A Voyage Of Consolation - Sara Jeannette Duncan (namjoon book recommendations .txt) 📗

Of Sealing Our Lips."

 

The Senator Will Always Oblige. "Mine Are Sealed,  Augusta," He Replied,

And So We Sat In Silence For The Next Ten Minutes. But I Could See By

His Expression,  In connection With The Angle At Which His Hat Was

Tipped,  That He Was Comparing The Productions Before Him With The Future

Old Masters Of Chicago,  And Wishing It Were Possible To Live Long Enough

To Back Chicago.

 

"How They Do Sink In!" Said Momma At Last. "How They Sink Into The

Soul!"

 

"They Do," Replied The Senator. "I Don'T Deny It. But I See By The

Catalogue,  Counting Salles And Salons And All,  There'S Seventeen Rooms

Full Of Them. If They'Re All To Sink In,  For My Part I'Ll Have To

Enlarge The Premises. And We'Ve Been Here Three-Quarters Of An Hour

Already,  And Life Is Short,  Augusta."

 

So We Moved On Where The Imperishable Faces Of Greuze And Velasquez And

Rembrandt Smiled And Frowned And Wondered At Us. As Poppa Said,  It Was

Easy To See That These People Had Ideas,  And Were Simply Longing To

Express Them. "You Feel Sorry For Them," He Said,  "Just As You Feel

Sorry For An Intelligent Terrier. But These Poor Things Can'T Even Wag

Their Tails! Just Let Me Know When You'Ve Had Enough,  Augusta."

 

Momma Declared,  With An Accent Of Reproach,  That She Could Never Have

Enough. I Noticed,  However,  That We Did Not Stay In The Second Room As

Long As In The First One,  And That Our Progress Was Steadily

Accelerating. Presently The Senator Asked Us To Sit Down For A Few

Minutes While He Should Leave Us.

 

"There'S A Picture Here Bramley Said I Was To See Without Fail," He

Explained. "It'S Called 'Mona Lisa,' And It'S By An Artist By The Name

Of Leonardo Da Vinci. Bramley Said It Was A Very Fine Painting,  But I

Don'T Remember Just Now Whether He Said It Was What You Might Call A

Picture For The Family Or Not. I'Ll Just Go And Ascertain," Said The

Senator. "Judging From Some Of The Specimens Here,  Oil Paintings In The

Middle Ages Weren'T Intended To Be Chromo-Lithographed."

 

In His Absence Momma And I Discussed French Cookery As Far As We Had

Experienced It,  In detail,  With Prodigious Yawns For Which We Did Not

Even Apologise. Poppa Was Gone A Remarkably Short Time And Came Back

Radiant. "I'Ve Found Mona," He Exclaimed,  "And--She'S All Right. Bramley

Said It Was The Most Remarkable Portrait Of A Woman In The

World--Looking At It,  Bramley Said,  You Become Insensible To

Everything--Forget All About Your Past Life And Future Hopes--And I

Guess He'S About Right. Come And See It."

 

Momma Arose Without Enthusiasm,  And I Thought I Detected Adverse

Criticism In advance In Her Expression.

 

"Here She Is," Said The Senator Presently. "Now Look At That! Did You

Ever See Anything More Intellectual And Cynical,  And Contemptuous And

Sweet,  All In One! Lookin' At You As Much As To Say,  'Who Are You,

Anyhow,  From Way Back In The State Of Illinois--Commercial Traveller?

And What Do You Pretend To Know?'"

 

Momma Regarded The Portrait For A Moment In calm Disapprobation. "I

Daresay She Was Very Clever," She Said At Length,  "But If You Wish To

Know My Opinion I _Don'T Think Much Of Her_. And Before Taking Us To See

Another Female Portrait,  Mr. Wick,  I Should Be Obliged If You Would Take

The Precaution Of Finding Out _Who She Was_."

 

After Which We Drove Quietly Home.

Chapter 6

Poppa Decided That We Had Better Go To Versailles By Cook'S

Four-In-Hand. There Were Other Ways Of Going,  But He Thought We Might As

Well Take The Most Distinguished. He Was Careful To Explain That The

Mere Grandeur Of This Method Of Transportation Had No Weight With Him;

He Was Compelled To Submit To The Ostentation Of It For Another Purpose

Which He Had In View.

 

"I Am Not A Person," Said Poppa,  "Nor Is Any Member Of My Family,  To

Thrust Myself Into Aristocratic Circles In Foreign Lands; But When An

Opportunity Like This Occurs For Observing Them Without Prejudice,  So To

Speak,  I Believe In Taking It."

 

We Went To The Starting Place Early,  So As To Get Good Seats,  For,  As

Momma Said,  The Whole Of The Parisian _Elite_ With The President Thrown

In Wouldn'T Induce Her To Ride With Her Back To The Horses. In That

Position She Would Be Incapable Of Observation.

 

The Coaches Were Not There When We Arrived,  And Presently The Senator

Discovered Why. He Told Us With A Slightly Depressed Air That They Had

Gone Round To The Hotels. "Daughter," He Said To Me,  "J.P. Wicks Does

Hate To Make A Fool Of Himself,  And This Morning He'S Done It Twice

Over. The Best Seats Will Go To The People Who Had The Sense To Stay At

Their Hotels,  And The Fact That The Coaches Go Round Shows That They Run

For Tourist Traffic Only. There Won'T Be A Paris Aristocrat Among Them,"

Continued Poppa Gloomily,  "Nary An Aristocrat."

 

When They Came Up We Saw That There Wasn'T. The Coaches Were Full Of

Tourist Traffic. It Was Mounted On The Box Seats Very High Up,  Where It

Looked Conspicuously Happy,  And Sounded A Little Hysterical; And It Was

Packed,  Tight And Warm And Anticipant Into Every Available Seat. From

Its Point Of Vantage,  Secured By Waiting At The Hotel For It,  The

Tourist Traffic Looked Down Upon The Wick Family On The Pavement,  In

Irritating Compassion. As Momma Said,  If We Hadn'T Taken Our Tickets It

Was Enough To Have Sent Us To The Bon Marche.

 

A Man In a Black Frock Coat And White Shirt Cuffs Came Bareheaded From

The Office And Pointed Us Out To The Interpreter,  Who Wore Brass

Buttons. The Interpreter Appeared To Mention It To The Guide,  Who Wiped

His Perspiring Brows Under A Soft Brown Felt Hat. A Fiacre Crawled Round

The Corner And Paused To Look On,  And The Senator Said,  "Now Which Of

You Three Gentlemen Is Responsible For My Ride To Versailles?"

 

The Interpreter Looked At Him With A Hostile Expression,  The Guide Made

A Gesture Of Despair At The Volume Of Tourist Traffic,  And The Man With

The Shirt Cuffs Said,  "You 'Ave Took Your Plazes On Ze Previous Day?"

 

"I Took Them From You Ten Minutes Ago," Poppa Replied. "What A Memory

You'Ve Got!"

 

"Zen Zare Is Nothings Guaranteed. But We Will Send Special Carriage,  And

Be'Ind You Can Follow Up," And He Indicated The Fiacre Which Had Now

Drawn Into Line.

 

"I Don'T Think So," Said Poppa,  "When I Buy Four-In-Hand Tickets I Don'T

Take One-In-Hand Accommodation."

 

"You Will Not Go In Ze Private Carriage?"

 

"I Will Not."

 

"_Mais_--It Is Much Ze Preferable."

 

"I Don'T Know Why I Should Contradict You," Said Poppa,  But At That

Moment The Difficulty Was Solved By The Misses Bingham.

 

"Guide!" Cried One Of The Misses Bingham,  Beckoning With Her Fan,  "_Nous

Voulons A Descendre!_"

 

"You Want Get Out?"

 

"_Oui!_" Replied The Misses Bingham With Simultaneous Dignity,  And,  As

The Guide Merely Wiped His Forehead Again,  Poppa Stepped Forward. "Can I

Assist You?" He Said,  And The Misses Bingham Allowed Themselves To Be

Assisted. They Were Small Ladies,  Dressed In black Pongee Silk,  With

Sloping Shoulders,  And They Each Carried A Black Fan And A Brocaded Bag

For Odds And Ends. They Were Not Plain-Looking,  And Yet It Was Readily

Seen Why Nobody Had Ever Married Them; They Had That Look Of The

Predestined Single State That You Sometimes See Even Among The Very Well

Preserved. One Of Them Had An Eye-Glass,  But It Was Easy To Note Even

When She Was Not Wearing It That She Was A Person Of Independent Income,

Of Family,  And Of New York.

 

"We Are Quite Willing," Said The Misses Bingham,  "To Exchange Our Seats

In The Coach For Yours In The Special Carriage,  If That Arrangement

Suits You."

 

"_Bon!_" Interposed The Guide,  "And Opposite There Is One Other Place If

That Fat Gentleman Will Squeeze Himself A Little--Eh?"

 

"Come Along!" Said The Fat Gentleman Equably.

 

"But I Couldn'T Think Of Depriving You Ladies."

 

"Sir," Said One Miss Bingham,  "It Is No Deprivation."

 

"We Should Prefer It," Added The Other Miss Bingham. They Spoke With

Decision; One Saw That They Had Not Reached Middle Age Without Knowing

Their Own Minds All The Way.

 

"To Tell The Truth," Added The Miss Bingham Without The Eye-Glass In a

Low Voice,  "We Don'T Think We Can Stand It."

 

"I Don'T Precisely Take You,  Madam," Said The Senator Politely.

 

"I'M An American," She Continued.

 

Poppa Bowed. "I Should Have Known You For A Daughter Of The Stars And

Stripes Anywhere," He Said In His Most Complimentary Tone.

 

Miss Bingham Looked Disconcerted For An Instant And Went On. "My Great

Grandfather Was A.D.C. To General Washington. I'Ve Got That Much Reason

To Be Loyal."

 

"There Couldn'T Have Been Many Such Officers," The Senator Agreed.

 

"But When I Go Abroad I Don'T Want The Whole Of The United States To

Come With Me."

 

"It Takes The Gilt Off Getting Back For You?" Suggested Poppa A Little

Stiffly.

 

Miss Bingham Failed To Take The Hint. "We Find Europe Infested With

Americans," She Continued. "It Disturbs One'S Impressions So. And The

Travelling American Invariably Belongs To The Very _Least_ Desirable

Class."

 

"Now I Shouldn'T Have Thought So," Said The Senator,  With Intentional

Humour. But It Was Lost Upon Miss Bingham.

 

"Well,  If You Like Them," Said The Other One,  "You'D Better Go In The

Coach."

 

The Senator Lifted His Hat. "Madam," He Said,  "I Thank You For Giving To

Me And Mine The Privilege Of Visiting A Very Questionable Scene Of The

Past In The Very Best Society Of The Present."

 

And As The Guide Was Perspiring More And More Impatiently,  We Got In.

 

For Some Moments The Senator Sat In Silence,  Reflecting Upon This

Sentiment,  With An Occasionally Heaving Breast. Circumstances Forbade

His Talking About It,  But He Cast An Eye Full Of Criticism Upon The

Fiacre Rolling Along Far In The Rear,  And Remarked,  With A Fervor Most

Unusual,  That He Hoped They Liked Our Dust. We Certainly Made A Great

Deal Of It. Momma And I,  Looking At Our Fellow Travellers,  At Once

Decided That The Misses Bingham Had Been A Little Hasty. The Fat

Gentleman,  Who Wore A Straw Hat Very Far Back,  And Meant To Enjoy

Himself,  Was Certainly Our Fellow-Citizen. So Was His Wife,  And

Brother-In-Law. So Were A Bride And Bridegroom On The Box Seat--Nothing

Less Than The Best Of Everything For An American Honeymoon--And So Was A

Solitary Man With A Short Cut Bristly Beard,  A Slouch Hat,  A Pink Cotton

Shirt,  And A Celluloid Collar. But There Was An Indescribable Something

About All The Rest That Plainly Showed They Had Never Voted For A

President Or Celebrated A Fourth Of July. I Was Still Revolving It In My

Mind When The Fat Gentleman,  Who Had Been Thinking Of The Same Thing,

Said To His Neighbour On The Other Side,  A Person Of Serious Appearance

In A Black Silk Hat,  Apropos Of The Line He Had Crossed By,  "I May Be

Wrong,  But I Shouldn'T Have Put You Down To Be An American."

 

"Oh,  I Guess I Am," Replied The Serious Man,  "But Not The United States

Kind."

 

"British North," Suggested The Fat Gentleman,  With A Smile That

Acknowledged Her Majesty. "First Cousin Once Removed," And Momma And I

Looked At One Another Intelligently. We Had Nothing Against Canadians,

Except That They Generally Talk As If They Had The Whole Of The St.

Lawrence River And Niagara Falls In a Perpetual Lease From

Providence--And We Had Never Seen So Many Of Them Together Before. The

Coach Was Three-Quarters Full Of These Foreigners,  If The Misses

Bingham Had Only Known; But As Poppa Afterwards Said,  They Were Probably

Not Foreign Enough. It May Have Been Imagination,  But I Immediately

Thought I Saw A Certain Meekness,  A Habit Of Deference--I Wanted To

Incite Them All To Treat The Guelphs As We Did. Just Then We Stopped

Before The Church Of St. Augustin,  And The Guide Came Swinging Along The

Outside Of The Coach Hoarsely Emitting Facts. Everybody Listened

Intently,  And I Noticed Upon The Canadian Countenances The Same

Determination To Be Instructed That We Always Show Ourselves. We All

Meant To Get