We were met at the station by a corps of servants, a big drag, and equipages for guests, and were driven in handsome style around the frowning brow of the great craig, into full view of the castle, spreading out its arms as if in gladness at the happy home-coming of its queen.
As we neared the great gate all the household gathered to meet us, from the head man Heck, to the stable boys. It seemed to me that I had been assigned to the choice of the eighty rooms of the castle, so luxurious were all the appointments about me.
“The clever bird surprised me by ejaculating Pity Patti.”
I spoke of the pets. There were twenty-five or thirty varieties of birds, besides donkeys, ponies and rare dogs, of which Patti is very fond, always having numbers of them accompany her in her walks. Ten of these birds were parrots. Each one of these birds had acquired that peculiar style of eloquence best suited to his disposition and temperament. For example, one day when Patti got a trifling hurt, the clever bird surprised me by ejaculating, “Pity Patti!” This gushing bird has ever since maintained a steady sympathy, spending most of his verbally unhappy life saying “Pity Patti! Pity Patti!” As you go up to each parrot, he thus, with some different speech unburdens his mind to you. They are sociable birds, spending most of their time together, and when, new and then, a sewing-society notion strikes them all at once, it might be called a unanimous change of subject.
From the moment of arrival, a valet is put at the service of the guest, and orders are taken by him at night, for the following morning’s breakfast. There is no rising time. While Patti is an early riser, she makes no such demands upon her guests. The valet appears at the hour ordered, prepares the bath, and serves breakfast at any time desired. Patti after her regular morning bath, takes her breakfast, and reads her daily mail before going out for the day. The guest is absolutely free to do as he wishes until half-past twelve. During my morning strolls I often met Patti sauntering through the grounds with her well-beloved dogs.
At half-past twelve all meet at luncheon, and all must be prompt. At this little déjeuner, which is by no means a light meal, Patti is a gale of joyous chat and greeting. The trivial incident is touched into color by her vitality.
Then comes the famous afternoon drive. As a rule the homes of the neighborhood are connected by telephone with the castle, and invitations come and go. One afternoon we drove to a farmhouse of a neighbor, where we saw a contest between three sheep dogs. There were three sheep to each dog, and that one was proclaimed winner who most quickly drove his three sheep through one opening into a corral. It was an intensely interesting illustration of the instinctive sheep-driving skill of the dogs. Then again we would go for a long spin over the hills through the keen mountain air.
A light English tea at five, after which we had until half-past seven to rest and dress before appearing at dinner, the great event of the day. All, of course, wear full dress, gathering in the boudoir where one sees pictures and autographs of famous people the world over. Among the photographs I noticed those of Mrs. Cleveland, Christine Nilsson, Nieman, Albani, Scalchi, Hans Richter, Verdi, and the King and Queen of Italy. A full length portrait of Mrs. Cleveland appears beside that of the Princess of Wales. The coloring, hangings, and wall coverings are all suggestive of restfulness in their richness.
The first announcement one has of dinner is a melody of silver bells. The notes seem to cling to the bells until they are fairly shaken off like bubbles into the air; then there seem to be two melodies, one the tender musical shadow of the other.