Leaning from the balcony of the old hotel at Stresa, on the Lago
Maggiore, the old hotel kept by Papa Bolangaro, and watching the sunset
over Isola Bella and the lake, my friend Blome knocked away the ashes
from his Vevay segar--wretched segars those--and dreamily gazed at the
beautiful scene before him.
_Vino Barbera_, as they wrote its name in the bill, was not a bad wine;
a bottle of it assisted imagination as a percussion-cap does the powder
in your rifle. In the present ease it also brought on an explosion, for
as Blome knocked off the segar-ashes for the second time, he heard a
loud exclamation from a balcony on the _primo piano_ below him. He
looked down. You have seen, I have seen, all the world has seen the
Italian woman of paintings and engravings--black eyes, black hair,
golden and red-peach complexion--there she was.
My friend passed down apologies for his oversight; an oversight--bowing
_preux-chevalier_-ly--he was afraid unpardonable, when he saw the object
he had overlooked. The beautiful Italian received the apology most
charmingly. It proved the overture to a brilliant adventure culminating
in Milan.
'You observe,' said Blome to me, 'what real benefits can be derived from
smoking. Here have I formed the acquaintance of a very pretty woman, who
will fall desperately in love with me, who will call me by my first name
within two days, all through segar-ashes. I had a friend in Jena once,
the university-town----'
'Where you got that sword-cut over the cheek?'
'Where I received it. Good! My friend in Jena was a theological student,
a very steady young man. While others would come reeling home from the
beer-kneips, he would be careful always to keep steady and under gentle
sail; but he had one weakness, a want of confidence while in the
presence of woman--one strong point, pipe-smoking.
'One afternoon he was smoking a pipe at his chamber-window, and
regarding the passers-by in the street below. When his pipe was smoked
out, he emptied its ashes in the street; as he did so, he looked down,
_Himmel_! The ashes fell on the head of Fräulein Baumann, who dwelt in
the same house in the story below him, and who was at that time knitting
a pair of stockings and also looking at the passengers in the street.
'The theological student drew his head in from the window with the
quickness of a turtle. He sat down and meditated.
'Now Fräulein Baumann was a good-hearted blonde, very well calculated to
make a good wife to somebody, and her mother, the widow Baumann,
determined that this calculation should become a mathematical certainty
the first time there was any opportunity of its becoming a fixed fact.
She had for some time regarded our student as the coming man. When he
flung ashes at her daughter's head, the mother said to her daughter:
''Angelika, thou must find time to make a potato-salad, and see that the
smoked goose is well cooked on thy wedding-day.'
''Ma, when am I going to be married, and who to?'
''_Stille!_ here comes thy husband.'
'With great trembling the student summoned up force enough to descend
the stairs, in order to make a humble apology to the Fräulein for the
ashes accident. He knocked at the Frau Baumann's door, and asked to see
the Fräulein; but lo! her mother stood before him with a very affable
air.
''_Mad-dad-ame_, I have called in--in, in relation to your d--d-daughter.
I----'
''Are you not the theological student, Herr Müller, who lives overhead?'
asked Frau Baumann.
''I am, Mad-dame. I----'
''Be seated, I pray you, and _O mein Herr_! I am so glad to learn from
your own lips the declaration of your love for my dearest, best, kindest
daughter, Angelika. She will make you the best of wives; a nurse in
affliction, a companion in distress, a soother in sorrow, a housekeeper
in tribulation, a--but here she is! Angelika, my daughter, behold the
Herr Müller, who has sought thy hand; give him the betrothal kiss.' Here
Frau Baumann bursting into tears, left the room and the young people
together.
'I draw a curtain over the thunderstruck theological student. He went in
about ashes and was coming out with hymeneal torches! Before he knew
where he was, he had given the betrothal kiss, and one year afterward
married the blonde Angelika. If you ever meet an old lady who says
smoking is beneficial, you may be sure her name is Frau Baumann,
mother-in-law of our theological student.'
* * * * *
Shoddy is not so much heard of now. But he still lives--especially in
memory and in poetry--_videlicet_.
'SHODDY.'