Part 31 (1/2)
And, if your Highness remarked the appearance of the people in that village, every second man has the ague on him.”
”They did look very wretched. And why is it not drained? Why isn't everything done as it ought, Stubber, eh?”
”Why is n't your Highness in Bohemia?”
”Want of means, my good Stubber; no money. My man, Landelli, tells me the coffer is empty; and until this new tax on the Colza comes in, we shall have to live on our credit or our wits,--I forget which, but I conclude they are about equally productive.”
”Landelli is a _ladro_,” said Stubber. ”He has money enough to build a new wing to his chateau in Serravezza, and to give fifty thousand scudi of fortune to his daughter, though he can't afford your Highness the common necessaries of your station.”
”_Per Bacco!_ Billy, you are right; you must look into these accounts yourself. They always confuse me.”
”I _have_ looked into them, and your Highness shall have two hundred thousand francs to-morrow on your dressing-table, and as much more within the week.”
”Well done, Billy! you are the only fellow who can unmask these rogueries. If I had only had you with me long ago! Well! well! well! it is too late to think of it. What shall we do with this money? Bohemia is out of the question now. Shall we rebuild the San Felice? It is really too small; the stage is crowded with twenty people on it. There's that gate towards Carrara, when is it to be completed? There's a figure wanted for the centre pedestal. As for the fountain, it must be done by the munic.i.p.ality. It is essentially the interest of the townspeople.
You 'd advise me to spend the money in draining these low lands, or in a grant to that new company for a pier at Marina; but I 'll not; I have other thoughts in my head. Why should not this be the centre of art to the whole Peninsula? Carrara is a city of sculptors. Why not concentrate their efforts here--by a gallery? I have myself some glorious things,--the best group Canova ever modelled; the original Ariadne too,--far finer than the thing people go to see at Frankfort. Then there's Tanderini's Shepherd with the Goats.--Who lives yonder, Stubber?
What a beautiful garden it is!” And he drew up short in front of a villa whose grounds were terraced in a succession of gardens down to the very margin of the sea. Plants and shrubs of other climates were mingled with those familiar to Italy, making up a picture of singular beauty, by diversity of color and foliage. ”Isn't this the 'Ombretta,' Stubber?”
”Yes, Altezza; but the Morelli have left it. It is let now to a stranger,--a French lady. Some call her English, I believe.”
”To be sure; I remember. There was a demand about a formal permission to reside here. Landelli advised me not to sign it,--that she might turn out English, or have some claim upon England, which was quite equivalent to placing the Duchy, and all within it, under that blessed thing they call British protection.”
”There are worse things than even that,” muttered Stubber.
”British occupation, perhaps you mean; well, you may be right. At all events, I did not take Landelli's advice, for I gave the permission, and I have never heard more of her. She must be rich, I take it. See what order this place is kept in; that conservatory is very large indeed, and the orange-trees are finer than ours.”
”They seem very fine indeed,” said Stubber.
”I say, sir, that we have none such at the Palace. I'll wager a zecchino they have come from Naples. And look at that magnolia: I tell you, Stubber, this garden is very far superior to ours.”
”Your Highness has not been in the Palace gardens lately, perhaps. I was there this morning, and they are really in admirable order.”
”I'll have a peep inside of these grounds, Stubber,” said the Duke, who, no longer attentive to the other, only followed out his own train of thought. At the same instant he dismounted, and, without giving himself any trouble about his horse, made straight for a small wicket which lay invitingly open in front of him. The narrow skirting of copse pa.s.sed, the Duke at once found himself in the midst of a lovely garden, laid out with consummate skill and taste, and offering at intervals the most beautiful views of the surrounding scenery. Although much of what he beheld around him was the work of many years, there were abundant traces of innovation and improvement. Some of the statues were recently placed, and a small temple of Grecian architecture seemed to have been just restored. A heavy curtain hung across the doorway; drawing back which, the Duke entered what he at once perceived to be a sculptor's studio.
Casts and models lay carelessly about, and a newly begun group stood enshrouded in the wetted drapery with which artists clothe their unfinished labors. No mean artist himself, the Duke examined critically the figures before him; nor was he long in perceiving that the artist had committed more than one fault in drawing and proportion. ”This is amateur work,” said he to himself; ”and yet not without cleverness, and a touch of genius too. Your dilettante scorns anatomy, and will not submit to drudgery; hence, here are muscles incorrectly developed, and their action ill expressed.” So saying, he sat down before the model, and taking up one of the tools at his side, began to correct some of the errors in the work. It was exactly the kind of task for which his skill adapted him. Too impatient and too discursive to accomplish anything of his own, he was admirably fitted to correct the faults of another, and so he worked away vigorously,--totally forgetting where he was, how he had come there, and as utterly oblivious of Stubber, whom he had left without. Growing more and more interested as he proceeded, he arose at length to take a better view of what he had done, and, standing some distance off, exclaimed aloud, ”_Per Bacco!_ I have made a good thing of it--there 's life in it now!”
”So indeed is there,” cried a gentle voice behind him; and, turning, he beheld a young and very beautiful girl, whose dress was covered by the loose blouse of a sculptor. ”How I thank you for this!” said she, blus.h.i.+ng deeply, as she courtesied before him. ”I have had no teaching, and never till this moment knew how much I needed it.”
”And this is your work, then?” said the Duke, who turned again towards the model. ”Well, there is promise in it. There is even more. Still, you have hard labor before you, if you would be really an artist. There is a grammar in these things, and he who would speak the tongue must get over the declensions. I know but little myself--”
”Oh, do not say so!” cried she, eagerly; ”I feel that I am in a master's presence.”
The Duke started, partly struck by the energy of her manner, in part by the words themselves. It is often difficult for men in his station to believe that they are not known and recognized; and so he stood wondering at her, and thinking who she could be that did not know him to be the Prince. ”You mistake me,” said he, gently, and with that dignity which is the birthright of those born to command. ”I am but a very indifferent artist. I have studied a little, it is true; but other pursuits and idleness have swept away the small knowledge I once possessed, and left me, as to art, pretty much as I am in morals,--that is, I know what is right, but very often I can't accomplish it.”
”You are from Carrara, I conclude?” said the young girl, timidly, still curious to hear more about him.
”Pardon me,” said he, smiling; ”I am a native of Ma.s.sa, and live here.”
”And are you not a sculptor by profession?” asked she, still more eagerly.
”No,” said he, laughing pleasantly; ”I follow a more precarious trade, nor can I mould the clay I work in so deftly.”
”At least you love art,” said she, with an enthusiasm heightened by the changes he had effected in her group.