A Perfect Day
A Leaf from the Diary of Mrs. Herbert Dearborn, Living in Paris
May —, 1897.
A charming, delightful day! Marie brought me my coffee at nine, as usual, with a perfect mail. No nasty business letters from America, but only most desirable invitations, notes full of gossip, and regrets from the Thompsons for the expensive dinner I felt obliged to give them atArmenonville, so I won't have to give it! One's old friends in America are really rather a bother, coming to Paris in the very middle of the season. If they came only in midsummer, when every one is away, one would be very glad to do what one could, if one were in the city. Of course, as far as the Thompsons themselves are concerned, I love them. My coffee never tasted so deliciously, and Marie said I looked unusually well after my night's rest. To be sure Marie says that every morning; but never mind, it is always pleasant to hear the first thing one wakes up, and I only wish I didn't have a sneaking fear that the new Empire pink bed-hangings help a good deal. Marie sprayed the room with my new perfume (a secret; no one else has it), laved my face in rose-water, and then I had a wee little nap by way of a starter for the day. After my bath I answered my mail; and then, Marie having manicured my nails, my toilet was made. I wore, to go out, my striking blue costume, with the hat and sun-shade to match, which always necessitates the greatest care with the complexion. I use an entirely different powder with this dress, and one has to be most careful about one's cheeks. But Marie is invaluable so far as the complexion is concerned, and I went out quite satisfied. First, to the hair-dresser's to have my hair re-dyed, as I went to the races in the afternoon, and the light there is very trying. Unless your hair has been dyed very lately it is quite useless to go. My hair was never done so well. I am trying it a very little darker, and I am almost sure I like it better. Then I went into some shops. I think it is always a good thing to have one's carriage seen waiting outside the smart shops often. I priced a great many things, and had several—which I of course have no idea whatever of buying—sent home on approval. To the dressmaker's, to try on my new dress. It was finished; but didn't suit me. I am having entirely new sleeves and all the trimming changed. I persuaded them it was their fault. I had really thought I should like it that way until I saw it completed. Then to breakfast with the Countess of ——; a charmingdéjeuner. All the women very desirable to know and verychiclydressed, and not one looking so young for their age, I am sure, as I. In fact, several made that remark to me. I know they say just the opposite behind my back, but it is pleasant to hear nice things under any circumstances. I think it is all one should ask of people, that they should be nice to our faces. I leftdéjeunerfirst, because that makes a good impression, as if you are crowded with engagements, and flatters your hostess, who is naturally pleased to catch a much-sought-after guest. I really drove home to rest a little before the races. I find taking offeverythingand indulging in complete relaxation, if only for ten minutes, is wonderfully refreshing, and saves lots oflines! While I was resting mymasseurcame and gave me face massage. There is nothing like it for a wrinkle-destroyer. And the man is a rather nice person who amuses me. I got him two new clients at the luncheon today. As the other women said, one is only too willing to pay extra to get a man who is good-looking.
The races were very exciting. It was a lovely day, our coach had a fine position, and our party was much stared at! I had the most conspicuous seat, and did my best to become it. It isn't for me to say to myself if I succeeded or not, but I owe it to my dress-maker to make the statement that no one else had on a better gown. I wish that statement was the only thing I owed him! I won forty louis; I don't know how. I am absolutely ignorant about horses. I only go because it seems to be the thing to do now. But I thought one of the jockeys looked rather fetching, and so I put my money on him, and he happened to win.
We all went for tea to Mrs. ——'s, where one of the most expensive singers sang. But I didn't hear her, because if you go into the music room you have to sit down in rows, and you don't see any of the people.
I was obliged to hurry away, as my appointment with Jacques to-day was for 6:30, and I wanted to stop at an imitation jeweller's place in the rue de la Paix, where I had heard were some wonderful paste necklaces. They are quite extraordinary. I ordered one, and shall never tell a soul it's not real. I was late home, but Jacques, the dear boy, was waiting, and seemed to me sweeter than ever this afternoon. I gave him the cuff links I have had made for him, with his initials in rubies, and it was too delightful to see his pleasure. I took him out to dine. I think I will marry him. I know he is much younger than I, and all that, but he's so sweet, and, after all, I have enough money for two.
The Westington's "Bohemian Dinner"
A Letter
The Sherwood
58 West 57th St.
My Dear Dora:
We are just home from dining in one of the smartest houses in New York, and I've been bored so wide awake I can't think of going to bed, so I am sitting in my petticoat (that charming white silk, much-festooned, and many-flounced one you brought me over from Paris) and a dressing sack (pink, not so very unbecoming). My hair is down, but Dick doesn't paint it any more—it's getting thin, dear!—and I've nice little swansdown lined slippers over my best white silk-stockings. I've worn to-night the best of everything my wardrobe affords, and I wasn't ashamed of myself! No, I was much more ashamed of the Westingtons, and I'm going to tell you all about it before I touch the pillow! I'm sure you'll be amused.
In the first place, to be honest, we were rather pleased to be asked. There is no one smarter than the W.'s, and, besides, they are attractive and good-looking. The truth is, we've always been anxious to go to their house—heaven knows why, now that we've been. We are sufficiently punished, however, for being so foolish as to be flattered by our invitation. For, my dear, we weren't asked to a swell dinner at all; we were invited to what was intended for a "Bohemian" affair (but it was only a dull and ungainly one), and it was apparently taken for granted that, as Dick painted and I hadn't millions, we were decidedly eligible. Of course, as you know, there is no such thing as a real Bohemia in New York.
The dinner was given in honor (apparently) of the Hungarian pianist Romedek and his wife. He has been an enormous success here this year, and society has taken him up. But the trouble is with Madame Romedek; no one is sure sheisMadame Romedek, and a great many people are sure she isn't. She is a pretty, rather common-looking person, with no particular intelligence oresprit. I am told she is more communicativeunderthe table than she is over it; and I know some men are crazy about her. Of course, she isn't a woman any of us can stand for a moment. If Romedek were a painter we should know she'd been his model, and be awfully sorry for him. But Romedek is a musician (a great one—I wish you could hear him); and they say she hasn't even the social prestige or poetic license of having been an artist's model, but of having been something quite wrong to begin with. Naturally, you see, some of society won't have her at any price. Those that must havehimhave difficulty in entertaining them. I hear one prominent woman who was asked last week to dine and meet the Romedeks considered herself insulted, and has struck her would-be hostess' name off her visiting list. So you see it wasn't all plain sailing with the Westington's, and I can hear them decide between themselves to give a "real Bohemian dinner;" that is, ask people who "do things," and whom you sometimes do meet out at houses where they are not particular about mixing—the kind of people who would probably not take offense at being asked to meet Mrs. Romedek without having her marriage certificate for their dinner card. Of course, as you know, I don't mind being asked to meet anybody. Thank goodness! I feel perfectly secure about my reputation, and also about my position, which is quite good enough to please me. But there is a difference in being asked to meet a questionable person because that person is brilliant, or beautiful, or talented, and that therefore you (belonging to the aristocracy of brains) will appreciate her, and, on the other hand, being asked to meet her because you are an artist's wife and don't mind that sort of thing. Wedomind it very much! We don't evencarefor it in geniuses—only we overlook it in a genius; disregard it as not being our affair. But to be asked to meet a silly, loose woman with the idea that I won't mind, almost as if I approved, I resent that.
However, let me tell you who was there. On Mrs. Westington's right, of course, sat Romedek, and he is very handsome and very charming, and I think at least Mrs. Westington enjoyed her dinner if nobody else did. On Mrs. W.'s left was Mr. ——, who is, you know, a great swell here and who poses as being a fast patron of the arts and graces—especially the graces—after the pattern of a Frenchman who has hisentréebehind the scenes of the opera. His wife never accepts invitations that he does; they meet, you know, under their own roof, for the sake of the children—but under theirownroof only. So in her place Belle Carterson was asked, who has gone in for keeping a swell florist's place, and they say is making money. She is independent, and I like her, but of course it is considered by her friends in society that since she went in for business she can't refuse to meetanyone. Dick sat next to her, and had on the other side of him Mrs. ——, who likes celebrities without the knack of selection, and whose invitations nowadays I believe are never accepted at once, but are kept open as long as possible to see if something better won't turn up. Then came Mrs. Romedek and Mr. Westington; he looking bored to death, and she as if she didn't know where she was at. Then Bobbie Lawsher, who writes books and operettas and things—rather amusing he is, but becoming more and more of a snob every day. It's bad enough to see a woman straining every nerve to get into society, but when you see a man it's worse than ridiculous. I met him at a smart party the other night, and he stuck by me for hours, asking who everybody was till I lost my patience and told him I couldn't be a Blue Book for him or anybody, and he would either have to dance with me at once or go to some one else with his questions. I never knew any one who could bring in the names of as many smart people in one short remark as Bobbie can. If you happen to ask him what time it is, you could make a wager that, in his answer, in a perfectly natural way, he will mention familiarly three smart society women (calling one at least by her first name). Of course he does get asked a great deal, because he's little more than a snub-cushion—holds any amount of them as easily as pins. Besides he goes to afternoon bores, like Teas and At Homes and Days, for which free and untrammelled men can only be obtained by subterfuge and trick or some extraordinary bribe. To a young man like Bobbie Lawsher afternoon affairs are a sort of happy hunting ground, a social grab bag, where he can never be sure there isn't a dinner invitation, or one for the opera, or a luncheon, to be secured if one is clever and careful. Why, when a woman has a man guest back out at the last moment from a dinner, the first thing she does is to rush off to any At Home, that's going on, with the fairly confident expectation of finding Bobbie Lawsher and making him fill her vacancy. Bobbie has accomplishments of a certain sort, can sing a pretty little song in a pretty little way, and can pass a tea cup without spilling, and drink tea himself, and can hang around when he's wanted, and be got rid of easily when he isn't. He is a sort of society errand boy, and very useful. I take it back about his having accomplishments—a better word for them isconveniences!
Well, on the other side of Bobbie was Mrs. ——, red in the face, so angry she was asked to meet Madame Romedek, talking with poor Bobbie in a sharp, spasmodic sort of way, as if she were carrying on the conversation with her knife and fork, cutting the sentences into bits, some ignoring and some eating,—and none agreeing with her, or she agreeing with none. Then George Ringold asked, I suppose, for me. I am quite aware that women who are indiscreet themselves think there is "more than meets the eye" between George and me. I am very fond of him, and so is Dick. And he has kissed me, and Dick knows it; but I am sure I need not tell you that is all. On the other side was Romedek, and perhaps I ought to feel complimented, but as, thanks to Mrs. Westington, we didn't succeed in carrying on to a finish any single conversation we started, I don't allow myself to be too flattered.
Mrs. W. talked music, of course—the commonplaces of it—such as any well-bred, smart, educated woman of the world knows how to talk nowadays, with perhaps just one good, big, absurd mistake thrown in,—thus, by the grace of humor keeping banality from becoming absolutely fatal. Madame Romedek was rather amusing. She tried to be the lady—which, as she doesn't know how, and only succeeds in being impossibly stupid, must have bored the men on each side of her tremendously. That's where foolish women of that sort spoil their own game. If they would make the best of the bargain, and be frankly a common cocottegone right, they would certainly be more amusing, and might have something like success, at any rate with the men.
The food was excellent, the wine good, the house lovely! And as soon after dinner as was at all decent, we left. We decided in the cab on our way home, from no point of view had it paid,—financially least of all; for our dinner in the restaurant, with all our jolly friends, would have cost us only seventy-five cents, while our cab bill for the evening was three dollars. As for having had a good time, there was only one person there who had that—Mrs. Westington herself. I believe even the servants must have been bored by the dinner, unless, perhaps, Madame Romedek flirted withthem; which I should think extremely likely.
I am getting sleepy now, of which fact my letter undoubtedly bears "internal evidence." So good night and sweet dreams to you, and none to me—I don't like them!
Write me what you are doing in Paris. I am sure your husband will have his usual great success in the Champ de Mars. We are all very proud of him.
With love, dear Dora,
Guenne Barrows.
The Gamblers
I
The Baccarat Table in the Villa des Fleurs, Aix-les-Bains.
MADAME EUGENIE LEBLANCHE,veuve.
(A large, stout lady in black satin and brocade, violet-colored face-powder, and a reddish blonde display underneath a questionable bonnet. She wears a somewhat profuse and miscellaneous display of jewels, principally diamonds dull as the eyes of dissipation. She holds her chips in large loose white cotton gloves that reach to her elbow. Her lips, compressed together, move constantly, with a sort of excited switch-back motion.)
(To herself.) I wonder who has the cards. Oh, it's that monsieur there, I see. Not good! I will only place two louis. (She asks the gentleman in front of her to place them for her. He does so.) No, I am wrong, I will put three. (She asks the gentleman to place a third louis for her. In doing so the chip rolls from his fingers; he immediately recaptures it and places it properly.) Monsieur, monsieur, if you please. Return me my louis, if you please! I never play a louis that has rolled on the table. That would bring us bad fortune, you would see! Thank you, thank you very much. (To herself again.) I am sorry I did not ask him to hand me back two. We are going to lose! Good heavens! it is sure we lose! Ah, the cards! Bad, that's sure! O, what emotion! O good heavens! Seven! But the bank! No, we gain! O—— O good heavens! Good heavens! what emotion! We gain! What a misfortune I didn't leave the extra louis! It is disgusting! I regret it now. O, I regret it very much! But it is always like that with me! Are we going to be paid? I don't think so! No, we won't be paid! It is always like that; when one loses one is taken, and when one wins one is never paid! O good heavens! Now he will pay our side. After all there ought to be enough money. O yes, yes, we will be paid! All the better! Two louis for me if you please, thank you. Monsieur, I am sorry to trouble you to give me my four louis! No, no, you haven't given me enough! I put down two louis. O yes, you are right. Pardon me, I didn't understand; yes, I have four. Thank you very much. You are very kind. (To herself again.) I am paid! After all, I am paid! So much the better! What emotion! I will play two louis again; no, three; no, two; no, one must have courage. Monsieur, if you please, will you have the kindness to place my four louis on the table? Thank you very much! (To herself again.) But, if I lose! and I will lose. Good heavens! O—— what emotion! (Etc., etc.)
II
MLLE. NINA.
(Young, very beautiful, in an exquisite gown from Laferiere, with gorgeous jewels and a wonderful hat.)
Who is the banker?
MLLE. FIFI.
(Equally charming, as magnificently jeweled, and as exquisitely gowned; also a chapeau of wonderful birds, such as never sang in any wood.)
He? He is an old Russian. He has millions and millions, my dear!
MLLE. NINA.
(Raising her eyebrows and regarding the banker affectionately.) Really?
MLLE. FIFI.
Yes, yes; and he is a perfect gentleman. He gave Lala of the Vaudeville three strings of pearls in two days. He is very generous and altogether nice.
MLLE. NINA.
(Jealously.) Do you know him?
MLLE. FIFI.
O no, my dear; he is not my style. You know I never like a gentleman who parts his hair on the left side. It's my fad.
MLLE. NINA.
(Very pleasantly.) Have you won to-night, dearie?
MLLE. FIFI.
Ah, yes, my dear!Think!two thousand francs already!
MLLE. NINA.
(Very sweetly, moving away.) So much the better. I've lost like the devil. (She very slowly makes a detour of the table in the direction of the Russian banker. At the same time an elderly gentleman approaches Mlle. Fifi and speaks to her.)
LE MONSIEUR.
Good evening, my dear!
MLLE. FIFI.
Good evening, my pig of a Prince!
LE MONSIEUR.
You have won?
MLLE. FIFI.
Oh, butno, my dear! I have lostenormously! It isterriblewhat I've done! I have lost nearlyallI have!
MLLE. NINA.
(Who has just arrived behind the banker, leaning over his shoulder and watching him win an enormous coup.) Ah, ha! You see, Monsieur, I bring you good fortune always!
THE BANKER.
I didn't know you were behind me, mademoiselle. (He looks up. She smiles sweetly and innocently. He is pleased.)
MLLE. NINA.
Oh, yes, for a long time!
THE BANKER.
You don't play?
MLLE. NINA.
(With a manner altogether modest, and a soft, low voice.) Oh, no; never! I have nothing to risk; besides, it doesn't amuse me very much. I never play.
THE BANKER.
Put on that hundred francs just to try your fortune.
MLLE. NINA.
(Leaning over, takes the note from the pile.) If you wish it. (She plays and wins; brushes his cheek and shoulder with her arm as she reaches over to take up her money.)
(The play continues.)
MLLE. NINA.
(Still winning.) You know you are very nice. (She plays again with a note from the banker's pile.)
III
MRS. HENRY B. GORDING,of Rochester, New York.
Do you play?
MRS. WM. H. LANE,of Brooklyn.
No, not really. I don't quite approve of it, but I just try my luck once in awhile for amusement.
MRS. HENRY B. GORDING.
Yes, that's exactly the way I feel. So long as you don't go in for it seriously I don't see any harm.
MRS. WM. H. LANE.
And if you stop as soon as you begin to lose.
MRS. HENRY B. GORDING.
Yes, indeed! Oh my! are you putting one down?
MRS. WM. H. LANE.
Yes, I think that man looks lucky over there with the glasses; besides I like him because his wife sits right by him all the evening.
MRS. HENRY B. GORDING.
(Smiling nervously and fumbling in her glove where she has concealed the money to have it conveniently ready.) Put one down for me, too; will you? (She smiles hysterically.) Dear me, I wonder what my husband would say if he could see me?
MRS. WM. H. LANE.
I don't know a single thing about the game; do you?
MRS. HENRY B. GORDING.
(With two small red spots coming into her cheeks.) Not the slightest. It's finished! I wonder who's won!
MRS. WM. LANE.
(After a long excited sigh.) I don't know. I never can tell till I see them either taking up our chips, or else paying us!
MRS. HENRY B. GORDING.
(Breathlessly.) If I lose, I shall go.
MRS. WM. H. LANE.
So shall I! We've won!
MRS. HENRY B. GORDING.
Ah! — — — —.
MRS. WM. H. LANE.
(Looking at least ten years older than she did two minutes before.) No, we've lost!
MRS. HENRY B. GORDING.
O! — — — —.
MRS. WM. H. LANE.
I'm not going. I shall try once more!
MRS. HENRY B. GORDING.
So shall I.
MRS. WM. H. LANE.
And I don't believe the woman is that man's wife after all. If she had been we wouldn't have lost our dollars!
IV
MME. BORTÉ.
(Leaning over a man's right shoulder for some gold on the table.) I beg pardon; that is my two louis!
MME. LAUTRE.
(Leaning over the man's left shoulder.) But no, madame, it is mine! I put a louis down there!
MME. BORTÉ.
No, no! That is where I put mine. Give me my louis!
MME. LAUTRE.
But you are wrong, madame; it is my louis, and I shall keep it!
MME. BORTÉ.
But no, madame!
MME. LAUTRE.
But yes——!
THREE WOMEN BESIDE MME. BORTÉ.
Yes, madame is right. She certainly put a louis down there.
THE SAME NUMBER OF WOMEN BESIDE MME. LAUTRE.
No, it is the other madame who put the money down there.
A MAN ON THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE TABLE.
Ssss——
UN MONSIEUR.
Oh, the women! the women!—always rowing!
CROUPIER.
Make your plays, gentlemen!
MME. LAUTRE AND MME. BORTÉ.
(Together; each to her own coterie.) You know perfectly it is my louis; isn't it? Oh, never in my life! Never! never!
(The game continues, and so does the discussion.)
PRINTED AT THE LAKESIDE PRESS,CHICAGO, FOR THE PUBLISHERS,HERBERT S. STONE & CO. CHICAGO, U.S.A.