영어로 읽는 고전 _ 케이트 더글러스 스미스 위긴의 페넬로페의 후기
케이트 더글러스 스미스 위긴의 《페넬로페의 후기》는 20세기 초에 쓰인 여행 이야기 모음집입니다. 이 책은 주인공 페넬로페가 스위스, 베니스, 웨일스 등 유럽의 여러 그림 같은 장소들을 여행하며 겪는 모험과 관찰을 담고 있습니다. 유쾌한 여정들은 그녀의 성격을 드러내고 그녀가 방문하는 장소들의 정수를 포착하며, 독자들을 그녀의 경험과 성찰 속으로 이끌어갑니다.
《페넬로페의 후기》의 시작에서 우리는 스위스를 여행 중인 페넬로페와 그녀의 친구들을 만나게 됩니다. 이 부분에서 페넬로페와 친구 살레미나는 제네바 호수의 아름다움을 즐기며 여행에 대해 되돌아봅니다. 폐허의 매력에 대한 페넬로페의 솔직한 생각과 더 의미 있는 경험에 대한 갈망은 유명한 교육자 요한 하인리히 페스탈로치와 연관된 마을인 이베르동으로의 교육적 순례를 결심하게 만듭니다. 이 배경은 책의 여행 주제뿐만 아니라 등장인물들 사이의 역학 관계를 확립하며, 페넬로페는 익살스럽고 사려 깊으면서도 다소 엉뚱한 추구를 하는 인물로 그려집니다.
Classics Read in English _ Penelope's Postscripts by Kate Douglas Smith Wiggin
With Penelope's Postscripts, Kate Douglas Smith Wiggin gathers the scattered pages of her beloved heroine's European wanderings into one delightful volume. Written in the early 20th century, this collection of travel narratives follows Penelope across the continent?from the alpine grandeur of Switzerland to the shimmering canals of Venice and the rolling green hills of Wales.
The journey begins beside the tranquil waters of Lake Geneva, where Penelope and her faithful companion Salemina pause to reflect on the nature of travel itself. What makes a journey truly meaningful? For Penelope, it is not merely the picturesque views or ancient ruins, though she appreciates them with characteristic wit. She yearns for something deeper?experiences that educate the soul as much as they delight the eye.
This longing leads the friends to Yverdon, a small Swiss town forever linked to the great educator Jean Henri Pestalozzi. It is a fitting destination for travelers who seek not just to see, but to understand. Through Penelope's candid reflections and whimsical observations, Wiggin offers readers more than a travelogue?she presents a philosophy of travel as discovery, where every cobblestone street and mountain vista becomes an invitation to grow. With humor, heart, and an insatiable curiosity, Penelope reminds us that the best journeys transform not only where we are, but who we are.
Among the contents
Salemina and I were in Geneva. If you had ever travelled through Europe with a charming spinster who never sat down at a Continental table d’h?te without being asked by an American vis-?-vis whether she were one of the P.’s of Salem, Massachusetts, you would understand why I call my friend Salemina. She doesn’t mind it. She knows that I am simply jealous because I came from a vulgarly large tribe that never had any coat-of-arms, and whose ancestors always sealed their letters with their thumb nails.
Whenever Francesca and I call her “Salemina,” she knows, and we know that she knows, that we are seeing a group of noble ancestors in a sort of halo over her serene and dignified head, so she remains unruffled under her petit nom, inasmuch as the casual public comprehends nothing of its spurious origin and thinks it was given her by her sponsors in baptism.
Francesca, Salemina, and I have very different backgrounds. The first-named is an extremely pretty person of large income who is travelling with us simply because her relatives think that she will “see Europe” more advantageously under our chaperonage than if she were accompanied by persons of her own age or “set.”
