The Diaries of Mary Berenson, 1903-1904 Mary Whitall Berenson, I Tatti, Settignano, Florence Trip to America, September 1903 R. M. S. Majestic, White Star, Wednesday, Sept. 30, 1903 Off at last, after so many fears and indecisions. We were like people standing naked by a cold bath, afraid to plunge in. Now we have plunged. We are off to the Unknown. Liverpool and its sky were looking very beautiful and Turner - Whistler-esque as we steamed away towards sunset time. It is more than 18 years since I came to England. Good heavens, I was as green and raw and horrible as most of the Americans on this ship. I burn all over thinking of it. It is nearly 10 years since Bernhard has been there. What fun it is going back together!! The Reef, Newport, R. I., Thursday, Oct. 8, 1903 We landed this morning. There is nothing to say about the voyage, except that it was a Bore. We had, I think, seasickness rentr? However, we read a great many volumes of the new translation of The Arabian Nights (Mardrus),1 and got thoroughly into the spirit of it! Our custom house inspector this morning looked like a roguish debonnair priest. He said he was one of the old-fashioned kind ? he didn?t approve of turning a gentleman?s trunk inside-out; but as there were so many ?watchers? around, if we wanted to give him a five dollar bill we must give it to our porter for him, which we did, and no nonsense about it. Grace and Bond?s new wife ? who resembles Edith in the most startling way!2 ? came to meet us, and they and Bond lunched with us at the Greek restaurant just by the ?depot?. We had Oyster Cocktail and soft-shell crabs. Coming up to New York it was beautiful ? at a distance ? that remarkable pile of huge buildings, the sides of those great towers catching the morning sunshine. But later the effect was confused and unfinished and slip-shod and rather sordid. Coming up, the foliage was beautiful, and we were struck with the garden-less, fence-less houses, all of wood, but painted in very pleasant colours. At a level crossing we saw the sign, ?Stop listen and look?. Mr. Davis met us at the quay and brought us to this luxurious house, filled with a strange mixture of beautiful things after dinner, and went through the motions of an appreciator. But I felt he was just as ready to go through them apropos of bad things as of good. B. B. contented himself with saying, ?Murder!? or ?Jimmy Whiskers!? at the really fine things. he says he is so sick of the art-critic?s vocabulary, which he finds everyone can use as well as he can, that he never wants to use a word of it again! But much must be forgiven Davis, for he really has some very beautiful things. One little squatting figure, Egyptian about 3000 B.C., has the whole of art in it! Davis has some good tales and poems. Among the latter: ?There once was a monk of Liberia Whose existence grew dreary and drearier So he broke from his cell With a hell of a yell, And eloped with the Mother Superior.? Grace said that people?s social standing over here is largely determined by the number of bath-rooms in their houses. If so, we are in very high circles, for there are quantities here, with solid porcelain baths (Mr. Davis told me), not the or?nery porcelain ones so many people have! The Reef, Newport, Friday, Oct. 9, 1903 The surf is dashing almost under our windows, dashing in from the open sea whose other shore is Spain. B. B. spoke truly when he said that the chief objection to America is that it is ?eight days from shore?. I was what they term ?called? this morning, by an obviously male knock at 7.30. I had to draw my own curtains and prepare my own bath. But the hot rolls at breakfast made up! The storm has been too violent for us to go out. A Mr. and Mrs. Fearing came to lunch ? he an awfully fat, intensely jolly man, something like Terence Bourke. He told a good story of a young lady who asked a friend if she wasn?t afraid to wear an opal ring she had. ?Why no, what?s the matter with opals?? ?They?re terribly unlucky!? ?How do you know.? ?Why, my grandfather gave one as a present to my grandmother, and she died before they were married.? Several fat people called in the afternoon, and we had a great deal of general talk with Davis, who really shows to considerable advantage in his own house. The Reef, Newport, Saturday, Oct. 10, 1903 The storm is still frightful, but the surf grows finer and finer. Mrs. Andrews at breakfast told us of a Southern poem which began The moon is hanging in the Western sky Like a cutting from a large thumbnail ? which illustrates very well the famous poem of J. Gordon Kugler entitled The South ?Alas for the South ? her books have brown fewer! She was never much given to Literature.? I drove into Newport with Mrs. Davis and Mrs. Andrews in the afternoon, to find Sophy Buffum,3 my old friend. She and her family have just left for Europe. A Miss Busk came to lunch, tall, athletic Gibson girl, very simple. We played Bridge in the evening. I have almost lost the feeling of being in America. The Reef, Newport, Sunday, Oct. 11, 1903 Spent the morning looking at Mr. Davis? wonderful Egyptian illustrated books; also in going with the catalogue of his Italian pictures. The famous Forgery (Filippino) holds a place of honour in the Drawing Room, and the still more famous Tricca -Leonardo hangs opposite to his desk. The little forgery Logan (unwittingly) sold him also has a place of honour. Mr. Davis is one of those who will not admit a mistake ? what a strange state of mind! The funny thing would be to know whether he admits it inside and just bluffs it out, or whether no doubts assail him as to his own omniscience. He tells us the most marvellous tales about the ?goings-on? of the idle rich here ? about how one lady brought the whole Philharmonic orchestra over from Boston for a concert; another a theatrical troupe, from New York, closing the New York Theatre and paying damages, and putting up a private Theatre for the night, whose electric plant alone cost $10,000. Another still had up all the organ grinders and their monkeys from New York for a barrel-organ concert. Another lady paid $250 dollars for an entr? of ?incubated turkeys? for one dinner. And so on. Mr. Longyear of Marquette built an opera house and gave it to his wife ?to play with?. Millions figure in conversation like hundreds at home. We had a drive today in spite of the wind, and saw some of the houses ? one fine (imitation) Colonial, several in French style, especially Mr. Coates? and Mr. Berevin?s, a darling gardener?s cottage of Mr. Taylor?s, and Mrs. Winty Chandler?s house, which we rather liked. Mr. Davis went away this evening on the Western tour of a week into which he crowds all his business for the year. He did what men of affairs so seldom have the sense to do ? he retired while he was still young enough to form a new life, at 45, and no one has been able to induce him, although they tried very hard, to go back again. His passion is now Egypt ? he is spending vast sums in excavations. Last year he brought to light the Tomb of Totmes IV4 with a wonderful chariot. He is now trying to find the Tomb of the great Queen Hatasu. 189 Grampian Way, Dorchester, Monday, Oct. 12, 1903 Drove about in the morning. I drove to the Old Point and saw Grandpa Cope?s house where I spent so many pleasant days. We left at 3, and Rachel met us at Boston and piloted us and our trunks here. She is an attractive creature, with eyes like Miss Sellers? ? evidently the most intellectual, the most ?our kind? of the family. I have taken a great liking to her. Of course the little mother was in a great state of excitement. The father has behaved very well so far. He seems nicer than I expected, and the house is nicer. 189 Grampian Way, Dorchester, Tuesday, Oct. 13, 1903 Went in to Boston ? deafened and dazed by the noise and swiftness of transport, and the numbers of people transported. Rachel nicer and nicer. 189 Grampian Way, Dorchester, Wednesday, Oct. 14, 1903 Walked up Blue Hill ? the wide view radiant with autumn colours. We are full of marvel at the marvellous system of getting about. 189 Grampian Way, Dorchester, Thursday, Oct. 15, 1903 Went to Cambridge to have tea with Mrs. Toy, who had Santayana and Leslie Hopkinson to meet us, also a Mr. Andrew, who rejoices in an Orchestrelle. Had a swim in the bay with Rachel in the early morning. 189 Grampian Way, Dorchester, Friday, Oct. 16, 1903 We spent the day at Willowbrook Cottage, Beverly, with Gertrude and Mrs. Tyler. The Cottage is perfect and in perfect taste, early colonial, every detail being in keeping. I think I never entered such a harmonious house. ?Brother Charles? has that at least in his favour! Gertrude seemed very ill, but she is determined to sail next week, so I suppose she will. Her mother seemed very pleasant and agreeable. She took us a most lovely drive, and we ?remained? over the beauty of the great wooden villas ? some at least. The country was heavenly. Rabbi Fleischer came in the evening ? a young handsome man with an eloquent passion for Democracy ? full of phrases, not much real thought, but a nice, kind nature. I forget to mention the family party of the night before, with an old uncle who has changed his name of Michliszanski5 for that of Goldman (poor as he is!), and who has a great head like Tolstoi?s, and a cousin named Hinda Coen (n? Schwarz), rather awful, and her nice but hopeless-looking husband James. Green Hill, Brookline, 6 Saturday, Oct. 17, 1903 We arrived here in a pour, but found cheerful fires and a very cordial welcome from that extraordinary person, ?Mrs. Jack Gardner?. The house is comfortable and old-fashioned, a real ?family mansion?. Mrs. Gardner?s prot?? Proctor the musician, came to dine, and then we all went to the first Symphony Concert ? a glorious orchestra and indifferent or positively painful modern music, Tschaikowski, Bruneau, even Brahms not to delightful. I sat next to Mrs. Sarah Whitman, and near my old Prof. of Ethics, Josiah Royce, in whom Bob traced a strong likeness to George Moore, the philosopher. We met a beautiful Mrs. Parkman, and [15 020] Mr. and Mrs. Higginson, who run the Concerts. We came back to a perfectly dark house, and had great trouble finding matches to light the gas in our rooms. Mrs. Gardner has a mania, evidently, for saving on lighting! The moment we leave our rooms a servant rushes in not to turn down the gas, but to turn it out, and int he music room where we sit, there is only one lamp, and little odds and ends of candles which she lights to see certain things and then puts out instantly. She lives very sparingly too, wearing old clothes and eating almost nothing. It is a chance for me to grow thin! She evidently cares nothing for physical comforts ? it is rather fine. I discover I am running over to the doings and impressions of Green Hill, Brookline, Sunday, Oct. 18, 1903 When we walked in the gardens with her, and enjoyed especially her Italian garden, so perfectly in tone, and then drove through the ?Arboretum? a lovely park with the trees all selected and named for educational purposes. Then we lunched at the Country Club, and had a famous divorc? and a famous co-respondent pointed out to us. Mr. Dwight and Mr. Swift called, and then Santayana, who stayed to dine. He was charming, but we found it hard not to talk to him, and even our hostess? head, for she isn?t a scrap interested in thought, or even in conversation, unless she carries it on, when it generally turns upon some marvellous exploit of her own. But she has the right! For her exploits are marvellous, and her success in practical things of a high order justifies anything. Santayana told us something that remains in my mind as a horror. He went to visit Rockefeller?s son-in-law, Mr. Strong, at his gorgeous home in Lakewood, a house whose supreme luxury was an automatic heating arrangement which kept all the rooms up to 70?. Santayana said he lay raging all night on the outside of his bed. Opening the window simply meant inviting an automatic rush of hot air into his room! Green Hill, Brookline, Monday, Oct. 19, 1903 Walked and chatted in the morning and after lunch drove to Boston and saw the Library. The Puvis? along the sides of the entrance hall are very fine ? the large one around the door of Bates Hall less successful. The Abbeys were awful, but the Sargeants7 surpassed for vulgarity and triviality and ugliness anything we ever saw! No modern Italian could be worse. We did not say a word to Mrs. Gardner, who, we think, admires them. On our way back we picked up Mr. Proctor, in whom she takes a very tender, preoccupying interest, and just as we arrived Evelyn?s8 friend, Ellen Hale, came, bringing her old father, Edward Everett Hale, a grand old figure of more than fourscore years. He is full of genial anecdotes apropos of everything, and he has a massive head. Then we walked with Mrs. and his wife came to dine, she a very pretty horribly chatterboxy woman, who bamboozled Bernhard into thinking there was something in her,. We have a bet out as to the result. He seemed interesting, and is, Mrs. Gardner says, a very able lawyer; but his scatter-brained talkative wife gave him no chance. Clayton Johns, whom I used to know 20 years ago, also came. Green Hill, Brookline, Tuesday, Oct. 20, 1903 I called on Helen Hopekirk (Wilson) in the morning, but saw too much of her husband. Mrs. Gardner took us to the Art Museum in the afternoon, rushing us through, and ending up by getting the Curator, Chalfin, to show us a scroll with the sack of a town on it, from about 1250. It is very fine, particularly the last episode of the solitary general as a black horse heading the triumphal procession, but it is not at all so great as the early Chinese things. For her, however, it is the best thing in the Museum, and there?s an end on it. Wonderful woman! ? or, as she says Gerricke9 calls her, ?Genius woman? (She loves to tell stories redounding to her own credit.) In the evening we went to the opening of the Jordan Hall at the new Conservatory building. They gave the C major toccata and fugue of Bach on the new organ, but we did not care for it. Are our ears spoiled by hearing these things on the piano? Then there was a long speech by Mr. Higginson, a decentish concerto by Schumann (A minor), a horrible ?Ouverture? by Chaplin, and the Eroica. Even to that, we weren?t up to the mark, whether we were tired, or whether Bach has accustomed us to such concentrated music, but it seemed prolix. We must look out!! I sat by Mr. and Mrs. Lang ? I must try to remember people. Green Hill, Brookline, Wednesday, Oct. 21, 1903 We went in to the Library to see T. H. Perry, with whom we walked about the beautiful courtyard, and cursed Sargeant. Ellen Hale came to lunch, and we wandered about the gardens, and took a drive through Franklin Park. In the evening we went to see Owen Wister?s play, The Virginian,10 and were greatly taken with the actor, Dunstan Farnum, 11 who is a great grandson of Webster. He spent two weeks in Virginia learning the accent. But the pay of course isn?t a play; it?s merely a novel dramatized, with all the emotional parts underlined. No plot, but a story. Green Hill, Brookline, Thursday, Oct. 22, 1903 Another elysian day of sparkling sunshine. We went to see an exhibition of Japanese things, which are to be sold at auction, and meet Mr. Ross (Denman) there. the things were good, but chiefly grotesques and copies of ?nature?, and a little seemed to go a long way. Mr. Theodore Dwight has come to stay, and Mr. Owen Wister came to dine ? a charming, intelligent, inspiriting man, with whom we could have had a delightful conversation if Mrs. Gardner permitted. But she has no interest in ideas, and of course she is important enough for no one to be willing to leave her out. We asked whom they would invite to make an interesting dinner here ?