SCENE--_A Bridge over the Pegnitz, at Nuremberg. Time,
afternoon. The shadows of the old gabled and balconied houses
are thrown sharply on the reddish-yellow water. Above the
steep speckled roofs, the spires of St. Lorenz glitter against
the blue sky. CULCHARD is leaning listlessly upon the
parapet of the bridge_.
_Culchard_ (_to himself_). How mediæval it all is, and how infinitely
restful! (_He yawns._) What a blessed relief to be without that fellow
PODBURY! He's very careful to keep out of my way--I've scarcely
seen him since I've been here. He must find it dreadfully dull. (_He
sighs._) I ought to find material for a colour-sonnet here, with these
subdued grey tones, those dull coppery-greens, and the glowing reds of
the conical caps of those towers. I _ought_--but I don't. I fancy that
half-engagement to MAUD TROTTER must have, scared away the Muse. I
wonder if PODBURY has really gone yet? (_Here a thump on the back
disposes of any doubt as to this._) Er--so you're still at Nuremberg?
[Awkwardly.
[Illustration: "Er--I have brought you the philosophical work I
mentioned."]
_Podbury_ (_cheerfully_). Rather! Regular ripping old place
this--suits me down to the ground. And how are _you_ getting on?
_Culch._ Perfectly, thanks. My mind is being--er--stimulated here in
the direction most congenial to it.
_Podb._ So's mine. By the way, have you got a book--don't mean a
novel, but a regular improving book--the stodgier the better--to lend
a fellow?
_Culch._ Well, I brought an _Epitome of Herbert Spencer's Synthetic
Philosophy_ away with me to dip into occasionally. It seems a very
able summary, and you are welcome to it, if it's of any use to you.
_Podb._ SPENCER, eh?--he's a stiff kind of old bird, ain't he? He'll
do me to-rights, thanks.
_Culch._ It strikes me, PODBURY, that you must find the time
rather long, to want a book of that kind. If you wish to resume
our--ah--original relations, I am quite ready to overlook what I am
sure was only a phase of not unnatural disappointment.
_Podb._ (_cheerily_). Oh, _that's_ all right, old fellow. I've got
over all that business. (_He colours slightly._) How soon did you
think of moving on?
_Culch._ (_briskly_). As soon as you please. We might start for
Constance to-morrow, if you like.
_Podb._ (_hesitating_) Well, you see, it's just this: there's a fellow
staying at my hotel--PRENDERGAST, his name is--rattling good sort--and
I've rather chummed up with him, and--and he's travelling with a
relation of his, and--well, the fact is, they rather made a point of
my going on to Constance with _them_, don't you see? But I daresay
we could work it so as to go on all together. I'll see what they say
about it.
_Culch._ (_stiffly_). I'm exceedingly obliged--but so large a party
is scarcely--however, I'll let you know whether I can join you or not
this evening. Are you--er--going anywhere in particular just now?
_Podb._ Well, yes. I've got to meet PRENDERGAST at the _Café Noris_.
We're going to beat up some stables, and see if we can't hire a couple
of gees for an hour or two before dinner. Do you feel inclined for a
tittup?
_Culch._ Thanks, but I am no equestrian. (_To himself, after PODBURY's
departure._) He seems to manage well enough without me. And yet I do
think my society would be more good for him than--. Why did he want to
borrow that book, though? Can my influence after all-- (_He walks on
thoughtfully, till he finds himself before an optician's window in
which a mechanical monkey is looking through a miniature telescope;
the monkey suddenly turns its head and gibbers at him. This familiarity
depresses him, and he moves away, feeling lonelier than ever._)
_ON THE TERRACE OF THE BURG. HALF AN HOUR LATER._
_Culch._ (_on a seat commanding a panorama of roofs, gables, turrets,
and spires_). Now this is a thing that can only be properly enjoyed
when one is by oneself. The mere presence of PODBURY--well, thank
goodness, he's found more congenial company. (_He sighs._) That
looks, like an English girl sketching on the next seat. Rather a
fine profile, so regular--general air of repose about her. Singular,
now I think of it, how little repose there is about MAUD. (The Young
Lady _rises and walks to the parapet._) Dear me, she has left her
india-rubber behind her. I really think I ought-- (_He rescues the
india-rubber, which he restores to the owner._) Am I mistaken in
supposing that this piece of india-rubber is your property?
_The Y.L._ (_in musically precise tones_). Your supposition is
perfectly correct. I was under the impression that it would be safe
where it was for a few moments; but I am obliged to you, nevertheless.
I find india-rubber quite indispensable in sketching.
_Culch._ I can quite understand that. I--I mean that it reduces
the--er--paralysing sense of irrevocability.
_The Y.L._ You express my own meaning exactly.
[_CULCHARD, not being quite sure of his own, is
proportionately pleased._
_Culch._ You nave chosen an inspiring scene, rich with historical
interest.
_The Y.L._ (_enthusiastically_). Yes, indeed. What names rise to one's
mind instinctively MELANCHTHON, JOHN HUSS, KRAFT, and PETER VISCHER,
and DÜRER, and WOHLGEMUT, and MAXIMILIAN THE FIRST, and LOUIS OF
BAVARIA!
_Culch._ (_who has read up the local history, and does not intend to
be beaten at this game_). Precisely. And the imperious MARGRAVE OF
BRANDENBURG, and WALLENSTEIN; and GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS, and GOETZ VON
BERLICHINGEN. One can almost see their--er--picturesque personalities
still haunting the narrow streets as we look down.
_The Y.L._ I find it impossible to distinguish even the streets from
here, I confess, but you probably see with the imagination of an
artist. _Are_ you one by any chance?
_Culch._ Only in words; that is, I record my impressions in a poetic
form. A perfect sonnet may render a scene, a mood, a passing thought,
more indelibly than the most finished sketch; may it not?
_The Y.L._ That is quite true; indeed, I occasionally relieve my
feelings by the composition of Greek or Latin verses, which I find, on
the whole, better adapted to express the subtler emotions. Don't you
agree with me there?
_Culch._ (_who has done no Greek or Latin verse since he left
school_). Doubtless. But I am hindering your sketch?
_The Y.L._ No, I was merely saturating my mind with the general
effect. I shall not really begin my sketch till to-morrow. I am going
now. I hope the genius of the place will inspire you.
_Culch._ Thank you. I trust it will--er--have that effect. (_To
himself, after the Young Lady has left the terrace._) Now, that's a
very superior girl--she has intellect, style, culture--everything the
ideal woman _should_ have. I wonder, now, whether, if I had met her
before--but such speculations are most unprofitable! How clear her
eyes looked through her _pince-nez_! Blue-grey, like Athene's own. If
I'd been with PODBURY, I should never have had this talk. The sight of
him would have repelled her at once. I shall tell him when I take him
that book that he had better go his own way with his new friends. I
shall spend most of to-morrow on this terrace.
SCENE--_The Conversations-Saal at the Wurtemburger-Hof.
Evening. PODBURY at the piano; BOB PRENDERGAST and his
sister HYPATIA seated near him._
_Podb._ (_chanting dolefully_)--
Now then, this party as what came from Fla-an-ders,
What had the com-plex-_i_-on rich and rare,
He went and took and caught the yeller ja-aun-ders--
And his complexion isn't what it were!
_Mr. and Miss Prendergast_ (_joining sympathetically in chorus_). And
his complexion _isn't_ what it _were_!
[_There is a faint knock at the door, and CULCHARD enters
with a volume under his arm. None of the three observes him,
and he stands and listens stiffly as PODBURY continues,--_
Well, next this party as what came from Fla-an-ders,
Whose complex-shun was formi-ally rare,
Eloped to Injia with ELIZA SA-AUN-DERS,
As lived close by in Canonbury Square.
_Culch._ (_advances to piano and touches PODBURY's arm with the air
of his better angel_). Er--I have brought you the philosophical work
I mentioned. I will leave it for an occasion when you are--er--in a
fitter frame of mind for its perusal.
_Podb._ Oh, beg pardon, didn't see you, old fellow. Awfully obliged;
jam it down anywhere, and (_whispering_) I say, I want to introduce
you to--
_Culch._ (_in a tone of emphatic disapproval_). You must really excuse
me, as I fear I should be scarcely a congenial spirit in such a party.
So good night--or, rather--er--good-bye. [_He withdraws._
_Miss Hypatia P._ (_just as C. is about to close the door_). Please
don't stop, Mr. PODBURY, that song is quite too deliciously inane!
[_CULCHARD turns as he hears the voice, and--too
late--recognises his Athene of that afternoon. He retires in
confusion, and, as he passes under the window, hears PODBURY
sing the final verse._
The moral is--Now _don't_ you come from Fla-an-ders,
If you should have complexions rich and rare;
And don't you go and catch the yaller ja-aun-ders,
Nor yet know girls in Canonbury Square!
_Miss Hypatia P._ (_in a clear soprano_). "Nor yet know girls in
Canonbury Square!"
[_CULCHARD passes on, crushed._
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE STERNER SEX!
"HULLO, GERTY! YOU'VE GOT FRED'S HAT ON, AND HIS COVER COAT?"
"YES. DON'T YOU LIKE IT?"
"WELL--IT MAKES YOU LOOK LIKE A YOUNG MAN, YOU KNOW, AND THAT'S SO
EFFEMINATE!"]
* * * * *