February 10th, 1894.
Octavia to Miss Shaen.
What you say about work with me makes me very longing. But, dearest Maggie, I would be the last to say a word to urge you to strain to do what would risk your health. It is such a blessing that you are back among your friends. Only don’t forget me, and let less scrupulous friends press you in, and make me lose you, if even you can do more, and might have come to me. What I have always thought that I should like best of all—what would have seemed to me to have opened up the maximum of help with the minimum of exertion,—what would have brought us together, and would have given us the benefit of your judgment and sympathy in most useful manner, would have been to let us elect you on the Women’s University Settlement Committee. It meets only once a month. Miss Sewell brings up the work in a quite perfect way; and, thro’ her, one comes into touch with that second stage of life—the one of helping others—which opens out to so many Girton, Newnham, and other girls in this age of service. Your presence among us would be the greatest help.
But, as I say, my most earnest desire is to stand aside, and not by word, look, or deed press you, till you feel able. Indeed, one knows how little one can plan for another. Ways we know little of open for our friends, and lead to better things than our most loving and longing thoughts can imagine.
Viterbo,
April 6th, 1894.
To her Mother.
Here we are, in the quaintest city. It is called the Nuremberg of Italy, and is full of marvellous doorways, fountains, outside staircases, and towers. It is entirely surrounded by walls. The foundations are Etruscan. The people come riding in from the country on mules, with trousers of goat or sheepskin with the hair on, and leather at the back where the saddle would wear it. They have hugely long sticks for whips, and look wild and good-bye.... Florence would delight in the great cavern-like looking shops, with the people at work in them, and in the streets; and everything goes on out of doors, and the workman makes and sells his own goods at home. We see several hand-looms in the streets. We have been to the Cathedral, and the Council Chamber adjoining, the roof of which fell on its proud builder and killed him, and which has stood roofless for some two or three hundred years. A monk was awakened from a vision in which he saw a black man, who was the devil, striking the wall. First he called the people to help the pope, who had built the chamber; but then he cried out that it was too late—the pope was dead. We go on to-morrow to Narni, and on Monday to Terni. We have here a large vaulted bedroom, about three times the size of the drawing-room at Nottingham Place, with three great doors draped with curtains, a marble floor, and large window looking into the Piazza de Rocca. A great fountain plays therein, and across it pass the soldiers, the monks in procession, the country people coming in by the Fiorentino Gate of the city. It is somewhat like a huge cave at night with two candles; but most Italian by day.
Your affectionate daughter,
Octavia.