"A great many things, I suppose; but what I want to see is the Green vaults and the picture gallery."
"Mrs. Copley," said Lawrence quietly, "there are galleries of pictures everywhere. We shall find them at every step--more than you will want to look at, by a hundred fold."
"But we shall not find Green vaults, shall we? And you will not tell me that the Dresden madonna is anywhere but at Dresden?"
"I did not know you cared so much about pictures, mother," Dolly ventured.
"I don't!" said Mrs. Copley,--"not about the pictures; but I don't like to be here and not see what there is to see. I like to say I have seen it. It would be absurd to be here and not see things. Your father told me to go just where I wanted to; and if I don't go to Waterloo, I want to see Dresden."
"And from there?" said Lawrence.
"I don't know. I suppose we can find our way from there to Venice somehow."
"But do you not include Cologne Cathedral in the things you wish to see?"
"Cologne? I don't know about cathedrals. We are going to see one now, aren't we? Isn't one as good as another?"
"To pray in, I have no doubt," said Lawrence; "but hardly to look at."
"Well, you don't think churches ought to be built to look at, do you? I think that is wicked. Churches are meant for something."
"You would not object to looking at them when they _are_ built? would you? Here we are now, going to see Gonda Cathedral."
"No, I am not," said Mrs. Copley. "I am going to see the glass windows.
We shall not see them to-day if we stand here talking."
Lawrence ordered a carriage, and the party set out. He wished devoutly that it had numbered five instead of four, so that Rupert could have been sent outside. But the carnage held them all comfortably.
Dolly was a little uneasy at the travelling problem before her; however, no uneasiness could stand long against the charm of that morning's drive. The blessed familiar sun shone on a world so very different from all the world she had ever known before. On every hand were flower gardens; on both sides of the way; and in the midst of the flower gardens stood pleasant-looking country houses; while the road was bordered with narrow canals, over which drawbridges of extravagant size led to the houses. It was a rich and quaint and pretty landscape under the September sun; and Dolly felt all concern and annoyance melting away from her. She saw that her mother too was amused and delighted. Surely things would come out right by and by.
The town interested three of the party in a high degree.
"Well!" said Mrs. Copley, "haven't they learned here _yet_ to turn the front of their houses to the street?"
"Perhaps they never will," said Lawrence. "Why should they?"
"Because things ought to be right, if it is only the fronts of houses,"
said the lady.
"I wouldn't mind which _way_ they looked, if they would only hold up straight," said Rupert. "What ails the town?"
"Bad soil, most likely," returned Lawrence. "The foundations of Holland are moral, not physical."
"What do you mean by that?" said Mrs. Copley. "I am sure they have plenty of money. Is this the cathedral we are coming to?"
"St. Jans Kirk ."
"Well, if that's all!--It isn't handsome a bit!"
"It's real homely, that's a fact," said Rupert.
"You came to see the glass windows," said Lawrence. "Let us go in, and then pass judgment."
They went in, and then a low exclamation from Rupert was all that was heard. The ladies were absolutely mute before the blaze of beauty that met them.
"Well!" said Rupert after a pause of deep silence--"now I know what folks mean when they say something 'beats the Dutch.' That beats all _I_ ever saw!--hollow."
"But how delicious!" exclaimed Dolly. "The work is so delicate. And oh, the colours! Mother, do you see that purple? Who is the person represented there, Mr. St. Leger?"
"That is Philip the Second. And it is not likely, I may remark, that any Dutchman painted it. That broken window was given to the church by Philip."
"Who did paint it, then?"
"I cannot say, really."
"What a pity it is broken!"
"But the others are mostly in very good keeping. Come on--here is the Duke of Alva."
"If I were a Dutch woman, I would break that," said Dolly.
"No, you wouldn't. Consider--he serves as an adornment of the city here. Breaking his effigy would not be breaking _him_, Miss Dolly."
"It must be a very strange thing to live in an old country," said Dolly. "I mean, if you belong to it. Just look at these windows!--How old is the work itself, Mr. St. Leger?"
"I am not wise in such things;--I should say it must date from the best period of the art. I believe it is said so."
"And when was that?"
"Really, I don't know; a good while ago, Miss Dolly."
"Philip II. came to reign about the middle of the sixteenth century,"
Rupert remarked.
"Exactly," St. Leger said, looking annoyed.
"Well, sir," Rupert went on, "I would like to ask you one thing--can't they paint as good a glass window now as they could then?"
"They may paint a better glass window, for aught I know," said Lawrence; "but the painting will not be so good."
"That's curious," said Rupert. "I thought things went for'ard, and not back, in the world. Why shouldn't they paint as well now as ever?"
Nobody spoke.
"Why should they not, Mr. St. Leger?" Dolly repeated.
"I don't know, I'm sure. Mrs. Copley, I'm afraid you are fatiguing yourself."