Crying for the Light; Or, Fifty Years Ago. Vol. 3 [of 3]Ritchie, J. Ewing (James Ewing)
General
Crying for the Light; Or, Fifty Years Ago. Vol. 3 [of 3]
Ritchie, J. Ewing (James Ewing)
England -- Social conditions -- 19th century -- Fiction
‘Not a grove,
Citron or pine or cedar: not a grot
Seaward, and mantled with the gadding vine,
But breathes enchantment;’
and thus it was that the _bon vivants_ of the old world loved the
favoured spot—that Baiæ was the Brighton of the Romans. Between it and
Puteoli rolled the Lucrine Lake, over which skimmed the small yachts of
fashionable visitors, while around were the oyster-beds for the luxurious
tables of Rome. It was there Sergius Orata of blessed memory established
the fine oyster-beds which have ever since been a model for all
succeeding ages, and a name grateful in the ears of the epicure.
The lady and her guest had coffee served up in an adjoining apartment.
The lady lit up her cigarette, the gentleman did the same. It is
wonderful how tobacco quickens the conversational powers. High-born
dames, as well as Irish fish women, in this respect own the influence of
the seductive weed.
‘Ah, father,’ said the Countess, ‘you have known me long. I have
confidence in you.’
‘Yes; I have known madame long—friend of the good cause, a supporter of
the true Church—liberal with her money and her time, strict in the
observance of holy days. What would you, my daughter?’
‘Ah, father,’ said the lady with a sigh; ‘it was not always so—I have
lived.’
‘Yes; many of us who now pose as saints can say as much,’ said the holy
father. ‘What a blessed thing it is to be able to find out what is true
life, what are true joys—the ecstasy of being lost in the Divine Being,
of being waited on by angels, hasting to guide one the way to Paradise,
of appealing to the sweet Virgin Mary, of having her as an intercessor
night and day for our sins in the court of Heaven! Compared with these
things, what are the pleasures of sense and sin—which are soon vanished,
and always leave a sting behind?’
‘Oh yes, father; I can feel and realize all this, but I am not happy. I
am in great anxiety—I have a great weight on my mind. My medical man
tells me to avoid excitement, that I suffer from disease of the heart,
that any day I may have an attack which may be attended with fatal
consequences.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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