GENF.VIEVE GIWIAME GI\ANT 

 
 ILLINOIS HISTORY AND 
 LINCOLN COLLECTIONS 
 
 LIBRARY 0. OF I. URBANA-CHAMPAIGN
 
 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT
 
 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT 
 
 O sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done, 
 The voice that now is speaking may be beyond the sun 
 Forever and forever with those just souls and true 
 And what is life that we should moan ? Why make we such ado ? 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 CHICAGO 
 PRIVATELY PRINTED AT THE LAKESIDE PRESS 
 
 MDCCCXCV
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 WRITINGS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 5 
 
 I. PARIS TRIAL OF MARSHAL BAZAINE 
 
 II. VENICE YOUTHFUL STUDIES 
 
 III. ROME FIRST EXPERIENCES 
 
 IV. ROME ART AND ITS GLORIES - 
 V. VENICE LEGEND OF SAINT MARK 
 
 VI. FLORENCE THE CARNIVAL 
 
 VII. JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY A REVIEW 
 
 VIII. MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF AN ANALYSIS 
 
 IX. A FRENCHMAN ON THE POTOMAC AN INTERPRE- 
 TATION 
 
 X. EMILY CRAWFORD A PORTRAIT 
 
 XI. LONDON SOCIAL LIFE 
 
 XII. FRANKFORT GOETHE 
 
 XIII. BERNHARDT 
 
 XIV. VENICE REVISITED 
 
 XV. AN ADDRESS AT PARIS (FRENCH) - 
 
 XVI. AN ESTIMATE OF COQUELIN (FRENCH) 
 
 LETTERS. 
 
 SIR FREDERICK LEIGHTON TO MRS. GRAN* 
 'MAX O'RELL" (PAUL BLOUET) TO MRS. GRANT 
 WILSON BARRETT TO MRS. GRANT - 
 GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP TO MRS. GRANT - 
 REMENYI TO MRS. GRANT 
 SIR FREDERICK LEIGHTON TO MRS. GRANT 
 MORRIS MOORE TO MRS. GRANT 
 EMILY FAITHFUL TO MRS. GRANT 
 JAMES JACKSON JARVES TO MRS. GRANT 
 EMILY CRAWFORD TO MRS. GRANT'S MOTHER 
 REVEREND DAVID SWING TO MRS. GRANT'S MOTHER 
 
 MEMORIALS. 
 TWENTIETH CENTURY CLUB - 
 STANDING NOTE IN TWENTIETH CENTURY CLUB BOOK 
 
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 105 
 
 112 
 
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 I2 4 
 
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 IS' 
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 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 ITi ! Joars, TBBK Wmmm PI
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME JONES was born in the old Jones 
 homestead, on Monroe street, Chicago, inherited by her 
 parents, Fernando and Jane Grahame Jones, from her 
 grandfather, William Jones, one of the founders of the 
 city. The house is well remembered. It stood in a little 
 off the street, and was surrounded by a spacious and beau- 
 tiful garden, in the center of which was a great willow 
 that had been planted by William Jones twenty- five years 
 before the little girl made it her favorite childish resort. 
 Within its sheltering branches she read her story-books. 
 Beneath them she had her dolls' house. In their shadows 
 she took her afternoon naps, lulled by countless choirs 
 that sang among the boughs. Her childish happiness, 
 largely due to her sunny disposition, was unalloyed. She 
 could have said with Wordsworth 
 
 "Heaven lies about us in our infancy." 
 
 Gay, frolicsome, full of bright caprices, generous, 
 witty, no special effort was made by her parents to force 
 her natural gifts, whose abundance and versatility were 
 apparent. She read by intuition only good books; and 
 she enjoyed every kind of reading that was wholesome. 
 A dislike of what seemed to her extravagant or depress- 
 ing piety induced her to discard Pilgrim's Progress after 
 making a brave struggle to like it. Her formal schooling 
 was not begun until after the removal of her family to the 
 home on Prairie avenue, where the rest of her life was 
 spent during the years not devoted to study in Europe. 
 
 5
 
 6 PREFACE. 
 
 Her first school, to which she was sent when about 
 nine years of age, was a German and French institute 
 taught by Professor Faulhaber, on Prairie avenue, near 
 Sixteenth street. Subsequently the child was a student 
 with Professor Babcock, on Eighteenth street. Her apti- 
 tude for languages was manifested in these schools; and 
 her early attainments enabled her to be one among the 
 first young women students admitted to the University of 
 Chicago when its doors were parted to women by the 
 liberal president, the late Dr. Burroughs. Genevieve 
 remained in the university two years, keeping second 
 place in a class of thirty boys studying Greek. Thence, 
 well equipped in classics and mathematics, Genevieve went 
 to Vassar, where she immediately arose to distinction by 
 reason both of natural talents and unusual accomplish- 
 ments. Her health began rapidly to fail and at the end of 
 a year she was obliged to withdraw. The principal, Miss 
 Terry, wrote : " I regret that Miss Jones must leave us, 
 as Vassar would have been very proud of her. She is 
 industrious, intellectual and scholarly." 
 
 After an interval of rest, Genevieve was placed in the 
 celebrated pension of Madame de Lignieres, Rue de 
 Chateaubriand, Paris, where she acquired idiomatic ease in 
 French and enjoyed music study with the best masters of 
 the capital. Still seeking health, but still loving study, she 
 was taken to Italy, where she became deeply engrossed 
 with Italian literature and the Romance languages. 
 
 It was during the stay of her family on the continent, 
 and especially in Italy, that Genevieve Grahame Jones' 
 mind fully opened and that her character assumed its inevi- 
 table and complete mould. She inherited an unusual 
 combination of gifts and a singularly efficient and felicitous 
 spirit. Her youthful mind, rich in endowment and 
 supple in exercise, was distinctly reflected upon her
 
 PREFACE. 7 
 
 face. Her head was perhaps a little larger than the aver- 
 age, and was poised firmly upon a beautiful neck. The 
 brows and forehead showed reasoning power with imagi- 
 nation, a poetical appreciation of the beautiful and a cold 
 intellectual comprehension of the logic of the world. The 
 eyes were deep, luminous and filled with the brilliant but 
 reserved light that indicates sympathy and compassion. 
 The lips were full, perfectly bowed, and tender. The pro- 
 file was Hellenic ; regular as if molded by sculptor ; and 
 when in health the hues of cheek and forehead combined 
 the tones of passionate life and tranquil thought the 
 Greeks exemplified and worshipped. 
 
 Much of her personality was expressed also in her 
 voice. Low in pitch, full of easily rising and falling 
 melody, it was always responsive to her eyes, and every 
 play of feeling that appeared in them was echoed in it. 
 It could be playful, caressing, persuasive, coy, satiric, 
 merry, grave, appealing, impressive for truth or justice, 
 inspiring to action, or convincing to judgment. It was 
 like a perfect musical instrument, an adequate organ of a 
 harmonious human soul. 
 
 Her hands were those of a character already described, 
 dainty, symmetrical, long in the fingers, firm in the palm, 
 and strong at the wrist. Their adaptability to the piano 
 was early demonstrated in her easily acquired command of 
 the key board ; and her striving for the logic of art was 
 shown as well as in her intuitive grasp of principles of 
 counterpoint, which in later life she mastered so that 
 improvisation became habitual. Had she possessed health 
 equal to her emotional and intellectual faculties, she would 
 have made a place among musical composers. 
 
 Greek in its devotion to art and esthetics, her intelli- 
 gence was no less Greek in its quest after the mysteries of 
 the soul. Unhampered by traditional or enforced dogmas,
 
 8 PREFACE. 
 
 Genevieve Jones penetrated for herself the doctrines of 
 philosophy, and read widely, freely, with catholic disinter- 
 estedness, without prejudice ; and she found intense enjoy- 
 ment in what may be called the comparative and analyti- 
 cal methods of reading metaphysics. Too original and 
 independent to accept as exclusively correct the conclusions 
 of any school, too fond of mental liberty to become a dis- 
 ciple of a single speculator, she found some truth in many 
 places and was happy in all precincts of the mind where 
 sincerity and reason dwelt. Among all with whose theor- 
 ies she became conversant, Schopenhauer was her favorite. 
 
 An intellect so ardent, free from bigotries of every 
 kind, could not become pedantic. She loved everything 
 that attracted either for beauty or truth ; she delighted in 
 romance as in history, in drama as in pictures, in society 
 as in books. The social vivacity of Paris was especially 
 agreeable to her inclination for study of human character 
 where it is more frank and more various than in the 
 society of any other country. The conventionalities of 
 the French capital are so much more liberal than those 
 of American or English society that reflected, as they are 
 so fully in the fiction of Sand, Balzac and the large com- 
 pany of later genre writers, she liked to look at their reality 
 of which French literature gives a remarkably vivid 
 counterfeit. The polish, the elegance, the versatility, the 
 emancipation, the verve of Paris, fascinated her youth; 
 while her deeper sensibility never erred in measuring its 
 limitations and vagaries by authentic standards. 
 
 Genevieve Grahame Jones was married to George 
 Rowswell Grant, July 20, 1881. One child, Leslie, was 
 born to them, December 28, 1886. 
 
 It was Mrs. Grant's determination to spend most of the 
 rest of her life in her native country in order that her 
 daughter should grow up a thorough American. As
 
 PREFACE. 9 
 
 rapidly as little Leslie was able to learn, her mother's 
 delight in leading out her faculties became a supreme 
 happiness. The little girl was the constant companion of 
 grandmother and mother, and the three formed a group of 
 unusual attractiveness to their friends. The childhood of 
 the mother was to be repeated in more senses than one in 
 little Leslie ; for both father and mother were to be 
 called away before she was old enough to realise the 
 magnitude of her misfortune. 
 
 While Mrs. Grant's health permitted her to take an 
 active part in social and intellectual affairs in Chicago, her 
 power of organization was manifested in the foundation 
 of a club whose purpose was a reflection of her own 
 brilliant and resourceful mind. There were literary clubs 
 in the city; but there was none having the authority and 
 aiming at the purpose which was to be found in the 
 Twentieth Century Club, named and organized by Mrs. 
 Grant, November 9, 1889. The object of the club, as 
 defined by her and adopted as the first section of its con- 
 stitution, is " the promotion of serious thought upon 
 important questions of art, science and literature, and the 
 entertainment of men and women of other cities of this 
 country and other countries, distinguished by reason of 
 aim or achievement, in their respective departments of 
 knowledge, invited to meet the club and to speak to it 
 upon the subjects with which they may be especially 
 identified." 
 
 Arduous labor as secretary of the Twentieth Century 
 Club, a post Mrs. Grant filled for five years, doubtless 
 hastened decline of her vigor, and little by little she was 
 obliged to withdraw from arrangement of its details, 
 while she maintained a virtual direction, respected and 
 observed by its membership. 
 
 That Mrs. Grant, had her physical strength matched
 
 10 PREFACE. 
 
 her intellectual force, would have reached high distinction 
 in literature and society, was made clear not only by her 
 organization of this society and by many other evidences 
 of originality and executive gifts, but also by her remark- 
 able composure, rare in one so young; and by the depth 
 and sincerity of her convictions on large questions, con- 
 cerning which she inherited broad and philosophical views. 
 She wrote and spoke French so spontaneously that when, 
 at the international congress of women at Paris in 1878, 
 Mrs. Fernando Jones, who was to speak, was compelled to 
 decline on account of indisposition, her place was taken 
 by her daughter in a manner so remakable as to call forth 
 astonishment and praise. An account of this incident will 
 be found elsewhere in 'this volume, taken from the con- 
 temporary press. 
 
 A blow from which Mrs. Grant never rallied befell 
 September 6, 1892. George Rowswell Grant, accom- 
 panied by Grahame Jones, went on a hunting trip to Lake 
 Miltonia. On the morning of that day, being on the lake 
 duck shooting, he was thrown into the water by the cap- 
 sizing of his boat and was found several hours afterward 
 by Grahame Jones, dead. The shock was too severe for 
 his wife, already greatly reduced in health. Mrs. Grant 
 was removed South in the hope of improvement. The 
 medical skill of the United States was sought in vain. 
 She passed sweetly away February 27, 1894. 
 
 This book is intended primarily for her child. It is 
 made up of writings by her, about her and to her. This 
 inadequate sketch of her personality is written by one who 
 knew her almost from her cradle to her grave, and who is 
 not of her kin.
 
 WRITINGS.
 
 I. PARIS. 
 
 1873. 
 
 EPISODE IN THE TRIAL OF MARSHAL 
 BAZAINE. 
 
 Agitated State of Society Following the Franco-Prussian War. 
 Conflicting Opinions Concerning the Political Future of 
 France. Imperialism, Monarchy, Democracy. Influence of 
 the American Legation. Startling Scene at the Trial of 
 Marshal Bazaine. (Extract from a letter.) 
 
 French women dress in black, and refuse to be gay ; 
 the shadow of the war still rests upon their hearts. 
 France mourns over her betrayed honor and her daily 
 humiliations. The summer of her discontent and dread 
 has passed into a winter of despair. 
 
 The election of Marshal MacMahon as President for 
 seven years, with the inevitable change in the Constitution, 
 endowing him with unlimited power, has appalled the 
 friends of the Republic. 
 
 The Monarchists have made many saintly pilgrimages 
 and performed many wonderful miracles this summer ; 
 but the election was the most astonishing of them all. 
 When M. Thiers read the message he said of the Presi- 
 dent: " We have nothing left to do. This message will 
 accomplish all." From its tone of tyrannical impudence, 
 and the disfavor with which it was received by all but the 
 Monarchists, it would so have seemed. 
 
 Better nor truer men never lived than the Republican 
 leaders of France. With what untiring efforts, self-sac- 
 rifice, and wisdom, have they labored to save the Re- 
 
 '3
 
 H GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 public. M. Thiers' letter to the Mayor of Nancy aimed 
 to arouse a united enthusiasm in all ranks of the people. 
 He said, " We are now called upon, not only to defend 
 the Republic, but every principle that we hold dear. If 
 even the flag under which our soldiers, whether vanquish- 
 ing or vanquished, have covered themselves all over with 
 glory, remains to us, it will be but the sad reminder of 
 the sacred principles it once symbolized." The people 
 responded to this letter by immense Republican majorities. 
 The Count de Chambord thought of the spilled blood 
 and the ravaged tombs of the Bourbons, and he feared to 
 accept the proffered crown from the hands of the Mon- 
 archists. The King-makers of France cared not whether 
 Henry V. came to Paris marching under the white flag 
 or the tri-color; but the soldiers did; and, as the army was 
 the prop on which the Throne was to rest, they dare not 
 set it up. 
 
 We were in the Assembly the day that Marshal Mac- 
 Mahon was unconstitutionally elected for seven years. 
 The excitement was something fearful. It seemed as if 
 the " Right " were so many fiends dragging a saint down 
 to Hades. It was quite impossible for the Republicans to 
 make themselves heard, so determined were the " Right " 
 that the prolongation should be passed without further 
 discussion. I saw the sad news tied under the wing of 
 the little carrier-pigeon that was to bear it to Paris. The 
 Monarchists had sent her out after the fearful storm, to 
 bear their olive-branch to France. 
 
 Henry V. said he could not inaugurate a strong gov- 
 ernment by committing a weak act, but the Duke of Ma- 
 genta proposes to inaugurate a popular government by 
 insulting the dignity and intelligence of the nation. He 
 demands sufficient power to rule them with a rod of iron, 
 "a power," he says, " that no one shall have the right
 
 POPULARITY OF M. THIERS. 15 
 
 to question; and, above all, power to control the lawless 
 liberty of the press." When Mr. Lincoln was urged 
 from all sides to suppress the traitorous journals during our 
 war, he answered, with the inspiration of a true patriot, 
 "No; the liberty of the press must be conserved, or the 
 Republic falls." The independent press is the life of the 
 Republic, as the army of the Crown. Every day the 
 army of France gains strength. Every day the Repub- 
 lican press is weakened by suppressions. It can scarcely 
 survive the reign of seven years allotted to the Duke of 
 Magenta. 
 
 The night after the election, the train going from Ver- 
 sailles to Paris bore a grand old man, with pale face, tear- 
 ful eyes, and heavy heart. When he emerged from the 
 compartment, the crowd anxiously awaiting the train to 
 hear the result of the vote recognized him, and shouts of 
 " Vive la Re'publique ! " and " Vive Monsieur Thiers, her 
 noble defender ! " filled the air. Taking him in their 
 arms, they triumphantly bore him to his carriage and fol- 
 lowed him to his residence, in spite of the soldiers who 
 fill the streets, and have strict orders to allow no assem- 
 bling of the people together upon the streets. Political 
 meetings are forbidden, or any discussion of politics in 
 any public way. 
 
 M. Thiers is a sincere patriot, who considers no sacrifice 
 too great to save the Republic that he loves so well. 
 When the telegram was brought to him, announcing the 
 surrender of Metz, he burst into tears, and exclaimed, 
 "My God! France is betrayed;" and to-day all the 
 world echoes the words, and all are convinced that France 
 was betrayed. 
 
 Leading through the park from the palaces to the 
 Trianon is a magnificent avenue, shaded by tulip trees. 
 A delightful walk of twenty minutes took us from the
 
 16 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 stormy Assembly to the trial of Marshal Bazaine. A 
 line of soldiers guard the massive iron gates which lead 
 into the court of the Great Trianon, where Louis XIV. 
 spent his leisure hours in revels and dissipations, plant- 
 ing the seeds of the Revolution of 1793. We nervously 
 approached the formidably guarded gates, as we were 
 very anxious to enter, but were not armed with the neces- 
 sary entrance tickets. 
 
 I approached one of the guards, handed him a card 
 with " United States Legation" on it and a" Please admit 
 our compatriots," signed by our Minister, which had 
 already done duty on numerous occasions. He looked at 
 it, shrugged his shoulders, and went off to present it to 
 his superior officer. He soon returned, and, politely invit- 
 ing me to follow, escorted us to the entrance of the 
 grand vestibule. Here again the card had to be submitted 
 to another superior officer. In a moment the orderly re- 
 turned, handed our card to a gay young soldier in wav- 
 ing plumes, gold-handled sabre, and white kid gloves, who 
 escorted us up through the large audience to the very 
 front, where we could see everybody and hear every- 
 thing. In such high esteem is our government held in 
 France that a card with " United States Legation " on it 
 is as effective as was the magic wand of Cinderella's fairy 
 godmother. 
 
 The grand vestibule is a beautiful room, ornamented 
 with massive marble columns, frescos, and statues. 
 Seated in a circle in front of us were the noted Gen- 
 erals who compose the tribunal. They are a most im- 
 posing body, with grave, earnest faces, and military 
 bearing. The effect of their bright blue costumes, gold 
 epaulettes, and the broad scarlet ribbon passing across 
 the breast and over the shoulder, covered with decora- 
 tions, is very picturesque. In the centre is the intellectual,
 
 DRAMATIC INCIDENT IN THE TRIAL. 17 
 
 refined-looking Due d'Aumale. Over his head hangs a 
 very large and fine painting of Christ upon the Cross. 
 At his left sits the accused, with white hair and weather- 
 beaten face. His costume, worn and faded, is in sad con- 
 trast with the bright new ones all about him ; but the 
 decorations that glitter all over it, and the Cross of the 
 Legion of Honor that adorns his breast, speak elo- 
 quently of services rendered and glories earned. 
 
 As we entered, M. Villissum, a contractor of Metz, 
 who had proposed to revictual Metz, and was angrily 
 dismissed by Marshal Bazaine, was giving his most con- 
 demnatory evidence. The testimony finished, he begged 
 leave to add a few words, and, turning to the audience, 
 he, in a most emotional manner, said: "There are some 
 names we should teach our children to loathe and de- 
 test. There are some names we should teach them to 
 revere and worship. Let us teach our children to hold 
 in sacred memory the names of the soldiers of the Army 
 of Metz, who only desired to fight and to die. If they 
 had had a General worthy of them, Metz to-day 'would 
 belong to France" When he had finished, the yellow, 
 impassioned face of the Marshal crimsoned, whether 
 with rage or shame we know not. A thrill of horror 
 vibrated through the room. Simultaneously the vast 
 audience rose to their feet ; bitter tears filled every eye ; 
 exclamations of grief, rage, and disgust resounded through 
 the assembly. Had it not been for the armed soldiery, 
 perhaps, the trial might have ended then and there. 
 
 Marshal Bazaine was a brave soldier and a capable 
 officer, but he was an Imperialist, and not a patriot. He 
 betrayed his country to save his Emperor, and lost all. It 
 matters little to him, to France, or to the world, what may 
 be the decision of the tribunal. He is already dead and 
 disgraced. I only wish that to-day all the enemies of the
 
 l8 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 Republic were as dead as he. But, alas! they sit in the 
 council chambers of the palace at Versailles, like the 
 witches in " Macbeth," concocting a broth that may be 
 more potent for evil to France than was the witches' stew 
 to the unfortunate Thane of Fife. 
 
 In the center of the beautiful Place de la Concorde is 
 the grand obelisk of Luxor. Stretching away up to the 
 heavens, it may be seen from all parts of Paris, and is the 
 eternal protest of the French people against royalty. On 
 this very spot, 2,500 persons lost their lives within three 
 months. Eight times in eighty years has the government 
 of France been overturned, and still the monarchical jour- 
 nals constantly tell us that the Monarchy is the only 
 government that can be permanent in France. Jules 
 Grevy says, in his "Gouvernement N^cessaire," that there 
 are no longer in this country even the elements of a 
 constitutional monarchy; and yet these eogalists are 
 determined to force the old Legitimist regime back upon 
 the people. America is cursed with the disease of emo- 
 tional insanity, and France with the King-making lunacy.
 
 II. VENICE^ 
 
 1873. 
 
 First Delight Over Dante Whom the Writer Studies in the 
 Original with an Italian Master. The Old Loredan Palace. 
 Byron and San Lazzaro. (Extract from a letter by Gene- 
 vieve Grahame Jones at fifteen.) 
 
 Mamma has just found a beautifully illustrated Dante. 
 We are reading it with a Roman poet as master. I now 
 know the beauty of " La lingua toscana in bocca romana." 
 Willie has a genius for language. He quite enjoys reading 
 with us, and it is good work for him. I am enchanted 
 with Dante in his Italian dress. One loses so much in the 
 translations. I am overcome by the beauty of the Fifth 
 Canto, where Dante meets Francesca, and sympathizes 
 with her, and she replies to him: 
 
 " Nessun maggior dolore, 
 Che ricordarsi del tempo felice 
 Nella miseria." 
 
 What could be more exquisite than the picture of 
 Dante being led and taught by the great master Virgil ? 
 And of wisdom coming in the form of the beloved Bea- 
 trice, when Virgil could take him no farther, to instruct 
 him in the more subtle mysteries of the higher life? 
 Evidently Dante believed in the superiority of woman. I 
 wish you were here to read Italian with us in the morn- 
 ings; and study the Venetian masters in the afternoons 
 (to me they are the greatest of all), and then to row about 
 in gondolas, visiting galleries, palaces, churches and 
 monasteries. 
 
 19
 
 20 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 You would enjoy living in this old Loredan palace of 
 ours. The Loredans gave innumerable doges and warri- 
 ors to Venice. Their proud eyes are looking upon us 
 from countless panels, with all the dignity that a long line 
 of glorious ancestors, velvet, ermine, and consciousness of 
 duties performed can lend them. The frescos are by 
 Tiepoli; and the 2OO-year-old Turkish rug in the salon 
 possesses the secret of perpetual youth and fadeless beauty. 
 From our little covered balcony we see gondolas gliding 
 by while the sun sets in a veritable sea of glory, and the 
 moon rises out of the silvery Adriatic. The romance of 
 the past, and the beauty of the present encircle us in an 
 atmosphere of delight. 
 
 To-morrow we go sketching with a party of artists 
 and other friends, to the different islands. We have such 
 a quaint old American artist here. Mamma says he must 
 be the hero of Henry James' novel " The Madonna of the 
 Future." He has been working over 20 years on a copy 
 of Bellini's " Madonna," and he does not consider it 
 finished yet. If it were possible to make a true copy of 
 one of these superb creations he, with his talent, sympathy, 
 and appreciation, would be the one to succeed. 
 
 Yesterday we went to San Lazzaro. It is a beautiful 
 spot. Byron has cast a spell over it, and we talked and 
 thought only of Byron, and how he must have enjoyed the 
 life there. The monks seem to venerate his memory, as if 
 he had been a veritable saint. I bought a colored photo- 
 graph of him, which I have placed on my dressing table. 
 It seems impossible that a man with such a face could 
 have been so dual. I like to think of him, not as others 
 think, but as those good monks do.
 
 III. ROME. 
 
 1873. 
 
 FIRST EXPERIENCES IN THE ETERNAL 
 
 CITY. 
 
 A Music Master who Looks Like Apollo and Interprets Chopin. 
 A Nobleman who has a Title, a Wife, Two Children and 
 an Income of Three Francs a Day, Earned in Teaching 
 Italian. A Beautiful American Woman, a Physician, Turns 
 the Head of a German Baron. Visits to Churches. Pius 
 Ninth a Voluntary Prisoner. Lectures at the University. 
 
 I have at last escaped from my school prison in 
 the rue Chateaubriand, from my keeper, Madame de 
 Lignieres, whom the French used to call, " Napoleon 
 in petticoats," on account of her commanding presence. I 
 do miss the little French maid, who came at five every 
 morning to my bedside, and said in such sweet tones, 
 " levez-vous, mon petit soleil " but here I am in Rome, 
 in a quaint old apartment in the Corso; and although we 
 have been here but little more than a week, I already have 
 a music master and an Italian teacher. My music master 
 is the great Sgambatti, the idol of Rome. He looks like 
 Apollo, and interprets Chopin divinely. My Italian 
 teacher is what the English would call " a decayed gentle- 
 man." He is a nobleman, has a title, a wife and two 
 children, and an income of three francs a day ! He is 
 very handsome, has the manners of a courtier, and the 
 bearing of an aristocrat. I don't mean the bearing of one 
 of our self-made aristocrats, who informs you of his late 
 arrival by painting a coronet on his carriage door. He 
 sings, writes poetry, and plays on several instruments, 
 
 21
 
 22 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 and he has written a poem to my " beautiful blue eyes," 
 which he says remind him of a Madonna primativa. I 
 enclose you a copy of the poem; you can exercise your 
 Italian on it. I am afraid he is in danger of getting his 
 congedo, for mamma does not approve of sonnets to my 
 eyes, written by my instructor, even though he be a noble- 
 man in distress. 
 
 A German baron who saw Dr. S. with us in the Vati- 
 can a few days ago has been furnishing us with excite- 
 ment. It was evidently love at first sight. He then 
 expressed his admiration by staring a great deal, al modo 
 Italiano. Now he pursues us. Although a mild and 
 effeminate man in appearance, he seems to be endowed 
 with great strength of pursuit. Wherever we go, he goes; 
 our ways seem to be his ways. The doctor's blushes 
 when he appears on the scene are delicious. She says it 
 is I whom he admires, but that he looks at her because he 
 is afraid of mamma. I am indifferent, for my present 
 ideal is in marble. I am in love with a statue. I pass 
 all my spare moments before the cabinet of the Meleager. 
 What grace, beauty, strength and intellect combined ! 
 Why could I not have lived in ancient Greece? Think of 
 looking at a German baron in red hair and spectacles, after 
 seeing the Meleager. 
 
 You would pity me, I am so busy. I, who should so 
 like to sit under the grand trees, in the beautiful Borghese 
 Gardens, and dream all day, am busy from early morn till 
 dewy eve visiting the three hundred churches in Rome 
 and not one that does not contain some great chef 
 d^ceuvre, and something beautiful in architecture that 
 must be seen. 
 
 Yesterday we had such a charming drive to the ruins 
 on the ma Appia. It pleased me to see that the finest 
 and most celebrated tomb, (that of Cecilia Metella,) was
 
 AN EPIPHANY FAIR. 23 
 
 erected to a woman. The ancient Romans were more 
 appreciative or more gallant than moderns. We returned 
 home by the Borghese Gardens and the Pincio to see the 
 sunset. The view was glorious. The last rays of the sun 
 illuminated the dome of St. Peter's, and merged in the 
 sparkling spray of the fountains, which filled the air with 
 myriads of rainbows. I wonder all the Romans are not 
 artists and poets. With such a heritage of beauty, they 
 can never lack cultivation. Even the servants have none 
 of that crudity and provincialism that one might often 
 observe in our best society. 
 
 The 6th of January is the Italian Christmas (Epiph- 
 any). Christ was born to the Jews on Christmas, but 
 revealed to the Gentiles on Epiphany. On the evening of 
 the 5th an immense fair was held in the " Piazza Na- 
 vona." The hundreds of booths, filled with everything 
 that can delight the heart of a child, were crowded with 
 purchasers till long after midnight in fact the aristocracy 
 do not begin to attend till half-past u,the hour when 
 the rabble begin to disperse. Every Roman considers it 
 his religious duty to make upon this occasion all the 
 noise possible. Such an uproar as arose from that 
 mass of mingled sounds of tin whistles, clay whistles, 
 trumpets, from the size of a penny horn to the largest 
 trombone, drums and tambourines, may we never hear 
 again. 
 
 No potentate in all Christendom has so fine a palace as 
 the one occupied by Pius the Ninth. If one should spend 
 six months in Rome and give to the Vatican each day the 
 time allotted, it would scarce give an opportunity to see its 
 museums and galleries. The admiring wonder experi- 
 enced on first entering the piazza, of St. Peter's increases 
 and intensifies at every step. Everything bears the im- 
 press of the master-spirits that created this wonderful
 
 24 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 structure, and adorned it with the richest gems of art that 
 the world possesses. 
 
 The Pope's guard, tall, fine-looking fellows, in the 
 artistic uniform that Michael Angelo designed for the 
 guard of Sixtus Sixth, still watch over the Vatican ; 
 where Victor Emmanuel's voluntary prisoner resides in 
 secluded splendor, refusing to come forth. No longer 
 are the church pageants held in St. Peter's. The huge 
 bronze statue of St. Peter was not dressed in canonical 
 robes on Christmas. The public are no longer admitted 
 to the service in the beautiful Sistine Chapel. This year 
 His Holiness will not bless the world from the balcony 
 of St. Peter's. In fact he will do nothing to attract vis- 
 itors to Rome. The Court of the Quirinal is in mourn- 
 ing for the King of Saxony, the father of the Princess 
 Marguerite; hence there are no court balls or grand re- 
 ceptions. The Romans are complaining bitterly because 
 they are not amused, and are pining for the pageants and 
 amusements the Pope used to give them. 
 
 But next month the Court promises to assume its 
 wonted gayety, and then the Carnival, which commences 
 on the yth of February and lasts till the I5th, promises to 
 exceed all the past in brilliancy. The Princess Marguer- 
 ite is very pretty and popular. She is much among the 
 people, driving every day upon the Pincio and the Corso, 
 attending the festivals, fairs and places of amusement. 
 The new government is doing grand things for Rome 
 in the way of clearing up the filthy streets and improving 
 the drainage. As the power of the Pope wanes, the 
 lights before the shrines of the Virgin darken. The lamp 
 that used to burn so constantly in Hilda's tower no longer 
 illumes the sweet face of the Madonna. Amusing pictures 
 are exhibited in the shop-windows of the Pope and Vic- 
 tor Emmanuel standing arm in arm, the Pope looking
 
 INSTITUTE FOR ITALIAN WOMEN. 25 
 
 submissively down, while the King whispers knowingly 
 in his ear. 
 
 The Italian scholar and thinker, Count Serenzio Ma- 
 miani, resumed his lectures yesterday (Sunday) at the 
 Roman University. The lecture was upon the " Theory 
 of Progress." He condemned the modern cosmogonists, 
 who, instead of aiding progress, most fiercely oppose it. 
 He refuted the ideas of Hegel and Strauss. He classified 
 the different forms of progress under liberty and activity 
 (which he described as inseparable as without liberty 
 activity was impossible) ; art, morality, science and posi- 
 tion; and gave as a general definition of progress a suc- 
 cessive amelioration of our being. The theory was 
 beautifully and practically illustrated by three pretty 
 young Italian ladies who were stenographically reporting 
 the lecture. 
 
 On the 6th of January a woman's institute " The 
 Institute Superiore Femminile "- was inaugurated. 
 Many distinguished Italians were present. Speeches were 
 made by Count Mamiani, Count Pianciani and Signora 
 Fua Fusinato, the talented lady who is to take charge of 
 the Institute. Count Pianciani said: "It is education 
 alone that can elevate woman and bring about her true 
 emancipation." We are glad of the Roman University 
 for Women, and trust that it may in time bring about the 
 needed reforms. We think that when young girls cannot 
 safely walk a block alone at any hour of the day, as is the 
 case in France and Italy, the times are wofully out of 
 tune. If art refines and priests teach morality, how can 
 these people be so depraved? Thank heaven for the 
 Anglo-Saxons! for, if they are not divine, they are at 
 least human. 
 
 But, lest this letter should be an exception to all else 
 under the sun, I must bring it to an end.
 
 IV. ROME. 
 
 1874. 
 ARCHITECTURE, SCULPTURE, PAINTING. 
 
 Wonderful Domes Suspended in Air. Altars of Jasper, Ame- 
 thyst, Onyx, Malachite, Agate, Porphyry, Alabaster, Lapis 
 Lazuli. Pagan Deities and Christian Devotion. From Vat- 
 ican to Paradise. Beatrice Cenci and Guido Reni. Shelley. 
 Keats. Raphael and the Farnesina. 
 
 We recently participated in the great double festa of 
 the Purification of the Virgin and her timely interposition 
 to save the Eternal City from a terrific earthquake that 
 was shaking her very foundations and threatening her 
 immediate and utter annihilation. Business was piously 
 suspended, and prayers and pleasures were the order of 
 the day. In the morning all Rome went to Mass ; in the 
 afternoon, gorgeously attired, to the beautiful Pincian, 
 and, in the evening, to the opera and theater, both of 
 which are very inferior. We spent the day among the 
 churches, and such churches; so rich in architectural 
 grandeur and artistic beauty, with their wonderful domes 
 suspended in air, magnificent arches resting on marvelous 
 columns hewn from a single block of most exquisite mar- 
 ble, and mosaic floors too beautiful for mortal feet to 
 tread upon. Altars of jasper, amethyst, onyx, malachite, 
 agate, porphyry, oriental alabaster, and lapis lazuli; fres- 
 cos and paintings of madonnas, saints, and angels; statues 
 of apostles and martyrs; bas reliefs of conversions and 
 baptisms, all so beautiful, and impressive as to make one 
 
 26
 
 A MEMORIAL MASS. 27 
 
 fancy the new Jerusalem already gained, till the impor- 
 tunities of some starving beggar, or the monotonous chant 
 of the church service brings us rudely back. 
 
 In St. Peter's we always stop before the Chapel of the 
 Virgin, to look npon the beautiful Pieta, sculptured by 
 Michael Angelo when he was but twenty-five years of 
 age; and then we sit awhile watching the faithful kissing 
 the toe of St. Peter. This same bronze statue was long 
 ago worshiped in the Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus. 
 Then it was a god, and devoted pagans knelt tremblingly 
 before it. Since it has occupied its sanctified niche in St. 
 Peter's, Christian lips have worn the bronze foot quite 
 away. The one hundred and forty-two lamps burn as 
 constantly before the tomb of St. Peter as did the sacred 
 fire on the altar of Jupiter Capitolinus. St. Maria Sopra 
 Minerva is one of the most beautiful churches of Rome. 
 It is Gothic in form, and stands on the spot where once 
 stood the temple of the Goddess Minerva. As we en- 
 tered a catafalque stood in the center nave, covered with 
 grinning skulls and skeletons; before one of the side 
 chapels knelt twelve persons, holding immense lighted 
 candles, while priests were chanting, swinging incense, 
 flourishing candles, and ringing bells. It was a mass for 
 the repose of some poor soul that was still " marching on." 
 In front of the high altar stands Michael Angelo's exquisite 
 statue of Christ. A woman old, shriveled, shivering in 
 scanty rags, a few leaves of spinach gathered up in her 
 tattered apron, hobbled in, and, kneeling before the Christ, 
 seemed lost in prayer. As she looked up to Him who 
 said, " Come unto me all ye who are weary and heavy 
 laden," the lines in the marble face seemed to soften with 
 pity and beam with compassion. Poor old woman! She 
 had neither incense nor candles, but she prayed to One 
 who did not exact propitiatory offerings. We looked
 
 28 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 from the one group to the other, and we said : " Santa 
 Maria Sopra Minerva" (Mary above Minerva). Pagan 
 and Christian, there it was on this twice dedicated ground. 
 
 Santa Maria Maggiore was built and dedicated to 
 Mary in accordance with a vow to build a church. A 
 miraculous fall of snow on the I2th of August indi- 
 cated where the church should be erected. On each 
 anniversary white flowers fall all day like snowflakes 
 from the dome in commemoration of the miracle. In 
 the crypt of the confessional of this church are preserved 
 four boards of the Bethlehem manger that once held 
 the Savior of mankind. Bronze doors and golden 
 angels guard the entrance, and twenty-four lamps burn 
 night and day before it. This confessional, built in imi- 
 tation of the one in St. Peter's, is to be the last resting 
 place of His Holiness, Pius IX. Its richness and beauty 
 no pen can describe. Metaphorically speaking, the Pope 
 will but exchange Eden for Paradise when he leaves the 
 Vatican for his tomb in the confessional of the magnifi- 
 cent Santa Maria Maggiore. A gloomy, mysterious old 
 church stands over the Mamertine dungeon, where the 
 brutal Nero sent Peter and Paul to suffer for the faith 
 that was in them. Unbelievers may come to Rome and 
 prove in the very teeth of priests and Pope that St. Peter 
 was never in Rome, but who will believe them when they 
 can see the impress of his features on the stone of his 
 prison wall and taste of the miraculous spring that flowed 
 at his bidding to baptize the prisoners converted by his 
 prayers ? A staircase now leads to the cell, but the hole 
 still remains through which the Apostles were lowered 
 with ropes into this horrible place, there being no other 
 means of entrance or exit. 
 
 At the foot of the high altar in St. Peter (in Mon- 
 torio) sleeps Beatrice Cenci. Although she was a mar-
 
 SANTA SCALA. 29 
 
 tyr, no tombstone nor tablet marks the spot. Count Cenci 
 has a letter written from her prison to a Roman lawyer, 
 beseeching him to defend her, and to tell the story of her 
 wrongs that the world might not hold her in detestation ; 
 but an abler advocate than ever stood before judge or 
 bar came out of her dreary cell on Guido Reni's canvas 
 the night before her execution. Who that has seen that 
 angelic face in the Barberini palace can ever forget it? 
 All the history of her sad life is in that exquisite picture 
 that has exonerated the maiden and immortalized the 
 artist. In the Pantheon, on the spot selected by himself, 
 is the monument of Raphael. On one of the panels is 
 Cardinal Bembo's beautiful epitaph: "This is that Ra- 
 phael, who living the Great Parent feared to be overcome; 
 and, dying, to die! " Well might the Italians fill with 
 sobs and lamentations the immense Pantheon as they looked 
 from the dead artist to his sublime " Transfiguration," 
 that hung over him and feel that his glorious art was in 
 the coffin with him, and that both were gone from them 
 forever. 
 
 Just opposite the cathedral of Saint John Lateran, the 
 grandest church of Rome, save St. Peter's, is the Santa 
 Scala, upon which Christ descended when he left the 
 presence of Pontius Pilate. Dozens of devotees were 
 slowly toiling up it, on their knees, on that festive day, 
 fervently kissing the one spot of blood that dropped from 
 the bleeding wounds made by the scourging. A pretty 
 hall was built and adorned to receive the Santa Scala. At 
 the base are statues one of Judas in the act of giving 
 the kiss of betrayal, the other the Savior leaning on the 
 beloved disciple. Fortunately those who toil wearily up 
 on their knees may descend on their feet by a stair built 
 for that purpose. 
 
 The padrona of our apartments tells us that she has
 
 30 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 made this pilgrimage. We could hope, in behalf of any 
 compatriot that might chance to fill these vacant chairs 
 when we are gone, that if ever she ascends again she 
 may go up higher and not descend by the profane stairs 
 on the other side. 
 
 To-day we drove to the Protestant cemetery, just out- 
 side the city walls. We wandered about till we came to 
 a grave with a plain white marble slab, on which was 
 engraven " Percy Bysshe Shelley." Beautiful white hya- 
 cinths and lilies of the valley had been freshly strewn 
 over the slab. 
 
 In the little old cemetery just outside the walls of the 
 new, is the grave of Keats, on which the dirt lies as 
 loosely as if placed yesterday. A border of box or myr- 
 tle encloses it, and on the small white headstone one sor- 
 rowfully reads : " Here lies all that was mortal of a 
 young English poet, who, on his death-bed, in the bitter- 
 ness of his heart at the malicious power of his enemies, 
 said let these words be engraven on my tombstone : ' Here 
 lies one whose name was writ in water.'" 
 
 Returning from the cemetery we stopped before an 
 old house near the Farnesina palace. Long we looked 
 upon a little gothic window in the top-most story, just 
 under the eaves. Out of this window Raphael used to 
 look upon the handsome daughter of the baker as 
 she sat at her sewing in the court below. The bake 
 shop is still on the ground floor of the old building. 
 The little bakeress of the court is the lovely " Forna- 
 rina " of the Uffizzi gallery in Florence. It was in this 
 little room with the Gothic window that Raphael lived 
 while he was painting the celebrated "Triumph of 
 Galatea," in the Farnesina Palace. It was in reply to a 
 complimentary letter received from Count Castiglione, 
 commenting on the grand triumph he had achieved in
 
 MRS. JAMESON'S GRIEF. 31 
 
 the Galatea that Raphael wrote his quaint letter, from 
 which we extract: 
 
 "I should hold myself a great master, were there in 
 Galatea the half of the beauties that your Lordship as- 
 cribes to it. To paint a beautiful woman, it would be 
 necessary to see several, and to have your Lordship pres- 
 ent to choose the most beautiful. But good judges and 
 beautiful women being rare, I avail myself of certain 
 ideals that are born of my imagination. If these ideals 
 possess something of artistic excellence, I know it not, 
 but endeavor always to attain it." 
 
 Each time we go to the Museum of the Vatican to see 
 the Laocoon, Apollo Belvedere, Perseus with the head of 
 Medusa, and the beautiful kneeling, or Vatican Venus, we 
 go into the room of the Torso, always curious to find the 
 solution of Mrs. Jameson's grief. You know she tells 
 us that she can never look upon the Torso without shed- 
 ding tears. We can readily see why sculptors and artists 
 should spend hours studying the mutilated Hercules in 
 repose, but why Mrs. Jameson should weep over it is 
 quite beyond our comprehension. We are convinced 
 there was no " method in her madness." As often as 
 may be we visit the grand gallery of the Borghese Palace, 
 to see Raphael's exquisite." Entombment;" and the Vat- 
 ican, to admire with ever-increasing wonder the " Trans- 
 figuration," " Madonna di Foligno," and the " Coronation 
 of the Virgin." If ever inspiration visited earth it rested 
 in the brain and dropped from the brush of Raffaello 
 Sanzio. 
 
 We were favored a few days ago with an invitation 
 to visit the choicest small collection of pictures in Italy, 
 containing the celebrated Apollo and Marsyas, and a 
 portrait of Dante, by Raphael, and a Holy Family, by 
 Michael Angelo. The Apollo Marsyas is one of the
 
 32 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 most exquisite of Raphael's pictures, and rare on account 
 of its being one of the two easel pictures painted from 
 mythical subjects, the other being the " Three Graces," 
 owned by Lord Dudley. " The Holy Family," by 
 Michael Angelo, is wonderful in composition and execu- 
 tion, and being one of the four easel pictures in existence 
 by his hand, is as rare as it is beautiful. If we had but 
 these three paintings in Chicago, we should have the 
 finest art gallery in America. Much is said and more 
 written about the civilizing and refining influence of art. 
 Italy is one grand school of art, but where is the refine- 
 ment that should flow from its teachings? One Ameri- 
 can " Poor Man's College " would do more to civilize 
 these people, that wallow in ignorance, fester in rags, 
 and starve in hovels, than all the beautiful statues, sub- 
 lime paintings, and grand churches that adorn Italy and 
 pauperize her people. A civilization that is based on a 
 defrauded, prostrated humanity must " dissolve like the 
 baseless fabric of a dream." A people who would build 
 a tower that should reach the skies, must construct it in 
 symmetrical accordance with the designs of the Great 
 Architect, in whom all progress has its origin, center, 
 and ultimatum.
 
 V. VENICE. 
 
 1879. 
 LEGEND OF SAINT MARK. 
 
 All-Pervading Spirit of the Past. The Old Sexton of San Marco 
 Relates the Chronicle to the Young American Traveler. 
 Perils and Adventures of the Venetians in Quest of the 
 Tomb of the Saint. Stratagem to Deceive the Saracens. 
 Marbles from the Orient. Venetian Glass and Lace. 
 
 The beings of the mind are not of clay; 
 Essentially immortal, they create 
 And multiply in us a brighter ray 
 And more beloved existence. 
 
 These lines of Byron's are constantly recurring to us 
 as we wander through the old towns, and especially in 
 Venice, where they were written. The spirit of the past 
 is ever with us, whether we glide through the lagoons in 
 the gondola, surrounded on every side by the decaying 
 palaces of the once powerful nobles of Venice, or ramble 
 through the narrow streets where the strangeness and 
 beauty of the architecture speak to us of another age. 
 What matters it to the stranger under the enchantment of 
 the spell that takes possession of him when his foot for 
 the first time presses the classic soil of Italy, what her 
 religion may be or her politics, whether she keeps pace 
 with what we call progress, or whether she is lagging 
 behind? Every step he takes is retrospective, and at each 
 turn some sparkling gem shines out at him from the dust 
 of ages. Everywhere the tracings of vanished hands 
 charm and bewilder. When in our own country we hear 
 much of the ignorance of the common people of Italy, but 
 
 33
 
 34 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 the barefooted Italian peasant knows more of art than 
 many a professional artist in less favored lands, and each 
 old sexton who opens a church door and reverently draws 
 away the curtain which protects from dust some chef 
 d'ceuvre^ is an encyclopedia of history, mythology, and 
 legendary lore. 
 
 How many hours have I passed before some grand 
 masterpiece in a dim old church, listening to legends 
 like the following one, of the ancient customs and 
 superstitions of Venice: "You must know, caret Signor- 
 ina," said the old sexton of San Marco, as he followed me 
 about, his wooden shoes pattering on the marble floor, 
 lifting his black cap from his bald pate before each shrine 
 of saint or madonna, " that we Venetians have always 
 been a very religious people, and it was probably for this 
 reason that Venice was chosen to be the resting place for 
 the sacred bones of St. Mark. It was an old legend that 
 every peasant woman told her child, that every sailor 
 dreamed of in his swinging hammock, and that every cap- 
 tain thought of as he guided his ship toward the Orient, 
 that one day, by the aid of the Holy Virgin, the body of 
 St. Mark would sanctify this city of the sea, and that his 
 spirit would hover over and inspire the Venetians to new 
 deeds of valor and of glory. The Doge as he blessed the 
 hero parting from our shores to seek new fame, always 
 said, * Remember the holy body of St. Mark,' but no hero 
 brought it back, for the good God always chooses humble 
 instruments to carry out His will. Thus, one morning, 
 two merchant ships quietly left Venice, their captains 
 never dreaming of the great honor in store for them. One 
 was commanded by Bono, of Malamocco, an island which 
 the Signorina knows is now deserted; the other by Reus- 
 tico, of Torcello. As soon as they arrived in Alexandria, 
 according to the custom of all Venetian sailors, they has-
 
 THE SARACENS AND ST. MARK. 35 
 
 tened to the shrine of St. Mark to give thanks for their 
 arrival and pray for a safe return. They found a great 
 number of f rati gathered about the tomb of the saint, some 
 kneeling in silent prayer, others speaking to each other in 
 excited whispers. On inquiry our sailors heard from the 
 holy fathers that the Saracens had entered the church and 
 seeing so many costly and precious marbles had carried 
 them away to use them in the construction of a palace 
 being built for the Caliph of Alexandria. You may 
 imagine the grief with which our sailors heard that the 
 holy temple had been desecrated by the hands of infidels. 
 
 " Nevertheless, though overcome by emotion, guided by 
 the Holy Spirit, the thought came to them that they might 
 thus obtain the precious treasure so much coveted by every 
 true Venetian. Therefore, instead of allaying the fears 
 of the priests, they increased them by assuring them that 
 the Saracens could never be satisfied with what they had 
 taken until they possessed not only all the treasures in 
 marble and gold of the temple, but also the priceless body 
 of the saint. When they had dwelt upon this point long 
 enough thoroughly to arouse and frighten them, they sug- 
 gested to them that the moment had arrived when the 
 prophecy revealed to St. Mark by the angel of his vision, 
 that his body should one day rest in Venice, was now 
 about to be fulfilled, and that undoubtedly the Holy God 
 had permitted these Saracens to enter the sacred temple 
 that his promise to his saint might be realized, and that 
 plainly it was their duty to entrust it to them to carry to 
 Venice, where every heart was ready to receive it and 
 every arm to guard it. After much consultation and great 
 hesitation the priests decided that this was the only safe 
 course to pursue. The body was secretly taken by night 
 from its resting place, and that of St. Claudius substituted. 
 
 "You can imagine the exultation that now took posses-
 
 36 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 sion of these two humble sailors when they saw that the 
 Blessed Virgin had chosen them to bring joy to every 
 home in Venice, and good fortune and everlasting pros- 
 perity to their beloved city. They pictured to themselves 
 their entry into the city and the greetings they should 
 receive from young and old, rich and poor, when the glad 
 tidings should be known, that after so many expeditions 
 sent out and so many years of waiting, when they were 
 least expecting it, the holy treasure was in their midst. 
 But they were soon awakened from their bright dreams 
 by the thought of how they should elude the vigilance of 
 the Saracens, for nothing was allowed to pass out of the 
 city without rigid examination. Once more, aided by the 
 blessed Virgin, the Venetians triumphed over their infidel 
 enemies, for the}' bethought themselves of the repugnance 
 of the Mussulmans for the flesh of the despised swine, and 
 taking an old basket they placed the holy body of the 
 saint in the bottom, covered it with herbs and put above it 
 a quantity of this repulsive flesh. The stratagem suc- 
 ceeded, for, as soon as the Mussulmans saw it they turned 
 away with disgust and allowed it to pass out without further 
 examination. Once their precious burden was safely on 
 board the vessel, our sailors lost no time in spreading their 
 sails and soon Alexandria was far in the distance. But all 
 peril was not yet over, for the third day out a terrible tem- 
 pest arose and undoubtedly the ship would have been lost 
 but for the courage which the knowledge of having the 
 sacred body on board inspired in each sailor, for 'they 
 knew certainly that with such a precious freight as hostage 
 for their safety there was no danger. At last the storm 
 ceased and they arrived safely in the harbor. 
 
 " You may be sure they lost no time in soliciting a private 
 audience of the Doge, and you may imagine his surprise 
 when they revealed to him that now in the harbor was the
 
 VENICE AND ST. MARK. 37 
 
 body of the long promised guardian saint of Venice. The 
 great bell in the campanile sounded forth and warned the 
 citizens that some important event would be announced 
 from the steps of the ducal palace. But still more you may 
 imagine the surprise of the people when the Doge pro- 
 claimed the great honor that heaven had bestowed upon 
 them. After this he proceeded to the ship followed by 
 the entire multitude, their hearts full of religious joy and 
 enthusiasm. On their arrival the body was taken from 
 the vessel and borne to the chapel of the ducal palace, fol- 
 lowed by a devout procession, when, after the celebration 
 of the Mass, it was deposited in the vault under the high 
 altar which had long been prepared and waiting for it. 
 The consolation of the good Venetians at possessing such 
 a treasure surpassed all expression; from that moment St. 
 Mark was proclaimed the protector of the city. The 
 image of the saint and his lion was placed on all the public 
 monuments, upon the banners of the fleet, and engraved 
 upon the money. It encouraged them to all undertakings 
 for the prosperity of the city, whose destiny, according to 
 the prophecy, depended upon the possession of this relic. 
 A great festa was instituted, to be celebrated each year on 
 the 3ist of January, the day on which the body of St. 
 Mark arrived on our shores. A grand mass was cele- 
 brated, at which the Doge and all the nobility were present. 
 But such exultation did all feel, that it was decided to 
 raise a temple to the new guardian saint on the site of the 
 church of St. Theodore. The edifice was nearly com- 
 pleted when a terrible conflagration destroyed it, which 
 revealed that God was not satisfied with the monument 
 being erected to the honor of St. Mark. Therefore, on the 
 instant it was decreed that a new temple should be built 
 which should excel all others in richness and magnifi- 
 cence. Not only their own Venetian artists were engaged,
 
 38 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 but, as the fine arts then held their reign in Constanti- 
 nople, the most renowned professors were called from 
 there to assist them, and they were ordered to design a 
 cathedral which, at any cost, should have no equal in the 
 world. The great work was commenced in 977 and con- 
 tinued for more than three centuries, during which time 
 the finest and rarest marbles were continually brought to 
 enrich it." 
 
 The quaint language of the old sexton carried me back 
 to the time when those beautiful marbles were first 
 brought from the Orient and helped me to understand the 
 religious enthusiasm which gave this wonderful people the 
 courage to undertake and the perseverance to accomplish 
 this marvelous work. But I must say addio to the old 
 sexton, leaving him to take his snuff and enlighten some 
 other traveler. 
 
 Passing by the many artists who are still working 
 away, among them Meissonier, vainly trying to entice 
 onto their canvases the rich coloring and artistic effects of 
 oriental marble and ancient mosaic, 1 go out into the fresh 
 air of the piazza San Marco, where I linger awhile to 
 examine and admire that incomparable mixture of Italian 
 and Oriental architecture, the facade of St. Mark's, with 
 its Christian martyrs and pagan heroes, its mythological and 
 allegorical figures, its statues reaching back to the earliest 
 centuries of the republic and coming down to the cele- 
 brated Sansovino. But Ave Maria rings out from the old 
 campanile and I have but time to look at the representa- 
 tion of the event which has been related by the old sexton 
 in regard to the body of St. Mark. Here it is on the 
 facade on our right in a wonderfully effective and dra- 
 matic mosaic, which represents the wily Venetians open- 
 ing their basket and the horrified Mussulmans turning 
 away, repulsion depicted on their countenances. The eye
 
 VENETIAN LACE AND GLASS. 39 
 
 of the clever Reustico almost twinkles with delight as he 
 contemplates the retreating Mussulmans who show their 
 disgust even to the last thread of their turbans. As Reus- 
 tico's twinkling eyes follow me as I walk up and down 
 admiring this exquisite mosaic I am inclined to think 
 though my old friend, the sexton, did not suggest it, that 
 there was a fair show of Italian subtleness intermingled 
 with his religious enthusiasm. 
 
 As I walked away from the piazza San Marco in the 
 twilight, through the busy streets with their innumerable 
 shop windows full of the fairy-like Venetian glass where 
 the colors of a Venetian sunset seem to be imprisoned, of 
 beads manufactured in Venice, of laces from the looms of 
 Burano which almost surpass in beauty the antique designs 
 of which they are reproductions, I congratulated myself 
 that in this age of skepticism I could still believe in the 
 vision of St. Mark, "that Venice should never lose her 
 fame under his guardianship." For, notwithstanding the 
 vicissitudes she has suffered under foreign tyrants and 
 French vandals, the romance of the past and hope for the 
 future still linger around her, making her as famous in 
 her decay as she was in the zenith of her power.
 
 VI. FLORENCE. 
 
 1887. 
 
 FASHION AND FOLLY DURING THE 
 CARNIVAL. 
 
 Charms of a Climate Dominated by Mountains in Summer and 
 Tempered by Italian Mildness in Winter. Giotto's Campa- 
 nile and Ghiberti's Golden Gates. Ideal Cosmopolitanism. 
 Florence the Most Fascinating City in the World. Twelve 
 Weeks of Carnival. Magnificent Fetes, Splendid Balls, 
 Charming Hospitality. Interiors of Famous Palaces. 
 Superb Costumes. Origin of " Fiasco." 
 
 Perhaps you, who are so well posted in all the art and 
 ethics of Florence, might now be interested in hearing 
 something of her fashion and folly, and how she has 
 amused herself during this season of carnival which closes 
 to-morrow. Everybody knows something of her historic 
 beaux and belles, her beauties on canvas and heroes in 
 marble, and I will tell you something of the descendants 
 of those grand people, how they live, look, dress, and pass 
 their time. In the first place, you must know that Flor- 
 ence is the most charming residence city in the world. 
 Being for centuries the centre of civilization, many of the 
 refined dilettante of Europe congregate here and form a 
 society impossible to find elsewhere. Being in the heart 
 of Italy, her winters are mild. Surrounded by the snow- 
 clad Apennines, her air is bracing even in summer, hence 
 the whole year can be passed here without inconvenience 
 from heat or fear of epidemics. Her galleries being 
 stored with the richest art accumulations of the centuries, 
 artists, students, and connoisseurs come here and cannot 
 
 4 o
 
 FLORENCE COSMOPOLITAN. 41 
 
 tear themselves away. Giotto's campanile is always new, 
 and the sight of Ghiberti's golden doors makes them feel 
 nearer that paradise which Michael Angelo said they 
 were beautiful enough to grace. The Florentines being 
 not only an educated and civilized people, but a people 
 who have inherited education and civilization, are entirely 
 devoid of those narrow, ignorant prejudices which con- 
 front the traveler in all the other cities of Europe. As the 
 discontented ignorant poor of every land go to America, 
 so the discontented and educated rich from all nations 
 come to Florence. Consequently in Florentine salons one 
 meets the most cultivated people of every nation. Demo- 
 crat, legitimist, monarchist, republican, Mohammedan, 
 Buddhist, Jesuit, Puptestant, Jew, and Gentile, all meet and 
 agree to disagree in the most charming social intercourse. 
 All these diverse elements combine to form a society bril- 
 liant, interesting, and enjoyable. 
 
 Many of the resident foreigners here came at the time 
 Victor Emmanuel established his court and chose Florence 
 for the capital. Captured by the artistic resources, edu- 
 cational advantages, social enjoyment, and healthful 
 climate, they have remained, although court and capital 
 have long since been removed to Rome. Had the court 
 remained here Florence would have been the gayest city 
 in the world. As it is, she is still the most fascinating. 
 I advise all patres familias who are coming to Europe to 
 educate their children, to come to Florence. Living is 
 cheap, schools are unsurpassed in excellence, save, of 
 course, for young men who wish a diploma from some of 
 the great universities; and the advantage of living among 
 a people who have all that refinement of manner and cul- 
 tivation of intellect that is to be found not in Germany 
 nor yet in England, is just what "young America " needs 
 and lacks. The language of the salon in Italy, as every-
 
 42 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 where in Europe by common consent, is French. Repre- 
 sentatives from every nation meet together here and 
 mutually express every shade of thought, political, relig- 
 ious, esthetic and social, through that fluent medium, la 
 langue Fran$aise. 
 
 Instead of ten days of carnival, as at Rome, the Flor- 
 entines vote themselves twelve weeks of it. During this 
 time all work is laid aside; even the more seriously 
 inclined welcome this annual period of relaxation. "All 
 saws of learning are forgotten," all tiresome thought post- 
 poned, all cares banished, and each and all consent to 
 amuse and be amused, entertain and be entertained. But 
 among the hosts who thus decide I can only take time to 
 mention a few who give magnificent ftes and receptions 
 every year, and who simply send to new acquaintances a 
 
 card with " Mme. B , chez elle, evenings," which 
 
 invites one for all the evenings of the season. Old friends 
 have no need of this reminder, for once invited, they are 
 expected to come each returning year, sans cdrtmonie. 
 These same receptions and balls have been given in the 
 same palaces by the same families or their representatives 
 during the carnival season for generations, and the custom 
 has become so well established that strangers or foreigners 
 who rent one of these old mansions feel compelled to con- 
 tinue the traditional festivities. 
 
 The Casa Fenzi, in the Via San Gallo, is the residence 
 of one of the oldest Florentine families, and has been 
 handed down from father to son for generations. In point 
 of wealth the Fenzis are the Rothschilds of Tuscany ; in 
 point of refinement, elegance, patriotism, and public spirit 
 they are true representatives of the distinguished Floren- 
 tines whose cultivation and magnificence aroused the jeal- 
 ousy of all Europe long before our dear America was 
 dreamed of. This family receive on Sunday evenings.
 
 A FAMOUS BALL-ROOM. 43 
 
 The visitor presses through a long line of salons, each in 
 its appointments and artistic decorations more beautiful 
 than the other. But we must not linger to admire old 
 masters and articles of virtu, to enjoy the odors of the 
 rare exotics or criticize the toilets of the throng of ladies 
 already filling the numerous rooms, for the beautiful host- 
 ess awaits the guests in the farthest adjoining the grand 
 ball-room. 
 
 Imagine a ball-room nearly square, sixty by eighty 
 feet in size, and forty feet to the ceiling, ornamented and 
 decorated with gilding, frescos, and tapestries, with no 
 chandeliers to break the grand view of the noble hall, 
 but lighted by a multitude of semi-circular candelabra on 
 each of its four sides, rising one above the other, and 
 filled with eight hundred wax candles, shining down on a 
 thousand people in richest costumes, and sparkling with 
 costly jewels and gems. At 10 o'clock the dancing com- 
 mences, at i the music ceases as Mme. Fenzi insists on 
 early hours, a custom not honored by observance in most 
 Florentine houses, where many of the invitations are for 
 12 o'clock, and the balls continue till 6, 7, and even 8 in 
 the morning. 
 
 At the end of the cotillon this season, each lady pre- 
 sented to her cavalier a small fiasco or flask of wine 
 marked Feb. 8, 1880. This caused great merriment, 
 as in Italy a present to a gentleman of a fiasco is an inti- 
 mation that he has been jilted. When it is rumored in 
 Florentine society that any of the beaux has been refused, 
 he is immediately inundated with fiascos of every form 
 and size. The derivation of the custom is quite signifi- 
 cant. At the glass works in Venice when the workman 
 fails in blowing a fine and costly ornament he immediately 
 utilizes the blast by turning it into a bottle, and the whole 
 furnace rings with the derisive shouts of his brother work-
 
 44 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 men,jiasco ! fiasco / That is evidently the derivation of 
 the same word in our language, signifying failure. 
 
 The Princess Carolath, who resides in the famous Tor- 
 regiana Palace, in the midst of the largest and most beau- 
 tiful garden of Florence, usually has two grand balls dur- 
 ing the season. When I tell you that she has flowers 
 sent from all the conservatories of Italy, and that the 
 floral decorations alone for one of these balls cost $2,000, 
 you may imagine the magnificence of all the other 
 appointments of thefite. The orchestra was composed 
 of thirty-two performers upon various instruments, includ- 
 ing twelve harps. At one time one-half of the band sud- 
 denly left the room for refreshments, when the remaining 
 sixteen took up each a mandolin and continued the music 
 for the dance, producing an indescribably fine effect, and 
 afterward the music was performed by the harpers alone. 
 Add to all this the beautiful favors in the cotillon, and the 
 fact that the princess is the most perfect hostess in the 
 world, and never suffers one of the least of her hundreds 
 of guests to be overlooked or neglected, and you will not 
 wonder that all Florence is on the qui vive for an invita- 
 tion to her balls. 
 
 Last month the historic Strozzi palace in the Via Tor- 
 nabuoni was opened for the first time since the death of 
 the old prince some two years ago. More than ordinary 
 interest was attached to this ftte, and not only the aristo- 
 cracy of Florence but all Italy was there, for it was the 
 formal announcement of the betrothal, and the signing of 
 the marriage contract of the eldest daughter of the Prin- 
 cess Strozzi and the young Count Guicciardini of Genoa. 
 The bride is not as beautiful as the historic Strozzi maiden 
 who was so perfect in loveliness that even the magic 
 brush of Titian could not add a charm, but still is pretty 
 enough, and in her white satin, point, pearls, and family
 
 AMERICANS IN FAVOR. 45 
 
 jewels was on that evening, as the Florentines themselves 
 exclaimed, carina da verro. 
 
 Last Tuesday evening the Commandeur Borg de 
 Balzan gave his last ball until after lent. Monsieur Borg 
 is a Maltese by birth, and his niece and her daughter who 
 are visiting with him this winter are from la belle Paris, 
 but having himself lived thirty years in America, and his 
 house being presided over by his ward, a lady of unmis- 
 takably American type, the Americans claim the Com- 
 mandeur for a compatriot, and I think he rather likes to be 
 considered such, for in Europe if you are not a king, a 
 queen, or a prince of the royal blood, the next best thing 
 is to be an American. " Just fancy," say our English 
 friends, " those nasty, vulgar shop-keeping Americans 
 being presented to our queen and going to the Prince of 
 Wales' balls, when even we private gentle people can not 
 be admitted." The Commandeur Borg de Balzan's 
 house is a palace of curiosities. Paintings of every period 
 and every master, drawings, etchings, engravings of price- 
 less value, statuary, bas-reliefs, carved woods, mosaics, old 
 china, porcelains, everything that a connoisseur loves and 
 a master produces. The ball room is eighty feet in length, 
 with galleries at the ends, and surrounded by colonnades. 
 Here the lovers of art, while viewing the dancers and 
 chaperoning their daughters, can at the same time admire 
 rare pictures, Sevres, majolica, faience, and Ginori, with- 
 out at all interfering with the festivities of the evening. 
 All the fashion and beauty of Florence were assembled on 
 the last Tuesday of the carnival. The costumes were 
 magnificent. One dress of white satin, embroidered with 
 white jet, worn by an American young lady, was very 
 beautiful and effective. The diamonds and emeralds of the 
 Princess Carolath were marvelous, and her dress of white 
 satin, covered with point cTaiguille, was quite superb. At
 
 46 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 the end of the cotillon lottery tickets were distrihuted as 
 favors. A great lottery for the benefit of the poor has 
 been organized and some of the prizes generously pre- 
 sented by the rich consist of parures of diamonds and 
 emeralds and necklaces of pearls. The possibilities con- 
 tained in these tickets gave the recipients pleasant hopes, 
 and the novel idea was hailed as a happy one. 
 
 Mme. Corti, the wife of the prefect of Florence, gave 
 two splendid balls at the prefecture, which is one of the 
 grandest of the old historic mansions of Florence. 
 
 Imagine yourself sipping ices in a room covered with 
 Raphael's frescos, and where one can almost think the 
 spirit of the great master is hovering about ; and think of 
 dancing in a salon where grand democratic old Philip 
 Strozzi tore in bits the ignominious treaty that the Floren- 
 tines were about to sign with the French king, and scat- 
 tered the shreds contemptuously about the room in the 
 presence of the haughty monarch. 
 
 Last but not least, Florence contains at this very 
 moment a veritable Countess Monte Christo, not a theo- 
 retical ideal like that of Dumas, but a veritable heroine, 
 with brains enough to think of all sorts of nice things, and 
 practical sense and generosity enough to give shape and 
 form to her thoughts. She is English, a widow, rich as 
 Croesus, and amiable as she is good and generous, and 
 even the most envious can not say evil of Mrs. Grieswood. 
 She receives every Tuesday evening, and such weekly 
 receptions were never seen before. The Palazzo Dhoog- 
 worst in which she lives, is on the Lung Arno, and is one 
 of the most beautiful palaces in Florence. To see these 
 magnificent rooms is pleasure enough. Dancing begins 
 at II, and the cotillon or German, with which all the balls 
 of Florence end, continues till 5 in the morning, supper 
 at 2. But as I do not wish to give you such an appetite
 
 PRINCESS STROZZI'S STRATAGEM. 47 
 
 as reading Sir Walter Scott's novels used to give me, I 
 will not describe the " cena" supper. All the young 
 men in Florence are trying to obtain the secret of the 
 composition of the "champagne cup," furnished at her 
 tables, which is better than champagne and yet is nothing 
 but champagne. 
 
 The last ball was a fite poudrJe affair, the ladies in 
 powder, patches and trains, the gentlemen in knee- 
 breeches, silken hose, high heels, and diamond buckles. 
 Mesdames Pompadour and DuBarry were there, but it 
 was " the play of Hamlet with Hamlet left out," for even 
 the most illusionary could not see a Louis XV. among all 
 this crowd of messieurs in kingly attire. The supper was 
 rechercht, unique; a whole stag smothered in jellies filled 
 the centre of the table, while either end rejoiced in a 
 veritable peacock, with his argus-eyed fan all spread, poor 
 birds that had been wickedly murdered to grace this fete. 
 But the cotillon favors surpassed all; beautiful fans, gold 
 chains with the hostess' monogram on the medallions, and 
 divers other rich gifts. At the closing figure of the quad- 
 rille, when a table was placed in the middle of the room 
 with a hand-organ upon it, every one was in a delicious 
 suspense. What next? resounded in whispers through 
 the room, when in came the second son of the Princess 
 Strozzi, disguised as an organ-grinder in a charming vel- 
 vet costume, and bearing on his shoulder a dear, disgust- 
 ing, little pet monkey, dressed in satins and tinsels, hold- 
 ing in his little hand a box containing cards on which 
 each lady guest's name had been written. The monkey 
 was placed on the table, and each courtier in his turn re- 
 ceived a card with the name of the lady who was to be his 
 partner. The last one received a card marked " Monkey," 
 and the lucky recipient of the prize favor of the cotillon 
 bore away in triumph this interesting specimen of our ori-
 
 48 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 ginal ancestors. The wife of Count Mirafiore, a son of 
 Victor Emmanuel, the prettiest woman in Florence, ap- 
 peared in a most gorgeous costume of pale-blue velvet and 
 white satin. The Marchesa Ginori,wife of the proprietor 
 of the famous Ginori porcelain factory, was dazzling in the 
 most beautiful diamonds to be seen in Italy. Madame 
 Grieswood wore a superb Worth costume of blue satin, 
 embroidered with silver in arabesque design, pearl neck- 
 lace, with diamond pendants and tiara of diamonds in her 
 blonde hair. But I should tire you with a description of 
 all these dames, for this one night at least, beautiful, and I 
 have only time to tell you of one of the Florentine beaux, 
 the best known, and the most illustrious, if not the most 
 admired. 
 
 The great beau of Florence is the young Prince 
 Piero Strozzi. He drives a beautiful pair of gray ponies 
 every day in the Casino, exchanges admiring glances 
 with the young ladies and devotes himself to the married 
 ones. It is said that he is not going to surrender his heart 
 for a golden tress, nor bestow his title for the glance of 
 a bright eye. The young lady who aspires to be the 
 Princess Strozzi and live in the grand old palace, must 
 have for her dowry 1,000,000 golden lire. For the infor- 
 mation of any of your rich and ambitious friends I will 
 just say this is $200,000 of our money. And besides she 
 must have charms enough to content a fastidious youth 
 who is the spoiled pet of all the beautiful married ladies. 
 As great riches, beauty, and blue blood are rarely 
 found combined in this world of compensation, this repre- 
 sentative of the Strozzi is liable to remain a bachelor for 
 some time to come, notwithstanding the efforts of ambi- 
 tious parents who are constantly conspiring with his 
 mamma to rob him of his liberty. 
 
 To-night the annual grand masked ball takes place at
 
 AFTER THE CARNIVAL. 49 
 
 the Pergola theatre. The fashion and aristocracy, all 
 arrayed in silks, satin, and jewels, will fill the first and 
 second of the six tiers of boxes, gossip and chat with their 
 friends and admirers, while the common people in domino 
 and mask dance and intrigue in the pit beneath. At 2 
 o'clock tables are spread and collations with comfits and 
 champagne are served on tables set in the boxes, and each 
 lady invites her friends to come and sup with her. 
 
 On the morrow prince and peasant, rich and poor, 
 educated and ignorant, will congregate in the churches, 
 arrayed in metaphorical sackcloth and ashes, and these late 
 devotees of pleasure will whisper into the ear of their con- 
 fessor all the little sins, white and black, committed during 
 the carnival and repented of now in the dawn of the 
 Lenten season, when low-necked dresses must give place 
 to high ones, coquetting to prayers, powder to ashes, and 
 dancing to sacred music. The priests chide, then absolve, 
 and we can but hope that the absolution will wash all 
 those " damned little spots," and make them white and pure 
 as snow. 
 
 Mile, de la Rame"e (Ouida) forges her social thunder- 
 bolts in a villa just in the environs of Florence. When it 
 is rumored that Ouida has a new book in press, all the 
 society ladies of Florence tremble, each one thinking that 
 her time has come. Every one says that Ouida is growing 
 each year more and more malicious, and that she aims her 
 polished and poisoned darts, only and always at shining 
 social marks. Dame Gossip says that Ouida makes war 
 on all the feminine portion of " society " and that the 
 reason is as follows: When Ouida came for the first time 
 to sunny Italy, she was, though no longer young, heart 
 whole and fancy free. No tender thoughts, no human 
 passions had ever attempted to knot themselves in the 
 woof that made the even web of her unsentimental life.
 
 5 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 She was happy. She studied, read, wrote, petted her 
 faithful dogs, patted her fleet steeds, communed with her- 
 self, and regarded man simply as good material for a 
 clever woman to weave into interesting romances for silly 
 women to read. 
 
 One may play with edged tools for years without cut- 
 ting one's fingers. But Ouida was doomed at last to 
 experience all those emotions that her pen had so often 
 depicted, and to suffer all the pangs of her weakest, most 
 love-lorn heroines. She who had traveled in every land, 
 conversed with the intelligent of every nation, associated 
 with the fascinating of every clime unscathed, was destined 
 to surrender at last her stubborn heart, and yield her stub- 
 born affections to an effeminate, degenerate, languid, lux- 
 urious son of Italy. She fell hopelessly in love, not like 
 our Margaret Fuller with an Italian hero and patriot, but 
 with an ordinary "society" man, a handsome young mar- 
 quis. At this happy epoch Ouida never wearies with 
 singing the moral, social and esthetic praises of Italy. 
 Whether or no this love was returned? Ah! that is just 
 now the mooted question! The marquis says "not," that 
 Ouida is not " simpatica" and that no Italian ever would 
 be enamored of her. Ouida maintains that he was and is 
 still devoted to her, but that he is so entangled in the 
 intricate meshes of an artful married woman's wiles that 
 he can not come to her whom he loves ; that owing to his 
 Italian temperament he has neither the courage to dare, 
 nor the energy to break the chains that habit has riveted 
 upon him. 
 
 Experience proves that neither bars nor bolts, high 
 walls nor dungeons deep, smiles nor tears, pleadings 
 nor threatenings, can hold even an Italian away from 
 the woman he loves. Hence one is inclined to believe 
 the marquis and to think that Ouida was in the middle of
 
 A SOCIAL PANIC. 51 
 
 one of her romance-making hallucinations, and that her 
 imagination ran away with her judgment. Ouida, des- 
 perate, tries to console herself with her pen, and through 
 this facile medium pours her imaginary wrongs into the 
 willing ear of the public. Contrary to the mode of her 
 heroines who let concealment gnaw their damask cheeks 
 and corrode their tender hearts, Ouida told her story 
 to all the world in a book. So true to life were her 
 pen pictures that all Florence recognized them. Of 
 course, like all portraits, one was too much flattered, the 
 other too much exaggerated; one was too light, the other 
 too dark. But she succeeded in making herself, the mar- 
 quis, and the married lady ridiculous, and as one can not 
 go into society when all the world is laughing at one, they 
 have each and all retired to their respective villas in the 
 suburbs of Florence, where they remain far from the gay 
 world that two of them at least adore. 
 
 Ouida has no longer the appearance of youth. She is 
 stout, and dresses neatly, is luxurious in her tastes, but is 
 not now and never could have been pretty. She has 
 nothing courteous nor sympathetic in her manner. She 
 receives on Mondays. She is not affable to her guests, 
 merely polite. She is not a conversationalist. She pre- 
 fers to listen. She never condescends to discuss her books 
 with women, as she does not consider them capable of 
 comprehending her. 
 
 Ouida is not content with being thought only a clever 
 writer, her higher ambition is to be considered a great 
 artist, and her villa is adorned with pictures that she has 
 painted in those hours when she has laid aside pen and 
 paper for canvas and brush. Her paintings are much 
 more moral than her books, but her novels are more 
 artistic than her paintings, consequently she will be known 
 only as an author, never as an artist.
 
 VII. JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY'S 
 LETTERS. 
 
 A Review, 1889. 
 
 TRANSPARENT CHARACTER OF THE 
 GREAT HISTORIAN. 
 
 Decline of Intellectual Activity In America. Bismarck's Admira- 
 tion for Motley. His Personal Resemblance to Byron. 
 Precocious, Diligent, Amiable. Life at the Russian Court. 
 Humorous Description of Thackeray. Lady Dufferin's 
 Anecdote of Disraeli. Oxford Honors Motley. Presenta- 
 tion to the King of Prussia. Minister to England. 
 
 It is impossible to put down a book like that containing 
 Motley's letters without reflecting, and perhaps with some 
 bitterness, that he belongs to a past which was better than 
 the present; without reflecting that within the last few 
 years not only our own country, but the whole world has 
 become vulgarized. Forty or fifty years ago there was a 
 period of wonderful intellectual activity in America. 
 There was an intellectual dawn which has reached its 
 zenith, and is on the decline. Where literary and profes- 
 sional men once ruled, merchant princes now wield the 
 scepter. At the time when Motley began to write there 
 was an exuberance of literary activity. As a nation we 
 had not become blast; we were young and enthusiastic. 
 We retained Puritan simplicity combined with refinement 
 and delicacy ; the cultivation of the old world with the 
 purity of thought and life of a new civilization. Motley 
 was a good exponent of his time. His character was 
 charming in its simplicity. In his letters we can discover 
 no trace of vanity or self -consciousness. He had an extra- 
 
 52
 
 "THE POET OF HISTORY." 53 
 
 ordinary faculty of drawing people to him by a peculiar 
 charm of manner and the still more extraordinary one of 
 retaining his friends to the last. He had an ethereal, 
 delicate sort of beauty, which made him remarkable where- 
 ever he went. Bismarck said of him that " he never 
 entered a drawing-room without exciting the curiosity and 
 sympathy of the ladies." He was said to resemble Byron 
 in fact, Lady Byron said that the resemblance was 
 " wonderful." Motley may be called the poet of history. 
 The American spirit was too strong within him to enable 
 him to give himself up entirely to works of the imagina- 
 tion, but he colored the dim figures of Holland's heroes 
 until they stand before us decked in all the hues of life. 
 He breathed into them the passion of his own nature, until 
 they live and move and speak. 
 
 Do not all charms fly 
 
 At the mere touch of cold philosophy? 
 
 sang Keats. Motley succeeded in preserving all the 
 charms of the romantic, although philosophy plays its 
 proper part. 
 
 Motley was like Macaulay in precocity, knowing 
 French, German and Spanish, and reading Cicero at n. 
 In 1831, at the age of 17, after graduating at Harvard, he 
 went to Gottingen to study civil law, from whence he 
 sent some picturesque descriptions of student life to his 
 mother. Here he met Bismarck and formed a friendship 
 which lasted until his death. After leaving Gottingen 
 he went to Berlin, where he met Frau von Goethe, and 
 through her Tieck, " the German Boccaccio." In Novem- 
 ber, 1834,- h e went t Italy, from whence he wrote to his 
 parents describing particularly the Apollo Belvidere, 
 which seemed to impress him greatly. "He has never 
 been fed but with nectar and ambrosia; there are no pro- 
 truding veins, no swelling muscles; all is perfect, god-like,
 
 54 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 beautiful repose." After a tour through England and 
 Scotland, Motley returned to America, and in 1837 was 
 married. Two years afterward his first novel, " Morton's 
 Hope," was published, having but little success. In 1841 
 he was appointed secretary of Legation at St. Petersburg. 
 His position gave him the entree into the gay society of 
 the Russian capital. The descriptions of his presentation 
 at court and of the balls given by the Russian nobility 
 are very interesting, but he soon tired of a life where there 
 was nothing for him to do, and, after a few months, resigned 
 his position and returned to America. In Russia he saw 
 Taglioni, and in a letter to his wife he says : " Nothing 
 can equal her swimming, sweeping, whirling, floating 
 motion; her dancing is a perfect abstraction or emanation." 
 Of the Emperor he wrote : " The present Emperor is 
 undoubtedly a man of great energy ; but how can one man 
 uphold this mass even in the state of crepuscular civiliza- 
 tion they have reached ? " On his way home he passed 
 through Paris and went to one of Guizot's soirees. We 
 read of him that he had " a fine, monastic sort of face and 
 a short, uncourtly figure." Thiers, Motley says, was 
 " one of the most agreeable speakers " he ever heard. At 
 this time he writes in one of his letters : " The more I 
 see of other countries, the more I like America. The 
 faults and blemishes which are so apparent and so magni- 
 fied when we are close, diminish wonderfully as we 
 recede." In 1842 Motley returned to America, and in 
 1847 began to collect materials for a history of Holland. 
 In 1857, finding it impossible to collect the proper materi- 
 als for his history without consulting archives and libraries 
 abroad, he sailed with his family for Europe. 
 
 From this time he worked almost uninterruptedly at 
 his history, and between the I3th of July and the 23d of 
 December he completed one volume. He says in a letter
 
 MOTLEY AND BISMARCK. 55 
 
 to his mother from Dresden : " I confess that I have not 
 been working underground for so long without hoping 
 that I may make some few people in the world better and 
 wiser by my labor." At Dresden he found the Queen 
 " very tall and stately, with most charming manners," and 
 the King " a mild old gentleman, wadded and bolstered 
 into harmonious proportions, with a single tooth, worn 
 carelessly at one side, which somewhat interferes with his 
 eloquence." In the same letter, dated February, 1853, he 
 says that he has finished Part I of his history, "all per- 
 haps that will ever be written, unless its publication gives 
 me encouragement to continue." In July of the same 
 year he passed through Frankfurt, when he renewed his 
 acquaintance with Bismarck. He says : " If I had been 
 a brother instead of an old friend, he could not have shown 
 more warmth and affectionate delight in seeing me. He 
 is a man of very noble character and of great powers of 
 mind. The prominent place which he now occupies as 
 statesman sought him ; he did not seek it nor any other 
 office." He describes the Iron Chancellor's delightful and 
 simple hospitality, and adds : " I breakfast there this 
 morning and am to dine there with a party to-day. To- 
 morrow, I suppose, I shall dine there en famille. I am 
 only afraid that the landlord will turn me into the streets 
 for being such a poor consommateur for him, and all I can 
 do is to order vast quantities of soda water." 
 
 The " Dutch Republic " was received with universal 
 approbation all over the world, although The Saturday 
 Revieiv,vf'\th its usual genius for being on the wrong side, 
 was, as he writes to his father, "decidedly disagreeable in 
 its criticisms." 
 
 When Motley returned to England, after the publica- 
 tion of his history by John Chapman (Murray refused it), 
 he found himself famous, and was received as one of
 
 56 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 themselves by England's choicest spirits. From this time 
 we have in his letters a dissolving view of the great figures 
 in English society. Thackeray he describes as having the 
 appearance of a " colossal infant," with " shiny, ringlety 
 hair, and a roundish face with a little dot of a nose." 
 
 " His manner is like that of everybody else in 
 England; nothing original; all planed down into perfect 
 uniformity with that of his fellow creatures." None of 
 the attentions showered upon Motley ever injured his 
 modest and unaffected nature. He writes a letter to his 
 wife describing an afternoon visit to Lord and Lady 
 Lyndhurst, in which he says : " As soon as I got into the 
 room Lady Lyndhurst opened upon me such a torrent of 
 civilities that I was nearly washed away. I certainly 
 should not repeat to you, even if I remembered it, the 
 particular phraseology. Once for all, let me say, that I 
 only mention such things as these in conformity to your 
 urgent request. I would no more write such things to any 
 one else than I would go and stand on my head in the 
 middle of Pall Mall. I feel like a donkey, and am even 
 now blushing unseen, like a peony, or any other delicate 
 flower, at the very idea of writing such trash." Macaulay 
 he found courteous and agreeable, and says of him : " I 
 do not know that I can repeat any of his conversation, for 
 there was nothing to excite very particular attention in its 
 even flow. There was not a touch of Holmes' ever bub- 
 bling wit, imagination, enthusiasm and arabesqueness; it 
 is the perfection of the commonplace without sparkle or 
 flash, but at the same time interesting and agreeable. I 
 could listen to him with pleasure for an hour or two every 
 day, and I have no doubt I should grow wiser every day, 
 for his brain is full as hardly any man's ever was, and his 
 way of delivering himself is easy and fluent." Lord John 
 Russell is described as " a smallish individual in a green
 
 HONORED BY OXFORD. 57 
 
 cutaway coat, large yellow waistcoat and plaid trousers. 
 No one would suppose him to be the man of large intel- 
 lect and indomitable ambition which he unquestionably is." 
 Of Lord Brougham Motley says: "Deep furrows of 
 age and thought and toil, perhaps of sorrow, run all over his 
 face, while his vast mouth, with a ripple of humor ever 
 playing around it, expands like a placid bay under the 
 huge promontory of his fantastic and incredible nose." 
 He continues : " His nose has the litheness and almost 
 the length of the elephant's proboscis, and I have no doubt 
 he can pick up pins or scratch his back with it as easily as 
 he could take a pinch of snuff." 
 
 With the peculiarly English characteristic of never 
 spoiling a good story on account of relationship, Lady 
 Dufferin told Motley the following anecdote of Disraeli, 
 which he repeats in one of his letters : " He (Disraeli) 
 was once dining with my insufferable brother-in-law, Mr. 
 Norton, when the host begged him to drink a particular 
 wine, saying he had never tasted anything so good before. 
 * Dizzy' agreed that the wine was good. 'Well,' said Nor- 
 ton, ' I have wine twenty times as good in my cellar.' * No 
 doubt, no doubt,' said ' Dizzy,' looking around the table, 
 ' But, my dear fellow, this is quite good enough for such 
 canaille as you have got to-day.' " 
 
 In 1860 Motley received the honorary degree of Doc- 
 tor of Civil Law at Oxford. Early in 1861 he returned 
 to America, but only to receive and accept in the month 
 of August, the appointment of minister to Austria. We 
 had no better representative in Europe during the trying 
 period of our national struggle than Motley, who was 
 imbued with the most earnest patriotism, and whose 
 enthusiasm for the cause of freedom knew no bounds. 
 The esteem in which he was held by the public men of 
 Germany, Austria and England gained many friends for
 
 58 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 the cause which he defended. In this connection, it may 
 be mentioned that Motley speaks of Austria as having, 
 beyond any other country in Europe, sympathy for the 
 Northern cause. Lincoln's simple, straightforward 
 honesty and singleness of purpose was deeply appreciated 
 by Motley. He says of him in one of his letters: "His 
 wisdom, courage, devotion to duty and simplicity of char- 
 acter seem to me to embody in a very striking way all 
 that is most noble in the American character and Ameri- 
 can destiny." Bismarck wrote in one of his letters to 
 Motley: "Jack, my dear, where the devil are you, and 
 what do you do, that you never write me a line? Let 
 politics be hanged and come to see me. I promise that 
 the Union Jack shall wave over our house and conversa- 
 tion, and the best of hock shall pour damnation into the 
 rebels." 
 
 Motley describes his presentation to the King of Prus- 
 sia with characteristic drollery : " We were all (that is, the 
 chief dips, male and female) taken into a kind of drawing- 
 room, at one side of which we were stood up like nine- 
 pins to be bowled down by their various royalties. The 
 King of Prussia had his first innings a tall, sturdy, good- 
 humored-faced elderly man." 
 
 Motley remained warmly attached to his Government 
 in spite of his recall from Vienna under very disagreeable 
 circumstances. " For one," he writes to his daughter, " I 
 like democracy. I don't say that it is pretty, genteel, or 
 jolly. Aristocracy certainly presents more brilliant social 
 phenomena, more luxurious social enjoyments. Such a 
 system is very cheerful for a few thousand select speci- 
 mens out of the few hundred millions of the human race. 
 It has been my lot and yours to see how much splendor, 
 how much intellectual and physical refinement, how 
 much enjoyment of the highest character has been created
 
 MINISTER TO ENGLAND. 59 
 
 by the English aristocracy ; but what a price is paid for 
 it! Think of a human being working all day long from 
 six in the morning to seven at night for a few kreutzers a 
 day in Moravia, Bohemia, Ireland or Yorkshire, for forty 
 or fifty years, to die at last in the workhouse, and yet they 
 are the natural equals in every way of the Howards, Stan- 
 leys, Esterhazys and Lichtensteins." 
 
 In 1869 Motley was appointed Minister to England, 
 but only occupied the post for a few months. In 1874 
 Mrs. Motley died, and the letters relating to this bereave- 
 ment are singularly touching. The writer himself died 
 three years later in England. The striking fact about his 
 whole life seems to be that, while thrown among the 
 greatest and noblest spirits of his time, courted and loved 
 by the great of all nations, he never lost his simplicity, his 
 independence, or his belief in republican institutions. 
 Always guileless, modest, sincere and affectionate, we may 
 fitly say of him what he said of Lincoln : " He seemed to 
 have a window in his breast."
 
 VIII. MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. 
 
 An Analysis, 1889. 
 
 TRAGIC STORY OF THE RUSSIAN GENIUS. 
 
 Beautiful, Over Sensitive, Richly Endowed. Early Aspiration 
 for Fame. Ambitious, Cynical, Introspective. Studies Art 
 in Paris. Intellectual Resemblance to Alfred de Musset. 
 Fond of Plato, Dante, Ariosto, Shakspeare. Contemplation 
 of Death. Loss of Hearing. Industry at the Easel. 
 Tender Friendship for Bastien-Lepage. Dead at Twenty- 
 four. 
 
 The Journal of Marie Bashkirtseff, a translation of 
 which has just appeared in America, although the original 
 was published over a year ago in Paris is one of those 
 books which immediately become a part of the soul of 
 the reader. That ambitious, morbid, suffering girl gives 
 to us in this wonderful book, which appeals to the deepest 
 and most natural feeling of the human heart, that exquis- 
 ite emotional thrill which tender music rendered by a 
 master, noble sentiments uttered by a great orator, or the 
 magnetic voice of a Patti or a Gayarre, sometimes gives. 
 When we put aside this record of a daily life so intense 
 in every line, revealing a nature containing such possibili- 
 ties of greatness, we are oppressed with a feeling of inde- 
 scribable sadness. The writer says somewhere in her 
 Journal : " It would be curious if this record of my fail- 
 ures and of my obscure life should be the means of pro- 
 curing for me the fame I long for, and shall always long 
 for." Exaltle, beloved, beautiful, talented, her book has 
 made her famous, but too late. 
 
 *MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF. The Journal of a Young Artist, 1860-1884. Trans- 
 lated by Mary J. Serrano. Illustrated. New York: Cassell & Co. 
 
 60
 
 A RUSSIAN BEAUTY. 61 
 
 Marie Bashkirtseff was born in Pultava, Russia, on the 
 nth of November, 1860. She was very beautiful, with 
 delicate exquisitely-modelled features, golden hair, and 
 gray eyes curiously deep and sweet. Her face was an 
 intellectual as well as a beautiful one, but it lacked repose. 
 A shadow of unrest, as delicate as might be left by the 
 wing of a bird, always rested there. At fifteen she already 
 dreamed of being famous. She says: 
 
 " I am ambitious that is my greatest fault. The beauties and 
 the ruins of Rome make me dizzy, I should like to be Caesar, 
 Augustus, Marcus Aurelius, Nero, Caracallk, Solon, the Pope ; 
 I should like to be all these, and I am nothing. . . Ah! 
 how weary I am of my obscurity! I am consumed by inaction. 
 I am growing mouldy in this darkness. Oh, for the light, the 
 light, the light." 
 
 Diderot wrote, a hundred years before: 
 "A delicious repose, a sweet book to read, a walk in some open 
 and solitary spot, a conversation in which one discloses all one's 
 heart, a strong emotion that brings the tears to one's eyes and 
 makes the heart beat faster, whether it comes of some tale of 
 generous action, or of a sentiment of tenderness, of health, of 
 gaiety, of liberty, of indolence, there is the true happiness, nor 
 shall I ever know any other." 
 
 This ideal of the sage of the i8th century would not 
 have contented our I9th century hot-house blossom. She 
 writes : 
 
 "To count neither on friendship, nor gratitude, nor loyalty, 
 nor honesty ; to elevate one's self courageously above the mean- 
 nesses of humanity, and take one's stand between them and God; 
 to get all one can out of life, and that quickly ; to do no injury to 
 one's fellow-beings; to make one's life luxurious and magnificent; 
 to be independent, so far as it be possible, of others; to possess 
 power! yes, power! no matter by what means! this is to be 
 feared and respected; this is to be strong, and that is the height of 
 human felicity, because one's fellow-beings are then muzzled, and 
 either through cowardice or for other reasons will not seek to 
 tear one to pieces.
 
 62 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 "Is it not strange to hear me reason in this way? Yes, but this 
 manner of reasoning in a young creature like me is but another 
 proof of how bad the world is; it must be thoroughly saturated 
 with wickedness to have so saddened me in so short a time. I am 
 only fifteen." 
 
 This cynicism at fifteen might revolt us, were it not the 
 cynicism of a noble heart tortured by doubt, and not that 
 of corruption or experience. 
 
 Marie Bashkirtseff, like Alfred de Musset, was a true 
 child of the nineteenth century, believing in yet haunted 
 by "the shadow of belief, disbelief;" passionate, seeking 
 for noble ideals, yet shackled by the chains of environ- 
 ment, analyzing every emotion until it rose up like a 
 Frankenstein to terrify her, enjoying even her own suf- 
 ferings and her own tears. She says: 
 
 "I love to weep, I love to give myself up to despair; I love to 
 be troubled and sorrowful." 
 
 Alfred de Musset expresses the same sentiment in the 
 pathetic lines: 
 
 "Le seul bien qui me reste au monde 
 Est d'avoir quelquefois pleureV' 
 
 She sighed for happiness, but, like a will-o'-the-wisp, it 
 always evaded her. A passionate melancholy came in its 
 place, and a resolve to strive for the admiration of the 
 world, with all the strength of her frail body and her 
 heroic soul for thus she hoped to be happy. " Nature 
 intended me to be happy," she says, "but 
 
 "Pourquoi dans ton ceuvre celeste 
 Tant d' e'le'ments si peu d'accord? " 
 
 Marie had a pure and correct literary taste, and loved 
 the strength and virility of the classics. She says in her 
 Journal: 
 
 "No melodrama, no romance, no sensational comedy of 
 Dumas or of George Sand, has left so clear a souvenir and so pro-
 
 TRANSPLANTED IN PARIS. 63 
 
 found and natural an impression upon me as the description of the 
 taking of Troy." 
 
 Plato was always open on her desk. When she left 
 Nice, she says that she took with her " the encyclopaedia, 
 a volume of Plato, Dante, Ariosto, and Shakespeare," a 
 curious library for a girl of fifteen. 
 
 Like all people of poetic and artistic nature, she loved 
 Italy. 
 
 " Life is not the same there as elsewhere. It is tree, fantastic 
 large, reckless and yet languid, fiery yet gentle, like its sun, its 
 sky, its glowing plain." 
 
 However, in the autumn of 1877, Madame Bashkirt- 
 seff, Marie's mother, said to have been one of the most 
 beautiful women in Russia, decided to live in Paris. At 
 first Marie writes : 
 
 " Paris kills me! It is a cafe", a well-kept hotel, a bazaar." 
 A day or two later she adds: 
 
 " The mere word Italy causes me an emotion such as no other 
 word, such as no one's presence, has ever done." 
 
 Later on, she acknowledged the charm of Paris, as, 
 sooner or later, everyone does who remains there long 
 enough to become a part of its intellectual life. 
 
 In September, 1877, she entered the Atelier Julien to 
 study painting ; and from this time her life was a constant 
 struggle between ambition and disease. She worked 
 many hours a day, and in a very short time showed a true 
 genius for her art. The presentiment of an early death 
 still seemed to haunt her, even in the midst of success, and 
 she writes in 1878: 
 
 "To die? It would be absurd ; and yet I think I am going to 
 die. It is impossible that I should live long. I am not consti- 
 tuted like other people; I have a great deal too much of some 
 things in my nature, a great deal too little of others, and a char- 
 acter not made to last. If I were a goddess, and the whole uni- 
 verse were employed in my service, I should still find the service
 
 64 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 badly rendered. There is no one more exacting, more capricious, 
 more impatient than I am. There is sometimes, perhaps even 
 always, a certain basis of reason and justice in my words, only 
 that I cannot explain clearly what I want to say. I say this, how- 
 ever, that my life cannot last long. My projects, my hopes, my 
 little vanities, all fallen to pieces! I have deceived myself in 
 everything!" 
 
 Again she says: 
 
 "I do not fear death, but life is so short that to waste it is 
 infamous. Art! I picture it to myself like a great light shining 
 before me in the distance, and I forget everything else but this, 
 and I shall press forward to the goal, my eyes fixed upon this 
 light." 
 
 As her malady progresses she becomes slightly deaf, 
 and this causes her the most profound discouragement. 
 She writes: 
 
 "I shall never recover my hearing, then. It will be endur- 
 able, but there will always be a veil between me and the rest of 
 the world. The wind among the trees, the murmur of the brook, 
 the rain striking against the window-panes, whispered words, I 
 shall hear none of these. . . I am accustomed to it, but 
 it is none the less horrible." 
 
 Her most successful picture, "A Meeting," was ex- 
 posed in the Salon of 1884, and was the picture most 
 talked of that year. Marie could scarcely believe in her 
 success. She says in her Journal : 
 
 "Ah! I begin to believe it a little, but for fear of believing 
 too much I do not permit myself to feel satisfaction but with 
 reserves of which you have no idea. Enfin! I shall be the last 
 to believe that the world believes in me." 
 
 Though oppressed by physical weakness, she still 
 works continually, but writes: 
 
 "Oh, this dreadful lassitude! Is it natural to feel thus at my 
 age? In the evenings when I am tired out and half asleep, divine 
 harmonies float through my brain ; they rise and fall, like the 
 strains of an orchestra, but independent of my volition. If we 
 only knew what there is beyond but we do not; and then, it is
 
 FRIENDSHIP WITH BASTIEN-LEPAGE. 65 
 
 precisely this feeling of curiosity I have about it that makes the 
 thought of death less terrible to me." 
 
 Her friendship with Bastien-Lepage, whom she de- 
 scribes as " not a painter only, a poet, a psychologist, a 
 metaphysician, a creator," was a very tender one. He, 
 too, was doomed to an early death; and when she was 
 dying, he was carried to her house to spend the few hours 
 remaining at her side. It is a pathetic picture, the 
 shadow of death over them both ; and yet they still de- 
 sired to paint, the artistic spirit almost surviving the soul 
 itself. She writes: 
 
 " Bastien-Lepage goes from bad to worse. I am unable to 
 work. My picture (La Rue) will not be finished. Here are mis- 
 fortunes enough. He is dying, and he suffers intensely. When 
 I am with him, I feel as if he were no longer of this earth; he 
 already soars above us; there are days when I feel as if I too 
 soared above this earth. I see the people around me, they speak 
 to me, I answer them, but I am no longer of them. I feel a 
 passive indifference to everything, a sensation somewhat like 
 that produced by opium. . . Yes, he is dying, and the 
 thought does not move me, I am indifferent to it ; something is 
 fading out of sight that is all. And then everything will be 
 ended everything will be ended. I shall die with the dying 
 year." 
 
 Two weeks before her death, she writes: 
 
 "I have not been able to go out for the past few days. I am 
 very ill, although I am not confined to bed. . . Ah, my 
 God! and my picture, my picture, my picture!" 
 
 Marie Bashkirtseff died at the age of twenty-four, 
 October 31, 1884, just eleven days after the last entry 
 in her Journal. She left over one hundred and fifty 
 pictures and sketches, and this phenomenal book.
 
 IX. A FRENCHMAN ON THE 
 POTOMAC. 
 
 An Interpretation, 1890. 
 MEMOIRS OF GENERAL DE TROBRIAND. 
 
 A Worthy Compatriot of Lafayette. No Sympathy with Pro- 
 crastination and Hesitancy. Severe Strictures on General 
 McClellan. A " Cabinet of Traitors," an " Emasculated 
 Government." All Foreign Ambassadors except those of 
 Italy and Prussia Believed the South would Win. Lin- 
 coln Depressed Morally and Physically. Grant, Sherman, 
 Sheridan. 
 
 General de Trobriand's " Four Years With the Army 
 of the Potomac" (Boston: Ticknor & Co.), which was 
 published in France in 1867, has at last been put into 
 English by an able translator. It is surprising that so val- 
 uable a work, and one in which every American must be 
 interested, should not have been translated long ago. 
 General de Trobriand, following in the footsteps of his 
 illustrious compatriot, Lafayette, joined our army animated 
 simply by admiration for our free institutions and a desire 
 to aid us in protecting and perfecting them. Unprejudiced 
 by party feeling or personal interests, his work, as a his- 
 tory of the war, is of great value. Written as it was, 
 soon after the war, the narrative has all the freshness, the 
 vigor, and the truthfulness of detail of recent recollection. 
 The author gives us in his first chapters a short but re- 
 markably clear and concise account of the principal events 
 which took place during the quarter of a century before 
 the war, a re"sum of the causes leading up to and the 
 State of things at the beginning of the Rebellion, and 
 
 $6
 
 A LOVER OF AMERICA. 67 
 
 the motives agitating both parties. The instinct of na- 
 tional freedom was the determining influence in the 
 North. Naturally there were running parallel with this 
 great overwhelming torrent of generous enthusiasm of 
 one race to free another counter currents of personal 
 greed and political intrigue, hut the instinct to preserve 
 the integrity of the Nation and to permit nothing which 
 should impair it was the motor force which overcame all 
 else. In the white light of peace we of the younger 
 generation are apt to reverse the glass and see the events 
 of the war en petit. General de Trobriand takes us 
 back to the excitement of war times. His enthusiasm 
 communicates itself to us, his recital of the stirring 
 scenes of the campaign, the tragic and pathetic incidents 
 of the battle-field, the purity of our motives as a nation 
 in entering into the war, makes us feel the grandeur and 
 nobility of our struggle for freedom. 
 
 If General de Trobriand had been a descendant of the 
 Pilgrim fathers he could not have been inspired with a 
 purer patriotism and a greater love for America. He was 
 ready at all times to sacrifice his life for his adopted 
 country and took his part in the weary marches of the 
 Army of the Potomac through Virginia, where, discour- 
 aged by the vacillating policy of their Commander-in- 
 Chief, footsore, decimated by fever, fearful of treason 
 among their own Generals, the soldiers still preserved 
 their belief in the final victory of the cause of liberty. 
 General de Trobriand had no sympathy with the false 
 sentimentality which animated some of our Generals at 
 the beginning of the war, who held one eye fixed on 
 Washington, the other on Richmond, vainly trying to 
 solve the problem of how to fight for the North without 
 injuring the South. The unusual mode of warfare 
 which, in the march through Virginia, not only allowed
 
 68 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 our soldiers to march hungry through a rebel country, but 
 posted guards of their own starving comrades over the 
 poultry yards and corn-fields of the rebel farmers to pre- 
 serve them, surprised as much as it disgusted the French 
 General, unaccustomed to such complaisance in warfare. 
 
 The enemy was not so complaisant. The author says: 
 " The road we followed was sown with murderous snares. 
 There were cylindrical bombs with percussion fuses care- 
 fully concealed, buried so as to leave the capsule level with 
 the ground. The step of a man or horse upon it was 
 sufficient to explode it and it was always fatal. Some- 
 times the bombs were covered by a piece of board, inviting, 
 the tired soldier to sit down. Whoever yielded to the 
 temptation never rose again. A few bodies, torn and 
 blackened, showed us the result of that invention of the 
 South." 
 
 The pen and ink portraits of the men who played the 
 most prominent roles in the events of the time are drawn 
 with all the truthfulness of the realistic school. Buchanan 
 is shown to us, weak and despicable, surrounded by a 
 Cabinet of traitors, " opposing to the direct and multiplied 
 attacks against the Federal Government only the inertia 
 of senile imbecility or the hypocrisy of latent treason.' 
 We read: "General Dix was the only member of this 
 emasculated Government who gave any signs of virility. 
 Public opinion found at least some consolation in the 
 knowledge that there was one man in the Cabinet whose 
 heart showed neither treason nor feebleness when, soon 
 after being appointed Secretary of the Treasury, he sent 
 to the commander of one of the Custom House vessels 
 the peremptory order : ' If any man attempts to haul 
 down the American flag shoot him on the spot.' " Of 
 General McClellan the writer says: "Never did he visit 
 our camp, never in my knowledge did he seek to find out
 
 McCLELLAN CRITICIZED. 69 
 
 for himself what was the state of the discipline, of the in- 
 struction, or the condition of the men he was to lead 
 against the enemy. In that respect the official reports 
 were sufficient for him." 
 
 The author gives us a transcript of a letter written by 
 General McClellan to President Lincoln on July 7, five 
 days after his arrival at Harrison's Landing, in which it 
 was said that " in no case should the war be carried on 
 with the object of subjugating the people of any State ; 
 that neither the confiscation of property, nor political exe- 
 cutions, nor the territorial organization of a State, nor 
 forced abolition of slavery should be for an instant thought 
 of." Commenting upon this well-known passage, Gen- 
 eral de Trobriand says : " This manifesto gives the key 
 to the ideas and conduct of the General; his hesitations, 
 his slowness, his tender regard for the enemy and per- 
 haps to some things until then inexplicable." The feeling 
 in Europe is thus described : " All the ambassadors ex- 
 cept the Italian and Prussian, believed that the South 
 would inevitably be the victor in the coming struggle. 
 Naturally they communicated this belief to their respect- 
 ive Governments. At Paris, while the Confederate agents 
 showed themselves everywhere, put themselves in connec- 
 tion with influential men, worked the press and operated 
 on the Bourse, the United States Legation, where French 
 was not spoken, was confined to its official functions and 
 had no influence outside of that which could counterbal- 
 ance the maneuvers of its adversaries." 
 
 Of Mr. Seward we read : " There was in him a moral 
 and spiritual vigor equal to every trial. His elastic vitality 
 was proof against both work and wounds." Of Mr. Lin- 
 coln : " It was otherwise with the President, who, in the 
 dark hours of his first years of trial, sometimes bent under 
 the burden. In January, 1862, I had the honor to dine
 
 70 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 at the White House, when twenty guests were assembled. 
 Mr. Lincoln took no part in the conversation. Neither 
 the lively sallies of Mr. N. P. Willis, nor the inviting 
 remarks of some of the ladies could distract him from 
 his interior reflections or lighten the moral and physical 
 fatigue to which he visibly yielded. These occasional fits 
 of despondency, however, had no influence upon the de- 
 votion of the President to his duty. He did not fail in 
 the accomplishment of the great task which had devolved 
 upon him. Animated by the most sincere patriotism, 
 enlightened by a certain political sagacity, guided in his 
 views and in his ambitions by an irreproachable honesty, 
 sustained by the people, of whom he was less the directing 
 chief than the faithful servant, he followed the straight 
 path, regulating his steps by the march of events, with- 
 out seeking to hasten or delay the events of the hour. He 
 thus had a career more useful than brilliant during his 
 life, but immortalized in his last hours by the consecration 
 of success and the sanctification of martyrdom." 
 
 The story of General Grant's finely planned cam- 
 paign, in which Grant, Sherman and Sheridan slowly 
 but surely, in an ever-decreasing circle, crushed the Con- 
 federate army on all sides, is graphically told, the reason 
 for each important movement explained and its effect 
 given. General de Trobriand's accounts of the battle 
 field are almost as terrible in the reality of their detail as 
 are Tolstoi's descriptions in " War and Peace," but he re- 
 lieves the horror of the recital by many simple and 
 pathetic anecdotes. As an example of Irish heroism we 
 will cite the following: 
 
 An Irishman who had his left eye torn out by a bullet 
 met General de Trobriand, who condoled with him on the 
 loss of that useful and ornamental member. " Ah, but 
 you see, General," said the hero, " it is only the left eye,
 
 A WORK FOR AMERICANS. 71 
 
 and that will save me the trouble of closing it while tak- 
 ing aim, which always did bother me." 
 
 Additional pathos is given to the anecdote by the fact 
 that the poor fellow died soon after from the effect of his 
 wound. 
 
 Mr. Dauchy has done the work of translation remark- 
 ably well. He has preserved all the charm and facility of 
 the French style, while clothing it in graceful and fluent 
 English. We would especially recommend this book to 
 young people, as, while it analyzes political events with 
 statesmanlike acumen and military movements with clear- 
 ness and precision, the sprightliness and vivacity of its 
 style prevent it from ever becoming wearisome.
 
 X. EMILY CRAWFORD. 
 
 A Portrait, 1892. 
 JOURNALIST, PHILOSOPHER, WOMAN. 
 
 Rare Instance of Combined Intellectual and Social Distinction. 
 Widow of a Noted Correspondent Assumes His Pen. Un- 
 matched Endowment for a Post of Responsibility and 
 Power. Friend of Celebrities in Statesmanship, Diplomacy, 
 Society, Art and Literature. Beautiful Rural Home. An 
 Idealist in a Material Environment. A Beautiful and 
 Charming Character. 
 
 The litterateurs of the present day are as fond of 
 spending a part of the year in the country near Paris as 
 they were in the days when Rousseau sat under the great 
 tree at Montmorency and dreamed Utopian dreams of a 
 perfected world, surrounded by the little coterie of ad- 
 mirers who were in turn attracted by the magic of genius 
 and repelled by the inconsistencies of his character. In 
 those days Mme. d'Houdetot, d'Alembert, Grimm, Mme. 
 d'Epinay and a host of other literary Egerias and their 
 attendant philosophers assembled in the forest of Mont- 
 morency, and their shadows still people it and float in our 
 memories as if they had formed a part of our own 
 existence. 
 
 There are now no literary Egerias belonging to the 
 world of fashion at Montmorency to form a brilliant 
 background and a sympathetic atmosphere. The great 
 ladies of France no longer aspire to be the inspiring 
 goddesses or the literary rivals of men of genius, but 
 many of their prototypes in our modern world still spend 
 a part of the year there. 
 
 72
 
 MRS. CRAWFORD'S VILLA. 73 
 
 Near this romantic spot Mrs. Crawford, the queen of 
 the journalistic world, has a charming little chalet where 
 she spends the summer months, as much as possible in 
 solitude and seclusion. Like Rousseau she delights in 
 the " populous solitude of bees and birds," and like all 
 people endowed with great imaginative powers, never 
 finds solitude oppressive. When we arrived at her villa, 
 where we were to have the pleasure of spending the day, 
 we found Mrs. Crawford busily engaged in sending off 
 her day's mail before the first of her guests should arrive. 
 Her warm greeting and her words of welcome in a rich 
 Irish voice made us feel at home at once. Mrs. Crawford 
 has what is exceedingly rare, a beautiful face ; yet at the 
 same time it is strong and intellectual. Although her hair 
 is turning to silver, and she is surrounded by grown-up 
 sons, her beautiful Irish eyes have in them the brilliancy 
 and fire of sixteen. Her face has an expression of gayety 
 mingled with a shade of reflective sadness which renders it 
 irresistible. While she is talking with one in her sym- 
 pathetic manner he feels that she is reading his inmost 
 thoughts and weighing his qualities in a mental scale 
 which gives the pros and cons of one's character with 
 scrupulous exactness. 
 
 Her villa at St. Prix is surrounded by a pretty garden, 
 and from the windows there is a magnificent view, with 
 Paris in the distance, the Eiffel tower and the dome of the 
 Invalides being quite distinguishable. 
 
 After luncheon we sat by a wood fire in the old- 
 fashioned fireplace, for, although it was early summer, 
 rain was falling and the fire was most welcome. While 
 we drank our coffee the conversation happened to turn 
 upon the complications in German politics and the 
 relative merits of male and female monarchs. Mrs. 
 Crawford spoke of her visit last year to Hatfield, the
 
 74 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 marquis of Salisbury's place, where she met the German 
 emperor. 
 
 "Hatfield," she said, "stands on a hill commanding a 
 view of two valleys. It is approached by an avenue four 
 miles long, flanked by beeches planted in the time of 
 Shakespeare and Queen Elizabeth. The grounds are 
 extremely picturesque, one feature being a bower of lime 
 trees arranged to form a cloister. It was when going to 
 visit Hatfield that Queen Elizabeth observed a number of 
 dead bodies hanging to the trees along the way. When 
 she was informed that this was the punishment for petty 
 thieveries she abolished by act of parliament that severe 
 penalty for stealing." 
 
 The German emperor, Mrs. Crawford said, struck her 
 as being " more restless than energetic, fond of talking, 
 liking to listen to himself, lacking in humility and impa- 
 tient of control." 
 
 " I believe," said she, " that crowns should be settled 
 exclusively upon women because they are modest, they 
 give up more gracefully than men, are not so wise in their 
 own conceits, are less pretentious, and have a moral edu- 
 cation which men cannot have. Women realize that there 
 are other wills than their own, have more penetration in 
 choosing wise counselors and give them more scope ; are 
 more patient and willing to wait for time and natural 
 evolution peacefully to do their work. For example," 
 said Mrs. Crawford, " England could never have devel- 
 oped as it has done under Queen Victoria had she had 
 such a rash and headstrong ruler as the German emperor." 
 
 Mrs. Crawford has been on the staff of Truth since 
 that witty, independent but American-hating journal 
 started. The JVeiv Review, the Fortnightly and other 
 dignified periodicals have constantly requested her to write 
 for them regularly, but her journalistic work does not
 
 WOMAN AND DIPLOMAT. 75 
 
 give her enough time. She has contributed to the Daily 
 News regularly for twenty years, writing leaders, bio- 
 graphical and fancy articles and correspondence the same 
 to the New York Tribune and to journals in India, Aus- 
 tralia and the secondary capitals of Great Britain. With- 
 out exaggeration I can state that Mrs. Crawford may 
 count several millions of readers a week. She also wrote 
 twice a week for the Pall Mall Gazette during five 
 years under various pseudonyms and characters. During 
 these years of arduous and earnest work she has never 
 been disabled a day by illness until last winter, when she 
 had a severe attack of influenza caught in hospital report- 
 ing. She carries her journalistic ardor to the verge of 
 heroism, as when during the last cholera epidemic in 
 Paris she visited the hospitals in order to send to the 
 Daily News graphic reports of the progress of the 
 plague. I think this may be considered a tour deforce in 
 journalism. 
 
 Mrs. Crawford is exceedingly fortunate in having been 
 endowed by her native land with true Irish tact. She 
 has, therefore, been able to steer clear in a measure of the 
 rivalries and jealousies with which so many women in 
 journalism are obliged to contend. Her wonderful fac- 
 ulty of judging people has also been of great service to 
 her in this respect. She was spontaneously elected a 
 member of the Journalistic Institute of Great Britain at 
 the Birmingham congress of journalists of the whole 
 United Kingdom, and her name stood at the head of a 
 list including Sala, Justin McCarthy and many other cele- 
 brated men. Mrs. Crawford, while imbued with the 
 modern spirit so far as her work is concerned, is actuated 
 in her life by the axioms and precepts of the philosophers 
 of antiquity. Like Mme. Roland, she delights in Plu- 
 tarch and Epictetus, and, although liberal in her views,
 
 76 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 her education was religious of the old-fashioned type 
 and among her favorite books are those of men and 
 women of religious genius: "The Imitation," the "Lives 
 of the Saints," the minor prophets, the psalms, " Pense"es 
 de Pascal," and the axioms of Epictetus. I have heard 
 Mrs. Crawford say that her ideal existence would be a 
 secluded and meditative one in which she could live out 
 her own life, avoiding all rivalry. Rivalry she regards as 
 an evil motive, engendering a too keen competition for 
 riches, which will one day throw the world into anarchy. 
 She would write as she thought fit, courting no praise, 
 and aloof from what is called society. She would be 
 content to let all come to her without seeking and to trust 
 in God for whatever guerdon she might deserve. She 
 has been obliged to depart from this ideal, as far as society 
 is concerned, both on account of her children and also 
 because society is as keen of scent as a bloodhound for 
 those who may add to its attractions. Mrs. Crawford 
 has been the trusted friend of or intimately associated 
 with the greatest men and women of both France and 
 England for the last thirty years, including Gambetta, 
 Gladstone, Lord Palmerston, George Meredith, Lord 
 Lytton, Thiers, Clemenceau and a host of others. 
 
 All philosophers have preached the doctrine of sim- 
 plicity and of living near nature in order that the intel- 
 lectual and spiritual may not be overcome by the material, 
 as developed by the demoralizing entanglements of 
 luxury. Mrs. Crawford is their earnest disciple. She 
 insists upon the most severe simplicity in all her entourage 
 and that the atmosphere in which she lives shall be an 
 intellectual one. She once said to me that she regarded 
 luxurious furniture, bibelots and superfluous servants as so 
 many weights. Her sympathies are wonderfully varied. 
 She loves art for art's sake, and her criticisms show that
 
 WIT ABOVE ROYALTY. 77 
 
 she looks at pictures with the eyes of a poet. Music is 
 dear to her and she delights in simple and harmonious 
 melody as well as in intricate and elaborately worked out 
 motives. Many of our greatest singers have to thank 
 her for those first appreciative words which have attracted 
 the attention of the public to their as yet unknown merits 
 and launched them on a successful career. She has a 
 marvelous faculty of entering into the moods of those 
 about her and sympathizing with them. Her interest is 
 never self-centered, but with the true instinct of the critic 
 she realizes the unembodied dreams and unexpressed 
 ideas and feelings of those surrounding her. Such inter- 
 est from such a woman is a subtle flattery and an uncon- 
 scious encouragement to those who need her aid and 
 counsel. 
 
 Mrs. Crawford, being so important a factor in Parisian 
 society, naturally meets all the great personages who 
 visit Paris, and her " Paris Notes " in Truth, written in 
 brilliant and epigrammatic English, are pen pictures of 
 all that happens there which is worthy of note, whether 
 in the conservative circles of the Faubourg St. Germain, 
 in the political society of which Mme. Carnot is the 
 queen or, in the more cosmopolitan milieu of the foreign 
 embassies. In Paris, where wit ranks above royalty, 
 Mrs. Crawford naturally takes her place as sovereign, and 
 in all the great "functions" of Parisian society is a prom- 
 inent figure, holding her court, surrounded by a crowd of 
 eager listeners. Her conversation is always unaffected, 
 genial, charming and full of spontaneous and brilliant wit. 
 She has a wonderful memory. She told me, when I 
 remarked upon it to her, that she remembered perfectly 
 everything we said to each other the first time we met, 
 eight or nine years ago, and what I wore, even to the 
 shape of my bonnet. I replied to her: "It would be as
 
 78 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 dangerous to say anything to you which one would wish 
 to be forgotten as to whisper it to a phonograph." 
 
 Mrs. Crawford is the widow of G. M. Crawford, who 
 for thirty-five years was correspondent of the Daily News 
 at Paris. During that time his wife collaborated with 
 him, and at his death took his position, which she has 
 held ever since, about eight years. He was the grandson 
 of Henry Crawford, one of the few survivors of the 
 "black hole" of Calcutta, who was associated with War- 
 ren Hastings and Clive in their political and military 
 achievements. Mr. Crawford was brought up to the bar, 
 and belonged to Lincoln's Inn and the Inner Temple. He 
 was of the same set as Sir Henry Keating, Sir John 
 Dorney Harding and Lord Aberdare. It was on the 
 proposal of Sir J. D. Harding that he came to Paris to 
 obtain the post of counsel to the British embassy, an office 
 which brought to the titular considerable practice. But 
 when Mr. Crawford thought he was sure of being ap- 
 pointed it was suddenly swept away. He then was intro- 
 duced by Thackeray, whom he had known at the Garrick 
 club and deanery, to the Daily News, and became its 
 correspondent. Thackeray says in his memoirs that Mr. 
 Crawford was the model from which he drew George 
 Warrington. Mr. Crawford's death was a terrible blow 
 to his wife. She wrote to a friend a short time after a 
 letter so characteristic that I venture to quote a few 
 lines: " He died unexpectedly and by himself. When I 
 came in from doing his work I found him dead in his 
 bed. I was not conscious then or for some weeks later 
 of the shock I received. I was like spring steel to 
 resist the innumerable difficulties which I had to face and 
 to discharge the duties I owed to him and the children. 
 But since these difficulties have been surmounted I feel 
 in such solitude. I should like to go and cry my eyes
 
 IN PARIS DURING THE SIEGE. 79 
 
 out in some wild spot away from everybody. But this 
 feeling must not be indulged in. Life would not be 
 worth a straw were it not for its heroic sides, and there is 
 no heroism in acting like a child that whimpers over a 
 loss or a cross when one is in affliction." 
 
 Mrs. Crawford was her husband's constant companion 
 in his journalistic work, ever accompanying him to the 
 Caf Veron, in the Boulevard Montmartre, where in the 
 days before the invention of the telephone and when tele- 
 grams were not speedily delivered he went late at night 
 to send off his dispatches and learn the latest news. Just 
 on the eve of the siege of Paris, when everyone was 
 fleeing from the menaced city, Labouchere came late at 
 night to the Cafe" Veron seeking Mr. Crawford and 
 found to his surprise Mrs. Crawford still in Paris, she 
 having refused to leave her husband. After using every 
 argument to persuade her to go to England he finally 
 remarked with his usual causticity: "I will take your 
 place ; it will be a good thing for my heirs were I to 
 be killed, and a very bad thing for your children." Mrs. 
 Crawford, however, refused to be persuaded and re- 
 mained in Paris through the siege and the commune. 
 Should she ever find time to write her memoirs no ro- 
 mance could be more interesting than the recital of her 
 experiences in the midst of those stirring and extraordi- 
 nary scenes. 
 
 There is nothing of the dilettante about Mrs. Craw- 
 ford. She is a thorough journalist, and allows no other 
 duties to encroach upon her work. She thinks nothing of 
 going to her office, the headquarters of the Daily News 
 in Paris, after a grand dinner or a ball, in her beautiful 
 evening dress and jewels, to send off the latest dispatches 
 to London. One of the few women to whom the French 
 government has offered the decoration of the Legion of
 
 8o GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 Honor, she refused it, requesting that it might be given 
 to her son, who is a young and talented journalist. She 
 said to me afterward: " I refused it because such toys are 
 better for men than for women." 
 
 Although women have more liberty in America than 
 in any other country in the world, and are allowed more 
 scope for the development of their talents, I cannot 
 think of any literary woman in America who has the 
 social prestige which Mrs. Crawford has both in England 
 and France. It has been remarked by many great people 
 who have visited America and who have been feted and 
 entertained by social magnates, especially in New York, 
 that the intellectual element is entirely lacking in what is 
 called "society." Fashionable society and literary society 
 are two distinct worlds, as widely separated as if an ocean 
 rolled between them. It has constantly been made a sub- 
 ject of reproach against American society that it is lacking 
 in interest. This strange separation of the two elements, 
 whose oneness is absolutely necessary to constitute an 
 interesting whole, is the explanation of the lack which for- 
 eigners find in our social system. The question how 
 to amalgamate these two elements in American society 
 seems to be as difficult of solution as the reconciliation of 
 labor with capital. 
 
 Among the many blessings which it is believed our 
 great Exposition may bring us let us hope it will attract 
 this charming and gifted woman to our shores. Certainly 
 no pen could describe us with more accuracy or pay more 
 graceful tribute to whatever virtues we may possess.
 
 XL LONDON. 
 
 1890. 
 
 Vigor and Variety of London Social Life. Conversation a Lost 
 Art Princess of Wales and Lady Randolph Churchill. 
 Famous Artists, Beauties, Statesmen and Writers. A 
 " Home Rule Dinner." Michael Davitt. 
 
 Of all this great civilized world of the nineteenth cen- 
 tury London is certainly the " fine fleur." It is so vast, so 
 varied, so full of memories and yet so identified with the 
 great present. The movement never ceases day or night; 
 it is a great ocean of human beings, and amid this perpetual 
 flux and reflux of humanity one feels the grandeur and yet 
 the futility of the human race. Although there are so 
 many people that, as one passes through the crowded 
 streets, one thinks of mites in the cheese, yet there is no 
 place where the individual obtains greater recognition. 
 The power and the rights of human intelligence are para- 
 mount. 
 
 Artists of all kinds flock to London because their real 
 merit becomes known and recompensed sooner than in any 
 other place in the world. They are in great demand, as 
 no entertainment is given without music or recitations to 
 entertain the guests. Americans can amuse themselves, 
 but the English cannot. Conversation is even more of a 
 lost art in England than it is in America. Concerts for 
 charity, under the smiling patronage of royalty, are as 
 countless as the stars in the heavens. Bazaars with royal 
 
 81
 
 82 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 princesses, duchesses and countesses presiding over stalls 
 abound on every side. At the last one, opened by the 
 Princess Louise at Sandown Park, Esher, yesterday, the 
 Princess Alice of Albany showed her mechanical toys to 
 the visitors, and there was a " Caf^ Chantant," organized 
 by A. Yorke, supported by Countess Volda Gleichen, 
 Lady Brooke, (considered one of the beauties), Mrs. God- 
 frey Pearse and H. Herkomer. 
 
 Even radical Michael Davitt admits that there is no 
 place in the world where the rich do so much for the poor 
 as in England. If the skins of the descendants of the 
 English aristocracy of to day serve to bind the future edi- 
 tions of the speeches of Bradlaugh and Davitt, as did those 
 of the French aristocracy the volumes of Rousseau during 
 the revolution, it will not be because the English nobility 
 of the present have not sufficiently exerted themselves to 
 ameliorate the condition of the poor. Opening hospitals, 
 laying corner-stones, selling at bazaars, etc., seem to be 
 the most cherished employments of royalty and of the 
 nobility. 
 
 The princess of Wales is still a charmingly beautiful 
 woman and the loyal people of England will go any dis- 
 tance to see her. At a musicale given the other evening 
 by Horace Farquhare in honor of the duke and duchess of 
 Fife, although surrounded by the prettiest women of the 
 court, she was not surpassed even by the beautiful Lady 
 de Grey or by Lady Randolph Churchill, with her dark 
 intellectual loveliness. The princess was very simply 
 dressed, as it was a small party, in a white satin 
 gown covered with lace, diamonds in her hair and a 
 necklace of pearls. Lady de Grey is quite the " enfant 
 gate"" of the English court, as no one can resist her 
 smile, which is as bright, and not so rare as English 
 sunshine. Mme. Nordica looked lovely in a Worth
 
 AMERICAN BEAUTIES. 83 
 
 gown of coral velvet with a diamond and ruby necklace. 
 She asked the duke of Fife if he should ever go 
 to America. He replied, " Oh, no ; the most interesting 
 part of America is the people, and they all come here." 
 And so they do, as London is simply overrun with them 
 at the present moment. The English women do not half 
 like the success the American women have, but they will 
 not be put down. Mrs. Mackay gave a charming dinner 
 and ball a few days ago and gives another to meet roy- 
 alty next week. At a recent ball her train was fastened 
 to the bodice by two marvelous diamond arrows. Mrs. 
 Ronalds, whose beauty was famous from New York to 
 Constantinople, still holds her place as the most popular 
 American in English society. Her Sunday afternoons are 
 charming, as all the artists in vogue are only too glad to 
 contribute whatever talent they possess to these charming 
 reunions. Mrs. Bloodgood, of New York, is another re- 
 cently arrived American, whose diamonds and marvel- 
 ously youthful appearance, although the mother of a son 
 of twenty-five, are the talk of the town. Another lady, 
 Mrs. Home-Payne, is also claimed by the Americans here 
 as at least partially belonging to them, as, although an 
 Englishwoman and at present married to an Englishman, 
 her first husband was an American and she lived several 
 years in America. Her house is one of the most delight- 
 ful in London, as she possesses the social tact which is so 
 strangely lacking in many English women. She is not 
 only a woman of fashion, but a philanthropist and a literary 
 woman. As a writer she is well known in America under 
 her nom de plume of " Princess Olga." She is a most 
 fascinating conversationist, and quite celebrated in Lon- 
 don for her bons mots. Her latest novel is a Russian 
 story. She has recently organized, in co-operation with 
 Lord Latham, the Princes' Concert Society, before which
 
 84 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 all the best artists in London appear during the season. 
 So much for society. 
 
 There has been much excitement in the political world 
 over the " Brewers' Compensation Bill," which the tories 
 were trying to pass. Mr. Davitt prophesies that if it were 
 passed it would bring the liberals into power again, it be- 
 ing the most unpopular measure brought before the house 
 for years. There were ten thousand people in the park 
 to protest against it, Mr. Davitt being one of the speakers. 
 It was a bill to recompense publicans whose licenses 
 should be taken from them, thus, the liberals said, " pen- 
 sioning vice." In one small town of 400 inhabitants there 
 are fifty-two public houses. The temperance people 
 clamor for the suppression of these houses all over the 
 kingdom, and the tories, wishing to preserve the votes of 
 the rich publicans and brewers, were determined to pass a 
 bill to compensate them for any loss which they might 
 sustain. As it was proposed not only to compensate them 
 for the loss of the license, but also for a business and any 
 vested interests, the cost to the country would have 
 amounted to several million pounds sterling. The debates 
 on this bill have been most interesting, almost causing a 
 split in the tory party, as the liberal unionists were opposed 
 to it. It was said that Mr. Gladstone hoped this might be 
 the thin end of the wedge which would bring about the 
 change in the government so anxiously looked for by the 
 liberals. After most lively debates in the house the gov- 
 ernment, fearing the results of pushing the measure, with- 
 drew the obnoxious clauses. 
 
 Michael Davitt is, by the way, a most interesting con- 
 verser. He has hazel eyes as clear as a mirror, and 
 he possesses, one can see at a glance, the faculty of ob- 
 serving well, a wonderfully clear intellect and the enthusi- 
 asm verging on utopianism, which always goes to make
 
 A HOME RULE DINNER. 85 
 
 up the true reformer. These tender-hearted, poetic, sym- 
 pathetic enthusiasts are the men who arouse the great 
 movements of the world. 
 
 From Rousseau, as the font, poured out a thousand 
 streams, all coming together in that great revolution which 
 produced the " Terror " with all its fatal but grand results 
 for the liberty of the world, and yet he himself said in 
 about these words, (I have not the original at hand): 
 " There never was so great a conflagration that I would 
 not have quenched it with my tears." A man who has 
 had the courage to spend nine years in prison for an idea, 
 as Davitt has, must possess the earnestness which sways 
 the multitude. 
 
 At least one dinner in the house of commons is a sine 
 qua non in a London season. Justin McCarthy gave a 
 charming little dinner there on Monday evening. The 
 guests included Mrs. Fernando Jones, Miss McCarthy, 
 Miss Thompson, Sir John Pope Hennessy, Justin 
 Huntly McCarthy, Mr. Carew the Irish whip, John 
 Dillon, Mr. Sexton and Mr. Healy. We went down 
 through most mysterious winding corridors to a small 
 dining room filled with members and their friends. At 
 the next table were Sir James Fergusson and Sir John 
 Gorst, who though strong tories, evidently did not mind 
 the close proximity of so many liberals. 
 
 With all these brilliant people present it is needless to 
 say that Mr. McCarthy had provided the elements neces- 
 sary to make the evening one not soon to be forgotten. 
 After dinner our host took us for a walk on the terrace 
 overlooking the Thames, which he has so charmingly 
 described in "The Right Honorable." Mr. McCarthy is 
 so well known in America, both through his delightful 
 stories and his lectures, that there is little left for me to 
 say about him. Brilliant, witty, a delightful story-steller,
 
 86 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 genial and unpretending, he is admired even by his most 
 bitter opponents in political life. He is of great value to 
 his party, as he never loses his head, is always prepared 
 for his adversary, is reliable, moderate in his opinions and 
 clever in debate. 
 
 Sir John Pope Hennessy, who has been governor of 
 her majesty's colonies pretty well all over the world, has 
 now retired on a pension from the government and will 
 soon re-enter parliament as a home ruler. He is cultured, 
 polished, witty and a finished diplomat. The harmonious 
 union of so many fine qualities must render him a most 
 valuable addition to the home rule party. The Irish party, 
 by the way, claims the prince of Wales as a home ruler. 
 The prince seems to follow St. Paul's behest to be "all 
 things to all men," as all parties claim him. He is un- 
 doubtedly the most popular man in England, and has done 
 much to preserve the loyal and monarchical spirit here 
 which is so fast dying out in all countries. He is kind to 
 every one with whom he comes in contact, thoughtful in 
 all the details of social life, and never fails to do the proper 
 thing at the proper time. Emerson says : " The secret 
 of success in society is a certain heartiness and sympathy." 
 The prince possesses in a marked degree these qualities, 
 which one great American philosopher considered the key 
 to the popular heart. 
 
 Party feeling runs surprisingly high in England. The 
 conservatives, however, are much more bitter against Mr. 
 Gladstone than the liberals against Lord Salisbury ; why, 
 I do not pretend to explain. Many conservatives become 
 pale with anger at the mere mention of Mr. Gladstone's 
 name. A few days ago Mr. Gladstone attended Mrs. 
 Irving Winslow's Ibsen reading at the Haymarket. He 
 only remained, however, a short time, as there was a great 
 contest in the house that day about the Brewers' Compen-
 
 SIR FREDERICK LEIGHTON. 87 
 
 sation bill. The government was only saved from defeat 
 that day by a few conservative members fortunately re- 
 turning from Ascot just in time to vote. 
 
 To-morrow the second meeting of the Four-in-Hands 
 takes place, which I shall hope to describe in my next 
 letter. 
 
 The disciples of art in London don't hide away in gar- 
 rets, or dwell among the lowly and depend upon posterity 
 for recognition. The great artists of this metropolis live 
 in palaces, dine with princes and dukes, and sell their pic- 
 tures for sums which in olden times would have been a 
 king's ransom. 
 
 Sir Frederick Leighton, president of the Royal Acad- 
 emy, has a house which is a sort of Mecca, to which all 
 lovers of art turn their footsteps. In the midst of fash- 
 ionable London, it is yet secluded from all the noise and 
 bustle of the city and has a garden which is a glimpse of 
 fairyland. Sir Frederick says he has planted every tree 
 in it but one. 
 
 It would require the pen of a Keats or a Shelley to 
 describe adequately such green grass, such thickly-leaved 
 trees, such romantic nooks. The house is a sort of Ara- 
 bian Nights' palace. As one enters there is a harmonious 
 effect of color, of sound, the delicious rippling of water 
 is heard and one is transported as if by magic into the 
 Orient. Standing on the threshold of the famous Ara- 
 bian Hall we wished that we might murmur a few lines of 
 " Omar Khayyam," in fact one probably says nothing 
 unpoetic there, but " How beautiful ! " In the center is a 
 fountain playing into a basin cut from a solid block of 
 black marble. The floor is laid in exquisite mosaic work, 
 designed by Atchison, and the walls are of tiles from 
 Damascus. A frieze of gold mosaic, one of Walter 
 Crane's finest works, encircles the ceiling. There are
 
 88 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 eleven windows of stained glass, eight from Damascus. 
 One of these, containing a large piece of blue glass in the 
 center, Sir Frederick calls " the window with the blue 
 eye." The ordinary windows are covered by exquisitely 
 carved wood work brought from Cairo, parts of which 
 slide up, giving a glimpse of the garden. The caps of the 
 marble columns supporting the archway are copies of the 
 celebrated carved ones in Palmyra. Some of the Persian 
 tiles contain figures of great beauty, but, as the Suni did 
 not permit any representation of human beings or beasts, 
 their throats are often cut or their heads quite severed 
 from their bodies. The very soul and poetry of art is in 
 this room. While we stood admiring it a ray of the after- 
 noon sun stole through the window, giving a touch of life 
 and warmth to the surroundings, and the distant sound of 
 music came with it. The music came from the Hunga- 
 rian band, which was discoursing sweet strains to Mr. 
 Val Prinsep's guests next door, where a garden party was 
 going on. 
 
 Leaving the mysterious and visionary atmosphere of 
 the Arabian Hall we went into the salon on the ground 
 floor, which contains a number of beautiful pictures four 
 Corots, "Hempstead Heath," by Constable, who really 
 founded the school of " realistic landscape." George Ma- 
 son's first English picture also hangs here. He began 
 painting in Italy and, after returning to England, was still 
 haunted by contadini, vineyards and Italian skies. Finally 
 at Sir Frederick Leighton's suggestion, he painted an 
 English picture taken from the quiet scenes around his 
 own English home. As George Eliot has reproduced 
 these scenes with consummate art by her pen, so has George 
 Mason reproduced them with his brush. From this time 
 he sought his inspiration near at hand, and everybody 
 knows with what success.
 
 A FAMOUS STUDIO. 89 
 
 At every step in this wonderful house we discern some 
 gem of art, some exquisite bit of china, some priceless 
 sketch by an old master, an Anstolian or a Rhodian vase, 
 which might inspire an ode ; a cloisonn^ pael, a Satsuma 
 plate, delicately wrought in gold ; Japanese panels, fine as 
 Greek art, superbly composed and photographically cor- 
 rect. One picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds, containing the 
 portrait of Edmund Burke and Lord Buckingham, is par- 
 ticularly interesting to artists, as showing the modus oper- 
 andi of the great master. All the accessories of the pic- 
 ture are quite complete, only the figures unfinished. 
 
 On the next floor are Sir Frederick's two immense stu- 
 dios one for winter, the other for summer, the latter all 
 of glass. 
 
 In the winter studio are a number of exquisite little 
 sketches by Sir Frederick himself, taken in Thebes, Al- 
 giers, Seville, Asia Minor, Ireland ; in fact, all over the 
 world except America. He models in clay many of the 
 figures for his pictures. The clay models for "Perseus 
 and Andromeda," his next Paris Academy pictures, are 
 already completed. We also saw the original sketch of 
 the " Athlete," his first statue, exhibited in 1878. There 
 is also a charming " Gioconda," by Sir Frederick, and a 
 portrait of his sister, who is writing the life of Browning. 
 She has an intellectual, spirituelle face, and the painting is 
 as fine and delicate as a miniature. 
 
 In a portfolio there are a number of original drawings 
 by Michel Angelo, Claude, Andrea del Sarto, four designs 
 by Michel Angelo for his " David and Goliath," a child in 
 a cradle by Rembrandt, the Temple of Tivoli and a sketch 
 of the Colosseum before restoration, by Claude. There is 
 also a very interesting drawing by Sir Joshua Reynolds 
 of a beautiful lady he saw walking in St. James' Park, 
 the fashionable promenade of those days, whose "fasci-
 
 90 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 nating leer," as the quaint old account written on the back 
 of the picture expresses it, so took his fancy that he 
 sketched her, but never learned her name. There is also 
 an engraving presented to Sir Frederick by the prince of 
 Wales, which is extremely interesting as giving an exact 
 representation of the Royal Academy as it was in Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds' time. It has always been the custom 
 for the president of the academy to show the monarch or 
 the heir apparent around the rooms on the opening day. 
 As Sir Frederick has so often rilled this office for Prince 
 Albert Edward he, happening to see this old print repre- 
 senting Sir Joshua as cicerone to the prince of his time, 
 sent it to Sir Frederick as a souvenir. 
 
 In a small room adjoining the large studio there are 
 several fine Schiavones, marvelous in color, a portrait of 
 Tintoretto and many other beautiful old pictures, also a 
 carpet supposed to have belonged to Mary, Queen of 
 Scots. In this room there is a balcony looking down into 
 the "Arabian Hall" which is a picture in itself, where 
 one can sit on an ancient prayer rug and dream of Sara- 
 cenic palms and the seven heavens of Mohamed, 
 
 The fair phantom goddess, art, is the only feminine 
 element ^vhich has been allowed to remain permanently in 
 this charming abode. To her Sir Frederick has poured 
 out the incense of his admiration and given all the devo- 
 tion of his youth and manhood. Rumor says that many 
 charming women have tried to dispossess the muse, but 
 without success. 
 
 Sir Frederick Leighton is the beau ideal of an artist. 
 Handsome, distinguished, brilliant, witty, a man of the 
 world, yet absorbed in his art. He has the souffle* of gen- 
 ius, the strong individual and subtle nature which has 
 " light to see beyond the garments and the outer halls of 
 life into life itself." Many of his pictures epitomize a
 
 SIR JOHN EVERETT MILLAIS. 91 
 
 scene from the far-off pagan ages, an Andromeda, a 
 Psyche, a Daphne, a tragic poetess, all delicate, charming 
 creations, fresh with the freshness of a world in its spring- 
 time. The touch of truth is combined with the idealism 
 which makes our thoughts winged as we looked at them. 
 
 His picture, " The Bath of Psyche," now in the Acad- 
 emy, has been purchased by the Royal Academy, as it is 
 one of the choicest gems of modern art. 
 
 Sir John Everett Millais is another of these artist 
 princes. In his magnificent house in Palace Gate he has 
 some chef d'oeuvres which Sir Frederick does not possess, 
 viz., a beautiful wife and a whole bevy of lovely daugh- 
 ters. He was born an artist, as at the age of eight he re- 
 ceived a medal for his drawing from the antique. He is 
 just now painting a portrait of Mrs. Joseph Chamberlain, 
 ne'e Miss Endicott, of whom an Englishman said to me 
 the other day that she was the only American he had ever 
 seen who had absolutely no American accent. 
 
 To be painted by Millais gives a woman a cachet which 
 nothing else can. His portrait of the "Jersey Lily," 
 launched her on the world as a beauty, and his exquisite 
 picture, "No," made its original, Miss Tennant, now 
 Mrs. Stanley, famous at once. He has a real cult for 
 pretty faces ; he admires his wife, he admires his daugh- 
 ters, and paints them, and his brush finds inspiration in the 
 beauty around him. He has a very fine portrait of Glad- 
 stone and his grandson in the academy, also a landscape 
 with the inscription : 
 
 The moon is up and yet it is not night. Byron. 
 
 It suggests the stillness of evening and the melancholy 
 of autumn ; the tints are brown and there is the quiet, 
 pulseless air of the time when the noises of the day have 
 ceased and those of night have not begun.
 
 92 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 H. W. B. Davis is the finest animal painter in Eng- 
 land. Sir Frederick Leighton said of him that " nothing 
 could be better than his pictures." His picture, the 
 " Bealloch Na-Ba," shows us a herd of deer in the moun- 
 tains of Scotland. The mist is rolling off the tops and 
 sides of the hills and one of the deer stands with his mag- 
 nificent head slightly turned as if listening. Mr. Davis 
 has three pictures in the academy. They are all exquis- 
 itely painted. In the " Placid Morning on the Wye" the 
 animals live, the water flows placidly, there is movement 
 and life, but at the same time it breathes quiet and rest- 
 fulness. Mr. Davis lives in Landseer's old house, a beau- 
 tiful old place like an Italian villa, surrounded by a charm- 
 ing garden. 
 
 Each one of Mr. Davis' sketches, of which there are 
 many in his studio, is a gem. Every blade of grass, every 
 flower in among the marshy grass where cows love to 
 stand knee deep in verdure, is painted with the truthfulness 
 and artistic beauty which only an artist who loves nature 
 can give. 
 
 Grosvenor House, the Duke of Westminster's town 
 house, also contains a magnificent collection of pictures. 
 In the first drawing-room, a nobly-proportioned room 
 overlooking a large garden, is Gainsborough's famous 
 " Blue Boy." Some other artist had said to Gainsborough 
 that it was impossible to make artistic effects with blues. 
 To disprove this he painted the " Blue Boy," one of the 
 most exquisite bits of painting he ever did. There is also 
 a very beautiful portrait of Mrs. Siddons as " The Tragic 
 Muse," by Sir Joshua Reynolds, in the brown tones he so 
 much affected. The next room on the left is a small but 
 charming little boudoir, all in yellow, containing china so 
 exquisitely fine and delicate that it would be almost as 
 worthy of an ode as a Greek vase. The dining-room, still to
 
 GROSVENOR HOUSE. 93 
 
 the left of this room, is long, narrow and lofty, and the walls 
 are lined with almost priceless gems of art. We noticed 
 particularly a portrait of Vandyke painted by himself, 
 holding in his hand an enormous sunflower, its golden tint 
 harmonizing wonderfully with the handsome dark face of 
 the famous painter. He has the dreamy, refined face of the 
 artist, with all the grace and dash of a Spanish " caballero." 
 On the right of the first salon we entered is another large 
 room, a music-room, in which the duke of Westminster's 
 children and their friends were having a dancing lesson. 
 Still to the right of this is a magnificent ball-room, whose 
 walls are adorned by four great pictures by Rubens. 
 
 The duke of Westminster is probably the richest man 
 in the world, and, strangely enough, much of the money 
 came into the Grosvenor family with the bride of Sir Richard 
 Grosvenor, who inherited a large fortune from his uncle, 
 who was a lawyer in the time of Charles II. During the 
 plague numbers of people died who had left their title 
 deeds in his possession. As no one claimed them the 
 property remained in his hands. In this way, it is said, 
 the great Pimlico and Belgravia estates came into the pos- 
 session of the Grosvenor family. The present duchess of 
 Westminster is a very graceful and amiable woman. 
 
 We went to see Alma Tadema the other day in his 
 delightful house in St. John's Wood. He had just returned 
 from Germany, bringing with him a quantity of treasures 
 in the form of old embroideries. He is building a new 
 studio, a very large room with a golden dome, which, 
 when finished, will surpass in magnificence all the other 
 studios in London. The workmen have been working on 
 it a year now and it is not nearly completed. We took 
 tea in a quaint oak-paneled room with a charming little 
 Priscilla by George Boughton looking down on us, breath- 
 ing puritanism and winter. In Alma Tadema the poetic
 
 94 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 soul does not reveal itself in the outward material, as he is 
 short and rather stout, and merriment reigns supreme on 
 his countenance. The poetry all goes into his pictures, in 
 which the colors are as exquisitely delicate as those in the 
 wing of a butterfly. 
 
 We went through many intricate, winding paths to the 
 studio at the bottom of the garden, where the artist showed 
 us his last picture on the easel, called " A Promise of 
 Spring." A young girl is sitting on a marble bench under 
 an apple tree in full bloom. A youth bends over her, 
 whispering love in her ear. One of the ladies present said 
 to Mr. Tadema that there was no way of expressing in 
 music what this picture expresses. He replied that, the 
 idea of joy being paramount, it could be expressed in music 
 quite as well, but that he hoped he had as thoroughly 
 given to his picture the sentiment of joy and love and 
 springtime that even the most melancholy person could 
 not look at it without smiling. 
 
 England has 250 schools of art under the control of 
 the government. To these schools is due the enormous 
 advance which has been made in English art manufactures 
 and decorations. Even the designs for lace curtains are 
 made by pupils from these schools. Every year there is a 
 national competition between the various art schools, the 
 board of examiners consisting of civil engineers, architects, 
 practical designers and painters, all eminent in their own 
 line. Among the members this year were Messrs. Walter 
 Crane, G. Aitchison, A. R. A. E. J. Poynter, R. A.; 
 Hamo Thornycroft, R. A.; H. Graham Harris, M. I. C. 
 E., and a number of others. One gold medal was given 
 for a well-modeled frieze for a mantelpiece, another one 
 for designs for printed cotton hangings, another for designs 
 for carpets, one for designs for tiles, one for metal work, 
 three silver and six bronze medals for architectural designs,
 
 ENGLAND'S ART SCHOOLS. 95 
 
 and so on. From this brief account it can be seen what 
 an immense factor these schools have been in raising the 
 standard of taste in England. There should be a school 
 of this kind in every large city in the United States, estab- 
 lished and sustained by the Government. 
 
 The Italian opera has been more of a success this sea- 
 son in London than for many years. The boxes are all 
 subscribed for and some members of the royal family were 
 always present. The princess of Wales is particularly fond 
 of opera and would not miss one of the good nights for 
 anything else. When asked one day to open some char- 
 itable institution she replied, with her usual amiability : " I 
 will do anything during the day if only my opera be left 
 to me in the evening." The princess was usually accom- 
 panied by her daughters, the youngest of whom is a very 
 pretty girl, and also by the duke of Clarence and Avon- 
 dale, better known as Prince "Eddie," who, by the way, 
 has been very devoted to a beautiful American girl this 
 season. The duchess of Edinburgh was also very often 
 in the royal box. Covent Garden is such a dismal, old- 
 fashioned-looking place, so badly lighted and so unbecom- 
 ingly upholstered that we wonder why a new opera house 
 has not been built long ago. However, in a city where 
 there are no messenger boys, where after 8 o'clock in the 
 evening one cannot send a telegram without going to one 
 of the central stations, Victoria street or Charing Cross, 
 for example, where the telephone is a rarity, we need not 
 be surprised at any lack of enterprise. 
 
 The boxes are small in Covent Garden, only holding 
 four, of whom two can see very little. The curtains are 
 a dull red in color and there is simply no attempt at decor- 
 ation. The audiences, however, are much more enthusi- 
 astic than ours in America. The first night of the 
 " Prophet " was a great night ; every seat was filled and
 
 96 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 the most beautiful women in London adorned the boxes. 
 Among these was the duchess of Leinster, considered by 
 some people to be the handsomest woman in Europe. 
 She has a thoroughly Irish type of beauty (her mother 
 was an Irish woman), a delicate rose leaf complexion, jet 
 black hair and an exquisite mouth and teeth. 
 
 Lady Brooke, also one of the great beauties, was there 
 and our own American beauty, Mrs. Naylor-Leyland, 
 formerly Miss Jennie Chamberlain. All the American 
 girls with aspirations envy her, as she has won a husband, 
 who, although not the happy possessor of a title, has 
 40,000 a year and a magnificent house at Hyde Park 
 Gate. The opera was magnificently given. Great floods 
 of melody poured through the house, and Mme. Richard 
 with her grand contralto voice thrilled us with the sorrows 
 of the noble-hearted mother of the false prophet. The 
 Jean de Leyde of de Reszke is a superb creation. His pale 
 face seemed to shed a mild radiance around him and his 
 white robes and long reddish hair smoothly parted in the 
 middle and falling on each side of his face still further 
 added to the effect. Some of the scenes between him and 
 Mme. Richard were almost painful in their intensity. 
 
 Surely no greater opera than " Le Prophete " has ever 
 been written and no greater artists than Jean de Reszke 
 and Mme. Richard have ever interpreted it. The music 
 carries one away on waves of sound, further and further, 
 where every vibration is a new delight and swells higher 
 and higher, until it culminates in the wonderful triumphal 
 music of the crowning of the prophet. 
 
 The first time I saw Mme. Richard was in Saint-Saens' 
 opera, " Henry VIII.," at the Grand Opera in Paris. She 
 took the part of Anne Boleyn, and Krause made a mag- 
 nificent Katharine of Arragon. Jean de Reszke was also 
 singing in Paris at the Chdtelet, where Italian opera had
 
 GRAND OPERA AT PARIS. 97 
 
 been revived under the management of the great barytone, 
 Maurel. De Reszke was then a barytone, but some time 
 after developed, under the instruction of Sbriglia, I 
 believe, this magnificent tenor voice. Gayarre* was also 
 singing there at the same time, moving his audiences to 
 tears with those glorious tones which we shall hear no 
 more. I have never heard anything so exquisitely melo- 
 dious as his singing of the " In Terra Solo " in " Lucretia 
 Borgia." The audience used to rise like one person and 
 call him out time after time. 
 
 To return to Covent Garden, Nordica and Melba have 
 been the favorite prima donnas this season. It was Mel- 
 ba's first appearance in London, although she had been 
 singing in Paris with much success. She is an Australian 
 and very handsome, but much more effective off the stage 
 than on. She was at Mrs. Ronalds' last Sunday " at 
 home," as were also Mme. Nordica, Mr. and Mrs. Oudin, 
 Signor Perugini, Mr. Grossmith and a host of other artists. 
 Mr. Oudin sang one of Mr. Boscovitz's charming new 
 songs, " Three Knights of Old." The Oudins have been 
 singing everywhere this season with wonderful success 
 and Mr. Oudin has been engaged to sing one of the prin- 
 cipal roles in Sir Arthur Sullivan's new opera which will 
 be brought out in London in the autumn. They have 
 taken a house near Onslow Square and will remain in 
 London for the winter. Mme. Nordica has also a charm- 
 ing house in London, with a large garden, and furnished 
 with exquisite taste. In the drawing-room she has a 
 beautiful old chair given to her by the duke of Cambridge. 
 In the music room there are many souvenirs, each mark- 
 ing some successful period in her career. Among them 
 are the photographs of the prince and princess of Wales, 
 with their autographs. 
 
 One of the most delightful affairs of the season was the
 
 98 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 first night of Mr. Charles Wyndham's new play, " Sow- 
 ing and Reaping." It is a comedy sparkling with wit 
 and fun from beginning to end. Mr. Wyndham is inim- 
 itable, first as the gay bachelor, the hero of innumerable 
 love affairs, then as the jealous benedict, suspecting all his 
 friends of being in love with his wife, discovering a lover's 
 ruse in their most innocent actions and exclaiming, " I 
 know that trick; I have done it myself." 
 
 After the performance Mr. Wyndham gave a recep- 
 tion to about fifty of his friends on the stage. Still later 
 Mr. Ponsonby and Mr. Colnaqhi appeared in one of their 
 delightfully absurd melo-dramatic improvisations, which 
 ended a most charming evening. These two gentlemen 
 are amateurs, the former being the son of Sir Henry Pon- 
 sonby ; but they are so clever that the profession would be 
 only too glad to welcome them. As it is, they are con- 
 tinually acting for charity and for their friends. Among 
 the Americans present were Mr. and Mrs. Jack Gardiner, 
 of Boston; Mrs. Fernando Jones and Mr. and Mrs. de 
 Koven, of Chicago; Mr. Smalley, Mrs. Ellis, also of Bos- 
 ton, and Mr. and Mrs. Bronson Howard.
 
 XII. FRANKFORT. 
 
 1890. 
 
 Goethe and his Mother. Portrait of the Poet with the Face and 
 Figure of a young God. Favorite Friends of the Great 
 Genius. Miquel, Minister of Finance. At Ober-Ammer- 
 gau. Is the Passion Play Really Reverential? 
 
 Frankfort has two distinct sites, one modern and 
 cosmopolitan, the other ancient and full of reminders 
 of old German life. Many of the narrow streets are 
 as picturesque as they were in the days when they 
 were lighted only by oil lamps hung on ropes stretched 
 across them, or when Goethe, with the "face and 
 figure of a young god," was dreaming of new worlds of 
 science and philosophy to conquer, and looking love into 
 the eyes of the beautiful Maximiliane von La Roche, 
 Charlotte already half forgotten, although his feeling for 
 her inspired the great book which was the mouthpiece of 
 the vague unrest and despairing sentimentality of the end 
 of the eighteenth century. In one of these old Frankfort 
 streets is the house in which Goethe was born. His 
 mother was but eighteen. She says in one of her letters: 
 " I and my Wolfgang have always held fast to each other 
 because we were both young together." 
 
 As we wandered through the low-ceilinged rooms, 
 each one containing some memento of the great poet, we 
 fancied we could see the gay, pleasure-loving, sympathetic 
 young mother telling stories of fire spirits, water nymphs 
 and fairies, while the young Goethe listened, his large 
 
 99
 
 100 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 black eyes fixed upon her, fearing that he might lose a 
 word. 
 
 There is a portrait of Goethe in the house, taken when 
 he was a youth of two or three and twenty, which quite 
 justifies the enthusiasm of his contemporaries as to the 
 extraordinary beauty of his face and symmetry of his 
 figure. Wieland wrote of him, after meeting him at 
 Weimar: u How I loved that magnificent youth as I sat 
 beside him at the table ! All that I can say, after more 
 than one crisis which I have endured, is this : Since that 
 morning my soul is as full of Goethe as a dew drop of the 
 morning sun. * * * I believe the god-like creature 
 will remain longer with us than he intended." Heine 
 speaks of him as " a beautiful youth, all genius and strength 
 from head to foot, his heart full of feeling, his soul full of 
 fire and eagle- winged." 
 
 Frankfort was also the home of Lili, who with her 
 bright eyes and coquettish ways drew Goethe into many 
 of the festivities and gayeties going on among the worthy 
 Frankfort burghers, although much against his will, as we 
 may see from the following little poem he wrote to her : 
 
 With such magic web she binds me, 
 To burst through I have no skill, 
 
 All-absorbing passion blinds me, 
 Paralyzes my poor will. 
 
 In her charmed sphere delaying, 
 I must live, her will obeying; 
 Great, oh! great to me the change! 
 Love, oh free me! let me range! 
 
 Goethe,, like all poets, owed much to the women that 
 surrounded him. In the first place, he inherited his 
 romantic temperament and love of story-telling from his 
 mother, the Frau Aja; Charlotte inspired "Werther;" 
 Fraulein von Klettenberg, the " Confessions of a Beauti-
 
 EMPRESS FREDERICK. IOI 
 
 ful Soul;" Frederika, " Gretchen." Each gave a little 
 piece to the great mosaic of his genius. Unlike Dante and 
 Petrarch or the poets of Provence and chivalry who were 
 impelled to all deeds of nobility, virtue and heroism by the 
 platonic worship of one goddess, Goethe had many. 
 However, the ten best years of his manhood were given 
 to one, the Frau von Stein, to whom he wrote over a 
 thousand letters. Some of his exquisite lyrics were writ- 
 ten to his wife, Christine Vulpius, another deviation from 
 the paths of the poets of the middle ages. 
 
 The Frankfort of to-day is a fine city, with wide 
 streets, boulevards and magnificent public buildings. 
 Much attention has been drawn there of late by the ap- 
 pointment of the burgomaster, Dr. Miquel, to the posi- 
 tion of minister of finance by the young emperor. Dr. 
 Miquel is a finished orator, the founder of the famous 
 National Verein, and a liberal nationalist; he is even 
 accused of having been in his youth a follower of Karl 
 Marx. But age brings conservatism, and he is now a 
 moderate liberal. It is a strange fact that he comes from 
 a family of French emigrants, from whence perhaps 
 springs his facility of speech and versatility of talent. 
 
 The German people have not yet declared their opin- 
 ion of their new emperor they are waiting but he is 
 constantly gaining in popularity. It was difficult for them 
 to shake off the chains forged by Bismarck and strength- 
 ened by custom and success. The Iron Chancellor was 
 loved while he was feared. To conquer the affections while 
 he subjugated the will was one of Bismarck's tours de 
 force, and his charm of manner is as great to-day as it was 
 when Prosper Merimee and Motley wrote of him more 
 than a quarter of a century ago. 
 
 The Empress Frederick is cordially hated in Germany. 
 Marie Antoinette, in the palmy days of her youth and
 
 102 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 beauty, was not accused of more scandalous misdemeaners 
 than is Germany's ex-empress in the country of her adop- 
 tion. Of course, the fact that she brought an English 
 doctor to her dying husband is the cause of much of her 
 unpopularity. If physicians from every country in the 
 world had been imported to the bedside of General Gar- 
 field or General Grant, I do not think the American nation 
 would have taken it to heart. How absurd these petty 
 national jealousies seem, taken from the standpoint of the 
 wiser and nobler magnanimity to other peoples, which 
 has been the principal factor in making America what she 
 is, not only, as a great statesman in England said the other 
 day, the country of the future, but the country of the 
 present. 
 
 To go to Ober-Ammergau is to take many steps 
 toward realizing the Rousseauite ideal of a life as near to 
 nature as possible. Nothing can be more picturesquely 
 primitive than the village of Ober-Ammergau. Cows 
 wander through the streets, pavements and drainage are 
 unknown, but the air is balmy and the mountains surround 
 it like a frame. 
 
 The theatre where the Passion Play (the magnet which 
 draws all footsteps to this modern Bethany) is given is, 
 like the town, exceedingly primitive, the stage being 
 entirely in the open air, the seats uncushioned and only 
 the most expensive of them under cover. Each one of the 
 characters in the play has his humble calling of carpenter, 
 shoemaker or whatever it may be, and there is a legend 
 that in their everyday existence they seek, as far as possi- 
 ble, to lead the life of the characters they represent. The 
 Christ, for example, lives very much apart from his fel- 
 lows, surrounded by an atmosphere of seclusion and purity. 
 
 Even Judas betrays the unfortunate stranger, as he is 
 the agent of the ubiquitous Cook, and with fair words
 
 OBER-AMMERGAU. 103 
 
 sends one to lodge with seven other victims in a stable 
 without a qualm of conscience. It is a curious fact, how- 
 ever, that in the play Judas carries with him the sympathy 
 of the audience, as his remorse is so real and his situation 
 so hopeless that one forgets the crime in the expiation. 
 
 In personal appearance Mayer is the living representa- 
 tion of Leonardo da Vinci's masterpiece. He has the 
 long black hair, the olive coloring, the penetrating eyes, 
 the seriousness of expression and the dignity of mien of 
 of the Christ of the " last supper." It is no exaggeration 
 to say that he is a great actor. He illustrates the truth of 
 the old saying, " Ars est celare artem," " 'Tis art's func- 
 tion to conceal itself." His delineation of the character of 
 Christ is perfect in its, simplicity and repose. There are 
 no effects of stage lights, no ranting, no artificial aids, and 
 yet he holds his audience of 6,000 people through the nine 
 hours of the play, with the rain pouring or the sun shining 
 in its summer heat on their heads. The climax of this 
 great drama of the crucifixion is not at the scene of the 
 last supper or even when the Master is nailed to the cross, 
 but when he parts from Mary in Bethany. A sob went 
 through the great audience like a wave. The subtle touch 
 of nature which thrills every heart was there, and there 
 was scarcely a person in the audience who was not weep- 
 ing. 
 
 The empress of Austria, who was passing through 
 Ober-Ammergau on her sad pilgrimage to visit all the 
 places where her son had been on a tour which he made 
 a short time before his tragic death, seemed quite over- 
 come by the pathos of this parting between mother and 
 son. The tableaux which come in between the scenes are 
 wonderfully artistic in grouping, costuming and coloring. 
 
 " The Gathering of the Manna in the Wilderness " 
 was even more beautiful in artistic effect than Rubens'
 
 104 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 great picture in the duke of Westminster's gallery repre- 
 senting the same scene. 
 
 It has often been discussed whether or not this repre- 
 sentation of the passion and martyrdom of Christ has a 
 tendency to increase religious feeling. On the whole it 
 seems to us that it has not. We may idealize nature until 
 it is lost in art, but to merge the ideal in the real is to 
 destroy its essence. Christ to Christians is essentially a 
 supernatural being, a God, but in the play the god is lost 
 sight of in the sufferings of the man, and simply assumes 
 a place in our minds among the host of martyrs who have 
 died for humanity.
 
 XIII. BERNHARDT. 
 
 PARIS. 1890. 
 
 A New Play by Bernhardt as important as a Declaration of 
 War. Distinguished Critics Present. Marvelous Studies 
 in Color and Draperies. A Dream of Beauty. Incidental 
 Music by Xavier Leroux. 
 
 The production of a new piece by Sardou, with Sara 
 Bernhardt as its heroine, is almost as important an event 
 in Paris as a declaration of war would be in Germany or 
 the announcement of a corner on the board of trade in 
 Chicago. The literary world has been shaken with dis- 
 cussions as to whether the divine Sara's chameleon-like 
 nature would be capable of creating another great role, 
 and as to whether Sardou's facile pen would be equal to 
 another semi-barbaric tragedy. 
 
 The dress rehearsal, which commenced at the Porte 
 St. Martin Theatre yesterday at 2 o'clock in the afternoon 
 and lasted, with an interval for dinner, until 12 o'clock 
 last night, has solved the question. " Cleopatra " is a 
 wonderful production. Author and actress rise in har- 
 monious unison to the heights of greatness. As it is the 
 etiquette for the critics not to write their criticisms after 
 the " repetition ge'ne'rale," but to wait until the public has 
 been admitted, their edict has not yet gone forth, but 
 there is no doubt as to what it will be. 
 
 Upon receiving our tickets we drove to the theatre and 
 found perhaps a hundred people waiting, the doors still 
 
 105
 
 106 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 closed. Among them we distinguished many of the per- 
 sons who rule the artistic and literary world of Paris. 
 Upon reaching our loge, we found in the next loge on 
 our left Mme. Albani, the graceful and charming Ameri- 
 can prima donna of the Opera; next to her Albert Wolff, 
 the celebrated critic of Figaro, before whom all aspirants 
 to public favor tremble; although his pen is kindly and 
 his eye as full of merriment as a child's. A little further 
 on sat Jeanne Grainier, one of the three burlesque actresses 
 who deserve the name, a vision of beauty in a blue cape 
 and blue velvet " capeline " with black feathers. Near 
 her, intently watching the piece, were Marie Magnier, of 
 the Palais Royale, and Lavigne, who is the very spirit of 
 drollery. On our right sat Blowitz, of the London 
 Times, Campbell Clarke, of the Telegraph, and below, 
 in the orchestra chairs, all the celebrated critics of Paris, 
 among them Auguste Vitu, Maurice Lefevre and 
 Francois Sarcey. 
 
 Although Sara had determined to make her entre"e 
 walking, Sardou willed it otherwise, and she glides in repos- 
 ing on a galley of gold, surrounded with her slaves and cov- 
 ered with flowers. The sail of theboatis pink, and as bril- 
 liantly beautiful in color as some of the richly-tinted sails 
 of the Venetian fishing boats returning to the lagoons at 
 sunset. She is enveloped as only Sara knows how to 
 envelop herself in folds of blue crepe de chine, the color 
 of the sky, embroidered in topazes, amethysts, garnets, 
 turquoises and other precious stones. Her hair is dark 
 red, the color which is so fashionable now, and can only 
 be obtained by a certain dye; it falls in heavy ringlets, 
 and in this scene is ornamented with the sacred serpent of 
 Isis in gold and precious stones. Her skin is a warm 
 amber in tint ; she is the Cleopatra of our dreams. 
 
 In the next scene, the palace at Thebes, her costume is
 
 A DREAM OF BEAUTY. 107 
 
 of pink crepe de chine, her waist encircled by a gold ser- 
 pent with an emerald head and enameled scales. In this 
 scene a veritable Fellah danseuse executes her famous 
 national dance, with all its horrible contortions and wierd 
 fascination. One can see the rise and fall of the muscles 
 twisting themselves like snakes under the supple silk of 
 her costume, which falls in graceful folds to her feet. 
 
 The third scene, the terrace at Memphis by starlight, 
 is a dream of beauty and a triumph of scenic art. The 
 queen, surrounded by the mystery and the grandeur of the 
 desert, mourns the absence of her lover, and commands 
 silence that she may better listen to her heart speak. She 
 wears a costume of yellow crepe de chine embroidered in 
 gold, and gold sandals. Her toes, as well as her fingers, 
 are adorned with magnificent rings. The scene with the 
 messenger, in which the savage jealousy and wounded 
 dignity of the queen shines through the tenderness and 
 fidelity of the woman, is a marvel of acting. 
 
 In the fourth scene, the night before Actium, she is 
 brought in by slaves enveloped in a superb rug and con- 
 cealed behind the curtains of Marc Antony's couch. She 
 sits almost immobile, hidden by the draperies, during the 
 love scene between Octavia and Marc Antony, and after- 
 ward when Antony's comrades tell him of her infidelity 
 and rouse him to fury by their tales of her infamy; but 
 the most evanescent expression which flits across her face, 
 or her slightest gesture, is sufficient to epitomize a whole 
 gamut of emotions. Then comes the struggle to win back 
 her lover. She first commands his respect as a queen and 
 an ally, then uses all the witchery and enchantment for 
 which the name Cleopatra is the synonym to regain his 
 love. 
 
 The last scene is rather disappointing, as there is no 
 dramatic situation in it in which it is possible for Sara to
 
 108 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 rise to her full power as a tragedienne. The attempted 
 assassination of Octavius lacks force. The death scene 
 itself, however, is another of the great artistic triumphs. A 
 real asp is one of the dramatis personae and when Cleopatra 
 falls dead across the body of Marc Antony, the curtain 
 descends on this great duo d'amour which has survived 
 the centuries. 
 
 Incidental music is heard throughout the whole of the 
 piece. It was composed by M. Xavier Leroux, who car- 
 ried off the Prix de Rome five years ago and who is a 
 pupil of the illustrious Massenet. It is original and strik- 
 ing and shows that the young man has much talent. In 
 the first scene the flourish of sounds is produced by trum- 
 pets and trombones, and the combination of these two 
 instruments gives great power and effect to the music. 
 Then comes in Cleopatra, and the oriental coloring of her 
 entry is obtained by a combination of flutes, oboes, harps, 
 mustels (a small instrument with a keyboard composed of 
 glass squares), cystres and tambourines. The opening 
 bars are a bright, cheerful march, which is succeeded by 
 a melodious phrase in A major executed on flutes, clarin- 
 ettes and oboes. Presently other voices are heard ming- 
 ling with the quartet, and the whole, joining in with the 
 instrumentation of the commencement, gives the morceau 
 a sweet, melancholy chord. The music that precedes the 
 exit of Cleopatra with Antony is the same as for her entry. 
 
 In the second act the first number of the Bouffons bal- 
 let is a wild and at the same time comical rhythm in which 
 the thumping of tam-tams comes in from time to time, 
 while toward the end the refrain is accompanied by xylo- 
 phones, bells and cymbals. The second number is a series 
 of variations on a melody that has an oriental color, the 
 first variations being exclusively accompanied by tambou- 
 rines and cymbals, and all this for a sort of nautch dance,
 
 A SCENE ON THE NILE. 109 
 
 in the midst of which voices are heard which exalt the 
 feelings of the priestesses, who, gradually, more and more 
 animated by the sound of gongs and human cries, finish 
 their dance in an eddying whirl as the choruses chant the 
 sacred names of the gods of Egypt. The interlude in D 
 flat that follows this ballet is executed by the quartet and 
 harps, and there is an alto solo. The style of this music 
 is that which suits the oriental legends; it is a sort of 
 sweet, melodious phrasing of from eight to ten measures, 
 which are regularly broken by a like refrain on zith- 
 ers, harps, mustels, flutes and a cymbal. It is wholly des- 
 criptive and follows both the text and the pantomimic play 
 of Sara Bernhardt. In act three we see a chorus of women 
 passing along the banks of the Nile to an accompaniment 
 of harps and flutes ; but the morceau, though written in B 
 major, has no precise tonality, as it is completely composed 
 on the oriental major gamut, although it is raised two 
 tones above that key. This strange music accords well 
 with the scenery, which represents pyramids and sphynxes 
 at the back of the city of Memphis. 
 
 The flourishings of Roman and Egyptian trumpets are 
 frequently heard alternating and responding to each other 
 in the fourth act, and then in the fifth we have two inci- 
 dental melodramas coming from the temple of Typhon, 
 where the priests are at prayer. The invocation to Ty- 
 phon, which terminates this scene, is preceded by a march 
 of priests and priestesses to the accompaniment of harps 
 and flutes, which is interrupted by the distant rumbling of 
 thunder. Then the march is finished, and when the pro- 
 cession coming out of the temple is in place the invocation 
 begins, and the choruses respond to Cleopatra by repeat- 
 ing the strophes that she disclaims. This invocation is at 
 first heavy, grave and slow ; it increases in quickness grad- 
 ually, and while the orchestra symphonically develops the
 
 110 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 tempest that is rising the choruses go on augmenting little 
 by little in intensity until at last the whole terminates in 
 the midst of flashes of lightning and in magnificent out- 
 bursts of sonority. Finally, in the last scene of this act, 
 there is an interlude during the deaths of Anthony and of 
 Cleopatra, which incidental morceau is composed of a 
 fragment of the priestly prayers in the preceding scene 
 and by the interlude in D flat of the second act. 
 
 Alfred de Musset has said : " Rien ne nous rend si 
 grande qu'une grande douleur" (Nothing makes us so great 
 a great grief). Dido disappearing in a cloud of flame, suf- 
 fering the tortures of a death by fire rather than the tor- 
 ments of betrayed love ; Cleopatra with the asp at her 
 breast bravely facing the vastness of eternity ; Sappho 
 leaping from a lonely crag into the sea, appeal to our im- 
 aginations and compel our sympathy. Cleopatra has been 
 sung by great poets for centuries, because she is the sym- 
 bol of the power of that passion of which Schopenhauer 
 said that if there were but one more like it the world 
 would be reduced to chaos. A small soul is incapable of 
 love in its noblest form, the love which is the motive 
 power of the universe. 
 
 Cleopatra, the courtesan of Shakespeare, or the intel- 
 lectual queen of her latest biographer, Admiral Jurien de 
 la Graviere, had in her the little speck of divinity which 
 has burned through all these centuries. The power of 
 self-sacrifice, which has always been considered the great- 
 est of all, was hers. She had not the complex emotions 
 of the modern women ; she was swayed by the element- 
 ary but powerful passions which control the universe (am- 
 bition and love), their power unlessened by self analysis or 
 subtle reasoning as to right and wrong. 
 
 From Horace and Plutarch to Shakespeare, to Victor 
 Hugo and finally to M. Sardou the tradition of Cleopatra's
 
 BERNHARDT'S "LADY MACBETH." in 
 
 fatal charm and fascination has passed. Each one has 
 formed his own ideal and undoubtedly in M. Sardou's 
 there is much that is new and original. Every time that 
 Sara Bernhardt plays a new part she is herself recreated. 
 When we think of Theodora, no ideal figure rises up from 
 the mists of imagination, but Sara is before us as she stood 
 looking down on her prostrate lover, exclaiming, " Let all 
 Byzantium perish so long as I have him here." Sara's 
 Lady Macbeth differed entirely from the traditions of the 
 past, the sternness and masculine hardness of the Scotch 
 heroine being merged in the softness and snake-like grace 
 of her French interpreter. 
 
 Some recent actresses have done more to soil the mem- 
 ory of Egypt's queen than the dust of all the ages which 
 have passed over her grave to be swallowed up by time. 
 They have taken away our ideal of her without giving us 
 one return. 
 
 Sara, with her voice of gold, her lithe and symmetrical 
 body, her magnetism and her grace, has woven the scat- 
 tered traditions of the centuries into an exquisite and liv- 
 ing impersonation.
 
 XIV. VENICE. 
 
 1878. 
 
 The Great Doge Dandolo. Tyranny of the Medici. The Grand 
 Canal. Marino Faliero, the Treacherous Doge. Venice a 
 Teacher to the New World. 
 
 Like the Ancient Mariner we are afloat on a wilder- 
 ness of water where the warning cry of the gondolier and 
 the dipping of oars alone break the monotony. Our gon- 
 dola glides silently up to the marble palace, and we 
 descend the stone steps, carpeted with green sea weed, 
 which in times gone by have been trodden by noble Veni- 
 tians, whose memory has long since died away, like the 
 echo of their footsteps. Around, about and beneath us is 
 the sea. 
 
 The iron horse snorts and prances under the very eyes 
 of the winged lion of St. Marc, and while the lion speaks 
 to us of the past, and of those grand old days when Ven- 
 ice was mistress of the seas, waging wars against tyrants 
 and infidels, planting democracy in the impregnable for- 
 tresses of the sea, and rescuing the bones of the saints 
 from the desecration of the Saracen the other tells us of 
 a greater than Venice ever was, who stole away her pres- 
 tige on the sea and has built on the rocks a Republic 
 which was not writ in water. 
 
 But one does not come to Venice to hear of progress, 
 but to gather wisdom from the Apocalyptic lion who has 
 seen generations pass away ; who has looked down from 
 
 112
 
 DOGE DANDOLO. 113 
 
 the summit of his granite column upon the Doges and 
 Dogheressas as they passed through the magnificent Porta 
 della Casta, in and out of the ducal palace ; upon the 
 Council of Forty ; the ominous Ten ; and the inexora- 
 ble Inquisitors, and upon those, too, who to-day passed 
 before him in all the pride of rank and fame, and to-mor- 
 row, accused by a slip of paper secrectly inserted into that 
 fatal receptacle in the palace, known as the Lion's Mouth, 
 went up the Giant's staircase and passed across the Bridge 
 of Sighs, to descend into those dark and gloomy prisons, 
 whose only outlet for them was a small, arched gate, 
 hardly large enough to admit of their headless trunks be- 
 ing lowered into the waiting gondola. A darker and more 
 forbidding pile than those prisons can hardly be imagined. 
 Its heavy, black masonry, washed bv the flowing and ebb- 
 ing sea ; its windows crossed and recrossed by massive 
 iron bars, tell us more plainly than words can speak that 
 all who enter there left hope behind. The first tells us 
 that the very column on which he stands is a lasting mon- 
 ument to the bravery of Venice's bravest Doge, Dandolo, 
 who at the age of 92, after the conquest of Constantinople, 
 then the greatest metropolis in the world, received it as 
 part of the spoils, as well as the four bronze horses which 
 to this day stand on the fa9ade of Saint Marc's cathedral, 
 after having been taken to Paris by the First Napoleon 
 and returned after the fall of the empire. 
 
 One still sees his house on the grand canal small and 
 modest compared with the magnificent palaces which sur- 
 round it on every side, but from it to the Ducal Palace 
 went Venice's greatest Doge and most victorious general. 
 Not far from here lived for a short time the Florentine 
 patriot, Philip Strozzi, who fled from his native city from 
 the tyranny of the Medici, and took refuge in Venice, 
 bringing with him his beautiful daughter, of whom Savona-
 
 114 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 rola, then a grave and serious student, was so deeply 
 enamored that he followed her to Venice. The lion tells 
 us how the young student was wont to pass before him in 
 the warm summer evenings, with his head bent thought- 
 fully downward and seemingly alone amidst the gay 
 throng which was wont to assemble in this great rendez- 
 vous of all Venice. But when the fair Strozzi appeared, 
 his whole attitude changed, and he ceased to ponder upon 
 those studies on which his mind was always fixed. Thus 
 he strengthened the unhappy passion which proved the 
 turning point of his life, and changed him from the 
 thoughtful student into a monk, the most self-sacrificing 
 and devoted of the brotherhood in the old Florentine 
 monastery, the unknown youth into the greatest orator 
 and greatest martyr of the Catholic church. The lion tells 
 us that Venice always rewarded her patriots with the 
 highest honors ; her great generals who did not die sword 
 in hand were generally elected Doge, and the families of 
 those who were slain in battle she rewarded in the most 
 magnificent manner. But she punished her traitors, for 
 here on the very steps of the ducal palace Marino Faliero, 
 the treacherous Doge, was beheaded, and we see now in 
 the palace the place where once hung his portrait, draped 
 in black, and upon it in golden letters these words : "Hie 
 esi locus Marini Falieri decapitate pro criminibus" He 
 tells us also that he saw here exposed between the column 
 on which he stands and its companion, the body of that 
 unfortunate victim of the mistaken zeal of the council of 
 Ten, Antonio Foscarini, ambassador at various courts and 
 later a senator. He was accused of treason and convicted 
 but after his execution his chief accuser having been sum- 
 moned before the council for other crimes, Foscarini's in- 
 nocence was proved and the Ten moved with horror and 
 grief did all in their power to reinstate his memory, and
 
 VENICE AND THE NEW WORLD. 115 
 
 erected a great monument to him in the church of the 
 Frati. The lion also tells us that clerical misdemeanors 
 were punished by placing their victims in iron cages and 
 suspending them in the air from that beautiful tower, the 
 campanile, which is one of the jewels of the piazza. There 
 they were abandoned until hunger and exposure should do 
 their work. With an exclamation of horror we turned to 
 look at the beautiful structure, and then say to the lion : 
 " Ah, well, if we of the new world have no Titians and 
 Tintorettos, no Bellinis and Veroneses, no great temples, 
 barbaric trophies and other monuments of by-gone ages, 
 we at least can claim in compensation kinder hearts and 
 more humane instincts." 
 
 " No," replies the lion, " we will not give our beautiful 
 piazza with its marble arches, its tower reaching to the 
 sky, our St. Marc with its 40,000 square feet of mosaics, 
 its 500 columns of porphyry and verd antique, its Ma- 
 donnas, painted on purest gold incrusted with rarest jewels, 
 its pearl altars and magnificent marbles, our churches with 
 their treasures of art, in return for your boasted progress 
 as depicted so short a time ago by the cruelties practiced 
 upon the helpless negroes on your Southern plantations, 
 and upon your prisoners of war in the Andersonville and 
 Libby prisons, and even now by the atrocities perpetrated 
 against the black man to prevent him from profiting by 
 the liberty so dearly bought. You of the new world must 
 not flatter yourselves too much, for while you have none 
 of these exhaustless fountains of inspiration to which 
 lovers of art from every nation on the globe as pilgrims 
 turn their footsteps, yet your history will bear upon its 
 pages as many blots as ours, and future ages as they read 
 will shudder as you do now. And not only the lovers of 
 art find inspiration in Venice, for what city has afforded 
 so much material and inspiration to poets and romancers?
 
 n6 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 Here Shakespeare found the Jew of Rialto, the learned 
 Portia, the jealous Moor, and the fair Desdemona, Byron 
 his Bridge of Sighs, and later it inspired some of Rogers' 
 most poetic verse, and Dickens' weird and impressive 
 dream." 
 
 We felt that we could not answer, and turning thought- 
 fully away to our gondola, we were borne through laby- 
 rinths of small canals with ancient palaces on either side, 
 under picturesque century-old bridges of stone spanning 
 
 ,^r 
 
 the narrow streets, until at last we stopped before one as 
 gray and ancient as the rest, Petrarch's house, a gift from 
 the Republic in return for the magnificent library he gave 
 to the people. Here lived the poet, who, a true Italian, 
 had but one motive in his life, love, which he embodied 
 forth in sonnets so enchanting, and, tho' with but one 
 theme, so varied in language and conceit, that each time 
 we read them we find new beauties and return to them 
 again and again. 
 
 The grand canal opens amidst a line of magnificent 
 palaces, built, as says a celebrated French author, " each 
 one apart and for itself but having assembled without 
 wishing it to beautify." Every style of architecture is 
 here, the middle age with its trellised balconies and rich 
 sculptured windows ; the gothic in all its fantastic beauty 
 and its lace work of marble ; that of the Renaissance with 
 its antique columns ranged one above the other. But 
 the rich marble and gorgeous mosaics are gray with age, 
 and only regain the fresh beauty and brilliant coloring of 
 their youth when for an instant the setting sun illuminates 
 them with his slanting rays. But the majesty of age and 
 the pathetic grandeur of decay suit better Venice and her 
 fallen fortunes, and she is so perfect as she is that we 
 could not wish her changed, even to regain the magnifi- 
 cence of the past.
 
 BEAUTIFUL BIANCA CAPPELLO. 1 17 
 
 Amid the palaces is one which the Republic bestowed 
 upon Catharine Cornaro, queen of Cyprus, who was so 
 patriotic that when her husband died bequeathing to her 
 the kingdom, she gave it to Venice, that same kingdom 
 which so lately an illustrious English statesman has 
 wrested from the barbarous Turks and given again to a 
 queen. Titian has immortalized the act in a beautiful 
 painting, representing her as giving the crown to Venice. 
 
 A little farther on we see before us the palace in which 
 once lived the beautiful Bianca Cappello. We see the 
 very door from which she stole away in the gray dawn of 
 morning with her lover, Pietro Bonaventuro, whom she 
 married soon after in Florence. He was a member of a 
 great mercantile house, and consequently far below her in 
 birth and station, and such a crime was it for a daughter 
 of the Venetian nobility, the proudest in the world, thus to 
 demean herself that she was forever banished from her 
 native city, and a price put upon her husband's head. She 
 lived in Florence in an obscure position until chance made 
 her known to the Grand Duke, Francesco de Medici. Her 
 influence upon the house of the Medici was soon manifest 
 and her life from that time was but a tissue of ruses and 
 intrigues. Her husband was soon destined to lose his life 
 mysteriously, assassinated, it is supposed, followed by the 
 vengeance of her family, for in ancient Venice, if a noble 
 lady married thus one inferior to her, the head of the 
 family was pledged by a fearful oath to kill her husband, 
 herself and her children, even if he were forced to follow 
 them to the end of the earth, and failing to do this other 
 members of the family were pledged to take his life. 
 After the death of his wife, the Grand Duchess of Austria, 
 more and more fascinated by the beautiful Venetian, the 
 Grand Duke married her. Venice then recognized her as 
 a " daughter of the Republic." Bianca for a long time
 
 Il8 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 directed the affairs of Florence with great cleverness. Her 
 life was destined to end as tragically as the unfortunate 
 Pietro's, for she and the Grand Duke were both poisoned at 
 a magnificent banquet, it is supposed by his brother, the 
 cardinal. 
 
 Further on, opposite the island of Murano, is the mag- 
 nificent house which once belonged to Titian, and where 
 he lived for many years. There assembled around him all 
 there was noble and renowned in Venice, then so power- 
 ful and so glorious. Titian was at this time at the zenith 
 of his glory. He was the idol of his countrymen. Fab- 
 ulous sums were paid for his pictures and so great was his 
 fame that Henry III., when visiting Venice, hastened to 
 seek him whom he called " the greatest of all the marvels 
 of Venice." What visions of beauty does the very name 
 of Titian bring up before us ; forms of such marvelous 
 lovelinesss that it scarcely seems possible that a human 
 hand can have created them. While regarding them we 
 are constrained to exclaim with his ancient rival and ene- 
 my, Pordenone, " This is not paint ; it is flesh." 
 
 After all what pleases us most in Venice is not her pal- 
 aces, her churches, her great pictures, her wonders of 
 architecture, because other cities possess these in greater 
 or less degree, but the dolcefar niente of gliding about in 
 the gondola, dreaming of the past through the long sunny 
 days and the starlit nights, or listening to snatches of song 
 coming from the open casements as we move quietly and 
 noiselessly like shadows in the bright moonlight. Venice 
 then rises before us in all her loveliness. Santa Maria 
 della Salute emerges from out the sea like a great exotic, 
 the marble saints upon her fa9ade are softened by those 
 mellow rays and seem to smile upon us, and beckon us to 
 come and worship as we drift slowly past. The beauty 
 of these magnificent old palaces is enhanced by those clear
 
 AN OLD TIME SCENE. 119 
 
 rays, and seem to us to be peopled with spirits out of the 
 past. We seem to be in a city of the dead ; we see shad- 
 owy forms in the quaint old gothic windows, and the 
 richly carved balconies which have stood there for centu- 
 ries ; we seem to see noble Venetian ladies in rich gar- 
 ments of a long forgotten fashion leaning from the balco- 
 nies listening to cavaliers in doublets of velvet broidered 
 with gold and pearls, as they sing some canzonette in the 
 sweet Venetian dialect, accompanied by the quaint, sweet 
 strains of the guitar ; we seem to see the lights of thou- 
 sands of gondolas reflected in the clear and limpid waters ; 
 but now the moon disappears and when she comes from 
 under the jealous clouds all that fair throng has vanished 
 and we are alone upon the bosom of the sea.
 
 XV. ADDRESS PARIS. 
 
 1878. 
 
 DISCOURS DE MLLE. GRAHAME JONES. 
 
 Address by Genevieve Grahame Jones at the Interna- 
 tional Women's Rights Congress, Paris, 1878, where, 
 with little notice, she took the place of the mother who 
 was too ill to speak. 
 " Monsieur le President, 
 
 "Amis, compatriotes et confreres du Congres interna- 
 tional re"uni spour discuter le droit des femmes, permettez- 
 moi de vous exprimer la sympathie de 1'Association 
 Nationale d'Ame"rique que j'ai 1'honneur de repre*senter. 
 
 "Je vous fe"licite de ce jour important et sublime, de 
 cette ville si propice a la reunion du Congres. 
 
 "Paris, e"blouissant sous son monarque; centre de la 
 beaute", 'du ge"nie et de la chevalerie; plein d'attraits a 
 l'e"poque ou 1'empereur tenait le monde dans 1'enchante- 
 ment, Paris est aujourd 'hui sans roi, sans empereur, sans 
 cour, plus grand, plus beau, plus influent que jamais! 
 
 "Anjourd'hui, Paris est le point vers lequel les pe"lerins 
 de toutes nations dirigent leurs pas impatients ; la brise 
 embaume'e nous arrive, charged des dialectes de tous les 
 pays. 
 
 "Non-seulement tous les produits des diffe"rents points 
 de la terre sont repre'sente's aux nombreux congres tenus 
 pendant cette grande fte de la liberte", de la paix et du 
 travail, mais encore chaque noble pense*e, chaque ide"e 
 nouvelle, chaque motif e'leve' y est expos aux yeux du 
 
 120
 
 ADDRESS AT PARIS. 121 
 
 monde. Arts, musique, literature, science, religion, Edu- 
 cation, philosophic, travail, chacun a eu ses avocats e*lo- 
 quents. 
 
 "A cette Epoque ou les grands de la terre se re"unissent 
 pour penser et discuter, quand chaque esprit et chaque 
 conscience n'ont que de nobles aspirations, combien il est 
 a propos que la femme trouve des auditeurs et des avocats; 
 la femme, dont le travail, la richesse, 1'intelligence ont 
 cimente" chaque pierre des monuments ElevEs par les 
 hommes; la femme qui hait la guerre, qui a 6t6 opprimde, 
 qui veillait lorsqu'on dormait, qui travaillait pendant qu'on 
 tuait et volait, la femme qui est morte en prison et sous la 
 guillotine pour la liberte 1 . 
 
 " Comme enfant d'AmeYique, j'aime et je revere la 
 France. Nous ne pouvons pas oublier La Fayette, quoi- 
 que cent ans se soient e'coule's, depuis que la ge'ne'reuse 
 France 1'envoya a notre aide, lorsque nous luttions pour 
 la libertE ; comme femme, je me glorifie en elle. Toute 
 vraie femme aime et honore la France; la France, dont le 
 sol fertile engendre et nourrit les ide"es de progres, en d^pit 
 des rois, des empereurs, des prtres ou des tyrans; la 
 France, patrie du savant et du penseur; la France, asile 
 gEne"reusement ouvert aux femmes qui cherchaient les 
 avantages intellectuels qu'on leur refusait dans leur pays; 
 la France qui obligea la rEpublicaine AmErique et 1'Angle- 
 terre civilised a ouvrir leurs institutions aux femmes; la 
 France, patrie d'une quantite* de femmes dont le g^nie 
 e'leve', les vies Edifiantes, et les morts he>oiques ont encour- 
 age", inspirE celles qui essayaient de se de"livrer des entraves 
 ignominieuses que la suite des siecles avaient rive"es apres 
 elles. 
 
 "II est done naturel que les femmes de toutes les 
 nations se re"unissent sur le sol libre de la France, pour 
 publier a la face du monde la Declaration de leurs droits.
 
 122 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 "Aujourd'hui nous joignons les mains, et nous consac- 
 rons nos coeurs a la cause sacr^e de Emancipation des 
 femmes ; aujourd'hui nous nous r^unissons pour remercier 
 la France de ses femmes superieures dont les nobles 
 paroles nous arrivent sans cesse et qui viennent jusqu' a 
 present, nous guider et nous encourager. 
 
 "Au nom des femmes de mon pays, qui ont inaugure" 
 et dirigent le mouvement du droit des femmes en Ame"- 
 rique; au nom de ces dloquents et ardents avocats de la 
 liberte", aussi bien pour les hommes que pour les femmes, 
 pour les noirs comme pour les blancs ; au nom des officiers 
 de 1'Association nationale d' Ame'rique; au nom de ces 
 nobles femmes, Lucretia Mott, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, 
 Susan B. Anthony, je salue les femmes de France et du 
 monde assemblies a ce Congres, et je leur souhaite la 
 protection de Dieu. 
 
 " Lorsque nous nous rappelons ce qui a 6t6 fait par les 
 femmes de tous les pays, nous nous sentons le courage de 
 tenter de nouveaux efforts. En Ame'rique, nous avons 
 accompli des merveilles, et cependant nous demandons 
 davantage; nous demanderons jusqu'a ce que nous ayons 
 1'^galite" dans 1'Etat, dans 1'Eglise, dans la maison. 
 
 " II y a vingt ans, la femme n'entrait dans les cours de 
 justice qu'en criminelle, maintenant elle y entre en avocat 
 pour plaider la cause de.la justice et invoquer 1'esprit de la 
 cle"mence. II y a vingt ans la femme n'entrait dans 
 une chambre de malade qu'en qualite" de garde, peu 
 re'mune'r^e; maintenant c'est un conseiller, un ami, un 
 me"decin en qui 1'on a confiance. 
 
 "Aujourd'hui, elle est, sous beaucoup de rapports, 
 IMgale de 1'homme; demain elle le sera a tous les points de 
 vue. 
 
 " Qui peut pre"dire 1'influence que ce Congres aura sur
 
 ADDRESS AT PARIS. 123 
 
 1'avancement de la femme, sur cet avancement vers la par- 
 faite e'galite' que demandant la justice et 1'humanite 1 ? 
 
 " Femmes de France et de tons les pays, ayez bon courage 
 et continuez a vous occuper activement de cette cause, car 
 de 1'e'le'vation de la femme depend le progre"s du monde!" 
 
 (Bra-vos prolonges.)
 
 XVI. COQUELIN. 
 COQUELIN IN CHICAGO. 
 
 The Chicago Morning News requested criticism in 
 French of the performance of M. Coquelin and Mrs. Grant 
 wrote on invitation as follows: 
 
 Quand on se dit Parisien, c'est avec le me'me sentiment 
 d'orgueil qu'on disait autrefois civ is romanus sum. On le 
 considere quasi comme titre d'honneur, puisque Paris est 
 le centre de la civilisation moderne. Quand on est cou- 
 ronnd artiste a Paris, tout est dit, le monde entier accepte ce 
 jugement sans question. Mais, quand on est a la fois 
 artiste et Parisien, comme Monsieur Coquelin, la combi- 
 naison ne laisse rien a de"sirer. Sa demarche a la fois 
 l^gere et gracieuse qui rapelle le boulevard, son sourire 
 moqueur, reflet de tant de bons-mots, dits ou entendus par 
 lui dans cette socie'te' Parisienne, ou 1'esprit est le seul 
 souverain, ce haussement d'e"paules qui exprime mille 
 choses, mais qui ne compromet pas, la purete" classique de 
 son francais, ses gestes pleins de grace, fideles serviteurs 
 qui expriment ses pense"es aussi bien que feraient les 
 paroles tout montre le vrai Parisien. II est maitre de 
 toutes les finesses de la langue franyaise, cette langue 
 pleine de sous-entendus, de nuances dedicates qu'il faut 
 saisir au vol, de phrases courtes, mais riches en significa- 
 tion. L'art est toujours 1'imitation de la nature, mais imi- 
 ter bien n'est pas tout. Une photographic en est une imi- 
 tation bien exacte, mais pour cela elle n'est pas une ceuvre 
 
 124
 
 COQUELIN IN CHICAGO. 125 
 
 d'art. II faut que chaque oeuvre d'art ait cette touche de 
 vie que seulement 1'homme de ge"nie sait donner. Dans 
 les livres, dans les peintures, sur la scene, dans la musique, 
 si 1'artiste ne sait pas donner cette touche magique, son 
 travail restera toujours mediocre. Monsieur Coquelin la 
 donne toujours. Nous rions, nouspleurons avec le bon Noel, 
 ce vieux serviteur deVoue", simple comme un enfant, mais 
 se croyant un vieux renard de ruse. C'est un type qui 
 malheureusement n'existe plus, excepte" peut-etre dans 
 quelques vieux chateaux perdus au fond de province. 
 Monsieur Coquelin, ce Parisien des Parisiens, disparait, 
 nous oublions le grand artiste, nous ne voyons que le bon 
 vieux domestique. C'est la plus grande preuve du ge"nie 
 de Monsieur Coquelin qu'il puisse se faire oublier. 
 
 Quand le rideau se leve sur "Les Pr^cieuses Ridicules " 
 nous nous trouvons en plein dix septieme siecle. Mme. 
 de Rambouillet, la belle Julie, Mlle.de Scuddry, Racan ex- 
 istaient encore et donnaientce ton de raffinement a la societe 
 fran$aise qui la domine jusqu'aujourd'hui. On bannissait 
 tout ce qui e"tait mate'rialisme, on che>issait le beau. On 
 inventait ces nouvelles paroles dont on discutait les me"rites et 
 les de"me>ites pendant des soirees entieres. Chaque cavalier 
 avait sa dame qu'il adorait plus ou moins platoniquement 
 pendant des anne'es, qu'il addressait plutot comme de"esse 
 que comme femme. On ne s'e"tonne done pas que 
 Mesdemoiselles Cathos et Madelon trouverent qu'un 
 roman qui de"butait par le manage, e"tait peu romanesque, 
 surtout quand leurs ide"es e"taient formers d'apres les romans 
 de Mile ScudeYy qui ne trouvait pas trente volumes suffi- 
 sants pour raconter les amours de ses heroines et de leurs 
 galants. 
 
 On cherchait a se perfectionner dans tout ce qu'il y avait 
 de beau de pogtique de raffing. Cet esprit se re"pandit dans 
 toute la France, et dans " Les Prdcieuses Ridicules" nous
 
 126 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 en voyons les fruits. Meme les valets cultivaient le bel- 
 esprit en imitant leurs maitres. Mascarille est 1'incarna- 
 tion de la drdlerie. Encore M. Coquelin s'efface et Mas- 
 carille creation de 1'art du XVIIieme siecle, reparait au 
 dix-neuvieme, aussi frais, aussi malin, aussi plaisant qu'il 
 I'e'tait dans les premiers jours de sa creation, rendu a une 
 vie nouvelle par le ge'nie de M. Coquelin. 
 
 Nous conseillons aux dames qui frisent le ridicule en 
 posant comme femmes lettr^es quand elles ne sont que des 
 pe"dantes, de saisir cette occasion de bien e"tudier " Les Pre"- 
 cieuses Ridicules." Si nous avions un Moliere parmi nous, 
 il trouverait sans difficult^, m6me en ne s'^cartant pas de 
 la veYite*, de quoi e"crire quelque chose de tout aussi amu- 
 sant sur nos Pr^cieuses d'aujourd'hui.
 
 LETTERS.
 
 XVII. LETTERS. 
 
 From Frederick Leighton : 
 
 NAPLES, September 20, 1892. 
 
 DEAR MRS. GRANT : Your very amiable note of the 
 first reaches me, you see, in Italy. Let me at once say 
 with what sincere pleasure I learn that the grave appre- 
 hensions you had been led to entertain in regard to your 
 health have proved illusory, and that you are now again 
 well and strong, an announcement on which I base a hope 
 that you will some day, allow me again to show you the 
 studio of which you are good enough to retain a pleasant 
 memory. As regards your question and your request, I 
 will say of the first that the moulding of the natures of 
 the extremely young is the most weighty and pregnant of 
 all tasks. Are they not the ones out of which the coming 
 generations will be directly and indirectly fashioned? And 
 of the second, that I will gladly aid your work by making 
 and signing a little sketch in black and white lines as 
 that is what you require but must ask you to wait for it 
 till I return to England in October. 
 
 I am very glad that my " Hesperides" gave you pleas- 
 ure; it may interest you to know that they will be seen, I 
 hope at Chicago, where I am anxious to be well repre- 
 sented. 
 
 Pray remember me kindly to Mrs. Palmer and give 
 my love to Hattie Hosmer, my old friend. 
 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 FRED LEIGHTON. 
 127
 
 128 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 From "Max O'Rell" (Paul Blouet): 
 
 MILWAUKEE, March 7, 1888. 
 
 DEAR MRS. GRANT : I was a little annoyed, when 
 getting out of the cab you kindly got for me last night, to 
 see that it had been ordered at your expense. It will make 
 me more careful in future to engage a cab myself. 
 
 May I beg your acceptance of a little volume of School 
 Recollections, published in New York a few days ago? 
 I hope that your knowledge of French will enable you to 
 enjoy a few striking examples of " French as she is tra- 
 duced." 
 
 Please to remember me kindly to your family. Believe 
 me, dear Mrs. Grant, with kind regards, 
 
 Yours very sincerely, 
 
 PAUL BLOUET. 
 
 From Wilson Barrett: 
 
 ST. Louis, February 10, 1890. 
 
 DEAR MRS. GRANT : I could not shake the smoke- 
 dust of Chicago from my hat without sending my warm- 
 est regards to your whole household. 
 
 I was much troubled by Miss Eastlake's illness and 
 the consequent changes of cast and programme. I had 
 to play nine times during the week, and so had no time to 
 devote to my friends. It was a loss to me not to see you 
 all again. 
 
 Will you tell me what you thought of " Now-a-days?" 
 Exactly what you think. 
 
 Please give my kindest regards to mamma and to my 
 friends, and believe me, 
 
 Faithfully, 
 
 WILSON BARRETT.
 
 LETTERS. 129 
 
 From George P. Lathrop to Mrs. Grant : 
 
 NEW LONDON, CONN., March 12, 1890. 
 
 MY DEAR MRS. GRANT: I hope you will pardon 
 me for my own loss in not having called upon you after 
 the charming luncheon which you so kindly gave in honor 
 (I suppose) of my humble self. My time in Chicago was 
 very short, considering the many things there were to be 
 done; and I think you will understand, readily, how I 
 became so tangled in business and social engagements 
 already formed, that it was at last impossible to make the 
 calls which I had wished to make. 
 
 This note must be my pour prendre conge; but please 
 don't pun upon it and call it a poor excuse. 
 
 I trust there may be opportunity in the not distant fu- 
 ture for me to come to Chicago again, and present myself 
 instead of a letter. I will send this in care of Major 
 Kirkland, since I have not your precise address at hand. 
 Very cordially yours, 
 
 G. P. LATHROP. 
 
 From Remenyi, the violinist, to Mrs. Grant : 
 
 JANUARY 4, 1893. 
 
 A happy new year to you, my dear Mrs. Grant, and 
 give the same wish to Mrs. Jones. 
 
 From your very devoted old gentleman fiddler, 
 
 ED. REMENYI. 
 
 From Sir Frederick Leighton to Mrs. Grant : 
 
 2 HOLLAND PARK ROAD, 
 
 KENSINGTON, W. 
 
 MY DEAR MRS. GRANT: I read with unfeigned re- 
 gret what you tell me about your health. I gather that 
 you are about to leave this damp island at once. I trust 
 that you will derive as much benefit as pleasure from
 
 130 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 your stay in the south ( I should " opt " for Egypt if I 
 were you a dahabeah on the Nile), and you will return 
 to us strong and well next season. Meanwhile I remain, 
 with kind regards to Mrs. Fernando Jones, 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 FRED LEIGHTON. 
 
 From Morris Moore to Mrs. Grant : 
 
 HOME, Christmas Eve, 1875. 
 
 And so, faithless Miss Genevieve (yes, faithless) you 
 complain of my having reserved no place for your 
 Mightiness in my penultimate letter to your mamma. 
 Pray did you find any place in hers especially for me ? I 
 feel having been cruelly used by you ; neither more nor 
 less than jilted. True, some of the blame rests on my 
 being a prosy old fellow, and not one of those gay cava- 
 liers who sang sonnets and sighed under your balcony. 
 
 I should be very angry with you if you were not such 
 a fascinating little maiden, so fond of home and Italy. 
 We daily speak of you more or less, but oftener more. 
 Your portraits are en evidence on the table in our sitting- 
 room. We too, think of your "walking" in, and most 
 earnestly wish it. Methinks I see you there shedding 
 from those blue eyes a sweet light upon dark old algebra. 
 How jolly the old science must feel at such a flirtation. 
 
 I enclose you an account of our platonic banquet on 
 the 6th inst., with Count Maniani's speech in full, 
 and Morris' Latin distich. I also regret with your 
 mamma and you that the Apollo and Marsyas and the 
 Michel Angelo are not to be placed in a public gallery in 
 America. I fear it is as your eminent art critic C. C. 
 says, that America is still buying canvases, not master- 
 pieces. Charles Elliot Norton, that consummate con- 
 noisseur and critic, has long been trying to arouse Ameri-
 
 LETTERS. 131 
 
 cans to the importance of securing the Apollo for Amer- 
 ica. He met with the same lack of appreciation that your 
 mamma complains of. The Apollo will undoubtedly go 
 to the Louvre, the Michel Angelo to Vienna. To- 
 morrow, Christmas Day, we dine with the Maniani's. 
 Last Friday we went to tea at the Grand Duke of Leuch- 
 tenbourg's. I there met a grande signore who asked me 
 when the signorina Americana, who resembles an angel 
 of Botticelli, was coming back. We like your compa- 
 triots, the Consul General and Madame Dahlgren very 
 much. We went to them last Saturday ; they inquired 
 for you. 
 
 And, now, gentle Fairy of the Lake, I must tell you 
 that I never pass that balconial first floor in the Corse 
 without looking wistfully up and fancying you all there. 
 We miss your youthful sweetness and gaiety in this 
 ancient city, and trust you will soon leave that rude cli- 
 mate and return to sunny Italy, where you naturally 
 belong. 
 
 Love to yourself, the Messieurs Jones, j>ere etjHs^ and 
 to her dainty ladyship, your mamma. All of this from 
 Morris and myself. 
 
 Believe me truly and affectionately yours, 
 
 MORRIS MOORE. 
 
 From Emily Faithful to Mrs. Grant : 
 
 50 NORFOLK SQUARE, HYDE PARK, Saturday. 
 
 DEAREST GENEVIEVE: We talk of you continually, 
 but have been so driven and worried, with the house 
 crammed, and this miserable lawsuit, that sometimes I 
 don't know how to get on. 
 
 I start for the North on Thursday for a five weeks' 
 lecturing tour, and my lectures are not yet completed. 
 Poor Pat is quite overdone. Altogether we have not
 
 132 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 been cheerful. Poor Lady Franklin is very ill. I am 
 quite anxious about her. She always inquires for you, as 
 does also Lady Brassey, and your many London friends. 
 If you will answer at once, and tell me where to direct, 
 we will both write to you while on our travels. We 
 never forget how happy your mamma made us in Chicago, 
 and we want you both back in London. 
 
 Ever and always yours affectionately, 
 
 FIDELIO, THE BEAR. 
 
 From James Jackson Jarves to Mrs. Grant : 
 
 98 BOYLSTON STREET, BOSTON, Dec., 1885. 
 
 DEAR MRS. GRANT : Yours and Mr. Grant's letter 
 with the cheque followed me here. I thank you for same. 
 Before giving the Casafranca to the packers I examined 
 it, and found it in perfect condition; a fine specimen of 
 1 6th century work. I am busy preparing my affairs to 
 return to Italy. We hope to be able to buy a villa near, 
 or in, Rome. It would be delightful to have you for 
 neighbors. I have sent your message to my wife. I 
 think you will soon hear from her. I leave my remain- 
 ing "roba" in charge of W. K. Codman, 149 Tremont 
 street. He is a professional decorator and architect of 
 best standing and taste, one of the blue bloods of Boston 
 who prefers work to idleness. 
 
 With cordial remembrances and New Year's wishes, 
 Ever truly yours, 
 
 JAMES JACKSON JARVES. 
 
 From Emily Crawford to Mrs. Grant's mother : 
 
 Dear Mrs. Grant was lovely in body and in mind. 
 
 What a charming combination she was of fine culture and 
 
 originality ! She was so spontaneous and so sparkling ; 
 
 so amusing, so genial and so refined ; those sallies of hers
 
 LETTERS. 133 
 
 were so tempered by exquisite taste. Her conversation 
 was, as the French say, so attachante. It was strange 
 how lovely she became, as if to tempt death to carry her 
 away. I often trembled at the sudden bloom of beauty 
 that showed itself in her. She seemed then to have 
 everything the heart wished for, and my experience is that 
 when in this unfortunate world we get to that point, a 
 bolt from the blue is sure to strike us. This world must 
 be a penal settlement, or perhaps a school, or both, and it 
 would upset the general arrangements were any mortal to 
 have exquisite happiness unless by fits and starts, just as 
 holidays are allowed to children. 
 
 Je vous embrasse de coeur, bien chere amie. Kiss for 
 me your darling baby* and believe me ever 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 EMILY CRAWFORD. 
 
 *A reference to Leslie, the orphan daughter of George Kowswell and 
 Genevieve Grahame Grant. 
 
 From Rev. David Swing to Mrs. Grant's mother : 
 
 66 LAKE SHORE DRIVE, March 14, 1894. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND : Your gift just received recalled a 
 
 dear face. I am sorry for your home. But all the homes 
 
 on earth are thus to be thrown into shadow. I hope there 
 
 is a home elsewhere for you and yours and mine and me. 
 
 DAVID SWING.
 
 MEMORIALS.
 
 XVIII. MEMORIALS. 
 
 THE TWENTIETH CENTURY CLUB, CHICAGO. 
 
 March 10, 1894. 
 
 The General Committee of the Twentieth Century 
 Club, at this meeting held on the loth of March, 1894, 
 desires to express its own great sorrow, as well as that of 
 the body which it represents, at the death, on the 2yth of 
 last month, of Mrs. George Rowswell Grant. 
 
 The sense of loss is peculiarly keen, not only because 
 of the fact that Mrs. Grant was untiring in her activity 
 on behalf of the club, and in her devotion to its interests, 
 during the nearly five years of its existence, but also 
 because the inception of the Club was entirely her own 
 idea, and its succes was due to her efforts more largely 
 than to those of any other person connected with it. At 
 the time of her death she filled the office of Secretary of 
 the Club, to which she had been elected at the beginning 
 of the Club's existence in 1889, which she had occupied 
 continuously from that time on, and in which she had 
 distinguished herself by her adherence to the serious 
 ideals proposed for itself by the Club at the outset. For 
 these services, as well as for her many lovable personal 
 qualities, she endeared herself to all who became asso- 
 ciated with her in the work of the Club, and will ever be 
 held by them in tender and grateful remembrance. 
 
 To the sorrow-stricken members of her own family it 
 is desired to make this formal expression of a sympathy 
 and a grief not easily to be framed in words, and to them 
 a copy of these resolutions is ordered to be transmitted. 
 
 137
 
 138 GENEVIEVE GRAHAME GRANT. 
 
 It is furthermore ordered that a note, setting forth her 
 peculiar relations with the club be printed in all future 
 editions of the book annually published by the Club, and 
 containing its lists of meetings and of membership. 
 
 WILLIAM MORTON PAYNE, 
 
 Secretary. 
 
 STANDING NOTE IN TWENTIETH CENTURY CLUB BOOK. 
 
 $n l&nnottam. 
 
 In the death of MRS. GEORGE ROWSWELL GRANT, 
 on the twenty-seventh of February, 1894, The Twentieth 
 Century Club suffered a loss of more than common sig- 
 nificance. MRS. GRANT was the founder of the Club, 
 and acted as its Secretary from the date of its organiza- 
 tion in 1889 to the time of her death. During those five 
 years she was untiring in her devotion to the interests of 
 the Club, and its success was due to her efforts more 
 largely than to those of any other person connected with 
 it. At a meeting of the General Committee held on the 
 tenth of March, 1894, resolutions embodying the above 
 facts were formally adopted, and it was ordered that this 
 memorial note be printed in all future issues of the annual 
 Book of the Club.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
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