ISCHIASo waited I until it came—God's daily miracle,—oh, shameThat I had seen so many daysUnthankful, without wondering praise.Lowell, "At Sea,"Fireside Travels.CASAMICCIOLA:Whatslaves of sentiment we mortals are! Here I am at Ischia again—Ischia that has been enshrined in our hearts for years! And yet it is not the enchanted island of our younger dreams.Will the memory of that first visit ever be effaced? Can you not recall, as though it were yesterday, how our hearts beat when we found the invitation to dine at the oldcastelloon a promontory of Ischia? How we donned our spotlessest white, and boarded one of the smaller craft that plies between the island towns! How we threaded our way through the myriad of boats which crowded the Bay of Naples! How fascinated we were with everything, from the fairyland of islands to the old captain who would lean far over the rail and scold at people coming to meet theboat, if they were late, and yet who would stop his boat anywhere to take them on board! How even the rain that threatened to undo our spotlessness seemed part of the scheme, and how, when the wind arose and the waves ran high, you declared we would not go ashore like the common herd! How, when we arrived at our destination, the young officer got the biggest, whitest and cleanest of the rowboats around to the sea-side of our ship, avoiding the crowd which was filling the boats on the other side.Will you ever forget the great wave that drenched the officer as he stood at the bottom of the ladder trying to steady the smaller boat that I might leap in, and, after we were pushed off, the feeling of helplessness at tossing on that mighty sea so far from shore? How the old oarsman stopped in the roughest part, demanding his fare, and after you had paid him, insisted, like Oliver Twist, on more! How you shook your fist at him, balancing yourself in that frail craft, and cried, "Allez!" and how heallezedbefore that fist!How the handsome young Ischian had selected me as hissignorina'sguest! How his frank eye inspired confidence, and I lethim hand me into the wee phaeton; and how we started up the mountain, wondering all the while! How he seemed to remember something, stopped the pony bedecked with ribbons and feathers, and gave me a note which proved my confidence was not misplaced and that he was our hostess's coachman! How he showed us the old castle from each vantage point, proud to be serving the beautifulsignorina, and bubbling over with joy at our evident admiration!All this is changed. The old castle still stands out, white and clear cut, with the blue Mediterranean beating on three of its sides, but the sunshine has flown.No smiling mistress in silken robes, no Roman servants, no coachman of polished bronze were here to welcome me now. The great hall with its wealth of marble remains, but theobjets d'artbrought from every corner of the globe are gone, and all the warmth of heart that comes from loving hospitality is missing. My hostess of former years has been wooed away.Let not my musing, however, deter any one from coming to Ischia. Situated at the northern extremity of the Bay ofNaples, as Capri is at its southern extremity, it is at once unique and romantic.ON SHIPBOARD:We setsail from Marseilles one evening as the autumn sun was sinking behind the distant Alps. Cruising along the Riviera and the rugged coast of Corsica, on the second morning we were close to Italy's shore with the environs of Naples in the misty background.We remained in port three days, living on the ship the while. A drive to Posilipo, the never-ending panorama of Neapolitan life, and the day at Ischia, about which I told you in my last letter, filled the time, and at midnight of the third day we weighed anchor for home.ALMERIA:It isto be regretted that the big packet of letters which awaited me here, full to overflowing with questions, could not have been received earlier. The twelve hours of unexpected waiting caused by the delayed sailing of the ship will give me, however, an opportunity to answer a limited number. You will receive this letter—one of you at least—before that happyday when I shall set foot again upon my native land.Does it pay to come abroad for a short time?It pays to come for a day. The ocean voyage is compensation in itself. Nothing broadens one's life like touching the lives of others.And did request me to importune you,To let him spend his time no more at home,Which would be great impeachment to his ageIn having known no travel in his youth.Shakspere,Two Gentlemen of Verona,Act I, Scene 3, Line 13.Is it worth while, before coming, to read about the places one intends to visit?It is more than worth while! It is necessary! That which one will comprehensively absorb during any journey depends largely upon what one has read. This is especially true of foreign travel.The books I have named in my letters will be of assistance to you.[A]And now you ask me to sum up my foreign experiences. Your request reminds me of the schoolmaster who gave out asthe subject of a prize composition, "The World and Its Inhabitants."In all seriousness, this has been the most delightful and at the same time the most miserable year of my life.Comprenez-vous?They said the stars shone with a softer gleam;It seemed not so to me!In vain a scene of beauty beamed around—My thoughts were o'er the sea.Longfellow,Outre Mer,Chapter onPilgrim's Salutation.I am not unmindful of all the opportunities I have had to see God's beautiful world, and I think little has escaped me that has been in my line of vision.Of all countries, I like England best—yes, England! dear, green, blossoming England; of all cities, Paris and Florence; of all churches, St. Mark's in Venice; of picturesque places, Killarney's lakes and the Lake of Lucerne; of awesome grandeur in nature, the Giant's Causeway and on the heights of Switzerland; of man's work in art and architecture combined, Fontainebleau, Versailles, the Bargello in Florence and Raphael's Stanza and Loggie in the Vatican; of collected art in sculpture, that found in Rome; of collected art in painting,that found in the galleries of Florence; of the sublime in nature, the sunsets on the Mediterranean, moonlight on the Arno, the Alpine glow on the Rigi, and sunrise over the Acropolis; of all peoples, the upper class of Irish and English. And the happiest moments spent among this array were those when reading my letters from home.I have been treated with charming cordiality everywhere and have met clever, cultured people, both foreign and American. I have seen—and heard—a few Americans, the sort whose bragging brings the blood to the face, but I am happy to tell you they have been few.I should advise any one to come here with the intention of enjoying and not of criticising. If things are desired as they are in America, stay there.One comes to a foreign country to see things as they are, and, most of all, to see things which we have not.The science of comprehensive observation should be taught in every school, for few know how to observe understandingly.Culture comes high, at the easiest, and in no way can one absorb so much or so well as by observation while traveling.GIBRALTAR:Soonafter the last letter was posted, a note and a cable were handed me by the purser.The cable was from Ruth announcing her marriage and removal to Porto Rico. The letter, from Mrs. F. telling of her husband's complete recovery and that his business interests were taking them to Japan, where they would make for themselves a home. Her hurried notes to me have borne only her initials. This letter she signed, for the first time, with her Christian name—the same as my own. The spelling is identical. Odd, is it not?
So waited I until it came—God's daily miracle,—oh, shameThat I had seen so many daysUnthankful, without wondering praise.Lowell, "At Sea,"Fireside Travels.
So waited I until it came—God's daily miracle,—oh, shameThat I had seen so many daysUnthankful, without wondering praise.Lowell, "At Sea,"Fireside Travels.
So waited I until it came—
God's daily miracle,—oh, shame
That I had seen so many days
Unthankful, without wondering praise.
Lowell, "At Sea,"Fireside Travels.
Whatslaves of sentiment we mortals are! Here I am at Ischia again—Ischia that has been enshrined in our hearts for years! And yet it is not the enchanted island of our younger dreams.
Will the memory of that first visit ever be effaced? Can you not recall, as though it were yesterday, how our hearts beat when we found the invitation to dine at the oldcastelloon a promontory of Ischia? How we donned our spotlessest white, and boarded one of the smaller craft that plies between the island towns! How we threaded our way through the myriad of boats which crowded the Bay of Naples! How fascinated we were with everything, from the fairyland of islands to the old captain who would lean far over the rail and scold at people coming to meet theboat, if they were late, and yet who would stop his boat anywhere to take them on board! How even the rain that threatened to undo our spotlessness seemed part of the scheme, and how, when the wind arose and the waves ran high, you declared we would not go ashore like the common herd! How, when we arrived at our destination, the young officer got the biggest, whitest and cleanest of the rowboats around to the sea-side of our ship, avoiding the crowd which was filling the boats on the other side.
Will you ever forget the great wave that drenched the officer as he stood at the bottom of the ladder trying to steady the smaller boat that I might leap in, and, after we were pushed off, the feeling of helplessness at tossing on that mighty sea so far from shore? How the old oarsman stopped in the roughest part, demanding his fare, and after you had paid him, insisted, like Oliver Twist, on more! How you shook your fist at him, balancing yourself in that frail craft, and cried, "Allez!" and how heallezedbefore that fist!
How the handsome young Ischian had selected me as hissignorina'sguest! How his frank eye inspired confidence, and I lethim hand me into the wee phaeton; and how we started up the mountain, wondering all the while! How he seemed to remember something, stopped the pony bedecked with ribbons and feathers, and gave me a note which proved my confidence was not misplaced and that he was our hostess's coachman! How he showed us the old castle from each vantage point, proud to be serving the beautifulsignorina, and bubbling over with joy at our evident admiration!
All this is changed. The old castle still stands out, white and clear cut, with the blue Mediterranean beating on three of its sides, but the sunshine has flown.
No smiling mistress in silken robes, no Roman servants, no coachman of polished bronze were here to welcome me now. The great hall with its wealth of marble remains, but theobjets d'artbrought from every corner of the globe are gone, and all the warmth of heart that comes from loving hospitality is missing. My hostess of former years has been wooed away.
Let not my musing, however, deter any one from coming to Ischia. Situated at the northern extremity of the Bay ofNaples, as Capri is at its southern extremity, it is at once unique and romantic.
We setsail from Marseilles one evening as the autumn sun was sinking behind the distant Alps. Cruising along the Riviera and the rugged coast of Corsica, on the second morning we were close to Italy's shore with the environs of Naples in the misty background.
We remained in port three days, living on the ship the while. A drive to Posilipo, the never-ending panorama of Neapolitan life, and the day at Ischia, about which I told you in my last letter, filled the time, and at midnight of the third day we weighed anchor for home.
It isto be regretted that the big packet of letters which awaited me here, full to overflowing with questions, could not have been received earlier. The twelve hours of unexpected waiting caused by the delayed sailing of the ship will give me, however, an opportunity to answer a limited number. You will receive this letter—one of you at least—before that happyday when I shall set foot again upon my native land.
Does it pay to come abroad for a short time?
It pays to come for a day. The ocean voyage is compensation in itself. Nothing broadens one's life like touching the lives of others.
And did request me to importune you,To let him spend his time no more at home,Which would be great impeachment to his ageIn having known no travel in his youth.Shakspere,Two Gentlemen of Verona,Act I, Scene 3, Line 13.
And did request me to importune you,To let him spend his time no more at home,Which would be great impeachment to his ageIn having known no travel in his youth.Shakspere,Two Gentlemen of Verona,Act I, Scene 3, Line 13.
And did request me to importune you,
To let him spend his time no more at home,
Which would be great impeachment to his age
In having known no travel in his youth.
Shakspere,Two Gentlemen of Verona,
Act I, Scene 3, Line 13.
Is it worth while, before coming, to read about the places one intends to visit?
It is more than worth while! It is necessary! That which one will comprehensively absorb during any journey depends largely upon what one has read. This is especially true of foreign travel.
The books I have named in my letters will be of assistance to you.[A]
And now you ask me to sum up my foreign experiences. Your request reminds me of the schoolmaster who gave out asthe subject of a prize composition, "The World and Its Inhabitants."
In all seriousness, this has been the most delightful and at the same time the most miserable year of my life.Comprenez-vous?
They said the stars shone with a softer gleam;It seemed not so to me!In vain a scene of beauty beamed around—My thoughts were o'er the sea.Longfellow,Outre Mer,Chapter onPilgrim's Salutation.
They said the stars shone with a softer gleam;It seemed not so to me!In vain a scene of beauty beamed around—My thoughts were o'er the sea.Longfellow,Outre Mer,Chapter onPilgrim's Salutation.
They said the stars shone with a softer gleam;
It seemed not so to me!
In vain a scene of beauty beamed around—
My thoughts were o'er the sea.
Longfellow,Outre Mer,
Chapter onPilgrim's Salutation.
I am not unmindful of all the opportunities I have had to see God's beautiful world, and I think little has escaped me that has been in my line of vision.
Of all countries, I like England best—yes, England! dear, green, blossoming England; of all cities, Paris and Florence; of all churches, St. Mark's in Venice; of picturesque places, Killarney's lakes and the Lake of Lucerne; of awesome grandeur in nature, the Giant's Causeway and on the heights of Switzerland; of man's work in art and architecture combined, Fontainebleau, Versailles, the Bargello in Florence and Raphael's Stanza and Loggie in the Vatican; of collected art in sculpture, that found in Rome; of collected art in painting,that found in the galleries of Florence; of the sublime in nature, the sunsets on the Mediterranean, moonlight on the Arno, the Alpine glow on the Rigi, and sunrise over the Acropolis; of all peoples, the upper class of Irish and English. And the happiest moments spent among this array were those when reading my letters from home.
I have been treated with charming cordiality everywhere and have met clever, cultured people, both foreign and American. I have seen—and heard—a few Americans, the sort whose bragging brings the blood to the face, but I am happy to tell you they have been few.
I should advise any one to come here with the intention of enjoying and not of criticising. If things are desired as they are in America, stay there.
One comes to a foreign country to see things as they are, and, most of all, to see things which we have not.
The science of comprehensive observation should be taught in every school, for few know how to observe understandingly.
Culture comes high, at the easiest, and in no way can one absorb so much or so well as by observation while traveling.
Soonafter the last letter was posted, a note and a cable were handed me by the purser.
The cable was from Ruth announcing her marriage and removal to Porto Rico. The letter, from Mrs. F. telling of her husband's complete recovery and that his business interests were taking them to Japan, where they would make for themselves a home. Her hurried notes to me have borne only her initials. This letter she signed, for the first time, with her Christian name—the same as my own. The spelling is identical. Odd, is it not?
FOOTNOTE[A]See index of authors and books.
[A]See index of authors and books.