the aspern papers-第8节

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who　was　simply　hearsay　to　her；　quite　as　he　was　to　me。　　Only　she　had

lived　for　years　with　Juliana；　she　had　seen　and　handled　the　papers　and

（even　though　she　was　stupid）　some　esoteric　knowledge　had　rubbed　off　on　her。

That　was　what　the　old　woman　representedesoteric　knowledge；

and　this　was　the　idea　with　which　my　editorial　heart　used　to　thrill。

It　literally　beat　faster　often；　of　an　evening；　when　I　had　been　out；

as　I　stopped　with　my　candle　in　the　re…echoing　hall　on　my　way　up　to　bed。

It　was　as　if　at　such　a　moment　as　that；　in　the　stillness；　after　the　long

contradiction　of　the　day；　Miss　Bordereau's　secrets　were　in　the　air；

the　wonder　of　her　survival　more　palpable。　　These　were　the　acute　impressions。

I　had　them　in　another　form；　with　more　of　a　certain　sort　of　reciprocity；

during　the　hours　that　I　sat　in　the　garden　looking　up　over　the　top

of　my　book　at　the　closed　windows　of　my　hostess。　　In　these　windows

no　sign　of　life　ever　appeared；　it　was　as　if；　for　fear　of　my　catching

a　glimpse　of　them；　the　two　ladies　passed　their　days　in　the　dark。

But　this　only　proved　to　me　that　they　had　something　to　conceal；

which　was　what　I　had　wished　to　demonstrate。　　Their　motionless　shutters

became　as　expressive　as　eyes　consciously　closed；　and　I　took　comfort

in　thinking　that　at　all　events　through　invisible　themselves　they　saw　me

between　the　lashes。



I　made　a　point　of　spending　as　much　time　as　possible　in　the　garden；

to　justify　the　picture　I　had　originally　given　of　my　horticultural　passion。

And　I　not　only　spent　time；　but　（hang　it！　as　I　said）　I　spent　money。

As　soon　as　I　had　got　my　rooms　arranged　and　could　give　the　proper

thought　to　the　matter　I　surveyed　the　place　with　a　clever　expert

and　made　terms　for　having　it　put　in　order。　　I　was　sorry　to　do　this；

for　personally　I　liked　it　better　as　it　was；　with　its　weeds　and　its　wild；

rough　tangle；　its　sweet；　characteristic　Venetian　shabbiness。

I　had　to　be　consistent；　to　keep　my　promise　that　I　would　smother

the　house　in　flowers。　　Moreover　I　formed　this　graceful　project　that

by　flowers　I　would　make　my　wayI　would　succeed　by　big　nosegays。

I　would　batter　the　old　women　with　liliesI　would　bombard　their

citadel　with　roses。　　Their　door　would　have　to　yield　to　the　pressure

when　a　mountain　of　carnations　should　be　piled　up　against　it。

The　place　in　truth　had　been　brutally　neglected。　　The　Venetian　capacity

for　dawdling　is　of　the　largest；　and　for　a　good　many　days　unlimited

litter　was　all　my　gardener　had　to　show　for　his　ministrations。

There　was　a　great　digging　of　holes　and　carting　about　of　earth；

and　after　a　while　I　grew　so　impatient　that　I　had　thoughts　of

sending　for　my　bouquets　to　the　nearest　stand。　　But　I　reflected

that　the　ladies　would　see　through　the　chinks　of　their　shutters

that　they　must　have　been　bought　and　might　make　up　their　minds

from　this　that　I　was　a　humbug。　　So　I　composed　myself　and　finally；

though　the　delay　was　long；　perceived　some　appearances　of　bloom。

This　encouraged　me；　and　I　waited　serenely　enough　till　they　multiplied。

Meanwhile　the　real　summer　days　arrived　and　began　to　pass；　and　as　I

look　back　upon　them　they　seem　to　me　almost　the　happiest　of　my　life。

I　took　more　and　more　care　to　be　in　the　garden　whenever　it　was　not　too　hot。

I　had　an　arbor　arranged　and　a　low　table　and　an　armchair　put　into　it；

and　I　carried　out　books　and　portfolios　（I　had　always　some　business

of　writing　in　hand）；　and　worked　and　waited　and　mused　and　hoped；

while　the　golden　hours　elapsed　and　the　plants　drank　in　the　light

and　the　inscrutable　old　palace　turned　pale　and　then；　as　the　day　waned；

began　to　flush　in　it　and　my　papers　rustled　in　the　wandering　breeze

of　the　Adriatic。



Considering　how　little　satisfaction　I　got　from　it　at　first　it

is　remarkable　that　I　should　not　have　grown　more　tired　of　wondering

what　mystic　rites　of　ennui　the　Misses　Bordereau　celebrated　in　their

darkened　rooms；　whether　this　had　always　been　the　tenor　of　their　life

and　how　in　previous　years　they　had　escaped　elbowing　their　neighbors。

It　was　clear　that　they　must　have　had　other　habits　and　other　circumstances；

that　they　must　once　have　been　young　or　at　least　middle…aged。

There　was　no　end　to　the　questions　it　was　possible　to　ask　about

them　and　no　end　to　the　answers　it　was　not　possible　to　frame。

I　had　known　many　of　my　country…people　in　Europe　and　was　familiar

with　the　strange　ways　they　were　liable　to　take　up　there；　but　the　Misses

Bordereau　formed　altogether　a　new　type　of　the　American　absentee。

Indeed　it　was　plain　that　the　American　name　had　ceased　to　have

any　application　to　themI　had　seen　this　in　the　ten　minutes　I

spent　in　the　old　woman's　room。　　You　could　never　have　said　whence

they　came；　from　the　appearance　of　either　of　them；　wherever　it

was　they　had　long　ago　dropped　the　local　accent　and　fashion。

There　was　nothing　in　them　that　one　recognized；　and　putting　the　question

of　speech　aside　they　might　have　been　Norwegians　or　Spaniards。

Miss　Bordereau；　after　all；　had　been　in　Europe　nearly　three…quarters

of　a　century；　it　appeared　by　some　verses　addressed　to　her　by

Aspern　on　the　occasion　of　his　own　second　absence　from　America

verses　of　which　Cumnor　and　I　had　after　infinite　conjecture

established　solidly　enough　the　datethat　she　was　even　then；

as　a　girl　of　twenty；　on　the　foreign　side　of　the　sea。

There　was　an　implication　in　the　poem　（I　hope　not　just　for　the　phrase）

that　he　had　come　back　for　her　sake。　　We　had　no　real　light　upon　her

circumstances　at　that　moment；　any　more　than　we　had　upon　her　origin；

which　we　believed　to　be　of　the　sort　usually　spoken　of　as　modest。

Cumnor　had　a　theory　that　she　had　been　a　governess　in　some　family

in　which　the　poet　visited　and　that；　in　consequence　of　her　position；

there　was　from　the　first　something　unavowed；　or　rather　something

positively　clandestine；　in　their　relations。　　I　on　the　other　hand

had　hatched　a　little　romance　according　to　which　she　was　the　daughter

of　an　artist；　a　painter　or　a　sculptor；　who　had　left　the　western

world　when　the　century　was　fresh；　to　study　in　the　ancient　schools。

It　was　essential　to　my　hypothesis　that　this　amiable　man　should　have

lost　his　wife；　should　have　been　poor　and　unsuccessful　and　should

have　had　a　second　daughter；　of　a　disposition　quite　different

from　Juliana's。　It　was　also　indispensable　that　he　should　have　been

accompanied　to　Europe　by　these　young　ladies　and　should　have　established

himself　there　for　the　remainder　of　a　struggling；　saddened　life。

There　was　a　further　implication　that　Miss　Bordereau　had　had　in　her　youth

a　perverse　and　adventurous；　albeit　a　generous　and　fascinating　character；

and　that　she　had　passed　through　some　singular　vicissitudes。

By　what　passions　had　she　been　ravaged；　by　what　sufferings　had

she　been　blanched；　what　store　of　memories　had　she　laid　away　for

the　monotonous　future？



I　asked　myself　these　things　as　I　sat　spinning　theories

about　her　in　my　arbor　and　the　bees　droned　in　the　flowers。

It　was　incontestable　that；　whether　for　right　or　for　wrong；

most　readers　of　certain　of　Aspern's　poems　（poems　not　as

ambiguous　as　the　sonnetsscarcely　more　divine；　I　think

of　Shakespeare）　had　taken　for　granted　that　Juliana　had

not　always　adhered　to　the　steep　footway　of　renunciation。

There　hovered　about　her　name　a　perfume　of　reckless　passion；

an　intimation　that　she　had　not　been　exactly　as　the　respectable

young　person　in　general。　　Was　this　a　sign　that　her　singer　had

betrayed　her；　had　given　her　away；　as　we　say　nowadays；　to　posterity？

Certain　it　is　that　it　would　have　been　difficult　to　put　one's　finger

on　the　passage　in　which　her　fair　fame　suffered　an　imputation。

Moreover　was　not　any　fame　fair　enough　that　was　so　sure　of　duration

and　was　associated　with　works　immortal　through　their　beauty？

It　was　a　part　of　my　idea　that　the　young　lady　had　had

a　foreign　lover　（and　an　unedifying　tragical　rupture）

before　her　meeting　with　Jeffrey　Aspern。　　She　had　lived　with

her　father　and　sister　in　a　queer　old…fashioned；　expatriated；

artistic　Bohemia；　in　the　days　when　the　aesthetic　was　only

the　academic　and　the　painters　who　knew　the　best　models　for　a

contadina　and　pifferaro　wore　peaked　hats　and　long　hair。

It　was　a　society　less　furnished　than　the　coteries　of　today

（in　its　ignorance　of　the　wonderful　chances；　the　opportunities

of　the　early　bird；　with　which　its　path　was　strewn）；

with　tatters　of　old　stuff　and　fragments　of　old　crockery；

so　that　Miss　Bordereau　appeared　not　to　have　picked　up　or　have

inherited　many　objects　of　importance。　　There　was　no　enviable

bric…a…brac；　with　its　provoking　legend　of　cheapness；　in　the　room

in　which　I　had　seen　her。　　Such　a　fact　as　that　suggested　bareness；

but　nonetheless　it　worked　happily　into　the　sentimental

interest　I　had　always　taken　in　the　early　movements　of　my

countrymen　as　visitors　to　Europe。　　When　Americans　went　abroad

in　1820　there　was　something　romantic；　almost　heroic　in　it；

as　compared　with　the　perpetual　ferryings　of　the　present　hour；

when　photography　and　other　conveniences　have　annihilated　surprise。

Miss　Bordereau　sailed　with　her　family　on　a　tos