The Reverend Arthur Beebe, the Reverend Cuthbert Eager, Mr. Emerson, Mr. George Emerson, Miss Eleanor Lavish1, Miss Charlotte Bartlett, and Miss Lucy Honeychurch Drive Out in Carriages to See a View; Italians Drive Them.
It was Phaethon who drove them to Fiesole that memorable2 day, a youth all irresponsibility and fire, recklessly urging his master's horses up the stony3 hill. Mr. Beebe recognized him at once. Neither the Ages of Faith nor the Age of Doubt had touched him; he was Phaethon in Tuscany driving a cab. And it was Persephone whom he asked leave to pick up on the way, saying that she was his sister--Persephone, tall and slender and pale, returning with the Spring to her mother's cottage, and still shading her eyes from the unaccustomed light. To her Mr. Eager objected, saying that here was the thin edge of the wedge, and one must guard against imposition. But the ladies interceded4, and when it had been made clear that it was a very great favour, the goddess was allowed to mount beside the god.
Phaethon at once slipped the left rein5 over her head, thus enabling himself to drive with his arm round her waist. She did not mind. Mr. Eager, who sat with his back to the horses, saw nothing of the indecorous proceeding6, and continued his conversation with Lucy. The other two occupants of the carriage were old Mr. Emerson and Miss Lavish. For a dreadful thing had happened: Mr. Beebe, without consulting Mr. Eager, had doubled the size of the party. And though Miss Bartlett and Miss Lavish had planned all the morning how the people were to sit, at the critical moment when the carriages came round they lost their heads, and Miss Lavish got in with Lucy, while Miss Bartlett, with George Emerson and Mr. Beebe, followed on behind.
It was hard on the poor chaplain to have his partie carree thus transformed. Tea at a Renaissance7 villa8, if he had ever meditated9 it, was now impossible. Lucy and Miss Bartlett had a certain style about them, and Mr. Beebe, though unreliable, was a man of parts. But a shoddy lady writer and a journalist who had murdered his wife in the sight of God--they should enter no villa at his introduction.
Lucy, elegantly dressed in white, sat erect10 and nervous amid these explosive ingredients, attentive11 to Mr. Eager, repressive towards Miss Lavish, watchful12 of old Mr. Emerson, hitherto fortunately asleep, thanks to a heavy lunch and the drowsy13 atmosphere of Spring. She looked on the expedition as the work of Fate. But for it she would have avoided George Emerson successfully. In an open manner he had shown that he wished to continue their intimacy14. She had refused, not because she disliked him, but because she did not know what had happened, and suspected that he did know. And this frightened her.
For the real event--whatever it was--had taken place, not in the Loggia, but by the river. To behave wildly at the sight of death is pardonable. But to discuss it afterwards, to pass from discussion into silence, and through silence into sympathy, that is an error, not of a startled emotion, but of the whole fabric15. There was really something blameworthy (she thought) in their joint16 contemplation of the shadowy stream, in the common impulse which had turned them to the house without the passing of a look or word. This sense of wickedness had been slight at first. She had nearly joined the party to the Torre del Gallo. But each time that she avoided George it became more imperative17 that she should avoid him again. And now celestial18 irony19, working through her cousin and two clergymen, did not suffer her to leave Florence till she had made this expedition with him through the hills.
Meanwhile Mr. Eager held her in civil converse20; their little tiff21 was over.
"So, Miss Honeychurch, you are travelling? As a student of art?"
"Oh, dear me, no--oh, no!"
"Perhaps as a student of human nature," interposed Miss Lavish, "like myself?"
"Oh, no. I am here as a tourist."
"Oh, indeed," said Mr. Eager. "Are you indeed? If you will not think me rude, we residents sometimes pity you poor tourists not a little--handed about like a parcel of goods from Venice to Florence, from Florence to Rome, living herded22 together in pensions or hotels, quite unconscious of anything that is outside Baedeker, their one anxiety to get 'done' or 'through' and go on somewhere else. The result is, they mix up towns, rivers, palaces in one inextricable whirl. You know the American girl in Punch who says: 'Say, poppa, what did we see at Rome?' And the father replies: 'Why, guess Rome was the place where we saw the yaller dog.' There's travelling for you. Ha! ha! ha!"
"I quite agree," said Miss Lavish, who had several times tried to interrupt his mordant23 wit. "The narrowness and superficiality of the Anglo-Saxon tourist is nothing less than a menace."
"Quite so. Now, the English colony at Florence, Miss Honeychurch --and it is of considerable size, though, of course, not all equally--a few are here for trade, for example. But the greater part are students. Lady Helen Laverstock is at present busy over Fra Angelico. I mention her name because we are passing her villa on the left. No, you can only see it if you stand--no, do not stand; you will fall. She is very proud of that thick hedge. Inside, perfect seclusion24. One might have gone back six hundred years. Some critics believe that her garden was the scene of The Decameron, which lends it an additional interest, does it not?"
"It does indeed!" cried Miss Lavish. "Tell me, where do they place the scene of that wonderful seventh day?"
But Mr. Eager proceeded to tell Miss Honeychurch that on the right lived Mr. Someone Something, an American of the best type --so rare!--and that the Somebody Elses were farther down the hill. "Doubtless you know her monographs25 in the series of 'Mediaeval Byways'? He is working at Gemistus Pletho. Sometimes as I take tea in their beautiful grounds I hear, over the wall, the electric tram squealing26 up the new road with its loads of hot, dusty, unintelligent tourists who are going to 'do' Fiesole in an hour in order that they may say they have been there, and I think--think--I think how little they think what lies so near them."
During this speech the two figures on the box were sporting with each other disgracefully. Lucy had a spasm28 of envy. Granted that they wished to misbehave, it was pleasant for them to be able to do so. They were probably the only people enjoying the expedition. The carriage swept with agonizing29 jolts30 up through the Piazza31 of Fiesole and into the Settignano road.
"Piano! piano!" said Mr. Eager, elegantly waving his hand over his head.
"Va bene, signore, va bene, va bene," crooned the driver, and whipped his horses up again.
Now Mr. Eager and Miss Lavish began to talk against each other on the subject of Alessio Baldovinetti. Was he a cause of the Renaissance, or was he one of its manifestations32? The other carriage was left behind. As the pace increased to a gallop33 the large, slumbering34 form of Mr. Emerson was thrown against the chaplain with the regularity35 of a machine.
"Piano! piano!" said he, with a martyred look at Lucy.
An extra lurch36 made him turn angrily in his seat. Phaethon, who for some time had been endeavouring to kiss Persephone, had just succeeded.
A little scene ensued, which, as Miss Bartlett said afterwards, was most unpleasant. The horses were stopped, the lovers were ordered to disentangle themselves, the boy was to lose his pourboire, the girl was immediately to get down.
"She is my sister," said he, turning round on them with piteous eyes.
Mr. Eager took the trouble to tell him that he was a liar37.
Phaethon hung down his head, not at the matter of the accusation38, but at its manner. At this point Mr. Emerson, whom the shock of stopping had awoke, declared that the lovers must on no account be separated, and patted them on the back to signify his approval. And Miss Lavish, though unwilling39 to ally him, felt bound to support the cause of Bohemianism.
"Most certainly I would let them be," she cried. "But I dare say I shall receive scant40 support. I have always flown in the face of the conventions all my life. This is what I call an adventure."
"We must not submit," said Mr. Eager. "I knew he was trying it on. He is treating us as if we were a party of Cook's tourists."
"Surely no!" said Miss Lavish, her ardour visibly decreasing.
The other carriage had drawn41 up behind, and sensible Mr. Beebe called out that after this warning the couple would be sure to behave themselves properly.
"Leave them alone," Mr. Emerson begged the chaplain, of whom he stood in no awe42. "Do we find happiness so often that we should turn it off the box when it happens to sit there? To be driven by lovers-- A king might envy us, and if we part them it's more like sacrilege than anything I know."
Here the voice of Miss Bartlett was heard saying that a crowd had begun to collect.
Mr. Eager, who suffered from an over-fluent tongue rather than a resolute43 will, was determined44 to make himself heard. He addressed the driver again. Italian in the mouth of Italians is a deep-voiced stream, with unexpected cataracts45 and boulders46 to preserve it from monotony. In Mr. Eager's mouth it resembled nothing so much as an acid whistling fountain which played ever higher and higher, and quicker and quicker, and more and more shrilly47, till abruptly48 it was turned off with a click.
"Signorina!" said the man to Lucy, when the display had ceased. Why should he appeal to Lucy?
"Signorina!" echoed Persephone in her glorious contralto. She pointed49 at the other carriage. Why?
For a moment the two girls looked at each other. Then Persephone got down from the box.
"Victory at last!" said Mr. Eager, smiting50 his hands together as the carriages started again.
"It is not victory," said Mr. Emerson. "It is defeat. You have parted two people who were happy."
Mr. Eager shut his eyes. He was obliged to sit next to Mr. Emerson, but he would not speak to him. The old man was refreshed by sleep, and took up the matter warmly. He commanded Lucy to agree with him; he shouted for support to his son.
"We have tried to buy what cannot be bought with money. He has bargained to drive us, and he is doing it. We have no rights over his soul."
Miss Lavish frowned. It is hard when a person you have classed as typically British speaks out of his character.
He was not driving us well," she said. "He jolted51 us."
"That I deny. It was as restful as sleeping. Aha! he is jolting52 us now. Can you wonder? He would like to throw us out, and most certainly he is justified53. And if I were superstitious54 I'd be frightened of the girl, too. It doesn't do to injure young people. Have you ever heard of Lorenzo de Medici?"
"Most certainly I have. Do you refer to Lorenzo il Magnifico, or to Lorenzo, Duke of Urbino, or to Lorenzo surnamed Lorenzino on account of his diminutive56 stature57?"
"The Lord knows. Possibly he does know, for I refer to Lorenzo the poet. He wrote a line--so I heard yesterday--which runs like this: 'Don't go fighting against the Spring.'"
Mr. Eager could not resist the opportunity for erudition.
"Non fate guerra al Maggio," he murmured. "'War not with the May' would render a correct meaning."
"The point is, we have warred with it. Look." He pointed to the Val d'Arno, which was visible far below them, through the budding trees. "Fifty miles of Spring, and we've come up to admire them. Do you suppose there's any difference between Spring in nature and Spring in man? But there we go, praising the one and condemning58 the other as improper59, ashamed that the same work eternally through both."
No one encouraged him to talk. Presently Mr. Eager gave a signal for the carriages to stop and marshalled the party for their ramble60 on the hill. A hollow like a great amphitheatre, full of terraced steps and misty61 olives, now lay between them and the heights of Fiesole, and the road, still following its curve, was about to sweep on to a promontory62 which stood out in the plain. It was this promontory, uncultivated, wet, covered with bushes and occasional trees, which had caught the fancy of Alessio Baldovinetti nearly five hundred years before. He had ascended63 it, that diligent64 and rather obscure master, possibly with an eye to business, possibly for the joy of ascending65. Standing66 there, he had seen that view of the Val d'Arno and distant Florence, which he afterwards had introduced not very effectively into his work. But where exactly had he stood? That was the question which Mr. Eager hoped to solve now. And Miss Lavish, whose nature was attracted by anything problematical, had become equally enthusiastic.
But it is not easy to carry the pictures of Alessio Baldovinetti in your head, even if you have remembered to look at them before starting. And the haze67 in the valley increased the difficulty of the quest.
The party sprang about from tuft to tuft of grass, their anxiety to keep together being only equalled by their desire to go different directions. Finally they split into groups. Lucy clung to Miss Bartlett and Miss Lavish; the Emersons returned to hold laborious68 converse with the drivers; while the two clergymen, who were expected to have topics in common, were left to each other.
The two elder ladies soon threw off the mask. In the audible whisper that was now so familiar to Lucy they began to discuss, not Alessio Baldovinetti, but the drive. Miss Bartlett had asked Mr. George Emerson what his profession was, and he had answered "the railway." She was very sorry that she had asked him. She had no idea that it would be such a dreadful answer, or she would not have asked him. Mr. Beebe had turned the conversation so cleverly, and she hoped that the young man was not very much hurt at her asking him
"The railway!" gasped69 Miss Lavish. "Oh, but I shall die! Of course it was the railway!" She could not control her mirth. "He is the image of a porter--on, on the South-Eastern."
"Eleanor, be quiet," plucking at her vivacious70 companion. "Hush71! They'll hear--the Emersons--"
"I can't stop. Let me go my wicked way. A porter--"
"Eleanor!"
"I'm sure it's all right," put in Lucy. "The Emersons won't hear, and they wouldn't mind if they did."
Miss Lavish did not seem pleased at this.
"Miss Honeychurch listening!" she said rather crossly. "Pouf! Wouf! You naughty girl! Go away!"
"Oh, Lucy, you ought to be with Mr. Eager, I'm sure."
"I can't find them now, and I don't want to either."
"Mr. Eager will be offended. It is your party."
"Please, I'd rather stop here with you."
"No, I agree," said Miss Lavish. "It's like a school feast; the boys have got separated from the girls. Miss Lucy, you are to go. We wish to converse on high topics unsuited for your ear."
The girl was stubborn. As her time at Florence drew to its close she was only at ease amongst those to whom she felt indifferent. Such a one was Miss Lavish, and such for the moment was Charlotte. She wished she had not called attention to herself; they were both annoyed at her remark and seemed determined to get rid of her.
"How tired one gets," said Miss Bartlett. "Oh, I do wish Freddy and your mother could be here."
Unselfishness with Miss Bartlett had entirely72 usurped73 the functions of enthusiasm. Lucy did not look at the view either. She would not enjoy anything till she was safe at Rome.
"Then sit you down," said Miss Lavish. "Observe my foresight74."
With many a smile she produced two of those mackintosh squares that protect the frame of the tourist from damp grass or cold marble steps. She sat on one; who was to sit on the other?
"Lucy; without a moment's doubt, Lucy. The ground will do for me. Really I have not had rheumatism75 for years. If I do feel it coming on I shall stand. Imagine your mother's feelings if I let you sit in the wet in your white linen76." She sat down heavily where the ground looked particularly moist. "Here we are, all settled delightfully77. Even if my dress is thinner it will not show so much, being brown. Sit down, dear; you are too unselfish; you don't assert yourself enough." She cleared her throat. "Now don't be alarmed; this isn't a cold. It's the tiniest cough, and I have had it three days. It's nothing to do with sitting here at all."
There was only one way of treating the situation. At the end of five minutes Lucy departed in search of Mr. Beebe and Mr. Eager, vanquished78 by the mackintosh square.
She addressed herself to the drivers, who were sprawling79 in the carriages, perfuming the cushions with cigars. The miscreant80, a bony young man scorched81 black by the sun, rose to greet her with the courtesy of a host and the assurance of a relative.
"Dove?" said Lucy, after much anxious thought.
His face lit up. Of course he knew where, Not so far either. His arm swept three-fourths of the horizon. He should just think he did know where. He pressed his finger-tips to his forehead and then pushed them towards her, as if oozing82 with visible extract of knowledge.
More seemed necessary. What was the Italian for "clergyman"?
"Dove buoni uomini?" said she at last.
Good? Scarcely the adjective for those noble beings! He showed her his cigar.
"Uno--piu--piccolo," was her next remark, implying "Has the cigar been given to you by Mr. Beebe, the smaller of the two good men?"
She was correct as usual. He tied the horse to a tree, kicked it to make it stay quiet, dusted the carriage, arranged his hair, remoulded his hat, encouraged his moustache, and in rather less than a quarter of a minute was ready to conduct her. Italians are born knowing the way. It would seem that the whole earth lay before them, not as a map, but as a chess-board, whereon they continually behold83 the changing pieces as well as the squares. Any one can find places, but the finding of people is a gift from God.
He only stopped once, to pick her some great blue violets. She thanked him with real pleasure. In the company of this common man the world was beautiful and direct. For the first time she felt the influence of Spring. His arm swept the horizon gracefully27; violets, like other things, existed in great profusion84 there; would she like to see them?"
"Ma buoni uomini."
He bowed. Certainly. Good men first, violets afterwards. They proceeded briskly through the undergrowth, which became thicker and thicker. They were nearing the edge of the promontory, and the view was stealing round them, but the brown network of the bushes shattered it into countless85 pieces. He was occupied in his cigar, and in holding back the pliant86 boughs87. She was rejoicing in her escape from dullness. Not a step, not a twig88, was unimportant to her.
"What is that?"
There was a voice in the wood, in the distance behind them. The voice of Mr. Eager? He shrugged89 his shoulders. An Italian's ignorance is sometimes more remarkable90 than his knowledge. She could not make him understand that perhaps they had missed the clergymen. The view was forming at last; she could discern the river, the golden plain, other hills.
"Eccolo!" he exclaimed.
At the same moment the ground gave way, and with a cry she fell out of the wood. Light and beauty enveloped91 her. She had fallen on to a little open terrace, which was covered with violets from end to end.
"Courage!" cried her companion, now standing some six feet above. "Courage and love."
She did not answer. From her feet the ground sloped sharply into view, and violets ran down in rivulets92 and streams and cataracts, irrigating93 the hillside with blue, eddying94 round the tree stems collecting into pools in the hollows, covering the grass with spots of azure95 foam96. But never again were they in such profusion; this terrace was the well-head, the primal97 source whence beauty gushed98 out to water the earth.
Standing at its brink99, like a swimmer who prepares, was the good man. But he was not the good man that she had expected, and he was alone.
George had turned at the sound of her arrival. For a moment he contemplated100 her, as one who had fallen out of heaven. He saw radiant joy in her face, he saw the flowers beat against her dress in blue waves. The bushes above them closed. He stepped quickly forward and kissed her.
Before she could speak, almost before she could feel, a voice called, "Lucy! Lucy! Lucy!" The silence of life had been broken by Miss Bartlett who stood brown against the view.
那个难忘的一天，是法厄同（译注：法厄同，希腊神话中太阳神赫利俄斯的儿子，曾要求他父亲让他驾一天马车。作家特意为马车夫取了这一个名字。）赶车送他们去菲耶索莱的，这年轻人毫无责任感，像一团火，不顾一切地把他主人的马儿往石坡上赶。毕比先生一下子认出他来。无论是充满信仰的时代，还是怀疑一切的时代，对此人都没有影响；他正是在托斯卡纳区赶马车的法厄同。在路上他请求让普西芬尼（译注：普西芬尼，希腊神话中主神宙斯与谷物女神得墨特尔的女儿，后来成为阴曹王后。作家特意取了这个名字。）搭车，说她是他的妹妹——普西芬尼身材修长，脸色苍白，因春天来临，要回她母亲家去，当时光线太强，她还不太适应，用手遮着眼睛。伊格先生反对让她上车，说这看起来是小事，但是以后会招来许多麻烦，为人必须谨慎，免得上当受骗。可是女士们为她说情，在向她说明这是一个很大的人情后，女神放准许上车，坐在男神的旁边。
法厄同立即把左边的缰绳套在她的头上，这样就能让自己搂着她的腰赶车。她并不在乎。伊格先生背对马匹坐着，因此没有看到这一不文雅的举动，继续同露西谈天。车上另外两位座客是老艾默森先生和拉维希小姐。一件可怕的事情发生了：毕比先生没有同伊格先生商量，便把出游的人数增加了一倍。巴特利特小姐和拉维希小姐虽然整个上午都在盘算马车上如何坐法，可是到了马车来到的紧要关头，她们却慌做了一团，于是拉维希小姐与露西一起登上了第一辆马车，而巴特利特小姐却同乔治·艾默森，还有毕比先生跟在后面。
对这可怜的副牧师说来，他安排的四人出游变成了这个样子，确实是件难以忍受的事。如果他曾经考虑要在一座文艺复兴时期的别墅里举行茶会，那么现在这可是不可能的了。露西和巴特利特小姐具有一定的风度，而毕比先生虽然使人捉摸不透，却是个有才华的人士。但是一个蹩脚的女作家和一个在上帝的心目中谋杀了自己妻子的记者——他可不能把他们引进任何别墅。
露西穿了一身高雅的白色衫裙，笔挺地坐在这些极易爆炸的成分中间，心情紧张，正聚精会神地听伊格先生讲话，对拉维希小姐显得很拘谨，却留神提防着老艾默森先生——幸而到那时为止，这位先生一直在睡觉，这是因为午饭吃得太饱以及春天充满了睡意的缘故。她把这次游览看作命运的安排。要不是这次游览，她就可能成功地回避乔治‘艾默森了。他曾公开表示希望继续他们的亲密交往。她拒绝了，这并非由于她不喜欢他，而是由于不知道已发生了什么事，却怀疑他是知道的。这使她感到害怕。
因为真正已发生的事情——不管是什么——是发生在河边，而不是在凉廊。看到死亡而惊慌失措，原是可以原谅的。可是后来还要讨论，从讨论变为沉默，再由沉默变为同情，这错误就不是感情上吃惊的问题，而是整个气质的问题了。他们当时一起凝望阴暗的河水，共同的冲动使他们一路回家，没有相互看一眼，没有讲一句话，这里面（她认为）确实有可以指责的东西。起先这种干了坏事的感觉还是很轻微的。她差一点参加了那一群人一起去加卢塔。可是她每回避乔治一次，就觉得她更有必要再次回避他。而现在老天作弄人，它通过她表姐与两位牧师，要等到她与他这一次一起游山完毕，才允许她离开佛罗伦萨。
此时伊格先生一直彬彬有礼地同她叙话；他们之间的小小口角早已烟消云散了。
“霍尼彻奇小姐，原来你是在旅游，是为了研究艺术出来旅游的？”
“哦，哎呀，不是一不是！”
“也许是为了研究人性吧，”拉维希小姐插嘴道，“像我一样？”
“哦，不。我到这里来只是旅游。”
“哦，原来如此，”伊格先生说。“你真的是出来旅游吗？如果你不认为我无礼的话，我们这些常住在这里的人有时候十分可怜你们这些可怜的游客——像一包商品被人传来传去，从威尼斯传到佛罗伦萨，从佛罗伦萨传到罗马，像牲口一样挤在膳宿公寓或旅馆里-除了旅游指南上说的，此外情况一无所知，他们唯一的热切愿望足‘快点厂事’或‘快点完事’，然后到其他地方去。结果是：他们把城镇、河流、宫殿都搅和在一起，一笔糊涂账。你知道《笨拙》周刊上那位美国姑娘，她说：‘哎呀，爸爸，我们在罗马看到了些什么呀？’那做父亲的回答；‘嗯，我看罗马就是我们看到黄狗的那个地方吧。’这就是你们的所谓旅游。哈！哈！哈！”
“我很同意，”拉维希小姐说，她已数次试图打断他那尖利的俏皮话。“盎格鲁一撒克逊游客的狭隘与肤浅不折不扣地是个威胁。”
“正是这样。现在在佛罗伦萨的英国社区，霍尼彻奇小姐——有相当规模，虽然，情况当然不完全一样——譬如说，一些人在这里是为了做生意。可是大部分人是学生。海伦-拉弗斯托克夫人目前正忙于研究安哲利科。我提起她的名字是因为我们刚好经过在左边的她的别墅。不，你要站起来才能看得见——不，别站起来；你会跌倒的。她对那道浓密的树篱特别引以为豪。里面嘛，非常幽静。简直像是回到了六百年以前。一些评论家认为她家花园就是《十日谈》所提到的那个地点，这就给这幢别墅增添了几分情趣，是不是？”
“一点儿也不错！”拉维希小姐大声喊道。“告诉我。那个美妙的第七天的场景设在哪里？”
可是伊格先生却继续在对霍尼彻奇小姐说右边住的是著名人士某某先生，一个出类拔萃的美国人——难得的人才！——还有其他重要人物住在山下的远处。“毫无疑问，你一定知道他在《中世纪野史》系列丛书中所写的专题文章吧？他现在正在写《杰米斯图斯·普莱桑①（译注：①杰米斯图斯·普莱桑(1355? -1451?)，拜占庭哲学家、人文主义学者。）》一文。有时候，我在他们的美丽的庭院里喝茶，听到大墙外面，满载着游客的电车在新筑成的路面上呼啸而过，那些愚蠢的游客，又热又脏，要在一小时内‘游毕’菲耶索莱，这样他们便可以说已去过那里了，而我觉得——我觉得——我觉得他们实在太不考虑他们身边的景观了。”
说这番话时，在车夫座位上的两个身影正在打情骂俏，真不像话。露西不觉一阵嫉妒。就算他们想做出轻佻的举动来，他们能这样做也是使他们很欣慰的。很可能这次游览真正感到乐趣的只有他们。马车剧烈颠簸着，迅疾地通过菲耶索莱的广场，走上通往塞蒂涅诺的大道。
“慢一点！慢一点！”伊格先生叫道，伸手过头，文雅地挥舞着。
“没关系，先生，没关系，没关系，”车夫低声哼唱着，又挥动马鞭，驱马向前。
伊格先生与拉维希小姐这时开始就阿莱西奥·巴尔多维内蒂这个话题争执起来。他是文艺复兴的一个起因还是文艺复兴的一种表现？另外那辆马车被甩到后面去了。这辆马车不断增快速度，向前飞奔，艾默森先生熟睡中的魁梧身躯像机器一样有节奏地撞击着这位副牧师。
“慢一点！慢一点！”他喊道，眼睛望着露西，流露出殉道者的神情。
马车又意外地向前倾斜，使得他在座位上愤怒地转过身来。法厄同竭力想同普西芬尼接吻，已努力了好久，这时刚成功。
接着出现了一个小小的场面．巴特利特小姐后来说是个极不愉快的场面。马车被命令停下来，搂抱在一起的这对恋人被喝令立即分开，男的被罚去小费，女的必须立刻下车。
“她是我的妹妹，”车夫说，转身可怜巴巴地望着他们。
伊格先生不怕麻烦，对他说他在撒谎。法厄同垂下了头，他这样做并不是由于指控他的内容，而是由于指控他的态度。就在这当儿，艾默森先生被马车突然停顿而产生的震荡震醒了，宣称这对恋人绝不应该被拆开，竟拍拍他们的背表示赞赏。至于拉维希小姐，虽然不情愿同他结成同盟，但是觉得必须支持那种不受传统约束的豪放不羁的生活方式。
“我当然随他们去啰，”她大声说。“不过我敢说我不会得到多少支持。我一生中对传统习俗向来采取抵制的态度。我就是把这件事称做奇遇。”
“我们不应该屈服，”伊格先生说。“我知道他要来这一套。他把我们当作库克旅行社的一群游客了。”
“当然不屈服！”拉维希小姐说，她的热情很明显减弱了。
另外一辆马车在后面停住了，明白事理的毕比先生大声说受到了这一番警告，这对恋人的行为肯定会检点了。
“让他们去吧，”艾默森先生请求副牧师，他对副牧师是一点也不敬畏的。“难道我们遇到的快乐的事情就那么多，以致在车夫座位上偶然发生一些就非得驱除掉不可？有一对恋人替我们赶车——国王也会嫉妒我们的，再说，如果我们拆散了他们，那就是我所知道的最最地道的渎圣罪了。”
这时响起了巴特利特小姐的声音，她在说看热闹的人已经开始围拢来了。
与其说伊格先生意志坚决，还不如说他过分能言善辩，所以决心要让大家听听他的意见。他又同车夫讲起话来。意大利人讲意大利语就像深沉洪亮的流水，忽而出现瀑布，冲击巨石，使之不致单调乏味。可是到了伊格先生口中，却无非像带酸味的吱吱作响的泉水，音调愈来愈高，速度愈来愈快，声音愈来愈尖，忽然咔嗒一响，便突然停止了。
一番炫耀结束了，车夫对露西说了声“小姐”！他为什么向露西求援呢？
“小姐！”普西芬尼以动听的女低音跟着说。她用手指指另外一辆马车。这是为什么？
两位姑娘相互注视了片刻。然后普西芬尼从车夫座位上爬下来。
“终于胜利了！”伊格先生说，把双手重重地合拍了一下，这时马车再次起动了。
“这不是胜利，”艾默森先生说。“这是失败。你把沉浸在快乐中的一对拆开了。”
伊格先生闭上了眼睛。他不得不坐在艾默森先生旁边，但是不愿意同他讲话。那位老先生睡了一觉，精神特别好，对这件事显得很激动。他强制露西同意他的观点，还大声和他的儿子讲话，要他支持他。
“我们试图去买金钱买不到的东西。他通过讨价还价同意驾车送我们去，现在他正在这样做。我们没有权利管制他的心灵。”
拉维希小姐皱了皱眉。当一个你认为是典型的英国人讲出与他性格不相符的话来时，确实很使人难堪。
“他替我们驾驶马车驾驶得不好，”她说。“他使我们受尽了颠簸。”
“我否认这一点。车子平稳得像在睡觉。啊哈！他现在可让我们颠簸了。你感到奇怪吗？他想把我们都摔到车外去，而他完全有理由这样做。要是我迷信的话，我就会对这个姑娘感到害怕。伤害年轻人是不行的。你听说过洛伦佐·德·梅迪奇（译注：洛伦佐.德.梅迪奇(1469 -1492)．中世纪佛罗伦萨的统治者，也称大人物洛伦佐。曾写过相当数量相当出色的诗。）吗？”
拉维希小姐十分光火。
“我当然听说过。你指的是大人物洛伦佐，还是封为乌尔比诺公爵的洛伦佐，还是因为身材矮小所以人们把他的名字叫成洛伦齐诺的那个洛伦佐？”
“天知道。可能老天才知道，我讲的是诗人洛伦佐。他写过一句诗——我是昨天听说的——是这样的：‘不要同春天作对。”’
伊格先生舍不得放弃一个可以炫耀他的博学的机会。
“Non fate guerra al Maggio，”他喃喃地说。“确切的意思是‘不要向五月宣战’②。（译注：作者引用该诗句有一个小错误，实在意为“不要在五月中宣战”，而且那是洛伦佐的朋友、人文主义者诗人波利齐亚诺（1454-1494）所作。）”
“问题是我们已经向五月宣战了。看！”他指着阿诺河河谷，从正在抽芽的树缝中，可以看见它就在他们下面的远处。“五十英里长的春色，而我们正特地上山来欣赏。你以为大自然的春情与人的春情有什么区别吗？可我们就是这样，赞赏前者而指责后者，认为有失体统，而同样的规律对大自然与人都起着作用，永恒不变，我们却为此感到羞耻。”
没有人鼓励他讲下去。不久，伊格先生做了个手势，让马车停下，便率领这一群人在山间信步漫游。前面有块凹地，像一个圆形大剧场，有一级一级的台阶，还有为薄雾所笼罩的橄榄树，越过凹地，便是菲耶索莱的高地，而那条山路依然顺着弯曲的地势不断向前，即将一路延伸到耸立在旷野中的一座山岬上。山岬又荒凉、又潮湿，长满了灌木丛，偶尔也有一些树。将近五百年前，就是这个山岬吸引了阿莱西奥。巴尔多维内蒂。这位勤奋却名不见经传的大师登上了山岬，他这样做可能着眼于业务，也可能是为了登山的乐趣。他站在那里，看到了阿诺河河谷的景色与远处的佛罗伦萨，这些后来都进入了他的画幅，虽然并不十分出色。可是他究竟站在哪里呢？伊格先生现在希望解决的就是这个问题。而拉维希小姐的性情却是凡是疑难问题对她都有吸引力，因此变得同样起劲。
可是脑海里要装几幅阿莱西奥·巴尔多维内蒂的画并非易事，即使你没有忘记在出发前对这些画多看上几眼。而河谷里的迷雾增加了寻找的难度。那群人从一个草丛跳到另一个草丛，他们渴望大家待在一起，但同样强烈地愿望各奔东西。最后他们分成几个小组。露西追随着巴特利特小姐与拉维希小姐；艾默森父子退回去和马车夫们吃力地交谈；而那两位牧师被认为有共同语言，因而就被撇下在一起。
两位年长的女士很快就抛弃了假面具。她们开始小声交谈，但仍可听得清楚，对此露西现在已很习惯了。她们谈论的不是阿莱西奥·巴尔多维内蒂，而是一路上乘马车兜风的事。巴特利特小姐曾经动问乔治·艾默森先生从事什么职业，他的回答是“铁路”。她很后悔问他。她根本没有想到会是这样可怕的回答，早知道这样她就不问他了。当时毕比先生很巧妙地转变了话题，而她希望那个年轻人并没有感到她的问话严重地刺痛了他。
“铁路！”拉维希小姐急急喘着气说。“啊唷，我气也透不过来了！当然是铁路哕！”她忍不住笑出声来。“他活脱像是个茶房——在东南铁路线上。”
“埃莉诺，别说了，”巴特利特小姐拉了拉她那位活跃的同伴。“嘘！他们会听见的——艾默森爷儿俩——”
“我一定要说。让我刻薄地说下去吧。一个茶房一”
“埃莉诺！”
“我相信不会有什么问题，”露西插嘴说。“艾默森父子不会听见的，即使听见了也不会在乎。”
露西这么说，拉维希小姐看来并不高兴。
“原来霍尼彻奇小姐在听我们讲话！”她相当光火地说。“去！去！你这个淘气的姑娘！走开！”
“啊，露西，我确信你应该和伊格先生待在一起。”
“我现在找不到他们了，而且也不想去找。”
“伊格先生会生气的。这次游览是为你组织的嘛。”
“请不要说了，我宁愿和你们待在这里。”
“别这样，我也这样看，”拉维希小姐说。“这像是一次学校组织的节日活动；小伙子们和姑娘们被隔开。露西小姐，你一定得离开。我们希望谈谈一些不适合你听的重要的话题。”
姑娘很倔强。她在佛罗伦萨余下的时间不多了，只有当她和她不感兴趣的人在一起时，她才感到自在。拉维希小姐便是这样的一位，在这个时刻，夏绿蒂也是这样的一位。露西多么希望她没有把她们的注意力引向自己；她们俩听了她那句话都感到着恼，看来下定决心要把她赶走。
“真够累的，”巴特利特小姐说。“唉，我真希望弗雷迪和你妈妈能在这里。”
对于巴特利特小姐说来，赤诚无私已经完全取代了热情可能起的作用。露西也不在观赏景色。只有等她安全地到达罗马后她才有心思玩。
“那么坐下吧，”拉维希小姐说。“请看，我有先见之明。”
她笑容满面，拿出两块方的防水胶布，那是用来保护游客的身体不致受到草地的潮气与大理石台阶的寒气的侵袭的。她坐在一块胶布上面；还有一块谁来坐呢？
“露西坐；毫无疑问，露西坐。我坐在地上能行。真的，我好多年没发风湿病了。如果感到要发，我就站起来。要是我让你穿着白裙子，坐在湿地上，想想你妈妈会怎么想。”她笨重地在一块看起来特别潮湿的地方坐下来。“好了，大家都舒舒服服地坐好了。即使我的裙子比较薄，因为是棕色的，也看不大出来。亲爱的，坐下吧。你为自己想得太少了；你没有好好地坚持自己的权利。”她清了清嗓子。“啊，不必惊慌；这不是感冒。只是一点点咳嗽，我已经咳了三天啦。这和坐在这里没有任何关系。”
应付这种局面只有一个办法。过了五分钟，露西便离开，去找毕比先生和伊格先生，被一块方的防水胶布征服了。
她主动地和车夫们讲话，他们正伸手伸脚地躺在马车里，抽着雪茄使坐垫都带着这种香味。那个不道德的无赖，一个瘦骨嶙峋、皮肤晒得黝黑的青年男子站起来招呼她，态度谦恭有礼，好像他是主人，又十分自信，好像他是她的一位亲戚。
“在哪里？”露西经过了一番疑虑，用意大利语说。
他的脸色一亮。他当然知道在哪里。而且不太远。他挥动手臂，囊括了四分之三的地平线。他只不过认为他确实知道在哪里。他把手指尖按在前额上，然后伸向她，似乎上面显出了可以清楚地看见的情报的片断。
看来还得多问问。“牧师”这个词意大利语是什么？
她终于用意大利语说了，“那些好先生在哪里？”
好？这个形容词对那两位贵人可用不上啊！他把他正在抽的雪茄给她看。
她接着说，“一个——比较——矮的，”意思是：“这支雪茄是两位好先生中比较矮的一位毕比先生给你的，是吗？”
像往常一样，她猜对了。他把马拴在一棵树上，踢了马一脚，让它安静下来，并且掸了掸马车，理了理头发，把帽子戴戴好，得意地摸了摸他的小胡子，不到十五秒钟，便准备就绪，为她带路。意大利人生来识途。看来整个世界不是像一张地图而是像一盘棋似的展现在他们面前，他们不断地在上面看到移动着位置的棋子与留出的空格。任何人都会找地方，但是找人的本领却是上帝的恩赐。
他只停过一次，采摘了一些大朵蓝色紫罗兰给她。她怀着衷心的喜悦感谢他。和这位普通人在一起，世界是美好的，也是直接相通的。她第一次感到春天的感染力。他把一臂朝地平线姿势优美地一挥；那边，紫罗兰像其他东西一样，十分茂盛；她有兴趣观赏紫罗兰吗？
“可是好先生们，”她用意大利语说。
他鞠了一躬。当然哕。先找好先生们，然后才去看紫罗兰。他们在矮树丛中轻快地走着，这矮树丛愈来愈稠密。他们已接近山岬的边缘，美景悄悄地包围了他们，可是矮树交织成的棕色网络把风景分割成无数小块。他正忙着抽雪茄，并把柔韧的树杖扳开。她正为能从枯燥沉闷中解脱出来而高兴。每一小步，每一条嫩枝，对她说来都不是没有意义的。
“那是什么？”
他们身后远处的林子里有说话的声音。是伊格先生的？他耸耸肩。有时候意大利人暴露的无知比他具备的丰富知识更加突出。她无法使他明白他们也许跟那两位牧师错过了。美景终于出现了；她可以清楚地看出河水、金色的原野、其他山峦。
“他就在那儿！”他叫起来。
就在这时，她脚下的地面塌下去，她不由叫了一声，从林子里摔出来。她给笼罩在阳光与美景之中。她掉在一片没有遮拦的小台地上，整片台地从这一头到那一头都铺满了紫罗兰。
“勇敢一些！”她的同伴这时正站在她上面六英尺左右的地方，大声对她说。“勇气加上爱情。”
她没有回答。可以看到她脚下的斜坡十分陡峭，大片紫罗兰像小河、小溪与瀑布般往下冲，用一片蓝色浇灌着山坡，在一棵棵树的树干四周打旋涡，在洼地里聚积成一个个小潭，用点点的蓝色泡沫铺满草地。然而再也不可能有这么茂盛的紫罗兰了；这片台地是泉源，美就是从这个主要源头涌出来灌溉大地的。
那位好先生正站在台地的边缘，像是个准备即将下水游泳的人。不过他不是露西所期待的那位好先生，而且他是独自一个人。
乔治听见她到来便转过身来，他一时打量着她，好像她是突然从天上掉下来似的。他看出她容光焕发，花朵像一阵阵蓝色的波浪冲击着她的衣裙。他们头顶上的树丛闭合着。他快步走向前去吻了她。
她还来不及开口，几乎还来不及感觉到这一吻，就响起一个声音，“露西！露西！露西！”巴特利特小姐打破了林间万物的寂静，她的棕色身影站立在景色的前边。
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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interceded
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| v.斡旋，调解( intercede的过去式和过去分词 )；说情 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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renaissance
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| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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14
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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18
celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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21
tiff
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| n.小争吵，生气 | |
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22
herded
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| 群集，纠结( herd的过去式和过去分词 )； 放牧； （使）向…移动 | |
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23
mordant
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| adj.讽刺的；尖酸的 | |
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24
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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monographs
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| n.专著，专论( monograph的名词复数 ) | |
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squealing
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的现在分词 ) | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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jolts
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的名词复数 ) | |
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piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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36
lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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37
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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38
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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39
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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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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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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45
cataracts
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| n.大瀑布( cataract的名词复数 )；白内障 | |
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boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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47
shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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48
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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49
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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50
smiting
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的现在分词 ) | |
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51
jolted
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
jolting
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| adj.令人震惊的 | |
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53
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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54
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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55
bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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57
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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58
condemning
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| v.（通常因道义上的原因而）谴责( condemn的现在分词 )；宣判；宣布…不能使用；迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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59
improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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60
ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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61
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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62
promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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63
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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65
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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66
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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67
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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68
laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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69
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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70
vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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71
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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72
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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73
usurped
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| 篡夺，霸占( usurp的过去式和过去分词 )； 盗用； 篡夺，篡权 | |
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74
foresight
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| n.先见之明，深谋远虑 | |
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75
rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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76
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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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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78
vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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79
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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80
miscreant
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| n.恶棍 | |
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81
scorched
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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82
oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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83
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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84
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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85
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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86
pliant
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| adj.顺从的；可弯曲的 | |
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87
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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88
twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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89
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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90
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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91
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
rivulets
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| n.小河，小溪( rivulet的名词复数 ) | |
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93
irrigating
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| 灌溉( irrigate的现在分词 )； 冲洗（伤口） | |
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94
eddying
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| 涡流，涡流的形成 | |
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95
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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96
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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97
primal
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| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
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98
gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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99
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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100
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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