In great haste the
animal was loaded on another automobile; and before either the
prince or Comte de Valon could interfere it was driven away.
While Comte de Valon spurred his horse in pursuit Prince Murat
disarmed the man who had shot the stag, for he was leveling his
gun at another huntsman; but before the gun was wrenched from his
hands he had struck Prince d'Essling, Prince Murat's uncle, across
the face with the butt.
Meantime Comte de Valon had overtaken the automobile and, though
threatened with revolvers by its occupants, would have recaptured
the stag if the men in charge of it had not taken it into the house
of M. Dauchis' father.
The only course left for Prince Murat and Comte de Valon was to
lodge a complaint with the police for assault and for killing the
stag, which M. Dauchis refused to give back.
From this you may see how very much more exciting stag hunting is
in France than in America. Comparing the two systems we find but
one point of resemblance - namely, the attempted shooting of a
huntsman. In the North Woods we do a good deal of that sort of
thing: however with us it is not yet customary to charge the
prospective victim in a little automobile - that may come in time.
Our best bags are made by the stalking or still-hunting method.
Our city-raised sportsman slips up on his guide and pots him from
a rest.
But consider the rest of the description so graphically set forth
by Le Figaro - the intriguing of the mayor; the opposing groups
rampaging round, some on horseback and some in automobile runabouts;
the intense disappointment of the highborn Prince Murat and his
uncle, the Prince d'Essling, and his friend, the Comte de Valon;
the implied grief of the stag at being stricken down by other than
noble hands; the action of the base-born commoner, who shot the
stag, in striking the Prince d'Essling across his pained and
aristocratic face with the butt - exact type of butt and name of
owner not being given. Only in its failure to clear up this
important point, and in omitting to give descriptions of the
costumes worn by the two princes and the comte, is Le Figaro's
story lacking. They must have been wearing the very latest creations
too.
This last brings us back again to the subject of clothes and serves
to remind me that, contrary to a belief prevalent on this side of
the water, good clothes cost as much abroad as they cost here.
In England a man may buy gloves and certain substantial articles
of haberdashery in silk and linen and wool at a much lower figure
than in America; and in Italy he will find crocheted handbags and
bead necklaces are to be had cheaper than at home - provided, of
course, he cares for such things as crocheted handbags and bead
necklaces. Handmade laces and embroideries and sundry other
feminine fripperies, so women tell me, are moderately priced on
the Continent, if so be the tourist-purchaser steers clear of the
more fashionable shops and chases the elusive bargain down a back
street; but, quality considered, other things cost as much in
Europe as they cost here - and frequently they cost more. If you
buy at the shopkeeper's first price he has a secret contempt for
you; if you haggle him down to a reasonably fair valuation - say
about twice the amount a native would pay for the same thing - he
has a half-concealed contempt for you; if you refuse to trade at
any price he has an open contempt for you; and in any event he
dislikes you because you are an American. So there you are. No
matter how the transaction turns out you have his contempt; it is
the only thing he parts with at cost.
It is true that you may buy a suit of clothes for ten dollars in
London; so also may you buy a suit of clothes for ten dollars in
any American city, but the reasonably affluent American doesn't
buy ten-dollar suits at home. He saves himself up to indulge in
that form of idiocy abroad. In Paris or Rome you may get a
five-course dinner with wine for forty cents; so you may in certain
quarters of New York; but in either place the man who can afford
to pay more for his dinner will find it to his ultimate well-being
to do so. Simply because a boarding house in France or Italy is
known as a pension doesn't keep it from being a boarding house
- and a pretty average bad one, as I have been informed by misguided
Americans who tried living at a pension, and afterwards put in a
good deal of their spare time regretting it.
Altogether, looking back on my own experiences, I can at this time
of writing think of but two common commodities which, when grade
is taken into the equation, are found to be radically cheaper in
Europe than in America - these two things being taxicabs and counts.
For their cleanliness and smartness of aspect, and their reasonableness
of meter-fare, taxicabs all over Europe are a constant joy to the
traveling American. And, though in the United States counts are
so costly that only the marriageable daughters of the very wealthy
may afford to buy them - and even then, as the count calendars
attest, have the utmost difficulty in keeping them after they are
bought - in Continental Europe anywhere one may for a moderate price
hire a true-born count to do almost any small job, from guiding
one through an art gallery to waiting on one at the table.
