第 三十一 章 · OUR FOREIGN CORRESPONDENT

. OUR FOREIGN CORRESPONDENT

London

Dearest People, Here I really sit at a front window of the Bath Hotel,

Piccadilly. It’s not a fashionable place, but Uncle stopped here years

ago, and won’t go anywhere else. However, we don’t mean to stay long,

so it’s no great matter. Oh, I can’t begin to tell you how I enjoy it

all! I never can, so I’ll only give you bits out of my notebook, for

I’ve done nothing but sketch and scribble since I started.

I sent a line from Halifax, when I felt pretty miserable, but after

that I got on delightfully, seldom ill, on deck all day, with plenty of

pleasant people to amuse me. Everyone was very kind to me, especially

the officers. Don’t laugh, Jo, gentlemen really are very necessary

aboard ship, to hold on to, or to wait upon one, and as they have

nothing to do, it’s a mercy to make them useful, otherwise they would

smoke themselves to death, I’m afraid.

Aunt and Flo were poorly all the way, and liked to be let alone, so

when I had done what I could for them, I went and enjoyed myself. Such

walks on deck, such sunsets, such splendid air and waves! It was almost

as exciting as riding a fast horse, when we went rushing on so grandly.

I wish Beth could have come, it would have done her so much good. As

for Jo, she would have gone up and sat on the maintop jib, or whatever

the high thing is called, made friends with the engineers, and tooted

on the captain’s speaking trumpet, she’d have been in such a state of

rapture.

It was all heavenly, but I was glad to see the Irish coast, and found

it very lovely, so green and sunny, with brown cabins here and there,

ruins on some of the hills, and gentlemen’s countryseats in the

valleys, with deer feeding in the parks. It was early in the morning,

but I didn’t regret getting up to see it, for the bay was full of

little boats, the shore so picturesque, and a rosy sky overhead. I

never shall forget it.

At Queenstown one of my new acquaintances left us, Mr. Lennox, and when

I said something about the Lakes of Killarney, he sighed, and sung,

with a look at me...

“Oh, have you e’er heard of Kate Kearney?

She lives on the banks of Killarney;

From the glance of her eye,

Shun danger and fly,

For fatal’s the glance of Kate Kearney.”

Wasn’t that nonsensical?

We only stopped at Liverpool a few hours. It’s a dirty, noisy place,

and I was glad to leave it. Uncle rushed out and bought a pair of

dogskin gloves, some ugly, thick shoes, and an umbrella, and got shaved

_à la_ mutton chop, the first thing. Then he flattered himself that he

looked like a true Briton, but the first time he had the mud cleaned

off his shoes, the little bootblack knew that an American stood in

them, and said, with a grin, “There yer har, sir. I’ve given ’em the

latest Yankee shine.” It amused Uncle immensely. Oh, I must tell you

what that absurd Lennox did! He got his friend Ward, who came on with

us, to order a bouquet for me, and the first thing I saw in my room was

a lovely one, with “Robert Lennox’s compliments,” on the card. Wasn’t

that fun, girls? I like traveling.

I never shall get to London if I don’t hurry. The trip was like riding

through a long picture gallery, full of lovely landscapes. The

farmhouses were my delight, with thatched roofs, ivy up to the eaves,

latticed windows, and stout women with rosy children at the doors. The

very cattle looked more tranquil than ours, as they stood knee-deep in

clover, and the hens had a contented cluck, as if they never got

nervous like Yankee biddies. Such perfect color I never saw, the grass

so green, sky so blue, grain so yellow, woods so dark, I was in a

rapture all the way. So was Flo, and we kept bouncing from one side to

the other, trying to see everything while we were whisking along at the

rate of sixty miles an hour. Aunt was tired and went to sleep, but

Uncle read his guidebook, and wouldn’t be astonished at anything. This

is the way we went on. Amy, flying up—“Oh, that must be Kenilworth,

that gray place among the trees!” Flo, darting to my window—“How sweet!

We must go there sometime, won’t we Papa?” Uncle, calmly admiring his

boots—“No, my dear, not unless you want beer, that’s a brewery.”

A pause—then Flo cried out, “Bless me, there’s a gallows and a man

going up.” “Where, where?” shrieks Amy, staring out at two tall posts

with a crossbeam and some dangling chains. “A colliery,” remarks Uncle,

with a twinkle of the eye. “Here’s a lovely flock of lambs all lying

down,” says Amy. “See, Papa, aren’t they pretty?” added Flo

sentimentally. “Geese, young ladies,” returns Uncle, in a tone that

keeps us quiet till Flo settles down to enjoy the _Flirtations of

Captain Cavendish_, and I have the scenery all to myself.

Of course it rained when we got to London, and there was nothing to be

seen but fog and umbrellas. We rested, unpacked, and shopped a little

between the showers. Aunt Mary got me some new things, for I came off

in such a hurry I wasn’t half ready. A white hat and blue feather, a

muslin dress to match, and the loveliest mantle you ever saw. Shopping

in Regent Street is perfectly splendid. Things seem so cheap, nice

ribbons only sixpence a yard. I laid in a stock, but shall get my

gloves in Paris. Doesn’t that sound sort of elegant and rich?

Flo and I, for the fun of it, ordered a hansom cab, while Aunt and

Uncle were out, and went for a drive, though we learned afterward that

it wasn’t the thing for young ladies to ride in them alone. It was so

droll! For when we were shut in by the wooden apron, the man drove so

fast that Flo was frightened, and told me to stop him, but he was up

outside behind somewhere, and I couldn’t get at him. He didn’t hear me

call, nor see me flap my parasol in front, and there we were, quite

helpless, rattling away, and whirling around corners at a breakneck

pace. At last, in my despair, I saw a little door in the roof, and on

poking it open, a red eye appeared, and a beery voice said...

“Now, then, mum?”

I gave my order as soberly as I could, and slamming down the door, with

an “Aye, aye, mum,” the man made his horse walk, as if going to a

funeral. I poked again and said, “A little faster,” then off he went,

helter-skelter as before, and we resigned ourselves to our fate.

Today was fair, and we went to Hyde Park, close by, for we are more

aristocratic than we look. The Duke of Devonshire lives near. I often

see his footmen lounging at the back gate, and the Duke of Wellington’s

house is not far off. Such sights as I saw, my dear! It was as good as

Punch, for there were fat dowagers rolling about in their red and

yellow coaches, with gorgeous Jeameses in silk stockings and velvet

coats, up behind, and powdered coachmen in front. Smart maids, with the

rosiest children I ever saw, handsome girls, looking half asleep,

dandies in queer English hats and lavender kids lounging about, and

tall soldiers, in short red jackets and muffin caps stuck on one side,

looking so funny I longed to sketch them.

Rotten Row means ‘Route de Roi’, or the king’s way, but now it’s more

like a riding school than anything else. The horses are splendid, and

the men, especially the grooms, ride well, but the women are stiff, and

bounce, which isn’t according to our rules. I longed to show them a

tearing American gallop, for they trotted solemnly up and down, in

their scant habits and high hats, looking like the women in a toy

Noah’s Ark. Everyone rides—old men, stout ladies, little children—and

the young folks do a deal of flirting here, I saw a pair exchange rose

buds, for it’s the thing to wear one in the button-hole, and I thought

it rather a nice little idea.

In the P.M. to Westminster Abbey, but don’t expect me to describe it,

that’s impossible, so I’ll only say it was sublime! This evening we are

going to see Fechter, which will be an appropriate end to the happiest

day of my life.

It’s very late, but I can’t let my letter go in the morning without

telling you what happened last evening. Who do you think came in, as we

were at tea? Laurie’s English friends, Fred and Frank Vaughn! I was so

surprised, for I shouldn’t have known them but for the cards. Both are

tall fellows with whiskers, Fred handsome in the English style, and

Frank much better, for he only limps slightly, and uses no crutches.

They had heard from Laurie where we were to be, and came to ask us to

their house, but Uncle won’t go, so we shall return the call, and see

them as we can. They went to the theater with us, and we did have such

a good time, for Frank devoted himself to Flo, and Fred and I talked

over past, present, and future fun as if we had known each other all

our days. Tell Beth Frank asked for her, and was sorry to hear of her

ill health. Fred laughed when I spoke of Jo, and sent his ‘respectful

compliments to the big hat’. Neither of them had forgotten Camp

Laurence, or the fun we had there. What ages ago it seems, doesn’t it?

Aunt is tapping on the wall for the third time, so I must stop. I

really feel like a dissipated London fine lady, writing here so late,

with my room full of pretty things, and my head a jumble of parks,

theaters, new gowns, and gallant creatures who say “Ah!” and twirl

their blond mustaches with the true English lordliness. I long to see

you all, and in spite of my nonsense am, as ever, your loving...

AMY

PARIS

Dear girls,

In my last I told you about our London visit, how kind the Vaughns

were, and what pleasant parties they made for us. I enjoyed the trips

to Hampton Court and the Kensington Museum more than anything else, for

at Hampton I saw Raphael’s cartoons, and at the Museum, rooms full of

pictures by Turner, Lawrence, Reynolds, Hogarth, and the other great

creatures. The day in Richmond Park was charming, for we had a regular

English picnic, and I had more splendid oaks and groups of deer than I

could copy, also heard a nightingale, and saw larks go up. We ‘did’

London to our heart’s content, thanks to Fred and Frank, and were sorry

to go away, for though English people are slow to take you in, when

they once make up their minds to do it they cannot be outdone in

hospitality, I think. The Vaughns hope to meet us in Rome next winter,

and I shall be dreadfully disappointed if they don’t, for Grace and I

are great friends, and the boys very nice fellows, especially Fred.

Well, we were hardly settled here, when he turned up again, saying he

had come for a holiday, and was going to Switzerland. Aunt looked sober

at first, but he was so cool about it she couldn’t say a word. And now

we get on nicely, and are very glad he came, for he speaks French like

a native, and I don’t know what we should do without him. Uncle doesn’t

know ten words, and insists on talking English very loud, as if it

would make people understand him. Aunt’s pronunciation is

old-fashioned, and Flo and I, though we flattered ourselves that we

knew a good deal, find we don’t, and are very grateful to have Fred do

the ‘_parley vooing_’, as Uncle calls it.

Such delightful times as we are having! Sight-seeing from morning till

night, stopping for nice lunches in the gay _cafes_, and meeting with

all sorts of droll adventures. Rainy days I spend in the Louvre,

revelling in pictures. Jo would turn up her naughty nose at some of the

finest, because she has no soul for art, but I have, and I’m

cultivating eye and taste as fast as I can. She would like the relics

of great people better, for I’ve seen her Napoleon’s cocked hat and

gray coat, his baby’s cradle and his old toothbrush, also Marie

Antoinette’s little shoe, the ring of Saint Denis, Charlemagne’s sword,

and many other interesting things. I’ll talk for hours about them when

I come, but haven’t time to write.

The Palais Royale is a heavenly place, so full of _bijouterie_ and

lovely things that I’m nearly distracted because I can’t buy them. Fred

wanted to get me some, but of course I didn’t allow it. Then the Bois

and Champs Elysees are _tres magnifique_. I’ve seen the imperial family

several times, the emperor an ugly, hard-looking man, the empress pale

and pretty, but dressed in bad taste, I thought—purple dress, green

hat, and yellow gloves. Little Nap is a handsome boy, who sits chatting

to his tutor, and kisses his hand to the people as he passes in his

four-horse barouche, with postilions in red satin jackets and a mounted

guard before and behind.

We often walk in the Tuileries Gardens, for they are lovely, though the

antique Luxembourg Gardens suit me better. Pere la Chaise is very

curious, for many of the tombs are like small rooms, and looking in,

one sees a table, with images or pictures of the dead, and chairs for

the mourners to sit in when they come to lament. That is so Frenchy.

Our rooms are on the Rue de Rivoli, and sitting on the balcony, we look

up and down the long, brilliant street. It is so pleasant that we spend

our evenings talking there when too tired with our day’s work to go

out. Fred is very entertaining, and is altogether the most agreeable

young man I ever knew—except Laurie, whose manners are more charming. I

wish Fred was dark, for I don’t fancy light men, however, the Vaughns

are very rich and come of an excellent family, so I won’t find fault

with their yellow hair, as my own is yellower.

Next week we are off to Germany and Switzerland, and as we shall travel

fast, I shall only be able to give you hasty letters. I keep my diary,

and try to ‘remember correctly and describe clearly all that I see and

admire’, as Father advised. It is good practice for me, and with my

sketchbook will give you a better idea of my tour than these scribbles.

Adieu, I embrace you tenderly. _“Votre Amie.”_

HEIDELBERG

My dear Mamma,

Having a quiet hour before we leave for Berne, I’ll try to tell you

what has happened, for some of it is very important, as you will see.

The sail up the Rhine was perfect, and I just sat and enjoyed it with

all my might. Get Father’s old guidebooks and read about it. I haven’t

words beautiful enough to describe it. At Coblentz we had a lovely

time, for some students from Bonn, with whom Fred got acquainted on the

boat, gave us a serenade. It was a moonlight night, and about one

o’clock Flo and I were waked by the most delicious music under our

windows. We flew up, and hid behind the curtains, but sly peeps showed

us Fred and the students singing away down below. It was the most

romantic thing I ever saw—the river, the bridge of boats, the great

fortress opposite, moonlight everywhere, and music fit to melt a heart

of stone.

When they were done we threw down some flowers, and saw them scramble

for them, kiss their hands to the invisible ladies, and go laughing

away, to smoke and drink beer, I suppose. Next morning Fred showed me

one of the crumpled flowers in his vest pocket, and looked very

sentimental. I laughed at him, and said I didn’t throw it, but Flo,

which seemed to disgust him, for he tossed it out of the window, and

turned sensible again. I’m afraid I’m going to have trouble with that

boy, it begins to look like it.

The baths at Nassau were very gay, so was Baden-Baden, where Fred lost

some money, and I scolded him. He needs someone to look after him when

Frank is not with him. Kate said once she hoped he’d marry soon, and I

quite agree with her that it would be well for him. Frankfurt was

delightful. I saw Goethe’s house, Schiller’s statue, and Dannecker’s

famous ‘Ariadne.’ It was very lovely, but I should have enjoyed it more

if I had known the story better. I didn’t like to ask, as everyone knew

it or pretended they did. I wish Jo would tell me all about it. I ought

to have read more, for I find I don’t know anything, and it mortifies

me.

Now comes the serious part, for it happened here, and Fred has just

gone. He has been so kind and jolly that we all got quite fond of him.

I never thought of anything but a traveling friendship till the

serenade night. Since then I’ve begun to feel that the moonlight walks,

balcony talks, and daily adventures were something more to him than

fun. I haven’t flirted, Mother, truly, but remembered what you said to

me, and have done my very best. I can’t help it if people like me. I

don’t try to make them, and it worries me if I don’t care for them,

though Jo says I haven’t got any heart. Now I know Mother will shake

her head, and the girls say, “Oh, the mercenary little wretch!”, but

I’ve made up my mind, and if Fred asks me, I shall accept him, though

I’m not madly in love. I like him, and we get on comfortably together.

He is handsome, young, clever enough, and very rich—ever so much richer

than the Laurences. I don’t think his family would object, and I should

be very happy, for they are all kind, well-bred, generous people, and

they like me. Fred, as the eldest twin, will have the estate, I

suppose, and such a splendid one it is! A city house in a fashionable

street, not so showy as our big houses, but twice as comfortable and

full of solid luxury, such as English people believe in. I like it, for

it’s genuine. I’ve seen the plate, the family jewels, the old servants,

and pictures of the country place, with its park, great house, lovely

grounds, and fine horses. Oh, it would be all I should ask! And I’d

rather have it than any title such as girls snap up so readily, and

find nothing behind. I may be mercenary, but I hate poverty, and don’t

mean to bear it a minute longer than I can help. One of us _must_ marry

well. Meg didn’t, Jo won’t, Beth can’t yet, so I shall, and make

everything okay all round. I wouldn’t marry a man I hated or despised.

You may be sure of that, and though Fred is not my model hero, he does

very well, and in time I should get fond enough of him if he was very

fond of me, and let me do just as I liked. So I’ve been turning the

matter over in my mind the last week, for it was impossible to help

seeing that Fred liked me. He said nothing, but little things showed

it. He never goes with Flo, always gets on my side of the carriage,

table, or promenade, looks sentimental when we are alone, and frowns at

anyone else who ventures to speak to me. Yesterday at dinner, when an

Austrian officer stared at us and then said something to his friend, a

rakish-looking baron, about ‘_ein wonderschones Blondchen’_, Fred

looked as fierce as a lion, and cut his meat so savagely it nearly flew

off his plate. He isn’t one of the cool, stiff Englishmen, but is

rather peppery, for he has Scotch blood in him, as one might guess from

his bonnie blue eyes.

Well, last evening we went up to the castle about sunset, at least all

of us but Fred, who was to meet us there after going to the Post

Restante for letters. We had a charming time poking about the ruins,

the vaults where the monster tun is, and the beautiful gardens made by

the elector long ago for his English wife. I liked the great terrace

best, for the view was divine, so while the rest went to see the rooms

inside, I sat there trying to sketch the gray stone lion’s head on the

wall, with scarlet woodbine sprays hanging round it. I felt as if I’d

got into a romance, sitting there, watching the Neckar rolling through

the valley, listening to the music of the Austrian band below, and

waiting for my lover, like a real storybook girl. I had a feeling that

something was going to happen and I was ready for it. I didn’t feel

blushy or quakey, but quite cool and only a little excited.

By-and-by I heard Fred’s voice, and then he came hurrying through the

great arch to find me. He looked so troubled that I forgot all about

myself, and asked what the matter was. He said he’d just got a letter

begging him to come home, for Frank was very ill. So he was going at

once on the night train and only had time to say good-by. I was very

sorry for him, and disappointed for myself, but only for a minute

because he said, as he shook hands, and said it in a way that I could

not mistake, “I shall soon come back, you won’t forget me, Amy?”

I didn’t promise, but I looked at him, and he seemed satisfied, and

there was no time for anything but messages and good-byes, for he was

off in an hour, and we all miss him very much. I know he wanted to

speak, but I think, from something he once hinted, that he had promised

his father not to do anything of the sort yet a while, for he is a rash

boy, and the old gentleman dreads a foreign daughter-in-law. We shall

soon meet in Rome, and then, if I don’t change my mind, I’ll say “Yes,

thank you,” when he says “Will you, please?”

Of course this is all _very private_, but I wished you to know what was

going on. Don’t be anxious about me, remember I am your ‘prudent Amy’,

and be sure I will do nothing rashly. Send me as much advice as you

like. I’ll use it if I can. I wish I could see you for a good talk,

Marmee. Love and trust me.

Ever your AMY