III

December 27. Three weeks simply boiling with business since I wrote

here--and it seems not more than so many days. And all by way of

preparation, for the actual season is still five days away.

I can hardly realize that Mrs. Burke is the same person I looked at so

dubiously two days less than a month ago. Truly, the right sort of us

Americans are wonderful people. To begin with her appearance: her hair

isn't "bottled," as she called it, any more. It's beautiful iron-gray,

and softens her features and permits all the placid kindliness and

humor of her face to show. Then there's her dress--gracious, how

tight-looking she was! A _thin_ woman can, and should, wear _close_

things. But no woman who wishes to look like a lady must ever wear

anything _tight_. To be tight in one's clothes is to be tight in one's

talk, manner, thought--and that means--well, common. What an expressive

word "common" is, yet I'm sure I couldn't define it.

For a fat woman to be tight is--revolting! My idea of misery is a fat

woman in a tight waist and tight shoes. Yet fat women have a mania

for wearing tight things, just as gaunt women yearn for stripes and

short women for flounces. My first move in getting Mrs. Burke into

shape--after doing away with that dreadful "bottled" hair--was to

put her into comfortable clothes. The first time I got her into an

evening dress of the right sort I was rewarded for all my trouble by

her expression. She kissed me with tears in her eyes. "My dear," said

she, "never before did I have a best dress that I wasn't afraid to

breathe in for fear I'd bust out, back or front." Then I made her sit

down before her long glass and look at herself carefully. She had the

prettiest kind of color in her cheeks as she smiled at me and said: "If

I'd 'a' looked like this when I was young I reckon Mr. Burke wouldn't

'a' been so easy in his mind when he went away from home, nor 'a'

stayed so long. I always did sympathize with pretty women when they

capered round, but now I wonder they ever do sober down. If I weighed a

hundred pounds or so less I do believe I'd try to frisk yet."

And I do believe she could; for she's really a handsome woman. Why is

it that the women who have the most to them don't give it a chance to

show through, but get themselves up so that anybody who glances at them

tries never to look again?

It is the change in her appearance even more than all she's learned

that has given her self-confidence. She feels at ease--and that puts

her at ease, and puts everybody else at ease, too. It has reacted upon

Mr. Burke. He has dropped brilliantine--perhaps "ma" gave him a quiet

hint--and he has taken some lessons in dress from "Cyrus," who really

gets himself up very well, considering that he has lived in Germany

for three years. I should have hopes that "pa" would blossom out into

something very attractive socially if he hadn't a deep-seated notion

that he is a great joker. A naturally serious man who tries to be funny

is about the most painful object in civilization. Still, Washington

is full of statesmen and scholars who try to unbend and be "light,"

especially with "the ladies." Nothing makes me--or any other woman, I

suppose--so angry as for a man to show that he takes me for a fool by

making a grinning galoot of himself whenever he talks to me. Bucyrus is

much that kind of ass. He alternates between solemnity and silliness.

I said rather pointedly to him the other night: "You men with your

great, deep minds make a mistake in changing your manner when you talk

with the women and the children. Nothing pleases us so much as to be

taken seriously." But it didn't touch him. However, he's hardly to

blame. He's spent a great many years round institutions of learning,

and in those places, I've noticed, every one has a musty, fusty sense

of humor. Probably it comes from cackling at classical jokes that have

laughed themselves as dry as a mummy.

We've been giving a few entertainments--informal and not large, but

highly important. I had two objects in mind: In the first place, to

get Mr. and Mrs. Burke accustomed to the style of hospitality they've

got to give if they're going to win out. In the second place, to get

certain of the kind of people who are necessary to us in the habit of

coming to this house--and those people are not so very hard to get hold

of now; later they'll be engaged day and night.

For two weeks now I've had my two especial features going. One of them

is for the men, the other for the women. And I can see already that

they alone would carry us through triumphantly; for they've caught on.

My men's feature is a breakfast. I engaged a particularly good

cook--the best old-fashioned Southern cook in Washington. Rachel had

her, and I persuaded Mr. Derby to consent to giving her up to us, just

for this season. Cleopatra--that's her name--has nothing to do but

get together every morning by nine o'clock the grandest kind of an

old-fashioned American breakfast. And I explained to Senator Burke that

he was to invite some of his colleagues, as many as he liked, and tell

them to come any morning, or every morning if they wished, and bring

their friends.

I consult with Cleopatra every day as to what she's to have the next

morning; and I think dear old father taught me what kind of breakfast

men like. I don't give them too much, or they'd be afraid to come

and risk indigestion a second time. I see to it that everything is

perfectly cooked--and it's pretty hard for any man to get indigestion,

even from corned beef hash and hot cornbread and buckwheat cakes with

maple syrup, if it's perfectly cooked and is eaten in a cheerful

frame of mind. No women are permitted at these breakfasts--just men,

with everything free and easy, plenty to smoke, separate tables, but

each large enough so that there's always room at any one of them for

one more who might otherwise be uncomfortable. Even now we have from

fifteen to twenty men--among them the very best in Washington. In the

season we'll have thirty and forty, and our house will be a regular

club from nine to eleven for just the right men.

My other big feature is an informal dance every Wednesday night. It's

already as great a success in its way as the breakfasts are in theirs.

I've been rather careful about whom I let Mrs. Burke invite to come

in on Wednesdays whenever they like. The result is that everybody is

pleased; the affairs seem to be "exclusive," yet are not. I know it

will do the Burkes a world of good politically, because a certain kind

of people who are important politically but have had no chance socially

are coming to us on Wednesdays, and that's just the kind of people who

are frantically flattered by the idea that they are "in the push."

Speaking of being "in the push," there are two ways of getting there

if one isn't there. One is to worm your way in; the other is to make

yourself the head and front of "the push." That's the way for those

who have money and know how. And that's the way the Burkes are getting

in--getting in at the front instead of at the rear.

It's most gratifying to see how Mr. Burke treats me. He always has

been deferential, but he now shows that he thinks I have real brains.

And since his breakfasts have become the talk of the town and are

"patronized" by the men he's so eager to get hold of, he is even

consulting me about his business. I am criticizing for him now a speech

he's going to make on the canal question next month--a dreadfully

dull speech, and I don't feel competent to tell him what to do with

it. I think I'll advise him not to make it, tell him his forte is

diplomacy--winning men round by personal dealing with them--which is

the truth.

Young Mr. Burke--after a period of unbending--is now shyer than ever.

I wondered why, until it happened to occur to me one day as I was

talking with Jessie. I suddenly said to her: "Jessie, did you ever tell

Nadeshda that you had planned to marry me to Cyrus Burke?"

She hopped about in her chair a bit, as uneasy as a bird on a swaying

perch. Then she confessed that she "might have suggested before

Nadeshda what a delightfully satisfactory thing it would be."

I laughed to relieve her mind--also because it amused me to see through

Nadeshda.

Of course, one of the women I needed most in this Burke campaign was

Nadeshda. And I happened to know that she is bent on marrying a rich

American--indeed, that's the only reason why the wilds of America are

favored with the presence of the beautiful, joy-loving, courted and

adored Baroness Nadeshda Daragane. The yarn about her sister, the

ambassadress, being an invalid and shrinking from the heavy social

responsibilities of the embassy is just so much trash. So, as soon as

"Cyrus" came I went over to see her, and, as diplomatically as I knew

how, displayed before her dazzled eyes the substantial advantages of

the sole heir of the great Western multi-millionaire.

As I went on to tell how generous the Senator is, and how certain he

would be to lavish wealth upon his daughter-in-law, I could see her

mind at work. A fascinating, naughty, treacherous little mind it

is--like a small Swiss watch of the rarest workmanship and full of

wheels within wheels. And she's a beautiful little creature, as warm as

a tropical sun to look at, and about as cold as the Arctic regions to

deal with. No, I haven't begun to describe her. I'd not be surprised

to hear that she had eloped with her brother-in-law's coachman; nor

should I be surprised to hear that she had married the most hideous,

revolting man in the world for his money, and was suspected of being

engaged in trying to hasten him off to the grave. She's of the queer

sort that would kiss or kill with equal enthusiasm, capable of almost

any virtue or vice--on impulse. If there's any part of her beneath the

impulsive part it's solid ice in a frame of steel. But--is there? She's

talked about a good deal--not a tenth enough to satisfy her craving

for notoriety, and, I may add, not a tenth part so much as she deserves

to be, and would be if we studied character on this side of the water

instead of being too busy with ourselves to look beyond anybody else's

surface.

Well, the Baroness Nadeshda has been wild about the Burkes ever since

we had our talk. And she has Mr. Cyrus thoroughly tangled in her nets,

and the Senator, too. And, naturally, she lost no time in trying to

"do" me. She has told Bucyrus what a designing creature I am--no doubt

has warned him that if I seem distant to him I'm at my deadliest, and

to look out for mines. He certainly is looking out for them, for,

whenever I speak to him, he acts as if he were stepping round on a

volcano. I'm having a good deal of fun with him. I wish I had the

time; I'd try to teach him a very valuable lesson. Really, it's a shame

to let a man go through life imagining that he's an all-conqueror, when

in reality the woman who marries him will feel that she's swallowing

about as bitter a dose as Fate ever presented to feminine lips in a

gold spoon.

Dear old "ma" Burke hasn't yet yielded to Nadeshda's blandishments. We

went to the embassy to call yesterday afternoon at tea-time, and I saw

her watching Nadeshda in that smiling, simple way of hers that conceals

about as keen a brain as I shouldn't care to have tearing me to pieces

for inspection.

The embassy at tea-time is always wild. For then Sophie comes in with

her monkey and Nadeshda's seven dogs are racing about. And the Count

always laughs loudly, usually at nothing at all. And each time he

laughs the dogs bark until the monkey in a great fright dashes up the

curtains or flings himself at Sophie and almost strangles her with his

paws or arms, or whatever they are, round her neck. I don't think I've

ever been there that something hasn't been spilt for a huge mess; often

the whole tea-table topples over. Mrs. Burke loves to go, for afterward

she laughs a dozen times a day until her sides ache.

As we came away yesterday I said to her: "What a fascinating, beautiful

creature Nadeshda is!"

Mrs. Burke smiled. "When I was a girl," she said, "I had a catamount

for a pet--a cub, and they had cut his claws. He was beautiful and

mighty fascinating--you never did know when he was going to fawn on you

and when he was going to fasten his teeth in you. The baroness puts me

in mind of my old pet, and how I didn't know which was harder--to keep

him or to give him up."

"She certainly has a strange nature," said I.

After a pause Mrs. Burke went on: "She's the queerest animal in this

menagerie here, so far as I've seen. And I don't think I'm wrong in

suspecting she's sitting up to Cyrus."

"I don't wonder he finds her interesting," said I.

"Cyrus is just like his pa," said she, "a mighty poor judge of women.

It was lucky for his pa that he married and settled down before he had

much glitter to catch the eyes of the women. Otherwise, he'd 'a' made a

ridiculous fool of himself. But I like a man the women can fool easy.

That shows he's honest. These fellows who are so sharp at getting on to

the tricks of the women ain't, as a rule, good for much else. But Cyrus

has got _me_ to look after him."

"He might do much worse than marry Nadeshda," said I.

"That's what his pa says," she replied. "But I ain't got round to these

new-fashioned notions of marriage. I want to see my Cyrus married to

the sort of woman his ma'd like and be proud to have for the mother of

her grand-children. And I ain't altogether sure we need the kind of

tone in our blood that a catamount'd bring. Though I must say a year or

so of living with a catamount might do Cyrus a world of good."

Which shows that even love can't altogether blind "ma" Burke.

January 3. I had to do a little scheming to get Mrs. Burke an

invitation to assist at the New Year's reception. It's always the first

event of the season, and, though it would have been no great matter

if I hadn't been able to get her in among those who stand near the

President's wife and the Cabinet women, still I felt that I couldn't

get my "pulls" into working order any too soon. Ever since the second

week in my "job" I've realized that nothing could be easier than to put

the Burkes well to the front, but my ambition to make them first calls

for the exertion of every energy.

So, in the third week of December I set Rachel at Mrs. Senator Lumley

and Mrs. Admiral Bixby--two women who can get almost anything in reason

out of the President's wife. Rachel is about the most important woman

in the old Washington aristocracy, and the Lumleys and the Bixbys are

in the nature of fixtures here, not at all like an evanescent President

or Cabinet person. So Rachel's request set the two women to work. And

although the President's wife said she'd asked all she intended to ask,

far too many, and didn't see why on earth she should be beset for a

newcomer who had been reported to her as fat and impossible, still she

finally yielded.

I hadn't hoped to get an invitation for them for the Cabinet dinner,

and I was astounded when it came. We had arranged to give a rather

large informal dinner that night and had to call it off, as an

invitation from the White House, even from the obscurest member of the

President's family for any old function whatever, is a command that

may not be disobeyed. Well, as I was saying, the invitation to the

Cabinet dinner came unsought. It seems that the Burke breakfasts are

making a great stir politically; so great a stir that they have made

the President a little uneasy. Of course, the best way to get rid of an

opponent is to conciliate him. Hence the royal command to Senator and

Mrs. Burke to appear at his Majesty's dinner to his Majesty's ministers.

Mrs. Burke is tremendously proud of her first two communications from

the White House. As for the Senator, he looks at them half a dozen

times a day.

I went down to the New Year's reception to see how "ma" was getting on.

As I had expected, she didn't stand very long. She cast about for a

chair, and, seeing one, planted herself. Soon the Baroness joined her,

and young Prince Krepousky joined Nadeshda, and then General Martin,

who loves Mrs. Burke for the feeds she gives. The group grew, and

Mrs. Burke began to talk in her drawling, humorous way, and Nadeshda

laughed, which made the others laugh--for it's impossible to resist

Nadeshda. When I arrived Mrs. Burke was "right in it."

And after a while the President came and said: "Is this your reception,

madam, or is it mine?" At which there was more laughing, he raising a

great guffaw and slapping his hip with his powerful hand. Then they all

went up to have something to eat, and the President spent most of the

time with her.

She doesn't need any more coaching. Of course, she's flattered by her

success. But instead of having her head turned, as most women do who

get the least bit of especial attention from the conspicuous men here,

she takes it all very placidly. "They don't care shucks for me," she

says, "and I know it. We're all in business together, and I'm mighty

glad it can be carried on so cheerful-like." At the Cabinet dinner,

to-morrow night, she'll have to sit well down toward the foot of the

table. But she won't mind that. Indeed, if I hadn't been giving her

lessons in precedence she wouldn't have an idea that everything here is

arranged by rank.

Jessie--so she tells me--had a half-hour's session with "Cyrus" the

other day and gave him a very exalted idea of my social position and

influence. No doubt, what she said confirmed his suspicion that I and

my friends are conspiring against him; but I observe a distinct change

in his manner toward me. He's even humble. I suppose he thought I

was some miserable creature whom his mother had taken on, half out

of charity. I'm afraid I have a sort of family pride that's a little

ridiculous--but I can't help it. Still, I am American enough to despise

people who are courteous or otherwise, according as they look up to or

look down on the particular person's family and position. I guess young

Mr. Burke is his father in an aggravated form. Yet Jessie, and Rachel,

too, pretend to like him. And probably they really do--it's not hard

to like any one who is not asking favors and is in a position to grant

them, and isn't so near to one that his quills stick into one.

The Countess of Wend came in to see me this afternoon and told me all

about the row over at the legation. It seems that the new minister is

a plebeian, and in their country people of his sort aren't noticed by

the upper classes unless an upper-class man happens to need something

to wipe his boots on and one of them is convenient for use. Well, every

attaché is in a fury, and none of them will speak to the minister

except in the most formal way and only when it's absolutely necessary.

As for the minister's wife, the other women--but what's the use of

describing it; we all know how nasty women can be about matters of

rank. The Count is talking seriously of resigning. I'd be dreadfully

sorry, as Eugenie is a dear, more like an American than a foreigner;

and I believe she really likes us, where most of them privately despise

us as a lot of low-born upstarts. I know they laugh all day long at the

President's queer manners and mannerisms--but then, so do we, for that

matter. And it's quite unusual for Washington, where each President is

bowed down to and praised everywhere and flattered till he thinks he's

a sort of god--and forgotten as soon as his term is ended. I suppose

there's nothing deader on this earth than an ex-President, with no

offices to distribute and no hopes for a further political career.

January 9. We had a beautiful dinner here last night--very brilliant

too, as we all were going to a ball at the Russian embassy afterward.

All the diplomats and army men were in uniform--and one or two of the

army men were really brilliant. But none of the diplomats. They say

that no nation sends us its best or even its second best. It seems

that diplomats don't amount to much in this day of cables. Those who

have any intelligence naturally go to courts, where the atmosphere is

congenial and where there are chances for decorations. So we get only

the stiffs and stuffs--with a few exceptions. If it weren't for their

women--

But, to return to our dinner--Mrs. Burke went in with the German

ambassador, and I saw that they were getting on famously. He is a very

clever man in a small way, and has almost an American sense of humor.

As soon as he saw that she intended what she said to be laughed at he

gave himself up to it. "Your Mrs. Burke is charming, Miss Talltowers,"

said he to me after dinner. "She ranks with Bret Harte and Mark Twain.

It's only in America that you find old women who make you forget to

wish you were with young and pretty women."

Jim Lafollette took me in--the first time I've had him here. I must

say he behaved very well and was the handsomest man in the room. But

he never has much to say that is worth hearing. Though conversation at

Washington in society isn't on any too high a plane, as a rule--how

could conversation in a mixed society anywhere be very high?--still it

isn't the wishy-washy chatter and gossip that Jim Lafollette delights

in. Of course, army officers almost always go in for gossip--that comes

from sitting round with their women at lonely posts where nothing

occurs. And they, as a rule, either gossip or simply drivel when they

talk to women, because all the women that ever liked them liked them

for their brass buttons, and all the women they ever liked they liked

for their pretty faces and empty heads. So, usually, to get an army

officer at dinner is to sit with a bowl of soft taffy held to your

lips and a huge spoonful of it thrust into your mouth every time you

stop talking. That's true of many of the statesmen, too, especially the

heavyweights. I suppose I'm wrong, but I can't help suspecting a man

without a sense of humor of being a solemn fraud.

You'd think American women, at the capital, at least, would be

interested in politics. But they're not. They say it's the vulgarity

of the intriguing and of most of the best intriguers that makes them

dislike politics, even here. I suspect there's another reason. We women

are so petted by the men that we don't have to know anything to make

ourselves agreeable. If we're pretty and listen well that's all that's

necessary. So, why get headaches learning things?

Of course, there are exceptions. Take Maggie Shotwell. Her husband

is a wag-eared ass. Yet in eleven years she has advanced him from

second secretary to minister to a second-class power just by showing

up here at intervals and playing the game intelligently. And there are

scores of army women who do as well in a smaller way, and a few of the

diplomats' wives are most adroit, intriguing well both here and at

their homes in a nice, clean way, as intrigue goes.

But most of the women are like "ma" Burke, who'd as soon think of

entering for a foot-race as of interfering in her husband's political

affairs in any way, beyond giving him some sound advice about the

men that can be trusted and the men that can't. I suppose if there

were real careers in public life in this country, not dependent upon

elections, the Washington women wouldn't be so lazy and indifferent,

but would wake up and intrigue their brothers and sons and other male

relatives into all sorts of things. Then, too, a man has to vote with

his "party" on everything that's important, and his "party" is a small

group of old men who are beyond social blandishments and go to bed

early every night and associate only with men in the daytime.

No, we women don't amount to much _directly_ at Washington. If Jim

Lafollette had kept away from the women and society he might have

amounted to something. It's become a proverb that whenever a young man

comes here and goes in for the social end of it he is doomed soon to

disappear and be heard of no more. The President is trying to make

society amount to something, but he won't succeed. Whatever benefit

there may be in it will go, not to him, but to men like Senator Burke.

He doesn't go any more than he can help, except to his own breakfasts.

But he sends his wife, and so, without wasting any of his time, he

makes himself prominent in a very short space of time and gets all the

big social indirect influence--the influence of the women on their

husbands.

Mrs. Burke's younger brother, Robert Gunton, arrived last night. He

reminds me of her, but he's slender and very active--a shabby sort of

person, clean but careless, and he looks as if he had so many other

things to think about that he hadn't time to think about himself. He

looks younger and talks older than his years. He's here to get some

sort of patent through; he won't permit his brother-in-law to assist

him; he refuses to go anywhere--in society, I mean. We rode up to the

Capitol together in a street-car this morning, and I liked him.

"Why do you ride in a street-car?" he asked.

"Because it's not considered good form to use carriages too much," I

replied. "It might rouse the envy of those who can't afford carriages."

"Then it isn't because you don't want to, but because you don't dare

to?"

"Yes," said I. "But things are changing rapidly. The rich people who

live here but care nothing for politics are gradually introducing class

distinctions."

"You mean, poor people who like to fawn upon and hate the rich are

introducing class distinctions," he corrected.

He is thirty-two years old; he treats a woman as if she were a man,

and he treats a man as if he himself were one. It isn't possible not to

like that sort of human being.

Invitations are beginning to come in floods--invitations for the big,

formal things for which people are asked weeks in advance. And we are

getting a splendid percentage of acceptances for our big affairs,

thanks to my taking the trouble to find out the freest dates in the

season. If all goes well, before another month, as soon as it gets

round that we are going to give something big in a short time, lots of

pretty good people will be holding off from accepting other things in

the hope that they're on our list.

Certainly, there's a good deal in going about anything in a systematic

way--even a social launching.