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diff --git a/627-h/627-h.htm b/627-h/627-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8a89d1e --- /dev/null +++ b/627-h/627-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7572 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Essays of Travel, by Robert Louis Stevenson</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 30%; } + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Essays of Travel, by Robert Louis Stevenson + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Essays of Travel + + +Author: Robert Louis Stevenson + + + +Release Date: December 28, 2010 [eBook #627] +[This file was first posted on July 3, 1996] +Last Updated: November 12, 2017 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ESSAYS OF TRAVEL*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1905 Chatto & Windus edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>ESSAYS OF TRAVEL</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">by</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p0b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative image" +title= +"Decorative image" +src="images/p0s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON<br /> +CHATTO & WINDUS<br /> +1905</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">second +impression</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">Contents</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">page</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>I.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Amateur Emigrant: From The Clyde To Sandy +Hook—</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> The Second Cabin</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page3">3</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> Early Impressions</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page11">11</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> Steerage Scenes</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page21">21</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> Steerage Types</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page30">30</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> The Sick Man</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page42">42</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> The Stowaways</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page53">53</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> Personal Experience And Review</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page69">69</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> New York</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page81">81</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>II.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Cockermouth And Keswick</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page93">93</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> Cockermouth</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page94">94</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> An Evangelist</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page97">97</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> Another</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page100">100</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> Last Of Smethurst</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page102">102</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>III.</p> +</td> +<td><p>An Autumn Effect</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page106">106</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>IV.</p> +</td> +<td><p>A Winter’s Walk In Carrick And Galloway</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page131">131</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>V.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Forest Notes—</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> On The Plains</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page144">144</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> In The Season</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page149">149</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> Idle Hours</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page153">153</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> A Pleasure-Party</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page157">157</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> The Woods In Spring</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page164">164</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p> Morality</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page169">169</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>VI.</p> +</td> +<td><p>A Mountain Town In France</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page175">175</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>VII.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Random Memories: <i>Rosa Quo Locorum</i></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page189">189</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>VII.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Ideal House</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page199">199</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>IX.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Davos In Winter</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page207">207</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>X.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Health And Mountains</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page212">212</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>XI.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Alpine Diversion</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page217">217</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>XII.</p> +</td> +<td><p>The Stimulation Of The Alps</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page222">222</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>XIII.</p> +</td> +<td><p>Roads</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page227">227</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>XIV.</p> +</td> +<td><p>On The Enjoyment Of Unpleasant Places</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page237">237</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><!-- page 1--><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +1</span>I.<br /> +THE AMATEUR EMIGRANT</h2> +<h3><!-- page 2--><a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +2</span>To<br /> +ROBERT ALAN MOWBRAY STEVENSON</h3> +<p>Our friendship was not only founded before we were born by a +community of blood, but is in itself near as old as my +life. It began with our early ages, and, like a history, +has been continued to the present time. Although we may not +be old in the world, we are old to each other, having so long +been intimates. We are now widely separated, a great sea +and continent intervening; but memory, like care, mounts into +iron ships and rides post behind the horseman. Neither time +nor space nor enmity can conquer old affection; and as I dedicate +these sketches, it is not to you only, but to all in the old +country, that I send the greeting of my heart.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R.L.S.</p> +<p>1879.</p> +<h3><!-- page 3--><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +3</span>THE SECOND CABIN</h3> +<p>I first encountered my fellow-passengers on the Broomielaw in +Glasgow. Thence we descended the Clyde in no familiar +spirit, but looking askance on each other as on possible +enemies. A few Scandinavians, who had already grown +acquainted on the North Sea, were friendly and voluble over their +long pipes; but among English speakers distance and suspicion +reigned supreme. The sun was soon overclouded, the wind +freshened and grew sharp as we continued to descend the widening +estuary; and with the falling temperature the gloom among the +passengers increased. Two of the women wept. Any one +who had come aboard might have supposed we were all absconding +from the law. There was scarce a word interchanged, and no +common sentiment but that of cold united us, until at length, +having touched at Greenock, a pointing arm and a rush to the +starboard now announced that our ocean steamer was in +sight. There she lay in mid-river, at the Tail of the Bank, +her sea-signal flying: a wall of bulwark, a street of white +deck-houses, an aspiring forest of spars, larger than a church, +and soon to be as populous as many an incorporated town in the +land to which she was to bear us.</p> +<p>I was not, in truth, a steerage passenger. Although +anxious to see the worst of emigrant life, I had some work to +finish on the voyage, and was advised to go by the second cabin, +where at least I should have a table at command. The advice +was excellent; but to understand the choice, and what I gained, +some outline of the internal disposition of the ship will first +be necessary. In her very nose is Steerage No. 1, down two +pair of stairs. A little abaft, another companion, labelled +Steerage No. 2 and 3, gives admission to three galleries, two +running forward towards Steerage No. 1, and the third aft towards +the engines. The starboard forward gallery is the second +cabin. Away abaft the engines and below the officers’ +cabins, to complete our survey of the vessel, there is yet a +third nest of steerages, labelled 4 and 5. The second +cabin, to return, is thus a modified oasis in the very heart of +the steerages. Through the thin partition you can hear the +steerage passengers being sick, the rattle of tin dishes as they +sit at meals, the varied accents in which they converse, the +crying of their children terrified by this new experience, or the +clean flat smack of the parental hand in chastisement.</p> +<p>There are, however, many advantages for the inhabitant of this +strip. He does not require to bring his own bedding or +dishes, but finds berths and a table completely if somewhat +roughly furnished. He enjoys a distinct superiority in +diet; but this, strange to say, differs not only on different +ships, but on the same ship according as her head is to the east +or west. In my own experience, the principal difference +between our table and that of the true steerage passenger was the +table itself, and the crockery plates from which we ate. +But lest I should show myself ungrateful, let me recapitulate +every advantage. At breakfast we had a choice between tea +and coffee for beverage; a choice not easy to make, the two were +so surprisingly alike. I found that I could sleep after the +coffee and lay awake after the tea, which is proof conclusive of +some chemical disparity; and even by the palate I could +distinguish a smack of snuff in the former from a flavour of +boiling and dish-cloths in the second. As a matter of fact, +I have seen passengers, after many sips, still doubting which had +been supplied them. In the way of eatables at the same meal +we were gloriously favoured; for in addition to porridge, which +was common to all, we had Irish stew, sometimes a bit of fish, +and sometimes rissoles. The dinner of soup, roast fresh +beef, boiled salt junk, and potatoes, was, I believe, exactly +common to the steerage and the second cabin; only I have heard it +rumoured that our potatoes were of a superior brand; and twice a +week, on pudding-days, instead of duff, we had a saddle-bag +filled with currants under the name of a plum-pudding. At +tea we were served with some broken meat from the saloon; +sometimes in the comparatively elegant form of spare patties or +rissoles; but as a general thing mere chicken-bones and flakes of +fish, neither hot nor cold. If these were not the scrapings +of plates their looks belied them sorely; yet we were all too +hungry to be proud, and fell to these leavings greedily. +These, the bread, which was excellent, and the soup and porridge +which were both good, formed my whole diet throughout the voyage; +so that except for the broken meat and the convenience of a table +I might as well have been in the steerage outright. Had +they given me porridge again in the evening, I should have been +perfectly contented with the fare. As it was, with a few +biscuits and some whisky and water before turning in, I kept my +body going and my spirits up to the mark.</p> +<p>The last particular in which the second cabin passenger +remarkably stands ahead of his brother of the steerage is one +altogether of sentiment. In the steerage there are males +and females; in the second cabin ladies and gentlemen. For +some time after I came aboard I thought I was only a male; but in +the course of a voyage of discovery between decks, I came on a +brass plate, and learned that I was still a gentleman. +Nobody knew it, of course. I was lost in the crowd of males +and females, and rigorously confined to the same quarter of the +deck. Who could tell whether I housed on the port or +starboard side of steerage No. 2 and 3? And it was only +there that my superiority became practical; everywhere else I was +incognito, moving among my inferiors with simplicity, not so much +as a swagger to indicate that I was a gentleman after all, and +had broken meat to tea. Still, I was like one with a patent +of nobility in a drawer at home; and when I felt out of spirits I +could go down and refresh myself with a look of that brass +plate.</p> +<p>For all these advantages I paid but two guineas. Six +guineas is the steerage fare; eight that by the second cabin; and +when you remember that the steerage passenger must supply bedding +and dishes, and, in five cases out of ten, either brings some +dainties with him, or privately pays the steward for extra +rations, the difference in price becomes almost nominal. +Air comparatively fit to breathe, food comparatively varied, and +the satisfaction of being still privately a gentleman, may thus +be had almost for the asking. Two of my fellow-passengers +in the second cabin had already made the passage by the cheaper +fare, and declared it was an experiment not to be repeated. +As I go on to tell about my steerage friends, the reader will +perceive that they were not alone in their opinion. Out of +ten with whom I was more or less intimate, I am sure not fewer +than five vowed, if they returned, to travel second cabin; and +all who had left their wives behind them assured me they would go +without the comfort of their presence until they could afford to +bring them by saloon.</p> +<p>Our party in the second cabin was not perhaps the most +interesting on board. Perhaps even in the saloon there was +as much good-will and character. Yet it had some elements +of curiosity. There was a mixed group of Swedes, Danes, and +Norsemen, one of whom, generally known by the name of +‘Johnny,’ in spite of his own protests, greatly +diverted us by his clever, cross-country efforts to speak +English, and became on the strength of that an universal +favourite—it takes so little in this world of shipboard to +create a popularity. There was, besides, a Scots mason, +known from his favourite dish as ‘Irish Stew,’ three +or four nondescript Scots, a fine young Irishman, O’Reilly, +and a pair of young men who deserve a special word of +condemnation. One of them was Scots; the other claimed to +be American; admitted, after some fencing, that he was born in +England; and ultimately proved to be an Irishman born and +nurtured, but ashamed to own his country. He had a sister +on board, whom he faithfully neglected throughout the voyage, +though she was not only sick, but much his senior, and had nursed +and cared for him in childhood. In appearance he was like +an imbecile Henry the Third of France. The Scotsman, though +perhaps as big an ass, was not so dead of heart; and I have only +bracketed them together because they were fast friends, and +disgraced themselves equally by their conduct at the table.</p> +<p>Next, to turn to topics more agreeable, we had a newly-married +couple, devoted to each other, with a pleasant story of how they +had first seen each other years ago at a preparatory school, and +that very afternoon he had carried her books home for her. +I do not know if this story will be plain to southern readers; +but to me it recalls many a school idyll, with wrathful swains of +eight and nine confronting each other stride-legs, flushed with +jealousy; for to carry home a young lady’s books was both a +delicate attention and a privilege.</p> +<p>Then there was an old lady, or indeed I am not sure that she +was as much old as antiquated and strangely out of place, who had +left her husband, and was travelling all the way to Kansas by +herself. We had to take her own word that she was married; +for it was sorely contradicted by the testimony of her +appearance. Nature seemed to have sanctified her for the +single state; even the colour of her hair was incompatible with +matrimony, and her husband, I thought, should be a man of saintly +spirit and phantasmal bodily presence. She was ill, poor +thing; her soul turned from the viands; the dirty tablecloth +shocked her like an impropriety; and the whole strength of her +endeavour was bent upon keeping her watch true to Glasgow time +till she should reach New York. They had heard reports, her +husband and she, of some unwarrantable disparity of hours between +these two cities; and with a spirit commendably scientific, had +seized on this occasion to put them to the proof. It was a +good thing for the old lady; for she passed much leisure time in +studying the watch. Once, when prostrated by sickness, she +let it run down. It was inscribed on her harmless mind in +letters of adamant that the hands of a watch must never be turned +backwards; and so it behoved her to lie in wait for the exact +moment ere she started it again. When she imagined this was +about due, she sought out one of the young second-cabin Scotsmen, +who was embarked on the same experiment as herself and had +hitherto been less neglectful. She was in quest of two +o’clock; and when she learned it was already seven on the +shores of Clyde, she lifted up her voice and cried +‘Gravy!’ I had not heard this innocent +expletive since I was a young child; and I suppose it must have +been the same with the other Scotsmen present, for we all laughed +our fill.</p> +<p>Last but not least, I come to my excellent friend Mr. +Jones. It would be difficult to say whether I was his +right-hand man, or he mine, during the voyage. Thus at +table I carved, while he only scooped gravy; but at our concerts, +of which more anon, he was the president who called up performers +to sing, and I but his messenger who ran his errands and pleaded +privately with the over-modest. I knew I liked Mr. Jones +from the moment I saw him. I thought him by his face to be +Scottish; nor could his accent undeceive me. For as there +is a <i>lingua franca</i> of many tongues on the moles and in the +feluccas of the Mediterranean, so there is a free or common +accent among English-speaking men who follow the sea. They +catch a twang in a New England Port; from a cockney skipper, even +a Scotsman sometimes learns to drop an <i>h</i>; a word of a +dialect is picked up from another band in the forecastle; until +often the result is undecipherable, and you have to ask for the +man’s place of birth. So it was with Mr. Jones. +I thought him a Scotsman who had been long to sea; and yet he was +from Wales, and had been most of his life a blacksmith at an +inland forge; a few years in America and half a score of ocean +voyages having sufficed to modify his speech into the common +pattern. By his own account he was both strong and skilful +in his trade. A few years back, he had been married and +after a fashion a rich man; now the wife was dead and the money +gone. But his was the nature that looks forward, and goes +on from one year to another and through all the extremities of +fortune undismayed; and if the sky were to fall to-morrow, I +should look to see Jones, the day following, perched on a +step-ladder and getting things to rights. He was always +hovering round inventions like a bee over a flower, and lived in +a dream of patents. He had with him a patent medicine, for +instance, the composition of which he had bought years ago for +five dollars from <!-- page 11--><a name="page11"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 11</span>an American pedlar, and sold the +other day for a hundred pounds (I think it was) to an English +apothecary. It was called Golden Oil, cured all maladies +without exception; and I am bound to say that I partook of it +myself with good results. It is a character of the man that +he was not only perpetually dosing himself with Golden Oil, but +wherever there was a head aching or a finger cut, there would be +Jones with his bottle.</p> +<p>If he had one taste more strongly than another, it was to +study character. Many an hour have we two walked upon the +deck dissecting our neighbours in a spirit that was too purely +scientific to be called unkind; whenever a quaint or human trait +slipped out in conversation, you might have seen Jones and me +exchanging glances; and we could hardly go to bed in comfort till +we had exchanged notes and discussed the day’s +experience. We were then like a couple of anglers comparing +a day’s kill. But the fish we angled for were of a +metaphysical species, and we angled as often as not in one +another’s baskets. Once, in the midst of a serious +talk, each found there was a scrutinising eye upon himself; I own +I paused in embarrassment at this double detection; but Jones, +with a better civility, broke into a peal of unaffected laughter, +and declared, what was the truth, that there was a pair of us +indeed.</p> +<h3>EARLY IMPRESSIONS</h3> +<p>We steamed out of the Clyde on Thursday night, and early on +the Friday forenoon we took in our last batch of emigrants at +Lough Foyle, in Ireland, and said farewell to Europe. The +company was now complete, and began to draw together, by +inscrutable magnetisms, upon the decks. There were Scots +and Irish in plenty, a few English, a few Americans, a good +handful of Scandinavians, a German or two, and one Russian; all +now belonging for ten days to one small iron country on the +deep.</p> +<p>As I walked the deck and looked round upon my +fellow-passengers, thus curiously assorted from all northern +Europe, I began for the first time to understand the nature of +emigration. Day by day throughout the passage, and +thenceforward across all the States, and on to the shores of the +Pacific, this knowledge grew more clear and melancholy. +Emigration, from a word of the most cheerful import, came to +sound most dismally in my ear. There is nothing more +agreeable to picture and nothing more pathetic to behold. +The abstract idea, as conceived at home, is hopeful and +adventurous. A young man, you fancy, scorning restraints +and helpers, issues forth into life, that great battle, to fight +for his own hand. The most pleasant stories of ambition, of +difficulties overcome, and of ultimate success, are but as +episodes to this great epic of self-help. The epic is +composed of individual heroisms; it stands to them as the +victorious war which subdued an empire stands to the personal act +of bravery which spiked a single cannon and was adequately +rewarded with a medal. For in emigration the young men +enter direct and by the shipload on their heritage of work; empty +continents swarm, as at the bo’s’un’s whistle, +with industrious hands, and whole new empires are domesticated to +the service of man.</p> +<p>This is the closet picture, and is found, on trial, to consist +mostly of embellishments. The more I saw of my +fellow-passengers, the less I was tempted to the lyric +note. Comparatively few of the men were below thirty; many +were married, and encumbered with families; not a few were +already up in years; and this itself was out of tune with my +imaginations, for the ideal emigrant should certainly be +young. Again, I thought he should offer to the eye some +bold type of humanity, with bluff or hawk-like features, and the +stamp of an eager and pushing disposition. Now those around +me were for the most part quiet, orderly, obedient citizens, +family men broken by adversity, elderly youths who had failed to +place themselves in life, and people who had seen better +days. Mildness was the prevailing character; mild mirth and +mild endurance. In a word, I was not taking part in an +impetuous and conquering sally, such as swept over Mexico or +Siberia, but found myself, like Marmion, ‘in the lost +battle, borne down by the flying.’</p> +<p>Labouring mankind had in the last years, and throughout Great +Britain, sustained a prolonged and crushing series of +defeats. I had heard vaguely of these reverses; of whole +streets of houses standing deserted by the Tyne, the cellar-doors +broken and removed for firewood; of homeless men loitering at the +street-corners of Glasgow with their chests beside them; of +closed factories, useless strikes, and starving girls. But +I had never taken them home to me or represented these distresses +livingly to my imagination.</p> +<p>A turn of the market may be a calamity as disastrous as the +French retreat from Moscow; but it hardly lends itself to lively +treatment, and makes a trifling figure in the morning +papers. We may struggle as we please, we are not born +economists. The individual is more affecting than the +mass. It is by the scenic accidents, and the appeal to the +carnal eye, that for the most part we grasp the significance of +tragedies. Thus it was only now, when I found myself +involved in the rout, that I began to appreciate how sharp had +been the battle. We were a company of the rejected; the +drunken, the incompetent, the weak, the prodigal, all who had +been unable to prevail against circumstances in the one land, +were now fleeing pitifully to another; and though one or two +might still succeed, all had already failed. We were a +shipful of failures, the broken men of England. Yet it must +not be supposed that these people exhibited depression. The +scene, on the contrary, was cheerful. Not a tear was shed +on board the vessel. All were full of hope for the future, +and showed an inclination to innocent gaiety. Some were +heard to sing, and all began to scrape acquaintance with small +jests and ready laughter.</p> +<p>The children found each other out like dogs, and ran about the +decks scraping acquaintance after their fashion also. +‘What do you call your mither?’ I heard one +ask. ‘Mawmaw,’ was the reply, indicating, I +fancy, a shade of difference in the social scale. When +people pass each other on the high seas of life at so early an +age, the contact is but slight, and the relation more like what +we may imagine to be the friendship of flies than that of men; it +is so quickly joined, so easily dissolved, so open in its +communications and so devoid of deeper human qualities. The +children, I observed, were all in a band, and as thick as thieves +at a fair, while their elders were still ceremoniously +manœuvring on the outskirts of acquaintance. The sea, +the ship, and the seamen were soon as familiar as home to these +half-conscious little ones. It was odd to hear them, +throughout the voyage, employ shore words to designate portions +of the vessel. ‘Go ’way doon to yon +dyke,’ I heard one say, probably meaning the bulwark. +I often had my heart in my mouth, watching them climb into the +shrouds or on the rails, while the ship went swinging through the +waves; and I admired and envied the courage of their mothers, who +sat by in the sun and looked on with composure at these perilous +feats. ‘He’ll maybe be a sailor,’ I heard +one remark; ‘now’s the time to learn.’ I +had been on the point of running forward to interfere, but stood +back at that, reproved. Very few in the more delicate +classes have the nerve to look upon the peril of one dear to +them; but the life of poorer folk, where necessity is so much +more immediate and imperious, braces even a mother to this +extreme of endurance. And perhaps, after all, it is better +that the lad should break his neck than that you should break his +spirit.</p> +<p>And since I am here on the chapter of the children, I must +mention one little fellow, whose family belonged to Steerage No. +4 and 5, and who, wherever he went, was like a strain of music +round the ship. He was an ugly, merry, unbreeched child of +three, his lint-white hair in a tangle, his face smeared with +suet and treacle; but he ran to and fro with so natural a step, +and fell and picked himself up again with such grace and +good-humour, that he might fairly be called beautiful when he was +in motion. To meet him, crowing with laughter and beating +an accompaniment to his own mirth with a tin spoon upon a tin +cup, was to meet a little triumph of the human species. +Even when his mother and the rest of his family lay sick and +prostrate around him, he sat upright in their midst and sang +aloud in the pleasant heartlessness of infancy.</p> +<p>Throughout the Friday, intimacy among us men made but a few +advances. We discussed the probable duration of the voyage, +we exchanged pieces of information, naming our trades, what we +hoped to find in the new world, or what we were fleeing from in +the old; and, above all, we condoled together over the food and +the vileness of the steerage. One or two had been so near +famine that you may say they had run into the ship with the devil +at their heels; and to these all seemed for the best in the best +of possible steamers. But the majority were hugely +contented. Coming as they did from a country in so low a +state as Great Britain, many of them from Glasgow, which +commercially speaking was as good as dead, and many having long +been out of work, I was surprised to find them so dainty in their +notions. I myself lived almost exclusively on bread, +porridge, and soup, precisely as it was supplied to them, and +found it, if not luxurious, at least sufficient. But these +working men were loud in their outcries. It was not +‘food for human beings,’ it was ‘only fit for +pigs,’ it was ‘a disgrace.’ Many of them +lived almost entirely upon biscuit, others on their own private +supplies, and some paid extra for better rations from the +ship. This marvellously changed my notion of the degree of +luxury habitual to the artisan. I was prepared to hear him +grumble, for grumbling is the traveller’s pastime; but I +was not prepared to find him turn away from a diet which was +palatable to myself. Words I should have disregarded, or +taken with a liberal allowance; but when a man prefers dry +biscuit there can be no question of the sincerity of his +disgust.</p> +<p>With one of their complaints I could most heartily +sympathise. A single night of the steerage had filled them +with horror. I had myself suffered, even in my +decent-second-cabin berth, from the lack of air; and as the night +promised to be fine and quiet, I determined to sleep on deck, and +advised all who complained of their quarters to follow my +example. I dare say a dozen of others agreed to do so, and +I thought we should have been quite a party. Yet, when I +brought up my rug about seven bells, there was no one to be seen +but the watch. That chimerical terror of good night-air, +which makes men close their windows, list their doors, and seal +themselves up with their own poisonous exhalations, had sent all +these healthy workmen down below. One would think we had +been brought up in a fever country; yet in England the most +malarious districts are in the bedchambers.</p> +<p>I felt saddened at this defection, and yet half-pleased to +have the night so quietly to myself. The wind had hauled a +little ahead on the starboard bow, and was dry but chilly. +I found a shelter near the fire-hole, and made myself snug for +the night.</p> +<p>The ship moved over the uneven sea with a gentle and cradling +movement. The ponderous, organic labours of the engine in +her bowels occupied the mind, and prepared it for slumber. +From time to time a heavier lurch would disturb me as I lay, and +recall me to the obscure borders of consciousness; or I heard, as +it were through a veil, the clear note of the clapper on the +brass and the beautiful sea-cry, ‘All’s +well!’ I know nothing, whether for poetry or music, +that can surpass the effect of these two syllables in the +darkness of a night at sea.</p> +<p>The day dawned fairly enough, and during the early part we had +some pleasant hours to improve acquaintance in the open air; but +towards nightfall the wind freshened, the rain began to fall, and +the sea rose so high that it was difficult to keep ones footing +on the deck. I have spoken of our concerts. We were +indeed a musical ship’s company, and cheered our way into +exile with the fiddle, the accordion, and the songs of all +nations. Good, bad, or indifferent—Scottish, English, +Irish, Russian, German or Norse,—the songs were received +with generous applause. Once or twice, a recitation, very +spiritedly rendered in a powerful Scottish accent, varied the +proceedings; and once we sought in vain to dance a quadrille, +eight men of us together, to the music of the violin. The +performers were all humorous, frisky fellows, who loved to cut +capers in private life; but as soon as they were arranged for the +dance, they conducted themselves like so many mutes at a +funeral. I have never seen decorum pushed so far; and as +this was not expected, the quadrille was soon whistled down, and +the dancers departed under a cloud. Eight Frenchmen, even +eight Englishmen from another rank of society, would have dared +to make some fun for themselves and the spectators; but the +working man, when sober, takes an extreme and even melancholy +view of personal deportment. A fifth-form schoolboy is not +more careful of dignity. He dares not be comical; his fun +must escape from him unprepared, and above all, it must be +unaccompanied by any physical demonstration. I like his +society under most circumstances, but let me never again join +with him in public gambols.</p> +<p>But the impulse to sing was strong, and triumphed over modesty +and even the inclemencies of sea and sky. On this rough +Saturday night, we got together by the main deck-house, in a +place sheltered from the wind and rain. Some clinging to a +ladder which led to the hurricane deck, and the rest knitting +arms or taking hands, we made a ring to support the women in the +violent lurching of the ship; and when we were thus disposed, +sang to our hearts’ content. Some of the songs were +appropriate to the scene; others strikingly the reverse. +Bastard doggrel of the music-hall, such as, ‘Around her +splendid form, I weaved the magic circle,’ sounded bald, +bleak, and pitifully silly. ‘We don’t want to +fight, but, by Jingo, if we do,’ was in some measure saved +by the vigour and unanimity with which the chorus was thrown +forth into the night. I observed a Platt-Deutsch mason, +entirely innocent of English, adding heartily to the general +effect. And perhaps the German mason is but a fair example +of the sincerity with which the song was rendered; for nearly all +with whom I conversed upon the subject were bitterly opposed to +war, and attributed their own misfortunes, and frequently their +own taste for whisky, to the campaigns in Zululand and +Afghanistan.</p> +<p>Every now and again, however, some song that touched the +pathos of our situation was given forth; and you could hear by +the voices that took up the burden how the sentiment came home to +each, ‘The Anchor’s Weighed’ was true for +us. We were indeed ‘Rocked on the bosom of the stormy +deep.’ How many of us could say with the singer, +‘I’m lonely to-night, love, without you,’ or, +‘Go, some one, and tell them from me, to write me a letter +from home’! And when was there a more appropriate +moment for ‘Auld Lang Syne’ than now, when the land, +the friends, and the affections of that mingled but beloved time +were fading and fleeing behind us in the vessel’s +wake? It pointed forward to the hour when these labours +should be overpast, to the return voyage, and to many a meeting +in the sanded inn, when those who had parted in the spring of +youth should again drink a cup of kindness in their age. +Had not Burns contemplated emigration, I scarce believe he would +have found that note.</p> +<p>All Sunday the weather remained wild and cloudy; many were +prostrated by sickness; only five sat down to tea in the second +cabin, and two of these departed abruptly ere the meal was at an +end. The Sabbath was observed strictly by the majority of +the emigrants. I heard an old woman express her surprise +that ‘the ship didna gae doon,’ as she saw some one +pass her with a chess-board on the holy day. Some sang +Scottish psalms. Many went to service, and in <!-- page +21--><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 21</span>true +Scottish fashion came back ill pleased with their divine. +‘I didna think he was an experienced preacher,’ said +one girl to me.</p> +<p>Is was a bleak, uncomfortable day; but at night, by six bells, +although the wind had not yet moderated, the clouds were all +wrecked and blown away behind the rim of the horizon, and the +stars came out thickly overhead. I saw Venus burning as +steadily and sweetly across this hurly-burly of the winds and +waters as ever at home upon the summer woods. The engine +pounded, the screw tossed out of the water with a roar, and shook +the ship from end to end; the bows battled with loud reports +against the billows: and as I stood in the lee-scuppers and +looked up to where the funnel leaned out, over my head, vomiting +smoke, and the black and monstrous top-sails blotted, at each +lurch, a different crop of stars, it seemed as if all this +trouble were a thing of small account, and that just above the +mast reigned peace unbroken and eternal.</p> +<h3>STEERAGE SCENES</h3> +<p>Our companion (Steerage No. 2 and 3) was a favourite +resort. Down one flight of stairs there was a comparatively +large open space, the centre occupied by a hatchway, which made a +convenient seat for about twenty persons, while barrels, coils of +rope, and the carpenter’s bench afforded perches for +perhaps as many more. The canteen, or steerage bar, was on +one side of the stair; on the other, a no less attractive spot, +the cabin of the indefatigable interpreter.</p> +<p>I have seen people packed into this space like herrings in a +barrel, and many merry evenings prolonged there until five bells, +when the lights were ruthlessly extinguished and all must go to +roost.</p> +<p>It had been rumoured since Friday that there was a fiddler +aboard, who lay sick and unmelodious in Steerage No. 1; and on +the Monday forenoon, as I came down the companion, I was saluted +by something in Strathspey time. A white-faced Orpheus was +cheerily playing to an audience of white-faced women. It +was as much as he could do to play, and some of his hearers were +scarce able to sit; yet they had crawled from their bunks at the +first experimental flourish, and found better than medicine in +the music. Some of the heaviest heads began to nod in time, +and a degree of animation looked from some of the palest +eyes. Humanly speaking, it is a more important matter to +play the fiddle, even badly, than to write huge works upon +recondite subjects. What could Mr. Darwin have done for +these sick women? But this fellow scraped away; and the +world was positively a better place for all who heard him. +We have yet to understand the economical value of these mere +accomplishments. I told the fiddler he was a happy man, +carrying happiness about with him in his fiddle-case, and he +seemed alive to the fact.</p> +<p>‘It is a privilege,’ I said. He thought a +while upon the word, turning it over in his Scots head, and then +answered with conviction, ‘Yes, a privilege.’</p> +<p>That night I was summoned by ‘Merrily danced the +Quake’s wife’ into the companion of Steerage No. 4 +and 5. This was, properly speaking, but a strip across a +deck-house, lit by a sickly lantern which swung to and fro with +the motion of the ship. Through the open slide-door we had +a glimpse of a grey night sea, with patches of phosphorescent +foam flying, swift as birds, into the wake, and the horizon +rising and falling as the vessel rolled to the wind. In the +centre the companion ladder plunged down sheerly like an open +pit. Below, on the first landing, and lighted by another +lamp, lads and lasses danced, not more than three at a time for +lack of space, in jigs and reels and hornpipes. Above, on +either side, there was a recess railed with iron, perhaps two +feet wide and four long, which stood for orchestra and seats of +honour. In the one balcony, five slatternly Irish lasses +sat woven in a comely group. In the other was posted +Orpheus, his body, which was convulsively in motion, forming an +odd contrast to his somnolent, imperturbable Scots face. +His brother, a dark man with a vehement, interested countenance, +who made a god of the fiddler, sat by with open mouth, drinking +in the general admiration and throwing out remarks to kindle +it.</p> +<p>‘That’s a bonny hornpipe now,’ he would say, +‘it’s a great favourite with performers; they dance +the sand dance to it.’ And he expounded the sand +dance. Then suddenly, it would be a long, +‘Hush!’ with uplifted finger and glowing, +supplicating eyes, ‘he’s going to play “Auld +Robin Gray” on one string!’ And throughout this +excruciating movement,—‘On one string, that’s +on one string!’ he kept crying. I would have given +something myself that it had been on none; but the hearers were +much awed. I called for a tune or two, and thus introduced +myself to the notice of the brother, who directed his talk to me +for some little while, keeping, I need hardly mention, true to +his topic, like the seamen to the star. ‘He’s +grand of it,’ he said confidentially. ‘His +master was a music-hall man.’ Indeed the music-hall +man had left his mark, for our fiddler was ignorant of many of +our best old airs; ‘Logie o’ Buchan,’ for +instance, he only knew as a quick, jigging figure in a set of +quadrilles, and had never heard it called by name. Perhaps, +after all, the brother was the more interesting performer of the +two. I have spoken with him afterwards repeatedly, and +found him always the same quick, fiery bit of a man, not without +brains; but he never showed to such advantage as when he was thus +squiring the fiddler into public note. There is nothing +more becoming than a genuine admiration; and it shares this with +love, that it does not become contemptible although +misplaced.</p> +<p>The dancing was but feebly carried on. The space was +almost impracticably small; and the Irish wenches combined the +extreme of bashfulness about this innocent display with a +surprising impudence and roughness of address. Most often, +either the fiddle lifted up its voice unheeded, or only a couple +of lads would be footing it and snapping fingers on the +landing. And such was the eagerness of the brother to +display all the acquirements of his idol, and such the sleepy +indifference of the performer, that the tune would as often as +not be changed, and the hornpipe expire into a ballad before the +dancers had cut half a dozen shuffles.</p> +<p>In the meantime, however, the audience had been growing more +and more numerous every moment; there was hardly standing-room +round the top of the companion; and the strange instinct of the +race moved some of the newcomers to close both the doors, so that +the atmosphere grew insupportable. It was a good place, as +the saying is, to leave.</p> +<p>The wind hauled ahead with a head sea. By ten at night +heavy sprays were flying and drumming over the forecastle; the +companion of Steerage No. 1 had to be closed, and the door of +communication through the second cabin thrown open. Either +from the convenience of the opportunity, or because we had +already a number of acquaintances in that part of the ship, Mr. +Jones and I paid it a late visit. Steerage No. 1 is shaped +like an isosceles triangle, the sides opposite the equal angles +bulging outward with the contour of the ship. It is lined +with eight pens of sixteen bunks apiece, four bunks below and +four above on either side. At night the place is lit with +two lanterns, one to each table. As the steamer beat on her +way among the rough billows, the light passed through violent +phases of change, and was thrown to and fro and up and down with +startling swiftness. You were tempted to wonder, as you +looked, how so thin a glimmer could control and disperse such +solid blackness. When Jones and I entered we found a little +company of our acquaintances seated together at the triangular +foremost table. A more forlorn party, in more dismal +circumstances, it would be hard to imagine. The motion here +in the ship’s nose was very violent; the uproar of the sea +often overpoweringly loud. The yellow flicker of the +lantern spun round and round and tossed the shadows in +masses. The air was hot, but it struck a chill from its +foetor.</p> +<p>From all round in the dark bunks, the scarcely human noises of +the sick joined into a kind of farmyard chorus. In the +midst, these five friends of mine were keeping up what heart they +could in company. Singing was their refuge from +discomfortable thoughts and sensations. One piped, in +feeble tones, ‘Oh why left I my hame?’ which seemed a +pertinent question in the circumstances. Another, from the +invisible horrors of a pen where he lay dog-sick upon the +upper-shelf, found courage, in a blink of his sufferings, to give +us several verses of the ‘Death of Nelson’; and it +was odd and eerie to hear the chorus breathe feebly from all +sorts of dark corners, and ‘this day has done his +dooty’ rise and fall and be taken up again in this dim +inferno, to an accompaniment of plunging, hollow-sounding bows +and the rattling spray-showers overhead.</p> +<p>All seemed unfit for conversation; a certain dizziness had +interrupted the activity of their minds; and except to sing they +were tongue-tied. There was present, however, one tall, +powerful fellow of doubtful nationality, being neither quite +Scotsman nor altogether Irish, but of surprising clearness of +conviction on the highest problems. He had gone nearly +beside himself on the Sunday, because of a general backwardness +to indorse his definition of mind as ‘a living, thinking +substance which cannot be felt, heard, or seen’—nor, +I presume, although he failed to mention it, smelt. Now he +came forward in a pause with another contribution to our +culture.</p> +<p>‘Just by way of change,’ said he, +‘I’ll ask you a Scripture riddle. There’s +profit in them too,’ he added ungrammatically.</p> +<p>This was the riddle—</p> +<blockquote><p>C and P<br /> +Did agree<br /> +To cut down C;<br /> +But C and P<br /> +Could not agree<br /> +Without the leave of G;<br /> +All the people cried to see<br /> +The crueltie<br /> +Of C and P.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Harsh are the words of Mercury after the songs of +Apollo! We were a long while over the problem, shaking our +heads and gloomily wondering how a man could be such a fool; but +at length he put us out of suspense and divulged the fact that C +and P stood for Caiaphas and Pontius Pilate.</p> +<p>I think it must have been the riddle that settled us; but the +motion and the close air likewise hurried our departure. We +had not been gone long, we heard next morning, ere two or even +three out of the five fell sick. We thought it little +wonder on the whole, for the sea kept contrary all night. I +now made my bed upon the second cabin floor, where, although I +ran the risk of being stepped upon, I had a free current of air, +more or less vitiated indeed, and running only from steerage to +steerage, but at least not stagnant; and from this couch, as well +as the usual sounds of a rough night at sea, the hateful coughing +and retching of the sick and the sobs of children, I heard a man +run wild with terror beseeching his friend for +encouragement. ‘The ship’s going down!’ +he cried with a thrill of agony. ‘The ship’s +going down!’ he repeated, now in a blank whisper, now with +his voice rising towards a sob; and his friend might reassure +him, reason with him, joke at him—all was in vain, and the +old cry came back, ‘The ship’s going +down!’ There was something panicky and catching in +the emotion of his tones; and I saw in a clear flash what an +involved and hideous tragedy was a disaster to an emigrant +ship. If this whole parishful of people came no more to +land, into how many houses would the newspaper carry woe, and +what a great part of the web of our corporate human life would be +rent across for ever!</p> +<p>The next morning when I came on deck I found a new world +indeed. The wind was fair; the sun mounted into a cloudless +heaven; through great dark blue seas the ship cut a swath of +curded foam. The horizon was dotted all day with +companionable sails, and the sun shone pleasantly on the long, +heaving deck.</p> +<p>We had many fine-weather diversions to beguile the time. +There was a single chess-board and a single pack of cards. +Sometimes as many as twenty of us would be playing dominoes for +love. Feats of dexterity, puzzles for the intelligence, +some arithmetical, some of the same order as the old problem of +the fox and goose and cabbage, were always welcome; and the +latter, I observed, more popular as well as more conspicuously +well done than the former. We had a regular daily +competition to guess the vessel’s progress; and twelve +o’clock, when the result was published in the wheel-house, +came to be a moment of considerable interest. But the +interest was unmixed. Not a bet was laid upon our +guesses. From the Clyde to Sandy Hook I never heard a wager +offered or taken. We had, besides, romps in plenty. +Puss in the Corner, which we had rebaptized, in more manly style, +Devil and four Corners, was my own favourite game; but there were +many who preferred another, the humour of which was to box a +person’s ears until he found out who had cuffed him.</p> +<p>This Tuesday morning we were all delighted with the change of +weather, and in the highest possible spirits. We got in a +cluster like bees, sitting between each other’s feet under +lee of the deck-houses. Stories and laughter went +around. The children climbed about the shrouds. White +faces appeared for the first time, and began to take on colour +from the wind. I was kept hard at work making cigarettes +for one amateur after another, and my less than moderate skill +was heartily admired. Lastly, down sat the fiddler in our +midst and began to discourse his reels, and jigs, and ballads, +with now and then a voice or two to take up the air and throw in +the interest of human speech.</p> +<p>Through this merry and good-hearted scene there came three +cabin passengers, a gentleman and two young ladies, picking their +way with little gracious titters of indulgence, and a +Lady-Bountiful air about nothing, which galled me to the +quick. I have little of the radical in social questions, +and have always nourished an idea that one person was as good as +another. But I began to be troubled by this episode. +It was astonishing what insults these people managed to convey by +their presence. They seemed to throw their clothes in our +faces. Their eyes searched us all over for tatters and +incongruities. A laugh was ready at their lips; but they +were too well-mannered to indulge it in our hearing. Wait a +bit, till they were all back in the saloon, and then hear how +wittily <!-- page 30--><a name="page30"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 30</span>they would depict the manners of the +steerage. We were in truth very innocently, cheerfully, and +sensibly engaged, and there was no shadow of excuse for the +swaying elegant superiority with which these damsels passed among +us, or for the stiff and waggish glances of their squire. +Not a word was said; only when they were gone Mackay sullenly +damned their impudence under his breath; but we were all +conscious of an icy influence and a dead break in the course of +our enjoyment.</p> +<h3>STEERAGE TYPES</h3> +<p>We had a fellow on board, an Irish-American, for all the world +like a beggar in a print by Callot; one-eyed, with great, splay +crow’s-feet round the sockets; a knotty squab nose coming +down over his moustache; a miraculous hat; a shirt that had been +white, ay, ages long ago; an alpaca coat in its last sleeves; +and, without hyperbole, no buttons to his trousers. Even in +these rags and tatters, the man twinkled all over with impudence +like a piece of sham jewellery; and I have heard him offer a +situation to one of his fellow-passengers with the air of a +lord. Nothing could overlie such a fellow; a kind of base +success was written on his brow. He was then in his ill +days; but I can imagine him in Congress with his mouth full of +bombast and sawder. As we moved in the same circle, I was +brought necessarily into his society. I do not think I ever +heard him say anything that was true, kind, or interesting; but +there was entertainment in the man’s demeanour. You +might call him a half-educated Irish Tigg.</p> +<p>Our Russian made a remarkable contrast to this impossible +fellow. Rumours and legends were current in the steerages +about his antecedents. Some said he was a Nihilist +escaping; others set him down for a harmless spendthrift, who had +squandered fifty thousand roubles, and whose father had now +despatched him to America by way of penance. Either tale +might flourish in security; there was no contradiction to be +feared, for the hero spoke not one word of English. I got +on with him lumberingly enough in broken German, and learned from +his own lips that he had been an apothecary. He carried the +photograph of his betrothed in a pocket-book, and remarked that +it did not do her justice. The cut of his head stood out +from among the passengers with an air of startling +strangeness. The first natural instinct was to take him for +a desperado; but although the features, to our Western eyes, had +a barbaric and unhomely cast, the eye both reassured and +touched. It was large and very dark and soft, with an +expression of dumb endurance, as if it had often looked on +desperate circumstances and never looked on them without +resolution.</p> +<p>He cried out when I used the word. ‘No, no,’ he +said, ‘not resolution.’</p> +<p>‘The resolution to endure,’ I explained.</p> +<p>And then he shrugged his shoulders, and said, +‘<i>Ach</i>, <i>ja</i>,’ with gusto, like a man who +has been flattered in his favourite pretensions. Indeed, he +was always hinting at some secret sorrow; and his life, he said, +had been one of unusual trouble and anxiety; so the legends of +the steerage may have represented at least some shadow of the +truth. Once, and once only, he sang a song at our concerts; +standing forth without embarrassment, his great stature somewhat +humped, his long arms frequently extended, his Kalmuck head +thrown backward. It was a suitable piece of music, as deep +as a cow’s bellow and wild like the White Sea. He was +struck and charmed by the freedom and sociality of our +manners. At home, he said, no one on a journey would speak +to him, but those with whom he would not care to speak; thus +unconsciously involving himself in the condemnation of his +countrymen. But Russia was soon to be changed; the ice of +the Neva was softening under the sun of civilisation; the new +ideas, ‘<i>wie eine feine Violine</i>,’ were audible +among the big empty drum notes of Imperial diplomacy; and he +looked to see a great revival, though with a somewhat indistinct +and childish hope.</p> +<p>We had a father and son who made a pair of +Jacks-of-all-trades. It was the son who sang the +‘Death of Nelson’ under such contrarious +circumstances. He was by trade a shearer of ship plates; +but he could touch the organ, and led two choirs, and played the +flute and piccolo in a professional string band. His +repertory of songs was, besides, inexhaustible, and ranged +impartially from the very best to the very worst within his +reach. Nor did he seem to make the least distinction +between these extremes, but would cheerily follow up ‘Tom +Bowling’ with ‘Around her splendid form.’</p> +<p>The father, an old, cheery, small piece of man-hood, could do +everything connected with tinwork from one end of the process to +the other, use almost every carpenter’s tool, and make +picture frames to boot. ‘I sat down with silver plate +every Sunday,’ said he, ‘and pictures on the +wall. I have made enough money to be rolling in my +carriage. But, sir,’ looking at me unsteadily with +his bright rheumy eyes, ‘I was troubled with a drunken +wife.’ He took a hostile view of matrimony in +consequence. ‘It’s an old saying,’ he +remarked: ‘God made ’em, and the devil he mixed +’em.’</p> +<p>I think he was justified by his experience. It was a +dreary story. He would bring home three pounds on Saturday, +and on Monday all the clothes would be in pawn. Sick of the +useless struggle, he gave up a paying contract, and contented +himself with small and ill-paid jobs. ‘A bad job was +as good as a good job for me,’ he said; ‘it all went +the same way.’ Once the wife showed signs of +amendment; she kept steady for weeks on end; it was again worth +while to labour and to do one’s best. The husband +found a good situation some distance from home, and, to make a +little upon every hand, started the wife in a cook-shop; the +children were here and there, busy as mice; savings began to grow +together in the bank, and the golden age of hope had returned +again to that unhappy family. But one week my old +acquaintance, getting earlier through with his work, came home on +the Friday instead of the Saturday, and there was his wife to +receive him reeling drunk. He ‘took and gave her a +pair o’ black eyes,’ for which I pardon him, nailed +up the cook-shop door, gave up his situation, and resigned +himself to a life of poverty, with the workhouse at the +end. As the children came to their full age they fled the +house, and established themselves in other countries; some did +well, some not so well; but the father remained at home alone +with his drunken wife, all his sound-hearted pluck and varied +accomplishments depressed and negatived.</p> +<p>Was she dead now? or, after all these years, had he broken the +chain, and run from home like a schoolboy? I could not +discover which; but here at least he was out on the adventure, +and still one of the bravest and most youthful men on board.</p> +<p>‘Now, I suppose, I must put my old bones to work +again,’ said he; ‘but I can do a turn yet.’</p> +<p>And the son to whom he was going, I asked, was he not able to +support him?</p> +<p>‘Oh yes,’ he replied. ‘But I’m +never happy without a job on hand. And I’m stout; I +can eat a’most anything. You see no craze about +me.’</p> +<p>This tale of a drunken wife was paralleled on board by another +of a drunken father. He was a capable man, with a good +chance in life; but he had drunk up two thriving businesses like +a bottle of sherry, and involved his sons along with him in +ruin. Now they were on board with us, fleeing his +disastrous neighbourhood.</p> +<p>Total abstinence, like all ascetical conclusions, is +unfriendly to the most generous, cheerful, and human parts of +man; but it could have adduced many instances and arguments from +among our ship’s company. I was, one day conversing +with a kind and happy Scotsman, running to fat and perspiration +in the physical, but with a taste for poetry and a genial sense +of fun. I had asked him his hopes in emigrating. They +were like those of so many others, vague and unfounded; times +were bad at home; they were said to have a turn for the better in +the States; a man could get on anywhere, he thought. That +was precisely the weak point of his position; for if he could get +on in America, why could he not do the same in Scotland? +But I never had the courage to use that argument, though it was +often on the tip of my tongue, and instead I agreed with him +heartily adding, with reckless originality, ‘If the man +stuck to his work, and kept away from drink.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ said he slowly, ‘the drink! You +see, that’s just my trouble.’</p> +<p>He spoke with a simplicity that was touching, looking at me at +the same time with something strange and timid in his eye, +half-ashamed, half-sorry, like a good child who knows he should +be beaten. You would have said he recognised a destiny to +which he was born, and accepted the consequences mildly. +Like the merchant Abudah, he was at the same time fleeing from +his destiny and carrying it along with him, the whole at an +expense of six guineas.</p> +<p>As far as I saw, drink, idleness, and incompetency were the +three great causes of emigration, and for all of them, and drink +first and foremost, this trick of getting transported overseas +appears to me the silliest means of cure. You cannot run +away from a weakness; you must some time fight it out or perish; +and if that be so, why not now, and where you stand? +<i>Coelum non animam</i>. Change Glenlivet for Bourbon, and +it is still whisky, only not so good. A sea-voyage will not +give a man the nerve to put aside cheap pleasure; emigration has +to be done before we climb the vessel; an aim in life is the only +fortune worth the finding; and it is not to be found in foreign +lands, but in the heart itself.</p> +<p>Speaking generally, there is no vice of this kind more +contemptible than another; for each is but a result and outward +sign of a soul tragically ship-wrecked. In the majority of +cases, cheap pleasure is resorted to by way of anodyne. The +pleasure-seeker sets forth upon life with high and difficult +ambitions; he meant to be nobly good and nobly happy, though at +as little pains as possible to himself; and it is because all has +failed in his celestial enterprise that you now behold him +rolling in the garbage. Hence the comparative success of +the teetotal pledge; because to a man who had nothing it sets at +least a negative aim in life. Somewhat as prisoners beguile +their days by taming a spider, the reformed drunkard makes an +interest out of abstaining from intoxicating drinks, and may live +for that negation. There is something, at least, <i>not to +be done</i> each day; and a cold triumph awaits him every +evening.</p> +<p>We had one on board with us, whom I have already referred to +under the name Mackay, who seemed to me not only a good instance +of this failure in life of which we have been speaking, but a +good type of the intelligence which here surrounded me. +Physically he was a small Scotsman, standing a little back as +though he were already carrying the elements of a corporation, +and his looks somewhat marred by the smallness of his eyes. +Mentally, he was endowed above the average. There were but +few subjects on which he could not converse with understanding +and a dash of wit; delivering himself slowly and with gusto like +a man who enjoyed his own sententiousness. He was a dry, +quick, pertinent debater, speaking with a small voice, and +swinging on his heels to launch and emphasise an argument. +When he began a discussion, he could not bear to leave it off, +but would pick the subject to the bone, without once +relinquishing a point. An engineer by trade, Mackay +believed in the unlimited perfectibility of all machines except +the human machine. The latter he gave up with ridicule for +a compound of carrion and perverse gases. He had an +appetite for disconnected facts which I can only compare to the +savage taste for beads. What is called information was +indeed a passion with the man, and he not only delighted to +receive it, but could pay you back in kind.</p> +<p>With all these capabilities, here was Mackay, already no +longer young, on his way to a new country, with no prospects, no +money, and but little hope. He was almost tedious in the +cynical disclosures of his despair. ‘The ship may go +down for me,’ he would say, ‘now or to-morrow. +I have nothing to lose and nothing to hope.’ And +again: ‘I am sick of the whole damned +performance.’ He was, like the kind little man, +already quoted, another so-called victim of the bottle. But +Mackay was miles from publishing his weakness to the world; laid +the blame of his failure on corrupt masters and a corrupt State +policy; and after he had been one night overtaken and had played +the buffoon in his cups, sternly, though not without tact, +suppressed all reference to his escapade. It was a treat to +see him manage this: the various jesters withered under his gaze, +and you were forced to recognise in him a certain steely force, +and a gift of command which might have ruled a senate.</p> +<p>In truth it was not whisky that had ruined him; he was ruined +long before for all good human purposes but conversation. +His eyes were sealed by a cheap, school-book materialism. +He could see nothing in the world but money and +steam-engines. He did not know what you meant by the word +happiness. He had forgotten the simple emotions of +childhood, and perhaps never encountered the delights of +youth. He believed in production, that useful figment of +economy, as if it had been real like laughter; and production, +without prejudice to liquor, was his god and guide. One day +he took me to task—novel cry to me—upon the +over-payment of literature. Literary men, he said, were +more highly paid than artisans; yet the artisan made +threshing-machines and butter-churns, and the man of letters, +except in the way of a few useful handbooks, made nothing worth +the while. He produced a mere fancy article. +Mackay’s notion of a book was <i>Hoppus’s +Measurer</i>. Now in my time I have possessed and even +studied that work; but if I were to be left to-morrow on Juan +Fernandez, Hoppus’s is not the book that I should choose +for my companion volume.</p> +<p>I tried to fight the point with Mackay. I made him own +that he had taken pleasure in reading books otherwise, to his +view, insignificant; but he was too wary to advance a step beyond +the admission. It was in vain for me to argue that here was +pleasure ready-made and running from the spring, whereas his +ploughs and butter-churns were but means and mechanisms to give +men the necessary food and leisure before they start upon the +search for pleasure; he jibbed and ran away from such +conclusions. The thing was different, he declared, and +nothing was serviceable but what had to do with food. +‘Eat, eat, eat!’ he cried; ‘that’s the +bottom and the top.’ By an odd irony of circumstance, +he grew so much interested in this discussion that he let the +hour slip by unnoticed and had to go without his tea. He +had enough sense and humour, indeed he had no lack of either, to +have chuckled over this himself in private; and even to me he +referred to it with the shadow of a smile.</p> +<p>Mackay was a hot bigot. He would not hear of +religion. I have seen him waste hours of time in argument +with all sorts of poor human creatures who understood neither him +nor themselves, and he had had the boyishness to dissect and +criticise even so small a matter as the riddler’s +definition of mind. He snorted aloud with zealotry and the +lust for intellectual battle. Anything, whatever it was, +that seemed to him likely to discourage the continued passionate +production of corn and steam-engines he resented like a +conspiracy against the people. Thus, when I put in the plea +for literature, that it was only in good books, or in the society +of the good, that a man could get help in his conduct, he +declared I was in a different world from him. ‘Damn +my conduct!’ said he. ‘I have given it up for a +bad job. My question is, “Can I drive a +nail?”’ And he plainly looked upon me as one who was +insidiously seeking to reduce the people’s annual bellyful +of corn and steam-engines.</p> +<p>It may be argued that these opinions spring from the defect of +culture; that a narrow and pinching way of life not only +exaggerates to a man the importance of material conditions, but +indirectly, by denying him the necessary books and leisure, keeps +his mind ignorant of larger thoughts; and that hence springs this +overwhelming concern about diet, and hence the bald view of +existence professed by Mackay. Had this been an English +peasant the conclusion would be tenable. But Mackay had +most of the elements of a liberal education. He had skirted +metaphysical and mathematical studies. He had a thoughtful +hold of what he knew, which would be exceptional among +bankers. He had been brought up in the midst of hot-house +piety, and told, with incongruous pride, the story of his own +brother’s deathbed ecstasies. Yet he had somehow +failed to fulfil himself, and was adrift like a dead thing among +external circumstances, without hope or lively preference or +shaping aim. And further, there seemed a tendency among +many of his fellows to fall into the same blank and unlovely +opinions. One thing, indeed, is not to be learned in +Scotland, and that is the way to be happy. Yet that is the +whole of culture, and perhaps two-thirds of morality. Can +it be that the Puritan school, by divorcing a man from nature, by +thinning out his instincts, and setting a stamp of its +disapproval on whole fields of human activity and interest, leads +at last directly to material greed?</p> +<p>Nature is a good guide through life, and the love of simple +pleasures next, if not superior, to virtue; and we had on board +an Irishman who based his claim to the widest and most +affectionate popularity precisely upon these two qualities, that +he was natural and happy. He boasted a fresh colour, a +tight little figure, unquenchable gaiety, and indefatigable +goodwill. His clothes puzzled the diagnostic mind, until +you heard he had been once a private coachman, when they became +eloquent and seemed a part of his biography. His face +contained the rest, and, I fear, a prophecy of the future; the +hawk’s nose above accorded so ill with the pink +baby’s mouth below. His spirit and his pride +belonged, you might say, to the nose; while it was the general +shiftlessness expressed by the other that had thrown him from +situation to situation, and at length on board the emigrant +ship. Barney ate, so to speak, nothing from the galley; his +own tea, butter, and eggs supported him throughout the voyage; +and about mealtime you might often find him up to the elbows in +amateur cookery. His was the first voice heard singing +among all the passengers; he was the first who fell to +dancing. From Loch Foyle to Sandy Hook, there was not a +piece of fun undertaken but there was Barney in the midst.</p> +<p>You ought to have seen him when he stood up to sing at our +concerts—his tight little figure stepping to and fro, and +his feet shuffling to the air, his eyes seeking and bestowing +encouragement—and to have enjoyed the bow, so nicely +calculated between jest and earnest, between grace and +clumsiness, with which he brought each song to a +conclusion. He was not only a great favourite among +ourselves, but his songs attracted the lords of the saloon, who +often leaned to hear him over the rails of the +hurricane-deck. He was somewhat pleased, but not at all +abashed, by this attention; and one night, in the midst of his +famous performance of ‘Billy Keogh,’ I saw him spin +half round in a pirouette and throw an audacious wink to an old +gentleman above.</p> +<p><!-- page 42--><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +42</span>This was the more characteristic, as, for all his +daffing, he was a modest and very polite little fellow among +ourselves.</p> +<p>He would not have hurt the feelings of a fly, nor throughout +the passage did he give a shadow of offence; yet he was always, +by his innocent freedoms and love of fun, brought upon that +narrow margin where politeness must be natural to walk without a +fall. He was once seriously angry, and that in a grave, +quiet manner, because they supplied no fish on Friday; for Barney +was a conscientious Catholic. He had likewise strict +notions of refinement; and when, late one evening, after the +women had retired, a young Scotsman struck up an indecent song, +Barney’s drab clothes were immediately missing from the +group. His taste was for the society of gentlemen, of whom, +with the reader’s permission, there was no lack in our five +steerages and second cabin; and he avoided the rough and positive +with a girlish shrinking. Mackay, partly from his superior +powers of mind, which rendered him incomprehensible, partly from +his extreme opinions, was especially distasteful to the +Irishman. I have seen him slink off with backward looks of +terror and offended delicacy, while the other, in his witty, ugly +way, had been professing hostility to God, and an extreme +theatrical readiness to be shipwrecked on the spot. These +utterances hurt the little coachman’s modesty like a bad +word.</p> +<h3>THE SICK MAN</h3> +<p>One night Jones, the young O’Reilly, and myself were +walking arm-in-arm and briskly up and down the deck. Six +bells had rung; a head-wind blew chill and fitful, the fog was +closing in with a sprinkle of rain, and the fog-whistle had been +turned on, and now divided time with its unwelcome outcries, loud +like a bull, thrilling and intense like a mosquito. Even +the watch lay somewhere snugly out of sight.</p> +<p>For some time we observed something lying black and huddled in +the scuppers, which at last heaved a little and moaned +aloud. We ran to the rails. An elderly man, but +whether passenger or seaman it was impossible in the darkness to +determine, lay grovelling on his belly in the wet scuppers, and +kicking feebly with his outspread toes. We asked him what +was amiss, and he replied incoherently, with a strange accent and +in a voice unmanned by terror, that he had cramp in the stomach, +that he had been ailing all day, had seen the doctor twice, and +had walked the deck against fatigue till he was overmastered and +had fallen where we found him.</p> +<p>Jones remained by his side, while O’Reilly and I hurried +off to seek the doctor. We knocked in vain at the +doctor’s cabin; there came no reply; nor could we find any +one to guide us. It was no time for delicacy; so we ran +once more forward; and I, whipping up a ladder and touching my +hat to the officer of the watch, addressed him as politely as I +could—</p> +<p>‘I beg your pardon, sir; but there is a man lying bad +with cramp in the lee scuppers; and I can’t find the +doctor.’</p> +<p>He looked at me peeringly in the darkness; and then, somewhat +harshly, ‘Well, <i>I</i> can’t leave the bridge, my +man,’ said he.</p> +<p>‘No, sir; but you can tell me what to do,’ I +returned.</p> +<p>‘Is it one of the crew?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘I believe him to be a fireman,’ I replied.</p> +<p>I dare say officers are much annoyed by complaints and +alarmist information from their freight of human creatures; but +certainly, whether it was the idea that the sick man was one of +the crew, or from something conciliatory in my address, the +officer in question was immediately relieved and mollified; and +speaking in a voice much freer from constraint, advised me to +find a steward and despatch him in quest of the doctor, who would +now be in the smoking-room over his pipe.</p> +<p>One of the stewards was often enough to be found about this +hour down our companion, Steerage No. 2 and 3; that was his +smoking-room of a night. Let me call him Blackwood. +O’Reilly and I rattled down the companion, breathing hurry; +and in his shirt-sleeves and perched across the carpenters bench +upon one thigh, found Blackwood; a neat, bright, dapper, +Glasgow-looking man, with a bead of an eye and a rank twang in +his speech. I forget who was with him, but the pair were +enjoying a deliberate talk over their pipes. I dare say he +was tired with his day’s work, and eminently comfortable at +that moment; and the truth is, I did not stop to consider his +feelings, but told my story in a breath.</p> +<p>‘Steward,’ said I, ‘there’s a man +lying bad with cramp, and I can’t find the +doctor.’</p> +<p>He turned upon me as pert as a sparrow, but with a black look +that is the prerogative of man; and taking his pipe out of his +mouth—</p> +<p>‘That’s none of my business,’ said he. +‘I don’t care.’</p> +<p>I could have strangled the little ruffian where he sat. +The thought of his cabin civility and cabin tips filled me with +indignation. I glanced at O’Reilly; he was pale and +quivering, and looked like assault and battery, every inch of +him. But we had a better card than violence.</p> +<p>‘You will have to make it your business,’ said I, +‘for I am sent to you by the officer on the +bridge.’</p> +<p>Blackwood was fairly tripped. He made no answer, but put +out his pipe, gave me one murderous look, and set off upon his +errand strolling. From that day forward, I should say, he +improved to me in courtesy, as though he had repented his evil +speech and were anxious to leave a better impression.</p> +<p>When we got on deck again, Jones was still beside the sick +man; and two or three late stragglers had gathered round, and +were offering suggestions. One proposed to give the patient +water, which was promptly negatived. Another bade us hold +him up; he himself prayed to be let lie; but as it was at least +as well to keep him off the streaming decks, O’Reilly and I +supported him between us. It was only by main force that we +did so, and neither an easy nor an agreeable duty; for he fought +in his paroxysms like a frightened child, and moaned miserably +when he resigned himself to our control.</p> +<p>‘O let me lie!’ he pleaded. +‘I’ll no’ get better anyway.’ And +then, with a moan that went to my heart, ‘O why did I come +upon this miserable journey?’</p> +<p>I was reminded of the song which I had heard a little while +before in the close, tossing steerage: ‘O why left I my +hame?’</p> +<p>Meantime Jones, relieved of his immediate charge, had gone off +to the galley, where we could see a light. There he found a +belated cook scouring pans by the radiance of two lanterns, and +one of these he sought to borrow. The scullion was +backward. ‘Was it one of the crew?’ he +asked. And when Jones, smitten with my theory, had assured +him that it was a fireman, he reluctantly left his scouring and +came towards us at an easy pace, with one of the lanterns +swinging from his finger. The light, as it reached the +spot, showed us an elderly man, thick-set, and grizzled with +years; but the shifting and coarse shadows concealed from us the +expression and even the design of his face.</p> +<p>So soon as the cook set eyes on him he gave a sort of +whistle.</p> +<p>‘<i>It’s only a passenger</i>!’ said he; and +turning about, made, lantern and all, for the galley.</p> +<p>‘He’s a man anyway,’ cried Jones in +indignation.</p> +<p>‘Nobody said he was a woman,’ said a gruff voice, +which I recognised for that of the bo’s’un.</p> +<p>All this while there was no word of Blackwood or the doctor; +and now the officer came to our side of the ship and asked, over +the hurricane-deck rails, if the doctor were not yet come. +We told him not.</p> +<p>‘No?’ he repeated with a breathing of anger; and +we saw him hurry aft in person.</p> +<p>Ten minutes after the doctor made his appearance deliberately +enough and examined our patient with the lantern. He made +little of the case, had the man brought aft to the dispensary, +dosed him, and sent him forward to his bunk. Two of his +neighbours in the steerage had now come to our assistance, +expressing loud sorrow that such ‘a fine cheery body’ +should be sick; and these, claiming a sort of possession, took +him entirely under their own care. The drug had probably +relieved him, for he struggled no more, and was led along +plaintive and patient, but protesting. His heart recoiled +at the thought of the steerage. ‘O let me lie down +upon the bieldy side,’ he cried; ‘O dinna take me +down!’ And again: ‘O why did ever I come upon +this miserable voyage?’ And yet once more, with a +gasp and a wailing prolongation of the fourth word: ‘I had +no <i>call</i> to come.’ But there he was; and by the +doctor’s orders and the kind force of his two shipmates +disappeared down the companion of Steerage No. 1 into the den +allotted him.</p> +<p>At the foot of our own companion, just where I found +Blackwood, Jones and the bo’s’un were now engaged in +talk. This last was a gruff, cruel-looking seaman, who must +have passed near half a century upon the seas; square-headed, +goat-bearded, with heavy blond eyebrows, and an eye without +radiance, but inflexibly steady and hard. I had not +forgotten his rough speech; but I remembered also that he had +helped us about the lantern; and now seeing him in conversation +with Jones, and being choked with indignation, I proceeded to +blow off my steam.</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said I, ‘I make you my compliments +upon your steward,’ and furiously narrated what had +happened.</p> +<p>‘I’ve nothing to do with him,’ replied the +bo’s’un. ‘They’re all alike. +They wouldn’t mind if they saw you all lying dead one upon +the top of another.’</p> +<p>This was enough. A very little humanity went a long way +with me after the experience of the evening. A sympathy +grew up at once between the bo’s’un and myself; and +that night, and during the next few days, I learned to appreciate +him better. He was a remarkable type, and not at all the +kind of man you find in books. He had been at Sebastopol +under English colours; and again in a States ship, ‘after +the <i>Alabama</i>, and praying God we shouldn’t find +her.’ He was a high Tory and a high Englishman. +No manufacturer could have held opinions more hostile to the +working man and his strikes. ‘The workmen,’ he +said, ‘think nothing of their country. They think of +nothing but themselves. They’re damned greedy, +selfish fellows.’ He would not hear of the decadence +of England. ‘They say they send us beef from +America,’ he argued; ‘but who pays for it? All +the money in the world’s in England.’ The Royal +Navy was the best of possible services, according to him. +‘Anyway the officers are gentlemen,’ said he; +‘and you can’t get hazed to death by a damned +non-commissioned—as you can in the army.’ Among +nations, England was the first; then came France. He +respected the French navy and liked the French people; and if he +were forced to make a new choice in life, ‘by God, he would +try Frenchmen!’ For all his looks and rough, cold +manners, I observed that children were never frightened by him; +they divined him at once to be a friend; and one night when he +had chalked his hand and clothes, it was incongruous to hear this +formidable old salt chuckling over his boyish monkey trick.</p> +<p>In the morning, my first thought was of the sick man. I +was afraid I should not recognise him, baffling had been the +light of the lantern; and found myself unable to decide if he +were Scots, English, or Irish. He had certainly employed +north-country words and elisions; but the accent and the +pronunciation seemed unfamiliar and incongruous in my ear.</p> +<p>To descend on an empty stomach into Steerage No. 1, was an +adventure that required some nerve. The stench was +atrocious; each respiration tasted in the throat like some +horrible kind of cheese; and the squalid aspect of the place was +aggravated by so many people worming themselves into their +clothes in twilight of the bunks. You may guess if I was +pleased, not only for him, but for myself also, when I heard that +the sick man was better and had gone on deck.</p> +<p>The morning was raw and foggy, though the sun suffused the fog +with pink and amber; the fog-horn still blew, stertorous and +intermittent; and to add to the discomfort, the seamen were just +beginning to wash down the decks. But for a sick man this +was heaven compared to the steerage. I found him standing +on the hot-water pipe, just forward of the saloon deck +house. He was smaller than I had fancied, and +plain-looking; but his face was distinguished by strange and +fascinating eyes, limpid grey from a distance, but, when looked +into, full of changing colours and grains of gold. His +manners were mild and uncompromisingly plain; and I soon saw +that, when once started, he delighted to talk. His accent +and language had been formed in the most natural way, since he +was born in Ireland, had lived a quarter of a century on the +banks of Tyne, and was married to a Scots wife. A fisherman +in the season, he had fished the east coast from Fisherrow to +Whitby. When the season was over, and the great boats, +which required extra hands, were once drawn up on shore till the +next spring, he worked as a labourer about chemical furnaces, or +along the wharves unloading vessels. In this comparatively +humble way of life he had gathered a competence, and could speak +of his comfortable house, his hayfield, and his garden. On +this ship, where so many accomplished artisans were fleeing from +starvation, he was present on a pleasure trip to visit a brother +in New York.</p> +<p>Ere he started, he informed me, he had been warned against the +steerage and the steerage fare, and recommended to bring with him +a ham and tea and a spice loaf. But he laughed to scorn +such counsels. ‘I’m not afraid,’ he had +told his adviser; ‘I’ll get on for ten days. +I’ve not been a fisherman for nothing.’ For it +is no light matter, as he reminded me, to be in an open boat, +perhaps waist-deep with herrings, day breaking with a scowl, and +for miles on every hand lee-shores, unbroken, iron-bound, +surf-beat, with only here and there an anchorage where you dare +not lie, or a harbour impossible to enter with the wind that +blows. The life of a North Sea fisher is one long chapter +of exposure and hard work and insufficient fare; and even if he +makes land at some bleak fisher port, perhaps the season is bad +or his boat has been unlucky and after fifty hours’ +unsleeping vigilance and toil, not a shop will give him credit +for a loaf of bread. Yet the steerage of the emigrant ship +had been too vile for the endurance of a man thus rudely +trained. He had scarce eaten since he came on board, until +the day before, when his appetite was tempted by some excellent +pea-soup. We were all much of the same mind on board, and +beginning with myself, had dined upon pea-soup not wisely but too +well; only with him the excess had been punished, perhaps because +he was weakened by former abstinence, and his first meal had +resulted in a cramp. He had determined to live henceforth +on biscuit; and when, two months later, he should return to +England, to make the passage by saloon. The second cabin, +after due inquiry, he scouted as another edition of the +steerage.</p> +<p>He spoke apologetically of his emotion when ill. +‘Ye see, I had no call to be here,’ said he; +‘and I thought it was by with me last night. +I’ve a good house at home, and plenty to nurse me, and I +had no real call to leave them.’ Speaking of the +attentions he had received from his shipmates generally, +‘they were all so kind,’ he said, ‘that +there’s none to mention.’ And except in so far +as I might share in this, he troubled me with no reference to my +services.</p> +<p>But what affected me in the most lively manner was the wealth +of this day-labourer, paying a two months’ pleasure visit +to the States, and preparing to return in the saloon, and the new +testimony rendered by his story, not so much to the horrors of +the steerage as to the habitual comfort of the working +classes. One foggy, frosty December evening, I encountered +on Liberton Hill, near Edinburgh, an Irish labourer trudging +homeward from the fields. Our roads lay together, and it +was natural that we should fall into talk. He was covered +with mud; an inoffensive, ignorant creature, who thought the +Atlantic Cable was a secret contrivance of the masters the better +to oppress labouring mankind; and I confess I was astonished to +learn that he had nearly three hundred pounds in the bank. +But this man had travelled over most of the world, and enjoyed +wonderful opportunities on some American railroad, with two +dollars a shift and double pay on Sunday and at night; whereas my +fellow-passenger had never quitted Tyneside, and had made all +that he possessed in that same accursed, down-falling England, +whence skilled mechanics, engineers, millwrights, and carpenters +were fleeing as from the native country of starvation.</p> +<p>Fitly enough, we slid off on the subject of strikes and wages +and hard times. Being from the Tyne, and a man who had +gained and lost in his own pocket by these fluctuations, he had +much to say, and held strong opinions on the subject. He +spoke sharply of the masters, and, when I led him on, of the men +also. The masters had been selfish and obstructive, the men +selfish, silly, and light-headed. He rehearsed to me the +course of a meeting at which he had been present, and the +somewhat long discourse which he had there pronounced, calling +into question the wisdom and even the good faith of the Union +delegates; and although he had escaped himself through flush +times and starvation times with a handsomely provided purse, he +had so little faith in either man or master, and so profound a +terror for the unerring Nemesis of mercantile affairs, that he +<!-- page 53--><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +53</span>could think of no hope for our country outside of a +sudden and complete political subversion. Down must go +Lords and Church and Army; and capital, by some happy direction, +must change hands from worse to better, or England stood +condemned. Such principles, he said, were growing +‘like a seed.’</p> +<p>From this mild, soft, domestic man, these words sounded +unusually ominous and grave. I had heard enough +revolutionary talk among my workmen fellow-passengers; but most +of it was hot and turgid, and fell discredited from the lips of +unsuccessful men. This man was calm; he had attained +prosperity and ease; he disapproved the policy which had been +pursued by labour in the past; and yet this was his +panacea,—to rend the old country from end to end, and from +top to bottom, and in clamour and civil discord remodel it with +the hand of violence.</p> +<h3>THE STOWAWAYS</h3> +<p>On the Sunday, among a party of men who were talking in our +companion, Steerage No. 2 and 3, we remarked a new figure. +He wore tweed clothes, well enough made if not very fresh, and a +plain smoking-cap. His face was pale, with pale eyes, and +spiritedly enough designed; but though not yet thirty, a sort of +blackguardly degeneration had already overtaken his +features. The fine nose had grown fleshy towards the point, +the pale eyes were sunk in fat. His hands were strong and +elegant; his experience of life evidently varied; his speech full +of pith and verve; his manners forward, but perfectly +presentable. The lad who helped in the second cabin told +me, in answer to a question, that he did not know who he was, but +thought, ‘by his way of speaking, and because he was so +polite, that he was some one from the saloon.’</p> +<p>I was not so sure, for to me there was something equivocal in +his air and bearing. He might have been, I thought, the son +of some good family who had fallen early into dissipation and run +from home. But, making every allowance, how admirable was +his talk! I wish you could have heard him tell his own +stories. They were so swingingly set forth, in such +dramatic language, and illustrated here and there by such +luminous bits of acting, that they could only lose in any +reproduction. There were tales of the P. and O. Company, +where he had been an officer; of the East Indies, where in former +years he had lived lavishly; of the Royal Engineers, where he had +served for a period; and of a dozen other sides of life, each +introducing some vigorous thumb-nail portrait. He had the +talk to himself that night, we were all so glad to listen. +The best talkers usually address themselves to some particular +society; there they are kings, elsewhere camp-followers, as a man +may know Russian and yet be ignorant of Spanish; but this fellow +had a frank, headlong power of style, and a broad, human choice +of subject, that would have turned any circle in the world into a +circle of hearers. He was a Homeric talker, plain, strong, +and cheerful; and the things and the people of which he spoke +became readily and clearly present to the minds of those who +heard him. This, with a certain added colouring of rhetoric +and rodomontade, must have been the style of Burns, who equally +charmed the ears of duchesses and hostlers.</p> +<p>Yet freely and personally as he spoke, many points remained +obscure in his narration. The Engineers, for instance, was +a service which he praised highly; it is true there would be +trouble with the sergeants; but then the officers were gentlemen, +and his own, in particular, one among ten thousand. It +sounded so far exactly like an episode in the rakish, topsy-turvy +life of such an one as I had imagined. But then there came +incidents more doubtful, which showed an almost impudent greed +after gratuities, and a truly impudent disregard for truth. +And then there was the tale of his departure. He had +wearied, it seems, of Woolwich, and one fine day, with a +companion, slipped up to London for a spree. I have a +suspicion that spree was meant to be a long one; but God disposes +all things; and one morning, near Westminster Bridge, whom should +he come across but the very sergeant who had recruited him at +first! What followed? He himself indicated cavalierly +that he had then resigned. Let us put it so. But +these resignations are sometimes very trying.</p> +<p>At length, after having delighted us for hours, he took +himself away from the companion; and I could ask Mackay who and +what he was. ‘That?’ said Mackay. +‘Why, that’s one of the stowaways.’</p> +<p>‘No man,’ said the same authority, ‘who has +had anything to do with the sea, would ever think of paying for a +passage.’ I give the statement as Mackay’s, +without endorsement; yet I am tempted to believe that it contains +a grain of truth; and if you add that the man shall be impudent +and thievish, or else dead-broke, it may even pass for a fair +representation of the facts. We gentlemen of England who +live at home at ease have, I suspect, very insufficient ideas on +the subject. All the world over, people are stowing away in +coal-holes and dark corners, and when ships are once out to sea, +appearing again, begrimed and bashful, upon deck. The +career of these sea-tramps partakes largely of the +adventurous. They may be poisoned by coal-gas, or die by +starvation in their place of concealment; or when found they may +be clapped at once and ignominiously into irons, thus to be +carried to their promised land, the port of destination, and +alas! brought back in the same way to that from which they +started, and there delivered over to the magistrates and the +seclusion of a county jail. Since I crossed the Atlantic, +one miserable stowaway was found in a dying state among the fuel, +uttered but a word or two, and departed for a farther country +than America.</p> +<p>When the stowaway appears on deck, he has but one thing to +pray for: that he be set to work, which is the price and sign of +his forgiveness. After half an hour with a swab or a +bucket, he feels himself as secure as if he had paid for his +passage. It is not altogether a bad thing for the company, +who get more or less efficient hands for nothing but a few plates +of junk and duff; and every now and again find themselves better +paid than by a whole family of cabin passengers. Not long +ago, for instance, a packet was saved from nearly certain loss by +the skill and courage of a stowaway engineer. As was no +more than just, a handsome subscription rewarded him for his +success: but even without such exceptional good fortune, as +things stand in England and America, the stowaway will often make +a good profit out of his adventure. Four engineers stowed +away last summer on the same ship, the <i>Circassia</i>; and +before two days after their arrival each of the four had found a +comfortable berth. This was the most hopeful tale of +emigration that I heard from first to last; and as you see, the +luck was for stowaways.</p> +<p>My curiosity was much inflamed by what I heard; and the next +morning, as I was making the round of the ship, I was delighted +to find the ex-Royal Engineer engaged in washing down the white +paint of a deck house. There was another fellow at work +beside him, a lad not more than twenty, in the most miraculous +tatters, his handsome face sown with grains of beauty and lighted +up by expressive eyes. Four stowaways had been found aboard +our ship before she left the Clyde, but these two had alone +escaped the ignominy of being put ashore. Alick, my +acquaintance of last night, was Scots by birth, and by trade a +practical engineer; the other was from Devonshire, and had been +to sea before the mast. Two people more unlike by training, +character, and habits it would be hard to imagine; yet here they +were together, scrubbing paint.</p> +<p>Alick had held all sorts of good situations, and wasted many +opportunities in life. I have heard him end a story with +these words: ‘That was in my golden days, when I used +finger-glasses.’ Situation after situation failed +him; then followed the depression of trade, and for months he had +hung round with other idlers, playing marbles all day in the West +Park, and going home at night to tell his landlady how he had +been seeking for a job. I believe this kind of existence +was not unpleasant to Alick himself, and he might have long +continued to enjoy idleness and a life on tick; but he had a +comrade, let us call him Brown, who grew restive. This +fellow was continually threatening to slip his cable for the +States, and at last, one Wednesday, Glasgow was left widowed of +her Brown. Some months afterwards, Alick met another old +chum in Sauchiehall Street.</p> +<p>‘By the bye, Alick,’ said he, ‘I met a +gentleman in New York who was asking for you.’</p> +<p>‘Who was that?’ asked Alick.</p> +<p>‘The new second engineer on board the +<i>So-and-so</i>,’ was the reply.</p> +<p>‘Well, and who is he?’</p> +<p>‘Brown, to be sure.’</p> +<p>For Brown had been one of the fortunate quartette aboard the +<i>Circassia</i>. If that was the way of it in the States, +Alick thought it was high time to follow Brown’s +example. He spent his last day, as he put it, +‘reviewing the yeomanry,’ and the next morning says +he to his landlady, ‘Mrs. X., I’ll not take porridge +to-day, please; I’ll take some eggs.’</p> +<p>‘Why, have you found a job?’ she asked, +delighted.</p> +<p>‘Well, yes,’ returned the perfidious Alick; +‘I think I’ll start to-day.’</p> +<p>And so, well lined with eggs, start he did, but for +America. I am afraid that landlady has seen the last of +him.</p> +<p>It was easy enough to get on board in the confusion that +attends a vessel’s departure; and in one of the dark +corners of Steerage No. 1, flat in a bunk and with an empty +stomach, Alick made the voyage from the Broomielaw to +Greenock. That night, the ship’s yeoman pulled him +out by the heels and had him before the mate. Two other +stowaways had already been found and sent ashore; but by this +time darkness had fallen, they were out in the middle of the +estuary, and the last steamer had left them till the morning.</p> +<p>‘Take him to the forecastle and give him a meal,’ +said the mate, ‘and see and pack him off the first thing +to-morrow.’</p> +<p>In the forecastle he had supper, a good night’s rest, +and breakfast; and was sitting placidly with a pipe, fancying all +was over and the game up for good with that ship, when one of the +sailors grumbled out an oath at him, with a ‘What are you +doing there?’ and ‘Do you call that hiding, +anyway?’ There was need of no more; Alick was in +another bunk before the day was older. Shortly before the +passengers arrived, the ship was cursorily inspected. He +heard the round come down the companion and look into one pen +after another, until they came within two of the one in which he +lay concealed. Into these last two they did not enter, but +merely glanced from without; and Alick had no doubt that he was +personally favoured in this escape. It was the character of +the man to attribute nothing to luck and but little to kindness; +whatever happened to him he had earned in his own right amply; +favours came to him from his singular attraction and adroitness, +and misfortunes he had always accepted with his eyes open. +Half an hour after the searchers had departed, the steerage began +to fill with legitimate passengers, and the worst of +Alick’s troubles was at an end. He was soon making +himself popular, smoking other people’s tobacco, and +politely sharing their private stock delicacies, and when night +came he retired to his bunk beside the others with composure.</p> +<p>Next day by afternoon, Lough Foyle being already far behind, +and only the rough north-western hills of Ireland within view, +Alick appeared on deck to court inquiry and decide his +fate. As a matter of fact, he was known to several on +board, and even intimate with one of the engineers; but it was +plainly not the etiquette of such occasions for the authorities +to avow their information. Every one professed surprise and +anger on his appearance, and he was led prison before the +captain.</p> +<p>‘What have you got to say for yourself?’ inquired +the captain.</p> +<p>‘Not much,’ said Alick; ‘but when a man has +been a long time out of a job, he will do things he would not +under other circumstances.’</p> +<p>‘Are you willing to work?’</p> +<p>Alick swore he was burning to be useful.</p> +<p>‘And what can you do?’ asked the captain.</p> +<p>He replied composedly that he was a brass-fitter by trade.</p> +<p>‘I think you will be better at engineering?’ +suggested the officer, with a shrewd look.</p> +<p>‘No, sir,’ says Alick +simply.—‘There’s few can beat me at a +lie,’ was his engaging commentary to me as he recounted the +affair.</p> +<p>‘Have you been to sea?’ again asked the +captain.</p> +<p>‘I’ve had a trip on a Clyde steamboat, sir, but no +more,’ replied the unabashed Alick.</p> +<p>‘Well, we must try and find some work for you,’ +concluded the officer.</p> +<p>And hence we behold Alick, clear of the hot engine-room, +lazily scraping paint and now and then taking a pull upon a +sheet. ‘You leave me alone,’ was his +deduction. ‘When I get talking to a man, I can get +round him.’</p> +<p>The other stowaway, whom I will call the Devonian—it was +noticeable that neither of them told his name—had both been +brought up and seen the world in a much smaller way. His +father, a confectioner, died and was closely followed by his +mother. His sisters had taken, I think, to +dressmaking. He himself had returned from sea about a year +ago and gone to live with his brother, who kept the ‘George +Hotel’—‘it was not quite a real hotel,’ +added the candid fellow—‘and had a hired man to mind +the horses.’ At first the Devonian was very welcome; +but as time went on his brother not unnaturally grew cool towards +him, and he began to find himself one too many at the +‘George Hotel.’ ‘I don’t think +brothers care much for you,’ he said, as a general +reflection upon life. Hurt at this change, nearly +penniless, and too proud to ask for more, he set off on foot and +walked eighty miles to Weymouth, living on the journey as he +could. He would have enlisted, but he was too small for the +army and too old for the navy; and thought himself fortunate at +last to find a berth on board a trading dandy. Somewhere in +the Bristol Channel the dandy sprung a leak and went down; and +though the crew were picked up and brought ashore by fishermen, +they found themselves with nothing but the clothes upon their +back. His next engagement was scarcely better starred; for +the ship proved so leaky, and frightened them all so heartily +during a short passage through the Irish Sea, that the entire +crew deserted and remained behind upon the quays of Belfast.</p> +<p>Evil days were now coming thick on the Devonian. He +could find no berth in Belfast, and had to work a passage to +Glasgow on a steamer. She reached the Broomielaw on a +Wednesday: the Devonian had a bellyful that morning, laying in +breakfast manfully to provide against the future, and set off +along the quays to seek employment. But he was now not only +penniless, his clothes had begun to fall in tatters; he had begun +to have the look of a street Arab; and captains will have nothing +to say to a ragamuffin; for in that trade, as in all others, it +is the coat that depicts the man. You may hand, reef, and +steer like an angel, but if you have a hole in your trousers, it +is like a millstone round your neck. The Devonian lost +heart at so many refusals. He had not the impudence to beg; +although, as he said, ‘when I had money of my own, I always +gave it.’ It was only on Saturday morning, after +three whole days of starvation, that he asked a scone from a +milkwoman, who added of her own accord a glass of milk. He +had now made up his mind to stow away, not from any desire to see +America, but merely to obtain the comfort of a place in the +forecastle and a supply of familiar sea-fare. He lived by +begging, always from milkwomen, and always scones and milk, and +was not once refused. It was vile wet weather, and he could +never have been dry. By night he walked the streets, and by +day slept upon Glasgow Green, and heard, in the intervals of his +dozing, the famous theologians of the spot clear up intricate +points of doctrine and appraise the merits of the clergy. +He had not much instruction; he could ‘read bills on the +street,’ but was ‘main bad at writing’; yet +these theologians seem to have impressed him with a genuine sense +of amusement. Why he did not go to the Sailors’ House +I know not; I presume there is in Glasgow one of these +institutions, which are by far the happiest and the wisest effort +of contemporaneous charity; but I must stand to my author, as +they say in old books, and relate the story as I heard it. +In the meantime, he had tried four times to stow away in +different vessels, and four times had been discovered and handed +back to starvation. The fifth time was lucky; and you may +judge if he were pleased to be aboard ship again, at his old +work, and with duff twice a week. He was, said Alick, +‘a devil for the duff.’ Or if devil was not the +word, it was one if anything stronger.</p> +<p>The difference in the conduct of the two was remarkable. +The Devonian was as willing as any paid hand, swarmed aloft among +the first, pulled his natural weight and firmly upon a rope, and +found work for himself when there was none to show him. +Alick, on the other hand, was not only a skulker in the grain, +but took a humorous and fine gentlemanly view of the +transaction. He would speak to me by the hour in +ostentatious idleness; and only if the bo’s’un or a +mate came by, fell-to languidly for just the necessary time till +they were out of sight. ‘I’m not breaking my heart +with it,’ he remarked.</p> +<p>Once there was a hatch to be opened near where he was +stationed; he watched the preparations for a second or so +suspiciously, and then, ‘Hullo,’ said he, +‘here’s some real work coming—I’m +off,’ and he was gone that moment. Again, calculating +the six guinea passage-money, and the probable duration of the +passage, he remarked pleasantly that he was getting six shillings +a day for this job, ‘and it’s pretty dear to the +company at that.’ ‘They are making nothing by +me,’ was another of his observations; ‘they’re +making something by that fellow.’ And he pointed to +the Devonian, who was just then busy to the eyes.</p> +<p>The more you saw of Alick, the more, it must be owned, you +learned to despise him. His natural talents were of no use +either to himself or others; for his character had degenerated +like his face, and become pulpy and pretentious. Even his +power of persuasion, which was certainly very surprising, stood +in some danger of being lost or neutralised by +over-confidence. He lied in an aggressive, brazen manner, +like a pert criminal in the dock; and he was so vain of his own +cleverness that he could not refrain from boasting, ten minutes +after, of the very trick by which he had deceived you. +‘Why, now I have more money than when I came on +board,’ he said one night, exhibiting a sixpence, +‘and yet I stood myself a bottle of beer before I went to +bed yesterday. And as for tobacco, I have fifteen sticks of +it.’ That was fairly successful indeed; yet a man of +his superiority, and with a less obtrusive policy, might, who +knows? have got the length of half a crown. A man who +prides himself upon persuasion should learn the persuasive +faculty of silence, above all as to his own misdeeds. It is +only in the farce and for dramatic purposes that Scapin enlarges +on his peculiar talents to the world at large.</p> +<p>Scapin is perhaps a good name for this clever, unfortunate +Alick; for at the bottom of all his misconduct there was a +guiding sense of humour that moved you to forgive him. It +was more than half a jest that he conducted his existence. +‘Oh, man,’ he said to me once with unusual emotion, +like a man thinking of his mistress, ‘I would give up +anything for a lark.’</p> +<p>It was in relation to his fellow-stowaway that Alick showed +the best, or perhaps I should say the only good, points of his +nature. ‘Mind you,’ he said suddenly, changing +his tone, ‘mind you that’s a good boy. He +wouldn’t tell you a lie. A lot of them think he is a +scamp because his clothes are ragged, but he isn’t; +he’s as good as gold.’ To hear him, you become +aware that Alick himself had a taste for virtue. He thought +his own idleness and the other’s industry equally +becoming. He was no more anxious to insure his own +reputation as a liar than to uphold the truthfulness of his +companion; and he seemed unaware of what was incongruous in his +attitude, and was plainly sincere in both characters.</p> +<p>It was not surprising that he should take an interest in the +Devonian, for the lad worshipped and served him in love and +wonder. Busy as he was, he would find time to warn Alick of +an approaching officer, or even to tell him that the coast was +clear, and he might slip off and smoke a pipe in safety. +‘Tom,’ he once said to him, for that was the name +which Alick ordered him to use, ‘if you don’t like +going to the galley, I’ll go for you. You ain’t +used to this kind of thing, you ain’t. But I’m +a sailor; and I can understand the feelings of any fellow, I +can.’ Again, he was hard up, and casting about for +some tobacco, for he was not so liberally used in this respect as +others perhaps less worthy, when Alick offered him the half of +one of his fifteen sticks. I think, for my part, he might +have increased the offer to a whole one, or perhaps a pair of +them, and not lived to regret his liberality. But the +Devonian refused. ‘No,’ he said, +‘you’re a stowaway like me; I won’t take it +from you, I’ll take it from some one who’s not down +on his luck.’</p> +<p>It was notable in this generous lad that he was strongly under +the influence of sex. If a woman passed near where he was +working, his eyes lit up, his hand paused, and his mind wandered +instantly to other thoughts. It was natural that he should +exercise a fascination proportionally strong upon women. He +begged, you will remember, from women only, and was never +refused. Without wishing to explain away the charity of +those who helped him, I cannot but fancy he may have owed a +little to his handsome face, and to that quick, responsive +nature, formed for love, which speaks eloquently through all +disguises, and can stamp an impression in ten minutes’ talk +or an exchange of glances. He was the more dangerous in +that he was far from bold, but seemed to woo in spite of himself, +and with a soft and pleading eye. Ragged as he was, and +many a scarecrow is in that respect more comfortably furnished, +even on board he was not without some curious admirers.</p> +<p>There was a girl among the passengers, a tall, blonde, +handsome, strapping Irishwoman, with a wild, accommodating eye, +whom Alick had dubbed Tommy, with that transcendental +appropriateness that defies analysis. One day the Devonian +was lying for warmth in the upper stoke-hole, which stands open +on the deck, when Irish Tommy came past, very neatly attired, as +was her custom.</p> +<p>‘Poor fellow,’ she said, stopping, ‘you +haven’t a vest.’</p> +<p>‘No,’ he said; ‘I wish I +’ad.’</p> +<p>Then she stood and gazed on him in silence, until, in his +embarrassment, for he knew not how to look under this scrutiny, +he pulled out his pipe and began to fill it with tobacco.</p> +<p>‘Do you want a match?’ she asked. And before +he had time to reply, she ran off and presently returned with +more than one.</p> +<p>That was the beginning and the end, as far as our passage is +concerned, of what I will make bold to call this +love-affair. There are many relations which go on to +marriage and last during a lifetime, in which less human feeling +is engaged than in this scene of five minutes at the +stoke-hole.</p> +<p>Rigidly speaking, this would end the chapter of the stowaways; +but in a larger sense of the word I have yet more to add. +Jones had discovered and pointed out to me a young woman who was +remarkable among her fellows for a pleasing and interesting +air. She was poorly clad, to the verge, if not over the +line, of disrespectability, with a ragged old jacket and a bit of +a sealskin cap no bigger than your fist; but her eyes, her whole +expression, and her manner, even in ordinary moments, told of a +true womanly nature, capable of love, anger, and devotion. +She had a look, too, of refinement, like one who might have been +a better lady than most, had she been allowed the +opportunity. When alone she seemed preoccupied and sad; but +she was not often alone; there was usually by her side a heavy, +dull, gross man in rough clothes, chary of speech and +gesture—not from caution, but poverty of disposition; a man +like a ditcher, unlovely and uninteresting; whom she petted and +tended and waited on with her eyes as if he had been Amadis of +Gaul. It was strange to see this hulking fellow dog-sick, +and this delicate, sad woman caring for him. He seemed, +from first to last, insensible of her caresses and attentions, +and she seemed unconscious of his insensibility. The Irish +husband, who sang his wife to sleep, and this Scottish girl +serving her Orson, were the two bits of human nature that most +appealed to me throughout the voyage.</p> +<p>On the Thursday before we arrived, the tickets were collected; +and soon a rumour began to go round the vessel; and this girl, +with her bit of sealskin cap, became the centre of whispering and +pointed fingers. She also, it was said, was a stowaway of a +sort; for she was on board with neither ticket nor money; and the +man with whom she travelled was the father of a family, who had +left wife and children to be hers. The ship’s +officers discouraged the story, which may therefore have been a +story and no more; but it was believed in the steerage, and the +poor girl had to encounter many curious eyes from that day +forth.</p> +<h3><!-- page 69--><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +69</span>PERSONAL EXPERIENCE AND REVIEW</h3> +<p>Travel is of two kinds; and this voyage of mine across the +ocean combined both. ‘Out of my country and myself I +go,’ sings the old poet: and I was not only travelling out +of my country in latitude and longitude, but out of myself in +diet, associates, and consideration. Part of the interest +and a great deal of the amusement flowed, at least to me, from +this novel situation in the world.</p> +<p>I found that I had what they call fallen in life with absolute +success and verisimilitude. I was taken for a steerage +passenger; no one seemed surprised that I should be so; and there +was nothing but the brass plate between decks to remind me that I +had once been a gentleman. In a former book, describing a +former journey, I expressed some wonder that I could be readily +and naturally taken for a pedlar, and explained the accident by +the difference of language and manners between England and +France. I must now take a humbler view; for here I was +among my own countrymen, somewhat roughly clad to be sure, but +with every advantage of speech and manner; and I am bound to +confess that I passed for nearly anything you please except an +educated gentleman. The sailors called me +‘mate,’ the officers addressed me as ‘my +man,’ my comrades accepted me without hesitation for a +person of their own character and experience, but with some +curious information. One, a mason himself, believed I was a +mason; several, and among these at least one of the seaman, +judged me to be a petty officer in the American navy; and I was +so often set down for a practical engineer that at last I had not +the heart to deny it. From all these guesses I drew one +conclusion, which told against the insight of my +companions. They might be close observers in their own way, +and read the manners in the face; but it was plain that they did +not extend their observation to the hands.</p> +<p>To the saloon passengers also I sustained my part without a +hitch. It is true I came little in their way; but when we +did encounter, there was no recognition in their eye, although I +confess I sometimes courted it in silence. All these, my +inferiors and equals, took me, like the transformed monarch in +the story, for a mere common, human man. They gave me a +hard, dead look, with the flesh about the eye kept unrelaxed.</p> +<p>With the women this surprised me less, as I had already +experimented on the sex by going abroad through a suburban part +of London simply attired in a sleeve-waistcoat. The result +was curious. I then learned for the first time, and by the +exhaustive process, how much attention ladies are accustomed to +bestow on all male creatures of their own station; for, in my +humble rig, each one who went by me caused me a certain shock of +surprise and a sense of something wanting. In my normal +circumstances, it appeared every young lady must have paid me +some tribute of a glance; and though I had often not detected it +when it was given, I was well aware of its absence when it was +withheld. My height seemed to decrease with every woman who +passed me, for she passed me like a dog. This is one of my +grounds for supposing that what are called the upper classes may +sometimes produce a disagreeable impression in what are called +the lower; and I wish some one would continue my experiment, and +find out exactly at what stage of toilette a man becomes +invisible to the well-regulated female eye.</p> +<p>Here on shipboard the matter was put to a more complete test; +for, even with the addition of speech and manner, I passed among +the ladies for precisely the average man of the steerage. +It was one afternoon that I saw this demonstrated. A very +plainly dressed woman was taken ill on deck. I think I had +the luck to be present at every sudden seizure during all the +passage; and on this occasion found myself in the place of +importance, supporting the sufferer. There was not only a +large crowd immediately around us, but a considerable knot of +saloon passengers leaning over our heads from the +hurricane-deck. One of these, an elderly managing woman, +hailed me with counsels. Of course I had to reply; and as +the talk went on, I began to discover that the whole group took +me for the husband. I looked upon my new wife, poor +creature, with mingled feelings; and I must own she had not even +the appearance of the poorest class of city servant-maids, but +looked more like a country wench who should have been employed at +a roadside inn. Now was the time for me to go and study the +brass plate.</p> +<p>To such of the officers as knew about me—the doctor, the +purser, and the stewards—I appeared in the light of a broad +joke. The fact that I spent the better part of my day in +writing had gone abroad over the ship and tickled them all +prodigiously. Whenever they met me they referred to my +absurd occupation with familiarity and breadth of humorous +intention. Their manner was well calculated to remind me of +my fallen fortunes. You may be sincerely amused by the +amateur literary efforts of a gentleman, but you scarce publish +the feeling to his face. ‘Well!’ they would say: +‘still writing?’ And the smile would widen into +a laugh. The purser came one day into the cabin, and, +touched to the heart by my misguided industry, offered me some +other kind of writing, ‘for which,’ he added +pointedly, ‘you will be paid.’ This was nothing +else than to copy out the list of passengers.</p> +<p>Another trick of mine which told against my reputation was my +choice of roosting-place in an active draught upon the cabin +floor. I was openly jeered and flouted for this +eccentricity; and a considerable knot would sometimes gather at +the door to see my last dispositions for the night. This +was embarrassing, but I learned to support the trial with +equanimity.</p> +<p>Indeed I may say that, upon the whole, my new position sat +lightly and naturally upon my spirits. I accepted the +consequences with readiness, and found them far from difficult to +bear. The steerage conquered me; I conformed more and more +to the type of the place, not only in manner but at heart, +growing hostile to the officers and cabin passengers who looked +down upon me, and day by day greedier for small delicacies. +Such was the result, as I fancy, of a diet of bread and butter, +soup and porridge. We think we have no sweet tooth as long +as we are full to the brim of molasses; but a man must have +sojourned in the workhouse before he boasts himself indifferent +to dainties. Every evening, for instance, I was more and +more preoccupied about our doubtful fare at tea. If it was +delicate my heart was much lightened; if it was but broken fish I +was proportionally downcast. The offer of a little jelly +from a fellow-passenger more provident than myself caused a +marked elevation in my spirits. And I would have gone to +the ship’s end and back again for an oyster or a chipped +fruit.</p> +<p>In other ways I was content with my position. It seemed +no disgrace to be confounded with my company; for I may as well +declare at once I found their manners as gentle and becoming as +those of any other class. I do not mean that my friends +could have sat down without embarrassment and laughable disaster +at the table of a duke. That does not imply an inferiority +of breeding, but a difference of usage. Thus I flatter +myself that I conducted myself well among my fellow-passengers; +yet my most ambitious hope is not to have avoided faults, but to +have committed as few as possible. I know too well that my +tact is not the same as their tact, and that my habit of a +different society constituted, not only no qualification, but a +positive disability to move easily and becomingly in this. +When Jones complimented me—because I ‘managed to +behave very pleasantly’ to my fellow-passengers, was how he +put it—I could follow the thought in his mind, and knew his +compliment to be such as we pay foreigners on their proficiency +in English. I dare say this praise was given me immediately +on the back of some unpardonable solecism, which had led him to +review my conduct as a whole. We are all ready to laugh at +the ploughman among lords; we should consider also the case of a +lord among the ploughmen. I have seen a lawyer in the house +of a Hebridean fisherman; and I know, but nothing will induce me +to disclose, which of these two was the better gentleman. +Some of our finest behaviour, though it looks well enough from +the boxes, may seem even brutal to the gallery. We boast +too often manners that are parochial rather than universal; that, +like a country wine, will not bear transportation for a hundred +miles, nor from the parlour to the kitchen. To be a +gentleman is to be one all the world over, and in every relation +and grade of society. It is a high calling, to which a man +must first be born, and then devote himself for life. And, +unhappily, the manners of a certain so-called upper grade have a +kind of currency, and meet with a certain external acceptation +throughout all the others, and this tends to keep us well +satisfied with slight acquirements and the amateurish +accomplishments of a clique. But manners, like art, should +be human and central.</p> +<p>Some of my fellow-passengers, as I now moved among them in a +relation of equality, seemed to me excellent gentlemen. +They were not rough, nor hasty, nor disputatious; debated +pleasantly, differed kindly; were helpful, gentle, patient, and +placid. The type of manners was plain, and even heavy; +there was little to please the eye, but nothing to shock; and I +thought gentleness lay more nearly at the spring of behaviour +than in many more ornate and delicate societies. I say +delicate, where I cannot say refined; a thing may be fine, like +ironwork, without being delicate, like lace. There was here +less delicacy; the skin supported more callously the natural +surface of events, the mind received more bravely the crude facts +of human existence; but I do not think that there was less +effective refinement, less consideration for others, less polite +suppression of self. I speak of the best among my +fellow-passengers; for in the steerage, as well as in the saloon, +there is a mixture. Those, then, with whom I found myself +in sympathy, and of whom I may therefore hope to write with a +greater measure of truth, were not only as good in their manners, +but endowed with very much the same natural capacities, and about +as wise in deduction, as the bankers and barristers of what is +called society. One and all were too much interested in +disconnected facts, and loved information for its own sake with +too rash a devotion; but people in all classes display the same +appetite as they gorge themselves daily with the miscellaneous +gossip of the newspaper. Newspaper-reading, as far as I can +make out, is often rather a sort of brown study than an act of +culture. I have myself palmed off yesterday’s issue +on a friend, and seen him re-peruse it for a continuance of +minutes with an air at once refreshed and solemn. Workmen, +perhaps, pay more attention; but though they may be eager +listeners, they have rarely seemed to me either willing or +careful thinkers. Culture is not measured by the greatness +of the field which is covered by our knowledge, but by the nicety +with which we can perceive relations in that field, whether great +or small. Workmen, certainly those who were on board with +me, I found wanting in this quality or habit of the mind. +They did not perceive relations, but leaped to a so-called cause, +and thought the problem settled. Thus the cause of +everything in England was the form of government, and the cure +for all evils was, by consequence, a revolution. It is +surprising how many of them said this, and that none should have +had a definite thought in his head as he said it. Some +hated the Church because they disagreed with it; some hated Lord +Beaconsfield because of war and taxes; all hated the masters, +possibly with reason. But these failings were not at the +root of the matter; the true reasoning of their souls ran +thus—I have not got on; I ought to have got on; if there +was a revolution I should get on. How? They had no +idea. Why? Because—because—well, look at +America!</p> +<p>To be politically blind is no distinction; we are all so, if +you come to that. At bottom, as it seems to me, there is +but one question in modern home politics, though it appears in +many shapes, and that is the question of money; and but one +political remedy, that the people should grow wiser and +better. My workmen fellow-passengers were as impatient and +dull of hearing on the second of these points as any member of +Parliament; but they had some glimmerings of the first. +They would not hear of improvement on their part, but wished the +world made over again in a crack, so that they might remain +improvident and idle and debauched, and yet enjoy the comfort and +respect that should accompany the opposite virtues; and it was in +this expectation, as far as I could see, that many of them were +now on their way to America. But on the point of money they +saw clearly enough that inland politics, so far as they were +concerned, were reducible to the question of annual income; a +question which should long ago have been settled by a revolution, +they did not know how, and which they were now about to settle +for themselves, once more they knew not how, by crossing the +Atlantic in a steamship of considerable tonnage.</p> +<p>And yet it has been amply shown them that the second or income +question is in itself nothing, and may as well be left undecided, +if there be no wisdom and virtue to profit by the change. +It is not by a man’s purse, but by his character that he is +rich or poor. Barney will be poor, Alick will be poor, +Mackay will be poor; let them go where they will, and wreck all +the governments under heaven, they will be poor until they +die.</p> +<p>Nothing is perhaps more notable in the average workman than +his surprising idleness, and the candour with which he confesses +to the failing. It has to me been always something of a +relief to find the poor, as a general rule, so little oppressed +with work. I can in consequence enjoy my own more fortunate +beginning with a better grace. The other day I was living +with a farmer in America, an old frontiersman, who had worked and +fought, hunted and farmed, from his childhood up. He +excused himself for his defective education on the ground that he +had been overworked from first to last. Even now, he said, +anxious as he was, he had never the time to take up a book. +In consequence of this, I observed him closely; he was occupied +for four or, at the extreme outside, for five hours out of the +twenty-four, and then principally in walking; and the remainder +of the day he passed in born idleness, either eating fruit or +standing with his back against a door. I have known men do +hard literary work all morning, and then undergo quite as much +physical fatigue by way of relief as satisfied this powerful +frontiersman for the day. He, at least, like all the +educated class, did so much homage to industry as to persuade +himself he was industrious. But the average mechanic +recognises his idleness with effrontery; he has even, as I am +told, organised it.</p> +<p>I give the story as it was told me, and it was told me for a +fact. A man fell from a housetop in the city of Aberdeen, +and was brought into hospital with broken bones. He was +asked what was his trade, and replied that he was a +<i>tapper</i>. No one had ever heard of such a thing +before; the officials were filled with curiosity; they besought +an explanation. It appeared that when a party of slaters +were engaged upon a roof, they would now and then be taken with a +fancy for the public-house. Now a seamstress, for example, +might slip away from her work and no one be the wiser; but if +these fellows adjourned, the tapping of the mallets would cease, +and thus the neighbourhood be advertised of their +defection. Hence the career of the tapper. He has to +do the tapping and keep up an industrious bustle on the housetop +during the absence of the slaters. When he taps for only +one or two the thing is child’s-play, but when he has to +represent a whole troop, it is then that he earns his money in +the sweat of his brow. Then must he bound from spot to +spot, reduplicate, triplicate, sexduplicate his single +personality, and swell and hasten his blows, until he produce a +perfect illusion for the ear, and you would swear that a crowd of +emulous masons were continuing merrily to roof the house. +It must be a strange sight from an upper window.</p> +<p>I heard nothing on board of the tapper; but I was astonished +at the stories told by my companions. Skulking, shirking, +malingering, were all established tactics, it appeared. +They could see no dishonesty where a man who is paid for an hour's +work gives half an hour’s consistent idling in its +place. Thus the tapper would refuse to watch for the police +during a burglary, and call himself a honest man. It is not +sufficiently recognised that our race detests to work. If I +thought that I should have to work every day of my life as hard +as I am working now, I should be tempted to give up the +struggle. And the workman early begins on his career of +toil. He has never had his fill of holidays in the past, +and his prospect of holidays in the future is both distant and +uncertain. In the circumstances, it would require a high +degree of virtue not to snatch alleviations for the moment.</p> +<p>There were many good talkers on the ship; and I believe good +talking of a certain sort is a common accomplishment among +working men. Where books are comparatively scarce, a +greater amount of information will be given and received by word +of mouth; and this tends to produce good talkers, and, what is no +less needful for conversation, good listeners. They could +all tell a story with effect. I am sometimes tempted to +think that the less literary class show always better in +narration; they have so much more patience with detail, are so +much less hurried to reach the points, and preserve so much +juster a proportion among the facts. At the same time their +talk is dry; they pursue a topic ploddingly, have not an agile +fancy, do not throw sudden lights from unexpected quarters, and +when the talk is over they often leave the matter where it +was. They mark time instead of marching. They think +only to argue, not to reach new conclusions, and use their reason +rather as a weapon of offense than as a tool for +self-improvement. Hence the talk of some of the cleverest +was unprofitable in result, because there was no give and take; +they would grant you as little as possible for premise, and begin +to dispute under an oath to conquer or to die.</p> +<p>But the talk of a workman is apt to be more interesting than +that of a wealthy merchant, because the thoughts, hopes, and +fears of which the workman’s life is built lie nearer to +necessity and nature. They are more immediate to human +life. An income calculated by the week is a far more human +thing than one calculated by the year, and a small income, simply +from its smallness, than a large one. I never wearied +listening to the details of a workman’s economy, because +every item stood for some real pleasure. If he could afford +pudding twice a week, you know that twice a week the man ate with +genuine gusto and was physically happy; while if you learn that a +rich man has seven courses a day, ten to one the half of them +remain untasted, and the whole is but misspent money and a +weariness to the flesh.</p> +<p>The difference between England and America to a working man +was thus most humanly put to me by a fellow-passenger: ‘In +America,’ said he, ‘you get pies and +puddings.’ I do not hear enough, in economy books, of +pies and pudding. A man lives in <!-- page 81--><a +name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>and for the +delicacies, adornments, and accidental attributes of life, such +as pudding to eat and pleasant books and theatres to occupy his +leisure. The bare terms of existence would be rejected with +contempt by all. If a man feeds on bread and butter, soup +and porridge, his appetite grows wolfish after dainties. +And the workman dwells in a borderland, and is always within +sight of those cheerless regions where life is more difficult to +sustain than worth sustaining. Every detail of our +existence, where it is worth while to cross the ocean after pie +and pudding, is made alive and enthralling by the presence of +genuine desire; but it is all one to me whether Crœsus has +a hundred or a thousand thousands in the bank. There is +more adventure in the life of the working man who descends as a +common solder into the battle of life, than in that of the +millionaire who sits apart in an office, like Von Moltke, and +only directs the manœuvres by telegraph. Give me to +hear about the career of him who is in the thick of business; to +whom one change of market means empty belly, and another a +copious and savoury meal. This is not the philosophical, +but the human side of economics; it interests like a story; and +the life all who are thus situated partakes in a small way the +charm of <i>Robinson Crusoe</i>; for every step is critical and +human life is presented to you naked and verging to its lowest +terms.</p> +<h3>NEW YORK</h3> +<p>As we drew near to New York I was at first amused, and then +somewhat staggered, by the cautious and the grisly tales that +went the round. You would have thought we were to land upon +a cannibal island. You must speak to no one in the streets, +as they would not leave you till you were rooked and +beaten. You must enter a hotel with military precautions; +for the least you had to apprehend was to awake next morning +without money or baggage, or necessary raiment, a lone forked +radish in a bed; and if the worst befell, you would instantly and +mysteriously disappear from the ranks of mankind.</p> +<p>I have usually found such stories correspond to the least +modicum of fact. Thus I was warned, I remember, against the +roadside inns of the Cévennes, and that by a learned +professor; and when I reached Pradelles the warning was +explained—it was but the far-away rumour and reduplication +of a single terrifying story already half a century old, and half +forgotten in the theatre of the events. So I was tempted to +make light of these reports against America. But we had on +board with us a man whose evidence it would not do to put +aside. He had come near these perils in the body; he had +visited a robber inn. The public has an old and +well-grounded favour for this class of incident, and shall be +gratified to the best of my power.</p> +<p>My fellow-passenger, whom we shall call M’Naughten, had +come from New York to Boston with a comrade, seeking work. +They were a pair of rattling blades; and, leaving their baggage +at the station, passed the day in beer saloons, and with +congenial spirits, until midnight struck. Then they applied +themselves to find a lodging, and walked the streets till two, +knocking at houses of entertainment and being refused admittance, +or themselves declining the terms. By two the inspiration +of their liquor had begun to wear off; they were weary and +humble, and after a great circuit found themselves in the same +street where they had begun their search, and in front of a +French hotel where they had already sought accommodation. +Seeing the house still open, they returned to the charge. A +man in a white cap sat in an office by the door. He seemed +to welcome them more warmly than when they had first presented +themselves, and the charge for the night had somewhat +unaccountably fallen from a dollar to a quarter. They +thought him ill-looking, but paid their quarter apiece, and were +shown upstairs to the top of the house. There, in a small +room, the man in the white cap wished them pleasant slumbers.</p> +<p>It was furnished with a bed, a chair, and some +conveniences. The door did not lock on the inside; and the +only sign of adornment was a couple of framed pictures, one close +above the head of the bed, and the other opposite the foot, and +both curtained, as we may sometimes see valuable water-colours, +or the portraits of the dead, or works of art more than usually +skittish in the subject. It was perhaps in the hope of +finding something of this last description that +M’Naughten’s comrade pulled aside the curtain of the +first. He was startlingly disappointed. There was no +picture. The frame surrounded, and the curtain was designed +to hide, an oblong aperture in the partition, through which they +looked forth into the dark corridor. A person standing +without could easily take a purse from under the pillow, or even +strangle a sleeper as he lay abed. M’Naughten and his +comrade stared at each other like Vasco’s seamen, +‘with a wild surmise’; and then the latter, catching +up the lamp, ran to the other frame and roughly raised the +curtain. There he stood, petrified; and M’Naughten, +who had followed, grasped him by the wrist in terror. They +could see into another room, larger in size than that which they +occupied, where three men sat crouching and silent in the +dark. For a second or so these five persons looked each +other in the eyes, then the curtain was dropped, and +M’Naughten and his friend made but one bolt of it out of +the room and downstairs. The man in the white cap said +nothing as they passed him; and they were so pleased to be once +more in the open night that they gave up all notion of a bed, and +walked the streets of Boston till the morning.</p> +<p>No one seemed much cast down by these stories, but all +inquired after the address of a respectable hotel; and I, for my +part, put myself under the conduct of Mr. Jones. Before +noon of the second Sunday we sighted the low shores outside of +New York harbour; the steerage passengers must remain on board to +pass through Castle Garden on the following morning; but we of +the second cabin made our escape along with the lords of the +saloon; and by six o’clock Jones and I issued into West +Street, sitting on some straw in the bottom of an open +baggage-wagon. It rained miraculously; and from that moment +till on the following night I left New York, there was scarce a +lull, and no cessation of the downpour. The roadways were +flooded; a loud strident noise of falling water filled the air; +the restaurants smelt heavily of wet people and wet clothing.</p> +<p>It took us but a few minutes, though it cost us a good deal of +money, to be rattled along West Street to our destination: +‘Reunion House, No. 10 West Street, one minutes walk from +Castle Garden; convenient to Castle Garden, the Steamboat +Landings, California Steamers and Liverpool Ships; Board and +Lodging per day 1 dollar, single meals 25 cents, lodging per +night 25 cents; private rooms for families; no charge for storage +or baggage; satisfaction guaranteed to all persons; Michael +Mitchell, Proprietor.’ Reunion House was, I may go +the length of saying, a humble hostelry. You entered +through a long bar-room, thence passed into a little dining-room, +and thence into a still smaller kitchen. The furniture was +of the plainest; but the bar was hung in the American taste, with +encouraging and hospitable mottoes.</p> +<p>Jones was well known; we were received warmly; and two minutes +afterwards I had refused a drink from the proprietor, and was +going on, in my plain European fashion, to refuse a cigar, when +Mr. Mitchell sternly interposed, and explained the +situation. He was offering to treat me, it appeared, +whenever an American bar-keeper proposes anything, it must be +borne in mind that he is offering to treat; and if I did not want +a drink, I must at least take the cigar. I took it +bashfully, feeling I had begun my American career on the wrong +foot. I did not enjoy that cigar; but this may have been +from a variety of reasons, even the best cigar often failing to +please if you smoke three-quarters of it in a drenching rain.</p> +<p>For many years America was to me a sort of promised land; +‘westward the march of empire holds its way’; the +race is for the moment to the young; what has been and what is we +imperfectly and obscurely know; what is to be yet lies beyond the +flight of our imaginations. Greece, Rome, and Judæa +are gone by forever, leaving to generations the legacy of their +accomplished work; China still endures, an old-inhabited house in +the brand-new city of nations; England has already declined, +since she has lost the States; and to these States, therefore, +yet undeveloped, full of dark possibilities, and grown, like +another Eve, from one rib out of the side of their own old land, +the minds of young men in England turn naturally at a certain +hopeful period of their age. It will be hard for an +American to understand the spirit. But let him imagine a +young man, who shall have grown up in an old and rigid circle, +following bygone fashions and taught to distrust his own fresh +instincts, and who now suddenly hears of a family of cousins, all +about his own age, who keep house together by themselves and live +far from restraint and tradition; let him imagine this, and he +will have some imperfect notion of the sentiment with which +spirited English youths turn to the thought of the American +Republic. It seems to them as if, out west, the war of life +was still conducted in the open air, and on free barbaric terms; +as if it had not yet been narrowed into parlours, nor begun to be +conducted, like some unjust and dreary arbitration, by +compromise, costume, forms of procedure, and sad, senseless +self-denial. Which of these two he prefers, a man with any +youth still left in him will decide rightly for himself. He +would rather be houseless than denied a pass-key; rather go +without food than partake of stalled ox in stiff, respectable +society; rather be shot out of hand than direct his life +according to the dictates of the world.</p> +<p>He knows or thinks nothing of the Maine Laws, the Puritan +sourness, the fierce, sordid appetite for dollars, or the dreary +existence of country towns. A few wild story-books which +delighted his childhood form the imaginative basis of his picture +of America. In course of time, there is added to this a +great crowd of stimulating details—vast cities that grow up +as by enchantment; the birds, that have gone south in autumn, +returning with the spring to find thousands camped upon their +marshes, and the lamps burning far and near along populous +streets; forests that disappear like snow; countries larger than +Britain that are cleared and settled, one man running forth with +his household gods before another, while the bear and the Indian +are yet scarce aware of their approach; oil that gushes from the +earth; gold that is washed or quarried in the brooks or glens of +the Sierras; and all that bustle, courage, action, and constant +kaleidoscopic change that Walt Whitman has seized and set forth +in his vigorous, cheerful, and loquacious verses.</p> +<p>Here I was at last in America, and was soon out upon New York +streets, spying for things foreign. The place had to me an +air of Liverpool; but such was the rain that not Paradise itself +would have looked inviting. We were a party of four, under +two umbrellas; Jones and I and two Scots lads, recent immigrants, +and not indisposed to welcome a compatriot. They had been +six weeks in New York, and neither of them had yet found a single +job or earned a single halfpenny. Up to the present they +were exactly out of pocket by the amount of the fare.</p> +<p>The lads soon left us. Now I had sworn by all my gods to +have such a dinner as would rouse the dead; there was scarce any +expense at which I should have hesitated; the devil was in it, +but Jones and I should dine like heathen emperors. I set to +work, asking after a restaurant; and I chose the wealthiest and +most gastronomical-looking passers-by to ask from. Yet, +although I had told them I was willing to pay anything in reason, +one and all sent me off to cheap, fixed-price houses, where I +would not have eaten that night for the cost of twenty +dinners. I do not know if this were characteristic of New +York, or whether it was only Jones and I who looked un-dinerly +and discouraged enterprising suggestions. But at length, by +our own sagacity, we found a French restaurant, where there was a +French waiter, some fair French cooking, some so-called French +wine, and French coffee to conclude the whole. I never +entered into the feelings of Jack on land so completely as when I +tasted that coffee.</p> +<p>I suppose we had one of the ‘private rooms for +families’ at Reunion House. It was very small, +furnished with a bed, a chair, and some clothes-pegs; and it +derived all that was necessary for the life of the human animal +through two borrowed lights; one looking into the passage, and +the second opening, without sash, into another apartment, where +three men fitfully snored, or in intervals of wakefulness, +drearily mumbled to each other all night long. It will be +observed that this was almost exactly the disposition of the room +in M’Naughten’s story. Jones had the bed; I +pitched my camp upon the floor; he did not sleep until near +morning, and I, for my part, never closed an eye.</p> +<p>At sunrise I heard a cannon fired; and shortly afterwards the +men in the next room gave over snoring for good, and began to +rustle over their toilettes. The sound of their voices as +they talked was low and like that of people watching by the +sick. Jones, who had at last begun to doze, tumbled and +murmured, and every now and then opened unconscious eyes upon me +where I lay. I found myself growing eerier and eerier, for +I dare say I was a little fevered by my restless night, and +hurried to dress and get downstairs.</p> +<p>You had to pass through the rain, which still fell thick and +resonant, to reach a lavatory on the other side of the +court. There were three basin-stands, and a few crumpled +towels and pieces of wet soap, white and slippery like fish; nor +should I forget a looking-glass and a pair of questionable +combs. Another Scots lad was here, scrubbing his face with +a good will. He had been three months in New York and had +not yet found a single job nor earned a single halfpenny. +Up to the present, he also was exactly out of pocket by the +amount of the fare. I began to grow sick at heart for my +fellow-emigrants.</p> +<p>Of my nightmare wanderings in New York I spare to tell. +I had a thousand and one things to do; only the day to do them +in, and a journey across the continent before me in the +evening. It rained with patient fury; every now and then I +had to get under cover for a while in order, so to speak, to give +my mackintosh a rest; for under this continued drenching it began +to grow damp on the inside. I went to banks, post-offices, +railway-offices, restaurants, publishers, booksellers, +money-changers, and wherever I went a pool would gather about my +feet, and those who were careful of their floors would look on +with an unfriendly eye. Wherever I went, too, the same +traits struck me: the people were all surprisingly rude and +surprisingly kind. The money-changer cross-questioned me +like a French commissary, asking my age, my business, my average +income, and my destination, beating down my attempts at evasion, +and receiving my answers in silence; and yet when all was over, +he shook hands with me up to the elbows, and sent his lad nearly +a quarter of a mile in the rain to get me books at a +reduction. Again, in a very large publishing and +bookselling establishment, a man, who seemed to be the manager, +received me as I had certainly never before been received in any +human shop, indicated squarely that he put no faith in my +honesty, and refused to look up the names of books or give me the +slightest help or information, on the ground, like the steward, +that it was none of his business. I lost my temper at last, +said I was a stranger in America and not learned in their +etiquette; but I would assure him, if he went to any bookseller +in England, of more handsome usage. The boast was perhaps +exaggerated; but like many a long shot, it struck the gold. +The manager passed at once from one extreme to the other; I may +say that from that moment he loaded me with kindness; he gave me +all sorts of good advice, wrote me down addresses, and came +bareheaded into the rain to point me out a restaurant, where I +might lunch, nor even then did he seem to think that he had done +enough. These are (it is as well to be bold in statement) +the manners of America. It is this same opposition that has +most struck me in people of almost all classes and from east to +west. By the time a man had about strung me up to be the +death of him by his insulting behaviour, he himself would be just +upon the point of melting into confidence and serviceable +attentions. Yet I suspect, although I have met with the +like in so many parts, that this must be the character of some +particular state or group of states, for in America, and this +again in all classes, you will find some of the softest-mannered +gentlemen in the world.</p> +<p>I was so wet when I got back to Mitchell’s toward the +evening, that I had simply to divest myself of my shoes, socks, +and trousers, and leave them behind for the benefit of New York +city. No fire could have dried them ere I had to start; and +to pack them in their present condition was to spread ruin among +my other possessions. With a heavy heart I said farewell to +them as they lay a pulp in the middle of a pool upon the floor of +Mitchell’s kitchen. I wonder if they are dry by +now. Mitchell hired a man to carry my baggage to the +station, which was hard by, accompanied me thither himself, and +recommended me to the particular attention of the +officials. No one could have been kinder. Those who +are out of pocket may go safely to Reunion House, where they will +get decent meals and find an honest and obliging landlord. +I owed him this word of thanks, before I enter fairly on the +second <a name="citation92"></a><a href="#footnote92" +class="citation">[92]</a> and far less agreeable chapter of my +emigrant experience.</p> +<h2><!-- page 93--><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +93</span>II.<br /> +COCKERMOUTH AND KESWICK<br /> +A FRAGMENT<br /> +1871</h2> +<p>Very much as a painter half closes his eyes so that some +salient unity may disengage itself from among the crowd of +details, and what he sees may thus form itself into a whole; very +much on the same principle, I may say, I allow a considerable +lapse of time to intervene between any of my little journeyings +and the attempt to chronicle them. I cannot describe a +thing that is before me at the moment, or that has been before me +only a very little while before; I must allow my recollections to +get thoroughly strained free from all chaff till nothing be +except the pure gold; allow my memory to choose out what is truly +memorable by a process of natural selection; and I piously +believe that in this way I ensure the Survival of the +Fittest. If I make notes for future use, or if I am obliged +to write letters during the course of my little excursion, I so +interfere with the process that I can never again find out what +is worthy of being preserved, or what should be given in full +length, what in torso, or what merely in profile. This +process of incubation may be unreasonably prolonged; and I am +somewhat afraid that I have made this <!-- page 94--><a +name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>mistake with +the present journey. Like a bad daguerreotype, great part +of it has been entirely lost; I can tell you nothing about the +beginning and nothing about the end; but the doings of some fifty +or sixty hours about the middle remain quite distinct and +definite, like a little patch of sunshine on a long, shadowy +plain, or the one spot on an old picture that has been restored +by the dexterous hand of the cleaner. I remember a tale of +an old Scots minister called upon suddenly to preach, who had +hastily snatched an old sermon out of his study and found himself +in the pulpit before he noticed that the rats had been making +free with his manuscript and eaten the first two or three pages +away; he gravely explained to the congregation how he found +himself situated: ‘And now,’ said he, ‘let us +just begin where the rats have left off.’ I must +follow the divine’s example, and take up the thread of my +discourse where it first distinctly issues from the limbo of +forgetfulness.</p> +<h3>COCKERMOUTH</h3> +<p>I was lighting my pipe as I stepped out of the inn at +Cockermouth, and did not raise my head until I was fairly in the +street. When I did so, it flashed upon me that I was in +England; the evening sunlight lit up English houses, English +faces, an English conformation of street,—as it were, an +English atmosphere blew against my face. There is nothing +perhaps more puzzling (if one thing in sociology can ever really +be more unaccountable than another) than the great gulf that is +set between England and Scotland—a gulf so easy in +appearance, in reality so difficult to traverse. Here are +two people almost identical in blood; pent up together on one +small island, so that their intercourse (one would have thought) +must be as close as that of prisoners who shared one cell of the +Bastille; the same in language and religion; and yet a few years +of quarrelsome isolation—a mere forenoon’s tiff, as +one may call it, in comparison with the great historical +cycles—has so separated their thoughts and ways that not +unions, not mutual dangers, nor steamers, nor railways, nor all +the king’s horses and all the king’s men, seem able +to obliterate the broad distinction. In the trituration of +another century or so the corners may disappear; but in the +meantime, in the year of grace 1871, I was as much in a new +country as if I had been walking out of the Hotel St. Antoine at +Antwerp.</p> +<p>I felt a little thrill of pleasure at my heart as I realised +the change, and strolled away up the street with my hands behind +my back, noting in a dull, sensual way how foreign, and yet how +friendly, were the slopes of the gables and the colour of the +tiles, and even the demeanour and voices of the gossips round +about me.</p> +<p>Wandering in this aimless humour, I turned up a lane and found +myself following the course of the bright little river. I +passed first one and then another, then a third, several couples +out love-making in the spring evening; and a consequent feeling +of loneliness was beginning to grow upon me, when I came to a dam +across the river, and a mill—a great, gaunt promontory of +building,—half on dry ground and half arched over the +stream. The road here drew in its shoulders and crept +through between the landward extremity of the mill and a little +garden enclosure, with a small house and a large signboard within +its privet hedge. I was pleased to fancy this an inn, and +drew little etchings in fancy of a sanded parlour, and +three-cornered spittoons, and a society of parochial gossips +seated within over their churchwardens; but as I drew near, the +board displayed its superscription, and I could read the name of +Smethurst, and the designation of ‘Canadian Felt Hat +Manufacturers.’ There was no more hope of evening +fellowship, and I could only stroll on by the river-side, under +the trees. The water was dappled with slanting sunshine, +and dusted all over with a little mist of flying insects. +There were some amorous ducks, also, whose lovemaking reminded me +of what I had seen a little farther down. But the road grew +sad, and I grew weary; and as I was perpetually haunted with the +terror of a return of the tie that had been playing such ruin in +my head a week ago, I turned and went back to the inn, and +supper, and my bed.</p> +<p>The next morning, at breakfast, I communicated to the smart +waitress my intention of continuing down the coast and through +Whitehaven to Furness, and, as I might have expected, I was +instantly confronted by that last and most worrying form of +interference, that chooses to introduce tradition and authority +into the choice of a man’s own pleasures. I can +excuse a person combating my religious or philosophical heresies, +because them I have deliberately accepted, and am ready to +justify by present argument. But I do not seek to justify +my pleasures. <!-- page 97--><a name="page97"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 97</span>If I prefer tame scenery to grand, a +little hot sunshine over lowland parks and woodlands to the war +of the elements round the summit of Mont Blanc; or if I prefer a +pipe of mild tobacco, and the company of one or two chosen +companions, to a ball where I feel myself very hot, awkward, and +weary, I merely state these preferences as facts, and do not seek +to establish them as principles. This is not the general +rule, however, and accordingly the waitress was shocked, as one +might be at a heresy, to hear the route that I had sketched out +for myself. Everybody who came to Cockermouth for pleasure, +it appeared, went on to Keswick. It was in vain that I put +up a little plea for the liberty of the subject; it was in vain +that I said I should prefer to go to Whitehaven. I was told +that there was ‘nothing to see there’—that +weary, hackneyed, old falsehood; and at last, as the handmaiden +began to look really concerned, I gave way, as men always do in +such circumstances, and agreed that I was to leave for Keswick by +a train in the early evening.</p> +<h3>AN EVANGELIST</h3> +<p>Cockermouth itself, on the same authority, was a Place with +‘nothing to see’; nevertheless I saw a good deal, and +retain a pleasant, vague picture of the town and all its +surroundings. I might have dodged happily enough all day +about the main street and up to the castle and in and out of +byways, but the curious attraction that leads a person in a +strange place to follow, day after day, the same round, and to +make set habits for himself in a week or ten days, led me half +unconsciously up the same, road that I had gone the evening +before. When I came up to the hat manufactory, Smethurst +himself was standing in the garden gate. He was brushing +one Canadian felt hat, and several others had been put to await +their turn one above the other on his own head, so that he looked +something like the typical Jew old-clothes man. As I drew +near, he came sidling out of the doorway to accost me, with so +curious an expression on his face that I instinctively prepared +myself to apologise for some unwitting trespass. His first +question rather confirmed me in this belief, for it was whether +or not he had seen me going up this way last night; and after +having answered in the affirmative, I waited in some alarm for +the rest of my indictment. But the good man’s heart +was full of peace; and he stood there brushing his hats and +prattling on about fishing, and walking, and the pleasures of +convalescence, in a bright shallow stream that kept me pleased +and interested, I could scarcely say how. As he went on, he +warmed to his subject, and laid his hats aside to go along the +water-side and show me where the large trout commonly lay, +underneath an overhanging bank; and he was much disappointed, for +my sake, that there were none visible just then. Then he +wandered off on to another tack, and stood a great while out in +the middle of a meadow in the hot sunshine, trying to make out +that he had known me before, or, if not me, some friend of mine, +merely, I believe, out of a desire that we should feel more +friendly and at our ease with one another. At last he made +a little speech to me, of which I wish I could recollect the very +words, for they were so simple and unaffected that they put all +the best writing and speaking to the blush; as it is, I can +recall only the sense, and that perhaps imperfectly. He +began by saying that he had little things in his past life that +it gave him especial pleasure to recall; and that the faculty of +receiving such sharp impressions had now died out in himself, but +must at my age be still quite lively and active. Then he +told me that he had a little raft afloat on the river above the +dam which he was going to lend me, in order that I might be able +to look back, in after years, upon having done so, and get great +pleasure from the recollection. Now, I have a friend of my +own who will forgo present enjoyments and suffer much present +inconvenience for the sake of manufacturing ‘a +reminiscence’ for himself; but there was something +singularly refined in this pleasure that the hatmaker found in +making reminiscences for others; surely no more simple or +unselfish luxury can be imagined. After he had unmoored his +little embarkation, and seen me safely shoved off into midstream, +he ran away back to his hats with the air of a man who had only +just recollected that he had anything to do.</p> +<p>I did not stay very long on the raft. It ought to have +been very nice punting about there in the cool shade of the +trees, or sitting moored to an over-hanging root; but perhaps the +very notion that I was bound in gratitude specially to enjoy my +little cruise, and cherish its recollection, turned the whole +thing from a pleasure into a duty. Be that as it may, there +is no doubt that I soon wearied and came ashore again, and that +it gives me more pleasure to recall the man himself and his +simple, happy <!-- page 100--><a name="page100"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 100</span>conversation, so full of gusto and +sympathy, than anything possibly connected with his crank, +insecure embarkation. In order to avoid seeing him, for I +was not a little ashamed of myself for having failed to enjoy his +treat sufficiently, I determined to continue up the river, and, +at all prices, to find some other way back into the town in time +for dinner. As I went, I was thinking of Smethurst with +admiration; a look into that man’s mind was like a +retrospect over the smiling champaign of his past life, and very +different from the Sinai-gorges up which one looks for a +terrified moment into the dark souls of many good, many wise, and +many prudent men. I cannot be very grateful to such men for +their excellence, and wisdom, and prudence. I find myself +facing as stoutly as I can a hard, combative existence, full of +doubt, difficulties, defeats, disappointments, and dangers, quite +a hard enough life without their dark countenances at my elbow, +so that what I want is a happy-minded Smethurst placed here and +there at ugly corners of my life’s wayside, preaching his +gospel of quiet and contentment.</p> +<h3>ANOTHER</h3> +<p>I was shortly to meet with an evangelist of another +stamp. After I had forced my way through a +gentleman’s grounds, I came out on the high road, and sat +down to rest myself on a heap of stones at the top of a long +hill, with Cockermouth lying snugly at the bottom. An Irish +beggar-woman, with a beautiful little girl by her side, came up +to ask for alms, and gradually fell to telling me the little +tragedy of her life. Her own sister, she told me, had +seduced her husband from her after many years of married life, +and the pair had fled, leaving her destitute, with the little +girl upon her hands. She seemed quite hopeful and cheery, +and, though she was unaffectedly sorry for the loss of her +husband’s earnings, she made no pretence of despair at the +loss of his affection; some day she would meet the fugitives, and +the law would see her duly righted, and in the meantime the +smallest contribution was gratefully received. While she +was telling all this in the most matter-of-fact way, I had been +noticing the approach of a tall man, with a high white hat and +darkish clothes. He came up the hill at a rapid pace, and +joined our little group with a sort of half-salutation. +Turning at once to the woman, he asked her in a business-like way +whether she had anything to do, whether she were a Catholic or a +Protestant, whether she could read, and so forth; and then, after +a few kind words and some sweeties to the child, he despatched +the mother with some tracts about Biddy and the Priest, and the +Orangeman’s Bible. I was a little amused at his +abrupt manner, for he was still a young man, and had somewhat the +air of a navy officer; but he tackled me with great +solemnity. I could make fun of what he said, for I do not +think it was very wise; but the subject does not appear to me +just now in a jesting light, so I shall only say that he related +to me his own conversion, which had been effected (as is very +often the case) through the agency of a gig accident, and that, +after having examined me and diagnosed my case, he selected some +suitable tracts from his repertory, gave them to me, and, bidding +me God-speed, went on his way.</p> +<h3><!-- page 102--><a name="page102"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 102</span>LAST OF SMETHURST</h3> +<p>That evening I got into a third-class carriage on my way for +Keswick, and was followed almost immediately by a burly man in +brown clothes. This fellow-passenger was seemingly ill at +ease, and kept continually putting his head out of the window, +and asking the bystanders if they saw <i>him</i> coming. At +last, when the train was already in motion, there was a commotion +on the platform, and a way was left clear to our carriage +door. <i>He</i> had arrived. In the hurry I could +just see Smethurst, red and panting, thrust a couple of clay +pipes into my companion’s outstretched band, and hear him +crying his farewells after us as we slipped out of the station at +an ever accelerating pace. I said something about it being +a close run, and the broad man, already engaged in filling one of +the pipes, assented, and went on to tell me of his own stupidity +in forgetting a necessary, and of how his friend had +good-naturedly gone down town at the last moment to supply the +omission. I mentioned that I had seen Mr. Smethurst +already, and that he had been very polite to me; and we fell into +a discussion of the hatter’s merits that lasted some time +and left us quite good friends at its conclusion. The topic +was productive of goodwill. We exchanged tobacco and talked +about the season, and agreed at last that we should go to the +same hotel at Keswick and sup in company. As he had some +business in the town which would occupy him some hour or so, on +our arrival I was to improve the time and go down to the lake, +that I might see a glimpse of the promised wonders.</p> +<p>The night had fallen already when I reached the water-side, at +a place where many pleasure-boats are moored and ready for hire; +and as I went along a stony path, between wood and water, a +strong wind blew in gusts from the far end of the lake. The +sky was covered with flying scud; and, as this was ragged, there +was quite a wild chase of shadow and moon-glimpse over the +surface of the shuddering water. I had to hold my hat on, +and was growing rather tired, and inclined to go back in disgust, +when a little incident occurred to break the tedium. A +sudden and violent squall of wind sundered the low underwood, and +at the same time there came one of those brief discharges of +moonlight, which leaped into the opening thus made, and showed me +three girls in the prettiest flutter and disorder. It was +as though they had sprung out of the ground. I accosted +them very politely in my capacity of stranger, and requested to +be told the names of all manner of hills and woods and places +that I did not wish to know, and we stood together for a while +and had an amusing little talk. The wind, too, made himself +of the party, brought the colour into their faces, and gave them +enough to do to repress their drapery; and one of them, amid much +giggling, had to pirouette round and round upon her toes (as +girls do) when some specially strong gust had got the advantage +over her. They were just high enough up in the social order +not to be afraid to speak to a gentleman; and just low enough to +feel a little tremor, a nervous consciousness of +wrong-doing—of stolen waters, that gave a considerable zest +to our most innocent interview. They were as much +discomposed and fluttered, indeed, as if I had been a wicked +baron proposing to elope with the whole trio; but they showed no +inclination to go away, and I had managed to get them off hills +and waterfalls and on to more promising subjects, when a young +man was descried coming along the path from the direction of +Keswick. Now whether he was the young man of one of my +friends, or the brother of one of them, or indeed the brother of +all, I do not know; but they incontinently said that they must be +going, and went away up the path with friendly salutations. +I need not say that I found the lake and the moonlight rather +dull after their departure, and speedily found my way back to +potted herrings and whisky-and-water in the commercial room with +my late fellow-traveller. In the smoking-room there was a +tall dark man with a moustache, in an ulster coat, who had got +the best place and was monopolising most of the talk; and, as I +came in, a whisper came round to me from both sides, that this +was the manager of a London theatre. The presence of such a +man was a great event for Keswick, and I must own that the +manager showed himself equal to his position. He had a +large fat pocket-book, from which he produced poem after poem, +written on the backs of letters or hotel-bills; and nothing could +be more humorous than his recitation of these elegant extracts, +except perhaps the anecdotes with which he varied the +entertainment. Seeing, I suppose, something less +countrified in my appearance than in most of the company, he +singled me out to corroborate some statements as to the depravity +and vice of the aristocracy, and when he went on to describe some +gilded saloon experiences, I am proud to say that he honoured my +sagacity with one little covert wink before a second time +appealing to me for confirmation. The wink was not thrown +away; I went in up to the elbows with the manager, until I think +that some of the glory of that great man settled by reflection +upon me, and that I was as noticeably the second person in the +smoking-room as he was the first. For a young man, this was +a position of some distinction, I think you will admit. . . .</p> +<h2><!-- page 106--><a name="page106"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 106</span>III.<br /> +AN AUTUMN EFFECT<br /> +1875</h2> +<blockquote><p>‘Nous ne décrivons jamais mieux la +nature que lorsque nous nous efforçons d’exprimer +sobrement et simplement l’impression que nous en avons +reçue.’—<span class="smcap">M. André +Theuriet</span>, ‘L’Automne dans les Bois,’ +Revue des Deux Mondes, 1st Oct. 1874, p.562. <a +name="citation106"></a><a href="#footnote106" +class="citation">[106]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>A country rapidly passed through under favourable auspices may +leave upon us a unity of impression that would only be disturbed +and dissipated if we stayed longer. Clear vision goes with +the quick foot. Things fall for us into a sort of natural +perspective when we see them for a moment in going by; we +generalise boldly and simply, and are gone before the sun is +overcast, before the rain falls, before the season can steal like +a dial-hand from his figure, before the lights and shadows, +shifting round towards nightfall, can show us the other side of +things, and belie what they showed us in the morning. We +expose our mind to the landscape (as we would expose the prepared +plate in the camera) for the moment only during which the effect +endures; and we are away before the effect can change. +Hence we shall have in our memories a long scroll of continuous +wayside pictures, all imbued already with the prevailing +sentiment of the season, the weather and the landscape, and +certain to be unified more and more, as time goes on, by the +unconscious processes of thought. So that we who have only +looked at a country over our shoulder, so to speak, as we went +by, will have a conception of it far more memorable and +articulate than a man who has lived there all his life from a +child upwards, and had his impression of to-day modified by that +of to-morrow, and belied by that of the day after, till at length +the stable characteristics of the country are all blotted out +from him behind the confusion of variable effect.</p> +<p>I begin my little pilgrimage in the most enviable of all +humours: that in which a person, with a sufficiency of money and +a knapsack, turns his back on a town and walks forward into a +country of which he knows only by the vague report of +others. Such an one has not surrendered his will and +contracted for the next hundred miles, like a man on a +railway. He may change his mind at every finger-post, and, +where ways meet, follow vague preferences freely and go the low +road or the high, choose the shadow or the sun-shine, suffer +himself to be tempted by the lane that turns immediately into the +woods, or the broad road that lies open before him into the +distance, and shows him the far-off spires of some city, or a +range of mountain-tops, or a rim of sea, perhaps, along a low +horizon. In short, he may gratify his every whim and fancy, +without a pang of reproving conscience, or the least jostle to +his self-respect. It is true, however, that most men do not +possess the faculty of free action, the priceless gift of being +able to live for the moment only; and as they begin to go forward +on their journey, they will find that they have made for +themselves new fetters. Slight projects they may have +entertained for a moment, half in jest, become iron laws to them, +they know not why. They will be led by the nose by these +vague reports of which I spoke above; and the mere fact that +their informant mentioned one village and not another will compel +their footsteps with inexplicable power. And yet a little +while, yet a few days of this fictitious liberty, and they will +begin to hear imperious voices calling on them to return; and +some passion, some duty, some worthy or unworthy expectation, +will set its hand upon their shoulder and lead them back into the +old paths. Once and again we have all made the +experiment. We know the end of it right well. And yet +if we make it for the hundredth time to-morrow: it will have the +same charm as ever; our heart will beat and our eyes will be +bright, as we leave the town behind us, and we shall feel once +again (as we have felt so often before) that we are cutting +ourselves loose for ever from our whole past life, with all its +sins and follies and circumscriptions, and go forward as a new +creature into a new world.</p> +<p>It was well, perhaps, that I had this first enthusiasm to +encourage me up the long hill above High Wycombe; for the day was +a bad day for walking at best, and now began to draw towards +afternoon, dull, heavy, and lifeless. A pall of grey cloud +covered the sky, and its colour reacted on the colour of the +landscape. Near at hand, indeed, the hedgerow trees were +still fairly green, shot through with bright autumnal yellows, +bright as sunshine. But a little way off, the solid bricks +of woodland that lay squarely on slope and hill-top were not +green, but russet and grey, and ever less russet and more grey as +they drew off into the distance. As they drew off into the +distance, also, the woods seemed to mass themselves together, and +lie thin and straight, like clouds, upon the limit of one’s +view. Not that this massing was complete, or gave the idea +of any extent of forest, for every here and there the trees would +break up and go down into a valley in open order, or stand in +long Indian file along the horizon, tree after tree relieved, +foolishly enough, against the sky. I say foolishly enough, +although I have seen the effect employed cleverly in art, and +such long line of single trees thrown out against the customary +sunset of a Japanese picture with a certain fantastic effect that +was not to be despised; but this was over water and level land, +where it did not jar, as here, with the soft contour of hills and +valleys. The whole scene had an indefinable look of being +painted, the colour was so abstract and correct, and there was +something so sketchy and merely impressional about these distant +single trees on the horizon that one was forced to think of it +all as of a clever French landscape. For it is rather in +nature that we see resemblance to art, than in art to nature; and +we say a hundred times, ‘How like a picture!’ for +once that we say, ‘How like the truth!’ The +forms in which we learn to think of landscape are forms that we +have got from painted canvas. Any man can see and +understand a picture; it is reserved for the few to separate +anything out of the confusion of nature, and see that distinctly +and with intelligence.</p> +<p>The sun came out before I had been long on my way; and as I +had got by that time to the top of the ascent, and was now +treading a labyrinth of confined by-roads, my whole view +brightened considerably in colour, for it was the distance only +that was grey and cold, and the distance I could see no +longer. Overhead there was a wonderful carolling of larks +which seemed to follow me as I went. Indeed, during all the +time I was in that country the larks did not desert me. The +air was alive with them from High Wycombe to Tring; and as, day +after day, their ‘shrill delight’ fell upon me out of +the vacant sky, they began to take such a prominence over other +conditions, and form so integral a part of my conception of the +country, that I could have baptized it ‘The Country of +Larks.’ This, of course, might just as well have been +in early spring; but everything else was deeply imbued with the +sentiment of the later year. There was no stir of insects +in the grass. The sunshine was more golden, and gave less +heat than summer sunshine; and the shadows under the hedge were +somewhat blue and misty. It was only in autumn that you +could have seen the mingled green and yellow of the elm foliage, +and the fallen leaves that lay about the road, and covered the +surface of wayside pools so thickly that the sun was reflected +only here and there from little joints and pinholes in that brown +coat of proof; or that your ear would have been troubled, as you +went forward, by the occasional report of fowling-pieces from all +directions and all degrees of distance.</p> +<p>For a long time this dropping fire was the one sign of human +activity that came to disturb me as I walked. The lanes +were profoundly still. They would have been sad but for the +sunshine and the singing of the larks. And as it was, there +came over me at times a feeling of isolation that was not +disagreeable, and yet was enough to make me quicken my steps +eagerly when I saw some one before me on the road. This +fellow-voyager proved to be no less a person than the parish +constable. It had occurred to me that in a district which +was so little populous and so well wooded, a criminal of any +intelligence might play hide-and-seek with the authorities for +months; and this idea was strengthened by the aspect of the +portly constable as he walked by my side with deliberate dignity +and turned-out toes. But a few minutes’ converse set +my heart at rest. These rural criminals are very tame +birds, it appeared. If my informant did not immediately lay +his hand on an offender, he was content to wait; some evening +after nightfall there would come a tap at his door, and the +outlaw, weary of outlawry, would give himself quietly up to +undergo sentence, and resume his position in the life of the +country-side. Married men caused him no disquietude +whatever; he had them fast by the foot. Sooner or later +they would come back to see their wives, a peeping neighbour +would pass the word, and my portly constable would walk quietly +over and take the bird sitting. And if there were a few who +had no particular ties in the neighbourhood, and preferred to +shift into another county when they fell into trouble, their +departure moved the placid constable in no degree. He was +of Dogberry’s opinion; and if a man would not stand in the +Prince’s name, he took no note of him, but let him go, and +thanked God he was rid of a knave. And surely the crime and +the law were in admirable keeping; rustic constable was well met +with rustic offender. The officer sitting at home over a +bit of fire until the criminal came to visit him, and the +criminal coming—it was a fair match. One felt as if +this must have been the order in that delightful seaboard Bohemia +where Florizel and Perdita courted in such sweet accents, and the +Puritan sang Psalms to hornpipes, and the four-and-twenty +shearers danced with nosegays in their bosoms, and chanted their +three songs apiece at the old shepherd’s festival; and one +could not help picturing to oneself what havoc among good peoples +purses, and tribulation for benignant constables, might be worked +here by the arrival, over stile and footpath, of a new +Autolycus.</p> +<p>Bidding good-morning to my fellow-traveller, I left the road +and struck across country. It was rather a revelation to +pass from between the hedgerows and find quite a bustle on the +other side, a great coming and going of school-children upon +by-paths, and, in every second field, lusty horses and stout +country-folk a-ploughing. The way I followed took me +through many fields thus occupied, and through many strips of +plantation, and then over a little space of smooth turf, very +pleasant to the feet, set with tall fir-trees and clamorous with +rooks making ready for the winter, and so back again into the +quiet road. I was now not far from the end of my +day’s journey. A few hundred yards farther, and, +passing through a gap in the hedge, I began to go down hill +through a pretty extensive tract of young beeches. I was +soon in shadow myself, but the afternoon sun still coloured the +upmost boughs of the wood, and made a fire over my head in the +autumnal foliage. A little faint vapour lay among the slim +tree-stems in the bottom of the hollow; and from farther up I +heard from time to time an outburst of gross laughter, as though +clowns were making merry in the bush. There was something +about the atmosphere that brought all sights and sounds home to +one with a singular purity, so that I felt as if my senses had +been washed with water. After I had crossed the little zone +of mist, the path began to remount the hill; and just as I, +mounting along with it, had got back again, from the head +downwards, into the thin golden sunshine, I saw in front of me a +donkey tied to a tree. Now, I have a certain liking for +donkeys, principally, I believe, because of the delightful things +that Sterne has written of them. But this was not after the +pattern of the ass at Lyons. He was of a white colour, that +seemed to fit him rather for rare festal occasions than for +constant drudgery. Besides, he was very small, and of the +daintiest portions you can imagine in a donkey. And so, +sure enough, you had only to look at him to see he had never +worked. There was something too roguish and wanton in his +face, a look too like that of a schoolboy or a street Arab, to +have survived much cudgelling. It was plain that these feet +had kicked off sportive children oftener than they had plodded +with a freight through miry lanes. He was altogether a +fine-weather, holiday sort of donkey; and though he was just then +somewhat solemnised and rueful, he still gave proof of the levity +of his disposition by impudently wagging his ears at me as I drew +near. I say he was somewhat solemnised just then; for, with +the admirable instinct of all men and animals under restraint, he +had so wound and wound the halter about the tree that he could go +neither back nor forwards, nor so much as put down his head to +browse. There he stood, poor rogue, part puzzled, part +angry, part, I believe, amused. He had not given up hope, +and dully revolved the problem in his head, giving ever and again +another jerk at the few inches of free rope that still remained +unwound. A humorous sort of sympathy for the creature took +hold upon me. I went up, and, not without some trouble on +my part, and much distrust and resistance on the part of Neddy, +got him forced backwards until the whole length of the halter was +set loose, and he was once more as free a donkey as I dared to +make him. I was pleased (as people are) with this friendly +action to a fellow-creature in tribulation, and glanced back over +my shoulder to see how he was profiting by his freedom. The +brute was looking after me; and no sooner did he catch my eye +than he put up his long white face into the air, pulled an +impudent mouth at me, and began to bray derisively. If ever +any one person made a grimace at another, that donkey made a +grimace at me. The hardened ingratitude of his behaviour, +and the impertinence that inspired his whole face as he curled up +his lip, and showed his teeth, and began to bray, so tickled me, +and was so much in keeping with what I had imagined to myself +about his character, that I could not find it in my heart to be +angry, and burst into a peal of hearty laughter. This +seemed to strike the ass as a repartee, so he brayed at me again +by way of rejoinder; and we went on for a while, braying and +laughing, until I began to grow aweary of it, and, shouting a +derisive farewell, turned to pursue my way. In so +doing—it was like going suddenly into cold water—I +found myself face to face with a prim little old maid. She +was all in a flutter, the poor old dear! She had concluded +beyond question that this must be a lunatic who stood laughing +aloud at a white donkey in the placid beech-woods. I was +sure, by her face, that she had already recommended her spirit +most religiously to Heaven, and prepared herself for the +worst. And so, to reassure her, I uncovered and besought +her, after a very staid fashion, to put me on my way to Great +Missenden. Her voice trembled a little, to be sure, but I +think her mind was set at rest; and she told me, very explicitly, +to follow the path until I came to the end of the wood, and then +I should see the village below me in the bottom of the +valley. And, with mutual courtesies, the little old maid +and I went on our respective ways.</p> +<p>Nor had she misled me. Great Missenden was close at +hand, as she had said, in the trough of a gentle valley, with +many great elms about it. The smoke from its chimneys went +up pleasantly in the afternoon sunshine. The sleepy hum of +a threshing-machine filled the neighbouring fields and hung about +the quaint street corners. A little above, the church sits +well back on its haunches against the hillside—an attitude +for a church, you know, that makes it look as if it could be ever +so much higher if it liked; and the trees grew about it thickly, +so as to make a density of shade in the churchyard. A very +quiet place it looks; and yet I saw many boards and posters about +threatening dire punishment against those who broke the church +windows or defaced the precinct, and offering rewards for the +apprehension of those who had done the like already. It was +fair day in Great Missenden. There were three stalls set +up, <i>sub jove</i>, for the sale of pastry and cheap toys; and a +great number of holiday children thronged about the stalls and +noisily invaded every corner of the straggling village. +They came round me by coveys, blowing simultaneously upon penny +trumpets as though they imagined I should fall to pieces like the +battlements of Jericho. I noticed one among them who could +make a wheel of himself like a London boy, and seemingly enjoyed +a grave pre-eminence upon the strength of the +accomplishment. By and by, however, the trumpets began to +weary me, and I went indoors, leaving the fair, I fancy, at its +height.</p> +<p>Night had fallen before I ventured forth again. It was +pitch-dark in the village street, and the darkness seemed only +the greater for a light here and there in an uncurtained window +or from an open door. Into one such window I was rude +enough to peep, and saw within a charming <i>genre</i> +picture. In a room, all white wainscot and crimson +wall-paper, a perfect gem of colour after the black, empty +darkness in which I had been groping, a pretty girl was telling a +story, as well as I could make out, to an attentive child upon +her knee, while an old woman sat placidly dozing over the +fire. You may be sure I was not behindhand with a story for +myself—a good old story after the manner of G. P. R. James +and the village melodramas, with a wicked squire, and poachers, +and an attorney, and a virtuous young man with a genius for +mechanics, who should love, and protect, and ultimately marry the +girl in the crimson room. Baudelaire has a few dainty +sentences on the fancies that we are inspired with when we look +through a window into other people’s lives; and I think +Dickens has somewhere enlarged on the same text. The +subject, at least, is one that I am seldom weary of +entertaining. I remember, night after night, at Brussels, +watching a good family sup together, make merry, and retire to +rest; and night after night I waited to see the candles lit, and +the salad made, and the last salutations dutifully exchanged, +without any abatement of interest. Night after night I +found the scene rivet my attention and keep me awake in bed with +all manner of quaint imaginations. Much of the pleasure of +the <i>Arabian Nights</i> hinges upon this Asmodean interest; and +we are not weary of lifting other people’s roofs, and going +about behind the scenes of life with the Caliph and the +serviceable Giaffar. It is a salutary exercise, besides; it +is salutary to get out of ourselves and see people living +together in perfect unconsciousness of our existence, as they +will live when we are gone. If to-morrow the blow falls, +and the worst of our ill fears is realised, the girl will none +the less tell stories to the child on her lap in the cottage at +Great Missenden, nor the good Belgians light their candle, and +mix their salad, and go orderly to bed.</p> +<p>The next morning was sunny overhead and damp underfoot, with a +thrill in the air like a reminiscence of frost. I went up +into the sloping garden behind the inn and smoked a pipe +pleasantly enough, to the tune of my landlady’s +lamentations over sundry cabbages and cauliflowers that had been +spoiled by caterpillars. She had been so much pleased in +the summer-time, she said, to see the garden all hovered over by +white butterflies. And now, look at the end of it! +She could nowise reconcile this with her moral sense. And, +indeed, unless these butterflies are created with a side-look to +the composition of improving apologues, it is not altogether +easy, even for people who have read Hegel and Dr. M’Cosh, +to decide intelligibly upon the issue raised. Then I fell +into a long and abstruse calculation with my landlord; having for +object to compare the distance driven by him during eight +years’ service on the box of the Wendover coach with the +girth of the round world itself. We tackled the question +most conscientiously, made all necessary allowance for Sundays +and leap-years, and were just coming to a triumphant conclusion +of our labours when we were stayed by a small lacuna in my +information. I did not know the circumference of the +earth. The landlord knew it, to be sure—plainly he +had made the same calculation twice and once before,—but he +wanted confidence in his own figures, and from the moment I +showed myself so poor a second seemed to lose all interest in the +result.</p> +<p>Wendover (which was my next stage) lies in the same valley +with Great Missenden, but at the foot of it, where the hills +trend off on either hand like a coast-line, and a great +hemisphere of plain lies, like a sea, before one, I went up a +chalky road, until I had a good outlook over the place. The +vale, as it opened out into the plain, was shallow, and a little +bare, perhaps, but full of graceful convolutions. From the +level to which I have now attained the fields were exposed before +me like a map, and I could see all that bustle of autumn +field-work which had been hid from me yesterday behind the +hedgerows, or shown to me only for a moment as I followed the +footpath. Wendover lay well down in the midst, with +mountains of foliage about it. The great plain stretched +away to the northward, variegated near at hand with the quaint +pattern of the fields, but growing ever more and more indistinct, +until it became a mere hurly-burly of trees and bright crescents +of river, and snatches of slanting road, and finally melted into +the ambiguous cloud-land over the horizon. The sky was an +opal-grey, touched here and there with blue, and with certain +faint russets that looked as if they were reflections of the +colour of the autumnal woods below. I could hear the +ploughmen shouting to their horses, the uninterrupted carol of +larks innumerable overhead, and, from a field where the shepherd +was marshalling his flock, a sweet tumultuous tinkle of +sheep-bells. All these noises came to me very thin and +distinct in the clear air. There was a wonderful sentiment +of distance and atmosphere about the day and the place.</p> +<p>I mounted the hill yet farther by a rough staircase of chalky +footholds cut in the turf. The hills about Wendover and, as +far as I could see, all the hills in Buckinghamshire, wear a sort +of hood of beech plantation; but in this particular case the hood +had been suffered to extend itself into something more like a +cloak, and hung down about the shoulders of the hill in wide +folds, instead of lying flatly along the summit. The trees +grew so close, and their boughs were so matted together, that the +whole wood looked as dense as a bush of heather. The +prevailing colour was a dull, smouldering red, touched here and +there with vivid yellow. But the autumn had scarce advanced +beyond the outworks; it was still almost summer in the heart of +the wood; and as soon as I had scrambled through the hedge, I +found myself in a dim green forest atmosphere under eaves of +virgin foliage. In places where the wood had itself for a +background and the trees were massed together thickly, the colour +became intensified and almost gem-like: a perfect fire green, +that seemed none the less green for a few specks of autumn +gold. None of the trees were of any considerable age or +stature; but they grew well together, I have said; and as the +road turned and wound among them, they fell into pleasant +groupings and broke the light up pleasantly. Sometimes +there would be a colonnade of slim, straight tree-stems with the +light running down them as down the shafts of pillars, that +looked as if it ought to lead to something, and led only to a +corner of sombre and intricate jungle. Sometimes a spray of +delicate foliage would be thrown out flat, the light lying flatly +along the top of it, so that against a dark background it seemed +almost luminous. There was a great bush over the thicket +(for, indeed, it was more of a thicket than a wood); and the +vague rumours that went among the tree-tops, and the occasional +rustling of big birds or hares among the undergrowth, had in them +a note of almost treacherous stealthiness, that put the +imagination on its guard and made me walk warily on the russet +carpeting of last year’s leaves. The spirit of the +place seemed to be all attention; the wood listened as I went, +and held its breath to number my footfalls. One could not +help feeling that there ought to be some reason for this +stillness; whether, as the bright old legend goes, Pan lay +somewhere near in siesta, or whether, perhaps, the heaven was +meditating rain, and the first drops would soon come pattering +through the leaves. It was not unpleasant, in such an +humour, to catch sight, ever and anon, of large spaces of the +open plain. This happened only where the path lay much upon +the slope, and there was a flaw in the solid leafy thatch of the +wood at some distance below the level at which I chanced myself +to be walking; then, indeed, little scraps of foreshortened +distance, miniature fields, and Lilliputian houses and hedgerow +trees would appear for a moment in the aperture, and grow larger +and smaller, and change and melt one into another, as I continued +to go forward, and so shift my point of view.</p> +<p>For ten minutes, perhaps, I had heard from somewhere before me +in the wood a strange, continuous noise, as of clucking, cooing, +and gobbling, now and again interrupted by a harsh scream. +As I advanced towards this noise, it began to grow lighter about +me, and I caught sight, through the trees, of sundry gables and +enclosure walls, and something like the tops of a rickyard. +And sure enough, a rickyard it proved to be, and a neat little +farm-steading, with the beech-woods growing almost to the door of +it. Just before me, however, as I came upon the path, the +trees drew back and let in a wide flood of daylight on to a +circular lawn. It was here that the noises had their +origin. More than a score of peacocks (there are altogether +thirty at the farm), a proper contingent of peahens, and a great +multitude that I could not number of more ordinary barn-door +fowls, were all feeding together on this little open lawn among +the beeches. They fed in a dense crowd, which swayed to and +fro, and came hither and thither as by a sort of tide, and of +which the surface was agitated like the surface of a sea as each +bird guzzled his head along the ground after the scattered +corn. The clucking, cooing noise that had led me thither +was formed by the blending together of countless expressions of +individual contentment into one collective expression of +contentment, or general grace during meat. Every now and +again a big peacock would separate himself from the mob and take +a stately turn or two about the lawn, or perhaps mount for a +moment upon the rail, and there shrilly publish to the world his +satisfaction with himself and what he had to eat. It +happened, for my sins, that none of these admirable birds had +anything beyond the merest rudiment of a tail. Tails, it +seemed, were out of season just then. But they had their +necks for all that; and by their necks alone they do as much +surpass all the other birds of our grey climate as they fall in +quality of song below the blackbird or the lark. Surely the +peacock, with its incomparable parade of glorious colour and the +scannel voice of it issuing forth, as in mockery, from its +painted throat, must, like my landlady’s butterflies at +Great Missenden, have been invented by some skilful fabulist for +the consolation and support of homely virtue: or rather, perhaps, +by a fabulist not quite so skilful, who made points for the +moment without having a studious enough eye to the complete +effect; for I thought these melting greens and blues so beautiful +that afternoon, that I would have given them my vote just then +before the sweetest pipe in all the spring woods. For +indeed there is no piece of colour of the same extent in nature, +that will so flatter and satisfy the lust of a man’s eyes; +and to come upon so many of them, after these acres of +stone-coloured heavens and russet woods, and grey-brown +ploughlands and white roads, was like going three whole +days’ journey to the southward, or a month back into the +summer.</p> +<p>I was sorry to leave <i>Peacock Farm</i>—for so the +place is called, after the name of its splendid +pensioners—and go forwards again in the quiet woods. +It began to grow both damp and dusk under the beeches; and as the +day declined the colour faded out of the foliage; and shadow, +without form and void, took the place of all the fine tracery of +leaves and delicate gradations of living green that had before +accompanied my walk. I had been sorry to leave <i>Peacock +Farm</i>, but I was not sorry to find myself once more in the +open road, under a pale and somewhat troubled-looking evening +sky, and put my best foot foremost for the inn at Wendover.</p> +<p>Wendover, in itself, is a straggling, purposeless sort of +place. Everybody seems to have had his own opinion as to +how the street should go; or rather, every now and then a man +seems to have arisen with a new idea on the subject, and led away +a little sect of neighbours to join in his heresy. It would +have somewhat the look of an abortive watering-place, such as we +may now see them here and there along the coast, but for the age +of the houses, the comely quiet design of some of them, and the +look of long habitation, of a life that is settled and rooted, +and makes it worth while to train flowers about the windows, and +otherwise shape the dwelling to the humour of the +inhabitant. The church, which might perhaps have served as +rallying-point for these loose houses, and pulled the township +into something like intelligible unity, stands some distance off +among great trees; but the inn (to take the public buildings in +order of importance) is in what I understand to be the principal +street: a pleasant old house, with bay-windows, and three peaked +gables, and many swallows’ nests plastered about the +eaves.</p> +<p>The interior of the inn was answerable to the outside: indeed, +I never saw any room much more to be admired than the low +wainscoted parlour in which I spent the remainder of the +evening. It was a short oblong in shape, save that the +fireplace was built across one of the angles so as to cut it +partially off, and the opposite angle was similarly truncated by +a corner cupboard. The wainscot was white, and there was a +Turkey carpet on the floor, so old that it might have been +imported by Walter Shandy before he retired, worn almost through +in some places, but in others making a good show of blues and +oranges, none the less harmonious for being somewhat faded. +The corner cupboard was agreeable in design; and there were just +the right things upon the shelves—decanters and tumblers, +and blue plates, and one red rose in a glass of water. The +furniture was old-fashioned and stiff. Everything was in +keeping, down to the ponderous leaden inkstand on the round +table. And you may fancy how pleasant it looked, all +flushed and flickered over by the light of a brisk companionable +fire, and seen, in a strange, tilted sort of perspective, in the +three compartments of the old mirror above the chimney. As +I sat reading in the great armchair, I kept looking round with +the tail of my eye at the quaint, bright picture that was about +me, and could not help some pleasure and a certain childish pride +in forming part of it. The book I read was about Italy in +the early Renaissance, the pageantries and the light loves of +princes, the passion of men for learning, and poetry, and art; +but it was written, by good luck, after a solid, prosaic fashion, +that suited the room infinitely more nearly than the matter; and +the result was that I thought less, perhaps, of Lippo Lippi, or +Lorenzo, or Politian, than of the good Englishman who had written +in that volume what he knew of them, and taken so much pleasure +in his solemn polysyllables.</p> +<p>I was not left without society. My landlord had a very +pretty little daughter, whom we shall call Lizzie. If I had +made any notes at the time, I might be able to tell you something +definite of her appearance. But faces have a trick of +growing more and more spiritualised and abstract in the memory, +until nothing remains of them but a look, a haunting expression; +just that secret quality in a face that is apt to slip out +somehow under the cunningest painter’s touch, and leave the +portrait dead for the lack of it. And if it is hard to +catch with the finest of camel’s-hair pencils, you may +think how hopeless it must be to pursue after it with clumsy +words. If I say, for instance, that this look, which I +remember as Lizzie, was something wistful that seemed partly to +come of slyness and in part of simplicity, and that I am inclined +to imagine it had something to do with the daintiest suspicion of +a cast in one of her large eyes, I shall have said all that I +can, and the reader will not be much advanced towards +comprehension. I had struck up an acquaintance with this +little damsel in the morning, and professed much interest in her +dolls, and an impatient desire to see the large one which was +kept locked away for great occasions. And so I had not been +very long in the parlour before the door opened, and in came Miss +Lizzie with two dolls tucked clumsily under her arm. She +was followed by her brother John, a year or so younger than +herself, not simply to play propriety at our interview, but to +show his own two whips in emulation of his sister’s +dolls. I did my best to make myself agreeable to my +visitors, showing much admiration for the dolls and dolls’ +dresses, and, with a very serious demeanour, asking many +questions about their age and character. I do not think +that Lizzie distrusted my sincerity, but it was evident that she +was both bewildered and a little contemptuous. Although she +was ready herself to treat her dolls as if they were alive, she +seemed to think rather poorly of any grown person who could fall +heartily into the spirit of the fiction. Sometimes she +would look at me with gravity and a sort of disquietude, as +though she really feared I must be out of my wits. +Sometimes, as when I inquired too particularly into the question +of their names, she laughed at me so long and heartily that I +began to feel almost embarrassed. But when, in an evil +moment, I asked to be allowed to kiss one of them, she could keep +herself no longer to herself. Clambering down from the +chair on which she sat perched to show me, Cornelia-like, her +jewels, she ran straight out of the room and into the +bar—it was just across the passage,—and I could hear +her telling her mother in loud tones, but apparently more in +sorrow than in merriment, that <i>the gentleman in the parlour +wanted to kiss Dolly</i>. I fancy she was determined to +save me from this humiliating action, even in spite of myself, +for she never gave me the desired permission. She reminded +me of an old dog I once knew, who would never suffer the master +of the house to dance, out of an exaggerated sense of the dignity +of that master’s place and carriage.</p> +<p>After the young people were gone there was but one more +incident ere I went to bed. I heard a party of children go +up and down the dark street for a while, singing together +sweetly. And the mystery of this little incident was so +pleasant to me that I purposely refrained from asking who they +were, and wherefore they went singing at so late an hour. +One can rarely be in a pleasant place without meeting with some +pleasant accident. I have a conviction that these children +would not have gone singing before the inn unless the inn-parlour +had been the delightful place it was. At least, if I had +been in the customary public room of the modern hotel, with all +its disproportions and discomforts, my ears would have been dull, +and there would have been some ugly temper or other uppermost in +my spirit, and so they would have wasted their songs upon an +unworthy hearer.</p> +<p>Next morning I went along to visit the church. It is a +long-backed red-and-white building, very much restored, and +stands in a pleasant graveyard among those great trees of which I +have spoken already. The sky was drowned in a mist. +Now and again pulses of cold wind went about the enclosure, and +set the branches busy overhead, and the dead leaves scurrying +into the angles of the church buttresses. Now and again, +also, I could hear the dull sudden fall of a chestnut among the +grass—the dog would bark before the rectory door—or +there would come a clinking of pails from the stable-yard +behind. But in spite of these occasional +interruptions—in spite, also, of the continuous autumn +twittering that filled the trees—the chief impression +somehow was one as of utter silence, insomuch that the little +greenish bell that peeped out of a window in the tower disquieted +me with a sense of some possible and more inharmonious +disturbance. The grass was wet, as if with a hoar frost +that had just been melted. I do not know that ever I saw a +morning more autumnal. As I went to and fro among the +graves, I saw some flowers set reverently before a recently +erected tomb, and drawing near, was almost startled to find they +lay on the grave a man seventy-two years old when he died. +We are accustomed to strew flowers only over the young, where +love has been cut short untimely, and great possibilities have +been restrained by death. We strew them there in token, +that these possibilities, in some deeper sense, shall yet be +realised, and the touch of our dead loves remain with us and +guide us to the end. And yet there was more significance, +perhaps, and perhaps a greater consolation, in this little +nosegay on the grave of one who had died old. We are apt to +make so much of the tragedy of death, and think so little of the +enduring tragedy of some men’s lives, that we see more to +lament for in a life cut off in the midst of usefulness and love, +than in one that miserably survives all love and usefulness, and +goes about the world the phantom of itself, without hope, or joy, +or any consolation. These flowers seemed not so much the +token of love that survived death, as of something yet more +beautiful—of love that had lived a man’s life out to +an end with him, and been faithful and companionable, and not +weary of loving, throughout all these years.</p> +<p>The morning cleared a little, and the sky was once more the +old stone-coloured vault over the sallow meadows and the russet +woods, as I set forth on a dog-cart from Wendover to Tring. +The road lay for a good distance along the side of the hills, +with the great plain below on one hand, and the beech-woods above +on the other. The fields were busy with people ploughing +and sowing; every here and there a jug of ale stood in the angle +of the hedge, and I could see many a team wait smoking in the +furrow as ploughman or sower stepped aside for a moment to take a +draught. Over all the brown ploughlands, and under all the +leafless hedgerows, there was a stout piece of labour abroad, +and, as it were, a spirit of picnic. The horses smoked and +the men laboured and shouted and drank in the sharp autumn +morning; so that one had a strong effect of large, open-air +existence. The fellow who drove me was something of a +humourist; and his conversation was all in praise of an +agricultural labourer’s way of life. It was he who +called my attention to these jugs of ale by the hedgerow; he +could not sufficiently express the liberality of these +men’s wages; he told me how sharp an appetite was given by +breaking up the earth in the morning air, whether with plough or +spade, and cordially admired this provision of nature. He +sang <i>O fortunatos agricolas</i>! indeed, in every possible +key, and with many cunning inflections, till I began to wonder +what was the use of such people as Mr. Arch, and to sing the same +air myself in a more diffident manner.</p> +<p>Tring was reached, and then Tring railway-station; for the two +are not very near, the good people of Tring having held the +railway, of old days, in extreme apprehension, lest some day it +should break loose in the town and work mischief. I had a +last walk, among russet beeches as usual, and the air filled, as +usual, with the carolling of larks; I heard shots fired in the +distance, and saw, as a new sign of the fulfilled autumn, two +horsemen exercising a pack of fox-hounds. And then the +train came and carried me back to London.</p> +<h2><!-- page 131--><a name="page131"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 131</span>IV.<br /> +A WINTER’S WALK IN CARRICK AND GALLOWAY<br /> +A FRAGMENT<br /> +1876</h2> +<p>At the famous bridge of Doon, Kyle, the central district of +the shire of Ayr, marches with Carrick, the most southerly. +On the Carrick side of the river rises a hill of somewhat gentle +conformation, cleft with shallow dells, and sown here and there +with farms and tufts of wood. Inland, it loses itself, +joining, I suppose, the great herd of similar hills that occupies +the centre of the Lowlands. Towards the sea it swells out +the coast-line into a protuberance, like a bay-window in a plan, +and is fortified against the surf behind bold crags. This +hill is known as the Brown Hill of Carrick, or, more shortly, +Brown Carrick.</p> +<p>It had snowed overnight. The fields were all sheeted up; +they were tucked in among the snow, and their shape was modelled +through the pliant counterpane, like children tucked in by a fond +mother. The wind had made ripples and folds upon the +surface, like what the sea, in quiet weather, leaves upon the +sand. There was a frosty stifle in the air. An +effusion of coppery light on the summit of Brown Carrick showed +where the sun was trying to look through; but along the horizon +clouds of cold fog had settled down, so that there was no +distinction of sky and sea. Over the white shoulders of the +headlands, or in the opening of bays, there was nothing but a +great vacancy and blackness; and the road as it drew near the +edge of the cliff seemed to skirt the shores of creation and void +space.</p> +<p>The snow crunched under foot, and at farms all the dogs broke +out barking as they smelt a passer-by upon the road. I met +a fine old fellow, who might have sat as the father in ‘The +Cottar’s Saturday Night,’ and who swore most +heathenishly at a cow he was driving. And a little after I +scraped acquaintance with a poor body tramping out to gather +cockles. His face was wrinkled by exposure; it was broken +up into flakes and channels, like mud beginning to dry, and +weathered in two colours, an incongruous pink and grey. He +had a faint air of being surprised—which, God knows, he +might well be—that life had gone so ill with him. The +shape of his trousers was in itself a jest, so strangely were +they bagged and ravelled about his knees; and his coat was all +bedaubed with clay as tough he had lain in a rain-dub during the +New Year’s festivity. I will own I was not sorry to +think he had had a merry New Year, and been young again for an +evening; but I was sorry to see the mark still there. One +could not expect such an old gentleman to be much of a dandy or a +great student of respectability in dress; but there might have +been a wife at home, who had brushed out similar stains after +fifty New Years, now become old, or a round-armed daughter, who +would wish to have him neat, were it only out of self-respect and +for the ploughman sweetheart when he looks round at night. +Plainly, there was nothing of this in his life, and years and +loneliness hung heavily on his old arms. He was +seventy-six, he told me; and nobody would give a day’s work +to a man that age: they would think he couldn’t do +it. ‘And, ’deed,’ he went on, with a sad +little chuckle, ‘’deed, I doubt if I +could.’ He said goodbye to me at a footpath, and +crippled wearily off to his work. It will make your heart +ache if you think of his old fingers groping in the snow.</p> +<p>He told me I was to turn down beside the school-house for +Dunure. And so, when I found a lone house among the snow, +and heard a babble of childish voices from within, I struck off +into a steep road leading downwards to the sea. Dunure lies +close under the steep hill: a haven among the rocks, a breakwater +in consummate disrepair, much apparatus for drying nets, and a +score or so of fishers’ houses. Hard by, a few shards +of ruined castle overhang the sea, a few vaults, and one tall +gable honeycombed with windows. The snow lay on the beach +to the tidemark. It was daubed on to the sills of the ruin: +it roosted in the crannies of the rock like white sea-birds; even +on outlying reefs there would be a little cock of snow, like a +toy lighthouse. Everything was grey and white in a cold and +dolorous sort of shepherd’s plaid. In the profound +silence, broken only by the noise of oars at sea, a horn was +sounded twice; and I saw the postman, girt with two bags, pause a +moment at the end of the clachan for letters.</p> +<p>It is, perhaps, characteristic of Dunure that none were +brought him.</p> +<p>The people at the public-house did not seem well pleased to +see me, and though I would fain have stayed by the kitchen fire, +sent me ‘ben the hoose’ into the guest-room. +This guest-room at Dunure was painted in quite æsthetic +fashion. There are rooms in the same taste not a hundred +miles from London, where persons of an extreme sensibility meet +together without embarrassment. It was all in a fine dull +bottle-green and black; a grave harmonious piece of colouring, +with nothing, so far as coarser folk can judge, to hurt the +better feelings of the most exquisite purist. A cherry-red +half window-blind kept up an imaginary warmth in the cold room, +and threw quite a glow on the floor. Twelve cockle-shells +and a half-penny china figure were ranged solemnly along the +mantel-shelf. Even the spittoon was an original note, and +instead of sawdust contained sea-shells. And as for the +hearthrug, it would merit an article to itself, and a coloured +diagram to help the text. It was patchwork, but the +patchwork of the poor; no glowing shreds of old brocade and +Chinese silk, shaken together in the kaleidoscope of some +tasteful housewife’s fancy; but a work of art in its own +way, and plainly a labour of love. The patches came +exclusively from people’s raiment. There was no +colour more brilliant than a heather mixture; ‘My +Johnny’s grey breeks,’ well polished over the oar on +the boat’s thwart, entered largely into its +composition. And the spoils of an old black cloth coat, +that had been many a Sunday to church, added something (save the +mark!) of preciousness to the material.</p> +<p>While I was at luncheon four carters came +in—long-limbed, muscular Ayrshire Scots, with lean, +intelligent faces. Four quarts of stout were ordered; they +kept filling the tumbler with the other hand as they drank; and +in less time than it takes me to write these words the four +quarts were finished—another round was proposed, discussed, +and negatived—and they were creaking out of the village +with their carts.</p> +<p>The ruins drew you towards them. You never saw any place +more desolate from a distance, nor one that less belied its +promise near at hand. Some crows and gulls flew away +croaking as I scrambled in. The snow had drifted into the +vaults. The clachan dabbled with snow, the white hills, the +black sky, the sea marked in the coves with faint circular +wrinkles, the whole world, as it looked from a loop-hole in +Dunure, was cold, wretched, and out-at-elbows. If you had +been a wicked baron and compelled to stay there all the +afternoon, you would have had a rare fit of remorse. How +you would have heaped up the fire and gnawed your fingers! +I think it would have come to homicide before the +evening—if it were only for the pleasure of seeing +something red! And the masters of Dunure, it is to be +noticed, were remarkable of old for inhumanity. One of +these vaults where the snow had drifted was that ‘black +route’ where ‘Mr. Alane Stewart, Commendatour of +Crossraguel,’ endured his fiery trials. On the 1st +and 7th of September 1570 (ill dates for Mr. Alan!), Gilbert, +Earl of Cassilis, his chaplain, his baker, his cook, his +pantryman, and another servant, bound the Poor Commendator +‘betwix an iron chimlay and a fire,’ and there +cruelly roasted him until he signed away his abbacy. It is +one of the ugliest stories of an ugly period, but not, somehow, +without such a flavour of the ridiculous as makes it hard to +sympathise quite seriously with the victim. And it is +consoling to remember that he got away at last, and kept his +abbacy, and, over and above, had a pension from the Earl until he +died.</p> +<p>Some way beyond Dunure a wide bay, of somewhat less unkindly +aspect, opened out. Colzean plantations lay all along the +steep shore, and there was a wooded hill towards the centre, +where the trees made a sort of shadowy etching over the +snow. The road went down and up, and past a +blacksmith’s cottage that made fine music in the +valley. Three compatriots of Burns drove up to me in a +cart. They were all drunk, and asked me jeeringly if this +was the way to Dunure. I told them it was; and my answer +was received with unfeigned merriment. One gentleman was so +much tickled he nearly fell out of the cart; indeed, he was only +saved by a companion, who either had not so fine a sense of +humour or had drunken less.</p> +<p>‘The toune of Mayboll,’ says the inimitable +Abercrummie, <a name="citation136"></a><a href="#footnote136" +class="citation">[136]</a> ‘stands upon an ascending ground +from east to west, and lyes open to the south. It hath one +principals street, with houses upon both sides, built of +freestone; and it is beautifyed with the situation of two +castles, one at each end of this street. That on the east +belongs to the Erle of Cassilis. On the west end is a +castle, which belonged sometime to the laird of Blairquan, which +is now the tolbuith, and is adorned with a pyremide [conical +roof], and a row of ballesters round it raised from the top of +the staircase, into which they have mounted a fyne clock. +There be four lanes which pass from the principall street; one is +called the Black Vennel, which is steep, declining to the +south-west, and leads to a lower street, which is far larger than +the high chiefe street, and it runs from the Kirkland to the Well +Trees, in which there have been many pretty buildings, belonging +to the severall gentry of the countrey, who were wont to resort +thither in winter, and divert themselves in converse together at +their owne houses. It was once the principall street of the +town; but many of these houses of the gentry having been decayed +and ruined, it has lost much of its ancient beautie. Just +opposite to this vennel, there is another that leads north-west, +from the chiefe street to the green, which is a pleasant plott of +ground, enclosed round with an earthen wall, wherein they were +wont to play football, but now at the Gowff and +byasse-bowls. The houses of this towne, on both sides of +the street, have their several gardens belonging to them; and in +the lower street there be some pretty orchards, that yield store +of good fruit.’ As Patterson says, this description +is near enough even to-day, and is mighty nicely written to +boot. I am bound to add, of my own experience, that Maybole +is tumbledown and dreary. Prosperous enough in reality, it +has an air of decay; and though the population has increased, a +roofless house every here and there seems to protest the +contrary. The women are more than well-favoured, and the +men fine tall fellows; but they look slipshod and +dissipated. As they slouched at street corners, or stood +about gossiping in the snow, it seemed they would have been more +at home in the slums of a large city than here in a country place +betwixt a village and a town. I heard a great deal about +drinking, and a great deal about religious revivals: two things +in which the Scottish character is emphatic and most +unlovely. In particular, I heard of clergymen who were +employing their time in explaining to a delighted audience the +physics of the Second Coming. It is not very likely any of +us will be asked to help. If we were, it is likely we +should receive instructions for the occasion, and that on more +reliable authority. And so I can only figure to myself a +congregation truly curious in such flights of theological fancy, +as one of veteran and accomplished saints, who have fought the +good fight to an end and outlived all worldly passion, and are to +be regarded rather as a part of the Church Triumphant than the +poor, imperfect company on earth. And yet I saw some young +fellows about the smoking-room who seemed, in the eyes of one who +cannot count himself strait-laced, in need of some more practical +sort of teaching. They seemed only eager to get drunk, and +to do so speedily. It was not much more than a week after +the New Year; and to hear them return on their past bouts with a +gusto unspeakable was not altogether pleasing. Here is one +snatch of talk, for the accuracy of which I can vouch—</p> +<p>‘Ye had a spree here last Tuesday?’</p> +<p>‘We had that!’</p> +<p>‘I wasna able to be oot o’ my bed. Man, I +was awful bad on Wednesday.’</p> +<p>‘Ay, ye were gey bad.’</p> +<p>And you should have seen the bright eyes, and heard the +sensual accents! They recalled their doings with devout +gusto and a sort of rational pride. Schoolboys, after their +first drunkenness, are not more boastful; a cock does not plume +himself with a more unmingled satisfaction as he paces forth +among his harem; and yet these were grown men, and by no means +short of wit. It was hard to suppose they were very eager +about the Second Coming: it seemed as if some elementary notions +of temperance for the men and seemliness for the women would have +gone nearer the mark. And yet, as it seemed to me typical +of much that is evil in Scotland, Maybole is also typical of much +that is best. Some of the factories, which have taken the +place of weaving in the town’s economy, were originally +founded and are still possessed by self-made men of the sterling, +stout old breed—fellows who made some little bit of an +invention, borrowed some little pocketful of capital, and then, +step by step, in courage, thrift and industry, fought their way +upwards to an assured position.</p> +<p>Abercrummie has told you enough of the Tolbooth; but, as a bit +of spelling, this inscription on the Tolbooth bell seems too +delicious to withhold: ‘This bell is founded at Maiboll Bi +Danel Geli, a Frenchman, the 6th November, 1696, Bi appointment +of the heritors of the parish of Maiyboll.’ The +Castle deserves more notice. It is a large and shapely +tower, plain from the ground upwards, but with a zone of +ornamentation running about the top. In a general way this +adornment is perched on the very summit of the chimney-stacks; +but there is one corner more elaborate than the rest. A +very heavy string-course runs round the upper story, and just +above this, facing up the street, the tower carries a small oriel +window, fluted and corbelled and carved about with stone +heads. It is so ornate it has somewhat the air of a +shrine. And it was, indeed, the casket of a very precious +jewel, for in the room to which it gives light lay, for long +years, the heroine of the sweet old ballad of ‘Johnnie +Faa’—she who, at the call of the gipsies’ +songs, ‘came tripping down the stair, and all her maids +before her.’ Some people say the ballad has no basis +in fact, and have written, I believe, unanswerable papers to the +proof. But in the face of all that, the very look of that +high oriel window convinces the imagination, and we enter into +all the sorrows of the imprisoned dame. We conceive the +burthen of the long, lack-lustre days, when she leaned her sick +head against the mullions, and saw the burghers loafing in +Maybole High Street, and the children at play, and ruffling +gallants riding by from hunt or foray. We conceive the +passion of odd moments, when the wind threw up to her some snatch +of song, and her heart grew hot within her, and her eyes +overflowed at the memory of the past. And even if the tale +be not true of this or that lady, or this or that old tower, it +is true in the essence of all men and women: for all of us, some +time or other, hear the gipsies singing; over all of us is the +glamour cast. Some resist and sit resolutely by the +fire. Most go and are brought back again, like Lady +Cassilis. A few, of the tribe of Waring, go and are seen no +more; only now and again, at springtime, when the gipsies’ +song is afloat in the amethyst evening, we can catch their voices +in the glee.</p> +<p>By night it was clearer, and Maybole more visible than during +the day. Clouds coursed over the sky in great masses; the +full moon battled the other way, and lit up the snow with gleams +of flying silver; the town came down the hill in a cascade of +brown gables, bestridden by smooth white roofs, and sprangled +here and there with lighted windows. At either end the snow +stood high up in the darkness, on the peak of the Tolbooth and +among the chimneys of the Castle. As the moon flashed a +bull’s-eye glitter across the town between the racing +clouds, the white roofs leaped into relief over the gables and +the chimney-stacks, and their shadows over the white roofs. +In the town itself the lit face of the clock peered down the +street; an hour was hammered out on Mr. Geli’s bell, and +from behind the red curtains of a public-house some one trolled +out—a compatriot of Burns, again!—‘The saut +tear blin’s my e’e.’</p> +<p>Next morning there was sun and a flapping wind. From the +street corners of Maybole I could catch breezy glimpses of green +fields. The road underfoot was wet and heavy—part +ice, part snow, part water, and any one I met greeted me, by way +of salutation, with ‘A fine thowe’ (thaw). My +way lay among rather bleak bills, and past bleak ponds and +dilapidated castles and monasteries, to the Highland-looking +village of Kirkoswald. It has little claim to notice, save +that Burns came there to study surveying in the summer of 1777, +and there also, in the kirkyard, the original of Tam o’ +Shanter sleeps his last sleep. It is worth noticing, +however, that this was the first place I thought +‘Highland-looking.’ Over the bill from +Kirkoswald a farm-road leads to the coast. As I came down +above Turnberry, the sea view was indeed strangely different from +the day before. The cold fogs were all blown away; and +there was Ailsa Craig, like a refraction, magnified and deformed, +of the Bass Rock; and there were the chiselled mountain-tops of +Arran, veined and tipped with snow; and behind, and fainter, the +low, blue land of Cantyre. Cottony clouds stood in a great +castle over the top of Arran, and blew out in long streamers to +the south. The sea was bitten all over with white; little +ships, tacking up and down the Firth, lay over at different +angles in the wind. On Shanter they were ploughing lea; a +cart foal, all in a field by himself, capered and whinnied as if +the spring were in him.</p> +<p>The road from Turnberry to Girvan lies along the shore, among +sand-hills and by wildernesses of tumbled bent. Every here +and there a few cottages stood together beside a bridge. +They had one odd feature, not easy to describe in words: a +triangular porch projected from above the door, supported at the +apex by a single upright post; a secondary door was hinged to the +post, and could be hasped on either cheek of the real entrance; +so, whether the wind was north or south, the cotter could make +himself a triangular bight of shelter where to set his chair and +finish a pipe with comfort. There is one objection to this +device; for, as the post stands in the middle of the fairway, any +one precipitately issuing from the cottage must run his chance of +a broken head. So far as I am aware, it is peculiar to the +little corner of country about Girvan. And that corner is +noticeable for more reasons: it is certainly one of the most +characteristic districts in Scotland, It has this movable porch +by way of architecture; it has, as we shall see, a sort of +remnant of provincial costume, and it has the handsomest +population in the Lowlands. . . .</p> +<h2><!-- page 144--><a name="page144"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 144</span>V.<br /> +FOREST NOTES 1875–6</h2> +<h3>ON THE PLAIN</h3> +<p>Perhaps the reader knows already the aspect of the great +levels of the Gâtinais, where they border with the wooded +hills of Fontainebleau. Here and there a few grey rocks +creep out of the forest as if to sun themselves. Here and +there a few apple-trees stand together on a knoll. The +quaint, undignified tartan of a myriad small fields dies out into +the distance; the strips blend and disappear; and the dead flat +lies forth open and empty, with no accident save perhaps a thin +line of trees or faint church spire against the sky. Solemn +and vast at all times, in spite of pettiness in the near details, +the impression becomes more solemn and vast towards +evening. The sun goes down, a swollen orange, as it were +into the sea. A blue-clad peasant rides home, with a harrow +smoking behind him among the dry clods. Another still works +with his wife in their little strip. An immense shadow +fills the plain; these people stand in it up to their shoulders; +and their heads, as they stoop over their work and rise again, +are relieved from time to time against the golden sky.</p> +<p>These peasant farmers are well off nowadays, and not by any +means overworked; but somehow you always see in them the +historical representative of the serf of yore, and think not so +much of present times, which may be prosperous enough, as of the +old days when the peasant was taxed beyond possibility of +payment, and lived, in Michelet’s image, like a hare +between two furrows. These very people now weeding their +patch under the broad sunset, that very man and his wife, it +seems to us, have suffered all the wrongs of France. It is +they who have been their country’s scapegoat for long ages; +they who, generation after generation, have sowed and not reaped, +reaped and another has garnered; and who have now entered into +their reward, and enjoy their good things in their turn. +For the days are gone by when the Seigneur ruled and +profited. ‘Le Seigneur,’ says the old formula, +‘enferme ses manants comme sous porte et gonds, du ciel +à la terre. Tout est à lui, forêt +chenue, oiseau dans l’air, poisson dans l’eau, +bête an buisson, l’onde qui coule, la cloche dont le +son au loin roule.’ Such was his old state of +sovereignty, a local god rather than a mere king. And now +you may ask yourself where he is, and look round for vestiges of +my late lord, and in all the country-side there is no trace of +him but his forlorn and fallen mansion. At the end of a +long avenue, now sown with grain, in the midst of a close full of +cypresses and lilacs, ducks and crowing chanticleers and droning +bees, the old château lifts its red chimneys and peaked +roofs and turning vanes into the wind and sun. There is a +glad spring bustle in the air, perhaps, and the lilacs are all in +flower, and the creepers green about the broken balustrade: but +no spring shall revive the honour of the place. Old women +of the people, little, children of the people, saunter and gambol +in the walled court or feed the ducks in the neglected +moat. Plough-horses, mighty of limb, browse in the long +stables. The dial-hand on the clock waits for some better +hour. Out on the plain, where hot sweat trickles into +men’s eyes, and the spade goes in deep and comes up slowly, +perhaps the peasant may feel a movement of joy at his heart when +he thinks that these spacious chimneys are now cold, which have +so often blazed and flickered upon gay folk at supper, while he +and his hollow-eyed children watched through the night with empty +bellies and cold feet. And perhaps, as he raises his head +and sees the forest lying like a coast-line of low hills along +the sea-level of the plain, perhaps forest and château hold +no unsimilar place in his affections.</p> +<p>If the château was my lord’s, the forest was my +lord the king’s; neither of them for this poor +Jacques. If he thought to eke out his meagre way of life by +some petty theft of wood for the fire, or for a new roof-tree, he +found himself face to face with a whole department, from the +Grand Master of the Woods and Waters, who was a high-born lord, +down to the common sergeant, who was a peasant like himself, and +wore stripes or a bandoleer by way of uniform. For the +first offence, by the Salic law, there was a fine of fifteen +sols; and should a man be taken more than once in fault, or +circumstances aggravate the colour of his guilt, he might be +whipped, branded, or hanged. There was a hangman over at +Melun, and, I doubt not, a fine tall gibbet hard by the town +gate, where Jacques might see his fellows dangle against the sky +as he went to market.</p> +<p>And then, if he lived near to a cover, there would be the more +hares and rabbits to eat out his harvest, and the more hunters to +trample it down. My lord has a new horn from England. +He has laid out seven francs in decorating it with silver and +gold, and fitting it with a silken leash to hang about his +shoulder. The hounds have been on a pilgrimage to the +shrine of Saint Mesmer, or Saint Hubert in the Ardennes, or some +other holy intercessor who has made a speciality of the health of +hunting-dogs. In the grey dawn the game was turned and the +branch broken by our best piqueur. A rare day’s +hunting lies before us. Wind a jolly flourish, sound the +<i>bien-aller</i> with all your lungs. Jacques must stand +by, hat in hand, while the quarry and hound and huntsman sweep +across his field, and a year’s sparing and labouring is as +though it had not been. If he can see the ruin with a good +enough grace, who knows but he may fall in favour with my lord; +who knows but his son may become the last and least among the +servants at his lordship’s kennel—one of the two poor +varlets who get no wages and sleep at night among the hounds? <a +name="citation147"></a><a href="#footnote147" +class="citation">[147]</a></p> +<p>For all that, the forest has been of use to Jacques, not only +warming him with fallen wood, but giving him shelter in days of +sore trouble, when my lord of the château, with all his +troopers and trumpets, had been beaten from field after field +into some ultimate fastness, or lay over-seas in an English +prison. In these dark days, when the watch on the church +steeple saw the smoke of burning villages on the sky-line, or a +clump of spears and fluttering pensions drawing nigh across the +plain, these good folk gat them up, with all their household +gods, into the wood, whence, from some high spur, their timid +scouts might overlook the coming and going of the marauders, and +see the harvest ridden down, and church and cottage go up to +heaven all night in flame. It was but an unhomely refuge +that the woods afforded, where they must abide all change of +weather and keep house with wolves and vipers. Often there +was none left alive, when they returned, to show the old +divisions of field from field. And yet, as times went, when +the wolves entered at night into depopulated Paris, and perhaps +De Retz was passing by with a company of demons like himself, +even in these caves and thickets there were glad hearts and +grateful prayers.</p> +<p>Once or twice, as I say, in the course of the ages, the forest +may have served the peasant well, but at heart it is a royal +forest, and noble by old associations. These woods have +rung to the horns of all the kings of France, from Philip +Augustus downwards. They have seen Saint Louis exercise the +dogs he brought with him from Egypt; Francis I. go a-hunting with +ten thousand horses in his train; and Peter of Russia following +his first stag. And so they are still haunted for the +imagination by royal hunts and progresses, and peopled with the +faces of memorable men of yore. And this distinction is not +only in virtue of the pastime of dead monarchs. <!-- page +149--><a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +149</span>Great events, great revolutions, great cycles in the +affairs of men, have here left their note, here taken shape in +some significant and dramatic situation. It was hence that +Gruise and his leaguers led Charles the Ninth a prisoner to +Paris. Here, booted and spurred, and with all his dogs +about him, Napoleon met the Pope beside a woodland cross. +Here, on his way to Elba not so long after, he kissed the eagle +of the Old Guard, and spoke words of passionate farewell to his +soldiers. And here, after Waterloo, rather than yield its +ensign to the new power, one of his faithful regiments burned +that memorial of so much toil and glory on the Grand +Master’s table, and drank its dust in brandy, as a devout +priest consumes the remnants of the Host.</p> +<h3>IN THE SEASON</h3> +<p>Close into the edge of the forest, so close that the trees of +the <i>bornage</i> stand pleasantly about the last houses, sits a +certain small and very quiet village. There is but one +street, and that, not long ago, was a green lane, where the +cattle browsed between the doorsteps. As you go up this +street, drawing ever nearer the beginning of the wood, you will +arrive at last before an inn where artists lodge. To the +door (for I imagine it to be six o’clock on some fine +summer’s even), half a dozen, or maybe half a score, of +people have brought out chairs, and now sit sunning themselves, +and waiting the omnibus from Melun. If you go on into the +court you will find as many more, some in billiard-room over +absinthe and a match of corks some without over a last cigar and +a vermouth. The doves coo and flutter from the dovecot; +Hortense is drawing water from the well; and as all the rooms +open into the court, you can see the white-capped cook over the +furnace in the kitchen, and some idle painter, who has stored his +canvases and washed his brushes, jangling a waltz on the crazy, +tongue-tied piano in the salle-à-manger. +‘<i>Edmond</i>, <i>encore un vermouth</i>,’ cries a +man in velveteen, adding in a tone of apologetic afterthought, +‘<i>un double</i>, <i>s’il vous +plaît</i>.’ ‘Where are you +working?’ asks one in pure white linen from top to +toe. ‘At the Carrefour de +l’Épine,’ returns the other in corduroy (they +are all gaitered, by the way). ‘I couldn’t do a +thing to it. I ran out of white. Where were +you?’ ‘I wasn’t working. I was +looking for motives.’ Here is an outbreak of +jubilation, and a lot of men clustering together about some +new-comer with outstretched hands; perhaps the +‘correspondence’ has come in and brought So-and-so +from Paris, or perhaps it is only So-and-so who has walked over +from Chailly to dinner.</p> +<p>‘<i>À table</i>, <i>Messieurs</i>!’ cries +M. Siron, bearing through the court the first tureen of +soup. And immediately the company begins to settle down +about the long tables in the dining-room, framed all round with +sketches of all degrees of merit and demerit. There’s +the big picture of the huntsman winding a horn with a dead boar +between his legs, and his legs—well, his legs in +stockings. And here is the little picture of a raw +mutton-chop, in which Such-a-one knocked a hole last summer with +no worse a missile than a plum from the dessert. And under +all these works of art so much eating goes forward, so much +drinking, so much jabbering in French and English, that it would +do your heart good merely to peep and listen at the door. +One man is telling how they all went last year to the fête +at Fleury, and another how well so-and-so would sing of an +evening: and here are a third and fourth making plans for the +whole future of their lives; and there is a fifth imitating a +conjurer and making faces on his clenched fist, surely of all +arts the most difficult and admirable! A sixth has eaten +his fill, lights a cigarette, and resigns himself to +digestion. A seventh has just dropped in, and calls for +soup. Number eight, meanwhile, has left the table, and is +once more trampling the poor piano under powerful and uncertain +fingers.</p> +<p>Dinner over, people drop outside to smoke and chat. +Perhaps we go along to visit our friends at the other end of the +village, where there is always a good welcome and a good talk, +and perhaps some pickled oysters and white wine to close the +evening. Or a dance is organised in the dining-room, and +the piano exhibits all its paces under manful jockeying, to the +light of three or four candles and a lamp or two, while the +waltzers move to and fro upon the wooden floor, and sober men, +who are not given to such light pleasures, get up on the table or +the sideboard, and sit there looking on approvingly over a pipe +and a tumbler of wine. Or sometimes—suppose my lady +moon looks forth, and the court from out the half-lit dining-room +seems nearly as bright as by day, and the light picks out the +window-panes, and makes a clear shadow under every vine-leaf on +the wall—sometimes a picnic is proposed, and a basket made +ready, and a good procession formed in front of the hotel. +The two trumpeters in honour go before; and as we file down the +long alley, and up through devious footpaths among rocks and +pine-trees, with every here and there a dark passage of shadow, +and every here and there a spacious outlook over moonlit woods, +these two precede us and sound many a jolly flourish as they +walk. We gather ferns and dry boughs into the cavern, and +soon a good blaze flutters the shadows of the old bandits’ +haunt, and shows shapely beards and comely faces and toilettes +ranged about the wall. The bowl is lit, and the punch is +burnt and sent round in scalding thimblefuls. So a good +hour or two may pass with song and jest. And then we go +home in the moonlit morning, straggling a good deal among the +birch tufts and the boulders, but ever called together again, as +one of our leaders winds his horn. Perhaps some one of the +party will not heed the summons, but chooses out some by-way of +his own. As he follows the winding sandy road, he hears the +flourishes grow fainter and fainter in the distance, and die +finally out, and still walks on in the strange coolness and +silence and between the crisp lights and shadows of the moonlit +woods, until suddenly the bell rings out the hour from far-away +Chailly, and he starts to find himself alone. No surf-bell +on forlorn and perilous shores, no passing knell over the busy +market-place, can speak with a more heavy and disconsolate tongue +to human ears. Each stroke calls up a host of ghostly +reverberations in his mind. And as he stands rooted, it has +grown once more so utterly silent that it seems to him he might +hear the church bells ring the hour out all the world over, not +at Chailly only, but in Paris, and <!-- page 153--><a +name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 153</span>away in +outlandish cities, and in the village on the river, where his +childhood passed between the sun and flowers.</p> +<h3>IDLE HOURS</h3> +<p>The woods by night, in all their uncanny effect, are not +rightly to be understood until you can compare them with the +woods by day. The stillness of the medium, the floor of +glittering sand, these trees that go streaming up like monstrous +sea-weeds and waver in the moving winds like the weeds in +submarine currents, all these set the mind working on the thought +of what you may have seen off a foreland or over the side of a +boat, and make you feel like a diver, down in the quiet water, +fathoms below the tumbling, transitory surface of the sea. +And yet in itself, as I say, the strangeness of these nocturnal +solitudes is not to be felt fully without the sense of +contrast. You must have risen in the morning and seen the +woods as they are by day, kindled and coloured in the sun’s +light; you must have felt the odour of innumerable trees at even, +the unsparing heat along the forest roads, and the coolness of +the groves.</p> +<p>And on the first morning you will doubtless rise +betimes. If you have not been wakened before by the visit +of some adventurous pigeon, you will be wakened as soon as the +sun can reach your window—for there are no blind or +shutters to keep him out—and the room, with its bare wood +floor and bare whitewashed walls, shines all round you in a sort +of glory of reflected lights. You may doze a while longer +by snatches, or lie awake to study the charcoal men and dogs and +horses with which former occupants have defiled the partitions: +Thiers, with wily profile; local celebrities, pipe in hand; or, +maybe, a romantic landscape splashed in oil. Meanwhile +artist after artist drops into the salle-à-manger for +coffee, and then shoulders easel, sunshade, stool, and paint-box, +bound into a fagot, and sets of for what he calls his +‘motive.’ And artist after artist, as he goes +out of the village, carries with him a little following of +dogs. For the dogs, who belong only nominally to any +special master, hang about the gate of the forest all day long, +and whenever any one goes by who hits their fancy, profit by his +escort, and go forth with him to play an hour or two at +hunting. They would like to be under the trees all +day. But they cannot go alone. They require a +pretext. And so they take the passing artist as an excuse +to go into the woods, as they might take a walking-stick as an +excuse to bathe. With quick ears, long spines, and bandy +legs, or perhaps as tall as a greyhound and with a +bulldog’s head, this company of mongrels will trot by your +side all day and come home with you at night, still showing white +teeth and wagging stunted tail. Their good humour is not to +be exhausted. You may pelt them with stones if you please, +and all they will do is to give you a wider berth. If once +they come out with you, to you they will remain faithful, and +with you return; although if you meet them next morning in the +street, it is as like as not they will cut you with a countenance +of brass.</p> +<p>The forest—a strange thing for an Englishman—is +very destitute of birds. This is no country where every +patch of wood among the meadows gibes up an increase of song, and +every valley wandered through by a streamlet rings and +reverberates from side to with a profusion of clear notes. +And this rarity of birds is not to be regretted on its own +account only. For the insects prosper in their absence, and +become as one of the plagues of Egypt. Ants swarm in the +hot sand; mosquitos drone their nasal drone; wherever the sun +finds a hole in the roof of the forest, you see a myriad +transparent creatures coming and going in the shaft of light; and +even between-whiles, even where there is no incursion of sun-rays +into the dark arcade of the wood, you are conscious of a +continual drift of insects, an ebb and flow of infinitesimal +living things between the trees. Nor are insects the only +evil creatures that haunt the forest. For you may plump +into a cave among the rocks, and find yourself face to face with +a wild boar, or see a crooked viper slither across the road.</p> +<p>Perhaps you may set yourself down in the bay between two +spreading beech-roots with a book on your lap, and be awakened +all of a sudden by a friend: ‘I say, just keep where you +are, will you? You make the jolliest motive.’ +And you reply: ‘Well, I don’t mind, if I may +smoke.’ And thereafter the hours go idly by. +Your friend at the easel labours doggedly a little way off, in +the wide shadow of the tree; and yet farther, across a strait of +glaring sunshine, you see another painter, encamped in the shadow +of another tree, and up to his waist in the fern. You +cannot watch your own effigy growing out of the white trunk, and +the trunk beginning to stand forth from the rest of the wood, and +the whole picture getting dappled over with the flecks of sun +that slip through the leaves overhead, and, as a wind goes by and +sets the trees a-talking, flicker hither and thither like +butterflies of light. But you know it is going forward; +and, out of emulation with the painter, get ready your own +palette, and lay out the colour for a woodland scene in +words.</p> +<p>Your tree stands in a hollow paved with fern and heather, set +in a basin of low hills, and scattered over with rocks and +junipers. All the open is steeped in pitiless +sunlight. Everything stands out as though it were cut in +cardboard, every colour is strained into its highest key. +The boulders are some of them upright and dead like monolithic +castles, some of them prone like sleeping cattle. The +junipers—looking, in their soiled and ragged mourning, like +some funeral procession that has gone seeking the place of +sepulchre three hundred years and more in wind and rain—are +daubed in forcibly against the glowing ferns and heather. +Every tassel of their rusty foliage is defined with +pre-Raphaelite minuteness. And a sorry figure they make out +there in the sun, like misbegotten yew-trees! The scene is +all pitched in a key of colour so peculiar, and lit up with such +a discharge of violent sunlight, as a man might live fifty years +in England and not see.</p> +<p>Meanwhile at your elbow some one tunes up a song, words of +Ronsard to a pathetic tremulous air, of how the poet loved his +mistress long ago, and pressed on her the flight of time, and +told her how white and quiet the dead lay under the stones, and +how the boat dipped and pitched as the shades embarked for the +passionless land. Yet a little while, sang the poet, and +there shall be no more <!-- page 157--><a +name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 157</span>love; only +to sit and remember loves that might have been. There is a +falling flourish in the air that remains in the memory and comes +back in incongruous places, on the seat of hansoms or in the warm +bed at night, with something of a forest savour.</p> +<p>‘You can get up now,’ says the painter; +‘I’m at the background.’</p> +<p>And so up you get, stretching yourself, and go your way into +the wood, the daylight becoming richer and more golden, and the +shadows stretching farther into the open. A cool air comes +along the highways, and the scents awaken. The fir-trees +breathe abroad their ozone. Out of unknown thickets comes +forth the soft, secret, aromatic odour of the woods, not like a +smell of the free heaven, but as though court ladies, who had +known these paths in ages long gone by, still walked in the +summer evenings, and shed from their brocades a breath of musk or +bergamot upon the woodland winds. One side of the long +avenues is still kindled with the sun, the other is plunged in +transparent shadow. Over the trees the west begins to burn +like a furnace; and the painters gather up their chattels, and go +down, by avenue or footpath, to the plain.</p> +<h3>A PLEASURE-PARTY</h3> +<p>As this excursion is a matter of some length, and, moreover, +we go in force, we have set aside our usual vehicle, the +pony-cart, and ordered a large wagonette from +Lejosne’s. It has been waiting for near an hour, +while one went to pack a knapsack, and t’other hurried over +his toilette and coffee; but now it is filled from end to end +with merry folk in summer attire, the coachman cracks his whip, +and amid much applause from round the inn door off we rattle at a +spanking trot. The way lies through the forest, up hill and +down dale, and by beech and pine wood, in the cheerful morning +sunshine. The English get down at all the ascents and walk +on ahead for exercise; the French are mightily entertained at +this, and keep coyly underneath the tilt. As we go we carry +with us a pleasant noise of laughter and light speech, and some +one will be always breaking out into a bar or two of opera +bouffe. Before we get to the Route Ronde here comes +Desprez, the colourman from Fontainebleau, trudging across on his +weekly peddle with a case of merchandise; and it is +‘Desprez, leave me some malachite green’; +‘Desprez, leave me so much canvas’; ‘Desprez, +leave me this, or leave me that’; M. Desprez standing the +while in the sunlight with grave face and many salutations. +The next interruption is more important. For some time back +we have had the sound of cannon in our ears; and now, a little +past Franchard, we find a mounted trooper holding a led horse, +who brings the wagonette to a stand. The artillery is +practising in the Quadrilateral, it appears; passage along the +Route Ronde formally interdicted for the moment. There is +nothing for it but to draw up at the glaring cross-roads and get +down to make fun with the notorious Cocardon, the most ungainly +and ill-bred dog of all the ungainly and ill-bred dogs of +Barbizon, or clamber about the sandy banks. And meanwhile +the doctor, with sun umbrella, wide Panama, and patriarchal +beard, is busy wheedling and (for aught the rest of us know) +bribing the too facile sentry. His speech is smooth and +dulcet, his manner dignified and insinuating. It is not for +nothing that the Doctor has voyaged all the world over, and +speaks all languages from French to Patagonian. He has not +come borne from perilous journeys to be thwarted by a corporal of +horse. And so we soon see the soldier’s mouth relax, +and his shoulders imitate a relenting heart. ‘<i>En +voiture</i>, <i>Messieurs</i>, <i>Mesdames</i>,’ sings the +Doctor; and on we go again at a good round pace, for black care +follows hard after us, and discretion prevails not a little over +valour in some timorous spirits of the party. At any moment +we may meet the sergeant, who will send us back. At any +moment we may encounter a flying shell, which will send us +somewhere farther off than Grez.</p> +<p>Grez—for that is our destination—has been highly +recommended for its beauty. ‘<i>Il y a de +l’eau</i>,’ people have said, with an emphasis, as if +that settled the question, which, for a French mind, I am rather +led to think it does. And Grez, when we get there, is +indeed a place worthy of some praise. It lies out of the +forest, a cluster of houses, with an old bridge, an old castle in +ruin, and a quaint old church. The inn garden descends in +terraces to the river; stable-yard, kailyard, orchard, and a +space of lawn, fringed with rushes and embellished with a green +arbour. On the opposite bank there is a reach of +English-looking plain, set thickly with willows and +poplars. And between the two lies the river, clear and +deep, and full of reeds and floating lilies. Water-plants +cluster about the starlings of the long low bridge, and stand +half-way up upon the piers in green luxuriance. They catch +the dipped oar with long antennæ, and chequer the slimy +bottom with the shadow of their leaves. And the river +wanders and thither hither among the islets, and is smothered and +broken up by the reeds, like an old building in the lithe, hardy +arms of the climbing ivy. You may watch the box where the +good man of the inn keeps fish alive for his kitchen, one oily +ripple following another over the top of the yellow deal. +And you can hear a splashing and a prattle of voices from the +shed under the old kirk, where the village women wash and wash +all day among the fish and water-lilies. It seems as if +linen washed there should be specially cool and sweet.</p> +<p>We have come here for the river. And no sooner have we +all bathed than we board the two shallops and push off gaily, and +go gliding under the trees and gathering a great treasure of +water-lilies. Some one sings; some trail their hands in the +cool water; some lean over the gunwale to see the image of the +tall poplars far below, and the shadow of the boat, with the +balanced oars and their own head protruded, glide smoothly over +the yellow floor of the stream. At last, the day +declining—all silent and happy, and up to the knees in the +wet lilies—we punt slowly back again to the landing-place +beside the bridge. There is a wish for solitude on +all. One hides himself in the arbour with a cigarette; +another goes a walk in the country with Cocardon; a third +inspects the church. And it is not till dinner is on the +table, and the inn’s best wine goes round from glass to +glass, that we begin to throw off the restraint and fuse once +more into a jolly fellowship.</p> +<p>Half the party are to return to-night with the wagonette; and +some of the others, loath to break up company, will go with them +a bit of the way and drink a stirrup-cup at Marlotte. It is +dark in the wagonette, and not so merry as it might have +been. The coachman loses the road. So-and-so tries to +light fireworks with the most indifferent success. Some +sing, but the rest are too weary to applaud; and it seems as if +the festival were fairly at an end—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Nous avons fait la noce,<br /> +Rentrons à nos foyers!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And such is the burthen, even after we have come to Marlotte +and taken our places in the court at Mother +Antonine’s. There is punch on the long table out in +the open air, where the guests dine in summer weather. The +candles flare in the night wind, and the faces round the punch +are lit up, with shifting emphasis, against a background of +complete and solid darkness. It is all picturesque enough; +but the fact is, we are aweary. We yawn; we are out of the +vein; we have made the wedding, as the song says, and now, for +pleasure’s sake, let’s make an end on’t. +When here comes striding into the court, booted to mid-thigh, +spurred and splashed, in a jacket of green cord, the great, +famous, and redoubtable Blank; and in a moment the fire kindles +again, and the night is witness of our laughter as he imitates +Spaniards, Germans, Englishmen, picture-dealers, all eccentric +ways of speaking and thinking, with a possession, a fury, a +strain of mind and voice, that would rather suggest a nervous +crisis than a desire to please. We are as merry as ever +when the trap sets forth again, and say farewell noisily to all +the good folk going farther. Then, as we are far enough +from thoughts of sleep, we visit Blank in his quaint house, and +sit an hour or so in a great tapestried chamber, laid with furs, +littered with sleeping hounds, and lit up, in fantastic shadow +and shine, by a wood fire in a mediæval chimney. And +then we plod back through the darkness to the inn beside the +river.</p> +<p>How quick bright things come to confusion! When we arise +next morning, the grey showers fall steadily, the trees hang +limp, and the face of the stream is spoiled with dimpling +raindrops. Yesterday’s lilies encumber the garden +walk, or begin, dismally enough, their voyage towards the Seine +and the salt sea. A sickly shimmer lies upon the dripping +house-roofs, and all the colour is washed out of the green and +golden landscape of last night, as though an envious man had +taken a water-colour sketch and blotted it together with a +sponge. We go out a-walking in the wet roads. But the +roads about Grez have a trick of their own. They go on for +a while among clumps of willows and patches of vine, and then, +suddenly and without any warning, cease and determine in some +miry hollow or upon some bald knowe; and you have a short period +of hope, then right-about face, and back the way you came! +So we draw about the kitchen fire and play a round game of cards +for ha’pence, or go to the billiard-room, for a match at +corks and by one consent a messenger is sent over for the +wagonette—Grez shall be left to-morrow.</p> +<p>To-morrow dawns so fair that two of the party agree to walk +back for exercise, and let their kidnap-sacks follow by the +trap. I need hardly say they are neither of them French; +for, of all English phrases, the phrase ‘for +exercise’ is the least comprehensible across the Straits of +Dover. All goes well for a while with the +pedestrians. The wet woods are full of scents in the +noontide. At a certain cross, where there is a guardhouse, +they make a halt, for the forester’s wife is the daughter +of their good host at Barbizon. And so there they are +hospitably received by the comely woman, with one child in her +arms and another prattling and tottering at her gown, and drink +some syrup of quince in the back parlour, with a map of the +forest on the wall, and some prints of love-affairs and the great +Napoleon hunting. As they draw near the Quadrilateral, and +hear once more the report of the big guns, they take a by-road to +avoid the sentries, and go on a while somewhat vaguely, with the +sound of the cannon in their ears and the rain beginning to +fall. The ways grow wider and sandier; here and there there +are real sand-hills, as though by the sea-shore; the fir-wood is +open and grows in clumps upon the hillocks, and the race of +sign-posts is no more. One begins to look at the other +doubtfully. ‘I am sure we should keep more to the +right,’ says one; and the other is just as certain they +should hold to the left. And now, suddenly, the heavens +open, and the rain falls ‘sheer and strong and loud,’ +as out of a shower-bath. In a moment they are as wet as +shipwrecked sailors. They cannot see out of their eyes for +the drift, and the water churns and gurgles in their boots. +They leave the track and try across country with a +gambler’s desperation, for it seems as if it were +impossible to make <!-- page 164--><a name="page164"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 164</span>the situation worse; and, for the +next hour, go scrambling from boulder to boulder, or plod along +paths that are now no more than rivulets, and across waste +clearings where the scattered shells and broken fir-trees tell +all too plainly of the cannon in the distance. And meantime +the cannon grumble out responses to the grumbling thunder. +There is such a mixture of melodrama and sheer discomfort about +all this, it is at once so grey and so lurid, that it is far more +agreeable to read and write about by the chimney-corner than to +suffer in the person. At last they chance on the right +path, and make Franchard in the early evening, the sorriest pair +of wanderers that ever welcomed English ale. Thence, by the +Bois d’Hyver, the Ventes-Alexandre, and the Pins +Brulés, to the clean hostelry, dry clothes, and +dinner.</p> +<h3>THE WOODS IN SPRING</h3> +<p>I think you will like the forest best in the sharp early +springtime, when it is just beginning to reawaken, and +innumerable violets peep from among the fallen leaves; when two +or three people at most sit down to dinner, and, at table, you +will do well to keep a rug about your knees, for the nights are +chill, and the salle-à-manger opens on the court. +There is less to distract the attention, for one thing, and the +forest is more itself. It is not bedotted with +artists’ sunshades as with unknown mushrooms, nor bestrewn +with the remains of English picnics. The hunting still goes +on, and at any moment your heart may be brought into your mouth +as you hear far-away horns; or you may be told by an agitated +peasant that the Vicomte has gone up the avenue, not ten minutes +since, ‘<i>à fond de train</i>, <i>monsieur</i>, +<i>et avec douze pipuers</i>.’</p> +<p>If you go up to some coign of vantage in the system of low +hills that permeates the forest, you will see many different +tracts of country, each of its own cold and melancholy neutral +tint, and all mixed together and mingled the one into the other +at the seams. You will see tracts of leafless beeches of a +faint yellowish grey, and leafless oaks a little ruddier in the +hue. Then zones of pine of a solemn green; and, dotted +among the pines, or standing by themselves in rocky clearings, +the delicate, snow-white trunks of birches, spreading out into +snow-white branches yet more delicate, and crowned and canopied +with a purple haze of twigs. And then a long, bare ridge of +tumbled boulders, with bright sand-breaks between them, and +wavering sandy roads among the bracken and brown heather. +It is all rather cold and unhomely. It has not the perfect +beauty, nor the gem-like colouring, of the wood in the later +year, when it is no more than one vast colonnade of verdant +shadow, tremulous with insects, intersected here and there by +lanes of sunlight set in purple heather. The loveliness of +the woods in March is not, assuredly, of this blowzy rustic +type. It is made sharp with a grain of salt, with a touch +of ugliness. It has a sting like the sting of bitter ale; +you acquire the love of it as men acquire a taste for +olives. And the wonderful clear, pure air wells into your +lungs the while by voluptuous inhalations, and makes the eyes +bright, and sets the heart tinkling to a new tune—or, +rather, to an old tune; for you remember in your boyhood +something akin to this spirit of adventure, this thirst for +exploration, that now takes you masterfully by the hand, plunges +you into many a deep grove, and drags you over many a stony +crest. It is as if the whole wood were full of friendly +voice, calling you farther in, and you turn from one side to +another, like Buridan’s donkey, in a maze of pleasure.</p> +<p>Comely beeches send up their white, straight, clustered +branches, barred with green moss, like so many fingers from a +half-clenched hand. Mighty oaks stand to the ankles in a +fine tracery of underwood; thence the tall shaft climbs upwards, +and the great forest of stalwart boughs spreads out into the +golden evening sky, where the rooks are flying and calling. +On the sward of the Bois d’Hyver the firs stand well +asunder with outspread arms, like fencers saluting; and the air +smells of resin all around, and the sound of the axe is rarely +still. But strangest of all, and in appearance oldest of +all, are the dim and wizard upland districts of young wood. +The ground is carpeted with fir-tassel, and strewn with +fir-apples and flakes of fallen bark. Rocks lie crouching +in the thicket, guttered with rain, tufted with lichen, white +with years and the rigours of the changeful seasons. Brown +and yellow butterflies are sown and carried away again by the +light air—like thistledown. The loneliness of these +coverts is so excessive, that there are moments when pleasure +draws to the verge of fear. You listen and listen for some +noise to break the silence, till you grow half mesmerised by the +intensity of the strain; your sense of your own identity is +troubled; your brain reels, like that of some gymnosophist poring +on his own nose in Asiatic jungles; and should you see your own +outspread feet, you see them, not as anything of yours, but as a +feature of the scene around you.</p> +<p>Still the forest is always, but the stillness is not always +unbroken. You can hear the wind pass in the distance over +the tree-tops; sometimes briefly, like the noise of a train; +sometimes with a long steady rush, like the breaking of +waves. And sometimes, close at band, the branches move, a +moan goes through the thicket, and the wood thrills to its +heart. Perhaps you may hear a carriage on the road to +Fontainebleau, a bird gives a dry continual chirp, the dead +leaves rustle underfoot, or you may time your steps to the steady +recurrent strokes of the woodman’s axe. From time to +time, over the low grounds, a flight of rooks goes by; and from +time to time the cooing of wild doves falls upon the ear, not +sweet and rich and near at hand as in England, but a sort of +voice of the woods, thin and far away, as fits these solemn +places. Or you hear suddenly the hollow, eager, violent +barking of dogs; scared deer flit past you through the fringes of +the wood; then a man or two running, in green blouse, with gun +and game-bag on a bandoleer; and then, out of the thick of the +trees, comes the jar of rifle-shots. Or perhaps the hounds +are out, and horns are blown, and scarlet-coated huntsmen flash +through the clearings, and the solid noise of horses galloping +passes below you, where you sit perched among the rocks and +heather. The boar is afoot, and all over the forest, and in +all neighbouring villages, there is a vague excitement and a +vague hope; for who knows whither the chase may lead? and even to +have seen a single piqueur, or spoken to a single sportsman, is +to be a man of consequence for the night.</p> +<p>Besides men who shoot and men who ride with the hounds, there +are few people in the forest, in the early spring, save +woodcutters plying their axes steadily, and old women and +children gathering wood for the fire. You may meet such a +party coming home in the twilight: the old woman laden with a +fagot of chips, and the little ones hauling a long branch behind +them in her wake. That is the worst of what there is to +encounter; and if I tell you of what once happened to a friend of +mine, it is by no means to tantalise you with false hopes; for +the adventure was unique. It was on a very cold, still, +sunless morning, with a flat grey sky and a frosty tingle in the +air, that this friend (who shall here be nameless) heard the +notes of a key-bugle played with much hesitation, and saw the +smoke of a fire spread out along the green pine-tops, in a remote +uncanny glen, hard by a hill of naked boulders. He drew +near warily, and beheld a picnic party seated under a tree in an +open. The old father knitted a sock, the mother sat staring +at the fire. The eldest son, in the uniform of a private of +dragoons, was choosing out notes on a key-bugle. Two or +three daughters lay in the neighbourhood picking violets. +And the whole party as grave and silent as the woods around +them! My friend watched for a long time, he says; but all +held their peace; not one spoke or smiled; only the dragoon kept +choosing out single notes upon the bugle, and the father knitted +away at his work and made strange movements the while with his +flexible eyebrows. They took no notice <!-- page 169--><a +name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 169</span>whatever of +my friend’s presence, which was disquieting in itself, and +increased the resemblance of the whole party to mechanical +waxworks. Certainly, he affirms, a wax figure might have +played the bugle with more spirit than that strange +dragoon. And as this hypothesis of his became more certain, +the awful insolubility of why they should be left out there in +the woods with nobody to wind them up again when they ran down, +and a growing disquietude as to what might happen next, became +too much for his courage, and he turned tail, and fairly took to +his heels. It might have been a singing in his ears, but he +fancies he was followed as he ran by a peal of Titanic +laughter. Nothing has ever transpired to clear up the +mystery; it may be they were automata; or it may be (and this is +the theory to which I lean myself) that this is all another +chapter of Heine’s ‘Gods in Exile’; that the +upright old man with the eyebrows was no other than Father Jove, +and the young dragoon with the taste for music either Apollo or +Mars.</p> +<h3>MORALITY</h3> +<p>Strange indeed is the attraction of the forest for the minds +of men. Not one or two only, but a great chorus of grateful +voices have arisen to spread abroad its fame. Half the +famous writers of modern France have had their word to say about +Fontainebleau. Chateaubriand, Michelet, Béranger, +George Sand, de Senancour, Flaubert, Murger, the brothers +Goncourt, Théodore de Banville, each of these has done +something to the eternal praise and memory of these woods. +Even at the very worst of times, even when the picturesque was +anathema in the eyes of all Persons of Taste, the forest still +preserved a certain reputation for beauty. It was in 1730 +that the Abbé Guilbert published his <i>Historical +Description of the Palace</i>, <i>Town</i>, <i>and Forest of +Fontainebleau</i>. And very droll it is to see him, as he +tries to set forth his admiration in terms of what was then +permissible. The monstrous rocks, etc., says the +Abbé ‘sont admirées avec surprise des +voyageurs qui s’écrient aussitôt avec Horace: +Ut mihi devio rupee et vacuum nemus mirari libet.’ +The good man is not exactly lyrical in his praise; and you see +how he sets his back against Horace as against a trusty +oak. Horace, at any rate, was classical. For the +rest, however, the Abbé likes places where many alleys +meet; or which, like the Belle-Étoile, are kept up +‘by a special gardener,’ and admires at the Table du +Roi the labours of the Grand Master of Woods and Waters, the +Sieur de la Falure, ‘qui a fait faire ce magnifique +endroit.’</p> +<p>But indeed, it is not so much for its beauty that the forest +makes a claim upon men’s hearts, as for that subtle +something, that quality of the air, that emanation from the old +trees, that so wonderfully changes and renews a weary +spirit. Disappointed men, sick Francis Firsts and +vanquished Grand Monarchs, time out of mind have come here for +consolation. Hither perplexed folk have retired out of the +press of life, as into a deep bay-window on some night of +masquerade, and here found quiet and silence, and rest, the +mother of wisdom. It is the great moral spa; this forest +without a fountain is itself the great fountain of +Juventius. It is the best place in the world to bring an +old sorrow that has been a long while your friend and enemy; and +if, like Béranger’s your gaiety has run away from +home and left open the door for sorrow to come in, of all covers +in Europe, it is here you may expect to find the truant +hid. With every hour you change. The air penetrates +through your clothes, and nestles to your living body. You +love exercise and slumber, long fasting and full meals. You +forget all your scruples and live a while in peace and freedom, +and for the moment only. For here, all is absent that can +stimulate to moral feeling. Such people as you see may be +old, or toil-worn, or sorry; but you see them framed in the +forest, like figures on a painted canvas; and for you, they are +not people in any living and kindly sense. You forget the +grim contrariety of interests. You forget the narrow lane +where all men jostle together in unchivalrous contention, and the +kennel, deep and unclean, that gapes on either hand for the +defeated. Life is simple enough, it seems, and the very +idea of sacrifice becomes like a mad fancy out of a last +night’s dream.</p> +<p>Your ideal is not perhaps high, but it is plain and +possible. You become enamoured of a life of change and +movement and the open air, where the muscles shall be more +exercised than the affections. When you have had your will +of the forest, you may visit the whole round world. You may +buckle on your knapsack and take the road on foot. You may +bestride a good nag, and ride forth, with a pair of saddle-bags, +into the enchanted East. You may cross the Black Forest, +and see Germany wide-spread before you, like a map, dotted with +old cities, walled and spired, that dream all day on their own +reflections in the Rhine or Danube. You may pass the spinal +cord of Europe and go down from Alpine glaciers to where Italy +extends her marble moles and glasses her marble palaces in the +midland sea. You may sleep in flying trains or wayside +taverns. You may be awakened at dawn by the scream of the +express or the small pipe of the robin in the hedge. For +you the rain should allay the dust of the beaten road; the wind +dry your clothes upon you as you walked. Autumn should hang +out russet pears and purple grapes along the lane; inn after inn +proffer you their cups of raw wine; river by river receive your +body in the sultry noon. Wherever you went warm valleys and +high trees and pleasant villages should compass you about; and +light fellowships should take you by the arm, and walk with you +an hour upon your way. You may see from afar off what it +will come to in the end—the weather-beaten red-nosed +vagabond, consumed by a fever of the feet, cut off from all near +touch of human sympathy, a waif, an Ishmael, and an +outcast. And yet it will seem well—and yet, in the +air of the forest, this will seem the best—to break all the +network bound about your feet by birth and old companionship and +loyal love, and bear your shovelful of phosphates to and fro, in +town country, until the hour of the great dissolvent.</p> +<p>Or, perhaps, you will keep to the cover. For the forest +is by itself, and forest life owns small kinship with life in the +dismal land of labour. Men are so far sophisticated that +they cannot take the world as it is given to them by the sight of +their eyes. Not only what they see and hear, but what they +know to be behind, enter into their notion of a place. If +the sea, for instance, lie just across the hills, sea-thoughts +will come to them at intervals, and the tenor of their dreams +from time to time will suffer a sea-change. And so here, in +this forest, a knowledge of its greatness is for much in the +effect produced. You reckon up the miles that lie between +you and intrusion. You may walk before you all day long, +and not fear to touch the barrier of your Eden, or stumble out of +fairyland into the land of gin and steam-hammers. And there +is an old tale enhances for the imagination the grandeur of the +woods of France, and secures you in the thought of your +seclusion. When Charles VI. hunted in the time of his wild +boyhood near Senlis, there was captured an old stag, having a +collar of bronze about his neck, and these words engraved on the +collar: ‘Cæsar mihi hoc donavit.’ It is +no wonder if the minds of men were moved at this occurrence and +they stood aghast to find themselves thus touching hands with +forgotten ages, and following an antiquity with hound and +horn. And even for you, it is scarcely in an idle curiosity +that you ponder how many centuries this stag had carried its free +antlers through the wood, and how many summers and winters had +shone and snowed on the imperial badge. If the extent of +solemn wood could thus safeguard a tall stag from the +hunter’s hounds and houses, might not you also play +hide-and-seek, in these groves, with all the pangs and +trepidations of man’s life, and elude Death, the mighty +hunter, for more than the span of human years? Here, also, +crash his arrows; here, in the farthest glade, sounds the gallop +of the pale horse. But he does not hunt this cover with all +his hounds, for the game is thin and small: and if you were but +alert and wary, if you lodged ever in the deepest thickets, you +too might live on into later generations and astonish men by your +stalwart age and the trophies of an immemorial success.</p> +<p>For the forest takes away from you all excuse to die. +There is nothing here to cabin or thwart your free desires. +Here all the impudencies of the brawling world reach you no +more. You may count your hours, like Endymion, by the +strokes of the lone woodcutter, or by the progression of the +lights and shadows and the sun wheeling his wide circuit through +the naked heavens. Here shall you see no enemies but winter +and rough weather. And if a pang comes to you at all, it +will be a pang of healthful hunger. All the puling sorrows, +all the carking repentance, all this talk of duty that is no +duty, in the great peace, in the pure daylight of these woods, +fall away from you like a garment. And if perchance you +come forth upon an eminence, where the wind blows upon you large +and fresh, and the pines knock their long stems together, like an +ungainly sort of puppets, and see far away over the plain a +factory chimney defined against the pale horizon—it is for +you, as for the staid and simple peasant when, with his plough, +he upturns old arms and harness from the furrow of the +glebe. Ay, sure enough, there was a battle there in the old +times; and, sure enough, there is a world out yonder where men +strive together with a noise of oaths and weeping and clamorous +dispute. So much you apprehend by an athletic act of the +imagination. A faint far-off rumour as of Merovingian wars; +a legend as of some dead religion.</p> +<h2><!-- page 175--><a name="page175"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 175</span>VI.<br /> +A MOUNTAIN TOWN IN FRANCE <a name="citation175"></a><a +href="#footnote175" class="citation">[175]</a><br /> +A FRAGMENT<br /> +1879</h2> +<p class="gutsumm"><i>Originally intended to serve as the opening +chapter of</i> ‘<i>Travels with a Donkey in the +Cevennes</i>.’</p> +<p>Le Monastier is the chief place of a hilly canton in Haute +Loire, the ancient Velay. As the name betokens, the town is +of monastic origin; and it still contains a towered bulk of +monastery and a church of some architectural pretensions, the +seat of an arch-priest and several vicars. It stands on the +side of hill above the river Gazeille, about fifteen miles from +Le Puy, up a steep road where the wolves sometime pursue the +diligence in winter. The road, which is bound for Vivarais, +passes through the town from end to end in a single narrow +street; there you may see the fountain where women fill their +pitchers; there also some old houses with carved doors and +pediment and ornamental work in iron. For Monastier, like +Maybole in Ayrshire, was a sort of country capital, where the +local aristocracy had their town mansions for the winter; and +there is a certain baron still alive and, I am told, extremely +penitent, who found means to ruin himself by high living in this +village on the hills. He certainly has claims to be +considered the most remarkable spendthrift on record. How +he set about it, in a place where there are no luxuries for sale, +and where the board at the best inn comes to little more than a +shilling a day, is a problem for the wise. His son, ruined +as the family was, went as far as Paris to sow his wild oats; and +so the cases of father and son mark an epoch in the history of +centralisation in France. Not until the latter had got into +the train was the work of Richelieu complete.</p> +<p>It is a people of lace-makers. The women sit in the +streets by groups of five or six; and the noise of the bobbins is +audible from one group to another. Now and then you will +hear one woman clattering off prayers for the edification of the +others at their work. They wear gaudy shawls, white caps +with a gay ribbon about the head, and sometimes a black felt +brigand hat above the cap; and so they give the street colour and +brightness and a foreign air. A while ago, when England +largely supplied herself from this district with the lace called +<i>torchon</i>, it was not unusual to earn five francs a day; and +five francs in Monastier is worth a pound in London. Now, +from a change in the market, it takes a clever and industrious +work-woman to earn from three to four in the week, or less than +an eighth of what she made easily a few years ago. The tide +of prosperity came and went, as with our northern pitmen, and +left nobody the richer. The women bravely squandered their +gains, kept the men in idleness, and gave themselves up, as I was +told, to sweethearting and a merry life. From week’s +end to week’s end it was one continuous gala in Monastier; +people spent the day in the wine-shops, and the drum or the +bagpipes led on the <i>bourrées</i> up to ten at +night. Now these dancing days are over. ‘<i>Il +n’y a plus de jeunesse</i>,’ said Victor the +garçon. I hear of no great advance in what are +thought the essentials of morality; but the +<i>bourrée</i>, with its rambling, sweet, interminable +music, and alert and rustic figures, has fallen into disuse, and +is mostly remembered as a custom of the past. Only on the +occasion of the fair shall you hear a drum discreetly in a +wine-shop or perhaps one of the company singing the measure while +the others dance. I am sorry at the change, and marvel once +more at the complicated scheme of things upon this earth, and how +a turn of fashion in England can silence so much mountain +merriment in France. The lace-makers themselves have not +entirely forgiven our country-women; and I think they take a +special pleasure in the legend of the northern quarter of the +town, called L’Anglade, because there the English +free-lances were arrested and driven back by the potency of a +little Virgin Mary on the wall.</p> +<p>From time to time a market is held, and the town has a season +of revival; cattle and pigs are stabled in the streets; and +pickpockets have been known to come all the way from Lyons for +the occasion. Every Sunday the country folk throng in with +daylight to buy apples, to attend mass, and to visit one of the +wine-shops, of which there are no fewer than fifty in this little +town. Sunday wear for the men is a green tailcoat of some +coarse sort of drugget, and usually a complete suit to +match. I have never set eyes on such degrading +raiment. Here it clings, there bulges; and the human body, +with its agreeable and lively lines, is turned into a mockery and +laughing-stock. Another piece of Sunday business with the +peasants is to take their ailments to the chemist for +advice. It is as much a matter for Sunday as +church-going. I have seen a woman who had been unable to +speak since the Monday before, wheezing, catching her breath, +endlessly and painfully coughing; and yet she had waited upwards +of a hundred hours before coming to seek help, and had the week +been twice as long, she would have waited still. There was +a canonical day for consultation; such was the ancestral habit, +to which a respectable lady must study to conform.</p> +<p>Two conveyances go daily to Le Puy, but they rival each other +in polite concessions rather than in speed. Each will wait +an hour or two hours cheerfully while an old lady does her +marketing or a gentleman finishes the papers in a +café. The <i>Courrier</i> (such is the name of one) +should leave Le Puy by two in the afternoon and arrive at +Monastier in good on the return voyage, and arrive at Monastier +in good time for a six-o’clock dinner. But the driver +dares not disoblige his customers. He will postpone his +departure again and again, hour after hour; and I have known the +sun to go down on his delay. These purely personal favours, +this consideration of men’s fancies, rather than the hands +of a mechanical clock, as marking the advance of the abstraction, +time, makes a more humorous business of stage-coaching than we +are used to see it.</p> +<p>As far as the eye can reach, one swelling line of hill top +rises and falls behind another; and if you climb an eminence, it +is only to see new and father ranges behind these. Many +little rivers run from all sides in cliffy valleys; and one of +them, a few miles from Monastier, bears the great name of +Loire. The mean level of the country is a little more than +three thousand feet above the sea, which makes the atmosphere +proportionally brisk and wholesome. There is little timber +except pines, and the greater part of the country lies in +moorland pasture. The country is wild and tumbled rather +than commanding; an upland rather than a mountain district; and +the most striking as well as the most agreeable scenery lies low +beside the rivers. There, indeed, you will find many +corners that take the fancy; such as made the English noble +choose his grave by a Swiss streamlet, where nature is at her +freshest, and looks as young as on the seventh morning. +Such a place is the course of the Gazeille, where it waters the +common of Monastier and thence downwards till it joins the Loire; +a place to hear birds singing; a place for lovers to +frequent. The name of the river was perhaps suggested by +the sound of its passage over the stones; for it is a great +warbler, and at night, after I was in bed at Monastier, I could +hear it go singing down the valley till I fell asleep.</p> +<p>On the whole, this is a Scottish landscape, although not so +noble as the best in Scotland; and by an odd coincidence, the +population is, in its way, as Scottish as the country. They +have abrupt, uncouth, Fifeshire manners, and accost you, as if +you were trespassing, an ‘Où’st-ce que vous +allez?’ only translatable into the Lowland ‘Whaur ye +gaun?’ They keep the Scottish Sabbath. There is +no labour done on that day but to drive in and out the various +pigs and sheep and cattle that make so pleasant a tinkling in the +meadows. The lace-makers have disappeared from the +street. Not to attend mass would involve social +degradation; and you may find people reading Sunday books, in +particular a sort of Catholic <i>Monthly Visitor</i> on the +doings of Our Lady of Lourdes. I remember one Sunday, when +I was walking in the country, that I fell on a hamlet and found +all the inhabitants, from the patriarch to the baby, gathered in +the shadow of a gable at prayer. One strapping lass stood +with her back to the wall and did the solo part, the rest chiming +in devoutly. Not far off, a lad lay flat on his face asleep +among some straw, to represent the worldly element.</p> +<p>Again, this people is eager to proselytise; and the +postmaster’s daughter used to argue with me by the +half-hour about my heresy, until she grew quite flushed. I +have heard the reverse process going on between a Scotswoman and +a French girl; and the arguments in the two cases were +identical. Each apostle based her claim on the superior +virtue and attainments of her clergy, and clenched the business +with a threat of hell-fire. ‘<i>Pas bong +prêtres ici</i>,’ said the Presbyterian, +‘<i>bong prêtres en Ecosse</i>.’ And the +postmaster’s daughter, taking up the same weapon, plied me, +so to speak, with the butt of it instead of the bayonet. We +are a hopeful race, it seems, and easily persuaded for our +good. One cheerful circumstance I note in these guerilla +missions, that each side relies on hell, and Protestant and +Catholic alike address themselves to a supposed misgiving in +their adversary’s heart. And I call it cheerful, for +faith is a more supporting quality than imagination.</p> +<p>Here, as in Scotland, many peasant families boast a son in +holy orders. And here also, the young men have a tendency +to emigrate. It is certainly not poverty that drives them +to the great cities or across the seas, for many peasant +families, I was told, have a fortune of at least 40,000 +francs. The lads go forth pricked with the spirit of +adventure and the desire to rise in life, and leave their +homespun elders grumbling and wondering over the event. +Once, at a village called Laussonne, I met one of these +disappointed parents: a drake who had fathered a wild swan and +seen it take wing and disappear. The wild swan in question +was now an apothecary in Brazil. He had flown by way of +Bordeaux, and first landed in America, bareheaded and barefoot, +and with a single halfpenny in his pocket. And now he was +an apothecary! Such a wonderful thing is an adventurous +life! I thought he might as well have stayed at home; but +you never can tell wherein a man’s life consists, nor in +what he sets his pleasure: one to drink, another to marry, a +third to write scurrilous articles and be repeatedly caned in +public, and now this fourth, perhaps, to be an apothecary in +Brazil. As for his old father, he could conceive no reason +for the lad’s behaviour. ‘I had always bread +for him,’ he said; ‘he ran away to annoy me. He +loved to annoy me. He had no gratitude.’ But at +heart he was swelling with pride over his travelled offspring, +and he produced a letter out of his pocket, where, as he said, it +was rotting, a mere lump of paper rags, and waved it gloriously +in the air. ‘This comes from America,’ he +cried, ‘six thousand leagues away!’ And the +wine-shop audience looked upon it with a certain thrill.</p> +<p>I soon became a popular figure, and was known for miles in the +country. <i>Où’st que vous allez</i>? was +changed for me into <i>Quoi</i>, <i>vous rentrez au Monastier</i> +and in the town itself every urchin seemed to know my name, +although no living creature could pronounce it. There was +one particular group of lace-makers who brought out a chair for +me whenever I went by, and detained me from my walk to +gossip. They were filled with curiosity about England, its +language, its religion, the dress of the women, and were never +weary of seeing the Queen’s head on English postage-stamps, +or seeking for French words in English Journals. The +language, in particular, filled them with surprise.</p> +<p>‘Do they speak <i>patois</i> in England?’ I +was once asked; and when I told them not, ‘Ah, then, +French?’ said they.</p> +<p>‘No, no,’ I said, ‘not French.’</p> +<p>‘Then,’ they concluded, ‘they speak +<i>patois</i>.’</p> +<p>You must obviously either speak French or <i>patios</i>. +Talk of the force of logic—here it was in all its +weakness. I gave up the point, but proceeding to give +illustrations of my native jargon, I was met with a new +mortification. Of all <i>patios</i> they declared that mine +was the most preposterous and the most jocose in sound. At +each new word there was a new explosion of laughter, and some of +the younger ones were glad to rise from their chairs and stamp +about the street in ecstasy; and I looked on upon their mirth in +a faint and slightly disagreeable bewilderment. +‘Bread,’ which sounds a commonplace, plain-sailing +monosyllable in England, was the word that most delighted these +good ladies of Monastier; it seemed to them frolicsome and racy, +like a page of Pickwick; and they all got it carefully by heart, +as a stand-by, I presume, for winter evenings. I have tried +it since then with every sort of accent and inflection, but I +seem to lack the sense of humour.</p> +<p>They were of all ages: children at their first web of lace, a +stripling girl with a bashful but encouraging play of eyes, solid +married women, and grandmothers, some on the top of their age and +some falling towards decrepitude. One and all were pleasant +and natural, ready to laugh and ready with a certain quiet +solemnity when that was called for by the subject of our +talk. Life, since the fall in wages, had begun to appear to +them with a more serious air. The stripling girl would +sometimes laugh at me in a provocative and not unadmiring manner, +if I judge aright; and one of the grandmothers, who was my great +friend of the party, gave me many a sharp word of judgment on my +sketches, my heresy, or even my arguments, and gave them with a +wry mouth and a humorous twinkle in her eye that were eminently +Scottish. But the rest used me with a certain reverence, as +something come from afar and not entirely human. Nothing +would put them at their ease but the irresistible gaiety of my +native tongue. Between the old lady and myself I think +there was a real attachment. She was never weary of sitting +to me for her portrait, in her best cap and brigand hat, and with +all her wrinkles tidily composed, and though she never failed to +repudiate the result, she would always insist upon another +trial. It was as good as a play to see her sitting in +judgment over the last. ‘No, no,’ she would +say, ‘that is not it. I am old, to be sure, but I am +better-looking than that. We must try again.’ +When I was about to leave she bade me good-bye for this life in a +somewhat touching manner. We should not meet again, she +said; it was a long farewell, and she was sorry. But life +is so full of crooks, old lady, that who knows? I have said +good-bye to people for greater distances and times, and, please +God, I mean to see them yet again.</p> +<p>One thing was notable about these women, from the youngest to +the oldest, and with hardly an exception. In spite of their +piety, they could twang off an oath with Sir Toby Belch in +person. There was nothing so high or so low, in heaven or +earth or in the human body, but a woman of this neighbourhood +would whip out the name of it, fair and square, by way of +conversational adornment. My landlady, who was pretty and +young, dressed like a lady and avoided <i>patois</i> like a +weakness, commonly addressed her child in the language of a +drunken bully. And of all the swearers that I ever heard, +commend me to an old lady in Gondet, a village of the +Loire. I was making a sketch, and her curse was not yet +ended when I had finished it and took my departure. It is +true she had a right to be angry; for here was her son, a hulking +fellow, visibly the worse for drink before the day was well +begun. But it was strange to hear her unwearying flow of +oaths and obscenities, endless like a river, and now and then +rising to a passionate shrillness, in the clear and silent air of +the morning. In city slums, the thing might have passed +unnoticed; but in a country valley, and from a plain and honest +countrywoman, this beastliness of speech surprised the ear.</p> +<p>The <i>Conductor</i>, as he is called, <i>of Roads and +Bridges</i> was my principal companion. He was generally +intelligent, and could have spoken more or less falsetto on any +of the trite topics; but it was his specially to have a generous +taste in eating. This was what was most indigenous in the +man; it was here he was an artist; and I found in his company +what I had long suspected, that enthusiasm and special knowledge +are the great social qualities, and what they are about, whether +white sauce or Shakespeare’s plays, an altogether secondary +question.</p> +<p>I used to accompany the Conductor on his professional rounds, +and grew to believe myself an expert in the business. I +thought I could make an entry in a stone-breaker’s +time-book, or order manure off the wayside with any living +engineer in France. Gondet was one of the places we visited +together; and Laussonne, where I met the apothecary’s +father, was another. There, at Laussonne, George Sand spent +a day while she was gathering materials for the <i>Marquis de +Villemer</i>; and I have spoken with an old man, who was then a +child running about the inn kitchen, and who still remembers her +with a sort of reverence. It appears that he spoke French +imperfectly; for this reason George Sand chose him for companion, +and whenever he let slip a broad and picturesque phrase in +<i>patois</i>, she would make him repeat it again and again till +it was graven in her memory. The word for a frog +particularly pleased her fancy; and it would be curious to know +if she afterwards employed it in her works. The peasants, +who knew nothing of betters and had never so much as heard of +local colour, could not explain her chattering with this backward +child; and to them she seemed a very homely lady and far from +beautiful: the most famous man-killer of the age appealed so +little to Velaisian swine-herds!</p> +<p>On my first engineering excursion, which lay up by Crouzials +towards Mount Mezenc and the borders of Ardèche, I began +an improving acquaintance with the foreman road-mender. He +was in great glee at having me with him, passed me off among his +subalterns as the supervising engineer, and insisted on what he +called ‘the gallantry’ of paying for my breakfast in +a roadside wine-shop. On the whole, he was a man of great +weather-wisdom, some spirits, and a social temper. But I am +afraid he was superstitious. When he was nine years old, he +had seen one night a company of <i>bourgeois et dames qui +faisaient la manège avec des chaises</i>, and concluded +that he was in the presence of a witches’ Sabbath. I +suppose, but venture with timidity on the suggestion, that this +may have been a romantic and nocturnal picnic party. Again, +coming from Pradelles with his brother, they saw a great empty +cart drawn by six enormous horses before them on the road. +The driver cried aloud and filled the mountains with the cracking +of his whip. He never seemed to go faster than a walk, yet +it was impossible to overtake him; and at length, at the comer of +a hill, the whole equipage disappeared bodily into the +night. At the time, people said it was the devil <i>qui +s’amusait à faire ca</i>.</p> +<p>I suggested there was nothing more likely, as he must have +some amusement.</p> +<p>The foreman said it was odd, but there was less of that sort +of thing than formerly. ‘<i>C’est +difficile</i>,’ he added, ‘<i>à +expliquer</i>.’</p> +<p>When we were well up on the moors and the <i>Conductor</i> was +trying some road-metal with the gauge—</p> +<p>‘Hark!’ said the foreman, ‘do you hear +nothing?’</p> +<p>We listened, and the wind, which was blowing chilly out of the +east, brought a faint, tangled jangling to our ears.</p> +<p>‘It is the flocks of Vivarais,’ said he.</p> +<p>For every summer, the flocks out of all Ardèche are +brought up to pasture on these grassy plateaux.</p> +<p>Here and there a little private flock was being tended by a +girl, one spinning with a distaff, another seated on a wall and +intently making lace. This last, when we addressed her, +leaped up in a panic and put out her arms, like a person +swimming, to keep us at a distance, and it was some seconds +before we could persuade her of the honesty of our +intentions.</p> +<p>The <i>Conductor</i> told me of another herdswoman from whom +he had once asked his road while he was yet new to the country, +and who fled from him, driving her beasts before her, until he +had given up the information in despair. A tale of old +lawlessness may yet be read in these uncouth timidities.</p> +<p>The winter in these uplands is a dangerous and melancholy +time. Houses are snowed up, and way-farers lost in a flurry +within hail of their own fireside. No man ventures abroad +without meat and a bottle of wine, which he replenishes at every +wine-shop; and even thus equipped he takes the road with +terror. All day the family sits about the fire in a foul +and airless hovel, and equally without work or diversion. +The father may carve a rude piece of furniture, but that is all +that will be done until the spring sets in again, and along with +it the labours of the field. It is not for nothing that you +find a clock in the meanest of these mountain habitations. +A clock and an almanac, you would fancy, were indispensable in +such a life . . .</p> +<h2><!-- page 189--><a name="page189"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 189</span>VII.<br /> +RANDOM MEMORIES: <i>ROSA QUO LOCORUM</i></h2> +<p>Through what little channels, by what hints and premonitions, +the consciousness of the man’s art dawns first upon the +child, it should be not only interesting but instructive to +inquire. A matter of curiosity to-day, it will become the +ground of science to-morrow. From the mind of childhood +there is more history and more philosophy to be fished up than +from all the printed volumes in a library. The child is +conscious of an interest, not in literature but in life. A +taste for the precise, the adroit, or the comely in the use of +words, comes late; but long before that he has enjoyed in books a +delightful dress rehearsal of experience. He is first +conscious of this material—I had almost said this +practical—pre-occupation; it does not follow that it really +came the first. I have some old fogged negatives in my +collection that would seem to imply a prior stage ‘The Lord +is gone up with a shout, and God with the sound of a +trumpet’—memorial version, I know not where to find +the text—rings still in my ear from my first childhood, and +perhaps with something of my nurses accent. There was +possibly some sort of image written in my mind by these loud +words, but I believe the words themselves were what I +cherished. I had about the same time, and under the same +influence—that of my dear nurse—a favourite author: +it is possible the reader has not heard of him—the Rev. +Robert Murray M’Cheyne. My nurse and I admired his +name exceedingly, so that I must have been taught the love of +beautiful sounds before I was breeched; and I remember two +specimens of his muse until this day:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Behind the hills of Naphtali<br /> + The sun went slowly down,<br /> +Leaving on mountain, tower, and tree,<br /> + A tinge of golden brown.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>There is imagery here, and I set it on one side. The +other—it is but a verse—not only contains no image, +but is quite unintelligible even to my comparatively instructed +mind, and I know not even how to spell the outlandish vocable +that charmed me in my childhood:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Jehovah Tschidkenu is nothing to +her’;—<a name="citation190"></a><a +href="#footnote190" class="citation">[190]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>I may say, without flippancy, that he was nothing to me +either, since I had no ray of a guess of what he was about; yet +the verse, from then to now, a longer interval than the life of a +generation, has continued to haunt me.</p> +<p>I have said that I should set a passage distinguished by +obvious and pleasing imagery, however faint; for the child thinks +much in images, words are very live to him, phrases that imply a +picture eloquent beyond their value. Rummaging in the dusty +pigeon-holes of memory, I came once upon a graphic version of the +famous Psalm, ‘The Lord is my shepherd’: and from the +places employed in its illustration, which are all in the +immediate neighbourhood of a house then occupied by my father, I +am able, to date it before the seventh year of my age, although +it was probably earlier in fact. The ‘pastures +green’ were represented by a certain suburban +stubble-field, where I had once walked with my nurse, under an +autumnal sunset, on the banks of the Water of Leith: the place is +long ago built up; no pastures now, no stubble-fields; only a +maze of little streets and smoking chimneys and shrill +children. Here, in the fleecy person of a sheep, I seemed +to myself to follow something unseen, unrealised, and yet +benignant; and close by the sheep in which I was +incarnated—as if for greater security—rustled the +skirt, of my nurse. ‘Death’s dark vale’ +was a certain archway in the Warriston Cemetery: a formidable yet +beloved spot, for children love to be afraid,—in measure as +they love all experience of vitality. Here I beheld myself +some paces ahead (seeing myself, I mean, from behind) utterly +alone in that uncanny passage; on the one side of me a rude, +knobby, shepherd’s staff, such as cheers the heart of the +cockney tourist, on the other a rod like a billiard cue, appeared +to accompany my progress; the stiff sturdily upright, the +billiard cue inclined confidentially, like one whispering, +towards my ear. I was aware—I will never tell you +how—that the presence of these articles afforded me +encouragement. The third and last of my pictures +illustrated words:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘My table Thou hast furnished<br /> + In presence of my foes:<br /> +My head Thou dost with oil anoint,<br /> + And my cup overflows’:</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and this was perhaps the most interesting of the series. +I saw myself seated in a kind of open stone summer-house at +table; over my shoulder a hairy, bearded, and robed presence +anointed me from an authentic shoe-horn; the summer-house was +part of the green court of a ruin, and from the far side of the +court black and white imps discharged against me ineffectual +arrows. The picture appears arbitrary, but I can trace +every detail to its source, as Mr. Brock analysed the dream of +Alan Armadale. The summer-house and court were muddled +together out of Billings’ <i>Antiquities of Scotland</i>; +the imps conveyed from Bagster’s <i>Pilgrim’s +Progress</i>; the bearded and robed figure from any one of the +thousand Bible pictures; and the shoe-horn was plagiarised from +an old illustrated Bible, where it figured in the hand of Samuel +anointing Saul, and had been pointed out to me as a jest by my +father. It was shown me for a jest, remark; but the serious +spirit of infancy adopted it in earnest. Children are all +classics; a bottle would have seemed an intermediary too +trivial—that divine refreshment of whose meaning I had no +guess; and I seized on the idea of that mystic shoe-horn with +delight, even as, a little later, I should have written flagon, +chalice, hanaper, beaker, or any word that might have appealed to +me at the moment as least contaminate with mean +associations. In this string of pictures I believe the gist +of the psalm to have consisted; I believe it had no more to say +to me; and the result was consolatory. I would go to sleep +dwelling with restfulness upon these images; they passed before +me, besides, to an appropriate music; for I had already singled +out from that rude psalm the one lovely verse which dwells in the +minds of all, not growing old, not disgraced by its association +with long Sunday tasks, a scarce conscious joy in childhood, in +age a companion thought:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘In pastures green Thou leadest me,<br /> + The quiet waters by.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The remainder of my childish recollections are all of the +matter of what was read to me, and not of any manner in the +words. If these pleased me it was unconsciously; I listened +for news of the great vacant world upon whose edge I stood; I +listened for delightful plots that I might re-enact in play, and +romantic scenes and circumstances that I might call up before me, +with closed eyes, when I was tired of Scotland, and home, and +that weary prison of the sick-chamber in which I lay so long in +durance. <i>Robinson Crusoe</i>; some of the books of that +cheerful, ingenious, romantic soul, Mayne Reid; and a work rather +gruesome and bloody for a child, but very picturesque, called +<i>Paul Blake</i>; these are the three strongest impressions I +remember: <i>The Swiss Family Robinson</i> came next, <i>longo +intervallo</i>. At these I played, conjured up their +scenes, and delighted to hear them rehearsed unto seventy times +seven. I am not sure but what <i>Paul Blake</i> came after +I could read. It seems connected with a visit to the +country, and an experience unforgettable. The day had been +warm; H--- and I had played together charmingly <!-- page +194--><a name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +194</span>all day in a sandy wilderness across the road; then +came the evening with a great flash of colour and a heavenly +sweetness in the air. Somehow my play-mate had vanished, or +is out of the story, as the sages say, but I was sent into the +village on an errand; and, taking a book of fairy tales, went +down alone through a fir-wood, reading as I walked. How +often since then has it befallen me to be happy even so; but that +was the first time: the shock of that pleasure I have never since +forgot, and if my mind serves me to the last, I never shall, for +it was then that I knew I loved reading.</p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p>To pass from hearing literature to reading it is to take a +great and dangerous step. With not a few, I think a large +proportion of their pleasure then comes to an end; ‘the +malady of not marking’ overtakes them; they read +thenceforward by the eye alone and hear never again the chime of +fair words or the march of the stately period. <i>Non +ragioniam</i> of these. But to all the step is dangerous; +it involves coming of age; it is even a kind of second +weaning. In the past all was at the choice of others; they +chose, they digested, they read aloud for us and sang to their +own tune the books of childhood. In the future we are to +approach the silent, inexpressive type alone, like pioneers; and +the choice of what we are to read is in our own hands +thenceforward. For instance, in the passages already +adduced, I detect and applaud the ear of my old nurse; they were +of her choice, and she imposed them on my infancy, reading the +works of others as a poet would scarce dare to read his own; +gloating on the rhythm, dwelling with delight on assonances and +alliterations. I know very well my mother must have been +all the while trying to educate my taste upon more secular +authors; but the vigour and the continual opportunities of my +nurse triumphed, and after a long search, I can find in these +earliest volumes of my autobiography no mention of anything but +nursery rhymes, the Bible, and Mr. M’Cheyne.</p> +<p>I suppose all children agree in looking back with delight on +their school Readers. We might not now find so much pathos +in ‘Bingen on the Rhine,’ ‘A soldier of the +Legion lay dying in Algiers,’ or in ‘The +Soldier’s Funeral,’ in the declamation of which I was +held to have surpassed myself. ‘Robert’s +voice,’ said the master on this memorable occasion, +‘is not strong, but impressive’: an opinion which I +was fool enough to carry home to my father; who roasted me for +years in consequence. I am sure one should not be so +deliciously tickled by the humorous pieces:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘What, crusty? cries Will in a taking,<br /> +Who would not be crusty with half a year’s +baking?’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I think this quip would leave us cold. The ‘Isles +of Greece’ seem rather tawdry too; but on the +‘Address to the Ocean,’ or on ‘The Dying +Gladiator,’ ‘time has writ no wrinkle.’</p> +<blockquote><p>’Tis the morn, but dim and dark,<br /> +Whither flies the silent lark?’—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>does the reader recall the moment when his eye first fell upon +these lines in the Fourth Reader; and ‘surprised with joy, +impatient as the wind,’ he plunged into the sequel? +And there was another piece, this time in prose, which none can +have forgotten; many like me must have searched Dickens with zeal +to find it again, and in its proper context, and have perhaps +been conscious of some inconsiderable measure of disappointment, +that it was only Tom Pinch who drove, in such a pomp of poetry, +to London.</p> +<p>But in the Reader we are still under guides. What a boy +turns out for himself, as he rummages the bookshelves, is the +real test and pleasure. My father’s library was a +spot of some austerity; the proceedings of learned societies, +some Latin divinity, cyclopædias, physical science, and, +above all, optics, held the chief place upon the shelves, and it +was only in holes and corners that anything really legible +existed as by accident. The <i>Parent’s +Assistant</i>, <i>Rob Roy</i>, <i>Waverley</i>, and <i>Guy +Mannering</i>, the <i>Voyages of Captain Woods Rogers</i>, +Fuller’s and Bunyan’s <i>Holy Wars</i>,<i> The +Reflections of Robinson Crusoe</i>, <i>The Female Bluebeard</i>, +G. Sand’s <i>Mare au Diable</i>—(how came it in that +grave assembly!), Ainsworth’s <i>Tower of London</i>, and +four old volumes of Punch—these were the chief +exceptions. In these latter, which made for years the chief +of my diet, I very early fell in love (almost as soon as I could +spell) with the Snob Papers. I knew them almost by heart, +particularly the visit to the Pontos; and I remember my surprise +when I found, long afterwards, that they were famous, and signed +with a famous name; to me, as I read and admired them, they were +the works of Mr. Punch. Time and again I tried to read +<i>Rob Roy</i>, with whom of course I was acquainted from the +<i>Tales of a Grandfather</i>; time and again the early part, +with Rashleigh and (think of it!) the adorable Diana, choked me +off; and I shall never forget the pleasure and surprise with +which, lying on the floor one summer evening, I struck of a +sudden into the first scene with Andrew Fairservice. +‘The worthy Dr. Lightfoot’—‘mistrysted +with a bogle’—‘a wheen green +trash’—‘Jenny, lass, I think I ha’e +her’: from that day to this the phrases have been +unforgotten. I read on, I need scarce say; I came to +Glasgow, I bided tryst on Glasgow Bridge, I met Rob Roy and the +Bailie in the Tolbooth, all with transporting pleasure; and then +the clouds gathered once more about my path; and I dozed and +skipped until I stumbled half-asleep into the clachan of +Aberfoyle, and the voices of Iverach and Galbraith recalled me to +myself. With that scene and the defeat of Captain Thornton +the book concluded; Helen and her sons shocked even the little +schoolboy of nine or ten with their unreality; I read no more, or +I did not grasp what I was reading; and years elapsed before I +consciously met Diana and her father among the hills, or saw +Rashleigh dying in the chair. When I think of that novel +and that evening, I am impatient with all others; they seem but +shadows and impostors; they cannot satisfy the appetite which +this awakened; and I dare be known to think it the best of Sir +Walter’s by nearly as much as Sir Walter is the best of +novelists. Perhaps Mr. Lang is right, and our first friends +in the land of fiction are always the most real. And yet I +had read before this <i>Guy Mannering</i>, and some of +<i>Waverley</i>, with no such delighted sense of truth and +humour, and I read immediately after the greater part of the +Waverley Novels, and was never moved again in the same way or to +the same degree. One circumstance is suspicious: my +critical estimate of the Waverley Novels has scarce changed at +all since I was ten. <i>Rob Roy</i>, <i>Guy Mannering</i>, +and <i>Redgauntlet</i> first; then, a little lower; <i>The +Fortunes of Nigel</i>; then, after a huge gulf, <i>Ivanhoe</i> +and <i>Anne of Geierstein</i>: the rest nowhere; such was the +verdict of the boy. Since then <i>The Antiquary</i>, <i>St. +Ronan’s Well</i>, <i>Kenilworth</i>, and <i>The Heart of +Midlothian</i> have gone up in the scale; perhaps <i>Ivanhoe and +Anne of Geierstein</i> have gone a trifle down; Diana Vernon has +been added to my admirations in that enchanted world of <i>Rob +Roy</i>; I think more of the letters in <i>Redgauntlet</i>, and +Peter Peebles, that dreadful piece of realism, I can now read +about with equanimity, interest, and I had almost said pleasure, +while to the childish critic he often caused unmixed +distress. But the rest is the same; I could not finish +<i>The Pirate</i> when I was a child, I have never finished it +yet; <i>Peveril of the Peak</i> dropped half way through from my +schoolboy hands, and though I have since waded to an end in a +kind of wager with myself, the exercise was quite without +enjoyment. There is something disquieting in these +considerations. I still think the visit to Ponto’s +the best part of the <i>Book of Snobs</i>: does that mean that I +was right when I was a child, or does it mean that I have never +grown since then, that the child is not the man’s father, +but the man? and that I came into the world with all my faculties +complete, and have only learned sinsyne to be more tolerant of +boredom? . . .</p> +<h2><!-- page 199--><a name="page199"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 199</span>VIII.<br /> +THE IDEAL HOUSE</h2> +<p>Two things are necessary in any neighbourhood where we propose +to spend a life: a desert and some living water.</p> +<p>There are many parts of the earth’s face which offer the +necessary combination of a certain wildness with a kindly +variety. A great prospect is desirable, but the want may be +otherwise supplied; even greatness can be found on the small +scale; for the mind and the eye measure differently. Bold +rocks near hand are more inspiriting than distant Alps, and the +thick fern upon a Surrey heath makes a fine forest for the +imagination, and the dotted yew trees noble mountains. A +Scottish moor with birches and firs grouped here and there upon a +knoll, or one of those rocky seaside deserts of Provence +overgrown with rosemary and thyme and smoking with aroma, are +places where the mind is never weary. Forests, being more +enclosed, are not at first sight so attractive, but they exercise +a spell; they must, however, be diversified with either heath or +rock, and are hardly to be considered perfect without +conifers. Even sand-hills, with their intricate plan, and +their gulls and rabbits, will stand well for the necessary +desert.</p> +<p>The house must be within hail of either a little river or the +sea. A great river is more fit for poetry than to adorn a +neighbourhood; its sweep of waters increases the scale of the +scenery and the distance of one notable object from another; and +a lively burn gives us, in the space of a few yards, a greater +variety of promontory and islet, of cascade, shallow goil, and +boiling pool, with answerable changes both of song and colour, +than a navigable stream in many hundred miles. The fish, +too, make a more considerable feature of the brookside, and the +trout plumping in the shadow takes the ear. A stream +should, besides, be narrow enough to cross, or the burn hard by a +bridge, or we are at once shut out of Eden. The quantity of +water need be of no concern, for the mind sets the scale, and can +enjoy a Niagara Fall of thirty inches. Let us approve the +singer of</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Shallow rivers, by whose falls<br /> +Melodious birds sing madrigals.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>If the sea is to be our ornamental water, choose an open +seaboard with a heavy beat of surf; one much broken in outline, +with small havens and dwarf headlands; if possible a few islets; +and as a first necessity, rocks reaching out into deep +water. Such a rock on a calm day is a better station than +the top of Teneriffe or Chimborazo. In short, both for the +desert and the water, the conjunction of many near and bold +details is bold scenery for the imagination and keeps the mind +alive.</p> +<p>Given these two prime luxuries, the nature of the country +where we are to live is, I had almost said, indifferent; after +that inside the garden, we can construct a country of our +own. Several old trees, a considerable variety of level, +several well-grown hedges to divide our garden into provinces, a +good extent of old well-set turf, and thickets of shrubs and +ever-greens to be cut into and cleared at the new owner’s +pleasure, are the qualities to be sought for in your chosen +land. Nothing is more delightful than a succession of small +lawns, opening one out of the other through tall hedges; these +have all the charm of the old bowling-green repeated, do not +require the labour of many trimmers, and afford a series of +changes. You must have much lawn against the early summer, +so as to have a great field of daisies, the year’s morning +frost; as you must have a wood of lilacs, to enjoy to the full +the period of their blossoming. Hawthorn is another of the +Spring’s ingredients; but it is even best to have a rough +public lane at one side of your enclosure which, at the right +season, shall become an avenue of bloom and odour. The old +flowers are the best and should grow carelessly in corners. +Indeed, the ideal fortune is to find an old garden, once very +richly cared for, since sunk into neglect, and to tend, not +repair, that neglect; it will thus have a smack of nature and +wildness which skilful dispositions cannot overtake. The +gardener should be an idler, and have a gross partiality to the +kitchen plots: an eager or toilful gardener misbecomes the garden +landscape; a tasteful gardener will be ever meddling, will keep +the borders raw, and take the bloom off nature. Close +adjoining, if you are in the south, an olive-yard, if in the +north, a swarded apple-orchard reaching to the stream, completes +your miniature domain; but this is perhaps best entered through a +door in the high fruit-wall; so that you close the door behind +you on your sunny plots, your hedges and evergreen jungle, when +you go down to watch the apples falling in the pool. It is +a golden maxim to cultivate the garden for the nose, and the eyes +will take care of themselves. Nor must the ear be +forgotten: without birds a garden is a prison-yard. There +is a garden near Marseilles on a steep hill-side, walking by +which, upon a sunny morning, your ear will suddenly be ravished +with a burst of small and very cheerful singing: some score of +cages being set out there to sun their occupants. This is a +heavenly surprise to any passer-by; but the price paid, to keep +so many ardent and winged creatures from their liberty, will make +the luxury too dear for any thoughtful pleasure-lover. +There is only one sort of bird that I can tolerate caged, though +even then I think it hard, and that is what is called in France +the Bec-d’Argent. I once had two of these pigmies in +captivity; and in the quiet, hire house upon a silent street +where I was then living, their song, which was not much louder +than a bee’s, but airily musical, kept me in a perpetual +good humour. I put the cage upon my table when I worked, +carried it with me when I went for meals, and kept it by my head +at night: the first thing in the morning, these <i>maestrini</i> +would pipe up. But these, even if you can pardon their +imprisonment, are for the house. In the garden the wild +birds must plant a colony, a chorus of the lesser warblers that +should be almost deafening, a blackbird in the lilacs, a +nightingale down the lane, so that you must stroll to hear it, +and yet a little farther, tree-tops populous with rooks.</p> +<p>Your house should not command much outlook; it should be set +deep and green, though upon rising ground, or, if possible, +crowning a knoll, for the sake of drainage. Yet it must be +open to the east, or you will miss the sunrise; sunset occurring +so much later, you can go up a few steps and look the other +way. A house of more than two stories is a mere barrack; +indeed the ideal is of one story, raised upon cellars. If +the rooms are large, the house may be small: a single room, +lofty, spacious, and lightsome, is more palatial than a castleful +of cabinets and cupboards. Yet size in a house, and some +extent and intricacy of corridor, is certainly delightful to the +flesh. The reception room should be, if possible, a place +of many recesses, which are ‘petty retiring places for +conference’; but it must have one long wall with a divan: +for a day spent upon a divan, among a world of cushions, is as +full of diversion as to travel. The eating-room, in the +French mode, should be <i>ad hoc</i>: unfurnished, but with a +buffet, the table, necessary chairs, one or two of +Canaletto’s etchings, and a tile fire-place for the +winter. In neither of these public places should there be +anything beyond a shelf or two of books; but the passages may be +one library from end to end, and the stair, if there be one, +lined with volumes in old leather, very brightly carpeted, and +leading half-way up, and by way of landing, to a windowed recess +with a fire-place; this window, almost alone in the house, should +command a handsome prospect. Husband and wife must each +possess a studio; on the woman’s sanctuary I hesitate to +dwell, and turn to the man’s. The walls are shelved +waist-high for books, and the top thus forms a continuous table +running round the wall. Above are prints, a large map of +the neighbourhood, a Corot and a Claude or two. The room is +very spacious, and the five tables and two chairs are but as +islands. One table is for actual work, one close by for +references in use; one, very large, for MSS. or proofs that wait +their turn; one kept clear for an occasion; and the fifth is the +map table, groaning under a collection of large-scale maps and +charts. Of all books these are the least wearisome to read +and the richest in matter; the course of roads and rivers, the +contour lines and the forests in the maps—the reefs, +soundings, anchors, sailing marks and little pilot-pictures in +the charts—and, in both, the bead-roll of names, make them +of all printed matter the most fit to stimulate and satisfy the +fancy. The chair in which you write is very low and easy, +and backed into a corner; at one elbow the fire twinkles; close +at the other, if you are a little inhumane, your cage of +silver-bills are twittering into song.</p> +<p>Joined along by a passage, you may reach the great, sunny, +glass-roofed, and tiled gymnasium, at the far end of which, lined +with bright marble, is your plunge and swimming bath, fitted with +a capacious boiler.</p> +<p>The whole loft of the house from end to end makes one +undivided chamber; here are set forth tables on which to model +imaginary or actual countries in putty or plaster, with tools and +hardy pigments; a carpenter’s bench; and a spared corner +for photography, while at the far end a space is kept clear for +playing soldiers. Two boxes contain the two armies of some +five hundred horse and foot; two others the ammunition of each +side, and a fifth the foot-rules and the three colours of chalk, +with which you lay down, or, after a day’s play, refresh +the outlines of the country; red or white for the two kinds of +road (according as they are suitable or not for the passage of +ordnance), and blue for the course of the obstructing +rivers. Here I foresee that you may pass much happy time; +against a good adversary a game may well continue for a month; +for with armies so considerable three moves will occupy an +hour. It will be found to set an excellent edge on this +diversion if one of the players shall, every day or so, write a +report of the operations in the character of army +correspondent.</p> +<p>I have left to the last the little room for winter +evenings. This should be furnished in warm positive +colours, and sofas and floor thick with rich furs. The +hearth, where you burn wood of aromatic quality on silver dogs, +tiled round about with Bible pictures; the seats deep and easy; a +single Titian in a gold frame; a white bust or so upon a bracket; +a rack for the journals of the week; a table for the books of the +year; and close in a corner the three shelves full of eternal +books that never weary: Shakespeare, Molière, Montaigne, +Lamb, Sterne, De Musset’s comedies (the one volume open at +<i>Carmosine</i> and the other at <i>Fantasio</i>); the +<i>Arabian Nights</i>, and kindred stories, in Weber’s +solemn volumes; Borrow’s <i>Bible in Spain</i>, the +<i>Pilgrim’s Progress</i>, <i>Guy Mannering</i> and <i>Rob +Roy</i>, <i>Monte Cristo</i> and the <i>Vicomte de +Bragelonne</i>, immortal Boswell sole among biographers, Chaucer, +Herrick, and the <i>State Trials</i>.</p> +<p>The bedrooms are large, airy, with almost no furniture, floors +of varnished wood, and at the bed-head, in case of insomnia, one +shelf of books of a particular and dippable order, such as +<i>Pepys</i>, the <i>Paston Letters</i>, Burt’s <i>Letters +from the Highlands</i>, or the <i>Newgate Calendar</i>. . . .</p> +<h2><!-- page 207--><a name="page207"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 207</span>IX.<br /> +DAVOS IN WINTER</h2> +<p>A mountain valley has, at the best, a certain prison-like +effect on the imagination, but a mountain valley, an Alpine +winter, and an invalid’s weakness make up among them a +prison of the most effective kind. The roads indeed are +cleared, and at least one footpath dodging up the hill; but to +these the health-seeker is rigidly confined. There are for +him no cross-cuts over the field, no following of streams, no +unguided rambles in the wood. His walks are cut and +dry. In five or six different directions he can push as +far, and no farther, than his strength permits; never deviating +from the line laid down for him and beholding at each repetition +the same field of wood and snow from the same corner of the +road. This, of itself, would be a little trying to the +patience in the course of months; but to this is added, by the +heaped mantle of the snow, an almost utter absence of detail and +an almost unbroken identity of colour. Snow, it is true, is +not merely white. The sun touches it with roseate and +golden lights. Its own crushed infinity of crystals, its +own richness of tiny sculpture, fills it, when regarded near at +hand, with wonderful depths of coloured shadow, and, though +wintrily transformed, it is still water, and has watery tones of +blue. But, when all is said, these fields of white and +blots of crude black forest are but a trite and staring +substitute for the infinite variety and pleasantness of the +earth’s face. Even a boulder, whose front is too +precipitous to have retained the snow, seems, if you come upon it +in your walk, a perfect gem of colour, reminds you almost +painfully of other places, and brings into your head the delights +of more Arcadian days—the path across the meadow, the hazel +dell, the lilies on the stream, and the scents, the colours, and +the whisper of the woods. And scents here are as rare as +colours. Unless you get a gust of kitchen in passing some +hotel, you shall smell nothing all day long but the faint and +choking odour of frost. Sounds, too, are absent: not a bird +pipes, not a bough waves, in the dead, windless atmosphere. +If a sleigh goes by, the sleigh-bells ring, and that is all; you +work all winter through to no other accompaniment but the +crunching of your steps upon the frozen snow.</p> +<p>It is the curse of the Alpine valleys to be each one village +from one end to the other. Go where you please, houses will +still be in sight, before and behind you, and to the right and +left. Climb as high as an invalid is able, and it is only +to spy new habitations nested in the wood. Nor is that all; +for about the health resort the walks are besieged by single +people walking rapidly with plaids about their shoulders, by +sudden troops of German boys trying to learn to jödel, and +by German couples silently and, as you venture to fancy, not +quite happily, pursuing love’s young dream. You may +perhaps be an invalid who likes to make bad verses as he walks +about. Alas! no muse will suffer this imminence of +interruption—and at the second stampede of jödellers +you find your modest inspiration fled. Or you may only have +a taste for solitude; it may try your nerves to have some one +always in front whom you are visibly overtaking, and some one +always behind who is audibly overtaking you, to say nothing of a +score or so who brush past you in an opposite direction. It +may annoy you to take your walks and seats in public view. +Alas! there is no help for it among the Alps. There are no +recesses, as in Gorbio Valley by the oil-mill; no sacred solitude +of olive gardens on the Roccabruna-road; no nook upon Saint +Martin’s Cape, haunted by the voice of breakers, and +fragrant with the threefold sweetness of the rosemary and the +sea-pines and the sea.</p> +<p>For this publicity there is no cure, and no alleviation; but +the storms of which you will complain so bitterly while they +endure, chequer and by their contrast brighten the sameness of +the fair-weather scenes. When sun and storm contend +together—when the thick clouds are broken up and pierced by +arrows of golden daylight—there will be startling +rearrangements and transfigurations of the mountain +summits. A sun-dazzling spire of alp hangs suspended in +mid-sky among awful glooms and blackness; or perhaps the edge of +some great mountain shoulder will be designed in living gold, and +appear for the duration of a glance bright like a constellation, +and alone ‘in the unapparent.’ You may think +you know the figure of these hills; but when they are thus +revealed, they belong no longer to the things of +earth—meteors we should rather call them, appearances of +sun and air that endure but for a moment and return no +more. Other variations are more lasting, as when, for +instance, heavy and wet snow has fallen through some windless +hours, and the thin, spiry, mountain pine trees stand each +stock-still and loaded with a shining burthen. You may +drive through a forest so disguised, the tongue-tied torrent +struggling silently in the cleft of the ravine, and all still +except the jingle of the sleigh bells, and you shall fancy +yourself in some untrodden northern territory—Lapland, +Labrador, or Alaska.</p> +<p>Or, possibly, you arise very early in the morning; totter down +stairs in a state of somnambulism; take the simulacrum of a meal +by the glimmer of one lamp in the deserted coffee-room; and find +yourself by seven o’clock outside in a belated moonlight +and a freezing chill. The mail sleigh takes you up and +carries you on, and you reach the top of the ascent in the first +hour of the day. To trace the fires of the sunrise as they +pass from peak to peak, to see the unlit tree-tops stand out +soberly against the lighted sky, to be for twenty minutes in a +wonderland of clear, fading shadows, disappearing vapours, solemn +blooms of dawn, hills half glorified already with the day and +still half confounded with the greyness of the western +heaven—these will seem to repay you for the discomforts of +that early start; but as the hour proceeds, and these +enchantments vanish, you will find yourself upon the farther side +in yet another Alpine valley, snow white and coal black, with +such another long-drawn congeries of hamlets and such another +senseless watercourse bickering along the foot. You have +had your moment; but you have not changed the scene. The +mountains are about you like a trap; you cannot foot it up a +hillside and behold the sea as a great plain, but live in holes +and corners, and can change only one for another.</p> +<h2><!-- page 212--><a name="page212"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 212</span>X.<br /> +HEALTH AND MOUNTAINS</h2> +<p>There has come a change in medical opinion, and a change has +followed in the lives of sick folk. A year or two ago and +the wounded soldiery of mankind were all shut up together in some +basking angle of the Riviera, walking a dusty promenade or +sitting in dusty olive-yards within earshot of the interminable +and unchanging surf—idle among spiritless idlers; not +perhaps dying, yet hardly living either, and aspiring, sometimes +fiercely, after livelier weather and some vivifying change. +These were certainly beautiful places to live in, and the climate +was wooing in its softness. Yet there was a later shiver in +the sunshine; you were not certain whether you were being wooed; +and these mild shores would sometimes seem to you to be the +shores of death. There was a lack of a manly element; the +air was not reactive; you might write bits of poetry and practise +resignation, but you did not feel that here was a good spot to +repair your tissue or regain your nerve. And it appears, +after all, that there was something just in these +appreciations. The invalid is now asked to lodge on wintry +Alps; a ruder air shall medicine him; the demon of cold is no +longer to be fled from, but bearded in his den. For even +Winter has his ‘dear domestic cave,’ and in those +places where he may be said to dwell for ever tempers his +austerities.</p> +<p>Any one who has travelled westward by the great +transcontinental railroad of America must remember the joy with +which he perceived, after the tedious prairies of Nebraska and +across the vast and dismal moorlands of Wyoming, a few snowy +mountain summits alone, the southern sky. It is among these +mountains in the new State of Colorado that the sick man may +find, not merely an alleviation of his ailments, but the +possibility of an active life and an honest livelihood. +There, no longer as a lounger in a plaid, but as a working +farmer, sweating at his work, he may prolong and begin anew his +life. Instead of the bath-chair, the spade; instead of the +regulated walk, rough journeys in the forest, and the pure, rare +air of the open mountains for the miasma of the +sick-room—these are the changes offered him, with what +promise of pleasure and of self-respect, with what a revolution +in all his hopes and terrors, none but an invalid can know. +Resignation, the cowardice that apes a kind of courage and that +lives in the very air of health resorts, is cast aside at a +breath of such a prospect. The man can open the door; he +can be up and doing; he can be a kind of a man after all and not +merely an invalid.</p> +<p>But it is a far cry to the Rocky Mountains. We cannot +all of us go farming in Colorado; and there is yet a middle term, +which combines the medical benefits of the new system with the +moral drawbacks of the old. Again the invalid has to lie +aside from life and its wholesome duties; again he has to be an +idler among idlers; but this time at a great altitude, far among +the mountains, with the snow piled before his door and the frost +flowers every morning on his window. The mere fact is tonic +to his nerves. His choice of a place of wintering has +somehow to his own eyes the air of an act of bold contract; and, +since he has wilfully sought low temperatures, he is not so apt +to shudder at a touch of chill. He came for that, he looked +for it, and he throws it from him with the thought.</p> +<p>A long straight reach of valley, wall-like mountains upon +either hand that rise higher and higher and shoot up new summits +the higher you climb; a few noble peaks seen even from the +valley; a village of hotels; a world of black and +white—black pine-woods, clinging to the sides of the +valley, and white snow flouring it, and papering it between the +pine-woods, and covering all the mountains with a dazzling curd; +add a few score invalids marching to and fro upon the snowy road, +or skating on the ice-rinks, possibly to music, or sitting under +sunshades by the door of the hotel—and you have the larger +features of a mountain sanatorium. A certain furious river +runs curving down the valley; its pace never varies, it has not a +pool for as far as you can follow it; and its unchanging, +senseless hurry is strangely tedious to witness. It is a +river that a man could grow to hate. Day after day breaks +with the rarest gold upon the mountain spires, and creeps, +growing and glowing, down into the valley. From end to end +the snow reverberates the sunshine; from end to end the air +tingles with the light, clear and dry like crystal. Only +along the course of the river, but high above it, there hangs far +into the noon, one waving scarf of vapour. It were hard to +fancy a more engaging feature in a landscape; perhaps it is +harder to believe that delicate, long-lasting phantom of the +atmosphere, a creature of the incontinent stream whose course it +follows. By noon the sky is arrayed in an unrivalled pomp +of colour—mild and pale and melting in the north, but +towards the zenith, dark with an intensity of purple blue. +What with this darkness of heaven and the intolerable lustre of +the snow, space is reduced again to chaos. An English +painter, coming to France late in life, declared with natural +anger that ‘the values were all wrong.’ Had he +got among the Alps on a bright day he might have lost his +reason. And even to any one who has looked at landscape +with any care, and in any way through the spectacles of +representative art, the scene has a character of insanity. +The distant shining mountain peak is here beside your eye; the +neighbouring dull-coloured house in comparison is miles away; the +summit, which is all of splendid snow, is close at hand; the nigh +slopes, which are black with pine trees, bear it no relation, and +might be in another sphere. Here there are none of those +delicate gradations, those intimate, misty joinings-on and +spreadings-out into the distance, nothing of that art of air and +light by which the face of nature explains and veils itself in +climes which we may be allowed to think more lovely. A +glaring piece of crudity, where everything that is not white is a +solecism and defies the judgment of the eyesight; a scene of +blinding definition; a parade of daylight, almost scenically +vulgar, more than scenically trying, and yet hearty and healthy, +making the nerves to tighten and the mouth to smile: such is the +winter daytime in the Alps.</p> +<p>With the approach of evening all is changed. A mountain +will suddenly intercept the sun; a shadow fall upon the valley; +in ten minutes the thermometer will drop as many degrees; the +peaks that are no longer shone upon dwindle into ghosts; and +meanwhile, overhead, if the weather be rightly characteristic of +the place, the sky fades towards night through a surprising key +of colours. The latest gold leaps from the last +mountain. Soon, perhaps, the moon shall rise, and in her +gentler light the valley shall be mellowed and misted, and here +and there a wisp of silver cloud upon a hilltop, and here and +there a warmly glowing window in a house, between fire and +starlight, kind and homely in the fields of snow.</p> +<p>But the valley is not seated so high among the clouds to be +eternally exempt from changes. The clouds gather, black as +ink; the wind bursts rudely in; day after day the mists drive +overhead, the snow-flakes flutter down in blinding disarray; +daily the mail comes in later from the top of the pass; people +peer through their windows and foresee no end but an entire +seclusion from Europe, and death by gradual dry-rot, each in his +indifferent inn; and when at last the storm goes, and the sun +comes again, behold a world of unpolluted snow, glossy like fur, +bright like daylight, a joy to wallowing dogs and cheerful to the +souls of men. Or perhaps from across storied and malarious +Italy, a wind cunningly winds about the mountains and breaks, +warm and unclean, upon our mountain valley. Every nerve is +set ajar; the conscience recognises, at a gust, a load of sins +and negligences hitherto unknown; and the whole invalid world +huddles into its private chambers, and silently recognises the +empire of the Föhn.</p> +<h2><!-- page 217--><a name="page217"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 217</span>XI.<br /> +ALPINE DIVERSIONS</h2> +<p>There will be no lack of diversion in an Alpine +sanitarium. The place is half English, to be sure, the +local sheet appearing in double column, text and translation; but +it still remains half German; and hence we have a band which is +able to play, and a company of actors able, as you will be told, +to act. This last you will take on trust, for the players, +unlike the local sheet, confine themselves to German and though +at the beginning of winter they come with their wig-boxes to each +hotel in turn, long before Christmas they will have given up the +English for a bad job. There will follow, perhaps, a +skirmish between the two races; the German element seeking, in +the interest of their actors, to raise a mysterious item, the +<i>Kur-taxe</i>, which figures heavily enough already in the +weekly bills, the English element stoutly resisting. +Meantime in the English hotels home-played farces, +<i>tableaux-vivants</i>, and even balls enliven the evenings; a +charity bazaar sheds genial consternation; Christmas and New Year +are solemnised with Pantagruelian dinners, and from time to time +the young folks carol and revolve untunefully enough through the +figures of a singing quadrille.</p> +<p>A magazine club supplies you with everything, from the +<i>Quarterly</i> to the <i>Sunday at Home</i>. Grand +tournaments are organised at chess, draughts, billiards and +whist. Once and again wandering artists drop into our +mountain valley, coming you know not whence, going you cannot +imagine whither, and belonging to every degree in the hierarchy +of musical art, from the recognised performer who announces a +concert for the evening, to the comic German family or solitary +long-haired German baritone, who surprises the guests at +dinner-time with songs and a collection. They are all of +them good to see; they, at least, are moving; they bring with +them the sentiment of the open road; yesterday, perhaps, they +were in Tyrol, and next week they will be far in Lombardy, while +all we sick folk still simmer in our mountain prison. Some +of them, too, are welcome as the flowers in May for their own +sake; some of them may have a human voice; some may have that +magic which transforms a wooden box into a song-bird, and what we +jeeringly call a fiddle into what we mention with respect as a +violin. From that grinding lilt, with which the blind man, +seeking pence, accompanies the beat of paddle wheels across the +ferry, there is surely a difference rather of kind than of degree +to that unearthly voice of singing that bewails and praises the +destiny of man at the touch of the true virtuoso. Even that +you may perhaps enjoy; and if you do so you will own it +impossible to enjoy it more keenly than here, <i>im Schnee der +Alpen</i>. A hyacinth in a pot, a handful of primroses +packed in moss, or a piece of music by some one who knows the way +to the heart of a violin, are things that, in this invariable +sameness of the snows and frosty air, surprise you like an +adventure. It is droll, moreover, to compare the respect +with which the invalids attend a concert, and the ready contempt +with which they greet the dinner-time performers. Singing +which they would hear with real enthusiasm—possibly with +tears—from a corner of a drawing-room, is listened to with +laughter when it is offered by an unknown professional and no +money has been taken at the door.</p> +<p>Of skating little need be said; in so snowy a climate the +rinks must be intelligently managed; their mismanagement will +lead to many days of vexation and some petty quarrelling, but +when all goes well, it is certainly curious, and perhaps rather +unsafe, for the invalid to skate under a burning sun, and walk +back to his hotel in a sweat, through long tracts of glare and +passages of freezing shadow. But the peculiar outdoor sport +of this district is tobogganing. A Scotchman may remember +the low flat board, with the front wheels on a pivot, which was +called a <i>hurlie</i>; he may remember this contrivance, laden +with boys, as, laboriously started, it ran rattling down the +brae, and was, now successfully, now unsuccessfully, steered +round the corner at the foot; he may remember scented summer +evenings passed in this diversion, and many a grazed skin, bloody +cockscomb, and neglected lesson. The toboggan is to the +hurlie what the sled is to the carriage; it is a hurlie upon +runners; and if for a grating road you substitute a long +declivity of beaten snow, you can imagine the giddy career of the +tobogganist. The correct position is to sit; but the +fantastic will sometimes sit hind-foremost, or dare the descent +upon their belly or their back. A few steer with a pair of +pointed sticks, but it is more classical to use the feet. +If the weight be heavy and the track smooth, the toboggan takes +the bit between its teeth; and to steer a couple of full-sized +friends in safety requires not only judgment but desperate +exertion. On a very steep track, with a keen evening frost, +you may have moments almost too appalling to be called enjoyment; +the head goes, the world vanishes; your blind steed bounds below +your weight; you reach the foot, with all the breath knocked out +of your body, jarred and bewildered as though you had just been +subjected to a railway accident. Another element of joyful +horror is added by the formation of a train; one toboggan being +tied to another, perhaps to the number of half a dozen, only the +first rider being allowed to steer, and all the rest pledged to +put up their feet and follow their leader, with heart in mouth, +down the mad descent. This, particularly if the track +begins with a headlong plunge, is one of the most exhilarating +follies in the world, and the tobogganing invalid is early +reconciled to somersaults.</p> +<p>There is all manner of variety in the nature of the tracks, +some miles in length, others but a few yards, and yet like some +short rivers, furious in their brevity. All degrees of +skill and courage and taste may be suited in your +neighbourhood. But perhaps the true way to toboggan is +alone and at night. First comes the tedious climb, dragging +your instrument behind you. Next a long breathing-space, +alone with snow and pinewoods, cold, silent and solemn to the +heart. Then you push of; the toboggan fetches way; she +begins to feel the hill, to glide, to, swim, to gallop. In +a breath you are out from under the pine trees, and a whole +heavenful of stars reels and flashes overhead. Then comes a +vicious effort; for by this time your wooden steed is speeding +like the wind, and you are spinning round a corner, and the whole +glittering valley and all the lights in all the great hotels lie +for a moment at your feet; and the next you are racing once more +in the shadow of the night with close-shut teeth and beating +heart. Yet a little while and you will be landed on the +highroad by the door of your own hotel. This, in an +atmosphere tingling with forty degrees of frost, in a night made +luminous with stars and snow, and girt with strange white +mountains, teaches the pulse an unaccustomed tune and adds a new +excitement to the life of man upon his planet.</p> +<h2><!-- page 222--><a name="page222"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 222</span>XII.<br /> +THE STIMULATION OF THE ALPS</h2> +<p>To any one who should come from a southern sanitarium to the +Alps, the row of sun-burned faces round the table would present +the first surprise. He would begin by looking for the +invalids, and he would lose his pains, for not one out of five of +even the bad cases bears the mark of sickness on his face. +The plump sunshine from above and its strong reverberation from +below colour the skin like an Indian climate; the treatment, +which consists mainly of the open air, exposes even the sickliest +to tan, and a tableful of invalids comes, in a month or two, to +resemble a tableful of hunters. But although he may be thus +surprised at the first glance, his astonishment will grow +greater, as he experiences the effects of the climate on +himself. In many ways it is a trying business to reside +upon the Alps: the stomach is exercised, the appetite often +languishes; the liver may at times rebel; and because you have +come so far from metropolitan advantages, it does not follow that +you shall recover. But one thing is undeniable—that +in the rare air, clear, cold, and blinding light of Alpine +winters, a man takes a certain troubled delight in his existence +which can nowhere else be paralleled. He is perhaps no +happier, but he is stingingly alive. It does not, perhaps, +come out of him in work or exercise, yet he feels an enthusiasm +of the blood unknown in more temperate climates. It may not +be health, but it is fun.</p> +<p>There is nothing more difficult to communicate on paper than +this baseless ardour, this stimulation of the brain, this sterile +joyousness of spirits. You wake every morning, see the gold +upon the snow-peaks, become filled with courage, and bless God +for your prolonged existence. The valleys are but a stride +to you; you cast your shoe over the hilltops; your ears and your +heart sing; in the words of an unverified quotation from the +Scotch psalms, you feel yourself fit ‘on the wings of all +the winds’ to ‘come flying all abroad.’ +Europe and your mind are too narrow for that flood of +energy. Yet it is notable that you are hard to root out of +your bed; that you start forth, singing, indeed, on your walk, +yet are unusually ready to turn home again; that the best of you +is volatile; and that although the restlessness remains till +night, the strength is early at an end. With all these +heady jollities, you are half conscious of an underlying languor +in the body; you prove not to be so well as you had fancied; you +weary before you have well begun; and though you mount at morning +with the lark, that is not precisely a song-bird’s heart +that you bring back with you when you return with aching limbs +and peevish temper to your inn.</p> +<p>It is hard to say wherein it lies, but this joy of Alpine +winters is its own reward. Baseless, in a sense, it is more +than worth more permanent improvements. The dream of health +is perfect while it lasts; and if, in trying to realise it, you +speedily wear out the dear hallucination, still every day, and +many times a day, you are conscious of a strength you scarce +possess, and a delight in living as merry as it proves to be +transient.</p> +<p>The brightness—heaven and earth conspiring to be +bright—the levity and quiet of the air; the odd stirring +silence—more stirring than a tumult; the snow, the frost, +the enchanted landscape: all have their part in the effect and on +the memory, ‘<i>tous vous tapent sur la +téte</i>’; and yet when you have enumerated all, you +have gone no nearer to explain or even to qualify the delicate +exhilaration that you feel—delicate, you may say, and yet +excessive, greater than can be said in prose, almost greater than +an invalid can bear. There is a certain wine of France +known in England in some gaseous disguise, but when drunk in the +land of its nativity still as a pool, clean as river water, and +as heady as verse. It is more than probable that in its +noble natural condition this was the very wine of Anjou so +beloved by Athos in the ‘Musketeers.’ Now, if +the reader has ever washed down a liberal second breakfast with +the wine in question, and gone forth, on the back of these +dilutions, into a sultry, sparkling noontide, he will have felt +an influence almost as genial, although strangely grosser, than +this fairy titillation of the nerves among the snow and sunshine +of the Alps. That also is a mode, we need not say of +intoxication, but of insobriety. Thus also a man walks in a +strong sunshine of the mind, and follows smiling, insubstantial +meditations. And whether he be really so clever or so +strong as he supposes, in either case he will enjoy his chimera +while it lasts.</p> +<p>The influence of this giddy air displays itself in many +secondary ways. A certain sort of laboured pleasantry has +already been recognised, and may perhaps have been remarked in +these papers, as a sort peculiar to that climate. People +utter their judgments with a cannonade of syllables; a big word +is as good as a meal to them; and the turn of a phrase goes +further than humour or wisdom. By the professional writer +many sad vicissitudes have to be undergone. At first he +cannot write at all. The heart, it appears, is unequal to +the pressure of business, and the brain, left without +nourishment, goes into a mild decline. Next, some power of +work returns to him, accompanied by jumping headaches. +Last, the spring is opened, and there pours at once from his pen +a world of blatant, hustling polysyllables, and talk so high as, +in the old joke, to be positively offensive in hot weather. +He writes it in good faith and with a sense of inspiration; it is +only when he comes to read what he has written that surprise and +disquiet seize upon his mind. What is he to do, poor +man? All his little fishes talk like whales. This +yeasty inflation, this stiff and strutting architecture of the +sentence has come upon him while he slept; and it is not he, it +is the Alps, who are to blame. He is not, perhaps, alone, +which somewhat comforts him. Nor is the ill without a +remedy. Some day, when the spring returns, he shall go down +a little lower in this world, and remember quieter inflections +and more modest language. But here, in the meantime, there +seems to swim up some outline of a new cerebral hygiene and a +good time coming, when experienced advisers shall send a man to +the proper measured level for the ode, the biography, or the +religious tract; and a nook may be found between the sea and +Chimborazo, where Mr. Swinburne shall be able to write more +continently, and Mr. Browning somewhat slower.</p> +<p>Is it a return of youth, or is it a congestion of the +brain? It is a sort of congestion, perhaps, that leads the +invalid, when all goes well, to face the new day with such a +bubbling cheerfulness. It is certainly congestion that +makes night hideous with visions, all the chambers of a +many-storeyed caravanserai, haunted with vociferous nightmares, +and many wakeful people come down late for breakfast in the +morning. Upon that theory the cynic may explain the whole +affair—exhilaration, nightmares, pomp of tongue and +all. But, on the other hand, the peculiar blessedness of +boyhood may itself be but a symptom of the same complaint, for +the two effects are strangely similar; and the frame of mind of +the invalid upon the Alps is a sort of intermittent youth, with +periods of lassitude. The fountain of Juventus does not +play steadily in these parts; but there it plays, and possibly +nowhere else.</p> +<h2><!-- page 227--><a name="page227"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 227</span>XIII.<br /> +ROADS<br /> +1873</h2> +<p>No amateur will deny that he can find more pleasure in a +single drawing, over which he can sit a whole quiet forenoon, and +so gradually study himself into humour with the artist, than he +can ever extract from the dazzle and accumulation of incongruous +impressions that send him, weary and stupefied, out of some +famous picture-gallery. But what is thus admitted with +regard to art is not extended to the (so-called) natural beauties +no amount of excess in sublime mountain outline or the graces of +cultivated lowland can do anything, it is supposed, to weaken or +degrade the palate. We are not at all sure, however, that +moderation, and a regimen tolerably austere, even in scenery, are +not healthful and strengthening to the taste; and that the best +school for a lover of nature is not to the found in one of those +countries where there is no stage effect—nothing salient or +sudden,—but a quiet spirit of orderly and harmonious beauty +pervades all the details, so that we can patiently attend to each +of the little touches that strike in us, all of them together, +the subdued note of the landscape. It is in scenery such as +this that we find ourselves in the right temper to seek out small +sequestered loveliness. The constant recurrence of similar +combinations of colour and outline gradually forces upon us a +sense of how the harmony has been built up, and we become +familiar with something of nature’s mannerism. This +is the true pleasure of your ‘rural +voluptuary,’—not to remain awe-stricken before a +Mount Chimborazo; not to sit deafened over the big drum in the +orchestra, but day by day to teach himself some new +beauty—to experience some new vague and tranquil sensation +that has before evaded him. It is not the people who +‘have pined and hungered after nature many a year, in the +great city pent,’ as Coleridge said in the poem that made +Charles Lamb so much ashamed of himself; it is not those who make +the greatest progress in this intimacy with her, or who are most +quick to see and have the greatest gusto to enjoy. In this, +as in everything else, it is minute knowledge and long-continued +loving industry that make the true dilettante. A man must +have thought much over scenery before he begins fully to enjoy +it. It is no youngling enthusiasm on hilltops that can +possess itself of the last essence of beauty. Probably most +people’s heads are growing bare before they can see all in +a landscape that they have the capability of seeing; and, even +then, it will be only for one little moment of consummation +before the faculties are again on the decline, and they that look +out of the windows begin to be darkened and restrained in +sight. Thus the study of nature should be carried forward +thoroughly and with system. Every gratification should be +rolled long under the tongue, and we should be always eager to +analyse and compare, in order that we may be able to give some +plausible reason for our admirations. True, it is difficult +to put even approximately into words the kind of feelings thus +called into play. There is a dangerous vice inherent in any +such intellectual refining upon vague sensation. The +analysis of such satisfactions lends itself very readily to +literary affectations; and we can all think of instances where it +has shown itself apt to exercise a morbid influence, even upon an +author’s choice of language and the turn of his +sentences. And yet there is much that makes the attempt +attractive; for any expression, however imperfect, once given to +a cherished feeling, seems a sort of legitimation of the pleasure +we take in it. A common sentiment is one of those great +goods that make life palatable and ever new. The knowledge +that another has felt as we have felt, and seen things, even if +they are little things, not much otherwise than we have seen +them, will continue to the end to be one of life’s choicest +pleasures.</p> +<p>Let the reader, then, betake himself in the spirit we have +recommended to some of the quieter kinds of English +landscape. In those homely and placid agricultural +districts, familiarity will bring into relief many things worthy +of notice, and urge them pleasantly home to him by a sort of +loving repetition; such as the wonderful life-giving speed of +windmill sails above the stationary country; the occurrence and +recurrence of the same church tower at the end of one long vista +after another: and, conspicuous among these sources of quiet +pleasure, the character and variety of the road itself, along +which he takes his way. Not only near at hand, in the lithe +contortions with which it adapts itself to the interchanges of +level and slope, but far away also, when he sees a few hundred +feet of it upheaved against a hill and shining in the afternoon +sun, he will find it an object so changeful and enlivening that +he can always pleasurably busy his mind about it. He may +leave the river-side, or fall out of the way of villages, but the +road he has always with him; and, in the true humour of +observation, will find in that sufficient company. From its +subtle windings and changes of level there arises a keen and +continuous interest, that keeps the attention ever alert and +cheerful. Every sensitive adjustment to the contour of the +ground, every little dip and swerve, seems instinct with life and +an exquisite sense of balance and beauty. The road rolls +upon the easy slopes of the country, like a long ship in the +hollows of the sea. The very margins of waste ground, as +they trench a little farther on the beaten way, or recede again +to the shelter of the hedge, have something of the same free +delicacy of line—of the same swing and wilfulness. +You might think for a whole summer’s day (and not have +thought it any nearer an end by evening) what concourse and +succession of circumstances has produced the least of these +deflections; and it is, perhaps, just in this that we should look +for the secret of their interest. A foot-path across a +meadow—in all its human waywardness and unaccountability, +in all the <i>grata protervitas</i> of its varying +direction—will always be more to us than a railroad well +engineered through a difficult country. <a +name="citation231"></a><a href="#footnote231" +class="citation">[231]</a> No reasoned sequence is thrust +upon our attention: we seem to have slipped for one lawless +little moment out of the iron rule of cause and effect; and so we +revert at once to some of the pleasant old heresies of +personification, always poetically orthodox, and attribute a sort +of free-will, an active and spontaneous life, to the white riband +of road that lengthens out, and bends, and cunningly adapts +itself to the inequalities of the land before our eyes. We +remember, as we write, some miles of fine wide highway laid out +with conscious æsthetic artifice through a broken and +richly cultivated tract of country. It is said that the +engineer had Hogarth’s line of beauty in his mind as he +laid them down. And the result is striking. One +splendid satisfying sweep passes with easy transition into +another, and there is nothing to trouble or dislocate the strong +continuousness of the main line of the road. And yet there +is something wanting. There is here no saving imperfection, +none of those secondary curves and little trepidations of +direction that carry, in natural roads, our curiosity actively +along with them. One feels at once that this road has not +has been laboriously grown like a natural road, but made to +pattern; and that, while a model may be academically correct in +outline, it will always be inanimate and cold. The +traveller is also aware of a sympathy of mood between himself and +the road he travels. We have all seen ways that have +wandered into heavy sand near the sea-coast, and trail wearily +over the dunes like a trodden serpent. Here we too must +plod forward at a dull, laborious pace; and so a sympathy is +preserved between our frame of mind and the expression of the +relaxed, heavy curves of the roadway. Such a phenomenon, +indeed, our reason might perhaps resolve with a little +trouble. We might reflect that the present road had been +developed out of a tract spontaneously followed by generations of +primitive wayfarers; and might see in its expression a testimony +that those generations had been affected at the same ground, one +after another, in the same manner as we are affected +to-day. Or we might carry the reflection further, and +remind ourselves that where the air is invigorating and the +ground firm under the traveller’s foot, his eye is quick to +take advantage of small undulations, and he will turn carelessly +aside from the direct way wherever there is anything beautiful to +examine or some promise of a wider view; so that even a bush of +wild roses may permanently bias and deform the straight path over +the meadow; whereas, where the soil is heavy, one is preoccupied +with the labour of mere progression, and goes with a bowed head +heavily and unobservantly forward. Reason, however, will +not carry us the whole way; for the sentiment often recurs in +situations where it is very hard to imagine any possible +explanation; and indeed, if we drive briskly along a good, +well-made road in an open vehicle, we shall experience this +sympathy almost at its fullest. We feel the sharp settle of +the springs at some curiously twisted corner; after a steep +ascent, the fresh air dances in our faces as we rattle +precipitately down the other side, and we find it difficult to +avoid attributing something headlong, a sort of <i>abandon</i>, +to the road itself.</p> +<p>The mere winding of the path is enough to enliven a long +day’s walk in even a commonplace or dreary +country-side. Something that we have seen from miles back, +upon an eminence, is so long hid from us, as we wander through +folded valleys or among woods, that our expectation of seeing it +again is sharpened into a violent appetite, and as we draw nearer +we impatiently quicken our steps and turn every corner with a +beating heart. It is through these prolongations of +expectancy, this succession of one hope to another, that we live +out long seasons of pleasure in a few hours’ walk. It +is in following these capricious sinuosities that we learn, only +bit by bit and through one coquettish reticence after another, +much as we learn the heart of a friend, the whole loveliness of +the country. This disposition always preserves something +new to be seen, and takes us, like a careful cicerone, to many +different points of distant view before it allows us finally to +approach the hoped-for destination.</p> +<p>In its connection with the traffic, and whole friendly +intercourse with the country, there is something very pleasant in +that succession of saunterers and brisk and business-like +passers-by, that peoples our ways and helps to build up what Walt +Whitman calls ‘the cheerful voice of the public road, the +gay, fresh sentiment of the road.’ But out of the +great network of ways that binds all life together from the +hill-farm to the city, there is something individual to most, +and, on the whole, nearly as much choice on the score of company +as on the score of beauty or easy travel. On some we are +never long without the sound of wheels, and folk pass us by so +thickly that we lose the sense of their number. But on +others, about little-frequented districts, a meeting is an affair +of moment; we have the sight far off of some one coming towards +us, the growing definiteness of the person, and then the brief +passage and salutation, and the road left empty in front of us +for perhaps a great while to come. Such encounters have a +wistful interest that can hardly be understood by the dweller in +places more populous. We remember standing beside a +countryman once, in the mouth of a quiet by-street in a city that +was more than ordinarily crowded and bustling; he seemed stunned +and bewildered by the continual passage of different faces; and +after a long pause, during which he appeared to search for some +suitable expression, he said timidly that there seemed to be a +<i>great deal of meeting thereabouts</i>. The phrase is +significant. It is the expression of town-life in the +language of the long, solitary country highways. A meeting +of one with one was what this man had been used to in the +pastoral uplands from which he came; and the concourse of the +streets was in his eyes only an extraordinary multiplication of +such ‘meetings.’</p> +<p>And now we come to that last and most subtle quality of all, +to that sense of prospect, of outlook, that is brought so +powerfully to our minds by a road. In real nature, as well +as in old landscapes, beneath that impartial daylight in which a +whole variegated plain is plunged and saturated, the line of the +road leads the eye forth with the vague sense of desire up to the +green limit of the horizon. Travel is brought home to us, +and we visit in spirit every grove and hamlet that tempts us in +the distance. <i>Sehnsucht</i>—the passion for what +is ever beyond—is livingly expressed in that white riband +of possible travel that severs the uneven country; not a +ploughman following his plough up the shining furrow, not the +blue smoke of any cottage in a hollow, but is brought to us with +a sense of nearness and attainability by this wavering line of +junction. There is a passionate paragraph in <i>Werther</i> +that strikes the very key. ‘When I came +hither,’ he writes, ‘how the beautiful valley invited +me on every side, as I gazed down into it from the +hill-top! There the wood—ah, that I might mingle in +its shadows! there the mountain summits—ah, that I might +look down from them over the broad country! the interlinked +hills! the secret valleys! Oh to lose myself among their +mysteries! I hurried into the midst, and came back without +finding aught I hoped for. Alas! the distance is like the +future. A vast whole lies in the twilight before our +spirit; sight and feeling alike plunge and lose themselves in the +prospect, and we yearn to surrender our whole being, and let it +be filled full with all the rapture of one single glorious +sensation; and alas! when we hasten to the fruition, when +<i>there</i> is changed to <i>here</i>, all is afterwards as it +was before, and we stand in our indigent and cramped estate, and +our soul thirsts after a still ebbing elixir.’ It is +to this wandering and uneasy spirit of anticipation that roads +minister. Every little vista, every little glimpse that we +have of what lies before us, gives the impatient imagination +rein, so that it can outstrip the body and already plunge into +the shadow of the woods, and overlook from the hill-top the plain +beyond it, and wander in the windings of the valleys that are +still far in front. The road is already there—we +shall not be long behind. It is as if we were marching with +the rear of a great army, and, from far before, heard the +acclamation of the people as the vanguard entered some friendly +and jubilant city. Would not every man, through all the +long miles of march, feel as if he also were within the +gates?</p> +<h2><!-- page 237--><a name="page237"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 237</span>XIV.<br /> +ON THE ENJOYMENT OF UNPLEASANT PLACES<br /> +1874</h2> +<p>It is a difficult matter to make the most of any given place, +and we have much in our own power. Things looked at +patiently from one side after another generally end by showing a +side that is beautiful. A few months ago some words were +said in the <i>Portfolio</i> as to an ‘austere regimen in +scenery’; and such a discipline was then recommended as +‘healthful and strengthening to the taste.’ +That is the text, so to speak, of the present essay. This +discipline in scenery, it must be understood, is something more +than a mere walk before breakfast to whet the appetite. For +when we are put down in some unsightly neighbourhood, and +especially if we have come to be more or less dependent on what +we see, we must set ourselves to hunt out beautiful things with +all the ardour and patience of a botanist after a rye +plant. Day by day we perfect ourselves in the art of seeing +nature more favourably. We learn to live with her, as +people learn to live with fretful or violent spouses: to dwell +lovingly on what is good, and shut our eyes against all that is +bleak or inharmonious. We learn, also, to come to each +place in the right spirit. The traveller, as Brantôme +quaintly tells us, ‘<i>fait des discours en soi pour +soutenir en chemin</i>’; and into these discourses he +weaves something out of all that he sees and suffers by the way; +they take their tone greatly from the varying character of the +scene; a sharp ascent brings different thoughts from a level +road; and the man’s fancies grow lighter as he comes out of +the wood into a clearing. Nor does the scenery any more +affect the thoughts than the thoughts affect the scenery. +We see places through our humours as through differently coloured +glasses. We are ourselves a term in the equation, a note of +the chord, and make discord or harmony almost at will. +There is no fear for the result, if we can but surrender +ourselves sufficiently to the country that surrounds and follows +us, so that we are ever thinking suitable thoughts or telling +ourselves some suitable sort of story as we go. We become +thus, in some sense, a centre of beauty; we are provocative of +beauty, much as a gentle and sincere character is provocative of +sincerity and gentleness in others. And even where there is +no harmony to be elicited by the quickest and most obedient of +spirits, we may still embellish a place with some attraction of +romance. We may learn to go far afield for associations, +and handle them lightly when we have found them. Sometimes +an old print comes to our aid; I have seen many a spot lit up at +once with picturesque imaginations, by a reminiscence of Callot, +or Sadeler, or Paul Brill. Dick Turpin has been my lay +figure for many an English lane. And I suppose the +Trossachs would hardly be the Trossachs for most tourists if a +man of admirable romantic instinct had not peopled it for them +with harmonious figures, and brought them thither with minds +rightly prepared for the impression. There is half the +battle in this preparation. For instance: I have rarely +been able to visit, in the proper spirit, the wild and +inhospitable places of our own Highlands. I am happier +where it is tame and fertile, and not readily pleased without +trees. I understand that there are some phases of mental +trouble that harmonise well with such surroundings, and that some +persons, by the dispensing power of the imagination, can go back +several centuries in spirit, and put themselves into sympathy +with the hunted, houseless, unsociable way of life that was in +its place upon these savage hills. Now, when I am sad, I +like nature to charm me out of my sadness, like David before +Saul; and the thought of these past ages strikes nothing in me +but an unpleasant pity; so that I can never hit on the right +humour for this sort of landscape, and lose much pleasure in +consequence. Still, even here, if I were only let alone, +and time enough were given, I should have all manner of +pleasures, and take many clear and beautiful images away with me +when I left. When we cannot think ourselves into sympathy +with the great features of a country, we learn to ignore them, +and put our head among the grass for flowers, or pore, for long +times together, over the changeful current of a stream. We +come down to the sermon in stones, when we are shut out from any +poem in the spread landscape. We begin to peep and +botanise, we take an interest in birds and insects, we find many +things beautiful in miniature. The reader will recollect +the little summer scene in <i>Wuthering Heights</i>—the one +warm scene, perhaps, in all that powerful, miserable +novel—and the great feature that is made therein by grasses +and flowers and a little sunshine: this is in the spirit of which +I now speak. And, lastly, we can go indoors; interiors are +sometimes as beautiful, often more picturesque, than the shows of +the open air, and they have that quality of shelter of which I +shall presently have more to say.</p> +<p>With all this in mind, I have often been tempted to put forth +the paradox that any place is good enough to live a life in, +while it is only in a few, and those highly favoured, that we can +pass a few hours agreeably. For, if we only stay long +enough we become at home in the neighbourhood. +Reminiscences spring up, like flowers, about uninteresting +corners. We forget to some degree the superior loveliness +of other places, and fall into a tolerant and sympathetic spirit +which is its own reward and justification. Looking back the +other day on some recollections of my own, I was astonished to +find how much I owed to such a residence; six weeks in one +unpleasant country-side had done more, it seemed, to quicken and +educate my sensibilities than many years in places that jumped +more nearly with my inclination.</p> +<p>The country to which I refer was a level and tree-less +plateau, over which the winds cut like a whip. For miles +and miles it was the same. A river, indeed, fell into the +sea near the town where I resided; but the valley of the river +was shallow and bald, for as far up as ever I had the heart to +follow it. There were roads, certainly, but roads that had +no beauty or interest; for, as there was no timber, and but +little irregularity of surface, you saw your whole walk exposed +to you from the beginning: there was nothing left to fancy, +nothing to expect, nothing to see by the wayside, save here and +there an unhomely-looking homestead, and here and there a +solitary, spectacled stone-breaker; and you were only +accompanied, as you went doggedly forward, by the gaunt +telegraph-posts and the hum of the resonant wires in the keen +sea-wind. To one who had learned to know their song in warm +pleasant places by the Mediterranean, it seemed to taunt the +country, and make it still bleaker by suggested contrast. +Even the waste places by the side of the road were not, as +Hawthorne liked to put it, ‘taken back to Nature’ by +any decent covering of vegetation. Wherever the land had +the chance, it seemed to lie fallow. There is a certain +tawny nudity of the South, bare sunburnt plains, coloured like a +lion, and hills clothed only in the blue transparent air; but +this was of another description—this was the nakedness of +the North; the earth seemed to know that it was naked, and was +ashamed and cold.</p> +<p>It seemed to be always blowing on that coast. Indeed, +this had passed into the speech of the inhabitants, and they +saluted each other when they met with ‘Breezy, +breezy,’ instead of the customary ‘Fine day’ of +farther south. These continual winds were not like the +harvest breeze, that just keeps an equable pressure against your +face as you walk, and serves to set all the trees talking over +your head, or bring round you the smell of the wet surface of the +country after a shower. They were of the bitter, hard, +persistent sort, that interferes with sight and respiration, and +makes the eyes sore. Even such winds as these have their +own merit in proper time and place. It is pleasant to see +them brandish great masses of shadow. And what a power they +have over the colour of the world! How they ruffle the +solid woodlands in their passage, and make them shudder and +whiten like a single willow! There is nothing more +vertiginous than a wind like this among the woods, with all its +sights and noises; and the effect gets between some painters and +their sober eyesight, so that, even when the rest of their +picture is calm, the foliage is coloured like foliage in a +gale. There was nothing, however, of this sort to be +noticed in a country where there were no trees and hardly any +shadows, save the passive shadows of clouds or those of rigid +houses and walls. But the wind was nevertheless an occasion +of pleasure; for nowhere could you taste more fully the pleasure +of a sudden lull, or a place of opportune shelter. The +reader knows what I mean; he must remember how, when he has sat +himself down behind a dyke on a hillside, he delighted to hear +the wind hiss vainly through the crannies at his back; how his +body tingled all over with warmth, and it began to dawn upon him, +with a sort of slow surprise, that the country was beautiful, the +heather purple, and the far-away hills all marbled with sun and +shadow. Wordsworth, in a beautiful passage of the +‘Prelude,’ has used this as a figure for the feeling +struck in us by the quiet by-streets of London after the uproar +of the great thoroughfares; and the comparison may be turned the +other way with as good effect:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Meanwhile the roar continues, till at +length,<br /> +Escaped as from an enemy, we turn<br /> +Abruptly into some sequester’d nook,<br /> +Still as a shelter’d place when winds blow loud!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I remember meeting a man once, in a train, who told me of what +must have been quite the most perfect instance of this pleasure +of escape. He had gone up, one sunny, windy morning, to the +top of a great cathedral somewhere abroad; I think it was Cologne +Cathedral, the great unfinished marvel by the Rhine; and after a +long while in dark stairways, he issued at last into the +sunshine, on a platform high above the town. At that +elevation it was quite still and warm; the gale was only in the +lower strata of the air, and he had forgotten it in the quiet +interior of the church and during his long ascent; and so you may +judge of his surprise when, resting his arms on the sunlit +balustrade and looking over into the <i>Place</i> far below him, +he saw the good people holding on their hats and leaning hard +against the wind as they walked. There is something, to my +fancy, quite perfect in this little experience of my +fellow-traveller’s. The ways of men seem always very +trivial to us when we find ourselves alone on a church-top, with +the blue sky and a few tall pinnacles, and see far below us the +steep roofs and foreshortened buttresses, and the silent activity +of the city streets; but how much more must they not have seemed +so to him as he stood, not only above other men’s business, +but above other men’s climate, in a golden zone like +Apollo’s!</p> +<p>This was the sort of pleasure I found in the country of which +I write. The pleasure was to be out of the wind, and to +keep it in memory all the time, and hug oneself upon the +shelter. And it was only by the sea that any such sheltered +places were to be found. Between the black worm-eaten +head-lands there are little bights and havens, well screened from +the wind and the commotion of the external sea, where the sand +and weeds look up into the gazer’s face from a depth of +tranquil water, and the sea-birds, screaming and flickering from +the ruined crags, alone disturb the silence and the +sunshine. One such place has impressed itself on my memory +beyond all others. On a rock by the water’s edge, old +fighting men of the Norse breed had planted a double castle; the +two stood wall to wall like semi-detached villas; and yet feud +had run so high between their owners, that one, from out of a +window, shot the other as he stood in his own doorway. +There is something in the juxtaposition of these two enemies full +of tragic irony. It is grim to think of bearded men and +bitter women taking hateful counsel together about the two +hall-fires at night, when the sea boomed against the foundations +and the wild winter wind was loose over the battlements. +And in the study we may reconstruct for ourselves some pale +figure of what life then was. Not so when we are there; +when we are there such thoughts come to us only to intensify a +contrary impression, and association is turned against +itself. I remember walking thither three afternoons in +succession, my eyes weary with being set against the wind, and +how, dropping suddenly over the edge of the down, I found myself +in a new world of warmth and shelter. The wind, from which +I had escaped, ‘as from an enemy,’ was seemingly +quite local. It carried no clouds with it, and came from +such a quarter that it did not trouble the sea within view. +The two castles, black and ruinous as the rocks about them, were +still distinguishable from these by something more insecure and +fantastic in the outline, something that the last storm had left +imminent and the next would demolish entirely. It would be +difficult to render in words the sense of peace that took +possession of me on these three afternoons. It was helped +out, as I have said, by the contrast. The shore was +battered and bemauled by previous tempests; I had the memory at +heart of the insane strife of the pigmies who had erected these +two castles and lived in them in mutual distrust and enmity, and +knew I had only to put my head out of this little cup of shelter +to find the hard wind blowing in my eyes; and yet there were the +two great tracts of motionless blue air and peaceful sea looking +on, unconcerned and apart, at the turmoil of the present moment +and the memorials of the precarious past. There is ever +something transitory and fretful in the impression of a high wind +under a cloudless sky; it seems to have no root in the +constitution of things; it must speedily begin to faint and +wither away like a cut flower. And on those days the +thought of the wind and the thought of human life came very near +together in my mind. Our noisy years did indeed seem +moments in the being of the eternal silence; and the wind, in the +face of that great field of stationary blue, was as the wind of a +butterfly’s wing. The placidity of the sea was a +thing likewise to be remembered. Shelley speaks of the sea +as ‘hungering for calm,’ and in this place one +learned to understand the phrase. Looking down into these +green waters from the broken edge of the rock, or swimming +leisurely in the sunshine, it seemed to me that they were +enjoying their own tranquillity; and when now and again it was +disturbed by a wind ripple on the surface, or the quick black +passage of a fish far below, they settled back again (one could +fancy) with relief.</p> +<p>On shore too, in the little nook of shelter, everything was so +subdued and still that the least particular struck in me a +pleasurable surprise. The desultory crackling of the +whin-pods in the afternoon sun usurped the ear. The hot, +sweet breath of the bank, that had been saturated all day long +with sunshine, and now exhaled it into my face, was like the +breath of a fellow-creature. I remember that I was haunted +by two lines of French verse; in some dumb way they seemed to fit +my surroundings and give expression to the contentment that was +in me, and I kept repeating to myself—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Mon cœur est un luth suspendu,<br /> +Sitôt qu’on le touche, il résonne.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I can give no reason why these lines came to me at this time; +and for that very cause I repeat them here. For all I know, +they may serve to complete the impression in the mind of the +reader, as they were certainly a part of it for me.</p> +<p>And this happened to me in the place of all others where I +liked least to stay. When I think of it I grow ashamed of +my own ingratitude. ‘Out of the strong came forth +sweetness.’ There, in the bleak and gusty North, I +received, perhaps, my strongest impression of peace. I saw +the sea to be great and calm; and the earth, in that little +corner, was all alive and friendly to me. So, wherever a +man is, he will find something to please and pacify him: in the +town he will meet pleasant faces of men and women, and see +beautiful flowers at a window, or hear a cage-bird singing at the +corner of the gloomiest street; and for the country, there is no +country without some amenity—let him only look for it in +the right spirit, and he will surely find.</p> +<h2>Footnotes</h2> +<p><a name="footnote92"></a><a href="#citation92" +class="footnote">[92]</a> The Second Part here referred to +is entitled ‘<span class="smcap">Across the +Plains</span>,’ and is printed in the volume so entitled, +together with other Memories and Essays.</p> +<p><a name="footnote106"></a><a href="#citation106" +class="footnote">[106]</a> I had nearly finished the +transcription of the following pages when I saw on a +friend’s table the number containing the piece from which +this sentence is extracted, and, struck with a similarity of +title, took it home with me and read it with indescribable +satisfaction. I do not know whether I more envy M. Theuriet +the pleasure of having written this delightful article, or the +reader the pleasure, which I hope he has still before him, of +reading it once and again, and lingering over the passages that +please him most.</p> +<p><a name="footnote136"></a><a href="#citation136" +class="footnote">[136]</a> William Abercrombie. See +<i>Fasti Ecclesia Scoticanæ</i>, under +‘Maybole’ (Part iii.).</p> +<p><a name="footnote147"></a><a href="#citation147" +class="footnote">[147]</a> ‘Duex poures varlez qui +n’ont nulz gages et qui gissoient la nuit avec les +chiens.’ See Champollion—Figeac’s +<i>Louis et Charles d’Orléans</i>, i. 63, and for my +lord’s English horn, <i>ibid.</i> 96.</p> +<p><a name="footnote175"></a><a href="#citation175" +class="footnote">[175]</a> Reprinted by permission of John +Lane.</p> +<p><a name="footnote190"></a><a href="#citation190" +class="footnote">[190]</a> ‘Jehovah Tsidkenu,’ +translated in the Authorised Version as ‘The Lord our +Righteousness’ (Jeremiah xxiii. 6 and xxxiii. 16).</p> +<p><a name="footnote231"></a><a href="#citation231" +class="footnote">[231]</a> Compare Blake, in the +<i>Marriage of Heaven and Hell</i>: ‘Improvement makes +straight roads; but the crooked roads, without improvement, are +roads of Genius.’</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ESSAYS OF TRAVEL***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 627-h.htm or 627-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/2/627 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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