When we went into the pavilion later for something hot, I noticed with amazement how many of the pierrots had grey hair under their caps, and how many of the geisha girls and pierrettes were addressed as “mother.” “But certainly!” said our charming Frau Gräfin with spirit. “Because they have children, are they dead? Because they have gone through much trial in life, are they to mope in a corner and know none of life’s joy? Pardon me, honored meinherr, if I suggest that they are not as old as some of your American young people of twenty!”
I saw that we had fallen on a tender subject with the delightful lady; who, herself the mother of a boy of twenty-eight, is (as Patsy remarked) quite as lively as any girl of sixteen. And who, if I remember rightly, was rather harshly criticised thereupon at the time of her residence in Washington. She had certainly a just revenge in her own criticism of the blasé, weary American youth of today; and the contrast between him and the Viennese of middle age or even advanced years as other nations number them. Fresh, vif, alert with interest for everything, and time for everything as well, the Austrians may be children to the end of their days; but they are wise children, who stay young by design, not by incapacity.
As we have said before, they are so entirely unself-conscious that they never fear making fools of themselves; and, in consequence, do not do so. Young and mature, they throw themselves into everything, with a whole-hearted abandon that in itself stimulates a like enthusiasm in all about them. They are each other’s currents of energy that is never exhausted, but always procreative. And nothing is too much trouble. They will take infinite pains, and go to any amount of expense, to help towards the success of the smallest festivity, while their thought and generosity for others in either joy or trouble is a revelation to the more stolid Anglo-Saxon.
Among our Viennese friends was a charming bachelor, Herr von G——. He started to Paris one week-end, and had got as far as Munich when he heard from someone that Patsy had tonsilitis. He took the next train back to Vienna, and presented himself at our hotel the same evening. It distressed me very much when I heard why he had come, as the child was really not seriously ill; but Herr von G—— said earnestly, “I do not return to bore you; I am merely on hand if you need me.” And for a wonder he was not in love with Patsy. The act was one of simple friendship for us both.
When Patsy had recovered, Herr von G——, instead of going on with his postponed journey, took us up to Semmering for two or three days of winter sports. Here, within an hour’s ride of their own city, the Viennese revel in the delights of lugeing, ski-ing, and sleighing—as well as skating, of course; giving themselves to the healthful exercise with characteristic zest and skill. The tiniest children manage their skis with lightning dexterity, and it is beautiful to watch their small swaying bodies skim across the snow like white birds on wing. This kind of flying combines the æsthetic with the practical, and leaves to its natural majesty the clearest of crisp blue skies overhead.
Tobogganing is scarcely less favoured by the Austrians, who sweep down their dizzy hills with a vim that knows no fear. Horses are waiting at the foot, to drag the toboggans up again; and all day long the laughing groups of men and women, young girls, officers and children, dart down the snowy steeps—ten and twenty strong on each sled—and are hauled back to begin anew. Observing the crowds of Viennese who daily go to and from Semmering, and knowing as one does many of them who would think a week without this excursion shorn of its greatest pleasure, one does not wonder at the happy healthy faces and splendid colour of this sport-loving people.
In the Spring and Fall they play tennis and ride in the Prater—a large park on the outskirts of Vienna; while in the summer everyone who can goes walking in the Tyrol or the German mountains. Women as well as men are expert walkers and mountain-climbers, and their horsemanship is the pride of the nation. It is interesting to note that the Viennese have never paid much attention to golf, and the reason: it is too tame for them. All their sports are swift, dashing, and full of a light individual grace. They are devoted to fencing—to anything that calls into play the quick and skilful move of the individual body; the heavy and brutal are unknown to them. Like children they boldly attack the feat that lures the eye; and, like children always, achieve therein a succès fou.
What is a rheumatic uncle among such people? All he can do is to open doors—which by no amount of gymnastics is he able to shut when he should.
III
THE FAIRY PLAY
Between officers’ cotillons and opera, thés dansants and military concerts at the Stadt Park, Patsy sandwiched conscientious layers of sight-seeing. I am not of those who follow Baedeker (even in a shame-faced brown linen cover), but I dutifully accompanied her to the gallery and the royal stables, and to worship before Maria Theresa’s emeralds in the Treasury. At the Rathaus I balked—nothing except rice pudding is as depressing to me as a town-hall; when it came to the Natural History Museum I was tepid also. And from that time forth Patsy—with the irrepressible superiority that belongs to born sightseers and to people who take cold baths—announced that she would take the maid.