_Thursday._--Homburg emptying and re-filling; but former process
decidedly winning race. Change in class of company moreover striking.
Natural order of things here reversed. The butterfly disappears and the
grub succeeds. Now have come to us young men and maidens from the
country. Elderly burgesses, wives and families from Frankfort, Coblentz
and more distant Cologne. Prices specially designed for English falling
away. Principal hotels humbly proffer pension at ten marks a day, and
proprietors are accused of rapacity by their fellow-countrymen.
At _table d'hote_ last night at Hotel Russie, overheard one of those
"things one would rather not have said," feigned by the fancy of English
Artist of world-wide renown. Gentleman of distinguished appearance opens
conversation with lady on his left:
_He._ "Homburg still seems very full."
_She._ "Yes, but they're a horrid lot now arriving compared with those
who have just left; doncha think so?"
_He._ "Really, Madam, I cannot say, as I reached here only this
afternoon." Pause in conversation.
_Friday._--There are compensations for everything. Weather has not
permanently recovered earthquake-breaking-up on day of our arrival.
Still sun occasionally comes out, making it worth while to be on foot at
seven o'clock in the night, when the sky is an unclouded arc of blue,
and the sun sparkles on dewy grass. Pleasant then at noon, or afternoon,
to stroll about under the lindens in the Park, still full of leaves, or
to lounge in Tennis grounds watching the play. Oftener it is cold and
rainy, and here's where philosophic mind finds its recompense. Homburg
perhaps most open-windowed town north of Alps. On sunny days not a
window in any house closed. Every home has its piano, more or less in
tune. Every piano has its relays of players. Pianist at No. 14A, Untere
Promenade, cannot help hearing pianiste next door, and plays loud to
hold the field. Next door hears practitioner on other side, and plays
louder still; so it goes on all up and down the street. Here and there
the uproar is pierced by the shrill voice of a singer. It is the same in
the next street, and in the street after, till all Homburg becomes a
Pandemonium of piano-pounding. Now I sit in my room, with windows
closed, listening with gratitude to the pelting rain and the soughing of
the wind through the dripping trees. All other windows are necessarily
closed, and above wind and rain is audible undertone of universal
piano-playing, like the sound of a barrel-organ in far-off back-street.
Perhaps not quite worth while coming all the way to Homburg for; but I
like to make best of things.
_Monday._--His Serene and Blind Highness still here, dutifully taking
waters, and pluckily striding forth to complete regulation-turns. No one
would guess at his affliction, except upon close observation. A
photographic portrait of him on view in one of the Studios here, in
which he looks forth open-eyed as keenest-sighted of his subjects; a
kindly, genial, brave-hearted gentleman. All unconscious, he is made the
occasion for a little satire on Royalty which would have delighted
THACKERAY. To him ladies, entering into passing conversation, curtsey;
gentlemen doff their hats; and _Jeames de la Pluche_ stands bare-headed
as he hands him glass of water from spring. It is horrible to think that
JEAMES might, with impunity--there being no on-lookers--shake his fist
playfully in his Royal Master's face. Hope he never takes base advantage
of his opportunities. But there is a look in JEAMES'S eye, as he hands
the glass of water, which melikes not.
_Tuesday._--Between one and two in afternoon of revolving days, great
centre of life in Homburg is Madame BRAHE'S little shop in
Louisen-strasse; little only on first glance: contains unsuspected
recesses in rear, whither surplus population flows. A model place for
light luncheon such as Dr. DEETZ ordains: also for English visitors
convenient exchange and mart for latest gossip and display of newest
dresses. Whilst season in full tide, Madame BRAHE'S painfully
reminiscent of Bourse at Paris. Evil communications have wrought
proverbial effect; Germans feared throughout Europe by reason of their
conversational shouting; but English ladies, and some gentlemen, met for
luncheon _chez_ Madame BRAHE, might give them odds and beat them. Three
or four girls, decently spoken at home one hopes, seated at small table
here, carry on conversation at top of voice; many small tables, and as
many friendly parties; one group not to be shouted down by a neighbour.
British ladies never acknowledge defeat; competition kept up all round,
till, dazed and deafened, the stray traveller gulps down luncheon and
rushes into street.
[Illustration: A STRAIGHT TIP.
"A--A--BOY! HAVE YOU SEEN ANY BIRDS ABOUT HERE THIS MORNING?"
"EES, ZUR! I SEED A LOT OF 'EM ABOUT 'ARF AN HOUR BACK, A SITTIN' ON THE
TELEGRAPH WOIRES!"]
_Wednesday._--Homburg really not Bad at all, but best part of it lies
outside. To the north are delightful walks through illimitable beech
woods and pathless pine forests. Messrs. BLANC, who created the place,
knew very well ruling passion of gamester. The green tables, the sound
of the roulette ball, the pattern on the cards, and the
brilliantly-lighted Casino, only ostensibly attractions for him. What
his heart desires is opportunity for communing with Nature. The solemn
silence of the beech wood, the fragrance of the pines, the modest beauty
of the wild flowers that gem the edges of the wood, are what he really
hankers for. So Messrs. BLANC took surrounding country in hand; planted
splendid pine woods with delightful footpaths, with benches wooing the
pensive and wearied traveller.
Walked to-day by devious shady ways to Friedrichsdorf, a few miles out;
a quaint old-world village of charmingly-tiled houses, straggling down a
villanously paved street. Only one street in Friedrichsdorf, but more in
it than meets the eye. Houses have way of playing hide-and-seek; you
look up passage that seems entry to back of premises, when, lo! there
lurks a complete house, with tiny casement-windows, and
graciously-sloped red-tiled roof. JESSIE COLLINGS ought to know
Friedrichsdorf, and Right Hon. RITCHIE would find in it encouragement
for Amended Allotments Bill. It is, like many other villages hereabout,
home of colony of small land-proprietors. All the rich and smiling
country that lies around is theirs. Passed them working in the fields,
men and women, comfortably dressed, sturdy, and apparently happy as day
is long. Every man has at least his three acres, many more; the cow is
also there, but is chiefly in shaft of cart or plough. As we picked way
down awesome street, Friedrichsdorf, save for few children and old men,
seemed deserted village; all able-bodied inhabitants at work in field.
By-and-by, when sun goes down, they come trooping home, tramping down
stony street, a jocund throng.
_Thursday._--Rain departed; for days in succession Homburg been at its
best; almost seems like early spring, save that we still have roses; sun
shining in cloudless sky, trees still rich in foliage; grass thick and
green, with here and there abundant crocuses. Still emptying process
going on with increasing rapidity. "Lawn tennis," writes anonymous
author of _Miss Bayle's Romance_, "has become the outdoor dissipation at
Homburg, and Dutch Top the indoor one." Only stray couples are left to
frequent the courts on the tennis-ground, and the rattle of the Dutch
Top is happily silenced. Still the band plays thrice a day. Springs go
on like The Brook, and the few who are left begin to think that, after
all, Homburg more enjoyable without the crowd than with it.
* * * * *