Summer Country

Short Story in Kaleidotrope

Ld. M[oira] told a story that happened at his own house, to illustrate the excess of French politeness. After dinner he proposed to the Duc de Luxembourg to taste some excellent marasquin that had been sent to him from the Martinique. The Duke said, 'Volontiers'. The bottle was brought, and a glass swallowed by ye D., upon whose countenance, however, there appeared strong marks of disgust, tho' he bowed assent to all that was said in praise of the liquor. His silent approbation made Ld. M. taste it, and, to his astonishment he found it was castor-oil; the butler had mixed the bottles.

I found no less than five letters cautioning me strongly against going to Naples with the baby, as there rages in the town a malignant species of smallpox, to which 7000 infants have fallen victims, and amongst them poor Lady Plymouth's infant. In consequence of these warnings I have determined upon performing the operation of inoculation here, and Dr. Gianetti did it this morning.

The late Duke [of Württemberg]'s life would, if it were written, make an extraordinary romance. His amours were numerous, and to make them notorious he made the ladies who had received his homage appear at his Court in blue shoes.

Unfortunately, in quitting the town we took the road to Nassau. I verily believe since the Creation no four-wheeled carriage ever went upon such a road, unless Pluto conveyed his reluctant bride in his infernal car, for it seems to lead to his dominion only.

Lady Melbourne is uncommonly sensible and amusing, though she often puts me in mind of Madame de Merteuil in the Liasons dangereuses.

Saw my old acquaintance Csse. Maxe. Her present cavaliere servente is her husband's brother, and her husband is the bon ami of his elder brother's wife, the Marchesina di Litta. One must learn not to stare at these connections in Italy; they are not uncommon.

D'Armfeldt was, as usual, the hero of the conversation and of his own story. He begs compassion, so much that one is tempted to withhold it.

Ly. Elizabeth [Foster] wishes Mr. Pelham to escort her and the Duchess [of Devonshire] home. I think it is a bad thing for him, as he imputes his late long illness entirely to the worry he suffered from both of them in conducting them from Lausanne to Florence. I shall advise him to refuse, and persuade him to go quietly with Swinburne, who will consult his whims, and he, of course, not be impelled to consult the whimseys of two capricious ladies.

The Vatican. -- First court built by Bramante, reviver of architecture in Italy; the appearance too light. The museum is too extensive to detail, and one is so overpowered by the beauties of perfection that there is no leisure for accurate observation, especially the first six times of going.

The next day we dined at Carditello with the King [of Naples]. The dinner was served upon a table of Merlin's construction. No servants attend, but by pulling a bell your plate is pulled down and a clean one sent up; so with the dishes, and all you ask for. In short, it is exactly like a trapdoor at a theatre.

The King [of Naples] was very pleasant and conversable; he shewed us the whole manufactory, the mechanical part I did not much comprehend. He was so gallant to me that they joked and said I should be sent to Calabria, the common way the Queen takes to remove her rivals, tho' she allows him to people his own colony of manufacturers.

The cicerone assured us that in one of the temples there was a prodigious treasure inaccessible to men, as the Devil kept guard over it.

Battle Abbey was tenanted by his aunt, the widow of Sir Whistler Webster (she lived till 1810), and the Websters were therefore obliged to take up their residence in a small house close by. The old lady did little or nothing to keep up the place, and everything was falling into a state of ruin and disrepair. Elizabeth seems to have looked on her as a kind of usurper of her rights, and as the dispositions and tastes of the two ladies were diametrically opposed to one another, a constant friction between them developed into open warfare. At one time the young lady used to send across to the Abbey in the mornings to inquire 'If the old hag was dead yet.' At others she would set about devising ghostly apparitions, rattling of chains, and other eerie noises calculated to frighten the old woman who, contrary to her desires, appears to have thriven on these petty annoyances, and more than once was able to turn the tables on her persecutor.

"Lucky!" repeated Mr. Fallon, with all the pained disgust of a hypochondriac who has been accused of looking well.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about that, for the Strand is a street which contains more crooks to the square yard than any other area of ground outside a prison wall - which may be partly accounted for by the fact that it also has the reputation of being the favourite promenading ground of more potential suckers than any other thoroughfare in London.

He read the booklet through at his leisure, later, and felt tempted to send Monty Hayward a complimentary case of Old Curio on the strength of it; for the glow of contentment and goodwill towards men which spreads over the rabid entomologist who digs a new kind of beetle out of a log is as the frosts of Siberia to the glow which warms the heart of the professional buccaneer who uncovers a new swindle.