Part 5

In the evening to the opera. Walk out between the acts, seeing Spaniards also walking out, and enter a café. Order coffee. Waiter brings a huge glass of water, and a cup, filled to the brim with sugar, on which the _verseur_ is about to pour my drink. Stop him. Explain in French that I take no sugar. The two, and another waiter, stand round me, with dazed faces. By Jove, they speak only Spanish! Wish I had the conversation-book. But should probably have found something like "_Nous ne voulons pas faire une excursion en mer, parce qu'il fait trop de vent_," or "_Ces bottines sont un peu étroites, veuillez les élargir_." No good trying talking. Turn out eight or ten lumps of sugar, and so get my coffee. Then return to the opera. Four polite officials at the entrance gaze wonderingly at the counterfoil of my ticket, which I concluded served for readmission, no pass ticket being offered. Ask each one, in turn, if he speaks French. He does not. Oh for the conversation-book! If only I could say "_Tous les tableaux dans le Salon Carré du Louvre sont des chefs-d'[oe]uvre_," or "_Est-ce que mademoiselle votre s[oe]ur joue du piano?_" I should have shown myself to be an individual with innocent and refined tastes, and not a socialist or a brigand. The second phrase would have been singularly appropriate in the opera house. Alas, I cannot! So address them in French, with bows and smiles. And they respond in Spanish, evidently with great courtesy, also with bows and smiles, and let me pass in, probably because they cannot make me understand that I ought to stop out. For the future I must carry that conversation-book everywhere.

THE TOURIST'S BOOK OF FATE

IF YOU DREAM OF IT MEANS

_Antwerp_ That you will be bored to death by Rubens.

_Boulogne_ That you will lose a small fortune in tenth-rate gambling.

_Calais_ That you will soon tire of your Continental trip, and stop prematurely.

_Dieppe_ That you will have about as much change and comfort as at Brighton in November.

_Etretat_ That you will be fortunate if you can secure comfortable lodgings.

_Florence_ That you will never enter another picture-gallery for years.

_Geneva_ That you will want to go away before you have fairly arrived.

_Heidelberg_ That you can never have been abroad before.

_Interlaken_ That you will hear the opinions of a number of Mr. Cook's tourists on the Jungfrau.

_Jerusalem_ That if you have been advised to go there by your friends, you must be very unpopular.

_Karlsbad_ That if you intend taking the waters, you had better insure your life before commencing the operation.

_Lucerne_ That if you want to ascend either the Righi or Mont Pilatus, if you are judicious you will purchase a railway ticket.

_Milan_ That you will find little difference between the Passage Victor Emanuel and the Burlington Arcade.

_Naples_ That you had better keep a sharp look out on the returns of the cholera.

_Ouchy_ That you are likely to have a good time of it at the Hôtel Beau Rivage if "Perambulating Parsons" have let it alone.

_Paris_ That you are quite subservient to the wishes and dress-requirements of your wife.

_Quebec_ That you can see what some of the Colonists have exchanged for the indiscriminating hospitality of the Mother Country.

_Rome_ That you wish to do a good turn to the doctors by choosing such a time for your visit.

_Sedan_ That you will develop a taste for the collection of Brummagem relics.

_Turin_ That you will want a good rest after doing Mont Cénis.

_Unter den_ That you will be lured to visit a City _Linden_ well worth seeing by the unearned fame of one of its smallest attractions.

_Vevey_ That you had better stay there than go over the Simplon into tourist-teeming Italy.

_Wiesbaden_ That if you can't get "Trente et Quarante" or "Rouge et Noir" at the Kursaal, you may yet play at chess.

_Zurich_ That by the date you get there it will be time to think of coming home again.

REGRETS _EN ROUTE_

(_By our Blasé Contributor_)

That I missed so many chances of doing something more or less novel on the continent.

That I did not try a cup of coffee on Dover Pier _before_ starting for Calais.

That I avoided the smoke-room when the steamboat passed through a choppy sea mid-Channel.

That I did not "declare" something to the _douane_, to see what would come of it.

That I did not stay a day at St. Pol, and then take the slow train to Boulogne, stopping an hour or so at each of the interim stations.

That I did not go to a third-rate hotel on the wrong side of the Seine to find out what it was like.

That I didn't do the Bois de Boulogne in a fog.

That I left Paris without seeing Père-la-Chaise in a Scotch mist.

That I did not ride a horse in Venice.

That I neglected to spend a couple of days in the Catacombs in Rome.

That I refused to picnic on the top of the Tower of Pisa under an umbrella.

That I neglected to return to Marseilles by a cargo-boat.

That I followed no system at Monte Carlo.

That I went out in summer clothing at Nice.

That I took the train up the Rhine instead of one of the lumbering steam-boats.

That I overslept myself at the summit of the Rigi, instead of catching cold under a blanket.

That I followed the system of Mark Tapley without attempting cheerfulness.

Finally, that when I was in Japan, I did not save myself further boredom by personally patronising "the happy despatch."

* * *

MEMS FOR TRAVELLERS ON THE CONTINENT.

--First-class abroad is patronised by princes, millionaires, fools, _and_ wise men.

A sight-seeing trip would be far pleasanter without the sight-seeing.

* * *

ENGLISH AS SHE IS WRITTEN AT ZERMATT.--

On the back of the business card of a Zermatt shoemaker is the following notice:--

"PAY ATTENTION TO THIS Visitors are kindly invited to brought your boots self to the schoemaker, then they are frequently nagled by the Portier and that is very dammageable for boots and kosts the same price."

HOLIDAY HINTS

(_By the Expert Wrinkler_)

Where to spend Saturday to Monday is, of course, the prevailing and stubborn problem in many of the stately homes of England. What then must be the difficulty when the question to be answered is where to spend the Easter holidays? The reply depends, of course, very much upon the time that can be expended upon the vacation. If, to take an example, a gentleman has only a week at his disposal, it is little use his thinking very seriously of India or the Cape; but Paris is, of course, well within his power. Given a fortnight he might get as far as Rome if he wished to, although for my part I prefer Monte. On this favourite resort, however, I need not dwell at present, as my readers will remember a paragraph on Monte and suitable costume there which I wrote some two or three years ago on the occasion of one of the infrequent breakings of the bank.

THE IDEAL EQUIPMENT

Any gentleman who really wishes to acquire a reputation as a citizen of the world must be supplied with a large number of travelling outfits which he can pack at a moment's notice. A compendious bag fitted with requirements for the moors is always handy under my bed; and I am ready to start for the Riviera, the Normandy coast, Paris, Switzerland, the Bavarian Alps, the Rhine, Norway, Palestine, Iceland, at ten minutes' notice, according as the invitation may be worded. No gentleman at all in demand can afford to dispense with such preparations. But to make travel really pleasant, remember that you must not only do in Rome as Rome does, but you must dress as Rome (or Paris) expects you to.

THE NEEDS OF PARIS

Paris being the favourite Easter resort, I cannot do better, even at the risk of repeating myself, than give a few hints as to costume in the gay city. A strong light suit of tweed dittoes, of a pronounced check pattern, should be the basis of one's wardrobe. By way of headgear a deer-stalker, a cloth, or best of all, a pith helmet, is _de rigueur_ in the English visitor, and if you are not provided by Nature with side-whiskers and long projecting front teeth, you must call in the resources of art to make good these deficiencies.

A SENSIBLE SWISS OUTFIT

For a Swiss tour I should recommend the following outfit, A dome-shaped celluloid hat for resisting the impact of avalanches; two climbing suits of stout Welsh homespun or Irish frieze (do not make the mistake of wounding the susceptibilities of the local _fauna_ by choosing chamois leather, otherwise an excellent substance); hot-water tube puttees and purpoise-hide brogues. A good supply of alpenstocks and blue veils is indispensable. For hotel life, I recommend tourists to take their own mosquito curtains, a pianola, and a portable swimming-bath. The changes of temperature in Switzerland are so sudden that one must be prepared for every emergency. If the noontide glare has to be faced, bombazine bloomers will be found most refreshing. But if the Matterhorn is to be scaled by moonlight you cannot be too warmly clad.

NATIONAL COSTUME

What I would impress on any intending traveller, then, is to be prepared within certain limits to accommodate his dress to that of the country he proposes to visit. It is quite a mistake to suppose that this will involve any serious outlay. Foreigners, though sensitive, are considerate, and will not expect strangers to adopt every detail of their national costume. For instance, I have found that the alterations needful for a visit to Vienna are very few indeed. The absolute minimum is a butterfly tie, but I should also recommend a bottle of _pommade Hongroise_ and a tall hat with a flat brim. The ordinary brim can be made to lie flat with a little coaxing, and can be curled up afterwards by any good hatter. High heels also create a favourable impression on the foreign mind, and if you take a black coat be sure that it is heavily braided.

THE TYROL AND ITALY.

I knew a man who said that you would be welcomed anywhere in the Tyrol if you could only jodel. Personally, though I think that a little _tul-lul-liety!_ may be a passport to the affections of the Tyrolese peasant, it has no influence whatever with hotel-keepers. For Italy, a velvet or velveteen coat will make you feel at home, and if this should prove beyond the resources of your purse, then I strongly recommend earrings as the irreducible minimum. The preliminary operation, I admit, is a little painful, but it soon passes off. Earrings, with a red Garibaldi shirt and a Byron tie, give a man a very stylish and thoroughly peninsular appearance.

* * *

WHAT THEY TAKE ABROAD.--_What She takes._--Three black silk dresses (Princesse, Watteau, and Duchesse); one green satin robe, with bows; one fancy silk, with embroidered apron; two black grenadines (one square cut); two white grenadines, with lace trimmings; four white tops (two warranted to wash); one violet skirt, with apron and jacket; four dinner dresses (violet, pink, pink and black, and blue); three polonaises (yellow, green, and red); one white worked top, with cardinal bows; two sealskin, one black silk, and three black cloth jackets; long fur cloak, ulster, and grey travelling polonaise; four hats (Gainsborough, brigand, shovel, and pork-pie); four bonnets (black, blue, violet, and red); linen (14 cwt.); boots, slippers, &c. (1 cwt.); extras, toilet, &c. (76 lb.).

_What He takes._--Linen (10 lb.); two flannel shirts; an extra pair of boots; his sponge, combs, and brushes; and a wideawake hat.

WHERE TO GO

_Antwerp_--if you are not tired of Exhibitions.

_Boulogne_--if you don't mind the mud of the port.

_Cologne_--if you are not particular about the comfort of your nose.

_Dieppe_--if you like bathing in the foreign fashion.

_Etretat_--if solitude has commanding charms.

_Florence_--if you are partial to 100° in the shade.

_Genoa_--if you have no objection to mosquitoes.

_Heidelberg_--if you are not tired of the everlasting castle.

_Interlaken_--if the Jungfrau has the advantage of novelty.

_Java_--if you wish to eat its jelly on the spot.

_Kandahar_--if you are not afraid of Afghan treachery.

_Lyons_--if you are fond of riots and _émeutes_.

_Marseilles_--if you are determined to do the Château D'If.

_Naples_--if you are anxious to perform an _ante mortem_ duty.

_Ouchy_--if you like it better than Lausanne.

_Paris_--if you have not been there for at least a fortnight.

_Quebec_--if you are qualifying for admission to a lunatic asylum.

_Rome_--if you have never had the local fever and want to try it.

_Strasbourg_--if you are hard up for an appropriate destination.

_Turin_--if it is the only town you have not seen in Italy.

_Uig_--if you affect the Isle of Skye in a thunderstorm.

_Venice_--if you scorn stings and evil odours.

_Wiesbaden_--if you can enjoy scenery minus gambling.

_Yokohama_--if you are willing to risk assault and battery.

_Zurich_--if you can think of no other place to visit.

N.B.--The above places are where to go on the keep-moving-tourist plan. But when you want to know "Where to stay,"--we reply, "At Home."

THE REAL SWISS BOY

A NEW VERSION OF THE WELL-KNOWN BALLAD

(_Respectfully dedicated by Mr. Punch to the Alpine Tourist, on his return home_)

MR. PUNCH _singeth to Swiss Landlord_--

Come, carouse thee, carouse thee, my knowing Swiss boy, Sack thy gains, and from labour away. Stick the tongue in the cheek, and sing "_La République_ (Like _l'Empire_, as we know) _c'est la paye!_" The season's done, with purses low, The weary tourists homeward flow-- Then carouse thee, carouse thee, my knowing Swiss boy, Sack thy gains, and from labour away!

_Swiss Landlord respondeth_--

Am not I, am not I, say, a merry Swiss boy, When I hie from the mountain away? _Les Milords_ they may climb, without reason or rhyme, But, _beigott_, for their climb they shall pay. My shutters up, no thieves to fear, Till back the tourists come next year, Then will I, then will I, as the merry Swiss boy, Take purses upon the highway!

By the nose, by the nose, sir, the knowing Swiss boy The _Milords_ and _Miladis_ can lead; Through the nose, through the nose, too, the knowing Swiss boy The _Milords_ and _Miladis_ can bleed: Hotels so high high charges grow; _Point d argent, point de Suisse_, you know. So with _Vivent les Anglais!_ locks the merry Swiss boy The francs in his strong-box away!

* * *

VENICE UNPRESERVED

[_"Steamers have been started on the Grand Canal at Venice."--Globe._]

I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on each hand. I saw from out the wave black funnels rise Whence clouds of densest smoke I saw expand, And common steamboats, at a penny a mile, O'er the canal--saw many a person land Upon the piers. O Anguish! it does rile The Bard to see all this--and what a smell of ile!

* * *

THE MERRY SWISS LANDLORD TO THE TRAVELLER WHO HAS BEEN PLUNDERED

Briton, assuage this futile rage! Your curses are in vain. You vow you'll go, but well I know You'll cut to come again!

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

There is no doubt that one's first impressions are always the brightest and the best; therefore I resolve to record the first impressions of a first visit to the Italian lakes.

"_British Bellagio_,"--

"Hôtel Victoria, Prince de Galles et des Iles Britanniques," or some such name, is usually, as _Baedeke_r says, "frequented by the English." They are here certainly, and one hears one's native language everywhere. There are the honeymoon couples, silent and reserved, who glare fiercely at anyone who might be supposed to imagine for a moment that they are newly married; there are people who converse in low monotonous voices about the weather, which changes every hour; there is an old lady, who gives one startling information, telling one, for instance, that Paul Veronese was born at Verona; and there are two or three British menservants, gazing with superb disdain at the poor foreigners. The hotel is very quiet. The evening of a week-day is like Sunday evening, and Sunday evening is----!!! If only the weather were not also English, or even worse. On the last day of September the only warm place is by the fire in the _fumoir_. So let us hurry off from this wintry climate to somewhere, to anywhere. By the first boat we go.

Still English everywhere. At Bellagio a great crowd, and heaps of luggage. At Cadenabbia a greater crowd, and more heaps of luggage. Here they come, struggling along the gangway in the wind. There is a sad-faced Englishman, his hands full of packages, his pockets stuffed with others, carrying under his arm a little old picture wrapped loosely in pink tissue paper, which the wind blows here and there. He is a forgetful man, for he wanders to and fro collecting his possessions. With him is another forgetful Englishman in very shabby clothes, who also carries packages in paper, and who drags after him an immensely fat bull-dog at the end of a cord five yards long, which winds round posts and human legs and other obstacles. At last they are all on board--the forgetful Englishmen have darted back for the last time to fetch in an ice-axe and an old umbrella--and on we go over the grey water, past the grey hills, under the grey sky, towards Como. At Cernobbio the shabby Englishman lands, dragging his bull-dog at the end of the cord, and carrying in his arms two rolls of rugs, a bag, and other trifles. His sad-faced companion, still holding his tiny Old Master in the ever-diminishing pink paper, wanders in and out seeking forgotten treasures, an ice-axe, a bag, another paper parcel. Finally all are landed, the gangway is withdrawn, the steamer begins to move. Suddenly there is a shout. The shabby Englishman has forgotten something. The sympathetic passengers look round. There is a solitary umbrella on a seat No doubt that is his. A friendly stranger cries, "Is this yours?" and tosses it to him on the quay. Then there is another shout. "_Ach Himmel_, dat is mine!" The frantic German waves his arms, the umbrella is tossed back, he catches it and is happy. But meanwhile another English man, the most egregious ass that ever lived, has discovered yet another solitary umbrella, which he casts wildly into space. For one moment the captain, the passengers, the people on the quay, gaze breathless as it whirls through the air. It falls just short of the landing-stage, and sinks into the grey waters of that chilly lake, never more to be recovered, in any sense of the word. In those immeasurable depths its neat silk covering will decay, its slender frame will fall to pieces. It has gone for ever. Beneath this grey Italian sky some Italian gamp must keep off these Italian showers. Then the captain, the passengers, and the people smile and laugh. I, who write this, am the only one on whose face there is not a grin, for that umbrella was mine.

A FIRST IMPRESSIONIST.

* * *

THE BELFRY OF BRUGES OVERLOOKED

["A more silent city than Bruges does not exist."--_Standard._]

WHAT? Bruges a silent city! Now, nay a thousand times! If deaf, accept our pity; If not,--oh dear! those chimes!

A VIEW ON THE FRENCH COAST

TALK about lazy time!-- Come to this sunny clime-- Life is flowing rhyme-- Pleasant its cadence Zephyrs are blowing free Over the summer sea, Sprinkling deliciously Merry Mermaidens!

Despite the torrid heat, Toilettes are quite complete; White are the little feet, Fair are the tresses: Maidens here swim or sink, Clad in blue serge--I think Some are in mauve or pink-- Gay are the dresses!

If you know Etretât, You'll know _M'sieu là_-- Oh, such a strong papa!-- Ever out boating. You'll know his babies too, Toto and Lolalou, All the long morning through Diving and floating.