ISCHL
We were wondering where we should go next with the delicious idle wonder
of those who drop off the train at a moment's notice if a fellow
passenger vouchsafes an alluring description of a certain village, or if
the approach from the car window attracts. Only those who have bound
themselves down on a European tour to an itinerary can understand the
freedom and delight of idle wanderings such as ours. We never feel
compelled to go on even one mile from where we thought for a moment we
should like to stop.
It was Jimmie who made this plan possible, without the friction and
unnecessary expense which we should have incurred had we followed this
plan, and bought tickets from one city to another, but in fussing around
information bureaux and railway stations, Jimmie unearthed the
information that one can buy circular tickets of a certain route,
embodying from one to three months in time, and including all the spice
for a picturesque trip of Germany and Austria, where one would naturally
like to travel. By purchasing these little books with the tickets in the
form of coupons at the railway station we saved the additional fee which
the tourist agent usually exacts, and this frugal act so filled us with
joy that our trip proved unusually expensive, for at every stop we
indulged in a small extravagance which we felt that we could well afford
on account of this accidental saving at the start. We have been so amply
repaid at every pause on our journey that it has become a matter of
pride with Jimmie and me to have no falling off from the standard we had
set. Therefore Jimmie came and sat down by me one morning and said:
"Ever hear of Ischl?"
"No," I said, "what is it? But I warn you beforehand that I sha'n't
touch it if it's a mixture of sarsaparilla and ginger ale, or lime juice
and red ink, or anything like that thing you--"
"It isn't a drink," said Jimmie, in disgust. "It's a town! If people
who read your stuff realised how little you know--"
"I am perfectly satisfied," I said, looking at him firmly, "that it
isn't twenty minutes since you found what Ischl is yourself. You never
learned a thing in your life that you didn't bring it to me as though
you had known it for ever, whereas your information is always so fresh
that it's still bubbling, and if Kissingen is a town as well as a drink,
why shouldn't Ischl be a drink as well as a town?"
My triumphant manner was a little annoying that early in the morning,
but as Jimmie really had something to say, my gauntlet lay where I cast
it, unnoticed by the adversary.
"Now Ischl," said Jimmie, "is where the Austrian Emperor has his summer
residence. It is tucked up in the hills with drives which you would call
'heavenly.' People from all over Austria gather there during the season.
There will be royalty for my wife; German officers for Bee; heaps of
people for you to stare at, and as for me, I don't need any attraction.
I can be perfectly happy where there is no strife and where I can enjoy
the delight of a small but interesting family party."
I smiled at this statement, for when Jimmie is not carefully stirring me
up for argument or battle, I always feel his pulse to see if he is ill.
"It will probably please Bee and Mrs. Jimmie," I said, doubtfully, "and
they have been _so_ good to us at the Achensee and Salzburg, perhaps--"
"That's just what I was thinking," said Jimmie. "You're a good old sort.
You're as square as a man."
At this, I positively gurgled with delight, for it is not once in a
million--no, not once in ten million years that Jimmie says anything
decent about me to my face. I sometimes hear rumours of approving
remarks that he makes behind my back, but I never have been able to run
any of them to earth.
"If Ischl is a royal country-seat," said Jimmie, "I'll bet you a '_blaue
cravatte_' for yourself against a '_blaue cravatte_' for myself--both to
come from Charvet's--that Bee will know all about it."
"You can't bet with me on that because I know I'd lose. I'll bet that
they both know all about it. Let's ask them."
"Ever hear of Ischl, Bee?" said Jimmie, as Bee appeared as smartly got
up as if she were in New Bond Street.
"Did I ever hear of Ischl?" repeated Bee, in surprise. "Why, certainly.
Ischl is where Emperor Franz Josef has his summer home. He is there now
with his entire suite, and next Wednesday is his birthday."
"Say 'geburt-day,' Bee," I pleaded. Nobody paid any attention. Jimmie
looked meekly at Bee.
"Have you decided on a hotel there?" he asked, ironically. But Bee
flinched not.
"There are two good ones--the 'Kaiserin Elisabeth' and the 'Goldenes
Kreuz.' It will probably be very crowded, for they always celebrate the
Emperor's birthday."
Jimmie and I looked at each other helplessly. She knew all about Ischl,
and had intended to steer the whole four of us there, while Jimmie and I
had just heard of it, and were planning to give her a nice little
surprise!
Jimmie said nothing, but took his hat and went out to telegraph for
rooms.
"I'm glad I didn't bet with you, Jimmie," I whispered as he passed me.
It is the merest suspicion of a journey from Salzburg to Ischl, but it
consumes several hours, because every inch of the country on both sides
of the car is worth looking at. The little train creeps along now at the
foot of a mountain, now at the edge of a lake, and it is such a vision
of loveliness that even those unfeeling persons who "don't care for
scenery" would be roused from their lethargy by the gentle seductiveness
of its beauty. Ischl appears when you are least looking for it, tucked
in the hollow of a mountain's arm as lovingly as ever a baby was
cradled.
Our rooms at the Goldenes Kreuz had a wide balcony where our breakfasts
were served, and commanded not only a view of the mountains and valleys,
and a rushing stream, but afforded us our only meal where we could get
plenty of air.
Our first experience in the general dining-room was a revelation of many
things. The room was air-tight. Not a window or door was permitted to
be opened the smallest crack. The men smoked all through dinner, and
quite a number of women smoked from one to a dozen cigarettes held in
all manner of curious cigarette-holders, some of which were only a
handle with a ring for the cigarette, something like our opera-glass
handles, while others were the more familiar mouthpieces. But all were
jewelled and handsome, and the women who used them were all elderly. Two
women smoked strong black cigars, but as the smokers were very smart and
went in court society, Bee's eyes only grew round and big, and she
ventured no word of criticism.
But all this smoke and lack of ventilation made the air very thick and
hot and unbreathable for us, so that we complained to the proprietor,
who sympathised with us so deeply that he nearly wept, but he assured us
that Austrians were even worse than the French in their fear of a
draught, and he declared that while he would very willingly open all the
windows, and as far as he was concerned, he himself revelled in fresh
air,--nevertheless, if he should follow our advice, his hotel would be
emptied the next day of all but our one American party.
In vain we reminded him that it was August. Not a window nor a door was
opened in that dining-room while we were there.
But we got along very well, for we are not too strenuous in our
demands,--especially when we realise that we cannot get them acceded
to,--so in lieu of air we breathed smoke, and in watching the people we
soon forgot all about it. Air is not essential after all when royalty is
present.
If not royalty, at least the next thing to it. The gorgeous and glorious
officers of his Majesty's suite, handsome, distinguished, young, and
ever near the throne! Bee's eyes were glued to their table. We were
afraid the poor dear would never pull through. She scarcely ate any
dinner.
"Bee," I whispered, pulling her dress under the table, "you really must
not pay them such marked attention. Remember your husband and baby--far
away, to be sure, but still _there_!"
"What difference does it make, I should like to know," was Bee's
callous reply. "They can't speak English."
Now of all the irrelevant retorts!
Bee had so evidently capitulated to the whole lot that I stole a few
furtive glances myself, and while I was rewarded by some brief interest
from their table, and I felt sure that they were talking about us, it
seemed to me that the interest of _The One_, the tallest, handsomest,
and the one most suited for a pedestal in Central Park, was overlooking
both Bee's and my undeniable attractions, and was concentrating all his
fiery, hawk-like glances upon Mrs. Jimmie, whose total unconsciousness
of her great beauty is one of her supreme charms. She wore a black lace
gown that night with sleeves which came not quite to her elbow; no
bracelets to mar those perfect arms, but her hands fairly loaded with
rings. She never looks at any other man except Jimmie, and Jimmie thinks
that the earth exists simply for her. Poor Jimmie never can express his
emotion in proper words, but I have seen his eyes fill with tears of
love and pride as he whispered to me, "Isn't she ripping to-night?"
She certainly was "ripping" that first night at Ischl--far more ripping
than any titled dame there, upon whose mature ugliness all her calm
attention was bestowed, while I was on the verge of collapse when I saw
that Bee's love was like to go unrequited, while Mrs. Jimmie's rings and
beauty--I name her attractions in their proper order as far as I was
able to gather from the enamoured officer's glances--snatched the prize.
The situation as it bade fair to develop was far, far too sacred to
permit of ribald speech, so with the greatest difficulty I held my
tongue. For my only natural confidant, Jimmie, was plainly disqualified
in this case.
The next morning Jimmie wanted us to drive, but I, hoping to give
matters an onward fillip, spoke so warmly in favour of a morning stroll
in the promenade "to see people" that he gave in, and Bee's attentions
to me while garbing ourselves were so marked that I almost hoped I had
been wrong the night before.
But alas for our ignorance of officers' duties! Not one of those in his
Majesty's suite was visible, although all the old ladies were out in
force, and some very pretty Austrian girls appeared, smartly gowned, and
most of them carrying slender little gold or silver mounted sticks.
Those sticks caught Bee's eye at once, and she bought one before the
hour was over, much to Jimmie's disgust.
But his expostulations produced no effect. It seemed queer to me--her
sister--that he should waste his breath. But Jimmie was obliged to
relieve his mind by saying that it looked too pronounced.
"It's all right for an Austrian," said Jimmie, wagging his head. "But
everybody knows you are an American, and it doesn't look right."
"Doesn't it go with my costume, Jimmie?" demanded Bee. "Look me over!
Doesn't it match?"
Alas for Jimmie! It _did_ match. Bee's carrying it simply looked saucy,
not loud. I couldn't have carried it--I should have tripped over it, and
fallen down. Mrs. Jimmie would have dropped or broken it. Bee and that
stick simply fitted each other--there in Ischl! Nowhere else.
At luncheon, just as we were going out, the four officers came in. We
passed them in the doorway. Bee looked desperate. They lined up to allow
us to pass, and for a moment I thought Bee was going to snatch one, and
make her escape. But she compromised, on seeing them seat themselves at
the table we had just left, by sending Jimmie back to look for her
handkerchief.
"If that doesn't fetch an acquaintance," Bee's look seemed to say, "with
Jimmie burrowing around on the floor among their boots and spurs, I
shall have but a poor opinion of Austrian ingenuity."
Jimmie was gone half an hour. When he came back, his face was too
innocent. He seated himself quietly, and after saying, "It wasn't there,
Bee," he went on smoking placidly.
Now, any one who knows anything about anything, cannot fail to admit
that my sister ought either to be at the head of Tammany Hall or the
army. She gave one look at Jimmie's suspiciously bland countenance, then
gathered up her gloves, her veil and stick, and went slowly up-stairs,
apparently in a brown study.
Jimmie is clever, but he is no match for a clever woman. No man _is_,
for that matter.
The moment she was out of sight, he began to chuckle.
"Great Scott," he whispered, bringing our three heads together by a
gesture. "If Bee knew that all those officers we just passed went right
in, and sat down at the very table we left, so that when she sent me for
her handkerchief I had to run bang into them, I wonder if she would have
gone up-stairs so calmly!"
"Why didn't you tell her?" I cried.
"I was going to--after I had got her curiosity up a little. They were
very polite, and nothing would do but I must sit down, and have a glass
of beer with them. I didn't want that, so I took a cigar, and they all
nearly fell over themselves to offer me one--from the most beautiful
cigar cases you ever saw. That tall chap with the eyes had one of gold,
with the Tzar's face done in enamel, surmounted by the imperial crown in
diamonds, and an inscription on the inside showing that the Tzar gave
it to him. I took one out of that case for Bee's sake. I'll save her the
stub!"
"Did they ask any questions about us?" I said, guilelessly.
"Yes, heaps. And when I told them how devoted my wife was to the Empress
Elizabeth they offered to make up a party to show us two of the shrines
she built near here, and invited us to dine afterward. So I made it for
this afternoon at three. Don't tell Bee. Let's surprise her. Her eyes
will pop clear out of her head when she sees them."
Within ten minutes I had told Bee everything I knew, and had even
enlarged upon it a little, and Bee, in a holy delight, was preparing to
robe herself in costly array. She solemnly promised me to be surprised
when she saw them.
Only two of them could leave--The One, whose name shall be Count Andreae
von Engel, and the other, Baron Oscar von Furzmann. They had a
four-seated carriage for us, while they accompanied us on horseback.
That drive was one of the most romantic episodes which ever came into
my prosaic life. To be sure I was not in the romance at all,--neither
one of those bottle-green knights had an eye for _me_--but I was there,
and I saw and heard and enjoyed it more than anybody.
Bee, with the craft of a fox, offered to sit riding backward with
Jimmie, knowing that she must thus perforce be face to face with the
horsemen. But in this she was outwitted by a mere man, but a man skilled
in intrigue and court diplomacy. Although the road was narrow and
dangerous, twisting over mountains and beside rushing streams, The One,
in order to feast his eyes on Mrs. Jimmie, permitted his horse to curvet
and caracole as if he were in tourney. Jimmie, while the count was doing
it, managed to whisper to me: "Tom Sawyer showing off," but _I_ knew
that it was for a second purpose which counted for even more than the
first.
I must admit that this Austrian diplomat was very skilful, and managed
it in a way to throw the unsuspicious wholly off his guard, for, in
order not to make his manoeuvres too marked, he often rode ahead of the
carriage, when, by turning in his saddle, he could look back and fling
his ardent glances in our direction. They not only overshot me, but
glanced as harmlessly off Mrs. Jimmie's arrow-proof armour of complete
unconsciousness as if they had hurtled aimlessly over her handsome head.
I was in ecstasies, for Bee's wholesome admiration of her stunning
officer and his undeniably unusual horsemanship prevented her from being
rendered in any way uncomfortable by his action, for truth to tell, Bee
_was_ a target for the roving glances of Baron von Furzmann, but he was
so hopelessly the wrong man that she not only was unaware of it then but
vehemently disclaimed it when I enlightened her later. Alas and alack!
The wrong man is always the wrong man, and never can take the place of
the right man, no matter what his country or speech.
It was supremely interesting to talk with men who had known the
beautiful Empress well; to whom her living beauty was as familiar as her
pictured loveliness was to us. We plied them with countless questions as
to her wonderful horsemanship, her daily appearance, her dress, her
conversation, and her learning. Their enthusiastic praise of her was
genuine and spontaneous.
I was dying to ask minute questions about the Crown Prince's affair, but
just enough sense was left in my make-up to know that I must not. They
might whisper their gossip to each other who knew all of the truth
anyway, but to strangers their loyalty would compel them to suppress not
only what they themselves knew but what we knew to be the truth. Both of
these officers had known Prince Rudie well; had hunted with him;
travelled with him; served with him; had often been at his hunting-lodge
Mayerling, where he died, but, when they came to refer to this part of
their narrative, they were so visibly embarrassed that we changed the
subject to the Princess Stephanie. Here, although they were studiously
careful to put nothing into actual words, their manner plainly indicated
their contempt and dislike of the heavy Belgian Princess, who was so
poor a helpmeet for the graceful and picturesque figure of the Crown
Prince of Austria.
"Did you know the lady in her Majesty's suite who wrote 'The Martyrdom
of an Empress?'" I demanded, boldly.
Von Engel's face flushed darkly.
"I do not know. I am not certain," he stammered.
"Never mind. Don't commit yourself. She was exiled, wasn't she, for
arranging meetings between Prince Rudolph and his _belle amie?_ She was
a dear thing, whoever she was, for she gave him what was probably the
only real happiness he ever knew. And when people love each other well
enough to die together, it means more than most men and women can
boast."
Jimmie trod on my foot just here, so I stopped, but, to his and my
surprise, Mrs. Jimmie not only agreed with me, but added:
"What a misfortune it is that princes and kings and queens must marry
for state reasons, so that love can play no part."
I don't know whether Von Engel had not then put two and two together, so
that he knew that Mrs. Jimmie had her own husband in mind when she made
that speech about love or not. I think not, for I happened to be looking
at him, and for a moment I thought he was going to spring from his
horse right into her lap.
To me the two loveliest women rulers of the world, the ones whose
histories I most grieve over, and with whose temperaments I am most in
sympathy, are the Empress Eugenie of the French and the Empress
Elizabeth of Austria. The Empress Elizabeth was of such a high-strung,
nervous, proud temperament that had there not been madness in her
unfortunate family, all her apparently unbalanced acts could be
accounted for by her imperious and imperial nature, and the stigma of a
mind even partially unbalanced need never have been hers. Many a wife in
the common walks of life has been driven to more insane acts in the eyes
of an unfeeling and critical world than ever the unhappy Empress
Elizabeth committed, and for the same causes. An inhumanly tyrannical
mother-in-law, the most vicious of her vicious kind, whose chief delight
was to torture the high-strung nature she was too small to comprehend; a
husband, encouraged in his not-to-be-borne gallantries by his own
mother, this same monstrous mother-in-law of the Empress; her
children's love aborted by this same fiend in woman form--is it any
marvel that the proud Empress broke away from her splendid torture and
found a sad comfort in travel and study? The wonder of it is that she
chose so mild a remedy. She might have murdered her husband's mother,
and those who knew would have declared her justified. If she had done so
she could scarcely have suffered in her mind more than she did.
When I expressed some of these opinions I discovered that both officers
looked at me with undisguised sympathy. They themselves dared not put
into words such incendiary thoughts, but they welcomed their expression
from another. This was not the first time I had worded the inner
thoughts of a company who dared not speak out themselves, but, as
catspaws are invariably burned, I cannot lay to my soul the flattering
unction that I have escaped their common lot. Bee says I am generally
burned to a cinder.
We had just visited the last of the shrines, which were interesting only
because erected by the Empress, when we were overtaken by a terrific
mountain storm which broke over our heads without warning. The rain came
down in torrents, but not even the officers got wet, for they instantly
produced from some mysterious region rubber capes which completely
enveloped their beautiful uniforms.
I was not sure, but, in the general confusion of closing the carriage
top, I thought I saw Count Andreae whisper to Mrs. Jimmie. I am positive
I heard Von Furzmann whisper to Bee. So, not to be outdone, I leaned
over and whispered to Jimmie. I do so hate to be left out of a thing.
We had a gay little supper at the Kaiserin Elisabeth, but I could not
see that Count Andreae "got any forrarder," as Jimmie would say, for he
literally could not concentrate his attention on Mrs. Jimmie on account
of Bee's attentions to him. Poor Von Furzmann had to content himself
with Jimmie and me.
The next day being the Emperor's birthday, the whole town was gloriously
illuminated, and the splendid old Franz Josef--splendid in spite of his
past irregularities--appeared before his adoring people, with Bee the
most adoring of all his subjects.
There were any number of little parties made up after that, for, of
course, we returned the civility of the officers. But after awhile
Ischl, in spite of the bracing air, and bewitching drives, and
occasional glimpses of royalty, and daily meetings with our beloved
officers, Jimmie and I began to think longingly of green fields and
pastures new. It was a little hard on Bee, and even on Mrs. Jimmie, to
drag them away from the morning promenade, where they always saw the
rank and fashion of Austria. I wondered what Bee's feelings would be at
parting with her loved ones, for most of our conversations lately had
tended toward turning our journeyings aside from Vienna to go north to
the September manoeuvres, in which our friends were to take part. We in
turn combated this by begging them to meet us in Italy in three months.
You should have seen their anguished faces when Jimmie and I mentioned
three months! A week's separation was more than they could think of
without tying crape on their arms. To our amazement they assured us that
a leave was out of the question. Von Engel declared that he had not had
a leave of absence for ten years and he doubted if he could obtain one
on any excuse short of a death in the family.
At last, however, one fine day, with farewell notes and loaded with
flowers, and with the prettiest of parting speeches, we tore ourselves
away and were off for Vienna.
As Bee leaned back in the railway carriage with one glove missing, I
looked to see her very low in her mind, but to my surprise she was
smiling slowly.
"You don't seem to mind leaving them very much," I observed, curiously.
"I haven't left them for long," she replied, drawing her face into
complacent lines. "They are both coming to Vienna on leave."
"On _leave_?" I cried.