_In the train going West._
DEAREST MAMMA,--Forgive this shaky writing, but I had no time before we
left, and I feel I must tell you at once about our luncheon at the
Purdy Castle, in case anything gets dulled in my memory. It was a
unique experience. We spent the morning seeing the town, an immense
busy place with colossal blocks of houses, and some really fine
architecture, all giving the impression of a mighty prosperous and
advancing nation, and quite the best shops one could wish for, not too
crowded, and polite assistants--even at the ribbon counter!
Octavia and I made ourselves look as smart as we could in travelling
dresses, because there would be no time to change after the lunch; we
had to go straight to the train. I always think it is such impertinence
imposing your customs upon other nations when you are travelling among
them, like the English people who will go to the Paris restaurants
without hats, and one Englishwoman we met at a party at Sherry's in New
York in a draggled tweed skirt and coat, when all the other women were
in long afternoon dresses. One should do as one's hosts do, but we
could not help it this time and did not look at all bad considering.
However, when we got there we felt we were indeed out of it! But I must
begin from the very door-step.
We drove a little way beyond the town to rows of dwelling mansions more
or less important and growing in magnificence until we arrived at one
inside some gates, a cross between a robber's castle on the stage, and
a Henri III. château, mixed with a "little English Gothic." Huge,
un-nameable animals were carved on top of the gates. Tom said the
fathers of them must have been "gazeekas," and their mothers "slithy
toves," out of "Through the Looking-glass." They were Mr. Purdy's
crest, we suppose. Then came a short gravel path and a robber's castle,
nail-studded door. All the down-stairs windows had the shutters shut,
so we were rather nervous ringing the bell in case there had been a
death since our invitation came; but the door was opened immediately by
a German butler--one of those people one sees at sea-side hotels, who
have come over to learn English, with a slow sort of walk and
stentorian breathing.
The hall was full of pictures in the widest gold frames, all sorts:
landscapes, portraits, cats, dogs, groups of still life, good, bad, and
indifferent massed together on a wall covered with large-patterned
scarlet and gilt Japanese leather paper. Guarding the doors and
staircase were imitation suits of armour on dummy men, standing under
some really beautiful Toledo blades crossed above their heads. Then,
through crimson plush curtains with gold appliqué Florentine patterned
borders, we were ushered into the drawing-room.
It was so original! Think, Mamma, of a sarcophagus for a drawing-room!
Stone walls and floor, tombstone mantlepieces (mixed Gothic), really
good Persian rugs, and the very most carved, brand new gilt Louis
Philippe suite of furniture, helped out by mammoth armchairs and sofa,
covered in gold brocade. These had the same shape and look for
furniture as the men in the hotel hall had for men, so colossally
stuffed out and large. The Vicomte said, "Dieu! Un salon
d'Hippopotames!" It was a glorious sunny day, but from the hall onwards
all daylight had been excluded, and the drawing-room was a blaze of
electric light, flashing from countless gilt branches; while the guests
to meet us were drawn up on the hearth rug, the women in full
restaurant evening dress, a little decolleté, and hats, and glittering
with jewels.
Octavia and I felt miserably cheap creatures. Mr. Craik V. Purdy,
simply gorgeous about waistcoat and watchchain, presented us to his
wife, a short, red-haired woman (I do dislike red hair, don't you,
Mamma?). She was very stout, but I don't understand why she was such a
"drawback." She had the jolliest face and laugh, even if her voice was
the voice of the Lusitania's siren.
The customs are so quaint! She introduced us to each guest (not the
guests to us!) and they each repeated our names after her like this:
"Lady Chevenix and Lady Valmond, I want to present you to Mrs. Colonel
Prodgers." Then Mrs. Colonel Prodgers repeated, "Lady Chevenix, Lady
Valmond," and so on all down the line, until our poor names rang in our
heads; and Tom and the Senator and the Vicomte just the same. The
company were about seven women besides our hostess, and only three
young, the others verging on forty; and all the men were husbands, whom
the wives spoke of as "Mr." So and So when they mentioned them--just as
the townspeople do when they come out to the Conservative meetings or
bazaars at home; and the husbands did the same. But they do this in New
York even, unless in the very highest set; no man is spoken of by his
wife as "Bob" or "Charlie" or "my husband;" always "Mr." So and So.
Is it not odd, Mamma, that they who are so wonderfully quick and
adaptive should not have noticed that this is a purely middle class
peculiarity? Mr. Purdy had just time to tell us he had paid $40,000 for
a large Dutch picture hanging against the Gothic stone of one panel of
the wall, and $50,000 for a Gainsborough on the next (yes, Mamma, a
beautiful powdered lady in a white robe was smiling down with whimsical
sorrow upon us). Then luncheon was announced and we went in.
The dining-room had been decorated, he told us, a year or two ago, when
taste was even different to what it is now! And he was thinking of
altering it and having it pure Louis XIV. At present it was composed of
saddle-bag coverings, varnished mahogany and a stencilled fleur-de-lys
wall with crossed battle-axes upon it, between pictures and some china
plates, while the table was lit by two huge lamps from the ceiling,
shaded by old gold silk shades with frills. It was as gay as possible,
and the time flew. Here the implements to eat with were more varied and
numerous than even at the Spleists, and the tablecloths more lacy, and
quantities of gold dishes full of almonds and olives and candies and
other nice things, were by one's plate, and one could eat them all
through the meal. Everyone else did, so we did, too, Mamma! and I think
it is a splendid idea. Our host spent his time in telling, first
Octavia, then me, of his fortune and possessions, and how there was no
picture in Europe he could not buy if he wished it, and he intended to
start a gallery. Octavia said he was quite right, as he evidently had a
most original taste; and he was delighted.
The cold in the wife's head could be heard quite plainly even where we
were, and the host shouted so kindly: "Say, Anabel, be careful of that
draught."
Fancy an English husband bothering to think of a draught after a
catarrh had been there for fifteen years!
I admired her diamond dog collar and splendid pearls, and he replied
with open-hearted pride, "They came from Tiffany's in New York, Ma'am.
I don't hold with buying foreign goods for American ladies; Mrs. Purdy
has got as first-class stones as any Princess in the world, and they
are every one purchased in America!"
The man at my other hand was very young, but even so a husband. I asked
him how it was all the men were married, and he said he "didn't kinder
know"; it was a habit they dropped into on leaving college; but for his
part he though perhaps it was a pity not to be able to have a look
round a little longer. And then he said thoughtfully, "I guess you're
right. I don't recollect many single men. Why, there's not one here!"
And I said we had found it like that everywhere; they all seemed
married except in Philadelphia.
"But you see we can quit if we want to," he added, "though we don't
start out with that idea." And probably they don't, but I think it must
give an underneath, comforting sort of feeling to know, when you are
trotting up the aisle, or walking across the drawing-room to a lovely
rigged-up altar to swear fidelity to the person who is waiting for you
there, that if he annoys you in a fortnight, you can get free; and all
the experience gained, and not a stain upon your character. I do wish
we were half as sensible in England.
Just think of it, Mamma! I could have divorced Harry by now for
quarrelling with me. I might then marry someone else, divorce him, and
then presently make up with Harry and have the fun of getting married
all over again. Just imagine what stories we could then tell one
another! I could say "My intermediate husband never did such and such,"
or, "Jack would not have spoken in that tone; he made love quite
differently;" and so on, and Harry could say, "You are far sweeter than
Clara; I am glad we have returned to one another." Don't you think it
is a splendid plan? Or are you ridiculously old fashioned like most
English people, who think their worn out old laws the only ones in the
universe?
I hope I am not being impertinent, Mamma, to you, but really, after
being in America for a while, where everything is so progressive, I get
impatient with our solidity of thought. It is quite as wearisome to
contemplate, as the Chicago solid body is unattractive to look at.
When we got back the Senator told us that the very young man I had been
talking to had had a quarrel with his wife, and they were actually
settling the divorce proceedings when Mr. Purdy's invitation to meet
the English travellers came the evening before, and they had sent off
the lawyers and made it up to be able to come, and now they may go on
happily for another two years, he says!
Our host told us all sorts of interesting things of his greatness, and
how acquired. He is really a wonderful person, almost a socialist in
politics, and a complete autocrat in his life and methods. Tom and the
Vicomte sat at each side of the hostess, of course, and they told us
she practically did not hear a word they said, she was so anxious that
the servants should do their duty and ply them with food.
"Mr. Purdy would never forgive me if you didn't get just what you
fancy," she said; and however quaint the idea, the spirit which
prompted it was so kind; they said they just gorged everything which
was put in front of them, to please her.
"An admirable woman, and first class wife," Tom told Octavia
afterwards; so she said she would ask Mr. Purdy to arrange a divorce
and they would have an exchange, she becoming Mrs. Purdy and Mrs. Purdy
Countess of Chevenix for a while; but Tom would not agree to that. Men
are selfish, aren't they, Mamma?
After lunch we were taken to see the pictures in the hall and different
rooms, and some of them were really beautiful, and I have no doubt in a
few years' time, when Mr. Purdy has travelled more, and educated his
eye, he really will collect a gallery worth having, and eliminate the
atrocities. His feeling was more to have a better collection than
anyone else in Chicago, or indeed America, rather than the joy of the
possession of the exquisite pictures themselves. But even this spirit
gets together lovely things, which will benefit future, and more highly
cultured people; so it all has good in it.
They were so kind we could hardly get away to catch our train, and we
have promised to go again if ever we pass this way. The women after
lunch talked among themselves, and were deeply intent and confidential
when we got back to the drawing-room after seeing the pictures; but
they made way for us and were most agreeable. All of them had set views
on every subject, not any hesitation or indecision, and they all used
each other's names in every sentence. They were full of practical
common sense, and rigid virtue; and did not worry about intellectual
conversation.
At this moment the Vicomte has peeped in to call Octavia and me to
dinner; we were resting in our drawing-room. So I must stop. I will
post this to-morrow when we get to a big station.
Your affectionate daughter,