Wisdom, Wit, and Pathos of Ouida

Wisdom, Wit, and Pathos of
Ouida, by Ouida

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Title: Wisdom, Wit, and Pathos of Ouida Selected from the Works of
Ouida
Author: Ouida
Compiler: F. Sydney Morris
Release Date: July 8, 2007 [EBook #22019]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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WISDOM, WIT, AND PATHOS

OF
OUIDA.
WISDOM, WIT, AND PATHOS
SELECTED FROM THE WORKS
OF
OUIDA
BY F. SYDNEY MORRIS
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
1884

CONTENTS.
SELECTIONS FROM--
PAGE
ARIADNE 1
CHANDOS 32
FOLLE-FARINE 48
IDALIA 97
A VILLAGE COMMUNE 106
PUCK 115

TWO LITTLE WOODEN SHOES 158
FAME 177
MOTHS 182, 354
IN A WINTER CITY 189
A LEAF IN THE STORM 205
A DOG OF FLANDERS 209
A BRANCH OF LILAC 216
SIGNA 220
TRICOTRIN 264
A PROVENCE ROSE 288
PIPISTRELLO 291
HELD IN BONDAGE 294
PASCARÈL 296
IN MAREMMA 335
UNDER TWO FLAGS 363
STRATHMORE 417
FRIENDSHIP 427
WANDA 452

ARIADNE.

One grows to love the Roman fountains as sea-born men the sea. Go
where you will there is the water; whether it foams by Trevi, where the
green moss grows in it like ocean weed about the feet of the ocean god,
or whether it rushes reddened by the evening light, from the mouth of
an old lion that once saw Cleopatra; whether it leaps high in air, trying
to reach the gold cross on St. Peter's or pours its triple cascade over the
Pauline granite; whether it spouts out of a great barrel in a wall in old
Trastevere, or throws up into the air a gossamer as fine as Arachne's
web in a green garden way where the lizards run, or in a crowded
corner where the fruit-sellers sit against the wall;--in all its shapes one
grows to love the water that fills Rome with an unchanging melody all
through the year.
* * *
And indeed I do believe all things and all traditions. History is like that
old stag that Charles of France found out hunting in the woods once,
with the bronze collar round its neck on which was written, "Cæsar
mihi hoc donavit." How one's fancy loves to linger about that old stag,
and what a crowd of mighty shades come thronging at the very thought
of him! How wonderful it is to think of--that quiet grey beast leading
his lovely life under the shadows of the woods, with his hinds and their
fawns about him, whilst Cæsar after Cæsar fell and generation on
generation passed away and perished! But the sciolist taps you on the
arm. "Deer average fifty years of life; it was some mere court trick of
course--how easy to have such a collar made!" Well, what have we
gained? The stag was better than the sciolist.
* * *
Life costs but little on these sunny, silent shores; four walls of loose
stones, a roof of furze and brambles, a fare of fish and fruit and
millet-bread, a fire of driftwood easily gathered--and all is told. For a
feast pluck the violet cactus; for a holiday push the old red boat to sea,
and set the brown sail square against the sun--nothing can be cheaper,
perhaps few things can be better.
To feel the western breezes blow over that sapphire sea, laden with the

fragrance of a score of blossoming isles. To lie under the hollow rocks,
where centuries before the fisher folk put up that painted tablet to the
dear Madonna, for all poor shipwrecked souls. To climb the high hills
through the tangle of myrtle and tamarisk, and the tufted rosemary,
with the kids bleating above upon some unseen height. To watch the
soft night close in, and the warning lights shine out over shoals and
sunken rocks, and the moon hang low and golden in the blue dusk at
the end there under the arch of the boughs. To spend long hours in the
cool, fresh, break of day, drifting with the tide, and leaping with bare
free limbs into the waves, and lying outstretched upon them, glancing
down to the depths below, where silvery fish are gliding and coral
branches are growing, and pink shells are floating like rose-leaves, five
fathoms low and more. Oh! a good life, and none better, abroad in the
winds and weather, as Nature meant that every living thing