"These sudden changes of temperature," I remarked, "are trying to the constitution. Why this desire for the society of three unabashed Americanisms like ourselves?"
"That's just what I wondered," said momma. "For you can see that she is full of insular2 prejudice against our great country. She makes no attempt to disguise it."
"She never did," I assented3.
"She said it seemed so extraordinary—quite providential—meeting relatives abroad in this way," momma continued, "and she thought we ought to follow it up."
"Are we going to?" I inquired.
"My goodness gracious no, love! There are some things my nerves cannot stand the strain of, and one of them is your poppa's Aunt Caroline. The Senator smoothed it over. He said he was sure we were very much obliged, but our time was limited, and he thought we could get around faster alone."
"Well," I said, "I do not understand it, unless Dicky has persuaded her that poppa is to be our next ambassador to St. James's."
"She was too silly about Dicky," said momma. "She said she really was afraid, before you appeared, that young Mr. Dod was conceiving an attachment4 for her Isabel, whose affections lay quite in another direction; but now her mind was entirely5 at rest. I don't remember her words, she uses so many, but she was trying to hint that poor Dicky was an admirer of yours, dearest."
"I fancy she succeeded—as far as that goes," I remarked.
"Well, yes, she made me understand her. So I felt obliged to tell her that, though Dicky was a lovely fellow and we were all very fond of him, anything of that kind was out of the question."
"And what," I asked, "was her reply to that?"
"She seemed to think I was prevaricating6. She said she knew what a mother's hopes and fears were. They seem to take a very low view," added momma austerely7, "of friendship between a young man and a young woman in England!"
"I should think so!" said I absent-mindedly. "Dicky hasn't made love to me for three years."
"What!"
"Nothing, momma, dear," I replied kindly8. "Only I wouldn't contradict Mrs. Portheris again upon that point, if I were you. She will think it so improper9 if Dicky isn't my admirer, don't you see?"
But Mrs. Portheris's desire to join our party stood revealed. Her constant chaperonage of Dicky was getting a little trying, and she wanted me to relieve her. I felt so deeply for them both, reflecting upon the situation, that I experienced quite a glow of virtue11 at the thought of my promise to Dicky to stay in Rome till his party arrived. They were going to Siena—why, Mr. Dod could not undertake to explain—he had never heard of anything cheerful in connection with Siena.
"My idea is," said the Senator, "that in Rome"—we were on our way there—"we'll find our work cut out for us. Think of the objects of interest involved from Romulus and Remus down to the present Pope!"
"I should like my salts before I begin," said momma, pathetically.
"Over two thousand years," continued the Senator impressively, "and every year you may be sure has left its architectural imprint12."
"Does Baedeker say that, Senator?" I asked, with a certain severity.
"No, the expression is entirely my own; you may take it down and use it freely. Two thousand years of remains13 is what we've got before us in Rome, and pretty well scattered14 too—nothing like the convenience of Pisa. I expect we shall have to allow at least four days for it. That Piazza15 del Duomo," continued poppa, thoughtfully, "seems to have been laid out with a view to the American tourist of the future. But I don't suppose that kind of forethought is common."
"How exquisite16 it was, that cluster of white marble relics17 of the past on the bosom18 of dusky Pisa. It reminded me," said momma, poetically19, "of an old maid's pearls."
"I should suggest," said the Senator to me, "that you make a note of that. A little sentiment won't do us any harm—just a little. And they are like an old maid's pearls in connection with that middle-aged20, one-horse little city. Or I should say a widow's—Pisa was once a bride of the sea. A grass widow's," improved the Senator. "It's all meadow-land round there—did you notice?"
"I did not," I said coldly; "but, of course, if I'm to call Pisa a grass widow, it will have to be. Although I warn you, poppa, that in case of any critic being able to arise and indicate that it is laid out in oyster21 beds, I shall make it plain that the responsibility is yours."
We were speeding through Tuscany, and the vine-garlanded trees in the orchards22 clasped hands and danced along with us. The sky would have told us we were in Italy if we had come on a magic carpet without a compass or a time-table. Poppa says we are not, under any circumstances, to mention it more than once, but that we might as well explode the fallacy that there is anything like it in America. There isn't. Our cerulean is very beautifully blue, but in Italy one discovers by contrast that it is an intellectual blue, filled with light, high, provocative23. The sky that bends over Tuscany is the very soul of blue, deep, soft, intense, impenetrable—the sky that one sees in those little casual bits of landscape behind the shoulders of pre-Raphaelite Saints and Madonnas; and here and there a lake, giving it back with delight, and now and then the long slope of a hill, with an old yellow-walled town creeping up, castle crowned, and raggedly24 trimmed with olives; and so many ruins that the Senator, summoned by momma to look at the last in view, regarded it with disparagement25, which he did not attempt to conceal26. He wondered, he said, that the Italian Government wasn't ashamed of having such a lot of them. They might be picturesque27, but they weren't creditable; they gave you the impression that the country was on the down grade. "You needn't call my attention to any more of them, Augusta," he added; "but if you see any building that looks like progress, now, anything that gives you the idea of modern improvements inside, I shouldn't like to miss it." And he returned to the thirty-second page of the Sunday New York World.
"I sometimes wish," said momma, "that I were not the only person in this family with the artistic28 temperament29."
Sometimes we stopped at the little yellow towns and saw quite closely their queer old defences and belfrys and clock towers, and guessed at the pomegranates and oleanders behind their high courtyard walls. They had musical names, even in the mouths of the railway guards, who sang every one of them with a high note and a full octave on the syllable30 of stress—"Rosignano!" "Carmiglia!" The Senator was fascinated with the spectacle of a railway guard who could express himself intelligibly31, to say nothing of the charm; he spoke32 of introducing the system in the United States, but we tried it on "New York," "Washington," "Kansas City," and it didn't seem the same.
It was at Orbatello, I think, that we made the travelling acquaintance of the enterprising little gentleman to whom momma still mysteriously alludes33 as "il capitano." He bowed ceremoniously as he entered the carriage and stowed the inevitable34 enormous valise in the rack, and his eye brightened intelligently as he saw we were a family of American tourists. He wore a rather seamy black uniform and a soft felt hat with cocks' feathers drooping35 over it, and a sword and a ridiculously amiable36 expression for a man. I don't think he was five feet high, but his moustache and his feathers and his sword were out of all proportion. There was a gentle trustful exuberance37 about him which suggested that, although it was possibly twenty-five years since he was born, his age was much less than that. He twirled his moustache in voluble silence for ten minutes while we all furtively38 scrutinised him with the curiosity inspired by a foreigner of any size, and then with a smile of conscious sweetness he asked the Senator if he might take the liberty to give the trouble to see the English newspaper for a few seconds only. "I should be too thankful," he added.
"Why certainly," said poppa, much gratified. "I see you spikkum English," he added encouragingly.
"I speak—um, si. I have learned some—a few of them. But O very baddili I speak them!"
"I guess that's just your modesty," said poppa kindly. "But that's not an English paper, you know—it's published in New York."
"Ah!" he exclaimed with enthusiasm. "That will be much much the more pleasurable for me." His eyes shone with feeling. "In Italy," he added with an impulsive39 gesture, "we love the American peoples beyond the Londonian. We always remember that it was an Italian, Cristoforo Col——"
"I know," said poppa. "Very nice of you. But what's your reason now, for preferring Americans as a nation?"
We saw our first Italian shrug40. It is more prolonged, more sentimental41 than French ones. In this case it expressed the direct responsibility of Fate.
"I think," he said, "that they are more simpatica—sympatheticated to us." He seemed to be unaware42 of me, but his eye rested upon momma at this point, and took her into his confidence.
"We also," said she reciprocally, "are always charmed to see Italians in our country."
I wondered privately43 whether she was thinking of hand organ men or members of the Mafia society, but it was no opportunity to inquire. My impression is that about this time, in spite of Tuscany outside, I went to sleep, because my next recollection is of the little Captain pouring Chianti out of a large black bottle into momma's jointed44 silver travelling cup. I remember thinking when I saw that, that they must have made progress. Scraps45 of conversation floated through my waking moments when the train stopped—I heard momma ask him if his parents were both living and where his home was. I also understood her to inquire whether the Italians were domestic in their tastes or whether they were like the French, who, she believed, had no home life at all. I saw the Senator put a card in his pocket-book and restore it to his breast, and heard him inquire whether his new Italian acquaintance wore his uniform every day as a matter of choice or because he had to. An hour went by, and when I finally awoke it was to see momma sitting by with folded hands and an expression of much gratification while poppa gave a graphic46 account of the rise and progress of the American baking-powder interest. "I don't expect," said he, "you've ever heard of Wick's Electric Corn-flour?"
"It is my misfortune."
"We sent thousands of cans to Southern Europe last year, sir. Or Wick's Sublimated47 Soda48?"
"I am stupidissimo."
"No, not at all. But I daresay your momma knows it, if she ever has waffles on her breakfast table. Well, it's been a kind of kitchen revolution. We began by making a hundred pounds a week—and couldn't always get rid of it. Now—why the day before I sailed we sent six thousand cans to the Queen of Madagascar. I hope she'll read the instructions!"
"It takes the breath. What splendid revenue must be from that!"
The Senator merely smiled, and played with his watch chain. "I should hate to brag," he said, but anyone could see from the absence of a diamond ring on his little finger that he was a person of weight in his community.
"Oh!" said momma, "my daughter is awake at last! Mamie, let me introduce Count Filgiatti. Count, my daughter. What a pity you went to sleep, love. The Count has been giving us such a delightful49 afternoon."
The carriage swayed a good deal as the Count stood up to bow, but that had no effect either upon the dignity or the gratification he expressed. His pleasure was quite ingratiating, or would have been if he had been a little taller. As it was, it was amusing, and I recognised an opportunity for the study of Italian character. I don't mean that I made up my mind to avail myself of it, but I saw that the opportunity was there.
"So you've been reading the New York World," I said kindly.
"I have read, yes, two avertissimi. Not more, I fear. But they are also amusing, the avertissimi." His voice was certainly agreeably deferential50, with a note of gratitude51.
"Now, if you wouldn't mind taking the corner opposite my daughter, Count Filgiatti," put in poppa, "you and she could talk more comfortably, and Mrs. Wick could put her feet up and get a little nap."
"I am too happy if I shall not be a trouble to Mees," the Count responded, beaming. And I said, "Dear me, no; how could he?" at which he very obligingly changed his seat.
I hardly know how we drifted into abstract topics. The Count's English was so bad that my sense of humour should have confined him to the weather and the scenery; but it is nevertheless true that about an hour later, while the landscape turned itself into a soft, warm chromo in the fading sunset, and both my parents soundly slept, we were discussing the barrier of religion to marriage between Protestants and Roman Catholics. I did not hesitate to express the most liberal sentiments.
"Since there are to be no marriages in heaven," I said, "what difference can it make, in married life, how people get there?"
"The signor and signora think also so?"
"Oh, I daresay poppa and momma have got their own opinions," I said, "but that is mine."
"You do not think as they!" he exclaimed.
"I don't know what they think," I explained. "I haven't asked them. But I've got my own thinker, you know." I searched for simple expressions, and I seemed to make him understand.
"So! Then this prejudice is dead for you, Senorita—mees?"
"I like 'Senorita' best," I said. "I believe it is." At that moment I divined that he was a Roman Catholic. How, I don't know. So I added, "But I've never had the slightest reason to give it a thought."
"That must be," he said softly, "because you never met, Senorita—may I say this?—one single gentleman w'at is Catholic."
"That's rather clever of you," I said. "Perhaps that is why."
The Italian character struck me as having interesting phases, but I did not allow this impression to appear. I looked indifferently out of the window. Italian sunsets are very becoming.
"The signora, your mother, has told me that you have no brothers or sisters, Mees Wick. She made me the confidence—it was most kind."
"There never has been any secret about it, Count."
"Then you have not even one?" Count Filgiatti's eyes were full of melancholy52 sympathy.
"I think," I said with coldness, "that in a matter of that kind, momma's word should hardly need corroboration53."
"Ah, it is sad! With me what difference! Can you believe of eleven? And the father with the saints! And I of course am the eldest54 of all."
"Dear me," I said, "what a responsibility!"
"Ah, you recognise! you understand the—the necessities, yes?"
At that moment the train stopped at Civita Vecchia, and the Senator awoke and put his hat on. "The Eternal City," he remarked when he descried55 that the name of the station was not Rome, "appears to have an eternal railway to match. There seems to be a feeding counter here though—we might have another try at those slices of veal10 boiled in tomatoes and smothered56 with macaroni that they give the pilgrim stranger in these parts. You may lead the world in romance, Count, but you don't put any of it in your railway refreshments57."
As we passed out into the smooth-toned talkative darkness, Count Filgiatti said in my ear, "Mistra and Madame Wick have kindly consented to receive my visit at the hotel to-morrow. Is it agreeable to you also that I come?"
And I said, "Why, certainly!"
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1
continental
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| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
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insular
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| adj.岛屿的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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prevaricating
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| v.支吾( prevaricate的现在分词 )；搪塞；说谎 | |
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7
austerely
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| adv.严格地，朴质地 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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veal
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| n.小牛肉 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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imprint
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| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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poetically
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| adv.有诗意地，用韵文 | |
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middle-aged
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oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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provocative
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| adj.挑衅的，煽动的，刺激的，挑逗的 | |
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raggedly
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| 破烂地，粗糙地 | |
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disparagement
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| n.轻视，轻蔑 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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intelligibly
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| adv.可理解地，明了地，清晰地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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alludes
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| 提及，暗指( allude的第三人称单数 ) | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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exuberance
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| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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jointed
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| 有接缝的 | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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sublimated
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| v.（使某物质）升华( sublimate的过去式和过去分词 )；使净化；纯化 | |
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48
soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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51
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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52
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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53
corroboration
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| n.进一步的证实，进一步的证据 | |
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54
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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55
descried
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| adj.被注意到的，被发现的，被看到的 | |
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56
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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57
refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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