I retail these bits of conversation to prove to you that my companions are disposed to be patient and even merry over my misfortune and their delay. And I, aside from the inconvenience, have nothing to complain of. I suffer little pain, under Dr. A.'s skilful treatment, and here I am, laid up in lavender on a sofa, in a room so spacious and elegant that I think it must have been Queen Caroline's boudoir. The walls and ceiling are decorated with Loves and Graces, and the long windows open out upon a balcony from which there is a fine view of the lake and the mountains beyond. I have more books than I could read in a month, sent me by the English people in the house. Zelphine and Angela bring me flowers and fruits, delicious great black cherries and a fruit unknown to us which they call nespole. These last I fear were stolen from Maximilian's garden, as the nespole hang most temptingly over the terraces there.
Dr. A. entertains me with interesting traditions of the neighborhood. This morning he brought me an old French book which gives a history of this villa, which was not, as I had supposed, a former possession of the princely house of Este, one of whose villas we saw at Tivoli. The name seems to have been purely a fancy on the part of the Queen. I am to have some passages translated for my benefit from a recent book written by an Italian upon Queen Caroline and her life at the Villa d'Este.
"A swallow without a nest, which for many years flew from city to city in Europe, Africa, and Asia," this author calls the unhappy Queen, upon which Dr. A. shrugs his shoulders, and says that bad as her husband was, he, for his part, has little admiration for Caroline of Brunswick. I have always entertained the most profound sympathy for this unfortunate lady, and we naturally have animated discussions over her rights and wrongs. I fancy that Signor Clerci is entirely on Dr. A.'s side of the argument, otherwise he would not so cheerfully offer to read me passages about the Queen's life at the Villa d'Este.
June 19th.
Last evening, to our surprise and joy, Mrs. Coxe arrived. She had learned that we were here, and of my accident, from Miss Morris, whom she met in Milan, and came at once, like the good Samaritan that she is, to cheer and comfort me. Now that I have so agreeable a companion, the rest of my party will not hesitate to go to Milan for a day at the Brera.
Mrs. Coxe is a perfect dear, and entertains me immensely; but, with all the blessings that I have been recounting to you, I feel a bit homesick to-night. Am I not unreasonable? The truth is, I shall miss Zelphine sadly if she and Mr. Leonard sail in August and if Angela and I do not return until October. Is there any chance of your getting over to England this summer? You had better come in time for the wedding.
XVIII
ANGELA'S LETTER
Villa d'Este, Lake Como, June 27th.