The Dodd Family Abroad, Vol. II

LETTER XXVII. MRS. DODD TO MRS. GALLAGHER, DODSBOROUGH

My dear Molly, – So you tell me that the newspapers is full of me, and that nothing is talked of but "the case of Mrs. Dodd" and her "cruel incarnation in the dungeons of Tuscany." I wish they 'd keep their sympathies to themselves, Molly, for, to tell you a secret, this same captivity has done us the greatest service in the world. Here we are, my darling, at the top of the tree, – going to all the balls, dining out every day, and treated with what they call the most distinguished consideration. And I must say, Molly, that of all the cities ever I seen, Florence is the most to my taste. There's a way of living here, – I can't explain how it is done, exactly; but everybody has just what he likes of everything. I believe it 's the bankers does it, – that they have a way of exchanging, or discounting, or whatever it is called, that makes every one at their ease; and, indeed, my only surprise is why everybody does n't come to live in a place with so many advantages. Even K. I. has ceased grumbling about money matters, and for the last three weeks we have really enjoyed ourselves. To be sure, now and then, he mumbles about "as well to be hanged for a sheep as a lamb;" and this morning he said that he was "too old to beg," to "dig he was ashamed." "I hope you are," says I; "it is n't in your station in life that you can go out as a navvy, and with your two daughters the greatest beauties in the town." And so they are, Molly. There isn't the like of Mary Anne in the Cascini; and though Caroline won't give herself fair play in the way of dress, there's many thinks she 's the prettiest of the two.

I wish you saw the Cascini, Molly, when the carriages all drive up, and get mixed together, so that you would wonder how they 'd ever get out again. They are full of elegantly dressed ladies; there's nothing too fine for them, even in the morning, and there they sit, and loll back, with all the young dandies lying about them, on the steps of the carriages, over the splash-boards, – indeed, nearly under the wheels, – squeezing their hands, looking into their eyes and under their veils. Oh dear, but it seems mighty wicked till you 're used to it, and know it 's only the way of the place, which one does remarkably soon. The first thing strikes a stranger here, Molly, is that everybody knows every other body most intimately. It's all "Carlo," "Luigi," "Antonio mio," with hands clasped or arms about each other, and everlasting kissing between the women. And then, Molly, when you see a newly arrived English family in the midst of them, with a sulky father, a stiff mother, three stern young ladies, and a stupid boy of sixteen, you think them the ugliest creatures on earth, and don't rightly know whether to be angry or laugh at them.

Lord George says that the great advantage of the Cascini is that you hear there "all that's going on." Faith, you do, Molly, and nice goings-on it is! The Florentines say they 've no liberty. I 'd like to know how much more they want, for if they haven't it by right, Molly, they take it at all events, and with everybody too. The creatures, all rings and chains, beards and moustaches, come up to the side of your carriage, put up their opera-glasses, and stare at you as if you was waxwork! Then they begin to discuss you, and almost fall out about the color of your hair or your eyes, till one, bolder than the rest, comes up close to you, and decides what is maybe a wager! It's all very trying at first, – not but Mary Anne bears it beautifully, and seems never to know that she is standing under a battery of fifty pair of eyes!

As to James, it's all paradise. He knows all the beauties of the town already, and I see him with his head into a brougham there, and his legs dangling out of a phaeton here, just as if he was one of the family. You may think, Molly, when they begin that way of a morning, what it is when they come to the evening! If they 're all dear friends in the daylight, it 's brothers and sisters – no, but husbands and wives – they become, when the lamps are lighted! Whether they walk or waltz, whether they hand you to a seat or offer you an ice, they 've an art to make it a particular attention, – and, as it were, put you under an obligation for it; and whether you like it or not, Molly, you are made out in their debt, and woe to you when they discover you 're a defaulter!

I 'm sure, without Lord George's advice, we could n't have found the right road to the high society of this place so easily; but he told K. I. at once what to do, – and for a wonder, Molly, he did it. Florence, says he, is like no other capital in Europe. In all the others there is a circle, more or less wide, of what assumes to be "the world;" there every one is known, his rank, position, and even his fortune. Now in Florence people mix as they do at a Swiss table d'hôte; each talks to his neighbor, perfectly aware that he may be a blackleg, or she – if it be a she – something worse. That society is agreeable, pleasant, and brilliant is the best refutation to all the cant one hears about freedom of manners, and so on. And, as Lord G. observes, it is manifestly a duty with the proper people to mingle with the naughty ones, since it is only in this way they can hope to reclaim them. "Take those two charming girls of yours into the world here, Mrs. D.," said he to me the other day; "show the folks that beauty, grace, and fascination are all compatible with correct principles and proper notions; let them see that you yourself, so certain of attracting admiration, are not afraid of its incense; say to society, as it were, 'Here we are, so secure of ourselves that we can walk unharmed through all the perils around us, and enjoy health and vigor with the plague on every side of us.'" And that's what we 're doing, Molly. As Lord George says, "we 're diffusing our influence," and I 've no doubt we 'll see the results before long.

I wish I was as sure of K. I.'s goings-on; but Betty tells me that he constantly receives letters of a morning, and hurries out immediately after; that he often drives away late at night in a hackney-coach, and does n't return till nigh morning! I 'm only waiting for him to buy us a pair of carriage-horses to be at him about this behavior; and, indeed, I think he 's trying to push me on to it, to save him from the expense of the horses. I must tell you, Molly, that next to having no character, the most fashionable thing here is a handsome coach; and, indeed, without something striking in that way, you can't hope to take society by storm. With a phaeton and a pair of blood bays, James says, you can drive into Prince Walleykoffsky's drawing-room; with a team of four, you can trot them up the stairs of the Pitti Palace.

After a coach, comes your cook; and is n't my heart broke trying them! We've had a round of "experimental dinners," that has cost us a little fortune, since each "chef" that came was free to do what he pleased, without regard to the cost, and an eatable morsel never came to the table all the while. Our present artist is Monsieur Chardron, who goes out to market in a brougham, and buys a turkey with kid gloves on him. He won't cook for us except on company days, but leaves us to his "aide," as he calls him, whom K. I. likes best, for he condescends to give us a bit of roast meat, now and then, that has really nourishment in it. We 're now, therefore, in a state to open the campaign. We 've an elegant apartment, a first-rate cook, a capital courier; and next week we 're to set up a chasseur, if K. I. will only consent to be made a Count.

You may stare, Molly, when I tell you that he fights against it as if it was the Court of Bankruptcy; though Lord George worked night and clay to have it done. There never was the like of it for cheapness; a trifle over twenty pounds clears the whole expense; and for that he would be Count Dodd, of Fiezole, with a title to each of the children. As many thousands would n't do that in England; and, indeed, one does n't wonder at the general outcry of the expense of living there, when the commonest luxuries are so costly. Mary Anne and I are determined on it, and before the month is over your letters will be addressed to a Countess.

In the middle of all this happiness, my dear, there is a drop of bitter, as there always is in the cup of life, though you may do your best not to taste it. Indeed, if it was n't for this drawback, Florence would be a place I 'd like to live and die in. What I allude to is this: here we are be-tween two fires, Molly, – the Morrises on one side, and Mrs. Gore Hampton on the other, – both watching, scrutinizing, and observing us; for, as bad luck would have it, they both settled down here for the winter! Now, the Morrises know all the quiet, well-behaved, respectable people, that one ought to be acquainted with just for decency's sake. But Mrs. G. H. is in the fashionable and fast set, where all the fun is going on; and from what I can learn them 's the very people would suit us best. Being in neither camp, we hear nothing but the abuse and scandal that each throws on the other; and, indeed, to do them justice, if half of it was true, there's few of them ought to escape hanging!

That's how we stand; and can you picture to yourself a more embarrassing situation? for you see that many of the slow people are high in station and of real rank, while some of the fast are just the reverse. Lord George says, "Cut the fogies, and come amongst the fast 'uns," and talks about making friends with the "Mammoth of unrighteousness;" and if he means Mrs. G. H., I believe he is n't far wrong: but even if we consented, Molly, I don't know whether she 'd make up with us; though Lord George swears that he 'll answer for it with his head. One thing is clear, Molly, we must choose between them, and that soon too; for it's quite impossible to be "well with the Treasury and the Opposition also."

K. I. affects neutrality, just to blind us to his real intentions; but I know him well, and see plainly what he 's after. Cary fights hard for her friends; though, to say the truth, they have n't taken the least notice of her since they came to their fortune, – the very thing I expected from them, Molly, for it's just the way with all upstarts! Now you see some of the difficulties that attend even the highest successes in life; and maybe it will make you more contented with your own obscurity. Perhaps, before this reaches you, we'll have decided for one or the other; for, as Lord G. says, you can't pass your life between silly and crabbed.1

There 's another thing fretting me, besides, Molly. It is what this same Lord George means about Mary Anne; for it's now more than six months since he grew particular; and yet there 's nothing come of it yet. I see it's preying on the girl herself, too, – and what's to be done? I am sure I often think of what poor old Jones McCarthy used to say about this: "If I 'd a family of daughters," says he, "I 'd do just as I manage with the horses when I want to sell one of them. There they are, – look at them as long as you like in the stable, but I 'll have no taking them out for a trial, and trotting them here, and cantering them there; and then, a fellow coming to tell me that they have this, that, and the other." And the more I think of it, Molly, the more I'm convinced it's the right way; though it's too late, maybe, to help it now.

As I mean to send you another letter soon, I 'll close this now, wishing you all the compliments of the season, except chilblains, and remain your true and affectionate friend,

Jemima Dodd.

P. S. You 'd better direct your next letter to us "Casa Dodd," for I remark that all the English here try and get rid of the Italian names to the houses as soon as they can.

LETTER XXVIII. JAMES DODD TO ROBERT DOOLAN, ESQ., TRINITY COLLEGE,

Florence.

My dear Bob, – If you only knew how difficult it is to obtain even five minutes of quiet leisure in this same capital, you 'd at once absolve me from all the accusations in your last letter. It is pleasure at a railroad pace, from morning till night, and from night till morning. Perhaps, after all, it is best there should be no time for reflection, since it would be like one waiting on the rails for an express train to run over him!

I can give you no better nor speedier illustration of the kind of life we lead here, than by saying that even the governor has felt the fascination of the place, and goes the pace, signing checks and drawing bills without the slightest hesitation, or any apparent sense of a coming responsibility. He plays, too, and loses his money freely, and altogether comports himself as if he had a most liberal income, or – terrible alternative – not a sixpence in the world. I own to you, Bob, that this recklessness affrights me far more than all his former grumbling over our expensive and wasteful habits. He seems to have adopted it, too, with a certain method that gives it all the appearance of a plan, though I confess what possible advantage could redound from it is utterly beyond my power of calculation.

Meanwhile our style of living is on a scale of splendor that might well suit the most ample fortune. Tiverton says that for a month or two this is absolutely necessary, and that in society, as in war, it is the first dash often decides a campaign. And really, even my own brief experience of the world shows that one's friends, as they are conventionally called, are far more interested in the skill of your cook than in the merits of your own character; and that he who has a good cellar may indulge himself in the luxury of a very bad conscience. You, of course, suspect that I am now speaking of a class of people dubious both in fortune and position, and who have really no right to scrutinize too closely the characters of those with whom they associate. Quite the reverse, Bob, I am actually alluding to our very best and most correct English, and who would not for worlds do at home any one of the hundred transgressions they commit abroad. For instance, we have, in this goodly capital of debt and divorce celebrity, a certain house of almost princely splendor; the furniture, plate, pictures, all perfection; the cook, an artist that once pampered royal palates; in a word, everything, from the cellar to the conservatory, a miracle of correct taste. The owner of all this magnificence is – what think you? – a successful swindler! – the hero of a hundred bubble speculations, – the spoliator of some thousands of shareholders, – a fellow whose infractions have been more than once stigmatized by public prosecution, and whose rascalities are of European fame! You 'd say that with all these detracting influences he was a man of consummate social tact, refined manners, and at least possessing the outward signs of good breeding. Wrong again, Bob. He is coarse, uneducated, and vulgar; he never picked up any semblance of the class from whom he peculated; and has lived on, as he began, a "low comedy villain," and no more. Well, what think you, when I tell you that is "the house," par excellence, where all strangers strive to be introduced, – that to be on the dinner-list here is a distinction, and that even a visitor enjoys an envied fortune, – and that at the very moment I write, the Dodd family are in earnest and active negotiation to attain to this inestimable privilege? Now, Bob, there's no denying that there must be something rotten, and to the core too, where such a condition of things prevails. If this man fed the hungry and sheltered the houseless, who had no alternative but his table or no food, the thing requires no explanation; or if his hospitalities were partaken of by that large floating class who in every city are to be found, with tastes disproportionate to their fortunes, and who will at any time postpone their principles to their palates, even then the matter is not of difficult solution; but what think you that his company includes some of the very highest names of our stately nobility, and that the titles that resound through his salon are amongst the most honored of our haughty aristocracy! These people assuredly stand in no want of a dinner. They are comfortably lodged, and at least reasonably well fed at the "Italie" or the "Grande Bretagne." Why should they stoop to such companionship? Who can explain this, Bob? Assuredly, I am not the Ædipus!