I shook my head.
“Twenty-seven! It is a cruel loss, it is ruin–
but take them, only take them.”
I still retreated, still wagging my head.
“MON DIEU, they shall even go for twenty-six! There,
I have said it. Come!”
I wagged another negative. A nurse and a little English girl
had been near me, and were following me, now. The shopwoman
ran to the nurse, thrust the beads into her hands, and said:
“Monsieur shall have them for twenty-five! Take them
to the hotel–he shall send me the money tomorrow–
next day–when he likes.” Then to the child: “When thy
father sends me the money, come thou also, my angel,
and thou shall have something oh so pretty!”
I was thus providentially saved. The nurse refused
the beads squarely and firmly, and that ended the matter.
The “sights” of Geneva are not numerous. I made one
attempt to hunt up the houses once inhabited by those
two disagreeable people, Rousseau and Calvin, but I had
no success. Then I concluded to go home. I found it was
easier to propose to do that than to do it; for that town
is a bewildering place. I got lost in a tangle of narrow
and crooked streets, and stayed lost for an hour or two.
Finally I found a street which looked somewhat familiar,
and said to myself, “Now I am at home, I judge.” But I
was wrong; this was “HELL street.” Presently I found
another place which had a familiar look, and said to myself,
“Now I am at home, sure.” It was another error. This was
“PURGATORY street.” After a little I said, “NOW I’ve got the
right place, anyway … no, this is ‘PARADISE street’;
I’m further from home than I was in the beginning.”
Those were queer names–Calvin was the author of them,
likely. “Hell” and “Purgatory” fitted those two streets
like a glove, but the “Paradise” appeared to be sarcastic.
I came out on the lake-front, at last, and then I knew
where I was. I was walking along before the glittering
jewelry shops when I saw a curious performance.
A lady passed by, and a trim dandy lounged across the walk
in such an apparently carefully timed way as to bring
himself exactly in front of her when she got to him;
he made no offer to step out of the way; he did not apologize;
he did not even notice her. She had to stop still and let
him lounge by. I wondered if he had done that piece
of brutality purposely. He strolled to a chair and seated
himself at a small table; two or three other males were
sitting at similar tables sipping sweetened water.
I waited; presently a youth came by, and this fellow got
up and served him the same trick. Still, it did not seem
possible that any one could do such a thing deliberately.
To satisfy my curiosity I went around the block, and,
sure enough, as I approached, at a good round speed, he got
up and lounged lazily across my path, fouling my course
exactly at the right moment to receive all my weight.
This proved that his previous performances had not
been accidental, but intentional.
I saw that dandy’s curious game played afterward, in Paris,
but not for amusement; not with a motive of any sort, indeed,
but simply from a selfish indifference to other people’s
comfort and rights. One does not see it as frequently
in Paris as he might expect to, for there the law says,
in effect, “It is the business of the weak to get out of
the way of the strong.” We fine a cabman if he runs over
a citizen; Paris fines the citizen for being run over.
At least so everybody says–but I saw something which
caused me to doubt; I saw a horseman run over an old woman
one day–the police arrested him and took him away.
That looked as if they meant to punish him.
It will not do for me to find merit in American manners–
for are they not the standing butt for the jests
of critical and polished Europe? Still, I must venture