Kitabı oku: «The Travelling Companions: A Story in Scenes», sayfa 3

CHAPTER VII.
A Dissolution of Partnership

Scene —A Second-Class Compartment on the line between Wurzburg and Nuremberg. Podbury has been dull and depressed all day, not having recovered from the parting with Miss Trotter. Culchard, on the contrary, is almost ostentatiously cheerful. Podbury is intensely anxious to find out how far his spirits are genuine, but – partly from shyness, and partly because some of their fellow travellers have been English – he has hesitated to introduce the subject. At last, however, they are alone, and he is determined to have it out on the very first opportunity.

Culchard. Abominably slow train, this Schnell-zug. I hope we shall get to Nuremberg before it's too dark to see the general effect.

Podbury. We're not likely to be in time for table d'hôte– not that I'm peckish. (He sighs.) Wonder whereabouts the – the Trotters have got to by now, eh?

[He feels he is getting red, and hums the Garden Scene from Faust."

Culch. (indifferently). Oh, let me see – just arriving at St. Moritz, I expect. Wonderful effect of colour, that is.

[He indicates the West, where a bar of crimson is flaming between a belt of firs.

Podb. (absently). Oh, wonderful! – where? (Hums a snatch of a waltz.) Dum-dum-diddle-um-tum-dum-dum-dum-ty-doodle; dum-dum – I say, you don't seem particularly cut up?

Culch. Cut up? Why should I be cut up, my dear fellow? – about what?

[Before Podbury can explain, two Talkative British Tourists tumble up into the compartment, and he has to control his curiosity once more.

First T. T. Well, I 'ope we're all right now, Sam, I'm sure – these German jokers have chivied us about enough for one journey! (To Culchard.) Not in your way, this 'at box, Sir? Don't give yer much space in these foreign trains. (They settle down and the train starts.) Pretty bit o' country along 'ere! – puts me in mind o' the best part o' Box 'Ill – and I can't say more for it than that!

Second T. T. (a little man with a sandy fringe and boiled-looking eyes). What I notice about the country abroad is they don't seem to 'ave no landmarks.

First T. T. (with a dash of friendly contempt). What d'yer mean – no landmarks —signposts?

Second T. T. (with dignity). I mean to say, they don't 'ave nothing to indicate which is Jack's property, and which is Joe's.

First T. T. Go on – they've as much as what we 'ave.

Second T. T. 'Ave they? We 'ave fences and 'edges. I don't see none 'ere. P'raps you'll point me out one?

First T. T. There's precious few 'edges or fences in the Isle o' Thanet, as you'd know if you've ever been to Margit.

Second T. T. (loftily). I'm not talkin' about Margit now, I'm talkin' of 'ere, and I'll trouble you to show me a landmark.

First T. T. Depend on it they've their own ways of knowing which is 'oo's.

Second T. T. That's not what I'm sayin'. I'm sayin' there ain't nothin' to indicate it. [They argue the point at length.

Podb. (to Culchard). Then you really aren't cut up – about Miss T. you know?

Culch. (with the reserve of a man who only wants to be pressed). There is no reason that I'm aware of, why I should be – but (lowering his voice) don't you think we had better wait till we are alone to discuss that subject?

Podb. Oh, all right. I'm not partic – at least. Well, I'm glad you aren't, you know, that's all.

[He becomes silent again – but his face brightens visibly.

First T. T. (to Second Do.). See that field there? That's tobacco, that is.

Second T. T. What they make their penny smokes of. (The train enters a station.) What funny engines they do 'ave 'ere! I expect the guard 'll be wanting to see our billyetts again next. It's as bad as it used to be with the passports. I've 'eard – mind yer, I don't know 'ow much likeli'ood there is in the assertion – that they're going to bring 'em in again. Most intricate they were about them. (To Culchard). Why, if you'll believe me, a friend o' mine as 'ad one – well, they got 'is description down to a ioter? He'd a cast in 'is eye, – they put it down, and a pimple you'd 'ardly notice – but down that went!

First T. T. It's no use 'aving such things if they don't do it thoroughly.

Second T. T. (irrelevantly). I wish I 'adn't 'ad that glass o' peach wine where we changed last. (A Guard appears at the window, and makes some guttural comments on the couple's tickets.) Wechseln? Why, that means wash, don't it? I'm as clean as him, anyway. "Anshteigen," – ah, I ought to know what that means by this time! Sam, my boy, we're bundled out again. I told yer 'ow it would be!

[They tumble out, and the carriage is presently filled by an assortment of Germans, including a lively and sociable little Cripple with a new drinking-mug which he has just had filled with lager, and a Lady with pale hair and sentimental blue eyes.

Podb. We can talk all right now, eh? They won't understand. Look here, old fellow, I don't mind owning I'm rather down in the mouth about – you know what. I shouldn't care so much if there was any chance of our coming across them again.

Culch. (cordially). I am very glad to hear you say so. I was rather afraid you had taken a dislike – er – in that quarter.

Podb. I? – is it likely! I – I admire her awfully, you know, only she rather seemed to snub me lately.

Culch. (with patronising reassurance). Quite a mistake on your part, I assure you, my dear fellow. I am sure she will learn to appreciate you – er – fully when you meet again, which, I may tell you, will be at no very distant date. I happen to know that she will be at the Italian Lakes next month, and so shall we, if you let me manage this tour my own way.

Podb. (with surprise and gratitude). I say, old boy, I'd no notion you were such a nailing good chap? Nein, danky. (To the little Cripple, who is cheerily inviting him, in pantomime, to drink from his mug.) Cheeky little beggar. But do you really think anything will – er – come of it, if we do meet her again —do you now?

Culch. I – ah – have the best reasons for feeling tolerably certain of it. [He looks out of window and smiles.

Podb. But that cousin of hers – Charley, you know – how about him?

Culch. I put that to her, and there is nothing in it. In fact, she practically admitted – (He glances round and lowers his voice.) I will tell you another time. That lady over there is looking at us, and I'm almost certain —

Podb. What if she is, she don't understand a word we're saying. I want to hear all about Her, you know.

Culch. My dear Podbury, we shall have ample time to talk about her while we are at Nuremberg together – it will be the greatest pleasure to me to do so as long as you please.

Podb. Thanks, old chap! I'd no idea you were doing all this, you know. But just tell me this, what did she say about me?

Culch. (mystified). About you? I really don't recollect that she mentioned you particularly.

Podb. (puzzled). But I thought you said you'd been speaking up for me! What did you talk about then?

Culch. Well, about myself – naturally.

[He settles his collar with a vague satisfaction.

Podb. (blankly). Oh! Then you haven't been arranging to meet her again on my account?

Culch. Good Heavens, no – what a very grotesque idea of yours, my dear fellow! [He laughs gently.

Podb. Is it? You always gave out that she wasn't your style at all, and you only regarded her as a "study," and rot like that. How could I tell you would go and cut me out?

Culch. I don't deny that she occasionally – er – jarred. She is a little deficient in surface refinement – but that will come, that will come. And as to "cutting you out," why, you must allow you never had the remotest —

Podb. I don't allow anything of the sort. She liked me well enough till – till you came in and set her against me, and you may think it friendly if you like, but I call it shabby – confoundedly shabby.

Culch. Don't talk so loud, I'm sure I saw that woman smile!

Podb. She may smile her head off for all I care. (The train stops; the Cripple and all but the Pale-haired Lady get out.) Here we are at Nuremberg. What hotel did you say you are going to?

Culch. The Bayrischer-Hof. Why?

[He gets his coat and stick, &c., out of the rack.

Podb. Because I shall go to some other, that's all.

Culch. (in dismay). My dear Podbury, this is really too childish! There's no sense in travelling together, if we're going to stay at different hotels!

Podb. I'm not sure I shall go any further. Anyway, while I am here, I prefer to keep to myself.

Culch. (with a displeased laugh). Just as you please. It's a matter of perfect indifference to me. I'm afraid you'll be terribly bored by yourself, though.

Podb. That's my look out. It can't be worse than going about with you and listening while you crow and drivel about her, that's one comfort! [The Pale-haired Lady coughs in a suspicious manner.

Culch. You don't even know if there is another hotel.

Podb. I don't care. I can find a pot-house somewhere, I daresay.

The Pale-haired Lady (in excellent English, to Podbury as he passes out). Pardon me, you will find close to the Bahnhof a very goot hotel – the Wurtemburger.

[Podbury thanks her and alights in some confusion; the Lady sinks back, smiling.

Culch. (annoyed). She must have understood every word we said! Are you in earnest over this? (Podbury nods grimly.) Well, you'll soon get tired of your own society, I warn you.

Podb. Thanks, we shall see.

[He saunters off with his bag; Culchard shrugs his shoulders, and goes in search of the Bayrischer-Hof Porter, to whom he entrusts his luggage tickets, and takes his seat in the omnibus alone.

CHAPTER VIII.
Podbury finds Consolation

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.

Podb. (cheerfully). Rather! Regular ripping old place this – suits me down to the ground. And how are you getting on, my bonnie boy, eh?

Culch. (who does not quite like being addressed as a bonnie boy). 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 – I 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. (cheerfully). 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 have 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 like the view from this terrace – I shall come up here again – often.

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 yaller ja-un-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 observe 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.

CHAPTER IX.
Culchard is rather too Clever

Scene —The Burg Terrace at Nuremberg. Podbury on a bench, grappling with the "Epitome of Spencer."

Podb. (reading aloud, with comments). "For really to conceive the infinite divisibility of matter is mentally to follow out the divisions to infinity, and to do this would require infinite time." You're right there, old cock, and, as I haven't got it to spare, I won't trouble you! – um – um … "opposite absurdities" – "subjective modifications" … "ultimate scientific ideas, then, are all representative of ideas that cannot be comprehended." I could have told him that. What bally rot this Philosophy is – but I suppose I must peg away at it. Didn't she say she was sorry I didn't go in more for cultivating my mind? (He looks up.) Jove, here she comes! and yes, there's that beggar Culchard with her! I thought he'd – how the dickens did he manage to – ? I see what he's after – thinks he'll cut me out – twice over – but he shan't this time, if I can help it.

Culch. (to Miss Hypatia Prendergast). No, the Modern Spirit is too earnestly intent upon solving the problems of existence to tolerate humour in its literature. Humour has served a certain purpose in its day, but that day is done, and I for one cannot pretend to regret its decay.

Miss H. P. Nor I. In fact, the only humour I ever really appreciated is that of the ancient classics. There has been no true fun since Aristophanes died. At least, I think not.

Podb. (catching the last sentence). Oh, I say, come, Miss Prendergast. Have you ever read The Jumping Frog?

Miss P. I was under the impression that all frogs jumped. But I never read – I – ah —study.

Podb. (declining to be crushed). Well, I call Mark Twain funny anyhow. But I'm going in for study now. I am – honour bright! I'm swotting up Spencer – look! [He exhibits the volume proudly.

Miss P. And are you not enchanted by the logical lucidity of that great thinker?

Podb. Um – I should be more enchanted if I ever had the faintest notion what the great thinker was driving at. Look here – here's a simple little sentence for you! (Reads.) "Let us therefore bear in mind the following: – That of the whole incident force affecting an aggregate, the effective force is that which remains after deducting the non-effective, that the temporarily effective and the permanently effective vary inversely, and that the molar and molecular changes wrought by the permanently effective force also vary inversely." (With pathos.) And that's only in an Epitome, mind you!

Miss P. Really, Mr. Podbury, I see nothing particularly incomprehensible in that.

Culch. (with his superior smile). My dear Podbury, you can hardly expect to master the Spencerian phraseology and habit of thought without at least some preliminary mental discipline!

Podb. (nettled). Oh – but you find him plain-sailing enough, I suppose?

Culch. I have certainly not encountered any insuperable difficulties in his works as yet.

Podb. Well, I'll just trouble you to explain this– wait a bit. (Opens volume again.) Ah, here we are – "And these illusive and primordial cognitions, or pseud-ideas, are homogeneous entities which may be differentiated objectively or subjectively, according as they are presented as Noumenon or Phenomenon. Or, in other words, they are only cognoscible as a colligation of incongruous coalescences." Now then – are you going to tell me you can make head or tail of all that?

Culch. (perceiving that Miss P. is awaiting his reply in manifest suspense). It's simple enough, my dear fellow, only I can't expect you to grasp it. It is merely a profound truth stated with masterly precision.

Podb. Oh, is that all, my dear fellow? (He flings up his heels in an ecstasy.) I knew I'd have you! Why, I made that up myself as I went along, and if you understand it, it's a jolly sight more than I do!

[He roars with laughter.

Miss P. (behind her handkerchief). Mr. Culchard has evidently gone through the – the "preliminary mental discipline."

Culch. (scarlet and sulky). Of course, if Mr. Podbury descends to childishness of that sort, I can't pretend to —

Podb. (wiping his eyes). But you did pretend, old chap. You said it was "profound truth" and "masterly precision"! I've got more profound truth where that came from. I say, I shall set up as an intellectual Johnny after this, and get you to write an Epitome of me. I think I pulled your leg that time, eh?

Culch. (biting his lip). When you have extracted sufficient entertainment from that very small joke, you will perhaps allow Miss Prendergast to sit down and begin her sketch. You may not be aware that you've taken her place.

[He withdraws majestically to the parapet, while Podbury makes way for Miss P. with apologies.

Podb. (as he leans over seat while she sketches). I wish your brother Bob had been here – he would have enjoyed that!

Miss P. It was really too bad of you, though. Poor Mr. Culchard!

Podb. He shouldn't try to make me out a bigger duffer than I am, then. But I say, you don't really think it was too bad? Ah, you're laughing– you don't!

Miss P. Never mind what I really think. But you have got us both into sad disgrace. Mr. Culchard is dreadfully annoyed with us – look at his shoulders!

Culch. (leaning over parapet with his back to them). That ass Podbury! To think of his taking me in with an idiotic trick like that! And before Her too! And when I had made it all right about the other evening, and was producing an excellent impression on the way up here. I wish I could hear what they are whispering about – more silly jokes at my expense, no doubt. Bah! as if it affected me!

Podb. (to Miss P.). I say, how awfully well you draw!

Miss P. There you betray your ignorance in Art matters. Sketching with me is a pastime, not a serious pursuit. (They go on conversing in a lower tone.) No, please, Mr. Podbury. I'm quite sure he would never —

Podb. (rises; comes up to Culchard, and touches his shoulder). I say, old chappie —

Culch. (jerking away with temper). Now, look here, Podbury. I'm not in the mood for any more of your foolery —

Podb. (humbly). All right, old boy. I wouldn't bother you, only Miss Prendergast wants a figure for her foreground, and I said I'd ask you if you'd keep just as you are for a few minutes. Do you mind?

Culch. (to himself). Afraid she's gone too far – thinks she'll smooth me down! Upon my word, it would serve her right to – but no, I won't be petty. (Aloud.) Pray tell Miss Prendergast that I have no immediate intention of altering my position.

Podb. Thanks awfully, old chap. I knew you'd oblige.

Culch. (incisively). I am obliging Miss Prendergast, and her only. (Raising his voice, without turning his head.) Would you prefer me to face you, Miss Prendergast?

Miss P. (in tremulous tones). N – no, thank you. It – it's so much more n – natural, don't you know, for you to be l – looking at the view.

Culch. As you please. (To himself.) Can't meet my eye. Good! I shall go on treating her distantly for a little. I wonder if I look indifferent enough from behind? Shall I cross one foot? Better not – she may have begun sketching me. If she imagines I'm susceptible to feminine flattery of this palpable kind, she'll – how her voice shook, though, when she spoke. Poor girl, she's afraid she offended me by laughing – and I did think she had more sense than to – but I mustn't be too hard on her. I'm afraid she's already beginning to think too much of – and with my peculiar position with Miss Trotter – (Maud, that is) – not that there's anything definite at present, still – (Aloud.) Ahem, Miss Prendergast – am I standing as you wish? (To himself.) She doesn't answer – too absorbed, and I can't hear that idiot – found he hasn't scored so much after all, and gone off in a huff, I expect. So much the better! What a time she is over this, and how quiet she keeps! I wish I knew whether it was coquetry or – shall I turn round and see? No, I must be perfectly indifferent. And she did laugh at me. I distinctly saw her. Still, if she's sorry, this would be an excellent opportunity for – (Aloud.) Miss Prendergast! (No reply – louder.) May I take it that you regret having been betrayed into momentary approbation of a miserable piece of flippancy? If so, let me assure you – (Turns round – to discover that he is addressing two little flaxen haired girls in speckled pinafores, who are regarding him open-mouthed. Miss Prendergast and Podbury have disappeared.) Podbury again! He must have planned this – with her! It is too much. I have done – yes – done with the pair of them! [Strides off in bitter indignation.