But Armando had a soul that looked far above the gleaming tonsures9 of ten-inch Saint Peters. Wherefore he was unhappy. When his twentieth birthday dawned it seemed to him that his life had been a failure. One morning, after a night of much barbera and noisy gasconade, old Daniello did not wake up, and two days afterward10 they laid him to rest in the sloping graveyard11 in the gorge12 by the olive-oil mill.
Gloomily Armando weighed the situation, standing13 by the mullioned window of the room wherein he had toiled14 so long and ignobly15. Far in the western distance he could see the ships that seemed to glide16 with full sails across the mountains. The serene17 midsummer vapours, pendulous18 above the Mediterranean19, were visible, but the sea [Pg 3]upon which their shadows fell and lingered was hidden from his view by a thicket20 of silver firs. Southward the trees stood lower, and over their tops, where tired sea gulls21 circled, he gazed sadly toward the jumble22 of masonry23 that is Genoa.
Miles below in the sun glare the city lay this morning as Heine found it decades ago, like the bleached24 skeleton of some thrown-up monster of the deep. And a monster it was in the sight of the poor lad who looked down from the heights of Cardinali—but a monster that he would conquer, even as Saint George, champion of Genoa, had conquered the dragon in ages far agone. Yes, he would strike off for evermore the chains that fettered25 him to ten-inch Saint Peters, and mount to the white peaks of art! In the Apennine hamlet he had lived all his days, and never heard of Balzac; but he clinched26 his fist, and, with eyes set upon the cluster of chimney pots at the mountain’s foot, made his vow27:
Then he felt uplifted—as though he had burned the bridges that hung between his old ignominy and the straight path to fame and riches. The vow was still fervid29 and strong within him when, two days afterward, he beheld30 in a shop window of Genoa a photograph of Falguière’s great marble, Juno and the Peacock. Before the divine contours of Jupiter’s helpmeet the simple-hearted graver of saintly images stood enchanted31. Presently, as though spoken by a keen, mysterious voice from the upper air, there pierced his consciousness the word “Replica33!” Again and again was it repeated, each time with a new insistence34. Ah, a copy of this in marble! Yes; with such a masterpiece he would begin his ascent35 to the white peaks. He bought the photograph, put it in his pocket and kept it there until he was beyond the city’s bounds and trudging36 up the causeway toward Cardinali. Now and then he took out the picture,[Pg 5] regarded it fondly, and, peering back at the town, asked himself if Genoa would look the same when his Juno and the Peacock should be there. Would the soft murmur37 of that drowsy38 mass have the same note? Would the people move with the same pace, eat, sleep, and drink as they had always done? He was inclined to think they would not.
For a twelvemonth, through early tides and late shifts, he modelled and chipped: in winter, when the demoniac mistral, raging all about him, shook the workshop and snapped the boughs39 of the cypresses41; in summer, when the ortolan and the wood-thrush cheered him with their song. And the little group of neighbours, from whom he guarded his great artistic42 secret, marvelled43 that no more Saint Peters came forth from their time-honoured birthplace.
Only two persons in Cardinali besides Armando had knowledge of the momentous44 affair that was going forward. One was Bertino, a fair-haired youth of the sculptor45’s [Pg 6]age, who busied his hands by day plaiting Lombardian straw into hats, and his head by night dreaming of America and showering cornucopias46 of gold. He was Armando’s bosom47 friend. The other confidant was Bertino’s foster sister Marianna, somewhat demure48 for a mountain lass, and subject to thinking spells. Beauty she had, notably49 on feast days, when she walked to church with a large-rayed comb in her braided chestnut50 waterfall, a gorgeous striped apron51, and clattering52 half-sabots, freshly scraped and polished to a shine. She, too, plaited straw, and with it wove many love thoughts and sighs for Armando.
At last the stately goddess and her long-tailed companion stood triumphant53 in all the candour of marble not wholly spotless. The hour of unveiling it to the astonished gaze of Bertino and Marianna was the happiest that the ruler of Armando’s fate permitted him for many a day thereafter. The bitterness and crushing disillusion54 came on the day that he loaded the carved treasure on [Pg 7]the donkey cart of Sebastiano the carrier, and followed Juno and the Peacock down the mountain pass to the haven55 of his sweet anticipation56.
“He has been saving up his Saint Peters,” said Michele the Cobbler to a group of mystified neighbours as the cart passed his shop. “See, he has a box full of them. I wonder how many saints one can cut out in a year. Ah, well, it was not thus that his uncle Daniello did, nor his father before him. Shall I tell you what I think, my friends? Well, I think that boy is going wrong.”
“Ah, si,” was the unanimous voice.
“May your success be great, Armando mine!” said Bertino when they parted at the first curve of the pass. “Perhaps against your return I shall have famous news from America. Who knows? Good fortune be with you. Addio.”
“The saints be with you to a safe return,” said Marianna. “Addio, and good fortune.”
[Pg 8]
“Addio, carissimi amici.”
Sebastiano the carrier lifted the block from the wheel and the donkey moved on. Armando walked behind, keeping a watchful57 eye on the thing in the cart, which was in every shade of the term a reduced replica of Falguière’s inspiration.
“You must be very careful, Sebastiano,” said he. “Never in your life have you had such a valuable load on your cart.”
“Bah!” growled58 the driver. “Valuable! How many have you there? Are they all the same size? Do you mean to say that I never had a load as valuable as a boxful of Saint Peters? Oh, bello! Only last week did I haul a barrel of fine barolo to the Inn of the Fat Calf59. Ah, my dear, that is a wine. Wee-ah! wee-ah!—Go on, you lazy one. That donkey is too careful.”
They reached their destination in Genoa without mishap60. When the art dealer61 who had consented to look at it had bestowed62 on Armando’s work of a year a momentary63 survey,[Pg 9] he turned to the sculptor, who stood hat in hand, and regarded him earnestly.
“Who told you to do this, dear young man?” he asked, removing his eyeglasses.
“Nobody, signore. It was my own idea.”
The merchant turned to Juno with a new interest.
“Not so bad as it might have been,” he shrugged64, moving aside to view the figures in profile. “What is your name? Signor Corrini. Well—but, my dear young man, it will be a long time, perhaps years, before you are able to do work of this kind. Naturally, I could not permit it to remain in my place. What else have you done? Something smaller, I suppose.”
While the merchant stood by, offering words meant to comfort, but which added to his anguish66, he replaced the marble in the box and nailed the lid before rousing Sebastiano from his siesta67 in the cart.
“It all comes of keeping the saints too [Pg 10]long,” grumbled68 the carrier, as he helped lift Juno and the Peacock back into the cart. “Never did your uncle Daniello have any thrown on his hands—not he. Ah, there was a man of affairs!”
The donkey tugged69 at the chain traces, moved the wheels a spoke32 or two, then stopped and looked around at the driver, wagging his grizzled ears in mute but eloquent70 disapproval71 of hauling a load skyward. But after duly weighing the matter, assisted by several clean-cut hints from a rawhide72 lash73, he set off at his own crablike74 pace.
The first turning of the highway attained75, Armando paused and gazed on the city below, his heart aflood with bitterness. Far to the westward76 the sun, in variant77 crimson78 tones, lay hidden under the sea, like the last, loftiest dome79 of some sinking Atlantis. In every white hamlet of the slopes the Angelus was ringing. Night birds from Africa wheeled around the towering snares80 set for them by the owners of the olive terraces and villas81, whose yellow walls in long stretches [Pg 11]bordered the steep route. With his little group of living and inanimate companions Armando trudged82 along, his head bowed, silent as the marble in the cart. The gloaming quiet was unbroken, save for the gluck of the wheels and the distant chant of the belfries.
They were yet a long way from the outermost83 cot of Cardinali when a resounding84 shout brought the donkey to a standstill and startled Sebastiano into a “Per Bacco!”
It was the voice of Bertino. He was rounding a curve in the road, brandishing85 a piece of folded paper, and clattering toward them as fast as he could in his heavy wooden shoes. His radiant face proclaimed that something had happened to fill him with gladness. A few paces behind came Marianna, but in her eyes there was no token of joy. She had beheld the loaded cart.
“Long live my uncle!” cried Bertino, grasping Armando’s hand. “The letter has come, and I’m off for America. Think of it, Armando mio, I, Bertino Manconi, going [Pg 12]to America! It is no longer a dream. I am to go—go, do you understand? The money is here, and nothing can stop me. But come, you do not seem happy to hear of my great good fortune. I know, dear friend, you are sorry to lose me. Bah! one can not live in the mountains all his life, and perhaps you too will be there some day—some day when your Juno is sold. To-night all my friends shall drink a glass of spumante to my voyage—yes, the real spumante of Asti. At the Inn of the Fat Calf will I say addio, for I set sail to-morrow. Tell me, now, do you not count me a lucky devil?”
“You are lucky,” said Armando sadly. “I wish I could go. My own country does not want me.”
Marianna walked at the tail of the cart. While her brother was talking she had lifted the box in the hope that it might, after all, be only the empty one that he was bringing back; but the weight of it told her the truth she had read in Armando’s face.
[Pg 13]
“The beast!” she said, “to refuse such a fine thing as that. What did——”
Armando signalled silence, and pointed86 to Sebastiano, who walked ahead. By this time Bertino understood, and he too exclaimed:
“The beast!”
“Who’s a beast?” asked the muleteer.
“That art merchant, whoever he is. Bah! What would you have? In this country a fellow has no chance. What a fool one is to stay here!”
“No, no; the country is good,” said Sebastiano, shaking his head and jerking a thumb toward Armando. “But what can you expect when one keeps his Saint Peters a whole year?”
The others exchanged knowing glances and followed on in silence. The rest of the way it was plain to all who saw Bertino pass that he was thinking very hard, and with the product of this mental exertion87 he was fairly bursting by the time they reached Armando’s home, for he had not dared to speak in presence[Pg 14] of the carrier. When Juno and the Peacock had been restored to their birthplace he began:
“Now, listen to me, amici, for I have an idea. I am going to America. Is not that so?”
“Yes; you are going to America. Well?”
“Patience. You know that as the assistant of my uncle in his great shop in New York I shall be rather a bigger man than I am here. Who knows what I may become?”
“Ah, si; who knows?” said Marianna.
“Listen. Now, let us have a thought together. Here is Armando. He is a fine sculptor. We know that. The proof is here.” He tapped the big box. “But in Genoa they are too stupid and too poor to buy his magnificent work. Now, in America people are neither stupid nor poor. Why can he not make a fortune in America?”
“I can’t go to America,” said Armando.
“No; he can’t go to America,” chimed in Marianna. “What a foolish idea!”
[Pg 15]
“Excuse me. Who wants him to go to America? He stays in Cardinali and makes statues. I go to New York and sell them. Now, my dears, do you see which way the swallow is flying?”
“But——”
“But——”
“But nothing. Do you think that I, who sail for America to-morrow, do not know what I am about? Listen. What do you suppose I was doing on the way up? Well, I was thinking. I have thought it all out. I ask you this, Armando: Juno and the Peacock you made from a photograph? Very well; can you not make other things from photographs? From New York I shall send you the picture of some great American; some one as great as—as great as——”
“Crespi,” suggested Armando, now interested in the project.
“Crespi? No, no. Some one greater, like—like——”
“D’Annunzio,” Armando ventured again.
[Pg 16]
“Bah! Who is he? I mean some one very great, like——”
“I know!” cried Marianna. “Like the Pope!”
“No, no,” persisted Bertino. “It must be some man as big as Garibaldi. That’s it. But not a dead Garibaldi. He must be alive, so that I may sell him the bust88 that you will make of him. What would you do with a man like that, for example?”
“Well,” said Armando, pausing and looking up at the ceiling, as though weighing the matter carefully, “I should make a very fine bust of such a man.”
“Bravo!” cried Bertino. “With a piece of your best work for a sample, how long should I be getting orders for more? Not many days, I promise. And the Americans have gold. What say you, my friend? Is it not a grand idea?”
“Si, si; a grand idea.”
In truth it loomed89 before Armando as the chance of his life. Now as ardent90 as the other, he agreed to begin work upon a [Pg 17]bust in marble so soon as he should receive from America a photograph of the chosen subject. When finished he would send it to New York, there to be put on exhibition and offered for sale.
That afternoon the Saale steamed from Genoa Bay with Bertino a steerage passenger. Some time after the ship had swung from her quay91 Armando and Marianna looked from the studio window over the cypress40 fringe toward the gap in the mountains that shows the sails of ships but conceals92 the Mediterranean’s waves. Presently a black bar of smoke moving lazily across the aperture93 told them that he was on his way.
Near the window a block of Carrara marble glistened94 pure and white in the sunlight. Armando wondered what manner of being he should release from it—a President, a money king, or a great American beauty?
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1
craftsman
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| n.技工，精于一门工艺的匠人 | |
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chiselled
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| adj.凿过的，凿光的； （文章等）精心雕琢的v.凿，雕，镌( chisel的过去式 ) | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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nether
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| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
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bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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8
transmuted
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| v.使变形，使变质，把…变成…( transmute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tonsures
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| vt.剃（tonsure的第三人称单数形式） | |
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10
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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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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toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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ignobly
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| 卑贱地，下流地 | |
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glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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pendulous
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| adj.下垂的；摆动的 | |
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Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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fettered
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| v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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clinched
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| v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的过去式和过去分词 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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fervid
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| adj.热情的；炽热的 | |
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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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31
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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32
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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replica
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| n.复制品 | |
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insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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trudging
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的现在分词形式） | |
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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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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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39
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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cypress
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| n.柏树 | |
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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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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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46
cornucopias
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| n.丰饶角（象征丰饶的羊角，角内呈现满溢的鲜花、水果等）( cornucopia的名词复数 ) | |
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47
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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notably
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| adv.值得注意地，显著地，尤其地，特别地 | |
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50
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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51
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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52
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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53
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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54
disillusion
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| vt.使不再抱幻想，使理想破灭 | |
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55
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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56
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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58
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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mishap
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| n.不幸的事，不幸；灾祸 | |
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dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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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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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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siesta
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| n.午睡 | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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71
disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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72
rawhide
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| n.生牛皮 | |
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73
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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74
crablike
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| adj.似蟹的，似蟹行般的 | |
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75
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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76
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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variant
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| adj.不同的，变异的；n.变体，异体 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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79
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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80
snares
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| n.陷阱( snare的名词复数 )；圈套；诱人遭受失败（丢脸、损失等）的东西；诱惑物v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的第三人称单数 ) | |
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81
villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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82
trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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83
outermost
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| adj.最外面的，远离中心的 | |
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84
resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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85
brandishing
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| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
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86
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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87
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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88
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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89
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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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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conceals
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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93
aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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94
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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