Read Ebook: Caper-Sauce: A Volume of Chit-Chat about Men Women and Things. by Fern Fanny

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 230 lines and 79399 words, and 5 pages

Mein erster Ausflug.

Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Mein erster Ausflug.

Inhalt.

Seite

Triest 1

Der erste Tag auf griechischer Erde 10

Eine Landreise durch Griechenland 23

Athen 77

Ein Besuch in der Moschee von Smyrna 147

Ein Besuch auf dem Sklavenmarkte von Smyrna 159

Der Bazar von Smyrna 164

Ein t?rkisches Bad 173

Ein Morgen beim Pascha von Smyrna 181

Ein Ausflug nach Burnab? 205

Beim Anblick von Corfu 216

Zwei Tage in den Bocche di Cattaro 221

Ragusa 234

Der vierte October auf offener See 251

Die gegenw?rtigen Bl?tter, welche eigentlich den Reigen der unter dem Titel >>Aus meinem Leben<< ver?ffentlichten Reisetageb?cher des verewigten Kaisers Maximilian h?tten er?ffnen sollen, erscheinen durch eine eigene Verkettung der Umst?nde an deren Schluss und unter einem selbstst?ndigen Titel. Jene j?ngst publicirten B?nde nehmlich waren bereits fr?her als Manuscript gedruckt und nur dem kaiserlich ?sterreichischen Hofe, speciell den dem Erzherzog Ferdinand Maximilian Nahestehenden zum Geschenk gemacht worden. Das vorliegende Tagebuch ?ber des Erzherzog-Kaisers erste Reise nach Griechenland war urspr?nglich von dem hohen Autor in seiner Bescheidenheit selbst nicht f?r bedeutend genug erachtet worden, um dessen Ver?ffentlichung w?nschenswerth erscheinen zu lassen. Jetzt indessen, nach dem Scheiden des Kaisers Maximilian, glaubten wir den zahlreichen Verehrern seines Charakters, wie seiner Muse, keine freundlichere Gabe bieten zu k?nnen, als die Bl?tter seines Erstlingswerkes, die den f?r alles Gute und Sch?ne warm ergl?henden kaiserlichen J?ngling trefflich kennzeichnen.

Es m?ge uns gestattet sein, hier einige wenige biographische Skizzen ?ber den verewigten hohen Verfasser zu geben: Ferdinand Maximilian wurde am 6. Juli 1832 geboren; er hat somit, da er am 19. Juni 1867 schied, sein 35stes Lebensjahr nicht vollendet. Er ward von seiner Familie mit dem zweiten Namen genannt, den er auch als Kaiser von Mexico ausschliesslich f?hrte. Er war ein so schwaches und wenig h?bsches Kind, so unbeweglich und theilnahmlos, dass nur das Auge der Mutter in seinem lebhaften Blicke das Erwachen des Geistes wahrnahm. Zwei Z?ge aus seiner fr?hesten Kindheit seien hier mitgetheilt, obgleich diese Zeilen nur die ?ussersten Umrisse seines Erdenlebens geben sollen: Als Max eben sprechen gelernt hatte, zeigte man den erzherzoglichen Kindern einen der Zwerge, die ihre Kindergestalt beibehalten haben, in deren Gesicht sich aber das vorger?ckte Alter ausspricht. Der kleine, etwa zweij?hrige Knabe lief zu seiner Aja in das andere Zimmer und sagte: >>Draussen ist ein altes Kind!<< Das war der erste Geistesblitz. Sein Herz sprach auf eine noch sch?nere Weise. Zu der Zeit, als die jungen Erzherzoge unter m?nnliche Aufsicht gestellt werden sollten, war das Herz des kleinen Max von Schmerz erf?llt, sich von Fr?ulein v. Sturmfeder, der erzherzoglichen Kinder Aja, trennen zu sollen. Fr?ulein v. Sturmfeder liebte den zwei Jahre ?lteren, viel h?bscheren und aufgeweckteren Bruder Franz viel mehr, als den mageren, blassen, stillen Knaben. Als sie nun gehen wollte, st?rzte sich Max ihr um den Hals, und weinend rief er aus: >>Ich liebe Dich so -- so sehr -- wie Du den Franzi liebst.<<

Der Erzherzog wuchs heran; er gewann sich durch sein frisches, warmes Wesen, durch seinen lebendigen, empf?nglichen Geist die Liebe und Achtung aller Derer, die mit ihm und neben ihm lebten. Es war eine durchaus gerade, wahre Natur. Er wollte nie mehr sein, als er war; weniger F?rst als Mensch, hielt er doch sehr viel von seiner hohen Stellung, erkannte aber die Pflichten an, die sie ihm brachte. Zahlreiche Stellen aus seinen Schriften beweisen dies. M?nner, die ihm nahegestanden, wissen nicht genug seine Leutseligkeit, seinen hohen Sinn zu r?hmen. Aber auch ?ber seine Festigkeit, seine Kenntnisse und die Umsicht, mit der er sich den ihm zugetheilten Aufgaben unterzog, herrscht nur eine Stimme.

Was sp?ter geschehen ist, geh?rt der Geschichte an. Uns?glich mag er, ferne von Allen, die ihm theuer waren, gelitten haben. Seine Gemahlin, die heldenm?thige Gef?hrtin seiner ersch?tternden Leiden w?hrend der Zeit seiner Regierung, w?hnte er gestorben. Man darf hoffen, dass sein Geist in der Todesstunde von einer Art Verz?ckung gehoben war; denn als man ihm die Augen verbinden wollte, sagte er: >>Nein, nein, dann k?nnte ich meine Mutter nicht mehr sehen.<< -- Die Augen gen Himmel gerichtet, erwartete er den t?dtlichen Schuss.

Auf ihn lassen sich treffend seine eigenen Worte anwenden:

Er war, um zu sein; Er starb, um zu leben!

Triest.

A word on a practice too common in some newspapers. I refer to the flippant manner in which the misfortunes and misdemeanors of certain classes, brought to the notice of our courts, are reported for the amusement of the community at large. Surely, it is melancholy enough that a drunken mother should be picked up in the gutter with her unconscious babe; or a young girl, scarcely in her teens, be found guilty of theft; or, that a husband and father should beat or murder her whom he had sworn to cherish, without narrating it after this heartless fashion. For instance:

John Flaherty, after beautifully painting a black and blue rim round his wife's eyes, was brought into court this morning to answer the question why he preferred that particular color; and not being able to give a satisfactory reason for the same, he was treated to a pleasant little ride to a stone building, where he was accommodated with a private room, board and lodging included.

Or thus:

Mary Honoria, scarlet-lipped, plump, and sweet sixteen, being fond of jewelry on her pretty person, and having stolen her mistress's watch, was waited upon by a gallant policeman, who escorted her little ladyship into court, in the presence of an admiring crowd, before whom her black eyes sparkled with a rage that but added new beauty to their lustre.

Of course it is high treason for me to make such an avowal; so, while I am in for it, I may as well give another twist to the rope that is round my neck. The other night I went to hear "The Messiah." The words are lovely, and as familiar to my Puritan ears as the "Assembly's Catechism;" but when they kept on repeating, "The Lord is in his hol--the Lord is in--is in his hol--is in--the Lord is in his hol"--and when the leader, slim, and clothed in inky black, kept his arms going like a Jack in a box, I grew anything but devout. The ludicrous side of it got the better of me; and when my companion, who pretends to be no Christian at all, turned to me, who am reputed to be one, in a state of exaltation, and said, "Isn't that grand, Fanny?" he could have wished that the tears in my eyes were not hysterical, from long-suppressed laughter. He says he never will take me there again, and I only hope he will keep his word. All the "music" I got out of it was in one or two lovely "solos."

The fact is, I like to find my music in unexpected, simple ways, where the machinery is not visible, like the Galvanic gyrations of that "leader," for instance. That kind of thing recalls too vividly my old "fa-sol-la" singing-school, where the boys pulled my curls, and gave me candy and misspelt notes.

"Pass me not, O gentle Saviour, Hear my humble cry; While on others Thou art smiling, Do not pass me by. Saviour, Saviour, Hear my humble cry.

"If I ask Him to receive me, Will he say me Nay? Not till earth and not till heaven Shall have passed away."

Heavens! And this is "Spring!" "Budding Spring!" The poets make no mention of these little things in their "Odes!"

Well--at least, you say to yourself, there will be peace and heavenly quiet with the stars at midnight, by the open window. I will be patient till then.

Is there?

What is that? A policeman's loud rap-rap on the pavement for assistance to capture a burglar. Next a woman's scream; the brute who just accosted the poor wretch has struck her a heavy blow upon the temple. And now reels past a drunken man, zigzagging down the street, with a little whimpering boy by one hand, old enough to know what a "Station-house" means, and trembling lest "father" should be taken there.

You throw yourself upon your bed, weary and sick at heart. Even the stars seem to glow with a red, unnatural light, as if they too were worn with watching the wrongs and frets they nightly look down upon.

"Balmy night." What liars poets can be!

"Zaccheus he Did climb the tree, His Lord and Master For to see;"

and I made a courtesy to the ground, when I came in sight of "Park-street" steeple, and "Faneuil Hall!" so don't be pitching into me. Hit some other fellow who isn't "up" in the Assembly's catechism, and "total depravity," and brown bread. "Jubilee" as much as you want to; the world is a big place. "Holler" away!

Truth is sure And will endure,

But I have wandered from my baked beans. I want some. Some New England baked beans. Some of "mother's beans." But, alas, mother's oven is fast disappearing. Mother's oven, where the beans stayed in all night, with the brown bread. Alas! it has given way to new-fangled "ranges," which "don't know beans." Excuse the vulgarity of the expression, but in such a cause I shan't stand for trifles. If you want rose-leaf sentimental-refinement, together with creamy patriotism, you may look in the columns of the Whip-Syllabub-Family-Visitor. This is a digression.

When I started for a New England tour, it was my intention to get some of those beans; but the hotels there are getting so "genteel" with their paper-pantalettes on the roast-chicken's legs, and their paper frills on the roast-pigs'-tails, that I was convinced, that only at a genuine unsophisticated farm-house, where I could light down unannounced on Sarah-Jane--could this edible in its native and luscious beauty be found.

Next summer, if "strategy" and the rebels don't chew us up, I start on a tour for those beans; nor am I to be imposed upon by any "genteel" substitutes or abortions under that name!

A HINT TO PARENTS.--When parents are considering the question of the hours of study for growing children in our schools, let them do it without any reference to the side question, how they can "bear those noisy children, during the subtracted hours, at home." Perhaps they can better bear this than to pay the doctor's bills. This is the way to look at it, whether it be regarded in a selfish or a humanitarian point of view.

If I believed, as legislators, and others with whom I have talked on this subject, pretend to believe, they best know why, that God ever made one of those girls for the life they lead, for this in plain Saxon is what their talk amounts to, I should curse Him. If I could temporize as they do about it, as a "necessary evil," and "always has been, and always will be," and "that pure women would not be safe were it not so"--and all the other budget of excuses which this sin makes to cover its deformity--I would forswear my manhood.

Let both be equally pure; let every man look upon every woman, whatsoever her rank or condition, as a sister whom his manhood is bound to protect, even, if need be, against herself, and let every woman turn the cold shoulder to any man of her acquaintance, how polished soever he may be, who would degrade her sex. Then this vexed question would be settled; there would be no such libels upon womanhood as I saw at Blackwell's Island, driven in droves to their cells. No more human traffic in those gilded palaces, which our children must not hear mentioned, forsooth! though their very fathers may help to support them, and which our tender-hearted legislators "can't see their way clear about." Then our beautiful rivers would no longer toss upon our island shores the "dead bodies of unfortunate young females."

The question whether male or female clerks in stores are preferred by shopping ladies, has lately been agitated. I do not hesitate to say that the majority of ladies would much prefer the former.

That's how it is, although I get my ears boxed for saying it.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet