CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
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
