The next mornin’ Tommy wuz delighted with the idee of goin’ in a boat after some hair-pins for me and a comb for him––he had broke hisen. It wuzn’t fur we went, and I spoze we might have walked by goin’ a little furder; but variety is the spice of life, and it seemed to kinder refresh us.

Floating in a gondola on the Grand Canal of Venice is a beautiful experience when the soft light of the moon and stars is restin’ on the stately old marble palaces, the tall pillars of St. Theodore and the Winged Lion, obelisk and spire. With other gondolas all about you, you seem to be on a sea of glory, with anon music from afar coming sweetly to your ears from some gondola or palace, and far up some narrow water street opens with long shafts of light flashing from the gondolier’s lantern or open window. It is all a seen of enchantment.

Though if you should foller up some of them narrow water streets by daylight, you would see and smell things that would roust you up from your dream. You would see old boats unloadin’ vegetables, taking on garbage, water-boats pumpin’ water into some house, wine shops, cook shops; you would see dilapidated houses with poorly clad people standin’ in the doorways; ragged, unkempt children looking down on you from broken windows, and about all the sights you see in all the poorer streets of any city, though here you see it from a boat instead of from a hack or trolley car. Green mould would be seen clinging to the walls, and you would see things in the water that ortn’t to be throwed there.

Moonlight and memory rares up its glittering walls, but reality and the searchin’ life of the present tears ’em down. Where are the three thousand warships, the three thousand merchant ships, that carried the wealth and greatness of Venice back in the fifteenth century; fifty-two thousand sailors, a thousand nobles and citizens and working people according? Gone, gone! Floated way off out of that Grand Canal and disappeared in the mists and shadows of the past, and you have to go back there to see ’em.

The Rialto, which we had dremp about, looked beautiful from the water, with its one single arch of ninety-one feet lifting up six arches on each side. But come to walk acrost its broad space you find it is divided into narrow streets, where you can buy anything from a crown to a string of beads, from macaroni to a china teapot.

The great square of St. Mark wuz a pleasant place on an evening. Little tables set out in the street, with gayly-dressed people laughing and talking and taking light refreshments and listening to the music of the band, and a gay crowd walking to and fro, and picturesque venders showing their goods.

But to Tommy nothing wuz so pretty as the doves of St. Mark, who come down to be fed at two o’clock, descending through the blue sky like a shower of snow.

The Campanile or bell-tower towers up more than three hundred feet above the pavement; way up on the tower two bronze statutes stand with hammers and strikes off the hours. Why is it that the doves pay no attention to any other hour they may strike but when the hour of two sounds out, a window on the north side of the square opens and some grain is thrown out to ’em (the Government throws it to ’em, dretful good natered to think on’t)? But how did them doves know two from three? I d’no nor Josiah don’t. I had provided Tommy with some food for ’em and they flowed down and lighted on him and Dorothy, who also fed ’em; it wuz a pretty sight. And Robert Strong thought so too, I could read it in 338 his eyes as he looked at Dorothy with the pretty doves on her shoulder and white hands.

I got some sooveneers for the children at Venice, some little ivory gondolas and photographs, etc., and Miss Meechim and Dorothy got sights of things, Venetian jewelry, handsome as could be, and Arvilly got a little present for Waitstill and a jet handkerchief pin for herself. She mourns yet on the inside and outside, yes, indeed! and I d’no but she always will.

And as you can git a relic of most everything at some of the shops I told Josiah I would love to git hold of one of them old rings that the Doges married the Adriatic with. And if you’ll believe it that man didn’t like it; sez he real puggicky:

“I hope you hain’t any idee of marryin’ the Jonesville creek, Samantha, because it won’t look well in a M. E. sister and pardner.”

Jealous of the creek! That’s the last thing I ever thought that man would be jealous on. The idee! I only wanted it out of curiosity.

We visited the Arsenal, another spot where the greatness of Venice in the past hanted our memory, when she had twenty thousand workmen there and now not two thousand. But we see queer lookin’ things there––suits of armor, crossbows, helmets. Josiah took quite a fancy to one wore by Attila, king of the Huns, and wanted to put it on. Good land! his head went right up into it just as it would into a big coal-scuttle. What a mind Mr. Attila must have had if his brains wuz accordin’ to his head.

And we see infernal machines, thumb screws, spiked collars, and other dretful implements of torture like black shadders throwed from the past. A piece of the boat that the Doge went to his weddin’ in when he married the water wuz interestin’; weddin’s always did interest females and males too, no matter whether the bride wuz formed out of dust or nothin’ but clear water, and we also see a model of the boat Columbus sailed in to discover us.

Robert Strong who wuz always interested in the best things, said that the first newspaper ever published appeared in Venice three hundred years ago, and the first bank was started there.

You can walk all over Venice if you want to take the time to go furder round and cross the bridges and walk through narrer, crooked little streets, some on ’em not more’n five or six feet wide, but the easiest and quickest way is to take a boat, as well as the most agreeable.

Venice is built on seventy-two islands besides the Grand Canal which takes the place of our avenues and streets. There is a charm about Venice that there is not about any other city I ever see. You dream about it before you see it and then you dream on and keep dreamin’ as long as you stay there, a sort of a wakin’ dream, though you keep your senses.

Memories of the past seem to hant you more, mebby it is because them old memories can slip along easier over them glassy streets, easier than they can over our hard rocky pavements. ’Tennyrate they meet you on every side and stay right with you as long as you are there and hant you. As you float down them liquid roads you seen face to face sweet, wise Portia, “fair and fairer than that word;” and gallant Bassanio who made such a wise choice, and Shylock, the old Jew. And if you happen to git put out with your pardner, mebby he’ll find fault with you, and say demeanin’ words about wimmen or sunthin’ like that, whilst sweet Portia’s eyes are on you, if you feel like reprovin’ him sharp, then you’ll remember: “The quality of mercy is not strained, it droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven, it blesseth him that gives and him that takes.”

And so you forgive him. And then beautiful, sad Beatrice de Cenci will meet you by moonlight in front of some of them old marble palaces and her pa, about as mean a man as they make, and his sister, Lucretia de Borgia, that wicked, wicked creeter. Why, it beats all what mean folks Beatrice’s relation wuz on her pa’s side.

And you thought of any number of queer old Doges, rainin’ and pizenin’ and actin’, some on ’em, and marryin’ the Adriatic; a poor match in my opinion and one that you couldn’t expect to turn out well, the bride bein’ slippery and inconstant and the bridegroom mean as pusley, cruel and cunning, besides bein’ jest devoted to the Council of Ten. Queer works them Ten––made and cut a great swath that won’t be forgot and they needn’t expect it. The page of history is sticky and bloody with their doin’s. But they move along in front of you, the Doges, the Ten and the Three. And any number of conquerors and any number of Popes and Kings down to Victor Emanuel.

And I d’no as I thought of anybody or anything there in Venice so much as I did of John Ruskin, who give even the stuns of Venice a language that will go on speakin’ long after the stuns have mouldered back into dust. And then the dust will keep his memory green, and folks will ponder the “Ethics of the Dust” long after that dust has passed into other changing forms and disappeared.

Great mind, great lovin’ heart, who had but one thought, to make the world more full of beauty, knowledge, sincerity and goodness. His pure, bright intellect, his life white as the lilies, his living thoughts and noble idees they rap at the human heart, as well as mind, with their powerful sesame, and you have to open your heart’s door and take them in. Prophet of earth and heaven, the air, the clouds, the birds and trees, the rocks and waters, translatin’ the marvellous words so our duller eyes and ears can see and hear.

As I walked along over them stones of Venice, and in the Galleries of Modern Painters and ancient ones, my heart kep’ sayin’ onbeknown to myself and them round me, “John Ruskin, noble soul, great teacher, childlike, wise interpreter of the beauty and ministry of common things, hail and farewell!” For he had gone––it wuz true that he who had loved the flowers so and said to a friend who had sent him some: “I am trying to find out if there are flowers that do not 341 fade.” He had found out now, wreathes of heavenly immortelles are laid on his tired forward, not tired now, and he has his chance to talk to Moses and Plato, as he said he wanted to, and he is satisfied. Love and Sympathy that he longed for comforts and consoles him, and Beauty and Goodness wait on him.

Robert Strong felt just as I did about Ruskin, their idees about helpin’ the poor, and the brotherhood of man, and fatherhood of God, wuz as congenial and blent together like sun and dew on a May morning. Robert Strong said no other writer had done him the good Ruskin had.

And I guess Dorothy thought so too; she almost always thought jest as Robert did.

In wanderin’ round this uneek city Josiah said the most he thought on wuz of tellin’ Deacon Henzy and Uncle Sime Bentley about what he see there. And shadowy idees seemed to fill his mind about tryin’ to turn the Jonesville creek through the streets and goin’ from our house to Thomas Jefferson’s in a gondola.

Arvilly said she would gin anything to canvas some of them old Doges for the “Twin Crimes”. But I told her I guessed they didn’t need to learn anything about crime, and she gin up they didn’t.

The first thing Miss Meechim wanted to see wuz the church of St. Mark, so we all set off one day to see it. San Marco, as they call it, is one of the most interestin’ churches to visitors on the Continent. It wuz begun way back in the tenth century, and it has been in process of building ever since, and I don’t know how long they lay out to keep at it. They have spent thirty millions on it, so I hearn, and the news come pretty straight to me, and I d’no but they’ll spend as much agin before they git through. But when you see all its magnificent sculpture, columns, statutes, mosaic work, ornaments of every kind, its grand arches, its five domes and spires and all the exquisite work on it I d’no as I’d took the job for any less, and so I told Josiah.

But he kep’ up his old idee he had voiced in many a similar spot, that it wuz done by day’s works and the workmen didn’t hurry, and that it would have been cheaper to had it done by the job. But how could they, dribblin’ along as they did ten hunderd years?

The four horses over the main entrance are very noted. They are said to have been carved way, way back by Augustus to celebrate a triumph over Antony and to have passed through the hands of Nero, Constantine and Napoleon. Napoleon, a greedy creeter always, took ’em to Paris, but had to bring ’em back.

For horses that are so old and have been driv round and showed off by so many conquerors, they look pretty sound and hearty. But Josiah didn’t like their looks nigh so well as he duz the mair’s, and sez he, “That off one looks balky.”

But I sez, “Distance lends enchantment; the mair can’t begin with ’em.”

The altar piece is said to have cost three million. It is of gold and silver, and full of precious stuns. It was made in Constantinople a thousand years ago, and has got inscriptions on it that I presoom read well if anybody could read ’em. But I couldn’t nor Josiah. But Robert Strong read some on ’em to Dorothy, for I heard him. They are writ in Latin and Greek.

When we got back to the tarven that night we found a hull pile of letters from Jonesville, and amongst the rest I got a letter from Elder Minkley, good old man of God, and Arvilly got one too; he sets store by Arvilly now, he and his wife duz, and they pity her dretfully for what she has went through, and make allowances for her hashness, but never shall I forgit the way she talked to him right in my own settin’ room when she first come home from Cuba after her husband had been murdered by the licensed Canteen.

She come to our house one day, and Elder Minkley, good old soul, come in just after she did for a all-day’s visit, poor creeter! I guess he wuz sorry enough he come, some 343 of the time; I guess he wished he wuz back in his study perusin’ the book of martyrs or anything else deprestin’, and would have thought ’em fur livelier than what he got into.

The way on’t wuz, Arvilly had met Miss Deacon Sypher at the gate and she bein’ dretful onfaculized with no more tact than a settin’ hen, had tackled Arvilly for a contribution to buy a flag to send to our boys in Cuba, and talked enthusiastic about the war’s holy mission. And I spoze Sister Sypher wuz skairt almost into fits to hear Arvilly go on, ’tennyrate she left her sudden and to once, and started home ’cross lots almost on the run, and Arvilly come into the house talkin’ and mutterin’.

“Drusilly Sypher knows a sight about it; our army gone to redress wrongs and protect innocence! they better look to home and redress wrongs here; half the citizens of this country in legal bondage, and the hull country cowering under a crime and danger protected and legalized; if I didn’t want to make myself a mark for demon laughter I’d quit such talk till I repented my sins in sackcloth and ashes.”

“Well, well, Arvilly, set down, set down,” sez I, for she wuz rampagin’ round the room back and forth, “set down, and here,” sez I, handin’ her a bottle, “smell of the camfire, Arvilly, you look bad,” and she did look frightful bad, pale and fiery, and burnin’ mad at sunthin’ or somebody.

But she waived it off with scorn: “Camfire can’t heal the smart, or sweeten the air of the country; no, it needs fire from on high to burn it out. And it will come,” sez she, “it will come.”

Why, she acted real wild and by the side of herself, and I pitied her like a dog, and wuz at my wit’s end what to say to her, and I wuz glad enough to see Elder Minkley, good old saint, comin’ up the steps and I went to open the door with alacrity and my left hand, my right hand wuz in the dough, I wuz makin’ fried cakes, and I shook hands with him the same, and I sez:

“How glad I am to see you this morning, Brother Minkley,” little thinkin’ what wuz to come.

He took off his hat and overcoat and hung ’em up in the hall and looked in the glass in the hall rack with his mild, benevolent eyes, and brushed his thin, gray hair up on the bald spot over his benign forward, and follered me into the settin’ room, and I sez, “Here is she that wuz sister Arvilly Lanfear.”

And the good old soul advanced with a warm, meller smile on his face, and sez:

“How do you do, Sister Arvilly.”

But Arvilly’s eyes snapped worse than ever; she never noticed his outstretched hand, and she sez, “Don’t you sister me.”

“Why! why!” sez he, “what is the matter?” His welcomin’ hand dropped weakly by his side, and bein’ dretful confused and by the side of himself, he sez:

“I hain’t seen you before sence you––you–––”

“Deserted from the army,” sez she, finishin’ the sentence for him. “Yes, I deserted, I am proud to say; I never had a right before under this nation’s laws and I took that right; I deserted and they couldn’t help themselves; mebby them men see how it would feel to grin and bear for once, just as wimmen have to all the time.”

Brother Minkley had by this time begun to find and recover himself, and he sez with real good nature, “I meant to say, dear sister, that I hadn’t seen you before since you lost your husband.”

“Since you murdered him,” sez she.

“I––I murder a man?” He looked pale and trembled like a popple leaf.

“Yes, you and all other good men who stood by like Pilate, consentin’ to his death,” Arvilly went on.

Elder Minkley looked too dazed and agitated to speak, and Arvilly continued: “Do you pretend to say, Elder Minkley, that there is an evil law on the face of the earth 345 that the Church of Christ couldn’t overthrow if it chose to do so?”

He sez, “The power of the Church is great, Sister Arvilly, but no-license laws don’t stop drinking; liquor is sold somehow; folks that want it will get it.”

“What a argument!” sez Arvilly, liftin’ her eyes to heaven. “But you hain’t answered my question,” sez she, short as pie crust, mince pie crust, “Is there an evil law existing to-day that the Church of Christ could not overthrow if it tried to?”

“Well, no,” he admitted, “I believe that the Church of Christ is invincible.”

“Do you vote, Elder Minkley?”

“Well, no, as it were, Sister Arvilly, I have felt for years that politics was too vile for me to mix myself with.”

Sez Arvilly, “Do you believe in following the Lord Jesus Christ?”

Sez Elder Minkley, his good natured face lighting up, “My Divine Master; yes, I will follow him to the stake, to the death, if need be.”

“Did he turn away from sinners and the evils of the sinful world and say they wuz too vile for him to mix with?”

“I––I––Sister Arvilly––I why––I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do know what I mean!” sez the intrepid but agonized Arvilly.

“By your criminal indifference and neglect, you encourage the evil power that rules and ruins.”

Elder Minkley’s face began to look red––red as blood––and sez he, “You present the subject in a way I never thought on before, Sister Arvilly. I will think of it; I will pray over it.”

“Will you vote as you pray?” sez Arvilly anxiously.

“I will!” sez Elder Minkley, solemnly, “I will!”

Arvilly come forward and took holt of his hand. Her stern mean softened; there wuz tears in her keen eyes; she 346 looked different. Sez she, “Next Sunday I shall set under your preachin’, Elder; I hain’t felt like settin’ under it before.” And, sure enough, she did go to meetin’ the next Sunday and from that day they have been the best of friends.

But to resoom forwards: I had a letter from Philury, she said she wuz all well.

It wuz a letter that brought me some comfort and quite a lot of care; it wuz some like a peppermint lozenge, considerably sweet with a sharp tang to it, makin’ me think of the sweetness and repose of home with its accompaniment of anxiety and labor.

The children writ real good letters to their pa and me, full of affection and thoughtfulness. Thomas J. told us considerable about the Help Union and the good that Ernest White and his helpers wuz accomplishing in Loontown and Jonesville. And Tirzah Ann wanted to know if reveres had gone out and hoops comin’ in; she had hearn so and felt anxious. There had been a rumor in Jonesville to that effect, but she couldn’t place full dependence on it.

Thomas J.’s and Maggie’s letters wuz full of gratefulness for Tommy’s restored health and what I’d done for him. No matter what else they said that idee wuz runnin’ along under the rest of their thoughts, some like the accompaniment of a melodean to a sam tune in meetin’. And Tommy himself had letters from his pa and ma full of love and good advice, about half and half.

One of the most interestin’ places in Venice is the Doges Palace, and I spoze Josiah never gin up his idee about it until we stood right in front of it. But when he see that marble front, full of noble columns, elaborate carvin’, arches, balustrades and base reliefs, he had to gin up such a place as that wuz never rared up to a dog or to any number on ’em, though he said when I convinced him of his mistake: “Snip wuz too good to mingle with ’em, he was likelier than any 347 Doge that ever lived there, no matter whether you spelt ’em dog or doge.”

And I sez soothin’ly: “Like as not and ’tennyrate how I would love to hear Snip bark out a welcome to us once more.”

“Yes,” sez Josiah, “it will be the happiest hour of my life when I behold Snip and the cat and the children and grandchildren and the rest of the Jonesvillians once more.”

Here in the marble pavement are two great bronze cisterns elegantly sculptured, and you can look up the Grand Staircase with two statutes at the top on either side, Neptune and Mars; and that wuz the place where the old Doges wuz crowned.

On the staircase on each side are beautiful statutes and columns, elaborate carving and richly colored marbles. The Hall of the Great Council is one hundred and seventy-five feet long and most a hundred in width, broad enough and high enough to entertain broader and nobler views than wuz promulgated there. But it contains costly and beautiful pictures; one by Tintoretto is eighty-four feet wide and most forty feet high, the largest picture on canvas in the world so I’ve hearn, and others by Paul Veronese and the other great masters.

All round the wall, like a border in a Jonesville parlor, are the portraits of the Doges of Venice in their red robes and round-topped caps. But where Marino Faliero should have hung wuz a black curtain. Well, he wuz a mean creeter; it is a good thing he can be shut out with a curtain. Josiah said he thought it would be a crackin’ good plan to have a black curtain hung before the pictures of some of our public men, but Arvilly said, in a real dry tone, that “If we begun that it would bring up the price of black cloth enormously.”

She mourns yet quite a good deal in her best dresses, and looked ahead, and didn’t want the price of crape and bombazine riz.

Among the pictures of these old Doges wuz one who led the army in an attack on Constantinople at the age of ninety-seven, when most old men are bedrid with a soap-stun and water gruel. And Francesco Foscari, who worked nobly for thirty-five years and wuz then abused shameful by the Ten and turned out of office.

Them old Doges had their ups and downs; riz up to power, throwed down agin. Mean as the Old Harry, some on ’em, and some workin’ well for the public. And some after servin’ the public for years wuz banished, some beheaded, some had their eyes put out, one died of vexation, one who wuz deposed died when the bell rung in his successor. A few died in battle, but only a few on ’em passed away in their beds after a lingerin’ and honorable sickness with their one wife and children weepin’ about ’em.

You can see the open place in the wall where the written complaints wuz put aginst somebody or anybody, guilty or innocent, and wuz pretty sure to be acted upon by the dretful Ten settin’ there in their black robes and black masks, fit color for their dark and cruel deeds.

We went down to see the dungeons, dark, cramped, filthy holes in the solid wall: only a little light sifted in from the corridor through a narrow slit. It seemed as if them places wuz so awful we couldn’t bear to look at ’em. But we went down into still deeper dungeons way below the canal, dretful places where you can’t hardly draw a breath. We see dim traces of writings on the walls some wretched prisoner waitin’ for death had writ there. How did he feel when he writ it? I didn’t want to know, nor have Josiah know.

We didn’t make a very long stay in Venice, but journeyed on to Florence––Florence the beautiful. It lays in a quiet, sheltered valley with the Apennine Mountains risin’ about it as if to keep off danger. The river Arno runs through it, spanned by handsome bridges. The old wall that used to surround it with its eight gates, has been destroyed some years ago.

As I say, it is a beautiful city, although it wuz more grand and populous when it wuz the capital of Italy. Dorothy said it was well named the City of Flowers, for there wuz flowers everywhere, the markets full of ’em, flower girls at every turn, balconies and windows overrunning with them, public gardens and private gardens sweet with their brightness and perfume.