An Old Meerschaum | Page 7

The business of the day was a trip to
the Sweet Waters of Europe. Jimmy, who had been caught by that
charming title on a former visit, proclaimed the show a swindle, and the
Sweet Waters a dreary and dirty canal; but Lilian and her mother must
needs go and see what everybody else went to see; and so an open
vehicle having with infinitude of trouble been procured, and George
Stamos, best of dragomans and staunchest of campaigning comrades,
being engaged, Barndale and Leland mounted and rode behind the
carriage. Papa Leland, in white serge and a big straw hat with a bigger
puggaree on it, winked benevolent in the dazzling sunlight.' The party
crawled along the Grande Rue, and once off its execrable pavement
took the road at a moderately good pace, saw the sights, enjoyed the
drive, and started for home again, very much disappointed with the
Sweet Waters, and but poorly impressed with the environs of
Constantinople on the whole. On the return journey an accident
happened which sent grief to Barn-dale's soul.
Five or six years ago, wandering aimlessly in Venice, Barndale had an
adventure. He met a sculptor, a young Italian, by name Antoletti, a man
of astonishing and daring genius. This man was engaged on a work of
exquisite proportions--'Madeline and Porphyro' he called it. He had
denied himself the very necessaries of life, as genius will, to buy his
marble and to hire his studio. He had paid a twelvemonth's rent in
advance, not daring to trust hunger with the money. He lived, poor
fellow, by carving meerschaum pipes for the trade, but he lived for
'Madeline and Porphyro' and his art. It took Barndale a long time to get
into this young artist's confidence; but he got there at last, and made a
bid for 'Madeline and Porphyro,' and paid something in advance for it,
and had the work completed. He sold it to a connoisseur at an amazing
profit, handed that profit to young Antoletti, and made a man of him.
'What can I do for you?' the artist asked him with all his grateful Italian
soul on fire, and the tears sparkling in his beautiful Italian eyes.
Barn-dale hesitated awhile: 'You won't feel hurt,' he said at length, 'if I
seem to ask too small a thing. I'm a great smoker, and I should like a
souvenir now I'm going away. Would you mind carving me a pipe, now?
It would be pleasant to have a trifle like that turned out by the hands of

genius. I should prize it more than a statue.' 'Ah!' said Antoletti,
beaming on him, 'ah, signor! you shall have it. It shall be the last pipe I
will ever carve, and I will remember you whilst I carve it.' So the pipe
was carved--a work of exquisitely intricate and delicate art. On the rear
of the bowl, in view of the smoker, was a female face with a wreath of
flowers about the forehead, and with flowers and grapes hanging down
in graceful intermingling with flowing bands of hair. These flowers ran
into ragged weeds and bedraggled-looking grasses on the other side,
and from these grinned a death's head. In at the open mouth of the skull
and out at the eyes, and wrapped in sinuous windings at the base, coiled
a snake. The pipe was not over large, for all its wealth of ornamentation.
Barndale had hung over it when he smoked it first with the care of an
affectionate nurse over a baby. It had rewarded his cares by colouring
magnificently until it had grown a deep equable ebony everywhere. Not
a trace of burn or scratch defaced its surface, and no touch of its first
beauty was destroyed by use. Apart from its memories, Barndale would
not have sold that pipe except at some astounding figure, which nobody
would ever have been likely to bid for it. The precious souvenir was in
his pocket, snug in its case. In an evil hour he drew it out, tenderly
filled it and lit it. He and Leland were riding at a walk, and there
seemed no danger, when suddenly his horse shied violently, and with
the shock crash went Barndale's teeth through the delicate amber, and
the precious pipe fell to the roadway. Barndale was down in a second,
and picked it up in two pieces. The stem was broken within an inch of
the marvellous bowl. He lamented over it with a chastened grief which
here and there a smoker and an enthusiast will understand. The pathos
of the situation may be caviare to the general, but the true amateur in
pipes will sympathise with him. I have an ugly old meerschaum of my
own which cheered me through a whole campaign,