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diff --git a/old/7839-h.htm.2021-01-26 b/old/7839-h.htm.2021-01-26 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2d566c7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/7839-h.htm.2021-01-26 @@ -0,0 +1,8508 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + A Foregone Conclusion, by William Dean Howells + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Foregone Conclusion, by William Dean Howells + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Foregone Conclusion + +Author: William Dean Howells + + +Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7839] +This file was first posted on May 21, 2003 +Last updated: August 22, 2016] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A FOREGONE CONCLUSION *** + + + + +Produced by Eric Eldred, Joshua Hutchinson, David Widger, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + A FOREGONE CONCLUSION + </h1> + <h3> + <b> By William Dean Howells </b> + </h3> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h4> + <i>Fifteenth Edition.</i> + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> A FOREGONE CONCLUSION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XVIII. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A FOREGONE CONCLUSION + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. + </h2> + <p> + As Don Ippolito passed down the long narrow <i>calle</i> or footway + leading from the Campo San Stefano to the Grand Canal in Venice, he peered + anxiously about him: now turning for a backward look up the calle, where + there was no living thing in sight but a cat on a garden gate; now running + a quick eye along the palace walls that rose vast on either hand and + notched the slender strip of blue sky visible overhead with the lines of + their jutting balconies, chimneys, and cornices; and now glancing toward + the canal, where he could see the noiseless black boats meeting and + passing. There was no sound in the calle save his own footfalls and the + harsh scream of a parrot that hung in the sunshine in one of the loftiest + windows; but the note of a peasant crying pots of pinks and roses in the + campo came softened to Don Ippolito’s sense, and he heard the gondoliers + as they hoarsely jested together and gossiped, with the canal between + them, at the next gondola station. + </p> + <p> + The first tenderness of spring was in the air though down in that calle + there was yet enough of the wintry rawness to chill the tip of Don + Ippolito’s sensitive nose, which he rubbed for comfort with a handkerchief + of dark blue calico, and polished for ornament with a handkerchief of + white linen. He restored each to a different pocket in the sides of the + ecclesiastical <i>talare</i>, or gown, reaching almost to his ankles, and + then clutched the pocket in which he had replaced the linen handkerchief, + as if to make sure that something he prized was safe within. He paused + abruptly, and, looking at the doors he had passed, went back a few paces + and stood before one over which hung, slightly tilted forward, an oval + sign painted with the effigy of an eagle, a bundle of arrows, and certain + thunderbolts, and bearing the legend, CONSULATE OF THE UNITED STATES, in + neat characters. Don Ippolito gave a quick sigh, hesitated a moment, and + then seized the bell-pull and jerked it so sharply that it seemed to + thrust out, like a part of the mechanism, the head of an old serving-woman + at the window above him. + </p> + <p> + “Who is there?” demanded this head. + </p> + <p> + “Friends,” answered Don Ippolito in a rich, sad voice. + </p> + <p> + “And what do you command?” further asked the old woman. + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito paused, apparently searching for his voice, before he + inquired, “Is it here that the Consul of America lives?” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he perhaps at home?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. I will go ask him.” + </p> + <p> + “Do me that pleasure, dear,” said Don Ippolito, and remained knotting his + fingers before the closed door. Presently the old woman returned, and + looking out long enough to say, “The consul is at home,” drew some inner + bolt by a wire running to the lock, that let the door start open; then, + waiting to hear Don Ippolito close it again, she called out from her + height, “Favor me above.” He climbed the dim stairway to the point where + she stood, and followed her to a door, which she flung open into an + apartment so brightly lit by a window looking on the sunny canal, that he + blinked as he entered. “Signor Console,” said the old woman, “behold the + gentleman who desired to see you;” and at the same time Don Ippolito, + having removed his broad, stiff, three-cornered hat, came forward and made + a beautiful bow. He had lost for the moment the trepidation which had + marked his approach to the consulate, and bore himself with graceful + dignity. + </p> + <p> + It was in the first year of the war, and from a motive of patriotism + common at that time, Mr. Ferris (one of my many predecessors in office at + Venice) had just been crossing his two silken gondola flags above the + consular bookcase, where with their gilt lance-headed staves, and their + vivid stars and stripes, they made a very pretty effect. He filliped a + little dust from his coat, and begged Don Ippolito to be seated, with the + air of putting even a Venetian priest on a footing of equality with other + men under the folds of the national banner. Mr. Ferris had the prejudice + of all Italian sympathizers against the priests; but for this he could + hardly have found anything in Don Ippolito to alarm dislike. His face was + a little thin, and the chin was delicate; the nose had a fine, Dantesque + curve, but its final droop gave a melancholy cast to a countenance + expressive of a gentle and kindly spirit; the eyes were large and dark and + full of a dreamy warmth. Don Ippolito’s prevailing tint was that + transparent blueishness which comes from much shaving of a heavy black + beard; his forehead and temples were marble white; he had a tonsure the + size of a dollar. He sat silent for a little space, and softly questioned + the consul’s face with his dreamy eyes. Apparently he could not gather + courage to speak of his business at once, for he turned his gaze upon the + window and said, “A beautiful position, Signor Console.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s a pretty place,” answered Mr. Ferris, warily. + </p> + <p> + “So much pleasanter here on the Canalazzo than on the campos or the little + canals.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, without doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “Here there must be constant amusement in watching the boats: great stir, + great variety, great life. And now the fine season commences, and the + Signor Console’s countrymen will be coming to Venice. Perhaps,” added Don + Ippolito with a polite dismay, and an air of sudden anxiety to escape from + his own purpose, “I may be disturbing or detaining the Signor Console?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mr. Ferris; “I am quite at leisure for the present. In what can + I have the honor of serving you?” + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito heaved a long, ineffectual sigh, and taking his linen + handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his forehead with it, and rolled it + upon his knee. He looked at the door, and all round the room, and then + rose and drew near the consul, who had officially seated himself at his + desk. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that the Signor Console gives passports?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes,” replied Mr. Ferris, with a clouding face. + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito seemed to note the gathering distrust and to be helpless + against it. He continued hastily: “Could the Signor Console give a + passport for America ... to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you an American citizen?” demanded the consul in the voice of a man + whose suspicions are fully roused. + </p> + <p> + “American citizen?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; subject of the American republic.” + </p> + <p> + “No, surely; I have not that happiness. I am an Austrian subject,” + returned Don Ippolito a little bitterly, as if the last words were an + unpleasant morsel in the mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Then I can’t give you a passport,” said Mr. Ferris, somewhat more gently. + “You know,” he explained, “that no government can give passports to + foreign subjects. That would be an unheard-of thing.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought that to go to America an American passport would be + needed.” + </p> + <p> + “In America,” returned the consul, with proud compassion, “they don’t care + a fig for passports. You go and you come, and nobody meddles. To be sure,” + he faltered, “just now, on account of the secessionists, they <i>do</i> + require you to show a passport at New York; but,” he continued more + boldly, “American passports are usually for Europe; and besides, all the + American passports in the world wouldn’t get <i>you</i> over the frontier + at Peschiera. <i>You</i> must have a passport from the Austrian + Lieutenancy of Venice.” + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito nodded his head softly several times, and said, “Precisely,” + and then added with an indescribable weariness, “Patience! Signor Console, + I ask your pardon for the trouble I have given,” and he made the consul + another low bow. + </p> + <p> + Whether Mr. Ferris’s curiosity was piqued, and feeling himself on the safe + side of his visitor he meant to know why he had come on such an errand, or + whether he had some kindlier motive, he could hardly have told himself, + but he said, “I’m very sorry. Perhaps there is something else in which I + could be of use to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I hardly know,” cried Don Ippolito. “I really had a kind of hope in + coming to your excellency.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not an excellency,” interrupted Mr. Ferris, conscientiously. + </p> + <p> + “Many excuses! But now it seems a mere bestiality. I was so ignorant about + the other matter that doubtless I am also quite deluded in this.” + </p> + <p> + “As to that, of course I can’t say,” answered Mr. Ferris, “but I hope + not.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, listen, signore!” said Don Ippolito, placing his hand over that + pocket in which he kept his linen handkerchief. “I had something that it + had come into my head to offer your honored government for its advantage + in this deplorable rebellion.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” responded Mr. Ferris with a falling countenance. He had received so + many offers of help for his honored government from sympathizing + foreigners. Hardly a week passed but a sabre came clanking up his dim + staircase with a Herr Graf or a Herr Baron attached, who appeared in the + spotless panoply of his Austrian captaincy or lieutenancy, to accept from + the consul a brigadier-generalship in the Federal armies, on condition + that the consul would pay his expenses to Washington, or at least assure + him of an exalted post and reimbursement of all outlays from President + Lincoln as soon as he arrived. They were beautiful men, with the + complexion of blonde girls; their uniforms fitted like kid gloves; the + pale blue, or pure white, or huzzar black of their coats was ravishingly + set off by their red or gold trimmings; and they were hard to make + understand that brigadiers of American birth swarmed at Washington, and + that if they went thither, they must go as soldiers of fortune at their + own risk. But they were very polite; they begged pardon when they knocked + their scabbards against the consul’s furniture, at the door they each made + him a magnificent obeisance, said “Servus!” in their great voices, and + were shown out by the old Marina, abhorrent of their uniforms and doubtful + of the consul’s political sympathies. Only yesterday she had called him up + at an unwonted hour to receive the visit of a courtly gentleman who + addressed him as Monsieur le Ministre, and offered him at a bargain ten + thousand stand of probably obsolescent muskets belonging to the late Duke + of Parma. Shabby, hungry, incapable exiles of all nations, religions, and + politics beset him for places of honor and emolument in the service of the + Union; revolutionists out of business, and the minions of banished + despots, were alike willing to be fed, clothed, and dispatched to + Washington with swords consecrated to the perpetuity of the republic. + </p> + <p> + “I have here,” said Don Ippolito, too intent upon showing whatever it was + he had to note the change in the consul’s mood, “the model of a weapon of + my contrivance, which I thought the government of the North could employ + successfully in cases where its batteries were in danger of capture by the + Spaniards.” + </p> + <p> + “Spaniards? Spaniards? We have no war with Spain!” cried the consul. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, I know,” Don Ippolito made haste to explain, “but those of + South America being Spanish by descent”— + </p> + <p> + “But we are not fighting the South Americans. We are fighting our own + Southern States, I am sorry to say.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Many excuses. I am afraid I don’t understand,” said Don Ippolito + meekly; whereupon Mr. Ferris enlightened him in a formula (of which he was + beginning to be weary) against European misconception of the American + situation. Don Ippolito nodded his head contritely, and when Mr. Ferris + had ended, he was so much abashed that he made no motion to show his + invention till the other added, “But no matter; I suppose the contrivance + would work as well against the Southerners as the South Americans. Let me + see it, please;” and then Don Ippolito, with a gratified smile, drew from + his pocket the neatly finished model of a breech-loading cannon. + </p> + <p> + “You perceive, Signor Console,” he said with new dignity, “that this is + nothing very new as a breech-loader, though I ask you to observe this + little improvement for restoring the breech to its place, which is + original. The grand feature of my invention, however, is this secret + chamber in the breech, which is intended to hold an explosive of high + potency, with a fuse coming out below. The gunner, finding his piece in + danger, ignites this fuse, and takes refuge in flight. At the moment the + enemy seizes the gun the contents of the secret chamber explode, + demolishing the piece and destroying its captors.” + </p> + <p> + The dreamy warmth in Don Ippolito’s deep eyes kindled to a flame; a dark + red glowed in his thin cheeks; he drew a box from the folds of his drapery + and took snuff in a great whiff, as if inhaling the sulphurous fumes of + battle, or titillating his nostrils with grains of gunpowder. He was at + least in full enjoyment of the poetic power of his invention, and no doubt + had before his eyes a vivid picture of a score of secessionists surprised + and blown to atoms in the very moment of triumph. “Behold, Signor + Console!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “It’s certainly very curious,” said Mr. Ferris, turning the fearful toy + over in his hand, and admiring the neat workmanship of it. “Did you make + this model yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” answered the priest, with a joyous pride; “I have no money to + spend upon artisans; and besides, as you might infer, signore, I am not + very well seen by my superiors and associates on account of these little + amusements of mine; so keep them as much as I can to myself.” Don Ippolito + laughed nervously, and then fell silent with his eyes intent upon the + consul’s face. “What do you think, signore?” he presently resumed. “If + this invention were brought to the notice of your generous government, + would it not patronize my labors? I have read that America is the land of + enterprises. Who knows but your government might invite me to take service + under it in some capacity in which I could employ those little gifts that + Heaven”—He paused again, apparently puzzled by the compassionate + smile on the consul’s lips. “But tell me, signore, how this invention + appears to you.” “Have you had any practical experience in gunnery?” asked + Mr. Ferris. + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly not.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither have I,” continued Mr. Ferris, “but I was wondering whether the + explosive in this secret chamber would not become so heated by the + frequent discharges of the piece as to go off prematurely sometimes, and + kill our own artillerymen instead of waiting for the secessionists?” + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito’s countenance fell, and a dull shame displaced the exultation + that had glowed in it. His head sunk on his breast, and he made no attempt + at reply, so that it was again Mr. Ferris who spoke. “You see, I don’t + really know anything more of the matter than you do, and I don’t undertake + to say whether your invention is disabled by the possibility I suggest or + not. Haven’t you any acquaintances among the military, to whom you could + show your model?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Don Ippolito, coldly, “I don’t consort with the military. + Besides, what would be thought of a <i>priest</i>,” he asked with a bitter + stress on the word, “who exhibited such an invention as that to an officer + of our paternal government?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it would certainly surprise the lieutenant-governor somewhat,” + said Mr. Ferris with a laugh. “May I ask,” he pursued after an interval, + “whether you have occupied yourself with other inventions?” + </p> + <p> + “I have attempted a great many,” replied Don Ippolito in a tone of + dejection. + </p> + <p> + “Are they all of this warlike temper?” pursued the consul. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Don Ippolito, blushing a little, “they are nearly all of + peaceful intention. It was the wish to produce something of utility which + set me about this cannon. Those good friends of mine who have done me the + honor of looking at my attempts had blamed me for the uselessness of my + inventions; they allowed that they were ingenious, but they said that even + if they could be put in operation, they would not be what the world cared + for. Perhaps they were right. I know very little of the world,” concluded + the priest, sadly. He had risen to go, yet seemed not quite able to do so; + there was no more to say, but if he had come to the consul with high + hopes, it might well have unnerved him to have all end so blankly. He drew + a long, sibilant breath between his shut teeth, nodded to himself thrice, + and turning to Mr. Ferris with a melancholy bow, said, “Signor Console, I + thank you infinitely for your kindness, I beg your pardon for the + disturbance, and I take my leave.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry,” said Mr. Ferris. “Let us see each other again. In regard to + the inventions,—well, you must have patience.” He dropped into some + proverbial phrases which the obliging Latin tongues supply so abundantly + for the races who must often talk when they do not feel like thinking, and + he gave a start when Don Ippolito replied in English, “Yes, but hope + deferred maketh the heart sick.” + </p> + <p> + It was not that it was so uncommon to have Italians innocently come out + with their whole slender stock of English to him, for the sake of + practice, as they told him; but there were peculiarities in Don Ippolito’s + accent for which he could not account. “What,” he exclaimed, “do you know + English?” + </p> + <p> + “I have studied it a little, by myself,” answered Don Ippolito, pleased + to have his English recognized, and then lapsing into the safety of + Italian, he added, “And I had also the help of an English ecclesiastic who + sojourned some months in Venice, last year, for his health, and who used + to read with me and teach me the pronunciation. He was from Dublin, this + ecclesiastic.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Mr. Ferris, with relief, “I see;” and he perceived that what + had puzzled him in Don Ippolito’s English was a fine brogue superimposed + upon his Italian accent. + </p> + <p> + “For some time I have had this idea of going to America, and I thought + that the first thing to do was to equip myself with the language.” + </p> + <p> + “Um!” said Mr. Ferris, “that was practical, at any rate,” and he mused + awhile. By and by he continued, more kindly than he had yet spoken, “I + wish I could ask you to sit down again: but I have an engagement which I + must make haste to keep. Are you going out through the campo? Pray wait a + minute, and I will walk with you.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ferris went into another room, through the open door of which Don + Ippolito saw the paraphernalia of a painter’s studio: an easel with a + half-finished picture on it; a chair with a palette and brushes, and + crushed and twisted tubes of colors; a lay figure in one corner; on the + walls scraps of stamped leather, rags of tapestry, desultory sketches on + paper. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ferris came out again, brushing his hat. + </p> + <p> + “The Signor Console amuses himself with painting, I see,” said Don + Ippolito courteously. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” replied Mr. Ferris, putting on his gloves; “I am a painter + by profession, and I amuse myself with consuling;” [Footnote: Since these + words of Mr. Ferris were first printed, I have been told that a more + eminent painter, namely Rubens, made very much the same reply to very much + the same remark, when Spanish Ambassador in England. “The Ambassador of + His Catholic Majesty, I see, amuses himself by painting sometimes,” said a + visitor who found him at his easel. “I amuse myself by playing the + ambassador sometimes,” answered Rubens. In spite of the similarity of the + speeches, I let that of Mr. Ferris stand, for I am satisfied that he did + not know how unhandsomely Rubens had taken the words out of his mouth.] + and as so open a matter needed no explanation, he said no more about it. + Nor is it quite necessary to tell how, as he was one day painting in New + York, it occurred to him to make use of a Congressional friend, and ask + for some Italian consulate, he did not care which. That of Venice happened + to be vacant: the income was a few hundred dollars; as no one else wanted + it, no question was made of Mr. Ferris’s fitness for the post, and he + presently found himself possessed of a commission requesting the Emperor + of Austria to permit him to enjoy and exercise the office of consul of the + ports of the Lombardo-Venetian kingdom, to which the President of the + United States appointed him from a special trust in his abilities and + integrity. He proceeded at once to his post of duty, called upon the + ship’s chandler with whom they had been left, for the consular archives, + and began to paint some Venetian subjects. + </p> + <p> + He and Don Ippolito quitted the Consulate together, leaving Marina to + digest with her noonday porridge the wonder that he should be walking + amicably forth with a priest. The same spectacle was presented to the gaze + of the campo, where they paused in friendly converse, and were seen to + part with many politenesses by the doctors of the neighborhood, lounging + away their leisure, as the Venetian fashion is, at the local pharmacy. + </p> + <p> + The apothecary craned forward over his counter, and peered through the + open door. “What is that blessed Consul of America doing with a priest?” + </p> + <p> + “The Consul of America with a priest?” demanded a grave old man, a + physician with a beautiful silvery beard, and a most reverend and + senatorial presence, but one of the worst tongues in Venice. “Oh!” he + added, with a laugh, after scrutiny of the two through his glasses, “it’s + that crack-brain Don Ippolito Rondinelli. He isn’t priest enough to hurt + the consul. Perhaps he’s been selling him a perpetual motion for the use + of his government, which needs something of the kind just now. Or maybe + he’s been posing to him for a picture. He would make a very pretty Joseph, + give him Potiphar’s wife in the background,” said the doctor, who if not + maligned would have needed much more to make a Joseph of him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Ferris took his way through the devious footways where the shadow was + chill, and through the broad campos where the sun was tenderly warm, and + the towers of the church rose against the speck-less azure of the vernal + heaven. As he went along, he frowned in a helpless perplexity with the + case of Don Ippolito, whom he had begun by doubting for a spy with some + incomprehensible motive, and had ended by pitying with a certain degree of + amusement and a deep sense of the futility of his compassion. He presently + began to think of him with a little disgust, as people commonly think of + one whom they pity and yet cannot help, and he made haste to cast off the + hopeless burden. He shrugged his shoulders, struck his stick on the smooth + paving-stones, and let his eyes rove up and down the fronts of the houses, + for the sake of the pretty faces that glanced out of the casements. He was + a young man, and it was spring, and this was Venice. He made himself + joyfully part of the city and the season; he was glad of the narrowness of + the streets, of the good-humored jostling and pushing; he crouched into an + arched doorway to let a water-carrier pass with her copper buckets + dripping at the end of the yoke balanced on her shoulder, and he returned + her smiles and excuses with others as broad and gay; he brushed by the + swelling hoops of ladies, and stooped before the unwieldy burdens of + porters, who as they staggered through the crowd with a thrust hero, and a + shove there forgave themselves, laughing, with “We are in Venice, + signori;” and he stood aside for the files of soldiers clanking heavily + over the pavement, then muskets kindling to a blaze in the sunlit campos + and quenched again in the damp shadows of the calles. His ear was taken by + the vibrant jargoning of the boatmen as they pushed their craft under the + bridges he crossed, and the keen notes of the canaries and the songs of + the golden-billed blackbirds whose cages hung at lattices far overhead. + Heaps of oranges, topped by the fairest cut in halves, gave their color, + at frequent intervals, to the dusky corners and recesses and the + long-drawn cry of the venders, “Oranges of Palermo!” rose above the + clatter of feet and the clamor of other voices. At a little shop where + butter and eggs and milk abounded, together with early flowers of various + sorts, he bought a bunch of hyacinths, blue and white and yellow, and he + presently stood smelling these while he waited in the hotel parlor for the + ladies to whom he had sent his card. He turned at the sound of drifting + drapery, and could not forbear placing the hyacinths in the hand of Miss + Florida Vervain, who had come into the room to receive him. She was a girl + of about seventeen years, who looked older; she was tall rather than + short, and rather full,—though it could not be said that she erred + in point of solidity. In the attitudes of shy hauteur into which she + constantly fell, there was a touch of defiant awkwardness which had a + certain fascination. She was blonde, with a throat and hands of milky + whiteness; there was a suggestion of freckles on her regular face, where a + quick color came and went, though her cheeks were habitually somewhat + pale; her eyes were very blue under their level brows, and the lashes were + even lighter in color than the masses of her fair gold hair; the edges of + the lids were touched with the faintest red. The late Colonel Vervain of + the United States army, whose complexion his daughter had inherited, was + an officer whom it would not have been peaceable to cross in any purpose + or pleasure, and Miss Vervain seemed sometimes a little burdened by the + passionate nature which he had left her together with the tropical name he + had bestowed in honor of the State where he had fought the Seminoles in + his youth, and where he chanced still to be stationed when she was born; + she had the air of being embarrassed in presence of herself, and of having + an anxious watch upon her impulses. I do not know how otherwise to + describe the effort of proud, helpless femininity, which would have struck + the close observer in Miss Vervain. + </p> + <p> + “Delicious!” she said, in a deep voice, which conveyed something of this + anxiety in its guarded tones, and yet was not wanting in a kind of + frankness. “Did you mean them for me, Mr. Ferris?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t, but I do,” answered Mr. Ferris. “I bought them in ignorance, + but I understand now what they were meant for by nature;” and in fact the + hyacinths, with their smooth textures and their pure colors, harmonized + well with Miss Vervain, as she bent her face over them and inhaled their + full, rich perfume. + </p> + <p> + “I will put them in water,” she said, “if you’ll excuse me a moment. + Mother will be down directly.” + </p> + <p> + Before she could return, her mother rustled into the parlor. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vervain was gracefully, fragilely unlike her daughter. She entered + with a gentle and gliding step, peering near-sightedly about through her + glasses, and laughing triumphantly when she had determined Mr. Ferris’s + exact position, where he stood with a smile shaping his full brown beard + and glancing from his hazel eyes. She was dressed in perfect taste with + reference to her matronly years, and the lingering evidences of her + widowhood, and she had an unaffected naturalness of manner which even at + her age of forty-eight could not be called less than charming. She spoke + in a trusting, caressing tone, to which no man at least could respond + unkindly. + </p> + <p> + “So very good of you, to take all this trouble, Mr. Ferris,” she said, + giving him a friendly hand, “and I suppose you are letting us encroach + upon very valuable time. I’m quite ashamed to take it. But isn’t it a + heavenly day? What <i>I</i> call a perfect day, just right every way; none + of those disagreeable extremes. It’s so unpleasant to have it too hot, for + instance. I’m the greatest person for moderation, Mr. Ferris, and I carry + the principle into everything; but I do think the breakfasts at these + Italian hotels are too light altogether. I like our American breakfasts, + don’t you? I’ve been telling Florida I can’t stand it; we really must make + some arrangement. To be sure, you oughtn’t to think of such a thing as + eating, in a place like Venice, all poetry; but a sound mind in a sound + body, <i>I</i> say. We’re perfectly wild over it. Don’t you think it’s a + place that grows upon you very much, Mr. Ferris? All those associations,—it + does seem too much; and the gondolas everywhere. But I’m always afraid the + gondoliers cheat us; and in the stores I never feel safe a moment—not + a moment. I do think the Venetians are lacking in truthfulness, a little. + I don’t believe they understand our American fairdealing and sincerity. I + shouldn’t want to do them injustice, but I really think they take + advantages in bargaining. Now such a thing even as corals. Florida is + extremely fond of them, and we bought a set yesterday in the Piazza, and I + <i>know</i> we paid too much for them. Florida,” said Mrs. Vervain, for + her daughter had reentered the room, and stood with some shawls and wraps + upon her arm, patiently waiting for the conclusion of the elder lady’s + speech, “I wish you would bring down that set of corals. I’d like Mr. + Ferris to give an unbiased opinion. I’m sure we were cheated.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know anything about corals, Mrs. Vervain,” interposed Mr. Ferris. + </p> + <p> + “Well, but you ought to see this set for the beauty of the color; they’re + really exquisite. I’m sure it will gratify your artistic taste.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Vervain hesitated with a look of desire to obey, and of doubt whether + to force the pleasure upon Mr. Ferris. “Won’t it do another time, mother?” + she asked faintly; “the gondola is waiting for us.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vervain gave a frailish start from the chair, into which she had + sunk, “Oh, do let us be off at once, then,” she said; and when they stood + on the landing-stairs of the hotel: “What gloomy things these gondolas + are!” she added, while the gondolier with one foot on the gunwale of the + boat received the ladies’ shawls, and then crooked his arm for them to + rest a hand on in stepping aboard; “I wonder they don’t paint them some + cheerful color.” + </p> + <p> + “Blue, or pink, Mrs. Vervain?” asked Mr. Ferris. “I knew you were coming + to that question; they all do. But we needn’t have the top on at all, if + it depresses your spirits. We shall be just warm enough in the open + sunlight.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, have it off, then. It sends the cold chills over me to look at it. + What <i>did</i> Byron call it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s time for Byron, now. It was very good of you not to mention + him before, Mrs. Vervain. But I knew he had to come. He called it a coffin + clapped in a canoe.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said Mrs. Vervain. “I always feel as if I were going to my own + funeral when I get into it; and I’ve certainly had enough of funerals + never to want to have anything to do with another, as long as I live.” + </p> + <p> + She settled herself luxuriously upon the feather-stuffed leathern cushions + when the cabin was removed. Death had indeed been near her very often; + father and mother had been early lost to her, and the brothers and sisters + orphaned with her had faded and perished one after another, as they + ripened to men and women; she had seen four of her own children die; her + husband had been dead six years. All these bereavements had left her what + they had found her. She had truly grieved, and, as she said, she had + hardly ever been out of black since she could remember. + </p> + <p> + “I never was in colors when I was a girl,” she went on, indulging many + obituary memories as the gondola dipped and darted down the canal, “and I + was married in my mourning for my last sister. It did seem a little too + much when she went, Mr. Ferris. I was too young to feel it so much about + the others, but we were nearly of the same age, and that makes a + difference, don’t you know. First a brother and then a sister: it was very + strange how they kept going that way. I seemed to break the charm when I + got married; though, to be sure, there was no brother left after Marian.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Vervain heard her mother’s mortuary prattle with a face from which no + impatience of it could be inferred, and Mr. Ferris made no comment on what + was oddly various in character and manner, for Mrs. Vervain touched upon + the gloomiest facts of her history with a certain impersonal statistical + interest. They were rowing across the lagoon to the Island of San Lazzaro, + where for reasons of her own she intended to venerate the convent in which + Byron studied the Armenian language preparatory to writing his great poem + in it; if her pilgrimage had no very earnest motive, it was worthy of the + fact which it was designed to honor. The lagoon was of a perfect, shining + smoothness, broken by the shallows over which the ebbing tide had left the + sea-weed trailed like long, disheveled hair. The fishermen, as they waded + about staking their nets, or stooped to gather the small shell-fish of the + shallows, showed legs as brown and tough as those of the apostles in + Titian’s Assumption. Here and there was a boat, with a boy or an old man + asleep in the bottom of it. The gulls sailed high, white flakes against + the illimitable blue of the heavens; the air, though it was of early + spring, and in the shade had a salty pungency, was here almost + languorously warm; in the motionless splendors and rich colors of the + scene there was a melancholy before which Mrs. Vervain fell fitfully + silent. Now and then Ferris briefly spoke, calling Miss Vervain’s notice + to this or that, and she briefly responded. As they passed the mad-house + of San Servolo, a maniac standing at an open window took his black velvet + skull-cap from his white hair, bowed low three times, and kissed his hand + to the ladies. The Lido in front of them stretched a brown strip of sand + with white villages shining out of it; on their left the Public Gardens + showed a mass of hovering green; far beyond and above, the ghostlike snows + of the Alpine heights haunted the misty horizon. + </p> + <p> + It was chill in the shadow of the convent when they landed at San Lazzaro, + and it was cool in the parlor where they waited for the monk who was to + show them through the place; but it was still and warm in the gardened + court, where the bees murmured among the crocuses and hyacinths under the + noonday sun. Miss Vervain stood looking out of the window upon the lagoon, + while her mother drifted about the room, peering at the objects on the + wall through her eyeglasses. She was praising a Chinese painting of fish + on rice-paper, when a young monk entered with a cordial greeting in + English for Mr. Ferris. She turned and saw them shaking hands, but at the + same moment her eyeglasses abandoned her nose with a vigorous leap; she + gave an amiable laugh, and groping for them over her dress, bowed at + random as Mr. Ferris presented Padre Girolamo. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been admiring this painting so much, Padre Girolamo,” she said, with + instant good-will, and taking the monk into the easy familiarity of her + friendship by the tone with which she spoke his name. “Some of the + brothers did it, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no,” said the monk, “it’s a Chinese painting. We hung it up there + because it was given to us, and was curious.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, now, do you know,” returned Mrs. Vervain, “I <i>thought</i> it was + Chinese! Their things <i>are</i>, so odd. But really, in an Armenian + convent it’s very misleading. I don’t think you ought to leave it there; + it certainly does throw people off the track,” she added, subduing the + expression to something very lady-like, by the winning appeal with which + she used it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but if they put up Armenian paintings in Chinese convents?” said Mr. + Ferris. + </p> + <p> + “You’re joking!” cried Mrs. Vervain, looking at him with a graciously + amused air. “There <i>are</i> no Chinese convents. To be sure those rebels + are a kind of Christians,” she added thoughtfully, “but there can’t be + many of them left, poor things, hundreds of them executed at a time, that + way. It’s perfectly sickening to read of it; and you can’t help it, you + know. But they say they haven’t really so much feeling as we have—not + so nervous.” + </p> + <p> + She walked by the side of the young friar as he led the way to such parts + of the convent as are open to visitors, and Mr. Ferris came after with her + daughter, who, he fancied, met his attempts at talk with sudden and more + than usual hauteur. “What a fool!” he said to himself. “Is she afraid I + shall be wanting to make love to her?” and he followed in rather a sulky + silence the course of Mrs. Vervain and her guide. The library, the chapel, + and the museum called out her friendliest praises, and in the last she + praised the mummy on show there at the expense of one she had seen in New + York; but when Padre Girolamo pointed out the desk in the refectory from + which one of the brothers read while the rest were eating, she took him to + task. “Oh, but I can’t think that’s at all good for the digestion, you + know,—using the brain that way whilst you’re at table. I really hope + you don’t listen too attentively; it would be better for you in the long + run, even in a religious point of view. But now—Byron! You <i>must</i> + show me his cell!” The monk deprecated the non-existence of such a cell, + and glanced in perplexity at Mr. Ferris, who came to his relief. “You + couldn’t have seen his cell, if he’d had one, Mrs. Vervain. They don’t + admit ladies to the cloister.” + </p> + <p> + “What nonsense!” answered Mrs. Vervain, apparently regarding this as + another of Mr. Ferris’s pleasantries; but Padre Girolamo silently + confirmed his statement, and she briskly assailed the rule as a disrespect + to the sex, which reflected even upon the Virgin, the object, as he was + forced to allow, of their high veneration. He smiled patiently, and + confessed that Mrs. Vervain had all the reasons on her side. At the + polyglot printing-office, where she handsomely bought every kind of + Armenian book and pamphlet, and thus repaid in the only way possible the + trouble their visit had given, he did not offer to take leave of them, but + after speaking with Ferris, of whom he seemed an old friend, he led them + through the garden environing the convent, to a little pavilion perched on + the wall that defends the island from the tides of the lagoon. A + lay-brother presently followed them, bearing a tray with coffee, toasted + rusk, and a jar of that conserve of rose-leaves which is the convent’s + delicate hospitality to favored guests. Mrs. Vervain cried out over the + poetic confection when Padre Girolamo told her what it was, and her + daughter suffered herself to express a guarded pleasure. The amiable + matron brushed the crumbs of the <i>baicolo</i> from her lap when the + lunch was ended, and fitting on her glasses leaned forward for a better + look at the monk’s black-bearded face. “I’m perfectly delighted,” she + said. “You must be very happy here. I suppose you are.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered the monk rapturously; “so happy that I should be content + never to leave San Lazzaro. I came here when I was very young, and the + greater part of my life has been passed on this little island. It is my + home—my country.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you never go away?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes; sometimes to Constantinople, sometimes to London and Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “And you’ve never been to America yet? Well now, I’ll tell you; you ought + to go. You would like it, I know, and our people would give you a very + cordial reception.” + </p> + <p> + “Reception?” The monk appealed once more to Ferris with a look. + </p> + <p> + Ferris broke into a laugh. “I don’t believe Padre Girolamo would come in + quality of distinguished foreigner, Mrs. Vervain, and I don’t think he’d + know what to do with one of our cordial receptions.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he ought to go to America, any way. He can’t really know anything + about us till he’s been there. Just think how ignorant the English are of + our country! You <i>will</i> come, won’t you? I should be delighted to + welcome you at my house in Providence. Rhode Island is a small State, but + there’s a great deal of wealth there, and very good society in Providence. + It’s quite New-Yorky, you know,” said Mrs. Vervain expressively. She rose + as she spoke, and led the way back to the gondola. She told Padre Girolamo + that they were to be some weeks in Venice, and made him promise to + breakfast with them at their hotel. She smiled and nodded to him after the + boat had pushed off, and kept him bowing on the landing-stairs. + </p> + <p> + “What a lovely place, and what a perfectly heavenly morning you <i>have</i> + given us, Mr. Ferris I We never can thank you enough for it. And now, do + you know what I’m thinking of? Perhaps you can help me. It was Byron’s + studying there put me in mind of it. How soon do the mosquitoes come?” + </p> + <p> + “About the end of June,” responded Ferris mechanically, staring with + helpless mystification at Mrs. Vervain. + </p> + <p> + “Very well; then there’s no reason why we shouldn’t stay in Venice till + that time. We are both very fond of the place, and we’d quite concluded, + this morning, to stop here till the mosquitoes came. You know, Mr. Ferris, + my daughter had to leave school much earlier than she ought, for my health + has obliged me to travel a great deal since I lost my husband; and I must + have her with me, for we’re all that there is of us; we haven’t a chick or + a child that’s related to us anywhere. But wherever we stop, even for a + few weeks, I contrive to get her some kind of instruction. I feel the need + of it so much in my own case; for to tell you the truth, Mr. Ferris, I + married too young. I suppose I should do the same thing over again if it + was to be done over; but don’t you see, my mind wasn’t properly formed; + and then following my husband about from pillar to post, and my first baby + born when I was nineteen—well, it wasn’t education, at any rate, + whatever else it was; and I’ve determined that Florida, though we are such + a pair of wanderers, shall not have my regrets. I got teachers for her in + England,—the English are not anything like so disagreeable at home + as they are in traveling, and we stayed there two years,—and I did + in France, and I did in Germany. And now, Italian. Here we are in Italy, + and I think we ought to improve the time. Florida knows a good deal of + Italian already, for her music teacher in France was an Italian, and he + taught her the language as well as music. What she wants now, I should + say, is to perfect her accent and get facility. I think she ought to have + some one come every day and read and converse an hour or two with her.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vervain leaned back in her seat, and looked at Ferris, who said, + feeling that the matter was referred to him, “I think—without + presuming to say what Miss Vervain’s need of instruction is—that + your idea is a very good one.” He mused in silence his wonder that so much + addlepatedness as was at once observable in Mrs. Vervain should exist + along with so much common-sense. “It’s certainly very good in the + abstract,” he added, with a glance at the daughter, as if the sense must + be hers. She did not meet his glance at once, but with an impatient + recognition of the heat that was now great for the warmth with which she + was dressed, she pushed her sleeve from her wrist, showing its delicious + whiteness, and letting her fingers trail through the cool water; she dried + them on her handkerchief, and then bent her eyes full upon him as if + challenging him to think this unlady-like. + </p> + <p> + “No, clearly the sense does not come from her,” said Ferris to himself; it + is impossible to think well of the mind of a girl who treats one with + tacit contempt. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” resumed Mrs. Vervain, “it’s certainly very good in the abstract. + But oh dear me! you’ve no idea of the difficulties in the way. I may speak + frankly with you, Mr. Ferris, for you are here as the representative of + the country, and you naturally sympathize with the difficulties of + Americans abroad; the teachers will fall in love with their pupils.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother!” began Miss Vervain; and then she checked herself. + </p> + <p> + Ferris gave a vengeful laugh. “Really, Mrs. Vervain, though I sympathize + with you in my official capacity, I must own that as a man and a brother, + I can’t help feeling a little sorry for those poor fellows, too.” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure, they are to be pitied, of course, and <i>I</i> feel for them; + I did when I was a girl; for the same thing used to happen then. I don’t + know why Florida should be subjected to such embarrassments, too. It does + seem sometimes as if it were something in the blood. They all get the idea + that you have money, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I should say that it might be something in the pocket,” suggested + Ferris with a look at Miss Vervain, in whose silent suffering, as he + imagined it, he found a malicious consolation for her scorn. + </p> + <p> + “Well, whatever it is,” replied Mrs. Vervain, “it’s too vexatious. Of + course, going to new places, that way, as we’re always doing, and only + going to stay for a limited time, perhaps, you can’t pick and choose. And + even when you <i>do</i> get an elderly teacher, they’re as bad as any. It + really is too trying. Now, when I was talking with that nice monk of yours + at the convent, there, I couldn’t help thinking how perfectly delightful + it would be if Florida could have <i>him</i> for a teacher. Why couldn’t + she? He told me that he would come to take breakfast or lunch with us, but + not dinner, for he always had to be at the convent before nightfall. Well, + he might come to give the lessons sometime in the middle of the day.” + </p> + <p> + “You couldn’t manage it, Mrs. Vervain, I know you couldn’t,” answered + Ferris earnestly. “I’m sure the Armenians never do anything of the kind. + They’re all very busy men, engaged in ecclesiastical or literary work, and + they couldn’t give the time.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? There was Byron.” + </p> + <p> + “But Byron went to them, and he studied Armenian, not Italian, with them. + Padre Girolamo speaks perfect Italian, for all that I can see; but I doubt + if he’d undertake to impart the native accent, which is what you want. In + fact, the scheme is altogether impracticable.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mrs. Vervain; “I’m exceedingly sorry. I had quite set my + heart on it. I never took such a fancy to any one in such a short time + before.” + </p> + <p> + “It seemed to be a case of love at first sight on both sides,” said + Ferris. “Padre Girolamo doesn’t shower those syruped rose-leaves + indiscriminately upon visitors.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” returned Mrs. Vervain; “it’s very good of you to say so, Mr. + Ferris, and it’s very gratifying, all round; but don’t you see, it doesn’t + serve the present purpose. What teachers do you know of?” + </p> + <p> + She had been by marriage so long in the service of the United States that + she still regarded its agents as part of her own domestic economy. Consuls + she everywhere employed as functionaries specially appointed to look after + the interests of American ladies traveling without protection. In the week + which had passed since her arrival in Venice, there had been no day on + which she did not appeal to Ferris for help or sympathy or advice. She + took amiable possession of him at once, and she had established an amusing + sort of intimacy with him, to which the haughty trepidations of her + daughter set certain bounds, but in which the demand that he should find + her a suitable Italian teacher seemed trivially matter of course. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I know several teachers,” he said, after thinking awhile; “but + they’re all open to the objection of being human; and besides, they all do + things in a set kind of way, and I’m afraid they wouldn’t enter into the + spirit of any scheme of instruction that departed very widely from + Ollendorff.” He paused, and Mrs. Vervain gave a sketch of the different + professional masters whom she had employed in the various countries of her + sojourn, and a disquisition upon their several lives and characters, + fortifying her statements by reference of doubtful points to her daughter. + This occupied some time, and Ferris listened to it all with an abstracted + air. At last he said, with a smile, “There was an Italian priest came to + see me this morning, who astonished me by knowing English—with a + brogue that he’d learned from an English priest straight from Dublin; + perhaps <i>he</i> might do, Mrs. Vervain? He’s professionally pledged, you + know, not to give the kind of annoyance you’ve suffered from in teachers. + He would do as well as Padre Girolamo, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you really? Are you in earnest?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no, I believe I’m not. I haven’t the least idea he would do. He + belongs to the church militant. He came to me with the model of a + breech-loading cannon he’s invented, and he wanted a passport to go to + America, so that he might offer his cannon to our government.” + </p> + <p> + “How curious!” said Mrs. Vervain, and her daughter looked frankly into + Ferris’s face. “But I know; it’s one of your jokes.” + </p> + <p> + “You overpraise me, Mrs. Vervain. If I could make such jokes as that + priest was, I should set up for a humorist at once. He had the touch of + pathos that they say all true pieces of humor ought to have,” he went on + instinctively addressing himself to Miss Vervain, who did not repulse him. + “He made me melancholy; and his face haunts me. I should like to paint + him. Priests are generally such a snuffy, common lot. And I dare say,” he + concluded, “he’s sufficiently commonplace, too, though he didn’t look it. + Spare your romance, Miss Vervain.” + </p> + <p> + The young lady blushed resentfully. “I see as little romance as joke in + it,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “It was a cannon,” returned Ferris, without taking any notice of her, and + with a sort of absent laugh, “that would make it very lively for the + Southerners—if they had it. Poor fellow! I suppose he came with high + hopes of me, and expected me to receive his invention with eloquent + praises. I’ve no doubt he figured himself furnished not only with a + passport, but with a letter from me to President Lincoln, and foresaw his + own triumphal entry into Washington, and his honorable interviews with the + admiring generals of the Union forces, to whom he should display his + wonderful cannon. Too bad; isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “And why didn’t you give him the passport and the letter?” asked Mrs. + Vervain. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’s a state secret,” returned Ferris. + </p> + <p> + “And you think he won’t do for our purpose?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m not so sure of it. Tell me something more about him.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know anything more about him. Besides, there isn’t time.” + </p> + <p> + The gondola had already entered the canal, and was swiftly approaching the + hotel. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, there is,” pleaded Mrs. Vervain, laying her hand on his arm. “I + want you to come in and dine with us. We dine early.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, I can’t. Affairs of the nation, you know. Rebel privateer on + the canal of the Brenta.” + </p> + <p> + “Really?” Mrs. Vervain leaned towards Ferris for sharper scrutiny of his + face. Her glasses sprang from her nose, and precipitated themselves into + his bosom. + </p> + <p> + “Allow me,” he said, with burlesque politeness, withdrawing them from the + recesses of his waistcoat and gravely presenting them. Miss Vervain burst + into a helpless laugh; then she turned toward her mother with a kind of + indignant tenderness, and gently arranged her shawl so that it should not + drop off when she rose to leave the gondola. She did not look again at + Ferris, who resisted Mrs. Vervain’s entreaties to remain, and took leave + as soon as the gondola landed. + </p> + <p> + The ladies went to their room, where Florida lifted from the table a vase + of divers-colored hyacinths, and stepping out upon the balcony flung the + flowers into the canal. As she put down the empty vase, the lingering + perfume of the banished flowers haunted the air of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Florida,” said her mother, “those were the flowers that Mr. Ferris + gave you. Did you fancy they had begun to decay? The smell of hyacinths + when they’re a little old is dreadful. But I can’t imagine a gentleman’s + giving you flowers that were at all old.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mother, don’t speak to me!” cried Miss Vervain, passionately, + clasping her hands to her face. + </p> + <p> + “Now I see that I’ve been saying something to vex you, my darling,” and + seating herself beside the young girl on the sofa, she fondly took down + her hands. “Do tell me what it was. Was it about your teachers falling in + love with you? You know they did, Florida: Pestachiavi and Schulze, both; + and that horrid old Fleuron.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you think I liked any better on that account to have you talk it over + with a stranger?” asked Florida, still angrily. + </p> + <p> + “That’s true, my dear,” said Mrs. Vervain, penitently. “But if it worried + you, why didn’t you do something to stop me? Give me a hint, or just a + little knock, somewhere?” + </p> + <p> + “No, mother; I’d rather not. Then you’d have come out with the whole + thing, to prove that you were right. It’s better to let it go,” said + Florida with a fierce laugh, half sob. “But it’s strange that you can’t + remember how such things torment me.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it’s my weak health, dear,” answered the mother. “I didn’t use + to be so. But now I don’t really seem to have the strength to be sensible. + I know it’s silly as well as you. The talk just seems to keep going on of + itself,—slipping out, slipping out. But you needn’t mind. Mr. Ferris + won’t think you could ever have done anything out of the way. I’m sure you + don’t act with <i>him</i> as if you’d ever encouraged anybody. I think + you’re too haughty with him, Florida. And now, his flowers.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s detestable. He’s conceited and presuming beyond all endurance. I + don’t care what he thinks of me. But it’s his manner towards you that I + can’t tolerate.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it’s rather free,” said Mrs. Vervain. “But then you know, my + dear, I shall be soon getting to be an old lady; and besides, I always + feel as if consuls were a kind of one of the family. He’s been very + obliging since we came; I don’t know what we should have done without him. + And I don’t object to a little ease of manner in the gentlemen; I never + did.” + </p> + <p> + “He makes fun of you,” cried Florida: “and there at the convent,”, she + said, bursting into angry tears, “he kept exchanging glances with that + monk as if he.... He’s insulting, and I hate him!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that he thought your mother ridiculous, Florida?” asked Mrs. + Vervain gravely. “You must have misunderstood his looks; indeed you must. + I can’t imagine why he should. I remember that I talked particularly well + during our whole visit; my mind was active, for I felt unusually strong, + and I was interested in everything. It’s nothing but a fancy of yours; or + your prejudice, Florida. But it’s odd, now I’ve sat down for a moment, how + worn out I feel. And thirsty.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vervain fitted on her glasses, but even then felt uncertainly about + for the empty vase on the table before her. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t a goblet, mother,” said Florida; “I’ll get you some water.” + </p> + <p> + “Do; and then throw a shawl over me. I’m sleepy, and a nap before dinner + will do me good. I don’t see why I’m so drowsy of late. I suppose it’s + getting into the sea air here at Venice; though it’s mountain air that + makes you drowsy. But you’re quite mistaken about Mr. Ferris. He isn’t + capable of anything really rude. Besides, there wouldn’t have been any + sense in it.” + </p> + <p> + The young girl brought the water and then knelt beside the sofa, on which + she arranged the pillows under her mother, and covered her with soft + wraps. She laid her cheek against the thinner face. “Don’t mind anything + I’ve said, mother; let’s talk of something else.” + </p> + <p> + The mother drew some loose threads of the daughter’s hair through her + slender fingers, but said little more, and presently fell into a deep + slumber. Florida gently lifted her head away, and remained kneeling before + the sofa, looking into the sleeping face with an expression of strenuous, + compassionate devotion, mixed with a vague alarm and self-pity, and a + certain wondering anxiety. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. + </h2> + <p> + Don Ippolito had slept upon his interview with Ferris, and now sat in his + laboratory, amidst the many witnesses of his inventive industry, with the + model of the breech-loading cannon on the workbench before him. He had + neatly mounted it on wheels, that its completeness might do him the + greater credit with the consul when he should show it him, but the + carriage had been broken in his pocket, on the way home, by an unlucky + thrust from the burden of a porter, and the poor toy lay there disabled, + as if to dramatize that premature explosion in the secret chamber. + </p> + <p> + His heart was in these inventions of his, which had as yet so grudgingly + repaid his affection. For their sake he had stinted himself of many + needful things. The meagre stipend which he received from the patrimony of + his church, eked out with the money paid him for baptisms, funerals, and + marriages, and for masses by people who had friends to be prayed out of + purgatory, would at best have barely sufficed to support him; but he + denied himself everything save the necessary decorums of dress and + lodging; he fasted like a saint, and slept hard as a hermit, that he might + spend upon these ungrateful creatures of his brain. They were the work of + his own hands, and so he saved the expense of their construction; but + there were many little outlays for materials and for tools, which he could + not avoid, and with him a little was all. They not only famished him; they + isolated him. His superiors in the church, and his brother priests, looked + with doubt or ridicule upon the labors for which he shunned their company, + while he gave up the other social joys, few and small, which a priest + might know in the Venice of that day, when all generous spirits regarded + him with suspicion for his cloth’s sake, and church and state were alert + to detect disaffection or indifference in him. But bearing these things + willingly, and living as frugally as he might, he had still not enough, + and he had been fain to assume the instruction of a young girl of old and + noble family in certain branches of polite learning which a young lady of + that sort might fitly know. The family was not so rich as it was old and + noble, and Don Ippolito was paid from its purse rather than its pride. But + the slender salary was a help; these patricians were very good to him; + many a time he dined with them, and so spared the cost of his own pottage + at home; they always gave him coffee when he came, and that was a saving; + at the proper seasons little presents from them were not wanting. In a + word, his condition was not privation. He did his duty as a teacher + faithfully, and the only trouble with it was that the young girl was + growing into a young woman, and that he could not go on teaching her + forever. In an evil hour, as it seemed to Don Ippolito, that made the + years she had been his pupil shrivel to a mere pinch of time, there came + from a young count of the Friuli, visiting Venice, an offer of marriage; + and Don Ippolito lost his place. It was hard, but he bade himself have + patience; and he composed an ode for the nuptials of his late pupil, + which, together with a brief sketch of her ancestral history, he had + elegantly printed, according to the Italian usage, and distributed among + the family friends; he also made a sonnet to the bridegroom, and these + literary tributes were handsomely acknowledged. + </p> + <p> + He managed a whole year upon the proceeds, and kept a cheerful spirit till + the last soldo was spent, inventing one thing after another, and giving + much time and money to a new principle of steam propulsion, which, as + applied without steam to a small boat on the canal before his door, failed + to work, though it had no logical excuse for its delinquency. He tried to + get other pupils, but he got none, and he began to dream of going to + America. He pinned his faith in all sorts of magnificent possibilities to + the names of Franklin, Fulton, and Morse; he was so ignorant of our + politics and geography as to suppose us at war with the South American + Spaniards, but he knew that English was the language of the North, and he + applied himself to the study of it. Heaven only knows what kind of + inventor’s Utopia, our poor, patent-ridden country appeared to him in + these dreams of his, and I can but dimly figure it to myself. But he might + very naturally desire to come to a land where the spirit of invention is + recognized and fostered, and where he could hope to find that comfort of + incentive and companionship which our artists find in Italy. + </p> + <p> + The idea of the breech-loading cannon had occurred to him suddenly one + day, in one of his New-World-ward reveries, and he had made haste to + realize it, carefully studying the form and general effect of the Austrian + cannon under the gallery of the Ducal Palace, to the high embarrassment of + the Croat sentry who paced up and down there, and who did not feel free to + order off a priest as he would a civilian. Don Ippolito’s model was of + admirable finish; he even painted the carriage yellow and black, because + that of the original was so, and colored the piece to look like brass; and + he lost a day while the paint was drying, after he was otherwise ready to + show it to the consul. + </p> + <p> + He had parted from Ferris with some gleams of comfort, caught chiefly from + his kindly manner, but they had died away before nightfall, and this + morning he could not rekindle them. + </p> + <p> + He had had his coffee served to him on the bench, as his frequent custom + was, but it stood untasted in the little copper pot beside the dismounted + cannon, though it was now ten o’clock, and it was full time he had + breakfasted, for he had risen early to perform the matin service for three + peasant women, two beggars, a cat, and a paralytic nobleman, in the + ancient and beautiful church to which he was attached. He had tried to go + about his wonted occupations, but he was still sitting idle before his + bench, while his servant gossiped from her balcony to the mistress of the + next house, across a calle so deep and narrow that it opened like a + mountain chasm beneath them. “It were well if the master read his breviary + a little more, instead of always maddening himself with those blessed + inventions, that eat more soldi than a Christian, and never come to + anything. There he sits before his table, as if he were nailed to his + chair, and lets his coffee cool—and God knows I was ready to drink + it warm two hours ago—and never looks at me if I open the door + twenty times to see whether he has finished. Holy patience! You have not + even the advantage of fasting to the glory of God in this house, though + you keep Lent the year round. It’s the Devil’s Lent, <i>I</i> say. Eh, + Diana! There goes the bell. Who now? Adieu, Lusetta. To meet again, dear. + Farewell!” + </p> + <p> + She ran to another window, and admitted the visitor. It was Ferris, and + she went to announce him to her master by the title he had given, while he + amused his leisure in the darkness below by falling over a cistern-top, + with a loud clattering of his cane on the copper lid, after which he heard + the voice of the priest begging him to remain at his convenience a moment + till he could descend and show him the way upstairs. His eyes were not yet + used to the obscurity of the narrow entry in which he stood, when he felt + a cold hand laid on his, and passively yielded himself to its guidance. He + tried to excuse himself for intruding upon Don Ippolito so soon, but the + priest in far suppler Italian overwhelmed him with lamentations that he + should be so unworthy the honor done him, and ushered his guest into his + apartment. He plainly took it for granted that Ferris had come to see his + inventions, in compliance with the invitation he had given him the day + before, and he made no affectation of delay, though after the excitement + of the greetings was past, it was with a quiet dejection that he rose and + offered to lead his visitor to his laboratory. + </p> + <p> + The whole place was an outgrowth of himself; it was his history as well as + his character. It recorded his quaint and childish tastes, his restless + endeavors, his partial and halting successes. The ante-room in which he + had paused with Ferris was painted to look like a grape-arbor, where the + vines sprang from the floor, and flourishing up the trellised walls, with + many a wanton tendril and flaunting leaf, displayed their lavish clusters + of white and purple all over the ceiling. It touched Ferris, when Don + Ippolito confessed that this decoration had been the distraction of his + own vacant moments, to find that it was like certain grape-arbors he had + seen in remote corners of Venice before the doors of degenerate palaces, + or forming the entrances of open-air restaurants, and did not seem at all + to have been studied from grape-arbors in the country. He perceived the + archaic striving for exact truth, and he successfully praised the + mechanical skill and love of reality with which it was done; but he was + silenced by a collection of paintings in Don Ippolito’s parlor, where he + had been made to sit down a moment. Hard they were in line, fixed in + expression, and opaque in color, these copies of famous masterpieces,—saints + of either sex, ascensions, assumptions, martyrdoms, and what not,—and + they were not quite comprehensible till Don Ippolito explained that he had + made them from such prints of the subjects as he could get, and had + colored them after his own fancy. All this, in a city whose art had been + the glory of the world for nigh half a thousand years, struck Ferris as + yet more comically pathetic than the frescoed grape-arbor; he stared about + him for some sort of escape from the pictures, and his eye fell upon a + piano and a melodeon placed end to end in a right angle. Don Ippolito, + seeing his look of inquiry, sat down and briefly played the same air with + a hand upon each instrument. + </p> + <p> + Ferris smiled. “Don Ippolito, you are another Da Vinci, a universal + genius.” + </p> + <p> + “Bagatelles, bagatelles,” said the priest pensively; but he rose with + greater spirit than he had yet shown, and preceded the consul into the + little room that served him for a smithy. It seemed from some + peculiarities of shape to have once been an oratory, but it was now + begrimed with smoke and dust from the forge which Don Ippolito had set up + in it; the embers of a recent fire, the bellows, the pincers, the hammers, + and the other implements of the trade, gave it a sinister effect, as if + the place of prayer had been invaded by mocking imps, or as if some + hapless mortal in contract with the evil powers were here searching, by + the help of the adversary, for the forbidden secrets of the metals and of + fire. In those days, Ferris was an uncompromising enemy of the + theatricalization of Italy, or indeed of anything; but the fancy of the + black-robed young priest at work in this place appealed to him all the + more potently because of the sort of tragic innocence which seemed to + characterize Don Ippolito’s expression. He longed intensely to sketch the + picture then and there, but he had strength to rebuke the fancy as + something that could not make itself intelligible without the help of such + accessories as he despised, and he victoriously followed the priest into + his larger workshop, where his inventions, complete and incomplete, were + stored, and where he had been seated when his visitor arrived. The high + windows and the frescoed ceiling were festooned with dusty cobwebs; litter + of shavings and whittlings strewed the floor; mechanical implements and + contrivances were everywhere, and Don Ippolito’s listlessness seemed to + return upon him again at the sight of the familiar disorder. Conspicuous + among other objects lay the illogically unsuccessful model of the new + principle of steam propulsion, untouched since the day when he had lifted + it out of the canal and carried it indoors through the ranks of grinning + spectators. From a shelf above it he took down models of a flying-machine + and a perpetual motion. “Fantastic researches in the impossible. I never + expected results from these experiments, with which I nevertheless once + pleased myself,” he said, and turned impatiently to various pieces of + portable furniture, chairs, tables, bedsteads, which by folding up their + legs and tops condensed themselves into flat boxes, developing handles at + the side for convenience in carrying. They were painted and varnished, and + were in all respects complete; they had indeed won favorable mention at an + exposition of the Provincial Society of Arts and Industries, and Ferris + could applaud their ingenuity sincerely, though he had his tacit doubts of + their usefulness. He fell silent again when Don Ippolito called his notice + to a photographic camera, so contrived with straps and springs that you + could snatch by its help whatever joy there might be in taking your own + photograph; and he did not know what to say of a submarine boat, a + four-wheeled water-velocipede, a movable bridge, or the very many other + principles and ideas to which Don Ippolito’s cunning hand had given shape, + more or less imperfect. It seemed to him that they all, however perfect or + imperfect, had some fatal defect: they were aspirations toward the + impossible, or realizations of the trivial and superfluous. Yet, for all + this, they strongly appealed to the painter as the stunted fruit of a + talent denied opportunity, instruction, and sympathy. As he looked from + them at last to the questioning face of the priest, and considered out of + what disheartened and solitary patience they must have come in this city,—dead + hundreds of years to all such endeavor,—he could not utter some glib + phrases of compliment that he had on his tongue. If Don Ippolito had been + taken young, he might perhaps have amounted to something, though this was + questionable; but at thirty—as he looked now,—with his + undisciplined purposes, and his head full of vagaries of which these + things were the tangible witness.... Ferris let his eyes drop again. They + fell upon the ruin of the breech-loading cannon, and he said, “Don + Ippolito, it’s very good of you to take the trouble of showing me these + matters, and I hope you’ll pardon the ungrateful return, if I cannot offer + any definite opinion of them now. They are rather out of my way, I + confess. I wish with all my heart I could order an experimental, life-size + copy of your breech-loading cannon here, for trial by my government, but I + can’t; and to tell you the truth, it was not altogether the wish to see + these inventions of yours that brought me here to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Don Ippolito, with a mortified air, “I am afraid that I have + wearied the Signor Console.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, not at all,” Ferris made haste to answer, with a frown at his + own awkwardness. “But your speaking English yesterday; ... perhaps what I + was thinking of is quite foreign to your tastes and possibilities.”... He + hesitated with a look of perplexity, while Don Ippolito stood before him + in an attitude of expectation, pressing the points of his fingers + together, and looking curiously into his face. “The case is this,” resumed + Ferris desperately. “There are two American ladies, friends of mine, + sojourning in Venice, who expect to be here till midsummer. They are + mother and daughter, and the young lady wants to read and speak Italian + with somebody a few hours each day. The question is whether it is quite + out of your way or not to give her lessons of this kind. I ask it quite at + a venture. I suppose no harm is done, at any rate,” and he looked at Don + Ippolito with apologetic perturbation. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the priest, “there is no harm. On the contrary, I am at this + moment in a position to consider it a great favor that you do me in + offering me this employment. I accept it with the greatest pleasure. Oh!” + he cried, breaking by a sudden impulse from the composure with which he + had begun to speak, “you don’t know what you do for me; you lift me out of + despair. Before you came, I had reached one of those passes that seem the + last bound of endeavor. But you give me new life. Now I can go on with my + experiment. I can attest my gratitude by possessing your native country + of the weapon I had designed for it—I am sure of the principle: some + slight improvement, perhaps the use of some different explosive, would get + over that difficulty you suggested,” he said eagerly. “Yes, something can + be done. God bless you, my dear little son—I mean—perdoni!—my + dear sir.”... + </p> + <p> + “Wait—not so fast,” said Ferris with a laugh, yet a little annoyed + that a question so purely tentative as his should have met at once such a + definite response. “Are you quite sure you can do what they want?” He + unfolded to him, as fully as he understood it, Mrs. Vervain’s scheme. + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito entered into it with perfect intelligence. He said that he + had already had charge of the education of a young girl of noble family, + and he could therefore the more confidently hope to be useful to this + American lady. A light of joyful hope shone in his dreamy eyes, the whole + man changed, he assumed the hospitable and caressing host. He conducted + Ferris back to his parlor, and making him sit upon the hard sofa that was + his hard bed by night, he summoned his servant, and bade her serve them + coffee. She closed her lips firmly, and waved her finger before her face, + to signify that there was no more coffee. Then he bade her fetch it from + the caffè: and he listened with a sort of rapt inattention while Ferris + again returned to the subject and explained that he had approached him + without first informing the ladies, and that he must regard nothing as + final. It was at this point that Don Ippolito, who had understood so + clearly what Mrs. Vervain wanted, appeared a little slow to understand; + and Ferris had a doubt whether it was from subtlety or from simplicity + that the priest seemed not to comprehend the impulse on which he had + acted. He finished his coffee in this perplexity, and when he rose to go, + Don Ippolito followed him down to the street-door, and preserved him from + a second encounter with the cistern-top. + </p> + <p> + “But, Don Ippolito—remember! I make no engagement for the ladies, + whom you must see before anything is settled,” said Ferris. + </p> + <p> + “Surely,—surely!” answered the priest, and he remained smiling at + the door till the American turned the next corner. Then he went back to + his work-room, and took up the broken model from the bench. But he could + not work at it now, he could not work at anything; he began to walk up and + down the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Could he really have been so stupid because his mind was on his + ridiculous cannon?” wondered Ferris as he sauntered frowning away; and he + tried to prepare his own mind for his meeting with the Vervains, to whom + he must now go at once. He felt abused and victimized. Yet it was an + amusing experience, and he found himself able to interest both of the + ladies in it. The younger had received him as coldly as the forms of + greeting would allow; but as he talked she drew nearer him with a + reluctant haughtiness which he noted. He turned the more conspicuously + towards Mrs. Vervain. “Well, to make a long story short,” he said, “I + couldn’t discourage Don Ippolito. He refused to be dismayed—as I + should have been at the notion of teaching Miss Vervain. I didn’t arrange + with him not to fall in love with her as his secular predecessors have + done—it seemed superfluous. But you can mention it to him if you + like. In fact,” said Ferris, suddenly addressing the daughter, “you might + make the stipulation yourself, Miss Vervain.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him a moment with a sort of defenseless pain that made him + ashamed; and then walked away from him towards the window, with a frank + resentment that made him smile, as he continued, “But I suppose you would + like to have some explanation of my motive in precipitating Don Ippolito + upon you in this way, when I told you only yesterday that he wouldn’t do + at all; in fact I think myself that I’ve behaved rather fickle-mindedly—for + a representative of the country. But I’ll tell you; and you won’t be + surprised to learn that I acted from mixed motives. I’m not at all sure + that he’ll do; I’ve had awful misgivings about it since I left him, and + I’m glad of the chance to make a clean breast of it. When I came to think + the matter over last night, the fact that he had taught himself English—with + the help of an Irishman for the pronunciation—seemed to promise that + he’d have the right sort of sympathy with your scheme, and it showed that + he must have something practical about him, too. And here’s where the + selfish admixture comes in. I didn’t have your interests solely in mind + when I went to see Don Ippolito. I hadn’t been able to get rid of him; he + stuck in my thought. I fancied he might be glad of the pay of a teacher, + and—I had half a notion to ask him to let me paint him. It was an + even chance whether I should try to secure him for Miss Vervain, or for + Art—as they call it. Miss Vervain won because she could pay him, and + I didn’t see how Art could. I can bring him round any time; and that’s the + whole inconsequent business. My consolation is that I’ve left you + perfectly free. There’s nothing decided.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” said Mrs. Vervain; “then it’s all settled. You can bring him as + soon as you like, to our new place. We’ve taken that apartment we looked + at the other day, and we’re going into it this afternoon. Here’s the + landlord’s letter,” she added, drawing a paper out of her pocket. “If he’s + cheated us, I suppose you can see justice done. I didn’t want to trouble + you before.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re a woman of business, Mrs. Vervain,” said Ferris. “The man’s a + perfect Jew—or a perfect Christian, one ought to say in Venice; we + true believers do gouge so much, more infamously here—and you let + him get you in black and white before you come to me. Well,” he continued, + as he glanced at the paper, “you’ve done it! He makes you pay one half too + much. However, it’s cheap enough; twice as cheap as your hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don’t care for cheapness. I hate to be imposed upon. What’s to be + done about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing; if he has your letter as you have his. It’s a bargain, and you + must stand to it.” + </p> + <p> + “A bargain? Oh nonsense, now, Mr. Ferris. This is merely a note of mutual + understanding.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that’s one way of looking at it. The Civil Tribunal would call it a + binding agreement of the closest tenure,—if you want to go to law + about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I <i>will</i> go to law about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, you won’t—unless you mean to spend your remaining days and + all your substance in Venice. Come, you haven’t done so badly, Mrs. + Vervain. I don’t call four rooms, completely furnished for housekeeping, + with that lovely garden, at all dear at eleven francs a day. Besides, the + landlord is a man of excellent feeling, sympathetic and obliging, and a + perfect gentleman, though he is such an outrageous scoundrel. He’ll cheat + you, of course, in whatever he can; you must look out for that; but he’ll + do you any sort of little neighborly kindness. Good-by,” said Ferris, + getting to the door before Mrs. Vervain could intercept him. “I’ll come to + your new place this evening to see how you are pleased.” + </p> + <p> + “Florida,” said Mrs. Vervain, “this is outrageous.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t mind it, mother. We pay very little, after all.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but we pay too much. That’s what I can’t bear. And as you said + yesterday, I don’t think Mr. Ferris’s manners are quite respectful to me.” + </p> + <p> + “He only told you the truth; I think he advised you for the best. The + matter couldn’t be helped now.” + </p> + <p> + “But I call it a want of feeling to speak the truth so bluntly.” + </p> + <p> + “We won’t have to complain of that in our landlord, it seems,” said + Florida. “Perhaps not in our priest, either,” she added. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that <i>was</i> kind of Mr. Ferris,” said Mrs. Vervain. “It was + thoroughly thoughtful and considerate—what I call an instance of + true delicacy. I’m really quite curious to see him. Don Ippolito! How very + odd to call a priest <i>Don</i>! I should have said Padre. Don always + makes you think of a Spanish cavalier. Don Rodrigo: something like that.” + </p> + <p> + They went on to talk, desultorily, of Don Ippolito, and what he might be + like. In speaking of him the day before, Ferris had hinted at some + mysterious sadness in him; and to hint of sadness in a man always + interests women in him, whether they are old or young: the old have + suffered, the young forebode suffering. Their interest in Don Ippolito had + not been diminished by what Ferris had told them of his visit to the + priest’s house and of the things he had seen there; for there had always + been the same strain of pity in his laughing account, and he had imparted + none of his doubts to them. They did not talk as if it were strange that + Ferris should do to-day what he had yesterday said he would not do; + perhaps as women they could not find such a thing strange; but it vexed + him more and more as he went about all afternoon thinking of his + inconsistency, and wondering whether he had not acted rashly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. + </h2> + <p> + The palace in which Mrs. Vervain had taken an apartment fronted on a broad + campo, and hung its empty marble balconies from gothic windows above a + silence scarcely to be matched elsewhere in Venice. The local pharmacy, + the caffè, the grocery, the fruiterer’s, the other shops with which every + Venetian campo is furnished, had each a certain life about it, but it was + a silent life, and at midday a frowsy-headed woman clacking across the + flags in her wooden-heeled shoes made echoes whose garrulity was + interrupted by no other sound. In the early morning, when the lid of the + public cistern in the centre of the campo was unlocked, there was a clamor + of voices and a clangor of copper vessels, as the housewives of the + neighborhood and the local force of strong-backed Frinlan water-girls drew + their day’s supply of water; and on that sort of special parochial + holiday, called a <i>sagra</i>, the campo hummed and clattered and + shrieked with a multitude celebrating the day around the stands where + pumpkin seeds and roast pumpkin and anisette-water were sold, and before + the movable kitchen where cakes were fried in caldrons of oil, and + uproariously offered to the crowd by the cook, who did not suffer himself + to be embarrassed by the rival drama of adjoining puppet-shows, but + continued to bellow forth his bargains all day long and far into the + night, when the flames under his kettles painted his visage a fine + crimson. The sagra once over, however, the campo relapsed into its + habitual silence, and no one looking at the front of the palace would have + thought of it as a place for distraction-seeking foreign sojourners. But + it was not on this side that the landlord tempted his tenants; his + principal notice of lodgings to let was affixed to the water-gate of the + palace, which opened on a smaller channel so near the Grand Canal that no + wandering eye could fail to see it. The portal was a tall arch of Venetian + gothic tipped with a carven flame; steps of white Istrian stone descended + to the level of the lowest ebb, irregularly embossed with barnacles, and + dabbling long fringes of soft green sea-mosses in the rising and falling + tide. Swarms of water-bugs and beetles played over the edges of the steps, + and crabs scuttled side-wise into deeper water at the approach of a + gondola. A length of stone-capped brick wall, to which patches of stucco + still clung, stretched from the gate on either hand under cover of an ivy + that flung its mesh of shining green from within, where there lurked a + lovely garden, stately, spacious for Venice, and full of a delicious, + half-sad surprise for whoso opened upon it. In the midst it had a broken + fountain, with a marble naiad standing on a shell, and looking saucier + than the sculptor meant, from having lost the point of her nose, nymphs + and fauns, and shepherds and shepherdesses, her kinsfolk, coquetted in and + out among the greenery in flirtation not to be embarrassed by the fracture + of an arm, or the casting of a leg or so; one lady had no head, but she + was the boldest of all. In this garden there were some mulberry and + pomegranate trees, several of which hung about the fountain with seats in + their shade, and for the rest there seemed to be mostly roses and + oleanders, with other shrubs of a kind that made the greatest show of + blossom and cost the least for tendance. A wide terrace stretched across + the rear of the palace, dropping to the garden path by a flight of + balustraded steps, and upon this terrace opened the long windows of Mrs. + Vervain’s parlor and dining-room. Her landlord owned only the first story + and the basement of the palace, in some corner of which he cowered with + his servants, his taste for pictures and <i>bric-à -brac</i>, and his + little branch of inquiry into Venetian history, whatever it was, ready to + let himself or anything he had for hire at a moment’s notice, but very + pleasant, gentle, and unobtrusive; a cheat and a liar, but of a kind heart + and sympathetic manners. Under his protection Mrs. Vervain set up her + impermanent household gods. The apartment was taken only from week to + week, and as she freely explained to the <i>padrone</i> hovering about + with offers of service, she knew herself too well ever to unpack anything + that would not spoil by remaining packed. She made her trunks yield all + the appliances necessary for an invalid’s comfort, and then left them in a + state to be strapped and transported to the station within half a day + after the desire of change or the exigencies of her feeble health caused + her going. Everything for housekeeping was furnished with the rooms. There + was a gondolier and a sort of house-servant in the employ of the landlord, + of whom Mrs. Vervain hired them, and she caressingly dismissed the padrone + at an early moment after her arrival, with the charge to find a maid for + herself and daughter. As if she had been waiting at the next door this + maid appeared promptly, and being Venetian, and in domestic service, her + name was of course Nina. Mrs. Vervain now said to Florida that everything + was perfect, and contentedly began her life in Venice by telling Mr. + Ferris, when he came in the evening, that he could bring Don Ippolito the + day after the morrow, if he liked. + </p> + <p> + She and Florida sat on the terrace waiting for them on the morning named, + when Ferris, with the priest in his clerical best, came up the garden path + in the sunny light. Don Ippolito’s best was a little poverty-stricken; he + had faltered a while, before leaving home, over the sad choice between a + shabby cylinder hat of obsolete fashion and his well-worn three-cornered + priestly beaver, and had at last put on the latter with a sigh. He had + made his servant polish the buckles of his shoes, and instead of a band of + linen round his throat, he wore a strip of cloth covered with small white + beads, edged above and below with a single row of pale blue ones. + </p> + <p> + As he mounted the steps with Ferris, Mrs. Vervain came forward a little to + meet them, while Florida rose and stood beside her chair in a sort of + proud suspense and timidity. The elder lady was in that black from which + she had so seldom been able to escape; but the daughter wore a dress of + delicate green, in which she seemed a part of the young season that + everywhere clothed itself in the same tint. The sunlight fell upon her + blonde hair, melting into its light gold; her level brows frowned somewhat + with the glance of scrutiny which she gave the dark young priest, who was + making his stately bow to her mother, and trying to answer her English + greetings in the same tongue. + </p> + <p> + “My daughter,” said Mrs. Vervain, and Don Ippolito made another low bow, + and then looked at the girl with a sort of frank and melancholy wonder, as + she turned and exchanged a few words with Ferris, who was assailing her + seriousness and hauteur with unabashed levity of compliment. A quick light + flashed and fled in her cheek as she talked, and the fringes of her + serious, asking eyes swept slowly up and down as she bent them upon him a + moment before she broke abruptly, not coquettishly, away from him, and + moved towards her mother, while Ferris walked off to the other end of the + terrace, with a laugh. Mrs. Vervain and the priest were trying each other + in French, and not making great advance; he explained to Florida in + Italian, and she answered him hesitatingly; whereupon he praised her + Italian in set phrase. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said the girl sincerely, “I have tried to learn. I hope,” she + added as before, “you can make me see how little I know.” The deprecating + wave of the hand with which Don Ippolito appealed to her from herself, + seemed arrested midway by his perception of some novel quality in her. He + said gravely that he should try to be of use, and then the two stood + silent. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Mr. Ferris,” called out Mrs. Vervain, “breakfast is ready, and I + want you to take me in.” + </p> + <p> + “Too much honor,” said the painter, coming forward and offering his arm, + and Mrs. Vervain led the way indoors. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I ought to have taken Don Ippolito’s arm,” she confided in + under-tone, “but the fact is, our French is so unlike that we don’t + understand each other very well.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” returned Ferris, “I’ve known Italians and Americans whom Frenchmen + themselves couldn’t understand.” + </p> + <p> + “You see it’s an American breakfast,” said Mrs. Vervain with a critical + glance at the table before she sat down. “All but hot bread; <i>that</i> + you <i>can’t</i> have,” and Don Ippolito was for the first time in his + life confronted by a breakfast of hot beef-steak, eggs and toast, fried + potatoes, and coffee with milk, with a choice of tea. He subdued all signs + of the wonder he must have felt, and beyond cutting his meat into little + bits before eating it, did nothing to betray his strangeness to the feast. + </p> + <p> + The breakfast had passed off very pleasantly, with occasional lapses. “We + break down under the burden of so many languages,” said Ferris. “It is an + <i>embarras de richesses</i>. Let us fix upon a common maccheronic. May I + trouble you for a poco piú di sugar dans mon café, Mrs. Vervain? What do + you think of the bellazza de ce weather magnifique, Don Ippolito?” + </p> + <p> + “How ridiculous!” said Mrs. Vervain in a tone of fond admiration aside to + Don Ippolito, who smiled, but shrank from contributing to the new tongue. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then,” said the painter. “I shall stick to my native Bergamask + for the future; and Don Ippolito may translate for the foreign ladies.” + </p> + <p> + He ended by speaking English with everybody; Don Ippolito eked out his + speeches to Mrs. Vervain in that tongue with a little French; Florida, + conscious of Ferris’s ironical observance, used an embarrassed but defiant + Italian with the priest. + </p> + <p> + “I’m so pleased!” said Mrs. Vervain, rising when Ferris said that he must + go, and Florida shook hands with both guests. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Mrs. Vervain; I could have gone before, if I’d thought you + would have liked it,” answered the painter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh nonsense, now,” returned the lady. “You know what I mean. I’m + perfectly delighted with him,” she continued, getting Ferris to one side, + “and I <i>know</i> he must have a good accent. So very kind of you. Will + you arrange with him about the pay?—such a <i>shame</i>! Thanks. + Then I needn’t say anything to him about that. I’m so glad I had him to + breakfast the first day; though Florida thought not. Of course, one + needn’t keep it up. But seriously, it isn’t an ordinary case, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Ferris laughed at her with a sort of affectionate disrespect, and said + good-by. Don Ippolito lingered for a while to talk over the proposed + lessons, and then went, after more elaborate adieux. Mrs. Vervain remained + thoughtful a moment before she said:— + </p> + <p> + “That was rather droll, Florida.” + </p> + <p> + “What, mother?” + </p> + <p> + “His cutting his meat into small bites, before he began to eat. But + perhaps it’s the Venetian custom. At any rate, my dear, he’s a gentleman + in virtue of his profession, and I couldn’t do less than ask him to + breakfast. He has beautiful manners; and if he must take snuff, I suppose + it’s neater to carry two handkerchiefs, though it does look odd. I wish he + wouldn’t take snuff.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see why we need care, mother. At any rate, we cannot help it.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s true, my dear. And his nails. Now when they’re spread out on a + book, you know, to keep it open,—won’t it be unpleasant?” + </p> + <p> + “They seem to have just such fingernails all over Europe—except in + England.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; I know it. I dare say we shouldn’t care for it in him, if he + didn’t seem so very nice otherwise. How handsome he is!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. + </h2> + <p> + It was understood that Don Ippolito should come every morning at ten + o’clock, and read and talk with Miss Vervain for an hour or two; but Mrs. + Vervain’s hospitality was too aggressive for the letter of the agreement. + She oftener had him to breakfast at nine, for, as she explained to Ferris, + she could not endure to have him feel that it was a mere mercenary + transaction, and there was no limit fixed for the lessons on these days. + When she could, she had Ferris come, too, and she missed him when he did + not come. “I like that bluntness of his,” she professed to her daughter, + “and I don’t mind his making light of me. You are so apt to be heavy if + you’re not made light of occasionally. I certainly shouldn’t want a <i>son</i> + to be so respectful and obedient as you are, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + The painter honestly returned her fondness, and with not much greater + reason. He saw that she took pleasure in his talk, and enjoyed it even + when she did not understand it; and this is a kind of flattery not easy to + resist. Besides, there was very little ladies’ society in Venice in those + times, and Ferris, after trying the little he could get at, had gladly + denied himself its pleasures, and consorted with the young men he met at + the caffè’s, or in the Piazza. But when the Vervains came, they recalled + to him the younger days in which he had delighted in the companionship of + women. After so long disuse, it was charming to be with a beautiful girl + who neither regarded him with distrust nor expected him to ask her in + marriage because he sat alone with her, rode out with her in a gondola, + walked with her, read with her. All young men like a house in which no ado + is made about their coming and going, and Mrs. Vervain perfectly + understood the art of letting him make himself at home. He perceived with + amusement that this amiable lady, who never did an ungraceful thing nor + wittingly said an ungracious one, was very much of a Bohemian at heart,—the + gentlest and most blameless of the tribe, but still lawless,—whether + from her campaigning married life, or the rovings of her widowhood, or by + natural disposition; and that Miss Vervain was inclined to be + conventionally strict, but with her irregular training was at a loss for + rules by which to check her mother’s little waywardnesses. Her anxious + perplexity, at times, together with her heroic obedience and unswerving + loyalty to her mother had something pathetic as well as amusing in it. He + saw her tried almost to tears by her mother’s helpless frankness,—for + Mrs. Vervain was apparently one of those ladies whom the intolerable + surprise of having anything come into their heads causes instantly to say + or do it,—and he observed that she never tried to pass off her + endurance with any feminine arts; but seemed to defy him to think what he + would of it. Perhaps she was not able to do otherwise: he thought of her + at times as a person wholly abandoned to the truth. Her pride was on the + alert against him; she may have imagined that he was covertly smiling at + her, and she no doubt tasted the ironical flavor of much of his talk and + behavior, for in those days he liked to qualify his devotion to the + Vervains with a certain nonchalant slight, which, while the mother openly + enjoyed it, filled the daughter with anger and apprehension. Quite at + random, she visited points of his informal manner with unmeasured + reprisal; others, for which he might have blamed himself, she passed over + with strange caprice. Sometimes this attitude of hers provoked him, and + sometimes it disarmed him; but whether they were at feud, or keeping an + armed truce, or, as now and then happened, were in an <i>entente cordiale</i> + which he found very charming, the thing that he always contrived to treat + with silent respect and forbearance in Miss Vervain was that sort of + aggressive tenderness with which she hastened to shield the foibles of her + mother. That was something very good in her pride, he finally decided. At + the same time, he did not pretend to understand the curious filial + self-sacrifice which it involved. + </p> + <p> + Another thing in her that puzzled him was her devoutness. Mrs. Vervain + could with difficulty be got to church, but her daughter missed no service + of the English ritual in the old palace where the British and American + tourists assembled once a week with their guide-books in one pocket and + their prayer-books in the other, and buried the tomahawk under the altar. + Mr. Ferris was often sent with her; and then his thoughts, which were a + young man’s, wandered from the service to the beautiful girl at his side,—the + golden head that punctiliously bowed itself at the proper places in the + liturgy: the full lips that murmured the responses; the silken lashes that + swept her pale cheeks as she perused the morning lesson. He knew that the + Vervains were not Episcopalians when at home, for Mrs. Vervain had told + him so, and that Florida went to the English service because there was no + other. He conjectured that perhaps her touch of ritualism came from mere + love of any form she could make sure of. + </p> + <p> + The servants in Mrs. Vervain’s lightly ordered household, with the + sympathetic quickness of the Italians, learned to use him as the next + friend of the family, and though they may have had their decorous surprise + at his untrammeled footing, they probably excused the whole relation as a + phase of that foreign eccentricity to which their nation is so amiable. If + they were not able to cast the same mantle of charity over Don Ippolito’s + allegiance,—and doubtless they had their reserves concerning such + frankly familiar treatment of so dubious a character as priest,—still + as a priest they stood somewhat in awe of him; they had the spontaneous + loyalty of their race to the people they served, and they never intimated + by a look that they found it strange when Don Ippolito freely came and + went. Mrs. Vervain had quite adopted him into her family; while her + daughter seemed more at ease with him than with Ferris, and treated him + with a grave politeness which had something also of compassion and of + child-like reverence in it. Ferris observed that she was always + particularly careful of his supposable sensibilities as a Roman Catholic, + and that the priest was oddly indifferent to this deference, as if it + would have mattered very little to him whether his church was spared or + not. He had a way of lightly avoiding, Ferris fancied, not only religious + points on which they could disagree, but all phases of religion as matters + of indifference. At such times Miss Vervain relaxed her reverential + attitude, and used him with something like rebuke, as if it did not please + her to have the representative of even an alien religion slight his + office; as if her respect were for his priesthood and her compassion for + him personally. That was rather hard for Don Ippolito, Ferris thought, and + waited to see him snubbed outright some day, when he should behave without + sufficient gravity. + </p> + <p> + The blossoms came and went upon the pomegranate and almond trees in the + garden, and some of the earliest roses were in their prime; everywhere was + so full leaf that the wantonest of the strutting nymphs was forced into a + sort of decent seclusion, but the careless naiad of the fountain burnt in + sunlight that subtly increased its fervors day by day, and it was no + longer beginning to be warm, it was warm, when one morning Ferris and Miss + Vervain sat on the steps of the terrace, waiting for Don Ippolito to join + them at breakfast. + </p> + <p> + By this time the painter was well on with the picture of Don Ippolito + which the first sight of the priest had given him a longing to paint, and + he had been just now talking of it with Miss Vervain. + </p> + <p> + “But why do you paint him simply as a priest?” she asked. “I should think + you would want to make him the centre of some famous or romantic scene,” + she added, gravely looking into his eyes as he sat with his head thrown + back against the balustrade. + </p> + <p> + “No, I doubt if you <i>think</i>,” answered Ferris, “or you’d see that a + Venetian priest doesn’t need any tawdry accessories. What do you want? + Somebody administering the extreme unction to a victim of the Council of + Ten? A priest stepping into a confessional at the Frari—tomb of + Canova in the distance, perspective of one of the naves, and so forth—with + his eye on a pretty devotee coming up to unburden her conscience? I’ve no + patience with the follies people think and say about Venice!” + </p> + <p> + Florida stared in haughty question at the painter. + </p> + <p> + “You’re no worse than the rest,” he continued with indifference to her + anger at his bluntness. “You all think that there can be no picture of + Venice without a gondola or a Bridge of Sighs in it. Have you ever read + the Merchant of Venice, or Othello? There isn’t a boat nor a bridge nor a + canal mentioned in either of them; and yet they breathe and pulsate with + the very life of Venice. I’m going to try to paint a Venetian priest so + that you’ll know him without a bit of conventional Venice near him.” + </p> + <p> + “It was Shakespeare who wrote those plays,” said Florida. Ferris bowed in + mock suffering from her sarcasm. “You’d better have some sort of symbol in + your picture of a Venetian priest, or people will wonder why you came so + far to paint Father O’Brien.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t say I shall succeed,” Ferris answered. “In fact I’ve made one + failure already, and I’m pretty well on with a second; but the principle + is right, all the same. I don’t expect everybody to see the difference + between Don Ippolito and Father O’Brien. At any rate, what I’m going to + paint <i>at</i> is the lingering pagan in the man, the renunciation first + of the inherited nature, and then of a personality that would have enjoyed + the world. I want to show that baffled aspiration, apathetic despair, and + rebellious longing which you caten in his face when he’s off his guard, + and that suppressed look which is the characteristic expression of all + Austrian Venice. Then,” said Ferris laughing, “I must work in that small + suspicion of Jesuit which there is in every priest. But it’s quite + possible I may make a Father O’Brien of him.” + </p> + <p> + “You won’t make a Don Ippolito of him,” said Florida, after serious + consideration of his face to see whether he was quite in earnest, “if you + put all that into him. He has the simplest and openest look in the world,” + she added warmly, “and there’s neither pagan, nor martyr, nor rebel in + it.” + </p> + <p> + Ferris laughed again. “Excuse me; I don’t think you know. I can convince + you.”... + </p> + <p> + Florida rose, and looking down the garden path said, “He’s coming;” and as + Don Ippolito drew near, his face lighting up with a joyous and innocent + smile, she continued absently, “he’s got on new stockings, and a different + coat and hat.” + </p> + <p> + The stockings were indeed new and the hat was not the accustomed <i>nicchio</i>, + but a new silk cylinder with a very worldly, curling brim. Don Ippolito’s + coat, also, was of a more mundane cut than the talare; he wore a waistcoat + and small-clothes, meeting the stockings at the knee with a sprightly + buckle. His person showed no traces of the snuff with which it used to be + so plentifully dusted; in fact, he no longer took snuff in the presence of + the ladies. The first week he had noted an inexplicable uneasiness in them + when he drew forth that blue cotton handkerchief after the solace of a + pinch shortly afterwards, being alone with Florida, he saw her give a + nervous start at its appearance. He blushed violently, and put it back + into the pocket from which he had half drawn it, and whence it never + emerged again in her presence. The contessina his former pupil had not + shown any aversion to Don Ippolito’s snuff or his blue handkerchief; but + then the contessina had never rebuked his finger-nails by the tints of + rose and ivory with which Miss Vervain’s hands bewildered him. It was a + little droll how anxiously he studied the ways of these Americans, and + conformed to them as far as he knew. His English grew rapidly in their + society, and it happened sometimes that the only Italian in the day’s + lesson was what he read with Florida, for she always yielded to her + mother’s wish to talk, and Mrs. Vervain preferred the ease of her native + tongue. He was Americanizing in that good lady’s hands as fast as she + could transform him, and he listened to her with trustful reverence, as to + a woman of striking though eccentric mind. Yet he seemed finally to refer + every point to Florida, as if with an intuition of steadier and stronger + character in her; and now, as he ascended the terrace steps in his + modified costume, he looked intently at her. She swept him from head to + foot with a glance, and then gravely welcomed him with unchanged + countenance. + </p> + <p> + At the same moment Mrs. Vervain came out through one of the long windows, + and adjusting her glasses, said with a start, “Why, my dear Don Ippolito, + I shouldn’t have known you!” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, madama?” asked the priest—with a painful smile. “Is it so + great a change? We can wear this dress as well as the other, if we + please.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course it’s very becoming and all that; but it does look so out + of character,” Mrs. Vervain said, leading the way to the breakfast-room. + “It’s like seeing a military man in a civil coat.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be a great relief to lay aside the uniform now and then, mother,” + said Florida, as they sat down. “I can remember that papa used to be glad + to get out of his.” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly wild,” assented Mrs. Vervain. “But he never seemed the same + person. Soldiers and—clergymen—are so much more stylish in + their own dress—not stylish, exactly, but taking; don’t you know?” + </p> + <p> + “There, Don Ippolito,” interposed Ferris, “you had better put on your + talare and your nicchio again. Your <i>abbate’s</i> dress isn’t + acceptable, you see.” + </p> + <p> + The painter spoke in Italian, but Don Ippolito answered—with certain + blunders which it would be tedious to reproduce—in his patient, + conscientious English, half sadly, half playfully, and glancing at + Florida, before he turned to Mrs. Vervain, “You are as rigid as the rest + of the world, madama. I thought you would like this dress, but it seems + that you think it a masquerade. As madamigella says, it is a relief to lay + aside the uniform, now and then, for us who fight the spiritual enemies as + well as for the other soldiers. There was one time, when I was younger and + in the subdiaconate orders, that I put off the priest’s dress altogether, + and wore citizen’s clothes, not an abbate’s suit like this. We were in + Padua, another young priest and I, my nearest and only friend, and for a + whole night we walked about the streets in that dress, meeting the + students, as they strolled singing through the moonlight; we went to the + theatre and to the caffè,—we smoked cigars, all the time laughing + and trembling to think of the tonsure under our hats. But in the morning + we had to put on the stockings and the talare and the nicchio again.” + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito gave a melancholy laugh. He had thrust the corner of his + napkin into his collar; seeing that Ferris had not his so, he twitched it + out, and made a feint of its having been all the time in his lap. Every + one was silent as if something shocking had been said; Florida looked with + grave rebuke at Don Ippolito, whose story affected Ferris like that of + some girl’s adventure in men’s clothes. He was in terror lest Mrs. Vervain + should be going to say it was like that; she was going to say something; + he made haste to forestall her, and turn the talk on other things. + </p> + <p> + The next day the priest came in his usual dress, and he did not again try + to escape from it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. + </h2> + <p> + One afternoon, as Don Ippolito was posing to Ferris for his picture of A + Venetian Priest, the painter asked, to make talk, “Have you hit upon that + new explosive yet, which is to utilize your breech-loading cannon? Or are + you engaged upon something altogether new?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered the other uneasily, “I have not touched the cannon since + that day you saw it at my house; and as for other things, I have not been + able to put my mind to them. I have made a few trifles which I have + ventured to offer the ladies.” + </p> + <p> + Ferris had noticed the ingenious reading-desk which Don Ippolito had + presented to Florida, and the footstool, contrived with springs and hinges + so that it would fold up into the compass of an ordinary portfolio, which + Mrs. Vervain carried about with her. + </p> + <p> + An odd look, which the painter caught at and missed, came into the + priest’s face, as he resumed: “I suppose it is the distraction of my new + occupation, and of the new acquaintances—so very strange to me in + every way—that I have made in your amiable country-women, which + hinders me from going about anything in earnest, now that their + munificence has enabled me to pursue my aims with greater advantages than + ever before. But this idle mood will pass, and in the mean time I am very + happy. They are real angels, and madama is a true original.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Vervain is rather peculiar,” said the painter, retiring a few paces + from his picture, and quizzing it through his half-closed eyes. “She is a + woman who has had affliction enough to turn a stronger head than hers + could ever have been,” he added kindly. “But she has the best heart in the + world. In fact,” he burst forth, “she is the most extraordinary + combination of perfect fool and perfect lady I ever saw.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me; I don’t understand,” blankly faltered Don Ippolito. + </p> + <p> + “No; and I’m afraid I couldn’t explain to you,” answered Ferris. + </p> + <p> + There was a silence for a time, broken at last by Don Ippolito, who asked, + “Why do you not marry madamigella?” + </p> + <p> + He seemed not to feel that there was anything out of the way in the + question, and Ferris was too well used to the childlike directness of the + most maneuvering of races to be surprised. Yet he was displeased, as he + would not have been if Don Ippolito were not a priest. He was not of the + type of priests whom the American knew from the prejudice and distrust of + the Italians; he was alienated from his clerical fellows by all the + objects of his life, and by a reciprocal dislike. About other priests + there were various scandals; but Don Ippolito was like that pretty + match-girl of the Piazza of whom it was Venetianly answered, when one + asked if so sweet a face were not innocent, “Oh yes, she is mad!” He was + of a purity so blameless that he was reputed crack-brained by the + caffè-gossip that in Venice turns its searching light upon whomever you + mention; and from his own association with the man Ferris perceived in him + an apparent single-heartedness such as no man can have but the rarest of + Italians. He was the albino of his species; a gray crow, a white fly; he + was really this, or he knew how to seem it with an art far beyond any + common deceit. It was the half expectation of coming sometime upon the + lurking duplicity in Don Ippolito, that continually enfeebled the painter + in his attempts to portray his Venetian priest, and that gave its + undecided, unsatisfactory character to the picture before him—its + weak hardness, its provoking superficiality. He expressed the traits of + melancholy and loss that he imagined in him, yet he always was tempted to + leave the picture with a touch of something sinister in it, some airy and + subtle shadow of selfish design. + </p> + <p> + He stared hard at Don Ippolito while this perplexity filled his mind, for + the hundredth time; then he said stiffly, “I don’t know. I don’t want to + marry anybody. Besides,” he added, relaxing into a smile of helpless + amusement, “it’s possible that Miss Vervain might not want to marry me.” + </p> + <p> + “As to that,” replied Don Ippolito, “you never can tell. All young girls + desire to be married, I suppose,” he continued with a sigh. “She is very + beautiful, is she not? It is seldom that we see such a blonde in Italy. + Our blondes are dark; they have auburn hair and blue eyes, but their + complexions are thick. Miss Vervain is blonde as the morning light; the + sun’s gold is in her hair, his noonday whiteness in her dazzling throat; + the flush of his coming is on her lips; she might utter the dawn!” + </p> + <p> + “You’re a poet, Don Ippolito,” laughed the painter. “What property of the + sun is in her angry-looking eyes?” + </p> + <p> + “His fire! Ah, that is her greatest charm! Those strange eyes of hers, + they seem full of tragedies. She looks made to be the heroine of some + stormy romance; and yet how simply patient and good she is!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Ferris, who often responded in English to the priest’s + Italian; and he added half musingly in his own tongue, after a moment, + “but I don’t think it would be safe to count upon her. I’m afraid she has + a bad temper. At any rate, I always expect to see smoke somewhere when I + look at those eyes of hers. She has wonderful self-control, however; and I + don’t exactly understand why. Perhaps people of strong impulses have + strong wills to overrule them; it seems no more than fair.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it the custom,” asked Don Ippolito, after a moment, “for the American + young ladies always to address their mammas as <i>mother</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “No; that seems to be a peculiarity of Miss Vervain’s. It’s a little + formality that I should say served to hold Mrs. Vervain in check.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that it repulses her?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. I don’t think I could explain,” said Ferris with a certain + air of regretting to have gone so far in comment on the Vervains. He added + recklessly, “Don’t you see that Mrs. Vervain sometimes does and says + things that embarrass her daughter, and that Miss Vervain seems to try to + restrain her?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought,” returned Don Ippolito meditatively, “that the signorina was + always very tenderly submissive to her mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, so she is,” said the painter dryly, and looked in annoyance from the + priest to the picture, and from the picture to the priest. + </p> + <p> + After a minute Don Ippolito said, “They must be very rich to live as they + do.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know about that,” replied Ferris. “Americans spend and save in + ways different from the Italians. I dare say the Vervains find Venice very + cheap after London and Paris and Berlin.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said Don Ippolito, “if they were rich you would be in a + position to marry her.” + </p> + <p> + “I should not marry Miss Vervain for her money,” answered the painter, + sharply. + </p> + <p> + “No, but if you loved her, the money would enable you to marry her.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen to me, Don Ippolito. I never said that I loved Miss Vervain, and I + don’t know how you feel warranted in speaking to me about the matter. Why + do you do so?” + </p> + <p> + “I? Why? I could not but imagine that you must love her. Is there anything + wrong in speaking of such things? Is it contrary to the American custom? I + ask pardon from my heart if I have done anything amiss.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no offense,” said the painter, with a laugh, “and I don’t wonder + you thought I ought to be in love with Miss Vervain. She <i>is</i> + beautiful, and I believe she’s good. But if men had to marry because women + were beautiful and good, there isn’t one of us could live single a day. + Besides, I’m the victim of another passion,—I’m laboring under an + unrequited affection for Art.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you do <i>not</i> love her?” asked Don Ippolito, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “So far as I’m advised at present, no, I don’t.” + </p> + <p> + “It is strange!” said the priest, absently, but with a glowing face. + </p> + <p> + He quitted the painter’s and walked swiftly homeward with a triumphant + buoyancy of step. A subtle content diffused itself over his face, and a + joyful light burnt in his deep eyes. He sat down before the piano and + organ as he had arranged them, and began to strike their keys in unison; + this seemed to him for the first time childish. Then he played some lively + bars on the piano alone; they sounded too light and trivial, and he turned + to the other instrument. As the plaint of the reeds arose, it filled his + sense like a solemn organ-music, and transfigured the place; the notes + swelled to the ample vault of a church, and at the high altar he was + celebrating the mass in his sacerdotal robes. He suddenly caught his + fingers away from the keys; his breast heaved, he hid his face in his + hands. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. + </h2> + <p> + Ferris stood cleaning his palette, after Don Ippolito was gone, scraping + the colors together with his knife and neatly buttering them on the + palette’s edge, while he wondered what the priest meant by pumping him in + that way. Nothing, he supposed, and yet it was odd. Of course she had a + bad temper.... + </p> + <p> + He put on his hat and coat and strolled vaguely forth, and in an hour or + two came by a roundabout course to the gondola station nearest his own + house. There he stopped, and after an absent contemplation of the boats, + from which the gondoliers were clamoring for his custom, he stepped into + one and ordered the man to row him to a gate on a small canal opposite. + The gate opened, at his ringing, into the garden of the Vervains. + </p> + <p> + Florida was sitting alone on a bench near the fountain. It was no longer a + ruined fountain; the broken-nosed naiad held a pipe above her head, and + from this rose a willowy spray high enough to catch some colors of the + sunset then striking into the garden, and fell again in a mist around her, + making her almost modest. + </p> + <p> + “What does this mean?” asked Ferris, carelessly taking the young girl’s + hand. “I thought this lady’s occupation was gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Don Ippolito repaired the fountain for the landlord, and he agreed to pay + for filling the tank that feeds it,” said Florida. “He seems to think it a + hard bargain, for he only lets it play about half an hour a day. But he + says it’s very ingeniously mended. He didn’t believe it could be done. It + <i>is</i> pretty. + </p> + <p> + “It is, indeed,” said the painter, with a singular desire, going through + him like a pang, likewise to do something for Miss Vervain. “Did you go to + Don Ippolito’s house the other day, to see his traps?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; we were very much interested. I was sorry that I knew so little + about inventions. Do you think there are many practical ideas amongst his + things? I hope there are—he seemed so proud and pleased to show + them. Shouldn’t you think he had some real inventive talent?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think he has; but I know as little about the matter as you do.” He + sat down beside her, and picking up a twig from the gravel, pulled the + bark off in silence. Then, “Miss Vervain,” he said, knitting his brows, as + he always did when he had something on his conscience and meant to ease it + at any cost, “I’m the dog that fetches a bone and carries a bone; I talked + Don Ippolito over with you, the other day, and now I’ve been talking you + over with him. But I’ve the grace to say that I’m ashamed of myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Why need you be ashamed?” asked Florida. “You said no harm of him. Did + you of us?” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly; but I don’t think it was quite my business to discuss you at + all. I think you can’t let people alone too much. For my part, if I try to + characterize my friends, I fail to do them perfect justice, of course; and + yet the imperfect result remains representative of them in my mind; it + limits them and fixes them; and I can’t get them back again into the + undefined and the ideal where they really belong. One ought never to speak + of the faults of one’s friends: it mutilates them; they can never be the + same afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + “So you have been talking of my faults,” said Florida, breathing quickly. + “Perhaps you could tell me of them to my face.” + </p> + <p> + “I should have to say that unfairness was one of them. But that is common + to the whole sex. I never said I was talking of your faults. I declared + against doing so, and you immediately infer that my motive is remorse. I + don’t know that you have any faults. They may be virtues in disguise. + There is a charm even in unfairness. Well, I did say that I thought you + had a quick temper,”— + </p> + <p> + Florida colored violently. + </p> + <p> + —“but now I see that I was mistaken,” said Ferris with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask what else you said?” demanded the young girl haughtily. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that would be a betrayal of confidence,” said Ferris, unaffected by + her hauteur. + </p> + <p> + “Then why have you mentioned the matter to me at all?” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to clear my conscience, I suppose, and sin again. I wanted to + talk with you about Don Ippolito.” + </p> + <p> + Florida looked with perplexity at Ferris’s face, while her own slowly + cooled and paled. + </p> + <p> + “What did you want to say of him?” she asked calmly. + </p> + <p> + “I hardly know how to put it: that he puzzles me, to begin with. You know + I feel somewhat responsible for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I never should have thought of him, if it hadn’t been for your + mother’s talk that morning coming back from San Lazzaro.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Florida, with a faint blush. + </p> + <p> + “And yet, don’t you see, it was as much a fancy of mine, a weakness for + the man himself, as the desire to serve your mother, that prompted me to + bring him to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I see,” answered the young girl. + </p> + <p> + “I acted in the teeth of a bitter Venetian prejudice against priests. All + my friends here—they’re mostly young men with the modern Italian + ideas, or old liberals—hate and despise the priests. They believe + that priests are full of guile and deceit, that they are spies for the + Austrians, and altogether evil.” + </p> + <p> + “Don Ippolito is welcome to report our most secret thoughts to the + police,” said Florida, whose look of rising alarm relaxed into a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” cried the painter, “how you leap to conclusions! I never intimated + that Don Ippolito was a spy. On the contrary, it was his difference from + other priests that made me think of him for a moment. He seems to be as + much cut off from the church as from the world. And yet he is a priest, + with a priest’s education. What if I should have been altogether mistaken? + He is either one of the openest souls in the world, as you have insisted, + or he is one of the closest.” + </p> + <p> + “I should not be afraid of him in any case,” said Florida; “but I can’t + believe any wrong of him.” + </p> + <p> + Ferris frowned in annoyance. “I don’t want you to; I don’t, myself. I’ve + bungled the matter as I might have known I would. I was trying to put into + words an undefined uneasiness of mine, a quite formless desire to have you + possessed of the whole case as it had come up in my mind. I’ve made a mess + of it,” said Ferris rising, with a rueful air. “Besides, I ought to have + spoken to Mrs. Vervain.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no,” cried Florida, eagerly, springing to her feet beside him. “Don’t! + Little things wear upon my mother, so. I’m glad you didn’t speak to her. I + don’t misunderstand you, I think; I expressed myself badly,” she added + with an anxious face. “I thank you very much. What do you want me to do?” + </p> + <p> + By Ferris’s impulse they both began to move down the garden path toward + the water-gate. The sunset had faded out of the fountain, but it still lit + the whole heaven, in whose vast blue depths hung light whiffs of pinkish + cloud, as ethereal as the draperies that floated after Miss Vervain as she + walked with a splendid grace beside him, no awkwardness, now, or + self-constraint in her. As she turned to Ferris, and asked in her deep + tones, to which some latent feeling imparted a slight tremor, “What do you + want me to do?” the sense of her willingness to be bidden by him gave him + a delicious thrill. He looked at the superb creature, so proud, so + helpless; so much a woman, so much a child; and he caught his breath + before he answered. Her gauzes blew about his feet in the light breeze + that lifted the foliage; she was a little near-sighted, and in her + eagerness she drew closer to him, fixing her eyes full upon his with a + bold innocence. “Good heavens! Miss Vervain,” he cried, with a sudden + blush, “it isn’t a serious matter. I’m a fool to have spoken to you. Don’t + do anything. Let things go on as before. It isn’t for me to instruct you.” + </p> + <p> + “I should have been very glad of your advice,” she said with a + disappointed, almost wounded manner, keeping her eyes upon him. “It seems + to me we are always going wrong”— + </p> + <p> + She stopped short, with a flush and then a pallor. + </p> + <p> + Ferris returned her look with one of comical dismay. This apparent + readiness of Miss Vervain’s to be taken command of, daunted him, on second + thoughts. “I wish you’d dismiss all my stupid talk from your mind,” he + said. “I feel as if I’d been guiltily trying to set you against a man whom + I like very much and have no reason not to trust, and who thinks me so + much his friend that he couldn’t dream of my making any sort of trouble + for him. It would break his heart, I’m afraid, if you treated him in a + different way from that in which you’ve treated him till now. It’s really + touching to listen to his gratitude to you and your mother. It’s only + conceivable on the ground that he has never had friends before in the + world. He seems like another man, or the same man come to life. And it + isn’t his fault that he’s a priest. I suppose,” he added, with a sort of + final throe, “that a Venetian family wouldn’t use him with the frank + hospitality you’ve shown, not because they distrusted him at all, perhaps, + but because they would be afraid of other Venetian tongues.” + </p> + <p> + This ultimate drop of venom, helplessly distilled, did not seem to rankle + in Miss Vervain’s mind. She walked now with her face turned from his, and + she answered coldly, “We shall not be troubled. We don’t care for Venetian + tongues.” + </p> + <p> + They were at the gate. “Good-by,” said Ferris, abruptly, “I’m going.” + </p> + <p> + “Won’t you wait and see my mother?” asked Florida, with her awkward + self-constraint again upon her. + </p> + <p> + “No, thanks,” said Ferris, gloomily. “I haven’t time. I just dropped in + for a moment, to blast an innocent man’s reputation, and destroy a young + lady’s peace of mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you needn’t go, yet,” answered Florida, coldly, “for you haven’t + succeeded.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ve done my worst,” returned Ferris, drawing the bolt. + </p> + <p> + He went away, hanging his head in amazement and disgust at himself for his + clumsiness and bad taste. It seemed to him a contemptible part, first to + embarrass them with Don Ippolito’s acquaintance, if it was an + embarrassment, and then try to sneak out of his responsibility by these + tardy cautions; and if it was not going to be an embarrassment, it was + folly to have approached the matter at all. + </p> + <p> + What had he wanted to do, and with what motive? He hardly knew. As he + battled the ground over and over again, nothing comforted him save the + thought that, bad as it was to have spoken to Miss Vervain, it must have + been infinitely worse to speak to her mother. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII. + </h2> + <p> + It was late before Ferris forgot his chagrin in sleep, and when he woke + the next morning, the sun was making the solid green blinds at his window + odorous of their native pine woods with its heat, and thrusting a golden + spear at the heart of Don Ippolito’s effigy where he had left it on the + easel. + </p> + <p> + Marina brought a letter with his coffee. The letter was from Mrs. Vervain, + and it entreated him to come to lunch at twelve, and then join them on an + excursion, of which they had all often talked, up the Canal of the Brenta. + “Don Ippolito has got his permission—think of his not being able to + go to the mainland without the Patriarch’s leave! and can go with us + to-day. So I try to make this hasty arrangement. You <i>must</i> come—it + all depends upon you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, so it seems,” groaned the painter, and went. + </p> + <p> + In the garden he found Don Ippolito and Florida, at the fountain where he + had himself parted with her the evening before; and he observed with a + guilty relief that Don Ippolito was talking to her in the happy + unconsciousness habitual with him. + </p> + <p> + Florida cast at the painter a swift glance of latent appeal and + intelligence, which he refused, and in the same instant she met him with + another look, as if she now saw him for the first time, and gave him her + hand in greeting. It was a beautiful hand; he could not help worshipping + its lovely forms, and the lily whiteness and softness of the back, the + rose of the palm and finger-tips. + </p> + <p> + She idly resumed the great Venetian fan which hung from her waist by a + chain. “Don Ippolito has been talking about the villeggiatura on the + Brenta in the old days,” she explained. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” said the painter, “they used to have merry times in the villas + then, and it was worth while being a priest, or at least an abbate di + casa. I should think you would sigh for a return of those good old days, + Don Ippolito. Just imagine, if you were abbate di casa with some patrician + family about the close of the last century, you might be the instructor, + companion, and spiritual adviser of Illustrissima at the theatres, + card-parties, and masquerades, all winter; and at this season, instead of + going up the Brenta for a day’s pleasure with us barbarous Yankees, you + might be setting out with Illustrissima and all the ‘Strissimi and + ‘Strissime, big and little, for a spring villeggiatura there. You would be + going in a gilded barge, with songs and fiddles and dancing, instead of a + common gondola, and you would stay a month, walking, going to parties and + caffès, drinking chocolate and lemonade, gaming, sonneteering, and + butterflying about generally.” + </p> + <p> + “It was doubtless a beautiful life,” answered the priest, with simple + indifference. “But I never have thought of it with regret, because I have + been preoccupied with other ideas than those of social pleasures, though + perhaps they were no wiser.” + </p> + <p> + Florida had watched Don Ippolito’s face while Ferris was speaking, and she + now asked gravely, “But don’t you think their life nowadays is more + becoming to the clergy?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, madamigella? What harm was there in those gayeties? I suppose the + bad features of the old life are exaggerated to us.” + </p> + <p> + “They couldn’t have been worse than the amusements of the hard-drinking, + hard-riding, hard-swearing, fox-hunting English parsons about the same + time,” said Ferris. “Besides, the abbate di casa had a charm of his own, + the charm of all <i>rococo</i> things, which, whatever you may say of + them, are somehow elegant and refined, or at least refer to elegance and + refinement. I don’t say they’re ennobling, but they’re fascinating. I + don’t respect them, but I love them. When I think about the past of + Venice, I don’t care so much to see any of the heroically historical + things; but I should like immensely to have looked in at the Ridotto, when + the place was at its gayest with wigs and masks, hoops and small-clothes, + fans and rapiers, bows and courtesies, whispers and glances. I dare say I + should have found Don Ippolito there in some becoming disguise.” + </p> + <p> + Florida looked from the painter to the priest and back to the painter, as + Ferris spoke, and then she turned a little anxiously toward the terrace, + and a shadow slipped from her face as her mother came rustling down the + steps, catching at her drapery and shaking it into place. The young girl + hurried to meet her, lifted her arms for what promised an embrace, and + with firm hands set the elder lady’s bonnet straight with her forehead. + </p> + <p> + “I’m always getting it on askew,” Mrs. Vervain said for greeting to + Ferris. “How do you do, Don Ippolito? But I suppose you think I’ve kept + you long enough to get it on straight for once. So I have. I <i>am</i> a + fuss, and I don’t deny it. At my time of life, it’s much harder to make + yourself shipshape than it is when you’re younger. I tell Florida that + anybody would take <i>her</i> for the <i>old</i> lady, she does seem to + give so little care to getting up an appearance.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet she has the effect of a stylish young person in the bloom of + youth,” observed Ferris, with a touch of caricature. + </p> + <p> + “We had better lunch with our things on,” said Mrs. Vervain, “and then + there needn’t be any delay in starting. I thought we would have it here,” + she added, as Nina and the house-servant appeared with trays of dishes and + cups. “So that we can start in a real picnicky spirit. I knew you’d think + it a womanish lunch, Mr. Ferris—Don Ippolito likes what we do—and + so I’ve provided you with a chicken salad; and I’m going to ask you for a + taste of it; I’m really hungry.” + </p> + <p> + There was salad for all, in fact; and it was quite one o’clock before the + lunch was ended, and wraps of just the right thickness and thinness were + chosen, and the party were comfortably placed under the striped linen + canopy of the gondola, which they had from a public station, the + house-gondola being engaged that day. They rowed through the narrow canal + skirting the garden out into the expanse before the Giudecca, and then + struck across the lagoon towards Fusina, past the island-church of San + Giorgio in Alga, whose beautiful tower has flushed and darkened in so many + pictures of Venetian sunsets, and past the Austrian lagoon forts with + their coronets of guns threatening every point, and the Croatian sentinels + pacing to and fro on their walls. They stopped long enough at one of the + customs barges to declare to the swarthy, amiable officers the innocence + of their freight, and at the mouth of the Canal of the Brenta they paused + before the station while a policeman came out and scanned them. He bowed + to Don Ippolito’s cloth, and then they began to push up the sluggish + canal, shallow and overrun with weeds and mosses, into the heart of the + land. + </p> + <p> + The spring, which in Venice comes in the softening air and the perpetual + azure of the heavens, was renewed to their senses in all its miraculous + loveliness. The garden of the Vervains had indeed confessed it in opulence + of leaf and bloom, but there it seemed somehow only like a novel effect of + the artifice which had been able to create a garden in that city of stone + and sea. Here a vernal world suddenly opened before them, with + wide-stretching fields of green under a dome of perfect blue; against its + walls only the soft curves of far-off hills were traced, and near at hand + the tender forms of full-foliaged trees. The long garland of vines that + festoons all Italy seemed to begin in the neighboring orchards; the + meadows waved their tall grasses in the sun, and broke in poppies as the + sea-waves break in iridescent spray; the well-grown maize shook its + gleaming blades in the light; the poplars marched in stately procession on + either side of the straight, white road to Padua, till they vanished in + the long perspective. The blossoms had fallen from the trees many weeks + before, but the air was full of the vague sweetness of the perfect spring, + which here and there gathered and defined itself as the spicy odor of the + grass cut on the shore of the canal, and drying in the mellow heat of the + sun. + </p> + <p> + The voyagers spoke from time to time of some peculiarity of the villas + that succeeded each other along the canal. Don Ippolito knew a few of + them, the gondoliers knew others; but after all, their names were nothing. + These haunts of old-time splendor and idleness weary of themselves, and + unable to escape, are sadder than anything in Venice, and they belonged, + as far as the Americans were concerned, to a world as strange as any to + which they should go in another life,—the world of a faded fashion + and an alien history. Some of the villas were kept in a sort of repair; + some were even maintained in the state of old; but the most showed marks + of greater or less decay, and here and there one was falling to ruin. They + had gardens about them, tangled and wild-grown; a population of decrepit + statues in the rococo taste strolled in their walks or simpered from their + gates. Two or three houses seemed to be occupied; the rest stood empty, + each + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Close latticed to the brooding heat, + And silent in its dusty vines.” + </pre> + <p> + The pleasure-party had no fixed plan for the day further than to ascend + the canal, and by and by take a carriage at some convenient village and + drive to the famous Villa Pisani at Strà . + </p> + <p> + “These houses are very well,” said Don Ippolito, who had visited the villa + once, and with whom it had remained a memory almost as signal as that + night in Padua when he wore civil dress, “but it is at Strà you see + something really worthy of the royal splendor of the patricians of Venice. + Royal? The villa is now one of the palaces of the ex-Emperor of Austria, + who does not find it less imperial than his other palaces.” Don Ippolito + had celebrated the villa at Strà in this strain ever since they had spoken + of going up the Brenta: now it was the magnificent conservatories and + orangeries that he sang, now the vast garden with its statued walks + between rows of clipt cedars and firs, now the stables with their stalls + for numberless horses, now the palace itself with its frescoed halls and + treasures of art and vertu. His enthusiasm for the villa at Strà had + become an amiable jest with the Americans. Ferris laughed at his fresh + outburst he declared himself tired of the gondola, and he asked Florida to + disembark with him and walk under the trees of a pleasant street running + on one side between the villas and the canal. “We are going to find + something much grander than the Villa Pisani,” he boasted, with a look at + Don Ippolito. + </p> + <p> + As they sauntered along the path together, they came now and then to a + stately palace like that of the Contarini, where the lions, that give + their name to one branch of the family, crouch in stone before the grand + portal; but most of the houses were interesting only from their unstoried + possibilities to the imagination. They were generally of stucco, and + glared with fresh whitewash through the foliage of their gardens. When a + peasant’s cottage broke their line, it gave, with its barns and + straw-stacks and its beds of pot-herbs, a homely relief from the decaying + gentility of the villas. + </p> + <p> + “What a pity, Miss Vervain,” said the painter, “that the blessings of this + world should be so unequally divided! Why should all this sketchable + adversity be lavished upon the neighborhood of a city that is so rich as + Venice in picturesque dilapidation? It’s pretty hard on us Americans, and + forces people of sensibility into exile. What wouldn’t cultivated persons + give for a stretch of this street in the suburbs of Boston, or of your own + Providence? I suppose the New Yorkers will be setting up something of the + kind one of these days, and giving it a French name—they’ll call it + <i>Aux bords du Brenta</i>. There was one of them carried back a gondola + the other day to put on a pond in their new park. But the worst of it is, + you can’t take home the sentiment of these things.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought it was the business of painters to send home the sentiment of + them in pictures,” said Florida. + </p> + <p> + Ferris talked to her in this way because it was his way of talking; it + always surprised him a little that she entered into the spirit of it; he + was not quite sure that she did; he sometimes thought she waited till she + could seize upon a point to turn against him, and so give herself the air + of having comprehended the whole. He laughed: “Oh yes, a poor little + fragmentary, faded-out reproduction of their sentiment—which is ‘as + moonlight unto sunlight and as water unto wine,’ when compared with the + real thing. Suppose I made a picture of this very bit, ourselves in the + foreground, looking at the garden over there where that amusing Vandal of + an owner has just had his statues painted white: would our friends at home + understand it? A whole history must be left unexpressed. I could only hint + at an entire situation. Of course, people with a taste for olives would + get the flavor; but even they would wonder that I chose such an + unsuggestive bit. Why, it is just the most maddeningly suggestive thing to + be found here! And if I may put it modestly, for my share in it, I think + we two young Americans looking on at this supreme excess of the rococo, + are the very essence of the sentiment of the scene; but what would the + honored connoisseurs—the good folks who get themselves up on Ruskin + and try so honestly hard to have some little ideas about art—make of + us? To be sure they might justifiably praise the grace of your pose, if I + were so lucky as to catch it, and your way of putting your hand under the + elbow of the arm that holds your parasol,”—Florida seemed + disdainfully to keep her attitude, and the painter smiled,—“but they + wouldn’t know what it all meant, and couldn’t imagine that we were + inspired by this rascally little villa to sigh longingly over the wicked + past.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” interrupted Florida, with a touch of trouble in her proud + manner, “I’m not sighing over it, for one, and I don’t want it back. I’m + glad that I’m American and that there is no past for me. I can’t + understand how you and Don Ippolito can speak so tolerantly of what no one + can respect,” she added, in almost an aggrieved tone. + </p> + <p> + If Miss Vervain wanted to turn the talk upon Don Ippolito, Ferris by no + means did; he had had enough of that subject yesterday; he got as lightly + away from it as he could. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Don Ippolito’s a pagan, I tell you; and I’m a painter, and the rococo + is my weakness. I wish I could paint it, but I can’t; I’m a hundred years + too late. I couldn’t even paint myself in the act of sentimentalizing it.” + </p> + <p> + While he talked, he had been making a few lines in a small pocket + sketch-book, with a furtive glance or two at Florida. When they returned + to the boat, he busied himself again with the book, and presently he + handed it to Mrs. Vervain. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it’s Florida!” cried the lady. “How very nicely you do sketch, Mr. + Ferris.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, Mrs. Vervain; you’re always flattering me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but seriously. I <i>wish</i> that I had paid more attention to my + drawing when I was a girl. And now, Florida—she won’t touch a + pencil. I wish you’d talk to her, Mr. Ferris.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, people who are pictures needn’t trouble themselves to be painters,” + said Ferris, with a little burlesque. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vervain began to look at the sketch through her tubed hand; the + painter made a grimace. “But you’ve made her too proud, Mr. Ferris. She + doesn’t look like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes she does—to those unworthy of her kindness. I have taken Miss + Vervain in the act of scorning the rococo, and its humble admirer, me, + with it.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure <i>I</i> don’t know what you mean, Mr. Ferris; but I can’t think + that this proud look is habitual with Florida; and I’ve heard people say—very + good judges—that an artist oughtn’t to perpetuate a temporary + expression. Something like that.” + </p> + <p> + “It can’t be helped now, Mrs. Vervain: the sketch is irretrievably + immortal. I’m sorry, but it’s too late.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, stuff! As if you couldn’t turn up the corners of the mouth a little. + Or something.” + </p> + <p> + “And give her the appearance of laughing at me? Never!” + </p> + <p> + “Don Ippolito,” said Mrs. Vervain, turning to the priest, who had been + listening intently to all this trivial talk, “what do you think of this + sketch?” + </p> + <p> + He took the book with an eager hand, and perused the sketch as if trying + to read some secret there. After a minute he handed it back with a light + sigh, apparently of relief, but said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked Mrs. Vervain. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I ask pardon. No, it isn’t my idea of madamigella. It seems to me + that her likeness must be sketched in color. Those lines are true, but + they need color to subdue them; they go too far, they are more than true.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re quite right, Don Ippolito,” said Ferris. + </p> + <p> + “Then <i>you</i> don’t think she always has this proud look?” pursued Mrs. + Vervain. The painter fancied that Florida quelled in herself a movement of + impatience; he looked at her with an amused smile. + </p> + <p> + “Not always, no,” answered Don Ippolito. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes her face expresses the greatest meekness in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “But not at the present moment,” thought Ferris, fascinated by the stare + of angry pride which the girl bent upon the unconscious priest. + </p> + <p> + “Though I confess that I should hardly know how to characterize her + habitual expression,” added Don Ippolito. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” said Florida, peremptorily. “I’m tired of the subject; it isn’t + an important one.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes it is, my dear,” said Mrs. Vervain. “At least it’s important to + me, if it isn’t to you; for I’m your mother, and really, if I thought you + looked like this, as a general thing, to a casual observer, I should + consider it a reflection upon myself.” Ferris gave a provoking laugh, as + she continued sweetly, “I must insist, Don Ippolito: now did you ever see + Florida look so?” + </p> + <p> + The girl leaned back, and began to wave her fan slowly to and fro before + her face. + </p> + <p> + “I never saw her look so with you, dear madama,” said the priest with an + anxious glance at Florida, who let her fan fall folded into her lap, and + sat still. He went on with priestly smoothness, and a touch of something + like invoked authority, such as a man might show who could dispense + indulgences and inflict penances. “No one could help seeing her + devotedness to you, and I have admired from the first an obedience and + tenderness that I have never known equaled. In all her relations to you, + madamigella has seemed to me”— + </p> + <p> + Florida started forward. “You are not asked to comment on my behavior to + my mother; you are not invited to speak of my conduct at all!” she burst + out with sudden violence, her visage flaming, and her blue eyes burning + upon Don Ippolito, who shrank from the astonishing rudeness as from a blow + in the face. “What is it to you how I treat my mother?” + </p> + <p> + She sank back again upon the cushions, and opening the fan with a clash + swept it swiftly before her. + </p> + <p> + “Florida!” said her mother gravely. + </p> + <p> + Ferris turned away in cold disgust, like one who has witnessed a cruelty + done to some helpless thing. Don Ippolito’s speech was not fortunate at + the best, but it might have come from a foreigner’s misapprehension, and + at the worst it was good-natured and well-meant. “The girl is a perfect + brute, as I thought in the beginning,” the painter said to himself. “How + could I have ever thought differently? I shall have to tell Don Ippolito + that I’m ashamed of her, and disclaim all responsibility. Pah! I wish I + was out of this.” + </p> + <p> + The pleasure of the day was dead. It could not rally from that stroke. + They went on to Strà , as they had planned, but the glory of the Villa + Pisani was eclipsed for Don Ippolito. He plainly did not know what to do. + He did not address Florida again, whose savagery he would not probably + have known how to resent if he had wished to resent it. Mrs. Vervain + prattled away to him with unrelenting kindness; Ferris kept near him, and + with affectionate zeal tried to make him talk of the villa, but neither + the frescoes, nor the orangeries, nor the green-houses, nor the stables, + nor the gardens could rouse him from the listless daze in which he moved, + though Ferris found them all as wonderful as he had said. Amidst this + heavy embarrassment no one seemed at ease but the author of it. She did + not, to be sure, speak to Don Ippolito, but she followed her mother as + usual with her assiduous cares, and she appeared tranquilly unconscious of + the sarcastic civility with which Ferris rendered her any service. It was + late in the afternoon when they got back to their boat and began to + descend the canal towards Venice, and long before they reached Fusina the + day had passed. A sunset of melancholy red, streaked with level lines of + murky cloud, stretched across the flats behind them, and faintly tinged + with its reflected light the eastern horizon which the towers and domes of + Venice had not yet begun to break. The twilight came, and then through the + overcast heavens the moon shone dim; a light blossomed here and there in + the villas, distant voices called musically; a cow lowed, a dog barked; + the rich, sweet breath of the vernal land mingled its odors with the + sultry air of the neighboring lagoon. The wayfarers spoke little; the time + hung heavy on all, no doubt; to Ferris it was a burden almost intolerable + to hear the creak of the oars and the breathing of the gondoliers keeping + time together. At last the boat stopped in front of the police-station in + Fusina; a soldier with a sword at his side and a lantern in his hand came + out and briefly parleyed with the gondoliers; they stepped ashore, and he + marched them into the station before him. + </p> + <p> + “We have nothing left to wish for now,” said Ferris, breaking into an + ironical laugh. + </p> + <p> + “What does it all mean?” asked Mrs. Vervain. + </p> + <p> + “I think I had better go see.” + </p> + <p> + “We will go with you,” said Mrs. Vervain. + </p> + <p> + “Pazienza!” replied Ferris. + </p> + <p> + The ladies rose; but Don Ippolito remained seated. “Aren’t you going too, + Don Ippolito?” asked Mrs. Vervain. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, madama; but I prefer to stay here.” + </p> + <p> + Lamentable cries and shrieks, as if the prisoners had immediately been put + to the torture, came from the station as Ferris opened the door. A lamp of + petroleum lighted the scene, and shone upon the figures of two fishermen, + who bewailed themselves unintelligibly in the vibrant accents of Chiozza, + and from time to time advanced upon the gondoliers, and shook their heads + and beat their breasts at them, A few police-guards reclined upon benches + about the room, and surveyed the spectacle with mild impassibility. + </p> + <p> + Ferris politely asked one of them the cause of the detention. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you see, signore,” answered the guard amiably, “these honest men + accuse your gondoliers of having stolen a rope out of their boat at Dolo.” + </p> + <p> + “It was my blood, you know!” howled the elder of the fishermen, tossing + his arms wildly abroad, “it was my own heart,” he cried, letting the last + vowel die away and rise again in mournful refrain, while he stared + tragically into Ferris’s face. + </p> + <p> + “What <i>is</i> the matter?” asked Mrs. Vervain, putting up her glasses, + and trying with graceful futility to focus the melodrama. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” said Ferris; “our gondoliers have had the heart’s blood of this + respectable Dervish; that is to say, they have stolen a rope belonging to + him.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Our</i> gondoliers! I don’t believe it. They’ve no right to keep us + here all night. Tell them you’re the American consul.” + </p> + <p> + “I’d rather not try my dignity on these underlings, Mrs. Vervain; there’s + no American squadron here that I could order to bombard Fusina, if they + didn’t mind me. But I’ll see what I can do further in quality of courteous + foreigner. Can you perhaps tell me how long you will be obliged to detain + us here?” he asked of the guard again. + </p> + <p> + “I am very sorry to detain you at all, signore. But what can I do? The + commissary is unhappily absent. He may be here soon.” + </p> + <p> + The guard renewed his apathetic contemplation of the gondoliers, who did + not speak a word; the windy lamentation of the fishermen rose and fell + fitfully. Presently they went out of doors and poured forth their wrongs + to the moon. + </p> + <p> + The room was close, and with some trouble Ferris persuaded Mrs. Vervain to + return to the gondola, Florida seconding his arguments with gentle good + sense. + </p> + <p> + It seemed a long time till the commissary came, but his coming instantly + simplified the situation. Perhaps because he had never been able to + befriend a consul in trouble before, he befriended Ferris to the utmost. + He had met him with rather a browbeating air; but after a glance at his + card, he gave a kind of roar of deprecation and apology. He had the ladies + and Don Ippolito in out of the gondola, and led them to an upper chamber, + where he made them all repose their honored persons upon his sofas. He + ordered up his housekeeper to make them coffee, which he served with his + own hands, excusing its hurried feebleness, and he stood by, rubbing his + palms together and smiling, while they refreshed themselves. + </p> + <p> + “They need never tell me again that the Austrians are tyrants,” said Mrs. + Vervain in undertone to the consul. + </p> + <p> + It was not easy for Ferris to remind his host of the malefactors; but he + brought himself to this ungraciousness. The commissary begged pardon, and + asked him to accompany him below, where he confronted the accused and the + accusers. The tragedy was acted over again with blood-curdling + effectiveness by the Chiozzotti; the gondoliers maintaining the calm of + conscious innocence. + </p> + <p> + Ferris felt outraged by the trumped-up charge against them. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, you others the prisoners,” said the commissary. “Your padrone is + anxious to return to Venice, and I wish to inflict no further displeasures + upon him. Restore their rope to these honest men, and go about your + business.” + </p> + <p> + The injured gondoliers spoke in low tones together; then one of them + shrugged his shoulders and went out. He came back in a moment and laid a + rope before the commissary. + </p> + <p> + “Is that the rope?” he asked. “We found it floating down the canal, and + picked it up that we might give it to the rightful owner. But now I wish + to heaven we had let it sink to the bottom of the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a beautiful story!” wailed the Chiozzoti. They flung themselves upon + the rope, and lugged it off to their boat; and the gondoliers went out, + too. + </p> + <p> + The commissary turned to Ferris with an amiable smile. “I am sorry that + those rogues should escape,” said the American. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said the Italian, “they are poor fellows it is a little matter; I am + glad to have served you.” + </p> + <p> + He took leave of his involuntary guests with effusion, following them with + a lantern to the gondola. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vervain, to whom Ferris gave an account of this trial as they set out + again on their long-hindered return, had no mind save for the magical + effect of his consular quality upon the commissary, and accused him of a + vain and culpable modesty. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said the diplomatist, “there’s nothing like knowing just when to + produce your dignity. There are some officials who know too little,—like + those guards; and there are some who know too much,—like the + commissary’s superiors. But he is just in that golden mean of ignorance + where he supposes a consul is a person of importance.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vervain disputed this, and Ferris submitted in silence. Presently, as + they skirted the shore to get their bearings for the route across the + lagoon, a fierce voice in Venetian shouted from the darkness, “Indrio, + indrio!” (Back, back!) and a gleam of the moon through the pale, watery + clouds revealed the figure of a gendarme on the nearest point of land. The + gondoliers bent to their oars, and sent the boat swiftly out into the + lagoon. + </p> + <p> + “There, for example, is a person who would be quite insensible to my + greatness, even if I had the consular seal in my pocket. To him we are + possible smugglers; [Footnote: Under the Austrians, Venice was a free port + but everything carried there to the mainland was liable to duty.] and I + must say,” he continued, taking out his watch, and staring hard at it, + “that if I were a disinterested person, and heard his suspicion met with + the explanation that we were a little party out here for pleasure at half + past twelve P. M., I should say he was right. At any rate we won’t engage + him in controversy. Quick, quick!” he added to the gondoliers, glancing at + the receding shore, and then at the first of the lagoon forts which they + were approaching. A dim shape moved along the top of the wall, and seemed + to linger and scrutinize them. As they drew nearer, the challenge, “<i>Wer + da?</i>” rang out. + </p> + <p> + The gondoliers eagerly answered with the one word of German known to their + craft, “<i>Freunde</i>,” and struggled to urge the boat forward; the oar + of the gondolier in front slipped from the high rowlock, and fell out of + his hand into the water. The gondola lurched, and then suddenly ran + aground on the shallow. The sentry halted, dropped his gun from his + shoulder, and ordered them to go on, while the gondoliers clamored back in + the high key of fear, and one of them screamed out to his passengers to do + something, saying that, a few weeks before, a sentinel had fired upon a + fisherman and killed him. + </p> + <p> + “What’s that he’s talking about?” demanded Mrs. Vervain. “If we don’t get + on, it will be that man’s duty to fire on us; he has no choice,” she said, + nerved and interested by the presence of this danger. + </p> + <p> + The gondoliers leaped into the water and tried to push the boat off. It + would not move, and without warning, Don Ippolito, who had sat silent + since they left Fusina, stepped over the side of the gondola, and + thrusting an oar under its bottom lifted it free of the shallow. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how very unnecessary!” cried Mrs. Vervain, as the priest and the + gondoliers clambered back into the boat. “He will take his death of cold.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s ridiculous,” said Ferris. “You ought to have told these worthless + rascals what to do, Don Ippolito. You’ve got yourself wet for nothing. + It’s too bad!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s nothing,” said Don Ippolito, taking his seat on the little prow + deck, and quietly dripping where the water would not incommode the others. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, here!” cried Mrs. Vervain, gathering some shawls together, “make him + wrap those about him. He’ll die, I know he will—with that reeking + skirt of his. If you must go into the water, I wish you had worn your + abbate’s dress. How <i>could</i> you, Don Ippolito?” + </p> + <p> + The gondoliers set their oars, but before they had given a stroke, they + were arrested by a sharp “Halt!” from the fort. Another figure had joined + the sentry, and stood looking at them. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Ferris, “<i>now</i> what, I wonder? That’s an officer. If I + had a little German about me, I might state the situation to him.” + </p> + <p> + He felt a light touch on his arm. “I can speak German,” said Florida + timidly. + </p> + <p> + “Then you had better speak it now,” said Ferris. + </p> + <p> + She rose to her feet, and in a steady voice briefly explained the whole + affair. The figures listened motionless; then the last comer politely + replied, begging her to be in no uneasiness, made her a shadowy salute, + and vanished. The sentry resumed his walk, and took no further notice of + them. + </p> + <p> + “Brava!” said Ferris, while Mrs. Vervain babbled her satisfaction, “I will + buy a German Ollendorff to-morrow. The language is indispensable to a + pleasure excursion in the lagoon.” + </p> + <p> + Florida made no reply, but devoted herself to restoring her mother to that + state of defense against the discomforts of the time and place, which the + common agitation had impaired. She seemed to have no sense of the presence + of any one else. Don Ippolito did not speak again save to protect himself + from the anxieties and reproaches of Mrs. Vervain, renewed and reiterated + at intervals. She drowsed after a while, and whenever she woke she thought + they had just touched her own landing. By fits it was cloudy and + moonlight; they began to meet peasants’ boats going to the Rialto market; + at last, they entered the Canal of the Zattere, then they slipped into a + narrow way, and presently stopped at Mrs. Vervain’s gate; this time she + had not expected it. Don Ippolito gave her his hand, and entered the + garden with her, while Ferris lingered behind with Florida, helping her + put together the wraps strewn about the gondola. + </p> + <p> + “Wait!” she commanded, as they moved up the garden walk. “I want to speak + with you about Don Ippolito. What shall I do to him for my rudeness? You + <i>must</i> tell me—you <i>shall</i>,” she said in a fierce whisper, + gripping the arm which Ferris had given to help her up the landing-stairs. + “You are—older than I am!” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. I was afraid you were going to say wiser. I should think your own + sense of justice, your own sense of”— + </p> + <p> + “Decency. Say it, say it!” cried the girl passionately; “it was indecent, + indecent—that was it!” + </p> + <p> + —“would tell you what to do,” concluded the painter dryly. + </p> + <p> + She flung away the arm to which she had been clinging, and ran to where + the priest stood with her mother at the foot of the terrace stairs. “Don + Ippolito,” she cried, “I want to tell you that I am sorry; I want to ask + your pardon—how can you ever forgive me?—for what I said.” + </p> + <p> + She instinctively stretched her hand towards him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said the priest, with an indescribable long, trembling sigh. He + caught her hand in his held it tight, and then pressed it for an instant + against his breast. + </p> + <p> + Ferris made a little start forward. + </p> + <p> + “Now, that’s right, Florida,” said her mother, as the four stood in the + pale, estranging moonlight. “I’m sure Don Ippolito can’t cherish any + resentment. If he does, he must come in and wash it out with a glass of + wine—that’s a good old fashion. I want you to have the wine at any + rate, Don Ippolito; it’ll keep you from taking cold. You really must.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, madama; I cannot lose more time, now; I must go home at once. + Good night.” + </p> + <p> + Before Mrs. Vervain could frame a protest, or lay hold of him, he bowed + and hurried out of the land-gate. + </p> + <p> + “How perfectly absurd for him to get into the water in that way,” she + said, looking mechanically in the direction in which he had vanished. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mrs. Vervain, it isn’t best to be too grateful to people,” said + Ferris, “but I think we must allow that if we were in any danger, sticking + there in the mud, Don Ippolito got us out of it by putting his shoulder to + the oar.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” assented Mrs. Vervain. + </p> + <p> + “In fact,” continued Ferris, “I suppose we may say that, under Providence, + we probably owe our lives to Don Ippolito’s self-sacrifice and Miss + Vervain’s knowledge of German. At any rate, it’s what I shall always + maintain.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother, don’t you think you had better go in?” asked Florida, gently. Her + gentleness ignored the presence, the existence of Ferris. “I’m afraid you + will be sick after all this fatigue.” + </p> + <p> + “There, Mrs. Vervain, it’ll be no use offering <i>me</i> a glass of wine. + I’m sent away, you see,” said Ferris. “And Miss Vervain is quite right. + Good night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—<i>good</i> night, Mr. Ferris,” said Mrs. Vervain, giving her + hand. “Thank you so much.” + </p> + <p> + Florida did not look towards him. She gathered her mother’s shawl about + her shoulders for the twentieth time that day, and softly urged her in + doors, while Ferris let himself out into the campo. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX. + </h2> + <p> + Florida began to prepare the bed for her mother’s lying down. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing that for, my dear?” asked Mrs. Vervain. “I can’t go to + bed at once.” + </p> + <p> + “But mother”— + </p> + <p> + “No, Florida. And I mean it. You are too headstrong. I should think you + would see yourself how you suffer in the end by giving way to your violent + temper. What a day you have made for us!” + </p> + <p> + “I was very wrong,” murmured the proud girl, meekly. + </p> + <p> + “And then the mortification of an apology; you might have spared yourself + that.” + </p> + <p> + “It didn’t mortify me; I didn’t care for it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I really believe you are too haughty to mind humbling yourself. And + Don Ippolito had been so uniformly kind to us. I begin to believe that Mr. + Ferris caught your true character in that sketch. But your pride will be + broken some day, Florida.” + </p> + <p> + “Won’t you let me help you undress, mother? You can talk to me while + you’re undressing. You must try to get some rest.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am all unstrung. Why couldn’t you have let him come in and talk + awhile? It would have been the best way to get me quieted down. But no; + you must always have your own way Don’t twitch me, my dear; I’d rather + undress myself. You pretend to be very careful of me. I wonder if you + really care for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mother, you are all I have in the world!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vervain began to whimper. “You talk as if I were any better off. Have + I anybody besides you? And I have lost so many.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t think of those things now, mother.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vervain tenderly kissed the young girl. “You are good to your mother. + Don Ippolito was right; no one ever saw you offer me disrespect or + unkindness. There, there! Don’t cry, my darling. I think I <i>had</i> + better lie down, and I’ll let you undress me.” + </p> + <p> + She suffered herself to be helped into bed, and Florida went softly about + the room, putting it in order, and drawing the curtains closer to keep out + the near dawn. Her mother talked a little while, and presently fell from + incoherence to silence, and so to sleep. + </p> + <p> + Florida looked hesitatingly at her for a moment, and then set her candle + on the floor and sank wearily into an arm-chair beside the bed. Her hands + fell into her lap; her head drooped sadly forward; the light flung the + shadow of her face grotesquely exaggerated and foreshortened upon the + ceiling. + </p> + <p> + By and by a bird piped in the garden; the shriek of a swallow made itself + heard from a distance; the vernal day was beginning to stir from the + light, brief drowse of the vernal night. A crown of angry red formed upon + the candle wick, which toppled over in the socket and guttered out with a + sharp hiss. + </p> + <p> + Florida started from her chair. A streak of sunshine pierced shutter and + curtain. Her mother was supporting herself on one elbow in the bed, and + looking at her as if she had just called to her. + </p> + <p> + “Mother, did you speak?” asked the girl. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vervain turned her face away; she sighed deeply, stretched her thin + hands on the pillow, and seemed to be sinking, sinking down through the + bed. She ceased to breathe and lay in a dead faint. + </p> + <p> + Florida felt rather than saw it all. She did not cry out nor call for + help. She brought water and cologne, and bathed her mother’s face, and + then chafed her hands. Mrs. Vervain slowly revived; she opened her eyes, + then closed them; she did not speak, but after a while she began to fetch + her breath with the long and even respirations of sleep. + </p> + <p> + Florida noiselessly opened the door, and met the servant with a tray of + coffee. She put her finger to her lip, and motioned her not to enter, + asking in a whisper: “What time is it, Nina? I forgot to wind my watch.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s nine o’clock, signorina; and I thought you would be tired this + morning, and would like your coffee in bed. Oh, misericordia!” cried the + girl, still in whisper, with a glance through the doorway, “you haven’t + been in bed at all!” + </p> + <p> + “My mother doesn’t seem well. I sat down beside her, and fell asleep in my + chair without knowing it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, poor little thing! Then you must drink your coffee at once. It + refreshes.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” said Florida, closing the door, and pointing to a table in the + next room, “put it down here. I will serve myself, Nina. Go call the + gondola, please. I am going out, at once, and I want you to go with me. + Tell Checa to come here and stay with my mother till I come back.” + </p> + <p> + She poured out a cup of coffee with a trembling hand, and hastily drank + it; then bathing her eyes, she went to the glass and bestowed a touch or + two upon yesterday’s toilet, studied the effect a moment, and turned away. + She ran back for another look, and the next moment she was walking down to + the water-gate, where she found Nina waiting her in the gondola. + </p> + <p> + A rapid course brought them to Ferris’s landing. “Ring,” she said to the + gondolier, “and say that one of the American ladies wishes to see the + consul.” + </p> + <p> + Ferris was standing on the balcony over her, where he had been watching + her approach in mute wonder. “Why, Miss Vervain,” he called down, “what in + the world is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. I want to see you,” said Florida, looking up with a wistful + face. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll come down.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, please. Or no, I had better come up. Yes, Nina and I will come up.” + </p> + <p> + Ferris met them at the lower door and led them to his apartment. Nina sat + down in the outer room, and Florida followed the painter into his studio. + Though her face was so wan, it seemed to him that he had never seen it + lovelier, and he had a strange pride in her being there, though the + disorder of the place ought to have humbled him. She looked over it with a + certain childlike, timid curiosity, and something of that lofty compassion + with which young ladies regard the haunts of men when they come into them + by chance; in doing this she had a haughty, slow turn of the head that + fascinated him. + </p> + <p> + “I hope,” he said, “you don’t mind the smell,” which was a mingled one of + oil-colors and tobacco-smoke. “The woman’s putting my office to rights, + and it’s all in a cloud of dust. So I have to bring you in here.” + </p> + <p> + Florida sat down on a chair fronting the easel, and found herself looking + into the sad eyes of Don Ippolito. Ferris brusquely turned the back of the + canvas toward her. “I didn’t mean you to see that. It isn’t ready to show, + yet,” he said, and then he stood expectantly before her. He waited for her + to speak, for he never knew how to take Miss Vervain; he was willing + enough to make light of her grand moods, but now she was too evidently + unhappy for mocking; at the same time he did not care to invoke a snub by + a prematurely sympathetic demeanor. His mind ran on the events of the day + before, and he thought this visit probably related somehow to Don + Ippolito. But his visitor did not speak, and at last he said: “I hope + there’s nothing wrong at home, Miss Vervain. It’s rather odd to have + yesterday, last night, and next morning all run together as they have been + for me in the last twenty-four hours. I trust Mrs. Vervain is turning the + whole thing into a good solid oblivion.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s about—it’s about—I came to see you”—said Florida, + hoarsely. “I mean,” she hurried on to say, “that I want to ask you who is + the best doctor here?” + </p> + <p> + Then it was not about Don Ippolito. “Is your mother sick?” asked Ferris, + eagerly. “She must have been fearfully tired by that unlucky expedition of + ours. I hope there’s nothing serious?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no! But she is not well. She is very frail, you know. You must have + noticed how frail she is,” said Florida, tremulously. + </p> + <p> + Ferris had noticed that all his countrywomen, past their girlhood, seemed + to be sick, he did not know how or why; he supposed it was all right, it + was so common. In Mrs. Vervain’s case, though she talked a great deal + about her ill-health, he had noticed it rather less than usual, she had so + great spirit. He recalled now that he <i>had</i> thought her at times + rather a shadowy presence, and that occasionally it had amused him that so + slight a structure should hang together as it did—not only + successfully, but triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + He said yes, he knew that Mrs. Vervain was not strong, and Florida + continued: “It’s only advice that I want for her, but I think we had + better see some one—or know some one that we could go to in need. We + are so far from any one we know, or help of any kind.” She seemed to be + trying to account to herself, rather than to Ferris, for what she was + doing. “We mustn’t let anything pass unnoticed”.... She looked at him + entreatingly, but a shadow, as of some wounding memory, passed over her + face, and she said no more. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll go with you to a doctor’s,” said Ferris, kindly. + </p> + <p> + “No, please, I won’t trouble you.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s no trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t <i>want</i> you to go with me, please. I’d rather go alone.” + Ferris looked at her perplexedly, as she rose. “Just give me the address, + and I shall manage best by myself. I’m used to doing it.” + </p> + <p> + “As you like. Wait a moment.” Ferris wrote the address. “There,” he said, + giving it to her; “but isn’t there anything I can do for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Florida with awkward hesitation, and a half-defiant, + half-imploring look at him. “You must have all sorts of people applying to + you, as a consul; and you look after their affairs—and try to forget + them”— + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Ferris. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you wouldn’t remember that I’ve asked this favor of you; that + you’d consider it a”— + </p> + <p> + “Consular service? With all my heart,” answered Ferris, thinking for the + third or fourth time how very young Miss Vervain was. + </p> + <p> + “You are very good; you are kinder than I have any right,” said Florida, + smiling piteously. “I only mean, don’t speak of it to my mother. Not,” she + added, “but what I want her to know everything I do; but it would worry + her if she thought I was anxious about her. Oh! I wish I wouldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + She began a hasty search for her handkerchief; he saw her lips tremble and + his soul trembled with them. + </p> + <p> + In another moment, “Good-morning,” she said briskly, with a sort of airy + sob, “I don’t want you to come down, please.” + </p> + <p> + She drifted out of the room and down the stairs, the servant-maid falling + into her wake. + </p> + <p> + Ferris filled his pipe and went out on his balcony again, and stood + watching the gondola in its course toward the address he had given, and + smoking thoughtfully. It was really the same girl who had given poor Don + Ippolito that cruel slap in the face, yesterday. But that seemed no more + out of reason than her sudden, generous, exaggerated remorse both were of + a piece with her coming to him for help now, holding him at a distance, + flinging herself upon his sympathy, and then trying to snub him, and + breaking down in the effort. It was all of a piece, and the piece was bad; + yes, she had an ugly temper; and yet she had magnanimous traits too. These + contradictions, which in his reverie he felt rather than formulated, made + him smile, as he stood on his balcony bathed by the morning air and + sunlight, in fresh, strong ignorance of the whole mystery of women’s + nerves. These caprices even charmed him. He reflected that he had gone on + doing the Vervains one favor after another in spite of Florida’s childish + petulancies; and he resolved that he would not stop now; her whims should + be nothing to him, as they had been nothing, hitherto. It is flattering to + a man to be indispensable to a woman so long as he is not obliged to it; + Miss Vervain’s dependent relation to himself in this visit gave her a + grace in Ferris’s eyes which she had wanted before. + </p> + <p> + In the mean time he saw her gondola stop, turn round, and come back to the + canal that bordered the Vervain garden. + </p> + <p> + “Another change of mind,” thought Ferris, complacently; and rising + superior to the whole fitful sex, he released himself from uneasiness on + Mrs. Vervain’s account. But in the evening he went to ask after her. He + first sent his card to Florida, having written on it, “I hope Mrs. Vervain + is better. Don’t let me come in if it’s any disturbance.” He looked for a + moment at what he had written, dimly conscious that it was patronizing, + and when he entered he saw that Miss Vervain stood on the defensive and + from some willfulness meant to make him feel that he was presumptuous in + coming; it did not comfort him to consider that she was very young. + “Mother will be in directly,” said Florida in a tone that relegated their + morning’s interview to the age of fable. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vervain came in smiling and cordial, apparently better and not worse + for yesterday’s misadventures. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I pick up quickly,” she explained. “I’m an old campaigner, you know. + Perhaps a little <i>too</i> old, now. Years do make a difference; and + you’ll find it out as you get on, Mr. Ferris.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so,” said Ferris, not caring to have Mrs. Vervain treat him so + much like a boy. “Even at twenty-six I found it pleasant to take a nap + this afternoon. How does one stand it at seventeen, Miss Vervain?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t felt the need of sleep,” replied Florida, indifferently, and he + felt shelved, as an old fellow. + </p> + <p> + He had an empty, frivolous visit, to his thinking. Mrs. Vervain asked if + he had seen Don Ippolito, and wondered that the priest had not come about, + all day. She told a long story, and at the end tapped herself on the mouth + with her fan to punish a yawn. + </p> + <p> + Ferris rose to go. Mrs. Vervain wondered again in the same words why Don + Ippolito had not been near them all day. + </p> + <p> + “Because he’s a wise man,” said Ferris with bitterness, “and knows when to + time his visits.” Mrs. Vervain did not notice his bitterness, but + something made Florida follow him to the outer door. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it’s moonlight!” she exclaimed; and she glanced at him as though she + had some purpose of atonement in her mind. + </p> + <p> + But he would not have it. “Yes, there’s a moon,” he said moodily. + “Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night,” answered Florida, and she impulsively offered him her hand. + He thought that it shook in his, but it was probably the agitation of his + own nerves. + </p> + <p> + A soreness that had been lifted from his heart, came back; he walked home + disappointed and defeated, he hardly knew why or in what. He did not laugh + now to think how she had asked him that morning to forget her coming to + him for help; he was outraged that he should have been repaid in this + sort, and the rebuff with which his sympathy had just been met was vulgar; + there was no other name for it but vulgarity. Yet he could not relate this + quality to the face of the young girl as he constantly beheld it in his + homeward walk. It did not defy him or repulse him; it looked up at him + wistfully as from the gondola that morning. Nevertheless he hardened his + heart. The Vervains should see him next when they had sent for him. After + all, one is not so very old at twenty-six. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X. + </h2> + <p> + “Don Ippolito has come, signorina,” said Nina, the next morning, + approaching Florida, where she sat in an attitude of listless patience, in + the garden. + </p> + <p> + “Don Ippolito!” echoed the young girl in a weary tone. She rose and went + into the house, and they met with the constraint which was but too natural + after the events of their last parting. It is hard to tell which has most + to overcome in such a case, the forgiver or the forgiven. Pardon rankles + even in a generous soul, and the memory of having pardoned embarrasses the + sensitive spirit before the object of its clemency, humbling and making it + ashamed. It would be well, I suppose, if there need be nothing of the kind + between human creatures, who cannot sustain such a relation without mutual + distrust. It is not so ill with them when apart, but when they meet they + must be cold and shy at first. + </p> + <p> + “Now I see what you two are thinking about,” said Mrs. Vervain, and a + faint blush tinged the cheek of the priest as she thus paired him off with + her daughter. “You are thinking about what happened the other day; and you + had better forget it. There is no use brooding over these matters. Dear + me! if <i>I</i> had stopped to brood over every little unpleasant thing + that happened, I wonder where I should be now? By the way, where were <i>you</i> + all day yesterday, Don Ippolito?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not come to disturb you because I thought you must be very tired. + Besides I was quite busy.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, those inventions of yours. I think you are <i>so</i> ingenious! + But you mustn’t apply too closely. Now really, yesterday,—after all + you had been through, it was too much for the brain.” She tapped herself + on the forehead with her fan. + </p> + <p> + “I was not busy with my inventions, madama,” answered Don Ippolito, who + sat in the womanish attitude priests get from their drapery, and fingered + the cord round his three-cornered hat. “I have scarcely touched them of + late. But our parish takes part in the procession of Corpus Domini in the + Piazza, and I had my share of the preparations.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, to be sure! When is it to be? We must all go. Our Nina has been + telling Florida of the grand sights,—little children dressed up like + John the Baptist, leading lambs. I suppose it’s a great event with you.” + </p> + <p> + The priest shrugged his shoulders, and opened both his hands, so that his + hat slid to the floor, bumping and tumbling some distance away. He + recovered it and sat down again. “It’s an observance,” he said coldly. + </p> + <p> + “And shall you be in the procession?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be there with the other priests of my parish.” + </p> + <p> + “Delightful!” cried Mrs. Vervain. “We shall be looking out for you. I + shall feel greatly honored to think I actually know some one in the + procession. I’m going to give you a little nod. You won’t think it very + wrong?” + </p> + <p> + She saved him from the embarrassment he might have felt in replying, by an + abrupt lapse from all apparent interest in the subject. She turned to her + daughter, and said with a querulous accent, “I wish you would throw the + afghan over my feet, Florida, and make me a little comfortable before you + begin your reading this morning.” At the same time she feebly disposed + herself among the sofa cushions on which she reclined, and waited for some + final touches from her daughter. Then she said, “I’m just going to close + my eyes, but I shall hear every word. You are getting a beautiful accent, + my dear, I know you are. I should think Goldoni must have a very smooth, + agreeable style; hasn’t he now, in Italian?” + </p> + <p> + They began to read the comedy; after fifteen or twenty minutes Mrs. + Vervain opened her eyes and said, “But before you commence, Florida, I + wish you’d play a little, to get me quieted down. I feel so very flighty. + I suppose it’s this sirocco. And I believe I’ll lie down in the next + room.” + </p> + <p> + Florida followed her to repeat the arrangements for her comfort. Then she + returned, and sitting down at the piano struck with a sort of soft + firmness a few low, soothing chords, out of which a lulling melody grew. + With her fingers still resting on the keys she turned her stately head, + and glanced through the open door at her mother. + </p> + <p> + “Don Ippolito,” she asked softly, “is there anything in the air of Venice + that makes people very drowsy?” + </p> + <p> + “I have never heard that, madamigella.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” continued the young girl absently, “why my mother wants to + sleep so much.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps she has not recovered from the fatigues of the other night,” + suggested the priest. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said Florida, sadly looking toward her mother’s door. + </p> + <p> + She turned again to the instrument, and let her fingers wander over the + keys, with a drooping head. Presently she lifted her face, and smoothed + back from her temples some straggling tendrils of hair. Without looking at + the priest she asked with the child-like bluntness that characterized her, + “Why don’t you like to walk in the procession of Corpus Domini?” + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito’s color came and went, and he answered evasively, “I have not + said that I did not like to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “No, that is true,” said Florida, letting her fingers drop again on the + keys. + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito rose from the sofa where he had been sitting beside her while + they read, and walked the length of the room. Then he came towards her and + said meekly, “Madamigella, I did not mean to repel any interest you feel + in me. But it was a strange question to ask a priest, as I remembered I + was when you asked it.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you always remember that?” demanded the girl, still without turning + her head. + </p> + <p> + “No; sometimes I am suffered to forget it,” he said with a tentative + accent. + </p> + <p> + She did not respond, and he drew a long breath, and walked away in + silence. She let her hands fall into her lap, and sat in an attitude of + expectation. As Don Ippolito came near her again he paused a second time. + </p> + <p> + “It is in this house that I forget my priesthood,” he began, “and it is + the first of your kindnesses that you suffer me to do so, your good + mother, there, and you. How shall I repay you? It cut me to the heart that + you should ask forgiveness of me when you did, though I was hurt by your + rebuke. Oh, had you not the right to rebuke me if I abused the delicate + unreserve with which you had always treated me? But believe me, I meant no + wrong, then.” + </p> + <p> + His voice shook, and Florida broke in, “You did nothing wrong. It was I + who was cruel for no cause.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no. You shall not say that,” he returned. “And why should I have + cared for a few words, when all your acts had expressed a trust of me that + is like heaven to my soul?” + </p> + <p> + She turned now and looked at him, and he went on. “Ah, I see you do not + understand! How could you know what it is to be a priest in this most + unhappy city? To be haunted by the strict espionage of all your own class, + to be shunned as a spy by all who are not of it! But you two have not put + up that barrier which everywhere shuts me out from my kind. You have been + willing to see the man in me, and to let me forget the priest.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know what to say to you, Don Ippolito. I am only a foreigner, a + girl, and I am very ignorant of these things,” said Florida with a slight + alarm. “I am afraid that you may be saying what you will be sorry for.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh never! Do not fear for me if I am frank with you. It is my refuge from + despair.” + </p> + <p> + The passionate vibration of his voice increased, as if it must break in + tears. She glanced towards the other room with a little movement or stir. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you needn’t be afraid of listening to me!” cried the priest bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “I will not wake her,” said Florida calmly, after an instant. + </p> + <p> + “See how you speak the thing you mean, always, always, always! You could + not deny that you meant to wake her, for you have the life-long habit of + the truth. Do you know what it is to have the life-long habit of a lie? It + is to be a priest. Do you know what it is to seem, to say, to do, the + thing you are not, think not, will not? To leave what you believe + unspoken, what you will undone, what you are unknown? It is to be a + priest!” + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito spoke in Italian, and he uttered these words in a voice + carefully guarded from every listener but the one before his face. “Do you + know what it is when such a moment as this comes, and you would fling away + the whole fabric of falsehood that has clothed your life—do you know + what it is to keep still so much of it as will help you to unmask silently + and secretly? It is to be a priest!” + </p> + <p> + His voice had lost its vehemence, and his manner was strangely subdued and + cold. The sort of gentle apathy it expressed, together with a certain sad, + impersonal surprise at the difference between his own and the happier + fortune with which he contrasted it, was more touching than any tragic + demonstration. + </p> + <p> + As if she felt the fascination of the pathos which she could not fully + analyze, the young girl sat silent. After a time, in which she seemed to + be trying to think it all out, she asked in a low, deep murmur: “Why did + you become a priest, then?” + </p> + <p> + “It is a long story,” said Don Ippolito. “I will not trouble you with it + now. Some other time.” + </p> + <p> + “No; now,” answered Florida, in English. “If you hate so to be a priest, I + can’t understand why you should have allowed yourself to become one. We + should be very unhappy if we could not respect you,—not trust you as + we have done; and how could we, if we knew you were not true to yourself + in being what you are?” + </p> + <p> + “Madamigella,” said the priest, “I never dared believe that I was in the + smallest thing necessary to your happiness. Is it true, then, that you + care for my being rather this than that? That you are in the least grieved + by any wrong of mine?” + </p> + <p> + “I scarcely know what you mean. How could we help being grieved by what + you have said to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks; but why do you care whether a priest of my church loves his + calling or not,—you, a Protestant? It is that you are sorry for me + as an unhappy man, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; it is that and more. I am no Catholic, but we are both Christians”— + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito gave the faintest movement of his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + —“and I cannot endure to think of your doing the things you must do + as a priest, and yet hating to be a priest. It is terrible!” + </p> + <p> + “Are all the priests of your faith devotees?” + </p> + <p> + “They cannot be. But are none of yours so?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, God forbid that I should say that. I have known real saints among + them. That friend of mine in Padua, of whom I once told you, became such, + and died an angel fit for Paradise. And I suppose that my poor uncle is a + saint, too, in his way.” + </p> + <p> + “Your uncle? A priest? You have never mentioned him to us.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Don Ippolito. After a certain pause he began abruptly, “We are + of the people, my family, and in each generation we have sought to honor + our blood by devoting one of the race to the church. When I was a child, I + used to divert myself by making little figures out of wood and pasteboard, + and I drew rude copies of the pictures I saw at church. We lived in the + house where I live now, and where I was born, and my mother let me play in + the small chamber where I now have my forge; it was anciently the oratory + of the noble family that occupied the whole palace. I contrived an altar + at one end of it; I stuck my pictures about the walls, and I ranged the + puppets in the order of worshippers on the floor; then I played at saying + mass, and preached to them all day long. + </p> + <p> + “My mother was a widow. She used to watch me with tears in her eyes. At + last, one day, she brought my uncle to see me: I remember it all far + better than yesterday. ‘Is it not the will of God?’ she asked. My uncle + called me to him, and asked me whether I should like to be a priest in + good earnest, when I grew up? ‘Shall I then be able to make as many little + figures as I like, and to paint pictures, and carve an altar like that in + your church?’ I demanded. My uncle answered that I should have real men + and women to preach to, as he had, and would not that be much finer? In my + heart I did not think so, for I did not care for that part of it; I only + liked to preach to my puppets because I had made them. But said, ‘Oh yes,’ + as children do. I kept on contriving the toys that I played with, and I + grew used to hearing it told among my mates and about the neighborhood + that I was to be a priest; I cannot remember any other talk with my + mother, and I do not know how or when it was decided. Whenever I thought + of the matter, I thought, ‘That will be very well. The priests have very + little to do, and they gain a great deal of money with their masses; and I + shall be able to make whatever I like.’ I only considered the office then + as a means to gratify the passion that has always filled my soul for + inventions and works of mechanical skill and ingenuity. My inclination was + purely secular, but I was as inevitably becoming a priest as if I had been + born to be one.” + </p> + <p> + “But you were not forced? There was no pressure upon you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, there was merely an absence, so far as they were concerned, of any + other idea. I think they meant justly, and assuredly they meant kindly by + me. I grew in years, and the time came when I was to begin my studies. It + was my uncle’s influence that placed me in the Seminary of the Salute, and + there I repaid his care by the utmost diligence. But it was not the + theological studies that I loved, it was the mathematics and their + practical application, and among the classics I loved best the poets and + the historians. Yes, I can see that I was always a mundane spirit, and + some of those in charge of me at once divined it, I think. They used to + take us to walk,—you have seen the little creatures in their + priest’s gowns, which they put on when they enter the school, with a + couple of young priests at the head of the file,—and once, for an + uncommon pleasure, they took us to the Arsenal, and let us see the + shipyards and the museum. You know the wonderful things that are there: + the flags and the guns captured from the Turks; the strange weapons of all + devices; the famous suits of armor. I came back half-crazed; I wept that I + must leave the place. But I set to work the best I could to carve out in + wood an invention which the model of one of the antique galleys had + suggested to me. They found it,—nothing can be concealed outside of + your own breast in such a school,—and they carried me with my + contrivance before the superior. He looked kindly but gravely at me: ‘My + son,’ said he, ‘do you wish to be a priest?’ ‘Surely, reverend father,’ I + answered in alarm, ‘why not?’ ‘Because these things are not for priests. + Their thoughts must be upon other things. Consider well of it, my son, + while there is yet time,’ he said, and he addressed me a long and serious + discourse upon the life on which I was to enter. He was a just and + conscientious and affectionate man; but every word fell like burning fire + in my heart. At the end, he took my poor plaything, and thrust it down + among the coals of his <i>scaldino</i>. It made the scaldino smoke, and he + bade me carry it out with me, and so turned again to his book. + </p> + <p> + “My mother was by this time dead, but I could hardly have gone to her, if + she had still been living. ‘These things are not for priests!’ kept + repeating itself night and day in my brain. I was in despair, I was in a + fury to see my uncle. I poured out my heart to him, and tried to make him + understand the illusions and vain hopes in which I had lived. He received + coldly my sorrow and the reproaches which I did not spare him; he bade me + consider my inclinations as so many temptations to be overcome for the + good of my soul and the glory of God. He warned me against the scandal of + attempting to withdraw now from the path marked out for me. I said that I + never would be a priest. ‘And what will you do?’ he asked. Alas! what + could I do? I went back to my prison, and in due course I became a priest. + </p> + <p> + “It was not without sufficient warning that I took one order after + another, but my uncle’s words, ‘What will you do?’ made me deaf to these + admonitions. All that is now past. I no longer resent nor hate; I seem to + have lost the power; but those were days when my soul was filled with + bitterness. Something of this must have showed itself to those who had me + in their charge. I have heard that at one time my superiors had grave + doubts whether I ought to be allowed to take orders. My examination, in + which the difficulties of the sacerdotal life were brought before me with + the greatest clearness, was severe; I do not know how I passed it; it must + have been in grace to my uncle. I spent the next ten days in a convent, to + meditate upon the step I was about to take. Poor helpless, friendless + wretch! Madamigella, even yet I cannot see how I was to blame, that I came + forth and received the first of the holy orders, and in their time the + second and the third. + </p> + <p> + “I was a priest, but no more a priest at heart than those Venetian + conscripts, whom you saw carried away last week, are Austrian soldiers. I + was bound as they are bound, by an inexorable and inevitable law. + </p> + <p> + “You have asked me why I became a priest. Perhaps I have not told you why, + but I have told you how—I have given you the slight outward events, + not the processes of my mind—and that is all that I can do. If the + guilt was mine, I have suffered for it. If it was not mine, still I have + suffered for it. Some ban seems to have rested upon whatever I have + attempted. My work,—oh, I know it well enough!—has all been + cursed with futility; my labors are miserable failures or contemptible + successes. I have had my unselfish dreams of blessing mankind by some + great discovery or invention; but my life has been barren, barren, barren; + and save for the kindness that I have known in this house, and that would + not let me despair, it would now be without hope.” + </p> + <p> + He ceased, and the girl, who had listened with her proud looks + transfigured to an aspect of grieving pity, fetched a long sigh. “Oh, I am + sorry for you!” she said, “more sorry than I know how to tell. But you + must not lose courage, you must not give up!” + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito resumed with a melancholy smile. “There are doubtless + temptations enough to be false under the best of conditions in this world. + But something—I do not know what or whom; perhaps no more my uncle + or my mother than I, for they were only as the past had made them—caused + me to begin by living a lie, do you not see?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” reluctantly assented the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps—who knows?—that is why no good has come of me, nor + can come. My uncle’s piety and repute have always been my efficient help. + He is the principal priest of the church to which I am attached, and he + has had infinite patience with me. My ambition and my attempted inventions + are a scandal to him, for he is a priest of those like the Holy Father, + who believe that all the wickedness of the modern world has come from the + devices of science; my indifference to the things of religion is a terror + and a sorrow to him which he combats with prayers and penances. He starves + himself and goes cold and faint that God may have mercy and turn my heart + to the things on which his own is fixed. He loves my soul, but not me, and + we are scarcely friends.” + </p> + <p> + Florida continued to look at him with steadfast, compassionate eyes. “It + seems very strange, almost like some dream,” she murmured, “that you + should be saying all this to me, Don Ippolito, and I do not know why I + should have asked you anything.” + </p> + <p> + The pity of this virginal heart must have been very sweet to the man on + whom she looked it. His eyes worshipped her, as he answered her devoutly, + “It was due to the truth in you that I should seem to you what I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, you make me ashamed!” she cried with a blush. “It was selfish of + me to ask you to speak. And now, after what you have told me, I am so + helpless and I know so very little that I don’t understand how to comfort + or encourage you. But surely you can somehow help yourself. Are men, that + seem so strong and able, just as powerless as women, after all, when it + comes to real trouble? Is a man”— + </p> + <p> + “I cannot answer. I am only a priest,” said Don Ippolito coldly, letting + his eyes drop to the gown that fell about him like a woman’s skirt. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but a priest should be a man, and so much more; a priest”— + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” cried the girl. “Your own schemes have all failed, you say; then + why do you not think of becoming a priest in reality, and getting the good + there must be in such a calling? It is singular that I should venture to + say such a thing to you, and it must seem presumptuous and ridiculous for + me, a Protestant—but our ways are so different.”... She paused, + coloring deeply, then controlled herself, and added with grave composure, + “If you were to pray”— + </p> + <p> + “To what, madamigella?” asked the priest, sadly. + </p> + <p> + “To what!” she echoed, opening her eyes full upon him. “To God!” + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito made no answer. He let his head fall so low upon his breast + that she could see the sacerdotal tonsure. + </p> + <p> + “You must excuse me,” she said, blushing again. “I did not mean to wound + your feelings as a Catholic. I have been very bold and intrusive. I ought + to have remembered that people of your church have different ideas—that + the saints”— + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito looked up with pensive irony. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the poor saints!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand you,” said Florida, very gravely. + </p> + <p> + “I mean that I believe in the saints as little as you do.” + </p> + <p> + “But you believe in your Church?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no Church.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence in which Don Ippolito again dropped his head upon his + breast. Florida leaned forward in her eagerness, and murmured, “You + believe in God?” + </p> + <p> + The priest lifted his eyes and looked at her beseechingly. “I do not + know,” he whispered. She met his gaze with one of dumb bewilderment. At + last she said: “Sometimes you baptize little children and receive them + into the church in the name of God?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor creatures come to you and confess their sins, and you absolve them, + or order them to do penances?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And sometimes when people are dying, you must stand by their death-beds + and give them the last consolations of religion?” + </p> + <p> + “It is true.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” moaned the girl, and fixed on Don Ippolito a long look of wonder and + reproach, which he met with eyes of silent anguish. + </p> + <p> + “It is terrible, madamigella,” he said, rising. “I know it. I would fain + have lived single-heartedly, for I think I was made so; but now you see + how black and deadly a lie my life is. It is worse than you could have + imagined, is it not? It is worse than the life of the cruelest bigot, for + he at least believes in himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Worse, far worse!” + </p> + <p> + “But at least, dear young lady,” he went on piteously, “believe me that I + have the grace to abhor myself. It is not much, it is very, very little, + but it is something. Do not wholly condemn me!” + </p> + <p> + “Condemn? Oh, I am sorry for you with my whole heart. Only, why must you + tell me all this? No, no; you are not to blame. I made you speak; I made + you put yourself to shame.” + </p> + <p> + “Not that, dearest madamigella. I would unsay nothing now, if I could, + unless to take away the pain I have given you. It has been more a relief + than a shame to have all this known to you; and even if you should despise + me”— + </p> + <p> + “I don’t despise you; that isn’t for me; but oh, I wish that I could help + you!” + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito shook his head. “You cannot help me; but I thank you for your + compassion; I shall never forget it.” He lingered irresolutely with his + hat in his hand. “Shall we go on with the reading, madamigella?” + </p> + <p> + “No, we will not read any more to-day,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Then I relieve you of the disturbance, madamigella,” he said; and after a + moment’s hesitation he bowed sadly and went. + </p> + <p> + She mechanically followed him to the door, with some little gestures and + movements of a desire to keep him from going, yet let him go, and so + turned back and sat down with her hands resting noiseless on the keys of + the piano. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI. + </h2> + <p> + The next morning Don Ippolito did not come, but in the afternoon the + postman brought a letter for Mrs. Vervain, couched in the priest’s + English, begging her indulgence until after the day of Corpus Christi, up + to which time, he said, he should be too occupied for his visits of + ordinary. + </p> + <p> + This letter reminded Mrs. Vervain that they had not seen Mr. Ferris for + three days, and she sent to ask him to dinner. But he returned an excuse, + and he was not to be had to breakfast the next morning for the asking. He + was in open rebellion. Mrs. Vervain had herself rowed to the consular + landing, and sent up her gondolier with another invitation to dinner. + </p> + <p> + The painter appeared on the balcony in the linen blouse which he wore at + his work, and looked down with a frown on the smiling face of Mrs. Vervain + for a moment without speaking. Then, “I’ll come,” he said gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “Come with me, then,” returned Mrs. Vervain, + </p> + <p> + “I shall have to keep you waiting.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t mind that. You’ll be ready in five minutes.” + </p> + <p> + Florida met the painter with such gentleness that he felt his resentment + to have been a stupid caprice, for which there was no ground in the world. + He tried to recall his fading sense of outrage, but he found nothing in + his mind but penitence. The sort of distraught humility with which she + behaved gave her a novel fascination. + </p> + <p> + The dinner was good, as Mrs. Vervain’s dinners always were, and there was + a compliment to the painter in the presence of a favorite dish. When he + saw this, “Well, Mrs. Vervain, what is it?” he asked. “You needn’t pretend + that you’re treating me so well for nothing. You want something.” + </p> + <p> + “We want nothing but that you should not neglect your friends. We have + been utterly deserted for three or four days. Don Ippolito has not been + here, either; but <i>he</i> has some excuse; he has to get ready for + Corpus Christi. He’s going to be in the procession.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he to appear with his flying machine, or his portable dining-table, or + his automatic camera?” + </p> + <p> + “For shame!” cried Mrs. Vervain, beaming reproach. Florida’s face clouded, + and Ferris made haste to say that he did not know these inventions were + sacred, and that he had no wish to blaspheme them. + </p> + <p> + “You know well enough what I meant,” answered Mrs. Vervain. “And now, we + want you to get us a window to look out on the procession.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, <i>that’s</i> what you want, is it? I thought you merely wanted me + not to neglect my friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, do you call that neglecting them?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Vervain, Mrs. Vervain! What a mind you have! Is there anything else + you want? Me to go with you, for example?” + </p> + <p> + “We don’t insist. You can take us to the window and leave us, if you + like.” + </p> + <p> + “This clemency is indeed unexpected,” replied Ferris. “I’m really quite + unworthy of it.” + </p> + <p> + He was going on with the badinage customary between Mrs. Vervain and + himself, when Florida protested,— + </p> + <p> + “Mother, I think we abuse Mr. Ferris’s kindness.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it, my dear—I know it,” cheerfully assented Mrs. Vervain. + “It’s perfectly shocking. But what are we to do? We must abuse <i>somebody’s</i> + kindness.” + </p> + <p> + “We had better stay at home. I’d much rather not go,” said the girl, + tremulously. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Miss Vervain,” said Ferris gravely, “I’m very sorry if you’ve + misunderstood my joking. I’ve never yet seen the procession to advantage, + and I’d like very much to look on with you.” + </p> + <p> + He could not tell whether she was grateful for his words, or annoyed. She + resolutely said no more, but her mother took up the strain and discoursed + long upon it, arranging all the particulars of their meeting and going + together. Ferris was a little piqued, and began to wonder why Miss Vervain + did not stay at home if she did not want to go. To be sure, she went + everywhere with her mother but it was strange, with her habitual violent + submissiveness, that she should have said anything in opposition to her + mother’s wish or purpose. + </p> + <p> + After dinner, Mrs. Vervain frankly withdrew for her nap, and Florida + seemed to make a little haste to take some sewing in her hand, and sat + down with the air of a woman willing to detain her visitor. Ferris was + not such a stoic as not to be dimly flattered by this, but he was too much + of a man to be fully aware how great an advance it might seem. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose we shall see most of the priests of Venice, and what they are + like, in the procession to-morrow,” she said. “Do you remember speaking to + me about priests, the other day, Mr. Ferris?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I remember it very well. I think I overdid it; and I couldn’t + perceive afterwards that I had shown any motive but a desire to make + trouble for Don Ippolito.” + </p> + <p> + “I never thought that,” answered Florida, seriously. “What you said was + true, wasn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it was and it wasn’t, and I don’t know that it differed from + anything else in the world, in that respect. It is true that there is a + great distrust of the priests amongst the Italians. The young men hate + them—or think they do—or say they do. Most educated men in + middle life are materialists, and of course unfriendly to the priests. + There are even women who are skeptical about religion. But I suspect that + the largest number of all those who talk loudest against the priests are + really subject to them. You must consider how very intimately they are + bound up with every family in the most solemn relations of life.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think the priests are generally bad men?” asked the young girl + shyly. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t, indeed. I don’t see how things could hang together if it were + so. There must be a great basis of sincerity and goodness in them, when + all is said and done. It seems to me that at the worst they’re merely + professional people—poor fellows who have gone into the church for a + living. You know it isn’t often now that the sons of noble families take + orders; the priests are mostly of humble origin; not that they’re + necessarily the worse for that; the patricians used to be just as bad in + another way.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” said Florida, with her head on one side, considering her seam, + “why there is always something so dreadful to us in the idea of a priest.” + </p> + <p> + “They <i>do</i> seem a kind of alien creature to us Protestants. I can’t + make out whether they seem so to Catholics, or not. But we have a + repugnance to all doomed people, haven’t we? And a priest is a man under + sentence of death to the natural ties between himself and the human race. + He is dead to us. That makes him dreadful. The spectre of our dearest + friend, father or mother, would be terrible. And yet,” added Ferris, + musingly, “a nun isn’t terrible.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered the girl, “that’s because a woman’s life even in the world + seems to be a constant giving up. No, a nun isn’t unnatural, but a priest + is.” + </p> + <p> + She was silent for a time, in which she sewed swiftly; then she suddenly + dropped her work into her lap, and pressing it down with both hands, she + asked, “Do you believe that priests themselves are ever skeptical about + religion?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it must happen now and then. In the best days of the church it + was a fashion to doubt, you know. I’ve often wanted to ask our friend Don + Ippolito something about these matters, but I didn’t see how it could be + managed.” Ferris did not note the change that passed over Florida’s face, + and he continued. “Our acquaintance hasn’t become so intimate as I hoped + it might. But you only get to a certain point with Italians. They like to + meet you on the street; maybe they haven’t any indoors.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it must sometimes happen, as you say,” replied Florida, with a quick + sigh, reverting to the beginning of Ferris’s answer. “But is it any worse + for a false priest than for a hypocritical minister?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s bad enough for either, but it’s worse for the priest. You see Miss + Vervain, a minister doesn’t set up for so much. He doesn’t pretend to + forgive us our sins, and he doesn’t ask us to confess them; he doesn’t + offer us the veritable body and blood in the sacrament, and he doesn’t + bear allegiance to the visible and tangible vicegerent of Christ upon + earth. A hypocritical parson may be absurd; but a skeptical priest is + tragical.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, oh yes, I see,” murmured the girl, with a grieving face. “Are they + always to blame for it? They must be induced, sometimes, to enter the + church before they’ve seriously thought about it, and then don’t know how + to escape from the path that has been marked out for them from their + childhood. Should you think such a priest as that was to blame for being a + skeptic?” she asked very earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Ferris, with a smile at her seriousness, “I should think such a + skeptic as that was to blame for being a priest.” + </p> + <p> + “Shouldn’t you be very sorry for him?” pursued Florida still more + solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “I should, indeed, if I liked him. If I didn’t, I’m afraid I shouldn’t,” + said Ferris; but he saw that his levity jarred upon her. “Come, Miss + Vervain, you’re not going to look at those fat monks and sleek priests in + the procession to-morrow as so many incorporate tragedies, are you? You’ll + spoil my pleasure if you do. I dare say they’ll be all of them devout + believers, accepting everything, down to the animalcula in the holy + water.” + </p> + <p> + “If <i>you</i> were that kind of a priest,” persisted the girl, without + heeding his jests, “what should you do?” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word, I don’t know. I can’t imagine it. Why,” he continued, + “think what a helpless creature a priest is in everything but his + priesthood—more helpless than a woman, even. The only thing he could + do would be to leave the church, and how could he do that? He’s in the + world, but he isn’t of it, and I don’t see what he could do with it, or it + with him. If an Italian priest were to leave the church, even the + liberals, who distrust him now, would despise him still more. Do you know + that they have a pleasant fashion of calling the Protestant converts + apostates? The first thing for such a priest would be exile. But I’m not + supposably the kind of priest you mean, and I don’t think just such a + priest supposable. I dare say if a priest found himself drifting into + doubt, he’d try to avoid the disagreeable subject, and, if he couldn’t, + he’d philosophize it some way, and wouldn’t let his skepticism worry him.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you mean that they haven’t consciences like us?” + </p> + <p> + “They have consciences, but not like us. The Italians are kinder people + than we are, but they’re not so just, and I should say that they don’t + think truth the chief good of life. They believe there are pleasanter and + better things. Perhaps they’re right.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; you don’t believe that, you know you don’t,” said Florida, + anxiously. “And you haven’t answered my question.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, I have. I’ve told you it wasn’t a supposable case.” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose it was.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if I must,” answered Ferris with a laugh. “With my unfortunate + bringing up, I couldn’t say less than that such a man ought to get out of + his priesthood at any hazard. He should cease to be a priest, if it cost + him kindred, friends, good fame, country, everything. I don’t see how + there can be any living in such a lie, though I know there is. In all + reason, it ought to eat the soul out of a man, and leave him helpless to + do or be any sort of good. But there seems to be something, I don’t know + what it is, that is above all reason of ours, something that saves each of + us for good in spite of the bad that’s in us. It’s very good practice, for + a man who wants to be modest, to come and live in a Latin country. He + learns to suspect his own topping virtues, and to be lenient to the novel + combinations of right and wrong that he sees. But as for our insupposable + priest—yes, I should say decidedly he ought to get out of it by all + means.” + </p> + <p> + Florida fell back in her chair with an aspect of such relief as comes to + one from confirmation on an important point. She passed her hand over the + sewing in her lap, but did not speak. + </p> + <p> + Ferris went on, with a doubting look at her, for he had been shy of + introducing Don Ippolito’s name since the day on the Brenta, and he did + not know what effect a recurrence to him in this talk might have. “I’ve + often wondered if our own clerical friend were not a little shaky in his + faith. I don’t think nature meant him for a priest. He always strikes me + as an extremely secular-minded person. I doubt if he’s ever put the + question whether he is what he professes to be, squarely to himself—he’s + such a mere dreamer.” + </p> + <p> + Florida changed her posture slightly, and looked down at her sewing. She + asked, “But shouldn’t you abhor him if he were a skeptical priest?” + </p> + <p> + Ferris shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, I don’t find it such an easy matter to + abhor people. It would be interesting,” he continued musingly, “to have + such a dreamer waked up, once, and suddenly confronted with what he + recognized as perfect truthfulness, and couldn’t help contrasting himself + with. But it would be a little cruel.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you rather have him left as he was?” asked Florida, lifting her + eyes to his. + </p> + <p> + “As a moralist, no; as a humanitarian, yes, Miss Vervain. He’d be much + happier as he was.” + </p> + <p> + “What time ought we to be ready for you tomorrow?” demanded the girl in a + tone of decision. + </p> + <p> + “We ought to be in the Piazza by nine o’clock,” said Ferris, carelessly + accepting the change of subject; and he told her of his plan for seeing + the procession from a window of the Old Procuratie. + </p> + <p> + When he rose to go, he said lightly, “Perhaps, after all, we may see the + type of tragical priest we’ve been talking about. Who can tell? I say his + nose will be red.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” answered Florida, with unheeding gravity. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII. + </h2> + <p> + The day was one of those which can come to the world only in early June at + Venice. The heaven was without a cloud, but a blue haze made mystery of + the horizon where the lagoon and sky met unseen. The breath of the sea + bathed in freshness the city at whose feet her tides sparkled and slept. + </p> + <p> + The great square of St. Mark was transformed from a mart, from a <i>salon</i>, + to a temple. The shops under the colonnades that inclose it upon three + sides were shut; the caffès, before which the circles of idle + coffee-drinkers and sherbet-eaters ordinarily spread out into the Piazza, + were repressed to the limits of their own doors; the stands of the + water-venders, the baskets of those that sold oranges of Palermo and black + cherries of Padua, had vanished from the base of the church of St. Mark, + which with its dim splendor of mosaics and its carven luxury of pillar and + arch and finial rose like the high-altar, ineffably rich and beautiful, of + the vaster temple whose inclosure it completed. Before it stood the three + great red flag-staffs, like painted tapers before an altar, and from them + hung the Austrian flags of red and white, and yellow and black. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the square stood the Austrian military band, motionless, + encircling their leader with his gold-headed staff uplifted. During the + night a light colonnade of wood, roofed with blue cloth, had been put up + around the inside of the Piazza, and under this now paused the long pomp + of the ecclesiastical procession—the priests of all the Venetian + churches in their richest vestments, followed in their order by facchini, + in white sandals and gay robes, with caps of scarlet, white, green, and + blue, who bore huge painted candles and silken banners displaying the + symbol or the portrait of the titular saints of the several churches, and + supported the canopies under which the host of each was elevated. Before + the clergy went a company of Austrian soldiers, and behind the facchini + came a long array of religious societies, charity-school boys in uniforms, + old paupers in holiday dress, little naked urchins with shepherds’ crooks + and bits of fleece about their loins like John the Baptist in the + Wilderness, little girls with angels’ wings and crowns, the monks of the + various orders, and civilian penitents of all sorts in cloaks or + dress-coats, hooded or bareheaded, and carrying each a lighted taper. The + corridors under the Imperial Palace and the New and Old Procuratie were + packed with spectators; from every window up and down the fronts of the + palaces, gay stuffs were flung; the startled doves of St. Mark perched + upon the cornices, or fluttered uneasily to and fro above the crowd. The + baton of the band leader descended with a crash of martial music, the + priests chanted, the charity-boys sang shrill, a vast noise of shuffling + feet arose, mixed with the foliage-like rustling of the sheets of tinsel + attached to the banners and candles in the procession: the whole strange, + gorgeous picture came to life. + </p> + <p> + After all her plans and preparations, Mrs. Vervain had not felt well + enough that morning to come to the spectacle which she had counted so much + upon seeing, but she had therefore insisted the more that her daughter + should go, and Ferris now stood with Florida alone at a window in the Old + Procuratie. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you think, Miss Vervain?” he asked, when their senses had + somewhat accustomed themselves to the noise of the procession; “do you say + now that Venice is too gloomy a city to have ever had any possibility of + gayety in her?” + </p> + <p> + “I never said that,” answered Florida, opening her eyes upon him. + </p> + <p> + “Neither did I,” returned Ferris, “but I’ve often thought it, and I’m not + sure now but I’m right. There’s something extremely melancholy to me in + all this. I don’t care so much for what one may call the deplorable + superstition expressed in the spectacle, but the mere splendid sight and + the music are enough to make one shed tears. I don’t know anything more + affecting except a procession of lantern-lit gondolas and barges on the + Grand Canal. It’s phantasmal. It’s the spectral resurrection of the old + dead forms into the present. It’s not even the ghost, it’s the corpse of + other ages that’s haunting Venice. The city ought to have been destroyed + by Napoleon when he destroyed the Republic, and thrown overboard—St. + Mark, Winged Lion, Bucentaur, and all. There is no land like America for + true cheerfulness and light-heartedness. Think of our Fourth of Julys and + our State Fairs. Selah!” + </p> + <p> + Ferris looked into the girl’s serious face with twinkling eyes. He liked + to embarrass her gravity with his antic speeches, and enjoyed her + endeavors to find an earnest meaning in them, and her evident trouble when + she could find none. + </p> + <p> + “I’m curious to know how our friend will look,” he began again, as he + arranged the cushion on the window-sill for Florida’s greater comfort in + watching the spectacle, “but it won’t be an easy matter to pick him out in + this masquerade, I fancy. Candle-carrying, as well as the other acts of + devotion, seems rather out of character with Don Ippolito, and I can’t + imagine his putting much soul into it. However, very few of the clergy + appear to do that. Look at those holy men with their eyes to the wind! + They are wondering who is the <i>bella bionda</i> at the window here.” + </p> + <p> + Florida listened to his persiflage with an air of sad distraction. She was + intent upon the procession as it approached from the other side of the + Piazza, and she replied at random to his comments on the different bodies + that formed it. + </p> + <p> + “It’s very hard to decide which are my favorites,” he continued, surveying + the long column through an opera-glass. “My religious disadvantages have + been such that I don’t care much for priests or monks, or young John the + Baptists, or small female cherubim, but I do like little charity-boys with + voices of pins and needles and hair cut <i>à la</i> dead-rabbit. I should + like, if it were consistent with the consular dignity, to go down and rub + their heads. I’m fond, also, of <i>old</i> charity-boys, I find. Those + paupers make one in love with destitute and dependent age, by their aspect + of irresponsible enjoyment. See how briskly each of them topples along on + the leg that he hasn’t got in the grave! How attractive likewise are the + civilian devotees in those imperishable dress-coats of theirs! Observe + their high collars of the era of the Holy Alliance: they and their fathers + and their grandfathers before them have worn those dress-coats; in a + hundred years from now their posterity will keep holiday in them. I should + like to know the elixir by which the dress-coats of civil employees render + themselves immortal. Those penitents in the cloaks and cowls are not bad, + either, Miss Vervain. Come, they add a very pretty touch of mystery to + this spectacle. They’re the sort of thing that painters are expected to + paint in Venice—that people sigh over as so peculiarly Venetian. If + you’ve a single sentiment about you, Miss Vervain, now is the time to + produce it.” + </p> + <p> + “But I haven’t. I’m afraid I have no sentiment at all,” answered the girl + ruefully. “But this makes me dreadfully sad.” + </p> + <p> + “Why that’s just what I was saying a while ago. Excuse me, Miss Vervain, + but your sadness lacks novelty; it’s a sort of plagiarism.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t, please,” she pleaded yet more earnestly. “I was just thinking—I + don’t know why such an awful thought should come to me—that it might + all be a mistake after all; perhaps there might not be any other world, + and every bit of this power and display of the church—<i>our</i> + church as well as the rest—might be only a cruel blunder, a dreadful + mistake. Perhaps there isn’t even any God! Do you think there is?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t <i>think</i> it,” said Ferris gravely, “I <i>know</i> it. But I + don’t wonder that this sight makes you doubt. Great God! How far it is + from Christ! Look there, at those troops who go before the followers of + the Lamb: their trade is murder. In a minute, if a dozen men called out, + ‘Long live the King of Italy!’ it would be the duty of those soldiers to + fire into the helpless crowd. Look at the silken and gilded pomp of the + servants of the carpenter’s son! Look at those miserable monks, voluntary + prisoners, beggars, aliens to their kind! Look at those penitents who + think that they can get forgiveness for their sins by carrying a candle + round the square! And it is nearly two thousand years since the world + turned Christian! It is pretty slow. But I suppose God lets men learn Him + from their own experience of evil. I imagine the kingdom of heaven is a + sort of republic, and that God draws men to Him only through their perfect + freedom.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, it must be so,” answered Florida, staring down on the crowd + with unseeing eyes, “but I can’t fix my mind on it. I keep thinking the + whole time of what we were talking about yesterday. I never could have + dreamed of a priest’s disbelieving; but now I can’t dream of anything + else. It seems to me that none of these priests or monks can believe + anything. Their faces look false and sly and bad—<i>all</i> of + them!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Miss Vervain,” said Ferris, smiling at her despair, “you push + matters a little beyond—as a woman has a right to do, of course. I + don’t think their faces are bad, by any means. Some of them are dull and + torpid, and some are frivolous, just like the faces of other people. But + I’ve been noticing the number of good, kind, friendly faces, and they’re + in the majority, just as they are amongst other people; for there are very + few souls altogether out of drawing, in my opinion. I’ve even caught sight + of some faces in which there was a real rapture of devotion, and now and + then a very innocent one. Here, for instance, is a man I should like to + bet on, if he’d only look up.” + </p> + <p> + The priest whom Ferris indicated was slowly advancing toward the space + immediately under their window. He was dressed in robes of high ceremony, + and in his hand he carried a lighted taper. He moved with a gentle tread, + and the droop of his slender figure intimated a sort of despairing + weariness. While most of his fellows stared carelessly or curiously about + them, his face was downcast and averted. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the procession paused, and a hush fell upon the vast assembly. + Then the silence was broken by the rustle and stir of all those thousands + going down upon their knees, as the cardinal-patriarch lifted his hands to + bless them. + </p> + <p> + The priest upon whom Ferris and Florida had fixed their eyes faltered a + moment, and before he knelt his next neighbor had to pluck him by the + skirt. Then he too knelt hastily, mechanically lifting his head, and + glancing along the front of the Old Procuratie. His face had that + weariness in it which his figure and movement had suggested, and it was + very pale, but it was yet more singular for the troubled innocence which + its traits expressed. + </p> + <p> + “There,” whispered Ferris, “that’s what I call an uncommonly good face.” + </p> + <p> + Florida raised her hand to silence him, and the heavy gaze of the priest + rested on them coldly at first. Then a light of recognition shot into his + eyes and a flush suffused his pallid visage, which seemed to grow the more + haggard and desperate. His head fell again, and he dropped the candle from + his hand. One of those beggars who went by the side of the procession, to + gather the drippings of the tapers, restored it to him. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said Ferris aloud, “it’s Don Ippolito! Did you know him at first?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII. + </h2> + <p> + The ladies were sitting on the terrace when Don Ippolito came next morning + to say that he could not read with Miss Vervain that day nor for several + days after, alleging in excuse some priestly duties proper to the time. + Mrs. Vervain began to lament that she had not been able to go to the + procession of the day before. “I meant to have kept a sharp lookout for + you; Florida saw you, and so did Mr. Ferris. But it isn’t at all the same + thing, you know. Florida has no faculty for describing; and now I shall + probably go away from Venice without seeing you in your real character + once.” + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito suffered this and more in meek silence. He waited his + opportunity with unfailing politeness, and then with gentle punctilio took + his leave. + </p> + <p> + “Well, come again as soon as your duties will let you, Don Ippolito,” + cried Mrs. Vervain. “We shall miss you dreadfully, and I begrudge every + one of your readings that Florida loses.” + </p> + <p> + The priest passed, with the sliding step which his impeding drapery + imposed, down the garden walk, and was half-way to the gate, when Florida, + who had stood watching him, said to her mother, “I must speak to him + again,” and lightly descended the steps and swiftly glided in pursuit. + </p> + <p> + “Don Ippolito!” she called. + </p> + <p> + He already had his hand upon the gate, but he turned, and rapidly went + back to meet her. + </p> + <p> + She stood in the walk where she had stopped when her voice arrested him, + breathing quickly. Their eyes met; a painful shadow overcast the face of + the young girl, who seemed to be trying in vain to speak. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vervain put on her glasses and peered down at the two with + good-natured curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, madamigella,” said the priest at last, “what do you command me?” He + gave a faint, patient sigh. + </p> + <p> + The tears came into her eyes. “Oh,” she began vehemently, “I wish there + was some one who had the right to speak to you!” + </p> + <p> + “No one,” answered Don Ippolito, “has so much the right as you.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw you yesterday,” she began again, “and I thought of what you had + told me, Don Ippolito.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I thought of it, too,” answered the priest; “I have thought of it + ever since.” + </p> + <p> + “But haven’t you thought of any hope for yourself? Must you still go on as + before? How can you go back now to those things, and pretend to think them + holy, and all the time have no heart or faith in them? It’s terrible!” + </p> + <p> + “What would you, madamigella?” demanded Don Ippolito, with a moody shrug. + “It is my profession, my trade, you know. You might say to the prisoner,” + he added bitterly, “‘It is terrible to see you chained here.’ Yes, it is + terrible. Oh, I don’t reject your compassion! But what can I do?” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down with me here,” said Florida in her blunt, child-like way, and + sank upon the stone seat beside the walk. She clasped her hands together + in her lap with some strong, bashful emotion, while Don Ippolito, obeying + her command, waited for her to speak. Her voice was scarcely more than a + hoarse whisper when she began. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know how to begin what I want to say. I am not fit to advise any + one. I am so young, and so very ignorant of the world.” + </p> + <p> + “I too know little of the world,” said the priest, as much to himself as + to her. + </p> + <p> + “It may be all wrong, all wrong. Besides,” she said abruptly, “how do I + know that you are a good man, Don Ippolito? How do I know that you’ve been + telling me the truth? It may be all a kind of trap”— + </p> + <p> + He looked blankly at her. + </p> + <p> + “This is in Venice; and you may be leading me on to say things to you that + will make trouble for my mother and me. You may be a spy”— + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, no, no!” cried the priest, springing to his feet with a kind of + moan, and a shudder, “God forbid!” He swiftly touched her hand with the + tips of his fingers, and then kissed them: an action of inexpressible + humility. “Madamigella, I swear to you by everything you believe good that + I would rather die than be false to you in a single breath or thought.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know it, I know it,” she murmured. “I don’t see how I could say + such a cruel thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Not cruel; no, madamigella, not cruel,” softly pleaded Don Ippolito. + </p> + <p> + “But—but is there <i>no</i> escape for you?” + </p> + <p> + They looked steadfastly at each other for a moment, and then Don Ippolito + spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said very gravely, “there is one way of escape. I have often + thought of it, and once I thought I had taken the first step towards it; + but it is beset with many great obstacles, and to be a priest makes one + timid and insecure.” + </p> + <p> + He lapsed into his musing melancholy with the last words; but she would + not suffer him to lose whatever heart he had begun to speak with. “That’s + nothing,” she said, “you must think again of that way of escape, and never + turn from it till you have tried it. Only take the first step and you can + go on. Friends will rise up everywhere, and make it easy for you. Come,” + she implored him fervently, “you must promise.” + </p> + <p> + He bent his dreamy eyes upon her. + </p> + <p> + “If I should take this only way of escape, and it seemed desperate to all + others, would you still be my friend?” + </p> + <p> + “I should be your friend if the whole world turned against you.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you be my friend,” he asked eagerly in lower tones, and with signs + of an inward struggle, “if this way of escape were for me to be no longer + a priest?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, yes! Why not?” cried the girl; and her face glowed with heroic + sympathy and defiance. It is from this heaven-born ignorance in women of + the insuperable difficulties of doing right that men take fire and + accomplish the sublime impossibilities. Our sense of details, our fatal + habits of reasoning paralyze us; we need the impulse of the pure ideal + which we can get only from them. These two were alike children as regarded + the world, but he had a man’s dark prevision of the means, and she a + heavenly scorn of everything but the end to be achieved. + </p> + <p> + He drew a long breath. “Then it does not seem terrible to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Terrible? No! I don’t see how you can rest till it is done!” + </p> + <p> + “Is it true, then, that you urge me to this step, which indeed I have so + long desired to take?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is true! Listen, Don Ippolito: it is the very thing that I hoped + you would do, but I wanted you to speak of it first. You must have all the + honor of it, and I am glad you thought of it before. You will never regret + it!” + </p> + <p> + She smiled radiantly upon him, and he kindled at her enthusiasm. In + another moment his face darkened again. “But it will cost much,” he + murmured. + </p> + <p> + “No matter,” cried Florida. “Such a man as you ought to leave the + priesthood at any risk or hazard. You should cease to be a priest, if it + cost you kindred, friends, good fame, country, everything!” She blushed + with irrelevant consciousness. “Why need you be downhearted? With your + genius once free, you can make country and fame and friends everywhere. + Leave Venice! There are other places. Think how inventors succeed in + America”— + </p> + <p> + “In America!” exclaimed the priest. “Ah, how long I have desired to be + there!” + </p> + <p> + “You must go. You will soon be famous and honored there, and you shall not + be a stranger, even at the first. Do you know that we are going home very + soon? Yes, my mother and I have been talking of it to-day. We are both + homesick, and you see that she is not well. You shall come to us there, + and make our house your home till you have formed some plans of your own. + Everything will be easy. God <i>is</i> good,” she said in a breaking + voice, “and you may be sure he will befriend you.” + </p> + <p> + “Some one,” answered Don Ippolito, with tears in his eyes, “has already + been very good to me. I thought it was you, but I will call it God!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! You mustn’t say such things. But you must go, now. Take time to + think, but not too much time. Only,—be true to yourself.” + </p> + <p> + They rose, and she laid her hand on his arm with an instinctive gesture of + appeal. He stood bewildered. Then, “Thanks, madamigella, thanks!” he said, + and caught her fragrant hand to his lips. He loosed it and lifted both his + arms by a blind impulse in which he arrested himself with a burning blush, + and turned away. He did not take leave of her with his wonted formalities, + but hurried abruptly toward the gate. + </p> + <p> + A panic seemed to seize her as she saw him open it. She ran after him. + “Don Ippolito, Don Ippolito,” she said, coming up to him; and stammered + and faltered. “I don’t know; I am frightened. You must do nothing from me; + I cannot let you; I’m not fit to advise you. It must be wholly from your + own conscience. Oh no, don’t look so! I <i>will</i> be your friend, + whatever happens. But if what you think of doing has seemed so terrible to + you, perhaps it <i>is</i> more terrible than I can understand. If it is + the only way, it is right. But is there no other? What I mean is, have you + no one to talk all this over with? I mean, can’t you speak of it to—to + Mr. Ferris? He is so true and honest and just.” + </p> + <p> + “I was going to him,” said Don Ippolito, with a dim trouble in his face. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am so glad of that! Remember, I don’t take anything back. No matter + what happens, I will be your friend. But he will tell you just what to + do.” + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito bowed and opened the gate. + </p> + <p> + Florida went back to her mother, who asked her, “What in the world have + you and Don Ippolito been talking about so earnestly? What makes you so + pale and out of breath?” + </p> + <p> + “I have been wanting to tell you, mother,” said Florida. She drew her + chair in front of the elder lady, and sat down. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV. + </h2> + <p> + Don Ippolito did not go directly to the painter’s. He walked toward his + house at first, and then turned aside, and wandered out through the noisy + and populous district of Canaregio to the Campo di Marte. A squad of + cavalry which had been going through some exercises there was moving off + the parade ground; a few infantry soldiers were strolling about under the + trees. Don Ippolito walked across the field to the border of the lagoon, + where he began to pace to and fro, with his head sunk in deep thought. He + moved rapidly, but sometimes he stopped and stood still in the sun, whose + heat he did not seem to feel, though a perspiration bathed his pale face + and stood in drops on his forehead under the shadow of his nicchio. Some + little dirty children of the poor, with which this region swarms, looked + at him from the sloping shore of the Campo di Giustizia, where the + executions used to take place, and a small boy began to mock his movements + and pauses, but was arrested by one of the girls, who shook him and + gesticulated warningly. + </p> + <p> + At this point the long railroad bridge which connects Venice with the + mainland is in full sight, and now from the reverie in which he continued, + whether he walked or stood still, Don Ippolito was roused by the whistle + of an outward train. He followed it with his eye as it streamed along over + the far-stretching arches, and struck out into the flat, salt marshes + beyond. When the distance hid it, he put on his hat, which he had + unknowingly removed, and turned his rapid steps toward the railroad + station. Arrived there, he lingered in the vestibule for half an hour, + watching the people as they bought their tickets for departure, and had + their baggage examined by the customs officers, and weighed and registered + by the railroad porters, who passed it through the wicket shutting out the + train, while the passengers gathered up their smaller parcels and took + their way to the waiting-rooms. He followed a group of English people some + paces in this direction, and then returned to the wicket, through which he + looked long and wistfully at the train. The baggage was all passed + through; the doors of the waiting-rooms were thrown open with harsh + proclamation by the guards, and the passengers flocked into the carriages. + Whistles and bells were sounded, and the train crept out of the station. + </p> + <p> + A man in the company’s uniform approached the unconscious priest, and + striking his hands softly together, said with a pleasant smile, “Your + servant, Don Ippolito. Are you expecting some one?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, good day!” answered the priest, with a little start. “No,” he added, + “I was not looking for any one.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said the other. “Amusing yourself as usual with the machinery. + Excuse the freedom, Don Ippolito; but you ought to have been of our + profession,—ha, ha! When you have the leisure, I should like to show + you the drawing of an American locomotive which a friend of mine has sent + me from Nuova York. It is very different from ours, very curious. But + monstrous in size, you know, prodigious! May I come with it to your house, + some evening?” + </p> + <p> + “You will do me a great pleasure,” said Don Ippolito. He gazed dreamily in + the direction of the vanished train. “Was that the train for Milan?” he + asked presently. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said the man. + </p> + <p> + “Does it go all the way to Milan?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! it stops at Peschiera, where the passengers have their passports + examined; and then another train backs down from Desenzano and takes them + on to Milan. And after that,” continued the man with animation, “if you + are on the way to England, for example, another train carries you to Susa, + and there you get the diligence over the mountain to St. Michel, where you + take railroad again, and so on up through Paris to Boulogne-sur-Mer, and + then by steamer to Folkestone, and then by railroad to London and to + Liverpool. It is at Liverpool that you go on board the steamer for + America, and piff! in ten days you are in Nuova York. My friend has + written me all about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah yes, your friend. Does he like it there in America?” + </p> + <p> + “Passably, passably. The Americans have no manners; but they are good + devils. They are governed by the Irish. And the wine is dear. But he likes + America; yes, he likes it. Nuova York is a fine city. But immense, you + know! Eight times as large as Venice!” + </p> + <p> + “Is your friend prosperous there?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah heigh! That is the prettiest part of the story. He has made himself + rich. He is employed by a large house to make designs for mantlepieces, + and marble tables, and tombs; and he has—listen!—six hundred + francs a month!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh per Bacco!” cried Don Ippolito. + </p> + <p> + “Honestly. But you spend a great deal there. Still, it is magnificent, is + it not? If it were not for that blessed war there, now, that would be the + place for you, Don Ippolito. He tells me the Americans are actually mad + for inventions. Your servant. Excuse the freedom, you know,” said the man, + bowing and moving away. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, dear, nothing,” answered the priest. He walked out of the + station with a light step, and went to his own house, where he sought the + room in which his inventions were stored. He had not touched them for + weeks. They were all dusty and many were cobwebbed. He blew the dust from + some, and bringing them to the light, examined them critically, finding + them mostly disabled in one way or other, except the models of the + portable furniture which he polished with his handkerchief and set apart, + surveying them from a distance with a look of hope. He took up the + breech-loading cannon and then suddenly put it down again with a little + shiver, and went to the threshold of the perverted oratory and glanced in + at his forge. Veneranda had carelessly left the window open, and the + draught had carried the ashes about the floor. On the cinder-heap lay the + tools which he had used in mending the broken pipe of the fountain at Casa + Vervain, and had not used since. The place seemed chilly even on that + summer’s day. He stood in the doorway with clenched hands. Then he called + Veneranda, chid her for leaving the window open, and bade her close it, + and so quitted the house and left her muttering. + </p> + <p> + Ferris seemed surprised to see him when he appeared at the consulate near + the middle of the afternoon, and seated himself in the place where he was + wont to pose for the painter. + </p> + <p> + “Were you going to give me a sitting?” asked the latter, hesitating. “The + light is horrible, just now, with this glare from the canal. Not that I + manage much better when it’s good. I don’t get on with you, Don Ippolito. + There are too many of you. I shouldn’t have known you in the procession + yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito did not respond. He rose and went toward his portrait on the + easel, and examined it long, with a curious minuteness. Then he returned + to his chair, and continued to look at it. “I suppose that it resembles me + a great deal,” he said, “and yet I do not <i>feel</i> like that. I hardly + know what is the fault. It is as I should be if I were like other priests, + perhaps?” + </p> + <p> + “I know it’s not good,” said the painter. “It <i>is</i> conventional, in + spite of everything. But here’s that first sketch I made of you.” + </p> + <p> + He took up a canvas facing the wall, and set it on the easel. The + character in this charcoal sketch was vastly sincerer and sweeter. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Don Ippolito, with a sigh and smile of relief, “that is + immeasurably better. I wish I could speak to you, dear friend, in a mood + of yours as sympathetic as this picture records, of some matters that + concern me very nearly. I have just come from the railroad station.” + </p> + <p> + “Seeing some friends off?” asked the painter, indifferently, hovering near + the sketch with a bit of charcoal in his hand, and hesitating whether to + give it a certain touch. He glanced with half-shut eyes at the priest. + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito sighed again. “I hardly know. I was seeing off my hopes, my + desires, my prayers, that followed the train to America!” + </p> + <p> + The painter put down his charcoal, dusted his fingers, and looked at the + priest without saying anything. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember when I first came to you?” asked Don Ippolito. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Ferris. “Is it of that matter you want to speak to me? + I’m very sorry to hear it, for I don’t think it practical.” + </p> + <p> + “Practical, practical!” cried the priest hotly. “Nothing is practical till + it has been tried. And why should I not go to America?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you can’t get your passport, for one thing,” answered the painter + dryly. + </p> + <p> + “I have thought of that,” rejoined Don Ippolito more patiently. “I can get + a passport for France from the Austrian authorities here, and at Milan + there must be ways in which I could change it for one from my own king”—it + was by this title that patriotic Venetians of those days spoke of Victor + Emmanuel—“that would carry me out of France into England.” + </p> + <p> + Ferris pondered a moment. “That is quite true,” he said. “Why hadn’t you + thought of that when you first came to me?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot tell. I didn’t know that I could even get a passport for France + till the other day.” + </p> + <p> + Both were silent while the painter filled his pipe. “Well,” he said + presently, “I’m very sorry. I’m afraid you’re dooming yourself to many + bitter disappointments in going to America. What do you expect to do + there?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, with my inventions”— + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” interrupted the other, putting a lighted match to his pipe, + “that a painter must be a very poor sort of American: <i>his</i> first + thought is of coming to Italy. So I know very little directly about the + fortunes of my inventive fellow-countrymen, or whether an inventor has any + prospect of making a living. But once when I was at Washington I went into + the Patent Office, where the models of the inventions are deposited; the + building is about as large as the Ducal Palace, and it is full of them. + The people there told me nothing was commoner than for the same invention + to be repeated over and over again by different inventors. Some few + succeed, and then they have lawsuits with the infringers of their patents; + some sell out their inventions for a trifle to companies that have + capital, and that grow rich upon them; the great number can never bring + their ideas to the public notice at all. You can judge for yourself what + your chances would be. You have asked me why you should not go to America. + Well, because I think you would starve there.” + </p> + <p> + “I am used to that,” said Don Ippolito; “and besides, until some of my + inventions became known, I could give lessons in Italian.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bravo!” said Ferris, “you prefer instant death, then?” + </p> + <p> + “But madamigella seemed to believe that my success as an inventor would be + assured, there.” + </p> + <p> + Ferris gave a very ironical laugh. “Miss Vervain must have been about + twelve years old when she left America. Even a lady’s knowledge of + business, at that age, is limited. When did you talk with her about it? + You had not spoken of it to me, of late, and I thought you were more + contented than you used to be.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” said the priest. “Sometimes within the last two months I + have almost forgotten it.” + </p> + <p> + “And what has brought it so forcibly to your mind again?” + </p> + <p> + “That is what I so greatly desire to tell you,” replied Don Ippolito, with + an appealing look at the painter’s face. He moistened his parched lips a + little, waiting for further question from the painter, to whom he seemed a + man fevered by some strong emotion and at that moment not quite wholesome. + Ferris did not speak, and Don Ippolito began again: “Even though I have + not said so in words to you, dear friend, has it not appeared to you that + I have no heart in my vocation?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have sometimes fancied that. I had no right to ask you why.” + </p> + <p> + “Some day I will tell you, when I have the courage to go all over it + again. It is partly my own fault, but it is more my miserable fortune. But + wherever the wrong lies, it has at last become intolerable to me. I cannot + endure it any longer and live. I must go away, I must fly from it.” + </p> + <p> + Ferris shrank from him a little, as men instinctively do from one who has + set himself upon some desperate attempt. “Do you mean, Don Ippolito, that + you are going to renounce your priesthood?” + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito opened his hands and let his priesthood drop, as it were, to + the ground. + </p> + <p> + “You never spoke of this before, when you talked of going to America. + Though to be sure”— + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes!” replied Don Ippolito with vehemence, “but now an angel has + appeared and shown me the blackness of my life!” + </p> + <p> + Ferris began to wonder if he or Don Ippolito were not perhaps mad. + </p> + <p> + “An angel, yes,” the priest went on, rising from his chair, “an angel + whose immaculate truth has mirrored my falsehood in all its vileness and + distortion—to whom, if it destroys me, I cannot devote less than a + truthfulness like hers!” + </p> + <p> + “Hers—hers?” cried the painter, with a sudden pang. “Whose? Don’t + speak in these riddles. Whom do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Whom can I mean but only one?—madamigella!” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Vervain? Do you mean to say that Miss Vervain has advised you to + renounce your priesthood?” + </p> + <p> + “In as many words she has bidden me forsake it at any risk,—at the + cost of kindred, friends, good fame, country, everything.” + </p> + <p> + The painter passed his hand confusedly over his face. These were his own + words, the words he had used in speaking with Florida of the supposed + skeptical priest. He grew very pale. “May I ask,” he demanded in a hard, + dry voice, “how she came to advise such a step?” + </p> + <p> + “I can hardly tell. Something had already moved her to learn from me the + story of my life—to know that I was a man with neither faith nor + hope. Her pure heart was torn by the thought of my wrong and of my error. + I had never seen myself in such deformity as she saw me even when she used + me with that divine compassion. I was almost glad to be what I was because + of her angelic pity for me!” + </p> + <p> + The tears sprang to Don Ippolito’s eyes, but Ferris asked in the same tone + as before, “Was it then that she bade you be no longer a priest?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not then,” patiently replied the other; “she was too greatly + overwhelmed with my calamity to think of any cure for it. To-day it was + that she uttered those words—words which I shall never forget, which + will support and comfort me, whatever happens!” + </p> + <p> + The painter was biting hard upon the stem of his pipe. He turned away and + began ordering the color-tubes and pencils on a table against the wall, + putting them close together in very neat, straight rows. Presently he + said: “Perhaps Miss Vervain also advised you to go to America?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered the priest reverently. “She had thought of everything. She + has promised me a refuge under her mother’s roof there, until I can make + my inventions known; and I shall follow them at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Follow them?” + </p> + <p> + “They are going, she told me. Madama does not grow better. They are + homesick. They—but you must know all this already?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not at all, not at all,” said the painter with a very bitter smile. + “You are telling me news. Pray go on.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no more. She made me promise to come to you and listen to your + advice before I took any step. I must not trust to her alone, she said; + but if I took this step, then through whatever happened she would be my + friend. Ah, dear friend, may I speak to you of the hope that these words + gave me? You have seen—have you not?—you must have seen that”— + </p> + <p> + The priest faltered, and Ferris stared at him helpless. When the next + words came he could not find any strangeness in the fact which yet gave + him so great a shock. He found that to his nether consciousness it had + been long familiar—ever since that day when he had first jestingly + proposed Don Ippolito as Miss Vervain’s teacher. Grotesque, tragic, + impossible—it had still been the under-current of all his reveries; + or so now it seemed to have been. + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito anxiously drew nearer to him and laid an imploring touch upon + his arm,—“I love her!” + </p> + <p> + “What!” gasped the painter. “You? You I A priest?” + </p> + <p> + “Priest! priest!” cried Don Ippolito, violently. “From this day I am no + longer a priest! From this hour I am a man, and I can offer her the + honorable love of a man, the truth of a most sacred marriage, and fidelity + to death!” + </p> + <p> + Ferris made no answer. He began to look very coldly and haughtily at Don + Ippolito, whose heat died away under his stare, and who at last met it + with a glance of tremulous perplexity. His hand had dropped from Ferris’s + arm, and he now moved some steps from him. “What is it, dear friend?” he + besought him. “Is there something that offends you? I came to you for + counsel, and you meet me with a repulse little short of enmity. I do not + understand. Do I intend anything wrong without knowing it? Oh, I conjure + you to speak plainly!” + </p> + <p> + “Wait! Wait a minute,” said Ferris, waving his hand like a man tormented + by a passing pain. “I am trying to think. What you say is.... I cannot + imagine it!” + </p> + <p> + “Not imagine it? Not imagine it? And why? Is she not beautiful?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And good?” + </p> + <p> + “Without doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “And young, and yet wise beyond her years? And true, and yet angelically + kind?” + </p> + <p> + “It is all as you say, God knows. But.... a priest”— + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Always that accursed word! And at heart, what is a priest, then, but + a man?—a wretched, masked, imprisoned, banished man! Has he not + blood and nerves like you? Has he not eyes to see what is fair, and ears + to hear what is sweet? Can he live near so divine a flower and not know + her grace, not inhale the fragrance of her soul, not adore her beauty? Oh, + great God! And if at last he would tear off his stifling mask, escape from + his prison, return from his exile, would you gainsay him?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” said the painter with a kind of groan. He sat down in a tall, carven + gothic chair,—the furniture of one of his pictures,—and rested + his head against its high back and looked at the priest across the room. + “Excuse me,” he continued with a strong effort. “I am ready to befriend + you to the utmost of my power. What was it you wanted to ask me? I have + told you truly what I thought of your scheme of going to America; but I + may very well be mistaken. Was it about that Miss Vervain desired you to + consult me?” His voice and manner hardened again in spite of him. “Or did + she wish me to advise you about the renunciation of your priesthood? You + must have thought that carefully over for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do not think you could make me see that as a greater difficulty + than it has appeared to me.” He paused with a confused and daunted air, as + if some important point had slipped his mind. “But I must take the step; + the burden of the double part I play is unendurable, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “You know better than I.” + </p> + <p> + “But if you were such a man as I, with neither love for your vocation nor + faith in it, should you not cease to be a priest?” + </p> + <p> + “If you ask me in that way,—yes,” answered the painter. “But I + advise you nothing. I could not counsel another in such a case.” + </p> + <p> + “But you think and feel as I do,” said the priest, “and I am right, then.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not say you are wrong.” + </p> + <p> + Ferris was silent while Don Ippolito moved up and down the room, with his + sliding step, like some tall, gaunt, unhappy girl. Neither could put an + end to this interview, so full of intangible, inconclusive misery. Ferris + drew a long breath, and then said steadily, “Don Ippolito, I suppose you + did not speak idly to me of your—your feeling for Miss Vervain, and + that I may speak plainly to you in return.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” answered the priest, pausing in his walk and fixing his eyes + upon the painter. “It was to you as the friend of both that I spoke of my + love, and my hope—which is oftener my despair.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you have not much reason to believe that she returns your—feeling?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, how could she consciously return it? I have been hitherto a priest to + her, and the thought of me would have been impurity. But hereafter, if I + can prove myself a man, if I can win my place in the world.... No, even + now, why should she care so much for my escape from these bonds, if she + did not care for me more than she knew?” + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever thought of that extravagant generosity of Miss Vervain’s + character?” + </p> + <p> + “It is divine!” + </p> + <p> + “Has it seemed to you that if such a woman knew herself to have once + wrongly given you pain, her atonement might be as headlong and excessive + as her offense? That she could have no reserves in her reparation?” + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito looked at Ferris, but did not interpose. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Vervain is very religious in her way, and she is truth itself. Are + you sure that it is not concern for what seems to her your terrible + position, that has made her show so much anxiety on your account?” + </p> + <p> + “Do I not know that well? Have I not felt the balm of her most heavenly + pity?” + </p> + <p> + “And may she not be only trying to appeal to something in you as high as + the impulse of her own heart?” + </p> + <p> + “As high!” cried Don Ippolito, almost angrily. “Can there be any higher + thing in heaven or on earth than love for such a woman?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; both in heaven and on earth,” answered Ferris. + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand you,” said Don Ippolito with a puzzled stare. + </p> + <p> + Ferris did not reply. He fell into a dull reverie in which he seemed to + forget Don Ippolito and the whole affair. At last the priest spoke again: + “Have you nothing to say to me, signore?” + </p> + <p> + “I? What is there to say?” returned the other blankly. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know any reason why I should not love her, save that I am—have + been—a priest?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I know none,” said the painter, wearily. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” exclaimed Don Ippolito, “there is something on your mind that you + will not speak. I beseech you not to let me go wrong. I love her so well + that I would rather die than let my love offend her. I am a man with the + passions and hopes of a man, but without a man’s experience, or a man’s + knowledge of what is just and right in these relations. If you can be my + friend in this so far as to advise or warn me; if you can be her friend”— + </p> + <p> + Ferris abruptly rose and went to his balcony, and looked out upon the + Grand Canal. The time-stained palace opposite had not changed in the last + half-hour. As on many another summer day, he saw the black boats going by. + A heavy, high-pointed barge from the Sile, with the captain’s family at + dinner in the shade of a matting on the roof, moved sluggishly down the + middle current. A party of Americans in a gondola, with their + opera-glasses and guide-books in their hands, pointed out to each other + the eagle on the consular arms. They were all like sights in a mirror, or + things in a world turned upside down. + </p> + <p> + Ferris came back and looked dizzily at the priest trying to believe that + this unhuman, sacerdotal phantasm had been telling him that it loved a + beautiful young girl of his own race, faith, and language. + </p> + <p> + “Will you not answer me, signore?” meekly demanded Don Ippolito. + </p> + <p> + “In this matter,” replied the painter, “I cannot advise or warn you. The + whole affair is beyond my conception. I mean no unkindness, but I cannot + consult with you about it. There are reasons why I should not. The mother + of Miss Vervain is here with her, and I do not feel that her interests in + such a matter are in my hands. If they come to me for help, that is + different. What do you wish? You tell me that you are resolved to renounce + the priesthood and go to America; and I have answered you to the best of + my power. You tell me that you are in love with Miss Vervain. What can I + have to say about that?” + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito stood listening with a patient, and then a wounded air. + “Nothing,” he answered proudly. “I ask your pardon for troubling you with + my affairs. Your former kindness emboldened me too much. I shall not + trespass again. It was my ignorance, which I pray you to excuse. I take my + leave, signore.” + </p> + <p> + He bowed, and moved out of the room, and a dull remorse filled the + painter, as he heard the outer door close after him. But he could do + nothing. If he had given a wound to the heart that trusted him, it was in + an anguish which he had not been able to master, and whose causes he could + not yet define. It was all a shapeless torment; it held him like the + memory of some hideous nightmare prolonging its horror beyond sleep. It + seemed impossible that what had happened should have happened. + </p> + <p> + It was long, as he sat in the chair from which he had talked with Don + Ippolito, before he could reason about what had been said; and then the + worst phase presented itself first. He could not help seeing that the + priest might have found cause for hope in the girl’s behavior toward him. + Her violent resentments, and her equally violent repentances; her fervent + interest in his unhappy fortunes, and her anxiety that he should at once + forsake the priesthood; her urging him to go to America, and her promising + him a home under her mother’s roof there: why might it not all be in fact + a proof of her tenderness for him? She might have found it necessary to be + thus coarsely explicit with him, for a man in Don Ippolito’s relation to + her could not otherwise have imagined her interest in him. But her making + use of Ferris to confirm her own purposes by his words, her repeating them + so that they should come back to him from Don Ippolito’s lips, her letting + another man go with her to look upon the procession in which her priestly + lover was to appear in his sacerdotal panoply; these things could not be + accounted for except by that strain of insolent, passionate defiance which + he had noted ill her from the beginning. Why should she first tell Don + Ippolito of their going away? “Well, I wish him joy of his bargain,” said + Ferris aloud, and rising, shrugged his shoulders, and tried to cast off + all care of a matter that did not concern him. But one does not so easily + cast off a matter that does not concern one. He found himself haunted by + certain tones and looks and attitudes of the young girl, wholly alien to + the character he had just constructed for her. They were child-like, + trusting, unconscious, far beyond anything he had yet known in women, and + they appealed to him now with a maddening pathos. She was standing there + before Don Ippolito’s picture as on that morning when she came to Ferris, + looking anxiously at him, her innocent beauty, troubled with some hidden + care, hallowing the place. Ferris thought of the young fellow who told him + that he had spent three months in a dull German town because he had the + room there that was once occupied by the girl who had refused him; the + painter remembered that the young fellow said he had just read of her + marriage in an American newspaper. + </p> + <p> + Why did Miss Vervain send Don Ippolito to him? Was it some scheme of her + secret love for the priest; or mere coarse resentment of the cautions + Ferris had once hinted, a piece of vulgar bravado? But if she had acted + throughout in pure simplicity, in unwise goodness of heart? If Don + Ippolito were altogether self-deceived, and nothing but her unknowing pity + had given him grounds of hope? He himself had suggested this to the + priest, and how with a different motive he looked at it in his own behalf. + A great load began slowly to lift itself from Ferris’s heart, which could + ache now for this most unhappy priest. But if his conjecture were just, + his duty would be different. He must not coldly acquiesce and let things + take their course. He had introduced Don Ippolito to the Vervains; he was + in some sort responsible for him; he must save them if possible from the + painful consequences of the priest’s hallucination. But how to do this was + by no means clear. He blamed himself for not having been franker with Don + Ippolito and tried to make him see that the Vervains might regard his + passion as a presumption upon their kindness to him, an abuse of their + hospitable friendship; and yet how could he have done this without outrage + to a sensitive and right-meaning soul? For a moment it seemed to him that + he must seek Don Ippolito, and repair his fault; but they had hardly + parted as friends, and his action might be easily misconstrued. If he + shrank from the thought of speaking to him of the matter again, it + appeared yet more impossible to bring it before the Vervains. Like a man + of the imaginative temperament as he was, he exaggerated the probable + effect, and pictured their dismay in colors that made his interference + seem a ludicrous enormity; in fact, it would have been an awkward business + enough for one not hampered by his intricate obligations. He felt bound to + the Vervains, the ignorant young girl, and the addle-pated mother; but if + he ought to go to them and tell them what he knew, to which of them ought + he to speak, and how? In an anguish of perplexity that made the sweat + stand in drops upon his forehead, he smiled to think it just possible that + Mrs. Vervain might take the matter seriously, and wish to consider the + propriety of Florida’s accepting Don Ippolito. But if he spoke to the + daughter, how should he approach the subject? “Don Ippolito tells me he + loves you, and he goes to America with the expectation that when he has + made his fortune with a patent back-action apple-corer, you will marry + him.” Should he say something to this purport? And in Heaven’s name what + right had he, Ferris, to say anything at all? The horrible absurdity, the + inexorable delicacy of his position made him laugh. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, besides, he was bound to Don Ippolito, who had come to + him as the nearest friend of both, and confided in him. He remembered with + a tardy, poignant intelligence how in their first talk of the Vervains Don + Ippolito had taken pains to inform himself that Ferris was not in love + with Florida. Could he be less manly and generous than this poor priest, + and violate the sanctity of his confidence? Ferris groaned aloud. No, + contrive it as he would, call it by what fair name he chose, he could not + commit this treachery. It was the more impossible to him because, in this + agony of doubt as to what he should do, he now at least read his own heart + clearly, and had no longer a doubt what was in it. He pitied her for the + pain she must suffer. He saw how her simple goodness, her blind sympathy + with Don Ippolito, and only this, must have led the priest to the mistaken + pass at which he stood. But Ferris felt that the whole affair had been + fatally carried beyond his reach; he could do nothing now but wait and + endure. There are cases in which a man must not protect the woman he + loves. This was one. + </p> + <p> + The afternoon wore away. In the evening he went to the Piazza, and drank a + cup of coffee at Florian’s. Then he walked to the Public Gardens, where he + watched the crowd till it thinned in the twilight and left him alone. He + hung upon the parapet, looking off over the lagoon that at last he + perceived to be flooded with moonlight. He desperately called a gondola, + and bade the man row him to the public landing nearest the Vervains’, and + so walked up the calle, and entered the palace from the campo, through the + court that on one side opened into the garden. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vervain was alone in the room where he had always been accustomed to + find her daughter with her, and a chill as of the impending change fell + upon him. He felt how pleasant it had been to find them together; with a + vain, piercing regret he felt how much like home the place had been to + him. Mrs. Vervain, indeed, was not changed; she was even more than ever + herself, though all that she said imported change. She seemed to observe + nothing unwonted in him, and she began to talk in her way of things that + she could not know were so near his heart. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mr. Ferris, I have a little surprise for you. Guess what it is!” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not good at guessing. I’d rather not know what it is than have to + guess it,” said Ferris, trying to be light, under his heavy trouble. + </p> + <p> + “You won’t try once, even? Well, you’re going to be rid of us soon I We + are going away.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I knew that,” said Ferris quietly. “Don Ippolito told me so to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “And is that all you have to say? Isn’t it rather sad? Isn’t it sudden? + Come, Mr. Ferris, do be a little complimentary, for once!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s sudden, and I can assure you it’s sad enough for me,” replied the + painter, in a tone which could not leave any doubt of his sincerity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, so it is for us,” quavered Mrs. Vervain. “You have been very, very + good to us,” she went on more collectedly, “and we shall never forget it. + Florida has been speaking of it, too, and she’s extremely grateful, and + thinks we’ve quite imposed upon you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose we have, but as I always say, you’re the representative of the + country here. However, that’s neither here nor there. We have no relatives + on the face of the earth, you know; but I have a good many old friends in + Providence, and we’re going back there. We both think I shall be better at + home; for I’m sorry to say, Mr. Ferns, that though I don’t complain of + Venice,—it’s really a beautiful place, and all that; not the least + exaggerated,—still I don’t think it’s done my health much good; or + at least I don’t seem to gain, don’t you know, I don’t seem to gain.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m very sorry to hear it, Mrs. Vervain.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’m sure you are; but you see, don’t you, that we must go? We are + going next week. When we’ve once made up our minds, there’s no object in + prolonging the agony.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vervain adjusted her glasses with the thumb and finger of her right + hand, and peered into Ferris’s face with a gay smile. “But the greatest + part of the surprise is,” she resumed, lowering her voice a little, “that + Don Ippolito is going with us.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried Ferris sharply. + </p> + <p> + “I <i>knew</i> I should surprise you,” laughed Mrs. Vervain. “We’ve been + having a regular confab—<i>clave</i>, I mean—about it here, + and he’s all on fire to go to America; though it must be kept a great + secret on his account, poor fellow. He’s to join us in France, and then he + can easily get into England, with us. You know he’s to give up being a + priest, and is going to devote himself to invention when he gets to + America. Now, what <i>do</i> you think of it, Mr. Ferris? Quite strikes + you dumb, doesn’t it?” triumphed Mrs. Vervain. “I suppose it’s what you + would call a wild goose chase,—I used to pick up all those phrases,—but + we shall carry it through.” + </p> + <p> + Ferris gasped, as though about to speak, but said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Don Ippolito’s been here the whole afternoon,” continued Mrs. Vervain, + “or rather ever since about five o’clock. He took dinner with us, and + we’ve been talking it over and over. He’s <i>so</i> enthusiastic about it, + and yet he breaks down every little while, and seems quite to despair of + the undertaking. But Florida won’t let him do that; and really it’s funny, + the way he defers to her judgment—you know <i>I</i> always regard + Florida as such a mere child—and seems to take every word she says + for gospel. But, shedding tears, now: it’s dreadful in a man, isn’t it? I + wish Don Ippolito wouldn’t do that. It makes one creep. I can’t feel that + it’s manly; can you?” + </p> + <p> + Ferris found voice to say something about those things being different + with the Latin races. + </p> + <p> + “Well, at any rate,” said Mrs. Vervain, “I’m glad that <i>Americans</i> + don’t shed tears, as a general <i>rule</i>. Now, Florida: you’d think she + was the man all through this business, she’s so perfectly heroic about it; + that is, outwardly: for I can see—women can, in each other, Mr. + Ferris—just where she’s on the point of breaking down, all the + while. Has she ever spoken to you about Don Ippolito? She does think so + highly of your opinion, Mr. Ferris.” + </p> + <p> + “She does me too much honor,” said Ferris, with ghastly irony. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t think so,” returned Mrs. Vervain. “She told me this morning + that she’d made Don Ippolito promise to speak to you about it; but he + didn’t mention having done so, and—I hated, don’t you know, to ask + him.... In fact, Florida had told me beforehand that I mustn’t. She said + he must be left entirely to himself in that matter, and”—Mrs. + Vervain looked suggestively at Ferris. + </p> + <p> + “He spoke to me about it,” said Ferris. + </p> + <p> + “Then why in the world did you let me run on? I suppose you advised him + against it.” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly did.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there’s where I think woman’s intuition is better than man’s + reason.” + </p> + <p> + The painter silently bowed his head. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’m quite woman’s rights in that respect,” said Mrs. Vervain. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, without doubt,” answered Ferris, aimlessly. + </p> + <p> + “I’m perfectly delighted,” she went on, “at the idea of Don Ippolito’s + giving up the priesthood, and I’ve told him he must get married to some + good American girl. You ought to have seen how the poor fellow blushed! + But really, you know, there are lots of nice girls that would <i>jump</i> + at him—so handsome and sad-looking, and a genius.” + </p> + <p> + Ferris could only stare helplessly at Mrs. Vervain, who continued:— + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think he’s a genius, and I’m determined that he shall have a + chance. I suppose we’ve got a job on our hands; but I’m not sorry. I’ll + introduce him into society, and if he needs money he shall have it. What + does God give us money for, Mr. Ferris, but to help our fellow-creatures?” + </p> + <p> + So miserable, as he was, from head to foot, that it seemed impossible he + could endure more, Ferris could not forbear laughing at this burst of + piety. + </p> + <p> + “What are you laughing at?” asked Mrs. Vervain, who had cheerfully joined + him. “Something I’ve been saying. Well, you won’t have me to laugh at much + longer. I do wonder whom you’ll have next.” + </p> + <p> + Ferris’s merriment died away in something like a groan, and when Mrs. + Vervain again spoke, it was in a tone of sudden querulousness. “I <i>wish</i> + Florida would come! She went to bolt the land-gate after Don Ippolito,—I + wanted her to,—but she ought to have been back long ago. It’s odd + you didn’t meet them, coming in. She must be in the garden somewhere; I + suppose she’s sorry to be leaving it. But I need her. Would you be so very + kind, Mr. Ferris, as to go and ask her to come to me?” + </p> + <p> + Ferris rose heavily from the chair in which he seemed to have grown ten + years older. He had hardly heard anything that he did not know already, + but the clear vision of the affair with which he had come to the Vervains + was hopelessly confused and darkened. He could make nothing of any phase + of it. He did not know whether he cared now to see Florida or not. He + mechanically obeyed Mrs. Vervain, and stepping out upon the terrace, + slowly descended the stairway. + </p> + <p> + The moon was shining brightly into the garden. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV. + </h2> + <p> + Florida and Don Ippolito had paused in the pathway which parted at the + fountain and led in one direction to the water-gate, and in the other out + through the palace-court into the campo. + </p> + <p> + “Now, you must not give way to despair again,” she said to him. “You will + succeed, I am sure, for you will deserve success.” + </p> + <p> + “It is all your goodness, madamigella,” sighed the priest, “and at the + bottom of my heart I am afraid that all the hope and courage I have are + also yours.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall never want for hope and courage then. We believe in you, and we + honor your purpose, and we will be your steadfast friends. But now you + must think only of the present—of how you are to get away from + Venice. Oh, I can understand how you must hate to leave it! What a + beautiful night! You mustn’t expect such moonlight as this in America, Don + Ippolito.” + </p> + <p> + “It <i>is</i> beautiful, is it not?” said the priest, kindling from her. + “But I think we Venetians are never so conscious of the beauty of Venice + as you strangers are.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. I only know that now, since we have made up our minds to + go, and fixed the day and hour, it is more like leaving my own country + than anything else I’ve ever felt. This garden, I seem to have spent my + whole life in it; and when we are settled in Providence, I’m going to have + mother send back for some of these statues. I suppose Signor Cavaletti + wouldn’t mind our robbing his place of them if he were paid enough. At any + rate we must have this one that belongs to the fountain. You shall be the + first to set the fountain playing over there, Don Ippolito, and then we’ll + sit down on this stone bench before it, and imagine ourselves in the + garden of Casa Vervain at Venice.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; let me be the last to set it playing here,” said the priest, + quickly stooping to the pipe at the foot of the figure, “and then we will + sit down here, and imagine ourselves in the garden of Casa Vervain at + Providence.” + </p> + <p> + Florida put her hand on his shoulder. “You mustn’t do it,” she said + simply. “The padrone doesn’t like to waste the water.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we’ll pray the saints to rain it back on him some day,” cried Don + Ippolito with willful levity, and the stream leaped into the moonlight and + seemed to hang there like a tangled skein of silver. “But how shall I shut + it off when you are gone?” asked the young girl, looking ruefully at the + floating threads of splendor. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I will shut it off before I go,” answered Don Ippolito. “Let it play + a moment,” he continued, gazing rapturously upon it, while the moon + painted his lifted face with a pallor that his black robes heightened. He + fetched a long, sighing breath, as if he inhaled with that respiration all + the rich odors of the flowers, blanched like his own visage in the white + lustre; as if he absorbed into his heart at once the wide glory of the + summer night, and the beauty of the young girl at his side. It seemed a + supreme moment with him; he looked as a man might look who has climbed out + of lifelong defeat into a single instant of release and triumph. + </p> + <p> + Florida sank upon the bench before the fountain, indulging his caprice + with that sacred, motherly tolerance, some touch of which is in all + womanly yielding to men’s will, and which was perhaps present in greater + degree in her feeling towards a man more than ordinarily orphaned and + unfriended. + </p> + <p> + “Is Providence your native city?” asked Don Ippolito, abruptly, after a + little silence. + </p> + <p> + “Oh no; I was born at St. Augustine in Florida.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah yes, I forgot; madama has told me about it; Providence is <i>her</i> + city. But the two are near together?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Florida, compassionately, “they are a thousand miles apart.” + </p> + <p> + “A thousand miles? What a vast country!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s a whole world.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, a world, indeed!” cried the priest, softly. “I shall never comprehend + it.” + </p> + <p> + “You never will,” answered the young girl gravely, “if you do not think + about it more practically.” + </p> + <p> + “Practically, practically!” lightly retorted the priest. “What a word with + you Americans; That is the consul’s word: <i>practical</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you have been to see him to-day?” asked Florida, with eagerness. “I + wanted to ask you”— + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I went to consult the oracle, as you bade me.” + </p> + <p> + “Don Ippolito”— + </p> + <p> + “And he was averse to my going to America. He said it was not practical.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” murmured the girl. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” continued the priest with vehemence, “that Signor Ferris is no + longer my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he treat you coldly—harshly?” she asked, with a note of + indignation in her voice. “Did he know that I—that you came”— + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he was right. Perhaps I shall indeed go to ruin there. Ruin, + ruin! Do I not <i>live</i> ruin here?” + </p> + <p> + “What did he say—what did he tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; not now, madamigella! I do not want to think of that man, now. I + want you to help me once more to realize myself in America, where I shall + never have been a priest, where I shall at least battle even-handed with + the world. Come, let us forget him; the thought of him palsies all my + hope. He could not see me save in this robe, in this figure that I abhor.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it was strange, it was not like him, it was cruel! What did he say?” + </p> + <p> + “In everything but words, he bade me despair; he bade me look upon all + that makes life dear and noble as impossible to me!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how? Perhaps he did not understand you. No, he did not understand + you. What did you say to him, Don Ippolito? Tell me!” She leaned towards + him, in anxious emotion, as she spoke. + </p> + <p> + The priest rose, and stretched out his arms, as if he would gather + something of courage from the infinite space. In his visage were the + sublimity and the terror of a man who puts everything to the risk. + </p> + <p> + “How will it really be with me, yonder?” he demanded. “As it is with other + men, whom their past life, if it has been guiltless, does not follow to + that new world of freedom and justice?” + </p> + <p> + “Why should it not be so?” demanded Florida. “Did <i>he</i> say it would + not?” + </p> + <p> + “Need it be known there that I have been a priest? Or if I tell it, will + it make me appear a kind of monster, different from other men?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” she answered fervently. “Your story would gain friends and honor + for you everywhere in America. Did <i>he</i>”— + </p> + <p> + “A moment, a moment!” cried Don Ippolito, catching his breath. “Will it + ever be possible for me to win something more than honor and friendship + there?” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him askingly, confusedly. + </p> + <p> + “If I am a man, and the time should ever come that a face, a look, a + voice, shall be to me what they are to other men, will <i>she</i> remember + it against me that I have been a priest, when I tell her—say to her, + madamigella—how dear she is to me, offer her my life’s devotion, ask + her to be my wife?”... + </p> + <p> + Florida rose from the seat, and stood confronting him, in a helpless + silence, which he seemed not to notice. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he clasped his hands together, and desperately stretched them + towards her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my hope, my trust, my life, if it were you that I loved?”... + </p> + <p> + “What!” shuddered the girl, recoiling, with almost a shriek. “<i>You</i>? + <i>A priest</i>!” + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito gave a low cry, half sob:— + </p> + <p> + “His words, his words! It is true, I cannot escape, I am doomed, I must + die as I have lived!” + </p> + <p> + He dropped his face into his hands, and stood with his head bowed before + her; neither spoke for a long time, or moved. + </p> + <p> + Then Florida said absently, in the husky murmur to which her voice fell + when she was strongly moved, “Yes, I see it all, how it has been,” and was + silent again, staring, as if a procession of the events and scenes of the + past months were passing before her; and presently she moaned to herself + “Oh, oh, oh!” and wrung her hands. The foolish fountain kept capering and + babbling on. All at once, now, as a flame flashes up and then expires, it + leaped and dropped extinct at the foot of the statue. + </p> + <p> + Its going out seemed somehow to leave them in darkness, and under cover of + that gloom she drew nearer the priest, and by such approaches as one makes + toward a fancied apparition, when his fear will not let him fly, but it + seems better to suffer the worst from it at once than to live in terror of + it ever after, she lifted her hands to his, and gently taking them away + from his face, looked into his hopeless eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Don Ippolito,” she grieved. “What shall I say to you, what can I do + for you, now?” + </p> + <p> + But there was nothing to do. The whole edifice of his dreams, his wild + imaginations, had fallen into dust at a word; no magic could rebuild it; + the end that never seems the end had come. He let her keep his cold hands, + and presently he returned the entreaty of her tears with his wan, patient + smile. + </p> + <p> + “You cannot help me; there is no help for an error like mine. Sometime, if + ever the thought of me is a greater pain than it is at this moment, you + can forgive me. Yes, you can do that for me.” + </p> + <p> + “But who, <i>who</i> will ever forgive me” she cried, “for my blindness! + Oh, you must believe that I never thought, I never dreamt”— + </p> + <p> + “I know it well. It was your fatal truth that did it; truth too high and + fine for me to have discerned save through such agony as.... You too loved + my soul, like the rest, and you would have had me no priest for the reason + that they would have had me a priest—I see it. But you had no right + to love my soul and not me—you, a woman. A woman must not love only + the soul of a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes!” piteously explained the girl, “but you were a priest to me!” + </p> + <p> + “That is true, madamigella. I was always a priest to you; and now I see + that I never could be otherwise. Ah, the wrong began many years before we + met. I was trying to blame you a little”— + </p> + <p> + “Blame me, blame me; do!” + </p> + <p> + —“but there is no blame. Think that it was another way of asking + your forgiveness.... O my God, my God, my God!” + </p> + <p> + He released his hands from her, and uttered this cry under his breath, + with his face lifted towards the heavens. When he looked at her again, he + said: “Madamigella, if my share of this misery gives me the right to ask + of you”— + </p> + <p> + “Oh ask anything of me! I will give everything, do everything!” + </p> + <p> + He faltered, and then, “You do not love me,” he said abruptly; “is there + some one else that you love?” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Is it ... he?” + </p> + <p> + She hid her face. + </p> + <p> + “I knew it,” groaned the priest, “I knew that too!” and he turned away. + </p> + <p> + “Don Ippolito, Don Ippolito—oh, poor, poor Don Ippolito!” cried the + girl, springing towards him. “Is <i>this</i> the way you leave me? Where + are you going? What will you do now?” + </p> + <p> + “Did I not say? I am going to die a priest.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there nothing that you will let me be to you, hope for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” said Don Ippolito, after a moment. “What could you?” He seized + the hands imploringly extended towards him, and clasped them together and + kissed them both. “Adieu!” he whispered; then he opened them, and + passionately kissed either palm; “adieu, adieu!” + </p> + <p> + A great wave of sorrow and compassion and despair for him swept through + her. She flung her arms about his neck, and pulled his head down upon her + heart, and held it tight there, weeping and moaning over him as over some + hapless, harmless thing that she had unpurposely bruised or killed. Then + she suddenly put her hands against his breast, and thrust him away, and + turned and ran. + </p> + <p> + Ferris stepped back again into the shadow of the tree from which he had + just emerged, and clung to its trunk lest he should fall. Another seemed + to creep out of the court in his person, and totter across the white glare + of the campo and down the blackness of the calle. In the intersected + spaces where the moonlight fell, this alien, miserable man saw the figure + of a priest gliding on before him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI. + </h2> + <p> + Florida swiftly mounted the terrace steps, but she stopped with her hand + on the door, panting, and turned and walked slowly away to the end of the + terrace, drying her eyes with dashes of her handkerchief, and ordering her + hair, some coils of which had been loosened by her flight. Then she went + back to the door, waited, and softly opened it. Her mother was not in the + parlor where she had left her, and she passed noiselessly into her own + room, where some trunks stood open and half-packed against the wall. She + began to gather up the pieces of dress that lay upon the bed and chairs, + and to fold them with mechanical carefulness and put them in the boxes. + Her mother’s voice called from the other chamber, “Is that you, Florida?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mother,” answered the girl, but remained kneeling before one of the + boxes, with that pale green robe in her hand which she had worn on the + morning when Ferris had first brought Don Ippolito to see them. She + smoothed its folds and looked down at it without making any motion to pack + it away, and so she lingered while her mother advanced with one question + after another; “What are you doing, Florida? Where are you? Why didn’t you + come to me?” and finally stood in the doorway. “Oh, you’re packing. Do you + know, Florida, I’m getting very impatient about going. I wish we could be + off at once.” + </p> + <p> + A tremor passed over the young girl and she started from her languid + posture, and laid the dress in the trunk. “So do I, mother. I would give + the world if we could go to-morrow!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but we can’t, you see. I’m afraid we’ve undertaken a great deal, my + dear. It’s quite a weight upon <i>my</i> mind, already; and I don’t know + what it <i>will</i> be. If we were free, now, I should say, go to-morrow, + by all means. But we couldn’t arrange it with Don Ippolito on our hands.” + </p> + <p> + Florida waited a moment before she replied. Then she said coldly, “Don + Ippolito is not going with us, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Not going with us? Why”— + </p> + <p> + “He is not going to America. He will not leave Venice; he is to remain a + priest,” said Florida, doggedly. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vervain sat down in the chair that stood beside the door. “Not going + to America; not leave Venice; remain a priest? Florida, you astonish me! + But I am not the least surprised, not the least in the world. I thought + Don Ippolito would give out, all along. He is not what I should call + fickle, exactly, but he is weak, or timid, rather. He is a good man, but + he lacks courage, resolution. I always doubted if he would succeed in + America; he is too much of a dreamer. But this, really, goes a little + beyond anything. I never expected this. What did he say, Florida? How did + he excuse himself?” + </p> + <p> + “I hardly know; very little. What was there to say?” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure, to be sure. Did you try to reason with him, Florida?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered the girl, drearily. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad of that. I think you had said quite enough already. You owed it + to yourself not to do so, and he might have misinterpreted it. These + foreigners are very different from Americans. No doubt we should have had + a time of it, if he had gone with us. It must be for the best. I’m sure it + was ordered so. But all that doesn’t relieve Don Ippolito from the charge + of black ingratitude, and want of consideration for us. He’s quite made + fools of us.” + </p> + <p> + “He was not to blame. It was a very great step for him. And if”.... + </p> + <p> + “I know that. But he ought not to have talked of it. He ought to have + known his own mind fully before speaking; that’s the only safe way. Well, + then, there is nothing to prevent our going to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Florida drew a long breath, and rose to go on with the work of packing. + </p> + <p> + “Have you been crying, Florida? Well, of course, you can’t help feeling + sorry for such a man. There’s a great deal of good in Don Ippolito, a + great deal. But when you come to my age you won’t cry so easily, my dear. + It’s very trying,” said Mrs. Vervain. She sat awhile in silence before she + asked: “Will he come here to-morrow morning?” + </p> + <p> + Her daughter looked at her with a glance of terrified inquiry. + </p> + <p> + “Do have your wits about you, my dear! We can’t go away without saying + good-by to him, and we can’t go away without paying him.” + </p> + <p> + “Paying him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, paying him—paying him for your lessons. It’s always been very + awkward. He hasn’t been like other teachers, you know: more like a guest, + or friend of the family. He never seemed to want to take the money, and of + late, I’ve been letting it run along, because I hated so to offer it, till + now, it’s quite a sum. I suppose he needs it, poor fellow. And how to get + it to him is the question. He may not come to-morrow, as usual, and I + couldn’t trust it to the padrone. We might send it to him in a draft from + Paris, but I’d rather pay him before we go. Besides, it would be rather + rude, going away without seeing him again.” Mrs. Vervain thought a moment; + then, “I’ll tell you,” she resumed. “If he doesn’t happen to come here + to-morrow morning, we can stop on our way to the station and give him the + money.” + </p> + <p> + Florida did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you think that would be a good plan?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” replied the girl in a dull way. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Florida, if you think from anything Don Ippolito said that he would + rather not see us again—that it would be painful to him—why, + we could ask Mr. Ferris to hand him the money.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, no, no, mother!” cried Florida, hiding her face, “that would be + too horribly indelicate!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps it wouldn’t be quite good taste,” said Mrs. Vervain + perturbedly, “but you needn’t express yourself so violently, my dear. It’s + not a matter of life and death. I’m sure I don’t know what to do. We must + stop at Don Ippolito’s house, I suppose. Don’t you think so?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” faintly assented the daughter. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vervain yawned. “Well I can’t think anything more about it to-night; + I’m too stupid. But that’s the way we shall do. Will you help me to bed, + my dear? I shall be good for nothing to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + She went on talking of Don Ippolito’s change of purpose till her head + touched the pillow, from which she suddenly lifted it again, and called + out to her daughter, who had passed into the next room: “But Mr. Ferris——why + didn’t he come back with you?” + </p> + <p> + “Come back with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Why yes, child. I sent him out to call you, just before you came in. This + Don Ippolito business put him quite out of my head. Didn’t you see him? + ... Oh! What’s that?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing: I dropped my candle.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re sure you didn’t set anything on fire?” + </p> + <p> + “No! It went dead out.” + </p> + <p> + “Light it again, and do look. Now is everything right?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s queer he didn’t come back to <i>say</i> he couldn’t find you. What + do you suppose became of him?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s very perplexing. I wish Mr. Ferris were not so odd. It quite borders + on affectation. I don’t know what to make of it. We must send word to him + the very first thing to-morrow morning, that we’re going, and ask him to + come to see us.” + </p> + <p> + Florida made no reply. She sat staring at the black space of the doorway + into her mother’s room. Mrs. Vervain did not speak again. After a while + her daughter softly entered her chamber, shading the candle with her hand; + and seeing that she slept, softly withdrew, closed the door, and went + about the work of packing again. When it was all done, she flung herself + upon her bed and hid her face in the pillow. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + The next morning was spent in bestowing those interminable last touches + which the packing of ladies’ baggage demands, and in taking leave with + largess (in which Mrs. Vervain shone) of all the people in the house and + out of it, who had so much as touched a hat to the Vervains during their + sojourn. The whole was not a vast sum; nor did the sundry extortions of + the padrone come to much, though the honest man racked his brain to invent + injuries to his apartments and furniture. Being unmurmuringly paid, he + gave way to his real goodwill for his tenants in many little useful + offices. At the end he persisted in sending them to the station in his own + gondola and could with difficulty be kept from going with them. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vervain had early sent a message to Ferris, but word came back a + first and a second time that he was not at home, and the forenoon wore + away and he had not appeared. A certain indignation sustained her till the + gondola pushed out into the canal, and then it yielded to an intolerable + regret that she should not see him. + </p> + <p> + “I <i>can’t</i> go without saying good-by to Mr. Ferris, Florida,” she + said at last, “and it’s no use asking me. He may have been wanting a + little in politeness, but he’s been <i>so</i> good all along; and we owe + him too much not to make an effort to thank him before we go. We really + must stop a moment at his house.” + </p> + <p> + Florida, who had regarded her mother’s efforts to summon Ferris to them + with passive coldness, turned a look of agony upon her. But in a moment + she bade the gondolier stop at the consulate, and dropping her veil over + her face, fell back in the shadow of the tenda-curtains. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vervain sentimentalized their departure a little, but her daughter + made no comment on the scene they were leaving. + </p> + <p> + The gondolier rang at Ferris’s door and returned with the answer that he + was not at home. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vervain gave way to despair. “Oh dear, oh dear! This is too bad! What + shall we do?” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll lose the train, mother, if we loiter in this way,” said Florida. + </p> + <p> + “Well, wait. I <i>must</i> leave a message at least.” “<i>How could you be + away</i>,” she wrote on her card, “<i>when we called to say good-by? We’ve + changed our plans and we’re going to-day. I shall write you a nice + scolding letter from Verona—we’re going over the Brenner—for + your behavior last night. Who will keep you straight when I’m gone? You’ve + been very, very kind. Florida joins me in a thousand thanks, regrets, and + good-byes.</i>” + </p> + <p> + “There, I haven’t said anything, after all,” she fretted, with tears in + her eyes. + </p> + <p> + The gondolier carried the card again to the door, where Ferris’s servant + let down a basket by a string and fished it up. + </p> + <p> + “If Don Ippolito shouldn’t be in,” said Mrs. Vervain, as the boat moved on + again, “I don’t know what I <i>shall</i> do with this money. It will be + awkward beyond anything.” + </p> + <p> + The gondola slipped from the Canalazzo into the network of the smaller + canals, where the dense shadows were as old as the palaces that cast them + and stopped at the landing of a narrow quay. The gondolier dismounted and + rang at Don Ippolito’s door. There was no response; he rang again and + again. At last from a window of the uppermost story the head of the priest + himself peered out. The gondolier touched his hat and said, “It is the + ladies who ask for you, Don Ippolito.” + </p> + <p> + It was a minute before the door opened, and the priest, bare-headed and + blinking in the strong light, came with a stupefied air across the quay to + the landing-steps. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Don Ippolito!” cried Mrs. Vervain, rising and giving him her hand, + which she first waved at the trunks and bags piled up in the vacant space + in the front of the boat, “what do you think of this? We are really going, + immediately; <i>we</i> can change our minds too; and I don’t think it + would have been too much,” she added with a friendly smile, “if we had + gone without saying good-by to you. What in the world does it all mean, + your giving up that grand project of yours so suddenly?” + </p> + <p> + She sat down again, that she might talk more at her ease, and seemed + thoroughly happy to have Don Ippolito before her again. + </p> + <p> + “It finally appeared best, madama,” he said quietly, after a quick, keen + glance at Florida, who did not lift her veil. + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps you’re partly right. But I can’t help thinking that you + with your talent would have succeeded in America. Inventors do get on + there, in the most surprising way. There’s the Screw Company of + Providence. It’s such a simple thing; and now the shares are worth eight + hundred. Are you well to-day, Don Ippolito?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite well, madama.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you looked rather pale. But I believe you’re always a little + pale. You mustn’t work too hard. We shall miss you a great deal, Don + Ippolito.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, madama.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we shall be quite lost without you. And I wanted to say this to you, + Don Ippolito, that if ever you change your mind again, and conclude to + come to America, you must write to me, and let me help you just as I had + intended to do.” + </p> + <p> + The priest shivered, as if cold, and gave another look at Florida’s veiled + face. + </p> + <p> + “You are too good,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I really think I am,” replied Mrs. Vervain, playfully. “Considering + that you were going to let me leave Venice without even trying to say + good-by to me, I think I’m very good indeed.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vervain’s mood became overcast, and her eyes filled with tears: “I + hope you’re sorry to have us going, Don Ippolito, for you know how very + highly I prize your acquaintance. It was rather cruel of you, I think.” + </p> + <p> + She seemed not to remember that he could not have known of their change of + plan. Don Ippolito looked imploringly into her face, and made a touching + gesture of deprecation, but did not speak. + </p> + <p> + “I’m really afraid you’re <i>not</i> well, and I think it’s too bad of us + to be going,” resumed Mrs. Vervain; “but it can’t be helped now: we are + all packed, don’t you see. But I want to ask one favor of you, Don + Ippolito; and that is,” said Mrs. Vervain, covertly taking a little <i>rouleau</i> + from her pocket, “that you’ll leave these inventions of yours for a while, + and give yourself a vacation. You need rest of mind. Go into the country, + somewhere, do. That’s what’s preying upon you. But we must really be off, + now. Shake hands with Florida—I’m going to be the last to part with + you,” she said, with a tearful smile. + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito and Florida extended their hands. Neither spoke, and as she + sank back upon the seat from which she had half risen, she drew more + closely the folds of the veil which she had not lifted from her face. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Vervain gave a little sob as Don Ippolito took her hand and kissed + it; and she had some difficulty in leaving with him the rouleau, which she + tried artfully to press into his palm. “Good-by, good-by,” she said, + “don’t drop it,” and attempted to close his fingers over it. + </p> + <p> + But he let it lie carelessly in his open hand, as the gondola moved off, + and there it still lay as he stood watching the boat slip under a bridge + at the next corner, and disappear. While he stood there gazing at the + empty arch, a man of a wild and savage aspect approached. It was said that + this man’s brain had been turned by the death of his brother, who was + betrayed to the Austrians after the revolution of ‘48, by his wife’s + confessor. He advanced with swift strides, and at the moment he reached + Don Ippolito’s side he suddenly turned his face upon him and cursed him + through his clenched teeth: “Dog of a priest!” + </p> + <p> + Don Ippolito, as if his whole race had renounced him in the maniac’s + words, uttered a desolate cry, and hiding his face in his hands, tottered + into his house. + </p> + <p> + The rouleau had dropped from his palm; it rolled down the shelving marble + of the quay, and slipped into the water. + </p> + <p> + The young beggar who had held Mrs. Vervain’s gondola to the shore while + she talked, looked up and down the deserted quay, and at the doors and + windows. Then he began to take off his clothes for a bath. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII. + </h2> + <p> + Ferris returned at nightfall to his house, where he had not been since + daybreak, and flung himself exhausted upon the bed. His face was burnt red + with the sun, and his eyes were bloodshot. He fell into a doze and dreamed + that he was still at Malamocco, whither he had gone that morning in a sort + of craze, with some fishermen, who were to cast their nets there; then he + was rowing back to Venice across the lagoon, that seemed a molten fire + under the keel. He woke with a heavy groan, and bade Marina fetch him a + light. + </p> + <p> + She set it on the table, and handed him the card Mrs. Vervain had left. He + read it and read it again, and then he laid it down, and putting on his + hat, he took his cane and went out. “Do not wait for me, Marina,” he said, + “I may be late. Go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + He returned at midnight, and lighting his candle took up the card and read + it once more. He could not tell whether to be glad or sorry that he had + failed to see the Vervains again. He took it for granted that Don Ippolito + was to follow; he would not ask himself what motive had hastened their + going. The reasons were all that he should never more look upon the woman + so hatefully lost to him, but a strong instinct of his heart struggled + against them. + </p> + <p> + He lay down in his clothes, and began to dream almost before he began to + sleep. He woke early, and went out to walk. He did not rest all day. Once + he came home, and found a letter from Mrs. Vervain, postmarked Verona, + reiterating her lamentations and adieux, and explaining that the priest + had relinquished his purpose, and would not go to America at all. The + deeper mystery in which this news left him was not less sinister than + before. + </p> + <p> + In the weeks that followed, Ferris had no other purpose than to reduce the + days to hours, the hours to minutes. The burden that fell upon him when he + woke lay heavy on his heart till night, and oppressed him far into his + sleep. He could not give his trouble certain shape; what was mostly with + him was a formless loss, which he could not resolve into any definite + shame or wrong. At times, what he had seen seemed to him some baleful + trick of the imagination, some lurid and foolish illusion. + </p> + <p> + But he could do nothing, he could not ask himself what the end was to be. + He kept indoors by day, trying to work, trying to read, marveling somewhat + that he did not fall sick and die. At night he set out on long walks, + which took him he cared not where, and often detained him till the gray + lights of morning began to tremble through the nocturnal blue. But even by + night he shunned the neighborhood in which the Vervains had lived. Their + landlord sent him a package of trifles they had left behind, but he + refused to receive them, sending back word that he did not know where the + ladies were. He had half expected that Mrs. Vervain, though he had not + answered her last letter, might write to him again from England, but she + did not. The Vervains had passed out of his world; he knew that they had + been in it only by the torment they had left him. + </p> + <p> + He wondered in a listless way that he should see nothing of Don Ippolito. + Once at midnight he fancied that the priest was coming towards him across + a campo he had just entered; he stopped and turned back into the calle: + when the priest came up to him, it was not Don Ippolito. + </p> + <p> + In these days Ferris received a dispatch from the Department of State, + informing him that his successor had been appointed, and directing him to + deliver up the consular flags, seals, archives, and other property of the + United States. No reason for his removal was given; but as there had never + been any reason for his appointment, he had no right to complain; the + balance was exactly dressed by this simple device of our civil service. He + determined not to wait for the coming of his successor before giving up + the consular effects, and he placed them at once in the keeping of the + worthy ship-chandler who had so often transferred them from departing to + arriving consuls. Then being quite ready at any moment to leave Venice, he + found himself in nowise eager to go; but he began in a desultory way to + pack up his sketches and studies. + </p> + <p> + One morning as he sat idle in his dismantled studio, Marina came to tell + him that an old woman, waiting at the door below, wished to speak with + him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, let her come up,” said Ferris wearily, and presently Marina + returned with a very ill-favored beldam, who stared hard at him while he + frowningly puzzled himself as to where he had seen that malign visage + before. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he said harshly. + </p> + <p> + “I come,” answered the old woman, “on the part of Don Ippolito Rondinelli, + who desires so much to see your excellency.” + </p> + <p> + Ferris made no response, while the old woman knotted the fringe of her + shawl with quaking hands, and presently added with a tenderness in her + voice which oddly discorded with the hardness of her face: “He has been + very sick, poor thing, with a fever; but now he is in his senses again, + and the doctors say he will get well. I hope so. But he is still very + weak. He tried to write two lines to you, but he had not the strength; so + he bade me bring you this word: That he had something to say which it + greatly concerned you to hear, and that he prayed you to forgive his not + coming to revere you, for it was impossible, and that you should have the + goodness to do him this favor, to come to find him the quickest you + could.” + </p> + <p> + The old woman wiped her eyes with the corner of her shawl, and her chin + wobbled pathetically while she shot a glance of baleful dislike at Ferris, + who answered after a long dull stare at her, “Tell him I’ll come.” + </p> + <p> + He did not believe that Don Ippolito could tell him anything that greatly + concerned him; but he was worn out with going round in the same circle of + conjecture, and so far as he could be glad, he was glad of this chance to + face his calamity. He would go, but not at once; he would think it over; + he would go to-morrow, when he had got some grasp of the matter. + </p> + <p> + The old woman lingered. + </p> + <p> + “Tell him I’ll come,” repeated Ferris impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “A thousand excuses; but my poor master has been very sick. The doctors + say he will get well. I hope so. But he is very weak indeed; a little + shock, a little disappointment.... Is the signore very, <i>very</i> much + occupied this morning? He greatly desired,—he prayed that if such a + thing were possible in the goodness of your excellency .... But I am + offending the signore!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” demanded Ferris. + </p> + <p> + The old wretch set up a pitiful whimper, and tried to possess herself of + his hand; she kissed his coat-sleeve instead. “That you will return with + me,” she besought him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’ll go!” groaned the painter. “I might as well go first as last,” he + added in English. “There, stop that! Enough, enough, I tell you! Didn’t I + say I was going with you?” he cried to the old woman. + </p> + <p> + “God bless you!” she mumbled, and set off before him down the stairs and + out of the door. She looked so miserably old and weary that he called a + gondola to his landing and made her get into it with him. + </p> + <p> + It tormented Don Ippolito’s idle neighborhood to see Veneranda arrive in + such state, and a passionate excitement arose at the caffè, where the + person of the consul was known, when Ferris entered the priest’s house + with her. + </p> + <p> + He had not often visited Don Ippolito, but the quaintness of the place had + been so vividly impressed upon him, that he had a certain familiarity with + the grape-arbor of the anteroom, the paintings of the parlor, and the + puerile arrangement of the piano and melodeon. Veneranda led him through + these rooms to the chamber where Don Ippolito had first shown him his + inventions. They were all removed now, and on a bed, set against the wall + opposite the door, lay the priest, with his hands on his breast, and a + faint smile on his lips, so peaceful, so serene, that the painter stopped + with a sudden awe, as if he had unawares come into the presence of death. + </p> + <p> + “Advance, advance,” whispered the old woman. + </p> + <p> + Near the head of the bed sat a white-haired priest wearing the red + stockings of a canonico; his face was fanatically stern; but he rose, and + bowed courteously to Ferris. + </p> + <p> + The stir of his robes roused Don Ippolito. He slowly and weakly turned his + head, and his eyes fell upon the painter. He made a helpless gesture of + salutation with his thin hand, and began to excuse himself, for the + trouble he had given, with a gentle politeness that touched the painter’s + heart through all the complex resentments that divided them. It was indeed + a strange ground on which the two men met. Ferris could not have described + Don Ippolito as his enemy, for the priest had wittingly done him no wrong; + he could not have logically hated him as a rival, for till it was too late + he had not confessed to his own heart the love that was in it; he knew no + evil of Don Ippolito, he could not accuse him of any betrayal of trust, or + violation of confidence. He felt merely that this hapless creature, lying + so deathlike before him, had profaned, however involuntarily, what was + sacredest in the world to him; beyond this all was chaos. He had heard of + the priest’s sickness with a fierce hardening of the heart; yet as he + beheld him now, he began to remember things that moved him to a sort of + remorse. He recalled again the simple loyalty with which Don Ippolito had + first spoken to him of Miss Vervain and tried to learn his own feeling + toward her; he thought how trustfully at their last meeting the priest had + declared his love and hope, and how, when he had coldly received his + confession, Don Ippolito had solemnly adjured him to be frank with him; + and Ferris could not. That pity for himself as the prey of fantastically + cruel chances, which he had already vaguely felt, began now also to + include the priest; ignoring all but that compassion, he went up to the + bed and took the weak, chill, nerveless hand in his own. + </p> + <p> + The canonico rose and placed his chair for Ferris beside the pillow, on + which lay a brass crucifix, and then softly left the room, exchanging a + glance of affectionate intelligence with the sick man. + </p> + <p> + “I might have waited a little while,” said Don Ippolito weakly, speaking + in a hollow voice that was the shadow of his old deep tones, “but you will + know how to forgive the impatience of a man not yet quite master of + himself. I thank you for coming. I have been very sick, as you see; I did + not think to live; I did not care.... I am very weak, now; let me say to + you quickly what I want to say. Dear friend,” continued Don Ippolito, + fixing his eyes upon the painter’s face, “I spoke to her that night after + I had parted from you.” + </p> + <p> + The priest’s voice was now firm; the painter turned his face away. + </p> + <p> + “I spoke without hope,” proceeded Don Ippolito, “and because I must. I + spoke in vain; all was lost, all was past in a moment.” + </p> + <p> + The coil of suspicions and misgivings and fears in which Ferris had lived + was suddenly without a clew; he could not look upon the pallid visage of + the priest lest he should now at last find there that subtle expression of + deceit; the whirl of his thoughts kept him silent; Don Ippolito went on. + </p> + <p> + “Even if I had never been a priest, I would still have been impossible to + her. She”.... + </p> + <p> + He stopped as if for want of strength to go on. All at once he cried, + “Listen!” and he rapidly recounted the story of his life, ending with the + fatal tragedy of his love. When it was told, he said calmly, “But now + everything is over with me on earth. I thank the Infinite Compassion for + the sorrows through which I have passed. I, also, have proved the + miraculous power of the church, potent to save in all ages.” He gathered + the crucifix in his spectral grasp, and pressed it to his lips. “Many + merciful things have befallen me on this bed of sickness. My uncle, whom + the long years of my darkness divided from me, is once more at peace with + me. Even that poor old woman whom I sent to call you, and who had served + me as I believed with hate for me as a false priest in her heart, has + devoted herself day and night to my helplessness; she has grown decrepit + with her cares and vigils. Yes, I have had many and signal marks of the + divine pity to be grateful for.” He paused, breathing quickly, and then + added, “They tell me that the danger of this sickness is past. But none + the less I have died in it. When I rise from this bed it shall be to take + the vows of a Carmelite friar.” + </p> + <p> + Ferris made no answer, and Don Ippolito resumed:— + </p> + <p> + “I have told you how when I first owned to her the falsehood in which I + lived, she besought me to try if I might not find consolation in the holy + life to which I had been devoted. When you see her, dear friend, will you + not tell her that I came to understand that this comfort, this refuge, + awaited me in the cell of the Carmelite? I have brought so much trouble + into her life that I would fain have her know I have found peace where she + bade me seek it, that I have mastered my affliction by reconciling myself + to it. Tell her that but for her pity and fear for me, I believe that I + must have died in my sins.” + </p> + <p> + It was perhaps inevitable from Ferris’s Protestant association of monks + and convents and penances chiefly with the machinery of fiction, that all + this affected him as unreally as talk in a stage-play. His heart was cold, + as he answered: “I am glad that your mind is at rest concerning the doubts + which so long troubled you. Not all men are so easily pacified; but, as + you say, it is the privilege of your church to work miracles. As to Miss + Vervain, I am sorry that I cannot promise to give her your message. I + shall never see her again. Excuse me,” he continued, “but your servant + said there was something you wished to say that concerned me?” + </p> + <p> + “You will never see her again!” cried the priest, struggling to lift + himself upon his elbow and falling back upon the pillow. “Oh, bereft! Oh, + deaf and blind! It was <i>you</i> that she loved! She confessed it to me + that night.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait!” said Ferris, trying to steady his voice, and failing; “I was with + Mrs. Vervain that night; she sent me into the garden to call her daughter, + and I saw how Miss Vervain parted from the man she did not love! I + saw”.... + </p> + <p> + It was a horrible thing to have said it, he felt now that he had spoken; a + sense of the indelicacy, the shamefulness, seemed to alienate him from all + high concern in the matter, and to leave him a mere self-convicted + eavesdropper. His face flamed; the wavering hopes, the wavering doubts + alike died in his heart. He had fallen below the dignity of his own + trouble. + </p> + <p> + “You saw, you saw,” softly repeated the priest, without looking at him, + and without any show of emotion; apparently, the convalescence that had + brought him perfect clearness of reason had left his sensibilities still + somewhat dulled. He closed his lips and lay silent. At last, he asked very + gently, “And how shall I make you believe that what you saw was not a + woman’s love, but an angel’s heavenly pity for me? Does it seem hard to + believe this of her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered the painter doggedly, “it is hard.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet it is the very truth. Oh, you do not know her, you never knew + her! In the same moment that she denied me her love, she divined the + anguish of my soul, and with that embrace she sought to console me for the + friendlessness of a whole life, past and to come. But I know that I waste + my words on you,” he cried bitterly. “You never would see me as I was; you + would find no singleness in me, and yet I had a heart as full of loyalty + to you as love for her. In what have I been false to you?” + </p> + <p> + “You never were false to me,” answered Ferris, “and God knows I have been + true to you, and at what cost. We might well curse the day we met, Don + Ippolito, for we have only done each other harm. But I never meant you + harm. And now I ask you to forgive me if I cannot believe you. I cannot—yet. + I am of another race from you, slow to suspect, slow to trust. Give me a + little time; let me see you again. I want to go away and think. I don’t + question your truth. I’m afraid you don’t know. I’m afraid that the same + deceit has tricked us both. I must come to you to-morrow. Can I?” + </p> + <p> + He rose and stood beside the couch. + </p> + <p> + “Surely, surely,” answered the priest, looking into Ferris’s troubled eyes + with calm meekness. “You will do me the greatest pleasure. Yes, come again + to-morrow. You know,” he said with a sad smile, referring to his purpose + of taking vows, “that my time in the world is short. Adieu, to meet + again!” + </p> + <p> + He took Ferris’s hand, hanging weak and hot by his side, and drew him + gently down by it, and kissed him on either bearded cheek. “It is our + custom, you know, among <i>friends</i>. Farewell.” + </p> + <p> + The canonico in the anteroom bowed austerely to him as he passed through; + the old woman refused with a harsh “Nothing!” the money he offered her at + the door. + </p> + <p> + He bitterly upbraided himself for the doubts he could not banish, and he + still flushed with shame that he should have declared his knowledge of a + scene which ought, at its worst, to have been inviolable by his speech. He + scarcely cared now for the woman about whom these miseries grouped + themselves; he realized that a fantastic remorse may be stronger than a + jealous love. + </p> + <p> + He longed for the morrow to come, that he might confess his shame and + regret; but a reaction to this violent repentance came before the night + fell. As the sound of the priest’s voice and the sight of his wasted face + faded from the painter’s sense, he began to see everything in the old + light again. Then what Don Ippolito had said took a character of + ludicrous, of insolent improbability. + </p> + <p> + After dark, Ferris set out upon one of his long, rambling walks. He walked + hard and fast, to try if he might not still, by mere fatigue of body, the + anguish that filled his soul. But whichever way he went he came again and + again to the house of Don Ippolito, and at last he stopped there, leaning + against the parapet of the quay, and staring at the house, as though he + would spell from the senseless stones the truth of the secret they + sheltered. Far up in the chamber, where he knew that the priest lay, the + windows were dimly lit. + </p> + <p> + As he stood thus, with his upturned face haggard in the moonlight, the + soldier commanding the Austrian patrol which passed that way halted his + squad, and seemed about to ask him what he wanted there. + </p> + <p> + Ferris turned and walked swiftly homeward; but he did not even lie down. + His misery took the shape of an intent that would not suffer him to rest. + He meant to go to Don Ippolito and tell him that his story had failed of + its effect, that he was not to be fooled so easily, and, without demanding + anything further, to leave him in his lie. + </p> + <p> + At the earliest hour when he might hope to be admitted, he went, and rang + the bell furiously. The door opened, and he confronted the priest’s + servant. “I want to see Don Ippolito,” said Ferris abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “It cannot be,” she began. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you I must,” cried Ferris, raising his voice. “I tell you.”.... + </p> + <p> + “Madman!” fiercely whispered the old woman, shaking both her open hands in + his face, “he’s dead! He died last night!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII. + </h2> + <p> + The terrible stroke sobered Ferris, he woke from his long debauch of hate + and jealousy and despair; for the first time since that night in the + garden, he faced his fate with a clear mind. Death had set his seal + forever to a testimony which he had been able neither to refuse nor to + accept; in abject sorrow and shame he thanked God that he had been kept + from dealing that last cruel blow; but if Don Ippolito had come back from + the dead to repeat his witness, Ferris felt that the miracle could not + change his own passive state. There was now but one thing in the world for + him to do: to see Florida, to confront her with his knowledge of all that + had been, and to abide by her word, whatever it was. At the worst, there + was the war, whose drums had already called to him, for a refuge. + </p> + <p> + He thought at first that he might perhaps overtake the Vervains before + they sailed for America, but he remembered that they had left Venice six + weeks before. It seemed impossible that he could wait, but when he landed + in New York, he was tormented in his impatience by a strange reluctance + and hesitation. A fantastic light fell upon his plans; a sense of its + wildness enfeebled his purpose. What was he going to do? Had he come four + thousand miles to tell Florida that Don Ippolito was dead? Or was he going + to say, “I have heard that you love me, but I don’t believe it: is it + true?” + </p> + <p> + He pushed on to Providence, stifling these antic misgivings as he might, + and without allowing himself time to falter from his intent, he set out to + find Mrs. Vervain’s house. He knew the street and the number, for she had + often given him the address in her invitations against the time when he + should return to America. As he drew near the house a tender trepidation + filled him and silenced all other senses in him; his heart beat thickly; + the universe included only the fact that he was to look upon the face he + loved, and this fact had neither past nor future. + </p> + <p> + But a terrible foreboding as of death seized him when he stood before the + house, and glanced up at its close-shuttered front, and round upon the + dusty grass-plots and neglected flower-beds of the door-yard. With a cold + hand he rang and rang again, and no answer came. At last a man lounged up + to the fence from the next house-door. “Guess you won’t make anybody + hear,” he said, casually. + </p> + <p> + “Doesn’t Mrs. Vervain live in this house?” asked Ferris, finding a husky + voice in his throat that sounded to him like some other’s voice lost + there. + </p> + <p> + “She used to, but she isn’t at home. Family’s in Europe.” + </p> + <p> + They had not come back yet. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” said Ferris mechanically, and he went away. He laughed to + himself at this keen irony of fortune; he was prepared for the + confirmation of his doubts; he was ready for relief from them, Heaven + knew; but this blank that the turn of the wheel had brought, this Nothing! + </p> + <p> + The Vervains were as lost to him as if Europe were in another planet. How + should he find them there? Besides, he was poor; he had no money to get + back with, if he had wanted to return. + </p> + <p> + He took the first train to New York, and hunted up a young fellow of his + acquaintance, who in the days of peace had been one of the governor’s + aides. He was still holding this place, and was an ardent recruiter. He + hailed with rapture the expression of Ferris’s wish to go into the war. + “Look here!” he said after a moment’s thought, “didn’t you have some rank + as a consul?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Ferris with a dreary smile, “I have been equivalent to a + commander in the navy and a colonel in the army—I don’t mean both, + but either.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” cried his friend. “We must strike high. The colonelcies are rather + inaccessible, just at present, and so are the lieutenant-colonelcies, but + a majorship, now”.... + </p> + <p> + “Oh no; don’t!” pleaded Ferris. “Make me a corporal—or a cook. I + shall not be so mischievous to our own side, then, and when the other + fellows shoot me, I shall not be so much of a loss.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they won’t <i>shoot</i> you,” expostulated his friend, + high-heartedly. He got Ferris a commission as second lieutenant, and lent + him money to buy a uniform. + </p> + <p> + Ferris’s regiment was sent to a part of the southwest, where he saw a good + deal of fighting and fever and ague. At the end of two years, spent + alternately in the field and the hospital, he was riding out near the camp + one morning in unusual spirits, when two men in butternut fired at him: + one had the mortification to miss him; the bullet of the other struck him + in the arm. There was talk of amputation at first, but the case was + finally managed without. In Ferris’s state of health it was quite the same + an end of his soldiering. + </p> + <p> + He came North sick and maimed and poor. He smiled now to think of + confronting Florida in any imperative or challenging spirit; but the + current of his hopeless melancholy turned more and more towards her. He + had once, at a desperate venture, written to her at Providence, but he had + got no answer. He asked of a Providence man among the artists in New York, + if he knew the Vervains; the Providence man said that he did know them a + little when he was much younger; they had been abroad a great deal; he + believed in a dim way that they were still in Europe. The young one, he + added, used to have a temper of her own. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” said Ferris stiffly. + </p> + <p> + The one fast friend whom he found in New York was the governor’s dashing + aide. The enthusiasm of this recruiter of regiments had not ceased with + Ferris’s departure for the front; the number of disabled officers forbade + him to lionize any one of them, but he befriended Ferris; he made a feint + of discovering the open secret of his poverty, and asked how he could help + him. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said Ferris, “it looks like a hopeless case, to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no it isn’t,” retorted his friend, as cheerfully and confidently as he + had promised him that he should not be shot. “Didn’t you bring back any + pictures from Venice with you?” + </p> + <p> + “I brought back a lot of sketches and studies. I’m sorry to say that I + loafed a good deal there; I used to feel that I had eternity before me; + and I was a theorist and a purist and an idiot generally. There are none + of them fit to be seen.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind; let’s look at them.” + </p> + <p> + They hunted out Ferris’s property from a catch-all closet in the studio of + a sculptor with whom he had left them, and who expressed a polite pleasure + in handing them over to Ferris rather than to his heirs and assigns. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m not sure that I share your satisfaction, old fellow,” said the + painter ruefully; but he unpacked the sketches. + </p> + <p> + Their inspection certainly revealed a disheartening condition of + half-work. “And I can’t do anything to help the matter for the present,” + groaned Ferris, stopping midway in the business, and making as if to shut + the case again. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on,” said his friend. “What’s this? Why, this isn’t so bad.” It was + the study of Don Ippolito as a Venetian priest, which Ferris beheld with a + stupid amaze, remembering that he had meant to destroy it, and wondering + how it had got where it was, but not really caring much. “It’s worse than + you can imagine,” said he, still looking at it with this apathy. + </p> + <p> + “No matter; I want you to sell it to me. Come!” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t!” replied Ferris piteously. “It would be flat burglary.” + </p> + <p> + “Then put it into the exhibition.” + </p> + <p> + The sculptor, who had gone back to scraping the chin of the famous public + man on whose bust he was at work, stabbed him to the heart with his + modeling-tool, and turned to Ferris and his friend. He slanted his broad + red beard for a sidelong look at the picture, and said: “I know what you + mean, Ferris. It’s hard, and it’s feeble in some ways and it looks a + little too much like experimenting. But it isn’t so <i>infernally</i> + bad.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be fulsome,” responded Ferris, jadedly. He was thinking in a + thoroughly vanquished mood what a tragico-comic end of the whole business + it was that poor Don Ippolito should come to his rescue in this fashion, + and as it were offer to succor him in his extremity. He perceived the + shamefulness of suffering such help; it would be much better to starve; + but he felt cowed, and he had not courage to take arms against this + sarcastic destiny, which had pursued him with a mocking smile from one + lower level to another. He rubbed his forehead and brooded upon the + picture. At least it would be some comfort to be rid of it; and Don + Ippolito was dead; and to whom could it mean more than the face of it? + </p> + <p> + His friend had his way about framing it, and it was got into the + exhibition. The hanging-committee offered it the hospitalities of an + obscure corner; but it was there, and it stood its chance. Nobody seemed + to know that it was there, however, unless confronted with it by Ferris’s + friend, and then no one seemed to care for it, much less want to buy it. + Ferris saw so many much worse pictures sold all around it, that he began + gloomily to respect it. At first it had shocked him to see it on the + Academy’s wall; but it soon came to have no other relation to him than + that of creatureship, like a poem in which a poet celebrates his love or + laments his dead, and sells for a price. His pride as well as his poverty + was set on having the picture sold; he had nothing to do, and he used to + lurk about, and see if it would not interest somebody at last. But it + remained unsold throughout May, and well into June, long after the crowds + had ceased to frequent the exhibition, and only chance visitors from the + country straggled in by twos and threes. + </p> + <p> + One warm, dusty afternoon, when he turned into the Academy out of Fourth + Avenue, the empty hall echoed to no footfall but his own. A group of weary + women, who wore that look of wanting lunch which characterizes all + picture-gallery-goers at home and abroad, stood faint before a certain + large Venetian subject which Ferris abhorred, and the very name of which + he spat out of his mouth with loathing for its unreality. He passed them + with a sombre glance, as he took his way toward the retired spot where his + own painting hung. + </p> + <p> + A lady whose crapes would have betrayed to her own sex the latest touch of + Paris stood a little way back from it, and gazed fixedly at it. The pose + of her head, her whole attitude, expressed a quiet dejection; without + seeing her face one could know its air of pensive wistfulness. Ferris + resolved to indulge himself in a near approach to this unwonted spectacle + of interest in his picture; at the sound of his steps the lady slowly + turned a face of somewhat heavily molded beauty, and from low-growing, + thick pale hair and level brows, stared at him with the sad eyes of + Florida Vervain. She looked fully the last two years older. + </p> + <p> + As though she were listening to the sound of his steps in the dark instead + of having him there visibly before her, she kept her eyes upon him with a + dreamy unrecognition. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is I,” said Ferris, as if she had spoken. + </p> + <p> + She recovered herself, and with a subdued, sorrowful quiet in her old + directness, she answered, “I supposed you must be in New York,” and she + indicated that she had supposed so from seeing this picture. + </p> + <p> + Ferris felt the blood mounting to his head. “Do you think it is like?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, “it isn’t just to him; it attributes things that didn’t + belong to him, and it leaves out a great deal.” + </p> + <p> + “I could scarcely have hoped to please you in a portrait of Don Ippolito.” + Ferris saw the red light break out as it used on the girl’s pale cheeks, + and her eyes dilate angrily. He went on recklessly: “He sent for me after + you went away, and gave me a message for you. I never promised to deliver + it, but I will do so now. He asked me to tell you when we met, that he had + acted on your desire, and had tried to reconcile himself to his calling + and his religion; he was going to enter a Carmelite convent.” + </p> + <p> + Florida made no answer, but she seemed to expect him to go on, and he was + constrained to do so. + </p> + <p> + “He never carried out his purpose,” Ferris said, with a keen glance at + her; “he died the night after I saw him.” + </p> + <p> + “Died?” The fan and the parasol and the two or three light packages she + had been holding slid down one by one, and lay at her feet. “Thank you for + bringing me his last words,” she said, but did not ask him anything more. + </p> + <p> + Ferris did not offer to gather up her things; he stood irresolute; + presently he continued with a downcast look: “He had had a fever, but they + thought he was getting well. His death must have been sudden.” He stopped, + and resumed fiercely, resolved to have the worst out: “I went to him, with + no good-will toward him, the next day after I saw him; but I came too + late. That was God’s mercy to me. I hope you have your consolation, Miss + Vervain.” + </p> + <p> + It maddened him to see her so little moved, and he meant to make her share + his remorse. + </p> + <p> + “Did he blame me for anything?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No!” said Ferris, with a bitter laugh, “he praised you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad of that,” returned Florida, “for I have thought it all over + many times, and I know that I was not to blame, though at first I blamed + myself. I never intended him anything but good. That is <i>my</i> + consolation, Mr. Ferris. But you,” she added, “you seem to make yourself + my judge. Well, and what do <i>you</i> blame me for? I have a right to + know what is in your mind.” + </p> + <p> + The thing that was in his mind had rankled there for two years; in many a + black reverie of those that alternated with his moods of abject + self-reproach and perfect trust of her, he had confronted her and flung it + out upon her in one stinging phrase. But he was now suddenly at a loss; + the words would not come; his torment fell dumb before her; in her + presence the cause was unspeakable. Her lips had quivered a little in + making that demand, and there had been a corresponding break in her voice. + </p> + <p> + “Florida! Florida!” Ferris heard himself saying, “I loved you all the + time!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh indeed, did you love me?” she cried, indignantly, while the tears + shone in her eyes. “And was that why you left a helpless young girl to + meet that trouble alone? Was that why you refused me your advice, and + turned your back on me, and snubbed me? Oh, many thanks for your love!” + She dashed the gathered tears angrily away, and went on. “Perhaps you + knew, too, what that poor priest was thinking of?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Ferris, stolidly, “I did at last: he told me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, then you acted generously and nobly to let him go on! It was kind to + him, and very, very kind to me!” + </p> + <p> + “What could I do?” demanded Ferris, amazed and furious to find himself on + the defensive. “His telling me put it out of my power to act.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad that you can satisfy yourself with such a quibble! But I wonder + that you can tell <i>me</i>—<i>any</i> woman of it!” + </p> + <p> + “By Heavens, this is atrocious!” cried Ferris. “Do you think ... Look + here!” he went on rudely. “I’ll put the case to you, and you shall judge + it. Remember that I was such a fool as to be in love with you. Suppose Don + Ippolito had told me that he was going to risk everything—going to + give up home, religion, friends—on the ten thousandth part of a + chance that you might some day care for him. I did not believe he had even + so much chance as that; but he had always thought me his friend, and he + trusted me. Was it a quibble that kept me from betraying him? I don’t know + what honor is among women; but no <i>man</i> could have done it. I confess + to my shame that I went to your house that night longing to betray him. + And then suppose your mother sent me into the garden to call you, and I + saw ... what has made my life a hell of doubt for the last two years; what + ... No, excuse me! I can’t put the case to you after all.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” asked Florida. “I don’t understand you!” + </p> + <p> + “What do I mean? You don’t understand? Are you so blind as that, or are + you making a fool of me? What could I think but that you had played with + that priest’s heart till your own”.... + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Florida with a shudder, starting away from him, “did you think + I was such a wicked girl as that?” + </p> + <p> + It was no defense, no explanation, no denial; it simply left the case with + Ferris as before. He stood looking like a man who does not know whether to + bless or curse himself, to laugh or blaspheme. + </p> + <p> + She stooped and tried to pick up the things she had let fall upon the + floor; but she seemed not able to find them. He bent over, and, gathering + them together, returned them to her with his left hand, keeping the other + in the breast of his coat. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” she said; and then after a moment, “Have you been hurt?” she + asked timidly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Ferris in a sulky way. “I have had my share.” He glanced down + at his arm askance. “It’s rather conventional,” he added. “It isn’t much + of a hurt; but then, I wasn’t much of a soldier.” + </p> + <p> + The girl’s eyes looked reverently at the conventional arm; those were the + days, so long past, when women worshipped men for such things. But she + said nothing, and as Ferris’s eyes wandered to her, he received a novel + and painful impression. He said, hesitatingly, “I have not asked before: + but your mother, Miss Vervain—I hope she is well?” + </p> + <p> + “She is dead,” answered Florida, with stony quiet. + </p> + <p> + They were both silent for a time. Then Ferris said, “I had a great + affection for your mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the girl, “she was fond of you, too. But you never wrote or + sent her any word; it used to grieve her.” + </p> + <p> + Her unjust reproach went to his heart, so long preoccupied with its own + troubles; he recalled with a tender remorse the old Venetian days and the + kindliness of the gracious, silly woman who had seemed to like him so + much; he remembered the charm of her perfect ladylikeness, and of her + winning, weak-headed desire to make every one happy to whom she spoke; the + beauty of the good-will, the hospitable soul that in an imaginably better + world than this will outvalue a merely intellectual or aesthetic life. He + humbled himself before her memory, and as keenly reproached himself as if + he could have made her hear from him at any time during the past two + years. He could only say, “I am sorry that I gave your mother pain; I + loved her very truly. I hope that she did not suffer much before”— + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Florida, “it was a peaceful end; but finally it was very + sudden. She had not been well for many years, with that sort of decline; I + used sometimes to feel troubled about her before we came to Venice; but I + was very young. I never was really alarmed till that day I went to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I remember,” said Ferris contritely. + </p> + <p> + “She had fainted, and I thought we ought to see a doctor; but afterwards, + because I thought that I ought not to do so without speaking to her, I did + not go to the doctor; and that day we made up our minds to get home as + soon as we could; and she seemed so much better, for a while; and then, + everything seemed to happen at once. When we did start home, she could not + go any farther than Switzerland, and in the fall we went back to Italy. We + went to Sorrento, where the climate seemed to do her good. But she was + growing frailer, the whole time. She died in March. I found some old + friends of hers in Naples, and came home with them.” + </p> + <p> + The girl hesitated a little over the words, which she nevertheless uttered + unbroken, while the tears fell quietly down her face. She seemed to have + forgotten the angry words that had passed between her and Ferris, to + remember him only as one who had known her mother, while she went on to + relate some little facts in the history of her mother’s last days; and she + rose into a higher, serener atmosphere, inaccessible to his resentment or + his regret, as she spoke of her loss. The simple tale of sickness and + death inexpressibly belittled his passionate woes, and made them look + theatrical to him. He hung his head as they turned at her motion and + walked away from the picture of Don Ippolito, and down the stairs toward + the street-door; the people before the other Venetian picture had + apparently yielded to their craving for lunch, and had vanished. + </p> + <p> + “I have very little to tell you of my own life,” Ferris began awkwardly. + “I came home soon after you started, and I went to Providence to find you, + but you had not got back.” + </p> + <p> + Florida stopped him and looked perplexedly into his face, and then moved + on. + </p> + <p> + “Then I went into the army. I wrote once to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I never got your letter,” she said. + </p> + <p> + They were now in the lower hall, and near the door. + </p> + <p> + “Florida,” said Ferris, abruptly, “I’m poor and disabled; I’ve no more + right than any sick beggar in the street to say it to you; but I loved + you, I must always love you. I—Good-by!” + </p> + <p> + She halted him again, and “You said,” she grieved, “that you doubted me; + you said that I had made your life a”— + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I said that; I know it,” answered Ferris. + </p> + <p> + “You thought I could be such a false and cruel girl as that!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes: I thought it all, God help me!” + </p> + <p> + “When I was only sorry for him, when it was you that I”— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know it,” answered Ferris in a heartsick, hopeless voice. “He knew + it, too. He told me so the day before he died.” + </p> + <p> + “And didn’t you believe him?” + </p> + <p> + Ferris could not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe him now?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe anything you tell me. When I look at you, I can’t believe I + ever doubted you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because—because—I love you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! That’s no reason.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it; but I’m used to being without a reason.” + </p> + <p> + Florida looked gravely at his penitent face, and a brave red color mantled + her own, while she advanced an unanswerable argument: “Then what are you + going away for?” + </p> + <p> + The world seemed to melt and float away from between them. It returned and + solidified at the sound of the janitor’s steps as he came towards them on + his round through the empty building. Ferris caught her hand; she leaned + heavily upon his arm as they walked out into the street. It was all they + could do at the moment except to look into each other’s faces, and walk + swiftly on. + </p> + <p> + At last, after how long a time he did not know, Ferris cried: “Where are + we going, Florida?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I don’t know!” she replied. “I’m stopping with those friends of ours + at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. We <i>were</i> going on to Providence + to-morrow. We landed yesterday; and we stayed to do some shopping”— + </p> + <p> + “And may I ask why you happened to give your first moments in America to + the fine arts?” + </p> + <p> + “The fine arts? Oh! I thought I might find something of yours, there!” + </p> + <p> + At the hotel she presented him to her party as a friend whom her mother + and she had known in Italy; and then went to lay aside her hat. The + Providence people received him with the easy, half-southern warmth of + manner which seems to have floated northward as far as their city on the + Gulf Stream bathing the Rhode Island shores. The matron of the party had, + before Florida came back, an outline history of their acquaintance, which + she evolved from him with so much tact that he was not conscious of + parting with information; and she divined indefinitely more when she saw + them together again. She was charming; but to Ferris’s thinking she had a + fault, she kept him too much from Florida, though she talked of nothing + else, and at the last she was discreetly merciful. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think,” whispered Florida, very close against his face, when they + parted, “that I’ll have a bad temper?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will—or I shall be killed with kindness,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + She stood a moment, nervously buttoning his coat across his breast. “You + mustn’t let that picture be sold, Henry,” she said, and by this touch + alone did she express any sense, if she had it, of his want of feeling in + proposing to sell it. He winced, and she added with a soft pity in her + voice, “He did bring us together, after all. I wish you had believed him, + dear!” + </p> + <p> + “So do I,” said Ferris, most humbly. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + People are never equal to the romance of their youth in after life, except + by fits, and Ferris especially could not keep himself at what he called + the operatic pitch of their brief betrothal and the early days of their + marriage. With his help, or even his encouragement, his wife might have + been able to maintain it. She had a gift for idealizing him, at least, and + as his hurt healed but slowly, and it was a good while before he could + paint with his wounded arm, it was an easy matter for her to believe in + the meanwhile that he would have been the greatest painter of his time, + but for his honorable disability; to hear her, you would suppose no one + else had ever been shot in the service of his country. + </p> + <p> + It was fortunate for Ferris, since he could not work, that she had money; + in exalted moments he had thought this a barrier to their marriage; yet he + could not recall any one who had refused the hand of a beautiful girl + because of the accident of her wealth, and in the end he silenced his + scruples. It might be said that in many other ways he was not her equal; + but one ought to reflect how very few men are worthy of their wives in any + sense. After his fashion he certainly loved her always,—even when + she tried him most, for it must be owned that she really had that hot + temper which he had dreaded in her from the first. Not that her + imperiousness directly affected him. For a long time after their marriage, + she seemed to have no other desire than to lose her outwearied will in + his. There was something a little pathetic in this; there was a kind of + bewilderment in her gentleness, as though the relaxed tension of her long + self-devotion to her mother left her without a full motive; she apparently + found it impossible to give herself with a satisfactory degree of abandon + to a man who could do so many things for himself. When her children came + they filled this vacancy, and afforded her scope for the greatest excesses + of self-devotion. Ferris laughed to find her protecting them and serving + them with the same tigerish tenderness, the same haughty humility, as that + with which she used to care for poor Mrs. Vervain; and he perceived that + this was merely the direction away from herself of that intense arrogance + of nature which, but for her power and need of loving, would have made her + intolerable. What she chiefly exacted from them in return for her fierce + devotedness was the truth in everything; she was content that they should + be rather less fond of her than of their father, whom indeed they found + much more amusing. + </p> + <p> + The Ferrises went to Europe some years after their marriage, revisiting + Venice, but sojourning for the most part in Florence. Ferris had once + imagined that the tragedy which had given him his wife would always invest + her with the shadow of its sadness, but in this he was mistaken. There is + nothing has really so strong a digestion as love, and this is very lucky, + seeing what manifold experiences love has to swallow and assimilate; and + when they got back to Venice, Ferris found that the customs of their joint + life exorcised all the dark associations of the place. These simply formed + a sombre background, against which their wedded happiness relieved itself. + They talked much of the past, with free minds, unashamed and unafraid. If + it is a little shocking, it is nevertheless true, and true to human + nature, that they spoke of Don Ippolito as if he were a part of their + love. + </p> + <p> + Ferris had never ceased to wonder at what he called the unfathomable + innocence of his wife, and he liked to go over all the points of their + former life in Venice, and bring home to himself the utter simplicity of + her girlish ideas, motives, and designs, which both confounded and + delighted him. + </p> + <p> + “It’s amazing, Florida,” he would say, “it’s perfectly amazing that you + should have been willing to undertake the job of importing into America + that poor fellow with his whole stock of helplessness, dreamery, and + unpracticality. What <i>were</i> you about?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I’ve often told you, Henry. I thought he oughtn’t to continue a + priest.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes; I know.” Then he would remain lost in thought, softly whistling + to himself. On one of these occasions he asked, “Do you think he was + really very much troubled by his false position?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t tell, now. He seemed to be so.” + </p> + <p> + “That story he told you of his childhood and of how he became a priest; + didn’t it strike you at the time like rather a made-up, melodramatic + history?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no! How can you say such things, Henry? It was too simple not to be + true.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well. Perhaps so. But he baffles me. He always did, for that + matter.” + </p> + <p> + Then came another pause, while Ferris lay back upon the gondola cushions, + getting the level of the Lido just under his hat-brim. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he was very much of a skeptic, after all, Florida?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Ferris turned her eyes reproachfully upon her husband. “Why, Henry, + how strange you are! You said yourself, once, that you used to wonder if + he were not a skeptic.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I know. But for a man who had lived in doubt so many years, he + certainly slipped back into the bosom of mother church pretty suddenly. + Don’t you think he was a person of rather light feelings?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t talk with you, my dear, if you go on in that way.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t mean any harm. I can see how in many things he was the soul of + truth and honor. But it seems to me that even the life he lived was + largely imagined. I mean that he was such a dreamer that once having + fancied himself afflicted at being what he was, he could go on and suffer + as keenly as if he really were troubled by it. Why mightn’t it be that all + his doubts came from anger and resentment towards those who made him a + priest, rather than from any examination of his own mind? I don’t say it + <i>was</i> so. But I don’t believe he knew quite what he wanted. He must + have felt that his failure as an inventor went deeper than the failure of + his particular attempts. I once thought that perhaps he had a genius in + that way, but I question now whether he had. If he had, it seems to me he + had opportunity to prove it—certainly, as a priest he had leisure to + prove it. But when that sort of subconsciousness of his own inadequacy + came over him, it was perfectly natural for him to take refuge in the + supposition that he had been baffled by circumstances.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Ferris remained silently troubled. “I don’t know how to answer you, + Henry; but I think that you’re judging him narrowly and harshly.” + </p> + <p> + “Not harshly. I feel very compassionate towards him. But now, even as to + what one might consider the most real thing in his life,—his caring + for you,—it seems to me there must have been a great share of + imagined sentiment in it. It was not a passion; it was a gentle nature’s + dream of a passion.” + </p> + <p> + “He didn’t die of a dream,” said the wife. + </p> + <p> + “No, he died of a fever.” + </p> + <p> + “He had got well of the fever.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s very true, my dear. And whatever his head was, he had an + affectionate and faithful heart. I wish I had been gentler with him. I + must often have bruised that sensitive soul. God knows I’m sorry for it. + But he’s a puzzle, he’s a puzzle!” + </p> + <p> + Thus lapsing more and more into a mere problem as the years have passed, + Don Ippolito has at last ceased to be even the memory of a man with a + passionate love and a mortal sorrow. Perhaps this final effect in the mind + of him who has realized the happiness of which the poor priest vainly + dreamed is not the least tragic phase of the tragedy of Don Ippolito. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s A Foregone Conclusion, by William Dean Howells + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A FOREGONE CONCLUSION *** + +***** This file should be named 7839-h.htm or 7839-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/8/3/7839/ + +Produced by Eric Eldred, Joshua Hutchinson, David Widger, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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