PRINCE AND PEASANTS
The peacefulness of fairyland was something which Brewster could not
afford to continue, and with Bertier he was soon planning to invade it.
The automobile which he was obliged to order for the mysterious
marquise put other ideas into his head. It seemed at once absolutely
necessary to give a coaching party in Italy, and as coaches of the
right kind were hard to find there, and changes of horses most
uncertain, nothing could be more simple and natural than to import
automobiles from Paris. Looking into the matter, he found that they
would have to be purchased outright, as the renting of five machines
would put his credit to too severe a test. Accordingly Bertier
telegraphed a wholesale order, which taxed the resources of the
manufacturers and caused much complaint from some customers whose work
was unaccountably delayed. The arrangement made by the courier was that
they were to be taken back at a greatly reduced price at the end of six
weeks. The machines were shipped at once, five to Milan, and one to the
address of the mysterious marquise in Florence.
It was with a sharp regret that Monty broke into the idyl of the villa,
for the witchery of the place had got into his blood. But a stern sense
of duty, combined with the fact that the Paris chauffeurs and machines
were due in Milan on Monday, made him ruthless. He was astonished that
his orders to decamp were so meekly obeyed, forgetting that his
solicitous guests did not know that worse extravagance lay beyond. He
took them to Milan by train and lodged them with some splendor at the
Hotel Cavour. Here he found that the fame of the princely profligate
had preceded him, and his portly host was all deference and attention.
All regret, too, for monsieur was just too late to hear the wonderful
company of artists who had been singing at La Scala. The season was but
just ended. Here was an opportunity missed indeed, and Brewster's
vexation brought out an ironical comment to Bertier. It rankled, but it
had its effect. The courier proved equal to the emergency. Discovering
that the manager of the company and the principal artists were still in
Milan, he suggested to Brewster that a special performance would be
very difficult to secure, but might still be possible. His chief caught
at the idea and authorized him to make every arrangement, reserving the
entire house for his own party.
"But the place will look bare," protested the courier, aghast.
"Fill it with flowers, cover it with tapestries," commanded Brewster.
"I put the affair in your hands, and I trust you to carry it through in
the right way. Show them how it ought to be done."
Bertier's heart swelled within him at the thought of so glorious an
opportunity. His fame, he felt, was already established in Italy. It
became a matter of pride to do the thing handsomely, and the necessary
business arrangements called out all his unused resources of delicacy
and diplomacy. When it came to the decoration of the opera house, he
called upon Pettingill for assistance, and together they superintended
an arrangement which curtained off a large part of the place and
reduced it to livable proportions. With the flowers and the lights, the
tapestries and the great faded flags, it became something quite
different from the usual empty theater.
To the consternation of the Italians, the work had been rushed, and it
was on the evening after their arrival in Milan that Brewster conducted
his friends in state to the Scala. It was almost a triumphal progress,
for he had generously if unwittingly given the town the most princely
sensation in years, and curiosity was abundant. Mrs. Valentine, who was
in the carriage with Monty, wondered openly why they were attracting so
much attention.
"They take us for American dukes and princesses," explained Monty.
"They never saw a white man before."
"Perhaps they expected us to ride on buffaloes," said Mrs. Dan, "with
Indian captives in our train."
"No," "Subway" Smith protested, "I seem to see disappointment in their
faces. They are looking for crowns and scepters and a shower of gold
coin. Really, Monty, you don't play the game as you should. Why, I
could give you points on the potentate act myself. A milk-white steed,
a few clattering attendants in gorgeous uniforms, a lofty nod here and
there, and little me distributing silver in the rear."
"I wonder," exclaimed Mrs. Dan, "if they don't get tired now and then
of being potentates. Can't you fancy living in palaces and longing for
a thatched cottage?"
"Easily," answered "Subway," with a laugh. "Haven't we tried it
ourselves? Two months of living upon nothing but fatted calves is more
than I can stand. We shall be ready for a home for dyspeptics if you
can't slow down a bit, Monty."
Whereupon Mrs. Dan evolved a plan, and promptly began to carry it out
by inviting the crowd to dinner the next night. Monty protested that
they would be leaving Milan in the afternoon, and that this was
distinctly his affair and he was selfish.
But Mrs. Dan was very sure. "My dear boy, you can't have things your
own way every minute. In another month you will be quite spoiled.
Anything to prevent that. My duty is plain. Even if I have to use
heroic measures, you dine with me to-morrow."
Monty recognized defeat when he met it, and graciously accepted her
very kind invitation. The next moment they drew up at the opera house
and were ushered in with a deference accorded only to wealth. The
splendor of the effect was overpowering to Brewster as well as to his
bewildered guests. Aladdin, it seemed, had fairly outdone himself. The
wonder of it was so complete that it was some time before they could
settle down to the opera, which was Aida, given with an enthusiasm that
only Italians can compass.
During the last intermission Brewster and Peggy were walking in the
foyer. They had rarely spoken since the day of the ride, but Monty
noticed with happiness that she had on several occasions avoided
Pettingill.
"I thought we had given up fairyland when we left the lakes, but I
believe you carry it with you," she said.
"The trouble with this," Monty replied, "is that there are too many
people about. My fairyland is to be just a little different."
"Your fairyland, Monty, will be built of gold and paved with silver.
You will sit all day cutting coupons in an office of alabaster."
"Peggy, do you too think me vulgar? It's a beastly parade, I know, but
it can't stop now. You don't realize the momentum of the thing."
"You do it up to the handle," she put in. "And you are much too
generous to be vulgar. But it worries me, Monty, it worries me
desperately. It's the future I'm thinking of--your future, which is
being swallowed up. This kind of thing can't go on. And what is to
follow it? You are wasting your substance, and you are not making any
life for yourself that opens out."
"Peggy," he answered very seriously, "you have got to trust me. I can't
back out, but I'll tell you this. You shall not be disappointed in me
in the end."
There was a mist before the girl's eyes as she looked at him. "I
believe you, Monty," she said simply; "I shall not forget."
The curtain rose upon the next act, and something in the opera toward
the end seemed to bring the two very close together. As they were
leaving the theater, there was a note of regret from Peggy. "It has
been perfect," she breathed, "yet, Monty, isn't it a waste that no one
else should have seen it? Think of these poverty-stricken peasants who
adore music and have never heard an opera."
"Well, they shall hear one now." Monty rose to it, but he felt like a
hypocrite in concealing his chief motive. "We'll repeat the performance
to-morrow night and fill the house with them."
He was as good as his word. Bertier was given a task the next day which
was not to his taste. But with the assistance of the city authorities
he carried it through. To them it was an evidence of insanity, but
there was something princely about it and they were tolerant. The
manager of the opera house was less complacent, and he had an
exclamatory terror of the damage to his upholstery. But Brewster had
discovered that in Italy gold is a panacea for all ills, and his
prescriptions were liberal. To him the day was short, for Peggy's
interest in the penance, as it came to be called, was so keen that she
insisted on having a hand in the preliminaries. There was something
about the partnership that appealed to Monty.
To her regret the DeMille dinner interfered with the opening of the
performance, but Monty consoled her with the promise that the opera and
its democratic audience should follow. During the day Mrs. Dan had been
deep in preparations for her banquet, but her plans were elaborately
concealed. They culminated at eight o'clock in the Cova not far from
the Scala, and the dinner was eaten in the garden to the sound of
music. Yet it was an effect of simplicity with which Mrs. Dan surprised
her guests. They were prepared for anything but that, and when they
were served with consommé, spaghetti--a concession to the chef--and
chops and peas, followed by a salad and coffee, the gratitude of the
crowd was quite beyond expression. In a burst of enthusiasm "Subway"
Smith suggested a testimonial.
Monty complained bitterly that he himself had never received a ghost of
a testimonial. He protested that it was not deserved.
"Why should you expect it?" exclaimed Pettingill, "when you have risen
from terrapin and artichokes to chops and chicory? When have you given
us nectar and ambrosia like this?"
Monty was defeated by a unanimous vote and Mrs. Dan's testimonial was
assured. This matter settled, Peggy and Mrs. Valentine, with Brewster
and Pettingill, walked over to the Scala and heard again the last two
acts of Aida. But the audience was different, and the applause.
The next day at noon the chauffeurs from Paris reported for duty, and
five gleaming French devil-wagons steamed off through the crowd in the
direction of Venice. Through Brescia and Verona and Vicenza they
passed, scattering largess of silver in their wake and leaving a trail
of breathless wonder. Brewster found the pace too fast and by the time
they reached Venice he had a wistful longing to take this radiant
country more slowly. "But this is purely a business trip," he thought,
"and I can't expect to enjoy it. Some day I'll come back and do it
differently. I could spend hours in a gondola if the blamed things were
not more expensive by the trip."
It was there that he was suddenly recalled to his duty from dreams of
moonlight on the water by a cablegram which demanded $324.00 before it
could be read. It contained word for word the parable of the ten
talents and ended with the simple word "Jones."