A party would leave one house and drive or ride out into the country and come in upon some baronial family which would be hard put to it to accommodate so many--ladies and gentlemen and their valets and maids.

On such occasions they would have to send out and borrow porcelain plates, gla.s.s compote dishes, silverware of every kind. How they managed the cooking for such large dinner-parties is a mystery. On one occasion my Lord Bruce gave a ball in honour of the Queen of England's birthday. There were between one and two hundred people invited. Fifty sat down in the big room of the Redout, twenty in the Green Room. On an earlier occasion the genial Prince of Wurtemberg gave a ball and eighty sat down to a supper costing fifteen louis d'or for each person.

On less formal evenings the guests, after eating their dinner, would go to some other house and have a "veille," where they played such games as "Twelve Questions" or "Commerce" or "Loto" or took part in acting charades.

One season La Generale de Charriere wrote a little play in verse ent.i.tled "L'Oiseau vert"--"The Green Bird." This mythical creature personated Truth, just as Maeterlinck's "Blue Bird" personates Happiness. The Green Bird is consulted by various characters and replies in piquant verse. Mr. Gibbon, who is represented as "un gros homme de tres bonne facon," asks the bird to indicate his country, and the bird replies that, by his gentle and polished mien, he would be taken for a Frenchman; by his knowledge, his energy, his writings and his success, his wit, his philosophy, the depth of his genius, it might be suspected that he was an Englishman; but his real country is that to which his heart had brought him, where he is loved, and they tell him so, and where he must spend his life. Gibbon used to speak of himself as a Swiss--_nous autres Suisses_--until the French Revolution broke out; that scared him.

They also had musicales. Deyverdun liked to play the spinet. One evening the Saxon Comte de Cellemberg, being present at the house of the Saint-Cierges', "sang delicious airs and played the clavecin like a great master." On another occasion Madame de Waalwyck, daughter-in-law to Madame d'Orges, gave a concert at which all the chief musicians of Lausanne, more than twenty in number, took part.

Again, Benjamin Constant de Rebecque, who afterwards won fame by calling Napoleon a Genghis Khan,--he was one of the great men of his day,--made his appearance as a musician, and a Herr Koppen, in the service of the d.u.c.h.esse de Courland, played the flute and made up such horrible faces and grimaces that people could not help laughing.

They also had elaborate picnics on the sh.o.r.es of the lake, or in the glorious forest back of the city. Their favourite place was the grove of Saint-Sulpice. There they would spread a great table under the trees and have chocolate, coffee, good b.u.t.ter, and thick cream at noon. To one of these festivities came the d.u.c.h.ess of Wurtemberg in grand style, in a coach drawn by six horses, and dressed in a taffetas robe and a tremendous hat. The real picnic dinner followed and all had huge appet.i.tes, fostered by the open air. Then appeared in the distance a great boat accompanied by musicians. Young girls, dressed like shepherds, presented baskets of flowers. A touch of distinction was added by the arrival of the bishop. Every one was gay and happy.

Dejardin and his musicians played. They had country dances, allemandes and rondes. It was a pretty sight--the gay equipages and liveries, the pretty girls. The people of Saint-Sulpice cl.u.s.tered around. The rustic touch was communicated by sheep and cows. Merry children were there to take an interest in the festivity. The d.u.c.h.ess sat in an armchair, holding a white parasol over her head. More or less damage was done to the property of the inhabitants, and they made it up by taking a collection which, when counted, amounted to forty crowns. At this same Saint-Sulpice, Napoleon, when First Consul, in 1800 reviewed the army that was to fight later at Marengo.

It must not be supposed, however, that Gibbon's laziness and his dislike of exercise prevented him from working. Delightful invitations could not allure him from his work. Often, as his History neared completion, he had to spend not only the mornings but also the evenings in his library. The fourth volume was completed in June, 1784, the fifth in May, 1786, and the last on June 27, 1787.

The year after the last volume was published his friend Deyverdun, who had been for some time in failing health, pa.s.sed away. He bequeathed to Gibbon for life the furniture in the apartment which he occupied.

There is no known inventory of it, but we know what gave distinction to the grand salon--tapestried armchairs, tall pier-gla.s.s, marble and gilt console table, crystal l.u.s.tres, bronze candelabras, a fine, old clock in carved and gilded black wood, and other luxurious articles.

He left him also the entire and complete use and possession of La Grotte, its dependencies, and the tools and utensils for caring for it. He was to make all repairs and changes necessary and pay his legal heir, Major Georges de Molin de Montagny, the sum of four thousand francs, and an annuity of thirty louis neufs or, if he desired, he might purchase the property for thirty-five thousand francs. Gibbon was in London at the time, superintending the publication of his History; he had to come back to Lausanne and to a quite different existence. He entered into amicable relations with Major de Montagny.

He lent him money and was entirely willing to take La Grotte in accordance with the will. He began to make improvements in the estate and he tells how he had arranged his library, or rather his two libraries--"book-closets," they used to be called--and their antechamber so that he could shut the solid wooden doors of the twenty-seven bookcases in such a way that it seemed like a bookless apartment.

He boasts of his increasing love for Nature:

"The glories of the landscape I have always enjoyed; but Deyverdun has almost given me a taste for minute observation, and I can now dwell with pleasure on the shape and color of the leaves, the various hues of the blossoms, and the successive progress of vegetation. These pleasures are not without cares; and there is a white acacia just under the windows of my library which, in my opinion, was too closely pruned last Autumn, and whose recovery is the daily subject of anxiety and conversation.

"My romantic wishes led sometimes to an idea which was impracticable in England, the possession of an house and garden, which should unite the society of town with the beauties and freedom of the country. This idea is now realized in a degree of perfection to which I never aspired, and if I could convey in words a just picture of my library, apartments, terrace, wilderness, vineyard, with the prospect of land and water terminated by the mountains; and this position at the gate of a populous and lively town where I have some friends and many acquaintances, you would envy or rather applaud the singular propriety of my choice."

He says further on in the same letter:

"The habits of female conversation have sometimes tempted me to acquire the piece of furniture, a wife, and could I unite in a single woman, the virtues and accomplishments of half a dozen of my acquaintance, I would instantly pay my addresses to the Constellations."

The requirements were that one should be as a mistress; the second, a lively entertaining acquaintance; the third, a sincere good-natured friend; the fourth should preside with grace and dignity at the head of his table and family; the fifth, an excellent economist and housekeeper; the sixth, a very useful nurse!

It was suggested to him by Madame Necker that he might do well to marry, though she a.s.sured him, with, perhaps a bit of malice, that to marry happily one must marry young. He thus expressed himself regarding the state of celibacy:--

"I am not in love with any of the hyaenas of Lausanne, though there are some who keep their claws tolerably well pared. Sometimes, in a solitary mood, I have fancied myself married to one or another of those whose society and conversation are the most pleasing to me; but when I have painted in my fancy all the probable consequences of such a union, I have started from my dream, rejoiced in my escape, and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed a thanksgiving that I was still in possession of my natural freedom."

Perhaps it was fortunate that Gibbon did not marry Suzanne; we might not have had the History of Rome; we should not have had Madame de Stael!

CHAPTER VI

AROUND THE LAKE LEMAN

It was a cozy and restful day and pleasant indoors, sheltered from the driving rain. I had a fine romp with the children in the nursery. I was delighted to find that the oldest, Lawrence,--a fine, manly little chap with big brown eyes--was fond of music and was already manifesting considerable talent. The twin girls, Ethel and Barbara, were as similar as two green peas; they were quick-witted enough to see that I could hardly tell them apart and they enjoyed playing little jokes on me. Toward the end of the afternoon, becoming restless from being so long indoors, I proposed taking a walk. Lawrence wanted to go with us, and his mother dressed him appropriately, and he and his father and I sallied out together.

We had hardly reached the big bridge when Will uttered some words which I could not understand. "What is that?" I asked.

"It is a weather proverb in the local dialect."

"Please repeat it slowly."

He did so: "Leis niollez van d'avau devetion lo selau."

"Give it up," I said.

"It means: 'When the clouds fly down the lake and give a glimpse of the sun, it is a sign of fair weather.' The wind has changed."

He had hardly uttered this prophecy when there was a break in the west and a gleam of sunlight flitted across the upper part of the town, though down below all was still smothered in grey mist.

"It is surely going to be pleasant to-morrow, and I think we had better arrange to make a tour of the lake. We can go either by the automobile or on the water by motor-boat. We can do it by the car in a day; but if we go by boat we might have to be gone a couple of days or even longer. A storm like this is likely to be followed by a spell of fair weather."

"I should vote for the boat," said I.

The next morning was perfectly cloudless. The air was deliciously bracing and everything was propitious for our trip. We had an early breakfast. Emile was waiting to take us down to the quai at Ouchy. A graceful--and from its lines evidently swift-running--motor-boat was moored alongside the Place de la Navigation. The chauffeur drove off to leave the car at a convenient garage and, while we were making ourselves at home on the boat, he came hurrying back to take charge of the engine. This paragon was equally apt on sea and on land. We were soon off and darting out into the lake which in the early morning, when no wind had as yet arisen, lay like a mirror. Looking back, we had the steep slope of the Jorat clearly outlined; the city of Lausanne clinging to its sides, and the cathedral perched on its height and dominating all with its majestic dignity. Gleaming among the trees could be seen dozens of attractive villas--"the white houses," as Dumas cleverly said, resembling "a flock of swans drying themselves in the sun." Many of these would be worthy a whole chapter of history and romance, the former "n.o.ble" possessors having connected themselves with literary, educational, or military events in all parts of Europe. But, seen from the lake, they were like the details of a magnificent panoramic picture.

As a wild duck flies, the distance from Ouchy to Vevey is only about twelve miles across the blue water; but we hugged the sh.o.r.e, so as to get the nearest possible views. Emile was an admirable cicerone and pointed out to us many interesting places. As we came abreast the valley of the Paudeze we could see some of the eleven arches of the viaduct of La Conversion.

"You see that hill just to the East of the city," said Will. "That is Pierra-Portay. There, in 1826, some vintagers found several tombs made of calcareous stone and they were quite rich in objects of the stone age--hatchets and weapons and other things, besides skeletons. All along the sh.o.r.es of the lake similar discoveries were made. The people didn't know much about such things then, and many were opened carelessly and the relics were often scattered and lost. I think in 1835 about a hundred were opened. In one of them, covered with a flat stone, there were articles from the bronze age--spiral bracelets, bronze hatchets, bra.s.s plaques ornamented with engraved designs.

Probably when they were made the lake was much higher. There are traditions that the water once bathed the base of the mountains, and that there were rings, to fasten boats to, on Saint Triphon, which must then have been an island. Almost every town along the sh.o.r.e has its prehistoric foundation. The name of the forest beyond Lausanne,--you can see it from here,--Sauvabelin, which means _sylva Bellini_, suggests Druidical rites and about thirty tombs were found there with interesting remains. And just above the Mont de Lutry, above the viaduct--where you see those arches--a huge old oak-tree was struck by lightning and overturned; in its roots were a number of deep bowls, cups and earthen plates bearing the name of Vindonissa, which was an important Roman settlement, and also fragments of knives and other copper utensils, probably used for sacrifices, perhaps hidden there by some Druid priest."

It was a queer notion to spring this recondite subject when we were flying along the crystalline waters of the lake and new splendours of scenery were every second bursting into view. I did not even care very much to know the names of the mult.i.tudinous mountains that seemed to be holding a convention on the horizon, though Emile told us that those were the Rochers de Verraux, those the Rochers de Naye, and others various Teeth--La Dent de Jaman, La Dent de Morcles, La Dent du Midi. I did learn to distinguish the latter, and also Le Grand Muveran, and especially La Tour d'A, where I knew that a wonderful echo--_un echo railleur_--has her habitat and mocks whatever sounds are flung in her direction.

Perfectly beautiful also stood out the peak of what the Western "Cookie" called "the grand Combine"--like the pyramid of Cheops beatified and changed into sugar. As we expected to stop at the Castle of Chillon I had brought with me an amusing "Guide" to that historic shrine and I discovered in it a description of La Dent du Midi. It says:--

"What a magnificent object that Dent du Midi is, if we regard it, standing out so clearly from its base to its summit, rising so boldly and by endless degrees from the depth of the valley up to the gigantic wall, the strata of which are intersected by narrow pa.s.ses, where the snow lodges and gives birth to the glaciers, the largest of which are spread out like a streak of silver as far down as the pasture-fields.

In its central and unique position, the Dent du Midi, with its seven irregular peaks, crowns and worthily completes the picture."

Then the author goes off into poetry:--

"Dost thou know it, the dull blue wave Which bathes the ancient Wall of Chillon?

Hast seen the grand shadow of the rocks of Arvel Reflected in that azure sea?

Knowest thou Naye and its steep crest And the toothed ridge of Jaman?

Hast thou seen them, tell me, hast thou seen them?

Come here to these scenes and never leave them!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: LA DENT DU MIDI FROM MONTREUX.]

I suppose it is really one's duty to know the names of the mountains, just as one must know the botanical names of flowers. Nevertheless, only within comparatively few years have distinctive names been actually fastened to special mountains. The names, foreign to English, when translated into English are often to the last degree ba.n.a.l. A typical example is the Greek headland with its high-sounding appellation, Kunoskephale, which means merely Dog's Head; and those that first gave the Alps a generic name could not devise anything better than a word which means "White." What would not the imaginative American Indians have called Mont Blanc! Very probably the Keltic inhabitants of these regions, with their poetic nature, would have named it something better than just "White Mountain!" The Romans might have the practical ability to build roads over the hills, but they could not name them!

Juste Olivier, however, goes into ecstasies over the names of some of the Swiss mountains. He says:--

"What more charming, more fresh and morning-like than the name of the Blumlisalp? What more gloomy than that of the Wetterhorn, more solid than that of the Stockhorn, more incomparable than that of the Jungfrau, more aerial and whiter than that of the t.i.tlis, more superb and high sounding than that of the Kamor, more sparkling and vivid than that of the Silberhorn, more terrible than that of the Finsteraarhorn which falls and echoes like an avalanche!"

He is still more enthusiastic over the Alps of Vaud:--Moleson with its round and abundant ma.s.s so frequently sung by the shepherds of Gruyeres, the slender, white, graceful forms of La Dent de Lis and Le Rubli. And he finds in the mult.i.tude of names ending in _az_--Dorannaz, Javernaz, Oeusannaz, Bovannaz--something peculiarly alpestrine and bucolic, as if one heard in them the horn-notes blown by the herdsmen, and their long cadenzas with the echoes from the mountain walls; and the solemn lowing of the cows as they crop the flowery gra.s.s and shake the big copper bells fastened to their necks.

There is an endless study in names of places as well as in names of people. Often centuries of history may be detected in a single word.