Michael Stolle's Blog - Posts Tagged "copy-editing"
Sneak preview (II) ....
The lady of the house suddenly seemed to realize that they were surrounded by her gawking servants. Regally she turned around and admonished them sharply. “Stop staring at us, you silly idiots, can’t you see that we have noble guests here? Take care of their horses, get cook to prepare a decent lunch, and if I say decent, I mean decent!”
Smiling coquettishly at Pierre and Armand, a totally altered hostess ushered them inside while whipping her servants into a frenzy of action. Minutes later they found themselves sitting at a large table laden with all kinds of regional delicacies, the best wine of the house gleamed in expensive glasses from the famous Murano glass factory and toasts were raised to the King and the Queens of France.
The master of the house was dragged reluctantly from his study where he had been hiding and brooding as usual over the estate records – but if he was astonished to find three strange guests at his table his manners were polished enough to hide his true feelings behind a façade of faultless politeness. In the meantime their hostess had undergone a complete transformation; gone were the deep lines of misery and ennui. Sparkling with joy, laughing and joking like the young maid of honour she had once been, she sat in the middle of the merry party, listing enraptured to Armand’s ever so slightly but delightfully indecent stories from the French court.
Only when the servants started to light the first candles did the party become aware that dusk was falling, and indeed quite early, as they were approaching Christmas.
“I must apologize,” cried Armand. “I had completely forgotten the time. We must leave quickly now as night will be falling soon and we want to reach the next post station. It has been the most delightful afternoon – rarely have we encountered such a charming hostess – and host,” he added dutifully.
He had not even managed to finish his sentence when the lady of the house intervened. “There can be no question of your leaving tonight!” she cried. “You must stay as our honoured guests! It’s far too dangerous to ride in the darkness – and…” She paused.
“And?” repeated Armand.
“And you absolutely must finish the story about Queen Anne and this insidious Duke of Buckingham, I mean did they really….?” She giggled. “I’m burning with curiosity! Queen Marie never liked her, by the way, she always used to say, ‘You can’t trust the Spanish’!”
Which didn't stop Queen Marie from taking their gold, mused Pierre, but preferred to refrain from echoing his thoughts aloud. Clearly the lady of the house still held a very sentimental opinion of Marie de Medici.
Armand made a good show of refusing their kind invitation to stay, on the grounds of not wanting to disturb their noble hosts any further – but relented soon enough as the lady of the house wouldn’t hear any more talk of them leaving. Thus they spent an agreeable evening topped off with a sumptuous dinner and sank into their beds well nourished and slightly tipsy from too much wine.
Armand was soon to discover that there is no such thing as a free meal, as not even an hour later the mistress of the house visited his room, clad in an almost transparent nightgown and explaining that she needed to be reassured that his room was to his liking. Armand kept masterful control of his expression and it didn’t really come as a surprise to him when all of a sudden she pretended to feel dizzy and sank down on his bed. As a true gentleman, Armand knew what was expected of him and fulfilled the duties that her bookish husband had apparently neglected for some considerable time.
The next morning a worn-out Armand mounted his horse along with the rest of the party and waved good-bye to the whole family. Pierre looked surprised at his friend’s apparent fatigue but when he saw their hostess radiant with happiness he immediately drew his own conclusion.
“Busy night?” he asked his friend with a wink.
“Exhausting,” Armand whispered back. “She wouldn’t stop until I was almost dead, never had a woman craving it like that before!”
“Maybe she was afraid that it might be the last time,” Pierre commented, looking at her aging, pallid husband.
The ensuing journey towards Lake Garda slowed down, as the weather had reserved a nasty surprise for them and was on the turn. The pale but bright sun that had made them almost forget that it was the height of the winter season disappeared timidly behind a thick veil of clouds. The more they rode north towards the steep slopes of the mountains, the more the clouds seemed to descend, piling thick and menacing above their heads.
The next day the light drizzle was replaced progressively by a thick curtain of rain that poured down relentlessly upon the hapless voyagers. Dripping wet, they continued their journey, freezing and miserable, as even the thickest coats and blankets made of leather and woollen felt couldn’t withstand this deluge.
“Didn’t you promise us that this would be one of the most beautiful sights on earth?” Armand challenged Edo when they finally set eyes on Lake Garda for the first time.
“It usually is,” Edo answered, prevented from going into a more lengthy comment by a vigorous sneeze.
The friends looked incredulously at the brooding lake that stretched out below them, a vast greyish mass of water reaching to the horizon that blended seamlessly into the clouds of darkest grey. The lake that had been described to them as a blue gem in a lush setting of green certainly did not live up to their expectations – cold and grey, it held no invitation for them to stay and enjoy the scenery.
“We’ll reach our friends’ castle before sunset; it’s about three to four hours’ ride from here,” said Edo, trying to inject a more optimistic note into their discussion.
“Let’s hope that our welcome there will be warmer than the one Mother Nature has reserved for us,” Pierre sighed. Secretly he still felt highly uncomfortable visiting strangers uninvited.
The path Edo had chosen continued steeply uphill and soon their conversation died down as they had to concentrate all of their attention on the slippery path that was the only access to the castle perched like an eagle’s nest on top of the mountain.
After many hours of this difficult terrain Edo started to crane his neck and look hard into the distance. “We’re close now!” he shouted excitedly, hoping to cheer up his fellow travellers.
“Close to what?” muttered Armand. “I can only see clouds, nothing but clouds!”
Edo was spared the effort of an answer as the dark veil was torn apart and the silhouette of a tower and high walls of quarried stone shimmered in the distance.
Invigorated by the expectation of dry clothes and the lovely thought of hot mulled wine the friends spurred on their horses and tackled the last steep slope.
“The gate keeper is a bit special,” Edo cried good-humouredly. “I’ve known him since I was a kid, so don’t be surprised if he cracks a joke or two, he’s got a weird sense of humour!”
“I don’t mind,” answered Pierre. “As long as he opens the gate quickly, I’m fine with all kinds of jokes!” Pierre shuddered; he felt miserable. It was not only wet and cold, but they must be approaching late afternoon as the daylight was already dimming quickly. The trees and shrubs along the path seemed to be dissolving into indistinguishable shadows of grey, and the whole world seemed misty and unreal.
As they approached the castle, the horses kept puffing along, leaving behind clouds of steamy breath. The heavy breathing of the horses and the noise of their hooves were the only sounds that could be heard, a monotonous rhythm accompanying their slow and tiring ascent to the castle. When the gate of the castle was finally towering above them, their mood brightened considerably. Even though Edo had put on a cheerful face, he had been worried to death that the dense clouds might descend even more and make any further progress impossible.
With relief he rang the bell at the gate, happy to hear the clanging sound echoing through the castle walls. Seconds turned into endless minutes of waiting – but nothing happened. Angry and frustrated, Edo pulled at the bell rope several times, but this time the clanging noise wasn’t cheerful any more, the bell faithfully conveying the message that an angry visitor was expecting immediate attention. It took some more minutes until the shuffle of dragging feet could be heard and a shutter in the solid oak door was slowly opened.
“What d’you want?” a voice growled through the iron grille. “We ain’t giving nothing out.”
These inviting words came with a hiccup and the penetrating smell of alcohol. Edo could only discern the lips and a red scarf – yet he didn’t need to see anything else to understand that this could not possibly be the gate keeper he had been expecting. He frowned and whispered to Armand, “That’s strange, there’s something wrong here.”
The French Orphan
Smiling coquettishly at Pierre and Armand, a totally altered hostess ushered them inside while whipping her servants into a frenzy of action. Minutes later they found themselves sitting at a large table laden with all kinds of regional delicacies, the best wine of the house gleamed in expensive glasses from the famous Murano glass factory and toasts were raised to the King and the Queens of France.
The master of the house was dragged reluctantly from his study where he had been hiding and brooding as usual over the estate records – but if he was astonished to find three strange guests at his table his manners were polished enough to hide his true feelings behind a façade of faultless politeness. In the meantime their hostess had undergone a complete transformation; gone were the deep lines of misery and ennui. Sparkling with joy, laughing and joking like the young maid of honour she had once been, she sat in the middle of the merry party, listing enraptured to Armand’s ever so slightly but delightfully indecent stories from the French court.
Only when the servants started to light the first candles did the party become aware that dusk was falling, and indeed quite early, as they were approaching Christmas.
“I must apologize,” cried Armand. “I had completely forgotten the time. We must leave quickly now as night will be falling soon and we want to reach the next post station. It has been the most delightful afternoon – rarely have we encountered such a charming hostess – and host,” he added dutifully.
He had not even managed to finish his sentence when the lady of the house intervened. “There can be no question of your leaving tonight!” she cried. “You must stay as our honoured guests! It’s far too dangerous to ride in the darkness – and…” She paused.
“And?” repeated Armand.
“And you absolutely must finish the story about Queen Anne and this insidious Duke of Buckingham, I mean did they really….?” She giggled. “I’m burning with curiosity! Queen Marie never liked her, by the way, she always used to say, ‘You can’t trust the Spanish’!”
Which didn't stop Queen Marie from taking their gold, mused Pierre, but preferred to refrain from echoing his thoughts aloud. Clearly the lady of the house still held a very sentimental opinion of Marie de Medici.
Armand made a good show of refusing their kind invitation to stay, on the grounds of not wanting to disturb their noble hosts any further – but relented soon enough as the lady of the house wouldn’t hear any more talk of them leaving. Thus they spent an agreeable evening topped off with a sumptuous dinner and sank into their beds well nourished and slightly tipsy from too much wine.
Armand was soon to discover that there is no such thing as a free meal, as not even an hour later the mistress of the house visited his room, clad in an almost transparent nightgown and explaining that she needed to be reassured that his room was to his liking. Armand kept masterful control of his expression and it didn’t really come as a surprise to him when all of a sudden she pretended to feel dizzy and sank down on his bed. As a true gentleman, Armand knew what was expected of him and fulfilled the duties that her bookish husband had apparently neglected for some considerable time.
The next morning a worn-out Armand mounted his horse along with the rest of the party and waved good-bye to the whole family. Pierre looked surprised at his friend’s apparent fatigue but when he saw their hostess radiant with happiness he immediately drew his own conclusion.
“Busy night?” he asked his friend with a wink.
“Exhausting,” Armand whispered back. “She wouldn’t stop until I was almost dead, never had a woman craving it like that before!”
“Maybe she was afraid that it might be the last time,” Pierre commented, looking at her aging, pallid husband.
The ensuing journey towards Lake Garda slowed down, as the weather had reserved a nasty surprise for them and was on the turn. The pale but bright sun that had made them almost forget that it was the height of the winter season disappeared timidly behind a thick veil of clouds. The more they rode north towards the steep slopes of the mountains, the more the clouds seemed to descend, piling thick and menacing above their heads.
The next day the light drizzle was replaced progressively by a thick curtain of rain that poured down relentlessly upon the hapless voyagers. Dripping wet, they continued their journey, freezing and miserable, as even the thickest coats and blankets made of leather and woollen felt couldn’t withstand this deluge.
“Didn’t you promise us that this would be one of the most beautiful sights on earth?” Armand challenged Edo when they finally set eyes on Lake Garda for the first time.
“It usually is,” Edo answered, prevented from going into a more lengthy comment by a vigorous sneeze.
The friends looked incredulously at the brooding lake that stretched out below them, a vast greyish mass of water reaching to the horizon that blended seamlessly into the clouds of darkest grey. The lake that had been described to them as a blue gem in a lush setting of green certainly did not live up to their expectations – cold and grey, it held no invitation for them to stay and enjoy the scenery.
“We’ll reach our friends’ castle before sunset; it’s about three to four hours’ ride from here,” said Edo, trying to inject a more optimistic note into their discussion.
“Let’s hope that our welcome there will be warmer than the one Mother Nature has reserved for us,” Pierre sighed. Secretly he still felt highly uncomfortable visiting strangers uninvited.
The path Edo had chosen continued steeply uphill and soon their conversation died down as they had to concentrate all of their attention on the slippery path that was the only access to the castle perched like an eagle’s nest on top of the mountain.
After many hours of this difficult terrain Edo started to crane his neck and look hard into the distance. “We’re close now!” he shouted excitedly, hoping to cheer up his fellow travellers.
“Close to what?” muttered Armand. “I can only see clouds, nothing but clouds!”
Edo was spared the effort of an answer as the dark veil was torn apart and the silhouette of a tower and high walls of quarried stone shimmered in the distance.
Invigorated by the expectation of dry clothes and the lovely thought of hot mulled wine the friends spurred on their horses and tackled the last steep slope.
“The gate keeper is a bit special,” Edo cried good-humouredly. “I’ve known him since I was a kid, so don’t be surprised if he cracks a joke or two, he’s got a weird sense of humour!”
“I don’t mind,” answered Pierre. “As long as he opens the gate quickly, I’m fine with all kinds of jokes!” Pierre shuddered; he felt miserable. It was not only wet and cold, but they must be approaching late afternoon as the daylight was already dimming quickly. The trees and shrubs along the path seemed to be dissolving into indistinguishable shadows of grey, and the whole world seemed misty and unreal.
As they approached the castle, the horses kept puffing along, leaving behind clouds of steamy breath. The heavy breathing of the horses and the noise of their hooves were the only sounds that could be heard, a monotonous rhythm accompanying their slow and tiring ascent to the castle. When the gate of the castle was finally towering above them, their mood brightened considerably. Even though Edo had put on a cheerful face, he had been worried to death that the dense clouds might descend even more and make any further progress impossible.
With relief he rang the bell at the gate, happy to hear the clanging sound echoing through the castle walls. Seconds turned into endless minutes of waiting – but nothing happened. Angry and frustrated, Edo pulled at the bell rope several times, but this time the clanging noise wasn’t cheerful any more, the bell faithfully conveying the message that an angry visitor was expecting immediate attention. It took some more minutes until the shuffle of dragging feet could be heard and a shutter in the solid oak door was slowly opened.
“What d’you want?” a voice growled through the iron grille. “We ain’t giving nothing out.”
These inviting words came with a hiccup and the penetrating smell of alcohol. Edo could only discern the lips and a red scarf – yet he didn’t need to see anything else to understand that this could not possibly be the gate keeper he had been expecting. He frowned and whispered to Armand, “That’s strange, there’s something wrong here.”
The French Orphan
