"Oh Signore! In Italy? Impossible!"[Pg 206]
"In that case," said Peter, "if you can't be honest with me, be as honest as you can"—but he had to accept the lifted shoulders and the Raphael smile as his only security. However, Luigi had made him comfortable and as he approached him now it was without any misgiving5.
"I have just seen Giuseppe and the gondola," he announced. "They are at the Palazza Rezzonico, and after that they go to San Georgio degli Sclavoni. There are pictures there."
"Oh!" said Peter.
"It is a very little way to the San Georgio," volunteered Luigi as they remained, master and man, looking down into the water in the leisurely6 Venetian fashion. "Across the Piazza," said Luigi, "a couple of turns, a bridge or two and there you are;" and after a long pause, "The signore is looking very well this morning. Exercise in the sea air is excellent for the health."
"Very," said Peter. "I shall go for a walk, I think. I shall not need you, Luigi."
Nevertheless Luigi did not lose sight of him until he was well on his way to Saint George of the Sclavoni which announced itself by the[Pg 207] ramping7 fat dragon over the door. There was the young knight8 riding him down as of old, and still no Princess.
"She must be somewhere on the premises," said Peter to himself. "No doubt she has preserved the traditions of her race by remaining indoors." He had not, however, accustomed his eyes to the dusk of the little room when he heard at the landing the scrape of the gondola and the voices of the women disembarking.
"If we'd known you wanted to come," explained Mrs. Merrithew heartily9, "we could have brought you in the boat." That was the way she oftenest spoke10 of it, and other times it was the gondola.
Peter explained his old acquaintance with the charging saint and his curiosity about the lady, but when the custodian11 had brought a silver paper screen to gather the little light there was upon the mellow12 old Carpaccio, he looked upon her with a vague dissatisfaction.
"It's the same dragon and the same young man," he admitted. "I know him by the hair and by the determined13 expression. But I'm not sure about the young lady."[Pg 208]
"You are looking for a fairy-tale Princess," Miss Dassonville declared, "but you have to remember that the knight didn't marry this one; he only made a Christian14 of her."
They came back to it again when they had looked at all the others and speculated as to whether Carpaccio knew how funny he was when he painted Saint Jerome among the brethren, and whether in the last picture he was really in heaven as Ruskin reported.
"So you think," said Peter, "she'd have been more satisfactory if the painter had thought Saint George meant to marry her?"
"More personal and convincing," the girl maintained.
"There's one in the Belle15 Arti that's a lot better looking to my notion," contributed Mrs. Merrithew.
"Oh, but that Princess is running away," the girl protested.
"It's what any well brought up young female would be expected to do under the circumstances," declared the elder lady; "just look at them fragments. It's enough to turn the strongest."[Pg 209]
"It does look a sort of 'After the Battle,'" Peter admitted. "But I should like to see the other one," and he fell in very readily with Mrs. Merrithew's suggestion that he should come in the gondola with them and drop into the Academy on the way home. They found the Saint George with very little trouble and sat down on one of the red velvet16 divans17, looking a long time at the fleeing lady.
"And you think," said Peter, "she would not have run away?"
"I think she shouldn't; when it's done for her."
"But isn't that—the running away I mean—the evidence of her being worth doing it for, of her fineness, of her superior delicacy18?"
"Well," Miss Dassonville was not disposed to take it lightly, "if a woman has a right to a fineness that's bought at another's expense. They can't all run away, you know, and I can't think it right for a woman to evade19 the disagreeable things just because some man makes it possible."
"I believe," laughed Peter, "if you had been the Princess you would have killed the dragon[Pg 210] yourself. You'd have taken a little bomb up your sleeve and thrown it at him." He had to take that note to cover a confused sense he had of the conversation being more pertinent20 than he could at that moment remember a reason for its being.
"Oh, I've been delivered to the dragons before now," she said. "It's going on all the time." She moved a little away from the picture as if to avoid the personal issue.
"What beats me," commented Mrs. Merrithew, "is that there has to be a young lady. You'd think a likely young man, if he met one of them things, would just kill it on general principles, the same as a snake or a spider."
"Oh," said Peter, "it's chiefly because they are terrifying to young ladies that we kill them at all. Yes, there has to be a young lady." He was aware of an accession of dreariness21 in the certainty that in his case there never could be a young lady. But Miss Dassonville as she began to walk toward the entrance gave it another turn.
"There is always a young lady. The difficulty is that it must be a particular one. No[Pg 211] one takes any account of those who were eaten up before the Princess appeared."
"But you must grant," said Peter, with an odd sense of defending his own position, "that when one got done with a fight like that, one would be entitled to something particular."
"Oh, if it came as a reward," she laughed. "But nowadays we've reversed the process. One makes sure of the Princess first, lest when the dragon is killed she should prove to have gone away with one of the bystanders."
Something that clicked in Peter's mind led him to look sharply from one to the other of the two women. In Bloombury they had a way, he knew, of not missing any point of their neighbours' affairs, but their faces expressed no trace of an appreciation22 of anything in the subject being applicable to his. The flick23 of memory passed and left him wondering why it should be.
He caught himself looking covertly24 at the girl as the gondola swung into open water, to discover in her the springs of an experience such as lay at the source of his own desolation. He perceived instead under her slight appearance[Pg 212] a certain warmth and colour like a light behind a breathed-on window-pane. Illness, overwork, whatever dragon's breath had dimmed her surfaces, she gave the impression of being inwardly inexhaustibly alight and alive. Something in her leaped to the day, to the steady pacing of the gondola on the smooth water tessellated by the sun in blue and bronze and amber25, to the arched and airy palaces that rose above it.
The awning26 was up; there was strong sun and pleasant wind: from hidden gardens they smelled the oleanders. Peter felt the faint stir of rehabilitation27 like the breath of passing presences.
The mood augmented28 in him as he drifted late that evening on the lagoon29 beyond the Guidecca, after the sun was gone down and the sea and the sky reflected each to each, one roseate glow like a hollow shell of pearl. Lit peaks of the Alps ranged in the upper heaven, and nearer the great dome30 of the Saluti signalled whitely; below them, all the islands near and far floated in twilit blueness on the flat lagoon. There was by times, a long sea swell31,[Pg 213] and no sound but the tread of the oar32 behind like a woman's silken motion. It drew with it films of recollection in which his mood suspended like gossamer33, a mood capable of going on independently of his idea of himself as a man cut off from those experiences, intimations of which pressed upon him everywhere by line and form and colour.
It had come back, the precious intimacy34 of beauty, with that fullness sitting there in the gondola, he realized with the intake35 of the breath to express it and the curious throbbing36 of the palms to grasp. He was able to identify in his bodily response to all that charged the decaying wonder of Venice with opulent personality, the source of his boyish dreams. It was no woman, he told himself, who had gone off with the bystanders while he had been engaged with the dragons of poverty and obligation, but merely the appreciations37 of beauty. There had never been any woman, there was never going to be. He began to plan how he should explain his discovery and the bearing of it, to Miss Dassonville. It would be a pity if she were making the same mistake about it.[Pg 214] He leaned back in the cushioned seat and watched the silver shine of the prow38 delicately peering out its way among the shadowy islands; lay so still and absorbed that he did not know which way they went nor what his gondolier inquired of him, and presently realized without surprise that the Princess was speaking to him.
He felt her first, warm and friendlily, and then he heard her laughing. He knew she was the Princess though she had no form or likeness39.
"But which are you?" he whispered to the laughter.
"The right one."
"The one who stayed or the one who ran away?"
"Oh, if you don't know by this time! I have come to take you to the House."
"Are you the one who was always there?"
"The Lovely Lady; there was never any other."
"And shall I go there as I used?" asked Peter, "and be happy there?"
"You are free to go; do you not feel it?"
"Oh, here—I feel many things. I am just[Pg 215] beginning to understand how I came to lose the way to it."
"Are you so sure?"
"Quite." Peter's new-found certainty was strong in him. "I made the mistake of thinking that the House was the House of Love, and it is really the House of Beauty. I thought if I found the one to love, I should live in it forever. But now that I have found the way back to it I see that was a mistake."
"How did you find it?"
"Well, there is a girl here——"
"Ah!" said the Princess.
"She is young," Peter explained; "she looks at things the way I used to, and that somehow brought me around to the starting-point again."
"I see," said the Princess; the look she turned on him was full of a strange, secret intelligence which as he returned it without knowing what it was about, afforded Peter the greatest satisfaction. "Do you know me now," she said at last, "which one I am?"
"The right one, I am sure of that."
"But which?"
"I know now," Peter answered, "but I am[Pg 216] certain that in the morning I shall not be able to remember."
It was true as Peter had said that the next morning he was in as much doubt as ever about the princesses. He thought he would go and have a look at them but forgot what he had come for once he had entered the spacious40 quiet of the Academy. Warmed still from his contact of the night before he found the pictures sentient41 and friendly. He found trails in them that led he knew now where, and painted waters that lapped the fore-shore of remembrance.
After an hour in which he had seen the meaning of the pictures emerge from the frontier of mysticism which he knew now for the reflection of his own unstable42 state, and proceed toward him by way of his intelligence, he heard the Princess say at his shoulder, at least he thought it might have been the Princess for the first word or two, until he turned and saw Miss Dassonville. She was staring at the dim old canvases patched with saints, and her eyes were tender.
"They are not really saints, you know, they[Pg 217] are only a sort of hieroglyphics43 that spell devotion. It isn't as though they had the breath of life breathed into them and could come down from their canvases as some of them do."
"Oh," he protested, "did you think of that for yourself? It was the Princess who said it to me."
"The Princess of the Dragon?"
"She came to me last night on the lagoon. It was wonderful,—the water shine and the rosy44 glow. I was wishing I had insisted on your coming, and all at once there was the Princess."
"The one who stayed or the one who ran away?"
"She declined to commit herself. I suppose it's one of the things a man has to find out." He experienced a great lift of his spirit in the girl's light acceptance of his whimsicality, it was the sort of thing that Eunice Goodward used to be afraid to have any one hear him say lest they should think it odd. It occurred to him as he turned and walked beside Miss Dassonville that if he had come to Italy with Eunice there might have been a great deal that she would not have liked to hear. He could[Pg 218] think things of that sort of her now with a queer lightness as of ease after strain, and yet not think it a merit of Miss Dassonville's so to ease him. They walked through the rooms full of the morning coolness, and let the pictures say what they would to them.
"It is strange to me," said the girl, "the reality of pictures; as if they had reached a point under the artist's hand where they became suddenly independent of him and went about saying a great deal more than he meant and perhaps more than he could understand. I am sure they must have a world of their own of picture rock and tree and stone, where they go when they are not being looked at on their canvases."
"Oh, haven't you found them, then?"
"In dreams you mean? Not in Bloombury; they don't get so far from home. One of these little islands I suspect, that lie so low and look so blue and airy."
"Will you go with me in the gondola to discover it?"
"To-night?"
"To-morrow." He was full of a plan to take her and Mrs. Merrithew to the Lido that same[Pg 219] evening to have dinner, and to come home after moonrise, to discover Venice. She agreed to that, subject to Mrs. Merrithew's consent, and they went out to find that lady at a bead45 shop where she spent a great many hours in a state of delightful46 indecision.
Mrs. Merrithew proving quite in the mood for it, they went to the Lido with an extra gondolier—Miss Dassonville had stipulated47 for one who could sing—and came home in time to see Venice all a-flower, with the continual slither of the gondolas48 about it like some slim sort of moth49. They explored Saint George of the Sea Weed after that, took tea in the public gardens and had a day at Torcello. On such occasions when Peter and Mrs. Merrithew talked apart, the good lady who got on excellently with the rich Mr. Weatheral grew more than communicative on the subject of Savilla Dassonville. It was not that she talked of the girl so much nor so freely, but that she left him with the sense of her own exasperation50 at the whole performance. It was a thin little waif of a story as it came from Mrs. Merrithew, needing to be taken in and comforted before it would[Pg 220] yield even to Peter, who as a rich man had come to have a fair discernment in pitiable cases, the faint hope of a rescue. There had been, to begin with, the death of the girl's mother at her birth, followed by long years of neglect growing out of just that likeness to the beloved wife which first excited her father's aversion and afterward51 became the object of a jealous, insistent52 tenderness.
After his wife's death, Dave Dassonville had lost his grip on his property as he had on all the means of living. Later he was visited by a stringency53 which Mrs. Merrithew was inclined to impute54 to a Providence55, which, however prompt it had been in the repayment56 of the slight to the motherless infant, had somehow failed to protect her from its consequences. Savilla's girlhood had been devoted57 to nursing her father to his grave, to which he had gone down panting for release; after that she had taught the village school.
The winter before, tramping through the heavy snow, she had contracted a bronchitis that had developed so alarmingly as to demand, by the authority of the local doctor, "a trip[Pg 221] somewhere"—"and nobody," said Mrs. Merrithew, "but me to go with her."
"Not," she added, "that I'm complainin'. Merrithew left me well off, and there's no denyin' travellin's improvin' to the mind, though at my age it's some wearin' to the body. I'm glad," she further confided58 to Peter at Torcello, "she takes so to Venice. It's a lot more comfortable goin' about in a gondola. At Rome, now, I nearly run my legs off."
It was later when Savilla had been kept at home by a slight indisposition from a shower that caught them unprepared, she expressed her doubt of a winter in Italy being anything more than a longer stick with which to beat a dog.
"She will have spent all her money on it, and the snow will be just as deep in Bloombury next year. There isn't anything really the matter with her, but she's just too fine for it. It's like seeing a clumsy person handlin' one of them spun59 glass things, the way I have to sit still and see Providence dealing60 with Savilla Dassonville. It may be sort of sacrilegious to say so, but I declare it gives me the fidgets."
It ought of course to have given Peter, seeing[Pg 222] the interest he took in her, a like uneasiness; but there was something in the unmitigated hardness of her situation that afforded him the sort of easement he had, inexplicably61, in the plainness of her dress. His memory was not working well enough yet for him to realize that it was relief from the strain of the secondary feminity that had fluttered and allured62 in Eunice Goodward.
It was even more unclearly that he recognized that it had been a strain. All this time he had been forgetting her—and how completely he had forgotten her this new faculty63 for comparison was proof—he had still been enslaved by her appearance. It was an appearance, that of Eunice's, which he admired still in the young American women at the expensive hotels where he had put up, and admitted as the natural, the inevitable64 sign of an inward preciousness. But if he allowed to himself that he would never have spoken to Savilla Dassonville that day at San Marco, if she had been to the eye anything that Eunice Goodward was, he told himself it was because he was not sure from behind which of those charming ambuscades the arrows of[Pg 223] desolation might be shot. If he gave himself up now to the play of the girl's live fancy he did so in the security of her plainness, out of which no disturbing surprises might come. And she left him, in respect to her hard conditions, without even the excuse for an attitude. Eunice had been poor in her world, and had carried it with just that admixture of bright frankness and proud reserve which, in her world, supported such a situation with most charm. She made as much use of her difficulties as a Spanish dancer of her shawl; but Savilla Dassonville was just poor, and that was the end of it. That he got on with her so well by the simple process of talking out whatever he was most interested in, occurred to Peter as her natural limitation. It was not until they had been going out together for a week or more, in such fashion as his mending health allowed, that he had moments of realizing, in her swift appropriations65 of Venice, rich possibilities of the personal relations with which he believed himself forever done. Oddly it provoked in him the wish to protect, when the practical situation had left him dry and bare.[Pg 224]
It was the evening of the Serenata. They were all there in the gondola, Mrs. Merrithew and the girl, with Luigi squatting66 by Giuseppe, not too far from the music float that sprang mysteriously from the black water in arching boughs67 of red and gold and pearly Aladdin's fruit. Behind them the lurking68 prows69 rustled70 and rocked drunkenly with the swell to which they seemed at times attentively71 to lean. They could make out heads crowded in the gondolas, and silver gleams of the prows as they drifted past palaces lit intermittently72 by a red flare73 that wiped out for the moment, the seastain and disfiguring patches of restoration.
They had passed the palace of Camerleigh. The jewel-fruited arbour folded and furled upon itself to pass the slow curve of the Rialto, and suddenly, Peter's attention, drawn74 momentarily from the music, was caught by that other bright company leaning from deserted75 balconies, swarming76 like the summer drift between the pillars of dark loggias. They were all there, knights77 and saints and ladies, out of print and paint and marble, and presently he[Pg 225] made out the Princess. She was leaning out of one of the high, floriated windows, looking down on him with pleased, secret understanding as she might have smiled from her palace walls on the festival that brought the young knight George home with the conquered dragon. It was the compressed and pregnant meaning of her gaze that drew his own upward, and it was then when the Lovely Lady turned and waved her hand at him that he felt the girl stir strangely beside him.
"How full the night is of the sense of presences," she said, "as if all the loved marbles came to life and the adored had left their canvases. I cannot think but it is so."
"Oh, I am sure of it."
She moved again with the vague restlessness of one stared upon by innumerable eyes. "How one would like to speak," she said. "They seem so near us."
There was a warm tide of that nearness rising in Peter's blood. As the music flowed out again in summer fullness, he put out his arm along the back of the seat instinctively78 in answer to the girl's shy turning, the natural movement[Pg 226] of their common equity79 in the night's unrealized wonder.
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1
gondola
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| n.威尼斯的平底轻舟；飞船的吊船 | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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5
misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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6
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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7
ramping
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| 土堤斜坡( ramp的现在分词 )； 斜道； 斜路； （装车或上下飞机的）活动梯 | |
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8
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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10
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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11
custodian
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| n.保管人，监护人；公共建筑看守 | |
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12
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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15
belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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divans
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| n.（可作床用的）矮沙发( divan的名词复数 )；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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pertinent
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| adj.恰当的；贴切的；中肯的；有关的；相干的 | |
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dreariness
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| 沉寂，可怕，凄凉 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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flick
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| n.快速的轻打，轻打声，弹开；v.轻弹，轻轻拂去，忽然摇动 | |
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covertly
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| adv.偷偷摸摸地 | |
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amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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26
awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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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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Augmented
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| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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lagoon
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| n.泻湖，咸水湖 | |
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dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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gossamer
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| n.薄纱，游丝 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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intake
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| n.吸入，纳入；进气口，入口 | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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appreciations
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| n.欣赏( appreciation的名词复数 )；感激；评定；（尤指土地或财产的）增值 | |
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prow
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| n.(飞机)机头，船头 | |
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39
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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40
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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41
sentient
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| adj.有知觉的，知悉的；adv.有感觉能力地 | |
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42
unstable
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| adj.不稳定的，易变的 | |
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43
hieroglyphics
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| n.pl.象形文字 | |
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44
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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45
bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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46
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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47
stipulated
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| vt.& vi.规定；约定adj.[法]合同规定的 | |
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gondolas
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| n.狭长小船( gondola的名词复数 )；货架（一般指商店，例如化妆品店）；吊船工作台 | |
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49
moth
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| n.蛾，蛀虫 | |
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exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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stringency
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| n.严格，紧迫，说服力；严格性；强度 | |
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impute
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| v.归咎于 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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repayment
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| n.偿还，偿还款；报酬 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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59
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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60
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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inexplicably
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| adv.无法说明地，难以理解地，令人难以理解的是 | |
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allured
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| 诱引，吸引( allure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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appropriations
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| n.挪用（appropriation的复数形式） | |
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66
squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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68
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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prows
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| n.船首( prow的名词复数 ) | |
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rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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intermittently
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| adv.间歇地；断断续续 | |
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flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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78
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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equity
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| n.公正，公平，（无固定利息的）股票 | |
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