Dearest Kitty,—So varied have been my emotions of late, and with such whirlwind rapidity have they succeeded each other in my distracted brain, that I am really at a loss to know where I left off in my last epistle to you, and at what particular crisis in our adventures I closed my narrative. Forgive me, dearest, if I impose on you the tiresome task of listening twice to the same tale, or the almost equally unpleasant duty of trying to follow me through gaps of unexplained events.
Have I told you of the Countess's departure,—that most mysterious flight, which has thrown poor James into, I fear, a hopeless melancholy, and made shipwreck of his heart forever? I feel as if I had revealed it to my dearest Kitty; my soul whispers to me that she bears her share in my sorrows, and mingles her tears with mine. Yes, dearest, she is gone! Some indiscreet revelations papa made to mamma in his room would appear to have disclosed more of our private affairs than ought to have obtained publicity, were overheard by her, and she immediately gave orders to her servants to pack up, leaving a very vague note behind her, plainly intimating, however, that papa might, if he pleased, satisfactorily account for the step she had taken. This, and a few almost flippant acknowledgments of our attentions, concluded an epistle that fell in the midst of us like a rocket.
If I feel deeply wounded at the slight thus shown us, and the still heavier injury inflicted on poor dear James, yet am I constrained to confess that Josephine was quite justified in what she did. Born in the very highest class, all her habits, her ways, her very instincts aristocratic, the bare thought of an alliance with a family struggling with dubious circumstances must have been too shocking! I did not ever believe that she returned James's affection; she liked him, perhaps, well enough,—that is, well enough to marry! She deemed him her equal in rank and fortune, and in that respect regarded the match as a fair one. To learn that we were neither titled nor rich, neither great by station nor rolling in wealth, was of course to feel that she had been deceived and imposed upon, and might reasonably warrant even the half-sarcastic spirit of her farewell note.
To tell what misery this has cost us all is quite beyond me; scorned affection,—blasted hopes,—ambitions scattered to the winds,—a glorious future annihilated! Conceive all of these that you can, and then couple them with meaner and more vulgar regrets, as to what enormous extravagance the pursuit has involved us in, the expense of a style of living that even a prince could scarcely have maintained, and all at a little secluded capital where nobody comes, nobody lives; so that we do not reap even the secondary advantage of that notoriety for which we have to pay so dearly. Mamma and I, who think precisely alike on these subjects, are overwhelmed with misery as we reflect over what the money thus squandered would have done at Rome, Florence, or Vienna!
James is distracted, and papa sits poring all day long over papers and accounts, by way of arranging his affairs before his death. Cary alone maintains her equanimity, for which she may thank the heartlessness of a nature insensible to all feeling.
Imagine a family circle of such ingredients! Think of us as you saw us last, even in all the darkness of Dodsborough, and you will find it difficult to believe we are the same! Yet, dearest, it might all have been different,—how different! But papa—there is no use trying to conceal it—has a talent for ruining the prospects of his family, that no individual advantages, no combination of events, however felicitous, can avail against! An absurd and most preposterous notion of being what he calls "honest and aboveboard" leads him to excesses of every kind, and condemns us to daily sorrows and humiliations. It is in vain that we tell him nobody parades his debts no more than his infirmities; that people wear their best faces for the world, and that credit is the same principle in morals as in mercantile affairs. His reply is, "No. I 'm tired of all that. I never perform a great part without longing for the time when I shall be Kenny Dodd again!"
This one confession will explain to you the hopelessness of all our efforts to rise in life, and our last resource is in the prospect of his going back to Ireland. Mamma has already proposed to accept a thousand a year for herself and me; while Cary should return with papa to Dodsborough. It is possible that this arrangement might have been concluded ere this, but that papa has got a relapse of his gout, and been laid up for the last eight days. He refuses to see any doctor, saying that they all drive the malady in by depletion, and has taken to drinking port wine all day long, by way of confining the attack to his foot. What is to be the success of this treatment has yet to be seen, but up to this time its only palpable effect has been to make him like a chained tiger. He roars and shouts fearfully, and has smashed all the more portable articles of furniture in the room,—throwing them at the waiters. He insists, besides, on having his bill made up every night, so that instead of one grand engagement once a week, we have now a smart skirmish every evening, which usually lasts till bedtime.
For economy, too, we have gone up to the second story, and come down to a very meagre dinner. No carriage,—no saddle-horses,—no theatre. The courier dismissed, and a strict order at the bar against all "extras."
James lies all day abed; Cary plays nurse to papa; mamma and I sit moping beside a little miserable stove till evening, when we receive our one solitary visitor,—a certain Father M'Grail, an Irish priest, who has been resident here for thirty years, and is known as the Padre Giacomo! He is a spare, thin, pock-marked little man, with a pair of downcast, I was going to say dishonest-looking, eyes, who talks with an accent as rich as though he only left Kilrush yesterday. We have only known him ten days, but he has already got an immense influence over mamma, and induced her to read innumerable little books, and to practise a variety of small penances besides. I suspect he is rather afraid of me,—at least we maintain towards each other a kind of armed neutrality; but mamma will not suffer me to breathe a word against him.
It is not unlikely that he owes much of the esteem mamma feels for him to his own deprecatory estimate of papa, whom he pronounces to be, in many respects, almost as infamous as a Protestant. Cary he only alludes to by throwing up hands and eyes, and seeming to infer that she is irrecoverably lost.
I own to you, Kitty, I don't like him,—I scarcely trust him,—but it is, after all, such a resource to have any one to talk to, anything to break the dull monotony of this dreary life, that I hail his coming with pleasure, and am actually working a rochet, or an alb, or a something else for him to wear on Saint Nicolo of Treviso's "festa,"—an occasion on which the little man desires to appear with extraordinary splendor. Mamma, too, is making a canopy to hold over his honored head; and I sincerely hope that our oeuvres méritoires will redound to our future advantage! I am half afraid that I have shocked you with an apparent irreverence in speaking of these things, but I must confess to you, dearest Kitty, that I am occasionally provoked beyond all bounds by the degree of influence this small saint exercises in our family, and by no means devoid of apprehension lest his dominion should become absolute. Even already he has persuaded mamma that papa's illness will resist all medical skill to the end of time, and will only yield to the intervention of a certain Saint Agatha of Orsaro, a newly discovered miracle-worker, of whose fame you will doubtless hear much erelong.
To my infinite astonishment, papa is quite converted to this opinion, and Cary tells me is most impatient to set out for Orsaro, a little village at the foot of the mountain of that name, and about thirty miles from this. As the only approach is by a bridle-path, we are to travel on mules or asses; and I look forward to the excursion, if not exactly with pleasure, with some interest. Father Giacomo—I can't call him anything else—has already written to secure rooms for us at the little inn; and we are meanwhile basely employed in the manufacture of certain pilgrim costumes, which are indispensable to all frequenting the holy shrine. The dress is far from unbecoming, I assure you; a loose robe of white stuff—ours are Cashmere—with wide sleeves, and a large hood lined with sky-blue; a cord of the same color round the waist; no shoes or stockings, but light sandals, which show the foot to perfection. An amber rosary is the only ornament permitted; but the whole is charming.
Saint Agatha of Orsaro will unquestionably make a great noise in the world; and it will therefore be interesting to you to know something of her history,—or, what Fra Giacomo more properly calls, her manifestation—which was in this wise: The priest of Orsaro—a very devout and excellent man—had occasion to go into the church late at night on the eve of Saint Agatha's festival. He was anxious, I believe, to see that all the decorations to do honor to the day were in proper order, and, taking a lamp from the sacristy, he walked down the aisle till he came to the shrine, where the saint's image stood. He knelt for a moment to address her in prayer, when, with a sudden sneeze, she extinguished his light, and left him fainting and in darkness on the floor of the church. In this fashion was he discovered the following morning, when, after coming to himself, he made the revelation I have just given you. Since that she has been known to sneeze three times, and on each occasion a miracle has followed. The fame of this wonderful occurrence has now traversed Italy, and will doubtless soon extend to the faithful in every part of Europe. Orsaro is becoming crowded with penitents; among whom I am gratified to see the names of many of the English aristocracy; and it has become quite a fashionable thing to pass a week or ten days there.
Now, dearest Kitty, from you, with whom I have no concealments, I will not disguise the confession that I look forward to this excursion with considerable hope and expectation. You cannot but have perceived latterly how our faith, instead of being, as it once was, the symbol of low birth and ignoble connections, has become the very bond of aristocratic society. The church has become the salon wherein we make our most valued acquaintances; and devout observances are equivalent to letters of introduction. If I wanted a proof of this, I'd give it in the number of those who have become converts to our religion, from the manifest social benefits the change of faith has conferred. How otherwise would third and fourth-rate Protestants obtain access to Princely soirées and Ducal receptions? By what other road could they arrive at recognition in the society of Rome and Naples, frequent Cardinals' levees, and be even seen lounging in the ante-chambers of the Vatican!
Hence it is clear that the true faith has its benefits in this world also, and that piety is a passport to high places even on earth. I have no doubt, if we manage properly, our sojourn at Orsaro may be made very profitable, and that, even without miracles, the excursion may pay us well.
I have been interrupted by a message to attend mamma in her own room,—a summons I rightly guessed to imply something of importance. Only fancy, Kitty, it was a letter which had arrived addressed to papa,—but of course not given to him to read in his present highly agitated state,—from Captain Morris, with a proposal for Caroline!
He very properly sets out by acknowledging the great difference of age between them, but he might certainly have added something as to the discrepancy between their stations. He talks, too, of his small means, "sufficient for those who can limit their ambitions and wants within a narrow circle,"—I wonder who they are?—and professes a deal of that cold kind of respectful love which all old men affect to think a woman ought to feel flattered by. In fact, the whole reads far more like a law paper than a love-letter, and is rather a rough draft of an Act of Parliament against celibacy than a proposal for a pretty girl!
Mamma had shown the letter to Fra Giacomo before I entered, and I had very little trouble to guess the effect produced by his counsels. The Captain, as a heretic, was at once denounced by him; and the little man grew actually enthusiastic in inveighing against the insulting presumption of the offer. He insisted on a peremptory, flat rejection of the proposal, without any reference whatever to papa. He said that to hesitate in such a question was in itself a sin; and he even hinted that he was n't quite sure what reception Saint Agatha might vouchsafe us after so much of intercourse with an outcast and a disbeliever.
This last argument was decisive, and I accordingly sat down and wrote, in mamma's name, a very stiff acknowledgment of the receipt of his letter, and an equally cold refusal of the honor it tendered for our acceptance. We all agreed that Cary should hear nothing whatever of the matter, but, as Fra Giacomo said, "we 'd keep the disgrace for our own hearts."
I own to you, Kitty, that if the religious question could be got over, I do not think the thing so inadmissible. Cary is evidently not destined to advance our family interests; had she even the capacity, she lacks the ambition. Her tastes are humble, commonplace, and—shall I say it?—vulgar.
It gives her no pleasure to move in high society, and she esteems the stupid humdrum of domestic life as the very supreme of happiness. With such tastes this old Captain—he is five-and-thirty at least—would perhaps have suited her perfectly, and his intolerable mother been quite a companion. Their small fortune, too, would have consigned them to some cheap, out-of-the-way place, where we should not have met; and, in fact, the arrangement might have combined a very fair share of advantage. Fra G., however, had decided the matter on higher grounds, and there is no more to be said about it.
There is another letter come by this post, too, from Lord George, dearest! He is to arrive to-night, if he can get horses. He is full of some wonderful tournament about to be held at Genoa,—a spectacle to be given by the city to the King, which is to attract all the world thither; and Lord G. writes to say that we have n't a moment to lose in securing accommodation at the hotel. Little suspecting the frame of mind his communication is to find us in, and that, in place of doughty deeds and chivalrous exploits, our thoughts are turned to fastings, mortifications, and whipcord! Oh, how I shudder at the ridicule with which he will assail us, and tremble for my own constancy under the raillery he will shower on us! I never dreaded his coming before, and would give worlds now that anything could prevent his arrival.
How reconcile his presence with that of Fra Giacomo? How protect the priest from the overt quizzings of my Lord? and how rescue his Lordship from the secret machinations of the "father?"? are difficulties that I know not how to face. Mamma, besides, is now so totally under priestly guidance that she would sacrifice the whole peerage for a shaving of a saint's shin-bone! There will not be even time left me to concert measures with Lord G. The moment he enters the house he'll see the "altered temper of our ways" in a thousand instances. Relics, missals, beads, and rosaries have replaced Gavarni's etchings,—"Punch," and the "Illustration." Charms and amulets blessed by popes occupy the places of cigar-holders, pipe-sticks, and gutta-percha drolleries. The "Stabat Mater" has usurped the seat of "Casta Diva" on the piano, and a number of other unmistakable signs point to our reformed condition.
I hear post-horses approaching—they come nearer and nearer! Yes, Kitty, it must be—it is he! James has met him—they are already on the stairs—how they laugh! James must be telling him everything. I knew he would. Another burst of that unfeeling laughter! They are at the door. Good-bye!
Mount Orsaro, "La Pace."
Here we are, dearest, at the end of our pilgrimage. Such a delightful excursion I never remember to have taken. I told you all about my fears of Lord George. Would that I had never written the ungracious lines!—never so foully wronged him! Instead of the levity I apprehended, he is actually reverential,—I might say, devout! The moment he reached Parma, he ordered a dress to be made for him exactly like James's, and decided immediately on accompanying us. Fra Giacomo, I need scarcely observe, was in ecstasies. The prospect of such a noble convert would be an immense piece of success, and he did not hesitate to avow, would materially advance his own interests at Rome.
As for the journey, Kitty, I have no words to describe the scenery through which we travelled: deep glens between lofty mountains, wooded to the very summits with cork and chestnut trees, over which, towering aloft, were seen the peaks of the great Apennines, glistening in snow, or golden in the glow of sunset. Wending along through these our little procession went, in itself no unpicturesque feature, for we were obliged to advance in single file along the narrow pathway, and thus our mules, with their scarlet trappings and tasselled bridles, and our floating costumes, made up an effect which will remain painted on my heart forever. In reality, I made a sketch of the scene; but Lord George, who for the convenience of talking to me always rode with his face to the mule's tail, made me laugh so often that my drawing is quite spoiled.
At last we arrived at our little inn called "La Pace,"—how beautifully it sounds, dearest! and really stands so, too, beside a gushing mountain-stream, and perfectly embowered in olives. We could only obtain two rooms, however,—one, adjoining the kitchen, for papa and mamma; the other, under the tiles, for Cary and myself. Fra Giacomo quarters himself on the priest of the village; and Lord George and James are what the Italians call "a spasso" Betty Cobb is furious at being consigned to the kitchen, in company with some thirty others, many of whom, I may remark, are English people of rank and condition. In fact, dearest, the whole place is so crowded that a miserable room, in all its native dirt and disgust, costs the price of a splendid apartment in Paris. Many of the first people of Europe are here: ministers, ambassadors, generals; and an English earl also, who is getting a drawing made of the shrine and the Virgin, and intends sending a narrative of her miracles to the "Tablet." You have no idea, my dearest Kitty, of the tone of affectionate kindness and cordiality inspired by such a scene. Dukes, Princes, even Royalties, accost you as their equals. As Fra G. says, "The holy influences level distinctions." The Duke of San Pietrino placed his own cushion for mamma to kneel on yesterday. The Graf von Dummerslungen gave me a relic to kiss as I passed this morning. Lord Tollington, one of the proudest peers in England, stopped to ask papa how he was, and regretted we had not arrived last Saturday, when the Virgin sneezed twice!
As we begin our Novena to-morrow, I shall probably not have a moment to continue this rambling epistle; but you may confidently trust that my first thoughts, when again at liberty, shall be given to you. Till then, darling Kitty, believe me,
Your devoted and ever affectionate
Mart Anne Dodd.
P. S. More arrivals, Kitty,—three carriages and eleven donkeys! Where they are to put up I can't conceive. Lord G. says, "It's as full as the 'Diggins,' and quite as dear." The excitement and novelty of the whole are charming!
My dear Molly,—The Earl of Guzeberry, that leaves this to-day for England, kindly offers to take charge of my letters to you; and so I write "Favored by his Lordship" on the outside, just that you may show the neighbors, and teach them Davises the respect they ought to show us, if it 's ever our misfortune to meet.
The noble Lord was here doing his penances with us for the last three weeks, and is now my most intimate friend on earth. He 's the kindest-hearted creature I ever met, and always doing good works, of one sort or other; and whenever not sticking nails in his own flesh, or pulling hairs out of his beard or eyelashes, always ready to chastise a friend!
We came here to see the wonderful Virgin of Orsaro, and beg her intercession for us all, but more especially for K. I., whose temper proves clearly that there's what Father James calls a "possession of him;" that is to say, "he has devils inside of him." The whole account of the saint herself—her first manifestation and miraculous doings—you 'll find in the little volume that accompanies this, written, as you will see, by your humble servant. Lord G. gave me every assistance in his power; and, indeed, but for him and Father James, it might have taken years to finish it; for I must tell you, Molly, bad as Berlin-work is, it 's nothing compared to writing a book; for when you have the wool and the frame, it's only stitching it in, but with a book you have to arrange your thoughts, and then put them down; after that, there 's the grammar to be minded, and the spelling, and the stops; and many times, where you think it's only a comma, you have come to your full period! I assure you I went through more with that book—little as it is—than in all my "observances," some of them very severe ones. First of all, we had to be so particular about the miracles, knowing well what Protestant bigotry would do when the account came out. We had to give names and dates and places, with witnesses to substantiate, and all that could corroborate the facts. Then we had a difficulty of another kind,—how to call the Virgin. You may remember how those Exeter Hall wretches spoke of Our Lady of Rimini,—as the "Winking Virgin." We could n't say sneezing after that, so we just called her "La Madonna dei Sospiri,"—"Our Lady of Sighs." To be sure, we can't get the people here to adopt this title; but that's no consequence as regards England.
By the time the volume reaches you, all Europe will be ringing with the wonderful tidings; for there are three bishops here, and they have all signed the "Mémoire," recommending special services in honor of the Virgin, and strongly urging a subscription to build a suitable shrine for her in this her native village.
You have no idea, dear Molly, of what a blessed frame of mind these spiritual duties have enabled me to enjoy. How peaceful is my spirit!—how humble my heart! I turn my thoughts away from earth as easily as I could renounce rope-dancing; and when I sit of an evening, in a state of what Lord Guzeberry calls "beatitude," K. I. might have the cholera without my caring for it.
The season is now far advanced, however, and, to my infinite grief, we must leave this holy spot, where we have made a numerous and most valuable acquaintance; for, besides several of the first people of England, we have formed intimacy with the Duchessa di Sangue Nero, first lady to the Queen of Naples; the Marquesa di Villa Guasta, a great leader of fashion in Turin; the "Noncio" at the court of Modena; and a variety of distinguished Florentines and Romans, who all assure us that our devotions are the best passports for admission in all the select houses of Italy.
Mary Anne predicts a brilliant winter before us, and even Cary is all delight at the prospect of picture galleries and works of art. Is n't it paying the Protestants off for their insulting treatment of us at home, Molly, to see all the honor and respect we receive abroad? The tables are completely turned, my dear; for not one of them ever gets his nose into the really high society of this country, while we are welcomed to it with open arms. But if there 's anything sure to get you well received in the first houses, it is having a convert of rank in your train. To be the means of bringing a lord over to the true fold is to be taken up at once by cardinals and princes of all kinds.
As Mary Anne says, "Let us only induce Lord George to enter the Catholic Church and our fortune is made." And oh, Molly, putting all the pomps and vanities of this world aside, never heeding the grandeur of this life, nor caring what men may do to us, is n't it an elegant reflection to save one poor creature from the dreadful road of destruction and ruin! I'm sure it would be the happiest day of my life when I could read in the "Tablet," "We have great satisfaction in announcing to our readers that Lord George Tiverton, member for"—I forget where—"and son of the Marquis "—I forget whom,—"yesterday renounced the errors of the Protestant Church to embrace those of the Church of Rome."
Maybe, now, you 'd like to hear something about ourselves; but I 've little to tell that is either pleasant or entertaining. You know—or, at least, you will know from Kitty Doolan—the way K. I. destroyed poor James, and lost him a beautiful creature and four thousand a year. That was a blow there's no getting over; and, indeed, I'd have sunk under it if it was n't for Father James, and the consolation he has been able to give me. There was an offer came for Caroline. Captain Morris, that you 've heard me speak of, wrote and proposed, which I opened during K. I.'s illness, and sent him a flat refusal, Molly, with a bit of advice in the end, about keeping in his own rank of life, and marrying into his own creed.
Maybe I mightn't have been so stout about rejecting him, for it's the hardest thing in life to marry a daughter nowadays, but that Father Giacomo said his Holiness would never forgive me for taking a heretic into the family, and that it was one of the nine deadly sins.
You may perceive from this, that Father G. is of great use to me when I need advice and guidance, and, indeed, I consulted him as to whether I ought to separate from K. I., or not. There are cases of conscience, he tells me, and cases of convenience. The first are matters for the cardinals and the Holy College! but the others any ordinary priest can settle; and this is one of them. "Don't leave him," says he, "for your means of doing good will only be more limited; and as to your trials, take out some of your mortifications that way; and, above all, don't be too lenient to him." Ay, Molly, he saw my weak point, do what I would to hide it; he knew my failing was an easy disposition, and a patient, submissive turn of mind. But I 'll do my endeavor to conquer it, if it was only for the poor children's sake; for I know he'd marry again, and I sometimes suspect I 've hit the one he has his eyes on.
On Friday next we are to leave this for Genoa. It's the end of our Novena, and we would n't have time for another before the snow sets in; for though we're in Italy, Molly, the mountains all round us are tipped with snow, and it's as cold now, when you 're in the shade, as I ever felt it in Ireland. It's a great tournament at Genoa is taking us there. There 's to be the King of Saxony, and the King of Bohemia, too, I believe; for whenever you begin to live in fashionable life, you must run after royal people from place to place, be seen wherever they are, and be quite satisfied whenever your name is put down among the "distinguished company."
I was near forgetting that I want you to get Father John to have my little book read by the children in our National School; for, as K. I. is the patron, we have, of course, the right. At all events I'll withdraw if they refuse; and they can't accuse me of illiberality or bigotry, for I never said a word against the taking away the Bible. Let them just remember that!
Lord Guzeberry is just going, so that I have only time to seal, and sign myself as ever yours,
Jemima Dodd.
I send you two dozen of the tracts to distribute among our friends. The one bound in red silk is for Dean O'Dowd, "with the author's devotions and duties."
My dear Shusan,—It's five months and two days since I wrote to you last, and it 's like five years in regard to the way time has worn and distressed me. The mistress tould Mrs. Gallagher how I was deserted by that deceatfull blaguard, taking off with him my peace of mind, two petticoats, and a blue cloth cloak, that I thought would last me for life! so that I need n't go over my miseries again to yourself. We heard since that he had another wife in Switzerland, not to say two more wandering about, so that the master says, if we ever meet him, we can hang him for "bigotry." And, to tell you the truth, Shusy, I feel as if it would be a great relief to me to do it! if it was only to save other craytures from the same feat that he did to your poor friend Betty Cobb; besides that, until something of the kind is done, I can't enter the holy state again with any other deceaver.
Such a life as we 're leadin', Shusy, at one minute all eatin' and drinkin' and caressin' from morning till night; at another, my dear, it's all fastin' and mortification, for the mistress has no moderation at all; but, as the master says, she 's always in her extremities! If ye seen the dress of her last week, she was Satan from head to foot, and now she 's, by way of a saint, in white Cashmar, with a little scurge at her waist, and hard pegs in her shoes!
We have nothin' to eat but roots, like the beasts of the field; and them, too, mostly raw! That's to make us good soldiers of the Church, Father James says; but in my heart and soul, Shusy, I 'm sick of the regiment. Shure, when we 've a station in Ireland, it only lasts a day or two at most; and if your knees is sore with the pennance, shure you have the satisfaction of the pleasant evenings after; with, maybe, a dance, or, at all events, tellin' stories over a jug of punch; but here it's prayers and stripes, stripes and offices, starvation and more stripes, till, savin' your presence, I never sit down without a screech!
Why we came here I don't know; the mistress says it was to cure the master; but did n't I hear her tell him a thousand times that the bad drop was in him, and he 'd never be better to his dyin' day? so that it can't be for that. Sometimes I think it's to get Mary Anne married, and they want Saint Agatha to help them; but faith, Shusy, one sinner is worth two saints for the like of that. Lord George tould me in confidence—the other day it was—that the mistress wanted an increase to her family. Faith, you may well open your eyes, my dear, but them 's his words! And tho' I did n't believe him at first, I 'm more persuaded of it now, that I see how she's goin' on.
If the master only suspected it, he 'd be off to-morrow, for he 's always groanin' and moanin' over the expense of the family; and, between you and me, I believe I ought to go and tell him. Maybe you 'd give me advice what to do, for it's a nice point.
You would n't know Paddy Byrne, how much he's grown, and the wonderful whiskers he has all over his face; but he 's as bowld as brass, and has the impedince of the divil in him. He never ceases tormentin' me about Taddy, and says I ought to take out a few florins in curses on him, just as if I could n't do it cheaper myself than payin' a priest for it As for Paddy himself,—do what the mistress will,—she can get no good of him, in regard to his duties. He does all his stations on his knees, to be sure, but with a cigar in his mouth; and when he comes to the holy well, it's a pull at a dram bottle he takes instead of the blessed water. I wondered myself at his givin' a crown-piece to the Virgin on Tuesday last, but he soon showed me what he was at by say in', "If she does n't get my wages riz for that, the divil receave the f arthin' she 'll ever receave of mine again!"
After all, Shusy, it 's an elegant sight to see all them great people that thinks so much of themselves, crawling about on their hands and knees, kissin' a relict here, huggin' a stone there, just as much frightened about the way the saint looks at them as one of us! It does one's heart good to know that, for all their fine livin' and fine clothes, ould Nick has the same hould of them that he has of you and me!
I had a great deal to tell you about the family and their goin's on, but I must conclude in haste, for tho' it's only five o'clock, there's the bell ringing for martins, and I have a station to take before first mass. I suppose it's part of my mortifications, but the mistress and Mary Anne never gives me a stitch of clothes till they're spoiled; and I'm drivin to my wits' end, tearin' and destroyin' things in such a way as not to ruin them when they come to me! Miss Caroline never has a gown much better than my own; and, indeed, she said the other day, "When I want to be smart, Betty, you must lend me your black bombaseen."
There's the mistress gone out already, so no more from
Your sincear friend,
Betty Cobb.
I think Lord G. is right about the mistress. The saints forgive her, at her time of life! More in my next.
My dear Bob,—This must be a very brief epistle, since, amongst other reasons, the sheet of letter-paper costs me a florin, and I shall have to pay three more for a messenger to convey it to the post-town, a distance of as many miles off. To explain these scarce credible facts, I must tell you that we are at a little village called Orsaro, in the midst of a wild mountain country, whither we have come to perform penances, say prayers, and enact other devotions at the shrine of a certain St. Agatha, who, some time last autumn, took to working miracles down here, and consequently attracting all the faithful who had nothing to do with themselves before Carnival.
My excellent mother it was who, in an access of devotion, devised the excursion; and the governor, hearing that the locality was a barbarous one, and the regimen a strict fast, fancied, of course, it would be a most economical dodge, at once agreed; but, by Jove! the saving is a delusion and a snare. Two miserable rooms, dirty and ill furnished, cost forty francs a day; bad coffee and black bread, for breakfast, are supplied at four francs a head; dinner—if by such a name one would designate a starved kid stewed in garlic, or a boiled hedgehog with chiccory sauce,—ten francs each; sour wine at the price of Château Lafitte; and a seat in the sanctuary, to see the Virgin, four times as dear as a stall at the Italian Opera. Exorbitant as all these charges are, we are gravely assured that they will be doubled whenever the Virgin sneezes again, that being the manifestation, as they call it, by which she displays her satisfaction at our presence here. I do not fancy talking irreverently of these things, Bob, but I own to you I am ineffably shocked at the gross impositions innkeepers, postmasters, donkey-owners, and others practise by trading on the devotional feelings and pious aspirations of weak but worthy people. I say nothing of the priests themselves; they may or may not believe all these miraculous occurrences. One thing, however, is clear: they make every opportunity of judging of them so costly that only a rich man can afford himself the luxury, so that you and I, and a hundred others like us, may either succumb or scoff, as we please, without any means of correcting our convictions. One inevitable result ensues from this. There are two camps: the Faithful, who believe everything, and are cheated by every imaginable device of mock relics and made-up miracles; and the Unbelieving, who actually rush into ostentatious vice, to show their dislike to hypocrisy! Thus, this little dirty village, swarming with priests, and resounding with the tramp of processions, is a den of every kind of dissipation. The rattle of the dice-box mingles with the nasal chantings of the tonsured monks, and the wild orgies of a drinking party blend with the strains of the organ! If men be not religiously minded, the contact with the Church seems to make demons of them. How otherwise interpret the scoff and mockery that unceasingly go forward against priests and priestcraft in a little community, as it were, separated for acts of piety and devotion?
That we live in a most believing age is palpable, by the fact that this place swarms with men distinguished in every court and camp in Europe. Crafty ministers, artful diplomatists, keen old generals, versed in every wile and stratagem, come here as it were to divest themselves of all their long-practised acuteness, and give in their adhesion to the most astounding and incoherent revelations. I cannot bring myself to suppose these men rogues and hypocrites, and yet I have nearly as much difficulty to believe them dupes! What have become of those sharp perceptive powers, that clever insight into motives, and the almost unerring judgment they could exhibit in any question of politics or war? It cannot surely be that they who have measured themselves with the first capacities of the world dread to enter the lists against some half-informed and narrow-minded village curate; or is it that there lurks in every human heart some one spot, a refuge as it were for credulity, which even the craftiest cannot exclude? You are far better suited than I to canvass such a question, my dear Bob. I only throw it out for your consideration, without any pretension to solve it myself.
My father, you are well aware, is too good a Churchman to suffer a syllable to escape his lips which might be construed into discredit of the faith; but I can plainly see that he skulks his penances, and shifts off any observance that does not harmonize with his comfort. At the same time he strongly insists that the fastings and other privations enjoined are an admirable system to counteract the effect of that voluptuous life practised in almost every capital of Europe. As he shrewdly remarked, "This place was like Groeffenberg,—you might not be restored by the water-cure, but you were sure to be benefited by early hours, healthful exercise, and a light diet." This, you may perceive, is a very modified approval of the miracles.
I have dwelt so long on this theme that I have only left myself what Mary Anne calls the selvage of my paper, for anything else. Nor is it pleasant to me, Bob, to tell you that I am low-spirited and down-hearted. A month ago, life was opening before me with every prospect of happiness and enjoyment. A lovely creature, gifted and graceful, of the very highest rank and fortune, was to have been mine. She was actually domesticated with us, and only waiting for the day which should unite our destinies forever, when one night—I can scarcely go on—I know not how either to convey to you what is half shrouded in mystery, and should be perhaps all concealed in shame; but somehow my father contrived to talk so of our family affairs—our debts, our difficulties, and what not—that Josephine overheard everything, and shocked possibly more at our duplicity than at our narrow fortune, she hurried away at midnight, leaving a few cold lines of farewell behind her, and has never been seen or heard of since.
I set out after her to Milan; thence to Bologna, where I thought I had traces of her. From that I went to Rimini, and on a false scent down to Ancona. I got into a slight row there with the police, and was obliged to retrace my steps, and arrived at Parma, after three weeks' incessant travelling, heart-broken and defeated.
That I shall ever rally,—that I shall ever take any real interest in life again, is totally out of the question. Such an opportunity of fortune as this rarely occurs to any one once in life; none are lucky enough to meet it a second time. The governor, too, instead of feeling, as he ought, that he has been the cause of my ruin, continues to pester me about the indolent way I spend my life, and inveighs against even the little dissipations that I endeavor to drown my sorrows by indulging in. It 's all very well to talk about active employment, useful pursuits, and so forth; but a man ought to have his mind at ease, and his heart free from care, for all these, as I told the governor yesterday. When a fellow has got such a "stunner" as I have had lately, London porter and a weed are his only solace. Even Tiverton's society is distasteful, he has such a confoundedly flippant way of treating one.
I 'm thinking seriously of emigrating, and wish you could give me any useful hints on the subject. Tiverton knows a fellow out there, who was in the same regiment with himself,—a baronet, I believe,—and he's doing a capital stroke of work with a light four-in-hand team that he drives, I think, between San Francisco and Geelong, but don't trust me too far in the geography; he takes the diggers at eight pounds a head, and extra for the "swag." Now that is precisely the thing to suit me; I can tool a coach as well as most fellows: and as long as one keeps on the box they don't feel it like coming down in the world!
I half suspect Tiverton would come out too. At least, he seems very sick of England, as everybody must be that has n't ten thousand a year and a good house in Belgravia.
I don't know whither we go from this, and, except in the hope of hearing from you, I could almost add, care as little. The governor has got so much better from the good air and the regimen, that he is now anxious to be off; while my mother, attributing his recovery to the saint's interference, wants another "Novena." Mary Anne likes the place too; and Cary, who sketches all day long, seems to enjoy it.
How the decision is to come is therefore not easy to foresee. Meanwhile, whether here or there,
Believe me your attached friend,
James Dodd.
I open this to say that we are "booked" for another fortnight here. My mother went to consult the Virgin about going away last night, and she—that is, the saint—gave such a sneeze that my mother fainted, and was carried home insensible. The worst of all this is that Father Giacomo—our guide in spirituals—insists on my mother's publishing a little tract on her experiences; and the women are now hard at work with pen and ink at a small volume to be called "St. Agatha of Orsaro," by Jemima D———. They have offered half a florin apiece for good miracles, but they are pouring in so fast they 'll have to reduce the tariff. Tiverton recommends them to ask thirteen to the dozen.
The governor is furious at this authorship, which will cost some five-and-twenty pounds at the least!
My dear Molly,—It's little that piety and holy living assists us in this wicked world, as you 'll allow, when I tell you that after all my penances, my mortifications, and my self-abstainings, instead of enjoyment and pleasure, as I might reasonably look for in this place, I never knew real misery and shame till I came here. I would n't believe anybody that said people was always as bad as they are now! Sure, if they were, why would n't we be prepared for their baseness and iniquity? Why would we be deceived and cheated at every hand's turn? It's all balderdash to pretend it, Molly. The world must be coming to an end, for this plain reason, that it's morally impossible it can be more corrupt, more false, and more vicious than it is.
I 'm trying these three days to open my heart to you. I 've taken ether, and salts, and neumonia—I think the man called it—by the spoonfuls, just to steady my nerves, and give me strength to tell you my afflictions; and now I 'll just begin, and if my tears does n't blot out the ink, I 'll reveal my sorrows, and open my breast before you.
We left that blessed village of Orsaro two days after I wrote to you by the Earl of Guzeberry, and came on here, by easy stages, as we were obliged to ride mules for more than half the way. Our journey was, of course, fatiguing, but unattended by any other inconvenience than K. I.'s usual temper about the food, the beds, and the hotel charges as we came along. He would n't fast, nor do a single penance on the road; nor would he join in chanting a Litany with Father James, but threatened to sing "Nora Chrina," if we did n't stop. And though Lord George was greatly shocked, James was just as bad as his father. Father Giacomo kept whispering to me from time to time, "We 'll come to grief for this. We 'll have to pay for all this impiety, Mrs. D.;" till at last he got my nerves in such a state that I thought we 'd be swept away at every blast of wind from the mountains, or carried down by every torrent that crossed the road. I couldn't pass a bridge without screeching; and as to fording a stream, it was an attack of hysterics. These, of course, delayed us greatly, and it was a good day when we got over eight miles. For all that, the girls seemed to like it. Cary had her sketch-book always open; and Mary Anne used to go fishing with Lord G. and James, and contrived, as she said, to make the time pass pleasantly enough.
I saw very little of K. I., for I was always at some devotional exercise; and, indeed, I was right glad of it, for his chief amusement was getting Father James into an argument, and teasing and insulting him so that I only wondered why he did n't leave us at once and forever. He never ceased, too, gibing and jeering about the miracles of Orsaro; and one night, when he had got quite beyond all bounds, laughing at Father G., he told him, "Faith," says he, "you 're the most credulous man ever I met in my life; for it seems to me that you can believe anything but the Christian religion."
From that moment Father G. only shook his hands at him, and would n't discourse.
This is the way we got to Genoa, where, because we arrived at night, they kept us waiting outside the gates of the town till the commandant of the fortress had examined our passports; K. I. all the while abusing the authorities, and blackguarding the governor in a way that would have cost us dear, if it was n't that nobody could understand his Italian.
That wasn't all, for when we got to the hotel, they said that all the apartments had been taken before Lord George's letter arrived, and that there was n't a room nor a pantry to be had in the whole city at any price. In fact, an English family had just gone off in despair to Chiavari, for even the ships in the harbor were filled with strangers, and the "steam dredge" was fitted up like an hotel! K. I. took down the list of visitors, to see if he could find a friend or an acquaintance amongst them, but, though there were plenty of English, we knew none of them; and as for Lord G., though he was acquainted with nearly all the titled people, they were always relatives or connections with whom he wasn't "on terms." While we sat thus at the door, holding our council of war, with sleepy waiters and a sulky porter, a gentleman passed in, and went by us, up the stairs, before we could see his face. The landlord, who lighted him all the way himself, showed that he was a person of some consequence. K. I. had just time to learn that he was "No. 4, the grand apartment on the first floor, towards the sea," which was all they knew, when the landlord came down, smiling and smirking, to say that the occupant of No. 4 felt much pleasure in putting half his suite of rooms at our disposal, and hoped we might not decline his offer.
"Who is it?—who is he?" cried we all at once; but the landlord made such a mess of the English name that we were obliged to wait till we could read it in the Strangers' Book. Meanwhile we lost not a second in installing ourselves in what I must call a most princely apartment, with mirrors on all sides, fine pictures, china, and carved furniture, giving the rooms the air of a palace. There was a fine fire in the great drawing-room, and the table was littered with English newspapers and magazines, which proved that he had just left the place for us, as he was himself occupying it.
"Now for our great Unknown," said Lord George, opening the Strangers' Book, and running his eye down the list. There was Milor Hubbs and Miladi, Baron this, Count that, the "Vescovo" di Kilmore, with the "Vescova" and five "Vescovini,"—that meant the Bishop and his wife, and the five small little Bishops,—which made us laugh. And at last we came down to "No. 4, Grand Suite, Sir Morris Penrhyn, Bt," not a word more.
"There is a swell of that name that owns any amount of slate quarries down near Holyhead, I think," said Lord George. "Do you happen to know him?"
"No," was chorused by all present.
"Oh! everyone knows his place. It's one of the show things of the neighborhood. How is this they call it,—Pwlldmmolly Castle?—that's the name, at least so far as human lips can approach it At all events, he has nigh fifteen thousand a year, and can afford the annoyance of a consonant more or less."
"Any relative of your Lordship's?" asked K. I.
"Don't exactly remember; but, if so, we never acknowledged him. Can't afford Welsh cousin ships!"
"He 's a right civil fellow, at all events," said K. I., "and here's his health;" for at that moment the waiter entered with the supper, and we all sat down in far better spirits than we had expected to enjoy half an hour back. We soon forgot all about our unknown benefactor; and, indeed, we had enough of our own concerns to engross our attention, for there were places to be secured for the tournament and the other great sights; for, with all the frailty of our poor natures, there we were, as hot after the vanities and pleasures of this world as if we had never done a "Novena" nor a penance in our lives!
When I went to my room, Mary Anne and I had a long conversation about the stranger, whom she was fully persuaded was a connection of Lord G.'s, and had shown us this attention solely on his account. "I can perceive," said she, "from his haughty manner, that he doesn't like to acknowledge the relationship, nor be in any way bound by the tie of an obligation. His pride is the only sentiment he can never subdue! A bad 'look-out' for me, perhaps, mamma," said she, laughing; "but we'll see hereafter." And with this she wished me good-night.
The next morning our troubles began, and early, too; for Father James, not making any allowance for the different life one must lead in a great city from what one follows in a little out-of-the-way place amidst mountains, expected me to go up to a chapel two miles away and hear matins, and be down at mid-day mass in the town, and then had a whole afternoon's work at the convent arranged for us, and was met by Lord George and James with a decided and, indeed, almost rude opposition. The discussion lasted till late in the morning, and might perhaps have gone on further, when K. L, who was reading his "Galignani," screamed out, "By the great O'Shea!"—a favorite exclamation of his,—"here's a bit of news. Listen to this, Gentles, all of you: 'By the demise of Sir Walter Prichard Penrhyn, of—I must give up the castle—' the ancient title and large estates of the family descend to a sister's son, Captain George Morris, who formerly served in the—th Foot, but retired from the army about a year since, to reside on the Continent. The present Baronet, who will take the name of Penrhyn, will be, by this accession of fortune, the richest landed proprietor in the Principality, and may, if he please it, exercise a very powerful interest in the political world. We are, of course, ignorant of his future intentions, but we share in the generally expressed wish of all classes here, that the ancient seat of his ancestors may not be left unoccupied, or only tenanted by those engaged in exhibiting to strangers its varied treasures in art, and its unrivalled curiosities in antiquarian lore.—Welsh Herald.' There 's the explanation of the civility we met with last night; that clears up the whole mystery, but, at the same time, leaves another riddle unsolved. Why did n't he speak to us on the stairs? Could it be that he did not recognize us?"
Oh, Molly! I nearly fainted while he was speaking. I was afraid of my life he 'd look at me, and see by my changed color what was agitating me; for only think of what it was I had done,—just gone and refused fifteen thousand a year, and for the least marriageable of the two girls, since, I need n't say, that for one man that fancies Cary, there 's forty admires Mary Anne—and a baronetcy! She 'd have been my Lady, just as much as any in the peerage. I believe in my heart I could n't have kept the confession in if it had n't been that Mary Anne took my arm and led me away. Father G. followed us out of the room, and began: "Isn't it a real blessing from the Virgin on ye," said he, "that you rejected that heretic before temptation assailed ye?" But I stopped him, Molly; and at once too! I told him it was all his own stupid bigotry got us into the scrape. "What has religion to do with it?" said I. "Can't a heretic spend fifteen thousand a year; and sure if his wife can't live with him, can't she claim any-money, as they call it?"
"I hope and trust," said he, "that your backsliding won't bring a judgment on ye."
And so I turned away from him, Molly, for you may remark that there 's nothing as narrow-minded as a priest when he talks of worldly matters.'
Though we had enough on our minds the whole day about getting places for the tournament, the thought of Morris never left my head; and I knew, besides, that I 'd never have another day's peace with K. I. as long as I lived, if he came to find out that I refused him. I thought of twenty ways to repair the breach: that I 'd write to him, or make Mary Anne write—or get James to call and see him. Then it occurred to me, if we should make out that Cary was dying for love of him, and it was to save our child that we condescended to change our mind. Mary Anne, however, overruled me in everything, saying, "Rely upon it, mamma, we 'll have him yet. If he was a very young man, there would be no chance for us, but he is five or six and thirty, and he 'll not change now! For a few months or so, he'll try to bully himself into the notion of forgetting her, but you 'll see he'll come round at last; and if he should not, then it will be quite time enough to see whether we ought to pique his jealousy or awaken his compassion."
She said much more in the same strain, and brought me round completely to her own views. "Above all," said she, "don't let Father James influence you; for though it's all right and proper to consult him about the next world, he knows no more than a child about the affairs of this one." So we agreed, Molly, that we 'd just wait and see, of course keeping K. I. blind all the time to what we were doing.
The games and the circus, and all the wonderful sights that we were to behold, drove everything else out of my head; for every moment Lord George was rushing in with some new piece of intelligence about some astonishing giant, or some beautiful creature, so that we hadn't a moment to think of anything.
It was the hardest thing in life to get places at all. The pit was taken up with dukes and counts and barons, and the boxes rose to twenty-five Napoleons apiece, and even at that price it was a favor to get one! Early and late Lord George was at work about it, calling on ministers, writing notes, and paying visits, till you 'd think it was life and death were involved in our success.
You have no notion, Molly, how different these matters are abroad and with us. At home we go to a play or a circus just to be amused for the time, and we never think more of the creatures we see there than if they were n't of our species; but abroad it 's exactly the reverse. Nothing else is talked of, or thought of, but how much the tenor is to have for six nights. "Is Carlotta singing well? Is Nina fatter? How is Francesca dancing? Does she do the little step like a goat this season? or has she forgotten her rainbow spring?" Now, Lord George and James gave us no peace about all these people till we knew every bit of the private history of them, from the man that carried a bull on his back, to the small child with wings, that was tossed about for a shuttlecock by its father and uncle. Then there was a certain Sofia Bettrame, that everybody was wild about; the telegraph at one time saying she was at Lyons, then she was at Vichy, then at Mont Cenis,—now she was sick, now she was supping with the Princess Odelzeffska,—and, in fact, what between the people that were in love with her, and a number of others to whom she was in debt, it was quite impossible to hear of anything else but "La Sofia," "La Bettrame," from morning till night It's long before an honest woman, Molly, would engross so much of public notice; and so I could n't forbear remarking to K. I. Nobody cared to ask where the Crown Prince of Russia was going to put up, or where the Archduchess of Austria was staying, but all were eager to learn if the "Croce di Matta" or the "Leone d'Oro" or the "Cour de Naples" were to lodge the peerless Sofia. The man that saw her horses arrive was the fashion for two entire days, and an old gentleman who had talked with her courier got three dinner invitations on the strength of it. What discussions there were whether she was to receive a hundred thousand francs, or as many crowns; and then whether for one or for two nights. Then there were wagers about her age, her height, the color of her eyes, and the height of her instep, till I own to you, Molly, it was downright offensive to the mother of a family to listen to what went on about her; James being just as bad as the rest.
At last, my dear, comes the news that Sofia has taken a sulk and won't appear. The Grand-Duchess of somewhere did something, or didn't do it—I forget which—that was or was not "due to her." I wish you saw the consternation of the town at the tidings. If it was the plague was announced, the state of distraction would have been less.
You would n't believe me if I told you how they took it to heart. Old generals with white moustaches, fat, elderly gentlemen in counting-bouses, grave shopkeepers, and grim-looking clerks in the Excise went about as if they had lost their father, and fallen suddenly into diminished circumstances. They shook hands, when they met, with a deep sigh, and parted with a groan, as if the occasion was too much for their feelings.
At this moment, therefore, after all the trouble and expense, nobody knows if there will be any tournament at all. Some say it is the Government has found out that the whole thing was a conspiracy for a rising; and there are fifty rumors afloat about Mazzini himself being one of the company, in the disguise of a juggler. But what may be the real truth it is impossible to say. At all events, I 'll not despatch this till I can give you the latest tidings.
Tuesday Evening.
The telegraph has just brought word that she will come. James is gone down to the office to get a copy of the despatch.
James is come back to say that she is at Novi. If she arrive here to-night, there will be an illumination of the town! Is not this too bad, Molly? Doesn't your blood run cold at the thought of it all?
They 're shouting like mad under my window now, and Lord George thinks she must be come already. James has come in with his hat in tatters and his coat in rags. The excitement is dreadful. The people suspect that the Government are betraying them to Russia, and are going to destroy a palace that belongs to a tallow merchant.
All is right, Molly. She is come! and they are serenading her now under the windows of the "Croce di Matta!"
Wednesday Night.
If my trembling hand can subscribe legibly a few lines, it is perhaps the last you will ever receive from your attached Jemima. I was never intended to go through such trials as these; and they 're now rending a heart that was only made for tenderness and affection.
We were there, Molly! After such a scene of crushing and squeezing as never was equalled, we got inside the circus, and with the loss of my new turban and one of my "plats," we reached our box, within two of the stage, and nearly opposite the King. For an hour or so, it was only fainting was going on all around us, with the heat and the violent struggle to get in. Nobody minded the stage at all, where they were doing the same kind of thing we used to see long ago. Ten men in pinkish buff, vaulting over an old white horse, and the clown tumbling over the last of them with a screech; the little infant of three years, with a strap round its waist, standing and tottering on the horse's back; the man with the brass balls and the basin, and the other one that stood on the bottles,—all passed off tiresome enough, till a grand flourish of trumpets announced Signor Annibale, the great Modern Hercules. In he rode, Molly, full gallop, all dressed in a light, flesh-colored, web, and looking so like naked that I screeched out when I saw him. His hair was divided on his forehead, and cut short all round the head; and, indeed, I must confess he was a fine-looking man. After a turn or two, brandishing a big club, he galloped in again, but quickly reappeared with a woman lying over one of his arms, and her hair streaming down half-way to the ground. This was Sofia; and you may guess the enthusiasm of the audience at her coming! There she lay, like in a trance, as he dashed along at full speed, the very tip of one foot only touching the saddle, and her other leg dangling down like dead. It was shocking to hear the way they talked of her symmetry and her shape,—not but they saw enough to judge of it, Molly!—till at last the giant stopped to breathe a little just under our box. K. I. and the young men, of course, leaned over to have a good look at her with their glasses, when suddenly James screamed, "By the ——— —I won't say what—it is herself!" Mary Anne and I both rose together. The sight left my eyes, Molly, for she looked up at me, and who was it—but the Countess that James was going to marry! There she was, lying languidly on the giant, smiling up at us as cool as may be. I gave a screech, Molly, that made the house ring, and went off in Mary Anne's arms.
If this is n't disgrace enough to bring me to the grave, Nature must have given stronger feelings than she knows to your ever afflicted and heart-broken
Jemima Dodd.