villa rubein and other stories-第9节

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that；　of　temperament；〃　or　〃A　matter　of　the　definition　of　words〃；　and

other　charming　generalities；　which　sound　well；　and　seem　to　go　far；

and　are　pleasingly　irrefutable。　　Sometimes　the　discussion　turned　on

Arton　points　of　colour　or　technique；　whether　realism　was　quite

justified；　and　should　we　be　pre…Raphaelites？　　When　these　discussions

started；　Christian's　eyes　would　grow　bigger　and　clearer；　with　a　sort

of　shining　reasonableness；　as　though　they　were　trying　to　see　into　the

depths。　　And　Harz　would　stare　at　them。　　But　the　look　in　those　eyes

eluded　him；　as　if　they　had　no　more　meaning　than　Mrs。　Decie's；　which；

with　their　pale；　watchful　smile；　always　seemed　saying：　〃Come；　let　us

take　a　little　intellectual　exercise。〃



Greta；　pulling　Scruff's　ears；　would　gaze　up　at　the　speakers；　when　the

talk　was　over；　she　always　shook　herself。　　But　if　no　one　came　to　the

〃sittings；〃　there　would　sometimes　be　very　earnest；　quick　talk；

sometimes　long　silences。



One　day　Christian　said：　〃What　is　your　religion？〃



Harz　finished　the　touch　he　was　putting　on　the　canvas；　before　he

answered：　〃Roman　Catholic；　I　suppose；　I　was　baptised　in　that　Church。〃



〃I　didn't　mean　that。　　Do　you　believe　in　a　future　life？〃



〃Christian；〃　murmured　Greta；　who　was　plaiting　blades　of　grass；　〃shall

always　want　to　know　what　people　think　about　a　future　life；　that　is　so

funny！〃



〃How　can　I　tell？〃　said　Harz；　〃I've　never　really　thought　of　itnever

had　the　time。〃



〃How　can　you　help　thinking？〃　Christian　said：　〃I　have　toit　seems　to

me　so　awful　that　we　might　come　to　an　end。〃



She　closed　her　book；　and　it　slipped　off　her　lap。　　She　went　on：　〃There

must　be　a　future　life；　we're　so　incomplete。　　What's　the　good　of　your

work；　for　instance？　　What's　the　use　of　developing　if　you　have　to

stop？〃



〃I　don't　know；〃　answered　Harz。　　〃I　don't　much　care。　　All　I　know　is；

I've　got　to　work。〃



〃But　why？〃



〃For　happinessthe　real　happiness　is　fightingthe　rest　is　nothing。

If　you　have　finished　a　thing；　does　it　ever　satisfy　you？　　You　look

forward　to　the　next　thing　at　once；　to　wait　is　wretched！〃



Christian　clasped　her　hands　behind　her　neck；　sunlight　flickered

through　the　leaves　on　to　the　bosom　of　her　dress。



〃Ah！　Stay　like　that！〃　cried　Harz。



She　let　her　eyes　rest　on　his　face；　swinging　her　foot　a　little。



〃You　work　because　you　must；　but　that's　not　enough。　　Why　do　you　feel

you　must？　　I　want　to　know　what's　behind。　　When　I　was　travelling　with

Aunt　Constance　the　winter　before　last　we　often　talkedI've　heard　her

discuss　it　with　her　friends。　　She　says　we　move　in　circles　till　we

reach　Nirvana。　　But　last　winter　I　found　I　couldn't　talk　to　her；　it

seemed　as　if　she　never　really　meant　anything。　　Then　I　started

readingKant　and　Hegel〃



〃Ah！〃　put　in　Harz；　〃if　they　would　teach　me　to　draw　better；　or　to　see

a　new　colour　in　a　flower；　or　an　expression　in　a　face；　I　would　read

them　all。〃



Christian　leaned　forward：　〃It　must　be　right　to　get　as　near　truth　as

possible；　every　step　gained　is　something。　　You　believe　in　truth；

truth　is　the　same　as　beautythat　was　what　you　saidyou　try　to　paint

the　truth；　you　always　see　the　beauty。　　But　how　can　we　know　truth；

unless　we　know　what　is　at　the　root　of　it？〃



〃Ithink；〃　murmured　Greta；　sotto　voce；　〃you　see　one　wayand　he　sees

anotherbecauseyou　are　not　one　person。〃



〃Of　course！〃　said　Christian　impatiently；　〃but　why〃



A　sound　of　humming　interrupted　her。



Nicholas　Treffry　was　coming　from　the　house；　holding　the　Times　in　one

hand；　and　a　huge　meerschaum　pipe　in　the　other。



〃Aha！〃　he　said　to　Harz：　〃how　goes　the　picture？〃　and　he　lowered

himself　into　a　chair。



〃Better　to…day；　Uncle？〃　said　Christian　softly。



Mr。　Treffry　growled。　　〃Confounded　humbugs；　doctors！〃　he　said。　　〃Your

father　used　to　swear　by　them；　why；　his　doctor　killed　himmade　him

drink　such　a　lot　of　stuff！〃



〃Why　then　do　you　have　a　doctor；　Uncle　Nic？〃　asked　Greta。



Mr。　Treffry　looked　at　her；　his　eyes　twinkled。　　〃I　don't　know；　my

dear。　　If　they　get　half　a　chance；　they　won't　let　go　of　you！〃



There　had　been　a　gentle　breeze　all　day；　but　now　it　had　died　away；　not

a　leaf　quivered；　not　a　blade　of　grass　was　stirring；　from　the　house

were　heard　faint　sounds　as　of　some　one　playing　on　a　pipe。　　A

blackbird　came　hopping　down　the　path。



〃When　you　were　a　boy；　did　you　go　after　birds'　nests；　Uncle　Nic？〃

Greta　whispered。



〃I　believe　you；　Greta。〃　　The　blackbird　hopped　into　the　shrubbery。



〃You　frightened　him；　Uncle　Nic！　　Papa　says　that　at　Schloss　Konig；

where　he　lived　when　he　was　young；　he　would　always　be　after　jackdaws'

nests。〃



〃Gammon；　Greta。　　Your　father　never　took　a　jackdaw's　nest；　his　legs

are　much　too　round！〃



〃Are　you　fond　of　birds；　Uncle　Nic？〃



〃Ask　me　another；　Greta！　　Well；　I　s'pose　so。〃



〃Then　why　did　you　go　bird…nesting？　　I　think　it　is　cruel〃



Mr。　Treffry　coughed　behind　his　paper：　〃There　you　have　me；　Greta；〃　he

remarked。



Harz　began　to　gather　his　brushes：　〃Thank　you；〃　he　said；　〃that's　all　I

can　do　to…day。〃



〃Can　I　look？〃　Mr。　Treffry　inquired。



〃Certainly！〃



Uncle　Nic　got　up　slowly；　and　stood　in　front　of　the　picture。　　〃When

it's　for　sale；〃　he　said　at　last；　〃I'll　buy　it。〃



Harz　bowed；　but　for　some　reason　he　felt　annoyed；　as　if　he　had　been

asked　to　part　with　something　personal。



〃I　thank　you；〃　he　said。　　A　gong　sounded。



〃You'll　stay　and　have　a　snack　with　us？〃　said　Mr。　Treffry；　〃the

doctor's　stopping。〃　　Gathering　up　his　paper；　he　moved　off　to　the

house　with　his　hand　on　Greta's　shoulder；　the　terrier　running　in

front。　　Harz　and　Christian　were　left　alone。　　He　was　scraping　his

palette；　and　she　was　sitting　with　her　elbows　resting　on　her　knees；

between　them；　a　gleam　of　sunlight　dyed　the　path　golden。　　It　was

evening　already；　the　bushes　and　the　flowers；　after　the　day's　heat；

were　breathing　out　perfume；　the　birds　had　started　their　evensong。



〃Are　you　tired　of　sitting　for　your　portrait；　Fraulein　Christian？〃



Christian　shook　her　head。



〃I　shall　get　something　into　it　that　everybody　does　not　seesomething

behind　the　surface；　that　will　last。〃



Christian　said　slowly：　〃That's　like　a　challenge。　　You　were　right　when

you　said　fighting　is　happinessfor　yourself；　but　not　for　me。　　I'm　a

coward。　　I　hate　to　hurt　people；　I　like　them　to　like　me。　　If　you　had

to　do　anything　that　would　make　them　hate　you；　you　would　do　it　all　the

same；　if　it　helped　your　work；　that's　fineit's　what　I　can't　do。

It'sit's　everything。　　Do　you　like　Uncle　Nic？〃



The　young　painter　looked　towards　the　house；　where　under　the　veranda

old　Nicholas　Treffry　was　still　in　sight；　a　smile　came　on　his　lips。



〃If　I　were　the　finest　painter　in　the　world；　he　wouldn't　think

anything　of　me　for　it；　I'm　afraid；　but　if　I　could　show　him　handfuls

of　big　cheques　for　bad　pictures　I　had　painted；　he　would　respect　me。〃



She　smiled；　and　said：　〃I　love　him。〃



〃Then　I　shall　like　him；〃　Harz　answered　simply。



She　put　her　hand　out；　and　her　fingers　met　his。　　〃We　shall　be　late；〃

she　said；　glowing；　and　catching　up　her　book：　〃I'm　always　late！〃









VII



There　was　one　other　guest　at　dinner；　a　well…groomed　person　with　pale；

fattish　face；　dark　eyes；　and　hair　thin　on　the　temples；　whose　clothes

had　a　military　cut。　　He　looked　like　a　man　fond　of　ease；　who　had　gone

out　of　his　groove；　and　collided　with　life。　　Herr　Paul　introduced　him

as　Count　Mario　Sarelli。



Two　hanging　lamps　with　crimson　shades　threw　a　rosy　light　over　the

table；　where；　in　the　centre　stood　a　silver　basket；　full　of　irises。

Through　the　open　windows　the　garden　was　all　clusters　of　black　foliage

in　the　dying　light。　　Moths　fluttered　round　the　lamps；　Greta；

following　them　with　her　eyes；　gave　quite　audible　sighs　of　pleasure

when　they　escaped。　　Both　girls　wore　white；　and　Harz；　who　sat　opposite

Christian；　kept　looking　at　her；　and　wondering　why　he　had　not　painted

her　in　that　dress。



Mrs。　Decie　understood　the　art　of　diningthe　dinner；　ordered　by　Herr

Paul；　was　admirable；　the　servants　silent　as　their；　shadows；　there　was

always　a　hum　of　conversation。



Sarelli；　who　sat　on　her　right　hand；　seemed　to　partake　of　little

except　olives；　which　he　dipped　into　a　glass　of　sherry。　　He　turned　his

black；　solemn　eyes　silently　from　face　to　face；　now　and　then　asking

the　meaning　of　an　English　word。　　After　a　discussion　on　modern　Rome；

it　was　debated　whether　or　no　a　criminal　could　be　told　by　the

expression　of　his　face。



〃Crime；〃　said　Mrs。　Decie；　passing　her　hand　across　her　brow〃crime　is

but　the　hallmark　of　strong　individuality。〃



Miss　Naylor；　gushing　rather　pink；　stammered：　〃A　great　crime　must　show

itselfa　murder。　　Why；　of　course！〃



〃If　that　were　so；〃　said　Dawney；　〃we　should　only　have　to　look　about

usno　more　detectives。〃



Miss　Naylor　rejoined　with　slight　severity：　〃I　cannot　conceive　that

such　a　thing　can　pass　the　human　face　by；　leaving　no　impression！〃



Harz　said　abruptly：　〃There　are　worse　things　than　murder。〃



〃Ah！　p