that run to Altdorf, as everybody made a rush for them at once. However,
Blanche got a bit of iron bar on the box-seat, and was held on by a
German with an alpenstock and edelweiss, who linked his arm in hers,
while I was smothered between a Cook's guide, who looked fagged out, and
a garrulous female, who told me she came from Chicago and had been
hungry ever since she left. She said they didn't know how to make pie in
Europe, and had never heard of it; her family seemed specially addicted
to pie, and greatly missed this delicacy on their travels. She had a
letter that morning from her son, a portion of which she read to me: he
was doing the capitals of Europe in three weeks, and had been fortunate
in finding pie in Constantinople, quite an American pie, only it was
made of pumpkin instead of Howard squash.
Our brake stopped at a des Alpes, and the proprietor came out and made
us welcome in the fashion they have on the Continent, as if he were
playing the host in a private house. My Chicago acquaintance at once
asked for the _menu_, and you should have seen her face when she found
there was no pie on it.
{_An Omelette Soufflée_}
As I was very hungry, I had the _table d'hôte_ lunch, which was very
good, but Blanche ordered hers _à la carte_. The only French thing on
the _menu_ that Blanche fancied was _omelette soufflée_. It took twenty
minutes to make, and when it came it looked like a mountain. I told
Blanche they must have thought her capacity enormous, but when she put
her spoon into it, it gave a sort of sigh and collapsed, and before
Blanche could get it on her plate there was only as much as you scrape
up in a table-spoon.
As the _table d'hôte_ courses were all consumed and time was pressing,
she had to content herself with French rolls and honey.
{_The Tell Monument_}
Before we left Altdorf the two Englishmen whom we had seen scorching
over the Axenstrasse arrived. I never saw such objects, they were fairly
reeking with perspiration and covered in white dust. They looked
positively filthy. I heard one asking the proprietor of the hotel if he
could buy a valve in Altdorf, and they both abused the Swiss roads as if
they had expected to find them like the Macadam in Hyde Park. The Tell
monument was quite worth coming to see, but I think its situation in the
tiny _platz_ of the picturesque village, which the immense mountains
seem ready to crush, makes it more imposing than it really is. I am sure
if it were in a city one would hardly notice it.
{_A Bunch of Edelweiss_}
Blanche was awfully "Cooky," and bought two post-cards with it on to
send to Daisy and Mrs. Chevington. At Fluëlen, too, she bought a bunch
of edelweiss from a Swiss doll with goitre, and stuck it into the bow
on her sailor-hat. We were quite tired when we got back to Lucerne, and
had dinner in our rooms, for Thérèse had gone to bed with a _migraine_
and neglected to put out our frocks or have our baths ready. I expect to
hear from you to-morrow, and that you are enjoying yourself at
Croixmare.--Your dearest Mamma.
LETTER IX
HOTEL NATIONAL, LUCERNE
22nd August
DARLING ELIZABETH:
{_On the Quai_}
This morning between twelve and one, Blanche and I were strolling on the
_quai_ when we met Sir Charles Bevon. He seemed glad to see us, and
asked if we knew any of the people in society here, and when we told him
we had only been in Lucerne four days and that he was the first person
we had met that we knew, he invited us to dine with him at the
Schweitzerhof to-night. It is from this dinner we have just come, and I
must tell you about it before I go to bed.
{_Anglophobia_}
Sir Charles asked the Marquis and the Marquise de Pivart, the Vicomte de
Narjac, and Mr. Vanduzen, an American naval officer _en retraite_, to
meet us. I sat between the Marquis and Mr. Vanduzen. The Marquis looks
like a little black monkey, with a beard _à Henri Deux_, but his manners
are so elegant one never thinks of his looks. He knows the De
Croixmares very well, and when I asked him what he thought of Héloise he
turned so red and looked so uncomfortable that I at once felt that
Jean's charming Comtesse had _brisé son c[oe]ur_ at some period of their
acquaintance. He dropped the subject as soon as possible, and quite
rudely began to talk of the war, and said that England was the Jew among
nations. I cooled his Anglophobia for him by remarking that I would much
prefer to have him talk of the Comtesse de Croixmare than attack my
country. He seemed positively afraid of me after that, so I am sure
there must be something between him and Héloise that he doesn't want his
wife to know. He got so moody and silent that I told him I thought him
very rude, and devoted myself through the rest of dinner to Mr.
Vanduzen, who is elderly and "natty." Mr. Vanduzen is quite amusing, but
I wish he wouldn't call people by their full names as if they were a
species he was labelling for a museum, such as, "Really, Miss Blanche
Blaine, you amaze me." "It was very warm to-day, was it not, Madame la
Marquise de Pivart?" "Have you made the ascent of Pilatus, Sir Charles
Bevon?" You know the style of man, Elizabeth, you must have met one or
two like him at Nazeby or Hazeldene. If they are English they are called
snobs, but when they come from the Land of Canaan on the other side of
the pond they are put down quite likely as "so American."
{_The Marquise_}
The Marquise is a fascinating creature, she knows the full value of her
figure as one of her attractions, and she clothes it accordingly. Her
bust is like alabaster, the neck and shoulders are perfect; her eyes are
rather wide apart, which gives her a naïve expression; her smile is
simplicity itself, and she talks with a tabloid voice. Sir Charles
seemed to admire her, for he addressed nearly all his conversation to
her, and he poked me so hard under the table once or twice that I was
compelled to say, "The table leg is on the other side, Sir Charles," and
he gave the Marquise such a reproachful glance.
Blanche had the Vicomte all to herself, and he seemed to like it. He has
an automobile and talked of nothing else, and Sir Charles says he does
nothing else in Paris. He is going to take Blanche and the Marquise in
it to-morrow for a spin in the valley of the Reuss.
Everybody talked at once, as they always do on the Continent, and the
effort to be general was quite fatiguing to me who am accustomed to the
English method of monopolising one's neighbours. The foreign custom
certainly gives more "go" to a dinner, but I think when I am not the
hostess I prefer conversation _à deux_.
{_Don Carlos_}
After dinner we had coffee in the salon instead of outside on the
verandah, for Sir Charles said we ought to see Don Carlos and suite go
in to dinner. The suite were already in the salon, and they occupied the
most comfortable chairs and looked rather sulky, which I suppose was
from having to wait so long for their dinner. Don Carlos has thirty
rooms on the first floor, but he will neither take his meals in private
or at the usual hour with everybody else. He makes quite a point of
dinner, and has it in the _salle-à-manger_ when the general public have
finished. He must be a great advertisement for the Schweitzerhof, for
crowds come nightly to see him and the Duchess go in to dinner. When
they entered the salon there was as much etiquette among the suite as if
they were at a _levée_. They formed themselves in a line in order of
precedence; the men all kissed the Duchess's hand and the ladies
curtseyed, then Don Carlos gave his arm to his wife and led the way to
dinner. As the door of the _salle-à-manger_ was open we could see them
eating; everybody talked at once, and the suite ate as if it was the
only dinner they had had for a week. I am sure they were hungry.
Don Carlos is a splendid-looking Spaniard, with exile written all over
him; whether natural or cultivated, the pose was perfect--the sadness
and abstraction, the forced amusement, the far-away look in the
eyes--but it wasn't melodramatic, and you didn't feel like laughing. The
Duchess of Madrid was _reine aux bouts des ongles_ and an ideal consort
for a banished monarch. She must have been very beautiful at one period
of her life, and is still strikingly fine-looking. She was dressed as
the great ladies on the Continent know how to dress, and wore some
lovely diamonds. She had the same melancholy far-away expression as Don
Carlos, and they both seemed rather bored, as if they had had too much
of the suite, who are really nothing but pensioners. Sir Charles says
they have not a peseta to bless themselves with, and live entirely on
the bounty of Don Carlos. They follow him wherever he goes and form a
sort of court for him; they are nothing but a pack of conspirators and
professional revolutionists who dare not go back to Spain, and as they
have all been broken in the Carlist cause, and still continue to
intrigue and make themselves useful, Don Carlos has to put up with them.
And I must say I think he does it right royally, keeping up a fine old
Bourbon custom, for these people can still say, like the needy noblesse
in Louis XIV.'s time, that they "bank with the king."
{_The Kursaal_}
When we had "done" Don Carlos and his dinner-party, Sir Charles
suggested that we should go to the Kursaal and try our luck at Petits
Chevaux. We found the room crowded, and most of the people looked like
those I saw at the Monico in London the night Algy Chevington took me
there for supper, when he couldn't get a table at the Trocadero. At
first we couldn't get near the tables, but the Marquise went and stood
behind the croupier, and got him a place for her. Then a man, who I am
sure was a High Church curate, for he had cut off his coat collar and
let his hair grow long like a French abbé, offered me his seat if I
would touch his money for him. But he gave me bad luck till he was
cleared out, and then I began to win. It was such fun, and I raked in
quantities of gold and some five-franc pieces made of lead. The Marquise
and I won, but the others had no luck, and I saw the Marquis somewhere
in the back drinking beer with an impossible female, and I told him so
afterwards, and that I thought it was very rude to the ladies in his
party, and he looked as if he would like to choke me. The Vicomte told
Blanche that he believed the croupier tampered with the machinery and
could make any horse win he liked, and the croupier heard. For an
instant I thought there was going to be a "scene," but the Marquise said
such a _cochon_ as the croupier wouldn't dare to strike the Vicomte, who
it seems spends the time he can spare from automobiling in Paris in
duelling. "Mais, comme il est sale, ce croupier," the Marquise said to
me, and then added that the croupiers at Monte Carlo were as beautiful
as Lucifer, and that a friend of hers, a Comtesse Jean d'Outremer, had
eloped with one. A _bêtise_ she called it. I told Sir Charles after that
that I thought we had better go, and they all walked with us as far as
the National. The Marquis and the Vicomte kissed my hand, and Sir
Charles told me to call on the Marquise to-morrow, as she expected it.
My kindest regard to Madame de Croixmare and the family at the
château.--Your dearest Mamma.
LETTER X
HOTEL NATIONAL, LUCERNE
24th August
DARLING ELIZABETH:
{_Smart People_}
This morning Blanche and I were sitting in the wicker chairs under the
chestnuts on the _quai_ in front of the National, when Sir Charles and
the Vicomte passed. They both stopped and chatted for a while, then the
Vicomte saw some very smart people who were sitting near and introduced
us to them. They were the Duchesse de Vaudricourt and Mrs. Wertzelmann,
the wife of the American Minister. The Duchesse is Empire and the
Wertzelmanns are _nouveaux riches_, but they are at the very top of all
the society here. A great many other people came up to speak to them;
Blanche and I were introduced, and, as Sir Charles said, before you
could say "Jack Robinson" we were _rangé_. As we both had on Paquin we
felt quite as well turned out as the other women, who were beautifully
dressed. You should have seen the people on the _quai_ stare as they
passed.
{_Telling Fortunes_}
Blanche made quite a sensation by telling fortunes, and everybody wanted
their hands read. She did it awfully well, and told the right things to
the right people. She told the Duchesse de Vaudricourt, who is fifty if
she is a day, but makes up twenty-five, that the only tragedy in her
life would be her death, and to beware of a _beau sabreur_ who carried
her photograph in a locket on his watch chain. When pressed as to the
reason she should be cautious of this unknown, Blanche told her that he
was destined to perish in a duel over her. The Duchesse was delighted,
for it is said that she longs for the _éclat_ of men killing themselves
over her, but that up to the present no one has ever even fought about
her. Mrs. Wertzelmann was to have her portrait, which has been painted
by Constant, hung in the Luxembourg, and to marry her daughter to a
Serene Highness, both of which Sir Charles had told us were her supreme
desires. The Vicomte had a very interesting personality, and was
irresistible with women and greatly respected by men, and was to die in
a collision of automobiles, which made him turn rather green. Mr.
Wertzelmann, the American Minister, who had joined us, held out a hand
like a working-man's, and asked Blanche what was going to happen to him.
She said she saw great things in the lines, and something else which she
thought could only be confided to his ear in private.
He was so excited, and Blanche wrinkled her eyes at him in the prettiest
way, that he insisted on taking her to the verandah of the National, and
hearing the rest of his fortune in private. I don't know what Blanche
told him, but he ordered champagne frappé, and when they came back his
face fairly beamed.
Mrs. Wertzelmann was very gracious, and said that though we hadn't
called she wanted us to come out to-morrow afternoon to her villa to a
garden-party; that she hated ceremony and etiquette and calling, and we
might leave our cards when we came. For it seems it is the custom here
for strangers to make the first call, but it is really very silly
calling at all, for nobody ever seems to be at home, and one meets the
same people half-a-dozen times a day at the National, which is the
rendezvous of the smart set.
{_Comte Belladonna_}
{_Advertising Custom_}
It is the thing to have tea in the garden of the National, where the
Hungarian band plays from four to six. It is very _recherché_, and the
prices are so high that the _canaille_, as the Marquise de Pivart calls
the tourists, don't come. So this afternoon we met the same set again,
and also a dear little old man, over eighty, who had the most perfect
manners, and was dressed faultlessly. In fact the Marquise told me that
his only occupation was dressing and paying compliments. His name is
Comte Belladonna, and he has a face like the carving on a cameo. He is
the most _distingué_ person here, and was something to Victor Emanuel,
and has seen only the best society all his life. He is quite poor, and
has a pension which just about pays for his gloves and handkerchiefs,
but everybody adores him; he gives tone to everything, and nothing is
complete without his presence. He is like the old beaux we used to see
at Cannes and Biarritz, and it is a wonder how at his age he manages to
keep pace with his invitations. Sir Charles says he has a room on the
top floor of the National which he gets for nothing, for his name is
always put first on the list of the hotel guests in the papers as an
advertisement.
There is an Austrian nobleman at the Schweitzerhof who is accommodated
there in the same way for the use of his name in the visitors' list, and
I think it is very convenient, for it saves all the worry of trying to
make ends meet, and one is actually paid for existing, and supported in
the best style. I am sure if the Irish peers knew that there was such a
custom in vogue they would move it should be adopted at Scarborough and
Harrogate, and the other places, only, of course, we haven't any _villes
de luxe_ at home as they have on the Continent.
Comte Belladonna spends his summers at the National and his winters in
Rome, where the Marquise says the Government, in consideration for his
past services to the State, have given him a post in a _bureau_, where
all that he has to do is to occasionally sign his name to documents of
which he never reads the contents. He is quite the most youthful old boy
I have ever met; he doesn't rise at six and walk ten miles before
breakfast like old Lord Merriman, who hunts with the West Somerset
Harriers in all weathers and golfs on the Quantocks. Comte Belladonna
rises at eleven like a gilded youth, clothes himself in the most
faultless flannels, and descends to the wicker chairs under the
chestnuts on the _quai_, where he reads the "Osservatore Romano," and
chats with the _beau monde_ of Lucerne who gather there; at one he
lunches like an epicure, after which he is ready for any social
amusement. He is a charming polished beau, a master of ceremonies, a
courtier, and he at present affects an American girl of nineteen, who is
quite ready to play May to his January. But Comte Belladonna belongs to
the country of Machiavelli, and _la belle Américaine_ has only her face
for her fortune.
{_Dinner at a Café_}
To-night we dined at a café with the Vicomte de Narjac; Sir Charles and
the Wertzelmanns were the only others of the party. A troupe of Swedish
singers sang and danced and passed round a tambourine, and after dinner
we went to the Kursaal theatre to see "Puppenfee."--Your dearest Mamma.
LETTER XI
HOTEL NATIONAL, LUCERNE
26th August
DARLING ELIZABETH:
{_The De Pivarts' Villa_}
Such a jolly time as we had yesterday! In the morning before lunch
Blanche and I clambered up the hill behind the National to call on the
De Pivarts. They live in a mite of a box of a villa. It is at the end of
a street so steep that you feel as if you were going to pitch head-first
down it when you begin to descend. The De Pivarts were not at home,
according to a man-servant who came to the door in his shirt sleeves and
without a collar, and took our cards in fingers that I am sure had
previously been engaged in blacking the Marquis's boots or lighting the
kitchen fire. But as we came up the hill we saw a man like the Marquis
_en déshabille_ leaning out of the tiny balcony, and we distinctly heard
a female exclaim: "Mon Dieu, je suis perdu! Il n'y a pas des Geraudels!
Marie, vite, vite, descendez à la ville pour chercher une boîte."
So we knew where the Marquise got her voice from.
In spite of the villa being so high up, the air seemed quite stuffy, for
the hill is full of six-francs-a-day pensions, where there are enough
Baedekers to start a library, and where they ring _ranz des vaches_
instead of dinner-gongs.
{_Lunch at the Gütsch_}
We intended to lunch at the National, but Sir Charles met us on the
_quai_ and said he had been hunting all over the town for us, as he
wanted us to lunch with him at the Gütsch, and go on to the
Wertzelmanns' afterwards. In front of the Schweitzerhof we found the
Vicomte, who had been automobiling all the morning, and Sir Charles
asked him to join us.
The Gütsch is much higher than the De Pivarts' villa, and you reach it
by a funicular which creeps straight up the side of the hill like a
lift. The view was lovely and so was the cooking; we had a table in
front of a huge window overlooking the _terrasse_. Afterwards we
strolled in the glades of the pine forest where the light was like the
pictures called "Studies in Colour," which one sees in the Academy and
nowhere else.
{_Morale of Lucerne Society_}
Blanche and Sir Charles were in front, while the Vicomte and I, owing to
the Vicomte's laziness, were considerably in the rear. For once he
talked of something else than his automobile, but his conversation was
not very edifying, save as giving me a pretty vivid idea of the _morale_
of Lucerne society. The Vicomte talked the most outrageous scandal, but
in so witty a way that it was impossible to take offence. He knew the
_histoire_ of everybody, which, if true, proves that Continental
society, especially at a _ville d'eaux_, is very much the same as in
English country houses where the people are smart. As he spoke in French
he sailed straight into the wind, where an Englishman would have tacked
a half-a-dozen times before reaching port. The voyage was quite
exciting, and when I expected him every moment to be wrecked on the
rocks of a Moulin Rouge episode he dexterously dropped anchor in calm
water. When we got back to the Gütsch I felt as if I had been listening
to one of Gyp's spiciest novels in which I knew all the characters.
They manage these things differently in England, and when Mrs. Smith
looks purry-purry, puss-puss at Lord Valmond you may be sure that each
sees the ghost of a conscience, and it has the face of Sir Francis
Jeune.
{_Schloss Gessler_}
From the Gütsch we went straight to Schloss Gessler in the Vicomte's
automobile. We tore through Lucerne at top speed; it was great fun, and
the Vicomte said there was no danger, for the road was straight, and
that nobody would dare get in the way. Going up the hill outside of the
town somebody's Maltese terrier with bells round its neck came tearing
after us and got under the wheels. But we didn't stop, and as we turned
into the avenue leading to the Schloss one of Mr. Wertzelmann's geese
committed suicide by throwing itself in front of the automobile.
Nothing could have been more hospitable than the welcome the
Wertzelmanns gave us. Everybody we knew was there, and many more whom we
didn't. Mr. Wertzelmann took me to see the ruins, but all that is left
is a bit of stone wall, which looks as if it had begun with the
intention of encircling a kitchen-garden, but had decided to visit the
stables, and never got any further. Mr. Wertzelmann told me it had once
sheltered Gessler, hence the name of the Schloss, but that the place had
recently been restored by a Swiss engineer who had made a fortune out of
funiculars. Certainly in its present state Schloss Gessler is very fine,
and the view from the terrace, which Mr. Wertzelmann insisted were the
old battlements, was lovely.
We saw Mrs. Wertzelmann's portrait by Constant and heard the price it
cost; we also went down to the jetty, and as many as could got into the
steam launch and went for a spin on the lake. Blanche was among the
number, but I preferred to remain on the lawn where the Marquise was
playing croquet. Her maid had evidently found the Geraudels, for her
voice was more tabloid than ever. Some people who looked as if they
lived in pensions, and were no doubt Americans, who had come to pay
their respects to their Minister and his handsome wife, strolled about
the grounds aimlessly and looked uncomfortable. One of them carried on a
polite conversation with a lackey who spoke English, and whom he
addressed as "Sir." But the Wertzelmanns devoted their whole attention
to their personal friends, and left the representatives of their nation
to amuse themselves in their own way.
Mr. Vanduzen brought the Duchesse de Vaudricourt and Comte Belladonna in
the cab with him, and I overheard him squabbling with the cabman over
the fare, for, from what passed between them, I judged that the Duchesse
had been a second thought with Mr. Vanduzen, who had only arranged with
the cabman for himself and the Comte. The cabman evidently won, and Mr.
Vanduzen arrived on the lawn so perturbed that he forgot to kiss Mrs.
Wertzelmann's hand, a custom he has affected since taking up his
residence abroad.
{_An Austrian Nobleman_}