Yacht _Sauterelle_,
_17th August_.
[Sidenote: _Yacht "Sauterelle"_]
Dearest Mamma,--I am writing as we float down the Seine, it is too
enchanting. We are a party of ten. The Comte and Comtesse de Tournelle;
her mother, the Baronne de Larnac, and her uncle, the Baron de Frémond,
Jean, Héloise, and me; the Marquise de Vermondoise, and two young men,
officers in the Cavalry, stationed at Versailles. One is the Vicomte
Gaston de la Trémors, and the other's name is so long that I can't get
it, so you must know him by "Antoine"--he is some sort of a relation of
Héloise's. The Baronne is a delightful person, the remains of extreme
good looks and distinction. She was a beauty under the Empire, and her
feet are so small, she is just as _soignée_ as if she was young, and so
vain and human. She lives with her daughter while they are in the
country--it seems the custom here, these huge family parties living
together all the summer.
[Sidenote: _A Visit of Ceremony_]
The young people have their _appartement_ in the Champs Elysées in
Paris, and the old ones go to the family hotel in the _Faubourg St.
Germain._ We _did_ say a lot of polite things when we went to pay our
visit yesterday, and although they know one another so well--as it was
a "visit of ceremony" to introduce me--we all had our best clothes on,
and sat in the large salon--(there are four Louis XVI. arm chairs,
sticking out each side of the fireplaces, in all the salons here).
Héloise and the Comtesse de Tournelle are great friends. The Comte de
Tournelle is charming, he is like the people in the last century
Memoirs, he ought to have powdered hair, and his manners have a
distinction and a wit quite unlike anything in England. One can see he
is descended from people who had their heads cut off for being
aristocrats. Jean says he does not belong to _le Sporting_, and is
fearfully effeminate. He can't even put on his own socks without his
valet, and he never rides or bicycles or anything, but just does a
little motor-carring, and fights a few duels.
The Comtesse de Tournelle is small and young and rather dull; she
reads a great deal. The old boy, the Baron de Frémond (he owns the
_Sauterelle_) is a jolly old soul, and chaffs his sister and niece, and
every one, all the time, and thinks it so funny to talk fearful
English. The two young men haven't looked at me much. They are in
uniform! and they put their heels together and bowed deeply when they
were introduced, but we haven't spoken yet. The Marquise de Vermondoise
is perfectly lovely, so fascinating, with such a queer deep voice, and
one tooth at the side of the front missing; and her tongue keeps
getting in there when she speaks, which gives her a kind of lisp, and
it is awfully attractive. I think de Tournelle would like to kiss her,
by the way he looked at her when she thanked him for handing her on
board.
[Sidenote: _The Invaluable Hippolyte_]
It is a steam yacht with a wee cabin, and a deck above that, with seats
looking out each side, like old omnibuses, and in the stern (if that
means the back part) are the sailors and the engines, and the oddest
arrangement of cooking apparatus. You should just taste the exquisite
breakfasts that Hippolyte (the Baronne de Larnac's _maître d'hôtel_)
cooked for us this morning after we started. He is the queerest
creature, with a face like a baboon, and side whiskers, and the rest a
deep blue from shaving. The Baronne says she could not live without
him; he is a splendid cook, and a perfect _femme de chambre_, and ready
for anything. He is much more familiar than we should ever let a
servant be in England. It was rough all the morning, quite waves. The
Seine is only half a mile from the Château de Croixmare, and runs past
the Tournelles' garden, so they have a private landing stage, and we
all embarked from there. Jean and the Comte are dressed in beautiful
English blue serges, and look neat enough to be under a glass case. The
old Baron does not care what he wears, and this morning while he was
working with the sailors had on a black Sunday coat!
The Baronne kept screaming when the boat rocked a little. "Nous ferons
naufrage! Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!" and the Vicomte tried to comfort her,
but she did not stop till Hippolyte popped his head out of the cabin
and said, "Pas de danger! et il ne faut pas que Mme. la Baronne fasse
la Bebête!"
At _déjeûner_ we had only one plate each, and one knife and fork. It
was so windy we could not have it under the awning in the bows, and the
cabin is so narrow that the seats are against the wall, and the table
in the middle. No one can pass to wait, so between the courses we
washed our plates in the Seine, out of the window. It _was_ gay! They
are all so witty, but it is not considered correct to talk just to
one's neighbour, a conversation _à deux_. Everything must be general,
so it is a continual sharpening of wits, and one has to shout a good
deal, as otherwise, with every one talking at once, one would not be
heard. I know French pretty well as you know, but they say a lot of
strange things I can't understand, and whenever I answer or ask why,
they go into fits of laughter and say, "Est elle gentille l'enfant!
hein!"
We are going to stop at the next small village to post the letters, so
good-bye, dear Mamma.--Your affectionate daughter, Elizabeth.
_P.S._--I hope you won't get muddled, Mamma, with all their names, it
takes so long writing the whole thing, so please remember Mme. de
Larnac is the "Baronne," Monsieur de Frémond is the "Baron," Monsieur
de Tournelle is the "Comte," Mme. de Tournelle is the "Comtesse," Mme.
de Vermondoise is the "Marquise," Monsieur de la Trémors is the
"Vicomte," and "Antoine" is the other officer. So if I haven't always
time to put their names you will know now which they are.
Vernon, Yacht _Sauterelle_,
_Thursday morning_.
[Sidenote: _Vernon_]
Dearest Mamma,--The scenery we came through yesterday is quite
beautiful, but I did not pay so much attention to it as I might have
done, because Jean and the Comte would talk to me. You would be amused
at Vernon, where we stayed the night in _such_ an inn! I believe it is
the only one in the place, and as old as the hills. You get at the
bedrooms from an open gallery that runs round the courtyard, and that
smells of garlic and stables. We got here about six, and started _en
masse_ to inspect the rooms. Hippolyte had engaged them beforehand, and
seemed rather apologetic about them, and finally, when there did not
appear half enough to go round, he shrugged his shoulders almost up to
his ears and said, "Que voulez vous!" and that "Ces Messieurs" would
have to be "très bourgeois en voyage," and that there was nothing for
it but that Mme. la Comtesse de Tournelle should "partager
l'appartement de Monsieur le Comte de Tournelle," and that Monsieur le
Comte de Croixmare would have to extend like hospitality to Mme. la
Comtesse de Croixmare. This caused shrieks of derision. Héloise said
she would prefer to sleep on the dining-room table, and "Antoine" said
he thought people ought to be a little more careful of their
reputations even _en voyage_. Finally they unearthed a baby's cot in
the room that Hippolyte had designed for the Croixmare menage, and de
Tournelle said it was the very thing for me, but Jean replied, "Mon
cher ami c'est une Bébé beaucoup trop emoustillante," which I thought
very rude, just as if I snored, or something dreadful like that. Then,
after a further prowl, a fearful little hole was discovered beyond,
with no curtains to the windows, or blinds, or shutters, just a scrap
of net. The face of Agnès when she saw it!
[Sidenote: _A Necessary Precaution_]
Dinner was not until seven, so Jean and I went out for a walk; as
Hippolyte advised us to try and find a chemist and buy some flea
powder. "Je trouverai ça plus prudent," he said. Jean is getting quite
natural with me now, and isn't so awfully polite. The chemist took us
for a honeymoon couple (as, of course, if I had been French I could not
have gone for a walk with Jean alone). He--the chemist--was so
sympathetic, he had only one packet of powder left, he said, as so much
was required by the _voyageurs_ and inhabitants that he was out of it
(that did not sound a pleasant prospect for our night)--"Mais, madame"
(that's me), "n'est pas assez grasse pour les attirer," he added by way
of consolation.
It was spitting with rain when we got back, and they all made such a
fuss for fear I had got wet, and they would not for worlds stir out of
doors to see the church or anything, which I heard is very picturesque.
We had such an amusing dinner, the food was wonderful, considering the
place, but a _horrible_ cloth and pewter forks and spoons. There were
two _officiers_ at another table (only infantry), and they were _so_
interested in our party.
[Sidenote: _Close Quarters_]
"Antoine" sat next to me, and in a pause in the general conversation he
said to me (it is the first time he has addressed me directly), "Il
fait mauvais temps, mademoiselle." I have heard him saying all kinds of
_drôle_ things to the others, so it shows he can be quite intelligent.
It is just because I am not married I suppose, so I said that is what
English people always spoke about--the weather--and I wanted to hear
something different in France. He seemed perfectly shocked, and hardly
spoke to me after that, but the Vicomte, who was listening, began at
once to say flattering things across the table. They all make
compliments upon my French, and are very gay and kind, but I wish they
did not eat so badly. The Comte and the Marquise, who are cousins, and
of the very oldest noblesse, are the worst--one daren't look sometimes.
The Comtesse is a little better, but then her family is only Empire,
and Jean and Héloise are fairly decent.
I could bear most of it, if it wasn't for the peppermint glasses at the
end, which the men have. The whole party are very French, not a bit
like the people we see at Cannes, who have been much with the English.
It is a different thing altogether. When dinner was over the rain
stopped, and after a lot of talk--as to whether the ground would be too
damp or not--we at last ventured for a walk down to the bridge and
back. Then we returned and commenced a general powdering of the beds,
beginning with the de Tournelles' apartment; next we went to the
Marquise's--she had such an exquisite nightgown laid out, it was made
of pink chiffon. When we got to my room they made all kinds of
sympathies for me having such a small and stuffy place. The powder was
all gone before we could sprinkle the Baronne's bed. Agnès was not
quite so uppish undressing me as usual. Perhaps she realised this part
of her France was not so good as England.
Next morning when I got down--we had arranged to have our _premier
déjeûner_ all together, not in our rooms, as we were to make such an
early start--"Antoine" and Héloise were already there. The Vicomte and
the Baronne came in soon after; he at once began: "Comme Mlle. est
ravissante le soir! un petit ange à son déshabillé! Une si éblouissante
chevelure!"
[Sidenote: _A Conjugal Experiment_]
The wretch had been watching me from the opposite gallery, wasn't it
_odious_ of him, Mamma? No Englishman would have done such a thing. I
_was_ angry, but Héloise said it was no use, that I must get accustomed
to "les habitudes de voyage," and that she did not suppose he had
really looked, it was only to tease me. _But I believe he had_--anyway
from that moment de la Trémors has been always talking to me. Presently
while we were eating our rolls, the garçon, a Parisian (who was also
the ostler), came in and said: Would Madame--indicating the
Baronne--come up to "Mademoiselle," who wished to speak to her? We
could not think who he could mean, as I was the only "Mademoiselle" of
the party. The Baronne told him so. "Mais non!" he said, jerking his
thumb in the direction of upstairs, "La demoiselle dans la chambre de
Monsieur."
"Mais que dites vous mon brave homme!" screamed the Baronne and
Héloise together. The man was quite annoyed.
"Je dis ce que je dis et je m'en fiche pas mal! la petite demoiselle
blonde, dans la chambre de Monsieur le Comte de Tournelle."
At that moment the Comtesse came in, so with another jerk of his thumb
at her, "Comment! vous ne me croyez pas?" he said, "tiens--la voilà!"
and he bounced out of the room.
"Antoine" said it served them perfectly right, that he had warned them
their reputations would suffer if husbands and wives camped together.
Even a place like Vernon, he said, was sufficiently enlightened to find
the situation impossible.
I don't know what it all meant, but the Comtesse de Tournelle is now
called "la demoiselle!"
The two young men leave us for the day, to do their duty at Versailles,
but are to meet us again at Rouen in the evening, with leave for a few
days. We are just going on board, so I will finish this presently.
_5 p.m._--The scenery is too beautiful after you pass Vernon, and it
was so interesting getting in and out of the locks. The Baronne and I
and Jean talked together on the raised deck, while de Tournelle read to
the Marquise in the bows. The old Baron is mostly with the sailors, and
Héloise slept a good deal. Every now and then Hippolyte came out from
his cooking place, and one saw his baboon face appearing on a level
with the deck floor, and he would explain all the places we passed, and
it always ended with: "Il ne faut pas que Mme. La Baronne pionce c'est
très très intéressant."
I can't tell you what a _drôle_ creature he is. Héloise woke up
presently and talked to me; she said if it was not for the Tournelles
she could not stand the Château de Croixmare and Victorine. It appears
too, that when in Paris, Godmamma always drives in the Bois at the
wrong times, and will have her opera box on the nights no one is there,
and that irritates Héloise.
I can't think why papa and she were such friends. I don't believe if he
had been alive now, and accustomed to really nice people like you and
me, he would have been able to put up with her.
I shall post this directly we land, I am writing on the cabin table,
and now good-bye.--Your affectionate daughter, Elizabeth.