[Illustration:

_Lilian Bell_

Duogravure

From the Painting by Oliver Dennett Grover]

Abroad with the Jimmies

BY

LILIAN BELL, AUTHOR OF

"THE LOVE AFFAIRS OF AN OLD MAID, " "THE EXPATRIATES, " ETC. 

LONDON:

WARD, LOCK & CO. , LIMITED, NEW YORK & MELBOURNE. 

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO _My Dear Father_, WHOSE HIGH TYPE OFPATRIOTISM, STEADFAST LOYALTY TO THE GOVERNMENT, AND DEVOTION TO HISFAMILY HAVE TAUGHT ME WHEREIN LIE THE IDEALS OF LIFE. 

Preface

If the critical public had cared to snub Mr. And Mrs. Jimmie and Bee, I, who am a fighting champion of theirs, would never have run the risk ofboring it by a further chronicle of their travels. But from a carefulsurvey of my mail, I may say that the present volume of their doings andundoings is a direct result of the friendships they formed in "As Seenby Me, " and has almost literally been written by request. 

With which statement, as the flushed and nervous singer, who responds tofriendly clappings, comes forward, bows, sings, and retires, so do I, and the curtain falls on the Jimmies and Bee and me, all kissing ourhands to the gallery. 

Contents

 CHAPTER

 I. Our House-boat at Henley

 II. Paris

 III. Strasburg and Baden-Baden

 IV. Stuttgart, Nuremberg, and Bayreuth

 V. The Passion Play

 VI. Munich to the Achensee

 VII. Dancing in the Austrian Tyrol

 VIII. Salzburg

 IX. Ischl

 X. Vienna

 XI. My First Interview with Tolstoy

 XII. At one of the Tolstoy Receptions

 XIII. Shopping Experiences

CHAPTER I

OUR HOUSE-BOAT AT HENLEY

It speaks volumes for an amiability I have always claimed for myselfthrough sundry fierce disputes on the subject with my sister, that, evenafter two years of travel in Europe with her and Mr. And Mrs. Jimmie, they should still wish for my company for a journey across France andGermany to Russia. Bee says it speaks volumes for the tempers of theJimmies, but then Bee is my sister, or to put it more properly, I amBee's sister, and what woman is a heroine to her own sister?

In any event I am not. Bee thinks I am a creature of feeble intelligencewho must be "managed. " Bee loves to "manage" people, and I, who love towatch her circuitous, diplomatic, velvety, crooked way to a straightend, allow myself to be so "managed;" and so after safely disposing ofBilly in the grandmotherly care of Mamma for another six months, Bee andI gaily took ship and landed safely at the door of the Cecil, havingbeen escorted up from Southampton by Jimmie. 

While repeated journeys to Europe lose the thrill of expectantuncertainty which one's first held, yet there is something very pleasingabout "_going back_. " And so we were particularly glad again to joinforces with our friends the Jimmies and travel with them, for they, likeBee and me, travel aimlessly and are never hampered with plans. 

Everybody seems to know that we do not mean business, and nobody hasever dared to ask whether our intentions were serious or not. 

In this frame of mind we floated over to England and had a fortnight of"the season" in London. But this soon palled on us, and we fell into theidle mood of waiting for something to turn up. 

One Sunday morning Bee and Mrs. Jimmie and I were sitting at a littletable near the entrance to the Cecil Hotel, when Jimmie came out of aside door and sat down in front of us, leaning his elbows on the tableand grinning at us in a suspicious silence. We all waited for him tobegin, but he simply sat and smoked and grinned. 

"Well! Well!" I said, impatiently, "What now?"

You would know that Jimmie was an American by the way he smokes. Hesimply eats up cigars, inhales them, chews them. The end of his cigarblazes like a danger signal and breathes like an engine. He can hold hishands and feet still, but his nervousness crops out in his smoking. Finally, exasperated by his continued silence, Bee said, severely:

"Jimmie, have you anything up your sleeve? If so, speak out!"

"Well!" said Jimmie, brushing the cigar ashes off his wife's skirt, "Ithought I'd take you all out to Henley this morning to look at thehouse-boat. "

"House-boat!" shrieked Bee and I in a whisper, clutching Jimmie by thesleeve and lapel of his coat and giving him an ecstatic shake. 

"Are we going to have a house-boat?" asked Bee. 

"We!" said Jimmie. "_I_ am going to have a house-boat, and I am going totake my wife. If you are good perhaps she will ask you out to tea oneafternoon. "

"How many staterooms are there, Jimmie? Can we invite people to staywith us over night?" demanded Bee. 

"You cannot, " said Jimmie, firmly. "I said a house-boat, not a houseparty. "

"I shall ask the duke, " said Bee, clearing her throat in a pleased way. "Can't I, Mrs. Jimmie?"

"Certainly, dear. Ask any one you like. "

"If you do, " growled Jimmie, who hates the duke because he wears glovesin hot weather, "I'll invite the chambermaid and the head-waiter of thishotel. "

"We ought to be starting, " said Mrs. Jimmie, pacifically, and we startedand went and arrived. 

As we were driving to the station I noticed all the way along, and I hadnoticed them ever since we had been in London, large capital H's on awhite background, posted on stone walls, street corners, lampposts, andoccasionally on the sidewalks. 

"What are those H's for, Jimmie?" I asked. To which he replied withthis record-breaking joke:

"Those are the H's that Englishmen have been dropping for generations, and being characteristic of this solid nation, they thus ossified them. "

I forgave Jimmie a good deal for that joke. 

At the pier at Henley a man met us with a little boat and rowed us upthe river, past dozens of house-boats moored along the bank. 

The river had been boomed off for the races, which were to begin thenext day, with little openings here and there for small boats to crossand recross between races. Private house-boat flags, Union Jacks, bunting, and plants made all the house-boats gay, except ours, whichlooked bare and forlorn and guiltless of decoration of any sort. It wasfortunately situated within plain view of where the races would finish, and by using glasses we could see the start. 

Several crews were out practising. One shell which flashed past us helda crew in orange and black sweaters. We had previously noticed thatthere was no American flag on any of the house-boats. 

Orange and black! We nearly stood up in our excitement. 

"What's your college?" yelled Jimmie, hoping they were Americans. 

"Princeton!" they yelled back. 

With that Jimmie ripped open a long pole he was carrying, and the starsand stripes floated out over our shell. The Princeton crew shipped theiroars, snatched off their caps, and responded by giving their collegeyell, ending with "Old Glo-ree! Old Glo-ree!! Old Glo-ree!!!" yelledthree times with all the strength of their deep lungs. 

That little glimpse of America made Bee and me shiver as if with ague, while Jimmie's chin quivered and he muttered something about "darnedsmoke in his eyes. "

"Jimmie, " I said, excitedly, "they are rowing toward us to let us speakif we want to. "

Jimmie waved his hand to them and they pulled up alongside. We exchangedenthusiastic "How-do-do's" with them, although we had never seen one ofthem before. 

"Are you going to row to-morrow?" asked Jimmie. 

"If you are we will decorate the house-boat with orange and black, " Isaid. 

Their faces fell. 

"We are only the Track Team, " said one. "Princeton has no crew, youknow. "

"No crew, " I cried. "Why not?"

"Well, we haven't any more water than we need to wash in, and we cannotrow on the campus. "

"Too many trees, " said another. 

"No water, " I cried, "then won't you ever have a crew?"

"Not until some one gives us a million dollars to dam up a naturalformation that is there and turn the river into it, " said one. 

"I'd give it to you in a minute, if I had it, the way I feel now, " saidJimmie. 

"Well, don't we send crews over here to row?" asked Bee. 

"Cornell sent one, but they were beaten, " said the Captain with a grin. 

"But you wouldn't be beaten, " said Bee, decidedly, with her eye on theCaptain. 

"Come to dinner, all of you, to-morrow night, " I said, genially. 

Mrs. Jimmie looked frightened, but Bee and Jimmie so heartily secondedmy generosity with Jimmie's boat that she resigned herself. 

"Wear your sweaters, " commanded Bee. 

"To dinner?" they said. 

"Certainly!" said Bee, decidedly. "That's the only way people will knowwe are in it. We'll wear shirt-waists to keep you in countenance. "

They accepted with alacrity and we parted with mutual esteem. 

"I wonder what their names are, " said Mrs. Jimmie, reproachfully. 

"And they don't know our boat, " I added. 

"Hi, there!" Jimmie shouted back, "that's our boat yonder--the _Lulu_. "

And with that they all struck up "Lu, Lu, How I love my Lu, " at whichBee blushed most unnecessarily, I thought, and murmured:

"How well a handsome athlete looks with bare arms. "

"And bare legs, " added Jimmie, genially. 

We found so much to do on the house-boat, and Jimmie had brought so muchbunting and so many flags, that Bee volunteered to go back to the Ceciland have our clothes packed up by Mrs. Jimmie's maid, while wedecorated the house-boat. 

The next morning bright and early we rowed down to the landing for Bee. Such a change had taken place on the Thames in twenty-four hours! Therewere hundreds upon hundreds of row-boats bearing girls in duck and menin flannels, and a funny sight it was to Americans to see fully half ofthem with the man lying at his ease on cushions at the end of the boat, while the girls did the rowing. English girls are very clever atpunting, and look quite pretty standing up balancing in the boats andusing the long pole with such skill. 

It may be sportsmanlike, but it cannot fail to look unchivalrous, especially to the Southern-born of Americans, to see how willingEnglishmen are to permit their women to wait upon them even _before_they are married!

American women are not very popular with English women, possibly becausewe get so many of their Englishmen away from them, and we are popularwith only certain of Englishmen, perhaps the more susceptible, possiblythe more broad-minded, but certain it was that as we rowed along weheard whispers from the English boats of "Americans" in much the sametone in which we say "Niggers. "

The river was literally alive with these small craft, going up and down, gathering their parties together and paying friendly little visits tothe neighbouring house-boats, while gay parasols, striped shirt-waists, white flannels, sailor hats, house-boat flags, and gay coloured boatcushions, made the river flash in the sunshine like an electric lightedrainbow. 

Jimmie had spared no expense in illuminating and decorating thehouse-boat. He had the American shield in electric lights surmounted bythe American Eagle holding in his beak a chain of electric bulbs whichwere festooned on each side down to the end of the boat and running downthe poles to the water's edge. A band of red, white, and blue electriclights formed the balustrade of the upper deck, with a row of brilliantscarlet geraniums on the railing. The house-boat next to ours was called"The Primrose, " and when they saw our American emblem they sent over apolite note asking where we got it, and at once ordered a St. Georgeand the Dragon in electric lights, which never came until the Fridayfollowing, when all the races were over. Another house-boat, three boatsfrom ours, was owned by a wealthy brewer and had a pavilion built on theland back of where it was moored and connected by a broad gangplank withthe boat. They used this pavilion for dancing and vaudeville, butalthough it was very nice and we were immensely entertained, still weall decided that it was not much like a house-boat to be so much of thetime on land. 

Each morning we would be wakened by the lapping of the water between theboat and the bank, caused by the early swims of the men from theneighbouring boats. The weather was just cool enough and just warmenough to be delightful. They told us that it generally rained duringHenley week, but some one must have been a mascot, and we, with ourusual becoming modesty, announced that it must have been our Eagle. TheEnglish, however, did not take kindly to that little pleasantry, andonly said, "Fancy" whenever we got it off. 

The dining-room was too small to hold such a large dinner as we gavethe night we entertained the Princeton Track Team, so we had the tablespread on the upper deck in plain view of the craft on the river and ourneighbours on each side. Jimmie had the piano brought up too, when heheard that two of them belonged to the Glee Club and could sing. 

It seemed such a simple thing to us to take up an upright baby grandpiano that we never thought we were doing anything out of the common, until we looked down over the railing and saw that no less than fiftyboats had ranged themselves in front of our house-boat, with as muchcuriosity in our proceedings as if we were going to have a trainedanimal exhibit. There were two English women dining with us, and Iprivately asked one of them what under the sun was the matter. 

"Oh! It is nothing much, " she replied. "We cannot help thinking that youAmericans are so queer. "

"Queer, or not!" I replied, stoutly, "we have things just as we wantthem wherever we go. If we wanted to bring the punt up here and put iton the dining-table filled with flowers, Jimmie would let us, " to whichshe replied, "Fancy!"

The table was very pretty that night. We had orange and black satinribbon down the middle of it and across the sides, finishing in bigbows. The centrepiece was made of black-eyed Susans. We women woreorange and black wherever we could, and the men wore their sweaters asthey had been instructed. The dinner was slow in coming on, so betweencourses we got up and danced. Then the men sang college songs, much tothe scandalisation of our English friends on the next boats, who seemedto regard dinner as a sacrament. Peters, the butler, would lie in waitfor us while we were dancing, to whisper as we careered past him:

"Miss, the fowl is getting cold, " or "Miss, the ice cream is gettingwarm, " but he did it once too often, so Bee waltzed on his foot. Whereathe limped off and we saw no more of him. 

Soon the professional entertainers who ply up and down the river duringHenley week discovered the "Ammurikins, " as they called us, and we hadour first encounter that night with the Thames nigger, a creaturepainfully unlike that delightful commodity at home. The Thames nigger isgenerally a cockney covered with blackening, which only alters his skinand does not change his accent. To us it sounded deliciously funny tohear this self-styled African call us "Leddies, " and say "Halways" andsay "'Aven't yer, now?" They sang in a very indifferent manner, but wererather quick in their retorts. 

Our large uninvited, but welcome audience, who had drawn so near thatthey could not use their oars and only pulled their boats along by thegunwales of the other boats, laughed at these witticisms ratherinquiringly. Always slightly unconvinced, they seemed to have no inwarddesire to laugh, but yielded politely to the requirements, owing to theniggers' harlequin costume and blackened face. 

To the student of human nature there is nothing so exquisitelyridiculous on the face of the globe as the typical British audience, ata show which appeals humourously to the intellect rather than to theeye. For this reason the Princetonians were indefatigable in theirconversation with the niggers, for the electric lights of the _Lulu_illuminated the faces of our audience, which soon, in addition to thestrolling craft of the river, numbered many canoes from the neighbouringhouse-boats, who were attracted by the gaiety and lights, thus forming atypical river audience, thoroughly mixed, seemingly on pleasure bent, good humoured, well behaved, polite, stolid, British. 

Jimmie is hospitable to the core of his being, and nothing pleased himbetter than to keep "open house-boat" for the entire floating populationof the Thames during Henley week. Every afternoon it was particularlythe custom about tea time for boats containing music hall quartettes ora boatload of Geisha girls to pull up in front of the house-boat andregale the occupants with the latest music hall songs. 

In one end of their boat is a little melodion apparently built for rivertravel, for I never saw one anywhere else. They have in addition velvetcollection-boxes on long poles whereby to reach the upper decks of thehouse-boat for our coins. These things look for all the world like theold-fashioned collection-boxes which the deacons used to pass in church. 

There was one set of Geisha girls who were masked below the eyes, one ofwhom sang what she fondly imagined was a typical American songcalculated to captivate her American audience. She sang through hernose, the better to imitate the nasal voices which to the British mindis the national characteristic of the American, and her song had therefrain beginning "For I am an Ammurikin Girl, " telling how this"Ammurikin Girl" had come to England to marry a title and had finallysecured an Earl, and ending with the statement that she had done allthis "like the true Ammurikin Girl. " This song, especially the nasalpart, was received with such ill-concealed joy by our usual stolid riveraudience that one afternoon I took it upon myself to avenge ourhouse-boat family for these truly British politenesses. So I went to therailing after our audience had thoroughly collected and said through mynose:

"Won't you please sing that pretty song of yours about the 'AmmurikinGirl?' You know we are 'Ammurikin girls, ' and we do so love the way youtake off our 'Ammurikin' voices. "

At the same time I dropped a lot of small silver into their boat withoutwaiting for the collection-box. I was delighted to see that some of itwent overboard, for their consternation at that and at my having turnedthe tables on them put them into such a flutter that they couldn't singat all, and they pulled away, saying that they would be back in half anhour. Our audience, too, suddenly remembered urgent business a mile ortwo up the river, and scattered as if by magic. 

Jimmie was deeply pleased by this _rencontre_, for the prejudice of themiddle-class Britons (for the sake of occasionally being moderate, Iwill say middle class) against all classes of Americans is just about asdeeply rooted and ineradicable as the prejudice of middle-classAmericans against everything that flies the Union Jack. The travelledupper classes are inclined to be more moderate in their prejudice and tosee fit either for political or social reasons to affect a friendship. But seriously I myself question if there is a nation more thoroughlyforeign to America than the English. 

This, I take it, is because the middle classes of both countries are notabreast of the times, and take little notice of the trend of events. They are still influenced by the prejudice engendered by the wars of acentury ago, which has partly been inherited and partly enhanced bymarriages with England's hereditary foes, who take refuge with us insuch numbers. 

However, the people could be influenced through their sympathies, and inthe to-be-expected event of the death of England's queen, or a calamityof national importance on our own shores, the sympathy which would beextended from each to each, through the medium of the press, would domore to educate the masses along lines of sympathy between the two greatEnglish-speaking nations than any amount of statecraft or diplomacy. Thepeople must be taught by the way of the heart, and touched by theiremotions. Their brains would follow. 

As it is, the differences still exist. Take, for instance, theirlanguage, from which ours has so far departed and become so much morepure English, and has been enriched by so many clean-cut and descriptiveadjectives that certain sentences in English and in American will betotally unintelligible to each other. On one occasion, going with aparty of eight English people to the races, Bee looked out of the carwindow at the landscape, and said:

"How thoroughly finished England is. Here we are running through a hillcountry where they are so complete and so neat in their landscape thatthey even sod the cuts. It is like going through a terraced garden. "

It may be that the phrase she used was academic, but I am at leastreasonable in thinking that the average American would know what shemeant. Not one of those eight English people caught even the shadow ofher meaning, and when she explained what she meant by "sod your cuts, "they said that she meant "turf your cuttings. " She replied that"cutting" with us was a greenhouse term and meant a part clipped from aplant or a tree. They said the word "cut" meant a cut of beef ormutton, to which she retorted that we might also use the term "cut" in abutcher shop, but when travelling in a hill country and looking out ofthe train window it meant the mountain cut. They said they never heardof the word sod, except used as a noun. She replied that she never heardthe word "turf" used as a verb. We continued in an amiable wrangle whichfinally brought out the fact which even the most obstinate of them wasobliged to admit, and that is that when traced to its proper root, theAmericans speak purer English than the English. 

House-boat hospitality we discovered to be conducted on a very irregularplan, for it appeared that the casual afternoon caller always meant teaand sometimes dinner. This is all very well if the people happen to beagreeable and the food holds out, but even I, the least conservative ofthe three women, am conservative about invitations to guests, nothingbeing more offensive to me than to be politely forced into a dinnerinvitation to people I don't want. Another thing, it kept us constantlyscurrying for more to eat, as house-boat provisions are all furnishedby firms in town, and house-boat owners are expected to let thepurveyors know beforehand how many guests to provide for at each meal. 

I like English people very much, but I cannot help observing that somewho are very well born and are supposed to be exceedingly well bred, take advantage of American hospitality in a way in which they wouldnever dream of pursuing with their English hosts. For instance, Americans were very free in remaining so dangerously close to the dinnerhour that we were pushed into inviting them to remain, but never oncedid they make it obligatory to invite them to remain over night, whileno less than half a dozen times during Henley week our English friendssaid to Jimmie:

"I say, old man, beastly work getting back to town. Can't you put us upfor the night?"

As this occurred when every stateroom was filled, even Bee's sacred dukebeing among the number of our guests, these self-invited ones remainedin every instance when they knew that it would force Jimmie to sleepupon a bench in the dining-room and be seriously inconvenienced. Towardthe end of the week this supreme selfishness which I have noticed sooften in otherwise worthy English gentlemen annoyed me to such an extentthat with one Englishman who had thus insisted upon dispossessing Jimmiefor the second time I resolved to make a test. So I said to him:

"Of course it's a little hard on Jimmie, your way of turning him out ofhis stateroom to sleep on the table, so, as turn about is fair play, ifyou've quite decided to remain over night, my sister and I will let youhave our room and we will sleep on the benches in the dining-room. Jimmie doesn't get much sleep you know--we keep it up so late, and ofcourse you always wake him up when you turn out for your swim at sixo'clock in the morning, so if you will promise not to disturb us untilseven, and go out through the kitchen for your swim, you can have ourroom for to-night. "

"Oh, I say!" he replied, "that's awfully jolly of you. It _is_ a beastlyshame to turn the old man out of his bed two nights in one week, butyour boat is the only one on the river where a fellow feels at home, youknow. Besides that, I couldn't get back to town before ten o'clockto-night if I started now, and where would I get my dinner? And if Iwait to get my dinner here, I'd either have to sleep at Henley or behalf the night in getting home. So you see I've got to stay, and thanksawfully for letting me have your room. "

Bee, who was standing near, pushed her veil up and cleared her throat. She looked at me. 

"Did you ever in all your life?" she said. 

"No, I never did, " I said. "I never, never did. "

"Never did what?" said the English gentleman. 

"I never saw anybody like you in a book or out of it, but I supposethere are ten thousand more just as good-looking as you are; just astall and well built and selfish. "

"Selfish, " he blurted out with a very red face. "What is there selfishabout me, I should like to know? You offered me your room, didn't you?"

"Yes, she offered it, " said Bee, sitting on a little table and tuckingher feet on a chair. "She offered it to you just to see if you'd takeit--just to see how far you _would_ go. You haven't known my sister verylong, have you? Why, she'd no more let you have her room than I wouldlet Jimmie turn himself out a second time for you. If you stay to-night_you'll_ be the one to sleep in the dining-room on that narrow bench. "

"Oh, I say, " he said, turning still redder, "I can't do that, you know. It would be so very uncomfortable. It is very narrow. "

"You can lie on your side, " said Bee. "You aren't too thick through thatway, and we three women have decided to allow Jimmie to go to bed earlyto-night. We'll make it as comfortable as we can for you, and you'll getfully three hours' sleep, perhaps four. It is all Jimmie would get if heslept there. "

"Why, I don't believe that the old man will let me sleep there. I thinkhe'd rather I had his room. He and his wife were so awfully good to mewhen I was in America. I stayed two months at their place and theyentertained me royally. "

"Where's your wife?" I said, suddenly. 

"She's in our town house, " he answered. 

"And that's in Upper Brooke Street?" said Bee. 

"And where's your sister, the Honourable Eleanor?" I said. 

"What's that got to do with it?" said our friend. 

"Nothing, " I said. "I just wondered if you'd noticed that, every singletime we have been in London for the past two years, neither your sisternor your wife has ever called on Mrs. Jimmie; although, as you have justadmitted, you stayed two months with them in America. All that you havedone in return for the mountain trip that Jimmie arranged for you, taking you in a private car to hunt big game, taking you fishing andarranging for you to see everything in America that you wanted, when youknow that Jimmie isn't rich judged by the largest fortunes inAmerica--all, all I say, that you have done for him in return foreverything he did for you was to put him up at your club and take themto the races twice, and even though you saw your wife at a distance younever introduced them, although once you stopped and spoke to her. Now, what do you think of yourself?"

"I think--I think, " he stammered. 

"No, you don't think, " said Bee. "You flatter yourself. "

He stared at us helplessly, but we were enjoying ourselves toomaliciously to let up on him. 

"I never was talked to so in my life, " he said. 

"No, perhaps not, " I said, pleasantly. "But it has done you good, hasn'tit? Confess now, don't you feel a little better?"

His face, which was very red at all times, grew a little more claretcoloured, and he evidently wanted very much to get angry, but Bee and Iwere so very cheerful, almost affectionate in our manner of mentallyskinning him, that he couldn't seem to pull himself together. 

"He'll never stay after that, " said Bee, complacently, to me afterward. But he _did_ stay, and although Jimmie was furious, he had everyintention of letting him have his bedroom again, which Bee and I sofiercely resented that we locked Jimmie in his stateroom, where, after afew feeble pounds on the door, he resigned himself to his fate and gotthe only night's sleep that he had in the eight days of Henley. 

Whether the Honourable Edwardes Edwardes slept on his side on the benchor on his back on the dinner-table, or stood up all night, we neverknew. He was a little cross at breakfast, and complained of feeling "abit stiff. " But nobody petted or sympathised with him or ran for theliniment. So by luncheon time he was drinking Jimmie's champagne againwith the utmost good humour. 

One of the most amusing things we did was to go after dinner in littleboats and form part of the river audience in front of some otherhouse-boat where something was going on, --crowded in between otherboats, having to ship our oars and pull ourselves along by ourneighbours' gunwales, getting locked for perhaps half an hour, untilsuddenly our Geisha girls or niggers would start the cry "Up river, "when away we would all go, entertainers and entertained, pulling up theriver to the lights of another house-boat, enjoying the music for a fewminutes and then slipping away in the darkness toward the lights ofHenley village, or perhaps back to the _Lulu_. 

Once or twice a boat would capsize, giving the occupants a severewetting, but as river costumes are always washable and the river is notdeep, no harm ever seemed to come of these aquatic diversions. Once, however, it was brought near home in this wise. 

Jimmie invited his wife to go canoeing. I went canoeing once on theKennebunk River with an Indian to paddle, and after watching themanoeuvres of the paddlers on the Thames and the antics of thosewretched little boats, I made the solemn promise with myself never totrust any one less skilled than an Indian again. But Jimmie, while he isnot more conceited than most people, is what you might call confident, and he would have been all right in this instance, if he had noticedthat a race had just been rowed and that the swell from the racers wasjust rippling over the boom and creeping gently toward the house-boat. The canoe was still at the house-boat steps. They were both seatedcomfortably and just about to paddle away when a swell came alongsideand tilted the canoe in such a succession of little unexpected rollsthat our two friends, in their anxiety to hold on to something whichwas not there to hold on to, overbalanced, and the canoe shipped enoughwater to submerge their legs entirely, giving them a nice cold hip bath. 

Mrs. Jimmie screamed, and we all rushed down and fished her out of theboat dripping like a mermaid and thoroughly chilled. Bee took her in towarm her with a brandy and to hurry her into dry clothes, while Iremained to see what I could do for Jimmie, who was very wet, very mad, and very uncommunicative. 

"What a pity, " I remarked, pleasantly, "that you are so thin. Shall Icome down and hold the boat still while you get out? Wet flannel hassuch a clinging effect. "

Jimmie is a good deal of a gentleman, so he made no reply. I was justturning away, resolving in a Christian spirit to order him a hot Scotch, when I heard a splash and a remark which was full of exclamation points, asterisks, and other things, and looking down I saw the canoe bottomupwards, with Jimmie clinging to it indignantly blowing a large quantityof Thames water from his mouth in a manner which led me to know that thesooner I got away from there the better it would be for me. I kept outof his way until dinner-time, and only permitted him to suspect that Isaw his disappearance by politely ignoring the fact that all his andMrs. Jimmie's lingerie, to speak delicately, was floating about, hangingfrom pegs in unused portions of the house-boat. My silence was sosuspicious that finally Jimmie could stand it no longer. 

"Did you see me go down?" he demanded. 

"I did not, " I answered him, firmly, whereat he released my elbow and Iedged around to the other side of the table. 

"But I saw you come up, " I said, pleasantly, "and I saw what you said. "

"Saw?" said Jimmie. "Saw what I said?"

"Certainly! There was enough blue light around your remarks for me tohave seen them in the dark. "

"Well, what have you got to say about it?" he said, resigning himself. 

"Only this, and that is that this afternoon's performance in that canoewas the only instance in my life where I thoroughly approved of theworkings of Providence. Ordinarily the good die young and the guiltyone escapes. "

"Is that all?" growled Jimmie. 

"Yes, " I said, hesitatingly, "I think it is. Did I mention before that Ithought you were thin?"

"You certainly did, " said Jimmie. 

"Your legs, " I went on, but just then I was interrupted by thereappearance of a little German musician, who had floated up the rivertwo days before in a white flannel suit without change of linen and whoplayed accompaniments of our singers so well that Jimmie permitted himto stay on without either actually inviting him or showing him that hispresence was not any particular addition to our enjoyment. 

Jimmie objected violently to some of his sentiments, which the Germanwas tactless enough to keep thrusting in our faces. He was as offensiveto our English friends on the subject of England as he was to usconcerning America, but one of the Englishmen sang and couldn't play anote, so Jimmie let the German stay, because Miss Wemyss wanted him to. 

Although secretly I think Jimmie and I hated him, we are sometimespolite enough not to say everything we think, but at any rate therenever was a moment when Jimmie and I wouldn't leave off attacking eachother, hoping for an opportunity for a fight with the German, which thusfar he had escaped by the skin of his teeth. 

"Your sister sent me to tell you that there is a house-boat up near theIsland flying the American flag and we are all going up there to see it. Would you like to go?"

"Thanks so much for your invitation, " said Jimmie, "but I've got someguests coming in half an hour, so I can't go. "

"I'll go. Just wait until I get my hat. "

One boat contained Bee, Mrs. Jimmie, and two Princeton men, and theother Miss Wemyss, the German, Miss Wemyss' fiancé, Sir George, and me. Side by side the two skiffs pulled up the river to the Island, where ona very small house-boat named the _Queen_ a large American flag wasflying and beneath it were crossed a smaller American flag and the UnionJack. 

Sir George, who is one of the nicest Englishmen we ever met, pulled offhis cap and cried out:

"All hats off to the Stars and Stripes!"

In an instant every hat was whipped off, ours included, although therewas some wrestling with hat-pins before we could get them off. All, didI say? All--all except the German! He folded his arms across his breastand kept his hat on. 

"Didn't you hear Sir George?" I said to him. 

He had a nervous twitching of the eye at all times, and when he wasexcited the muscles of his face all jerked in unison like Saint Vitus'dance. At my question every muscle in his face, as the Princeton man inBee's boat said, "began working over time. "

"Yes, I heard him. Of course I heard him, " he said. 

"Then take your hat off!" said Miss Wemyss. 

"Yes, take your hat off!" came in a roar from all the others, none beinglouder and more peremptory than the Englishman's. 

"I will not take my hat off to that dirty rag, " he said. "It meansnothing to me. The flag of any country means nothing to me. I can gointo a shop and buy that red, white, and blue! That is only a rag--thatflag. "

Sir George leaned over with blazing eyes and took him by the collar. 

"Don't do that, George, " said Miss Wemyss, excitedly. "His linen is notfit to touch. "

"Let's duck him, " said the Princeton man. 

But Mrs. Jimmie interfered, saying in a quiet voice, although her handswere trembling:

"Don't do anything to him until we take him back to the house-boat. Remember he is my guest. "

At this the German smiled with such insolence and pulled his hat furtherdown on his brow with such a vicious look of satisfaction that I had allI could do to hold myself in. The boats flew back to the house-boat asif on wings. 

"You see, miss, " he leaned forward and said to me in low tones. "You donot like me. You love your flag. Ah, ha, I revenge myself. "

"Just wait till I tell Jimmie, " I said. 

"Ah, ha, he will do nothing! I play for his concert to-night. "

As the boats pulled up to the steps of the house-boat, Jimmie met uswith his two friends, who had come during our absence. We had never seenthem before. 

"What do you think, Jimmie?" stammered Bee, stumbling up the steps inher excitement. 

"And Jimmie, he wouldn't take his hat off to the flag!"

"And Jimmie, I wish you had been there, you'd have drowned him!" camefrom all of us at once. 

"What's that?" cried Jimmie in a rage at once, and:

"What's that?" came from the men behind him. "Wouldn't take off his hatto the flag? Who wouldn't?"

"That nasty little German!" cried Miss Wemyss. 

We were all out of the boats by that time except the unhappy object ofour wrath, whose countenance by this time was working into patterns likea kaleidoscope. 

"Mr. Jimmie, " he said, coming to the end of the boat with everyintention of stepping out, "I apologise to you. I am very sorry. "

"Get back in that boat!" thundered Jimmie. 

"But, sir! Your concert to-night! I play for you!"

"You go to the devil, " said Jimmie. "You'll not put your foot on boardthis boat again. Off you go! Take him down to Henley!" he ordered theboatman. 

"Very well! Very well!" said the German, "I go, but I do not take my hatoff to your flag. "

"Ah! Don't you?" cried the Princeton man, making a grab for the German'ssailor hat with his long arm, just as the boat shot away. He stooped andtook it up full of Thames water and flung it thus loaded squarely in thelittle wretch's face, while the man at the oars dexterously tossed itoverboard, where it floated bottom upwards in the river, and the boatshot out toward Henley with the bareheaded and most excited specimen ofthe human race it was ever our lot to behold. 

Then Jimmie introduced his friends. Bee has just looked over thisnarrative of the pleasantest week we ever spent in England and she says:

"You haven't said a word about the races. "

"So I haven't. "

But they were there. 

CHAPTER II

PARIS

"Now, " said Jimmie as our train was pulling into Paris, "we are alldecided, are we not, that we shall stay in Paris only two days?"

His eyes met ours with apprehension and a determination that ended in acertain amount of questioning in their glance. 

"Certainly!" we all hastened to assure him. "Not over two days. "

"Just long enough, " said Jimmie, beamingly, "to have one lunch at theCafé Marguery for _sole à la Normande_--"

"And one afternoon at the Louvre to see the Venus and the Victory--" Ipleaded. 

"And the Father Tiber--" added Jimmie, waxing enthusiastic. 

"Yes, and one dinner at the Pavilion d'Armenonville to hear theTziganes--" said Bee. 

"And one afternoon on the Seine to go to St. Cloud to see the bridesdance at the Pavilion Bleu, and a supper afterward in the open to have a_poulet_ and a _pêche flambée_. "

Jimmie by this time was wriggling in ecstasy. 

"And just time to order two or three gowns apiece and have one look athats, " added Mrs. Jimmie, complacently. 

"'Two or three gowns apiece and one look at hats, '" cried Jimmie. "Andhow long will that take? We agreed on two days, and you never said aword about clothes. That means a whole week!"

"Not at all, Jimmie, " said Bee. "It's too late to do anything to-night. To-morrow morning we'll go and look. In the afternoon we'll think itover while we're doing the Louvre. It is always cool and quiet there, and looking at statuary always helps me to make up my mind aboutclothes. The next morning we'll go and order. In the afternoon we'll buyour hats, and with one day more for the first fittings, I believe wemight manage and have the things sent after us to Baden-Baden. "

"Not at all, " put in Mrs. Jimmie. "They will never be satisfactoryunless we put our minds on the subject and give them plenty of time. Wemust stay at least two days more. Give us four days, Jimmie. "

I had to laugh at Jimmie's rueful face. He was about to remonstrate, butBee switched him off diplomatically by saying, in her most deferentialmanner:

"What hotel have you decided on, Jimmie? It's such a comfort to begetting to a Paris hotel. What one do you think would be best?"

Bee's tone was so flattering that Jimmie forgot clothes and said:

"Well, you know at the Binda you can get corn on the cob and Americangriddle cakes--"

"Oh, but the rooms are so small and dark, and we could go there forluncheon to get those things, " said his wife. 

"Do let's go to the Hotel Vouillemont, " I begged. "We won't see anyAmericans there, and it is so lovely and old and French, and so heavenlyquiet. "

"But then there is the new Élysée Palace, " said Bee. "We haven't seenthat. "

"And they say it's finer than the Waldorf, " said Mrs. Jimmie. 

Jimmie and I looked at each other in comical despair. 

"Let 'em have their own way, Jimmie, " I whispered in his ear, "whilewe're in their country. They know that we are going to make 'em dodgeSwitzerland and go up in the Austrian Tyrol and perhaps even get them toRussia, so we'll be obliged to give them their head part of the way. Let's be handsome about it. "

We went to the Élysée Palace, and we spent two weeks in Paris. Part ofthis time we were fashionable with Mrs. Jimmie and Bee, and part of thetime they were Latin Quartery with us. We made them go to the ConcertRouge and to the Restaurant Foyot, and occasionally even to sit on thesidewalk at one of the little tables at Scossa's, where you have_déjeuner au choix_ for one franc fifty, including wine, and which theycouldn't help enjoying in spite of pretending to despise it and us, while occasionally we went with them to call on the grand anddistinguished personages to whom they had letters. But it remained forthe last days of our stay for us to have our experiences. The first cameabout in this wise. 

I had brought a letter to Max Nordau from America, but I heard after Igot to Paris that he was so fierce a woman hater, that I determined notto present it. I read it over every once in awhile, but failed to screwmy courage to the sticking point, until one day I mentioned that I hadthis letter, and Jimmie to my surprise threw up both hands, exclaiming:

"A letter to Max Nordau! Why, it is like owning a gold mine! Present itby all means, and then tell us what he is like. "

Afraid to present it in person, I sent it by mail, saying that I hadheard that he hated women and that I was scared to death of him, but ifhe had a day in the near future on which he felt less fierce than usual, I would come to see him, and I asked permission to bring a friend. By"friend" I meant Jimmie. 

The most charming note came in answer that a polished man of the worldcould write--not in the least like the bear I had imagined him to be, but courteous and even merry. In it he said he should feel honoured ifI would visit his poor abode, and he seemed to have read my books andknew all about me, so with very mixed feelings Jimmie and I called atthe hour he named. 

He lives in one of the regulation apartment houses of Paris, of themeaner sort--by no means as fine as those in the American quarter. Themost horrible odour of German cookery--cauliflower and boiled cabbageand vinegar and all that--floated out when the door opened. The room--asort of living-room--into which we were ushered was a mixture of allsorts of furniture, black haircloth, dingy and old, with here and therea good picture or one fine chair, which I imagined had been presented tohim. 

Jimmie was much excited at the idea of meeting him. Max Nordau is one ofhis idols, --Nordau's horrible power of invective fully meeting Jimmie'sideas of the way crimes of the bestial sort should be treated. Jimmie isoften a surprise to me in his beliefs and ideals, but when Doctor Nordauentered the room I forgot Jimmie and everything else in the world exceptthis one man. 

I can see him now as he stood before me--a thick-set man with amagnificent torso, but with legs which ought to have been longer. Forthat body he ought to have been six feet tall. When he is seated heappears to be a very large man. You would know that he was a physicianfrom the way he shakes hands--even from the touch of his hand, whichseems to be in itself a soothing of pain. 

He was exquisitely clean. Indeed he seemed, after one look into hisface, to be one of the cleanest men I ever had seen. And to look intothe face of a man in Paris and to be able to say that, _means_something. 

His eyes were gray blue--very clear in colour. Their whites were reallywhite--not bloodshot nor yellow. His skin was the clear, beautifulcolour which you sometimes see in a young and handsome Jew. There wasthe same clear red and white. This distinguishing quality of clearnesswas noticeable too in his lips, for his short white moustache shows themto be full, very red, and with the line where the red joins the whiteextremely clear cut. His teeth were large, full, even, and white, likethose of a primitive man, who tore his rare meat with those same whiteteeth, and who never heard of a dentist. His hair was short, white, andbristling. He seemed to have some Jewish blood in him, but he seemedmore than all to be perfectly well, perfectly normal, filled to the brimwith abounding life. It was like a draught from the Elixir of Life to bein his presence. What a man!

All at once the whole of "Degeneration" was made clear to me. How couldany man as sane, as normal, as superbly health-loving andhealth-bestowing keep from writing such a book! I never met any one whoso impressed me with his knowledge. Not pedantry, but with thedeep-lying fundamental truth that humanity ought to know. His sympathiesare so broad, his intuitions so keen, his understanding so subtle. 

He asked us at once into his study--a small room, lined with books boundin calf. Both the chair and his couch had burst out beneath, showingbroken springs and general dilapidation. He speaks many languages, andhis English is very pure and beautiful. 

Like all great men, his manner was extremely simple. He did not pose. He was interested in me, in my work, in my ambitions, hopes, and aims. He seemed to have no overpoweringly high idea of himself, nor of what hehad achieved. He was thoroughly at home in French, German, English, Scandinavian, and Russian literature. He read them in the originals, andhis knowledge of the classics seemed to be equally complete. Thewell-worn books upon his shelves testified to this. 

I asked him if he intended to come to America in the near future. Towhich he replied:

"Unhappily I cannot tell. I should like to go. I consider America thecountry of the world at present. Whether we admit it or not, all nationsare watching you. The rest of the world cannot live without you. Russiais the only country in the world which could go to war without yourassistance. You must feed Europe. Your men are the financiers of theworld and your women rule and educate and are the saviours of the men. Therefore to my mind the greatest factor in the world's civilisationto-day is the great body of the American women. You little know yourpower. _You_ seem to have got the ear of the American woman, and theonly advice I have to give you is to be more bold. Don't be afraid ofbeing too pedantic. You are too subtle. You bury your truths sometimestoo deeply. The busy are too busy to dig for it, and the stupid do notknow it is there. "

"I think 'Degeneration' is the most wonderful book ever written, " Jimmiebroke in at this point as if unable to keep silent any longer. Then helooked deeply embarrassed at Doctor Nordau's hearty laughter. 

"Thank you a thousand times, " he said; "such a decided opinion I seldomhear. Your great country was the first to appreciate and read it. I havemany friends there whom I never saw but who love me and whom I love. They often write to me. "

"And beg autographs and photographs of you, " I said. 

"Oh, yes, but it is very easy to do what they ask. But one curious thingstrikes me about America. See, here on my book shelves I have bookswritten explaining the government of all countries in alllanguages--all countries, that is to say, except America. Why has no oneever written such an one about the United States?"

Jimmie pricked up his ears as this phase of the conversation came hometo him. He forgot his awe and said:

"What's the matter with Bryce?"

Doctor Nordau looked puzzled. He is a practising physician. 

"'What's the matter with Bryce?'" he repeated. 

Jimmie blushed. 

"Haven't you read 'Bryce's Commonwealth?'" I broke in, to give Jimmietime to get on his legs again. 

"Is there a book on American government by an American that I neverheard of?" asked Nordau of Jimmie. 

"Well, Bryce is an Englishman, but he knows more about America than anyAmerican I know, " answered Jimmie. "I'll send you the book if you wouldlike to read it. "

Doctor Nordau thanked him and said he would be delighted to have it. While Jimmie was making a note of this, Doctor Nordau looked quizzicallyat me and said:

"Do American publishers rob all foreign authors as I have been robbed, or am I mistaken in thinking that large numbers of 'Degeneration' havebeen sold in America?"

Alas, wherever I go in Europe, I am obliged to hear this denunciation ofour publishers! I cannot get beyond the sound of it. To hear foreignauthors denounce American publishers by every term of opprobrium whichcould commonly be applied to Barabbas! I was puzzled to know whetherthey really are the most unscrupulous robbers in creation or if theyonly have the name of being. 

"You are not mistaken in thinking that large numbers of 'Degeneration'have been sold, " I said, "and if your book was properly copyrighted andprotected and you did not sign away all your rights to your Americanpublishers for a song, as too many foreign authors do in their scorn ofAmerican appreciation of good literature, you should not be obliged tocomplain, for I distinctly remember that 'Degeneration' often led in thelists of best selling books which our booksellers report at the end ofeach week. "

"Then I will leave you to judge for yourself, " said Doctor Nordau. "Theentire amount I have received from my American publishers for'Degeneration' is fifty pounds! That is every sou!"

"Fifty pounds!" cried Jimmie, in consternation. "Why that is only twohundred and fifty dollars of our money!"

"I leave it to you to judge for yourselves, " said Doctor Nordau again. 

We said nothing, for as Jimmie said after we left, there was reallynothing to say. 

But evidently our consternation touched him, for he broke out into a bigGerman laugh, saying:

"Don't take it so deeply to heart! You are too sensitive. Do you takethe criticisms of your books so deeply to heart as you take a criticismof your countrymen? Don't do it! Remember, there are few critics worthreading. "

"I never read them while they are fresh, " I admitted. "I keep them untiltheir heat has had time to cool. Then if they are favourable I say, 'This is just so much extra pleasure that, as it is all over. I had noright to expect. ' And if they are unfavourable I think, 'Whatdifference does it make? It was published weeks ago and everybody hasforgotten it by this time!'"

"You have the right spirit, " he said. "Where would I be if I had takento heart the criticisms of the degenerates on 'Degeneration?' I sit backand laugh at them for holding a hand mirror up to their faces andunconsciously crying out 'I see a fool!' To understand greattruths, --and great truths are seldom popular, --one must bring a willingmind. Yet how often it is that the very sick one wishes most to help arethe ones who refuse, either from conceit or stupidity, to believe and behealed. Remember this: no one can get out of a book more than he bringsto it. Readers of books seldom realise that by their written or spokencriticisms they are displaying themselves in all their weaknesses, alltheir vanities, all their strength for their hearers to make use of asthey will. "

"I shouldn't think anything ever would disturb you, " said Jimmie, regarding Doctor Nordau's gigantic strength admiringly. 

Doctor Nordau laughed. 

"It is the little things of this life, my friend, which often disturb amental balance which is always poised to receive great shocks. Thegnat-bites and mosquito buzzings are sometimes harder to bear than anoperation with a surgeon's knife. "

I looked triumphantly at Jimmie as Doctor Nordau said that, for Jimmienever has got over it that I once dragged the whole party off a trainand made them wait until the next one, because the wheels of our railwaycarriage squeaked. But Jimmie's mind is open to persuasion, especiallyfrom one whose opinions he admires as he admires Max Nordau's, for helooked at me with more tolerance, as he said:

"It is the nervous organisation, I suppose. She can bear neuralgia fordays at a time which would drive me crazy in an hour, but I've seen herburst into tears because a door slammed. "

"Exactly so!" said Doctor Nordau. "I understand perfectly. "

"Now, I never hear such noises, " pursued Jimmie. "But I suppose theremust be _some_ difference between you both, who can write books, and me, who can't even write a letter without dictating it!"

Soon after this we came away, Jimmie beaming with delight over one idolwho had not tumbled from his pedestal at a near view. 

We were still in the midst of the Paris season. It was very gay and Beeand Mrs. Jimmie had made some amiable friends among the very smartest ofthe Parisian smart set. When we went to tea or dinner with these peopleJimmie and I had to be dragged along like dogs who are muzzled for thefirst time. Every once in awhile _en route_ we would plant our fore feetand try to rub our muzzles off, but the hands which held our chains weregentle but firm, and we always ended by going. 

On one Sunday we were invited to have _déjeuner_ with the Countess S. , and as it was her last day to receive she had invited us to remain andmeet her friends. At the breakfast there were perhaps sixteen of us andthe conversation fell upon palmistry. We had just seen Cheiro in London, and as he had amiably explained a good many of our lines to us, I wasspeaking of this when the old Duchesse de Z. Thrust her little wrinkledpaw loaded down with jewels across the plate of her neighbour and said:

"Mademoiselle, can you see anything in the lines of my hand?"

I make no pretence of understanding palmistry, but I saw in her hand aqueer little mark that Cheiro had explained to us from a chart. I tookher hand in mine and all the conversation ceased to hear the pearls ofwisdom which were about to drop from my lips. The duchesse was very muchinterested in the occult and known to be given to table tipping and theinvocation of spirits. 

"I see something here, " I began, hesitatingly, "which looks to me as ifyou had once been threatened with a great danger, but had beenmiraculously preserved, " I said. 

The old woman drew her hand away. 

"Humph, " she muttered with her mouth full of homard. "I wondered if youwould see that. It was assassination I escaped. It was enough to leave amark, eh, mademoiselle?"

"I should think so, " I murmured. 

The young Count de X. On my right said, in a tone which the duchessemight have heard:

"When she was a young girl, only nineteen, her husband tied her withropes to her bed and set fire to the bed curtains. Her screams broughtthe servants and they rescued her. "

My fork fell with a clatter. 

"What an awful man!" I gasped. 

"He was my uncle, mademoiselle!" said the young man, imperturbably, arranging the gardenia in his buttonhole, "but as you say, he was a badlot. "

"I beg your pardon!" I exclaimed. 

"It is nothing, " he answered. "It is no secret. Everybody knows it. "

Later in the afternoon I took occasion to apologise to the duchesse forhaving referred to the subject. 

"Why should you be distressed, mademoiselle, " said the old woman, peering up into my face from beneath her majenta bonnet with her littlewatery brown eyes, "such things will go into books and be history a fewyears hence. We make history, such families as ours, " she added, proudly. 

I turned away rather bewildered and for an hour or two watched Bee andMrs. Jimmie being presented to those who called to pay their respects toour hostess. They were of all descriptions and fascinating to a degree. Finally the duchesse came up to me bringing a lady whom she introducedas the Countess Y. 

"She is a compatriot of yours, mademoiselle. "

It so happened that Bee and Mrs. Jimmie were standing near me andoverheard. 

"Ah, you are an American, " I said. 

"Well, " said the countess, moving her shoulders a little uneasily, "I aman American, but my husband does not like to have me admit it. "

It was a small thing. She had a right to deny her nationality if sheliked, but in some way it shocked the three of us alike and we movedforward as if pulled by one string. 

"I think we must be going, " said Bee, haughtily. 

Jimmie's jaw was so set as we left the house of the countess, and Beeand Mrs. Jimmie looked so disturbed that I suggested that we drive downto the Louvre and take one last look at our treasures. Mine are theVenus de Milo and the Victory, and Jimmie's is the colossal statue ofthe river Tiber. Jimmie loves that old giant, Father Tiber, lying therewith the horn of plenty and dear little Romulus and Remus with theirfoster mother under his right hand. Jimmie says the _toes_ of the giantfascinate him. 

It looked like rain, so we hastily checked our parasols and Jimmie'sstick and cut down the left corridor to the stairs, and so on down tothe chamber where we left Jimmie and the Tiber to stare each other outof countenance. The rest of us continued our way to the room where theVenus stands enthroned in her silent majesty. We sat down to rest andworship, and then coming up the steps again and mounting another flight, we stood looking across the arcade at the brilliant electric poise ofthe Victory, and in taking our last look at her, we did not notice thatit had gradually grown very dark. 

When we came out, rested, uplifted, and calmed as the effect of thatglorious Venus always is upon our fretted spirits, we discovered thatthe most terrific rainstorm was in progress it ever was our luck tobehold. The water came down in cataracts and blinding sheets of rain. Every one except us had been warned by the darkness and had gotthemselves home. The streets were empty except for the cabs andcarriages which skurried by with fares. Our frantic signals and Jimmie'sdashes into the street were of no avail. 

We would have walked except that Bee and I had colds, and big, beautifulMrs. Jimmie was subject to croup, which as every one knows is terriblein its attacks upon grown people. 

Poor Jimmie ran in every direction in his wild efforts for a carriage, but none was to be had. We waited two hours, then Mrs. Jimmie saw ablack covered wagon approaching and she gathered up her skirts andhailed it. The driver obligingly pulled up at the curb. 

"You must drive us to our hotel. " she said, firmly. "We have waited twohours. "

"Impossible, madame!" said the man. 

"But you _must_, " we all said in chorus. 

"You shall have much money, " said Jimmie in his worst French. 

"All the same it is impossible, monsieur, " said the man. 

He regretted exceedingly his inability to oblige the ladies, but--and heprepared to drive off. 

"Get in, girls, " said Mrs. Jimmie, firmly, pushing us in at the back ofthe wagon. The man expostulated, not in anger but appealingly. Mrs. Jimmie would not listen. She said there ought to be more cabs in Paris, and that she regretted it as much as he did, but she climbed in as shetalked, and gave the address of the hotel. 

"You shall have three times your fare, " she said, calmly, "drive on!"

"But what madame demands is impossible, " pleaded the poor man. "I am onmy way for another body. Madame sits in the morgue wagon!"

But there he was mistaken, for madame sat nowhere. Before he had donespeaking madame was flying through the air, alighting on poor Jimmie'sfoot, while Bee and I clawed at our dripping skirts in a mad effort tofollow suit. 

The morgue wagon pursued its way down the Rue de Rivoli, while we riskedcolds, croup, and everything else in an endeavour to find a "_grandbain_, " splashing through puddles but marching steadily on, Jimmie in asomewhat strained silence limping uncomplainingly at our side. 

CHAPTER III

STRASBURG AND BADEN-BADEN

We are on our way to the Passion Play, and although each of the four ofus is a monument of amiability when taken individually, as a quartet wesometimes clash. At present we are fighting over the route we shall takebetween Paris and Oberammergau. Bee and Mrs. Jimmie have replenishedtheir wardrobes in the Rue de la Paix, and wish to follow the trail ofAmerican tourists going to Baden-Baden, while Jimmie and I, havingrooted out of a German student in the Latin Quarter two or three unknowncarriage routes through the mountains which lead to unknown spots notdouble starred, starred, or even mentioned in Baedeker, are wonderinghow the battle between clothes and Bohemianism will end. 

We arrived at Strasburg still in an amiable wrangle, but all four agreedon seeing the clock which has made the town famous. Our time was solimited that there was not, as is often the case, an opportunity for allfour of us to get our own way. 

Anybody who did not know her, would imagine by the quiet way that Beehas let the subject of Baden-Baden alone for the whole day, that she hadquite given up going there, but I know Bee. She has left Jimmie and meto defend the front of the fortress, while she is bringing all hertroops up in the rear. Bee does not believe in a charge with plenty ofshouting and galloping and noise. Bee's manoeuvres never raise any dust, but on a flank movement, a midnight sortie or an ambush, Bee couldoutgeneral Napoleon and Alexander and General Grant and every other manwho has helped change the maps of the world. Only by indication and pastsad experience do I know what she is up to. One thing to-day has givenme a clue. I have a necktie--the only really saucy thing about the wholeof my wardrobe, the only distinguishing smartness to my toilet--uponwhich Bee has fixed her affection, and which she means to get away fromme. I don't know how I came to buy it in the first place. However, Isha'n't have it long. Bee is bargaining for it--that means that we aregoing to Baden-Baden. She is not openly bargaining, for that would letme know how much she wants it, but she has admired it pointedly. Shetied my veil on for me this morning, and even as I write, she is sewinga button on my glove. Bee in the politest way possible is going to forceme to give her that tie. I wish she wouldn't, for I really need it, butI must get all the wear I expect to have out of it in the next two days, for by the end of the week, if these attentions continue, that Charvettie will belong to Bee. 

Last night, as soon as we arrived and had our dinner, we went to theOrangerie. This great park with myriads of walks is one of the mostattractive things about Strasburg. A very good band was playing a Sousamarch as we came in and took our seats at one of the little tables. 

But just here let me record something which has surprised me all duringmy travels in Europe; and that is the small amount of good music onehears outside of opera. I have always imagined Germany to bedistinguished equally by her music and her beer. I have not beendisappointed in the beer, for it is there by the tub, but as to themusic, there is not in my opinion in the whole of Germany or Austria onesuch as Sousa's, and as to men choruses, not one that I have heard, andI have followed them closely wherever I heard of their existence, is tobe compared with any of our College Glee Clubs. In my opinion the casualopen-air music of Germany is another of the disappointments ofEurope--to be set down in the same category with the linden trees ofBerlin and the trousers of the French Army. 

German music seems to be too universally indulged in to be good. It isperformed with more earnestness than skill and the programme is gonethrough with with more fervour than taste. The musicians of a typicalGerman band dig through the evening's numbers with the same doggedperseverance and perspiration that they would exercise in tunnellingthrough a mountain. In this connection I am not speaking of any of thetrained orchestras, but solely of the band music that one hears allthrough the Rhine land. It is only tradition that Germans are the mostmusical people in the world, for in my opinion the rank and file ofGermans have no ear for key. That they listen well and perform earnestlyis perfectly true. That they respect music and give it proper attentionis equally true, but that they know the difference between a numberperformed with no expression, with one or two instruments or voices, asthe case may be, entirely out of pitch, and the same number correctlyrendered, is impossible to believe by one who has watched them ascarefully as I. 

Sousa once made the statement to the American Press that in his opinionthe American nation was the most musical nation in the world. He basedthis astonishing belief, which was violently attacked by theGerman-American Press, upon his observation of his audiences and by thestreet music, even including whistling and singing. I agree with hisopinion with all my heart. In an American audience of the most commonsort an instrument off the key or improperly tuned will be sure to bedetected. It may be, nay, it probably is true, that the person sodetecting the discord will not know where the trouble lies or of what itconsists, but his ear, untrained as it is, tells him that something iswrong, and he shows his discomfort and disapproval. I claim that theordinary American--the common or garden variety of American--has a morecorrect ear than the common or garden variety of German. I claim thatthe rank and file in America is for this reason more truly musical thanthe same class in the German nation, although the German nation has atechnical knowledge of music which it will take the Americans a thousandyears to equal. For this reason an open-air concert in America is somuch more enjoyable both from the numbers selected and the spirit oftheir playing, that the two performances are not to be mentioned in thesame day. 

A criticism which the wayfaring man will whip out to floor me at thispoint, viz. , that nearly all performers in American bands are Germans, will not cause me to wink an eyelash, for the effect of Americanaudiences on German performers has raised the standard of their music sothat I am informed by Germans and Austrians that the most annoying, irritating, and insulting factor in their otherwise peaceful lives isthe return of a German-American to his native heath. They tell me thathis arrogance and conceit are unbearable--that he claims that Americansalone know how to make practical use of the technical knowledge of theGerman--that the Teuton gathers the knowledge, the Yankee applies it. This goes to prove my point. 

We Americans are a curious people. We get better music under our ownvine and fig-tree than they have anywhere else in the world but we don'tknow it. There is no such band on earth as Sousa's, no better orchestrathan Theodore Thomas's or the Boston Symphony, and we hear theMetropolitan and French operas. 

Take also our chamber music and from that come down to our streetballads, and then to the whistling and singing heard in the streets, with no thought of audience or even listeners. 

I have followed German music closely, and I claim that Germanmusicians, or rather let me say German producers of music, lack ear justabout half of the time. Their students cannot compare with our collegesinging, their pedestrian parties, which one meets all through thecountry, singing, often from notes (and if you take the trouble toinquire, they will frequently tell you with pride that they belong tosuch and such a singing society) almost drive sensitive ears crazy. Butthey love it--they adore music, they take such comfort out of it, thatone is forced to forgive this lack of ear and this polyglot pitch, orelse be considered a churl. 

The Orangerie has, however, a very good average band--for Germany. Thepicture of the great crowd of people gathered at little tables aroundthe band-stand, whole families together; of a tiny boy baby, just ableto toddle around, being dragged about by an enormous St. Bernard dog, whose chain the baby tugged at most valiantly; the long dim avenuesunder the trees where an occasional young couple lost themselves fromfathers and mothers; the music; the cheerful beer-drinking; the generalair of rosy-cheeked contentment has formed in my mind a most agreeablerecollection of the Orangerie of Strasburg. 

Strasburg has, however, much more to boast of than her clock. The citywas founded by the Romans, and in the middle ages was one of the mostpowerful of the free cities of the German Empire, on the occasions ofimperial processions her citizens enjoying the proud distinction ofhaving their banner borne second only to the imperial eagle. 

Then, because of its strategical importance, in a time of peace, LouisXIV. Of France seized the city of Strasburg, and this delicate attentionon his part was confirmed by the Peace of Ryswick in 1679, therebygiving Strasburg to France. The French kept it nearly two hundred years, but Germany got it back at the Peace of Frankfort, 1871, and it is nowthe capital of German Alsace and Lorraine. 

I never think of Alsace and Lorraine that I do not recall the statue inthe Place de la Concorde, with gay coloured wreaths looking more like afestival of joy than mourning, --in fact I never think of Paris mourningfor anything, from a relative to a dead dog, that I can keep mycountenance. 

On the Jour des Morts, I once went to the Père-Lachaise and found in thefamily lot of a duchesse with a grand name, a stuffed dog of the rareold breed known as mongrel. In America he would have slouched at theheels of a stevedore--or any sort of a man who shuffles in his walk andsmokes a short black pipe. But this yellow cur was in a glass casemounted on a marble pedestal, and his yellowness in life was representedby a coat of small yellow beads put on in patches where the hair haddisappeared. His yellow glass eyes peered staringly at the passer-by andhis tomb was literally heaped with expensive _couronnes_ tied with longstreamers of crape, while _couronnes_ on the grass-grown tomb of thedefunct husband of the duchesse, buried in the back of the lot behindthe dog, were conspicuous by their absence. I wondered if the widow tookthis ingenious method of publishing to the world that in life herhusband had been less to her than her dog. 

Paris crape is this slippery, shiny sort of stuff, like thinhaircloth--the kind they used to cover furniture with. It is made upinto "costumes" which have such an air of fashion that the deceasedrelative is instantly forgotten in one's interest in the cut and fit ofthe gown. A butterfly of a bonnet, a tiny face veil coming just to thetip of the nose, with the long one in the back sweeping almost to theground, completes a picture of such a jaunty grief, such a saucy sorrow, that one would be quite willing to lose one or two distant relatives inorder to be clad in such a manner. 

The University of Strasburg changed its nationality as often as thetown, but not at the same time. In one of its German periods Goethegraduated there as doctor of laws--which fact ought to be better known. At least _I_ didn't know it. But Bee says that doesn't signify, becauseI know so little. But Bee only says that when she has asked me somestupid date that nobody ever knows or ever did know except in a historyclass. 

The next day after our evening at the Orangerie, at half after eleven, we went to the Cathedral to see the clock. It only performs all itsfunctions at noon, and as there is always a crowd of tourists about it, we went early. 

The most wonderful feature of this clock to Jimmie is that it regulatesitself and adapts its motions to the revolutions of the seasons, yearafter year and year after year, as if it had a wonderful living humanmind somewhere in its insides. Its perpetual calendar, too, is a marvel!How can that insensate clock tell when to put twenty-eight days and whento give thirty-one, when I can't even do it myself without saying:

 "Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November, All the rest have thirty-one, Except February alone, Which has but twenty-eight in fine Till leap-year gives it twenty-nine. "

And who tells that clock when leap year comes, and when the moonchanges, and when it's going to rain, and when hoop-skirts will be wornagain? Wonderful people, these Germans. 

We were there on Monday when the clock struck noon. Monday is the daywhen Diana steps out upon the first gallery. Each day has itsdeity--Apollo on Sunday, Diana on Monday, etc. 

On the first gallery an angel strikes the quarters on a bell in hislittle mechanical hand. Then a gentleman who has nothing else to do thewhole year round reverses an hour-glass each hour in the twenty-four; sothat you can tell the time by counting the grains of sand or by glancingat the face of the clock, --whichever way you have been brought up totell time. 

Above this there is a skeleton, which strikes the hours, and evidentlycheerfully reminds us what our end will be, around which are grouped thequarter-hours, represented by the four figures, boyhood, youth, manhood, and old age. 

But the two most remarkable things are those which crown the clock. Inthe highest niche, at noon, the twelve apostles, also representing thehours, come out of a door and march around the figure of the Saviour. Judas hangs his head, and the eyes of the Christ follow him until hedisappears. Then on the highest pinnacle of all, a cock comes out, preens himself, flaps his wings, and gives such an exultant crow thatPeter pauses in his walk, then drops his head forward on his breast, andso passes out of sight. 

When the performance is over, the crowd melts away. Some few stay to dothe Cathedral, but we went to luncheon. At luncheon it was decided to goto Baden-Baden. Jimmie and I compromised on three days of it. 

There is nothing particularly interesting about the journey thither. When you come to the village of Oos, you get off the train and take alittle train which is waiting on a siding, and in less than fiveminutes, before you have time to sit down, in fact, you are at Baden, atthe entrance of the Black Forest, and find it beautiful. 

It was the height of the season and we went to a very smart hotel, wherethey have very badly dressed people, because nearly everybody thereexcept us had money and titles. 

Now the height of the season at any watering-place depresses me. If Icould wear fern seed in my shoes to make me invisible, and sit on the_piazza_ railing in a shirt-waist and a short skirt, I would love it. But both Bee and Mrs. Jimmie, with the light of heaven in their eyes, pulled out and put on their most be-yew-tiful Paris clothes, and if I dosay it of my sister--well, for modesty's sake, I will only say that Mrs. Jimmie looked ripping. _I_ was happily travelling with a steamer trunkand a big hat-box, and had hitherto rejoiced that my lack of clotheswould prevent my being obliged to dress. I thought perhaps Jimmie and Iwould be allowed to roam about hunting little queer restaurants like OldTom's or the Cheshire Cheese. But when Jimmie's boyish face appearedover a white expanse of tucked shirt front, I sank down in a dejectedheap. 

"And thou, Brutus?" I said. 

"Couldn't help it, " he answered, laconically. "We'd better give inhandsomely for three days. It'll pay us in the end. Get into your 'gladrags' and be good. "

"But I didn't bring my 'glad rags, '" I said. 

Just then Bee looked around from fastening a lace butterfly in her hairon a jewelled spiral. 

"I had two extra trays in my trunk and I put a few of your things in. Would you like to wear your lace gown? You've never even tried it on. "

My mouth flew open, contrary to politeness and my excellent bringing-up. Jimmie collapsed with a silent grin, while I meekly followed Bee into myroom. 

When I saw my new gown all full of rolls of tissue-paper, packed by poordear Bee, I went to my trunk and pulled out my smart Charvet tie. Ihanded it to her in silence. 

"Take it, " I said. "I hate to give it up, but you deserve it. "

Bee accepted it gratefully. 

"It's good of you to give it to me, " she said. "You really need it morethan I do, only this peculiar shade of blue is so becoming to me. I'lltell you what I'll do though, " she added, heroically. "I'll _lend_ it toyou whenever you want it. "

I thanked her, dressed, and then humbly trailed down to dinner in thewake of my gorgeous party. 

Jimmie had engaged a table on the piazza, nearest the street andcommanding the best view of all the other diners. I very willingly satwith my back to all the people, with the panorama of the LichtenthalerStrasse passing before my eyes, and in quiet moments the sounds of thegreat military band playing on the promenade in front of the_Conversationshaus_ coming to our ears. 

A great deal of grandeur always makes me homesick. It isn't envy. Idon't want to be a princess and have the bother of winding a horn for myoutriders when I want to run to the drug-store for postage stamps, butpomp depresses me. Everybody was strange, foreign languages were peltingme from the rear, noiseless flunkies were carrying pampered lap-dogswith crests on their nasty little embroidered blankets, fat old womenwith epilepsy and gouty old men with scrofula, representing thearistocracy at its best, were being half carried to and from tables, andthe degeneracy of noble Europe was being borne in upon my soul with asickening force. 

The purple twilight was turning black on the distant hills, and thesilent stars were slowly coming into view. Clean, health-givingBaden-Baden, in the Valley of the Oos, with its beauty and its pure air, was holding out her arms to all the disease and filth that degenerateriches produce. 

I wasn't exactly blue, but I was gently melancholy. Jimmie was smoking, and Bee and Mrs. Jimmie had their heads together, casting politelyfurtive glances at a table which held royalty. I certainly _was_ feelingneglected. 

Suddenly a voice in English at my elbow said:

"Pardon me, madame, but were not you at the Grand Hotel at Rome lastwinter?"

"Yes, " I said. 

"I mean no impertinence in addressing you. I am the head waiter there inwinter, here in summer. I remembered you at once, and I came to say thatif anything goes wrong with any of your distinguished party during yourstay, I shall count it a favour if you will permit me to remedy it. Thehotel is at your disposal. I will send a private maid to attend youduring your stay. I hope you will be happy here, madame. "

Then with a bow he was gone. 

I was in a state of exhilaration inside which threatened to breakthrough at the sudden attentions of my party. 

"Who's your friend?" said Jimmie. 

"How nice of him!" commented his wife. 

"Servants never remember me, yet I always fee better than you do, "complained Bee. 

"Console yourself. It is only porters and head waiters who care whetherI am happy or not, " I said, bitterly. 

"Deary me!" said Jimmie, sitting up. "Come, let's get out of this. Wemust walk her over where she'll hear some music and see some prettylights or she'll drown herself in her bath to-morrow. "

We went, we promenaded, we showed our clothes, and came home smirkingwith satisfaction. We had been pointed out everywhere for Americans, which spoke volumes for our clothes and the smallness of our feet. 

During two mortal weeks we stayed at Baden-Baden, taking the baths, improving our German and driving through the Black Forest and the OosValley to the green hills beyond. 

Then on one happy day we were all packed to go. We sent our trunksdown, saw every drawer emptied, pulled the bed to pieces, looked underit and decided that _this_ time we hadn't left so much as a pin. Beestuck her "_blaue cravatte_, " as we now called the necktie, under thebureau mat to put on when we came up, and then we snatched a hastyluncheon. In the meantime we turned our "private maid" and thechambermaid loose to see if we had overlooked anything. 

When we came up they were still rummaging, but had found nothing. 

Bee hurried to the bureau and looked under the mat. No tie. She askedthe two women. They had not seen it. Then everybody hunted. Jimmie sworewe had packed it. But Bee's gray eyes turned to green as she watched theflurried movements of the two maids. She walked up to them. 

"Give me that blue necktie, " she said, in awful German. 

At that Jimmie, who hates a row when it is not of his own making, interfered and insisted that we must have packed it--he rememberednumbers of times when we had made a fuss over nothing--it was of noaccount anyway, and if we would only come along and not miss the trainhe would send back to Charvet and get Bee another "_blaue cravatte_. "

"For heaven's sake, take that man downstairs, " I said to Mrs. Jimmie, "and let us manage this affair. "

So poor Jimmie was whisked from the scene of action, still protestingand gesticulating, and being soothed but marched steadily onward by hiswife. 

When we came down we were heated but unsuccessful. I insisted uponreporting the affair to my friend the head waiter. He almost went backon his devotion to me in his assurances that those maids were honest. Then Jimmie had to come up and interfere, and those two men decided thatwe had packed it. 

Bee was in a cold ladylike fury. 

We gave all the servants double fees to assure them that meanness hadnot prompted the search, and got into the carriage. 

"Remember, " said Bee, "I claim that one of those women has that tie inher pocket now, because all four of us looked every inch of the roomsover together. I advise you to have them searched. On the other hand Iwill telegraph you from Nuremberg if I find it in my trunks. "

We had half an hour before the train left. Bee, who was riding backward, kept looking out down the road whence we had come with a curiousexpression on her face. Jimmie, in spite of warning pressures from hiswife's foot, kept sputtering about women's poor memories, etc. Beedidn't even seem to hear. 

Presently, in a cloud of dust, up drove one of the men from the hotel, with a little package in his hand. 

"_Blaue cravatte, _" he said, bowing. 

"Where did you find it?" demanded Mrs. Jimmie. 

"Between the mattress and the springs of the bed. Madame must have putit there to press it. "

Jimmie looked sheepish and put us into the train with a red face. Beesimply slipped the tie into her satchel and put on her travelling-capwithout a word, and began to read. Bee never nags or crows. 

So much for Baden-Baden. 

CHAPTER IV

STUTTGART, NUREMBERG, AND BAYREUTH

We had planned to go to Stuttgart next, but as we were nearing the town, Bee pushed up her veil and said:

"I don't see why we are going to Stuttgart. I never heard of it exceptin connection with men who 'studied' in Stuttgart. What's there, Jimmie?An Academy?"

"I should say, " said Jimmie, waking up. "The Academy where Schillerstudied. "

"That's very interesting, " I broke in, "but it's hardly enough to keep_me_ there very long. Are there any queer little places--"

"Any concert-gardens?" asked Bee. 

"Are the hotels good?" asked his wife. 

"There is one hotel called Hotel Billfinger, which I'd like to try, because Mark Twain's guide in 'Innocents Abroad' was named Billfinger. Remember?"

"He afterwards called him Ferguson, which I think is against the nameand against the hotel, " I said. "Why do we stop except to break thejourney?"

"Well, the real reason, " said Jimmie, with that timid air of his, "isbecause Baedeker says that in the Royal Library there are 7, 200 Biblesin more than one hundred languages, and I thought if you stayed by themlong enough you might get enough religion so that you would be lesswearing on my nerves as a travelling companion. It wouldn't take youlong to master them. While you are studying, the rest of us will refreshourselves in the Stadt-Garten, where Bee will find a band, where I shallfind a restaurant, and where my wife can ponder over Baedeker's choiceinformation of the places where it is not proper to take a lady. "

Nobody pays any attention to Jimmie, so we all stared out of the windowsto see that the town was beautifully situated, almost upon the Neckar, and surrounded by such vine-clad hills and green wooded heights as tomake it seem like a painting. 

But Bee was still unconvinced. 

"It is the capital of Nuremberg and used to be the favourite residenceof the Dukes of Nuremberg, " said Mrs. Jimmie, as we drove up to thehotel, not the Billfinger, let me remark in passing. 

We found a band for Bee, and in the course of our stay in Stuttgart weheard any number of men's choruses, students' singing and the like. There was, too, the Museum of Art, and a fine one. There was also alovely view, from the Eugen-Platz, of the city which lies below it. Butafter all, the Schloss-Garten and concerts to the contrarynotwithstanding, there is an atmosphere about the law schools, museums, and collections of Stuttgart, which led frivolous pleasure-seekers likeus to depart on the second day, for Nuremberg. 

Jimmie has a curious way of selecting hotels. As the train neared thatquaintest of old cities, toward which my heart warms anew as I think ofit, he broke the silence as though we had held a long and heatedargument on the matter. 

"You might as well cease this useless discussion. I have decided to goto the Wittelsbacher Hof, Pfannenschmiedsgasse 22. "

"Good heavens!" I murmured. 

"There you go, _arguing!_" cried Jimmie. "But can't you see theadvantages of all those extra letters on your note-paper when you writehome?"

"Besides, it's a very good hotel, I've been told, " said his wife, affably. 

It _was_ a very good hotel, and there was a lunch-room half-way up themain flight of stairs at the right as you enter, which I remember withpeculiar pleasure. Travellers like us may well be excused forremembering a first luncheon such as that which we had at theWittelsbacher Hof. 

Then we all strolled out in the early summer twilight and took our firstlook at Nuremberg. Tell me if you can why we went into such ecstasiesover Nuremberg and stayed there two weeks, when we could barely persuadeourselves to remain one day in Stuttgart. But the picturesqueness ofNuremberg is particularly enticing. The streets run "every which way, "as the children say, and the architecture is so queer and ancient thatthe houses look as if they had stepped out of old prints. 

It was so hot when we arrived that we were on terms of the most distantcivility with each other. Indeed, it was dangerous to make the simplestobservation, for the other three guns were trained upon the inoffensivespeaker with such promptness and such an evident desire to fight thatfor the most part we maintained a dignified but safe silence. 

Mrs. Jimmie bearded Jimmie in his den long enough to ask him to seeabout our opera tickets at once. Everybody said we could not get any, but trust Jimmie! The agent of whom he bought them had embroidered agenerous romance of how he had got them of a lady who ordered them theJanuary before, but whose husband having just died, her feelings wouldnot permit her to use them, and so as a great accommodation, etc. , etc. 

Everybody knows these stories. Suffice it to say that Jimmie really had, at the last moment, secured admirable seats near the middle of thehouse, and everybody said it was a miracle. In looking back over theexperiences of that one opera of "Parsifal, " I cannot deny that therewas something of a miracle about it. However, "Parsifal" was three daysdistant, and Nuremberg was at hand. 

I love to think of Nuremberg. The recollection of it comes back to meagain and again through a gentle haze of happy memories. The narrowstreets were lined with houses which leaned toward each other after thegossipy manner of old friends whose confidence in each other isestablished. The windows jutted queerly, and odd balconies loopedthemselves on corners where no one expected them. They call these prettyold houses the best examples of domestic architecture, but warn you thatthe quaint peaked roofs are Gothic and the surprises are Renaissance--amixture of which purists do not approve. But I am a pagan. I likemixtures. They give you little flutters of delight in your heart, andone of the most satisfactory of experiences is not to be able to analyseyour emotions or to tell why you are pleased, but to feel at liberty toanswer art questions with "Just because!"

So Nuremberg. Its fortifications are rugged and strong. Its towersimposing. It dates back to the Huns. Frederick Barbarossa frequentlyoccupied the castle which frowns down on you from the heights. HansSachs, the poet, sang here. Albrecht Durer painted here. Peter Vischerperhaps dreamed out the noble original of my beautiful King Arthur here. 

From the quaint and awkward statues of saints and heroes in church andstate, to such delicate examples of sculpture as the figure of theVirgin in the Hirschelgasse, so delicate and graceful that it was onceattributed to an Italian master, you realise how early the arts wereestablished here and how sedulously they were pursued. Everywhere areworks of art, from the cruder decorations over doorways and windows tothe paintings of Durer in the Germanic Museum. It is a sad reflection tome that most of Durer's work, and all of his masterpieces, are in othercities--Munich, Berlin, and Vienna, and that, as it is in Greece, onlytheir fame remains to glorify the city of his birth. 

His statue, copied from a portrait painted by himself, stands in theAlbrecht-Durer Platz, and in his little house are copies of hismasterpieces and a collection of typical antique German furniture andutensils. The exquisite art of glass-staining is the suitable occupationof the custodian who shows you about the house. 

Indeed, wood carving, glass staining, engraving of medals andmedallions, copying ancient cabinets and quaint furniture are, if notthe principal, at least the most interesting occupations pursued inNuremberg to-day. In searching out the little shops I also found thattable linen, superbly embroidered and decorated with drawn-work ofintricate patterns was here in a bewildering display. 

Dear Nuremberg! A stroll through your lovely streets is a feast for theeye and a whip to the imagination that no other city in the GermanEmpire can duplicate or approach. You abound in quaint doorways, overwhich if I step, I find myself transplanted to the scenes of tapestriesand old prints, and I can easily imagine myself framed and hanging onthe wall quite comfortable and happy. 

One of these tiny doorways led us, on a bright Sunday afternoon, intoone of the oddest places we ever saw. It was theBratwurst-Glocklein--such a restaurant as Doctor Johnson would havedeserted the Cheshire Cheese for, and revelled in the change. 

It appeared to be a thousand years old. Perhaps Melanchthon expoundedthe theories of the Reformation on the very benches on which we sat. 

The door-sill was high, and we stepped over it on to a stone floor, theflagging of which was sunken in many places, causing pitfalls to theunwary. The room was small and only half lighted by infinitesimalwindows. One end of the room was given up to what appeared to be acharcoal furnace built of bricks, over which in plain view buxom maids, whose red cheeks were purple from the heat, were frying delicious littlesausages in strings. We squeezed ourselves into a narrow bench behindone of the tables whose rudeness was picturesque. I have seen schoolboydesks at Harrow and Eton worn to the smoothness of these tables here andcarved as deeply with names. There was not a vestige of a cloth ornapkins. The plates and knives and forks were rude enough to bear outthe surroundings. In fact, the clumsiness and apparent age of everythingalmost transported us, in imagination, to the stone age, but thesensation was delightful. 

One of the maids brought a string of sausages sizzling hot from the panand deftly snipped off as many as were called for upon each of ourplates. We drank our beer from steins so heavy that each one took bothhands. A person with a mouth of the rosebud variety would have found itexceedingly difficult to obtain any of the beer, the stein presentingsuch unassailable fortifications. 

It was too hot when we were there to appreciate to the full thisdelicious old spot, but on a winter evening, after the theatre, whichcloses about ten o'clock, think what a delightful thing it would be, Oye Bohemian Americans, with fashionable wives who insist upon theWaldorf or Sherry's after the theatre, to go instead to theBratwurst-Glocklein! There you smoke at your ease, put your elbows onthe table and dream dreams of your student days when the dinner coatvexed not your peaceful spirit. 

Owing to our late arrival and the enormous crowd of people at Bayreuth, we found it expedient to remain in Nuremberg and go up to Bayreuth forthe opera. The day of our performance of "Parsifal" was one of thehottest of the year. Not even Philadelphia can boast of heat moreconsolidated and unswerving than that of North Germany on thisparticular day. 

We put on muslin dresses and carried fans and smelling salts, and Jimmiehad to use force to make us carry wraps for the return. The journey, lovely in itself, was rendered hideous to us by the heat, but when wearrived at Bayreuth the babel of English voices was so delightfullyhomelike, American clothes on American women were so good to see, andBayreuth itself was so picturesque, that we forgot the heat and drove tothe opera-house full of delight. 

I am sorry that it is fashionable to like Wagner, for I really shouldlike to explain the feelings of perfect delight which tingled in myblood as I realised that I was in the home of German opera--in the citywhere the master musician lived and wrote, and where his widow and sonstill maintain their unswerving faithfulness toward his glorious music. I am a little sensitive, too, about admitting that I like Carlyle andBrowning. I suppose this is because I have belonged to a Browning andCarlyle club, where I have heard some of the most idiotic women it wasever my privilege to encounter, express glib sentiments concerning thesemasters, which in me lay too deep for utterance. It is something likethe occasional horror which overpowers me when I think that perhaps I amdoomed to go to heaven. If certain people here on earth upon whom I havelavished my valuable hatred are going there, heaven is the last place Ishould want to inhabit. So with Wagner. 

"Parsifal!" That sacred opera which has never been performed outside ofthis little hamlet. I was to see it at last!

I was prepared to be delighted with everything, and the childishness ofthe little maid who took charge of our hats before we went in to theopera charmed me. My hat was heavy and hot, and I particularly dislikedit, owing to the weight of the seagull which composed one entire side ofit, and always pulled it crooked on my head. The little maid took thehat in both her arms, laid her round red cheek against the soft feathersof the gull, kissed its glass bead eyes, and smilingly said in German:

"This is the finest hat that has been left in my charge to-day!"

Verily, the opera of "Parsifal" began auspiciously. Quite puffed up withvainglorious pride over the little maiden's admiration of one of mymodest possessions, while Bee's and Mrs. Jimmie's ravishing masterpieceshad received not even a look, we met Jimmie bustling up with programmesand opera-glasses, and went toward the main entrance. We showed ourtickets, and were sent to the side door. We went to the side door, andwere sent to the back door. At the back door, to our indignation, wewere sent up-stairs. In vain Jimmie expostulated, and said that theseseats were well in the middle of the house on the ground floor. Thedoorkeepers were inexorable. On the second floor, they sent us to thethird, and on the third they would have sent us to the roof if there hadbeen any way of getting up there. As it was, they permitted us to stopat the top gallery, and, to our unmitigated horror, the usher said thatour seats were there. Jimmie was furious, but I, not knowing how much hehad paid for them, endeavoured to soothe him by pointing out that alltrue musicians sat in the gallery, because music rises and blends in therising. 

"We are sure to get the best effect up here, Jimmie, and those frontrows, especially, if our seats happen to be in the middle, won't be atall bad. Don't let's fuss any more about it, but come along like anangel. "

I will admit, however, that even my ardour was dampened when wediscovered that our seats were absolutely in the back and top row, sothat we leaned against the wall of the building, and were not evenfurnished with chairs, but sat on a hard bench without relief of anydescription. 

And the price Jimmie hurled at us that he had paid for those tickets! Iam ashamed to tell it. 

Now Jimmie hates German opera in the most picturesque fashion. He hatesin every form, colour, and key, and in all my life I was never so sorryfor any one as I was for Jimmie that day at Bayreuth. The heat wasstifling, his rage choked him and effectually prevented his going tosleep, as otherwise he might have done in peace and quiet. He sat therein such a steam and fury that it was truly pitiable. He went out once toget a breath of air, and they turned the lights out before he could getback, so that he stumbled over people, and one man kicked him. With thatJimmie stepped on the German's other foot, and they swore at each otherin two languages and got hissed by the people around them. When hefinally got back to us, we found it expedient not to make any remarks atall, and I was glad it was too dark for him to see our faces. 

Yet, in spite of Jimmie and the heat and the ache in our backs and thehard unyielding bench, that afternoon at "Parsifal" is one of theexperiences of a lifetime. 

People tell us now that we were there on an "Off day. " By that they meanthat no singers with great names took part. How like Americans to thinkof that! Germans go to the opera for the music. Americans go to hear andsee the operatic stars. 

Happily unvexed by my ignorance, I heard a perfect "Parsifal" withoutknowing that, from an American point of view, I ought not to have beenso delighted. The orchestra was conducted by Siegfried Wagner, andMadame Wagner sat in full view from even our eyrie. 

And then--the opera! Perfection in every detail! I believed then thatnot even the Passion Play could hold my spirit, so in leash with itssymbolism, its deep devotion, and its enthralling charms. 

The day on which I saw "Parsifal" at Bayreuth was a day to be markedwith a white stone. 

CHAPTER V

THE PASSION PLAY

Jimmie came into the sitting-room this morning (for, by travelling withthe Jimmies, Bee and I can be very grand, and share the luxury of athird room with them), but I suspected him from the moment I saw hisface. It was too innocent to be natural. 

"What you got, Jimmie?" I said. Jimmie's manner of life invitesabbreviated conversation. 

"Only the letter from the Burgomeister of Oberammergau, assigning ourlodgings, " he replied, carelessly. He yawned and put the letter in hispocket. 

"Oh, Jimmie!" we all cried out. "Have they--"

"Have they what?" asked Jimmie, opening his eyes. 

"Don't be an idiot, " I said, savagely. "You know I have hardly been ableto sleep, wondering if we'd have to go to ordinary lodgings or if theywould assign us to some of the leading actors in the play. Tell us! Letme see the letter!"

"Now wait a minute, " said Jimmie, and then I knew that he was going tobe exasperating. 

"Don't you let him fool you, " said Bee, who always doubts everybody'sgood intentions and discounts their bad ones, which worthy plan of lifepermits her to count up at the end of the year only half as many mentalbruises as I, let me pause to remark. "You know that not one in tenthousand has influence enough to obtain lodgings with the chief actors, and who are _we_, I should like to know, except in our own estimation?"

"Well, " said Jimmie, meekly, "in the estimation of the Burgomeister ofOberammergau, my wife is an American princess, travelling incognito asplain Mrs. Jimmie, to avoid being mobbed by entertainers. He promises insolemn German, which I had Franz translate, not to betray her disguise. "

"That makes a prince of _you_, Jimmie, " I said, sternly. "A prettylooking prince _you_ are. "

"Not at all, " said Jimmie modestly. "I felt that I could not do theprincely act very long either as to looks or fees, so I said that theprincess had made a morganatic marriage, and that I was it. "

"Jimmie!" said his wife, blushing scarlet. "How _could_ you? Why, amorganatic marriage isn't respectable. It's left-handed. "

"My love! You are thinking of a broomstick marriage. Trust me. We arestill legally married, and if I should try to sneak out of myobligations to you by this performance, I should still be liable in theeyes of the law for your debts. Let that console you. "

"But--" said Mrs. Jimmie, still blushing, "by this plan they won't letus be together, will they?"

"They wouldn't anyway, as I discovered from their first letter. We areall to be lodged separately, and from the tone of that first letter, inwhich they addressed me as their prince, I hit on the morganaticmarriage as more economical in letting him down easy, without tellinghim I had lied or having to pay for my lie, " said Jimmie, with timidappeal in his innocent blue eyes. 

"But where do I come in, Jimmie?" I said, impatiently. 

"You come in with Judas Iscariot. Where you belong!" said Jimmie, severely. 

Bee howled. Mrs. Jimmie looked startled. 

"Nonsense!" I said, indignantly. "That is going a little too far. Iwon't be put there. I believe you asked 'em on purpose, just so that youcould crow over me afterward. "

"You are getting slightly mixed, " said Jimmie, politely. "If you mentioncrowing, 'tis Peter you ought to have been lodged with. "

"What a fool you are, Jimmie!"

Jimmie gave an ecstatic bounce. Whenever he has completely exasperatedanybody he simply beams with joy. 

"Where have they put me, Jimmie?" asked Bee. 

"They have thoughtfully assigned you to Thomas, --last name notmentioned, --where you can sit down and hold regular doubting conventionswith each other and both have the time of your lives. "

"I don't believe you!"

"Look and see, O doubtful--doubting one, I mean!"

"My word! He is telling the truth!" cried Bee in astonishment. 

"I tried to get--" began Jimmie to his wife, but she stopped him. 

"Don't, dear, " she said, gently. "You know I love your jokes, but don'tbe sacrilegious. Leave His name out of this nonsense. I--I couldn'tquite bear that. "

Jimmie got up and kissed her. 

"They have lodged you with the Virgin Mary, sweetheart, and the two mostlovely Marys in the world will be in the same house together, " he said. 

Mrs. Jimmie blushed and smoothed Jimmie's riotous hair tenderly. 

"And have they separated you and me, dear? Where have they lodged you?"

"I have secured an apartment with Mary Magdalene--in her house, I mean!"said Jimmie, straightening up. 

Bee and I shrieked. Jimmie edged toward the door. 

"Jimmie!" said his wife in horror. "_Please_ don't--"

"Don't what?"

His wife rose from her chair and turned away. 

"Don't what?" he repeated. 

"I was only going to say, " said Mrs. Jimmie, "don't make a joke ofevery--"

"Well, if you don't want me to go there, I'll trade places with thescribe and put _her_ with the lady who is generally representedreclining on the ground in a blue dress improving her mind by reading. Perhaps you would feel more comfortable if I lodged with Judas?"

"No, indeed! and put _her_ with Mary Magdalene?" said Mrs. Jimmie, whoseserious turn of mind was as a well-spring in a thirsty land to Jimmie. 

"My dear, " he said, impressively, with his hand on the door-knob. "Twothings seem to have escaped your mind. One is that this is onlyplay-acting, and the other is that Mary Magdalene, when history let goof her, was a reformed character anyway. "

The door slammed. We both looked expectantly at Mrs. Jimmie. Herapologies for Jimmie's most delicious impertinences are so sincere andher sense of humour so absolutely wanting that we love her almost asdearly as we love Jimmie. 

Mrs. Jimmie, large, placid, fair and beautiful as a Madonna, rose andlooked doubtfully at us after Jimmie had fled. 

"You mustn't mind his--what he said or implied, " she said, the colouragain rising in her creamy cheeks. "Jimmie never realises how thingswill sound, or I think he wouldn't--or I don't know--" She hesitatedbetween her desire to clear Jimmie and her absolute truthfulness. Shechanged the conversation by coming over to me and laying her handtenderly on my hair. 

"You are _sure_, dear, that you don't mind lodging with Judas Iscariot?"

Bee stuffed her handkerchief into her mouth and politely turned herback. I bit my lip. It hurts her feelings to be laughed at. 

"Not a bit, Mrs. Jimmie. I shall love it. "

"Because I was going to say that if you did, I would gladly exchangewith you, and you could lodge with Mary. "

"Mrs. Jimmie, " I said, "you are an angel. That's what you are. "

"And now, " said Bee, cheerfully, who hates sentiment, "let's pack, forwe leave at noon. "

I don't apologise for Jimmie's ribald conversation, because many people, until they have seen the Passion Play, make frivolous remarks, whichwould be impossible after viewing it, except to the totally insensibleor irreligious. 

Jimmie is irreligious, but not insensible. He really had gone to no endof trouble to obtain these lodgings for us, and he had insisted sotenaciously that we must be lodged with the principals that we wereobliged to wait for an extra performance, and live in Munich meanwhile. 

We all four made the journey from Munich to Oberammergau, which lies inso picturesque a spot in the Bavarian Alps, from very different motives. Mrs. Jimmie, who is an ardent churchwoman, went in a spirit of deepdevotion. Bee went because one agent told her that over twelve thousandAmericans had been booked through their company alone. Bee goes toeverything that everybody else goes to. Jimmie went in exactly the samespirit of boyish, alert curiosity with which, when he is in New York, he goes to each new attraction at Weber and Field's. 

As we got off the train the little town looked like an exposition, except that there were no exhibits. English, German, and French spokenconstantly, and not infrequently Russian, Spanish, and Italian assailedour ears the whole time we were there. Only one thing wascharacteristic. The native peasants looked different. The picturesquecostume of the Tyrolese men, consisting of velveteen knee breeches, gaycoloured stockings, embroidered white blouse, and short bolero jacketwith gold braid or fringe, and the Alpine hat, with a pheasant or eaglefeather in it, sat jauntily upon most of the young men, whose boldglances and sinewy movements suggested their alert, out-of-door life intheir mountain homes. But the Oberammergau peasants walked with a slowerstep. Their eyes were meek instead of roving, their smiles tenderinstead of saucy, and they say it is all the influence of the PassionPlay, which for over three hundred years has dominated their lives. Noone who commits a crime, or who lives an impure life, can act in thegreat drama, nor can any except natives take part. And as the ambitionof every man, woman, and child in Oberammergau is to form part of thisglorious company, the reason for the purity of their aspect is at onceto be seen. No murder, robbery, or crime of any description has beencommitted in Oberammergau for three hundred years. 

The peasants of this little mountain village live their whole livesunder the shadow of the cross. 

Nor was it long before our little party came under this strangeinfluence. My own sense of the eternal fitness of things is so highlydeveloped that I was under the tense strain of nervous excitement whichalways wrecks me after reading a strong novel or witnessing a tragicplay. I was afraid to see the Passion Play for two reasons. One that Icould not bear to see the Saviour of mankind personified, and the otherthat I was afraid that the audience would misbehave. If I am going tohave my emotions wrenched, I never want any one near me. To my mind themad King Ludwig of Bavaria obtained the highest enjoyment possible fromhaving performances of magnificent merit with himself as the soleauditor. This world is so mixed anyway, and audiences at anyentertainment so hopelessly beyond my control. Nothing, for example, makes me feel so murderous as for an audience to go mad and stamp andkick and howl over a cornet solo with variations, no matter how ribald, and beg for more of it. And they always _do_!

The Passion Play, up to a comparatively few years ago, had comiccharacters and scenes, as for instance, there was once a scene in hellwhere the Devil, as chief comedian, ripped open the bowels of Judas andtook therefrom a string of sausages. This vulgar and hideous buffoonerywas in the habit of being received with delight by the peasants fromneighbouring hamlets, which, up to fifty years ago, formed the principalpart of the Passion Play audiences. 

And as tradition, the handing down of legends from father to son, formssuch a part of the mountaineer's education, I was not surprised to heara party of Tyrolese giggle at moments when the deeper meaning of theplay was holding the rest of us in a spell so tense that it hurt. 

I remember in Modjeska's rendition of Frou-frou, when Frou-frou's loveris breaking her heart, and the strain becomes almost unbearable, Modjeska's nervous hands tear her valuable lace handkerchief into bits. It is a piece of inspired acting to make the discriminating weep, but myfriend the audience always giggled irresistibly, as if the sound ofrending lace, when a woman's agony was the most intense, were a bit ofexquisite comedy. 

I am constrained to believe, however, that in almost entirelyremodelling the Passion Play, the village priest, Daisenberger, was notmoved by any consideration of what an ignorant audience might do, butrather by the noble, Oberammergau spirit of a life of devotion, dedicated to the rewriting, rehearsing, and directing of theperformance. 

The history of this man illustrates what I mean by the Oberammergauspirit. In 1830 he was a young peasant who saw the possibilities of thePassion Play. He went to the head of the Monastery at Ettal, and vowedto consecrate his whole life to this work, if they would make him apriest and permit him to become the spiritual director of the people ofthe village. But he was obliged to study seven years before they gavehim the position. He was seventy years old when he died, having so noblyfulfilled his vow that he is called "The Shakespeare of the PassionPlay. " For forty-five years he superintended every performance and everypublic rehearsal, and as these rehearsals take place in some form orother almost every night during the ten years which intervene betweenone performance and another, something of the depth of his devotion tohis beloved task may be gathered. 

Jimmie marvelled that he could leave his money and his valuables around, and his room door unlocked, until they told him that the street door wasnever locked either. At this information Jimmie grew suspicious, andlocked his bedroom door, much to the affliction of the gentle family ofBertha Wolf, who plays Mary Magdalene. He explained to them that therewere plenty of Italian, French, and English robbers, even if there wereno Tyrolese. "And are there no American robbers?" they asked, simply, towhich Jimmie replied with equal guilelessness that Americans in Europehad no time to rob other people, they were so busy in being robbed. 

"People think we are so very rich, you see, " he explained, when theygazed at him uncomprehendingly. Then he gave the little brown-eyed boywho clings to his mother's skirt in one of the tableaux five pfennigs tosee him clap his hands twice and bob his yellow head, which is the wayTyrolese children express their thanks. 

This living in the families of the actors was most interesting, exceptfor the autograph fiends, who simply mobbed the Christus, Anton Lang, and Josef Maier, the Christus of the last three performances, who nowtakes the part of the speaker of the prologue. Those dear people were soobliging that no one was ever refused, consequently thousands oftourists must possess autographs of most of the principals. Not one ofour party asked an autograph of anybody. I hope they are grateful to us. I should think they would remember us for that alone. 

Mrs. Jimmie was not at all disturbed by the somewhat wooden andinadequate acting of Anna Flunger, who plays Mary, and loved, I believealmost worshipped, that young peasant girl, who walked bareheaded andwith downcast eyes through the streets, or who waited upon the guests inher father's house with such sweet simplicity. To Mrs. Jimmie, AnnaFlunger was the real Virgin Mary, so real, indeed, that I believe thatMrs. Jimmie could almost have prayed to her. 

Even Bee was intensely touched by an act of Peter, --for her lodging waschanged to the house of Thomas and Peter Rendl after we arrived. Thefather, Thomas Rendl, plays St. Peter, while his son is again John, thebeloved disciple. He played John in 1890, at the age of seventeen, butthey say that there is not a line in his beautiful, spiritual face toshow the flight of time. His large liquid eyes follow the every movementof the Master's on the stage, and their expression is so hauntinglybeautiful that even Bee admitted its influence. Bee said that oneevening, as they were sitting around the table, resting for a momentafter supper was finished, the village church bell began to ring for theAngelus. In an instant the two men and the two women politely madetheir excuses and rising, stood in the middle of the room facingeastward, crossing their hands upon their breasts in silent prayer. Beesaid it was most beautiful to see how simply they performed this littleact of devotion. 

I wouldn't let Jimmie know of it for the world, but it has been quite atrial to me to live in the house with Judas. He plays with suchtremendous power--he makes it seem so real, so close, so near. Once Iasked him if he liked the part, and he broke down and wept. He said hehated it--that he loathed himself for playing it, and that his oneambition was to be allowed to play the Christus for just one time beforehe died, in order to wipe out the disgrace of his part as Judas and tocleanse his soul. I cried too, for I knew that his ambition could neverbe realised. I told him that perhaps they would allow him to act thepart at a rehearsal, if he told them of his ambition, and the thoughtseemed to cheer him. He said he knew the part perfectly, and had oftenrehearsed it in private to comfort his own soul. 

Such was his sincerity and grief, such his contrition and remorse aftera performance, that it would not surprise me some day to know that thepart had overpowered him, and that he had actually hanged himself. 

As to the play itself--I wish I need say nothing about it. My mind, myheart, my soul, have all been wrenched and twisted with such emotion asis not pleasant to feel nor expedient to speak about. It was too real, too heart-rending, too awful. I hate, I abhor myself for feeling thingsso acutely. I wish I were a skeptic, a scoffer, an atheist. I wish Icould put my mind on the mechanism of the play. I wish I could believethat it all took place two thousand years ago. I wish I didn't know thatthis suffering on the stage was all actual. I wish I thought thesepeople were really Tyrolese peasants, wood-carvers and potters, and thatall this agony was only a play. I hate the women who are weeping allaround me. I hate the men who let the tears run down their cheeks, andwhose shoulders heave with their sobs. It is so awful to see a man cry. 

But no, it is all true. It is taking place now. I am one of the womenat the foot of the cross. The anguish, the cries, the sobs are allactual. They pierce my heart. The cross with its piteous burden isoutlined against the real sky. The green hill beyond is Calvary. Dovesflutter in and out, and butterflies dart across the shafts of sunlight. The expression of Christ's face is one of anguish, forgiveness, and pityunspeakable. Then his head drops forward on his breast. It grows dark. The weeping becomes lamentation, and as they approach to thrust thespear into His side, from which I have been told the blood and waterreally may be seen to pour forth, I turn faint and sick and close myeyes. It has gone too far. I no longer am myself, but a disorganisedheap of racked nerves and hysterical weeping, and not even the descentfrom the cross, the rising from the dead, nor the triumphant ascensioncan console me nor restore my balance. 

The Passion Play but once in a lifetime!

CHAPTER VI

MUNICH TO THE ACHENSEE

If there were a country where the crowned heads of Europe in ballcostume sat in a magnificent hall, drinking nothing less than champagne, while the court band discoursed bewitching music, and the electriclights flashed on myriads of jewels, Bee and Mrs. Jimmie would declarethat sort of Bohemia to be quite in their line. And because that kind ofrefined stupidity would bore Jimmie and me to the verge of extinction, and because we really prefer an open-air concert-garden with beer, wherethe people are likely to be any sort of cattle whom nobody would want toknow, yet who are interesting to speculate about, I really believe thatBee and Mrs. Jimmie think we are a little low. 

However, their impossible tastes being happily for us unattainable, three hours after our arrival in Munich found Jimmie proudly marchingthree sailor-hat and shirt-waist women into the Lowenbraukeller. 

It was about four o'clock in the afternoon when we arrived, and we tookour seats at a little table in the terraced garden. A rosy-cheeked maid, who evidently had violent objections to soap, brought us our beer, andthen we looked around. There was music, not very good, only a few peoplesmoking china pipes and not even drinking beer, a few idly reading thepaper, and a general air over everybody of Mr. Micawber waiting forsomething to turn up. 

Jimmie glanced around anxiously. The length of our stay depended uponour ability to please Mrs. Jimmie and Bee, who were easily fatigued bythe populistic element of society. 

"Nothin' doin', " growled Jimmie in my ear. "Wake 'em up, can't you?Create a riot. Let's smash our beer-mugs, and shout 'Down with theKaiser!'"

"You'd find you would stay longer than you wanted to if you did that, " Isaid. "What do you suppose they are all _waiting_ for?"

Jimmie called the redolent maiden, and in German which made her quiverput the question. 

"At five o'clock they will open a fresh hogshead of beer--theLowenbrau, " she answered him. 

"_Fresh_ beer?" cried Jimmie. "How long has this been opened?"

"Since three. "

"Great Scott!" whispered Jimmie. "Think of me brought up on a bottle, coming to a land where men will sit for an hour to get beer the firstfive minutes it is opened. "

"See, they are opening it now, " said the maid. 

Sure enough, every man in the garden slowly rose and ambled leisurely toa horse-trough in the centre of the garden in which lay perhaps a scoreof mugs in running water. Each took a stein or two or three, dependingon his party, and formed in line in front of the counter across whichthe beer was passed. 

"Come, Jimmie, " I said. "I'm going to get my own stein. "

"Why do they do that?" asked Mrs. Jimmie, after we had got in line. 

"It saves the half-cent charged for service, " answered the maid. 

"Now isn't she funny!" complained Bee of me as I returned beaming withcontent. "She _likes_ to go and do a queer thing like that instead ofsitting still to be waited on, like a lady. "

"Been waited on a million times like a lady, " I ventured to respond. "Itisn't every day one _can_ get a cool mug and see the beer drawn freshand foaming like that. I felt like a Holbein painting. "

Bee, as at Baden-Baden, plaintively gave the attendant a double fee toshow that meanness had not caused my apparently thrifty act. Then forthe first time in our lives we found what fresh beer really meant. 

Even Bee and Mrs. Jimmie admitted that it was worth while coming, andlet me record in advance that when we got to Vienna, and they served usan equally delicious beer in long thin glasses as delicate as aneggshell, Bee grew so enthusiastic in the process of beer drinking thatJimmie grew absurdly proud of his pupil, and professed to think that shewas "coming round after all. " But Bee declared that it was the thinnessof the glasses which attracted her, and insisted that beer out of aGerman stein was like trying to drink over a stone wall. 

We went many times after that, generally in the evening, when theconcert was held in a hall which must have contained two thousandpeople, even when all seated at little tables, and where the band wouldhave deafened you if the hall had not been so large. Here Jimmie and thewaitress prevailed upon us to taste the most inhuman dishes with names ayard long, which the maid declared we would find to be "wunderschön. "

We began in a spirit of adventure, but Jimmie's taste in food is sodepraved that if he followed the precedent all through his life, Lombroso would class him as a degenerate. As it was, he soon had usdistanced. But we let him eat pickles and cherries and herring and creamand tripe and garlic and pig's feet all stewed up together, while welistened to the music, and planned what we would bury him in. 

The pictures in Munich we loved. I must say that I enjoy the atmosphereof the Munich school better than any other. There is a healthiness aboutGerman realism that one is not afraid nor ashamed to admire. Frenchrealism is like a suggestive story, expunged of all but the surface funfor girls' hearing. You are afraid of the laugh it raises for fear thereis something beneath it all that you don't understand. But the modernMunich galleries were not the task that picture galleries often are. They were a sincere delight, and let me pause to say that Munich art wasone thing that we four were unanimous in praising and enjoying as ahappy and united family. 

It was here that Jimmie proceeded to go mad over Verboeckhoven's sheeppictures, and Mrs. Jimmie and Bee over the crown jewels in the Treasuryof the Alte Residenz. To be sure they _are_ fine. For example, there isthe famous "Pearl of the Palatinate, " which is half black, and aglorious blue diamond about twice as fine as the one owned by LordFrancis Hope, which his family went to law to prevent his selling notlong ago, and a superb group of St. George and the dragon, the knightbeing in chased gold, the dragon made entirely of jasper, and the wholething studded thickly with precious stones of every description. But, except that these things are historic and kept in royal vaults, they areno more wonderful than jewellers' exhibits at the expositions. 

But if you want to be thoroughly mixed up on the Nibelungenlied, afteryou think you have got those depraved old parties with their iniquitousmarriages and loose morals pretty well adjusted by a faithful attendanceat Walter Damrosch's lectures and Wagner operas, just go through theKönigsbau, and let one of those automatic conductors in uniform take youthrough the Schnorr Nibelungen Frescoes, and from personal experience Iwill guarantee that, when you have completed the rounds, you won't evenknow who Siegfried is. 

There is one thing particularly worth mentioning about Munich, and thatis that also in Alte Residenz, in the Festsaalbau, which faces on theHofgarten, and is 256 yards, not feet, long, are two small card rooms, with what they call a "gallery of beauties. "

Now everybody knows how disappointing professional beauties are. Thinkover the names of actresses heralded as "beauties;" of belles, who havebeen said to turn men's heads by the score; of Venuses, and Psyches, andMadonnas of the galleries of Europe, and tell me your honest opinion. Aren't most of them really--well, _trying, _ to say the least?

Titian's beauties all need an obesity remedy, and Jimmie criticises most"beauties" so severely that we have got to searching them out, when weare tired and cross, just to vent our spleen upon. 

Jimmie's favourite story is the old, old one of the old woman who saw ahippopotamus for the first time. She looked at him a moment in silenceand then said: "My! ain't he plain!"

It is pre-historic, that story, but it has saved our lives many a timein Europe. It fits so many cases, and I mention it here just to prove mypoint. Go, then, to the "Gallery of Beauties" in the Palace, and youwill find thirty-six portraits by Steiler, of thirty-six of the mostexquisite women conceivable to the mind of man. Some of these arewomen, like the Empress of Austria, who were justly famed for a beautywhich is not often the gift of royalty. Others are women of whom youhave never heard, but so lovely that it would be impossible not toremember their loveliness for ever and a day. 

We all enthusiastically bought photographs of the painting of theEmpress Elizabeth at the age of eighteen, which to my mind is one of themost exquisite faces ever put upon canvas, and then, highly elated withour presentation of Munich to Mrs. Jimmie and Bee, we gaily wended ourway southward, following the river Isar for a time, until we reachedInnsbruck, on our way to the Achensee. 

At Innsbruck we halted for a sentimental reason which I am not ashamedto divulge, as the ridicule of the public would be sweet approvalcompared to the way Jimmie wore himself to a shadow in the violence ofhis jeers. But the fact is that the King Arthur of Tennyson has alwaysbeen one of my heroes, and in the Franciscan Church or the Hofkirche inInnsbruck, there were twenty-eight heroic bronze statues, the finest ofthese being of Arthur, König von England, by the famous Peter Vischerof Nuremberg. 

So in Innsbruck we paused for a few days, finding it delightful beyondour ideas of it, and exquisitely picturesque, situated on both banks ofa dear little foaming, yellow river, with foot-bridges upon which youmay stand and watch it rage and churn, and around it on all sides risingthe mountains of the Bavarian Alps, which are not so near as to crowdyou. Mountains smother me as a rule. 

Jimmie obligingly took us at once to the Hofkirche, to get to which wepassed under the Triumphal Gate, erected by the citizens on the occasionof the entry of the Emperor Francis I. And the Empress Maria Theresa, tocommemorate the marriage of Prince Leopold, who afterward became theEmperor Leopold II. , with the Infanta Maria Ludovica. This magnificentarch is of granite and will last thousands of years. It reminded me ofthe Dewey Arch in New York--it was so different. 

The Emperor Maximilian I. Directed in his will that the Hofkirche shouldbe built, and in the centre of the nave he is represented kneeling by asumptuous bronze statue, surrounded by the statues I had come to see. Jimmie declared that the marble sarcophagus upon which the statue ofMaximilian is placed was "worth the price of admission, " but Jimmie'sopinion is of no value except when he is accidentally right, as in thisinstance. He studied this and the monument of Andreas Hofer, whoseremains are buried here, under a magnificent sarcophagus of Tyrolesemarble, leaving us to our bronze statues. 

I found my King Arthur perfectly satisfactory, much to my surprise, forI am always prepared to be disappointed. Some of the statues areridiculous in the extreme, but these monstrosities served the better toemphasise the dignity of King Arthur's pose and the nobility of hiscountenance. 

Just after you leave the Hofkirche, you find yourself just opposite tothe "Golden Dachl, " which the natives tell you is a roof built of puregold, but which the skeptical declare to be copper gilded. This roofcovers a handsome Gothic balcony and blazes as splendidly as if it weregold, as Bee and Mrs. Jimmie preferred to believe. It is said to havecost seventy thousand dollars, and was built by Count Frederick ofTyrol, who was called "The Count of the Empty Pockets, " to refute hisnickname. 

While we were taking infinite satisfaction in this little history, welost Jimmie. He emerged presently from a handsome shop near by followedby a man bearing a large box. 

"What have you been buying, Jimmie?" we demanded, suspiciously. 

"Only a replica of Maximilian's statue, " he answered, blandly. 

"You mean a 'copy, ' my darling, " I corrected him, sweetly. 

Now Jimmie loves a fight and so do I, so we immediately offered battleto each other, Jimmie insisting on his replica, and I declaring that areplica meant that the same artist must have made both the original andthe second article, which when made by another craftsman became a"copy. "

Jimmie got red in the face and abusive, while I remained cool andexasperating. I was getting even with Jimmie for everything since Paris. 

But conceive, if you can, my utter humiliation when, upon arriving atthe hotel, I discovered that the box contained, not Maximilian, but mydear King Arthur, and that Jimmie had bought it for _me!_

I really cried. 

"Jimmie, " I said in a meek and lowly voice, "you are an angel--a bright, beautiful, golden angel, and from now on, I'll call this areplica, --when I'm talking to a wayfaring man. And I'll never, neverfight with you again!"

"Then gimme back that bronze man!" declared Jimmie. "If you give up thebattlefield I'll start home to-morrow!" Which shows you where I gotencouragement to be "ungentlemanly, " as Jimmie calls me. 

Innsbruck is the capital of Tyrol, and the whole country of Tyrol islike a picture-book. Its history is so stirring, its country sobeautiful, its people are so picturesque. There are any number of daintylittle lakes lying in among its mountains, which are accessible to thetourist, and therefore semi-public, by which I mean not as public as theSwiss or Italian lakes. But up the Inn River a few miles, and completelyhidden from the tourist, being out of the way and little known toAmericans, there lies the most lovely lake of all, the Achensee, and allaround it the Tyrolese peasants, as they ought to be allowed to remain, simple, primitive, natural. We wanted to see them dance. So regardlessof whether an iron bound itinerary would take us there next, we foldedaway our maps, put our trust in our little yellow coupon ticket book, and started for the Achensee. From the moment we began to see less oftourists and more of the natives, Jimmie's and my spirits rose. Chiffonand patent leather might belong to Bee and Mrs. Jimmie, but here in theAustrian Tyrol, Jimmie and I were getting our innings. 

We got off the train at Jenbach and left our trunks there. Then on thesame platform, but behind it, and a few yards beyond the station, thereis a curious little hunchbacked engine and an open car. Into this car weclimbed with our handbags, and beheld on the same seat with Mrs. Jimmiea beautiful woman in a gown unmistakably from Paris, who looked sofamiliar that we could scarcely keep from staring her out ofcountenance. Finally Bee leaned across and whispered:

"Don't look, but isn't that Madame Carreño?"

Without heeding Bee's polite warning, I turned and pounced upon my idol. 

"Madame Carreño!"

"My _dear_ child!"

"What in the world are you doing here?"

"Why I _live_ here! And you? How came _you_ to find your way to thisinaccessible spot?"

"We are going to the Achensee--to the Hotel Rhiner, to hear FräuleinTherese--"

"You have heard of my little friend Therese, and you have come--how manythousand miles?--to hear her sing and play on her zither?"

"To do all that, but mostly to see if she will tell me her love story. "

"How do you know she had one?" inquired Madame Carreño, quickly. 

"I heard of it in England. Some one who knew the duke told me. "

"It was a lucky escape for her, and I think she will tell you all aboutit. You see it happened, ah, so many years ago. "

To my mind, Madame Carreño is the most wonderful genius of modern timesat the piano. I have heard all the others scores of times, so don'targue with me. You may all worship whom you will, but the whole musicalpart of my heart is at Madame Carreño's feet, with a small corner savedfor Vladimir de Pachmann, when he plays Chopin. She claims to be anAmerican, but she plays with a heart of a Slav, and as one whose untamedspirit can never be held in leash even by her music. Her playing is sointoxicating that it goes through my veins like wine. The last time Iheard her play was in an enormous hall in the West, when her audiencewas composed of music lovers of every class and description. Just backof me was a woman whose whole soul seemed to respond to Carreño'shypnotic genius. Carreño had just finished Liszt's "Rhapsodic Hongroise"No. 2, and had followed it up with a mad Tschaikowsky fragment. I was soexcited I was on the verge of tears when I heard the woman behind mecatch her breath with a sob and exclaim:

"My Lord! Ain't she got _vinegar_!"

I repeated this to Madame Carreño at Jenbach, and she seized my handsand shouted with laughter. Such a grip as she has! Her hands are filledwith steel wires instead of muscles, and her arms have the strength ofan athlete in training. 

The car propelled by the hunchbacked engine grated and bumped its wayover its cog-wheel road, pushing its delighted quota of passengershigher and higher into the mountains. The Inn valley fell away from ourview, and wooded slopes, fir-trees, patches of snow on far hillsides, and tiny hamlets took its place. 

"Here and there among these little villages live my summer pupils, " saidMadame Carreño. "I have six. One from San Francisco, one from Australia, one from Paris, one from Geneva, and two from Russia--all young girls, and with _such_ talent! They live all the way from Jenbach to theAchensee, and come to see me once a week. "

The train stopped with a final squeal of the chain, and a lurch whichloosened our joints. 

Before us spread a sheet of water of such a blueness, such a limpid, clear, deep sapphire blue as I never saw in water before. 

Around it rose the hills of Tyrol, guarding it like sentinels. 

It was the Achensee!

CHAPTER VII

DANCING IN THE AUSTRIAN TYROL

Jimmie is such a curious mixture that it is really very much worth whileto study his emotions. I think perhaps that even I, who find it so hardto discover either man, woman, child, or dog whom I would designate as"typically American, " am forced to admit that Jimmie's mental make-up isperfect as a certain type of the American business man, travellingextensively in Europe. The real bread of life to Jimmie is the New YorkStock Exchange; but being on the verge of a nervous breakdown, hebrought his fine steel-wire will to bear upon his recreation with asmuch nervous force as he ever expended in a deal in Third Avenue orUnion Pacific. 

Hence he travels nervously yet deliberately, and views Europe from thepoint of view of the American stock market, scoffing at my enthusiasm, ironical of Bee's most cherished preferences, patient with his wife'sserious love of society, and chivalrously tolerant, as only the Americanman can be, of the prejudices of his travelling family. 

I notice that he is taking on a certain amount of true culture. He isbroadening. Jimmie is beginning to let his emotions out; however, verygradually, with a firm, nervous hand on the throttle-valve, with thesensitive American's fear of ridicule as his steam-gauge. 

I watched Jimmie as he first saw the Achensee. The colour came into hisface, his eyes brightened, and he clenched his hands--a sure sign offeeling in Jimmie. 

There was a little white steamboat at the pier. The lake spread outbefore us was of the colour which you see when you look down into thedepths of some fine unmounted sapphire at Tiffany's. The pebbles on thebeach under the water looked as if they were in a basin of blueing. Ireached in to take one out, and thoroughly expected to find my handstained when I withdrew it. Around the lake arose little hills of thesame beauty and verdure as our Berkshires, with the exception that thesehills possessed a certain purplish, bluish haze with a gray mist overthem, which gave to their colouring the same softness that a womanimparts to her complexion when she wears white chiffon under a blacklace veil. 

I cannot understand what makes the Achensee so blue and the Königsee sogreen. Chemically analysed, the waters are almost identical, and theverdure surrounding them is very similar, and yet the Königsee is asgreen as the Achensee is blue. 

A little steamer took us around the edge of the lake, where at the firstlanding-place Madame Carreño left us. We could only see the roof of hercottage in the grove of trees. 

There is a new hotel somewhere along the lake; but we left that, withits modern equipments and electric lights, and went where we had beendirected--to the Hotel Rhiner. Fräulein Therese met us at the landing. Alas! she was no longer the beauty of her love story of thirty yearsbefore. She was ample. Her short hair curled like a boy's, as without ahat she stood under a green umbrella, to welcome her guests. She hadlarge feet, large hips, a large waist, and large lungs; but as she tookour hands in the friendliest of greetings, and beamed on us from herfull-moon face, we felt how delightful it was to get home once more. 

The Hotel Rhiner is severely plain, --almost unfurnished, --and itsappointments are primitive in the extreme. There was no carpet upon thefloor of our rooms. Two little single beds stood side by side. A singlecandle was supposed to furnish light, and the wash-bowl was about thesize of your hand. Yet everything was exquisitely clean, and from thewindows of our corner room stretched away the blue Achensee and themountains of the Tyrol, making a view which made you forget that thesheets were damp, and that the chairs were uncushioned. 

Physically, I am sure that I was never more uncomfortable than I was atthe Hotel Rhiner. The bed squeaked; the mattress, I think, was filledwith corn-shucks, the hard part of which had an ungentle way ofassailing you when you least expected it. Yet, if now were given to methe choice of going back to the Élysée Palace in Paris, or the HotelRhiner on the Achensee, it would not take me two seconds to start forthe corn-shucks. 

A rosy-cheeked, amply proportioned maid, named Rosa, dressed in thepicturesque costume of the Tyrolese peasants, installed us in our roomsand advised us to row upon the lake and see the sunset before supper. 

Tourists from the other hotels were being landed at our pier from tinyboats, to have their supper at the Hotel Rhiner, for the cooking isfamous. Jimmie came and pounded on our door, executing a small war-dancein the corridor when we appeared, "We've struck our gait, " he said, ecstatically, to me. "Virtue is itsown reward. This pays us for Baden-Baden and Paris. What do you think?The Rhiner family themselves do the cooking. There are the old mother, Fräulein Therese, three sons, two daughters-in-law, and fivegrandchildren who run this house. I have ordered the corner table onthe veranda for supper--and such a table! And afterward there is goingto be a dance in the kitchen. Fräulein Therese has promised to play forus on her zither, and there is going to be singing. Now, come along andlet's do the sunset stunt. "

Bee and Mrs. Jimmie followed us with gentle apprehension, for they arealways a little suspicious of anything that Jimmie and I particularlylike. Under a long, sloping roof we found several dozen littlerow-boats, with the "shipmaster, " a peasant whose costume might havecome out of a Gilbert and Sullivan opera. He launched us, however, andthe boat shot out into the lake, with Jimmie and me at the oars, andthen we saw a sight that none of us had ever seen before. The air waswonderfully calm and still. The only ripple on the lake was that whichwas left by our boat as we rowed out to where there was a break in thehills. On the east and west, there the tallest hills fall away from theAchensee and make an undulating line on the horizon. As we reached thisbreak, we stopped rowing, transfixed by the glory of the scene. 

The sun was just setting, a great molten mass of flame, splashing downin the crimson clouds, which showed in the aperture between the hills. Little thin wraiths of mist or haze curled up from this molten mass intothe rosy sky above, as if the gods on Olympus were mulling claret for amarriage feast. The purple hills curved down on each side in the exactshape of an amethyst punch-bowl, and the radiance of colouring fairlyblinded us. On the other hand, the full moon was rising above theeastern hills in a haze of silver, but with a calmness and serenemajesty which formed a direct antithesis to the sinking sun she faced. 

Lower and lower sank the king, going down out of sight finally in ablaze of splendour which left the western sky aflame with light. In theeast higher and higher rose the queen, rising from her silver mists intothe clear pale blue of the sky, and sending her white lances glidingacross the blue waters of the Achensee, till their tips touched ouroars. 

We watched it, hushed, breathless, awed. I looked at Jimmie. 

"What is it like?" murmured Bee. 

And to my surprise, Jimmie answered her from out of the spell this magicscene had caused, saying:

"It is like a glimpse of the splendours of the New Jerusalem. "

We had supper that night in the open air of the veranda, where Jimmiehad engaged the table. Hedwig, a waitress, whispered into my earconfidentially that we would find the fish delicious, as they were someof those the priests had not needed. 

The Tyrol, especially in the vicinity of the Achensee, is absolutelypriest-ridden, every one, from the peasants to the gentry, contributing, and the best in the land going into their larders and their coffers. 

We were indebted to the overfeeding of these fat priests for a delicacywhich was then unknown to me--broiled goose liver with onions. It is aGerman dish, but a rarity not to be had in even all first-class hotelsin Germany and Austria. When you have it, it is announced to the guestspersonally, with something the same air as if the proprietor should say:

"Madame, the Emperor and his suite will dine at this hotel to-night, ateight. "

Goose liver may not sound tempting to some, but as I saw it that night, cooked by the old mother of Fräulein Therese, a luscious white meatdelicately browned and smothered in onions as we smother a steak, and sodelicate that it melted in the mouth like an aspic jelly, it was one ofthe most delicious dishes I ever essayed. 

As we were eating our dessert, a _gemischtes compote_ so rich that itnearly sent us to our eternal rest, Fräulein Therese came and asked usto have our coffee in the kitchen. A long, low-ceiled room, three stepsbelow the level of the ground, with seats against the wall, and a raisedplatform on each side, with little tables for coffee, adjoined thehotel. This room at one time perhaps had been a real kitchen, wherecooking was done. Now it was turned into a place of recreation. Aroundthe walls were seated a variegated, almost motley, array of men andwomen, from the dear old fat mother of Fräulein Therese and the threeboys, the daughters-in-law, the granddaughters, to a picturesque oldman, whose coal-black beard fell almost to his waist, our friend the"shipmaster, " and the band of four musicians, all dressed in theTyrolese costume, with the exception of the women of the Rhiner family. 

Some thirty years ago the father Rhiner, now dead and gone, the mother, whose voice is still a wonder, Fräulein Therese, and the three boysjourneyed to London to sing before the Queen at her jubilee. This madethem famous, and was the beginning of the Fräulein's love story, whichwas told me in London by Lady J. , a relative of the duke who so nearlywrecked the Fräulein's life. 

By telling the Fräulein that I knew Lady J. , I induced her to repeat thestory to me. 

"It was in St. Petersburg that I saw him for the second time. He wasthen the Marquis of B. , in the suite of the Prince of Wales, when hewent to pay a visit to the Tzar's court. The marquis loved me, as Ithought sincerely. I was very young, and I believed him. After he wentback to London, he arranged for me to sing in grand opera; they tell methat it was a lie; that I could not have sung in opera; that he onlywanted to get me away from my family. They tell me that it was a wisething, directed by God, that I should drop the letter in which he gaveme directions how to meet him, that my sister-in-law should find it, andthat my brother should overtake me at the train, and prevent my going. Ido not know. I only know that I have always loved him. Even after hebecame the Duke of M. , and married one of your countrywomen, I stillloved him. Now he is dead, and I love him still. See, I wear this blackribbon always in his memory. Yet they tell me that he lied to me, andthat it was for the best. Well, we are all in God's hands. " And shesighed deeply. 

She drew her zither toward her, and began to play as I never heard thatsimple little instrument played before. Then one by one they began tosing. It was amazing how little of the freshness of their voices hasbeen lost during all this time. I never heard such singing. A bass voicewhich would have graced the Tzar's choir, came booming from the old manwith the black beard, as they yodeled and sang and sang and yodeledagain, until their little audience went quite wild with delight. 

Bee and Mrs. Jimmie were beginning to forgive us. Jimmie dashed over toFräulein Therese, at Bee's request, to ask who the old man was. 

"It's the cowherd, " he announced, with his evil-minded simplicity, andseemed to obtain a huge interior enjoyment from the way Bee pushed herchair back out of range, and looked disgusted. 

Presently came Rosa, the chambermaid, and Hedwig, the waitress, and adozen young men from the neighbouring hamlet, and began to dance the"schuplattle. " I have seen this wonderful dance performed on the stageand in other Tyrolese villages, but never have I seen it danced with theabandonment of those young peasants in that little kitchen on theAchensee. They were all beautiful dancers. The young "shipmaster" seizedour pretty Rosa around the waist, and they began to waltz. Suddenly, without a moment's warning, they fell apart, with a yell from the boywhich curdled the blood in our veins. Rosa continued waltzing alone, with her hands on her hips, while her partner did a series ofcart-wheels around the room, bringing up just in front of her, andwaltzing with her again without either of them losing a step. Then helifted her hands by the finger tips high above her head, and theywrithed their bodies in and out under this arch, he occasionallystooping to snatch a kiss, and all the time their feet waltzing inperfect time to the music. Suddenly, with another yell, he leaped intothe air, and, with Rosa waltzing demurely in front of him, began thefantastic part of the schuplattle, which consists, as Jimmie says, "ofmaking tambourines all over yourself, spanking yourself on the arms, thighs, legs, and soles of your feet, and the crown of your head, andwinding up by boxing your partner's ears or kissing her, just as youfeel inclined. "

I never saw anything like it. I never heard anything like it. It was soexhilarating it aroused even the cowherd's enthusiasm, so that he cameand did a turn with Fräulein Therese. 

Then more of the peasants joined in the schuplattle, and in a moment thekitchen was a mass of flying feet, waving arms, leaping, shouting menand laughing girls, the dance growing wilder and wilder, until, with afinal yell that split the ears of the groundlings, the music stopped, and the dancers sank breathless into their seats. The excitement wascontagious. One after another got up and danced singly, each attemptingto outdo the other. 

The other guests, who had seen this before, by this time had finishedtheir coffee and left. Our little party remained. The Fräulein Theresecame over to our table, saying that the "shipmaster" would like verymuch to dance with me. I don't blush often, but I actually felt my wholeface blaze at the proposition. I protested that I couldn't, andwouldn't; that I should die of fright if he yelled in my ear, and thathe would split my sleeves out if he tried "London bridge" with me. Sheurged, and Jimmie urged, and Bee and Mrs. Jimmie joined. So finally Idid, the Fräulein having warned him that I would simply consent towaltz, with nothing else. They never reverse, the music was fast andfurious, and the room was as hot as a desert at midday. After I had gonearound that room twice with the "shipmaster, " he whirled me to my seat, and for fully five minutes the room, the musicians, and the tablescontinued the waltz that I had left off. It makes me dizzy to think ofit even now. 

When I got my sight back, I looked apprehensively at Bee, to see if Ihad gone beyond the limit which her own perfectly ladylike manner alwayssets for me; but to my surprise her foot was tapping the floor, andthere was a gleam in her eyes which told the mischievous Jimmie that themusic was getting into Bee's blood. Jimmie wrenched my little fingerunder the table and whispered:

"For two cents, Bee would do the skirt dance!"

"Ask her, " I whispered back. 

He jogged her elbow and said:

"Give 'um the skirt dance, Bee. You could knock 'um all silly with theway you dance. "

Bee needed no urging. It was quite evident she had made up her mind todo it before we asked. She arose with a look of determination in hereyes, which would have carried her through a murder. When Bee makes upher mind to do a thing, she'll put it through, good or bad, determinedand remorseless, from giving a dinner to the poor to robbing a grave, and nobody can stop her, or laugh her out of it any more than you canpersuade her to do it, if she doesn't want to. Nobody is responsible forBee's acts but herself. Therefore, I recall that scene with a peculiarand exquisite joy which the truly good never feel. 

Bee's travelling-skirt was tailor-made, tight at the belt, and of amplefulness around the bottom. She had on a shirt-waist, a linen collar, theCharvet tie, a black hat with a few gay coloured flowers on it, and alace petticoat from the Rue de la Paix. At the first strains of theskirt dance from the delighted band Bee seized her skirts firmly andbegan the dance which is so familiar to us, but which those Tyrolesepeasants had never seen before. Jimmie says he would rather see Bee dothe skirt dance than any professional he ever saw on any stage. He saysthat her kicks are such poems that he forgives her everything when hethinks of them, but when she danced that night, Jimmie was so tickledby the excitement and polite interest she created in her primitiveaudience, that he stretched himself out on the bench in such shrieks oflaughter that even Bee grinned at him, while I simply passed away. Shesat down, flushed, breathless, but triumphant. 

Instantly she was surrounded by every young fellow in the room, imploring her to dance with him, and at once Bee became the belle of theball. And, if you will believe it, when Mrs. Jimmie and I went outsideto get a breath of air, Bee, the ladylike; Bee, the conservative;haughty, intolerant Bee, was dancing with the cowherd!

CHAPTER VIII

SALZBURG

We had our breakfast the next morning on the same piazza where we haddined and where the early morning sun gave an entirely new aspect to theeternal blueness of the Achensee. Oh, you who have seen only Italianlakes, think not that you know blue when you see it, until you have seenthe Achensee!

"If you would only get back into yourself, " said Jimmie, addressing myabsent spirit, "you might help me decide where we shall go next. "

"I can't leave here, " I replied. "I cannot tear myself away from thisspot. "

"It _is_ beautiful, " murmured Bee, dreamily, but she murmured dreamilynot so much because of the beauty of the scene as because eating in theopen air that early in the morning always makes her sleepy. 

"'Tis not that, " I responded. "'Tis because, while some few modesttriumphs have come my way, I think I never achieved one which gave mesuch acute physical satisfaction as I underwent last night at my sisterBee's success as a _première danseuse_. Shall I ever forget it? Shalldanger, or sickness, or poverty, or disaster ever blot from my mind thatscene? Jimmie, never again can she scorn us for our sawdust-ringproclivities, for do you know, _I_ shouldn't be surprised to see her endher days on the trapeze!"

But if I fondly hoped to make Bee waver in her thorough approval of herown acts, this cheerful exchange of badinage, where the exchange was allon my part, undeceived me, for Bee simply looked at me without replying, so Jimmie uncoiled himself and handed the map to Bee. 

"Jimmie has talked nothing but salt mines for a fortnight, " said Bee, finally, "yet by coming here we have left Salzburg behind us. "

"Let's go back then, " he said. "It isn't far, and it's all through abeautiful country. "

For a wonder, we all agreed to this plan without the usual discussion ofindividual tastes which usually follows the most tentative suggestionon the part of any one of us who has the temerity to leap into the arenato be worried. 

The whole Rhiner family, including the chambermaid, the shipmaster, andBee's friend the cowherd, were on the little pier, under some pretext orother, to see us off, and not only feeling but knowing that we left realfriends behind us, we started on our way to Jenbach, down the samelittle cog-wheel road up which we had climbed, and, as Jimmie said:"literally getting back to earth again, " for the descent was like beingdropped from the clouds. 

The journey from Jenbach to Salzburg was indeed marvellously beautiful, but some little time before we arrived Jimmie emerged from hisguide-book to say, somewhat timidly:

"Are you tired of lakes?"

"Tired of lakes? How could we be when we've only seen one this week?"

"And that the most exquisite spot we have found this summer!"

"Certainly we are not tired of the beautiful things!"

From this avalanche of replies Jimmie gathered an idea of our attitude. 

"Thank you!" he said, politely. "I think I understand. Would you consentto turn aside to see the Königsee, another small lake which belongs moreto the natives than to the tourists?"

For reply, we simply rose in concert. Mrs. Jimmie drew on her gloves andBee pulled down her veil. 

"When do we get off, Jimmie?"

"In ten minutes, " he said with a delighted grin. And in another tenminutes we were off, and Salzburg was removed another twenty-four hoursfrom us. 

But after the Achensee, the Königsee was something of an anticlimax, although the natives were perfectly satisfactory, and not an Englishword was spoken outside of our party. But as Jimmie speaksGerman-American, we got what we wanted in the way of a boat, and foundthat the Königsee is quite as green as the Achensee is blue. At least itwas the day we were there. The tiny Tyrolese lad who went with us asguide, told us that it was sometimes as blue as the sky. But the blackshadows cast upon its waters by the steep cliffs which rise sheerly fromits sides, give back their darkness to the depths of the lake, and forthe scene of a picturesque murder it would be perfect. There is amagnificent echo around certain parts of the Königsee, and swans sailingmajestically on the breast of the lake remind one of the Lohengrincountry. 

We rested that night at a dear little inn and the next morning took upour interrupted journey to Salzburg. 

On the way Jimmie talked salt mines to us until, when we arrived atSalzburg, we imagined the whole town must be given up to them. But toour surprise, and no less to our delight, we found Salzburg not only oneof the most picturesque towns we had met with, but interesting andhighly satisfactory, while the salt mines are not at Salzburg at all, but half a day's drive away. Salzburg satisfied the entire emotionalgamut of our diversified and centrifugal party. It had mountains forJimmie, the rushing, roaring, picturesque little river Salzach for me, the Residenz-Schloss, where the Grand Duke of Tuscany lives part of histime, for Mrs. Jimmie and Bee, and the glorious views from everydirection for all of us. Here, also, Bee found her restaurants, withbands, situated more delightfully than any we had found before. 

Hills bound the town on two sides--thickly wooded, with ravishing shadesof green, to the side of which a schloss, or convent, or perhaps only aterraced restaurant, clings like a swallow's nest. All the bridle-paths, walks, and drives around Salzburg lead somewhere. You may be quitecertain that no matter what road you follow you will find your diligencerewarded. 

There is one curious restaurant where we went for our first dinner, because two rival singing societies were to furnish the programme. It isreached by an enormous elevator which takes you up some two hundredfeet, where there spreads before you a series of terraces, each withtables and diners, and above all the band-stand. Here were the singerssinging quite abominably out of key, but with great vigour andearnestness, and always applauded to the echo, but getting quite alittle overcome by their exhilaration later in the evening. Then thereis the fortress protecting the town, the Nonnberg, the cloisters inwhose church are the oldest in Germany, and they won't let you in to seethem at any price. This of itself is an attraction, for as a rule thereis no spot so sacred, so old, or so queer in all Europe that you can'tbuy admission to it. But when I found the cloisters of the ConventChurch closed to the gaping public, I thanked God and took courage. Wefound another spot in Salzburg where they allow only men to enter, butas we found plenty of those in Turkey, we paid no particular attentionto the Franciscan Monastery for barring women, except that we had somecuriosity to hear the performance which is given daily on thepansymphonicon, a queer instrument invented by one of the monks. Jimmie, of course, came out fairly bursting with unnecessary pride, and to thisday pretends that you have lived only half your life if you haven'theard the pansymphonicon. We gave him little satisfaction by asking noquestions and yawning or asking what time it was every time he tried towhet our curiosity by vague references and half descriptions of it. Jimmie is a frightful liar, and would sacrifice his hope of heaven totorture us successfully for half a day. I don't believe one word of allhe has said or hinted or drawn or sung about that thing, and yet, Iwould give everything I possess, and all Bee's good clothes, and allMrs. Jimmie's jewels, if I could hear and see the pansymphonicon _justonce_!

One of the most romantic things we did was to take the little railwayleading to the top of the Gaisberg, where we spent the night at thelittle Hotel Gaisbergspilze, and saw Salzburg lying beneath us, twinkling with lights, and making a sight to be remembered for ever. Tucked in among the Salzburg Alps you can see seven little lakes, andthe colouring, the dark shadows, and fleecy belts of clouds make it aravishing view, and full of a tender, poetic melancholy. Mr. And Mrs. Jimmie sat very close together, and renewed the days of their courting, but poor Bee and I held each other's hands and felt lonely. 

The romance of the situation drove me to poetry, and reduced Bee to thesubmission of listening to it--for a short time. Trust me! I know howfar to trespass on my sister's patience! But when I said, mournfully:

 "Never the time and place And the loved one all together, "

Bee nodded a plaintive acquiescence. 

In the morning, we _almost_ saw the sun rise, but not quite. Aigen, thechateau of Prince Schwarzenberg, was more cheerful; so was Mozart'sstatue and his _Geburthaus_. _I_ didn't know that Mozart was born inSalzburg, but he was. There is something actually furtive about the waycertain facts have a habit of existing and I not learning of them untileverybody else has forgotten them. 

We decided to make the excursion to the salt mine on Monday, and on theSunday Jimmie arranged for us to visit the Imperial chateau of Helbrun, built in the seventeenth century, and promising us several new featuresof amusement and interest not generally to be met with. Our hotel beinga very smart one, filled with Americans, we naturally had on rather goodfrocks, for it was Sunday, and we were to drive instead of taking thetrain. We had all been to the church in the morning, and felt at libertyto escape from the gossip of the piazzas, and to amuse ourselves in thisdecorous way. 

Now, Jimmie is thoroughly ashamed of himself, and would give anything ifI would not tell this, but I have recently suffered an attack ofpansymphonicon, and this is my revenge. 

I noticed something suspicious in Jimmie's childlike innocence andelaborate amiability during our drive. If Jimmie is business-like andsomewhat indifferent, he is behaving himself. If he is officiouslyattentive to our comfort, and his countenance is frank and open, lookout for him. I hate practical jokes, and on that Sunday I almost hatedJimmie. 

We drove first into a great yard surrounded by high trees. The horseswere immediately taken from our carriage, as if our stay was to be along one. Then we made our way through the gates into what appeared tobe a lovely garden or park with gravelled walks, flowering shrubs, andlarge shade trees. There were any number of pleasure seekers therebesides ourselves. Father, mother, and six or seven children in oneparty, with the air of cheerfulness and light-heartedness--an air ofthose who have no burdens to carry, and no bills to pay, whichcharacterises the Continental middle class on its Sunday outing. It wasimpossible to escape them, for their cheerful interest in our clothes, their friendly smiling countenances robbed their attendance of allimpertinence. Thus, somewhat of their company, although not strictlybelonging to it, we went to the Steinerne Theatre, hewn in the rock, where pastorals and operas were at one time performed under thedirection of the prince-bishops. 

Then, in front of the Mechanical Theatre, there is a flight of greatstone steps and balustrades of granite upon which, in company with ourGerman friends, we hung and climbed and stood, while the most ingeniouslittle play was performed by tiny puppets that I ever had the goodfortune to behold. Over and over again the midgets went through everyperformance of mechanicism with such precision and accuracy that it tookme back to the first mechanical toy I ever possessed. This littlemechanical theatre is really a wonder. 

I have never been sure how seriously to blame Jimmie for what followed. At any rate, he knew something of the trick, and I have a distantrecollection of the gleam in his eyes when he led his unsuspecting partyalong the gravel walk to the side of a certain granite building, whosefunction I have forgotten. I remember standing there and looking up thestone steps at our German friends, when suddenly out from behind thestones of this building, from the cornice, from above and from beneath, shot jets of water, drenching me and all others who were back of me, andsending us forward in a mad rush to gain the top of those stone steps, and so to safety. A stout German frau, weighing something between threeand four hundred pounds, trod on the train of my gown, and the gathersgave way at the belt with that horrid ripping noise which every womanhas heard at some time of her life. It generally means a man. It makesno difference, however; man or woman, the result is the same. As I couldnot shake her off, and we were both bound for the same place, shecontinued walking up my back, and in this manner we gained the top ofthe steps and the gravelled walk, only to find that thin streams ofwater from subterranean fountains were shooting up through the gravel, making it useless to try to escape. It was all over in a minute, but inthe meantime we were drenched within and without and in such a fury thatI for one am not recovered from it. It seems that this is one of thepractical jokes of which the German mind is capable. Practical jokesseem to me worse than, and on the order of, calamities. UnfortunatelyMrs. Jimmie was the wettest of any of us. She had on better clothes thanBee or I, and she refused to run, and she got soaking wet. I really pityJimmie as I look back on it. 

The visit to the salt mine we had planned for the next day. It wasnecessarily put off. Two of us were not on speaking terms withJimmie, --Bee and I, --while Mrs. Jimmie, from driving back to the hotelin her wet clothes, had a slight attack of her strange trouble, croup. Poor dear Mrs. Jimmie! However, Jimmie's repentance was so deep andsincere, he was so thoroughly scared by the extent of the calamity, sodeeply sorry for our ruined clothes, apart from his anxiety over hiswife, that we finally forgave him and took him into our favour again, toescape his remorseful attentions to us. So one day late, but on a betterday, we took a fine large carriage, having previously tested thesprings, and started for the salt mines. A description of that drive isalmost impossible. To be sure, it was hot, dusty, and long. Before wegot to the first wayside inn we were ravenous, and Jimmie's thirst couldbe indicated only by capital letters. But winding in and out amongfarmhouses with flower gardens of hollyhocks, poppies, and roses;passing now a wayside shrine with the crucifixion exploited in heroicsize; houses and barns and stables all under one roof; and now curiouslypainted doors peculiar to Bavarian houses; the country inns with theirwooden benches and deal tables spread under the shade of the trees;parties of pedestrians, members of Alpine clubs, taking their vacationsby tramping through this wonderful district; the sloping hills over andaround which the road winds; the blues and greens and shadows of themore distant mountains, all combine to make this road from Salzburg tothe salt mines one of the most interesting to be found in all Germany. 

Never did small cheese sandwiches and little German sausages taste sodelicious as at our first stop on our way to the salt mines. Jimmie saidnever was anything to drink so long in coming. Near us sat eight membersof a _Mannerchor_, whose first act was to unsling a long curved horncapable of holding a gallon. This was filled with beer, and formed aloving-cup. Afterward, at the request of the landlord, and evidently totheir great gratification, these men regaled us with songs, all sungwith exceeding great earnestness, little regard to tune, and greatcarelessness as to pitch; but, if one may judge from their smiling andstreaming countenances, the music had proved perfectly satisfactory tothe singers themselves. Another drive, and soon we were at the mouth ofthe salt mine. We had learned previously that the better way would be togo as a private party and pay a small fee, as otherwise we would findourselves in as great a crowd as on a free day at a museum. If Iremember rightly, four o'clock marks the free hour. It had commenced torain a little, --a fine, thin mountain shower, --but the carriage wasclosed up, the horses led away to be rested, and we three women pushedour way through the crowd of summer tourists waiting for the free hourto strike in the courtyard, and found ourselves in a room in which womenwere being arrayed in the salt mine costume. This costume is so absurdthat it requires a specific description. 

Two or three motherly-looking German attendants gave us instructions. Our costumes consisted of white duck trousers, clean, but still dampfrom recent washing, a thick leather apron, a short duck blouse, something like those worn by bakers, and a cap. The trousers, being allthe same size and same length, came to Bee's ankles, were knickerbockersfor me and tights for Mrs. Jimmie. 

European travel hardens one to many of the hitherto essential delicaciesof refinement, which, however, the American instantly resumes uponlanding upon the New York pier; it being, I think, simply the instinctof "when in Rome do as the Romans do, " which compels us to pretend thatwe do not object to things which, nevertheless, are never-ending shocks. I have seldom undergone anything more difficult than the walk in broaddaylight, across that courtyard to the mouth of the salt mine. We wereborne up by the fact that perhaps one hundred other women were similarlyattired, and that both men and women looked upon it as a huge joke andnothing more. One rather incomprehensible thing struck us as we left theattiring-room. This was the use of the leather apron. The attendantswitched it around in the back and tied it firmly in place, and when wedemanded to know the reason, she said, in German, "It is for the swiftdescent. "

Jimmie was similarly arrayed when he met us at the door, but he seemedto know no more about it than we did. At the mouth of the salt mine wewere met by our conductor, who took us along a dark passage, where allthe lights furnished were those from the covered candles fastened toour belts, something on the order of the miner's lamp. 

Further and further into the blackness we went, our shoes grinding intothe coarse salt mixed with dirt, and the dampness smelling like thespray from the sea. Presently we came to the mouth of something thatevidently led down somewhere. Blindly following our guide who satastride of a pole, Jimmie planted himself beside him, astride of theguide's back; Mrs. Jimmie, after having absolutely refused, was finallypersuaded to place herself behind Jimmie, then came Bee, and last of allmyself. 

Our German is not fluent, nevertheless we asked many questions of theguide, whose only instructions were to hold on tight. He then asked usif we were ready. 

"Ready for what?" we said. 

"For the swift descent, " he answered. 

"The descent into what?" said Jimmie. 

But at that, and as if disdaining our ignorance, we suddenly began toshoot downward with fearful rapidity on nothing at all. All at once thehigh polish on the leather aprons was explained to me. We were not onany toboggan; we formed one ourselves. 

When we arrived they said we had descended three hundred feet. But wewomen had done nothing but emit piercing shrieks the entire way, and itmight have been three hundred feet or three hundred miles, for all weknew. After our fierce refusal to start and our horrible screams duringthe descent, Jimmie's disgust was something unspeakable when weinstantly said we wished we could do it again. Our guide, however, beingmatter of fact, and utterly without imagination, was as indifferent toour appreciation as he had been to our screams. 

He unmoored a boat, and we were rowed across a subterranean lake whichwas nothing more or less than liquid salt. We were in an enormouscavern, lighted only by candles here and there on the banks of the lake. The walls glittered fitfully with the crystals of salt, and there wasnot a sound except the dipping of the oars into the dark water. 

Arriving at the other side, we continued to go down corridor aftercorridor, sometimes descending, sometimes mounting flights of steps, always seeing nothing but salt--salt--salt. 

In one place, artificially lighted, there are exhibited all the curiousformations of salt, with their beautiful crystals and varied colours. Ittakes about an hour to explore the mine, and then comes what to us wasthe pleasantest part of all. There is a tiny narrow gauge road, possiblynot over eighteen inches broad, upon which are eight-seated, little opencars. It seems that, in spite of sometimes descending, we had, afterall, been ascending most of the time, for these cars descend of theirown momentum from the highest point of the salt mine to its mouth. Theroar of that little car, the occasional parties of pedestrians wepassed, crowded into cavities in the salty walls (for the free hour hadstruck), who shouted to us a friendly good luck, the salt wind whistlingpast our ears and blowing out our lanterns, made of that final ride oneof the most exhilarating that we ever took. 

But, of course, from now on in describing rides we must always except"the swift descent. "

CHAPTER IX

ISCHL

We were wondering where we should go next with the delicious idle wonderof those who drop off the train at a moment's notice if a fellowpassenger vouchsafes an alluring description of a certain village, or ifthe approach from the car window attracts. Only those who have boundthemselves down on a European tour to an itinerary can understand thefreedom and delight of idle wanderings such as ours. We never feelcompelled to go on even one mile from where we thought for a moment weshould like to stop. 

It was Jimmie who made this plan possible, without the friction andunnecessary expense which we should have incurred had we followed thisplan, and bought tickets from one city to another, but in fussing aroundinformation bureaux and railway stations, Jimmie unearthed theinformation that one can buy circular tickets of a certain route, embodying from one to three months in time, and including all the spicefor a picturesque trip of Germany and Austria, where one would naturallylike to travel. By purchasing these little books with the tickets in theform of coupons at the railway station we saved the additional fee whichthe tourist agent usually exacts, and this frugal act so filled us withjoy that our trip proved unusually expensive, for at every stop weindulged in a small extravagance which we felt that we could well affordon account of this accidental saving at the start. We have been so amplyrepaid at every pause on our journey that it has become a matter ofpride with Jimmie and me to have no falling off from the standard we hadset. 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'ttouch it if it's a mixture of sarsaparilla and ginger ale, or lime juiceand red ink, or anything like that thing you--"

"It isn't a drink, " said Jimmie, in disgust. "It's a town! If peoplewho read your stuff realised how little you know--"

"I am perfectly satisfied, " I said, looking at him firmly, "that itisn't twenty minutes since you found what Ischl is yourself. You neverlearned a thing in your life that you didn't bring it to me as thoughyou had known it for ever, whereas your information is always so freshthat 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 castit, unnoticed by the adversary. 

"Now Ischl, " said Jimmie, "is where the Austrian Emperor has his summerresidence. 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 ofpeople 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 enjoythe delight of a small but interesting family party. "

I smiled at this statement, for when Jimmie is not carefully stirring meup 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, "andthey 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 amillion--no, not once in ten million years that Jimmie says anythingdecent about me to my face. I sometimes hear rumours of approvingremarks that he makes behind my back, but I never have been able to runany of them to earth. 

"If Ischl is a royal country-seat, " said Jimmie, "I'll bet you a '_blauecravatte_' for yourself against a '_blaue cravatte_' for myself--both tocome 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 thatthey both know all about it. Let's ask them. "

"Ever hear of Ischl, Bee?" said Jimmie, as Bee appeared as smartly gotup 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 nowwith his entire suite, and next Wednesday is his birthday. "

"Say 'geburt-day, ' Bee, " I pleaded. Nobody paid any attention. Jimmielooked meekly at Bee. 

"Have you decided on a hotel there?" he asked, ironically. But Beeflinched not. 

"There are two good ones--the 'Kaiserin Elisabeth' and the 'GoldenesKreuz. ' It will probably be very crowded, for they always celebrate theEmperor'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 Ihad just heard of it, and were planning to give her a nice littlesurprise!

Jimmie said nothing, but took his hat and went out to telegraph forrooms. 

"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 itconsumes several hours, because every inch of the country on both sidesof the car is worth looking at. The little train creeps along now at thefoot of a mountain, now at the edge of a lake, and it is such a visionof loveliness that even those unfeeling persons who "don't care forscenery" would be roused from their lethargy by the gentle seductivenessof its beauty. Ischl appears when you are least looking for it, tuckedin the hollow of a mountain's arm as lovingly as ever a baby wascradled. 

Our rooms at the Goldenes Kreuz had a wide balcony where our breakfastswere 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 getplenty of air. 

Our first experience in the general dining-room was a revelation of manythings. The room was air-tight. Not a window or door was permitted tobe opened the smallest crack. The men smoked all through dinner, andquite a number of women smoked from one to a dozen cigarettes held inall manner of curious cigarette-holders, some of which were only ahandle with a ring for the cigarette, something like our opera-glasshandles, while others were the more familiar mouthpieces. But all werejewelled and handsome, and the women who used them were all elderly. Twowomen smoked strong black cigars, but as the smokers were very smart andwent in court society, Bee's eyes only grew round and big, and sheventured no word of criticism. 

But all this smoke and lack of ventilation made the air very thick andhot and unbreathable for us, so that we complained to the proprietor, who sympathised with us so deeply that he nearly wept, but he assured usthat Austrians were even worse than the French in their fear of adraught, and he declared that while he would very willingly open all thewindows, and as far as he was concerned, he himself revelled in freshair, --nevertheless, if he should follow our advice, his hotel would beemptied 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 wasopened in that dining-room while we were there. 

But we got along very well, for we are not too strenuous in ourdemands, --especially when we realise that we cannot get them accededto, --so in lieu of air we breathed smoke, and in watching the people wesoon forgot all about it. Air is not essential after all when royalty ispresent. 

If not royalty, at least the next thing to it. The gorgeous and gloriousofficers of his Majesty's suite, handsome, distinguished, young, andever near the throne! Bee's eyes were glued to their table. We wereafraid the poor dear would never pull through. She scarcely ate anydinner. 

"Bee, " I whispered, pulling her dress under the table, "you really mustnot pay them such marked attention. Remember your husband and baby--faraway, to be sure, but still _there_!"

"What difference does it make, I should like to know, " was Bee'scallous 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 fewfurtive glances myself, and while I was rewarded by some brief interestfrom their table, and I felt sure that they were talking about us, itseemed to me that the interest of _The One_, the tallest, handsomest, and the one most suited for a pedestal in Central Park, was overlookingboth Bee's and my undeniable attractions, and was concentrating all hisfiery, hawk-like glances upon Mrs. Jimmie, whose total unconsciousnessof her great beauty is one of her supreme charms. She wore a black lacegown that night with sleeves which came not quite to her elbow; nobracelets to mar those perfect arms, but her hands fairly loaded withrings. She never looks at any other man except Jimmie, and Jimmie thinksthat the earth exists simply for her. Poor Jimmie never can express hisemotion in proper words, but I have seen his eyes fill with tears oflove and pride as he whispered to me, "Isn't she ripping to-night?"

She certainly was "ripping" that first night at Ischl--far more rippingthan any titled dame there, upon whose mature ugliness all her calmattention was bestowed, while I was on the verge of collapse when I sawthat Bee's love was like to go unrequited, while Mrs. Jimmie's rings andbeauty--I name her attractions in their proper order as far as I wasable to gather from the enamoured officer's glances--snatched the prize. 

The situation as it bade fair to develop was far, far too sacred topermit of ribald speech, so with the greatest difficulty I held mytongue. For my only natural confidant, Jimmie, was plainly disqualifiedin this case. 

The next morning Jimmie wanted us to drive, but I, hoping to givematters an onward fillip, spoke so warmly in favour of a morning strollin the promenade "to see people" that he gave in, and Bee's attentionsto me while garbing ourselves were so marked that I almost hoped I hadbeen wrong the night before. 

But alas for our ignorance of officers' duties! Not one of those in hisMajesty's suite was visible, although all the old ladies were out inforce, and some very pretty Austrian girls appeared, smartly gowned, andmost of them carrying slender little gold or silver mounted sticks. Those sticks caught Bee's eye at once, and she bought one before thehour was over, much to Jimmie's disgust. 

But his expostulations produced no effect. It seemed queer to me--hersister--that he should waste his breath. But Jimmie was obliged torelieve his mind by saying that it looked too pronounced. 

"It's all right for an Austrian, " said Jimmie, wagging his head. "Buteverybody 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, andfallen down. Mrs. Jimmie would have dropped or broken it. Bee and thatstick simply fitted each other--there in Ischl! Nowhere else. 

At luncheon, just as we were going out, the four officers came in. Wepassed them in the doorway. Bee looked desperate. They lined up to allowus to pass, and for a moment I thought Bee was going to snatch one, andmake her escape. But she compromised, on seeing them seat themselves atthe table we had just left, by sending Jimmie back to look for herhandkerchief. 

"If that doesn't fetch an acquaintance, " Bee's look seemed to say, "withJimmie burrowing around on the floor among their boots and spurs, Ishall have but a poor opinion of Austrian ingenuity. "

Jimmie was gone half an hour. When he came back, his face was tooinnocent. 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 admitthat my sister ought either to be at the head of Tammany Hall or thearmy. She gave one look at Jimmie's suspiciously bland countenance, thengathered 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 agesture. "If Bee knew that all those officers we just passed went rightin, and sat down at the very table we left, so that when she sent me forher handkerchief I had to run bang into them, I wonder if she would havegone 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 werevery polite, and nothing would do but I must sit down, and have a glassof beer with them. I didn't want that, so I took a cigar, and they allnearly fell over themselves to offer me one--from the most beautifulcigar 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 indiamonds, and an inscription on the inside showing that the Tzar gaveit to him. I took one out of that case for Bee's sake. I'll save her thestub!"

"Did they ask any questions about us?" I said, guilelessly. 

"Yes, heaps. And when I told them how devoted my wife was to the EmpressElizabeth they offered to make up a party to show us two of the shrinesshe built near here, and invited us to dine afterward. So I made it forthis afternoon at three. Don't tell Bee. Let's surprise her. Her eyeswill pop clear out of her head when she sees them. "

Within ten minutes I had told Bee everything I knew, and had evenenlarged upon it a little, and Bee, in a holy delight, was preparing torobe herself in costly array. She solemnly promised me to be surprisedwhen she saw them. 

Only two of them could leave--The One, whose name shall be Count Andreaevon Engel, and the other, Baron Oscar von Furzmann. They had afour-seated carriage for us, while they accompanied us on horseback. 

That drive was one of the most romantic episodes which ever came intomy prosaic life. To be sure I was not in the romance at all, --neitherone 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 withJimmie, knowing that she must thus perforce be face to face with thehorsemen. But in this she was outwitted by a mere man, but a man skilledin intrigue and court diplomacy. Although the road was narrow anddangerous, twisting over mountains and beside rushing streams, The One, in order to feast his eyes on Mrs. Jimmie, permitted his horse to curvetand caracole as if he were in tourney. Jimmie, while the count was doingit, managed to whisper to me: "Tom Sawyer showing off, " but _I_ knewthat it was for a second purpose which counted for even more than thefirst. 

I must admit that this Austrian diplomat was very skilful, and managedit in a way to throw the unsuspicious wholly off his guard, for, inorder not to make his manoeuvres too marked, he often rode ahead of thecarriage, when, by turning in his saddle, he could look back and flinghis ardent glances in our direction. They not only overshot me, butglanced as harmlessly off Mrs. Jimmie's arrow-proof armour of completeunconsciousness as if they had hurtled aimlessly over her handsome head. 

I was in ecstasies, for Bee's wholesome admiration of her stunningofficer and his undeniably unusual horsemanship prevented her from beingrendered 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 wasso hopelessly the wrong man that she not only was unaware of it then butvehemently disclaimed it when I enlightened her later. Alas and alack!The wrong man is always the wrong man, and never can take the place ofthe right man, no matter what his country or speech. 

It was supremely interesting to talk with men who had known thebeautiful Empress well; to whom her living beauty was as familiar as herpictured loveliness was to us. We plied them with countless questions asto her wonderful horsemanship, her daily appearance, her dress, herconversation, and her learning. Their enthusiastic praise of her wasgenuine and spontaneous. 

I was dying to ask minute questions about the Crown Prince's affair, butjust enough sense was left in my make-up to know that I must not. Theymight whisper their gossip to each other who knew all of the truthanyway, but to strangers their loyalty would compel them to suppress notonly what they themselves knew but what we knew to be the truth. Both ofthese officers had known Prince Rudie well; had hunted with him;travelled with him; served with him; had often been at his hunting-lodgeMayerling, where he died, but, when they came to refer to this part oftheir narrative, they were so visibly embarrassed that we changed thesubject to the Princess Stephanie. Here, although they were studiouslycareful to put nothing into actual words, their manner plainly indicatedtheir contempt and dislike of the heavy Belgian Princess, who was sopoor a helpmeet for the graceful and picturesque figure of the CrownPrince of Austria. 

"Did you know the lady in her Majesty's suite who wrote 'The Martyrdomof 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, forarranging meetings between Prince Rudolph and his _belle amie?_ She wasa dear thing, whoever she was, for she gave him what was probably theonly real happiness he ever knew. And when people love each other wellenough to die together, it means more than most men and women canboast. "

Jimmie trod on my foot just here, so I stopped, but, to his and mysurprise, Mrs. Jimmie not only agreed with me, but added:

"What a misfortune it is that princes and kings and queens must marryfor state reasons, so that love can play no part. "

I don't know whether Von Engel had not then put two and two together, sothat he knew that Mrs. Jimmie had her own husband in mind when she madethat speech about love or not. I think not, for I happened to be lookingat him, and for a moment I thought he was going to spring from hishorse right into her lap. 

To me the two loveliest women rulers of the world, the ones whosehistories I most grieve over, and with whose temperaments I am most insympathy, are the Empress Eugenie of the French and the EmpressElizabeth of Austria. The Empress Elizabeth was of such a high-strung, nervous, proud temperament that had there not been madness in herunfortunate family, all her apparently unbalanced acts could beaccounted for by her imperious and imperial nature, and the stigma of amind even partially unbalanced need never have been hers. Many a wife inthe common walks of life has been driven to more insane acts in the eyesof an unfeeling and critical world than ever the unhappy EmpressElizabeth committed, and for the same causes. An inhumanly tyrannicalmother-in-law, the most vicious of her vicious kind, whose chief delightwas to torture the high-strung nature she was too small to comprehend; ahusband, encouraged in his not-to-be-borne gallantries by his ownmother, this same monstrous mother-in-law of the Empress; herchildren's love aborted by this same fiend in woman form--is it anymarvel that the proud Empress broke away from her splendid torture andfound a sad comfort in travel and study? The wonder of it is that shechose 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 soshe could scarcely have suffered in her mind more than she did. 

When I expressed some of these opinions I discovered that both officerslooked at me with undisguised sympathy. They themselves dared not putinto words such incendiary thoughts, but they welcomed their expressionfrom another. This was not the first time I had worded the innerthoughts of a company who dared not speak out themselves, but, ascatspaws are invariably burned, I cannot lay to my soul the flatteringunction that I have escaped their common lot. Bee says I am generallyburned to a cinder. 

We had just visited the last of the shrines, which were interesting onlybecause erected by the Empress, when we were overtaken by a terrificmountain storm which broke over our heads without warning. The rain camedown in torrents, but not even the officers got wet, for they instantlyproduced from some mysterious region rubber capes which completelyenveloped their beautiful uniforms. 

I was not sure, but, in the general confusion of closing the carriagetop, I thought I saw Count Andreae whisper to Mrs. Jimmie. I am positiveI heard Von Furzmann whisper to Bee. So, not to be outdone, I leanedover 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 notsee that Count Andreae "got any forrarder, " as Jimmie would say, for heliterally could not concentrate his attention on Mrs. Jimmie on accountof Bee's attentions to him. Poor Von Furzmann had to content himselfwith Jimmie and me. 

The next day being the Emperor's birthday, the whole town was gloriouslyilluminated, and the splendid old Franz Josef--splendid in spite of hispast irregularities--appeared before his adoring people, with Bee themost adoring of all his subjects. 

There were any number of little parties made up after that, for, ofcourse, we returned the civility of the officers. But after awhileIschl, in spite of the bracing air, and bewitching drives, andoccasional glimpses of royalty, and daily meetings with our belovedofficers, Jimmie and I began to think longingly of green fields andpastures new. It was a little hard on Bee, and even on Mrs. Jimmie, todrag them away from the morning promenade, where they always saw therank and fashion of Austria. I wondered what Bee's feelings would be atparting with her loved ones, for most of our conversations lately hadtended toward turning our journeyings aside from Vienna to go north tothe September manoeuvres, in which our friends were to take part. We inturn combated this by begging them to meet us in Italy in three months. You should have seen their anguished faces when Jimmie and I mentionedthree months! A week's separation was more than they could think ofwithout tying crape on their arms. To our amazement they assured us thata leave was out of the question. Von Engel declared that he had not hada leave of absence for ten years and he doubted if he could obtain oneon any excuse short of a death in the family. 

At last, however, one fine day, with farewell notes and loaded withflowers, and with the prettiest of parting speeches, we tore ourselvesaway and were off for Vienna. 

As Bee leaned back in the railway carriage with one glove missing, Ilooked to see her very low in her mind, but to my surprise she wassmiling 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 intocomplacent lines. "They are both coming to Vienna on leave. "

"On _leave_?" I cried. 

CHAPTER X

VIENNA

If Americans continue to flock to Europe in such numbers, the wholecountry will in time be as Americanised as the hotels are becoming. Vienna, with her beautiful Hotel Bristol, is such an advance in moderncomfort from the best of her accommodations for travellers of a fewyears ago that she affords an excellent example, although for everysteam-heater, modern lift, and American comfort you gain, you lose aquaintness and picturesqueness, the like of which makes Europe so worthwhile. The whole of civilised Europe is now engaged in a flurried debateas to the propriety of remodelling its travelled portions for thebenefit of ease-loving American millionaires. 

It was not the season when we arrived in Vienna, but we had letters tothe old Countess von Schimpfurmann, who had been lady-in-waiting to theEmpress Elizabeth when she first came to the court of Austria, a mereslip of a girl, with that marvellous hair of hers whose length was thewonder of Europe, dressed high for the first time, but oftenest flowingsilkily to the hem of her skirt. The countess was something of aninvalid, and happened to be in town when we arrived. Her husband, theold count, had been a very distinguished man in his day, standing highin the Emperor's favour, and died full of years and honour, and moreappreciated, so rumour had it, by his wife in his death than in hislife. 

We also had letters from a lady whose friendship Mrs. Jimmie made atIschl, to her daughter-in-law, Baroness von Schumann, the baron beingattached to an Austrian commission then in Italy; to several officerswho were friends of our officers in Ischl, and, last but not least, to alittle Hungarian, to whom I had a letter from America, who was so kind, so attentive, so fatherly to us, that he went by the name of "LittlePapa"--a soubriquet which seemed to give him no end of pleasure. 

Thus well equipped, we prepared to fall in love with Vienna, and wefound it an easy task, for in spite of it being out of season, we werevastly entertained, and in all likelihood obtained a more intimateknowledge of the inner life of our Vienna friends than we could havedone if we had arrived in the season of formal and more elaborateentertainment. 

The opera was there, and, with all due respect to Mr. Grau, I must admitthat we saw the most perfect production of "Faust" in Vienna than I eversaw on any stage. 

The carnival was going on, where no Viennese lady, so the baronessdeclared, would _think_ of being seen, because confetti-throwing wasonly resorted to by the _canaille_ (and officers and husbands ofhigh-born ladies, who went there with their little friends of the balletand chorus), but where we _did_ go, contrary to all precedent, persuading the baroness to make up a smart party and "go slumming. " Herhusband being in Italy, she had no fear of meeting _him_ there, and shetook good care to send an invitation to any one who might have beeninclined to be critical, to be of the party, which, after one mightyprotest as to the propriety of it, they one and all accepted withsuspicious alacrity. 

It was not so very amusing. It consisted of merely walking along a broadavenue lined with booths, and flinging confetti into people's faces. More rude than lively or even amusing, it seemed to me, and my curiositywas so easily satisfied that I was ready to go after a quarter of anhour. But do you think we could persuade the other ladies to give it up?Indeed, no! Like mischievous children, with Americans for an excuse, they remained until the last ones, laughing immoderately when theyencountered men they knew. But as these men always claimed that they hadheard we were coming, and immediately attached themselves to our partyas a sort of sheet armour of protection against possible tales out ofschool, our supper party afterward was quite large. A carnival like thatin America would end in a fight, if not in murder, for the Americanloses sight of the fact that it is simply rude play, and when he sees ahandful of coloured paper flung in his wife's face, it might as well bewater or pebbles for the stirring effect it has on his fighting blood. 

The baroness had such a beautiful evening that she quite sighed when itwas over. 

"Don't you ever have this in America?" she asked Bee. 

"No, indeed, " said Bee. "And if we did, we wouldn't go to it. We reservesuch frolics for Europe. "

"Exactly as it is with us, " declared the baroness; "Carl and I always goin Paris and Nice, but here--well, we had to have you for an excuse. Imust thank you for giving us such an amusing evening!" she added, gaily. "After all, it is so much more diverting to catch one's friends inmischief than strangers whom no one cares about!"

I suppose, in showing Vienna to us, we showed more of Vienna to thebaroness and her friends than they ever had seen before. We went intoall the booths and shows; we were in St. Stephen's Church at sunset tosee the light filter through those marvels of stained-glass windows. Instead of stately drives in the Prater, we took little excursions intothe country and dined at blissful open-air restaurants, with views ofthe Danube and distant Vienna, which they never had seen before. Theybecame quite enthusiastic over seeking out new diversions for us, and, through their court influence, I feel sure that few Americans could havegot a more intimate knowledge of Vienna than we. 

An amusing coincidence happened while we were there, concerning the gownMrs. Jimmie was to be painted in. The baroness's brother, Count GeorgBrunow, was an authority on dress, and, as he designed all the gowns forhis cousin, who was also in the Emperor's suite, he begged permission todesign Mrs. Jimmie's. His English was a little queer, so this is what hesaid after an anxious scrutiny of Mrs. Jimmie's beauty:

"You must have a gown of white--soft white chiffon or mull over a whitesatin slip. It must be very full and fluffy around the foot, and belooped up on the skirt and around the decollete corsage with festoons ofsmall pink considerations. "

"Considerations?" said Mrs. Jimmie. 

"Carnations, you mean, " said Bee. 

"Yes, thank you. My English is so rusty. I mean pink carnations. "

Mrs. Jimmie thanked him, and we all discussed it approvingly. Still, she told me privately that she would not decide until she got back toParis to her own man, who knew her taste and style. 

"You know, for a portrait, " said Count Georg, "you do not want anythingpronounced. It must be quite simple, so that in fifty years it willstill be beautiful. "

When we got back to Paris, we presented ourselves before Mrs. Jimmie'sdressmaker, who has dressed her ever since she was sixteen. She told himto design a gown for a full-length portrait. He looked at her carefullyand said, slowly:

"I would suggest a gown of soft white over a white satin slip. It shouldbe cut low in the corsage, and have no sleeves. A touch of colour in theshape of loops of small pink roses at the foot, heading a triple flounceof white, and on the shoulders and around the top of the bodice. Youknow for a portrait, madame, you want no epoch-making effect. It shouldbe quite simple, so that in the years to come it may still please theeye as a work of art and not a creation of the dressmaker's skill. "

Bee and I nearly had to be removed in an ambulance, and even Mrs. Jimmie looked startled. 

"Order it, " I whispered. "Plainly, Providence has a hand in this design. It might be dangerous to flout such a sign from heaven. "

All of which goes to prove that the eye of the artist is true the worldover. Or, at least, that is the deduction I drew. Bee is more skeptical. 

The Countess von Schimpfurmann lived in a marvellous old house, to whichwe were invited again and again, her dear old politeness causing her togive three handsome entertainments for us, so that each could be a guestof honour at least once, and be distinguished by a seat on the sofa. TheEmperor being at Ischl, we were permitted all sorts of intimateprivileges with the Imperial Residenz, the court stables and privateviews not ordinarily shown to travellers, which were more interestingfrom being personally conducted than by the marvels we saw, for severalyears of continuous travel rather blunt one's ecstasy and effectivelywear out one's adjectives. 

Again, as in Munich, we were never tired of the picture-galleries, thewhole school of German and Austrian art being quite to our taste, whileif there exists anywhere else a more wonderful collection of originaldrawings of such masters as Raphael, Durer, Rubens, and Rembrandt whichcomprise the Albertina in the palace of the Archduke Albert, I do notknow of it. 

The old countess had numerous anecdotes to tell of the beautifulEmpress, all of which confirmed and strengthened my belief that she wasmost of all a glorious woman gloriously misunderstood by her nearest anddearest. What other prince or princess of Europe in all history turnedto so noble a pursuit as culture, learning, and travel to cure a brokenheart and a wrecked existence in the majestic manner of this silent, haughty, noble soul? The excesses, dissipation, and intrigue whichserved to divert other bruised royal hearts were as far beneath thisimperial nature as if they did not exist. Her life, in its crystalpurity and its scorn of intrigue, is unique in royal history. Yet she, this blameless princess, this woman of imperial beauty, this noblest ofall empresses, was marked to be stricken down by the red hand ofanarchy, to whose crime, and poison, and danger we open our nationalports with an unwisdom which is criminal stupidity, and of which weshall inevitably reap the benefit. America cannot warm the asp ofanarchy in her bosom without expecting it to turn and sting her. 

The deference paid to royalty is so difficult of comprehension to therepublican mind that every time we encountered it it gave us a separateshock of surprise. At least, it gave it to me. I have an idea from theway events finally shaped themselves that Bee and Mrs. Jimmie were alittle more alive to its possibilities than I was. 

The Bristol was quite full when we arrived and Jimmie could not getcommunicating rooms, nor very good ones. I did not particularly noticeit at the time, but I remembered afterward that Bee kept urging him tochange them, and Jimmie made two or three endeavours, but seemed toobtain no favour at the hands of the proprietor. 

One morning, however, when Jimmie started to leave the sitting-room, heopened the door and closed it again suddenly. We were sitting therewaiting for breakfast to be served, and we were all three struck by theexpression on his face. 

"What's the matter, Jimmie?"

He looked at us queerly. 

"What have you three been up to?" he asked. 

"Nothing. Honestly and truly!" we cried. "What's out in the hall? Or areyou just pretending?"

"The hall is full of menials and officials and gold lace and brassbuttons. I hope you haven't done anything to be arrested for!"

Bee began to look knowing, and just then came a knock at the door. 

"If you please, " said the interpreter, bowing at every other word, "hereis one of the Emperor's couriers just from Ischl, with despatches fromthe court of his Imperial Majesty for the ladies if they are ready toreceive them. The courier had orders not to disturb their sleep. Hewaited here in the corridor until he heard voices. Will the excellentladies be pleased to receive them? His orders are to wait for answers. "

Jimmie signified that we would receive them, when forth stepped a manin the imperial liveries and handed him a packet on a silver tray. Jimmie had the wit to lay a gold piece on the tray, at which the courieralmost knelt to express his thanks. The other attendants drew longenvious breaths. 

The door was shut, and Mrs. Jimmie and Bee opened their letters. Bothwere from Count Andreae von Engel, saying that he and Von Furzmann, rendered desperate by the near departure of his Majesty for themanoeuvres, had resolved to risk dismissal from his suite by absencewithout leave. The letter said that on that day--the day on which it waswritten--they had both attended his Majesty on a hunt, and as he seldomhunted with the same officers two days in succession, they bade fair notto be on duty after noon the next day. Therefore, if we heard nothing tothe contrary, they would leave Ischl on the one o'clock train inuniform, as if on official business. Their servants would board thetrain at Gmund with citizens' clothes, and they would be with us soonafter seven that night. They begged leave to dine with us in ourprivate dining-room that evening, and would we be so gracious as toreceive them until midnight, when they must take train for Ischl, and beon duty in uniform by seven in the morning. 

I simply shrieked, as I looked at Jimmie's perplexed face. 

"What shall we do?" he said. "We can't have 'em here! We must stop 'em!Get a telegraph blank, Bee! We haven't any private dining-room, anyhow, and if they got caught we might be dragged into it! Well, what is it?"

He turned to the door half savagely, and there stood the proprietor, with some ten or twelve servants at his heels. 

"You were speaking to me the other day about better rooms? Will itplease you to look at some on the second floor, which have never beenoccupied since they were done over? There are five rooms _ensuite_--just about what your Excellency desires. "

Jimmie turned to us with a sickly grin. 

We all waited for Mrs. Jimmie to speak. 

"Jimmie, dear, " she said at last, "if you don't object, I think it wouldbe very nice to take those rooms, and entertain the gentlemen thisevening. Of course, they cannot be seen in the public dining-room, and, after all, they _are_ gentlemen and in the Emperor's suite, so theirattentions to us, while a little more pronounced than we are accustomedto, _are_ an honour. "

Jimmie said nothing, but went to the door and signified that we wouldlook at the rooms. 

We did look; we took them, and before noon every handsome piece offurniture from all over the house had been placed in our suite; flowerswere everywhere, and servants fairly swarmed at our commands. 

Jimmie, in reality, was not at all pleased by any of this, but he hassuch a blissful sense of humour that he could not help seeing thepitiful front it put upon human nature, both Austrian and American. Hepermitted himself, however, only one remark. This was now done with hiswife's sanction, and loyalty to her closed his lips. But he beckoned meover to the window, and, handing me a paper-knife, he turned up the soleof his shoe, saying:

"Scrape 'em off!"

"Scrape what off, Jimmie?"

"The servants! I haven't been able to step to-day without crushing adozen of 'em!"

As I turned away he called out:

"There aren't any on the shoes I wore yesterday!"

A rumour somewhat near the truth had swept through the hotel, forwherever we appeared we found ourselves the object of the deepestattention, not only by the slavish minions of the hotel from theproprietor down, but from the other guests. 

It was so pronounced that my feeble spirit quaked, so to borrow some ofmy sister's soul-sustaining joy, I went into her room and said:

"Bee, what does all this mean, anyhow? Where will it land us?"

Bee's eyes gleamed. 

"If you aren't actually blind to opportunity, " she said, slowly, "youcertainly are hopelessly near-sighted. Don't you understand how nobodycan do anything or be anybody without royal approval? Haven't you seenenough here to-day, to say nothing of the attentions we had from womenin Ischl, to know what all this counts for?"

"Yes, I know, " I hastened to say. "But what of these men? You know whatthey will think; they are Austrians, Russians, and Hungarians, remember, not Americans!"

Bee laughed. 

"A man is a man, " she said, sententiously. "Don't worry for fear thepoor dears' hearts will be broken. Now I'll tell you something. Mrs. Jimmie's sincere indifference and my silent eye-homage have stirredthese blasé officers out of their usual calm. There you have the wholething. Von Engel thinks Mrs. Jimmie's indifference is assumed, and bothVon Engel and Von Furzmann are determined that my silence shall voiceitself. I have no doubt that they would like to have me _write_ it, sothat they could boast of it afterward to their fellow officers. Now, asJimmie would say in his frightful slang, 'I'm going to give them a runfor their money. ' Von Engel will probably beseech you to arrange to keepJimmie at your side, so that he can have a few words with Mrs. Jimmie. Von Furzmann will plead with you to permit him a word with me. I needhardly tell you that your role to-night is to make yourself asdisagreeable as possible to both of them by keeping the conversationgeneral, and by cutting in at any attempt at a _tête-à-tête_. "

I felt limp and weak. "And all this display, this dinner, this addedexpense?"

"Part of the game, my dear!"

"And the end of it all? When they come back from the manoeuvres?"

"We shall be gone! Without a word!"

"Then this _isn't_ a flirtation?"

"Only on their parts. They are after our scalps. But we are actuated bythe true missionary spirit. "

We leaned over and shook hands solemnly. I do _love_ Bee!

That night--shall I ever forget it? Those stunning men dashed into ourrooms muffled in military cloaks, which they tossed aside with suchgrace that they nearly secured _my_ scalp, for all they were after Bee'sand Mrs. Jimmie's. They were in velveteen hunting costumes; we in thesmartest of evening dress. Jimmie had given his fancy free rein inordering the dinner, but, to his amazement and indignation, the littlegame being played by the rest of us so surprised and baffled our gueststhat Jimmie's delicacies were removed with course after course untasted. The officers searched the brilliant room with their eyes, hoping for aquiet nook, or balcony. There was none, and their disguise effectuallyprevented them from suggesting to go out. I saw that, finally, theypinned their hopes to me, and the way I clung to Jimmie to prevent theirspeaking to me almost roused his suspicions that I was in love with him. We stuck doggedly to the table, even after dinner was over and theservants dismissed. Finally, Von Furzmann, who spoke English ratherwell, rose in a determined manner, and quite forgetful of our proximity, said to Bee in a loud, distinct tone:

"My heart is on fire!"

It was too much. Jimmie and I led the way in a general shout oflaughter, and then, as a happy family party, we adjourned to the singlesalon, where we grouped ourselves together, and, strive as they might, the officers could not outwit my sister nor upset her plan. 

Toward midnight, when the hour of parting drew near, they grew sodesperate I almost feared that they would say something rash. But theywere diplomats and game. Occasionally a gleam of suspicion would appearon their countenances--it was so very unusual, I imagined, for theirplans so persistently to miscarry--but both Bee and I have an extremelyguiltless and innocent eye, and we used an unwinking gaze of genialfriendliness which disarmed them. 

At last they flung their cloaks around them, as their servants announcedtheir carriage for the third time. 

"_Such_ an evening!" moaned Von Engel. 

It might mean anything!

Bee bit her lip. 

"I was never more loath to leave. Promise that you will be here when wereturn. It will only be ten days! Promise us!"

"I hardly think--" began Jimmie, but Bee trod on his foot. 

"Ouch!" said Jimmie, fiercely. 

"I beg your pardon, Jimmie, dear!" murmured Bee. "It is possible, " saidBee to Von Engel. "We never make plans, you know. We go whenever we arebored, or when we have nothing pleasant to look forward to. "

"Oh, then, pray remain! We shall _fly_ to see you the moment we arefree!"

"That surely is an inducement, " said Bee, with a little laugh, whichcaused Von Engel to colour. 

Von Engel's servant, under pretext of arranging the collar of hismaster's cloak, here whispered peremptorily to him, and the officerstarted with a hurried "Yes, yes!" to his servant. 

They bent and kissed our hands, and Von Furzmann, in the violence of hisemotion, flung his arms around Jimmie and kissed him on the cheek. Thenthey dashed away down the long corridor, looking back and waving theirhands to us. 

Jimmie came into the room with his hand on the spot where Von Furzmannhad kissed him. 

"Well, I'll be damned!" he said. "That was all _your_ fault, " he added, looking at Bee. 

"I've always said somebody would steal you, Jimmie!" I said. 

"Did you enjoy yourself, dear?" asked Mrs. Jimmie kindly of Bee. 

Bee stood up yawning. 

"Oh, I don't know, " she said. "These officers try to be so impressive. They urge you to take a little more pepper in the same tone that theywould ask you to elope. "

Jimmie beamed on her. 

When Bee and I were alone, I dropped limply on the bed. Bee turned tothe light and read a crumpled note which Von Furzmann had thrust intoher hand at parting. She handed it to me:

"I shall write every day, and shall count the hours until I see youagain!" it read. I could just hear him shouting, "My heart is on fire!"

"Well, did you enjoy it?" I asked her. 

"Enjoy it? Certainly not!"

"Why, I thought you were having the time of your life!" I cried. 

She laughed. 

"Oh, yes, in a way it was amusing. But did it ever occur to you that itwasn't very flattering for those two unmarried officers to select thetwo married women in our party for their attentions when you, beingunmarried, were the only legitimate object of their interest?"

I said nothing. To tell the truth I had _not_ thought of it. 

"No, these officers need just a few kinks taken out of their brainsconcerning women, and I propose to do it. I told Jimmie to-day that ifhe would be handsome about to-night, I would start to-morrow for Moscow. Mrs. Jimmie is perfectly willing, and I know you are dying to get on toTolstoy. I've only stayed over for to-night. I knew this was coming whenwe were in Ischl, and I wanted them to see how lightly we viewed theirrisking dismissal from his Majesty's service for us. We have paid up allour indebtedness to everybody else, so nothing but farewell calls needdetain us. "

"And the officers?" I stammered. "How will they know?"

"I'll get Jimmie to send them a wire saying we have gone. They won'tknow where. Hurry up and turn out the lights. They hurt my eyes. "

CHAPTER XI

MY FIRST INTERVIEW WITH TOLSTOY

At the critical point of relating the difficulty attending my firstaudience with Tolstoy, I am constrained to mention a few of theobstacles encountered by a person bearing indifferent letters ofintroduction, and if by so doing I persuade any man or woman to writeone worthy letter introducing one strange man or woman in a foreigncountry to a foreign host, I shall feel that I have not lived in vain. 

No one, who has not travelled abroad unknown and depending for allsociety upon written introductions, can form any idea of the utterinadequacy of the ordinary letter of introduction. When I firstannounced my intention of several years' travel in Europe, I acceptedthe generously offered letters of friends and acquaintances, and, insome instances, of kind persons who were almost total strangers to me, careless of the wording of these letters and only grateful for thegoodness of heart they evinced. 

In one instance, a man who had lived in Berlin sent me a dozen of hisvisiting-cards, on the reverse side of which were written the names ofhis German friends and under them the scanty words, "Introducing MissSo-and-So. " He took pains also to call upon me several times, and to askas a special favour that I would present these letters. Forgetful of thefact that his German acquaintances would have no idea who I was, thatthere was no explanation upon the card, and without thinking that hewould not take the trouble to write letters of explanation beforehand, Ipresented these twelve cards without the least reluctance, simplybecause I had given my word. Out of the twelve, ten returned my callsand we discussed nothing more important than the weather. We knewnothing of each other except our names, and all of these I dare say weremispronounced. Two out of the twelve entertained me at dinner, and threeyears afterward, when I returned to America, I received a letter of thesincerest apology from one, saying that she had learned more of methrough the ambassador, and reproaching me for not having volunteeredinformation about myself, which might have led at least to conversationof a more intimate nature. 

I was armed at that time with many of these visiting-cards ofintroduction, and after this instance I filed them with great care inthe waste-basket. I then examined my other letters. It is idle todescribe to those who have never depended upon such documents in foreigncountries the inadequacy of half of them. In spite of the kindestintentions, they were really worthless. 

It was only after I got to Poland and Russia, where the hospitalitysprings from the heart, that my introductions began to bear fruitsatisfactory to a sensitive mind. It is, therefore, with feelings of theliveliest appreciation that I look back on the letter given me byAmbassador White in Berlin to Count Leo Tolstoy. A lifetime ofdiplomacy, added to the sincerest and most generous appreciation of whatan ideal hospitality should be, have served to make this representativeof the American people perfect in details of kindness, which can onlybe fully appreciated when one is far from home. Nothing short of thecompleteness and yet brevity of this letter would have served to obtainan audience with that great author, who must needs protect himself fromthe idle and curious, and the only drawback to my first interview withTolstoy was the fact that I had to part company with this preciousletter. It was so kind, so generous, so appreciative, that up to thetime I relinquished it, I cured the worst attacks of homesickness simplyby reading it over, and from the lowest depths of despair it not onlybrought me back my self-respect, but so exquisitely tickled my vanitythat I was proud of my own acquaintance with myself. 

My introduction to Princess Sophy Golitzin, in Moscow, was of such asort that we at once received an invitation from her to meet herchoicest friends, at her house the next day. When we arrived, we foundsome thirty or forty charming Russians in a long, handsomely furnishedsalon, all speaking their own language. But upon our approach, every onebegan speaking English, and so continued during our stay. Twice, however, little groups fell into French and German at the advent of oneor two persons who spoke no English. 

Russians do not show off at their best in foreign environments. I havemet them in Germany, France, England, Italy, and America, and whiletheir culture is always complete, their distinguishing trait is theirhospitality, generous and free beyond any I have ever known, which, ofcourse, is best exploited in their own country and among their ownpeople. 

At the Princess Golitzin's, I was told that the Countess Tolstoy and herdaughter had been there earlier in the afternoon, but, owing to thedistance at which they lived, they had been obliged to leave early. They, however, left their compliments for all of us, and asked theprincess to say that they had remained as long as they had dared, hopingfor the pleasure of meeting us. 

Being only a modest American, I confess that I opened my eyes withwonder that a personage of such renown as the Countess Tolstoy, the wifeof the greatest living man of letters, should take the trouble to leaveso kind a message for me. 

When Bee and Mrs. Jimmie heard it, they treated me with almost the samerespect as when they discovered that I knew the head waiter atBaden-Baden. But not quite. 

As, however, our one ambition in coming to Russia had been to seeTolstoy himself, we at once began to ask questions of the princess as tohow we might best accomplish our object, but to our disappointment heranswers were far from encouraging. He was, I was told by everybody, ill, cross as a bear, and in the throes of composition. Could there be aworse possible combination for my purpose?

So much was said discouraging our project that Jimmie was for giving itup, but I think one man never received three such simultaneouslycontemptuous glances as we three levelled at Jimmie for his cravensuggestion. So it happened that one Sunday morning we took a carriage, and, having invited the consul, who spoke Russian, we drove to Tolstoy'stown house, some little distance out of Moscow. 

We gave the letter and our visiting-cards to the consul, and heexplained our wish to see Tolstoy to the footman who answered our ring. Having evidently received instructions to admit no one, he not onlyrefused us admittance, but declined to take our cards. The consultranslated his refusal, and seemed vanquished, but I urged him to makeanother attempt, and he did so, which was followed by the announcementthat the countess was asleep, and the count was out. This beingtranslated to me, I announced, in cheerful English which the footmancould not understand, that both of these statements were lies, and formy part I had no doubt that the footman was a direct descendant ofBeelzebub. 

"Tell him that you know better, " I said. "Tell him that we know thecount is too ill to leave the house, and that the countess could notpossibly be asleep at this time of day. Tell him if he expects us tobelieve him, to make up a better one than that. "

"Say something, " urged Bee. "Get us inside the house, if no more. "

"Tell him how far we have come, and how anxious we are to see thecount, " said Mrs. Jimmie. 

"Oh, better give it up, " said Jimmie, "and come on home. "

The consul obligingly made the desired effort, evidently combining allof our instructions, politely softened by his own judgment. Thefootman's face betrayed no yielding, and in order the better to refuseto take our cards he put his hands behind him. 

"You see, it's no use, " said the consul. "Hadn't we better give it up?"

"He won't let you in, " said Jimmie, "so don't make a fuss. "

"I shall make no fuss, " I said, quietly. "But I'll get in, and I'll seeTolstoy, and I'll get all the rest of you in. Give me those cards. "

I took two rubles from my purse, and, taking the cards and letter, Ihanded them all to the footman, saying in lucid English:

"We are coming in, and you are to take these cards to Count Tolstoy. "

At the same time, I pointed a decisive forefinger in the direction inwhich I thought the count was concealed. The obsequious menial took ourcards, bowed low, and invited us to enter with true servant'shospitality. 

In all Russian houses, as, doubtless, everybody knows, the first flooris given up to an _antechambre_, where guests remove their wraps andgoloshes, and behind this room are the kitchen and servants' quarters. All the living-rooms of the family are generally on the floor above. Having once entered this _antechambre_, my Bob Acres courage began toooze. 

"Now, I am not going to be rude, " I said. "We'll just pretend to betaking off our wraps until we find whether we can be received. I don'tmind forcing myself on a servant, but I do object to inconveniencing themaster of the house. 

"You're weakening, " said Jimmie, derisively. "You're scared!"

"I am not, " I declared, indignantly. "I am only trying to be polite, andit's a hard pull, I can tell you, when I want anything as much as I wantto see Tolstoy. If he won't see us after he reads that letter, I can atleast go away knowing that I put forth my best efforts to see him, butif I had taken a servant's refusal, I should feel myself a coward. "

I looked anxiously at my friends for approval. Jimmie and the consullooked dubious, but Bee and Mrs. Jimmie patted me on the back and said Ihad done just right. 

While we were engaged in this conversation, and while the man was stillup-stairs, the door from the kitchen burst open, and in came a handsomeyoung fellow of about eighteen, whistling. Now my brother whistles andslams doors just like this young Russian. So my understanding of boysmade me feel friendly with this one at once. Seeing us, he stopped andbowed politely. 

"Good morning, " I said, cheerfully. "We are Americans, and we havetravelled five thousand miles for the purpose of seeing Count Tolstoy, and when we got here this morning the servant wouldn't even let us inuntil I made him, and we are waiting to see if the count will receiveus. "

"Why, I am just sure papa will see you, " said the boy in perfectEnglish. "How disgusting of Dmitri. He is a blockhead, that Dmitri. Ishall tell mamma how he treated you. The idea of leaving you standingdown here while he took your cards up. "

"It is partly our fault, " I said, defending Dmitri. "We sent him up toask. "

"Nevertheless, he should have had you wait in the salon. Dmitri is afool. "

"His manner wasn't very cordial, " I admitted, as we followed himup-stairs and into a large well-furnished, but rather plain, roomcontaining no ornaments. 

"But as I had a letter from the ambassador, " I went on, "I felt that Imust at least present it. "

The boy turned back, as he started to leave the room, and said:

"Oh! From Mr. White? Your ambassador wrote about you, and also somefriends of ours from Petersburg. Papa has been expecting you this longtime. He would have been so annoyed if he had failed to see you. I'lltell him how badly Dmitri treated you. What must you think of theRussians?"

He said all this hurrying to the door to find his father. We sat downand regarded each other in silence. Jimmie and the consul looked intotheir hats with a somewhat sheepish countenance. Bee cleared her throatwith pleasure, and Mrs. Jimmie carefully assumed an attitude ofunstudied grace, smoothing her silk dress over her knee with her glovedhand, and involuntarily looking at her glove the way we do in America. Then the door opened and Count Tolstoy came in. 

To begin with, he speaks perfect English, and his cordial welcome, beginning as he entered the door, continued while he traversed thelength of the long room, holding out both hands to me, in one of whichwas my letter from the ambassador. He examined our party with as muchcuriosity and interest as we studied him. He wore the ordinary peasant'scostume. His blue blouse and white under-garment, which showed aroundthe neck, had brown stains on it which might be from either coffee ortobacco. His eyes were set widely apart and were benignant and kind inexpression. His brow was benevolent, and counteracted the lower part ofhis face, which in itself would be pugnacious. His nose was short, broad, and thick. His jaw betrayed the determination of the bulldog. Thecombination made an exceedingly interesting study. His coarse clothesformed a curious contrast to the elegance of his speech and the grace ofhis manner. He was simple, unaffected, gentle, and possessed, in commonwith all his race, the trait upon which I have remarked before, a keen, intelligent interest in America and Americans. 

While he was still welcoming us and apologising for the behaviour of hisservant, the countess came in, followed by the young countess, theirdaughter. The Countess Tolstoy has one of the sweetest faces I ever saw, and, although she has had thirteen children, she looks as if she werenot over forty-three years old. Her smooth brown hair had not one silverthread, and its gloss might be envied by many a girl of eighteen. Hereyes were brown, alert, and fun-loving, her manner quick, and her speechenthusiastic. Her plain silk gown was well made, and its richness was instrange contrast to the peasant's costume of her illustrious husband. 

The little countess had short red brown hair parted on the side like aboy's and softly waving about her face, red brown eyes, and a skin sodelicate that little freckles showed against its clearness. Her modest, quiet manner gave her at once an air of breeding. Her manner was olderand more subdued than that of her mother, from whom the cares andanxieties of her large family and varied interests had evidently rolledsoftly and easily, leaving no trace behind. 

All three of them began questioning us about our plans, our homes, ourfamilies, wondering at the ease with which we took long journeys, envying our leisure to enjoy ourselves, and constantly interruptingthemselves with true expressions of welcome. 

It is, perhaps, only a fair example of the bountiful hospitality wereceived all through Poland and Russia to chronicle here that CountTolstoy invited us to his house in the country, whither they expected togo shortly, to remain several months, and, as he afterward explained it, "for as long as you can be happy with us. "

His book on "What is Art?" was then attracting a great deal ofattention, but he was deeply engaged in the one which has sinceappeared, first under the title of "The Awakening, " and afterwardcalled "Resurrection. " It is said that he wrote this book twelve yearsago, and only rewrote it at the instance of the publishers, but no onewho has met Tolstoy and become acquainted with him can doubt that he hasbeen collecting material, thinking, planning, and writing on that bookfor a lifetime. 

Many consider Tolstoy a _poseur_, but he sincerely believes in himself. He had only the day before worked all day in the shop of a peasant, making shoes for which he had been paid fifty copecks, and we were toldthat not infrequently he might be seen working in the forest or field, bending his back to the same burdens as his peasants, sharing theirhardships, and receiving no more pay than they. 

It was a wonderful experience to sit opposite him, to look into hiseyes, and to hear him talk. 

"It is a great country, yours, " he said. "To me the most interesting inthe world just at present. What are you going to do with your problems?How are you going to deal with anarchy and the Indian and negroquestions? You have a blessed liberty in your country. "

"If you will excuse me for saying so, I think we have a very _un_blessedliberty in our country! Too much liberty is what has brought about thevery conditions of anarchy and the race problem which now threaten us. "

"Do you think the negroes ought not to have been given the franchise?"

"That is a difficult question, " I said. "Let me answer it by giving youanother. Is it a good thing to turn loose on a young republic a mass ofconsolidated ignorance, such as the average negro represented at theclose of the war, and put votes into their hands with not onerestraining influence to counteract it? You continentals can form noidea of the Southern negro. The case of your serfs is by no means aparallel. But it is too late now. You cannot take the franchise awayfrom them. They must work out their own salvation. "

"Would you take it away from them, if you could?" asked Tolstoy. 

"Most certainly I would, " I answered, "although my opinion is of novalue, and I am only wasting your time by expressing it. I would takeaway the franchise from the negroes and from all foreigners until theyhad lived in our country twenty-one years, as our American men must do, and I would establish a property and educational qualification for everyvoter. I would not permit a man to vote upon property issues unless hewere a property owner. "

"Would you enfranchise the women?" asked the countess. 

"I would, but under the same conditions. "

"But would your best element of women exercise the privilege?" asked thelittle countess. 

"Not all of them at first, and some of them never, I suppose; but whenonce our country awakens to the meaning of patriotism, and our womenunderstand that they are citizens exactly as the men are citizens, theywill do their duty, and do it more conscientiously than the men. "

"It is a very interesting subject, " said the count; "and yoursuggestions open up many possibilities. Women do vote in several of yourStates, I am told. "

"How I would love to see a woman who had voted, " cried the countess, clasping her hands with all the vivacity of a French woman. 

"Why, I have voted, " said Bee, laughing. "I voted for President McKinleyin the State of Colorado, and my sister and Mrs. Jimmie voted for schooltrustee in Illinois. " All three of the Tolstoys turned eagerly towardBee. 

"Do tell me about it, " said the count. 

"There is very little to tell. I simply went and stood in line and castmy ballot. "

"But was there no shooting, no bribery, no excitement?" cried thecountess. "Do they go dressed as you are now?"

"No, I dressed much better. I wore my best Paris gown, and drove down inmy victoria. While I was in the line half a dozen gentlemen, whoattended my receptions, came up and chatted with me, showed me how tofold my ballot, and attended me as if we were at a concert. When I cameaway, I took a street-car home, and sent my carriage for several ladieswho otherwise would not have come. "

"And you, " said the countess, turning to Mrs. Jimmie. 

"It was in a barber shop, " she said, laughing. "When I went in, the menhad their feet on the table, their hats on their heads, and they wereall smoking, but at my entrance all these things changed. Hats came off, cigars were laid down, and feet disappeared. I was politely treated, andenjoyed it immensely. "

"How very interesting, " said Tolstoy. "But are there not societies forand against suffrage? Why do your women combine against it?"

"Because American women have not awakened to the meaning of goodcitizenship, and they prefer chivalry to justice, regardless of the loveof country. I never belonged to any suffrage society, never wrote orspoke or talked about it. I think the responsibility of voting would beheavy and often disagreeable, but, if the women were enfranchised, Iwould vote from a sense of duty, just as I think many others would; and, as to the good which might accrue, I think you will agree with me thatwomen's standards are higher than men's. There would be far lessbribery in politics than there is now. "

"Is there much bribery?" asked Tolstoy. 

"Unfortunately, I suppose there is. Have you heard how the ex-Speaker ofthe House of Representatives, Tom Reed, defines an honest man inpolitics? 'An honest man is a man that will stay bought!'"

There is no use in denying the truth. Tolstoy is always the teacher andthe author. I could not imagine him the husband and the father. Heseemed in the act of getting copy, and had a way of asking a question, and then scrutinising both the question and the answer as one who hadset a mechanical toy in motion by winding it up. Tolstoy would make anexcellent reporter for an American newspaper. He could obtain aninterview with the most reticent politician. But I had a feeling thathis methods were as the methods of Goethe. 

His wife evidently does not share his own opinion of himself. Shelistened with obvious impatience to the conversation, then she drew Beeand Mrs. Jimmie aside, and they were soon in the midst of an animateddiscussion of the Rue de la Paix. 

Tolstoy overheard snatches of their talk without a sign of disapproval. I have seen a big Newfoundland watch the graceful antics of a kittenwith the same air of indifference with which Tolstoy regarded his wife'shumanity and naturalness. Tolstoy takes himself with profoundseriousness, but, in spite of his influence on Russia and the outsideworld, the great teacher has been unable to cure his wife's interest inmillinery. 

Nordau told me in Paris that Tolstoy was a combination of genius andinsanity. Undoubtedly Tolstoy is actuated by a genuine desire to freeRussia, but the idea was unmistakably imbedded in my mind that hisChristianity was like Napoleon's description of a Russian. Scratch itand you would find Tartar fanaticism under it, --the fanaticism of theascetic who would drive his own flesh and blood into the flames to savethe soul of his domestics. This impression grew as I watched theattitude of the countess toward her husband. What must a wife think ofsuch a husband's views of marriage when she is the mother of thirteen ofhis children? What must she think of insincerity when he refuses tocopyright his books because he thinks it wrong to take money forteaching, yet permits _her_ to copyright them and draw the royalties forthe support of the family?

Her opinion of her famous husband lies beneath her manner, coveredlightly by a charming and graceful impatience, --the impatience of aspoiled child. 

When we got into the carriage I said:

"Well?"

"Well, " said our friend the consul, who had not spoken during theinterview, "he is the queerest man I ever met. But how he pumped you!"

"We are all 'copy' to him, " said Jimmie. "He wanted information at firsthand. "

"Sometime he may succeed in convincing his daughter, " said Mrs. Jimmie, "but never his wife. She knows him too well. "

"Yet he seemed interested in you and Jimmie, " said Bee, ruefully. Thenmore cheerfully, "but we're asked to come again!"

"We are living documents; that's why. "

"What do you think of him?" said Jimmie to me with a grin ofcomradeship. 

"I don't know. My impressions have got to settle and be skimmed anddrained off before I know. "

"Well, we'll go to their reception anyway, " said Bee, comfortably, withthe air of one who had no problems to wrestle with. 

"What are you going to wear?"

To be sure! That was the main question after all. What were we going towear?

CHAPTER XII

AT ONE OF THE TOLSTOY RECEPTIONS

When we arrived the next evening, it was to find a curious situation. The Countess Tolstoy and her daughter and young son, in Europeancostume, --the countess in velvet and lace, and the little countess in apretty taffeta silk, --were receiving their guests in the main salon, andlater served them to a magnificent supper with champagne. The count, wewere told, was elsewhere receiving his guests, who would not join us. Later he came in, still in his peasant's costume, and refused allrefreshment. He was exceedingly civil to all his guests, but signalledout the Americans in a manner truly flattering. 

It was a charming evening, and we met agreeable people, but, althoughthey stayed late, we remained, at Tolstoy's request, still later, andwhen the last guest had departed, we sat down, drawing our chairs quiteclose together after the manner of a cheerful family party. 

After inquiring how we had spent our day, and giving us some valuablehints about different points of interest for the morrow, Tolstoy plungedat once into the conversation which had been broken off the day before. It was evident that he had been thinking about our country, and waseager for more information. 

"I became very well acquainted with your ambassador, Mr. White, while hewas in this country, " he began. "I found him a man of wide experience, of great culture, and of much originality in thought. I learned a greatdeal about America from him. It must be wonderful to live in a countrywhere there is no Orthodox Church, where one can worship as one pleases, and where every one's vote is counted. "

Jimmie coughed politely, and looked at me. 

"It encourages individuality, " he added. "Do you not find your owncountrymen more individual than those of any other nation?" he added, addressing Jimmie directly for the first time. 

"I think I do, " said Jimmie, carefully weighing out his words as if oninvisible scales. Jimmie is largely imbued with that absurd fear of aman who has written books, which is to me so inexplicable. 

"Your country appeals to Russians, strongly, " pursued the count, evidently bent upon drawing Jimmie out. 

"I have often wondered why, " said Jimmie. "It couldn't have been thewheat?"

"No, not entirely the wheat, although the news of your generosity spreadlike wildfire through all classes of society, and served to open thehearts of the peasants toward America as they are opened toward no othercountry in the world. The word 'Amerikanski' is an _open sesame_ allthrough Russia. Have you noticed it?"

"Often, " said Jimmie. "And often wondered at it. But that wheat was asmall enterprise to gain a nation's gratitude. It is the more surprisingto us because it was not a national gift, but the result of thegenerosity and large-mindedness of a handful of men, who pushed itthrough so quietly and unostentatiously that millions of people inAmerica to this day do not know that it was ever done, but over here wehave not met a single Russian who has not spoken of it immediately. "

"The Russians are a grateful people, " observed Mrs. Jimmie, "but itseems a little strange to me to discover such ardent gratitude among thenobility for assistance which reached people hundreds of miles away fromthem, and in whose welfare they could have only a general interest, prompted by humanity. "

"Ah! but madame, Russians are more keenly alive to the problem of ourserfs than any other. Many of our wealthy people are doing all that theycan to assist them, and, when a crisis like the famine comes, it isheart-breaking not to be able to relieve their suffering. Consequently, the sending of that wheat touched every heart. "

"Then, too, we are not divided, --the North against the South, as youwere on your negro question, " said the little countess. "The peasantproblem stretches from one end of Russia to the other. "

"We are a diffuse people, " I said. "Perhaps that is the result of ourmixed blood and the individuality that you spoke of, but your books areso widely read in America that I believe people in the North are quiteas well informed and quite as much interested in the problem of theRussian serf as in our own negro problem. "

Bee gave me a look which in sign language meant, "And that isn't sayinghalf as much as it sounds. "

"Undoubtedly there is a strong point of sympathy between our twocountries. Like you, we have many mixed strains of blood, and, though weare so much older, we have civilised more slowly, so that we are both inyouthful stages of progress. Your great prairies correspond in a largemeasure to our steppes. America and Russia are the greatestwheat-growing countries in the world. Our internal resources are theonly ones vast enough to support us without assistance from othercountries. "

"Is that true of Russia?" Jimmie cut in, his commercial instinct gettingthe better of his awe of Tolstoy. "Where would you get your coal?"

"True, " said Tolstoy, "we could not do it as completely as you, andyour very resources are one reason for our admiration of America. "

"In case of war, now, --" went on Jimmie. He stopped speaking, and lookeddown in deep embarrassment, remembering Tolstoy's hatred of war. 

"Yes, " said Tolstoy, kindly. "In case the whole civilised world wagedwar on the United States, I dare say you could still remain a tolerablyprosperous people. "

"At any rate, " said Jimmie, recovering himself, "it would be a good manyyears before we would be a hungry nation, and, in the meantime, we couldpractically starve out the enemy by cutting off their food supply, anddisable their fleets and commerce for want of coal, so there is hardlyany danger, from the prudent point of view, of the world combiningagainst us. "

"If the diplomacy at Washington continues in its present trend, underyour great President McKinley, your country will not allow herself to bedragged into the quarrels of Europe. We older nations might well learna lesson from your present government. "

"Oh!" I cried, "how good of you to say that. It is the first time in allEurope that I have heard our government praised for its diplomacy, andcoming from you, I am so grateful. "

Jimmie and the consul also beamed at Tolstoy's complimentary comment. 

"Now, about your men of letters?" said Tolstoy. "It is some time since Ihave had such direct news from America. What are the great names amongyou now?"

At this juncture Countess Tolstoy drew nearer to Bee and Mrs. Jimmie, and our groups somewhat separated. 

"Our great names?" I repeated. "Either we have no great names now, or weare too close to them to realise how great they are. We seem to bebetween generations. We have lost our Lowell, and Longfellow, and Poe, and Hawthorne, and Emerson, and we have no others to take their places. "

"But a young school will spring up, some of whom may take their places, "said Tolstoy. 

"It has already sprung up, " I said, "and is well on the way to manhood. One great drawback, however, I find in mentioning the names of all ofthem to a European, or even to an Englishman, is the fact that so manyof our characteristic American authors write in a dialect which is allthat we Americans can do to understand. For instance, take the negrostories, which to me are like my mother tongue, brought up as I was inthe South. Thousands of Northern people who have never been South areunable to read it, and to them it holds no humour and no pathos. To theordinary Englishman, it is like so much Greek, and to the continentalEnglish-speaking person it is like Sanskrit. In the same way the NewEngland stories, which are written in Yankee dialect, cannot beunderstood by people in the South who have never been North. How thencan we expect Europeans to manage them?"

"How extraordinary, " said Tolstoy. "And both are equally typical, Isuppose?"

"Equally so, " I replied. 

"The reason she understands them both, " broke in Jimmie, "is because hermother comes from the northernmost part of the northernmost State inthe Union, and her father from a point almost equally in the South. There is but one State between his birthplace and the Gulf of Mexico. "

"About the same distance, " said Tolstoy, "as if your mother came fromPetersburg and your father from Odessa. "

"But there are others who write English which is not distorted in itsspelling. James Lane Alien and Henry B. Fuller are particularly notedfor their lucid English and literary style; Cable writes Creole storiesof Louisiana; Mary Hartwell Catherwood, stories of French Canadians andthe early French settlers in America; Bret Harte, stories of Californiamining camps; Mary Hallock Foote, civil engineering stories around theRocky Mountains; Weir Mitchell, Quaker stories of Pennsylvania; andCharles Egbert Craddock lays her plots in the Tennessee mountains. Ofall these authors, each has written at least two books along the lines Ihave indicated, and I mention them, thinking they would be particularlyinteresting to you as descriptive of portions of the United States. "

"All these, " said Tolstoy, meditatively, "in one country. "

"Not only that, " I said, "but no two alike, and most of them as widelydifferent as if one wrote in French and the other in German. "

"A wonderful country, " murmured Tolstoy again. "I have often thought ofgoing there, but now I am too old. "

"There is no one in the world, " I answered him, "in the realm of lettersor social economics, whom the people of America would rather see thanyou. "

He bowed gracefully, and only answered again:

"No, I am too old now. I wish I had gone there when I could. But tellme, " he added, "have you no authors who write universally?"

"Universally, " I repeated. "That is a large word. Yes, we have MarkTwain. He is our most eminent literary figure at present. "

"Ah! Mark Twain, " repeated Tolstoy. "I have heard of him. "

"Have you indeed? I thought no one was known in Europe, except FenimoreCooper. He is supposed to have written universally of America, becausehe never wrote anything but Indian stories! In France, they know of Poe, and like him because they tell me that he was like themselves. "

"He was insane, was he not?" said Tolstoy, innocently. 

I bit my lip to keep from laughing, for Tolstoy had not perpetrated thatas a jest. 

"But many of our most whimsical and most delicious authors could not beappreciated by Europe in general, because Europeans are all so ignorantof us. There is Frank Stockton, whose humour continentals would be sureto take seriously, and then Thomas Nelson Page writes most effectivelywhen he uses negro dialect. His story 'Marse Chan, ' which made himfamous, I consider the best short story ever written in America. Hopkinson Smith, too, has written a book which deserves to live forever, depicting as it does a phase of the reconstruction period, whenSouthern gentlemen of the old school came into contact with the Northernbusiness methods. Books like these would seem trivial to a European, because they represent but a single step in our curious history. "

"I understand, " said Tolstoy, sympathetically. "Of course it isdifficult for us to realise that America is not one nation, but anamalgamation of all nations. To the casual thinker, America is anoff-shoot of England. "

"Perfectly true, " said Jimmie, "and that barring the fact that we speaka language which is, in some respects, similar to the English, nonations are more foreign to each other than the United States andEngland. It would be better for the English if they had a few moreBryces among them. "

"If it weren't for the dialects, " said Tolstoy, "I think more Europeanswould be interested in American literature. "

"That is true, " I said, "and yet, without dialects, you wouldn't get theUnited States as it really is. There are heaps and heaps of Americanswho won't read dialect themselves, but they miss a great deal. Take, forinstance, James Whitcomb Riley, a poet who, to my mind, possessesabsolute genius, --the genius of the commonplace. His best things areall in dialect, which a great many find difficult, and yet, when hegives public readings from his own poems, he draws audiences which testthe capacity of the largest halls. I myself have seen him recallednineteen times. "

"America and Russia are growing closer together every day, " saidTolstoy. "Every year we use more of your American machinery; your plows, and threshers, and mowing-machines, and all agricultural implements arecoming into use here. Every year some Americans settle in Russia frombusiness interests, and we are rapidly becoming dependent on you for ourcoal. If you had a larger merchant marine, it would benefit our mutualinterests wonderfully. Is your country as much interested in Russia aswe are in you?"

"Equally so, " I said. "Russian literature is very well understood inAmerica. We read all your books. We know Pushkin and Tourguenieff. YourRussian music is played by our orchestras, and your Russian painter, Verestchagin, exhibited his paintings in all the large cities, and madeus familiar with his genius. "

"All art, all music has a moral effect upon the soul. Verestchaginpaints war--hideous war! Moral questions should be talked about anddiscussed, and a remedy found for them. In America you will not discussmany questions. Even in the translations of my books, parts which seemimportant to me are left out. Why is that? It limits you, does it not?"

"I suppose the demand creates the supply, " I ventured. "We may beprudish, but as yet the moral questions you speak of have not such ahold on our young republic that they need drastic measures. When webecome more civilised, and society more cancerous, doubtless the publicmind will permit these questions to be discussed. "

"The time for repentance is in advance of the crime, " said Tolstoy. 

"American prudery is narrowing in its effect on our art, " I ventured, timidly. 

"Is that the reason for many of your artists and authors living abroad?"

"It may be. We certainly are not encouraged in America to depict life asit is. That is one reason I think why foreign authors sell their booksby the thousands in America, and by the hundreds in their own country. "

"Then the taste is there, is it?" asked Tolstoy. 

"The common sense is there, " I said, bluntly, --"the common sense to knowthat our authors are limited to depicting a phase instead of the wholelife, and then, if you are going to get the whole life, you must readforeign authors. It's just as if a sculptor should confine himself toshaping fingers, and toes, and noses, and ears because the publicrefuses to take a finished study. "

"But why, why is it?" said Tolstoy, with a touch of impatience. "If youwill read the whole thing when written by foreign authors, why do younot encourage your own?"

"I am sure I don't know, " I said, "unless it is on the simple principlethat many men enjoy the ballet scene in opera, while they would notpermit their wives and daughters to take part in it. "

"America is the protector of the family, " said Jimmie, regarding mewith a hostile eye. 

Tolstoy tactfully changed the subject out of deference to Jimmie'sdispleasure. 

"Do many Russians visit America?" asked Tolstoy. 

"Oh, yes, quite a number, and they are among our most agreeablevisitors. Prince Serge Wolkonsky travelled so much and made so manyaddresses that he made Russia more popular than ever. "

"Do you know how popular you are in America?" said Jimmie, blushing athis own temerity. 

"I know how many of my books are sold there, and I get many kind lettersfrom Americans. "

"Isn't he considered the greatest living man of letters in America?"said Jimmie, appealingly to me boyishly. 

"Undoubtedly, " I replied, smiling, because Tolstoy smiled. 

"Whom do you consider the greatest living author?" asked Jimmie. 

"Mrs. Humphrey Ward, " said Tolstoy, decisively. 

This was a thunderbolt which stopped the conversation of the othermembers of the party. 

"And one of your greatest Americans, " went on Tolstoy, "was HenryGeorge. "

"From a literary point of view, or--"

"From the point of view of humanity and of the Christian. "

Jimmie and I leaned back involuntarily. Judged by these standards, wewere none of us either Christians or human, in our party at least. 

The Countess Tolstoy, who seemed to be in not the slightest awe of herillustrious husband, having become somewhat impatient during thisconversation, now turned to me and said:

"It has been so interesting to talk with your sister and Mrs. Jimmieabout Paris fashions. We see so little here that is not second hand, andyour journey is so fascinating. It seems incredible that you can betravelling simply for pleasure and over such a number of countries!Where do you go next?"

"We have come from everywhere, " I said, laughing, "and we are goinganywhere. "

The countess clasped her hands and said:

"How I envy you, but doesn't it cost you a great deal of money?"

"I suppose it does, " I said, regretfully. "I am going to travel as longas my money holds out, but the rest are not so hampered. "

"Alas, if I could only go with you, " said the countess, "but we areunder such heavy expense now. It used to be easier when we had three orfour children nearer of an age who could be educated together. Then itcost less. But now this boy, my youngest, necessitates different tutorsfor everything, and it costs as much to educate this last one ofthirteen as it did any four of the others. "

"But then you educate so thoroughly, " I said. "Russians always speakfive or six, sometimes ten languages, including dialects. With us ourwealthy people generally send their children to a good private schooland afterward prepare them by tutor for college. Then the richest sendthem for a trip around the world, or perhaps a year abroad, and thatends it. But the ordinary American has only a public school education. Americans are not linguists naturally. "

"Ah! but here we are obliged to be linguists, because, if we travel atall, we must speak other languages, and, if we entertain at all, we meetpeople who cannot speak ours, which is very difficult to learn. Butlanguages are easy. "

"Oh! _are_ they?" said Jimmie, involuntarily, and everybody laughed. 

"Jimmie's languages are unique, " said Bee. 

"Are you going to Italy?" said the countess. 

"Yes, we hope to spend next spring in Italy, beginning with Sicily andworking slowly northward. "

"How delightful! How charming!" cried the countess. "How I wish, how I_wish_ I could go with you. "

"Go with us?" I cried in delight. "Could you manage it? We should be soflattered to have your company. "

"Oh, if I could! I shall ask. It will do no harm to ask. "

We had all stood up to go and had begun to shake hands when she criedacross to her husband:

"Leo, Leo, may I go--"

Then seeing she had not engaged her husband's attention, who wastalking to Jimmie about single tax, she went over and pulled his sleeve. 

"Leo, may I go with them to Italy in the spring? Please, dear Leo, sayyes. "

He shook his head gravely, and the little countess smiled at hermother's enthusiasm. 

"It would cost too much, " said Tolstoy, "besides, I cannot spare you. Ineed you. "

"You need me!" cried the countess in gay derision. Then pleadingly, "Dolet me go. "

"I cannot, " said Tolstoy, turning to Jimmie again. 

The countess came back to us with a face full of disappointment. 

"He doesn't need me at all, " she whispered. "I'd go anyway if I had themoney. "

As I said before, Russia and America are very much alike. 

As we left the house my mind recurred to Max Nordau, whose personalityand methods I have so imperfectly presented. The contrast to Tolstoywould intrude itself. In all the conversations I ever had with MaxNordau, he spent most of the time in trying to be a help and a benefitto me. The physician in him was always at the front. His aim washealing, and I only regret that their intimate personality prevents mefrom relating them word for word, as they would interest and benefitothers quite as much as they did me. 

The difference between these two great leaders of thought--these twogreat reformers, Nordau and Tolstoy--is the theme of many learneddiscussions, and admits many different points of view. 

To me they present this aspect: Tolstoy, like Goethe, is an interestingcombination of genius and hypocrisy. He preaches unselfishness, whilehimself the embodiment of self. Max Nordau is his antithesis. Nordaugives with generous enthusiasm--of his time, his learning, his genius, most of all, of himself. Tolstoy fastens himself upon each newcomerpolitely, like a courteous leech, sucks him dry, and then writes. 

Max Nordau, like Shakespeare, absorbs humanity as a whole. Tolstoyconsiders the Bible the most dramatic work ever written, and turns thisknowledge of the world's demand for religion to theatrical account. Tolstoy is outwardly a Christian, Nordau outwardly a pagan. Tolstoyopenly acknowledges God, but exemplifies the ideas of man, while MaxNordau's private life embodies the noble teachings of the Christ whom hedenies. 

It was not until months afterward, we were back in London in fact, whenJimmie's opinion of Tolstoy seemed to have crystallised. He came to meone morning and said:

"I've read everything, since we left Moscow, that Tolstoy has written. Now you know I don't pretend to know anything about literary style andall that rot that you're so keen about, but I do know something abouthuman nature, and I do know a grand-stand play when I see one. NowTolstoy is a genius, there's no gainsaying that, but it's all covered upand smothered in that religious rubbish that he has caught the ear ofthe world with. If you want to be admired while you are alive, write areligious novel and let the hoi polloi snivel over you and give you golddollars while you can enjoy 'em and spend 'em. That's where Tolstoy is afox. So is Mrs. Humphrey Ward. She's a fox, too. They are getting allthe fun _now_. But it's all gallery play with both of 'em. "

I said nothing, and he smoked in silence for a moment. Then he added:

"But I _say_, what a ripper Tolstoy could write if he'd just cut loosefrom religion for a minute and write a novel that didn't have any damned_purpose_ in it!"

Verily, Jimmie is no fool. 

CHAPTER XIII

SHOPPING EXPERIENCES

In going to Europe timid persons often cover their real design byclaiming the intention of taking German baths, of "doing" Switzerland, or of learning languages. But everybody knows that the real reason whymost women go abroad is to shop. What cathedral can bring such a look ofrapture to a woman's face as New Bond Street or what scenery suchecstasy as the Rue de la Paix?

Therefore, as I believe my lot in shopping to be the common lot of all, let me tell my tale, so that to all who have suffered the same agoniesand delights this may come as a personal reminiscence of their own, while to you who have Europe yet to view for that blissful first time, which is the best of all, this is what you will go through. 

When I first went to Europe I had all of the average American woman'stimidity about asserting herself in the face of a shopgirl or salesman. Many years of shopping in America had thoroughly broken a spirit whichwas once proud. I therefore suffered unnecessary annoyance during myfirst shopping in London, because I was overwhelmingly polite andaffable to the man behind the counter. I said "please, " and "If youdon't mind, " and "I would like to see, " instead of using the martialcommand of the ordinary Englishwoman, who marches up to the show-case inflat-heeled boots and says in a tone of an officer ordering "Shoulderarms, " "Show me your gauze fans!" I used to listen to them standing nextme at a counter, momentarily expecting to see them knocked down by theindignant salesman and carried to a hospital in an ambulance. 

My own tones were so conversational when I said, "Will you please showme your black satin ribbon?" that, while I did not say it, my voiceimplied such questions as "How are your father and mother?" and "I hopethe baby is better?" and "Doesn't that draught there on your back annoyyou?" and "Don't you get very tired standing up all day?"

It was Bee, as usual, who gave me my first lesson in the insolentbearing which alone obtains the best results from the average Britishshopman. 

Still without having thoroughly asserted myself, not having been to thatparticular manner born, I went next to Paris, where my politeness metwith the just reward which virtue is always supposed to get and seldomdoes. 

I consider shopping in Paris one of the greatest pleasures to be foundin this vale of tears. The shops, with the exception of the Louvre, theBon Marché, and one or two of the large department stores of similarscope, are all small--tiny, in fact, and exploit but one or two things. A little shop for fans will be next to a milliner who makes a specialtyof nothing but gauze theatre bonnets. Perhaps next will come a linenstore, where the windows will have nothing but the most fascinatingembroidery, handkerchiefs, and neckware. Then comes the man who sellsbelts of every description, and parasol handles. Perhaps your nextwindow will have such a display of diamond necklaces as would justifyyou in supposing that his stock would make Tiffany choke with envy, butif you enter, you will find yourself in an aperture in the wall, holdingan iron safe, a two-by-four show-case, and three chairs, and you willfind that everything of value he has, except the clothes he wears, areall in his window. 

As long as these shops are all crowded together and so small, to shop inParis is really much more convenient than in one of our large departmentstores at home, with the additional delight of having smiling interestedservice. The proprietor himself enters into your wants, and uses all hisquickness and intelligence to supply your demands. He may be, verylikely he is, doubling the price on you, because you are an American, but, if your bruised spirit is like mine, you will be perfectly willingto pay a little extra for politeness. 

It is a truth that I have brought home with me no article from Pariswhich does not carry with it pleasant recollections of the way I boughtit. Can any woman who has shopped only in America bring forward asimilar statement?

All this changes, however, when once you get into the clutches of theaverage French dressmaker. By his side, Barabbas would appear agentleman of exceptional honesty. I have often, in idle moments, imagined myself a cannibal, and, in preparing my daily menu, my firstdish would be a fricassee of French dressmakers. Perhaps in that I amunjust. In thinking it over, I will amend it by saying a fricassee of_all_ dressmakers. It would be unfair to limit it to the French. 

There is one thing particularly noticeable about the charm which Frenchshop-windows in one of the smart streets like the rue de la Paixexercises upon the American woman, and that is that it very soon wearsoff, and she sees that most of the things exploited are beyond hermeans, or are totally unsuited to her needs. I defy any woman to walkdown one of these brilliant shop-lined streets of Paris for the firsttime, and not want to buy every individual thing she sees, and she willwant to do it a second time and a third time, and, if she goes away fromParis and stays two months, the first time she sees these things on herreturn all the old fascination is there. To overcome it, to stamp it outof the system, she must stay long enough in Paris to live it down, for, if she buys rashly while under the influence of this first glamour, sheis sure to regret it. 

Dresden and Berlin differ materially from Paris in this respect. Theirshop-windows exploit things less expensive, more suitable to yourevery-day needs, and equally unattainable at home. So that if you havegained some experience by your mistakes in Paris, your outlay in theseGerman cities will be much more rational. 

Leather goods in Germany are simply distracting. There are shops inDresden where no woman who appreciates bags, satchels, card-cases, photograph-frames, book-covers, and purses could refrain from buyingwithout disastrous results. I remember my first pilgrimage through thestreets of Dresden. Between the porcelains and toilet sets, theMadonnas, the belts, and card-cases, I nearly lost my mind. The modestprices of the coveted articles were each time a separate shock of joy. If these sturdy Germans had wished to take advantage of my indiscreetexpressions of surprise and delight, they might easily have raised theirprices without our ever having discovered it. But day after day wereturned, not only to find that the prices remained the same, but that, in many instances, if we bought several articles, they voluntarily tookoff a mark or two on account of the generosity of our purchases. 

Dresden is a city where works of art are most cunningly copied. You canorder, if you like, copies of any but the most intricate of thetreasures of the Green Vaults, and you will not be disappointed with theresults. You can order copies of any of the most famous pictures in theDresden galleries, and have them executed with like exquisite skill. Noris there any city in all Europe where it is so satisfactory to buy asouvenir of a town, which you will not want to throw away when you gethome and try to find a place for it. Because souvenirs of Dresden appealto your love of art and the highest in your nature. Leather you willfind elsewhere, but the Dresden works of art are peculiarly its own. 

In Austria manners differ considerably both from those of Paris andupper Germany. I should say they were a cross between the two. Weshopped in Ischl, which has shops quite out of proportion to its size onaccount of being the summer home of the Emperor, and there we met with apoliteness which was delightful. 

In Vienna we had occasion to accompany Jimmie and "Little Papa" onbusiness expeditions which led him into the wholesale district. There itwas universal for all the clerks to be seated at their work, particularly in the jeweller's shops. At our entrance, every man andwoman there, from the proprietor to the errand boys, rose to their feet, bowed, and said "Good day. "

When we finished our purchases, or even if we only looked and came awaywithout buying, this was all repeated, which sometimes gave me thesensation of having been to a court function. 

Vienna fashions are very elegant. Being the seat of the court, there isa great deal of dress. There is wealth, and the shops are magnificent. Personally, I much prefer the fashions of Vienna to those of Paris. Prices are perhaps a little more moderate, but the truly Paris creationgenerally has the effect of making one think it would be beautiful onsomebody else. I can go to Worth, Felix, and Doucet, and half a dozenothers equally as smart, and not see ten models that I would like toown. In Vienna there were Paris clothes, of course, but the Viennesehave modified them, producing somewhat the same effect as Americaninfluence on Paris fashions. To my mind they are more elegant, havingmore of reserve and dignity in their style, and a distinct morality. Paris clothes generally look immoral when you buy them, and feel immoralwhen you get them on. There is a distinct spiritual atmosphere aboutclothes. In Vienna this was very noticeable. I speak more of clothes inParis and Vienna, as there are only four cities in the world where onewould naturally buy clothes, --Paris, Vienna, London, and New York. Inother cities you buy other things, articles perhaps distinctive of thecountry. 

When you get to St. Petersburg, in your shopping experiences, you willfind a mixture of Teuton and Slav which is very perplexing. We wereparticularly anxious to get some good specimens of Russian enamel, whichnaturally one supposes to be more inexpensive in the country whichcreates them, but to our distress we discovered Avenue de l'Opera priceson everything we wished. Each time that we went back the price wasdifferent. The market seemed to fluctuate. One blue enamelled belt, uponwhich I had set my heart, varied in price from one to three dollars eachtime I looked at it. Finally, one day I hit upon a plan. I asked myfriend, Mile, de Falk, to follow me into this shop and not speak to me, but to notice the particular belt I held in my hand. I then went outwithout purchasing, and the next day my friend sent her sister, whospeaks nothing but Russian and French, to this shop. She purchased thebelt for ten dollars less than it had been offered to me. She ordered adifferent lining made for it, and the shopkeeper said in guilelessRussian, "How strange it is that ladies all over the world are alike. For a week two American young ladies have been in here looking at thisbelt, and by a strange coincidence they also wished this same lining. "

For once I flatter myself that I "did" a Russian Jew, but hiscompanions in crime have so thoroughly "done" me in other corners of theworld that I need not plume myself unnecessarily. He is more than evenwith me. 

All through Russia we contented ourselves with buying Russianengravings, which are among the finest in the world. Perhaps some oftheir charm is in the subject portrayed, which, being unfamiliar, arouses curiosity. Russian operas, paintings, theatricals, the nationalballet, the interior of churches and mosques are different from those ofevery other country. There is in the churches such a strange admixtureof the spiritual and the theatrical. So that the engravings of thesethings have for me at least more interest than anything else. 

Occasionally we were betrayed into buying a peasant's costume, an ikon, or an enamel, but in Moscow and Kief, the only way that we couldreproduce to our friends at home the glories and splendours of these twobeautiful cities was by photographs, in which the brilliancy of theircolours brings back the sensations of delight which we experienced. 

Shopping in Constantinople is not shopping as we Americans understandit, unless you happen to be an Indian trader by profession. I am not. Therefore, the system of bargaining, of going away from a bazaar andpretending you never intended buying, never wanted it anyhow, of comingback to sit down and take a cup of coffee, was like acting in privatetheatricals. By nature I am not a diplomat, but if I had stayed longerin the Orient, I think I would have learned to be as tricky as Chinesediplomacy. 

We were given, by several of our Turkish friends, two or three ruleswhich should govern conduct when shopping in the Orient. One is to lookbored; the second, never to show interest in what pleases you; thethird, never to let your robber salesman have an idea of what you reallyintend to buy. This comes hard at first, but after you have once learnedit, to go shopping is one of the most exciting experiences that I canremember. I have always thought that burglary must be an exhilaratingprofession, second only to that of the detective who traps him. Inshopping in the Orient, the bazaars are dens of thieves, and you, thepurchaser, are the detective. We found in Constantinople littleopportunity to exercise our new-found knowledge, because we wereaccompanied by our Turkish friends, who saw to it that we made noindiscreet purchases. On several occasions they made us send things backbecause we had been overcharged, and they found us better articles atless price. Of course we bought a fez, embroidered capes, bolerojackets, embroidered curtains, and rugs, but we, ourselves, were waitingto get to Smyrna for the real purchase of rugs, and it was there that Ipersonally first brought into play the guile that I had learned of theTurks. 

I remember Smyrna with particular delight. The quay curves in like agiant horseshoe of white cement. The piers jut out into the sapphireblue of this artificial bay, and are surrounded by myriads of tinyrowing shells, in which you must trust yourself to get to land, as yourbig ship anchors a mile or more from shore. 

It was the brightest, most brilliant Mediterranean sunshine whichirradiated the scene the morning on which we arrived at Smyrna. A scoreof gaily clad boatmen, whose very patches on their trousers were aspicturesque as the patches on Italian sails, held out their hands toenable us to step from one cockle-shell to another, to reach the pier. In the way the boats touch each other in the harbour at Smyrna, I wasreminded of the Thames in Henley week. We climbed through perhaps adozen of these boats before we landed on the pier, and in three minutes'walk we were in the rug bazaars of Smyrna. Such treasures as we saw!

We were received by the smiling merchants as if we were long-lostdaughters suddenly restored, but we practised our newly acquireddiplomacy on them to such an extent that their faces soon began tobetray the most comic astonishment. These people are like children, andexhibit their emotions in a manner which seems almost infantile to theCaucasian. Alas, we were not the prey they had hoped for. We sneered attheir rugs; we laughed at their embroideries; we turned up our noses attheir jewelled weapons; we drank their coffee, and walked out of theirshops without buying. They followed us into the street, and thereimplored us to come back, but we pretended to be returning to our ship. On our way back through this same street, every proprietor was out infront of his shop, holding up some special rug or embroidery which hehad hastily dug out of his secret treasures in the vain hope ofcompelling our respect. Some of these were Persian silk rugs worth fromone to three thousand dollars each. Although we would have committed anycrime in order to possess these treasures, having got thoroughly intothe spirit of the thing, we turned these rugs on their backs andpretended to find flaws in them, jeered at their colouring, and went onour way, followed by a jabbering, excited, perplexed, and nettled horde, who recklessly slaughtered their prices and almost tore up their mudfloors in their wild anxiety to prove that they hadsomething--anything--which we would buy. They called upon Allah towitness that they never had been treated so in their lives, but would wenot stop just once more again to cast our eyes on their unworthy stock?

Having had all the amusement we wanted, and it being nearly time forluncheon, we went in, and in half an hour we had bought all that we hadintended to buy from the first moment our eyes were cast upon them, andat about one-half the price they were offered to us three hours before. Now, if that isn't what you call enjoying yourself, I should like to askwhat you expect. 

Ephesus, the graves of the Seven Sleepers, the tomb of St. Luke, theruins of the Temple of Diana ("Great is Diana of the Ephesians"), theprison of St. Paul, are only a part of my vivid experiences in Smyrna. 

In Athens we bought nothing modern, but found several antique shops withByzantine treasures, also silver ornaments, ancient curios, morebeautiful than anything we found in Italy, and ancient sacred brasscandlesticks of the Greek Church, which bore the test of beingtransplanted to an American setting. 

In truth, some of my richest experiences have been in exploring withJimmie tiny second-hand shops, pawn-shops, and dark, almost squalidcorners, where, amid piles of rubbish, we found some really exquisitetreasures. Mrs. Jimmie and Bee would have been afraid they would catchleprosy if they had gone with us on some of our expeditions, but Jimmieand I trusted in that Providence which always watches over children andfools, and even in England we found bits of old silver, china, andporcelain which amply repaid us for all the risk we ran. We oftenencountered shopkeepers who spoke a language utterly unknown to us andwho understood not one word of English, and with whom we communicated bywriting down the figures on paper which we would pay, or showing themthe money in our hands. Perhaps we were cheated now and then--in fact, in our secret hearts we are guiltily sure of it, but what differencedoes that make?

When you get to Cairo, it being the jumping-off place, you naturallyexpect the most curious admixture of stuffs for sale that your mind canimagine, but, after having passed through the first stages ofbewilderment, you soon see that there are only a few things that youreally care for. For instance, you can't resist the turquoises. If yougo home from Egypt without buying any you will be sorry all the rest ofyour lives. Nor ought you to hold yourself back from your naturalleaning toward crude ostrich feathers from the ostrich farms, and tobottle up your emotion at seeing uncut amber in pieces the size of alump of chalk is to render yourself explosive and dangerous to yourfriends. Shirt studs, long chains for your vinaigrette or your fan, cuffbuttons, antique belts of curious stones (generally clumsy andunbecoming to the waist, but not to be withstood), carved ostrich eggs, jewelled fly-brushes, carved brass coffee-pots and finger bowls, cigarsets of brilliant but rude enamel, to say nothing of the rugs andembroideries, are some of the things which I defy you to refrain frombuying. To be sure, there are thousands of other attractions, which, ifyou are strong-minded, you can leave alone, but these things I haveenumerated you will find that you cannot live without. Of course, I meanby this that these things are within reach of your purse, and cheaperthan you can get them anywhere else, unless perhaps you go into theadjacent countries from which they come. 

As you go up the Nile, your shopping becomes more primitive. On the mudbanks, at the stations at which your boat stops, Arabians, Nubians, andEgyptians sit squatting on the caked mud with their gaudy clothes, brilliant embroideries, and rugs piled around them all within arm'sreach. Here also you must bring the guile which I have described intoplay. 

It may be that at Assuan, near the first cataract, I really got intosome little danger. I never knew why, but in the bazaars there Ideveloped an awful, insatiable desire to make a complete collection ofAbyssinian weapons of warfare. For this purpose, one day, I got on mydonkey and took with me only a little Scotchman, who had presented mewith countless bead necklaces and so many baskets all the way up theNile that at night I was obliged to put them overboard in order to getinto my stateroom, and who wore, besides his goggles, a green veil overhis face. We made our way across the sand, into which our donkeys' feetsank above their fetlocks, to the bazaars of Assuan. 

These bazaars deserve more than a passing mention, as they are unlikeany that I ever saw. They are all under one roof on both sides of tinystreets or broad aisles, just as you choose to call them, and throughthese aisles your donkey is privileged to go, while you sit calmly onhis back, bargaining with the cross-legged merchants, who scream at youas you pass, thrusting their wares into your face, and, even if youattempt to pass on, they stop your donkey by pulling his tail. On thisparticular day I left my donkey at the door and made my way on foot, asI was eager to make my purchases. 

Perhaps I was careless and ought to have taken better care of myScotchman, because he was so little and so far from home, but I regretto say that I lost him soon after I went into the bazaar, and I didn'tsee him again for three hours. Never shall I forget those three hours. 

In Smyrna, Turkey, and Egypt the bargaining language is about the same. 

"What you give, lady?"

"I won't give anything! I don't want it! What! Do you think I wouldcarry that back home?"

"But you take hold of him; you feel him silk; I think you want to buy. Ver' cheap, only four pound!"

"Four pounds!" I say in French. "Oh, you don't want to sell. You want tokeep it. And at such a price you will keep it. "

"Keep it!" in a shrill scream. "Not want to sell? Me? I _here_ to sell!I sell you everything you see! I sell you the _shop_!" and then morewheedlingly, "You give me forty francs?"

"No, " in English again. "I'll give you two dollars. "

"America! Liberty!" he cries, having cunningly established mynationality, and flattering my country with Oriental guile. 

"Exactly, " I say, "liberty for such as you if you go there. None for me. Liberty in America is only free to the lower classes. The others areobliged to _buy_ theirs. "

He shakes his head uncomprehendingly. "How much you give for him? Lastprice now! Six dollars!"

We haggle over "last prices" for a quarter of an hour more, and aftertwo cups of coffee, amiably taken together, and some generalconversation, I buy the thing for three dollars. 

Bee says my tastes are low, but at any rate I can truthfully say that Iget on uncommonly well with the common herd. I got about thirty of thesejargon-speaking merchants so excited with my spirited method of notbuying what they wanted me to that a large Englishman and a tall, gauntAustralian, thinking there was a fight going on, came to where I satdrinking coffee, and found that the screams, gesticulations, appeals toAllah, smiting of foreheads, brandishing of fists, and the generaluproar were all caused by a quiet and well-behaved American girl sittingin their midst, while no less than four of them held a fold of herskirt, twitching it now and then to call attention to their particularhowl of resentment. They rescued me, loaded my purchases on my donkeyboy, and found my donkey for me, beside which, sitting patiently on theground and humbly waiting my return, I found my little Scotchman. 

With all this cumulative experience, as Jimmie says, "of how tomisbehave in shops, " we got back to London, where I could bring it intoplay, and in a manner avenge myself for past slights. 

I was so grateful to Jimmie for the King Arthur that he gave me atInnsbruck that I decided to surprise him by something really handsome onhis birthday. 

When we got to Paris, there seemed to be an epidemic of gun-metalornaments set with tiny pearls, diamonds, or sapphires. Of these Inoticed that Jimmie admired the pearl-studded cigar-cases andmatch-safes most, but for some reason I waited to make my purchase inLondon, which was one of the most foolish things I ever have done in allmy foolish career, and right here let me say that there is nothing sounsatisfactory as to postpone a purchase, thinking either that you willcome back to the same place or that you will see better further along, for in nine cases out of ten you never see it again. 

When we got to London, Bee and I put on our best street clothes andstarted out to buy Jimmie his birthday present. We searched everywhere, but found that all gun-metal articles in London were either plain orstudded with diamonds. We couldn't find a pearl. Finally in one shop Iexplained my search to a tall, heavy man, evidently the proprietor, whohad small green eyes set quite closely together, a florid complexion, and hay-coloured side-whiskers. His whiskers irritated me quite as muchas the fact that he hadn't what I wanted. Perhaps my hat vexed him, butat any rate he looked as though he were glad he didn't have the pearls, and he finally permitted his annoyance, or his general British rudeness, to voice itself in this way:

"Pardon me, madame, " he said, "but you will never find cigar-cases ofgun-metal studded with pearls, no matter how much you may desire it, forit is not good taste. "

I was warm, irritated, and my dress was too tight in the belt, so I justleaned my two elbows on that show-case, and I said to him:

"Do you mean to have the impertinence, my good man, to tell two Americanladies that what they are looking for is not in good taste, simplybecause you are so stupid and insular as not to keep it in stock? Do youpresume to express your opinion on taste when you are wearing a greensatin necktie with a pink shirt? If you had ever been off this littleisland, and had gone to a land where taste in dress, and particularly injewels, is understood, you would realise the impertinence of criticisingthe taste of an American woman, who is trying to find something worthwhile buying in so hopelessly British a shop as this. Now, my good man, "I added, taking up my parasol and purse, "I shall not report yourrudeness to the proprietor, because doubtless you have a family tosupport, and I don't wish to make you lose your place, but let this be awarning to you never to be so insolent again, " and with that, I simplyswept out of his shop. I seldom sweep out. Bee says I generally crawlout, but this time I was so inflated with an unholy joy that Irecklessly cabled to Paris for Jimmie's pearls, and to this day Irejoice at the way that man covered his green satin tie with his largehairy red hand, and at the ecstatic smiles on the faces of two clerksstanding near, for I _knew_ he was the proprietor when I called him "Mygood man. "

If you want to open an account in London, you have to be vouched for byanother commercial house. They won't take your personal friends, nomatter how wealthy, no matter if they are titled. Your bank's opinion ofyou is no good. Neither does it avail you how well and favourably youare known at your hotel for paying your bill promptly. This, and thecustom in several large department stores of never returning your moneyif you take back goods, but making you spend it, not in the store, butin the department in which you have bought, makes shopping for dry goodsexcessively annoying to Americans. 

I took back two silk blouses out of five that I bought at a large shopin Regent Street much frequented by Americans, which carries on a storenear by under the same name, exclusively for mourning goods. To myastonishment, I discovered that I must buy three more blouses, or elselose all the money I paid for them. In my thirst for information, Iasked the reason for this. In America, a lady would consider the reasonthey gave an insult. The shopwoman told me that ladies' maids are soexpert at copying that many ladies have six or eight garments sent home, kept a few days, copied by their maids and returned, and that thisbecame so much the custom that they were finally forced to make thatobnoxious rule. 

I have heard complaints made in America by proprietors of largeimporting houses that women who keep accounts frequently order ahandsome gown, wrap, or hat sent home on approval, wear it, and returnit the next day. If this is the custom among decent self-respectingAmerican women, who masquerade in society in the guise of women ofrefinement and culture, no wonder that shopkeepers are obliged toprotect themselves. There is nowhere that the saying, "the innocent mustsuffer with the guilty, " obtains with so much force as in shopping, particularly in London. 

It is a characteristic difference between the clever American and theinsular British shopkeeper that in America, when a thing such as I havementioned is suspected, the saleswoman or a private detective is sent toshadow the suspect, and ascertain if she really wore the garment inquestion. In such cases, the garment is returned to her with a note, saying that she was seen wearing it, when it is generally paid forwithout a word. If not, the shop is in danger of losing one otherwisevaluable customer, as she is placed on what is known as the "blacklist, "which means that a double scrutiny is placed on all her purchases, asshe is suspected of trickery. 

In this same shop in Regent Street, of which I have been speaking, wesubmitted to several petty annoyances of this description withoutcomplaint, the last and pettiest of which was when Mrs. Jimmie, beingcaptivated by an exquisite hundred-guinea gown of pale gray, embroideredin pink silk roses, and veiled with black Chantilly lace, bought it andordered it altered to her figure. For this they charged her two poundsten in addition to that frightful price for about an hour's work aboutthe collar. Mrs. Jimmie seldom resents anything, and in her gentlenessis easily governed, so this time I persuaded her to protest, anddictated a furious letter of remonstrance to the proprietor, citing onlythis one case of extortion. Jimmie sat by, smoking and encouraging me, as I paced up and down the room with my hands behind my back, givingvent to sentences which, when copied down in Mrs. Jimmie's ladylikehandwriting, made Jimmie scream with joy. I think Mrs. Jimmie never hadany intention of sending the letter, having written it down as asafety-valve for my rather explosive nature, but Jimmie was so carriedaway by the artistic incongruities of the situation that he whipped astamp on it and mailed it before his wife could wink. 

To his delight, Mrs. Jimmie received, three days later, a letter fromthe astonished proprietor, which showed in every line of it the joltthat my letter must have been to his stolid British nerveless system. Hebegan by thanking her for having reported the matter to him, apologisedhumbly, as a British tradesman always does apologise to the bloatedpower of wealth, and said that her letter had been sent to all thevarious heads of departments for their perusal. He declared that forfive years he had been endeavouring to bring the directors to see that, if they were to possess the coveted American patronage for which theyalways strove, they must accommodate themselves to certain Americanprejudices, one of which was the unalterable distaste Americansdisplayed in paying for refitting handsome gowns. He was delighted tosay that her letter had been couched in such firm, decisive, andrighteously indignant language, such as he himself never would have beencapable of commanding, had carried such weight, and had been productiveof such definite results with the directors that he was pleased toannounce that henceforward a radical change would appear in thegovernment of their house, and that never again would an extra charge bemade for refitting any garment costing over ten pounds. He thanked heragain for her letter, but could not resist saying at the close that itwas the most astonishing letter he had ever received in his life, and hebegged to enclose the two pounds ten overcharge. 

Jimmie fairly howled for joy as he read this letter aloud; Bee lookedvery much mortified; Mrs. Jimmie exceedingly perplexed, as if uncertainwhat to think, but I confess that all my irritation against Britishshopkeepers fell away from me as a cast-off garment. I blush to say thatI shared Jimmie's delight, and when he solemnly made me a present of thetwo pounds ten I had so heroically earned, I soothed my ladylikesister's refined resentment by inviting all three to have broiledlobster with me at Scott's. 

I imagine, however, that one woman's experience with dressmakers is likeall others. I have noticed that to introduce the subject of my personalwoes in the matter is to make the conversation general, in fact I mightsay composite, no matter how formal the gathering of women. Like thesubject of servants, it is as provocative of conversation as classicalmusic. 

Far be it from me, however, to class all shopping in London under thehead of dry goods, or the rage one gets into with every dressmaker. Inmost of the shops, in fact, I may say, in all of them (for the oneunfortunate experience I have related in the jeweller's shop was theonly one of the kind I ever had in London), the clerks are universallypolite, interested, and obliging, no matter how smart the shop may be. Take for instance, Jay's, or Lewis and Allenby's. The instant you stopbefore the smallest object a saleswoman approaches and says, "Goodmorning. " You say, "What a very pretty parasol!" and she replies, "It_is_ pretty, isn't it, modom?" She wears a skin-tight black cashmeregown with a little tail to it. Her beautiful broad shoulders, flat back, tiny waist, bun at the back of her head, and the invisible net over thefringe, all proclaim her to be an Englishwoman, but her pronunciation ofthe simplest words, and the way her voice goes up and down two or threetimes in a single sentence, sometimes twice in a single word, mightsometimes lead you to think she spoke a foreign tongue. 

The English call all our voices monotonous, but it was several weeksafter I reached London for the first time before I could catch thesignificance of a sentence the first time it was pronounced. All overEurope our watchword with the Russians, Turks, Egyptians, Arabs, French, Germans, and Italians was always "Do you speak English?" and in Londonit is Jimmie's crowning act of revenge to ask the railway guards andcab-drivers the same insulting question. Imagine asking London cabbiesthe question, "Do you speak English?" It puts him in a purple ragedirectly. 

But shopkeepers all over Europe are quick to anticipate all your wants, to suggest tempting things which have not occurred to you to buy, andto offer to have things made, if nothing in stock suits you. I suppose Iam naturally slow and stupid. Bee says I am, but having been brought upin America, in the South, where nothing is ever made, and where we hadto send to New York for everything, and where even New York has todepend on Europe for many of its staples, my surprise overpowered me sothat it mortified Bee, when they offered to have silk stockings made forme in Paris. 

Like most Americans, I am in the habit of turning away disappointed, andpreparing to go without things if I cannot find what I want in theshops, but in London and Paris they will offer of their own accord tomake for you anything you may describe to them, from a pair of gloves toa pattern of brocade. This is one and perhaps the only glory of being anAmerican in Europe, for, as my friend in Naples, of the firm of Ananias, Barabbas, and Company, said to me:

"Behold! you are an American, and by Americans do we not live?"