CHAPTER VI.

A DAY'S SHOPPING.

"'Tis an Italian town, Almost a city yet not metropolitan wholly. Houses red-roofed, white-walled, lofty in height with iron balconies, Narrow and twisted the streets, with rough irregular pavements: Below are the shops with their awnings o'er windows, filled with gaudy wares we see not in England, Amid which stand the shop-keepers, shrill-voiced, thievish, voluble and smiling. 'Questo è troopo? 'Non e molto'--question and answer and question once more, While in the burning sunshine, in nooks, in corners, in courts, in door-ways, Lie the dark shadows, fit for the hiding of lovers, of bravos, of damsels and men-at-arms ruffianly."

Relations were rather strained between Eustace and his young friend, the reason being as usual to be found in the unconquerable selfishness of the former. With his habitual egotism, Gartney insisted that the lad whom he had chosen for a friend should attend solely to him, watch his every action with dog-like fidelity, and have nothing to do with the rest of the world.

This Otterburn, high-spirited and wilful, naturally enough refused to do, though he had hitherto been obedient to Gartney's whims and fancies in every way. Not having heretofore had anything to attract his attention in any great degree, and being fascinated by the strange nature of his poet-friend, Angus had duly given him unlimited measure of the admiring adulation he so much desired. He had listened patiently to Gartney's brilliant though somewhat egotistical discourses, but now, with the irrepressible nature of youth, having fallen in love with Victoria Sheldon he began to grow tired of his friend's dour nature and pessimistic railings against the artfulness of womankind.

They had now been nearly a week at the Italian lakes, and from being her boyish admirer, Otterburn had become the faithful slave of Victoria, and finding that he could not serve both master and mistress in a strictly impartial manner, he renounced his fidelity to Eustace. Of course he was still very friendly with him and liked to listen to his epigrammatic conversation--on occasions, but showed plainly that he much preferred Miss Sheldon's society, a discovery which vexed his quondam friend mightily, the more so as he saw in such preference a distinct triumph for Victoria.

That young lady had early announced her dislike to Eustace, deeming him cold, vain, proud and an enemy to her sex; so, seeing Otterburn was to a certain extent indispensable to him, she tried her hardest to bring about a separation between these two close friends--and succeeded.

Not that she cared over much for Angus. He was certainly a very nice boy, and wonderfully useful as a carry-and-fetch poodle--but the possibility of Otterburn taking jest for earnest never occurred to her, and, ignoring with the calm egotism of a woman the chance that he might break his heart for her sake, she gave him sweet looks, undeserved frowns, was hot and cold, kind and cruel, doleful and capricious, just as the humour took her, and by a dexterous use of the whole armament of female wiles successfully accomplished the task she had set herself.

So Otterburn having surrendered at discretion, which was hardly to be wondered at against such a crafty enemy, was now devoted to his conqueror and saw comparatively little of Eustace, who though distinctly annoyed at his defeat cloaked his real feelings caused by Otterburn's desertion under the guise of careless indifference, and either mooned dismally about alone or sought solace in the society of the Erringtons, who were now making preparations for their departure to England.

Before leaving, however, Lady Errington with characteristic good nature had thrown aside all formality and called upon Mrs. Trubbles and Miss Sheldon at the Villa Medici. She took a great fancy to Victoria, both on account of her beauty and her generous straightforward nature, while Mrs. Trubbles amused her mightily with the eccentricities of her character, so she asked them to a dinner at the Villa Tagni, thereby earning the eternal gratitude of Angus, who foresaw a chance of obtaining Victoria all to himself for one whole evening.

Of course she also invited Eustace, whom she pitied for his evident unhappiness, thinking, with the natural fondness of a woman for romance, that it sprang from some unrequited love affair and not, as was actually the case, from satiety and cynicism. Eustace graciously accepted the invitation, and for once in his life looked forward to such entertainment with some pleasure, as the cold, irresponsive nature of Lady Errington roused his curiosity and made him anxious to learn more of her inner life.

A few days before the Errington dinner-party, Mrs. Trubbles so far overcame her disposition to sleep as to propose a day's shopping in Como to which Victoria eagerly agreed, being anxious to see as much local Lombardian colour as possible. On the morning of their proposed outing, however, Eustace, not being able to endure with equanimity the prospect of a whole afternoon in the company of Mrs. Trubbles, craftily betook himself on a boating excursion to the Villa Pliniana, so Otterburn nothing loth formed the sole escort of the two ladies, and this party of three were now standing in the Piazza awaiting the arrival of the steamer.

A large, fat, good-natured woman was Mrs. Trubbles, with a broad red face ever wearing a sleepy smile and a portly body arrayed in rainbow colours with plenty of jewellery. Everybody in town knew the birth, parentage, and bringing up of Mrs. Trubbles as her history had long ago passed the nine days' wonder of scandal, and was already somewhat stale and forgotten by all except her most intimate friends, who never forgot to remind the good-natured lady that she was noble only by the accident of marriage.

The Honourable Henry Trubbles was a detestable little man with a bass voice and an overweening vanity concerning his political capabilities, though he had long ago failed in diplomatic circles. A perusal of Beaconsfield's novels in his youth had fired his ambition to emulate their hero, and like a very second-rate Numa Pompilius he went to seek an Egeria who would inspire him with great ideas. The Hon. Henry, however, was so singularly plain in person and disagreeable in manner that no lady in his own rank of life would agree to help him to attain to the Cabinet, so not being able to secure rank he married money in the person of Miss Matilda Barsip, whose papa had made a fortune in army-contracting during the Crimean War. The noble house of which Trubbles was a cadet offered no opposition to the match, being rather glad to get the budding diplomatist settled and done for, so Miss Barsip was duly married with great pomp to her withered little stick of a lover, and six months after the army contractor had the good taste to die, leaving them all his money.

The Family, to whom Mrs. Trubbles always alluded in a tone of awe as to some unseen divinities, took the young couple up, and having floated them both into smooth social waters left them to carry on their lives in their own way, which they did. The Hon. Henry, now being in command of plenty of money, spent his life in hanging on to the outside fringe of politics and pretended to know all the secrets of the Cabinet, though as a matter of fact he was acquainted with nothing but what he learned through the medium of the papers. He tried to get into Parliament several times but was such a palpable idiot that no constituency would elect him, so Mr. Trubbles not being able to serve his country, which did not want him, fluttered round St. Stephen's, worried the ministers and bored the members so much that if they could have given him the Governorship of a nice yellow-fever island they certainly would have done so in order to get rid of him. All the Colonial Governors, however, were healthy at present, so the Honourable Henry stayed in town and exasperated everyone with his tea-cup statesmanship.

Mrs. Henry on her side had no ambition whatsoever, but drifted leisurely through life, spending her money in a comfortable homely kind of fashion. She was presented at Court on her marriage by the Dowager Duchess of Margate, but did not appreciate the honour, so never went near St. James' again in spite of the orders of Henry, who thought the appearance of his rich wife might improve his diplomatic prospects.

Notwithstanding the efforts of the Misses Wilkers, whose academy she had attended at Hampstead, English was not Mrs. Trubbles' strong point, and being a good-natured old soul, who never pretended to be anything else but what she was, the worthy Matilda was a great favourite with her social circle. Her dinners were always excellent, her dances pleasant and fashionable, and her portly person decked out in gay colours was to be seen at many places, though for the most part she preferred to rest in her own house whenever she got a chance.

"I'm too stout to be skipping about," she said candidly; "that worriting husband of mine is always hopping round like a cat on hot bricks, but for my part I like peace and quietness."

She was certainly a most popular lady, such as the men about Town called a "jolly good sort" and the ladies in Society approved of greatly, because she did not give herself airs above her position; so in spite of her defective English, her loud taste in dress, and the lowliness of her birth, the Hon. Mrs. Trubbles got on very well indeed, and had a good number of friends and no enemies, which says a good deal for her kindly disposition.

The trip to Italy had been undertaken at the suggestion of the Honourable Henry, who wanted to study some political question concerning the Great Powers, of which he knew absolutely nothing; so Matilda had also come with him to have a look at foreign parts, and had taken Victoria with her, by permission of Aunt Jelly.

"Where's Mr. Trubbles to-day?" asked Otterburn, digging his stick into the gravel.

"Oh, Henry," said Mrs. Trubbles placidly, looking at the water in a somnolent manner, "he's gone to Bell-baggio, I think."

"Bellaggio," corrected Victoria.

"Something like that," replied Mrs. Trubbles complacently. "Dear! dear! how curious these foreigners do talk!--they call a steamer a vapour-bottle, which is a curious name. Dear me, Mr. Macjean, what are you laughing at?"

Otterburn pulled himself up promptly, and had the grace to blush under the severe eye of Victoria.

"It's _battello di vapore_," he said lightly, "but indeed, Mrs. Trubbles, I'm as much at sea as you are about Italian. I prefer our gude Scottish tongue."

"Glesgay," suggested Victoria, whereat Angus made a gesture of horror.

"No! no I mean the language of Jeannie Deans, of Highland Mary, and of those Jacobite songs that sprang from the leal hearts of the people."

"I once saw _Rob Roy_," observed Mrs. Trubbles heavily; "they were all dressed in tartans. I don't think the dress is very respectable myself."

"Then I'll never come before you in the garb of old Gaul," said Angus gaily.

"I should think it would suit you splendidly," said Miss Sheldon approvingly, glancing at his stalwart figure; "if you go to a fancy dress ball you must wear it."

Otterburn laughed, and promised to obey her commands, but at this moment the steamer drew in to the pier, and they were soon on board, steaming up to Como.

It was a beautiful morning, and as yet not too warm, the heat of the sun being tempered by the cool breeze, which, blowing from the shore, brought with it the resinous odours of fir and pine. On either side precipitous mountains towered up into the intense blue of the summer sky, the innumerable villas made pleasant spots of colour here and there, while the bosom of the lake, placidly treacherous, was of changeful hues, like the varying colours of a peacock's neck.

Plenty of tourists, in all sorts of extraordinary garbs, were on the deck of the steamer, chattering Italian, German, English, and French, according to their different nationalities, all laden with umbrellas, alpenstocks, Baedekers, luncheon-bags, marine glasses, and such-like evidences of travel. Mrs. Trubbles, having established herself in a comfortable corner, was trying to get a short sleep prior to facing the fatigues of Como, so Victoria and her attentive cavalier, being left to their own devices, began to talk about everyone and everything.

"How these tourists do hold on to their guide-books," said Victoria disdainfully, "one would think they'd be quite lost without them."

"Very likely they would," replied Otterburn, pulling his straw hat over his eyes with a yawn, "they have a prejudice against looking at any place without knowing all about it."

"It's such a trouble reading up all about cathedrals and pictures--I like to ask questions."

"Oh! guides!"

"No! no I--they're worse than Baedeker. They never stop talking, and their information is so scrappy."

"Extensive but not accurate," suggested Macjean with a laugh.

"I'm not sure even about the extensive part," observed Victoria gaily; "when I was in England I went to a cathedral--I won't mention names--and the verger had a cut-and-dried story about the place. When he finished his little narrative I began to ask him questions. You've no idea how exasperated he became, because he knew absolutely nothing, and at last said, in despair, 'Why, Miss, you must be an American.' I told him I was an Australian, so he promptly replied, 'Well, Miss, that's quite as bad--for questions.'"

As in duty bound, Angus laughed at this story, which was simple enough in itself, but the telling of it seemed to establish a more friendly feeling between them, of which this artful young man took full advantage, and began to point out the various objects of interest on the lake.

"You see that villa over there," he said in an official tone, "it belongs to the Visconti lot. They used to be Dukes of Milan, you know."

"Dear me! and why aren't they Dukes of Milan now?"

"Haven't the least idea," replied Angus, whose historical knowledge was of the vaguest description. "Napoleon, you know, I think he upset the apple-cart--turned them out, I mean. You see, Miss Sheldon, I'm like your verger--I know a stereotyped story, but if you ask me anything beyond I'm up a tree."

"You're a very honest guide, at all events," said Victoria with a smile. "What is that tower on the hill?"

"Oh, the castle of Baradello."

"And who was he?"

"Some ancient Johnnie, I believe," returned the young man carelessly, "a duke or a pirate, or a picture gallery, I forget which."

"Your information is most accurate," said Miss Sheldon gravely, putting up a large red sunshade, which cast a rosy reflection on her piquant face, "you must study Baedeker very closely."

Macjean laughed.

"How severe you are," he replied lightly, "but I've got such a beastly memory. It's like a sieve--but, I say, hadn't we better wake up Mrs. Trubbles? Here's Como--dirty place, isn't it?"

"Rather dingy," assented Victoria, surveying the untidy-looking town with its picturesque red roofs, above which arose the great Duomo like a great bubble. "What do you think, Mrs. Trubbles?"

"Eh? what, my dear?" said that lady, whom the stoppage of the steamer had aroused from a very comfortable slumber. "Very nice indeed. Like a picture I've got over the sideboard in the dining-room--but, dear me, how dirty the streets are! I'm afraid they haven't got a Board of Works. What does this man say?--Bill something--who is he talking to?"

"Biglietti," explained Victoria, as they paused at the gangway. "Tickets--you've got them, Mr. Macjean."

"Yes, here they are," said Angus, and, handing them to the officer in charge, they went ashore.

"What little men," said Victoria, catching sight of some of the military, "they look like tin soldiers."

"They don't seem very well fed," observed Mrs. Trubbles meditatively; "I don't think the food is good--very bad quality, I'm afraid. Dear me, there's a fountain."

"It's more like a squirt," said Otterburn laughing.

"Plenty of water about this place," pursued Mrs. Trubbles, putting up her eyeglass, "but I don't think these foreigners make enough use of it. Oh, dear! dear! what a dreadful smell, they really ought to look after the drains better. I'm so afraid of typhoid. Mr. Macjean, would you mind smoking?--it's safer."

Mr. Macjean was only too delighted, and having lighted a cigarette, was soon blowing wreaths of smoke as they all walked up one of the narrow streets, on their way to the Duomo.

"We must do the church, you know," remarked Angus with great gravity, "it's the big lion of Como--built by some one called Roderer or Rodari--I'm not certain about the name. Sounds like a champagne brand, doesn't it? It was built somewhere about the thirteenth or fourteenth century--I'm not sure which."

"You don't seem very sure of anything beyond the fact that there is a church," said Miss Sheldon disparagingly, "and as it's straight before you, we can be certain it exists. They say it's all built of white marble."

"It doesn't look like it then," remarked Mrs. Trubbles emphatically, "a good coat of paint wouldn't hurt it."

"Oh, that would spoil it," chorused both the young people, whereupon Mrs. Trubbles shook her head, and held firmly to her original suggestion.

Having admired the ornate front, with its delicate Renaissance carvings they went out of the burning sunshine into the cool twilight of the cathedral.

Some service was going on as they entered, and in the dim distance they saw the high altar glittering with gold and silver ornaments, beneath gorgeous draperies of yellow damask depending from the ceiling, and innumerable tapers flared like beautiful glittering stars against the brilliant background.

Numbers of worshippers, with bent heads, were kneeling on the chill marble pavement, telling their beads, or silently moving their lips in prayer, while a priest in splendid vestments, attended by a long train of white-robed acolytes, officiated at the altar, and at intervals the melodious thunder of the organ broke through the monotonous voices of the choir. Placid-looking images of saints, dusky pictures of the Virgin throned amid the hierarchy of heaven, before which burned the lambent flames of slender white candles, many-coloured tapestries representing biblical scenes, heavy gold brocaded hangings, elaborately-carved shrines and the sudden flash of precious metals and strangely-set jewels appeared in every nook and corner of the immense building, while from the silver censers of the acolytes arose the drowsy incense, in white clouds of sensuous perfume, towards the gilded splendour of the huge dome. Here, from the lofty roof, the rapt faces of Evangelists, saints, angels and virgins, looked gravely downward; there, slender shafts of sunlight, streaming in through the painted windows, tinted the white monuments of the dead with rainbow hues, and under all this subdued splendour of colour and beauty, softened by the dusky twilight, knelt a mixed congregation. Bare-footed _contadini_ from distant hill villages, devoutly told their beads next to some dark-visaged soldier in all the bravery of military trappings, and delicately beautiful ladies, arrayed in the latest Milanese fashion, knelt beside bare-breasted peasants with sinewy figures full of the lithe grace and suppressed fierceness of Italian manhood.

"I wonder what Mactab would say to all this?" muttered Otterburn involuntarily, as he thought of the severe humility and bareness of the Kirk o' Tabbylugs.

"Who is Mactab?" asked Victoria in a subdued whisper. Angus chuckled quietly.

"Did I never tell you of Mactab?" he whispered--"oh! I must. He's a prominent minister of the Free Kirk, of the severest principles."

"What are his principles?"

"Eh! what? Oh, he hasn't got any principals! He's a Free Kirk, I tell you. All this heathenish worship would make him take a fit. He believes in nothing, not even an organ, so the Mactab congregation sing dreadfully out of tune, but they make up for this by strength of lungs. They could give that wheezy old 'kist o' whustles' fits in psalmody."

At this moment Mrs. Trubbles, who had been gazing complacently about her with the same sort of interest as she would have taken in a theatre, intimated that she had seen enough, and led the way out into the hot sunshine.

"I'm rather tired of churches," said the matron in her deep voice "we've seen such a lot of them in France."

"Oh, France isn't in it with Italy in that line," observed Angus, in his slangy way. "There are more churches than public-houses here."

"Well, that's a very good thing," replied Victoria.

"I should think so, considering how thin the wines are," retorted Macjean, pausing before a variegated kind of arcade; "but look here--this is the market."

"Oh, how pretty!" cried Victoria, noting the picturesque colouring of the different piles of fruit--"just like a scene out of Romeo and Juliet."

"And there is Juliet said the Master wickedly, waving his stick in the direction of a ponderous female who was leaning from a projecting iron balcony chattering to a lady below with shrill volubility over some skinny-looking poultry.

"Juliet in her old age buying Romeo's dinner," replied Victoria, serenely. "Don't, please, take the romance out of everything."

"No; I leave that to Gartney."

"Horrid man!" said the girl, viciously; "he would disillusionise an angel."

"There are one or two things, my dear Victoria," observed Mrs. Trubbles at this moment--"there are one or two things I should like to take home with me as a kind of mementum of Italy. A fan or a shell-box--you know, dear; a box with 'A Present from Como' on it. Now, what is the Italian for 'A Present from Como'?"

"I'm sure I don't know," said Miss Sheldon, suppressing a smile. "However, here's an old curiosity shop. Let us go in and spy out the land."

"I can't talk the language myself," said Mrs. Trubbles, doubtfully, as her bulky figure filled up the door, "but Victoria----"

"Is much worse," interrupted that young lady, quickly. "I know French, but not Italian, except parrot-like in singing. Now Mr. Macjean----"

"I'm worst of all," explained Otterburn, in the most brazen manner. "'Questo e troppo' is all I know."

"Translate, please."

"It means 'That is too much."

"A very good sentence to know," said the matron, decidedly. "I believe these foreign people are rarely honest. I shall learn it--'Question he troppus.' Is that right?"

"Not quite; only three words wrong. 'Questo e troppo.'"

"'Questo e troppo,'" repeated Mrs. Trubbles, carefully. "What a pity these foreigners don't learn English. It's so much better than their own gibberish."

"I'm afraid we'll have to go in for the primitive language of signs," cried Victoria gaily, as they stood in front of the diminutive counter behind which a smiling Italian was gesticulating politely.

It would take a long time to describe the difficulties of that shopping. How the shopkeeper, assisted by his tragic-looking wife, raved wildly in Italian, and his three customers endeavoured vainly to find out what they both meant. Sometimes one person would speak, then the other four would join in, the most powerful voice taking the lead. What with "Gran' Dio's" and "Per Bacco's" from the sellers, and "Basta, basta," "Questo e troppo," and "Si, si" from the buyers, the whole transaction was quite operatic in character.

Mrs. Trubbles' system of shopping was very simple.

When the shopkeeper said two lire, she replied one; if he requested five, she offered four, always keeping the price down, being convinced in her own mind that these foreigners were trying to swindle her, an idea abhorrent to her sturdy British spirit.

"I've got a conversation book somewhere," she said at last, fishing in a capacious pocket; "it's got questions in three languages."

"And the truth in none," observed Angus, _sotto voce_.

"Oh, here it is!" exclaimed Mrs. Trubbles, producing a kind of pamphlet. "Here, Mister Signor," holding up an olive-wood paper-cutter, "Wie viel."

A shrug of the shoulders and a gesture of dismay from the shopkeeper, who did not understand German.

"Why, he doesn't know his own language!" said Mrs. Trubbles, with great contempt. "They need a School Board here."

"I think," suggested Victoria, who was suffocating with laughter, "I think you are talking German."

"Dear! dear! you don't say so?" said the lady meekly, somewhat after the fashion of M. Jourdain, who had talked prose for years and did not know it. "Yes, quite right. These books are so muddling. Where's the Italian? Oh, here; 'Quanto, quanto?'" shaking the paper-cutter frantically. "Quanto, signor?"

"Tre lire."

"Bother the man! I'm not talking about a tray!" cried Mrs. Trubbles, in an exasperated tone. "Here!--this! Use your eyes. Paper-cutter. 'Papero cuttero. Quanto?'"

"Tre lire, signora."

"He means three francs," explained Victoria.

"Oh, does he. I'll give him two."

"Questo e troppo," said Otterburn, bringing forward his only bit of Italian with great ostentation. "Two--due--lire, signor. Ah, che la morte."

"No, no," from the shopkeeper, "non e molto."

"Now what does that mean?" cried the matron, referring to her text-book. "Here it is: 'not much,'--si, si; far too much, too molto, due--due lire," producing them triumphantly from her purse.

With many deprecating shrugs and asseverations in fluent Italian that such a sale would ruin him, the shopkeeper at last accepted the two lire, and Mrs. Trubbles with great satisfaction secured what she wanted. They then bought a few more things by pursuing the same system of beating down the prices, and all three ultimately left the shop with the firm conviction that they had secured bargains, which they decidedly had not.

"These pigs of English," observed the astute shopkeeper to his wife, "always talk a lot, but they pay in the end."

Then the three innocents abroad wandered aimlessly through the narrow streets, saw the statue of the great electrician, Volta, the ruined battlements, the church of St. Abbondio, and other objects of interest. Afterwards they had some refreshment at a café, the proprietors of which Mrs. Trubbles, who was a spendthrift in London but a miser abroad, denounced as robbers, and then were fortunate enough to catch a steamer just starting for Cernobbio.

"Oh dear! dear!" moaned Mrs. Trubbles, with a weary sigh, as she sat down in a comfortable seat--"what with their language, their lies, and their nobby-stone streets, I'm quite worn out."

"I think one visit is quite enough for Como," said Victoria, as the town receded into the far distance. "When do we leave this place, Mrs. Trubbles?"

"In a week, dear," murmured the lady in a sleepy tone. "My husband will get all his politics settled by that time, I hope."

"I hope so, too. I'm tired of the lakes."

"Don't say that," said Otterburn, reproachfully; "I'll be sorry to leave the Villa Medici."

"You needn't. We can go; you can stay."

"I don't want to stay if you go."

Clearly this obtuse young man was irrepressible, and as he was now getting on dangerous ground again, Victoria deftly turned the conversation.

"I suppose we'll see you and Mr. Gartney at Rome?"

"Oh, yes. Will you be glad to see us?"

"Perhaps. I don't like Mr. Gartney; I've told you so a dozen times."

"Then will you be glad to see me?" demanded Otterburn, boldly.

Victoria looked at him mischievously, with a dangerous gleam in her dark eyes, then lowering her sunshade with a laugh, she turned abruptly away.

"I shall be glad when we arrive at the Villa Medici," she said, lightly; "I'm so hungry."

How on earth was a young man to make love to such a capricious girl?