Via Prague

It was while reading an interesting article in The International Herald Tribune recently, an article on American painters living in Rome in the late 19th Century, that I came across a reference to Daisy Miller.
'I was bound to see the Colosseum by moonlight!' Henry James' fatally innocent heroine cries. ' I wouldn't have wanted to go home without that.'
I'd never read the novel (I've always studiously avoided James, who I, somewhat unfairly, thought of as one of those American writers who try so hard to be English writers). Still, my curiosity aroused, I found a copy of it while browsing through Prague's English bookstores, and decided to pick it up. At 72 pages, written in frank, clear prose, I polished off the book in an afternoon lying in the park near the Vltava. It didn't take long for me to figure out what it was about that provocative quote that startled me. I was amazed at how much of myself, and other Americans I've known living abroad, I could see in Daisy Miller, of how true her character still rings today. Her shades and echoes pervade the romantic capitals of Europe more than 100 years after she first appeared in print.
For those unfamiliar with the story, Daisy Miller is an attractive young woman traveling to Europe for the first time in the company of her mother and young brother. Pretty, vivacious, a born flirt, Daisy is in many ways typically American -- outspoken, free-spirited, curiously 'innocent.' While in Rome she pursues, to the dismay of her older, respectable countrymen, a relationship with a young Italian man who appears to be of low society and only interested in corrupting her or marrying her for her money. Defiant in the face of outraged sensibilities, Daisy goes her own way, and ultimately meets an unexpected and tragic end.
Of course, Mark Twain explored similar terrain in "Innocents Abroad,' in which he comically depicts Americans, fresh from the wide open pastures, farms and factories of the New World, in all their naive, brash, contentedly ignorant charm. Indeed, I'm sure more than one literary thesis has been written about how Daisy Miller, and the characters in Twain's work, represented at the time America as a new country and emerging power, venturing out into the wider world.
But I suggest putting aside moldy geopolitical metaphors and enjoying the story on its most basic level. There is something enchanting and haunting in Daisy's story ( I see in her a vague, passing resemblance to another young flirt, Nabokov's Lolita, and, perhaps also to Capote's Holly Golightly). It could almost be read as a cautionary tale; troubling, and yet touching, at least for those of us who identify with the heroine. How many times have we, in the flush of excitement, of wonder, rushed headlong into foreign capitals, down blind alleys, ignorant of local customs, without any thought of risk or consequence? For myself, I can say too many times, and very often not to my credit. At times I've had to silently thank a benevolent Grace, or at least the generally passive nature of many Czechs, for sparing me a fate similar to Daisy's, especially after too many beers in some dark pub in an unfamiliar quarter of the city. Once, for example, upon my arrival in Prague, I spent a late night at a pub in Žižkov, a neighborhood known for its artsy residents but also for its share of criminal activity after dark. After leaving the pub, it was late and I, at that time still learning my way around the city, found myself lost. I ended up crashing out in the doorstep of some apartment building until dawn, when I awoke, sober to find the metro station. That probably happened a half-dozen times my first year. Once, I was again lost and drunk, and decided to crash in Letna Park. I remember being awakened by a Gypsy man, who instead of robbing me (to the disbelief of my Czech friends), took me by the arm and escorted me to the nearest tram stop.
All of this, in kind of a dim mist, came back to me as I read of Daisy Miller and her fate. I think now of Tomaš, a teacher and friend who has seen me on my best and worst nights out. We were talking of my leaving soon to teach English in Istanbul. He cautioned me:
'Be careful when you get to Istanbul -- they might not be like us Czechs. You could actually get killed there for doing some of the things you've gotten away with here.'
And yet, like Daisy, the part of me that identifies with her, still rebels, seeks enchantment and wonder in the dark. After all, the Colosseum by moonlight is -- well, the Colosseum by moonlight, right? Just watch out for the mosquitos.
Anyway, summer's nearly over, but if you've already finished your summer reading list, maybe give Daisy Miller a read. Cautionary tale or not, it's a book full of atmosphere, well-drawn characters, and something of Daisy, in all her fetching defiant eagerness for experience, stays with you, no matter where you go.