"--the Ferrarese
To choicer music chimed his gay guitar
In Este's halls,"
as Casti himself, or rather Mr. Rose, choicely sings, yet still his song
served its purpose, for it raised a smile.
"I wrote that for Madame Sapiepha, at the Congress of Verona," said
Count Frill. "It has been thought amusing."
"Madame Sapiepha!" exclaimed the Bird of Paradise. "What! that pretty
little woman who has such pretty caps?"
"The same! Ah! what caps! _Mon Dieu!_ what taste! what taste!"
"You like caps, then?" asked the Bird of Paradise, with a sparkling eye.
"Oh! if there be anything more than other that I know most, it is the
cap. Here, _voici!_" said he, rather oddly unbuttoning his waistcoat,
"you see what lace I have got. _Voici! voici!_"
"Ah! me! what lace! what lace!" exclaimed the Bird in rapture. "St.
James, look at his lace. Come here, come here, sit next me. Let me look
at that lace." She examined it with great attention, then turned up her
beautiful eyes with a fascinating smile. "_Ah! c'est jolie, n'est-ce
pas?_ But you like caps. I tell you what, you shall see my caps.
Spiridion, go, _mon cher,_ and tell ma'amselle to bring my caps--all my
caps, one of each set."
In due time entered the Swiss, with the caps--all the caps--one of each
set. As she handed them in turn to her mistress, the Bird chirped a
panegyric upon each.
"That is pretty, is it not--and this also? but this is my favorite. What
do you think of this border? _c'est belle, cette garniture? et ce jabot,
c'est tres séduisant, n'est-ce pas? Mais voici,_ the cap of Princess
Lichtenstein. _C'est superb, c'est mon favori._ But I also love very
much this of the Duchesse de Berri. She gave me the pattern herself. And
after all, this _cornette à petite santé_ of Lady Blaze is a dear little
thing; then, again, this _coiffe à dentelle_ of Lady Macaroni is quite
a pet."
"Pass them down," said Lord Squib, "we want to look at them."
Accordingly they were passed down. Lord Squib put one on.
"Do I look superb, sentimental, or only pretty?" asked his lordship.
The example was contagious, and most of the caps were appropriated. No
one laughed more than their mistress, who, not having the slightest idea
of the value of money, would have given them all away on the spot; not
from any good-natured feeling, but from the remembrance that to-morrow
she might amuse half an hour buying others.
While some were stealing, and she remonstrating, the duke clapped his
hands like a caliph. The curtain at the end of the apartment was
immediately withdrawn and the ball-room stood revealed.
It was of the same size as the banqueting-hall. Its walls exhibited a
long perspective of gilt pilasters, the frequent piers of which were
entirely of plate looking-glass, save where occasionally a picture had
been, as it were, inlaid in its rich frame. Here was the Titian Venus of
the Tribune, deliciously copied by a French artist; there, the Roman
Fornarina, with her delicate grace, beamed like the personification of
Raphael's genius. Here Zuleikha, living in the light and shade of that
magician Guercino, in vain summoned the passions of the blooming Hebrew;
and there Cleopatra, preparing for her last immortal hour, proved by
what we saw that Guido had been a lover.
The ceiling of this apartment was richly painted and richly gilt; from
it were suspended three lustres by golden cords, which threw a softened
light upon the floor of polished and curiously inlaid woods. At the end
of the apartment was an orchestra, and here the pages, under the
direction of Carlstein, offered a very efficient domestic band.
Round the room waltzed the elegant revelers. Softly and slowly, led by
their host, they glided along like spirits of air; but each time that
the duke passed the musicians, the music became livelier, and the motion
more brisk, till at length you might have mistaken them for a college of
spinning dervishes. One by one, an exhausted couple slunk away. Some
threw themselves on a sofa, some monopolized an easy-chair; but in
twenty minutes all the dancers had disappeared. At length Peacock
Piggott gave a groan, which denoted returning energy, and raised a
stretching leg in air, bringing up, though most unwittingly, on his foot
one of the Bird's sublime and beautiful caps.
"Halloo! Piggott, armed _cap au pied_, I see," said Lord Squib. This
joke was a signal for general resuscitation....
Here they lounged in different parties, 'talking on such subjects as
idlers ever fall upon; now and then plucking a flower--now and then
listening to the fountain--now and then lingering over the distant
music--and now and then strolling through a small apartment which opened
to their walks, and which bore the title of the Temple of Gnidus. Here
Canova's Venus breathed an atmosphere of perfume and of light--that
wonderful statue whose full-charged eye is not very classical, to be
sure--but then, how true!
Lord Squib proposed a visit to the theatre, which he had ordered to be
lit up. To the theatre they repaired. They rambled over every part of
the house, amused themselves, to the horror of Mr. Annesley, with a
visit to the gallery, and then collected behind the scenes. They were
excessively amused with the properties; and Lord Squib proposed they
should dress themselves. Enough champagne had been quaffed to render any
proposition palatable, and in a few minutes they were all in costume. A
crowd of queens and chambermaids, Jews and chimney-sweeps, lawyers and
charleys, Spanish dons and Irish officers, rushed upon the stage. The
little Spaniard was Almaviva, and fell into magnificent attitudes, with
her sword and plume. Lord Squib was the old woman of Brentford, and very
funny. Sir Lucius Grafton, Harlequin; and Darrell, Grimaldi. The prince
and the count, without knowing it, figured as watchmen. Squib whispered
Annesley that Sir Lucius O'Trigger might appear in character, but was
prudent enough to suppress the joke.
The band was summoned, and they danced quadrilles with infinite spirit,
and finished the night, at the suggestion of Lord Squib, by breakfasting
on the stage. By the time this meal was dispatched, the purple light of
morn had broken into the building, and the ladies proposed an immediate
departure. Mrs. Montfort and her sister were sent home in one of the
duke's carriages; and the foreign guests were requested by him to be
their escort. The respective parties drove off. Two cabriolets lingered
to the last, and finally carried away the French actress and the Spanish
dancer, Lord Darrell, and Peacock Piggott; but whether the two gentlemen
went in one and two ladies in the other I cannot aver. I hope not.
There was at length a dead silence, and the young duke was left to
solitude and the signora!