"Fifine! Fifine! apportez le clef pour numero trente deux; monsieur va partir—il va partir" ("Bring the key for number 32; the gentlemen is going away; he's going away!")
The echoes of the last syllable of the last word of her call followed number 32 up the stairs to his door. When he had arranged his packing and descended, he found the servants waiting for him, with the exception of those he had already encountered on his way down. At least half of them he had never seen, but all had their hands open for any tokens of remembrance in the shape of the current coin of the country.
The custom of assembling all the servants on the departure of a traveler is descended from the Middle Ages when the retainers of a castle were summoned by the bell at the portcullis to welcome the coming and speed the parting guest. Like many another honorable usage of olden times it has suffered degradation; at present it is simply a form of extracting money from the traveler, and not one servant in a hundred is aware of its origin, or thinks of it in any other light than the practical one. The fee system to the hotel waiter had a similar origin, and is likewise a relic of feudalism. The guest at the castle of a baron of the Middle Ages was not expected to pay for his accommodation; he was in every sense a guest, and like many a guest of modern days, he often felt that he was causing a good deal of trouble and extra work on the part of the servants and retainers. Consequently he opened his purse at his departure and scattered his cash among those who had cared for him; the shell of the custom has been retained, but its sentiment is altogether gone. The patron of a hotel pays his bill, and is in no sense a "guest," as many keepers of hostelries like to call him, and the excuse for his distribution of money among the servants has the lightest possible foundation.
In high circles the habits of the olden time remain in all their purity, and princes and kings and nobles are obliged to pay heavily for their entertainment. After his sojourn in Paris in 1867, the Emperor of Russia gave 40,000 francs to be distributed among the servants of the palace where he was lodged, and the King of Italy gave 10,000 francs under similar circumstances at Vienna in 1873. American and other foreigners of distinction who visit Egypt are often honored with lodgings in one of the Khedive's palaces, or with one of his private steamers to go up the Nile. But it is bad economy to accept these courtesies, for the reason that the backsheesh to servants and officers amounts to a large figure, frequently to several hundreds of dollars. It was said of Ismail Pacha that he paid nothing to the attaches of his boats and palaces but reimbursed them by giving them an occasional distinguished visitor to pluck.
The fee system has grown into so many abuses in these latter days that several governments have passed laws restricting it, and forbidding its servants to accept fees. This is noticeable in the public galleries of France, Italy, and other countries, where no fees are demanded except a slight charge for taking care of a cane or umbrella, and sometimes an entrance fee, which is bought at a ticket-office, and must be paid by everybody who enters. At the ruins of Pompeii signs are posted in all the languages of Europe forbidding the guides to accept fees in any form under penalty of dismissal; the regulations are so stringent that no guide dares to accept a piece of money, no matter how willing you may be to give it. But there is a form of keeping the word of promise to the ear and breaking it to the hope; the guides are allowed to sell photographs of the various objects of interest, and sometimes they pester you with them to an extent far worse than any direct application for gratuities.
The traveler should be cautious about making a "half-bargain" with guides, valets, et id omne genus, who will be sure to make all kinds of claim against him. Never accept the services of one of these men without a positive agreement as to the amount he is to receive, and if you can have it include his pour boire, so much the better. He always desires to leave something open for a demand, while you should be equally certain to have no loop-hole in the contract. A Neapolitan guide will fix his services at five francs a day, "and something for myself if you are satisfied." Now this something breeds a great deal of trouble. The writer had one of these fellows to accompany him up Vesuvius on his first visit to Naples. The 'something' was left undetermined; the guide received five francs at the end of the day with a franc extra, which was thought to be quite sufficient. He struck an attitude of astonishment and declared himself outrageously treated; "gentlemen always gives me five francs extra," he remarked, "and some of them gives ten." This was said with an air of withering contempt, but there was nothing in his neighborhood that withered immediately. When a guide proposes to hire himself for five francs and something if you are satisfied, endeavor to fix the amount of the "satisfaction." If he will not do it he is a good subject to drop, unless he is the only one of his kind attainable, and you happen to be in a hurry. Remember always that a half-bargain is a bad bargain, everywhere, and especially in the countries where the fee system is in vogue.
Sometimes even a careful bargain will not protect the traveler from trouble. Italian boatmen will agree for a certain sum, and while on the way they demand more. If you are going on board a steamer at Naples they are apt to be extortionate, as they know you are leaving port and are not likely to give them trouble with the police. A boatman agrees to carry you and your baggage for two francs; you enter his boat and off you go. Half way to the ship he stops rowing and demands four, or perhaps five, francs, and threatens to return to shore unless you comply. If you are strong, and carry a cane or good umbrella, a threat to break his head, accompanied with a gesture to that effect, will generally cause him to proceed. If you are weak and timid, the best way is to say nothing, and if you are tough in conscience and don't mind meeting downright rascality with a white lie, you can nod assent and let him go on. Before he gets to the ship he will increase his demand, and you may nod again. When you reach the vessel do not show your money till your baggage is safe on board, the heavy trunks in the hold, and the lighter things in your cabin. Then pay the sum you first agreed to give, and not a centime more, and, having discharged the obligation, descend to the saloon. The boatman is not allowed to follow you there, but he will give vent to a volley of imprecations that fall harmless on your devoted head if you happen to be ignorant of Italian. When these fellows get too noisy they are ordered away from the ship, and after their departure you may mount again to the deck and enjoy the wonderfully beautiful panorama of the bay of Naples.
The boatmen of Alexandria, Egypt, are worse than their Neapolitan brethren, as they sometimes resort to downright violence. A strong cane is the best argument for them, and if you are two or three men against an equal or inferior number, you have a moral force that stands in good stead. One man alone may face two or three of these rascals, but he is not altogether safe, as they would have little hesitation in robbing him and then throwing him overboard, if they could be sure of escaping undetected. They have been known to pull around the harbor for an hour or two to compel their victim to come to terms, and if brought before the police for their misconduct they generally manage to bribe themselves out of trouble, unless their prosecutor is able and willing to pay more for their punishment than they can for their liberty.
The inhabitants of Switzerland have been noted in all ages for their thrifty habits and their ability to make much of an opportunity. In former times their genius was displayed in watch-making and other industries; in these latter days, they have devoted themselves in great measure to fleecing the tourists that come among them, and some of their performances in this line border on the wonderful. Watch-making and wood-carving still exist, and quite probably there are yet many honest people in the land of the Alps. Down to a recent period the exploitation of the stranger was left to the hotel-keepers, guides, porters, and others with whom he came in contact, and if he felt aggrieved and brought complaint against his swindlers he could receive redress at the hands of the law. On a changé tout cela, the government has come to the assistance of the exploiting class, and what was before optional is now official. At every step the tourist encounters a "tariff," and if he objects to anything his attention is called to the fact that it is "official." The hotel porter takes your trunk to the door of the establishment where you have been lodged, and hands it over to a licensed porter, who carries it to the boat, train, or diligence. He stops at the dock, or at the front of the station, where another licensed porter comes forward and bears the trunk to the baggageman; each of the porters must be paid, and the baggageman also expects something, and if you object you are shown the official tariff, from which there is no appeal.
The official tariff is made the scapegoat of a great many extortions and downright falsehoods; the writer will give a bit of his personal experience to illustrate this statement. He was in Martigny, on his way to Chamouny, in the summer of 1880, and wished to hire a carriage for the journey; he had been told that one could be had for thirty or forty francs, and asked the proprietor of the hotel Clerc where carriages were to be had and the price to be paid. The latter answered that the tariff for a carriage for two persons was fifty francs, and there was no other price.