(_En Route for Home after the Royat Treatment._)
At Geneva I meet an old friend, one of the heartiest men I've ever
known and one of the best. He is delighted, really delighted, at our
accidental meeting. I am for going on, but he will not hear of it.
"I know the place," says he, cheerily, with a wink and a nudge, "and
I'll take you about."
What a wink it is! and what a nudge! So full of humorous appreciation
of life and character. Such a knowing not-to-be-done-by-anyone sort of
wink. And the nudge is intended to draw your attention to the wink and
emphasise it. JOHN BIRLEY is the frankest, openest, freest-and-easiest
of men, with a boundless capacity for enjoyment, the strongest
sympathies with suffering, and of a reverential grateful spirit that
thanks Heaven for all bounties, and accepts misfortunes and sorrows as
kindly reminders from Providence that the misfortunes and sorrows of
others have to be considered and relieved, and again he thanks Heaven
for having put it into his power to relieve them. His chief enjoyment
is in giving pleasure to others. The most selfish would gain some good
from contact with JOHN BIRLEY; and the craftiest, to whom it might
occur to make JOHN BIRLEY'S acquaintance for the sake of what he could
make out of him or by him, would soon discover his error, and would be
informed that he stood detected, very clearly, plainly, and
straightly, not by anything that JOHN BIRLEY would say, but he would
have it intimated to him beyond possibility of mistake by JOHN
BIRLEY'S wink and a playful nudge from JOHN BIRLEY'S elbow in his left
or right side, for JOHN speaks with both elbows. The crafty rogue
would there and then know--if he were not too fatally crafty for
himself as are so many rogues, or too conceited to realise the humour
of the situation,--that his little game, whatever it might have been
with JOHN BIRLEY, was up, that his schemes were upset and that to "try
it on," any further with JOHN BIRLEY would be utter waste of time and
trouble. That is what JOHN BIRLEY'S wink would convey to the rogue.
But to the honest man, to the friend, the wink and nudge assure good
comradeship and something rare in store for him. To the unfortunate
and suffering there is another tone to the wink and nudge, and to
these they are full of promise of hope and help, and act as a fine
invigorating tonic.
Such is JOHN BIRLEY, whom I meet _en route_ and who insists upon my
stopping with him and showing me the place. He travels a great deal,
he knows everybody and everybody knows him. No matter what the
language of the country may be, no matter whether he is in France,
Germany, Russia, Egypt, India, or Africa, among cultivated peers,
outlandish peasants, or uncouth savages, JOHN BIRLEY invariably makes
himself thoroughly understood, for any deficiency in his acquaintance
with the language he ekes out with a wink and a nudge adapted to the
occasion, and he is sure to obtain exactly what he wants, or an
excellent substitute for it, if the thing itself is not to be had. And
this has always been so. It so happens that he has retired from
business and is now very rich, but long ago when he was working hard,
and struggling too, his manner and method were just the same; he has
never been discouraged, never been discontented, always energetic,
always sanguine, and has elbowed his path for himself through the
crowd, politely, pleasantly, apologising sympathetically for any toes
he may have accidentally trod upon in his onward course, and working
himself well into the front rank by the magic charm of his wink and
nudge. He has pulled some others after him who have clung on to his
coattails, and brought out of the ruck not a few of those on whose
toes, as I have already said, he had pressed rather heavily in
passing.
I know I cannot be in better hands, and he is going to show me about
everywhere within the very few days I can absolutely spare, now that
my cure is finished, my Royat time over, and that I am on my way back
to England, home, and beauty.
He maps out a few excursions. He has taken them all before, long ago.
But, delighted to go over old ground, the greater part of his pleasure
will be found in my enjoyment; for to revisit places associated with
pleasant memories, or with nothing but the remembrance of their
loveliness, their grandeur, or their solemnity, is to him, in some way
like welcoming old friends. All JOHN BIRLEY'S friends are old ones; he
has no new ones,--he never had. Some men of the world discussing him,
aver that it is a sort of proof to themselves of there being something
good still left in them, that they can reckon themselves among JOHN
BIRLEY'S friends. They are of all shades and colours are his friends,
and they will analyse each other's characters behind each other's
backs in the presence of JOHN BIRLEY, and afterwards they will be more
inclined towards each other, more sympathetic, and more charitably
disposed, in consequence of each other's good points having been
brought out into strong relief by JOHN BIRLEY'S kindly light. So it is
with seeing the beauties of nature or art in his company; and so it is
that I consider myself to have alighted on my legs in having come
across him in this, the lovely playground of Europe, the home of the
Merry Swiss Boys and Girls.
There is the Lake to be done; there is Nyon, Thonon, Rolle, Lausanne,
Ouchy, Evian-les-Bains, Vevey, and then there are the heights above,
including the ascent to St. Gergues, and to wherever can be obtained
the best views of Mont Blanc, the Dent du Midi, and the other
well-known "objects of interest." Were PULLER here, he would say that
"the best views of these mountains can be obtained at the
photographers"--but he is not here, he is finishing his treatment at
Royat. So it is all arranged, and we dine together, as a commencement.
"You don't mind a third party present?" says BIRLEY to me,
apologetically, "as I have just found old Sir ALEC MCQUINCEY,
wandering about without a companion. Wretched to be alone, eh? and not
well, eh? Suffering from liver--nasty that--gives jaundiced view of
life. So must cheer the old boy up. He's off for a cure to
Evian-les-Bains; so I said to him, 'Dine with us to-night, and we'll
land you there to-morrow, eh?'--that's right, isn't it?"--and he gives
me a cheery wink and nudge, taking me, as it were, into partnership
with him in his scheme for entertaining Sir ALEC MCQUINCEY, and for
keeping up the latter's spirits, previous to seeing him off to-morrow
to the place across the Lake where he is to undergo his treatment,
which I trust may enable him to "live happily ever after," and enjoy
any amount of City dinners ("He is a City magnate," says BIRLEY, with
a nudge, "and that's not good for liver complaint, eh?") till the end
of next Season.
Sir ALEC is a capital companion, hearty, cheery, and full of
anecdotes. He has got an excellent listener in JOHN BIRLEY, whereat I
am rather astonished as JOHN generally has a lot to say for himself,
and a good story from one man invariably draws out another from J. B.
But on this occasion he is so unusually silent that I am puzzled. It
is true that Sir ALEC commences most of his anecdotes with an apology
to BIRLEY in this shape, "I've told this to BIRLEY before, but,"
turning to me, "you haven't heard it, and it may interest _you_,"
whereupon BIRLEY nods approval, and I politely assure Sir ALEC that I
am already deeply interested by anticipation, and in the words of the
ancient drama, now obsolete, I feel inclined to add, "Proceed, sweet
warbler, your story interests me much; proceed."
The sweet warbler, who, by the way, is a trifle hoarse and
occasionally a little indistinct, tells several of these
narratives--they are narratives--and I cut in with occasional
observations more or less to the point, which are silently
acknowledged by BIRLEY, but not by Sir ALEC, who seems bent upon
getting on with his series, interspersed with anecdotes, to the
exclusion of all other conversation. He begins with the fish, and his
first story about somebody who rose from nothing and arrived at being
something, lasts, with the assistance of several discursive but
illustrative anecdotes, till we reach the merry Swiss cream and stewed
fruit. With the coffee and cigars he opens volume two of his
interesting and remarkable stories of great men--each biographical
monologue being really interesting by itself, only taken together they
ought to be spread over a considerable period, like the _Arabian
Nights' Entertainments_, and still BIRLEY contentedly listens, gently
inhaling his cigarette, and, when referred to, nodding corroboration.
It occurs to me that as Sir ALEC has told all these before to JOHN
BIRLEY, so the latter may have told most of his to Sir ALEC and to
myself, and that that is why he is now so silent. At all events, he
only rarely makes observations, and these of the curtest. I fancy he
wants me to come out and amuse Sir ALEC, in return for Sir ALEC
interesting me; and it occurs to me that I shall be ungrateful if I do
not cut in with something new, just to save BIRLEY from hearing Sir
ALEC'S stories all over again, and Sir ALEC from hearing BIRLEY'S,
with which I presume, as they are such very old and intimate friends,
he must be acquainted.
So I rouse myself, with a strong determination to shine or perish in
the attempt. I make a sharp and apposite remark on some portions of
the story which Sir ALEC is now recounting, whereat BIRLEY smiles, and
Sir ALEC smiles too, but resumes his narrative at once, as if he were
afraid of losing the thread in consequence of my interruption. I am
conscious of having only glimmered; I have not yet shone. On he goes
again; he is telling us of a wonderful silver tea-pot, how it was lost
in a cart, how some one saw it outside the Old Bailey, how some one
came up at that moment and a Judge said to an Alderman, "That's the
tea-pot!" Now at this moment I remember that I have a story which
neither of these two has ever heard of a Judge and an Alderman which
will come in capitally here, and so as I am quite certain that if I
keep it to myself and allow the opportune moment to pass, I shall
forget it entirely, and so lose a magnificent chance of shining
brilliantly in the presence of Sir ALEC (who if favourably impressed
can be, I am aware, of the greatest possible service to me), I take
advantage of Sir ALEC drawing strenuously at the last half-inch (he is
a thrifty man evidently) of his expiring cigar, to say briskly, "By
the way,--excuse my interrupting you--but that reminds me," and then I
give my story of the Judge and the Alderman, which makes BIRLEY laugh,
and brings a smile to Sir ALEC'S lips, though it seems to me there is
a puzzled expression on his countenance, as though he couldn't quite
understand the point, and was appearing to be amused chiefly out of
politeness to me as being a friend of JOHN BIRLEY'S.
However, Sir ALEC does smile, and then forthwith resumes his
narrative. When he has finished, as he has mentioned the names of some
persons with whom I am acquainted, I ask him if they are so and so,
and he replies, "Yes," and adds something which elicits from me a
sharp remark that gets a roar from BIRLEY, and produces on Sir ALEC'S
countenance another smile and the same sort of puzzled expression I
had noticed before. I feel that I have shone, but that somehow I have
not turned my light strongly enough on to Sir ALEC. I question him as
to the identity of some other celebrated persons he has been
mentioning, and he replies with something about them which doesn't
seem to exactly correspond with my question; but once more--being in
the happiest vein, and shining in a manner that positively astonishes
myself, I let off another brilliant jest, which is received in
precisely the same manner by my audience as were my previous
conversational fireworks. I think to myself, "I am ingratiating myself
with Sir ALEC. This will be a first-rate thing for me and for several
members of my family, as a man in Sir ALEC'S influential position,"
&c.
Sir ALEC now starts another subject, and as I foresee that if he
sticks to it, I have something which will cap everything, I at once
question him as to something he has just uttered. He replies, but, as
before, I am bothered by his reply, which seems to me utterly
inconsequent. So I repeat my question. And he smiles, nods and says,
"Well--yes--" doubtfully. But my question required quite a different
sort of answer. It had been, "How many times did you say Lord
GRANGEMORE sneezed on that occasion?" To which it is evident that a
doubtful "Well--um--yes," is not a satisfactory answer. So I repeat
the question, whereupon he turns towards me confidentially and says,
"No, I don't think so. It was her sister he married." I look at him
inquiringly to see if this is his fun, but at that moment I catch a
wink from BIRLEY who is putting up his hand to his ear and intimating
in the clearest possible pantomime for my private and particular
benefit, that our entertaining friend Sir ALEC MCQUINCEY is uncommonly
deaf!
Now I comprehend BIRLEY'S silence. Now I comprehend why Sir ALEC goes
on talking, and why he looks puzzled at any interruption, and why he
could only smile when he got the cue, as it were, from his companion,
and was made aware that there had been something said which required
to be smiled at.
I relapse into silence. I accept an excellent cigar from Sir ALEC, and
I let him talk for the rest of the evening uninterruptedly, until he
looks at his watch, says that nine-thirty is late enough for him, that
he has enjoyed his evening with us amazingly, and goes off to bed.
"Agreeable old chap," says BIRLEY, stretching out his legs,
preparatory to taking a short stroll. "Seen a lot of life has old
ALEC. He's a capital Chairman at a Board-meeting. Just deaf enough
when he doesn't want to hear any arguments. I let him talk on."
"So I see," I say, and we walk out to bid good-night to Mont Blanc.
"The Mons looks like a warrior taking his rest--his last rest," says
BIRLEY, gravely, giving me a subdued nudge. "NAPOLEON THE GREAT, and
his cocked hat, carved out of white stone. Ah!" and, meditatively we
linger, and then walk slowly back to the Hotel.
"We'll take old ALEC to his warm bath at Evian-les-Bains to-morrow,"
says BIRLEY. "Good night." Then he pauses on the stairs, as with a
wink full of fun, and last playful nudge, he says, "I suppose you'll
let him have all the talk to himself, eh? Won't you? Ha! ha! I shall."
* * *
My friend SKURRIE to whom his own Plan of Return, which I have
accepted, is as the law of the Medes and Persians, says he will give
me three days more for GENEVA and BIRLEY, and that then we must
emphatically start homewards as he insists on JANE and myself seeing
Heidelberg _en route_ and every half hour of our time from Wednesday
to Monday is so carefully adjusted that to miss one train will upset
all the plans he has taken such pains and trouble to arrange for us. I
am closeted with him for two hours, when he explains it all to me,
gives me, so to speak, the key of the puzzle, insists on my verifying
the items by _Cook's Tourist Train-Book_ (an invaluable work), and
then reducing it to writing. After this I am headachey, and exhausted.
[P.S.--Revising this, long after the event, I say, "Beware of SKURRIE
and his fixed plan of sight-seeing against time."]
* * * * *