beau's wetting that would have covered anybody else but such a
consummate old courtier with ridicule. After lunch it cleared off, and
the sun came out very hot and dried up things so quickly that everybody
had tea as usual in the garden of the hotel. The Hungarian band had just
finished playing a valse of Waldeuffel, and the Maréchale de
Vichy-Pontoise had hobbled out into the garden and settled herself
comfortably in her favourite seat next to the Princesse di Spezzia when
something slowly descended from the sky performing curious evolutions.
Everybody speculated as to what it could be and where it came from,
when it calmly lighted on the head of the Maréchale, who gave a wizened
shriek, and having disengaged herself from it shied it away savagely
with the end of her stick. Bijou at once seized it in his mouth, and
having gambolled about the grass with it proceeded to improvise it into
a broom and sweep up the gravel path with it. The difficulty of getting
him to relinquish his possession of it caused a great deal of merriment,
and the young man who reads "L'Insaisissable" and ogles Liane de Pougy
at the same time suddenly put his foot on it with such force that Bijou,
who was scampering off as hard as he could go with an end in his mouth,
was brought up short, and, having turned a rather violent somersault in
the air, let go and went off whimpering to the Maréchale, who looked as
if she could have eaten the young Frenchman. He picked up Bijou's
mysterious plaything and held it up, so that everybody could see--a
white flannel jacket, or what was left of it, of the jauntiest cut in
the world. No one claiming it, he handed it to a waiter who discovered
on a tag the _chiffre_ of Comte Belladonna! Instead of at once
withdrawing with the garment he informed the Comte that it belonged to
him. The Comte, who knew it all the time and had not cared to make
himself the butt of the National, examined it, shook his head, examined
it again, and bursting into a laugh exclaimed to the Princesse di
Spezzia with the utmost self-possession:--
"My dear Princesse, alas! this rag is indeed mine. This morning,
spotless and sweet-smelling, I arrayed my old bones in it, and its mate,
whose legs you may see dangling out of that window up there under the
roof; but, as if envious of the figure I cut in it, the elements having
determined to deprive me of it, flooded me out of it. Not being an
American millionaire, I hung it out of my window to dry, and the wind
did the rest. Heaven grant that the trousers do not come to look after
the jacket. Pity me, Princesse, I had worn it but once; it was cut at
'Old England.' Here, garçon, it is yours now."
It was not the words, which were funny enough, but the manner in which
they were uttered, that made every one laugh _with_ the Comte instead of
_at_ him.
{_Signor Stefano_}
The Princesse is a dear; she proved to-night that she is really a
_grande dame_, and that it is neither her name nor her pose which makes
her one. Young Signor Stefano, a shopkeeper, we would call him in
England, came again to the National to-night to dance. The proprietor,
who is very anxious that these dances should be a success, has given
him, and two or three other young fellows like him, the entrée. Of
course, according to the Continental custom, they can ask any one they
like to dance, but a natural and creditable diffidence has kept them
from forcing themselves upon any of the smart set, and they are
generally to be seen reversing and chasséeing with the people from the
pensions, who sit at one end of the ball-room and stare at the other.
{_Stefano Recognised_}
Young Stefano is very good-looking, and dances divinely, and has
attracted the attention of all of us women, and everybody who has been
in the _magasin_, where he is in charge of the precious stone
department, has remarked his quiet gentlemanly behaviour. I think I
wrote you that he asked Mr. Vanduzen to present him to the Princesse di
Spezzia and was refused, and I must say when he came into the room
to-night he looked so much a gentleman and so handsome that I horrified
Mr. Vanduzen by telling him to bring Stefano to me.
{_Princesse di Spezzia_}
He was covered with confusion when he was introduced, and when we danced
he bumped me into two or three people, for he held me as if he were
afraid of me, and we took up as much room as four people. I made him sit
next me and talked to him, and cleverly turned the conversation on to
the Princesse di Spezzia. He said very modestly that desire had got the
better of him the other night, and he had presumed to be presented to
her and had been snubbed, as he deserved. His _magasin_ is transferred
to Florence for the winter; he is a Florentine, and has often seen the
Princesse in the Cascine and admired her very much; he told me that he
had no desire to meet her as an equal, that he knew he was only a _petit
bourgeois_, but that he would have been proud to be presented to such a
great lady. I surprised him by saying I would ask the Princesse if she
had any objection, and if not it would be easy enough to gratify his
small desire. His thanks were profuse, and when I got a chance I told
the Princesse the story. She was furious with Mr. Vanduzen and has cut
him dead since; she wondered how he dared to refuse to present any one
to her without her permission, and she declared it was one of the
greatest pleasures of her position to have the people of Florence
presented to her and admire her. She chatted for some time with Stefano
and gave him permission to address her at any time he chose without any
fear of being snubbed. I watched her closely all the time; her manner
was totally free from patronage, but it let Stefano know that she was
what he had always thought, the Princesse di Spezzia, the greatest lady
in Florence.
She has immensely flattered his pride by her recognition and preserved
her own dignity, and Blanche and I have agreed that in point of manners
and etiquette she could teach any of our great ladies in England how to
hold themselves.
We think she is a dear, and wish we knew how to dress as she does and to
stare through lorgnettes and to endure horrid bores such as the
Maréchale. I wish the Prince appreciated her more; he plays the devil
devilishly well. Sir Charles says there is no question of doubt but that
the family was a noble one in the days of the Roman Empire. Adieu.--Your
dearest Mamma.
LETTER XVI
HOTEL NATIONAL, LUCERNE
5th September
DARLING ELIZABETH:
{_The Vicomte_}
Mrs. Isaacs (who, by the way, is not one of the children of Israel, if
her husband was) went yesterday to Berne. The Vicomte says she carried
the Almanac de Gotha instead of Baedeker, and that the porter at the
hotel who bought her ticket declared that her ultimate destination is
Vienna. So that I suppose they are looking up Count Albert.
The Vicomte has been like a bear with a sore head ever since Count Fosca
automobiled from Paris. He behaves so childishly, as if no one in the
world should have an automobile but himself. He spends several hours a
day fencing with an Italian; you know duelling is his other occupation
in Paris, and I expect he is going to take it up seriously till he gets
a new automobile. He glares at Count Fosca and mutters "So" under his
breath like a German, and I am expecting to hear daily that they are
going to fight, and all over an automobile!
{_Ball at Schloss Gessler_}
But people are too much excited over the ball at Schloss Gessler on the
day after to-morrow to pay much attention to the Vicomte and his
grievances. Mr. Wertzelmann told me to-day that if people talked so much
about the ball before it came off he wondered what they would say about
it after. He never did things by halves, and this was a ball which
should be remembered for years to come. It is to cost thousands of
francs, and if the Russian _boyar_ (don't ask me his name, I know it has
an itch at the end of it) who is Mrs. Wertzelmann's devoted admirer, and
practically runs Schloss Gessler, does his duty properly, I have no
doubt it will be, as Mr. Wertzelmann says, something to remember.
It will be the end of the season here, and, as we have stayed longer
than we intended, we shall hurry home after it. We really have managed
to do other things besides frivol. We have seen the Lion and we have
been to Fluëlen and drove to Schloss Sonnenburg, but there was little
of the country or scenery we saw on that occasion, owing to the flies
and the dust. Yesterday we added to our knowledge of the Lake of the
Four Cantons by spending the night on the top of the Stanzerhorn.
{_The Stanzerhorn_}
Quite late in the afternoon Sir Charles came over to the National to ask
us if we would come with him then and there to see the sunset and
sunrise in the Alps from the Stanzerhorn. He assured us we would find a
good hotel and that it was worth the trouble, and as we had nothing
better to do we went. Thérèse filled two handbags with necessaries and
we caught the last boat from Lucerne. There was nobody we knew on the
boat, and Blanche said she felt game for anything, and game we were
before we saw our comfortable rooms at the National again and our
indispensable Thérèse and dear, dear Paquin.
As Sir Charles had described it as a "rough and ready jaunt," and "a
picnic in the clouds," and turned up at the National in snuff-coloured
"knickers" that looked as if Bijou had been introducing them to the
gravel-path, and carrying a brand-new alpenstock with "Lucerne" and
"Gütsch" and "Sonnenburg" burnt into it, we decided to wear our serge
walking skirts and men's shirts and straw-hats. Blanche looked very well
in hers, for it is a style that suits her, but I nearly wept at my own
reflection, and I was delighted there was to be no one else of the party
but Sir Charles. Blanche said my skirt was positively indecent; it came
just to the tops of my boots, and was really made for bicycling and not
for walking. I felt like a Gordon Highlander, and Blanche declared that
if the skirt was a plaid I would have looked like one. Thérèse too went
into fits of laughter, and said she was sure that Sir Charles would not
recognise me. I was half inclined to give up the excursion, but Blanche
said it was ridiculous, and that I couldn't possibly take Paquin to the
top of the Stanzerhorn, and that I looked charming from my waist up.
I tried to discover a blush somewhere in my veins when we stood in the
hall of the hotel, but somehow I couldn't find one. Fortunately for my
vanity we got on to the steamboat without being recognised, and I made
a mental vow that I would never employ a Taunton seamstress again. The
Italian boy with the monkey and the post-cards that we saw the first day
we arrived, and whom Blanche declared was a nobleman in disguise, was on
board. He went second-class, and was talking to a Swiss peasant with
goitre just below us. The monkey travelled first all the way to
Alpnacht, for the steamboat people didn't dare touch it; it ate apples
at Blanche's feet when it wasn't frightening people out of their wits by
bounding about the deck. The disguised nobleman, who can't be more than
seventeen, recognised us, and gave such a smile and bow! Blanche put a
franc into the tin cup round the monkey's neck, and when we got off at
Stanz the boy brushed off the gangplank before we stepped on it, with
his cap, though the plank was spotless. As Blanche said, it gave her
quite a Sir-Walter-Raleigh-Queen-Elizabeth-and-the-Cloak feeling, and we
declared he was the most picturesque tramp we had ever seen, but Sir
Charles, who hasn't a scrap of romance in him, said he looked as if he
belonged to an Anarchist Society.
Stanz is a funny little town, and people only come to it to leave it.
Some Germans with ropes and pick-axes over their shoulders, and who
looked as if they meant business, got off at Stanz, and as one makes the
ascent of Titlis from here, we concluded that was their destination. Sir
Charles made us walk to the little _platz_ to see the statue to Arnold
von Winkelreid, but we preferred Tell's at Altdorf. The funicular to the
top of the Stanzerhorn makes one feel goose-pimply all over; it is not
only steep, but when you get near the top you look out of the car window
over a sheer precipice of two thousand feet. There are two cars attached
to an endless cable, and while one creeps up the mountain like a horrid
antediluvian bug the other crawls down. If the cable should break, one
would catapult little Stanz to atoms and the other would Jules Verne
itself to the top of the Stanzerhorn.
When we got to the two thousand feet place a German woman fainted, and I
felt as if I were about to develop heart failure. But Blanche and Sir
Charles leaned out of the windows and raved over the scenery, while an
American woman read Baedeker out loud to another. As soon as we reached
the top, we went to the hotel and got rooms, but discovered to our
horror that we had left our bags at Stanz and that we couldn't get them
that night. We both gave it to Sir Charles, I can tell you, but he only
laughed and said the proprietor's wife would fit us out all right. We at
once went in search of this individual, and you may imagine our
consternation when I tell you that the proprietor was a bachelor, or a
widower--I believe he tried to explain which it was, but we fairly
shrieked with horror--and moreover the only females belonging to the
hotel were some Swiss girls with symptoms of goitre.
The proprietor was bland and apologetic, and told Sir Charles that he
would see we were provided with the necessary articles before we went to
bed. With this we had to be content, and went out upon a sort of
promenade where there was a telescope and a man to explain the views. He
seemed to have learnt his "patter" by heart, for when he was
interrupted he had to begin all over. Five minutes before sunset begins
they ring a gong and everybody climbs up a tiny peak where you can see
only snow mountains and the lake like a cloud far below. We waited for
half an hour and saw nothing else; the man of the telescope said it was
the only failure of the season. It got frightfully cold all of a sudden,
and we went back to the hotel wishing we were at the National.
They gave us a remarkably good _table d'hôte_ dinner, considering how
remote we were from everything. The people were mostly Germans, and
there was such a curious German-American woman who sat next me. If she
had been decently dressed she would have been quite pretty; she was very
confidential, as strange Americans are inclined to be, and gave us her
history from the time she was five. She fairly astounded me by saying
she was known as Patsy Bolivar, the champion lady swimmer of the world,
and she showed me several photographs of herself which she carries about
with her, and also one of the gold belt she won in New York. Quite
contrary to the usual run of celebrities, she was modest, and did not
appear at all offended that I had never heard of her before.
After dinner we all went to watch the flash-light at work, and saw it
turned on to the Stanz and Lucerne, in red, white, and blue. As the
sunrise was to be very early we went to bed at nine in time to be ready
for it. Blanche and I had connecting rooms, and we found on the pillows
of our beds two spotless and neatly folded _robes de nuit_, and a
hair-brush and a comb on the dressing-table, and we blessed monsieur le
propriétaire. But imagine our horror, when we were ready to put on our
host's garments, to find that they were in reality his own! They reached
just above our knees, and had "Ricardo" embroidered in red cotton on the
buttons. There was nothing to do but to make the best of it, and as it
was terribly cold we hastily got into bed in our proprietor's
night-shirts, and slept soundly till we heard a hideous gong and knew
that it was four o'clock and sunrise. We dressed quickly, and clambered
on to the little peak again, where we found everybody shivering and
jumping about to keep warm, and while we waited the sun rose. I won't
attempt to describe it, for I am neither Walter Scott nor Baedeker, and
if you want to know what it is like you must come to Switzerland
yourself and spend the night on a mountain.
We had delicious coffee and rolls before leaving: Sir Charles paid the
bill for us. Would you believe it, they actually took off a franc each
for the failure of the sunset the previous day. I thought it exceedingly
honourable, and different from the grasping way they have at hotels in
England where they have only one way of making coffee and omelette, and
that is _à l'Anglaise_. We didn't dare thank the proprietor for the
things he had lent us, and he said, with such a nice smile to me, as we
left:--
"Madame est-elle bien dormie? Les rêves étaient-ils doux? J'espère ça."
Horrid man!
Thérèse was waiting for us when we got back, and had our baths and
Paquin ready.--Your dearest Mamma.
LETTER XVII
HOTEL NATIONAL, LUCERNE
7th September
DARLING ELIZABETH:
{_The Wertzelmann Ball_}
This is our last day here, and we leave by the express for Paris
to-night. Mr. Wertzelmann said he was going to give a ball that would be
remembered, and he has kept his promise. I hardly know where to begin to
tell you all about it. I had one offer of marriage and one of elopement,
and got home at six in the morning.
First of all, Blanche and I, looking every bit as well dressed as any of
the smart women here, drove out to Schloss Gessler by ourselves. Comte
Belladonna and Mr. Vanduzen hinted outrageously for the two vacant
seats, but we didn't intend to have our frocks crushed to save them a
few francs, and wouldn't take their hints.
The Comte eventually got Mrs. Isaacs' seat in Mrs. Johnson's landau, but
Mr. Vanduzen had to hire, and just as he was about to drive off the
Duchesse de Vaudricourt rushed up and begged him for a seat, as she
couldn't get a cab in the town. Thérèse told me this morning that the
Duchesse has no maid, and that her room is above the _escalier de
service_ next to the Comte's, so I fancy they keep _her_ at the National
too as an advertisement for the sake of her name, though it's only Louis
Philippe.
When we arrived at Schloss Gessler the scene was undeniably lovely; the
grounds were like fairy-land, and Mr. Wertzelmann had had the electric
light brought out from Lucerne, and had tried to turn a part of the lake
into a Venetian canal. Mrs. Wertzelmann, in the most lovely costume I
ever saw, received in the great hall. She never looked handsomer; her
dress was made entirely of point lace over white silk, and made as only
Worth or Paquin ever make for American millionaires. Round her neck was
a serpent of diamonds holding in its open jaws an immense emerald. Both
she and Mr. Wertzelmann received their guests with the most perfect
sincerity and hospitality. There was not a scrap of affectation about
them; it must be nice to be so rich that you can afford to be natural.
Mr. Wertzelmann wore on the lapel of his dress-coat something like a
button, with the American flag on it as a badge; all the foreigners wore
decorations; don't ask me what they were,--if they were not Garters or
Black Eagles, they looked as well. Even Sir Charles wore an Ashantee
medal; he went in his uniform especially at Mr. Wertzelmann's request,
who said he wanted a bit of colour in the room, only Sir Charles's tunic
is not scarlet, and he looked somewhat like a commissionaire.
Madame Colorado was angelic as usual--what a lovely nun she would make!
She was helping the Wertzelmanns to receive, and she looked after the
Americans from the _pensions_ that the Minister felt obliged to invite.
It was great fun watching the guests arrive, and as we got there early
we saw everybody; the Hungarian band from the National came out in a
char-à-banc, but the supper was sent out in the afternoon. The ball-room
was draped with the American and Swiss flags, and the national anthems
of the two countries were played before the dancing began. There was no
"state set" as we have in England, and nobody paid any attention to
precedence. Mrs. Wertzelmann opened the ball with young Stefano. There
was something higgledy-piggledy yet very splendid about the whole
function; it went with far more spirit than such things go with us;
people had come to enjoy themselves, and not to be martyrised by stupid
formalities and etiquette. The musicians played ravishingly; they seemed
to be intoxicated with their music, and sometimes they couldn't contain
themselves but sang to the waltzes. There was an _élan_ in the air. Mrs.
Wertzelmann's portrait by Constant had electric lights all round the
frame, and there was a champagne fountain in the refreshment room. The
gaiety was almost barbaric in its extravagance, and was contagious. The
men said the most outrageous things. The Marquis de Pivart, who had not
paid much attention to me since I chaffed him about Héloise that night
at the Schweitzerhof, danced with me three times running; he dances
well, but held me so tight I could hardly breathe, and his breath was
so hot on my neck it burnt. He asked me if I would like to go down to
the lake to see the illumination; the night was splendid and very warm,
there was no dew, and you could see the snow on Titlis as the moonbeams
fell on it.
Without any preamble the Marquis burst into the most passionate
declarations. He told me he had loved me in secret since the first time
he had met me; would I flee with him then and there, catch the night
train for Berne and Paris, live like Alfred de Musset and George Sand,
and a lot more idiotic bosh; and he put his arms round me, and before I
could release myself he bit me on the neck. I was so frightened that for
the first time in my life, Elizabeth, I lost my presence of mind--I
screamed. I don't know whether any one heard or saw, and I don't care. I
told him he was a brute and I hated him, and I rushed as hard as I could
under a huge Bengal light where I could easily be seen. I trembled so I
could scarcely stand, and some of the wax from the candle dripped upon
me. He came up with excuses and more protestations of love, but I said
if he didn't leave me at once I should scream for help, and I must have
looked as if I meant it, for he muttered something in his horrid black
beard and went away. Then I went back to the ball-room and found
Blanche. I told her what had happened, and asked her if she could see
the marks of his teeth. She said the place only looked a tiny bit red,
and we went to the dressing-room, where I powdered it.
After that I told Blanche that I shouldn't feel safe except with the
dowagers. They sat in a room by themselves and had waiters bringing them
champagne and ices, and they talked the most outrageous scandal. I sat
down beside Mrs. Johnson; she said I looked pale and recommended some
champagne frappé, and called a waiter and ordered a glass for me and one
for herself. She was very talkative and fairly peppered her conversation
with French words, though she wouldn't understand you if you said,
"Comment vous portez-vous?"
She told me that the Wertzelmanns were _parvenus_--mushrooms, she called
them--and Mr. W. had made his money out of oil, and that they had never
been into Society till they came abroad. She was very communicative also
on the subject of Rosalie's marriage, which she said was to take place
in Paris in the autumn and would be a very grand affair. As for Count
Albert she hadn't enough praise for him, and he was so devoted and
attentive in coming often to see if she wanted anything that I am sure
he knows where the dollars are to come from. I tried to find out what
had taken Mrs. Isaacs away so suddenly, but Mrs. Johnson is cunning, she
smelt a rat, and the only reason I could extract was "business."
She made one amusing break. Mrs. Wertzelmann came in to see if all was
going well with the chaperones, and exclaimed when she saw me among
them. Mrs. Johnson, who evidently hates her, began to put on "side," and
talked about her hotel in the Faubourg St. Germain, which she rented
from the Duc de Quatre Bras, and described a ball she had given there to
which all the _demi monde_ had come. Funny as this was, it was made
still funnier by the fact that Mrs. Wertzelmann, who knows no more of
French than Mrs. Johnson, didn't see the joke.
I had by this time recovered sufficiently to go back to the ball-room,
where, as it was on the stroke of midnight, the _cotillon_ was about to
commence. Young Stefano came up and asked me to dance it with him. The
Marquis had the grace not to put in an appearance; I believe he was
playing baccarat in the card-room.