Lucy, clasping small hands, said, "Oh, Peter, I wish he was!"
Urquhart, looking at her said, "Do you want to go?" and she nodded, with her mouth tight shut as if to keep back floods of eloquence2 on that subject. "So do I," said Urquhart, and added, in his casual way, "Will you and your father come with me?"
"You paying?" said Lucy, in her frank, unabashed way like a child's; and he smiled down at her.
"Yes. Me paying."
"'Twould be nice," she breathed, her grey eyes wide with wistful pleasure. "I would love it. But—but father wouldn't, you know. He wouldn't want to go, and if he did he'd want to pay for it himself, and do it his own way, and travel third-class and be dreadfully uncomfortable. Wouldn't he, Peter?"
Peter feared that he would.
"I shall have to go by myself, then," said Urquhart. "What a bore. I really am going, you know, sometime this spring, to stay with my uncle in Venice. I expect I shall come across you, Margery, with any luck. I shan't start yet, though; I shall wait for better motoring weather. No, I can't stop for tea, thanks; I'm going off for the week-end. Good-bye. Good-bye, Margery. See you next in Venice, probably."
He was gone. Lucy sat still in her characteristic attitude, hands clasped on her knees, solemn grey eyes on the fire.
"He's going away for the week-end," she said, realising it for herself and Peter. "But it's more amusing when he's here. When he's in town, I mean, and comes in. That's nice and funny, isn't it."
"Yes," said Peter.
"But one can go out into the streets and see the people go by—and that's nice and funny too. And there are the Chinese paintings in the British Museum ... and concerts ... and the Zoo ... and I'm going to a theatre to-night. It's all nice and funny, isn't it."
"Yes," said Peter again. He thought so too.
"Even when you and he are both gone to Italy," said Lucy, reassuring4 herself, faintly interrogative. "Even then ... it can't be dull. It can't be dull ever."
"It hasn't been yet," Peter agreed. "But I wish you were coming too to Italy. You must before long. As soon as ..." He left that unfinished, because it was all so vague at present, and he and Lucy always lived in the moment.
"Well," said Lucy, "let's have tea." They had it, out of little Wedgwood cups, and Lucy's mood of faint wistfulness passed over and left them chuckling5.
Lucy was a little sad about Felicity, who was now engaged to the young professor who was conspiring6 in Poland.
"I knew she would, of course. I told you so long ago. He's quite sure to get arrested before long, so that settled it. And they're going to be married directly and go straight out there and plot. He excites the students, you know; as if students needed exciting by their professors.... I shall miss Felicity horribly. 'Tis too bad."
Peter, to cheer her up, told her what he and Leslie were going to do in Italy.
"I'll write, of course. Picture post cards, you know. And if ever I've twopence halfpenny to spare I'll write a real letter; there'll be a lot to tell you." Peter expected Leslie to be rather funny in Italy, picking things up.
"A great country, I believe, for picking things up," he had said. "Particularly for the garden." He had been referring to his country seat.
"I see," said Peter. "You want to Italianise the garden. I'm not quite sure.... Oh, you might, of course. Iron-work gates, then; and carved Renaissance7 oil-tanks, and Venetian well-heads, and such-like. All right; we'll see what we can steal. But it's rather easy to let an Italianised garden become florid; you have to be extremely careful with it."
"That's up to you," said Mr. Leslie tranquilly8.
So they went to Italy, and Peter picked things up with judgment9, and Leslie paid for them with phlegm. They picked up not only carved olive-oil tanks and well-heads and fifteenth-century iron-work gates from ancient and impoverished10 gardens, but a contemporarily copied Della Robbia fireplace, and designs for Renaissance ceilings, and a rococo11 carved and painted altar-piece from a mountain church whose parroco was hard-up, and a piece of 1480 tapestry12 that Peter loved very much, whereon St. Anne and other saints played among roses and raspberries, beautiful to behold13. These things made both the picker-up and the payer exceedingly contented14. Meanwhile Peter with difficulty restrained Leslie from "picking up" stray pieces of mosaic15 from tessellated pavements, and other curios. Oddly together with Leslie's feeling for the costly16 went the insane and indiscriminate avidity of the collecting tourist.
"You can't do it," Peter would shrilly18 and emphatically explain. "It's like a German tripper collecting souvenirs. Things aren't interesting merely because you happen to have been to the places they belong to. What do you want with that bit of glass? It isn't beautiful; when it's taken out of the rest of its pattern like that it's merely ridiculous. I thought you wanted beautiful things."
Leslie would meekly19 give in. His leaning on Peter in this matter of what he wanted was touching20. In the matter of what he admired, where no questions of acquisition came in, he and his shopping-man agreed less. Leslie here showed flashes of proper spirit. He also read Ruskin in the train. Peter had small allegiance there; he even, when irritated, called Ruskin a muddle-head.
"He's a good man, isn't he?" Leslie queried21, puzzled. "Surely he knows what he's talking about?" and Peter had to admit that that was so.
"He tells me what to like," the self-educator said simply. "And I try to like it. I don't always succeed, but I try. That's right, isn't it?"
"I don't know." Peter was puzzled. "It seems to me rather a funny way of going about it. When you've succeeded, are you much happier? I mean, what sort of a liking22 is it? Oh, but I don't understand—there aren't two sorts really. You either like a thing, or ... well."
At times one needed a rest from Leslie. But outside the province of art and the pleasures of the eye he was lovable, even likeable, having here a self-dependence and a personality that put pathos23 far off, and made him himself a rest. And his generosity24 was limitless. It was almost an oppression; only Peter, being neither proud nor self-conscious, was not easily oppressed. He took what was lavished25 on him and did his best to deserve it. But it was perhaps a little tiring. Leslie was a thoroughly26 good sort—a much better sort than most people knew—but Italy was somehow not the fit setting for him. Nothing could have made Peter dislike things pleasant to look at; but Leslie's persevering27, uncomprehending groping after their pleasantness made one feel desirous to dig a gulf28 between them and him. It was rather ageing. Peter missed Urquhart and Lucy; one felt much younger with them. The thought of their clean, light, direct touch on life, that handled its goods without fumbling29, and without the need of any intervening medium, was as refreshing30 as a breath of fresh air in a close room.
Rodney too was refreshing. They came across him at Pietrasanta; he was walking across Tuscany by himself, and came to the station, looking very dusty and disreputable, to put the book he had finished into his bag that travelled by train and get out another.
"Come out of that," he said to Peter, "and walk with me to Florence. Trains for bags; roads for men. You can meet your patron in Florence. Come along."
And Peter, after a brief consultation31 with the accommodating Leslie, did come along. It was certainly more than amusing. The road in Tuscany is much better than the railway. And Rodney was an interesting and rather attractive person. Since he left Cambridge he had been pursuing abstruse32 chemical research in a laboratory he had in a Westminster slum. Peter never saw him in London, because the Ignorant Rich do not live in slums, and because Rodney was not fond of the more respectable quarters of the city.
Peter was set speculating vaguely33 on Rodney's vivid idealism. To Peter, ideas, the unseen spirits of life, were remote, neither questioned nor accepted, but simply in the background. In the foreground, for the moment, were a long white road running through a river valley, and little fortress34 cities cresting35 rocky hills, and the black notes of the cypresses36 striking on a background of silver olives. In these Peter believed; and he believed in blue Berovieri goblets37, and Gobelin tapestries38, and in a great many other things that he had seen and saw at this moment; he believed intensely, with a poignant39 vividness of delight, in all things visible. For the rest, it was not that he doubted or wondered much; he had not thought about it enough for that; but it was all very remote. What was spirit, apart from form? Could it be? If so, would it be valuable or admirable? It was the shapes and colours of things, after all, that mattered. As to the pre-existence of things and their hereafter, Peter seldom speculated; he knew that it was through entering the workshop (or the play-room, he would rather have said) of the phenomenal, where the idea took limiting lines and definite shape and the tangible40 charm of the sense-apprehended, that life for him became life. Rodney attained42 to his real by looking through the manifold veils of the phenomenal, as through so much glass; Peter to his by an adoring delight in their complex loveliness. He was not a symbolist; he had no love of mystic hints and mist-veiled distances; he was George Herbert's
Man who looks on glass
And on it rests his eye,
because glass was so extremely jolly. Rodney looked with the mystic's eyes on life revealed and emerging behind its symbols; Peter with the artist's on life expressed in the clean and lovely shapes of things, their colours and tangible sweetness. To Peter Rodney's idealism would have been impossibly remote; things, as things, had a delightful43 concrete reality that was its own justification44. They needed to interpret nothing; they were themselves; no veils, but the very inner sanctuary45.
Both creeds46, that of things visible and that of the idea, were good, and suited to the holders47; but for those on whom fortune frequently frowns, for those whose destiny it is to lose and break and not to attain41, Peter's has drawbacks. Things do break so; break and get lost and are no more seen; and that hurts horribly. Remains48 the idea, Rodney would have said; that, being your own, does not get lost unless you throw it away; and, unless you are a fool, you don't throw it away until you have something better to take its place.
Anyhow they walked all day and slept on the road. On the third night they slept in an olive garden; till the moon, striking in silver slants49 between silver trees, lit on Rodney's face, and he opened dreamy eyes on a pale, illumined world. At his side Peter, still in the shadows, slept rolled up in a bag. Rodney slept with a thin plaid shawl over his knees. He glanced for a moment at Peter's pale face, a little pathetic in sleep, a little amused too at the corners of the lightly-closed lips. Rodney's brief regard was rather friendly and affectionate; then he turned from the dreaming Peter to the dreaming world. They had gone to sleep in a dark blue night lit by golden stars, and the olive trees had stood dark and unwhispering about them, gnarled shapes, waiting their transformation50. Now there had emerged a white world, a silver mystery, a pale dream; and for Rodney the reality that shone always behind the shadow-foreground dropped the shadows like a veil and emerged in clean and bare translucence51 of truth. The dome52 of many-coloured glass was here transcended53, its stain absorbed in the white radiance of the elucidating54 moon. So elucidating was the moon's light that it left no room for confusion or doubt. So eternally silver were the still ranks of the olives that one could imagine no transformation there. That was the pale and immutable56 light that lit all the worlds. Getting through and behind the most visible and obvious of the worlds one was in the sphere of true values; they lay all about, shining in unveiled strangeness, eternally and unalterably lit. So Rodney, who had his own value-system, saw them.
Peter too was caught presently into the luminous57 circle, and stirred, and opened pleased and friendly eyes on the white night—Peter was nearly always polite, even to those who woke him—then, half apologetically, made as if to snuggle again into sleep, but Rodney put out a long thin arm and shoved him, and said, "It's time to get up, you slacker," and Peter murmured:
"Oh, bother, all right, have you made tea?"
"No," said Rodney. "You can do without tea this morning."
"I see no morning," he patiently remarked, as he struck a match and lit a tiny spirit-lamp. "I see no morning; and whether there is a morning or merely a moon I cannot do without tea. Or biscuits."
"I thought the ground felt even pricklier than usual," he commented. "I do have such dreadfully bad luck, don't I. Crumbs61, Rodney? They're quite good, for crumbs. Better than crusts, anyhow. I should think even you could eat crumbs without pampering62 yourself. And if crumbs then tea, or you'll choke. Here you are."
He poured tea into two collapsible cups and passed one to Rodney, who had been discoursing63 for some time on his special topic, the art of doing without.
Then Peter, drinking tea and munching64 crumbs, sat up in his bag and looked at what Rodney described as the morning. He saw how the long, pointed65 olive leaves stood with sharp edges against pale light; how the silver screen was, if one looked into it, a thing of magic details of delight, of manifold shapes and sharp little shadowings and delicate tracery; how gnarled stems were light-touched and shadow-touched and silver and black; how the night was delicate, marvellous, a radiant wonder of clear loveliness, illustrated66 by a large white moon. Peter saw it and smiled. He did not see Rodney's world, but his own.
But both saw how the large moon dipped and dipped. Soon it would dip below the dim land's rim17, and the olive trees would be blurred67 and twisted shadows in a still shadow-world.
"Then," said Peter dreamily, "we shall be able to go to sleep again."
Rodney pulled him out of his bag and firmly rolled it up.
"Twelve kilometres from breakfast. Thirty from tea. No, we don't tea before Florence. Go and wash."
They washed in a copper68 bucket that hung beside a pulley well. It was rather fun washing, till Peter let the bucket slip off the hook and gurgle down to the bottom. Then it was rather fun fishing for it with the hook, but it was not caught, and they abandoned it in sudden alarm at a distant sound, and hastily scrambled69 out of the olive garden onto the white road.
Beneath their feet lay the thick soft dust, unstirred as yet by the day's journeyings. The wayfaring70 smell of it caught at their breath. Before them the pale road wound and wound, between the silver secrecy71 of the olive woods, towards the journeying moon that dipped above a far and hidden city in the west. Then a dim horizon took the dipping moon, and there remained a grey road that smelt72 of dust and ran between shadowed gardens that showed no more their eternal silver, but gnarled and twisted stems that mocked and leered.
One traveller stepped out of his clear circle of illumined values into the shrouded73 dusk of the old accustomed mystery, and the road ran faint to his eyes through a blurred land, and he had perforce to take up again the quest of the way step by step. Reality, for a lucid55 space of time emerging, had slipped again behind the shadow-veils. The ranks of the wan1 olives, waiting silently for dawn, held and hid their secret.
The other traveller murmured, "How many tones of grey do you suppose there are in an olive tree when the moon has set? But there'll be more presently. Listen...."
The little wind that comes before the dawn stirred and shivered, and disquieted74 the silence of the dim woods. Peter knew how the stirred leaves would be shivering white, only in the dark twilight75 one could not see.
The dusk paled and paled. Soon one would catch the silver of up-turned leaves.
On the soft deep dust the treading feet of the travellers moved quietly. One walked with a light unevenness76, a slight limp.
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1
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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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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chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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conspiring
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| 密谋( conspire的现在分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
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renaissance
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| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
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tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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impoverished
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| adj.穷困的，无力的，用尽了的v.使（某人）贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 )；使（某物）贫瘠或恶化 | |
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rococo
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| n.洛可可；adj.过分修饰的 | |
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tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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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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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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24
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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persevering
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| a.坚忍不拔的 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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abstruse
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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33
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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cresting
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| n.顶饰v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的现在分词 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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cypresses
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| n.柏属植物，柏树( cypress的名词复数 ) | |
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goblets
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| n.高脚酒杯( goblet的名词复数 ) | |
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tapestries
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| n.挂毯( tapestry的名词复数 )；绣帷，织锦v.用挂毯（或绣帷）装饰( tapestry的第三人称单数 ) | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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creeds
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| （尤指宗教）信条，教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
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holders
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| 支持物( holder的名词复数 )； 持有者； （支票等）持有人； 支托（或握持）…之物 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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slants
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| （使）倾斜，歪斜( slant的第三人称单数 )； 有倾向性地编写或报道 | |
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transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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translucence
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| n.半透明 | |
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dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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transcended
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| 超出或超越（经验、信念、描写能力等）的范围( transcend的过去式和过去分词 )； 优于或胜过… | |
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elucidating
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| v.阐明，解释( elucidate的现在分词 ) | |
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lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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immutable
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| adj.不可改变的，永恒的 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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fumble
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| vi.笨拙地用手摸、弄、接等，摸索 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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pampering
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| v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的现在分词 ) | |
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discoursing
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| 演说（discourse的现在分词形式） | |
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munching
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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68
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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69
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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70
wayfaring
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| adj.旅行的n.徒步旅行 | |
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71
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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72
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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73
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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74
disquieted
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| v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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76
unevenness
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| n. 不平坦，不平衡，不匀性 | |
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