English fiction -- 20th century; English wit and humor; Imaginary letters; Letters in literature
After breakfast Lady Arlington and the M.P. went to the church; she
said that afterwards she would show me her “Friendship’s Garden,” which
I suppose is a garden reserved for her intimate friends. The guests
went into the garden and sat under the trees in small groups; nearly
every one had a book, and I found that wherever I went I made a desert,
a _vide_, and everybody said they must go and write letters. After
a time I went in doors, also to write letters, and in every drawing
room I found a _tête-à-tête_! I waited for Lady Arlington, but Sir
Arlington found me and asked me to take a walk, and he took me to see
his stables and the park, which is a dream. I asked about the garden,
but he said that was his wife’s, and that he did not occupy himself
with it; but he showed me all that was practical and interesting. It
was admirable. I came in all out of breath before the lunch, and had
just time to go upstairs and change my dress.
This time I thought I would be right, and I put on my most elegant
Worth dress. But no! I come downstairs, I find everybody sitting at the
lunch, and they have once more changed into short skirts and flannels.
It was despairing! There was only one empty place left, between the
painter and the M.P. I talked French _politique_ with him; he was
amiable, but I could not see what they find remarkable in him.
After lunch the tennis; it was not very hot, and Lady Arlington and
some of the other guests went out, and one of the young women (she who
was so pretty) quarrelled with one of the other women, and although
everybody tried to calm her, she would not listen and went into the
house, crying, my dear, crying hot tears, and there she remained for
the rest of the afternoon! I did not know what the drama was about.
Then everybody disappeared; the “Italian nobleman” (always so well
meaning and so modest) proposed to me to look on at the tennis. We sat
down on chairs with the painter and the novelist until tea was brought.
At tea another man arrived from London, a lord, I forget his name,
middle-aged and very gay; he at once got himself presented to me; we
played a new game called croquet-golf until dinner. The others did
not seem to appreciate him so much, perhaps he shocked the English
reserve; he is full of _en-train_ and the English humour. At dinner Sir
Arlington again gave me the arm. After dinner everybody played Bridge
once more, but I had the joy to find my friend the new arrival, who
talked to me the whole evening and regaled me with his drollery, and
made a thousand farces, causing me to die of laughing, simply (imagine
how!) by drawing pigs with his eyes shut!
This morning I returned to London, on which I will write you further
impressions soon. I adore England, the men are so well informed and
full of humour, the women are beautiful, but why do not they learn to
put on clothes, and why are they so dressed and yet so untidy? Oh how
different you are from us!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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