by F. Anstey
CHAPTER XIX.
+Crumpled Roseleaves.+
SCENE--_The Tombs of the_ SCALIGERS _at Verona. A seedy and volubleCicerone, who has insisted upon volunteering his services, isaccompanying_ MISS TROTTER, BOB PRENDERGAST, _and_ CULCHARD. _It is awarm afternoon, and_ CULCHARD, _who has been intrusted with_ MISS T.'S_recent purchases--two Italian blankets, and a huge pot of hammeredcopper--is not in the most amiable of moods._
THE CICERONE (_in polyglot_). Ecco, Signore (_pointing out theinterlaced ladders in the wrought-iron railings_), l'echelle, 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'ssomething, anyway!
CULCH. Polite and obliging! Now I _ask_ you--has he given us theslightest atom of valuable information _yet_?
MISS T. I guess he's too full of tact to wish to interfere with yourspecial department.
THE CIC. (_to_ CULCHARD, _who looks another way_). Ici le tombeau diGiovanni della Scala, Signore. Verri grazioso, molto magnifique, joliconserve! (_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, youknow!
THE CIC. Zees, Marmor di Carrara; _zat_, Marmor di Verona--Veronamarbre. Martino Primo a fait batir. (_Counting on his fingers for_CULCHARD'S _benefit_.) Quattuor dichieme secolo--_fotteen_!
"BELLISSIMO SCULTORE!"]
CULCH. Will you kindly understand that I am quite capable of estimatingthe precise period of this sculpture for myself.
THE CIC. Si-si, Signore. Scultore Bonino da Campiglione. (_With awriggle 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 canwillingly dispense with his society. (_To the_ CIC.) Andate via--do youunderstand? 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 woundedself-respect isn't going to be healed under haff a dollar. And every redcent I had went on that old pot! Mr. Culchard, will you give him acouple of francs for me?
CULCH. I--er--really see no necessity. He's done nothing whatever todeserve it!
BOB P. (_eagerly_). May _I_, Miss Trotter? (_Producing a ten-lirenote._) This is the smallest change I've got.
MISS T. No, I guess ten francs would start him with more self-respectthan he's got any use for. Mr. Culchard will give him three--that's oneapiece--to punish him for being so real mean!
CULCH. (_indignantly_). Mean? because I----! (_He pays and dismissesthe_ CIC.) Now we can examine these monuments in peace--they arereally--er--unique examples of the sepulchral pomp of Italianmediaevalism.
MISS T. They're handsome tombs enough--but considerable cramped. Ishould have thought these old Scallywags would have looked around for aroomier burying lot. (_To_ CULCHARD, _who shivers_.) You aren't feelingsick 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 hardlyenough to give point to any repartee--there is a slight differencebetween 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 shouldwant to make himself a train out of my coverlets, I don't just see--helooks majestic enough without that.
[CULCHARD _catches up a blanket which is trailing, and says bad wordsunder his breath_.
AT THE TOMB OF JULIET.
CULCH. (_who is gradually recovering his equanimity_). Think of it! theactual spot on which _Romeo_ and _Juliet_--Shakspeare's _Juliet_--drewtheir last breath! Does it not realise the tragedy for you?
MISS T. Well, no--it's a disappointing tomb. I reckoned it would lookless like a horse-trough. I should have expected _Juliet's_ Poppa andMomma would want, considering all the facts of the case, to throw morestyle into her monument!
CULCH. (_languidly_). May not its very simplicity--er--attest thesincerity 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 visitingcards--my! but ain't that curious?
CULCH. (_instructively_). It only shows that this place is not withoutits pathos and interest for _most_ visitors, no matter what theirnationality may be. You don't feel inclined yourself to----?
MISS T. To leave a pasteboard? Why I shouldn't sleep any all night, forfear she'd return my call!
CULCH. (_producing a note-book_). It's fanciful, perhaps--but, if youdon'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 sayit _isn't_.
CULCH. (_exasperated_). I _knew_ you'd make some matter-of-fact remarkof that kind! There--it's no use! Let us go.
MISS T. Why, your sonnets seem as skeery as those lizards there! I hopeJuliet won't ever know what she's missed. But likely you'll mail thoseverses on to her later. [_She and_ BOB P. _pass on, laughing_.
CULCH. (_following_). She only affects this vulgar flippancy to tormentme. If I didn't know _that_----There, I've left that infernal potbehind 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 lowestseats. Wonder whether a lion ever nipped up and helped himself to somefat old buffer in the Stalls when the martyrs turned out a leaner lotthan usual!
VAN B. There's an ingenuous modernity about our friend's historicalspeculations 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_ wasinvariably protected by a railing, and occasionally by _euripi_, ortrenches, 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 theadvantages of a pretty liberal education?
PODB. If that's meant to be cutting, I should save it up for that novelof yours; it may seem smart--_there_!
MISS P. Really, Mr. Podbury, if you choose to resent a playful remark inthat manner, you had better go away.
PODB. Perhaps I had. (_Rises, and moves off huffily._) D----hisplayfulness! 'Pon my word, poor old Culchard was _nothing_ to thatbeggar! 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 thecopper pot, which bounds down into the arena._) Dash the thing!...(_Returning with it._) It's natural that, in my position, I should havethese--er--privileges. (_He trips over a blanket._) Conf----Have youhappened to see Miss Trotter about, by the way?
PODB. Fancy I saw her down below just now--with Bob. I expect they'rewalking round under the arches.
CULCH. Just so. Do you know, Podbury, I almost think I'll go down andfind her. I--I'm curious to hear what her impressions of a place likethis are. Such a scene, you know
,--so full of associations with--er--thesplendours and cruelties of a corrupt past--must produce a powerfuleffect upon the fresh untutored mind of an American girl, eh?
MISS T.'S _voice_ (_distinctly from arena_). I'd like ever so much tosee Buffalo Bill run his Show in here--he'd just make this old circushum!
MISS P.'S _voice_ (_indistinctly from topmost tier_). Almost fancy itall ... Senators--_equites_--_populus_--_pullati_ ... yellow sunlightstriking down through _vellarium_ ... crimsoned sand ... _mirmillo_fleeing before _secutor_ ... Diocletian himself, perhaps, lolling overthere on _cubiculum_ ... &c. &c. &c.
CULCH. The place appears to excite Miss Prendergast's enthusiasm, at allevents! [_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 toddleback to the hotel, eh? Getting near _table d'hote_ time. [_They go outarm-in-arm._