I think I hear you ask, "Where is the Ritter von Wolfensbafer all this time? What has become of him?" you say. You really are very tiresome, dearest Kitty, with your little poisonous allusions to "old loves," former attachments, and so on. As to the Ritter, however, I heard from him yesterday; he cannot, it seems, come to Baden; his father is not on terms with the Grand-Duke, and he strictly charges me not to mention their names to any one. His letter repeats the invitation to us all to spend some weeks at the "Schloss,"—an arrangement which might, very possibly, suit our plans well, since, when the season ends here, it is still too early to go into winter quarters; and one is sorely puzzled what to do with the late autumn, which is as wearisome as the time one passes in the drawing-room before dinner. Of course we must await pa's return, to reply to this invitation; and I incline to say we shall accept it. Why will you be so silly as to remind me of the follies of my childhood? Are there no naughtinesses of the nursery you can rake up to record? You know as well, if not better than myself, that the attentions you allude to could never have been seriously meant! nor could Dr. B. believe them such, if not totally deficient in those qualities of good sense and judgment for which I always have given him credit. I will not say that, in the artless gayety of infancy, I have not amused myself with the mock devotion he proffered; but you might as well reproach me with fickleness for not taking a child's interest any longer in the nursery games that once delighted me, as for not sustaining my share in this absurd illusion!
I plainly perceive one thing, Kitty,—the gentleman in question has very little pride; but even that in your eyes, may be an excellence, for you have discovered innumerable merits in his character under circumstances which, I am constrained to own, have failed to impress me with a suitable degree of interest. The subject is so very unpleasant, however, that I must beg it may never be reopened between us; and if you really feel for him so acutely as you say, I can only suggest that you should hit upon some plan of consolation perfectly independent of any aid from your attached friend,
Mary Anne.
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.