the aspern papers-第10章

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when　photography　and　other　conveniences　have　annihilated　surprise。

Miss　Bordereau　sailed　with　her　family　on　a　tossing　brig；

in　the　days　of　long　voyages　and　sharp　differences；　she　had　her

emotions　on　the　top　of　yellow　diligences；　passed　the　night

at　inns　where　she　dreamed　of　travelers'　tales；　and　was　struck；

on　reaching　the　Eternal　City；　with　the　elegance　of　Roman　pearls

and　scarfs。　　There　was　something　touching　to　me　in　all　that；

and　my　imagination　frequently　went　back　to　the　period。

If　Miss　Bordereau　carried　it　there　of　course　Jeffrey　Aspern

at　other　times　had　done　so　a　great　deal　more。　　It　was　a　much

more　important　fact；　if　one　were　looking　at　his　genius　critically；

that　he　had　lived　in　the　days　before　the　general　transfusion。

It　had　happened　to　me　to　regret　that　he　had　known　Europe　at　all；

I　should　have　liked　to　see　what　he　would　have　written　without

that　experience；　by　which　he　had　incontestably　been　enriched。

But　as　his　fate　had　ordered　otherwise　I　went　with　him

I　tried　to　judge　how　the　Old　World　would　have　struck　him。

It　was　not　only　there；　however；　that　I　watched　him；　the　relations

he　had　entertained　with　the　new　had　even　a　livelier　interest。

His　own　country　after　all　had　had　most　of　his　life；　and　his　muse；

as　they　said　at　that　time；　was　essentially　American。

That　was　originally　what　I　had　loved　him　for：　　that　at　a　period

when　our　native　land　was　nude　and　crude　and　provincial；

when　the　famous　〃atmosphere〃　it　is　supposed　to　lack　was　not

even　missed；　when　literature　was　lonely　there　and　art　and　form

almost　impossible；　he　had　found　means　to　live　and　write　like　one

of　the　first；　to　be　free　and　general　and　not　at　all　afraid；

to　feel；　understand；　and　express　everything。







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I　was　seldom　at　home　in　the　evening；　for　when　I　attempted　to

occupy　myself　in　my　apartments　the　lamplight　brought　in　a　swarm

of　noxious　insects；　and　it　was　too　hot　for　closed　windows。

Accordingly　I　spent　the　late　hours　either　on　the　water

（the　moonlight　of　Venice　is　famous）；　or　in　the　splendid　square

which　serves　as　a　vast　forecourt　to　the　strange　old　basilica

of　Saint　Mark。　　I　sat　in　front　of　Florian's　cafe；　eating　ices；

listening　to　music；　talking　with　acquaintances：　　the　traveler

will　remember　how　the　immense　cluster　of　tables　and　little　chairs

stretches　like　a　promontory　into　the　smooth　lake　of　the　Piazza。

The　whole　place；　of　a　summer's　evening；　under　the　stars　and　with

all　the　lamps；　all　the　voices　and　light　footsteps　on　marble

（the　only　sounds　of　the　arcades　that　enclose　it）；　is　like　an　open…air

saloon　dedicated　to　cooling　drinks　and　to　a　still　finer　degustation

that　of　the　exquisite　impressions　received　during　the　day。

When　I　did　not　prefer　to　keep　mine　to　myself　there　was　always

a　stray　tourist；　disencumbered　of　his　Baedeker；　to　discuss　them　with；

or　some　domesticated　painter　rejoicing　in　the　return　of　the　season

of　strong　effects。　　The　wonderful　church；　with　its　low　domes　and

bristling　embroideries；　the　mystery　of　its　mosaic　and　sculpture；

looking　ghostly　in　the　tempered　gloom；　and　the　sea　breeze　passed

between　the　twin　columns　of　the　Piazzetta；　the　lintels　of　a　door　no

longer　guarded；　as　gently　as　if　a　rich　curtain　were　swaying　there。

I　used　sometimes　on　these　occasions　to　think　of　the　Misses　Bordereau

and　of　the　pity　of　their　being　shut　up　in　apartments　which　in　the　Venetian

July　even　Venetian　vastness　did　not　prevent　from　being　stuffy。

Their　life　seemed　miles　away　from　the　life　of　the　Piazza；　and　no　doubt

it　was　really　too　late　to　make　the　austere　Juliana　change　her　habits。

But　poor　Miss　Tita　would　have　enjoyed　one　of　Florian's　ices；　I　was　sure；

sometimes　I　even　had　thoughts　of　carrying　one　home　to　her。

Fortunately　my　patience　bore　fruit；　and　I　was　not　obliged　to　do

anything　so　ridiculous。



One　evening　about　the　middle　of　July　I　came　in　earlier　than　usual

I　forget　what　chance　had　led　to　thisand　instead　of　going　up　to　my

quarters　made　my　way　into　the　garden。　　The　temperature　was　very　high；

it　was　such　a　night　as　one　would　gladly　have　spent　in　the　open　air；

and　I　was　in　no　hurry　to　go　to　bed。　　I　had　floated　home　in　my　gondola；

listening　to　the　slow　splash　of　the　oar　in　the　narrow　dark　canals；

and　now　the　only　thought　that　solicited　me　was　the　vague　reflection

that　it　would　be　pleasant　to　recline　at　one's　length　in　the　fragrant

darkness　on　a　garden　bench。　　The　odor　of　the　canal　was　doubtless

at　the　bottom　of　that　aspiration　and　the　breath　of　the　garden；

as　I　entered　it；　gave　consistency　to　my　purpose。　　it　was　delicious

just　such　an　air　as　must　have　trembled　with　Romeo's　vows　when　he　stood

among　the　flowers　and　raised　his　arms　to　his　mistress's　balcony。

I　looked　at　the　windows　of　the　palace　to　see　if　by　chance

the　example　of　Verona　（Verona　being　not　far　off）　had　been　followed；

but　everything　was　dim；　as　usual；　and　everything　was　still。

Juliana；　on　summer　nights　in　her　youth；　might　have　murmured　down

from　open　windows　at　Jeffrey　Aspern；　but　Miss　Tita　was　not　a　poet's

mistress　any　more　than　I　was　a　poet。　　This　however　did　not　prevent

my　gratification　from　being　great　as　I　became　aware　on　reaching

the　end　of　the　garden　that　Miss　Tita　was　seated　in　my　little　bower。

At　first　I　only　made　out　an　indistinct　figure；　not　in　the　least

counting　on　such　an　overture　from　one　of　my　hostesses；

it　even　occurred　to　me　that　some　sentimental　maidservant　had　stolen

in　to　keep　a　tryst　with　her　sweetheart。　　I　was　going　to　turn　away；

not　to　frighten　her；　when　the　figure　rose　to　its　height　and　I

recognized　Miss　Bordereau's　niece。　　I　must　do　myself　the　justice　to　say

that　I　did　not　wish　to　frighten　her　either；　and　much　as　I　had　longed

for　some　such　accident　I　should　have　been　capable　of　retreating。

It　was　as　if　I　had　laid　a　trap　for　her　by　coming　home　earlier　than

usual　and　adding　to　that　eccentricity　by　creeping　into　the　garden。

As　she　rose　she　spoke　to　me；　and　then　I　reflected　that　perhaps；

secure　in　my　almost　inveterate　absence；　it　was　her　nightly　practice

to　take　a　lonely　airing。　　There　was　no　trap；　in　truth；　because　I

had　had　no　suspicion。　　At　first　I　took　for　granted　that　the　words

she　uttered　expressed　discomfiture　at　my　arrival；　but　as　she

repeated　themI　had　not　caught　them　clearlyI　had　the　surprise

of　hearing　her　say；　〃Oh；　dear；　I'm　so　very　glad　you've　come！〃

She　and　her　aunt　had　in　common　the　property　of　unexpected　speeches。

She　came　out　of　the　arbor　almost　as　if　she　were　going　to　throw

herself　into　my　arms。



I　hasten　to　add　that　she　did　nothing　of　the　kind；　she　did　not　even

shake　hands　with　me。　　It　was　a　gratification　to　her　to　see　me

and　presently　she　told　me　whybecause　she　was　nervous　when　she

was　out…of…doors　at　night　alone。　　The　plants　and　bushes　looked

so　strange　in　the　dark；　and　there　were　all　sorts　of　queer　sounds

she　could　not　tell　what　they　werelike　the　noises　of　animals。

She　stood　close　to　me；　looking　about　her　with　an　air　of　greater　security

but　without　any　demonstration　of　interest　in　me　as　an　individual。

Then　I　guessed　that　nocturnal　prowlings　were　not　in　the　least　her　habit；

and　I　was　also　reminded　（I　had　been　struck　with　the　circumstance

in　talking　with　her　before　I　took　possession）　that　it　was　impossible

to　overestimate　her　simplicity。



〃You　speak　as　if　you　were　lost　in　the　backwoods；〃　I　said；　laughing。

〃How　you　manage　to　keep　out　of　this　charming　place　when　you　have　only　three

steps　to　take　to　get　into　it　is　more　than　I　have　yet　been　able　to　discover。

You　hide　away　mighty　well　so　long　as　I　am　on　the　premises；　I　know；

but　I　had　a　hope　that　you　peeped　out　a　little　at　other　times。

You　and　your　poor　aunt　are　worse　off　than　Carmelite　nuns　in　their　cells。

Should　you　mind　telling　me　how　you　exist　without　air；　without　exercise；

without　any　sort　of　human　contact？　　I　don't　see　how　you　carry　on　the　common

business　of　life。〃



She　looked　at　me　as　if　I　were　talking　some　strange　tongue；　and　her

answer　was　so　little　of　an　answer　that　I　was　consid