sometimes we were but two, sometimes -but three, of a company; and it would happen that, when we were four, -we lost touch of each other for a time, and went our separate ways. -Veronica not infrequently was missing; and generally, when this -occurred, when she returned alone to the villa, she brought with her -some ‘object of antiquity,’ as the Florentine dealers in curios and -old furniture call such things, purchased after considerable thought -and much bargaining. I think you know Veronica has a large heart, -and would defraud no one of his due, and indeed would give any one -more than his due, where no bargaining was in question. But she knows -just as much about the date and value of _cassettone_, triptych, or -embroidery, as any of the various dealers on the Ponte Vecchio or in -the Via de’ Serragli; and she not unnaturally enjoyed displaying her -peculiar learning in those interesting haunts. Her perfect familiarity -with the language, and indeed even with Florentine _patois_, added to -her advantage and strengthened her position in appraising the value -of mediæval picture-frame or sixteenth-century mirror. Moreover, it -is the greatest possible error to suppose that Florentine dealers are -consumed with a single-minded desire to rob unwary purchasers; and -I am convinced they much preferred to conclude a fair bargain with -Veronica, than an unfair one with the first ignorant comer. Oriental -ways and traditions of business still linger sufficiently with them to -make _prezzo fisso_ or a rigidly-fixed price exceedingly distasteful. -Their day is long, they have abundance of time on their hands, and, -if the few things they sell in the course of the week were sold -without demur and in a couple of minutes, life would be insufferably -tedious for want of human intercourse and agreeable conversation. -Veronica invariably regaled us with minute accounts, on the occasion -of each fresh purchase, of the polite but protracted controversy -that had attended it; and very diverting these were. She preferred -to conduct these transactions without our company; for, in the -first place, as she truly enough remarked, we knew nothing whatever -upon the subject and could therefore be of no use to her, and, in the -second place, when we honoured her with our useless society, one or -other of us invariably ended by showing signs of impatience, and to -be impatient over a bargain is inevitably to get the worst of it. She -did not always come off a winner in these friendly encounters; and -she was just as candid and as diverting in confessing her defeats as -in recording her victories. On one occasion she suffered a peculiarly -humiliating disaster, which she detailed with much zest at her own -expense. Wishing to give an agreeable surprise to Lamia on the occasion -of that Birthday, when, as you will perhaps remember, I was so sorely -discomfited, she went in search of some amber beads which Lamia had -more than once expressed a longing to find in order to complete a set -she already possessed. But it was indispensable they should be of a -special hue. At length, Veronica discovered some in a shop in the -Por Santa Maria, but, do what she would, and notwithstanding all her -Florentine wit, she could not bring the owner of them into what she -deemed a reasonable frame of mind as regards price. - -‘_Ebbene_,’ she said, ‘I will try elsewhere,’ - -She tried everywhere, but in vain, and so at length had to go back to -the Por Santa Maria, and say she would take the beads at the man’s own -price. - -‘But now, _Signora mia_,’ he said, ‘that is no longer the price: you -can find no others in Florence to suit you, so these in the meantime -have become more valuable.’ And he added some insignificant sum to the -original figure, more for the sake of triumph than from any mercenary -motive. Had Veronica been making a purchase for herself, I am sure she -would have defrauded him of his victory by leaving him in possession pf -his amber treasures. But she would not disappoint Lamia, and so paid -the forfeit of her unsuccessful strategy. - -But we had a less humorous and far more touching experience on another -occasion. Visiting a hillside village some twenty-five miles away, we -were all much taken by a small altar-piece, a _Presentation in the -Temple_, which stood in a side-chapel in a little church of otherwise -no particular pretension. We discussed, then and there, by whom it -may have been painted, for I need scarcely say that, on that subject, -we all, like so many other people, consider ourselves exceedingly -expert, and quite competent to express an opinion. The _Parroco_, a -venerable Priest of courtly manners but much humility, did not affect -to adjudicate among us, but was evidently much interested in our -deliberations, and still more in our admiration of the picture. At -last he hesitatingly asked Veronica if we should like to become the -owners of it. This had certainly not occurred to us, and we were rather -taken aback by the question. But Veronica, enchanted at the chance -of an unexpected bit of bargaining, said ‘Yes,’ without a moment’s -hesitation. So modest a sum, however, was asked, if compared with the -high artistic qualities we had been attributing to it, that it went -against her conscience, which, as you know, is the strongest part of -her, to offer anything less. Moreover, she probably remembered, on -second thoughts, that the place was not a suitable one for financial -transactions; and any remaining scruple we might have had in completing -the bargain was set at rest by his telling us that he had long been -anxious to buy a second-hand harmonium that was for sale, whereby the -services of his little church could be conducted in a more seemly -manner. - -The picture was carried off; and, by the time it had been in our -possession forty-eight hours, its artistic value had enormously -increased, and there was hardly any Umbrian painter, Raphael perhaps -excepted, to whom we were not ready to ascribe it. We discussed, over -and over again, where it should be hung when we returned to England, -and first one position of honour and then another was suggested for -it. But, as I knew well enough from the first would turn out to be the -case, it was finally assigned by Veronica to the Poet’s study. - -For a week she had the satisfaction of seeing all of us as much -interested in, and as proud of, a purchase as herself. But, on the -morning of the eighth day after our mountain excursion, the old Priest -suddenly made his appearance at the villa, whither he had walked all -the way; and, in a state of much agitation, he said that he had come -to ask us to give him back the picture, the price of which he would -restore and which he had in his hand. At first there was a protesting -chorus, and Veronica was particularly eloquent in pointing out that the -request was most unreasonable, as we had given the full amount asked -for, without any demur. Thereupon the poor old man explained, with -tears in his eyes, that his parishioners had missed the picture, and, -though he had told them of his intended purchase of the harmonium, they -insisted on its being restored to its traditional home, and all his -pleas and arguments had proved unavailing with them. To such an appeal -but one answer was possible. The picture was returned, and the Poet’s -study will never see that Umbrian masterpiece. Our disappointment -was great; but why, said Veronica, should everybody be disappointed? -Poor old man! He stood there a most touching figure. So we put our -hearts and purses together; and the sound of the second-hand harmonium -now follows on his quavering voice, when, in answer to his _Dominus -vobiscum_, the entire mountain congregation shrills out, to its -instrumental accompaniment, _Et cum spiritu tuo_. - -As a rule, however, Veronica’s purchases, over and above being -definitive, were as useful as they were ornamental; and it sometimes -seemed as though Lamia’s predictions concerning the transformation -that was gradually to come over the villa were about to be fulfilled. -Veronica invariably declared that the furniture she brought back -with her from the Via Maggio, or the Piazza Santa Maria Novella, was -intended strictly for home consumption, and would in due course be -packed and dispatched to England. Where she would find room in a -house already remarkably well stocked, was a mystery to all of us; and -meanwhile it remained on the spot, to whose aspect it certainly added -finish and charm, and to whose commodiousness it materially contributed. - -‘I told you,’ said Lamia, ‘I should end by having a comfortable -armchair, and you see I have. Nor can I well doubt that a host of -work-people have been secretly introduced by Veronica, for I can now -count on my bell ringing with absolute certainty; and, as for Placida -and Perfetta,’—Placida and Perfetta were two handmaidens,—‘though they -still regard fair words and sweet smiles as the principal ingredients -of domestic service, they have developed a talent for tidying my -drawers and arranging my toilet-table which cannot but have proceeded -from severe drilling by Veronica, while you and I were discussing the -Infinite under the shade of cheerful boughs. Shortly after we first -came, Veronica gave one of our dear devoted but somewhat primitive -attendants a sponge, for what purpose I cannot say. But this domestic -novelty was found so useful, that each of them in turn, she discovered, -had the loan of it, till it came to enjoy an absolute monopoly in the -cleaning of the establishment. Now, I believe, sponges, and all other -requisites of a well-ordered place of residence, are as plentiful as -blackberries. Do you remember,’ she said, turning to me, ‘your giving -me some most lovely flowers last week, which, of course, I treasured -beyond words, even after they had faded? But I discovered, the next -morning, that Perfetta, moved by a spirit of economy which seems to -be a perfect passion with these dear people, was applying them, on -the carpet, to the same purpose, I am told, for which we sometimes -use tea-leaves in England. That was a sad ending, was it not, to your -lovely gift?’ - -Lamia’s observation on ‘the principal ingredients of domestic service,’ -as understood in Italy by those who render it, was strictly accurate. -They wait on you with a smile, and minister to your need with copious -conversation. They will end by giving you all you ask for; but you must -ask, and you must not expect that, having asked for it ninety-nine -times, you will get it the hundredth, without asking for it again. -That would be to defraud them, and you as well, of an opportunity of -talk, the thing they love most in the world. Moreover, they have an -invincible objection to being made methodical; nor can you give them -greater pleasure than to ask them to do the work naturally pertaining -to somebody else. The cook would be delighted to nurse the baby, the -housemaid would find it quite natural to be bidden to cook the dinner, -the butler would eagerly go in search of the vegetables, and the -gardener at once mount the box and drive you into Florence. Only do -not ask them to be perfect, according to English ideas, in their own -line. They will do anything on earth for you, if you go the right way -about it; but they will not be turned into machines. Nothing I have -ever seen in Veronica is more admirable, or shows so conclusively the -discrimination she can blend with her love of order, than the amount of -method, limited no doubt but quite unusual, with which, for the time at -least, she imbued those about us; and Lamia, as we have seen, indulged -in a little characteristic raillery on the subject. - -‘It is all very well,’ said the Poet, ‘for us to have our little joke -about a certain person’s passion for discipline. But, upon my word, -what Italy stands in need of is a Ruler with plenary powers, of the -temperament and talents of Veronica. So the Roman Empire was founded, -so the British. Dear Lamia, you are very charming; our friend here is, -I do not forget, a gardener of much repute, and I write verses which, I -am told, sometimes give pleasure to people who are easily pleased. But -Veronica is worth all of us put together a hundred times over.‘ - -‘Quite so,’ said Lamia. ‘Veronica is our _Minerva Medica_, whose -salutary if sometimes unpalatable wisdom keeps us in such tolerable -health as moral valetudinarians like myself are capable of; whereas I -am but a would-be Egeria, who have not yet succeeded in inducing any -one, and you, dear Poet, least of all, to be my Numa. Still, do not -judge me altogether by the way in which I conduct myself here, among -a people very much after my own heart. I _have_ a conscience, which I -showed by declaring it at the frontier, as I heard it was contraband. -I proved to be right; it was confiscated, and I have got on very -comfortably without it ever since. Indeed, I should have missed a -new gown much more. Poets, we all know, never have a conscience, in -any country. But, as Veronica has enough for two, indeed—obligingly -remembering my existence—for three, I daresay we shall continue to -manage fairly well in this easy-going land, with Veronica’s occasional -assistance.‘ - -At this moment, Veronica joined us under the lower _loggia_, where we -had for some time been sitting, and desisting more frequently than -perhaps you have imagined, from audible converse, in order to commune -silently with the plashing of the fountain in front of us, with city, -plain, and river far below, and with hill-slope and summit everywhere -around us. The sun had just disappeared; and, each instant, mountain -and sky grew more and more unreal, more and more transfigured in the -afterglow. The last _Ave Maria_ bell had rung; the last wain drawn by -the sleek, swaying oxen had creaked up the hill; and, somewhere among -the more distant olives, a peasant lingering at his work, but pondering -aloud on his love, sang out with clear voice to the clear air: - - ‘Fin al fin de’ giorni miei, - Io te sola voglio amar.‘ - -‘You never told us,’ said Veronica, ‘what you two did yesterday -afternoon.’ The two were the Poet and Lamia. - -‘You scarcely gave us the chance,’ Lamia replied. ‘We were all so -absorbed in admiring the bust you brought from Florence of the founder -of the Magliabecchian Library, whose name I have already forgotten, -but who was himself, you told us, what you, dear Veronica, will become -if you go on accumulating stray black-letter volumes at the rate you -are doing at present,—_quædam bibliotheca_. But have a care. What if -they were lost or stolen? I was reading only yesterday that, when -Guarino, returning to Florence from Constantinople with a cargo of -Greek manuscripts, was shipwrecked, and all his treasures went to the -bottom of the sea, his hair turned white. See how well-informed I am -getting. I can tell you still more on this interesting subject, and -indeed meditate lecturing on it next winter in the Sala Dante. Cosimo -de’ Medici healed a political breach with Alfonso of Naples by sending -him a Manuscript of Livy; and Lorenzo declared to Pico della Mirandola, -probably where we are now sitting, that, if his fortune proved -insufficient, he would pledge his furniture in order to buy books. But, -when your purse gives out, you will spare my easy-chair, Veronica, -won’t you?‘ - -‘You have still not told us where you went yesterday afternoon.’ - -Lamia remained silent; leaving it to the Poet to reply: - -‘We carried some flowers to the grave of Elizabeth Barrett Browning.’ - -Again there was silence. Then, shortly, Veronica asked: - -‘Did nothing come of it?’ - -We all well knew the meaning of the question, and so did he, and -accordingly replied: - -‘Well, yes, something came of it, such as it is’; and, not waiting for -us to express a desire he was aware we all entertained, he unaffectedly -recited to us the following lines:— - - -AT HER GRAVE - -I - - Lo, here among the rest you sleep, - As though no difference were - ‘Twixt them and you, more wide, more deep, - Than such as fondness loves to keep - Round each lone sepulchre. - - -II - - Yet they but human, you divine, - Warmed by that heavenly breath, - Which, when ephemeral lights decline, - Like lamp before nocturnal shrine, - Still burneth after death. - - -III - - Yes, here in Tuscan soil you lie, - With Tuscan turf above; - And, lifting silent spires on high, - The cypresses remind the sky - Of the city of your love. - - -IV - - And you did grow so like to her - Wherein you dwelt so long, - Your thoughts, like her May roses, were - Untrained, unchecked, but how astir, - And oh how sweet, with song! - - -V - - The Poet of Olympian mien - His frenzy doth control, - And, gazing on the dread Unseen, - Keep mind majestic, will serene, - And adamantine soul. - - -VI - - He, save to Wisdom sternly true, - Is but the sport of Fate - And gladiatorial pain. But you! - A poet, and a woman too! - The burden was too great. - - -VII - - And so you laid it down, and here, - Oblivious of life’s load, - Quiet you sleep through all the year, - Young Spring, staid Summer, Autumn sere, - And Winter’s icy goad. - - -VIII - - The swallows, freshly on the wing, - In April’s sun rejoice; - The nightingales unceasing sing; - Yes, Spring brings back the birds of Spring, - But not, alas! your voice. - - -IX - - So round your sleep I soft let fall - Frail emblems of regret; - The lowly wind-flower, tulip tall, - The iris mantling wayside wall, - And weeping violet. - - -X - - My votive flowers to-day will blow, - To-morrow be decayed; - But, though long sunk from sight, I know, - The glory of your afterglow - Will never wholly fade. - - - - -[Illustration] - - -LAMIA’S WINTER-QUARTERS - - -It was _Pasqua delle Rose_, literally Easter of Roses, to distinguish -it from _Pasqua delle Uova_, or Easter of Eggs; in other words, -Whitsuntide. We were indebted to Lamia for this pretty designation, -which was new to all of us, and she had made acquaintance with it in -the course of conversation with Perfetta, who, though by no means what -her name implied, and, indeed, as Veronica said, the most imperfect -of our native retainers, had long since quite won Lamia’s heart by a -spontaneous compliment. Very early on in her study of Italian, Lamia -had displayed an extraordinarily fine ear for the pronunciation of -that language, and a quick talent for assimilating its most familiar -phrases, so that Perfetta one day declared she must surely be of -Italian parentage. - -‘Indeed she is not,’ I said. ‘Guess from what land she comes?’ - -Perfetta looked at her for a moment, and then exclaimed: ‘_Dal -Paradiso_.’ - -Lamia treated this suggestion of celestial origin with much levity, -but, all the same, made Perfetta a present of a gown which she declared -was worn out; though to my masculine perception it seemed almost as -good as new, and Veronica confirmed my impression by reproving her for -spoiling Perfetta at the same time that she deprived herself of a still -very excellent garment. - -‘I am sure,’ said Lamia, apologetically, ‘you would not scold me if -you had seen Perfetta’s delight, and heard her expression of it. If -one gives a gown to one’s English maid, one receives a most respectful -“Thank you, Miss,” and never hears another word about it; and, likely -enough, she sells it, having no sentiment on the subject whatever. -But Perfetta went into raptures over the poor little gown, hugged -it, kissed it, spread it to the light, and has recurred to it again -and again. Indeed, to listen to her is to have a lesson in Italian -expletives of admiration. She would keep it, she said, for Feast days, -not even for ordinary Sundays, unless perhaps she put it on, for the -first time, on the festival of her patron Saint. Finally, she declared -she would wear it, for the first time, at _Pasqua delle Rose_, and -so you saw her in it yesterday. But, if I gave her the gown, I have -likewise made you all a present of a most beautiful phrase; and, if you -still are of opinion that I have left myself short of a frock, it is -always open to any one to manifest gratitude by replacing it.‘ - -It was, indeed, an Easter, or, if you will, a Whitsuntide, of Roses. -They were everywhere; clambering up the house, drooping from the roof, -running along the walls, carpeting the ground, festooning themselves -from elm to elm, interlaced with the cypresses, peering through -porch and casement, covering stable and concealing shed, scaling the -tallest and seemingly most inaccessible places, and thence falling -down in untrained profusion, veritable cascades of colour. We talked -of them from morning to night; we lived, moved, and had our being -among them, left them only to go back to them, vowed these were the -most beautiful,—no, those,—no, those others, and perpetually expressed -ourselves in fickle and contradictory adoration. As Lamia wandered -among them, she would break into song, chanting their praises, now in -one tongue, now in another. - - ‘Roses crimson, roses white, - Deadly pale or lovely blushing, - Both in love with May at sight, - And their maiden blood is rushing - To and fro in hope to hide - Tumult it but thus discloses. - Bring the Bridegroom to the Bride! - Everywhere are roses, roses.’ - -Then she would remember snatches of Lorenzo’s _Canzone a Ballo_, ‘_Ben -venga Maggio_,’ written in the local dialect of the time, and improvise -for them a suitable strain. - - ‘E voi, donzelle a schiera, - Con li vostri amadori, - Che di rose e di fiori - Vi fate belle, il Maggio, - Che è giovane e bella, - Deh non sie punto acerba, - Che non si rinnovella - L’ età come fa l’ herba. - Nessuna stia superba. - Al’ amadore, il Maggio.‘ - -[Illustration: ‘EVERYWHERE ARE ROSES, ROSES’] - -Then she would revert to her own tongue, in its paraphrase of the pagan -song the _Compagnacci_ used to troll in the days of Savonarola, when -they wanted to protest against the austerity of his followers and the -Burning of the Vanities. - - ‘Every wall is white with roses, - Linnets pair in every tree; - Brim your beakers, twine your posies, - Kiss and quaff ere Springtime closes; - Bloom and beauty quickly flee.’ - -If we drove down to Florence, we drove along roads that were avenues of -roses; and, in the Fair City itself, we forget to look at palace, or -façade, or bridge, absorbed in gazing on the white and yellow Banksias -that hung in bunches and clusters over intramural garden-walls. But, -as the year expanded and deepened in beauty, we grew more and more -unwilling to stir from the enchanting surroundings of the villa itself, -unless it were to wander in other _poderi_ and among other vineyards, -or to make expeditions that took us uninterruptedly through a world of -radiant newness. Lamia did not now inquire how we proposed to employ -ourselves, since being alive was in itself occupation enough. Lest, -however, as she said, Veronica’s conscience should prick her for so -much time passed in the mere delight of doing nothing, she read us the -following passage written by Lorenzo de’ Medici, and which she said she -intended to recite to a larger audience whenever she delivered those -lectures in the _Sala Dante_. - -‘What can be more worthy of desire to a well-regulated mind than the -enjoyment of leisure with dignity? That is what all good men wish to -attain, but what great men alone accomplish. In the progress of public -affairs we may indeed be allowed to look forward to a period of rest; -but no repose should totally seclude us from attention to the concerns -of our country. I cannot deny that the path it has been my lot to tread -has been arduous and rugged, full of danger, and beset with treachery; -but I console myself with the thought of having contributed to the -welfare of the State, the prosperity of which now rivals that of any -other, however flourishing. Neither have I been inattentive to the -interests and advancement of my family, having always proposed for -my imitation the example of my grandfather Cosimo, who watched over -his public and his private concerns with equal vigilance. Having now -attained the object of my cares, I trust I may be allowed to enjoy the -sweets of leisure, to share in the reputation of my fellow-citizens, -and to exult in the glory of my native city.’ - -‘The passage is very interesting,’ said the Poet, ‘and serves to -strengthen one’s impression of the sanity and completeness of Lorenzo’s -talents. But is it not also another contribution to the vanity of -human wishes and the fatuity of human self-complacency? I do not think -Lorenzo ever attained to that enjoyment of dignity with leisure of -which he speaks; and assuredly he had not long been dead before the -glory of his native city, in the sense in which he used the phrase, -passed away.‘ - -‘If one is to believe Politian,’ I said, ‘either the famous death-bed -colloquy with Savonarola never took place, or it left but little -impression on the dying man.’ - -‘That is a story,’ said the Poet, ‘one would part with unwillingly. But -what is it that Politian says?’ - -‘That to judge by Lorenzo’s behaviour, and that of his attendants, -when he was dying, you would have thought it was they who momentarily -expected that fate, and he alone that was exempt from it.‘ - -‘There is no tomb nor inscription, is there,’ asked Lamia, ‘to mark -the place that received his ashes, while his unworthier successors have -a sumptuous monument designed by Michelangelo, whom in the budding days -of his genius Lorenzo used to place, out of respect for his talent, -above his own sons at table?’ - -‘I suppose,’ said Veronica, ‘he was paid for the monument he executed, -and could not execute the one the cost of which there was no one to -defray. But do not let us forget that what he felt concerning the -contrast between the earlier and the later Medici is for ever embodied -in his famous quatrain. Repeat it to us, Lamia.’ - -‘With pleasure, if I can.‘ - - ‘Grato m’ è il sonno, e più l’ esser di sasso, - Mentre che il danno e la vergogna dura. - Non veder, non sentir, m’ è gran ventura: - Però, non mi destar. Deh! parla basso.‘ - -‘How would one translate it?’ - -‘Translation is a difficult craft,’ said the Poet; ‘but, after visiting -San Lorenzo again the other day, I could not resist trying to render -those noble lines into our own tongue. - - ‘Nay, let me sleep, or, best, be stone or steel, - While still endures this infamy of woe. - My one sole bliss is nor to see nor feel: - So, wake me not; and, lest you should, speak low.’ - -‘How utterly out of place,’ said Lamia, ‘a character like Michelangelo -seems in Florentine history! whereas Lorenzo is its very type and -representative.’ - -‘Do you not forget,’ said Veronica, ‘that perhaps the three most -austere human figures known to us were Florentines, either by birth or -by adoption: Michelangelo, Dante, and Savonarola.’ - -‘That only makes it all the more strange,’ I said. - -‘But why?’ said the Poet. ‘Have we not, in these days, succumbed too -readily to the notion that we are the creatures of our surroundings, -and what is called our _habitat_? And is not that theory a mere -_ex-post-facto_ explanation that explains nothing? Who would ever have -thought of predicting that any of the three great Puritans you have -named would be associated with Florence, and the greatest of the three -be born and bred in the very heart of her? Must we not look elsewhere -for the explanation?’ - - ‘Know, Nature, like the cuckoo, laughs at law, - Placing her eggs in whatso nest she will; - And when, at callow-time, you think to find - The sparrow’s stationary chirp, lo! bursts - Voyaging voice to glorify the Spring.‘ - -‘In the same way characters, austere or the reverse, make their -appearance in the most unlikely places. We hear too much, I think, of -the Spirit of the Age. Shall we not rather believe that the Age is what -great Spirits make it?’ - -‘There,’ said Veronica, ‘do you not press your own theory too far? -Without for one moment denying that the sudden appearance of great -characters, or the place where they appear, is not to be foretold, one -can hardly help feeling that Dante, Savonarola, and Michelangelo, in -consequence of something adverse in the Florentine character, did not -succeed in making Florence what they would fain have made her.’ - -‘Truly great characters,’ said Lamia, ‘always fail. Only second-rate -people succeed. For my part I am very glad of it, for nothing is so -disappointing as failure,—except success.’ - -‘There is a good deal in what you say,’ I was rather surprised to hear -the Poet reply. ‘But perhaps we have all, and myself most of all, -drifted into a vein of exaggeration. I was betrayed into it by the -excessive claim which it seems to me many nowadays advance for Science, -as compared with other sources of instruction and helps to life. Our -debt to Science is great. At the same time, it has its limits, and I -cannot think it is the greatest of our obligations. Do you remember -that profound saying of Pascal, “_La science des choses extérieures ne -me consolera pas de l’ignorance de la morale au temps d’affliction, -mais la science des mœurs me consolera toujours de l’ignorance -des sciences extérieures_”? Such a line, for instance, as that of -Shakespeare, - - “In Nature there’s no blemish but the mind,” - -is more deeply and enduringly helpful than steam-engines, electric -lights, or anæsthetics. One can, in case of necessity, dispense with -tramways and telephones; but we cannot dispense with right thinking and -right feeling. The material discoveries of the Age do it much honour; -but man’s triumph over matter is most nobly displayed when he triumphs -over the matter of which he is himself composed; when he ignores -physical pain, and tramples on his non-spiritual passions. Science is -the language of the Intellect, Literature of the Soul; and Poetry, the -highest expression of Literature, does for language, and sometimes for -life, what the Soul does for the body, and what this glorious Italian -sun does for mountain and plain: it spiritualises matter. Let me add, -lest I should seem too partial to the particular art I practise so -imperfectly, that this is true of all imaginative Art; and, far from -fearing lest Science should sap and supersede it, I trust and believe -that Art will ever remain its complement, and, where necessary, its -corrective.‘ - -‘Do you consider Italians,’ asked Lamia, ‘artistic or scientific, -material or spiritual?’ - -‘They are both, surely,’ he replied. ‘But, if we took the modern -Florentine as the Italian type, I fear we would have to reply they -are rather too prone to worship material science. The artistic -faculty in them seems almost extinct, save for purposes of imitation; -and, even when they imitate the art of the past, they do so without -any discrimination between the good and the bad. But in railways, -telegraphs, telephones, tramways, they take inexhaustible delight. -They have disfigured much of Florence, and most of Rome, in their -determination not to lag behind in the general march of what is termed -material progress.’ - -‘Is it not,’ suggested Veronica, ‘that they are essentially a -practical race? When the world first took to commerce, the Florentines -became great merchants and great bankers. When Popes and Princes posed -as patrons of architecture, sculpture and painting, they produced -palaces, statues, and pictures.’ - -‘Just so,’ said Lamia; ‘and now that the whole world has taken to -travelling, Representative Institutions, and Music Halls, they have -Circular Tours and a popular Parliament, both of which they work -exceedingly badly, and a _Caffè Savonarola Spettacolo Diverso_, a piece -of profanation for which I confess I should like to smack them.’ - -‘There is a good deal of vulgarity,’ I ventured to plead, ‘in modern -life, and in compliance with the theory you have all been pressing, -they are vulgar accordingly. But would it not be more indulgent, and -equally true, to say that Italy is the one country, and the Italians -are the one race, whose vitality is inexhaustible? They have been well -before the world, if you will pardon that expression, for more than -two thousand five hundred years; and, during all that period, they -have never altogether dropped out of sight. Neither do they now appear -in the least disposed to retire into private life, or to preserve -their ruins, however much some of us would like them to do so, for the -satisfaction of our romantic feelings. Who would have believed, asked -Saint Jerome fifteen hundred years ago, that Rome would ever be sunk -so low that, at the very seat of its Empire, it would be reduced to -fight, not for glory, but for self-preservation. Yet what do we see -to-day? Rome, not only safe against foreign assault, but, with the aid -of railways and Maxim guns, meditating new triumphs and new glories.’ - -‘That,’ said the Poet, and I felt much flattered by his approval, ‘is -the more generous, and therefore the more just way of putting it. The -Italians have a great Past, which they refuse to forget. It still -continues to animate their ambition, and forbids them to rest satisfied -with that _dolce far niente_ with which they once were reproached. -When the period of the Renaissance came to an end, Italy might have -seemed to say, in the words of Nero, _Qualis artifex pereo_, and to -perish most artistically. But Italy was _not_ dead, as she has shown -so clearly during the last thirty years. One’s only regret is that the -existing type of national greatness is so costly, that Italians have to -pay a desperately heavy price for refusing to exist without it.‘ - -‘People,’ said Lamia, ‘frequently complain of the excessive loads -Italian carters expect their horses and their mules to draw. But the -whole of Italy seems to me to be suffering from the same infliction.’ - -‘I fear,’ observed Veronica, ‘there is much truth in what you say. Only -yesterday I remonstrated with the driver of the carriage I had hired to -bring me back to the Villa, because his horse seemed in a shockingly -poor condition. His answer was, “_Campa come me_,—he fares as I do. -When I have plenty, he has plenty. When I have little, there is little -for him also. When there are more _forestieri_, he will have more -oats.”‘ - -‘Let us have a carriage apiece every afternoon,’ said Lamia, ‘and do -what we all shall hate, drive round and round the _Cascine_ from five -to seven. Only, in that case, I _must_ have that new gown.’ - - * * * * * - -‘A firefly! A firefly!’ - -It was Veronica, invariably the most observant of us, whose voice -called to us to welcome the fairy visitor, whose arrival is as -delightful and momentous an event in Italy as the wing of the first -swallow, the call of the first cuckoo, or the note of the first -nightingale, in England. We were all on the alert in a moment, calling -in return: - -‘Where? Where?’ - -It was a single, solitary firefly, for one may say of fireflies as of -primroses: - - First you come by ones and ones, - Lastly in battalions, - -and it moved and twinkled in the deepening twilight, among the -olive-trees, a miniature and terrestrial planet, having no fixed -orbit. I need scarcely say that this was some days before _Pasqua -delle Rose_, though Whitsuntide happened to be an early one; and, the -following night, we saw three, and, the night after, seven. Then, -for May can be capricious in Tuscany as elsewhere, the weather was -not propitious for them. But, by the time the moon was nearly at -full, they were plenteous as stars in the Milky Way; and while they -flitted and glistened among the darkening leaves, the nightingales -rejoiced and enlivened each other with the song that an ancient story -and inherited association have transformed for us into a strain of -imaginary sadness. Life offers no more enchanting combination of -sensations than fall to one’s lot on a warm Italian night in May, when -moonlight, fireflies, and nightingales weave their concerted charm; -and, night after night, we repaired to the same antique marble seat, -where we liked to think Lorenzo and his associates had often sat, -in front of the same dark silent cypresses, and drank in the same -sweet, grave, harmonious delights. Perhaps you think us a company of -selfish Hedonists, wholly given up to pleasurable sensations, poor -weak copies of our Pagan Renaissance predecessors on the self-same -spot? Whether that be true or not of some of us, I will not undertake -to say. But certainly it is not true of Veronica, nor yet, I think, -of Lamia. Indeed, speaking generally, I think one ought to entertain -one’s friends with a record of one’s happiness rather than with a -recital of one’s woes; but it does not follow, does it, that there is -no pathetic minor in one’s life because one is not always sounding -it? Indeed, amid all the enchantments of that Italian season when -Spring and Summer are indistinguishable, we had been conscious of the -shadow of pain which is cast by the surely approaching extinction of -a young life in one’s own immediate precincts; and the shadow was all -the darker because the season was so bright. Ilaria, the youngest and -comeliest of the daughters of our _contadini_, whose acquaintance you -perhaps remember our first making, had, we were assured, till within a -twelvemonth ago, more than justified her pretty name by the joyousness -of her ways. But there was a canker in the bud, which thus was destined -never to open fully to the meridian of life; and, shortly after our -arrival, her figure was no longer seen among the olives, or her voice -heard among the vines. Veronica was much troubled by the utter lack -of creature comforts in the spacious _casa colonica_, or farmhouse, -where Ilaria was patiently awaiting the end, though in reality their -absence was only part of that rudimentary simplicity of existence which -is universal among a people untainted by Northern ideas of luxury. She -and Lamia were unremitting in their visits, their nursing, and their -solicitude. But these proved unavailing; and _Pasqua delle Rose_ had to -spare some of its luxuriant blooms for the grave of poor Ilaria. In the -simple rustic household where she had left a vacant place, we liked to -think that, in the daytime at least, the continual demands of Nature, -in her busiest and most growing season, on the energy and co-operation -of Man, diverted their thoughts somewhat from the missing figure; -but, when we met and wished them good-day in the _podere_, tying the -vines, training the _pomi-d’oro_, or cutting the sweet green fodder, -that smile of which I once spoke as invariably accompanying their -salutations for awhile vanished from their faces, and at nightfall -we knew they were brought into undistracted consciousness of their -bereavement. We grieved for them, and felt, moreover, a separate grief -of our own; and neither the luminous May moon, nor the fairy-flitting -fireflies, nor the silvery fluting of the nightingale, could wean us -from the gravity of our thoughts. Even the purest and most generous -sympathy borrows something of its tenderness, I suppose, from the -knowledge that we are one and all subject to the dispensation of grief, -and that those who console to-day may themselves need to be consoled -to-morrow; and this is peculiarly so with the advent of the shadow of -death, from which not even the strongest nor the most sanguine can hope -to escape. Thus, without saying it, we were all, I suspect, musing on -our common mortality, and thinking how the continuance of the deepest -and dearest of our joys depends on the favour and forbearance of Heaven. - -But the Poet has a theory, which we have all more or less adopted, and -which he generally expresses by the words, ‘Cheerfulness is the most -serviceable form of human charity’; and he never, if he can prevent it, -permits us to linger over-long in the fruitless gloom of sentimental -sorrow. I think that was why, on the fourth evening after we had strewn -the roses on Ilaria’s grave, he recited to us, uninvited,—an unusual -thing with him,—the following consolatory lines:— - - -WHEN I AM GONE - - When I am gone, I pray you shed - No tears upon the grassy bed - Where that which you have loved is laid - Under the wind-warped yew-tree’s shade. - And let no sombre pomp prepare - My unreturning journey there, - Nor wailing words nor dirges deep - Disturb the quiet of my sleep; - But tender maidens, robed in white, - Who have not yet forgotten quite - The love I sought, the love I gave, - Be the sole mourners round my grave. - And neither then, nor after, raise - The bust of pride, the slab of praise, - To him who, having sinned and striven, - Now only asks to be forgiven, - That he is gone. - - When I am gone, you must not deem - That I am severed, as I seem, - From all that still enchains you here, - Throughout the long revolving year. - When, as to Winter’s barren shore - The tides of Spring return once more, - And, wakened by their flashing showers, - The woodland foams afresh with flowers, - You sally forth and ramble wide, - I shall walk silent at your side, - Shall watch your mirth, shall catch your smile, - Shall wander with you all the while, - And, as in many a bygone Spring, - Hear cuckoo call and ousel sing. - And, when you homeward wend, along - A land all blithe with bleat and song, - Where lambs that skip and larks that soar - Make this old world seem young once more, - And with the wildwood flowers that fill - Your April laps deck shelf and sill, - I shall be there to guide your hand, - And you will surely understand - I am not gone. - - When Summer leans on Autumn’s arm, - And warm round grange and red-roofed farm - Is piled the wain and thatched the stack, - And swallows troop and fieldfares pack; - When round rough trunk and knotted root - Lies thick the freshly-fallen fruit, - And ‘mong the orchard aisles you muse - On what we gain, on what we lose, - Now vernal cares no more annoy, - And wisdom takes the place of joy, - I shall be there, as in past years, - To share your steps, to dry your tears, - To note how Autumn days have brought - Feelings mature and mellow thought, - The fruitful grief for others’ smart, - The ripeness of a human heart. - And, when the winds wax rude and loud, - And Winter weaves the stark year’s shroud, - As round the flickering household blaze - You sit and talk of vanished days, - Of parent, friend, no longer nigh, - And loves that in the churchyard lie, - And lips grow weak, and lids grow wet, - Then, then, I shall be with you yet, - Though I seem gone. - - * * * * * - -As the time drew nearer and nearer for leaving the Tuscan home where -we had been so happy, Veronica began to manifest a certain solicitude, -in consequence of our leisurely and unsystematic ways, lest we -should have omitted to make Lamia acquainted with some cloister or -bas-relief, some bit of quaint street architecture, or some hillside -sanctuary, ignorance whereof might expose her to the reproach of a -want of intelligent curiosity. But we found the omissions were few -and unimportant, and this left us all the more free, during the now -brief and regretful remainder of our sojourn, to pay farewell visits -to the frescoes and altar-pieces, the monuments and statues, that had -most engaged her affections. Where Giotto worked, where Savonarola -preached, where Fra Angelico painted and prayed, where Michelangelo -fought, where Dante sate, where Donatello slept, in death as in life -not severed from his beloved Medicean patron, these and kindred spots -had to be seen just once more. When one quits a place where one has -been residing for some little time, one says good-bye to one’s friends; -and these were, one and all, very dear friends to us, and we could not -but take of them affectionate farewell. The _Luca della Robbia_ in the -_Ospedale degli Innocenti_, the Perugino in the _Maddalena dei Pazzi_, -the Fountain by Verrocchio in the cortile of the _Palazzo Vecchio_, the -recumbent Bishop in _San Miniato_, the Mino da Fiesole in the _Badia_, -the bronze David in the _Bargello_;—but, unless I have a care, I shall -fall into the fault I have been trying to avoid, of troubling you with -a catalogue of familiar names. There were favourite spots, too, to -drive to once again, happily too numerous to cite, and too lovely for -any one to be so foolish as to attempt to describe. Exception, however, -shall be made of one of these, for I fancy it is but little known, and -therefore has not become hackneyed. Accident made us acquainted with -it, and design had often and often taken us there again. It was in a -_podere_ some two miles or so outside the Porta San Niccolò, whence, -over a wall lined with irises, one looks down the river immediately -in front of one straight away to Florence, but sees nothing there -save, through the feathery foliage of distant poplars, the cupola of -the Duomo, Giotto’s campanile, and the Tower of the Palazzo Vecchio. -Beyond, far beyond, are visible, on propitious days, the majestic peaks -of the Carrara Mountains, and, a little farther towards the north, -the snowy summits of the Apennines above Pistoia. It was a place that -fascinated us, and we returned to it again and again. One evening, when -the light was even exceptionally beautiful, but the air a little chill, -and we had therefore, for Lamia’s sake, to curtail our enjoyment of it, -I remember her exclaiming: - -‘O, do let us stay. Even if it were deadly, it would be worth dying -for. It may never be so beautiful again.’ - -That expresses a feeling which, I think, one often has in Italy. It is -the intense beauty of certain moments, certain views, certain sunsets, -that makes one declare one never before has seen anything so lovely, -and dread lest on such loveliness one never more may gaze. A -foolish fear; for to-morrow renews the radiance and raptures of to-day. - -[Illustration: OUR TUSCAN GARDEN] - -But the closing hours of the now lengthening days were always spent in -the _loggia_, the garden, or the _podere_ of our Villa; and Veronica, -who, so English at home, was here the most Italian of us all, would, -whenever the weather permitted, arrange for us to have our evening -meal _al fresco_, in the society of the roses and the nightingales. -Lamia had, as you may suppose, picked up many a Tuscan _stornello_ -and _canzone_, and would sing them to us, to the accompaniment of her -guitar; and, between song and song, discourse would run on all the -beauty and the wonders we had seen that day. - -‘What is it,’ said Lamia, ‘that, more than anything else, constitutes -the charm of Italy?’ - -‘Ancientness,’ said the Poet, ‘and an ancientness that never grows old. -For Italy, notwithstanding its centuries of history, art, warfare, -misfortune, remains perennially young. More than once, the rash have -said, “Italy is dead.” Italy never dies. She has the gift of perpetual -life; but, with all her indestructible freshness, she carries about -her the dignity of bygone times and the majesty of tradition. The -new is always more or less vulgar. Refinement is the work of time. -You remember Aristotle’s definition of Aristocracy, Ancient riches. -Italy has ancient riches, the riches of law, religion, poetry, and the -arts, long established, and she has therefore what is most precious -in aristocracy. She has ancient speech and ancient manners. Her -mountains are necessarily ancient, the Soracte of Horace, the Alps -of Hannibal. But her plains and valleys are equally so, for she has -an ancient agriculture. We are sitting at this moment surrounded by -a rural cultivation that is described with absolute accuracy in the -_Georgics_, and again by Politian in his _Rusticus_, written on this -very spot, and that has not changed since the days of Cincinnatus. -Listen to that fellow singing among the olives. Virgil has described -him,—_Canit fundator ad auras_,—and might be his contemporary. It is -this far-backness, if I may coin a word to express my meaning, that -sheds a glamour over everything in Italy, a far-backness, however, that -endures and persists, that is with us and around us, and compels us to -bend with reverence before it, as we must ever do before the parent -Past we still have with us. In proportion as Italy parts with its Past, -Italy will lose its charm. The temptation to do so in this age is -great, and I fear it is not being sufficiently resisted. - -‘Dear Poet,’ said Lamia, ‘will you forgive me if I object that I have -sometimes been told, though I am sure most inaccurately, that I, for -instance, am charming; and yet I am not ancient.’ - -‘Dear Lamia,’ he replied, ‘you are very ancient, and are under deep -obligation to ancestors you never saw, and probably never heard of; -and I hope you will be yet more charming for your visit to this old -and captivating land. For my part, I always seem to miss something -in people who have not fallen under its spell. You have succumbed -to it entirely. I shall never weary, and I hope I shall never weary -you, in extolling the power of the Past. Would the descant of those -nightingales have the same charm for us, if they had not been singing -thus for myriads of Mays? Spring is so irresistibly charming because -it recalls and renews the Aprils that are gone. Time consecrates and -confirms. The deeper our roots, the loftier our thoughts, and the -sounder our hearts. I remember a great poet of this age saying to -me that he could not see that, as some one had affirmed, he in his -writings so much resembled Keats. “You are Keats’s own child,” I -replied, “and are of noble parentage.” But indeed every great poet -is the lineal descendant of every other great poet. At any given -moment, what exercises most influence is, not the present, but the -Past. I ventured, the other day, to observe that there are only two -sorts of people, the noble and the ignoble. Dear Lamia, let us try to -belong to the noble, since every one may be a member of that untitled -aristocracy; so that, when we ourselves are, as some of us are -gradually becoming, portions of the Past, we may influence beneficently -an unborn Future.‘ - -‘There never was anything more untrue,’ said Lamia, who was quick to -surmise the more personal meaning that underlay those closing words, -‘than the saying “_On n’est jeune qu’une fois_.” I have been old -several times; but I always get young again.‘ ‘And you will do so very -often, I dare say, for many years to come. Moreover, I like to think -there is the youth of one’s youth, the youth of one’s manhood, and, -finally, the youth of one’s old age. But, when one has reached this -last, man’s capacity for rejuvenescence is exhausted.‘ - -Lamia rose from her seat, placed herself close beside him, and taking -his hand, replied: - -‘Dear Poet, even in my youngest moments, compared with you I am in my -dotage.’ And I would at that moment have been any age you will, to be -treated thus tenderly. - -We made many expeditions of which I have not told you, just as we -visited, again and again, churches, palaces, and dismantled monasteries -I have not named. But Lamia particularly wished to see a Convent,—a -Convent, that is to say, in the Italian signification, of monks, not -disestablished, but allowed still to survive, with a certain number -of its inmates, as a national monument. She had heard me speak of the -attractive hospitality I had enjoyed in them in days gone by; and we -selected for our monastic excursion a Convent in the Apennines not too -remote from Florence, and the drive to which would take us through -Gavinana, a spot none of us had ever visited. Does the word Gavinana -suggest anything to you? Probably not; yet it was there that the -liberties of Florence received their final extinction. Indeed I fancy -that, of the thousands of people who nowadays visit the Tuscan Capital, -many are unaware that, in the earlier part of the sixteenth century, it -underwent a Siege whose incidents strongly resemble many that occurred -during the siege of another Capital nearly thirty years ago. Only -Florence is much more beautiful than Paris, and less suggestive of the -horrors of war. Yet the Siege of Florence lasted ten months, or more -than twice as long as that of Paris; its inhabitants underwent far -greater hardships, and displayed much greater heroism. We might have -been a little sceptical on those points had Florentine historians been -our only authority for them. But the copious and impartial Reports of -the Venetian Ambassadors who were in the Fair City at the time render -doubt impossible, and establish the courage, pertinacity, and patience -of the besieged against Emperor and Pope. All the villas within a -certain radius of Florence were rased to the ground, lest they should -furnish help and corn to the besiegers; and all its silver plate, both -sacred and profane, was melted down to replenish the coffers of the -Republic. It is the noblest, perhaps it is the one perfectly noble, -incident in the story of Florence; and I sometimes have thought, and -the Poet agrees with me, that Francesco Ferruccio, whose statue is -among that series of famous Florentines outside the Uffizi, is its -most heroic and effective figure. He would in all probability have -saved Florence, had the timidity of some of his fellow-countrymen, and -the treachery of others, allowed him; for he proposed to create a -diversion by marching on Rome, and menacing it with another sack such -as had recently taken place under the Constable Bourbon. His project -was overruled, and he died fighting in the piazza at Gavinana; his only -consolation, in his last moments, being that the Leader of the Imperial -Army, the Prince of Orange, was also slain. ‘The ill-omened spot,’ -says the historian of the Commonwealth of Florence, ‘lies within sight -of the traveller as he passes, about a mile to the right of it, on -his way from Pistoia to Modena. And not a peasant of those mountains, -though ignorant as his yoke of dove-coloured oxen of all the history -of his country from that day to this, not a goat-herd tending his -flock by the roadside, not a grimy muleteer bringing down his string -of charcoal-laden beasts from the forests of the Upper Apennine, will -be unable to point out to the stranger the field on which, nearly four -hundred years ago, Tuscan liberty was fought for and lost.’ - -Drinking our coffee, for which we paid an incredibly small sum, under -the plane trees of the square where Ferruccio and Florence fell, we -again discoursed on the arbitrary hazards of Time that made the City -justly called Fair, and to which one is often disposed to apply what -Ovid represents Helen as saying to her Grecian paramour:— - - ‘Apta magis Veneri quam sunt tua corpora Marti: - Bella gerant alii; tu, Paris, semper ama,’ - -a place of arms, a city woeful and intrepid, the champion of freedom -against Sceptre and Tiara. - -‘Surely,’ said Lamia, ‘Dante would have forgiven Florence could he -have lived to see that day. The times were grim, and the deeds austere -enough even for one “who had seen Hell.” Would you not rather,‘ she -continued, turning to the Poet, ‘have it said of you that you had seen -Heaven?’ - -‘Remember,’ said Veronica, ‘Dante saw both.’ - -The twilight was deepening into dusk before we reached the Convent -whither we were bound, for our driver had taken a wrong turning during -the last few miles of our journey; and Lamia was quick to note, as -characteristic of Italy, that, when inquiry put us on the right one, -the directions given were, not as in England, according to signposts, -but to little tabernacles or shrines at the parting of the ways: -now of the Annunciation, now of Saint Agatha or Saint Barbara, now -of Saint Francis of Assisi receiving the Stigmata. I am afraid her -curiosity was more piqued than satisfied when we reached our bourne; -for, though we were most piously welcomed, Veronica and she were not -allowed to violate that portion of the Convent which is defended from -female gaze by the word _Clausura_; and she not unnaturally, though -quite inaccurately, imagined that she was not shown what was most -worth seeing. The Poet and I were allotted sleeping-cells within -the Monastery, but our companions, of course, had to pass the night -in the _Foresteria_, or strangers’ quarter, outside, in charge of a -lay-brother, and it was there we all had our truly ascetic supper. But -the guests of Sallust never enjoyed one more; for our host, the Prior, -was an ideal monk, majestic yet saintly of aspect, with long flowing -beard, silky and snowy, measured manners, and paternally caressing -voice. The Rules of his Order forbid any instrumental accompaniment -either at Mass or the other Sacred Offices of the twenty-four hours; -but he had always loved music for its own sake, and he had made for -himself a primitive sort of spinette, on which he said he would play to -us, for our further entertainment, when the lay-brother who was waiting -on us had retired, and all the Confraternity were in their first deep -sleep. The performance, like the instrument, was touching in its -simplicity; and Veronica, wishing to make him some return, said that -Lamia, too, was fond of music, and would, she was quite sure, sing to -him if he cared to hear her. Even in the _Foresteria_, I fear, there -was a touch of the profane in the suggestion; but he evidently could -not resist the temptation thus presented to him, and begged Lamia to -sing, but with not too loud and penetrating a voice. She at once broke -into the wild and melancholy chant the Italian recruits used to sing in -the days of Napoleon, when they were dragged from their homes to face -the snows of Russia:— - - ‘Partir, partir bisogna, - Dove commanderà il mio Sovrano.’ - -But Lamia got no further than those two lines; for our venerable host -suddenly exclaimed, the colour mounting to his face, and the tears -brimming in his eyes: - -‘Stop! stop! _Mi monta la fantasia._’ And he went on to tell us how he -had not heard that strain for five-and-forty years, and that it used to -be sung by one whose caprice had caused him to abandon the world and -assume the habit of Saint Bruno. - -On our journey homeward, the following morning, Lamia asked: - -‘How would you translate the words the dear old Prior used last night, -_Mi monta la fantasia_?’ - -‘They are not easily rendered into another tongue,’ said Veronica, -‘for they mean so much in the original. But when he said, “the fantasy -mounts and seizes hold of me,” he doubtless meant that your voice -suddenly made him feel all he had felt five-and-forty years ago.‘ - -‘O, how delightful!’ said Lamia. ‘Then I forced the _Clausura_, after -all.’ - -‘It is a pity,’ said Veronica, whose sane nature and active temperament -render her a little intolerant of monasticism in any form, ‘that you -could not break it down altogether, and so make an end of it.’ - -‘And yet,’ said the Poet, who has rather more indulgence for the -weaknesses of human nature, perhaps because he shares them more, ‘I -doubt if we have done with the motives, many and various, that once -engendered and still foster monasticism. The strong, the valiant, the -sensible, require no shelter from the rough usage of the world. But, -as in the days of savage militarism, so in these of an almost equally -pitiless industrialism, terror, timidity, indolence, mysticism, love -of meditation, longing for silence, and a certain passive piety, make -men fly the market-place for the cloister. When Dante, exiled from -Florence, appeared at the Convent in the Apennines, and was asked by -the monks who he might be, did he not answer, “One who is in quest of -peace”? There is no second Dante, but there are many exiles in this -modern world, and I fear their number every day increases. As the -struggle for existence waxes fiercer and fiercer, I think I hear them, -too, exclaiming, _Dona nobis pacem_.‘ - -‘Listening first to Veronica,’ said Lamia, ‘and then to you, I am -forced to the conclusion that many things are intolerable which we -cannot do without. Yet I confess a Convent of Nuns seems more natural -than a Confraternity of Monks.’ - -‘More natural, perhaps,’ said the Poet, ‘but hardly so necessary. For, -even in the very heart of the world, every good woman is more or less -nunlike, by virtue of her purity, her reserve——’ - -‘And, I suppose,’ interrupted Lamia, ‘her obedience?’ - -Nothing disconcerted, he re-echoed the words: ‘And her obedience.’ - -[Illustration: THROUGH THE OLIVES, FLORENCE] - -‘Have you not, dear,’ asked Veronica, ‘confuted yourself by -anticipation? It was a man, not a woman, was it not, that took leave of -the Prior, who would fain have detained him, with the words— - - ‘Father, farewell! Be not distressed, - And take my vow, ere I depart, - To found a Convent in my breast, - And keep a cloister in my heart.’ - -‘One is constantly confuting oneself,’ he replied. - -‘How should it be otherwise?’ said Lamia. ‘Verse being the expression, -not of the convictions, but of the emotions, poets cannot be taxed with -inconsistency, though they contradict themselves a thousand times.’ - -‘Thank you, dear Lamia,’ he said. ‘You are the most ingenious of -apologists. If ever I have to defend myself, you shall be my Portia.’ - - * * * * * - -But the last day, the last night, and then the very morning of -departure at length arrived, when Florence, with its gorgeous towers -and cloud-capped palaces, was, for a time at least, to dissolve like -the baseless fabric of a vision. Perfetta was in tears; Ippolito had -a _mazzetto_ of carnations for us all; the _contadini_ desisted from -their work to cluster in the garden in order to see us off with -many gracious words and expressions of hope that next year we should -return; and the entire household manifested by melancholy smiles their -sorrow at our going. Pasquale, the _cameriere_, had come into my room -early that morning with a doleful face, and, in reply to a renewed -inquiry whether we could not help him to find another place, assured -me that he would not care to serve anybody else; and he launched into -touching eulogies of Veronica’s considerateness and universal capacity, -of Lamia’s irresistible charm, of the genius of the Poet,—_Il Gran -Poeta_, he called him, though utterly ignorant, I need scarcely say, -of the very language in which that retiring person writes,—and of the -thousand-and-one virtues which, finally, he ascribed to myself. If you -think that he was insincere, because he in some degree exaggerated, I -can assure you that you are mistaken. He believed it all. - -‘No, no,’ he said. ‘_Ringrazio tanto la sua signoria_, but I could not -serve any one else. _Riprenderò il mio antico mestiere_’ (I will return -to my old calling). - -‘And what may that be?’ I asked. - -‘Do you not know?’ he said. ‘_Io son comico_’ (I am an actor). - -The dear people we were leaving are all of them so much more or less -histrionic, that Pasquale’s occasionally fine gestures had never struck -me as singular or exceptional. - -‘_Sì, Signore, son comico io_,’ he went on, ‘I am an actor, and have -played at Lucca, at Fiesole, at Pisa, yes and at Siena. Once I was in -the same cast with the stupendous tragedian, Salvini.’ - -‘Yes, a great actor, indeed,’ I said. ‘I once saw him in an Italian -version of our English drama _Othello_.’ - -He was in his early morning dress, wearing no coat nor jacket, and -having in his turned-up white apron my boot-trees, which he was just -about to pack. But he drew himself up with much dignity, and, with the -one disengaged hand suiting the action to the word, he said: - -‘I, too, have played the part of Otello.’ And, without more ado, he -recited, in his sonorous language, the lines: - - Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content! - Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars; - That make ambition virtue! O, farewell! - -And the earnestness with which he recited that pathetic passage -completely submerged the sense of humour that was beginning to rise in -me. - -As we entered Florence, so did we quit it, leisurely, and without -the disenchanting scenes of a modern railway station. We were to -drive across the Apennines to Bologna, and, as we reached the last -flower-stall near the Gate that looks thitherward, Lamia expressed a -wish for one more flower. It was a lovely rose, the only one on a plant -that occupied among the others the place of honour. - -‘It is a pity to spoil the plant,’ said the woman, who was well known -to us, for we had often halted to make purchases from her. ‘Will not -another serve equally well?’ - -You will easily surmise Lamia’s reply. No rose in the world but that -one would have satisfied her desire. - -‘_Come vuole_, said the woman (‘be it as you wish’), and she severed -the fair flower from its stalk. - -‘How much is it?’ I asked, eagerly availing myself of the opportunity -to make dear Lamia a parting gift from the City of Flowers. - -‘Don’t trouble about it,‘ said the woman, ‘you can pay some other time.’ - -‘But there will be no other time,’ said Lamia, ‘for we are going away -for good and all.’ - -‘_Dunque, non si paga. Addio, e buon viaggio!_‘was the reply. (‘In -that case, you must not pay at all. Happy be your journey! Good-bye!’) - - * * * * * - -If people love their home, there is no wrong time for coming back -to it; and, were it not for the delight of returning, I doubt if it -would be wise, save under compulsion, ever to leave it. Tacitus asks, -Who would quit Italy for Germany, were it not that Germany is his own -country? Over English folk, at all worthy of their great descent, the -name of England exercises a more enthralling spell even than that of -Italy; and the Garden that I love is all the dearer to me because it -is thoroughly English. But the moment for returning to it fell out -most felicitously; and, gazing on the scene that awaited us, we were -instantly weaned from all regret even for the sky and sunshine of -Tuscany. Under the broad-trunked, wide-spreading Oak,—Veronica has -christened this particular plot of ground the Oak Parlour,—Five O’Clock -Tea was waiting for us, and once more we looked on one of those Urns -which, I am told, have made the owner’s name a household word in many -kindly hearts. I need not say again how happy we had been in our Tuscan -villa, and I verily believe that Veronica would contrive to make us -comfortable in the desert of Sahara. But it is idle to pretend that -all we mean by the word ‘Home’ is to be had save in this, our own -island; and there is all the difference in the world between Perfetta -and the tearful _cameriere_ who, I suppose, has now returned to his -_antico mestiere_, and is smothering Desdemona before some provincial -Tuscan audience, and the Northern handmaidens who, moulded by the -genius of Veronica, perform with noiseless celerity every office that -can minister to the grace of existence. Do not think me material if -I say that that first Five O’Clock Tea in the Oak Parlour after our -return was an event in our life; for its charm was compounded of many -elements, into which entered the abiding influence of unluxurious -domestic refinement. The green antiquity of the oak, the smooth verdure -of the lawn, unattainable, I fear, by the services of a shepherd lass -and her flock of nibbling sheep, the luxuriance and variety of the -flowers, the view, under the oaken branches, of the Manor-House, white -with roses from ground to gable, the snowy face of the tablecloth, -the glow of the burnished urn, the brightness, the spotlessness, the -seemliness of everything, all contributed to the welcome that attended -us, and to the pleasure we received from it. - -But something more awaited us than the renewal of old delights. Shortly -before we started for our six months’ absence, we had decided, after -much deliberation, to add, in a modest way, to the home that we had -a thousand times declared, in our optimistic fashion, to be already -ample for our needs; and the result was now before us. You may easily -imagine our anxiety to discern if the decision had been wise or the -reverse; for, though we had gone into the plan with a most competent -architect to the utmost detail, and though Veronica had brought her -practical and tasteful mind to bear upon window and overmantel, hinge -and door-plate, moulding and lining-paper, there is always a danger -lest instructions should have been misunderstood or imperfectly carried -out, or that the instructions themselves were wholly or in part a -mistake. We were prepared to be pleased, but also to criticise; but -for fault-finding there was, in truth, no possible room. Animated by -reverence for what already existed, we had bound architect and builder -to certain well-defined lines and curves, prohibiting externally all -originality save what is perhaps the best kind of it in these days, -pious and humble reproduction of what is already recognised as -beautiful. A room, which was originally spoken of as a billiard-room, -and which for a brief while retained that designation, though all idea -of having a billiard-table in it had been promptly abandoned, and which -now is known as the Morning Room, because, as Lamia says, we nearly -always sit there of an evening, a new boudoir for Veronica, who has at -last a refuge of her own worthy of her beneficent labours, three new -sleeping-chambers, and another staircase, composed the new quarter. And -will you believe it?—it was already furnished; Veronica having made due -preparations and given minute instructions for this end partly before -our departure, and partly during our absence. Now, did she triumph over -us in the matter of those various purchases in Florence that used to -move our ignorant mirth; for everything she had acquired had been sent -home in time to be unpacked and placed in the room and the position -allotted to it. Thus, at every turn, we were reminded of the Fair City -and the bewitching land we had so lately left, and of which, not to be -ungrateful, we still talked affectionately even in the hours of our -home-coming. - -But Veronica had no monopoly of success in the swift adornment of our -new wing. I, too, had a little triumph of my own, but, I need scarcely -say, out-of-doors. I do not often sing my own praises, do I, preferring -to extol the Poet and Veronica, who are more deserving of eulogy. But, -on this occasion, I think I really did deserve the congratulations that -were lavished on me. For, with a truly foreseeing mind, I had been -growing on, to use a gardener’s phrase, a certain number of climbing -roses, clematis, jessamine, and other creepers, and had given the -strictest injunctions that they were to be planted against the new -building the very instant the masons had finished it, and were to be -fostered and trained with constant and unremitting attention; and, as -they were then already robust in growth and vigorous at the root, they -were well on their way up the new wing on our arrival. A legend has -since grown up that I did not leave England at all, but remained on the -spot with barrow, trug, and trowel, and that, fast as the work-people -laid a course of stone or brick, I planted a creeper. But, as a fact, -it happened as I have said. - -As for the garden, the garden that the too kindly sympathy of others -permits one to say we all love, I can only say I wish the whole of -Italy could have seen it. The Tea Roses, more numerous and more -beautiful than ever, seemed smilingly to say, ‘Has Tuscany roses to -show more fair?’ Larkspurs, of every imaginable shade of blue, from -azure to cerulean; lupines, white, purple, and yellow; foxgloves, -snowy-white and without a freckle; seemed to challenge each other as to -which would tower highest in the summer air. The Pæony Poppies, some -purposely some accidentally sown, were a garden in themselves, fair -but fugitive, yet making up by their number and infinite variety for -the briefness of their existence. They were everywhere in the beds and -borders, and, as it seemed, where they had chosen to be; there, by the -right of supreme loveliness, and the Swan-neck Poppies, the Caucasian, -and the Victoria Cross, rocked more humbly beside them. No other -plant of such supreme beauty has so solid a stem and such imposing -foliage for so fragile a flower; and this it is, I think, which mainly -constitutes its fresh charm. Every one now loves flowers, and I have no -need to weary you with a catalogue of those in the Garden that I Love. -But I doubt if there be any perennial plant of real beauty and value -that will grow in our latitude which is not to be found there; and I -can say with truth, of every bed and border, that you could not see the -ground for flowers. As for the winding turf walk, which perhaps -you remember as the South Enclosure, it is not I who will say what it -looked like when we returned. For one who has justly acquired honour, -not only by the beauty of her own home, but by her charming pages -concerning all that appertains to a garden, and who had visited it -the day before our arrival, left a little line for Veronica, in which -she generously said it was the loveliest she had ever seen. I should -hesitate to repeat so flattering an opinion, were it not for some -injustice to myself that followed. ‘As for the winding turf walk and -its glow of bloom and colour on either side,’ said the kindly writer, -‘nowhere, I am sure, is there anything like it; and only the Poet could -have conceived it.’ As if it was the Poet who had conceived it! It was -I who,—but so it is in this unfair world, where everybody bows down -before prestige. Lamia herself could not have been more partial or more -unjust. - -[Illustration: LARKSPURS] - -I made some observation of the kind to Veronica, imagining we were -alone, and got for reply,— - -‘My dear, you will never understand women.’ - -‘How is it possible,’ I asked, a little nettled by the implied rebuke, -‘when no two women are alike?’ - -‘No _one_ woman is alike,’ said Lamia, suddenly emerging from a -luxuriance of leaf and flower that had concealed her from view; and, -though Veronica was there to disprove the universal application of -her aphorism, I think she spoke from the very depths of her own inner -consciousness. - -Not even the novelty of the fresh wing, though we kept returning to it -again and again in the course of that to us memorable evening, could -keep us indoors. Lilac, hawthorn, and laburnum had of course flowered -and faded, and the glory of the rhododendrons was fast passing away. -But the air was fragrant with the newly-made but yet uncarted hay; the -scent of the elder was wafted from the lane; the smell of sweet-briar, -with its profusion of little pink rosebuds, was everywhere in the -garden; and we kept stopping ever and again to inhale the penetrating -perfume of the freshly-opened tassels of the lime. Longer and darker -grew the shadows on the lawn, then gradually drew themselves in, and -vanished. The Tea Roses, no longer languid from the heat of the long -summer day, lifted their fair faces freshened with evening dew; the -streaks of crimson that point the pathway of departed days gradually -faded from the west, and the lingering love-song of the missel-thrush -at length came to end, absorbed into the general silence. It was -twilight still, but a twilight slowly succumbing to the Midsummer -night, if night it could be called to which the darkness never wholly -came. Elsewhere, on shrub and sward the deepening dusk brought its -beneficent tribute of abounding moisture; but, under the manifold -foliage of the Oak, the ground retained the dryness of noon. Under -its protecting canopy therefore, as many a time before, satisfied and -silent we sate; till Lamia, moved by the influence of the hour, once -again liberated her fresh young voice, and wedded to notes of almost -austere simplicity the no less simple measure of this Vesper Hymn. - - -GOOD-NIGHT! - -I - - Good-night! Now dwindle wan and low - The embers of the afterglow, - And slowly over leaf and lawn - Is twilight’s dewy curtain drawn. - The slouching vixen leaves her lair, - And, prowling, sniffs the tell-tale air. - The frogs croak louder in the dyke, - And all the trees seem dark alike: - The bee is drowsing in the comb, - The sharded beetle hath gone home: - Good-night! - - -II - - Good-night! The hawk is in his nest, - And the last rook hath dropped to rest. - There is no hum, no chirp, no bleat, - No rustle in the meadow-sweet. - The woodbine, somewhere out of sight, - Sweetens the loneliness of night. - The Sister Stars, that once were seven, - Mourn for their missing mate in Heaven. - The poppy’s fair frail petals close, - The lily yet more languid grows, - And dewy-dreamy droops the rose: - Good-night! - - -III - - Good-night! Caressing and caressed, - The moist babe warms its mother’s breast. - Silent are rustic loom and lathe; - The scythe lies quiet as the swathe; - The woodreeve blinks in covert shed, - The weary yokel is abed, - The covey warm beneath the wing, - And sleep enfoldeth everything. - Forsaken love, its last tear shed, - On the lone pillow lays its head, - And all our woes are respited: - Good-night! - - -_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_. - - - - - * * * * * - - - - -Transcriber’s note: - -Obvious typographical errors have beencorrected silently . All other -variations in hyphenation spelling and punctuation remain unchanged. - -Colour plates are identified by their captions. The many -illustrations without captions are black and white sketches of largely -rural scenes. 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Elgood</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="http://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: Lamia's Winter-Quarters</p> -<p>Author: Alfred Austin</p> -<p>Release Date: December 7, 2016 [eBook #53690]</p> -<p>Language: English</p> -<p>Character set encoding: UTF-8</p> -<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAMIA'S WINTER-QUARTERS***</p> -<p> </p> -<h4>E-text prepared by Charlene Taylor, Les Galloway,<br /> - and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> - (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net">http://www.pgdp.net</a>)<br /> - from page images generously made available by<br /> - Internet Archive<br /> - (<a href="https://archive.org">https://archive.org</a>)</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 - <a href="https://archive.org/details/lamiaswinterquar00austuoft"> - https://archive.org/details/lamiaswinterquar00austuoft</a> - </td> - </tr> -</table> -<p> </p> -<hr class="full" /> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<p class="half-title">LAMIA’S WINTER-QUARTERS</p> - -<div class="figcenter" > -<img src="images/i_001.jpg" alt="Illustration" /> -</div> - - - -<div class="bbox center small"> -<div class="bb"> -<p class="center">IN THE SAME SERIES</p> -</div> -<p class="center"><big>THE GARDEN<br /> -THAT I LOVE</big><br /> - -BY<br /> - -ALFRED AUSTIN</p> - -<p class="center">WITH 16 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS<br /> -IN COLOUR<br /> - -BY<br /> - -GEORGE S. ELGOOD, R.I.</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smcap small">Ordinary Edition, Price</span> <b>7/6</b> <span class="smcap">net</span><br /> - -<span class="smcap small">Edition de Luxe</span>, Price <b>21s.</b> <span class="smcap">net</span></p> - -<p><span class="xs">“The illustrations are worthy of the book, which -is one of the most charming books about a garden -in the language.”—<cite>Daily Chronicle.</cite></span></p> - -<p><span class="xs">“This sumptuous edition will enhance the -appreciation even of this much-appreciated book.”—<cite>Aberdeen -Free Press.</cite></span></p> -<div class="bt"> -<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Published by</span> A. & C. BLACK, LONDON</p> -</div></div> - - -<div class="center space-above"> -<table class="smtab" border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr> - <th align="center" colspan="2">AGENTS</th> -</tr> -<tr> - <td align="left"><span class="smcap">America </span></td> - <td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Macmillan Company</span></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td align="left"></td> - <td align="left"> 64 & 66 Fifth Avenue, New York</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td align="left"><span class="smcap">Canada</span></td> - <td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Macmillan Company of Canada, Ltd.</span></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td align="left"></td> - <td align="left"> 27 Richmond Street West, Toronto</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td align="left"><span class="smcap">India</span></td> - <td align="left"><span class="smcap">Macmillan & Company, Ltd.</span></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td align="left"></td> - <td align="left"> Macmillan Building, Bombay</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td align="left"></td> - <td align="left"> 309 Bow Bazaar Street, Calcutta</td> -</tr> -</table></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="ill1"></a> -<img src="images/i_004.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">‘AND OUT OF A VALLEY OF GRAPE AND GRAIN THERE<br /> -BLOSSOMS A CITY OF DOMES AND TOWERS’</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<h1> -LAMIA’S<br /> -WINTER-QUARTERS</h1> - -<p class="center"><small>BY</small><br /> - -ALFRED AUSTIN<br /> - -<span class="xs">AUTHOR OF ‘THE GARDEN THAT I LOVE,’ ‘IN VERONICA’S GARDEN,‘<br /> -’HAUNTS OF ANCIENT PEACE,’ AND ‘THE POET’S DIARY’</span></p> - - -<div class="figcenter" > -<img src="images/colophon.jpg" alt="Colophon" /> -</div> - - - -<p class="center">LONDON<br /> - -ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK<br /> - -1907</p> - - - - -<p class="center spaced"><span class="xs"> -<i>This Edition is issued with the kind consent of<br /> -Messrs. Macmillan & Co., Ltd.</i></span> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">v</span></p> - - -<div class="chapter-beginning"> -<div class="figcenter" style="max-width: 75%;" > -<img src="images/i_009.jpg" alt="Illustration" /> -</div> - - - -<h2 class="no-break"><a id="Introduction"></a>Introduction<br /> - -<span class="xs">TO</span><br /> - -<small>THE EDITION ILLUSTRATED BY<br /> -GEORGE S. ELGOOD, R.I.</small></h2></div> - -<p>‘I observe,’ said Lamia, ‘that another of those -somewhat numerous prose performances of yours, -that are more or less remotely connected with -Gardens, and which you were pleased, without -any previous consultation with me, to entitle -<cite>Lamia’s Winter-Quarters</cite>, is, like the first of the -series, <cite>The Garden That I Love</cite>, to be issued in an -equally luxurious form, and to be illustrated by -the attractive talent of Mr. Elgood. But since this -project, to which my attention was called by that -now universal source of information, advertise<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">vi</span>ments, -has been alluded to, do you mind telling -me why you called our delightful sojourn in a -Tuscan villa overlooking Florence my winter-quarters -rather than the Poet’s winter-quarters, -or Veronica’s, or, for that matter, even yours?‘</p> - -<p>Somewhat embarrassed, I replied:</p> - -<p>‘To have called the book my winter-quarters -would have savoured of egotism, and would, -moreover, I fear, have failed in attractiveness.’</p> - -<p>‘But against Veronica’s name, or the Poet’s, -no such objection would lie?‘</p> - -<p>‘Perhaps not,’ I said. ‘But possibly from -living with them, to say nothing of you, I have -acquired a habit of respect for the fact; and it -was more consonant with truth to call the winter-quarters -yours.’</p> - -<p>‘How is that?’ she asked.</p> - -<p>‘Well, you see, Veronica does what the Poet -wishes, and the Poet does what you wish, and -so——’</p> - -<p>‘I beg to say,’ she interrupted, ‘<em>that</em> is not -the fact. <em>I</em> do what the <em>Poet</em> wishes.’</p> - -<p>‘Is not that much the same thing?’ I -replied. ‘You always seem to have the same -wish about everything. So I suppose you felt -precisely as he did when he wrote those adulatory<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">vii</span> -lines which I saw in the public prints, a few -days ago, under the heading, “A Poetical Impromptu.”‘</p> - -<p>‘Really! He wrote no such, nor indeed any, -lines, never having seen nor heard of the lady -in question, in his life.’</p> - -<p>‘Is it possible?‘ -‘Everything of that kind is possible in these -days.’</p> - -<p>‘But did he not contradict it?‘ -‘Did he contradict! Like a good many other -men, he would have to keep a Secretary for no -other purpose than to contradict what is reported -in the papers, and most of which they probably -never see. I should think he turned the opportunity -to better account by recalling a couplet of -Pope—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘Let Dennis charge all Grub Street on my quill,</div> - <div class="verse">I wished the man a dinner, and sate still.’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>‘But,’ I said, ‘are not such inventions calculated -to injure the influence of the prints that -resort to them?’</p> - -<p>‘I should think so,’ she said, honouring me -for once by talking seriously.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">viii</span> ‘But whose, and -what, influence is not being injured just now by -their own misdoings? The House of Commons, -for instance, though more written and talked -about than ever, has long been losing influence, -and the Press is now following suit; and it is -the silent, or comparatively silent, persons and -forces that are acquiring or increasing influence; -the Monarchy, the House of Lords, and——’</p> - -<p>‘The House of Lords!’ I exclaimed. ‘I -thought it was going to be abolished, or to have -its very moderate claims yet further curtailed.’</p> - -<p>‘Did you?’ she answered. ‘Then your -thoughts are not of much value. I daresay -it would be difficult to persuade Politicians that -Shakespeare was wiser than all the sons of the -Mother of Parliaments put together; and what -does he say?</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘Take but degree away, untune that string,</div> - <div class="verse">And mark what discord follows.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> -</div></div></div> - -<p>And so long as the British nation continues on -the whole to be sane, it will never consent to -take “degree” away, in order to fasten on itself -a dead level and a tyrannical uniformity<span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">ix</span>.‘</p> - -<p>I was so flattered by Lamia having, in a -short space of time, condescended to talk seriously -with me, that I thought a favourable opportunity -had arisen for preferring any request that -I wanted her to grant. Encouraged by this -feeling, I ventured to say:</p> - -<p>‘A great adornment and advantage to the -forthcoming volume would be a portrait of the -person whose name is associated with it; in other -words, a portrait of Lamia.’</p> - -<p>‘So it has come to that!’ she replied. ‘Not -satisfied with having travestied me in—let me -see—yes, one, two, three, four, five successive -volumes, <cite>The Garden That I Love</cite>, <cite>In Veronica’s -Garden</cite>, <cite>Lamia’s Winter-Quarters</cite>, <cite>Haunts of -Ancient Peace</cite>, and <cite>The Poet’s Diary</cite>, you now propose -to vulgarise my ideal loveliness and magnetic -personality in order to gratify the curiosity of a -number of persons who have never seen me, and -never will. Let me never hear of such a proposal -again. As the little boy said, “Myself is my -own”; and, if it please you, part of</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent22">‘...the gleam,</div> - <div class="verse">The light that never was on sea or land,</div> - <div class="verse">The consecration, and the Poet’s dream.‘</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>‘Your wish is my law,’ I hastened to say, and -was about to snatch at the first subject I could -think of to ward off further reproof, when she -held out a little posy of Penzance sweet-briar -roses she had been wearing, saying in her sweetest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">x</span> -manner, as though afraid she might have wounded -me,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">xi</span> ‘Are they not lovely? No, keep them, if -you care to do so. They remind me of something -I saw the other day, when, on my way to -London for a few hours, the train halted between -Waterloo Station and Charing Cross at a point -overlooking a number of back plots and alleys -of the humblest description; and the one immediately -below me arrested my gaze. There -were two short rows of the purest white linen, -lately out of the wash-tub, hanging out to dry; -and under them, a hammock, with a chubby baby -in it, fast asleep. A few feet behind was a red-brick -wall, and along its foot three rows of pelargoniums -in full flower, and evidently most carefully -hoed and watered. A comely looking woman, with -her sleeves tucked up as far as they would go, -came out of the house, peeped into the hammock, -kissed, or rather hugged the baby, and then turned -it round to screen it a little from the direct rays -of the sun that were shining on this little paradise. -Then the train moved on; and I thought to -myself, with a feeling of quiet joy, that neither -the garden that we love, nor the Tuscan garden -that was our winter-quarters, nor all the gardens -and palaces in the world, contain more happiness -than those few yards of ground in one of the -humblest parts of London, tenanted by linen -hung out to dry, three rows of pelargoniums, -a hammock with a sleeping child in it, and a -loving mother.’</p> - -<p>‘I wish I had seen it,’ I said.</p> - -<p>‘I described it to the Poet,’ Lamia replied; -‘and he then did indulge in an Impromptu, -which—let me think a moment—yes—ran somewhat -like this:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘How blest are they who hunger not</div> - <div class="verse indent2">For riches or renown,</div> - <div class="verse">And keep, within a narrow plot,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">A country heart in town;</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘Who envy not, though lowly born,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Luxurious lives above,</div> - <div class="verse">But blend with toil, renewed each morn,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The bliss of blameless Love.’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xii">xii</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="max-width:75%;"> -<img src="images/i_016.jpg" alt="Illustration" /></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiii">xiii</span></p> - - - -<div class="figcenter" style="max-width:75%;"> -<img src="images/i_017.jpg" alt="Illustration" /> -</div> - - -<h2 class="no-break"><a id="List_of_Illustrations"></a>List of Illustrations<br /> - -<small>BY GEORGE S. ELGOOD, R.I.</small></h2> - - -<div class="center"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr> - <td class="crt"><a href="#ill1">1</a>.</td><td class="clh">‘And out of a valley of grape and grain there - blossoms a City of domes and towers’</td> - <td class="crb"><i>Frontispiece</i></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td align="right" colspan="3"><small>FACING PAGE</small></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="crt"><a href="#ill2">2</a>.</td> - <td class="clh">‘Peach-trees ablow’</td> - <td class="crb">10</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="crt"><a href="#ill3">3</a>.</td> - <td class="clh">Baveno and Isola Pescatori, Lago Maggiore</td> - <td class="crb">18</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="crt"><a href="#ill4">4</a>.</td> - <td class="clh">Orange Grove, Mentone</td> - <td class="crb">22</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="crt"><a href="#ill5">5</a>.</td> - <td class="clh">Pear-blossom, Maritime Alps</td> - <td class="crb">40</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="crt"><a href="#ill6">6</a>.</td> - <td class="clh">‘Between the mountains and the sea’</td> - <td class="crb">52</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="crt"><a href="#ill7">7</a>.</td> - <td class="clh">Florence</td> - <td class="crb">60</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="crt"><a href="#ill8">8</a>.</td> - <td class="clh">A Tuscan Villa</td> - <td class="crb">64</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="crt"><a href="#ill9">9</a>.</td> - <td class="clh">A Noble Fountain</td> - <td class="crb">80</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="crt"><a href="#ill10">10</a>.</td> - <td class="clh">Peach, Plum, and Pear-blossom</td> - <td class="crb">84</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="crt"><a href="#ill11">11</a>.</td> - <td class="clh">Florence</td> - <td class="crb">88</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="crt"><a href="#ill12">12</a>.</td> - <td class="clh">Roses and Iris</td> - <td class="crb">100</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="crt"><a href="#ill13">13</a>.</td> - <td class="clh">‘Everywhere are roses, roses’</td> - <td class="crb">118</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="crt"><a href="#ill14">14</a>.</td> - <td class="clh">Our Tuscan Garden</td> - <td class="crb">138</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="crt"><a href="#ill15">15</a>.</td> - <td class="clh">Through the Olives, Florence</td> - <td class="crb">150</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="crt"><a href="#ill16">16</a>.</td> - <td class="clh">Larkspurs</td> - <td class="crb">160</td> -</tr> -</table></div> - -<p class="center"><i>The head and tailpieces throughout the volume are from pen and ink -drawings by William Scott.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiv">xiv</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="max-width:75%;"> -<img src="images/i_018.jpg" alt="Illustration" /> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xv">xv</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="max-width:75%;"> -<img src="images/i_019.jpg" alt="Illustration" /> -</div> - - -<h2 class="no-break"><a id="INVOCATION"></a>INVOCATION</h2> - - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">I</div> - <div class="verse">Where Apennine slopes unto Tuscan plain,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And breaks into dimples, and laughs to flowers,</div> - <div class="verse">To see where the terrors of Winter wane,</div> - <div class="verse">And out of a valley of grape and grain</div> - <div class="verse indent2">There blossoms a City of domes and towers.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">II</div> - <div class="verse">Teuton, Lombard, and grasping Gaul,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Prince and Pontiff, have forced their way,</div> - <div class="verse">Have forded the river, and scaled the wall,</div> - <div class="verse">And made in its palaces stye and stall,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Where spears might glisten and war-steeds neigh.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">III</div> - <div class="verse">But ever since Florence was fair and young,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And the sun upon turret and belfry shone,</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xvi">xvi</span> - <div class="verse">Were her windows bannered and joy-bells rung,</div> - <div class="verse">When back to his saddle the Stranger sprung,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And lances were lifted and pikemen gone.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">IV</div> - <div class="verse">Yes, ever and ever till you, my Queen,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Came over the sea that is all your own,</div> - <div class="verse">When the tear on the tip of the vine is seen,</div> - <div class="verse">And the fig-tree cressets have flamed to green,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And windflower wakened, and tulip blown.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">V</div> - <div class="verse">Then roses were showered before your feet,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And her lily-crowned gonfalons waved above,</div> - <div class="verse">And children chanted in square and street,</div> - <div class="verse">‘All hail to the Monarch may free men greet,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Whose sceptre is Peace, and whose Throne is Love.’</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">VI</div> - <div class="verse">And now that each snow-torrent foams and falls,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And the oreoles sing and the skylarks soar,</div> - <div class="verse">And the lithe swallow circles her rose-white walls,</div> - <div class="verse">Through the clefts of the Apennine Florence calls,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">‘More welcome than Spring,’ come back once more!</div> -</div> -<p class="center"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xvii">xvii</span></p> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">VII</div> - <div class="verse">‘Come back, for the cuckoo is on its way,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And the mountains, smiling, await your smile;</div> - <div class="verse">And still in my olive-groves bask and stray,</div> - <div class="verse">Till the warm-winged waters and winds of May</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Shall waft you back to your own loved Isle.’</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"><span class="smcap">I Cedri,</span></div> - <div class="verse indent2"><span class="smcap">Pian di Ripoli, Florence</span>,</div> - <div class="verse indent6"><span class="smcap"><i>Lady-Day</i>, 1898.</span></div> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="max-width:50%;"> -<img src="images/i_021.jpg" alt="Illustration" /> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xviii">xviii</span></p> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="max-width:75%;"> -<img src="images/i_022.jpg" alt="Illustration" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">1</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" > -<img src="images/i_023.jpg" alt="Illustration" /> -</div> - - -<h2 class="no-break"><a id="I"></a>LAMIA’S WINTER-QUARTERS</h2> - - -<p>‘Where is Lamia?’</p> - -<p>The inquiry is one not infrequently made; -for, while most of us can vanish without being -missed, some favoured individuals there are whose -disappearance at once excites a sense of loss; and -Lamia is one of these. The question, I need -scarcely say, was put by Veronica; since the Poet -maintains a fine irresponsible attitude respecting -others as well as about himself, and, however -anxious I may be to keep sight of Lamia, I -am hardly so simple as to betray my desire.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">2</span> -But, responding with sincere alacrity to Veronica’s -question, I protested I had not the faintest notion -where she was, but would at once go in search -of her.</p> - -<p>Veronica’s solicitude was, I suspect, prompted -by that deep-seated regard for decorous behaviour, -which, far from leaving it at home, she had -carefully brought abroad as peculiarly applicable -to foreign parts and Continental manners. She is -well aware that, in the matter of social observances, -Lamia is capable of almost any enormity; and -her absence from the morning-room of the hotel -in the southern seaport where we were making -our first halt, inspired her with natural misgiving.</p> - -<p>The search, as it turned out, was not a long -one. Lamia I found seated under a tall white-flowering -magnolia in a leafy garden hard by, -where oleanders already well set for bloom, though -still far from their flowering season, and trees that -for some unknown reason English people call -mimosas, but which they should learn to speak of -as acacias, and various evergreen shrubs of stately -stature, concerning which I should not at present -like to be too closely cross-questioned, offered a -sufficient protection against the burning December -morning sun, while permitting occasional glimpses<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">3</span> -of deep-blue sky. Ostensibly, she was having a -further polish put on her brown leather shoes by a -black-eyed, black-haired, tawny-skinned urchin, who -entered into her humour with true Southern adaptability, -and who would have gone on performing -his quite unnecessary office as long as ever the -young lady desired. For the moment, I think, -she had forgotten all about him, for she had three -oranges in her lap,—‘One for each of you,’ she -said,—and was delicately dividing the other for -her own delectation. A large spray of Parma -violets, fastened to her attractive person, I need -scarcely say exactly where they should be, completed -her recent purchases.</p> - -<p>‘Do you mind asking Veronica to come and -see me?’ she said, ‘for I never was so happy in -my life.’</p> - -<p>I bethought me of the somewhat stern interrogatory, -‘Where is Lamia?’ and merely observed -that Veronica was superintending the final operations -of the maid in the matter of repacking, and -probably would wish not to be disturbed.</p> - -<p>‘How strange!’ said Lamia,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">4</span> ‘and how tastes -differ! The smell of canvas covers and leather -straps is particularly disagreeable to me; whereas -the island of Zante itself could not be more -fragrant than the scent of these violets and oranges, -to say nothing of the magnolia flowers overhead, -and that delightful son of the sunshine at my feet. -And to think that, say thirty-six hours ago, I -roused you and the Poet from your slumbers to -look upon a snow-white world! I daresay you -will think me very capricious, but <em>this</em> is the -garden that I love.’</p> - -<p>‘<i lang="fr">Les absens ont toujours tort</i>,’ said the Poet, -emerging from a shady avenue behind her. At -the sound of his voice she rose somewhat hastily, -as though a performance quite good enough for -me was scarcely consonant with the half-courtly -veneration she entertains for him; gave the -oranges in her lap and a franc-piece to the smiling -young urchin, who thought her more fascinating -than ever, and said reproachfully, ‘Then why do -<em>you</em> absent yourself?’</p> - -<p>‘That was hardly what I meaned,’ he replied. -‘I was referring rather to the position of inferiority -you assign to the garden that we love, because it is -now far away from us. But you are quite right, -and are going to Italy in the proper spirit. -Whatever you see there, admire consumedly, and -you cannot be far wrong.’</p> - -<p>‘Are we not in Italy already?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">5</span>‘ -‘Almost. Its vestibule is Provence.’</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I suppose it is because we are very simple folk, -and lead at home a rather primitive life, that we -find everything new which most other people -find familiar, and so many things attractive that -the bulk of the world treat as undeserving of -attention. Along that magical coast, where we -turned our gaze first to the sea-fringe, then to -the hill declivities, then back again to the white-laced -bays, and never being able to determine -which were the more beautiful, I observe that -persons who have travelled many hundreds of -miles in order to enjoy the sunshine and glamour -of the South, are well content to make this entrancing -journey in a railway carriage, pulling -down the blinds if the sun be a trifle too hot, -and conning their newspaper or turning over the -leaves of some conventional novel, in any case. -That was not our way of travelling, which was a -good deal more leisurely and more old-fashioned. -We should have liked to find ourselves behind -Veronica’s ponies, but our hired vehicle did well -enough; and, while we never asked our cheerfully -communicative driver to quicken his pace, we -frequently begged him to slacken it, and over and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">6</span> -over again bade him halt altogether. Although, -save to Lamia, the road was no new one, we all -alike had fresh unsophisticated eyes for it, and all -of us found it a veritable wonder-world. Indeed, -I could not help reflecting that we behaved very -much as we behave at home in the garden that we -love, declaring that the last blue creek, or the last -secular olive-grove, was the most wonderful we -had yet seen, for no better reason than that it <em>was</em> -the last.</p> - -<p>‘And they told me,’ said Lamia, ‘that the -scenery is so monotonous, and that bay follows -bay, and mountain repeats mountain, with provoking -uniformity. Why, there are not any -two alike. I only wish human beings were as -diverse.’</p> - -<p>‘It all depends,’ said the Poet, ‘whether you -look lovingly or unlovingly, passionately or dispassionately. -One must be intoxicated by scenery, -in order to appreciate it. Tranquil survey is not -enough, and scrutinising curiosity is fatal.’</p> - -<p>‘I am sure,’ said Lamia, ‘Veronica is not -intoxicated. She is tranquillity itself.’</p> - -<p>‘Veronica, you mean,’ was his reply,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">7</span> ‘does not -effervesce. But her silence is, perhaps, the measure -of her emotion.’</p> - -<p>‘O stop! stop! I <em>must</em> have some of those -anemones.‘ -How often a kindred need of this kind arose -on the part of Lamia, it would be hard to say; but, -by degrees, every part of the carriage that was not -occupied by ourselves was filled with tulips, windflowers, -roses, and long branches of early-flowering -golden acacia.</p> - -<p>‘You baby!’ said Veronica, ‘what are you -going to do with them all?’</p> - -<p>‘You shall see, when luncheon-hour has -arrived.‘ -‘Which I think it now has,’ I ventured to -suggest.</p> - -<p>Thereupon we came to a standstill; the driver -took bit and bridle off his willing little nags, and -replaced them with well-filled nose-bags, while we -unloaded our hampers, that were as commodiously -as they were generously stocked. The unpacking -of them went on under the skilful direction of -Veronica, who would no more have dreamed of -allowing us to lunch <i lang="it">al fresco</i> without spotless -table-cloth, neat napkins, and all the apparatus of -civilisation, than in her parlour at home. But she -allowed Lamia to select the spot; and the choice, -though made from romantic rather than from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">8</span> -practical impulse, proved to be not wanting in -comfort. Under a carob-tree, the first Lamia -had ever seen, the cloth was spread; and then -she scattered rather than arranged her lately -gathered flowers, with infinite taste. A short -distance away, as we looked under the olive-trees -across the ruddy clods and accidental wild-flowers, -were the innumerable dimples of the amiable sea; -and, did we turn our heads, slopes of terraced -fertility mounted gradually toward deciduous -clusters of woodland, and peaks of more accentuated -pine.</p> - -<p>‘Will it be very unromantic,’ asked Lamia, -‘to seem hungry? Because if it would, as I -should not like to hurt any one’s feelings, I can -sate the edge of appetite with bare imagination of -a feast, or, at most, with the unsubstantial pageant -of a mandarin orange.‘ -Veronica’s reply was to cut some solid slices of -galantine of fowl, and to tell me to do the same -to one of those long rolls of crisp crust which -contrast so favourably with the semi-barbarous -baker’s bread of our own beloved island. The -Poet, as of right, withdrew the tow from the -withy-bound flask of ruby wine, saying to me, and -to me only, as he did so,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">9</span> ‘<i lang="la">Siccis omnia nam dura -deus proposuit</i>.’ It was our first open-air meal -under the southern sky; and even Veronica, who, -as we all know, is rather on the side of indoor -festivity at home, could not protest that, in the -shelter Lamia had chosen for us, it was a touch -too cold for the pleasant and perfectly safe satisfaction -of our appetite.</p> - -<p>‘Is it always like this?’ asked Lamia.</p> - -<p>‘Far from it,’ I was going to reply; but the -Poet anticipated me.</p> - -<p>‘Yes, always, Lamia! always, always, always! -No one deserves to travel who anticipates anything -less agreeable than what he is enjoying at -the moment. Should it ever be different, let us -hope we shall know how to meet it. Meanwhile, -let us think as little as possible of to-morrow.’</p> - -<p>‘We can all see,’ said Lamia, ‘that such was -the spirit in which you travelled in your youth. -In your rhythmical record of the journey which -you took—not with Veronica, I believe,—along -this meandering coast-line, there is never a stanza, -a line, even a word, to indicate that the myrtle -ever ceases to bloom, or that the sun ever forgets -to shine.’</p> - -<p>‘You forget there is a terrific storm,’ said -Veronica, whose acquaintance with the Poe<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">10</span>t’s -verse, though less frequently exhibited, is, I must -confess, a good deal more intimate than Lamia’s.</p> - -<p>‘Yes,’ said Lamia, quite undisconcerted, ‘only -to disappear with the return of dawn, and never -to be heard of again; and thenceforth we are told -of nothing but genial airs, temperate sunshine, -almond-trees and peach-trees ablow, and oleanders -reddening into bloom.’</p> - -<p>‘You must remember,’ said the Poet, ‘that the -journey was made in the very flush and heyday of -the Spring; and, if I have in any way exaggerated -what I then beheld, was it not the proper exaggeration -of rapture? It is the instinctive -function of Art to reject, to select, and rightly -to magnify what remains. Looking back, I seem -to have omitted much, but to have exaggerated -nothing. Have you not observed that the first -impression we receive of scenery, as, indeed, of -people likewise, is the one that abides with us? -Many times since, I have beheld this tract betwixt -mountain and main veiled in mist, dimmed by -dust, even powdered with snow. But I always -think of it as I saw it first.’</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="ill2"></a> -<img src="images/i_035.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">‘PEACH-TREES ABLOW’</div> -</div> - -<p>‘Do you often think of Olympia?’ Lamia took -courage to ask, seeing the Poet so effusive.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">11</span> ‘Was -she very lovely?’</p> - -<p>‘She was lovely beyond words,’ he answered, -readily responding to her humour. ‘In fact, my -recollection of her is that she was as perfect as the -scenery in which she moved and had her being.’</p> - -<p>‘How nice! I wish I had been Olympia, except -that she seems to have had rather a scanty allowance -of luggage for a longish journey, and no -appetite to speak of, seeing that, if I remember -rightly, she was quite satisfied with a missal and -some dried figs. I fear, after all, I should have -been but ill equipped for the character.‘ -Veronica, to show her displeasure at Lamia’s -levity with things deemed sacred, had risen from -the olive bole on which she was sitting, and moved -towards the sea. Lamia, quick to take a hint, -went on, but with an altered voice:</p> - -<p>‘Tell me, dear Poet, what took you first to -Italy.’</p> - -<p>‘An irrepressible longing. It was first aroused in -me, I think, by reading, in tender years, Arnold’s -<cite>History of Rome</cite>, whereby I believed as firmly in -the Palatine she-wolf, the leap into the Curtian -Gulf, the Rape of the Sabine Women, and the -nocturnal interviews of Numa and Egeria, as in -any of the immediate facts of one’s schoolboy -existence; nor did the iconoclastic criticism, with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">12</span> -which one perforce made acquaintance later on, -in any degree shake that cherished credulity. -What romantic prose originated, was consummated -by yet more wizard verse. To no mediæval -scholar was Virgil more of a magician than to me, -and not even Dante would say of him with more -truth—</p> - -<p> -<i lang="it">Tu se’ lo mio maestro e il mio autore.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>I kept repeating, long before I could translate -them into action, the words addressed by Æneas -to his immortal Mother, when she appeared to him -in the guise of a huntress in the Carthaginian forest, -<i lang="la">Italiam quaero patriam</i>; for already it seemed to -be a second fatherland. And when, at length, the -moment arrived that the longing could be indulged, -the only words I could find to express my -joy were—</p> - -<p> -<i lang="la">Tendimus in Latium, sedes ubi fata quietas<br /> -Ostendunt.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p>‘Stop, stop,’ said Lamia, ‘I wish I understood -Latin, but you know I don’t.‘</p> - -<p>‘Then,’ he replied,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span> ‘do as I did before I first -went to Italy, being then much of the age that you -are now. I bought the best Italian grammar I -could find, and worked at it as a schoolboy is made -to work at the elementary rules of a dead language. -I studied the dictionary in like manner; so that, -when I went to the new land, I might not long -feel quite a stranger there.’</p> - -<p>‘The very thing I have been doing, until my -brain seems a repository for the various inflections -of the subjunctive mood; and, as Veronica corrects -my pronunciation, I hope, by the time we reach -Latium, to be more or less understanded of the -people. But please do not let us concern ourselves -with either my shortcomings or my accomplishments; -but rather tell me, while I make you some -coffee in this windless atmosphere, how you first -went to Italy, and when.‘ -‘It is a long story and will occupy some little -time.’</p> - -<p>‘And so will the making of coffee, if it is to be -made properly,’ said Veronica, who had now -returned to us, and to whose superior powers -Lamia only too willingly surrendered that delicate -task.</p> - -<p>‘One likes to think,’ he began, ‘that Heaven -interests itself in one’s training; and so I used -self-flatteringly to conceive that a special care -arranged the conditions under which one first<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">14</span> -beheld the shore of Liguria. I had taken boat -at Marseilles direct for Leghorn; and, in ordinary -circumstances, we should have passed some thirty-six -hours on the open sea, far from sight or surmise -of land. It was, therefore, through no intelligent -design of one’s own, but through the -sheer bounty of the gods, that the engine broke -down a few hours after we had left Marseilles, but -not so completely but that we could continue our -journey. The result was that we had to hug the -shore nearly the whole way. It was the September -equinox, and the moon was full; so night and day -we gazed on that bewitching coast; bay after bay, -town after town, village after village, mountain-range -after mountain-range, unfolding themselves -to my untravelled gaze. In the course of our -present journey, we shall pass ever and again -through gloomy arcades and narrow ways whose -unseemly aspect will probably shock Veronica and -perhaps please none of us. But distance, the -enchanter, presented them to me then as consisting -mainly of granite palaces and marble belfries; and -in every fold of every hill nestled villages that -seemed built of porphyry, and wherefrom soared, -intermediaries between earth and heaven, many-storied -<i lang="it">campanili</i>, whose chimes, as they pealed for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">15</span> -<i lang="la">Angelus</i> or <i lang="la">Ave Maria</i>, we could sometimes -faintly hear. There was no cloud in the sky, -scarce a ripple on the water, nothing but sunlight -or moonlight in the air. Sleep would have -been a desecration of so ethereal a scene; and -I well remember watching the rounded moon wax -paler and paler as the morning sun reddened up -over the wave, and then sink, as in despair of -rivalry, behind the hills.‘ -‘O, I say, it’s boiling!’ said Lamia.</p> - -<p>I hope everybody knows that, in making coffee, -that is exactly what it should not be allowed to -do; and I fear Lamia had a malicious pleasure in -finding Veronica for once at fault. I cannot but -suppose that Veronica had heard the foregoing -story many times before, but she catches fire so -readily from any one’s enthusiasm for Italy, that -she had almost allowed the coffee to do the same. -But she so deftly rescued it from hurt, that, unheeding -of Lamia’s exclamation, he went on:</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">16</span></p> -<p>‘I saw, what we shall not see, many a form of -half-mysterious loveliness flit by me under flowing -veil down the steps of narrow streets in the -Ligurian Capital,—for we touched for a few hours -at Genoa,—and heard, what we shall not hear, -jovial-looking monks vociferating Vespers in the -Baptistery at Pisa; and then, Lamia, then! I was -borne, I scarce know how, along <i lang="it">Val d’ Arno</i> -through unending vineyard-avenues that seemed -to have dyed the leaves with the colour of their -purple fruit, and amongst which sun-bronzed -youths, who appeared to disport rather than to -toil, were singing love-songs to gaily-kirtled -maidens. The fawn-coloured <i lang="it">bovi</i> oscillated -homeward to the wine-vat, dragging after them -the grape-piled <i lang="it">carri</i> with their wooden wheels; -children and lizards, seemingly of kindred race, -twisted in and out among the workers; and, -stately of stature and sober of mien, dark-haired -matrons stood outside their spacious but unluxurious -homes, plaiting straw with rhythmically-moving -fingers that never seemed to tire. Then -came hills more rounded, softer declivities, a -gradual narrowing of the plain, a forest of domes, -belfries, and towers, and I was in Florence.‘</p> - -<p>‘Why was your visit so brief?’</p> - -<p>‘You ask why. Can one give a reason for -anything one does in one’s youth? Only I remember, -as I reluctantly quitted it, I vowed to -return to it ere long.‘</p> - -<p>‘And you kept your vow,’ said Veronica.</p> - -<p>‘I remember,’ said Lamia.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">17</span></p> - -<p>‘You remember what?’ I asked. ‘You must -have been in your cradle.’</p> - -<p>‘Then I suppose,’ she replied, ‘I was extraordinarily -precocious.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘The sickle hath performed its work,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The storm-gusts sweep the aspens bare,</div> - <div class="verse">Careering clouds and shadows mirk</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Cow the disheartened air.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘No swallow circles round the roof,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">No chirp redeems the dripping shed;</div> - <div class="verse">The very gables frown reproof,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">“Why not already fled?”‘</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>‘Lamia is very unmerciful,’ said the Poet, ‘and -does not allow one to forget the sins of one’s -youth. But it is quite true that, before the leaves -had fallen, one was again on one’s way to Italy; -not along this sybaritic coast, but through the -austere gorges, now green, now gray, of the -Simplon. When, having left the summit behind -us, we zigzagged downward, the mountains began -to wear a gentler aspect, the vegetation seemed -more ample and more unrestrained, the air more -soft, the sky farther off and more ethereal; and -suddenly I caught sight of a huge granite cross, -on the outstretched arms of which was deeply cut -the word <i lang="it">Italia</i>! I trembled with delight; and,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">18</span> -from that hour to this, the word “Italy” has -never lost its magic. On we deviously descended, -past slopes of intermittent chestnut groves -whose leaves, fantastically faded, had not yet -fallen, till my driver exclaimed, “Eccolo! -Signore!” and there basked Baveno by the edge -of the lake in the setting sun, and the Borromean -Islands seemed rather floating in the air than resting -on the water. It was a true Saint Luke’s -summer, where all things seemed stationary in a -season of arrested change before the winter winds -should arise and everything pass away. I have -never again seen Nature in a mood of such absolute -abstraction and self-contemplation; and she -communicated to one’s spirit her own autumnal -detachment from the seasons that are feverish with -growth, and the seasons that are shaken by decay.‘</p> - -<p>The description of suspended animation in the -natural world seemed to infect us with a kindred -tranquillity, and for awhile there followed it a -sympathetic silence.</p> - -<p>‘I know,’ said Lamia at length,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">19</span> ‘your aversion -to the curiosity of the interviewer. But is it -permissible to ask if it might not be worth while -to record some such reminiscences as you have just -recited; in a word,—do not be angry with me,— -to do what so many other people have done, and -to write an autobiography?’</p> - -<div class="figcenter" ><a id="ill3"></a> -<img src="images/i_047.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">BAVENO AND ISOLA PESCATORI, LAGO MAGGIORE</div> -</div> - -<p>‘I have written it,’ he said.</p> - -<p>‘And when shall you publish it?’</p> - -<p>‘Dear Lamia, it is published already.‘ -‘I do not understand,’ she said, ‘for certainly -it is unknown to me.’</p> - -<p>‘I fancy not,’ he replied. ‘Indeed, I gather -that you have paid me the compliment of reading -much of it more than once.’</p> - -<p>As Lamia still seemed puzzled, Veronica broke -in with a slight touch of impatience:</p> - -<p>‘You are scarcely as intelligent as usual, Lamia. -Surely what he means you to understand is that a -man’s works are his autobiography.‘</p> - -<p>‘Exactly. But enough surely—perhaps somewhat -too much—of that subject; and our little -horses are ringing a carillon with their bells, as if -to remind us it is time we were again on our way.’</p> - -<p>‘One moment,’ said Lamia, raising her hand -deprecatingly. ‘Before we quit this first fair spot -of rest in Southern air, grace must be said for our -<i lang="it">al fresco</i> repast. You know what form we like -that grace to take. Be it as brief as you will, but -it must be in verse.’</p> - -<p>‘We are not in Sicily,’ he said,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">20</span> ‘nor am I -Theocritus. But Veronica asked me the other day -if I could give her some idea of the short pastoral -idylls written two thousand years ago, which not -all of us can read, but of which all of us have -heard. I am not so presumptuous as to suppose I -have succeeded in responding adequately to her -wish; but perhaps our almost Sicilian surroundings, -and the indulgent temper of the hour, may confer -on the attempt something of the appropriateness it -would otherwise lack.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘Shepherd swains that feed your flocks</div> - <div class="verse">‘Mong the grassy-rooted rocks,</div> - <div class="verse">While I still see sun and moon,</div> - <div class="verse">Grant to me this simple boon:</div> - <div class="verse">As I sit on craggy seat,</div> - <div class="verse">And your kids and young lambs bleat,</div> - <div class="verse">Let who on the pierced pipe blows</div> - <div class="verse">Play the sweetest air he knows.</div> - <div class="verse">And, when I no more shall hear</div> - <div class="verse">Grasshopper or chanticleer,</div> - <div class="verse">Strew green bay and yellow broom</div> - <div class="verse">On the silence of my tomb;</div> - <div class="verse">And, still giving as you gave,</div> - <div class="verse">Milk a she-goat at my grave.</div> - <div class="verse">For, though life and joy be fled,</div> - <div class="verse">Dear are love-gifts to the dead.’<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></div> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1_1" href="#FNanchor_1_1" class="label">1</a> -The Poet has since told me that these lines are a free paraphrase of an -idyll by Leonidas of Tarentum, who lived in the time of Pyrrhus.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">21</span></p></div> - -<p>Then up we got, and onward we went, past -rocks, and waves, and arbutus, and white heath,—not -the white heath of home, but towering and -flowering fifteen or even twenty feet into the air,—and -<i>Cineraria maritima</i>, and Bacchic ivy, groups -of eucalyptus and acacia, and glimpses of hill and -sky, with here and there a hurrying zigzag torrent. -What seaweed there was, was golden, and the -surging and swirling of the silvery water over and -among it and the red rocks was strangely beautiful. -The liliputian waves kept coming on and breaking, -as in any other sea, but never advancing. As -Lamia said, what motion there was seemed purposeless -motion, resembling the sport of children rather -than the work of grown-up people. But her -greatest delight was yet to come; for, late that -afternoon, she beheld the first orange-grove glittering -and glistening on the sunny outskirts of a -gray-roofed little town, whose bright green <i lang="fr">jalousies</i> -more than relieved what would otherwise have -seemed its somewhat sombre aspect. Thoughtful -Veronica made her take the seat in the carriage -where she might command them best, and her -spoken raptures were what we all, though more -travelled than she, silently felt.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">22</span></p> -<p>‘O, the Garden that you love is nothing, -nothing, nothing, compared with this, which is not -a garden at all, but a fairy grove of light and -lustre. Do let us stop and pluck some of the -golden fruit!’</p> - -<p>‘Better not,’ said Veronica, ‘for doing so might -dissipate your dream. They are lovely to look at, -but indifferent to the taste. Neither is it their -best season. Wait to gather oranges till, if ever, -you are at Sorrento in the heart of May.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes,’ said the Poet, ‘these are well enough; -but they are a feeble imitation of their fellows in -the real South, the true Ausonia.’</p> - -<p>Lamia was as ready to believe everything she -was told as to admire everything she saw; and -her only lament was that, even though moving -at a leisurely pace, beautiful scene after beautiful -scene was withdrawn from her gaze along -that winding road, almost before she could really -behold it.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="ill4"></a> -<img src="images/i_055.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">ORANGE GROVE, MENTONE</div> -</div> - -<p>There came a stage in our journey which, as -you may suppose, was not by any means one of a -single day, when I felt certain a question would -arise likely to lead to some difference of opinion, -and I was curious to see how it would arrange -itself. But, like Lamia herself, who was the person -mainly interested, I carefully avoided all allusion<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">23</span> -to it. She, with infinitely more tact, as becomes a -woman, kept gradually and dexterously leading -up to it, while seeming to be quite unconscious -of it, and indeed as if moving in quite an opposite -direction.</p> - -<p>‘Now,’ said Veronica, with that perfect freedom -from afterthought or unspoken inner thought so -characteristic of her, ‘now we turn inland and -ascend. Say good-bye to the coast-line, which you -will not see again till we reach the summit.’</p> - -<p>‘And say good-bye likewise,’ added the Poet, -‘to the Provençal tongue, that seems to bear -much about the same relation to French that the -Venetian dialect bears to Italian, and to have -retained the indefinable charm of flowers, perfume, -and poetry that hovered round the cradle -of modern verse, and has been handed down to -us from the lips of lovely ladies and obeisant -troubadours.’</p> - -<p>Lamia showed no appreciation of these observations, -as I could well perceive, and went on -inwardly concerting a well-calculated strategy of -her own.</p> - -<p>‘How long will it take us,’ she asked, with -apparent unconcern, ‘to reach the summit?’</p> - -<p>‘Perhaps a couple of hours.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</span>‘ -‘And to descend?’</p> - -<p>‘To descend where?’ asked Veronica, who, I -think, began to suspect what was fermenting in -Lamia’s mind.</p> - -<p>‘Anywhere,’ answered Lamia. ‘I mean where -we reach, as you said, the coast-line again.’</p> - -<p>‘An hour perhaps,’ I said.</p> - -<p>Then followed a short interval of silence or -truce, broken by Lamia, who, far too strategic -to attack the question in front, was now evidently -meditating a flank movement which interested me -greatly.</p> - -<p>‘Do you remember my once saying that I -wished I were a poet?’</p> - -<p>‘Dear Lamia, I can only say to you, as one so -often has to write to unknown correspondents who -send one verse, the intention of which is better -than its execution,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘To have the great poetic heart</div> - <div class="verse">Is more than all poetic fame.‘</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>‘But, when one has neither,’ she replied, bringing -her forces rapidly into action, and resolved at all -costs to turn Veronica’s position,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</span> ‘it is so nice and -so advantageous to be taken about by one who has -both.’</p> - -<p>To the Poet himself, I am sure, this seemed -rather wide of the mark; but it was just one of -those complimentary exaggerations which Lamia -invariably employs when she wants to propitiate -Veronica.</p> - -<p>‘By one who has both,’ she went on, ‘and -accordingly is everywhere vouchsafed a welcome not -only for himself, but for all who travel in his train. -It was not <em>very</em> comfortable last night at that -picturesque <i lang="it">locanda</i>; and I confess I am looking -forward to the prosaic domestic comforts that are -promised us this evening.’</p> - -<p>I confess I did not follow the workings of her -mind, and almost began to suspect that I had -imputed to her a design of which she was innocent. -But I was quickly confirmed again in my original -surmise.</p> - -<p>‘Was this country very different when you saw -it first from what it is now?’</p> - -<p>‘Well, yes, and no,’ replied the Poet, falling -into the trap.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</span> ‘Different where Pleasure and -Fashion have invaded it: not different where -Nature maintains her native dominion. Along the -road, then the only one, we are now ascending, -nothing seems to be altered. What change <em>has</em> -taken place you will perceive very shortly, when -we arrive at the summit. Then one looked down -only on the austere towers and jutting promontory -of a rock-bound sea-moated Principality. Now,—but -never mind!’</p> - -<p>‘But I <em>do</em> mind. I am greatly interested in -these changes.’ Then suddenly, ‘Veronica! Has -it not struck you that we shall arrive at our -journey’s end to-day in the middle of the afternoon, -when you know you never like guests to present -themselves? Do you not think it would be better -if we got there towards tea-time?‘</p> - -<p>‘Yes, I think it would; and we can easily loiter -along the road.’</p> - -<p>‘Dear Veronica!’ said Lamia in her most -impulsive accents and her most irresistible manner, -‘<em>do</em> let us loiter <em>there</em> then, if only for an -hour!’</p> - -<p>‘Where?’ said Veronica.</p> - -<p>‘O, you know what I mean. <em>There!</em>’</p> - -<p>‘But we should have to retrace our steps.‘ -‘A couple of miles only,’ I said, seizing the -opportunity to curry favour with Lamia.</p> - -<p>‘It is odious,’ said Veronica.</p> - -<p>‘It certainly is,’ added the Poet; ‘the most -offensive place I know.’</p> - -<p>‘It was not <i lang="it">Spiaggiascura</i>, was it!’ exclaimed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</span> -Lamia in a tone of pathetic tenderness I never -heard equalled, laying her hand gently on the -Poet’s arm. ‘If it was, of course, I will not -ask it.’</p> - -<p>‘No, it was not Spiaggiascura,’ he replied. -‘Better to think of that as a name that has no -local habitation.’</p> - -<p>Lamia had conquered. That last inimitable -touch of pathos, which was moreover, I am sure, -entirely sincere, had disarmed Veronica’s scruples -and the Poet’s fastidiousness. By the time three -more hours had gone by, we had seen it all, -and were sitting under a brown awning, partaking -of iced coffee to the strains of a Hungarian -band.</p> - -<p>‘I am afraid I rather like it,’ said Lamia.</p> - -<p>‘Why should you not?’ said the Poet.</p> - -<p>‘Not the gambling, surely?’ asked Veronica.</p> - -<p>‘Not the gambling, dear Veronica, so long as I -have you at my side to buttress my somewhat shaky -virtue.’ Then turning to me, ‘You know, of old, -that I have low tastes.’</p> - -<p>‘Well,’ observed the Poet,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</span> ‘I confess that an -earnest desire to be indulgent to whatever is human -has never succeeded in eradicating the feeling that -gambling is the lowest of all human diversions; -and, though here you need neither share nor -even see it unless you wish, it seems to me to cast -its ignoble shadow over the entire place, and to -dethrone it from the majestic position with which -Nature originally invested it. It has infected the -architecture, vulgarised the sea-front, corrupted the -very air, and exercised a malefic influence on -manners.’</p> - -<p>‘And it has certainly spoilt the looks of the -men and women,’ said Lamia. ‘I never saw so -many ugly people as round those fascinating -tables.’</p> - -<p>‘Gambling would make any one ugly,’ said -Veronica.</p> - -<p>‘Then I will never gamble,’ said Lamia.</p> - -<p>‘Let us leave this,’ I ventured to suggest, ‘and -sit among the flower-beds, somewhat too artificial -though I allow they are.’</p> - -<p>‘They look combed and curled,’ said Lamia. -‘I am sure I am quite as natural as they are.’</p> - -<p>‘Dante had so exhaustive an imagination,’ observed -the Poet, when we had shifted our position, -‘that it is not easy to suggest any form of repugnant -penalty not to be met with in the <cite>Divine Comedy</cite>. -But I think what is colloquially called a Hell might -be added to his repulsive Circles. What Lamia<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</span> -said just now is strikingly true. The place has a -malign effect on people’s appearance. Look at -those respectable persons—for I am sure they are -such—trying to appear almost the reverse. Great-granddaughters -of the Pilgrim Fathers are collected -here, just as cold no doubt as their grandmothers, -but striving to seem otherwise. Looking back to -those years when I first wandered along this lovely -region, when this place had neither existence nor -name, I cannot but regret the simplicity that has -passed away. Nor can I think it is well for the -idlers of material civilisation to parade their -opulent <i lang="fr">ennui</i> before a primitive people whom they -will probably end by infecting with their restlessness -and their discontent.‘</p> - -<p>‘I can see,’ said Lamia, ‘this is my first and -last visit to this vicious Circle.’</p> - -<p>‘Come, then,’ he answered, rising, and we all -did the same,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</span> ‘and see how unnecessarily intolerant -one can be, and how narrow is the slip of territory -that modern pleasures have filched from peasant -life and rustic toil. In a few minutes we shall be -among the olive woods. Are we not there already? -See! bare-headed women are washing the clothes -of their husbands and children in the Grima. -Look there, beyond! The goats are clambering -up the precipitous slopes, and browsing on the -myrtle. What now do we behold through sunny -openings in dense dark foliage? Meditating -mountains and laughing sea. Let us recant all -we have said. There is room enough in this large -world for everybody, and manifestly quite enough -for us. Man has wrung from Nature a slight -concession along the coast, but here, as everywhere, -the Hinterland belongs to Heaven.’</p> - -<p>There was little exaggeration in the words. An -ascent as easy as it was brief carried us beyond the -sights and sounds of what Veronica had, with just -alliteration, stigmatised as ‘cosmopolitan canaille,’ -and shortly we were sitting on myrtle-cushioned -boulders, and gazing out, through gaps in the -silvery foliage of the olive-trees, at a sea unchanged -since the days when Hercules is reputed to have -traversed it.</p> - -<p>‘Yes,’ said Lamia penitently;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</span> ‘I own this is -better than the chink of five-franc pieces, the -lavishly gilded ceilings, and the hungry faces -fastened on the gyrations of a whirligig. Yet, the -rooms are crowded, and we have the woods to -ourselves. The perversity that governs the lives -of so many of us is, I have often felt, a strong -argument against Free Will; and never seemed it -more so than here where, in the most enchanting -spot I have as yet beheld, men and women are -most artificial, and most intent on the ugliest of -pursuits.’</p> - -<p>Thereupon—for have you not remarked that -the oldest subjects of discourse are precisely those -which best preserve their freshness?—the conversation, -in this mountain solitude, began to travel, if -somewhat discursively, over trite ground, in the -course of which Lamia rather ingeniously suggested -that, as with every other human faculty, our will -is partly free, in part under the sway of necessity. -The discussion, if discussion it can be called, was -confined to three of us; for the Poet remained -a silent listener.</p> - -<p>‘Have you nothing,’ said Veronica at length, -‘to contribute to our deliberations? Can you not -give us any help in our perplexity?’</p> - -<p>‘I almost think I can,’ he said, ‘but not by -any formal dialectic. Yet is not a universal -conviction, of which it is impossible for human -beings to divest themselves, as convincing as the -most logical demonstration? Once after listening, -by no means for the first time, to the arguments -you have yet again been urging, there came to me -the following reflections:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">32</span></p> - -<p class="center">FREE WILL AND FATE</p> - - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">I</div> - <div class="verse">‘You ask me why I envy not</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The Monarch on his throne.</div> - <div class="verse">It is that I myself have got</div> - <div class="verse indent2">A Kingdom of my own:</div> - <div class="verse">Kingdom by Free Will divine</div> - <div class="verse">Made inalienably mine,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Where over motions blind and brute</div> - <div class="verse">I live and reign supreme, a Sovereign absolute.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">II</div> - <div class="verse">‘Ebbing and flowing as the seas,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And surging but to drown,</div> - <div class="verse">Think you that I will pass to these</div> - <div class="verse indent2">My Sceptre and my Crown?</div> - <div class="verse">Unto rebel passions give</div> - <div class="verse">Empire and prerogative?</div> - <div class="verse indent2">They are attendants in my train,</div> - <div class="verse">To come when I command, and crouch as I ordain.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">III</div> - <div class="verse">‘If Will by long succession be</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Not arbiter of Fate,</div> - <div class="verse">Assail its majesty, and see</div> - <div class="verse indent2">If it doth abdicate.</div> - <div class="verse">Chains that do the body bind</div> - <div class="verse">Cannot manacle the mind.</div> - <div class="verse indent2">What fetters may the heart control,</div> - <div class="verse">Nor doth the Tyrant live that can enslave the soul.</div> -</div> -<p class="center"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">33</span></p> -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">IV</div> - <div class="verse">‘In Spring, when linnets lift their voice</div> - <div class="verse indent2">To praise the Lord and bless,</div> - <div class="verse">They are thus punctual of free choice,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Detesting waywardness.</div> - <div class="verse">Throughout earth, and sky, and sea,</div> - <div class="verse">Law is loving liberty,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">That could, but will not, go astray,</div> - <div class="verse">And, free though to rebel, delighteth to obey.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">V</div> - <div class="verse">‘And Spirit, though encased in clay,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">To sense’s grovelling mood</div> - <div class="verse">Accepteth not, befall what may,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Ignoble servitude.</div> - <div class="verse">In the faggot thrust the torch,</div> - <div class="verse">Till the flame-tongues search and scorch.</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Calmly the martyr mounts the pyre,</div> - <div class="verse">And smiles amid the smoke, and prays above the fire.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">VI</div> - <div class="verse">‘Nor is it Fate directs the waves,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Or dominates the wind:</div> - <div class="verse">They are God’s servants, not His slaves,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And they surmise His mind.</div> - <div class="verse">If the planets walk aright</div> - <div class="verse">Though the dim and trackless night,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Nor their true pathway ever miss,</div> - <div class="verse">Know ye it is because their Will is one with His!‘</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>An hour or so later, just as mountain and main<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">34</span> -began to exchange the resplendent garments of -sundown for twilight’s more sober mantle, Veronica -leaned forward, and, pointing to a motionless -figure that with dark flowing plumes and glittering -bayonet stood out silhouetted against the sky, -exclaimed:</p> - -<p>‘See, Lamia! You are in Italy.’</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="max-width:50%;"> -<img src="images/i_068.jpg" alt="Illustration" /> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">35</span></p> - - - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/i_069.jpg" alt="Illustration" /> -</div> - - -<h2 class="no-break"><a id="II"></a>LAMIA’S WINTER-QUARTERS</h2> - - -<p>‘I wonder,’ said Lamia, ‘who invented the phrase, -“the sunny South”?‘</p> - -<p>‘A poet, no doubt,’ I answered, with perhaps a -slight touch of malice; ‘one who, in Bacon’s -phrase, accommodates the shows of things to the -affections of the mind<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">36</span>.‘</p> - -<p>‘That is all very well when you are not in -immediate contact with the things themselves. -But here we have been for forty-eight hours, and -we have not seen the sun yet. Tuscany could -hardly have behaved worse.’</p> - -<p>‘All of us, even the most prosaic,’ said the -Poet, ‘are makers of phrases only approximately -true; but even to-morrow perhaps you will have -to own that this southward-sloping coast is not -undeserving of its fame.’</p> - -<p>He proved to be right. The following sunrise -rebuked Lamia’s lament; and, when we assembled -at breakfast in our English fashion, she declared -she could have dressed before the open window, -had Veronica but permitted it.</p> - -<p>Still let it be confessed that ‘the sunny South’ -is a phrase that partakes of some exaggeration. -The South is sunnier, much sunnier, than the -North; but it, too, can have its days of gloom, -and even its weeks of capricious temper. Moreover, -there is South, and South; and, despite -Lamia’s somewhat hazardous assertion that -Tuscany could hardly have been more inclement -than it had been in our new quarters for the -first two days after our arrival, there is, as the -rest of us well knew, a vast difference between -its winter climate and that of the favoured -region where, for Lamia’s sake, we awhile were -halting.</p> - -<p>‘Veronica, you grow more wonderful every -day,’ she exclaimed, under the influence of all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">37</span>-glorifying -sunlight. ‘You have discovered a -paradise, by sheer intuition.’</p> - -<p>It is not the first time allusion has been made -to Veronica’s executive talents. They are so much -greater than the rest of us possess, that, when -anything serviceable has to be done, she reduces us -all to insignificance. Without counsel or assistance -from any one, and entirely by correspondence, -she had procured for us, for three months, a home -that we all, with enthusiastic sincerity, declared to -be enchanting. If you think that an easy matter, -I can only say, ‘Try for yourselves.’ It is this -special difficulty that drives so many people who -spend the winter months in the South of Europe -to pass them in hotels. One and all we had -avowed that we would sooner a thousand times -remain at home than resort to that depressing expedient. -Yet pretentious, trim, and conventional -villas, with their cut-and-combed lawns, their -formal palm-trees and dracænas, and their beds of -dubious-coloured cinerarias, are the alternative -that, for the most part, remains; and I imagine -you know that would have consorted but little -better with our tastes.</p> - -<p>‘I knew what you all wanted,’ said Veronica; -‘but let us,’ she added modestly,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">38</span> ‘give thanks to -Fortune, who has had far more to do with it -than I.’</p> - -<p>I verily believe that something, moreover, should -be ascribed to the comparative slenderness of our -purse and to the simplicity of our tastes; nor do I -pretend that what Lamia flatteringly called a paradise -regained would have been much short of a -purgatory to many splendidly-fastidious people. -Our new abode had neither architectural design nor -internal pretension; but the taste of man, in partnership -with time, had given it charm without and -refinement within. Do you remember how, in that -search which finally planted us in the Garden that -we Love, we kept recalling the words of Tacitus -as applied to the race whose preferences run so -strongly in our own blood: <i lang="la">Suam quisque domum -spatio circumdat</i>? I hope we have nothing to conceal, -but is not a sense of seclusion necessary to -felicity? Unlike folk of Northern blood, the Latin -race, and the Italian race more especially, have -little taste for privacy, and none for solitude. To -lean out of the open window onto the street or -highway below, to sit on door-steps whence they -can see and accost chance passers-by, to talk, to -sing, to dance, this is their idea of such happiness -as life permits. But the very spaciousness of their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">39</span> -hills, their plains, their valleys, affords to the more -meditative children of the mist even larger facilities -than our own land for gratifying the passion for -that ‘life removed’ which the Duke in <cite>Measure -for Measure</cite>, probably expressing Shakespeare’s -own personal taste, says he had ‘ever loved.’ -Veronica had found it for us here. The spurs of -the Maritime Alps, as they decline and dwindle -towards the sea, enclose a series of gorges and -ravines of various forms and dimensions. Some -are narrow, gloomy, and precipitous, others gradual, -well open to the sun, not too deep-bosomed, and -gladdened by streams that have their source in -remoter mountain-sheds. It was in one of the -latter we had discovered the shelter and seclusion -we desired. No wind could visit us roughly; for, -if it blew from the north, we were curtained by the -hills, and, should it rage from the sea, we were just -sufficiently away from the shore, and protected -enough in that direction by olive-slopes and orange-groves -to be apprised of its displeasure only by an -unusual rustling of leaves.</p> - -<p>‘But what do you propose to do in this ravine -of rest?’ Lamia inquired of me somewhat mockingly. -‘Veronica is never without occupation; -and here she will be abundantly employed in scour<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">40</span>ing -the neighbouring hamlets for fowls that have -not become all bone and sinew by constant mountaineering, -in checking the washing-book, and in -raising the moral tone of the young people along -the entire countryside. As for me, a determination -to master the Tuscan tongue will give -me rest from the fatigue of too much idleness; -and my new tutor, the young ecclesiastic, whom -Veronica has enticed from the Sacristy for my -benefit, is quite charming, and makes me willing, -as he also seems to be, to prolong indefinitely the -time nominally allotted to the most fascinating of -studies. But you? You cannot “garden” here, for -the ground seems to do that of itself; nor, in any -case, will you have time to pique yourself on the -result of your labours, which, I have observed, is -the main motive power of those persons who are -supposed to love flowers for themselves.‘</p> - -<p>Wishing to divert her playful arrows from myself, -I replied that I was indeed rather gravelled -for lack of employment, and so intended to try -if sitting in the sun and doing nothing would -supply the deficiency; and I then added that -she had forgotten to include the Poet in the -catalogue of the unemployed.</p> - - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="ill5"></a> -<img src="images/i_077.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">PEAR-BLOSSOM, MARITIME ALPS</div> -</div> - -<p>‘O, the Poet?’ she replied.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">41</span> ‘That is <i lang="it">un altro -paio di maniche</i>,—you see my devoted subdeacon is -teaching me the proverbs of his lovely language,—for -he abides in a lofty ether whither I fear my -shafts would never reach him. For anything I -can tell, he may be writing an adorable sonnet -when he is tapping the top of an egg-shell at the -breakfast table; and I often suspect he is, in reality, -in a fine frenzy, when he appears to be listening -deferentially to one of my shallowest disquisitions.’</p> - -<p>‘Would you marry a poet?’ I asked. I should -have half liked to make the inquiry more definite; -but for that I had not the courage.</p> - -<p>‘Marry a poet!’ she exclaimed,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">42</span> ‘I should think -not indeed. Poor Veronica! She manages tolerably -well with hers, thanks to her good sense and infinite -patience; and perhaps she is not as sorely tried as -she deserves to be for the irreparable experiment to -which she has committed herself. For us women -marriage is necessarily the chief mercantile transaction -of our lives; and, if one marries a peer, one -becomes a peeress; if one weds a millionaire, one -may hope to be a million-heiress. But the wife of -a poet does not become a poetess. She cannot share -with him his only valuable asset; and the supposed -romantic nature of his disposition, which is usually -a sheer fiction, not unoften diverts from her the -curiosity to which every woman is entitled, and which -every woman who marries reasonably invariably gets.’</p> - -<p>‘But if you happen to love a poet?’ I persisted.</p> - -<p>She quickly made me repent my question. -‘You are unteachable. Love is a terminable -annuity, that ends long before death, leaving one’s -declining days to abject poverty.‘</p> - -<p>At this juncture I saw Veronica and the Poet -coming along the rose <i>pergola</i>, for January roses -were pretty abundant with us, and I inwardly -wished they had come sooner, for Lamia would -not have dared to say such things in their presence; -reserving, as she seems to do, her most outrageous -utterances for my private benefit. But then, it -is true, I should not in that case have put my -useless interrogatories.</p> - -<p>‘Now,’ she said, ‘I am going to burn some -incense before the Poet.’</p> - -<p>‘You know he loathes it,’ I observed.</p> - -<p>‘Do you think I should proffer it so liberally if -he liked it? We were talking,’ she said, addressing -him, as he joined us,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">43</span> ‘of how we are to occupy -ourselves in the quiet and unexciting quarters -Veronica has provided for us. You, of course, can -write a long poem, and I should think this is just -the place for doing so, though I observe that -people nowadays deprecate the writing of long -poems as being out of date.’</p> - -<p>‘I trust,’ he replied, ‘that will have no influence -on their being written or not being -written. Novel reading, I fear, has proved somewhat -injurious to the more serious side of the imagination, -and prose fiction has created a distaste -for sustained works in verse. If Milton lived -to-day, <cite>L’Allegro</cite> and <cite>Il Penseroso</cite> would perhaps -still be more or less appreciated; but <cite>Paradise -Lost</cite> would of a certainty be condemned as tedious. -Even in his own day it had only fit audience but -few, and few are always enough, if fit.‘</p> - -<p>‘I hope,’ said Lamia, ‘that we who are here -would answer to that description; yet you never -read what you are writing either to Veronica or to -me. I have often wondered what is the reason.’</p> - -<p>‘The reason is very simple,’ he replied. ‘Veronica -is rather difficult, you are somewhat easy, to please; -and, while she might make me too distrustful, you, -dear Lamia, would, I fear, render me too enamoured -of my work. It is best, I think, oneself to be its -critic, and as searching and severe a one as possible; -and then to leave it with all its imperfections on -its head, which are sure to be very numerous, but -are at least one’s own<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">44</span>.‘</p> - -<p>‘I wonder,’ she said, ‘how poetry is written.’</p> - -<p>‘If I could tell you that,’ he answered, ‘you -might conceivably take advantage of the information -to become a formidable rival. But, as far as -I can help you, I should say poetry is a natural -and indeed inevitable form of expression, as I -suppose music also is, in a certain mood or -state.’</p> - -<p>‘And how is the state brought about?’ she -asked.</p> - -<p>A smile came over his face as he replied: ‘I -wish I knew. Perhaps by consorting with Lamias, -when they are not too inquisitive.’</p> - -<p>Veronica remained seated beside us, while he -resumed his walk under the roses. When he had -passed out of hearing, Veronica turned to Lamia a -little austerely, and said:</p> - -<p>‘There are some persons—usually you are not -one of them—who are perpetually trying to invade -the sanctuary of one’s soul, with the result that -one double-locks the doors. Only those who -come to worship, not to scrutinise, are admitted. -Have we not already been told,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘What is it rules thy singing season?</div> - <div class="verse">Instinct, that diviner Reason,</div> - <div class="verse">To which the wish to know seemeth a sort of treason.’</div> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">45</span></p> -<p>‘And again,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘Why dost thou ever cease to sing?</div> - <div class="verse">Singing is such sweet comfort, who,</div> - <div class="verse">If he could sing the whole year through,</div> - <div class="verse">Would barter it for anything?’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>‘Would you like him to sing the whole year -through?’ asked Lamia.</p> - -<p>Veronica made no reply; for, though the -question was put with an air of perfect seriousness, -it might have been interpreted otherwise. So -Lamia went on:</p> - -<p>‘I suppose I do not understand, because I am -not married, and still less have the felicity to be -married to a poet. But, if I were, I fear I should -be exacting enough to wish to be even sweeter -comfort to him than his singing. He paid you a -great compliment, Veronica, the other day, when -you were not present; for at the end of an interesting -discussion,—interesting, at least, to me,—he -said: “The sum of the matter is, bad wives are as -rare as good husbands.” Yet I confess it seems to -me the worst husband in the world would be one -who could find consolation in perpetual carolling. -I would rather he beat me.‘ -I need scarcely say that I heartily sympathised,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">46</span> -though without having the courage to say so, with -these sentiments of Lamia, albeit it is not easy -to decide if they were really hers or not. She -has a fine Socratic talent for eliciting information; -and she was as successful on this occasion as -usual, for, much to my surprise, Veronica, after -a brief silence, rendered necessary perhaps by the -violence of Lamia’s closing observation, said very -quietly:</p> - -<p>‘I should like, if I may, to recite some lines he -wrote the other day, which seem to bear on your -misgivings, if but indirectly, and may perhaps help -to diminish them.’ Thereupon she recited, much -better, I thought, than the Poet himself, the following -apology:—</p> - - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">I</div> - <div class="verse">The lark confinèd in his cage,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And captive in his wing,</div> - <div class="verse">Though fluttering with imprisoned rage,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Forbeareth not to sing.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">II</div> - <div class="verse">But still the strain, though loud and long,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Is but the mock of mirth,</div> - <div class="verse">Not that dawn-dewy nuptial song</div> - <div class="verse indent2">That weddeth Heaven with Earth.</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">47</span></p> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">III</div> - <div class="verse">Voice that in freedom seems so soft,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Fettered, sounds harsh and rough.</div> - <div class="verse">Listen! He shrilleth far too oft,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Nor faltereth half enough.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">IV</div> - <div class="verse">And I, still feebler if not free,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Do hourly more and more</div> - <div class="verse">Grow silent in captivity,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And, if I sing, must soar.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">V</div> - <div class="verse">And as the lark’s free carol floats</div> - <div class="verse indent2">High on a sea of sound,</div> - <div class="verse">So let me fling my random notes</div> - <div class="verse indent2">To ripple round and round.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">VI</div> - <div class="verse">Hark! now he shakes the towering skies,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">A carillon of light,</div> - <div class="verse">Then dwindleth to a faint surmise,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Still singing out of sight.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">VII</div> - <div class="verse">And, though in clearest light arrayed</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The Poet’s song should shine,</div> - <div class="verse">Sometimes his far-off voice will fade</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Into the dim divine.</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">48</span></p> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">VIII</div> - <div class="verse">Then we with following ear and heart</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Should listen to the end,</div> - <div class="verse">Though we descry may but in part,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And dimly apprehend.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">IX</div> - <div class="verse">Lo! soon he quits his heavenly quest,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Slow-carolling into sight,</div> - <div class="verse">Then, quavering downward, strikes his nest,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Earthward aerolite.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse center">X</div> - <div class="verse">So doubt not, dear, that if I soar</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Where none longwhile may dwell,</div> - <div class="verse">Though Heaven at times may be my home,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Home is my Heaven as well.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Notwithstanding Lamia’s anxiety lest we should -find ourselves short of agreeable occupation, our -familiarity with a quiet and unexciting existence -enabled us to pass many delightful days, while none -were without their incidents and their pleasures. -If I attempted to describe these, they might -possibly appear monotonous to you; but they -were not monotonous to us. Excursions to -ruined castles, to picturesquely-perched villages, -to slopes and summits famous for their wild<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">49</span>-flowers, -are enchanting to those who make them; -but one is hardly justified in demanding sustained -attention for them from others. In life, as in -Art, Nature is an excellent background to the -actions and passions of human beings; and our -almost daily quest of natural beauty was not unattended -by experiences that aroused a feeling of -pathos, unsealed the sources of pity, or awakened -the always welcome sense of humour. The -young ecclesiastic who was engaged in the agreeable -task of reading Italian with Lamia was good -enough to wish that we should pay him a visit, -though he warned us, with much well-bred dignity, -that his home was very humble, and that his -reception of us would be equally so. He lived -in an up-and-down hamlet among the hills; -and we made the excursion, Veronica and Lamia -on mules, the Poet and I on foot, with much -willingness. Lamia spoke of him as her subdeacon; -but I believe he was as yet only in -minor orders. He already wore, however, the -ecclesiastical garb, and he had all the grave -demeanour of his destined calling. He made no -secret of the modesty of his origin, and confessed, -with perfect simplicity, that he had chosen the -sacerdotal state because, while having lettered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">50</span> -tastes, he could so best support his mother, who -was a widow, and his two young sisters. He -had contrived to pick up several volumes of the -classics, which evidently were much dearer to him -than the theological tomes that kept them company; -and he frankly declared that, while deeply -attached to his Creed, he would gladly divest -himself of the cassock, if we would only take him -to England, and put him in the way of earning -a livelihood by such agreeable labours as he was -engaged on with Lamia. Before we left, he asked -if he might read us one of the many Sonnets -he had composed in his abundant leisure; and -it was impossible to listen to it without feeling -that he was animated by that desire to -extend the horizon of his existence, which makes -the lives of so many students in Italy, both -ecclesiastic and lay, so deeply pathetic. As -we descended the hill, after visiting with him -the unpretending chapel where he would one -day minister, we lapsed into a compassionate -silence, which I finally broke, knowing that we -were all thinking the same thing, by repeating, -though rather absently, the lovely if hackneyed -Virgilian line:—</p> - -<p> -‘<i lang="la">Sunt lachrymae rerum, et mentem mortalia tangunt</i>’<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">51</span></p> - -<p>I could not be sorry that I had done so; for -instantly the Poet, translating the line, said: ‘Yes.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘These are the things that cause the tears to start,</div> - <div class="verse">And human sorrows touch the human heart.’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>‘Did you notice the artificial flowers on the -altar?’ said Lamia; ‘and does it not seem strange -the peasants should proffer these, when their hills -furnish them with natural ones, in such abundance, -of exquisite beauty and fragrance?’</p> - -<p>‘It offends our taste,’ said Veronica; ‘but I -suppose the artificial flowers cost them something, -however little, while natural flowers would cost -them nothing save the gathering. They want to -give Heaven of their dearest and their best; and -their dearest and best, poor things, are their small -earnings and scant savings.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, that explains it,’ I said; ‘just as, when we -get to Florence, you will see the most fashionable -of its churches, the <i lang="it">Santissima Annunziata</i>, -bedizened all over with gold; gold being the -dearest and best thing with the fashionable. Thus, -both poor and rich alike are devout in their separate -and distinctive ways.’</p> - -<p>Do what we would, and divert ourselves in our -simple, unpretending way as we might, we could<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">52</span> -not help thinking withal of Florence, referring to -Florence, and continually anticipating what Tuscany -had in store for us. Lamia was the most impatient -of us all, partly perhaps because she knew that -concern for her alone still kept us from our -bourne.</p> - -<p>‘Please do not think,’ she said, one day, ‘that -I have not greatly enjoyed myself here. But what -is it—for there is something—that renders life on -this lovely strip of coast between the mountains -and the sea, after a brief sojourn, not quite satisfactory?’</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="ill6"></a> -<img src="images/i_093.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">‘BETWEEN THE MOUNTAINS AND THE SEA’</div> -</div> - -<p>‘Surely,’ said the Poet, ‘it is the insufficient -presence of the Past. Every spot in Europe, as -a matter of course, has had a Past of considerable -duration; and this lovely tract of country must -have had a chequered, and at times a very exciting -one. But its visible relics are few. The Roman -came and made his roads; the Saracen came and -ravaged; feudal bandit harried feudal bandit; and -the great bandit of our own century, Bonaparte, -dispatched and sometimes accompanied his armies -along it. But almost the sole vestiges of its -vanished vigour and virility are trivial ruins devoid -of architectural beauty; its villages are situated -most picturesquely, but they are as devoid of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">53</span> -plastic beauty as an eagle’s eyrie; their churches -are touching in their devout simplicity, but, alike -within and without, lack the impress of the artist’s -mind, the artist’s hand. He has not been here; -or, if he has, the <i lang="it">condottiere</i> has destroyed all traces -of his work. Look at the sea. Byron most -happily called it ‘the image of Eternity,’ for its -Present is exactly like its Past, and its Future -will be only like its Present. Man can make no -impression on it, nor leave on it any trace of his -presence. Therefore, despite its sublimity, most -of us at last tire of gazing on it. It lacks human -interest. When it smiles, it enchants. When it -frowns, it overawes. But we cannot take it to -our heart; and something of the heartlessness of -the sea attaches to a land where neither poet, -architect, nor painter has bequeathed monuments -to remind us that here man has aspired and -striven, here woman consoled and suffered. But -be patient, Lamia. Florence is reserving for you -ample compensation.‘</p> - -<p>‘And yet you, or Veronica, at least,’ said Lamia, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">54</span> -‘would not let us take up our -quarters at or even near,—but perhaps I had better not mention the -place. Only all you have said seems to justify those wicked people, -who find lemon-gardens and olive-groves insufficient for happiness, -and so have enlivened this lovely but unlively coast with casinos, -roulette-tables, and pigeon-shoots.’</p> - -<p>‘And even the lemon-gardens and olive-groves,‘I said, ‘are fast -disappearing. As we have observed only too frequently, they are being -ruthlessly cut down, in order that, in their place, <i>Safrano</i> and -<i>Marie van Houtte</i> roses may be grown for Vienna, London, and Saint -Petersburg.’</p> - -<p>‘And then,’ said Lamia, ‘there will be nothing -left but the mountains and the sea.’</p> - -<p>‘That will be a considerable residuum,’ said -the Poet. ‘I happened to overhear a dialogue -between them the other day, which, if you are so -minded, I shall have much pleasure in repeating -to you.’</p> - -<p>‘By all means,’ said Veronica. ‘Here, we are -in the presence of both; so they will be able to -judge if you report their colloquy correctly.’</p> - - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse center"><span class="smcap">The Mountains</span></div> - <div class="verse">What ails you, Ocean, that nor near nor far,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Find you a bourne to ease your burdened breast,</div> - <div class="verse">But throughout time inexorable are</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Never at rest?</div> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">55</span></div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">With foaming mouth and fluttering crest you leap</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Impatiently towards never-shifting beach,</div> - <div class="verse">Then wheel, and hurry to some distant deep</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Beyond your reach.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Nor golden sands nor sheltering combes can slake</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Your fretful longing for some shore unknown,</div> - <div class="verse">And through your shrineless pilgrimage you make</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Unending moan.</div> -</div> - - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse center">The Sea</div> - <div class="verse">Nimbused by sunlight or enwreathed in snow,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Lonely you stand, and loftily you soar,</div> - <div class="verse">While I immeasurably ebb and flow</div> - <div class="verse indent2">From shore to shore.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">I see the palm-dates mellowing in the sun,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">I hear the snow-fed torrents bound and brawl,</div> - <div class="verse">And if, where’er I range, content with none,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">I know them all.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Inward the ice-floes where the walrus whet</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Their pendent tusks, I sweep and swirl my way,</div> - <div class="verse">Or dally where ‘neath dome and minaret</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The dolphins play.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Beneath or bountiful or bitter sky</div> - <div class="verse indent2">If I myself can never be at rest,</div> - <div class="verse">I lullaby the winds until they lie</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Husht on my breast.</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">56</span></p> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center"><span class="smcap">The Mountains</span></div> - <div class="verse">Till they awake, and from your feeble lap</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Whirl through the air, and in their rage rejoice:</div> - <div class="verse">Then you with levin-bolt and thunderclap</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Mingle your voice.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">But I their vain insanity survey,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And on my silent brow I let them beat.</div> - <div class="verse">What is there it is worth my while to say</div> - <div class="verse indent2">To storm or sleet?</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">I hear the thunder rumbling through the rain,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">I feel the lightning flicker round my head;</div> - <div class="verse">The blizzards buffet me, but I remain</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Dumb as the dead!</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Urged by the goad of stern taskmaster Time,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The Seasons come and go, the years roll round.</div> - <div class="verse">I watch them from my solitude sublime,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Uttering no sound.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">For hate and love I have nor love nor hate;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">To be alone is not to be forlorn:</div> - <div class="verse">The only armour against pitiless Fate</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Is pitying scorn.</div> -</div> - - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">The Sea</div> - <div class="verse">Yet do I sometimes seem to hear afar</div> - <div class="verse indent2">A tumult in your dark ravines as though</div> - <div class="verse">You weary of your loneliness, and are</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Wrestling with woe.</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">57</span></p> - - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center"><span class="smcap">The Mountains</span></div> - <div class="verse">When the white wolves of Winter to their lair</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Throng, and yet deep and deeper sleeps the snow,</div> - <div class="verse">I loose the avalanche, to shake and scare</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The vale below.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">And, when its sprouting hopes and brimming glee</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Are bound and buried in a death-white shroud,</div> - <div class="verse">Then at the thought that I entombed can be,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">I laugh aloud.</div> -</div> - - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse"></div> - <div class="verse center">The Sea</div> - <div class="verse">I grieve with grief, at anguish I repine,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">I dirge the keel the hurricane destroys:</div> - <div class="verse">For all the sorrows of the world are mine,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And all its joys.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">And when there is no space ‘twixt surf and sky,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And all the universe seems cloud and wave,</div> - <div class="verse">It is the immitigable wind, not I,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">That scoops men’s grave.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">I wonder how the blast can hear them moan</div> - <div class="verse indent2">For pity, yet keep deaf unto their prayers.</div> - <div class="verse">I have too many sorrows of my own,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Not to feel theirs.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">And when the season of sweet joy comes round,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">My bosom to their rapture heaves and swells;</div> - <div class="verse">And closer still I creep to catch the sound</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Of wedding bells.</div> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">58</span></div> -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">I see the children digging in the sand,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">I hear the sinewy mariners carouse,</div> - <div class="verse">And lovers in the moonlight, hand-in-hand,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Whispering their vows.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">You in your lofty loneliness disdain</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Suffering below and comfort from above.</div> - <div class="verse">The sweetest thing in all the world is pain</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Consoled by Love.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>After a somewhat lengthened pause, Lamia said: -‘With which do you sympathise, Veronica? With -the mountains, or with the sea?’</p> - -<p>‘O, with the sea!</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘The sweetest thing in all the world is pain</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Consoled by Love.‘</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>‘And you, Sir Poet?’</p> - -<p>‘Surely, with both,’ he answered.</p> - -<p>‘But,’ she persisted, ‘with which of the two, -chiefly?’</p> - -<p>‘I suppose,’ he replied, ‘with the ineradicable -selfishness of a man, one inclines towards the -mountains. <i lang="la">Pacem summa tenent.</i> Serenity dwells -upon the heights.’</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">59</span></p> - - - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/i_101.jpg" alt="Illustration" /> -</div> - -<h2 class="no-break"><a id="III"></a>LAMIA’S WINTER-QUARTERS</h2> - - -<p>I heard the Poet’s voice in the balcony, followed -by the pushing back of heavy <i lang="it">persiane</i>, and then:</p> - -<p>‘Lamia! Come as quickly as you can; I want -to show you what you may never have a chance -of seeing again.’</p> - -<p>There was no reason why, if there was anything -new or wonderful to behold, Lamia and the -Poet should have a monopoly of the spectacle; so, -arraying myself as rapidly as I could, I emerged -onto the balcony just as Lamia, in incomplete but -most fascinating attire, did the same.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">60</span></p> - -<p>‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘What hills! What -slopes! What villas! But where is Florence?’</p> - -<p>‘Wait,’ said the Poet, ‘and you shall see. -Like you, dear Lamia, she is very fair,’—how I -wish I had the courage to address her in that -fashion!—‘but, unlike you, she has not yet -flowered out of the night.’</p> - -<p>‘Neither have I, quite, I fear,’ she said, showing, -when thuswise reminded, a quite unnecessary concern -respecting her hastily-donned apparel.</p> - -<p>‘She is veiled, absolutely veiled, as I have never -seen her before, in a, shall I call it, <i lang="fr">peignoir</i> of -white mist, which conceals her utterly from sight. -But look! she is beginning to disrobe her marble -beauty.’</p> - -<p>‘O, what is that, that surges through the -mist?‘ -‘That is the noblest symbol of civic liberty in -the world, the Tower of the <i lang="it">Palazzo Vecchio</i>.’</p> - -<p>‘And that? And that?‘ -‘The topmost tier of Giotto’s Belfry, worthy, -by its sublime simplicity, to serve for the type -of all great Art; and, at its side in the rapidly-clearing -ether, the cupola of the Duomo, that -Michelangelo would not copy and could not -better.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">61</span>‘Dome after dome, tower after tower, <i lang="it">campanile</i> -after <i lang="it">campanile</i>, surged silently out of the mist; -and, to use the Poet’s I hope not too familiar -simile, the silvery folds of night sank downward -to her feet, and Florence stood in naked loveliness -before Lamia’s delighted gaze. Over the eastern -hills came the bright vernal sun, every mountain -slope broke into smiles and dimples, and in the -last of its seaward valleys Arno glanced and -gleamed with joy of the expanding dawn. Distance -lends enchantment to the sound as well as to the -view, and the clang and clash of innumerable -belfries came modulated through the intervening -air, wherefrom the last lingering trails of mist were -gradually wizarded away.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="ill7"></a> -<img src="images/i_105.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">FLORENCE</div> -</div> - -<p>Question and answer followed each other in -uninterrupted succession. Yes, that was <i lang="it">San -Miniato Al Monte</i>, with <i lang="it">La Bella Villanella</i> -hard by; and that beyond was <i lang="it">Santa Margherita</i>, -neighboured by the villa in which Guicciardini -completed his History. And yes,—Lamia was quite -right,—that was the <i lang="it">Torre del Gallo</i>, and away to -the right and farther up the hills was the Medicean -<i lang="it">Poggio-a-Cajano</i>, where Lorenzo wrote his -poem on the <i lang="it">Ambra</i>. Over the matchless panorama -of hill and valley her interrogatories wandered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">62</span> -unceasingly, whilst we called on our recollection to -supply the names she asked for.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, other <i lang="it">persiane</i> were pushed back, and -Veronica joined us.</p> - -<p>‘What are you all doing?’</p> - -<p>‘Do you remember,’ answered Lamia, ‘the wife -of Cosimo, Pater Patriæ, asking him, when advanced -in years, why he so often sate with closed eyes, and -his answering that he did so in order to accustom -them to what they must soon always be doing? I -am opening mine thus early, feeling that, in such -a world as this, I shall never be able to close them -again.’</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>‘It is perfect, absolutely perfect,’ said Lamia, -‘and no wonder Politian found it so.’</p> - -<p>‘But did Politian really live here?’ I asked.</p> - -<p>‘Let us be wise enough to think so,’ said the -Poet, ‘and it was quite in keeping with Lorenzo’s -magnificence, when that testy scholar, to whom he -had committed the tuition of his sons, quarrelled -with Donna Clarice because she thought she also -should have something to say to their training, to -provide him with such a sanctuary. Besides, in -Italy, Tradition is not, as some one has said -she is elsewhere, a toothless old crone with memory<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">63</span> -half gone, but the trustworthy depositary of unforgotten -glories.‘</p> - -<p>‘It is more than a tradition,’ said Veronica. -‘Only this morning I came across a passage from -Politian’s correspondence, which would seem to -confirm local legend. Here it is. He is writing -to Lorenzo. “When you are incommoded by the -heat of the season at Careggi, you will perchance -bethink you of the shelter of my abode, nor deem -it undeserving of your notice. Nestled in the -sloping sides of the hill, we have here water in -abundance, and, being constantly refreshed by -moderate breezes, experience but little inconvenience -from the fervour of the sun. As you -approach the villa itself, it seems embosomed in -a grove; but, when you reach it, you discover -that it commands a full view of the city. Though -the neighbourhood is not without its denizens, I -can here enjoy the solitude so congenial to my -disposition. But I can offer you the temptation -of other allurements. Wandering beyond his own -boundaries, Pico della Mirandola sometimes steals -unexpectedly on my retirement, and draws me from -my seclusion to share his supper. What that is, -you well know; modest indeed, but neatly served, -and made grateful by the charm of his converse.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">64</span> -But be you my guest. The meal shall be as good, -and the wine better.”‘</p> - -<p>‘How very philosophic!’ said Lamia. ‘So -much so, that the passage was probably written on -the morrow of a certain fascinating young woman, -whose name I cannot remember, but of whom -Politian, I have read, was, notwithstanding his -erudition, deeply enamoured, giving her hand to a -rival scholar, though which of them, I need scarcely -say, I have equally forgotten.’</p> - -<p>‘The great Marullus, I think,’ said the Poet; -‘and your fascinating young woman was Alessandra, -the accomplished daughter of Lorenzo’s -Chancellor, Bartolomeo della Scala, whose house, -still standing, you must remind us to show you in -Florence.‘</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="ill8"></a> -<img src="images/i_113.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">A TUSCAN VILLA</div> -</div> - -<p>Our first business was to make acquaintance -with the immediate surroundings of the home provided -for us by Veronica’s indefatigable foresight, -operating through a protracted correspondence -none of us had been deemed worthy to peruse. -The rural architecture of Tuscany is of a noble -simplicity; and, in the main portion of our villa, -built in the course of the sixteenth century, there -was no deviation from the familiar type. But, -adjoining it westward, and seemingly of more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">65</span> -ancient date, were an upper and a lower <i lang="it">loggia</i> of -conventual aspect; the upper one having a sloping -roof of rich red tiles supported by graceful -pillars of <i lang="it">pietra serena</i>, and the lower one serving -as an Italian equivalent of an English verandah, -only more spacious and more tasteful, in which we -could sun or shade ourselves according to the -mood of the weather. Together, they formed an -impenetrable barrier against the well-known keenness -of the <i lang="it">tramontana</i>, while the main building -provided ample shelter against possible inclemency -from the east. To the west our view was over -the final valley of the Arno, that spacious plain of -fertile cultivation tenderly protected by hills of -exquisite shape and moderate elevation, on whose -bolder ridges stand historic towns of unmatched -picturesqueness; while southward, over vineyards -and olive-groves terraced down precipitously-sloping -ground, we gazed on the domes and towers -of the fair Tuscan capital. If one lives on the side -of a hill, one cannot reasonably expect to have a -very vast level expanse for the purposes of a -garden. A quadrangular space of modest dimensions -between the house and the low boundary wall, -where the ground began to fall away, was all that -had been dedicated to that pleasurable end; and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">66</span> -this afforded Lamia an opportunity of observing -that two such enthusiastic horticulturists as the -Poet and myself would find but few worlds to -conquer in so narrow a territory.</p> - -<p>‘Forget,’ I ventured to plead, ‘what it is useless -to remember. England is well enough, and so is -Italy, but only on condition that you do not ask -from the one what belongs to the other. I am -not quite sure that the person who is intimately -acquainted with both is ever quite satisfied with -either, since it is part of our perverse human -nature mentally to extol what we have not, to the -depreciation of what we have.’</p> - -<p>‘Is it to a woman you say that?’ observed -Lamia, to my complete confusion. ‘Men preach -Philosophy, women practise it; and I shall probably -show myself quite content without your -well-filled borders, while you inwardly, and -perhaps sometimes outwardly, long for your -rampant greenery and untidy efflorescence. -These <i lang="it">garofani</i>—you see,’ she said, turning to -the Poet, ‘I know the Italian for carnations,—in -their tasteful pots along the loopholed wall are -much more to my taste than all the straggling -annuals and robust perpetuals in the world.’</p> - -<p>‘I can see,’ he said, kindly coming to my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">67</span> -rescue, ‘you have found your proper home at last. -I thought it would be so; and we can only congratulate -ourselves on the result. But now let us -explore farther afield, and we shall probably find -that, if we will only use the word garden in a -liberal sense, and indeed in that in which it is used -in the corner of England where we have our home, -there is more of it than we have just rashly -assumed.’</p> - -<p>Thereupon, we passed through a cool, spacious -<i lang="it">cortile</i>, cloistered on two of its sides, but for the -rest open to the sky, and whose only occupants -were a disused fountain and a tall glistening orange-tree -covered with golden fruit, of course of the hardy -bitter sort; thence under an archway festooned -with wistaria not yet in flower, and out into the -<i lang="it">podere</i>, which I must needs call by that name, since -there is no English equivalent for it, and which is -nowhere to be seen in such perfection as in -Tuscany.</p> - -<p>‘Indeed, indeed you are right,’ exclaimed -Lamia;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">68</span> ‘right as when you once said that, were -it always Spring, one would never garden, even -in England. O this young green corn, with its -purple anemones, its crimson tulips, its pale almond -and intensely bright peach blossom, its fantastically -growing fig-trees with their budding tips, its burgeoning -vines and spectral olive-trees, all dwelling -together on the fair hillside that seems to be -smiling self-complacently at its own loveliness! -Look at that bank of irises, not yet broken from -their sheath! But when they have, what a sight -they will be!’</p> - -<p>It is always delightful to have one’s feelings -expressed by some one else in language of enthusiasm -one might oneself be afraid to employ; and we -accompanied Lamia, as a sort of chorus, echoing -all she said, and only too well pleased to follow in -her footsteps, as she wandered on and on through -a world of beauty wholly new to her.</p> - -<p>‘And these lovely grassy paths,’ she said, ‘that -lead everywhere and nowhere, tempting one to -travel on in search of something unknown, but -with ever, on either side, more sprouting wheat, -more pendent vines, more crookedly-branching -fig-stems, more tulips, more windflowers, more -mountains, more glimpses of towers and belfries in -the glittering distance. In England everything -seems to crouch. Here everything seems to -soar.’</p> - -<p>Lured onward by Lamia’s enjoyment, and -mounting by such easy and gradual slopes that we<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">69</span> -hardly noticed we were ascending, we suddenly -came to a grassy plateau almost encircled by secular -cypresses that are the distinctive glory of Tuscany; -and here we might have been tempted to halt, had -it not been that yet beyond it were rugged paths -that zigzagged among tall, dense bushes of white -heath and yellow broom, both now in full flower; -while on shapeless boulders and protruding rocks -were the stars of the white, the yellow, and the -rose-coloured cistus. Here and there we came on -sheets of the single pink anemone; elsewhere, in -the more sheltered nooks, were the Apennine wind-flower -which, with due care and choice of position, -perhaps you remember, we have persuaded to -flourish in the garden that we love.</p> - -<p>‘As Veronica has told us that we are to lead -a life of strict simplicity,’ said Lamia, ‘we had -better do something to make it graceful; and, if -you two will only cut some branches of heath and -broom, I will be equally energetic among the -anemones.’</p> - -<p>We were descending homeward with our lovely -spoil, when we heard a creaking sound well known -to me; and, in another moment, we overtook the -slowly-rolling wheels of a wooden wain—of wood, -not only in its low, long body, but of wood<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">70</span> -throughout, with wooden wheels, wooden pole, -and wooden yoke—drawn by a couple of cream-coloured -steers, and bearing a fragrant load of -newly-cut rye-grass. Though at no little inconvenience -and delay, on the incline along which it was -moving, the peasants who accompanied it at once -cried a halt, that they might show their respect to -and make the acquaintance of the new-comers. -Of the manifold charms of Tuscany, perhaps there -is none so great or so enduring as the charm -of manner peculiar to its rural population. Frank -without being free, deferential but never servile, -not without a fine reserve yet with never a touch -of shyness, withholding not a certain tribute -to social superiority, while tacitly intimating the -fundamental equality that appertains to human -brotherhood, the demeanour and speech of Tuscan -<i lang="it">contadini</i> keep intercourse perpetually fresh, and -impart to conversation on the tritest and most -familiar themes perennial liveliness and interest. -Their salutations, frequent though these be, for -they would never think of passing you without -one, are divested of conventionality by their manifest -sincerity. They can never see you, never -speak to you, too often; and, whenever they speak, -they smile. For thousands of years, morning has<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">71</span> -risen upon the world, but without any diminution -in its freshness; and it is the same with their <i lang="it">Buon -giorno, signore</i>! their <i lang="it">Felice sera, sua signoria</i>! -their <i lang="it">Felicissima notte, e buon riposo</i>! their <i lang="it">A -rivederla</i>! and all their ancient consecrated phrases -for conveying their sense of the strong link that -binds human creatures to each other. Every time -they say these things, they mean them; nor do -they ever tire of the iterated and reiterated courtesies -of life. The undeferential nod of Northern -manners, the mumbled recognition, the slipshod -salutation, would seem shocking to them, as -lacking in human piety. On this occasion, no -doubt, natural curiosity blended with native good-breeding -to make them halt in their labours; for -they were, I have no doubt, as eager to make our -acquaintance as we were to make theirs. Yet of -visible curiosity there was not a trace, as they lifted -their hats from their beaded foreheads and remained -bareheaded till we begged them to cover themselves. -What they conveyed was a fervour of welcome -akin to the glow of an Italian sun, a welcome that -warmed us through and through, and made us feel -that, at that instant, we were forming friendships -that, save for some fault of ours, would last through -life. Were we all in good health? Had we had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">72</span> -a fatiguing journey? Were we comfortable and -happy in the villa? They hoped we were going -to stay a long time. Could they do anything for -us? Did we love Italy? Had we been there -before? O, but it was evident we had; for we -talked their language like one of themselves -(somewhat of an exaggeration, save in the case of -Veronica). Yes, the season was fairly forward, -and there was good promise for everything, given -what was now wanted, plenty of sunshine. Commonplaces, -you perhaps will say. Indeed, yes. -But which of us in this world is so surprisingly -original? The real originality, in some countries -I could mention, would be amiability, unfailing -courtesy in the ever-recurring trifles of life, a wish -to please and to be pleased, and a perpetual freshening -of existence by treating nothing in it as a -matter of course, or as undeserving of recognition -and thankfulness. Even the most original of us -are original only sometimes; and, if we are to consort -with each other at all, we must needs indulge -in a good deal of repetition and commonplace. -But freshness of manner can make repetition sound -absolutely new, and kindliness of disposition invest -the veriest commonplace with an air that everybody -shall take for uncommon.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">73</span></p> - -<p>It was with difficulty we led Lamia away from -her new acquaintances, not the least attractive of -those being the sleek, smooth-coated, soft-eyed -oxen that play so large a part in the picturesqueness -as in the rural life of Tuscany, and that seemed -to appreciate the tender stroking of her hand and -the equally soft caress of her voice.</p> - -<p>‘I never felt such a bumpkin before,’ she said, -‘as in the presence of those gracious peasants. -What barbarians they must think us!’</p> - -<p>‘If they thought that of you, Lamia,’ I said, -more struck by the exaggeration than by the -humility of her remark, ‘they certainly contrived -to conceal their impression. Still, speaking generally, -rural Tuscany is a school of manners.’</p> - -<p>The noble simplicity referred to as the distinguishing -mark of villa architecture in Tuscany, is -as dominant in the interior as on the exterior of its -buildings; ample space being their chief feature and -adornment. Unless they have been invaded by -modern hands, they depend for effect on bold outlines -rather than on decorative detail; and they are -furnished in harmony with the same severe taste. -When Veronica admonished us that we were to lead -a life of strict simplicity, she referred to this -circumstance among others.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">74</span></p> - -<p>‘I hope,’ she said, ‘you have left your sybaritic -tastes at home. You will find many shapely but -no comfortable chairs, no superfluity of cushions, -nowhere a footstool, and, if you choose to lie on -what looks like a sofa, you will soon find you are -not reposing on rose-leaves. You must not come -to me and complain that there is not a bell in your -room, or, if there is, that it apparently has no -communication with the outer world. If Lamia -wishes to make a mess indoors with her flowers -and branches of blossom, she shall not be denied; -but you must not look for those more permanent -graces of life to which you are all so attached.’</p> - -<p>‘Don’t mind <em>me</em>,‘ said Lamia. ‘I am quite -prepared to empty my own bath, brush my own -skirts, answer the bell instead of ringing it, and -live on <i lang="it">fagioli</i> and dried <i lang="it">funghi</i>. Indeed, it was -chiefly to indulge in those unusual luxuries that I -came to Italy.’</p> - -<p>Considering who it is that has created, cherished, -and fostered in us those sybaritic tastes, and -that attachment to the graces and elegancies of life -of which Veronica spoke, and with which she told -us we were now to dispense, we may be pardoned, -I think, if, at the first opportunity, we indulged in -some private humour at her expense. If we are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">75</span> -demoralised by domestic luxury, who is it but -Veronica that has corrupted us? I protest that -most men, in the matter of material comfort, are -absolute Spartans, and, as for the Poet, his native -austerity was once not to be surpassed, and he -still indulges from time to time in his ideal, at -any rate in conversation. But he too has, for the -most part, succumbed to Veronica’s unequalled -capacity for making life at once graceful and -commodious; and I am not sure that now he -would not, if at home, feel almost wronged if, -should he happen to want a paper-cutter, he had to -rise from his chair in order to go in search of one.</p> - -<p>‘Just you wait!’ said Lamia, ‘and see what -becomes of the simple life to which we are to -dedicate ourselves. The first time Veronica goes -to Florence, she will return, I will engage to say, -laden with manifold conveniences of existence, -and by degrees she will introduce a world of things -into this splendid vacuum; and if, some fine -morning, you meet a plumber or bell-hanger on the -stairs, you need not regard him as an interloper. -Nor would I mind wagering my next quarter’s -dress-money that, before long, you will see me -sitting in the easiest of easy-chairs, and gracefully -reposing on the softest of ottomans<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">76</span>.‘</p> - -<p>‘I doubt it,’ said the Poet, ‘for Veronica has a -fine sense of the fitness of things, and her tastes -are sufficiently flexible for her to distinguish -between Northern and Southern needs, Northern -and Southern traditions. When Francesco Cibo, -the nephew of Innocent VIII., married Lorenzo’s -daughter, and came to Florence with a large and -splendid retinue, he was entertained during the -period of the nuptials with the utmost magnificence. -But, at the end of that time, he observed that all -the silver vessels and ornaments, of which there had -been such a profusion, disappeared from the table, -and were replaced by others of brass; and, moreover, -that every meal was now served with the utmost -plainness and frugality. Anxious lest his Roman -attendants should carry back to the Eternal City -the impression that he had contracted a union with -either a very poor or a very parsimonious family, -he sought to discover how they were faring, and -found they were still being entertained in the most -sumptuous manner. The enigma was explained -when Lorenzo said to him, “You are now one of -ourselves, and as one of ourselves I treat you. -My grandsire Cosimo used to say to his sons,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">77</span> -‘Remember you are only citizens of Florence, and -must reserve what splendours you can command -for the glorification of the City.’ As his descendant, -I obey his injunction.”‘</p> - -<p>‘Hark!’ I said. ‘Already there are sounds -of modern civilisation. The grass-plot is being -mown.’</p> - -<p>Lamia and the Poet listened, though I think -the latter at once guessed my meaning.</p> - -<p>‘What is it?’ said Lamia. ‘A mowing-machine? -I cannot hear it. I hear only the -bleating of sheep.’</p> - -<p>We passed afresh into the garden, and there -was a flock of ewes and lambs nibbling the sweet -short clover, attended by a picturesque shepherd -girl, who carefully kept them off the shrubs, but -went on industriously knitting all the while.</p> - -<p>‘Is not that a simple enough mowing-machine -for you?’ I asked. ‘It attains to even Veronica’s -ideal of primitive expedients.‘</p> - -<p>‘It is as simple and primitive,’ said Lamia, ‘as -much of the garden itself. What a comfort it is -to find oneself in a country where’—I imagine -this was intended as a shaft against myself—‘there -does not rage a fidgety mania for perfection. -Flowers here are reduced to their proper subordination -in the universe.’</p> - -<p>Whether Lamia was right or wrong in this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">78</span> -conclusion, it must be allowed that, as a race, -Italians have not that tender attachment to flowers -which is universal among ourselves, and that being, -contrary to general belief, far less sentimental and -more practical than we are, they do not care to -devote much attention to the growing of anything -that cannot be taken to market and turned into -<i lang="it">quattrini</i>, or ready cash. Hence, they will willingly -grow carnations, freesias, arum-lilies, lilies of the -valley, ranunculuses, and such like flowers that -find a quick sale on the ledges of the <i lang="it">Palazzo -Strozzi</i>, or under the shadow of the <i lang="it">Municipio</i> in -the <i lang="it">Piazza della Trinità</i>. But even these are -so reared that the purchaser alone gets any -delectation out of them, and the spot where they -are produced is but little more of a garden in -consequence of their temporary presence. The -difficulty is to induce an Italian gardener to -believe that you care for flowers for their own -sake, that you regard the sale of them as a sort -of desecration, that you feel they ought to be -love-gifts, tokens of present or mementoes of -absent affection, and, in any case, cherished companions -of one’s private thoughts, one’s habitual -pursuits, and one’s transitory emotions. He cannot -understand that you want to consort with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">79</span> -them, to tend them in sickness and health, to -cultivate them for better or for worse, to let them -twine and garland themselves about your inner -and your outer life, to make them, in fact, flesh -of your flesh, and spirit of your spirit, till death -do you part, when, with a sweet form of suttee, -they will come and immolate themselves upon -your grave.</p> - -<p>This conflict of ideals between the Poet and -myself on the one side, and Ippolito, the gardener, -on the other,—for the humblest folk in Tuscany -have classical names, which they imagine to be -Christian, and indeed frequently are so, thanks to -some primitive martyr in the Church Calendar,—began -at once, and never wholly ceased. We put -our veto on the sale in Florence of flower or leaf -grown on the premises; and as Veronica, with all -her marvellous foresight, had not extended our -contract to these, we had to arrange with him what -was to be paid by us for what would otherwise -have been profitable produce. Ippolito’s calculations -were of the most elaborate character; but -their complexity arose solely from his scrupulous -desire to do justice as between man and man. -Personally, he had no money interest in the matter; -for, but for what he regarded as our unaccountable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">80</span> -tastes, he would have carried all the saleable flowers -twice a week to that charming little market-place -which every visitor to the fair city knows so well, -made the best bargain he could with the purchasing -public, and credited his <i lang="it">padrone</i> with the amount -received. Selling the flowers, he could know, to a -<i lang="it">centesimo</i>, what they were worth. Not selling -them, in deference to these odd <i lang="it">forestieri</i>, and -therefore having to surmise what they would -probably have fetched could they have been sold, -and anxious neither to defraud his master nor to -rob us, he lived, during our sojourn, a life of -continual arithmetical anxiety. In vain were the -Poet’s magnificent endeavours to make him understand -that we were not, as modern language has -it, so mighty particular as to what we paid for -rescuing the flowers from what he regarded as an -ignoble doom. We could excite no sentimental -emotion on the subject in Ippolito. To him it was -simply a matter of addition in decimals, the sum -total of which should represent the practical results -of abstract justice. It must not be supposed, -however, that this quite satisfied him, or entirely -quieted his conscience. To the last he let us -perceive that he considered our arbitrary conduct -to have a certain moral obliquity about it, since it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">81</span> -caused and consecrated so much absolute waste; -waste of time, waste of material, waste of money. -Once, when we were not present, he appealed to -Veronica, and asked if we were really in earnest in -forbidding him to sell any portion of the flowers. -The violets flowered by tens of thousands, the -carnations were rotting on their stalks, and it was -not possible more freesias could be wanted for -indoors; and, with his <i lang="it">Ma, Signora mia</i>, and -<i lang="it">Senta, Sua Signoria</i>, he did his best to convert her. -But she told him we were inexorable; and, though -she fully shared our sentiments on the subject, she -laughed at us for a couple of <i lang="it">zucconi</i>, or dunderheads, -for allowing ourselves to pay twice what the -flowers were worth: a form of judgment which, as -we have seen, was not quite equitable, but which -nevertheless represented, with tolerable accuracy, -the low estimate she entertained of either the -Poet’s or my capacity for a bargain.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="ill9"></a> -<img src="images/i_133.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">A NOBLE FOUNTAIN</div> -</div> - -<p>Once Ippolito was thoroughly convinced of our -obduracy concerning his mercenary traditions, he -showed an amiable readiness to please us, by bringing -pot after pot of well-grown plants from frame -and shelf and sheltering nook, and placing them -where we would, and mostly round the noble -fountain that flashed quietly but unceasingly in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">82</span> -centre of the garden enclosure; though he well -knew that, even in the genial weather with which -we were being favoured, the length of their days -would thereby be somewhat curtailed; white arum-lilies, -freesias, lilies of the valley, and early -carnations, thus making a most lively show.</p> - -<p>‘Do not suppose, though,’ I said to Lamia, -‘that Italy has not its true garden season, even in -the English sense; and I trust you will, in due -course, be able to judge of it for yourself. But it -is brief in its marvellous beauty. Like the people -themselves of this lovely land, the year ages soon, -when compared with the lagging Spring, the lingering -Summer, and the slowly-ripening Autumn of -Northern climes. But when the roses come they -will come in battalions, the wistaria will run riot -over wall and pergola, the <i>Spiræa Van Houtte</i> will -whitely decorate itself with a lavishness unknown -to chillier latitudes, and Madonna lilies will astound -you by their height, and irises by their profusion. -For a month, in a favourable season for six weeks, -one will be embowered in bloom; then suddenly to -find, if one gardens in English fashion, you have -no garden at all.’</p> - -<p>‘A short life and a merry one,’ said Lamia:<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">83</span> -‘an ideal existence.’</p> - -<p>‘But do not let us forget,’ I observed, ‘that -when this brief exuberant blending of Spring and -Summer has passed away from the garden, the -purple and opal bunches of the festooned and -trellised vine come timely to take its place.’</p> - -<p>‘Nor,’ added the Poet, ‘should we omit that -bewitching preliminary to the profuse period you -speak of, when, as now, in whichever direction you -look or ramble in that astonishing valley, almond -and peach, plum-blossom, pear-blossom, and -apple-bloom, fleck with their rich rival tints, from -purest white to rosiest pink, the silvery spray of the -ubiquitous olives.’</p> - -<p>‘Silvery till ruffled by the wind,’ he went on, -‘as Lorenzo so admirably describes it in his poem -on the <cite>Ambra</cite>.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘L’uliva, in qualche dolce piaggia aprica,</div> - <div class="verse">Secondo il vento par, or verde, or bianca.‘</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>‘What an incautious quotation!’ said Lamia;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">84</span> -‘and, were I a critic, I should at once fasten on -you a charge of gross plagiarism. I remember, if -you do not:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘The smiling slopes with olive groves bedecked,</div> - <div class="verse">Now darkly green, now, as the breeze did stir,</div> - <div class="verse">Spectral and white, as though the air were flecked</div> - <div class="verse">With elfin branches laced with gossamer;</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - - <div class="verse">And then so faint, the eye could scarce detect</div> - <div class="verse">Which the gray hillside, which the foliage fair;</div> - <div class="verse">Until once more it dense and sombre grew,</div> - <div class="verse">To shift again just as the zephyr blew.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>‘Have I not established my case?’</p> - -<p>‘Completely, my dear Lamia; and I am glad -to find myself in such excellent company as that of -Lorenzo, more especially now that we have taken -possession of a villa where he must often have -been a guest, with Politian for host, and Poggio -and Pico della Mirandola for companions.‘ -‘I fear,’ said Lamia modestly, ‘I should have -found them too learned to be congenial society.’</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="ill10"></a> -<img src="images/i_141.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">PEACH, PLUM, AND PEAR-BLOSSOM</div> -</div> - -<p>‘Not when Lorenzo was with them; for he -assimilated their learning to life, and contrived to -make gaiety out of their scholarship. With more -even than the statesmanship of his grandfather, -and of whom it may equally be said that he ruled -without arms and without a title, endowed with -no inconsiderable portion of the culture of the -students he so generously abetted, Lorenzo was a -thorough man-of-the-world, and more than a -respectable man-of-letters. I recommend to you -his description, in the <cite>Selve d’ Amore</cite>, of the -shepherd leading his flock from the wintry fold to -the Spring pasture, and carrying in his arms a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">85</span> -newly-dropped lamb, his sonnet on the origin of -the violet, and, still more perhaps, the one in praise -of rural sights, sounds, and solitude. Permit me -to cite at least a portion of it:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘Cerchi, chi vuol, le pompe, e gli alti onori,</div> - <div class="verse">Le piazze, e tempi, e gli edifizi magni,</div> - <div class="verse">Le delicie, il tesor, qual accompagni</div> - <div class="verse">Mille duri pensier, mille dolori.</div> - <div class="verse">Un verde praticel pien di bei fiori,</div> - <div class="verse">Un rivolo che l’erba intorno bagni,</div> - <div class="verse">Un augelletto che d’amor si lagni,</div> - <div class="verse">Acqueta molto meglio i nostri ardori.‘</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>‘I fear,’ said Lamia, ‘I have not yet made -sufficient progress in my studies to follow your -recitation completely. Will you kindly translate?’</p> - -<p>‘Let a spontaneous paraphrase suffice, which -will reproduce the original with, if with less -literary perhaps with more spiritual, accuracy.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘Covet who will the patronage of Kings,</div> - <div class="verse">And pompous titles Emperors bestow,</div> - <div class="verse">Splendour, and revelry, and all that brings</div> - <div class="verse">A thousand bitter thoughts, a world of woe:</div> - <div class="verse">A meadow glistening in an April shower,</div> - <div class="verse">A green-banked rivulet, and, near his nest,</div> - <div class="verse">A blackbird carolling in guelder bower,</div> - <div class="verse">‘Tis these that soothe and satisfy the breast.‘</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>‘Surely it is strange,’ I said,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">86</span> ‘that a man so -occupied with affairs of State as Lorenzo, conspiring -and conspired against from morning to night, -a landowner not indifferent to the prosperity of his -estate, a banker attentive to the profitable employment -of his capital, a father most anxious for the -wise bringing up of his sons, a collector of manuscripts, -gems and intaglios, a founder of libraries, -an owner of alum mines, a prince, a statesman, and -a diplomatist, should not only have experienced -such a sentiment as you have cited, but should -have found leisure to give expression to it.’</p> - -<p>‘And in so short a space of time,’ said Lamia, -more indulgent than usual to my observations. -‘Was he not only forty-one when he died?’</p> - -<p>‘He was,’ I said,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">87</span> ‘but he seems to have lived -every hour of his life, and to have acted on the -principle he lays down in his contribution to the -<cite>Disputationes Camaldulenses</cite>, that life should consist -in equal parts of action and contemplation; thereby -being rather at issue with Plato, whom he loved -so well. But even in his most contemplative -moods he never seems to be divorced from the -themes that interest mankind. There is a passage -in a poem of his expository of the Platonic Philosophy -which some critics have thought gave -Michelangelo the suggestion for his famous marble -<i>Sonno</i>, which you will shortly see in the Sacristy of -San Lorenzo; while, in his <cite>Simposio</cite> there is a -description of a toping friar which is worthy of -Chaucer, and in the <cite>Canzoni a Ballo</cite> and the -<cite>Canti Carnascialeschi</cite>, which I cannot recommend -you to read save in what you will scarcely find, an -expurgated edition, he expresses the very thoughts, -feelings, and ideals of the populace of Florence.’</p> - -<p>‘Veronica shall be my Bowdler,’ said Lamia, -‘and meanwhile I thank you for your erudition! -But, as it happens to be my birthday, do you -think you could forget the Medici for a few -moments, if only to wish me, in the most conventional -manner, “many happy returns”?‘</p> - -<p>I had not forgotten the circumstance, and indeed -had armed myself with a propitiatory gift which I -intended to offer later in the day. But, before I -could stammer out my excuses, she put her hand -in that of the Poet, and said:</p> - -<p>‘Perhaps you have forgotten that, not very -long ago, you rebuked me most gently for one of -my numerous foibles, and that I asked you to tell -me what I ought to do, and to be, in order to -merit your approval. Will you, for a birthday -present, tell me now?’</p> - -<p>We had come, in our saunterings, to the long<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">88</span> -low wall, leaning over which we gazed down direct -on Florence.</p> - -<p>‘With pleasure,’ he said, ‘and I must only -hope you will not think me too severe.</p> - - -<p class="center">A BIRTHDAY PRESENT</p> - - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">I</div> - <div class="verse">‘“Say what, to please you, you would have me be.”</div> - <div class="verse indent6">Then listen, dear!</div> - <div class="verse">I fain would have you very fair to see,</div> - <div class="verse indent6">And sweet to hear.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">II</div> - <div class="verse">‘You should have Aphrodite’s form and face,</div> - <div class="verse indent4">With Dian’s tread;</div> - <div class="verse">And something of Minerva’s lofty grace</div> - <div class="verse indent4">Should crown your head.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">III</div> - <div class="verse">‘Summer should wander in your voice, and Spring</div> - <div class="verse indent4">Gleam in your gaze,</div> - <div class="verse">And pure thoughts ripen in your heart that bring</div> - <div class="verse indent4">Calm Autumn days.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">IV</div> - <div class="verse">‘Yours should be winning ways that make Love live,</div> - <div class="verse indent4">And ne’er grow old,</div> - <div class="verse">With ever something yet more sweet to give,</div> - <div class="verse indent4">Which you withhold.</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">89</span></p> -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">V</div> - <div class="verse">‘You should have generous hopes that can beguile</div> - <div class="verse indent4">Life’s doubts and fears,</div> - <div class="verse">And, ever waiting on your April smile,</div> - <div class="verse indent4">The gift of tears.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">VI</div> - <div class="verse">You should be close to us as earth and sea,</div> - <div class="verse indent4">And yet as far</div> - <div class="verse">As Heaven itself. In sooth, I’d have you be</div> - <div class="verse indent4">Just what you are.‘</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>O these poets! I need scarcely say that, after -this insidious effusion, I stowed away the present -I had intended for Lamia in a secret drawer, -reserving it for some more propitious occasion. -I hope I am not prejudiced when I say that the -verses were scarcely among the Poet’s happier compositions. -But diamonds would have lacked lustre, -after such metrical adulation.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>But did you go all that way, it will perhaps be -asked, and introduce Lamia to the acknowledged -fascinations of Tuscany, only to wander in search -of wild-flowers, to climb rural hill-sides, to rave -about scenery and sunshine, to listen reverentially -to the Poet’s rhymes, and to discuss things in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">90</span> -general, and Lamia’s favourite themes in particular? -Surely, you may be disposed to add, all those things -could have been done just as well at home. Had -Florence itself, its churches, its palaces, its galleries, -its storied thoroughfares, no attraction for you all?</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="ill11"></a> -<img src="images/i_149.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">FLORENCE</div> -</div> - -<p>Indeed they had. But these have been written -about with such minuteness by the learned, and -with such fervour by the enthusiastic, that you -would hardly thank so homely a pen as mine for -describing them afresh. Moreover, let it be confessed -that we had a way of our own, which is -hardly the common way, of impressing Lamia’s -sensitive mind with the artistic marvels of the City -of Flowers. To the rest of us, Florence was -already as familiar even as the Garden that we love, -and the Poet had a theory, in which I entirely concurred, -as to how Lamia’s familiarity should grow -to be like ours, with a reserved freshness of its -own. ‘There are two ways,’ he said, ‘of -approaching a place like Florence. You can try -to take possession of it, or you can allow it to take -possession of you. The first is the more usual, -but the second is, I would suggest, the more -excellent way. Once when I was travelling hitherward, -I remember an American tourist who was -the only other occupant of the railway compartment,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">91</span> -asking me if I knew Pisa; and, on my replying -that I did, he said he should be much obliged if I -would point it out to him. Shortly we approached -it, and the train slackened pace in order to make -the customary halt of some seven or eight -minutes. “This is Pisa,” I said, and he at once -leaned out of the window, and there he remained -intently gazing till its Duomo, Leaning Tower, -and Baptistery, could be seen no more. Then -he turned to me, and said, “I thank you, sir, for -showing me Pisa. I should not have liked to -return to the States without having seen Pisa.” -I beg of you not to take my fellow-traveller as a -national type, for Americans are as various, and -differ from each other as much, as the people of -other countries. But I cannot think he had seen -Pisa. Yet numbers of people resemble him in -their tacit assumption that a hasty visual impression -or snapshot, so to speak, deserves to be -described as seeing, though, assuredly, where great -works of art are concerned, it is not to see with -the mind’s eye, to say nothing of the spirit’s.‘</p> - -<p>‘I am easily taken possession of, as you know,’ -said Lamia, for a moment pointedly turning to me, -who certainly know nothing of the kind, and -indeed know very much the reverse, and then re<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">92</span>directing -her attention to the Poet. ‘But, if one -is to be taken possession of by all the lovely places -and things in this world, would not one have to -live to a rather venerable age?’</p> - -<p>‘There is an alternative,’ I said, ‘is there not? -which is to be taken possession of by only some -of them, but to be taken possession of by these -thoroughly.’</p> - -<p>‘How conjugal and domestic that sounds. -But it makes no allowance for feminine curiosity. -I should be sorry, when we leave Florence, to think -there was anything in it worth seeing I had not -seen.‘ -‘Neither shall there be, I hope,’ said the Poet, -‘but, if one is really to see what is worth seeing, I -think one must bridle one’s curiosity a little about -much that is not worth seeing. The specialist, no -doubt, must be boundlessly curious concerning his -particular pursuit, and the professional student -of Art is a specialist. We are, at best, only -dilettanti, and seek solely to expand our minds -through sympathetic and discriminating enjoyment.‘</p> - -<p>‘In fact,’ said Lamia,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">93</span> ‘it is with Art as with -Life. If one is to enjoy it, one must not know -too much about it. In that case, I can promise -myself, during the next few weeks, no end of -pleasure.’</p> - -<p>We none of us, unless it be Veronica sometimes, -resent Lamia’s seemingly irrelevant way of diverting -a discussion, and the Poet has less reason than -any of us to do so, since she not only accepts his -utterances as words of absolute wisdom, but invariably -strives to shape herself according to his -canons of life and conduct. Accordingly, when we -descended into Florence, which was pretty often, -she manifested neither impatience nor curiosity, -but suffered herself to fall into the fortuitous -fashion of wandering about it that he recommended. -We had neither guide nor guide-book; and, if any -of us showed a disposition to enter here or to linger -there, we entered or lingered as a matter of course. -Lamia was left to her own impulses in giving -much or little attention to tomb, fresco, statue, -altar-piece, pulpit, or doorway; nor was she distracted -by any information concerning them till -she asked for it. Then, indeed, it was given most -willingly, and it was rarely that one or other of us -could not answer her inquiries. The Poet and I -were sometimes at fault, but Veronica never. If -you think that by such a method as this much -must have been overlooked that is well deserving<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">94</span> -of notice, you must remember there was nothing to -prevent us from returning to the same chapel or -sacristy, the same monument or bas-relief, again -and again; and, so varying is the human mood in -general, and Lamia’s mood in particular, that what -she would pass by on one occasion would wholly -engross her attention in another. Thus there -was a certain method underlying our apparent -purposelessness, and I fancy she ended by knowing -fully as much about Florence as those who order -their visits to its innumerable treasures, while I am -sure she enjoyed herself infinitely more. Moreover, -this unsystematic system of artistic vagrancy issued -sometimes in welcome surprises that extended the -experience of all of us. One evening, for instance, -just as we were on the point of quitting the city -and driving homeward, Lamia said:</p> - -<p>‘Let us go into the Duomo for a few minutes.’</p> - -<p>‘But it is so dark,’ I suggested, ‘you will see -nothing!’</p> - -<p>We entered, nevertheless. It was the eve of -Good Friday, when, according to the Roman -Catholic Ritual, the Host, instead of being -enshrined as usual on the High Altar, is, in commemoration -of the sacred tragedy of Calvary, -borne to a dimly-lighted Sepulchre, where, all night<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">95</span> -long, the faithful come to watch and pray. The -Office of <i lang="la">Tenebræ</i> was just over, and the worshippers -had all passed out of the Cathedral. There -remained in the doubtful light only a Verger and -ourselves, till, from either side of the Choir, there -emerged a figure robed in black, and bearing a -lighted torch. Slowly, solemnly, and parallel to -each other, they skirted the inner walls of the -building, till they met at the main doorway, and -then, at the same grave pace, they walked up -the long empty nave. I had a surmise of what -was signified by this slow and lonely procession, -but in order to be quite sure I said to the -Verger:</p> - -<p>‘<i lang="it">Cosa fanno?</i>’ (What are they doing?)</p> - -<p>‘<i lang="it">Cercano Il Signore, e non lo trovano</i>,’ he replied. -(They are looking for Our Lord, and cannot find -Him.)</p> - -<p>We all had heard the reply. Then we quitted -the Duomo, and drove home in silence.</p> - -<p>Surely it is true, is it not, that accidental -experiences have a sharper savour and leave behind -them a more enduring reminiscence than projected -ones? What one expects but rarely comes up to -expectation, and has generally cost some thought -or trouble to procure. What happens unex<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">96</span>pectedly, -if it be of the welcome kind, finds one -disarmed and indisposed to criticise, and the -emotion it excites is all sheer gain, no price of -admission, to so speak, having been paid for it. -Just as wandering along a river is more agreeable -than walking along a canal, so people who canalise -their lives and prearrange their enjoyments lose -much of the enchantment which attends the guiding -beneficence of chance. In Florence, you can -scarcely halt anywhere, but story sacred or profane, -saint or scholar, painter or patriot, poet, martyr, -or enthusiast, has left some indelible trace to mark -and glorify the spot, and to make you lift your -head and then your heart. The very lapidary -inscriptions let into the walls where architect or -sculptor, jurist or astronomer once abode, are a -continual invitation to the wayfarer to pause, to -read, to ponder. Nor is it perhaps the most -famous or the best known that are the most -interesting and suggestive. The Poet seemed to -have a special faculty for arresting our footsteps -by those most worthy of contemplation. ‘Is not -this one,’ he said,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">97</span> ‘peculiarly consolatory in a -period like the present, when most people, and the -Italians especially, seem to think that originality -consists in artificial novelty and even grotesqueness—for -that is where such novelty too often leads—of -manner and expression.’</p> - -<p>Thereupon he read: ‘<i lang="it">Qui visse e morì Benedetto -da Majano, chi nelle opere sue confrontò con -venustà di stile e di forme le grandi idee del genio -creatore.</i>’ (Here lived and died Benedetto da -Maiano, who in his works conferred charm of style -and beauty of form on the lofty ideas of creative -genius.)</p> - -<p>‘To do that,’ he said, ‘is to overcome the -main difficulty and solve the essential problem of -Art, whether in marble or in language. In our -day, too many persons shirk the difficulty and -ignore the problem, and seek to conceal the -poverty of their ideas under the extravagance of -their manner.’</p> - -<p>‘Some of these are very successful,’ I ventured -to observe.</p> - -<p>‘Not,’ said Veronica,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">98</span> ‘if in the notion of -success be included that of succession. Congratulated -to-day, will they not be consigned to -oblivion to-morrow, when right taste has resumed -its authority, or when some one yet more extravagant -creates an impression, equally sudden -and equally transitory, of a somewhat similar -character?’</p> - -<p>‘I think so,’ said the Poet, ‘and I am sufficiently -enamoured of <i lang="it">venustà di stile</i> to hope so. As -great a master of style as this century has produced -says somewhere, “<i lang="fr">On peut tout dire dans le style -simple et correct des bons auteurs. Les expressions -violentes viennent toujours ou d’une prétention, ou -de l’ignorance de nos richesses réelles.</i>” Do you -mind, Lamia, committing that sentence to memory, -for I see you sometimes deeply immersed in works -of much pretension, but consisting for the most -part of <i lang="it">expressions violentes</i>, though I never observe -you admiring in marble or on canvas the violence -or the profuse colouring you occasionally tolerate in -language?‘</p> - -<p>‘Is it not,’ said Veronica, ‘that in architecture, -painting, and sculpture, the manner in which a -thing is done is so much more conspicuous, so to -speak, than what is done, that failure, whether it -arise from feebleness or from violence, strikes us at -once; whereas, in language, what is said, if interesting -in itself, makes us indulgent to, and indeed -forgetful of, the manner of saying it?’</p> - -<p>‘I suppose that is so,’ he answered;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">99</span> ‘and -perhaps it is one of the incidental drawbacks to -literature. Fortunately, however, what you say is -more true of prose than of verse; defect of style -in poetry being at least as obvious to fastidious -readers as in marble. And yet,’ he added, ‘in our -time, a grotesque, violent, and what seems to me -lamentable way of saying things has been more -than tolerated in verse, for the sake of the things -said. For my part, I should be sorry to be original, -either in prose or verse, at the expense of truth or -beauty.’</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="ill12"></a> -<img src="images/i_165.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">ROSES AND IRIS</div> -</div> - -<p>The absence of method in our visits to cloister -or gallery seemed to govern most of our movements. -Sometimes we were but two, sometimes -but three, of a company; and it would happen -that, when we were four, we lost touch of each -other for a time, and went our separate ways. -Veronica not infrequently was missing; and generally, -when this occurred, when she returned alone -to the villa, she brought with her some ‘object of -antiquity,’ as the Florentine dealers in curios and -old furniture call such things, purchased after -considerable thought and much bargaining. I -think you know Veronica has a large heart, and -would defraud no one of his due, and indeed would -give any one more than his due, where no bargaining -was in question. But she knows just as -much about the date and value of <i lang="it">cassettone</i>, triptych, -or embroidery, as any of the various dealers<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">100</span> -on the Ponte Vecchio or in the Via de’ Serragli; -and she not unnaturally enjoyed displaying her -peculiar learning in those interesting haunts. Her -perfect familiarity with the language, and indeed -even with Florentine <i lang="fr">patois</i>, added to her advantage -and strengthened her position in appraising the -value of mediæval picture-frame or sixteenth-century -mirror. Moreover, it is the greatest -possible error to suppose that Florentine dealers -are consumed with a single-minded desire to rob -unwary purchasers; and I am convinced they much -preferred to conclude a fair bargain with Veronica, -than an unfair one with the first ignorant comer. -Oriental ways and traditions of business still linger -sufficiently with them to make <i lang="it">prezzo fisso</i> or a -rigidly-fixed price exceedingly distasteful. Their -day is long, they have abundance of time on their -hands, and, if the few things they sell in the course -of the week were sold without demur and in a -couple of minutes, life would be insufferably tedious -for want of human intercourse and agreeable conversation. -Veronica invariably regaled us with -minute accounts, on the occasion of each fresh -purchase, of the polite but protracted controversy -that had attended it; and very diverting these -were. She preferred to conduct these transactions<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">101</span> -without our company; for, in the first place, as -she truly enough remarked, we knew nothing -whatever upon the subject and could therefore be -of no use to her, and, in the second place, when we -honoured her with our useless society, one or -other of us invariably ended by showing signs of -impatience, and to be impatient over a bargain -is inevitably to get the worst of it. She did -not always come off a winner in these friendly -encounters; and she was just as candid and as -diverting in confessing her defeats as in recording -her victories. On one occasion she suffered a -peculiarly humiliating disaster, which she detailed -with much zest at her own expense. Wishing to -give an agreeable surprise to Lamia on the occasion -of that Birthday, when, as you will perhaps remember, -I was so sorely discomfited, she went in search -of some amber beads which Lamia had more than -once expressed a longing to find in order to complete -a set she already possessed. But it was -indispensable they should be of a special hue. At -length, Veronica discovered some in a shop in the -Por Santa Maria, but, do what she would, and -notwithstanding all her Florentine wit, she could -not bring the owner of them into what she deemed -a reasonable frame of mind as regards price.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">102</span></p> - -<p>‘<i lang="it">Ebbene</i>,’ she said, ‘I will try elsewhere,’</p> - -<p>She tried everywhere, but in vain, and so at -length had to go back to the Por Santa Maria, and -say she would take the beads at the man’s own -price.</p> - -<p>‘But now, <i lang="it">Signora mia</i>,’ he said, ‘that is no -longer the price: you can find no others in -Florence to suit you, so these in the meantime -have become more valuable.’ And he added some -insignificant sum to the original figure, more for -the sake of triumph than from any mercenary -motive. Had Veronica been making a purchase -for herself, I am sure she would have defrauded -him of his victory by leaving him in possession pf -his amber treasures. But she would not disappoint -Lamia, and so paid the forfeit of her unsuccessful -strategy.</p> - -<p>But we had a less humorous and far more -touching experience on another occasion. Visiting -a hillside village some twenty-five miles away, -we were all much taken by a small altar-piece, a -<i>Presentation in the Temple</i>, which stood in a -side-chapel in a little church of otherwise no -particular pretension. We discussed, then and -there, by whom it may have been painted, for I -need scarcely say that, on that subject, we all, like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">103</span> -so many other people, consider ourselves exceedingly -expert, and quite competent to express an -opinion. The <i lang="it">Parroco</i>, a venerable Priest of -courtly manners but much humility, did not affect -to adjudicate among us, but was evidently much -interested in our deliberations, and still more in -our admiration of the picture. At last he hesitatingly -asked Veronica if we should like to become -the owners of it. This had certainly not occurred -to us, and we were rather taken aback by the -question. But Veronica, enchanted at the chance -of an unexpected bit of bargaining, said ‘Yes,’ -without a moment’s hesitation. So modest a sum, -however, was asked, if compared with the high -artistic qualities we had been attributing to it, that -it went against her conscience, which, as you know, -is the strongest part of her, to offer anything less. -Moreover, she probably remembered, on second -thoughts, that the place was not a suitable one for -financial transactions; and any remaining scruple -we might have had in completing the bargain was -set at rest by his telling us that he had long been -anxious to buy a second-hand harmonium that was -for sale, whereby the services of his little church -could be conducted in a more seemly manner.</p> - -<p>The picture was carried off; and, by the time it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">104</span> -had been in our possession forty-eight hours, its -artistic value had enormously increased, and there -was hardly any Umbrian painter, Raphael perhaps -excepted, to whom we were not ready to ascribe -it. We discussed, over and over again, where it -should be hung when we returned to England, -and first one position of honour and then another -was suggested for it. But, as I knew well enough -from the first would turn out to be the case, -it was finally assigned by Veronica to the Poet’s -study.</p> - -<p>For a week she had the satisfaction of seeing -all of us as much interested in, and as proud of, a -purchase as herself. But, on the morning of the -eighth day after our mountain excursion, the old -Priest suddenly made his appearance at the villa, -whither he had walked all the way; and, in a state -of much agitation, he said that he had come to ask -us to give him back the picture, the price of which -he would restore and which he had in his hand. -At first there was a protesting chorus, and Veronica -was particularly eloquent in pointing out that the -request was most unreasonable, as we had given -the full amount asked for, without any demur. -Thereupon the poor old man explained, with tears -in his eyes, that his parishioners had missed the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">105</span> -picture, and, though he had told them of his -intended purchase of the harmonium, they insisted -on its being restored to its traditional home, and -all his pleas and arguments had proved unavailing -with them. To such an appeal but one answer -was possible. The picture was returned, and the -Poet’s study will never see that Umbrian masterpiece. -Our disappointment was great; but why, -said Veronica, should everybody be disappointed? -Poor old man! He stood there a most touching -figure. So we put our hearts and purses together; -and the sound of the second-hand harmonium now -follows on his quavering voice, when, in answer -to his <i lang="la">Dominus vobiscum</i>, the entire mountain congregation -shrills out, to its instrumental accompaniment, -<i lang="la">Et cum spiritu tuo</i>.</p> - -<p>As a rule, however, Veronica’s purchases, over -and above being definitive, were as useful as they -were ornamental; and it sometimes seemed as -though Lamia’s predictions concerning the transformation -that was gradually to come over the -villa were about to be fulfilled. Veronica invariably -declared that the furniture she brought back -with her from the Via Maggio, or the Piazza Santa -Maria Novella, was intended strictly for home -consumption, and would in due course be packed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">106</span> -and dispatched to England. Where she would -find room in a house already remarkably well -stocked, was a mystery to all of us; and meanwhile -it remained on the spot, to whose aspect it certainly -added finish and charm, and to whose commodiousness -it materially contributed.</p> - -<p>‘I told you,’ said Lamia,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">107</span> ‘I should end by -having a comfortable armchair, and you see I have. -Nor can I well doubt that a host of work-people -have been secretly introduced by Veronica, -for I can now count on my bell ringing with -absolute certainty; and, as for Placida and Perfetta,’—Placida -and Perfetta were two handmaidens,—‘though -they still regard fair words and sweet -smiles as the principal ingredients of domestic -service, they have developed a talent for tidying -my drawers and arranging my toilet-table which -cannot but have proceeded from severe drilling by -Veronica, while you and I were discussing the Infinite -under the shade of cheerful boughs. Shortly after -we first came, Veronica gave one of our dear devoted -but somewhat primitive attendants a sponge, for -what purpose I cannot say. But this domestic -novelty was found so useful, that each of them in -turn, she discovered, had the loan of it, till it came -to enjoy an absolute monopoly in the cleaning of -the establishment. Now, I believe, sponges, and all -other requisites of a well-ordered place of residence, -are as plentiful as blackberries. Do you remember,’ -she said, turning to me, ‘your giving me some -most lovely flowers last week, which, of course, I -treasured beyond words, even after they had faded? -But I discovered, the next morning, that Perfetta, -moved by a spirit of economy which seems to be -a perfect passion with these dear people, was applying -them, on the carpet, to the same purpose, I -am told, for which we sometimes use tea-leaves in -England. That was a sad ending, was it not, to -your lovely gift?’</p> - -<p>Lamia’s observation on ‘the principal ingredients -of domestic service,’ as understood in Italy by those -who render it, was strictly accurate. They wait -on you with a smile, and minister to your need -with copious conversation. They will end by -giving you all you ask for; but you must ask, -and you must not expect that, having asked for it -ninety-nine times, you will get it the hundredth, -without asking for it again. That would be to -defraud them, and you as well, of an opportunity -of talk, the thing they love most in the world. -Moreover, they have an invincible objection to -being made methodical; nor can you give them<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">108</span> -greater pleasure than to ask them to do the work -naturally pertaining to somebody else. The cook -would be delighted to nurse the baby, the housemaid -would find it quite natural to be bidden to -cook the dinner, the butler would eagerly go in -search of the vegetables, and the gardener at once -mount the box and drive you into Florence. -Only do not ask them to be perfect, according to -English ideas, in their own line. They will do -anything on earth for you, if you go the right way -about it; but they will not be turned into machines. -Nothing I have ever seen in Veronica is more -admirable, or shows so conclusively the discrimination -she can blend with her love of order, than the -amount of method, limited no doubt but quite -unusual, with which, for the time at least, she -imbued those about us; and Lamia, as we have -seen, indulged in a little characteristic raillery on -the subject.</p> - -<p>‘It is all very well,’ said the Poet, ‘for us to -have our little joke about a certain person’s passion -for discipline. But, upon my word, what Italy -stands in need of is a Ruler with plenary powers, -of the temperament and talents of Veronica. So -the Roman Empire was founded, so the British. -Dear Lamia, you are very charming; our friend<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">109</span> -here is, I do not forget, a gardener of much repute, -and I write verses which, I am told, sometimes -give pleasure to people who are easily pleased. -But Veronica is worth all of us put together a -hundred times over.‘</p> - -<p>‘Quite so,’ said Lamia. ‘Veronica is our -<i lang="la">Minerva Medica</i>, whose salutary if sometimes -unpalatable wisdom keeps us in such tolerable -health as moral valetudinarians like myself are -capable of; whereas I am but a would-be Egeria, -who have not yet succeeded in inducing any one, -and you, dear Poet, least of all, to be my Numa. -Still, do not judge me altogether by the way in -which I conduct myself here, among a people very -much after my own heart. I <em>have</em> a conscience, -which I showed by declaring it at the frontier, as -I heard it was contraband. I proved to be right; -it was confiscated, and I have got on very comfortably -without it ever since. Indeed, I should have -missed a new gown much more. Poets, we all -know, never have a conscience, in any country. -But, as Veronica has enough for two, indeed—obligingly -remembering my existence—for three, I -daresay we shall continue to manage fairly well in -this easy-going land, with Veronica’s occasional -assistance<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">110</span>.‘</p> - -<p>At this moment, Veronica joined us under the -lower <i lang="it">loggia</i>, where we had for some time been -sitting, and desisting more frequently than perhaps -you have imagined, from audible converse, in -order to commune silently with the plashing of the -fountain in front of us, with city, plain, and river -far below, and with hill-slope and summit everywhere -around us. The sun had just disappeared; -and, each instant, mountain and sky grew more and -more unreal, more and more transfigured in the -afterglow. The last <i lang="la">Ave Maria</i> bell had rung; -the last wain drawn by the sleek, swaying oxen -had creaked up the hill; and, somewhere among -the more distant olives, a peasant lingering at his -work, but pondering aloud on his love, sang out -with clear voice to the clear air:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘Fin al fin de’ giorni miei,</div> - <div class="verse">Io te sola voglio amar.‘</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>‘You never told us,’ said Veronica, ‘what you -two did yesterday afternoon.’ The two were the -Poet and Lamia.</p> - -<p>‘You scarcely gave us the chance,’ Lamia -replied.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">111</span> ‘We were all so absorbed in admiring the -bust you brought from Florence of the founder -of the Magliabecchian Library, whose name I have -already forgotten, but who was himself, you told -us, what you, dear Veronica, will become if you -go on accumulating stray black-letter volumes -at the rate you are doing at present,—<i lang="la">quædam -bibliotheca</i>. But have a care. What if they were -lost or stolen? I was reading only yesterday -that, when Guarino, returning to Florence from -Constantinople with a cargo of Greek manuscripts, -was shipwrecked, and all his treasures went to the -bottom of the sea, his hair turned white. See -how well-informed I am getting. I can tell you -still more on this interesting subject, and indeed -meditate lecturing on it next winter in the Sala -Dante. Cosimo de’ Medici healed a political -breach with Alfonso of Naples by sending him -a Manuscript of Livy; and Lorenzo declared -to Pico della Mirandola, probably where we -are now sitting, that, if his fortune proved insufficient, -he would pledge his furniture in order -to buy books. But, when your purse gives out, -you will spare my easy-chair, Veronica, won’t -you?‘</p> - -<p>‘You have still not told us where you went -yesterday afternoon.’</p> - -<p>Lamia remained silent; leaving it to the Poet -to reply:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">112</span></p> - -<p>‘We carried some flowers to the grave of -Elizabeth Barrett Browning.’</p> - -<p>Again there was silence. Then, shortly, Veronica -asked:</p> - -<p>‘Did nothing come of it?’</p> - -<p>We all well knew the meaning of the question, -and so did he, and accordingly replied:</p> - -<p>‘Well, yes, something came of it, such as it -is’; and, not waiting for us to express a desire -he was aware we all entertained, he unaffectedly -recited to us the following lines:—</p> - - -<p class="center">AT HER GRAVE</p> - - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">I</div> - <div class="verse">Lo, here among the rest you sleep,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">As though no difference were</div> - <div class="verse">‘Twixt them and you, more wide, more deep,</div> - <div class="verse">Than such as fondness loves to keep</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Round each lone sepulchre.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">II</div> - <div class="verse">Yet they but human, you divine,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Warmed by that heavenly breath,</div> - <div class="verse">Which, when ephemeral lights decline,</div> - <div class="verse">Like lamp before nocturnal shrine,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Still burneth after death.</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">113</span></p> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">III</div> - <div class="verse">Yes, here in Tuscan soil you lie,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">With Tuscan turf above;</div> - <div class="verse">And, lifting silent spires on high,</div> - <div class="verse">The cypresses remind the sky</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Of the city of your love.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">IV</div> - <div class="verse">And you did grow so like to her</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Wherein you dwelt so long,</div> - <div class="verse">Your thoughts, like her May roses, were</div> - <div class="verse">Untrained, unchecked, but how astir,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And oh how sweet, with song!</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">V</div> - <div class="verse">The Poet of Olympian mien</div> - <div class="verse indent2">His frenzy doth control,</div> - <div class="verse">And, gazing on the dread Unseen,</div> - <div class="verse">Keep mind majestic, will serene,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And adamantine soul.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">VI</div> - <div class="verse">He, save to Wisdom sternly true,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Is but the sport of Fate</div> - <div class="verse">And gladiatorial pain. But you!</div> - <div class="verse">A poet, and a woman too!</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The burden was too great.</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">114</span></p> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">VII</div> - <div class="verse">And so you laid it down, and here,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Oblivious of life’s load,</div> - <div class="verse">Quiet you sleep through all the year,</div> - <div class="verse">Young Spring, staid Summer, Autumn sere,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And Winter’s icy goad.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">VIII</div> - <div class="verse">The swallows, freshly on the wing,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">In April’s sun rejoice;</div> - <div class="verse">The nightingales unceasing sing;</div> - <div class="verse">Yes, Spring brings back the birds of Spring,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">But not, alas! your voice.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">IX</div> - <div class="verse">So round your sleep I soft let fall</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Frail emblems of regret;</div> - <div class="verse">The lowly wind-flower, tulip tall,</div> - <div class="verse">The iris mantling wayside wall,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And weeping violet.</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">X</div> - <div class="verse">My votive flowers to-day will blow,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">To-morrow be decayed;</div> - <div class="verse">But, though long sunk from sight, I know,</div> - <div class="verse">The glory of your afterglow</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Will never wholly fade.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">115</span></p> - - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/i_181.jpg" alt="Illustration" /> -</div> - - - -<h2 class="no-break"><a id="IV"></a>LAMIA’S WINTER-QUARTERS</h2> - - -<p>It was <i lang="it">Pasqua delle Rose</i>, literally Easter of Roses, -to distinguish it from <i lang="it">Pasqua delle Uova</i>, or Easter -of Eggs; in other words, Whitsuntide. We were -indebted to Lamia for this pretty designation, -which was new to all of us, and she had made -acquaintance with it in the course of conversation -with Perfetta, who, though by no means what her -name implied, and, indeed, as Veronica said, the -most imperfect of our native retainers, had long -since quite won Lamia’s heart by a spontaneous -compliment. Very early on in her study of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">116</span> -Italian, Lamia had displayed an extraordinarily -fine ear for the pronunciation of that language, -and a quick talent for assimilating its most familiar -phrases, so that Perfetta one day declared she must -surely be of Italian parentage.</p> - -<p>‘Indeed she is not,’ I said. ‘Guess from what -land she comes?’</p> - -<p>Perfetta looked at her for a moment, and then -exclaimed: ‘<i lang="it">Dal Paradiso</i>.’</p> - -<p>Lamia treated this suggestion of celestial origin -with much levity, but, all the same, made Perfetta -a present of a gown which she declared was worn -out; though to my masculine perception it seemed -almost as good as new, and Veronica confirmed -my impression by reproving her for spoiling -Perfetta at the same time that she deprived herself -of a still very excellent garment.</p> - -<p>‘I am sure,’ said Lamia, apologetically, ‘you -would not scold me if you had seen Perfetta’s -delight, and heard her expression of it. If one -gives a gown to one’s English maid, one receives -a most respectful “Thank you, Miss,” and never -hears another word about it; and, likely enough, -she sells it, having no sentiment on the subject -whatever. But Perfetta went into raptures over -the poor little gown, hugged it, kissed it, spread<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">117</span> -it to the light, and has recurred to it again and -again. Indeed, to listen to her is to have a lesson -in Italian expletives of admiration. She would keep -it, she said, for Feast days, not even for ordinary -Sundays, unless perhaps she put it on, for the first -time, on the festival of her patron Saint. Finally, -she declared she would wear it, for the first time, -at <i lang="it">Pasqua delle Rose</i>, and so you saw her in it -yesterday. But, if I gave her the gown, I have -likewise made you all a present of a most beautiful -phrase; and, if you still are of opinion that I have -left myself short of a frock, it is always open to -any one to manifest gratitude by replacing it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">118</span>.‘</p> - -<p>It was, indeed, an Easter, or, if you will, a -Whitsuntide, of Roses. They were everywhere; -clambering up the house, drooping from the roof, -running along the walls, carpeting the ground, -festooning themselves from elm to elm, interlaced -with the cypresses, peering through porch and -casement, covering stable and concealing shed, -scaling the tallest and seemingly most inaccessible -places, and thence falling down in untrained -profusion, veritable cascades of colour. We talked -of them from morning to night; we lived, moved, -and had our being among them, left them only to -go back to them, vowed these were the most -beautiful,—no, those,—no, those others, and perpetually -expressed ourselves in fickle and contradictory -adoration. As Lamia wandered among -them, she would break into song, chanting their -praises, now in one tongue, now in another.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘Roses crimson, roses white,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Deadly pale or lovely blushing,</div> - <div class="verse">Both in love with May at sight,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And their maiden blood is rushing</div> - <div class="verse">To and fro in hope to hide</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Tumult it but thus discloses.</div> - <div class="verse">Bring the Bridegroom to the Bride!</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Everywhere are roses, roses.’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Then she would remember snatches of Lorenzo’s -<cite>Canzone a Ballo</cite>, ‘<i lang="it">Ben venga Maggio</i>,’ written in -the local dialect of the time, and improvise for -them a suitable strain.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘E voi, donzelle a schiera,</div> - <div class="verse">Con li vostri amadori,</div> - <div class="verse">Che di rose e di fiori</div> - <div class="verse">Vi fate belle, il Maggio,</div> - <div class="verse">Che è giovane e bella,</div> - <div class="verse">Deh non sie punto acerba,</div> - <div class="verse">Che non si rinnovella</div> - <div class="verse">L’ età come fa l’ herba.</div> - <div class="verse">Nessuna stia superba.</div> - <div class="verse">Al’ amadore, il Maggio.‘</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">119</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="ill13"></a> -<img src="images/i_187.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">‘EVERYWHERE ARE ROSES, ROSES’</div> -</div> - -<p>Then she would revert to her own tongue, in its -paraphrase of the pagan song the <i lang="it">Compagnacci</i> -used to troll in the days of Savonarola, when they -wanted to protest against the austerity of his -followers and the Burning of the Vanities.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘Every wall is white with roses,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Linnets pair in every tree;</div> - <div class="verse">Brim your beakers, twine your posies,</div> - <div class="verse">Kiss and quaff ere Springtime closes;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Bloom and beauty quickly flee.’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>If we drove down to Florence, we drove -along roads that were avenues of roses; and, in -the Fair City itself, we forget to look at palace, -or façade, or bridge, absorbed in gazing on the -white and yellow Banksias that hung in bunches -and clusters over intramural garden-walls. But, -as the year expanded and deepened in beauty, we -grew more and more unwilling to stir from the -enchanting surroundings of the villa itself, unless -it were to wander in other <i lang="it">poderi</i> and among other -vineyards, or to make expeditions that took us uninterruptedly -through a world of radiant newness. -Lamia did not now inquire how we proposed to -employ ourselves, since being alive was in itself -occupation enough. Lest, however, as she said, -Veronica’s conscience should prick her for so much<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">120</span> -time passed in the mere delight of doing nothing, -she read us the following passage written by Lorenzo -de’ Medici, and which she said she intended to -recite to a larger audience whenever she delivered -those lectures in the <i lang="it">Sala Dante</i>.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">121</span></p> -<p>‘What can be more worthy of desire to a well-regulated -mind than the enjoyment of leisure with -dignity? That is what all good men wish to -attain, but what great men alone accomplish. In -the progress of public affairs we may indeed be -allowed to look forward to a period of rest; but -no repose should totally seclude us from attention -to the concerns of our country. I cannot deny -that the path it has been my lot to tread has been -arduous and rugged, full of danger, and beset with -treachery; but I console myself with the thought -of having contributed to the welfare of the State, -the prosperity of which now rivals that of any -other, however flourishing. Neither have I been -inattentive to the interests and advancement of my -family, having always proposed for my imitation -the example of my grandfather Cosimo, who -watched over his public and his private concerns -with equal vigilance. Having now attained the -object of my cares, I trust I may be allowed to -enjoy the sweets of leisure, to share in the reputation -of my fellow-citizens, and to exult in the glory -of my native city.’</p> - -<p>‘The passage is very interesting,’ said the Poet, -‘and serves to strengthen one’s impression of the -sanity and completeness of Lorenzo’s talents. -But is it not also another contribution to the vanity -of human wishes and the fatuity of human self-complacency? -I do not think Lorenzo ever -attained to that enjoyment of dignity with leisure -of which he speaks; and assuredly he had not long -been dead before the glory of his native city, in the -sense in which he used the phrase, passed away.‘</p> - -<p>‘If one is to believe Politian,’ I said, ‘either the -famous death-bed colloquy with Savonarola never -took place, or it left but little impression on the -dying man.’</p> - -<p>‘That is a story,’ said the Poet, ‘one would -part with unwillingly. But what is it that Politian -says?’</p> - -<p>‘That to judge by Lorenzo’s behaviour, and -that of his attendants, when he was dying, you -would have thought it was they who momentarily -expected that fate, and he alone that was exempt -from it.‘</p> - -<p>‘There is no tomb nor inscription, is there,’ -asked Lamia,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">122</span> ‘to mark the place that received his -ashes, while his unworthier successors have a -sumptuous monument designed by Michelangelo, -whom in the budding days of his genius Lorenzo -used to place, out of respect for his talent, above -his own sons at table?’</p> - -<p>‘I suppose,’ said Veronica, ‘he was paid for -the monument he executed, and could not execute -the one the cost of which there was no one to -defray. But do not let us forget that what he felt -concerning the contrast between the earlier and the -later Medici is for ever embodied in his famous -quatrain. Repeat it to us, Lamia.’</p> - -<p>‘With pleasure, if I can.‘</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘Grato m’ è il sonno, e più l’ esser di sasso,</div> - <div class="verse">Mentre che il danno e la vergogna dura.</div> - <div class="verse">Non veder, non sentir, m’ è gran ventura:</div> - <div class="verse">Però, non mi destar. Deh! parla basso.‘</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>‘How would one translate it?’</p> - -<p>‘Translation is a difficult craft,’ said the Poet; -‘but, after visiting San Lorenzo again the other -day, I could not resist trying to render those noble -lines into our own tongue.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘Nay, let me sleep, or, best, be stone or steel,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">While still endures this infamy of woe.</div> - <div class="verse">My one sole bliss is nor to see nor feel:</div> - <div class="verse indent2">So, wake me not; and, lest you should, speak low.’</div> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">123</span></p> -<p>‘How utterly out of place,’ said Lamia, ‘a -character like Michelangelo seems in Florentine -history! whereas Lorenzo is its very type and -representative.’</p> - -<p>‘Do you not forget,’ said Veronica, ‘that -perhaps the three most austere human figures -known to us were Florentines, either by birth or by -adoption: Michelangelo, Dante, and Savonarola.’</p> - -<p>‘That only makes it all the more strange,’ I -said.</p> - -<p>‘But why?’ said the Poet. ‘Have we not, in -these days, succumbed too readily to the notion -that we are the creatures of our surroundings, and -what is called our <em>habitat</em>? And is not that theory -a mere <i lang="la">ex-post-facto</i> explanation that explains -nothing? Who would ever have thought of -predicting that any of the three great Puritans you -have named would be associated with Florence, -and the greatest of the three be born and bred in -the very heart of her? Must we not look elsewhere -for the explanation?’</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘Know, Nature, like the cuckoo, laughs at law,</div> - <div class="verse">Placing her eggs in whatso nest she will;</div> - <div class="verse">And when, at callow-time, you think to find</div> - <div class="verse">The sparrow’s stationary chirp, lo! bursts</div> - <div class="verse">Voyaging voice to glorify the Spring.‘</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">124</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>‘In the same way characters, austere or the -reverse, make their appearance in the most unlikely -places. We hear too much, I think, of the Spirit -of the Age. Shall we not rather believe that the -Age is what great Spirits make it?’</p> - -<p>‘There,’ said Veronica, ‘do you not press your -own theory too far? Without for one moment -denying that the sudden appearance of great -characters, or the place where they appear, is not -to be foretold, one can hardly help feeling that -Dante, Savonarola, and Michelangelo, in consequence -of something adverse in the Florentine -character, did not succeed in making Florence -what they would fain have made her.’</p> - -<p>‘Truly great characters,’ said Lamia, ‘always -fail. Only second-rate people succeed. For my -part I am very glad of it, for nothing is so disappointing -as failure,—except success.’</p> - -<p>‘There is a good deal in what you say,’ I was -rather surprised to hear the Poet reply. ‘But -perhaps we have all, and myself most of all, drifted -into a vein of exaggeration. I was betrayed into -it by the excessive claim which it seems to me many -nowadays advance for Science, as compared with -other sources of instruction and helps to life. Our -debt to Science is great. At the same time, it has<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">125</span> -its limits, and I cannot think it is the greatest of -our obligations. Do you remember that profound -saying of Pascal, “<i lang="fr">La science des choses extérieures -ne me consolera pas de l’ignorance de la morale au -temps d’affliction, mais la science des mœurs me -consolera toujours de l’ignorance des sciences extérieures</i>”? -Such a line, for instance, as that of -Shakespeare,</p> - -<p> -“In Nature there’s no blemish but the mind,”<br /> -</p> - -<p>is more deeply and enduringly helpful than steam-engines, -electric lights, or anæsthetics. One can, -in case of necessity, dispense with tramways and -telephones; but we cannot dispense with right -thinking and right feeling. The material discoveries -of the Age do it much honour; but man’s -triumph over matter is most nobly displayed when -he triumphs over the matter of which he is himself -composed; when he ignores physical pain, and -tramples on his non-spiritual passions. Science is -the language of the Intellect, Literature of the -Soul; and Poetry, the highest expression of Literature, -does for language, and sometimes for life, -what the Soul does for the body, and what this -glorious Italian sun does for mountain and plain: -it spiritualises matter. Let me add, lest I should<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">126</span> -seem too partial to the particular art I practise so -imperfectly, that this is true of all imaginative -Art; and, far from fearing lest Science should sap -and supersede it, I trust and believe that Art will -ever remain its complement, and, where necessary, -its corrective.‘</p> - -<p>‘Do you consider Italians,’ asked Lamia, ‘artistic -or scientific, material or spiritual?’</p> - -<p>‘They are both, surely,’ he replied. ‘But, if -we took the modern Florentine as the Italian type, -I fear we would have to reply they are rather too -prone to worship material science. The artistic -faculty in them seems almost extinct, save for -purposes of imitation; and, even when they imitate -the art of the past, they do so without any discrimination -between the good and the bad. But -in railways, telegraphs, telephones, tramways, they -take inexhaustible delight. They have disfigured -much of Florence, and most of Rome, in their -determination not to lag behind in the general -march of what is termed material progress.’</p> - -<p>‘Is it not,’ suggested Veronica,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">127</span> ‘that they are -essentially a practical race? When the world first -took to commerce, the Florentines became great -merchants and great bankers. When Popes and -Princes posed as patrons of architecture, sculpture -and painting, they produced palaces, statues, and -pictures.’</p> - -<p>‘Just so,’ said Lamia; ‘and now that the whole -world has taken to travelling, Representative Institutions, -and Music Halls, they have Circular Tours -and a popular Parliament, both of which they -work exceedingly badly, and a <i lang="it">Caffè Savonarola -Spettacolo Diverso</i>, a piece of profanation for which -I confess I should like to smack them.’</p> - -<p>‘There is a good deal of vulgarity,’ I ventured -to plead,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">128</span> ‘in modern life, and in compliance -with the theory you have all been pressing, they -are vulgar accordingly. But would it not be -more indulgent, and equally true, to say that Italy -is the one country, and the Italians are the one -race, whose vitality is inexhaustible? They have -been well before the world, if you will pardon that -expression, for more than two thousand five -hundred years; and, during all that period, they -have never altogether dropped out of sight. -Neither do they now appear in the least disposed -to retire into private life, or to preserve their -ruins, however much some of us would like them -to do so, for the satisfaction of our romantic -feelings. Who would have believed, asked Saint -Jerome fifteen hundred years ago, that Rome -would ever be sunk so low that, at the very seat -of its Empire, it would be reduced to fight, not -for glory, but for self-preservation. Yet what do -we see to-day? Rome, not only safe against -foreign assault, but, with the aid of railways and -Maxim guns, meditating new triumphs and new -glories.’</p> - -<p>‘That,’ said the Poet, and I felt much flattered -by his approval, ‘is the more generous, and therefore -the more just way of putting it. The Italians -have a great Past, which they refuse to forget. It -still continues to animate their ambition, and forbids -them to rest satisfied with that <i lang="it">dolce far niente</i> -with which they once were reproached. When -the period of the Renaissance came to an end, -Italy might have seemed to say, in the words of -Nero, <i lang="la">Qualis artifex pereo</i>, and to perish most -artistically. But Italy was <em>not</em> dead, as she has -shown so clearly during the last thirty years. -One’s only regret is that the existing type of -national greatness is so costly, that Italians have to -pay a desperately heavy price for refusing to exist -without it.‘</p> - -<p>‘People,’ said Lamia,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">129</span> ‘frequently complain of -the excessive loads Italian carters expect their -horses and their mules to draw. But the whole of -Italy seems to me to be suffering from the same -infliction.’</p> - -<p>‘I fear,’ observed Veronica, ‘there is much -truth in what you say. Only yesterday I -remonstrated with the driver of the carriage I had -hired to bring me back to the Villa, because his -horse seemed in a shockingly poor condition. His -answer was, “<i lang="it">Campa come me</i>,—he fares as I do. -When I have plenty, he has plenty. When I have -little, there is little for him also. When there are -more <i lang="it">forestieri</i>, he will have more oats.”‘</p> - -<p>‘Let us have a carriage apiece every afternoon,’ -said Lamia, ‘and do what we all shall hate, drive -round and round the <i lang="it">Cascine</i> from five to seven. -Only, in that case, I <em>must</em> have that new gown.’</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>‘A firefly! A firefly!’</p> - -<p>It was Veronica, invariably the most observant -of us, whose voice called to us to welcome the -fairy visitor, whose arrival is as delightful and -momentous an event in Italy as the wing of the -first swallow, the call of the first cuckoo, or the -note of the first nightingale, in England. We -were all on the alert in a moment, calling in -return:</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">130</span></p> -<p>‘Where? Where?’</p> - -<p>It was a single, solitary firefly, for one may -say of fireflies as of primroses:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">First you come by ones and ones,</div> - <div class="verse">Lastly in battalions,</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>and it moved and twinkled in the deepening -twilight, among the olive-trees, a miniature and -terrestrial planet, having no fixed orbit. I need -scarcely say that this was some days before <i lang="it">Pasqua -delle Rose</i>, though Whitsuntide happened to be an -early one; and, the following night, we saw three, -and, the night after, seven. Then, for May can -be capricious in Tuscany as elsewhere, the weather -was not propitious for them. But, by the time -the moon was nearly at full, they were plenteous -as stars in the Milky Way; and while they flitted -and glistened among the darkening leaves, the -nightingales rejoiced and enlivened each other with -the song that an ancient story and inherited -association have transformed for us into a strain of -imaginary sadness. Life offers no more enchanting -combination of sensations than fall to one’s -lot on a warm Italian night in May, when moonlight, -fireflies, and nightingales weave their -concerted charm; and, night after night, we -repaired to the same antique marble seat, where<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">131</span> -we liked to think Lorenzo and his associates had -often sat, in front of the same dark silent cypresses, -and drank in the same sweet, grave, harmonious -delights. Perhaps you think us a company of -selfish Hedonists, wholly given up to pleasurable -sensations, poor weak copies of our Pagan -Renaissance predecessors on the self-same spot? -Whether that be true or not of some of us, I will -not undertake to say. But certainly it is not true -of Veronica, nor yet, I think, of Lamia. Indeed, -speaking generally, I think one ought to entertain -one’s friends with a record of one’s happiness -rather than with a recital of one’s woes; but it -does not follow, does it, that there is no pathetic -minor in one’s life because one is not always -sounding it? Indeed, amid all the enchantments -of that Italian season when Spring and -Summer are indistinguishable, we had been -conscious of the shadow of pain which is cast by the -surely approaching extinction of a young life in -one’s own immediate precincts; and the shadow -was all the darker because the season was so bright. -Ilaria, the youngest and comeliest of the daughters -of our <i lang="it">contadini</i>, whose acquaintance you perhaps -remember our first making, had, we were assured, -till within a twelvemonth ago, more than justified<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">132</span> -her pretty name by the joyousness of her ways. -But there was a canker in the bud, which thus was -destined never to open fully to the meridian of life; -and, shortly after our arrival, her figure was no -longer seen among the olives, or her voice heard -among the vines. Veronica was much troubled by -the utter lack of creature comforts in the spacious -<i lang="it">casa colonica</i>, or farmhouse, where Ilaria was patiently -awaiting the end, though in reality their absence -was only part of that rudimentary simplicity of -existence which is universal among a people -untainted by Northern ideas of luxury. She and -Lamia were unremitting in their visits, their -nursing, and their solicitude. But these proved -unavailing; and <i lang="it">Pasqua delle Rose</i> had to spare -some of its luxuriant blooms for the grave of -poor Ilaria. In the simple rustic household where -she had left a vacant place, we liked to think -that, in the daytime at least, the continual demands -of Nature, in her busiest and most growing -season, on the energy and co-operation of Man, -diverted their thoughts somewhat from the missing -figure; but, when we met and wished them good-day -in the <i lang="it">podere</i>, tying the vines, training the <i lang="it">pomi-d’oro</i>, -or cutting the sweet green fodder, that smile -of which I once spoke as invariably accompanying<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">133</span> -their salutations for awhile vanished from their -faces, and at nightfall we knew they were brought -into undistracted consciousness of their bereavement. -We grieved for them, and felt, moreover, -a separate grief of our own; and neither the -luminous May moon, nor the fairy-flitting fireflies, -nor the silvery fluting of the nightingale, could -wean us from the gravity of our thoughts. Even -the purest and most generous sympathy borrows -something of its tenderness, I suppose, from the -knowledge that we are one and all subject to the -dispensation of grief, and that those who console -to-day may themselves need to be consoled to-morrow; -and this is peculiarly so with the advent -of the shadow of death, from which not even the -strongest nor the most sanguine can hope to -escape. Thus, without saying it, we were all, I -suspect, musing on our common mortality, and -thinking how the continuance of the deepest and -dearest of our joys depends on the favour and -forbearance of Heaven.</p> - -<p>But the Poet has a theory, which we have all -more or less adopted, and which he generally expresses -by the words, ‘Cheerfulness is the most -serviceable form of human charity’; and he never, -if he can prevent it, permits us to linger over-long<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">134</span> -in the fruitless gloom of sentimental sorrow. I -think that was why, on the fourth evening after -we had strewn the roses on Ilaria’s grave, he recited -to us, uninvited,—an unusual thing with him,—the -following consolatory lines:—</p> - - -<p class="center">WHEN I AM GONE</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent2">When I am gone, I pray you shed</div> - <div class="verse">No tears upon the grassy bed</div> - <div class="verse">Where that which you have loved is laid</div> - <div class="verse">Under the wind-warped yew-tree’s shade.</div> - <div class="verse">And let no sombre pomp prepare</div> - <div class="verse">My unreturning journey there,</div> - <div class="verse">Nor wailing words nor dirges deep</div> - <div class="verse">Disturb the quiet of my sleep;</div> - <div class="verse">But tender maidens, robed in white,</div> - <div class="verse">Who have not yet forgotten quite</div> - <div class="verse">The love I sought, the love I gave,</div> - <div class="verse">Be the sole mourners round my grave.</div> - <div class="verse">And neither then, nor after, raise</div> - <div class="verse">The bust of pride, the slab of praise,</div> - <div class="verse">To him who, having sinned and striven,</div> - <div class="verse">Now only asks to be forgiven,</div> - <div class="verse">That he is gone.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent2">When I am gone, you must not deem</div> - <div class="verse">That I am severed, as I seem,</div> - <div class="verse">From all that still enchains you here,</div> - <div class="verse">Throughout the long revolving year.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">135</span> - <div class="verse">When, as to Winter’s barren shore</div> - <div class="verse">The tides of Spring return once more,</div> - <div class="verse">And, wakened by their flashing showers,</div> - <div class="verse">The woodland foams afresh with flowers,</div> - <div class="verse">You sally forth and ramble wide,</div> - <div class="verse">I shall walk silent at your side,</div> - <div class="verse">Shall watch your mirth, shall catch your smile,</div> - <div class="verse">Shall wander with you all the while,</div> - <div class="verse">And, as in many a bygone Spring,</div> - <div class="verse">Hear cuckoo call and ousel sing.</div> - <div class="verse">And, when you homeward wend, along</div> - <div class="verse">A land all blithe with bleat and song,</div> - <div class="verse">Where lambs that skip and larks that soar</div> - <div class="verse">Make this old world seem young once more,</div> - <div class="verse">And with the wildwood flowers that fill</div> - <div class="verse">Your April laps deck shelf and sill,</div> - <div class="verse">I shall be there to guide your hand,</div> - <div class="verse">And you will surely understand</div> - <div class="verse">I am not gone.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent2">When Summer leans on Autumn’s arm,</div> - <div class="verse">And warm round grange and red-roofed farm</div> - <div class="verse">Is piled the wain and thatched the stack,</div> - <div class="verse">And swallows troop and fieldfares pack;</div> - <div class="verse">When round rough trunk and knotted root</div> - <div class="verse">Lies thick the freshly-fallen fruit,</div> - <div class="verse">And ‘mong the orchard aisles you muse</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">136</span> - <div class="verse">On what we gain, on what we lose,</div> - <div class="verse">Now vernal cares no more annoy,</div> - <div class="verse">And wisdom takes the place of joy,</div> - <div class="verse">I shall be there, as in past years,</div> - <div class="verse">To share your steps, to dry your tears,</div> - <div class="verse">To note how Autumn days have brought</div> - <div class="verse">Feelings mature and mellow thought,</div> - <div class="verse">The fruitful grief for others’ smart,</div> - <div class="verse">The ripeness of a human heart.</div> - <div class="verse">And, when the winds wax rude and loud,</div> - <div class="verse">And Winter weaves the stark year’s shroud,</div> - <div class="verse">As round the flickering household blaze</div> - <div class="verse">You sit and talk of vanished days,</div> - <div class="verse">Of parent, friend, no longer nigh,</div> - <div class="verse">And loves that in the churchyard lie,</div> - <div class="verse">And lips grow weak, and lids grow wet,</div> - <div class="verse">Then, then, I shall be with you yet,</div> - <div class="verse">Though I seem gone.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>As the time drew nearer and nearer for leaving -the Tuscan home where we had been so happy, -Veronica began to manifest a certain solicitude, in -consequence of our leisurely and unsystematic -ways, lest we should have omitted to make Lamia -acquainted with some cloister or bas-relief, some -bit of quaint street architecture, or some hillside -sanctuary, ignorance whereof might expose -her to the reproach of a want of intelligent curiosity. -But we found the omissions were few and -unimportant, and this left us all the more free, -during the now brief and regretful remainder of -our sojourn, to pay farewell visits to the frescoes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">137</span> -and altar-pieces, the monuments and statues, that -had most engaged her affections. Where Giotto -worked, where Savonarola preached, where Fra -Angelico painted and prayed, where Michelangelo -fought, where Dante sate, where Donatello slept, in -death as in life not severed from his beloved -Medicean patron, these and kindred spots had to -be seen just once more. When one quits a place -where one has been residing for some little time, -one says good-bye to one’s friends; and these -were, one and all, very dear friends to us, and we -could not but take of them affectionate farewell. -The <i lang="it">Luca della Robbia</i> in the <i lang="it">Ospedale degli -Innocenti</i>, the Perugino in the <i lang="it">Maddalena dei -Pazzi</i>, the Fountain by Verrocchio in the cortile of -the <i lang="it">Palazzo Vecchio</i>, the recumbent Bishop in <i lang="it">San -Miniato</i>, the Mino da Fiesole in the <i lang="it">Badia</i>, the -bronze David in the <i lang="it">Bargello</i>;—but, unless I have -a care, I shall fall into the fault I have been trying -to avoid, of troubling you with a catalogue of -familiar names. There were favourite spots, too, -to drive to once again, happily too numerous to -cite, and too lovely for any one to be so foolish as to -attempt to describe. Exception, however, shall be -made of one of these, for I fancy it is but little -known, and therefore has not become hackneyed.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">138</span> -Accident made us acquainted with it, and design -had often and often taken us there again. It was -in a <i lang="it">podere</i> some two miles or so outside the Porta -San Niccolò, whence, over a wall lined with irises, -one looks down the river immediately in front of -one straight away to Florence, but sees nothing -there save, through the feathery foliage of -distant poplars, the cupola of the Duomo, Giotto’s -campanile, and the Tower of the Palazzo Vecchio. -Beyond, far beyond, are visible, on propitious -days, the majestic peaks of the Carrara Mountains, -and, a little farther towards the north, the snowy -summits of the Apennines above Pistoia. It was -a place that fascinated us, and we returned to it -again and again. One evening, when the light was -even exceptionally beautiful, but the air a little chill, -and we had therefore, for Lamia’s sake, to curtail -our enjoyment of it, I remember her exclaiming:</p> - -<p>‘O, do let us stay. Even if it were deadly, it -would be worth dying for. It may never be so -beautiful again.’</p> - -<p>That expresses a feeling which, I think, one -often has in Italy. It is the intense beauty of -certain moments, certain views, certain sunsets, -that makes one declare one never before has seen -anything so lovely, and dread lest on such loveli<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">139</span>ness -one never more may gaze. A foolish fear; -for to-morrow renews the radiance and raptures of -to-day.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="ill14"></a> -<img src="images/i_211.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">OUR TUSCAN GARDEN</div> -</div> - -<p>But the closing hours of the now lengthening -days were always spent in the <i lang="it">loggia</i>, the -garden, or the <i lang="it">podere</i> of our Villa; and Veronica, -who, so English at home, was here the most Italian -of us all, would, whenever the weather permitted, -arrange for us to have our evening meal <i lang="it">al fresco</i>, -in the society of the roses and the nightingales. -Lamia had, as you may suppose, picked up many -a Tuscan <i lang="it">stornello</i> and <i lang="it">canzone</i>, and would sing -them to us, to the accompaniment of her guitar; -and, between song and song, discourse would run -on all the beauty and the wonders we had seen -that day.</p> - -<p>‘What is it,’ said Lamia, ‘that, more than -anything else, constitutes the charm of Italy?’</p> - -<p>‘Ancientness,’ said the Poet, ‘and an ancientness -that never grows old. For Italy, notwithstanding -its centuries of history, art, warfare, -misfortune, remains perennially young. More -than once, the rash have said, “Italy is dead.” -Italy never dies. She has the gift of perpetual life; -but, with all her indestructible freshness, she carries -about her the dignity of bygone times and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">140</span> -majesty of tradition. The new is always more or -less vulgar. Refinement is the work of time. -You remember Aristotle’s definition of Aristocracy, -Ancient riches. Italy has ancient riches, the riches -of law, religion, poetry, and the arts, long established, -and she has therefore what is most precious -in aristocracy. She has ancient speech and ancient -manners. Her mountains are necessarily ancient, -the Soracte of Horace, the Alps of Hannibal. -But her plains and valleys are equally so, for she -has an ancient agriculture. We are sitting at this -moment surrounded by a rural cultivation that is -described with absolute accuracy in the <cite>Georgics</cite>, -and again by Politian in his <cite>Rusticus</cite>, written on -this very spot, and that has not changed since the -days of Cincinnatus. Listen to that fellow singing -among the olives. Virgil has described him,—<i lang="la">Canit -fundator ad auras</i>,—and might be his contemporary. -It is this far-backness, if I may coin -a word to express my meaning, that sheds a -glamour over everything in Italy, a far-backness, -however, that endures and persists, that is with us -and around us, and compels us to bend with -reverence before it, as we must ever do before the -parent Past we still have with us. In proportion -as Italy parts with its Past, Italy will lose its<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">141</span> -charm. The temptation to do so in this age is -great, and I fear it is not being sufficiently resisted.</p> - -<p>‘Dear Poet,’ said Lamia, ‘will you forgive me -if I object that I have sometimes been told, though -I am sure most inaccurately, that I, for instance, -am charming; and yet I am not ancient.’</p> - -<p>‘Dear Lamia,’ he replied, ‘you are very ancient, -and are under deep obligation to ancestors you -never saw, and probably never heard of; and I -hope you will be yet more charming for your visit -to this old and captivating land. For my part, I -always seem to miss something in people who have -not fallen under its spell. You have succumbed -to it entirely. I shall never weary, and I hope I -shall never weary you, in extolling the power of -the Past. Would the descant of those nightingales -have the same charm for us, if they had not -been singing thus for myriads of Mays? Spring -is so irresistibly charming because it recalls and -renews the Aprils that are gone. Time consecrates -and confirms. The deeper our roots, the -loftier our thoughts, and the sounder our hearts. -I remember a great poet of this age saying to me -that he could not see that, as some one had -affirmed, he in his writings so much resembled -Keats. “You are Keats’s own child,” I replied,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">142</span> -“and are of noble parentage.” But indeed every -great poet is the lineal descendant of every other -great poet. At any given moment, what exercises -most influence is, not the present, but the Past. -I ventured, the other day, to observe that there -are only two sorts of people, the noble and the -ignoble. Dear Lamia, let us try to belong to the -noble, since every one may be a member of that -untitled aristocracy; so that, when we ourselves -are, as some of us are gradually becoming, portions -of the Past, we may influence beneficently an unborn -Future.‘</p> - -<p>‘There never was anything more untrue,’ said -Lamia, who was quick to surmise the more personal -meaning that underlay those closing words, -‘than the saying “<i lang="fr">On n’est jeune qu’une fois</i>.” I -have been old several times; but I always get -young again.‘ -‘And you will do so very often, I dare say, for -many years to come. Moreover, I like to think -there is the youth of one’s youth, the youth of -one’s manhood, and, finally, the youth of one’s old -age. But, when one has reached this last, man’s -capacity for rejuvenescence is exhausted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">143</span>.‘</p> - -<p>Lamia rose from her seat, placed herself close -beside him, and taking his hand, replied:</p> - -<p>‘Dear Poet, even in my youngest moments, -compared with you I am in my dotage.’ And I -would at that moment have been any age you will, -to be treated thus tenderly.</p> - -<p>We made many expeditions of which I have not -told you, just as we visited, again and again, -churches, palaces, and dismantled monasteries I -have not named. But Lamia particularly wished -to see a Convent,—a Convent, that is to say, in -the Italian signification, of monks, not disestablished, -but allowed still to survive, with a certain -number of its inmates, as a national monument. -She had heard me speak of the attractive hospitality -I had enjoyed in them in days gone by; and we -selected for our monastic excursion a Convent in -the Apennines not too remote from Florence, and -the drive to which would take us through -Gavinana, a spot none of us had ever visited. -Does the word Gavinana suggest anything to -you? Probably not; yet it was there that the -liberties of Florence received their final extinction. -Indeed I fancy that, of the thousands of people -who nowadays visit the Tuscan Capital, many are -unaware that, in the earlier part of the sixteenth -century, it underwent a Siege whose incidents -strongly resemble many that occurred during the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">144</span> -siege of another Capital nearly thirty years ago. -Only Florence is much more beautiful than Paris, -and less suggestive of the horrors of war. Yet -the Siege of Florence lasted ten months, or more -than twice as long as that of Paris; its inhabitants -underwent far greater hardships, and displayed -much greater heroism. We might have been a little -sceptical on those points had Florentine historians -been our only authority for them. But the copious -and impartial Reports of the Venetian Ambassadors -who were in the Fair City at the time render doubt -impossible, and establish the courage, pertinacity, -and patience of the besieged against Emperor and -Pope. All the villas within a certain radius of -Florence were rased to the ground, lest they should -furnish help and corn to the besiegers; and all its -silver plate, both sacred and profane, was melted -down to replenish the coffers of the Republic. It -is the noblest, perhaps it is the one perfectly noble, -incident in the story of Florence; and I sometimes -have thought, and the Poet agrees with me, that -Francesco Ferruccio, whose statue is among that -series of famous Florentines outside the Uffizi, is its -most heroic and effective figure. He would in all -probability have saved Florence, had the timidity of -some of his fellow-countrymen, and the treachery<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">145</span> -of others, allowed him; for he proposed to create -a diversion by marching on Rome, and menacing -it with another sack such as had recently taken -place under the Constable Bourbon. His project -was overruled, and he died fighting in the piazza at -Gavinana; his only consolation, in his last moments, -being that the Leader of the Imperial Army, the -Prince of Orange, was also slain. ‘The ill-omened -spot,’ says the historian of the Commonwealth of -Florence, ‘lies within sight of the traveller as he -passes, about a mile to the right of it, on his way -from Pistoia to Modena. And not a peasant of -those mountains, though ignorant as his yoke of -dove-coloured oxen of all the history of his country -from that day to this, not a goat-herd tending his -flock by the roadside, not a grimy muleteer bringing -down his string of charcoal-laden beasts from -the forests of the Upper Apennine, will be unable -to point out to the stranger the field on which, -nearly four hundred years ago, Tuscan liberty was -fought for and lost.’</p> - -<p>Drinking our coffee, for which we paid an -incredibly small sum, under the plane trees of the -square where Ferruccio and Florence fell, we again -discoursed on the arbitrary hazards of Time that -made the City justly called Fair, and to which one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">146</span> -is often disposed to apply what Ovid represents -Helen as saying to her Grecian paramour:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘Apta magis Veneri quam sunt tua corpora Marti:</div> - <div class="verse">Bella gerant alii; tu, Paris, semper ama,’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>a place of arms, a city woeful and intrepid, the -champion of freedom against Sceptre and Tiara.</p> - -<p>‘Surely,’ said Lamia, ‘Dante would have forgiven -Florence could he have lived to see that -day. The times were grim, and the deeds austere -enough even for one “who had seen Hell.” -Would you not rather,‘ she continued, turning -to the Poet, ‘have it said of you that you had -seen Heaven?’</p> - -<p>‘Remember,’ said Veronica, ‘Dante saw both.’</p> - -<p>The twilight was deepening into dusk before -we reached the Convent whither we were bound, -for our driver had taken a wrong turning during -the last few miles of our journey; and Lamia was -quick to note, as characteristic of Italy, that, when -inquiry put us on the right one, the directions -given were, not as in England, according to signposts, -but to little tabernacles or shrines at the -parting of the ways: now of the Annunciation, -now of Saint Agatha or Saint Barbara, now of Saint -Francis of Assisi receiving the Stigmata. I am<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">147</span> -afraid her curiosity was more piqued than satisfied -when we reached our bourne; for, though we were -most piously welcomed, Veronica and she were not -allowed to violate that portion of the Convent -which is defended from female gaze by the word -<i lang="la">Clausura</i>; and she not unnaturally, though quite -inaccurately, imagined that she was not shown -what was most worth seeing. The Poet and I -were allotted sleeping-cells within the Monastery, -but our companions, of course, had to pass the -night in the <i lang="it">Foresteria</i>, or strangers’ quarter, outside, -in charge of a lay-brother, and it was there -we all had our truly ascetic supper. But the guests -of Sallust never enjoyed one more; for our host, -the Prior, was an ideal monk, majestic yet saintly -of aspect, with long flowing beard, silky and snowy, -measured manners, and paternally caressing voice. -The Rules of his Order forbid any instrumental -accompaniment either at Mass or the other Sacred -Offices of the twenty-four hours; but he had -always loved music for its own sake, and he had -made for himself a primitive sort of spinette, on -which he said he would play to us, for our further -entertainment, when the lay-brother who was waiting -on us had retired, and all the Confraternity -were in their first deep sleep. The performance,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">148</span> -like the instrument, was touching in its simplicity; -and Veronica, wishing to make him some return, -said that Lamia, too, was fond of music, and would, -she was quite sure, sing to him if he cared to hear -her. Even in the <i lang="it">Foresteria</i>, I fear, there was a -touch of the profane in the suggestion; but he -evidently could not resist the temptation thus -presented to him, and begged Lamia to sing, -but with not too loud and penetrating a voice. -She at once broke into the wild and melancholy -chant the Italian recruits used to sing in the days -of Napoleon, when they were dragged from their -homes to face the snows of Russia:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘Partir, partir bisogna,</div> - <div class="verse indent8">Dove commanderà il mio Sovrano.’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>But Lamia got no further than those two lines; -for our venerable host suddenly exclaimed, the -colour mounting to his face, and the tears brimming -in his eyes:</p> - -<p>‘Stop! stop! <i lang="it">Mi monta la fantasia.</i>’ And -he went on to tell us how he had not heard -that strain for five-and-forty years, and that it -used to be sung by one whose caprice had caused -him to abandon the world and assume the habit of -Saint Bruno.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">149</span></p> - -<p>On our journey homeward, the following morning, -Lamia asked:</p> - -<p>‘How would you translate the words the dear -old Prior used last night, <i lang="it">Mi monta la fantasia</i>?’</p> - -<p>‘They are not easily rendered into another -tongue,’ said Veronica, ‘for they mean so much in -the original. But when he said, “the fantasy -mounts and seizes hold of me,” he doubtless meant -that your voice suddenly made him feel all he had -felt five-and-forty years ago.‘</p> - -<p>‘O, how delightful!’ said Lamia. ‘Then I -forced the <i lang="it">Clausura</i>, after all.’</p> - -<p>‘It is a pity,’ said Veronica, whose sane nature -and active temperament render her a little intolerant -of monasticism in any form, ‘that you could not -break it down altogether, and so make an end -of it.’</p> - -<p>‘And yet,’ said the Poet, who has rather more -indulgence for the weaknesses of human nature, -perhaps because he shares them more, ‘I doubt if -we have done with the motives, many and various, -that once engendered and still foster monasticism. -The strong, the valiant, the sensible, require no -shelter from the rough usage of the world. But, -as in the days of savage militarism, so in these of -an almost equally pitiless industrialism, terror,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">150</span> -timidity, indolence, mysticism, love of meditation, -longing for silence, and a certain passive piety, -make men fly the market-place for the cloister. -When Dante, exiled from Florence, appeared at -the Convent in the Apennines, and was asked -by the monks who he might be, did he not -answer, “One who is in quest of peace”? There -is no second Dante, but there are many exiles in -this modern world, and I fear their number every -day increases. As the struggle for existence waxes -fiercer and fiercer, I think I hear them, too, exclaiming, -<i lang="la">Dona nobis pacem</i>.‘</p> - -<p>‘Listening first to Veronica,’ said Lamia, ‘and -then to you, I am forced to the conclusion that -many things are intolerable which we cannot do -without. Yet I confess a Convent of Nuns seems -more natural than a Confraternity of Monks.’</p> - -<p>‘More natural, perhaps,’ said the Poet, ‘but -hardly so necessary. For, even in the very heart -of the world, every good woman is more or less -nunlike, by virtue of her purity, her reserve——’</p> - -<p>‘And, I suppose,’ interrupted Lamia, ‘her -obedience?’</p> - -<p>Nothing disconcerted, he re-echoed the words: -‘And her obedience.’</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="ill15"></a> -<img src="images/i_227.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">THROUGH THE OLIVES, FLORENCE</div> -</div> - -<p>‘Have you not, dear,’ asked Veronica,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">151</span> ‘confuted -yourself by anticipation? It was a man, not a -woman, was it not, that took leave of the Prior, -who would fain have detained him, with the words—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">‘Father, farewell! Be not distressed,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And take my vow, ere I depart,</div> - <div class="verse">To found a Convent in my breast,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And keep a cloister in my heart.’</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>‘One is constantly confuting oneself,’ he -replied.</p> - -<p>‘How should it be otherwise?’ said Lamia. -‘Verse being the expression, not of the convictions, -but of the emotions, poets cannot be taxed with -inconsistency, though they contradict themselves -a thousand times.’</p> - -<p>‘Thank you, dear Lamia,’ he said. ‘You are -the most ingenious of apologists. If ever I have -to defend myself, you shall be my Portia.’</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>But the last day, the last night, and then the -very morning of departure at length arrived, when -Florence, with its gorgeous towers and cloud-capped -palaces, was, for a time at least, to dissolve -like the baseless fabric of a vision. Perfetta was -in tears; Ippolito had a <i lang="la">mazzetto</i> of carnations -for us all; the <i lang="la">contadini</i> desisted from their work -to cluster in the garden in order to see us off<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">152</span> -with many gracious words and expressions of hope -that next year we should return; and the entire -household manifested by melancholy smiles their -sorrow at our going. Pasquale, the <i lang="it">cameriere</i>, -had come into my room early that morning with -a doleful face, and, in reply to a renewed inquiry -whether we could not help him to find another -place, assured me that he would not care to serve -anybody else; and he launched into touching -eulogies of Veronica’s considerateness and universal -capacity, of Lamia’s irresistible charm, of the -genius of the Poet,—<i lang="it">Il Gran Poeta</i>, he called -him, though utterly ignorant, I need scarcely -say, of the very language in which that retiring -person writes,—and of the thousand-and-one -virtues which, finally, he ascribed to myself. If -you think that he was insincere, because he in some -degree exaggerated, I can assure you that you are -mistaken. He believed it all.</p> - -<p>‘No, no,’ he said. ‘<i lang="it">Ringrazio tanto la sua -signoria</i>, but I could not serve any one else. -<i lang="it">Riprenderò il mio antico mestiere</i>’ (I will return -to my old calling).</p> - -<p>‘And what may that be?’ I asked.</p> - -<p>‘Do you not know?’ he said. ‘<i lang="it">Io son comico</i>’ -(I am an actor).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">153</span></p> - -<p>The dear people we were leaving are all of -them so much more or less histrionic, that -Pasquale’s occasionally fine gestures had never -struck me as singular or exceptional.</p> - -<p>‘<i lang="it">Sì, Signore, son comico io</i>,’ he went on, ‘I am -an actor, and have played at Lucca, at Fiesole, -at Pisa, yes and at Siena. Once I was in the same -cast with the stupendous tragedian, Salvini.’</p> - -<p>‘Yes, a great actor, indeed,’ I said. ‘I once -saw him in an Italian version of our English -drama <cite>Othello</cite>.’</p> - -<p>He was in his early morning dress, wearing no -coat nor jacket, and having in his turned-up white -apron my boot-trees, which he was just about to -pack. But he drew himself up with much dignity, -and, with the one disengaged hand suiting the -action to the word, he said:</p> - -<p>‘I, too, have played the part of Otello.’ And, -without more ado, he recited, in his sonorous -language, the lines:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Farewell the tranquil mind! farewell content!</div> - <div class="verse">Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars;</div> - <div class="verse">That make ambition virtue! O, farewell!</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>And the earnestness with which he recited that -pathetic passage completely submerged the sense of -humour that was beginning to rise in me.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">154</span></p> - -<p>As we entered Florence, so did we quit it, -leisurely, and without the disenchanting scenes of a -modern railway station. We were to drive across -the Apennines to Bologna, and, as we reached the -last flower-stall near the Gate that looks thitherward, -Lamia expressed a wish for one more flower. It -was a lovely rose, the only one on a plant that -occupied among the others the place of honour.</p> - -<p>‘It is a pity to spoil the plant,’ said the woman, -who was well known to us, for we had often -halted to make purchases from her. ‘Will not -another serve equally well?’</p> - -<p>You will easily surmise Lamia’s reply. No -rose in the world but that one would have satisfied -her desire.</p> - -<p>‘<i lang="it">Come vuole</i>, said the woman (‘be it as you -wish’), and she severed the fair flower from its -stalk.</p> - -<p>‘How much is it?’ I asked, eagerly availing -myself of the opportunity to make dear Lamia -a parting gift from the City of Flowers.</p> - -<p>‘Don’t trouble about it,‘ said the woman, ‘you -can pay some other time.’</p> - -<p>‘But there will be no other time,’ said Lamia, -‘for we are going away for good and all.’</p> - -<p>‘<i lang="it">Dunque, non si paga. Addio, e buon viaggio!</i> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">155</span>‘was the reply. -(‘In that case, you must not pay at all. Happy be your journey! Good-bye!’)</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>If people love their home, there is no wrong -time for coming back to it; and, were it not for -the delight of returning, I doubt if it would be -wise, save under compulsion, ever to leave it. -Tacitus asks, Who would quit Italy for Germany, -were it not that Germany is his own country? -Over English folk, at all worthy of their great -descent, the name of England exercises a more -enthralling spell even than that of Italy; and the -Garden that I love is all the dearer to me because -it is thoroughly English. But the moment for -returning to it fell out most felicitously; and, -gazing on the scene that awaited us, we were -instantly weaned from all regret even for the sky -and sunshine of Tuscany. Under the broad-trunked, -wide-spreading Oak,—Veronica has -christened this particular plot of ground the Oak -Parlour,—Five O’Clock Tea was waiting for us, -and once more we looked on one of those Urns -which, I am told, have made the owner’s name a -household word in many kindly hearts. I need -not say again how happy we had been in our -Tuscan villa, and I verily believe that Veronica -would contrive to make us comfortable in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">156</span> -desert of Sahara. But it is idle to pretend that -all we mean by the word ‘Home’ is to be had -save in this, our own island; and there is all the -difference in the world between Perfetta and the -tearful <i lang="it">cameriere</i> who, I suppose, has now returned -to his <i lang="it">antico mestiere</i>, and is smothering -Desdemona before some provincial Tuscan audience, -and the Northern handmaidens who, moulded by -the genius of Veronica, perform with noiseless -celerity every office that can minister to the grace -of existence. Do not think me material if I say -that that first Five O’Clock Tea in the Oak -Parlour after our return was an event in our life; -for its charm was compounded of many elements, -into which entered the abiding influence of unluxurious -domestic refinement. The green antiquity -of the oak, the smooth verdure of the lawn, unattainable, -I fear, by the services of a shepherd -lass and her flock of nibbling sheep, the luxuriance -and variety of the flowers, the view, under the -oaken branches, of the Manor-House, white with -roses from ground to gable, the snowy face of the -tablecloth, the glow of the burnished urn, the -brightness, the spotlessness, the seemliness of everything, -all contributed to the welcome that attended -us, and to the pleasure we received from it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">157</span></p> - -<p>But something more awaited us than the -renewal of old delights. Shortly before we started -for our six months’ absence, we had decided, after -much deliberation, to add, in a modest way, to -the home that we had a thousand times declared, -in our optimistic fashion, to be already ample for -our needs; and the result was now before us. -You may easily imagine our anxiety to discern if -the decision had been wise or the reverse; for, -though we had gone into the plan with a most -competent architect to the utmost detail, and though -Veronica had brought her practical and tasteful -mind to bear upon window and overmantel, -hinge and door-plate, moulding and lining-paper, -there is always a danger lest instructions should -have been misunderstood or imperfectly carried -out, or that the instructions themselves were -wholly or in part a mistake. We were prepared -to be pleased, but also to criticise; but for fault-finding -there was, in truth, no possible room. -Animated by reverence for what already existed, -we had bound architect and builder to certain -well-defined lines and curves, prohibiting externally -all originality save what is perhaps the best -kind of it in these days, pious and humble reproduction -of what is already recognised as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">158</span> -beautiful. A room, which was originally spoken -of as a billiard-room, and which for a brief while -retained that designation, though all idea of having -a billiard-table in it had been promptly abandoned, -and which now is known as the Morning Room, -because, as Lamia says, we nearly always sit there -of an evening, a new boudoir for Veronica, who -has at last a refuge of her own worthy of her -beneficent labours, three new sleeping-chambers, -and another staircase, composed the new quarter. -And will you believe it?—it was already furnished; -Veronica having made due preparations and -given minute instructions for this end partly -before our departure, and partly during our -absence. Now, did she triumph over us in the -matter of those various purchases in Florence that -used to move our ignorant mirth; for everything -she had acquired had been sent home in time to -be unpacked and placed in the room and the -position allotted to it. Thus, at every turn, we -were reminded of the Fair City and the bewitching -land we had so lately left, and of which, not to be -ungrateful, we still talked affectionately even in the -hours of our home-coming.</p> - -<p>But Veronica had no monopoly of success in -the swift adornment of our new wing. I, too,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">159</span> -had a little triumph of my own, but, I need -scarcely say, out-of-doors. I do not often sing -my own praises, do I, preferring to extol the Poet -and Veronica, who are more deserving of eulogy. -But, on this occasion, I think I really did deserve -the congratulations that were lavished on me. -For, with a truly foreseeing mind, I had been -growing on, to use a gardener’s phrase, a certain -number of climbing roses, clematis, jessamine, and -other creepers, and had given the strictest injunctions -that they were to be planted against -the new building the very instant the masons had -finished it, and were to be fostered and trained -with constant and unremitting attention; and, as -they were then already robust in growth and -vigorous at the root, they were well on their way -up the new wing on our arrival. A legend has -since grown up that I did not leave England at -all, but remained on the spot with barrow, trug, -and trowel, and that, fast as the work-people laid -a course of stone or brick, I planted a creeper. -But, as a fact, it happened as I have said.</p> - -<p>As for the garden, the garden that the too -kindly sympathy of others permits one to say we -all love, I can only say I wish the whole of Italy -could have seen it. The Tea Roses, more numer<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">160</span>ous -and more beautiful than ever, seemed smilingly -to say, ‘Has Tuscany roses to show more fair?’ -Larkspurs, of every imaginable shade of blue, -from azure to cerulean; lupines, white, purple, and -yellow; foxgloves, snowy-white and without a -freckle; seemed to challenge each other as to which -would tower highest in the summer air. The -Pæony Poppies, some purposely some accidentally -sown, were a garden in themselves, fair but fugitive, -yet making up by their number and infinite -variety for the briefness of their existence. They -were everywhere in the beds and borders, and, as it -seemed, where they had chosen to be; there, by the -right of supreme loveliness, and the Swan-neck -Poppies, the Caucasian, and the Victoria Cross, -rocked more humbly beside them. No other -plant of such supreme beauty has so solid a stem -and such imposing foliage for so fragile a flower; -and this it is, I think, which mainly constitutes its -fresh charm. Every one now loves flowers, and I -have no need to weary you with a catalogue of those -in the Garden that I Love. But I doubt if there -be any perennial plant of real beauty and value -that will grow in our latitude which is not to be -found there; and I can say with truth, of every -bed and border, that you could not see the ground<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">161</span> -for flowers. As for the winding turf walk, which -perhaps you remember as the South Enclosure, it -is not I who will say what it looked like when we -returned. For one who has justly acquired honour, -not only by the beauty of her own home, but by her -charming pages concerning all that appertains to a -garden, and who had visited it the day before our -arrival, left a little line for Veronica, in which she -generously said it was the loveliest she had ever seen. -I should hesitate to repeat so flattering an opinion, -were it not for some injustice to myself that -followed. ‘As for the winding turf walk and its -glow of bloom and colour on either side,’ said the -kindly writer, ‘nowhere, I am sure, is there anything -like it; and only the Poet could have conceived -it.’ As if it was the Poet who had conceived -it! It was I who,—but so it is in this -unfair world, where everybody bows down before -prestige. Lamia herself could not have been -more partial or more unjust.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a id="ill16"></a> -<img src="images/i_241.jpg" alt="" /> -<div class="caption">LARKSPURS</div> -</div> - -<p>I made some observation of the kind to Veronica, -imagining we were alone, and got for reply,—</p> - -<p>‘My dear, you will never understand women.’</p> - -<p>‘How is it possible,’ I asked, a little nettled by -the implied rebuke,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">162</span> ‘when no two women are -alike?’</p> - -<p>‘No <em>one</em> woman is alike,’ said Lamia, suddenly -emerging from a luxuriance of leaf and flower that -had concealed her from view; and, though -Veronica was there to disprove the universal application -of her aphorism, I think she spoke from the -very depths of her own inner consciousness.</p> - -<p>Not even the novelty of the fresh wing, though -we kept returning to it again and again in the -course of that to us memorable evening, could -keep us indoors. Lilac, hawthorn, and laburnum -had of course flowered and faded, and the glory -of the rhododendrons was fast passing away. But -the air was fragrant with the newly-made but yet -uncarted hay; the scent of the elder was wafted from -the lane; the smell of sweet-briar, with its profusion of -little pink rosebuds, was everywhere in the garden; -and we kept stopping ever and again to inhale the -penetrating perfume of the freshly-opened tassels -of the lime. Longer and darker grew the -shadows on the lawn, then gradually drew themselves -in, and vanished. The Tea Roses, no longer -languid from the heat of the long summer day, -lifted their fair faces freshened with evening dew; -the streaks of crimson that point the pathway of -departed days gradually faded from the west, and -the lingering love-song of the missel-thrush at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">163</span> -length came to end, absorbed into the general -silence. It was twilight still, but a twilight slowly -succumbing to the Midsummer night, if night it -could be called to which the darkness never wholly -came. Elsewhere, on shrub and sward the deepening -dusk brought its beneficent tribute of abounding -moisture; but, under the manifold foliage -of the Oak, the ground retained the dryness of -noon. Under its protecting canopy therefore, as -many a time before, satisfied and silent we sate; till -Lamia, moved by the influence of the hour, once -again liberated her fresh young voice, and wedded -to notes of almost austere simplicity the no less -simple measure of this Vesper Hymn.</p> - - -<p class="center">GOOD-NIGHT!</p> - - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">I</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Good-night! Now dwindle wan and low</div> - <div class="verse">The embers of the afterglow,</div> - <div class="verse">And slowly over leaf and lawn</div> - <div class="verse">Is twilight’s dewy curtain drawn.</div> - <div class="verse">The slouching vixen leaves her lair,</div> - <div class="verse">And, prowling, sniffs the tell-tale air.</div> - <div class="verse">The frogs croak louder in the dyke,</div> - <div class="verse">And all the trees seem dark alike:</div> - <div class="verse">The bee is drowsing in the comb,</div> - <div class="verse">The sharded beetle hath gone home:</div> - <div class="verse indent4">Good-night!</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">164</span></p> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">II</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Good-night! The hawk is in his nest,</div> - <div class="verse">And the last rook hath dropped to rest.</div> - <div class="verse">There is no hum, no chirp, no bleat,</div> - <div class="verse">No rustle in the meadow-sweet.</div> - <div class="verse">The woodbine, somewhere out of sight,</div> - <div class="verse">Sweetens the loneliness of night.</div> - <div class="verse">The Sister Stars, that once were seven,</div> - <div class="verse">Mourn for their missing mate in Heaven.</div> - <div class="verse">The poppy’s fair frail petals close,</div> - <div class="verse">The lily yet more languid grows,</div> - <div class="verse">And dewy-dreamy droops the rose:</div> - <div class="verse indent4">Good-night!</div> -</div> - -<div class="stanza"> - <div class="center">III</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Good-night! Caressing and caressed,</div> - <div class="verse">The moist babe warms its mother’s breast.</div> - <div class="verse">Silent are rustic loom and lathe;</div> - <div class="verse">The scythe lies quiet as the swathe;</div> - <div class="verse">The woodreeve blinks in covert shed,</div> - <div class="verse">The weary yokel is abed,</div> - <div class="verse">The covey warm beneath the wing,</div> - <div class="verse">And sleep enfoldeth everything.</div> - <div class="verse">Forsaken love, its last tear shed,</div> - <div class="verse">On the lone pillow lays its head,</div> - <div class="verse">And all our woes are respited:</div> - <div class="verse indent4">Good-night!</div> -</div></div></div> - - -<p class="center"><i>Printed by</i> <span class="smcap">R. & R. Clark, Limited</span>, <i>Edinburgh</i>.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<div class="transnote"> -<h3>Transcriber’s Note</h3> - -<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected silently. All other -variations in hyphenation spelling and punctuation remain unchanged.</p> - -<p>Colour plates have captions, which are shown. 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