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._