Wood Carwings;Choose as nowhere else.
We reached Berne before night, and drove to the Hotel ——. If it could by some happy chance have been turned inside out, how comfortable we might have been! The exterior was most inviting. A German waiter of Irish face, who had a polyglot manner of speech, difficult to be understood, showed us to our rooms; and thetable d'hôte, to which we descended an hour later, was made up of an uncommon array of prim-visaged individuals. Dickens's Mr. Chadband, in a very stiff, white neckcloth, was myvis-à-vis. I looked every moment for his lips to open, and—"Wherefore air we gathered here, my friends?" to issue forth.
The guide-book had informed us that the greatest attraction of Berne to strangers was the fine view of the Bernese Alps to be gained from here; but a curtain of cloud hung before them during all our stay. Still we were interested in the queer old city, with the second story of the houses, through many of the streets, projecting over the sidewalk, forming gloomy arcades, and bright red cushions in the window seats, where pretty girls sat and sewed, and watched the passers down below. I remember it rained, and there was a market held out in the square before the hotel windows in the early morning, where the umbrellas made every old woman to dwell in her own tent forthe time. When it was over, and the rain had ceased to fall, we waited in front of the old clock-tower before driving out through the pleasant suburbs, with market women, baskets on their arms, stray children, idle loungers, and alert tourists, for the feeble puppet-show heralded by the asthmatic crow of a rheumatic cock. Of course it was a procession of bears. Everything in Berne is, or has to do with, a bear, since the city was founded upon the spot where somebody killed a bear. Bears surmount most of the stone fountains in the streets; they ornament the monuments erected to heroes. Cut from wood, they are offered for sale assouvenirs;stuffed, they are exhibited at the zoölogical gardens; and, to crown all, government supports in luxury a whole family of bruins. We left the carriage upon the Nydeck bridge, to look down into the immense circular basin where they are kept. It must be a dull life, even for a bear. They are ugly creatures, with reddish fur, and spend their time climbing a leafless semblance of a tree, with no object but to descend again, or in sitting up to beg for biscuits of visitors. So universal has the custom of begging become in Switzerland, that even the bears take to it quite naturally.
The mountains obstinately refusing to appear, we left Berne for Thun, passing through a lovely country. Only occasionally did a road appear; then it would seem to extend for long miles, bordered by immense, close-planted trees. Neither fences nor hedges were there to divide the fields; but patches of grain were thrown down anywhere and at any angle. Potatoes were sown like grass instead of being planted in hills,and were devoured this year by rot—the worst feature in the landscape. All through the early summer we had seen hemp growing everywhere. Now it was cut, and lying outspread upon the ground in odd regularity, an occasional head only being left to run to seed.
There was nothing to visit in Thun. But the whole town is like a story. Not an elegant, high-toned story, to be sure, though a picturesque old castle and church lifted themselves aristocratically above the more humble town. The streets are narrow, and as picturesque as they are dirty, with a sidewalk sometimes above the first, low, projecting story of the houses.
It is a mile from the town to the lake of the same name. Close by the steamer landing, where we were to embark for Newhaus, is the hotel Bellevue. Within the garden enclosure were several littlechâlets;one to serve as reading-room, another assalle à manger, while a third, beyond the pond, where swan were sailing, displayed Swiss wares for sale. Here we lunched and rested for an hour, before going up the lake. It is a voyage of an hour and a half to its head, pastbeautifulvillas upon one side, and precipitous rocks upon the other. Once landed at Newhaus,—where there was not anew housethat we could see, but only a scanty collection of little huts,—we searched about, with the mud ankle deep, among the crowd of waiting vehicles, for the omnibus which was to bear us the two miles and a half to Interlaken and the hotel Jung Frau. If you recall your geography lessons, you will perhaps know that the two lakes, Thun and Brienz, are separated by a strip of land, upon which is this village of Interlaken. It is hardly more than one long street,with green fields and a row of trees upon one side, and a line of houses standing back upon the other. In full view from the windows of these summer hotels, when the sky is clear, rises the Jung Frau, between two great mountain peaks. This is the onlysightin Interlaken, and yet the town throngs with visitors. It must be intolerably hot here at times, lying low among the mountains as does this valley. In the fields, behind the grand hotels, is a long, low Kursaal, a rustic affair, with a wide piazza. You may lunch, and read the newspapers; but government has prohibited the gambling. There are delightful excursions to be made from here, which accounts, perhaps, for the crowded hotels. And there are several fine shops, where you may buy all or any of the curiosities for which the country is well known.
A rainy day crowded these shops and the hotel parlors, and made a busy scene the length of the street, which is very like a country road. But the second morning after our arrival, we rose early, to prepare for an excursion over the Wengern Alp. The Jung Frau, hidden the day before, appeared in full view with the rolling away of the clouds, and we desired to approach nearer to the shy maiden. All the listlessness of the day before was past. As we stepped out of the littlechâlet, in the hotel garden, where—the hotel being full—we had slept in a room only vacated for the night, with a pair of immense red slippers behind the door, and Madame's gowns hanging from pegs on the wall, everybody was astir. More than one party was sipping their scalding coffee as we entered the hotel breakfast-room, while, under the great trees outside, guides and saddled horses waited impatiently.
When we had tied on our wide-rimmed hats, and gathered our shawls, we found a roomy carriage, an open landau, waiting for us at the side-door of the hotel. We drove quickly out of the town, followed by and following other carriages, until we formed a long procession by the time we had reached the valley of Lauterbrunnen and began the ascent. It is a deep, dark valley, shut in by innumerable overhanging rocks, from which thread-like waterfalls hang suspended in air, or are lost in spray. Hardly does the sun seem to penetrate its depth, and an indescribable gloom, as well as chill, pervades the place. From a few scattered cottages women and children emerged to follow the carriages, begging mutely or offering fruits, while at one point a man awaited our approach to awake the echoes with an Alpine horn.
After an hour we reach Lauterbrunnen, and leave the carriage at the door of an inn, where a crowd bargains and waits for guides and horses. We swell the number. When we are served, we mount to our places, and file out of the straggling village, turning before we reach the Staubach Falls—a stream of silvery spray that never touches earth, but swings and waves in mid-air. The ascent grows more and more steep. The recent rain has added to the icy streams, which filter constantly from snows above, and the horses sink in the mire, or slide and slip in a way by no means reassuring. Often the path is mounted by steps of slippery logs; when added to this is a precipice upon one side, we hold our breath—and pass in safety. We commend each other as we perform feats of valor and intrepidity which would make our fortune in the ring, we fancy.The guides, insolent and careless, stroll on in advance, leaving the most timid to their own devices. Presently, as we enter a perfect slough of despond, we see a man before us scraping the mire with a hoe vigorously, as we come in sight.
"You should give this poor man something," says one of the guides. "He keeps the road in order." I wish you might have seen theorderlyroad!
Suddenly we gain a point where the land spreads out into green knolls before us and on either side—a strip of almost level verdure, with, on one hand, peak on peak, rising till they touch heaven; upon the other, the Jung Frau, draped in snow. It seems so near, so very near,—though the land drops between us and it into a deep ravine, and the snow-clad peaks and needles are a mile away,—I almost thought I might guide my horse to the verge of the chasm, and reaching out, gather the snow in my hand. Across the summit, the clouds, white as itself, drifted constantly, hiding it completely at times. It had been a tiresome climb of two hours and a half, and we were glad to rest an hour before descending. As we turned the corner of the Jung Frau inn, having dismounted from our horses, we were met by our ubiquitous, stout friends of Lake Leman memory, to whom, I presume, we seemed equally omnipresent.Table d'hôtewas served here, one party following another, until the long table was full. Occasionally the noise of an avalanche, like the sound of distant thunder, aroused and startled us, and caused us to vacate every seat. But though the mountain appeared to be so near, these avalanches, which sweep with tremendous force, carrying tons of ice and snow, seen from this distance,seemed like nothing more than tiny mountain streams let loose.
From the inn, we mounted and went on half a mile, before reaching the summit and beginning the uncomfortable descent. We thought every bad place must be the worst, as the horses slid down the slippery stones, or descended the log steps with a peculiar jerky motion, suggesting imminent and unpleasant possibilities. But, after fording torrents swollen by the rain, crossing narrow, treacherous bridges, sliding down inclined planes, and whole flights of stairs, the guides informed us that we should reach adangerous placepresently!
When, finally, we came to it, we were quite willing to dismount, and make our way down over the rocks for a mile, trusting to our own feet, and beset continually by women and children, who appeared most unexpectedly at every turn, to thrust little baskets of fruit or flowers into our hands. The very youngest child toddled after us with a withered field-flower, if nothing more. So early do they begin to learn the trade of a lifetime.
We entered Grindelwald late in the afternoon. The shadows of night, which fall earlier in these valleys than elsewhere, were already gathering. The few, scattered cottages, walled in by the everlasting hills, with the snow-covered Wetterhorn in full view, and the glacier behind it, wore a cheerless and gloomy air in the quick-coming twilight. Train after train of tourists, upon horses and mules, or dragging weary feet, descended from among the mountains, to find carriages here and hasten away. Only these arrivals and departures gave amomentarylife to the spot. What mustit be when the summer sun and the last visitor have left it?
We, too, sought out our waiting carriage, and rolled away in the summer twilight, down the beautiful road, wide and smooth enough to lead to more dreadful places than the pleasant valley of Interlaken, where, for a day at least, was our home.
The next afternoon, instead of spending the Sabbath here, we decided to go on to Giessbach, on the Lake of Brienz, to visit the celebrated falls. We had rested comfortably in the hope of a quiet day in the littlechâlet, where more permanent arrangements had been made for our disposal. But the enterprising member of the party, to whom we owed not a little, in a happy moment of leisure, gave herself to the study of the guide-book, the result of which was—Giessbach. We gathered our personal effects together, under the pressure of great excitement and limited time, reached the little steamer, fairly breathless, and then sat and waited half an hour for it to move. It was not, however, a tedious time; for there occurred an incident which engaged our attention.
"What do you suppose they're going to do with that calf?" asked the boy of the party, who, like all boys, was of an inquiring turn of mind. "They've got him into the water, and are poking him with sticks."
Upon this we all became immensely interested. A calf had fallen into the water, between the pier and the steamer; but the fruitless efforts made by everybody, interested or disinterested, were to rescue, not drown, the creature, as a bystander would have inferred. Suddenly,as his own struggles carried him away from the wharf and he was about to sink, a white, delicate hand, bound with rings, and an arm daintily draped, were thrust out from one of the cabin windows, seized upon the head disappearing in a finalbob, and held on until assistance came, when the poor animal, half dead with fright, was drawn from the water.
At last the steamer moved away from the wharf, and in an hour or less the little pier at Giessbach received us. There is a tiny valley, one hotel, and a series of pretty cascades here. But all these are reached by a smooth road, winding back upon itself continually, and so steep that carriages do not ascend it. You must walk, or rather climb it, for twenty minutes, or accept the disagreeable alternative of being carried up by two men in a chair, resting on poles. The day was warm; our arms were weighed down with satchels, &c.; but we pressed on, while, commenting upon our personal peculiarities in dress, gait, and general air, as they looked down upon us from the height we almost despaired of gaining, were the complacent, comfortable souls, who always reach these desirable places the day before any one else, and, in the freshest possible toilets, sit, like Mordecai, in the gates.
It may have been droll to them; it was a most serious matter to us. It was Saturday afternoon, and each one felt and acted upon the realized necessity of outstripping his neighbor, in order to secure rooms. Finally the gentlemen hastened on, our ambition failing with our strength, and we were happy in finding comfortable quarters awaiting us when we had gained the hotel at last.
It was the most delightful little nook imaginable when we were rested and refreshed. Until then it possessed no charms in our eyes. It is a little valley, high above the lake, towards which it opens, but shut in on three sides by precipitous hills. Down the face of one the cascades fall. Back against another the hotel is built, facing the lake; itsdépendance, and the inevitable shops for the sale of Swiss wood-carving and crystals, being ranged along the third side. The whole place is not larger than a flower-garden of moderate size.
We were served at our meals by pretty, red-cheeked girls, in charming Swiss costumes; and when we had been out after dark to see the falls illuminated in different colors, while the rustic bridges, which span the cascades at various heights, were crossed by these picturesque figures, I felt as if we were all part of a travelling show, for whom this dear little level spot was the stage, and that a vast audience waited outside, where the walls of hills opened upon the lake, for the curtain to fall. It was like the Happy Valley of Rasselas, which we left with regret when the peaceful Sabbath was over.
Across the lake, at Brienz, Monday morning, a carriage waited to bear us on, over the Brunig Pass, into the clouds and out again; then down, down, past village, and lake, and towering hills, resting again at Sarnen, then on to Lucerne, into which we swept, with tinkling bells and cracking whip, to find the city gay with streaming flags and flowery arches, erected for some singingfête, but which to us were all signs of a happy welcoming.
Coming home.—The breaking up of the party.—We start for Paris alone.—Basle, and a search for a hotel.—The twilight ride.—The shopkeeper whose wits had gone "a wool-gathering."—"Two tickets for Paris."—What can be the matter now?—'Michel Angelo's Moses.—Paris at midnight.—The kindcommissionaire.—The good French gentleman, and his fussy little wife.—A search for Miss H.'s.—"Come up, come up."—"Can women travel through Europe alone?"—A word about a woman's outfit.
Coming home.—The breaking up of the party.—We start for Paris alone.—Basle, and a search for a hotel.—The twilight ride.—The shopkeeper whose wits had gone "a wool-gathering."—"Two tickets for Paris."—What can be the matter now?—'Michel Angelo's Moses.—Paris at midnight.—The kindcommissionaire.—The good French gentleman, and his fussy little wife.—A search for Miss H.'s.—"Come up, come up."—"Can women travel through Europe alone?"—A word about a woman's outfit.
TO dash through the town, along the quay where we had walked so many times beneath the trees or leaning over the low parapet fed the fishes, past the two-spired cathedral, the cloisters of which had become so familiar, to mount the hill and draw up before the door of the Bellevue again, welcomed by the innkeeper, and greeted with outstretched hands by "Charles," who had served our chocolate, while familiar faces met us at every window or upon the stairs, to pull up the shutters, throw wide open the windows, and drink in the glorious beauty of the scene before our eyes—all this was delightful, but fleeting, like all earthly joys, and mixed with pain; for here we were to say "good by."
Our pleasant party was to break up. The friendsin whose care we had been so long, were off for Germany, and Mrs. K. and I must turn our faces towards home. We were to renew our early and brief experience in travelling alone. It had been as limited as our French, which consisted principally of "Est-ce que vous avez?" followed by a pantomimic display that would have done credit to a professional, and "Quel est le prix?" succeeded by the blankest amazement, since we could seldom, if ever, understand a reply.
"Are you afraid?" queried our friends.
"No; O, no." The state of our minds transcended fear.
It was a hot day when we took our last view of the lake, as we rode down the hill from the hotel, past the cathedral, past the shaded promenade upon the quay, to the station; but we heeded neither the heat nor the landscape when we were once in the train and on the way. Our hearts were heavy with grief at parting from friends, our spirits weighed down by nameless fears. It was a wicked world, we suddenly remembered. Wolves in sheep's clothing doubtless awaited us at every turn. Roaring lions guarded every station. We clutched our travelling-bags, umbrellas, and wraps, with a grasp only attained by grim fate or lone women. Gradually, however, as the uneventful hours wore away, we forgot that in eternal vigilance lay our safety, and relaxed our hold.
We had left Lucerne at noon; at five o'clock we reached Basle. Here we were to spend the night at the hotelLes Trois Rois. Every step of the way to Paris had been made plain to us by our kind friends.
"Let me see; the hotel is close by the station?"queried Mrs. K., when we had left our trunks, as our friends had advised, and followed the crowd to the sidewalk.
"Yes," I replied with assurance, "close by, they said; I am sure."
Accordingly we turned away from the long line of hotel omnibuses backed up against the curb-stone, to the fine hotels on each side of the straight avenue, extending as far as the eye could see. Alas! among their blazing names was no "Trois Rois." We read them over and over again. We even tried to pronounce them. Not a king was there, to say nothing ofthree.
In a kind of bewilderment we strayed down the avenue. Might not some one of the fair dwellings gleaming out from the shrubbery prove the house we sought? There was a rattle and clatter behind us; a passing omnibus. Another, and still another followed. Serene faces beamed out upon our perplexity. A cloud of dust enveloped us as the last rolled cheerfully by, upon the end of which we read, with staring eyes, "Les Trois Rois."
"Ah!" gasped Mrs. K.
"Sure enough," I replied.
"Why, suppose we take it?" said she, slowly.
"Suppose we do," I assented, with equal deliberation. But by this time the little red omnibus was a speck in the distance.
"At least we can follow it." And we quickened our steps, when, with almost human perversity, it turned a distant corner, and vanished from sight.
Fixing our eyes steadily upon the point of disappearance, we hastened on, and on, and on! I have afaint recollection of green trees, of stately houses, of an immense fountain swaying its white arms in the distance—mirage-like, for we never approached it; of the sun pouring its fierce rays upon us as we toiled on, with our wraps and satchels turning to lead in our arms.
We reached the corner at last. There was no omnibus; no hotel in sight; only the meeting of half a dozen narrow, crooked streets, crowded with carriages, and alive with humanity. All settled purpose left us then; our wits, never very firmly attached, followed. We became completely demoralized.
"Suppose you inquire," suggested Mrs. K., after a period of inaction, during which we were pushed, and jostled, and trampled under foot by the crowd.
If I possessed one capability above another, it was that of asking questions, especially in a strange language. Upon this corner where we were standing, rose an imposing building, in the open doorway of which stood a portly gentleman, with a countenance like the setting sun, in glow and warmth. A heavy mane flowed over his shoulders. Evidently this was the first of the roaring lions! Taking our lives in our hands, we approached him.
"Do you speak English?" I ventured.
"Nein," was his reply, with a shrug of the leonine shoulders.
I drew a long breath and began again.
"Parlez-vous Français?"
His reply to this was as singular as unprecedented. He turned his back and disappeared up the wide stairs in the rear.
"Thismaybe foreign politeness," I was beginning, doubtfully, when he reappeared, accompanied by an intensified counterpart of himself. The setting sun in the face of this man gave promise of a scorching day.
"Parlez-vous Français, monsieur?" I began again, when we had bowed and "bon-jour"-ed for some time.
"Oui, oui, mademoiselle."
Here was an unexpected dilemma. A terrible pause ensued. Then, with an effort which in some minds would have produced a poem at least, I attempted to make known the object of our quest. I cannot begin to tell of the facial contortions which accompanied this sentence, nor of the ineffable peace which followed its conclusion. It made no manner of difference that his reply was a jargon of unintelligible sounds. Virtue is its own reward. One sentence alone I caught, as the indistinguishable tones flew by. We were to take the first street, and then turn to the right.
"What did he say?" asked Mrs. K., when we hadmerci-d ourselves out of their radiant presences.
I explained the direction we were to follow.
"Horrible countenance he had," she remarked, as we pursued our way.
"O, dreadful," I assented.
"Nobody knows where he may send us," she continued.
Sure enough! In our alarm we stopped short in the street, and stared at each other with horrified countenances.
"I have heard—" I began.
"Yes; and so have I," she went on, shaking her head, and expressing by that gesture most fearful possibilities.
A bright thought seized me. "He told us to turn to theright;we will turn to theleft!" And with that happy, womanly instinct, said to transcend all judgment,we did. Strange as it may appear, though we went on for a long half hour, no "Trois Rois" gladdened our eyes.
Suddenly Mrs. K. struck an attitude. "A fine appearance we shall present," said she; "two lone women, dusty and heated, our arms full of baggage, straggling up to a hotel two mortal hours after the arrival of the train. We'll take a carriage."
To me this inglorious advent was so distant in prospect that it held no terrors, nothing of mortification even. "Les Trois Rois" had become a myth, an idea towards which we vainly struggled.
"If it were only across the street," she went on, rising to the occasion and warming with the subject, "we would go in a carriage."
One approached at that moment. We motioned to ità la Mandarin, with our heads, our hands and arms being full. The driver raised his whip and pointed solemnly into the distance. We turned to gaze, seeing nothing but the heavens in that direction. When we looked back, he was gone. We should not like to affirm—we hardly dare suggest—we are sure of nothing but that he vanished from before our eyes.
A second appeared in the distance. We began in time. We pawed the air wildly with our umbrellas. The very satchels and wraps upon our arms nodded and beckoned. In serene unconsciousness the driver held to his course.
"Well!" I exclaimed, indignantly.
"I should think so," added Mrs. K., with emphasis.
"Is there anything peculiar, anything unusual in our personal appearance?" I asked, glancing down upon our dusty appointments. As we concentrated our energies and belongings for one final effort, a benignant countenance smiled out upon us from above acipher. We were storming a private carriage!
The third attempt was more successful. The driver paused. We requested him, in English, to take us to "The Three Kings." He only stared and shook his head. We tried him with "Les Trois Rois." He seemed still more mystified.
"What can be done with people who do not understand their own language!" I exclaimed in despair.
We tried it again with our purest Parisian accent. An inkling of our meaning pierced his dull understanding. He rolled heavily down from his seat, and opened the door with the usual "Oui, oui." We entered and were driven away.
"Do you think he understood you?" queried Mrs. K.
"No-o."
"Well, where do you suppose he will take us?"
"I don't know, and I don't much care," I responded, in desperation.
We settled back upon the cushions. The peace that follows resignation possessed our souls. O, the luxury of that jolting, rattling ride, as we wound in and out among the tortuous streets! A full half hour passed before the dusky old hotel darkened above us, surmounted by "The Three Kings" arrayed in Eastern magnificence, and wearing gilded crowns upon their heads.
Fate had been propitious. This was our destination, without doubt, though we had made a grand mistake as to its location. We descended at the entrance with the air, I trust, of being equal to the occasion. We calmly surveyed the assembled porters, who hastened to seize our satchels and wraps. We demanded a room, and inquired the hour oftable d'hôte, as though we had done the same thing a thousand times before. Mrs. K. was right; there was a moral support in that blessed carriage.
Table d'hôteover, we strayed into a prettysalonopening from thesalle à manger. Both were crowded—over doors and windows, and within cabinets filling every niche and corner—with quaint specimens of pottery—pitchers, vases, and jars, ancient enough in appearance to have graced the domestic establishment of the original "Three Kings." The glass doors thrown back enticed us upon a long, low balcony, almost swept by the rushing river below—the beautiful Rhine hastening on to its hills and vineyards. We leaned over, smitten with sudden homesickness, and sent a message back to Rolandseck of happy memory.
With the faint shadows of coming twilight we wandered out into the square before the hotel. A line ofvoituresextended down one side, every one of which was quickened into life at our approach. We paused, with foot upon the step of the first, for thecartealways proffered, upon which is the number of the driver and the established rate of fares. He only touched his shiny hat and prepared to gather up his reins.
"O, dear!" we said; "this will never do; we mustnot go." And we stepped down. The porters upon the hotel steps began to cast inquiring glances. One or two stray passers added their mite of curiosity, when the knight-errant, who always breaks a lance for distressed womanhood, appeared upon the scene. We recognized him at once, though his armor was only a suit of gray tweed, and he wore a fashionable round-topped hat for a casque.
Almost before we knew it, we were seated in the carriage, thecartein our hands, and were slowly crawling out of the square—for a subdued snail-pace is the highest point of speed attained by these public vehicles.
The memory of Basle is as shadowy, dim, delightful, as was that twilight ride. Where we were going, we neither knew nor cared; nor, later, where we had been. We wound in and out the close streets of the old part of the city, full of a busy life so far removed from our own, that it seemed a show, a picture; below the surface we could not penetrate. We rolled along wide avenues where the houses on either side were white as the dust under the wheels. Once in a quiet square, we paused before an oldHôtel de Ville, frescoed in warm, rich colors. Again upon the outskirts of the city, before a monument; but whether it had been erected to hero or saint I cannot now recall. And somewhere, when the dusk was deepening, we found an old church, gray as the shadows enveloping it, with a horseman, spear in hand, cut inbas reliefupon one side. What dragon he made tilt against in the darkness we never knew.
Even our driver seemed to warm beneath the influenceswhich subdued and dissipated our cares. He nodded gently and complacently to acquaintances, eliciting greetings in return, in which we, in a measure, shared. He hummed a guttural, though cheerful song, which found an echo in our hearts. He stood up in his place to point the way to misguided strangers, in whose perplexities we could so well sympathize. And once, having laid down the reins, and paused in our slow advance, he held a long and seemingly enjoyable conversation with a passing friend. To all this we made no manner of objection, rather we entered into the spirit of the hour, and were filled with a complacency which was hastily banished upon our return to the hotel, where, as we put into the hand of our benevolent driver his due, and the generouspour boirewhich gave always such a twinge to our temperance principles, he demanded more.
"He claims," said the porter, who was assisting our descent, "that he has been driving with the carriage lamps lighted. There is an extra charge for that."
"But he left his seat to light them this moment, just before we turned into the square," we replied, indignantly.
The porter shrugged his shoulders. That is the end of an argument. There is never anything more to be said. We submitted at once, though our faith in benevolent humanity went to the winds.
Somewhat dispirited, we climbed the stairs to our room. "One day more," we said, "and our troubles will be at an end." But, alas! one day was as a thousand years!
It was to be an all-day's ride to Paris, from nineo'clock in the morning until half past nine or ten at night. So, while waiting for breakfast, we hastened out into the town, in search of a bookstore, and something to while away the dull hours before us.
A young man, of preternaturally serious countenance, was removing the shutters as we entered a musty little shop. We turned over the Tauchnitz's editions of English novels until we had made a choice, the value of our purchases amounting to four or five francs, and gave him a napoleon. With profuse apologies he left us to get it changed. Returning presently, he threw the silver into a drawer, and handed the books to us, with a "Merci."
"Yes," we said; "but—" Arithmetic had never been my strength; still something was clearly wrong here.
"The change," said Mrs. K. "He has given us no change." Sure enough; but still he continued to bow and thank us, evidently expecting us to go.
We tried to explain; eliciting only one of the blank stares that usually followed our attempts at explanation.
"The man must be an idiot," Mrs. K. said, gravely.
"He certainly has an imbecile expression of countenance," I assented. He stood still, bowing at intervals, while we calmly weighed and balanced his wits before his eyes. We tried signs; having through much practice developed a system to which the deaf and dumb alphabet is as nothing. We attempted to convince him that a part of the money was ours.
He smiled, and assured us, in a similar way, that the books belonged to us, the money to him.
There was so much justice in this, that we should doubtless have assented, had not his own wits finally asserted themselves. Blushing like a bashful boy, he suddenly exclaimed, counted out the change, and poured it into our hands with so many apologies, that we were glad to retreat.
It was a discouraging beginning for the new day. Still we would not despair. We had assured our anxious friends that we were quite able to take care of ourselves. We would triumphantly prove our own words. Breakfast over, and our bill settled without mishap or misunderstanding, we started for the station in the hotel omnibus, in company with a stout, genial Frenchman, who spoke a little English, and his fussy little wife. When we entered the station, the line formed before the ticket-window was already formidable. It lacked fifteen minutes of the hour when the train would start, and our baggage was—where? We seized acommissionaire, slipped a piece of money into his hand in a very bungling, shamefaced way, and, presto! in a moment our trunks appeared among the other baggage, though we had looked in vain for them before. Then, with a sensation of self-consciousness approaching guilt, I stepped to the foot of the line before the ticket-window.
"Two tickets for Paris," I gasped, finding myself, after a time, brought face to face with the sharp-eyed official. "What is the price?" But before I could utter the words, the reply rattled through my head like a discharge of grape-shot. Every finger resolved itself into ten, as I essayed to open my purse and count out the gold pieces. What should I do! I had notenough into ten francs; it might as well have been ten thousand! Mrs. K. was waiting at a little distance; but the place once lost in the line could not be regained, and there was our baggage yet to be weighed, and the hands of the clock frightfully near the hour of departure. There was an impatient stamping of feet behind me, as I stood for a moment dizzy, bewildered, with an angry buzz of voices ringing with the din and roar in my ears. Then I rushed down the room to Mrs. K., and explained as hastily as possible. She filled my purse, and I flew back to find the line pushed forward and my place gone. One glance at the hands of the clock, at the discouraging line of ticket-seekers yet to be served,—how could I go to the foot again! Then I walked straight to the window with the courage of despair. A low growl ran down the line, thegendarmeon guard stepped forward, expostulating excitedly; but, blessings on the man at the head of the line, who pushed the others back, and gave me a place, and even upon the grim official behind the window, who smiled encouragement, and gave me the tickets, while thegendarmestormed. I stepped out again, conscious only of the wish—strong as a prayer—that we were safe again in Lucerne, or—some other place of peaceful rest.
Wedged in among the crowd, we saw one trunk after another weighed and removed, while ours remained untouched. I pulled the sleeve of a porter. My hand held my purse. The suggestion was enough. In a moment our trunks were weighed, and the little paper ticket corresponding to our "check" safe in our possession. I turned, conscientiously, to reward theporter; but we were jostled by a score of elbows, each encased in the sleeve of a blue blouse. Which was the one I sought? I could not tell. Each answered my glance of puzzled inquiry with one of expectation. Diving to the depths of my purse, I found it to contain one solitary centime—nothing more. I slipped it into the hand nearest, and from the start of surprise and delight was immediately convinced that it was the wrong man. However, it did not matter. There was no time to explain. The doors opening upon the platform, which remain locked until the last moment, were thrown open, and we hurried away, found places upon the train, and sank back upon the cushions exhausted, but happy. For ten hours at least, nothing could happen to us. The guard passed the window, examining the tickets, and slamming the doors, making our safety doubly sure. A moment more, and with a noiseless motion we were off. Hardly had the train started before it stopped again. One after another our companions left us—for we were not alone in the compartment. "Strange," we said, yet too thoroughly exhausted to be curious. It was still more strange when, after a short time, they each and all returned. They began to whisper among themselves, pointing to us. "Whatcanbe the matternow?" we queried, suddenly mindful that life is a warfare, and roused to interest.
Our fellow-travellers proceeded to enlighten us in chorus, and in the confusion of the outburst, we caught—by inspiration—at their meaning. We had crossed the frontier into France, and the baggage was examined here. We hastened out and into the station.All the trunks but our own had been checked. With his hand upon one of these, an official demanded the key, upon our appearance. Remembering an episode in its packing, we demurred, and proffered the key of another. Already vexed by the delay, his suspicions were roused now. He demanded the key of the first, which we gave up with wicked delight. The by-standers drew near. Indeed, a crowd was the embarrassing accompaniment to all our unfortunate experiences. The official turned the key with the air of doing his duty if he perished in the attempt, when the lid flew open, and a hoop-skirt, compressed to the final degree, sprang up into his startled face, like a Jack-in-the-box. The spectators laughed—French though they were—as, very red in the face, he vainly tried to replace it, entirely forgetting to search for contraband articles.
No other incident disturbed the quiet of that long day's ride to Paris. At some queer little station we descended to lunch, and returned to our places, laden, like the spies of Eschol, with luscious grapes. Our fellow-travellers dropped out along the way, only, however, to be replaced by others. We had not succeeded in securing places in the compartment reserved for ladies alone; but the French gentlemen who were our companions proved most courteous in their polite indifference to our movements. An old gentleman among these, elicited our outspoken admiration for his grand head. We were secure in our native language, we knew.
"Lovely face!" we exclaimed, unblushingly. "What a head for a sculptor! Quite like Michel Angelo's Moses, I declare."
Before the day was over, "Michel Angelo's Moses" addressed us in excellent English.
When the darkness gathered, when the night settled down, something of its gloom oppressed us. Once safely housed in Paris, we should be at rest; but there were still difficulties to be overcome. Our friends had telegraphed to Miss H. that we should arrive by this train; but the number of her house we did not know, nor did they. We were only sure that her apartments were over theMagasin au Printemps. Still that was tolerably exact; we would not be uneasy. At ten o'clock at night we stepped down from the train into a confusion of tongues and elbows which I cannot describe, and followed the crowd into the baggage-room. I sayfollowed—we were literally lifted from our feet and borne along. There was no baggage in sight. We waited until an hour seemed to have passed, and still no trunks appeared.
"Suppose we leave them, and send a porter from the house in the morning to find them;" and acting upon this, we struggled out of the station into the great paved square at one side. The night was dark; but the gas-lights dimly lighted up a line of carriages at the farther side, towards which we hastened, and had seated ourselves in one, when acommissionairecame running across the square, and putting his head in at the carriage window, asked if we had any baggage.
"Yes," we replied; but the rattling words that followed brought only confusion to us. Our minds, already overtaxed, gave way at once. It is pleasant to recall the patience and good-nature of that official. It is pleasant, when old things have so entirely passed away,to remember the Paris of 1869 as, at least, a city into which women might come at midnight, alone, unprotected, and be not only free from insult and imposition, but actually cared for, and sent to their rightful destination, in spite of their own ignorance and incompetence.
"Stay here," said our friend in uniform; and he disappeared, to return in a moment with the stout French gentleman who had been our companion in the hotel omnibus at Basle. We met with mutual surprise, and pleasure on our side at least.
"Doany one look for your baggage?" he asked.
"No," we replied. "We thought we might leave it."
"You must go," he said.
Thecommissionairetook possession of our check and the driver'scarte, and I followed the two back to the station, leaving Mrs. K. to guard our satchels, &c., in the carriage.
"Wait one leetle moment," said the kind French gentleman; "I bring madame." And in a moment he dragged the fussy little woman from the crowd, handing her over with the triumphant air of having now settled all difficulties.
"Madame speak ze Eengleesh fine," he said.
Looking down from an immeasurable height, the little madam condescended to remark that their servant was looking for their baggage.
"Ah!" I responded. "Then we are not permitted to leave our trunks."
"I am sure I don't know," she replied, looking so greatly bored, not to say exhausted, that I did not think it best to press the matter. "Our servant is attending to it," she repeated.
Her husband's face fairly glowed with satisfaction while this side conversation was being carried on. Evidently he believed the whole French baggage system to have been elucidated for my benefit. I thanked him heartily, as we exchanged cordial adieus. Even the fussy little woman gathered, for the moment, sufficient life to attempt to bow; which, alas! never got beyond a stare. Thecommissionaireseized upon a blue-bloused porter, and gave me to him with the check, thecarte, and a few sharply-spoken directions. Clinging to that blue sleeve, I was borne through the swaying, surging mass of humanity, into the baggage-room—how, I never knew. Our trunks were identified, lifted, not thrown, by my porter upon a hand-truck, which dragged for itself and us an opening in the crowd. Once out upon the platform, the porter pushed doggedly on into the darkness, though I had left Mrs. K. and the carriage in the square at one side. I expostulated. He held persistently to his course. I gave one thought to poor Mrs. K., resigned to what fate I knew not, and then, woman-like, followed my trunks.
It was all explained, when, dimly outlined in the darkness before the station, we espied a sea of shiny hats and shadowy cabs; and when, after long shouting of the number of our own, by the porter and everybody else, it finally crawled up to the steps where we were standing, Mrs. K.'s anxious face looking out of the window.
"I began to think you were lost," she said. "You can fancy my feelings when the driver gathered up the reins and drove out of that square."
We made a thank-offering upon the palm of every grimy hand, suddenly outstretched; then the driver paused, whip in the air, for the address of our destination.
"Magasin au Printemps, Boulevard Haussman." He stared, as everybody had, and did, along the way. If they only wouldn't! We repeated it. He conferred, in a low tone, with the man on the next box, who got down from his place, and came around to our window to look at us. One or two lounging porters joined him. TheMagasin au Printempsis a large dry and fancy goods establishment, which had been closed, of course, for hours, since it was now nearly midnight. It was as though we had reached New York late at night, and insisted upon being driven toStewart's. The little crowd stared at us solemnly, in a kind of pitiful curiosity, I fancied. I think, by this time, our countenances may have expressed incipient idiocy. We attempted to explain that Miss H.'s apartments were over theMagasin, and the driver mounted to his seat, though, I am obliged to confess, with an ominous shake of his head.
As we rolled out into the wide boulevards our spirits rose. The sidewalks were crowded with promenaders, the streets with carriages. The light of a glorious day seemed to have burst upon our dazzled eyes. Paris, gay, beautiful Paris, which never sleeps, was out, disporting herself.
"We will not be anxious," we said; nor were we in the least. "Even if we cannot find Miss H.'s, some hotel will take us in. Or, failing in that, we can drive about until morning."
A thought of our respective and respectable families did cross our minds with this lawless suggestion. In happy unconsciousness, they believed us still safe with our friends.
We crawled up the Boulevard Haussman. There were the closed doors and shutters of theMagasin au Printemps. Two or three other doors met our gaze. The driver paused before one. We descended, and pulled the bell. You must know there are no doorsteps, in Paris, leading to front doors, as with us. The first floor is, almost without exception, given up to shops; and dwellings, unless pretentious enough to be houses enclosing a court-yard and entered from the street by passing through great gates, are simply apartments in the two, three, and four stories above these shops.
Some invisible mechanism swung back the great double doors as we pulled the bell, disclosing a pretty, paved court-yard, with a fountain in the centre, surrounded by pots of flowers. A glass door at one side, revealed wide marble stairs, down which a charming little portress was tripping.
"Is this Miss H.'s?" we asked in English. She only shook her head. We paraded our French. She seemed lost in thought for a moment, then, with a "Oui, oui," ran past us to the carriage, and gave some directions to the driver, emphasizing her words with a pair of plump little hands. Then, with a "bon nuit," she disappeared, and the great doors closed again. Evidently we were being taken care of, we thought, as we settled back again in the carriage. We stopped before another door, already open, and disclosing aflight of wide, stone stairs, ascending almost from the sidewalk. Immediately upon pulling the bell—as though the wire had been attached to it—a long, loose-jointed, grotesque, yet horrible figure appeared at the head of the stairs, half-stooping to bring himself within the range of my vision, swinging his arms like a Dutch windmill, and grinning in a way which seemed to open his whole head.