As the Crow Flies: From Corsica to Charing Cross — Key Ideas to Explore

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In Category - Geography

Authors: Dodge, Walter Phelps, 1869-1931 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2014 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Italy -- Description and travel; France -- Description and travel; England -- Description and travel Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 28,328

Reading time 124 min

Text sections 4

This digital edition of As the Crow Flies: From Corsica to Charing Cross — Key Ideas to Explore is described by source-level measurements including 28,328 words, 2 hr 4 min estimated reading time, and 4 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 26.1 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Italy -- Description and travel,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #47213

Walter Phelps Dodge's travelogue from Corsica to London, blending wry observation with a preference for lemonade over burgundy, and a sharp eye for the peculiarities of place.

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_Aves_ and _Paters_ under its vaulted roof, for he was a native of the erst-while republic of Genoa, when that power ruled the Mediterranean and boasted, like Venice, of a Doge. There is a curious inscription above the arches which part the nave from the aisles, near the Doge's gallery, to the effect that the great-grandson of Noah founded Genoa and that the nave was restored in 1307.

But this is only one of the curious things about this curious Cathedral, for the verger who was gorgeous in his cocked hat and wand-of-office, showed us two huge pictures on either side of the high altar, which had been taken by the great Napoleon from Genoa to Paris when he conquered Italy; which had gone thence to Vienna and had finally returned to their former resting place. They showed the effect of travel, but were wonderfully well preserved. One represented the martyrdom of St. Sebastian--that ever-present product of Italian galleries, but in this case the arrows were happily absent. We saw, too, the picture of the Madonna, painted by St. Luke and alluded to by Mark Twain. It had not grown at all clearer since he saw it twenty odd years ago.

A wonderfully beautiful Byzantine tomb was shown us in John the Baptist's chapel, and was declared to contain the ashes of that saint. Certainly it must have been old, and the carving was exquisitely done. The original chains worn by John the Baptist were also shown. They were very rusty! No woman but the Queen is allowed in this little side chapel, erected to commemorate the crime of Herodias, but why Her Majesty should be excepted from the rule is not quite clear, unless we accept the theory of the divine right of Kings which Kaiser Wilhelm holds so strongly. There they also show the _sacro catina_, supposed to be made of a single emerald given by the Queen of Sheba to Solomon. This vessel formed part of the spoils of the Genoese at Cæsarea in 1101. It is brought out of the treasury three times a year for the veneration of the faithful, but no one is allowed to touch it under severe penalties. But as I was admiring this and preparing to enthuse over its associations, the verger asked if I understood Latin and immediately launched forth into the original text of the Excommunication pronounced against any female who should dare to enter that _sanctum sanctorum_ where John the Baptist reposed. But, alas, if his accent was not that I had learned at Oxford, it was still less that of Yale; and I could only guess at the meaning of most of his sonorous periods. We left the Church with this avalanche of mediæval Latin ringing in our ears. The interior, taken as a whole, is impressive. The nave and two aisles are unusually long, and standing at one end a semi-gloomy vista of respectable length is opened up. There are other Churches in Genoa, but none so rich in tradition or saintly relics. The Via Balbi is worth a visit, for there stand the famous Palazzo Rosso or Red Palace, built entirely of dark red stone; and the Galliera Palace with its magnificent collection of paintings. The Galliera family has done much for Genoa as well as for Paris. The late Duke gave £80,000 to the harbour works a few years ago, and now the city of Genoa owns the fine gallery of paintings. The Duchess, who has been dead only a short time, left her splendid house in Paris to the Austrian Emperor to be used as the permanent house of his Embassy in Paris and (as she was childless) willed her large private fortune to the clever Empress Frederick, Queen Victoria's eldest daughter, in trust for deeds of charity.

A description of one of these immense palace galleries may stand for all. Always there is a grand hall supported in part on columns leading to an arcade-surrounded court. Beyond comes the great staircase, in two ascents. All this is open to the public view, and the long perspective of halls, courts, columns and arcades is magnificent in the extreme. In a splendid suite of rooms on the second floor of this Palazzo Rosso is the largest collection of pictures in Genoa.

The Palazzo Reale or Royal Palace is interesting, having been splendidly fitted up by King Charles Albert in 1842. There are palaces innumerable in Genoa, many rich in historical interest and full of pictures by the old masters, and if one were compiling a guide book one could write quires of description about gilding that cost a million francs in one, and mosaic floors worth several fortunes in another.

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Walter Phelps Dodge opens his travelogue with a preference for a simple glass of ice-cold lemonade over a bumper of burgundy, setting a tone of unpretentious observation. His journey from Corsica to Charing Cross is less a grand tour than a series of vignettes, each place filtered through a lens of dry humor and a fondness for the peculiar. Dodge's voice is that of a companionable guide, quick to note the absurdities of resort life—the pine fetishes of Bournemouth, the high prices that frighten away all but marquises—and equally quick to appreciate a fine view or a well-turned phrase. The book, originally a collection of letters to the Hartford Post and Hartford Courant, retains the immediacy of correspondence, with each chapter a dispatch from a different station.

A Taste for the Particular

Dodge's prose is most alive when he seizes on a single, telling detail. In Bournemouth, he observes that pines are the town's fetishes: visitors breathe pine balsam, bathe in pine juice, sleep on pine pillows, and are finally laid under pine shade. The repetition builds a comic monotony that perfectly captures the place. Similarly, at Oxford, he notes the rule that students must wear caps and gowns after dark, and the fine for being caught "in mufti"—a small, concrete rule that opens a window onto the university's social code. Dodge does not generalize about national character; he reports what he sees and hears, letting the oddity speak for itself.

The Art of the Aside

Dodge's digressions are often his sharpest observations. In describing Bournemouth's lack of a theatre—the Lord of the Manor objects to worldly amusements—he notes that residents have circumvented the ban by fitting up the town hall as an amateur playhouse, where "occasional third-rate companies perform." The aside is both a factual report and a quiet judgment. Similarly, his remark that consumptives have lately hurried off to Berlin for Dr. Koch's clinic undercuts the claim that Bournemouth's climate is beneficial. These asides give the travelogue a conversational rhythm, as if Dodge is sharing gossip over that glass of lemonade.

Comparisons and Contradictions

Dodge frequently measures England against the Mediterranean, but his comparisons are never simple. The Hampshire coast, he writes, is beginning to be called the British Riviera, though the sea is less blue and the sky duller. The climate of Bournemouth, he claims, differs little from Geneva's except for more snow in Geneva and less relaxing air. These comparisons serve not to elevate one place over another but to sharpen the reader's sense of each location's particular character. Dodge is aware that his readers may know Nice or San Remo; he uses that knowledge to make Bournemouth strange again.

The Observer Observed

Dodge's own position as an American traveler in late-Victorian Europe is never far from the surface. He notes prices, social hierarchies, and the quirks of local governance with the eye of an outsider who is not easily impressed. His acknowledgment to the editors of the Hartford Post and Hartford Courant reminds us that these letters were written for a Connecticut audience, one that might appreciate a wry take on English snobbery or Corsican remoteness. Dodge does not pretend to be a native; his value lies in his detachment. He is the crow flying from Corsica to Charing Cross, seeing the landscape from a height that is neither wholly inside nor wholly out.

Dodge's travelogue rewards the reader who enjoys a companionable, slightly skeptical guide. The book's structure as a series of letters means each chapter can be read independently, but together they build a cumulative portrait of a traveler who is more interested in the particular than the picturesque. Readers should approach As the Crow Flies not as a comprehensive guide but as a collection of dispatches from a sharp-eyed observer, one who knows that a glass of lemonade can be more revealing than a bumper of burgundy.

There’s something almost conspiratorial about Dodge’s preference for lemonade in a land of burgundy—that quiet refusal to perform travel the expected way. It reminds me of another, stranger pilgrimage, the elegiac drift through a falling city in The Last Days of Pekin — Inside the Classic. Both books feel less like journeys than like slow exhales, observations held gently before they vanish.

Wyatt Adams

4 weeks ago

Scarlett Nelson

3 weeks ago

5 out of 5 (2 User reviews )

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Michael Michelle Gutierrez - 3 weeks ago

{'rating': 2, 'text': 'I found this book difficult to get through. The humor feels forced and the narrative is disjointed. The author seems more interested in showing off his cleverness than in providing a coherent account of his travels. The descriptions are often superfluous, and the book lacks a strong narrative thread. Not recommended.'}

Justin Hall - 2 weeks ago

{'rating': 5, 'text': "An utterly charming and witty travel narrative that follows the author's whimsical journey from Corsica to Charing Cross. The observations are sharp, the humor is dry, and the storytelling is engaging. The book offers a delightful blend of travelogue and social commentary that feels fresh even today. A true gem for lovers of classic travel writing."}

Chris Katherine Steele - 1 week ago

{'rating': 3, 'text': "A pleasant read with moments of brilliant wit and vivid description. The author has a keen eye for detail and a humorous take on the places he visits. However, the book's structure is somewhat meandering, and the cultural references are dated. It's a decent choice for a light historical read, but not a masterpiece."}