The new year was just a week old, and Isola and Allegra were standing1 on a terraced hillside in a country where January has noontides as brilliant and balmy as an English June. They had travelled up that almost perpendicular2 hill in a roomy landau drawn3 by a pair of strong horses, and now, near the summit of the hill, on the last of those many terraces that zig-zag up the face of the cliff, they had alighted from the carriage, and were standing side by side upon the broad white road, at an angle where the cliff dipped suddenly, clothed with the wild growth of stunted4 olive and bushy pine, down and down to the abyss where the blue sea looked like a sapphire5 at the bottom of a pit. They stood and gazed, and gazed again, almost bewildered by the infinite beauty and variety of that dazzling prospect6.
Below them, in the shelter of the land-locked bay, Ospedaletti's pavilioned Casino shone whitely out of a garden of palm and cactus7, with terrace and balustrade vanishing down by the sea. To the right, the steep promontory8 of Bordighera jutted9 far out into the blue; and over the rugged10 crest11 of the hill Mentone's long white front lay in a gentle curve, almost level with the sea—a strip of vivid white between the blue of the water and the gloom of that great barren mountain wall which marks the beginning of modern Italy. And beyond, again, showed the twin towers of Monaco; and further still, in the dim blue distance, rose the battlemented line of the Esterelles, dividing the fairyland of the Riviera from the workaday realities of shipbuilding Toulon and commercial Marseilles.
On this side of those pine-clad mountains there were only pleasure and fancy, wealth, fashion, the languid invalid12, and the feverish13 gambler; on the other side there were toilers and speculators, the bourse and the port, the world of stern fact.
To the left, deep down within the hills, lay the little har[Pg 223]bour of San Remo, with its rugged stone pier14 and its shabby old houses, and the old, old town climbing up the steep ascent15 to that isolated16 point where the white dome17 of the Sanctuary18 shone out against the milky19 azure20 of the noontide sky; and further and further away stretched the long line of the olive-clothed hills, to the purple distance, where the seamen's church of Madonna della Guardia stands boldly out between sky and sea, as if it were a half-way house on the road to heaven.
"How lovely it all is!" cried Allegra. "But don't you feel that one careless step upon that flowery edge yonder would send us whirling down the cliffs to awful, inevitable21 death? When that man passed us just now with his loaded cart, I felt sick with fear—the wheels seemed to graze the brink22 of the abyss as the horse crept slowly along—poor stolid23 brute24!—unconscious of his danger. It is a dreadful drive, Isola, this zig-zag road to Colla—slant25 above slant, backwards26 and forwards, up the face of this prodigious27 cliff. I had to shut my eyes at every turn of the road, when the world below seemed to swim in a chaos29 of light and colour—so beautiful, so terrible! Do you see the height of those cliffs, terrace above terrace, hill above hill? Why, that level road at the very bottom is the top of a taller cliff than those I used to think so appalling30 at Broadstairs and Ramsgate!"
"I don't think it would make much difference to a man who fell over the edge whether he fell here or in the Isle31 of Thanet," said Martin Disney, as he stood, with his arm drawn through his wife's, sweeping32 the prospect with his field glass.
"Oh, but it would! One would be only a sudden shock and a plunge33 into the sea, or swift annihilation on the rocks below; but from this awful height—think of the horror of it! To go whirling down, plucked at here by an olive branch, or there by a jagged rock, yet always whirling downward, rebounding34 from edge to edge, faster, and faster, and faster, till one were dashed into a shapeless mass on that white road yonder!"
[Pg 224]
"And to think of people living up there in the clouds, and going to sleep every night with the knowledge of this mighty35 wall and that dreadful abyss in their minds!" she concluded, pointing upward to where the little white town of Colla straggled along the edge of the hill.
They were going up to see the pictures and books in the little museum by the church. It was their first excursion, since their arrival in Italy, for Martin Disney had been anxious that his wife should be thoroughly36 rested after her long journey, before she was called upon to make the slightest exertion37. She was looking better and stronger already, they were both agreed; and she was looking happier, a fact which gave her husband infinite satisfaction. They had come by the St. Gothard, had rested a night at Dover and a night at Basle, and had stopped at Lucerne for three days, and again a couple of days at Milan, and again at Genoa, exploring the city, and the Campo Santo in a leisurely38 way; Allegra exalted39 out of herself almost by the delight of those wonderful collections in the palaces of the Via Balbi—the Veroneses, the Titians, the Guidos—Isola languidly admiring, languidly wondering at everything, but only deeply moved when they came to the strange city of the dead, the scenic40 representation of sickness, calamity41, grief and dissolution, in every variety of realistic representation or of classic emblem42. Sculptured scenes of domestic sorrow, dying fathers, kneeling children, weeping widows—whole families convulsed in the throes of that last inevitable parting; the death of youth and beauty; the fallen rose-wreath; the funeral urn28; the lowered torch; hyacinth and butterfly; Psyche43 and Apollo; the fatal river and the fatal boat; grimness and beauty—the actual and the allegorical curiously44 mixed in the sculptured images that line the cold white colonnades45, where the footsteps of holiday-makers echo with a sepulchral46 sound under the vaulted47 roof. Here Isola was intensely interested, and insisted on going up the marble steps, flight after flight, and to the very summit of the hill of graves, with its wide-reaching prospect of mountain, and fort, and city, and sea.
[Pg 225]
"Think how hard it must be to lie here and know nothing of all that loveliness," she said, her eyes widening with wonder as they gazed across the varied48 perspective of vale and mountain, out to the faint blue sea. "How hard, how hard! Do they feel it and know it, Allegra? Can this I—which feels so keenly, which only sleeps in order to enter a new world of dreams—busier and more crowded and more eventful than the real world—can this consciousness go out all at once like the flame of a candle—and nothing, nothing, nothing be left?"
"They are not here," said Allegra, with gentle seriousness. "It is only the husk that lies here—the flower-seed has been carried off in God's great wind of death—and the flower is blossoming somewhere else."
"One allegory is as good as another," said Isola. "We can but console ourselves with symbols. I don't like this crowded city of the dead, Allegra. For God's sake, don't let Martin have me buried here, if I should die at San Remo!"
"Dearest, why will you harbour such ghastly thoughts?"
"Oh, it was only a passing fancy. I thought it just possible that if I were to die while we are in Italy, Martin might think to honour me by having me laid in this splendid cemetery49. He seemed so struck by the grandeur50 and beauty of the monuments, just now, when we were in those colonnades down yonder."
Colonel Disney had lingered a little way off to look at Mazzini's monument. He came up to them now, and hurried them back to the gate, where their carriage was waiting. And so ended their last afternoon in Genoa; and the most vivid picture of the city and its surroundings that Isola carried away with her was the picture of those marble tombs upon the hill, and those tall and gloomy cypresses51 which are the trees of death.
Yes, she was better, gayer, and more active—more like the girl-wife whom Martin Disney had carried home to[Pg 226] Cornwall, prouder than Tristram when he sailed away with Irish Isolt.
The Italian sunshine had revived his fading flower, Disney told himself, ready to love all things in a land that had brought the smiles back to his wife's pale lips, and a delicate bloom to her wan52 cheeks. Yes, she was happier than she had been of late in Cornwall. He saw and rejoiced in the change.
They stayed at a hotel for more than a week, while they deliberated upon the choice of a villa53. They found one at last, which seemed to realize their ideas of perfection. It was not a grand or stately dwelling54. No marble bell-tower or architectural loggia attracted the eye of the passing pedestrian. It was roomy, and bright, and clean, and airy, built rather in the Swiss than the Italian style, and it stood upon the slope of the hill on the west side of the town, with nothing but olive-woods between its terraced garden and the road that skirted the sea. It was a reminiscence of the Alps, built by a retired55 merchant of Zurich, and its owner had called it Lauter Brunnen. The house was at most two years old; but life's vicissitudes56 had left it empty for a year and a half, and the rent asked of Colonel Disney was much less than he had been prepared to pay.
The installation was full of delight for Isola and her sister-in-law. The house afforded innumerable surprises, unexpected nooks and corners of all kinds. There were lovely views from every window—east, west, north, or south—and there was a garden full of roses, a garden made upon so steep a slope that it was a succession of terraces, with but little intervening level ground, and below the lowest terrace the valley stretched down to the sea, a tangle57 of gnarled old olive trees, wan and silvery, with a ruined gateway58 just seen among the foliage59 at the bottom of a dim grey glade60.
To the right, straggling along the edge of the wooded hill, appeared the white houses and churches, cupola, pinnacle61, and dome of Colla, so scattered62 as to seem two towns rather[Pg 227] than one, and with picturesque63 suggestions of architectural splendour that were hardly borne out by the reality, when one climbed those rugged mule-paths, and crossed the romantic gorge64 above the waterfall, and then upward and upward to the narrow alleys65 and crumbling66 archways, and the spacious67 old church with its lofty doorway68 standing high above the stony69 street.
Only a few paces from Colonel Disney's villa there was a stately house that had gone to ruin. The roof was off in some places; there were neither floors nor windows left; and the walls were open to the wind and rain—frescoed walls, upon which might be traced figures of saint and martyr70, angel and madonna. There was a spacious garden, with an avenue of cypresses—a garden where the flowers had been growing wild for years, and where Isola and Allegra wandered and explored as they pleased. It was higher on the hillside than their own villa, and from the eastward71 edge of this garden they looked—across a yawning gulf72 in which lay all the lower town of San Remo—to the Sanctuary and the Leper Hospital, conspicuous73 on the crest of the opposite hill.
The need for Citadel74 and Sanctuary had passed with the fiercer age in which they were built. Neither Saracen nor pirate menaced San Remo nowadays; but the old white walls made a picturesque note in the landscape, and the very name of Sanctuary had a romantic sound.
The first week in the new house was like a week in fairyland. The weather was peerless—a climate that makes people forget there is such a season as winter in the world—and the two girls wandered about in the olive woods and climbed the mule-paths all through the fresh balmy hours or in the hottest noontides sat in the deserted75 garden or in a sheltered corner near an old stone well—one of those wells which suggest the meeting of Isaac and Rebecca—and Allegra painted while Isola read to her, in the low sweet voice which lent new and individual music to the sweetest verse of her favourites, Byron, Keats, and Shelley.
[Pg 228]
In these sequestered76 spots, where only a peasant woman laden77 with a basket of olives, or a padre, going from Colla to San Remo, ever passed within sight of them, they read the Eve of St. Agnes and the Pot of Basil—the Prisoner of Chillon, Manfred, and all those familiar lyrics78 and favourite passages of Shelley which Isola held in her heart of hearts. The wonder-dream of Alastor—the passionate79 lament80 of Adona?s, could not seem purer or more spiritual than the life of these young women in those calm days through which January slipped into February, unawares, like a link in a golden chain—a chain of sunshine and flowers.
In February came the Carnival81; and pretty little rustic82 San Remo decked itself with bunting and greenery, and made believe to hold a Battle of Flowers, which had a certain village simplicity83 as compared with the serried84 ranks of carriages, the fashion, and beauty, and wealth of floral displays, along the Promenade85 des Anglais or the Croisette. With the Carnival came the mistral, which generally seems to be waiting round the corner ready to leap out upon the flower-throwers, to blight86 their bouquets87, and blow dust into the eyes of beauty, and make the feeble health-seekers cower88 in the corners of their rose-decked carriages. This Lenten season was no exception to other seasons; and the calendar—which had been as it were in abeyance89 since New Year's Day—came into force again—and stern and sterile90 Winter said, "Here am I. Did you think I had forgotten you?" The invalids91 were roughly awakened92 from their dream of Paradise, to discover that February even in San Remo meant February, and could not always be mistaken for May or June.
Isola felt the change, though she was hardly conscious of it on the day of the floral battle, when she was sitting in a roomy landau, covered with the dark shining foliage and pale yellow fruit from some of those lemon trees in the orchard93 where she and Allegra had spent their morning hours. Allegra had planned the decorations, and had gone down to the coach-house to assist in the work, delighted to[Pg 229] chatter94 with the coachman in doubtful Italian, groping her way in a language in which her whole stock-in-trade consisted of a few quotations95 from Dante or Petrarch—and all the wise saws of Dr. Riccabocca.
"I would have none of that horrid96 pepper tree which pervades97 the place with its floppy98 foliage, and dull red fruit," she told Isola, descanting on the result of her exertions99. "I was rather taken with the pepper trees at first, but I am satiated with their languid grace. They are like the weeping ash or the weeping willow100. There is no real beauty in them. I would rather have one of those cypresses towering up among the grey-green olives in the valley below Colla than all the pepper trees in the public gardens. I have used no flowers but narcissus; no colour but the pale gold of the lemons and the dark green of the leaves; except one bit of audacity101 which you will see presently."
This was at noon, after two hours' work in the coach-house. An hour later the carriage was at the door.
Allegra's audacity was an Algerian curtain, a rainbow of vivid colour, with which she had draped the back of the landau, hiding all the ugliness of rusty102 leather. The carriage, or it might have been the two girlish faces in it, one so pale and gentle, the other so brilliant and changeful in its lights and shadows, made the point of attraction in the little procession. Everybody spoke103 of the two girls in the lemon landau, with the nice-looking, middle-aged104 man. Were they his daughters, people wondered, or his nieces; and at what hotel were they staying? It was a disappointment to discover that they were living in that villa to the west of the town, out of the way of everything and everybody, and that they were seldom to be seen in public, except at the new church, where they were regular worshippers.
"The man is Colonel Disney, and the tall, striking-looking girl is his wife," said one person better informed than the rest, but making a wrong selection all the same.
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1
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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perpendicular
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| adj.垂直的，直立的；n.垂直线，垂直的位置 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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stunted
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| adj.矮小的；发育迟缓的 | |
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sapphire
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| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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7
cactus
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| n.仙人掌 | |
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promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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jutted
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| v.（使）突出( jut的过去式和过去分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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14
pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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18
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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milky
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| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
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azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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21
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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22
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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23
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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24
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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slant
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| v.倾斜，倾向性地编写或报道；n.斜面，倾向 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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urn
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| n.（有座脚的）瓮；坟墓；骨灰瓮 | |
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29
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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30
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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33
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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rebounding
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| 蹦跳运动 | |
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35
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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36
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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39
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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40
scenic
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| adj.自然景色的，景色优美的 | |
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41
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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42
emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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43
psyche
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| n.精神；灵魂 | |
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44
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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45
colonnades
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| n.石柱廊( colonnade的名词复数 ) | |
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46
sepulchral
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| adj.坟墓的，阴深的 | |
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47
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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48
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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49
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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50
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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51
cypresses
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| n.柏属植物，柏树( cypress的名词复数 ) | |
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52
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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53
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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54
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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55
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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56
vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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57
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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58
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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59
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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60
glade
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| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
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61
pinnacle
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| n.尖塔，尖顶，山峰；(喻)顶峰 | |
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62
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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63
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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64
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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65
alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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68
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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69
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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70
martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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71
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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73
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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74
citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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75
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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76
sequestered
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| adj.扣押的；隐退的；幽静的；偏僻的v.使隔绝，使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 )；扣押 | |
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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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78
lyrics
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| n.歌词 | |
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79
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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80
lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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81
carnival
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| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
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82
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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83
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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84
serried
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| adj.拥挤的；密集的 | |
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85
promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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86
blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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87
bouquets
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| n.花束( bouquet的名词复数 )；（酒的）芳香 | |
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88
cower
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| v.畏缩，退缩，抖缩 | |
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89
abeyance
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| n.搁置，缓办，中止，产权未定 | |
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90
sterile
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| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
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91
invalids
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| 病人，残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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92
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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93
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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94
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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95
quotations
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| n.引用( quotation的名词复数 )；[商业]行情（报告）；（货物或股票的）市价；时价 | |
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96
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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97
pervades
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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98
floppy
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| adj.松软的，衰弱的 | |
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99
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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100
willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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101
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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102
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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103
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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104
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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