“Susanna said to me: ‘I have some inclination for you, but I don’t know you well enough. If you feel the same way, come with me. Let us travel together? I am with her, and nevertheless I am convinced that what I am doing is a piece of stupidity.

“We spent this Sunday morning in the train. In the country we saw men at work with great oxen that had long twisted horns. In a swampy field some labourers were draining the ground with great effort. From the train we saw the island of Elba, and Capraia, and the sea as blue as indigo.

“‘Mare nostro,’’ said an elegant gentleman in a fluty voice, and pointed out something on the horizon which he said was Corsica, and he said that it can be seen from far away.

“While all we useless, unoccupied persons gathered in the dining-car, the people in the fields kept on working, bent over in the mud, draining the marshes.

“‘What a lot of effort those poor devils have to make to keep us alive.’ I said.

“‘We are not kept alive by them,’ retorted Susanna.

“‘No, we live off of other slaves, who work for us,’ I answered her. ‘Those out there serve to feed the officers, the effeminate priestlings, all the people that take part in the theatrical performance of the Vatican. Those unfortunates help to uphold the eight basilicas and the three hundred odd churches of Rome.’

“Susanna shrugged her shoulders and smiled.”

CLOSE TO

“Travelling with a woman one does not love, no matter how very pretty she is, produces a series of disenchantments. It seems as if one kept seeking defects and analysing them under the microscope. During these days that I have been accompanying Susanna, I have discovered a lot of physical and moral imperfections in her. There are moments in which she cannot conceal an egoism and brutality which are truly disagreeable; and besides, she is tyrannical, vain, and tries always to have her own way.

“We have been at Siena, which is a kind of Toledo, made up of narrow lanes. It was very hot. We were bored, especially she who has no artistic feeling.

“We have spent two days in Florence, a night in Bologna, another night at Milan, and after vacillating as to whether it would be better to go to Lake Como or to Switzerland, we have come to Geneva to spend a few days.

“Travelling like this in limited trains, one finds travelling more insipid than in any other fashion. All the sleeping-cars are alike, all the people alike, all the hotels alike. Really it is Stupid.

“It is still more stupid travelling with a woman who attracts attention wherever she goes. She attracts attention, that is all; she doesn’t awaken any liking. She cannot comprehend why, being a beautiful and distinguished woman, she has nobody who cares for her disinterestedly. She notices that all the smart young men who aim for her are simply coming to the beautiful rich woman.

“And she thinks they ought to be in ecstasies over her wit and over the repertory of ready-made phrases she keeps for conversation.”

A TIRESOME HOTEL.

“In this immense, luxurious hotel, situated two thousand odd metres above sea-level, as the announcement-cards stuck everywhere say, more than a hundred of us gather in the dining-room at lunch-time. The greatest coolness, the most frozen composure reigns among us.

“It is obvious that, thus harboured and united by chance in this hotel, we disturb one another; a wall of prejudices and conventionalities separates us. The English old maids read their romantic novels; the German families talk among themselves; some Russian or other drinks champagne while he stares with vague and inexpressive eyes; and some swarthy man from a sultry country appears to be crushed by the lugubrious silence.

“Through the windows one can see Lake Leman, closed in near here by mountains, blue like a great turquoise, ploughed by white, triangular sails. From time to time one hears the strident noise of a steamboat’s siren and the murmur of the funicular train.”

A MODEST FAMILY

“To this ostentatious hotel a family of modest air came two days ago. It was a family made up of five persons; two ladies, one of them plain, thin, spectacled, the other plumper and short; a merry girl, smiling and rosy, and a melancholy little girl, with a waxen face. They were accompanied by a man with a distinguished, weary manner.

“They are all in mourning. They are English; they treat one another with an attractive affability. The short lady, mother of the two girls, was pressing the man’s hand and caressing it, during lunch the first day. He kept smiling in a gentle, tired way. No doubt he was unable to stay here long, for he did not appear that evening, and the four females were alone in the dining-room.

“The two ladies and the fresh, blooming girl are much preoccupied about the pale little girl, so much so that they do not notice the interest they arouse among the guests. All the old ‘misses,’ loaded with jewels, watch the family in mourning, as if they were wondering: ‘How come they here, if their position is not so good as ours? How dare they mix among us, not being in our class?’

“And it is a fact; they cannot be; there is something that shows that this family is not rich. Besides, and this is extraordinary enough, it seems that they haven’t come here to look down on others, or to give themselves airs, but to take walks and to look at the immaculate peaks of Mont Blanc. So one sees the two girls going out into the country without making an elaborate toilet, carrying a book or an orange in their hands, and coming back with bunches of flowers....”

TRAGEDY IN A HOTEL ROOM

“This morning at lunch only one of the ladies appeared in the dining-room.

“‘Perhaps the others have gone off on some picnic,’ thought I.

“In the evening at dinner, the tall woman with the glasses and the larger of the two girls were at table. They didn’t eat, and disquietude was painted on their faces; the girl had flushed cheeks and swollen eyes.

“‘What can be happening to them?’ I asked myself.

“At that juncture, in came the short lady, with two vials of medicine in her hand, and put them on the table. By what I could hear of the conversation, she had just come from Lausanne, where she had gone for the doctor. The melancholy little girl, the one with the waxen face, must be ill.

“No doubt the family have come to Switzerland for the sake of the child, who is probably delicate, and have made a sacrifice to do so. That explains their modest air, and the rapid departure of the man who brought them.

“The three women gazed sadly at one another. What can the poor child have? I remember nothing about her, except her hair parted in the middle, and the pallid colour of her bloodless skin, and nevertheless it makes me sad to think that she is sick.

“I should like to offer myself to these women at this crisis; I should like to say to them: ‘I am a humble person, without money; but if I could be useful to you in any way, I would do it with all my heart; and that is more than I would do for this gang covered with brilliants.’

“The German who eats at the next table to the family understands what is happening, and he leaves off eating to look at them, and then looks at me with his blue eyes. At last he shrugs his shoulders, lowers his head, and empties a glass of wine at one gulp.

“The three women rise and go to their rooms. One hears them coming and going in the corridor; then a waiter takes their dinner upstairs.

“And while the family are desolate up there, down here in the ‘hall’ the ‘misses’ keep on looking at one another contemptuously, exhibiting rings that sparkle on their fingers, and which would keep hundreds of people alive; and while they are weeping upstairs, down here a blond Yankee woman, with a large blue hat, a friend of Susanna’s, who flirts with a youth from Chicago, is laughing heartily, showing a set of white teeth in which there shines a chip of gold.”

SUSANNA DOES NOT UNDERSTAND

“I have spoken to Susanna about the poor English girl, who, they say, is dying; and she has bidden me not to tell her sad things. She cannot bear other people’s suffering. She says she is more sensitive than others. How very comical!

“This fine lady, who thinks herself so witty and so sensitive, has an inner skin like a hippopotamus; she is covered with a magnificent egoism, which must be at least of galvanized steel. Her armour protects her against the action of other people’s miseries and pains.

“This woman, so beautiful, is of a grotesque egotism; one understands her husband’s despising her.

“I am leaving her with her millions and going away to Spain.”