"Look at the Euganean hills below us, Foscarina; if the wind should come they will rise and float in the air like gauzy veils, and pass over our heads. I never have seen them so transparent1. Some day I should like to go with you to Arquà; the villages there are as pink as the shells we find in myriads2 in the earth. When we arrive there, the first drops of a sudden shower will be robbing the peach-blossoms of their petals3. We will wait under one of the arches of the Palladio to avoid getting wet. Then, without inquiring the way of anyone, we will look for the fountain of Petrarch. We will carry with us his poems in the small edition of Misserini's, that little book you keep beside your bed and cannot close any more because it is so full of pressed leaves and grasses. Would you like to go to Arquà some spring day?"
She did not reply, but gazed silently at the lips that said these graceful4 things; and, without hope, she simply took a fugitive5 pleasure in their movement and accent. For her there was in his image of the Spring the same enchantment6 as in a stanza7 of Petrarch's; but she could lay a bookmark in the one and find it again, while the poetic8 fancies must be lost with the passing hour.
She wished to say: "I will not drink at that fountain," but kept silence, that she might still enjoy the caress9.—Oh, yes, intoxicate10 me with illusions! Play your own game; do with me as you will.—
"Here we are at San Giorgio in Alga. We shall reach Fusina in a few minutes."
The little walled islet passed before them, with its marble Madonna, perpetually admiring her reflection in the water, like a nymph.
"Why are you so sweet, my beloved? I never have seen you like this before. I know not where I am with you to-day. I cannot find words to tell you with what a sense of melody your presence inspires me. You are here beside me, I can hold your hand, yet you are diffused11 in the horizon, you yourself are the horizon, blended with the waters, with the islands, with the hills. When I was speaking just now, it seemed that each syllable12 created in you infinitely13 dilating14 circles, like those round that leaf just fallen from the gold-leaved tree. Is it true? Tell me that it is. Oh, look at me!"
He felt himself enveloped15 in this woman's love as by the air and the light; he breathed in that soul as in a distinct element, receiving from it an ineffable16 fulness of life as if a stream of mysterious things were flowing from her and from the glory of the daylight at the same time, and pouring itself into his heart. The desire to make some return for the happiness she gave him lifted him to an almost religious height of gratitude17, and suggested to him words of thanks and of praise which he would have spoken had he been kneeling before her in the shadows. But the splendor18 of sky and sea around them was so great that he could only be as silent as she. And for both this was a moment of marvelous communion in the light; it was a journey brief yet immense, in which both traversed the dizzy distances they had within themselves.
The boat reached the shore of Fusina. They roused themselves, and gazed at each other with dazzled eyes.
—Does he love me, then?—
Hope and pain revived in the woman's heart. She did not doubt the sincerity20 of her beloved, nor that his words expressed the ardor21 of his heart. She knew how absolutely he abandoned himself to every wave of emotion, how incapable22 he was of deception23 or of falsehood. More than once she had heard him utter cruel truths with the same feline24, flexible grace that some men adopt when they wish to appear charming. She knew well the direct, limpid25 gaze which sometimes became hard and icy, but which never was otherwise than straight; but she knew also the rapidity and marvelous diversity of emotion and thought that rendered his spirit unseizable. There was always in him something flexible and vigorous that suggested to the actress the double and diverse image of flame and of water. And it was this man she wished to fix, to captivate, to possess! There was always in him an unlimited26 ardor of life, a sense of euphoria, or joy in existence, as if every second were the supreme27 instant, and he were about to tear himself from the pleasure and pain of living, as from the tears and embraces of a last farewell. And it was for this insatiable avidity that she wished to remain the only nourishment28!
What was she to him, if not an aspect of that "life of the thousand and thousand faces," toward which the poet's desire, according to one of his own images, continually shook all its thyrsi? For him she was a theme for visions and inventions, like the hills, the woods, the storms. He absorbed mystery and beauty from her as from all forms of the universe. Even now he had withdrawn29 his thoughts from her, and was occupied with a new quest; his changeful, ingenuous30 eyes sought for some miracle to marvel19 at and adore.
She looked at him, but he did not turn his face toward her; he was studying the damp, foggy region through which they were driving slowly. She sat beside him, feeling herself deprived of her strength, no longer capable of living in and for herself, of breathing with her own breath, of following a thought that was unknown to her beloved, hesitating even in her enjoyment31 of natural objects that he had not pointed32 out.
Her life seemed to be alternately dissolving and condensing itself. An instant of intensity33 would pass, and then she waited for the next, and between them she was conscious of nothing save that time was flying, the lamp was flickering34, the body was fading, and that all things were perishing, dying.
"My dear, my friend," said Stelio, suddenly turning and taking her hand, impelled35 by an emotion that had overcome him, "why did we come to these places? They seem very sweet, but they are full of terror."
He looked at her keenly.
"You suffer," he said, with a depth of pity in his tone that made the woman turn pale. "Do you too feel this terror?"
She looked around with the anxiety of one pursued, and fancied she saw a thousand ominous36 phantoms37 rising from the earth.
"Those statues!" said Stelio, in a tone that changed them in her eyes into witnesses of her own wasting life.
The country around them was as deserted38 and silent as if its former inhabitants had been gone for centuries, or were sleeping in graves new-made the day before.
"Do you wish to return? The boat is still there."
She seemed not to hear.
"Speak, Foscarina!"
"Let us go—let us go on," she replied. "Wherever we may go our fate will not change."
Her body swayed to the slow, lulling39 roll of the wheels, and she feared to interrupt it; she shrank from the least effort, the smallest fatigue40, overcome by heavy inertia41. Her face was like the delicate veil of ash that covers a live coal, hiding its consumption.
"Dear, dear soul!" said Stelio, leaning toward her and lightly touching42 the pale cheek with his lips. "Lean on me; give yourself entirely43 to me; have confidence in me. Never will I fail you, never will you fail me. We shall find it—we shall find the true secret on which our love can rest forever, immovable. Do not be reserved with me. Do not suffer alone, nor hide your sorrows from me. When your heart swells44 with grief, speak to me. Let me believe that I can comfort you. Let us not hide anything from each other. I shall venture to recall to you a condition that you yourself made. Speak to me, and I will always answer you truthfully. Let me help you—me, who have received from you so much of good. Tell me that you do not fear to suffer. I believe your soul capable of supporting all the sadness of the world. Do not let me lose faith in that force of passion, whereby more than once you have seemed to me divine. Tell me you do not fear suffering.... I don't know.... I may be mistaken. But I have felt a shadow around you, like a desperate wish to withdraw yourself, to leave me, to find some end. Why? Why? And, just now, looking at all this terrible desolation that smiles at us, a great fear suddenly filled my heart—I thought that perhaps even your love might change like all things, and pass away into nothingness. 'You will lose me.' Ah, those words were yours, Foscarina! They fell from your own lips."
She did not answer. For the first time since she had loved him, his words seemed vain, useless sounds, moving powerless through the air. For the first time, he seemed to her a weak and anxious creature, bound by inexorable laws. She pitied him as well as herself. He asked her to be heroic, a compact of grief and of violence. At the moment when he attempted to console and comfort her, he predicted a difficult test, prepared her for torture. But what was courage worth, of what use was any effort? What were all miserable45 human agitations46 worth, and why think of the future, even of the uncertain morrow?
The Past reigned47 supreme around them, and they themselves were nothing, and everything was nothing.—We are dying; both of us are dying. We dream, and then we die.—
"Hush48! Hush!" was all she said, softly, as if they were in a cemetery49. A slight smile touched her lips, and rested there as fixedly50 as the smile on the lips of a portrait.
The wheels rolled on over the white road, along the shores of the Brenta. The stream, sung and praised in the sonnets52 of the gallant53 abbés in the days when gondolas54 laden55 with music and pleasure had glided56 down its current, had now the humble57 aspect of a canal, where the iris-necked ducks splashed in flocks. On the damp, low plain the fields smoked, the bare trees showed plainly, their leaves rotting on the damp earth. A slow, golden mist floated above an immense vegetable decay that seemed to encroach even upon the walls, the stones, the houses, seeking to destroy them like the leaves. The patrician58 villas—where a pale life, delicately poisoned by cosmetics59 and perfumes, had burned itself out in languid pastimes—were now in ruins, silent and abandoned. Some had an aspect like a human ruin, with empty spaces that suggested hollow orbits and toothless mouths; others were crumbling60, and looked as if ready to fall in powder, like a dead woman's hair when her tomb is opened; and here, there, everywhere, rose the still surviving statues. They seemed innumerable, like a scattered61 people. Some were still white, others were gray or yellow with lichens62, or green and spotted63 with moss64. They stood in all sorts of attitudes: goddesses, heroes, nymphs, seasons, hours, with their bows and arrows, their wreaths, cornucopias65, and torches, with all the emblems66 of power, riches and pleasure, exiled now from fountains, grottoes, labyrinths67, arbors, and porticoes68: friends of the greenwood and the myrtle, protectors of fleeting69 loves, witnesses of eternal vows70, figures of a dream far more ancient than the hands that had carved them, and the eyes that had contemplated71 them in the ruined gardens. And, in the sweet sunlight of the dying season, their shadows were like the shadows of the irrevocable Past—all, all that loves no longer, laughs and weeps no more, never will live, never will return. And the unspoken word on their marble lips was the same that was expressed in the fixed51 smile on the lips of the world-weary woman—NOTHING!
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1
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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3
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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4
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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6
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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7
stanza
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| n.（诗）节，段 | |
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8
poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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9
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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intoxicate
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| vt.使喝醉，使陶醉，使欣喜若狂 | |
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11
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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dilating
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| v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的现在分词 ) | |
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15
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16
ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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17
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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18
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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19
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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20
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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21
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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22
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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23
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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24
feline
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| adj.猫科的 | |
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limpid
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| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
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26
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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27
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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28
nourishment
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| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
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29
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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30
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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32
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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34
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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35
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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phantoms
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| n.鬼怪，幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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38
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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39
lulling
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的现在分词形式） | |
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40
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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41
inertia
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| adj.惰性，惯性，懒惰，迟钝 | |
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42
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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43
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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44
swells
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| 增强( swell的第三人称单数 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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45
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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46
agitations
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| （液体等的）摇动( agitation的名词复数 )； 鼓动； 激烈争论； （情绪等的）纷乱 | |
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47
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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48
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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49
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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50
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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51
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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52
sonnets
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| n.十四行诗( sonnet的名词复数 ) | |
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53
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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54
gondolas
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| n.狭长小船( gondola的名词复数 )；货架（一般指商店，例如化妆品店）；吊船工作台 | |
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55
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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56
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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57
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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58
patrician
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| adj.贵族的，显贵的；n.贵族；有教养的人；罗马帝国的地方官 | |
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59
cosmetics
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| n.化妆品 | |
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60
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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61
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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62
lichens
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| n.地衣( lichen的名词复数 ) | |
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63
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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64
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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65
cornucopias
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| n.丰饶角（象征丰饶的羊角，角内呈现满溢的鲜花、水果等）( cornucopia的名词复数 ) | |
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66
emblems
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| n.象征，标记( emblem的名词复数 ) | |
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67
labyrinths
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| 迷宫( labyrinth的名词复数 )； （文字，建筑）错综复杂的 | |
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68
porticoes
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| n.柱廊，（有圆柱的）门廊( portico的名词复数 ) | |
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69
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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70
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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