_A Fair Presentment_
ONE summer day, when everybody was asleep in the little sultry city
where Major Ponsonby, even in his siesta, watched over the interests
of British commerce--for it was a city, and was blessed with the holy
presence of a bishop--a young Englishman disembarked from an imperial
merchant brig just arrived from Otranto, and, according to custom, took
his way to the Consul’s house. He was a man of an age apparently verging
towards thirty; and, although the native porter, who bore his luggage
and directed his path, proved that, as he was accompanied not even by
a single servant, he did not share the general reputation of his
countrymen for wealth, his appearance to those practised in society
was not undistinguished. Tall, slender, and calm, his air, though
unaffected, was that of a man not deficient in self-confidence; and
whether it were the art of his tailor, or the result of his own good
frame, his garb, although remarkably plain, had that indefinable style
which we associate with the costume of a man of some mark and breeding.
On arriving at the Consul’s house, he was ushered through a large, dark,
cool hall, at the end of which was a magnificent staircase leading to
the suite of saloons, into a small apartment on the ground floor fitted
up in the English style, which, although it offered the appearance of
the library of an English gentleman, was, in fact, the consular office.
Dwarf bookcases encircled the room, occasionally crowned by a marble
bust, or bronze group. The ample table was covered with papers, and a
vacant easy-chair was evidently the consular throne. A portrait of his
Britannic majesty figured on the walls of one part of the chamber; and
over the mantel was another portrait, which immediately engaged the
attention of the traveller, and, indeed, monopolised his observation. He
had a very ample opportunity of studying it, for nearly a quarter of an
hour elapsed before he was disturbed. It was the full-length portrait of
a young lady. She stood on a terrace in a garden, and by her side was a
gazelle. Her form was of wonderful symmetry; but although her dress was
not English, the expression of her countenance reminded the traveller of
the beauties of his native land. The dazzling complexion, the large deep
blue eye, the high white forehead, the clustering brown hair, were all
northern, but northern of the highest order. She held in her small hand
a branch of orange-blossom-the hand was fairer than the flower.
‘Signor Ferrers, I believe,’ said a shrill voice. The traveller started,
and turned round. Before him stood a little, parched-up, grinning,
bowing Italian, holding in his hand the card that the traveller had sent
up to the Consul.
‘My name is Ferrers,’ replied the traveller, slightly bowing, and
speaking in a low, sweet tone.
‘Signor Ponsonby is at the casino,’ said the Italian: ‘I have the honour
to be the chancellor of the British Consulate.’
It is singular that a mercantile agent should be styled a Consul, and
his chief clerk a chancellor.
‘I have the honour to be the chancellor of the British Consulate,’ said
the Italian; ‘and I will take the earliest opportunity of informing the
Consul of your arrival. From Otranto, I believe? All well, I hope, at
Otranto?’
‘I hope so too,’ replied the traveller; ‘and so I believe.’
‘You will be pleased to leave your passport, sir, with me--the Consul
will be most happy to see you at the casino: about sunset he will be
very happy to see you at the casino. I am sorry that I detained you for
a moment, but I was at my siesta. I will take the earliest opportunity
of informing the Consul of your arrival; but at present all the consular
messengers are taking their siesta; the moment one is awake I shall send
him to the casino. May I take the liberty of inquiring whether you have
any letters for the Consul?’
‘None,’ replied the traveller.
The chancellor shrugged his shoulders a little, as if he regretted
he had been roused from his siesta for a traveller who had not even a
letter of introduction, and then turned on his heel to depart.
The traveller took up his hat, hesitated a moment, and then said, ‘Pray,
may I inquire of whom this is a portrait?’
‘Certainly,’ replied the chancellor; ‘’tis the Signora Ponsonby.’