One sunny morning early in April (he had been right in his forecast of the time: Palm Sunday loomed5 a week ahead) a carriage drew up before the door of his studio, and Mrs. Royston and the Misses Royston alighted, squabbled with the driver over the fare, and told him he need not wait. They rang the bell, and during the pause that followed stood upon the door-step, dubiously6 scanning the neighbourhood. It was one of the narrow, tortuous7 streets between the Corso and the river; a street of many colours and many smells, with party-coloured washings fluttering from the windows, with pretty tumble-haired children in gold ear-rings and shockingly scanty8 clothing sprawling9 underfoot. The house itself presented a blank face of peeling stucco to the street, with nothing but the heavily barred windows below and an ornamental10 cornice four stories up to suggest that it had once been a palace and a stronghold.
Mrs. Royston turned from her inspection11 of the street to ring the bell again. There was, this time, a suggestion of impatience12 in her touch. A second wait, and the door 61 was finally opened by one of the fantastic little shepherd models, who haunt the Spanish steps. He took off his hat with a polite ‘Permesso, signore,’ as he darted13 up the stairs ahead of them to point the way and open the door at the top. They arrived at the end of the five flights somewhat short of breath, and were ushered14 into a swept and garnished15 workroom, where Paul, in a white blouse, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, was immersed in a large canvas, almost too preoccupied16 to look up. He received his relatives with an air of delighted surprise, stood quite still while his aunt implanted a ponderous17 kiss upon his cheek, and after a glance at his cousins, kissed them of his own accord.
Mrs. Royston sat down and surveyed the room. It was irreproachably18 workmanlike, and had been so for a week. Visibly impressed, she transferred her gaze to her nephew.
‘Paul, you are improved,’ she said at length.
‘My dear aunt, I am five years older than I was five years ago.’
‘Well,’ with a sigh of relief, ‘I actually believe you are!’
‘Paul, I had no idea you were such a desirable cousin,’ was Margaret’s frank comment, as she returned from an inspection of the room to a reinspection of him. ‘Eleanor said you wore puffed19 velveteen trousers. You don’t, do you?’
‘Never had a pair of puffed velveteen trousers in my life.’
‘Oh, yes, you did!’ said Eleanor. ‘You can’t fib down the past that way. Mamma and I met you in the Luxembourg gardens in broad daylight wearing puffed blue velveteen trousers, with a bottle of wine in one pocket and a loaf of bread in the other.’
‘Let the dead past bury its dead!’ he pleaded. ‘I go to an English tailor on the Corso now.’
‘Marcia Copley wrote that she was very much pleased with you, but she didn’t tell us how good-looking you were,’ said Margaret, still frank.
Paul reddened a trifle as he repudiated20 the charge with a laughing gesture.
‘Don’t you think Miss Copley’s nice?’ pursued Margaret. ‘You’d better think so,’ she added, ‘for she’s one of our best friends.’
Paul reddened still more, as he replied indifferently that Miss Copley appeared very nice. He hadn’t seen much of her, of course.
‘I hope,’ said his aunt, ‘that you have been polite.’
‘My dear aunt,’ he objected patiently, ‘I really don’t go out of my way to be impolite to people,’ and he took the Baedeker from her hand and sat down beside her. ‘What places do you want to see first?’ he inquired.
They were soon deep in computations of the galleries, ruins, and churches that should be visited in conjunction, and half an hour later, Paul and Margaret in one carriage, with Mrs. Royston and Eleanor in a second, were trotting21 toward the Colosseum; while Paul was reflecting that the path of duty need not of necessity be a thorny22 one.
During the next week or so Villa23 Vivalanti saw little more of Marcia than of her uncle. She spent the greater part of her time in Rome, visiting galleries and churches, with studio teas and other Lenten relaxations24 to lighten the rigour of sight-seeing. Paul Dessart proved himself an attentive25 cicerone, and his devotion to duty was not unrewarded; the dim crypts and chapels26, the deep-embrasured windows of galleries and palaces afforded many chances for stolen scraps28 of conversation. And Paul was not one to waste his opportunities. The spring was ideal; Rome was flooded with sunshine and flowers and the Italian joy of being alive. The troubles of Italy’s paupers29, which Mr. Copley found so absorbing, received, during these days, little consideration from his niece. Marcia was too busy living her own life to have eyes for any but happy people. She looked at Italy through rose-coloured glasses, and Italy, basking30 in the spring sunshine, smiled back sympathetically.
One morning an accident happened at the villa, and though it may not seem important to the world in general, still, as events turned out, it proved to be the pivot31 upon which destiny turned. Gerald fell over the parapet, landing eight feet below—butter-side down—with a bleeding nose and a broken front tooth. He could not claim this time that Marietta had pushed him over, as it was clearly proven that Marietta, at the moment, was sitting in the scullery doorway32, smiling at François. In consequence Marietta received her wages, a ticket to Rome, and fifty lire to dry her tears. A new nurse was hastily summoned from Castel Vivalanti. She was a niece of Domenic, the baker33, and had served in the household of Prince Barberini at Palestrina, which was recommendation enough.
As to the broken tooth, it was a first tooth and shaky at that. Most people would have contented34 themselves with the reflection that the matter would right itself in the course of nature. But Mrs. Copley, who perhaps had a tendency to be over-solicitous on a question involving her son’s health or beauty, decided that Gerald must go to the dentist’s. Gerald demurred35, and Marcia, who had previously36 had no thought of going into Rome that afternoon, offered to accompany the party, for the sake—she said—of keeping up his courage in the train. As they were preparing to start, she informed Mrs. Copley that she thought she would stay with the Roystons all night, since they had planned to visit the Forum37 by moonlight some evening, and this appeared a convenient time. In the Roman station she abandoned Gerald to his fate, and drove to the Hôtel de Londres et Paris.
She found the ladies just sitting down to their midday breakfast and delighted to see her. It developed, however, that they had an unbreakable engagement for the evening, and the plan of visiting the Forum was accordingly out of the question.
‘No matter,’ said Marcia, drawing off her gloves; ‘I can come in some other day; it’s always moonlight in Rome’; and they settled themselves to discussing plans for the afternoon. The hotel porter had given Margaret a permesso for the royal palace and stables, and being interested in the domestic arrangements of kings, she was insistent38 that they visit the Quirinal. But Mrs. Royston, who was conscientiously39 bent41 on first exhausting the heavier attractions set forth42 in Baedeker, declared for the Lateran museum. The matter was still unsettled when they rose from the table and were presented with the cards of Paul Dessart and M. Adolphe Benoit.
Paul’s voice settled the question: the city was too full of pilgrims for any pleasure to be had within the walls; why not take advantage of the pleasant weather to drive out to the monastery43 of Tre Fontane? But the matter did not eventually arrange itself as happily as he had hoped, since he found himself in one carriage and Marcia in the other. At the monastery the monks44 were saying office in 64 the main chapel27 when they arrived, and they paused a few minutes to listen to the deep rise and fall of the Gregorian chant as it echoed through the long, bare nave46. The dim interior, the low, monotonous47 music, the unseen monks, made an effective whole. Paul, awake to the possibilities of the occasion, did his best to draw Marcia into conversation, but she was tantalizingly49 unresponsive. The guide-book in Mrs. Royston’s hands and the history of the order appeared to absorb her whole attention.
Fortune, however, was finally on his side. Mrs. Royston elected to stop, on their way back to the city, at St. Paul’s without the Walls, and the whole party once more alighted. Within the basilica, Mrs. Royston, guide-book in hand, commenced her usual conscientious40 inspection, while Eleanor and the young Frenchman strolled about, commenting on the architecture. Margaret had heard that one of the mosaic50 popes in the frieze51 had diamond eyes, and she was insistently52 bent on finding him. Marcia and Paul followed her a few minutes, but they had both seen the church many times before, and both were at present but mildly interested in diamond-eyed popes.
The door of the cloisters53 stood ajar, and they presently left the others and strolled into the peaceful enclosure with its brick-flagged floor and quaintly55 twisted columns. It was tranquil56 and empty, with no suggestion of the outside world. They turned and strolled down the length of the flagging, where the shadow of the columns alternated with gleaming bars of sunshine. The sleepy, old-world atmosphere cast its spell about them; Marcia’s tantalizing48 humour and Paul’s impatience fell away. They walked on in silence, until presently the silence made itself awkward and Marcia began to talk about the carving57 of the columns, the flowers in the garden, the monks who tended them. Paul responded half abstractedly, and he finally broke out with what he was thinking of: a talk they had had that afternoon several weeks before in the Borghese gardens.
‘Most men wouldn’t care for this,’ he nodded toward the prim58 little garden with its violets and roses framed in by the pillared cloister54 and higher up by the dull grey walls of the church and monastery. ‘But a few do. Since that is the case, why not let the majority mine their coal and build their railroads, and the very small minority who do 65 care stay and appreciate it? It is fortunate that we don’t all like the same things, for there’s a great variety of work to be done. Of course,’ he added, ‘I know well enough I’m never going to do anything very great; I don’t set up for a genius. But to do a few little things well—isn’t that something?’
They had reached the opposite end of the cloisters, and paused by one of the pillars, leaning against the balustrade.
‘You think it’s shirking one’s duty not to live in America?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Marcia smiled vaguely. ‘I think—perhaps I’m changing my mind.’
‘I only know of one thing,’ he said in a low tone, ‘that would make me want to be exiled from Italy.’
Marcia had a quick foreboding that she knew what he was going to say, and for a moment she hesitated; then her eyes asked: ‘What is that?’
Paul looked down at the sun-barred pavement in silence, and then he looked up in her face and smiled steadily59. ‘If you lived out of Italy.’
Marcia received this in silence, while she dropped her eyes to the effigy60 of a dead monk45 set in the pavement and commenced mechanically following the Latin inscription61. There was still time; she was still mistress of the situation. By a laugh, an adroit62 turn, she could overlook his words; could bring their relations back again to their normal footing. But she was by no means sure that she wished to bring them back to their normal footing; she felt a sudden, quite strong curiosity to know what he would say next.
‘Hang it! Marcia,’ he exclaimed. ‘I suppose you want to marry a prince, or something like that?’
‘A prince?’ she inquired. ‘Why a prince?’
‘Oh, it’s what you women are always after—having a coronet on your carriage door, with all the servants bowing and saying, “Si, si, eccelenza,” every time you turn around.’
‘It would be fun,’ she agreed. ‘Do you happen to know of any desirable unmarried princes?’
‘There aren’t any.’
‘No? Why, I met one the other day that I thought quite charming. His family is seven hundred years old, and he owns two castles and three villages.’
‘He wouldn’t stay charming. You’d find the castles damp, and the villages dirty, and the prince stupid.’ He dropped his hand over hers where it rested on the balustrade. ‘You’d better take me, Marcia; in the long run you’ll find me nicer.’
Marcia shook her head, but she did not draw away her hand. ‘Really, Paul, I don’t know—and there’s nothing I hate so much in the world as making up my mind. You shouldn’t ask such unanswerable things.’
‘Look, mamma! aren’t the cloisters lovely?’ Margaret’s voice suddenly sounded across the little court. ‘Oh, there are Marcia and Paul over there! We wondered where you had disappeared to.’
‘Oh, the deuce!’ Paul exclaimed as he put his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the pillar. ‘I told you,’ he added, with a laugh, ‘that my family always arrived when they were not wanted!’
They all strolled about together, and Marcia scarcely glanced at him again. But her consciousness was filled with his words, and it required all her self-possession to keep up her part of the conversation. As they started on, Mrs. Royston suggested that they stop a second time at the English cemetery63 just within the gate. Marcia, looking at her watch, saw with a feeling of relief that she would have to go straight on if she were to catch Mrs. Copley and Gerald in time for the six o’clock train. Bidding them good-bye at the Porta San Paolo, she hastily and emphatically refused Paul’s proposition to drive to the station with her.
‘No, indeed, Mr. Dessart,’ she called out, as he was making arrangements with Mrs. Royston to meet later at the hotel, ‘I don’t want you to come with me; I shouldn’t think of taking you away. My aunt will be at the station, and I am perfectly64 capable of getting there alone. Really, I don’t want to trouble you.’
He put his foot on the carriage-step.
‘It’s no trouble,’ he smiled.
‘No, no; I would rather go alone. I shall really be angry if you come,’ she insisted in a low tone.
‘As you please,’ he returned in a tone which carried an impression of slightly wounded feelings. The driver looked back expectantly, waiting for his directions. Paul hesitated 67 a moment, and then turned toward her again as if inquiring the way. ‘Is there any hope for me?’ he said.
She looked away without answering.
‘There’s no other man?’ he added quickly.
Marcia for a second looked up in his face. ‘No,’ she shook her head, ‘there’s no other man.’
He straightened up, with a happy laugh. ‘Then I’ll win,’ he whispered, and he shook her hand as if on a compact.
‘Stazione,’ he called to the driver. And as the carriage started, Marcia glanced back and nodded toward the Roystons, with a quick smile for Paul.
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1
prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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garnished
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| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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irreproachably
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| adv.不可非难地，无过失地 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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repudiated
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| v.（正式地）否认( repudiate的过去式和过去分词 )；拒绝接受；拒绝与…往来；拒不履行（法律义务） | |
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trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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thorny
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| adj.多刺的，棘手的 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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relaxations
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| n.消遣( relaxation的名词复数 )；松懈；松弛；放松 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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chapels
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| n.小教堂， （医院、监狱等的）附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 )；（在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的）礼拜仪式 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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paupers
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| n.穷人( pauper的名词复数 )；贫民；贫穷 | |
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basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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pivot
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| v.在枢轴上转动；装枢轴，枢轴；adj.枢轴的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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demurred
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| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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forum
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| n.论坛，讨论会 | |
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insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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nave
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| n.教堂的中部；本堂 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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48
tantalizing
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| adj.逗人的；惹弄人的；撩人的；煽情的v.逗弄，引诱，折磨( tantalize的现在分词 ) | |
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tantalizingly
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| adv.…得令人着急，…到令人着急的程度 | |
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mosaic
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| n./adj.镶嵌细工的，镶嵌工艺品的，嵌花式的 | |
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51
frieze
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| n.(墙上的)横饰带，雕带 | |
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insistently
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| ad.坚持地 | |
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53
cloisters
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| n.（学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的）走廊( cloister的名词复数 )；回廊；修道院的生活；隐居v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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54
cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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effigy
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| n.肖像 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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62
adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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63
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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