For an instant Marcia blinked uncomprehendingly; then, as the events of the evening flashed through her mind, she sat up in bed, and solicitously4 clasping her knees in her hands, considered the problem. She felt, and not without reason, that Gervasio’s future success at the villa5 depended largely on the impression he made at this, his first formal appearance. She finally dispatched Bianca to try him with one of Gerald’s suits, and to be very sure that his face was clean. Meanwhile she hurried through with her own dressing6 in order to be the first to inspect his rehabilitation7.
As she was putting the last touches to her hair she heard a murmur8 of voices on the terrace, and peering out cautiously, beheld9 her uncle and Sybert lounging on the parapet engaged with cigarettes. She had not been dreaming, then; those were Sybert’s steps she had heard the night before. She puckered10 her brow over the puzzle and peered out again. Whatever had happened last night, there was nothing electrical in the air this morning. The two had 100 apparently11 shoved all inflammable subjects behind them and were merely waiting idly until coffee should be served.
It was a beautifully peaceful spring morning that she looked out upon. The two men on the terrace appeared to be in mood with the day—careless, indifferent loungers, nothing more. And last night? She recalled their low, fierce, angry tones; and the lines in her forehead deepened. This was a chameleon12 world, she thought. As she stood watching them, Gervasio for the moment forgotten, Gerald ran up to the two with some childish prattle13 which called forth15 a quick, amused laugh. Sybert stretched out a lazy hand and drew the boy toward him. Carefully balancing his cigarette on the edge of one of the terra-cotta vases, he rose to his feet and tossed the little fellow in the air four or five times. Gerald screamed with delight and called for more. Sybert laughingly declined, as he resumed his cigarette and his seat on the balustrade.
The little play recalled Marcia to her duty. With a shake of her head at matters in general, she gave them up, and turned her face toward Gervasio’s quarters. Bianca was on her knees before the boy, giving the last touches to his sailor tie, and she turned him slowly around for inspection16. His appearance was even more promising17 than Marcia had hoped for. With his dark curls still damp from their unwonted ablutions, clad in one of Gerald’s baggiest18 sailor-suits of red linen19 with a rampant20 white collar and tie, except for his bare feet (which would not be forced into Gerald’s shoes) he might have been a little princeling himself, backed by a hundred noble ancestors.
Marcia sank down on her knees beside him. ‘You little dear!’ she exclaimed as she kissed him.
Gervasio was not used to caresses21, and for a moment he drew back, his brown eyes growing wide with wonder. Then a smile broke over his face, and he reached out a timid hand and patted her confidingly22 on the cheek. She kissed him again in pure delight, and taking him by the hand, set out forthwith for the loggia.
‘Ecco! my friends. Isn’t he beautiful?’ she demanded.
Mr. Copley and Sybert sprang to their feet and came forward interestedly.
101 ‘Who denies now that it’s clothes that make the man?’
‘I can’t say but that he was as picturesque23 last night,’ her uncle returned; ‘but he’s undoubtedly24 cleaner this morning.’
‘Where’s Gerald?’ asked Sybert. ‘Let’s see what he has to say of the new arrival.’
Gerald, who had but just discovered Marcellus, was delightedly romping25 in the garden with him, and was dragged away under protest and confronted with the stranger. He examined him in silence a moment and then remarked, ‘He’s got my cloves26 on.’ And suddenly, as a terrible idea dawned upon him, he burst out: ‘Is he a new bruvver? ‘Cause if he is you can take him away.’
‘Oh, my dear!’ his mother remonstrated27 in horror. ‘He’s a little Italian boy.’
Gerald was visibly relieved. He examined Gervasio again from this new point of view.
‘I want to go wifout my shoes and socks,’ he declared.
‘Oh, but he’s going to wear shoes and socks, too, as soon we can get some to fit him,’ said Marcia.
‘Do you want to see my lizhyards?’ Gerald asked insinuatingly28, suddenly making up his mind and pulling Gervasio by the sleeve.
Gervasio backed away.
‘You must talk to him in Italian, Gerald,’ Sybert suggested. ‘He’s like Marietta: he doesn’t understand anything else. I should like to have another look at those lizards30 myself,’ he added. ‘Come on, Gervasio,’ and taking a boy by each hand, he strode off toward the fountain.
Mrs Copley looked after them dubiously31, but Marcia interposed, ‘He’s a dear little fellow, Aunt Katherine, and it will be good for Gerald to have some one to play with.’
‘Marcia’s right, Katherine; it won’t hurt him any, and I doubt if the boy’s Italian is much worse than Bianca’s.’
Thus Gervasio’s formal installation at the villa. For the first week or so his principal activity was eating, until he was in the way of becoming as rosy-cheeked as Gerald himself. During the early stages of his career he was consigned32 to the kitchen, where François served him 102 with soup and macaroni to the point of bursting. Later, having learned to wield33 a knife and fork without disaster, he was advanced to the nursery, where he supped with Gerald under the watchful34 eye of Granton.
Taken all in all, Gervasio proved a valuable addition to the household. He was sweet-tempered, eager to please, and pitifully grateful for the slightest kindness. He became Gerald’s faithful henchman and implicitly35 obeyed his commands, with only an occasional rebellion when they were over-oppressive. He was quick to learn, and it was not long before he was jabbering36 in a mixture of Italian and English with a vocabulary nearly as varied37 as Gerald’s own.
The first week following Gervasio’s advent38 was a period of comparative quiet at the villa, but one fairly disturbing little contretemps occurred to break the monotony.
The boy had been promised a reward of sweet chocolate as soon as he should learn to wear shoes and stockings with a smiling face—shoes and stockings being, in his eyes, an objectionable feature of civilization. When it came time for payment, however, Marcia discovered that there was no sweet chocolate in the house, and, not to disappoint him, she ordered Gerald’s pony39-carriage, and taking with her the two boys and a groom40, set out for Castel Vivalanti and the baker’s. Had she stopped to think, she would have known that to take Gervasio to Castel Vivalanti in broad daylight was not a wise proceeding41. But it was a frequent characteristic of the Copleys that they did their thinking afterward42. The spectacle of Gervasio Delano in a carriage with the principino, and in new clothes, with his face washed, very nearly occasioned a mob among his former playmates. The carriage was besieged43, and Marcia found it necessary to distribute a considerable largess of copper44 before she could rid herself of her following.
As she laughingly escaped from the crowd and drove out through the gateway45 a man stepped forward from the corner of the wall and motioned her to stop. For a moment a remembrance of her aunt’s rencontre with the Camorrist flashed through her mind, and then she smiled as she reflected that it was broad daylight and in full sight of the town. She pulled the pony to a standstill and 103 asked him what he wanted. He was Gervasio’s stepfather, he said. They were poor, hard-working people and did not have enough to eat, but they were very lonely without the boy and wished to have him back. Even American princes, he added, couldn’t take poor people’s children away without their permission. And he finished by insinuating29 that if he were paid enough he might reconsider the matter.
Marcia did not understand all that he said, but as Gervasio began to cry, and at the same time clasped both hands firmly about the seat in an evident determination to resist all efforts to dislodge him, she saw what he meant, and replied that she would tell the police. But the man evidently thought that he had the upper hand of the situation, and that she would rather buy him off than let the boy go. With a threatening air, he reached out and grasped Gervasio roughly by the arm. Gervasio screamed, and Marcia, before she thought of possible consequences, struck the man a sharp blow with the whip and at the same time lashed3 the pony into a gallop46. They dashed down the stony47 road and around the corners at a perilous48 rate, while the man shouted curses from the top of the hill.
They reached the villa still bubbling with excitement over the adventure, and caused Mrs. Copley no little alarm. But when Marcia greeted her uncle’s arrival that night with the story, he declared that she had done just right; and without waiting for dinner, he remounted his horse, and galloping49 back to Castel Vivalanti, rode straight up to the door of the little trattoria, where the fellow was engaged in drinking wine and cursing Americans. There he told him, before an interested group of witnesses, that Gervasio was not his child; that since he could not treat him decently he had forfeited50 all claim to him; and that if he tried to levy51 any further blackmail52 he would find himself in prison. Wherewith he wheeled his horse’s head about and made a spectacular exit from the town. If anything were needed to strengthen Gervasio’s position with Mr. Copley, this incident answered the purpose.
As a result of the adventure, Marcia, for the time, dropped Castel Vivalanti from her calling-list and extended her acquaintance in the other direction. She came to be well known as she galloped53 about the country-side on a satin-coated little sorrel (born and bred in Kentucky), 104 followed by a groom on a thumping54 cob, who always respectfully drew up behind her when she stopped. As often as she could think of any excuse, she visited the peasants in their houses, laughing gaily55 with them over her own queer grammar. It was an amused curiosity which at first actuated her friendliness56. Their ingenious comments and naïve questions in regard to America proved an ever-diverting source of interest; but after a little, as she understood them better, she grew to like them for their own stanch57 virtues58. When she looked about their gloomy little rooms, with almost no furnishing except a few copper pots and kettles and a tawdry picture of the Madonna, and saw what meagre, straitened lives they led, and yet how bravely they bore them, her amusement changed to respect. Their quick sympathy and warm friendliness awakened an answering spark, and it was not long before she had discovered for herself the lovable charm of the Italian peasant.
She explored, in the course of her rides, many a forgotten little mountain village topping a barren crag of the Sabines, and held by some Roman prince in almost the same feudal59 tenure60 as a thousand years ago. They were picturesque enough from below, these huddling61 grey-stone hamlets shooting up from the solid rock; but when she had climbed the steeply winding62 path and had looked within, she found them miserable63 and desolate64 beyond belief. She was coming to see the under side of a great deal of picturesqueness65.
Meanwhile, though life was moving in an even groove66 at Villa Vivalanti, the same could not be said of the rest of Italy. Each day brought fresh reports of rioting throughout the southern provinces, and travellers hurrying north reported that every town of any size was under martial67 law. In spite of reassuring68 newspaper articles, written under the eye of the police, it was evident that affairs were fast approaching a crisis. There was not much anxiety felt in the immediate69 neighbourhood of Rome, for the capital was too great a stronghold of the army to be in actual danger from mobs. The affair, if anything, was regarded as a welcome diversion from the tediousness of Lent, and the embassies and large hotels where the 105 foreigners congregated70 were animated71 by a not unpleasurable air of excitement.
Conflicting opinions of every sort were current. Some shook their heads wisely, and said that in their opinion the matter was much more serious than appeared on the surface. They should not be surprised to see the scenes of the French Commune enacted72 over again; and they intimated further, that since it had to happen, they were very willing to be on hand in time to see the fun.
Many expressed the belief that the trouble had nothing to do with the price of bread; the wheat famine was merely a pretext73 for stirring up the people. It was well known that the universities, the younger generation of writers and newspaper men, even the ranks of the army, were riddled74 with socialism. What more likely than that the socialists75 and the church adherents76 had united to overthrow77 the government, intending as soon as their end was accomplished78 to turn upon each other and fight it out for supremacy79? It was the opinion of these that the government should have adopted the most drastic measures possible, and was doing very foolishly in catering80 to the populace by putting down the dazio. Still others held that the government should have abolished the dazio long before, and that the people in the south did very well to rise and demand their rights. And so the affairs of the unfortunate Neapolitans were the subject of conversation at every table d’hôte in Rome; and the forestieri sojourning within the walls derived81 a large amount of entertainment from the matter.
Marcia Copley, however, had heard little of the gathering82 trouble. She did not read the papers, and her uncle did not mention the matter at home. He was too sick at heart to dwell on it uselessly, and it was not a subject he cared to discuss with his niece. His family, indeed, saw very little of him, for he had thrown himself into the work of the Foreign Relief Committee with characteristic energy, and he spent the most of his time in Rome. Marcia’s interest in sight-seeing had come to a sudden halt since the afternoon of Tre Fontane. She had ventured into the city only once, and then merely to attend to the purchase of clothes for Gervasio. The Roystons, on that occasion, had been out when she called at their hotel, and her 106 feeling of regret was mingled83 largely with relief as she left her card and retired84 in safety to Villa Vivalanti.
She had not analysed her emotions very thoroughly85, but she felt a decided86 trepidation87 at the thought of seeing Paul. The trepidation, however, was not altogether an unpleasant sensation. The scene in the cloisters88 had returned to her mind many times, and she had taken several brief excursions into the future. What would he say the next time they met? Would he renew the same subject, or would he tacitly overlook that afternoon, and for the time let everything be as it had been before? She hoped that the latter would be the case. It would give a certain piquancy90 to their relations, and she was not ready—just at present—to make up her mind.
Paul, on his side, had also pondered the question somewhat. Events were not moving with the rapidity he wished. Marcia, evidently, would not come into Rome, and he could think of no valid91 excuse for going out to the villa. His pessimistic forecast of events had proved true. Holy Week found the Roystons still in the city, treating themselves to orgies of church-going. As he followed his aunt from church to church (there are in the neighbourhood of three hundred and seventy-five in Rome, and he says they visited them all that week) he indulged in many speculations92 as to the state of Marcia’s mind in regard to himself. At times he feared he had been over-precipitate93; at others, that he had not been precipitate enough.
His aunt and cousins returned from a flying visit to the villa, with the report that Marcia had adopted a boy and a dog and was solicitously engaged with their education. ‘What did she say about me, Madge?’ Paul boldly inquired.
‘She said you were a very impudent94 fellow,’ Margaret retorted; and in response to his somewhat startled expression she added more magnanimously: ‘You needn’t be so vain as to think she said anything about you. She never even mentioned your name.’
Paul breathed a meditative95 ‘Ah!’ Marcia had not mentioned his name. It was not such a bad sign, that: she was thinking about him, then. If there were no other man—and he was vain enough to take her at her word—nothing 107 could be better for his cause than a solitary96 week in the Sabine hills. He knew from present—and past—experience that an Italian spring is a powerful stimulant97 for the heart.
On Tuesday of Holy Week Mrs. Royston wakened slightly from her spiritual trance to observe that she had scarcely seen Marcia for as much as a week, and that as soon as Lent was over they must have the Copleys in to luncheon98 at the hotel.
‘Where’s the use of waiting till Lent’s over?’ Paul had inquired. ‘You needn’t make it a function. Just a sort of—family affair. If you invite them for Thursday, we can all go together to the tenebræ service at St. Peter’s. As this is Miss Copley’s first Easter in Rome, she might be interested.’
Accordingly a note arrived at the villa on Wednesday morning inviting99 the family—Gerald included—to breakfast the next day with the Roystons in Rome. On Thursday morning an acceptance—Gerald excluded—arrived at the Hôtel de Lourdres et Paris, and was followed an hour later by the Copleys themselves.
The breakfast went off gaily. Paul was his most expansive self, and the whole table responded to his mood. It was with a sense of gratification that Marcia saw her uncle, who had lately been so grave, laughingly exchanging nonsense with the young man. She felt, though she would scarcely have acknowledged it to herself, a certain property right in Paul, and it pleased her subtly when he pleased other people. She sat next to him at the table, and occasionally, beneath his laughter and persiflage100, she caught an undertone of meaning. So long as they were not alone and he could not go beyond a certain point, she found their relations on a distinctly satisfying basis.
In spite of Paul’s manœuvres, he did not find himself alone with Marcia that afternoon. There was always a cousin in attendance. Mr. and Mrs. Copley, declining the spectacle of the tenebræ in St. Peter’s—they had seen it before—left shortly after luncheon. As they were leaving, Mr. Copley remarked to Mrs. Royston—
‘I will entrust101 my niece to your care, and please do not lose sight of her until you put her in my hands for the evening train. I wish no more such escapades as we 108 had the other day.’ And, to Marcia’s discomfort102, the adventures involving the rescue of Marcellus and Gervasio were recounted in detail. For an unexplained reason, she would have preferred the story of their origin to remain in darkness.
Paul’s face clouded slightly. ‘My objections to Sybert grow rapidly,’ he remarked in an undertone.
Marcia laughed. ‘If you could have seen him! He never spoke103 a word to me all the way out in the train. He sat with his arms folded and a frown on his brow, like—Napoleon at Moscow.’
Paul’s face brightened again. ‘Oh, I begin to like him, after all,’ he declared.
Toward five o’clock that evening every carriage in the city seemed to be bent104 for the Ponte Sant’ Angelo. A casual spectator would never have chosen a religious function as the end of all this confusion. In the tangle105 of narrow streets beyond the bridge the way was almost blocked, and such progress as was possible was made at a snail’s pace. The Royston party, in two carriages, not unnaturally106 lost each other. The carriage containing Marcia, Margaret, and Paul, getting into the jam in the narrow Borgo Nuovo, arrived in the piazza107 of St. Peter’s with wheels locked with a cardinal108’s coach. The cardinal’s coachman and theirs exchanged an unclerical opinion of each other’s ability as drivers. The cardinal advanced his head from the window with a mildly startled air of reproof109, and the Americans laughed gaily at the situation. After a moment of scrutiny110 the cardinal smiled back, and the four disembarked and set out on foot across the piazza, leaving the men to sever89 the difficulty at their leisure. He proved an unexpectedly cordial person, and when they parted on the broad steps he held out of his hand with a friendly smile and after a moment of perplexed111 hesitation112 the three gravely shook it in turn.
‘Do you think we ought to have kissed it?’ Marcia inquired. ‘I would have done it, only I didn’t know how.’
Paul laughed. ‘He knew we weren’t of the true faith. No right-minded Catholic would laugh at nearly spilling a cardinal in the street.’
They stood aside by the central door looking for Mrs. 109 Royston and Eleanor and watching the crowd surge past. Paul was quite insistent113 that they should go in without the others, but Marcia was equally insistent that they wait. She had an intuitive feeling that there was safety in numbers.
For a wonder they presently espied114 Mrs. Royston bearing down upon them, a small camp-stool clutched to her portly bosom115, and Eleanor panting along behind, a camp-stool in either hand.
Mrs. Royston caught sight of them with an expression of relief.
‘My dears, I was afraid I had lost you,’ she gasped116. ‘We remembered, just as we got to the bridge, that we hadn’t brought any chairs, and so we went back for them. Paul, you should have thought of them yourself. I suppose we’d better hurry in and get a good place.’
Paul patiently possessed117 himself of the chairs and followed the ladies, with a glance at Marcia which seemed to say, ‘Is there this day living a more exemplary nephew and gentleman than I?’
The tenebræ service on Holy Thursday is the one time in the year when St. Peter’s may be seen at night. The great church looms118 vaster and emptier and more solemn then than at any other time. The eye cannot penetrate119 to the distant dome120 hidden in shadows. The long nave121 stretches interminably into space, the chapels122 deepen and broaden until they are churches themselves. The clustered pillars reach upward till they are lost in the darkness. What the eye cannot grasp the imagination seizes upon, and the vast interior grows and widens until it seems to stretch out arms to inclose all Christendom itself. On this one night it does inclose all Rome—nobility and peasants, Italians and foreigners: those who are of the faith, and those who are merely spectators; those who come to worship; those who come to be amused—St. Peter’s receives them all with the same impartiality123.
Standing124 outside, it had seemed to them that the whole city had flowed through the doors; but within, the church was still approximately empty. As they walked down the broad nave in the dimness of twilight125, Marcia turned to the young man beside her.
‘At first I didn’t think St. Peter’s was impressive—that 110 is, compared to Milan and Cologne and some of the other cathedrals—but it’s like the rest of Rome, it grows and grows until——’
‘It comes to be the whole world,’ he supplied.
By the bronze baldacchino Mrs. Royston spread her camp-stools and sat down.
‘This is the best place we could choose,’ she said contentedly126 as she folded her hands. ‘We shan’t be very near the choir127, but we can hear just as well, and we shall have an excellent view of the altar-washing and the sacred relics128.’ She spoke in the tone of one who is picking out a stall for a theatrical130 performance.
From time to time friends of either the Roystons or Marcia drifted up and, having paused to chat a few minutes, passed on, giving place to others. As one group left them with smiles and friendly bows, Marcia turned to Paul, who was standing beside her.
‘It’s really dreadful,’ she said, ‘the way the foreigners take possession of Rome. This might as well be a reception at the Embassy. If I were the pope, I would put up a sign on the door of St. Peter’s saying, “No forestieri admitted.”’
‘Ah, but there are no forestieri in the case of St. Peter’s; it belongs to all nations.’
Marcia smiled at the young man and turned away; and as she turned she caught, across an intervening stream of heads, a face, looking in her direction, wearing about the eyes a curiously131 quizzical expression. It was the face of a middle-aged132 woman—an interesting face—not exactly beautiful, but sparkling with intelligence. It seemed very familiar to Marcia, and as her eyes lingered on it a moment the quizzical expression gave place to one of amused friendliness. The woman smiled and bowed and passed on. Marcia bowed vaguely133, and then it flashed through her mind who it was—the lady who wrote, the ‘greatest gossip in Rome,’ whom she had met at the studio tea so many weeks before. She had forgotten all about her unknown friend of that day, and now she turned quickly to Paul to ask her identity. Paul was engaged in answering some question of his aunt’s, and before she could gain his attention again a hush134 swept over the great interior and everything else was forgotten in the opening chorus of the ‘Miserere.’
111 The twilight had deepened, and the great white dome shone dimly far above the blackness of the crowd. The voices of the papal choir swelled135 louder and louder in the solemn chant, and high and separate and alone rose the clear, flute-like treble of the ‘Pope’s Nightingale.’ And as an undertone, an accompaniment to the music, the shuffle136 and murmur of thirty thousand listeners rose and fell like the distant beat of surf.
The candles on the altar showed dimly above their heads. As the service continued, one by one the lights were extinguished. After half an hour or so, the waiting and intensity137 grew wearing. The crowd was pressing closer, and Margaret Royston craned her neck, vainly trying to discover how many candles remained. Paul, with ready imagination, was answering his aunt’s questions as to the meaning of the ceremonies. Margaret turned to Marcia.
‘Poke this young priest in front of me,’ she whispered, and ask him in Italian how many candles are left.’
The young priest, overhearing the words, turned around with an amused smile, obligingly stood on his tiptoes to look at the altar, and replied in English that there were three.
‘Thank you,’ said Margaret; ‘I didn’t suppose you could talk English.’
‘I was born in Troy, New York.’
‘Really?’ she laughed, and the two fell to comparing the rival merits of the Hudson and the Tiber.
He proved most friendly, carefully explaining to the party the significance of the service and the meaning of the different symbols. Mrs. Royston looked reproachfully at her nephew, whose stories, it transpired138, did not accord with fact.
‘You really couldn’t expect me to know as much as a professional, Aunt Eleanor,’ he unblushingly expostulated. My explanations were more picturesque than his, at any rate; and if they aren’t true, they ought to be.’
The last candle was finally out, and for a moment the great interior remained in darkness. Then a noise like the distant rattle14 of thunder symbolized139 the rending140 of the veil, and in an instant lights sprang out from every arch and pier141 and dome. A long procession of cardinals142, choristers, and acolytes143 wound singing to the high altar—the ‘Altar of the World.’
Marcia stood by the railing and watched their faces as they filed past. They were such thoughtful, spiritual, kindly144 faces that her respect for this great power—the greatest power in Christendom—increased momentarily. She felt a sort of shame to be there merely as a spectator. She looked about at the faces of the peasants, and thought what a barren, barren existence would be theirs without this church, which promised the only joy they could ever hope to have.
When the ceremony of washing the altar with oil and wine was ended, the young priest bade them a friendly good evening. He could not wait for the holy relics, he said; they had supper at the monastery145 at seven o’clock. He hastily added, however, in response to the smile trembling on Margaret’s lips, ‘Not that they are not the true relics and very holy, but I have seen them several times before.’
The relics were exhibited to the multitude from St. Veronica’s balcony far above their heads. Paul whispered to Marcia with a little laugh:
‘Our friend the cardinal would be gratified, would he not, to see his heretics bowing before St. Veronica’s handkerchief? Look,’ he added, ‘at that peasant woman in her blue skirt and scarlet146 kerchief. She has probably walked fifty miles, with her baby strapped147 to a board. I suppose she thinks the child will have good fortune the rest of his life If he just catches a glimpse of a splinter of the true cross.’
Marcia looked at the woman standing beside her, a pilgrim from the Abruzzi, judging from her dress. She was raising an illumined face to the little balcony where the priest was holding above their heads the holy relic129. In her arms she held a baby whose face she was turning upward also, while she murmured prayers in his ears. Marcia’s glance wandered away over the crowd—the poor pilgrim peasants whose upturned faces, worn by work and poverty, were softened148 for the moment into a holy awe149. Then she raised her eyes to the balcony where the priest in his white robes was holding high above his head the shining silver cross in which was incased St. Peter’s dearest relic, the tiny splinter of the true cross. The light was centred on the little balcony; every eye in the great concourse was fixed150 upon it. The priest was fat, his face was red, his attitude theatrical. The whole spectacle was theatrical. A quick revulsion of feeling 113 passed over her. A few moments before, as she watched the procession of cardinals, she had been ready to admit the spiritual significance of the scene; now she saw only its spectacular side. It was merely a play, a delusion151 got up to dazzle the poor peasants. This church was the only thing they had in life, and, after all, what did it do for them? What could St. Veronica’s handkerchief, what could a splinter of the true cross, do to brighten their lives? It was superstition152, not religion, that was being offered to the peasants of Italy.
She looked again across the sea of upturned faces and shook her head. ‘Isn’t it pitiful?’ she asked.
‘Isn’t it picturesque?’ echoed Paul.
‘That priest up there knows he’s deluding153 all these people, and he’s just as solemn as if he believed in the relics himself. The church is still so hopelessly mediaeval!’
‘That’s the beauty of the church,’ Paul objected. ‘It’s still mediaeval, while the rest of the world is so hopelessly nineteenth-century. I like to see these peasants believing in St. Veronica’s handkerchief and the power of the sacred Bambino to cure disease. I think it’s a beautiful exhibition of faith in a world where faith is out of fashion. I don’t blame the priests in the least for keeping it up. It’s a protest against the age. They’re about the only artists left. If I were a priest I’d learn prestidigitation, and substantiate154 the efficacy of the relics with a miracle or so.’
‘It’s simply fostering superstition.’
‘Take their superstition away and you deprive them of their most picturesque quality.’
‘You don’t care for anything but what’s picturesque!’ she exclaimed in a tone half scornful.
Paul did not answer. The ceremony was over and the crowd was beginning to pour out. They turned with the stream and wedged their way toward the right-hand entrance, near which their carriages were waiting. Paul manœuvred very adroitly155 so that the crowd should separate them from the rest of the party at the door.
‘I will tell you what I care for most,’ he said in her ear as they pushed out into the portico156. ‘I care for you.’
She perceived his drift too late and looked back with an air of dismay. The others were lost in the moving mass of heads.
Paul saw her glance and laughed. ‘You’re going to take good care that we shan’t be alone together, aren’t you?’
‘It doesn’t matter. My time’s coming; you can’t put it off.’ His hand touched hers hanging at her side and he clasped it firmly. ‘Come here; we’ll get out of this crowd,’ and he pushed on outside and drew back into a corner by one of the tall columns. The crowd surged past, flowing down the steps like a river widening to the sea. Below them the piazza was black with a tossing, moving mass of carriages and people. The mass of the Vatican at their left loomed158 a black bulk in the night, its hundreds of windows shining in the reflected lights of the piazza like the eyes of a great octopus159. At another time Marcia might have looked very curiously toward the palace. She might have wondered if in one of those dark windows Leo was not standing brooding over the throng160 of worshippers who had come that day. How must a pope feel to see thirty thousand people go out from under his roof—go out freely to their homes—while he alone may not step across the threshold? At another time she would have paused to play a little with the thought, but now her attention was engaged. Paul still held her hand.
He squared himself in front of her, with his back to the crowd. ‘Have you been thinking about what I asked you?’
Had she been thinking! She had been doing nothing else. She looked at him reproachfully. ‘Let’s not talk about it. The more I think, the more I don’t know.’
‘That’s an unfortunate state to be in. Perhaps I can help you to make up your mind. Are you going to be in love with me some day, Marcia—soon?’ he persisted.
‘I—I don’t know.’
He leaned toward her, with his face very close to hers. She shrank back further into the shadow. ‘There they are!’ she exclaimed, as she caught sight of Eleanor’s head above the crowd, and she tried to draw her hand away.
‘Never mind them. They won’t be here for three minutes. You’ve got time enough to answer me.’
‘Please, not now—Paul,’ she whispered.
‘When?’ he insisted, keeping a firm hold of her hand. ‘The next time I see you?’
‘Yes—perhaps,’ and she turned away to greet the others.
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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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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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4
solicitously
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| adv.热心地，热切地 | |
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5
villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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rehabilitation
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| n.康复，悔过自新，修复，复兴，复职，复位 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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12
chameleon
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| n.变色龙，蜥蜴；善变之人 | |
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13
prattle
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| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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14
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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15
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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16
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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17
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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18
baggiest
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| adj.宽松下垂的( baggy的最高级 )；2。膨胀的 | |
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19
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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20
rampant
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| adj.(植物)蔓生的；狂暴的，无约束的 | |
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21
caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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22
confidingly
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| adv.信任地 | |
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23
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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24
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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25
romping
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| adj.嬉戏喧闹的，乱蹦乱闹的v.嬉笑玩闹( romp的现在分词 )；（尤指在赛跑或竞选等中）轻易获胜 | |
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26
cloves
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| n.丁香（热带树木的干花，形似小钉子，用作调味品，尤用作甜食的香料）( clove的名词复数 )；蒜瓣(a garlic ~|a ~of garlic) | |
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27
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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28
insinuatingly
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29
insinuating
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| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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30
lizards
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| n.蜥蜴( lizard的名词复数 ) | |
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31
dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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32
consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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33
wield
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| vt.行使，运用，支配；挥，使用(武器等) | |
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34
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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35
implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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jabbering
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| v.急切而含混不清地说( jabber的现在分词 )；急促兴奋地说话；结结巴巴 | |
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37
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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38
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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39
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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40
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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41
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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42
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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43
besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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45
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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46
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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47
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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48
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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49
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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50
forfeited
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
levy
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| n.征收税或其他款项，征收额 | |
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52
blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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53
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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54
thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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55
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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56
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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57
stanch
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| v.止住（血等）；adj.坚固的；坚定的 | |
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58
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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59
feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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60
tenure
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| n.终身职位；任期；(土地)保有权，保有期 | |
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61
huddling
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| n. 杂乱一团, 混乱, 拥挤 v. 推挤, 乱堆, 草率了事 | |
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62
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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63
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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64
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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65
picturesqueness
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66
groove
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| n.沟，槽；凹线，（刻出的）线条，习惯 | |
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67
martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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68
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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69
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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70
congregated
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| （使）集合，聚集( congregate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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72
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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74
riddled
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| adj.布满的；充斥的；泛滥的v.解谜，出谜题(riddle的过去分词形式) | |
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75
socialists
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| 社会主义者( socialist的名词复数 ) | |
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76
adherents
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| n.支持者，拥护者( adherent的名词复数 )；党羽；徒子徒孙 | |
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77
overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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78
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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79
supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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80
catering
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| n. 给养 | |
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81
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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82
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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83
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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84
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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85
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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86
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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87
trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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88
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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89
sever
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| v.切开，割开；断绝，中断 | |
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90
piquancy
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| n.辛辣，辣味，痛快 | |
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91
valid
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| adj.有确实根据的；有效的；正当的，合法的 | |
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92
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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93
precipitate
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| adj.突如其来的；vt.使突然发生；n.沉淀物 | |
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94
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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95
meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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96
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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97
stimulant
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| n.刺激物，兴奋剂 | |
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98
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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99
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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100
persiflage
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| n.戏弄；挖苦 | |
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101
entrust
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| v.信赖，信托，交托 | |
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102
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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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
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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105
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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106
unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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107
piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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108
cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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109
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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110
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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111
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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112
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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113
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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114
espied
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| v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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116
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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117
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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118
looms
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| n.织布机( loom的名词复数 )v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的第三人称单数 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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119
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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120
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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121
nave
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| n.教堂的中部；本堂 | |
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122
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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123
impartiality
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| n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
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124
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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125
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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126
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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127
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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128
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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129
relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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130
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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131
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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132
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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133
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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134
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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135
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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136
shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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137
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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138
transpired
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| （事实，秘密等）被人知道( transpire的过去式和过去分词 )； 泄露； 显露； 发生 | |
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139
symbolized
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| v.象征，作为…的象征( symbolize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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140
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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141
pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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142
cardinals
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| 红衣主教( cardinal的名词复数 )； 红衣凤头鸟（见于北美，雄鸟为鲜红色）； 基数 | |
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143
acolytes
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| n.助手( acolyte的名词复数 )；随从；新手；（天主教）侍祭 | |
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144
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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145
monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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146
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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147
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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148
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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149
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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150
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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151
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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152
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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153
deluding
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| v.欺骗，哄骗( delude的现在分词 ) | |
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154
substantiate
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| v.证实；证明...有根据 | |
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155
adroitly
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| adv.熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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156
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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157
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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158
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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159
octopus
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| n.章鱼 | |
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160
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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