div. We still have Hashed Cat and Dead Fly pudding on Thursdays and

nobody eats it and Mac still asks us why we arnt hungry. But I’m in training now for the sports and don’t eat pudding at all. None of us do.

Please write and tell me about the sort of things a chap ought to know before going to Eton.

Yours ever, P. SMITH.

I’m Smith ma. now because my minor’s here. He isnt bad.

FROM SATURDAY TO MONDAY

_Letter from a Frenchwoman to an English Friend in Italy_

HOTEL RITZ, LONDON. _Monday, June 1909_.

My very dear Mary,

Here is the second tome of my first impressions of your country and your compatriots, which I promised to share with you. After the town the country! After one day of the London season, the English country life, the home, the Sunday at home! I have spent what you call a Saturday week-end, or a Sunday over. I will relate you all my adventures, and tell you in all frankness the good and the bad.

The sister of our dear Jackie invited me for the Saturday week-end to her beautiful _chateau_. By misfortune our dear Jackie was prevented from coming himself. He was kept all Sunday at the Foreign Office to help to copy out telegrams! Is it not ignoble to spoil his holiday like that? Jackie, who has so little holiday, and who works so hard in Paris! His sister--perhaps you know her--is Lady Arlington, the wife of Sir Arlington. Their _chateau_ is in Surrey. I had never been presented to her, but she wrote me most amiably and proposed three trains I might take. I chose the first, which arrived at half-past four, and found an auto at the station. After five minutes we arrived at the _chateau_, which is fine, but rather heavy: style, Louis XIV, outside. In the interior, a mixture--Queen Elizabeth, Vandyke, Maple, Modern style, Morris. _Je n’aime pas les mélanges._ But the English comfort always seduces me. The chintzes, the flowers, the nick-nacks, the thousand little nothings! Oh, it is charming! When I arrived I was shown into a large hall, all panelled (the panelling repainted) with some fine pictures (some Vandykes and a Sir Joshua) and some horrors. And a picture of Lady Arlington by a modern French painter; a nightmare like a coloured photograph! There was a large tea table and a buffet all prepared, but neither the master nor the mistress of the house there to receive me. In the corner of the room a pale young man was sitting reading a book. He got up when I entered and looked embarrassed and said nothing. I did not know whether it was Sir Arlington or not. Then he said: “It has stopped raining; I think I will go out.” And he abandoned me to my fate!

I waited five minutes, ten minutes, one quarter of an hour; then Lady Arlington entered. She is not like Jackie at all, but a blonde, very tall, handsome, and striking. She was dressed simply (but not well) in white serge, and I was embarrassed, because they had told me the English were all that is most elegant for Saturday week-ends, and I was very dressed, with a big hat, with a lace veil, and ... (a page of technical details omitted). Lady Arlington was most amiable, and did not seem at all embarrassed at not having been there to receive me. She gave me tea.

Presently other guests entered; they had all been at Ascot Races--some of them staying in this house, others coming in their autos from neighbouring _chateaux_. They were all simply dressed, the men in _tennis_. I felt red with shame to be the only one dressed. Lady Arlington did not present one single person to me. Two pretty young women arrived (one a real Sir Joshua and the other a Greuze), and an older lady--very handsome--who began to talk _politique_. Also a great many men, most of them bald although young; they all sat down and we drank tea. Then the master of the house arrived, a tall man with a beard, _très, très bien_, like a Vandyke. He seemed timid. Lady Arlington said to him: “You know Madame,” and then stopped, as though she had forgotten my name.

We of course talked of dear Jackie at once, but when I said it was a shame to disturb his holiday, Lady Arlington said, “Oh yes,” as though she did not understand. Then a man who had not been presented to me began to talk to me. He is no longer in his first youth, but very beautiful and gentle like a seigneur in a Pinturicchio, and we discussed Sargent’s pictures and art in general. I found him very well-informed, intelligent, and even erudite; he has written a book about _Villon_. Then more people arrived: an old man with a beard, who my “Italian nobleman” whispered to me was Wreathall, the celebrated novelist. He is, between us, a _raseur_, and told stories enough to make one sleep about ghosts in a kitchen. There also arrived two American ladies, one a real American, full of life; the other just like an Englishwoman, and, to speak the truth, one would not have known she was American except by her clothes; she was dressed well, just like a Frenchwoman.

Then came some sportsmen, some clubmen, and a little man with a _pince-nez_. They all talked together about their friends, calling everybody by their little names; for example, Janie, and Letty, and Tommy, and Bobbie, so all that was Greek to me. Soon everybody disappeared into the garden by twos, and I was left alone with Lady Arlington and my “Italian nobleman!” The pale young man who was there when I arrived gave a glance into the hall and went out again. Lady Arlington told me he was a celebrated M.P., and very remarkable. I continued to discuss art and history, in which he was so strong, with my “Italian nobleman,” until at last Lady Arlington said she was sure I would like rest, and she conducted me to my bedroom, a ravishing room furnished with all the English comfort, looking over the superb garden with its admirable lawns.

I was glad to go to my room, so as to have plenty of time to make my toilet, because they had told me the English are so exact. I disembarrass myself of my things and put on a dressing-gown. I lie down, and presently I hear cries from the garden; I look out of the window and I see in the distance they are playing at croquet with great gaiety. I am almost tempted to go downstairs once more, but as I am already undressed I have not the energy; so I remain in my room and read a book, and at half-past seven my maid comes, so that I was ready almost before half-past eight, the dinner hour. When the dinner gong rang, and I left my room to descend, some of the men were only just coming in from the garden. I was the first downstairs.

There was no one in the salon except the little man with the _pince-nez_. He said nothing at all at first, but after five minutes he said he was glad it had stopped raining, and after that not a word. We did not sit down at table until nine. Sir Arlington gave me the arm, and on the other side was an oldish distinguished man with well cut features, _très bien_, with good manners, but so devoted to his neighbouress that he paid no attention to me. She was a beauty, but dressed, it is inconceivable! _Fagotée, ma chère!_ If you could have seen it! It was to cry about! Her dress was made in Paris too, but all put on anyhow.

Sir Arlington is a delicious gentleman, but _distrait_; he cares only for birds and animals, and often undertakes long expeditions for sport in Africa. I asked him who all the people were, and imagine, he had no idea who was the small man with the _pince-nez_, or several of the others. He said: “Those are my wife’s literary friends; they are very nice, but too clever for me.” He is modest, like all the Englishmen. Lady Arlington has, it appears, the mania for _hommes de lettres_ as well as for music, gardening, and a thousand other things, although, between us, she is _une sotte--bête comme une oie et poseuse_! and always making exaggerated exclamations, such as How thrilling! How darling! and always in ecstasy about nothing. I talked with Sir Arlington nearly all dinner, as my other neighbour was so occupied. There was no general conversation, and we were twenty-two at table.

After dinner, according to the British custom, the ladies went into the drawing-room; they broke up into groups, the young women sat on a sofa and two or three others--the Americans also--grouped themselves round them. The others talked _tête-à-tête_. Lady Arlington sat beside me, with another lady who seemed to be very pleased that I was French, and just as we had begun to talk Lady Arlington left us and joined the group by the sofa. The lady who remained with me talked of nothing but Paris and French things, and what a salad! Cafés chantants, Réjane, De Bussy, Fursy, and Maeterlinck, and all _à côté_! The men stayed very late, but came out at last, and then Lady Arlington arranged the Bridge. There were four tables; everybody played except the M.P., who sat down and began reading a book; the novelist, who went to bed; the little man with the _pince-nez_, who I discovered was a celebrated painter; my “Italian nobleman,” and the political lady. She took the M.P. away from his book, and settled herself down in a corner with him for the rest of the evening.

Lady Arlington took my “Italian nobleman” apart and said something to him in a whisper, and I heard him answer: “I have been talking to her the whole afternoon.” Then she went up to the painter and said something to him, and he came and sat down beside me. We talked French literature and theatres; he is intelligent, but twenty years in behind about everything French, and though I was told he was an _homme d’esprit_, I could not understand his allusions nor his pleasantries.

The Bridge went on late; it was already half-past twelve when we went to bed. Lady Arlington asked me if I would have breakfast in my room, but I, who wanted to see a real English breakfast, decided to descend. I was resolved to make no mistake about my clothes, so I came down the next morning at ten in a dress I had got for the _Mont Dore_, a simple jacket and a short skirt. Imagine my astonishment! Everybody was dressed in muslins, as elegant as possible, _grandes toilettes_. Lady Arlington was dressed in white and silver and green and gold, half _décolletée_, with a huge green hat. I am not wicked, you know, but she looked like a great white parrot with her blonde coiffure! It is only English complexions which can support such toilettes in the morning.

After breakfast Lady Arlington and the M.P. went to the church; she said that afterwards she would show me her “Friendship’s Garden,” which I suppose is a garden reserved for her intimate friends. The guests went into the garden and sat under the trees in small groups; nearly every one had a book, and I found that wherever I went I made a desert, a _vide_, and everybody said they must go and write letters. After a time I went in doors, also to write letters, and in every drawing room I found a _tête-à-tête_! I waited for Lady Arlington, but Sir Arlington found me and asked me to take a walk, and he took me to see his stables and the park, which is a dream. I asked about the garden, but he said that was his wife’s, and that he did not occupy himself with it; but he showed me all that was practical and interesting. It was admirable. I came in all out of breath before the lunch, and had just time to go upstairs and change my dress.

This time I thought I would be right, and I put on my most elegant Worth dress. But no! I come downstairs, I find everybody sitting at the lunch, and they have once more changed into short skirts and flannels. It was despairing! There was only one empty place left, between the painter and the M.P. I talked French _politique_ with him; he was amiable, but I could not see what they find remarkable in him.

After lunch the tennis; it was not very hot, and Lady Arlington and some of the other guests went out, and one of the young women (she who was so pretty) quarrelled with one of the other women, and although everybody tried to calm her, she would not listen and went into the house, crying, my dear, crying hot tears, and there she remained for the rest of the afternoon! I did not know what the drama was about. Then everybody disappeared; the “Italian nobleman” (always so well meaning and so modest) proposed to me to look on at the tennis. We sat down on chairs with the painter and the novelist until tea was brought.

At tea another man arrived from London, a lord, I forget his name, middle-aged and very gay; he at once got himself presented to me; we played a new game called croquet-golf until dinner. The others did not seem to appreciate him so much, perhaps he shocked the English reserve; he is full of _en-train_ and the English humour. At dinner Sir Arlington again gave me the arm. After dinner everybody played Bridge once more, but I had the joy to find my friend the new arrival, who talked to me the whole evening and regaled me with his drollery, and made a thousand farces, causing me to die of laughing, simply (imagine how!) by drawing pigs with his eyes shut!

This morning I returned to London, on which I will write you further impressions soon. I adore England, the men are so well informed and full of humour, the women are beautiful, but why do not they learn to put on clothes, and why are they so dressed and yet so untidy? Oh how different you are from us!

Your friend, JEANNE.

A RUSSIAN SAILOR

_Letter from a Russian Sailor to his Brother_

COWES, _July 23 (August 6), 1909_. (St. Trafim’s Day.)

My dear brother Ivan,

I am alive and well, and I hope you are alive and well, and that all the family are thriving, and I beg you to greet my father, my stepmother, my brother Andrew, my sister, little Peter, and all my near ones from me. Please also greet Dimitri Ivanovitch and Paul Borisovitch and Anna Nikolaevna. We arrived yesterday in this country. It belongs to the English, who possess so many countries. Their great Queen is no longer alive, but there is now a King in her place who is a blood relation of our Emperor.

We were sent on shore yesterday to buy provisions. Everything is very cheap, except _vodka_, which costs three roubles a small bottle. But the English drink a _vodka_ of their own which is also very dear, and they drink a kind of beer which we do not care for much. The houses are all built of brick and warmed with coal. Even the working men live in stone houses and heat them with coal. There is no wood anywhere. The houses and the streets are kept clean, and the people, even the gentry, obey the police, and are humble when they are given orders. The English are Christians, and like white men in all respects. They are not heathens. Most of them are rich, and they have many lacqueys who obey their masters like dumb slaves, and dare not look them in the face when they speak to them.

The English food is nasty, and there is little to eat, although all eat meat every day, except the very poor, who seldom receive alms from the passers-by. There are here many beggars in the streets, but nobody gives them food or money. We gave a cripple a quarter of a rouble and he was surprised.

There are many luxurious ships in the harbour all painted white and pretty to look at. At night they are lit up by electricity. The English Fleet is here, too, and it is very big, and the ships are fine, and we were heavy-hearted when we looked at it and thought of our brave sailors who had been obliged to fight like lions for their dear country. But there is no help for it, and if Providence wills we shall one day have another fleet bigger than the first. The tide is strong here, and dangerous for us who do not know where the rocks are, and when we ask nobody can explain, for the English do not speak Russian at all. I only know three things in English: “Plenty whisky,” which means _vodka_; “five o’clock,” which means _shabash_ (all over); and “alright,” which means “I thank you.”

The English sailors are like ours, but they have little to eat or drink. The laws are strict here, and if a man who has taken drink walks about in the streets he is put in prison. If that happened in Russia we should mutiny. Moreover, it is forbidden to smoke almost everywhere. This is strange, as the English smoke a great deal; but they are an obedient people, and clean. They respect their laws.

On shore it is merry. There are many clowns and acrobats dancing and singing, just as though it were a fair. But the English do not know how to sing, and they do not dance at all. Although there is much merrymaking I have not seen one drunken man, so much afraid are they of being put in prison.

The English have a Duma, but an Englishman who speaks Russian told us that it was just like ours, and that they did nothing but talk there. He also told us that the English women had mutinied because so many of them had been put in prison for beating the police, and that they were being starved in the prisons until they should submit. This seems to us cruel, but the English are often not kind to women and animals, and they say the women interfere in what is not their business, just as they do at home.

The English have no army, only mercenaries who are paid money. Some of them are niggers. I asked the man who talked Russian why it was that if men were paid so much to be soldiers every one was not a soldier. He said that soldiers were sent away to foreign climates, and that men did not respect soldiers in England. It is also like that in China. The sailors are much respected and much loved, and they are all Englishmen, and white men, and not mercenaries. They are merry people, too.

The English naval officers are clean shaven, which makes them look very funny, but they are good officers and know their business. The police are dressed in long great-coats and carry no weapons, because the English people are docile and submissive; and they have few hooligans here, although they say that in London there are many hooligans, but these are hanged.

Yesterday we went to Portsmouth, a town, for we could not buy what we wanted in this place, which is only a village, although all the houses are built of stone. Portsmouth is a beautiful town, with many shops, palaces, theatres, and churches, and full of beautiful women who are all married to sailors. It is the custom of the place to obey the sailors in everything, and not to rob them. The English sailors are rich, much richer than some of our generals. They spend their money generously and treat everybody. They would be robbed in Russia, but here everybody lives in terror of the police, and I am told that if a poor man is arrested there is no chance of his not being condemned to prison. They are strict, so they say, in their prisons, and the “unfortunates” are not allowed even to speak to each other or to smoke. Fancy this happening in Russia! If they are very bad they are sent to America! But this only happens to the very bad criminals.

The English are polite to strangers, but uncivil among themselves. They never greet each other, and even the naval officers never shake hands with each other. When I first heard this I did not believe it, as I thought only Turks behaved like that, but it is true, and they do not seem to mind. The gentry live quite apart from the common people, but the common people do not mind, and, indeed, they laugh at them openly, and call them, so I was told, fools to their faces, and abuse them and their mothers openly and without fear of any unpleasantness. All this is because they obey and respect the law, and it’s very well, but we could not live in a country like this, because it would sadden us.

Everything is in order here except the railways. There the disorder is terrible. You buy no ticket for your seat, and you cannot register your luggage. But the guards are strict and never let even a poor man travel without a ticket! That would be a bad business for you, Ivan, who never take a ticket. They tell me it is impossible to make any arrangement with the railway guards because the Government is powerful and they are afraid of being put in prison.

I only travelled a short distance, but it was difficult to get a seat in the train. And if I had had any luggage it would certainly have been stolen, as they will not allow you to take much luggage in the carriage with you. The trains are bad. Their first class is more uncomfortable than our third class, because there is no room to lie down. You can get tea everywhere; but the English do not know how to make tea. It is thick and black and bitter, like soup which has been kept too long. They do not know how to make bread, and there is no black bread. Their white bread is made of starch and is not fit to eat. But since every one eats meat this does not matter.

I cannot write any more. I am glad to have travelled in foreign countries, and this is a clean country and the people are friendly and all right; but I shall be glad to get back to my native land, for which my heart is weary, and to a place where a man can do as he pleases. We always heard much of English freedom, but a man in prison in our country is freer than a man at large here. I send you a dozen postcards which are very beautiful. They did not cost much money.

Please greet my father, my stepmother, my brother, my sister, little Peter, and all who are near to me, as well as Dimitri Ivanovitch and Paul Borisovitch. Please heaven, I shall return home soon. To-day the English King and those who are near to him will pay a visit to his Majesty the Emperor (God bless him!) and his near ones, and they will drink tea together. To-night we shall eat and drink to their health, and if heaven pleases I shall have drink taken. Heaven bless you and all. I am, my dear brother Ivan, your affectionate brother,

BASIL.

CHISWICK PRESS: CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO. TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.

Transcriber’s Notes

Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they were not changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left unbalanced.