XXII
There are two men, as they that know Sampaolo will not need to bereminded, two young men, who, during the summer months, pervade theisland. In winter they go to Rome, or to Nice, or to England for thehunting; but in summer they pervade Sampaolo, where they have a villajust outside Vallanza, as well as the dark old palace of their family inthe town.
The twin brothers, Franco and Baldo del Ponte--who that has once met themcan ever forget them? To begin with, they are giants--six-feet-four, andstalwart in proportion. Then they are handsome giants, with good,strong, regular features, close-cropped brown hair that tends to curl,and hearty open-air complexions. Then they are jolly, pleasant-tempered,simple-minded and clean-minded giants. Then they are indefatigablegiants--indefatigable in the pursuit of open-air amusements: now in theirsailing-boats, now in their motor-cars, or on horse-back, or drivingtheir four-in-hands. And finally, being Italians, they are Anglophilegiants;--like so many of the Italian aristocracy, they are more Englishthan the English. They are rigorously English in their dress, forinstance; they have all their clothes from London, and these invariablyof the latest mode. They give English names to their sailing-boats--the_Mermaid_, the _Seagull_. They employ none but Englishmen in theirstables, which are of English design, with English fittings. They haveEnglish dogs,--fox-terriers, bull-terriers, collies,--also with Englishnames, Toby, Jack, Spark, Snap, and so forth. They speak English withonly the remotest trace of foreignness--were they not educated at Eton,and at Trinity College, Cambridge? And they would fain Anglicise, notmerely the uniform of the Italian police, but the Italian constitution."What Italy needs," they will assure you, looking wondrous wise, "is aHouse of Peers." Their Italian friends laugh at them a good deal; but Isuspect that under the laughter there is a certain admiration, if noteven (for, as Italian fortunes go, theirs is an immense one) a certainenvy.
Is all this apropos of boots, you wonder? No, for behold--
After breakfast, on the following morning, Adrian was alone, enjoying ameditative digestion, in the sitting-room at the Hotel de Rome, when hesaw come bowling along the Riva, turn rattling into the Piazza, and drawup at the inn door, a very English-looking dog-cart, driven by a hugeyoung man in tweeds, with an apparent replica of himself beside him, andan English-looking groom behind. The two huge young men descended; hewho had driven said something inaudible to the groom; and the groom,touching his hat, answered: "Yes, my lord."
"So," thought Adrian, "we are not the only Britons in this island. Iwonder who my lord is."
And then, nothing if not consequent, he began to sing, softly to himself--
"Lord of thy presence, and no land besi-i-ide . . ."
And he was still softly carolling that refrain, when the door of thesitting-room was opened.
"Marchese del Ponte, Marchese Baldo del Ponte," announced the waiter,with sympathetic exhilaration, flourishing his inseparable napkin.
The two huge young men entered. The room seemed all at once to contract,and become half its former size.
"Ah, Count," said one of them, advancing, and getting hold of Adrian'shand. "How do you do? I am the Marchese del Ponte; this is my brother,the Marchese Baldo. Welcome to Sampaolo. We are your connections, youknow. Our ancestors have intermarried any time these thousand years."
Adrian's rosy face was wreathed in his most amiable smiles.
"How do you do? I 'm very glad to see you. Won't you take chairs?" heresponded, and hospitably pushed chairs forward. "But I 'm afraid," headded, shaking his head, still smiling, "I 'm afraid I 'm not a count."
"Ah, yes," said Baldo, "we know you don't use your title."
"You 're a count all right, whether you use your title or not," saidFranco. "Noblesse is in the bone. You can't get rid of it."
"Your great-grandmother was a Ponte," said Baldo, "and our owngrandmother was a Valdeschi, your grandfather's cousin."
"Really?" said Adrian, pleasantly. "But I 'm afraid," he explained toFranco, "that there is n't any noblesse in _my_ bones. I 'm afraid I 'mjust a plain commoner."
"Oh, you refer to the Act of Proscription--I understand," said Franco."But that was utterly invalid--a mere piece of political stage-play. TheItalian government had no more power to proscribe your title than itwould have to proscribe an English peerage,--no jurisdiction. It couldcreate a new Count of Sampaolo, which it did; but it could n't abolishthe dignity of the existing Count--a dignity that was ancient centuriesbefore the Italian government was dreamed of. You 're a count all right."
"I see," said Adrian. "And are you, then," he inferred, with sprightlyinterest, "agin the government?"
The familiar formula appeared to tickle the two young Anglophilesinordinately. They greeted it with deep-chested laughter.
"We 're not exactly _agin_ the government," Baldo answered, "but webelieve in remodelling it. What Italy needs"--he looked a very Solon;and his brother nodded concurrence in his opinion---"is a House of Lords."
"I see--I see," said Adrian.
"We want you to come and stay with us," said Franco. "We 've a villahalf a mile up the Riva. You 'd be more comfortable there than here, andit would give us the greatest pleasure to have you."
"The greatest possible pleasure," cordially echoed Baldo.
"You 're exceedingly good," said Adrian. "And I should be most happy.But I 'm afraid--"
"Not another word," protested Franco. "You 'll come. That' s settled."
"That's settled," echoed Baldo.
"We 'll send down for your traps this afternoon," said Franco. "Have youa man with you? No? Then we 'll send Grimes. He 'll pack for you, andbring up your traps. But we hope to carry you off with us now--in timefor luncheon."
"I don't know how to thank you," said Adrian. "But I 'm afraid--I hateto destroy an illusion, yet in honesty I must--I 'm afraid I 'm not theperson you take me for. I 'm afraid there's a misapprehension. I--"
"Oh, we 'll respect your incog all right, if that's what's troublingyou," promised Baldo. "You shall be Mr. Anthony Craford."
"Craford _of_ Craford," Franco corrected him.
"But there it is," said Adrian. "Now see how I 'm forced to disappointyou. I 'm awfully sorry, but I 'm _not_ Mr. Anthony Craford--no, norCraford _of_ Craford, either."
"What?" puzzled Franco.
"Not Craford?" puzzled Baldo.
"No," said Adrian, sadly. "I 'm awfully sorry, but my name is Willes."
"Willes?" said Franco. "But it was Craford in the visitors' book at thePalazzo Rosso. That's how we knew you were here."
"My brother is the Hereditary Constable of the Palace," said Baldo. "Itis now merely an honorary office. But the visitors' book is brought tohim whenever there have been any visitors."
"And we inquired for Craford downstairs," supplemented Franco. "And theysaid you were at home, and showed us up."
"I 'm awfully sorry," repeated Adrian. "But Craford and I are asdistinct as night and morning. Craford has gone out for a solitary walk.My name is Willes. Craford and I are travelling together."
"Oh, I see," cried Franco; and slapping his thigh, "Ho, ho, ho," helaughed.
"Ho, ho, ho," laughed Baldo. "We were jolly well sold."
"We--ho, ho--we got the wrong sow by the ear," laughed Franco.
"We put the saddle on the wrong horse--ho, ho," laughed Baldo.
"We 're delighted to make your acquaintance, all the same," said Franco.
"And we hold you to your promise--you 're to come and stay with us--youand Craford both," said Baldo.
"Yes--there 's no getting out of that. We count upon you," said Franco.
"So far as I 'm concerned, I should be charmed," said Adrian. "But Ican't speak for Craford. He 's a bit run down and out of sorts. I 'mnot sure whether he 'll feel that he 's in a proper state for payingvisits. But here he comes."
He inclined his head towards a window, through which Anthony could beseen crossing the Piazza.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Franc
o. "I should have known him for a Valdeschianywhere. He 's exactly like a portrait of his grandfather in thePalazzo Rosso."
"By Jove, so he is," exclaimed Baldo.
And, to Adrian's surprise, when the introductions were accomplished, andthe invitation was repeated to him, Anthony at once accepted.
"I 've given orders for my four-in-hand to come round here and pick usup," said Franco. "Shall we all go for a spin, and get an appetite forluncheon?"
"In the afternoon, if there 's a breeze, I propose a sail," said Baldo."I 've just got a new boat out from England, schooner-rigged, the_Spindrift_. I 've not yet really had a fair chance to try her."
"Do you go in for tennis?" asked Franco. "We 've got a court at thevilla."
"I don't know whether you care for swimming," said Baldo. "You get afairly decent dive-off from the landing-stage at the end of our garden.The water here is pooty good. My brother and I generally go for a swimbefore dinner."
"Ah, here 's Tom with the four-in-hand," said Franco. And then, with areadiness for self-effacement that was surely less British than thelanguage in which it found expression, "Would you care to take theribbons, Count?" he asked. And when Anthony had declined, "Would you,Willes?" he proceeded.
"Not just at the start, thanks," said Adrian. "I should like to watch'em step a bit first."
The hypocrite. As if he would have known what to do with the ribbons,had they been given to him.
So Franco took them himself, while Baldo blew the horn.
"Have you visited Castel San Guido yet?" Franco questioned. "Shall wemake that our objective?"
They drove up and up, round and round the winding road that leads toCastel San Guido, where it clings to the almost vertical mountainside.For the greater part the road was bordered by olive orchards, butsometimes there were vineyards, sometimes groves of walnut-trees, clumpsof stone-pines, or fields of yellowing maize, and everywhere there wereoleanders growing wild, and always there was the view.
Castel San Guido is very like a hundred other mediaeval castles, a grimold fortress, with walls of I forget what prodigious thickness, withround towers pierced by sinister-looking meutrieres, and crowned bybattlements, with bare stone courts, stone halls, cold and dimly lighted,and a dismantled stone chapel. But I dare say the descendant of SanGuido (not being made of wood) had his emotions. And the view wasmagnificent--Vallanza below, its red roofs burning in the sun, the purplebay, the olive-mantled hills, with a haze of gold-dust and pearl-dustbrooding over them, and white-walled villages shining in twentyimprobable situations, with their dark cypresses and slender campanili.
They had toiled up slowly, but they came spinning back at a tremendouspace, down the steep gradients, round the perilous curves, while Franco,his jaws shut tight, his brows drawn together, gave all his attention tohis horses, Baldo merrily wound his horn, Anthony smoked cigarettes, andAdrian, for dear life, with his heart in his mouth, held hard to theseat-rail at his side. I think he pushed a very genuine _ouf_, when,without accident, they had regained the level ground.
The Villa del Ponte is a long grey rectangular building, as severe inoutward aspect as a barrack or a prison, in a garden that stretches rightaway to the sea-wall, a garden full of palms, oranges, tall, featheryeucalyptus-trees, and lizards, perfectly Italian. But no sooner do youpass the portal of the house, than you leave Italy, as on a magic-carpet,and find yourself in the seventh circle of England, amid Englishfurniture, English books, English periodicals, daily, weekly, monthly,(the _Pink 'un_ perhaps the most conspicuous), and between wallsembellished by English sporting-pictures and the masks and brushes ofEnglish foxes. "We hunt a good bit, you know," said Franco. "We've alittle box in Northamptonshire, and hunt with the Pytchley. We both havethe button." One was n't in the least surprised when an English voice,proceeding from the smuggest of smooth-shaven English countenances,informed my lord that luncheon was served.
After luncheon they sailed in the _Spindrift_. After that, (to Adrian'sdelight, I hope) they had tea, with plenty of buttered toast. Then theyplayed tennis. Then they went for a breathless whirl along the Riva in amotor-car. Then they swam. And after dinner they played billiards,while Franco and Baldo smoked short pipes, and sipped whiskey andsoda--but a half-pennyworth of whiskey, as Adrian noticed, to anintolerable deal of soda. Blood will tell, and theirs, in spite ofeverything, was abstemious Italian blood.
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