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1DAISY MILLER: A STUDY IN TWO PARTS The text is that of the first American appearance in book form, 1879. PART I At the
2little town of Vevey, in Switzerland, there is a particularly comfortable hotel. There are, indeed, many hotels, for the
3entertainment of tourists is the business of the place, which, as many travelers will remember, is seated upon the edge
4of a remarkably blue lake--a lake that it behooves every tourist to visit. The shore of the lake presents an unbroken
5array of establishments of this order, of every category, from the "grand hotel" of the newest fashion, with a
6chalk-white front, a hundred balconies, and a dozen flags flying from its roof, to the little Swiss pension of an elder
7day, with its name inscribed in German-looking lettering upon a pink or yellow wall and an awkward summerhouse in the
8angle of the garden. One of the hotels at Vevey, however, is famous, even classical, being distinguished from many of
9its upstart neighbors by an air both of luxury and of maturity. In this region, in the month of June, American travelers
10are extremely numerous; it may be said, indeed, that Vevey assumes at this period some of the characteristics of an
11American watering place. There are sights and sounds which evoke a vision, an echo, of Newport and Saratoga. There is a
12flitting hither and thither of "stylish" young girls, a rustling of muslin flounces, a rattle of dance music in the
13morning hours, a sound of high-pitched voices at all times. You receive an impression of these things at the excellent
14inn of the "Trois Couronnes" and are transported in fancy to the Ocean House or to Congress Hall. But at the "Trois
15Couronnes," it must be added, there are other features that are much at variance with these suggestions: neat German
16waiters, who look like secretaries of legation; Russian princesses sitting in the garden; little Polish boys walking
17about held by the hand, with their governors; a view of the sunny crest of the Dent du Midi and the picturesque towers
18of the Castle of Chillon. I hardly know whether it was the analogies or the differences that were uppermost in the mind
19of a young American, who, two or three years ago, sat in the garden of the "Trois Couronnes," looking about him, rather
20idly, at some of the graceful objects I have mentioned. It was a beautiful summer morning, and in whatever fashion the
21young American looked at things, they must have seemed to him charming. He had come from Geneva the day before by the
22little steamer, to see his aunt, who was staying at the hotel--Geneva having been for a long time his place of
23residence. But his aunt had a headache--his aunt had almost always a headache--and now she was shut up in her room,
24smelling camphor, so that he was at liberty to wander about. He was some seven-and-twenty years of age; when his friends
25spoke of him, they usually said that he was at Geneva "studying." When his enemies spoke of him, they said--but, after
26all, he had no enemies; he was an extremely amiable fellow, and universally liked. What I should say is, simply, that
27when certain persons spoke of him they affirmed that the reason of his spending so much time at Geneva was that he was
28extremely devoted to a lady who lived there--a foreign lady--a person older than himself. Very few Americans--indeed, I
29think none--had ever seen this lady, about whom there were some singular stories. But Winterbourne had an old attachment
30for the little metropolis of Calvinism; he had been put to school there as a boy, and he had afterward gone to college
31there--circumstances which had led to his forming a great many youthful friendships. Many of these he had kept, and they
32were a source of great satisfaction to him. After knocking at his aunt's door and learning that she was indisposed, he
33had taken a walk about the town, and then he had come in to his breakfast. He had now finished his breakfast; but he was
34drinking a small cup of coffee, which had been served to him on a little table in the garden by one of the waiters who
35looked like an attache. At last he finished his coffee and lit a cigarette. Presently a small boy came walking along the
36path--an urchin of nine or ten. The child, who was diminutive for his years, had an aged expression of countenance, a
37pale complexion, and sharp little features. He was dressed in knickerbockers, with red stockings, which displayed his
38poor little spindle-shanks; he also wore a brilliant red cravat. He carried in his hand a long alpenstock, the sharp
39point of which he thrust into everything that he approached--the flowerbeds, the garden benches, the trains of the
40ladies' dresses. In front of Winterbourne he paused, looking at him with a pair of bright, penetrating little eyes.
41"Will you give me a lump of sugar?" he asked in a sharp, hard little voice--a voice immature and yet, somehow, not
42young. Winterbourne glanced at the small table near him, on which his coffee service rested, and saw that several
43morsels of sugar remained. "Yes, you may take one," he answered; "but I don't think sugar is good for little boys." This
44little boy stepped forward and carefully selected three of the coveted fragments, two of which he buried in the pocket
45of his knickerbockers, depositing the other as promptly in another place. He poked his alpenstock, lance-fashion, into
46Winterbourne's bench and tried to crack the lump of sugar with his teeth. "Oh, blazes; it's har-r-d!" he exclaimed,
47pronouncing the adjective in a peculiar manner. Winterbourne had immediately perceived that he might have the honor of
48claiming him as a fellow countryman. "Take care you don't hurt your teeth," he said, paternally. "I haven't got any
49teeth to hurt. They have all come out. I have only got seven teeth. My mother counted them last night, and one came out
50right afterward. She said she'd slap me if any more came out. I can't help it. It's this old Europe. It's the climate
51that makes them come out. In America they didn't come out. It's these hotels." Winterbourne was much amused. "If you eat
52three lumps of sugar, your mother will certainly slap you," he said. "She's got to give me some candy, then," rejoined
53his young interlocutor. "I can't get any candy here--any American candy. American candy's the best candy." "And are
54American little boys the best little boys?" asked Winterbourne. "I don't know. I'm an American boy," said the child. "I
55see you are one of the best!" laughed Winterbourne. "Are you an American man?" pursued this vivacious infant. And then,
56on Winterbourne's affirmative reply--"American men are the best," he declared. His companion thanked him for the
57compliment, and the child, who had now got astride of his alpenstock, stood looking about him, while he attacked a
58second lump of sugar. Winterbourne wondered if he himself had been like this in his infancy, for he had been brought to
59Europe at about this age. "Here comes my sister!" cried the child in a moment. "She's an American girl." Winterbourne
60looked along the path and saw a beautiful young lady advancing. "American girls are the best girls," he said cheerfully
61to his young companion. "My sister ain't the best!" the child declared. "She's always blowing at me." "I imagine that is
62your fault, not hers," said Winterbourne. The young lady meanwhile had drawn near. She was dressed in white muslin, with
63a hundred frills and flounces, and knots of pale-colored ribbon. She was bareheaded, but she balanced in her hand a
64large parasol, with a deep border of embroidery; and she was strikingly, admirably pretty. "How pretty they are!"
65thought Winterbourne, straightening himself in his seat, as if he were prepared to rise. The young lady paused in front
66of his bench, near the parapet of the garden, which overlooked the lake. The little boy had now converted his alpenstock
67into a vaulting pole, by the aid of which he was springing about in the gravel and kicking it up not a little.
68"Randolph," said the young lady, "what ARE you doing?" "I'm going up the Alps," replied Randolph. "This is the way!" And
69he gave another little jump, scattering the pebbles about Winterbourne's ears. "That's the way they come down," said
70Winterbourne. "He's an American man!" cried Randolph, in his little hard voice. The young lady gave no heed to this
71announcement, but looked straight at her brother. "Well, I guess you had better be quiet," she simply observed.
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