Transcriber's Note:
Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without
note. Variant spellings have been retained. Unique sidenotes have
been placed at the beginning of relevant paragraphs and are shown
within {braces}. The oe ligature is represented by [oe].
THE LETTERS
OF HER MOTHER
TO ELIZABETH
[Device]
JOHN LANE: THE BODLEY HEAD
LONDON & NEW YORK · _MDCCCCI_
_Copyright, 1901_
BY JOHN LANE
FIFTH EDITION
UNIVERSITY PRESS · JOHN WILSON
AND SON · CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
NOTE
Every one who has read "The Visits of Elizabeth," in which a girl of
seventeen describes her adventures to her mother in a series of
entertaining and clever letters, has instinctively asked the question:
"What sort of woman was Elizabeth's Mother?"
Perhaps an answer that will satisfy all will be found in the following
"Letters of her Mother to Elizabeth."
THE LETTERS OF HER MOTHER TO ELIZABETH
LETTER I
MONK'S FOLLY, 27th July
DEAREST ELIZABETH:
I am glad you reached Nazeby without any mishap. Your letter was quite
refreshing, but, darling, do be more careful of your grammar. Remember,
one never talks grammar now-a-days in Society, it isn't done; it is
considered very Newnham and Girton and patronising, but one should
always know how to write one's language. Because the fashion might
change some day, and it would be so _parvenu_ to have to pick it up.
As I told you before you started on your round of visits, you will have
a capital opportunity of making a good match. You are young, very
pretty, of the bluest blood in the three kingdoms, and have a
fortune--to be sure this latter advantage, while it would be more than
a sufficient _dot_ to catch a twelfth-century French duke, would be
considered by an impecunious British peer quite beneath contempt. Your
trump card, Elizabeth, is your manner, and I count upon that to do more
for you than all the other attributes put together. Nature and my
training have made you a perfect specimen of an _ingénue_, and I beseech
you, darling, do me credit. Please forgive the coarseness of what I have
said, it is only a little plain speaking between us; I shan't refer to
it again; I know I can trust you.
{_These Horrid Smiths_}
From what you write I gather that the Marquis of Valmond is _épris_ with
Mrs. Smith. Horrid woman! the Chevingtons have met her. Mrs. Chevington
was here this morning to enquire after my neuralgia. She said that Mr.
Smith met his wife in Johannesburg five years ago before he "arrived."
He used to wear overalls, and carry a pick on his shoulder, and spent
his days digging in the earth, but he stopped at sunset, as I should
think he well might, and invariably went to the same inn to refresh
himself, where Mrs. Smith's mother cooked his dinner and Mrs. Smith
herself gave him what she called a "corpse-reviver" from behind the bar.
At night, a great many men who dug in the earth with Mr. Smith would
come for "corpse-revivers," and they called Mrs. Smith "Polly," and the
mother "old girl." And one day Mr. Smith found a nugget as big as a
roc's egg when he was digging in the earth, and after that he stopped.
The funny part was that "Polly" always said he would never find
anything, and he had a wager with her that if he did she should marry
him. So that is the story of their courtship and marriage, and they have
millions. Mrs. Chevington vouches for the truth of it all, for Algy
Chevington was out in Johannesburg at the time, and he dug in the same
hole with Mr. Smith and knows all about him and "Polly," only Algy never
found anything, for the flowers in Mrs. Chevington's hat were in the
bonnet she wore all last spring. But let us leave these horrid Smiths; I
am sure they are horrid. I can't understand how Lady Cecilia puts up
with them. Mrs. Chevington says she hears Sir Trevor is one of the
directors in the Yerburg Mine. Algy called him a guinea-pig, and said he
wished he was one.
{_An Eligible Parti_}
Lord Valmond has fifty thousand a year and six places besides the house
in Grosvenor Square. You will hardly meet a more eligible _parti_; I
hear he is very fast; they say he gave Betty Milbanke, the snake-dancer
at the Palace, all the diamonds she wears. If he is anything like his
father was, he must be both good-looking and fascinating. The late
Marquis was the handsomest man save one that I have ever seen, and could
have married any of the Duchess of Rougemont's daughters if he had been
a valet instead of a marquis, and the Duchess was the proudest woman in
England. The girl who gets this Valmond will not only be lucky but
clever; the way to attract him is to snub him; the fools that have
hitherto angled for him have always put cake on their hooks; but, if I
were fishing in the water in which My Lord Valmond disported himself, I
should bait my hook with a common worm. It is something he has never
yet seen.
{_The African Millionaire_}
Tell me more about Mr. Wertz, the African millionaire; is he the man who
is building the Venetian _palazzo_ in Belgrave Square? If so, it was
rumoured last season that he was to be made a baron. They blackballed
him at the Jockey Club in Paris, and even the Empire nobility who live
in _appartements_ in the Champs Élysées refused to know him; that is why
he came to England. He is a gentleman, if he is a Jew; the family belong
to the tribe of Levi. Algy Chevington, who knows everything about
everybody, says his Holbeins are priceless, and that the Pope offered to
make him a Papal Count if he would part with a "Flight into Egypt" known
as the Wertz Raphael. But of course even a knighthood is better than a
Papal Count, and if Mr. Wertz gives his Holbeins to the National Gallery
he is sure to be created something.
You cannot be too careful of the unmarried girls you know; Miss La
Touche is certainly not the sort of person for you to be intimate with.
The Rooses, of course, are quite correct, they will make capital foils
for you; beside Jane Roose is amiable, and has been out so many seasons
that her advice will be useful. Be sure, however, to do the very
opposite to what she tells you.
{_Lady Beatrice Carterville_}
If the weather is fine to-morrow, I am going to drive over in the
afternoon to call on Lady Beatrice Carterville. She has a house-party,
and the people who come to her are sure to be odd and amusing. My
neuralgia has been better these last few days. The things I ordered from
Paquin have come at last; the mauve crêpe de chine with the valenciennes
lace flounces is lovely; the hat and parasol are creations, as the
Society papers say. Love to Lady Cecilia and the tips of my fingers to
Sir Trevor.--Your dearest Mamma.
LETTER II
MONK'S FOLLY, 29th July
DARLING ELIZABETH:
{_Lady Beatrice's Tea_}
{_A Live Authoress_}
I felt so well yesterday that I drove over in the afternoon to Lady
Beatrice's to tea. I felt I must show myself as Paquin made me to
someone. It was so warm that tea was served on the terrace; the view of
the Quantocks steaming in the distance over the tops of the oaks in the
park was charming. There were a great many people present, and when I
arrived, Lady Beatrice exclaimed at the courage I showed in coming when
the sun was so hot and the road so dusty. She presided at the tea-table
in white piqué and a sailor hat which rested on the bridge of her nose.
She is as fat as Lady Theodosia Doran and plays tennis; the rouge on her
neck had stained her collar, quite a four-inch collar too, and there
were finger marks of rouge on her bodice. She introduces everybody,
which, while it is not the thing, certainly makes one more comfortable
than the fashion at present in vogue. I always like to know the names
of the people I am talking to. Everybody talked about the weather and
the dust, and it was deadly dull till Lady Beatrice said she wanted to
play tennis. She went off to play singles with Mr. Frame, the Low Church
curate, and looked so funny, bounding about the lawn like a big rubber
ball, that I nearly screamed. Most of the people strolled up and down
the terrace, or leaned over the balustrade above the lake. I sat under
my parasol in a Madeira chair, and was talked to by such a curious
woman, a Mrs. Beverley Fruit. It was interesting to meet a real live
authoress after having read her works. I remember when Mrs. Fruit's
first novel came out ten years ago it created a great sensation, but I
must confess the sensation was confined to middle-class people and the
Universities. Of course, everybody in Society bought it. It was all
about Radicals and a silly Low Church curate who threw up his living
because he didn't believe in God, and went to London and lived in the
slums. Mr. Gladstone wrote a review of it, and they dramatised it in
America. Mrs. Fruit has since written several other books, and each one
is more bitter against Society than the last, so you may fancy how
nervous I felt at being left with such a woman. But, darling, she isn't
at all like her books. I was quite charmed with her; she was dressed so
well, and looked quite like a lady; she lives in Berkeley Square and has
a place in Essex. In the last election she canvassed the county for the
Conservatives, and the Duchess of Rougemont is very, very fond of her.
Lady Beatrice tells me that Mrs. Beverley Fruit's son, who is private
secretary to a Cabinet Minister, is actually going to marry one of the
Duchess's daughters, Lady Mabel, the one with the projecting teeth and
the squint. And I am sure I think it is very brave of Mr. Fruit Junior,
for Lady Mabel is both ugly and stupid. However, the connection is a
good one for the Fruits, who have made their fortune out of books, which
I think is decidedly less vulgar than pale ale or furniture. Mrs. Fruit
is staying with Lady Beatrice.
{_Lady Ann Fairfax_}
Lady Ann Fairfax, the _Daily Sensation's_ War correspondent, is also
stopping at Braxome Towers. She told me that she had been through three
sieges, and never felt happier than when "sniping," whatever that may
be. She lived three months in a bomb-proof shelter on quarter rations,
was once taken prisoner, and when exchanged was sent through the lines
barefoot and with only a blanket round her. She is bringing out a book
to be called "What I have been through," and I shall certainly buy it.
She is rather pretty and dresses beautifully, and is very amusing; you
could listen to her for hours; her stories are like shilling shockers,
with a bit of Henty thrown in to give them style. She was quite breezy,
and I was sorry when Lady Beatrice shouted triumphantly, "Six love, Mr.
Frame!" and came up puffing like a porpoise, her hair soppy on the
temples and gutters on her cheeks.
Lady Beatrice was in an awfully good humour, for Mr. Frame beat the
Somerset champion last week, but, poor man! he would not dare to even
dream of beating Lady Beatrice. She only suffers him to eat her
cucumber sandwiches and drink her Mazawattee for the pleasure of beating
him.
The drive home in the twilight was very pleasant. I brought Captain
Bennett of the Coldstreams and the Earl of Mortimer as far as the Club
in Taunton. They are playing for Gloucester, but, as I dislike cricket
as much as you do, I shan't go to see the match. I know my frock was
admired at Braxome to-day; poor Mr. Frame, who sat and ate ices near me
after his thrashing, would never meet my glance directly, and I
overheard Lady Beatrice tell Mrs. Beverley Fruit that I spent altogether
too much on dress, while Lady Beatrice always looks as if she considered
the expenditure of a five-pound note on her person an extravagance.
Dear, dear Paquin!
{_The Missing Handkerchief_}
I am awfully provoked with myself, the lace handkerchief I wore to-day
is missing. I am sure it was in my hand when we left Braxome, for I
remember sniffing "parfum d'Arabie" in the carriage. It is really quite
provoking.--Your dearest Mamma.
* * * * *
{_The Handkerchief Found_}
_P. S._--I have just received a note from Captain Bennett saying he
found my handkerchief sticking to his coat when he got into the Club,
and asking if he may restore it to me in person to-morrow.
LETTER III
MONK'S FOLLY, 1st August
DEAREST ELIZABETH:
{_A Mature Young Man_}
_L'ingénue va bien._ I am so glad you managed to put that odious Mrs.
Smith in her place. It is really too revolutionary to be forced to
accept such people, but what you tell me about her and Lord Valmond
surprises me. I can quite understand a woman of her stamp liking the
admiration of Valmond, for he is young and good-looking, and a marquis,
but what can he see in her? He is one of those young men who mature
quickly; at fifteen he could tell whether a woman put on her chemise or
her petticoat first, and at one and twenty he knew the Rake's Catechism
by heart. But I have always heard that he was intelligent, and his
people were never afraid of his doing something foolish. He takes his
_menus plaisirs_ like a gentleman, but why he should be so devoted to
this Mrs. Smith I cannot conceive. She is not pretty, she is not witty;
Lord Valmond is rich, surely he does not want to borrow money from her.
I shall be glad when you leave Nazeby Hall; it is one thing to catch a
marquis, and another thing to get scratched in the effort. You must
leave at once, otherwise you will be forced to play your trump card--the
art of being an _ingénue_. Leave at once, Valmond will be sure to
follow. The slap on the cheek was excellent; no man ever forgets a woman
who has left the print of her fingers on his face, he will either hate
her or love her. If the man _is_ a man and was in the wrong, he will be
forced to admire the woman who could protect herself against him. Leave
Nazeby, Elizabeth; Valmond is a man and a gentleman, let him know that
you are a lady and virtuous.
{_The Handkerchief Returned_}
{_Captain Bennett_}
This morning, just before lunch, Fifine and I were dozing on the lawn
under the big Japanese umbrella, when James came to tell me that Captain
Bennett was in the drawing-room. Of course he came to return my
handkerchief--it was very polite of him to bring it himself, especially
as he rode all the way from Taunton in a blazing sun, along a road
lying under nearly a foot of dust. Naturally, I could not let him go
back without lunch, and afterwards, when I thought he would go, he asked
me to let him look over my songs, as he wanted something to sing at a
smoker to-night, which the Yeomanry are giving for him and the Earl of
Mortimer. He tried nearly all, and tea was brought in before he got one
to suit his voice, which is really a very good one. He is a very
gentlemanly man, and has a shy way of looking at one, that is quite
naïve in a soldier. He wouldn't believe me when I told him I had a
daughter seventeen, until I showed him your photograph. He seemed so
astonished that I was obliged to tax him with being extremely ungallant.
I asked him if he expected a woman to be old at thirty-five because she
happened to marry at seventeen, and he gave me such a look that I felt
quite uncomfortable. His eyes were not at all shy, but looked like
sparks of blue fire. Just then there was the sound of a carriage driving
up, and Mrs. Chevington and the Blaine girls rushed into the room. Fell
in would be more correct, for so few Englishwomen know how to enter a
room quickly and gracefully. They didn't know Captain Bennett, and as I
thought I had had enough of him for one day, I wouldn't introduce him.
He has a horrid way of shaking hands, and left the print of my opal ring
on my middle finger. I told him to keep the songs as long as he wished,
but he is so awfully polite he said he would return them to-morrow. When
he had gone, Daisy Blaine asked me if I had heard that he said in the
Taunton Club he intended to marry money, which I thought very spiteful
of her.
Mrs. Chevington was greatly agitated by the report that an American
family have taken Astley Court. She said that everybody is asking Lady
Beatrice Carterville if she is going to call on them. I believe, if Lady
Beatrice should marry Mr. Frame, Mrs. Chevington would find an excuse
for her. Whenever she passes the lions at Braxome Lodge, Mrs. Chevington
is pervaded with the most sacred emotions--she has admitted as much to
me. There are some people to whom blue blood is more intoxicating than
champagne, and who look on a pedigree as a reservoir which you can never
exhaust. The odd part of it is, that Mrs. Chevington is not a snob, she
is merely common or garden respectable.
{_The Ghost_}
The Blaine girls asked a great many questions about you, and if it was
true that the ghost walked every night at Nazeby (Mrs. Chevington had
told them about your letter which I read to her). Blanche Blaine said
she wouldn't visit such a house as Nazeby for all the possible husbands
it might contain, which I think was rude of her, but admitted, when I
seemed cross, that once she had a similar experience at Great Ruin
Castle. Her adventure was more sensational than yours, for Mrs.
Maltravers, who had the room next to her, told her their corridor was
haunted and that several people who on hearing noises had come out of
their rooms to see what it was, had gone mad. But the ghost has yet to
walk who can frighten Blanche Blaine. Immediately after Mrs. Maltravers,
who had seen Blanche into her bed-room to reassure her, she said, had
kissed her good-night and left, Blanche opened her door softly and
peeped cautiously into the corridor, and while she looked she distinctly
saw the ghost advancing towards her; and the ghost carried a candle in
one hand, and wore crimson plush knee-breeches and white stockings and
its hair was powdered. And while Blanche was uncertain whether to scream
or faint the ghost vanished into Mrs. Maltravers' room. Blanche said she
waited to hear Mrs. Maltravers scream, but as not a sound came from her
room, Blanche believed her imagination had got the better of her, so she
bolted her door and went to bed.
The weather has been so fine that my neuralgia has entirely gone, and I
am accepting all invitations. Write me when you reach Eaton Place.--Your
dearest Mamma.
LETTER IV
MONK'S FOLLY, 3rd August
DARLING ELIZABETH:
{_The Parkers Arrive_}
Mrs. Chevington walked over yesterday before tea expressly to tell me,
she said, that Mr. Phineas T. Parker and family, of New York, had
arrived at Astley Court, having travelled down from London in a special
Pullman attached to the Bristol express. I saw two of them this morning
in Taunton going into St. Mary's with Baedekers, and Lady Beatrice
called on them this afternoon, and by the end of the month the Parkers
will be a county family. They are fabulously rich; I forget how many
hundred million dollars Mr. Parker is worth, and of course nobody asks
how he made his money. Algy says they are all kings in America and it
doesn't matter, but as for that it doesn't matter in England either,
where at the most the millionaires are only barons.
Nobody can talk of anything but their arrival, and everybody is singing
Lady Beatrice's praises for having called on them so soon. Captain
Bennett, who came this afternoon to bring back the songs and stupidly
left two behind, says she should be canonised. Mr. Parker and his son
have already been proposed and seconded at the Taunton Club; they have
been asked to dine at the mess on guest-night; and both Father Ribbit
and Mr. Frame, the High Church rector and Low Church curate, have
offered them pews under the pulpit, and asked them to subscribe
respectively to the Convent School of the Passionate Nuns and the Daily
Soup Dispensary. But rumour has it that the Parkers are Baptists, and
are going to the chapel in Holmes' the grocer's back-yard. I shall drive
Mrs. Chevington over to Astley to-morrow and leave your card with mine.
On coming home from Taunton this morning, Perkins drove by Braxome. You
know part of the road runs through the park, and I saw Lady Beatrice's
equestrian cook out for an airing on a brown cob, with a couple of
Gordon setters sniffing its hoofs. She really looked quite lady-like.
Mrs. Chevington says her habit was made at Redfern's. Lady Beatrice
found her in the Want column of the _Standard_.
"Young woman desires situation in County Family, as cook, housemaid, or
companion; cook preferred. Must have use of horse daily. Highest
references."
Lady Beatrice is delighted with her, and she will hunt with the West
Somerset Harriers this coming season.
{_Captain Bennett Dislocates his Thumb_}
Captain Bennett dislocated his thumb at cricket to-day, and is _hors de
combat_ for the rest of the match. When he came back with the songs this
afternoon he was suffering such pain that he asked me if I would mind
putting on a fresh bandage for him. I told him that the sight of blood
always made me faint, but he assured me the skin was not broken, so I
took off the old bandage and put on a new one. It seemed to give him
great relief, and he said I would make a splendid nurse, and looked at
me with that queer blue fire look his eyes always have, when their
expression is not as timid as a bashful boy's. He is awfully stupid at
conversation, and one has to do all the talking. I asked him if they
fed him properly at the Club, for he always looked so hungry whenever I
met him. He replied that he was literally starving, but that nothing so
material as food would satisfy his hunger, and that blue fire look came
back into his eyes.
{_Captain Bennett in Delirium_}
I thought he was becoming delirious from the pain of his thumb, and I
begged him to go home and send for the doctor. Then he did so strange a
thing that I am sure it was done in delirium; he asked me to feel how
fast his pulse was beating--it went tick-tock like a Waterbury
watch--and he put his arm with the bad thumb round my waist, and called
me an angel in the back of his throat and was hot all over. So I knew he
had fever. I wasn't a bit afraid, for I have wonderful presence of mind,
as you know. I have been told it is best to humour people in delirium,
so I said I was sure I was an angel, for everybody told me so, and that
if he would kindly stop crushing the jet spangles on my cream-coloured
crepon bodice I would act like an angel to him. He instantly obeyed, and
I rose and rang for James and told him that Captain Bennett was too ill
to ride back to Taunton. Whereupon, before I could finish speaking,
James asked if he should tell Perkins to get ready the brougham or
dog-cart, and if I thought a glass of barley-water would do Captain
Bennett good.
{_An Ideal Servant_}
Such a treasure, James. Really an ideal servant; knows exactly what one
wants without one's having the trouble to order it. I can't understand
how Lord Froom parted with him.
{_Monsieur Malorme_}
Just then Monsieur Malorme, whom the Blaines have engaged to talk French
with Bertie before he joins the Embassy in Paris, came over with a note
from Blanche asking me to a garden party on Saturday. I made Captain
Bennett drink the barley-water, which I think must have done him good,
because he sat very quiet till James came to say Perkins was ready.
Monsieur Malorme is a very good-looking young man for a Frenchman,
almost as good-looking as Captain Bennett; he has beautiful teeth and
hands, but a horrid way of looking out of his eyes, as if he had just
winked at you. He is a Provençal and quite a gentleman; Blanche said
they felt obliged to have him eat with them, for he was very superior
and accustomed to the best society. When he was coaching the Duke of
FitzArthur he always followed the Melton Mowbray pack, and took the
Dowager Duchess in to dinner when the family were alone.
I found him quite entertaining and he made Captain Bennett laugh quite
naturally, so I knew the barley-water had acted, and I said so. I told
Captain Bennett that I would send a groom into Taunton with his horse,
and he could take that opportunity to return the rest of my songs, if he
had done with them. When he went away, he gave me such a blue fire look
and squeezed my hand so horridly that I thought he was going to be
delirious again.
Remembering what Blanche had said of Monsieur Malorme's superiority, I
took an interest in his pursuits, asked him how long he had been in
England, what he thought of our customs, and if he found Bertie an apt
pupil. He replied that he had been a year in England, that he found life
in Grosvenor Square _plus ravissante qu'à Paris_, and that the English
women were _comme les volcanes ayant leurs cimes dans la neige_, and
that Bairtee was _précoce_, which I knew was a horrid French lie, for
you know it is only because Mrs. Blaine's uncle is in the Cabinet that
Bertie, whose chin and forehead seem to be racing to see which can get
away from the other the fastest, ever got that secretaryship in the Rue
St. Honoré.
{_The Phonograph_}
James brought in whiskey and soda and cigarettes, and Monsieur Malorme,
who is really quite amusing, became communicative. He assured me that
Daisy Blaine was something for which there seems to be no word in
French, for he substituted as an equivalent a gesture made by putting
the thumb and forefinger to the lips and wafting a kiss into the air. I
also gathered that he was at work on a French-English grammar, which was
to revolutionise all methods of teaching at present in vogue. It seems
that Monsieur Malorme speaks the grammar into phonographs, and one buys
the phonograph instead of the book. Lord St. Noodle is quite delighted
with the idea, and has promised to speak into the phonograph before the
grammar begins; and Monsieur Malorme hopes to persuade the French
Ambassador and the Chancellor of the Exchequer to recommend it in the
same way. To overcome the difficulty of speaking into each phonograph
separately, Monsieur Malorme proposes to hire a room and fill it with
phonographs, so that all will catch the voice at the same time. He grew
quite _farouche_ over it, and let one of my Bohemian goblets, which
contained his whiskey and soda, fall and break. And he looked at me like
Captain Bennett when the delirium was coming on, so I excused myself as
having to dress for dinner, and left James to show him out. I expect to
hear from you at Heaviland Manor to-morrow. I feel sure Lord Valmond
will follow you, for he has a place near, which makes the excuse very
plausible.--Your dearest Mamma.
LETTER V
MONK'S FOLLY, 5th August
DARLING ELIZABETH:
{_The Dinner-party_}
Last night Lady Beatrice gave a dinner for the Parkers. I wore the blue
brocade with the Peter Lely bodice, and that odious Mr. Rumple took me
in. I am sure Lady Beatrice decided on it at the last moment to spite
me, because she overheard me ask Mr. Frame how such a champion as he
liked being beaten by her ladyship every day. Captain Bennett sat on the
other side of me and Mr. Frame was opposite, so I devoted myself
entirely to them, and left Mr. Rumple to lap up his soup like a horse in
a water-trough. Society is falling off terribly now-a-days; we are no
longer county but provincial families. I really don't see why because
Mr. Rumple is Lady Beatrice's lawyer that she should invite him to dine
when she has a party, but of course we have no really smart set down
here, and one sends into Taunton for a lawyer or a doctor to fill up a
vacant place at a dinner-table, just as one sends in for meat or
candles. Mr. Rumple is fat and pasty, and has a beard; his only topics
of conversation were the assizes and the war. I asked him why he didn't
volunteer, and he looked at me with a Dover to Calais smile, and said
what did I think would become of his practice. And I replied, "I believe
you are a Pro-Boer, Mr. Rumple." He turned green like a gooseberry, and
then purple, and Lady Beatrice cried sharply, "What is that you are, Mr.
Rumple?" "Pro-Boer," he faltered, echoing my words, and everybody was
upon him at once like a pack of wolves. He isn't really anything of the
sort, but a Tory who believes that because Lady Beatrice was a duke's
daughter she is part of the Constitution. Algy Chevington says he is a
rising man, but I prefer to know such people when the process is
complete, for this rising is only another term for moulting, which is
decidedly unpleasant to witness in the male species of the respectable
middle-class.
In the drawing-room, before the men joined us, Mrs. Parker sang "The
Star-Spangled Banner" and "Marching through Georgia," and Lady Beatrice
actually joined in the chorus. Mrs. Parker's dress was _not_ made at
Paquin's, and she only wore one decent ring. Miss Parker, however, kept
up the family's reputation for wealth, and wore ropes of diamonds round
her neck, which made poor Lady Beatrice in her black and yellow satin
and amethysts look positively dowdy. Mr. Parker _père_ is, I think,
inclined to be jovial if he got the chance. He has small bright eyes,
and has lost two fingers on his left hand in the course of his "rising"
process. He called me madam continually, and asked me if I thought Lady
Beatrice would ever marry, which struck me as so absurd that I laughed
outright. "Do you want her for your son?" I said. "God forbid!" he
replied, and I thought he was going to poke me in the waist with one of
the stumps of his right hand.
Lady Beatrice, as you know, would have fifty fits of the most violent
epileptic form if a woman attempted to smoke in her presence, and as I
saw Blanche Blaine walking up and down on the terrace with a cigar in
her cheek I was on the point of joining her when I remembered my
neuralgia, but I sent Mr. Parker out to her as he said he found it
"darned poky" to have to listen to his wife's voice.
{_Captain Bennett Apologises_}
{_Captain Bennett's Threat_}
{"_Family Herald_"}
Captain Bennett at once took the vacant place, and began to apologise
most profusely for his behaviour two days ago. He looked really
miserable, and there wasn't any more blue fire in his eyes. He has to go
back to Windsor to-morrow, and I shan't see him again. He wanted to know
if I was sorry and if I would let him come back, and then to my
amazement he declared he loved me. It was a most unfair advantage, and I
told him so; we were sitting in the middle of Lady Beatrice's
drawing-room. Mr. Frame and Lady Beatrice were looking at us as hard as
they could, and I am sure Daisy Blaine heard every word he said. I
begged him to stop, but he said recklessly he didn't care if the whole
room heard; that I had encouraged him and broken his heart. He had never
loved a woman before, and if I wouldn't have him he was going to hell,
and it would all be at my door. I think it was villainously low down of
him, and at that moment I would have preferred Mr. Rumple to be sitting
next me. I got up to go away, but he had hold of my skirt and said I
should hear him out, and as I didn't care to leave yards of Paquin in
his hands I submitted. Captain Bennett is a perfect brute, and I am sure
he had drunk too much of Lady Beatrice's champagne. And to think how
deceived I had been in him! I thought him such a nice, manly young
fellow, with such good manners, and such a straight back and long legs,
so smart and handsome; and he was so insulting and threatening, and had
hold of my skirt so that I couldn't budge. How I hate him. As if I would
ever dream of marrying a _parvenu_, even if his fortune would build a
line of battle ships. When he finally let me move, he said he was going
back to Windsor to blow out his brains. I told him with my sweetest
smile, for Lady Beatrice scented something and was glaring at me, that
if I were he I would do something original, and that I was sure he
hadn't a bit of originality about him, for he talked just like the
_Family Herald_. He laughed and said he would like to choke me, and that
I had not seen the last of him, and he would have me on my knees at his
feet yet. A really horrid young man. I wish he would go to South Africa;
I am sure nobody would miss him.--Your dearest Mamma.
LETTER VI
MONK'S FOLLY, 10th August
DARLING ELIZABETH:
{_The Graftons_}
I felt particularly virtuous this morning, and drove over to Romford to
see old Admiral and Mrs. Grafton. Such a dear Darby and Joan pair, so
different from the foot-in-the-grave old couples one meets now-a-days.
The Admiral was pruning roses in the dearest little garden when I drove
up; he hobbled up with a wheeze and muddy fingers and opened the
carriage door before Alfred had time to dismount from the box. He
welcomed me to Romford with an old-school bow, and gave me an elbow to
shake because his hands were full of lumps of Somersetshire clay. He
asked me to sit down in the dining-room (they always shut up the
drawing-room in the summer, and it is as damp as a church), while he
called his wife. Mrs. Grafton, who is a dear, kissed me on both cheeks,
and asked after my neuralgia and you. Although it was awfully hot, she
was wearing the Queen's Indian shawl; they keep the rooms so dark that I
nearly sat down on the Angora cat, which was sleeping in the most
comfortable chair in the room. While the Admiral was washing his hands
and choking with asthma in the next room, Mrs. Grafton told me about the
rheumatism in her left shoulder, and that she had thought at first that
I was the chiropodist they were expecting from Taunton.
They insisted on my seeing the kitchen garden, and were very proud that
their Brussels sprouts took the first prize at the Bath Vegetable Show
in the Spring. I saw the pigs being fed, and the Admiral told me that
one of his sows had been given him by the Dowager Marchioness of Ealing,
who had brought it to him in her arms wrapped in cotton-wool when it was
a week old. The Admiral amuses himself with carpentering, and has had
one of the conservatories fitted up as a tool-house, but since he
mistook one of his thumbs for a shaving and nearly planed it off, he
hasn't been able to finish the table for the butler's pantry. Mrs.
Grafton made him show me his artificial ice-machine, and he frappéed a
Veuve Clicquot for me, but the vacuum or something didn't work and the
neck of the bottle broke. Then we went back to the dining-room, where
the Angora cat was sharpening its claws in the lace curtains. The
Admiral said, "Damn that beast, Maria!" but Mrs. Grafton gave him such a
look, and said, "Oh, Arthur! how can you when he has been so ill lately.
Puss, puss, purr-r, purr-r."
A servant brought in some port wine and biscuits, and the Admiral asked
me if I cared to see his views of places on the Pacific station. We came
to a photograph of a woman in a mantilla, whom the Admiral said was the
belle of Lima, and he sighed and chuckled. "Those were days to remember;
we were the fastest ship in the Navy, and when we went out of commission
there wasn't a pair of black eyes from Valparaiso to Vancouver that
didn't shed tears." Then Mrs. Grafton told me of the voyage she made out
to the station, when she was the only woman on the steamer, and how two
men quarrelled over her in Colon harbour, and another threatened to
throw himself in among the man-eaters at Barbados, because she hadn't
spoken to him for a whole day. The Admiral looked very savage, and
wheezed terribly and called her Mrs. Grafton. They were too delightfully
Jo Anderson, my jo, John. I could have spent the whole morning with
them, for it is so refreshing to find people natural and sincerely
attached to each other. They never spoke a word of scandal during the
whole visit; and when I left, Mrs. Grafton gave me a beautiful bouquet
of Maréchal Niels and said if she were a man she knew she would break
her heart over me, and the dear old Admiral insisted on helping me into
the carriage and gave me such a charming Early Victorian salute.
I know they only said nice things of me when I was out of sight, and I
wish there were more people like them in the county.
{_The Parkers' Dinner-party_}
Blanche Blaine came to tea in the afternoon; two of her fingers are
iodined and she had a leather strap round her wrist; she says she
sprained her hand at tennis yesterday and can't grip her racquet. Daisy
biked over to Exeter this morning with Mr. Frame to represent Taunton in
the mixed doubles and ladies' singles. The Duchess of Windermere is to
give the prizes. Lady Beatrice is furious because the Committee decided
at the last moment to scratch her name in the ladies' doubles. I think
it is quite time she gave up tennis, for she can't hit a ball and
disputes every point and looks such a fright. She was so mad when she
heard she had been scratched, that she refused to go over to Exeter, or
to let any of her house-party go. The Parkers took a party in a special
Pullman; Blanche thinks they own it, for they always have it wherever
they go. The Duchess of Windermere has invited them to sit under the
marquee with her.
I was sorry I could not go to their dinner-party last night. Blanche
says it was awfully well done. The chef from Prince's and an army of
waiters came down from London. The plate was superb, china was only used
with soup and fruit--Dresden and Sèvres; the handles of the knives and
forks were gold, studded with rubies, those of the spoons were silver
and ebony. The favours must have cost a small fortune. Lady Beatrice,
who went in with Mr. Parker, got a diamond aigrette; Blanche got two
volumes of Tennyson's poems in calf; there must have been some mistake
in the order, for there were not enough favours to go round, and Mr.
Rumple, who sat next to Blanche, found a ten-pound note under the roll
in his napkin.
As usual, Mrs. Parker wore a high-necked dress and no jewels; Miss
Parker was _à la Paquin_ and went in to dinner with the Duke of
Clandevil. There was no attempt at precedence, and Lord Froom was in a
towering rage that Mrs. Parker went in with Mr. Frame. But I think it
was very bad taste of him, as his favour was a gold watch, with the
Froom crest and motto in diamonds, and as the Parkers are foreigners and
kings in their own country every excuse should be made for them.
Clandevil is stopping at Astley Court, and rumour has it his engagement
to Miss Parker will soon be made public. I pity her, for she seems a
decent sort, and we all know what the duke is. He is five years younger
than she, and only the ha'penny papers published his cross-examination
in the Ventry divorce. But I suppose even an American king's daughter
would not refuse an English duke, and Mrs. Parker was heard to tell Mr.
Frame with a sigh that it would cost such a lot to stop the leaks in a
seven-acre roof.
{_Mr. Parker Junior_}
Mr. Parker, Junior, is very retiring and can hardly be got to speak or
do anything. Blanche thinks him stupid, but Mrs. Chevington says he has
what she calls "a head for business," for he never goes to the Stock
Exchange without causing a panic. Considering the food and the presents,
the dinner was a huge success, but Mr. Parker would persist in telling
Lady Beatrice how he had made his money, and that fifty years ago, "when
you and I were young, Lady Beatrice, I was a barefoot newsboy in
Broadway."
{_Boys Troublesome_}
You amuse me with your account of the Westaways. I don't pity Lady
Westaway very much for having such a daughter-in-law; if she had used
tact with Billy he would probably have listened to reason. I am so glad,
darling, that you are a girl and not a boy; boys are such a source of
anxiety in families of our station. They are always getting into
trouble, and they pick up such vulgar tastes. Why is it, I wonder, that
one never hears of girls marrying beneath them, but it takes all the
ingenuity we possess to keep the boys out of _mésalliance_. Billy
Westaway is a fool, and there are so many like him.
Between us, I would rather have a son as bad as Clandevil than one as
silly as Billy Westaway; but if it came to marrying one of them I should
prefer it to be the other way about.--Your dearest Mamma.
LETTER VII
HOTEL NATIONAL, LUCERNE
18th August
DARLING ELIZABETH:
{_Lucerne_}
How surprised you will be to see the above address. Blanche Blaine and I
came here on the spur of the moment, the day after you left for
Croixmare.
{_Glacier Garden_}
Blanche came over in the morning, and asked me if I would go with her to
Lucerne for a fortnight. The idea struck me as rather lively, and we
went up to London that night in time to catch the Club train for Paris
the next day. We were lucky to get rooms at the National, for they are
turning people away to-day. We have apartments on the second floor, with
a lovely view of the lake and Pilatus; the only blot on the landscape is
the yacht belonging to the hotel. As I write in my balcony, I can see it
over the tops of the chestnuts on the _quai_ bobbing alongside of the
jetty with a huge "Quaker Oats" on the sail. The weather is perfect,
and the air makes you feel as if you were breathing champagne. This
morning we went to see the Lion, to get it over as Blanche said. We saw
hundreds in the shop-windows before we got there, and they all looked so
sorry for themselves, as if they thought, "We can't help it they made us
like this, go a little higher up and you'll see the real thing." The
real thing is made of plaster, and you pay fifty centimes to see it in a
_boutique_, where they sell Swiss quartz and post-cards. The gigantic
thing carved out of the rock is really quite imposing, but the crowds
vulgarise it so that it no longer has the atmosphere of meditation and
romance Thorvaldsen meant it to have. A party of "personally conducteds"
were doing it with Baedekers in their hands and edelweiss in their hats,
and they made such funny comments, and asked such quaint questions about
it, I am sure that they had never heard of it before, and most of them
bought post-cards and wrote on them with stylographs. Then they all went
into the Glacier Garden, and the water was turned on to show them
glacial action on the rocks.
{_At Hugenin's_}
On the way back, Blanche and I stopped at Hugenin's, and had champagne
frappé and meringues at a table on the pavement under an awning, and
some people dressed as Tyrolese peasants yodelled in the garden of a
café across the street. Crowds of people passed us; some were very
smartly dressed, but most of the women wore bicycle skirts with buttons
in the back and felt hats with a feather at the side, and carried
edelweiss. Blanche said Continental life made her feel wicked, and she
bought a package of Turkish cigarettes from such a good-looking Italian
boy, with a performing monkey, and a basket on his arm filled with
post-cards of the Lion and Pilatus cigarettes. He was so delighted that
he made the monkey go through his tricks, and some horrid men in dress
suits came and stood about with their hands in their pockets and no hats
on their heads. I think they must have been waiters, for presently a
gong sounded and they all bolted into the Lucernerhof. The Italian boy
gave us such a graceful bow when we went away that Blanche felt sure he
was a Count in disguise. She said she had heard that poor Italian
noblemen wandered about the Continental watering-places in the summer
with monkeys, just like the poor Baronets who sing Christy Minstrel
songs to banjos on the sands at Brighton, and that you could always tell
them by their manners. She was sure of it, because Sir Dennis O'Desmond
had told her he had made quite a lot of money that way one year.
{_The Hungarian Band_}
We got back to the National just in time to change for lunch. Thérèse
had our frocks and curling-irons ready for us, and was in such a temper
because her meals were not to be served in her room. We had lunch in the
big _salle-à-manger_, which is also the ball-room; the food was
excellent and very well served; all the people looked smart, but we
didn't know any of them. The Hungarian band played, and the conductor
was such a handsome man; he wore a blue jacket trimmed with astrachan
and silver buttons, and black satin knee-breeches with blue stockings.
He was very tall and finely proportioned, with flashing black eyes and
curly hair. Blanche, who is always jumping to conclusions, believes he
is the man who eloped with the Princess de Chimay.
After lunch, we had coffee and liqueur and cigarettes in the hall. The
chairs were luxurious, and as all the doors and windows were open it was
delightfully breezy; there was no glare, and it was great fun watching
the people.
{_Dip in the Lake_}
At three o'clock Blanche went across to the baths and had a dip in the
lake, and I drew a sofa in front of my balcony and had a snooze in the
shade. When Blanche came back she said the bathing was perfect, but that
the boards which separated the "Herren" from the "Frauen" were riddled
with holes, and that as far as privacy was concerned the two sexes might
as well have bathed together. She insisted on having tea on the
_terrasse_ of the Kursaal where she heard a band playing. When we got
there the place was deserted save for some men who were drinking beer at
a table with a very _démodér_ woman and little child. We afterwards
recognised them as the croupiers who ran the Petits Chevaux. Later on
all the tables were taken. The people were mostly cheap Germans and
Americans, and they encored the Boer Volkslied which the orchestra
played with great spirit. It was the first time I had heard the
Transvaal National Anthem. It is like a trek in the spirit of the
Marseillaise; you could hear the bullock carts rumbling over the veldt.
{_At the Cathedral_}
At six o'clock we went to the Cathedral to hear the organ. Every seat
was taken, and the music was superb; the prima donna from the Dresden
Opera sang. The twilight gradually faded into darkness, and they didn't
light the candles. The effect of the _vox humana_ was very solemn, and
the music seemed to be far away up in the darkness like a chorus of
angels chanting. I felt very good.
The smart people were very smart, at dinner, and all seemed to know one
another. They took the best seats in the verandah afterwards, and
watched the flash-light and illuminations on the Stanzerhorn. We are
going to spend the day on the lake to-morrow.--Your dearest Mamma.
LETTER VIII
HOTEL NATIONAL, LUCERNE
20th August
DARLING ELIZABETH:
{_Fluëlen_}
{_Bicyclists_}
Yesterday Blanche and I went to Fluëlen. The boat was crowded, but we
got two comfortable seats in front of the wheel and had a perfect view.
The scenery was indescribably lovely, and the air was so clear that we
could actually see the people walking about on the top of the Rigi. Some
Swiss peasants got on at Brunen, and they all had goitre; one was such a
good-looking young fellow about twenty; his neck looked positively
uncomfortable, but he didn't seem to mind it at all. Nearly all the
hotels are du Lac or des Alpes, and have _terrasses_ planted with
chestnuts, and there was always excitement when the steamer stopped. Two
bicycle fiends got off at Brunen; they were English, and we saw them
afterwards scorching along the Axenstrasse in clouds of dust, evidently
trying to get to Fluëlen before us. It seemed so ludicrous to see
bicycles in such a country as Switzerland, that I told Blanche that I
was sure that people only brought them there out of a sort of bravado,
and that they didn't really enjoy themselves. An American who was
sitting near, overheard, and said in quite an offended way that he had
biked over the Brunig from Interlaken to Lucerne, and was going over the
Furka in the same manner. I replied, I believed if there was a road to
the top of Titlis one would find a pair of knickerbockers astride a
pneumatic trying to make the ascent. He smiled contemptuously, and said
it was evident I had never ridden. I told him I had tried to learn, and
had bought an Elswick, but that the day it arrived a new stable-boy rode
it into Taunton without my knowledge, and punctured the tire, which was
a blessing in disguise if it had saved me from making an exhibition of
myself on a Swiss pass. He became quite talkative after this, and
pointed out a great many things of interest like a Baedeker, without the
bother of having to find the places. We saw the Tellsplatte and chapel,
and the American told us that there were as many arrows that had killed
Gessler in various parts of Switzerland as bits of the True Cross in
European churches. We thought of returning in the same steamer and
having lunch on board, but he told us we ought to go to Altdorf and see
the new Tell monument, and that we could get lunch at an inn there. So
we thought while we were about it we might as well do all there was to
be done, and return by a later boat.
{_At Fluëlen_}