Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-02-08
lALL RIGHTS RESERTED
CHAPTER TX.
DIARY IN MILAN.

the beautiful white world above us and the
dark lake below. and the rest of the journey to
the mouth of the great tunnel was like a
Journey in FARMLAND What could be more ex-
quiste than to 20 winding upward and upward
into the great heart of the mountain. and to
look down on village roofs and winding stream
lets and bridges and rJcky gorges and vine
yards and gardens and church towers, ever SO
far below the wonderful iron road that was
taking us toward the skies. / felt so sorry
when that part of our journey was over, and
though longed to find out what Italy was like
j felt very sad as / sat at the snug round table
in the little station. the last Swiss station. and
slipped farewell cup of coffee with mother
and Uncle Ambrose.
1t was a disappointment after leaving sun
shine and blue skies above the Swiss snow
peaks to find Italy gray and rainy. with just
that iDcessant drizzling rain which one has
known from ones childhood as the mark of
a hopeless wet day, and which has been po-
litely called Scotch mist. OF all the things
had thought to meet with in Italy Scotch mist
was the last; but there it was and nothing
would have reconciled me to the grayness and
the rain except the red cotton umbrellas,
which were delightful and which made me feel
was in Italy.
-NcAt 70 TIE uHlDrelil, as an IIlllan lnSIl-
tuition, came the berceau, the verdant colon
made made by vines trained over cane wire.
leafy arcades. which saw in every garden and
in front OF the humlfest houses-sometimes on
the tops of houses, sometimes forming a loggia
on the first fioo-. The vine leaves were turn
ing yellow and red with the touch of autumn,
but they were still yerdant enough for beauty.
The bell tower in every village church was
-, Ia Al
and by We came upon the great dark blue lake
lying in the bosom of gray mist-vreathed hills,
and mother and agreed that but for the bell
towers. the berceaux and the red umbrellas of
the peasantry we might have fancied we we're
in Trossachs.
And 30, as Mr.. Pepys says. to Milan. where
we steamed into great etropolitan-lOoking
terminus where Cyril stood waiting for us
the platform in the glare of the electric light
He had grown tired of the north and had
written to his father to propose joining us on
our journey to Venice, and with this intention
he had made his way down to Milan. amusing
himself here and there as he came. exploring
odd hooks and Out-of-the-way spots.
He was looking III high health and very
happy. thought, as he stood smiling at us in
the electric light.
We'll. wee modest flower" he said. address
ing me In his usual grand manner, after he had
shaken hands with mother and Uncle Ambrose
welcome to the ancient kingdom OF Lom-
bardy. wonder II you are as enraptured with
Italy as you were before your foot had ever
touched the soil I'm afraid upon such an
evening as this you'll find Milan uncommonly
like Glasgow"
He took us to fine roomy landau which he
had engaged for us, and we left the man and
the maids TO look after the luggage and drove
on to the Hotel de la Vile. In a narrowish
busy-looking street that might have been Fleet
street or the Strand. for anything distinctive
that could see Ill 1t under that gray rainy at
mosphere. Yes. there was one superiority over
Fleet street III spite of the rain and the mud
and that was the electric light, which filled all
the city OF Milan with ITS clear silvery radiance,
SO tina: the night was ike unto the day.
The head waiter at the hotel told us that
there had been three weeks rain. and found
afterward that this fertile plain of Lombardv
which l am told Is very lovely in spring. owes
Its chief beauty to the damp and cloudy winter
climate.
At any rate 1 am in Italy and the very idea
Is full OF delight. kept telling myself yester-
day evening that this was Italy. and irving to
cheat myself into brief forgetfuness of the
dreadful story which my mind had been
fixed ever since that night at Lucerne. II was
to be only brief forgetfulness, for / had re-
solved to confde all my troubles to Cvril. to
whom could talk freely.
Oh. what painful effort il had cost me to
keep my feelings hidden from the dear mother
with whom till now l had shared every thought
and every fancy. In spite of NV eudeayor 10
seem happy and untroubled she discovered
that there was something wrong. and had to
pretend that young ladylike ailment neuralgia.
from which i am thankful to say | have never
suffered l was conscience stricken at the
thought OF my own falsehood when L saw the
dear mothers anxiety. She almost insisted
upon calling in a doctor, SO had to reassure
her by prompt recovery. L told her the pain
was quite gone. but that the climate had rather
depressing effect upon my spirits. This ac-
counted for my talking very little instead OF
talking almost necessarily, and this accounted
Tor my sitting III my corner of the carriage
thinking. thinking, thinking, all through that
long railroad journey.
have always liked Cvril but I never felt so
glad to see him as / felt last night ut Milan L
wanted so much 10 talk to a man who knew the
world, and a man TO whom could express nv
SELF freely, without any fear of inficting an un-
Premedltated wound. as had done in the case
OF Uncle Ambrose SO after dinner | asked
Cyril II he wou.i take me for n walk and show
me the outside OF the cathedral, to which re-
quest he assented very good naturedly, only
bargaining for cigarette IN the hall before We
started We dined in cur sitting room ON the
nrst noor. and we all went down into the CAV
looking yestibule after dinner and took orr
conee at little table III a corner where we could
iook on at the people coming in and going out
Was mother happier than l? Had she for
gotten the dead! Those were two questions
which could not refrain from asking myself
as sat by her side last evening. our first even
ing IN itaIy. she looked SO young and so
III.
attitude, as she sat slowly tanning herself and
Idly watching tine shifting groups in the
spacious yesubule. Her rich brown brocade
gown, with its sable collar ami bordering made
Eer look like an old picture. The aristocratic
looking head. with its crown of dark auburn
hair, rose out Of the deep soft fur like lilly
out OF cluster of leaves. Her hazel ewes
seemed TO have sunlight in their clear dark k
ness. She looked utterly calm and happy: and
assurediy If a husbands Gevotic n could make a
wife happy her happiness was well founded.
such gentle Difference, such ct!iyalrous affec-
non, must be very rare in tho history of men
and women. If l may judge 10y the stories of
domestic misery that have heard and by the
manners and customs of the few married
couples have known
ihere Is the dear old Vicar. for instance a
oehghtful being for ali the world outside his
Nicarage, but n pestilence to his wife, There is
DE- Iysoe, always grumbEng about his dinner
and wanting TO have the cook discharged in
stantly II JOINT is not correctly cooked
Then there Is DIR. Talbot a man in whom,
society delights, but who Is ALWAYS irritable q,
out OF spirits at home; whose entrance into the
drawing room casts a cloud over his family
and seems palpably to chill the atmosphere
No, in my brief experience never saw tbs
perfect and ideal husband whom we occasion.
ally meet In a novel till / saw NV mother's
husband, Uncle Ambrose
he Is not a bit like Colchester, though he ha,
Roehesters commanding intellect He is moro
hike spiritualized John Halifax. and who
have known him all my life know that his swee
AM nj "a hov