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

Disgrace. It Is Not Good To Offer The Name And The

Title If The Lady Say No,  I Do Not Want--Take That Poor Thing Away."

 

How Artless It Was! Yet My Sympathy Ebbed Immediately. Not My Curiosity,

However. Perhaps At This Or An Earlier Point I Should Have Gone Blushing

Away And Forever Pondered In Secret The Problem Of Count Filgiatti'S

Intentions. I Confess That It Didn'T Even Occur To Me--It Was Such A

Little Count And So Far Beyond The Range Of My Emotions. Instead,  I

Smiled In a Non-Committal Way And Said That Count Filgiatti'S Prudence

Was Most Unique.

 

"With A Friend To Previously Discover Then It Is Easy. But Perhaps The

Lady Will Have No Friends In Italy."

 

"You Would Have To Be Prepared For That," I Said. "Certainly."

 

"Also She Perhaps Quickly Go Away. The Americans Are So Instantaneous.

Maybe My Vision Fade Like--Like Anything."

 

"In A Perspective Of Tourists' Coupons," I Suggested.

 

For A Moment There Was Silence,  Through Which We Could Hear The

Scrubbing-Brush Of The Chambermaid On The Marble Hall Of The First

Floor. It Seemed A Final Note Of Desolation.

 

"If I Must Speak Of Myself Believe Me It Is Not A Nobody The Count

Filgiatti," He Went On At Last. "Two Cardinals I Have Had In My Family

And One Is Second Cousin To The Pope."

 

"Fancy The Pope'S Having Relations!" I Said,  "But I Suppose There Is

Nothing To Prevent It."

 

"Nothing At All. In My Family I Have Had Many Ambassadors,  But That Was

A Little Formerly. Once A Filgiatti Married With A Medici--But These

Things Are Better For Mistra And Madame Wick To Inquire."

 

"Poppa Is Very Much Interested In antiquities,  But I'M Afraid There Will

Hardly Be Time,  Count Filgiatti."

 

"Listen,  I Will Say All! Always They Have Been Much Too Large,  The

Families Filgiatti. So Now Perhaps We Are A Little _Re_Duce. But There

Is Still Somethings-Ah--Signorina,  Can You Pardon That I Speak These

Things,  But The Time Is So Small--There Is Fifteen Hundred Lire Yearly

Revenue To My Pocket."

 

"About Three Hundred Dollars," I Observed Sympathetically. Count

Filgiatti Nodded With The Smile Of A Conscious Capitalist. "Then Of

Course," I Said,  "You Won'T Marry For Money." I'M Afraid This Was A

Little Unkind,  But I Was Quite Sure The Count Would Perceive No Irony,

And Said It For My Own Amusement.

 

"_Jamais!_ In Italy You Will Find That Never! The Italian Gives Always

The Heart Before--Before----"

 

"The Arrangimento," I Suggested Softly.

 

"Indeed,  Yes. There Is Also The Seat Of The Family."

 

"The Seat Of The Family," I Repeated. "Oh--The Family Seat. Of Course,

Being A Count,  You Have A Castle. They Always Go Together. I Had

Forgotten."

 

"A Castle I Cannot Say,  But For The Country It Is Very Well. It Is Not

Amusing There,  In Tuscany. It Is A Little Out Of Repairs. Twice A Year I

Go To See My Mother And All Those Brothers And Sisters--It Is Enough!

And The Countess,  My Mother,  Has Said To Me Two Hundred Times,  'Marry

With An Americaine,  Nicco--It Is My Command.' 'Nicco,' She Calls Me--It

Is What You Call Jack-Name."

 

The Count Smiled Deprecatingly,  And Looked At Me With A Great Deal Of

Sentiment,  Twisting His Moustache. Another Pause Ensued. It'S All Very

Well To Say I Should Have Dismissed Him Long Before This,  But I Should

Like To Know On What Grounds?

 

"I Wish Very Much To Write My Mother That I Have Found The American Lady

For A New Countess Filgiatti," He Said At Last With Emotion.

 

"Well," I Said Awkwardly,  "I Hope You Will Find Her."

 

"Ah,  Mees Wick," Exclaimed The Count Recklessly,  "You Are That American

Lady. When I Saw You In The Railway I Said,  'It Is My Vision!' At Once I

Desired To Embrace The Papa. And He Was Not Cold With Me--He Told Me Of

The Soda. I Had Courage,  I Had Hope. At First When I See You To-Day I

Am A Little Derange. In The Italian Way I Speak First With The Papa.

Then Came A Little Thought In My Heart--No,  It Is Propitious! In america

The Daughter Maka Always Her Own Arrangimento. So I Am Spoken."

 

At This I Rose Immediately. I Would Not Have It On My Conscience That I

Toyed With The Matrimonial Proposition Of Even An Italian Count.

 

"I Think I Understand You,  Count Filgiatti," I Said--There Is Something

About The Most Insignificant Proposal That Makes One Blush In a

Perfectly Absurd Way. I Have Never Been Able To Get Over It--"And I Fear

I Must Bring This Interview To A Close. I----"

 

"Ah,  It Is Too Embarrassing For You! It Is Experience Very New,  Very

Strange."

 

"No," I Said,  Regaining My Composure,  "Not At All. But The Fact Is,

Count Filgiatti,  The Transaction You Propose Doesn'T Appeal To Me. It Is

Too Business-Like To Be Sentimental,  And Too Sentimental To Be

Business-Like. I'M Sorry To Seem Disobliging,  But I Really Couldn'T Make

Up My Mind To Marry A Gentleman For His Ancestors Who Are Dead,  Even If

He Was Willing To Marry Me For My Income Which May Disappear. Poppa Is

Very Speculative. But I Know There'S A Certain Percentage Of Americans

Who Think A Count With A Family Seat Is About The Only Thing Worth

Bringing Away From Europe,  Now That We Manufacture So Much For

Ourselves,  And If I Meet Any Of Them I'Ll Bear You In Mind."

 

"_Upon My Word!_"

 

It Was Mrs. Portheris,  In The Doorway Behind Us,  Just Arrived From

Siena.

 

     

 

I Mentioned The Matter To My Parents,  Thinking It Might Amuse Them,  And

It Did. From A Business Point Of View,  However,  Poppa Could Not Help

Feeling A Certain Amount Of Sympathy For The Count. "I Hope,  Daughter,"

He Said,  "You Didn'T Give Him The Ha-Ha To His Face."

 

Chapter 13

There Is The Very Tenderness Of Desolation Upon The Appian Way. To Me It

Suggested Nothing Of The Splendour Of Roman Villas And The Tragedy Of

Flying Emperors. It Spoke Only Of Itself,  Lying Over The Wide Silence Of

The Noon-Day Fields,  Historic Doubtless,  But Noon-Day Certainly.

Something Lives Upon The Warm Stretches Of The Appian Way,  Something

That Talks Of The Eternal And Unchangeable,  And Yet Has The Pathos Of

The Fragmentary And The Lost. Perhaps It Is The Ghost Of A Genius That

Has Failed Of Reincarnation,  And Inspires The Weeds And The Leaf-Shadows

Instead. Thinking Of It,  One Remembers Only An Almond Tree In Flower,

That Grew Beside A Ruined Arch By The Wayside--Both Quite Alone In The

Sunlight--And Perhaps Of A Meek,  Young,  Marble Cecilia,  Unquestioningly

Prostrate,  Submissive To The Axe.

 

We Were On Our Way To The Catacombs,  Momma,  The Senator,  And Mrs.

Portheris In One Carriage,  R. Dod,  Mr. Mafferton,  Isabel,  And I In The

Other. I Approved Of The Arrangement,  Because The Mutually Distant

Understanding That Existed Between Mr. Mafferton And Me Had Already Been

The Subject Of Remark By My Parents. ("For Old London Acquaintances You

And Mr. Mafferton Seem To Have Very Little To Say To Each Other," Momma

Had Observed That Very Morning.) It Was Borne In Upon Me That This Was

Absurd. People Have No Business To Be Estranged For Life Because One Of

Them Has Happened To Propose To The Other,  Unless,  Of Course,  He Has

Been Accepted And Afterwards Divorced,  Which Is Quite A Different Thing.

Besides,  There Was Dicky To Think Of. I Decided That There Was A Medium

In All Things,  And To Help Me To Find It I Wore A Blouse From Madame

Valerie In The Rue De L'Opera,  Which Cost Seven Times Its Value,  And Was

Naturally Becoming. Perhaps This Was Going To Extreme Measures; But He

Was A Recalcitrant Englishman,  And For Dicky'S Sake One Had To Think Of

Everything.

 

Englishmen Have A Genius For Looking Uncomfortable. Their Feelings Are

Terribly Mixed Up With Their Personal Appearance. It Was Some Time

Before Mr. Mafferton Would Consent To Be Even Tolerably At His Ease,

Though I Made A Distinct Effort To Show That I Bore No Malice. It Must

Have Been The Mere Memory Of The Past That Embarrassed Him,  For The

Other Two Were As Completely Unaware Of His Existence As They Well Could

Be In The Same Carriage. For A Time,  As I Talked In commonplaces,  Mr.

Mafferton In Monosyllables,  And Mr. Dod And Miss Portheris In Regards,

The Most Sordid Realist Would Have Hesitated To Chronicle Our

Conversation.

 

"When," I Inquired Casually,  "Are You Thinking Of Going Back,  Mr.

Mafferton?"

 

"To Town? Not Before October,  I Fancy!"

 

"Even In Rome," I Observed,  "London Is 'Town' To You,  Isn'T It? What A

Curious Thing Insular Tradition Is!"

 

"I Suppose Rome Was Invented First," He Replied Haughtily.

 

"Why Yes," I Said; "While The Ancestors Of Eaton-Square Were Running

About In blue Paint And Bear-Skins,  And Albert Gate,  In The Directory,

Was A Mere Cave. What Do You Suppose," I Went On,  Following Up This Line

Of Thought,  "When You Were Untutored Savages,  Was Your Substitute For

The Red Book?"

 

"Really," Said This Englishman,  "I Haven'T An Idea. Perhaps As You Have

Suggested They Had No Ad_Dresses_."

 

For A Moment I Felt Quite Depressed. "Did You Think It Was A Conundrum?"

I Asked. "You So Often Remind Me Of _Punch_,  Mr. Mafferton."

 

I Shouldn'T Have Liked Anyone To Say That To Me,  But It Seemed To Have

Quite A Mollifying Effect Upon Mr. Mafferton. He Smiled And Pulled His

Moustache In The Way Englishmen Always Do,  When Endeavouring To Absorb A

Compliment.

 

"Dear Old London," I Went On Reminiscently,  "What A Funny Experience It

Was!"

 

"To The Transatlantic Mind," Responded Mr. Mafferton Stiffly,  "One Can

Imagine It Instructive."

 

"It Was A Revelation To Mine," I Said Earnestly--"A Revelation." Then,

Remembering Mr. Mafferton'S Somewhat Painful Connection With The

Revelation,  I Added Carefully,  "From A Historic Point Of View. The

Tower,  You Know,  And All That."

 

"Ah!" Said Mr. Mafferton,  With A Distant Eye Upon The Campagna.

 

It Was Really Very Difficult.

 

"Do You Remember The Day We Went To Madame Tussaud'S?" I Asked. Perhaps

My Intonation Was A Little Dreamy. "I Shall _Never_ Forget William The

Conqueror--Never."

 

"Yes--Yes,  I Think I Do." It Was Clearly An Effort Of Memory.

 

"And Now," I Said Regretfully,  "It Can Never Be The Same Again."

 

"Certainly Not." He Used Quite Unnecessary Emphasis.

 

"William And The Others Having Been Since Destroyed By Fire," I

Continued. Mr. Mafferton Looked Foolish. "What A Terrible Scene That

Must Have Been! Didn'T You Feel When All That Royal Wax Melted As If The

Dynasties Of England Had Been Wrecked Over Again! What Effect Did It

Have On Dear Old Victoria?"

 

"One Question At A Time," Said Mr. Mafferton,  And I Think He Smiled.

 

"Now You Remind Me Of Sandford And Merton," I Said,  "And A Place For

Everything And Everything In Its Place. And Punctuality Is The Thief Of

Time. And Many Others."

 

"You Haven'T Got It _Quite_ Right," Said Mr. Mafferton With Incipient

Animation. "May I Correct You? 'Procrastination,' Not 'Punctuality.'"

 

"Thanks," I Said. I Could Not Help Observing That For Quite Five Minutes

Mr. Mafferton Had Made No Effort To Overhear The Conversation Between

Mr. Dod And Miss Portheris. It Was A Trifle,  But Life Is Made Up Of

Little Things.

 

"I Don'T Believe We Adorn Our Conversation With Proverbs In america As

Much As We Did," I Continued. "I Guess It Takes Too Long. If You Make

Use Of A Proverb You See,  You'Ve Got To Allow For Reflection First,  And

Reflection Afterwards,  And A Sigh,  And Very Few Of Us Have Time For

That. It Is One Of Our Disadvantages."

 

Mr. Mafferton Heard Me With Attention.

 

"Really!" He Said In Quite His Old Manner When We Used To Discuss

Presidential Elections And Peanuts And Other Features Of Life In My

Republic. "That Is A Fact Of Some Interest--But I See You Cling To One

Little Americanism,  Miss Wick. Do You Remember"--He Actually Looked

Arch--"Once Assuring Me That You Intended To Abandon The Verb To

'Guess'?"

 

"I Don'T Know Why We Should Leave All The Good Words To Shakespeare," I

Said,  "But I Was Under A Great Many Hallucinations About The American

Language In england,  And I Daresay I Did."

 

If I Responded Coldly,  It Was At The Thought Of My Last Interview With

Poor Dear Arthur,  And His Misprised Larynx. But