Lady Mary Wortley Montagu was a prominent English – Oh, c’mon, it’s the awesome Lady Montagu! Writer, poet, traveler, free spirit, smallpox inoculation advocate. I was skimming through her book Letters Of The Right Honourable Lady M–Y W—Y M—-E: Written During Her Travels In Europe, Asia And Africa on an antique books website when the words “Turkish” and “hot baths” leaped off the screen.
Yeah, I’m going there in this post.
I couldn’t find many images of women by Turkish artists from the 1700s. So, I’ve used some stunning paintings by Swiss painter Jean-Étienne Liotard, who was enamored of Turkey. He painted this post’s feature image of Lady Montagu in Turkish attire.
Adrianople, April 1. O. S. 1717.
I am now got into a new world, where everything I see appears to me a change of scene; and I write to your ladyship with some content of mind, hoping, at least, that you will find the charms of novelty in my letters, and no longer reproach me, that I tell you nothing extraordinary. I won’t trouble you with a relation of our tedious journey; but must not omit what I saw remarkable at Sophia, one of the most beautiful towns in the Turkish empire, and famous for its hot baths, that are resorted to both for diversion and health. I stopped here one day, on purpose to see them; and, designing to go incognito, I hired a Turkish coach. These voitures are not at all like ours, but much more convenient for the country, the heat being so great, that glasses would be very troublesome. They are made a good deal in the manner of the Dutch stage-coaches, having wooden lattices painted and gilded; the inside being also painted with baskets and nosegays of flowers, intermixed commonly with little poetical mottos. They are covered all over with scarlet cloth, lined with silk, and very often richly embroidered and fringed. This covering entirely hides the persons in them, but may be thrown back at pleasure, and thus permits the ladies to peep through the lattices. They hold four people very conveniently, seated on cushions, but not raised.
In one of these covered waggons, I went to the bagnio about ten o’clock. It was already full of women. It is built of stone, in the shape of a dome, with no windows but in the roof, which gives light enough. There were five of these domes joined together, the outmost being less than the rest, and serving only as a hall, where the portress stood at the door. Ladies of quality generally give this woman a crown or ten shillings; and I did not forget that ceremony. The next room is a very large one paved with marble, and all round it are two raised sofas of marble, one above another. There were four fountains of cold water in this room, falling first into marble basons, and then running on the floor in little channels made for that purpose, which carried the streams into the next room, something less than this, with the same sort of marble sofas, but so hot with steams of sulphur proceeding from the baths joining to it, ’twas impossible to stay there with one’s cloaths on. The two other domes were the hot baths, one of which had cocks of cold water turning into it, to temper it to what degree of warmth the bathers pleased to have.
I was in my travelling habit, which is a riding dress, and certainly appeared very extraordinary to them. Yet there was not one of them that shewed the least surprise or impertinent curiosity, but received me with all the obliging civility possible. I know no European court, where the ladies would have behaved themselves in so polite a manner to such a stranger. I believe, upon the whole, there were two hundred women, and yet none of those disdainful smiles, and satirical whispers, that never fail in our assemblies, when any body appears that is not dressed exactly in the fashion. They repeated over and over to me; “UZELLE, PEK UZELLE,” which is nothing but, Charming, very Charming.
The first sofas were covered with cushions and rich carpets, on which sat the ladies; and on the second, their slaves behind them, but without any distinction of rank by their dress, all being in the state of nature, that is, in plain English, stark naked, without any beauty or defect concealed. Yet there was not the least wanton smile or immodest gesture amongst them. They walked and moved with the same majestic grace, which Milton describes our general mother with. There were many amongst them, as exactly proportioned as ever any goddess was drawn by the pencil of a Guido or Titian,—and most of their skins shiningly white, only adorned by their beautiful hair divided into many tresses, hanging on their shoulders, braided either with pearl or ribbon, perfectly representing the figures of the Graces.
I was here convinced of the truth of a reflection I have often made, That if it were the fashion to go naked, the face would be hardly observed. I perceived, that the ladies of the most delicate skins and finest shapes had the greatest share of my admiration, though their faces were sometimes less beautiful than those of their companions. To tell you the truth, I had wickedness enough, to wish secretly, that Mr Gervais could have been there invisible. I fancy it would have very much improved his art, to see so many fine women naked, in different postures, some in conversation, some working, others drinking coffee or sherbet, and many negligently lying on their cushions, while their slaves (generally pretty girls of seventeen or eighteen) were employed in braiding their hair in several pretty fancies. In short, ’tis the women’s coffee-house, where all the news of the town is told, scandal invented, &c.
They generally take this diversion once a week, and stay there at least four or five hours, without getting cold by immediate coming out of the hot bath into the cold room, which was very surprising to me. The lady, that seemed the most considerable among them, entreated me to sit by her, and would fain have undressed me for the bath. I excused myself with some difficulty. They being however all so earnest in persuading me, I was at last forced to open my shirt, and shew them my stays; which satisfied them very well; for, I saw, they believed I was locked up in that machine, and that it was not in my own power to open it, which contrivance they attributed to my husband.
I was charmed with their civility and beauty, and should have been very glad to pass more time with them; but Mr W—— resolving to pursue his journey next morning early, I was in haste to see the ruins of Justinian’s church, which did not afford me so agreeable a prospect as I had left, being little more than a heap of stones.
Adieu, madam, I am sure I have now entertained you with an account of such a sight as you never saw in your life, and what no book of travels could inform you of, as ’tis no less than death for a man to be found in one of these places.
Lately, I’ve been studying Victorian train travel. I assure you that deciphering Victorian train schedules is no easy task. If I were a Victorian traveler, I would never arrive anywhere on time for having taken numerous wrong trains.
here is no situation in which a lady is more exposed than when she travels, and there is no position where a dignified, lady-like deportment is more indispensable and more certain to command respect.
Have a strong pocket made in your upper petticoat, and in that carry your money, only reserving in your dress pocket a small sum for incidental expenses. In your traveling satchel carry an oil skin bag, containing your sponge, tooth and nail brushes, and some soap; have also a calico bag, with hairbrush and comb, some pins, hairpins, a small mirror, and some towels. In this satchel carry also some crackers, or sandwiches, if you will be long enough upon the road to need a luncheon.
In your carpet bag, carry a large shawl, and if you will travel by night, or stop where it will be inconvenient to open your trunks, carry your night clothes, and what clean linen you may require, in the carpet bag. It is best to have your name and address engraved upon the plate of your carpet bag, and to sew a white card, with your name and the address to which you are traveling, in clear, plain letters upon it. If you carry a novel or any other reading, it is best to carry the book in your satchel, and not open the carpet bag until you are ready for the night. If you are to pass the night in the cars, carry a warm woolen or silk hood, that you may take off your bonnet at night. No one can sleep comfortably in a bonnet. Carry also, in this case, a large shawl to wrap round your feet.
There is scarcely any situation in which a lady can be placed, more admirably adapted to test her good breeding, than in the sleeping cabin of a steam-boat. If you are so unfortunate as to suffer from sea-sickness, your chances for usefulness are limited, and patient suffering your only resource. In this case, never leave home without a straw-covered bottle of brandy, and another of camphor, in your carpet-bag.
It’s been a year since I’ve posted on my blog! Elizabeth Bisland, the author of “The Art of Travel” found in The Woman’s Book, might characterize me as an “indolent” blogger.
Lately,I’ve had an itch to go exploring on Google Books and find something new to freshen up ye olde blog. While looking up information on caring for invalids last night, I stumbled upon this interesting travel information by Bisland. When I returned to the book this morning, I noticed that one of the chapters had been written by Thomas Wentworth Higginson, the famed scholar and abolitionist as well as the dear friend and editor of Emily Dickinson! I wondered if the other authors in the book were such luminaries, so I googled Elizabeth Bisland and, whoa, what a fascinating woman!
Bisland was a writer and Nellie Bly’s competitor in the famous Journey Around The World in 1889, a race to beat Jules Verne’s fictional 80-day jaunt around the globe. Ultimately, Bly defeated Bisland, making the journey in 72 days, while Bisland came in at 76. Bummer. Luckily for us, Bisland imparted her traveling wisdom in her chapter in The Woman’s Book.
You can find more of her writings and books including In Seven Stages: A Flying Trip Around the World at Online Books.
I hope you enjoy this fabulous information.
My own opinion and experience is that a woman can travel comfortably to any distance, into any climate, with one trunk, a dressing bag, and a shawl strap. Very recently a great advancement has been made in the matter of trucks and already one begins to look back on one’s contentment with the bungling or boxes full of trays as a piece of quite phenomenal ignorance.
This new box has a hinged top, which, being lifted, exposes a series of drawers both large and small, so that instead of struggling with refractory trays and breaking one’s back in search of some object that has, in a spirit of pure wantonness, descended into the depths at the instant when most needed, one whips out the shallow drawers and in a twinkling can pounce upon the most elusive and wily of one’s possessions. The newest dressing-bag also is a great improvement over any previous efforts in this line; the fittings being wrought of weightless celluloid, made in an excellent imitation of tortoiseshell or amber, replacing the heavy glass and silver which made a dressing-case a burden to be avoided at any cost. Now that the objection of weight is removed, the dressing-bag, with its compact toilet appliances, is quite indispensable to comfort and travel. It should contain hair-brush and comb, clothes-brush, nail-brush, and toothbrush, soap-case, cologne-bottle, hairpin case, scissors, button-hook, penknife, portfolio, and traveling inkstand. To these should be added one of the small morocco sewing-cases to be found at the dry goods shops, with thimble, needles, glove and shoe buttons, sewing-silk, thread, and tapes, as well as a few hooks and eyes. A pincushion filled with safety-pins, hatpins, and dressing-pins, black and white, added to a sponge-bag, complete the list and prepare one to meet any emergency with calmness. These dressing-cases are somewhat more costly than the ordinary bag, but they are usually of good material and therefore wear well, and the saving in time, and the comfort of knowing one’s belongings are tidy and ready to hand, is worth the extra cost ten times over. Heretofore, because of being obliged to carry all one’s own hand-luggage in this country, the dressing-case has not been popular with us ; but this difficulty of weight removed, no wise or skilled traveler will be without so great an addition to her convenience.
A medium-sized bag, convenient for
a woman’s handling, will have space as well for a night-dress, a pair of soft, heel less dressing slippers, and a light
dressing gown—China silk in summer time,
or soft wool for winter. A gray Chudda shawl of large size can be cut into such
a dressing gown, and is so soft and
compressible that it occupies but little space.
The shawl-strap should contain an
ulster, traveling-rug, overshoes, and
umbrella. Another matter to be considered in preparing for comfort in travel is
the possession of a definite place for everything, so that everything may be
found in its place the instant it is wanted. Therefore cases for handkerchiefs,
gloves, and veils, bags for shoes and for soiled linen, should all be provided,
and every article being carefully laid away in its proper receptacle after
using, not only insures against losses that
cannot be repaired at critical moments, and frantic searches for strayed belongings, but keeps one’s boxes and clothes
dainty and fresh.
By natural sequence the next point to be considered is that of toilets. There
is no need, in addressing American women, to inveigh against frowsy unkemptness
in traveling—their tendency as a rule is toward ” over-smartness
;” but where a question of the quantity and weight of luggage is to be
dealt with, it may be worth while to plan how an immaculate appearance and
comfort are to be maintained out of trunks of small compass.
The many women who wear silk or wool tricot undergarments find them easily carried in small compass. Those who do not like this form of dress will discover that for long journeys there is nothing so satisfactory for underwear as silk. The original cost is rather large, but it proves an economy in the end, as clothes of the soft India (not China) silk are so easily laundered— requiring no starch — shed, instead of gathering, dust; do not conduct changes of temperature; and, keeping the body at an even temperature, are the greatest safeguards against colds. Nothing can be a greater luxury, in sickness, or after a hot day in the cars, than to slip for the night into a silky garment which neither heats nor chills the skin, nor retains the dust and wrinkles of a previous wearing, as would cambric or linen.
The ideal traveling down is
undoubtedly a very plain tailor skirt and coat of some neutral-tinted serge or
tweed, with a silk bodice, is it can stand the stress of weather, sea-damps,
and railway dust, is easy of fit, and can
be adapted to the tropics by removing
the coat, or adjusted to the Arctic zone by the addition of furs. A simple and
satisfactory adjunct is a black silk dress with two bodices—one adopted for evening. The best form of this convenience, if
intended for hard usage, is a bengaline
silk, which does not crumble, and, like Mrs. Primrose wedding gown, has stamina
enough to carry it over into another generation. With a pièce de résistance of this sort, a few of the prettiest accessories
of ribbon, velvet, and lace that the shops furnish ready-made, will supply all
the variety of costume needed and travel.
Most of the traveling done
within our borders is, of necessity, on the railway, and despite our
persistence of self-glorification in this
very matter, we have— in many things— much to learn from Europe. The
continental wagonslits, and the English sleeping cars are in several
respects improvements upon our own. For one thing
they avoid that promiscuously which is so greatly
shocks the foreigner traveling in
In Germany one may secure a
first-class carriage for one’s self at an expense no greater than that of a
whole section in a sleeping-car, and attached to this is a private dressing room with all conveniences. Here one
is as secluded as in one’s own bedroom, and instead of futile wrestlings in the
curtained pigeon-hole provided in American cars, one dresses and undresses at one’s ease, with plenty of space and no
possibility of intrusion. All the through-trains leaving Paris for
Constantinople, Vienna, Berlin, Rome, and Nice are provided with wagons-lits,
cars which have a narrow passage-way upon one side, upon which opens a
series of small bedrooms, securing the privacy for many that American cars only
offer to the one party rich enough or lucky enough to secure the single ”
state-room ” at the end of the sleeper.
While few of the Continental trains
have a dining-car attached, those without one are provided with a small kitchen
at the end of the wagon-lit, where the guard concocts pleasant little
meals, largely made of fruit, salads, cheese, and good crusty loaves, and
serves them in each room upon movable tables.
The trains de luxe between
Calais and Paris, between London and Dover, and London and Edinburgh, have
beautiful dining arrangements, and the saloon carriages are spacious and
luxurious beyond any comparison with the best we have to offer. Another point
deserving mention in the European trains is the studied simplicity of the
decorations. Smooth, handsome blue broadcloth takes the place of stuffy plush,
and the tempest of gilded ornamentations is conspicuous by its delightful
In making long trips in England or
on the Continent it is as well that the woman traveling
alone should go to the expense of taking first-class tickets to secure the
advantages of the added luxury and privacy; but for all journeys of moderate
length—and very few are as long as twelve hours—second class is quite good
enough and a great deal cheaper. For journeys of an hour or two many English
people go third class, since the carriages in this class are perfectly clean
and fairly comfortable, and one is not likely to suffer any inconvenience from
the manners of one’s fellow-travelers, which are almost without exception quiet
and decent. On the Continent a woman
unaccompanied had better content herself with the economy of second class, as her experiences might not be
agreeable in the third.
Wherever one may be fated to spend
any length of time in land travel it is best to follow certain rules. One
of these is to be sure of plenty of fresh air. In our own country this is sometimes made difficult by the
over-heating of cars, the double windows, and the lack of proper ventilation;
while in Europe the loosely fitting sashes and lack of artificial warmth gives
one at times too much of even that good thing. An excellent practice is to get
out wherever a stop of more than a few minutes is made and walk briskly,
filling the lungs and stirring the blood. In almost all cases where a traveler finds herself unable to sleep in the
cars the difficulty maybe corrected by a
supply of fresh air.
A good plan is to undress entirely, as at home, slipping over the nightgown the loose silk or wool dressing gown, that’s protecting one’s self against danger of colds, and being prepared in case of accident. Have the berth made up with the pillow at the end toward the front of the car, and no matter how cold the weather, open the window next to feet a little to the outer air —a pencil or fold a newspaper will admit enough—covering the body, and particularly the feet, very warmly. In this way the air enters at the lower end of the bed only and circulates freely without making a draught. The result of all which is that one’s body become quite free from compression of clothes, and the lungs fed with adequate oxygen, one wakes in the morning fresh and vigorous after heathfulsleep, and is prepared for the new day’s trials or pleasures. A woman who makes a five days’ journey in a sleeping car without fatigue or discomfort thus describes her plan for her toilet. She says: “One of the causes of so much wretchedness in trouble is lack of a morning bath, and that, too, when one particularly needs it— all dusty and stuffy from railway grime! My method is this: Before going to bed I look around the car. If there are only a few women, I lie in bed late and let them quite finish with the dressing room so that when I do get up I may have it to myself. If there are many, I could up a full hour earlier than any of them are likely to rise–even five o’clock is better than an uncomfortable or hurried toilet, which sets me wrong for the whole day. I slip my skirt and coat over my dressing gown, knot a lace scarf I always carry over my unbrushed head, make a neat parcel of my other clothes, with these and my bag I seek the toilet room. Here I lock myself in, give my hair a good brushing to rid of cinders, fill the basin and add some cologne to the water, and by means of hanging everything out of the way, a towel spread on the floor, and a sponge, managed to achieve a bath from head to foot. Then I dress quietly and completely to the last pin, and am so refreshed and comforted that I am ready for anything that may happen. I can do it all in half an hour, too, but dint of having everything in my hand, and putting each thing where it belongs the moment I have finished using it so that there has to be no general packing up at the end. But I won’t be hurried, and it throws me into spasms of nervous rage if impatient women come and bang on the door while I am within–which is why I either rise really are lie late, in order to combine a toilet and peace of mind.”
There are now but few parts
of this country in which every convenience is not supplied by the public
conveyances. Some of the remote or parts of Florida, where journeys must be
made by boat, drive want to good humor and philosophy as one’s only resource; and to Mexico one must go provided with many of the comforts ordinarily
supplied in the United States. One of these comforts is a portable bath-tub, since hotels in the obscure parts do
not afford toilet appliances.
Of late years the travel to
Alaska has grown to such an extent that the tourist may look for perfect comfort by train and steamer, since were ever the demand for convenience is great supply
To take, for instance, what is
called “The Square Tour” — which unfortunately is less frequently
made by Americans than by visiting foreigners —will prove the universal comfort
of travel in this country, and the possibility of being absent for months with
the limited luggage specified. Leaving New York on the Florida train the first
of March, it is possible to see—with a stop-over ticket—all the towns of
importance along the Southern Atlantic coast within a week, and in all will be
found good hotels, and the climate will vary so little that the removal or
addition of a coat will be all that is required. Florida is dotted with
admirable hostelries with an easy journeys
of one another, and every point of interest
is reached by fairly comfortable means. Here one will be obliged to add
the coat mornings and evenings while near the sea-coast, but will perfectly
abandon it while in land or by the waters
of the Gulf.
New Orleans may be reached by rail,
but a charming route is across the Gulf by steamer, and up through the mouth of
the Mississippi. Here one takes the Southern Pacific to California, seeing
Texas en passant, and slowly climbs the Western coast by local lines,
seeing the beautiful fruit ranches of the South, Los Angeles, Sacramento, San
Francisco, Puget Sound, and finally takes the steamer to Alaska, reaching there
about June 1st. Returning, a landing is made at Victoria, and thence by
Canadian Pacific through the wildest and most beautiful railway route in the
world to Montreal. From there more railroading brings one to the Lakes, to
Chicago, to Buffalo, Niagara Falls, and New York by July1st. By this process there has been no exposure either to
extreme heat or cold, nor any rough methods of travel in a journey of four
months, that gives one a most comprehensive knowledge of the North American
The green spectre of sea-sickness looms up for most
women at the very mention of “the oceans of say” to be faced when they venture
off of their own continent and the whole art of travelling by water is, for
eight out of ten, simply a question of evading or assuaging those insufferable
pangs. Long and severe experience has proved to most sufferers that the advice
to struggle against those painful and surging emotions is but the brutal egoism
and lack of sympathy of those who know not such sufferings because of their own
internal arrangements being set on an even keel, There is on earth perhaps no
anguish so bitter, and none which meets with so little true tenderness and
comprehension as sea sickness. To escape without ribald mockery is more than
most can hope It is useless to suggest a remedy for the cure of one is the
doubled agony of another, and only precautions and palliations are worth
suggesting, since the cure for sea sickness is like salvation each must find it
One important precaution is to see that the system
is clear and the liver active, at least a week before sailing. Then, if it be
possible a voyage should not be begun in a state of nervous fatigue. Perhaps
the most important advice is to go to bed at once before, the “jobbling of the
ocean” awakes a single qualm. Arrange all one’s be longings snugly and handily. Undress completely and
get into bed with a book near by in case of ennui and some clean faint flavored
toilet water ready for use. It is better not to read but to go to sleep at once
generally an easy task after the fatigues of preparation and farewell. With no
compression of garments stretched at full length with the body warm and as much
fresh air as is attainable it is just possible one may escape the tendency to
nausea which once set up is so hard to conquer. For the first twenty-four hours
all soups and hot drinks, wines, lemonades, and the like, should be avoided;
the diet being confined to cold, dry meats, and dry biscuits. By strict
observance of these rules I myself, who have descended all the seven rounds of
the hell of seasickness, am enabled to make a voyage with only moderate
discomfort and even to enjoy life by the third or fourth day. Should the
sorrows of the sea overtake one in spite of all precautions cracked ice and
bromides are the most simple and effective palliatives. A cold salt bath is an
excellent aid to recovery when the worst of the nausea has passed and the
interval of excessive languor and depression supervenes. It requires courage to
undertake it, but the result is worth the effort–the best way being to step
into a warm bath and sponge freely with cold water as it runs from the cock.
This shortens by many hours that period of reaction which is almost as painful
as the more active illness.
These remedies or necessary only
upon such wicked seas as are to be found in the North Atlantic and Pacific, or
in the stormy channels surrounding England. The beautiful tropical waters about
the East and West Indies are–in the winter at least, when travelers for
pleasure make their acquaintance–smooth lakes without even the long heave and
pulse of our summer seas. The Peninsular and Oriental steamships, from the moment they enter the Suez Canal until they
finish their voyage Hong Kong, a whole month later, might carry a glass full of
water without even spilling a drop. Consequently, for one of the Eastern
journeys, which are every day becoming more popular, the preparations are quite
dissimilar from those undertaking for a trip to Europe. As there is no steerage
travel to the East, the whole vessel vessel is given up to the comfort of the
first-cabin passengers. Decks are wide and steady enough for very agreeable
moonlit dances and strolls. Little afternoon tea-tables make their appearance
among the clusters of Bombay lounging-chairs, where young women in muslins and
straw hats pour tea for young men in white duck, with silk sashes replacing
their waistcoats. The saloons are adorned with growing palms, and occasionally
a blooming orchid plant or two hang among the canaries’ cages. The state-rooms
are large, comfortable bed chambers, with iron bedsteads, and a long divan on
the seaside, where a great section of the ship opens outward, forming and
awning from the sun but letting in all the coolness of the sea. The bathrooms
are spacious, and the great marble tubs, filled with cold salt water, offer the
most irresistible temptation in the hot atmosphere.
At half-past six in the morning a
white-capped maid comes with tea or coffee, a biscuit and fruit. It may be
against all one’s good American habits to eat at that hour and in bed, but a
little further knowledge will prove here, as elsewhere, it is best to follow
the example of those who have had long knowledge of the needs of a climate. If
one refuses to adapt one’s self to this custom, and insists upon doing in Rome
as the Americans do, the result will be a feeling of great exhaustion after
dressing that robs one of appetite for breakfast and spoils the day. In the
tropics less nourishment is needed than in temperate zones, but it must be
taken at much more frequent intervals; and after the heavy relaxed sleep of
those moist, warm nights, the body requires the stimulus of food before
undertaking any exertion. The same advice applies to the afternoon siesta. One
may have had a most vigorous scorn of the indolence implied by sleep in the
daytime, yet between three and four o’clock an almost irresistible drowsiness
will overtake one, and the wise voyager succumbs to Nature’s hint of her needs.
It cannot be too much urged upon
the traveler by land or by water, in temperate or tropic zone, that there
should be no chance for exercise neglected. The change of air induces, as a
rule, a more vigorous appetite, and the enforced sluggishness of long days on
board vessel and car makes it difficult for the digestion to cope with its
added task, the result being disorders which are apt to rob one of all pleasure
and predispose one to colds and infection.
suggestions apply to the case of the woman journeying under the escort of what
is known as her natural protector, and treat principally of her physical
comfort and well – being; but for the woman who sets forth into the world alone
there are many matters still to be considered.
the indolent, the timid, and the inexperienced among women there is something
extremely terrifying in the thought of lonely wanderings, unaccompanied by some
man to save trouble and bear the blame of mishaps; but there is, in reality,
nothing to prevent a woman from seeing every civilized, and even
semi-civilized, country in the world without other protection than her own
modesty and good sense. There is a vast amount of chivalry and tenderness
distributed in the hearts of men, and while the woman who goes guarded may be
quite unaware of it, because nothing in her case calls it forth, the chivalry
is there, and ready for almost unlimited draughts upon its patience, devotion,
and sympathy. In all accidents by land or water the first thought of those in
authority is the safety of the women, and while all yet goes smoothly the very
defencelessness of a lonely woman appears to put every man upon his honor, and
make him feel, in a certain sense, responsible for her comfort and enjoyment.
That women travelling alone have at times painful experiences cannot be denied,
but I boldly assert that in nine cases out of ten it is due wholly and solely
to their own fault. A few have been so warned against the wiles of a wicked
world that they are unable to discriminate between an honest desire to be of
use and mere vulgar effrontery, and reward courteous attentions with suspicious
rudeness. A still greater number look upon their own needs and discomforts as
matters of cosmical importance, before which the affairs of the
universe—notably the affairs of the masculine half—should give way; and their
petulance, peevishness, and aggressive assumptions drive even the meekest of
their fellow-travelers into open revolt. Still another cause of difficulty is
an embarrassed timidity in cases where instant repression is needed; and a lack
of courageous dignity in the face of insolence.
woman who is cool – headed, courteous, and self-reliant, can travel around the
world in every direction and find no word or look to daunt or distress her.
Indeed if her manners be sweetly gracious and dignified she will find all lands
full of brave cavaliers who will spring to gratify her smallest request, who
will see and meet her needs before they are put into words, and who cheerfully will imperil and even yield up their
lives in her defence and to insure her safety.
The garment of modest purity is as magic a
defence to-day as when Una wore it, and the sight of a good woman who needs
their aid wakens in even bad men some part of the spirit of a Bayard. The woman
who knows how to accept a favor frankly and without tiresome protest, and is at
the same time gratefully aware that the service is a favor and not a duty,
makes every travelling man her faithful servitor.
A cool and nimble wit is
generally the best defence against vulgar aggression and achieves its end more
neatly than would angry protest.
A very young girl was once making a long
railway journey alone, and to amuse her solitude dabbled a little in an attempt
at literature. She was aware that a man
in the opposite section of the sleeping-car was endeavoring to attract her
attention, but she kept her head bent over her manuscript and gave no sign of
being aware of his existence. Finally, all his efforts failing, he crossed the
aisle between them and laid his visiting card on the adjustable table before
“That’s my name, miss,” he said,
and added with insinuating familiarity, “I guess we’re two of a kind.”
The girl regarded the card distantly and
raising her eyes to his face coolly, contemplated it during several minutes of
”Really!” she replied at last, “you flatter me.
In what respect may I hope to resemble you?”
“Oh,” stammered the small cad, getting red and
embarrassed beneath her calm gaze, “you seem to be a writer and I am one myself;
I’m a reporter. Guess we’re a pair of Bohemians, ain’t we?”
mean that?” she answered politely, glancing at the thirty
or forty pages of manuscript she had covered. “I fear it has misled you.
That is a letter to my husband. Good morning!” And she quietly dotted an
i, and went on with her work. The car heard her and understood, and the car
smiled satirically at the unmatched Bohemian, who sneaked away to the smoker
and was seen no more by daylight in his seat.
is not the only matter with which the solitary woman must deal; she must be
alert, accurate, and quick-witted, and while she is sure to find assistance she
must act as if she did not count upon it, and take all possible precautions for
It is well to secure one’s seats,
sleeping-berth, or state-room well in advance, and trust nothing to luck.
Beginning early and having, therefore, the power of choice, select, if
possible, for a day’s journey, seats in the centre of the car, or if for the
night, a berth near the ladies’ toilet-room. Take an outside state-room; the
air to be had through the port-hole, whenever the sea is calm enough to admit
of opening it, is worth much in moments of fatigue or nausea.
Take enough hand – luggage to be
quite comfortable. Someone can always be found to carry it for a very small
tip. Do not sit down and wait to be told when things happen and where all
conveniences are situated. A few judicious inquiries will ascertain the hours
of meals, the locality of the bath-room, what rules and regulations must be
observed, and what privileges are to be had. Be ready to take prompt advantage
of any opportunity for amusement, and be profoundly versed in the gentle science
of Baedeker and Murray.
Perhaps this is a point at which
the whole question of tips might be appropriately dealt with. All through
Europe they are expected, but a regular tariff is fixed, and it is not
necessary to give more than is the custom. Some few independent souls refuse to
recognize the demand at all, but they are always badly served. In very many
cases those who serve them are not liberally paid by their employers because of
the extra fund supposed to be contributed by the traveller, and she who refuses
to tip is in reality receiving services gratuitously from the poor employee. On
long sea-voyages it is customary to give one’s own stewardess five dollars when
special services are asked, or two and a half dollars when no particular demands
are made on her time. About the same is given the table steward, and one dollar
to the deck steward— but this proportion may alter according to the amount of
service rendered. It is a wise precaution and insures more care and
consideration if the tipper gives the stewardess a small installment of the
whole fee during the first day out, intimating that more is to follow on
In England the cabmen expect a
gratuity of two pence, in France two big sous. Six pence are ample for the
transportation of luggage or any small services from the guard on railway
trains in England; half a franc in France. In the expensive restaurants a
shilling in London and a franc in Paris is sufficiently munificent, while in
such places as the Maison Duval, or the A. B. C. restaurants, two sous, or two
pence, are quite enough.
There are, for the solitary woman
traveler, a number of tourists’ agencies —such as Cook’s, Gaze’s, and Low’s,—,
whose branches reach to over beyond Jordan, and are established among even the
dwellers in Mesopotamia. These for a very small percentage will buy tickets,
check and transfer luggage, furnish all useful and useless information, and do
one’s banking, besides supplying valuable aid in finding satisfactory lodgings.
It is at the offices of these
agencies that one may change bank-notes most conveniently and secure fresh
currency of the different countries in which one is sojourning. In carrying
large sums it is better to rely upon the letter of credit on some prominent and
trustworthy bank ; but where the sum to be used in travelling is moderate, as
convenient a way as any is to carry a few Bank of England notes, and deposit
these as an account at one of the tourist agencies, or at a bank, and draw
checks against it. Say that one means to go abroad for two months or three, and
means to limit one’s expenses to a few modest hundreds; then the simplest and
least troublesome fashion of arranging the matter is to procure Bank of England
notes for that sum. Get a letter from a trustworthy tourist agency to its
office in London or Paris containing an introduction. On arriving one has only
to present the letter and the money, deposit the latter, and get a sheaf of
checks in return, and. a needed supply of foreign gold and silver. In moving
from one large city to another, it is necessary only to carry a letter from the
agency to its bureau in the new capital, and there, the office having been
privately notified of the original deposit, the checks are again honored. For
short tours from the base of supply a small amount of gold is the most
convenient form of provision.
It is well that the woman
travelling alone should always deposit her valuables in the safe of the hotel,
being sure to take a receipt for them. In the daytime, and while on the cars at
night, a soft silk bag about the neck is the best receptacle for large sums. It
is now so easy to change one’s money, and so many conveniences are provided for
travellers in this respect that it requires but little effort to obtain the
current coin of the realm where one may happen to be, and in all countries
English gold and bank-notes are honored, as they evidently stand high in the
estimation of the whole world.
There is much diversity of
opinion and experience in the matter of guides and couriers, but a good rule
seems to be that in countries where one understands the language they are
unnecessary, while in localities where the language is absolutely unknown, what
is apt to miss many pleasures for lack of an interpreter. In England, France,
Germany, Italy, and Spain, the routes are so well-known and so constantly
traveled, that an energetic, enterprising traveler can’t see all that is to be
seen without aid; but in Norway and Sweden, Russia, Holland, and turkey, in
Egypt, and in Japan, where the languages are so difficult that even the few
phrases needed by the traveler are more troublesome to acquire then the result
is worth, a guide and an interpreter or quite necessary. In India English is so
generally spoken that an American woman does not find herself at a
It is the gentleman who sits
at the receipt of custom who fills with vague alarm many a gentle female soul,
but experience usually robs him of all terrors. Strangely enough, England,
which is supposedly free from any protective measures, is
a most troublesome port to enter. Brandy, cologne, silver plate, tobacco, and
the Tauchnitz novels are not permitted to enter the tight little island, and it
is generally some well-behaved, eminently conventional matron who is most
sharply questioned as to the presence of tobacco and brandy in her trunks, and
has her stockings, underlinen, and bonnets tossed madly about in the search for
contraband means of dissipation. On the Continent more discrimination is shown,
and for the most part the officers of the douane discern at a glance
whether one is likely to have diamonds concealed in one’s boot-heels, or owes
the rich contours of one’s figure to tightly rolled consignments of lace. The
slightest reluctance to have one’s belongings searched, however, at once
arouses suspicion, and only the cheerful and prompt handing over of keys
achieves the much-to-be-desired mere lifting and closing of the lid. My own
experience leads me to believe that the most courteous and kindly of customs
officials are those in the port of New York—and that even under the McKinley
tariff regulations; but memory preserves in the amber of gratitude one
gentle-hearted Gaul, who, looking into the weary eyes of a lonely woman newly
arrived in Paris at eight o’clock in the evening, was moved to real compassion
and chalked with his mystic sign four large boxes without word or question.
Here we have the lonely female well
on her journey’s way at last. She having read, marked, learned, and inwardly
digested the luminous wisdom, and didactic advice of the foregoing lines, has
travelled by land and sea in great comfort, luxury, and safety, and now—
triumphantly vindicating the innocence of her luggage from accusations of
brandy and chewing tobacco—stands inside the customs barrier of a foreign land.
For the sake of extreme probability we shall call this port Liverpool.
It is explained to her at the
railway station how a merciful English company has attached, for the
convenience of desperately homesick Yankees, a Pullman car to the train, and
that, finding themselves only recovered from mal de mer to fall victims
to mal du pays —passing from naupathia to nostalgia —these expatriated
Americans welcome this token of home with tears of joy. She may have a place
there—if she wishes.
No, indeed! Had she been so
irresistibly enamoured of things at home she would have stayed there. She has come
away for change, and means to see life entirely from a foreign point of view.
She will go first class in one of the little English carriages, though she knows
that “only dukes, fools, and Americans go first class.“ This is a small single
luxury she is treating herself to.
“Here’s half a crown, guard, and I
hope I sha’t be disturbed. And please wireto Lincoln that I want a hot
luncheon, with a wine.”
“Yes, mem. Thanky, mem. It shall be
attended to.” he locks the door, and the wiley woman is alone and a large clean
blue boudoir, with perfect privacy and plenty of space. No one can enter and no
one can see the bit of toilet she sets about making. The steamer arrived early,
and she has been Worrying about on the wind docks since breakfast. She removes
her hat, recoifs her hair, and sponges her face with cologne. Doubling up the
arms that divide the long divan into chairs, be heaps for rugs into a semblance
of sofa cushions by the window and reclines at length, with her book, the
lovely English scenery, and an occasional nap to help her through the hours.
Here is Lincoln. A man comes to the carriage-window and hands in a little
luncheon hamper, for which he is paid another half crown. The train slides out
of the station and the traveler leisurely prepares for her meal. The little
hamper contains a half pint of table claret with a cork half drawn a hot
English chop with and potatoes and some green vegetables, a salad, a piece of
cheese, bread and fruit, besides a knife, fork, glass, napkin, pepper, and
salt. She eats at her ease, and when done closes all the remains into the
basket and slips it under the seat. It is no further concern of hers. The
company has its agents to attend to the matter of returned empties.
“It may be soothing to one’s
homesickness to come to London in a Pullman,” she says to herself,
“but it certainly is not so comfortable nor so novel.”
Arrived at Charing Cross she waits
to see her trunks come out of the luggage-van. All the heavier pieces are left
in the luggage office to be called for, and the things very necessary for the
moment are heaped on the roof of a hansom. She is too wise to go to one of the
great caravansaries affected by the average travelling American. The huge
hotels are costly everywhere, and she drives to Trafalgar Square to see the
tourists’ agent, bank her letter of credit, and get the address of some of the
smaller hotels. They can recommend some dignified hostelries of the simpler
sort near to Piccadilly, or if she wishes to be very economical there are
pleasant small hotels on the Embankment, close to Charing Cross, where she may
have bed, breakfast, and bath for six shillings and make her other meals cost
what she chooses.
She decides upon the latter, since she means only to spend the
night there, and finds it clean, simple, and very comfortable. Once installed
she immediately sets off for Bond Street, to shop, to put herself in touch with
all the delicious novelty of a foreign world, and to drink a cup of tea in one
of the small tea-shops. To-morrow, armed with a list of advertisements cut from
The Times, she sets out early to look for lodgings, and wanders South
Kensingtonwards in her search. In a tiny street opening upon a garden square
full of trees and flowers she comes upon the very thing she needs– a bright,
fresh, little drawing room, hung and upholstered chintz, and equally pleasant
dining room, a bedroom fitted with brass bedstead and every appointment for
comfort, and a tidy, well arranged bath. This is to be had at four pounds a
week, including lights and all attendance. She could have found cheaper
accommodations if she had been content with merely sitting room and bedroom,
but meaning to present letters of introduction she wishes to have agreeable
quarters in which to receive. She is careful to make an exact bargain with her
shrewd landlady, who would add in, if she were not checked, all the endless
“extras” over which the Briton so loves to potter and over which the American
grows so impatient.
“There’s the light over the hall-door, a shilling a week; and
the kitchen fire, half a crown; and there’s six shillings for coal and three
for lights and ten shillings for attendance, and six pence for the use of the
cruets, and tuppence for–” “I’ll give you four pounds a week for everything
included,” interposes the lodger, having made a rapid calculation and deducted
a small amount from the total. There is a little more haggling and then the
bargain is struck. The lodging house keeper’s husband is a retired butler, who
will serve the lodger in the same capacity; she will cook, and her trig little
niece act as housemaid. So the lodger finds herself mistress of a pretty little
house, with butler, cook., and housemaid, all for the sum of twenty dollars a
week. Her meals she orders every morning, and with a little care and simple
living they should come to mot much more than another ten dollars.
Behold her installed and her letters presented. She is a wise
woman, this traveler. She realizes that people in a great capital are always
very much occupied and not particularly anxious to add more acquaintances to
their list; that they are likely to think it a bore to have to hunt her up, and
she does not expect too much. A hasty card is dropped at the door, a line is
scribbled perhaps asking her to come in to afternoon tea. The traveler goes
meekly, and makes herself agreeable. Will not the Englishwoman fix a day to
come and have tea with her?
Meantime this wise woman has, for
what seems to her an infinitesimal sum, had boxes affixed to her windows
overflowing with lovely blossoms, and has palms and ferns and blooming plants
scattered about the apartment. All her small belongings and pretty purchases
are gracefully disposed, and a warm welcome awaits the visitor. She is careful
to avoid complaining of any inconveniences she may suffer, and when she cannot
warmly praise English things and methods has the discretion to keep silence.
Without intrusion or apparent intention she offers small pleasures and
courtesies herself, without waiting to have them come first to her. One person
whom she has obliged takes her to drive in the Park. Another asks her to
luncheon; she repays each civility promptly by some equal courtesy, and before
many weeks are passed she is full of charming engagements and is booked for
some country-house visiting later — which is the reward of common-sense and
In almost every part of the British
Isles she finds this lodging-house system the best and cheapest method of
living, and she has discretion enough in each country to find out the most
characteristic feature of the life there and adopt it, and to do in Rome as
Romans do—up to a certain point.
Should the traveller in England be
desirous of still further economy—as many are — it is extremely easy to achieve
it. Those who have gone abroad for study, and many who merely go for
relaxation, must, to achieve their purpose, count rigidly every penny. For
these there are in London, Paris, Berlin, Rome—all the great capitals—furnished
chambers for rent at sums varying from two dollars to ten dollars a week,
according to accommodations, and meals may be had at most reasonable rates in
these foreign towns if one knows where to look for them. London is full of such
aids to the light purse. The pastry-cooks’ shops are the refuge of the
economical; the A. B. C. (under which abbreviation the restaurants of the
Aerated Bread Company are known), the British TeaTable, the Alliance, the
Express, Pearce’s, Lockhart’s, all furnish food at the most moderate rates, and
are clean and comfortable. The woman who is a frequenter of the British
Museum—that infinite treasure-house of knowledge—will also be familiar with the
well-known restaurant provided for the army of daily students there, and will
know how to feed herself comfortably at small cost while pursuing her studies.
She can reckon her living by pennies rather than by quarters. If she is content
with a European breakfast, a cup of coffee, an egg, and buttered rolls will
cost her at any one of these places about eight pence—or sixteen cents. A
luncheon of bouillon, a meat patty, bread and butter, and jam will cost her
eight pence again, and she can dine comfortably for a shilling— her whole day’s
nourishment not costing her more than sixty cents a day, or in round terms
about four dollars and a half a week. In the country towns of England, such as
Oxford, Leamington, and the like, one can find, with a little effort, good
clean lodgings with board for a little over two pounds a week. These things are
not attainable by the mere bird of passage. The rolling stone not only does not
gather moss, but loses it in its swift career; but in small European countries
it is far wiser to study the map and pick out a town lying centrally to many
places of interest, take up one’s lodging there, and circle about in pursuit of
sightseeing. It is far cheaper and more comfortable, more satisfactory in every
way; though not until it has been tried, does the American realize how close
all the visitable places lie together in those small kingdoms. In this way,
too, an interesting district can be fully studied, and no guide-book can ever
reveal all the points of real attraction as will personal investigation. Take
Oxford as an example. Within an hour of that town there are—outside of its own
inexhaustible attractions—a sufficient number of artistic and historic
pilgrimages to occupy many weeks of steady sight-seeing. No more perfect
illustration of the point I wish to make can be found than in a conversation
overheard in an Oxford hotel. “Why, girls!” said an American traveler
looking up from her guide-book, “just listen at this book !—it says you
couldn’t see all there is to see in this town if you was to stay a month—well,
I guess there ain’t no use of our staying, then. We’ll take that 2.40 train to
Warwick—” and she did.
In England an American woman is
permitted a thousand liberties that are denied to the natives. “That’s
American, you know,” covers a multitude of infringements of the code, and
almost the same feeling exists in France and Germany. They are not very clear
as to just what is “American, you know,” and what is not, but they
are convinced that it allows the transatlantic visitor a vast deal of liberty,
and they rather resent than not too much conventionality and propriety of
demeanor. One kindly hostess offered cigars to an American woman lunching with
“Oh, but do take one !”
she cried. “Of course we are all very liberal about such things, and
though we don’t smoke ourselves we know you are from the South, and that all
South American ladies do. We should really enjoy seeing you smoke it “—and
was rather hurt than otherwise at her guest’s continued refusal.
Another hostess took an American
woman aside just before dinner and said, apologetically: “There is claret,
and sherry, and champagne for dinner. I hope you like some one of them; I asked
the butler, but he said he didn’t in the least know how to make a ‘mixed drink.'”
And to this day she does not quite understand why the guest was so convulsed
Now imagine the traveler
transferred to the Continent. She has struck her lodging-tent in London, and
has set up her gods in a hotel in Paris. For France is not familiar with the
lodgings system of accommodation. The pension flourishes in its stead,
almost as rankly as does its prototype, the boarding-house in America. But,
except in the need of extreme economy, it is not to be sought after, for it is
usually filled with Britons and Americans, and one gets none of the flavor of
the French life, which one is there to see; and the French folk who inhabit
pensions are, as a rule, not the sort one wishes to meet, and are rather to be
avoided. There are hundreds of pleasant, gay, clean apartment hotels where
accommodation can be had most reasonably. The traveller picks out a quiet
dwelling-place near the Rue Rivoli, and but a stone’s throw from the Place
Vendome and the Avenue de l’Opera. Here she climbs quite up to the top, but
since there is an ascenseur, what matter of that. She gets a tiny
bedroom and sitting-room which looks into a court, where there is a fountain
and flowers, and an elderly parrot, once the property of an opera singer, who
practises his piercing and raucous scales every forenoon with a fidelity
learned from his lately deceased master, and spends the rest of the time
administering profane, spiteful rebukes to a noisy small dog, his companion.
Still faithful to the fashions of
the country she may happen to inhabit for the moment, the traveler has brought
to her bedside, at eight o’clock, a pot of steaming tea or coffee, a plate of
crusty rolls, and a pat of butter. After café complet she rises, has her
bath (a source of unending surprise to the French servants, who cannot
understand the meaning of daily ablutions, and attribute it to a sort of
American madness), and lingers reading and writing until twelve, when she goes
to breakfast. If it be early spring, with some east still in the wind, the
traveler will doubtless seek the nearest Maison Duval, of which there
are fully a score distributed about the city. These restaurants are perfectly
clean, well served, and cheap, and they are one of the institutions of the
city. Unlucky is the economical visitor to Paris who misses them.
. . . A little marble table; a neat
woman in a black gown and crisp linen Normandy cap. She spreads a napkin,
brings a little basket full of rolls, and a pat of butter. Here is the list to
choose from: All sorts of omelettes and cheap dishes, perhaps the most
expensive is Chateaubriand, a tiny filet of beefsteak, which costs a
whole franc, and is very good. This traveller is economical and chooses an omelette
au jambon, full of chopped ham, and served deliciously hot. Next comes a
cream cheese, cool and sweet, and served with a spoonful of jellied white
currants. A cup of café noir, and now the bill. Omelette, ten cents;
cream cheese, ten cents; napkin, two cents; bread, two cents; butter, two
cents; two cents for the ” cover,” and a tip of two cents —two big
sous—is all that is expected by the smiling friendly woman in the Normandy
bonnet. Thirty cents for a breakfast well-cooked, pleasantly served, and eaten
at one’s leisure near a window looking out on all the inimitable, inexhaustible
charm of a Parisian street!
After breakfast is over behold this
well content female pacing placidly toward the Tuileries garden, to sit in the
sun and watch the fountains play, and the funny French school-children in black
baize aprons disport themselves among the statues—to read her newspaper or
book; perhaps to scribble a letter upon a writing pad on her knee. All the
treasures of the Louvre are at her left hand, all the charms of the Bois at
her right, to vie in offering pleasures for her afternoon!
It is plain to see what a sensible
woman this is—so she lingers till all the horse – chestnuts in the Champs-Élysées
are in bloom, like glorified Christmas-trees full of pink and white candles
— till the grass is green, the flowers out, and all the French world comes,
after its pleasant fashion, out-of-doors for its meals and amusements.
Ignoring the Maisons Duval now,
she goes to a Champs-Élysées cafe and sits on the gravel path under an
awning, and eats. The green grass and blossoming trees are about her; so are
the scarlet geraniums and pinks. A big fountain splashes near by. Here she ends
her meal with a bowl of wild strawberries over which is emptied a pot of Norman
clotted cream—and all this in the very heart of a great city, too.
Here as in London she inquires as
to possible excursions, and finds she can go every day for a month to some new
place of interest and be back by night. If she is tired with an afternoon’s
hard work in the picture galleries or museums, she goes to Columbin’s, in the
Rue Cambon, and has tea, and is amused to see the smart French folk come in to
do the same thing, and to meet unexpected American friends. She dines in her
own sitting-room at her hotel.
Twice a week she goes to the Marché
aux Fleurs, on the steps of the church of the Madeleine, and strolls along a lane of flowers. Here are valley-lilies, forget-me-nots, and
cornflowers which she has bought at home at great expense from the florist,
gathered by children from the fields and sold in big bunches for a few cents.
Here are plants of every description in pots, a tall rose covered with
unfolding buds for one franc fifty centimes; a blooming hydrangea for two
francs. She plunges into furious extravagance and goes all the length of a
dollar, and for the rest of the week her little sitting-room is a bower of
perfume. . . .
At the end of the week she sits down to reckon up
her spendings. Her rooms, lights, attendance, baths, dinners, and morning
coffee and rolls have cost her ninety francs—that is to say eighteen dollars.
Then she has spent one dollar upon flowers; her dejeuners (breakfasts)
have cost on an average two francs a day—two dollars and eighty cents for the
week. Total twenty-three dollars and eighty cents. Her list of pleasures and
self-indulgences may be as light or heavy as she chooses to make them.
Should more space be needed, or should she desire
to entertain, the traveler will find a wide choice of appartements meublés (furnished
apartments). These “flats,” as we should term them, are often
deliciously pretty and convenient—the homes of Parisians who wish for some
reason to sublet for a time. These can be had in good neighborhoods most
cheaply— that is to say, for prices ranging from forty dollars to one hundred
dollars. One servant in a small family will be quite sufficient, provided the
occupant of the flat will conform herself to French ways—take her quickly
prepared tray of coffee before rising, and make rather a practice of lunching
at the restaurants. This French servant will be quite content with ostensible
wages of twelve dollars a month—ostensible, because she recoups herself after
another fashion. Many Americans come home and rail violently at the dishonesty
and knavishness of the French servant, but after all the matter is financially
as broad as it is long. Here one would have to pay a neat clever creature who
could get one up delightful little dinners, brush one’s frocks, mend, clean,
act as lady’s maid, and housemaid, and butler — all with equal competence —
three times the wages the Parisian asks, and would look upon her as a rare
blessing sent straight from heaven. She would probably be quite honest, and
would not exact tradesmen’s commissions, but neither would she rise at
daylight, tramp half a mile, perhaps, to market, and carry her heavy basket of
purchases up half a dozen flights on her return. It is the custom of French
servants to ask small wages for a great deal of cheerful, competent service,
and then make up part of the difference by a little juggling with the market
books. Then why not accept the French way when one is in France? It certainly
avoids much friction and wear and tear. The experienced traveler will, however,
by a little experiment in the markets herself, get a general idea of the prices
of things, and thereby be enabled to check any attempt at really gross
overcharging. The French woman will respect her the more, for she dearly loves
a bargain, and admires the shrewd bargainer — when she is not pushed too close.
In travel through France this same system of
bargaining is always to be observed. The whole country is dotted with little
inns of excellent quality, where one had best put up during mere transient
excursions of a few days or a week; but it is a wise precaution to ascertain
all about prices at once, and have a clear
understanding what they are to be.
Very much the same advice given as
to France, serves in Italy and Spain— only that in the last two mentioned
countries they are even sharper bargainers, and must be dealt with firmly.
There are pensions, but the same rule holds good here as in France. A
sitting-room, bed-room, and dressing room cost, roundly, about a hundred francs
a month. Service and meals, lights and fires, are all extra, and are more or
less according to one’s needs. The trattoria system is in vogue in
Venice and Rome, and one Italian servant—of which there are many good ones—is
quite sufficient here, for as a rule she serves only as house-maid, and makes
the morning coffee; it being so widely the fashion to lunch and dine at the
restaurants. Another way is to take part of an Italian house, which is even
cheaper than an apartment—since there are so many people of good birth and
education living upon extremely narrow means in Italy, and with more space in
their homes than they need. They furnish all service except the furnishing of
meals—which they would be quite willing to add if the American lodger.
In Rome, Madrid, and in Paris, of
course, there are excellent dressmakers to be had at most reasonable rates.
They will come to one’s house and do all the fitting at such hours as are most
convenient, and in Paris some of them will dress their tiny mannikins in models
of such gowns as may be desired, to give the purchaser a chance to see how the
combination of colors and materials she has chosen will look when finished. In
all the Latin countries the shop-keepers are such keen traders that it is
considered no trouble to bring goods of any sort to one’s house to choose from.
In London the dressmakers—with the
exception of a few famous and expensive couturieres—are generally
incompetent and unsatisfactory. Their prices are high, they will not use the
customer’s own goods, and their cut and finish are quite “impossible.”
Here the better way to shop is in the great haberdasheries, where excellent
readymade and partly-made things are to be found at most reasonable rates. Very
many Americans borrow an English friend’s ticket to the enormous Army and Navy
Stores, and make there admirable bargains.
London is the best place to shop
for old silver-ware, and for Sheffield plate, which make such beautiful
souvenirs of travel. Paris is the place for old lace, the dainty and
inexpensive jewelry of the moment’s fashion, and all toilet articles; but this
is a subject too profound and expansive to be lightly touched in a single
paper. All travelers will soon discover for themselves the characteristic
A similar story is true of every
country, and every capital thereof. A little ingenuity and patience, a little
study and forethought, achieve for the traveler all delights, and smooth all
her paths. In Berlin she lives in a pension, for that is the best mode
of life there. In St. Petersburg she takes a furnished apartment. In India or
Japan she rents a whole house, furnishes it, and hires a corps of servants. If
only passing through on a flying trip, she goes to the hotels and finds life
fairly comfortable in all of them. But wherever she goes she carries her
talisman; she frankly and pleasantly accepts the ways of the country she is in
and adapts herself to them, and is amiable, grateful for courtesies,
self-reliant, and thoughtful in making plans for the future, as well as quick
to grasp the demands of any situation.
All directions and suggestions to travelers must of necessity be vague and general; each voyage, like each life, is individual and unique; but common sense and cheerful good temper are the two safest guides and most agreeable traveling companions.
I’ve been trying to write a Regency story. Unfortunately, I’ve been in Victorian land for so long that I’ve forgotten a great deal of the Regency detail. So I decided to go straight to the source and readThe Annotated Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen and David M. Shapard. I’m having a blast. One of the resources Mr. Shapard cites is An Essay on Wheel Carriages by T Fuller, published in 1828. I’m a bit of a carriage dunce, so I scurried over to Internet Archive and looked up the book. It’s quite informative so I decided to excerpt a bit on my blog (so that I might always know where to find it.)
The modern chariot is understood to be on four wheels, the body part covered, and differing from the coach in having one seat only, instead of seats facing each other.
In weight both carriages are nearly equal; in fact, many modern chariots are constructed of greater weight than the generality of coaches. Chariots are usually required for two principal purposes ; viz.for town use and for travelling. Those for the former purpose are furnished with a seat in the front for the driver; which seat, in well-finished carriages, is ornamented with a handsome drapery of cloth, trimmed round with fringe, &c. as will be hereafter described, under the name of “hammer-cloth.” Those for the latter purpose have a seat behind, the horses being driven by a postilion: by this arrangement the view from the carriage is unobstructed. By far the greater number of modern chariots are made to combine both these properties.
No. I. is the representation of a modern travelling-chariot with its various appurtenances and accommodations for luggage. The body (by this is meant the covered part, having one seat of sufficient width to contain three persons, a door on each side, folding steps, and glasses to draw up, &c. and is suspended by leather braces, from springs upon each corner of the carriage part), fashion requires this part to be made large, very large in comparison with those which were made some few years since. This increase of size affords so much more interior accommodation, that small seats for the younger branches of a family are not unfrequently placed under the front windows, facing the back seat, and being made to remove at pleasure, does not affect the appearance of the carriage as a town chariot, and affords, in many instances, the accommodation of a coach. Between the front of the body and the splashing fence is carried the bonnet case, marked (c). Upon the roof of the body are two imperials, marked (ii).Upon the front of the carriage part (by this is meant the whole of that part of the vehicle to which the wheels and axles are attached, with the springs before named, upon each corner for supporting the body) is a large boot, marked (b),in which, is received a trunk or boxes, and upon it may be carried the imperial, marked (bi),usually designated “the boot imperial.” The hind part of the carriage supports a seat for two servants, which is constructed upon a boot of a suitable form, usually denominated “the hind rumble,” and is calculated to contain two large boxes or trunks.
By removing from this carriage the bonnet case (c), the imperials (i i) and (b i), and the hind rumble seat, and then attaching upon the front boot a driving seat, and also a pair of standards upon the hind part of the carriage from whence the hind rumble has been removed, and you have the complete town chariot No. 2.
This description of chariot is very heavy, and although it is used for town work with a pair of horses, will require four when loaded with its appendages for travelling.
The front or driving seat is sometimes used also, in which case this chariot affords accommodation for seven persons: viz. three in the body, two upon the driving seat, and two upon the hind seat; and sometimes, as before mentioned, two small seats are introduced to the inside of the body, making in all nine persons; affording, as already observed, the conveniences of a coach with the additional advantage of a very useful article for package, viz. the bonnet case (c), which the form of the body of a coach does not admit.
No. 3. is a different style of chariot; its appearance as a town chariot is sufficient for general purposes, and being somewhat lighter in its construction than No. 2. is more suitable for the country. This chariot also admits of a similar adaptation for travelling, although on a more limited scale. Thus, the driving seat can be removed from the front boot (b) to the hind platform (p), and the imperial upon the roof with the bonnet case in front, as described in No. 1., might be added: such a chariot with these appendages might at all times be drawn with a pair of horses.
The greater part of the better finished carriages for town use are now constructed with springs horizontally fixed upon the axletrees: these are denominated “under spring carriages.” By the action of such springs the carriage part is relieved from the shaking of paved roads, and its durability much increased. A carriage so constructed admits of the boots and seats for servants to be fixed upon the beds of the carriage part, instead of being attached to and swinging upon the same springs as the body. The drawings Nos. 1. and 2. are upon this construction. No. 3.being without this improvement, it will be observed, that the boot in front and the platform behind are attached to iron work branching from the body: the whole is in consequence supported by the same springs, which are required to be made stronger for that purpose.
The coach, as before observed, differs only from the chariot in the form of its body, which is made with seats facing each other. The large modern chariots having almost superseded coaches for the purposes of travelling, excepting with families of large establishment, coaches are now mostly used for town work, for which purpose they are sometimes very expensively finished.
No. 4. is the representation of a town coach: the body is usually built of sufficient size to contain two persons on each seat. The driving seat is supported upon the front beds of the carriage by what are termed “coach-box standards,” and is furnished with a hammer cloth; upon the centre of which is placed the crest, and sometimes the armorial bearings, in embroidery, or chased in silver or yellow metal, to suit the furniture of the carriage. A row of deep fringe is continued round the bottom edge, and occasionally another of less depth upon the top.
Upon the hind beds are the footman’s standards. This appendage is not only ornamental, but is found of great use in places of public resort, as it prevents the poles of other carriages coming too close. These appendages are not confined to the coach; they are applied with equal effect to the town chariot; but as they appear more in character with the former vehicle, we have described them in connection with it. Coaches are sometimes made to contain one person only on each seat: such a carriage is designated a vis-à-vis, and is used only by persons of high fashion and large establishment.
The style of finishing modern carriages has been for some time past with as little external embellishment as possible (those kept expressly for town-work excepted). Fashion seems now to require some additional ornament.
The linings are of superfine cloth, with squabs of morocco leather or silk tabberett, trimmed with handsome laces of silk and worsted, and sometimes entirely of silk: the colours are claret, crimson, and different shades of drab: these are determined partly by the taste of the owner, and partly by the colour of the painting, upon which fashion does not appear to exercise much influence. At present, clarets, pale greens, browns, and yellows appear in almost equal proportions.
Landaus and Landaulets.
The observations already made upon coaches and chariots apply equally to these carriages; the only difference being in the bodies, which are made to throw open. To effect this properly, much skill is required in making the body itself, or the doors will soon be found to open and shut with difficulty. The means employed to remedy this inconvenience affect the grooves in which the glasses slide, and render repair necessary to these parts also: this soon leads to a derangement of the whole.
The use of these carriages has of late much declined, probably in some measure from this circumstance, but chiefly on account of the additional attention required to them, and their increased weight, from the greater proportion of iron work employed in their construction.
The Barouch was introduced from Germany to this country about the year 1802. It was the fashion at that time to build carriages extremely low; and the better to effect this purpose, the front part of the body was arched upwards, as in the drawing No. 5., to admit of the front wheel passing under the body in locking the carriage for the purpose of turning. The barouch has seats inside facing each other, similar to the coach and landau; but with a view to lightness the half head was contrived, which, when put up as in the drawing, covers only the hind seat. These constitute the leading features of the barouch: the most conspicuous is the arching up of the front part, which soon became fashionable, and was applied to other carriages, particularly to landaus, and these carriages when so made were termed barouch landaus.
As higher carriages became fashionable, this arched front part being no longer of use, was gradually abandoned; yet, notwithstanding, the half headed carriage still retains the name of barouch.
The barouchet bears the same affinity to the barouch as the landaulet does to the landau; viz. that of having only one seat in the inside, instead of seats facing each other. No. 6.is the representation of a barouchet.
The barouch and barouchet will accommodate the same number of persons as the landau and landaulet; and being made of much lighter construction, they are on this account greatly to be preferred for summer use and short excursions in fine weather. Indeed, the barouchet is often built so light as to allow of being drawn by one horse. For this purpose the body is usually constructed upon what are termed “nut-cracker” or elliptical springs, similar to No. 7– If due attention be paid in the building, a carriage on this construction may be made sufficiently light to form a very neat and convenient one-horse equipage.
This carriage is also of continental origin, and was introduced to this country soon after the peace of 1814. The Britska is a carriage peculiarly adapted for travelling, being so well calculated for receiving luggage. The bottom of the body is nearly straight, with a large boot in the front part in continuation: this boot and the spaces under the seats admit of large square boxes, and the form of the body allows of the perch being made nearly straight, and shorter than to other carriages: the steps being placed on the outside, gives room for two ample pockets in the space which they would otherwise occupy if folded into the carriage in the usual way. The head is furnished with glasses in mahogany frames which inclose the whole of the front, and are so contrived as to fold up in a portable form, and fasten to the upper part of the head when not required.
These carriages are constructed either with one seat, like the barouchet, or with seats facing each other, like the barouch, as may be required. No. 8. is the design of one with a back seat only, which is generally made of sufficient width to contain three persons. The folding glasses in front render this seat equally secure from wet as that of a chariot. The front part of the body, as well as the boot in continuation, are usually appropriated to luggage, or will afford sufficient space for those who travel inside to repose at length.
The seat behind contains two servants, with room in the boot part below for additional luggage. Another seat, capable of accommodating one or two persons, is obtainable in the front by affixing the small portable seat (marked P. S.) upon the boot, with the small footboard at the bottom, which, when not required, turns back underneath the body.
These carriages are very convenient for travelling, and a pair of post-horses will generally draw them at a quicker pace than most other carriages, although when loaded the weight might be greater: this arises from an idea of lightness on account of the shortness of the carriage, and the luggage being concealed by the form of the body.
About the time that driving became fashionable, the Phaeton was introduced; and as this appears to be the only four-wheel carriage of any decided character of English origin…we must refer the reader again to Plate 3., and solicit attention to the preposterous situation of the body, which was gradually brought to this extremity with the view of obtaining a better command over four horses. In descending hills, the weight of this body frequently preponderated so much as to raise the hind wheels from the ground, to prevent which it became necessary to place a weight between them. This phaeton was for a considerable time looked upon as a most elegant carriage, and the only one from which four horses could be driven. Indeed, our most gracious sovereign himself, to whose valuable patronage the coachmaking trade are so deeply indebted, used frequently to drive an equipage of this sort.
As driving became more fashionable, more attention was bestowed upon the driving-seats of other carriages, and the compact and then novel form of the mail-coach gave rise to the adoption of carriages upon this principle for driving four horses; and about twenty-five years since, a number of fashionables, termed the “Whip Club,” used to assemble with elegant equipages of this form drawn by four horses in hand.
The author has frequently seen from twenty to thirty assemble in the vicinity of Cavendish Square, and drive off in procession. A more imposing and gratifying sight could not be imagined. From this period phaetons have been looked upon as carriages more suitable for a pair of horses; and they now appear to be brought to perfection, as they seem to want nothing either as to ease or convenience.
The first we shall describe is No. 9., which is certainly the most complete and serviceable phaeton now in use; it is usually denominated the double-seated phaeton, and is generally constructed upon horizontal or mail-coach springs. The advantage of this plan consists, in the weight being supported by each corner, immediately over the bearing of each wheel; and each spring being fixed at its centre, allows the carriage part to be constructed much shorter and lighter, and at the same time with more strength and simplicity than if the body was suspended from upright springs and leather braces.
The body part, containing both seats, is one continuation of light frame-work, cased with pannel board, affording space inside for large boxes and other accommodation. These seats are also so contrived as to admit of being changed from back to front at pleasure, a source of great convenience when a servant is required to drive. It will be observed, that the carriage part of this phaeton is constructed with a perch, consequently the front wheel can only lock to a certain degree; but as gentlemen keeping such equipages are generally proficients in the art of driving, this circumstance becomes a matter of little moment: should it be otherwise, an iron perch can be used, which could be arched upwards to admit of the wheel passing under: this is termed a swan perch, and possesses all the advantage in this respect of the old crane neck carriage, which has been laid aside for some time on account of its weight.
No. 10. is another plan of phaeton: its construction differs considerably from the other, being built without a perch, and possessing all the advantage of a crane-neck carriage without its weight. The greatest proportion of these phaetons are built sufficiently light to allow of being used with one horse, for which purpose the property of locking freely round is of great importance, as one horse will turn more suddenly than can a pair of horses harnessed together; and the event of a sudden and violent turn (if the front wheel has not a free lock) must be to overturn the carriage or break the shafts. The same effect takes place if the horse should back on a hill, as the slightest deviation of the hind wheels from a straight line brings the carriage upon the lock, when, if checked, the same consequence necessarily follows.
A phaeton, if required to carry two persons only, and to be drawn entirely by one horse, can be built equally light as a Stanhope; and by arching upwards the bottom of the body, a higher front wheel may be obtained, thereby rendering the carriage much more suitable for using with the sort of horse generally driven in Stanhopes. No. 11. will give an idea of such a carriage. The form may be varied to suit the pleasure or accommodation of the owner. An additional seat for two persons may be added, when required, to the hind part; or it may be so contrived as to turn back and form a seat.
Some of these carriages are constructed on a smaller scale to go with lesser horses; others have seats behind, which are made to fold into the hind part of the body when not required, similar to No. 10. or 11., and a considerable proportion are made with detached seats in the front to drive from. Some of these cannot properly be termed phaetons; they appear to have more claim to the appellation of barouchets, or perhaps barouch phaeton may be an appropriate name. The word phaeton is ‘certainly meant to imply a carriage to be driven from; that is to say, the body itself should form the seat for the driver, and, when the construction of the carriage and form of the body does not allow of this, the name of phaeton is clearly misapplied.
The additional safety of a carriage upon four wheels over one with two only, is a circumstance of great importance to the timid and infirm; yet many are induced to forego this advantage from an idea of the increased weight and resistance of four wheels in draft. The better to enable the reader to judge how far this opinion is correct, we propose to make some further remarks on these carriages in comparison with those upon two wheels, in the course of which we. shall point out the peculiar advantages of each.
Two Wheel Carriages.
The curricle is a carriage so generally known, and at the same time so little in use at present, that a slight description will sufficiently answer our present purpose without any graphic illustration.
The curricle is usually constructed with large springs behind, and lever springs in the front. Like other two wheel carriages, it is necessary that the preponderance of weight should be in the front part: this weight is supported from a bar attached to the horses’ backs, by upright irons fixed in a secure manner upon the saddles: from the centre of this bar is a brace, by which is suspended the pole of the carriage between the horses; the pole is connected to the brace by a long spring, the elasticity of which relieves the rider from the up and down motion communicated to the carriage by the action of the horses. Curricle horses require to be matched with great attention; for unless they step together, the motion of the carriage becomes extremely unpleasant.
Under proper management, the curricle forms a most elegant carriage. If built by an experienced builder, who would not fail to attend particularly to its construction, more especially to the form and hanging of the body, the apportioning of just sufficient weight to the horses’ backs as is necessary to keep the carriage steady, and to tastefully ornament and finish the whole; if to such a carriage be attached a pair of horses not less than 16 hands high, matching in courage and action, with two outriders behind, no style of carriage can equal it. The park loses much of its splendour by the absence of such equipages as these; and this circumstance is the more to be regretted as we find them supplanted in a great measure by the
We are indebted to our neighbours for this machine: with them it may be a useful carriage, answering, no doubt, the purposes of individuals of limited means sufficiently well.
The modern cabriolet is large and commodious in the body, which is furnished with a head, and framed knee-flap. Hung with curricle cee springs behind, long under springs in the front, and others horizontally fixed under the shafts, and a platform behind for a servant to stand upon, this carriage is equal in weight with a curricle. That it is convenient cannot be denied; but it has no claim to elegance. The eye is at once offended by the disproportion of the means employed to draw it. Certainly some of the finest horses in Europe are driven in them, and, perhaps, to this circumstance is to be attributed the preference given to these carriages by persons of rank and fortune; as the high price such superior horses command will always prevent the cabriolet becoming too common.
The lighter descriptions of two-wheel carriages were generally comprehended under the names of gigs and one horse chaises, until Mr. Tilbury, of South Street, Grosvenor Square, introduced the carriage which has borne his name.
See an image of a Tilbury from Science and Society Picture Library.
The principal advantage of this carriage is its superior adaptation for a large horse. This desirable property chiefly consists in compassing the shafts upwards to the horse’s back, thereby obtaining a short back strap without depressing the hind part of the carriage; and by giving them at the same time a similar direction sideways, the animal has room to move without his sides being chafed by the close contact of the shafts: thus, by this contrivance, a low carriage was rendered completely suitable for a large horse. In addition to this, the body being hung between the shafts by means of springs and leather braces very advantageously arranged, it was found to be a carriage peculiarly adapted for town use; the action of the springs and braces being sufficient to relieve the rider from the concussions arising from the uneven pavements of the London streets. The Tilbury became very general, and for a considerable time scarcely any other two-wheel carriages were used. It is now almost superseded by
This carriage possesses the same advantages as the Tilbury, with more convenience for traveiling, the body being formed to receive large boxes or luggage under the seat. This carriage as well as the Tilbury is too well known to require the assistance of drawings, for illustration. Indeed, a two-wheel carriage can be only imperfectly represented by a drawing in elevation. It must be seen round before an idea can be formed: in fact, it should be seen with the horse in it. As much depends upon the form and position of the springs as upon the construction itself. The adjustment of the weight to the horse’s back and the line of draught are principal objects; besides which, there are a variety of minutiae without attention to which the carriage is not complete, and the experienced driver will soon perceive that something is wanting. This carriage and the Tilbury require fine-actioned horses with plenty of bone, about fifteen hands two inches high. With a Stanhope a lower and more compact horse is sometimes used; but, when speaking of a Tilbury horse, the description of animal first mentioned would be understood.
A variety of other two-wheel carriages have been contrived to suit the taste or convenience of the owners; but none have arrived at sufficient notoriety to require any separate notice. Some have been called buggies, others dennets, others having capacity for carrying dogs have been named Dog Carts. The construction of these carriages is various.
The idea of two wheel carriages being unsafe has lately gained much ground in public opinion; but when we consider the extensive use of these carriages, the improper horses so often applied to them, and the unskilful or inexperienced hand which so frequently undertakes to direct them, it is only surprising we do not hear of more accidents.
There is a description of horse much used in the west of England, from fourteen and a half to fifteen hands high, and worth about thirty-five pound. Some of these horses, although they look well from good keep and grooming, are heavy in the shoulder, and not calculated for quick travelling. If a horse of this sort be driven in a Tilbury or Stanhope, in event of a stumble (which is very likely to occur) he must fall; and as the front part of the carriage descends with him, the riders are necessarily thrown out. The fault is then attributed to the carriage, when it more justly appertains to the horse; and if such an animal was driven in a four wheel carriage, the riders would have remained steady during a similar fall, and thus escaping injury, the occurrence would not be called an accident. For horses of this description, it is scarcely necessary to observe, a carriage with four wheels is the most suitable. Hence it becomes evident, before we condemn two wheel carriages as unsafe, or reckon upon the advantage of one with four wheels, we should pay some attention to the horses to be used in drawing them.
Summer vacation is coming, ladies! Have you wired ahead to the hotels where you’ll be staying? Do you know how to pack your hats properly? What are you going to wear in the sleeper car? How will you handle unwanted male attention on a train?
For two hours, one night. I listened while the Travelers talked. The Travelers were a group of ladies’ maids: intelligent, well-bred, young women gathered together in Miranda’s pleasant room, at a big hotel in New York. A lady’s maid is of the class one meets so seldom—except in a novel or the stage—that I was glad to know them in real life. Miranda was responsible, I suppose, for an all-evening theme by telling what a queer reception Lady Chesterton had in New York.
“My lady.” said Miranda, “came across on a line which lands in Boston. Her luggage was labeled ‘Miss Chesterton‘. She hates the fuss that is made over anybody who brings a title to America. Before going to visit some old friends she wanted to rest, so after a few hours in Boston we took the train for New York. We arrived here late at night and drove to a hotel, which some English friends had recommended to my lady. The clerk said there was not an empty room. We got the same answer at the next hotel. It was nearly midnight when we made our third stop, here. Again there was no room. While we stood by the desk in perplexity, a lady and gentleman passed us, called for a room and got one. My lady turned back for a talk with the clerk who became perfectly honest with her. He told her there were rooms enough, but women arriving in the evening without an escort could not be given accommodations. The same rule exists, so he told us, in every reputable hotel.”
“Lady Chesterton did not feel that way about it.” continued Miranda. “She approved of the idea, but it was midnight and where were we to go? She told the clerk of her quandary and gave her name, though she did not wish to register under it. After a brief glance at my lady’s letters to her banker we were accommodated and provided with every comfort. One thing the clerk told us about traveling in America my lady will put into practice before our journey to San Francisco; she will write ahead and secure rooms at hotels wherever we are to stop.”
“Talk of traveling with no man along.” sighed Felice, a chatty French maid. “That an episode my lady and I had last night! I went with her to the theater—ah, what a stupid play!” The girl threw out her hands tragically. “‘Felice.’ said my lady, ‘let us have something to eat and forget it. There is the rathskeller where my husband and I go after the play. Such good things to eat and such music! It was a heavenly place, but what a crowd! We walked to the end of the room before we found a table. ‘We will have lobster a la Newberg began my lady, ‘with some little—‘ ‘Pardon, madame,’ I interrupted, ‘but for what do they take us?’
“One waiter had beckoned to another, they stood staring at us, then hurried away for the head waiter. Oh, he was polite. ‘When does your escort arrive?’ he asked with his beautiful smile. ‘Escort?’ repeated my lady. ‘Your father, husband, brother?’ ‘We have no gentleman coming to join us.’ He grew more polite, more smiling. ‘I am sorry, indeed, but this table is engaged.’ ‘Of course it is engaged,’ said my lady haughtily; ‘please send a waiter at once to take my order.’ But she did not have her little supper at the rathskeller. That head waiter told us very confidential—we could not eat there unless a gentleman was with us. So, all down that long room we had to walk, everybody watching us and wondering, I suppose, ‘Who are these terrible people,—thieves or what?’”
“Such experiences,” said Martha, a plain-looking New England girl, “are valuable lessons for the women who travel. My mistress has had difficulties; she did not resent them, however…So she wires ahead to a number of hotels, wherever she is to stop—any hotel in your own town will give you a list of them. She learns about prices, accommodations, the distance from a railroad station, so she knows whether she has to take a carriage or not. She asks for menus, if the place is run on European style, then she has a fair idea of what living there will cost.”
“Are you girls on the go all the time?” I asked curiously.
“I am, for at least eight months of the year,” said Emily, a dainty little creature who was busily mending a lace flounce. “My mistress is Miss Marlitt, the actress. Travel with her is not the weariness it is in some positions because she has reduced packing to a science. Every bit of baggage she owns either for the hotel or the theater is a thing of such neatness and convenience that ‘living in a trunk,’ as we say, is as easy as if one were at home. I cannot afford many of the small contrivances Miss Marlitt owns, but I have adopted some of them to make travel easier for myself.”
“Tell us of them,” begged Miranda.
“Well, there is my little scheme for carrying hats. I punch two holes, an inch apart, in the lid of the top tray of my trunk and run in a yard of tape. Over this I lay my hat, top up, filled with any light-weight articles. I stick a long hat pin through it, as if I were putting it on my head, then over and over the hat pin I wind the tape, which ties securely on the other side of the lid. This draws the hat brim down tight. Around the crown and trimmings, I tuck other light articles, or tissue paper, which we use by the ream.”
“What do you do with so much tissue paper?” queried Annette.
“I crumple sheet after sheet of it and stuff the puffy sleeves of nice gowns, I wind it in twists about flowers and ribbons on hats and build little fences around perky bows or dress trimmings which do not stand crushing. Then my plan for carrying liquids defies the most violent baggage-smasher. When every bottle is corked securely, I set it in a square tin box, fill in between with clean, sawdust and lock it. All that is necessary when repacking is to empty the sawdust on a paper and pour it again around the bottles. When I go from the sleeping car to the dressing room I carry a linen affair which looks like a strapped music roll. Inside are numerous little pockets, one row lined with silk rubber holds a washrag. Tooth brush, sponge, and nail brush. In the others are tooth powder, a buttonhook, pins, brush and comb, my belt and collar, any small bits of jewelry, hairpins, a housewife with needles, thread, scissors, a thimble, hooks and eyes, and tape. A loop at the top hangs it up and as every pocket is labeled, dressing is a quick job.”
“I wish I might have my turn at the dressing room after you,” said Felice. “Ah, women are so mean, so slow, so don’t-care! One morning when we were getting into Chicago, we waited half an hour for a—person to let us have our turn. A line of other women were waiting; some of them rapped at the door, some of them said things. At last somebody went for the conductor. He made the person open the door. Her hair was dressed as if she were going to a party, she was rouged, powdered, manicured, perfumed, hatted and veiled and she smiled so triumphant! I had to brush my lady’s hair while she sat in her berth, and our faces, we could not wash them till we got to our hotel.”
“Another thing.” continued Emily, “that women ought to know is that it is a conductor’s duty to hear the appeal of any woman who has the unwelcome attentions of a man thrust upon her. ‘I have in mind,’ said my brother. ‘one man who boards my train three times a week. He is rich, well dressed, good-looking and holds a fine position in his own town. He walks past seats occupied by a homely woman or in which a man is lounging till he finds a pretty girl. Then politely enough he takes his place beside her. A refined woman is so afraid of making a scene she would rather endure any unpleasantness than call the conductor. Women ought to complain in such cases. It can be done so quietly that even the passenger in the next seat need not know what is happening. It means not only protection for one woman but for others. One experience of that sort would make such a man wary in the future. I keep an eye on young girls who are traveling alone. More than once in the midst of a flirtation with some man who is not fit to speak to her, I have escorted a pretty child to the Pullman and given her a bit of fatherly advice. But I would say to mothers if it is necessary, send your ten year-old daughter across the continent in the care of conductors and a kindly public—she is safe; but when she is eighteen, pretty, a bit headstrong, perhaps, and innocently fond of admiration and attention, don‘t send her on a hundred mile journey alone.
“There is not a doubt of it,” cried Martha, heartily. “Dear me! how some women do dress when they travel! They fairly outrage every law of good breeding. I wish you could have seen a vision that flounced through our car the other morning. Her blonde hair was in a wild frowzle, she wore a billowy wrapper of baby blue silk fluttering with frills, ribbons and laces, while she fairly blazed with diamonds. I’m glad Miranda was not there, she would have classified her as a wild American.”
Miranda’s handsome face flushed. “I am guilty already of thinking that some American women do dress [oddly] when they travel, although,” she added hastily, “you would see plenty of such display in England and the Continent. You can always pick out the real aristocrat there by the plainness of her clothes when she travels. She wears, as Lady Chesterton does, a simple walking suit with a dark silk waist which sheds dust, a long traveling coat and a plain hat with very little trimming on it. A wrapper of soft black silk and black bed slippers are all that is necessary for the sleeping car.”
“Do tell me then how to care for children when traveling,” cried Annette.
“Get acquainted with them before they start and discover what they like to do,” said Martha. “I once brought five motherless little ones from Oklahoma to Maine, and there never was a fretful, uncomfortable half-hour. We secured the end of the Pullman and in my grip I had stowed away hooks, paper dollies and doll house furniture, games, a scrapbook with pictures ready to cut out and paste, beads to string and for the elder girls dolls’ clothes ready to sew. When we got on the cars I took off the children’s traveling clothes and put each one in a soft, thin play frock with round neck and short sleeves. I had a roll of old linen cut in squares and a pint bottle filled with suds from good toilet soap. A few drops of this added to a cup of cold water cleansed smutty faces or grimy hands, then the soiled washrag was tossed from the window. The children had their dining car meals at the same hours they would have eaten at home and they had the wholesome food to which they were accustomed. There was no candy or cookies between meals, only an occasional drink of cool milk or filtered water from the dining car, for I have a horror of the beverage served from a railroad ice water tank. At 3 o’clock, the three little ones were laid on a rug on the floor with comfortable pillows under their heads and the shades down to shut out the sun. While they napped I read a story to the elder ones. Before 8 they were all in bed and at once dropped off to sleep without the least trouble.
When the conductor assured us we had ten minutes to spare, I took the youngsters for a breath of fresh air and to stretch their legs, whether it was on the platform of a busy depot or on the green prairie by a water tank.”
“Did you have a plentiful supply of eyestones along?” asked Emily.
“Better than that,” said Martha, “I had a tiny camel’s hair brush, which will remove a railroad cinder in a second. Ah, I must not forget the aid I had from the children‘s aunt. She dropped a bundle in my grip just before we started. It held a bunch of envelopes, one was to be given each child at a certain hour every day. Sometimes the envelope held some nonsense rhymes that we all laughed over, or a Japanese butterfly which was wound up until its wings were in tatters, a paper ball. a tiny mirror to flash reflections, puzzles or conundrums with their answers in the next envelope, funny pictures, pencils and paper, stories out from magazines or postals of scenery we had to pass.”