Chapter III: Part 3

"Hôtel Victoria, Prince de Galles et des Iles Britanniques," or some such name, is usually, as _Baedeke_r says, "frequented by the English." They are here certainly, and one hears one's native language everywhere. There are the honeymoon couples, silent and reserved, who glare fiercely at anyone who might be supposed to imagine for a moment that they are newly married; there are people who converse in low monotonous voices about the weather, which changes every hour; there is an old lady, who gives one startling information, telling one, for instance, that Paul Veronese was born at Verona; and there are two or three British menservants, gazing with superb disdain at the poor foreigners. The hotel is very quiet. The evening of a week-day is like Sunday evening, and Sunday evening is----!!! If only the weather were not also English, or even worse. On the last day of September the only warm place is by the fire in the _fumoir_. So let us hurry off from this wintry climate to somewhere, to anywhere. By the first boat we go.

Still English everywhere. At Bellagio a great crowd, and heaps of luggage. At Cadenabbia a greater crowd, and more heaps of luggage. Here they come, struggling along the gangway in the wind. There is a sad-faced Englishman, his hands full of packages, his pockets stuffed with others, carrying under his arm a little old picture wrapped loosely in pink tissue paper, which the wind blows here and there. He is a forgetful man, for he wanders to and fro collecting his possessions. With him is another forgetful Englishman in very shabby clothes, who also carries packages in paper, and who drags after him an immensely fat bull-dog at the end of a cord five yards long, which winds round posts and human legs and other obstacles. At last they are all on board--the forgetful Englishmen have darted back for the last time to fetch in an ice-axe and an old umbrella--and on we go over the grey water, past the grey hills, under the grey sky, towards Como. At Cernobbio the shabby Englishman lands, dragging his bull-dog at the end of the cord, and carrying in his arms two rolls of rugs, a bag, and other trifles. His sad-faced companion, still holding his tiny Old Master in the ever-diminishing pink paper, wanders in and out seeking forgotten treasures, an ice-axe, a bag, another paper parcel. Finally all are landed, the gangway is withdrawn, the steamer begins to move. Suddenly there is a shout. The shabby Englishman has forgotten something. The sympathetic passengers look round. There is a solitary umbrella on a seat No doubt that is his. A friendly stranger cries, "Is this yours?" and tosses it to him on the quay. Then there is another shout. "_Ach Himmel_, dat is mine!" The frantic German waves his arms, the umbrella is tossed back, he catches it and is happy. But meanwhile another English man, the most egregious ass that ever lived, has discovered yet another solitary umbrella, which he casts wildly into space. For one moment the captain, the passengers, the people on the quay, gaze breathless as it whirls through the air. It falls just short of the landing-stage, and sinks into the grey waters of that chilly lake, never more to be recovered, in any sense of the word. In those immeasurable depths its neat silk covering will decay, its slender frame will fall to pieces. It has gone for ever. Beneath this grey Italian sky some Italian gamp must keep off these Italian showers. Then the captain, the passengers, and the people smile and laugh. I, who write this, am the only one on whose face there is not a grin, for that umbrella was mine.

A FIRST IMPRESSIONIST.

* * *

THE BELFRY OF BRUGES OVERLOOKED

["A more silent city than Bruges does not exist."--_Standard._]

WHAT? Bruges a silent city!
Now, nay a thousand times!
If deaf, accept our pity;
If not,--oh dear! those chimes!

_Three of our Countrywomen Abroad._ "_Well, I never!_ To turn round, and stare at one like that!"]

A VIEW ON THE FRENCH COAST

TALK about lazy time!--
Come to this sunny clime--
Life is flowing rhyme--
Pleasant its cadence
Zephyrs are blowing free
Over the summer sea,
Sprinkling deliciously
Merry Mermaidens!

Despite the torrid heat,
Toilettes are quite complete;
White are the little feet,
Fair are the tresses:
Maidens here swim or sink,
Clad in blue serge--I think
Some are in mauve or pink--
Gay are the dresses!

If you know Etretât,
You'll know _M'sieu là_--
Oh, such a strong papa!--
Ever out boating.
You'll know his babies too,
Toto and Lolalou,
All the long morning through
Diving and floating.

Oh what a merry crew!
Fresh from the water blue,
Rosy and laughing too--
Daring and dripping!
Look at each merry mite,
Held up a dizzy height,
Laughing from sheer delight--
Fearless of slipping!

He hath a figure grand--
Note, as he takes his stand,
Poised upon either hand,
Merry young mer-pets:
Drop them! You strong papa,
Swim back to Etretât!
Here comes their dear mamma,
Seeking for _her_ pets!

* * *

(_Drorn all by himself, and signed "Harry's Son"_)]

ON THE CHEAP

(_From the Journal of a Travelling Economist_)

["On the other hand, however, we must avow some apprehension that too minute attention to the possibility of cheap travel may render a Continental tour a continual vexation and trouble. Plain living and high thinking are, as Mr. Capper says, crying wants of these days; but the latter condition is hardly to be attained by the self-imposed necessity of striking a bargain with a landlord at the end of each day's journey."--_Times._]

3 A.M.--Roused for the seventeenth time since midnight. Vow I will never go to a fourth-class hotel again. Try to get a little sleep on four chairs and a sliding bureau. Can't. Begin a letter to the _Times_ in my head.

4 A.M.--Get up and look for ink. Wake the others. Order five breakfasts for seven of us, and explain to the landlord that we have to catch the 4.57 cheap "omnibus" train for Farthingheim.

5 A.M.--Row with landlord about _bougies_. Will charge for them, though we all went to bed in the dark. Explain this. He snaps his fingers in my face, calls me "_Ein schwindlinder Beleidiger!_" refuses to split the breakfasts, and seizes my portmanteau.

6 A.M.--Row still proceeding. Cheap train hopelessly missed. Look out "_Beleidiger_" in a dictionary, and go upstairs and collect all the _bougies_ in a carpet-bag. Pay bill in full, threaten to write to _Bradshaw_, and go off, carrying all our own luggage to station, followed by a jeering crowd.

7 A.M.--Sit down on it, and, with the assistance of a Phrase-book, tell the crowd in German that "this isn't the sort of treatment a parcel of foreigners would experience, under similar circumstances, in the Tottenham Court Road."

Pelted. Make up our minds to catch the 7.43 (fast), if we can.

8 A.M.--Miss it. Nothing till the 12.3 express. Station-master refuses to take our luggage before 11.58. Start with it to the town. Crowd increasing.

9 A.M.--Visit the Dom. Descend into Shrine of St. Berthold. Very interesting. Guide well-informed and intelligent. Give him nothing on principle. Follows us to the Alten Schloss, shouting at the top of his voice, and shaking his fists.

10 A.M.--Go all over the Schloss. Capital state of preservation. Are shown the "reserved apartments." Refuse to give anything to the _concierge_. He comes out after us with a horse-whip. The guide still there shouting. We ask the way to tomb of Gustavus the Ninth. Crowd follows us with brickbats.

11 A.M.--Get in by the assistance of a very civil commissionaire. Striking. Are shown the boots of Charlemagne, and the spot where Rudolph the Eighteenth was assassinated. Sign our names in visitors' book. Give nobody anything. Commissionaire walks by our side, calling us "Brigands!" Crowd enormous. Symptoms of riot commencing. Reach station exhausted.

12 NOON.--Prepared to pay anything to escape. Take seven first-class tickets (express), and are charged nineteen thalers for excess of luggage. Get off in a storm of execration, after having to give up all the _bougies_ to a gendarme. Start, threatening feebly to write to the _Times_, have hysterics, and go to sleep.

1 P.M.--Still hysterical.

2 P.M.--Ditto.

3 P.M.--Still hysterical.

4 P.M.--Ditto.

5 P.M.--Ditto.

6 P.M.--Arrive. Refuse to hire a _voiture_. Tell the omnibus conductor, with the aid of the Phrase-book, that his tariff of fares is "utterly ridiculous." Set out on foot in search of a _gasthaus_ of moderate pretensions, where no English have been to demoralise the landlord and raise the prices.

7. P.M.--Still searching.

8 P.M.--Ditto.

9 P.M.--Ditto.

10 P.M.--Ditto.

11 P.M.--Find what we want at last, in a dark alley, turning out of a side street, running precipitously to the river. Dine at the late _table d'hôte_ with one commercial traveller, on pickled cherries, raw bacon, cabbage, sugar biscuits, horseflesh, and petrified figs.

12 MIDNIGHT.--Retire, and have nightmare.

1 A.M.--Endeavour to sleep on three chairs and a washhand-stand. Can't. Determine to write to the _Times_.

2 A.M.--Left writing.

"Avez-vous quelquechose à déclarer, madame?"

"Oh, wee! Je declar que noos avong pairdew too no baggarge!"]

_Bathing Woman_ (_to English lady_). "Voilà, madame, une belle paire de chaussons." (_Noticing disapproval in visitor's face._) "Ah, madame n'en veut pas? Je suis désolée, mais, pour le moment, il ne me reste pas de plus grands."]

_He._ "There is Madame Chose flirting with a nigger! Why, she is only quite recently a widow."

_She._ "Ah, that accounts for her choice. She is in mourning, and the black suits her!"]

TOASTS FOR TRAVELLERS

(_By our Continental Cynic_)

Amiens--and may the cathedral compensate for the break of the journey.

Boulogne--and may the bathing on the sands never land you in a hole.

Calais--and may the luncheon at the buffet wipe away the recollection of a dusty passage.

Dieppe--and may the comforts of an English hotel counterbalance the thraldom of foreign fashions.

Evian-les-Bains--and may the waters be worthy of their reputation.

Florence--and may the pictures soothe the irritation caused by an indifferent _table d'hôte_.

Genoa--and may the view wash away the recollection of Italian uncleanliness.

Heidelberg--and may the popular ruins survive the vulgarity of the personally conducted.

Interlaken--and may sunset on the mountain be not disappointing.

Jura--and may the pass satisfy general expectation.

Kissingen--and may it be worth the bother of getting to it.

Lucerne--and may its advertised "loveliness" not cause it to become impossible.

Mannheim--and may its distance from anywhere not be a drawback to its few additional attractions.

Nuremberg--and may its toys be worth the journey and the seeing.

Naples--and may it not become necessary, owing to epidemics, to die there immediately after its inspection.

Ouchy--and may it be a pleasant surprise after Lausanne.

Rome--and may its monuments be seen without contracting its fever.

St. Malo--and may it be reached without running aground in the neighbourhood of the Channel Islands.

Turin--and may its departed glory revived reward the end of a tedious journey.

Venice--and may it be seen before it is spoilt by the modern improver.

Zurich--and may it be appreciated in spite of its inferiority to all neighbouring Continental attractions.

BRADBURY, AGNEW & CO., LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE

Transcriber's Note:

Sundry missing or damaged punctuation has been repaired.

Page 183: '9 P.M.' corrected to '9 A.M.' to match context.