CHAPTER XIX.
Crumpled Roseleaves
Scene —The Tombs of the Scaligers at Verona. A seedy and voluble Cicerone, who has insisted upon volunteering his services, is accompanying Miss Trotter, Bob Prendergast, and Culchard. It is a warm afternoon, and Culchard, who has been intrusted with Miss T.'s recent purchases – two Italian blankets, and a huge pot of hammered copper – is not in the most amiable of moods.
The Cicerone (in polyglot). Ecco, Signore (pointing out the interlaced ladders in the wrought-iron railings), l'échelle, la scala, c'est tout flexible – (He shakes the trellis) – molto, molto curioso!
Culch. (bitterly, to the other two). I warned you how it would be! We shall have this sort of thing all the afternoon now!
Miss T. Well, I don't mind; he's real polite and obliging – and that's something, anyway!
Culch. Polite and obliging! Now I ask you – has he given us the slightest atom of valuable information yet?
Miss T. I guess he's too full of tact to wish to interfere with your special department.
The Cic. (to Culchard, who looks another way). Ici le tombeau di Giovanni della Scala, Signore. Verri grazioso, molto magnifique, joli conservé! (He skips up on the pedestal, and touches a sarcophagus.) Non bronzo – verde-antique! [Nods at Culchard, with a beaming smile.
Culch. (with a growl). Va bene, va bene —we know all about it!
Bob P. You may; but you might give Miss Trotter and me a chance, you know!
The Cic. Zees, Marmor di Carrara; zat, Marmor di Verona – Verona marbre. Martino Primo a fait bâtir. (Counting on his fingers for Culchard's benefit.) Quattuor dichième secolo —fotteen!
Culch. Will you kindly understand that I am quite capable of estimating the precise period of this sculpture for myself.
The Cic. Sî-sì, Signore. Scultore Bonino da Campiglione. (With a wriggle of deferential enthusiasm.) Bellissimo scultore!
Miss T. He's got an idea you find him vurry instructive, Mr. Culchard, and I guess, if you want to disabuse him, you'd better do it in Italian.
Culch. I think my Italian is equal to conveying an impression that I can willingly dispense with his society. (To the Cic.) Andate via – do you understand? An-da-te via!
The Cic. (hurt, and surprised). Ah, Signore!
[He breaks into a fervent vindication of his value as guide, philosopher, and friend.
Miss T. I guess he's endeavouring to intimate that his wounded self-respect isn't going to be healed under haff a dollar. And every red cent I had went on that old pot! Mr. Culchard, will you give him a couple of francs for me?
Culch. I – er – really see no necessity. He's done nothing whatever to deserve it!
Bob P. (eagerly). May I, Miss Trotter? (Producing a ten-lire note.) This is the smallest change I've got.
Miss T. No, I guess ten francs would start him with more self-respect than he's got any use for. Mr. Culchard will give him three – that's one apiece – to punish him for being so real mean!
Culch. (indignantly). Mean? because I – ! (He pays and dismisses the Cic.) Now we can examine these monuments in peace – they are really – er – unique examples of the sepulchral pomp of Italian mediævalism.
Miss T. They're handsome tombs enough – but considerable cramped. I should have thought these old Scallywags would have looked around for a roomier burying lot. (To Culchard, who shivers.) You aren't feeling sick any?
Culch. No – only pained by such a travesty of a noble name. "Scallywags" for Scaligers seems to me, if I may say so, a very cheap form of humour!
Miss T. Well, it's more than cheap – it isn't going to cost you a cent, so I should think you'd appreciate it!
Bob P. Haw – score for you, Miss Trotter!
Culch. I should have thought myself that mere personality is hardly enough to give point to any repartee – there is a slight difference between brilliancy and – er —brutality!
Bob P. Hullo! You and I are being sat upon pretty heavily, Miss Trotter.
Miss T. I guess our Schoolmaster's abroad. But why Mr. Culchard should want to make himself a train out of my coverlets, I don't just see – he looks majestic enough without that.
[Culchard catches up a blanket which is trailing, and says bad words under his breath.
AT THE TOMB OF JULIET
Culch. (who is gradually recovering his equanimity). Think of it! the actual spot on which Romeo and Juliet– Shakspeare's Juliet– drew their last breath! Does it not realise the tragedy for you?
Miss T. Well, no – it's a disappointing tomb. I reckoned it would look less like a horse-trough. I should have expected Juliet's Poppa and Momma would want, considering all the facts of the case, to throw more style into her monument!
Culch. (languidly). May not its very simplicity – er – attest the sincerity of their remorse?
Miss T. Do you attach any particular meaning to that observation now? (Culchard bites his lip.) I notice this tomb is full of visiting cards – my! but ain't that curious?
Culch. (instructively). It only shows that this place is not without its pathos and interest for most visitors, no matter what their nationality may be. You don't feel inclined yourself to – ?
Miss T. To leave a pasteboard? Why I shouldn't sleep any all night, for fear she'd return my call!
Culch. (producing a note-book). It's fanciful, perhaps – but, if you don't mind waiting a little, I should like to contribute – not my card, but a sonnet. I feel one on its way.
Bob P. Better make sure the tomb's genuine first, hadn't you? Some say it isn't.
Culch. (exasperated). I knew you'd make some matter-of-fact remark of that kind! There – it's no use! Let us go.
Miss T. Why, your sonnets seem as skeery as those lizards there! I hope Juliet won't ever know what she's missed. But likely you'll mail those verses on to her later. [She and Bob P. pass on, laughing.
Culch. (following). She only affects this vulgar flippancy to torment me. If I didn't know that– There, I've left that infernal pot behind now! [Goes back for it, wrathfully.
In the Amphitheatre; Miss Prendergast, Podbury, and Van Boodeler, are seated on an upper tier.
Podb. (meditatively). I suppose they charged highest for the lowest seats. Wonder whether a lion ever nipped up and helped himself to some fat old buffer in the Stalls when the martyrs turned out a leaner lot than usual!
Van B. There's an ingenuous modernity about our friend's historical speculations that is highly refreshing.
Miss P. There is, indeed – though he might have spared himself and us the trouble of them if he had only remembered that the podium was invariably protected by a railing, and occasionally by euripi, or trenches, You surely learnt that at school, Mr. Podbury?
Podb. I – I dare say. Forgotten all I learnt at school, you know!
Van B. I should infer now, from that statement, that you enjoyed the advantages of a pretty liberal education?
Podb. If that's meant to be cutting, I should save it up for that novel of yours; it may seem smart —there!
Miss P. Really, Mr. Podbury, if you choose to resent a playful remark in that manner, you had better go away.
Podb. Perhaps I had. (Rises, and moves off huffily.) D – his playfulness! 'Pon my word, poor old Culchard was nothing to that beggar! And she backs him up! But there – it's all part of my probation! (Here Culchard suddenly appears, laden with burdens.) Hullo! are you moving, or what?
Culch. I am merely carrying a few things for Miss Trotter. (Drops the copper pot, which bounds down into the arena.) Dash the thing!.. (Returning with it.) It's natural that, in my position, I should have these – er – privileges. (He trips over a blanket.) Conf – Have you happened to see Miss Trotter about, by the way?
Podb. Fancy I saw her down below just now – with Bob. I expect they're walking round under the arches.
Culch. Just so. Do you know, Podbury, I almost think I'll go down and find her. I – I'm curious to hear what her impressions of a place like this are. Such a scene, you know, – so full of associations with – er – the splendours and cruelties of a corrupt past – must produce a powerful effect upon the fresh untutored mind of an American girl, eh?
Miss T.'s voice (distinctly from arena). I'd like ever so much to see Buffalo Bill run his Show in here – he'd just make this old circus hum!
Miss P.'s voice (indistinctly from topmost tier). Almost fancy it all … Senators —equites—populus—pullati … yellow sunlight striking down through vellarium … crimsoned sand … mirmillo fleeing before secutor … Diocletian himself, perhaps, lolling over there on cubiculum … &c. &c. &c.
Culch. The place appears to excite Miss Prendergast's enthusiasm, at all events! [Sighs.
Podb. Rath-er! But then she's no end of a classical swell, you know! [Sighs.
Culch. (putting his arm through Podbury's). Ah, well, my dear Podbury, one mustn't expect too much, must one?
Podb. I don't, old chap – only I'm afraid she does. Suppose we toddle back to the hotel, eh? Getting near table d'hôte time. [They go out arm-in-arm.
CHAPTER XX.
Put not your Faith in 'Fidibus.'
Scene —The interior of a covered gondola, which is conveying Culchard and Podbury from the Railway Station to the Hotel Dandolo, Venice. The gondola is gliding with a gentle sidelong heave under shadowy bridges of stone and cast-iron, round sharp corners, and past mysterious blank walls, and old scroll-work gateways, which look ghostly in the moonlight.
Culch. (looking out of the felze window, and quoting conscientiously).
"I saw from out the wave her structures rise,
As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand."
Podb. For rest, see guide-books, passim, eh? Hanged if I can see any structures with this thing on, though! Let's have it off, eh? (He crawls out and addresses Gondolier across the top.) Hi! Otez-moi ceci. entendez-vous? (Drums on roof of felze with fists; the Gondolier replies in a torrent of Italian.) Now a London cabby would see what I wanted at once. This chap's a fool!
Culch. He probably imagines you are merely expressing your satisfaction with Venice. And I don't see how you expect him to remove the entire cabin here! (Podbury crawls in again, knocking his head.) I think we did well to let the – the others travel on first. More dignified, you know!
Podb. Um – don't see any particular dignity in missing the train, myself!
Culch. They won't know it was not intentional. And I think, Podbury, we should go on – er – asserting ourselves a little while by holding rather aloof. It will show them that we don't mean to put up with —
Podb. Don't see that either. Not going to let that beast, Van Boodeler, have it all his own way!
Culch. Surely you know he decided suddenly to stay at Vicenza? He said so at breakfast. But I will not have your friend Bob perpetually —
Podb. At breakfast? Oh, I came down late. Vicenza, eh? Then he's out of it! Hooray! But as for Bob, he's all right too. Oh, I forgot you cut déjeuner. Hypatia had another squabble with Miss Trotter, and poor old Bob got dragged into it as usual, and now they ain't on speaking terms.
Culch. (overjoyed). You don't say so! Then all I can say, Podbury, is that if we two can't manage, in a place like this, to recover all the ground we have lost —
Podb. More water than ground in a place like this, eh? But I know what you mean – we must be duffers if we don't leave Venice engaged men – which we're not as yet, worse luck!
Culch. No – but we shall be, if we only insist upon being treated seriously.
Podb. She treats me a devilish deal too seriously, my boy. But there, never mind – things will go better now!
Scene —A double-bedded room in the Grand Hotel Dandolo, which Podbury and Culchard have to share for the night.
Podb. (from his bed, suspiciously, to Culchard, who is setting fire to a small pastille in a soap-dish). I say, old chappie, bar fireworks, you know! What the deuce are you up to over there?
Culch. Lighting a "fidibus." Splendid thing to drive out mosquitoes. (The pastille fizzes, and begins to emit a dense white smoke, and a suffocating odour.)
Podb. (bounding). Mosquitoes! It would drive a dragon out. Phew – ah! (Culchard closes the window.) You don't mean to say you're going to shut me up in this infernal reek on a stifling night like this?
Culch. If I didn't, the mosquitoes would come in again.
Podb. Come in? With that pastille doing the young Vesuvius! Do you think a mosquito's a born fool? (He jumps out and opens the window.) I'm not going to be smoked like a wasp's nest, I can tell you!
Culch. (calmly shutting it again, as Podbury returns to bed). You'll be grateful to me by-and-by.
[Slips between his mosquito curtains in a gingerly manner, and switches off the electric light. A silence.
Podb. I say, you ain't asleep, are you? Think we shall see anything of them to-morrow, eh?
Culch. See? I can hear one singing in my ear at this moment. (Irritably.) You would open the window!
Podb. (sleepily). Not mosquitoes. I meant Hypatia, and the – haw – yaw – Trotters.
Culch. How can I tell? (Second silence.) Podbury! What did I tell you? One's just bitten me – the beast! (He turns on the light, and slaps about frantically). I say, I can hear him buzzing all over the place!
Podb. So can I hear you buzzing. How the dickens is a fellow to get to sleep while you're playing Punch and Judy in there?
Culch. He's got me on the nose now! There's a lot outside. Just turn off the light, will you? I daren't put my arm out. (To Mosquito.) You brute! (To Podb.) Podbury, do switch off the light – like a good fellow!
Podb. (dreamily). Glass up, Gondolier … stifling in this cab … drive me … nearest Doge. [He snores.
Culch. Brutal selfishness! (Turns out the light himself.) Now if I can only get off to sleep while that little beast is quiet —
Mosquito (ironically, in his ear). Ping-a-wing-wing!
Same Scene; the next morning.
Culch. (drawing Podbury's curtains). Here, wake up, Podbury – it's just eight. (Podbury sits up, and rubs his eyes.) I've had a horrible night, my dear fellow! I'm stung to such an extent! But (hopefully) I suppose there's nothing to show particularly, eh?
[Presenting his countenance for inspection.
Podb. Not much of your original features, old fellow! (He roars with laughter.) You've got a pair of cheeks like a raised map!
Culch. It – it's going down. Nothing to what it was, half an hour ago!
Podb. Then I'm jolly glad you didn't call me earlier, that's all!
Culch. It does feel a little inflamed. I wonder if I could get a little – er – violet powder, or something – ?
Podb. (with a painful want of sympathy). Violet powder! Buy a blue veil – a good thick one!
Culch. What sort of impression do you suppose I should get of Venice with a blue veil on?
Podb. Can't say – but a pleasanter one than Venice will get of you without it. You don't mean to face the fair Miss Trotter while you're like that, do you?
Culch. (with dignity). Most certainly I do. I am much mistaken in Miss Trotter if she will attach the slightest importance to a mere temporary – er – disfigurement. These swellings never do last long. Do they now?
Podb. Oh, not more than a month or so, I dare say, if you can keep from touching them. (He laughs again.) Excuse me, old chap, but I just got you in a new light. Those mosquitoes have paid you out for that pastille – by Jove, they have!
LANDING-STEPS AND ENTRANCE OF THE HOTEL
NINE A.M
Culch. (coming out a little self-consciously, and finding Mr. Trotter). Ah, good morning! What are your – er – impressions of Venice, Mr. Trotter?
Mr. Trotter (thoughtfully). Well, I'm considerable struck with it, Sir. There's a purrfect freshness and novelty about Vernis that's amusing to a stranger like myself. We've nothing just like this city out West. No, Sir. And how are – (Becomes aware of Culchard's appearance.) Say, you don't look like your slumbers had been one unbroken ca'm, either! The mosquitoes hev been powerful active makin' alterations in you. Perseverin' and industrious insects, Sir! Me and my darter have been for a loaf round before breakfast. I dunno if you've seen her yet, she's —
Miss T. (coming out from behind). Poppa, they've fixed up our breakf – (Sees Culchard, and turns away, covering her face). Don't you turn your head in this direction, Mr. Culchard, or I guess I'll expire right away!
Culch. (obeying, wounded). I confess I did not think a few mosquito-bites would have quite such an effect upon you!
Miss T. You're vurry polite, I'm sure! But I possess a hand-mirror; and, if you cann't bear to look me in the face, you'd better keep away!
Culch. (takes a hasty glance, and discovers, with a shock, that she is almost as much disfigured as himself). Oh, I – I wasn't – (With an effort of politeness.) Er – I hope you haven't been inconvenienced at all?
Miss T. Inconvenienced! With haff a dozen healthy mosquitoes springing a surprise party on me all night! I should guess so. (Noticing C.'s face.) But what in the land have you been about? Well, if that isn't real tact now! I reckoned I'd been dealt a full hand in spots; but now I've seen you, I guess there's a straight flush against me, and I can just throw up. But you don't play Poker, do you? Come along in, Poppa, do. [She goes in with Mr. T.
Culch. (alone, disenchanted). I could not have believed any amount of bites could have made such a terrible difference in her. She looks positively plain! I do trust they're not permanent, or really – !
[He gazes meditatively down on the lapping water.
CHAPTER XXI.
Wearing Rue with a Difference
Scene —The Steps of the Hotel Dandolo, about 11 A.M. Podbury is looking expectantly down the Grand Canal, Culchard is leaning upon the Balustrade.
Podb. Yes, met Bob just now. They've gone to the Europa, but we've arranged to take a gondola together, and go about. They're to pick me up here. Ah, that looks rather like them. (A gondola approaches, with Miss Prendergast and Bob; Podbury goes down the steps to meet them.) How are you, Miss Prendergast? Here I am, you see.
Miss P. (ignoring C.'s salute). How do you do, Mr. Podbury? Surely you don't propose to go out in a gondola in that hat!
Podb. (taking off a brown "pot-hat," and inspecting it). It – it's quite decent. It was new when I came away!
Bob (who is surly this morning). Hang it all, Patia! Do you want him to come out in a chimney-pot? Jump in, old fellow, never mind your tile?
Podb. (apologetically). I had a straw once – but I sat on it. I'm awfully sorry, Miss Prendergast. Look here, shall I go and see if I can buy one?
Miss P. Not now – it doesn't signify, for once. But a round hat and a gondola are really too incongruous!
Podb. Are they? A lot of the Venetians seem to wear 'em. (He steps in.) Now what are we going to do – just potter about?
Miss P. One hardly comes to Venice to potter! I thought we'd go and study the Carpaccios at the Church of the Schiavoni first – they won't take us more than an hour or so; then cross to San Giorgio Maggiore, and see the Tintorets, come back and get a general idea of the exterior of St. Mark's, and spend the afternoon at the Accademia.
Podb. (with a slight absence of heartiness). Capital! And – er – lunch at the Academy, I suppose?
Miss P. There does not happen to be a restaurant there – we shall see what time we have. I must say I regard every minute of daylight spent on food here as a sinful waste.
Bob. Now just look here, Patia, if you are bossing this show, you needn't go cutting us off our grub! What do you say, Jem?
Podb. (desperately anxious to please). Oh, I don't know that I care about lunch myself – much. [Their voices die away on the water.
Culch. (musing). She might have bowed to me!.. She has escaped the mosquitoes… Ah, well, I doubt if she'll find those two particularly sympathetic companions! Now I should enjoy a day spent in that way. Why shouldn't I, as it is? I dare say Maud will —
[Turns and sees Mr. Trotter.
Mr. T. My darter will be along presently. She's Cologning her cheeks – they've swelled up again some. I guess you want to Cologne your cheeks – they're dreadful lumpy. I've just been on the Pi-azza again, Sir. It's curious now the want of enterprise in these Vernetians. Any one would have expected they'd have thrown a couple or so of girder bridges across the canal between this and the Ri-alto, and run an elevator up the Campanile – but this ain't what you might call a business city, Sir, and that's a fact. (To Miss T. as she appears.) Hello, Maud, the ice-water cool down your face any?
Miss T. Not much. My face just made that ice-water boil over. I don't believe I'll ever have a complexion again – it's divided up among several dozen mosquitoes, who've no use for one. But it's vurry consoling to look at you, Mr. Culchard, and feel there's a pair of us. Now what way do you propose we should endeavour to forget our sufferings?
Culch. Well, we might spend the morning in St. Mark's – ?
Miss T. The morning! Why, Poppa and I saw the entire show inside of ten minutes, before breakfast!
Culch. Ah! (Discouraged.) What do you say to studying the Vine and Fig-tree angles and the capitals of the arcades in the Ducal Palaces? I will go and fetch the Stones of Venice.
Miss T. I guess you can leave those old stones in peace. I don't feel like studying up anything this morning – it's as much as ever I can do not to scream aloud!
Culch. Then shall we just drift about in a gondola all the morning, and – er – perhaps do the Academy later?
Miss T. Not any canals in this hot sun for me! I'd be just as sick! That gondola will keep till it's cooler.
Culch. (losing patience). Then I must really leave it to you to make a suggestion!
Miss T. Well, I believe I'll have a good look round the curiosity stores. There's ever such a cunning little shop back of the Clock Tower on the Pi-azza, where I saw some brocades that were just too sweet! So I'll take Poppa along bargain-hunting. Don't you come if you'd rather poke around your old churches and things!
Culch. I don't feel disposed to – er – "poke around" alone, so, if you will allow me to accompany you, —
Miss T. Oh, I'll allow you to escort me. It's handy having some one around to carry parcels. And Poppa's bound to drop the balance every time!
Culch. (to himself). That's all I am to her. A beast of burden! And a whole precious morning squandered on this confounded shopping – when I might have been – ah, well!
[Follows, under protest.
On the Grand Canal. 9 P.M. A brilliant moonlight night; a music-barge, hung with coloured lanterns, is moving slowly up towards the Rialto, surrounded and followed by a fleet of gondolas, amongst which is one containing the Trotters and Culchard. Culchard has just discovered – with an embarrassment not wholly devoid of a certain excitement – that they are drawing up to a gondola occupied by the Prendergasts and Podbury.
Mr. Trotter (meditatively). It's real romantic. That's the third deceased kitten I've seen to-night. They haven't only a two-foot tide in the Adriatic, and it stands to reason all the sewage —
[The two gondolas are jammed close alongside.
Miss P. How absolutely magical those palaces look in the moonlight! Bob, how can you yawn like that?
Bob. I beg your pardon, Patia, really, but we've had rather a long day of it, you know!
Mr. T. Well, now, I declare I sort of recognised those voices! (Heartily.) Why, how are you getting along in Vernis? We're gettin' along fust-rate. Say, Maud, here's your friend alongside!
[Miss P. presents a stony silence.
Miss T. (in an undertone). I don't see how you can act so, Poppa, – when you know she's just as mad with me!
Mr. T. There! Dumned if I didn't clean forget you were out! But, see here, now – why cann't we let bygones be bygones?
Bob. (impulsively). Just what I think, Mr. Trotter, and I'm sure my sister will —
Miss P. Bob, will you kindly not make the situation more awkward than it is? If I desired a reconciliation, I think I am quite capable of saying so!
Miss T. (in confidence to the Moon). This Ark isn't proposing to send out any old dove, either – we've no use for an olive-branch. (To Mr. T.) That's "Santa Lucia" they're singing now, Poppa.
Mr. T. They don't appear to me to get the twist on it they did at Bellagio!
Miss T. You mean that night Charley took us out on the Lake? Poor Charley! he'd just love to be here – he's ever so much artistic feeling!
Mr. T. Well, I don't see why he couldn't have come along if he'd wanted.
Miss T. (with a glance at her neighbour). I presume he'd reasons enough. He's a vurry cautious man. Likely he was afraid he'd get bitten.
Miss P. (after a swift scrutiny of Miss T.'s features). Oh, Bob, remind me to get some more of that mosquito stuff. I should so hate to be bitten – such a dreadful disfigurement!
Miss T. (to the Moon). I declare if I don't believe I can feel some creature trying to sting me now!
Miss P. Some people are hardly recognisable, Bob, and they say the marks never quite disappear!
Miss T. Poppa, don't you wonder what Charley's doing just now? I'd like to know if he's found any one yet to feel an interest in the great Amurrcan Novel. It's curious how interested people do get in that novel, considering it's none of it written, and never will be. I guess sometimes he makes them believe he means something by it. They don't understand it's only Charley's way!
Miss P. The crush isn't quite so bad now. Mr. Podbury, if you will kindly ask your friend not to hold on to our gondola, we should probably be better able to turn. (Culchard, who had fondly imagined himself undetected, takes his hand away as if it were scorched.) Now we can get away. (To Gondolier.) Voltiamo, se vi piace, prestissimo!
[The gondola turns and departs.
Miss T. Well, I do just enjoy making that Prendergast girl perfectly wild, and that's a fact. (Reflectively.) And it's queer, but I like her ever so much all the time. Don't you think that's too fonny of me, Mr. Culchard, now? [Culchard feigns a poetic abstraction.