_Aix-la-Chapelle, Monday_.--CHARLEMAGNE was doubtless well advised
in selecting this town for his residence. However that be, it is not
a matter for us to dogmatise about. I have heard a lamented friend,
suddenly and all too soon lost, say there are few things more
regrettable than the tendency of the present age to review the actions
of great men, not lost but gone before, and to pass judgment upon them
without having enjoyed the opportunity of hearing what they might have
to say in justification or palliation of the proceedings challenged.
That is true and tersely put. Still I may observe that if C. lived
at this period and had his choice, say between Aix-la-Chapelle and
Homburg or Aix-les-Bains, it is doubtful whether he would have
built his cathedral here. Unlike the two latter watering-places,
Aix-la-Chapelle has other fish to boil besides the invalids who come
hither attracted by the fame of its hot springs. It is a manufacturing
town, and has all the characteristics of one. At Homburg or
Aix-les-Bains you walk up a street, turn a corner and find yourself
among pine-trees, or in a smiling valley with a blue lake blinking
at the sun. Here the baths are in the centre of the town, and, like
a certain starling, you feel you "can't get out."
But invalids musn't be choosers, and if RUSTEM ROOSE sends you
to Aix-la-Chapelle--he's always sending somebody somewhere--to
la-Chapelle you must carry your Aix, in the hope that you may leave
them there.
"I wonder," said the Member for SARK, who as usual is grumbling round,
"if the local female population was less unlovely in CHARLEMAGNE's
time? Probably, since he married with a frequency not excelled by our
HENRY VIII. But what was HILDEGARDE like--HILDEGARDE, his favourite
spouse? If she in any way resembled the women who throng the streets
of Aix-la-Chapelle to-day, C.'s lot was not a happy one. Never in any
city, in either hemisphere, have I suffered such a nightmare of ugly
ill-dressed women as is here found."
That is a most unfair and unjustifiable remark to make. Brimstone
evidently does not agree with SARK who is more disagreeable than ever.
The only thing that has touched his stony nature since he came to Aix
is the unselfish devotion of the local aristocracy to the interests
of the town. Visitors mustering in the Elisengarten for their
morning cups, notice the group of musicians in the orchestra by the
entrance-gate. Every man wears a top-hat, the only head-gear of the
kind seen in Aix. SARK, attracted by this peculiarity, made inquiries,
and learned from an intelligent native that these are nobles in
disguise, who, desirous of contributing to the common weal, turn out
at seven every morning to play the band. They are willing to sink all
social distinctions, save that they _will_ wear the cylindrical hat of
civilisation. Not comfortable, especially in wet weather; but it adds
an air of distinction to the group.
"Very nice of them," SARK grudgingly admits; "but"--he must have
the compensation of a sneer--"imagine our House of Lords forming
themselves into groups to play the band in Palace Yard, with HALSBURY
wielding the mace by way of _bâton_! They'd never do it, TOBY, even in
top-hats. Germany's miles ahead of us in this matter."
Sorry to find Squire of MALWOOD, who spent a morning here on his way
to Wiesbaden, agreeing in SARK's view of the standard of female beauty
at Aix.
"Strange," he mused, "that Nature never makes an ugly flower or tree
or blade of grass; and yet, when it comes to men and women, behold!"
and he swept a massive arm round the blighted scene in the crowded
Kaiserplatz.
A small boy who thought the beneficent stranger in blue serge was
chucking pfennings about the Square, careered wildly round in search
of the treasure. We walked on without undeceiving him. To quote again
from an old friend: "There is nothing more conducive to the production
and maintenance of a healthy mind in a sound body than enterprise and
industry, even when, owing to misapprehension or miscalculation, their
exercise leads to no immediate reward."
It had been quite a surprise one morning to find the SQUIRE striding
into the coffee-room at "Nuellens."
"Thought you were down at Malwood," I said, "looking after your flocks
and herds, your brocoli and your spring onions."
[Illustration:
Ask why was made the gem so small
And why so huge the granite?
Because 'twas meant that men should set
The larger value on it.
]
"So I had hoped to be," he said, as we strolled up and down under the
trees in the Elisengarten. "But the fact is, TOBY, dear boy, I could
not stand the weather. I am of a sensitive nature, and it cut me to
the heart to see cold winds nipping the fruit and trees, the flood of
rain beating down the corn, the oats, and the mangel-wurzel. People
make a mistake about me. They regard me as an ambitious politician,
caring for nothing but the House of Commons and the world of
politics. At heart I am an agriculturist. Give me three acres and
a cow--anybody's, I don't care--and I will settle down in peace and
quietness, remote from political strife, never turning an ear to
listen to the roll of battle at Westminster. I am often distraught
between the attractions of interludes in the lives of CINCINNATUS
and of WILLIAM OF ORANGE's great Minister. Of the two I think I am
more drawn towards the rose-garden at Sheen than by CINCINNATUS's
unploughed land. Before I die I should like to create a new rose and
call it 'The Grand Old Man.'"
Quite a revelation this of the true inwardness of the SQUIRE. Would
astonish some people in London, I fancy, if ever I were to mention
this conversation. But, to quote once more from a revered authority:
"We all live a dual life, and are not actually that which, upon
cursory regard, the passer-by believes us to be. Every gentleman, in
whatever part of the House he may sit, has a skeleton in the cupboard
of his valet."
The SQUIRE stayed here only a morning, passing on to other scenes.
I watched his departure with mingled feelings; sorrow at losing a
delightful companion, and apprehension of what might happen if he
were to remain here to go through the full cure. The place is, as SARK
says, the most brimstony on the same level. You breathe brimstone,
drink it, bathe in it, and take it in at the pores. At the end
of three weeks or a month you are dangerously saturated with the
chemical. An ordinary lucifer match is nothing to a full-bodied
patient at the end of three weeks treatment at Aix-la-Chapelle. If the
SQUIRE had stayed on, I should never have seen his towering frame pass
underneath a doorway without my heart leaping to my mouth. Some day he
would have accidentally struck his head against the lintel and would
have ignited as sure as a gun.
If CHARLEMAGNE were now alive, I feel certain from what I know of him,
he would have exhausted the resources of civilisation in search of a
preventive of this ever-present and dangerous risk. Under CAROLO MAGNO
the patient might have gone about the streets of Aix-la-Chapelle with
sweet carelessness, knowing that, however much brimstone he carried,
he would strike only on the box.
* * * * *
[Illustration: OUR COMPATRIOTS ABROAD.
"AND HOW DID YOU LIKE SWITZERLAND?"
"OH, IMMENSELY! IT WAS OUR FIRST VISIT, YOU KNOW!"
"AND DID YOU GO ON INTO ITALY?"
"WELL, NO. WE FOUND A HOTEL AT LAUSANNE WHERE THERE WAS A FIRST-RATE
TENNIS-LAWN, YOU KNOW--QUITE AS GOOD AS OURS AT HOME. SO WE SPENT THE
WHOLE OF OUR HOLIDAY THERE, AND PLAYED LAWN-TENNIS ALL DAY LONG!"]
* * * * *