more. However, I decided that if Mlle. Souvestre thought I should buy a dress I could have it. I still remember my joy in that dark-red dress, made for me by a small dressmaker in Paris, but, as far as I was concerned, it might have been made by Worth, for it had all the glamour of being my first French dress.
I wore it on Sundays and as an everyday evening dress at school and probably got more satisfaction out of it than from any dress I have had since.
The one great event that I remember in the winter of 1901 was the death of Queen Victoria. Some of my Robinson connections had arranged for me to see the funeral procession from the windows of a house belonging to one of them. It was an exciting day, beginning with the crowds in the streets and the difficulty of arriving at our destination, and finally the long wait for the funeral procession itself. I remember little of the many carriages which must have comprised that procession, but I shall never forget the genuine feeling shown by the crowds in the streets or the hush that fell as the gun carriage bearing the smallest coffin I had ever seen came within our range of vision. Hardly anyone had dry eyes as that slow-moving procession passed by, and I have never forgotten the great emotional force that seemed to stir all about us as Queen Victoria, so small of stature and yet so great in devotion to her people, passed out of their lives forever.
By the following Easter Mlle. Souvestre had decided that she would take me traveling with her. This was one of the most momentous things that happened in my education. The plan was to go to Marseilles, along the Mediterranean coast, to stop at Pisa and then spend some time in Florence, not staying in the city in a hotel, but living with an artist friend of Mlle. Souvestre’s in his villa in Fiesole, on a hill which overlooked Florence.
Traveling with Mlle. Souvestre was a revelation. She did all the things that in a vague way you had always felt you wanted to do. In Marseilles we walked upon the Quai, looked at the boats that came from foreign ports, saw some of the small fishing boats with their colored sails, and went up to a little church where offerings were made to the Blessed Virgin for the preservation of those at sea. There is a shrine in this church where people have prayed for the granting of some particular wishes, the crippled have hung their crutches there, and people have made offerings of gold and silver and jewels.
We ended by dining in a café overlooking the Mediterranean and ate the dish for which Marseilles is famous, bouillabaisse, a kind of soup in which every possible kind of fish that can be found in nearby waters is used. With it we had vin rouge du pays , because Mlle. Souvestre believed in the theory that, water being uncertain, wine was safer to drink, and if you diluted it with water, in some way the germs were killed by the wine.
The next day we started our trip along the shores of the Mediterranean. I wanted to get out at almost every place the name of which was familiar to me, but our destination was Pisa and it never occurred to me, the child of regular trips from New York to Tivoli and back, that one could change one’s plans en route.
Suddenly, toward evening, the guard called out “Alassio.” Mlle. Souvestre was galvanized into action; breathlessly she leaned out the window and said, “I am going to get off.” She directed me to get the bags, which were stored on the rack over our heads, and we simply fell off onto the platform, bag and baggage, just before the train started on its way. I was aghast. Here we stood, our trunks going on in the luggage van and we without rooms and, as far as I knew, in a strange place with no reason for the sudden whim.
When we recovered our breath Mlle. Souvestre said, “My friend Mrs. Humphry Ward lives here, and I decided that I would like to see her; besides, the Mediterranean is a lovely blue at night and the sky with the stars coming out is nice to
I wore it on Sundays and as an everyday evening dress at school and probably got more satisfaction out of it than from any dress I have had since.
The one great event that I remember in the winter of 1901 was the death of Queen Victoria. Some of my Robinson connections had arranged for me to see the funeral procession from the windows of a house belonging to one of them. It was an exciting day, beginning with the crowds in the streets and the difficulty of arriving at our destination, and finally the long wait for the funeral procession itself. I remember little of the many carriages which must have comprised that procession, but I shall never forget the genuine feeling shown by the crowds in the streets or the hush that fell as the gun carriage bearing the smallest coffin I had ever seen came within our range of vision. Hardly anyone had dry eyes as that slow-moving procession passed by, and I have never forgotten the great emotional force that seemed to stir all about us as Queen Victoria, so small of stature and yet so great in devotion to her people, passed out of their lives forever.
By the following Easter Mlle. Souvestre had decided that she would take me traveling with her. This was one of the most momentous things that happened in my education. The plan was to go to Marseilles, along the Mediterranean coast, to stop at Pisa and then spend some time in Florence, not staying in the city in a hotel, but living with an artist friend of Mlle. Souvestre’s in his villa in Fiesole, on a hill which overlooked Florence.
Traveling with Mlle. Souvestre was a revelation. She did all the things that in a vague way you had always felt you wanted to do. In Marseilles we walked upon the Quai, looked at the boats that came from foreign ports, saw some of the small fishing boats with their colored sails, and went up to a little church where offerings were made to the Blessed Virgin for the preservation of those at sea. There is a shrine in this church where people have prayed for the granting of some particular wishes, the crippled have hung their crutches there, and people have made offerings of gold and silver and jewels.
We ended by dining in a café overlooking the Mediterranean and ate the dish for which Marseilles is famous, bouillabaisse, a kind of soup in which every possible kind of fish that can be found in nearby waters is used. With it we had vin rouge du pays , because Mlle. Souvestre believed in the theory that, water being uncertain, wine was safer to drink, and if you diluted it with water, in some way the germs were killed by the wine.
The next day we started our trip along the shores of the Mediterranean. I wanted to get out at almost every place the name of which was familiar to me, but our destination was Pisa and it never occurred to me, the child of regular trips from New York to Tivoli and back, that one could change one’s plans en route.
Suddenly, toward evening, the guard called out “Alassio.” Mlle. Souvestre was galvanized into action; breathlessly she leaned out the window and said, “I am going to get off.” She directed me to get the bags, which were stored on the rack over our heads, and we simply fell off onto the platform, bag and baggage, just before the train started on its way. I was aghast. Here we stood, our trunks going on in the luggage van and we without rooms and, as far as I knew, in a strange place with no reason for the sudden whim.
When we recovered our breath Mlle. Souvestre said, “My friend Mrs. Humphry Ward lives here, and I decided that I would like to see her; besides, the Mediterranean is a lovely blue at night and the sky with the stars coming out is nice to
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