of it. Ordering a fire in the largest of the three stuffy little cells
which they occupied, they set about being comfortable, for it had turned
chilly, and a furious wind disported itself in and out through
numberless crevices. Lavinia was inspired to mull some wine, and brewed
a mild jorum that cheered, but did not inebriate. Amanda produced her
Shakspeare, and read aloud while the simmering and sipping went on.
Matilda sketched the noble commander as she lay upon the sofa, with her
Egyptian profile in fine relief, and her aristocratic red slippers
gracefully visible. A large grey cat of a social turn joined the party,
and added much to the domesticity of the scene by sitting on the hearth
in a cosy bunch and purring blissfully.
'Now it is your turn to propose something for the general amusement,
Mandy,' said Mat, when the beakers were drained dry and the Montagues
and Capulets comfortably buried.
'Let us attend to the culture of our nails,' replied Amanda, producing
her _polissoir_, powder, and knife.
Three cups of tepid water were produced, and the company sat eagerly
soaking their finger tips for a time, after which much pruning and
polishing went on, to the great bewilderment of Puss, who poked her own
paws into the cups, as if trying to test the advantages of this
remarkable American custom.
'What _would_ our blessed mother say if she saw us now?' said Mat,
proudly examining ten pointed pink nails at the tips of her long
fingers.
'People told us we should get demoralised if we came abroad, and this is
the first step on the downward road,' returned Lavinia, shaking her head
over her own backslidings.
'No: it's the second step. We ate calves' brains for dinner, and what
I'm sure were frogs' legs with mushrooms. You know we vowed we wouldn't
touch their horrid messes, but I really begin to like them,' confessed
Mat, who had pronounced every dish at dinner 'De-licious!'
'Ha! I will write a poem!' cried Amanda, and leaping from the sofa she
grasped her pen, flung open her portfolio, and in a few brief moments
produced these inspired stanzas.
THE DOWNWARD ROAD.
Two Yankee maids of simple mien,
And earnest, high endeavour,
Come sailing to the land of France,
To escape the winter weather.
When first they reached that vicious shore
They scorned the native ways,
Refused to eat the native grub,
Or ride in native shays.
'Oh, for the puddings of our home!
Oh, for some simple food!
These horrid, greasy, unknown things,
How can you think them good?'
Thus to Amanda did they say,
An uncomplaining maid,
Who ate in peace and answered not
Until one day they said--
How _can_ you eat this garbage vile
Against all nature's laws?
How _can_ you eat your nails in points,
Until they look like claws?'
Then patiently Amanda said,
'My loves, just wait a while,
The time will come you will not think
The nails or victuals vile.'
A month has passed, and now we see
That prophecy fulfilled;
The ardour of those carping maids
Is most completely chilled.
Matilda was the first to fall,
Lured by the dark gossoon,
In awful dishes one by one
She dipped her timid spoon.
She promised for one little week
To let her nails grow long,
But added in a saving clause
She thought it very wrong.
Thus did she take the fatal plunge,
Did compromise with sin,
Then all was lost; from that day forth
French ways were sure to win.
Lavinia followed in her train,
And ran the self-same road,
Ate sweet-bread first, then chopped-up brains,
Eels, mushrooms, pickled toad.
She cries, 'How flat the home _cuisine_
After this luscious food!
Puddings and brutal joints of meat,
That once we fancied good!'
And now in all their leisure hours
One resource never fails,
Morning and noon and night they sit
And polish up their nails.
Then if in one short fatal month
A change like this appears,
Oh, what will be the next result
When they have stayed for years?
Tremendous applause greeted this masterly effort, and other poems were
produced with the rapidity of genius by Amanda and Lavinia, each writing
the alternate verse, _à la_ Beaumont and Fletcher, which gave a peculiar
charm to these effusions.
When Matilda was called upon for a festive suggestion, she promptly
replied, with a graceful yawn:--
'Let's go to bed.'
The meeting, therefore, broke up, and the younger ladies retired to
their cells in good order. But the Raven, excited by the jocund hour,
continued to rustle and patter about the warm room in a state of
inexpressible hilarity, most exasperating to the others, who desired to
sleep. Not content with upsetting the fire-irons occasionally, singing
to the cat, and slamming the furniture about, this restless bird kept
appearing first at one cell door with a conundrum, then at the other
with a joke, or insisted on telling funny stories in her den, till the
exhausted victims implored her to take an opium pill and subside before
they became furious. She obeyed, and after a few relapses into wandering
and joking, finally slumbered.
Then occurred the one thrilling adventure of this happy journey. In the
darkest hour before dawn Mat awoke, heard a suspicious noise in the
middle room, and asked if Lavinia was on the rampage again. No reply,
and, listening, a low, rasping, rustling sound was heard.
'Thieves, of course. Our watches and purses are on the table, and
Lavinia has probably forgotten to lock the door. I must attend to this.'
And up rose the dauntless Matilda, who feared neither man nor ghost.
Grasping her dagger, hitherto used as a paper cutter, but always eager
to be steeped in the gore of brigands, robbers, or beasts of prey, she
crept to the door and peeped in. The pale glow of the fire showed her a
dark figure crouching in the opposite door-way. The click of a pistol
caught her ear, but dodging quickly, the heroic girl cried sternly from
the shelter of Lavinia's bed-curtain,--
'Come out, or I'll fire!'
'Mio Dio! is it only you?' answered a familiar voice, as Amanda,
shrouded in a waterproof, sprang up and lit a match.
'What are you prowling about for?' demanded Mat.
'To blow your brains out, apparently,' answered Mandy, lowering her
arms. 'Why are you abroad?'
'To stab you, I fancy,' and Mat sheathed her dagger balked of its prey.
'I heard a noise.'
'So did I.'
'Let's see what it is,' and lighting a candle, the fair Amazons looked
boldly about the shadowy room.
Lavinia lay wrapt in slumber, with only the end of her sarcastic nose
visible beyond the misty cloud that enveloped her venerable countenance.
The outer door was fast, and the shutters closed. No booted feet
appeared below the curtains, no living eyes rolled awfully in the
portrait of the salmon-coloured saint upon the wall. Yet the rustling
and rasping went on, and with one impulse the defenders of sleeping
innocence made for the table in the corner.
There was the midnight robber at his fell work!--the big cat peacefully
gnawing the cold chicken, and knocking about the treasured crusts
dragged from the luncheon-basket carefully packed for an early start.
'Wake and behold the ruin your pet has made!'
'We might be murdered or carried off a dozen times over without her
knowing it. Here's a nice duenna!'
And the indignant ladies shook, pinched, and shouted till the hapless
sleeper opened one eye, and wrathfully demanded what the matter was.
They told her with eloquent brevity, but instead of praising their
prowess, and thanking them with fervour, the ungrateful woman shut her
eye again, merely saying with drowsy irascibility,--
'You told me to go to sleep, and I went; next time fight it out among
yourselves, but don't wake me.'
'Throw the cat out of window and go to bed, Mat,' and Amanda uncocked
her pistol with the resignation of one who had learned not to expect
gratitude in this world.
'Touch a hair of that dear creature and I'll raise the house!' cried
Lavinia, roused at once.
Puss, who had viewed the fray sitting bolt upright on the table, now
settled the vexed question by skipping into Lavinia's arms, feeling with
the instinct of her race that her surest refuge was there. Mat retired
in silent disgust, and the Raven fell asleep soothed by the grateful
purring of her furry friend.
'Last night's experiences have given me a longing for adventures,' said
Mat, as they journeyed on next morning.
'I've had quite enough of that sort,' growled Lavinia.
'Let us read our papers, and wait for time to send us something in the
way of a lark,' and Amanda obscured herself in a grove of damp
newspapers.
Lavinia also took one and read bits aloud to Mat, who was mending her
gloves, bright yellow, four-buttoned, and very dirty.
'Translate as you go along--I do so hate that gabble,' begged Mat, who
would _not_ improve her mind.
So Lavinia gave her a free translation which convulsed Amanda behind her
paper. Coming to this passage, 'Plusieurs faits graves sont arrivés,'
the reader rendered it, 'Several made graves have arrived,' adding,
'Dear me, what singular customs the French have, to be sure!' A little
farther on she read, 'Un portrait de feu Monsieur mon père,' adding, 'A
fire portrait means a poker sketch, I suppose.'
Here a smothered giggle from Amanda caused the old lady to say 'Bless
you!' thinking the dear girl had sneezed.
'I must have some blue cotton to mend my dress with. Remind me to get
some at Moulins. By the way, how do you ask for it in French?' said Mat,
surveying a rent in her skirts.
'Oh, just go in and say, "Avez-vous le fils bleu?"' replied Lavinia,
with a superior air.
'A blue son! My precious granny, what will you say next?' murmured
Amanda, faint with suppressed laughter.
'What are you muttering about?' asked Granny, sharply.
'Trying to recall those fine lines in "Wilhelm Meister;" don't you
remember? "Wer nie sein Brod mit Thränen ass,"' replied Amanda, polite
even at the last gasp.
'I read my Goethe in decent English, and don't know anything about
training asses,' returned Lavinia, severely.
That was too much! Amanda cast her paper down, and had her laugh out, as
the only means of saving herself from suffocation. The others gazed upon
her in blank amazement, till she found breath enough to enlighten them,
when such peals of merriment arose, that the guard popped his head in to
see if he had not unwittingly shipped a load of lunatics.
'That was splendid! But now we must sober down, for a gorgeous being is
about to get in,' said Amanda, as they stopped at a station.
The gorgeous being entered, and found three demure ladies rapt in
newspapers. They apparently saw nothing but the words before them; yet
every one of them knew that the handsome young man had bowed in the most
superior manner; also, that he was dressed in brown velvet, long
gaiters, buttoned to the knee, a ravishing blue tie, buff gloves, and
pouch and powder-horn slung over his shoulder. Also, that a servant with
two dogs and a gun had touched his hat and said, 'Oui, monsieur le
comte,' as he shut the door.
A slight thrill pervaded the statues as this fact was made known, and
each began to wonder how the elegant aristocrat would behave. To say
that he stared, feebly expresses the fixity of his noble gaze, as it
rested in turn upon the three faces opposite. When satisfied, he also
produced a paper and began to read. But Matilda caught a big, black eye
peering over the sheet more than once, as she peered over the top of her
own.
'I don't like him. Remember, we don't speak French,' whispered the
discreet Amanda.
'I can swear that I don't,' said Lavinia, with an irrepressible smile,
as she remembered the 'blue son.'
'The language of the eye is not forbidden me, and I can't sit baking
under a newspaper all the way,' returned Matilda, whose blond curls had
evidently met with the great creature's approval.
A slight pucker about the Comte's lips caused a thrill of horror to
pervade the ladies, as Amanda murmured under her breath,--
'He may understand English!'
'Then we are lost!' returned the tragic Raven.
'Wish he did. I really pine for a little attention. It gives such a
relish to life,' said Matilda, thinking regretfully of the devoted
beings left behind.
The prudent Amanda and the stern Lavinia steeled their hearts, and iced
their countenances to the comely gentleman. But the social Matilda could
not refrain from responding to his polite advances, with a modest
'Merci, Monsieur,' as he drew the curtain for her, a smile when he
picked up the unruly curling-stick, and her best bow as he offered his
paper with a soft glance of the black eyes.
In vain Amanda tried to appal her with awful frowns; in vain Lavinia
trod warningly upon her foot: she paid no heed, and left them no hope
but the saving remembrance that she couldn't talk French.
'If the man don't get out soon, I'll tie her up in my shawl, and tell
him she is mad,' resolved Lavinia, whose spinster soul was always
scandalised at the faintest approach to a flirtation.
'If the man does speak English, Mat will have it all her own way,'
thought Amanda, remembering the vow imposed upon the reckless girl.
Alas, alas for the anxious twain! The man did _not_ get out soon, the
man _did_ speak English, and in ten minutes Matilda was off, like a colt
without a halter. The anguish of her keepers added zest to the fun, and
finding that the gentleman evidently thought her the lady of the party
(owing to the yellow gloves, smartest hat, and irreproachable boots),
and the others in sober gray and black, were maid and duenna, this
reprehensible girl kept up the joke, put on airs, and enjoyed that
flirtatious hour to her heart's content.
As if to punish the others for their distrust, and to reward Mat's
interest in him, M. le Comte devoted himself to Mademoiselle, telling
her about his hunting, his estate, and finished by inviting her and her
party to call and view his _château_, if they ever paused at the town,
which had the honour of being his summer residence. Mat responded to all
these courtesies with confiding sweetness, and when at length he was
desolated at being obliged to tear himself away, she
'Gave sigh for sigh,'
as he retired with a superb bow, a gallant 'Bon voyage, mesdames,' and a
wicked twinkle of the black eyes as they rested on the faces of the
frozen ladies.
'I got rather the best of the joke in that little affair: didn't I?'
said Mat, gayly, as the brown velvet Adonis vanished.
'You are a disgrace to your party and your nation,' sternly responded
Amanda.
Lavinia spoke not, but shook her little sister till the hat flew off her
head, and she had only breath enough left to declare with unquenched
ardour that she would do it again the very next chance she got.
Lectures, laughter, and longings for 'my Comte' beguiled the remainder
of the way, and _Moulang_ (as Mat pronounced Moulins) was reached after
a pleasant trip through a green country, picturesque with the white
cattle of Berri. There was not much to see, but the town was so quaint
and quiet, that Amanda was seized with one of her remarkable projects.
'Let us find a little house somewhere and stay a week or two. I fain
would rest and ruminate among the white cows for a while; have a little
washing done, and slowly prepare to emerge into the world again. Lyons
is our next point, and there we must bid adieu to freedom and
shawl-straps.'
'Very well, dear,' responded Lavinia, with resignation, having learned
that the best way to curb these aberrations of genius was to give in,
and let circumstances prove their impracticability.
So Amanda inquired of the landlady if such a rustic cot could be found.
Whereupon the dingy little woman clasped her dingy little hands, and
declared that she had exactly the charming retreat desired. Truly yes,
and she would at once make her toilette, order out the carriage, and
display this lovely villa to the dear ladies.
With many misgivings the three squeezed themselves into a square
clothes-basket on wheels, drawn by an immense, bony, white horse, driven
by a striped boy, and adorned by Madame, in a towering bonnet, laden
with amazing fruit, flowers, and vegetables. Lavinia counted three
tomatoes, a bunch of grapes, poppies and pansies, wheat ears and
blackberry-vines, a red, red rose, and one small lettuce, with glass
dewdrops and green grubs lavishly sprinkled over it. A truly superb
_chapeau_ and a memorable one.
Away they trundled through stony streets, dusty roads, waste grounds,
marshy meadows, and tumbled-down pleasure-gardens, till the
clothes-basket turned down a lane, and the bony horse stopped at length
before a door in a high red wall.
'Behold!' cried madame, leading them with much clanking of keys, into a
cabbage-garden. A small tool-house stood among the garden-stuff, with
brick floors, very dirty windows, and the atmosphere of a tomb. Bags of
seed, wheel-barrows, onions, and dust cumbered the ground. Empty bottles
stood on the old table, cigar ends lay thick upon the hearth, and a
trifle of gay crockery adorned the mantel-piece.
'See, then, here is a _salon_, so cool, so calm. Above is a room with
beds, and around the garden where the ladies can sit all day. A maid can
achieve the breakfast here, and my carriage can come for them to dine at
the hotel. Is it not charmingly arranged?
'It is simply awful,' said Mat, aghast at the prospect.
'Settle it as you like, dear, only I'm afraid I couldn't stay _very_
long on account of the dampness,' observed Lavinia, cheerfully, as she
put a hoe-handle under her feet and wiped the blue mould from a
three-legged chair.
'It won't do, so I'll tell her you are an invalid and very particular,'
said Amanda, with another inspiration, as she led the landlady forth to
break the blow tenderly.
'My neuralgia is useful if it isn't ornamental; and what a comfort that
is!' said Lavinia, as she lightly threw a large cockroach out of window,
dodged a wasp, and crushed a fat spider.
And so it was in many ways. If the party wanted a car to themselves,
Granny was ordered to lie down and groan dismally, which caused other
travellers to shun the poor invalid. If rooms did not suit, suffering
Madame _must_ have sun or perish. Late lunches, easy carriages, extra
blankets, every sort of comfort was for her, whether she wanted them or
not.
'Shall I be sick or well?' was always the first question when an
invitation came, for 'my sister's delicate health' was the standing
excuse when parties palled, or best gowns were not get-at-able.
While Amanda conferred with the hostess among the cabbages, Mat
discovered that the picturesque white cattle in the field close by were
extremely fierce and unsocial; that there was no house in sight, and the
venerable horse and shay would never sustain many trips to and fro to
dinner at the hotel. Lavinia poked about the house, and soon satisfied
herself that it abounded in every species of what Fanny Kemble calls
'entomological inconvenience,' and an atmosphere admirably calculated to
introduce cholera to the inhabitants of Moulins.
'It is all settled; let us return,' said Amanda, appearing at last with
an air of triumph, having appeased the old lady by eating green
currants, and admiring an earwiggy arbour, commanding a fine view of a
marsh where frogs were piping and cool mists rising as the sun set.
The chickens were tough at dinner, the wine bitter, the bread sour, but
no one reproached Amanda as the cause of this change. And when the
hostess bowed them out, next day, without a smile, they drove away,
conscious only of deep gratitude that they were saved from leaving their
bones to moulder among the cabbages of Moulins.
'Now we return to civilisation, good clothes, and Christian food,' said
Lavinia, as they surveyed their fine rooms at the Grand Hotel, Lyons.
'Likewise letters and luggage,' added Amanda, as the maid brought in a
bundle of letters, and two porters came bumping up with the trunks.
'Well, I've enjoyed the trip immensely, though nothing very remarkable
has happened,' said Mat, diving into her private ark with satisfaction.
'I should like to wander in the wilderness for years, if I could hear
from my family at intervals,' said Lavinia, briskly breaking open the
plump, travel-worn letters.
'Then you consider our trip a success?' asked Amanda, pausing in the act
of removing the dust from her noble countenance.
'A perfect success! We have done what we planned, had no mishaps, seen
and enjoyed much, quarrelled not at all, laughed a great deal, and been
altogether festive, thanks to you. I shall hang my shawl-strap on the
castle wall as a trophy of the prowess of my Amanda, and the success of
the last Declaration of American Independence,' replied Lavinia.
'I, also,' said Mat, opening her bundle for the one hundreth and last
time.
'You do me proud; I humbly thank you,' and with a superb curtsy the
commander-in-chief modestly retired behind the towel.
IV.
_SWITZERLAND._
'My children, listen to the words of wisdom ere it is too late,' began
Lavinia, as the three sat about in dressing-gowns after a busy day in
Geneva.
'We listen, go on, Granny,' replied the irreverent girls.
'If we stay here a week longer, we are ruined. Firstly, this Metropole
is an expensive hotel; also noisy and full of fashionable people, whom I
hate. Secondly, the allurements of the jewellers' shops are too much for
us, and we had better flee before we spend all our money. Thirdly, if
war does break out along the Rhine, as rumour now predicts, Geneva will
be crammed with people whose plans, like ours, are upset; therefore we
had better skip across the lake, and secure a comfortable place for
ourselves at Vevey or Montreaux, for we shall probably have to winter
there.'
'Hear, hear! we will do it, and if Italy doesn't get over her revolution
in time for us to go to Rome, we must content ourselves with some nook
in this refuge for all wanderers on the face of the continent,' said
Amanda.
'But I like Geneva so much. It's such fun to watch the splendid waiters
file in at dinner, looking like young gentlemen ready for a ball; the
house is so gay, and the shops!--never did I dream of such richness
before. Do stay another week and buy a few more things,' prayed Matilda,
who spent most of her time gloating over the jewelry, and tempting her
sister to buy all manner of useless gauds.
'No: we will go to-morrow. I know of several good _pensions_ at Vevey,
so we are sure of getting in somewhere. Pack at once, and let us flee,'
returned Lavinia, who, having bought a watch, a ring, and a locket, felt
that it was time to go.
And go they did, settling for a month at Bex, a little town up the
valley of the Rhone, remarkable for its heat, its dirt, its lovely
scenery, and the remarkable perfection to which its inhabitants had
brought the _goître_, nearly every one being blessed with an unsightly
bunch upon the neck, which they decorated with ribbons and proudly
displayed to the disgusted traveller.
Here in the rambling old Hôtel des Bains, with its balconies, gardens,
and little rooms, the wanderers reposed for a time. A Polish countess,
with her lover, daughter, and governess, conferred distinction upon the
house. An old Hungarian count, who laboured under the delusion that he
descended in a direct line from Zenobia, also adorned the scene. An
artist with two pretty boys, named Alfred Constable Landseer Reynolds
and Allston West Cuyp Vandyke, afforded Matilda much satisfaction.
English mammas with prim daughters of thirty or so still tied to their
apron-strings were to be found, of course, for they are everywhere; also
wandering French folk raving about the war one minute and tearing their
hair over bad coffee the next.
Amanda read newspapers and talked politics with the old count; while
Lavinia, with a paper bag of apricots under one arm and a volume of
Disraeli's novels under the other, spent her shining hours wandering
from balcony to garden, enjoying the heat, which gave her a short
respite from her woes.