LETTER XXXI. MARY ANNE DODD TO MISS DOOLAN, OF BALLYDOOLAN
My dearest Kitty,—Another delay, and more "last words"! I had thought that my poor epistle was already miles on the way towards you, wafted by the sighs of my heaving heart, but I now discover that Mr. Cavendish will not send off his bag to the Foreign Office before Saturday, as the Grand-Duke wants to send over some guinea-pigs to the royal children, so that I shall detain this till that day, and perhaps be able to tell you of a great "picnic" we are planning to the Castle of Eberstein for Thursday next. It is one of the things everybody does here, and of course we must not omit it. James talks of the expense as terrific, which really comes with an ill grace from one who wagers fifty, or even sixty, Napoleons on a card! Besides, a "picnic" is an association, and the whole cost cannot fall to the share of an individual. The Great Milo begs that we will leave everything to him, and I feel assured that it is the wisest course we can adopt, not to speak of the advantage of seeing the whole festivity glowingly described in the columns of the "Sledge." The Princess Sloboffsky has just driven to the door, so I must conclude for the present. I come back to say that the picnic is fixed for Thursday, the number to be, by special request of the Princess, limited to forty,—the list to be made out this evening. "Mammas" to go in open carriages,—young ladies horseback or ass-back,—men indiscriminately; no more at present decided on. I am wild with delight at the pleasure before us. Would you were one of us, dearest Kitty!
Thursday Morning. Oh, Kitty, what a day! It might be December in London. The rain is swooping down the mountain sides, and the wind howling fearfully. It is now seven o'clock, and my maid, Augustine, has called me to get up and dress. Mamma has had two notes already, which, being in French, she is waiting for me to read and reply to. I 'll hasten to see what they mean.
One of the "billets" is from the Duchesse de Sargance, merely asking the question, "Que faire?" The other is from the Princess Sloboffsky, who, in consideration "for all the trouble mamma has been put to," deems it better to go at all events, and that we can dine at the Grand-Ducal Schloss, instead of on the grass. This reads ominously in one sense, Kitty, and seems to imply that we are giving the entertainment ourselves; but I must keep this suspicion to myself, or we should have a terrible exposure. When an evil becomes inevitable, patient submission is the true philosophy.
Ten o'clock. What an animated, I might almost call it a stormy, debate we have just had in the drawing-room! The assembled lieges have been all discussing the proposed excursion,—if that can be called discussion, where everybody screamed out his own opinion, and nobody listened to his neighbor. The two parties for and against going divided themselves into the two sexes,—the men being for staying where we are, the ladies as clamorously declaring for the road. Of course the "Ayes" had it, and we are now putting the whole house in requisition for cloaks, mantles, and mackintoshes. The half-dozen men for whom no place can be made in coach or "calèche" are furious at having to ride. I half suspect that some attachments whose fidelity has hitherto defied time and years, will yield to-day before the influence of mere water. The truth is, Kitty, foreigners dread it in every shape. They mix a little of it now and then with their wine, and they rather like to see it in fountains and "jets d'eau," but there ends all the acquaintance they ever desire to maintain with the pure element.
I must confess that the aspect of the "outsiders" is suggestive of anything rather than amusement. They stand to be muffled and waterproofed like men who, having resigned themselves to an inevitable fate, have lost all interest in the preliminaries that conduct to it. They are, as it were, bound for the scaffold, and they have no care for the shape of the "hurdle" that is to draw them thither. The others, who have secured inside places, are overwhelmingly civil, and profuse in all the little attentions that cost nothing, nor exact any sacrifice. I have seen no small share of national character this morning, and if I had time could let you into some secrets about it.
The arrangement of the company—that is, who is to go with whom—is our next difficulty. There are such intricacies of family history, such subtle questions of propriety to be solved, we 'd not get away under a year were we to enter upon half of them. As a general rule, however, ladies ought not to be packed up in the same coach with the husbands from whom they have been for years separated, nor people with deadly feuds between them to be placed vis-à-vis. As to the attractive principles, the cohesionary elements, Kitty, are more puzzling still, since none but the parties themselves know where the minds are simulated and where real.
Milo has taken a great part of this arrangement upon his own hands, and, from what I can see, with his accustomed want of success in all matters of tact and delicacy. Of this, however, he is most beautifully unconscious, and goes about in the midst of muttered execrations with the implicit belief of being a benefactor of the human race. I wish you could see the self-satisfied chuckle of his greasy laugh, or could hear his mumbled "Maybe I don't know what ye 'r after, my old lady. Have n't I put the little Count with the green spectacles next you; don't I understand the cross looks ye 'r giving me? Ah, Mademoiselle, never fear me, I have in my eye for you,—a wink is enough for Milo Blake any day. Yes, my darling, I 'm looking for him this minute." These and such-like mutterings will show you the spirit of his ministering; and when I repeat that he makes nothing but blunders, you may picture to yourself the man. He has appointed himself on mamma's staff; and as I go with the Princess and the Count Boldourouki, I shall see no more of him for a while.
It is quite clear, Kitty, that we are the entertainers, though how it came to be so, I cannot even guess. Some blunder, I suspect, of this detestable Milo; and James will do nothing whatever. He is still in bed, and, to all my entreaties to get up, merely says that he'll be with us at dinner. The hampers of proggery will fill two carriages, and a charette with the champagne in ice is already sent forward. Three cooks—for such, I am told, are three gentlemen in black coats and white neckcloths—are to accompany us; and the whole preparations are evidently got up in the "very first style," and "totally regardless of expense."
Twelve o'clock. Another dilemma. There is only one "bus" in the town; and as none of the band will sit outside in this terrible weather, what is to be done? Milo proposes billeting them, singly, here and there, through the carriages; but the bare mention has excited a rebellion amongst the equestrians, who will not consent to be treated worse than the fiddlers! The Commissary of Police has just sent to know if we have obtained "a ministerial permission to assemble in vast numbers and for objects unnamed." I have got one of the German nobles to settle this difficulty, which, in Milo's hands,—if he only heard of it,—might become formidable.
Happily, he is now engaged "telling off" the band, and selecting from the number such as we can find room to accommodate. The permission has been accorded, the carriages are drawing up, the guests are taking their seats, we are ready,—we are off.
Saturday Morning. Dearest Kitty,—Mr. Cavendish has just sent me word that the courier will start in half an hour, so that I have only time for a few lines. Gloomily as the day broke yesterday, its setting at evening was infinitely sadder and more sorrowful. Never did a prospect of pleasure prove more delusive; never did a scene of enjoyment terminate more miserably.
Tears of anguish, of passion, and of shame blot my words as I write them. You must not ask me to describe the course of events, when my mind has but room for the sad catastrophe that closed them; but in a few brief lines I will endeavor to convey to you what occurred.
Our journey to Eberstein, from being all up hill and over roads terribly cut up by the weather, was a slow process. The procession, some of the riders remarked, had a most funereal look, winding along up the zig-zags of the mountain, and on a day which assuredly suggested few thoughts of pleasure. I can only answer for my own companions; but they, I am bound to say, were in the very worst of tempers the whole way, discussing the whole plot of the excursion with—considering mamma's share in it—a far greater degree of candor than politeness. They ridiculed picnics in general; pronounced them vulgar, tiresome, and usually "failures." They insinuated that they were the resources of people who felt more at ease in the semi-civilized scramble of a country party than amid the more correct courtesies of daily life! As to the "dîner sur l'herbe" itself, it was a shocking travesty of a real dinner. Spiders and cockroaches settled in your soup, black beetles bathed in your champagne, wasps contested your fruit with you, and you were lucky if you did not carry back a scorpion or a snake in your pocket. Then the company came in for its share of comment. So many people crept in that nobody knew, nobody acknowledged, and apparently nobody had invited. You always, they said, found that all your objectionable acquaintances dated from these parties. Lastly, they were excursions which no weather suited, no toilet became! If it were hot, the sufferings of sun-scorching and mosquitoes were insufferable. If it proved bad and rainy, they were in the sad situation of that very moment! As to dress, who could fix upon a costume to be becoming in the morning, graceful in the afternoon, and fresh and radiant at night? In a word, Kitty, they said so much, and so forcibly, that nothing but great constraint upon my feelings saved me from asking, "Why, in Heaven's name, could they have consented to come upon an excursion every detail of which was a sorrow, and every step a suffering?"
No other theme, however, divided attention with this calamitous one; and as we toiled languidly up the mountain-side, you can fancy with what pleasant feelings the way was beguiled.
At last we reached the castle; but fresh disappointment here awaited us. Although parties were admitted to see the Schloss and the grounds, they could not obtain leave to dine anywhere within the precincts. We begged hard for a room in the porter's lodge, the laundry, the stable, even the hayloft! but all without success. We at length capitulated for a moss-house, where the rain came filtering down through a network of foliage and birds'-nests; but even this was refused. What was to be done? The army was now little short of mutiny; a violent debate was carried on from carriage windows; and strong partisans of particular opinions went slopping about, with tucked-up trousers and huge umbrellas, trying to enforce their own views! Some were for an equitable distribution of the eatables on the spot,—"Food Commissaries," as the Germans expressed it, being chosen, to allot the victuals to each coach; some were for a forcible entry into the castle, and an occupation by dint of arms; others voted for a return to Baden; and lastly, a small section, which gradually grew in power and persuasiveness, suggested that, by descending the opposite side of the mountain, we should reach a little inn in the Moorg Thal, much frequented by fishermen, and where we were sure to find shelter at least, if not something more. The "Anglers' Rest" was now adopted as our goal; and thither we started, with some slight tinge of renewed hope and pleasure.
Our journey down was nearly as slow as that up the mountain; for the steep descent required the greatest caution, with heavily laden and jaded horses. It was, therefore, already dark when we reached the "Anglers' Rest." All that I could see of this "hostel," from the rain-streaked glasses of the carriage, was a small one-storied house, built over the stream of a small but rapid river. Mountains, half wrapped in mists, and seeming to smoke with the steam of hot rain, environed the spot on all sides, which probably, in fine weather, would have been picturesque and even pretty.
"We are destined to be unlucky to-day, Princess," said a young French marquis, approaching, our carriage. "This miserable 'guinguette,' it seems, is full of people, who are by no means disposed to yield the place to us."
"Who are they,—what are they?" asked she, in haughty astonishment at their contumacy.
"They are, I believe, some young tradesfolk, on what is called in Germany the 'Wander-Jahre,'—that travelling probation that municipal law dictates to native handicraft."
"But, surely, when they hear who we are—"
"Graf Adelberger has been eloquently explaining that to them the last ten minutes, and the Baron von Badenschwill has told them of his eighteen quarterings; but though they have consented to drink his health, they will not abdicate the territory."
Here was a pretty proof of what the years '48 and '49 had done for the Continent of Europe, and maybe Blum, Kossuth, Mazzini, and Co., didn't come in for their share! To think of creatures—shoemakers, who could assure us they were, might be tailors—daring to proclaim that they preferred their own ease and comfort to that of carriages full of unknown but titled individuals!
"It's impossible!" "Incredible!" "Fabulous!" "Infamous!" "Monstrous!" were expressions screamed from carriage to carriage, while telegraphic signs of horror and amazement were exchanged from window to window. "Did they know who we were?" "Do they know who I am?" were the questions incessantly pouring forth. Alas! they had heard it all. There was not a claim we could prefer to greatness that they had not before them, and, alas! they remained inexorable!
Deputations of various nations went in, and came back baffled and unsuccessful. The "Burschen," as they were called, were at that very moment impatiently waiting for their own supper, and seemed to verify the adage of the ill result of arguing with hungry men. Milder and more practicable counsels now began to prevail amongst us, and some even of the most conservative hinted at compromise and accommodation. What if we were to share with some of the vast abundance that we had with us? What if we tried bribery? The "Food Commissaries" assured us that even after the most liberal allowance for our wants we could feed a moderately sized village.
The proposal was therefore framed, and two Germans of high rank persuaded—sorely against their prejudices and inclination—to convey it to "Das Volk,"—the populace. It seemed as though the memorable years I have referred to had taught some curious lessons in popular force; for the demands of the masses indicated strength and power. They stipulated, first, that they should hold the kitchen; secondly, that the meats assigned them should be set before them uncut; and lastly, that none of our servants were to be quartered on the table. Here was the "Monarchy of the Middle Classes" proudly enunciated; and, I assure you, many excellent things were said by all of us,—not only upon the past and the present, but on "what we were coming to!"
If I weary you with this detail, Kitty, it is that you may sympathize with me in the fatigue the long discussion inflicted. We were fully three-quarters of an hour at the door ere the treaty was concluded. Then came the descent from the carriages, the unpacking of the eatables, the unrolling of the life-mummies that were to consume them, which, wrapped up as they were in soaked drapery, was a long process. I shall not delay you with an account of the distribution of the proggery, but content myself with stating that the two deputies accredited by the "Trades'" union to receive their share, acknowledged that we behaved not only well, but with munificence; since not only did we bestow upon them the grosser material of a meal, but many of the higher refinements of a great entertainment; in particular, a large game pasty, representing a feudal fortress, with a flag waving over it, on which the enthusiastic cook had inscribed the words, "Hoch Lebe die Dodd," or "the Dodd forever." It was a vulgar dish, Kitty, and by my own special diplomacy was it consigned to the second table.
At length we were seated at table, but only for new disappointment. Milo, in telling off the band, had made the irreparable blunder of leaving all the flute, clarionet, and horn players behind; and there we were, with kettle-drums, trombones, and ophocleides enough to have stunned a garrison. They could beat a "générale," it is true, but there ended their orchestral powers. This stupid mistake, however, gave room for laughter, and, in spite of our annoyance, we laughed at it long and heartily.
I am spared the painful task of recording the catastrophe of our story, by a message from Mr. Cavendish, to say that the courier is starting. Indeed, his carriage is now at the door, and I must say, Kitty, that the handsomest men in our diplomacy are the Mercuries. They dress so becomingly too,—something between a hussar and Lord Byron; their pelisses of rich furs, their slashed frocks, and Polish caps harmonizing beautifully with their mingled air of intrepidity and gentleness.
Mr. Dudley Vignerton, who takes this, is remarkably good-looking,—something of George Canning, with a dash of Count d'Orsay. I wish, however, he would let me finish these few lines in peace, for he keeps on complimenting me about my hair, and my handwriting, and I don't know what besides. He offers also to bring me shoes from Paris, for really Germany is too bad!
He is a strange man, Kitty, and I regret not to see more of him; he looks at once so bland and so determined. He tells me that the adventurous nature of the life he leads makes a man at once daring and enduring,—about equal parts lamb and lion. Don't you wish to see him? Yours, in great haste,
M. A. D.