Writing to glorify God

Son 2:4 He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love.

Mrs Haddassah Ambrose lay against her husband, exhausted. The past few days had been exhausting, traveling from England to Rome. When she had left she had been eager to get to Rome to see the sights, now she was eager to collapse into the no doubt excellent hotel her husband had arranged for them.

Her husband. Her new husband. Certainly she could not complain about his public behaviour. In public he had been every inch the gentleman, and oh so considerate. She hadn’t had to worry about a thing, indeed she hadn’t been alone for more than a few minutes at a time. Her husband had not disappeared, as she feared he might do, for long hours at night, gambling. The only time she had seen him at all distracted was once in a park in Paris where he had stopped them to watch a chess game for a few minutes. The rest of the time, every restaurant, every walk, he had been at her side.

As the carriage bumped along she half slept, just aware of the rises and falls that, she understood, represented their final passage into Rome. A city built on hills. The most beautiful city in the world, she had always read, and now all she wanted to do was sleep.

“Come, dear, we are at the Villa Carpegna and will be stopping for lunch. I am sure you will want to see.”

She lifted her head sleepily and started, as there were buildings and things. She went to the window and, most improperly she was sure, stuck her head out to look. Rome! They were finally here! This street was part of Rome! These houses, these shops, they were all part of Rome!

And, she realised, her husband had spoken to her in English. The second they had landed in Brest he had insisted that they speak French. She hadn’t really minded, as it had added a bit of distance to their relationship. She certainly was much less eager to natter on in French then she was in English.

The carriage stopped moments later and she held her husband’s hand quite tightly as she descended, she was so shaky from the ride. He led her towards a restaurant patio and she almost shivered with excitement. Everything was exactly as it should be, tables under trees and canopys, delicious smells and, somewhere inside, a violin was playing. 

“Oh… thank you,” she said, leaning up against her husband. She knew he was proud of his… as he put it, she would never have said such a thing… his beautiful young wife, and she wanted to reward him for this trip.

As a waiter, speaking voluble Italian, came hurrying out she watched their carriages drive away and wondered what was happening to her maid. She supposed the servants would all be eating at some lesser establishment down the road or in the back. Perhaps the kitchen of this very restaurant catered to that class. That would be good for business, she supposed.

Her husband sat her down and the waiter restarted his chatter, of which she understood one word in three. She looked at her husband who gave his small smile, turned to the waiter and, in much slower but still very nice Italian said a few sentences. The waiter looked at her, grinned, gave a very loud exclamation in which she recognised the words ‘bride’ and ‘congratulations’ and something about children, and promptly left.

“What did you tell him?”

“Well, I ordered us a meal. We will be taking a long break here and then…” he smiled at her… “You and I will be walking the next few miles. I arranged for the carriage to pick us up later. They are all on their way to the hotel to get everything settled.”

“Anyway, I ordered our meal and then, perhaps foolishly, told him that we were on our wedding trip and didn’t wish to be disturbed.”

“Oh, that was wonderful of you. I don’t mind that he knows we just got married, but I mean the walk.”

“I was told that you love to walk, and I certainly have found that out. We may wish to buy you a parasol on the way, though. Even the early summer in Italy can be quite hot.”

It was a good hour later before they were able to get up from the table. Her husband had apparently ordered them to bring a little bit of everything the restaurant served… which had been quite delicious but had obviously taken a long time to eat. And he had sent one of the local bambinos to purchase her a parasol so when her husband held out his arm she opened it and held it in with her left hand while taking her husband’s arm with her right.

Lady Haddassah had never been to Rome, but she had envisioned coming dozens of times, and poured through several books, mostly illustrated guides, so as they started walking her mind was busy thinking back to where they were going, what would be there, how they would need to get to the next place.

It wan’t a block before she noticed that her husband was not directing her. He was walking at her side, holding her hand, looking out at the things they passed and, above all, staring at her from time time (and not at her eyes!) but was following her lead… which she hadn’t even known she was leading.

But now that she did, she grinned, and turned them to the left. Carefully, in case she had misread the situation, but he turned with her. Down this street, she knew, was an old fountain, recently restored, that she had read about in a guide. All done up with some red tiles.

And, she saw when they got there, filled with children. Children of all ages, running, splashing, yelling. A few mothers standing around the edge of the fountain, gossiping away in volubule Italian. Oh, this was glory.

She turned them randomly down a small side street. Who needed to walk down the big streets? And her husband followed her, as did the curious eyes of several of the bambinos. They were on their way down the third side street when she felt a slight pull on her arm, and her husband led her over to a hole in the wall where a man was carving slices off a perfectly enormous roast of pork.

“I am a mere male,” her husband said. “We get hungry from time to time.”

He ordered a quantity of meat for himself, which they served on bread, and a much lesser quantioty for her, which she nibbled at as they walked. It was rather messy, and she wasn’t at all used to the spices that they put on the meat, but it was delicious.

Hours later, hours and dozens of fountains and shops to buy food to nibble on and thousands of people and hundreds of people later, her stomach full, her feet tired, and her mind buzzying from all of the Italian, her husband directed her again and, a half an hour later, they were walking into a large hotel on a central square.

“Ah, duca Ambrogio,” a rather short Italian man said, coming out from behind the counter. Haddassah noted one of their footmen rising from where he had been sitting by the fire and coming forward as well. No doubt he had signalled to the hotel clerk who they were.

“We are so glad you to have in our hotel,” the man said, with a rather strong accent. “Your staff, they have come and have everything prepared…”

“Very good,” her husband said, and the man’s face underwent a subtle change at hearing the Italian. 

With the briefest of glances at Haddassah, he said, just slowly enough not to be insulting, “We did not know, would you like a meal to be sent in? Surely you are tired?”

“Indeed we are, but we are also well fed. We have eaten from every street vendor in the city, I doubt me not. No, we will wish to bathe and, perhaps, sit on the balcony with some wine and look out over your beautiful city.”

“Very good, very good, let me show you the way.”

The way turned out to be a very long flight of stairs, as it seemed they had their apartments at the very top of the building. At the top she was led off by her maid to another room, where no fewer than four Italian girls waited to help her undress, bathe, and put on a light evening dress. She wasn’t thrilled with having so many helpers, but she supposed that they couldn’t imagine that a duchess could bathe herself.

Then her maid, having dismissed the others, led her off down the corridor and into a room. The room had a large bed, and her maid give it, and her, a significant glance then led her out onto a balcony, where her husband sat at a table with a bottle of wine in front of him, and a tray with various cheeses and sausages.

“Oh, this is so nice,” she said, seating herself diagonally opposite him. “What a marvellous view.”

“indeed,” he said and, blushing, she realized he wasn’t looking at the city. “Are you enjoying our trip?”

Both her duty and the truth forced her to say, “Oh, yes.” There were aspects of the trip she did not like; cheif among them perhaps that she was having to take it with him. But the trip itself, yes, she was enjoying it.Son 2:4 He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love.

Mrs Haddassah Ambrose lay against her husband, exhausted. The past few days had been exhausting, traveling from England to Rome. When she had left she had been eager to get to Rome to see the sights, now she was eager to collapse into the no doubt excellent hotel her husband had arranged for them.

Her husband. Her new husband. Certainly she could not complain about his public behaviour. In public he had been every inch the gentleman, and oh so considerate. She hadn’t had to worry about a thing, indeed she hadn’t been alone for more than a few minutes at a time. Her husband had not disappeared, as she feared he might do, for long hours at night, gambling. The only time she had seen him at all distracted was once in a park in Paris where he had stopped them to watch a chess game for a few minutes. The rest of the time, every restaurant, every walk, he had been at her side.

As the carriage bumped along she half slept, just aware of the rises and falls that, she understood, represented their final passage into Rome. A city built on hills. The most beautiful city in the world, she had always read, and now all she wanted to do was sleep.

“Come, dear, we are at the Villa Carpegna and will be stopping for lunch. I am sure you will want to see.”

She lifted her head sleepily and started, as there were buildings and things. She went to the window and, most improperly she was sure, stuck her head out to look. Rome! They were finally here! This street was part of Rome! These houses, these shops, they were all part of Rome!

And, she realised, her husband had spoken to her in English. The second they had landed in Brest he had insisted that they speak French. She hadn’t really minded, as it had added a bit of distance to their relationship. She certainly was much less eager to natter on in French then she was in English.

The carriage stopped moments later and she held her husband’s hand quite tightly as she descended, she was so shaky from the ride. He led her towards a restaurant patio and she almost shivered with excitement. Everything was exactly as it should be, tables under trees and canopys, delicious smells and, somewhere inside, a violin was playing. 

“Oh… thank you,” she said, leaning up against her husband. She knew he was proud of his… as he put it, she would never have said such a thing… his beautiful young wife, and she wanted to reward him for this trip.

As a waiter, speaking voluble Italian, came hurrying out she watched their carriages drive away and wondered what was happening to her maid. She supposed the servants would all be eating at some lesser establishment down the road or in the back. Perhaps the kitchen of this very restaurant catered to that class. That would be good for business, she supposed.

Her husband sat her down and the waiter restarted his chatter, of which she understood one word in three. She looked at her husband who gave his small smile, turned to the waiter and, in much slower but still very nice Italian said a few sentences. The waiter looked at her, grinned, gave a very loud exclamation in which she recognised the words ‘bride’ and ‘congratulations’ and something about children, and promptly left.

“What did you tell him?”

“Well, I ordered us a meal. We will be taking a long break here and then…” he smiled at her… “You and I will be walking the next few miles. I arranged for the carriage to pick us up later. They are all on their way to the hotel to get everything settled.”

“Anyway, I ordered our meal and then, perhaps foolishly, told him that we were on our wedding trip and didn’t wish to be disturbed.”

“Oh, that was wonderful of you. I don’t mind that he knows we just got married, but I mean the walk.”

“I was told that you love to walk, and I certainly have found that out. We may wish to buy you a parasol on the way, though. Even the early summer in Italy can be quite hot.”

It was a good hour later before they were able to get up from the table. Her husband had apparently ordered them to bring a little bit of everything the restaurant served… which had been quite delicious but had obviously taken a long time to eat. And he had sent one of the local bambinos to purchase her a parasol so when her husband held out his arm she opened it and held it in with her left hand while taking her husband’s arm with her right.

Lady Haddassah had never been to Rome, but she had envisioned coming dozens of times, and poured through several books, mostly illustrated guides, so as they started walking her mind was busy thinking back to where they were going, what would be there, how they would need to get to the next place.

It wan’t a block before she noticed that her husband was not directing her. He was walking at her side, holding her hand, looking out at the things they passed and, above all, staring at her from time time (and not at her eyes!) but was following her lead… which she hadn’t even known she was leading.

But now that she did, she grinned, and turned them to the left. Carefully, in case she had misread the situation, but he turned with her. Down this street, she knew, was an old fountain, recently restored, that she had read about in a guide. All done up with some red tiles.

And, she saw when they got there, filled with children. Children of all ages, running, splashing, yelling. A few mothers standing around the edge of the fountain, gossiping away in volubule Italian. Oh, this was glory.

She turned them randomly down a small side street. Who needed to walk down the big streets? And her husband followed her, as did the curious eyes of several of the bambinos. They were on their way down the third side street when she felt a slight pull on her arm, and her husband led her over to a hole in the wall where a man was carving slices off a perfectly enormous roast of pork.

“I am a mere male,” her husband said. “We get hungry from time to time.”

He ordered a quantity of meat for himself, which they served on bread, and a much lesser quantioty for her, which she nibbled at as they walked. It was rather messy, and she wasn’t at all used to the spices that they put on the meat, but it was delicious.

Hours later, hours and dozens of fountains and shops to buy food to nibble on and thousands of people and hundreds of people later, her stomach full, her feet tired, and her mind buzzying from all of the Italian, her husband directed her again and, a half an hour later, they were walking into a large hotel on a central square.

“Ah, duca Ambrogio,” a rather short Italian man said, coming out from behind the counter. Haddassah noted one of their footmen rising from where he had been sitting by the fire and coming forward as well. No doubt he had signalled to the hotel clerk who they were.

“We are so glad you to have in our hotel,” the man said, with a rather strong accent. “Your staff, they have come and have everything prepared…”

“Very good,” her husband said, and the man’s face underwent a subtle change at hearing the Italian. 

With the briefest of glances at Haddassah, he said, just slowly enough not to be insulting, “We did not know, would you like a meal to be sent in? Surely you are tired?”

“Indeed we are, but we are also well fed. We have eaten from every street vendor in the city, I doubt me not. No, we will wish to bathe and, perhaps, sit on the balcony with some wine and look out over your beautiful city.”

“Very good, very good, let me show you the way.”

The way turned out to be a very long flight of stairs, as it seemed they had their apartments at the very top of the building. At the top she was led off by her maid to another room, where no fewer than four Italian girls waited to help her undress, bathe, and put on a light evening dress. She wasn’t thrilled with having so many helpers, but she supposed that they couldn’t imagine that a duchess could bathe herself.

Then her maid, having dismissed the others, led her off down the corridor and into a room. The room had a large bed, and her maid give it, and her, a significant glance then led her out onto a balcony, where her husband sat at a table with a bottle of wine in front of him, and a tray with various cheeses and sausages.

“Oh, this is so nice,” she said, seating herself diagonally opposite him. “What a marvellous view.”

“indeed,” he said and, blushing, she realized he wasn’t looking at the city. “Are you enjoying our trip?”

Both her duty and the truth forced her to say, “Oh, yes.” There were aspects of the trip she did not like; cheif among them perhaps that she was having to take it with him. But the trip itself, yes, she was enjoying it.Son 2:4 He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love.

Mrs Haddassah Ambrose lay against her husband, exhausted. The past few days had been exhausting, traveling from England to Rome. When she had left she had been eager to get to Rome to see the sights, now she was eager to collapse into the no doubt excellent hotel her husband had arranged for them.

Her husband. Her new husband. Certainly she could not complain about his public behaviour. In public he had been every inch the gentleman, and oh so considerate. She hadn’t had to worry about a thing, indeed she hadn’t been alone for more than a few minutes at a time. Her husband had not disappeared, as she feared he might do, for long hours at night, gambling. The only time she had seen him at all distracted was once in a park in Paris where he had stopped them to watch a chess game for a few minutes. The rest of the time, every restaurant, every walk, he had been at her side.

As the carriage bumped along she half slept, just aware of the rises and falls that, she understood, represented their final passage into Rome. A city built on hills. The most beautiful city in the world, she had always read, and now all she wanted to do was sleep.

“Come, dear, we are at the Villa Carpegna and will be stopping for lunch. I am sure you will want to see.”

She lifted her head sleepily and started, as there were buildings and things. She went to the window and, most improperly she was sure, stuck her head out to look. Rome! They were finally here! This street was part of Rome! These houses, these shops, they were all part of Rome!

And, she realised, her husband had spoken to her in English. The second they had landed in Brest he had insisted that they speak French. She hadn’t really minded, as it had added a bit of distance to their relationship. She certainly was much less eager to natter on in French then she was in English.

The carriage stopped moments later and she held her husband’s hand quite tightly as she descended, she was so shaky from the ride. He led her towards a restaurant patio and she almost shivered with excitement. Everything was exactly as it should be, tables under trees and canopys, delicious smells and, somewhere inside, a violin was playing. 

“Oh… thank you,” she said, leaning up against her husband. She knew he was proud of his… as he put it, she would never have said such a thing… his beautiful young wife, and she wanted to reward him for this trip.

As a waiter, speaking voluble Italian, came hurrying out she watched their carriages drive away and wondered what was happening to her maid. She supposed the servants would all be eating at some lesser establishment down the road or in the back. Perhaps the kitchen of this very restaurant catered to that class. That would be good for business, she supposed.

Her husband sat her down and the waiter restarted his chatter, of which she understood one word in three. She looked at her husband who gave his small smile, turned to the waiter and, in much slower but still very nice Italian said a few sentences. The waiter looked at her, grinned, gave a very loud exclamation in which she recognised the words ‘bride’ and ‘congratulations’ and something about children, and promptly left.

“What did you tell him?”

“Well, I ordered us a meal. We will be taking a long break here and then…” he smiled at her… “You and I will be walking the next few miles. I arranged for the carriage to pick us up later. They are all on their way to the hotel to get everything settled.”

“Anyway, I ordered our meal and then, perhaps foolishly, told him that we were on our wedding trip and didn’t wish to be disturbed.”

“Oh, that was wonderful of you. I don’t mind that he knows we just got married, but I mean the walk.”

“I was told that you love to walk, and I certainly have found that out. We may wish to buy you a parasol on the way, though. Even the early summer in Italy can be quite hot.”

It was a good hour later before they were able to get up from the table. Her husband had apparently ordered them to bring a little bit of everything the restaurant served… which had been quite delicious but had obviously taken a long time to eat. And he had sent one of the local bambinos to purchase her a parasol so when her husband held out his arm she opened it and held it in with her left hand while taking her husband’s arm with her right.

Lady Haddassah had never been to Rome, but she had envisioned coming dozens of times, and poured through several books, mostly illustrated guides, so as they started walking her mind was busy thinking back to where they were going, what would be there, how they would need to get to the next place.

It wan’t a block before she noticed that her husband was not directing her. He was walking at her side, holding her hand, looking out at the things they passed and, above all, staring at her from time time (and not at her eyes!) but was following her lead… which she hadn’t even known she was leading.

But now that she did, she grinned, and turned them to the left. Carefully, in case she had misread the situation, but he turned with her. Down this street, she knew, was an old fountain, recently restored, that she had read about in a guide. All done up with some red tiles.

And, she saw when they got there, filled with children. Children of all ages, running, splashing, yelling. A few mothers standing around the edge of the fountain, gossiping away in volubule Italian. Oh, this was glory.

She turned them randomly down a small side street. Who needed to walk down the big streets? And her husband followed her, as did the curious eyes of several of the bambinos. They were on their way down the third side street when she felt a slight pull on her arm, and her husband led her over to a hole in the wall where a man was carving slices off a perfectly enormous roast of pork.

“I am a mere male,” her husband said. “We get hungry from time to time.”

He ordered a quantity of meat for himself, which they served on bread, and a much lesser quantioty for her, which she nibbled at as they walked. It was rather messy, and she wasn’t at all used to the spices that they put on the meat, but it was delicious.

Hours later, hours and dozens of fountains and shops to buy food to nibble on and thousands of people and hundreds of people later, her stomach full, her feet tired, and her mind buzzying from all of the Italian, her husband directed her again and, a half an hour later, they were walking into a large hotel on a central square.

“Ah, duca Ambrogio,” a rather short Italian man said, coming out from behind the counter. Haddassah noted one of their footmen rising from where he had been sitting by the fire and coming forward as well. No doubt he had signalled to the hotel clerk who they were.

“We are so glad you to have in our hotel,” the man said, with a rather strong accent. “Your staff, they have come and have everything prepared…”

“Very good,” her husband said, and the man’s face underwent a subtle change at hearing the Italian. 

With the briefest of glances at Haddassah, he said, just slowly enough not to be insulting, “We did not know, would you like a meal to be sent in? Surely you are tired?”

“Indeed we are, but we are also well fed. We have eaten from every street vendor in the city, I doubt me not. No, we will wish to bathe and, perhaps, sit on the balcony with some wine and look out over your beautiful city.”

“Very good, very good, let me show you the way.”

The way turned out to be a very long flight of stairs, as it seemed they had their apartments at the very top of the building. At the top she was led off by her maid to another room, where no fewer than four Italian girls waited to help her undress, bathe, and put on a light evening dress. She wasn’t thrilled with having so many helpers, but she supposed that they couldn’t imagine that a duchess could bathe herself.

Then her maid, having dismissed the others, led her off down the corridor and into a room. The room had a large bed, and her maid give it, and her, a significant glance then led her out onto a balcony, where her husband sat at a table with a bottle of wine in front of him, and a tray with various cheeses and sausages.

“Oh, this is so nice,” she said, seating herself diagonally opposite him. “What a marvellous view.”

“indeed,” he said and, blushing, she realized he wasn’t looking at the city. “Are you enjoying our trip?”

Both her duty and the truth forced her to say, “Oh, yes.” There were aspects of the trip she did not like; cheif among them perhaps that she was having to take it with him. But the trip itself, yes, she was enjoying it.