A Voyage Of Consolation by Sara Jeannette Duncan (librera reader .txt) 📖

The Leading Features,  And I Remember Distinctly,  In

Consequence,  That The Temple Of Castor Had Three Columns Standing And

The Temple Of Saturn Had Eight,  While Of The Basilica Julia There Was

Nothing At All But The Places Where They Used To Be. Mrs. Malt Said It

Made Her Feel Quite Idolatrous To Look At Them,  And For Her Part She

Couldn'T Be Sorry They Had Fallen So Much Into Decay--It Was Only Right

And Proper. This Launched Mr. And Mrs. Malt And My Parents Upon A

Discussion Which Threatened To Become Unwisely Polemic If Emmeline Had

Not Briefly Decided It In Favour Of Christianity.

 

Momma And Mrs. Malt Expressed A Desire Above All Things To See The

Temple And Apartments Of The Vestal Virgins,  Which Miss Callis With Some

Surprise Begged Them On No Account To Mention In The Presence Of The

Gentlemen.

 

"There Are Some Things," Remarked Miss Callis Austerely,  "From Which No

Respectable Married Lady Would Wish To Lift The Veil Of The Classics."

 

Momma Was Inclined To Argue The Point,  But Miss Callis Looked So

Shocked That She Desisted.

 

"Perhaps,  Mrs. Wick," She Said Sarcastically,  "You Intend To Go To See

The Baths Of Caracallus!"

 

To Which Momma Replied Certainly _Not_,  That Was A Very Different Thing.

And If I Am Unable To Describe The Baths Of Caracallus In This History,

It Is On Account Of Miss Callis'S Personal Influence And The Remarkable

Development Of Her Sense Of Propriety.

 

At Momma'S Suggestion We Walked Slowly All Round The Via Sacra,  Looking

Steadily Down At Its Little Triangular Original Paving-Stones,  And Tried

To Imagine Ourselves The Shackled Captives Of Scipio. If The Party Had

Not Consisted So Largely Of Emmeline The Effort Might Have Been

Successful. Fragments Of Exhumed Statuary,  Discoloured And Featureless,

Stood Tipped In Rows Along The Shorn Foundations And Inspired In Mr.

Malt A Serious Curiosity.

 

"The Ancients," Said Mr. Malt With Conviction,  "Were Every Bit As Smart

As The Moderns,  Meaning Born Intelligence. Look At That Ear--That Ear

Took Talent. There Isn'T A Terra-Cotta Factory In The United States That

Could Turn Out A Better Ear To-Day. But They Hadn'T What We Call

Gumption,  They Put All Their Capital Into One Line Of Business,  And You

May Be Sure They Swamped The Market. If They'D Just Done A Little

Inventing Now,  Instead--Worried Out The Idea Of Steam,  Or Gas,  Or

Electricity--Why Rome Might Never Have Fallen To This Day." And No One

Interfered With Mr. Malt'S Idea That The Fall Of Rome Was A Purely

Commercial Disaster. Doubtless It Was Out Of Regard For His Feelings,

But He Was Exactly The Sort Of Man To Compel You To Prove Your

Assertion.

 

We Found The Boundaries Of The First Forum Of The Republic,  And Poppa,

Pacing It In a Soft Felt Hat And A Silk Duster,  Offered A Senatorial

Contrast To History. He Looked Round Him With Dignity And Made The

Gesture Which Goes With His Most Sustained Oratorical Flights. "I

Wouldn'T Have Backed Up Cato In everything," He Said Thoughtfully. "No.

There Were Occasions On Which I Should Have Voted Against The Old Man,

And The Little American School-Boys Of To-Day Would Have Had To Decline

'Mugwumpus' In consequence." And At The Thought Of Cannæ And Trasimene

The Nineteenth Century Senator From Illinois Fiercely Pulled His Beard.

 

We Turned Our Pilgrim Feet To Where The Colosseum Wheels Against The Sky

And Gives Up The World'S Eternal Supreme Note Of Splendour And Of

Cruelty; And Along The Solitary Dusty Appian Way,  As If It Were A

Country Lane Of The Time We Know,  Came A Ragged Roman Urchin With A

Basket. Under The Triumphal Arch Of Titus,  Where His Forefathers Jeered

At The Jews In Manacled Procession,  We Bargained With Him For His Purple

Plums. He Had The Eyes And The Smile Of Immemorial Italy For His Own,

And The Bones Of Imperial Rome In equal Inheritance,  Which He Also

Wished To Sell,  By The Way,  In Jagged Fragments From His Trouser

Pockets. And It Linked Up Those Early Days With That Particular

Afternoon In a Curiously Simple Way To Think That From The CæSars To

King Humbert There Has Never Been A Year Without Just Such

Brown-Cheeked,  Dark-Eyed,  Imperfectly Washed Little Roman Boys Upon The

Appian Way.

Chapter 12

We Were Too Late For The Hotel _DéJeuner_,  And Had To Order It,  I

Remember,  _à La Carte_. That Was Why The Count Was Kept Waiting. We Were

Kept Waiting,  Too,  Which Seemed At The Moment Of More Importance,  Since

The Atmosphere Of The Classics Had Given Us Excellent Appetites.

Emmeline Decided Upon Ices And _Petits Fours_ In The Corso For Her

Party,  After Which They Were Going To Let Nothing Interfere With Their

Inspection Of The Prison Of St. Paul; But We Came Back And Ordered A

Haricot. In The Cavernous Recesses Beyond The Door Which Opened

Kitchen-Ward,  Commands Resounded,  And A Quarter Of An Hour Later A Boy

Walked Casually Through The Dining-Room Bearing Beans In a Basket. Time

Went On,  And The Senator Was Compelled To Send Word That He Had Not

Ordered The Repast For The Following Day. The Small Waiter Then Made A

Pretence Of Activity,  And Brought Vinegar And Salt,  And Rolls And Water.

"The Peutates Is Notta-Cooks," Said He In deprecation,  And We Were

Distressed To Postpone The Count For Those Peutates. But What Else Was

Possible?

 

The Dismaying Part Was That After Luncheon Had Enabled Us To Regard A

Little Thing Like That With Equanimity,  My Parents Abandoned It To Me.

Momma Said She Knew She Was Missing A Great Deal,  But She Really Didn'T

Feel Equal To Entertaining The Count; Her Back Had Given Out Completely.

The Senator Wished To Attend To His Mail. With The Assistance Of His

Letters And Telegrams He Was Beginning To Bear Up Wonderfully,  And,  As

It Was Just In,  I Hadn'T The Heart To Interfere. "You Can Apologise For

Us,  Daughter," Said Poppa,  "And Say Something Polite About Our Seeing

Him Later. Don'T Let Him Suppose We'Ve Gone Back On Him In any Way. It'S

A Thing No Young Fellow In america Would Think Of,  But With These

Foreigners You Never Can Tell."

 

I Saw At Once That The Count Was Annoyed. He Was Standing In The Middle

Of The Salon,  Fingering His Sword-Hilt In a Manner Which Expressed The

Most Absurd Irritation. So I Said Immediately That I Was Awfully Sorry,

But It Seemed So Difficult To Get Anything To Eat In Rome At That Time

Of Year,  That The Head-Waiter Was Really Responsible,  And Wouldn'T He

Sit Down?

 

"I Don'T Know What You Will Think Of Us," I Went On As We Shook Hands.

"How Long Have You Been Kind Enough To Wait,  Anyway?"

 

"Since A Quarter Of An Hour--Only," Replied The Count,  With A Difficult

Smile,  "But Now That I See You It Is Forgotten All."

 

"That'S Very Nice Of You," I Said. "I Assure You Momma Was Quite Worked

Up About Keeping You Waiting. It'S Rather Trying To The American

Temperament To Be Obliged To Order A Hurried Luncheon From The

Market-Gardener."

 

"So! In america You Have Him Not--The Market Garden? You Are Each His

Own Vegetable. Yes? Ah,  How Much Better Than The Poor Italian! But

Mistra And Madame Wick,  They Have Not,  I Hope,  The Indisposition?"

 

"Well,  I'M Afraid They Have,  Count--Something Like That. They Said I Was

To Ask You To Excuse Them. You See They'Ve Been Sight-Seeing The Whole

Morning,  And That'S Something That Can'T Be Done By Halves In Your City.

The Stranger Has To Put His Whole Soul Into It,  Hasn'T He?"

 

"Ah,  The Whole Soul! It Is Too Fatiguing," Count Filgiatti Assented. He

Glanced At Me Uncertainly,  And Rose. "Kindly May I Ask That You Give My

Deepest Afflictions To Mistra And Madame Wick For Their Health?"

 

"Oh," I Said,  "If You _Must_! But I'M Here,  You Know." I Put No Hauteur

Into My Tone,  Because I Saw That It Was A Misunderstanding.

 

He Still Hesitated And I Remembered That The Filgiatti Intelligence

Probably Dated From The Middle Ages,  And Had Undergone Very Little

Alteration Since. "You Have Made Such A Short Visit," I Said. "I Must Be

A Very Bad Substitute For Momma And Poppa."

 

A Flash Of Comprehension Illuminated My Visitor'S Countenance. "I Pray

That You Do Not Think Such A Wrong Thing," He Said Impulsively. "If It

Is Permitted,  I Again Sit Down."

 

"Do," Said I,  And He Did. Anything Else Would Have Seemed Perfectly

Unreasonable,  And Yet For The Moment He Twisted His Moustache,

Apparently In The Most Foolish Embarrassment. To Put Him At His Ease,  I

Told Him How Lovely I Thought The Fountains. "That'S One Of Your Most

Ideal Connections With Ancient History,  Don'T You Think?" I Said. "The

Fact That Those Old Aqueducts Of Yours Have Been Bringing Down The Water

To Sparkle And Ripple In Roman Streets Ever Since."

 

"Idealissimo! And The Trevi Of Bernini--I Hope You Threw The Soldi,  So

That You Must Come Back To Rome!"

 

"We Weren'T Quite Sure Which It Was," I Responded,  "So Poppa Threw Soldi

Into All Of Them,  To Make Certain. Sometimes He Had To Make Two Or Three

Shots," And I Could Not Help Smiling At The Recollection.

 

"Ah,  The Profusion!"

 

"I Don'T Suppose They Came To A Quarter Of A Dollar,  Count. It Is The

Cheapest Of Your Amusements."

 

The Count Reflected For A Moment.

 

"Then You Wish To Return To Rome," He Said Softly; "You Take Interest

Here?"

 

"Why Yes," I Said,  "I'M Not A Barbarian. I'M From Illinois."

 

"Then Why Do You Go Away?"

 

"Our Time Is So Limited."

 

"Ah,  Mees Wick,  You Have All Of Your Life." The Italians Certainly Have

Exquisite Voices.

 

"That Is True," I Said Thoughtfully.

 

"Many Young American Ladies Now Live Always In Italy," Pursued Count

Filgiatti.

 

"Is That So?" I Replied Pleasantly. "They Are Domiciled Here With Their

Parents?"

 

"Y--Yes. Sometimes It Is Like That. And Sometimes----"

 

"Sometimes They Are Working In The Studios. I Know. A Delightful Life It

Must Be."

 

The Count Looked At The Carpet. "Ah,  Signorina,  You Misunderstand My

Poor English," He Said; "She Means Quite Different."

 

It Was Not Coquetry Which Induced Me To Cast Down My Eyes.

 

"The American Young Lady Will Sometimes Contract Alliance."

 

"Oh!" I Exclaimed.

 

"Yes. And If It Is A Good Arrangimento It Is Always Quite _Quite_

Happy."

 

"We Are Said," I Observed Thoughtfully,  "To Be Able,  As A People,  To

Accommodate Ourselves To Circumstances."

 

"You Approve This Idea! Signorina,  You Are So Amiable,  It Is Heavenly."

 

"I See No Objection To It," I Said. "It Is Entirely A Matter Of Taste."

 

"And The American Ladies Have Much Taste," Observed Count Filgiatti

Blandly.

 

"I'M Afraid It Isn'T Infallible," I Said,  "But It Is Charming To Hear It

Approved."

 

"The American Lady Comes In Italy. She Is Young,  Beautiful,  With A

Grace--Ah! And Perhaps There Is A Little Income--A Few Dollar--But We Do

Not Speak Of That--It Is A Trifle,  Only To Make Possible The

Arrangimento."

 

"I See," I Said.

 

"The American Lady Is So Perceiving--It Is Also A Charm. The Italian

Gentleman Has A Dignity Of His. He Is Perhaps From A Family A Little

Old. It Is Nothing--The Matter Is Of The Heart--But It Makes Possible

The Arrangimento."

 

"I Have Read Of Such Things Before," I Said,  "In The Newspapers. It Is

Most Amusing To Hear Them Corroborated On The Spot. But That Is One Of

The Charms Of Travel,  Count Filgiatti."

 

The Count Hesitated And A Shade Of Indecision Crossed His Swarthy Little

Features. Then He Added Simply,  "For Me She Has Always Been A Vision,

That American Lady. It Is For This That I Study The English. I Have

Thought,  'When I Meet One Of Those So Charming Americans,  I Will Do My

Possible.'"

 

I Could Not Help Thinking Of That Family Of Eleven And The Father With

The Saints. It Was Pathetic To Feel One'S Self A Realised Vision Without

Any Capacity For Beneficence--Worse In Some Respects Than Being Obliged

To Be Unkind To Hopes With No Financial Basis. It Made One Feel Somehow

So Mercenary. But Before I Could Think Of Anything To Say--It Was Such A

Difficult Juncture--The Count Went On.

 

"But In The Italian Idea It Is Better First One Thing To Know--The

Agreement Of The American Signorina. If She Will Not,  The Italian

Nobleman Is Too Much