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MY FRIENDPROSPERO
By HENRY HARLAND
_Author of_
THE CARDINAL'S SNUFF-BOX.Illustrated by G.C. Wilmshurst._One Hundred and Fifth Thousand_.
THE LADY PARAMOUNT._Fifty-fifth Thousand_.
COMEDIES AND ERRORS._Third Edition_.
GREY ROSES. _Third Edition_.
MADEMOISELLE MISS. _Second Edition_.
JOHN LANE: THE BODLEY HEAD
LONDON & NEW YORK. MDCCCCIV
1903
PART FIRST
My Friend Prospero
I
The coachman drew up his horses before the castle gateway, where theirhoofs beat a sort of fanfare on the stone pavement; and the footman,letting himself smartly down, pulled, with a peremptory gesture that wasjust not quite a swagger, the bronze hand at the end of the danglingbell-cord.
Seated alone in her great high-swung barouche, in the sweet Aprilweather, Lady Blanchemain gave the interval that followed to aconsideration of the landscape: first, sleeping in shadowy stillness,the formal Italian garden, its terraced lawns and metrical parterres,its straight dark avenues of ilex, its cypresses, fountains, statues,balustrades; and then, laughing in the breeze and the sun, the wildItalian valley, a forest of blossoming fruit-trees, with the riverwinding and glinting in its midst, with olive-clad hills blue-grey ateither side, and beyond the hills, peering over their shoulders, thesnow-peaks of mountains, crisp against the sky, and in the leveldistance the hazy shimmer of the lake.
"It is lovely," she exclaimed, fervently, in a whisper, "lovely.--Andonly a generation of blind-worms," was her after-thought, "could discernin it the slightest resemblance to the drop-scene of a theatre."
II
Big, humorous, emotional, imperious, but, above all, interested andsociable Lady Blanchemain: do you know her, I wonder? Her billowy whitehair? Her handsome soft old face, with its smooth skin, and the goodstrong bony structure underneath? Her beautiful old grey eyes, full oftenderness and shrewdness, of curiosity, irony, indulgence, overarchedand emphasized by regular black eyebrows? Her pretty little plumppink-white hands, (like two little elderly Cupids), with their shiningpanoply of rings? And her luxurious, courageous, high-hearted manner ofdressing? The light colours and jaunty fashion of her gowns? Her laces,ruffles, embroideries? Her gay little bonnets? Her gems? Linda BaronessBlanchemain, of Fring Place, Sussex; Belmore Gardens, Kensington; andVilla Antonina, San Remo: big, merry, sociable, sentimental,worldly-wise, impetuous Linda Blanchemain: do you know her? If you do,I am sure you love her and rejoice in her; and enough is said. If youdon't, I beg leave to present and to commend her.
I spoke, by the bye, of her "old" face, her "old" eyes. She is, to besure, in so far as mere numbers of years tell, an old woman. But I onceheard her throw out, in the heat of conversation, the phrase, "a youngold thing like me;" and I thought she touched a truth.
III
Well, then, the footman, in his masterful way, pulled the bell-cord;Lady Blanchemain contemplated the landscape, and had her opinion of ageneration that could liken it to the drop-scene of a theatre; and indue process of things the bell was answered.
It was answered by a man in a costume that struck my humorous old friendas pleasing: a sallow little man whose otherwise quite featureless suitof tweeds was embellished by scarlet worsted shoulder-knots. Withlack-lustre eyes, from behind the plexus of the grille, he ratherstolidly regarded the imposing British equipage, and waited to beaddressed.
Lady Blanchemain addressed him in the language of Pistoja. Might one,she inquired, with her air of high affability, in her distinguished oldvoice, might one visit the castle?--a question purely of convention, forshe had not come hither without an assurance from her guide-book.
Shoulder-knots, however,--either to flaunt his attainments, or becauseindeed Pistoiese (what though the polyglot races of Italy have agreedupon it as a lingua franca) offered the greater difficulties to hisLombardian tongue,--replied in French.
"I do not think so, Madame," was his reply, in a French sufficientlyheavy and stiff-jointed, enforced by a dubious oscillation of the head.
Lady Blanchemain's black eyebrows shot upwards, marking her surprise;then drew together, marking her determination.
"But of course one can--it's in the guide-book," she insisted, and heldup the red-bound volume.
The sceptic gave a shrug, as one who disclaimed responsibility anddeclined discussion.
"Me, I do not think so. But patience! I will go and ask," he said; and,turning his back, faded from sight in the depths of the dark tunnel-likeporte-cochere.
Vexed, perplexed, Lady Blanchemain fidgeted a little. To have taken thislong drive for nothing!--sweet though the weather was, fair though thevalley: but she was not a person who could let the means excuse the end.She neither liked nor was accustomed to see her enterprises balked,--tosee doors remain closed in her face. Doors indeed had a habit of flyingopen at her approach. Besides, the fellow's manner,--his initial stareand silence, his tone when he spoke, his shrug, his exhortation topatience, and something too in the conduct of his back as hedeparted,--hadn't it lacked I don't know what of becoming deference? tosatisfy her amour-propre, at any rate, that the mistake, if there was amistake, sprang from no malapprehension of her own, she looked upchapter and verse. Yes, there the assurance stood, circumstantial, inall the convincingness of the sturdy, small black type:--
"From Roccadoro a charming excursion may be made, up the beautiful ValRampio, to the mediaeval village of Sant' Alessina (7 miles), with itsmagnificent castle, in fine grounds, formerly a seat of the Sforzas, nowbelonging to the Prince of Zelt-Neuminster, and containing thecelebrated Zelt-Neuminster collection of paintings. Incorporated in thecastle buildings, a noticeable peculiarity, are the parish church andpresbytery. Accessible daily, except Monday, from 10 to 4; attendant 1fr."
So then! To-day was Wednesday, the hour between two and three. So--! Heramour-propre triumphed, but I fancy her vexation mounted....
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